The Ocelot and Her #2

I hate to devote an entire blog to #2, but I am afraid I must. He is consuming me right now, and I hate him for it, that selfish prick. Red fades to pink in time though, so tomorrow might be a better day.

Lemme break it down:

Once upon a time, there was a boy, let's say his name happens to be #2. #2 is a skinny boy, with dark brown curly hair, and big, almost india ink eyes. He plays guitar. He is incredibly brilliant. He is a member of the tribe. And he also happens to work at a summer camp.

One summer, a girl, let's call her Ocelot, decides to work at this summer camp. Ocelot loves working at this summer camp so much, that she goes back every year for five straight years.

During these five years, things are rather tumultuous between 2 and Ocelot. One summer they almost hooked up, but 2 did not want to cheat on his girlfriend, so they kept it cool. Or as cool as you can be, when you are battling sexual tension and you cannot touch the other person.

Ocelot and 2 kept in close touch during the off season, especially when Ocelot and 2 went to college. 2 was going to college on the west coast, and Ocelot decided to stick to the midwest. They had numerous IM and phone conversations, during which Ocelot proceeded to fall deeper and deeper in love with 2. Sure, he would tell her about girls he was seeing, but that didn't matter. She was smitten.

Ocelot began to build 2 up as the ideal. Every boy she dated was judged against him. She held onto the ones that were most like him the longest.

Then Ocelot happened to move to the very same town that 2 called home. During an early visit to the town, Ocelot eagerly anticipated a visit from 2. 2 never came, citing distance as a reason. After living thousands of miles apart for years, Ocelot did not think that 45 minutes was too far to drive. Ocelot stopped talking to 2 after that for a while.

At least until, she moved to the town permanently. For the first two months she was there, she tried desparately to arrange a meeting, but to no avail. She renewed her resolve to stop talking to 2, until he got his shit together.

A few weeks later, 2 called. He apologized profusely and arranged a meeting. It was just like old times, only Ocelot felt very "country" and not up to speed with 2's city life. She felt she needed to prove herself to him somehow, so that he would begin to love her as much as she loved him. This proved damaging for Ocelot, and most unhealthy to boot. She resolved to try and keep this feeling at bay by not calling 2.

During the next 2.5 years, Ocelot and 2 went on a very hilly roller coaster ride. Sometimes Ocelot was in love with 2. Sometimes she was disgusted by 2. Sometimes she was depressed courtesy of 2. Sometimes, very rarely, 2 even got mad at her. Once, after some sake and painting, Ocelot and 2 kissed each other. After which, Ocelot went running out the door. Halfway through the drive back, 2 called and asked her to come back. She refused.

Which now brings us up to the present in this fractured fairy tale. Most recently, Ocelot has been regarding her relationship with 2 as one of "brotherly love." She loves 2, she cares about his well being, but she understands that he is generally self-centered (2 has said this, many, many times) and does not return her affections on the same level. However silly, she is OK with this, because she likes being around him and hanging out with him and such. They email and call regularly, and see each other about once every two weeks. Things have been all good. Until last night

Last night, Ocelot returned home from a Christamas party, still feeling warm and fuzzy from the Christhomas cookies and warm cider brandy concoction she consumed. 2 had called her twice during the party, but she missed his calls. She called him as she left the party, and he suggested she call him again once she returned to her (and his, incidentally) neighborhood. When she arrived home, she called 2, and told him she was too tired/drunk to put on her social hat again. 2 said fine, he would drive over to Ocelot's house, he was not that drunk anyways. He arrived, wine bottle in hand, happy to see Ocelot, but mostly happy to see the kitties (of course, who wouldn't be?).

For the next three hours, Ocelot and 2 talked. They began talking about normal things, work, 2's band, kitties, music, books, etc. As the wine left the bottle and lips flowed freely, things began to come out. But not from Ocelot. From 2. 2, a very good talker, just kept talking. Ocelot was practically in tears by the end, because her heart was broken. 2 proceeded to ask her why she was friends with him, when he is so repulsive? 2 said he was a selfish, pessimisitc, nihilist, who cares little about the "implications" of things. He said nothing matters in relationships, they are just dust. He said he cared about people, yes, but that the interactions did not matter. He also told Ocelot that she was beautiful and smart and funny. He again, questioned why Ocelot would hang out with him. He said Ocelot had a lot going for her -- a job, friends, kitties, hobbies. He said that Ocelot, more than anyone else, should hold the power in the relationship. He said that Ocelot has the exact opposite view of the world, in that he has no faith in people, and she has endless faith. He said that if anyone would change his mind about this, it would be Ocelot.

Ocelot was so frustrated at this point, that she asked him what the hell he wanted, and please stop fucking with her mind. He said that whenever they hang out, there is always this thing between them, regardless of whether it was expressed or not. He wondered why she never made a move. He said she had a few options, one of which involved a romantic situation that they both new would end in ruin, another of which would be a smack across 2's face followed by a long cooling off period, and the last of which would involve a sleepover with no physical contact, because he was too drunk to drive home.

Angry and tired, Ocelot opted for the third choice. And she kept her word, and he kept his. In the morning, she left him in her bed to go to brunch, assuming he would be gone by the time she got back. He wasn't. He slept a little more after she returned, and then woke up a bit to play guitar and talk some more. Ocelot told 2 that she was pissed at him for the night before. She could not believe his audacity. He said he was sorry, but he was just trying to be honest, and did she have any questions. Of course she had questions. But she did not ask. She already knew the answers.

After a few more hours, 2 finally left. All Ocelot was left with, all she is ever left with, was that terrible, freezing blanket of rejection. The sting of missed opportunity, and bruises from self-inflicted wounds for letting herself regress into old feelings.

Maybe the truth is, she has always, and will always, be in love with 2. She can stamp it down into an airtight container and put it in the corner, but it will always be there. She can paint it all the colors of the rainbow, but the shape still exists. It's a weakness, Ocelot thinks, one of the side effects of always believing in people. Maybe it's pain she has to feel, she thinks, because it is in pain that we remember the frailty of life and the importance of working against the causes of pain for everyone, everywhere. Maybe, just maybe, 2 reminds her of her own human struggle to exist, and without him, without the struggle, she perishes.

Waiting to callous

It is strange to notice a body part you sort of take for granted. Like the index fingers on both of my hands. I had no idea how hard I work those little guys. After a few hours of rockin' the bass in the "band" that is slowly forming in Toodles' practice space, I have HUGE blisters on the tips of each of my index fingers.

The weird part is though, I kind of like them, for two reasons:

1. I like the physical injury incurred during artistic expression and release. Sore muscles after dancing, an enlarged "writer's bump" on the middle finger, that patch of indigo that refuses to wash off your left ankle for days, etc.

2. Everything feels really good against the blistery part. There is a painfully thin barrier between pleasure and pain on these spots. If I scratch Paka's nose lightly, it feels really good. If I type furiously, then is ow, and double triple latte ow.

But it is so very worth it. I am starting to learn a lot about the bass, and subsequently the guitar. I am getting better at picking out baselines as I listen to music. It's still hard though, because I am a glutton for melody. And I still basically suck ass at the bass, but hey, we don't have any gigs scheduled for at least the next 6 to 8 months, so I have some time to practice.

In other news, my relationship/crush/physical contact fast is going badly. I have a BEEEEG crush. I am trying to put it down though. I don't know the person all that well, and I actually have yet to determine if they are gay or straight. And yes, I am speaking in non-gender specific terms, just because I can. So far though, things don't look to be going in my favor. It's been two days since "person" last emailed me, and as much as I want to email again, I know I gotta just play it cool. Ice cold. Ice cold.

Yeah, thanks Andre 3K.

Mexico and the pains of growing up

Hi blog, sorry I haven't written lately, for some reason unburdening my soul felt like too heavy a task until today. I am feeling strong now, so I suppose I will have to capitalize on this moment.

First, a bit about the camping trip last week. I wrote most of this out on post its when we were in Mexico.

Last weekend, I went camping with 6 people, all of whom were an important part of the experience There was of course Toodles and V, Tino, (pseudo)Miracle, Stephology, Kirstinalia, and Marta. We camped just north of Ensenada, in a place called Playa something-or-other. Basically, it was a big mountain overlooking the ocean. The campsites were linked together by a single road, and the whole things was just carved out of this big cliff. Our tents were situated in a way where you could look out the little mesh window on the side and all you would see was ocean. It was a great feeling of fear and rapture all at once. On Friday night, after we set up the tent, we went to a tiny town north of camp called Puerto Nuevo (right? isn't that what it was?). We ate at a restaurant famous for their lobster, which I of course did not order (although I did try a bite, and it was awesome!). We began the meal with some crispy, corny tortilla chips, and ome biting salsa that had big veggie chunks in it. Everyone ordered a margarita. But these were no ordinary margaritas. They were uber-strong, and uber large. Think goblet of fire size. Of course, 1/4 of the way through the margarita, I was completely wasted. I ordered the halibut in yummy sauce that I can't describe, and it was accompanied by peppers and onions. We were all buzzing hard by the end of the meail, so we decided to walk around the village a bit.

Now, let me pause for a bit and document what was going through my head, because I remember it clearly and feel it now (at the time I was writing this in Mexico). I was totally out of place in the group. Road trips generally scare me because at one point you can pretty much be assured that people are going to be annoyed with you. I seem to have little to no group social skills, becase I never know what to say or how to act when I am put into a different group and I am so, so out of my element. I often wonder if people are just humoring me, asking me to come along because they are nice, not because they actually want to be with me. I wondered this the whole time. I wondered if Tino regretted his decision to ask me to come on the trip. This overwhelming feeling of dread left me a little quiet and distracted during the trip.

Anyway, back to the story. We bought some more tequilla for the campsite, and I helped Tio pick out earrings for his lady, with only a minor twinge of jealousy. Not because I have any smooshy feelings for Tino, I definitely do not, but more because I was longing for someone who would do that for me. Somehow, mostly due to Tino's excellent drunk driving skills, we made it back to camp. We managed to make a fire and talk for a while before retiring. I had a less than restful sleep. But that is another story I don't want to tell.

