Freckled Freedom

Losing love is like mourning a death. A part of the heart is tainted, it continues to beat for that person, pulsing to appease the need to rewind time, to reclaim what was lost, to repair fragments that could never be fixed in the first place. I have been doing research on the subject matter for some time now and the conclusions I have drawn show the difference in losing a love over a life is that the pain eventually dissipates. There is a morning when the moment you wake is not clouded with what ifs, a morning when the sun greets your face and smacks you silly, a morning when your first thoughts do not relate to him but rather, are rooted in how you will conquer a piece of the world that day. The focus shifts from faintheartedness, frustration, and F-yous to remembering how intoxicating the journey of life is. The heart stops hurting and the pulsing changes its pattern and begins beating for you again. As the sorrow-stricken statuses on Facebook have revealed, two months ago, my amb...

Flashlights. Canned food. Gas tanks. Gutters. Windows. Sump pumps. Generators. Fear. Frenzy. Ladies and gentleman, brace yourselves. Watch all of your DVR'd shows and keep those macs a'charging. Get those gas tanks topped off and gather up your flashlights. Batteries? Fight to the death. Only the fully charged will survive. Most important of all, get your wine bottles ready to let those corks fly when shit hits the fan and Hurricane Irene comes to town.  New York is currently in a state of emergency as it waits the arrival of Irene... and when it comes to hurricanes, us New Yorkers do NOT mess around. For the first time in my 23 years of existence- yes, to be politically correct, I am rounding up a wee bit- the NYC transit has ceased services. The subways have shut down and evacuations have been enacted. Every news channel is saying goodness gracious glory be! Batten down the hatches because this bitch is going to be one bumpy ride. Well, perhaps they haven't worded it s...

ac·cept·ance 1. the   act   of   taking   or   receiving   something   offered. 2. favorable   reception;   approval;   favor. 3. the   act   of   assenting   or   believing:   acceptance   of   a   theory. 4. the   fact   or   state   of   being   accepted   or   acceptable. Just the other day I was talking with a good friend and former boss about acceptance. She grinned, telling me how her two year old has mastered this gem of a quality. Other children may take his toys, hoarding them, living like kings and queens of the sandbox. His response? A smile. A hug. His acceptance. The art of acceptance was one of the most valuable things my mother instilled within me. It has shaped so much of who I am. She taught me the truth about life and the necessity to accept it: The human race comes in all colors, shapes, sizes, and sexualities. People suc...

When you arrive home from an epic journey everyone immediately wants to know one thing: How are you doing? It's the number one inquiry on everybody's list. I've been analyzing the usage of this question throughout my arrivals back to New York and I've noticed major similarities in the inquiry. When most people ask, their tones tend to resemble the way people apologize for a death. I'm so sorry It must suck to be home How are you holding up?  You must be miserable People expect distress, depression, and debbie-downers. They look for the drawn face, vacant eyes, and melancholy Facebook statuses. The adventuring has ceased and home is Purgatory... or so they seem to think.  Well, without further ado, I grant you my well being, my thoughts, my feelings, and my response to the age-old question...  How are you doing? Since I've gotten home, I must admit, I've been a bit lazier than I expected to be, especially after being a CocoBaby. I pictured myself coming b...

When I first kissed the ''Silent Man,'' I thought I had found the ideal situation: a beautiful man that I enjoyed being with that could barely speak English. I assumed goodbye would be simple, no tears would be shed and my thoughts would steer clear of 'if onlys' and 'what ifs.' How hard could it be to leave behind a fling you could barely communicate with, right? I could not have been so wrong. Never would I have thought that the Silent Man would be the first person I'd say the words 'I love you' to. I remember the moment I first saw him; there we sat, the four surf students, cramming in pizzas and fresh juice before grabbing the board that would inevitably leave my teeth swimming in the sea. I sat in the corner, flipping through magazine photos when out of the corner of my eye, a burst of color flash by. My eyes followed and my heart skipped two beats. There he was, a Portuguese man filled with tattoos, piercings, and sense of style comple...

On the sixteenth of May, a few hours after my shift ended, Anika and I set off for a holiday of sunshine, spirits, and surf. At 6 pm sharp, me actually being early for once in my life, we meet in Central Station, Lola getting some fresh air for the first time since we arrived at Cocomama.  -> If you are just tuning in, Lola is my backpack, my one and only travel companion. She's been through it all with me.  We load the train, Schipol bound... so we think. Moments later a Dutch voice comes over the speaker informing us that there are no trains leaving the station heading to the airport. And so begins the series of unfortunate events.  We shuffle off the train to find another destination to transfer at. After much ado we arrive at the airport. We scour Schipol, devoting every last minute to buying duty-free gadgets, endlessly contemplating which of the five food options will satiate our hunger: Bubbles & Seafood, Wox Box, Mediterranean Sandwich, Sbarro, or B...

