a poem for a wednesday

I can't sleep. My age is showing.
Under some market list I scrawl my thoughts and feelings out like a diary I actually think somebody might pay for.
I can't sleep so I scroll Facebook
and miss old friends and judge semi new ones.

tiny dancers

Through my daughter my husband is the best dancer I have ever seen.

He's not the dancing type, Aidan isn't. Sure when I met him he was the smash his guitar in front of 65,000 people while wearing a studded jean jacket and no shirt type but somehow the freedom of letting go and dancing just wasn't a vulnerability he could tackle. So I thought oh well, there goes something I love most. That's ok. He's kind. He's smart. He's sexy. I can dance alone.

And so it was

Or so I thought.

6 months ago to the day we had Everly June. After I pushed her out my first thought was thank god that's over. I loved her I knew it I had since before she was conceived. I never worried how I might feel (or lack thereof) about my daughter. Love has always come almost too easy for me. So there was no overwhelming so this is love Cinderella moment. Mostly I was just happy to have some feeling back in my legs and this little ball of beauty out.

Aidan's experience was visibly different.

He held her and his world changed. I saw it happen, like magic sparks escaping from the points of her finger and dancing like little diamonds into his eyes. They shared a moment so cliched the whole room had to slow down and watch their slow dance. She looking up into those kind eyes, he being changed forever.

We've been a family for 6 months now and we are the best one on the block. We sing with her. We dance and play guitar to her. We laugh with her. Hell we laugh at her sometimes, can't help it. Lately teething has taken our perfect princess and bullied her into a bit of a bitchy grump. But there are moments. Many many moments. Yesterday we had an epic dance off to Bruno Mars Uptown Funk. They won. Because when Aidan dances as Everly, a star is born. I consider myself an amazing dancer. As as team they're better. Through him she's got moves to impress Michael Jackson. Sure I may not have sexy club nights but I've got dance offs that when compared, dull those nights into the tipsy blur they belong in. I have Michael Jackson and her puppet master Baryshnikov. I have never danced better.

ev eats squash first food 1/19/15 1 day before her 6 months on MLK day

Farewell to Arms (or cookies)

breaking up with cookies.

I love sugar.  I love cookies.  I love snickers.  I love sesame bagels.  I love sesame anything.  I love hemp milk. I love oatmeal. I love Teriyaki.  I love seeded bread.  I love bread.  I love Coca Cola.  Oh hot damn how I love Coca Cola, the sweet fizzy nectar that transports me home no matter where in this wide world I am.  Even though growing up we weren't allowed soda it still reminds me of the coziness of home.  I love cookies.  I love dessert.  I love apple juice!  How could I forget my sweet precious cold apple juice!?  Nectar of the Gods.  Coke and Apple Juice live as the happiest lovers of all time, walking around holding hands, brightening days, handing out badges of diabetes like proud dance cards. I love frying up bacon with brown sugar (lots of brown sugar) and having a midnight snack with a large glass of apple juice.  Followed by a cookie.  Have I mentioned?  Cookie I love you.  I sing you a song. I love pasta.  I love gluten basically.  I love fried chicken. I love mac and cheese.  I love Beer.  Beer beer yummy delicious refreshing beer. I think I've refused to accept no Beer yet.  Rice Beer drinkers?  Help a sistah out?  I also love many things I haven't mentioned here, fruits, vegetables, some meats, sushi. But I'm not here for those things.  I'm here for the cookies and the bread and the juice.
And just last month I was told I had to give it all up.
Gulp.
This isn't real.  I won't become someone who has to ask where the gluten free grain free sugar free oat free organic fun free isle is, will I?
My heart sank then found air then sank in the same rapid just been broken sorta losing it mode. Cookies flashed before my eyes in parades of cinnamon, chocolate, Mandelbrodt (my favorite), snicker doodle, like little golden babies going off to college and leaving me with an empty nest. Loaves of bread on perfect Italian vacations with coke in a bottle and lots of beer and wine followed by gelato and cookies waltzing rapidly out of my life.
All that love above? That a lot of broken fucking heart.  And for what?  What the fuck is an Anti-phospholipid Antibody anyway?  My rheumatologist Dr. Veturuapalli ( Dr Swamy.com ) told me I didn't even have the APLS syndrome (APLS) was just bordering it.  So why in the world was I about to trust this other man,  this nutritionist (Eric Miller) telling me I couldn't just cut back oh no I had to CUT what I loved most out of my diet. Quite frankly I decided to trust him because as wonderful as my other doctors were and are and continue to be in the this process, nobody mentioned what nutrition might have to do with anything.  Nobody but my trusted nutritionist.
Hence the adventure of blind faith (and making something fun out of something drastic...or well not really fun per say lets call it challenging.  Exciting even)
Oh, Let me mention what I don't love.
Cooking.

me thinking about no cookies and having to cook.

