Literally Leah

sharing is caring, so I obviously care a lot.

The best day of my “life” August 19, 2009

Filed under: Identity,Uncategorized — The Under-Analyst @ 12:50 am
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Craigslist,  you apparently inspire me.  It had been a while (I have my oh so solid 9 to 5 these days) since I had visited the website and found myself clicking under Jobs in Writing (weird).  I came upon an interesting post;  A woman explained that she was creating a book of 50 some individual stories of “the best day of my life.”  She said that it could be fiction or fact  and those that would be chosen for her book would receive a whopping $25.  

While the promise of such a large sum of money was motivation enough I found myself seriously contemplating what my best day of life would look like.  Sex with George Clooney?  Playing with a wild Panda in the jungles of China?  Witnessing the return of Christ?  The options were endless. And then I began to type…  I am surprised by what I composed, I guess I thought there’d be more excitement in my best day, but then again a lot of happiness comes from comfort. 

cottage

I awake to sunshine creeping through my window.  I can hear the gentle sounds of the ocean waves outside just as a teapot begins to whistle from the kitchen.  I feel rested and relieved to have slept in.  I am lying in an incredibly large sleigh bed with bright white linens smelling of lavender and eucalyptus. I am tempted to stay under my blankets when the smell of breakfast creeps through my door. I throw the covers back and commit to leaving my sanctuary as my stomach begins to growl.   My house is quaint with wooden floors that feel cool against the bottoms of my bare feet.  Books line the bright red shelves in my living room and I stare longingly at them thinking of how many I have yet to read.  I enter my Spanish themed kitchen where all my family has gathered, early risers.  I open the large verandah doors and carry mismatched plates and bowls to the oversized blue wooden picnic table overlooking the beach below.  I am so incredibly happy to have my family here with me.  It was a long flight for some but everyone seems in good spirits and I feel confident they have rested well within the walls of my cottage home. 

picnic tableWe are sharing stories, laughing and poking fun at one another.  My brother draws an imaginary line between us on the table with his large calloused finger and says, “this is my side, don’t cross it.”  I use my elbow to discreetly inch my fork over the line, ever so slowly.  I immediately howl in pain and then start laughing as my brother pinches the under part of my upper arm.  He then throws his bear like arms around me and says, “you’re lucky mom’s here…”  I roll my eyes and stare lovingly at his son who is playing with little wooden farm animals in the grass near my feet.  My nephew’s blonde curls shade his little eyes from the sun.

We put on our swimming suits and venture into the warm turquoise sea.  My little sisters are pretending to be sharks, taking turns attacking whoever is near.  I slink back to the safety of the soft sand and join my nana who is still snacking on breakfast leftovers while thumbing through an old National Geographic.  Just then I hear a loud bark from the house and realize I have forgotten about poor little Ralphie, my lazy but sweet bulldog.  I run to let him out and he dashes past me into the water making my sister in law squeal.  Mom asks if the salt water burns his eyes.  I simply shrug and point to him lapping up the water, obviously happy.  I remind everyone that the hotel they will be staying in tonight is also close to the ocean so there will be plenty of time for the beach this week.  

I get out of a long hot shower and dry myself off with a plush white towel.  I see Gunther Marie dozing on my bed.  He is so adorable and I am immediately climbing under the covers, nuzzling my face into his fur.  He smells of trees and dirt and I know that he has had a busy morning.  His small purrs lull me into a light sleep. 

horses

I dream of horses in prairie fields.  Hundreds of horses, grazing under a setting sun.  I am trying to decide which one I will ride but it is too difficult to choose.  I finally pick a gentle grey gelding with big brown eyes and long delicate eyelashes.  I put my face close to his hoping he will sense my good nature.  His soft nose smells of hay and salt cubes.  I run my hands along his coarse mane and onto his back.  There is neither saddle nor stepping stool and I am wondering how I am going to get onto this horse. 

mountains

My family has gone to their hotel and I am on my way to meet friends for a late afternoon lunch.  We are seated on a patio overlooking the mountains.  I am trying not to choke on my glass of Pinot Grigio as a girlfriend tells us of her latest romantic fling.  We are laughing so loudly that I am sure we are offending the other patrons.  I look forward to these lunches every week.  I’m eating the Chicken Walnut Salad with Goat Cheese and it is perfect.  I squeeze a lemon into my water and agree with a recent movie critique.  Ok, I will go ahead and order the Berry Truffle Cheesecake desert because after all I only had a salad, right?  After two hours and three glasses of wine I am officially exhausted from the laughter and excitement.  I am ready to head to the spa.

