Pedestal

Those certain few. Those people so determined to say what isn't true as though it were. Those in the gutters and ditches of society. Those not worth my time or energy... or the time or energy of my valued friends...


They don't see me flirt. They don't see me tease. They don't see me acting inappropriately. They don't follow me to see where I go at night. They know nothing of my personal life. They don't know my friends, my schedule, my plans. They know nothing of me but the person I am when I'm at work.

They see me being professional and smart, ambitious and funny. They think they'll knock me down off my pedestal with their actions. What they fail to realize is I don't even own a pedestal. I have low self esteem as it is. But I'm still better than they are even on my very lowest day.

Why do pretty women always have low self esteem?


We all do. It has a LOT to do with being perpetually single because only the scum bag abusive guys have the guts to ask a pretty girl out. Once with them they beat us until we believe we are ugly so that they feel more secure we will never leave them. It's disgusting. Thankfully I'm not one of those.

For me it's something else completely.

For me it's all about not having finished school, not having a degree, not feeling like I've accomplished anything in my life and feeling like a failure. I have no problem with my looks.

A smart girl like me should have a real career that would allow me to purchase a house or brand new car. A wise woman would have known ahead of time who to disassociate myself from. An educated lady would have the right books to find the answers rather than making it up as I go along.

I'm not a bad person. I don't do bad things. I'm quite smart, witty and sophisticated. Yet, I'm barely scraping by. Why?

Because I love my JOB. I'm good at it. I feel like I accomplish something when I spend time in my office sending emails, balancing the checking account, paying bills and planning events. It's great! That's why I work here - because here I feel like a success. My boss Michael is awesome. My peers and coworkers are wonderful. The two or three nut jobs that try to make me miserable fail to succeed because of the network of wonderful people I surround myself with.

People may talk all they want, telling what they may or may not believe to be true, or even what they wish we're true. The truth is I have a job I love, a boss I adore, wonderful friends who tell me the truth when nobody else will and a life and presence to envy.

They may try all they want to push me off of some nonexistent pedestal, but I have more friends than enemies pushing me up to a podium an helping me to find my voice, strength and faith. A pedestal isn't big enough for us, because I don't stand alone. I have my friends and family with me. We don't need a pedestal. We'll just take the stage, thank you.


Try knocking us off of that.

Let Go.

I watched as the silver stretch-band "Blackwood" coat of arms watch tumbled and spun into the ravine below.  I was letting go of several things at once and the feeling was so incredibly liberating I could barely understand it.  It was time to change a few things... to start over, new and fresh.  I do it so often that I had somehow forgotten that it's possible to do that every singe day of our lives.  We just need to face the day as though it's new and fresh in and of itself.

It's time to let go.  I've done what I need to do... and though I'm far from done, it's time to let it all go.

Escort? Really?!

If I were an "escort" as two people I know (and once called my friends) have openly claimed I am, I wouldn't have saved 8 months for a down payment on a $4000 car. I'd live in a nicer place. I wouldn't need to work. I'd live in Beverly Hills, not roommates with a girl i can't stand to look at. I'd drive a Mercedes instead of a Miata. I'd have hair dressers do my hair instead of coloring it myself. My cats would wear rhinestone collars instead of frayed PetsMart nylon cheapies. It wouldn't have been my first trip to Paris, but my 20th. I'd be on "dates" every weekend instead of doing animal adoptions for free. I'd have expensive clothes, diamond jewelry, pearl necklaces and the best of everything - because I would be trying to superficially compensate for the emptiness in my soul.



Be not jealous of those wiser and fairer than thee.

Gain thee thine own wisdom by observation.

Be thee fairer in thine actions, not in thine appearance.










Heed this warning, all who dare approach.

Do not cross a maiden with a quiet or still temper, for when it flairs, there will be no chance to reign it back in until the damage is done. The worlds will collide, the sky will fall and the earth beneath you will crumble into ash - and that will only be the start of things to come.

Day One

I was escorted through the streets of Paris and straight to the front door of the Musee de Orsay where a ticket was purchased (along with an umbrella and some post cards). The line was a long one and it was quite damp outside. I hid under the umbrella To keep my camera dry, but there was no hope for my short hair. I would look like a horses mane by the end of the day no doubt.

After I finally got into the building, I headed past the ticket counter since I already had one. I got to the museum entrance and was greeted by a woman pointing the other direction.

