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And the sentence is: "Screw world peace I want a pony."

Screw world peace, I want a pony. I've always wanted a pony. When I was 8 my mother told my father she wanted a Great Dane so she could ride it home when she got tired of walking it. I've evolved past that now.  I just want a pony. Don't get me wrong, I loved my great dane, and was actually small enough to ride her, even though I never did.  Instead I'd strap wheels to my feet in the style of inline skates and snap a leash on her collar.  She pulled me all over town!  I loved that feeling of freedom.

Years later I got a convertible because I wanted to feel the wind in my hair, thanks to some horses and four wheels under me.  Every car I had after that has been a convertible until the one I have now.  How I long to feel the wind in my hair again.  How I wish I could have a dog  the size of a horse pulling me along, gripping to a canvas line for all I'm worth.  What I'd give to be able to drop the top on a convertible again, tie a scarf over my head and disappear down a scenic drive.  How I long for something new. 

I don't want to save the world or be beautiful.  I don't want fame and fortune.  I don't want some Prince Charming with white knight syndrome try to swoop in and save me.  I don't even want world peace.  I simply want something far more attainable and realistic.  A pony is cheaper than plastic surgery, and a lot safer than trying to establish world peace.  Screw world peace.  I want a pony.

Butterfly Obsession

I've wanted to tell this story for quite some time.  Tonight feels like the right time.

When I was on my very last day of Kindergarten, the teachers all took us to an organized field day.  There were different activities we could participate in, from rolling painted marbles around in shoe boxes to make colorful abstract art to bobbing for apples.  Some of the activities took longer than others, so eventually there formed a spot for stalling the students.  I remember clearly as my group reached the "stall for more time" location and the teacher on duty there would have us sit in the Duck-Duck-Goose circle.  When we grew tired of playing that silly game, or when someone decided to throw a fit over being picked one too many times, the game ended and the teacher struggled to come up with a new activity. 

"Ok, Children, I'm going to go around the circle and ask each of you what you want to be when you grow up.  Remember, you can be anything you want to be.  You can be a fireman, a doctor, a lawyer, whatever you like.  I'll start here with you." She pointed to a little girl about twice my size (I was small for my age) with blonde hair.  I'm sure her family would've been proud when she responded that she wanted to be a nurse like her mommy.  The next kid said he wanted to be a fireman, another would be a lawyer.  On and on it went until finally the teacher got to me. 

"And what would you like to be," she asked of me.  I'd thought about it for the entire time I waited on other children to answer.  I knew from the first second she posed the question what my answer would be. 

"A butterfly."

She stared at me, rather shocked.  "You can't be a butterfly."  I stared back at her and began to cry.

"But you said I could be anything!"

"You don't understand," she started to explain.  "I meant as a job.  Would you want to be a doctor or a police officer?"

"No," I wailed.  "I wanna be a butterfly!"

"Ok," she finally relented.  "Maybe someday you can wear a butterfly costume for Halloween and be a butterfly for a day." I was more determined than ever to prove her wrong after that statement.

Years went by where I grew up believing I was ugly, stupid and trapped in a perpetual "awkward stage" I would never outgrow where I looked too much like an aunt my mother didn't like for her to ever be really happy with my appearance.  I grew a thick skin after years of being told how ugly I was when I cried, but never learned how to look anyone in the eye when I shed tears.  My sense of humor developed into a witty sarcasm, often misunderstood but mostly laughed at.  It was one of very few positive attributes I had, according to my parents.  I was proud of that.  Yet I still remained within my protective shell.  My humor was my mask that I had successfully learned to hide behind.  I didn't know what I wanted to be when I became an adult, though I had dreams of being an actress, a model, a writer and an artist.  I knew I wasn't good enough to do any of those things, so they would never be anything more than dreams. 

Then I became a model at 17 years old for a back to school fashion show.  It started a series of events, leading me to miraculous events I never imagined would happen to me.  I became an actress by mistake at 24 years old.  I started to actually sell custom artwork in my early 20's also.  There were only two last childhood dreams to have come true.  I wanted to be a writer and I had to find a way to be a butterfly.  I knew I'd never be a butterfly so that idea just seemed silly, so I focused on being a writer.

