I’d like to start this entry by thanking all of you who have read my blog this year.  I’m appreciative of the time you’ve taken to read, comment, and encourage me in person and online.  An artist always likes to hear when his/her work is appreciated (or viewed even if it isn’t appreciated).

So here comes the announcement.  Because of my thankfulness for you and your time, I’ve decided to put this blog on a temporary hiatus.

At the start of this blog I was posting pretty regularly — that hasn’t been the case as of late (as you know).  It’s not laziness so much as it’s just a plain case of being creatively stumped.  There was nothing new to say and my blog (much like my life at this present time) came to kind of a standstill.  So, in order for us both to move forward, I decided it best to stop for a while, regroup, and start fresh.

At this point I’m not entirely sure when I’ll resurrect this blog.  I hope it’s soon because I’d like to keep sharing these kinds of stories with you.  But have no fear because while it may take time to get this one going again, I’m working on a new blog that will be more reflective of my true, humorous, crazy (in a non-clinical way) personality.  Prepare yourself =).

In the meantime, you can find me on Facebook (www.facebook.com/nicoleperezofficial) and on Twitter (www.twitter.com/worldofnicole).  I’d love to stay connected with you as I figure out my new creative direction so that I can take you along with me on my journey.  Supposing you’re willing to go on that journey, of course (you better pack some breadcrumbs).

Thanks again for reading and  stay tuned for my newest blog and the grand re-opening of “My Gift Is My Blog.”  Much love to you all and have a happy, safe, and blessed 2011!

I was fortunate to be a kid in the ‘80s.  There was great music, crazy fashion, and the best toys this world had seen.  I was part of the generation that brought you Atari, Transformers, Cabbage Patch Kids, and Rainbow Brite (not to mention the unrelated but equally fabulous Lite Brite).  It was a good time to be a kid.

One toy I’ve never had (and really never wanted) was one of those yelping toy dogs.  You know, the ones that take two steps, make a robotic high-pitched bark, and can be heard no matter where you’re at in the store.  Over time these toys have expanded to pigs, rabbits, ducks, and pretty much any domesticated animal of choice.

But two things have not changed about these toys: 1.) They’re always displayed at the front of the store in some type of fenced in area, and 2.) They are loud and annoying.  I’d really like to find the person that invented this toy, look them in the eye and say, “Really???” Come on, you know you want to do it too.

I don’t know if I’m more annoyed by the high-pitched barking or the fact that this toy has become such an allegory for my life.  As much as I want to, I can’t relate to a Care Bear or She-Ra quite as much as I relate to this irritating little toy.

I walk contently for two steps, complain loudly while at a standstill, and then repeat my actions until I find myself stuck in a corner banging my head against a wall.

It’s frustrating to be in this place; fenced in by the same problems, unanswered questions, and discontentment.  I’d really like to roam free around the mall or just be content in my surroundings.  It would be nice to take a break from the yelping and head banging.  Mostly, it would be nice to stop running into the same walls.

One thing I’ve learned from this irritating piece of plastic and battery is that I can’t rely on my own strength to get me out of my corners.  I might feel like one of those toys that can flip itself when confronted with a wall, but even those toys get stuck every now and again.  I sometimes just don’t have the power (unlike He-Man) to change direction or set myself on a new path.  I need God’s help and sometimes the help of friends and family to get me back on track.

I might never stop my yelping and complaining (I am human, after all), but I can, at the very least, learn to identify when I’m hitting a wall and need a little help turning around.  I can also learn to be brave enough to step in and help turn someone else when their barking is leading them into a corner as well.  Take a penny, leave a penny.

And if none of that works, then I’ll give my Kermit the Frog doll a big squeeze and close my eyes until the scary part’s over.  I just might do that anyway.

It’s not often that I’m inspired by a t.v. show.  Shows like Glee or American Idol make me wish I could sing, act, and dance professionally, but they don’t necessarily inspire me to put forth the effort to travel a different career path.

