That wacky business with Huffington Post

When I first returned to Chicago from LA, I got an email from Huffington Post asking for readers' volunteer stories. So I wrote a little ditty that wrote itself. I was rather proud of it, I gotta say.

which really says something as I'm rarely proud of what I write, this blog in partics.

But that little missive just magically bookended with recession, doggies, getting charity, and giving charity.

So I can't say I was THAT surprised when I got a personal email from the blog asking if they could polish my story and publish it.

woo!

I guess it was published today. I think this because I got an email from the shelter I described, then a fan letter on Facebook! I have ONE fan people! this is brilliant!

So I google and I find the article. And it's not my little ditty (did I mention it was lovely?), it's a new story bits and pieces of my work thrown in for good measure. And it wasn't about how amazing PAWS is. It made me sound like a saint. eek. that I am not.

So I'm a wee embarrassed. But it's kinda cool I Google myself and a whole page of links pop up with this story.  So because other sites reposted the article, I've decided to indulge and repost it here.

cheers-

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/07/20/chicago-native-helps-home_n_241289.html

Energy In Energy Out

I finally won my 8-month fight with CA unemployment.  Kinda.  They still owe me about $2,000.  But at least I have the first $10,000 so that's a start.

A little late but...well better late than never.

Tho never was, eh, never an acceptable conclusion for me!

After 8 months of starving, freezing, negotiating, begging, pleading, and fighting...

now what?

First I paid everyone off - feels amazing to send money to creditors vs. letters apologizing and explaining.  The lack of finance charges will be awfully nice too!

Then I treated myself and a friend to beer and nibblies before a free show at Millenium park.

Today?  I'm suddenly suffering from that awful post-war void of having nothing to fight.  Nobody to fight.  I have no fight dammit!

So, I stopped at the new Whole Foods in the new Lincoln Park.  Got myself a cup of organic coffee + a raw bar before parking my butt on some green furniture to check my email and newly full bank account.  I was supposed to volunteer at PAWS this morning, but the wifi at Whole Foods is awful.  Just good enough so I could begin emails & transactions, but continuously shutting down in the middle of my work.

aaaaarrrrrrggggghhhhhh!  I'm now tightly wound. Bitter.  Angry.  Aggravated.  Ashamed.  Embarrassed.  Furious.  Swearing and (softly) yelling at the lousy internet service and wishing I'd just gone to Dunkin Donuts for my coffee as I wanted to and just skipped email and banking until this afternoon.

so now it's nearly noon and too late to work at PAWS as I promised Kennedy I would not be gone all day.

So I remember my plan to find a local source for salt lamps. Other than Karyn's Raw.  My assumption is she's overpriced, tho I can't recall being shocked at the tag when I found the lamps in her shop last year.  So I attempt a search despite the bad wifi.

It crashes a couple times, but eventually I find a groovy little shop in Skokie.

Skokie?!  I have to drive to Skokie?

fine.  I've wanted that salt lamp for over a year.  And after a sh*tty 40th birthday plus 8months of a negative balance in my checking account, I deserve that salt lamp dammit.  Besides this shop looks REALLY cool and it has a salt room and says I can sit in that salt room for up to 1 hour if I want to and I could really use some positive vibes rights now to offset all the aggravation I put myself in today and it's not even noon.

So I drive up to Skokie.  My laptop is now at 8% battery life so I turn it off as I get near my destination.  As I memorize the final 2 steps in the directions, I shut down my trusty pal Mac.

But there's no shop.  But I could swear it said Ridgeway!  And to turn left.  And if I turned right, I'd be in the front lawn of the Chicago Transit Authority.

aaaaarrrrrrgggggghhhhhh

more anger.  Stupid suburbs.  Stupid Skokie. I hate the suburbs.  Right now, I. Just. Hate.

I try to get the phone number by accessing the internet from my old phone.  But this website is not old phone internet friendly so I can't get the information I need.

More anger.  Stupid website.  Stupid old phone.  Why won't this website have the phone number on it's front page readable from an old phone?!

I call 411 and get the number.  A lovely female voice answers.  I quelch my disgust just long enough to ask her for some guidance to her shop.  She's so sweet and polite and calm and....positive she pulls my head out of my arse just long enough to finish our call.

I get turned around, find a parking spot.  Cursing the whole way.  Storming to the building.  Stupid building.  Stupid small sign so I can't easily find the place in the midst of this industrial neighborhood.

I walk in and the room is filled with salt lamps.  The air is cool and clean like Palisades Park at 6am.  Isabella is helping someone out and smiles "oh! You're the woman on the phone right?!"

I smile and I mean it.  30minutes of listening to her answer my many questions on the varieties of salt lamps and I'm calm.

