Marriage, Moments and Memories

LA Adventures: Part Three

Jessicalee — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 03:07:17 GMT

After all the excitement with the Day of Days, my California girl and the young Jews, I slept later than I thought was possible for me to sleep anymore. Then I realized I had an entire day to kill in LA until DJ’s arrival that night. After a quick but effective workout that would’ve made Ali Sweeney proud, I decided to take a cab to Melrose since I had never made it past the Beverly Center.

I expected Melrose Avenue to be all high end shops, palm trees and maybe some fountains or something with celebrities frolicking with bottles of champagne. Instead, it looked like pretty much any other street in LA with some cool boutiques and the infamous Fred Segal, which Sydney made sure I did not miss. I was starving and the cab driver dropped me off oh so far away from any restaurants. I walked for what seemed like miles before I found a coffee shop full of incredibly cool people. I proceeded to eat half a sandwich sloppily and bang my head on a dangly light when I stood up, thus proving that I was not as cool as anyone else in there, the screenplay writers or out of work actors.

I’m still not sure how it happened. One minute I was walking down the street, thrilled with yet another cheap BCBG dress purchase ($39 people!), texting Mr. W and contemplating a Starbucks stop. The next minute I found myself playing Barbie doll to the gayest man- or, perhaps, the best actor- I had ever met. He had come running out of his shop and grabbed me, insisting that I come check out his store and that I was made to wear his clothes. He immediately pulled out a pair of skinny jeans and I laughed my big ass off. I had never tried on skinny jeans for a reason. I am not skinny. I am not fat, and I have grown to love my big, juicy butt. But skinny jeans are for twigs, and no one will ever mistake me for a twig.

He begged me to try them on, murmuring, "Trust me baby, trust me" so I humored him. He tossed over boots, a top and a jacket, calling me sexy and gorgeous and every other nice female name. I stepped out of the dressing room and couldn’t believe what I saw. How this man had known what would look good on me was beyond me, but he did. By the time he led me in a dance across the store, I was in love… although, still very confused.

Gay man/good actor had his associate find the tiniest, shortest dress I had ever seen in my life. He made me try it on. Then he made me take my panties off so I wouldn’t have panty lines. The dress was ridiculous. I wouldn’t even wear it in Vegas. Hell, I don’t even know if I’d wear it in the bedroom. But I had to begrudgingly admit it looked pretty good. The next dress he had me try on was completely see-through, but I couldn’t tell when I put it on. I stepped out, looked in the big mirror, and realized I was flashing my vagina to Melrose Avenue. I screamed, grabbed a sweater, covered my butt and ran back to the dressing room.

“I already saw it, baby,” the man said simply. “Why are you so shy?”

Later, I left with a new winter coat, a jacket reminiscent of Michael Jackson and, yes, the skinny jeans. I left my dignity behind. At that point, I decided to cab it back to my hotel before risking another fiasco. It was getting dark and the weirdos were coming out in droves.

I went back to the room, tried to cram all my shopping hauls into my suitcase, got ready, and planned an awesome evening for DJ and me. He had never been to LA so I wanted to make sure he had a good time. DJ had worked that day and was driving all the way from Sacramento. By 9 PM, I was starving, bored, and tired of looking cute alone in my hotel room. So I went down to the lobby bar and had a pear martini for an “appetizer.” It worked. By the time he arrived, I was very buzzed.

I have admitted before to being somewhat biased when it comes to men. I have never, and probably never will, get into my reasons. I am not a man hater by any means. I have an amazing husband, wonderful male friends, and love all the husbands and boyfriends of the women in my life. I just don’t go out of my way to make guy friends and I confess that sometimes they have to work harder to earn my trust (something I’m not proud of). But DJ and I had a connection from the day we met. We hit it off immediately and have been good friends for years, despite the fact that he moved so far away and we don’t keep in touch like we should. I hadn’t seen him in almost three years but the second he showed up, it was like we had never been apart.

Despite downing three Five Hour Energy shots, DJ was exhausted and I quickly realized our awesome night out in LA would probably kill him. He also said he wasn’t hungry and I wasn’t about to eat alone. We walked to City Walk and decided to just keep drinking. The only bar without a long line was The Rumba Room. DJ and I are neither Latin nor dancers, but we had fun watching those who were. One giant double Grey Goose and Cranberry later and I had not a problem in the world and was over-sharing like mad. Luckily, DJ has heard it all before and he was very patient.

We soon realized we were not rock stars and headed back to the hotel bar, where we had a nightcap before stumbling off to our respective rooms. Despite being exhausted, being drunk and sans Mr. W made it almost impossible to fall asleep. I must have drifted off at some point, though, because I woke up in standard hangover position: one foot on the floor, eyes clamped shut, room spinning, inexplicable craving for water and greasy food. I have friends who drink dinner regularly and I applaud them. I won’t attempt it again.

Turns out, DJ was already awake and also hungover. We checked out and he carried my 45 pound suitcase to his car like a gentleman. We explored Hollywood for awhile before having crepes at a restaurant at Hollywood and Highlands. Then we did touristy stuff, taking pictures of the Hollywood sign, Grauman’s Chinese Theater and Paramount Pictures. With just a few hours left, I had one more goal: to see the ocean. We headed back to the car and drove to Venice Beach.

Venice Beach is amazing and beautiful. As soon as we parked, I knew I wouldn’t want to leave… not the beach, not LA, and not DJ. DJ reminds me of a time in my life that, while I’m far removed from now, is fun to visit in memories. Without revealing too much, he’s not in the best place in his life right now and I could tell he isn’t as happy as he used to be. As we caught up, walking along the pier, looking at the beautiful people, I tried my best to cheer him up. I hope he knows his situation is temporary and how bright his future can be once he makes the necessary changes. Oh, and we can neither confirm nor deny that we saw a crazed Gary Busey hang his head out a window, cigar in mouth, and yell something at an overly tanned gentleman on a cell phone. Only in LA.

Before long, it was time for me to go to the airport. DJ dropped me off early, carrying my suitcase right up until I checked in, and headed out to battle LA traffic on his way back to Sacramento. Before boarding the plane, I put on my new winter coat from the fabulous gay man. I spent the next few hours rehydrating myself, looking at my pictures and being grateful for the amazing experience I’d just had. Finally, at 1 am, I opened the door to my house and tiptoed past the dog, who was vibrating with excitement. I left my luggage in the hallway, put my pajamas on and slipped into bed with Mr. W. He rolled over, muttered something and put his arms around me. Dexter, too excited at my return to follow the rules, jumped up in bed and laid his head next to me, nudging himself under my hands. Lying there between my two favorite guys, it was almost like I’d never left. But I did… I took an amazing trip to a city I didn’t expect to love so much, a city I already miss and can’t wait to return to for another awesome adventure.

LA Adventures: Part Two

Jessicalee — Sat, 14 Nov 2009 21:18:38 GMT

The very first time I ever laid eyes on my husband… long before we started dating… my heart skipped a beat, the entire room got quiet, and everyone else disappeared for a few moments. I had never had anything like that happen to me before and had no idea what it meant at the time. On Saturday, November 7, when I walked past the hoards of people into the press room, it happened for the second time.

Believe it or not, I’m not easily star struck. Don’t get me wrong, the times when I’ve met celebrities have been pretty awesome. I’ve realized what a blessing it was and have gushed to them about how much I love their work, but in the end, I know we’re all just people and being an actor or musician doesn’t make anyone a god. But when I got past security, put my press pass on and saw Bill and Susan Seaforth Hayes sitting on a couch in the Samba Café, then saw Shelly Henning and Lauren Koslow standing a few feet away, it was all over. It wasn’t only because these were people I had been watching on Days for years. It was because, for the first time in my life, I was finally able to go to something like this with press credentials for something I did all on my own. I still have a long way to go, but the validation I felt that morning was pretty spectacular.

I had been awakened by DJ Tiesto on my Blackberry as well as a Spanish tune on the hotel alarm clock. I had showered and gotten dressed very calmly, like I was going to have brunch with my friends instead of interviewing my favorite soap stars. It was only when I was making my way through City Walk that it hit me and I got so excited and nervous. Then, as I stood at the entrance waiting for confirmation that I could enter the press room, some fans started taking pictures of me thinking I must “be somebody.” I laughed when I pictured them Googling me or trying to find me on the show.

I hit the ladies’ room before the interviews began and, as I entered, I came face to face with Alison Sweeney. I grinned at her like an idiot as she slowly backed away from the crazy girl in the blue dress. I have adored that girl since 1993. I think she’s a phenomenal actress, an amazing mom and the perfect host of the Biggest Loser. I texted my mom from the stall: “I just saw Sami Brady! OMG!”

On my way out, I ran into Jay Kenneth Johnson, Mark Hapka and Casey Deidrick, who asked if I was having a good day so far.
“Pretty much the best day ever,” I said, trying and failing to wipe the smile off my face. I sat beside William, an awesome guy who works for Soap Opera Source, and Stacy, who runs the blog www.seriouslyomg.com. They were locals and used to things like this. They were both very patient with me, the novice.

Our first interviews were with Shelly Henning and Mark Hapka, who play Stephanie and Nathan on the show. Their characters aren’t together but there are definitely sparks, and seeing them together made me want them together on the show. They were both sweet and very gracious, and when William had them sign the autograph book, Mark commented on Shelly’s picture.