I am in heaven.  I just had the most amazing facial and my fingers and toes are beautifully manicured.  I am checking in with my mom to see how everyone is doing and rushing home because I have lost track of time and the love of my life is waiting for me.  I blare Cat Stevens and roll all the windows down allowing the wind to cool my tanned skin.  The sun is almost gone, hidden behind the looming mountains casting shadows on the road ahead of me.  There is an old abandoned house that I pass on this route.  I like to stop here because of a big oak tree with a wooden swing in the front yard. swingBare feet pointed to the dimly lit clouds, I throw my head back and feel the weight of my body as I go higher and higher.  All I need is five minutes and I am suddenly young, free… happy.

I come home to find the faint sound of jazz music and clanking dishes.  I enter the house and see candles, over a dozen, all lit throughout the dining room.  His voice is barely audible above the music so I move in closer.  He turns the corner, wearing my yellow apron with lace, which makes me smile. He leans in, gives me a kiss and then offers up a wooden spoon with sauce on it for me to taste.  It is delicious and spicy. 

We sit on the hammock out back, legs draped over his lap I gently sip my tea as he hums quietly.  The breeze smells of rain and there is distant thunder from the North.  We are trying to find constellations but I only know the Big Dipper and Orion so the game is quickly over.  He tells me how much he loves me and suggests we take a trip somewhere next month.  I immediately agree and squeeze his hand in excitement.  “What about Fiji?” I offer.  “Wherever you want to go, we’ll go.” He answers.  My eyes are getting heavy as I suggest the various perfect destinations.  He pulls me up with his strong arms and I remind him to turn off the porch light.  

lovers

We make love and listen to the thunderstorm that has finally reached us.  I am convinced the rain is our very own love song as it hits the windows and roof.  Sleep comes easily and my last thought before entering dream world is that this has been the best day of my life.

 

Lady Fortuna and a Visit from Marmee August 12, 2009

Filed under: Identity,Magic,Spirituality — The Under-Analyst @ 9:49 pm
Tags: , ,

My mother finally came to visit me last weekend. I’ve been living in California now for seven months and was starting to wonder if she was ever going to come (she never visited me while I was living in Spain).  I understand that she hates to travel… but I am her daughter, come on (besides… who hates travel???).

I took her down to Venice to see Muscle Beach and the freaks.  As we
 walked down the boardwalk mom stopped and excitedly yelled, “Oh my god
 leah, let’s get our palms read!” 

I had heard of the Venice Beach Palm Reader. A friend of mine claimed she was not only affordable but extremely accurate as well (apparently she foresaw the demise of a mutual friend’s relationship to some jerk). 

I shrugged and quickly 
jumped on board. palm-reader

We walked closer and examined the sign advertising, “palm readings for $10.”  Above the sign was a small staircase leading up to a little balcony with two chairs and a table overlooking the strand. We climbed the stairs eager and giddy like adolescent boys entering a brothel.  The landing was empty  so we turned to the sliding screen door on our left.  A dark sheet draped on the other side of the screen blocked our view into the old apartment.  Mom gently called out, “hello,” and knocked against 
the aluminum frame.  A funny little dog with a cone around his neck burst through a small tear in the screen near our feet. The door slid to the left and behind the dark sheet a middle aged blonde woman emerged wearing a sleeveless, Caribbean-looking 
muumuu. She took a seat in one of the chairs and asked who wanted to 
go first.  Being brave, I hastily volunteered my mother. 

She asked her if she was right-handed and grasped her wrist to examine the fleshy palm.  Mom was informed she would have a long life, at least 80, (this pissed her off and she wouldn’t stop complaining about 
the injustice of a long, old, hard life the rest of the weekend).  The psychic 
continued her “reading,” remarking on mom’s broken love line.  She guessed my mother had been married twice. Mom politely corrected her with, “actually it’s number four.”  The woman nodded and replied, “yes, but 
for some reason I’m getting the sense that two of those you really don’t 
count.”  My mom nodded vigorously, laughing at her own expense and gushing, “I always say that!” Lady
 Fortuna then announced, “the guy you are married to now is a good man, 
why are you so hard on him?”  This left my mom looking stunned and gaped-mouthed (we had just been going over what a nitpick she was with him). Wow, so far I was convinced this lady was the real deal.  She then said that she could tell my mother was an intuitive woman who needed creativity in her life.  She segued this into career talk and told mom to never go back to the cube (again a subject we had been mulling over for several weeks).  