The next day we woke up kind of early (because we went to bed at about 10!), and had a nature experience. A few of us braved the cliff edge and hiked down to the water. It wasn't a sandy beach, but rather a big black rock beach. Which, as we discovered, can be cool too, because it is home to many tiny (and not so tiny creatures). We found a funny looking stick which Toodles took to immeadiately, and well, madness ensued. We saw a lot of tiny crabs, a big red starfish splayed out on a rock, and a sea lion! An actual sea lion! Bobbing up and down! It was incredible! There were also lots of birds flying around. I liked the pelicans, mostly because they have that big expanable beak.

After our nature tour, we decided to go to Ensenada. It was crawling with tourists, tiny girls and old women selling chicle and necklaces, and shops selling overpriced wares to unfortunate first-world suckers. I, fortunately, only got suckered into spending 8 dollars on a vintage photo for my brother, and 12 on a funny silver letter opener for my sister. We also ate at an amazing place on the recommendation of "mano-on-the-street." Those are always the best people to rely on for good restaurants when you are in a foreign country. Unless they tell you the best restaurant is their house. That is just kind of scary. Anyways, we had some incredible tortillas and breakfasty-type items at this place that had a HUGE selection of delicious food. We then decided to split up along gender lines, and sent the boys off to gather firewood while the ladies went to the grocery store to collect foodstuffs for dinner.

Our first grocery stop was Gigante, where we were able to recover everything except for the carne for the carne asada (i ate beans and corn.) The meat lady at Gigante directed us to another store for the meat. I waited outside with the groceries while V and Maritime got the meat. V walked out of the store with a smile and a big, bloody bag of meat. It was geeeross! But apparently, it was amazingly tasty.

That night, we drank some more, smoked some more, and talked some more. Then, we went to bed. Actually, i went to bed first because I was starting to get loopy. The next day we packed up and headed up to a special spa hotel for brunch. I was unprepared for the smorgasboard (sp?) that greeted us as we walked in the door. There was mole chicken (which looked good, I just tried the mole part), some seafood mixture Tino said was really good, excellent tortillas, special mexican apple pastries, fried bananas, potato pancakes, flan, fruit, huevos rancheros, "soggy nachos" (I cannot remember the spanish word for those), and about a trillion other yummy mexican foods. The best part about the brunch though, was that the patio we were sitting on overlooked the ocean, and we observed a little school of dolphins swimming about in the ocean inbetween the surfers. I love nature.

The ride home, was frustrating at best. I'll make it short, because this post is getting gigantic. Tino got a ticket for something we could not determine. Accident shut down two of the five exits to the US, and all traffic got rerouted. It took us three hours to get out of Mexico.

It was an unforgettable experience.

rub a dub dub

I am having such bad writers block this week. I can't write at work, I can't write at home, I can't write in my head. I am even having trouble writing this blog. Shit dog, this sucks. I have to force myself to do this. Turn off "You Suck FM," which has been pounding against my skull for the past few days. It feels like I am wearing rubber fishing pants full of water, wading against the current.

The truth is, that I am going through some sort of weird cleansing.

I am going to a shrink for the first time since my mom died when I was 13. I can't fucking believe I was not being sent to a shrink after that event, but I guess my dad was too busy picking up the pieces to figure out what I needed. That, and I certainly was not open with him about anything.

I am also getting myself involved in the GLBT community, something long overdue for me. I was actually inspired by several episodes of the L Word, which I by chance rented from the best video store in the whole wide world. I was so inspired, in fact, that I went to a bisexual conversation group at The Center, which was a very liberating experience. No one knew me there, and there I was, telling them about my daily conflicts and listening to them express the same feelings. It's weird. I can so easily play the game with boys, but when it comes to girls, I get all google-eyed and silly. Ok, maybe I am just always google-eyed and silly, but it is much more of a challenge to ask a girl out. The first obstacle, I am realizing, is that you never know if a person is straight or gay. Really though, the worst that could happen is that I end up with a friend, rather than a girlfriend.

One good way to discern a person's sexuality however, is to go to a lesbian bar. At least the statistics are better there. Unfortunately, the gay bars in this part of town are few and far between. So, I did a little searching, and it turns out I might also be a part of a group of lesbians that are trying to organize art loft parties downtown, but that is still uncertain. I came by that on accident, and the details have not been nailed down by any means.

And then there was an incident with #1 on Friday. Thankfully, I am not fully, fully, fully cleansed of any feelings I had towards him. I was so cleansed, in fact, that I kicked him out of my house at 3 am. And I haven't even texted him. So there.

So now what. Now that I am embracing fate, embracing who I am, embracing the world as it stands, now what? I kind of feel like I did when I was going through the whole "who I am I?" phase that hits us all at around 14. I much prefer the 24 year old version of the crisis. It seems much less dire.

City life

It seems like life is getting more silly by the day.

Today, after a particularly frustrating meeting, I debriefed (no, not that kind of debriefing) with a few staff members. I was comforted by the fact that they were both equally dumbfounded by what went on. We sat there, laughing and wrinkling our brows at the ridiculousness of the situation. The fact is, that we don't have time to f around any more. You, yes you, doing that whatever job in whatever office, you have to stop and immeadiately figure out how you are contributing to making this place better. It is clear that we cannot do this alone. We need partners. Bad policy is made without stakeholders, which is clearly demonstrated by our present administration. There is a magic pill for this tragicomedic system of education in Los Angeles.

It's people.

Giving.

A shit.

Not just administrators, not just teachers, not just parents. But students. And business people. And that guy on the corner who sells pupusas.

I have been reminded repeatedly this week about a comic I read once in my history of comic book art class. It was a commentary on city life, about how disconnected we all are. I can't remember who wrote it, or even the title. But the basic gist of it was that there was a man who plunged to his death from his high rise apartment building, only to get wrapped up in an awning on his way down. You could see his feet sticking out from the awning, but not a single passerby stopped to check on the body.

I find the situation in LA to be somewhat similar. The body of this city is too hard for one person to move, regardless of how many times he smiles or appears on the George Lopez show. We are inherently segmented here. We build big walls and place community markets just out of walking distance of housing. We discourage socializing by prohibiting outdoor cafes. We discourage public transportation by using snail-buses instead of trains to move our people. We sabotage our public selves in the name of self-interest.

You can see it boiling, bubbling, the tiny red lines in people's eyes. They are ready for change, but not quite willing to do the work.

Yet.

When they get it right

Isn't it strange when you hear a song, and you realize that you could not have written it better yourself? I mean, I guess that happens for a lot of people when they write songs like:

"I love you baby, yes I do,
I love you baby, your eyes are so cool,
etc. etc. etc."

Chances are everyone at some point felt like that, but I am talking really, really specific lyrics that make you wonder if the government/record companies are somehow tapping into your subconscious. Check this out:

"What is Your Secret"
by Nada Surf

so we sat and talked
then we walked and talked but
thought it was the truth
what is your secret?

dragged it on and on
even favorite songs but
your division's wrong
what is your secret?

i don't care about you anymore
the people are tired
our movies don't play much anymore
the actress was fired

you said you were yourself
not being someone else
that this was new for you
but what is your secret?

you said just what I said
so why's the meter red?
and why's the needle pegged?
what is your secret?

you want to control
you want to be controlled
you're like a little switch
and then you take your toll

your every reckless twist
i wasn't made for this
thank god life is so long
and the city so big

i don't think about you any more
i try not to think about you



For the love of eggplants, that could not be more spot on in terms of how I am feeling about #6. The city so big? Our movies don't play much anymore? You're like a little switch, and then you take your toll?

Perhaps the human condition is just so similar, that if you wait long enough, someone, somewhere, will feel exactly what you feel. At least I am not the only one.

Repeat offender

This week has already been tragically humorous, and it is only thursday. My heart was prodded twice with a fork, from both sides.

On the left side (the working, rational side), the stuporintendent gouged me fairly hard by deciding that he was going to give our seven lowest performing high schools to charters. I have a bruise on my chin from when my jaw hit the floor when he announced that. Seriously, is he insane? Charters can be a part of the solution, yes, but are they the best option for converting our lowest performing schools? I think not. Instead of presenting a plan for actually implimenting small schools, he said nothing, a whole lot of nothing. What is consistent about school reform? Every plan calls for small classes, low teacher load, teacher-created curriculum, autonomy over budgeting, authentic assessment and community involvement. Why can't we just f-ing get to that? I have never been so challenged in my entire life. Strike that, my first year of teaching was way more challenging. This is almost harder though, because at least when I was teaching, I could claim a small piece of control over the people who were affecting performance the most (the kiddies). I have a sliver of power now, but I have to exert it very, very, very carefully. Thinking before speaking is not optional in this job. You have to watch every word, make sure what you are saying has a point every second of every minute of the day, otherwise people will stop listening to you, and start listening to someone else.

On the right side, #6 and I had a well-predicted falling out of sorts. I am not even sure we are still together right now. As far as I am concerned, we're not. He gave me the whole, "I just can't be your steady boyfriend" shpiel, and told me that a few weeks ago, he made out with someone at the shortstop. I told him I had my suspicions that he was seeing other people, and he assured me he was never serious about anyone else. He said he is not used to getting all the attention he is getting from girls, and if he gets into an "interesting" situation with another girl, he does not want to have to feel guilty about it. Fine, I said, I don't recall us ever having the conversation about being exclusive. He insisted that things just got serious without the conversation, so he just wanted to make things clear. I asked him if he wanted to stop seeing me, and he kept saying no. I just don't get it. If you want to be with someone, why is it necessary to hook up with other people? I guess it is a college mentality, the whole i-can't-be-tied-down thing. I am so tired of hearing that same chord progression.

So, fuck it. If he wants to see me, let him come. I'll see him IF I have time. The problem is that I like him, a lot. To a fault even, because I hear myself making excuses for him. Excuses for him not having a car, excuses for him not engaging in conversation with my friends, excuses for him not walking me out to my car at 2 am. Well, no more excuses.

Atonement and a shiny new face

Today was Yom Kippur, the day of atonement. I was all set to fast, because last year I sort of skipped out on that part. I took the day off of work, to be with the fam and to have an easy fast.