“Look at you! That’s so hot!” he said. “I look like a dork in my picture, grinning by a tree!” Shelly can’t help herself. No matter what she wears or how she poses, she is one of the most beautiful women in the world. I can honestly say that those people are as beautiful in person as they are on TV.

Suzanne Rogers, who plays Maggie on the show, is a veteran whose acting I’ve always admired. She and Molly Burnett, who plays Melanie, were both delightful. They have a real mother-daughter bond that is just adorable. It became clear to me throughout the day that these actors really do get along and enjoy what they do. It also became clear that I am the luckiest bastard on Earth.

Eric Martsolf and Lindsay Hartley were also amazing to meet as I watched them for years on Passions and now get to watch them together on Days. They both have beautiful spouses in real life, but man… those two would make gorgeous babies. The first thing Lindsay said to me was that I smelled good and Eric asked for my Twitter name. Awesome. They were so down to Earth, but so pretty to look at it was hard to maintain eye contact. Eric showed us pictures of his twins on his phone, beautiful little blond haired boys.

Meanwhile, fans crowded outside trying to get glimpses of their favorite soap stars. They were writing notes and trying to press themselves up against the glass. I have a feeling the back of my head is going to be in a ton of pictures.

As lunch neared, William, Stacy and I became nervous. We were supposed to meet Alison Sweeney and Galen Gering before lunch, but time was running short. We all agreed that we wouldn’t give up until we got to interview them. Just as they were about to sit down with us, Alison’s kids showed up with the nanny to have lunch with her. Ben and Megan are unbelievably cute and Ben ran straight into his mommy’s arms. I snapped a couple of pics to show Mr. W, but promised I wouldn’t put them online.

Ali and Galen did finally sit down with us and instead of our usual ten minutes, we got almost twenty. I’d really like to say some of these people were assholes just to break up the monotony of this piece, but they were nice as could be. Since the press room had quieted down and others had left for lunch, I recorded my interview with Ali and Galen and could hear them pretty clearly. It was amazing being able to talk to a woman I have admired for 2/3 of my life as well as one of my favorite actors from Passions who now does an amazing job on Days. Ali and Galen are involved in one of the most complicated, gut-wrenching, intense storylines in the show’s history and their acting is incredible. They both complimented each other as well as the rest of the cast for being so supportive.

Eventually, we were torn away from these amazing people and went to the Hard Rock where we were supplied a free lunch. I texted everyone I know, bragging my ass off, while I picked William and Stacy’s brains about which actors are nice in Hollywood and which ones are assholes. They both had some great stories. I decided then that I really freaking loved LA.

After lunch, we had more interviews, including the infamous Stefano DiMera, whose real name is Joseph Mascolo. Anyone who has ever seen Days knows this is the guy who loves to stir up trouble…. the rich and powerful supervillian. Joe was dressed in a Stefano-esque suit, but that’s where the similarities ended. He was sweet, kind, and very talkative. He is also from Connecticut! His accent was so ingrained in him he had a hard time dropping it because, as he says, he hates fake accents. He said half the cast didn’t know if he could speak English or not. He definitely had me fooled.

James Scott, the actor who plays EJ, has a gorgeous accent that is 100% authentic and just makes you want to do things you’ve only done in your imagination. He was paired with Ari Zucker, who is eight months pregnant and still drop dead gorgeous. She was sporting new dark hair, which looks amazing on her. Despite all three of us asking questions about the actors, James and Ari were in EJ and Nicole mode, staying in character the whole time and even arguing about their situation on the show. I was really impressed with Ari handling that long day of interviews and meeting so many fans. I’m not even remotely pregnant and at that point, I was exhausted.

Bryan Dattilo, who plays Lucas, and Lauren Koslow (Kate) were funny and able to make fun of their characters. Bryan is hilarious and Lauren pulls off a blue streak of hair and crazy nail polish like no other. Bryan admitted that he’d like to see Lucas have surgery to be given testicles, and Lauren said she doesn’t think Kate is evil despite the fact that she just tried to kill Chloe for cheating on Lucas. I brought up the infamous “Will doll” of the 90s and Bryan started imitating him. Hilarious.

Of course, I interviewed many more of the actors, so if you’re interested, check out my articles at Examiner.com. Unfortunately, four of them weren’t there and the press room closed before I could interview Nadia Bjorlin, the most gorgeous woman on Earth. I don’t even know how that girl goes out in public. I couldn’t stop staring at her. If you want to know who I’m talking about, Google “Nadia Bolin Brandon Beemer Vogue shoot” (Brandon is her boyfriend) and prepare to need a cold shower. Soap stars are definitely pretty people. Still, despite missing a few, I felt very blessed to have talked to so many.

After such a long day, I was in desperate need of coffee so I hauled ass to the Starbucks at City Walk. After being treated so well all day, I was subject to the rude employees with no zest for life being assholes and I decided right then that I was going to try harder to be a nice person to everyone I met. After being approached by an old dude who thought I was on the show, I decided it was time to take off my press pass and head back to my hotel. I caught a shuttle, where I ran into the Washington girls from our mixer the night before and showed off my pictures.

When I got back, I barely had time to think about what an amazing day I had just had (OK, I may have flopped on the bed for a few moments with an epic grin on my face but I admit to nothing) because I had to change for dinner. In June, I wrote a piece here called “Defining Friendship” which started like this:

I’ve got this friend in California and she’s absolutely incredible. She’s in her thirties, has three beautiful daughters and loves Kevin Smith movies, Cinnamon Toast Crunch and South Park. Over the last seven years, we’ve had a lot of amazing conversations. She knows more about me than most. She helped me through a really hard time in my life- a time where I was a real asshole- and she never judged me. Not once. In turn, I did my best to help her through a time when a man she loved, the father of those beautiful girls, turned his back on her. We talk frequently via text and Twitter. She’s one hell of a friend. There’s just one thing… I’ve never actually seen her in person.

Well, my California girl lives about 45 minutes South of LA and after all this time, she was on her way to pick me up. Normally I would’ve been nervous about meeting someone face to face who pretty much knows everything about me, but given the day I’d just had, I was fine. LA traffic was a bitch, as usual, so while I waited for her arrival I caught up on Twitter. I almost peed my pants when I saw a tweet from Ali Sweeney directed at me. It was simple, but damn it, it was for me, and it just proved that I was the luckiest bastard on Earth.

My California girl arrived, just as pretty as her pictures with the most gorgeous eyes ever. In my texts, I am all exclamation points and “lol”s because that’s how I am in person. I wear my heart on my sleeve. My California girl is more mellow, the kind of cool that I can only hope to be but can never quite master. I feared I was annoying her, so I tried to tone it down, but between the excitement of my day, the excitement of meeting her and the wine with dinner I rambled continuously for hours right up until she dropped me off. We checked out the Walk of Fame, the Sunset Strip and saw Spiderman casually hanging out on a street corner. I am so grateful that I finally got to meet her and that she took the time to battle LA traffic to see me.

Back at the hotel, I had to be the asshole that called security and got a bunch of kids kicked out. Somebody had a bat mitzvah that day and Daddy had rented a bunch of hotel rooms so that Princess and friends could party all night. Well, they partied way too loud. I must be getting old because I watched through the peephole and snickered while the security guard bitched them out. I’m not a prude, but 2:30 am is way too late to be slamming doors and yelling down the hall.

Finally, when the young Jews were silenced, I passed out instantly, dreaming of Hollywood and soap stars.

LA Adventures: Part One

Jessicalee — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 02:54:09 GMT

I was already awake when my alarm went off at 3:50 am. I’ve never overslept the day of a flight, but I was up later than I expected due to Mr. W and I laughing ourselves to sleep over God knows what… probably something the dog did.

It was cold, windy and dark as I said my goodbyes and drove to the airport. It was the perfect sendoff to the warm California sunshine. After checking in and grabbing a giant coffee, I was on my way. Even with a layover in Portland, the flights went very quickly and smoothly. Before I knew it, I was staring out my window at the Pacific Ocean, beautiful and blue-green and sparkling in the sunlight. The reality that I really was about to meet my favorite soap stars hit me with full force and I grinned like an idiot as I made my way through LAX.

I was in a shuttle van to the hotel when my old friend DJ called me. DJ is an old friend of mine and Mr. W’s from Spokane who now lives in Sacramento. I hadn’t seen him in years and missed him like crazy.

“What the hell are you doing in LA?” he asked.

“It’s for a Days of our Lives thing,” I said sheepishly before asking him if I could call him back so I wouldn’t be that asshole on the phone in a small space.

When I hung up, the other four ladies in the van were grinning. “We’re here for the Day of Days too!” one of them said, and for the rest of the trip, it was ON. We discussed our favorite plot lines, actors, you name it. For the first time in years, I began to feel better about being a fan of the show. I had always watched in secret, allowing my friends who did find out to tease me. But after that car ride, I knew I wasn’t alone.

Meanwhile, DJ and I were texting and he agreed to come visit me on my last day in LA even though it was a ridiculously long drive. Normally I’m a total planner when it comes to trips, but this time I had allowed a lot of flexibility in my schedule because I had a gut feeling something would happen. I guess I was right.

When we arrived at the Sheraton, I checked in, went up to my room, opened my windows, saw the palm trees and swimming pool, and smiled. What a difference of scenery from the cold Inland Northwest. I had one goal that day: shopping. After changing out of my winter clothes that were no longer necessary, I asked the concierge to help me get a Taxi.

