Shameless Self-Promotion: Saldy Turns 24

My birthday is September 10th. Mark your calendars.
I don’t really see 24 as a big deal in any way – so I’ll probably keep things low key. But there definitely are some things I would like for my birthday, which cost little to nothing.

Here is my official birthday list:

- A compliment I’ve never heard before.
- Stickers. I fucking love stickers but can’t bring myself to buy any.
- Delicious yet healthy recipes.
- Your prescription meds.
- A painting (interpretive of realist) of myself. Any media will do. A picture of me made out of porn magazines would be AWESOME:
- Now that I think about it, random vintage porn.
- Original song or poem about me.
- You could give me one of your life stories (something charming from childhood), ala Kramer selling his stories to Peterman.
- Anything with unicorns, ponies, or dire wolves.
- Mix CDs – the more random – the better.
- A love letter, declaration of passion, or general note of praise.
- Baked goods I could pretend I made myself to give to Bill.
- Children’s coloring book
- Birthday LOL captions on pictures that include me, or something I like.
- Pictures with me in them that you’ve had on your computer for months but keep forgetting to email.
- A written contract, notarized, that you will promise to name your first born after me.

I will most likely keep adding to this list as other random ideas occur to me…

Disclaimer: If you are a family member who randomly found this website, I still expect money, thanks.

And thanks in advance for all your gifting efforts.

good morning, rhinoceros

we debated what sound a
rhinoceros would make.
you said it was something
guttural like: nerahnerah.

i thought it might be more
breathy and mellow, i
demonstrate as i squat,
something like: ptuffptuff.

turns out rhinos and
especially baby rhinos
make a sound that's more
like a strange squeak.

and while we sleep during
these early summer mornings
the geese wake us, a
cacophony of honkatonks.

we giggle in bed and
as i snuggle closer
you whisper into my hair
and it sounds like


.

Open letter to my first muse

A friend of mine once said
Happiness is a choice.
Her mother died, and
today with her taste for meth
she can’t keep a job.

In her spare time she
trips while watching the sun
slip behind the small ranch
house where she rents a room.

She paints the orbs of colors
she sees past the naked eye,
splashing her canvas and
scratching an itch.

At thirteen, we’d get high
in the wooden house frames
of new developments springing up
around our suburban neighborhood.

Laughing and dancing we would
cover the unfinished walls
with lines of poetry.
Those days the colors we saw
were colors enough.

The Unniversary - or - The Greatest Parents in the World

The 8th of April marked a year from the day my first landmark relationship ended. I thought that as the anniversary of that day grew closer I might become nostalgic, melancholy, or generally emotastic. But I didn't.

Why?

Well, my life is simply far happier today than it was a year ago. I live in a city I love surrounded by great friends. I have a job that makes me smile, without stress that follows me home at the end of the day. True, my 2 bedroom, ocean view apartment is now a 1 bedroom-split; my new car is now a Charlie Ticket; and I have to get by on half the income...

But I wake up happy. I start each day on my own terms. Some mornings I have the pleasure of waking up beside a man who has forever raised the bar of what I should and can expect in a relationship.

I went home to California this past weekend to visit my greatest support system, my parents. I feel lucky to have such and open and equal relationship with both my mother and father.

Sunday morning I awoke to a breakfast feast and the LA Times Book Review waiting for me to peruse. After we finished eating and brewed a second pot of coffee, my parents revealed a delicious devil's food chocolate cake dusted in powdered sugar. On that cake was a single candle.

They understand me. More than anyone else in my life they understand how heartache can take the most unexpected turns. Tears can fall and blossom into happiness, great loves can be lost and found again.

"What should we sing?" asked my father, as he lit the solitary candle.
"I've got just the thing," said my mother, rifling through her cd's before slipping her selection into the stereo.

'One Hand in My Pocket,' by Alanis Morisette blared in the morning light that flooded the kitchen.

I'm broke but I'm happy
I'm green but I'm wise...

"We should dance!" she said.
And so my father took my mother's hand and I lifted Dashiell up into my arms (it had been a disappointment for him, too).

And what it all comes down to
is I haven't got it all figured out just yet...

There we were, three crazy Saldivars on Easter morning - dancing, singing, laughing, crying and eating a big slice of chocolate cake for breakfast.

It doesn't get much better than that.

Have You Seen Her Wazoos!?

2007 marks the 100th anniversary since the invention of the brassiere and it seems quite apropos that this year Black Eyed Peas took home a Grammy for “My Humps.” The other day I came across a fun article, “In Loving Mammary: Tracking 100 years of breast obsession” by Susan Seligson takes a look back on always captivating Lady Lumps.

