12 Things I Love About Lorelai Gilmore

(Image Credit: tvfanatic.com)

If mommyhood were high school, then Lorelai Gilmore would definitely be sitting at the cool table. She's hip, she's fun and she's most definitely hot. She's the kind of gal you want to confide in, and she's always good for a laugh, a lark or a scathingly sarcastic come-back.

She's the anti-Donna Reed, and God help us, we love her for it!


In honor of the supremely cool Lorelai, here's my list of the top 12 things about her that absolutely adore.

1. She's a Fierce Momma Bear
Lorelai may move through men faster than Miss Patty can find them, but one thing on which she never wavers if her immovable devotion to Rory. When it comes to dating, no dad (even one cleaning out a gun on the front porch) has ever been more terrifying than Lorelai Gilmore when she's telling Dean, Jess or Logan exactly how things are — and how they're going to be.

2. She Can Do TakeOut Like Nobody's Business
Julia Child she is not, but she can take a phone and a slew of take-away menus and turn them into a mind-boggling feast that only those who dig the Gilmore world can fathom. Whether it's from Luke's, Al's Pancake World, or an odd assortment of Chinese, Indian, and pizza establishments, Lorelai turns ordering takeout into an art form. Rory's inaugural night at the Yale dorm was a masterpiece.

(Image Credit: Tumblr)

3. She's Knows How to Do Life Like a Boss
This teenage momma worked her way up from housekeeping and sleeping in the spare shed to owning her own home and, later, her own inn as well. She outsources bake sale projects to the unsinkable (and gastronomically gifted) Sooki, she has coffee running through her veins, and she does it all in figure-hugging wrap dresses and knee-high boots. If she was into musical domination instead of quaint New England inns, she'd definitely give "Empire's" Cookie a run for her hard-earned money.

4. She's 100% Committed to Who She Is
Maybe the reason Lorelai can't seem to say "I Do" to someone else, is because she already tied the knot with herself. There's no talking to this lady when she sets her mind to something — and she doesn't distinguish between that which is good for her and that which is bad. But even when she makes you want to slap her (sleeping with Christopher again?!?!?) you have to admire her commitment to the action at hand. Whether it's stubbornly defying her mother, doggedly supporting Rory or pathetically seeking comfort from her baby daddy, she jumps in with both feet every time.

5. She's the Best Friend a Girl (or Guy) Could Ask For
In the midst of running her inn and single-mumming the hell out of her daughter, Lorelai still manages to make time for the supporting players in her life — most notably Sookie and Luke. Even though she doesn't always follow through (leaving Luke in the lurch on painting party night), she always means well and she usually goes way over the top to make up for her mistakes. She even knows Sookie's pregnant before Sookie does. Lorelai and her friends are woven into one another's lives without reservation and I think that's a beautiful sight.

6. She Loves Cheesy Shit
And I'm not just talking about pizza. Lorelai is in love with things like balloons at birthday parties, wacky town traditions and the first snow of the year. She loves the romance and spectacle of classics like "Casablanca" and "An American in Paris," but equally digs the "Final Destination" franchise and "Hard Bodies." She buys all the candy in Willy Wonka before sitting down to view the movie. She's a dork and she does it balls-out.

7. She Gives Back to the Community
It may seem like the town is always coming to Lorelai's rescue, but they wouldn't be there for her if she wasn't an integral part of the fabric of Stars Hollow. She and Rory are key players in all the town's many festivals and traditions — and when all the guests for the Victorian-themed Bracebridge Dinner get snowed in, she invites the town to come stay at the Inn and enjoy all the goodies (including Jackson in tights and horse-drawn sleigh rides!).

(Image Credit: Twitter)

8. She's Beautifully Flawed
Lorelai has inspired a cult-like following of ladies who look up to her, but the best part is that Lorelai isn't perfect. She messes up a lot. And she messes up spectacularly. In fact, I put forth that Lorelai may have been one of the original "Bad Moms" as brought to us on the big screen by Mila Kunis, Kathryn Hahn and Kristin Bell. It's great to see a role model that doesn't get everything right.

