Ocelot Revolution

Failure and fallout

2008-01-20T20:54:00.000-08:00

The smartest women are inherently goal-setters. We set goals for everything – for our careers, for our family, and for our relationships. And once we’ve gotten to our mid-twenties, we’ve likely seen some achievement of our goals. We’ve established patterns for how we go about meetings our goals, and we’ve figured out how good planning often leads to better results. This goal-setting, planner-filling tendency is one of the reasons why it’s so damn hard for us to not only find a guy, but figure out whether or not the one we’ve found is worth keeping around.

For now, for me, the goal isn’t marriage or kids. It’s just to have a relationship that lasts for more than six months. I’m 26 and I’ve never spent a Valentines Day with a boyfriend. I’ve never brought anyone home for Thanksgiving. I’ve never had a guy I’m dating bring me chicken soup and tissues to ward off a nasty cold.

Which brings me to Peter, my most recent candidate for long-term, chicken-soup cooking, Valentines-Day-Card-Making, parent-meeting boyfriend. The only problem is that he didn’t quite fit “the plan.” Until Peter, I’ve always been attracted to older, more accomplished men. Most older guys don’t have the ego-centricity that men revert to in their 20s. They’re less and less concerned with getting a piece of ass and more concerned with having the same ass in their beds night after night. They are better, more giving lovers.

So when Peter told me he was pushing the tender age of 23, everything else about him became a warning sign of relationship disaster. Peter is so good looking it hurts (flag!). Every part of him is attractive. He could very literally be an underwear model(flag!). He’s smart(flag), ambitious(flag), and close to his family(flag flag).

Normally, these would be good things. I’d love to be dating a hot, smart, moralist. But I’d like that hot, smart, moralist to be at least over the age of 28. And the truth is that I was excited to date him, but I also felt like that cat looking at the steak underneath the primitive box-and-stick trap. I saw the steak. I saw the box. But I didn’t see the connection quite yet.

One night a few weeks into our relationship, he admitted to me that he’s pretty much happy all of the time. This admission came after a particularly bad day I’d had. It was so bad in fact, that it took five calls to my friend Katie and two hours to get out of the house. When I finally saw him that night, I timidly looked for comfort, for some empathy, and I ended up with, “I’m just happy all the time.”

Hardly the get-well card I was hoping for. And of course, fodder for more (perhaps) irrational conclusions about him. Peter had a fantastic upbringing. Not perfect, but filled with a lot of love. He was valedictorian and prom king. He still keeps in touch with seven friends from high school. Everything he’s done professionally has been a success, with the exception of his writing. Peter’s writing professors actually told him he needed to go out and experience the “cruel world” and then pick up the pen (which although that may be a bit harsh, may have some validity to it).
It was immeadiately apparent, at least in my mind, that because Peter had no tragedy, no heartbreak, no darkness in his life to speak of, that he wouldn’t be able to help me out with mine. So although he hugged me and kissed me and told me he was glad to see me, I couldn’t help the raised eyebrow reflex from working overtime.

We continued to have what he later characterized as “great dates.” He would come over and play scrabble. I would go over to his house to watch the Wire. We would go out with friends. And every time these dates ended, he would leave, or I would leave, and all I was ever sent home with was this throbbing sense of doubt.

I couldn’t figure him out. So I turned to the one place where you can’t hide your secrets. That’s right, Google. I googled Peter every which way I possibly could (and just so you know, I got an A in library science, where all we did was learn Boolean operators and how to use metadata), and was rewarded with more of nothing. What kind of person has NO results on Google?

I started to see the sickly green lining to this cloud right around New Years. After returning from his Christmas trip home (during which he called me almost daily), we had three more “great dates” in a very short period of time. During one of these GDs, he told me he had told his co-worker that his “girlfriend” had gotten him this great DVD for Christmas.

Really? I asked him. Yeah, he replied. But I think he was talking more about the story and less about the new pronoun.

Ok! Shit! I thought. Now I’m completely disarmed. Wait, don’t I want him to call me his girlfriend? He’s hot, check. He’s smart, check, He’s ambitious, check, but what the hell else is missing?

For the days of and around New Years, I went up to Lake Arrowhead with a bunch of friends. Peter was supposed to come up the day before New Years, and stay until New Years Day. The day before he was supposed to come, he left me this sad message about how he hated to deliver bad news, and that there was no way he could come up because of work. I was sad, sure, because everyone wants someone to kiss on New Years, and it’s so much better if that person is someone who calls you their girlfriend.

“I’ll call you on New Years Eve,” he said.

New Years Eve came and at 12 am, there were no missed calls on my phone. I called him, and caught him taking a bathroom break.

“Um, Happy New Year,” I said. “What are you doing?”
“I’m downtown at a party, in the bathroom. How are you?” he slurred.
“Great. It’s so wonderful up here. I’m sad you couldn’t make it, but I’m glad you’re celebrating. I thought you were going to call?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re a better dater than I am,” he replied.
“Um, what? Yeah, OK, I guess I am. Anyway happy new year, and I’ll talk to you when I get back,” I said.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.

I snapped my phone closed and threw it on the bed. Still not right. Something was still not right. He should have been happy to talk to me, and more importantly, I should have been happy to talk to him. I should have called him not because he didn’t call me, but because I wanted to genuinely wish him a happy year.

From there, things went so far downhill so fast, I thought maybe I'd had a concussion. He didn’t call me on New Years day, or the day after New Years Day, or the day after that. I was starting to make up stories about the cause of the descent almost daily. He found someone else. He gave me an STD and didn’t want to tell me about it. He’d had a traumatic brain injury, and forgot we’d spent time together naked.

After a cancelled date, I attempted to break up with him. If we’re postponing the inevitable, I texted him, better to just get it over with now. No, no, he assured me, it’s not like that. Fine, OK, I thought, not at all reassured.

A week later, I finally saw him. It had been two weeks and a lot of unreturned phone calls since we had had any face to face interaction. We met for drinks, hung out with my friends. For a moment, we were a normal pair. He bought me a drink and played with my hair and talked to my friends. I asked him what he was doing the next night, and he said he’d call so we could meet up after 9.

Well, as you can probably predict, 9 came and went with no phone call. So did 10 and 11 and 12 and actually, the whole of the next day. Finally, on Monday, I called him and left him a message:

“Hi Peter, It’s Amy. I don’t know what happened, but whatever it is I’d really appreciate an explanation. So if you can possibly find it in you to call me, that’d be great. Thanks!”

The next night, his number came up on the phone. Although I spent a lot of time lecturing him on how he needs to maintain his relationships despite the fact that his job keeps him busy, once we got down to the meat of the conversation, all I got was this:

“I thought I was being nice,” he said.
“By not calling me back? You thought you were being nice,” I said, incredulous.
“No, by um, telling you it was work,” he responded.
“Are you kidding me?”

In the end, he wished me luck, I said thanks, and we both decided we’d see each other around. It hurt, sure, the way that all rejections hurt. It’s that hollow feeling that burrows deep in your chest and just aches. It’s the thing that makes you want to give up your plan, and make a new plan, something that doesn’t involve other people. Peter was a mystery, but only in the way that I couldn’t identify him as an asshole right off the bat. I couldn’t figure out whether or not it was me, or it was him, because so much of him seemed to be right.

But I guess the great This American Life epiphany of this whole ordeal is that it’s not really about having a plan, or changing or plan. It’s coming to terms with the fact that this goal, unlike all other goals in your life, is only going to be achieved through incredible, gut-wrenching, heart-punching failure. And the real challenge of it all, especially for us, the ranks of ambitious, smart women, is how we accept this failure as a necessary part of our lives, and not hate ourselves for it in the morning.

Around the sugar water tank

2007-10-15T13:54:00.000-07:00

Leave it to the birds

2007-10-08T16:33:00.001-07:00

Oh right. The blog.

2007-07-10T20:45:00.000-07:00

(I'm almost afraid to admit how much I love the new Shins album.)

Sometimes you forget why you do things. Or maybe, I forget why I do things. For a while, I forgot why I kept this thing. I forgot why I needed to write at all. These days I'm completely surrounded by people who are fantastic writers, and it's intimidating. Why bother, you know? I'm so behind. I'm not anywhere close to being a professional writer like I'd planned, so why maintain something that might indicate mediocrity? So I stopped making an effort, and it fell away.

But then other things quickly bubbled up in it's place. Drawing with cool japanese markers. Biking further and further away from my apartment. Flamenco. And it began to seem like a trifle, just another thing I played at.

Until, there was, ug, I hate to admit that this might be the reason, but a new boy came into my life. And he might not even turn into a romatic relationship, but he bumped something (not literally) that I guess had been dormant for a while. It's like when you move that bookshelf in your room to another corner, and suddenly your room looks totally different. Anyway, I've been really good so far with this one, even though it's only been a few days since our first (questionable) date (or not-date). I haven't sent any cute text messages or acted over-eager. I even jumped out of the car super-quick when he dropped me off after our maybe-date. We have another maybe-date to see the movie in the cemetary this weekend.

