Allbeit cold in the night, curled up next toa guy who’s skin feels like 100 degrees kept me warm enough to not sleep with covers on.  Sheets and two blankets, and all I needed was my head on his chest and my arm around his stomach to sleep.  Slept from Midnight until 9am.

We got up and had quiche and coffee and visited with Miss Liz.  She is such an interesting woman.  Silly and educated with great stories.  The woman is in her 80’s and she doesn’t look it or act it.  Maamm visits with her weekly and if I lived there, I’m sure I would too–different days though. hahahah  Miss Liz has an amazing look on the world, the times, energy and life in general.  I’d like to hear what she has to say on a weekly basis, and I’m jealous Ma gets to visit with her so much.

Then it was a shower and to pick up Smurf to get the best sandos on the central coast: Grand Deli.  Regular size (8 inches), wheat bread, turkey, roast beef, provolone cheese, lettuce, tomato, pickles, purple onions, olives, extra mayo and mustard on both sides of the bread, oil, vinegar, pepper & oregano.  Just writing it out makes my mouth water.  I can’t find a sando like that here.  And subway certainly doesn’t cut it.  I don’t like subway–at all.

After awesome sandos I got dropped off at Rontal Salon for a cut and color my Rik Rontal, the owner (ooooOOOOoo) and he’s my uncle, so I’m totally cool.  After a beer (yah I had one, tasted like beer…) and three margaritas and a nice long chat with my friend Miranda My Darling, Sam, came to pick me up and took me home to a dinner he and maamm teamed up to make.  Shish Kebab!  Man that guy can cook.  Ma was serving wine, and a conversation got to hard to have and I started to cry and had to take a walk around the block.  Upon my return, Sam was in the street waiting for me / looking for me and ran up to hug me, and when I saw my youngest brother Rik, I called to him and ran to him to hug him too.  He was the one I needed to hug because the conversation that upset me was about something that happened when he was younger.  I stood there and buried my tear covered face in his chest.  My youngest brother standing 6’2″ just wrapped his arms around me and told me he was okay and that it would all be okay.  I cried a bit longer there until I felt better.  Then when I told him I was okay, he said okay and said he loved me and would see me tomorrow, he was going out with his friends.  My Darling was right at my side  and walking me in the house and setting me on the couch.  He wiped my tears away and ran his fingers through my hair and after a short while he brought me ice cream.  I ate it, we watched TV and then went back to Los Osos for sleeptime.

I heard the coffee dripping away in the coffee maker in the kitchen and didn’t know what time it was.  My brother the Smurf was passed out in the big chair and I was on the recliner couch, and My Darling was laying across the couch.  It was still raining.  My brother Rik was opening the door to head out for school and as he opened the door the cold swept in and made me curl up under the Beatles blanket.  I heard Mom getting ready for work too and she said to go sleep on Riks bed.  I think I got one more hour of sleep in there, but ultimately I was awake.  We made coffee, there is no fun creamer here in the house so I used sugar and 1% milk.  It’s alright.  I’m spoiled because Ro and I always have fun creamer in the house.  I did the dishes and curled up on the couch to watch TV with the Smurf and My Darling trickled out of the bedroom moments later.  Coffee and couch for supernatural.  Then it was How I met Your Mother and then, playing in the rain.

All of a sudden what sounded like a flash flood was hitting the house and windows and driveway.  I looked out in almost horror at the sight.  I was also happy I was not walking around the City in it, heh.  And in the moment I was excited to not have to be outside, the rain lightened just a pinch and Smurf said “wanna go jump in puddles?”  I froze for a moment then said “ok!” I took off my socks and he and I ran out of the front door into the rain in our jammies.  It was a bit colder than I had anticipated.  In that moment I missed the island rain feels of the humidity and summer rains in NY.  But I wouldn’t have changed the weather if I couldn’t have the spontaneity with my brother, that was totally worth it.

After we realized how cold and wet it was we headed towards the door and stood there thinking about towels.  The Darling was video taping us and when he saw us standing by the door he laughed and went to get us towels.  Then it was time for me to take a warm defrosting shower.  I got ready for the day and Darling and I went to get some food in our bellies.

