Words? Well yeah. Words.

The curtains are drawn here, and though the leaves are finally turning and blanketing the ground in color...I'm not out there right now. I'm in here. It seems like a nice day out, but it doesn't feel nice. I'm all for people following their hearts and though I've struggled with some people's political leanings more this year than any year in the past, I'm not a "if you vote X then delete me" sort.

In any case, what's done is done, and now Donald Trump will be president.

Typing that feels exactly the opposite of how typing The Cubs win the World Series feels. That last sentence was this achievement, this "everyone together winning, we're really nice guys" kind of feeling. It felt like no one person could have gotten there without the other. It felt like Chicago kinda of unified to celebrate even if you were a Sox fan. It felt like we had a week full of just happy to float around and celebrate our favorite pasttime, knowing something else was looming in the background. When I said those words, when I typed that sentence, it didn't feel real because it was reaching this goal I didn't think we could reach (or they, more appropriately) and because I was so excited they had I wondered if I'd wake up and it'd be a dream.

Typing the other sentence, the one where Trump is president....that makes me feel afraid, genuinely. That makes me feel like the people around me, even those who I know as loving *to me and generous *to me and kind...well, it makes it seem like the world I know might be a dream.

I haven't said much and I feel the weight of that on me today. I haven't said much because I haven't healed from the last time I felt so fundamentally disconnected from everyone and everything around me, or like I didn't know the people I thought I knew. And it's hard to type what I'm going to but I will anyway. I used to worry that people that I went to church with as a kid would see me having a cocktail while out in the towns we all grew up in. I worried that if I decided to vote for Barack Obama because I believed in what he stood for, and I said that to certain people, that I'd be disowned or at the very least, considered "backslidden" or that it would somehow make me completely devoid of good and God. I worried that what I was seeing in some of my past that I didn't like and trying to get away from would also take away all the people I grew up with.

Taking away the people I grew up with, especially in the early years when it was just me and my mom, no siblings or father, is pretty consequential in my world. I didn't want to lose those father figures, those that had helped my family.

I felt like I had new eyes, seeing things I hadn't seen before. Fear as a tool, compassion as a lie, and casual disregard where there should be love. Once, I talked to Pete  Holmes, a comedian who grew up very similiarly to how I did, about it. The thing he said helped guide me through that storm. He said that he liked to think of religion and everything we were raised with as a room with a bunch of furniture in it. "You get to choose what you keep in it" he explained. "You could empty it completely, close the door and never come back, or you can decide what's worthwhile and needs to be held on to."

So I tried rebuilding.

That was that first time. This feels like a second. I'm afraid to figure that out again. I'm afraid to clean out another room, this time one that represents the country I know. Thing is, I didn't realize how much fear won here. I didn't realize how much misinformation reigned. I mean, I was aware things were bad, but this is like the closet you open and stuff just keeps pouring out.

In fact, I feel like there was no win/lose this time. It was all lose.
This was the worst I feared, because of open vitriol and hatred, but I think I'd have been afraid either way. I'm worried that the changes about to be wrought are going to grind things to a halt. I'm worried that my friends that I love, whether immigrants, lgbtq or not, are going to be in a bad place. I'm worried for nieces and nephews and brothers in law who have to follow the orders of someone who engages in twitter wars who now has the position to start real ones.

This has been...what....700 words on fear and disjointedness and not belonging and figuring things out?

But that picture is what I'm holding on to today. I found that at the Field Museum's Tattoo exhibit, and it really, really spoke to me. This is a tattooed woman from 1928. Every bit the 20s look, every bit the pin-curled, perfectly painted lipped beauty, but covered in courage. Her lace is permanent. I'm sure she faced unkind words, maybe alienation. Maybe she was considered undateable or too dangerous or a woman of loose morals because she looked like that. Maybe she lost friends, who didn't want to be seen with her.

But look at that smile. Look at that confidence. Look at that beauty, because it comes from a bold woman who knows that she is what and who she is, and that she isn't about to hide that or be someone else because it's what would make the least trouble. She's not staying inside or wearing long pants and long sleeves.

And that's what everyone needs to do. After we process this today, maybe stay in our jammies and wonder what the world will be like, we stop wondering and we make it full of love. I may not agree with who you voted for, but anger and hate isn't going to get us anywhere good. Instead of saying I told you so, instead of wishing for something else, I'm going to be one of those that picks up the torch and keeps working towards a better world, because the world doesn't owe me one, I owe it one.

For those afraid, I understand.
For those celebrating because they wanted something drastically different and feel they got it...well, I hope, genuinely, it turns out well for the country, though I see it very differently.
For those who feel endangered- I will stand by you. I am your friend and I love you. You are valuable. Your uniqueness and your perspectives matter.
I won't stay inside.
I won't cover up.
I won't feel afraid to write the truth no matter where it gets me.
I will be more unafraid, because that's what this moment calls for.

And I'm afraid of it, but getting past fear is the first step towards anything good, I think.

New Things Comin'

It is chile time. Our big box of spicy love shipped from the Hatch Valley in New Mexico to us just last week. The timing was not fortuitous, as it was also one of the busiest times of the year for me with Chicagoist, but we rolled with it, and soon there will be plenty of delicious payoff.

I didn't grow up in New Mexico, but it did catch my soul pretty quickly, as I'm sure anyone who knows me knows. The smell of chiles blistering over an open flame instantly takes me to fall in New Mexico, which, though not as varied in color, is one of my favorite things ever.  It's time for burning Zozobra and your worries from the past year, time for stocking up on the good stuff to feed you through the winter, and a fantastic time to get out and hike the beautiful canyons, mesas and mountains.

For me, chiles are the first sign of fall, and I adore fall, even if it is sneaking up on me way more rapidly than I'd supposed it would.

Still, the last two weeks  have been full ones.  Two weekends ago, I got the chance to go to Great America with my friend Erika and her daughter, who had never been before. It was a pretty excellent day, weather-wise, for the trip, and her daughter turns out to be all for the splash down, so we went on every water ride we could and some of the smaller rides in between. It's amazing how little has changed at the park, and how many memories it brought back being there. It's also really, really fun to see the park through a child's eyes.

I may even have gotten some cool-friend-of-mom's points when I decided to follow her into the splash area here.

This past weekend, it was all pop culture, all the time. I took on my annual coverage of Wizard World Chicago for Chicagoist as both writer and photographer. In fact, if you haven't seen it yet, please check out my coverage here, including the amazing cosplay shots from all four days of the show! 