I was sooooo close to jumping the gun the other day thought, and the whole incident reminded me why this forum is important for me to keep up. It was a beautiful, hot, sunny Sunday afternoon, and I was super stressed out about work, freaking about things I couldn't control but were my responsibility anyway. I was looking for validation, from someone, anyone, and I thought about texting him. He gave me a few of his films to watch (he's doing a project for me for work, which is how we met), and they're actually good. I was going to text him something funny about his films, and see what his response was. But I didn't! I actually had the fortitude to think critically about the situation, and not mess it up. And I remember what I did with a lot of that nervous energy before, when I was actually dating (or something) people with some frequency. I wrote. A lot.

I've always sort of felt like writing, and likely all art, comes from a bubbling over of some emotional experience. When you can't hold something in your skin or your brain or your heart, it comes out. And it doesn't matter whether it's through the pen, the brush, the guitar string, or the flamenco shoe. It just has to come. Or else we go a little crazy, and our whole world gets thrown off. We stop communicating effectively, we begin looking outside ourselves for relief. And that's backwards you see, because it can't ever come from the other person.

Loose threads

2007-04-02T23:03:00.000-07:00

(Tonight I'm listening to the Guillemots. Fantastic album. They're one of those bands I heard on the radio, really liked, and then forgot about. I'm so glad they wandered back to my ears.)

One snag can end an entire dress. A dress you love, a dress that falls on you and looks perfect. And then one day, you lean too close to a wall, and there's a nail there. An old, unassuming, just-barely-sticking-out nail that sticks it's hangnail into a tiny loop you can't even see. And then it all begins to unravel. Maybe you don't notice it the first time you wash it, but the second time you wash it, suddenly it's a hole. And your heart sinks, not really because of the garment, but because of the way it made you feel, even temporarily. You'll never have it again, at least not the same way. It's hard to replace a dress like that.

This is how my brain operates. Like everything will be lovely. I'll be productive and healthy, singing without noticing. And then the rusty nail comes out, and all it takes is one snag. One little thing that I'll do wrong, one thing that maybe I didn't even do wrong, but just think I did wrong, and it'll latch on and unravel all of my happiness. I'm actually starting to notice it more and more as it's happening, which I suppose is progress. The first thing that descends is the exhaustion. I become too tired to complete any of the tasks I assigned to myself, probably because I've spent all my emotional energy worrying about this thing. Then I resort to escapism, usually in the form of a movie or a book. Then I might eat something, not necessarily junk food, but something that makes me feel guilty about eating whatever I'm eating (tonight it was tofu, celery and a soy fudgicle). The lowest point is when I begin stressing about the fat that is clearly going to build up as a result of eating and stressing. It's a vicious cycle, and results in me feeling like a pile of tangled thread at the bottom of a junk drawer.

In addition to this, I've realized that I'll probably never be able to meet and date a man, because I have fucking issues. I hate it when guys throw their game at me. I hate it so much, I've discovered, that I end up turning away perfectly wonderful men. And yes, maybe the perfectly wonderful men were not perfectly wonderful for me, but I never find out, because I get so sick of their cheesy-ass bullshit that I don't give them a second chance. I just want them to be honest with me -- is that too much to ask? To let go of their normal come-to-the-party-in-my-pants lines and just talk to me, like a person who maybe they might like to connect with intellectually, and hey, what a nice bonus it is that we're sexually attracted to each other. Oh, but no, that's too much to ask. Guys seriously, girls know when you're coming onto them -- is subtlety out of the question? Or perhaps, could you for a minute stop undressing me with your eyes and just think about what we're talking about, or how I'm reacting to you? Amazing. I think I might just be actually, completely doomed to spend my life alone.

Sometimes lonliness is a purple blob

2007-02-13T22:51:00.000-08:00

Ah, Valentine's day. The single person's day of punishment. As if we're not constantly reminded (see three or four posts ago for a fuller explaination of our reprimand) about how awful and bad it is to be single. There's an entire day devoted to people in love.

Instead of being bitter this year, I'm going to take a lesson from Mrs. Barbara Brodsky. I might even declare tomorrow BB Day. Why? Well, she's freaking smart and connected to some part of the universe that many of us don't wish to acknowledge or don't believe exists. What's interesting about her advice, or the advice that she's asked to pass on, is that it's so perfectly logical. She says that instead of denying that we feel pain, or lonliness or anger, we have to confront those feelings with love. We have to visualize the feelings, understand their role, and let them dissipate.

Something about this reminds me of what I know about AA. After meeting a few AA members and talking to them about their AA experiences, I realized that much of what they do in that group should be common practice. They are allowed to embrace their weaknesses, and ask for forgiveness. They are allowed to acknowledge publicly that they have this terrible part of themselves that leads to self-destruction, and publicly ask for help with that. They make the negative confrontable, and they use love and forgiveness to diffuse that negativity. They don't deny that it's there. Ever. They don't have to, because when they're in the meetings, no one judges, and when they're in public, they're saved by anonymity.

So what would we, the people who's poison is lonliness, do about our affliction? Is there a point where we take refuge in lonliness because it's familiar? Because it's easy? When do we get to stand up and say, hello, my name is ___________ and I'm freaking unbearably lonely. And not lonely because we don't have wonderful people around us as friends or family. But lonely because we're missing that significant other. Lonely because we hope there's one other person out there who can help make this existence slightly less painful.

But let me get back to BB. The thing I really like about BB's philosophies is that they do not allow for the denial of any part of us. The anger, the depression, the self-depricating critic. They're all there. I've been assigning them colors. Anxeity is orange, a seething orange mass that has scribbles around the edges like a supernova threatening to burst. So I think about it, I see it, and I watch it dissipate into a cool blue calm. Anxiety was there, it was present, I accepted it, and let it go. Lonliness is purple, a deep, dark ocean floor purple. It's frosted -- not like the flakes -- more like one of those black ice slicks that meet unfortunate drivers in the middle of winter. Purple gets thawed by a fresh spring green, and wisps away when I can make it.

So that's what I'll be doing tomorrow. Instead of dismissing the holiday, I'll be reclaiming it. Lonliness doesn't have to be bad, and it doesn't have to be destructive. It is one of those things, part of the human experience that just is, no matter who we are, no matter who we're with. I'm not going to fight it anymore.

Wine stains are hard to wash out

2007-02-01T20:37:00.000-08:00

This will probably sound trite, and slightly emo. Sorry.

What makes us go to the darkest parts of who we are? What makes us think the worst of ourselves, or of others? What makes us seek validation outside ourselves, when we know everything should be in place? We have the good job, the good people in our lives, and still there's something that pulls us down from that white fur-lined slot called comfortable?

It's Thursday at 8:38, I just got home from a wine tasting with a brilliant group of women, and I feel like that red wine poured down my throat and so deep into my soul that my whole insides are stained a darker red. Either that, or the wine pulled back the thin layer of rational thought that was protecting me from myself.

Is it capitalism? The idea that what we have is never enough, that there's always something else we could have, something else we should have, that leaves us empty even after a perfect social interaction?

And then of course, I attach it to the unattainable. I've started a secret admirer correspondence with someone who has absolutely no idea who I am, which is so completely safe for me, because even if he rejects me, he'll never know who I am. Simultaneously, this supplies me with an outlet for whatever jagged feeling that's stretching out my pores trying to escape. It's like a longing that I want to have, that feels good and awful at the same time. I feel longing and know that whatever semblance of love I feel for this person will go unfulfilled. That's comfortable somehow, because I can control it. I realize now that it's not about finding someone. It's about accepting the fact that finding that someone is completely out of your control, and no matter how I try to manipulate that, it will not get me closer to finding that someone. That someone will find his way here. It will happen, as all things do, in there own time. I'm not advocating fate of course, but just the natural course of things, if those two are different.

And the other weird thing about this feeling is, is that it not only stems from my singledom, it also stems from a feeling like I am in some way intellectually inadequate. I've not felt like that in a long time. But now I am surrounded by writers, brilliant fucking writers, who know exactly how to express themselves with these words, with these letters I so often struggle with. Words that are my friends and enemies all in the same phrase. I want the thing, whatever it is that switches on in these people that makes them see things in words, only I don't want to envy. I just want it to be. I want that part of my brain to switch on, and not to struggle to get out a sentence that I'm proud of.

Laundry pile eats young girl's room in LA!

2007-01-23T21:32:00.000-08:00

I think laundry only becomes a monumental task when you let it build up. If I didn't hate doing it so much and it wasn't so inefficient, I'd probably do it every day. Instead I choose to wait until there's nothing left to wear (except underwear. I always have enough underwear. If I could just wear underwear around, I'd be good for like 5 weeks). I should be doing laundry right now, in fact. But that's not the point. I was trying to make up a good excuse for why I haven't updated my blog until now by making an analogy to my growing lump of laundry. I have a huge lump of colorful things to write down, and I'm afraid I won't be able to do them all justice. But at least I'll get them all hung out to dry.

