Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Tid Bits of a Life

OK. So I'm slowing down a bit, I can't write like a maniac all the time!  

Here's the story:  So I go to a new doctor, but first this pre-doctor sees me.  He's a doctor but he's not my doctor.  I'm aware that they call them interns, but that doesn't make it any less weird.  He takes all my information on a computer, which he seems like he doesn't trust and pseudo gives me doctorly advice, which I don't trust.  I'm aware it's called training but I mean we are talking about my body, I don't want some know-nothing studying it like a book. 

Then I go to the real doctor and he basically doesn't shake my hand or anything, doesn't really say hi, barely turns around from his desk, just goes into doctor stuff and types everything I say into a computer.  He is not facing me. C'mon am I that hard to look at?  I am fully dressed.

The thing is, he never looks up from his computer.  I didn't know that doctors are now computer programmers.  I'm sitting there totally feeling vulnerable and he's busy computing.  His back is to me.  What's wrong with this picture?  

I guess we are here people, this is the future.  I get my therapy by typing this blog into the interwebs.  My doctor cures me by googling it.  

I feel kinda strange about this scenario.  First and foremost because that man who calls himself a doctor has access to my numerical identity, i.e. my weight!  For all I know he could post it on Facebook if he doesn't know how to use that computer.    

Machines are actually taking over our lives...I say this as I type, into a machine...

Like when I went out to dinner with some friends and they brought a kid and the kid put on headphones and just played with their iPhone.  I don't know, it kept the kid quiet and we could use swear words and stuff...but what's worse for the kid hearing a bad word or being alienated? Don't get me wrong, I don't have kids or the slightest idea how to raise them right but I'm worried about us, all of us 

I'm in my car again cause I guess it's my new favorite spot.  I'm actually in a machine.  I'm in the parking lot of Olive Garden.  (I drive a new Honda Civic just so you have a picture.  It's a new color, I forget what the call it but it's gray.  'Gray' or 'grey' people what's the vote?)  

Anyways, what am I doing at Olive Garden?  I know I know, but I had good intentions when I came in.  I was gonna do their light fare menu, under like 500 calories.  But then they had this two for one deal where you can take a meal home for free but not if you ordered the light fare.

In my most vulnerable moments I gotta just say I'm a cheap desi. Give me a deal or a coupon and all reason subsides.  Now I have two bad high fat meals instead of one good one.  I should go to Detroit and feed the hungry with this bag of food.  But who has the energy?  (I mean after thinking about going to the gym and all).

That's no good, of me I mean.  Speaking of good do you think it's alright to eat at like restaurants like the Olive Garden alone?  I ate alone today, and I have done it many times.  When I was living alone in New York and even in Chicago.  People think that's odd or sad but I have no ill feelings about it.  I don't fake reading a book I just sit with myself.  I guess I enjoy my own company.  

Like I'm sitting alone in my car with the music on, window cracked open.  It would be nice to share this life with a significant other but ain't nobody got time for my kinda madness.  Just kidding I will find some crazy boy who will take all this and love it.  Right?

So I'm back at Barnes and Noble, I've done some of my finest work here.  It's sort of my temple, even if I don't go in I do what we call Darshan.  I basically stop by.

While I'm writing this...It's Vaisakhi by the way, the punjabi and Sikh new year!  I should do something holy and pray!  

Right I only pray when I get desperate.  Instead I talk to god.  When I just start talking to god about what I need, or to thank him I feel a feeling of extraordinary bliss.  I encourage you to try it! P.S. its not the same as praying!  I don't pray.  I don't want to be like those other pray-ers whose dreams don't come true.  My prayers don't go unanswered because I don't pray.  I chat...surprise's what I know.         

So on this special day, I will meditate in front of the Barnes and Noble!  god is in books people, she is in books.  Read all about it!  

So do you think it's the end of the world as we know it?  Since we now believe god is in machines?  REM said so many years ago.  I feel fine even if it is.  I am worshipping in a bookstore parking lot instead of a temple, what does that say?

I mean we will be robots soon, not that we are that far away.  I mean we fake smile and stare out our digital "friends" and don't pick up the phone when a real friend calls.  

Should I go inside the Barnes and Noble?  I have to read more of this sarcastic snarky type of writing that I do. I think I'm gonna find a book at Barnes and Noble and then go home and buy it for cheaper on my Kindle.  In fact I was gonna bring my Kindle to Barnes and Noble.  Is that rude?

I'm the kinda person who would walk into a Starbucks with a coffee from McDonald's.  C'mon I hate the atmosphere of Micky Dees and I like the feel of a cafe at a lower price!  