9. She's Plucky
From its fun pronunciation to its undaunted definition, there's hardly a more apt word out there to describe Momma Gilmore. No matter what happens, she has an uncanny ability to get back up, dust herself off and live to snark another day. Neither fire, nor arrests, nor car accidents, controlling mothers, or bad-boy boyfriends can keep Lorelai Gilmore down.

(Image Credit: Tumblr)

10. She Has No Filter
One of her most recognizable traits is her rapid-fire dialogue, chock-full of obscure pop culture references and dripping with sarcasm. Sometimes it's funny, others it's endearing, but every so often it gets her in trouble. 

I don't think Lorelai even knows what an internal monologue is, but that makes her an open book that we get to read. And we get to live vicariously through her often ill-timed rants that put all the posh people on edge — and make them more uncomfortable than the sticks that are so well-placed up their arses.

11. She Eats Dessert First —
— not every time, but Lorelai definitely has no qualms about ordering desert. She's constantly eating donuts, cake, pop tarts, pie, candy, and pretty much anything that's artificially flavored and stuffed with sugar. I just wish I could eat like Lorelai and still keep my girlish figure — I've never seen this junk food junkie work out, and it's simply not fair!

12. She Believes Life is Cause to Celebrate
One thing Lorelai does very well is mark an occasion. She throws killer slumber parties (just ask April), plans elaborate movie nights, simulates Asia in her house when Rory's plans change and takes on four Thanksgivings in one day. Lorelai doesn't hold back when it comes to celebrating life's important moments and she works hard to intentionally create memorable experiences for Rory to take away with her into the world. I've tried to do the same with my kids, and I love it every time Lorelai turns an ordinary Thursday into a special occasion.

Day #25 "Gilmore Girls" Words to Live By

(Image Credit: Tumblr)

(In true Paris Gellar form I'm going to write both sides of the issue, because I can - check back tomorrow for Things I Can't Stand About Lorelai Gilmore)

26 Days Until I Can Watch "Gilmore Girls: A Year In the Life" (or Who the Hell Decided Patience Was a Virtue?)

Unlike the rest of the "Gilmore Girls" devotees out there, my wait for the return to Stars Hollow has not ended. Indeed, the worst days, I fear, are still to come.

When we first learned of the new "Gilmore Girls" installment, my kidlets and I made a pact to set aside all other cares, obligations and considerations in order to huddle together on the couch (with ample junk food, of course!) and go back to Luke's Diner, town meetings, and the Dragonfly Inn together.

Our original plan was to commence on the day after Thanksgiving, the day the series was released. However, despite our best intentions (always paving that road) it was simply not possible for us all to come together. We discussed our options - viewing remotely together through FaceTime or Skype or plain, old phone calls, viewing separately and then re-viewing together - and decided that  we simply could accept no substitutes to our original game plan.

Besides - if Lorelai could completely postpone Christmas itself until Rory returned from jolly old England - we could delay our "Gilmore Girls" reunion for a few weeks.

But now we must be on our guard and avoid any and all spoilers about the super-anticipated show we all love. Fortunately, the holidays should provide plenty of distraction along the way. And, to help me while away the Gilmore-less days to come, I've decided to post a Girls-centric blog every day until the viewing.

And, believe it or not, I have a LOT to say,.

So, if you're sick of all the "Gilmore Girls" nostalgia, I'm sorry - ignore me and my rantings for the next little while. However, if you - like me - have discovered new things to love (and a few things you don't love so much, after all) about the spirited, quick-witted, pop culture-loving phenoms of Stars Hollow, keep an eye out for my daily epistle.

 Day #26 "Gilmore Girls" Words to Live By

"Only prostitutes have two glasses of wine at lunch."

"Well, then buy me a boa and drive me to Reno, because I am open for business!"

confessions of a nasty woman

After reading all the news - all the reports and all the analyses - I feel like I should be a Trump supporter.

I don't have a college degree.

I was a single mother at 20 - and a divorced mother of two by my early 30s. 

I'm in the low-to-middle class (depending on the year).

I'm white.

And - to top it all off - I have blonde hair and blue eyes. 

But I couldn't be more appalled at this election's outcome. 