1. I went to a ridiculous wedding on NYE. It was by far the drunkest few days I've had since college (yep. Few days. Something about the midwest makes you want to get wasted at almost every opportunity). It was all-around excellent. I reunited with so many old friends, and it only took us about 30 seconds to fall back into our old habits. Some of us developed new habits (was there a number 10 you say? Oh yes. There was. And he was hot.). I spent most of my time laughing I until I was crying, and listening to people talk about where they're headed. I can't wait for Weddingtastic II.

2. I started a new, freaking awesome job. It's not in LAUSD, but it is education-related. It's allowing me to help lots of kids, distribute resources equitably, and meet an entire barrage of new people in the city. It's also allowed me to meet Ted Danson, Ed Norton, Will Ferrell, Dave Grohl and my favorite of all time, Michael Cera. What is it? Oh, I'm not going to tell you here.

3. As usual, I've been having lots of interesting realizations about boys. I had the fortunate/unfortunate opportunity to meet and hang out with one of my literary heroes (he's a lesser-known author and magazine editor, it's not who you're thinking of). I've had this secret crush on him forever, and I've seen him read about 5 times. The interesting thing about him is that he does not possess the physical qualities that I'm usually attracted to. In fact, one might be so inclined to say he's kind of a "bro." For some reason, that doesn't seem to temper the intensity of the crush. He's just so freaking smart, but not in a traditional 19th centrury philosophy quoting way. He has this incredible curiosity about people that I find so very beautiful. Two negatives: he lives no where near here, and he's completely in love with his ex-girlfriend. I think it's probably better to be in love with him in my head only anyways. Second realization: I'm miles away from wanting a super-serious relationship. Watching all the people around me go through crap with their others, it's so awful. I don't think I could deal with that. As much as I'd like to have someone in my life, I don't think I could say, 'yeah, I'm ready to be with you, and only you, and deal with all your baggage, and ask you to deal with all of mine.' Bleh. I would hate to inflict myself or be inflicted on. Perhaps when you meet the right person you become more willing, but for me right now, it's just not there.

So that's good for now, at least I feel like I did my delicates.

Terrorbird, mon amour

2006-11-13T23:30:00.000-08:00

(Listening to: Zero 7 -- The Garden. Might change in a minute. Need more minor notes to write this blog.)

So instead of going to my neighbor's show tonight, the show I'd been planning to go to since last week, I'm here, sitting in my pajamas, on my bed. The wet spot on my right pant leg from where I leaned too close to the sink is really pissing me off. I don't want to change my pants. But I don't want to sleep in wet pants either. Everything seems just a little too hard these days.

Why am I here? Well, I need distance, for one. My heart is pulverized, smooshed and twisted out like a wet washcloth that you need to be wet, but not sopping. Perhaps saying "my heart" is an overestimation of just how much the neighbor has gotten to me. It's a mind game after all, one that he set up and I played right into. I'll be the first to say though, that I am probably more to blame for the situation. I mean, besides being completely hot, a musician, a gourmet cook/baker, a lover of kittens and a motorcycle repairman, he really doesn't do much for me. He's not at all interested in what I do, what I want to do, or how I live my life. He has a perception I suppose, and he's happy with that. I think it's lovely that he loves his life so much.

(oooooh. switch to Death Cab. This is getting awful.)

But the last time I checked, having a relationship with someone meant caring about their life too. Asking questions, or at least pretending to be interested in the answers. Understanding what they value, and respecting that. Maybe that's too much to ask of a 26 year-old man in a band. I'm not sure what it is about guys in bands. They get spoiled somehow. Perhaps they know on some level that being in a band instantly makes them hotter, and affords them the luxury of not trying as hard as the rest of us. They can afford to adopt a nonchalant approach to human relationships. People COME TO SEE THEM. They don't have to go see people. People, people they don't even know, clammor for their art, for their picture, for three minutes of their face on video. It's no wonder many of them (not ALL of them, of course), develop a complex.

So I didn't want to go tonight for several reasons:

1. I wanted to get more than 5 hours of sleep. I need sleep to do good work, and I need to do good work.
2. I didn't want to go to see the neighbor. I wanted to make sure I was going to go because I wanted to hear music.
3. I didn't want to see the girls adoring the neighbor. Jealousy is one of my worst secret animals.

I'd like to make a resolution now, to dismiss the neighbor, to be proactive about finding a new person. But I don't want to lie anymore about that. It still sticks me, right in the middle of my chest. It looks at me in the mirror, and tells me I don't have the right skin, the right face, the right look. It tells me my life is boring, and that my interests are unimpressive. It tells me that I shouldn't have said something, or I shouldn't have offered him something. It's my terrorbird, and it holds me hostage daily.

I might have to declare war.

Variations on a theme

2006-10-24T23:23:00.000-07:00

(Tonight I'm listening to the new Seu Jorge album, dubbed Cru. You know Seu Jorge, the guy who covered all those Bowie songs in the Life Aquatic? Turns out his own stuff is awesome too.)

Today as I was practicing my flameco steps on the way to the dumpster (this is typical. I subconsciously begin practicing my flamenco claps or beats in many places: waiting for the elevator, cooking broccoli, brushing my teeth, even when I drum my fingers on my steering wheel. It's a sickness I think. Flamencoitis. Wait a minute. That sounds too sexy to be a disease.) ANYWAY, I was thinking about the new steps we learned on Sunday, and I realized that each dance has a basic rhythm, but each coupla (don't dock me points for my inability to spell in Spanish just yet) requires that you knock out this beat with different steps or claps.

For example, a rhythm that goes bump!-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-bump!-bump! could be done entirely by the feet, or with the feet and a knee slap, or mostly with claps plus a uno tiempo (literally a step where your feet come down at the same time). OK, so maybe it's not EXACTLY variations on a theme, but for the purposes of this blog, I'm going to forget my perscriptivist tendencies and go with a little descriptivism.

So then I started thinking, like I do, you know, about life. And how my life seems to be about variations on a theme. Here are a few:

1. Fall in love with completely inaccessible men (i.e., the Baker).
2. Perfection is the only way to happiness (i.e. I hate myself when I can't keep my room clean).
3. Something will always go wrong (i.e. I feel like my cats are going to die and my apt is going to burn down when I'm out having fun).

It's so easy to keep creating variations on these themes. It's less easy to create entirely new ones. Think about how all-encompassing a theme is in a novel. How many papers you had to write about just one theme, and how once you figured out the theme was present, it was impossible not to find a million things that fit right into that theme. Looking at the list now, they all seem to look like weird birthmarks I don't want to admit exist. It's like I know they're silly, I know they're not a part of who I want to be, but deep down, I believe them. And I wonder if writers just put in themes inadvertently. Like they create these characters, and these characters interact, and then there is a story, and OOPS, there are themes there too. And I suppose I wonder how active I've been in creating my themes. Because it seems as though, if we're all writing our own stories, then surely we have control over the literary devices.

But do we have the option? To change a theme, even after 250 pages?

I started to write this last thursday...

2006-10-19T21:28:00.000-07:00

(Tonight our audio selection is music from the Buena Vista Social Club soundtrack. This is particularly appropriate, because I just got back from my first Latin Burlesque dance class. It was hot.)

I have a lot to write about. And since I like everything in chronological order, let's just rewind a little.

ZBWEREBWERBWEBNEEWEWEEZEEWE. (That's the sound of rewinding).

Sept. 30:

Yay! Today I am a quarter of a century old. I had an amazing day today. I began the day with jazz and tap. I then proceeded to the mall to do some happy birthday to myself shopping. I bought a dress at the first store I went to, but was so sick of the mall by then that I couldn't bring myself to do any further shopping. After going home to fix myself a little birthday dinner, I got ready for the Bowling Karaoke Birthdaytastic celebration. I have to admit, I was a bit nervous about this party, because last year's rollerskating shortstop extravaganza was so excellent. Mr. Prickles and I were sharing the celebration, so a we amassed a big list of people that we hoped would come. When we first got to the bowling alley, there were about four people there from our party, besides us. We had estimated and paid for 30. Crap, crap and triple crap I thought, no one is going to come. Of course, I was absolutely wrong. Our party guests started multiplying like kids with new calculators. We had to keep adding more lanes, and more lanes, until we had 10 lanes of simulatneous bowling action. I had three strikes in the first game, but people kept handing me drinks, so it was all downhill from there. After a few games and some minor ass kicking, we floated to the bowling alley bar, where they had karaoke. We karaoke'd up a storm, my friends, yes. I have to say it was HUGELY impressed by neighbor, Professor Puffiefro. He killed his songs (which at this late date, I cannot remember). Thalex sang my favorite Thalex karaoke song, Suffragette City. I sang Magic Man, which was a stretch for me, but I was, well, a large percentage alcohol, so it was fine. After about an hour of karaoke, Mr. and Mrs. Prickles took a lot of the crew back to their house for cake and chats. Mrs. Prickles baked a supberb cake, half of which was white cake with white frosting (mr. prickles is weird -- that's his favorite. I sort of love him for that though.), and the other half of which was chocolate. Extremely yummy.

