from Portland, ME

  • Activity

    • Fun News!

      9 years ago


      Turkey Hill Ice Cream will be featuring me on their website this upcoming Monday and giving away some copies of my book!!!

    • Tattoo

      9 years ago


      I'm gonna be 25 soon.

      Thought I'd celebrate by getting a new tattoo.

      Anyone wanna design something for me?


    • Tip of the Week

      9 years ago


      Conquering Funky Smells

      Also - don't forget to check out this week's "Maybe It's Me" Monday:
      An Ode to Craigslist, or m4w: "To The Whistling Falafel Eater"

    • "Maybe It's Me" Monday

      9 years ago


      An Ode to Craigslist, or, m4w: "To The Whistling Falafel Eater"


      It is the most wonderful and most frightening cyber playground there is.

      Whether it’s chatting with likeminded people in discussion groups from travel to transgender topics, finding a job in bioengineering or the adult industry, buying and selling useless junk, looking for a rideshare or looking for a good time â€" Craigslist has it.

      I have no problem freely admitting I’m a Craigslist junkie.

      It saddens me that there are closed-minded people out there who get all paranoid when I start talking about the good times I’ve had on Craigslist. “The internet is not safe! BAD THINGS HAPPEN ON THE INTERNET! THE SKY IS FALLING, THE SKY IS FALLING!†These frantic, wild-eyed nonbelievers say.

      Well, I was raised by parents who refused to let my sister and I come inside from playing unless a limb had been torn off or an eyeball had fallen out. They believed in our ability to make good decisions while running amuck unsupervised through the neighborhood â€" that we had enough common sense and the ability to reason to take care of ourselves.

      The same holds true regarding the internet. We were one of the first families I know who had a computer and “the online.†They knew just about as much as we â€" their young daughters â€" about this world wide web thing, and when my sister and I discovered chatting, they had faith that we wouldn’t give out our home address or social security numbers. Sure, they had a few choice words with my sister when they found out she was lying about her age to get into chat rooms so she could discuss literature with people from across the country; and sure, they lectured me long and hard when I went on my first blind date with a boy I had met off the internet about meeting in public (i.e., our school cafeteria, since we both went to the same high school) and following my instinct, but they were never worried about our safety.

      So now, years later, my parents are not surprised at my crazy Craigslist antics.

      I don’t remember how I discovered Craigslist â€" I think I was redirected there a few years back when I was scouring search engines for modeling and acting opportunities in New England. Somehow I e-tripped and e-fell into the “Gigs†section of Craigslist.

      And I never e-got back up, again.

      As it’s been many years now since this love affair has started, and it’s still going strong, I thought I’d pay a quick homage to what I believe is not online the most diverse collection of classifieds and forums, and an exceptional online community, but the best website there ever was.

      Ladies and gentleman, I present to you, just some of my adventures in Craigslist . . .

      My first foray into Craigslist was when I found a photographer to work with. He was a middle-aged man who lived a couple hours drive away and was looking to deviate away from photographing inanimate objects and move to, specifically, senior portraits for high schools. We met â€" in a public place â€" and took shots. Fast forward many years, and not only is he the only photographer I’ll work with, he and his wife are two of my favorite people. They are kind-hearted and selfless friends who I absolutely adore.

      Continued in comments . . .

    • Fact is Better: Mysterious and . . .

      9 years ago


      . . . Reassuring.

      I took a drive to the Kancamagus Highway in the White Mountains of New Hampshire â€" it’s a thirty-four mile scenic national byway that can you can pull off from at random points to hike through the surrounding woods; and, in autumn it is perfect food for the soul.

      I thought I would take myself on an adventure and drive through the “Kanc†at this glorious time of year, reveling in the brilliant hues of New England foliage, while breathing deeply in the refreshing and bitingly chill air that warns of snow to come.

      I knew that I would experience perfect autumn catharsis.

      But, the world is a mysterious and reassuring place. Through several legs of my travels, I ended up running into this elderly couple from Germany.

      Who seemingly had all the right things to say to me at this moment, this juncture, in my own life’s journey.