My turn!


She immediately tells me that I have a young spirit and asks me how old I am. I tell her, “25.”  She looks shocked and proceeds to tell me that my energy is still around 17 and that I have a hard time growing up.  “Marmee did you hear that?” I call out.  Mom nods in agreement.  The Palm Reader doesn’t mention anything about how long I’ll live, I take this to mean I’ve got a rather short life ahead of me (I bet mom is jealous).  She then tells me that I love to travel.
 I agree but am skeptical because doesn’t everyone love to travel (my mother not included)??  The Mystical Maiden goes on to say that she sees me writing, possibly doing journalism.  She says that I should be traveling and writing. Obviously! I tell her that I am in fact a writer with my very own blog.  She doesn’t look impressed and continues on with her reading.  She tells me that my current boyfriend isn’t “the one.”  She says that I should be dating, but not necessarily sleeping with any of them (I later find out why). There will be a couple of relationships before I find “the one.”  She says I will marry in the next 5 to 8 years and that I am extremely fertile so I need to be careful of any unexpected pregnancies… eeks.  She definitely sees children in my future, at least two although I may have anywhere from 2-10 children.  10!!???

How cruel to leave 10
 orphaned children after I die from a short life-line.  
Good thing my mom is going to live so long, someone will have to take care of the kids when I’m gone.

Thank you Lady Fortuna, best deal in town; $10 fortune telling and blog material to boot.

 

Dear Diary… July 13, 2009

Filed under: Identity — The Under-Analyst @ 9:41 pm
Tags: , ,

Aaaahhh what would a girl do without her little diary?  Granted as a mature woman I now refer to my daily grumblings as “journaling.”  Cute.  Nonetheless, I have diaries/journals dating back to the second grade.  Yes, the entries of an 8 year old are quite fascinating… “nana ate the last orange… my brother sucks…emily frank is a bitch…”  Yeah? I know, right?  I was calling girls bitches in the 2nd grade?  I was obviously never THAT naive.  While most of the teenage high school entries revolved around my latest crush my college pages usually recounted the previous drunken evening and my everlasting state of insanity.  

So what do my post-college  memoirs contain?  Curious to revisit my recent years of wisdom I leafed through today’s entries in both 2008 and 2007.  deardiary

July 13, 2008 (living in Barcelona) 1 year ago:

Waking up to such an intense, strange dream…

Brad Pitt? What!  Yes, Brad, I think we are together or at least dating, but do not know each other well.  He brings up/reminds me that I’m such a strong person because I’ve lost both my mom and dad, and I’ve forgotten that my mom’s dead so I freak out and remember and then I’m crying so very hard and nanny is there and she is crying and so I woke up today thinking 2 thoughts:

1. Brad Pitt is hot

2. Oh God, Mom never die, it’d ruin me. 

The RAT TAIL, Barcelona, what is this!?  I desperately want a pair of sharp scissors to run around the city slaying these horrific long lonely strands on the back of both men and women’s heads.  I am the Rat Tail Slayer.

July 13, 2007 (Des Moines) 2 years ago:

Bender today, was doing so good what happened?  Just watched a movie, I am feeling worthless.  I need to do something with my life.  Peace corps? Shower? What the fuck did Anne Frank do all day?  Poor girl.  Remember that place?  Amsterdam, London, getting shitty.  I think I’ll end up a crackwhore.  hhmm A boyfriend in Vegas, interesting direction to take but definitely refreshing, running again, feels good.  Flying to Vegas Wednesday, wait twice in 3 weeks is that too much of sin city?  Sick of the bar scene, learning to be by myself.  How can I ever be someone’s wife? Someone’s mother? Eeewww.  

 

Conclusion:  Ummmmm,  maybe “wisdom”  wasn’t the most accurate word to describe my post-college journaling… but there’s always my late 20’s, surely I’m not destined to be Bridget Jones…  Right?  

Shit.

 

The “Itch”… June 18, 2009

Filed under: Identity,Travel — The Under-Analyst @ 9:03 pm
Tags:

poormeI’m officially frustrated.  It’s that time again… time when the current situation isn’t good enough and I have to find something better out into the unknown, well sorta.

