leohblooms

September 27, 2009

Date Night

Scene – After viewing Whip It!, Joe and Leah go to a local bar to have a beer and talk. It’s a private event, 4$ cover charge with mandatory ID check in.

Leah – I DON’T HAVE ANY CASH.
Welcome Lady – WEFHOS WHAADT GHDPPOOOAKS HIOAATTTSED! (plus 3 more minutes of unintelligible screaming)
Leah – WHAT?
Welcome Lady, laughing and pulling us inside – FHOOOOSENDA! QHTVEEEIAKALERRRR!

Joe and Leah use sign language and smoke signals to communicate until they go in the restaurant part, hoping to regain some use of their ears. They can’t hear anything the other person is saying. Anything.

Joe – DID YOU CATCH THE NAME OF THE BAND?
Leah – WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU! WHAT’S THIS BAND CALLED? DO YOU KNOW?

Drinks are served. Leah looks to the left and notices a VIP table. An empty VIP table which is actually the corner booth in a room full of empty tables.

Leah – HEY LOOK. GOOD THING THEY PUT UP THE VIP SIGN. THE DEMAND FOR THAT TABLE IS OUT OF CONTROL!
Joe – PIE? OKAY! WHAT KIND OF PIE DO YOU WANT?
Leah – PIPE? INSIDE? WHO HAS A PIPE?

The young lady walking around with an extraneous weight belt over her Tshirt and a pad of paper in her hands, looking all doe-eyed and new and slightly shy, comes and asks us what we want to eat. We don’t know. She comes by 4 more time in the next 5 minutes and asks us the same thing every time.

There is a cameraman walking around trying to make it look like the crowd is much larger than it is using tricky camera angles. Welcome Lady heads to VIP table, opens makeup case holding 287 different kinds of lipstick and starts to preen. Music switches to generic guy band over the bar’s sound system.

Leah – HEY! The band must be taking a break. Or their amp blew. Either way, my ears are still ringing.
Joe – What is that lady doing? Getting ready for her closeup?
Leah – I love her lip gloss. So shiny!
Joe – Seriously. I like when I can hear things.

We decide to order food. We look for the doe-eyed waitress intern for the next 15 minutes with no luck. Suddenly, Welcome Lady comes over and proceeds to welcome us to their shindig and thank us for coming. After a whole 10 seconds of that, she goes into a prepared spiel about living a quiet lifestyle and learning how to celebrate our lives while employing her to coach us through our special journey. Her qualifications include about, oh, 8 years (practiced nonchalant eye roll right when she says 8 showing us JUST how much it doesn’t matter) of fitness modeling. We smile and nod. She moves on to the the next table.

Band starts up. Bar does not turn off background music.

Joe – DO YOU HEAR THAT? IT’S LIKE BATTLE OF THE BANDS!
Leah – THERE ARE TWO SONGS PLAYING!
Joe – WHERE IS THAT WAITRESS INTERN?
Leah – DO YOU THINK THAT INTERN IS EVER COMING BACK? DO YOU WANT TO LEAVE?

Cameraman is taking a white sheet and pinning it to the wall, covering a window and creating a backdrop. He sets up his tripod in the isle about a foot in front of our booth. He steadies his shot, then moves back a few inches. Again. Again.

Leah – IF WE DON’T LEAVE SOON WE WILL BE LOCKED IN FOREVER.
Joe – THAT MAN WANTS TO PUT US IN A CAGE. NO ONE PUTS MY BABY IN A CAGE.

We pantomime leaving with our fingers, then get up and walk out. The evening autumn air is chilled.

Joe – What was the name of that band?

Aaaaaaaaaaaaand Scene.

September 25, 2009

Moving Forward Fund

Hello Internet. How are you today? Good, I hope.

For reasons that I’m not comfortable sharing very much of yet, I need to move to my own place very soon. As of this moment, I don’t have enough money to do it. But, I need to, trust me. I have a very hard time asking for help, let alone money, so putting a donate button or whatever isn’t something I can do. However, my integrity has no problem doing a service for a price.

If you are game for it, I’m going to offer some custom works of art for various prices. If you aren’t game for it, that is totally cool, too. I have no idea if this will work or not, but I need to try. Thanks for not leaving a comment telling me how dumb you think I am or how stupid this idea is or how you are going to unfollow me now. Just go ahead and do whatever you need to do and I’ll do the same. This is an incredibly hard time for everyone in the household and we need support, not poopoo.