Basically,  I lived in Rosemont for four days and subsisted solely on trail mix and Red Bull while taking in panel after panel of behind-the-scenes fun and stories from the likes of the X Files cast, Bruce Campbell, Lea Thompson, Christopher Lloyd and Michael J. Fox. 

STILL ALIVE! See, eyeliner tricks people into thinking you're bright eyed and bushy tailed. Nailed it!

And sugary, bad for you energy drinks trick your body into thinking you have energy. Thank you, science!

This is not an official pic of Barrowman, it's a "omg he's running around too much this is so blurry" pic of the whole ensemble. See the article for a more, um, stable view?

John Barrowman wove hilarious tales and wore interesting things, and Carrie Fisher made me remember how much I adored Star Wars in high school and how much of Leia just exists in her, with her fierceness, kindness and humor.  If I hadn't wanted to be Princess Leia before, I'd certainly like to be like Carrie Fisher. 

She manages a self-deprecating, humorous, kind voice of an advocate, and puts action behind her words. She can admit to her own struggle with her appearance and how she chased after looking great at the same time she admonishes us and herself that beauty isn't an accomplishment and being vain is a waste of time. She can also make even those who have the hardest time speaking up gather courage and strength to do it, connecting through mutual interests and a little bit of encouragement, and she did when she invited a girl and her helper dog to meet Gary Fisher.  It wasn't just a photo op, either. It was a real meeting, and she really cared. That  much was entirely evident. 

At the end of all the panels, malnourishment, cosplay and purchase avoidance, I was left a lot exhausted and a little disheveled, but it was all worth it. 

This cat is tired and has no idea what's happening. She also wants to go back to sleep now, dammit. This cat was me every night when I got home from Rosemont.

It's been a slice, August, and I can't believe you're almost over. New things are just around the corner and I'm excited about them. 

One other thing that happened while I was Wizard Worlding this past weekend?

I officially became the editor of the Beyond page for Third Coast.

It's an exciting addition to my resume, an awesome opportunity and a little bit frightening all at once, but I'm hoping to do Nancy and her team proud and bring great stories to Third Coast. 

While remaining, as ever I have, a Chicagoista.

Let's see what happens next.

52 Weeks of Relationship- Performed for Kill Your Darlings Live Lit Event 8/10. Chicago

Maybe an early sign that he was right for me was back in our high school days. I was staring out the band room window at the blanket of gray clouds pouring rain on broken pavement, and decided I'd like to walk home in the rain with somebody.  He obliged, and walked a mile in the opposite direction of his own house, in the rain with me. And though even then, I was enamored with his sparkly brown eyes, silky dark hair and  thick pensive eyebrows, I remember it as a gesture of true friendship, and that friendship was one we kept up, even after leaving school and going separate directions for a while.

Our story is one of shared nerdery. Many years later, on an early date, we intentionally mispronounced words together and laughed about extinct units of measure. I brought him The IT Crowd and he brought me an entire universe of Star Trek.  But this is about food.

I entered the world of home cooking much the way a cartoon rat did.  Rachael Ray, she of the high-beam smile and cutesy words for ingredients, declared that anyone can cook. So I did. I made pastas and pizzas and whatever the hell a "stoup" is, and realized it was fun. I started making sauces from scratch and found it relaxing and engaging all at once. I cooked for him, hoping to impress.
I didn't know where cooking would take us. I didn't know how to long-term relationship. In the early months of our relationship, he intimidated me. He was definitely the smartest man I'd been with, the most open. He has a certain air of "cool" around him that an awkward turtle like myself only aspires to.

Our first Valentine's Day together was at his parents' house. He was and is their full time caretaker, and I wanted to help. So to fight the bitter cold, we made pot roast. With fresh herbs (I insisted) and mashed potatoes spiked with cream cheese on the side. Comfort food, perhaps the only place comfort could be found then.

He began to be interested in food, too. In a short period of absence from each other he studied fiercely, smoking meats, making candy and learning all manner of dishes. We started cooking together.  And maybe it doesn't seem surprising now, but I was taken aback when he mentioned a "52 Weeks of Cooking" challenge he'd seen on Reddit and asked me if we could do it together. Spend a lifetime trying to get boys not to ignore you and have one suggest a 52 week long activity, and your jaw, too, would be on the floor. The challenge itself was simple. Each week, the moderators of this online community would present a theme. We would cook according to whatever technique, cuisine or ingredient was presented, and post pictures of our results.  Armed with the new DSLR he'd gotten me for Christmas, we plunged forward.

Diet Food, Ice Cream, Alcohol- we made bananas foster for that one, and not only did we NOT burn down the house, we got amazing pictures of the flames leaping forth from our saute pan. We also got lots and lots of upvotes. (explain here?) We started photographing each dish from start to finish, and so began our obsession with making things as "from scratch" as possible. (went so far as making butter)

One of our earliest successes was French Silk Pie. After a little research, we hit upon a beautiful, flaky butter based crust recipe, and he turns out to be an incredibly good pie maker.  I double boiled and folded and the combination was heaven. I learned his kitchen, how he learned, how he worked. We learned together, watching Good Eats as a primer to everything kitchen-related.
But it's not all fun and games, not 52 weeks. We once waited 12 days to receive Australian wattleseeds for a self-saucing pudding that....self sauced itself into a microwave flash flood. There were camera fails, oven fails, and visits to 5 grocery stores without being able to find a damn blade of lemongrass. Even though we had 3 weeks to post from when each theme was announced, with work, caretaking and life, it could get down to the wire.

Sometimes, one of us was sick, and the other was left to stir and photograph alone. Sometimes, we were in an argument, but we still had to make a bunch of egg salad for the Easter theme, and it wasn't getting any earlier. Once, the theme was colors, and we decided to go against the grain and choose Purple. I cannot tell you how long it took us to come up with something, but Martha Stewart to the rescue, we had a radicchio and eggplant pasta that was pretty purple. No thanks to Martha, it was pretty but also quite bitter, and the dinner crowd at our house was not amused.

We even travelled with the challenge. We were fortunate that our trip up north to Door County had us staying in a suite with a little attached kitchen and our hotel was right in front of an amazing bodega, and even more fortunate when the theme for that week was "Hangover Cures" and we made some killer late night breakfast sandwiches. I learned to make his dad's recipe for Hungarian goulash with him. He learned how to roll the golabki my grandmother and I made together, and did it better than I did. We later presented my 90 year old grandmother with that dish and won her full approval. We went whole hog during Concession Foods week and made handmade corndogs, funnel cakes, and big, shiny soft pretzels.  A little trivia for you: getting that mahogany brown right requires food grade lye. You know, the kind that can dissolve your entire arm? Gear was acquired and worn, and a mad scientist was born.