There's a second part to this birthday story, that I almost hate to admit. Better to get it out though, yep. My neighbor, we'll call him the Baker (he bakes bread a lot), was very flirty the whole night. This did NOT help the little crush I've been harboring. He offered to wait up for me and make me a birthday martini after I got home. I figured he'd forget, and I was tired anyways, so when I got home from mr. and mrs. prickles, I was quite surprised to find his door open. We drank and talked until 6 in the morning. And nothing happened. Nothing. Which was good, for the sake of living a normal life in my apartment building.

And that's that.

Fast forward two weeks.

ZEEBEZEEBEBEBEBEZZZEEEESESSSEE. (May I present, the sound of fast forwarding).

Is a grape in the hand worth two in the mouth?

2006-09-18T22:03:00.000-07:00

(Editor's Note: From now on, I will be listing the music that accompanies the creation of each blog. Today our selection is Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain, c/o Pavement)

Today was bona fied strange. I'm not sure if I'm having a surge in hormone levels or what, but there was an onslaught of strange observations/occurrences/dreams that set my brain a little to the right of functioning normally.

For example, last night (or early this morning) I had a dream that I made out with a black dude. No black dude in particular, but a black dude. We didn't get too far past second base, because I remember feeling weird in the dream. Like I was doing something wrong. Not for kissing a black dude, mind you, but because I am resolved not to have feeling-less sexual encounters right now. The libido is powerful though, I know it's sultry call says, IT'S BEEN A FREAKING LONG TIME BIO-TCH! Oh well. Shut up libido. Your little libido-ey ass can wait.

I really need to shut that voice down, because it is good at making me consider people/situations I wouldn't normally consider. Usually, those situations end up being awful (see every freaking number on this freaking list. Except maybe 4. 4 wasn't completely awful.) I am working on not flirting with my neighbor. He definitely has no interest, and has multiple female hipsters who probably want to date him. And he's my neighbor. Bad idea, bad, bad, bad idea. Other fish in the sea. Like tuna. And yellow box fish.

ANYWAY, in my afternoon meeting we had snacks. The snacks consisted of various cheese triangles, grapes, assorted melons and crackers. The lady, not next to me but one person over, collected a plate of three grapes, a piece of watermelon and a cracker. For some reason, instead of listening to the presentation, I became completely fixated on watching this person eat, because she did a crazy thing. Instead of pushing the grapes to the side of the little plate, she picked them off the stem AND HELD THEM IN HER HAND WHILE SHE ATE THE WATERMELON WITH A FORK! I mean, that seems oddly dirty and inefficient, right? Especially if you have a fork? Ok, sure I eat grapes with my hands, but I don't hold them in my hand while I eat other things on the plate. The whole time I was watching her eat, I imagined her accidentally squishing one of the grapes in her hand, then trying to troubleshoot the situation without anyone noticing that SHE HAD GRAPES IN HER HAND!!!

Ok, ok, that was a bit weird, I know. But it just struck me a wrong and wonderful at the same time.

Liberacion

2006-09-05T23:36:00.000-07:00

There should be an accent mark over the "i" up there, but I'm not sure how to insert that character. In fact, I'm not even sure that's the right word. False cognates can be a bitch. But for the sake of this blog, let's just say that word means "liberation" in Spanish.

This past labor day weekend, I went camping just north of Ensenada with a curious bunch of folks. Just to give you a little idea, I'll try to recall everyone's professions. Our troupe consisted of a nurse (male, how refreshing), four visual effects people (that's the technical term, I promise), a painter, a loader, an editor, a sound person (again, the technical term), two actor/writers, three people who's professions I did not seem to catch, one mastif-pitbull mix (literally a dog, I'm not calling anyone a bitch) and one school board staffer. I'm not sure if it was the beautifully clean air, the tequilla or the Bob Hope, but there was some amazing chemistry going on. Everyone just seemed to get along. Everyone helped clean. Everyone looked after everyone else. It felt comfy. It was by no means perfect, but it functioned in an oddly nice way. It was kind of like pairing red with pink -- you know they don't quite work together, but sometimes, in the right combination, they just sing.

We camped at this beautiful olive grove that was situated on the edge of a bluff overlooking the Atlantic. They had a path carved out of the side of a bluff that allowed you to walk down to the rock beach. I mistakenly did not bring my bathing suit, so I wasn't able to go in, but all the other kids played in the waves and even braved a boogie board ride or two. There were a bunch of surfers at the site too, so it was cool to watch them stand up on top of all that hydrogen bonding. Several rounds of Bocce (sp?) Ball were played, horses were ridden, s'mores were made and guitars were strummed. We climbed (and one of us fell out of) the trees, braved trips to the latrenes, snacked on fish tacos from the campsite taco stand and cultivated a love-and-santize relationship with the campsite puppy patrol (there was one doggie that loved us, but was definitely suffering from ringworm, or at least fleas. We called him Ringworm. Or Mr. Ringworm). We went to tequilla bars in town, finished buckets full of beer, and managed to jump a car in the middle of the highway.

Although I was so glad to sleep in a bed and take a shower last night, I was a bit sad to wake up and find my most excellent tentmates and campmates missing.

Sometimes you experience a convergence in your life, where everything just settles down like a freshly washed sheet on a bare bed. I was so ridiculously happy when I was camping, and it is making me breathe easier now. It was incredibly reassuring -- I was myself -- so much myself that I had a handle on the parts of myself that I don't really like. I had an unprecedented amount of perspective on what I was thinking and how I was acting, and I was really able to do and say what I really wanted to do and say. I had a moment of extreme clarity. I felt like I was in the right place at the right time with the right people. And I'm not just talking about camping. I'm talking about my whole life. I'm starting to feel...right. Like I know what to do to be happy. And what's particularly amazing about being that comfortable with yourself, is that the people that are really going to connect with you actually do (connect)(thanks, mr. and mrs. prickles), and those who are not, you can simply live with.

It's lovely. Like a Mexican half-moon setting slowly over a black ocean, accompanied by the soft bark of social sea lions.

Camp-pong!

2006-08-31T09:19:00.000-07:00

Questions to answer:

1. Who is driving?
2. Who is bringing a tent?
3. Approximately how many dollars should we bring?
4. An idea about camping one night and staying in a hotel one night was brought up -- what do we think about that?
5. What kind of camping supplies do we have, and what do we need.

Yay! I can already taste the tequilla.

Loft parties and neighborly advances

2006-08-06T22:21:00.000-07:00

I'm at a strange place in my emotional evolution, I think.

For once, I'm not chasing a boy. I'm not consumed by an impossible relationship I wish would come true. I don't think longingly about anyone in particular when my mind wanders in the car. I don't go home dejected after the night is over. It's freaking liberating. Don't get me wrong though, a relationship would be nice, and sex would be even better. I just don't want to put energy towards making something happen.

And it's not like I have removed temptation from my path.

On Friday night, 8 and I went to a party at my colleauge's loft downtown. It was an incredible loft; one you would expect to find in NYC. It was very industrial, white walls with high ceilings and drop lighting. Old photographs and artwork covered the walls. Out the kitchen window was a perfectly framed view of the downtown skyline. The building even had one of those elevators where you have to pull down the gates and operate the lift via a panel of buttons on the wall. Seeing 8 in my current state of tranquility was excellent on multiple levels. I had absolutely no desire to impress him. I did not dote. My goal was to enjoy the people, the food and the wine. I let him take care of himself. At one point, he and I were talking to a somewhat attractive single man from NYC. This man and I had, I don't know, kind of a thing going I guess. By thing I mean we were having a good conversation. I thought he was cute, but he wasn't setting off symphonies in my head or anything. Our conversation was interrupted by the announcement for dinner, and our little trio split, at which point 8 began to go crazy.

"Should I have left you two alone?" 8 asked.
"Um, what?" I responded.
"You guys had something going there. He's so into you."
"Eesh, I just, yeah, he's cool, but I'm not into that right now."
"Oh yeah, right. Really, he was so into you."
"Um, could we drop this please?"

And so on and so forth. Of course, the night ended with 8 being all complimentary, spouting his usual, I have so much fun with you, you make me feel so good, blah blah blah. But instead of fixating on that, I took it, looked at it under the light, put it in a ziploc bag and threw it in the garbage. Realization of the evening: 8 is full of shit. I already have plenty of my own shit. I don't need any of his.