We went to The Girls restaurant and he got pigs in a blanket.  Sausage wrapped in a pancake.  I had a bite, pretty good.  I had a biscuit with gravy and mashed potatoes.  Then we took off to downtown SLOville making a stop by the Shell beach cliffs and the Avila Beach pier.  Its somehow like seeing the coast, my hometown, for the first time when I watch his face and his eyes and he stares out at the water and the cliffs and video tapes it all to remember it later.  We made it to SLOville and stopped for a drink at McCarthy’s to show him what a “real pour” tastes like.  Unless you have the hookups in NY, your drinks are high cost and low dose of the juice, but no matter who you are–McCarthy’s has the best pour for cocktails.  Bartenders are always on their game, they get you your drinks and they’ll leave you be, and get you another drink as soon as you’re out (if you want one, of course).  We had one drink and continued our walk through downtown.  Made a complete loop up Higuera and down Marsh making a fun lengthy stop at Kwirkworld and heading back home to my Maamm’s house.

Ma was home shortly after we arrived and made spaghetti for dinner.  We had some wine and watched some TV and visited a bit, then she went to my sisters house and My Darling and I got ready for karaoke at Mongos.

I did not drink so much that I stumbled about and fell down.  I was able to control the volume of voice when speaking (and singing…) and I didn’t slur.  I didn’t scream and yell craziness.  I didn’t lose my purse or camera.  I sipped my cocktails and didn’t have too many.  Although I did, of course get a lil drunky, I wasn’t hammered.  That’s a win for me.  I DID wear a dress and boots and dance.  I did dance with a chair when Cincinnati sang All That Jazz and I did sit in the front row when Kitten sang, and I stood in the front row when Nahnnah sang.  I sang duets with…everyone I think. heh. I sang songs I hadn’t sung before, and I hugged the people I miss everyday.  I danced with My Darling, Sam.  I love it when his arms are wrapped around me and his clean shaven face is up against my neck or face.  He always smells good  and I feel beautiful and safe with him.

By 130am I was heading to the car with Jack and My Darling and we heading to Denny’s for stuff to eat.  Ginger and her friends came to join and we all laughed and stuffed food in our faces until we almost fell asleep.  Then we headed back to my Maamm’s house, My Darling and I and passed out asleep.

Only six hour of sleep later, for reasons I don’t know–I woke up.

Got only 6 or so hours of sleep and woke up.  Something about drinking too much, I don’t just pass out and sleep it off.  I’ll pass out, wake up and try to keep sleeping–and fail.  My Darling and I slowly trickled out of the bedroom and gathered up our suitcases and loaded up the car and headed to Los Osos, where we were staying in a guest bedroom.  Miss Liz, a friend of my my Maamm’s was our hostess.  With the garage door opener en tow, we got in the house and brought in our suitcases.  Then there was sleep.

A couple hours later we woke up and showered and visited with Miss Liz a bit then headed back into AG.  Swung my my Maamm’s house and picked up Smurf and The Rikster and headed for my Dadda’s house.  Stopping for two reasons.  To photograph the shortest mailbox in the neighborhood, and the tallest. hahahahah  Got video footage of those ones!

My Darling was a little nervous, as most “boyfriends,” or “mates” or “significant others” are when meeting “The Father.”  I looked at him and put my hands on his shoulders and said something like this, “Look.  It’s not like when I was a teenager and my dadda would meet boys at a family BBQ inviting all the blackbelts in the county.  He’s gonna stand up and shake your hand, offer you food and probably be watching golf.” And not to pat my own back, but when we walked in–I called it.

Dadda made the best dinner: My Favorite Chicken.  I don’t know how long my dadda’s been making this chicken, my maamm can even bust it out pretty well–but I never get tired of it, sick of it or over it.  I would eat it endlessly if I didn’t get full.  It’s like a teriyaki chicken, but not…and it’s served with rice and corn.  Do not substitute a different vegetable or rice thing.  As in, don’t put it on noodles–it MUST be on rice!  And don’t actually eat the ginger root…it’s only there for flavor.  I mean, my dad doesn’t just open that can of corn and heat it up, he seasons it somehow.  And it’s not just soy sauce over that chicken, the ratio of some water and some sugar is PERFECT and poured over that rice is decadent.  At least to me it is.  My darling tried to ask me what kind of chicken it was and I said “My favorite chicken” and he said “ok but what is the dish called?” and I said “My favorite chicken” he laughed and was like I get that it’s your favorite but what KIND of chicken is it, I looked at him and with hands and quote signs I said slowly and with a bit more volume…”My. FAVORITE. Chicken”  As in …that IS the name of the dish.  And he laughed and said ok ok ok I get it!  I’m pretty sure he’s gonna try to make it.  I’ve tried a few times, and failed–but he actually knows HOW to cook, so maybe I’ll get my favorite chicken even HERE IN NEW YORK.  That’d be a win, fo’shizzle–I know I’m not cool when I do that.