I am also a friend and family-member of mixed-race, gay, lesbian, transgender, immigrant, mentally and physically disabled/challenged, non-educated, religiously fervent and other wonderful people who are not exactly like me.

Despite all that, I believe in the undeniable right of all people to be treated equally and with kindness, respect, compassion, understanding and the benefit of the doubt (even the people I don't agree with).

I drove across at least three states to go to my daughter's wedding to another woman. 

I now proudly call that same daughter my son. 

My greatest fears in the wake of this election are that we may no longer (for real) be listening to one another - searching for common ground - or even seeking basic understanding of that which we don't already know. 

I'm  afraid that hate and fear are stomping out love and reason. 

I may be scared about the future of my healthcare (I'm self-employed and the Affordable Care Act has been my best, most affordable and ONLY option), my right to control my own body, my son's safety in a bathroom, my daughter's chance at a fair shake in a man's business world, and the life and liberty of Americans not fortunate to be considered "normal" or lucky enough to have been born here - but I am stalwart in my faith that good will prevail, that right will out, that most people set out each day to make the world a better place and that we as a people learn from our mistakes. 

As a textbook, fundamental Christian for most of my life I was heartsick over the voice of Evangelicals in this election cycle. I did not find the love, forgiveness, understanding, grace and compassion that I was raised on. 

I do, however, have to give a shoutout to the predominant religion of my state - the LDS church - they held fast to their convictions and did not bend them to accept a man whose public behavior (all we had by which to judge him) exhibited hateful, violent, racist, bigoted, deceitful, misogynistic, homophobic, transphobic, xenophobic and otherwise deplorable (yep, I said it!)  attitudes, actions and values. 

Huzzah! to an organization that stands by its fundamental beliefs.

In the quest of my life I have thirsted after knowledge that would bring hope and relieve suffering and show me a path of giving, love and compassion. 

I have not been a saint, but I have benefitted from the study of those who are. 

And - after having spent my life as a gentile in the world of Latter Day Saints, I must give them their props for being willing to stand up and say NO - regardless of the consequences. 

I may be living in a perpetual RED state - and I may have to buy my wine at the liquor store instead of the grocery aisle - but at least I know that some truths remain self-evident: Mormons are really hard to hornswoggle and people can stand on their own truth even if it's not popular. 

I'm not happy with this whole election cycle - but obviously we have a problem. 

Now is the time to give each other a break - let's look one another in the eye and be human. 

Who cares who sits in the Oval Office if we don't have each other's backs? 

Never Underestimate the Power of Gilmore Girls

I'm not sure how it happened, but "Gilmore Girls" has become my life.

The kiddles and I have embarked on a complete re-viewing of the entire series – from the first episode to the last – in anticipation of a day-after-Thanksgiving marathon of the much-anticipated new installment.

Oh how I have missed thee, Gilmore Girls!

For too many years than I like to admit, I have been lost. Off-track. Adrift. Battered by the harsh realities of teenagers, mistakes, the dreaded empty nest, and the devastating loss of the only thing that has ever truly been my purpose: being a mother to my loinfruits.

I know I'm still a mother, and I still do motherly things, but it's not the same when you don't come home every day to homework, "what's for dinner?" and a reassuring mess that leaves no doubt as to the necessity of your continued presence.

But – after they're all grown up – it's just not the same.

Don't get me wrong, I prepared for this reality for years. Bracing myself against the inevitable collision of independence and adulthood that was just waiting to plow me down. And – despite my best efforts – I learned that in this, as with any other crash, bracing yourself for impact only causes more damage.

And then the Gilmores brought me back.

I know it sounds ridiculous at the same time that it makes total sense.

Over the past several years (yes! I literally mean years) I have blamed my discombobulation on everyone and everything, but after just a couple episodes I realized that my major malfunction is really the loss of the one thing I always used to define myself.

I have been a mom for 55% of my life - 57% if you count gestation. It's always going to be the thing in my life (other than breathing) that I've done the longest. And I love it. I wouldn't want it any other way. But my sweet petites are now 24 and 21, and no one lives at home (although we all know it could happen again), and no one needs me after school or after work or for a ride.