It’s a curse, a god awful curse, in which for some reason I cannot simply stay put in one city, have a job, a great social life and be content.  I blame my semester abroad, damn you London.  Before then I seemed to be a perfectly happy resident of Indianola, Iowa.  While I dreamt of traveling it didn’t interfere with my day to day life and happiness.  Only after London did the itch start, well, itching.  Sooo I concentrated on Barcelona and patiently awaited that time.  

 I was living in Barcelona with trips to Europe and the Mediterranean Sea and seven months in I started to want something different.  Who the hell wants anything different than Barcelona??  Granted the metro is terrible and some Catalans are rude but in general… cheap wine, amazing food, siesta mentality, cheap living, a hub of international travelers, great weather and amazing art and architecture.  But, NO… I needed something different.

The original plan was to go home over christmas, get my fill of the fam and back home friends and then ship off to South America, where I would be volunteering for approximately 3 months.  I ended up securing a volunteer position in Costa Rica at a bird sanctuary (yea, a little weird).  So now you’re asking yourself, wait, I don’t remember Leah being in Costa Rica….  That’s because in January I flew out to LA to meet the novio and had an incredible time and re-united with my bestie, Kelly (a roommate from London).  I talked to the boyfriend and we both said, why not LA now?  

So here I am… it’s June, and I live in Santa Monica LA CAli. I’m 10 blocks from the ocean, 6 from the promenade and living in an adorable house with two amazing ladies.  So what’s wrong now Leah??  I’m ITCHY… so damn ITCHY.hermosabeach

What do I want?  Everything…

South America is pretty much out at the moment, they don’t pay enough there and I need to at least be able to send $350 back monthly to pay that stupid bitch Sallie Mae.  

For a while I dreamt of Thailand, but after traveling there I feel as if that’s checked off the list.

I have dreams of the blue, green sea… a rusty bicycle and cheap mexican beer. Anyone? Anyone?meandbikehermosa

Europe, damn you Europe and your EU passport working visa laws…  I could always go back to spain and work illegally, teaching, but I prefer to do something new and adventurous and possibly legal.

Ok, Hawaii??  What the hell can I do in Hawaii?  They already know English! They probably have fat clinics there that I can work for, but let’s face it, one only needs to work at a fat clinic as a receptionist once in her life.  Oh my god, I’m doomed to be a traveling waitress or something for the rest of my life because I won’t stay put long enough to create any sort of career!! And I keep getting older!! NOooooooOOooooo 

Korea, they have hefty salaries for teaching, but am I ready to commit to a whole year there?  A whole year anywhere?  

As I type this I literally have hives (yes, that I keep scratching) all over my legs, stressing out over where to go to next and the necessity of a plan. WHERE TO NEXT…?

There’s always my mom’s basement.

i look for the answer from the wise sea...

i look for the answer from the wise sea...

 

Organized Meditation… sure why not? May 26, 2009

Filed under: Identity,Spirituality — The Under-Analyst @ 10:48 pm
Tags: ,

Living in my new home here in Santa Monica has numerous perks.  My favorite so far is the front porch and yard!  Yes, YARD.  To everyone back home, this means very little, but I warn you; do not take your large backyards for granted!  The next time you curse outloud because it’s time to mow the lawn just remember that some people who live in overpopulated and polluted areas of this country are dying to have some grass to cut.  But back to perks…

I share my beautiful hardwood floor crafstman home with Lola del Fresno (perk). Who?  Only an amazing artist from Madrid who keeps my Spanglish in check and fills my I miss Spain void.  Besides taking me to amazing gallery openings and introducing me to new worldly friends she has also offered me opportunities to participate in things I would have previously ran from such as the topic for today, meditation.

Lola attends a Siddha yoga spiritual center regularly to participate in some good old fashioned chanting and meditation. I wouldn’t ever dare to scoff at spiritual gatherings (my karma is dodgy enough as it is) but I do admit to being somewhat apprehensive.  I had already learned long ago that organized religion of sorts was not for me, sorry church of latter day saints, but nevertheless I have always believed in freer relaxed forms of spirituality.  It was only a few days before discussing mediation with Lola that I had heard a program on NPR on my way home from work that was a report on the difference in brains from those who meditate and those who didn’t.  They scanned brains (brain xrays?) of monks, casual meditators and regular unspiritual joes like myself.  The results were crazy!  These meditators had developed a completely different part of their brains!  Granted, I assumed I wasn’t necessarily using all of my brain, but now I was a little bit jealous.  I wanted an enlarged left frontal lobe too!

