I want all my needs and my wants and I want and need them all right now!!!

There is nothing more unattractive than self-doubt and the lack of attention to detail. I know this. Most people get it, although the occasional some don’t. One of my favorite movies is “Closer” starring Natalie Portman, Jude Law, Clive Davis, and Julia Roberts. The movie speaks specifically to human reaction and indulgence.

In one scene in the movie Alice (Natalie Portman) is on the couch sleepily awaking as Dan (Jude Law) comes home from wherever. The scene shows a rather unkept mess backdrop to her frazzled hair and sloppily worn ensemble. A few small words exchange and Dan ends up telling Alice that “this will hurt,” and when asked why he went outside of their relationship he explains “because she didn’t need me.” What a carnival of crashing.

It causes me to wonder... when someone needs you, doesn’t that make them less desirable in most senses when applied to short-entering-long-term relationships? Cause and effects of marriages in my opinion are in most cases affected by money, which is most closely related to the neediness of either individual. Dan cheated on Alice because the other woman Anna (Julia Roberts) wasn’t in need of him, but rather in want. The results of human behavior are as devastating to "real life" events just as they are in movies.

It is so important to ask about the way a person lived as a child. Childhood is important as it directly mirrors the person one becomes and can directly affect a person's wants vs. their needs. In some cases a child with alcoholic parents either later become alcoholics, or run Alcoholics Anonymous centers preventing others from becoming who their parents became. Most applies to other wayward lifestyles as well.

In my household growing up I saw my father as the above average workaholic owning his own business for years and years, hardly making time for himself or his family because of his sacrifice for them. I also developed a need for a simple father figure because of the countless nights I spent dozing off as I waited in pajamas for my kiss goodnight at the bottom where my staircase swiveled into brick from carpet... for my daddy to come home. Some mornings I woke across the bottom of the stairs instead of in my princess bed, which meant daddy was still at the office. Never mind the endless hours I took for granted that my mother slaved around the house picking up after my Smurf collection, Where’s Waldo books, or Easy Bake Oven. Never mind that she did more dishes for every dish I grabbed and threw nonchalantly in the sink as she was up to her elbows in bubbles already. Never mind that the only time I ever saw her was in front of our washing machine, folding the towels, or occasionally cursing at the television. And never mind the appointments she took me to, the gladioli she fiddled with in the garden, the berries on the trees she warned me not to eat-- and then stomach ache, or the boo-boo’s she kissed upper thigh after I fell sideways off my bike--raw skin scratched across the sidewalk... she made me get up and get right back on, my whole body aching. Everybody laughed at that bike because it had tassels on the handlebars but no one laughed when I got so good at riding that I could ride without hands and spread my legs mid-motion wheels peddling below. No, those lessons went thankless. And never once did I ever ask her about her wants or her needs.

My parents didn’t end up together. Mother married someone else. Father stayed working, and became more successful until the competition beat his business into the asphalt, then the sewer. The people who subconsciously get my attention naturally aren’t the middle-men... but the rather successful business men that won’t have time to give me the attention I need (much like my father) or the starving artists, as I can see myself in them.

Such outcomes cause jolts of fascination in me because as much as other instances contributed to my parents’ demise as a couple, I often wonder if the lot of it had to do with my mother not feeling as wanted, or as much needed as my father. Or rather if my father had felt more wanted what would have changed as a family between us all? What selfless sacrifices they made. How important it is to show that you want someone.

Now as an adult I ponder, is the want equal to the need as much? Are aesthetics as important as the foundation? Body vs. mind? Can too much need and not enough want steer a relationship off it’s course just as much as too much want and not enough there to provide fulfillment to needs? Without a happy balance can one appreciate it more when either side is lacking? I am listening to the song from Disney’s “Tangled” soundtrack by Grace Potter and the Nocturnals “I Want Something That I Want,” and perhaps the need keeps you there, but the want keeps you wanting to be there.

Once balance is reached between want and need boredom occurs and the relationship is subject to the natural occurrence of human reaction that isn’t preconceived or well thought out.

What are your ideas on the matter?

Happy Go-Unlucky

I need a vacation from monotony. I can’t afford my own thoughts. Today was a day of defeat and rain doesn’t help. As I was sitting at Coffee Bean-red velvet mocha in hand, I looked around at the vast array of people I sat next to. There were two men, one blond-navy blazer well dressed and one brown haired coughing obsessively having a business meeting by the looks of their notepads and back and forth Q & A. Obviously they were both from some big company. There were two youngish-old women, both with strollers and babies who looked like they went home and asked their husbands for children politely on the same night—and like magic popped them out nine later. And then there was a group of college adults laughing away. I tried to decide where I’d be if I had the choice. What part about admiring each set of these groups of people at each point in their lives had I taken a liking to?