      *after taking some pictures of the lower falls, I sit down between some rocks to take in the scenery. After a few moments, I look over my shoulder and see a very tall older gentleman in a long tan coat and grey cap smoking a pipe. He looks at me curiously.*
      German Man: “Ahh, look, it is a small, colorful stone.â€Â
      Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.â€Â
      German Man: “Macht nichts. You did not startle me, Speaking Stone. You are just very compact sitting there. Are you not cold?â€Â
      Me: “No. Where’re you from?â€Â
      German Man: “You won’t know it: a small town in Germany.â€Â
      Me: “You sounded British there for a second. I lived in England and thought . . .â€Â
      German Man: *sneer* “Oh, the British.â€Â
      Me: *laughing*
      German Man: “Those Anglo’s. They only wish they were us. They would have to swim very hard and very long through that English Channel to reach real Europe.â€Â
      Me: “I was a French person living in England â€" you know how they feel about the French?â€Â
      German Man: “Ahhh, parlez-vous français, Peu de Pierre?â€Â
      Me: “Je parle français un peu, mais tres mal.â€Â
      German Man: *lighting his pipe* “Very impressive.â€Â

      *at a different scenic view, while reading about the legend of the “Rocky Gorge†on a large sign, I smell an earthy-cherry pipe scent. I turn around and see my tall German friend standing serenely right behind me. I smile widely â€" there is something calm and inviting about this stranger.*
      German Man: “Ahh, my friend The Speaking Stone! Hello again! Are your feet not cold?†*he gestures at my flip-flops*
      Me: “Never.â€Â
      German Man: “I see you and I am cold for both of us.â€Â
      Me: *I offer my hand out* “I’m Stephanie by the way.â€Â
      German Man: *he shakes my hand warmly* “Schön, dich kennenzulernen, Stephanie! I’m Walter.â€Â
      Me: “Nice to meet you, too, Walter.â€Â
      German Man: “We have many more stops together on this journey, no?â€Â
      Me: “If we’re lucky.â€Â
      German Man: “Here is to our crossing paths then.â€Â

      *Later, after hiking for a spell, I come around a corner and see my German friend and his wife overlooking a peaceful pond. I walk up quietly behind them, but it isn’t long before they turn around and smile kindly*
      German Man: “Ahh, and there she is. This is my wife, Helga. Helga dieses ist der ‘Sprechende Stein’â€Â
      Me: “Hi, I’m Stephanie.â€Â
      German Woman: *her hands are damp from holding red leaves she’s collected* “I am sorry.â€Â
      Me: “No worries.â€Â
      German Man: “It is radiant, no?â€Â
      Me: “Absolutely. Have you ever been here?â€Â
      German Man: “No. It is our first time. We were in Maine yesterday.â€Â
      Me: “I’m from Maine!â€Â
      German Man: “I know. I can see Maine all over you. This is why I am telling you this. It was beautiful.â€Â
      Me: “Thank you. It is. But, we don’t have this â€" †*I gesture to the white cap mountains covered in snow, lined with the brilliant shades of red and orange hued foliage*
      German Man: “It is good, no?, to go out of your way . . .erm . . .to find a different path to take . . . than what one is use to or knows. Because you will always find yourself in perfect moments you were not expecting. Moments you could not create if you tried. Much like this, Speaking Stone.
      Me: “Couldn’t have said it better myself.â€Â
      German Man: “Perhaps we will see you again? And if not â€" †*he shrugs, pulling a long drag from his pipe* - “than we had this moment, ja?â€Â

      I didn’t, in fact, end up running into them again after that.

      But, I had that moment.

      That mysterious and reassuring moment.

      True story.

      Further proof that fact is better than fiction.

    • O Hai.

      9 years ago



      Man, do I love state fairs.

    • "Maybe It's Me" Monday

      9 years ago


      Black Not Blue, or, The Unraveling of a Tightly Wound Up Heart

      It’s a good thing to remember that broken things were once broken. And that whatever is holding them back together again can be undone in a breath’s length.

