Workin girl

I had many jobs before I became a lawyer and writer. My first job at 15 was at Taco Bell in Upland where I was forced to wear a brown and orange polyester uniform with a visor. It was not flattering. It's where I learned how to customize my Mexican pizza. When I worked the back, I would stir the ground beef in taco seasoning and think, what am I doing? Is this my life?

Next, Round Table Pizza in Upland. My best friend Tracy and I worked the delivery phones in the back. We ate pizza on the sly and answered the phones and put the orders together for the drivers. To this day, I remember that the number eight stands for pepperoni. Then after high school, many more jobs, including coffee shops, steakhouses, a rib joint and a bagel store. I worked at too many restaurants to count.

I worked at the Rainforest Cafe in Ontario Mills when it first opened. Then, I spent a summer doing room service at a hotel. That was the most interesting experience. It always threw me off to wait for the door to open. It never failed that I would get an uneasy feeling when I wheeled the cart in. The money wasn't bad but I always got creeped out. Back then though, I really didn't have anxiety. I was in survival mode. And I needed the coin.

My first semester of law school, it was impossible to work. I had no time. But I was broke and didn't qualify for private loans. So I lived with my boyfriend, now husband, Adrian and his parents and commuted first semester. I would dip into his jar of quarters for my bagel and Taco Bell lunch money. Adrian gave me a working car and a gas card. Well, two cars really because I wasn't good at maintenance.

By second semester, my law school friends and I found a cheap apartment off Adams and Figueroa. We clipped coupons and ate at home. A Starbucks coffee was a luxury. I never shopped. I had a couple pairs of black pants that I wore with different tops to school. Most weekends, I would drive to West Covina to hang out with Adrian. 

My first summer of law school, I worked at USC's Post Conviction Justice Project trying to free a battered woman on a felony murder charge who was sentenced to life. We won her case and she was released. They gave me a five thousand dollar stipend which helped a lot. My second summer, I worked at two large law firms, one in Phoenix and one in Houston. I was paid more money than I had ever seen which I saved to get me through my last year of law school and my bar trip to Ireland with Adrian.

I think because I spent so much of my life doing other things to make a living, that I'm never scared of change. I know that if I had to, I could do anything to make a living, whether it's arguing motions or slinging hash. I have a strong work ethic.

So let's see what I do this second half of my life. Hopefully a creative second half full of joy. Writing. Performing. 

Living. 

Soundtrack

Listening to Bowie as I do every morning drinking my coffee, and then some Pink Floyd, & Queen, I think about the soundtrack to my life.

It starts with my dad who introduced me to Loretta Lynn, Johnny Cash and Waylon Jennings, and some Buddy Holly. Then some girl groups from the fifties and sixties, some Elvis, Beatles, and then some bubblegum pop, namely Shawn Cassidy who I fell for hook, line and sinker. 

Next Olivia Newton John, Pat Benatar and of course, the Go-Gos and Joan Jett. Next, Duran Duran, Wham UK, and later The Smiths, Joy Division, Oingo, U2, Violent Femmes, and the Alarm. And of course, The Cure, the Sex Pistols, Adam & the Ants, the Buzzcocks, Patti Smith, Iggy Pop and Peter Murphy. The Replacements, and Pixies. Hello Siouxsie anyone? She changed my world. 

X. My fave letter of the alphabet. And of course, Bowie. 

I was so Radio ga ga. It was not background noise. It was everything to  me. Still is. Everything. It is the soundtrack to my life. 

One day, I'm gonna write a book about the memories around my favorite songs.... just wait.

Be yourself

Yesterday, I was attending another author signing at the Barnes and Noble in Thousand Oaks. Until now, I had only appeared at stores in the Inland Empire. This LA store felt different. Dorothy was not in Kansas anymore. Oz was scary.

And I realized, this is harder than I thought. Trying to be present. To be confident. To sell myself and my books required letting my insecurities go. 

To cope, I bought a double espresso. Downed it. That first hour, I sold a couple of books but mostly, I hummed to myself.

At one point, I looked at my watch. An hour left.  I shrugged with relief and thought, it's almost over.

Suddenly, it occurred to me, what the hell do I have to lose? I started chatting with people walking by. Using my personality and outgoing talkative nature paid off. I made so many connections in the last hour. I even stayed longer to sign more books for people stuck in line.  