"I am sorry Madamme but you must check your umbrella at the coat check before you go in."

I was astounded. I grew up watching old movies and love them all, but never had I seen a coat check outside of the ones Bing Crosby and Doris Day showed me in black & white and technicolor. Amazed, I headed off in the direction she pointed me in.

Sure enough, I checked my umbrella and coat, receiving a number in return. I tucked this deep within my back pocket and headed once more for the pointing lady. This time my ticket was given a date stamp which thrilled and delighted me, and the way was clear to enter.

Incredible works of art lined every wall in what once stood as a train station. I marveled at the masters hanging from every wall... Monet, Manet, Renoir and Cezanne left me breathless - but at my first glimpse of a Van Gogh, I drew a sharp breath. This is what I had waited my whole life to see.

I suddenly realized that there were more than just the one. I looked around me and there I stood in a room FULL of Van Gogh! There was the Starry Night and the Cafe in Arles! There were two infamous self portraits! And lo - just beyond all of this hung the piece I stood before and wept over, having long ago convinced myself I would never get to see. There was Van Gogh's Bedroom in Arles. I must have stood before this piece for no less than 20 minutes, taking in all of the depth and beauty of the thick primary colors. My eyes stung with tears I refused to release, nor to blur my vision of this incredible sight. All my life I had waited. All my life I never believed the day would come. And yet here I was, close enough to feel the layers of paint if I cared to risk being thrown our of the museum or worse. It was very nearly worth that risk.

When I finally left the museum, the painting was so firmly lodged within the confines of my memory that I knew a photo would only have served to skew my perfect vision of the work. Half dazed I began the walk back toward the hotel.

I looked up into the eyes of a familiar face and found myself quite surprised to find Thomas Jefferson staring back at me. Apparently he was a French Ambassador at one time, before the war. I stopped long enough to take a photo but continued on.

I criss-crossed multiple bridges here and there, taking photos along the way. Between two bridges I spotted a woman coming toward me. When she thought I wasn't looking, she tossed a thick gold ring on the ground before me. Then she bent over to retrieve it and asked if it was mine.

"No," I responded. "it isn't mine. I'm not married and that's a mans ring."

"It must be your lucky day," she said. She placed the ring in my hand and started to walk away. Confused (but not much, as it's not the first time I've witnessed or been part of a con) I continued on my way.

"Madamme," she called after me, "would you have any money for a Coca Cola maybe?"

All I had on me at the time were Euros, and nothing smaller than a 20 much to her misfortune. The con had been good enough I gladly would have given her a Euro for the novelty ring. Instead, I offered to take her with me and u would buy her a Coca Cola. She seemed to not be interested in the prospect. I knew she wanted the money and not the soda, so I gave her back the ring regretfully and went on my way, wishing desperately that I'd had a coin in my pocket for her so I could have kept the ring for my shadow box.

I made it to the Eiffel Tower once more and to a small shopping mall where I sat to have a Beniette and some tea. There I sat to write for a bit before finally heading up to my room on the hotel. I was already lost. I had fallen in love with Paris.

Night One

My traveling companion made reservations at one of the nicest restaurants in all of Paris for the evening. Apparently Jean Georges opened a restaurant in Manhattan, New York some years ago. It was so successful that eventually he traveled back to Paris to open another. It had an obvious American twist on the cuisine.

Before we left I was trying to get ready and couldn't decide between a dress or slacks. As I worked on deciding, I came across a large shopping bag among my things.

"That bag is for you by the way," my friend said to me. Surprised, I hurriedly opened it. Inside was the most beautiful jacket I had ever seen. It was a stunning blue velvet with remarkable embroidery designs all over it. The intricate design was one I had admired in a shop window on our way to the museum that morning. I'd never seem anything so beautiful. I had fallen in love with it then, but the shop had been closed. Someone had gone back to the shop after dropping me off and purchased the coat of my dreams for, not even fully knowing my size.

I immediately tried it on and it fit like a glove! That second, I knew I would never in my life forget my trip to Paris. I would also never forget the generosity and kindness of my Paris benefactor.

I put on the nicest dress I has brought with me, knowing full well it would pale in comparison to my gorgeous new coat. Then on went the knee-high gray boots I bought specifically to take to Paris the month before and pinned my hair up. The look was completed with a bit of red lipstick and we were ready to hit the door.