Another random series of events led me to flight attendant interviews one day, and much to my own surprise, they hired me.  I'd finally grown out of my awkward stage at some point, and as I stood there looking in the mirror at my new Flight Attendant uniform, I realized I finally had my wings.  I had become that butterfly I told a teacher when I was only 4 that I would someday be.  She didn't believe in me.  Nobody did, really.  Not even me.  But I did it anyway.

A butterfly can not be helped out of is cocoon.  Any that have been helped by having the cocoon opened for them have died with their wings still rumpled around their bodies, stalled out before they ever take flight.  The pressure and stretching of the butterfly wings as it tries to escape the confines of the old comfort zone is what causes their wings to stretch; to grow in strength.  Every trial, every struggle, every pain, every horror and ever nightmare I've survived have caused my wings to grow in strength.  I've become bright, full of color and life, eager to go new places, explore life, laugh and truly live in ways others might never experience or imagine.  I may not have become a tiny insect with iridescent wings, but I certainly became a butterfly. 

Glass Houses

When I was 15 my father returned from the military.  He didn't want to be out of work but wasn't sure how to go about getting another job right away.  One of his retired friends had gotten a job at Sears in the tools department and would brag about the discounts on his Craftsman tools until my father finally decided that's where he would go.  Of course they hired him right away with his stellar military background.  I don't think my mother ever told him what she told me one day, but that's merely a guess since I don't talk to them any longer.  They haven't been a productive part of my life for too many years to count.  She had no friends to talk to - my father had been her whole life since she was 15 years old.  I was barely 15 myself at the time she confided in me, but looking back I realize I should have confronted him.  Someone needed to, and it sure wasn't going to be her.

"Come with me to Sears," she said to me one day when I got home from school.  It was the first half of the school year and I was still a fairly stable student with decent, average grades.  I was never really an A student, but I was bored, and I hated homework and taking notes.  I saw no reason to take notes, even though we were graded on them.  My brain retained the information well enough on its own.  My mother even tested that theory once in the lobby of a dentist office.  She held up slips of paper with x marks all over it for a few seconds and then would ask me to tell her how many marks were on the paper.  I would close my eyes and count what I had seen.  Once for the entire time she tested me did I not have the correct answer, but there were over a dozen marks on the paper and I had been given 3 seconds to look at it.  I didn't need notes to study from, I only needed to look at the information.  I simply needed to read the text book.  During tests, I could even flip to exactly what page the answer to a particular question was on and point to what part of the paragraph I'd seen it in.  I could do this with or without having the book.  I just needed to use my memory and close my eyes.  I had a damn near photographic memory.  What I'd give to have that sort of fantastic visual memory again - or just that vision in general.  (For those who don't know, I have rather severe sun damage to my eyes and my vision is beginning to fail.)

Anyway, I digress.  My mother asked me to go to Sears with her.  I was confused since I hadn't been asked if I'd done my homework yet.  The honest answer at 4pm that day would've been no.  Yet she didn't seem to care about that and I took complete advantage.  I was only so happy to jump into her Jeep Grand Cherokee Laredo, Limited Edition.  It had a memorable scratch the full length of the side from the two of us taking it 4-wheeling along the river the first month she had it.  I loved that Jeep.  I loved who we had become that year as a family.  I'd talked them into even going to church with me.  I hadn't felt that close to them in years.  The whole way to Sears I reflected on how long it had been since my parents had gone to do something fun without taking me along, like going to dinner or a movie.  It had been months since either of them had screamed at me for something random, or I had been made to feel inferior for whatever reason arose on any given day.  It had been an unusually peaceful few months.  I was a fairly happy kid.  I was having a good childhood right then.

