Friday, December 22, 2006

The Libertion Part Three

Yesterday I did not write because I only had two things to say and I did not feel that was enough for a whole blog. Thing one was that cold has been redefined for me. Thing two is that I had a lot of time to think about me, and my friends, and who really are friends and who aren't. That's a tough distinction to make, I'm working on it... but that was yesterday... on to today.

Today Bob and I headed over to London. My goal was to kiss one of those guards, either resulting in being dragged off by the police, or being asked in for tea because I rock so hard, either way it would be a great picture and even better blog.

Well I did not get to kiss a guard, or even see one, because London does not believe in parking. Like not like there were parking places but they were filled... there were no places, garages, lots... nothing. We saw amazing historical buildings, cozy warm coffee shops, everything... but there was not a parking place to be found.

So we did not get to do typical touristy things like see the Queen's pad or caress the globe theater (which I imagined to be orgasmic, but now I won't know) but as we drove on for hours and hours and... hours. We did see some seriously amazing architecture, and some really shifty parts of hackney, a pimp with a top hat, and several locations where you can get unspecified surgergical proceedures done.

I know, I know... you think the only places to get surgery are in hospitals and doctor's offices. How uncreative! Here in England we prefer damp dark back alley locations cradled between smoke shops and liquor stores that are simply labeled with a hand painted sign saying "Surgery." I wish we could have found a parking spot because I wanted to get a closer look! We saw a couple of these places, and Bob and I believe they are used to lure people in, where murderers lie within. And the way I see it... if you go in, you kinda asked for it.

So... we barely escaped and by three in the afternoon started heading towards Cambridge... where they have parking... and wicked fog...

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

The Liberation Part Two

Abstract:
This blog contains the events of Cori's first day in England. She includes descriptions of her interactions with the natives as well as a few complaints and more than enough awesome..

Awesome:

So english air.

No one cares about english air, I care about english beer. My first beer in england actually was not a Guinness. I know! Blasphemy! This morning with my first English pub breakfast of meat pie (I know, a pie, of meat! Weird!) and mashed potatoes and peas and cabbage and carrots (no messing around on this breakfast) I had a Strongbow. Appley awesomeness guys, appley awesomeness. I took pictures.

There's frost everywhere, it's gorgeous... and slippery. Seriously I have to get some pictures of the frost covered trees, oh and as it warmed up this morning icicles were falling from the trees, it was like it was raining just under the trees.

Complaint 1:

I wish my wife was here. I miss k=Kathy and wish I had brought her so we could go pick up some cute Brits together and dance all night until we pass out in the gutter in true English form. Bob isn't good at picking up boys, and quite honestly, I think that would creep out the whole experience. Sadly it's like 5pm and I'm beat to death, so this partying is only awesome in theory. In addition to that I've really only seen military boys, which are too common to be exciting.

Awesome cont.:

So I have one person on my friends list that I have never met, and that's Peters. After my pestering, Bob was kind enough to drive me out to his house which is in a neighborhood with a very different smell. Bob said it is a little like Bosnia there. Peters apparently is pretty illusive because he did not answer the door and he was not at work. There's still tomorrow.

The fog here puts Salinas to such serious shame. It seriously makes England it's bitch like nothing else. The heavy fog at dusk (which is like at 4pm) makes me feel like I'm about to be murdered or raped at any moment. No the rape doesn't sound exciting.

Complaint 2 and 3:

I miss my cell phone. I was really excited about the idea of texting Eric a picture of me and my first English Guinness and that feeling I was going to get when I'd know he was looking at it and was being jealous. Actually I was going to make it of me drinking it and walking, so he could be double jealous. I could be making out with Kristen Bell too but I think the despair would be too much for him. I also would like to complain about ruining of my perfect day yesterday. I had a brilliant time at the airports and on the planes. Sent some lovely texts to my friends and received some even lovelier. I even thought I received a nice one from Dallas, and reciprocated... but alas, I was wrong, he was being an extreme asshole as usual but I just didn't pick up on it. Fuck him and his indirection.

Awesomeness cont. and conclusion:

Tomorrow should rock, I have tons of awesomeness planned and I'm way excited. I believe ice skating is involved, you'll want to hear about it. Talk to you tomorrow? It's a date.

Monday, December 18, 2006

The Liberation Part One

So, can we just talk about how awesome I am for a minute.

O'm sitting at SFO on my laptop in a hott black pea coat and black uggs, with my passport, money, and boarding pass in my inside left pocket, with a scarf (grey because it's classic and very English), waiting to board my flight to England.

I'm by myself.

It's amazing to think of the things I would have probably never done had it not been for the tragic abandonment. I think being my gorgeous self here at gate 40 would not have happened. Here begins the liberation of Cori Lynn.

We'll see what other surprises the English air brings. See you bitches in eight days!!! Bob, see you in one!!!

Sunday, December 10, 2006

What You Need to Know

My internal dialogue is in poetic verse.

I drank something disgusting six hours ago.

I was up til three and woke up at seven for no reason.

The reason was that my bed felt empty and the silence hurt my ears.

I think smoking is incredibly sexy, but I'm glad I don't need it to feel hott.

I put a new song on my profile because I'm in the mood for the perfect love song.

I text my roommate from the next room because I don't feel like getting up to talk.

I discovered something nine hours ago. I think I'm the most forgiving person I know.

I don't pine for anyone. I have one ambiguous relationship. I have three buds to nip. I have one flame to douse.

When it came down to it, I turned out to be worth more than my sale price. I love a good bargain, but I'm not one.

I watched two movies already today. One was amazing. One I think I could have spent the rest of my life without.

I'm thinking about Vince Gallo right now. If I was invisible, I think he is who I'd follow so I could stare at him without feeling self conscious.

In eight days I will be in England. I might cry when I get there, I'm not sure. Bob should bring a camera. Seeing me cry is like catching a glimpse of the Loch Ness monster.

