what does luxury have to do with the meaning of life? luxury in something like a restaurant is just a stage. "and all of us are actors". or whatever. i guess i could see it correlating that way.
sure, i appreciate real leather, real ANYTHING, for that matter.
i love a pure bred dog but the border collie and the jack russel will be my favs. i don't care about show dogs. i love mixed races of people. i think they turn out more beautiful. wine? this industry is bullshit, just like the art world. i'm going to demystify it for you right now. if you like it, buy it. there. i said it. what is all this vocabulary for? it's just fucking wine. it's just fucking art. even a caveman can do it. it's hard to tell the difference between what a gorilla painted and what a person painted.
i took a class on decadence in college. i learned what it was to be a dandy. yeah, i read the picture of dorian gray. but i can live without all those accoutrements. i don't need a jeweled tortoise in my living room.
i'm into simple. luxury for me is a little house on the beach or in a small town in italy, or in a far away land, little belongings, just some old photos and a glass of wine or vodka. wind blowing through my windows, flushing the blue curtains open. mismatched dishes and a claw-foot bathtub, the front door of the house weathered, paint-stripped. the floors, tile. a wooden chair in the corner. art everywhere. all sorts. a hammock on the front porch. fresh groceries waiting to be prepared into a big dinner for lots of friends and maybe a cat or a stray dog. quilted beds, mahogany furniture. a small studio with lots of light for painting, drawing, thinking, reading.
an island in the kitchen with really good knives. sand on my floor from walking up barefoot from the beach. running my hands through the hair of my love. MUSIC! music, sweet music. it will always be present, playing from a sweet system that makes it sound as if it were live.
there will be plants, orchids in particular, in and around this little house. my neighbors will live just within eyesight. my doors never need to be locked, and there's a little eco-friendly car in the driveway. i'm not sure about this part.
kids will want to play in my yard. i will have a fresh bouquet of flowers always present. and fresh bread. i will make my own jam. i will speak other languages and know people from all over the world.
my little house will be clean. always. my favorite art books will be on the shelf in my studio, and i will have a view onto a landscape just out the window. my time will be spent taking out the trash, getting rid of things i don't need, walking, cooking, cleaning, catching up with old friends. everyone is welcome. my house is a place people want to visit but are too caught up in their lives to make it a reality.
this is my experience. i do something interesting and everyone says "oh, that's so great that you did that. how did you do that??" (like when i moved to brazil). "well", i say, "i just did it". it's that simple. you know this too well. it 's like people don't know they have the power to pick up their life, carry it on their back to a place they'd rather be. they feel trapped by their employer, by debt, by things they put upon themselves. they don't need a house or a car, yet these things that make them feel successful or adult, hold them back from what they really want in life. they don't even know they can change. they think they have to be this way forever. even people with kids think they can't travel. i mean, yes, kids are expensive, and you don't want to constantly drag them away from their friends, but when i have kids, i'm going to take them everywhere if i can afford to. it's enriching and different. i think its invaluable to learn about other cultures. to see the world is a gift.
when i was in italy, i went to a town just outside of florence called fiesole. i was walking around this little hill town, and i'm on a quiet street. i see an old woman come out of her house to take out the trash. she saw me and smiled the warmest smile i have ever seen in my life. at that moment, i wanted to be her. i was in heaven. i imagined me living her life. i was content to be where i was, which is what made that moment so unforgettable. i want to be there someday. in a little town, in a far away land, doing simple things and being content.
life has no meaning except for the meaning you attach to it.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Urban Cowgirl
I have been selected as one of ten women to represent the Urban Cowgirl, a website that sells makeup and accessories. The people selected represent an empowered, successful and on-the-go women in both the urban and rural climates.
http://www.urbancowgirl.com/giddi-up-posse/regina/
http://www.urbancowgirl.com/giddi-up-posse/regina/
Monday, March 22, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Cold War
Boy do I have a lot of work to do. Personal work. For the first time (in a long time), I feel the need for balance and stability. My creepy repressed childhood memories are surfacing, my job is dead due to the economy and I feel like I have little self-worth, not giving anything to the world. I decided to try to help the Haiti vicitms, but my ebay and craigslist auctions to win a date with me were removed due to a breech in terms of service. I guess sex was an issue. I wasn't proposing that sex was for sale. I do that for free.