Saturday night, temptation wandered my way again, this time in the form of my next door neighbor. We'll call him 9. He is beautiful, smart, artistic. But I'm. Just. Not. Interested in all of the bullshit games that I would have to play to even begin to broach having any sort of romantic relationship with him. Plus, I don't even know if he would be interested in a romantic relationship with me. Double plus, he is my next door neighbor. If my some small chance we did have something and broke up, I would STILL have to see him every day. That would suck. I'd rather not even go there. Triple plus, both of my neighbors love my kitties, and I would not want to deprive my little fuzzy pals of their friends.

OH! And one other weird thing that's been happening. #1. Remember #1? He's been coming over lately. I'm not sure what that's all about, but I'll write more as that develops.

A selfish selfless act

2006-07-25T11:37:00.000-07:00

http://www.bookeaters.org/

It's a benefit for 826LA (www.826la.org). And just get your wallets a-opening, this performance will feature Dave Eggers, Jenny Lewis, Sarah Vowell and the Mountain Goats. Go now and purchase.

Apology

2006-07-23T23:07:00.000-07:00

Dear Blog,

I am so sorry I have ignored you lately. I know it sounds cliche, but it's really not you. It's me. No, no, don't give me that look. C'mon honey bear, this is my apology. You don't have to throw that vase. That' right, just put it down...good...nice vase-y. I'm not sure why I've been distant. You are the engine of my true love (words). The glass jar of excreted subconscious musings.

I'm sorry. I'll never leave you again.

For more than a week. I promise.

So now that I have you back love, let me give you what you really want. Le scoop, as they call it en Francais.

I am torn up about Israel. My head and my heart are bombing each other with each new headline that flashes up on the screen. I've read the anti-israel propoganda, I've read the pro-israel propoganda. I check at least three different news outlets every day. At this point, I feel like everyone is guilty. I hate Hamas for their doctrines and practice of violence. I hate Hezbollah for hiding amongst innocent Lebanese. I hate Israel for killing people they clearly mean not to kill. I feel like Israel is a close sister that I just discovered is selling herself on the street. I am so disappointed, and yet I want to protect her. I want to protect Haifa from those Hezbollah rockets, and give her room to protect herself. And I want to slap her for killing children who happen to be in the wrong country at the wrong time. This is not the justice so many IDF troops have died for. This is not the kind of engagement our ancestors died for. Then again, maybe this is the only justice that exists. Man corrupts the most innocent of concepts. Justice is at the mercy of men.

Oh blog, I had to get that out there, sorry to bring things down.

I would like to tell you about boy number blank, but there is simply nothing to report. I have never been so out of love in my life. The idea of getting mixed up in that shit just doesn't seem worth it. Or rather, I don't know anyone that would make getting thrown into that blender worth it.

So I'll remain, bloggie my love, wedded to your words, wedded to the words I know, wedded to the words I have yet to find, wedded to the words I have yet to use, wedded to the words I have yet to create.

Kisses,
your ocelot

4:39

2006-04-19T23:28:00.000-07:00

It has been so hard for me to get something down I am just going to write it all out before this song ends. It was in my head a minute ago. Perhaps it was, serendipity? Is that the right word? i don't know. please replace if it is incorrect.

Basically, here's the deal. I love 8. I am certain. I love him enough to say that I can accept the fact that I can't be with him. He told me yet again that he can't have a relationship with me. He said he thinks I am brilliant and beautiful, but that he is too fucked up to let me have a relationship with him. Fine. Ok. I get the picture. Perhaps I am not "in" love with him, but I love him, in that I want him to have everything he wants and be happy when he walks down the street eats a bagel sees a funny picture or bird. That's pretty much standard for everyone I know.

So where does that leave me. Sad angry hurt. Or cleansed. Happy.

Mostly out of time.

Not your everyday kind of theraputic breakthrough

2006-04-05T22:38:00.000-07:00

Something happened to me this week, and I am not sure how to describe it. It wasn't verbal. Or easily described by words I know, I should say. I suppose I have been building up to it for weeks now, months, probably even years. Something happened to me in therapy. Coupled with the stress of my kitty getting sick again (she's doing better now, yay!), I just lost my grip on myself. I felt it hit the back of my head like a cold stream of unexpected water.

And now I am off kilter.

Work is fine, I have a purpose there, I understand why I am doing what I am doing. If I can absorb myself completely in my work, and forget the internal war, I'm fine.

But every time I think about what happened to me during therapy, I feel sick. Not a bad kind of sick, the kind of sick you feel when you are riding the big plunge thingy at Cedar Point - that single second when you hear the car release, and you aren't moving. It's the kind of sick you get when you just barely avert a huge tragic car accident.

It's the first time in a long time, I have not felt the tug of desire for a relationship. The thought of being with 1,2,3,4,5,6,7 or 8 stresses me out and makes me a little bit disgusted. Not because those smart, beautiful, wonderful and ultimately tragic individuals hurt me or did something bad. I am disgusted at my behavior. The idea that I have wandered so far outside myself for the sake of something I don't even think I really want right now is reprehensible. But I don't blame myself. I am still working on the concept of friendship; it's no wonder I cannot/will not put myself in a situation that involves a romantic relationship.

Realizing you have a false sense of security in yourself, a self that really isn't you, but gets you through the day, is a painfully delicious experience.

My cat ate my blog. Honest.

2006-03-20T21:36:00.000-08:00

Geez. It's almost been a month since my last post. When did I get so lazy? Er, um, I mean, busy?

Actually I have a good reason for not blogging, and that reason is...well, the fact is that...ok really I just...don't think my life is all that interesting these days. I have been making bad decision after bad decision after bad decision. And then I feel lonely. And then that wears off, but I try not to remember what that feeling felt like, so I don't want to put it into words.

The ordeal with 8 has had me in a strange state. In a way, I felt like he was my last hope for a good, loving relationship. He was different. Wiser, older, more respectful. Welp. So much for that shit. He ended up in a storage box in the basement like the others. And now I feel like I don't want another box. I don't want to go through the stress of opening myself up, getting hurt, and mending all over again. It is just not worth the hassle. My therapist says I tend to go for emotionally unavailable men because my father was emotionally unavailable. Yuck. So, I give up. I give up on men, and I give up on women. Either gender is going to produce the same result.

I have to leave all this counting behind me, and continue to really be single for a long, long time. Ah, the single life. I am all too familiar with that tune, but maybe that is what I am destined to hum.

Crap. I've lost count.

2006-02-22T19:51:00.000-08:00

Before I start this particular episode, I have to give major, huge, gigantic props to the RainyDay herself for coming through for me in a clutch. She is my hero. She even experimented with soymilk pudding. I am forever in her debt. Toodles also made the multiple teeth extraction less painful with some QT and a DVD. Y'alls are the best.

I think I am up to #8, but I am not sure. 6 and 7 were both a little fuzzy and I am not even sure if they qualified for numbers, but because I like calling this one #8, let's just leave it at that.

Number 8. Oh number f-ing 8. What an ass I made of myself. I think I am finally beginning to understand why my therapist keeps giving me exercises to help me "be in the moment." I would venture to say that approximately 80-90 percent of my time I spend somewhere outside my body. For example, in a meeting about facilities for example, my brain goes to various places -- my vision of a good elementary school, what my elementary school looked like, that time when my two public school friends threw snowballs at me, the bills I have to schedule for e-payment, that building that 8 owns and I want to turn into a cooperative, etc, etc, etc. I end up missing half the information and leaving a ton of good ideas half-baked in subconscious land.

This, I think, is one of the reasons why I have so recently been speeding up all of my relationships. So when I am with I guy, and he is talking about how he likes me, I am thinking about the things we should see together, the places I want to take him, what I want him to teach me, what clothes he is going to leave here, how I am going to have to hide that giddy smile as I work, etc. etc. etc. It never goes to marriage or anything serious like that -- just those little details that I revel in. Because I envision them, I want them immediately.

Or it could be something entirely different.

One thing that 8 said that hit my most sensitive nerve is something I think I have resisted coming to terms with in all of my other relationships. After our second "date," he said something changed in me. He said that he felt I was more concerned with how I was "performing" in the relationship instead of genuinely being interested in spending time with him. I felt this as well, but to me it felt like I was nervous. I was nervous that he was going to discover that I was not what he expected, less sophisticated, less intelligent, and that he would just leave me. Yes, it was about me. Perhaps I am a narcissist to my core, but that is just completely revolting. I hate narcissism. Maybe I am selfish. I wonder if that is why I cannot concentrate on anything in a meeting, or sometimes in a relationship -- do I really believe my ideas are better or more important than the person in front of me? How terrible.

Looking back now, I think this is where all of my relationships break down. 1 and 2 definitely, and probably 4 and 5 as well. I second-guessed myself, my worth, my entire being.