As we sat around visiting Dadda had the new Hawaii 5-O in the background.  MAN that Alex O’Lachlan is a looker.  I loved him in Moonlight, the vampire series.  I wish it was more than one season.  It should’ve just been released later when all the other vampire things went crazy, because it had some good takes on the vampire life too.  oooOOOOOooo  Three episodes later we were watching a comedian that was some sort of mix between a mexican and a red neck.  No joke.  And he had some funny stuff I hadn’t heard yet.  Dadda headed to his room for sleep, Rik fell asleep on the couch and Terry was in the living room with us gearing to watch The Adjustment Bureau.

Not a terrible movie.  Pretty cool in theory.  Makes me wonder who the people in hats REALLY are, hahaha and the explanation given by one of the head honchos of the adjustment bureau (Terence Stamp, I recognize him as Zod from Superman with Christopher Reeve and the voice of Zor El in Smallville) as to WHY they exist is also pretty cool to hear.  Makes me kinda go “ouch…but you’re totally right.  Yikes.”  I wouldn’t mind watching it again.  There are some holes that I’d like to be explained, and the ending was a bit on the anti-climactic side–but I’d watch it again (nods).

By the end of the movie we were all tired.  Hugs to Terry and off to drop off the boys at Ma’s house and head up to Los Osos.  When we arrived the room felt like a refrigerator. Tilde win.

We woke up to Guns n Roses singing Paradise City at 3:15am on Tuesday.  We slowly sat up and realized we needed to get goin’.  I found my traveling clothes and tennies (I never travel in zories anymore because my Auntie Barbs FORBIDS IT–for safety reasons.  And I apease her by not freaking her out when I fly.  It’s the least I can do, right?  I mean in the event of an accident I need my feet covered and protected from falling luggage, pieces of plane crumbling over my body and of course, to help others.  I have never had to help in the “event of an emergency” but I’d like to think if my feet are prepared, then I’ll be heading in the right direction.

We were out the door by 3:30am and on the train by 3:40am for an hour and twenty minutes through Manhattan and Brooklyn over to Queens.  The last time I had been to JFK I was coming home from my visit in June for Rik’s High School graduation, and the time before that I was  “JFK Drunk,” and if you don’t know that story remind me to tell it to you some day.  I’ll begin it with “So there I was” and everything.  I’ve traveled 5 times in the past year.  That’s more than in the past decade, by the way.  Wow.

The A Train got us to JFK, then we took the Air Tram to Terminal 7.  We checked in just fine, by 5:30am and stood in line for security for twenty minutes.  I was wearing my glasses and felt like a child in my soft pants and sweatshirt and no make up.  That has no real story or lead in to a better story, it’s just what I was thinking about at the time.  We found our gate by 6am, I popped my trusty dramamine and waited for our “Zone” to board the plane.

After finding our seats and settling in I pulled my sweatshirt up to the window and tried to cozy up, as best as one can cozy up in a plane with their seat in the upright position (not that the 3 inches of “recline” is any better by the way), and removed my glasses and put on my sleep mask and prepared for a 4-5 hour nap.  After practically saying the seatbelt and emergency mask and oxygen stuff with the flight attendants I smooched My Darling and prepared for sleep, because dramamine always knocked me out.

At least, it always did BEFORE.

The humming of the engines and air flowing through knobs above every person face echoed constantly in my ears.  I was all-too aware of the cart passing with complimentary soft drinks and $7 “well drinks” I lifted my sleep mask and found My Darling laying across the seats as best he could, then later he’d be asleep on the tray table attached to the seat in front of him as I tossed from left to right with my neck pulling in ways that would make my chiropractor cringe.  It quickly became the longest flight I’d been on since my trip to Russia.  There were babies crying, people sneezing and blowing their noses and the clinking of the cart coming and going with drinks.  I was miserable.