Well, I could admire the businessmen for what I don’t have. A happy job… Go-lucky characters seemed to thrive at the mere discussion of their Holiday Gala, “planning-away” they go… fake laughter-all-the-while. Figuring out how to fire Johnny or James, or if they like Beatrice--- the new ditsy red-haired receptionist, ah the fun. While I struggle with appetite, headaches, and every day some new ailment. I pushed forward to do something I truly loved…

Or, I could if I tried harder—admire the in-between-beautifully freckled women rocking their roller coasters while not having a care in this universe because one of their husbands is a ball player and the other a wealthy headhunter. The one child cried. A baby girl, giggling bows wrapped around her baldhead. Ah, the joys of parenting… rain poured and it didn’t bother anyone a bit. I would have kept those little children in the living room- warm and toasty and been miserable forcing myself still-- for my child’s sake in my rainy day over-protectiveness. Funny how we create these scenes in our heads.

Or really I might place myself in the body of one of the college gals and guys all meeting up for a “study group” where nothing actually got done. I’d probably be one of those well-prepared nerds that studied before the group was actually held because I knew I’d do nothing but joke around and enjoy the company of my ever-irresponsible counterparts. They’d all wonder why I’d pass when they’d fail.

And then I sat back. I had such a bad day today: I scratched the left side of my car when I shouldn’t have bothered driving, once again. I forgot the teapot on and had a minor kitchen fire—the teapot bottom beamed vivid blue around the edges and looked as if it had rusted. And then I got one of the worst phone calls of my natural life. And go figure, isn’t it funny how bad news comes in threes? I search for a miracle. I wonder about strangers. I wish I were anywhere than where I am, I wish I were the old divorced businessmen, or the pair of single mothers, or the lonely college students that I watched this afternoon… anyone but me. Anywhere but here. Oh that and, I really liked that teapot.

Sweet Butternut Squash Soup

I made sweet butternut squash soup last night for dinner. After it was complete with nutmeg and apples and random etceteras I was then asked how I made it, you know, like if there was a specific recipe that I followed? …

I confidently shrugged. I then made some magicianist hand-motion and began explaining how once I know the ingredients that I want, that I then worry less because I know the basics to cooking and making something eatable. Then I went on about how I’d just twirl around in the kitchen with my spices and my golden wooden spoon and taste, “mmm,” giggling on the phone, while cutting up fresh celery and onions. There in my sweet butternut squash soup was the recipe for success.

This balances in comparison with the emphasis I put on my education. This is why when I’m down to my last twenty dollars, I still rush into a bookstore and come out with a bag and a shameless coy smile. I have been raised to love reading and helplessly coerced into thinking that I will read something one day that will change my life. Or better, I will write something one day that will change and benefit the lives of others.

My father, when I was a young girl used to read his newspaper every morning at 6:11am. I lived in a gorgeous two-story home with a view from my window of nothing but trees and honest blue sky. I would sneak down my stairs and see him reading, and then as if seeing him reading gave me nervous energy—I would run back up my stairs, open the window in my room-with that view, and slowly climb out and onto the top of the roof. And I would sit there and read. And sit there and write. After the peak of morning, there was shade and breeze. For hours no one would miss me. I would write these stories that I still to this day have shared with no one. It was one of those days out on the roof; that I fell in love with words.

Twenty years later if not more I look over coincidentally one house down from that home I grew up in. I moved, but to a place on the same street. I, not quite as whimsical, changed. More experienced with what a cruel jokester life can be, and more experienced with what I feel I’d like to contribute to society as a whole.

Today I am not out on the roof. But I am remembering that roof. Lately love has me stuck me in the branch of my favorite tree and I cannot sit waiting, but I cannot climb down. I have come to realize that through education, through fellowship, and through sharing I have created my own sweet butternut squash. This is ok when I have a house full of all of the neighbor’s kids because my eleven-year old son has enlisted help for his disastrous room cleaning assignment. This is ok when I have six deadlines because all of my assignments have conspired against my creativity all at once, all right now. And this is ok when I’m overqualified, when I get no response, or when the position is already filled. This is ok when all I can remember is sitting on that roof alone pulling all of the ingredients together to write the perfect story.

I have yet to learn how to relish in what I’ve created, but I do know that eventually, with enough experience and reading, and after enough “stir-to-taste” aka mistakes… that I will make a living as a writer. All of this I have leaned from making butternut squash soup. Or not.

Keeping It Real

One of the worst things you could ever say to a voice over actor is, “So, do you ever do any REAL acting?” This seemingly innocent question will set any voice actor seething with fury. We may meet you with a condescending smile followed by an uncomfortable silence. You'll see our facial muscles twitch as though we are about to have a stroke as we try to contain our anger and refrain from punching you in the face. Don't believe me? Try asking this question if you ever happen to run into a voice actor. But, don't say I didn't warn you, nor attempt to hold me accountable if the one you meet happens to lose their restraint and ends up decking you right in the kisser. We're kind of sensitive that way.

Even seasoned on-camera actors will ask their voice over counterparts that question. You see, voice over acting is a very specific skill and is considered to be a specialty type of acting. To put it another way, on-camera actors are like the general practitioners of acting, where as the voice over actors are akin to the pathologists or radiologists. We're no less talented, however, you just don't see us as much.

There are some actors who do both voice over and on-camera, and who do it quite well. There are actors who are Oscar winners, yet flounder once they get inside a voice over booth all by themselves and have no co-stars to outshine. And, still, there are those who have, shall we say, a “face for voice overs”, and they remain behind the microphone and simply bless us with their melodious voices.