No more hate.

I choose a rare Persian lavender salt lamp.  As she packages it for me, I sit in the salt room breathing deeply.  Looking at the plant on the top shelf and thinking of Fred and how lovely it would have been to build a salt room for him when he was so sick.  Feeling overwhelmed with peace and happy and calm.

Isabella steps in quietly to ask if I'd like to stay for a while or if I'm eager to go as my lamp is ready if I'm in a hurry.

I'm not in a rush, but again promised Kennedy I'd be home at a reasonable hour, so I decide to get up.

Denise rushes in gushing about how pleased her doctor is with her improvements since her acquisition of her salt lamps.  So she's back for more!  Denise explains to me why her doctor suggested the lamps and how they've positively affected her.  

As she continues to shop, Isabella walks me to the back shipping area and shows me all their products.  I ask about a feng shui remedy I recently read and she responds by grabbing 4 large salt rocks and lovingly placing them in my hands.

I'm already in a buzzy positive bliss and now she's pushed me into heaven.  I can't believe her generosity of both material and spirit.

I told Isabella - and because she was so tickled by my comment I'm repeating it here - Solay is the coolest!

I love Solay.  I love Isabella.  I love Denise.  I love my new salt lamp.  I love my salt rocks.

and I love Kennedy- who just jumped up from her 

bed across the room and ran to me, climbing her 50lb body onto my lap while eagerly licking me and wagging her tail.

Clueless Luxury

Have you ever seen Clueless? or any other movie that depicts very wealthy, spoiled individuals absolutely clueless about reality? as in they honestly feel they're being tortured when daddy makes them drive a Honda to school? Or when they're shocked that someone would not have $500 in his/her wallet at any given moment?

I never thought these were based on real people.

But I guess they were.

Go ahead laugh at me. I suppose I'M the clueless one being shocked each time I'm faced with someone who thinks living paycheck to paycheck means owning 4 houses (2 of them appraised at over $1million), having several tens of thousands in savings, and over $100k in his 401k account.

A couple years ago I was slapped into reality by a woman I consider very kind suddenly blurting out "you wouldn't want someone renting from you who couldn't afford the $60 westside rentals subscription. yuck!" Everyone in the room shuddered in agreement.

*I* am one of those who cannot afford the $60 westside rentals subscription.

Someone very close to me- close enough to know I lived without heat in my home from Sept-December last year. Who knew my only access to food August-December was scrounging up the free stuff at volunteer events or demo tables in stores. He told me he is, by no means, living a life of luxury.

This person owns several homes. Drives a leather-interior, Harmon Kardon stereo, convertible 2008 BMW. He eats most meals at restaurants where it's impossible to dine for less than $25. Every meal is organic. Most are gourmet. He has reverse-osmosis installed in his home. His dogs get walked by a professional weekly. They eat raw food. They are cared for by nationally-respected holistic veterinary doctors. He has a full-time accountant managing his money, investments, spending. Advising him how to spend during the year to reduce his taxes to the point some years he gets refunds greater than most Americans' annual salaries. He has a woman come every month to his home and scrub the place clean so he doesn't have to.

This man- telling me he loves me and considered me for his wife- knowing I starved and froze the last 3 months of our relationship - knowing I've been homeless since December.... this man tells me, in the expectation I will offer compassion, he doesn't live in any kind of luxury.

And again, I'm shocked. Shocked that someone could be so out of touch with reality. To drive a luxury car, eat luxury meals every meal every day, to own several homes, to work less than 40hours a week in exchange for a salary 5 times what my greatest salary was (and I worked 50-75 hours a week!).... and to seek compassion for his hard knocks bare bones lifestyle.

I'm shocked and angry. I'm angry at him and all the people like him. and all the people worse than him. I know, theoretically, there are people worse than him. He's one of the good guys actually. I'm giving him the bum rap here- He really is one of the good guys.

But absolutely clueless.

Don't you want these people to be stripped of their money, assets. supportive families? For a couple years? Not knowing they'll ever have security in their lives again? Don't you want them to experience reality for a bit? I don't mean in a cruel vindictive way... I just mean in an educational way.

Sort of like that rule of thought that every person should be required to work as a waiter or busboy for 2 years so they can appreciate what service-industry people deal with.

Just that.

Just an educational, get a grip on reality type of deal.

Of course, if I were some tortured, raped, starving, oppressed woman in Africa, I'd probably be writing about that stupid, shallow, self-absorbed, self-pitying white woman in Chicago who doesn't appreciate the fact she can walk her dog for an hour at dusk without fear of being attacked and her genitals mutilated.