We FINALLY arrived in Phoenix for our connecting flight to SLOville, and the gate-gods were kind by not making us run 4 miles in the airport, like I did the last time I was there.  YES FOUR MILES–well it felt like it.  YES I know what four miles feels like, it’s four times worse than one mile, thanks. heh.

We got food at a Starbucks, my $3 bagel and cream cheese–and got on our plane to SLOville.  Sleep did not exist on this flight either, but a sniffling whining dog did–right behind us.

Ahhh, welcome to SLOville darling.  THIS is the airport.  Yes it has one, very small baggage claim area and that was my brother golfing on the video playing above baggage claim from the Visitors Bureau for the best things to do and places to go during your visit on the Central Coast.  We are famous, us Mersai’s, on the Central Coast.  Got our car rental, which was more than I thought, plus daily insurance of $25. oops.  Head lowers in defeat, oh well–

It’s a silver 2010 Ford Focus, and I kind of want to keep it.  First place we went was Broadway Bagel.  Oh Spinach Cheddar bagel toasted twice with sundried tomato cream cheese–how I miss you.  And a 5th avenue Latte (hazel nut and irish cream syrup) and he got a salt bagel with lox cream cheese. And he thought mine was better.  muuuahahahah .  Then it was to meet my Maamm, while she was working.  A brief hour long visit later we were in the car to Nipomo so I could meet my newest Nephew: Bennet.

All the pictures I’d seen of him he looked so soft and flawless.  A little hair on his tiny babester head, and a little slant in his eyes from my Dadda’s side of the family.  In person, he was even better.  He is a tiny bundle of perfection.  A skinny little guy with tiny fingers and little wrinkly feet.  He smells what I imagine perfection smells like, if it had a scent.  Some would say a piece of heaven, I’m saying it’s better than that.  heh.  I held him for a few hours just feeling his soft little legs and little cheeks.  My brothers also came by my sisters house and we hugged and I smooched their faces and we all sat and visited as a family, with both Baby Bennett, and an Intro to My Darling.  We ate some food and just chatted.  It felt like time had stopped just for us.  There was nothing to worry about.  No work, or serving strangers.  No cleaning bathrooms, or dishes, or tables.  I didn’t even have to speak if I didn’t want to.  I could just stare at him and run my fingers over his perfect little legs.

A few hours later the brothers left, and so did My Darling and I.  We headed to my Maamm’s house and had some wine and visited more.  She made a sausage and rice concoction with a salad, and it wasn’t bad at all.  Rik played some John songs on his guitar for me and he also bought Thrifty’s Mint n Chip ice cream, and Chocolate Malted Crunch.  They are my favorites.  We drank more wine and watched the rest of Arachnophobia.  Ma and I had a fun discussion about joy vs. happiness, believing in god and not believing in god. Then we watched Rik’s DVD project from his editing class from high school.  He’s such a creative guy, that Rikster.

By 10pm, Smurf and My Darling and I headed to Mongos and I sang one song, and Smurf sang one song–and we came home.  We watched some Friends and crashed on the couch.  The rain didn’t let me sleep. By this point I didn’t remember the last time I had slept successfully for more than 30 minutes.

