WMD (Weapon of My Destruction)

(a work in progress - quickly jotted this down one sleepless night)

An open book

Mine for the reading

At least that's what I thought

While my heart was fast beating

Eyes warm and loving

A smile all too inviting

Caught me hook, line and sinker

I didn't know other fish were biting

You'd say one word

I'd hang on three

I shoulda known

You're just a WMD

Weapon of my destruction

I can't tell what's up or down

It's impossible to breathe

I must be six feet underground

Your silence should've shouted

What your words never expressed

But how could I have doubted

What I thought your heart confessed?

You only gave an inch

Thought I had a mile

I never knew the whole story

Silly me - trusted you all the while

It's kinda funny, really

The joke was on me

I shoulda seen it comin'

You're just a WMD

Weapon of my destruction

I can't tell what's up or down

It's impossible to breathe

I must be six feet underground

As I piece together shrapnel

My heart's stronger than before

You may have won this battle

But I will win the war

In time, you'll come back begging

You're sorry - you love me, miss me

My indifference will consume you

Now I'm your WMD

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...

Between being a marketing superhero by day and wedding planning by night, it's been difficult to find the time to blog as much as I'd like to...ok, let me be honest - time's not the issue. Motivation is. Lately I've been so scatter brained, that I literally pick up the phone only to forget who I was supposed to call. But in between the forgotten phone calls and never-ending rush requests, I find myself dropping L-bombs without reserve. "I love you, fiance"..."I love you, mom"..."I love you, dad"..."I love you, brother"..."I love you, friend"...and so on.

And that got me thinking - do any of my "I love you's" carry more weight than the other? How can I love so many different people and truly mean it each time I say it? I'm extremely affectionate and have no trouble communicating my feelings, but I'm painfully aware that not everyone is like me in that sense. Still, people's propensity to love is astonishing, yet daily we take it for granted.

Some individuals are afraid of uttering those three little words. I can't comprehend ever being afraid of expressing love, but maybe they're scared because they're very much aware of the fact that once something's been said aloud, it can't be unsaid - the universe owns it - no returns or exchanges. We're fully commited to the words we say, and that must be terrifying for commitment phobes. While I feel bad for those who can't express their love, my heart aches for the poor souls who have never heard the ultimate sentiment - "I love you."

The beauty of each and every one of us mortals is that we all have something all our own which someone else loves. Something so special, that absolutely none of the other six billion+ people on the face of this planet have that same "it factor." And to go even deeper down this rabbit hole, said "it factor" could be (and often is) something different for each lover of us. "It" could be a physical characteristic, a personality trait, a mannerism, and so on...the list really is endless. "It" could even be something we detest about ourselves because love's funny that way.

While some of us love freely and deeply, the disease that is the "human condition" gives others that same propensity to hate. I suppose a yin for every yang, no matter how awful it may be. But I do my best to focus on the love, and I beg you to do the same.

So in the spirit of the upcoming Hallmark love-fest of mylar balloons and requests to "be mine," I want you to know that I love you. I may not know you and may never meet you, but I can say with conviction that there is something about you I love that no one else has.

Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear...

It's safe to say that what I see in the mirror is never what others see when they look at me. For all of us, reality is not a static state, but rather an ever-changing clip of our own individual perceptions. Two people experiencing the same event will garner different realities about that event.

It's December, which can only mean one thing in the corporate world - year-end appraisals. It's time to quantify and qualify all I've done in 2010 in the hopes that my boss and his boss will buy into my "I'm awesome" theory. While carefully crafting all the many bullet points about my poignant awesomeness, I began to wonder: Why don't I do this in my "real life?" Why don't I do a temperature check with those I care about to see how they perceive me? I think I've been a stellar daughter, sister, girlfriend, and friend, but if those I love don't perceive the same thing, then MY reality is obsolete.