“Don’t shop too much, Miss,” he teased. Then I was off to Beverly Hills, still grinning like an idiot.

Beverly Center was my destination. I arrived and proceeded to go into a four hour shopping coma. It was paradise: Bloomingdales, MAC, Forever 21, H&M, Guess, etc. It was at Beverly Center that I discovered something awesome. In fashion-conscious LA, when something goes “out of season” it normally goes on sale for a fraction of its normal cost. I was searching for the perfect outfit for the following day. I found it at Bloomingdales: a blue BGBC dress, originally priced well over $200, marked down to $60.

“It will never fit,” I said to the gorgeous gay man, Spencer, who was helping me. “My luck is never this good.” But this time, it was. Minutes later, Spencer and I chatted about LA while he wrapped up my new dress.

“You see everything here, girl,” he said. “You could’ve walked in here with a pony and I wouldn’t have thought twice about it.” Spencer gave me his card in case I needed further assistance (or to “grab a martini”) and I was off to my next adventure…and gay man… at the MAC store. Gay men, I beg of you, come to North Idaho. Despite being a Red state, it’s more accepting than you might think, and I need you in my life. I really do.

After sampling the infamous Pinkberry, which was just as delicious as I imagined, I cabbed it back to the hotel, talking to my sweet Russian driver the whole way. It was then that I realized everyone in LA had been incredibly nice to me so far. I’m sure it has its assholes, but if you’re nice to people, they’ll be nice to you.

When I emerged from the Taxi with bag after bag of shopping goodness, the concierge laughed at me for ignoring his warning and nicely helped me through the door. The couple who runs www.DaysTalk.com had organized a meet and greet in the hotel lobby so as soon as I dropped off my shopping hauls, I headed down. I found them almost instantly, surrounded by several women and a husband who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Soon, we were joined by my friends from the shuttle and again, it was on. The conversation flowed, my favorite line being, “Now who did he rape again?” It was incredibly therapeutic to meet fans of the show who are just as crazy- if not crazier- than I am. I even met some girls who live close to my hometown in Washington.

After awhile, I realized I still had to prepare my questions for the actors. I headed up to my room, ordered room service, and got to work. Again, it hit me that I was actually getting the opportunity to ask my favorite actors the questions I had always wanted to ask and I had to take a melatonin with a wine chaser to calm myself down. Of course, I didn’t think of any REALLY good questions until I was on the plane home, but that’s the way it always works. Eventually I was satisfied with what I had and, after a quick call to Mr. W and setting every alarm known to man, I attempted to sleep.

The Best Days of MY Life

Jessicalee — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 03:18:18 GMT

Anyone who knows me or reads me knows I’m a very happy person. I have a wonderful life and I’m grateful every single day, even on the bad days. I have my insecurities, but I’ve grown comfortable in my own skin and have slowly but surely learned to love myself. I’ve overcome a lot of issues. I love my husband, I love my family, I love my friends… honestly, I love almost everyone. You wouldn’t think so if you followed me on Twitter, but I really do.

But, like most people, this was not always the case. Everyone was a wreck as a teenager, but I was a wreck squared. Times infinity. I suck at Math but I know that’s a lot. To escape reality, rather than do something cliché like smoke pot or cut myself, I watched Days of our Lives and let the beautiful people entertain me with their romances and tragedies. I wrote about my obsession and the reasons for it on my other blog. I’m not tech-savvy enough to hyperlink, but here it is:

http://www.lifethroughtheseblueeyes.com/2009/06/why-i-watch-days-of-our-lives-yes-thats.html

I’ve actually been a fan since 1993, not 1994. Like I said, I suck at Math. This summer, I was chosen as the National Days of our Lives Examiner for Examiner.com. My friends tease me for my obsession, but it has been wonderful writing about something that has been a part of my life for so long. Even better, I’m writing for fans who are just as obsessed as I am. We know it’s ridiculous. We know it’s outlandish and unrealistic. But we don’t care. We love the show.

On Friday, I am going to Los Angeles for the “Day of Days” event. This Saturday, at Universal Studios, the cast members are coming out for a huge meet and greet for the fans. It’s a big event that thousands showed up for last year. Since I’m going to cover it for the Examiner, I’ve been granted press credentials. That means that, instead of having to wait in line for an autograph and maybe a quick quote, the actors will come to me and I’ll get the chance to briefly interview them. When I found this out, I quickly titled the day The Best Tuesday of my Life.

I have always wanted to go to LA but I’ve never really had a reason. Now not only do I get to go (in November, when it’s freezing in North Idaho), I get to go and meet people I’ve admired since I was a child. My inner 12 year old has already had a heart attack. It’s such an amazing opportunity. I honestly can’t believe this is happening all because I finally got up the nerve to actually try to make a go of this writing thing.

I’m so nervous. All of my writing assignments have been so low key and now I’m going to be in the press room with the actual reporters who know what they’re doing. I’ll probably be a spiral notebook in a sea of laptops and professional camera equipment, but I don’t care. I have a press pass, dang it, and to me, that’s the greatest thing ever. It’s the golden ticket to my chocolate factory.

I’m excited to meet every single actor on the show. I know soaps aren’t exactly taken seriously in our society, but honestly, most of these actors have an incredible amount of talent. I’m especially excited, though, to meet Alison Sweeney, host of The Biggest Loser and the infamous Samantha Brady on the show. I’ve watched her grow up and I can’t wait to tell her how amazing she looks after all those workouts with Bob and Jillian.

I’ve already had such a great year, and now I’m being blessed with another incredible opportunity. It’s really tough to be bitter about not yet being a famous writer when so many awesome things keep happening. Maybe I’ll find time to be bitter in between interviewing celebrities, window shopping in Beverly Hills and checking out the beach. But somehow, I think all I’m going to be is grateful.

A Cruel World for the Creative

Jessicalee — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 18:38:31 GMT

The world can be a warm, inviting place full of possibilities and open doors…. If you’ve got the right type of mind. If you’re science-oriented, a number-cruncher, and grow up with determination, good study habits and money, you’ve got it made. You can go to college, get a masters’ degree, walk right into a job with a cushy salary and benefits and have a nice, safe career and life. I’m not saying it’s easy. But I bet it sure is nice knowing there are jobs out there that match your exact passion and set of skills.

But what about the rest of us? What about the creative? The writers? The artists? The actors? The ones who will fall asleep during Math class but will tell you stories that will make the characters come to life and leave you riveted right up until the end? For the rest of us, the world is a cruel place. Sure, the world needs storytellers, and people will always love their books, magazines, movies and artwork. But we can’t cure cancer. We can’t heal, not with medicine. We can’t do your accounting or win a case for you in court. We may have skills, but to the tangible world, our skills are seen as having less value… and sometimes, so are we.

To demonstrate why my 22-year-old brother is made of awesome, here is an example of a text message conversation we had the other day, from beginning to end:

Him: Who would win in a fight between Danny Tanner and Steve Urkel?

Me: Danny Tanner, for sure. But Urkel probably has a bigger dick. That’s something.

Him: But what if Urkel turned into Stefan? I bet Uncle Jesse would have to jump in then.

Me: Very true. In that case, Stefan would win for sure.

Him: Not to mention Danny Tanner just needs his ass kicked. Both Michelles turned out like shit.

Me: And DJ is all crazy Christian now. And Stephanie had a meth problem.

Him: Steph is a meth head?

Me: Not anymore. She overcame her addiction, but it ruined her first marriage… to a cop.

Him: Damn. And they thought Kimmy Gibbler was messed up.

Me: Indeed.

My brother has three passions in life: baseball, hunting and fishing. Without sounding like an overly proud sister, he’s damn good at all three of them. He had professional scouts eyeing him his first year of college before he got a bad injury and had to have surgery. He’s a monster on the baseball field. Obviously, it’s a long shot trying to go pro, but the kid had (has?) a legitimate chance.

But life got in the way. There were injuries. There was the fact that he didn’t exactly take prime classes in school because, like me, he didn’t care. He and I both love to learn and we’re both smart. But we hate the organized, “you must take this b.s. class” system that is college. We like to learn on our own terms. The education system is not our friend.

The other day, he called me. I’d never heard him sound so disappointed. It’s been a rough fall for him. His girlfriend of six years broke up with him (his high school sweetheart). He transferred schools, leaving a lot of his friends behind. And now, it looks like some of his classes didn’t transfer and he won’t be able to play baseball this spring. It was the one thing he felt he still had to look forward to. Our parents are wonderful people, but they’re cut from a different cloth. They don’t understand. So he called me.

“I have no idea where to go from here,” he said simply.

It was a line I’d said approximately five million times in my life and still say about once a month. It was hard for me to be encouraging since I can relate. Writing is the only thing I know how to do. I have very limited skills other than that. I have outside sales experience, but I loathed that part of sales. I have bartending and waitressing experience, but I’d rather get a pap smear with a rake than do that again. I can scoop ice cream and make coffee. Needless to say, I’m trying to make a go of the writing thing.

His loss of direction gave me an opportunity to plant a thought in his mind. It was something I never knew he could do until his senior year of high school. He was selected to participate in the “Mr. West Valley” pageant, a fundraising effort our high school puts on every year to raise money for the Children’s Miracle Network. The popular guys make fools of themselves with “talent” competitions and, at the end of the program, they read speeches they’ve written about their heroes. My brother’s speech blew me away. I had no idea the kid could write like that.

