My Little World

Friends,

Tonight, I don't have much to say. I'm not very eloquent when it comes to unimaginable destruction and devastation. Faith, love, and celebrity gossip... sure. Horrific tragedy, not so much.

Since my alarm began abruptly buzzing at 6:18AM this morning, I have been bombarded with memories of this day five years ago. News stories, artsy photograph slide-shows, voice recordings of the now deceased... I managed to avoid most of the coverage. I made a playlist of MP3's instead of tuning into the local morning show. I chose Saved By The Bell over the Today Show on NBC. I did all I could to not be reminded of the fact that it is September 11th.

It's not the day itself that affects me. Sure, it's the eleventh day of the ninth month of the year... and something terrible happened on this same day less than a decade ago... I get that...But up until tonight's presidential address I was running away from the truth.

The truth that this world is so much bigger than I will ever be.

The truth that the plan for this immeasurably large world is something I will never understand.

The truth that scares me more than anything.

It is as if we (myself included) live in two worlds at once. The big world and the little world....and we (myself included) are infinitely more interested in our own little worlds. Our own problems, our own money, our own Ipods and SUV's... our own self. We are a self-propelled society moving within a larger realm... a realm in which we only see on the higher channels of our satellite TV's. I've said it before... it's the pursuit of comfort and ease, not happiness. When we are reminded of the events that took place in Manhattan five years ago we realize that comfort and ease, as we knew them, will never be the same.

This nation-shaking event has torn open the seam of my little world wide enough to realize that I am not the only one here and in the process of looking back at what I have left behind, I am astounded at how small and somewhat suffocating that little world actually was.

The New York air, though still filled with debris and aftermath, is far more fresh than any I have inhaled in my little world.

And I will continue to breathe.

Disclaimers #1 and #2

#1
*** yes, this last blog was rather self-deprecating, but i said that it would be honest and it was. i don't want you all to think that i'm sitting at home wallowing in my homeliness or watching america's next top model with green tears of jealousy steraming into the pillow beneath my head... because that is not the case. not at all. like i said... i am who i am... and i like who i am. i'm glad i'm funny. i'm glad people like me. i'm the fun one for a reason and more often than not those reasons are great. sometimes, thought being the fun one means there's not much to say after someone asks about more than being the fun one. c'est la vie! ***

#2
Disclaimer .2
** Some of you seem to have misunderstood me... it isn't that I don't like myself. I do. Sometimes too much, to be honest. It isn't that I don't think I'm pretty... because I do. Granted, I also think there are some things that I could change and I am slowly but surely learning how to change them. What I don't like is being put into a category. I don't like being boxed into this one thing that I am only recognized as. Somehow I think that is as much my fault as it is others. As much as I don't like being the funny one, being the funny one has always been an easy escape... a safe route... a familiar place.

So... no... I don't think I'm homely. I used that word in my last blog for vocabularies sake. However, I don't think I'm going to be a painter's muse anytime soon either. I don't think I'm gonna stop any traffic by shaking out my harvest colored curls on the street corner, but I do think I am worthy of love... both from myself and someone else.

I hope my over dramatic cyber-rants don't make you think otherwise.**

Friends,

My blogs are full of many things... opinion, sarcasm, introspection, wit... but the one thing that guides this freight train of thoughts and words along it's cyber-track is truth.

Honesty.

My blogs are always honest.

Tonight is no exception.

I realize it was a comment made in passing and no real harm was intended (or done, for that matter). I realize that had this person known I was nearby, the comment would not have even been made... although I'm not sure if that fact numbs or scortches the burn. I realize that the truth is better than a lie or even a sugar coated fib anyday... but for some reason hearing (or not hearing in this case) a truth about me... a truth that I already knew full well... did something to me. It affected me somehow, in a way most comments can not.

I’m not one to feign perfection or dwell in my inadequacies. I see myself for what I am, there's no harm in that. I am me and in my estimation... it’s nothing extraordinary.

If you asked someone who knows me to describe me, nine times out of ten they will comment on my personality. They say “She’s funny.” or “She has a good heart."... "She's a lot of fun" or "She's a blast." All of which are true, or so I've been told. I am kinda funny, and my heart is more good than otherwise. I do enjoy fun more than the alternative and, although I'm not entirely certain what being a "blast" would entail, chances are I'm up there with the best of them. But for some reason my blood boils as those phrases hit my eardrums. For some reason, I loathe those specific accolades. We are always quick to mention personality when we’re forced to say something nice about the plain.