It's true that I have looked forward to this very circumstance for a long time. Now that it's here, though – despite the fact that I do love the freedom and cherish so much my relationships with these amazing creatures I had the honor to help cook (even though they'll never be done) – I've lost my True North.

I feel it in my  teeth, my fingertips, my follicles, my spleen, my toenails, and the deep, deep depths of my foundering soul. Before I fully realized the root cause of my discontent; however, Lorelai and Rory showed me the light. Going back to Stars Hollow restored my spirit. Recognizing myself – my faults, foibles, good intentions, and fierce love – in all the lovely ladies on this show made me remember who I was and the things that made me happy.

In typical Rebecca form I had been facing the loss of my deep-rooted parental imperative by stubbornly acting as if nothing were wrong. Then Lorelai, Rory, Sookie, Paris – and even Emily – gave me permission to feel all the feels.

Instead of going to therapy I have gone to Stars Hollow and Friday Night Dinners and Yale. And I must admit that (so far) the results are marvelous.

Thank you, Gilmore Girls – and I can't wait to catch up with you in November.

Best Resume Services in SLC for 2015 & 2016!

I just received notice that I've been named one of the Best Resume Services in SLC on Thumbtack for the second year in a row!

Woo-hoo!

Here's the notice I got from Thumbtack:

Celebrate two years of being the best

Congrats on another year of greatness, Rebecca. You’ve been recognized once again for your outstanding customer reviews. Nice work!

Anniversaries

an·ni·ver·sa·ry

ˌanəˈvərs(ə)rē/

noun

1. the date on which an event took place in a previous year.

   "the 50th anniversary of the start of World War II"

   • the date on which a country or other institution was founded in a previous year.

     "Canada's 125th anniversary"
   • the date on which a couple was married in a previous year.

     "he even forgot our tenth anniversary!"

     
     

     
     

     For better or worse — just as in the wedding vows so notably associated with the idea of anniversaries — certain dates, moments, events mark us forever. 

     
     

     Some are relatively easy. The day we were born or met our true love or became a parent or got proposed to on the beach. Those are fine anniversaries. Dates to remember, revisit and celebrate. Pop the champagne, crank the tunes and cue the laughs. These are moments to mark. They remind us of who we are, where we came from and where we hope to go.

     
     

     Others are more challenging but just as persistent. Sometimes even more so. None more difficult than the dates, moments, events where we had to say goodbye. 

     
     

     For as surely as the moon follows the sun, anniversaries of sorrow and pain dog our days. 

     
     

     These occasions of remembrance are not less important than those occasions of celebration. In fact, they are so bittersweet because they co-mingle the joy of a person with the pain of their absence. 

     
     

     Today marks one year since Tyler's dear, sweet girl Julianne took her leave. 
     
     Twelve months, 365 days, 52 weeks that I can scarcely believe have passed. 
     
     A year in which I have cried so many tears. For so many reasons. And so many for Tyler, for Julianne, for my friend who unexpectedly lost her husband, for old friends who tragically lost a son, for a baby boy lost so many years ago, for my beloved grandfather and wonderful aunt, for a desperate uncle, for my little brother's childhood best friend, for too many lost to the despair of suicide over the years and their loved ones left to carry on...for everyone faced with the stark and irrevocable absence of someone they loved. 

     
     

     Most of these sorrows I have carried with me for years if not decades, but the beautiful Julianne opened my floodgates. I don't know why and I still haven't been able to really stem the tide. And part of me is okay with that. I believe the memory of a person, the celebration of a person, the absence of a person deserves attention, notice, acknowledgement and even tears. Especially tears as it seems that is the best I have to give in their honor. 

     
     

     Standing in Today and looking backward I am grateful for many things. I am supremely glad and eternally grateful that I answered the phone on the second ring when Tyler called in the wee hours of the morning. I am so grateful that I kissed Julianne on the cheek and said "I love you" the last time I saw her. I'm grateful I did the same to my grandfather the last time I was able to share a day with him. 

     
     

     I'm thankful that it's a year later and Tyler is strong, happy, healthy and more hopeful than I can remember. 