When I woke up with a headache this morning, I knew it was not going to be an easy fast, but I figured I would do it as long as I could. Unfortunately, my headache got so bad that I had to miss the evening service, which is my favorite service. As much contempt as I have for Judaism, I kind of like the high holidays. The prayerbooks my aunt and uncle's temple uses are quite progressive. One particular responsive prayer asks that higher being to forgive us for polluting the earth, for not being politically active, for being self-serving, for being xenophobic, for not conducting business morally, for resorting to war instead of peace, for forgetting the means by only concentrating on the ends, and various other sins we all committ at one time or another. I thought a lot about the past year, what I did that was reprehensible, the people I hurt, the times I should have been more honest, the times I was lazy, the times I was apathetic. The good news is that I think I am becoming more conscious of the possible consequences of my actions before I act. I think that is a step in the right direction. Hopefully I will have less to repent next time.

One thing that the rabbi mentioned in his sermon was that he believes Jews are "genetically hard wired for hope." While I don't believe that is limited to just Jewish people, I would like to think that is true of the Jewish people, or at least of myself. I have always been kind of a dreamer, a hoper of sorts. Even at 24, I have not lost faith in people. I keep pledging not to lose this, to write it down, not to forget what I felt at 10, 16, 21 and 24, so I can feel the same love and happiness about the world at 28, 47 and 65.

This rabbi's comment about being hard-wired for hope made me think a lot about our experience in TFA. I think you can go two directions after your two year committment. You can either resign yourself to believing that we are doing harm, upsetting these communities and ruining children forever (ahem, "Taught By America" lady). Or your faith in humanity can be renewed. Why do people keep on teaching? Why do they keep feeling passionate about change, about education, after they are thrown into the worst of conditions? Teaching in Los Angeles uncovers your spirit, there is no way to hide it. Why did we all become overly dramatic in our first year? It is like someone took a brush and keep sloughing off the layers of conformity we all developed during our time in college. We entered somewhat the same, and came out drastically different. I am proud of that. I am glad to have shed the cocoon that was encasing my passion for believing in the world, for believing in people. Now I have armor so tough, that even when #6 says I am too idealistic, I can shake it off. I think it makes us better people, if we are confident in our beliefs without insisting that others adopt the same beliefs.

Rollerskatin' Baby

So much to blog, so much to say.

I’m in a bad mood, probably hormones, but I will explain the other rationale for that towards the end of this blog.

Let’s start with the rollerskating/shortstop extravaganza.

It.

Was.

Incredible.

A HUGE, GIGANTIC, COLOSSAL thank you to everyone who came. There were several times during the night when I gushed to various people about how great it was to have everyone in the same place. I was missing a few (ce-ce, toddykins, jrey, mimi, etc.), but the collection of excellent people really was the best birthday present I have ever received.

And now, the whole story.

So the evite said show up at 7:30 to the wonderful Glendale Moonlight Rollerway. Alright, I thought, I’ll go on time so no one has to be there alone. Well psha, I sat in my freakin car, watching the teenagers unload from their parent’s tan minivans and green wagons until Jeffers and Setharian pulled up. Shortly after their arrival, Boy #6 and his friend rolled in on their bikes, and Princess and Little A came truckin in.

So we had a nice little group going, and as the minutes rolled by, it multiplied until we had about 14 people rollering around the floor. Everyone looked like a rock star (yes, even you chewie). We ate orange/lemon ice pops and did couples skating to some obscure love ballad that I think was actually Christian soft rock. They played Bowie and silly things like Nelly Furtado. We were bitter when they had professional backwards skating, and yet it was very entertaining to see the professionals do their tricks. At some point, I think Tino wore skates without socks, but I am not sure how that all went down. We ended up basking in the Moonlight until about 10, and then we headed over to the Shortstop.

I feel the need to give a warning before I tell the next part of the story – I don’t remember much of this part, so I apologize if it seems full of holes.

After a quick costume change and kitty petting session, Boy#6, Briowen (his friend) and I went down to the shortstop. Fortunately, this time, there was no line, and no one was getting their ass kicked outside the bar. I was happy to find that biggie shmalex, glassosherry and rainyday were already at the bar. Yay! More of my favorite people. I was taking it slow, sucking back a vodka and sprite, dancing a little and catching up with buddies. Then Tino and friends arrived, and I began to lose sobriety shortly after. I remember another vodka sprite, a shot of vodka, something from princess involving goldshlager and yaegermeister, and a martini. I remember balance issues on the dance floor, but no falling. I think we closed down the bar, because we left. I cannot imagine that we would have left before we were forced to. I remember saying something incriminating to TFA staff who had come to the bar at some point, and then walking down the street with Boy#6, Briowen, Arod and her two buddies, M1 and M2.

Once we got to the Brite Spot, I decided I needed to go home. Boy#6 was engaged in conversation with one of the M’s, so I started to walk out and call a cab. I don’t remember what I told the cab operator, but I do remember that she was laughing at me. I planted myself outside on the Brite Spot benches to wait for the cab. Fortunately, Briowen came out to check on me. Shortly after, I tossed my pasta. In the damn Brite Spot parking lot. I was so embarrassed. I think I was crying. Boy#6 traded places with Briowen, and called a cab, because I guess it was clear that mine was not coming.

And then morning came. Shit. I was late taking the kitties to get spayed and neutered. I tossed the little piles of fur in their carrier, threw on clothes, and hopped in the car. I was kind of OK on the drive there, but I had to pull over on the drive back, because I began recalling what I had to drink the night before, and felt ill. Fortunately, the pull-off I happened to be closest to was Griffith Park, so I just pulled under a tree and fell asleep in the car for a few minutes. When I was feeling better, I returned to la maison, where #6 was still asleep in my bed.

I tried desperately to sleep, on and off I did it. At one point, I came out to the living room where Bryowen and #6 were discussing the previous night. I am certain I looked like total ass, and probably smelled bad. I inquired about how Briowen finally made it back to my apartment after #6 and I had taken the taxi. #6 said something like, “ Yeah, I kept calling M, asking where you were.”

Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was just my jealous tendencies, but the fact that #6 (oops!) got that girl’s number just rubbed me the wrong way. I mean, she was gorgeous, an actress, and very outgoing. I had reason to be jealous/suspicious, I suppose.

But what made it worse, was that after Sunday, #6 initiated no contact with me the entire week. I thought for certain we were finished. Another one that I fucked up, because of bad communication or letting my feelings get away from me. He explained that he was just busy, and did not mean to keep me in the dark, and no, he was not seeing anyone else.

Yesterday, we hung out for the first time since last weekend. It felt fine, and actually the night was great, because we started out at the Getty. I was on edge all night, just waiting for him to break up with me. I like him, a lot lot lot. I am starting to get that feeling of powerlessness in this relationship though, which is bad.

More often I seem to be having the conversation about a sort of relationship existentialism. If you are not going to marry the person, you are going to break up with them, and it’s gonna suck. Break up is inevitable. I don’t want to be a pessimist about this, and I am not anywhere near ready for marriage. I think I am just looking for someone who I don’t have to be nervous about.

(Oh, and just to review, here are the #s again:
#1 - ex-boyfriend who ran off to south america
#2 - long time friend, who I am always falling in and out of love with. Presently out.
#3 - Short lived, hookup friend.
#4 - Well, don't we all know #4?
#5 - The visitor
#6 - The present and sickeningly wonerful boy) Enjoy!

You say it's your birthday?

For the first time ever since I graduated from fifth grade, I am going to have a birthday party. Yes, it's true. In the past I have been too shy or felt like it was too egomaniacal to have a birthday party, but this year, I am throwing caution to the wind. Howeva, because I want a lot of people to come and boogie down, I want to get a sense of where people would like to go. Here are some options, please leave a comment and let me know your top two:

1. The Standard Hotel rooftop bar - absolutely incredible view. Drinks are slightly pricey, but I am thinking I will get a room, and we can just drink there before we go up.

2. The Red Lion - we could have some small eats at my house before, and then go over to the bar for boots of beer.

3. The Shortstop - we might have to fight crowds here, but it is always a good time.

4. Rollerskating - I don't know where yet, but it could be fun.

5. Other suggestions?

Your cooperation is greatly appreciated. Oh, and if it matters, it would be on the 30th of this month.

Importance of self-importance

(Just a note, due to the political nature of my job, I have to speak in abstractions, so I apologize for the lack of detail.)

Yesterday I had such a miserable day at work that I had to take a mini sabbatical to the beach. It wasn't so much that the work was miserable, it was just the fact that I had to listen to people attack that lovely organization I work for for hours on end. Yes, the big monster bureaucracy sucks. I don't mind people pointing out what is wrong, but I do mind it when they don't have a solution.

At one meeting, I happened to get myself into the position of "dart board." Pretty much everyone at the table started talking at me about what they hate about their school, the reforms, etc. Again, part of my job is to listen, so I didn't mind this so much. But when I asked the people what they would do to change it, they just stared. OK, so, I think we have established that we know shit sucks, but it is hard to clean it up. No one has the answers. We have a lot of things we think might work.

It made me sick to my stomach though, that I was so helpless. There was absolutely nothing I could do at that moment for the teachers I was talking to. All I could do was sit there and respond with I-statements. I understand. I see your point. I know how you feel. I agree. It was the same with the parents at the other meeting. I understand. I know it is a huge problem. I am going to work on that.

At the end of the day, I am usually left with one question: How the hell did it get this bad? Did people not notice when things began to go downhill? When did adults stop doing their job?

I had a wonderful dinner with JJ and CC; but my stomach did not release from the knotted position until I was comfortably settled on a bench on the Santa Monica pier, listening to the waves and folding origami cranes out of tiny pieces of black and white paper. I sat there, focusing on the ocean, thinking about how little we are, how silly all of this is. It was rather existential, really. We're all gonna die. Why do we run around, talking about nothing? What are we doing? Are we doing what we are supposed to be doing with this life? What is it about the human brain that makes us political animals?

I thought a lot about how best to do my job, and what I am up against. Self-importance, while it is a flaw, is vital. If we did not feel important, whether it be in our job or in our relationships, we would all shrivel up into hermit crabs. We have to have a sense, whether it is false or not, that what we are doing, what we have become, is important. We have to believe we are important to someone, the best situation being a 'special' someone who puts us so high on the list we can stop worrying about it.