I emailed my parents and tell them all this, (not that I would have sex for free), but that I am in a lonely place, after moving back from Brazil, and I thought it was clear that I needed emotional support. Instead, I was told my idea to help Haiti victims was "full of hot air". This reminded me of my childhood where nothing I ever did was good enough. They kicked me while I was down. I was not allowed to have emotions; to be angry or sad. After being spanked and sent to my bedroom, my mom would look at me and ask, "what's wrong?"
Some people may think that a blog is not the appropriate venue to discuss such issues. But this is my journal. One of the first blogging websites was called "Live Journal". Let's start a revolution and allow ourselves to talk openly about our disfunctions. No family is without. Let's stop pretending. Let's make a change. Let's speak out against abuse! I am completely confident in talking about personal issues regardless of my parents' threats to sue me for "slander". My father is a deacon in the Catholic church, and their reputation as prominent figures in their community is more important than their relationship with their daughter. It's a shame, to miss out on the growth of your children, being grandparents, having a loving relationship with your family.
The therapy I was receiving has been temporarily suspended. I was doing phone therapy with a friend's mom who practiced for 27 years and is now retired. She jumped at the chance to help me out, for free. She's amazing at what she does. But after having read the emails my parents sent me, she decided that I needed more; a support group and face-to-face sessions. My parents have secrets in their past that contribute to who they are and how they raised us. The type of childhood I endured is apparently horrifying. I have one memory of my mother punishing my brother. She nailed a 4X8 sheet of wood over the family room entrance so my brother couldn't get out of his room and join the rest of the family. We were often sent to bed without dinner, sent to eat in the garage with the dogs if our table manners were not polite. Dishes were thrown on the floor and holes were kicked in doors. My mother was a very angry person, and felt it okay to express it in this manner.
I sent an email to my parents to remind them of this behavior, hoping that they would take some accountability so we can have a real relationship. But I refused to read what they wrote back. I had a friend read the emails, and as a mother of two, she was absolutely disgusted with how "sick" they are, how they have complete amnesia and fault me for bringing up these memories, as if I had made them all up. So there is a cold war now, as I refuse to have toxic relationships in my life.
I emailed my parents and tell them all this, (not that I would have sex for free), but that I am in a lonely place, after moving back from Brazil, and I thought it was clear that I needed emotional support. Instead, I was told my idea to help Haiti victims was "full of hot air". This reminded me of my childhood where nothing I ever did was good enough. They kicked me while I was down. I was not allowed to have emotions; to be angry or sad. After being spanked and sent to my bedroom, my mom would look at me and ask, "what's wrong?"
Some people may think that a blog is not the appropriate venue to discuss such issues. But this is my journal. One of the first blogging websites was called "Live Journal". Let's start a revolution and allow ourselves to talk openly about our disfunctions. No family is without. Let's stop pretending. Let's make a change. Let's speak out against abuse! I am completely confident in talking about personal issues regardless of my parents' threats to sue me for "slander". My father is a deacon in the Catholic church, and their reputation as prominent figures in their community is more important than their relationship with their daughter. It's a shame, to miss out on the growth of your children, being grandparents, having a loving relationship with your family.
The therapy I was receiving has been temporarily suspended. I was doing phone therapy with a friend's mom who practiced for 27 years and is now retired. She jumped at the chance to help me out, for free. She's amazing at what she does. But after having read the emails my parents sent me, she decided that I needed more; a support group and face-to-face sessions. My parents have secrets in their past that contribute to who they are and how they raised us. The type of childhood I endured is apparently horrifying. I have one memory of my mother punishing my brother. She nailed a 4X8 sheet of wood over the family room entrance so my brother couldn't get out of his room and join the rest of the family. We were often sent to bed without dinner, sent to eat in the garage with the dogs if our table manners were not polite. Dishes were thrown on the floor and holes were kicked in doors. My mother was a very angry person, and felt it okay to express it in this manner.
I sent an email to my parents to remind them of this behavior, hoping that they would take some accountability so we can have a real relationship. But I refused to read what they wrote back. I had a friend read the emails, and as a mother of two, she was absolutely disgusted with how "sick" they are, how they have complete amnesia and fault me for bringing up these memories, as if I had made them all up. So there is a cold war now, as I refuse to have toxic relationships in my life.
Monday, March 1, 2010
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