However, there’s one show that inspires me to the core: MTV’s The Buried Life.  If you’ve never seen or heard of this show, it’s about four guys who compiled a list of 100 things they want to do before they die and then set out to cross stuff off that list.  All they’re given to accomplish their tasks are a handheld camera, a bus to travel in (usually), and the guts to do whatever it takes to get the job done.

Every item is a challenge and requires a certain amount of risk, determination, and at times, humiliation.  Sometimes overcoming fear is their biggest obstacle – but giving up is not an option because not trying at all would be a worse fate.

What really makes this show unique is that it’s not all about these guys living out their own dreams.  To quote the show’s opening credits, “For every item we cross off our list, we help someone else cross something off theirs.”  It seems they understand that the best way to live life to the fullest is to not just live it for yourself.

Along their travels they’ve reunited families, launched careers, and helped others overcome fear.  People are randomly selected and their dream comes to fruition by answering one simple question: “What do you want to do before you die?”  Their answer then becomes the guys’ mission to accomplish.

Watching this show inspired me to create my own list.  So far I’ve only come up with 60 items, but have already accomplished three.  Not too bad.  However, The Buried Life reminds me that the only way to really live is to not just live for myself.

What’s funny, or amusing I should say, is that this same concept has been drilled into me all my life from my family and at church.  But for whatever reason, it’s taken this show to remind me that fulfilling my own ambitions will only take me so far.  Maybe it’s because four good-looking guys are sending the message; maybe it’s because I’ve spent more time hearing about what I should do rather than seeing it done.

Regardless of the reason, I can say with 100% certainty that I haven’t done nearly enough to help others.  It’s not that I’ve done nothing to serve others or that I’m carrying a burden of guilt on my shoulders; it’s just that I know I’ve spent more energy focusing on where my life is going, rather than dreaming up ways or actually doing something to help someone else along in their journey.

Instead of just asking yourself what you want to do before you die, start asking what you can do to help someone else accomplish what he or she wants to do before they die.  You’ll find life to be considerably more fulfilling when you allow your self-ambition to die in order to help someone else’s dream live.

Jonnie, Duncan, Ben, and Dave – thanks for reminding me that living the buried life is not about beating the clock or doing great things for myself; it’s about using my life to help others live.  And here’s my answer the question you’ve asked many others: I want to help make someone else’s dream come true.  And if there’s time, I’d like to be serenaded by and/or sing a duet with a famous musician. Hey, everyone’s got a dream – and that one’s mine =).

These are actually trees from my house... pre-hacking, of course.

My house’s landscape is a thing of wonder.  The front yard looks rustic meanwhile the backyard looks like the set of Lost. Pine trees in the front, palm trees in the back.  I guess whoever built this house was more about variety than consistency.

Even though there are approximately 75 plus trees on the property (yeah, I counted), I actually like being surrounded by the crazy foliage.  Not only do the trees almost hide the fact that the house is situated on a busy street, I enjoy the sound of wind blowing through the palms and watching Paco and Penny (a.k.a. the squirrels) scurry around the front yard.

This little arbor getaway of mine was quite enjoyable up until this summer.  A landscaping crew was sent in to trim the trees – and rather than trim, they hacked.  Basically, the property looked like it got a bad haircut.

The shade was gone, Paco and Penny had to find refuge elsewhere, and it felt as though my house was now exposed to the world.  It was devastating at best. (Sorry, I get a little dramatic sometimes. At least I can admit I have a problem.)

Much like the times when I’ve had a bad haircut, I reminded myself that it’d grow back.  But I was reminded of my pain every time I saw the bare trees or felt the sun stinging me through the windows.  It was not an easy summer.

Although my mom wasn’t nearly quite as devastated by the “trimming” as I was, she reminded me that it needed to get done to reduce fire hazard.  Fine.  But tell that to Paco and Penny who just lost a good home.

Pruning is not usually a fun process but I’ve found that it’s a necessary one.  Just like trees, we all go through seasons where we need a trim here or there – and sometimes the trimming turns into hacking.  There are seasons where we just need a good attitude adjustment and other times when it’s necessary to be cut off from things or relationships that are harming us.  After all, when a tree is pruned it’s the dead limbs that are cut off, not the healthy ones.