Last week, I offered to pick #6 up from the west side and bring him out here to the BBQ at the house of Chewie and PBB. He was uncomfortable about it, and repeatedly said he did not want to make me do all that driving. 'It's worth it to me,' I said. Seeing him was important. So important that I did not mind sacrificing a fraction of gas tank to the cause. But I am jumping the gun with #6. It has only been about a month, so he cannot get a priority rating just yet. It's hard though, to keep him from rising to the top.

Emergency plan (a blog in two parts)

(part one, written on Tuesday)
Why am I writing right now? It is 11:30, and I need to wake up ass crack early tomorrow (5:30) to take the cats to the vet for the ol’ snip-snip chop-chop. Oy, those kitties. They are so cute, I love them, but they drive me crazy! I think they (and I) are calming down, slowly but surely. I do enjoy having them around though, ringworm and all. I am learning a lot about how clean I am, that is for damn sure. I have never cleaned so much in my entire life.

I am incredibly nervous, I think, about everything. I have never had to make so many decisions by myself. I have never been responsible for so many things, all at once. I am getting absent minded and tired, and tired because I don’t sleep well at night. Or I don’t sleep well at night alone, that is. When #6 sleeps over, I sleep well. Maybe it is that human presence that puts me at ease. I don’t feel so abandoned.

(part two, written on Thursday)

Today I read a story about how Los Angeles, and the rest of California, could become the next Katrina. (http://www.latimes.com/business/la-me-quake8sep08,0,3035306.story?coll=la-home-headlines)

There is a woman who went to a meeting in May of 2001 to formulate plans for the top three threats to the country’s stability: 1. A major terrorist attack, 2. A major hurricane in New Orleans, 3. A huge earthquake along the San Andreas fault. There are hundreds of thousands of buildings in California, apartments, schools, city buildings, that would crumble in the event of a large quake.

But how do we devote money, time and resources to preparing for something terrible that MIGHT happen, when we have so many terrible things that ARE happening? Yes, we should be prepared, or at least have a plan in case the worst happens. But kids today are dropping out of school like flies, and entire families are squishing into one bedroom apartments with four other families just to save money. How do we divide ourselves?

And, bringing down to a little more personal level (you know I gotta bring it down, yea, yea, yea), how do you prepare for emotional disaster? We go through our own emotional Katrinas every time we get our hearts broken. Time shifts, established self-esteem structures are washed away (sometimes via alcohol, sometimes via ice cream), ability or willingness to trust is smashed. And then it takes time (frequent trips to the gym) and resources (2 pairs of shoes, one super t-shirt, one skirt, usually), to build all that back up. In that process, and when we start the whole cycle again, we usually forget the potential damage that could occur if we don’t play our cards right.

An emergency plan, that is what I need. Be prepared, isn’t that what we learned in girl scouts? Somehow I did not pick up that they were talking about boys (/girls) when they delivered that message.

Strap on those tennies

It is amazing how I can be so optimistic about the world, a very difficult thing to change, and so pessimistic about relationships, something that is easily altered by augmenting my behavior.

But it just. Keeps. Happening.

I feel like a fucking idiot for not being more aware.

Is it luck? Do I set myself up for failure? Why do I keep getting hurt? Why am I always the fucking victim? (I am sure I am not always the victim, but I would bet it averages out to about 97 percent of the time.)

I mean, are they all lined up to sucker punch me in the gut?

And when I do receive the punch, I want to run immediately to the puncher and take back all of the mixes I gave them, take back all of the nice things I said about them, take back those moments when my heart felt like it was about to burst because I was so happy with them. Clearly, all of that was based on a lie.

I keep thinking, how is #6 going to hurt me? Is he going to find someone else, prettier, smarter, someone who has a better knowledge of 40s/50s movies, and run off with her? Why is he with me?

I know I cannot adopt that mentality, that the insecurity alone will be enough to drive him away.

But I really want to crawl into a hole. I don’t want to feel this thing again. I am not sure it is worth it. I would rather the guys just tell me up front that they are going to hurt me, badly. Normally, I like surprises, but I would really appreciate a little warning in this arena.

It looks like it is time for a run.

powerless

Today I went to the gym (for the first time in about two weeks, mind you. Jimmy, I know, I know, but I have been going to ballet and jazz classes inbetween, so I haven’t been a TOTAL slug). At my gym, they have Tvs mounted to the ceiling, one next to the other, so you can watch MTV, CNN and ESPN all at the same time. The juxtaposition of these televisions was never particularly bothersome to me, until today. On CNN, they were showing pictures of the destruction in Mississippi and Louisiana. On MTV, they were showing fresh-faced celebrities, unloading from glistening black limousines, sauntering down the red carpet to the MTV awards. It was strange, seeing two girls, their hair mussed, eyes red, pleading for information about their missing mother next to a smiling Paris Hilton. It made me physically sick.

Maybe it was guilt – I felt guilty about worrying about the little pieces of flab on my tummy while I watched people wade through knee deep water to retrieve bottled water that was being thrown from helicopters. I felt angry thinking about the amount of money what was undoubtedly tossed into producing the MTV awards, the cost of the huge bling that was weighing down Nelly’s neck, and the amount of money it is going to take to rebuild the gulf coast.

Last night I went out with Boy #6 (oh yes, you heard right, #6), his former college roommate, and another of his friends to a bar by #6’s house. We were sitting in this bar, drinking Velvet hammers (Guinness and cider, quite good actually), and Boy#6 leans over:

“I feel so guilty about sitting here, while all that stuff is happening in New Orleans,” he said. “I cannot stop thinking about that.”
“I know,” I said. “I saw a terrible picture of a body just floating down a river. It is almost too much to comprehend.” (or something to that effect, I cannot remember exactly what I said)

We talked about what we had heard that day, and the inadequacy of the federal response to the situation. We also talked about how this whole disaster was a perfect distraction from the “war on terror,” the 850 plus people that were killed in Iraq in a stampede on a bridge, the monsoon that hit somewhere in Asia.

How do we reconcile ourselves to go on living, when so many people are struggling? The rational thing to do is figure out a way to help, so we can sleep at night. So we give money, or we donate clothes, and then we feel better because we did something to flatten that lead ball of guilt weighing down our stomachs. But what happens after that?

Do we keep tolerating a government that has no plan to help those most in need, whether it be from a natural disaster or economic warfare? Do we shrug our shoulders and give up on democracy, because the remnants of this system are fading into an ever-growing capitalist landscape? When did capitalism become our main form of government? And how do we stop participating, when it has become so engrained in our way of life?

We are not powerless to change things.

Excuses, excuses

I have an excuse, I tell you, for not blogging. It is called moving. It involved more cardboard than any one person should come in contact with during their lifetime. I do not think I am going to do it again for at least two years. First of all, because my apartment IS AWESOME and secondly, because I just want to sleep.

So let me review the major arenas of action in my life:

Apartment: YAY! It is sooooooo fantastic. I cannot explain how much I love my new place. I have bought several Ikea pieces and have successfully assembled each one. The couch will be the real test, but that will not take place for at least two more weeks. In the meantime, I have a kitchen table and chairs, so at least I can eat on something other than a counter. I haven't been sleeping too well in the new place yet though, but I think I have just been too anxious about getting everything squared away to really rest.

Job: Job is excellent. I cannot reveal too much in this forum, politics you know.

Kittens: I am still waiting to get the final OK from my landlord. He gave me a half-OK, but I have not given him the deposit yet. He was supposed to be back on Wednesday. It is now Thursday night. Where the hell is he? I have kittens to bring home! Here is a list of names I have brainstomed with my brother and sister, let me know what you think:
1. Paka (cat in swahili) and Neko (cat in japanese)
2. Nina and Miles (as in the singers)
3. Jane and Rochester (as in Jane Eyre)
4. Daisy and Gatsby (as in The Great Gatsby)

Boys: I am not thinking about #4, I am not thinking about #4, I am not thinking about #4. That is my mantra and I am sticking to it. He is gone gone gone gone. So there. Bye #4, have fun on the stupid east coast doing stupid important things. I hope he meets a stupid wonderful girl and has lots of stupid wonderful kids. Yes. Bitter you say? Psha, wuteva. This category will change, sooner rather than later.

it all comes down to chocolate

Regret is a funny thing. Nobody wants to regret. Good people don't regret, because everything they do is good.

I do not regret #4. I regret letting myself fall as hard as I did. Sure, I learned a lesson -- never get involved with someone who has to move across the country. I also learned that sex, in a relationship, can be secondary. #4 assured me that he was with me because he liked being with me, and everything else was just a bonus. #4 liked me for me, because of who I was, despite my craziness. For that, I owe him a lot. Maybe it was total bullshit, but I believed him.

Somehow, I have become the girl guys date before they get into a serious relationship. I mean, it hasn't just happened once. Off the top of my head, it has happened at least 4 times in the past three years. I regret being that girl. I cannot figure out why I repel solid relationships. It is really problematic.

I am afraid to get the phone call, in three months, from #4, proclaiming his love for some beautiful, intensely passionate east coast femme. Today, I could not stop thinking about that moment. That moment when I realize that I was, again, the girl before the girl.

#4 and I had an amazing day yesterday. Golf was so much fun, I had no idea. The last time I played golf was in high school. I think I might take a liking to the sport. It is kind of like dancing, it is very closely related to form. After golfing we worked up an appetite and went to Fred 62 for breakfast. After Fred's, we weren't ready to end the day yet, so we hung out at my house for a few...hours. Then we decided we needed to get gelato and go play guitar in the park. A few minutes after we arrived in the park, a small camera crew unloaded, followed by two women and their black poodles. Apparently, they were shooting a doggie yoga video. Yes, you read it right, doggy yoga. The women were stretching their doggies for the camera in all sorts of weird positions. They had one position that was called "flying dog," where the women balanced their dogs on their feet. It just made the whole experience more surreal.

After #4 dropped me off at my house, I had to sit down for a minute and absorb the day. I wanted to feel nothing. Desparately I tried to calm my brain down, water down the experience, the feeling of my pounding heart. I knew what would follow -- longing, depression, frustration that this person would be so soon absent from my life. It was pointless, the attempt to ward off those feelings. They came anyway.

Bittersweet chocolate has always intrigued me. Why do you want something that is bitter? I think perhaps, the bitterness is there to make the sweet sweeter. Without the bitter, we would never really know regular sweet from authentic, deep down in your soul sweet.