We tackled making bacon, smoking salmon, and handling a PSMO tenderloin (that's 'peeled, silver skin, side muscle on, which I didn't know). Sometimes, our exploits kept us up well after sane people had turned in. On one such occasion, I attempted to make tiny little apple rose tarts with the sunrise as a backdrop. During surf and turf week, when beef tenderloin and snow crab were on the menu, we were in a real groove. Potatoes were baked, beef was being sous vided, and crab was steaming. Unfortunately, the sky was turning a sickly green, and while some of us were still enjoying the fruits of our labor, the tornado sirens sounded and we had to ferry five cats and a few people to the basement and leave it all behind.  Week 52, I'd picked out snickerdoodles for our cookie theme, thinking the comforting pillowy cinnamon cookies would delight my sweetie and we'd finish in a beautiful sugar coma. What instead came out of our oven, I dubbed Snickerdon'tles.  Flat as pancakes and entirely too salty, I sadly snapped shots of my most personal fail. Up it went. But as I went to throw them away, there he was, popping a few in his mouth while reaching towards me for a hug.  "I think they're pretty good, anyway" he said.

It wasn't perfect. We didn't gold star that finish. Some weeks we hated the challenge. Some weeks, pans and doors were slammed.  Sometimes we had no idea what we were doing. But we kept going. We kept learning, we kept creating together, and when I think of all that time spent chasing internet points, trying to figure out what a good video-game inspired dish might be, and taking 100 shots of one freaking lemon, I can't help but see how much I learned about this whole damn long-term relationship thing. It's a marathon, but one you get to run with your best friend. Over and over again. On this week's menu? Video game inspired burritos, and a whole lot of love.

How I Win

I'm going to tell you a story.
It's going to be true.
It's gonna suck you guys, because it's a true story about the suck that this week has been.

Have you ever felt like life/the universe/everything is just conspiring to kick you, grind your face into the sand, pour tar over you, feather you, stand you up and send you into the expressway at 5:30?
Cuz yeah.

But this story, though it is seeming to END with me under the blankets eating Milanos and crying, isn't just suck and give up and curl up and die.

Because in the midst of this crappy, crappy, soulcrushing week, I did something to make myself better. I did something brave, and for myself, and to combat my own complacency.

Tonight, at 7 pm, I read at a live lit event for Third Coast, at ComedySportz Theater. Read. Out loud. All me and no instrument. With my words in front of me.

See, I've always written. Back to 5th grade, I've had journals. I filled an entire book full of poetry in high school, some of which I actually don't cringe to read nowadays. But it was always under wraps, or lock and key, in the case of some Lisa Frank diaries past...

It took a long time and a weird path to get me to show those words to anyone. Even weirder paths to get me to Chicagoist, and more recently, Third Coast. Even still, my most frequent quote about speaking is that "I don't word good out loud. That's why I write."

Speaking makes me nervous. Speaking makes me unclear and uncovered. Speaking makes me the only one speaking, in this case, and my words are supposed to ...mean something? Make someone laugh?

But there I was. Late, flustered, sad to see no familiar faces in the crowd, though it is a weeknight and most people left in the area had kids or work to tend to tomorrow...but there I was.

One hand gripping the bottom of the music stand (perhaps something of a safety blanket since music stands and I go way, way back, performance wise)....another trying to make decent eye contact while I told a story. A love story. A story about how love (and food, since it was the night's theme) are messy and sometimes suck and it's arduous and long, but hopefully, you can make things, grow, and learn.

And then I got in my car, tried to back out of my space, and smacked my passenger's side mirror on the cement wall of the garage. And then I tried to make a quick stop on the way home and ended up at Addison and Clark just as the Cubs game ended. And then I was home in 2 hours, not one.

And then, at home, I thought I'd be able to relax and unwind and tell stories and maybe put some happiness out there. And that solidly didn't happen. So I thought I'd go to bed. Well, it's 3:14 so you can see how well that's gone.

So yeah. Yeah life, you screwed me up this week. Yeah, I didn't help myself.
But at least I read.

Love! (And Marriage and Light and Darkness and Hope).

Can't help but notice lately that there's not a ton of happy just lying around in stockpiles. And I'd try to maintain that it wasn't affecting me except for the fact that ever since the Pulse shooting I've been having recurring dreams about being at the store, at a movie, at a park...and suddenly being caught in one without knowing the status of my loved ones or knowing if it was safe to run. I don't know why those dreams didn't happen with PAST incidents, but...brains are strange things.

I think I've been quiet because I'm trying to wrap my brain around things that your brain shouldn't wrap around.

But that's not what today is about. That's not what this is about. Today, a person I knew since he was 3 years old and who I had the occasion to babysit, got married. To a girl who it is absolutely obvious adores him.  A beautiful, kind, zest-for-life sort who could tease a smile out of a grizzly bear, from what I know of her.

And as I saw the pictures post, I saw the overflowing happiness. And a thing I noted, upon studying it...is that I think it'd have just exploded with happy vibes no matter where it was. Because I know the families of the bride and groom are THRILLED. I know they feel like they're expanding their own families. I know the bride's family loves the groom and vice versa. No one had to say it, it's just massively evident in the preparations and in the little community surrounding them.  And ok, everyone has their dream weddings. Fall, somehow lilacs, candlelight, whatnot. But what I want most is that happiness. That light, airy feeling of LOVE. The "today is exceptional because my whole family welcomes someone new into it and we are ALL excited" feeling.

I didn't think about how someone ten years my junior is getting married, I didn't think of my life and whether it was missing anything, I saw people I care about smiling from ear to ear in photos. I saw new bonds and old bonds and dancing and laughter and lightness. Did it rain today? I'm sure not one person there noticed if it did.

Soon, there'll be another wedding. A dear friend of mine, much closer in age to me, has found someone that SHE adores and who adores her. And having known her for even longer, I know how her heart ached to find someone who would hold on to HER and her heart the way that he does. I've seen him go out of his way to protect it with the actions he took even as he struggled.  I've seen the family rally around it and make room to expand. What a celebration it will be to see the man that earned a heart as big as hers by having a matching one he committed to her take the final steps and become man and wife.

