if left in an empty room without anything but myself, could i find god? and by "find god," i mean could i have a spiritual experience without devices such as gospel, church, and other people? i've been thinking a lot about this because if the answer is "no," then there is a problem. i thought about experimenting this weekend... staying at someone else's house while they were away, turning off all things electronic, and closing the door until i experienced something. instead, i went to shakespeare's.

my need to be social may be a problem as well. i find myself constantly texting to see what's going on out there in san diego and making plans for tomorrow, the next day, and even for after i'm done with whatever i'm doing right now. part of me feels entitled to this: i work hard all day, so i can have fun afterwards. but then part of me wonders if i should be productive with my free time. should i be volunteering at hospitals and rescuing cats from trees? or should i be taking classes or practicing yoga? let's look at a typical alise week....
work = 27%
play = 15%
sleep = 32%
consumption = 9%
errands = 2%
other people = 3%
alone time = 9%
exercise = 2%
i wonder if these are fairly normal numbers?

recently, i had a health concern. details aside, it was some of the worst discomfort of my life. when it was at its apex, i thought to myself, "if this continues, just kill me." it's not as though my life flashed before my eyes, but it did make me think of what i should be trying to do with myself before it ends. the universe keeps putting me back into salon world, so i might as well open my eyes and embrace the obvious: DO HAIR ALISE! in the coming year, i will (fingers crossed) start cosmo school. hair may not be my passion but it will enable me to do my passions, which aren't very many or very exciting... eat, drink, write, travel. i know The Reader accepts write-ups and if published you get like $50, i should probably try doing this shit. or try submitting something to someone, i mean if i want to be a food critic one day i best start now....

don't be such a square

life just goes on, you know? you make a choice, you deal with the consequence. it's all mathematics, 2+2=4, that kind of thing.

there is much i want to say, but it all feels trivial.
i just want to know: why is it ok for some people to be mean, deceptive, and judgemental while it is not ok for others to perhaps drink, lie, and cheat? who is setting these rules? i think i am referencing only personal experiences. i think i could step outside the boundaries and see something fresh. i'm in a box.

it feels like a coffin. if it don't leave soon, i'll sufficate.
life isn't meant to be taken seriously, it's a joke. just keep laughing.

sleep. hair. wings.

jacob: to answer your question, which i just found 2 minutes ago, God hates "sin" like stealing and gossip. this of course opens a new can of worms, but thats what i meant by "hate what he hates." ps i got the song and i like it, thank you. pps i can't wait to see you, really.

i haven't been sleeping. sleep deprivation is a sign of aging, i think, because growing up it was only people older than myself who complained of insomniac spells: my mother, my grandfather, my friends in their 30s. at 23, i think it's come too early and frankly, i'm freaking tired of being tired. my eyes don't even start to look alive until midday. my mornings are spent drinking coffee in hopes of energy... energy that comes only in fits, like seizures. people are often asking me what i am on. i am doing everything right: i am active, my caffeine intake is low, i drink beer and take tyenol pm... hello, whats the deal?!?!

i am taking a break from certain people, certain things. maybe its not temporary, maybe it's going to be permanent. i find myself filling obligations that no one has obligated me to do, no one but myself. in my head i have a list of "things i must do; people who i must see; places i must go" and then i stress out. and then my mom sits me down and tells me "you don't have to do it." and then i am ok. in many ways, it's good i still live at home because most of the time i need an authoritative hand to make decisions. just tell me what to do! i am bad at making decisions, worse at commitments. oh yeah, i am realizing i am a bonafide flake. this scares me.

recently, a friend told me, "you have to have more goals then to be a wife." we were at the waterfront on a monday afternoon. i was eating free popcorn. he was eating 25 cent wings. both of us were drinking water. this was said in response to my whiny claim, "i don't know what my goals are." his words caused my eyeballs to get teary and then my throat to get lumpy as i was not about to cry at the waterfront on a monday afternoon. for days afterward, i kept thinking about what he said. no, i did not have some great goal-epiphany. but i did a make a decision and that is to complete my hours and receive a cosmo license. is hair my "passion?" no, but if staying dormant, cooking gourmet recipes, and writing on a whim paid the bills then i would get a license in that.