I’m not one who thinks everyone should follow in my path. After all, I’m batshit crazy. I have no idea what I’m doing. All I know is I want to make a living as a writer and I’ve got some things I’m interested in writing about, some story ideas in my head, and a half-finished NaNoWriMo from last year on my laptop. But this kid could really pull it off. I suggested he do what I wish every single day that I had done in college: major in creative writing. Give this writing thing a try.

The market for outdoors writing is pretty big Patrick McManus, one of my family’s favorite outdoors writers, lives right here in Spokane and has made a living combining hunting, fishing and humor. My brother is an expert on all of those things. He could write about them for years. He could write about baseball. He’d have to get a pen name for some of the stories he has lest he be sued by any former baseball greats he’s hung out with, but the kid can tell stories. Many of his texts have been featured on textsfromlastnight.com, the holy grail of wit.

“There’s no money in writing,” he said right away, and I laughed, because I spent my whole life hearing the same thing. But there has to be, or no one would do it, right? There’s a lot more to it than “do what you love, and the money will come.” There’s a lot of writing for free involved, a lot of patience, and a lot of charging groceries and praying your checks don’t clear before your meager payments come in. But it has to pay off eventually for those of us who are truly passionate and stick with it. There are those of us who refuse to fail, and I firmly believe money is one of our ultimate rewards.

I don’t know if his story will have a happy ending. I don’t know if mine will, either. If the creative among us were rewarded the way more traditional thinkers were, we’d be set for life. But we are not all cut from the same cloth, and some of us have to choose a different path and find our own way to happiness. This year has been full of disappointment for me, but it has also been full of signs…. signs that I’m on the right path, signs I’m doing what I’m meant to do, and signs that, one day, I’ll finally have the financial stability I crave and my stories in magazines and on bookshelves. And I think eventually my brother will find his way there, too.

Putting my Prize to Use!

Jessicalee — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 22:16:00 GMT

Maybe I’m a slave to the beauty industry and its pretty packaging, but I don’t care. I love Sephora. I love walking into the store and seeing all the different brands of make-up, skin care and beauty products. I love trying new things. I love being a Beauty Insider. We don’t have Sephora where I live, so it’s always something I treat myself to when I travel.

I’ve participated in most on PNN’s Girls’ Nights Out, but I’ve never spoken up to claim a prize. I’ve loved all of them, but I decided I’d know when I saw the perfect prize for me. Every time a prize popped up, I thought of another PNN member who I thought would be perfect for it. I get just as excited when my friends win things as when I win them, so it was all fun for me (keep that in mind, friends, if any of you ever win the Powerball and feel like paying off my house). But when I saw the $25 Sephora gift card, I knew I had to have it. I said something like, “This would be a good time to mention that I’ve never won a prize here” and before I knew it, it was mine.

The W bank accounts have been sad lately. I’ve had to cut back on some extras, including shopping at Sephora. But with a gift card, I had an excuse. I went to the website and ordered my favorite product, the Philosophy Microdelivery Peel. It’s this awesome Vitamic C scrub you use once or twice a week that leaves your skin smooth and glowing. It works just as well as a professional facial. I also bought a jar of Philosophy’s “When Hope is Not Enough” night cream. Between those two products, I’m hoping my skin will be smooth and young-looking enough to ensure I get carded on my upcoming 28^th birthday. That would be a great gift.

So thanks, PNN, for the gift card and for all the awesome Girls’ Nights Out!

Strength in Numbers

Jessicalee — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 21:16:56 GMT

The message I’m meant to receive from the Universe is clear: live life to its fullest. None of us know how much time we have, so enjoy every moment. The message was given to me through songs, billboards, blog posts, even from Rob Thomas himself.

Anyone who knows me knows I certainly am one to live life to its fullest. I won’t put off a trip even if I can’t afford it and I won’t hesitate to tell others how I feel about them. But there’s so much more I want to do. There’s so much, professionally and personally, I want to accomplish. This weighed heavy on my mind as I made the drive from Spokane to Seattle. It rained almost the entire way there. I couldn’t even use my cruise control. But I had music and my own company. I made the most of it.

I arrived at the Silver Cloud and, ironically, it was sunny in downtown Seattle. I checked in, got my luggage up to my room on the top floor, and called P. Emotion weighed heavy in her voice. My heart began to pound as soon as I talked to her, a giant lump forming in my throat. She and her other brother were cleaning out TJ’s apartment. There was nothing I could do to help her at that particular moment, but just being in the same city and knowing I could be there at a moment’s notice gave me some relief.

After a delicious dinner with Sydney in the hotel’s restaurant, I headed back up to my room. I put my pajamas on, drank copious amounts of Earl Gray tea, and wrote while I listened to music. “If Today Was Your Last Day” by Nickelback played, haunting me. I popped a Melatonin and climbed into my comfortable king sized bed, drifting off to sleep… temporarily. The trains passing through didn’t mess around. They honked repeatedly every time. I wondered how MsSantos, less than a mile away, ever got any sleep.

The next day, after some more writing and a workout, I was greeted by Sydney’s other bff (and a friend I’ve since claimed for myself), D. This is a girl who had to grow up way too fast and has taken care of herself at a younger age than most of us. Recently, D hit a string of bad luck that would drive anyone crazy. She moved into a new apartment and got a new job, something she was very excited about. Unfortunately, the job turned out to provide significantly less income than she’d hoped for. Then, she met one of those not-so-nice men that sadly exist in too high of a number. All she did was turn him down for a date (after he approached her on the street). He found out where she lived, robbed her, and later attacked her outside her place of employment, throwing bleach in her face and impairing her vision.

The good news is, they caught the guy and he’s currently sitting in jail awaiting trial. Physically, D is OK, but obviously, she’s shaken up. She isn’t going back to work at that place as she doesn’t feel safe. She’s moved out of her new apartment for the same reasons and is staying with family until she gets back on her feet, something she has never had to do before. Anyone else would be broken, bitter and fearful. But not D. After telling me the harrowing story, she instantly told me that she’s not going to let one bad experience ruin her outlook on life. She will learn to trust again and she will get back on her feet in every way. I admire her strength and her overwhelmingly positive attitude.

D and I headed over to the WaMu Theater and enjoyed the Rob Thomas show. The opening acts were good, Rob was incredible, and the crowd was having fun. Then, we got to meet Rob after the show, courtesy of a friend in the radio industry and my begging and pleading. He’s my favorite performer, and I’ve had the pleasure of meeting him twice. I was feeling pretty grateful as D and I headed back to the hotel room, had some midnight snacks, and went to sleep.

Of course, Friday would not be such a good day, and I knew it. It was pouring down rain, heavy even by Seattle standards. I checked out of the Silver Cloud and headed to TJ’s Memorial Service with plenty of time to spare. I wanted to get there early to make sure P knew I was there and help if I could. Of course, Mapquest is about as reliable as the Seattle weather, and before long I found myself lost in the UW district (also known as enemy territory for this Cougar). I stopped for directions twice. No one had heard of the park. I used 411 to get the number and got a voicemail. Feeling alone and helpless and unable to reach P, I broke down and cried. The crying fogged up my windows, and no matter what I did, nothing would clear them. Not my finest moment.

Eventually, I managed to find my way to the park, but I was half an hour late. After asking for directions to the appropriate building, I parked about a block away and ran, heels flying, Coach umbrella over my head, to the memorial. When I entered, TJ’s friends were telling the most amazing stories about him. I was overwhelmed by the humor, kindness and adventurous nature they were remembering. TJ’s, while far too short, was definitely a life well-lived. He did more in 42 years than many of us will do in a lifetime. I also had the pleasure of hearing P talk about him. Her speech had me bawling before she finished the first sentence… a loving, sweet tribute to her brother.

After the memorial, I met P and TJ’s friends at a bar on Capitol Hill. Finally, I had the chance to talk to my friend and give her my support. P is far from OK, but I saw the strength I’ve seen in her for 15 years, a strength that will carry her through even the unthinkable. I found myself, again, admiring the strength of a friend.

Before long, Sydney was off work, home and starving. I promised her I was on my way, paid the tab, and left. The rain, which hadn’t let up all day, was still pouring. I had directions to Sydney’s new house, but they were from the wrong location. I did the best I could (after getting lost so much, I was beginning to figure out Seattle) and she talked me through the rest of the way. My vents still weren’t working. Everything was foggy. I couldn’t see. Then other things started to fail. I have never been so glad to see Sydney in my life, waiting for me in her driveway under her pink umbrella.

Sydney and I had an amazing meal. She, too, has been faced with recent uncertainties regarding her career and some other business decisions. The things she was faced with would’ve driven an ordinary person crazy. But Sydney is no ordinary person. She’s a problem solver to the core. As I listened to her describe the problem and the positive outcome, I found myself admiring strength for the third time in three days.

The next morning, I went to start my car and discovered the battery had died. According to Mr. W, excessive rain can mess with cars and mine had been a victim. An hour and a chunk of cash later, my car was running and I was on my way home. Unfortunately, the radio was still dead. Whoever sold me the car didn’t include the manual, but apparently, getting my radio to work again will require a code that no one has. I drove for five hours in silence with too much rain to use my cruise control (again).