Perhaps it has to do with self-confidence. The more confident someone is about themselves, the less they have to worry and the more they can focus on the people around them. Perhaps this is why the taken-folk become so much more attractive when they are taken -- they can finally afford to pay attention to others, and therefore become more attractive.

So, I am second guessing what I felt for 8, and what I feel for him right now. Did I really feel like I was falling in love, or was I just falling in love with the idea of him for my own personal gain? And even now, as I sit here wishing he would call, do I really want to talk to him to hear about his trials and tribulations, or do I just want to hear that he has been thinking about me too?

It's a bit of both, I am certain. I do want to hear about his day. I do want to make him feel better, I want to make him laugh, I want to figure out what makes him 8. Only in order to do that, I have to transcend insecurity. I have to get beyond worrying that he might leave me, because the truth is, he might. He might stop talking to me all together. He might hate the fact that I don't like to be "the talker" in a conversation. He might hate the fact that I don't keep my desk spotless 100 percent of the time. I don't want to deal with might anymore. I could might myself into a corner for the rest of my life.

If I am really falling in love with 8, I have to get rid of the "mights." I have to remember that he liked me, before all this, before I was worrying. Not for who I was worrying about being, but for who I was, and who I am.

PLEASE HELP IF YOU CAN...

2006-02-16T15:35:00.000-08:00

If you, or someone you know, would be able to sit in the dentist office for about 2 hours while I get my teeth extracted tomorrow, I WOULD REALLY, REALLY, REALLY APPRECIATE IT. The bitches at the dentists office won't start the procedure until I have someone there, and I cannot find anyone to do it. My aunt can't do it because she has appointments. My friends that are "unemployed" are out of town. Please, please, please, I am begging you, if you know anyone who could help me out, let me know.

Fear and the written word

2006-02-06T22:57:00.000-08:00

Does it scare us to see our reflection? In writing? In photos? In a window?

For me, when I write down how I am feeling or what is going on, it becomes more real. Like if I don't give a situation the credit of the written word, then it never happened. It can never be immortal, it has no life. I think that is where you can draw the line between responsible journalism and plain crap. Journalists, writers of all sorts, make things, people, animals, immortal. That is why it is scary when our media fails us. It is scary when we see an outright lie on TV "news" or in a quote from a politician. Because that lie becomes more than a lie, it becomes living, breathing truth to someone.

On a much more micro and less significant scale, I suffer from a terrible fear of facing up to the truths in my life. I think I put off blogging because I don't want to face certain truths in my life. One truth that keeps staring me in the face is that I am lonely, and craving something more than the people around me have time to give. I understand that, respect that, I just need to accept my lonliness, and not characterize "alone" as bad. It's jarring though, when people just stop calling, stop remembering to invite you to things, and you have to start over with a whole new set of people. It's not necessarily a bad experience, just exhausting.

I am also afraid of facing up to the task ahead of me, because every day it seems to take a different shape. I try to focus on what I can, doing the best I can with the tiny tasks on my plate. I try to think carefully about my words, my actions, my ideas. But I can't help feeling like I am smashing up against a deceptively hard wall of clay. Sometimes I feel like people are just begging for someone to do something about everything. The irony is though, that if everyone did something about something everything would be taken care of. But men and women are not angels, and you cannot rely on human nature to correct itself.

I am not worried about the change to come, something will come, it always does. I am worried about my part in that change. Will I be an unwilling participant in a gross reshaping of that wall, or will I have the chance to break it down completely? Shit. It drives me nuts.

Law and (dis)order

2006-01-16T22:39:00.000-08:00

Dang. That is the second time I used parentheses in a title. I need to stop that.

So I am sitting here, listening to #2's recently recorded work. From an absolutely objective point of view (stop laughing hyserically), it is fucking incredible. Do you ever have those CDs that just completely floor you -- those CDs that you can't listen to in the car, because you will drive off the road? Upon first listening to the CD, I had to stop washing dishes, turn up the volume and lie on the floor to take in the music. (If you are averted to cheese, skip this next part, and forget I ever wrote it). Maybe it's his voice, or that I can picture him singing. Or the fact that there are about 14 layers in every song. Dammit, you know? I was doing a good job of erasing my romantic feelings for him, and he has to go an make an amazing piece of music. Leaves and dirt, leaves and dirt.

Aside from this rather gut-wrenching moment, I had a fantastic day today, because I realized that yes, I am going to law school, for real. I took a practice LSAT, and scored exactly average (150). Now all I have to do is raise that score by 20 points. Most people say that you can't raise your score more than 10 points, even if you study really hard, but screw that. I can take this test, and I am going to get a 170, end of story.

Patience is a virtue (that I don't have)

2006-01-14T21:52:00.000-08:00

I could wait forever for a student to write a sentence. Spend an hour with a kid refusing to talk about their bad day. I can wait through 10 hour meetings, just to hear a motion read. I can wait for paint to dry on a canvas. I can wait for the right word at the right moment in the right paragraph.

But I cannot seem to wait for the right person to come along.

I'll get myself into pseudo-right situations, and then convince myself the rest of the way. Then, when it is made clear to me that it is not the right situation, I am suddenly surprised and sink into a state of post-rejection depression, when in fact I rejected the situation much earlier in the relationship. It's damaging, and I know people offer warnings against it before I get too deep, but I never heed them.

I don't need to have any more experience with dating, or hooking up or whatever. I am ready, I want that relationship. Only I don't want it with anyone I know, and I don't know when I am going to meet the person that I will want it with. Oh yeah, and I am tired of waiting for them.

I hate to generalize, but it seems like everyone around me has little to no problem finding these things. Perhaps they are more relaxed about things, they don't think about "the chase," they let themselves be chased. But shit man, what if no one is chasing you? Or you don't like the ones that are chasing? When do you start compromising your standards? 26? 29? 31? Eventually you start seeing your life without a partner, realize going solo is not only subversively frowned upon by society, but by your friends as well. You become the one always going home alone, waking up alone, dancing alone. There is only so much pride you can take in your independence before it becomes too much, and you want to hermit up. You want to shut yourself in, because outside, there are lots of people mocking you and your independence. Dinner tables with two chairs. Stares at the movie theater when you ask for one ticket. Flashes of pity as you sip your solitary martini. The cold spot on the other side of the bed.

So I'll stop trying to encourage the chase, dismiss suspicious glances, and brush off convention. I'll steel myself to couples-speak. Stop imagining what it might be like to be in her position. Stop trying to rush the time-space continuum. I'll pick up projects and work on being good. Hopefully, one day, i'll be good enough for someone.

Tagged? I thought that was just for desks.

2006-01-09T21:34:00.000-08:00

ShaniquaP tagged me with these questions, so fine, here goes.

Four jobs they couldn’t pay you enough to do:global economy assasin, Halliburton stooge, Bush for Emperor Campaign manager, Rainforest destroyer, vet (I could not stand to euthenize (sp?) the animals).

Four movies you used to love and watched over and over to the point that now you have them memorized and the prospect of watching them again causes your eyeballs to bleed: Coming to America, Clueless, Star Wars IV-VI, Willow (though I don't own any of these!)

Alternatively, four movies you loved when you saw them in the theater but don’t dare watch again for fear they won’t hold up: I can't remember???

Four places in the United States you've always thanked God you don't live even when you were living in ______ (I filled in the blank with Chardon, OH.): rural Mississippi, Detroit (sorry D-town fans, that city is just scary), Peru, Ind., West Texas.

Four places you would like to visit on an extended vacation: Paris, Morocco, Italy, Spain.

Four TV shows you are strangely tempted to watch but have so far resisted: (easy to do when you don't have a tube) Extreme Makeover, Desparate Housewives, Veronica Mars, and I don't know the names of TV shows anymore. shit.

Four foods you don’t really like and can’t understand why you eat them but you eat them anyway and feel bad about it afterwards: candy of any sort (lollypops, jellybeans, starburst, etc. etc.) that does not involve chocolate. And not crap chocolate, good chocolate. Although I do like a good sour patch kid every once in a while.

Four albums you never listen to anymore but can’t bring yourself to trade in at Tower Records: (I don't really own CDs per se, but here are some mp3 albums) Butterfly Boucher, Frou Frou, Keane, Interpol.

Four places you’d rather be but sadly won’t be any time soon: Paris, the Galapagos Islands, Paris, and a little place called the Marais in Paris.

David Stephen Bowie Malkmus

2006-01-07T15:00:00.000-08:00

I love these men. I just wanted to declare that, so I remember what I was listening to when I turn old and gray. I wonder what my grandkids are going to say when I put the old mp3 on our fully integrated home entertainment system.

In a shakey, nostalgic voice I will say:

"Well kiddo, when I was just a little older than you, I fell in love. No, ho ho ho, no, not with your grand(father? mother?), but with two men! Yes, David Bowie and Stephen Malkmus. I spent long hours in front of my iBook listening to that chap. Heh."