growing up-- and maybe this is a church-kid thing-- i expected growing up to be exciting. like, every major crossroad to be illuminated like the las vegas strip. for all things to be handed on silver platters trimmed with parsley. for white doves to fly from heaven with messages from God himself telling me EXACTLY what i should do. alas, this is not growing up. growing up is realizing life is putting one foot in front of the other and when tripping occurs, to stand back up and not freak out... i freak out a lot. sometimes you just gotta make a decision and then be okay with it. so this is my decision, to do hair. and to write, even just this silly blog, with hopes of someday getting paid for my opinion.

maybe, i will sleep better tonight.

something is dripping outside my window.

facebook makes other people's lives too available. i don't need to see an entire photo album of you taking shots in PB out of plastic cups, wearing a tank top too small, and looking like trash. nor do i need an update on your health and/ or boyfriend's health. it should be called faceboring.

recently, my life has seemed sour. nothing bad is happening, though, i am just not too keen on september. august was hard, but at least i got a job that month. so far september has given me nothing except a lot of... disappointment? (side note: grammar will fail me at 4:30 in the morning, pardon the juvenality of this post). just in the past week the dreaded "just friends" card was dealt not once, not twice, but three times! and though i expected nothing less, it still felt heavy in my gut like too much chinese food. insecurity is really gross, i am aware, yet it can be justified. september has been insecure. is it ok to allow spells of looking in the mirror and seeing wrinkles? of asking almost everyone you know if you look fat in this... "this" being jeans, a skirt, a dress, anything. of coming home early, going to bed, and trying not to cry when your parents ask their friends, "who should we hook up with alise?" i need a boyfriend for no other reason then to spare me from having to answer, "how's the love life?"

i mean life is good.... working at Hyde-Edwards again is too sweet for words; God really is smarter than I am... it was the LAST thing i wanted and it was the last thing i got. it makes me wonder if He was waiting for me, if the job would have been this great, let's say, in April. or if His will were to have it come when it did. it doesn't matter, does it? so many trivial questions can clog up my mind and the server gets busy and i can't receive anything. i think that's what's been happening lately: i'm thinking too much about... ME. ooooh big shocker! if nothing else, this blog allows me to process things easier. i'm sure it's not the most entertaining. i was reading a client's daughter's blog. she and her girlfriend are traveling in bali. she is really funny. it made me want to be wittier with this. sometimes humor comes naturally, september hasn't been that humorous though. even my laugh is napping.

ps, i am thinking about getting my tattoo. mom, i know you'd rather do all the grocery shopping for the rest of your life than see this happen, but don't freak. it's only thinking, not inking.

you are what you love

things i love (to name a few):
sweet potatoes. mornings. coffee with flavored creamer. finishing at least 2/3 of the crossword. cooking for friends and impressing them with culinary skill. giving and receiving compliments. making someone laugh. laughing. when God speaks. the Bible and My Utmost for His Highest. writing. making good mix cds for friends and, heck, for myself. veggie burgers from burger lounge, green beans from the riv, and jeremiah red from BJs. golden girls. christmas shopping. being overwhelmed by God's love and having no words, just tears. that His grace really IS sufficient. butteflies in stomach. brushing knees in jacuzzis. my wig. silk edges of blankets. summer camp. getting someone good by remembering how they take their coffee or giving them their favorite treat. kate sessions on a clear day.

the reason for this exercise:
i read once, or heard?, that to be a christian is to love what God loves and hates what He hates. duh! however, when examining what it is you actually love/ hate, one can realize how off-target one's heart is trailing. not everybody should live by this standard, only those using the Christian-title. this includes me, hence the exercise. things i hate can wait for another day. anyway, the above list is condensed and sometimes "cute," but it's all true. and most of what i love-- if not all-- are things that make me feel good. the thing is, though, most of what i love should make GOD feel good.... most of what i love should entail obedience, service, and compassion.