OK I've actually never done that but...I could hit a new low any minute now.  

I mean I was gonna hit on the waiter at Olive Garden who was wearing a gold Kara, the Sikh bracelet.  I should have wished him happy Vaisakhi!  

So Merry Vaisakhi and Happy New Year!  

Say a prayer for your mother, say a prayer for your father but most of all please say a prayer for me...


Friday, April 11, 2014

Beautiful Faces Who Cares in this World?

You know when I was growing up there were a few girls that I was truly jealous of, I mean they were flat out gorgeous.  They were my friends in fact, I'm not gonna name names, but I hope you know who you are.

Then there were older women that I would see that just blew me away with their beauty.  I mean it was incredible. 

Of course, more importantly than that there were guys who I had an absolute crush on.  I used to 'fall in love' with these crushes.  My first 'boyfriend' was in eigth grade. He was hot.  I had just become a woman then and was a little chubby before that but lost the extra twenty pounds I was carrying.  I was kinda hot.

I later in highschool saw my first boy working at Burger King.  We made eye contact and it was weird. 

I wanted to be pretty like Julia Roberts then.  I didn't understand that Julia's charm was her personality mixed with her looks.  She was a firecracker back in the day.  She's still good, but she was amazing back then.  She was like 21 in Pretty Woman. 

Oh to be so young!

Ahh, being middle aged ain't that bad.  It's got it's perks.  Wisdom and all that.

My first kiss, it was so embarrassing and horrible, it scarred me.  I was afraid to kiss after that. I didn't like kissing until I got into college.  I was kinda a late bloomer like that.  I had friends who were definately not late bloomers.  I didn't care.

I also had some friends who didn't bloom until later.  Ahh, who cares?

Did you know there is a human Ken, like as in Barbie and Ken? He's really scary looking.  

Beautiful faces, who cares in this world?  When girl loves a boy and a boy, loves a girl...

That's my song I got the lyrics wrong for La Isla Bonita from Madonna.  Madonna, people, she is the ultimate woman.

I mean I am woman hear me roar.

I mean nowadays, well, we got Lady Gaga and Katie Perry with The Eye of the Tiger!

These women are pretty but it is their personality and talent that has gotten them where they are.  A pretty face will only get you so far.  A good body will only get you so far.

I mean let's go back to the basics, look at Oprah.  She's not a supermodel or a beauty queen.  But boy is she beautiful.  This overweight black woman from the hood is making the biggest impact the world has ever seen.  Amazing. 

So what really matters in this world?

It's kinda interesting when you take a look at it.  

I'm Nina of Troy.  Can I make of difference?

Sure why not?  So could you, you know.  Whatever your name is.

You don't have to have like money or beauty to really do something.  You gotta have brains.  I think everyone has got a brain.  I didn't say education.  I said a brain.  

I'm overly educated and underemployed.  So trust me education is great, but it's not everything.

If you have experience, which you do because you lived, that's all that is required to succeed.  Just like I think everyone can write, I think everyone can be somebody. 

You don't have to save the world.

Save a stranger.

Save a friend.

Save yourself.

That is success.


Thursday, April 10, 2014

1984: Was George Orwell right?

I was just a kid.  I was eight years old.  I didn't really know what Sikhism was.  I didn't know the difference between Sikhism and Hinduism, like a lot of people still don't, but I was eight then people.  I thought all Indians were Sikh and those that cut their hair were breaking their religion, (Sikhs don't cut their hair). 

I didn't want to grow up, I was a Toy's R Us kid.  But I was a Sikh kid.  I had to grow up.  

Indira Gandhi is dead.  That's all I knew.  I thought she was the president of India or whatever.  I didn't know what a Prime Minister was, I still barely understand the difference.

A Sikh man, her body guard killed Indira Gandhi.

Oh no, it was tragic for all involved.  Ostensibly, why did the Sikh bodyguard kill her?  Because she bombed the Sikh Golden Temple when there were women and children in there.  

What happened next was...there were riots all over India and Hindus were torturing and killing Sikhs.  This is a recap of a history lesson for those who are unfamiliar with what happened.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, my cousins and their parents were temporarily staying with us during the time that Gandhi died.  I remember very clearly that my mother cried when she saw a man with long hair being dragged in the street by his hair.  

I didn't know what rape was, but Sikh women were being raped right and left.  It was horrifying.

I still had to go to school though.  My teacher asked a question in the class.  "What historical even just happened in the news?"  A boy who we all suspected was gay responded.  "Indira Gandhi was assassinated."  