So while I may talk about what I'm having for dinner because everyone cares don't expect tantalizing photos of what I've whipped up or extreme successes in that department.  I'm no Cat & Mara Make Food and if all of a sudden I start posting that kinda shit please just be happy for me. Judge all you want.  I would.  Know that I might have changed but somewhere deep down be happy for me.
Cooking sucks.
Oh and before I forget, the lists of DONT'S include tapioca. Random.  And surprisingly I will not now lament the departure of tapioca pudding as I don't think I've ever even had any anyway.  Another no no was coffee.  Man that had me happy I don't drink coffee. Imagine you people out there who can't start your day without coffee, being told you're basically allergic. That's like them telling me no weed.  No please. Anyway I have some weird cross reaction to tapioca where my body identifies it as wheat.  More on that later cyrex takers (Cyrex cross reaction food sensitivity tests) Anyway back to the point, no tapioca means no mainstream gluten free bread that I actually enjoy like Udi's (http://udisglutenfree.com/) which while gluten free is actually delicious. Gluten free bread! It's healthy! Nope.  Not for me.  Just as bad.  So now I was to be one of those dreaded wanderers in the market making demands for grain free, tapioca free, gluten free bread.  Sometimes coming home with loaves so sad they cry tears.  Literally tears of sadness.  My husband (Aidan Nemeth formerly of Wolfmother) the rock star turned day trader care taker extraordinare by the way has decided to come along with me on the dietary adventure.  A vegetarian who's gone chicken and turkey for me; that's love.  Anyway we've created a secret name for it whenever we are in the market looking so as not to appear obsessed with a fad.  We have code names for the words gluten free and organic which work just fine until we end up lost in the market and end up having to ask anyway.
Now back to my distrust of the kitchen.
That weird place that gets dirty so quickly.  That produces mediocre dinners and fabulous cookies.

me and my kitchen.

So I start today sharing my adventure with an autoimmune condition.  Nobody knows what to call it but everyone says it's there. I start my relationship with my kitchen although don't expect any wonders in that department. And the start of the horrible lingering pain of my break up...with cookies.  Please join me again as I bitch about a problem that only seems annoying when your body is allergic to your own body.
Join me as I rant about movies and feelings and diets and marriage and autoimmune bullshit.
Until tomorrow when I write about some hive or tell you about the time I went to Maui for my honeymoon and broke out in burny itchy rashes all over my face and neck caused by who the hell knows?  Or the time my nutritionist told me my fasting blood sugar levels were pre pre-diabetic and I was like Whaaa? Oh the life THE LIFE.
-Lucy gets a clue

good lord I haven't written in a while.  so much has been going on
what can i catch you up on movie wise?
great gatsby was really awful man!
shit.
42 was sappy.
I haven't seen a good movie in a damn long time.

SHAME

http://www.artsbeatla.com/category/film/ new review up over at artsbeatla.com


shame.  holy fuck and i meant that literally.

click the link and read please

W.E

new review up over at artsbeat.com,  same getacluesy

visit the link below for my W.E review

http://www.artsbeatla.com/2011/12/madonna%E2%80%99s-w-e/

30 Minutes or Less

30 Minutes or Less 

    When best friends Nick (Jesse Eisenberg) and Chet (Aziz Ansari) hit a rough patch in their long-term friendship one doubts they may ever have the desire to patch things up.  That is until con men strap a bomb to Nick’s chest and force him not only to rob a bank but also to ask for help from the one person he swore never to speak to again.  His ol pal Chet.  Meanwhile bomb men townie losers Dwayne and Travis (Danny McBride and Nick Swardson) plot a dismal yet droll plan to hire an assassin and off Dwayne’s dad affectionately called The Major and awesomely played by Fred Ward.  Seems The Major has been cramping Dwayne’s style by asking him to get off his ass and get a job.   Thus a hit man idea forms at the local strip club.  Two seemingly harmless losers are all of a sudden messing with life and death. 

    The plot ensues and without telling the entire story in my review let me just make it simple.  The movie is great.  Heartfelt and fanciful yet deepened by the strong relationships portrayed on screen by actors smart and talented enough to bring depth to a screwball comedy with a seriously great script.  The screenplay written by Michael Diliberti is his first and actually portrays a sort of untainted Hollywood goodness that often shows up in comedian flicks such as gems like Orange County and Harold and Kumar (also buddy stories with feel good endings.)  

    The absolute highlight of the film is the dare I say genius comedic performance of Michael Peña as Chango, the highly trained assassin.  This was a performance I couldn’t miss one moment of, making it through the entire film without a bathroom break in fear of missing his moments.  Well thought out and character driven, the role was completely unique and obviously sculpted by Pena’s attention to detail and comedic chops.  Aziz’s usual funny man, deer in the headlight antics work well, especially when paired with the very serious and committed Eisenberg (even in a comedy the actor’s emotional  scenes involve involuntary face twitches that only add sincerity to a hilarious script.)

    Amidst the summer blockbusters perhaps the real worth of your 15 bucks lies in the hands of some small town crooks and a couple of dudes aiming to make you laugh.  They succeed.  See it.