The Modern Renegade

Confidence, Psychology, Relationships

As I lay in bed perusing the Facebook timeline of my days, I realize the change, the evolution, the metamorphosis I have undergone. From the man I was with, to the boy who occupies my thoughts in this moment. From the life I thought I wanted to the life I am seeking now. I am not the same person I was. Of course, pieces of me still exist, but so much has changed. The girl I was is no longer. The girl I am today is a whole different story, and one that I can confidently say, is that person who has always lived deep within my soul. I have achieved much, yet somehow feel more childish than ever. I consider myself a woman, but with such youth, it’s almost childish.

Perhaps, I am evolved, and I aim to redefine what it is to be a woman of the modern ages. Unfortunately, it remains to be cute rather than sophisticated charm. I know the sophisticated charm lies in me because it comes out every now and again. However, the girl in me has been making an appearance more often than not, scaring the sophistication into total hibernation.

This charm, sophistication and refinement remains inside, but takes on a more juvenile persona. I kind of like it. Summer has passed, and winter is coming. I will not fully let go of the girl inside, for she inspires, excites, and electrifies me. Letting her go, would mean letting a large part of who I am drift away. I am just a little girl with big ambitions and the means to achieve. I love to play in the snow, drink too much, and frolic all day, but somehow these are deemed activities of the immature and childish. I disagree. I believe that both the child and lady in us all can coexist. Where is the expression “girls will be girls?”

Refined sophistication lies within the woman that not only speaks her mind, but makes the choice to live rather than exist within the confines of what she is expected to be. In fact, some find it daring and rather magnetic.

Although, it is time to put the summer sun behind, the little girl renegade in me is not. She remains. She always will.

As I sat with my man, he told me that he loved the renegade in me. That we were both renegades, which was why we share what we do between us. It was in that moment that I smiled, and realized, quite right he was. I could be as successful and motivated as I wanted, but I was never going to give up my freedom, the will to explore, discover, live.

So many people lose who they are, and become so entranced in their daily lives. They can’t leave, they can’t stay, and they can’t stand it. They are too afraid to do something different for the sake of being insecure. I dare say that side of me has crept up on me more times than I would have liked, but you must harness it. The reason this fear exists is because society has blasted it upon us. For some it is enough, for others it isn’t, but the fear weighs heavily upon their shoulders. For a mere few, this confinement would be the death of them.

Naturally, I’m not saying you cannot be successful in your career, many are and many do. A successful career can play a big part in a successful life. Humans strive to achieve by nature. We are competitive. We like to be the best. Achievement stimulates fulfillment, but only if you view it so. By no means am I saying to live life off the grid, but if that would make you happy, then perhaps it’s time. Just because you choose to view the world and your life differently than others do, does not mean that you are a renegade of society in its true definition.

So, what then, you might ask, is my definition of a renegade? A renegade is someone that knows when to take control and when to let go. They know when to stand up and when to keep their mouth shut. They are successful, but in doing what they love most, not in what others want them to do. The choices made in life are choices that lead them to their eventual true self, someone who is free from the fear of change, of instability, or being alone. A renegade lives because they know it will be more fun than anyone could have ever imagined. This renegade does not want to become the lawyer that their parents expected and marry the person Grandmother wishes.

The freedom to drink a little too much, move to Costa Rica for a couple of months, play the part of a ski bunny for the winter is what being a renegade is all about. Just make it sustainable. In my eyes, not being able to experience the many tremendously wonderful facets of the current world that we live in is like depriving yourself of a life worth fighting for. Who wouldn’t want to travel the world? Sit atop a camel in Morocco? Ski the powder pillows in Whistler? Or Hike the Inca trail to Machu Pichu?

What works for one may not work for another, but never be too scared to take the risk to fight for the life you want. To be the renegade you want to be. If it’s in you, let it out.


