If I knew I was going to be jumping so many hurdles I would have worn better shoes!

Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeesh have the last few days been intense.  I quite literally feel exhausted from all of the hurdles I am jumping and fires I am putting out!  To make matters worse if one more person says "what doesn't kill you always makes you stronger" I might just strangle them with my imaginary fire-hose!!!  Not every obstacle has been impossible to overcome and in fact some of them have forced me to go in a direction I wouldn't have normally taken, which has pleasantly enough ultimately been to my benefit.  I am no athlete, in real or imaginary life, so all of this running around and jumping through hoops has driven me to the point where I am two shakes of a lambs tail away from living the rest of my days in a padded cell wrapped up tight.  All of the huge things are pushing me so far to the brink of mental break down I almost screamed at a little old lady today at Subway because she couldn't see any salt coming out of the salt shaker and asked the man 3 times for more salt (despite it clearly dumping all over the sandwich each time).  While that little old lady has every right to take 30 minutes to instruct the poor folks at Subway how to make her perfect sandwich it was the last straw in my haystack of crap for the day!  I had to audibly tell myself to take a chill pill and after a few "wooo-saaaws" my vision went from bright red to a "less red" color.  I don't know if it is the sun, the moon, the stars, or good ol fashioned PMS but oh lordy it will be a Christmas Day miracle if I get through the next few days without shutting down half of Santa Barbara as I run through the streets screaming with my arms waving over my head ripping my hair out.  Not the way I intended to become famous, but if the universe pushes me I am liable to push right back!!

Deeeeeep breath.....tomorrow is another day right? ;)

Christmas in July? Ummm I mean August!?

Everyone who knows me knows that my favorite time of year is the fall/winter.  In Santa Barbara we really don't have seasons, our perfect 75 degree weather drops down to a chilly 60 degrees and everyone thinks the Ice Age is coming back.  However as the scraps from Thanksgiving dinner are being cleared off the table you can hear Christmas music ringing through the streets like out of A Christmas Story.  For a few short months the sunblock and beach smell of Santa Barbara is covered up with the sent of pine trees and cinnamon, and although we have to get our Christmas smell from overly priced Yankey Candles and not the real deal itself (palm trees don't really have a smell I have discovered...) we do it with boundless exuberance!  Every year I get playfully teased by friends and family for how early I start thinking about Christmas (121 days...and counting) but being that it is my favorite holiday they can all tease away and we shall see who makes my Christmas Card list!!  HA!  I was browsing Christmas cards and party invitations the other day, while listening to a Pandora Christmas station :)  and I got so excited for this upcoming season!  Granted there are still a few important holidays to come before Christmas....my 30th birthday is creeping closer and closer even as I type...I am still giddy like a child...well like a child on Christmas morning...for the excitement that comes along with Christmas!  The movies on TV, the wrapping paper, purchasing all of those fun little gifts that are sure to bring a smile to those you give them to!  AAAAHHHHH Christmas you can't come fast enough!

I love the smell of bleach in the morning...it smells like victory!

I think the best way for me to think through things, to sort out choices and to make decisions is to deep clean.  I am often teased about my OCD way of cleaning and organizing (which I have learned to embrace and take pride in) and so last night when my brother asked for some help cleaning and organizing his apartment I was all too eager to jump at the task.  His apartment is a typical man's cave and other then the gargoyle like tiger's head that serves as a beer bottle opener (a must have in bachelor pads I am told) there was nothing hanging on the walls.  Like a whirling dervish I attacked the house with hammers and nails and bleach.  After about 3 hours it started to look like a home, granted it was a boys home and where paintings of wine bottles hang in my house a metal Jack Daniels decal hangs in his, but that is neither here nor there.  It looks great.  We had a great time laughing and joking while we cleaned and I could see a sense of pride on his face as we hung up the last item and stepped back to admire his ability to hang it completely straight the first time without a level...I lack that ability...severely.  When I hang a picture I need about 5 different tools to make it placed right and level and even then I usually am hiding a graveyard of holes behind each photo I put up....shhhhh.  I thought on my drive home how much it made me happy to assist him in his effort to make his house more comfortable, more lived in.  Despite being sweaty and dirty and smelling like bleach and god only knows what else I was happy.  Happy to help and happy to be asked for help :)  Sometimes all you need is a good night of deep cleaning to set things right in the world...oh and wine...you must have wine, and I had wine :)

what's in a name?

