I speak Dolphin.

Today has been pretty monumental in the world and what not, so I thought I'd contribute my two cents.  Ok, so this post is about gay marriage. But please read it anyhow.

In August 2010, Keri (my fiancee lady-friend, for those that do not know) and I embarked on a little trip up Pacific Coast Highway in beautiful, sunny California*. We started in San Diego, and drove north (duh) to San Francisco. This trip was amazing for roughly 2 million reasons, including the literal 30-40 degree difference between LA and San Fran that we definitely did not pack for. Who knew October was the warm month in San Francisco?

Answer: We did NOT.

The first few nights, we were in San Diego. The Whale's Vagina. It's nice.

Ok, so then we took San Diego public tran - not recommended - and got a little rental car and off we went. The next 4 nights we were going to camp out, and then upon arriving in Sanny Franny (San Francisco - that's what I like to call it. Don't judge.) we'd get a hotel for the last couple of nights. 

PAUSE.

I just felt you should know that I am stifling the VERY strong urge to give you a play by play of this trip it was so flipping amazing. But I will not, even though you would love every. single. minute. of it.

PLAY.

We drove from the Whale's Vagina up to Torrey Pines and then to LA. We did the Walk of Fame and I freaked out and took a picture of me with an empty star and now it's mine. One day my name and tiny hands will be on it AND I WILL BE SO PUMPED.

Ok, so also, it's hot in LA in August, which is only important because now I live there**. I felt like an egg frying on the pavement. So I suppose that star has already been marked mine, as some of my flesh melted off onto it...wo. I'm getting gross. 

It was hot. We'll leave it at that.

Also, I will tell you this. Now that I'm living here I can absolutely say this with 100% certainty, but LA traffic is the dumbest thing I have EVER encountered in my life. Also the 405 when you are not familiar with it can be the scariest thing you'll ever encounter in your life. We got lost leaving LA (easy to do) and ended up on the 405. I managed, only by the grace of God, to maneuver us around LA and we ended up on Mulholland Dr., taking photos of the Hollywood sign with a lovely group of tourists who were part of some celebrity houses tour nonsense. You better believe we took extra pics there so I could get a firsthand look at whose house we'll later model our mansion after. :) It was fun and we saw Ice-T's house (courtesy of that lovely tour guide who just so happened to be pointing and talking while we were awkwardly loitering) and it's lovely.

NEXT. 

We finally end up back on Pacific Coast Highway (PCH) and are in Malibu at our campsite faster than we could blink. Now that I live here, I feel REALLY stupid, because we were literally 15 miles west of tons of delicious restaurants, but we were so hungry that we continued driving north for somewhere in the realm of I have no idea how many miles. Somewhere around 30 minutes later, we ended up in a parking lot with a CVS and a restaurant called Sharky's (they are everywhere here, and I am feeling more directionally challenged the further we dive into this story). 

Ok, so we head back to the campsite after eating, and we set up our tent and the sun is setting, and I am flooded with thousands of memories of my childhood when I lived on St. Simons Island, Georgia.

Keri and I sat on the rocks right where the water breaks, a mere 50 or 60 ft from our tent, and soaked it all in. The sun setting, the smell of the Pacific, the sound of the waves hitting the rocks. I'm literally misting up thinking about it.

There was a dude and his two little kids camping right next to us. They were adorable. We chatted and the guy was super friendly, and offered us hot dogs, which we did NOT take. Thank goodness. In the middle of the night, he was barfing, and it was NOT adorable. Beautiful waves crashing on the rocks is totally overshadowed when someone is hurling 15 feet from you. Also, it's cold at night. This is something I'm aware of, having lived by the ocean for almost 6 years, but had forgotten. Plus we had limited blanket space and such, blah blah. Needless to say, the equation went like this.

Freezing cold + barfing guy = Candice and Keri sleeping in a car.

We woke up to the sound of the kids next to us running around while their dad made breakfast. We threw our shoes on and ran to the water. There is NOTHING like the feel of the ocean breeze on your face first thing in the morning. It's so crisp, and the ocean is just waking up. It's amazing. 

I should now make you aware that I LOVE sea creatures. I mean, it's a borderline obsession. When I was 10, my parents adopted Orcas for my sister and I for Christmas. It was literally THE BEST DAY EVER. 

Look, everything that lives in the ocean amazes me. They are huge and graceful and they all literally take my breath away. I was going to be a marine biologist, but I have ADD and kept changing my mind. Shit happens.

