It's worth the 22 minutes.

FREEDOM TO CHOOSE WINS
AT THE AMERICAN PAVILION EMERGING FILMMAKERS SHOWCASE AT THE 2009 CANNES FILM FESTIVAL

I'm so proud of my classmates and professors who made this film- and the healing experience at the womens' prison- possible. Congrats on your win!

"This uplifting film chronicles the extraordinary triumph of the human Spirit. Freedom to Choose shares the story of 46 graduate volunteers from USM's Master's Program in Spiritual Psychology and 160 inmates at Valley State Prison for Women who came together for a radical experiment that would change them all -- forever."

Freedom to Choose short form from University of Santa Monica on Vimeo.

Whining is my kryptonite.

Jack just might be the most valuable asset to the United States Department of Defense, but they don't know it. He might just be able to solve the whole Middle Eastern crisis if the US military would just tap into his innate skill as a torture device. Waterboarding? Bah! Who needs waterboarding? We've got Jack Rice! Ten minutes left alone in a room with him whining about milk or Thomas or juice or the sandbox will send anyone, ANYONE to give up even the most important of national secrets.

The first thing I hear every morning is his whining. He wakes up grumpy and fussy and crying and goes to bed doing the same thing. He doesn’t know how to ask for anything without whining for it and it is driving me CRAZY. I want to grab a roll of duct tape and wrap it around his mouth and not take it off until he’s five and can ask for things in full sentences.

I totally understand that he is just doing what he knows how to do. I know that I should ignore the whining and tell him to ask for things in a nice voice. And I do. About 47 times a day. And I begin to lose my patience with it at about time 16. It’s getting really old. Really, really old. Lately all I can think about is taking a vacation to a land where toddlers don’t exist.

Most of the time, including right now, I feel pretty lame about how little patience and tolerance I have for the stuff of motherhood. I have to bite my tongue, every morning, when he refuses to get dressed and all I want to do is throw my own little tantrum. I have to force myself to remain level when he stands at my legs begging, up up up, after I’ve just stepped out of the shower. Never mind the fact that he stood at the door of the shower crying for me the entire time I was in the shower. Or that he opened the bathroom door and now my mom, dad, and their guests now know every curve, roll, and dimple on my body.

It feels as though his level of need for me is beyond what I can give. And I am starting to resent him. I know that his whining and needing and clinging and fussing is his way of letting me know that I am not present enough with him but the truth is… I’m not. I don’t want to be. I want to get as far away as possible from that black hole of need and not-enoughness. It is exhausting. It is so draining. And so I sort of stiff arm him, energetically, and he goes insane with fear and abandonment.

It hasn’t helped that he’s been sick for two weeks which just amplifies all of the icky stuff like the whininess, lack of sleep, and generally fussy mood, and leaves very little room for fun. I need to have fun with my son again. I want to enjoy being a mom with him instead of feeling like its all chore, work, and annoyance. I want to share a moment with him where we’re both surprised and delighted and enjoying the company of one another. I don’t expect every day to feel this way and I certainly don’t expect to like everything about being a parent. But I am ready to like him again. And like me around him.

Moms? Dads? Tell me you’ve been here and tell me what you did to get out.

I'm sorry, but this just makes me giggle.

Indulging myself.

I'm feeling like connecting with you, my huge readership, but not feeling like writing anything poignant. Usually I like to have a point, but right now I just want to be a pretentious blogger who thinks that you, my huge readership, wants to be updated on my life. So, indulge me. It'll fuel my ego.


1. My TV has made it's way out of the hallway closet and back into my bedroom. I'd really like to be one of those people who thinks that mindless activities are useless and embraces life with such fervor that they refuse to waste time in front of the boob tube. But I'm more of a think-Real-Housewives-of-Atlanta-is-ridiculously-good-TV kind of person.