We are all REAL actors, yet the general public for some reason only considers the actors that appear on screen to be the “real” ones. However, if these “actors” happen to be animated, no one gives them a second thought. With the exception of 5 year olds, I suppose it's because no one truly considers cartoon characters such as Sponge Bob or Fred Flintstone to be “real”. However, the very talented actors that give voice and life to those characters are very real indeed. Let's take Dan Castellaneta for instance... “Who?” you may ask. Why the voice of Homer Simpson, of course! Did you know this immensely talent actor makes over $1 Million an episode?!?! Yes, $1 Million per episode. So, do you think he's a REAL actor or not? I assure you he is, and so is his bank account.

So, the next time you hear a voice over on a radio or television commercial, watch a cartoon or animated film, consider yourself a bit more educated and “in-the-know”, because although you do not see them, you are still experiencing the work of a REAL actor.

Accepting Failure

I don’t think anyone likes to fail. This is when you all hit the unsubscribe button. I get it. But what about? What about when the one person you love says that they won’t stick by you and the only thing you can do is watch them… love somebody else that has it all together. What about the day you thought you completed a project you only thought about completing, because the truth is that you couldn’t finish one more thing you didn’t love doing. What about the days you spent in the house thinking about if you’ll ever be anything, to prove it to whom? You?

I don’t know about my readers yet, because this is only the beginning of our journey. But I certainly hope that they all listen when I express my failure. My triumphs. I think not only the foundation and journey matter, but rather the laughter and the tears we choose and the foods, wines, sleep deprivation, or overly slept time we choose to get there. Countless nights I’ve spent now looking at a pretty swirly white ceiling. Numerous mornings I’ve spent staring at carpets, burning eggs because they only wait for moments, and crying in the shower because crying when the water is running means the water doesn’t know you’re crying.

A person is what they are. A person makes decisions based on the education and experiences that they have thus far. When I start talking about love I mean life. When I talk about life, I mean love. What do you love? Do that. What do like? Love that. It’s hard to imagine my life with any different choices than the ones I’ve loved. Today I attempted to clean the house. I had such high hopes. That house is staring at me wishing for snow right now. It looks like a tornado met a laundry mishap and they decided to have the most daring words they’ve ever mustered. And let me tell you, this writer is not pleased to explain the outcome. Nothing has gone on, that is positive.

I am, currently waiting on take-out, with a glass of nasty white wine and a sink full of dishes my son has half-done. I have officially accepted a failure of a submission that I submitted and I have accepted that my house is not in order, nor will it ever be as I see fit. I have eight loads left. I could stay up the remainder of the night and I will still find something to rev about in the morning. I can vacuum but I will still see dust in the hallway. I can try but I will still fail, sometimes. What is intrinsically important is that I have spent time doing something that I wholeheartedly love to do. What is important is the strive, the fact that I’m going to die doing this—and live giving this everything I’ve got to give it. I am a Writer. Introducing Lalanii, Thank you, for giving me something I love to do.

Young Love...Ugh!

Ahh, young love. It's like a gummy worm. It's sweet and creepy at the same time. My oldest son Kole, who is 7 years old and in the 2nd grade has already become the object of a female classmate's affection. Nearly every day this little girl sends him home with his jean pockets stuffed full of love notes scrawled on little scraps of paper. We actually started putting these notes in a box appropriately given the title “The Sara Box”. One day Kole mentioned to Sara that his mom was a little concerned about all these love notes. That day Sara sent Kole home with an elaborate construction paper love project and wrote on the bottom “Don't show your mom”. The little hussy.

Sara is a nice enough girl, it would seem, however, from Kole's first day of school she has given him plenty of experiences that will most likely keep my poor son guessing about the oddities of girls' behavior for years to come. The best advice I could give him was, “Son, girls are weird. They're confusing and once you think you've got them figured out they do something else to confuse you all over again”. To which he simply replied, “Um, thanks for the advice, Mom”. He then sighed and looked even more confused than ever. Poor kid.

And so it begins. But isn't the 2nd grade a little young for all this talk of love and romance? I suppose I was about 7 years old when I had my first crush on a boy that wasn't James Bond or Ricky Schroder, but I never acted on it. The thought of sending a boy a love note made me want to puke out of embarrassment. I would think that at this age, most boys could really care less. Which is why I was so surprised to hear about Kole's plights each week when Sara would say or do something to make him begin to wonder about the psychology of girls and the reasons for their odd behavior.

The following are actual, word-for-word quotes from Kole. My husband and I were simply beside ourselves with amusement....and sympathy.

“Girls are so weird. Seriously, they don't make any sense at all.
For example, there's this girl at school named Sara. She got mad
at me today because Isabella wrote her phone number and email
address on my hand. She ran off at recess and started complaining
to one of her minions about what a jerk I am, and how much she
hated me and never wanted to see me again! We're in the second
grade for crying out loud!”

Yes, he really did use the word “minions”.

“So I decided to talk to her about it. I said, 'What's your problem?
Why are you mad at me when Isabella was the one who wrote her
number on my hand?' She didn't answer me. Do they always side
together like that?”

Yes, son. They usually do.