Sooooo Lola tells me that the chanting and meditation derives from Hindu tradition and that I was welcome to come with on a Tuesday and give it a try.  I was super excited and said, “Si”!  I announced to my co-workers that Tuesday that they should expect a better person to come in on Wednesday.  I called my Nana who had lived a short while in an Ashram and announced proudly that I was going to sit cross legged in a Siddha center. 

We arrived that evening a little late and as I entered the center I could already hear singing from the temple area.  The “center” was beautiful with Indian (?) decorations and incense smells. We took off our shoes and put them in a cubby.  We entered the temple, I followed Lola’s lead and grabbed some pillows and headed down to the front.  There was a speaker who described her first time following the old yogi guru Babbaa(sp?).  A choir of chanters sat cross legged in front of microphones and a band (cello, flute, bongos and guitar) sat to the right.  A large photo of guruMai was hanging from the center ceiling. Lola had already explained the guru story of how after Babba died then Mai became the next guru and teacher.  

We started chanting/singing and since it was the same phrase over and over again I caught on quickly.  Om Namah Shivaya…  I sat cross legged and repeated the chant, the lights were dimmed and I closed my eyes.  I kept chanting and the instruments were so beautiful, especially the cello.  The chanting went on for what seemed like forever and my legs were officially asleep.  I was starting to get angry because I wanted to get to the meditation already, but I was desperately trying not to be angry because I didn’t want GuruMai to sense my negative energy, besides I had high hopes of reaching enlightenment during mediation.  

Finally the chanting was over and it was time to mediate.  We were instructed to repeat the mantra in our heads with our breathing, om namah shivaya, in, om namah shivayah, out.  I did this and tried to ignore my now numb legs.  I felt good, in fact I felt great.  No intruding thoughts, just breath and mantra.  My spine tall, I took deep breaths and really felt my body as I meditated.  Then suddenly it was over.  Wait, what?  Why was it so short?  Why did we waste so much time chanting?  I’m not exactly sure how long we did meditate for (they tell me sometimes you lose track of time, however I doubt my skills are up to that level of elapsing time).  I stretched my legs, the best feeling in the world after sitting indian style  for what seemed like hours.  We exited the temple and Lola asked me how it was.  Good?  I didn’t get a jolt of enlightenment but I didn’t dislike it either, I was now legitimately intrigued.   

That night I slept well.  The next day I wasn’t a better person but I definitely felt like I had done something new and exciting.  I am  going again.  I am determined to enlarge my brain part that apparently is non existent in my current non spiritual state.

 

Caged Bird… May 21, 2009

Filed under: game shows,Identity,Jobs,Uncategorized — The Under-Analyst @ 11:03 am
Tags: , ,
 E-mail to a friend…
 
Sorry about the static as I entered my large parking structure for the Flynt buildings’ working slaves. Yes, true, I work in the Larry Flynt building in Beverly Hills where apparently his office on the tenth floor is made of gold…right. Aaaahhhhh how drastically my life has changed now that I have responsibility. Once, I was carefree, free to roam the calles of LA, free to audition for ridiculous game shows, free to spend hours blogging.  Now I am glued to a reception desk with flourescent lighting ruining my blessed
complexion as I longingly look out our large windows onto the beautiful streets of 90120 (Dillon, Brandon Kelly, is that you?).  I spend my hours using a falsetto voice, appeasing patients and acting excited to see 
strangers with weight problems. I find joy in a label maker and choosing which highlighter color to use on a patient’s chart. 
Oh give me freedom, give me the sea, give me cutoff shorts and the mediterranean.  My creative juices drown in agony. I must stay positive, clutch my label maker and know that soon my dream career will materialize in the flesh. 
 
Of course the Singing Bee calls me now.  Taunting me with casting calls, laughing at my caged existence. I tell them I cannot make it and I watch as my lifelong dream of singing incorrect lyrics in front of millions vanishes into the abyss of unlived glories.  Instead I lend my voice to the waiting room, casually singing to the soft arias of classic light rock.
 
Someone once asked me, “Leah, why does the caged bird sing?” 
 