2. I am really freaked out by being back in touch with old high school acquaintances and friends on Facebook. In fact, I have had to found myself wanting to censor what I would normally write on here because I am afraid that these high school people will find their way here from Facebook. Christian High School creates a certain type of person and I was one of them for many years. And I know what I thought then about people like me now. (see number 3)

3. I have been getting a lot of booty lately. Like, a lot. My libido has returned with some kind of force similar to that of Hurricane Katrina. I went on a three year hiatus after Jack was conceived, and when I say hiatus I mean Sahara Desert. No interest. None. Zilcho. Howevah... four guys in one week may indicate the winds have changed.

4. I have lost over 30 pounds since August 1. Which is awesome. I'm hoping to have a super svelte body by this time next year. And run a marathon. And have a nice relationship with my body instead of a mean, abusive one.

5. Awesome thing number 2? I quit smoking. Well, mostly. I might indulge in one while sipping on a long island every once in a while.

6. (did I really admit to having sex with four different guys in one week?)

7. I love this song and I can't explain why. However, every time I listen to it I feel sorta sad that Cher isn't the one who wrote it and performed it originally. And not because I think she would sound better or anything, but because in my mind she gets pissed (and then sad) that it is not her song.

8. I have finally decided that I am a messy person. I just CAN NOT keep a room/office/desk/house clean. I clutter things up in a matter of hours. I am tired of trying to hide it from you in fear that you will think less of me. I'm messy. There.

9. I have been harboring a grudge about the fact that I don't get the same kind of admiration, acknowledgement and benefits that military personnel get. Now, before you decide I am a total bitch, hear me out. I have been working for the county of San Diego for close to 10 years now providing mental health services to children and families. The work that my coworkers and I have done have most likely prevented many children from becoming drug addicts, criminals, from repeating the patterns of abuse on their own children, or otherwise becoming a drain on taxpayer funds and resources. Instead, what we have done is create healthy, contributing members to our community. I have two masters degrees. I make 17 dollars an hour, which is the most I have ever made in this field. It is the most I will make as (due to my extensive experience) I have reached my salary cap with the county-funded program I work for. I know I am a valuable asset to the country. And yet, I get no recognition. No housing allowance. No health benefits. No college tuition. No tax-free groceries. I am bitter, I know. But for once, I would like someone to say to me, "Thank you for your service." And then give me $1000 a month to pay the rent.

10. I am irrationally refusing to get into the whole Twilight phenomenon. I don't know why I do this. I did it with Sex and the City, too, and now I own the entire series on DVD, plus the movie. And those are the only DVD's I own. So, I know I'll eventually get off my weird issue, whatever it is, and be swooning along with the rest of the nation before long.

Right on, sista. Right on.