“The other girls in the class started teasing me about what we
wanted for our anniversary. Thank goodness the book fair
came along. It saved my life!”

The kids were so excited about the book fair, they forgot all about the drama of Kole and Sara. At least for the week.

“Sara and her friends chase me around the playground a lot.
I like being chased by girls. They're slower than we are. Boys
are faster and we're stronger. They're easy to get away from.
It makes boys feel good to know that and prove that on a
regular basis.”

Just you wait, kid. They'll catch you eventually...brace yourself.

I'm sure he'll figure things out as time goes on. Perhaps when he's in his 60's or so. For the time being, his dad and I will help him out as much as we can. We'll try to give him guidance and insight to the female psyche without inflicting too much damage or causing too much more confusion. But, then again, some tasks are nearly impossible. Especially when it comes to girls. God, help us.

Happy Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is upon us. One more day and we can say "goodbye" to our waistbands as we eat ourselves silly on this one glorious day where it's actually encouraged to ignore all the so-called nutritional experts and eat everything in sight to our heart's content. Who doesn't love Thanksgiving?

As much as I enjoy cooking for my family, I decided this year to take a break. This year we are ditching the traditional feast and heading to the happiest place on Earth! That's right! Disneyland!!! Woo hoo!

So, instead of engorging ourselves with turkey, stuffing, and all that other yummy comfort food, and gaining 10 or so pounds in the process, my family and I will be spending this day of thanks with Mickey and his pals.

Many a die-hard traditionalist, I'm sure, would gasp at the thought of this travesty. The horror of skipping out on such an idolized American pastime may elicit cries of protest and questioning such as, "What about the turkey? What about the basting and baking? No cranberry sauce? No smells of high cholesterol foods filling your home starting at 9am? Won't your kitchen supplies feel neglected?"

I'm sure my oven mitts will forgive me. But, hey, we'll be giving thanks for all of our blessings as we sing along to "It's a Small World".

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! See you next week. Maybe I'll have some tips for losing all that turkey weight.

No Begging

God never seems to respond to my begging. Each day I hold countless amounts of money in my hands in the form of copy. Whether it's commercial, animation, promo, narration, video games, or any other kind of voice over script, the spoils go to that ONE voice which impresses the fickle ears of "They" who hold a poor voice actor's future in their powerful hands. Whether an actor adds a vocal inflection going up or down at the end of a line, or the tiniest breath or pause between a word can mean the difference between a six figure salary or going back to work at Trader Joe's. (Not that I've ever worked for Trader Joe's. I hear it's a pleasant environment and can be fulfilling work.)

Really, though. Can you blame me for occasionally falling to my knees after leaving the booth and pleading with God, "Please, oh please, oh please, oh please, oh PU-LEEEZE let me book this campaign!" or "Please, God, just this one leading role on an animated series that's been picked up for 52 episodes!"? These types of prayers, I've gathered, must fall on deaf ears. Well, perhaps God does hear me, but for whatever reason is unmoved by my pathetic petitions. I suppose it's understandable. After all, God did not create me to place myself at the mercy of others to determine my happiness. One of the greatest gifts from our creator is the power to control our own minds and therefore create our own happiness. I don't need some casting director to give me a job that will make me and my family financially secure for the rest of our lives to make me happy...Ok, that would be nice, but my point is that if your chosen vocation in life is in the entertainment industry, be prepared for the roller coaster of daily rejection speckled with heights of elation when bookings do come.

Don't get me wrong. I do ok. I'm making my living doing something I absolutely love. In fact, I suppose in some third world countries I would be considered quite rich. I guess what I'm trying to say is that life as a "working" actor is spent in what many would consider a sort of balancing act between truly living and simply surviving. As "working" actors, acting is our only job, yet we are not quite celebrities and sometimes we never know when the next gig will come. Usually we are living off our salaries from our previous jobs and just when the bank account starts to dwindle and we're tempted to fall to our knees and begin the begging again, we get a call from our agent and hear the sweetest words, "Hey, I've got a booking for you." Ah, yes. Very sweet words indeed.

My agent called me yesterday, in fact, with those very words. It wasn't a booking for a campaign or series that will change my life, but still it was a booking, for which I am always grateful. I suppose therein lies what many consider to be the secret to true happiness. An attitude of gratitude. I have had the unfortunate displeasure of being in the presence of many ungrateful people. They are quite possibly the most pathetic human beings in existence. Definitely nothing I would want for my children. After all, when they see Mommy crying and whining about jobs I don't book, what on earth do I expect from their behavior when they don't get their way? It's amazing how we as adults still possess the ability to lose all self respect and melt into a sniveling pile of brattiness when things don't go our way. Especially actors! We're quite good at making that very transformation.

So, as I head off to my next audition, in stead of begging after leaving the booth, I will simply say, "Thank you for the opportunity." I will not beg to book a life changing campaign or series. I will be grateful that I am a working actor, a happy mom, and loved wife. My knees hurt anyway.

The P.I.N.K. Foundation

Nice Fit

School is in full swing! Hallelujah! The backpacks have been supplied with
folders and pencils. The lunch boxes have been filled with healthy
snacks my kids will no doubt trade for Oreos or some other nonsense.
I drop the boys off and give them hugs and kisses after having walked
a whole 100 meters from our house to their classrooms.