“I have a friend I’d like you to meet?’

“Yeah, well, what’s she like?”

“She’s _______.” (insert any of the aforementioned adjectives)

“Uhh, I think I have to walk my neighbors puggle that night.”

That’s precisely what happens—minus the puggle part... I added that for dramatic effect. I know they say otherwise, but quality of heart and ability to make people laugh aren't usually on the top of a Man's list of Must-Have's. In general, most men opt for sophistication, grace, and...yes...physical beauty.

Men are, by nature, visual creatures... it's in their wiring. And I respect that.

I respect that, but I also understand that’s why I'm alone. I understand that's why she didn't know what to say when he inquired about more than personality.

Facts are facts.

Silence is silence.

I am who I am.

C’est la vie.

Pilot Episode

hello friends,

i have recently returned from a wonderful weekend in the middle of the heartland. All of my college roommates (seven including myself) got together in one place for the first time since we graduated over two years ago. it was long-awaited, but seemed to come at the perfect time. it did my heart good to see those girls again and i have a feeling that becca, joanna, alicla, sarah, nicole, and amy would say the same.

i tried to go to bed before nine o'clock tonight. this ingenius idea backfired as it is now only 11:30 and i have awoken from what turned out to be an evening nap. damn that internal body clock!

sometimes, i feel like my life is playing out like the end of a grey's anatomy episode. tonight is no exception. here i am...at the end of the day...with the perfect acoustic melody playing in my head, while i am internally flooded with sudden realizations, hilarious recaps, and thought-provoking questions only to be answered in next weeks episode. i realize that the world is truly perfect in it's imperfections and i rest the comfort that fact provides. i realize that friends in which your life once revolved around can dissapear completely in mere moments and i try to explain away how it could possibly be my fault. i wonder how improving one's life could seem so easy in thought, but proves to be so difficult in it's execution. i wonder how life and love can be such a wonderful pairing, but at times, somehow don't seem to coexist at all. i rest as the melody crescendos, not knowing what tomorrow will bring and what pickle i will inevitably get myself into. i rest with questions unanswered.

ut this is life.

this is good.

let the credits role.

It's not like they don't ask for it

3 wasted hours and 2 Diet Coke with Limes (or would it be diet cokes with lime??) later... I finally turned off the useless parade of scantily clad celebrities. Celebrities, most of which loosely use the term "musician" to define themselves. I have spent the last few hours watching the Video Music Awards.

My goodness.

Now, don't get me wrong... I understand the celebrity concept. I understand why the magazines I spend a very small yet somehow significant portion of my paycheck on take that concept and run with it . Its no different here than it is anywhere else in the world. The blokes across the pond watch Posh Spice and her soccer player/mannequin-look-alike husband take their morning jog through Picadilly Circus...not to mention keep close British eyes on the crazy cast of Royals. Greece tracks the destinations of their Paris Hilton dating shipping heirs and Germany keeps a tight reign on their Hasselhoff. And rightfully so, our America has her own nose stuck so deeply in the business of celebrities I can catch a whiff of Dolce and Gabbana on a breezy spring afternoon.

Its 'Dawson's Creek' with a story far too real for James VanDerbeek. The best part... much like Dawson's Creek... is that we can sit back, open a cold one, and watch that story unfold from our busted up Lazy-Boy recliners. Its like watching a good girl fight in the high school cafeteria or slowing to look for the body bag at the accident on the Eisenhower.
We keep our peace and they do all the hard stuff. When their "long-term relationship" ends after 3 weeks, we feel better about ours only lasting a month. When they gain a few around the middle, we feel a lot better about that Strawberry Cheesequake Blizzard reaking havoc on our lactose intolerant gullet.

I dont wish it for myself, that's for sure...being followed by flashbulbs and the like. But it works for Nicole Richie... probably because she has those unbelievably large sunglasses to shield her skinny pupils.

As much as I don't understand why one can justify a 8 figure salary for re-enacting a life that has already been lived (for free none the less!)... I support the tabloids. Although they cost 3.99 at the grocery counter, they are fun and if you dive into US Weekly or In Style (or any number of the other ones printing the exact same pictures as the first) knowing that it's no Washington Post... as is well. As long as you don't buy into all that madness... you'll be fine.

For now... I'm going to wash my face with the skin care regime Jessica Simpson promotes, spray my linens with the newest J-Lo perfume, and read the next chapter in my new Kaballah book....

Goodnight,
Tempa

If a picture paints a thousand words...