Pruning can be uncomfortable and at times painful; but the point of it is to bring growth into our lives.  The good news is that when we are willing to be shaped and pruned, we will always come out stronger and healthier.  Holding on to the negative in your life will only spread disease rather than promote growth.  I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather be filled with beauty than stuffed with ugliness.

Although the trees have yet to return to their fullness, I can appreciate the fact that the hacking… I mean, pruning, will only make them more beautiful than before.  As for Paco and Penny, I wish them well and look forward to their return.  Their company, as well as their shady bungalow, is sorely missed.

Unless you’ve completely cut yourself off from the media (I know you haven’t because you’re reading this), you know that vampires are dwelling at the top of the trendy heap.  Movies, television, music, candy, books, and clothing – the vamps have completely taken over it all.  Even while writing this I’m listening to the soundtrack from the Twilight Saga. Don’t judge – the soundtracks, unlike most of the acting in the movies, are amazing.

Anyway, back to the vamps.  When I was working online this morning, I came across a picture of seductive lips with fangs that had blood dripping off of them.  I rolled my eyes when I saw it because I’m tired of companies using vampires as the crux of their marketing campaigns.  Unless you’re offering me the chance to enter a sweepstakes to go on a date with Robert Pattinson, your vampire marketing trickery will not work on me (Sorry, Jacob fans. I’m all about Team Edward with his awesome hair and lifeless yet sparkly complexion).

As my day went on, I kept thinking back to that picture.  For whatever reason, the phrase “sucking the life out of me” kept rolling around in my head every time I thought about the fangs.  It’s probably because that’s how I feel right now; the life is just sucked right out of me.

But my personal vampire isn’t some good-looking, Abercrombie model with a keen sense of fashion.  My vampire, though invisible, is ugly and his name is discouragement.  It doesn’t take much for him to sneak up behind me and suck out any sense of hope or contentment I have running through my veins.  In fact, anytime he can smell even a hint of inner peace he comes charging towards me fangs first.  Unfortunately, It’s not until I’m feeling completely empty and discouraged that I’ve even realized I’ve been attacked.

The thing about vampires is that they come in many forms – and I’m not talking about the Count Choculas or Edward Cullens (I’d take either one of those any day).  Personal vampires come in the form of fear, stress, self-loathing, people who say or do awful things (whether they mean to or not), and in many other ways that are just too long to list.

These things, if given the power, can suck the life right out of you.  If you succumb to them, they can leave you feeling dry and lifeless.  Worse yet, you could turn into some kind of monster and do the same to others.  Whatever the case may be either option is not a good option.

However, any good connoisseur of fangy folklore knows it takes sunshine to keep the vampires at bay.  Even if the vamp is of the sparkly hottie variety, a healthy dose of light will keep them from getting near you… unless you willingly enter a meadow and go looking for them in which case they are more likely to eat you than kiss you and then you just brought all that trouble on yourself and no one has the sympathy or the will to keep you alive.  Just saying.

But things work the same way with your personal vampires.  When the dark starts moving in, you fight it by shining light on the situation.  Pray, seek good counsel, and don’t allow yourself or others to drain the life out of you.  Surround yourself with people and things that will speak positively into your life and who will cheer you on when you’re ready to give up.  Sometimes even the slightest encouragement can be like shining a floodlight in a dark cave.

Do your best to keep in mind that light always overcomes the darkness.  You can defeat any vampire with hope, confidence, peace, and the sheer determination to de-fang the bloodsuckers in your life.  When you feel the darkness closing in, start running towards the sun.

Then again, if your vampire happens to be or look like Edward Cullen I wouldn’t blame you for trying a different tactic.  We could all use a little sparkle in our lives now and then =).

I miss the days when my uncle had a boat and the whole gaggle of us would head out to the lake.  Back then I was too young to water ski, so I just enjoyed the feeling of being strapped in my life vest and watching my cousin Maury tear it up on the waves.  I hoped one day I’d be brave and cool enough to do what he did, but the family trips ended before I got the chance to try.