As I make my way back home, I experience a renewed sense of hope and
pride knowing my sons are attending a top notch educational program
and will be out of the house for the next 6 hours. Recording
auditions in my sound booth without interruption is once again a
realistic goal. It's a good feeling. I smile. All is right with the
world. Then, "ZOOM!" I am nearly run over by a Maserati. So much
for that feeling.

Although we've been here in our new neighborhood for nearly six
months, it still feels foreign and, well, odd. The last time I felt
this out of place was when I was a kid growing up in Weed, CA. (Yes,
Weed. It's a real place. Population, oh, maybe 5 or so.) Now, here in
my new surroundings, I am again thrust into a marshland of discomfort
and feeling out of place.

It is a neighborhood laden with luxury cars and little girls with
unibrows. At school my husband and I are the youngest parents by at
least 10 years. The mothers are adorned in expensive clothing that
cost a small fortune and could pay to feed a third world country for a
year. Their jewelry is from Tiffany's and their high heels are Jimmy
Choos. And the cars!!! Again, I am grateful that we walk and my
dirty Toyota Corolla won't have to feel awkward parked next to the
Bentleys and Aston Martins. (It's not my car's feelings I'm worried
about, but I'm sure you've gathered that much). My kids will have to
miss out on "Bring Your Butler to School Day", as well as the weekend
"Father-Son Yacht Races". Can't you hear my heart breaking? It's
actually me gagging. My 2nd grader has already been invited to a
birthday party where all the kids are going to be picked up by a limo
and taken to an exclusive party destination. Sheesh! Anyway, it's
definitely an adjustment.

Then I remember one of the things I learned growing up feeling like I
never quite fit in or belonged. It is that I am only as out of place
as I allow myself to feel. I always have something to offer. Whether
it's volunteering in the classroom or helping with the fund raisers,
or maybe even performing some character voices for the students on
career day, I choose to thrive in my new environment. I will not sit
on the sidelines like I did as a fearful child and watch as others
engage and grow. Furthermore, feelings of self-consciousness will not
only hinder me as an individual, but also my children. If they sense
that I am feeling out of place, then they too will believe they must
be as well. While I may feel that I have absolutely nothing in common
with my new neighbors other than our zip code, our children will be
the ones who make life long connections with one another. It will be
them who bridge the gap between the seemingly vast sea of differences
among their parents.

Besides, why should I give anyone else the power to make me feel
inadequate? It's all in my head anyway. It usually is. No matter
how out of place a person may feel among the very wealthy, one can
always take heart and know that none of these material things matter.
In the end the person who dies with the most toys is still worm food.
Though, my next car may be a Mercedes. I'm just saying.

Thanks to my children, I have met many wonderful parents who I am sure
to call friends for quite some time. Maybe one of them will let me
borrow her Jimmy Choos—last season's anyway. I am grateful to be
here. So, among the fleet of luxury cars, expensive clothing, 7 year
olds riding in limos to birthday parties, and bling, I can hold my
head high and know that I belong. Maybe I'll even drive my Toyota to
the next birthday party behind the limo…at least 3 cars back.

When Life Gets Too Good!

Today I went for a walk around the lake with my aunt. We talked about life and God. We celebrated the news of my First International tour, and my cousin's impending baby. I admitted to her that when good things start happening to me I get nervous. Nervous as if some boogieman is liable to pounce on me at any time and take away my good thing, and I will be returned to the sadness I’m more familiar with. When I accomplish goals I have hidden feelings of anxiety and unworthiness, in spite of being the vessel of an amazing gift. I am Jasmine Melodiousfly and I travel the world doing what I do best. Singing. My aunt quickly reaffirmed my self-esteem with a hug, and reminded me to embrace the goodness, don't fear it. Get to the root of your feelings of inadequacy and nip it in the butt. Well this is the root, and starts back there in my memories.

From the earliest time in my life, I felt different from other people. I also remember feeling the pressures of society to conform. I knew at a young age I wasn’t having it. I've always been a mystical person, meaning I see more then what the eyes see. This has propelled me in many directions on my life's journey, and has made me the black sheep of my family. I come from a very traditional middle class American Family. I grew up in the suburbs of Colorado with married parents who worked good day jobs. My family always stressed the importance of school and getting an education. Which is good, except for the fact I hated school. A serious hatred, brewing since second grade!! When Ms. Marshall punished me for being me, and suggested Ritalin to my parents. I would hide in the closet most school days until my frustrated father gave up and left me for work. There are many reasons for my disdain of school, but that’s another blog. To keep it simple, school isn’t for everyone, but knowledge is, and I feel that’s not being taught. When I graduated high school and left Colorado for California, my family was not surprised to know that I had quit college, but they thought I was insane for pursuing my real dream, music. Not for A+ markings, or paper validations, not for money but for love. The growing success of my music is slowly quieting all the non-believers, and my family is now my biggest support, but that came after a fight. Maybe some sections of society will look down on my choice to boot school and develop myself individually. I always tell myself to make choices that make me happy, and happy I am. So why do I still feel bad about that? So what!! I took an alternative path. Billions of people live on Earth, with billions of different talents and possibilities. I found what works for me, and I'm working on embracing me 100%! Jasmine, singer, world traveler, college dropout, eccentric entrepreneur, and sensitive soul. How could I ever feel inadequate? Maybe because I've totally shunned society's and my family's expectations of me. Sometimes I feel small and alone for this, but I always feel free. I guess I feel guilty for not forcing my self to do it, and witnessing all my friends suffer along. They have degrees and they’re broke, and full of debt, LOL!! Mean while I’ve been having a serious blast!! Doing what I love, minus the need to be validated by others. Never missing a beat.