When I was first thinking of creating a blog I knew it needed a name.  I wanted it to be clever but I also wanted it to convey my mission.  At the time I didn't have a mission other then the huge umbrella topic of: changing my life.  Well that could mean a million different things, you can lose 20 pounds and change your life, become a vegetarian, become a devout Christian, learn a new language, and all of these things would most likely inspire a different title to a blog.  So what encompassed all things that I could take on to improve my life?  Hmmmmm.  My sister thought I should make cooking the focus of my blog, and while I have a passion for cooking I didn't want to be super stalker status with the Julie and Julia project...more like a mild admirer from a distance :)  As we brainstormed titles for this blog I was thinking of what interested me...cooking and cats.  So I thought "The Cooking Cat Lady"...and with a shudder I realized that the title sounded like I cooked cats and thus it was not an option.  I was really at a loss and the longer I went without a name the longer this blog didn't exist.  Then one day as I am sitting at my desk at work in my dungeon of despair I thought: what is it really that I was wanting to do?  Yes I want to get out of this job, yes I want to make more money, yes I want to be able to answer with pride the question of "what do you do for a living?" but really WHAT is it that I am looking for? I decided: I am looking for peace.  I am looking for happiness.  I am looking for a sense of fulfilment.  I looked back on my life and I realized I had that when I was a dancer.  When my life was filled with smelly pointe shoes, endless dance classes, and going to bed each night with sore muscles and blistered feet.  Oh those were the days!  I wanted to get back there, and I wanted to get back there fast! 

I sat in my portal to hell (my desk) and I drifted off into a day dream of my dancing years.  I remembered parts I have danced that I loved, ones that I hated, costumes that fit and some that did not, waking up with my head full of curlers when I was little for my first ballet performance as a little party attendant in the Nutcracker.  Oh the amazing years I spent being a ballerina.  All of the wonderful teachers I have had with their patience and their wisdom.  Some of the bad teachers I have had with their spite and their inexperience.  One teacher specifically resonates as someone who changed who I was as a person as well as who I became as a dancer.  Her name is Valerie Houston.  I remember the first class I ever took from her.  She had a passion and an energy for dancing that I had never seen.  Her classes left you an inch from death but desperately wanting more.  She humbled me with critique and inspired me with progress.  I always liked ballet, but Valerie taught me to love dance.  A few years after my first class with her I was her student at UCSB studying for a major in dance.  Valerie called me "Hatfield" and soon everyone in the dance department called me "Hatfield".  That is the moment I was happiest, in dance, in life, in everything.  That is where I want to be again. I realize I am little older, a little worse for wear, but hopefully a little wiser as well. That is my project, to be "Hatfield" again.  Hence the Hatfield Project:  A project in self rediscovery and a mission to find eternal bliss :)

A dream is a wish your heart makes...

When is the last time you woke up from a really wonderful dream?  I honestly can not remember the last time I have dreamt something so magical that I woke up with a smile on my face...especially on a Monday.  However, this morning, I woke up from the most spectacular dream.  I was dreaming about my upcoming 30th birthday which is in 90 days, 16 hours, 11 minutes and 17...16...15 seconds (not that anyone is counting).  I have been dreading this birthday since driving home from Disneyland on my 29th birthday.  I started a countdown that next Monday...363 days...and now I am down to 90.  Normally I love birthdays and I am determined to not be that woman that pretends she is 45 when she is really 50 or who whines at every upcoming birthday like I would whine about needing a root canal, and yet this birthday is making me a little uneasy.  My 10 year high school reunion came and went this past year and although the event planners couldn't get an event together that enticed enough people (20 people bought tickets...yikes...) I have to say I am glad nothing happened.  Other then surviving these last 10 years since graduating high school I have really done nothing that I would be happy to announce.  No children, no marriage, no amazing job, nothing that would make my eyes sparkle when asked the expected question of: what have you been up to since high school?  When I was graduating I would have sworn that by this time I would be married, have a few children to bus around, and I was sure as hell under the impression that I would be doing something other then the job I have now.  Anything other then the job I have now.  In the past few years I will admit the occasional (ok so not so occasional and more like once a week) gut-wrenching moments of feeling my uterus dry up whilst my face becomes wrinkled and "crypt-keeper-like" before my very eyes.  It seems every day another friend gets married, has a child, lands and amazing job, buys a house, does SOMETHING that signifies that they are grown-up.  Then I look at my life and the biggest thing I have done recently is learn how to make salsa, which while delicious is in no way a step in the grown-up direction. 