I feel the need and urge to write.  I have thoughts and opinions circling my head daily and nightly.  But it’s almost too much and I can’t type fast enough or I can’t think of my funny comment I had yesterday that I should’ve written out.  I’ve reached a bit of a place where I feel pressured to write.  Pressured to entertain anyone who might stumble across this and want to read about my experiences here in New York.  Pressured to do more and be a better transplant.  Pressured to succeed in a certain fashion in order to make my family and friends back home proud of me.  And the truth is I’d love to write about it.  I even have time to write about it.  My problem is I don’t know how to write about it.  It’s different than being blocked.  I’m unsure how I used to just sit and begin typing and the thoughts and words would just pour out of me.  Not poetically by any means, or even grammatically correct.  But nonetheless I’d write SOMETHING.  I’d get it out of my head so I could sleep or focus on one thing without being distracted by the 43 other things floating around up there in my noggin. It’s not quite a passionless thing, it’s not a mad or angry or sad thing.  It’s not a muse thing even.  I have random stuff I can write about.  But then I get bored with it.  I GET BORED with myself.  I’m boring.  I don’t have a fun life.  I get up and laze around the house until I have to go to work.  To a job I could do ANYWHERE, it has nothing to do with being in New York.  I’ve lost something here.  I’ve lost my “will” somehow or my fight or my fierce.  I’ve lost my drive and motivation.  I do not pity myself or have pity parties (at least not often…) but I don’t…DO anything.  And the answer is not “well then go DO something” I want it to be something I enjoy.  Something that makes me feel like getting up in the morning.  I want live not survive.  I want to enjoy not just get by.  I want to look forward to something, not just be content with the present.  I understand I have things others don’t.  A job that guarantees money every time I work for them.  I have a roof over my head and a/c unit for when it’s too hot, and a silver pole thing that I can’t control…that heats up the room when it is cold.  I have clothes on my back, and in drawers for whenever I want to or have to change into different clothes on my back (and the rest of my body too)  I have food.  well, ish.  I steal food sometimes.  I do it to survive.  It’s going to be thrown out by me, or eaten by me and sometimes I chose the latter.  I choose the latter because I want to survive.  I have running water and I can change the temperature of it and bathe in a hot soothing bath or shower or cool off when it’s too humid and gross outside.  I have a little laptop and I can access the internet and tv and movies and friends and family via the web.  I have books to read, and an education under my belt.  I have people in my life who love me, and I even live with some of them.

But we always want more.  Well…*I* do.  I want something that’s beyond these things I should be thankful for because people in other countries, and right here in this city don’t have them.  But I’ve become accustomed to these things.  I struggle to keep these things and I don’t want to struggle anymore.  I don’t want to wonder if I will eat today, or if there is toilet paper in the house.  I don’t want to worry about gaining weight and not fitting into work clothes anymore.  I just want to to do something, and have something that is for me–that I enjoy.  I miss doing plays.  I want to audition and book TV shows and movies.  I want to sing.  I want to dance.  And it is not as simple as saying “well…then GO audition!!”  Because I don’t have the luxury to not work and just audition.  I don’t have the luxury of the city or state giving me a check weekly so I can sit on my ass and do nothing because I don’t have to do anything.  I don’t have the luxury of a magic food card the city provides to me with money on it monthly to buy food because I gross too much at work.  Forget that 30% or more of my check is taken out for taxes, and 30 dollars a week for health insurance, and 30 dollars a week for a train card.  Some people may think grossing almost 400 dollars a week is good, some people would even say the maybe 230-250 dollars I DO bring home is also good.  Some people don’t talk about money because they don’t want to brag or whatever.  Some people think “it’s just money, I’ll make more of it”  While I get up and think about the prescriptions I need to take everyday, the food I won’t eat, the phone I will try to keep turned on, the electric bill I need to pitch in on , the internet bill, the laundry bill etc. Some people make $10,000 a month.  I didn’t gross that last year.  It’s perspective.  It’s MY perspective.  And it is just NOT as simple as “well…what do you WANT to do?…well….go do it!!”  I have to survive and be responsible and I have no current luxuries.  And yes, my definition of a luxury is different than those on the trains asking for spare change and singing songs about being homeless, or holding up cardboard signs that say “pregnant and homeless, please help”  And often when I can, I give them the food I’ve just stolen for myself, or I give them any dollars I may have on me from the tips I might have made.  And it IS hard to know I have a five dollar bill in my wallet and that could possibly feed this woman and her growing child, but I have to do laundry or I won’t have clean clothes for work.  I have to watch out for myself before I can watch out for others.  I have to.  I have to.  I have to.  I must.