Check Out My Latest Music Video!! 18K Views

http://www.vimeo.com/13591696

MelodiousFly

Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail. 
Ralph Waldo Emerson

It Just Got Real

I've only been in college for a month and a couple of weeks. I started attending UCLA late September and the quarter started off fine. My classes were pretty chill and my professors seemed okay. I thought this first quarter was going to be a breeze, until I had my first exam. Two weeks ago, I had my first Precalculus midterm, which is worth 20 percent of my grade. And you know what happened? I failed it!!! Yes FAILED! Fifty five out of 100. It was the first time I've failed a test in my academic career. It was a major slap in the face and a major slap into reality. College is NO joke. It's so easy to get side tracked and distracted that you need to be able to distinguish work and fun. I haven't quite got the hang of it yet, but I know that I've just started so next quarter I know what to do. I'm lucky enough to have older friends at the university to help me get by and figure out what I want and need to do. I just know that I can't keep doing the things I'm doing. I advise all high school students, their parents, and college freshman, to understand the importance of their education and to not take it for granted. Your education is important and to fail classes because you aren't trying is just wasting your time. What is the point of being there if you're just going to fail? These are the questions I ask myself. I have to take responsibility for my life. My life just got real.

Lost Mom, Please Help

Note: Another archive. Enjoy!

The first day of school is here! While the novelty of school is now old hat to my 2nd grader, my kindergartener is nearly beside himself with anticipation and excitement. Although we put him to bed at 8:30, he was bouncing around until 10pm.

"My brain won't shut off!" was his excuse. "Will my new school have lunch? What about snacks? Will I make lots of friends?" he inquires enthusiastically.

"Yes, yes, and yes, honey," I answer, happy that he is so eager to go.

As we head out the door and begin our walk to school, we join the slew of frantic parents and a sea of little backpacks making their way to the gates of the facility that will be in charge of our precious offspring for the next 6 hours.

"This will be great," I think to myself. I thank my lucky stars that our family will not have to deal with the horrible vehicular traffic each day since we can walk.

We head up to the entrance to find that it is a campus of morning chaos. Kids are everywhere. Parents nervously try to find their child's classroom, and are shaking with fear as they prepare to release their little babies to a stranger and allow their them to be subjected to the influence of not only that stranger, but all these other little brats who have had only God knows what kind of upbringing and who will no doubt be carrying all kinds of germs. The kids could care less. The smell of hand sanitizer causes my eyes to burn.

My husband takes our 2nd grader to this classroom, and I escort our kindergartener to his. Just then, I get a call from another frantic mom who I met the week before. She is panic stricken since she cannot find a place to park. I offer to help her by allowing her to park in my garage just two doors down. I am on my phone for less than 1 minute… that's all., and I turn to find that I have lost my kindergartener!

Now, I am panic stricken. I taste bile in my mouth as my stomach churns. Where did he go???? Beads of sweat begin to form on my brow. I begin to scour the campus, calling his name. Other parents meet me with looks of condemnation and pity. The first day of school and I lose my child! This is not supposed to happen! Not to me!

Silently cursing myself for offering to help a fellow parent, during my search I spot my husband and older son touring the campus. How do I tell them I've lost their son and younger brother? I bite back tears of frustration, as I feel my throat closing. My heart feels like it's about to beat out of my chest.

"I've lost Kannon," I tell them. My husband looks at me quizzically, then realizes I am serious. Being the good natured man that he is, he refrains from giving me an earful and settles on a simple dirty look instead. He then rolls his eyes and begins to help me search.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, we find him playing happily on the kindergarten playground.

"Honey, where have you been???" I ask.

"Here playing, Mom," he answers plainly, yet I do detect a suggested "duh" at the end of his reply.

Did I just miss him in my scour of the playground 10 times over? Had he truly been here the whole time while I was off getting dirty looks for calling his name as I ran around the school yard advertising my bad motherhood? At this point it didn't matter… he was safe and child protective services wasn't called.

Filled with relief at the crisis averted we take our kids to their respective classrooms and say our goodbyes. All is well, and they have made it to school. I see other mothers tearing up as they head back to their cars. My heart skips a beat. I catch my breath and realize my own eyes are wet as well. Maybe it's not just the fumes from the hand sanitizer.

The Longest Summer Ever

Having a family is a wonderful thing. The spouse, the kids, the dog. It's the American dream. This summer my family moved from Burbank to West Los Angeles. While we loved Burbank, my hubby had an hour and 20 minute commute to work in Century City twice a day. Moving was the best solution to retrieving those 20 plus hours he was spending on the road each week.

