Only for you, I do these things. .

Do you ever have moments when you're laughing so hard you can barely breathe? Where you're on the phone chatting with a friend for what feels like ten minutes, but really, hours upon hours have passed? I do. Constantly. This entry is dedicated to a dear friend of mine. Her name is Mariana Lopez and I can say with the utmost confidence that she is funniest lady I know. A friend for life? Easily. A cradle to grave? No duh. .

You see: Mariana and I first met in college, at the University of San Francisco. I had awkward frizzy hair and wore the same thing every day. She had long hair back then and may or may not have been obsessed with Tegan and Sara. I sometimes said funny things in class and she was the only one that appreciated my ridiculousness. Let's just say our statistics teacher was not pleased with our blossoming friendship and/or hysterical outbursts mid-lesson. I grew to love this woman. This kind, hilarious, utterly hilarious woman. But it was college. People are weird in college. I was new to being a lesbian and ate a lot of cereal, corn and kidney beans. I was an insecure lady, and for various reasons, we broke up after two years of dating. . 

In my heart, I knew we could be friends at some point. Although it was hard to see this, especially right away, with the wound being as fresh as it was. I remember sinking into a mild depression. I recall being super nervous walking around campus wondering if I'd see her laughing with her new friends and girlfriends. I reached out, in a pathetic way. I made her feel bad - constantly wondering how she seemed to get over me so quickly. She saw the bigger picture, though. She knew I needed time and space to heal. She'd come back into my life to test the waters, realizing often I just wasn't quite ready yet. With time, came understanding and forgiveness. With understanding, a truly wonderful friendship was born. .  

Mariana, you've been my support for several years now - through the drama, the ups, the downs, the firings, the abusive women, the . . all). When I lived in Los Angeles with my parents, I remember talking on the phone with you, cracking up mega (about what? what is always so funny?), and my Mom inquiring, "Oh, are you speaking with Mariana again?". Heck yes, Mom. Totally. I tell you everything. Perhaps more than you desire to hear, but oh well. You know my secrets. You know when I am pissed off. You know what I look like happy and you know when I've had my feelings hurt. I'm enamored by your ability to make me laugh. The hearty laugh. The deep down, I'm not messing around, guttural laugh. You care about me. You care about my stories, my experiences, my life in Seattle. You worry about my safety. You love my parents and they love you . . 

I knew we could be friends again . . It just took a little time. 

Can I thank you now? Can you feel it in San Francisco? How much I love and appreciate you. How much I care for you and your life. I need you to be happy. I need you to be healthy, wealthy (give me money) and wise. You can't leave me. Do you hear me? I would crumble into a pile of squish. . 

In other words, I love you, friend. Today. Now. For always. . 

Oakland - 2006

On being raised right.

I'm sitting at my kitchen table wearing only cuffed pants (pants that are rolled up at the bottom - hey, I went to a fashion consultant, I know about these things) and a short sleeved top. It's almost 5:00pm in Seattle and it's nearly pitch black. I hear rain in the distance. The city lights brighten my view, and the Space Needle, bless that thing, reminds me on the regular why I love my apartment and this fantastically chilly city. To my immediate left is a hefty size bowl of sauteed kale and a glass of water. I ate an entire sheet pan of rice krispie treats in two days and my body gave me an ultimatum: "Eat something green or that's it!" I hear you body. I respect you. .

I feel like I'm writing rather quickly tonight, my thoughts spilling onto the page, as though I haven't written in months! For some reason, I didn't think anyone was reading this thing so I pushed it aside filled my time with more important matters. Oprah. What I've come to realize, though, is that even if nobody reads my words it's best to get them out of my head, into the open, because how can I make room for new thoughts when the old ones are crowding up my area code (in this case, my head). So, I'm back. I'm back to writing and sharing and being ridiculous. Perhaps you'll smile at my words and stories. If I bore you, though, never tell me. I'm a sensitive bear and have taken to punching people in the face when my feelings are hurt. Obviously, I'm kidding. But seriously. .

Instead of giving you a detailed account of the last seven months, let's just say I've been great. I've been running and working and hanging out with a beautiful lady and cooking for friends and living my little Seattle life, happy as can be . . Now, for the actual blog entry.

Taken last Thanksgiving. Seattle 2010

I'd like to dedicate this one to my parents. My generous, intelligent, hilarious, kind, amazing parents. They raised my sisters and I right. If/when I do have children, I could only hope to be as crazy great for them as they were for us. They taught us to be kind to everyone. They taught us to eat everything, to take home left overs, to not waste. If you don't waste, you won't want later. They taught us to be humble. To have respect for everyone. To have goals. To be on time. To bring a dish or a bottle of wine or cookies to a party. To work hard, even if you don't necessarily enjoy what you are doing. To find what it is that makes us happy. To try new things. They encouraged our curiosity. They asked how our days were and really heard our answers. They were always there. At all hours, in every moment. They took us on trips and bought us things. We knew who to go grocery shopping with (Mom!) and who to go clothes shopping with (Dad!). They taught us about food: how to prepare it, savor it,  how to share and enjoy it. They taught me how to drive, although, I skipped town before I could really master the skill. They took care of my grandparents. They made us a priority. They were involved. They took us places and picked us up afterwards. With every graduation, award ceremony, basketball game and piano recital they were there, cheering us on. They stood up for us. They told us we made them proud. Mom made our Halloween costumes. Dad introduced us to beautiful filmmaking. To my parents: I love you. I am thankful for you. I look forward to your Seattle trip, and like always, many donuts will be devoured. .

It's good to be back. You'll see me here again soon . .