Dos.

The debut of 'OZ' was this past weekend and I hear it's all about how James Franco became the wizard of OZ. Yesterday marked my two year anniversary of when I found myself in the Emerald City as well, although not in the capacity of a wizard [some may beg to disagree and I'm okay with that]. My route didn't entail a yellow brick road, but it did involve courage, heart, smarts and the realization that there really is no place like home.

Okay, enough with the Wizard of Oz metaphor.

Moving is difficult. Especially when most of the people you care about are within a 15 mile radius of you. How conveniently spoiled I was to be able to get to one side of town to the other in 30 minutes or less in Portland "traffic." Ahh, I do miss what is considered traffic in Portland. So why remove myself from the coziest of comfort zones? I didn't move for a job, for a relationship or any concrete reason that most people that move have, except that every single day I woke up and did the same thing, I wondered what else I could be doing if I were somewhere else. After four years of feeling that way, I did something about it because pretty soon, I knew I wouldn't. 

So I did. I realized my fears that I had before moving wouldn't disappear; I'd just have to do things that challenged me which I wasn't really put in the position to do before. Here I was in a city where I had just as many friends as I had fingers [maybe less at the time], so I had to make an effort to involve myself. Or to do things alone. Not always did I want to have solo dates, which have been commonplace for me, but sometimes there wasn't an option. If I wanted to go try a new restaurant and my contact list of 5 had been exhausted, I 'd go alone. And what I realized about this is the silliness of what some of our perceptions are of being alone in public. Some people deeply fear the notion of having a sit-down meal by themselves. A book can be some of the best company [much better than someone sitting across from you that is more involved in their relationship with their Facebook application than in considering the conversation that you're having with them]. "Awkward" has become one of the most overused words in the English language. Maybe that's because we fear any scenario that is the slightest bit uncomfortable that we chalk it up with the word awkward and avoid it like Bloomberg does 16 ounce sodas. But I believe growth can come from discomfort.

One of these times I found myself in an unfamiliar environment, was when I voluntarily took a ballet class with my non-ballerina bod at 26. I hadn't taken ballet since I was probably 6 or 7. At that age you haven't developed your soccer thighs or much of any body, so it's much easier to maneuver yourself.
I had decided this class would be an excellent idea as it was marketed as an introductory ballet class, but when I walked in on the first day to a 96 pound Asian girl with her right leg held straight up in the air as her left foot rested on the ground, I knew this was anything but. This is one of those classes that people use as a 'warm-up' before their super-advanced night class, I thought. Needless to say when class started, they all broke into the "routine" while I fumbled in my new slippers I had sewn the night before and tried not to trip on any lose thread or an unexpected strap from my poor sewing job. It was an awful first day, but I went back every week to continually make a fool/improve my ballet game. By the last class that fell on my 27th birthday, I knew that damn routine.

There were actual lousy times where I had legitimate reason to be angry, like when my first apartment flooded 6 months after I moved in and I reconsidered everything. Seattle obviously hated me so much it wouldn't only rain outside, it would defy the very definition of shelter and rain inside my apartment to kick me out. Well played, Seattle. But I have more game than you and the Sounders [Go Timbers! Go Sounders? I'm so confused on my alliances].

I found a little place where I was sold by the rooftop view of the city. This is where I probably should be. And it was done. I'd found a new home and I love my little corner of the world. I love that I can greet it in the morning or evening with a skyline view or take my run down to Gasworks Park or walk somewhere for dinner or happy hour. This was the city life I had wanted.

[Home]

There are no greater messages here; no hypodermic theory that applies for all. There's nothing extraordinary about this story as I know people who have moved much further from their homes either willingly or forcefully. However, I do know that life is too short to wake up everyday with something weighing on you and consistently asking yourself "if." If you are staying a part of something for comfort and comfort only, reconsider. There is great beauty in taking risks and believing that you are awesome enough to seek and succeed in doing something new. It's even greater if you have people on your side that encourage and support [and visit!] you through a transition.