I'm sitting in front of a window at a coffee shop drinking a small chai and watching the rain and listening to good music. I think heaven will be a little like this, only Jesus will be drinking a vanilla latte.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Bad Chain Breakers

"Wow Cori, you are having a horrific semester!" Thanks teach, I know.

Anyone else notice how bad seems to breed bad? Like one bad thing happens and that leads to even more bad things while you are still trying to recover from the first? Like oh, let's say maybe your husband leaves you so you have to move a couple times which gets you behind in school and you have to work full time to get a long so you are extra tired so your grades get even worse so you decide sleep is not really a serious priority when you are at risk of failing more that one class so you decide instead of sleeping you'll study but then you fall asleep in class and miss the lectures which pisses you off so you just decide to go home and then... you crash into a fucking tree.

Because that's exactly what would make me feel better!

Somewhere along the line there has to be a break in this, somewhere someone has to step in and say "No way Jose, this girl has taken enough shit, let's give her a breather." But that's when instead, they slap a neck brace on you, strap you to a board, jam a few needles and an iv in your arm, and look you in the eyes and say, "That was a really bad crash, you should be dead... let's make you wish you were..."

I don't know where in the paramedic rule book it says "if the injured is not hurt enough, make sure she gets what was coming to her" because honestly, I think the worst part of crashing my car into a tree should be... crashing my car into a tree. However, apparently that's just what gets the little mouse trap started. The little boot kicks a basket that leads to being strapped to a board against your will and whisked away to hospital land where you are filled with torturous fluids for hours and poked up and oh, left sitting upright for two hours with a neck brace on so I couldn't move... thanks assholes!

In case I didn't hate hospitals enough, eight hours later I really do.

I guess the good thing is that once again I got to realize how much my friends rock, thanks for all the calls and stuff. I really really appreciate it, especially when everyone hasn't been so understanding. I know, who can be mean to a girl in a neck brace... sigh... I know one man that can.

Anyhow... thanks... hey, I guess I got my answer... you guys are the bad-chain breakers I needed :)

Monday, October 16, 2006

Another Statistic, Another Body to Step Over

For those faithfuls who have followed my blogging for quite sometime, you may remember my fear and doubt that was my journey through my own proverbial Vegas. Well the signs I cowered beneath have slowly flickered out. A neon "You were too young!" blinked out with the slamming of a door. A smirking "It'll never last" grinned its last in the angry signature on the papers. And one by one when their job was done, they went dark, off to haunt another.

So, my path is dark and now I've become what I've never wanted to be. Now my ugly name glows neon above every other trail, as just another failed marriage, another gory body to be stepped over. I'm so afraid for those still walking and those about to begin! As I stepped upon the path I believed the bodies I stepped over simply did not work hard enough, were undedicated, were not prepared, and did not truly care for their journey. Perhaps some of them were, but some are me. Some fought and bled and cried and worked, even when they were told there was no need. Some were told everything was great, some were fed happy lies to be kept quiet until they saw their signs flicker out without a warning or explanation, but a simple "You should have known."

I want to have some great wisdom for my friends who have just begun the journey, but I only have warnings. Sometimes the most genuine "I love you" is "I don't," and you won't know. Sometimes the same continual "I'm happy" is "I'm not," and you won't know. Sometimes you die not for your sins, but for the sins of others, and you won't even know that.

Loves, you can only hope for honesty, because promises and honor are apparently out dated; lying and lazy hearts are now all the rage.

Sunday, October 15, 2006

Chinese Food:2 Cori:1

So we all know what a bulimic is, right? it is someone who "intentionally" eats a bunch of food, or "binges," then pukes it up, "purges," in order to prevent weight gain. Well friends, I'm finally ready to admit that I am a Chinese food bulimic. Out of the last three times I've eaten Chinese food (not including right now, as I'm eating chow mien and orange chicken as I write this and am yet to know how this episode will turn out), I have thrown it up twice. So, if I "intentionally" "binge" on something that has a 2 out of 3 chance of making me "purge," does that not make me bulimic? Now most people would say, "But Cori, put the freaking chopsticks down and walk away from the beef and broccoli and everything will be fine." Yes but this is apart of the disease, I can't stop... and do I really want to?

Remember back in the day when pregnancy was considered a disease, we're talking like a couple hundred years ago, but now it's embraced as totally natural and wonderful. Well maybe this is only a disease today, maybe I am in fact more highly evolved and have devolved a mechanism that helps me to automatically reject unhealthy food. I, unlike you, will be able to enjoy this meal right now worry free, knowing I will be safely hurling my guts out later.

Friends, family, and highly important scientists, we are ready do add another rung to the evolutionary latter, and it's me...

Monday, September 25, 2006

7-11 is Out of Control

7-11 is out of control. I have always found the all-night-always-there-for-you-when-you-need-a-friend convenience stores to be a little unstable, with their slightly cocky slogan, "Oh, thank heaven for 7-11," to their sandwich combos that defy reason, "Peppered beef with apple butter and rainbow sprinkles on rye anyone?" Personally, I thank heaven for when St. Jude's kids beat cancer and when baby pandas are born, not when I have somewhere to get a swiss and jelly croissant at 3am. And don't get me wrong, creativity is a wonderful thing. By all means, make doughnuts in the shape of swans. Go ahead, we really need slurpee straws made out of candy and aspartame. Creativity, however, has its limits. There are places that the imagination should never go, flavors that need not exist, yet they do. To illustrate this we look at the 7-11 "gourmet" coffee line and how it has been taken to new heights of bizarre.

When I saw the almond joy cappuccino, I was a little entertained with a sprinkle of disturbed, like when I saw that dog with no front legs that walks like a human on Opera. This spring the 7-11 laboratories brought us the peach a la mode latte. When I saw the sign, I died a little inside. The 7-11 powers were on a crusade to combine things that tasted perfectly good on their own with coffee. It was a time of lost innocence.