I thought it would be a fun lil’ post to highlight the most amusing facts of her article – and also to add in fun facts about the history of my own Bouncing Betties:

1907 – The first undergarment resembling the brassiere is invented in France. “It is an alternative to the rib-crushing, vital-organ-squishing corset” lifting the sweater kittens without the use of busks or whalebone.

1914 – The first all-purpose bra patent is secured by Mary Phelps Jacob, who while dressing for a dance decided to abandon her corset and instead had her maid “fit her with two handkerchiefs and a ribbon.”

1925 – Seamstress, Ida Rosenthal, starts designing dresses with breast supports – her design is so wildly popular that requests start coming in to buy the undergarment separate from the dress. And so the trademark Maiden Form is born.

1938 – Du Pont discovers nylon, by 1945 it is widely used with bra manufactures, “retailers had to warn women to extinguish their cigarettes before shopping – one stray ash could burn holes in the newfangled brassieres.”

1951 – The padded bra goes high-tech, a 1951 ad features an inflatable bra which boasts it’s point design “makes all other ways to a lovely natural bustline old-fashioned.”

1953 – Marilyn Monroe graces the first Playboy cover.


1965 - "Fabulous Mark Eden Bust Developer" device promises women a better bustline.

1983 – The first Hooters opens in Clearwater, Florida. Man’s love for the hot wing sky rockets.

1994 – Wonderbra makes its US debut!

1995 – Saldy is in the 6th grade and mourns over her flatness in comparison to the other girls in the locker room. She feels especially inadequate after being Gina Hoskins (prettiest girl in school’s) shower buddy at Outdoor Camp.

1997 – Suddenly – out of seemingly fated AA cups, Saldy basically wakes up one morning with C’s! She is overjoyed and instantly starts testing the prowess of her newfound cleavage by leaning over the desk to ask cute boys homework questions.

1998 – Random boy, Jared Castleton, is the first to get a glimpse of Saldy’s headlights.

2000 – Saldy’s coconuts are christened with their first nick names, Regina & Lola.

2002 – Saldy visits New Orleans, 138 strands of beads are collected over her stay.

2004 – Janet Jackson’s infamous “wardrobe malfunction” tit-slip during her Superbowl half-time show with Justin Timberlake.

2005 – Exotic dancer, Maxi Mounds, captures the Guinness World Record for world’s largest augmented breasts at size 156MMM! Ms. Mounds boasts, “that if each one was a Thanksgiving turkey, it could feed twelve adults.

2007 – Salds is still turning heads!

Feel free to comment about your own favorite Saldy’s Boobs memory or one of your own breast tales! :P

What’s Cookin’ Good Lookin’

The other day my loving boyfriend told me I was beautiful. I’d like to believe this to be true, but in the moment, I can’t help but feel that my being topless had something to do with it. The thing is, when someone tells me I’m 'sexy' or 'cute,' I am far more likely to believe it. Perhaps because I believe attitude has a lot to do with achieving those less-perfect labels. But beautiful, that’s a whole other story.

Today I came across an interesting article in the Atlantic Monthly, The Truth About Beauty, by Virginia Postrel. The article focuses on Dove’s “Campaign for Real Beauty,” that asserts, “Every girl deserves to feel beautiful just the way she is,” made popular through Dove’s viral video, Evolution:



It would be pretty to think so, but pretty everyone is not.

Postrel’s main argument squashes the idea behind the Dove campaign, countering that “Beauty is not just a social construct, and not every girl is beautiful just the way she is.” This reminds me of one of my favorite Mom-isms. When I was in middle school, I was an awkward and geeky girl, if you don’t believe me, then check out this picture:



One day I came home from school feeling especially unattractive after catching a note that a couple of boys were passing around with my face drawn on a horse’s head. Once home, I turned to my mother, crying, and asked her why I couldn’t be pretty like other girls. She said to me, “Erika, these are your Ugly Years… this is the ugliest you are ever going to be.” I responded by bursting into tears. My mother has never been one to sugarcoat anything, but the funny thing is, she was absolutely right. Nobody cared about my shimmering personality – hell, even I didn’t care about my personality. And little girls across the country looking in the mirror right now don’t give a damn either.

Postrel continues to explain that, “beauty exists, and it’s unevenly distributed.” She sites the numerous studies on how our eyes and brains consistently like some human forms rather than others. So what about this whole lovey Dove-y idea that “real women” are beautiful, too? At the end of the day it’s advertising. “Even the most zaftig had relatively flat stomachs and clearly defined waists… Dove diversified the portrait of beauty without abandoning the concept altogether.” Dove doesn't want to improve my self-esteem, they want me to buy some firming body wash.

So what’s my point, then? What am I rambling about? Why am I eating chocolates and sipping wine as I write this blog?