Then again, I'm aware of that good fortune. That I'm indeed living in luxury. Sleeping on my mother's couch. Ruled by her whims and needs. Survived 3 months of freezing--- me, my dog, my 3-month old kittens all curled up with each other every night trying to use our collective body heat to stay warm. Taking turns not eating for 24 hours to stretch out the free food I gathered and the little funds I had. THAT is still luxury.

There's worse. much worse out there. I'm living in luxury just by the fact I live in the United States. I have never lived in war. I have never lived in the projects where war-like conditions are a daily reality for kids right here. A couple miles from my mom's cushy little cozy home south side of Chicago.

How can anyone living in the United States look someone in the eye and say "it's not like I'm living a life of luxury?"

How can you be worth over a million dollars, working less than 40hours a week, and look your homeless ex-girlfriend in the eyes and say "I love you, always loved you, will always love you...I'm struggling too, no luxury for me...oh, I guess luxury is relative"

It's not relative my friend. If you're not starving, not freezing, not homeless, not in fear of being shot/knifed/raped/bombed... you are living in luxury.

Then again, this is the person who stormed off from a discussion about the world and politics and who's leading our world....stating "ugh, who wants to sit through this?! Get me out of here. Where's that Seth Rogan movie playing?"

Wake up. Look around. Get a clue. There's oodles to find if you get your head out of the movie theatre and into those projects down the street from your million dollar home.

Why hello Brad...

I had a dream last night.

I was in my mother's car. In Chicago Heights. Joe Orr Road. Waiting at a stop light. Dark. Stormy. Wicked stormy. Just-so-close-to-a-tornado stormy.

Two tall men are running in the rain to my car. I can tell they're running with the intent to get in and take over. I'm afraid.

C'mon I'm in Chicago Heights at some god forsaken hour with 2 tall men coming at me, how could I not be terrified?

One of them gets in the driver's side, pushing me over so he can take control. The other gets in the back seat.

The guy in the driver's seat is Brad Pitt.

His friend is George Clooney.

They're both grateful to be out of the storm and George is beaming and laughing and chatting away.

I'm so stunned I don't question why they're here or where Brad is taking us.

I find myself in Brad's home. I guess he has a place in Chicago. Or Indiana (Chicago Heights is very close to the state border). Or maybe he drove us all the way to New Orleans and I didn't notice seeing as Brad f*&king Pitt was driving me with George Clooney in back.

I'm immediately handed a pomegranate martini. Organic natch. People are milling about. Friendly vibe. But VIP as well. It's some sort of secret underground fundraiser. Only the really cool, hip, smart -- yet incredibly kind -- people have been invited. Brad wanted to make sure I got there. His home is amazing. Beautiful. Modern. All sustainable. Everything in there is recycled, organic, environmentally and politically conscious.

It's kinda David Lynchian tho...

Downstairs a presentation has begun. A woman speaks. She's a former drug addict gushing with thanks to Brad, George and their foundation for pulling her out of her self-induced gutter and saving her life from drugs. We're all crying from her story. She buckles over. I see her convulse as one does when vomiting. She stands back up, wiping her mouth, uttering "I'm fine...really I'm fine, dont' worry I'm fine" She's obviously wasted in some meth/heroine wacked out desert.

My body is kidnapped by horror. Shame. Despair. Failure. I quickly turn away and walk as far from the presentation as possible. I can't take it. I can't handle watching the failure.

And yet while walking away crying, shaking, praying I'm also thinking "whoa I hope John Cusack is seeing how deeply touched I am by this woman's plight. He would totally want to meet me impressed with my sensitivity and depth."

I overhear Brad or maybe George on the mike announcing to the crowd how everything is ok because my mother is there to help and she has already rescued the woman. He goes on to agree with everyone on the greatness of my mother-- her saint-like life. Everyone applauds and celebrates the good, selfless, miracle-giving life of my mother the heroine.

I get myself together and return to the main room.

It's clear while I was gone wait staff served organic, locally grown gourmet vegan and raw food. Exotic food too. All indescribably yummy. All untouchably expensive and rare.

But now it's all gone. I get a crumb of some goat cheese off a plate.

People wander finishing off their 2nd drinks. Champagne. very very very insanely expensive and delicious champagne. I want to have a glass, but the staff is cleaning up and the crowd is thinning and I worry if I grab a 2nd glass I'll look desperate for the alcohol and, thus, labelled an alcoholic.

So I just stand there. Alone. Hungry. Sad.

Feeling like the poor, hungry outsider I've always felt like growing up. Standing in the classroom alone watching all the kids laugh and play on the jungle gym. Sitting alone in my apartment watching all the people giggle and stumble with each other down the sidewalk late into the night.