Just the other day I led mission of rediscovery. I rekindled a few joys that were put on the back burner for a bit. I forgot the pleasure aroused from getting pleasantly lost in a city. Forgot how lovely it feels to just journey and find your way; to be okay not knowing the specifics of everything, not knowing the details and directions. Everything is beautiful and in the end, the way will be found and all will be okay.  I ride along the canals, feeling for the first time that I am a car. My bicycle and I are a dream team, following the rules of the road. My arm extends to signal my right on red. My bell dings, alerting the tourists about to stumble in the bike lane that they shouldn't dare to step in my way. My balance is steady and for two seconds I loosen my grip, uncurl my fingers and let my hands drop to the side. My bike and I are in complete unison. Glorious. As we tip to the left I grab the handles, the seconds coming to an end. My grin is two-chubby-cheeks wide.  My...

Hear ye, hear ye.  Please make way for the biggest street party of the year. Prepare ye livers and lungs for the time of your life: QUEENSDAY 2011 Koninginnedag, as the Dutch call it, is celebrated on April 30th and is unlike anything you've ever imagined. The streets turn into a sea of chaos. All are raising a glass for the birthday of Queen Juliana. Before continuing on, let's clarify a few thing first. Juliana is not the current queen. Her daughter, Beatrix, is the Queen of the Netherlands. Now the problem with Lady Beatrix is that her birthday falls is the dead of winter and let me just say, Dutch winters are NOT pretty. Certainly not the opportune time to hold a massive street party. So rather, let us wish a happy birthday to Juliana and thank her for giving the Netherlands one more excuse to celebrate.  Picture this: Everyone decked out in all shades of orange imaginable. Shirts. Shorts. Shoes. Socks. Paint. Balloon hats. Feathers... galore. The streets are packed, cra...

I never thought I'd spend Easter Sunday on my own, laying in the sun in a park in Amsterdam. So far, in this lifetime I've spent birthdays in Perth, Copenhagen, and hopefully my 23rd in the Dam, I've had Thanksgivings in Perth and Barcelona, the 4th of July on a plane to Costa Rica and Halloween in Fremantle. Crazy, ain't it? And today I blast my Dave Matthews as my freckles congregate, darkening into a cluster of ginger tan. It's so odd celebrating holidays abroad. Being so far from the family festivities and dysfunctional dinners make it feel like just another day... apart from the presence of the "Easter Tree" rooted at reception. There are no eggs decorated, no baskets to wake to full of mini Cadbury eggs and overpriced-edible bunnies. There is no mid-morning chocolate overdose (midnight is another story). I woke this morning to the ladies of the love cave staring in my direction. I rolled over in hopes that the 10am internal alarm would turn itsel...

The windows of Amsterdam have a completely different connotation than most places. Naturally, there are those that most people associate the Dam with, the windows of the Red Light District. From all hours of the morning until all hours of the night, tiny alleyways are lit up, lined with pink and purple lights. The purple clue you in, informing the street dwellers that the ladies inside are not actually not women. Within each, you will find women of all shapes, sizes, and colors, decked out in the skimpiest of lingerie. They perch on stools chatting on their on their phones or they press themselves against the glass, leaning themselves in prime- viewing stature. Their gaze remains focused, looming over the mixture of tourists strolling through for the spectacle and distinguishing their victims. They lock eyes with you, extending their fingers and urging you to let them open their windows for you. They are on the hunt, preying upon the horny men and women of the streets. But there is...

Mark Twain again? You bet. He knew what he was talking about... especially when it comes to riding a bike in Amsterdam. Cycling: It is a way of life here in the in the Dam. It is the most efficient and prominent way of getting around the city. It is a must do while spending your days breezing by canals, stuffing                                                      your face with stroopwaffle, stopping in the shops along the way. It does, however, come with heart palpitations and shortness of breath upon learning. You may sport a size-too-small spandex and have a helmet collection but that does not mean you are equipped for the Amsterdam bike lane. I've been forcing myself to cycle a bit every day. Get to know the tricks of the trade and flow of the traffic. Each day I hop on Meester Hercules. He is a beauty, a gem, my companion.  ...