8:34pm~ The air was still damp with the noonday rain. Clouds stretched for what seemed like years as I sang aloud the words of my favorite hymn with the windows down. As I turned onto the street that leads me home, I was amazed. The sky, melancholy grey not minutes before, had somehow been painted with the colors of cocktails and summertime. The sun, who had been hiding her smile for the duration of the day, revealed her shine for only moments before tucking herself in under the blankets of dusk.

There are certain things we are all able to recall in our minds. Certain things that stand out as favorites during the descriptions of such "things"... the best ice cream you've ever tasted, the most amazing song you've ever heard...etc. Tonight, I fear I may have seen the most beautiful sunset. I say "i fear" for two reasons. One being that if tonight was in fact the most beautiful sunset, I have many nights to spend gallivanting under much less spectacular colors. And two... this particular pallet of pinks and oranges was viewed alone.

When I see something amazing... Whether it be beautiful, historical, artistic..... I can't help but think of it's grandeur. I suddenly form sentences full of words not used in the context of my normal day. As I visited the castles and caves in Europe, I would create lives and memories for the people who once called them home. When I am greeted with a familiar smell, I fall into a subconscious state of nostalgia. When I see a sunset, I wax poetic about it's beauty. I have learned that it may be my way of feeling like Im actually sharing that exact moment in time with someone besides myself.

Words have always been a friend of mine. Sentences, my counselor. I use them in many ways. Both foolishly and eloquently, my words have been the soft ground on which I land. I'll talk it over...talk it out... write it down... blog. Words, both mine and others', are what I turn to for strength, support, comfort, and a swift kick in the pants.

Words are the reason that Ill probably be single forever

Hello friends,
My plan was to spend some time song-writing this afternoon, but in thinking of song subjects... I thought of a blog subject instead. At least the guitar will be there when I'm done. So, instead of writing my own songs, I will listen to the beautiful music of "The Color Purple" and write my thoughts into the endless void that is the internet...

In life, there are moments that seem as though they never happened. A minute, an hour, a day... any span of time that, upon retrospect, you wish you could have somehow stepped out of yourself simply to watch. Whatever that moment was... it was just that beautiful.

If you pay close enough attention, sometimes you actually realize in the middle of one of those beautiful moments that youre part of a something amazing. You, at that exact moment in time, know that, by some pre-calculated process directed by time and circumstance, you have been placed in the middle of something magical. You have been directed by something larger than yourself. A first kiss, a first love, a first time you realize the world actually is beautiful and perfect (if only for that one moment in time.) You know, right in the middle of it, that it will be one of the moments that matter...and you also know its not going to happen...in the same way... ever again.

So... you take a snapshot, if your heart allows you the time. And hope to always remember exactly the way sun hit the hardwood as it streamed in through the venetian blinds, or the glitter of the gold in his eyes when he smiles, or the odd, yet somehow perfect, smell of fresh cut grass and anti-persperant.

Those pictures, with all their detail, are yours to keep and we learn to revisit them on rainy days. Or when the golds just look like brown. Or when anger somehow clouds your sense of smell.

Perhaps it's just because I fancy myself creative, or because I have a slight flair for the dramatic when dealing with loves lost and not yet found... but what I find most ironic about these "snapshots" is how easily they can provide a feeling comfort as well as a measure of regret... lost opportunities, broken hearts and irretrievable time.

Years ago, I fell in love for the first time. Now, I use those words lightly because although it was all I knew of love at the time... I have loved stronger since, and I stand to believe that there will be a love far stronger and more real than even this love I speak of now. Anyway... Many years ago, I fell in love for the first time. My heart would freeze when our hands would touch and I can't even explain to you what happened when it was not our hands, but our lips, that were intertwined. I recognized in the very moment when I first inhaled his kiss, that was a moment that mattered. I remember stopping to take a picture, knowing all too well that it would not, and could not, ever happen exactly that way again. It was overwhelming and tender and amazing and sad. I was seventeen, but it was all those things.

If I had to explain, even to myself, how I felt at that moment back in 1999, it would take a thousand words... or perhaps only a few. His name. The color of his hoodie. Aerosmith.

It's true these moments come few and far between. Life isn't chocked full of the moments that pause your soul. The vivid memories that cause your breath to vanish, or your heart to beat a different rhythm don't happen often. And that's as it should be. I think that the beauty of moments like those lie in their rarity. Only on occasion do we stand in awe of being in the right place, at the right time, taking part in something spectacular.

Only on occasion do we stand in awe of someone larger than ourselves.

Blessings,
Tempa