I have had days filled with pure dread and disappointment with what I have turned my life into, or not turned my life in to.  Was I asleep on career day at school?  Should I have been nicer to boyfriend #4 and maybe I would be married by now?  Should I have maybe studied something smart rather then something that I loved in college?  Will I die an old maid with a house full of cats and Disney trinkets because I failed to make something of myself?  Some days are really bad, like don't want to get out of bed bad, and other days something simple like my miniature garden producing yummy herbs will make me smile and realize that everything is going to be alright (thank you Bob Marley). 

Despite all of this "I hate my life and its direction" feeling (and by no means to I hate my life as much as I wish it was a tad more sparkly) this dream I had last night was joyous and fun and I was surprised at how "at-ease" I was while staring at the beastly event of turning 30.  I was surrounded by my friends and family, I was dancing in a rather puffy party dress, and there was glitter...lots of glitter.  I woke up and thought, even though I am not a Mrs. ______ (insert name here), I don't have a few rug-rats to scream "MOM" when they need another juice box, and I don't answer my work phone "Mrs. So-and-So, President of Disney how can I help you?" I am doing ok.  I have an amazing group of kick-ass friends, I have a brother and sister that I love and adore more then anything (even Disney....GASP) and 2 cats that in the midst of driving me coo-coo clock crazy fill my life with love :) 

I have been rocketing toward my 30th birthday at an alarming speed and it has often felt like I am on a run-away roller coaster (I hate roller coasters) that goes up and down and has loopdy-loops and spirals that cause my stomach to become lodged in my throat. I have been either white-knuckling it or hiding my eyes in fear while screaming at the top of my lungs "MAKE IT STOP".  Try as I might to slow this puppy down and get off that just ain't possible, so after last night and with this new adventure to explore rather then scream and cry I am going to throw my hands up, give out a Xena Warrior Princess yell of "wahooooooooooooooooooo" and enjoy the ride.  30....here I come, ready or not.

Small steps in the right direction :)

Day three--and day two...I didn't blog yesterday the Internet at work was down...sorry Julie :)--are much like day three and two of a work out program.  Day one you are jazzed, you have your new work out gear on, Janet Jackson is blaring in your ears "Control", and as you are sweating bullets on the treadmill you realize "this isn't really that hard! Why didn't I start this sooner?!  I will be a size 4 in no time!!"  Day 2 you are a little tired, but still psyched at the prospect of shedding pounds and being able to soon frolic on the beach in your smallest of bikinis like something straight out of a Victoria's Secret swimsuit catalog.  Day three is a whole different kettle of fish.  Day three you wake up and you can hardly move.  The simple task of squatting to sit on the toilet forces involuntary audible groans that you didn't even know were possible to make.  The idea of walking to the fridge for ice to numb your throbbing muscles is out of the question let alone getting back on a treadmill.  Eff that noise.  So most often you end up succumbing to the comfort of your couch, some sea salt and vinegar chips, and a Law and Order SVU marathon cause if Stabler doesn't make you feel better then nothing will!  Day three of my adventure toward career bliss is much like that.  The glorious optimism of Tuesday while not gone, has been muddied a little by the reality of what to do next.  Ahhh that next step.  It is easy to sit in my office chair and dream of doing something other then sitting in this pit of hell, yet it is entirely different to actually DO something.  However, now that I have declared this quest begun...begin I shall. 

I spent yesterday, before the great Internet crash of 2:30pm, searching online for classes to become a certified Pilates instructor.  Let me back up a bit...the idea of becoming a Pilates instructor started with my love for dance, more specifically, my love for ballet.  I spent the first half of my life in ballet classes surrounded by music, dance, and all of the loveliness that comes with ballerinas.  To say I was obsessed with dancing is like saying that Frank Sinatra was a good singer...HUGE understatement.  If one was to look back at me 10 years ago they would have sworn that by this time I would have done something with my life that would ensure that every breathing moment of every day I would be surrounded by dance.  However several events in my life pushed me off that track and instead I got on the train to a life that has as much to do with dance as it does building rocket ships.  I had lost my way.  So when I was thinking about this project and where I wanted to end up in a year I immediately thought of dance.  I have been a ballerina, I have been a ballet teacher, and while one day I would love to get back into both of those things something that is connected to both of those careers is Pilates.  A skilled dancer without Pilates is like cake without frosting...you can have cake without frosting but why when the frosting makes it so much better?  So I set my sights on becoming a certified Pilates instructor in hopes that it will not only give me a create avenue to fulfill my craving for a better life but also bring me closer to dance again. 