And they will laugh at me, for using an iBook and for being a silly grandma. And then they will tell me stories about the simulations they completed in school. And all will be right and good with the world. Or what will be left of it at that point.

Fifty percent of nothing

2006-01-02T17:58:00.000-08:00

It's been almost three weeks since my last post. Shit that's a long time. I have tried to approach the computer several times since my last post, but I think I have been afraid of facing the truth, or at least putting it in words. And it is startling just how many truths one has to face up to if one waits long enough. But here it is, 2006, a year from last year's hangover, I might as well start facing reality's sandpaper sooner rather than later.

So, let me start with 2. I got pissed at 2, and after a night of drinking last week, I called him. He was on his way home, slighly tipsy. I asked him to come over. He refused. Why, I said, getting impatient. It's not a good idea he said, you know it, I know it, let's just leave it at that. But you f-ed things up I said, losing my patience. I thought I made it pretty clear, we cannot have a relationship like you want, he insisted. Like I want!?!? Like I want?!?! I exclaimed, what the hell was last week all about?!?!?!?!?

I don't really remember what was said exactly, I think I am trying to block it out of my mind, but he mostly rescinded everything he said on that fateful Saturday. He said he was fed up with the constant imbalance in the relationship, me always liking him more than he likes me. To that I say, thibitthibitthibit. I will not dignify that kind of ego-babble bullshit with a response. He can take his perfect india ink eyes and 180million IQ and go f with another girl's head. Yes, I still love him, but I am not going to put myself through his shit in pursuit of some relationship that would probably be detrimental in the long run.

Whew. Moving on. StaceyShaniquaP came to visit last week. I am just going to list some key words:

Magic Castle
Magicians at Mel's
Holiday party with the boss
Ecstasy with Shmallie, followed by Little Tokyo Sushi delights
Akbar boys love akbar boys
4100 french martinis and the politics of journalism in LA
A hungover run around the reservoir
Reunion over hamentashen and bad jam bands
5 am flight to SFO

And done. Clearly, it was the best three days of SSP's life in Los Angeles. ;)

New Years, now that was an experience. As tradition dictates, I spent the first part of the evening enjoying new years soup at my sister's friend's house. My sister and brother-in-law drive down every year to have new years with these particular pals, and since I have been in LA, I too have reaped the benefits of these visits. Why soup on new years? It's a secret. So there. Ha. The second part of the night, well, I went somewhere new, I drank something (or somethings new), I did some bad things. All in all, it was fantastic. A rather tame, and yet, refreshing new years.

One of my bad new years deeds left me thinking about something though, something I am all too willing to discard. When I do these things, with 2, with 4, with whoever, I am at least 50 percent responsible. More than often, I am always aware of what I am getting myself into, and I do it anyways. I am not sure why i crave these emotionally irresponsible situations. The logical person would say, um, hello, you WANT a relationship right now, why are you f-ing around with non-relationship situations? Instead, I say, OH BOY! FUN! WHAT CAN I GET MYSELF INTO TODAY???

Perhaps my new years resolution should be to listen to that logical person.

The Ocelot and Her #2

2005-12-11T20:26:00.000-08:00

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

2005-11-30T21:49:00.000-08:00

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

2005-11-20T13:42:00.000-08:00

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

2005-11-07T22:29:00.000-08:00

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

2005-10-31T22:22:00.000-08:00

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

2005-10-24T20:30:00.000-07:00

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

2005-10-20T21:27:00.000-07:00

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

2005-10-13T22:09:00.000-07:00

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

2005-10-09T20:31:00.000-07:00

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?

2005-09-18T15:17:00.000-07:00

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

2005-09-12T22:27:00.000-07:00

(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)

2005-09-08T14:33:00.000-07:00

(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

2005-09-05T15:17:00.000-07:00

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

2005-09-04T20:54:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-19T14:03:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-24T22:51:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-23T02:58:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-17T23:14:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-10T20:21:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-10T11:50:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-05T21:12:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-03T16:14:00.000-07:00

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?

2005-07-02T00:56:00.000-07:00

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?

2005-07-01T19:27:00.000-07:00

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

2005-06-30T12:38:00.000-07:00

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

2005-06-27T09:42:00.000-07:00

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

2005-06-21T21:58:00.000-07:00

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..

2005-06-21T07:54:00.000-07:00

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..

2005-06-20T23:14:00.000-07:00

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

2005-06-20T09:57:00.000-07:00

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.

2005-06-19T01:25:00.000-07:00

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?

2005-06-17T13:15:00.000-07:00

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

2005-06-17T09:35:00.000-07:00

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

2005-06-15T11:02:00.000-07:00

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

2005-06-12T22:01:00.000-07:00

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!

2005-06-11T22:59:00.000-07:00

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?

2005-06-08T08:11:00.000-07:00

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

2005-06-07T14:52:00.000-07:00

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

2005-06-06T09:18:00.000-07:00

(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?

Thoreau had the right idea

2005-05-31T17:54:00.000-07:00

On my ride home today, I came to grips with something that could ruin me forever.

I am a romantic. And not just in relationships. In everything. I have a romantic view of the world. I think anything and everything is possible, and believe all people have the potential to do great things. I think I was born in the wrong country. Perhaps that is why I felt so at home in France.

My romantic notions are odd when it comes to relationships, because I actually dislike typical romantic things, like opening doors or flowers. Don't get me wrong, those things are nice every once in a while, but I don't day dream about those things. I fantasize about my mysterious significant other showing up on my doorstep, unannounced, just because he wanted to see me. I dream about letters that just say things like "lima bean" or "monkey toes" being stuffed in my mailbox just because he/she knows I need to laugh at something at the end of the day. But most importantly, I want to be able to do those things for him/her, and not get a weird look when I do.

Really, it all comes back to boy #2. I want to leave him a CD, anonymously, and let him figure out who left it. After he does, I do not even care whether or not he wants to be in a relationship with me. I just want him back in my life. I do not understand why he is ignoring me? I haven't called him, and he hasn't called me. I just do not understand. It's stupid, naive, whatever.

I am just frustrated by not being able to find someone whose romantic tendencies match mine. And don't give me that "Boys aren't romantic like that" bullshmappy, because I know plenty of boys who do romantic things. Only most of those boys are my friends, and well, I am trying to stay away from that, dating of friends. I just want to know what a girl has to do to be treated the way she wants to be treated? Wait? Well, I'm impatient. Which really means most of this is my fault. Perhaps I should just accept defeat and move to the forest.

I donut know the answer.

2005-05-30T21:14:00.000-07:00

Oh, what a weekend. I love three day weekends. I acutally feel relaxed after a three day weekend, as opposed to regular weekends, where the minute I have a chance to breathe it is already Monday morning. There were some adventures this weekend, a few of which I will share. Right. About now.

On Saturday, Alexzeez and I decided we wanted to do something different. On a whim, we decided to check out the Huntington Park Fair which was occupying seven blocks of a major road right outside my school. It was a helluvafair, complete with multiple barfy rides, fortune tellers, live music and impossible-to-win fair games. Shmallie and I analyzed our options for fair treats, and settled on what I believe is the best fair food I have ever had. Now of course, there were things like hot dogs, churros, cotton candy and the like, but we were unimpressed. We wanted something special. And we found it.

Mini Donuts.

I'm not talkin' the mini donuts that come in a box. These were teeny tiny pieces of fried dough coated lightly with cinnamon sugar. Crispy on the outside, doughnutty on the inside. When it comes right down to it, they were perfect.

After we munched on the donuts, we walked around a bit more, and ran into a few of my students. Being 13 year-old boys, they of course were trying to burn stuff on the sidewalk. Naturally I put that down as soon as I saw it, but it made me feel a bit like a mom. Weird. They also asked if I could help them get back onto the rides, because they were kicked off for spitting off the ride. Hm.

After such an intellectually stimulating conversation, Ali-z and I decided to find a ride, particularly one that did not go upside down. A ferris wheel, we thought, would probably be safe. As far as we could see, there were two ferris wheels, one at either end of the fair. We assumed they were both the same. But you know what they say about assuming things. No one was in line for the ferris wheel closer to us, which we found odd. As we approached the ferris wheel, we began to realize that this was no ordinary ferris wheel. This was a crazy ferris wheel with cars that flip over, aka not adhering to our non-upsidedown requirement. So what did we do?

Yeah, we went on it anyways, stupidly. We were laughing very hard for about 20 seconds, and then we were ready to get off. But the thing kept going. And going. And then it reversed directions. And it went some more. Oy. Who comes up with the designs for these things, hm? What person in their right mind would devise such a torture device, surely aimed at causing regurgitation? Fortunately, neither of us saw the donuts again, but it did take us a minute to right our brains.

We didn't right them for too long though, because then we decided to go to Gabah for a little hip hop/reggatone (sp?). I love this new reggatone stuff, but that shit is hard to dance to. I was looking around, trying to see how people were negotiating the beat, and it looked like no one really knew what to do. I think I am going to have to consult my students on this one.