From Healdsburg to Napa: An Adventure in the Vines

Being Fabulous, Distinction, Healdsburg, Horses, Relationships, San Francisco, Travel, Wine Country

I awoke to the flock of mallards that had hijacked my iPhone and was screaming for me to get up. Coffee in hand and en route to Cousteaux bakery for a cake tasting. Only s few morning meetings and my work here would be done. I could finally commit to an evening of playtime. I wanted to head to the city to visit some friends.

All checked out and ready to go, I decided to head over to the infamous Bouchon for lunch. It was quite the risky move considering one needed to have made reservations months in advance to get in.

Many people find it quite difficult to enjoy a meal on their own. I happen to enjoy my own company, so it wasn’t an issue. Spotted. Sebastian’s car out front. I knew that car all too well. It was a BMX M5 with a license plate that read “SeaBass1”. I’m pretty sure he was the only one that thought it was hysterical. I remember one summer when we were in the South of France, jumped in the water and beamed, “You can’t teach a sea bass to swim.” He thought that was very funny.

It was in that moment, seeing his car, that I thought he was there for me. He must have known I was going to show up there. “Smooth calculations,” I giggled to myself.

I was escorted to my intimate table on the patio on the main drag. There he was, and there was that look. That look he always gave me. Again, it never got old. I gave my bisou and politely excused myself. Naturally, as expected, Sebastian insisted I join him and his guest for lunch.

“We just ordered wine. Don’t be silly. Assieds-toi.” I obliged. It’s really hard to say no to a smile like that.

The conversation immediately turned to my plans for the evening. Apparently, I had made plans to tour his vineyard and dine amongst the wine barrels this evening. I love when people make plans for me. Not too seem flattered, I acted unimpressed and bothered.

“Oh, please. You haven’t seen the new cellar and my sister is dying to see you,” Mr. SeaBass rationalized. In fact, he was right, but I wasn’t about to sit there in desperation.

“Under one condition,” I snapped back. “Im riding Bateman this afternoon.” Bateman was one of Sebastian’s ridiculously good looking and well bred warm bloods. This creature of excellence was named after Patrick Bateman from American Psycho. I wasn’t really sure why, but I liked it.

Sebastian grimaced, “you always get your way, n’est pas?”

“Don’t’ you?” I rebutted.

“Touche,” his friend remarked from across the table.

Sneakily, and without my knowing, Sebastian relieved the driver I had, and had moved my luggage into his car. What lengths men will go to. I openly teased him, but secretly loved the attention. What girl wouldn’t?

While Bateman and I would spend the afternoon together cantering in and out of the vines, Sebastian would dare to ride ahead, stimulating that playful competitiveness that charged our relationship. There is something very freeing about the way this trip was turning out. Anyone and everyone who had been occupying my mind in San Diego had been filtered out with the matching sweaters and socks and perfectly tailored jodhpurs of the day.

Just like a cliché, Sebastian and I made our way home as the sun descended upon us leaving a romantic glow. I knew his moves. I must out maneuver.

I’m a true believer in tacking and untacking your own horse. Stable boys are for middle-aged woman with nothing better to feast their eyes upon. Sebastian was feasting his eyes upon me. I could feel it. I was not there for that, although, I wanted to feast right back.

I could hear laughter in the distance. A group of incredibly handsome people were making their way down the hill to the outside patio by the vines. It was going to be one of those evenings. An evening filled with laughter, pretention and too much vino. I enjoyed a night like that every now and then. Don’t we all?

The sun had just set, and Sebastian assured me we would spend time together this evening. Apparently, so we could “catch up.” Yes, I’m sure that is just what he had in mind. Oh, boys.

After Bateman was comfortably put away in the stables, we headed to greet the others. I trailed behind Sebastian. I wasn’t his, and I wasn’t there to assume the position. We were “friends”, and that is how it was to remain for the rest of the evening.

To be continued….

Deep Into the Belly of the Fish

Being Fabulous, Nightlife, Relationships, Ski Adventures, Travel, Uncategorized

Back to reality, and wandering through the village, we made the necessary rounds. The Beagle looked a little lonely, so we decided to pop in for a quickie. A little warm up to the main event, if you will. You always want a practice run, just so you know what kind of night this may or may not turn out to be. The Beagle was dead. In. Out. On to the next.

