The Big Bad Bitch

Between apartment hunting, babysitting a kid I like to call Jack the Ripper, and enjoying my last few days of solid food for a while, I've been concentrating on a grant application.

This grant means more to me right now, than just about anything.

1) because it is worth $25,000.

2) because the judges are 15 famous artists, designers, and musicians.

Only 25 people will receive this grant, so I've been spending HOURS working on a new portfolio of designs. Letters of recommendation are a requirement for this competition, too, and until today I thought I would only have any from college professors.

Much to my surprise I received an email from my old boss at the fashion label that shall not be named. Once I got over the shock of actually receiving said letter, I decided to read it. The Big Bad Bitch that I once worked for wrote, what may be, one of the best letters of recommendation I have ever received. The Devil really does wear Isaac. Ooops!

I guess selling my soul for 6 months will be worth it, if I receive $25,000 in return. Wish me luck!

The Doctor Is In

The harsh realities of life have returned.

The friend I was going to live with in California has bailed, and once again, my faith in humanity weakens. After two weeks of intense planning, she did what most people do...what is best for her.

HOW CAN YOU NOT THINK ABOUT THE OTHER PERSON (or people) INVOLVED?!!!

I am now struggling to find student housing and have less than a month to do so.

Lesson Learned: You can NOT trust anyone, except maybe your parents.

The other realities in my life revolve entirely around my health. Routine doctor visits have left my sense of good health in despair. The gyno put me on a series of pills to cure a multitude of problems. The dentist is trying to save my teeth from future damage. And, now I have an appointment for oral surgery at the beginning of August. My body is falling apart, one piece at a time, and I didn't even know.

The kicker: It is almost all from stress.

The only real answer to all of my current problems is to move to a beach and never step more than 100 feet away from an ocean. Considering the closest beaches are probably covered in tar balls, that option is pretty mute.

So, I'm just going to have to keep on living. No matter how bad each day is, it can always be worse. And, no matter how bad it is when we go to bed, we will almost always wake up the next morning. Life just has to go on, but gosh dammit I wish it could be a little more fun.

Cruisin' For a Bruisin'

...And, I return to civilization!

I believe I was in heaven for a week at the end of June! Then, with my decision to go back to school in the fall and work on a grant proposal, my mind has been elsewhere...

So, let me get you all back up to speed:

I spent a week biking through Northern California. It was a beautiful way to experience the countryside, and a surprisingly, easy trip with my family. One of my sisters, my brother(engaged as of today!!), my parents, and myself biked from Sonoma, to Bodega Bay, through the Redwood Forest, and out to Healdsburg.

We ate. We drank. We Biked.

...and, I fell...

The 3rd day was a 44 mile ride from Bodega Bay, along Highway 1, onto Highway 116 into the Redwoods, and then back out of the forest to Madrona Manor, where we spent the night. That morning somewhere along Highway 1, after my fear of 18-wheelers and lumber trucks was realized, I hopped in the van.

I started biking again at the water stop, only to find out later I missed the hardest part of the week...and, what my dad later referred to as a mirage: appearing to be one thing: flat, and instead finding a series of rather steep hills. When I got on my bike I was ready to transcend the forest! Feeling the courage of the Lion in Oz and humming Harry Potter theme music as we entered the 100 foot trees.

We were less than a mile from lunch, in the midst of the forest, when my fear of fast cars and semis came to a raging stop! Literally. A car came within a foot of my bike, I swirved to the right(away from traffic), hit a bump, in the shade, and my bike came out from under me. I let out a cry for my mom, who was about 20 feet ahead of me.

Mostly shaken up, mulch down my pants, gravel and dirt everywhere, and starting to sob, a few of the other bikers in our group came to my aid. My right hip/ but cheek was swelling, stinging, and turning a bright red, along with a cut on my right arm that began oozing almost immediately. I told everyone to keep riding, including my mother, who by this point was insisting I just get back on my bike! If you haven't met my mom, she is kind of a hard ass...and a 5'1'' 100 lb. tank.

I waited for the van, got in for the 2nd time that day, and was icing my hip by lunch. If it wasn't for the amazing leader, Johnathan, I may not have gotten back on my bike again. He helped me conquer my fear and rode with me (side by side) the rest of the afternoon. Without his great conversation, guidance, and confidence, I may not have made it through the next few days.

The bruise quickly turned from red, to a kaleidoscope of blues, greens, and blacks, which have all since disappeared. The cut scabbed, but is now merely a scar, a tattooed reminder of my trip out west and a fun family adventure!