Fortunately, my chance to hit the open waters came when I was in high school.  I rocked the inner tube (as well as other floatation devices strapped to the back of the boat), but I could never quite get the hang of the skis.  I’ll put it this way: in my first attempt to ski, I drank more water than Sparkletts delivers in a week.  Ouch.

Every time the boat revved up, I held on as tight as I could and prayed I’d survive.  I was hell bent on getting up on the skis but gravity – and my lack of upper body strength – was even more determined to keep me down.  Finally, after swallowing at least 50 gallons of lake water, I let go of the rope and came to grips with the fact that I’m a better buoy than a skier.  Oh well.

Despite the fact that I couldn’t will my body to adhere to my athletic wishes, I still had a great time at the lake.  I enjoyed time with friends and participating in both aquatic and non-aquatic activities of the day such as roasting marshmallows and dominating the camp with my sweet water gun skills.

One could say I gave up too soon or quit when it got too tough – I didn’t.  I just knew when it was right to let go, move on, and stop wasting my energy on something that was wearing down the boat and me.

I’m convinced that life works the same way.  Sometimes you have to be stronger than steel to endure a situation; other times you have to conjure up an equal amount of strength just to be able to let something or someone go.

I’m not saying to give up when things get tough.  Certain situations (and people) require us to stick through the muck until we’re back on solid ground.  It’s only time to let go if what is frustrating you or dragging you down is bringing more harm than good.  Or, as this wannabe water skier would say, if you’re eating too much water it’s time to drop the rope.

The advantage of life versus water skiing is that if you have a good support system of friends and/or family around you, they’ll start waving flags before you’re sunk.  In water skiing, no one’s waving a flag unless you’re already up to your neck in H2O.  I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather heed the flags before I’m fish bait.

It takes quite a few tumbles to learn the balance between knowing when to tighten your grip and when to let go – rarely is one choice easier than the other.  But if you’re listening to your heart and paying attention to flags, you’ll be gliding on water instead of drowning in it.  And if all else fails, stock up on floaties =).

I’m a Mexican-American girl with an Italian soul.  I love everything about Italy – the food, the music, the food, the culture, the food, the art… did I mention the food?  There’s just something about this country that has a hold of my heart and apparently my stomach.

I’ve never been to Italy but every time I see pictures or video I feel like I’ve been there before.  Somehow the sights are familiar to me despite the fact I’ve never even been anywhere close to the Mediterranean Sea.  But I feel like if or when I go there that I’ll know exactly where to go and what to do.  More than likely it will involve visiting a gelato stand (or two) first.

My mom feels the same way about Hawaii.  She dreamt for a long time about going to the island – and once there, her inner GPS took over.  With very little help from a map, she was directing my dad around the island as though she had lived there all her life.  This is amazing considering she sometimes gets turned around while attempting to navigate through Southern California (where she actually has lived most of her life).

My mom knows about Hawaii what I know about Italy: it’s home.

Dorothy of Kansas once had the same feeling.  She dreamt about a place located somewhere over the rainbow where troubles melt like lemon drops away above the chimney tops.  Though she’d never seen or heard of Oz, she knew there was something more beyond the very beige, hog-scented Kansan farm she called home.

In the movie, the thing that really sells Dorothy’s performance of “Over the Rainbow” is the longing in her voice.  She knows there are chores to be done and chickens to be fed, but she gives herself a timeout to think about what life could be like once she’s flown the coop… and yes, puns intended if there are any puns to be found.

While I don’t spend the majority of my time thinking about Italy, I do think about those places over my personal rainbow.  I’m not sure if I’ve met my future husband or not, but I miss him terribly.  I think about him every day and dream about what life will be like with him in it and what it’ll be like raising our family together.  In other words, he’s my home and I’m homesick for him.

I know that I fixate a lot on my dreams and the future in my blogs.  Truth is, writing about my dreams is the same thing Dorothy does when she’s singing about the rainbow: it’s a coping method we use to help keep the dream alive while trudging through our own versions of Kansas.