So here’s the deal. If you ever wanted your own custom painting, this is the time. You tell me some colors or an idea or email me a photo or whatever and the size and I will create something custom for you. Shipping is included in the price along with my thanks and love.

I can do watercolor, acrylic, found objects with modeling paste, ink and combinations of them all. Realistic or abstract. Pretty much anything you want except for oil, because it takes about 3 months to dry and since I will be moving, I don’t think that is going to work.

1 ink and watercolor blank card with envelope – $10
Set of 10 ink and watercolor blank cards with envelopes – $50
Custom name or word in blown ink – $40
Any style painting size 6″ X 8″ – $50
Any style painting size 16″ X 16″ – $80
Any style painting size 14″ X 18″ – $100
Any style painting size 20″ X 30″ – $160
Paper Mobile, any three colors – $120
Jewelry – email for prices

Send me an email [leahATleahpeahDOTcom] with your requirements and I’ll get started. I prefer payment via Paypal (my email address) and please allow up to two weeks for delivery.

Additionally, these are still for sale. There isn’t any room for them where I’m going, so if you want them, get them now. If you have the desire to invite people to view this post because you think they might like a custom Leahpeah work of art, please do so and thank you. xo

September 24, 2009

This Post is All About Me. Seriously. Me. Me. Me.

This is a post all about me and it’s filled with photos of me and I’m going to be talking about me and pretty much only me. Feel free to move on if this doesn’t interest you. And let’s be honest – it probably only interests me.

I’ve never been happy with the way I look. Ever. I hated my fat arms and thighs when I was around 8. I hated the shape my legs made when I sat on a chair and I tried to not rest all my weight down so it appeared (probably only to me) that I was thinner. I’m the short one on the left –

In high school, I spent hours not eating and then hours puking if I did eat. I spent hours thinking about which foods had the most fat grams and how many pieces of popcorn I could eat and not reach 100 calories. Hours spent self-harming if I failed and went over. I was the fattest person in the universe. Here is what I looked like –

When I got pregnant at 17, I gained weight like crazy. Crazy! Like, 50 pounds in the last 3 months. After I had Devon, I looked like this and as you can tell by my bershon face, I thought my life was pretty much over.

sarah, i may have found another bershon.

After my four kids were born, I lost some weight. From the waist up. I tried to make sure that all photos of me were of my shoulders and above because I was a HIDEOUS size 16. Too large to fit most clothes in the department store. It really was the end of my life.

And now? My thinking hasn’t changed. I’m the hugest. Ever. Than anyone in the entire world. I have fat arms and neck rings. Tree trunk legs and squishy belly. I’ve spent too many days trying to figure out how to look smaller, prettier, firmer in photos to represent myself to the world as a different person. I was only fooling myself. As if this carefully crafted shot done in my own studio represents the real me. Still employing the shoulders and up rule, many of the photos I take of myself are fuzzed to oblivion because OH NO my skin has dark spots everywhere. And freckles. I love how this photo from a few years ago has the same bershon face as above. Trying to hide by chopping off the rest of my body.

So, ready? This is what I look like, me. Look at it. Why can’t you look at it and see how great the family looks together? Do you have to pick yourself apart, me?

Still looking, me? Good. When I drink, I look like this –

and this –

Leah’s here!!, originally uploaded by Aubs.

Here I am double fisting –

, originally uploaded by LeahK.

And you know what? That is fine, me. It’s ok to look happy about wine if you want to.

Here I am in the morning, hungover.

Leah, originally uploaded by s myrland.

And another hungover morning, also just fine. I don’t have to look sprightly in all photos, right me?

Ariel and Leahpeah, originally uploaded by crazedmommy.

This is me when my vest is too tight standing in front of a room of people. Yes, it doesn’t look as good as I thought it did when I left the house that night. That’s alright. Everyone makes clothing mistakes sometimes, me. Try to do it without hating yourself.

I look like this in a cowboy hat, all squared face. And yes, I was attempting to look cool.

IMG_8315, originally uploaded by katester.

Sometimes, me, I take horrible photos which accentuate my chipmunk cheeks, neck rolls and jowls while standing next to really cute people. This is fine.

When I’m leading a craft panel, and someone takes a photo of me from a lower angle, my legs look enormous and look at those dimpled elbows. My, my. Me, I can see you wanting to crawl under the table. Don’t do it. We’ll get through this.

Crafts Session Panel, originally uploaded by crazedmommy.