I’m not even going to pretend all that silence didn’t make me even crazier than I was before. And I didn’t come home to a perfect life. I’m still stuck in the reality that my writing career hasn’t taken off the way I’d hoped. I’m left with bills I can’t pay and uncertainty about the future. My car is going downhill fast and the radio may never work again.

But these problems are temporary and I know that this, too, shall pass. And with such strong women in my life…. survivors who persevere through life’s challenges and tragedies and come out stronger in the end… how can I feel anything but lucky and grateful? With these women around me, showing me that failure is not an option, there is no way I’ll allow myself to give up. Life is meant to be lived to the fullest, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let my full life be anything but successful.

When Words Fail Us

Jessicalee — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 15:02:35 GMT

Each of us goes through this life knowing that nothing is certain. We hope for the best, we pray for the best, and we take measures to keep ourselves healthy and safe. And though we are aware that terrible things can happen, it doesn’t make it any easier when they do.

On Friday night in Leavenworth, Mr. W and I had spent a blissful day and night completely cut off from the world. While we enjoyed our time focusing only on each other, we both began to get a little antsy, so we turned on the 11:00 news. I was shocked to see a picture of P’s older brother staring back at me.

An experienced backcountry hiker and avid outdoorsman, TJ had headed out for a two or three day hike the previous Sunday in the North Cascades. When he hadn’t returned by Thursday evening, his friends became concerned and notified the authorities. By Friday, the search was on. Sure enough, I checked my Facebook and found a message from P. She was heading to Seattle the next day, possibly to join the search on Sunday, and asked for my thoughts and prayers. I asked her to please keep me posted.

Ordinarily, this would have been a terrifying situation… and don’t get me wrong, I was worried for TJ and P and her family. But I knew that TJ was no ordinary guy. Almost exactly ten years ago, when we were seniors in high school, TJ was hiking through Yellowstone and interrupted a grizzly bear and her cubs. Mama Bear attacked. Not only did TJ survive, he walked four miles to the trailhead holding his scalp to his head. He was hurt pretty badly, but he made a full recovery. I still remember the relief the family felt after bringing him home battered, but safe. Surely if anyone could survive in those mountains, it was him.

I didn’t hear anything from P for the rest of the weekend, so I assumed the search was still on. Imagine my sorrow when, just as Mr. W and I were leaving Leavenworth, we got a call from my father telling me that I had better call P. He had just read the newspaper. TJ’s body had been found on Saturday. He had fallen to his death during the hike.

I am the daughter and the sister of outdoorsmen. This is our worst fear. No matter how smart, experienced or educated someone is, there are too many uncertainties where Mother Nature is concerned. There’s always a chance they won’t come home, and in our hearts, we know that. But we also know that, for some people, the outdoors is a passion and who are we to keep our loved ones from pursuing that passion? So they leave, and we wait and we worry and we hope. A part of us stops breathing until they return home safely.

A month ago, my father was in the mountains with my brother. They went their separate ways for awhile and after dark, my father turned around and found himself face to face with a huge cougar. He didn’t have a gun. He had no way of defending himself.

My dad was lucky. He made noise, used his backpack to make himself appear taller, and scared the cougar away with rocks until my brother found him and they hightailed it out of there. It could easily be me in this position…. my family torn apart, my heart broken. I don’t know why some people get lucky and some don’t or why the world works the way it does. I will always be extremely thankful that my dad lived to see another day and hopefully another 30 years or so.

But now I have to be a good friend to someone who has just lost their flesh and blood. I have dealt with loss before. But I’ve never been in this exact situation. I don’t know what to say, how to act, or what to do. It’s a powerless feeling, wanting so badly to be a good friend but not knowing how. Words are my life, and yet somehow, I can’t find the right words for P.

I know everything happens for a reason. Although my heart is broken for my friend whose heart will never fully heal, I admit that a part of me is grateful. I’m grateful that P got to spend time with her brother while she was in town. I’m grateful that, just a week and half ago, P and I were on top of the world, enjoying drinks and catching up on life. I’m so glad we got to see each other under better circumstances and I know it’s no accident that fate brought her back into my life just before this incredibly difficult time. Nothing can bring her brother back, but I hope the precious time she spent with him is somewhat of a comfort to her.

I’m doing the only thing I can. As soon as I post this, I am driving to Seattle to be there for P. I told her I will do whatever she needs me to do, whether it be helping with arrangements or just sitting in my hotel room, crying our eyes out together. I said I had a feeling it wouldn’t be another six or seven years before I saw my friend. I just didn’t want it to be like this.

For those of you on Twitter who offered your prayers and condolences, thank you. I strongly believe that we really are all connected in this world and although P doesn’t know any of you personally, she’s a wonderful woman who will appreciate all kind words and thoughts right now. She’s also a strong woman, but circumstances like this bring even the strongest of us to our knees. I don’t know if I can help her up. All I can do is try.

Good Times Never Seem So Good (so good!)

Jessicalee — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 18:04:42 GMT

Leavenworth, Washington, is a gorgeous Bavarian town nestled in the Cascade Mountains. With its delicious restaurants, authentic German pastries, cute little shops and cozy hotels, the town reeks of happiness. Unfortunately, for years, I associated it only with sadness.

Anyone who has ever had Depression knows how crippling it can be. You’re sad and you don’t know why. You can’t bring yourself to see anything but the damn glass half empty. Not only that, but there are physical symptoms as well. You’re tired all the time, you’ve got random aches and pains, you’ve got such little energy that you wonder if you’ve got some kind of chronic illness on top of everything else.

I used to go to Leavenworth with my mom every summer when I was in junior high and high school. It was fun and I sure appreciated what she was trying to do. But, without fail, everything that was going on in my life always caught up to me and I walked around with a cloud of gloom hanging over my head. I’m sure I wasn’t very pleasant company. I hope the good times I’ve had with my mom since have made up for my pissy teenage years.

But about nine years ago, I had a different experience in Leavenworth. My new boyfriend and I, both Shari’s employees, took a road trip from Yakima to Wenatchee to be a part of a new Shari’s training video. We were given the day off for it and thought it might be fun. But the closer we got, the more we realized what a drag it would be.

“I’ve got an idea,” said a very young Mr. W, wearing Wranglers and cowboy boots. “Want to blow this thing off and just go to Leavenworth?”

And we did. And it was awesome. We walked around the cute little shops, talking and laughing, and I found myself falling even harder for the boy.

“He looks just like Leonardo DiCaprio!” an old lady had shouted as we left a shop, pointing at Mr. W (who did, in fact, strongly resemble Leo at the time).

Then she pointed at me.

“You’re a lucky girl,” she said.

I smiled. It was the first time anyone had ever said that to me (about a boy). And even though our relationship was brand new, I knew in my heart that she was right.

As we left town that night, I told Mr. W of my bad luck with Leavenworth and how that day had been my first real happy memory of being there.

“Well, if this thing between us goes to shit, at least I gave you one good memory,” he’d said.

Every year, I had hopes of going back to Leavenworth for Oktoberfest. And every year, there were reasons why we couldn’t make it. This year, I decided to make it happen. There are a million reasons why we shouldn’t have, mostly financial, but screw it, right? You never know when you’ll never get another chance. So I booked us a VIP suite at the Enzian Inn, and we went.

What a difference nine years makes. We found ourselves more interested in wine tasting than beer guzzling and more about eating delicious Italian food (recommended by Carm) than bratwurst. And our suite was perfect for romance. There was a fireplace, a Jacuzzi tub, and I brought candles, music and a bottle of red wine. We were able to tune out the world, which between Twitter, Facebook, Gmail and the Blackberry, isn’t easy to do.

Mr. W had never slept in a bed with a European duvet.

“What is this thing, like a sleeping bag?” he asked after we turned the lights off. I heard rustling, a zipper, more rustling, and swearing. I finally turned the light on to what appeared to be my husband being eaten by a duvet. We laughed ourselves to sleep.

The next day we checked out the Oktoberfest celebration. After always promising my mother I wouldn’t tarnish the family name in such a manner, I had my first taste of boxed wine. I have tarnished the family name in many other ways, and besides, that’s all there was besides gross beer. That taste turned into four glasses and I found myself drunk by 5 pm. Mr. W and I sang “Sweet Caroline” with a German cover band, talked to a lot of people, and I danced with an old dude dressed up in Lederhosen. I also ran into an old friend from high school and made an ass of myself in typical Jessica fashion. We were back in our suite by 10 PM. Being a rock star is tough when you get old.

We headed home the next day, dehydrated but relaxed and smiling. As we lay in bed that night, Mr. W thanked me for planning such a great excursion and for being such a good wife.

I’m a lucky girl indeed.

Drinks with Madam President

Jessicalee — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 23:40:41 GMT

Some friends are meant to help you with phases of your life. When that phase comes to an end, you both move on. Sometimes it hurts, but we grow and change as we age, and sometimes life takes us in different directions. Not all friends are forever.

But there are also those friends that, no matter how little you keep in touch, you know in your heart they’d be there in a minute if you needed them. You neglect them. You don’t call or email. You lose track of birthdays, anniversaries, and important dates. But they never leave your mind, and you know in your heart that you never leave theirs.

I was in junior high when I met P. The girl was born with politics in her blood. I think she was the one who first told me what it meant to be a Republican or a Democrat, because at 14, I honestly had no idea. Anyone who follows my comments on PNN can tell there are certain issues I am passionate as hell about. In part, P is to blame (or thank) for that. She raised my awareness on social issues long before I could vote and the fiery passion has only gotten larger as I’ve grown older and even more aware.