Life sometimes becomes too beige and reality (or in her case, Auntie Em) can nag at us that it’s (whatever “it” may be for you), is never going to happen.  Life will tell you that you’re never going to get married, have kids, own a home, have a career, or eat your way through Italy – it just likes to bully you that way.

However, the best way to stand up to the bully is to keep dreaming, keep believing, and, if you must, burst out in song.  I wouldn’t recommend bursting in song when confronted with an actual bully, but sometimes playing crazy is your best defense.  That’s just a little free advice for you.

You know what your “home” is.  Even while reading this you know who or what you’re homesick for.  The best thing I can tell you is to do whatever you can to keep hope alive.  Don’t let anyone steal what’s in your heart and try your hardest to believe that anything is possible.

I’m looking forward to reaching my home someday.  My yellow brick road is going to lead to some amazing people and places along the way – and that journey will definitely include a gondola ride with my sweetie and hitting up every gelato stand under the Tuscan sun.   It’s going to be a sweet, sweet time.  And in the words of my dear friend Dorothy, there truly is no place like home.

I’m a math hater.  I don’t like it… mostly because I can’t really do it.  I have the most trouble with algebra because, as far as I’m concerned, when you put letters together they make words, not equations.  I just CANNOT wrap my head around why n + x = y.  Lame.

The only parts of math I can peacefully coexist with are percentages and most things related to geometry.  You need geometry to know how to draw and build things, and you need percentages to know how much of a discount you’re going to get on that really cute pair of shoes you’ve had your eye on.  Those things are important.  If you want to know how long it’s going to take Train A and Train B to make it to the station, don’t bother with algebra – just check the schedule.

Aside from discounts and drawing, my most favorite usage of math is when numbers translate into baked goods.  Ingredients must be measured correctly and the timing of how long the product remains in the oven has to be timed just right.  If it’s taken out too early, it’s too doughy – too late, and it’s too dry… and possibly inedible.

I’ve often heard that many who delve in the culinary arts know the food is ready simply by a feeling.  That “feeling” comes from a lot of time spent in the kitchen as well as the artist’s sense of knowing when their creation is ready to be presented and enjoyed.

I think life works the same way.  There are just some things in life that are all about perfect timing.  At least this is what we tell each other when we’re still waiting for the right person, the right job, the perfect house, or even a perfect, little baby to come along.  It’s all about timing.

But sometimes I just want to throw a rock at that perpetual clock so that it starts working properly.  I want it to finally be the right time for my friends and family (and even myself) to have our wants and needs fulfilled.

It’s past time for breakthrough to happen for many people I know and love as well as many people I’ll probably never meet.  I want to see this economy bounce back and see people employed again.  I want to go to baby and bridal showers for my friends who have been so faithful and deserve these blessings.  I just want to see those who have struggled not only get a well deserved break, but also get a great bonus blessing – the cherry on the cake.

Unfortunately, it’s not completely up to me or them to make breakthrough happen.  You can go on dates, apply for jobs, and shop for houses, but more than likely the “dream” won’t come to pass until it’s time for it to happen.  Timing – stupid, yet glorious timing.

But like any culinary artist knows, perfect timing produces ideal results.  For example, if it were up to me I probably would’ve been married 5 or 10 years ago and thank God it wasn’t completely up to me to make that decision because it would’ve been a wrong one.  Relying on God and relying on his timing has more than likely saved me from a lot of unnecessary heartache.

I’m not saying it’s been easy going to weddings and bridal showers – it’s taken superhuman strength to not stab myself or someone else with an hour d’oeuvre pick every time I go to one of these happy occasions.  However that pain, irritation, and loneliness is a small price to pay compared to what I could have gone through had I married the wrong guy at the wrong time.

Babies are another great reminder of the importance of timing.  The survival rate for premature babies is lower in comparison to those who go full term.  There’s a plan and a process and timing truly makes all the difference.

Everything is rooted in timing.  Whether or not you believe in God (I do), you know that we’re living on someone else’s clock.  And in a way, I’m glad we do because I’m pretty sure we’re not as smart as we think we are.