Naturally, Maxx Fish had a line around the corner. NBD. We got this handled. Slip a little something something to the door man, and you were in.


Time to take it off. Coats checked. We descended into the belly of the Fish. Electronic beats sounded through the place. The room was overflowing with colossal amounts  energy. Maxx Fish had a great vibe. It was a large place that was separated into two different rooms. One room housed a huge round bar, and prime dancing space. In the back of the space, sat another sneaky bar with lots of couches throughout the area that you could just sink into. To the back we went.


Beers in hand and ready to get aggressive. Spotted. Prime dancing real estate. There was a platform that sat above a couch and underneath an arch. It overlooked the entire place. Fantastic. We all ascended to the dancers throne. The club was beneath us, and we were on top of the world. I felt that way at least. The good times were getting better. Love, laughter, and lude behavior. It was happening. Not once during the entire night did the smiles disappear off any of our faces.

This was just part of living, enjoying, existing.

Like a perfect melody, we were all so in sync with one another. It was like the stars had aligned themselves, and we were a crew made in heaven. Our energy was infectious.

I love to dance, but there is only so much parading I can do. Sometimes you just want to relax, converse, and let it all sink in. I descended from the throne, and let the others take over. I slipped away.


Without anyone noticing, which was naturally my intention, I walked up into the chilling cold. The music trailed behind me, becoming quieter and quieter with every step I took away from the Fish. It was snowing, but I was warm. I looked up at the two majestic mountains that towered above me.

“Tomorrow,” I thought to myself. But that was it. I was living in the present, so let’s get back to it.

After my moment in silence, I decided to rejoin the others. I rescinded into the belly, and sunk myself into a big brown leather couch. I had been spotted. Brynn joined me, and two fantastic gentlemen I had seen upstairs approached us with guns loaded. You know that look that guys have when they are preying upon you. Sometimes the guy just looks like a creep, sometimes they can pull it off. These guys could pull it off.

As intriguing as any man could be in that moment, I wasn’t really in the mood, so I let Brynn take control. Sometimes you just have to give it up. Let’s face it, I knew what I was looking for, and I wasn’t seeing it. I was in my zone. My world. Happy. Just me.

As any of my friends would say, when I find someone I actually have taken a fancy to, it’s a miracle. I can go on a million dates, and never find that single person that lights my fire. You know how some girls can just force themselves to like a guy, just for the sake of liking a guy? Yea, that’s not me. I don’t even try. Why would I? If you don’t intrigue me within the first 10 minutes of speaking, you should probably just give up now.

I’m not trying to be sassy here, its just the truth. I would never lie to myself.

I glanced around at all my friends. How lucky was I? I had some of the most fabulous people in the world as my friends. So filled with life. If only people could always be this happy right?

As I sat there and watched Brynn light up with smiles and laughter, I spotted the Aussie out of the corner of my eye. By the looks of it, he had become very aware  of my presence as well….

Whistler: Just the Beginning

Relationships, Ski Adventures, Travel, Uncategorized

White. All white. It was perfect, and tomorrow was bound to be the perfect day for a perfect ski. There was no way I was getting on that shuttle. That shuttle represented a ride back to reality. What fun is reality when you can live the dream?

That’s what I thought.

Drunk and sexually charged, I looked over at the statuesque man that I had met the night before, and who had just somehow managed to make it down the hill with me and all my luggage. He kissed me. I didn’t protest.  He wanted me, I wanted him. What else was supposed to happen? What was assumed to be the end of a 10 day excursion in absolute paradise was actually just the beginning.

10 days ago, I was sitting at LAX, having a Blue Moon and waiting for the effects of the Xanax to slowly take me over. It was the flawless start to what would be an unrivaled trip. In my euphoric state I handed over way too much for my beer and wistfully glided through the airport towards my gate, leather jacket and iPad in hand. After my Xanax, a much-needed beer, and a very strong Americano, I was good to go. While the herd funneled through the gate to the plane, I sat, waiting. I don’t do lines, and I was not about to start now. I watched them all. So eager to get on and wait some more. Not really my style. The final boarding call was announced. I got up. Slowly floated towards the gate and smiled. It’s On.