P has always been extremely busy. She had a cell phone before I even knew how they worked. With her AP classes, extracurricular activities (both on campus and off), sports, and job, I often wondered if she slept. Needless to say, we didn’t exactly spend a ton of time together in junior high and high school. She was a whirlwind of energy while I was always tired (a side effect of my wonderful Depression). Throughout junior high, we chronicled our lives through a series of notes in a spiral notebook (“The Book”) accompanied by plenty of illustrated stick figures. Our lives were different, but the stick figures showed that we both wanted the same things, even then: Love. Beauty. Acceptance. Success. Chocolate. Hey, we weren’t that deep.

Yet, we were close. No matter how busy she was, P was there for me when I needed her. She provided a sanctuary when life at my parents’ house became too much to bear and I needed an escape. Even though her own home life was far from perfect, she never failed to listen to problems about mine. She didn’t have time to be selfless, but she was. I don’t know if I can ever truly express how much that meant to me. There were times when I honestly felt like I had no one, but P never let me forget that I had her.

Of course, the minute we graduated high school, P headed East. She hit the campaign trail almost immediately while earning some impressive degrees from some equally impressive colleges. We always joked that she would be the first female President (hence the nickname P), but honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if it happened. In fact, it would make me happy, because this is a woman who actually cares about our country and wants to solve our problems, unlike most politicians. Looking at her resume, some people (even successful people) would feel fiercely inadequate. But P never makes others feel that way. She’s just as happy for her friends’ victories as her true friends are for hers. She’s a true success story, going after what she’s always wanted, and I feel lucky to know yet another wonderful person who actually does what they say they will… and all with a sharp wit I have yet to meet anyone who can match.

I hadn’t seen P in practically a decade… seven years? Six? Nine? Neither of us could quite remember. So when she emailed me to tell me she was coming to my area, I was overjoyed. I immediately called Yennifer, who agreed to meet us for an early, impromptu high school reunion.

Thanks to Facebook, I had seen recent pictures of P, but I wasn’t prepared for the drop dead gorgeous woman who met me in the lobby of the hotel. She looked thin, stylish, happy, and beautiful.

“Look at you!” she shouted.

“Look at YOU!” I replied.

“Look at US!” we both shrieked as everyone in the hotel looked at us like we were crazy.

Off we went to meet Yennifer at a classy lounge downtown. We drank flavored martinis like grown-ups, but in a way, it was exactly the same. We had much more worldly things to talk about than we did at 15, but that didn’t stop us from gossiping about our former classmates. The difference was, unlike when we were teenagers, the gossip was mostly positive. There are some hurts that never fade and some people always remain unkind, but for the most part, we celebrated the lives and successes of our fellow classmates, even toasting the ones who have passed away.

We also chronicled the last decade of our lives... with stick figures. My life was summed up in four pages. She only got to August of 2000. That's how hardcore she lives.

It was as if the three of us had these girls’ nights regularly. There were no awkward pauses, no lengthy gaps. I don’t even know how I found time to eat my appetizers, we talked so much. It was the kind of grown up, sophisticated evening we all envisioned ourselves having at 15, except even better because it was actually happening.

Seeing P reminded me of the person I used to be, which was a person I didn’t care for then and wouldn’t like now. It made me realize how far I’ve come in my battle of self-acceptance and happiness. It made me grateful for the place I’m in right now and grateful that most of my good friends seem to be in the same place. I truly believe that unhappiness with oneself is a big contributing factor to the problems we have in society and I’m glad those I love seem to have realized that.

“Isn’t it great, to be in the place we are right now?” P asked as I drove her back to the hotel. I agreed that it was.

“And isn’t it great to finally realize that we aren’t to blame for other people’s issues?” she asked.

“Yes” I said emphatically, her words resonating with me. We both grew up worrying that certain problems might be our fault, and it felt pretty great to realize that they weren’t.

I hugged P goodbye and headed back home, jumping on a half-asleep Mr. W and giving him happy kisses.

“Good night?” he asked.

“The best,” I said as the vodka finally kicked in and put me into a coma.

I doubt it will be another six, seven or nine years before I see P again. I’ll certainly do everything I can to make sure that isn’t the case. But no matter how much time passes, she will always be dear to my heart and know that I am just a phone call or email away. Some bonds can never be broken, and now I’m even more sure that this is one of them.

Thelma Misses Louise

Jessicalee — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 01:53:52 GMT

When I think of my college days at Washington State University, I think of vanilla freezes from The Daily Grind coffee shop and 2 am food deliveries from Nacho Man. I think of my study groups, my crappy apartment, hanging out with S, and my feisty black kitty (may she rest in peace). But mostly, I think of L.

I met L at the ice cream and cheese shop where we both worked. We bonded over hairnets and sneaking bites from the samples of Cougar Gold and Cougar Crunch ice cream. L was hilarious. She always had a funny story that could keep us all laughing. From picking up schizophrenic female hitchhikers to telling off strangers in bars, L and her roommate never shared a dull moment. Their stories were epic.

Hanging out with L was always so much fun. She and I shared the same flaws (procrastination, laziness and gluttony, to name a few) but made no apologies for them. She picked me up when I felt down and I did the same for her. She was one of those people I felt like I’d known my entire life, though I was only at WSU for two years.

One summer, L and I took one hell of a road trip. We both loved the Dixie Chicks (shut up, it was 2003) and when we discovered the nearest show was sold out, I instantly bought tickets to their show in Oakland, California. Sure, it was 900 miles away and would require a two or three day drive just to get there, but I was the definition of “young and dumb.” L eagerly agreed to be my date for the show and the trip was on.

That road trip turned out to be one of the best either of us had ever taken. We never ran out of things to talk about. We were both broke, but somehow we managed to have an amazing time on very little money. We joked that, if we ran out, we’d just find a strip club and work for gas money (no, that never ended up happening). We enjoyed San Francisco for a few days before heading to Reno since neither of us had ever been. We tested our boundaries, tried new things and learned a lot about ourselves. It was the definition of “college road trip” with an extra side of awesome. We were a modern day Thelma and Louise, minus the suicide.

Even after our college days ended, L and I kept in touch pretty well for two people who are bad at keeping in touch. She moved back to her hometown and fell in love. Mr. W and I got married in 2005. She got married the following year. Even though we were college buddies, I never thought of our friendship as a phase. While I knew we’d never be “BFFs” (we both already had those) I assumed we’d always be friends because we never had a reason not to be. Some friendships do go through phases, but after sharing a “salad” with a stranger on the busy streets of San Francisco, you pretty much bond for life.

But, about three years ago, we did lose touch. It wasn’t either of our faults. I couldn’t make her wedding, which I regret to this day. We still talked every few weeks, and then suddenly, we didn’t. We went too long without calling (months) and the next time I called, her number had changed. I know she didn’t do it to get rid of me. L is like me. We don’t send out those “this is my new number” texts. We change our numbers and then say, “Shit. I wonder who doesn’t have my number now?”
I hadn’t given it much thought, but lately I’ve really been missing L a lot. I miss talking to her. I wonder how her marriage is going and if she has a baby yet. I wonder where she works. I wonder how all her family drama worked out. I would love to catch up, but L doesn’t have Facebook or MySpace. According to the internet, she doesn’t exist. The closest thing I’ve found (I did one Google search. I’m not a stalker. Promise!) is a mention of her in a blog post from someone she went to high school with.

L is from a small town. I suppose it wouldn’t be that hard to track her down if I really tried. But I wonder, has it been too long? Would it be weird? Am I a part of her past that she wants to forget for some reason, or would she be happy to hear from me? With Facebook, someone you knew a decade ago can pop back into your life easily. But there’s no real pressure to talk to them. I have many Facebook buddies from high school I haven’t talked to in nine years and haven’t bothered to message because, well, we weren’t close then, what would I say now?

But this is real life. Thus would involve me finding a phone number, address or, at the very least, an email address. This would be me contacting her directly and engaging in real conversation. I really don’t think she’d want to avoid me, but if she did, I wouldn’t want her to feel trapped. She was just such a big part of my early twenties, I would love for her to be a part of my grown up life or, at the very least, someone I occasionally speak to.

Today I heard her favorite song on the radio (and one of the anthems of our road trip) UB40’s “The Way You Do the Things You Do” and thought of her again. I’m so tempted to look her up. But will I seem crazy? Has too much time passed? Should I let it go or should I see if, after all these years, she still needs a friend?

My Greatest Gift Turns 31

Jessicalee — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 16:03:13 GMT

On Christmas night in 1977, a young married couple found themselves to be “in the mood.”

The problem? They were at the wife’s mother’s house for the holidays, and because they didn’t expect to be “in the mood” there, they hadn’t brought adequate protection.

“Come on,” urged the husband. “We’re careful every single time. Surely just one time without a condom won’t hurt.”

The wife agreed. After all, what were the odds? They gave in to their urges.

Exactly nine months later, Mr. W came into the world. Twenty two years after that, he came into my life and changed my world for the better. Today he turns 31. While this is an easier birthday to handle than 30, I’m sure a part of him is still freaking out. As he works today, he is probably thinking about his life and wondering what he has accomplished.