I’m hoping the clock will soon start ticking in my favor and in the favor of those who deserve the breakthrough they’ve been waiting and praying for to happen in their lives.  But I guess the best thing to do is to push forward because the sound of contentment is the only thing that will truly drown out that ticking clock.  And if that doesn’t work, then now’s a good as time as any to make a quick stop by the bakery for a practical (and yummy) lesson in timing!

Disclaimer: I love baseball.  I’m not a hater.  This is just the best way I could illustrate my point.  So don’t hate on me.  Just enjoy my blog =).

I used to be a HUGE baseball fan – and to some extent, I still am.  Though I still look at the world through Dodger Blue-colored glasses, my passion for baseball just isn’t what it used to be.  The reason?  I fell in love with football.

Football, though orderly, is so barbaric! I love the action, I relish the sound of helmets and shoulder pads colliding, and I love how a turnover can in fact turn over the game.  Oooh! Urrgghhh! Mmmm! I just love it! (I’m clenching my fists in passionate excitement as I write this).

Another great thing about football is that it’s even exciting from the sidelines.  Everyone from the fans to the coaches to the benched players is engrossed in the game until the final seconds drop off the clock.  Sure, you gotta take an occasional nacho break but usually the point of interest remains on the field.

It’s different with baseball.  The players are usually messing around in the dugout – talking, spitting, scratching, whatever – and are just kind of doing nothing while waiting to be called to bat.  Baseball fans aren’t much different from the players.  If there’s not much happening on the field, they’re usually more interested in the snack bar and merchandise booths instead of the game. Well, at least that’s what usually preoccupies this fan.

Personally and professionally (though sometimes those lines seem to get blurred), I’ve been on the bench for quite some time.  It hasn’t been easy playing the role of spectator when I know there’s an MVP just waiting to be unleashed.  That might not sound very humble, but what I mean is that I know I could be the best if I were just given a chance to play.

For reasons unknown to me (although I’m confident that I’m MVP material), the Coach is keeping me on the bench.  I don’t understand why others have been called out to play and I’m still waiting for my turn to get in the game.  I’ve had my brief moments of playtime; I’ve just never been a starter or been kept in the game long enough to make my mark.  It’s frustrating and, at times, heart wrenching.

And while I may not have a choice about when I get to play or for how long, I do have a choice about how I wait for my turn to step up.

The choices are these: 1.) I can become lazy like baseball players who don’t seem to care about the game until they’re called to bat, or 2.) I can be like the football players always keeping my focus on the field even if I’m merely watching from the sidelines.

What I’m talking about here is the line between contentment and complacency.

Being complacent is easy; it’s living without trying.  You know your situation could be better, but you simply accept your circumstances without trying to improve matters.  In a way, you have become frozen; you don’t go back and you don’t move forward.  Choosing complacency is simply accepting that you have reached your pique – this or what was is the best it will ever be.  As far as I’m concerned, no one really reaches their pique until they’re dead and even then it’s open for negotiation.

Contentment then is the best option but definitely the hardest to live out.  Like complacency, contentment requires you to accept your circumstances.  However, contentment requires you to push through, to have hope, and to work hard to better your situation.  Contentment requires you to believe that your circumstances are only temporary and that life is filled with seasons of feast and famine.

It’s not easy to live contently when it seems like nothing is ever going to change despite your best efforts.  It’s truly difficult to believe that you’ll get that job, relationship, house, child, or whatever your dream may be, especially when it seems as though you haven’t made it past square one.

But the good news is that you have made it past square one.  In fact, you’ve made it past more squares than you think.  The problem is, is that we just can’t see how many squares we’ve passed until we have a few behind us.  It’s then that we understand (sometimes) why we were kept on the bench during those times we felt we should’ve been on the field.

What it boils down to is that we have to trust that the Coach knows what he’s doing.  He has a strategy, but sometimes that strategy includes keeping his MVPs on the bench until the appointed time in the playbook.  In other words, he’s just saving the best for his best.