That said, you can obviously understand my disappointment that we had been near the ocean for something like 3 days and I had only seen birds. I hate birds. Love sea creatures. Hate birds. Got it?

I was distraught. I remember telling Keri that if we see no sea creatures on this entire 10 day extravaganza, this trip will be a bust.

I'm also melodramatic. Did I mention I'm living in LA to pursue my dream of acting?

Here's the glory of being a grown up. There's a point in your life when you realize that if you want something bad enough, you've got to do EVERYTHING you know how to do to make it happen. So here's how my 'make sea creatures appear' checklist looked after 3 days:

1) Pray. - Check

2) Obessively watch the ocean, while still attempting to drive. - Check, although not recommended.

3) Whisper sweet nothings to the ocean while you watch the sun set. - Check.

4) Speak dolphin.

THAT'S IT. I figured the last one was a bit far fetched, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. 

So here we are, beautiful day, Keri and I standing in our jammies on the rocks, and I belt out an awesome, if I may say so myself, dolphin call. 

I'm going to be grossly arrogant right now and say that I am good at a lot of things, but I must be the BEST at dolphin calling, because seconds, I mean seconds after my call, 2 or 3 dolphins broke the surface. I kid you not. Swear on my life. I FREAKED OUT. I almost jumped into the Pacific Ocean. Keri had to grab my arm because she actually thought I was going in. Good instincts, cause I totally was.

 Keri and I laughed so hard, and I have no idea why, but my first instinct, well second actually. My first instinct was to jump in and play with them. My second instinct was to run to these children whom I did not know, and drag them to the edge of the ocean to see these dolphins. Which they did. I just had this moment of pure exhilaration. I remember being a kid and seeing my first dolphins in the ocean, and thinking that I finally understood what grown ups mean when they talk about things being 'bigger than themselves'. It was amazing. 

Let's ignore the fact that these kids lived in LA and probably see dolphins on an almost regular basis. I WAS EXCITED.

The kids ran off and Keri and I just watched this little dolphin pod, playing in the morning sunlight. We were holding hands, and I was leaning on her arm, laughing. And she looked so happy. And it was perfect. 

We ended up seeing much more sea life than just dolphins on that trip, but no one can ever argue with me that I speak dolphin. If you are at all rooted in scientific fact, you will have no choice but to admit that I must be part dolphin. Right?  I mean, if A=B, and B=C, then A=C, right?

Totally irrelevant.

I thought briefly of changing my name to Candolphin after this trip, but decided to stick with what my parents gave me. It might hurt their feelings if I chose to embrace my other species half that strongly.

I'm sorry, what's that you ask?

Oh right, gay marriage. Umm...I just told you that whole story? Did you not pay attention? Or were you expecting something different?

My story is no different than yours, no matter what your other half looks like. The important part is that I had my soul mate next to me in the most pivotal moment of my life - the day I discovered I speak dolphin.

_________________________________________________________________________________

*PCH runs along the coast of California. The majority of the trip, you can see the ocean, and it will change your life. Googlemaps it, then plan your trip. You can thank me later.

**The campsite where this epic story occurred, is only about 25 minutes from my apartment here in California, and that makes me so pumped. 

Sacrifice

This post is about lessons, but not the funny kind. I hate to mix up what I'm going for here, but I think this is important. And honestly, I just have to talk about it because it's eating at my insides. It's long, but I'd appreciate if you read it, and even commented with your thoughts. We'll get back to the funnies tomorrow, but for today, there's this. 

Yesterday was the 10 year anniversary of the Iraq war.

Anniversary.

I'm not sure if it was my upbringing, and how I was taught to find the silver lining, or if it's the word itself, but 'anniversary' is connotatively positive. Celebratory almost. 

So it's really hard for me to actually type the 10 year anniversary of the Iraq War. We're not celebrating the deaths of almost 4500 American soldiers. Yes, their service and their sacrifice are to be honored, and their lives and convictions should be celebrated everyday, but the anniversary of this war is different. It's different because the reasons behind this conflict and everything involved with it are so hazy, so secret. I will not sit here and make you read about my standings on this war, because that's not what this is about. 