I have seen Mr. W transform from a stubborn boy into a wonderful (though still stubborn) man. I am so grateful he’s allowed me to be a part of that transformation. I see him work 40 to 50 hours a week, take college classes, and work every day to better himself. It’s no secret that he hates his job, so I try to make his home life as pleasant as possible. He comes home to a wife and a dog who shower him with kisses. He’s on one of the most important journeys of his life and, while it will end with him finally working in a field he is passionate about, the journey itself is rough. But he never complains.

Mr. W would just as soon hang out in the background in social situations. I’m a social butterfly, running from person to person, talking, and dancing as soon as my 2^nd drink hits my bloodstream. Mr. W is perfectly happy with me in the spotlight. But on his birthday, it’s all about him. Every year since I’ve known him, I try to do something special for him on his birthday.

Last year he turned 30. I knew I wanted to pursue writing full time and that my income would diminish, so even though we had just been a few months before, I took him to Mexico. We both love the Riviera Maya area and can never get enough. As a birthday gift, the manager of the resort set up free horseback riding on the beach for us.

As we rode the horses across the sand and into the jungle, I thought of how fitting it was that Mr. W had started and ended his twenties with horses. When I met him, he was a cowboy from Montana who loved rodeos and country music. Now, you’d be more likely to find him in Silver jeans than Wranglers and listening to Nickelback and David Cook rather than Garth Brooks. But even though he is a completely different person, the part of him I fell in love with… the fiery passion, the good heart, the great love he has for his family and friends…that is still, and always will be, a part of who he is.

As we rode through the little stretch of jungle that day, we heard a sound. We looked up and saw a lemur just a few feet away from us. Neither of us said anything. We just stared at the little guy, in awe, while he stared back before scampering away. I thought, how amazing… when I met this crazy cowboy at a Shari’s in Yakima, Washington when I was 19, I had no idea we’d one day be riding through the Mexican jungle looking at lemurs.

Of course, there will be no horses, no lemurs, no white sandy beaches or mojitos for us tonight. We’re having dinner at our favorite gourmet Italian restaurant and hanging out with some friends. But I know Mr. W will be just as happy with this birthday as he was the last one. He’s another year wiser and another year closer to reaching the goals he’s set for himself. And that’s one gift that is priceless.

Happy birthday my best friend, my partner in crime, and the great love of my life.

Baring my Soul

Jessicalee — Sat, 12 Sep 2009 23:43:27 GMT

Before I even made it through half of my angel card reading by the amazing, inspirational, gifted Sally G, I was already crying like an 8 year old who’s just lost her pony.

2009 has been the best year of my life, but boy, has it had its share of lessons. When I went to New York, I left my home and my car in the hands of someone I thought I could trust. That person betrayed that trust in a big way and acted stupidly without thinking. I am not exaggerating when I say Mr. W and I easily could’ve lost everything.

We didn’t. Everything was fine, and I will spend the rest of my life grateful for that. I have felt angry, hurt and betrayed, but I also knew this person needed my forgiveness. I will no longer offer my help to this person, because the things I did were only enabling them to continue down a destructive path. But I can forgive it, move on, and learn from my mistakes. I’m just so glad I got a chance to learn the lesson without having something tragic happen.

I’ve also been very confused lately. I feel like I’m on the verge of something big happening with writing but I feel like I’m not quite able to get there. Lately I’ve found myself growing tired of a place I honestly thought I’d live in for the rest of my life. I fell in love with this area as soon as I moved here. But I think I may have outgrown it. I’ve been kicking myself for buying this house. Until we can refinance, Mr. W can’t get a new job, and he is miserable where he is. He gets up every morning and goes to a job he hates where he gets disrespected and taken advantage of for nine hours a day. I hate seeing him like this because I know how it feels. It’s sucking the life out of him. But we need to refinance as soon as we are able or we’ll get hit with an ungodly interest rate. And since I never worked the same job for more than a year and "freelance writer" looks awful on paper, he has to have the stable employment. And selling the house now would be the dumbest thing we could do.

I love this house. I knew the first time I stepped inside that I wanted it. It absolutely feels like home. At the same time, we are beginning to feel like the house owns us. Without it, we’d have so much more freedom… and money. I hate feeling trapped or tied down. It’s one of the reasons I haven’t had a child yet.

After the reading, I felt such a sense of peace. I felt like even though I don’t have the answers right now, everything will be taken care of when the time is right. I felt like forgiving the person who wronged me was the right decision. And above all, I felt lucky. I didn’t always have such an open mind. I used to only believe in one thing, and now I believe in everything. I never would’ve believed in things like this years ago, but because my mind has been opened, I have clarity. I felt lucky to have an amazing house like I do, even though it’s causing us some stress right now.

When the tears stopped, I went to the gym, and right away I saw a music video of a song I’ve never heard before. I’ll post the lyrics. What an amazing song and what perfect timing for me to hear it. Coincidence? Or more guidance? Either way, it made me smile and lifted my heart.

On September 1, I received an email from the editor of the online travel magazine I write for, www.52perfectdays.com. That writing gig has been such a blessing because it allows me to combine two of my greatest loves, traveling and writing. She is holding a contest. Whoever generates the most hits for their articles wins one of several awesome prizes. Each of them would help me further my writing career, particularly in the area of travel writing.

Still, I didn’t spread the word right away. I didn’t think I had a chance, and for some reason I felt undeserving. I let that negative voice get to me, which I’ve been getting better about, but sometimes that A-hole voice still gets though.

This morning, the editor emailed me to let me know that one of my articles is already in one of the top places! This is from people finding it on their own, not from me doing anything. I was shocked and then extremely thrilled. People do read my writing and I see that now.

So, time for a little shameless self promotion. The more of you that visit this article, the better my odds are of winning. And based on my very limited experience with winning, it sure feels good. The contest ends at the end of September, so any day you click helps, but even if you just click once, I thank you and appreciate it greatly. Bonus points if you click an ad or two as that’s how I am paid. *wink*

http://www.52perfectdays.com/articles/ultimate-las-vegas-girlfriend-getaway

Here are the lyrics to the song I heard, “Alright” by Darius Rucker. May they inspire you the way they did me:

Don't need no five star reservations
I've got spaghetti and a cheap bottle of wine
Don't need no concert in the city
I've got a stereo and the best of Patsy Cline
Ain't got no caviar no Dom Perignon
But as far as I can see, I've got everything I want

Cause I've got a roof over my head,
the woman I love laying in my bed
And it's alright, alright
I've got shoes under my feet
Forever in the eyes staring back at me
And it's alright, alright
And I've got all I need
And it's alright by me

Maybe later on we'll walk down to the river
Lay on a blanket and stare up at the moon
It may not be no French Riviera
But it's all the same to me as long as I've got you

It may be a simple life, but that's okay
If you ask me baby, I think I've got it made

Cause I've got a roof over my head,
the woman I love laying in my bed
And it's alright, alright
I've got shoes under my feet
Forever in the eyes staring back at me
And it's alright, alright
And I've got all I need
And it's alright by me

It's alright by me, yeah yeah
When I lay down at night I thank the Lord above
For giving me everything I ever could dream of

Cause I've got a roof over my head,
the woman I love laying in my bed
And it's alright, alright, alright, alright
I've got shoes under my feet
Forever in the eyes staring back at me
And it's alright, alright, alright
And I've got all I need, yeah
I've got all I need
And it's alright by me
Oh yeah, it's alright by me

Big Fun in the Big Apple

Jessicalee — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 00:13:39 GMT

Some little girls dream of growing up to be princesses, doctors, lawyers, wives, and mothers. I used to dream of living in New York City.

I had never been there, of course. Born and raised in Washington State, you couldn’t get much farther away. Growing up, I fancied myself a city girl although I had never really been to a big city (other than Seattle which is nowhere near the size). New York just held such an appeal. With so many people, places to go, restaurants, museums, coffee shops, and jobs, I could be anyone I wanted and have a new adventure every day. I was born with an unexplainable wanderlust and New York was where I felt I was destined to be.

Of course, I grew up and reality sank in. I didn’t even have the patience for Seattle traffic, much less what I imagined New York’s to be. I realized how expensive a tiny Manhattan apartment would be. I discovered I preferred the quiet starry nights of the Northwest to the sound of traffic and people. Still, I had a strong desire to at least visit.

So in the summer of 2002, when Mr. W and I were still in a fairly new relationship, I took him to New York. We both loved it. It was everything I had hoped it would be and more. Even Mr. W, who grew up mostly in Montana, fell in love with the City that Never Sleeps. Although it took us seven years, we both knew we’d have to visit again before we even considered having a child. The recent recession has made it possible to get some pretty good travel deals. So, early last Thursday morning, we headed back East for a long Labor Day weekend in the city.

I was nervous. Would it be as fun as it was before? Were we expecting too much because we tend to look at the past through rose-colored glasses? We aren’t nearly as financially secure as I had hoped we’d be by now. Should we really have been going?

As soon as our driver took us through the Lincoln Tunnel and I saw the skyline, all my fears washed away. I don’t know what it is about New York that we both find so amazing. Mr. W and I both hate crowds. It’s huge, dirty, loud and overpopulated. Yet, we love Manhattan to death. We both looked at each other and grinned as we headed to The Hilton in Times Square.

On our first trip, we’d had over a week, so we did everything- Coney Island, the Bronx, The Empire State Building, and every tourist trap along the way. This time, we had four nights, so we decided to stick to Manhattan. The one thing we did repeat from the last trip we did right away: The Comedy Cellar in the Village. My fellow PNNers who live in or frequent New York, if you haven’t been, go. Their two hour show is only $10 to $12 (depending on the night) and you get to see five hilarious comedians. We laughed for two hours straight while we chatted with the locals at our table.