      Perhaps because it’s gotten stronger â€" I think because the wall around her has gotten bigger â€" most of the time, I am unaware that my heart is still healing after its most recent massive break. The overwhelming hurt I once suffered through is not nearly as prevalent as it once was. That’s not to say that there isn’t this constant ebb and flow of a deep ache situated in the very core of my soul every second of the day over the boy that broke my world.

      But, for the most part, I’m okay.

      I always knew though, the tape that had been holding the pieces of my world, the pieces of my deformed heart together, would at some unexpected point be ripped violently away. When I was being broken up with I asked him, desperate for a reason, if it was because he was moving away. Or, perhaps, he had met someone else? Worst yet, maybe he had been diagnosed with some life-threatening disease.

      He said it was none of these.

      It just was what it was.

      After this, I had prepared myself for the moment when he and I would run into each other again. It was inevitable. The world is a small place, and everybody who’s ever meant something to me has a way of showing up again in my life’s plot further on down the line. Beyond the metaphysical, we shopped at the same grocery places, frequented the same restaurants, and our commuter routes overlapped at brief points.

      So, I looked. In grocery stores, in parking lots, downtown, driving down the road â€" I always kept my eyes peeled for him â€" his Antoine de Saint Exupery “Little Prince†good looks, for his blue car that I discovered some of, what is now, my favorite music in. I looked. I couldn’t tell you what I was going to do when we did run into each other (attempt small talk?, try to flirt?, try to win him back?, try to pass it off like I wasn’t a wreck of an individual at the expense of his very hands?), but I knew that at some point it was going to happen.

      But I never saw him again.

      I convinced myself then that he had, in fact, moved away. That thought, accepting that he had moved away helped push him from my mind. He didn’t exist in my realm anymore. That I was so assured that he didn’t exist anymore (had he ever? It was beginning to feel that perhaps I had created this person from shards of memories of all the best traits from all my past lovers) helped me cope with my heartbreak.

      Yesterday, I was driving down the turnpike and I began tailgating this car. Lost in the music I was listening to, I impatiently began wondering if I should pass, despite the fact I was already going a little over the speed limit.

      And then, in three strong, solid heartbeats, as if being brought back to the world of the living with a defibrillator, I realized: it was him.

      THUMP. His black Toyota Matrix.

      THUMP. His broken bumper.

      THUMP. Texas license plate.

      My heart began hammering so hard in my chest I could barely breathe. What to do? WHAT TO DO?! And without the opportunity to overanalyze it, I sped up and began passing him. I looked over and sure enough, it was him â€" strong jaw line, wheat colored hair, gazing intently ahead on the road. I pulled back into the lane, in front of him, and continued to drive normally.

      Did he see me? It didn’t seem so. He was still driving just as close behind me as I had been originally to him. It was only a matter of time before he must have realized it was me (then again, how many white Taurus’ with “Moxie†bumper stickers are there?) because he slowed way down, backing way off from me.

      He knew it was me.

      But I don’t think he knew that I saw him, too.

      All this time I had been searching for a blue car, not a black one. This is probably why I hadn’t seen him; I wondered how many times he had seen me, then. I don’t really know why I had, all that time, thought his car was blue. Perhaps it’s because there are elderly people down the road from me with a blue Toyota Matrix, and they pass by my house every day between one and one-thirty pm. And, when I look up from my desk, I secretly hope it’s actually my ex-boyfriend showing up to whisk me off my feet. But it never is. It’s the elderly couple, and they look at me like I’m crazy and keep on driving.

      I’ve begun waving at them.

      They’ve begun driving faster by, trying not to make eye contact.

      Anyway, my gut reaction after passing him was to call and rather nonchalantly say to his voicemail (since he literally has not spoken to me or seen me, answered an email or a phone call, since he broke up with me) “Oh, hey, I think I passed you on the highway the other day! Crazy. Whatta small world.â€Â

      But I didn’t.