"Okay. So Prop 8 passed. Alright, I get it. 51% of you think that I am a second class citizen. Alright then. So my wife, uh I mean, roommate? Girlfriend? Special lady friend? You are gonna have to help me here because I am not sure what to call her now. Anyways, she and I are not allowed the same right under the state constitution as any other citizen. Okay, so I am taking that to mean I do not have to pay my state taxes because I am not a full citizen. I mean that would just be wrong, to make someone pay taxes and not give them the same rights, sounds sort of like that taxation without representation thing from the history books.Okay, cool I don't mean to get too personal here but there is a lot I can do with the extra half a million dollars that I will be keeping instead of handing it over to the state of California. Oh, and I am sure Ellen will be a little excited to keep her bazillion bucks that she pays in taxes too. Wow, come to think of it, there are quite a few of us fortunate gay folks that will be having some extra cash this year. What recession? We're gay! I am sure there will be a little box on the tax forms now single, married, divorced, gay, check here if you are gay, yeah, that's not so bad. Of course all of the waiters and hairdressers and UPS workers and gym teachers and such, they won't have to pay their taxes either.Gay people are born everyday. You will never legislate that away.Oh and too bad California, I know you were looking forward to the revenue from all of those extra marriages. I guess you will have to find some other way to get out of the budget trouble you are in.…Really?When did it become okay to legislate morality? I try to envision someone reading that legislation "eliminates the right" and then clicking yes. What goes through their mind? Was it the frightening commercial where the little girl comes home and says, "Hi mom, we learned about gays in class today" and then the mother gets that awful worried look and the scary music plays? Do they not know anyone who is gay? If they do, can they look them in the face and say "I believe you do not deserve the same rights as me"? Do they think that their children will never encounter a gay person? Do they think they will never have to explain the 20% of us who are queer and living and working side by side with all the citizens of California?I got news for them, someday your child is going to come home and ask you what a gay person is. Gay people are born everyday. You will never legislate that away.I know when I grew up gay was a bad word. Homo, lezzie, faggot, dyke. Ignorance and fear ruled the day. There were so many "thems" back then. The blacks, the poor ... you know, "them". Then there was the immigrants. "Them.” Now the them is me.I tell myself to take a breath, okay take another one, one of the thems made it to the top. Obama has been elected president. This crazy fearful insanity will end soon. This great state and this great country of ours will finally come to the understanding that there is no "them". We are one. We are united. What you do to someone else you do to yourself. That "judge not, lest ye yourself be judged" are truthful words and not Christian rhetoric.Today the gay citizenry of this state will pick themselves up and dust themselves off and do what we have been doing for years. We will get back into it. We love this state, we love this country and we are not going to leave it. Even though we could be married in Mass. or Conn, Canada, Holland, Spain and South Africa, this is our home. This is where we work and play and raise our families. We will not rest until we have the full rights of any other citizen. It is that simple, no fearful vote will ever stop us, that is not the American way.Come to think of it, I should get a federal tax break too."-Melissa Etheridge

Happy Halloween... A little bit late.

Motherhood Smotherhood.

You all might find this totally shocking but, according to Google Analytics, one of the phrases that people enter into a search engine that eventually results in them visiting my blog is, "I hate motherhood." I have to admit that I find this to be both disturbing and awesome. It's disturbing because it forces me to realize that I really do hate motherhood. It's awesome because it means that I am not alone! Yeah!

I don't hate everything about being a mother. Take Jack. I like Jack. He's actually an incredibly cool kid. He's funny and entertaining and sweet and cuddly. He's engaging and intuitive and he laughs easily and heartily. And I like other stuff about being a mom... I like the cute stuff about it. Like making Halloween costumes and getting to peruse the toddler section at Target.

But there's just so much about it that sucks. Like never, ever, ever getting to sleep in. Ever. And holding down a second job just to be able to afford a babysitter. Or, in my case, watching each one of my friends start avoiding my calls because they know I'm calling for free babysitting. And there are these moments where I fully believe that the insides of me are going to come shooting out of my mouth in a firey blaze of rage. This feeling usually happens at about 8:45am when I'm running late to work (due to having a toddler stuck to my leg all morning), have no makeup on (due to melt down about a bug), have no food in belly (due to melt down about lost choo choos), and I'm strapping a kicking child into a car seat. RAHHHHHHHHHHH!

Motherhood and I just feel a little bit incompatible right now. I'm craving social interaction and staying out late and sleeping in until noon. I'm irritated that I can't stay over at a friend's house, have too much wine, or take a weekend road trip. I'm frustrated that I can't go running when I get home from work because that three hours of time is all we have together before his bedtime. I know it's not about Jack and I really, really make an effort to not take my own stuff out on him.

It's really weird to equally loathe and love something so much. He can, in the same moment, fill me with rage and pride, annoyance and adoration. These pictures are from this morning when he woke me up (an hour earlier than normal) and screamed and cried and whined for a good 45 minutes or so. By 7 am, I had decided that I was going to hate today. I pulled out my laptop and googled, "I hate motherhood" to see if there was anyone else out there who could share in my misery. Turns out there aren't a lot of people admitting to it. But, it was in this moment that Jack hugged me around my neck, kissed my cheek and (in the most adoring voice) said, "Mommy!"


In case you were wondering, Jack was wearing his Halloween costume here. I don't usually dress him as a sailor. And don't be jealous of my morning hair.