Orphaned Post: My Inner Demon is a Hippie

NOTE: I am what you might call a chronic post starter. I get an idea for a blog post and I start writing it and then when I get out the main part of what I want to say I lose my ability to string words together in a decent sentence or I just can't find the place where the post is supposed to end (which totally drives me bananas insane). Since the posting around here has been a little broken record-ish (OMG I'M LEAVING THE COUNTRY IN 8 DAYS), and I don't feel like coming up with something totally unique, I decided that I would take one of these orphaned posts, polish it and publish it. TA DA.

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People often like to identify their vices as "inner demons". You can read about them on any number of blogs ... there are tons of self help books or life coaches to help you deal with said demons.

I think it's safe to say that everyone has one or two of them. I know I do (he's my Sad Little Ghost) but in addition to my Sad Little Ghost, I have another little someone following me around. Except that she isn't really a demon. She's more of a ... hippie.

I know what you're thinking, but SuperCareo, wouldn't some people consider hippies demons? And to that I would say, yes there are. But I am not one of them. That being said, however, doesn't mean that I love my Inner Hippie all the time. Or even half the time.

The issue I have with Inner Hippie is pretty simple: she's a talker. As in, she talks a lot. All the time. And she's very hard to shut up. Especially because she's in my head.

When I look outside she tells me about how beautiful the sky is and how I should get a bike so that I won't pollute it with my car. When I'm cooking or cleaning she yells at me when I reach for a paper towel rather than a towel I can toss in the wash and reuse. She even talked me into washing out a plastic baggie the other day - but it's still sitting in the dish strainer, so take that Inner Hippie! Super Careo: 1 Inner Hippie: 0 (but still trying).

Now don't get me wrong, I love the Earth. I want it to be happy and clean. I want to live upon it lightly so that my kids will be able to know what trees are. BUT - there comes a point in the never ending tirade of Inner Hippie that makes me want to throw all of the contents of my recycling bins into the dumpster, or drive around just because and waste a tank of gas or use the paper towels instead of the washable towel and they're Seventh Generation towels doesn't that count for something??

In an effort to bring some harmony into my life (and to get Inner Hippie to shut her freaking mouth already) I am going to start try to incorporate one of my other blogs, Neon Green, into The Flip Side. What this means for you is that you will get to read more about how I am slowly turning into a hippie become more mindful of my behaviors and how they affect the world.

I also want you to know that I (obviously) don't feel like everyone should start turning into hippies. They are generally dirty and smell funny and before you get mad at me I can tell you that I know several hippies in real life and if you asked them they would agree that they should probably take a shower and stop burning the patchouli incense as much as they do.

So please, don't think that I'm turning into some sort of self righteous, "go green or die" sort of crazy nut-job. Mostly I am going to talk about baking (the connection to being a hippie is that I bake from scratch) and the other odd ball things that most people probably would never associate with hippies.

And on that note, I will leave you with this mosaic of cakes that I have made in past month. Yes, that's right, two cakes in a month (hello stress eating!). Don't you wish you lived near me now? (I wish you did too).

1. apt 311, 2. apt 377, 3. apt 315, 4. apt 297, 5. apt 306, 6. apt 380

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END NOTE: I actually am going to try and incorporate Neon Green into the Flip Side (same with Master of my Money) because clearly I have issues blogging anywhere but here. Also, I think I might need to bake a cake tomorrow after work.

THE END.

I'm Moving.

Well, the cat is out of the bag. Yesterday morning I marched into work and told my boss that, hey, I’m moving out of the country in two weeks.

Then I may have had a small panic attack because, OMG … two weeks. Two weeks. From today. (!!!).

Anyway. Since my last post I have been doing a lot of things. Mostly moving (which is an event because I have more stuff than anyone should be allowed to have) and trying to sell my car and being OVERWHELMED and fighting with my apartment complex about the tiny flood that happened in my kitchen on Memorial Day, which I just remembered I didn’t tell you about.

THE QUICK AND DIRTY VERSION: There was a clog in the laundry room pipes that caused the laundry water to come out of my sink. They didn’t believe me when I told them that the laundry room was probably responsible, and as a result my apartment was flooded on at least one other occasion later on in the week. Then I had to fight with them to pro-rate my rent for the week I didn’t live there because the carpet was all ripped up, and then I had to prove to them that having my AC turned down to 65 degrees for a week would have a more dramatic impact on my bill than the “pennies a day” the office assured me it would be. And then there was the nonsense about how the cleaning service they hired to come in and clean my kitchen did pretty much the worst cleaning job ever in the history of cleaning jobs.

And the cherry on top is that my brand new hand mixer and my grandmother’s aprons sat in water for a week and got moldy and gross. But not beyond repair, thank goodness.

THE MORAL: Do not ever rent from Price Brothers. They are cheap assholes who will take you for all you’re worth, even if the whole reason there was a problem in the first place is because they were too lazy to take the months of phone calls from the other residents in building complaining about how the washer wasn’t draining properly seriously. THANKS PRICE BROTHERS.