We took a taxi to the restaurant and walked in moments before 7pm. Much to the Paris tradition, the restaurant wasn't open quite yet. Traditionally in Paris, people dine rather late in the evening. To be in a restaurant before 9pm is unusual and decidedly American to the French. They greeted us with a hearty American "hello" rather than the native "Bonjour" I had gotten accustomed to. Because of the time we came in, they knew without a word that we were Americans.

The food was divine! I could go on for hours about the tuna roll wrapped in filo dough, salmon sashimi, thinly sliced scallops, incredible cod and fantastic chicken samosas, but anyone who knows me well knows that I do love food and have a food memory that lasts like no other. This, however, was so decadent and mouth watering that it is unlikely I could ever do justice with my writing in just what my palette experienced.

That evening we walked back to the hotel rather than taking a cab. It was a nice evening out in Paris and the rain had stopped. It took about a half hour to get back, and when we did I jumped straight into a bath.

I have often judged a hotel by the bathing facilities within. While in Norten Hardenburgh, Germany in 2003 I found the bathroom to rival all others with a jetted tub. I finally met its match, if not its superior. The French certainly know a lot about comfort and relaxation.

It was the perfect way to end my first day in Paris.

Ah, Paris. How I love Paris.

The Tower

I awoke shortly before 10am but not without prompting from my friend. I'm sure that otherwise permitted I would have missed half of the day for sleeping in. I was still tired.

My eyes fluttered and suddenly I remembered where I was. As quickly as a shot, I jumped out if bed and raced to the window. There she was - the beautiful Eiffel Tower, just beyond my window. It hadn't gone away in the night. I had really seen it. I truly was there, in Paris, in person. I had seem this dream come true. I was there, within walking distance of the one city I had longed my whole life to see.

As my friend went to get some croissants and orange juice for a breakfast, I got dressed and ready to go. I knew I would spend a portion of the day alone since it was a business trip for my roommate du jour. I was perfectly ok with that. Nothing much could happen to a person in a city as glorious as Paris!

Our first destination was the tower, certainly. Being that close, I could practically feel it calling to me from the room. It was only a short walk and a bridge over the river Seine and there she stood in all her magnificent glory, that wondrous structure Inspiring artists, poets and composers world wide to create some of the greatest masterpieces known to man. I felt tears begin to sting my eyes. I knew it would get stronger as I got closer.

Suddenly and quite inexplicably, the years of Spanish I took in school came flooding into my memory. Oh how I wished they had been French lessons instead! Quite to my dismay, what little French I did know was getting so mottled with the Spanish I barely spoke that I realized I would probably be better off speaking Japanese than I would anything else, and most of that was gone at this point.

Well, I thought to myself, if I need or want anything, I can point and say the french polite word for please - if only I could remember it!

I was so deep in thought that I barely noticed suddenly that I was standing beneath the heart of the tower. There it was, towering over me and leaving me uncertain of what to say, only being able to mutter "wow" over and over.

All my life I had wanted to see the Eiffel Tower and walk through Paris, and here I stood in that moment, beneath my destination in all it's magnificence.


I made it to Paris!!

The Room

By the time the train finally made it to the station, it was quite late. After taking the cab to the hotel, it was far later. Several trains had been delayed so the taxi line was astronomically long. My fingers were numb by the time I got into the warmed cab, and I tried hard not to shiver the whole way to the hotel.

Finally I was headed up to the room. I was Beyond exhausted and knew it wouldn't be long before I was out cold. I walked into the room and refused to let my friend know, but the room alone took my breath away. It was utterly elegant with a large bed in the center, a couch and two smaller chairs around a table, and all facing the windows where draped hung from the vaulted ceiling to the floor. The bath was one of the finest I have ever seen, complete with bath salts and a service tray. The stone sinks were of a cream granite and the loveliest I've ever known to exist. I tried not to gasp, but the bathing room truly made me stop mid-sentence.

Then the curtains were flung back.

There before me, larger than life and more beautiful than any photo could ever depict, stood the proud monument, the Eiffel Rower herself. I nearly cried.

It was several long moments before I remembered that I had cameras with me and should take a photo or two.

Suddenly the tower broke into a sparkling celebration of dazzling lights and again I stood in awe of this wondrous creation.

When finally the two days of traveling caught up to me and I began to sway in place at the window I decided it was time. I didn't want to close the curtains though - I wanted to see that amazing structure when I woke up right away. After all, nobody had pinched me yet. I still wasn't convinced that it wasn't a dream.