I didn't raise my hand.  I didn't even look around the classroom when my teacher explained that she was the Prime Minister of India.  It was an all white school.  I didn't want to stand out.  No one really knew I was a Sikh or what Sikhism was, I barely knew myself.

So one day we were all sitting in the kitchen, it was nighttime.  My family and my uncle's family were just shooting the shit when it happened.  We heard a noise.   A loud noise, then there it was, a rock came through our window.  I don't remember much, but I remember that.

I remember that we all got scared and my parents and aunt and uncle were discussing how the neighbor's kid probably did it.  My uncle wore a turban.  Sikhs were being called terrorists on the news.

India actually stopped news footage of the riots because it was giving the Indian government a bad name.  Nobody was doing anything to stop the atrocities.  

My father had shut the T.V. off when we kids came into the room and they were showing the riots. My mother and my aunt were glued to the T.V. and they cried a lot at night.

My uncle in India was on a bus somewhere and a rioter stopped the bus and asked that all the Sikhs be removed from the bus.  A Muslim man hid my uncle who wore a turban on that bus so he would not be tortured or killed by the rioters.  

There are so many stories like this that don't end pretty.  If you have story, please share it.  If you have an opinion, I'd love to hear it.

The mainstream culture is not aware of what happened in 1984.  I also hear that people are not being punished for what they did to Sikhs in 1984.  

Orwell wrote a story about the government and Big Brother taking over the world in 1984.  I can't help but think it's ironic that this happened the same year.  

Today is not an anniversary, I just chose today to reflect on those that were killed and hurt in those riots.  We don't know the numbers and maybe we don't know all the details, but I know that Sikhs can never forget what happened.

There are those who fled India and came to America.  They have scars, they remember what happened every day.  

What's my story?  I was safe and sound in America, miles away.  My story is that I went on with my life, rarely affected by any violence except when I went to NY on 9/11.  Again, Sikhs were targeted because they wore turbans and allegedly looked like Muslim terrorists.  

My friend told me her father looked exactly like Osama Bin Laden.  I had a friend named Osama, who goes by Sam.  He told everyone to never call him Osama in public.  I have another friend named Osama who only goes by 'Osama' because he learns a lot about a person when they react to his name.  

I was in New York when the World Trade Center was attacked, I'll tell you the story some other time.  I had a Sikh friend who wore a turban and lost his job because every industry was troubled at the time. He was discriminated against on the streets.  Did he lose his job because he had a turban?  I don't know.  But he was uncomfortable walking around and started wearing his hair in a ponytail.

I had Muslim friends who were more worried about going to jail, than about what their grades were in grad school.  

Some people thought I was Muslim because I look kinda international.  I used to keep a picture of a woman wearing hijab by my window because I thought she was beautiful.  As a silent protest I never took that photo down after the attacks.  

In 2001 they were attacking Sikhs again because ignorant people thought we were Muslim.  It would not have been OK to attack Muslims and it was just as bad to attack Sikhs.  Sikhs were handing out pamphlets in the subways to tell people "We are not Muslim."  However they were not giving racist people directions to the Mosque.

We are a peaceful religion.  In some dictionaries they call us a martial race.  Just because we believe people should fight for justice and their own human rights.  We don't believe in arbitrary war or converting other people.  

I guess through all of this, even though I don't prescribe to religious rules, I still consider myself a Sikh.  

I'm proud to be a Sikh woman.

Kaur is the last name that every Sikh woman was supposed to take because that eliminated the cast system.  I may have other reasons why I took this name, but it means princess.  

I always wanted to be a princess.  

But don't mess with me, I can be a warrior woman just as fast as I can be peace loving hippie.

I'm a Sikh.  

Don't mess with my people.


Wednesday, April 9, 2014

My Diary Screaming Out Loud...

I'm naked in front of the crowd...

It's not even a bad dream, I'm doing this to myself.  I'm interesting, let me tell you why.  I won't write in a diary, because I'm afraid someone will find it and read it.  Yeah, me.  I'm not actually telling you about my real demons.  That shit I save for my therapist.  

I'm not actually naked here, I'm wearing a thin robe. A veil if you will. 

You have no idea how much I love doing this.  I mean writing.  It calms my soul.  It makes me sane.  It means so much to me.

I'm going to see my shrink today, he's a good guy.  He does not fuck around, he gives it to me straight.  But then he will read me poetry or tell me a joke or assign me to watch a movie.  He's tremendously gifted.  A genius in fact.

I wanted to be a psychologist when I was a kid but then I listened to a friend of mine who was suicidal, and I couldn't listen anymore to her problems.  Is that mean?

I mean I love the shit out of therapy.  Let's talk about nina for an hour.  It's all about me.  Is that narcissistic?