There. Now you are up to speed.

But this past weekend I moved out of my apartment (of doom) and I am back with my parents for the next two weeks. Then I'm moving to South Korea for a year.

Now I am going to go have a small panic attack in the bathroom so that I can get back to work. Excuse me.

FO is knitting "geek speak" for finished object

And now that you are all up to speed on that, I want to show you this:

Yes, yes. It's awesome. Also, it only took me about 11 months to finish. WIN!

I used organic cotton handspun yarn from the fabulous Tara over at The Blonde Chicken (she's @blondechicken on twitter) and I got it from her so long ago that I don't remember what the colorway is called anymore. Which is sad, because it's super cute. I bought myself a membership to her Yarn Adventure Club as my Armini is going to China without me present (aka - the grief knitting).

The reason that this took me forever is that I have this crazy ability to unravel handspun yarn pretty much by looking at the wrong way. So I would be knitting along, happy as a clam, and then the yarn would just fall apart in my hands. Needless to say, I got tired of it pretty quickly and went on to knit other things. But last week I was digging around for something to knit on and found this and thought I would give it another go. And I finished it!

It's huge though. Like, way too big. And I'm terrified to wash it because I love it and I don't want it to do anything crazy, like burst into flames, if I try to block it. So I'm thinking that I'm just going to leave it like it is. I'm already referring to it lovingly as my Thinking Cap. Why is that do you ask?

Because it's big enough for all my dreams to fit inside.

A{n odorless} Funk.

Lately I have found myself in a bit of a funk. I have about 4 blog posts started, waiting their turn to be finished. I have had to ask for a lot of help from my parents (the last people that I want to ask for help right now. I find that it sort of takes away from that whole "grown up" feeling I've been trying to cultivate). I have been fighting with my apartment complex for the last month to get them to take responsibility for flooding my apartment and paying for damages (that is one of the posts waiting to get written, BTW).

And each little thing takes a bit of wind out of my sails. Until I'm left floating, feeling alone (even though I'm not), and very unsure about what to do next.

Last night was the worst. I was really upset for no reason at all (oh the joys of being a girl) and then I watched Homeward Bound, which was a bad idea all around because it just made me cry more, and then I wallowed. Oh, there was wallowing and wailing.

Ok, actually, there was not a lot of wallowing or wailing, I just wanted to say them in the same sentence. It's fun.

But I was sad. And so I gave myself 5 minutes to be sad. And then I sat down and made some lists. Because lists are totally awesome.

I wrote down 10 reasons I suck at life. Then I re-read them and was sad. But then I said to myself, "Self, this is silly. You do not suck at life." So then I made a list of 10 reasons why my 10 reasons I suck at life are untrue or completely absurd. And then I re-read that and I laughed a little because really, some of my I suck at life things really were totally crazy pants.

And then, as an exercise in being nice to myself, I wrote down a list of 10 reasons why I am awesome sauce. And that one was a little harder. I think it's mostly because I have always used my ability to put myself down and make fun of myself as a defense mechanism (oh middle school ... you sucked. Alot.) and so saying nice things about myself is ... not normal. But I really did feel better about everything.

The Moral of the Story: Sometimes you just have to get out your crazy so that you can move on with your life in a sane(er-ish) manner than you could have if you just kept the crazy locked up inside you. Just ... don't let anyone read your journal. Then you probably won't have any friends.

The most brilliant idea I thik I have ever had (maybe. I hope.)

I have been thinking a lot about finding my magic job. I know that it's out there, I can feel it. And yesterday, I think I may have figured out what it is.

I think (maybe, possibly) that I want to own a bed and breakfast.

It's pretty much the perfect idea. I would get to cook and bake for the people who come to stay with me. I would get to have the house of my dreams (hopefully - eventually) and I would get to make a million new friends. The best part being, of course, that the new friends come to me. And there would be a garden. A garden with tons of huge flowering bushes, and tons of vegetables and a line for laundry and a compost pile.

And the more I think about it, the more excited I get. Which is, like, the first sign that this is a good idea, right? I mean, I would get to own my own business, be my own boss, never have to leave the house and I would be making money by doing what I love to do: entertain and cook and make everything warm and cozy and wonderful.

I begin research tomorrow on bed and breakfasts in general. Hilda suggested buying a house in California somewhere close to wine country (she said I word that I couldn't understand, and she won at scrabble with it) but I'm curious ... what are your thoughts on locations?

Because I do expect you to come and stay with me. Magic does best when it is shared.

Letting the dream catch me for once

Since I got back from China in February, I feel like I have been chasing a dream. A dream that consists mostly of me not having to work (ever) and being able to eat as many pancakes and M&M's as I want without ever having to worry about getting fat. We all have to have a dream, right?