It's stuff like that that reminds me why weddings, why marriage. It's not tax breaks, it's not a guarantee, it's not somehow going to make things easier with relationships...it's to shout LOVE from the rooftops. It's to blend families together and make new memories. It's to say "Today is for love. Today we celebrate these people and the beautiful thing that THEY have that no one else can have."

Maybe we can't control....anything. Things seem dangerously off the rails and people seem to forget that love comes first, and that you can love someone and disagree with them. That hate and violence won't EVER be the answer.

Know what we can do? We can put that love vibe out there. We can keep loving, and keep celebrating love, and remember why it's important. We can know that love isn't magic, and relationships are work, and struggle and hardship, but we can celebrate how MUCH love can change, and all the ways love wins.

And maybe tonight? We'll have better dreams.

Soy Un Chicagoista

I spent a gorgeous day in my favorite city this past Saturday.  And, being summer, things were in full swing.  Pride Fest, Puerto Rican Fest, Cubs games and concerts were on the menu.  I had an incredibly booked day, with a first meeting with my colleagues at Third Coast Review, who I just started writing for, an amazing opportunity to interview Jonathan Coulton and Paul and Storm at the Cards Against Humanity office on the north side, the Garfield Park Conservatory's corpse flower, which had decided to bloom after a brief fakeout during the week, and the JoCo and crew concert at the Vic that night. It was writing, photography and nerdish glee for me, but in doing it all, I also found a moment of my own pride. Or a few.

The first time it hit me, it was when I had successfully navigated Broadway in Lakeview during prime brunching hours DURING Pride Fest. After a few circles, I found a teeny tiny spot in front of Intelligentsia, where I a)really, really needed to sit down and polish my interview questions and get prepared and b) really, really wanted my most favorite coffee drink in the entire world, which is their Black Cat iced latte. Seriously, it makes every other iced coffee seem like a watery mess. There's a reason why Intelligentsia is such a sought after coffee brand, and they extrapolate that out to the people and techniques at their cafes.

So, without a second thought, I parallel parked perfectly in a tight spot on a busy street.

Maybe you don't drive. Maybe you were born with the parallel parking gene. Maybe you never got sideswiped on another busy city street because a bus didn't see you and forced you to move a lane or risk a crushing death. I don't know.

What I do know, is this was a combination of things I couldn't do and was afraid to do, and I didn't even blink. Once the interview questions were calmly, cleanly typed out and I was on latte #1, I had a chance to reflect, and in that moment, I was proud to overcome a fear.

Next on my agenda was the interview.  And what didn't start off well turned out to be fantastic. When I got to the CAH offices, all the doors were locked. It was really hot out, and the doorbell wasn't bringing anyone to let us in.  I was early, but my earliness was slowly becoming "on time/lateness."

Luckily, the awesome PR person I'd been working with let me know things were fine, and someone would be right down. And oh, by the way, Jonathan Coulton is stuck outside too and should be coming along soon.

Now...if you know me the way I know me, and the way some of my closest friends know me, you know one thing that racks me right up with fear are interviews. From day one with Chicagoist, whenever I had an interview, I was excited to get the opportunity and terrified in equal measures. Some know me as the awkward turtle, and even if that's going too far, what I *am* is certainly an introvert, which makes breaking the ice....well....dreadful. But it turns out that, when you're stuck outside on a muggy Chicago day waiting for a door to open...you have a mutual, shared pain. It also turns out that Jonathan Coulton is extremely nice, and of a kindred nerdy spirit, and by the time we got in, the interview seemed, as good interviews should, in my opinion, more like two people having a casual conversation.  I listened back over to it just tonight, and both his segment and the simultaneous one surprised me. I've had some pretty awkward interview moments, where I got caught off guard by an answer (or no answer) or lost my place and panicked...and...this wasn't that.  And because it wasn't, it's going to turn into something neat that I've never been a part of before, which I'm incredibly excited about.

After that, I got a chance to check out Persephone, the newest corpse flower on the scene. When a staff member asked me about myself and what I did...I actually mentioned that I was a writer and I'd written the piece about Persephone for Chicagoist. Turns out I was talking to the director of the conservatory, who I'd recently interviewed on the phone, and got a chance to have a one on one talk with her and network a little bit more for future stories. Had I been a wuss like normal and not said much...I'd have missed out on a great face to face and some great stories, including the dilemma they were facing about getting persephone OFF display.

And last? I met up with one of my more recent friends, and a former colleague at Chicagoist who I both admire and relate to a hell of a lot.  She's been where I've been and beyond, and we talked relationships, writing, food and family, and it was fantastic.

Lately, I've been a lot about what I'm not, and a lot about what I need to be, and a lot about what I've been in the past that I'm not measuring up to now.  It's some of the rocks I mentioned in the last entry. I just haven't felt like me is much, you know? Or that I've made progress and become something different and better than I was.

But tonight, in reliving my Saturday, I see a more organized version of my younger self.  One who is still awkward and introverted sometimes, but can also speak intelligently with heart.  I saw a person who didn't let herself be defined by past injuries and didn't give a second thought to the things that used to scare her, and I saw someone who was actively pursuing something that she didn't (and sometimes still doesn't) think she's capable of or worthy of.  I saw someone who knew herself, spaced out her day well, and treated herself without breaking the bank....and I felt good.

An old blog of mine was called non sum qualis eram- I am not what I once was. I picked that for motivation to become more than I was then.  Today, I can confidently say that is the case.  I'm nowhere near done, and it's likely that will be a motto I take with me my whole life...but I'm glad that today, I can see more than what I fail to do.

Back Back Train- Fight The Power

There's been some rocks lately. I haven't talked much about it, because I'm sick of sharing about my rocks. I'm sick of being on the rocks. I wonder if I'm just rocks and that's all I am, you know? Throw me in the water and I'll sink like a stone, can't swim anymore.

This is sounding crazy grim, no? So Mom, if you're reading, or aunts and uncles, let's not get crazy. Surely, before, you've had a point in your life where you feel like everything's upside down, or even just one thing you really care about is upside down.  Surely you've felt like a big lumpy box of rocks. It's human. It sucks, and it's human. Ever notice how most of the things that people consider the most human are sucky? Just a thought.

There's something else there though, and maybe it takes being a sad sack of rocks for a while to get to it.  There's fight. There's struggle.  There's the urgent need to get things back online.

I need to get things back online.