"I think your dad's been cheating on me," my mother blurted out once we turned into the Sears parking lot.  In six words, those few months of random, unusual household peace came tumbling in around me.  Six words became a wrecking ball, destroying those fragile glass walls I'd begun to build around a house of temporary stability.  It was gone.  Everything I had ever known about relationships had been destroyed.  "I don't have any proof," she continued, "but I saw him."

"What do you mean you saw him?"

"You can't say anything.  I mean to anyone.  Ever."  She stopped the Jeep at the far corner of the parking lot.  I knew without asking exactly why we were there.  I waited patiently for her to answer my question. 

"I came to bring him lunch the other day and I saw him walking some lady to her car.  I didn't want to interrupt him while he was working so I just waited.  But then she got into the drivers seat and he was leaned over in her car in the open door for an awfully long time.  I couldn't see exactly what he was doing but it doesn't take a lot of brains to figure it out."  I looked at her fighting back the tears in her eyes.  They had met when my mother was 15 and my dad was 20.  He was her entire adult life and a good chunk of her childhood.  How could he do that to her?  Why would he cheat on someone who had devoted their entire life to him?  But behind the tears, behind the sadness, I saw fear.  What would happen to her life without him?

"What does she drive," I asked.  She didn't have the strength to do this alone, I knew.  She had only had my father to turn to before.  Now that she felt betrayed, she had notbody left but her own 15 year old child. 

"It's a silver 80's Camaro I think.  I was too upset to look too closely.  But we are on a stake out.  You know those mystery shows you like, like Colombo and Murder She Wrote?  I probably shouldn't have told you all of this."  Her dialogue was as scattered as her thoughts.  I felt horrible for my mother.  I wanted so badly to take the pain away from her; to shoulder it all myself.  NOBODY deserved the pain she felt in that moment.

"It's ok, Mom.  I won't tell anyone."

" I know," she smiled through the pain.  "But I don't want this to change how you see your father."

"It wont," I lied.  Any respect he had gained over our few peaceful months at home vanished with the gut punch of a shattered idea - and though they never divorced, I vowed that day to do all I could to make that happen. 

What role models had I been left with?  My mother, cruel with words, was too fearful to stand up for herself against a cheating spouse.  My father, cruel with his hands, was too cowardly to remain faithful.  It was around that time I received the letter from church asking for more money from me.  Faith in my family, faith in my church and faith in myself faltered.  I broke that day, watching my mother trying not to cry, terrified of being without a cheating husband. 

All my life I thought I wanted a relationship like theirs, until that day.  My eyes were opened. Their marriage wasn't built on love, trust and understanding.  It was built on lies, cheating and a fear of life alone.  Yet, more than once, that was exactly what I ended up having for myself.  For years I blamed it on them.  But really, it was all on me.  I was simply emulating the example set before me.  No matter how hard i consciously fought against it, subconsciously I felt it was normal.  That's how life was supposed to be.  If my mother didn't deserve more than that, why should I?

We sat in the Jeep for hours that day.  I never saw that Jeep or my father the same way again. 

I never gained any respect for my father after that.  I don't believe I ever tried or even wanted to.  But no matter how many times they hurt me over the years I held my promised silence.  I was a child as torn as their bond of marriage, because no matter how angry I ever was, I still loved them both.  I still do.  That was the deepest wound dealt that day.  How was a child of 15 supposed to love people who constantly hurt and manipulate the people they were supposed to love?  In many ways I wonder if so many issues I have with them even now stem from that moment. 

I'm breaking my silence only now because I've come to the understanding that this was too much for a 15 year old child to contain, and it never should have been asked in the first place.  I also break my silence now in hopes that, even if I'm not a part of their lives, they may finally open a dialogue about that summer of 1995 so that they might begin healing after 22 years of what has surely been painful for them both.  I wish them well, I wish them luck, and I wish them love. 

Just don't bring me back into the middle of it all again.  It's not the place of your children, no matter their age, to be your marriage counselor. 

Insured? HA!!

What good is insurance if you still end up owing thousands of dollars in medical expenses?