As new combinations were brewed I began to believe this was how things would always be, but like so many other times in my life, I was wrong, and would someday wish for the "old days." 7-11 would evolve, like so many other things: canaries, grapefruit, snow shoes. . . to name a few of my favorites. 7-11 now combines two things that taste good independently with coffee to make a combo that makes you question your existence and whether this is truth, or just another glitch in the matrix.

I give you the pumpkin cheesecake latte. As i write this i am considering another fast in order to morn the raping of the coffee industry. Nothing is pure, nothing is innocent, and is there even any such thing as pumpkin cheesecake in the first place? These are the things that keep me awake at night, not world peace or babies with cancer, 7-11 gourmet coffee combinations.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

Slurpee Sex Etiquette

Since I work right next to a 7-11, I go there often to grab a sandwich, gum, water, a soda. . . you know, 7-11 stuff. Well about two months ago they hired this guy that seems to think i want to have his babies. See, it turns out I don't, but that has not deterred him from doing his best to attempt to persuade me to reconsider on a daily basis. At first his lines made me laugh, not a friendly laugh, like "OMG did you really just tell me I get more beautiful every day?" kind of laugh. I've since learned he doesn't pick up on the sarcasm. The compliments continued until I figured out what car he drove, an ugly 1980 something yellow blazer, and refused to go in if he was there. Solved.

Until he started working every night, or at least every night I work. I was determined to starve and dehydrate. Except over the past few weeks the salon needed laundry detergent, garbage bags, paper towels, toilet paper, batteries, tape, and a flashlight. . . and sometimes I needed a slurpee. . . and every time this guy all but humped my leg.

I thought it couldn't get worse. But it has. Now he gives me free slurpee's. Now, I know when you go to bar and a guy buys you a drink, you have to have sex with him, no questions asked. That is why when a guy tries to buy me a drink, I tell them I'm a camel and the one drink in my hand will last me 6 months and to check back then. But what is slurpee etiquette? Do the same rules apply? Did this guy find the loophole, like if he buys me five slurpees he gets to cash in his chips?

Today i just left the $1.20 on the counter when he tried to not ring me up. I glared too, and told him I don't like compliments. No slurpee sex for you ugly 1980 something yellow blazer guy...

Saturday, September 2, 2006

Up In Smoke

I raise my hands and voice as I dance with a few hundred of my new closest friends in the cool Monterey air. Smoke and love hangs over us like party streamers as we sing praises to our gods for the night: love, peace, and Reggae. All united, all loved and loving, all believed in and believing.

I love to believe in Reggae, I love to believe in stoners, I love to believe in the pursuit of peace. . . in short, I love to believe in illusions. The feeling of unity is a drug in of itself as we all sing for world peace and love that reaches over all creeds, all colors, and all classes; with the addition of actual drugs, the experience is nothing less than spiritual and communal ecstasy. A beautiful blonde Santa Cruz girl in the bathroom implores me to wait as she pees, so I can come smoke a bowl with her, and although I politely pass up on her generosity, one can not help but feel loved. As I walk back to the crowds, a very Lenny Kravitz looking black man greets me like we are long lost cousins. Well tonight, at least according to the MC, I suppose we are. As clouds of Marijuana become our new atmosphere, we are cut off from the rest of the world. We willingly trade truth for smoke and mirrors--an escape from reality that becomes almost believable.

I would love to believe that the artists are here to unite all creeds, all colors, and all classes, yet this is as likely as a Jewish group singing the praises of bacon and jesus. Their religion is not peace and pot, like many of us ignorant Cali's conclude, but a political, religious movement to raise up the Jamaican blacks and bring down hate and judgment on whites (all of them, even you), homosexuals, women, and all other religions, "but for American dollars, sure man, we sing of peace and love tonight."

I would love to believe that the continuous invites to Jamaica are out of a desire to share their beautiful country with us, chill on the sand together, and pass a peace pipe. . .which i'm sure is the image many of the messy haired, American Eagle clad kids are conjuring as they sing with maxi priest, "come over to Jamaica where there's lots of beautiful women." which is actually more of an infomercial. "Yeah, come over to Jamaica man, with American dollars, and go home so we can sing about how we hate you."

So, as I watch from the corner of my eye my friend take a blunt to her Christian lips, I realize that at $35.00 a head, the performers are willing let us believe anything we need to in order to help us make the lie taste real. Perhaps you need a good solid high to cover that distinct we-are-being-manipulated taste, because I felt like the only one watching all the bad little Pinocchio boys get turned into donkeys.

Thursday, August 31, 2006

Don't Make Midget Piñatas

This year I believe I will love my school. I have some excellent professors. Today John Bertreaux had his ethics class help him consider whether becoming a male prostitute would be a good career change for him, amazingly incorporating this into the text the entire time. Ondine Gage asked her linguistics students to feel her neck as she spoke, and then asked us to imagine chopping off her head. The enthusiastic, yet out of touch, Jennifer Fletcher has not yet realized that her junior and senior Brit lit and linguistics students are not the 14 yr olds she has taught the past 10 years. I will not be shocked if she asks if we need a juice box and graham cracker break tomorrow.

Classes are refreshingly challenging, but not enough to distract me from my friends or Myspace. I am meeting new people, collaborating with amazing minds, and making a genuine attempt at being a real CSUMB Otter this semester, this is of course, if someone can murder the midget fucking with the AC.