As I stared wide-eyed at the Google homepage I typed in my first search: Certified Pilates Instructor and I felt a zing of excitement.  I am really going to do this!  I am really going to change my life!  That excitement came to a screeching halt when I found the perfect school and course all for the perfect price of $4,000 dollars.  Now 4,000 bones doesn't sound so bad especially when compared to the $35,000 dollars I owe the government for my stellar Sociology degree...however I don't happen to have $4,000 dollars keeping itself warm in my bank account at the moment.  Shocking I know.  So while that was a little saddening I kept my chin up (nod to Amanda) and I instead searched for a smaller class with a smaller price tag.  The dreary clouds of defeat parted and the sun shown through as if sent by the ballerina gods straight to me.  A short 5 day dancer specific course in January in LA for the fancy price of 1,000 dollars!!!  While that is not exactly peanuts that is much more plausible then $4,000 dollars and it is a step in the right direction!!  So I have until January to save up $1,000 dollars to attend this course. Baby steps, but hey its a start. 

Tally-ho!

Day One...oh dear God...

I was never a girl to write a diary or to keep a journal, this can be blamed on adolescent paranoia that my super secret feelings for that certain boy in Jr. High would some day be read for all to hear over the loud speaker during home-room, or just pure laziness--who had TIME to recap the entire day in a miniature little book with a lock that could be broken with an abrupt sneeze?  Nope, I was not that girl.  However after seeing the movie Julie and Julia a light bulb flashed in my head...a light bulb the size of a watermelon.  We all have that movie that "speaks to us" for some women it is Eat, Pray, Love or Under the Tuscan Sun, and for some men it is Fight Club or Scarface (**sigh**), regardless of the reason, that movie embodies where we are in our lives at that moment; puts it into motion picture form with highly attractive celebs fulfilling our inner most hopes and dreams.  For me, that movie (and later the book) is Julie and Julia. 

I am a moderate cook at best, and while Julia Child and then Julie Powell mastered French Cooking, I am what Julia would have referred to as "not a real cook" because I love Italian cooking.  Throw everything into a pot with some choice ingredients and PRESTO CHANGO it is a meal.  So while the French cooking--with all of its complexity--didn't really speak to me, Julie Powell's quest for self discovery screamed at me.  In the last 5 years I have spent a majority of my life at a dead-end office job where the day to day events (or lack there of) would drive most normal people to the brink of pure insanity.  I have been saying for years I need a new job, I need a job that makes me not hate my life from 7:59am to 5:01pm.  However with the stellar condition of the economy for the last few years finding a job no matter how fiercely I search...has proven fruitless thus far.  So after watching Julie and Julia for the billionth time I started reading the book, hoping, wishing, in fact praying that I would get some sort of subconscious inspiration from it.  Well I did. 

The other day while in the midst of balancing my checkbook (well not really--but going over my finances) for the next few month and seeing a very bleak horizon I did the unthinkable.  I called my college loan peeps and asked to put off my loan payments for a while.  (**interest still accrues--HUGE CRINGE**) however a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do right?  The lady asked me how long I wanted to put off my loan payments.  When "forever and a day" wasn't an option I went with one-year.  After I thanked her a million times for temporarily saving me financially I got off the phone and as if the phone click was the "dong" of the bell it hit me at once.  Julie Powell gave herself a year to do something to change her current situation.  I just got one year.  One year to do SOMETHING to change my current state of affairs.  One year to get out of this god-for-saken job and into a career that makes me happy and if I craft it correctly will make me enough money to get out from under this college debt from hell.  I have a few ideas hatching around in my head for what that career might turn out to be, but for now I am going to bestow Julie Powell the best kind of flattery and "copy" her idea of blogging about it...each day (I hope)...so that I can keep on myself to keep pressing on and in one-year hopefully look back at my current situation and laugh a good laugh.

So here I go.....
:)