What's in a Name?

The decision to name our daughter Layla was actually made before she was even conceived.

It started with a love for music. All music really. And the casual introduction (by my father) to Eric Clapton when I was a child. I remember the first chords I heard Eric play...I was instantly enamored. He opened my eyes--well, ears--to other guitar-playing geniuses like Stevie Ray Vaughn.

So when I learned we were pregnant (after the initial shock and paralyzing fear wore off), I knew our child would bear the name of a great musician or one of their creations. My only dilemma was which legend's namesake would be carried on.

Before we knew the sex, we tried to fit Marley on as a middle name to the first names we'd chosen. But soon we learned that we'd been blessed with a little girl...and it hit us: Holiday.

Layla Holiday.

It sounded perfect to us and held so much meaning: the first name taken from the first Eric Clapton song I fell in love with...the song that initiated a chain reaction leading to a love affair with great guitarists. I've also read (somewhere) that Layla means "dark beauty". The middle name combining both my mother's name (Hollie) and one of my absolute favorite singers...An icon. A legend. We were sold and didn't give it another moment's contemplation.

The fun part was telling our family and friends. However, we quickly learned that our taste was not shared by...well...anyone else! We got responses like, "Holiday huh?" and "...that's interesting" (which we all know is a nice way of saying "what the hell?!") or--my personal fav-- "You still have plenty of time to change your mind".

Initially, I was kind of crushed. How could people not love that beautiful homage?! Admittedly, we even tossed out the option of changing it and going with something totally safe, yet gorgeous, like Layla Marie... And yet, I was puzzled and torn between wanting people to embrace it and love it as we do (complete with the "oh my gosh that's beautiful" that I'd expected), and deciding not to give a crap what anybody thinks...

Currently, we're turning more towards the latter...but occassionally I still feel a tinge of wonder...

WHAT DO YOU THINK: change it to the safer Layla Marie...or keep the music to my ears that is Layla Holiday?






- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

The Start of the Baby Bloggage (better late than never...)

Sooo... 5 months and 1 week down...still wearing regular clothes. I have moved up to the more comfortable size 6...already in my closet of course.

Been eating trying to get on track with my weight gain... Still no substantial bump unless I just ate a ton (which is kind of rare).

Headaches and back-aches (mixed with the occassional upset stomach) are kicking butt these days but they're trumped by the amazing feeling her kicking (seemingly running) and rolling around. Sleeping comfortably is getting a little easier...as long as I use Captain as a body pillow. He loves to feel her when she's being acrobatic. It's cute.

Registeration complete at Target and have begun to build her wardrobe (she's got 4 outfits already!). Spoiler alert: she's going to be spoiled rotten.

Did I mention we're having a beautiful baby girl that, many say, already has my nose?! Merry Christmas, Layla!



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Chronic Dissatisfaction...

I grew up with psycho parents. Really. Psycho. No need to rehash all of the drama and trauma...suffice to say I've done my best to treat my childhood, as many do, like a salad bar: I pick over the crap and take only the golden nuggets that can be of use. But truthfully, many things have unfortunately and inadvertently followed--no, stalked--me into adulthood.

One of those things is this tendency to constantly, secretly, scrutinize myself in every way: body, intellect, accomplishments, and actions are all measured by a bar that can never be reached. It is never stagnant, and seems to raise each time I catch a glimpse of it.

And yet, I know I'm not the only one that struggles with this inability to be satisfied with one's self...which makes me wonder...were my parents, at least in this respect, simply falling in line with American culture? Because isn't it this insatiable drive for the best that serves as the cornerstone of our society? This constant feeling of inadequacy that leads you on wild goose chases for the latest shoes & clothes, highest position at the best job, next best get-rich-quick scheme, next adrenaline-pumping activity.......isn't this The American Dream?

We want to be fulfilled but is that really ever possible? Will there ever be a point where we are no longer burdened with that "I gotta" feeling? Or is this chronic dissatisfaction just an indication that the American dream--the ability to reach for ever-higher ground--has finally been attained?

Then again, there's a chance I've actually missed the mark here and am projecting my own damage on you poor, unsuspecting souls who are actually quite fulfilled and satisfied with life........if that's the case, my bad!--disregard the above. ;-)

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

I've got what you need...