Bittersweet. A perfect paradox.

Je m'appelle hermit crab

So, it's starting to happen. I am starting to hermit up. It needs to stop.

This week, I have been so averted to speaking to people for some reason. I have been alone in the apartment, which I think is one reason. Another reason I think I have not spoken to people is because I am afraid I have absolutely nothing interesting to say. But why, pray tell, do I have to have something interesting to say? If one of the lovely people that grace my cell phone book were to call me up for no good reason, I would jump out of my shoes. Maybe even my socks. True, I am depressed about #4 leaving, and that made me want to crawl into the small space in the corner between my bed and the wall. Plus the new Harry Potter came out, so of course I had to read that within four days of buying the book. But is that any reason to neglect my pals? Oh no, mr.smith, I think not.

I am so off kilter though, it's ridiculous. My schedule at work changes a lot. I never know when I am going to get home, so I never know when I can work out. I have been neglecting eating, because I never feel hungry, except when I am nervous at work. Then I usually eat fruit or a granola bar. And I think I feel guilty for eating, because I can't work it off, which I know is a bad bad bad bad bad bad thing.

The good news is I am in love. With my job that is, absolutely infatuated. I have only been on the job for three weeks, and already my piece that I wrote for my boss is being published in three different publications. No byline of course, but the satisfaction is beyond words. And I get to fight, every day, for all of the things I care about. I am learning more about politics in this city than I ever imagined.

I also found an awesome 1 bedroom apartment in Silverlake, right across from the Red Lion Tavern. I haven't signed any paperwork yet, but it looks good. And I can have a kitty. A very small one. Yay.

Tomorrow (actually, today) I play golf with #4. This should be ____________________(insert adjective). Two more weeks, and he is gone for good. askdjhf;aoiewrhtosaehrgok. That is the best I can come up with for describing that feeling.

A mishmash of thoughts, yes. More coherent blogging to come.

Bye bye pinky toe

With all the f-ing free time I had this weekend, I could not even bring myself to update my blog. What a shmo I am! And now I have to go to sleep, so I can't even write down any good details. Here is a brief update:

1. Still haven't found an apartment. Getting dangerously close though, so hopefully I wont have to crash on anyone's couch. Actually, my landlord called and said we could just pay by the day if we did not find a place, so that is good.

2. #4 and I went out on Friday. It. Was. Tremendous. Absolutely. And that is all I will say about that. I will also say that Jimmy and Jalexious were correct about the outcome.

3. Started reading the new Harry Potter. Mmm, YA Fiction.

4. I found this poem I wrote before I went back to visit my college friends two years ago. I had been going to this open mic poetry night in the Valley pretty consistently, so I think it inspired me. It's funny how cyclical emotions can be:

There’s too much anxiety right now
Too with two o’s
Hand cramps up from the upsidedown typing method I came up with
To curb my flittering
I figure if the blood rushes backwards
It will have to slow me down
Drain away into some superfluous part of my body
Like the right
Knuckle of my fourth toe.
I had four toes once
Until I ate my pinky toe
And then I realized I had had five all along.
It didn’t really taste pink at all.
It kind of tasted like dirt,
And raw matzo ball mix.
It was nice to chew on something for a while,
And not get a raised eyebrow.
Now I chew on things,
Especially when I get
Like this.
Shakey
And tired from the persistent beating of
Me against me.
Isn’t it always like that though,
You make yourself nervous.
You make yourself sad.
You make yourself.
You make yourself ruin a perfectly good stream of poetry
By adding words.
Looking for the end.
There is no end, none that you know
Self-depreciation wins every time,
Stops you before you can do anything great
Or at least, remotely interesting to those brave souls
In the Valley that bear their souls to you
Pleading with you to bear yours.
They don’t realize
There isn’t anything for me to bear.

ISO soul, a good one preferably

Ok, now I am just stressed out.

1. I cannot find a suitable apartment. All I want (which I guess is a lot to ask) is an apartment that is close to stuff (los feliz village or sunset junction), will take cats, and is under 1000. I am so tired of looking at crap. GROWR!

2. People hate me, because I do stupid things, and now I am being ostracized. (Am I blowing this out of proportion? Yes, but this is how it is playing out in my head). This is EXACTLY what happened to me at the end of my college experience. I did a stupid, stupid thing and I was labeled a social outcast for about two months. All of this is COMPLETELY MY FAULT. Why would people want to be around me? I think this is why I developed social anxiety disorder (undiagnosed, of course). I am always afraid people are going to find me out, then see the real me, and leave me. The real me, apparently, sucks ass. I guess it is time for a change. I guess it is time for me to be a bit more rational, to take better care of the people around me, to be better about thinking about other people before I act. I am not trying to be the stir-er of conflict. I don't want to be the person people are careful not to upset. I want people to feel comfortable around me, to feel like they can come to me for anything. I think I am going to print up those new years resolutions in big type and hang them in my room.

3. Based on #2 as stated above, I am not sure i know how to go about fixing things. I need help. Help help help. I am afraid I am going to become a hermit when I move into my nonexistent studio apartment in los feliz/silverlake/echo park, because no one will want to talk to me. I am at a loss here, and it is driving me crazy.

You can turn a grape into a raisin, but you can't vice versa

Sorry about the delay between posts. It is has been a interesting week.

On Friday, I went to a luncheon for the arts education program for the music center. Last week they were having a workshop for teachers interesting in incorporating more art into their classrooms, and they had a lot of interactive activities that required the teachers to create their own art. In one class, they had teachers do interpretive movement to this poem:

Dream Deferred

What happens to a dream deferred?
 
 Does it dry up
  like a raisin in the sun?
  Or fester like a sore--
  and then run?
  Does it stink like rotten meat?
  Or crust and sugar over--
  like a syrupy sweet?
 Maybe it just sags
  like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

Naturally, when the teachers got to the part about the raisin in the sun, they crumpled to the ground. The second time they were asked to do the exercise, they were prohibited from crumpling to the ground to show a raisin drying up in the sun. The result was a tableau, the teacher of the workshop said, of the human emotions of pain and loss. Another workshop leader expanded on the idea of the raisin as what we become after years of negative messages. She was specifically relating it to our individual artistic talents. We all start out as these big, juicy grapes, she said, full of possibilities. We think we can sing, paint, draw and dance, because no one tells us we cannot. Then, she continued, as we go through our lives, we receive direct and indirect messages that we are not good enough. Someone turns off the radio as you are singing to a song. You get a look as you move to a certain beat. And after all of these experiences, our desire to express ourselves through art shrivels up, because we are afraid to fail. She said that all teachers, not just art teachers, need to work on this.

I think it is a good lesson for everyone. After all, as madame collinsina said, raisins are still sweet. Personally, I like them in my cream of wheat every Sunday.

bisexuality and generally scary politics

As I was browsing the news today, I came across several interesting headlines:

1. Straight, Gay or Lying? Bisexuality Revisited (NY Times)
This was a story about how they did a study about bisexuality in men, and basically found that men were either straight or gay, regardless of their reported sexual identity. To that I say, malarky. If women are bisexual, why can't men be? In this article, they cited another study in which women who claimed to be bisexual or gay actually had partners of both sexes. Is it more acceptable for a woman to be a lesbian than it is for a man to be gay? Perhaps it is, because of the straight male fascination with lesbians. What rubbed me the wrong way (or the right way, hehehehe) about this story was the assertion by some psychologists that bisexuality does not exist. Clearly, they have not studied me. I always question my sexual identity after I break up with a man, and Shmallipoo and I always say it is time for me to start dating women. I see two problems with this: 1. I have no idea how to make this happen, 2. ....well, I guess I just have one problem. I almost made out with a really hot asian chick at Bang on Saturday, but that is definitely not how I want to meet my first real girlfriend.

2. Thai teachers to be allowed guns (BBC)
If you need a reminder about how AWESOME your school is, I suggest you read this story. I see potential for significant gains here, I really do.

3. G.O.P. Asks Conservative Allies to Cool Rhetoric Over the Court
Leaders of the democratic party, pay attention to this quote from the article: "The extremism of language, if there is to be any, should be demonstrably on the other side. The hysteria and the foaming at the mouth ought to come from the left." THIS IS WHY WE KEEP LOSING ELECTIONS. The republicans in power are too f-ing smart - they have us pegged - they know we are reactionary and cannot keep our mouths shut. We cannot let this happen anymore. It is time to start developing some political foresight, for goodness sakes.

Hey. Maybe I should work on that too.

(P.S. I am doing a REALLY good job not contacting 4. If you could be so kind as to make sure that I keep this up for 30 more days, that would be greatly appreciated.)

tragically emotional and wonderful desparation

So I am sitting in the middle of buzz coffee, on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, trying to create words that will fit in someone else's mouth. This whole speechwriting thing is tough, but gratifying at the same time. It's like wearing sexy underwear underneath really plain clothes -- only you know what's underneath that diplomatic exterior. Thankfully it is three thousand times better than lesson planning.

It's been two days since I parted ways with 4, and I think the people around me are expecting the breakdown any day now. I just don't feel it coming. A part of me feels sad and distracted, and maybe even a little lonely, because it was nice to have someone in that position. The other part of me however, feels an incredible sense of liberation. I mean, for the love of miniature ponies, does anyone realize how little alone time you get when you are in a relationship? I had the whole day yesterday to myself. I read for two hours, took a nap, worked out, cooked a kickass tofu stirfry, and joined a few friends at Bang for a crazy night of dancing. Would it have been nice to lay on the beach with 4, or to have brought him on the secret adventure I had planned? Yep, prolly. Was I OK without him, without anyone? Yep, absolutely. Doing things alone in this society is frowned upon. You are a loser if you go to dinner by yourself. You are ridiculous if you go to a movie alone. But I LOVE going to the movies alone. I LOVE getting lost in this city, without having to worry about disappointing the person in the passenger seat. I LOVE trying new restaurants from my LA guidebook. I LOVE being able to go to the club with my friendiolies when I want to, and dancing to my heart's content. Was 4 prohibiting me from doing these things? No, but I did have to explain myself a lot more. And I am not sure why I felt the obligation to do that. We should have kept things cold, emotionless. Why did I spend energy getting emotionally involved?