The mirror has two faces.  I'm not so happy when I look in the mirror at the moment.  But truthfully, I'm sort of going to do something about it, and kind of content right now with my life.

I don't have a man or any money.  But I have my thoughts.  I always thought that if you put me in jail, you could not take away my ability to write about it.  

I love that story.

Have you people watched Orange is the New Black?  It's brilliant.  It's based on a true story of a woman who ended up in jail.  She wrote about it. 

I'm so scared of the police, if there is a policeman behind me I'm like, "OK, I did it, I'm guilty.  How'd you know I have bad credit?  Yes I lied to my parents."  I'm so paranoid.

Apparently I'm not the only one, this guy I'm friends with has a panic attack when the police are around. 

On another train...on another note unrelated to anything...There are some really good writers out there and bloggers.  Blogging is sort of an art, I couldn't do this in a newspaper, maybe not even in a book.  It's like a hand written note.  It's so sloppy.

Many years from now, when aliens are dropping by, they will respect blogging as an art form.  Things have to be old before people respect them.  Right now, it's like, whatever, anyone can start a blog from their basement.  

True story, anyone can do this.  I personally am of the belief that anyone can write.  If you can talk, you can write.  

What is an art, I'll tell you, is having no filter.  I go straight from brain to page, I don't mince my words.  I'm not trying to be sophisticated or poetic or even eloquent or articulate.  I could be all those things if I wanted to, I guess.  But I want this instead.

I want to speak to laymen.  Who is a laymen?  What does that even mean?  

The man on the street is more like it.  I want to be able to speak to the homeless man and king, all in one sentence.  That is just my particular style.  Yours may be different, I'm sometimes envious of those who can really use words.  I mean I know a few words that are more than one syllable.  

I mean do I sound stupid?  I'm serious.  Am I a simpleton?  

I wonder when my some of my writing colleagues are so fancy.  I could write you a scholarly essay, I clean up real nice.  But I don't know, I like to write super casual better.  

My fiction is a little more sophisticated.  

Just to clear things up for the masses who ask me about why my book is not published yet. Let me explain something.  I made a couple mistakes while trying to market it.  I wrote my first chapter last and it sucked and I didn't know it.  Agents only read like the first few pages of your work before they decide to ask for your manuscript or not.  Then I didn't go for small publishers, I only went for the big time agents of my favorite authors.  But those agents have already made it and don't want a first time author like myself.  

I'm justifying here.  I stand by my work. I think it's a good book.

I'm writing a new one, because like a painter, if your first painting doesn't sell, you paint a new one. 

I love the beejesus out of writing.  I can't even explain makes me so happy.  I hope you have something in your life that you do that makes you this happy.

You know that new Happy song?  You know which one I'm talking about.  What are your feelings on that?  I'm mixed, I like it but it is repetitive and they play it too much on the radio.  Yes, even with the invention of Pandora and itunes, in my car I listen to the radio.

Turn the radio up, to the sweet song.  Hold me close never let me go.  You remember that song?  I love that song.  

But my new favorite song is, Wake me up when it's all over.  I can't remember the guy's name who sings it.  My favorite line, Life is a game for everyone and love is the prize.  True that.  I'm not sure if I got the line right.  I should google it.  

I'm tired though, I stayed up late talking on the phone until two.  I got up spontaneously at seven.  Sometimes I get up early because I'm excited about posting this here blog.  I mean it kinda gives me a reason to get up in the morning.  

I was running out of reasons when I was depressed.  

This post is so random.  

Ah, I can't help that.

Oh, I pretend.  I can do anything I want here.  I'm like self employed and unemployed at the same time.  I mean I do freelance writing, does that count?  OK, I intend on doing freelance writing.  I will not substitute teach.  I will not.  I will work at McDonald's before I do that shit.

It's a long story but I will lose my health insurance if I work right now.  I have to get a full time job with benefits, so waiting for the school year to start.'s a hard knock life for artists.  But when you do what you love, and you let the universe know, you will be OK.  Better than OK.

I know I'm not a practical person, I struggle with that every day.

It's hard.

I should, you know, marry well.  Ha ha, I will probably fall in love with another starving artist.  I don't mind.

We'll live on luuv.

Tee hee.

On that note, goodbye for now.


Tuesday, April 8, 2014

If Men Could Menstruate...

I have something to say to all the men out there:  I can be sexist too but I'm a work in progress.  Just be a work in progress you don't need to be perfect.  Like today, I was trying to post something on a website run by women for women and for the life of me it would not work, I thought to myself, well, no wonder women are doing the tech work for this.  