After the show, we headed across the street to a hookah bar. Hey, when in Rome, right? The place was small with only a few groups of people in it, smoking flavored tobacco and singing along to 80s and 90s tunes. Mr. W and I fit right in, ordering a pineapple flavored hookah and singing along to “Summer of 69” and “Brown Eyed Girl.”

I had spotted Bob Saget earlier and I made Mr. W promise me that if he saw him again, we had to try and get a picture. I absolutely love that hilarious, crude man. Sure enough, just as we finished up and tipped our waitress, we spotted him. I raced across the street, buzzed on the tobacco I don’t normally smoke, and asked him for a photo. He was extremely polite and friendly and didn’t mind at all. Some other semi-famous comics (Dave Attell, Colin Quinn and Doug Benson) were out enjoying the evening as well.

We cabbed it back to The Hilton, where we split the free cookie I’d gotten earlier because I was polite to the owner of the pizza joint where we’d had dinner (I know. Awesome). Then we passed out, ecstatic about our great first night in the city.

It only got better. Really, where does this rumor come from that New Yorkers are rude? Don’t get me wrong, nobody was running up out of nowhere and hugging us or anything. But we were polite and they were polite in return. They don’t seem to mind tourists, nor do they mind helping poor lost souls with directions. We assumed people were friendly on our last trip because it was post 9/11 and the city was still all touchy feely. But we got treated extremely well this time, too. Just be nice to the city and it will be nice to you… or don’t, because it leaves more free goodies for me!

Our weekend was the perfect mixture of classy and trashy. And to be honest, that’s who my husband and I are. We saw West Side Story on Broadway (I cried). We had lunch at Tavern on the Green (it was gorgeous). We went to Dave & Busters, a first for us. We get the commercials here, yet the nearest one is in California. How messed up is that? We checked out a little strip club. We ate lots of famous New York pizza and had chocolate mousse cake as we people-watched in Times Square. We walked through Central Park and up Madison Avenue.

We died and went to heaven on our last night, and heaven is Little Italy. We had the best meal of our lives (and split a bottle of merlot) at Casa Bella. It was there I learned that Mr. W had never had a cannoli! So we walked up the street until we discovered Caffe Palermo, owned by John Delutro, the Cannoli King. He professed to have the best cannolis on the planet, and he was right. Granted, I don’t have much to compare it to, but they were unbelievable. The Cannoli King also gave us free wine for being so polite, which we did not need but enjoyed immensely. Check out CaffePalermo.com… you can even order the desserts online!

We’d had so much wine and were having so much fun that we began to joke about renting the apartment we’d seen next to Casa Bella.

“We wouldn’t have to drive….”

“I’m sure I could find a job…”

“We’d be SO FAT….”

“We could sell your car and that would cover a couple months’ rent…”

“We’d be SO FAT….”

I always said I’d never live anywhere but the Northwest. I love it here with its four seasons, beautiful cities, fairly nice people and how green it is, both in color and environmental practices. I love the fact that we have a pretty big house that, while expensive, costs as much as a one bedroom apartment would in a big city. I like that we’re just a few hours from our parents. I love Seattle and Portland.

But sitting there with him, I began to realize that there are a lot of places in this world I’d be happy living. Happiness isn’t just about where you live. Happiness is inside you. It’s being happy with who you are, the company you keep, and what you want out of life. You can’t get more different than North Idaho and New York City. It would be the culture shock of a lifetime. But as long as Mr. W was my sidekick in the adventure, I know we’d be just fine.

I’m not saying we’re going to pack up and move right away or even if we ever will. I can’t say if we ever did move, Manhattan really is where we’d go. But the epiphany I had over merlot and cannolis stayed with me. I realized it was the same epiphany my main character needed to have in the novel I’m writing. I had a general idea, but by living it for myself, I was able to put it into words. This will help tremendously with the writers’ block I was experiencing. Have I mentioned I love New York?

The next day, Mr. W and I woke up with raging headaches. I was wearing his t-shirt and nothing else. My new heels were by the window, the ironing board was out, and quart of unopened melted ice cream sat on top of it. Neither of us could explain any of it. We looked at each other.

“That……was…..awesome!”

We showered, packed, and checked out, drinking tons of water in the process. We went back through the Lincoln Tunnel more broke, fat and dehydrated than when we came. But there was no more worry over whether this trip would compare with the last. Once again, we had fallen in love with New York City… and each other.

How Technology Has F**ked Me

Jessicalee — Sun, 30 Aug 2009 16:38:56 GMT

Overall, I’m grateful for the technological advances of my generation. I really am. I mean, how great are texts and emails? As someone who despises the phone, I can just say what I need to say quickly. Nothing beats a long talk with a loved one in person, of course. But I always get restless and bored on the phone. And now, with Twitter, I’ve got a chance to be witty in 140 characters or less! It’s like texting the world. Brilliant!

But I admit, there are times when technology isn’t the best thing in my life. In fact, there are a few times where, instead of helping me, it has downright f**ked me. We’re talking foot-in-mouth, ghastly moments that have left me wanting to hide under my bed for weeks at a time and drink myself into a stupor until I forget what’s happened.

Of course, as a writer, I have the ability not only to laugh at myself, but to share my humiliation with the world. So, I am proud to present real, true examples of the idiotic things I have done with the help of computers and cell phones… all for your amusement! Enjoy, laugh, and vow not to make these mistakes yourselves.

When I was 16 or 17 I briefly dated this dork. Even though he was, in every sense of the word, a douche, I was young and had incredibly low self-esteem. So naturally, I let him break my heart. Ugh. That’s not the point, but it sets you up for the funny part.

Every teenage boy loves a girl with low self-esteem because she’s there when you need her. Although I didn’t want the weirdo back (really, I promise) I had this weird habit of trying really hard to be friends with everyone. This was, of course, because of my low self-esteem. So, when this kid’s car broke down, I’d give him rides, we’d hang out, and we’d try to be friends. Of course, teenage boys also love girls with low self-esteem for a different reason. Time after time the douche tried to get in my pants with promises that he really loved me and wanted another chance. Puke! God bless 17 year old me, I never caved, but he still hurt me and confused me.

Well, one day after a particular grueling outing, I’d had enough! The dork was really into computers and worked for some big software company in our hometown. I fired off an angry, angsty, lengthy email outlining every detail of our relationship, where he went wrong, where I had gone wrong, and reminding him that gosh darn it, I had feelings, and he was no longer allowed to stomp on them. Victory was mine!

The next day after school, I checked my email. There was a response, but it wasn’t from the dork. It was from the VP at some other big company. I’d gotten one letter of the name wrong and my email had gone there instead. And, since there was nobody by that name at that company, my angsty email had gone to everyone who worked there! Awesome! The VP simply said there was no one by that name there, but he was sure I was a very nice person and wished me the best. EFF. MY. LIFE.

A few years ago, two of my friends (V and R) and I decided that we just absolutely had to take a ladies’ trip to Vegas immediately. Unfortunately, we all worked at a bar together, which meant getting the simultaneous time off would be next to impossible. We tried asking the manager, who told us it probably wouldn’t happen. We got together and strategized, thinking maybe killing them with kindness would get us our coveted week off. But R, trashy gal that she is, got super wasted while working one night (that’s actually legal in Idaho, believe it or not) and through a hardcore, trailer park fit, insisting that she had a right to a vacation! You’d think our manager would fire her on the spot, right? Nope. He gave her the freakin’ week off.

I was pissed. Here I was, trying to be nice, finding people to work for us all and generally being a good employee. When I found out what had happened, I sent V a text:

“So we play by the rules and get nothing, but R screams and yells and throws a drunken fit and gets her way? How is that fair? I’m so over her!”

Except, I did not send it to V. I sent the text to R, and no amount of ass-kissing could undo what she’d seen. The good news is, we did end up getting the time off with no repercussions. But let me tell you, that was one awkward Vegas vacation. After that lesson, I vowed not to speak negatively behind people’s backs unless I had the balls to say it to their faces. It’s lost me a couple of friends, but I’m now known as the honest one and my conscious is clear.

When we were newly engaged, Mr. W and I were separated for nine months while I finished up college in Eastern Washington and he went to tech school in Wyoming. The hours were crazy and he usually got out of class around the time I had to go to sleep. That much separation left us…. wanting, you might say, so occasionally we’d send some pretty naughty texts. I’m one of those people who absolutely need sleep to function. It probably wasn’t smart of me to text such things when I was half-asleep. I sent accidental naughty texts to (including, but not limited to): my future Maid of Honor, a freaked out college friend, my brother, one very excited male friend, and the girl who colored my hair. None of the texts were NC 17, thank God, but they definitely weren’t innocent. I was one grateful girl when Mr. W moved home for good.

I owe a lot to technology. I’ve made money (though not enough) from articles bring published online. I use Twitter to network and promote myself. When I want to know something, I can just Google it. And, of course, there are the awesome friendships formed from sites like PNN.

But it’s not always my friend. Tragedies like my mom finding my Twitter account and MySpace happen when you utilize these modern features. I’m much more aware of that now, but nobody’s perfect, and I can’t promise technology will never f**k me again. I can, however, learn from my experiences and try to be more careful. But where’s the fun in that?