I know why -- because I am a writer. Or at least, I think I am a writer. I'm not even sure I am that, mostly because I do not have the well-known 'writer's insomnia,' and the rest because I think everyone's writing is better than mine. (Especially Stacedawg and JayJayNaNaNa, my fellow journalists -- y'all could kick my ass in a write-off any day.)

After watching Little Women and closely analyzing the "Jo" character in the movie, I realize that writers NEED to live tragic/emotional/wonderful/desparate lives. Actually, a writer might live a boring life, but do things to make it seem tragic/emotional/wonderful/desparate. Her character was constantly emotionally charged. She felt guilt enough to squeeze out tears, rage enough to pummel her sister, and failure enough to crumple her to the floor.

So, it got me to thinking. Why DID I put all that emotion into 4? What was it about him that set off that thing? Why are my feelings of guilt so intense that I cannot even throw a piece of plastic on the ground? Why is it that I get so angry when I get angry? Is this the plight of the writer? Are they doomed to feel everything tenfold, because they have to figure out a way to put all those intangibles into words?

No, seriously, what is wrong with me?

How could I have been so blindsighted to not see the damage that I was doing with these words? I guess passion does silly things to your brain. So let it be said, publicly, that I am deeply sorry for hurting any number of folk, including all unnamed and numbered, 4, 3, 2 or even 1. Yes, even 1 gets an apology. Single, double, triple venti mocha espresso sorry to anyone who I offended during one of my rants. I hope we can still be friends. Otherwise, I will be forced to feed myself to the rabid sea lions that I am going to visit tomorrow at the zoo. Please let me know soon so I can alert zoo personnel.

That said, I must write about 4 one last time, because we are no longer. Like the mean words littered throughout my blog, my mean words ended it prematurely. I said one thing, expecting one reaction, and got a completely different reaction from him. Serves me right, I suppose. In the end, 4 is a wonderful, thoughtful, caring person; just not the wonderful, thoughtful, caring person I am looking for. He is going to make some girl brilliantly happy. I wanted something from him that he could not give, and he wanted something from me that I could not deliver. Sigh. I have to say I did learn a lot from the relationship, even if I did end up in the reject pot again.

So, I am completely single again. One. Single. Person. I have always been one single person, even when I was with someone. JimJim always talks about how you have to make sure you can make yourself happy before you can be happy in a relationship. That is true, I think. The only problem is that much of my happiness is derived from being around other people, or making other people happy. Yes, I can be happy painting or playing the guitar or going to the zoo. Euphoria for me is usually found on the dance floor, in some way or another, and most recently has appeared when I am zooming down the highway on the back of a bike. All those things make me happy. But it is hard to top that happiness you feel when you kiss that person hello, or when you feel their arm wrapped around you first thing in the morning.

I think perhaps, my equillibrium is not equillibrized (yeah, I made that word up, whaddya want?). All of my nervous habits have returned, which only happens in extreme cases of stress. But it is the new year as Jaynafersonsmitherpants reminded me, so it is time to stop and breathe. Think. Clear my head. Stop being subversively mean. That is not who I am, or who I meant to be.

Man, what is it with me?

I guess when I leave one thing, I have to leave all things. My job, my apartment, my _____.

Why do I do that?

I think sometimes when we make changes, we begin to feel so good about making changes that we keep making them until they start to hurt. Now, I don't hurt. Hopefully, in two days it will feel like a blister. In seven, the blister will be healed and I'll move on.

One day, I'll get it right. One day, I won't have to sit in a half lean against the wall, loathing the fading light of the day. I won't hurt anyone, and I won't get hurt.

Could I be more cryptic please?

On the upside, I am going swing dancing tonight, and I just had a maaahvelous time last night at bike night. Yep, I have a shiny new blue and silver bike helmet to show for it. See? I have stuff to be happy about. Be happy, dammit.

Packin' it in

It took me exactly eight hours to clean my classroom yesterday. Eight hours to clean up two years of work. Eight hours, to remove every trace of my being from a place where I cried with my students as they shared their personal narratives, a place where I begged students not to give up on themselves, a place that taught me about the world and myself. I gave away everything, which is generally painful for a pack-rat like me. My classroom library was mostly distributed amongst three new teachers, along with all my files, posters and other teachery items I accumulated. I managed to fit the things I wanted to keep down to three crates, two plastic boxes, and one laundry basket.

It is funny how your senses become heightened when you are at a turning point in your life. After I had loaded the last box into my car and turned in my pink sign-out sheet, I just began wandering around the school. If anyone asked, I had a purpose; I was looking for one of the plant managers to ask him if I could borrow a rolly trashcan to throw out the buffalo-sized bag of trash that was consuming the middle of my room. But even as I was walking around, I realized that was silly -- I didn't even have the keys at that point, and I had no real intention of entering that room again. I just wanted to see the place, as an insider, one last time. So I walked around, and smelled everything. I archived the smell of the disenfectant they use to clean the floors. The faint smell of the rosebushes that surround the small parking lot. That weird, indescribable smell of the hallway, it just smells like school. And I listened to the defeaning silence of the school, and the quiet buzz of the people who were finishing up for the day. I watched the pidgeons fight over a forgotten piece of bread, and coo in contempt after losing ground. I looked for a long time at the way the blue and white buildings cut into the clear blue sky.

And I guess when I walked out, and got into my car, I expected it all to stop, because for me, this was it. This was the end of teaching, the end of being a part of the community, the end of my first real job. I drove away, feeling like I just broke up with somebody. I was, and am still, heartbroken. Not because I want to go back to teaching, but just because it is no longer a part of my reality. I think I am afraid to fail, or afraid I am making the wrong decision. I think I stayed after, walking around, because I expected some internal neon sign to start blinking and screaming, 'you're doing the right thing! run! run now!'
I do feel like I am doing the right thing, but internally, I am only 90 percent convinced. How that other 10 percent is going to be converted is beyond me right now.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

On a completely different note, Boy #4 will no longer appear in the blog. Too many people know who he is, and for the first time that I know of, someone gave him shit about it the other day. When boy #4 tried to play it off, the person said, 'guess you don't really like having your personal life broadcasted, huh?' (or something to that affect). I'm kind of pissed about that, but I guess it is inevitable with things like this. Why that person would feel the need to bring up the blog to Boy#4 is beyond me. I feel incredibly guilty for putting Boy #4 anywhere close to that situation. Even though it is June 30, I am going to start working on that forgiveness thing early. I am going to forgive that person for making fun of Boy#4's involvement in the blog, and I am going to forgive myself for making the mistake of forcing Boy #4 to be OK with this situation. It sucks that I will no longer be able to write about him here, because I actually think this medium was helping my relationship with him. If it is hurting him though, it is just not worth it.

Mr. Byrne, you can sing Beyonce anytime

Wow, so it's been a few days since I have blogged. Bad self. Bad baddy bad bad. Here's what's been happening:

1. I had to go in for a colonoscopy on Friday, which sort of sucked. The prep went OK, as did the procedure. Actually it was kind of scary to be in that situation alone. They don't let visitors back into the recovery/prep area, so you are just waiting there, with the IV in your arm, hooked up to the heart monitor for about 30 minutes before you go on. There were a bunch of old ladies waiting to get theirs done too, and they were all moaning about being too cold or waiting too long. Nonetheless, during the time before my procedure, I was amazed by how diverse the staff was. If you ever question the multiculturalism of America, take a nice little trip down to Cedar Sinai. I think you will be pleasantly suprised. The staff was comprised of all races, nationalities and sexes. The team that took care of me was comprised of a Korean lady, a Filipino man, a Jamaican woman and a Japanese man. My anesthesiologist was also Asian, although I could not nail down whether she was Korean or Chinese, or even Taiwanese (je suis un Americane stupide, je sais, je sais). The whole room could have been a corporate promotional video, everybody working together, side by side, la da dee da dododo goulet...!

2. Before an after the procedure, Boy #4 was incredible. He took such good care of me, I am not sure I deserved it. We went to eat at the Newsroom Cafe and then went to see Rize at the Mann Chinese Theater. I think the movie was good, but to be honest, I was still in a drug haze, so I don't remember much. After the movie Boy #4 took me back home and I slept until morning. (Ps. thank you, Jrey, CelinaBeena, PrincessRockstar and Mia for the texts, they made me smile until my cheeks fell off.)

3. On Sunday, Boy #4 and I joined Toddykins and VivaciousVanessa for the David Byrne/Arcade Fire show at the Hollywood Bowl. When we finally arrived at the bowl, we felt extra confident and began to look for the will call line. When we approached the ticket windows, we saw a large line. Now, when I say large, I don't just mean 30 or 40 people. No, no, my friends, this line wrapped clear around to the edge of the parking lot. Needless to say, we were a bit peeved, but we followed the evil snaking mass of concert goers around the path until we found the end. We tried to distract ourselves by playing "line games" and making T-dogg dance, but no amount of sidesteps could distract us from the blatant inefficieny of the will call system. Next time, we WON'T call, thank you very much.

(Still 3) Eventually, we did make it into the bowl, which is HUMONGUS yet very beautiful. It is nestled in the valley of the large hills/mountains of Griffith Park. The sound was incredible - you could actually hear every instrument, including the often inaudible violins. I must admit that my appreciation for arcade fire grew incrimentally as the show went on. They are really talented musicians, and basically rock the f out of every song they play. Their album is definitely going to rotate in my car this week. David Byrne knocked my socks off. Both pairs. And I wasn't even wearing socks. He played a bunch of Talking Heads songs, including "Home" and "Psycho Killer." He has a funny little dance he does with his hips, which was really quite cute. You can always tell who has real vocal talent by how much an artist dances on stage. For example, Britney Spears has to dance a lot to make up for the fact that she sucks, whereas David Byrne can just sort of scoot around and still have the audience in the palm of his hand.

(Yep, 3) The real tofutti cutie of the night was when Mr. Byrne brought out the Extra Action Marching Band to join him for his last song. Now, you might be thinking, what could possibly add extra action to a marching band? I'll just give you this image and let you figure the rest out: the flag girls (and not all of them were girls) incorporated a move into their routiene where they pretended to masturbate using their flags. You with me now? Tremendous. So what does he do, now that he has a full band and erotic dancers to back him up. HE FUCKING COVERED 'CRAZY' BY BEYONCE! The whole bowl went nuts. It was, quite possibly, the best cover I have ever seen live. I hate that stupid song, but with the Extra Action Band in the background and Byrne holding down the vocals, it was heaven.