But I shared this dream with my mother and she said it's positive. And I think, "Brad Pitt and George Clooney get into my car and insist on driving me to a VIP party at Brad's home--- you needed a degree in Psych from the University of Chicago to decipher this as a positive story?"

Reply to man screaming obscenities at me at the bus stop

As I sat on the bus stop bench on the corner of Lincoln/Montana waiting for the #3 to take me to LAX to pick up my family...

A man driving a Camero drove past me and angrily screamed:

"Buy a fucking car!!!"



*clearing throat*



I had to sell my American made GM Saturn which sat broken down roughly 6 of the 7 years I owned it thanks to a crummy-designed & built cooling system. I couldn't afford to repair it anymore when I lost my job at a major banking firm.

the hesitant goodbye

so I went back to Chicago in December thanks to long-term unemployment and California keeping my unemployment benefits from me. The time home was supposed to be just for 6 weeks. Just to have someone else pay my rent for that time so I could live rent-free and hopefully resolve my issues with the state of California.

the trip home turned into 3 1/2 months thanks to needing a 2nd appeal with unemployment and the only subletter I could find needing my place through the end of March.

when I came back home (Santa Monica) 1April, my appeal was still up in the air, I was flat broke, and very depressed that my only option was to spend the month packing and saying goodbye to a town in which I've lived, worked, played, loved, lost for 10 years.

less than 1 month to say goodbye after 10 years.

Now I'm a bit of a fighter, so I was optimistic some miracle would happen that would allow me to stay here at least another 6 months.

But as of 10 days ago no miracle occurred. So I helped my mother and sister buy 2 one-way tickets to California with the plan we drive my stuff back to Chicago the final week of April.

I spent the next 36hours on my couch depressed, crying, living on a diet of coffee and hoho's.

then 9 days ago I had a nightmare about the near-future of southern california and that made me feel ok about leaving. In fact, rather excited about getting out before the apocalypse!

So I made my plan to leave at the end of the month. Made a list of things I need to do here before saying goodbye, feasibly, forever.

But 4 days ago I got the answer to my 2nd appeal with California unemployment and- holy crap there's the miracle I prayed for my 1st 2 weeks back in Santa Monica --- The judges reversed all 3 of the accusations against me! And even declared the money taken from me last fall should be returned!! Without sitting down to do the calculations, I can safely estimate I'll receive a check from the state for over $10,000.

This is about 5 months of rent - IF I don't move or re-negotiate my rent with my landlord. And, of course, I'll now receive checks from the state equalling my monthly rent until I can finally find a job.

For the 1st time in over 10 years I finally FINALLY had a prayer answered. But what about the nightmare?

So I get that miracle which allows me to stay here. And my home is FINALLY a home I enjoy. Ok, it could use a new couch. Some bookcases. New carpeting and paint. Some artwork. But overall? My home is a cozy, peaceful escape from the world. I love my home for the 1st time in 10 years. More so than the home I loved in Chicago 10 years ago! I have a full bedroom. An office. A dining table. A full kitchen. Windows windows everywhere! And a beautiful HUGE patio on which I can sit, read, sleep, draw -- night and day. Listening to the birds chirp. Sometimes I can even hear the ocean. Palm trees and fir trees against blue skies. My dog happily naps on her blanket out here with me.

I walk about my neighborhood with Kennedy and I see the For Rent signs. And the empty spaces that used to be private boutiques. and the For Sale signs. The rental ads are full of people begging strangers to take over their mortgage payments before they lose their homes. The streets aren't as full of pedestrians and shoppers anymore.

In Chicago, I could feel a strong life-force pulsing through the streets. Healthy, oxygen-charged blood forcing energy throughout the city.

Santa Monica is quiet. and still. scared.

So I continue with my plan to leave. Family arrives in 5 days for a brief visit before we pack up and drive out in a week. I sit here right now on my patio crying for what I'm leaving. For a life I've dreamed of for over 10 years - finally achieved - now packing up and leaving?

So I'm trying to say goodbye. I'm trying to do the things here I know I will most miss when back in Chicago. But I'm foregoing a lot because I love my home. FINALLY love my home so much I don't want to leave it! I know there is potentially something so much better waiting in the future. Anytime I've been forced to change my life, a much better one was waiting for me. But am I being forced to move now? I got my money. I have that life I fantasized about for 10years. The one I cried for. I've got it!

Kennedy is rolling and stretching in the sunbeams on our patio. I'm enjoying the leaves on my new chocolatemint plant I bought at the farmers' market Wednesday. The chirping birds. The fresh ocean air.

But we have a walk to the ocean waiting for us... one of our final ocean strolls. So I suppose I need to say goodbye

for now...

Happy Birthday Jack!