Excuse me:  WHAT?  All my years of feminist thought, feminist training, out the door in one thought.  What is wrong with me?

I'm human, and even after all this training, I am still programmed to think that men are smarter than women.  It's sick.  I want to throw up.  My feminist sisters are gonna hate me when they read this.  I slipped.

Also I have a woman doctor and I kinda hate her.  So I decided to look for a new doctor and I am only searching for a male doctor...I mean am I blaming her incompetence on her being a woman?  I hope not.  I think I just want to try something new, but hmmm...(She did in fact ask me why my iron was so low.  If I knew that they would pay me the big bucks).

Things that make you go hmmm...

I wonder if there are many men reading this, if I do in fact appeal to men's psychology.  I rant and hem and haw.  I basically bitch quite a bit.  

I mean I think men like sports blogs and blogs about the news or pornographic blogs.  I don't know about this day in the life of Nina biz whiz.  I want to be like Carrie Bradshaw, literally, I want to live in New York and hang with my girls and write about my life.

What female fun, what girly talk...
  I don't think this here blog is girl talk necessarily or even girly really.  I mean I don't know, if you are a guy, can you relate to this babble wabble?

I'm currently waiting for Hilary Clinton to change your perception of women, men.  I'm waiting for her to change my hidden perceptions that I might still have.  Actually I'm waiting for the Bloggess to take office...check her out...

I know that Obama changed my parents mind about black men...they respect black men more because of his rise.  Little African American boys may look at Obama and say, hey if he can do that, I can do this.  

When Hilary is president I want to say to myself:  I can do this.  And when Oprah is president, I'll do it.

I don't want to be president one day, but I do want to be fabulous one day.  Like a mover and a shaker.  I want to open up a school of some sort, maybe a college, I don't know. And I want to start a spiritual center that is a community, an inspiration of what society should look like and be like.  Not a commune, but a community.

I got dreams.  Big dreams.

Watcho dream? Everybody got a dream!

I do want to feminize the world a bit.  What does that mean?  It means I want to create a space where feminine qualities are respected just as much as masculine qualities are. 

I'm a little girly I'll admit that.  I'm more womanly than anything else.  The world needs a little bit more of a woman's touch to it.

I mean we are not all perfect when it comes to feminisms.  I judged this one guy I met who is too sensitive, and I wanted to tell him to man up.  I suspected he might be gay.  

He's just a super sensitive guy who probably needs to not let people take advantage of him, but his traits are neither feminine nor masculine, gay or straight.  He just is.  They just are.

There is a guy who is kinda stalking me on Facebook right now, I should probably block him but I feel bad because he seems like a nice guy who is misguided.  And I have a very public account, I will be friends with anyone on Facebook in order to publicize my blog.  

I should be strong about the situation and block him.  I need to woman up!

Listen men, we are not going to consider you gay if you are good to us.  Nor are we going to consider you as weak. 

There is this essay that was written many years ago by Gloria Steinem, a glorious feminist. It's called, "If Men Could Menstruate."  Check it out, it is hilarious and true.    

Truth is, men.  It's time to move over.  Women have sat by long enough.  There is a clip of Designing Women that I'm too lazy to find, but the main character does this whole bit about how men have for ages been the rapists, the pillagers, the murderers etc., etc.  It's kinda true.

I'm not sayin there ain't crazy chics out there.  I'm just sayin there are statistically more men who commit crimes then women.  It's just a fact.

Does that mean men are bad and women are good?  We are all adults here, we are not that stupid.  We all know it's not that simple. 

Women don't need to be worshipped and then abused when they don't live up to your ideal.  Women just need to be respected.

But I guess men want the same thing.  Maybe some of them wouldn't act like idiots if women gave them more respect.

So if you are man and you are reading this, good for you.  You go on with your bad self.  You are actually interested in what a woman thinks, and you are currently not watching Internet porn.  



Monday, April 7, 2014

You Think I'm Funny When I get the Punchline Wrong...

I'm turning into a morning person.  I love the night, don't get me wrong, but there is something so surreal and perfect about the morning.  It's peaceful.  

But Monday Morning, that's a whole different ball game.  It takes a lot to get up, I mean some serious effort.  And then there is the whole, why is there so much to do question?

I like to start like my new plans and regiments on Mondays.  That's why Mondays suck.  Let me tell you something, Sunday night, not much better.

I'm writing this on a Sunday night.  I was thinking of being funny or something tonight, but it might not happen.  I mean I had such a great weekend and I know weeks are not like weekends.  I went to a play today with an old, old friend.  We went to preschool together.