As most of you know, I served in the US Army Reserves for four years. I must have had nothing short of Michael the Archangel sitting on my shoulder, because I signed my contract on August 6, 2006, and was discharge June 28, 2010, and was never deployed. I recognize how lucky I am to have never had to deploy and face the horrors that so many of my fellow soldiers did, but I was also prepared to do so if I was called up. My time in the military was strange, and difficult, and it has left me with a few messes I am working on resolving, but that is neither here nor there. I am proud of my service, my sacrifice and I used to be proud of my country.

I joined the military because my life hit a fork in the road, and I chose the path that I thought was going to be the best choice. I wouldn't say I come from a long line of military members, but I have military family, and I thought my Grandpa would be proud if I joined. He died when I was 17, and I always looked up to him as a man full of spirit and pride, and I thought joining would be a proper way to emulate what I loved most about him.

There was that and 9/11. September 11, 2001 was a strange day for me. I was 16, and I had never been faced with that level of tragedy and pain before. I didn't know anyone that died that day, but something inside of me changed, and I couldn't let that feeling go. When I signed my contract to join, 9/11 was in the forefront of my mind. So many people died needlessly that day, and I wanted to do what I had wanted to do my whole life - be a protector. So there I went, and I became a combat medic, so I could do the most possible good in the field.

I apologize if this is recapping things you already know about me, but this all has a point. I was in two different units while I was in the military, and something I came in contact with at both places was the distinct difference in how men and women were treated. The military, the Army at least, is very much so still a boys club. If you want to fit it and survive, you better learn to hang with the best of them. So I did. To the very best of my ability. I sat by and listened to the boys talk dirty about girls in the unit, and say things that in any other arena, I would have reported as sexual harassment, and sometimes even listened to derogatory things being said about me. But I'd laugh it off, because I knew, if we ever deployed, those boys would save my ass if I ever needed it. I hoped they would, at least, and luckily I never had to test out whether that was true.

It's a strange position to be in, being one of the guys. As a woman, you grow up knowing what is and is not acceptable verbiage, conversation and etiquette between men and women. You learn that you don't have to listen to people speaking derogatorily about one sex or the other, and you're taught to stand up for yourself and others if you hear or see something that is inappropriate. Then you join the military, and they get you combat ready. You're a soldier. You've worked your tail off, you are trained to kill, more confident than most people you'll ever meet in your life, and then you ship away to your unit, only to disregard all of that beautiful confidence and strength you've gained, so you can fit in and not cause a stir. 

Last night, I watched a documentary called The Invisible War. It's not really a film you'd sit down on Friday night to watch, but it's important that it is seen. I can't say I loved this film, in fact, I hated it. Cinematographically speaking it was wonderful, and from every film aspect, it was great, but it made me sick to my stomach. I hated the facts it was telling me, because every bit was true. The film is about rape and sexual assault in the military. Without giving you a play by play, the film chronicled the journey of several individuals, men and women, and what happened after they were raped and reported it. The men interviewed never reported their rapes, and I think we all know why, and the women said that once they reported, most of THEM ended up under investigation for a variety of reasons. Very few, if not zero, of their perpetrators ended up paying for what they did to these women, and the chain of command failed them. I would suggest strongly that everyone sit down and watch this film. Put your politics aside, your masculinity, your femininity, and just watch it, as a person. As a person whose freedoms are secured by the sacrifices that these men and women have made to serve the country they THOUGHT would keep them safe. And tell me it doesn't raise an outrage inside of you that makes you sick to your stomach.

Watch it, and then tell me that I should still be proud of my country. There are a million reasons why people, on both sides of the red and blue line will say that this country is going to shit, and I do not care about one single one of them. But we have a serious problem when the members of our armed forces, the first ones to stand up and sacrifice their lives to save ours, are brutally terrorized within their own community, and no one, not even the Department of Defense itself, stands up and says no, this can't be.

I thank God I never witnessed any sexual abuse or rape during my time in service, but I kept my mouth shut on enough sexual harassment, and I let my worth as a woman be degraded by the chauvinistic, pig-headed men I was serving with more times than I care to count. And just to be clear, it wasn't all the guys I served with, not even half. I served with plenty of honorable, courageous, strong men that would've stood by my side if I had chosen to go up my chain of command. But I saw what happened when there was a complaint. Next drill, we'd have a sexual harassment session, and our commander would always start off by saying that there were complaints and while he doesn't think there's any truth to them, we have to watch these videos. Inevitably, everyone would find out who lodged the complaint, and they'd be on the shit list for months. I watched this happen multiple times, and all I could think to myself was that I hope we didn't get deployed because whatever girl had complained was going to find herself in a mess of trouble in the sandbox.