What? What's this about a crazed midget? At first I thought maybe the CSUMB climate control officials were confused, and wanted to pretend we were in sunny San Diego, not freezing Seaside, but this is unlikely. There is no way anyone in CSUMB could be this coordinated, or has been to San Diego. It has to be a midget. I'm sure he is the kid from 10 years ago (is the school that old yet) that was made fun of for being a midget and wasn't invited to parties (save as a novelty that some drunk junior would attempt to tie a string to and scream "piñata!!!") and has since sworn himself to a life of revenge on all Otters. We sit in our classes, bundled against the cruel Seaside mist (it gets intense) when suddenly, like a gift from heaven, the heat kicks on. We begin to peal away the layers, the blonde little sophomores revealing tiny matching outfits, us old kids revealing whatever we slept in the night before. And then the AC happens. Ice cold air cascades from then giant vents like an alien invasion and we bitterly rebundle. This may continue for the rest of the class, or in vicious outbreaks as soon as we begin to feel safe and unfrozen. Today a large male student even whimpered "is there anything we can do about the fans? I'm cold." The professor said no, and cast her eyes away, because he was shameful. I suggested a sacrifice for the AC gods, but instead of selecting the weakest among us to die (I was gonna vote for cold guy), we all laughed. We all know there are no AC gods, only a bitter and crazed midget, peering through the vents and giggling.

If this was a form of torture being used by the Chinese to get me to talk (I heard they do stuff like this too, must be a size thing) I would have already told every secret I know, and don't know. I don't know what the midget wants from me, but when I find him, I'm gonna get drunk, tie a string to his head and scream "piñata!!!"

Hehehe. . . it makes me giggle every time.

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

What Doesn't Heal

"Oh in 1936 I had many dreams. It was the depression, and it was very hard for young people to get their lives started, but we did get married and we finally got jobs and we were happy. But soon after that, in 1939, Herman got diagnosed with acute Leukemia. . . I couldn't imagine how I was going to live in a world that didn't have him in it, but life has a way of demanding you live it. . ."

"What are your hopes for me, after you're gone?"

"I hope that you are going to find somebody that you can love as completely as I loved Herman, because there is nothing in the world that's as wonderful as two people in love, there's nothing better."

Today in my oral histories class I realized how weak the fabric with which I am woven is. I sat and listened to a recording of 91 year old Nora Percival tell her granddaughter, Emily, about her short marriage to Emily's grandfather, who died when his pregnant wife was only 24. He never met his son. As I sat in class holding back my tears with all I had, all I could think was "they sure don't make them like they used to," myself being the them. My life has struggles, but nothing like what my great-grandparents endured. My heart is broken, but nothing more than what countless others have felt. The clouds are dark and the rain is cruel, but far worse storms have passed over far more innocent hearts! And yet I am ready to surrender now, quit before life hurts me anymore.

As I listened to Nora's voice, I could hear the many years of struggles and hardships in her weathered tone, but there was a softness as well. She spoke of Herman like it was only yesterday that she was lying with her dying husband, saying goodbye. The tenderness with which she spoke of him made me realize how long we carry these things with us, that some things don't heal like we like to believe.

When I got to my car I cried. I cried because life is so hard, so confusing, and the light so far in the distance. I cried because Nora was so strong, and that strength seems so far from my grasp. I hope I'm wrong, I hope that they do make them like they use to, and that one day I will have a full life to look back on, and that my voice carries in it all the strength and pain that Nora's did.

I really suggest you listen to Nora's interview, you can listen to it here: http://www.storycorps.net/listen

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Surf:1 Cori:0

There is skin literally hanging off my toes. I smell exactly like a dumpster of dead fish. My nose and throat burn, I may never stand again. . . well until I head to the beach for round two...

It wasn't sunny, the ocean was brown, tasted like dead fish, and as a small but mighty wave crashed before me, I swear I heard it say "Today I will take your soul." As it foamed violently at my feet, I stepped in and waded out. I grabbed the board my brother offered me, he told me to start paddling, and then I died.

Actually, I didn't die. My board and I did an amazing underwater tumbling stunt. Horrifying. I found air and gasped it in like I never had before. Failure comes quick, but your next chance comes rolling in only seconds behind. For a moment I thought "Hell no, I'm out." Instead I grabbed the board again.

I didn't realize surfing involved so much underwater time, which is where I spent a lot of time. Dive, jump, paddle? No matter which I chose I mostly tumbled. I was being pummeled, but I didn't resent the ocean for its cruelty, it was like I was begging for it.

I am exhausted, but I can't wait to go out again. I didn't do much with the board, I eventually worked on body surfing, learning to recognize a good wave, and never turning my back on the ocean. And the death comes in "sets."

Now, sleep. More later.

Sunday, August 20, 2006

God Teaches Cori to Drive

I woke up on fire. Not literally, but spiritually. I know weird, usually I wake up, roll over and turn on my laptop (which sleeps on the right side of my bed) to check my Myspace/email/bunny website. Not today, today I woke all on fire, which is really intense when compared to the intense brokenness I have been experiencing. So I decided to drive out to Santa Cruz and do something, I didn't know what. I just had to share, even though the church wasn't opening for another five hours. I get in the car and my favorite song was on! Yes! This day was totally on! So I'm singing and praying--turn onto John Street--singing, thinking wow I'd love to serve--get onto 101 N--but not serve as in teaching yet, I'm such an infant in my faith right now--run into traffic in Prunedale--but I'd love to serve with my time, not teach, there's too much temptation there, hey, I'll work at the church coffee house!--just getting out of Prunedale. . . what am I doing?!?!!

I'm so excited, I started driving to San Jose not Santa Cruz! And then it was there, the big fat lesson! One of my spiritual downfalls (and there are many!) has been enthusiastically throwing myself into ministry with no real direction. Maybe I'm just a bad driver, but God totally used it! I'm really learning to follow His lead right now, it's an amazing feeling! I feel so free in not worrying about what will happen to me. But I'm so excited I feel at risk of not healing enough, because I have been severely broken. So what I did all day in Santa Cruz was read, pray, and journal. I did it in the park, at Jamba Juice, sitting on a bench. I gave my mind to God, and He gave so much in return! Honestly, I think I got spiritual stretch marks today!!