When we were in preschool and summer camp, we laughed so hard that we got in trouble often.  But our summer camp counselors loved us and took us to the movies after hours, I think they thought we were fun.  I mean we were young, but humor has no age.  I don't know what we were laughing at...but I know we laughed.  

The play was great, the company was great, I went to Olga's for dinner.  None of this is funny, people.

My friend from preschool said I should try stand up comedy, I told another friend of mine about this and she thought it was a funny idea.  Maybe I'm not that funny. 

That's kinda depressing.  If you try to write comedy, like make a concerted effort, it's REALLY hard.  If it just comes out, like in the wash in your head, then it is usually more humorous.  It's like in conversation, if you try to tell a joke it will probably be forced.  But if you just talk about the irony of life in a casual way, it might be funny.

Wit is something that I look for in people, including men.  There ain't nothin' like a quick wit.  It's priceless.

I was watching Aziz Ansari and he was reading an essay his stupid cousin wrote.  It was out of control, you have to see this noise.  It might have been a real essay from an idiot, or Aziz just may be naturally hilarious. 

Whatever works.

I don't want to do stand up, it's too much pressure.  I have seen people fail at stand up and it's a nightmare.  I do want to be the funny professor, the absent minded prof.  Yeah, I decided, after going to school to be a school teacher that I want to be a professor.  Isn't that funny?  Ha ha.  The joke is on me.  I have an MFA and it's considered what they call a terminal degree.  No people I'm not dying (was that funny?)  But in all seriousness it is considered equivalent to a PhD.  

Why don't I want to teach in high school?  Umm, excuse me, have you met some of these kids?  I don't know if it's High Fructose Corn Syrup or just madness in general, but these kids are out of control.  I felt like a babysitter.  I mean if I have to do it, I'll do it, but I will bitch and moan.  

I mean maybe I don't really like kids, but that's not true.  My friends have amazing kids, like today, my friend has a kid who is thirteen but likes eighties music and eighties movies and bought a a VCR.  He is so fascinating to me, we can talk culture.  It's weird. He's a good kid.

I like kids.  I just I don't feel like the high school curriculum is intellectually stimulating enough for me.  I know, I'm a snob.  But I like young adults.  I like people listening to what I say.  I don't want to have to count to five everyday to get a bunch of brats to shut up.

I didn't even have time to be funny as a teacher.  I was so busy trying to control the classroom I lost my sense of humor.  

I don't know.  

I mean if someone hires me, in this world, I will have to take the job regardless.  But I warn you I will use this forum to make a spectacle of myself if I have to do a job I hate.

I mean what makes you laugh?  I'd like to know.  Really I would.

This random comedian was talking about how depression did something funny to him, I can't remember the joke.  But he personified depression as being really hilarious.  

That's such a great twist on things.  I'm good at twisting things.  

But your friends are there to humble you, as my BFF said, "I think it's funny that someone thinks you can do stand up.  I'm a stand up conseour..."  

Well excuse the fuck out of me!

I thought I was a riot.  In her defense she said that I was hilarious or I would not be her friend.  But stand up was a whole other ball game.  

I sort of agree.  I didn't really miss my calling.  I'm not gonna put youtube videos of me giving impressions of my very funny mother. Like Margaret Cho.  Cho is brilliant.  "Mommy want to know, are you GAAAAY?"

I just put on the T.V. to get some inspiration.  Here I go again with the country music.  There's a music video on and the guys kinda look like they belong on Duck Dynasty.  Now Blake Sheldon is on, he's not terrible. This song is not bad, but I can't sing or dance.  

I'll stick to writing.  Mostly because I'm vain and look funny on video.  

Did I mention there were psychic mediums at this play, they did a show after the play?  So they did readings in the crowd, and this woman psychic who wasn't doing very well predicting things told me that I was very peaceful and brought peace to situations.  She also told me that I know a lot, but don't trust it.  

I mean I don't know, I believe there is such a thing as psychics, but was this woman correct?  It's funny someone on the phone that very morning told me that he felt very peaceful when he talked to me.  Maybe there is something to it. 

But she was bombing in terms of predicting things, it was like watching a bad comic, it was uncomfortable and embarrassing.  Anyways... 

Good morning.

Happy Monday!



Sunday, April 6, 2014

You wouldn't Be You if You weren't so You

I mean I wouldn't be me if I weren't so me.

It's Soul Sunday, isn't it?  Oprah said so.

I think it's good to take a day to chill out. I know, I know, you probably think I think it's good to take a life to chill out.  You might not be too far off there.  To each their own. 

I don't believe we came here on Earth to do something in particular.  I think we came here to be something in particular.  To experience something.  Mostly love.  Mostly the opposite of love, fear, which we experience in order to appreciate and understand love. 