And I’m tired.  Not physically.  But mentally and a little emotionally.  I do get some good sleep physically, and that is nice.  And the person I get to curl up next to every night makes me feel happy and safe.  And if I could live there I might just be fine.  But it’s not like that.  He loves me, and I love him.  And my family and friends love me–but I need something for me that I love and enjoy.  It is a constant emptiness and starvation to my heart and soul to not be performing and earning money for it.  Yes, I want to make money doing something I enjoy–I think that’s a statement everyone can get behind.  And there are people that will encourage it, and people that will try to give me their version of “tough love” with well…what’s option C?  or D?  What’s your back up plan?  What are your other skills?  What ELSE can you do that you might enjoy?  I mean…I’m down to earth already, stop pulling me and pushing me down further.  I am grounded, I’ve earned things and I don’t think I’m asking too much than to DO SOMETHING I WANT TO DO THAT I ENJOY.  I don’t think have a goal or dream is terrible–I think it’s terrible when someone says “well…welcome to the real world” Well–I don’t want to LIVE in a world that is “real” because I hate how I’m in it.  Haven’t I paid some dues?  I mean if I haven’t can we get there so I can start LIVING.  Why is it so many people that don’t deserve the life I want–get to have it.  Yes yes, some people earned their way there, got it.  I’m talking about the downright mean and arrogant and terrible human beings that hurt people on purpose making money doing something they enjoy.  I don’t  care if “no one said life would be fair” WELL–what’s the point then?  Am I supposed to learn after a lifetime of trying that it was for nothing?  That any “lesson” I’ve supposedly learned is for my wellbeing as a person in general?  Well that’s all just bullshit now.  Any “experience” I’ve had that is supposed to have made me stronger and smarter just pisses me off more because the people that were apart of those experiences were those downright mean and arrogant and terrible human beings that now make money doing something they love.

When is it my turn?  What am I supposed to do?  I can’t just sit at home and not work and make money.  I have to survive.  But all I’m doing is losing, it seems.  Losing more of my youth, my patience, my laughter, my dreams, my drive.  I’m losing time.  I’m losing the good experiences and it all makes me tired.  And sad.  And I want to write.  And I want to sing.  And I want to act.  And I want to be paid enough money for all of it, so I can live–not just survive.  I need better directions.  A better map.  I need…I want…I must…

It is not often someone writes to me or for me.  Those that send their love on cards and postcards via snail mail find a place pinned to my wall in the room I share with someone I love.  It is sometimes an awful realization that humans lack a human-connection, and yet, for the most part–from what I know and experience–we all want it…somehow.

My Darling,  I want you to know how happy you make me and how much I look forward to coming home to you–every. single. night. And I want you to know I read the things you write to me, always.  I keep them close to me.  Your newest edition of “I’m not good with words” was copied, and pasted below.

::::::::::::

I am insecure! I am vulnerable! I am scared!

But this imperfect heart o’ mine I have declared.

to be yours, the only offer I have left.

You can take it or leave it whatever you choose.

I only hope and pray that we don’t lose.

We both had our share of loss and theft.

I am strong, I am loving, I am caring

My life and my thoughts I will be sharing.

With you for as long as I walk this earth

You can live with and listen to me whatever you choose

I wish that within each other we do not misuse

Our trust, faith and words that have precious worth.

Goodnight my princess now its time to dream.

And sleep on the choices we made and will make.

I hope we always choose each other.

I seem to be getting into trouble because I’m not taking the “be prepared” advisement *completely* to heart.

For starters, I didn’t even KNOW about Miss Irene until yesterday when boyfriendjenn texted me. I don’t watch the news or listen to the radio.  And I know 4 people in NY, none of whom I had actually SEEN this week, so if they knew they didn’t tell me, if it’s on facebook, I didn’t see it.  I don’t live online–I apparently live in a green apron.

2) I’ve never HAD to prepare for a natural disaster, but I did what I was told anyway (get water and canned food, etc)

3) We have not been told to evacuate, and where the hell would we go anyway? It’s an ISLAND, and the neighboring places are (I’m told) in more danger of flooding than Manhattan.

4) I make jokes.  I’m funny sometimes and will stand in line at the grocery store and say things like “a hurricane?  what’s that? Do I have to wear a sweater or something?”

5) There are ….millions…of people here, all of us (I’m sure) are doing our best.  I fear for those without a home or the means to get a roof over their head and water or food in their bodies.

This is the best I can do with what little money I have to spend on canned food and getting-prepared-for-a-disaster information.  I have *some* food.  We have *some* water. Later this afternoon/early evening the a/c units will come out of the windows and we’ll pin the curtains to contain shattered glass in the event Miss Irene blows us a kiss, and breaks stuff.

I don’t know what else to tell you.  Right now–I’m fine.  It was a lovely day yesterday,  BEAUTIFUL.  This morning it looks just a tiny bit overcast and I am currently in my soft pants and tank top with a cup of coffee preparing to read my book Deception Point, by Dan Brown,  or watch a movie or something.