      I instantly began to obsess. What was he doing driving on the turnpike at seven-thirty in the morning on a Sunday in October? Did he ever get up that early to drive random places when we were dating? Maybe he was going to spend the day with his friends’ parents, which wouldn’t have been out of the norm. Maybe he was running errands? Maybe he was going to lead-peep. Or, maybe . . .

      And that’s when I realized: maybe he was either going to, or coming from his girlfriend’s house.

      That had to be the answer.

      So, in that moment, as I watched him slow down and veer off to a random exit as fast as he could, I convinced myself then that he actually had a girlfriend. And she was probably blonde. And a lot prettier than me. And more intelligent. And more compassionate. And kinder. And more of a woman than I could ever hope to be.

      End self-pity.

      Continued in comments . . .

    • Fact is Better: The Rainbow Chasers

      9 years ago


      Recently, a friend and I had a big Girl Date â€" where just the two of us went out and had an adventure. We went to the fair. Afterwards, we decided to go on a second adventure â€" so we went hiking. Completely tuckered out little kid style, we probably should’ve called it a day at that point.

      But we didn’t.

      When you’re tired, the worst ideas seem brilliant, don’t they?

      Me: *peers out the corner of my eye at friend*
      The Cake Maker: “What? I like rainbows. I bet you’ve never driven through the end of a rainbow.â€Â
      Me: “You have?â€Â
      The Cake Maker: “Yes. AND. There are no leprechauns. There is no pot of gold.â€Â
      Me: “Foil wrapped chocolate coins?â€Â
      The Cake Maker: “None.â€Â
      Me: “Well, that’s stupid. What happens when you drive through the end of a rainbow then? Inner peace and tranquility? Total enlightenment? Complete out of body experience? All the answers to the mystery of the universe?
      The Cake Maker: “No, nothing, really. It’s just pretty. Colors are brighter. Y’know?â€Â
      Me: *glares are friend* “Okay, how did you drive through the end of the rainbow?â€Â
      The Cake Maker: “I dunno, it just happened, really. We were driving along and poof! End of rainbow. We could probably drive through this one it doesn’t really look that far off. Actually it looks like it’s in the direction of my house. IT PROBABLY IS AT MY HOUSE! WE SHOULD GO DRIVE THROUGH IT! â€Â
      Me: “Sure.â€Â
      *few minutes later we drive past her house*
      The Cake Maker: “It isn’t at my house.â€Â
      Me: “Clearly.â€Â
      The Cake Maker: “Actually it looks like it’s in the direction of the field in the next town! IT’S PROBABLY IN THE FIELD IN THE NEXT TOWN! WE SHOUL D GO FIND IT!â€Â
      Me: “Sure.â€Â
      *while driving to the next town*
      The Cake Maker: “How do you think the rainbow became the symbol for gay people?â€Â
      Me: “I dunno. It’s odd though, because rainbows were the symbol God used with Noah to tell him ‘Hey, yo, floods over. It’s safe. You’re cool. Come back out and play, please â€" you need to restart life and all that jazz.’â€Â
      The Cake Maker: “Hunh. And now it’s the gay symbol.â€Â
      Me: “Y’know, since we ARE on a Girl Date. And since we ARE chasing rainbows, I think we need rainbow chasing theme music. So . . .
      *puts on “Gay Sons of Lesbian Mothers†by Kaki King*
      *five towns later, songs repeated twelve times*

      The Cake Maker: “It isn’t in the field in the next town.â€Â
      The Cake Maker: *peers out of the corner of her eye at me*
      Me: “My gas light has been flashing for two towns.â€Â
      The Cake Maker: “Maybe God’s unimpressed with us for this adventure.â€Â
      Me: “No, I think He’s got a sense of humor. He IS my homeboy, after all. He won’t let my gas run out in the middle of nowhere while rainbow chasing. We don’t really need to worry until we see rain, anyway.â€Â
      *it immediately starts raining*
      The Cake Maker: “AND NOW?!â€Â
      Me: “And now we should probably give up the rainbow chase and find an ark.â€Â
      The Cake Maker : “Stupid rainbows.â€Â

      True story.

      Further proof that fact is better than fiction.

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