1 john 2:15-17: Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride in possessions—is not from the Father but is from the world. And the world is passing away along with its desires, but whoever does the will of God abides forever. (bolding by me)

one of the most brutal scriptures, i think. making the list and scoring it with this standard, i feel foolish. i don't have much else to add to the topic. maybe later.

jibber jabber

engagements-- specifically proposals-- can be terribly romantic. for example: last night, my friend tobin asked his lady, orissai, to be his wife. he said, "you make me the happiest man. i love you more than anything in the world." her diamond sparkled brightly all the way down to me, seated at the foot of the table. that table full of close friends and family. gathered to celebrate tob's birthday, but we knew what was coming. we knew the champagne toast was really a means to a proposal. orissai had no idea. a secret kept. i think i cried a little.

andy, tob's brother in law, also made a toast: "i remember when the sparks began between tobin and orissai and tobin was so scared. and i said, 'when you're scared shitless it's a green light to move forward.'" ahhh, ain't that the truth.

usually what scares you is what you've invested your heart into, you've strewn your dreams across a landscape of "what if..." and if only certain stars would align, perhaps you would move forward. yet, you are scared. or maybe that's just me. i am realizing i am more scared than confident. for example: i am scared to actually pursue writing. i am scared to tell people how i really feel. i am scared to commit to a career (hair, history?). i am scared to say "i'm praying for you" when a girl at work complains of a migraine. scaredy freaking cat.

i mean what's the worse that can happen if i open my mouth and say, "this is how it is, i am attracted to you. we get a long real well. why don't we go for ride on the dating train?" or "the reason i don't ever want to hang out is because you talk too much and, quite frankly, you're boring." side note: is there anything worse than be boring? i think not.

and i am so afraid of some plan not coming to pass, that i dare not declare a goal or vision. how presumptuous of me to think i could be published! or that i could be a busy hair dresser! or a good wife! in the past 23 years, i've grown certain of only a few things: God is true. He is holy. He is in control; I am spoiled, bloated, and inconsistent. So, i rest easy knowing greater is He who is in me....

the thing about grace....

it requires change. one cannot receive it and remain the same, that would be a waste.

so, like wearing new jeans that haven't been stretched out, you kind of just wobble along waiting for some give, some room to wiggle. and then what was once so uncomfortable, becomes a second skin. without which you feel nearly naked. levis and grace go hand in hand.

how does the saying go? it takes a lifetime to build a reputation and a day to destroy it? probably not even a day, probably a mere second. one word can change everything, let alone a look, a decision. i see this principle, however, only working in the negative. when a bad reputation is attained it takes much more than a day to change it. or so it seems. people begin to expect certain things from you. certain reactions, faces, and attitudes. often times, their expectations birth reality. even though you have changed---thanks to grace--- you fall back into old habits.

________________

last night i was used up and ready for the trash. everything from my feet to my spirit felt spent. when i got home, i opened a new castle and sat on the couch to tell my dad all the horrors of the day: 20 minutes of complaint. open beer number 2 and it was his time to talk. my dad gives truth in digestable dosages: "for the past 20 minutes all you've talked about is yourself; you're self-obsessed. you see the glass half-empty." well, shit, he was right. again and always. "let me tell you something," he continued, "not to be dramatic (i love that qualifier!!), but when your brother was dying, i'd be driving home from work to frickin' el cajon to ed and louise's house (his in-laws) to my dying son and my wife and daughter who were dying, too (of course not phyically speaking) and this dark cloud would come on me and the only thing i had the stength to say was the name of Jesus. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus over and over." by this time, i'm crying. the thought of a father watching his only son die... it just kills me. as it should, right? i mean, my whole belief system is based on this very thing: God watching His Son, Christ, die. by His death, I am made alive. His sacrifice means my grace. yet, i am so quick to be near-sighted and only see 2 feet in front of me. distracted by an extra 3 pounds or a broken air conditioner or a bruised apple. accepting His grace requires me to see beyond myself. It is no longer I who lives, but He who lives in me. and this, my friends, is an exhausting process that can leave you spent on a wednesday night. thank God for dads and beer.

when did i become a "grown up?"