I need to fight.

If I feel, or am made to feel, like a worthless, shitty person, I need to take a long look at it.
Yes, there's the part where you analayze and go "Hey, did I do something crappy to someone?" "Have I maybe hurt someone or stepped on toes or crossed lines? How can I fix this?"
It's hard to look at yourself and realize you can be selfish, rude, oblivious or downright crappy.
It's hard to realize you've wasted a lot of time.

But it's stupid to stay down. It's stupid not to fight. It's also incredibly stupid not to realize the things you are that are good, too. Don't throw yourself out with the bathwater, you know?

It's stupid not to try again. Try harder. It's stupid to stop if you fail again.
It's stupid to look at something or someone and say I can't.

So...no stupid.
No worthless.
Now's the time to use the drive I've always had to prove myself for good, and not to my own detriment.

I don't care what you see when you look at me. I don't care if you think I'll sink or swim.
Watch me fly.

New Wave- Day One with the HTC Vive

You guys...it's the future outside. Hold onto your hats, and I'll wait here while you look outside. Dancing, sorting, emoting robots...little tiny pocket computers you take everywhere...VR.

That last part just came to be in my realm today, when the HTC Vive arrived.  I pause here to say I am only writing this for my own amusement and to hopefully help others who are curious know what it's like, I've not gone all product placement on all of you.

I'm not going to go specs, suffice it to say your computer has to be pretty darn decent to be able to run it. If you're blessed enough to have that and are able to get a Vive...it is pretty amazing. We set it up within a half an hour, and as soon as we played around with the first little programs, it was impressive. The Lab software you get with it is a LOT of fun, and everything has that sort of Valve/Aperture/Portal flair to it.

The controllers fit your hands really well, are rendered perfectly whenever you're wearing the headset as if you were actually looking at a non virtual copy, and for whatever reason, make everything you do that much more immersive, from shooting a bow and arrow, to picking up and manipulating things, to becoming....

LORD OF THE SONGS!

One of my favorite moments in the few hours I've been around the Vive came in playing AudioShield. It's a simple concept, and kind of a simple program. It's not trying to make you feel like you're in the real Atlantic, or the real anything. What it IS is you and your music in space, as an incredible, surrounding game a la Guitar Hero. For some reason, the pure fun of punching/shielding out the beat to any song you have on your computer just got me all misty-eyed. It's the meeting of playing a game and actually doing things, kinda like DDR, but...even more amazing.  Instead of you hitting arrows on a pad lying on the floor in front of you, it's you and this open space and all sorts of crazy, pretty, glowy orbs waiting to be blasted into colorful confetti as you move along to the music.

I *love* the ability to have a big play space to move around in.
I love the controllers.
I love the Valve/Steam/Portal flair.
I ABSOLUTELY love AudioShield and can't wait to try TiltBrush, which is an immersive art experience.

I think Vive knows exaaaaactly how to produce a sense of awe with the technology it delivers. I think it knows that fun is fun is fun, and I'm really, really excited for the whole thing to become a little bit more accessible to everyone and more refined.

Is it a little weird wearing what feels like a slightly lighter brick on your face and having a cord running down your back? Yeah, a little. But with no motion sickness to report (coming from someone who gets motion sick from regular PC games and 3d movies sometimes) and all the amazing fun I'm having...I fail to care. Vive is really, really neat, and a whole new kind of fun, and I'm looking forward to more adventures.

Rough Around The Edges

Hello world.

I'm still here, even though it's May. I'm trying to stick to my word better, here and everywhere else.
Today, I'm trying to even go above and beyond a little bit by enduring sleep deprivation to wait for a package that has to be signed for even though my "shift" waiting is up, because m'dear love has not gotten enough sleep lately. So I shall share the deprivation with him by taking his other shift so he can sleep. Hopefully, I shall receive the box triumphantly, present it to him, and immediately fall into blissful slumber.

This should also explain any anomalies whilst typing. Blah.

I'm feeling a bit...down again today. I seem to have double-booked myself this weekend, and while I have a feeling that it has self-resolved, it makes me a little sad that it has. If you haven't seen me posting elsewhere lately, well, dammit. Cuz I haven't either. I'm going to continue to keep my nose to the grindstone, my head up, dedicate myself to doing better and better work each time I get a chance to, and hope that someone takes me up on the offer. Trying hard not to focus on the stories I wanted to tell that aren't being told. Feeling, today, a bit like I let myself and possibly my love down with the way things happened with the double-booking though. There's good reasons for not pushing to make it happen, but I still worry that I'm gonna disappoint.

Lots to look forward to and lots to do this week. Got the  garden under way, even a few things planted, like strawberries and a beautiful dahlia that I'm hoping to keep alive just as my own little baby project. Put some beauty out there.

I feel less good than I thought I even did when I started this. Perhaps the tired is messing with my emotions more than I thought. Even so, I need to make more of myself than what I've made in the past year or so, for me first, but for the people I love too.

I think I'll chew on that and try to breathe through the sads.
Rambling about sadness is not gonna get me anywhere.

The Closeout

Well, it's time to roll on out from prompts and start on my own two feet, all of you that took this journey with me.

I faltered, I missed, and indeed, I'm doing the last two days of April on the first day of May, but one thing I can say is that I finished. Instead of starting things only on Mondays or firsts of the month, I did the work, even if I was behind, and I finished.

Or I will, as soon as I roll out our last two and sew it up with a pretty little bow.

So! My 21st birthday-
I was still a dedicated pizza girl, so much of the crew I was close with was well aware I was turning 21, and excited to see me party it up.  So they and many of my other good friends met up with me at TGI Friday's to start, and thus began my immediate education on liquor. First drink I ever had was an amaretto stone sour.  And when I liked it, several more followed. Then the jolly rancher shot, then a lovely trick drink made to embarass the drinker, and probably a few more. The idea was that perhaps after Friday's, we'd hit another bar, but I don't think that we did. Instead, I opened presents, did the drinkin' that comes without the heavy bill, and managed to get away from my 21st with no wicked hangover or regurgitation. Yayyyy!

And now: Something I'm excited for...
Hm. It's felt rough around here lately. One of my close relatives has been sick, some work things are not great, and I've got a lot to think about as far as how life continues from here, and it needs to be thought out now...

There is something I'm excited about, but it's a bit of a secret for now, and I can't spoil that for this post. Some people already know.