I know I'm no beauty queen but damn, it's nice to have a boy whisper sweet things in your ear. Crazy thing is, I think he just might mean it, and if so, well, I guess I'm saying that's good enough for me.

POLITICALWIRE.COM - The Perez Hilton of Politics

With the 2008 race to the White House in full swing and with the international integrity of this nation at stake, now more than ever is the time to pay attention to politics. I’m making it my business to stay informed.

Now people have asked me where did I get that link to the fact sheet for the 2007 State of the Union Address?

How did I know that Minnesota Senator Norm Coleman (R), was nearly knocked unconscious while dumpster diving?

Or that President Bush just hired a new executive pastry chef, who, quite apropos, is also the author of Desserts for Dummies?

There’s only one place, folks:

TAEGAN GODDARD’S POLITICAL WIRE – politcalwire.com

Before Political Wire, I was forced to sit through the pathetic dating stories of my ex-boyfriend (working in DC) just so I could get the latest gossip scoop from The Hill. Now with PW, I can scan the most important developing political stories before finishing my morning bagel.

Why Choose Political Wire:
- Non-partisan state and national news coverage
- Latest polls comparing the potential 2008 presidential match-ups
- Random factoids that make you the envy of the water cooler
- Quote of the Day and Bizarre Injury of the Day
- Nice, clean web layout with nondescript ads for easy browsing

Is there anything not to like?

As far as keeping a finger on the political pulse, not really, but I do have one humble suggestion. I think along with a Quote of the Day, it would be good fun to have a Political Photo of the Day – whether the subject matter is amusing, shocking, or historical in importance. I’m not asking for snarky Microsoft Paint commentary, just an insightful little tagline.

As the 2008 White House race continues to heat up, make Taegan Goddard part of your morning internet browsing routine. There’s nothing wrong with ogling the latest pictures of Britney Spears stuffing her face with fast food, but balancing your news diet couldn’t be easier with Political Wire.


My belief in God may be shaky, but for the latest political buzz,
in Goddard I trust.

Classy Porn & Coochie Documentaries

I’ve been currently engrossed in the erotic fiction of Anaïs Nin. The collection of stories, Delta of Venus, is all at once imaginatively sexy, disturbingly violent and sometimes perverse. Nonetheless, reading about sexual escapades raises the question of what names to give our private parts to preserve a mood of sexiness without sounding cheesy.

Now, as women, we all have our own opinion on what to call our vagina. I have heard a lot of women say they do not like the word ‘vagina.’ Many of my friends have also mentioned a distaste for the word ‘pussy,’ although I find to be acceptable in occasional bedtime commentary.

I found it interesting that Ms. Nin refers to both the male and female genitalia as his/her 'sex.'

I think I might start calling mine a titillating taco.
Or maybe a yo-yo smuggler.

One of Nin’s stories describes a girl who painted her vulva red with lipstick instead of her own mouth. Sure she was a whore and an opium addict, but nonetheless the image itself kind of fascinated me...

It reminded me of how that new movie at Sundance, Teeth, quite literally about vagina dentata, was getting rave reviews and will be most likely hitting independent theatres in the spring. Will the movie be empowering the hoo-ha or will it simply add a horrible visual to the Freudian fear of a kooter with chompers?

Speaking of movies about honey pots: This spring, the BBC is planning to show a documentary about the history of the word ‘cunt,’ tentative titled “I Love the C-Word.”

Most people are familiar with Eve Ensler’s The Vagina Monologues and the little rant about reclaiming the word “cunt” for women, thus stripping it of its negative connotations. I’d like to say that I’m progressive enough to embrace that idea, but the last time some one called me a cunt, I lost my temper. An ex-bf, let’s call him Mr. Speaker, once tossed the C-word at me in a malicious way, then nonchalantly went to refill his coffee. Upon his return, I kicked the chair out from underneath him, spilling his scalding coffee upon his ‘sex’ and sending him tumbling to the floor in front of 100 or so college peers. It will be interesting to hear what the BBC special has to say about such a charged word.

So my question for you, both my male and female readers, is what do you like to call it?

For an inspirational list click here: 1,500 Words for Vagina

And be sure leave your favorite name in my comment box — pun intended.

If my grandmother came back from the grave, I'd happily help dye her hair.

What system of philosophy you hold depends wholly upon what manner of man you are." -Johann Fichte

Last weekend Señor Sexy (my bf’s Spanglish speaking alter ego) and I watched Volver together. The movie prompted our first discussion about death, religion and finally a brief flirtation with philosophy. Señor Sexy was a bit perplexed at my surprise over one of the movie's plot elements (don't worry this doesn't spoil the flick). Basically, the mother figure that seemingly "returned" from the dead as a ghost is revealed to have never died in the fire that burned down her home 4 years earlier:

Salds: Wait, she's alive? She's not a ghost?