I didn't make this up.  I'm plagiarizing the masters.

But you didn't come here to be preached at.  But ask yourself why you came here.  Why you go anywhere.  Whether it be online or on foot, by car or by plane.  Where are you going?

I want to write poetically but this is a blog.  I was never much of a poet anyways, I tried, but I'm too harsh or something.

I don't have the mental patience to write poetry. I admire those you can.  Like song writers, Kurt Cobain died, killed himself twenty years ago yesterday.  Is his soul still in his music?

Kinda yeah I think so.

You ever wonder why people kill themselves?  I get it sometimes and I don't other times.  I'm sort of weaning slowly off an adrenaline rush I've had recently.  Things are getting back to normal.  I'm starting to feel normal again.

Boring people, boring.

I'm losing speed, going back to an even pace.  I have mood swings and sometimes forget how to feel normal.  I've never really been what you would traditionally call 'suicidal' but I've been down and out.  I get that it gets hard to live.

I just don't believe our soul dies.  I don't think we die...die, like fall into a deep sleep or something.  I don't think we no longer exist.  

So if I exist, I have to ask the metaphysical question:  Who am I?

Do you really want to talk about this on a Sunday morning?  Are you bored?

You know who you are, to a certain extent.  You are just you.  I'm Nina, let me introduce myself.  Very few people are like me, I like to think.  Perhaps you are a real individual yourself, I bet you are.  Most of us are.  I gravitate towards individuals who are unique.  I'm thinking of my best friends, wow are they weirdos in the sense of commonality.  I like that.

I like that I'm a little weird.  You might be weird, I mean you are taking the time to read this, that's weird.  

Look it's literally Sunday morning and I'm trying to finish this.  I had a great night last night in Ann Arbor at a show with some buddies, had Korean food, met up with a new friend.  I also decided to be friends with a guy that I went on a date with and it didn't work out but he is a fabulous person.

To go back to the topic at hand, I think we are all connected, literally part of the same Big Soul.  So we are made of the same stuff, cut from the same cloth, into different shapes.  

I could say it more eloquently if I were a poet.  Don't rush this writing I try to tell myself, no one is waiting with a deadline.  There is no finish line.  

It's Sunday for God's sake.  I actually believe you should devote Sunday to your soul.  I don't know, it needs a day.  What better day than Sunday?  There is a deer in my backyard.



I can't tell you how precious this deer's soul seems to me.  I took a creative writing class once in college and the instructor told us not to use words like 'soul'.  He said they are empty of meaning.

I disagree.  I use it all the time.  

I want to talk to him and show him.  Even in my fiction I use that word.  And words like beauty.  I want to prove him wrong.  I want an intellectual argument about it.

I once took a philosophy class and in the first paper tried to prove the existence of god.  I got like a B+, and I was disappointed but damn is it hard to prove the existence of god in philosophy.  I thought I was a philosopher until I took that class and realized that philosophy is about logic and verbal math.

I've never been a success at math.  My father thinks Calculus explains everything in the world.  I don't really get it.  But I surround myself with people who do because I think the concept is fascinating.

I had a friend who would not study for her Calc test but would derive the answers from the equations like backwards or something, I don't even know the right lingo to use.

Maybe it's a left brain, right brain thing.  Who knows?

Back to our souls, I'm going on some tangents.  Surprise surprise.

Who am I and what is a soul?  I don't know if I can answer these questions.  I feel it.  It's intuitive.  

I'm nina.  i just am. 

I don't feel like I'm finished here.  I want to say more about it.  There is so much to feel about our souls, but how do we say it?  I'm running out of words and I like to think of myself as as wordsmith.  

There are no words to describe a soul and self.

I believe they exist and that's all I have to say about that.  

I'll say it again, we capitalize our names because we think it's important.  We also capitalize Coke.  

What deserves a capital letter and what doesn't?  

god, I don't capitalize the name.  It's sort of a protest.  

And my own name.

It's my way of being humble. 

Is god humble, yeah I mean he created humility but wants us to worship him?  Hmm...interesting.

I don't know where I'm going with all this, insulting god in public and all.  My computer battery is gonna die, I think I'm done here.

Thank you for being you.  Stay that way.


Saturday, April 5, 2014

Procrastination Station

Hi there.  Um you know there is a word in the English language that I'm not that comfortable with.  It goes something like this: Now.  I mean Right Now is even less favorable.  It's a joke in my family now, but it's sort of not a joke as well.  I kind of have a problem.  

I'm procrastinating writing this very article.  It's a little out of control.  It's my fatal flaw so to speak.  