There is no place like home. And in case you hadn't noticed, Seattle can't be spelled without
'T-E-E-L-A.'

Consider this.

Last week while I was teaching my evening class, my lecture was interrupted by the raised hand of one of my students. I say "interrupted" as her question was completely unrelated to the lecture material.

Student: "Um, I noticed on our syllabus it says we have class on Valentine's Day."
Me: "Uh-huh." So far, this wasn't a question.
Student: "Well, I have a reservation. So would I be marked as absent if I'm not here?"
Me: "Yes. The college does not recognize it as a real holiday." ::waiting for laughter to subside:: "But you do have Monday off for President's Day."

In the following days, the student would continue to talk about her reservation to no one and to everyone, as she wondered aloud.
The time: 7:30.
The time she had to arrive: 7:15.
The location: The Space Needle.
The reservation maker: Her live-in boyfriend. "He didn't know I'd have class when he made it!"

It was then that I realized that people don't hate Valentine's Day, they hate people like her that rub it in their face in the middle of their seemingly harmless public speaking class with an irrelevant comment about the fact that she is in a relationship, possibly reminding others around her, that they are not.

Done. Next world problem to solve? I got this Obama.

People like my student, the overwhelming card displays at Target with oversized chocolate hearts the size of throw pillows that one person really shouldn't eat solo (shut down throw pillow sized chocolate heart sales, shut down obesity), Kay jeweler commercials, and that annoying woman at the office that sits next to you and gets a dozen red roses delivered to her, these are the reasons people loathe the arrival of February 14th. Who knows if your co-worker pulled a Cher from 'Clueless' and had those roses delivered to herself? There's really no way of knowing, people. Unless you check the handwriting on the card and see if it matches her signed timesheet.

That's why people hate Valentine's Day because if you are single, it seems like everyone else is in a relationship.

Single people, listen up. Just because somebody's Facebook status declares their love for their fiancee and their Instagram captures the candlelit dinner they're having from the Space Needle, doesn't mean that their life is better than yours or that everything is one gigantic-chocolate-heart-eating-happy-time (seriously, shut it down). Things are not always as they appear. Two years ago if you walked into my apartment on February 14th, it would have been natural to assume the red roses on my kitchen countertop were from a boyfriend, when in fact, they were roses I took from atop Papa's casket when we said goodbye to him earlier that day.

Things are not always as they appear.

Boyfriend or not, I can't be mad at a day, but I can be irritated with people...which is really no different than if it's February 13th or March 31st. It's just another collection of numbers that visits for 24 hours and passes just as its fellow brethren did the day before and will in the days after. You choose how you spend those hours; hating or loving. Celebrate the people you love and let them know about the space they fill with joy in your heart whether it's your girlfriend, husband, son, niece, or friend.

Take joy in the fact that you have a beating heart to be able to hate a day so much. And if that doesn't work, it will be February 15th before you know it. And you know what that means...half-off all candy day. Proceed with caution.

sundance.

In 2010, I took my first journey to Park City with one of my best friends for our inaugural trip to the Sundance Film Festival. I had signed up with extremely low expectations in the early fall to hopefully be a volunteer, so I was in complete shock when I opened an email in my inbox that said I'd been chosen. It was one of the top ten moments of my life being at that festival and I had to do whatever I could to feel this way again.

So I did the very next year.

And then two years after that.

I just returned from Round 3. With each trip, my fascination with the festival climbs to a higher level and I feel like I get to experience it from a different perspective as my traveling companions change. The environment itself, Main Street being at the base of a ski lift, is like a postcard.

I feel like I've been photoshopped into this picturesque town that only exists in coffee table books. I would pinch myself to see if it was a dream if my hands weren't chilled from the very real 3 degree weather at 6AM.

