The Nic Cave

It’s a nice spot with microphones and laptops and pianos and guitars and melodies that go on for hours and hours. Whenever my friends are texting/calling/IMing me asking me where the heck I am and why I’m not out and about galavanting with them, it’s more than likely because I’ve tucked myself into the world known as my happy place.

I don’t think it’s difficult to realize that I am a lover of new people, new places and new experiences but every now and again it’s an absolute blessing to get a night to myself where I can do whatever the heck it is I want whether that’s playing video games, painting my nails, making with zee music or just lounging in bed all evening. So… while several lovely people were curious enough to send me inquiries in regards to my whereabouts, I was at home doing this:


 
And learning new songs on the piano. AND replaying the slightly older school Kingdom Hearts II.

TOMORROW, I galavant. But as for now… a sublime way to spend a Thursday night if you ask me.

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Parallel Loves

The other night, I met a girl who just landed in Los Angeles a week ago with practically the same situation with her recent ex as I had with mine. Our stories though different, ended on parallel terms and it reminded me of the First Love a cappella cover I did while I was still living in NY.

I learned the [very simple] piano accompaniment to it so I decided to redo the song. It so succinctly puts my feelings from 3 years ago into words that I can’t help but love this song which speaks about the loss of the same sentiment.

The video is still uploading to youtube and I’ve got to go to the gym so if you want to give a listen check back here later. Uploaded! :)

xx

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More Than Words

New cover today of a song that’s been much too covered, but I don’t care because I love it. I learned the first half of the song way back when I was about 14 from my cousin Missy and continued to know only half of it until today when I finally sat down and decided to learn it in full. It was pretty much the only song I knew on the guitar until I was about 22 when my dad sent me a guitar while I was living in NY to cure me of my homesickness [it worked for a spell]. Considering I only knew how to play the verses, no one ever wanted to hear me play it.

I’ve always loved the message of this song. Though I do talk a lot—this blog is evidence enough of that—I’ve never been very skilled at verbally expressing how I feel about someone unless I have time to sit down and write out a thoughtful letter. I think it’s because I learned early on that romantic words can be just that… words. And even more dangerous: words that are carefully placed together to create a loving scenario whether the love actually exists or not.

In my last semi-relationship, my main fault—according to the guy—was my incapacity for letting him know how I felt about him. He needed me to open up; I needed him to give me time. I always thought the little things I did like taking care of him when he was sick, or cooking him dinner or trying my best to get to know his friends and still give him space was enough to show that he was different, he was special… to me.

But guess what? It wasn’t. Oh well… as I always say, c’est la vie.

Either I find a guy who just gets my weird ways or I’ll be a forever bachelor. And yes, I think women can be them too. Screw the “ette”… if I go by that term, I’ll be called an old maid by the time I’m 40. And who wants that?

Anywho… here’s the cover. I had one… two… three… maybe four serious mess ups, but me thinks it’ll do.

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Oafish Laughter

I tend to avoid hearing recordings of myself speak.

In my head, I imagine sounding polished, my voice just the right amount of smoothness & depth, with a bit of elegance to my accent. In reality, my voice is much higher pitched than I’d prefer [it reaches the point of shrill at times] & every so often that old valley accent that I attempted to correct long ago is resurrected without my knowledge [usually at high points of excitement].

What I dread to hear all the more are recordings of my laughter. Some of my friends, in their polite fashion, have told me that my laughter is delightful and infectious [probably because they’re laughing AT me] but let’s be honest: I guffaw. I cackle. When I laugh, it’s usually so hard that my entire body is affected by it: head back, shoulder’s shaking, foot stomping the ground and hands clapping. Lord, I must look like a fool when I laugh. An oaf, so to speak.

Case in point: a video my cousins and I made one day after the gym when we were in a goofy sort of mood [disclaimer: I look like an absolute idiot for 99.9% of this vid but I’m totally ok with that]—

Despite this known fact, I can’t help but laugh all the time [much to the dismay of the people around me]. Laughing is simply one of my favorite things to do—especially when I laugh at myself. In fact, I need to be able to! I fall a lot and sometimes catch myself saying the most idiotic things. If I took myself too seriously, I would have an extremely low sense of self [I don’t].

So, shrill voice and oafish laughter aside, I kind of like myself a whole lot. Which is a good thing…

I think.

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Tweets, Signs & Ironies

I was taking a nap earlier today—my gulay, I love naps—& woke up to this tweet from my cousin:

@darlingrose lmao @enanic RT @Sexstrology: #Virgo’s are melodramatic hypochondriacs. When they get sick OMG the world is ending.

I nearly fell off the couch laughing because I had just gone through the following conversation in my head:

*groannn* Ughhh, my eye hurts. My head hurts… *uggghh* my body hurts. *sob sob* Why me???

[picks up cellphone] Hmm… I wonder who tweeted me?

HAHAHA…

Which then, of course, became really loud laughter causing my aunt who was sitting near me to think I was slightly deranged. It was just what I needed to stop feeling sorry myself.

I really am sick though.

I’ve spent the better part of the last two days trying to sleep away whatever weird flu I caught that fell on top of me like a purple hippo out of the sky [I know that’s a weird analogy, but it’s what popped in my head]. But in all seriousness, it came from out of nowhere and I just want it to go away. If you know me at all, you know I hate going to the doctor and avoid those visits like the plague.

Ironic, huh? But wait… or is it?

End Tangent.