By the time I got to church I was practically bursting at the seems. My worship was pure, my talk was pure, my thoughts were pure. I haven't felt this for years, everything had no hidden motive, I felt so naked... but that's when it happens... the beat down.

I need to learn to expect it, after every talk at Vintage Faith I feel like I've been through the shredder... but in a good way. Last week Josh talked about faith, and I sat there and had to face my intense fear of faith... this week Shelly exactly described my situation, only about her sister, and at first I began feeling helplessness, but then I read the road sign! I had to face my unwillingness to fight for people, and my bitterness towards those who have refused to fight for me. As believers we are commanded to fight for people, for people going through hard times, we are supposed to stand by their side and tell them to push on, we're here for you, you can do it!!

I wish more of us did that, we need it from each other. I think that that's one reason so many of us that know Bob (yes, shout out to you buddy) love him so much, he'll fight for us!

So that's the road sign I was missing (as if there was one, haha, there are many!). I swear to fight for you all. I'm so sorry for who I've been, and I hope I'll be more of a joy to you all in the future. For those friends I've left far behind, I'm sad they will never see this from me, to see what I'm like watered, flourishing!! I know what it's like to be fought for, and I know what it's like to be told "Huh, that's too bad, well there's nothing you can do, it's too late, not even God can help you now..." And from a Christian no less. I never want to be that to any of you!

I'm still working at the church coffee house though :) but I am making a promise to myself and God to follow the road signs.

Friday, August 18, 2006

People Don't Change

"Nina, Nina I'm worried about Anna. She's not youthful. She came into the world in such an extraordinary way. I think she used up all her magic in the way that she came. Nina, promise me you'll tell Anna to do something extraordinary before I die."

There is a lie that we are told. The devil tells it to us because he knows we will listen with greedy ears. There is a lie that we are told, and in turn, we tell the world.

People don't change.

As I have mentioned before, I am reading this book, Captivating. Three years ago, I would have received little from these pages, but it is not three years ago. Three years ago I was alive. I believe that I turned into this machine like so many other women. I am not soft, feeling, pleasant, or lovely. Nothing that God envisioned as He crafted woman, as He sculpted her body and stitched secrets into her heart, the mysteries he hid for her lover to discover. I am driven, cold, demanding much from the world and even more from myself. I feel sloppy, not sculpted, I toss my secrets to the wind and mock the mysteries of my heart. I guess this is just who I am. People don't change.

Stasi Eldredge writes, "The curse of Eve and all her daughters cannot be limited only to babies and marriage. . . the meaning is much deeper and the implications are for every daughter of Eve. Woman is cursed with loneliness (relational heartache), with the urge to control (especially her man), and with the dominance of men."

Everyday I am softer. I let myself feel my loneliness and my urges to control, my anger and my doubt, because they are mine to feel. I feel like I am marinating, how cheesy and weird to describe it that way, but it is true. I feel the curse like a wave, but instead of indulging in it, I wait it out because I do not deserve to burst out in anger or seize control. These are things that just happen and are not me. It is funny now, they feel like my panic attacks because I see them as something with no true legitimate cause, just something that happens that I must ride out. Ask Miss Peligra about San Francisco, she was lucky enough to witness my first triumph over this rage.

"Anna you can't come with me. You were right."

"No Danny I was wrong. Listen! My mother told me to do something extraordinary and look! I'm standing here at a train station like some character in one of her Russian novels. Take me with you!"

"You don't even know where I'm going! Anna, this is passion, passion makes you do stupid things but it won't last, I should know!"

"Danny what have I done to you, you sound just like me."

Sometimes I think it is so immodest of me to write my feelings out like this, for anyone to see. But it feels good right now, and I'm doing what I feel for a change. And speaking of change, the devil doesn't lie when he says people don't change, he simply takes the truth out of context.

People don't change. . . people, God changes people.

We never shut up long enough to hear the whole sentence.




Dialogue is from the 1997 film Music From Another Room. A movie whose ending I knew within the first five minutes, but watched every sappy moment anyway and cried when Anna and Danny kissed at the end. . . to the song Truly Madly Deeply of course. I know, but it felt good.

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Divorce

Kristen is my super wise friend and her blogs are the bomb. Since her latest post kinda applies to my current situation, I asked her if I could post it here.


From dictionary.com. . .

Commitment:

A. A pledge to do.

B. Something pledged, especially an engagement by contract involving financial obligation.

C. The state of being bound emotionally or intellectually to a course of action or to another person or persons

Promise:

A. A declaration assuring that one will or will not do something; a vow.
synonyms: pledge, swear, vow

These verbs mean to declare solemnly that one will follow a particular course of action.

I start this blog out with these definitions because it will be those of my generation reading & it is my generation I am speaking to. It is my generation that has no respect to these words, no real understanding of their meaning. It is my generation who thinks promise is something to be as flippantly used as the word "yes" or the words "I will". It is my generation that thinks commitment means doing something only if it continues to be convenient, only if it continues to be easy, only if it does not interfere with anything more fun or entertaining.

When did it become that actually doing what one agrees to do, is surprising? When people actually anticipate that someone won't follow through with what they've agreed to do, and therefore take no course of action when precisely that happens? Why is it so difficult for my generation to commit themselves, in their deepest capacity, to something or someone?

Perhaps I am just one of the lucky ones. I was raised in a family where if you say you're going to do it, you had better do it and do it well. If you over extend yourself, well then that is your mistake & those around you should not be made to suffer for your mistake, so you had better continue doing the best of your ability.

I was raised that marriage was never exempt from these standards, in fact it was held higher than those. When you promise someone, when you commit, you follow it through until the end. And the end is when they're throwing dirt on top of your casket. Now, I do understand that there are some very, very rare exceptions to this mentality. Difficulty is not one of those exceptions. Because it no longer fits into your schedule is not one of those exceptions. You found someone better is not one of those exceptions.