This year, the highlights came in a few different forms:

Fruitvale.
This film is based on the infamous shooting of an African-American man that was shot by a Caucasian police officer, on New Year's Eve in Oakland, California. While it's a true story this isn't a documentary, but a fictionalized depiction based on true events, where we see Oscar Grant's last day he spent on this Earth. The writer and director of this film, Ryan Coogler, is only 26 years old [which makes me feel particularly useless as I sit on my couch not creating anything even close to the caliber of this film]. He decided that this story needed to be told because even though he had no personal connection with Grant, he knew Grant. They shared a zip code. And as we know, we can be quite touched by the stories that we filter through on the news even if we don't have a personal relationship with someone, we have the capacity to be touched and moved. Everyone in that theater at the Library on Park Avenue, was touched. At the closing of 'Fruitvale' the only audible sound that could be heard were the sobs of the audience.
I was thrilled to see they won the Audience Award, Best Dramatic Film, and that Harvey Weinstein will make it possible for everyone to see this movie in this next year.
Keep this film on your Oscar watch for 2014, no doubt.

Newlyweeds.
Although not on the same level as 'Fruitvale,' the experience I had at this screening was unlike any other. At Sundance, after each film, there is a Q&A where the writer, director, producer and any cast that has chosen to attend the festival, come to the front and the audience is able to pose questions. I would later be coined by the producer of the film, "the girl that asked 5 questions." I have no shame in this because when else can you talk to the people behind the story and the people that it is told through? After "the girl that asked 5 questions" was done publicly asking questions, I had a one-on-one conversation with the Director/Writer and found myself talking to the lead lady about the meaning behind her tattoos, followed by a group photo of us all. You probably wouldn't be familiar with any of the names of this cast as I wasn't either, but I'm pretty excited to watch their careers evolve.

The Sightings.
Okay, okay, not gonna lie. While it is wonderful to be a part of the beginning of these actor's careers, I also have obnoxious reactions to the ones that I watch weekly. So when I was eating lunch with two of the ladies and I saw Dexter walking down the sidewalk, I stopped mid conversation and ran out of the restaurant. I ran/skip/hopped across the street, with no regard to traffic or ice spots and tapped Mr. C Hall on the shoulder. I told him I loved 'Six Feet Under,' [still holds the prize of BEST season finale ever in my humble opinion] and of course am obsessed with 'Dexter.' Because who doesn't idolize a serial killer? His response: "I should've worn the shirt," to which of course he was referring to his "kill shirt." At that point, I obviously handed my new iPhone 5 to a complete stranger and directed her to take a picture of me and my favorite serial killer. When I returned to the restaurant, most of the people sitting near us were looking at me [apparently my rapid departure caused quite the stir]. An older couple who apparently don't subscribe to Showtime asked me, "who was that?"

Later that day, Allison and I went to visit our friends waiting in line/wait to see if we could spot Paul Rudd after his film was done screening. And we did.

When he came out, he was walking pretty quickly and the fans were swarming him a bit. When it appeared that he wouldn't be stopping, I had to at least do something to attract his attention my way. So naturally I yelled, 'Clueless is my favorite movie!' At an independent film festival. He chuckled/smiled [who knows if he heard me or if he was just smiling for our flashing cameras] and went straight to his car. The fans booed him and walked away, angry that he didn't stop. Allison and I stood there looking at the action shots we were able to get and were discussing our next move, when it happened.
Paul Rudd gets out of his car and walks up to Allison and I.
Paul: Sorry guys, I thought I had an interview. [Yes, talking directly to us and only us]
Allison: [Silence]
Me: Incase you didn't hear me before, 'Clueless' is my favorite movie.
Paul Rudd: Thank you, I appreciate that.
Allison: [continued silence]
Me: Can we take a picture?
At this point the haters caught wind that Paul Rudd had reappeared and begun to descend upon us, cutting my intimate conversation with him short.
Pictures were taken and a memory made. Allison regained her ability to speak after we were a safe distance away from Paul.

Also spotted: Octavia Spencer, Michael Cera, Leslie Bibb, Stifler's mom, the backside of James Franco, some kid that was in the new 'Footlose,' Matthew McConaughey [ughhhh] and Rob Corddry.