Burbank schools were dismissed for the summer in May. So, the very next week we moved to our new neighborhood in West LA and were now in LAUSD. We moved into a cozy home only two doors down from the new school our sons would be attending. No sooner had we carried in our last box of belongings when were we greeted with school announcements coming from the loud speaker, and insane parents dropping off and picking up their little bratty bundles of dirt and snot, and the realization that the LAUSD kids were still in session.

What did this mean??? It meant that since our old district had released the kids in May, and this new school wasn't due to release til a month later, that I was in for the longest summer of my life!!! Of course, I thought to myself, being the super mom that I am, this will be no problem. This will be a summer full of play dates, day camps and swimming lessons. We'll meet new people, and the kids will meet new friends and it will be a great summer. Fast forward 15 weeks....SIGH, yeah right. What's that saying? "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions". Well, that's exactly where I ended up. Unpacking, painting, traveling to visit family, our dog thinking it could fly and jumping from the roof (I'll elaborate on that later in a later blog-she was completely fine), and simply trying to get our barrings in our new surroundings confiscated our entire summer and we had not one play date, not one swimming lesson, and only one week of soccer camp that I forced my kids to attend in 100 plus degree weather despite their protests. Well, maybe not exactly Hell, but you get the idea.

During all this, mind you, I still had my auditions to do at my agency. Some of them I was expected to do from home, yet with two noisy boys, that was mostly impossible. On some days I arrived at my auditions with the boys in tow because I had no one to watch them, no day camps to send them to, no play dates to pawn them off on. Once or twice my wonderful husband would watch them at his office for an hour or so, but already feeling like the worst mother in the world, I didn't want to feel like an awful wife too and ask for more. So, there the boys (who are 5 and 7) would sit with me in the lobby of my agent's office, sometimes for 2 hours or more as I waited my turn to read a few lines of script with the hopes of being chosen among hundreds of other voices and make a few bucks.

"Can we go home now???" "When is this gonna be over???" "Is it your turn yet, Mom???"

Torture. Yes, you could call it torture...for all three of us.

"Maybe tomorrow I'll record from home", I think to myself.

"CRASH". "BANG".

Squeals of laughter and screaming rip me from my revere. I duck my head out of my vocal booth and yell, "Keep it down you guys! Mommy is trying to record"! More laughter.

We are now a mere 5 days away from the first day of school and I stand in my vocal
booth trying to do an audition without noise from my boys. Realizing it's hopeless, I turn off my microphone and decide that my sons have won this battle. As I listen to their feckless laughter and clanging around, I smile. I look around, taking in our new home. We're still not done unpacking by the way. The boys bound down the stairs and greet me with hugs and guilty smiles. I can't help but be grateful. I am truly living the American dream.

A Personal Note From G.K. Bowes

Here we are! Officially launched. When first approached to write a
blog for this fabulous foundation, I immediately thought, "Who
wouldn't love a blog about being a busy wife, mom, and voice over
actress? Oh, wait...That would be just about...everybody"! Then
after some encouragement from the wonderful CEO Jennifer Davis and my
loving husband, I thought, "What the heck?".

So, I started writing. And, as the fates would have it, I enjoyed it
immensely. My fingers were possessed with a new found love for my
keyboard as I tapped out my thoughts and experiences. I began this
blog back in September, although P.I.N.K. wasn't officially launched
until Monday. However, I wanted to get a head start on capturing the
spirit of "The Voices In My Head", and I figure the best place to
start is at the beginning. Consider these first few blogs "archives",
if you will. You'll get to know me, I'll get to know you, and we'll
go from there. I sincerely hope you enjoy reading them as much as I
enjoy writing them. It is an honor to be here and to share with you.

So, without further ado, here is the first installment of "The Voices
In My Head".

The Tracks of Life- Sierra Leone

Trekking across the globe writing the 'THE TRACKS OF LIFE' one by one, Sierra Leone is known for her diamond abilities like calling the "hits" and being the go to girl for almost anything you need to know. She is on the rise to the top of this media game! Co-Founder & Co-Ceo of LOT 35 Media Group, Sierra's a revolutionary media mogul in the making . She can't stop , she won't stop. Who is she? Sierra Leone. And she's taking you on her journey as she continues to write her own soundtrack to this thing you call Life.

Ms. Sierra Leone

for ?'s or advice

askmssierraleone@thepinkfoundation.org

"You"- Raheem Devaughn

"Girllll, Every word in this song's gonna be about YOU!..." -Raheem Devaugn

I've NEVER gone a day without MUSIC. No, really. NEVER. LoL. Music has been & still is the sound of my thoughts, LIVE & DIRECT. There's been a song, lyric, beat or melody that has doubled as the soundTrack to my world & everyone in it, literally down to every moment!

Each week, I will blog about random thoughts & things, controversial topics, post interviews and so much more...all revolving around Music.

Believe in & support the mission for true sisterhood empowerment with The P.I.N.K Foundation!

Let me know what inspires YOU!!! :-)

*Send your responses via post,

email : @askmssierraleone@thepinkfoundation.org

twitter: @sierra4pink

Join me as I continue to walk...the Tracks of Life:-)

Til' next Thursday Ladies!...