Yes, I am angry. Angry that I know more separated & divorced couples than I do happy ones. Angry that there are very few people, aside from close friends, whom I can count on to do exactly what they said they're going to do. Angry that it is my generation that seems to have this problem, because it is my generation that will be leading the country in a few years. How is it that we plan to do that, to lead a country, if we can't even work out our differences with our spouses? Do we think opposing countries are going to be any easier?

I'm sure I will be told that I can't say much, I've never been married. I've never had a severely difficult life where following through with things was just made "impossible". Maybe you're right for saying so. But i have been on the receiving end many times of someone who simply did not follow through with what they promised. I have lived in a house with a father who's temper could be rivaled maybe slightly by God himself, as well as a mother who stayed & now they are my shining, beautiful example.

Do not speak to me of naivety & being "uninformed" to what real life carries. I have been told by God that I can do all things, through Christ who strengthens me. All things. Not only convenient things, not only fun things, not only easy things. All things.

I wonder how better life would be for you today if God woke up this morning and just decided he could do something much more fun today than watching your back. Or that little promise he made with the whole flood thing, nah, that was just a promise at the time. Or the commitment of sticking with you, even when you want absolutely nothing to do with Him.... well you've become too difficult for Him to handle, too much of a burden & your next door neighbor is so much more fun! How would your life be then?

If we are created in the image of Him and should strive to be like Him?

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Ice Cream Wrath

This is an official complaint I am placing with my father. Instead of walking across the hall and telling you i'm pretty sure you are on online right now so this is how you will have to find out...

Everyday I look forward to my ice cream at night. This is not an excessive amount, but enough to make me happy. I have lived a relatively ice creamless life under the reign of my insane trainer and I am liberating myself through this small, nightly indulgence.

Well tonight, as I sat watching tv with mom, I said, "Hey, who wants some ice cream?" and got up. Yeah turns out no one is getting ice cream! Father, you ate all of it. There were two empty containers in the sink, what is this??? Not acceptable! You have two women in the house, don't mess with the ice cream supply!

Mom and I have decided to make a secret ice cream lair. You will never find it, and it will have all the best kinds, and you'll be way sorry when we emerge from our lair nightly with our awesome ice cream and ice cream accessories.

So instead of ice cream I had an apple. Not cool Dad, not cool.

In His Image

I can not explain this. This is not me, or at least it has not been in the past. I do not believe in the whole finding yourself journey, in self help books, in submission, in passivity, in being unsure. Perhaps that is why I am a mess, perhaps...

I have been forced to ask myself who I am. . . that is incorrect. I have been given the opportunity to ask myself who I am. Because given my situation I could very easily crawl under my martyr mat and have you all bring me soup. However, for some reason a series of randomly deep films, a book, and a quote by Maggie Gyllenhaal have changed my journey from trying to discover who I am, to a quest to recapture what I was designed to be.

Cut to video montage of Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind, Snow Falling on Cedars, and Shattered glass.

If one more person tells me that this painful situation will make me stronger. . . I will. . . do nothing, because I am working on my anger issues. I will ignore the comment because it is wrong, a fabricated comfort whose fibers are worldly. Yes, hurt after hurt will eventually harden you, and next time it wont feel so bad, but I am not looking for calluses, I am searching for my correct function.

Today I read something that Maggie Gyllenhaal said, "What I think is appealing about shopping is putting something on and asking, 'Is this me?' which is another way of saying, 'Who am I?'" We are always searching for the who, because I think asking the what sounds silly as the answer would be woman, human, flesh, blood, bones, tissues. And as for the "who," we can be whoever we want, right? But then with the possibility of being anything, we go out to be something, and what if there was a set something and we are not it and the possibilities are only a lie we are told by a liberated, but confused society. I just might be a square peg jamming myself into a round hole.

Man was created in the likeness of God. Got it. Now what the heck does that mean? Which part of god? All of god? And if man and woman are so different, the opposites of one whole, the ying and yang, what does that make woman the likeness of? I am afraid to even wonder!

I'm studying the book Captivating by John and Stasi Eldredge. They have a perspective on what man is and his heart that would make my college professors pull their hair out, but I am so comforted by it. It's like they described the half I do not just want, but need, but only at the very depths of my heart because in my mind it makes me weak. John writes that a true man wants a battle to fight, longs for adventure, and seeks to rescue a beauty, adding, "For Adam is captured best in motion, doing something. His essence is strength in action. That is what he speaks to the world. He bears the image of God, who is a warrior. On behalf of God, Adam says, 'God will come through. He is on the move.' That is why a passive man is so disturbing. His passivity defies his essence. It violates the way he bears God's image." This is God's image, but what of me? What of woman? I've been striving to accomplish, succeed, to do. Wouldn't that make me in God's image as well? I have been doing this for so long and become less and less satisfied with myself. What image am I here to fill?

Stasi writes that a true woman wants romance, to be in an irreplaceable role in an adventure, and be a beauty to be pursued, adding, "This is what its like to be with a woman at rest, a woman comfortable in her own feminine beauty. She is enjoyable to be with. She is lovely. In her presence your heart stops holding its breath. You relax and believe once again that all will be well. And this is also why a woman who is striving is so disturbing." The book takes a long time to eventually get across that woman was also created in God's image. God is rest, comfort, safety.

I sit here both wrong and right at the same time. I know why my striving has brought me misery, and why my resting for the past week has brought me hope. I am made in the likeness of a feeling, relational God, and there lies my function. I don't feel like I'm lowering myself to anything by accepting this role, as countless women will tell me I am, it's more like getting to breathe for the first time after diving too deep. I've been going far too deep for my lungs to handle, it's time to breathe.