Polygamy Porter was drunk, delicious food was consumed [Shabu!], friends were made waiting in lines for movies, and another perfect time was had [less for some flight delays and luggage troubles].

So if you're looking for a fantastic way to spend the third weekend of January next year or a cure for those post-holiday blues, I highly suggest taking a little jaunt to Park City. Guaranteed, once you have that first dance in the sun, you'll want that song to play forever.

Who is going with me in 2014?

traveling strangers.

It should come as a shock to no one [even if you don't know me in the 3D experience] that I absolutely love to travel. This morning I am embarking on a journey for my 3rd time to the Sundance Film Festival which has turned into my favorite winter get-a-way. Film. Snow. Music. Cozy bars & lounges. Stories being told in the theater and in the freezing lines awaiting to become a part of a film story, while writing your own. it is all fantastic. If there ever was an element for me, this is it.

I not-so-happily got out of bed at 3:30am to make travel day happen, but my morning grumps were over by the time I found my seat in 9A. I usually refrain from talking to people on planes in fear of being poisoned by their halitosis or long monologues of their career and what number business trip this is for them this year. However, there had been some talk by the airport workers of a reroute to Redmond, OR if it was too foggy to land in Spokane. We had some laughs about how little sense that made and the pilot confirmed minutes later that those airport workers were silly and we would obviously just come back to Seattle.

Spurred by this, the short-haired brunette lady in 9B, began to talk about her annoyance with an entitled "little blonde lady with too much money who was yelling at a TSA agent" as she hated the process. And technology. Then apparently she pulled out her iPhone.

She made me laugh and she appeared to be an advocate for good dental hygiene and she didn't have a laptop lying across her lap, so I assumed we were safe.

For our short jaunt from Western to Eastern Washington, we talked about our home of Seattle, her ill-suited 25 year marriage and how that led her to living in a MIL unit with her lesbian friends that are marrying this summer, their twin sons, and her battle with cancer. "At least I got some awesome wigs out of it!" She is cancer free now and I think that's awesome.

As we parted ways she told me what I had been thinking the whole time. "You know, I usually avoid talking to people on planes and usually just read whatever is on this," she said as she held up her Kindle. I looked down at my lap where my book was waiting to do the very same thing. "I really enjoyed talking to you today and I hope you have an amazing trip to Sundance and whatever other adventures you find yourself on." I told her I hope she makes it to Carnival in Brazil next year with her girlfriends.

I walked through the Spokane terminal and browsed through some titles of books I had no intention of buying and instead invested in my hydration, with a water. My clerk, a 58ish year old man asked to see my ID in compliance with my written request on my debit card. "What a great picture. But it doesn't do justice to the woman standing in front of me." Let me revisit the time I woke up and how awesome an unexpected comment like that can make a person feel while traveling. I black-girl-blushed by the sweet grandpa comment and told him how kind he was to have said that.

I hope you find yourself in your element on a fun adventure in the near future. And I hope you find some strangers that aren't egomaniacs and attend to their dental health.

...it was the worst of times.

I don't think the world is ending in four days, but people are certainly acting like it.

A few days after a guy shot up a movie theater in Colorado this past July, my brother and I went to see that same film at Clackamas Town Center in Oregon. For someone that enjoys frequent solo dates to the movies, I underwent a certain amount of anxiety that evening. I treated everyone as a potential threat-monitoring the subtle moves of others in the theater. Why did they get up and leave? Are they going to refill their already extra large popcorn or are they coming back to spray the theater with bullets? Should we leave before that happens? I always feel safer with my big brother, so unless he moved, I felt we would probably be okay.

Five months later, no more than a few hundred feet from that theater in Clackamas Town Center, a guy did walk in with an automatic rifle and killed 2 people and himself. My big brother was again there, but not seeing 'The Dark Knight Rises' with his little sister. He was helping people evacuate a terrifying situation and I'm sure they too felt safer by having him there.