And when shooting photos with my friends, I will quite possibly always be the Giantess in the group –

Marrakesh lobby portrait — four, minus two, originally uploaded by s myrland.

Pretty much, I’ve spent my entire life hating the way I look. And I’m tired of it. I want to love myself just the way I am, large or not, with neck rolls, size 26 pants and boobs too large to do anything with. I want to look in the mirror and not worry that those people around me are looking at me in disgust and revulsion. Or disappointment. Are you on board, me?

I want to love me with a receding hairline and skin blotches

and chubby hands and fingers

trying my darnedest to look good using the Myspace angles and liberal amounts of lip gloss

sitting a little too snugly in the chair doing interviews

letting it all hang out with friends

acting silly

Leah!, originally uploaded by MaggieMason.

and looking insane due to accidental oversmile.

IMG_8339, originally uploaded by katester.

All of it. All of me, me. Got it? I don’t look perfect. I will never be able to compete with porn stars. I might lose weight and I might not be able to. I know it’s hard with the medication for my mental health, me, but I can feel good for trying, right? In any case, let’s do one thing right and love us.

September 21, 2009

Blue Shoes

September 18, 2009

You Can't Take Me Anywhere

Yesterday I went to the Tara set and met some wonderful people. I got to see how they shoot and watch the monitors and listen with the headphones. I sat by the writers and chatted and joked around. My first time ever on a set, and I think I nailed it.

For example, Toni Collette (I adore her!) (Super talented!) came to shake my hand right after I wiped my nose with my fingers and then wiped them down the side of my jeans. I turned around to meet John Corbett just as I was hiking my bra strap back up my shoulder. He does seem to be one of the nicest guys ever. When I was introduced to Keir Gilchrist, I was just coming out of one of those surreal moments where you can’t believe you are really where you are, doing what you’re doing. So, I was kind of staring off into space for a sec, jumped when I realized he was right there and then shook his hand very enthusiastically. Which, he loved just like any other 18ish guy would.

I was around Brie Larson (Used to be a pop star! How cute is she with the french fries and shit!) the most. She was joking around with some of the most awesome writers to ever grace the earth, Brett and Dave, and I was in a nearby directors chair, surreptitiously listening and trying to appear like I was busy with something on my phone. Which I was not. Because my battery was almost dead. So, I’m just sitting there, half turned their way and randomly clicking buttons on the phone’s keypad, which is CLOSED. And then I thought to myself – this is pathetic. And it was. I put my phone in my pocket and turned more their way and started interjecting laughter and smiles at what I hoped was appropriate timing. Ha ha ha! You know the scene in 16 Candles where Anthony Michael Hall’s character is sitting on the bleachers at the dance trying to start up a conversation with Molly Ringwald’s character? Ya, kinda like that. The three of them were so witty, I had no hope of keeping up. So, instead I blurted, ‘I love your tattoos!’ to Dave in the middle of their dialog regarding a Craigslist murderer. It went really smooth. You should know that this little incident is not their fault at all. They were very, very nice to me. I just happen to be a dork sometimes.

I also met Rosemarie DeWitt, who was beautiful, very nice and friendly. She was recently in the movie Rachael Getting Married. (LOVED it. Very good flick.) With her was Ron Livingston and I had to actually bite my lip from leaning over and whispering in his ear, ‘I hate my job and I’m not going to do it anymore.’ in my very best Peter Gibbons‘ impression. Or, ‘Uuumm, yaaaa. Peter. I’m going to have to go ahead and ask you to come in this weekend.’ Both, hysterical. To me. I’m sure he’s never had anyone do that before.

At one point, I went next door to do an interview they filmed to use in the season 2 promos and on the Tara website. I was a little nervous at first, but everyone there made me feel so comfortable, it went fine. I said Um a lot and kept checking the ceiling to my left after every question, apparently waiting for the answer to float down softly like snow. Which, could happen on a set. Look for that, friends. I’m adding awesome interviewee to my repertoire.