In an effort to gauge my impact on those around me, I used a social network for a - brace yourself - social experiment. I asked for people to describe me in one word. Clearly, that one word would be a direct result of their perceptions of me. I'm happy to report that the responses I received are on point with the "me" I think I've projected: Happy, Compassionate, Witty and Passionate are some of the perceptions. And my favorite: Beautiful (as  perceived by my future husband - looks like I'm marrying the right guy!).

So this year, I challenge you: Forget about the useless New Year's resolutions you know won't last. Instead, take a good look in the mirror and make sure the "you" that you think you're projecting is the same "you" that those you care about perceive.

Sticks and Stones Ain't Shit!

Whoever said, "sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me," must've been illiterate. The physical pain sticks and stones can inflict heals completely, and the only inkling of the assault ever occuring may be a scar or limp (if you really got your ass kicked). The human brain actually forgets what physical pain feels like after we experience it. We remember something hurt, but we don't remember the exact sensation. Too bad we have yet to evolve that self-defense mechanism for emotional pain brought on by words. I'm sure you precisely remember the pain of each heart break.

The power of the spoken and written word is timeless and awesome. And I don't mean "awesome" the way we use the word in everyday speech - This pizza's awesome! That new song's awesome! I mean "awesome" like Webster defines it: AWE·SOME adj \ˈȯ-səm\ 1: expressive of awe 2a: inspiring awe b: terrific, extraordinary

My 11th grade AP English teacher once said that the most powerful weapon a person can have is the ability to master words; one could get whatever his heart desires if he knows how to ask for it. I've never forgotten that lesson as it proves to be true time and time again. By stringing together some seemingly harmless words, we can command pain, destroy hope, create love, nurture dreams, and so on. Ultimately, words have the unparalelled force to either save a life or annihilate one. It is this transcendent power of language that's always fascinated me and fueled my torrid love affair with the written word.

Turns out I'm just a power-hungry bitch after all.

Perfectly Imperfect

I've finally kicked my procrastination's ass and started this blog! Just fist bumped myself in triumph... Now, let's see if I maintain this cyber journal/diary/article thing. I plan on using this blog as a soundboard for my random thoughts/ideas, a soapbox for my rants and raves, and dare I say it - a happy place for my insecurities.

Speaking of insecurities, let's just dive right in, shall we? I used to sing. Well, I still sing but singing to my dog or in the shower - stop picturing me naked - doesn't exactly count. I sang all through school. Beginning in kindergarten back in the Old Country or Macedonia (I don't have time to explain where it is. Yes, it's a real place - Google Earth it). Then, we moved here when I was six and I sang all through high school. Ironically, I had more balls before I figured out what balls were. You see, in kindergarten, I actually performed for the whole city at the local theater. Then in elementary school, I used to do talent shows and whatnot ("Weak" by SWV - 5th grade talent show, bitches). Then came middle school, menstruation, zits, an amazonian growth spurt, and boys. Suddenly, my balls-o-steel transformed into regular ol' ovaries. I was suddenly so self aware and self conscious. I still kept singing through high school, but I did my damnest to blend in with the crowd - God forbid I try out for a solo.

Now, at the age of 28 (and tickling 29's ass), I've realized I've stopped doing the things I loved - the things that defined me from such a young age. A friend once told me that the great thing about being an adult is that we don't have to do anything we don't want to do (shout out to my DP). That also means I get to do whatever I want. In the spirit of spending my hard-earned money however I damn well please, I've just started taking voice lessons! It may not sound like a big deal, but this is HUGE, people! I'm not only overcoming my ridiculously adept ability to procrastinate, but I'm also in the process of overcoming my vocal diffidence....ooh, "vocal diffidence" sounds like a disease - and the only prescription is more cow bell! Sorry, I couldn't help myself. If all goes according to my master plan, I'll eventually announce my first gig on this blog, and get you out to support me. I might even write a Billboard hit in the process! Slow down Nanc, baby steps...

It's 11:58pm - I've gotta go walk the dogs before they piss on the cat tower again...