In the meantime, we have to cheer on the other players, stay focused, and remain hopeful.  The bench is only temporary; however, the rewards for our faith and our endurance are eternal.

Over the past few days I’ve spent some time catching up with old friends from high school.  It’s amazing to see how far we’ve all come since the days of commiserating through adolescence. 

Just yesterday, I got back in touch with my friend Jesse.  He and I were two of four Latinos in our class – and part of an exclusive club we called “Beaner Cholo High.”  Um… that isn’t what it sounds like.  Looks a lot different when it’s written out.

Anyway, the first thing he said to me was that he almost didn’t recognize me by my profile picture (thank you, Facebook).  I told him, “Thank God.”  He knew what I looked like back then, so it’s no wonder my new look kind of shocked him a little.  I didn’t undergo a transgender operation or anything – I just had a serious makeover since high school.  Look at pictures of Ugly Betty if you need a point of reference.  I’m not kidding.

As I laughed at his reaction I also flashed back to a conversation (well, more of a reprimand actually) that he and I had back in the day.  I was making some sort of humorous, self-deprecating comment and when I looked at him, he was shooting me an angry look.  Usually he’s the one laughing at my jokes, but this time my joking was met with disapproval.

I asked him what was wrong and he said, “I don’t like it when people make fun of my friends.  You’re my friend and I don’t like that you’re making fun of yourself.”  Wow – talk about an insightful kid.  Even though I was making light of my awkwardness, he understood the weight of words and their power to build up and tear down – regardless of where those words are coming from.

I’d like to say that from that point on I stopped tearing myself down.  I didn’t.  To be perfectly honest and horribly vulnerable, I have to fight every day not to tear myself down.  It’s a struggle not to poke fun at Jesse’s friend – to not heckle at what God has created.

I’ve come to grips with the fact that I’m not going to be some cover girl; I’m okay with that.  Besides, I take comfort in the fact that most of those girls are airbrushed and what not.  I’ve stood feet away from Angelina Jolie and all I could think was, “That’s money walking towards me.  Nobody looks THAT good without a little help from her friends.”  Okay, maybe she does, but still… she had some help.

I know that if I really wanted to I could completely alter my appearance.  The technology that’s out there can distort my entire body to make it wholly unrecognizable.  Although there are a couple of things I wouldn’t mind taking care of, no amount of operating could fix a warped self-image.

Don’t believe me?  Look at Heidi Montag-Pratt.  She underwent ten plastic surgeries in TEN hours! You don’t have to search very far in the headlines to see that her surgeries brought her more trouble than triumph.  Unfortunately for Heidi, she can’t ever go back to the original manufacturer’s settings on her physique.  She can, however, take steps to regain a healthy self-image.  It doesn’t matter what she looks like on the outside – her true beauty is within.  I hope she figures that out soon.  I hope I can understand that about myself as well.

While it’s okay to not take myself so seriously and to poke fun at my frequent moments of dorkiness, it’s never okay to mock what God has called ‘good.’  The bible says that God formed us in the womb (Psalm 139) – and since God is a perfect God, he doesn’t make anything imperfect.

I’m not sure why some of us were created with things such as down syndrome, missing limbs, food allergies, or hormonal imbalances; I’m not God.  I don’t know why some of us look like Halle Berry meanwhile the rest of us are… not Halle Berry.  None of it makes sense, but I guess it is what it is and God has a purpose for why he created us the way he did inside and out.

I know I won’t wake up tomorrow looking like Eva Longoria.  I’m sure she doesn’t even wake up looking like Eva Longoria.  I have to accept that the changes I’d like to make in my appearance just aren’t going to happen overnight.  It’s going to take hard work and discipline to reach my goals… eck.

But no matter what I do – change my hairstyle, waistline, wardrobe – none of it will make me happy unless I’m functioning correctly on the inside first.  I have to truly learn to love, not insult, Jesse’s friend.

So thank you, Jesse.  I may have helped you with homework on occasion, but you taught me how to fight (and conquer) my inner bully.  I’ll always remember that no one, especially me, gets away with picking on Jesse’s girl.