Because someday that bird will be freed and go on the Singing Bee game show with Joey Fatone, and when that day comes, this little bird will be ready!
 

The Midwestern Biological Clock… May 1, 2009

Filed under: Identity,Uncategorized — The Under-Analyst @ 6:26 pm

It is understood that time zones exist.  Here in the good old US of A we have several of these time warps.  In fact I still have yet to master the television advertisements that claim 9E8C, pacific blah blah, what?  Just tell me when the damn show is on!  Thank god for the Guide button on the remote. But my incompetence is not the topic at hand today, for once.  

It has happened.  Another ex boyfriend is engaged.  Okay, I use the word “ex” loosely, I am pretty sure we might have dated for two months.  Regardless, this kind of crap freaks the hell out of me.  I said, “another” because I already have one that is married and possibly others at this point by now.  wedding21

My first college sweetheart; aahhhh, the typical university love story… made out at a keg, conducted regular walks of shame and then eventual coupledom.  Long story short, we dated for a year and a half, maybe two years.. hhmm my memory fails me, but I don’t remember a 2 year anniversary present so must have been 1 and half. Anyways, after the break up things were friendly, but space was given.  He told me he had found someone new. Great.  I had found a few someones new too. All was good.  Then, one day, while looking at the Facebook recent album uploads I saw it, “Blahablah and Blahdblah’s Wedding!”  WHAT???  Ok, deep breath, he was a few years older anyways.. but really!?  Crap. I wasn’t prepared for ex boyfriends to make nuptials, let alone have photos in my face.  

After I got done crying.  “good for him, he deserves the best… why meeeeeee?  We broke up for a reason. He looks so happy. I like her dress… my dress will be prettier, that bridesmaid is fat, what a stupid… I mean god that is just precious, so so SO happy for everyone…”  You get the picture.  So, let’s see, I was 23 then. He must have been 26. 

Within the next year numerous couples I knew tied the knot (some of which I wasn’t invited to, ahem).  A sorority sister here, a highschool friend there…  And now it is a normal thing for me to search for an old friend and forget their last name has changed.  And don’t get me started on babies…  wedding1

While “young” marriage happens around the world.  It is undeniable that the Midwest has the largest percentage of these early beginnings.  I can’t blame them, I know what it’s like.  You can only go on the dating scene for so long, before a) some reputation acts as your predecessor and/or b) you or your friends have slept with all the good ones. 

So what happens if you don’t get married?  You move to Barcelona and then maybe LA (just an example).  Somewhere where you’re not a Spinster at 27.    I try to remind myself that 25 isn’t old.  That I’d be miserable in a Townhome in Urbandale.  That I wouldn’t be flying around the world with my current and wonderful novio.  But I would be lying if I said that deep down inside, my Minnesota clock wasn’t occasionally screaming at me to pay attention to my ovaries and to hurry back to the midwest while there’s still a chance. 

So… congratulations on the engagement.  And congratulations to all the others that are heading in that direction. And thank you Facebook for being my number one source when it comes to formers moving on.

 

My job title, My identity… crap. April 23, 2009

Filed under: Identity,Jobs — The Under-Analyst @ 4:36 pm

Something I have become increasingly aware of during my search for employment is how much “titles” really matter. I am drawn to exotic sounding positions such as “Creative Consultant.”  What the hell is that?  I don’t know but I’m definitely going to find out and would most definitely be happy with that title on my business card.  I just can’t bear the idea of telling people I’m an “Administrative Assistant” or “Receptionist”  or “Office Assistant” or “Front Desk Representative.”  I didn’t got to college for four, ahem, five years to have some boring, average, unimpressive job title.  I mean I was “Director of Operations” in Barcelona, Spain all last year!  How can I go from that to “JR. Clerical Representative.”   Who is in charge of creating these blase status defining names anyways?  

Example: I am a “blogger.”  

No Way Jose… I’m not some ordinary fool on the computer whose dear diary entries waste internet space.

I am a “Pro-Bono Word Artist.”  

When I used to collect old paintings, weavings and other decoratives from thrift stores, alleys and garage sales, I thought the “work” that I was doing deserved a fresh title. 

Leah Josephson, “Odd Art Enthusiast.”

Nice, huh?

The point is, do I really want to work for a company who stifles my creative growth by applying a lousy, uninspired identity?  Well, at this point, yes because I need a job.  But as soon as this recession is over, I will regain my principles and answer, NO.