I only do window seats, so naturally, I had to climb over a burly man and his son to get to it. They were nice though, gracious, courteous, and my goodness they were not short of words. I had never met an 11 year old that was so eager to tell a 24 year old blonde all about his hockey days and whatever else 11 year olds these days do.

Strapped in, and all I wanted was that little stewardess to come by with the good stuff. I was flying high and loving every minute of it.

Landed. Yes. About freaking time. I was 3 beers and a Xanax deep, and had just been beaten in chess by an 11 year old. Awesome. It was time to make the call.

“Guess who just landed?” I asked sarcastically.

“Sweet, how long until you get up here? We’ve got reservations at 8.” That lovely Canadian voice responded.

“Uhhh, like, 2 hours the driver said. Getting on the shuttle now. Im ridiculously hungry, and could kill for a cocktail.” I giggled.

“Well both await. Get here.” Click.

I somehow managed to get my ass on the shuttle, and took prime position in the back. 2 hours and I was there. Whistler. The place where aussies flock like bees to honey and the snow flows like the pitchers of beer we drink at après ski.

2 hours later, and unfortunately, sober, I stumbled out of the shuttle, and was immediately knocked to the ground by some hot blonde. Awesome right? Well, that hot blonde happens to be Brynn. My roommate in college and forever best friend, Brynn and I are the perfect match with complementing qualities and dashingly great looks. Reunited.

Once recovered from the ambush, we headed up that infamous hill to the cabin. It had begun. It was so on.

As it was my first night in Whistler, an epic dinner was in order. Naturally, I spruced up and donned my finest leather boots. Not exactly the greatest idea, since in about 2 hours and a couple cocktails later, I’d be on my ass. In any case, I wore them because they looked good. Such a me thing to do. Beauty over brains right?

The village was white. Glistening. Phenomenal. I was ready for Whistler, but was Whistler ready for me? Anyone who has ever been to Whistler knows that’s a preposterous question. This place flirts with you, lures you in, and then consumes you. It’s like having a crush on the bad boy. Nothing good can come of it, yet it’s too good to let go of. Whistler does something to you. You don’t really know what it is, but you know it’s happening.

After filling myself with mussels, and yes, I’m talking seafood here, and a damn good truffle quail risotto, paired with a lovely chardonnay; Brynn and I took to the streets. And down. Man down. This is where I fall on my ass. I laughed. She laughed. It was hysterical, let’s be honest. It was a Monday, so we knew we were keeping it pretty mellow. There is only so much you can do to prepare for what was to come.

Sleep. Could I? I was already beginning to live the dream. And down. Man down. Eyes closed. Goodnight.

Grabbing the Bull by the Horns

Being Fabulous, Confidence, Relationships, Uncategorized

I scrolled through my iPhone and purged the device of his number. I said to myself, “just read between the cracks.” There was no reason for me to posses his number. Also, I had acquired some very impressive screen cracks over the past couple of months. He wasn’t worthy. Quite frankly, I was over it. I was over revisiting his elusiveness in my mind time and time again. It felt pretty damn good to take what seemed to be rejection by the horns and send it flailing in the opposite direction.

Now, I’m not saying that the feeling will not try to creep back up, but I decided I was going to own it. I just thought about that day in Whistler. I remembered the Glacier clouds. That moment where it all clicked. You don’t let others talk shit to you, so why should you let yourself? If someone tells you “vaffanculo!” you don’t invite them for a cup of coffee, almond biscotti and some supercilious conversation.

Mornings are always more dramatic than the rest of the day. You have been alone with your mind for hours. Dangerous. A psychology teacher once told me that the feelings you experience while dreaming tend to stay with you for about 2 hours after you wake. That is a recipe for disaster if you have my mind.

In any case, the morning moved on smoothly. It felt good to be free of that pressure. It was like a car wash, you just have to go through the ringer a couple of times until you can shake the scrub.