If you think about how much of your life is dictated by others, it might depress you...or excite you...depending on how your particular cookie crumbles.

Consider, for a moment, how often you think about how you'll need to dress for something; whether you said the right thing, if you'll meet so-and-so; how much Joe Blow pisses you off; if your co-worker has done their job so you can do yours; did the server get your order right--and if not, should you confront them or just suck it up and eat the medium-rare steak.............and so on and so forth.

I don't suppose we need to visit the topic of the necessity of human interaction in general. I do; however, think it's worth noting the immeasurable amount of trouble we go to in order to secure these essential connections.

...Which brings me to this question...
How much energy will we expend to meet that special someone?

...and this question...
How much hell will you go through to keep that someone around?

In my very (very) short time of being married (going on 2 years--yeah, I know...no time at all), I've found that the most difficult of quandaries are rarely life-altering issues of gargantuan proportions...but rather the tiniest of irritants are typically at the root. It's the small differences that find their way into the largest of recurrent disagreements....many, perhaps even most of which would be avoided if we spent even a quarter of the energy initially expended in the relationship, simply trying to make your significant other as happy as possible.

Ah, but isn't that the very dilemma? If we were really capable of being totally invested in someone else's happiness (well, someone not genetically linked to you), would there ever be a need to argue? Wouldn't the world spin just perfectly and harmoniously? We behave in ways that will yield the largest return. All that energy and effort we addressed earlier is really directed toward ourselves. In other words, it's the drive to satisfy ourselves--our own self-esteem, desires, etc.--that's really at the root of our actions....which is unfortunate considering how disadvantageous this is to a successful, long-term (or, best case scenario, lifetime) relationship with another human being.

So how do we rectify this in favor of maintaining a fulfilling partnership? Well, when I find out I'll let you know.

Realistic Optimism

The advantages of being optimistic are clear...but to be blindly optimistic seems like a maladaptive behavior. Blind optimism sets you up for disappointment. Depression. Bitterness. Without regard for the legitimacy of your 'glass half full' approach to life, you can find yourself broken down and beaten by the inevitable odds. Am I bashing the hopeless romantics who can find the positive in their quintessential glass of hope being repeatedly knocked over...perhaps even smashed to an infinite number of unrecognizable pieces...? ("my hope can now flow freely!"-they'd say. Crap.) How can I bash those masochistic crazies, relentlessly delighting in pain?

But even the best of punching bags will eventually start to rip at the seams.

So, might I suggest a better approach...a tweak, if you will, to this method of slow and agonizing destruction: An optimist who leans towards the realistic. Better yet, be realistically optimistic. Approach life like a baseball player--if he fails 7 out of 10 times at bat, he's still a damn good baseball player! Get out there and go for it, knowing that it could be one of those 7 failures... but also that maybe, just maybe, it's one of those 3 successes....perhaps even a homerun!

Don't run from the failure or overshoot your odds. Prepare and work towards your goal in order to be efficacious... but be content in the fact that this includes the prospect of getting your glass blown to smithereens.

....this, of course, coming from a pessimist mascerading as a realist...who's secretly an optimist running from failure by doing only what I will excel in. But, hey, who do you know that takes their own advice?! I'm working on it...but I'm prepared to fail.


-- Post From My iPhone.

The Mean Purples.

Audrey Hepburn, as Holly Golightly, said, "the blues is when you're just down...that's all..." She goes on to introduce a new and interesting concept: the mean reds. She describes this as being "...afraid--only you don't know what you're afraid of!"; explaining that this particular brand of emotional turmoil is much worse than simply having the blues.

I beg to differ.

First of all (and let the record show that I am a big fan Breakfast at Tiffany's--as every girl is--and a HUGE fan of Audrey's), calling one feeling worse than the other is like comparing Blue Bell to Ben & Jerry's. I mean, sure, they're both ice cream but...

But I'd like to introduce yet another colorful label to these oversimplifications: the mean purples. This is when you feel like you need to punch something or someone but you have no idea why. And despite the implementation every relaxation technique and every strategy you know that would have ordinarily calmed your nerves and returned you to center, your mood just will not stabilize...and suddenly every blunder in your day is evidence that, today, you're simply supposed to be pissed. You think you've gotten yourself under control, but then--bam!--someone is irresponsible and throws off your entire day...or--opps!--now you're picking dirt from your favorite lip balm that just went tumbling to the ground...or--sideswipe!--your typically very compliant, adult dog is suddenly atypically refusing to follow any directions, including "go potty"; resolving to simply sit down in the grass and wait patiently for you to let him back inside. Get you a handful of those fun times to go down before noon and you've got yourself a case of the mean purples.