I tend to want to have goals in my life, things to look forward to that drive me through the week or month or year, and I think I need to find some. Being so moorless is a bit of an issue. I don't know exactly what I'm excited for today, but I do know I need to find out, so I have something to carry me through.

Now: to the future! To promptless May!
And in May? I think I'll challenge myself to post at least 3 times a week. And take new photos to use for those posts. And find things to be excited about, day by day.

Y'know, whatever.

Behind the times again, and we're winding down. On the up side, I am liking blogging here more. On the up side again, I'm looking forward to writing without parameters.

So for starters, we're at 28. 28 is about phrases you use all the time. I have some, I spose. FYI is one, and I guess I use that so much to indicate that it's a useless fact I'm about to give someone. FYI, there's extra salad.  I guess I use it to say things aren't important.

At one point, I'd stop myself mid sentence a lot to say "Like...yeah." This prompted the boyfriend to pull a Miley on me, and start singing "Going to the store like yeah" when I'd say that.

I think my most common one now is "or whatever."

I know exactly why I do this, and it's part of the diplomat personality trait that sometimes gets out of hand. I tend to soften things or qualify opinions to make them seem less harsh. It's part of the people pleaser trait that gets out of hand. It's weird, because I'm pretty damn introverted, but I really really still want people, even strangers, to like me. Leads to great awkwardness. Or whatever is something that I tag on to the end of sentences to indicate flexibility. Like, "We can get Hardee's...or whatever." Like, here's my thoughts, but whatever else is good too.  I need to temper this, because while on the surface it's harmless, sometimes it's not good.

So that's a wrap on that.  29 later tonight, if I'm good.

Stripped

I think I'm gonna mix my prompts today and make them one and the same, because it feels right.

Today's about things you'd say to exes and what you're wearing.

I'm not dressed particularly nicely, but the pants I'm wearing are soft and comfortable and fit me nicely. They've got pockets, too, which is nice for a time like the present, when I need my phone charged and on me 24/7 in case of emergency. (Unfortunately, in the interim period between this post and last, things got a little more intense for me and mine, and I'm hoping that there's some sun that's gonna come from behind the clouds that gathered.)

What else I'm wearing is a simple black v-neck shirt. Hair's up in a claw clip, black flip-flops and well, comfy underthings.

I think that's how I feel about my relationship too (when things are going well, of course)...that it's soft and cozy and comfortable, and that it's not about airs or pretenses.  We know each other without suits or makeup or particularly good breath. We know each other cranky and smelly and sick and healthy too. And that's...in the same headspace that soft, drapey black pants with a pocket for my phone lay.

Not walking around in a pencil skirt where I haven't got the range of motion to kick my heels up, not nipping skin off the backs of my heels til they bleed to get a few extra inches...grounded. Naked toes, naked nails, messy hair.

This isn't to say I'm not obsessed with new things I can do with my Christmas Gwen Stefani eyeshadow palette or coloring my hair bright red or looking at pretty dresses to wear for no reason, and not to say that sometimes, if I'm coming home to my sweetie, I'm not putting on lipstick I wasn't wearing on the job or touching up eyeliner just to prettify for him. It's just to say that the basics, the comfort, the softness...is all good, and what I'm glad to have. It's not to say I don't think pencil skirts are THE.DAMN.SEXIEST sometimes. It's just to say I know NOW that the underlying comfort is where it's really at.

In this little metaphor, my SO now is the comfy pants, and my exes are the ones making my heels bleed and restricting my motion. You take these things off because they're hurting you, or in the end, they're just really not working for you.  That said, you cared about them once, so what would you say?

If honesty were any part of one of my ex's lives, I'd sit him down and tell him, one on one, in enough raw detail to drive the point home, how hurtful his actions were, and the trail of hurt he's left behind him. I'd tell him that the person that I saw was likely still in there, but he's paid too much attention to being some sort of alpha male playboy with an interest in whisky and his friends and family would rather him be a nerdy, outdoorsy sort who knows what truth is and realizes the hurt in his life is coming to him via his own hand. I'd like to tell him all the times he could have made it right and ask why he didn't just. Before, that was a burning question. Now? It's just...a sort of curiosity. Oblivious, malevolent, or something else, you know?

To another, I'd just express concern and support. A push to be something, create a fantastic life for himself, and not waste away in a better place than before, because then you really didn't gain any ground.

To any: That I'm not and should never have been a secret. That I can see now that I let some things happen to me that I shouldn't have, but that they damn well knew it too. That I'm worth the risk of a real relationship, and that I'm a damn good catch.

Sometimes, I need to tell myself that last one too.

Because Reasons...

Alrighty. I'm here, it's still 4/25 somewhere, like New Mexico, and I'm writing. I'm unhappy and tired, but I'll give you what I've got. This *should* be a fun post, so I'll try to get there. We cool?

This picture kinda makes me smile at least. Yes, I am holding a sign that says a dragon burned down my castle whilst literally panhandling with a plastic tiara and a singed shirt.

This was for GISHWHES, and it's me at my weirdest and boldest and most fun, and GISHWHES was a wonderful thing for me both years I did it. I kinda hope to be doing it again this year.

Anyway, weirdness is the topic, and I have plenty of that. Unfortunately it's four weird traits that YOU have and I am bad at talking about me successfully. So, we pull the teeth.

Traits. Weird traits.

1. Driving to un-mad/non-routine driving:  I got in a car and I was hooked. I loved the freedom, I loved night drives, I loved exploring. I drove to get away, I drove to be independent, I drove for work, even. And I still love it. Part of it is control, and that's not that weird. I like driving places because then I can leave when I want to, and knowing that helps me be more comfortable when I'm places that I'm not sure I want to be (hello, introvertedness on full display!).  But I also drive to calm down. I know people always say "don't drive angry" but driving actually helps me feel less stressed, more calm, more sane and less mad. Also, I like knowing multiple routes to the places I want to go and taking them often, even if one way is a little bit longer or has more traffic. I just would rather have a change in what's outside the window than save five minutes most times. This drives more logical people nuts, so I try to save it for when I'm alone, but luckily, almost everyone I'm close to indulges me in the wanderlust sometimes.

2. Talking to myself: I know it's not necessarily that weird, but I get more weird looks when I step out of the car having a conversation with myself than I care to admit. Usually I'm just going over what I need to do, or where I need to go or something, but I don't always curb it just because the car door is open, and sometimes I embarass myself with it a little bit. I think it's a function of being an only child for so long, and living on my own so long. I actually think I made my cat Ana a bit more of a vocal critter because of how much I talked to her when I lived in Los Alamos and was pretty isolated because of my baker's hours and general unwillingness to put myself out there to make friends at the time.