Two days after that a guy wakes up on the other side of the country and murders his mom then heads to an elementary school to spend the last moments of his life killing 6 adults and 20 children. In an elementary school.

Movie Theater.
Mall.
School.

I spend a significant amount of time in each of these places.

I have no control over these types of things happening. I can't confine myself to my apartment and wait months for movies to be released to Netflix, or do all of my holiday shopping via Amazon, or not go to work and make a living. I can't live in fear. I refuse to live in fear. And I actually like people; I smile at them as I pass, compliment them on something they are doing or wearing, or have a conversation with people within my proximity while waiting in lines or sitting at adjacent tables at the coffee shop.

The day after the Clackamas shooting, I was grocery shopping with my niece. She was pushing her mini-cart along asking her Aunt T-T what else we needed, when an older man stopped to chat.
"My wife says they tend to eat better when they are involved in the shopping."
At this point, Olivia was between the man and me. Before responding, I quickly made myself the in between [wo]man, shielding Olivia from this probably okay stranger. We chatted quickly and Olivia and I continued shopping. Nothing happened. Everything was fine. But the way I treated that stranger wasn't in the normal way that Teela once had; he was near my niece and I was going to protect her from his nonexistent threat.

We are currently in a hypersensitive state and have climbed up and firmly placed our feet on our Facebook soap boxes and once there, have written paragraph upon paragraph about gun control. On one feed their gun control discussion went from that to abolishing slavery; the analogies have been ridiculous and endless:
"Are we going to get rid of cars since there are drunk drivers?"
"Are we going to get rid of knives since people can kill with those?"

First, all of these items have a primary purpose. The former, to travel from destination A to B, sometimes to C. The misuse of the car would be when a drunk driver operates that vehicle. The latter would be that we use knives to slice strawberries and to cut carrots. When a knife is misused, it can kill someone. But that's not the primary purpose of my butcher knife; I'm making dinner.

When we look at guns, what is the primary purpose? To kill. Whether you are hunting in the woods or chasing a bad guy, you shoot to kill. Even if you are shooting for "fun" at a gun range...what is that target shaped as? A coffee cup? An iPhone? No it's a sketch of a human being and you are aiming for that human's head. Their heart. There is no other purpose of a gun, like there are for my knives and our cars. That is a fact.

We have this second amendment right to protect our property and family. The not-so-subtle subtext of protect would mean that there is a potential threat and that threat would be answered with your gun. The reason these analogies that people are reaching for fail, is because there aren't enough common like things between guns and cars and guns and knives. These commonalities must exist in order for an analogy to carry any power. That's how an analogy works.

[Don't worry. I am not going to discuss gun control, there's enough of that at your reading disposal]

The deeper issue we should not just be having a conversation about but doing something about, is treatment. How are we treating each other? How are we treating that child who shows signs of mental illness? Will we continue to only care when another tragedy transpires and discuss them as "off" or a "loner" instead of being proactive? Are we helping and giving adequate attention to them, or handing them a pharmaceutical drug as a way to curb their tendencies? Are we ostracizing them at school and in cyberspace? Parents, if you can't do it yourself, seek help. There is no shame in talking to a professional and asking for help. If that thought brings you shame, I'm confident that it is more manageable than the shame in the aftermath of a mass shooting. That is if you are not the first victim and live to remember the story.

One of the most powerful things I have heard from one of the grieving fathers that lost his sweet little Emilie was about whether he felt anger toward the man who took his daughter's life. He said, "From what we've learned he was someone that was struggling with something that was very, very dark and something that he struggled with mightily.  He struggled with something different than the struggles I have in my life and so I can't have any judgement toward him for those things he might have been fighting."

I don't think it was time for his sweet Emilie's story to end. Nor was it for Grace, Benjamin, Noah, Josephine, Olivia and their classmates.

We have to do better.

Obama speaking at Vigil

Love note to the Birthday Girl.

 

"How wonderful life is, while you're in the world."