I guess getting that diagnosis is out for a few more years. I'll need to make at least twice what I make now to continue with all the testing. I'll have my credit destroyed by then with these bills I can't afford to pay now. 

That's the absolute LAST time I go to the doctor under the misguided assumption that I'll be better off if I do. 

Insurance. 

What a freaking JOKE. 

Wish I hadn't spent all that money I had (and I do mean ALL of it is gone) on Christmas presents for people now. Next year I'm not buying a damn thing for anyone. 

But, there's a possibility that my request for government assistance (food stamps) won't be denied. 

FLAT

According to Google, the word "Flat" is to be defined basically as an even surface.

In the United Kingdom and a few other places, a "Flat" is another word for an apartment.

Here in the USA, it's quite often preceded by the word "Broke" especially in my latest conversations.


It's the first of the year.  It's the time to start things off on a positive note.  Supposedly this sets the tone for the other 364 days to follow.

But stupid me - I spent all my money on Christmas presents this year and didn't save any for rent.

So while I'm trying to pay for my "Flat" I discover that I'm FLAT Broke!






I've been going over things in my head and on paper for hours.  I have no idea how I'll make it.  I need a second job, I guess, but I'm already so tired all the time I have no idea how I'll stay awake - and where would I find ANY second job that would ever be willing to work with the insane schedule I have at the airline!  Maybe it's time to rethink my career.


So as I try to calm myself from the virtual melt down I had less than 30 minutes ago (thank goodness I live alone) I've heated a can of beans I've had so long they were about to expire in February.  I didn't realize canned beans EVER expired.  Well, they aren't great, I'll tell you.  But they're free.  Not free, exactly, since I paid for them two years ago, but free in the sense that I don't have to spend money I don't have for my one meal of the day.


Now, I'm not THAT bad off.  I could afford to go buy eggs and bread if I desperately needed to, but if I can't afford my rent (due today) then obviously I need to save every penny possible to afford my rent when the time comes that I get another paycheck on the 7th.  Of course, by then I will owe a late fee of an extra $25, and I would probably spend more than that at a grocery store right now - so I'd rather eat my one can of beans and forgo the grocers in preparation of the difficult days ahead.


All my life I've heard the saying about never counting your chickens before they're hatched.  Yet, I find myself sitting here mentally kicking myself for depending on someone else as long as I did.  Eventually things run dry.  They always do.  People get tired of me or they decide that I'm not good enough for them or I'm not giving them everything they demand for their investment (that's what I am, you know... I'm just an investment like a fancy car or a 'flat' with an ocean view) I'm suddenly not a human being with emotions, needs, desires or concerns.  I'm an investment that's not longer paying off.  Screw that!


So here I am, regretting those chickens and eggs, wondering how I'll repair the basket I kept them all in, wishing I were more than just a bought and paid for commodity to others. 




I CAN NOT AND WILL NOT BE BOUGHT.


I'd rather be homeless first. 

The boys already have somewhere to go.  I made arrangements for them a few years ago.  And the woman I call my sister will take exceptionally good care of them, I know.  So even if I end this first month of 2015 living in my car, I have free parking at the airport and a free couch to crash on (sometimes) in the crew lounges across the country. 

Homeless might not be so bad for me.  Of course it means selling my stuff off except a few overnight outfits and my work uniforms, but I've been living out of a suitcase for 2 years now already.  Why not make the full transition?

If I'm going to be flat, I might as well make it stylish.

Search

Flat Definition

dictionary.search.yahoo.com

adj. adjective

1. Having a smooth, even surface.
   a flat field.
2. Having a relatively broad level surface in relation to thickness or depth.
   a flat box.
3. Being in horizontal position; lying down.
   flat on his back.

adv. adverb

1. Level with the ground; horizontally.
2. On or up against a flat surface; at full length.
3. So as to be flat.

n. noun

1. A flat surface or part.
2. A stretch of level ground.
   salt flats.
3. A shallow frame or box for seeds or seedlings.

I'm Getting Older

There comes a time to let go.

Happy Birthday to me.

"It's just a sign I'm getting older."