The director of the interview wanted to shoot some B roll footage to cut to during the times when my talking head gets boring to look at in the editing room. They told me to not look at the camera and just keep doing what I ‘normally’ do. Hm. So, I stared at the screens and looked at some footage. Then, I held the headphones to my ears and stared even harder at the screen, accompanied by a small but distinct furrowed brow, showing real concentration which almost burned a hole on screen one. After about 6 solid minutes of that excitement, the director asked me to talk to the writers and do some pointing, which the writers were very good sports about. The dialog for that conversation went something like this –

Me – Um.
Brett – Now let’s look at this page in the script. See where she says, ‘Can I?’
Me – Now I’m pointing, too. Yes. Pointing right there.
Brett – Let’s turn to this other page and see where I’m pointing?
Me – Yes, I see that. Right here?
Director – More Pointing!
Me – Oh, look. Look at the screen!
*I point furiously, from screen to screen then back to script, sweat forming on my neck and glistening on my forehead.*
Brett – Yes, I really see you pointing now. You’re pointing at the screen and now at the script.
*My arm is stuck in some kind of pointing pattern up and down and up and down.*
Director – -sigh-
Cameraman – I guess there is a reason you guys are writers and not actors.

And, scene.

The thing I noticed when meeting everyone on set, and this goes for meeting anyone anywhere for the first time that knows I’m MPD, is that they say hello a little cautiously, with some curiosity in their eyes. They study me for just a second or two, trying to decide if I’m an ACTUAL crazy person about to do ACTUAL crazy things or if I’m mostly tame. I enjoy that moment immensely. And one of these days, I tell ya, I’m gonna do something completely bizarre after shaking their hand, like start ticking my head to the right repeatedly and saying, ‘Not NOW, Satan. Not NOW!’ I’ll wait til I meet Steven Spielberg to use that one.

September 11, 2009

Reaching

September 8, 2009

Prickly

September 3, 2009

This Side of Manic

The dark rabbit hole has passed and I’m now the Official Queen of the Universe. I can do anything, any time, anywhere with anyone. Have a huge project you need thought through and organized? That’s me. Give it to me. I will dissect and chop it into tiny bite-sized pieces. Have an insurmountable mental puzzle? Toss it over. I’ll unweave your mind while we have coffee and laugh at reality television.

Seriously – I am on top of the world. I want to start a magazine, a new book proposal and finish a book idea I’ve had in the works for ages. I want to attack the south side of the house and make it beautiful with landscaping and flowers. I’m ready to get all the photos out and make books for all the kids.

This is the better side of manic. This is the reason people get off their medication. This is the tricky part because you get used to it and then when you fall next time, it’s truly a tragedy and you don’t feel like you’ll ever feel good again. You want this side of manic to last forever. But, it won’t.

But right now, I feel fantastic.

August 30, 2009

Neon

If they came and kidnapped me right now and blindfolded me, gagged me
stuck me in the trunk
I would stay calm
because I know the roads.
I would know where they took me.
Quick left, quick right, quick left
to the freeway
or the other way.
The slow S shape
winding back and forth.
They won’t go 35 and 45.
They are in a hurry.
They will push it and speed.
And when the orange sign warns that going over 30 round this turn will lead to death and it will be your own fucking fault
they won’t listen.
They will go as fast as they want.
But the car won’t flip or crash because the guy driving the car is a professional.
I’ll use my nose to figure out where we are.
The smells go like this
City, people
Less city, people
Grass
Soil
Rich, rich soil
Soil and garden
Onion rings?
People
City
Cars, industrial stink
too much.
And Joe says
You Don’t Ruin Everything
Don’t say that anymore, Leah, it’s not true.
And I hear him from far away.
I’m not really in the trunk
but I am bound and gagged.
The buildings and the streets
they are neon pink and orange
It’s not true, I know.
But I still see it.
I’m not in the trunk.
I know I’m sitting next to Joe in the front because from my vantage point in the back seat
I see him holding my hand.
There are tears running down my cheeks
for no reason at all.
But my mouth is trying to smile and feels like nothing is wrong.
They aren’t connected to each other.
My mouth says
Gatorade powder
toilet paper
milk and I smile
and my eyes cry
for some unknown reason until I need a hankie or tissue.
In the isles I can’t stop staring.
The boxes, the floor, so sharp, so blurry
all so beautiful in neon.
The colors are almost overwhelming plus I know they aren’t there but, they are and I can’t stop staring.
Everything should cost a dollar.
Things are so expensive.
Joe gently guides me along
and when I say to no one except the cereal boxes that I like Honey Nut Cheerios
he says
Yes You Do. You Like Them.
And grabs my hand to look at canned beans.
There is a family with four kids.
Both parents are wrangling two.
Line the kids up and they make a stairway just like my kids did.
But my kids are old.
I don’t get to nurture them like that.
And I can’t even have a dog.
Would my pet dog be neon red, too?
And glow and look like fire?
The dad looks at me in surprise
and then pity.
I’m walking next to me
and I see what he sees.
I have the look of a crazy person.
My hair is unwashed, clumped and stuck in all kids of directions.
I’m wearing Joe’s Hawaiian shirt that has the same leaf colors as the bird’s poop and it hangs over my bra-less front.
My jeans are sagging, top button undone.
I’m shuffling
and my eyes are puffed, tearing and have red rings like clown makeup.
Next to myself I see this.
Back walking in myself I don’t know it or care.
And the floor is orange now.
The air smells so good on my face on the way home.
I love air.
I tell Joe I Will Be Better Tomorrow. Joe says I Know.
And Joe is helping me make nachos with cheese and black beans.
I eat them.
I vomited all morning.
My tummy feels humming but it doesn’t kick the nachos out.
And Joe gives me warm kisses on my cheeks and eyes and lips.
I feel them.
And I feel them.