Anyway, I’m finally going. My eye feels like it’s about to pop out of my skull. Of course it has to be the black eye that is causing me all this hassle. I’m pretty sure my mom has now convinced herself that it is a direct result of the mugging and is harassing me on the daily to go to the doctor along with my aunt, and friends and other family members. But no complaints! It’s nice to be that loved, lol…

On another tangent, I am still a Virgo.

Everyone is in a hooplah about their “new sign” because of Ophiuchus, the 13th zodiac, but PEOPLE: that’s actually nothing new. Funny, I was having this conversation with my friend Johnny a few weeks ago about astrology and he was telling me that the Western zodiac has always been wrong because they follow tropical seasons, unlike the sidereal zodiac [or I guess Eastern zodiac] which follows the constellations. And no, it’s not like he’s super smart [well he is, just not about this], his girl from Thailand who follows the sidereal zodiac told him all about it. Well, I don’t think either is wrong and neither does Susan Miller, so take that naysayers. You negative nancys probably don’t put too much weight in astrology anyway. [Not that I do either, but they are mighty fun to read and if the above tweet shows anything, can sometimes hit the nail right on its head.]

If you don’t believe me, read this article from CNN which explains it far better than I do: No, your zodiac sign hasn’t changed.

That’s my lesson for the day. Don’t believe everything you read, unless you read it here [jk].

Goodnight, lovelies. See you when the sun rises.

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She

I’ve always loved this passage. An old friend once surprised me with a package and tucked into the parcel was a handwritten note saying that it was a piece which in every respect was a true description of who I represented in his life.

I will forever be flattered.

She will have none of that. She is quick, mercurial, intemperate. She has a big mouth, a rash heart, a generous nature (always a liability, in my view), and if my way is always to opt out, to sit in the window seat with a book in my lap, pressing my face against the pane, then her great weakness, indistinguishable from her great strength, is a fatal, manic aptitude for saying yes. She gets herself and us, and me into trouble: into noble causes and silly disputes… into journeys and strange hotel beds and awkward situations, into putting my money where my mouth is and my name on fund-raising pitch letters for things that I believe in but otherwise, I don’t know, haven’t gotten around to yet. She is the curse and wolfman charm in my blood, calling me to shed my flannel shirt and my pressed pants with their sensible belt and lope on all fours into the forest.

Michael Chabon, Manhood for Amateurs

Paintings by Stella Im Hultberg.

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Post a Day 2011

I love challenges.

WordPress is experimenting with a new site called The Daily Post to give professional, amateur and casual writers a-like a bit of motivation to write more and more and more. I’m definitely in the third class of blog writing but it’s always fun to test my ability to stick with something.

So far this year I’ve had three goals:

[one] STOP SMOKING—even socially. I always promised myself I would stop at 25. It’s time to do the cold turkey route and stop back tracking. I once stopped for a year a half, but stress and life and drama caught up with me and I used smoking as a means to distract me from my real problems. But no more excuses, I have to stop… J’arrête! Pára! Halt! Pare! ¡Alto! [I somehow remembered how to say “stop” in six languages. Can you guys add any to my list?] It’s been 9 days and I’m smoke free. Yippee!

[two] Try to keep my word of the year in mind: Positivity. I’ve always been a rather sarcastic person but relatively drama and judgement free but since moving back to good old Los Angeles, I’ve found I’ve become quick to question people’s intentions. So, in hopes that I do not become yet another one of the jaded souls in the film industry I’m going to try and stick with some positive thought. Here’s hoping.

[three] Practice playing the guitar every single day. I did not take any music lessons growing up and while that is regrettable it’s definitely not an excuse to not try and learn now. I’m not attempting to be a musician. I love music because while it’s hard for some people to understand how I’m feeling at any given moment Billie, Harrison, Lennon, McCartney, Starr, Michael, Aaliyah, Ellington, Costello, Thomm and the other ever present loves of my life always will. So as long as music remains a huge part of my life, it would be absolutely wonderful to be able to accompany myself without cringing because of stupid errors.

And now [four] posting daily.

I just have to hope you guys won’t get sick of me.

Hotel Café

Hung out with some lovely new friends yesterday at the Hotel Café. I was happily surprised at how great the music was last night. Considering the bigger named people who showed up, it was a really small and intimate setting and completely reminded me of my more favorite music scenes back in NY.

I had actually roped my friends into coming in order to see “the” [I was told not to leave that word out] Brendan Hines & Co. who I had accidentally found a while back during one of my sleepless nights in Los Angeles. Before he played we heard the musical stylings of Jen Hirsch, Tyler Hilton with a guest performance by Michelle Branch (who Alex and I kept mistaking for Vanessa Carlton) and after him another band whose name I now forget Keaton Simons [without your skin I’m naked… such sexy lyrics]. Of course after Hines & Co. had performed—*ahem* THE Hines, lol—I was dragged up to the stage to be introduced to the man I had jokingly referred to as my future husband, only to have a “foot in mouth” moment.

Some time during his set, my friends had decided to have a cigarette break—*cough cough*—and so I went out with them. Of course during this time, I had missed some of his songs, which I failed to take in to consideration as I shook his hand and said with an innocent smile on my face that at his next show he should perform “I Miss New York”… which of course he had. Whoops.

After his performance, the crowd was surprised with an appearance by the talented Mr. Mayer. I think he’s a great musician, but the attention the crowd was giving the man was a bit vomit inducing for me. I was told to “hush” at a bar for goodness sakes! I mean… yes, he’s a great guitar player but he’s not the messiah.

In any case, a charming night in Los Angeles. This city is shaping up to be something kind of wonderful.

[& yes, I’m already up at 6am… but what’s new world?]

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