Señor Sexy: Are you serious? I thought it was obvious all along.

Salds: I dunno, culturally it seems plausible. I thought it was just a little Magical Realism.

Señor Sexy: If your grandmother had supposedly died in a fire, then showed up years later, your first thought upon seeing her would be, 'she's a ghost,' and not that perhaps she never died in the first place?

Salds: I'd think…spirit. Especially if she said she returned to take care of me [as the mother did in the movie].

Now, Señor Sexy is a Nihilist and I would have to define myself as generically non-religious. I'm not very well read in the various philosophical movements, but like the sight of Señor Sexy's ass making its way across a room, his impressive bookshelf piqued my interest. His library is peppered with philosophical works which inspired me to ask myself, what exactly do I believe in?

I plan to keep adding to this as I further educate myself, but for now, here is the basic framework I’ve come up with:

1. I do not believe in God –

Boy, do I wish I did. I admit, I’m jealous of people who find comfort in their religious beliefs. Señor Sexy pointed out that if I didn’t believe in their God, why should I care about how others experience their belief? Well, it’s their comfort that I’m envious of. It also saddens me that this disbelief isolates me from my immediate family. My mother would be guilt-ridden if I ever mentioned this to her, and that is a consequence I would regret far more than missing out on a paradise I don’t believe in.


2. I do not believe in an afterlife and death terrifies me because I am selfish –

I’m terrified of death because I do believe that one day I will cease to exist and that will be all. There is no theory about the greater universe or collective or whatever that lessens this fear. The only truth I could find in myself is that I like being part if this reality (sure, sure, what is reality, blah, blah). I’m still working this one out – but despite all rationalization – I am not at peace with my own mortality.


3. My “spiritual” beliefs are more a consequence of culture than religion –

My mother was raised in a very strict Baptist household. She was dunked in an actual river, entered in Bible quoting contests, told the Stones were evil, and dragged off to church multiple times a week. As she grew older, and more importantly, as she begin her college studies (including philosophy) she started to question the institution of religion. However, despite all the Nietzsche she read, nothing could shake her belief in a higher being; the existence of a soul and some sort of afterlife; and a general belief she defines as spirituality.

Not wanting to force me into an organized religion as she had experienced, she never required me to attend church but remained verbal about these “spiritual” beliefs and the existence of “something greater than myself.” Still, because of her own individual upbringing, her beliefs were rooted in a religious base. As a result of my own continued education and evaluation of my own thoughts, I begin to question these fragmented beliefs I had acquired. Only without a religious base, these fragmented ideas had assimilated with the historic stories, tall tales and superstitions of my ethnic heritage. The result is that these crumbs I picked up as a product of my environment were, for me, rooted in an overall cultural identity.

So what do I believe?

I do believe in my grandmother’s spirit visiting me, in the Evil Eye, in “everything happens for a reason” (but I don’t think that reason is God), in feeling another person’s pain across distances, in tossing spilt salt over your shoulder, in wishes made when driving through tunnels coming true, in voodoo, in your emotions reflected in the food you cook, in the possibility of something actually being in the closet, and in crossing your fingers.

Many of these beliefs I listed can be defined as Magical Thinking. Although I find it interesting that these examples of Magical Thinking could be a place holder for when religion should have entered my life, I don’t believe that it’s as simple as (like the linked article suggests) “the brain making snap judgments about causation, and leaping to conclusions well before logic can be applied.” Perhaps this is true for the origin of such beliefs, but I am not creating new causations for every coincidental occurrence. Frankly, I’m busy enough with the old ones. At least in my own examination I think these are culturally ingrained, passed down and executed through generations, like family recipes.

Now the blaring question in that list of things I believe in (and the connection to this whole Volver movie) is: If I don’t believe in an afterlife, then how can I believe in the spirit/ghost of my grandmother visiting me?

My explanation is that I believe her spirit is something within my own reality. A blood-bond of sorts, a lingering presence of her existence resulting from a connection that like memories of her does not die with her physical body. I believe her spirit is now harbored within my own existence, and bubbles up to the surface at times, manifesting in my reality as a spirit of my waking dreams.




Oh, and I also believe in Chupacabras.

WELCOME

Although recently I have been relatively productive in my creative writing, I have noticed that my habit of journaling as almost completely stagnated. This is my attempt to pick that up again.

Why a public journal? If you have to ask, you obviously haven’t met me before.

If you feel it’s overly indulgent, then no need to read on, but I will be posting (almost) daily links to interesting articles, books and blogs that might catch your interest.

And for my loyal readers who have supporting my writing endeavors throughout the years – there will be plenty of sexy gossip, wild adventures and crazy commentary that comes with every Saldy Story.