I am giving up one of my dreams today

I found out I can't always get my way

And sometimes a dream isn't worth what you pay

So I'm giving up one of my dreams today

When we are children we look to the sky

We want everything, I'm afraid to ask why

And I saw the sparkling fish in the sea

I dreamed I would find one who'd swim next to me

And this called love and it's worth every reason

Love is the cool and the warmth in each season

But how does one love and what does one do

When the the dream that you have doesn't want to pick you

But oh oh don't cry for me

It's just one dream less on my shoulder

And oh oh dad says giving up dreams is just a sign I'm getting older

He was a stoner and I'm like a light

And when he would blaze id sing songs by his side

But my dream takes two strong hearts that will fight

And he doesn't dream, he just sleeps at night

And oh oh don't cry for me

It's just one dream less on my shoulder

And oh oh dad says giving up dreams, is just a sign I'm getting older

Oh they say to much smoking will change your taste

Maybe that's why he's kissing another girls face

But I never dreamed of second place

So I'd rather just quit than continue to race

And oh oh don't cry for me

It's just one dream less on my shoulder

And oh oh dad says giving up dreams is just a sign I'm getting older

And oh oh oh I am singing on stage

But it doesn't mean I know much better

Oh oh oh oh

You're probably like me

Some days dreaming and some days a quitter

I am giving up one of my dreams today

After I held him and begged him to stay

And after my dream will drown out to a whisper

After I've burnt all the photo booth pictures

And after I erased our names from the sky

Stopped wondering how and asking why

Oh I wish I had words to encourage inspire

But the truth is I'm ripped and I'm sad and I'm tired

I'm a loser in love and an abandoner of dreams

And today I gave up the one for him, and me

The Pinup Competition

Have you ever smiled and cried at the same time?  Heartbreak and Happiness, hand in hand.

The human ego is far more fragile than I could have ever imagined.

My fragile ego has been in jeopardy for years.  Rejections became a part of my life, especially once I hit 30 and my metabolism slowed down.  I've been incredibly fortunate to have accomplished as much as I have, but there's been so much that I've been held back from doing - mostly because of myself.

I've had this fear all my life of going into strange places if I'm alone.  It's nerve wracking for me to walk into a grocery store I've never been into before if I'm alone.  I wouldn't shop at "Sprouts" market for years because I'd never gone into one and couldn't overcome my phobia in order to do so.  Well, sometimes there's something I want badly enough to face my fears and fight for what I want.  This past weekend I did just that.

As a complete stranger with not one friend in the entire area, I flew from Los Angeles to Denver in order to attend the 1940's Ball.  Alone.  In a place I'd never been.  But I'd been obsessed with the 1940's all my life.  And I was one of the 20 finalists for the Pinup competition at 8:30pm - also something I've never done. 

I was more than nervous.  I was petrified and intimidated.  I was facing a challenge before me, and that was only the door ahead!  But as I waited in line, I befriended a lovely older couple who bonded with me instantly.  As a safety net, I attached myself to these two people who told me they also didn't know anybody inside.  The three of us became friends rather quickly.

As we stood around the dance floor watching everyone swing away the time to a Glen Miller tribute orchestra, Glen Miller walked down off of the stage with his trombone in hand to take MY hand and kiss it.  He then thanked me for coming. 

I would be remiss if I didn't explain that already hundreds of people were there dancing and watching.  I was one of the crowd, and yet Glen Miller (the man portraying Glen Miller) reached out to me of all people.  I was not only shocked but thrilled!  I already was in an atmosphere filled with 1940's dresses and hair and military uniforms and Glen Miller music... Having the Orchestra leader exit the stage in order to greet ME of all people just completely blew me away.  I won't lie, I swooned.