We met two years ago in a hospital room in Northwest Portland. I broke speed limits and cut off angry drivers as I battled my way north on I-5 from Corvallis once I got the call that we would soon have a new family member. To my suprise, I was the first family member to the hospital. Apparently, this novice auntie was the only one that didn't get the memo that these things take time. 

22ish hours [if memory serves]. I do not pride myself in patience. There is nothing I am more ill-suited for.

Here we are many hours later, celebrating her second year. I had many questions that day as I stared at this new face about what she would like and dislike, how she would behave, what questions she'd ask, how her voice would sound. And not that all have been answered, but it's been fun discovering some of the ones I asked and some that I had not even thought of. In honor of her birthday, I'd like to share some of these discoveries and blank spaces she has filled in.

I love her presence. [Even if she sleeps through 2 hours of her 2nd birthday party].

I love that she causes collisions on her train set, then walks seven-feet away to her play kitchen and makes imaginary eggies.

I love that she can rock her baby dolly to sleep and once dolly's dreams take over, she'll play soccer with me.

I love that she can help find Nemo and explore with Dora in the same afternoon [And that when we FaceTime she immediatelys asks "where's Nemo?" and I have to show her my DVD case that I now keep at arm's reach].

I love that she calls me T-T and says 'yuv you.'
I love that she exists.

I love this face.

 

Happy 2nd birthday, baby bear. You are SO loved.

The Facebook Political Post.

Everyone has something they detest seeing on their Facebook newsfeed:

• People’s dinner they prepared or cupcakes they baked and decorated.

• Photos of their children.

• Obsessive play-by-plays of someone watching a sporting competition as if they’re vying for an official announcer position from their couch.

• More of the above but making calls as a replacement referee.

• Inspirational quotations that they’ve googled to fit their emotions of that day.

• Trending Youtube videos.

• Check-ins at 24 Hour Fitness.

• #Hashtags.

• Photos of their adorable nieces and nephews.

• Exceptionally vague messages about bad things happening that begs the question to their “friends” to ask “what’s wrong?!!”

• Engagement rings.

• Ultra sound photos [more photos of children].

And of course, the political rant.

For some reason, I hardly hear people openly outraged about most of this list, save for the political rant: “Keep your politics to yourself.”

 Or my favorite, “Your political rant isn’t going to change anyone’s mind,” which I’ve seen on a number of Facebook walls.

Applying this equal logic, do you think your post will inspire my non-Betty-Crocker-baking-self to bake a fresh batch of your special pumpkin cupcakes? And furthermore, will I find myself at 24 hour fitness post-novice baking experience to work off those calories because of your recent check-in at said gym? Probably not. Unless I’m stalking you. Which I'm not of course...

Note: I may however ask you where you bought your cute scarf in the self-portrait you've just posted, though.

The status update window specifically asks “what's on YOUR mind?” And in this wonderful country of ours, we have the freedom of speech to say what it is we choose. We also have the equally beautiful opportunity to block posts by friends that we find unappetizing or to unfriend them altogether. I’d suggest the latter, although it could be really awkward if you actually see the person. Which let’s be honest, you probably won’t. Unless again, I'm stalking you as you have just checked in at a bar 2.75 miles away from me...But I swear, I'm not.

 Post what you want to post. I won't criticize you (unless I'm discussing broader themes of the Facebook post on my blog, of course). If this is the way we socialize now and is a way we are able to speak to many people via one medium, then let's take advantage of this spectacular opportunity to engage in intelligent conversation. I’d much rather see people engaged and conversing about the political process; something that has bearing on our education system, employment, women’s rights, equality for everyone no matter who it is they choose to kiss good morning or goodnight, rather than be updated on what nonsensical thing Honey boo boo or her illiterate mother said. I don't care if they don’t align with my views; I care that you care. We learn from discussion and debate and since the world is becoming less physically interactive where we don't actually ask a friend to go to Starbucks for some Hazelnut Hot Chocolate, use Facebook as your coffee shop.

So let's chat. Or get a real cup of coffee. You bring those cupcakes you keep posting about.