So this is the new year

Tonight was another affirmation of the idea that a trip to the gym always provides clarity. Whenever I am not sure what to do about something, or upset about something, or what have you, I am going to head directly to the gym. When I was running tonight, I had an epipheny. Actually, it was probably due to the multitude of deep conversations I had today, but it seemed to all come together in the middle of the second uphill mile.

Now is my chance to start over.

For the past few weeks, I have been looking at the end of everything. It is the end of my TFA committment. The end of teaching. In four weeks, the end of Boy#4. The end of life in WeHo with Alekandrizx.

I keep forgetting to see the beginning that comes after the end. It is the beginning of a new job, with new challenges that will most likely shape my life. It is the beginning of being single again, scary, but exciting at the same time. It is the beginning of a time when I can work on myself, so I am better in the next relationship that may come along. It is the beginning of life in Los Feliz/Silverlake, in my own apartment, where I can walk around naked if I want. It is the beginning of having a vacation home in Long Beach. It is the beginning of me calling my friends when I want to see them, and being OK if they don't call me.

Therefore, I am throwing out my January 1, 2005. On July 1, I begin my new year, starting with my new job. I am going to make a conscious effort to be better, in all aspects of my life. Fortunately, I have a blog to keep me in check. ;)

And this is why I love YA fiction..

Some people make fun of me for liking YA lit so much. You know what I say to them? POOP! Young adult fiction can oftentimes be superior to adult fiction. Here is a perfect example from the book I just finished, entitled "A Great and Terrible Beauty" by Libba Bray:

"But forgiveness..I'll hold on to that fragile slice of hope and keep it close, remembering that in each of us lie good and bad, light and dark, art and pain, choice and regret, cruelty and sacrifice. We're each our own chiaroscuro, our own bit of illusion fighting to emerge into something solid, something real. We've got to forgive ourselves that. I must remember to forgive myself. Because there's an awful lot of gray to work with. No one can live in the light all of the time."

Fucking brilliant, I say. I know it is not an original idea, but it is well-timed. The idea of forgiveness. Forgiving yourself for being both good and bad, and realizing the importance of that equillibrium.

And perhaps, in regards to our most recent blogs, we can forgive ourselves for our mistakes in relationships. Wanting too much or not wanting enough, wavering between the player and the played, being the giver and the taker. I think, Machellian, in regards to your question earlier ('but what IS love?'), THAT is what love is. The "something solid" we hope to emerge into. Everything we are doing now is just an illusion.

If you blog it..

Here is solid evidence that if you blog it, it will come. Yay.

So remember that blog I wrote today, about Boy #4 not fulfilling my romantic needs? Yeah, well, you can forget that. He is wonderful. I am swooning.

Today I found out that I have to go to the hospital for a procedure on Friday. They are knocking me out completely, so I need someone to take care of me. Immediately, I thought of him, and not just because he is on summer vacation and has a vehicle. OK, maybe it had a little to do with that, but I like to think I that there are only a few people I would trust with my care after heavy doses of morphine (sp?).

I was nervous to ask him, afraid of his reaction. Was this something only serious friends do for each other? Would he be freaked out? Then I thought, well, i would do it for him in a heartbeat, so why wouldn't he do it for me?

Not only was he absolutely willing to drive me, he was not at all freaked out by my condition. Thank kittens. See? It's the little things that get me. The fact that he is willing to help me through a really yucky experience is enough to make me stay up past 11 pm.

If it's just your heart, talkin', I don't mind

I must be insane. I'm talking utterly, completely and totally insane. Just as things are going well, my heart goes a different direction. Am I bipolar? It's possible.

A few posts ago, I wrote about how I was craving a romantic situation, despite the fact that Boy #4 should have been filling that need. In the end, it is my misstep, not his that is leaving me unsatisfied. He's right, really, I do want to be swept off my feet, but it doesn't take much for that to happen. I just want to be suprised I guess, by something. Is that unreasonable? Perhaps it is, for our situation. Perhaps it is better that things are stagnant and predictable, because of the time limit.

But I never liked stagnant and predictable. I want volatile and unpredictable. I want to drive down to his house and have my jaw hit the floor because of something he does or says. I want to find him sitting on my doorstep after a hard day at work. And maybe, if I do these things, he will reprocate. However, according to JummyRay, that would not be playing the game right. If I did those things, I would seem desparate, which is a very unattractive quality in a woman.

Oh, and the other thing I realized on Saturday, but couldn't quite get it out, is that I really hate that he pegs me as a "girly" girl. He and his friend (who was TREMENDOUS, by the way, except for this little incident) said some shit-ass comment on Sunday that just pissed me off so badly I wanted to run screaming from the restaurant. Granted, I peg him quite often as a "dude," but come on, he is a dude. Keg stands and all. And I accept him for that. I am NOT a girly girl. Yes, I like to talk shit with my friends, because let's face it, that is fun. Yes, I like it when my toes look pretty, because well, it looks like I take care of myself. But I cannot take the stereotyping. I pride myself on being different. One of my worst fears is becoming someone with no suprises. I can't be that, I refuse. I know I am not that.

And maybe that is how he deals with me. I fit into a category for him, so it is easy for him. No suprises.

In the south bay. FOr the second saturday in a row.

Yes. Insanity rules. Blogging drunk. yay.

Michael J. Surrago, Esq says you gotta take the tuna cap to the ketchup in batuplico. You're doctoring the magic, he says, you;'ve perveted my words to change my perverted dreams!I dont want to be a hero right now.

Realistic, she is. She healthy? She's pretty Ok. She is healthy enough to be like fuckit, I'm traveling. - A conversation by boys at Boy#4's party.

Actually I think that it would be nice if the lunchy clubby faccey was here. I could use some advice on things. And stuff. And other things I cannot mention because there are at least 1 - 3 watching me do this blog.

Michellian, I hope you are revolutionizing your night tonight.

Jayna, I hope you found and conquered butter.

:)

Are teachers crazy?

Next topic. If we weren't teachers, do you think we would worry as much about our relationships? Like if we were in an emotionless job, like a professional telemarketer or rodeo poop-scooper, would we talk as much about how dysfunctional we all are in our relationships?

I truly believe that this job magnifies every little emotion you have, because you have to be 'on' all the time. It is stressful. You are constantly asked to reflect on your teaching, your practice, etc. etc. etc. What effect does that have on the way you live your life? Is it better to be completely distracted from performing any type of metacognition?

I would also submit that hanging around with middle school kids escalates our need for drama.

Jayna's perfect man

I think for our first post, we should tackle one of the great mysteries of life. Who. Is Jayna. Actually. Attracted to?

This question has eluded me for many (ok, two really) years. I have consulted many parties on this. Now I put it to you, lunch club. What do you think?

Yes Jayna, you can comment too. :)

If I had an Alex romance

Sigh. Alishmandro's blog is beautiful. Did you read his post about his date last weekend? Holy crap, it's amazing. He can just let himself go and this girl freaking responds. It is a drastic change from the last two, for the better, undoubtedly. I am so so so so so so so so happy for the boy. I think he has met his match.

And Celina, holy fish fry, that comment about being able to breathe out, very profound. I am glad that we have come to the part of the cycle where all of my friends are happy in relationships. Everyone is generally in a better mood when the pendulum swings this way.

I wish I could write about someone that way. I know it is incredibly selfish to think that, but I really do envy Alex and Celina and all you other happy campers (you are not excluded, Stefffony, Toddykins and Chewy). I just keep waiting, to feel that thing that you all have. But I can't help thinking that I really will end up alone, with cats. And in the end, it is my dysfunction(s) that keep me from finding what I am looking for, not the boys. As one fine friend said, the common factor is you, not the boys.

I prohibit myself from thinking about Boy#4 the way Allio thinks about his lady, because boy #4 is on the out. In my brain, I am already saying goodbye to him, so that when the day comes I'll be ready. Detach detach detach is my mantra, whenever I begin thinking about him. Like when I am driving home, and thinking about him, I try to actively switch my thoughts to something else, usually work stuff.

It's like this:
La dee da, listening to Jon Brion, Oh, I wish I could see Boy #4 tonight, wouldn't it be fun to play Boggle with him, I want to drive down and get that CD from him...NO NO NO NO...WHAT AM I DOING? WHAT WORK DO I HAVE TO DO TONIGHT? NEWSLETTER? OH YES, NEWSLETTER! I HAVE TO DO THE NEWSLETTER!

and so on and so forth until I am completely focused on work. It's a great method I call the 'distraction' method. It is great if you want to put a lot of energy and passion into your job. I mean, think about it, you get all those feelings stirred up and then redirect them. The product is always going to be high quality.

(Ok, I'm deluding myself, but let me have it, just for a minute)

In other news, my apartment search is proving quite taxing. Any advice agent Forman? I found a beautiful apartment just two blocks north of Vermont and Franklin, but the security deposit is huge and they want someone to move in on July 1. Arg.

Hopefully my next post will be about how in love I am with my new place. I promise to use at least 3 to 5 metaphors.

Validation should always come in stamp form

Today I was at the verizon store, getting a new phone (yay! It's a camera phone), and someone next to me asked for validation. Sure, the store clerk said, here you go. And with one quick motion, she stamped the customer's ticket, and they were validated.

For some reason, the phrasing got me thinking. Wouldn't it be nice to be validated, for everything you do, with a stamp? Like everyone could just walk around with their own validation stamp, and whenever someone wanted validation from them for something, they could just stamp the person and the person would walk away happy.

For example, if you wanted validation for putting your life into teaching, your students could just stamp your hand on the way out of the classroom. Or if your significant other does some nice random thing, and you don't know how to thank them, you could just stamp their cheek (butt or face, it does not matter). I am certain this system would eliminate a lot of unnecessary hard feelings.

Believe it or not, I have found a new way to publicly humilate myself. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the drunk dialing of the 21st century...DRUNK BLOGGING! The last post was an example of how blogging while drunk is generally a bad idea. Fortunately, the post was not that damaging, but the fact that I had the urge to do that while drunk scares me. I am going to make every effort to make sure that I am not near a computadora with internet access while under the influence. (Look at that, the "whiles" line up. That's snappy).