As I skim the Craigslist postings one more time I am desperately searching for that perfect job title to jump out at me.  Nope, not “Kennel Attendant.”  

Leah Josephson, “Hopelessly Unimpressed.”

 

p.s. the singing bee people e-mailed me to inform me I have been chosen for the final round, they’ll be presenting my folder to the producers… oh dear.

 

The Modern Day Dowry March 26, 2009

Filed under: Identity,Uncategorized — The Under-Analyst @ 7:11 pm

Maybe a couple hundred years ago my father would have set aside a dozen sheep and rights to our summer home.  Mom would have provided me with precious embroidery tools, an ivory brush and lace nightgown.  This would all come in handy when it was time to present my suitor with a handsome dowry.  

A dowry was basically an investment into the marriage, giving recognition to the husband that he would indeed be taking care of the bride throughout their future.  It also gave the bride the right to re-inherit her dowry if her husband were to die, leaving her alone and uncared for.  While it is still common practice for the bride’s parents to pay for the wedding (although that has quickly been changing and for good reason), dowries are out of the question.  In fact now a days a dowry is quite the opposite…  especially in the midst of a crisis.  The following is my dowry advertisement:

 

Bride Available!

dowry

  

SWF (de-flowered), Non Smoker, Dowry includes; 0 property, 0 inheritance, $25,000   in student   loans and $500 in credit card debt.

  

On the plus side, loves children and animals!! 

Call today to schedule a showing.

 

Not exactly the best deal, however, the part about loving kids and fuzzy creatures is totally a selling point. I had no idea that dowry giving was still a common practice in many Asian countries, but thanks to my solid source Wikipedia.com, I am privy to dowry knowledge galore. Here is one interesting dowry fact;

“In India, where a few incidents of Bride burning and dowry death acquired notoriety, the payment of a dowry has been prohibited under The 1961 Dowry Prohibition Act in Indian civil lawand subsequently by Sections 304B and 498a of the Indian Penal Code (IPC).”

Yes, bride burning… the ancient tradition of dousing your bride in kerosene and lighting her on fire due to her family’s refusal to add more to her dowry.  Romantic to say the least.  

Conclusion:

My dowry sucks.  In fact I really don’t have a dowry.  But on the positive side, since my husband-to-be will know this up front, I should (fingers crossed) be safe from the ‘ole bride burning.

 

Are you an Ameripean? March 22, 2009

Filed under: Identity,Travel — The Under-Analyst @ 11:22 pm

Ameripean    I want to be European.  

It’s not that I wish to denounce my American citizenship (in fact I am both grateful and happy holding a U.S. passport) but rather it’s a desperate desire to belong to a historical and culturally superior (yes I said superior, ish) legion of countries.  Sometimes I have fantasies in which the USA is ceremoniously inducted into the European Union (fantasies, keyword). There are people (lucky bastards) who have claim to this title, Ameripean, through the miracle of dual citizenship.  I am not one of them.  They can cross both American and European borders with ease, finding legal employment and even permanent residency! While living in Spain my fellow illegal alien American girlfriends and I jokingly launched “project EU,” and although marrying a somewhat stranger for purely legal purposes loses all romantic credibility… the idea wasn’t half bad (no pressure novio). But maintaining an American identity is important and that is why the “Ameri” takes precedence over the “pean” in this title.

The term Ameripean is not always good.  We are all familiar with the travelers who become “worldly” and thus superior. Eeewww.  

Are you questioning your Ameripeaness?  Of course you are and you’re in luck because I have created the perfect quiz in order to rate your level of Ameripeaness.

QUIZ

Are you an Ameripean?

1. Do you have both an American passport and E.U. passport? dual citizenship…

2. Do you unabashedly feel superior to fellow U.S. citizens that have yet to cross the ocean?

3. In any given conversation do you find a way to mention your experiences abroad? “well when I was in Paris… unlike Prague…”

4. Are your dinner parties in Euro themes? Tapas & Sangria or Bangers & Mash…

5. Do you pride yourself with the fact that various items in your home and/or wardrobe originate from your travels?

6. When asked for your I.D. do you produce a tattered, stamped passport?

7. Is your significant other and/or best friend either from Europe or first acquainted with while in Europe? 

8. Does the travel channel turn you on?

 

If you have answered yes to more than three of these questions, you are in fact an Ameripean.