I'm not proud that I didn't speak up, trust me. It makes me nauseous when I think that I chose to cover my ass instead of speak up for what was right, and that is my cross to bear. To know that I shouldn't have cared what hammer would have been brought down on me, that I should have taken a stand. I cannot take that time back, but I can do something now.

We have to change what the culture has become, in and out of the military, and it can no longer be acceptable that people are targeted and have nowhere to go, and no one on their side. Victims are victims, that's that. Someone who has been harassed, assaulted or raped should NEVER be made to feel like they asked for it, and should never leave feeling like it's their fault.

Watch the film. Talk about it. Get mad about it. Talk about it some more. Then maybe, just maybe, we can bring about change that has to happen. 

"The land of the free, and the home of the brave." Let's stand up and speak for those who are too brave to speak for themselves. I should have done it then, but I will definitely do it now.

http://invisiblewarmovie.com

Check this out, and find a way to help. Even if it's taking 10 minutes to write your Congressman. I, and countless others, thank you in advance.

Muscles

The squirrels in LA are huge. I'm talking as large as the sky rats pigeons that roam the skies streets of Chicago. But they leer. Like, stare you down because they're stealing your soul kind of leering. And today I saw two of them doing it. Gross.

Not at all the point of this entry, but something I felt I should share. Not the kind of pool-side porn I was expecting to see here in LA, but OK.

To the point:

Today I worked out in my apartment. I could have walked down to the gym by the pool, but then I might've risked seeing more squirrel sex, and I was already plenty traumatized from the first go round, so I did burpees and various other things without burning my retinas with rodent coitus.

I am what Jillian Michaels would call skinny fat. I give the illusion that I am skinny (I'm not saying I'm not) but I am also out of shape. But yay for me, because I've kicked my own ass into getting fit.

Woot!
Feel the burn!
Six pack bikini bod!

Right.

I am not writing so you can give me a virtual high five for somehow finding the gumption to get off my butt and get fit, no no, I write because I was shamed. In public. Which is probably the real reason behind me working out in my house and not my perfectly useful little gym.

Last Friday I went down to the gym. I did the elliptical for 30 minutes, then started doing some weights.  Right as I'm starting the weight machine, this precious old man walks in, probably around 80 ish, wearing dockers, a white tee shirt and a Dodgers cap. I'm like 'awww, he's working it out, good for him!' and I proceed to listen to whatever ridiculously inspiring sweat-burning ditty came on my Ipod.

He's doing some leg workouts, and after about 10 minutes, I move from my machine to the chest press machine or whatever it is called that makes my pecs burn with the fire of 1000 suns, and he asks how long I'm going to be on that machine. Ok, so the convo was like this (totally could've been our meet cute, if he didn't end up destroying every self-confident fiber of my being):

Old Man from Up: You going to be on that long?

Me: No. Just a few minutes.

OMFU: Oh. Ok.

I listen to 5 seconds of a song.

Me: Do you want to use it? I can use something else.

OMFU: That would be great, I have a doctor's appointment and just want to get a quick workout in before I go. Don't want to run late. *smile*

Me: Sure thing!

Ok, so he goes over and uses the chest press, thanks me again and leaves. I continue with my free weights, then move to the leg machine he was using. I adjust the seat and all that, and then I see it.

The weight is maxed. 190lbs.

Needless to say I CANNOT leg machine 190lbs. I actually only leg machined 55lbs and I am embarrassed. This man is somewhere in the realm of 4 to 4.5 times my age and literally PWNd me. And I'm pretty sure the guy working in my leasing office witnessed the whole thing.


Moral of the story: Don't judge a cute little man with dockers and a ball cap for being weak and precious. He may just be the dose of humility the universe felt you needed that day.


*Footnote: The real embarrassment came from the fact that I left the gym shortly after, not because I was ashamed, but because the directions on the machine I tried to use post-embarrassment were too complicated. #fail

Update

It's 9:25pm on a Friday, and I am in bed. I'm not even tired.

Conclusion: I need to make some friends.

And on the first day...

Well, here goes. I'm blogging. Watch out interwebs, it's on. 

I did a lot of nerdy research before deciding to write this, because I didn't want to be the total idiot who started a blog because I'm a giant lemming, and about halfway through the research, I decided that I didn't care if I am a blogging idiot. I'm going to pull a dude move, and do this sans directions. So here it is. You've been warned.