Hilda has been telling me over and over again that I need to "find contentment in what I have". I read blog after blog that talks about how being in the moment is so important. I even have started doing Shiva Nata as a way to try and tap into some of that contentment. Although, to be fair I have wanted to start practicing Shiva Nata for a while now (because Havi is pretty much my hero and I want to be her when I grow up) and this whole "why does my life suck all the time?" thing felt like the perfect time to finally step up and buy the starter kit.

I was trying so hard to be content with what I had, but it seemed like no matter what I did there was always something nagging at the back of my mind. Like, I would be wishing for cable (a post is coming on that, I promise) or dreading going to Macy's for job #2 of the day, or thinking about the eleventy billion other things that I needed to do over the weekend instead of being locked up in a department store.

But then the other day I was standing in my kitchen, wearing my pink polka-dot apron, kneading some bread (yes I am aware that statement makes me sound like Suzy Homemaker) and it occurred to me that I was genuinely happy. I have started listening to some of the CD's that I love, like the Godzilla soundtrack (because I am just that cool), and I finally got my apartment clean over mother's day weekend and I am happy. The quiet of not having the TV on all the time took some getting used too. Once I let go of trying to be happy - I was.

It's so cliche, I know. But I'm so happy that it found me. I am so content in my little space. I'm just sorry that I might be leaving it in a few months. Even though I am also really excited about the adventure that I will be going on (provided, of course, that the Korea's can get along without dropping bombs on each other).

The good thing is, however, that I know that I can do it. The happiness is there to be had. You just have to relax enough to let it get you.

If only I had a moon ladder, my life would be complete

I want so much that sometimes it hurts almost. Almost. Ok, maybe a little more than almost. It's the pull of desire for something (even if you have absolutely no idea what it is that you want) that starts in the center of your chest and radiates outward. Out toward the thing, whatever it is: physical, emotional, a specific event, an accomplishment of some sort.

I have decided that I am living a life that is mostly devoid of magic. And I am not like other grown ups who can go around without magic and be perfectly content. I need magic. I crave it. It is what I am radiating towards.

The only thing is I don't know where to start my search for this magic. It makes me feel very small. Like someone is telling me that I can totally make it to the moon, only they don't tell you that you should probably get a spaceship beforehand (ladders that tall just don't exist, I checked).

Sometimes I think that finding the magic will have to do with where I live and how I choose to live there. I imagine a huge back yard with huge, old trees and giant flowering bushes and so much color (green and blue and pink and purple and white and and and) that you might think that your eyes will melt out of your head. And a house that smells like cooking and baking. Warm bread, fabulous meals, cookbooks with broken spines and stained pages from years of being used and loved.

But in order to find the magic house, I have to have money. And in order to have money, I have to have a job. And that, my friends, is where I get lost.

A job that is magical. Something that I am good at and that I love to do all the time. A job that, if I did have to work more than 40 hours at it during the week, wouldn't make me want to find a mountain and throw myself off the very top of it because I am so tired and so stressed I can't stand it.

I have friends who are doing what they love. Writing or designing or what-have-you-ing. They have always known what it was, and even if they didn't know it exactly at the time, they were pretty damn close. I am good at a lot of things. I have jobs that I enjoy (to a degree) but I still manage to have about 1 day a week where my brain literally turns into jello because of the stress in my life and oozes out of my ear holes. And it's draining my will to live.

On the phone with my mother the other day, she told me that "if this was the way [I] choose to life my life then [I] should probably just stop bitching about it and be content that [I] have a job at all." And yes, I agree. I should stop bitching. I should spend more time looking for a job where I can put my college degree to good use (or any use, for that matter), be happy and make some money so that I can find the magic house where I will be able to cook and bake forever and ever, Amen.

But I think about looking for a job and all I want to do is run back into the arms of my 3 (yes, 3) jobs and the 1 day a week of brain flavored stress-jello and hold on as tight as I can and never let go. Resumes make me turn into a blabbering idiot. Looking at Monster or Career Builder makes me wonder if I will ever find anything that makes me want to dance out of bed and into the office.

And yes, I realize that I might be romanticizing this job thing. Maybe there really is not one person in the world who actually dances into their office everyday. Maybe "magical jobs" are like "unicorns" and "dragons" and while they are fun to talk about or star in movies or read about, they don't really exist.

But the thing is, I don't know that I want to live in a world where being a grown up means that you have to wait until 5:00 on the weekdays to feel the magic. In fact, I take that back. I know I don't want to live in that world. In that world, the world where everyone waits until 5:00 to be happy, I will wither and die like a flower that doesn't get enough sunshine.

So I suppose I am putting this out there to see what comes to me. I would love to have words of comfort or maybe a career idea that is something super-fun that you heard of one time because your ex-boyfriend's, step mom's brother-in-law from Texas heard about from a friend one time (maybe). The list of magical jobs that I came up with is sort of small:

• Start my own preschool
• Flight attendant
  
• Character actor at Disneyland (I would like to be Ariel please. Or Belle. Well ... really any princess, really)

Thoughts?