What sucks about the mean purples is the fact that they can often include the mean reds or blues, or even (gasp) both! Repeated attempts at optimism are continually thwarted, which may make you feel worse than if you'd just given in to the low as feelings of defeat are now put into play. My solution: go through your day telling yourself that nothing lasts forever, not even the mean purples. Get things done, but try to avoid the stuff you know will usually get you up in arms because, on a day like today, your head may just blow completely off. As soon as possible, get yourself into a quiet place with nothing but your favorite reading material, television show, or music....and just breathe in and out. When you get ready to go to bed, remind yourself that every day can't be the best day ever but that, you'll try to make tomorrow at least one for the books. And that's the best you can do. Usually, even an uneventful day following a particularly substandard day will feel like an upgrade. And everyone knows upgrades are awesome.

That clear up your emotional confusion? You're welcome.

Accelerated Slow Motion

You ever get the feeling your life is moving in slllloooooowwwww motion; but then, when you look back over the events of recent weeks or months, it seems like all that couldn't possibly have fit in such a short time span?!

That's the feeling I'm getting right now as I look back over the last 6 months...year...5 years...of my life. The farther back I go, the more I feel like I'm reviewing someone else's life. Like those dreams where you see everything, including yourself, from the outside...almost like a television show.

It's surreal.

Addicted: iPhone Apps.

Imagine am episode of "Intervention" (you know the one that chronicles the lives and-duh-interventions of addicts). Imagine the typical opening scene of the addict, curiously hunched over something; face twisted into that obsessively determined snarl.

Cut to a shot of the family member, visibly distraught and barely audible as they try to describe the sickness that has overtaken their loved one.

Then back to the desparate individual--a quick glance over her shoulder at the camera long enough to shout an emphatic "get outta here!!" before turning her back to the audience in a feeble attempt to keep her drug of choice out of sight.

But it's too late. The camera has caught a glimpse of-and is now zooming in on-her fingers tapping and scrolling away with frightening familiarity on a small, sleek, sexy little iPhone.

A quick close-up reveals the view of the addict: a never-ending list of brightly colored squares denoting promising and captivating applications. Scroll tap. Scroll tap. Brisk thumb movements. Audio of the family member reminiscing the good old days when she was sociable, approachable, normal...now only a shell of that lovable person. Her head never lifts. The phone never leaves her hand (shot of the addict holding the phone in the shower, hand and phone covered by a transparent Ziploc bag, scrolling away).

Then the shots of the deplorable living conditions, unkept with filth by the stacks (including the fridge containing only a carton of take-out that has clearly grown legs), with the addict just slumped in a corner...scrolling and tapping....."hundreds of dollars a month", the family is saying through uncontrollable sobs.

................you get the picture..................

But don't you dare giggle or wave those disturbing-however ridiculous- images from your mind. There's nothing funny about waking up, phone still in hand, and immediately resuming an endless search for the next most amazing and absolutely necessary iPhone application. ...Downloading five different applications that do virtually the same thing to find the perfect combination of desirable user-interface (U.I. for you tech junkies) and maximum functionality.... Spending $16 on the perfect instant messaging app because it combines all of your favorite platforms into one beautiful little app with all the essential features...

So what if I have two navigation apps because one tells me what and where to eat while the other tells me what kinds of fun I can get into within a 20 mile radius following dinner! So what!!

Fifty-one applications is not only not a big deal, but necessary-alright?! I need that 3D labrynth game and I had to have crash bandicoot, also in 3D, at my fingertips! I need to know what to cook for dinner and how and which isle it's on! And you can't say you don't want to have instant access to what all of the major news sources around the world are saying is important--at 4am... in the bathroom... in line at the grocery store your beloved iPhone helped you find... maybe even in class...because the news doesn't wait people!!!

Hey, maybe I'm writing this on my latest app store purchase!!

Don't judge me!! I can quit whenever I want.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]