3, Severe Weather Obsession: Most of my close friends know about this. And now I'm  using it for good, as I've become a trained storm spotter for the National Weather Service by attending a class a week or two ago.  When I was younger I was terrified of even a regular thunderstorm, but as I got older I just became fascinated. It's especially tornadoes, as it's literally one of the most, if not the most, powerful force on earth, but sporadic and mysterious and here and gone. It's this random burst of incredible destructive force, and yet one house stands and another doesn't.  I've learned a lot over years and years of watching shows and documentaries, but I learned more practical stuff in my class.  Now I feel like I can take something I am randomly obsessed with and hopefully help my community. Last year was the impetus, when an EF-1 touched down in my town and the neighboring one, and neither community had sirens or warning for it til afterwards. I saw the rotating wall cloud but I wasn't sure I was seeing what I was. We went to the basement, it touched down, tore up a local food joint everyone loved, and tore the roof of the high school off in the next town over. If that had been a bigger tornado, I really don't want to know what would have  happened to the places I grew up in and where a lot of people I love still live. So I'm glad that instead of just watching two weeks of tornado shows as breakup therapy, now I can use the meteorological stuff I just learned to call it in and hopefully get word out should another storm come through here.

4. Intentional word murdering: So yes, I fight grammar nazi tendencies. But in my spare time, when not writing, I also like to murder the English language. The easier to pronounce the word is, the more I like to butcher it.  Car? Three letters. One syllable. It will now be "the cray."

Usually, I did this alone, or sometimes with my mom, who likes to call scissors SKISSORS or knives kuhnivees herself at times. Then I met the boy who now holds my heart, and I do it way, way more often. Early in our relationship, we had a sort of epic rap battle style mispronounce-off of the word "helicopter" which went on until we got to obscure units of measurements (hectarecopter) and left off at the completely insane "heca-lobster" which is sometimes what we still call them. I have, in fact, gotten confused looks from friends in recent years because of the new prevalence of this weird trait, when I yelled back at them to get in the CRAY. Oops.

So there's four weird things about me, and one other one: I'd drink milk with just about anything. Spaghetti and meatballs is a milk meal deal or no deal. No milk, no spaghetti.

Alrighty. Well, I do feel a bit better. Being weird tends to make me feel more comfortable, even if it's just on a blog.

So...goodnight?

Missing...

Well, this is the prompt to end all prompts. What do I miss?
It's probably the one with the most obvious answer, but I want to elaborate.
I miss New Mexico. I know, I'm obsessed.
But that's what it's like when it's love, you know?
That's what it's like when you move over a thousand miles from where you've ever lived before, and you find out that that was where your heart was in the first place.

It might sound kinda ridiculous, or overdramatic, but I dream of the mountains I came to know by their faces. I crave that feeling I so often describe to people of the sun sitting just over your shoulder. Of all that unabashed sunshine.  Of the blazing sunsets and bright blue skies and vibrant red earth. Of that openness, and that invitation it always extends to me to run until I can't stop and sit at the top of a canyon and listen for the whispers from the other side of the mesa.

For green chile and white sands and fresh honey drizzled on warm sopaipillas.

For a slower life and a smaller town.

For the incredibly rich surroundings, so that every weekend or even at the end of a day, you can go to a canyon and watch the sun set.

I want every bit of that. I loved every minute of that.

It has been six years, and I've gotten so much out of being back in Chicago- from Chicagoist itself to a wonderful boyfriend I love and more employment opportunities...but I ...I can't shake it.
I want to be back there. Lucky for me, the boyfriend is also a fan of the Southwest, so there's a sweet someday that we might be able to make a life there.

I love Chicago. I love that my friends and family are out here (though less so now than when I got back).  I *really* love Chicago. I very much love the opportunities Chicagoist gave me. But that damn desert is in my heart and my lungs and my head all the time.

Sometimes I wish it wasn't that way.

When I visited in 2009 on the road trip I just wanted to stay, and there were a lot of reasons for that. When I went back in 2013, it felt like coming home. Stepping off the plane the air felt right, the town felt familiar, the burrito lady still made the hottest and best burritos....Sofia's still served the best and hottest in Socorro. The Cap was still the town center....

I could still get a green chile burger anywhere. Kija and I could play around on Nob Hill.
Water Canyon was still amazing for camping, and waking up in those mountains? Being in a cave at the Box at 10 am? It felt exhilirating. I felt alive. Exploring the Quebradas, White Sands, pistachio farms and everything else...just felt like the life I wanted.

I want to take the high road to Taos. I want to go back to the pueblos and parks and plazas.

So so much.

So...what do I miss? I miss that.
I feel like I need it and I always will.  Luckily, the people closest to me? Seem to get it.

I'm gonna have some mountain dreams. Good night, Facebookland.

My House Is Rising But I Am Not?

So hey! It's me, back from the depths I disappeared into. Seriously though, I need to try to reinforce writing as a habit, and I need to make sure I catch up if not keep up, and then keep going after the prompts finish.

SO.

We were on 21. This is all about the sign, which you saw or didn't see, and which did or did not open up your eyes.

My particular sign is Sagittarius, though I am, as it happens, on the cusp of Scorpio. I was once told that I could have my picture in the dictionary under Sagittarius, because I was so typical of it. I do have some of the traits that people attribute to it, like a wanderlust, a hatred of routine, creativity, etc. I have some scorpio stuff too, like a strong desire to keep to myself, though that's a function of introversion too.  This could be telling or totally coincidental depending on how you look at it, and that's all I've got to say about that.

Next, for 22, it's morning routines.

IF I were to have one, it's hitting snooze for another half hour, complaining, getting out of bed, feeding the kitties while the bf does the medicine rounds, then sleepily either making the bf coffee or standing around the kitchen while he makes the coffee, one or the other. We then lumber into the living room for some light internet browsing before figuring out what it is we're doing that day.

That's a typical day. Picture doing everything as if you're slogging through mud, slowly and quietly and resentfully. Morning and I were never friends.

Let's knock out 23 also. It asks for a family member you dislike. First, I wouldn't really put that here, and second, I really like my family. Sure, we have issues here and there, and feelings have been hurt in the past, but we always seem to work it out and we're there for each other when it matters, and in fact, I have a pretty close family. So...yep!