simple magazine is holding an essay contest. in 1500 words or less, they'd like to know when i first realized i had grown up. must be 19 to enter. apparently, at 18, you are still a kid despite the lotto tickets and porn collecting in your closet. the pretty prize for chosen submission: $3000, trip to NYC, lunch with editors, and of course publication. i NEED to win this, i am totally capable of writing an essay bouncing with poignancy. my 1500 words or less could definitely make an editor laugh, cry, and wonder why she/ he hadn't already discovered me. at prize-lunch, they would pick my brain, asking how i attained such wisdom at an early age. naturally, they would beg for more and i would oblige, directing them to this blog. which by that time should be chuck full of entries. after reading and re-reading, liking and loving.... i would get my own column. and my inspiring story would be made into a lifetime movie. it would premier after project runway.

ahhhhhh fantasies are fun.

...but it's all coming back to me

oh god, i forgot how good celine deon sings! listening to 90s ballads really gets you going in the morning. anyhow, i want to talk about living supernaturally. you see, what makes a christian a christian is not the cheesy bumper sticker or patriotic tee shirt or gay bashing or purity ring... what makes a christian a christian is death. the death of Christ, namely, then followed by death to self.

but what does that even mean, "death to self." well, as far as i can tell, it's inner suicide. it's taking every single ounce of me and killing it. my pride, my dreams, my preferences, my attitudes, my natural dispositions, etc etc. this includes what we like to call "reflex." this is death to self. and it does not come naturally, hence it is supernatural.

regarding being born again (the cornerstone of christianity) oswald chambers writes, "only when he is willing to die to everything in his life, including his rights, his virtues, and his religion, and becomes willing to receive into himself a new life that he has never experienced. this new life exhibits itself in our conscious repentance and through our unconscious holiness." when i first read this, i was snapped in a fetal position. depressed, down and out, hating my life. wondering--- like i do many a day--- what the hell God was thinking.

what could be so wrong to cause such desperation? the minute i tell you, it will become clear what god i serve most of the time.... money. not having a job for 5 months kind of dries up funds, kind of lets debt get you by the balls. and even though you live in la mesa with a view to kill, even though you get to eat your favorite foods everyday, even though you have parents to provide and friends to love, even though your life is more perfect than it's ever been, just because you are unemployed and penniless, you hate it and listen to a lot of dashboard confessional.

what was God thinking (and apparently thinking for the past 5 months)? that Alise Marie Alicardi is still alive and well. and she better start dying real soon. and those idols better not just be shifted, they better be knocked the hell off that high place. or else, it's going to get worse.because God will do what He must to have His people live up to the name they adopt: Christian, little Christ.

"for His sake i have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that i may gain Christ and be found in Him-- that i may know Him and the power of His resurrection and may share His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death." Phil 3:8-10

This will be the death of me

I wonder how many women are going to start writing blogs because they saw "Julie & Julia" and thought it looked easy. Rewarding, even. Sure, I got the idea to write this after seeing it, but I'm not expecting a book deal. Or a movie. Like Julie Powell, I just want to be a real writer. What determines that? A publisher? An agent? Nah... a reader determines that. So, might as well put something out there to read.

Last night, my childhood best friend had her first baby. A girl-- Zoey-- weighing in at 9lbs 14 oz, with lips the colour of wine. Holding her was holding purity, like I should wash my filth from her curled up fingers. Sitting there, with this warm thing in my arms, watching my friend become a mother, I felt out of place. No one prepped me for the change in script...this time of friends getting married, having babies, becoming adults... while I sit on sidelines and wait for a text from the dude I fancy. I feel stunted. I need someone else to write the lines, cause I ain't got a thing to say. My lips need a cigarette to distract from the things they aren't saying.

Dear God, I am so sick of saying "I don't know what to do with my life." Even more tired of hearing, "That's normal for 23 year olds." I don't want to be normal! Nor, do I want to hope it will all be better the minute 24 comes knocking. Moms, dads, doctors, and strippers all promise I am meant for greatness... but how does normal become great? It's a process, yeah? Well, maybe this blog is a part of it. Maybe it won't be the third most read on Salon.com, but someone will laugh at my self-deprecation. In turn, I will help said person burn calories (a good fit of laughter burns 40).