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Inspired by V for Vendetta

As someone who finds infinite joy in studying human behavior and belief systems, I of course am keenly aware of the patterns that pop up continuously in film, literature, culture. Some people make the mistake of thinking these patterns tie all religions, cultures, peoples together making us all right, most likely out of fear holding the belief that is wrong. No one wants to hold the ax and condemn all others, because to believe there is right and to believe there is wrong means some must be condemned. however, the mistake we of course make in our infinite wisdom is that we must hold the ax.

In the corner of my room my ax is propped against a white chair. Its first cob web drapes from the blade to the wall like a triumphant banner. More are to come and I welcome them. It is part of my own journey, one that every culture and religion holds and, to some, may seem to tie them into one. In literature it is apart of every single great story of a hero. It is woven deep into both western and eastern religions, as well as the pagan beliefs that came before.

This pattern is of course the rebirth motif. It sometimes seems that the Christian faith holds the sole rights to it, after all many of us call ourselves born again. But this concept is not solely Christian, for some reason the human race feels the need for rebirth. It is in our legends, myths, tales whose message often depict a miraculous rebirth.

But in a Christian society, rebirth becomes this extraordinarily common occurrence. It happens in the simple bending of the knees and utterance of prayer and raising of the eyes to a heavens. So we live believing this is our rebirth, however, I whole heartedly disagree. I believe this is the signing of the contract to be reborn. To look into the eyes of the surgeon, to look at the gleaming edge of the blade that will soon reshape you and say you are ready. There is no anesthesia, the surgeon will not shield you from the process, the pain. With his words he offers comfort, but not unconsciousness.

We never really know what's coming. We casually agree to suffer before feeling that blade. We lie on the table asking for the change, yet often with the first incision believe that truly this is not the way to change and leap from the table, doing our best to piece our flesh and organs back together ourselves with shoelaces and tape. The process hurts... but for me, I'm going to remain on this table and let an expert fix me. I can feel every incision, cold metal on warm skin, but he will not leave me bleeding, but better than before.

I hope for the courage for us all to endure so that we can in fact truly be reborn.

Saturday, August 12, 2006

Moses

I read a true and beautiful story about the courtship of Moses Mendelssohn, the grandfather of a great German composer. Moses was a small man with a mis-shaped, humped back. One day he visited a merchant in Hamburg who had a lovely daughter. Though Moses admired her greatly, she avoided him, seemingly afraid of his grotesque hump...

On the last day of his visit he went to tell her good-bye. Her face seemed to beam with beauty but when he entered, she cast her eyes to the floor. Moses' heart ached for her. After some small talk, he slowly drew to the subject that filled his mind. "Do you believe that marriages are made in heaven?" he asked.

"Yes," replied the young woman. "And do you?"

"Of course," Moses answered. "I believe that at the birth of each child, the Lord says, 'that boy shall marry that girl.' but in my case, the Lord also added, 'but, his wife will have a terrible hump.'"

"At that moment I called, 'Oh Lord, that would be a tragedy for her. Please give me the humped back and let her be beautiful.'" The story ends when the young woman was so moved by his words that she reached for Moses' hand and later became his loving and faithful wife.

So beautiful.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Chinese Food:2 Everyone Else:0

So when I wrote my last Chinese food blog it was only... say about an hour after eating it. I had broken the cardinal rule of Chinese food eating: never talk against the Chinese food until it has remained in your system for at least twenty-four hours. I failed to heed this, and was sorely punished.

As I leaned over the toilet at 1am in the morning, Dallas lovingly clasping his pillow over his head, all I could think was: "how ironic... and what a great blog this will make."

Ben had the opportunity to drive his vomiting friend home a couple nights ago. Ben asked what happened... all his friend could utter was... "Chinese."

The sneaky Chinese attack like no other... it's amazing we haven't been invaded all ready... all China would have to do is offer their tasty noodles and sauces that somehow mask rotten food and the land of the free would soon be the land of the Chinese.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Chinese Food:1 Cori:0

I need to learn when to end it, when to know my place, when to submit, when I've been pwned (did I use that right? I hope so, I want so badly to be cool like that), but the fact is, I don't...

So today I felt poor so I went into work early, 11am. I get off at 9pm, so that's a long haul, but I have a laptop so I really don't care. However, I don't get to leave while working so if I want to eat at anytime between 11am and 9:30pm I have to bring it or get it delivered, no prob right? There's like a billion restaurants on Lighthouse. Yeah, so none of them deliver. Not even the pizza places. I call places that I can literally see from the window and say, "I see you, if you can just walk across the street there will be a fat tip on the other side..." No one bites.

So I settle for the demon food that is Chinese. On my third call I find someone that delivers. I've only had coffee today, I can barely hold the phone... death is near. So the Great Wall delivers, I don't know Chinese that well, all I know that I like is chicken veggie chow mien, so I ask for a small... they don't do small.. so I ask for whatever they do do... and quick. Five pm... an hour later, I'm starting to get anxious but I have faith. Twenty minutes later my patience is rewarded, or so I thought.

Chinese food is sneaky. It's sneaky because Chinese people are sneaky, and sneaky people make sneaky food, it is just the way. The sneaky Chinese comes in the door. The sneaky Chinese hands me my food. The sneaky Chinese takes my tip and bolts on his sneaky Chinese legs. I open my bag of seemingly innocent food and eat my fortune cookie and wonder how they get the paper inside. Then I go for the chicken.

I have a plan, when you are a life long dieter you don't eat without a plan. My plan is to eat the chicken first, because if i get some protein in me I won't eat all the noodles. While I wait for the protein to kick in I'll eat the veggies, by the time I eat the chicken and veggies I'll pretty much be full, I'll reward my self control with a few noodles, and dump the rest of the greasy carb death in the trash.

I'm ready to execute the plan, but what came next almost knocked me to the floor... ... ... no freaking chop sticks!