My two new friends then decided to hit the dance floor for a slow song, and a stranger asked me to dance.  Of course I didn't decline.  I love to swing dance, even if I'm not very good at it.  I danced with a few different people, but as I stood along the sidelines watching my two friends dance, a man in a 1940's military uniform asked me to dance.  Well, history was made.  We hit it off and became instant friends.  When he found out I had gone all the way out to Denver from LA just for that event, he took me under his wing and introduced me to everybody he could think of, and even a few he didn't!  He helped to set the event up every year and even helped one of the most talented photographers in Denver with shooting the Pinup calendar - so his connections were limitless! 


I danced the night away, met a hundred people and lost my first two friends in the crowd!  Eventually it was time for the pinup competition, and I could see who I was up against.  They were all stunning!  They wore evening gowns and elbow length gloves.  I was in a knee length dress and a feathered hat!  They had four inch heels.  I had on a pair of 70 year old practical shoes.  They were young and thin, I was - well... not so much of either anymore.  They were all beautiful!  All I really had going for me was my red hair - and even that wasn't exclusive to me.  To make it worse, the other redhead was a GORGEOUS Burlesque dancer, well known in the community and the 1940's circuit.  I didn't stand a chance!

They lined the contestants up in alphabetical order by first name, which meant I was first.  I hate being first.  I'd much rather have a moment to be observant and learn from the mistakes of others, but I certainly wasn't going to let a little thing like being first get in my way.  I'd come this far and I didn't exactly have stage fright.  So what if I didn't look like a traditional Pinup girl?  I had a great 70 year old dress I didn't mind showing off.  I had come all the way from Los Angeles to do this, and I had used the Pinup competition as my excuse to go.  I made a commitment.  I needed to follow through.



"I won't get picked" I told the pretty young lady beside me.  She was second in line. 

"Are you crazy," she said straight back to me.  "You look great!  If they DON'T pick you I'd be surprised."

"You're sweet, but there's no way.  I used to model.  I know competition when I see it," I gestured to the other 15 ladies lined up behind us, "and I'm certainly not it."  I laughed, and so did she.



"You're still crazy," she said. 

Suddenly it was time to go.  One at a time we filed across the floor in front of the stage before hundreds of onlookers.  People cheered and applauded loudest for their favorites, and of course I received very little applause.  Everyone else had their own cheering section.  I was a stranger to everyone but the soldier I had been dancing with, and he had left suddenly when a family member of his wasn't feeling well.  I was alone.


They narrowed it down to five, the young lady said to us.  We were waiting for them to decide which five.  I had been fighting with my hat for an hour and finally I just took it off.

"What are you doing," the young lady beside me asked.

"I'm taking off my hat.  I'm done up there.  I won't be going back up."

"Who says?  You never know!"

It wasn't even a full minute later when I was being ushered back onto the stage as one of the five finalists!  But one of the judges just happened to be a friend of the dancing soldier, so I didn't know how much of this was a polite gesture to the "out of town girl who traveled so far" and how much was a genuine vote for me.  Thankfully I got to know that judge quite a bit better later on in the evening, and now I know my answer.


When they announced the third place winner, there was a tie.  Since there were only five people on the stage at that point, myself included, I knew that only one of the five would be exiting the stage with nothing in their hands.  I was completely prepared for that moment.  The others actually dressed as Pinup girls for a living!  I was lucky to stand in their shadows.

They announced the second place winner, and I suddenly knew without a shadow of a doubt that the belly dancing burlesque gal had it in the bag.  She was walking home with the six VIP passes to the next event and that amazing photoshoot I desperately wanted.  That photoshoot was the whole reason I had entered the contest in the first place!  The photographer was incredibly talented and I'd always wanted to do a proper 1940's photoshoot.  But I knew that young lady in the peach dress who was so popular among the more than 400 people watching intently would be walking away with that glorious package.  The lucky dame...

"And the winner of the 2014 Miss White Christmas National US Pinup Competition is...." the audience faked a drum roll by slapping their hands and stomping their feet against the floor before us...

"The winner is ... Ms. Amanda Blackwood!"

P.S.  After the competition, I was finally able to find my two original friends from the line at the very beginning.  They saw me in the crown and sash, and the first thing out of their mouths was "What happened since we saw YOU last?!"