Life is strange. 

Haha. That line is TOTALLY what I envisioned every blogger who thought they had so much  to say starting off with.

*Side note...I cannot guarantee this will be remotely close to grammatically correct, and I don't really care. If you do, leave this blog now. Don't read it because of my exceptional writing skills...read it because you get a giggle out of it, or you want to read it and be like, 'OMG, that girl is so ANNOYING', but don't read it so you can get your red tape out and go all Law & Order on my blog. Kthxbai.*

Anyhow. 'Life is strange' is not at all how I am going to start this, even if it is heinously true. 

I'm a big dork. And I'm courageous, or at least I think I am. And I have a track record that reads that way. Or stupid. It could read stupid as well, but if I'm being honest, courageous and stupid are mildly synonymous when you think about it. With that said, I have made several decisions in my life that have led me here, which have included joining the military on a whim (stupid), moving to Chicago because why the hell not (courageous) and my most recent adventure, moving to LA to pursue dreams I've had since I was little (stupid and courageous?...but only with the help of the most amazing person in my life - Keri).

So that's where I am right now. In LA. Feverishly, obsessively, crazily sending my resume and cover letter to any and everyone with a post online ANYWHERE having to do with the film and television industry. Why? Because I had a pivotal moment about a year ago that made me realize that it is really damn silly to wake up everyday and go to a job you hate, to do something you really don't like, all because society says you have to. Because that's what 20 something's do, right? Well, I've never done things the way they were supposed to be done, so no sense in changing now.

Why tell you all this and bore you with menial details of my life? Why sound like an extended Pinterest Inspiration Pin (Pinterest singlehandedly changed and also ruined my life)? Because. 

Because the other day I was doing laundry and thinking about writing a blog, and not really sure what to mindlessly type on about, and then I tripped on the sidewalk. The sidewalk. And I was a little embarrassed, even though no one was around. Then later, I was telling Keri about it, and boom, it hit me. Why not write about all the ridiculously embarrassing things that have happened to me, or that I've brought upon myself, that have in turn taught me lessons? I'm not expecting any of you guys to be commenting that the things that I say are changing your life and yada yada, but I do hope it gives you a laugh, and maybe makes you feel a little less silly when you trip on the sidewalk.

Also, the only time I will EVER post a recipe on here is if something preciously horrible happens while I'm attempting to cook said recipe, resulting in a giggle. Otherwise, do not count on me for helpful cleaning tips or how to be in shape, and certainly do not look for recipes. My best is a bowl of cereal.

Yesterday I learned a lesson about thin walls. Keri went back to Chicago, and I was half wallowing in self-pity and half pretending that I am a super strong, independent chick who isn't sad that my love is 2100 miles away, so I was watching youtube clips of a show we started watching while Keri was still here - as you do when you're wallowing/asserting your inner strength. I was also eating an obscene amount of (delicious) calories, and decided that I should do something that could qualify as doing work for my newly embarked-upon career path, so I watched a movie. (It counts.) I put on "For a Good Time Call", which if you haven't seen it, is HILARIOUS and amazing and I love it. It's a movie about a lot of things like friendship, and finding yourself in your twenties, and phone sex. 

Porn? No. Phone sex? Yes. And just in case my mom reads this, it's tastefully done and there is not a bit of nudity to be found. Ok. 

There is no nudity, however, there is a LARGE amount of what one could call dirty noises and dirty talk in this film. Now, yesterday it was 88 degrees here in the Valley. Why mention that, Candice? Because my living quarters were toasty, so I had the air on. Because the air was on, the volume was up loud - the air condition is noisy - as I was enjoying my film. 

Cut to later -

I'm in bed, have finished watching movies and wallowing, and I hear some noise. At first I'm like, oh snap, something is in my shower (too much "research" with scary movies, obv), then I'm like, hm, no. I can hear a conversation. Like an entire, total words, conversation. So I'm listening - do not shun me, you would listen too - and it's dudes, and they are talking dude talk, what they're gonna do tonight, blah blah. And then it hits me. My new neighbors probably heard my movie I was watching. Except they probably don't know it's a movie. 

So I'm lying in bed, no longer wallowing in self pity, but instead, in immense embarrassment that I'm now probably the girl next door who is either a phone sex operator, or having some intense, passionate moments.  

Walls are thin people. Turn the volume down.