I'm sitting alone in my car listening to music.  I'm at Barnes and Noble.  I've been putting off going to the grocery store for days...I should be there right now.  

I'm putting it off because I can't figure out the perfect food to buy.  It's perfection for my new diet.  It's raining.

For a moment I'm at peace.  

I can do this, I can figure my life out. 

I hear Barnes and Nobles are closing.  Grocery stores should become obsolete.  Amazon should deliver my food to me in 3 to six business days.  

I need time to go to the bookstore, I can't do that if I'm constantly grocery shopping.  Seriously, do you know how many pages you could read if you didn't have to peruse Walmart?  It's an abomination!

But in all seriousness why do I put everything off? I want things to be perfect, I know that.  I don’t like being unhappy, so anything that makes me uncomfortable, I put off.  It just makes things worse.  I have to have a state of mind that is above the small stuff.  I have to stop sweating the small stuff.

Be mindful you know, when I go to Walmart, the only place my parents will allow me to get their groceries from since it is the cheapest.  Hey they pay the bills, who am I to be an activist with their money?  But when I see that man bending down in the cereal isle, exposing his butt crack, I need to breathe.  Take a moment to reflect.  Pray perhaps?

I don’t know, what the fuck?  Walmart depresses me.  I want to go to Whole Foods and buy organic food and hang out with hippies and yuppies.   But I’m not a millionaire.  I’m just a girl. 

I love food and I love shopping, what is there about grocery shopping that just kills me?  My dad can’t do it because he’s blind, my mom can’t do it because she can’t lift heavy weights.  I’m young and able, but a mess. 

I’ve asked friends to accompany me to the grocery store and that has helped, but who has the time to schedule going to the grocery store with me?  And nobody I know shops at Walmart.

Dude, (by the way I called my Dad dude the other day, repeatedly as I messed up a pizza I was making for him).  I don’t just put off going grocery shopping, I put off lots of stuff.  I put off being happy mostly.

There is only the now, and I can only be happy right now, while I’m walking through the diaper isles lamenting about how I may never give birth.  I can only be content right now, not later.  If I was OK with myself, I could deal with getting gas before the tank is empty and I’m running on fumes and calling for help.

What’s the big deal about getting gas?  What, I don’t like standing? I can’t take a moment and be with myself in the outdoors, even in the cold, get a breath of fresh air?  What’s wrong with me?

I’ve procrastinated the big stuff like losing weight and I procrastinate writing and sending out resumes and sending out my manuscript or query letters to agents to get my book published.

What am I doing with my LIFE?

I could diddle daddle it away on procrastination station. 

Ninaland may not have any gas stations, but there are plenty places to park.

What am I gonna do about it?  I got stop talking about it and just do. I started eating better and I’m gonna walk outside and go to the gym.  I don’t want to talk about it.  I’m doing my resumes and publishing work as well.  I’m writing.  Give me a break, alright people!  

Just  kidding. 

I need to give myself a break.  Baby steps.  I just got out of a depression that kind of paralyzed me from doing work.  The reason I’m writing like a motherfucker is because I become crazy prolific when I’m on the fast side of manic depression.  I’m not manic, I keep checking in with my relatives and friends to make sure, but I’m an object in motion now.  I live by inertia.

Why don’t I just write at a steady pace and just always do it?  Because people I’m not steady. 

I know, slow and steady wins the race.  Well I don’t want to be in a race.  I boycott the race, the treadmill of life. 

The road less traveled...he was right about that.  It makes a difference. 

I’m me, with “all my curves and imperfections,” that’s from a song by John Legend. 

I’m doing something real here, some real work, soul work so to speak.  I’ve put it off for sometime.  I believe in reincarnation and I believe you will keep coming back until you free your soul. 

I’m trying to do soul work, which is just being in the now.  Not putting off being.  Finding bliss in the present moment.  Loving. Not doing, being.

I need to go back to Source for a while, hang out in Heaven after my death.  If I want to come back to creation again, which I personally believe is your own damn choice, then I will come back to Earth or some other planet at some other point. 

I feel different on this planet because maybe I’m at the end of my journey in this particular cycle.  Maybe I’m not.  I feel like an old soul sometimes, but sometimes I’m so innocent like a child.  And I’ve met people whose souls seem like they have been on Earth for an eternity. 

For years, maybe lives, I’ve been putting off going to my sacred place.

It’s Time.

Wow I went from A to Z on this one. 

I feel like I took a jog or ran a couple miles. 

I’m out of breath here.

Breathe.  Just breathe.

If I put off breathing I’ll die. 

I’m putting off dying though, for a while. 

I want to live Now.