One whole post after this for 24, and then tomorrow's shall go tomorrow. :)

Catch'd and up!

I Get Knocked Down. So I Take A Bath...And Then...

So I got taken out today by a combination of dehydration, working outside all day without eating, some hella fun but expected pains, and a bit of gastrointestinal distress. I'm still sore as heck, but oh well. Got some neat stuff going in the yard and garden. Just need to be smarter about how I'm going about things.

The above flower is real, fyi, it's just not in our garden. It's from the Chicago Botanic Gardens. Maybe one day, our garden too? I dream of hydrangeas and lilacs and dahlias and stuff.

Meanwhile, we're still doin' the prompts.

Five fears was the oldest due. Let's list it out! I promise less bullet points than last time.

1.  Losing people I love. I'm sure everyone has this fear, I just think it's a little bit more pronounced with me having lost my dad so early. I felt like anyone could be taken at any time, and if I'm honest, which I guess this post is looking for, still do. That and a couple of ghosts and demons in my past and I feel like if they're not gonna be taken, they'll just up and leave themselves. "People always leave" has been a mantra I adopted without really wanting to.
2. Bees. It's sort of on the lighter side, except I really, really am afraid of bees. Like..I try to tell myself to calm down and be rational, because I'm bigger, and I'm not allergic and they may not actually sting me, but get a bee around me and I start bobbing and weaving and sweating and all sorts of undignified stuff. Then once, in New Mexico, I found out what a tarantula hawk is. You guys. I found out by thinking it was a hummingbird. It's a friggin 2 inch or more long BEE that HUNTS TARANTULAS. No. No. All the no.
3. Not being good enough/making it. I know that Emily Gordon, a woman I greatly admire, says this too. But sometimes I feel like a fraud. Like I'm not a writer/good person/girlfriend/friend. Other times I worry I'm never gonna add up to anything good or full or worthwhile. To be honest, lots of times. More times recently than at other times in my life. I feel like I took some steps off a cliff but I haven't found the ladder to the next part of life yet, exactly.
4. Making people mad. Sometimes you've gotta crack some eggs. But I'd rather wrap them in layers of bubble tape and foam and soft things and add the extra pounds to my shoulders than do it, and when I do, I panic, and then I make things so much worse. I'm at my worst when I realize I've made someone mad, and I need to figure out how to take it from panic to recovery mode way better.
5. Heights. Ok, so at one point I said New Mexico pretty much cured me. It did and it didn't. Mountains don't scare me because I love them so much and they're so solid. Driving in them, not really scary either except in certain places or during certain conditions.  Sheer cliffs? Sheer drop-offs, really, even in a shopping mall? Totally kill me. Gut drop fear. Ladders? The past summer when I had to climb up the roof of the Art Institute? I was excited to get the exclusive look at the roof, but scared as hell climbing tons of ladders in cramped spaces and then getting hands up to other levels of the rooftop. This one I can mitigate better than bees so as not to look like a spaz, most of the time. 

And there you have it. Other than fears I haven't mentioned so people don't prank me and end up getting punched in the face (certain nighttime scenarios come to mind), I have mentioned five fears. 

Now let's come off the fear train with five songs, at random, from my iPhone on shuffle. Then I shall sleep, because seriously guys, nearly killed myself earlier. 

1. The Weight- The Staple Singers- First, I love this song in many versions, but boy do I love Mavis Staples. The first time I heard her sing was in Union Station at my first "big" Chicagoist event as an offical Chicagoist. What an amazing voice, what a wonderful, joyful woman, and what a vibe she has. She makes you feel like you're around her piano after a good Sunday dinner. I adore her. 
2. Girl With The Red Balloon- Civil Wars- I really like the Civil Wars. Their particular combo of musical talent hits me right in the  feels. At the time I listened to them heavily, I had a lot of mixed feelings, a lot of sadness I was carrying around, and a desire to really soak in some music that touched on all of that.  The Civil Wars, especially the songs on the album this is from, which I  can't be arsed to look up right now, are beautiful, beautiful sadness. Sometimes, you have to fall into that and let it soothe you.
3. We Only Come Out At Night- Smashing Pumpkins- Had to laugh about this. It's around the right time of year for this song. Smashing Pumpkins has to have some of my favorite spring night drive music. Windows down, still a little chilly, earth full of fresh soil smells and a little rain falling..and a nice blank road waiting to be travelled, while you work out your dreams and fears.  Yeah. This is night drive music. It reminds me of being much younger and doing the same thing, and reminds me to do it more often now too, if I can, just to get a breath of fresh air, literally and not.

Well, that's a double decker for you, and I'm going to bed. Have a good one, people out there!

Color Me...

Well hey! I'm back on track. And for today, I'm going to take the track and run with it. Maybe I should always write when I'm freshly showered.

Today, we're writing about colors we love.
Ansel Adams' prints, when viewed in person, taught me how many different shades and intensities of black and silver and yes, even grey there are. Each little nuance made a difference to his pictures, and even then that wasn't "in colors."

If you want simplicity I'll usually stop at orange and purple. Purple always won the day for me as a little girl and even now, as an adult, it's a frontrunner. Orange came along later. Orange I love for its audacity. Most of the time, orange is a color you can't look away from. It's pure sunshine and energy, and it sort of radiates. When I think of both together, I think of one of those electric sunsets that you get in the summer (or almost any time out in the desert) and the way the oranges fade to soft yellows, and the pinks deepen into purples and then blue-blacks.

The truth is, I love the electric blue of the sky in the mountains and the desert.
I love the rusty, dusty red of the red rock mesas.
I love the electric green that's bursting out of every corner right now, as spring is FINALLY springing here in Illinois, and I remember what a shock to the senses it was from the earth tones of the desert when I first came back to visit.
I love deep, unknowable, bold cobalt blue, the kind that you see when you peer into the center of a sapphire or lapis.
I love the bright pinks or bleeding reds that are so intense that camera sensors have a hard time figuring out how they work.
I love the soft, delicate yellow of yellow rose petals, that you want to wrap yourself in to sleep in the warm sun.
I love a bright, crisp white in the noon sun, and a perfect red against the dark of night.

I need color. I need energy. I need to be at once lilac purple, soft and fragrant and fleeting, as well as orange- bold, sharp, available and energetic. I need to have the depth of cobalt and the softness of rose petal yellow. I need the electric blue of the sky and the deep purple blacks to lull me to sleep. So favorite color? Yes.