Goedemorgen! Well, not technically. It's not actually morning but it's one of the few Dutch phrases I've got under my belt. I am currently sitting in the botanical gardens of Amsterdam. I parked my ass atop of a small bridge over a stream. It's a beautiful day. I've been building a bit of a life here in Amsterdam. It's becoming a home of mine. Life thus far? Before leaving NY, a majority of people heard my plan and immediately reacted with one of the following:  That is going to be a royal shit show.  You're going to smoke to smoke pot all day.  Taking up space in a window, eh? I'd pay money for a visit.  Ew. You're working in a hostel? Have you ever seen the movie "Hostel?"  That is fucking awesome, wicked, sick, or some variation of that.  Why in the world would you want to do that? You're crazy Kourtney.  Well let's recap shall we and begin with how I ended up in this glorious life. Back in November, I ventured out o...

So begins another chapter of my life.... another adventure consisting of world domination and freckle plantation. Last Monday evening I set flight, crossing the pond once again to spread a bit more of my color in Europe. I said goodbye to my El Salvadorian friends at Cirellas, each giving me an extra-tight squeeze in an effort to keep me in Melville. I sipped one last Cabernet with Sandy Ryan, my bartending partner in crime and gave the regulars their anticipated hugs goodbye, their vodka breath flowing a bit too close to my mouth. Instead of packing, I found myself watching Howard Stern's "Private Parts" and "Taking Woodstock." I rolled & stuffed the dapperest of clothing into ziplock baggies, purging them of any air.  Lola was obese, to say the least. Together we trekked off and made our way back to London. My crazy partner-in-crime, Serena Ray Ford, met me in the morning, the UK overcast shining down on me. Let me take a moment to tell you about this ...

First Name analysis for  Kourtney Though you have had female and male lives, your name tells that your most recent past lives were predominantly male. The karma of your name is of a group karma, one brought on by conditions imposed rather than conditions you created. Your name reveals that in your immediate past life you lived communally, where each shared and helped, never having to survive alone. There was time to pay attention to one task at a time. Late in life, this situation changed through circumstances beyond your control. The loss of a partner or mate created a loss of a harmonious life, as you were not properly equipped to survive alone. Your past life memories recall dependency upon a partner. You have need for balance in your life. There is, however, a tendency to become more aggressive than the situtation calls for, an over-compensation of past life experiences where you could not exercise the privilege of personal opinion. The insecurity of being alone is deeply in...

I facebook. I blog. I tweet. I shoot. I record. I edit.  All in all? I feel like a technological goddess. 

For just under a month now, my world has revolved around the prospect of a dream journey; The job of a lifetime; The STA World Traveler Internship (WTI) . This internship gives two individuals golden tickets to travel to over 16 countries around the world. Go ahead, gasp with me... I've been keeping tissues on hand to dab the drool that drips from the corners of my mouth every time I think about this opportunity. England. France. Switzerland. Italy. Czech Republic. Croatia. Austria. Slovenia. Germany. Nepal. China. Thailand. Australia. New Zealand. Argentina. Brazil.  In the words of Usher, "Ohhh maaah God." So let me begin by giving you a glimpse of the application process. On February 21st, myself along with over 1,000 other guys and gals submitted videos cramming in who we are and why we are made for this internship. We boosted about days of old, journeys ventured, skills acquired, and cobwebs consumed. Photos were flashed and flaunted and fluttery words summed up...

On my way to work the other day I was cut off by this ratty old car with Indiana license plates. I watched him swerve through the morning commute keeping old Korbin, my sleek and sexy '97 Camery, well away from him. We parted ways as his muffler screamed goodbye, and I made my way to another day of pouring wine and shaking those 'tinis (as in MARtinis, all heads out of the gutter). Six hours later, I headed for my commute home. The sun hovered over the Northern State Parkway and my mind felt at ease after giving in my two-weeks notice for my Amsterdam journey. Fiona Apple's "Extraordinary Machine" blared out of my sunroof and my always epic solo dance party raged on. I can't help it, the road just rolls out behind me Be kind to me, or treat me mean I'll make the most of it, I'm an extraordinary machine... Just as I belted out loud and proud, I heard a grumble from my left as an old vehicle dodged out from behind me, just missing the side Korby....

Yes, that friend was Mark Twain... and I couldn't have said it better myself.  I'm not quite sure when exactly I misplaced my mind. I tend to go with the notion that I've scattered bits and pieces little by little, a bit of shedding if you will. I'd say it all started out with one crazy family and one hell of a mother.  And so, as it goes, I was born a Smith, a big-headed family with no tolerance for shit.  Honesty was my mother's policy, and quite frankly, her key to success. She believed in exposing me to the real elements of the world by bringing me to musicals that focused on sex, homosexuals, AIDS, poverty and deception. Through that, the only thing that truly fazed my 8-year-old was the butt Idina Menzel stuck out to the audience. I learned through my mother that there was no shame is taking a piss on top of a building if you really had to go. Our relationship has been built on a foundation of trust, truth, and big hair. She let me know from the get go:  ...