August 29, 2009

Craig n Julie

This is my brother and his wife. I can never get them to sit together and let me take a nice photo of them together. Good thing they are so cute.

August 27, 2009

22 Reasons Why I'm Not Following You on Twitter

Dear Lady,

I understand your request – you would like me to follow you on Twitter. Believe it or not, I understood the first time you asked. The 8 times I ignored you, I thought, would have been a message in itself. But, I guess not. And this last one kind of drove me to the edge, so without further ado, here are some reasons I might not be following you. I’ve gone ahead and put in reasons I might not be following any certain person but look through them and see if you can pick out which ones apply to you. Fun game!

1. I don’t want to.

Even though that one doesn’t tell you a lot, it is the main reason which I shouldn’t need to explain, but I’ll go ahead and break it down further for you, in no particular order.

2. You are following 1,542 people and the 24 people following you are all spambots.

3. All your tweets are a RT of @somefamousperson

4. All your tweets are @famousperson Please Follow Me!!!!!

5. All your tweets look like this – just shittin herre. hahalol she a bitch, yo n hate hahalol

6. All your tweets look like this – Call Me! FOR a GOOOOD TIME!! I GOT IT BABY!! I LONELY!!!!!!

7. All your tweets look like this – iM jUsT dOiN nUtIN aLl DaY sHiT sUcKs!

8. All your tweets are promoting your business.

9. All your tweets are an inspirational quote. Some are fine, but I can only handle so much.

10. You joined in April and never tweeted.

11. You haven’t tweeted since April.

12. I did follow you, but you auto DMd me so I quit you instantly.

13. All your tweets are replies to only one person.

14. You don’t tweet anything interesting to me.

15. You tweet 30 times per hour. I can’t handle the load.

16. Every tweet is a whine or complaint. I can’t handle the negative energy.

17. I don’t know you, never met you, haven’t heard of you, none of the people I follow are following you, combined with any reason above.

18. You are a friend or friend of a friend and although I like you a lot and maybe read your blog, I’m not that interested in getting your tweets.

19. You are a friend or friend of a friend and although I like you a lot and maybe read your blog, you only tweet about sex.

20. You are a friend or friend of a friend and although I like you a lot and maybe read your blog, you usually tweet in all caps.

21. Your tweets are protected. How am I supposed to know if I want to follow you or not?

22. The majority of your tweets are about how many people are following you or not following you.

I know I’m not an authority on who is a good Tweeter and who is not. I am not telling you that these 22 reasons should be reasons for anyone else. But they are my reasons. You can make your own.

At the end of the day, Twitter is there for me to enjoy. If I’m not enjoying it, what’s the point? And part of enjoying it is crafting my list the way I want it. Me following you or not following you has nothing to do with your self worth, how cool you are, how famous you are or how much I like you or don’t like you. I certainly hope no one takes offense to whether I’m following them or not. I follow the people I want to keep up with. They don’t all follow me back. I don’t care. They are following who they want and are probably following people that don’t follow them back, too. It’s not a popularity contest. It’s a feed of tidbits and tiny news bulletins from sources I want to know about.

So, last words – go out there and craft your own list. Follow the people you really enjoy and not the ones you don’t enjoy. And don’t feel bad about it, even if someone repeatedly asks you to follow them. Stick to your guns and don’t give into peer pressure or hounding. They can’t make you. You can’t make me. You aren’t the boss of me.

August 26, 2009

Orange

This dirt is actually more red than it looks like in this photo. It’s the Southern Utah dirt.