     
     

     I'm grateful that I've seen enough loss to know that we can survive. That we do survive. And that our survival honors and celebrates those we so desperately miss. But that doesn't diminish the loss or make the anniversary easier. 

     
     

     What I do know is that over time — and it may be a very long time — the anniversaries come with less weight. Less dark weather and haunted dreams. The first time you realize the anniversary is upon you without weeks of gloom and despair heralding its arrival you will feel guilty. For some reason we are prone to wear grief as the testament of our love, devotion and remembrance. But, when we think about it objectively, we would never want anyone paralyzed in mourning on our behalf. 

     
     

     The undeniable truth is that anniversaries are unavoidable. Some we look forward to and some we wish had no reason to exist. But their acknowledgement — and their passing — is imperative. 

     
     

     In the words of King Solomon, 

     
     

     "There is a time for everything,

     and a season for activity under the heavens:

     
     
     

     a time to be born and a time to die,

     
     
     

     a time to plant and a time to uproot,

     
     
     

     a time to kill and a time heal,

     
     
     

     a time to tear down and time to build,

     
     
     

     a time to weep and a time to laugh,

     
     
     

     a time to mourn and a time to dance,

     
     
     

     a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,

     
     
     

     a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,

     
     
     

     a time to search and a time to give up,

     
     
     

     a time to keep and a time to throw away,

     
     
     

     a time to tear and a time to mend,

     
     
     

     a time to be silent and a time to speak,

     
     
     

     a time to love and a time to hate,

     
     
     

     a time for war and a time for peace."

     
     Anniversaries are a time for us to remember, to mourn, to celebrate, to share and to heal. For Tyler this is the first of many tough anniversaries to come, and that breaks my heart. But he is up to the task and I am so proud of him. Along with the pain anniversaries also bring resilience. 
     
     I am indescribably devastated to have this anniversary to mark but am so grateful for the love, light, joy and healing that it brings along with the sadness. Because to remember that bright girl is to remember sweetness, authenticity and a true, genuine spirit that was rare for a girl of just 17. She was delightful. I am so glad to have known her and cooked meals for her and watched the way she looked at Tyler and never once hesitated in calling Tyler "him." 
     
     We love you Julianne. You are in our hearts now and forever. 
     
     
     

     

     
     
     
     
     
     
     

     
     
     

     
     

Snapshots (OR ...but it's the holidays!)

I have intentionally carved out time in my life to write my book. And to write the types of articles I want to try to get published beyond my SLC safety zone. This is my third week of carved-out time and I have filled it completely and utterly with Christmas.

I will really get down to business after the holidays, of course. I just didn't factor in this festive time of year when I made my decision to go balls-out on the book front.

To no one's surprise, I haven't written one word for the book. Well, that's not entirely true...I've jotted several notes and sent myself a glut of emails with a word or phrase or picture of what I intend to write later.

Snapshots.

I've been leaving a trail of snapshots my entire life.

Terri, much to her dismay, has witnessed them as scribbles on the back of a receipt or torn envelope that I will not allow her to throw away. Today the snapshots are usually electronic and the pile has grown in proportion to the ease and accessibility of being able to capture every random thought the instant it strikes.

It's not that I'm not working. The words are always there — balm or poison depending on the moment. That's why there are so many snapshots. I've always felt that meditation on and the recording of the snapshots counted as work — as writing. And thanks to a wonderful writer who shared themselves and their process at the Jackson Hole Writer's Conference last June, my method — and my stance that it is work — has been validated.

She was like a force of nature, and there was no way to get out of her path. I'd enjoyed and appreciated every speaker and workshop facilitator I'd seen so far, but when Jewel Parker Rhodes took the stage and opened her mouth I fell in love.

Photo from Facebook

Jewel lived up to her moniker. She shined and glittered and seemed like something very precious. She read from one of her books — an excerpt about the horrific miracle of childbirth as cobbled together by the unlucky product of one such struggle that left the newborn narrator without a mother to see them through their transition to this strange, new world. The language was lyrical, but her telling of it — in a booming voice when required, and as a whisper softer than the wind when needed — was transcendent.