An update on the Boys. Or Boy, considering the fact that I have not seen Boy #3 in weeks, Boy #2 and I are friends again, and Boy #1 is non-existent. Boy #4 has been making some strategic moves lately, despite his behavior early last week. On Wednesday, we hashed things out one last time, and he suggested he come up to my house to play scrabble. Needless to say, I melted. We had talked about playing scrabble, but never actually made it happen. I was insanely happy that he brought up the idea, and followed through on it.

So we played. And I kicked. His. Assssss! Ha! I don't win at scrabble very often, so it is very gratifying to triumph occasionally. The odds were really against Boy #4, because I have so much scrabble experience, and he was slightly frightened by the intensity with which I played the game. I apologized for my extreme focus, and promised that next time we would play something less serious like Boggle. Or drunk Boggle. Or coloring. (Ok, I didn't really suggest coloring, but you know...)

Things with Boy #4 are just plain good now, it is almost a shame that he is leaving in a month and a half. At least that won't give me time to fuck it up further. But then again, there is always tomorrow. And the next day. And then the one two days after that. Hm.

Oh Blind Date!

So the girl that Todd was paired up with was awful. I am talking terrible, I want to smack her down terrible.

His quote: She was bitchy, but she was not awful.

Mmmhm. Yea.

And now back to my cranberry vodka.

Who's sorry now?

This morning, on Democracy Now (www.democracynow.org), they said that a new Washington Post - ABC poll showed that Americans no longer feel that the war in Iraq made the US a safer place. The poll also said that 75 percent of people feel the number of US causalties in Iraq is unacceptable.

To that I say a big FAT, WELL WELL WELL, I TOLD YOU FREAKING SO YOU STUPID STUPID PEOPLE WHO VOTED FOR BUSH!

Why are people suddenly coming to this realization?

Last night, I went motorcycle riding with one Miss C, her boyfriend, and her boyfriend’s friend. Again, it was an incredible experience. Hollywood boulevard and the sunset strip have never looked so beautiful. Riding a motorcycle is like getting your prescription changed (or, as I would imagine it feels, because I have never had this exact experience. Go eyes!). The world looks sharper, colors are brighter, the sounds more intense (even though you are essentially deaf inside that helmet).

Similies aside though, we got into a very interesting conversation during our stop at Swingers. Somehow, we started talking about the government and money, and Miss C’s boyfriend brought up the fact that his brother went to Vietnam. He (Miss C’s boy) said that his brother realized, after three tours, that he was being forced to fight for all the wrong reasons. When his brother first went to Vietnam, he sincerely believed he was fighting for democracy and the end of communist regimes. But as he returned, he began to understand that the war was essentially for nothing. Money maybe. Political power maybe. But not freedom and democracy.

It occurred to me, as I am certain it did to everyone else at the table, that I had heard this same tale recently, over and over again. Soldiers, who committed to defend America and spread democracy, come back from Iraq damaged by the realization that they were used. They were used to secure American power across the region. They were used to make sure Halliburton would make bank this year, and for years to come. They were used to make sure the Bush Administration could still have access to valuable oil reserves. Democracy? I think they forgot to include that in the plan. And it makes me incredibly angry that soldiers die every day fighting a losing battle.

And there’s my rant for the day. Sorry to get all serious on ya.

I did my best to avoid contact with Boy #4 yesterday, and I think I am going to continue on this past for the next few days. He texted me, I texted back, small talk mostly. Ug, I think we broke when he came to the realization that he could not handle me being with other people. I want to be with him, but now when I think about seeing him, I get nervous about what I am going to say to him that is going to be offensive, or wandering into dangerous territory. I don’t like the part of the relationship where I get quiet. The part when I stop being myself. I don’t want to stop being myself.

The stace-meister and I have had a lot of conversations about the fine line between totally abandoning your single self and being a “_____friend.” You should not have to give up being yourself to be in a relationship, but I think that you do it involuntarily anyways. You have to be more conscious of your actions and your feelings. It has to do with vulnerability – you are vulnerable to being hurt by your partner’s actions, and vice versa.

I think I am just getting the distinct feeling that Boy #4 would not be nearly as hurt by my actions as I would by his. It’s an imbalance, you know? Everyone struggles with the scales.

Suddenly everything has changed

This morning I was singing, out loud, in front of my students. Yes, I have lost my mind. Completely. Actually it is not as bad as you may think, because it was only in front of two students, and I was helping them practice for their audition for graduation singer. The whole process is messed up really, because the students have no choice in what they are allowed to sing. They are required to sing "Graduation Song" by Vitamin C, which if you have ever heard the song, is not one easily done by 13 year old girls. Plus it is an awful bastardization of the pachebell canon. I was pushing for them (aka the administration) to let me help the girls pick another song, just so they could have the opportunity to perform. No no, that was out of the question of course. We find out the results tomorrow. Cross your fingers for little Carla and Rocio.

Matters of the heart are, as usual, in tumult (hey, that is one of our vocab words this week). Boy #4 was extremely offended by the blog yesterday, so much so that he made sure to block it from his browser. To that I say snap crackers don't pop! I was being honest. I said I was sorry, and pleaded (pled? plod? did done pleaded?) with him to forgive me for my literary transgressions. I was venting, I said, I was frustrated. I guess the "you're not a man" comment was a bit harsh, but it's true, and not directly a dig on him. I think that is what separates the men from the boys, or the women from the girls, or what have you.

The lunch club has varying opinions as to how to handle this situation. One particularly wise woman suggested I take a minute and think rationally, evaluate logically, and listen carefully. THen she heard he was leaving in two months. Her advice, after that, was to kick all this shit to the curb, and just have fun. Another lovely lady said it was time to end it altogether. Why not tonight? she asked, and promised she would have her motorcycle waiting so we could joy ride afterwards.

Not tonight though, wise lady one is right. The thought makes me sad, so I know I don't want to end it. When the thought of ending it does not make me sad, that will be the time to say peace out. But I'll still take a ride on the bike.

Motorbikes and emotional mechanics

(This blog was written over two days. Here is the entry from Friday)

I truly am a despicable individual.

Today I skipped school to hang out with Alex's friend who is visiting from Missurah. And I just got home from spending the night at Boy #4's house. I believe the term 'playa playa' fits me like a new cotton sock. (Mmmm, new cotton socks)

I actually think karma made its way around to me, because I contracted a minor cough on Wednesday, and now I am ACTUALLY sick instead of just pretending to be sick while I take a sick day from school. Heh.

This week at school has been rather entertaining actually, because my student teacher started his observations and we started using the ISIS (scary computerized attendance/grading system) at school. Suprisingly, the first day with the system went flawlessly. How's that for progress? You impliment a new program, and it actually works? That does not seem to follow the LAUSD precedent. Perhaps things are looking up. The only pain in the ass part of this program is the grade book part, because it is nowhere near as efficient as our old system. I guess I should be thankful though, because Shmaleepoo still has to pencil in his grades on a bubble sheet. That is so, like, 1970.

And now its time for the segue.

Trusty rustry RainyDaySteph brings up several good points. Yes, it's true, the whole point of bringing Boy#2 a CD would be a mistake. And it's true, I am trying to sabotage things with boy #4, because he is __________________ (fill in the blank).

(And now, for Monday's entry)

First and foremost, I have to say that I am now addicted to motorcycle riding. I participated in Celina's poker ride by riding on the back of a motorcycle as we coasted around Los Angeles. It was a tremendous experience. I was scared shitless for the first few minutes, but I definitely got more comfortable as the ride went on. It is so exciting to feel that one second of intensity when the rider accelerates. I cannot even compare it to anything else I have done. I almost felt like I was in a foreign country as we rode around, because I got a chance to see parts of Los Angeles I have never seen. We went through some sort of canyon, and there were huge red tailed hawks everywhere, swooping down right next to us. At one point we stopped at Cook's Corner, which was, I kid you not, the quintessential biker bar. Hundreds of bikes were crowded into the dirt parking lot outside this dive of dives. There was grafitti on the ceiling that included key phrases like "Jim was here" and "F U Daisy!". All kinds of people were sitting around in their leather and sport bike gear, talking shop and smoking up a storm. Outside the bar, vendors were selling all sorts of biking items, such as sparkley fringe things and leather vests. Right before the end of the ride, we had a chance to drive down the coast and see the ocean. It was intense. I have had dreams about it for the past two nights. I cannot wait to go again.

The next day, I successfully proceeded to completely ruin any normalcy with Boy #4. I went down to his hood on Sunday, to say hello and drop off vairous items I had for him. At some point in our conversation, he told me he knew I was keeping something from him (not in those exact words, but that was the gist). I outright told him about Boy #5 (who is going to remain extremely anonymous), assuming it was ridiculous to try and hide it, and about how Boy5 and I stopped anything before it could go anywhere. Welp, I am dumb. That was outright sabotage. That was the complete wrong thing to say. To make a long story (that is still going on) short, we ended up in a conversation about the state of our relationship. I decided that, in order to avoid sticky situations like this in the future, that I would be willing to put down my dating shoes for a while. I mean, really, why do I need to mess around with anyone else right now? Boy #4 and I said we would keep an open relationship, but I feel like at this point, it is ridiculous to do something that just makes more problems.

We have come to a crossroads, I suppose, and it is one I have visited before. Usually, this ends in me getting hurt, because the boy is still a boy, and not yet man enought to accept some sort of responsibility for my feelings. I am not one to jump into a committed relationship (as indicated by my inability to stay with one person for more than 6 months). But even so, my idea of a committed relationship differs drastically from the traditional definition that I think Boy #4 is holding onto. The next level here, for me, is just not hooking up with anybody else. It does NOT mean we need to talk on the phone every day. It does NOT mean I am going to start introducing boy #4 as my boyfriend, nor do i expect him to introduce me as his girlfriend. It does NOT mean that we are going to start spending every waking moment together, or that I expect him to check with me before he goes out, because lord knows I would never be able to do that. At this point, I just want to be in a relationship where we are a little more careful not to hurt each other's feelings. There's nothing scary about that, is there?

And then my other question, is this completely ridiculous? Perhaps I should just run away? Do I keep on fighting a losing battle?