Yeah seriously, no chop sticks, fork... spork... nothing... seriously what the hell?!?! That damn sneaky Chinese kid! I don't keep that shit on me! I finally find a spoon, but it's dirty. I'm pretty pissed about trying to use a spoon in the first place but whatever, lives are on the line here. So I gotta wash this thing, no prob. Yeah so it turns out there's no soap in the salon. That's disgusting, and so is what I do next so you may want to look away.

I use the tanning bed disinfectant to clean the spoon. It works, I get to eat my food but I totally abandon my plan and eat out of order. But it doesn't matter because sure enough I'm totally full on the fifth bite.. thank you MSG.

My fortune said I will step on the soil of many countries, but I disagree. I believe I will step on the heads of many Chinese and smear their sneaky damn food in their sneaky damn eyes.

Thursday, June 8, 2006

Outsmarted by a Soup Can

So I buy this soup. I love it. I buy it a lot and it's only about 70... omg where is the cents sign? There is no cents sign on my key pad! Great now i'll be steaming about that too. Ok anyway, the soup, it rocks, but it's way smarter than me and it ticks me off everytime then I'm frustrated about my dinner and it's not the joyful expierience it should be. I get all excited about my soup, like i did tonight, get out my electric can opener (which I don't like having to search for, struggle with cord etc) and that's when it always happens.

The top of the can opens like a soda can, with a tab. I never remember this and I always get out the electric can opener and plug it in before I look. It's so frustrating. I could easily cut out one whole step between preparation and eating and I forget every time.

So now I'm really hungry and I'm gonna go put the can opener away since I don't freaking need it. uggghhhh!

Thursday, April 6, 2006

Dr. Kennedy

We never want to think of the end of life until we must. Today I had to.

When my family and I picked out a beautiful, bouncing labrador puppy, no one was thinking of the day we'd have to say our goodbyes, thank her for eleven years of joy, and of course, mischief. No one thinks of endings at beginnings.

She was just my grandparent's dog, but she grew to be one of us, just one of the Vevodas around the table. However, today we knew Sassy Vevoda was on her way home and would not be here for another family gathering. We knew the kindest thing to do was to help her get there quickly. Unfortunately we needed a very heartless man's help.

I am not naive about the world of veterinary medicine. I know there is a lot of money to be made when the upset pet owner pleads, "do whatever you can." We walked into the Salinas Animal Hospital knowing we'd go home with an empty collar. We expressed this, but we were met with no compassion. Our very sick dog was accused of attempting to bite the vet as he painfully twisted her head to look in her eyes. We would need an eye exam and the dog would need to be muzzled. Our regular vet was insulted for making "assumptions" about our dog's arthritis, because the fact that she clearly was stiff and had problems getting up were not enough, we were told we would need to take x-rays for such a diagnosis to be made. When expressing concern over the cost of a procedure we were told, "I'm sure twenty two dollars won't break the bank," with no sympathy for our already strained financial state. When we were brought a paper to sign with a long list of procedures and would only agree to one, we heard the technician's rude remark through the closing door. We opted for no heartworm test, as it was expensive and we believed organ failure was the issue. We were asked several times to reconsider until we finally did. Sassy had kidney failure; we never needed that heartworm test.

The damage could have been worse. Perhaps Dr. Kennedy thought we got off easy, after all, we did weasel out of the x-ray and eye exam, but not without accusing glances and raised eye brows. It was a little over a mere three hundred dollars in the end to say goodbye to our dog. We held Sassy's head in our hands as she left us, and the clinic held our credit card. He patted my aunt's back and said some scripted, comforting lines, and as our dog took her last breath, he collected on our loss.

Of course I know this is a business and they have to make money, but a grieving pet owner should never be pressured into unnecessary tests. We confronted him about this after Sassy was safely on her way out of this world, and he simply said that his practice was very thorough, and how was he supposed to know she would have to be put down. We didn't expect any better response, we know the drill. The wound was open and their job is to bleed us for all we're worth.

Monday, April 3, 2006

Japanese Buffet Kicked my Ass

When Dallas and I left Sakura Buffet it was not a triumphant exit with "we are the champions" blasting... it was more a scurrying away of a beaten dog with its tail tucked under. The Sakura Buffet had kicked my ass, and I was shamed...

I really believed I could roll with the big dogs. $9.99 of all you can eat everything... I was hungry and rebellious... so I went for it, young naive as i was. See the thing about buffets is that you have to try to eat at least $9.99 worth of food or they win, preferably more. How hard can that be, right? Well not even one plate in (like a little fruit, veggies, and noodles) I was done. I was looking around... people were going back and forth with huge towering plates-shrimp, chicken, noodles, rice, doughnuts, crabs, cake, french fries, everything-then going back! I was a wuss... ashamed... scared... so I went back. I got asparagus, noodles and chicken, and a fried bread thing. I felt confident, then a wavered, and failed... I could do the asparagus and some noodles then it was like the slow motion falling of a soldier... my fork fell. I think in the end I ate about six dollars worth of food. As I watched a woman who had been eating when we arrived go back for the third plate that I had seen... I decided it.

Buffets are not for people like you and me. They are for trained professionals that can eat a shit load of food and therefore get their money's worth, and even beat the system by eating twenty bucks worth of rice. People like us should just stay home. Damn buffets.

Friday, March 3, 2006

Finishing the Tape

Remember when school was one full year and summer was one full year? I remember that. Days were weeks... weeks were eternities. Even in high school weeks were so cruelly slow, time wanted nothing more than to hold us back from happiness. There was so much to look forward to, to have to wait for, and time was no help. Somewhere, however, the flood gates opened and time began to feel quite quick. It's Friday, I swear it was Saturday only seconds ago. Why the change? I'm busy, but I was honestly busier in high school. Maybe it's only when you are looking forward to something that time moves slow... and when you've had it or lost your desire for it, time grows bored with you and pushes fast forward on your life, perhaps to slow once again for the good parts... or just finish the tape...