I met a woman with her shih tzu disability dog, a man from Corona with three little girls, a cool couple screenwriter duo, two cousins from LA, a few theater kids and a grandmother and her gorgeous granddaughter. 

It was beautiful and in the moment right before I left, I took a deep breath and thought, I did it. 

What I realized yesterday was that if this self professed Inland Empire girl can let go and do LA bookstores, she can do anything. Anywhere. Anyhow. JEM needs to be herself. Be yourself people! Just be yourself. 

Shine on everyone. 

The glue

The glue was stuck on my fingers. The goblet I glued the rhinestone back onto looked fabulous but I could still feel the residue on my finger hours later.

That's what writing is like for me. It's the glue I used to put myself back together, but the residue is always there.

In my books, as a narrator, I'm whole, complete and relatively well adjusted. In real life, I'm tired, anxious, melodramatic and tend to perseverate. That's not to say I'm not happy, because I am. It's just the older I get, the more I obsess. Over little things, over big things, and over things that a week later won't matter. I find it hard to be in the present moment and often think to myself, am I really present at all? I'm always in my head, in the future, and in the past.

Writing helps. It's a healthy coping mechanism along with coffee. Writing quiets that nagging voice in my head. Writing allows me to be the person I want to be in the world. We all have a public and private side. My public side is in my books, and in my podcast. I try to be literary, erudite, passionate and kind and though I know I don't always succeed, I try.

So dear reader, I guess what I'm trying to say is, find your glue. Whether it's reading, family, religion, love or like me, writing, just find it. And fall into it. Lose yourself and your ego in it. Find your bliss. 

Talk talk

It's 3 am. I lay blinking at the ceiling.

Last night, after my podcast, I had a soda water and a tortilla with cheese. I don't call it a quesadilla because I was too hungry to let the cheese melt. Just a charred flour tortilla with a piece of cold cheese.  

No beer. Yes I was tempted but it wasn't needed. I'm trying to moderate and abstain when I can. I'm a work in progress on that.

Coming down after a show is hard. I'm amped up on caffeine. My andrenalin is high. Usually, I can't fall asleep until midnight. I used to drink a couple beers after to wind down. But no more.

Last night, I was so tired after a hectic full day of working through my lunch then afternoon court then readying for my podcast, that I conked out at ten pm. My neck was killing me. I'd spent all day hunched over my computer prepping today's calendar (my cases for court today) which is a doozie. I mean all day. Hours and hours reading reports.  Reviewing files. The day before I spent the afternoon at southwest jail visiting a high needs client.

So here I am. Thinking about the chaos filled day before me. Wide awake. Now it's 4 am. Lingering in the panic is not helpful. I breathe instead. Will my mind to stop spinning like a top.

What would I do without you dear blog? Dear reader? You take me outta my head. You help me clear my mind to write. You let me process it all. And document.

So for now, back to slumber I go. For another couple hours I hope. Then I'll awake to a busy day. Buzz buzz. 

Talk talk. Fizz fizz. Oh what a relief it is. 

To be

As I sit listening to music writing this blog, I keep on thinking, what is the point? We are all just running this rat race, jumping through hoops, and right now, I just want to be. 

Now I know I am privileged to even have time to wonder about life's questions. Growing up, my parents were always in survival mode, too busy to worry about the purpose of it all, and I know that I am comfortable, relatively speaking, and may have too much time to think. 

When I was younger, and putting myself through school, I don't recall worrying so much about what the point of life was. I don't remember whether I even thought about it. 

This last Thursday, I did an Ontario library reading event. It was a dream come true. I grew up in that library. The librarians were so kind. They bought coffee and cupcakes. They put my memoir in the catalog which was so special. 

I had a decent showing for a weekday event and even made a few new writer friends which was nice, but while reading, my rhythm was off for some reason. I rushed through my reading just to make it be over. 

It could have been the fact that I was sweating through my dress. Sweat pooling in my chest and under my arms.  Or maybe it was hearing what sounded like a grunt from my mom in the second row at my story. Or maybe I was just anxious and tired. Truth is, I'm more of a morning lark and it was an evening event. 

Regardless, it wasn't my best reading. But hey, I tried. I showed up. And maybe that's the point of it all. Just showing up and trying your best. Just trying. 

And trying again. And again.