Sierra Leone

Sleep on This > There's an unexplainable power in vulnerability and strength through inspiration. Stand strong and ALWAYS be YOURSELF!

'MEDICAL MAYHEM'

Leaving high school and moving onward to college and then a career culinary seemed to be the best fit for me because I was somewhat interested and had some talent in cooking. I wasn't really sure what my true calling or passion was but since I had always been encouraged to go after whatever I wanted in life I decided to put my all into into it. I succeeded in getting an Associate Arts Degree in Culinary Arts and worked in the field for five years. However, deep down I knew something was missing. I wanted more I wanted to touch lives and help people.



While building my own catering business I decided to work in a doctor's office. I worked in the office for three years doing front office work, back office work and anything and everything the Doctor asked me to do. I found deilght and pleasure whenever the task involved dealing with patients. I found true joy in working with people whether it was the slightly sick or those with severe illnesses. This is when I knew what had been missing from my life and my career all along. I needed to be able to make someone smile when they needed it most, when they were sick. I loved helping the sick and I kew that in order to do so I needed to study and get a degree in Nursing. Once I could clearly see my future and knew that nursing was my passion I began to pursue it with all my vigor. I have decided through working in the classrom and then in the clinics nothing can measure up to being a help to someone in need.

Nurse Chappell

For ?'s or advice

asknursechappell@thepinkfoundation.org

'LISTEN TO MY DEMO'

The sensual and soulful sound of Jasmine "J.Mitchell" Mitchell is penetrating through the music scene as one of the hottest and eccentric new voie of the future. With a captivating range and demanding stage presence, her voice stands uniquely on its own.

The talents of J. Mitchell have given her the ability to perform for crowds in high profile Los Angeles clubs, such as The Roxy, The Temple Bar, The Hollywood House of Blues, and Royal have all been blown away with the sweet and intricate sounds of J. Mitchell. "She inspires you to dream on the sneak tip. She is peculiar, triple take causing, space vixen au naturel, whose musci makes you tilt your head and say 'Hmmm," said Dazjea, of Purple Magazine.

J. Mitchell is inspired by all of the jazz greats including John Coltrane, Louis Armstrong, Miles Davis, Ella Fitzgerald, and Nina Simone, Jimi Hendrix, Shuggie Otis, Erykah Badu and J Dilla. She credits these artists with musically uprotting her creativity and enjoyment of her talent.

Using her self taught skills as a singer and songwriter, J. Mitchell has collboratd with many artist local and abroad, such as Famed Producer Exile, and Hip-hop legend Snopp Dogg. Generating buzz and radio play throughout the US as well as Europe. She has shared the stage with such acts as the Buena Vista Social Club Singer Omara Portuondo. Most recently while in Cuba, she sang at the Miramar Hotel with Cuban artist Ogguree.

J. Mitchell is currently recording her first solo project.

Ms. Melodiousfly

for ?'s or advice

askmsmelodiousfly@thepinkfoundation.org

'COLLEGE DAYZ'

I'm 18 years old and born in Los Angeles, CA. I've lived in many different cities within California. I attend The University of California, Los Angeles 'UCLA'. I have a younger brother, an older sister, and a younger sister which I lost to cancer 5 years ago. I enjoy hanging with my friends and having a good laugh. I know no one is perfect which is why I try not to be. I live by "What doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger."

You must stand for something because if not you'll fall for anything!

Ms. College Girl

for ?'s or advice

askmscollegegirl@thepinkfoundation.org

'VOICES IN MY HEAD'

G.K. Bowes is a wife, mother and voice over actress. She began her career as a microbiologist and molecular geneticist. After earning her degree in Microbiology, Immunology, and Molecular Genetics fro ULA, where she was also a Track and Cross Country athlete, G.K. spent a year doing research for the Food and Drug Administration. Deciding to leave the microscopes and DNA gel electrophoresis behind, G.K. was then inspired to follow her heart and pursue her passion for voice acting.

Since making that decision, G.K. has hit the ground running, booking voice over roles for animated shows, movies, and video games. She is the voice of Barbie for Mattel, as well as several voices for the new Play House Disney show, "Special Agent Oso". G.K. has also done voice over ads for commercials such as Wal-Mart, Sprint, McDonalds, Old Navy, Skechers and many more.

As a busy wife, mom of two young boys, and working actress G.K. will be blogging about balancing family, marriage, work and more with the power of persistence and staying positive while pursuing your dreams.

Mrs. G.K. Bowes

for ?'s and advice

askmrsg.k.bowes@thepinkfoundation.org

'I SWEAR I KNOW IT ALL'

Hey my name is Rella, I'm sixteen years old and a junior in high school yes baby 'Class of 2012'! I have 1 older brother and two younger sisters. He's a pain and they're cute but starting to be a bother at times. I like to hang out with friends, go to parties and just plain ole have fun. I don't like school but I have to do it. I joined the cheerleading squad this year which makes school so much more bearable. My favorite singer, rapper whatever you want to say is Trey Songz. That's basically all there is about me. I'm very outgoing and I love my life. LOL!

Ms. Rella

for ?'s or advice

askmsrella@thepinkfoundation.org