Right away I knew Jewel was different — and I recognized the kind of storyteller I could only hope to become. Every speaker and mentor at the conference was there to encourage the struggling sapling of a writer that was striving toward the sunlight of their wisdom, experience and success. Advice was the order of the day. And it was good advice. There were enough similarities from one author to the next that it was easy to discern the habits of highly successful writers. The number one commandment seemed to be "Thou shalt write every day." That wasn't a new one for me. My high school newspaper adviser (and beloved mentor and cheerleader) had taught us the same thing in our Intensive Journalistic Writing course. It was a pilot AP course and because we had one of the top high school newspapers in the country (yeah, that's right — in little, old Idaho Falls!) we got to take it for a test run.

Part of the course was keeping a journal. We had to write in it every day. And by every day, I mean Every. Fucking. Day.

"A concert pianist doesn't become a concert pianist without practicing every single day," Mr. Bennet would say. "To become a great writer you have to put in the same practice."

That meant even weekends and school holidays had to be recorded in the journal, which you would turn in to him twice per term for critique and a grade. Skipped days counted against you and there was no acceptable excuse other than loss of limb (legs didn't count) that would excuse a missing entry.

It seemed tedious, even for me, and I am known to state that I sprang forth from the womb with a pen in hand and a story to tell.

To help us out Mr. Bennett came up with a variety of writing exercises and prompts. The most memorable involved a piece of fruit. He bestowed upon each of us a fresh piece of fruity goodness. I got a peach. We had to write about our little piece of paradise for one full week — seven days. We were to watch it and describe it as time, oxygen and the odd bite took their toll. It's not quite the same as taking care of an egg for a week to teach you about the consequences of surrendering to your teenage hormones, but it comes pretty close.

Being present with that peach as it started to wrinkle, sag and attract fruit flies became something I looked forward to. It was amazing to witness the tiny alterations that occurred every 24 hours. It's startling what you can discover when you're forced to pay attention.

That exercise, more than anything else, made me a true believer in the benefits of writing every day. Over the years there have been times when I'm better at maintaining that discipline than others. These days I write pretty much every day for my work. In fact, I bring home enough bacon from writing that I was able to leave my corporate career woman persona behind and do nothing else.

When I first started to realize that writing could actually be my full-time gig I was giddy. Writing every day and getting paid to do it was a dream come true. My stress level is sort of non-existent. My commute is from wherever my body is currently planted to the nearest cup of coffee or glass of wine.

But, greedy creature that I am, I want more.

My true calling is to actually write a book. A whole book — with an author's forward and an epilogue and everything in between. I've started many. I've finished none.

This is where the carving out of the time comes in. I had been writing and teaching online. Between the two I just couldn't bring myself to consistently set aside any additional time to work on "The Book." Hence the carving out of the time. I figured I could just swap out the teaching time for book time and then I would have no excuse.

Enter Christmas. The Holidays. The Most Wonderful Time of the Year.

Everyone knows that The Holidays are no time to take on additional or new work. There's enough to worry about when it comes to conjuring Christmas magic and decking the halls without trying to write a frickin' book — Am I right?

Of course I'm right.

Which brings me back to the exquisite Madam Jewel.

"I know I'm supposed to tell you that I write every day," she said with a sneaky smile teasing the corners of her lips. "But I don't."

Wait — stop the presses, hold the phone, hit the rewind button; whatever it takes to ensure me that I heard what I just heard. It wouldn't have made any difference to me if she stopped right there. This was a revelation. This was mutiny. This was NOT the way to be a writer. And this confession gave me hope.

"I spend a lot of time thinking," Jewel continued. "I think a lot about what I'm writing. I ponder. I take a walk or cook dinner or share a laugh and the whole time I'm plotting and pondering about how to capture this in words or how it helps me frame a narrative, breathe life into a character, or capture authenticity.

"I count thinking time as work. I may not be physically writing, but I'm writing."

Hallelujah! I'm pretty sure I heard choirs of angels breaking into song and heralding these good tidings.

I may not be typing or scratching out actual pages every day that make my manuscript grow, but — Christmas or no Christmas — thanks to the incessant voices in my head I am sure as hell writing.