Last night topped the entire weekend off though, as Boy #4 stepped outside his comfort zone and came with me to Beat It (an 80s night). Alexis brought a kickass girl to the club too, so it was a nice little group of four. Usually this club night is at a place called the Ruby, which is just an "eh" venue. Because the organizers knew so many people had Monday off this week, they moved it to the Key Club instead, which was everything a hollywood club should be. It was two floors plus a balcony bar. Downstairs the DJ was working the crowd with an excellent mix of indie rock, while the 80s ruled the speakers in the main room upstairs. All four of us had drinks before, and the liquor just kept on flowin as the night went on.

There were so many points during the night when i just wanted to burst from happiness. Alexis was happy, his mystery girl was happy, Boy#4 was happy (i think) and it all just made me feel like my heart was too big for my body. Overjoyed is hardly strong enough to describe the feeling. My blood had just turned to pink lemonade, life was so sweet at that moment. And something shifted in me, I think, regarding boy #4. I realized that he does not have to fit all of my categories to make me happy. First and foremost, I make myself happy, no matter who I am with. This was something someone tried to explain to me a long time ago, but it never quite sunk in. But in terms of Boy#4, I am just happy to be me, with him. I am more myself with Boy #4 then I have ever been with anyone. Perhaps that is due to the unusual circumstances of our relationship, but whatever it is, I am grateful for it.

This morning, I told Boy#4 that I was sad that he was moving away from La La Land in a mere two months. He explained, very simply, that these things happen all the time, and they are supposed to happen.

His advice was this: People come into our lives for a reason. They come into our lives at a certain time, we learn from them, and then they leave at a certain time. And that is the way it is.

Although i don't generally like to think about people in such a functional manner, I can see his point, and it is somewhat comforting.

It's that whole 'everything happens for a reason' mantra so many people like to throw around. I don't know though, how many times do you have to get dicked over to find out what that magical reason is? I think that is just another instance of mankind trying to justify their existence. If there is a REASON for everything, then everything is fine, we don't have to freak out about everything. I am not sure I buy it.

Oops.

2005-05-27T11:46:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, a very hot, indie-looking boy came into my classroom to do observations. I tried to stay professional, ignore his presence, and generally not act like a google-eyed girl with a crush. At the end of the observation, I "encouraged" him to come back to visit my other classes, and he was very enthusiastic about the prospect.

Last week, my department head told me he was coming back, but she did not tell me when.

So what happens this morning? Yep, he walked into my classroom just minutes before the first bell. I felt kind of bad because all I had on the agenda was a quiz and reading. Oh well. I guess it was OK though, because he said he was happy to see how we read and discussed literature. Then during nutrition, we sat in my room and talked. I played it cool (or at least thought I did), as we talked about Paris and teaching and music. Then. He mentioned. His. wife.

I must have looked like a squished tomato when he dropped that reference into the conversation. I felt so incredibly stupid. I have to pay more attention to those ring fingers.

Actually, he told me some crazy stories about his family and his wife's family, and we decided he needed to start writing his first short story collection. Stories of denied alcoholism, bulimia, crashed airplanes, life in a van on Hawaii, all came out as he spoke of the various members of his family. As my eyes grew wide with each new tale, he asked me if I had a normal family. Hardly, I said, but I don't have any ex-marines or scandalous uncles.

In the end, I stayed composed, and he said he wanted to come back again. Yay. I have a new friend, which is always good. Seriously, it's good. I hope to meet his wife too, she seems like a cool chick from his descriptions.

The whole thing made me realize how easily I jump at people who have the right look. If he had been clean cut, wearing a plaid, button down abercrombie shirt and khakis, I probably would not have given him a second look. And how superficial is that?

A while ago, I was having a conversation with a friend, we'll call him Toilet Paper, and he gave me some great advice. 'Amy,' he said. 'I think you and I fall into traps. We go after people in the scene, because we think, based on their look, that they will be what we expect them to be. You need to stop looking for people in the scene to date.'

And he is completely right. It's just really hard. The people in the 'scene' often like the same music as I do, read the same books I like, and are generally liberal. But they can also be very shallow, or just not the right person for me. So why force it? Boy #2 is so indie (whatever that means), it is almost painful. He is tragic, always tragic. He's a musician and an artist and reads like a fiend. But I still haven't heard from him, so he is over, gone, done.

Maybe this time for good.

Full tilt

2005-05-26T13:20:00.000-07:00

I think I will forever be a tourist when it comes to the beach. On Tuesday I went down to Hermosa Beach (yes, I was temporarily insane) to go running. I almost caused a major bike accident on the strand (the bike/run path for those of you NOT familiar with LA), because I could not tear my head away from the water. There is something that is eternally breathtaking about the ocean, no matter how many times I see it. I think it reminds me about how tiny I am. It clears my head, makes me think about all sides of the story. That kind of clarity does not come easily in a town where it takes you 25 minutes to get to the grocery store five blocks down.

I thought a lot about the state of the world, and the state of my relationships with people, both of which need to mend. Earlier that day, we had just finished training on ISIS, a computerized rollbook system which the district bought to make our lives easier (Stacey, this is an AWESOME opportunity for a story, you should check and see if your district is thinking about doing this). Eventually, all of the students records will be available through this system. While I appreciate the value of adopting this technology, it is also kind of frightening. It is still new, so they are experiencing a lot of problems with the system. People can easily hack into it, and therefore they are requiring that each teacher have a computer hard wired to the network as wireless networks are not secure enough. That's all fine and dandy, as long as you are: A) Not a P.E. teacher, B) The system does not go down, and C) Quick on the computer. I cannot wait to see what happens when we start using this program. I did a little research on the company behind the program, and it turns out they got their start by creating tracking programs for prisions and the welfare system. Lovely. Incidentally, the next day, two teachers who were thinking about resigning, turned in their resignation paperwork.

See? This is what I am talking about. Of course, people are always resistant to change, but this is ridiculous. This puts more stress on a group of already stressed out individuals. I think LAUSD should have made sure this was a solid program before spending millions of dollars on it.

Today (Thursday) I just about lost it with my 3rd period. They had an essay due today, which we had been working on for two weeks, and 30 percent of the students finished it. 30. Freaking. Percent. I mean, hell, it makes grading easier, but I am pissed that they did not finish it. For the most part, all of them had two rough drafts. They just couldn't muster up the effort to do a final freaking draft. I was so pissed. Instead of starting our book like we were supposed to, I had them write persuasive letters to me that included why they thought we should start reading the book, why Ms. Orringer should continue to put effort into the class, and why they should work hard and graduate.

Here are a few of my favorite excerpts:

"On my behalf, I am sorry. Sorry if i've given you a real hard time through out these past months. Deep inside I really do care about school, and making everyone proud, at times it gets really hard to deal with all of our bottled up emotions. It's hard to try and want to make something of yourself when you dont feel the support of your moms, brothers and sisters. How can you care? When no one else cares? I thank you the most ms. O. Through out my time here, I have only felt your support. No one else has encourage me the way you have. I have let you down as well as myself."

"I think we should start reading Monster, because we want to know what the book is about. Also, because the title of the book tells me that it is going to be cool. That it is going to have a lot of problems/conflicts. It is also going to have solutions."

"I want to do well and graduate so when I grow up and go to work I could be a doctor. I want to do well so i could become a doctor and maybe something else."

"First of all, Ms. Orringer, you should put up with this class and put an effort to it. Why? Because with no one teaching us in English is like not even having a teacher. In addition, students would get lost and would start getting what they want. Also, I'm pretty sure you wont want us to get our way so you should do an effort to help this class out."

There are more, but I won't make you read them all (yet). Of course, in my state of weakness after the period, I texted boy #4 for help. After a few texts, he came up with this:

me: It all seems so futile though.
boy#4: Quixotic, but the windmill tilters change the world.

Fucking genius. Who says that stuff? Even if everything ends tomorrow with boy #4, I am eternally grateful for that comment. And of course for the tofu stir fry he made me after the run on Tuesday.

(watch, here's a non sequitur! (that is the way you spell it, I checked twice))

I am so ready for the weekend. Three days. I don't even have any plans, which is wonderful, because it means sleep is in order. I kind of want to have a crazy night of dancing that involves some very good vodka martinis. Shopping, I believe, is also in order, as I have graduation presents to, um, exercise. Hopefully I can make that happen. As long as I am dreaming, I would also like to meet a very hot man that isn't going to make me all nervous and scared about being rejected. Brace yourself, I feel the subject of the next post coming on...

Foresight is an unreliable gift

2005-05-24T10:55:00.000-07:00

When I was in Hungary with my sister, she told me something interesting about my family. It actually started out as a conversation about what I was going to do next year, and my application for the senate fellowship. I told her I had a really clear visions about getting an interview, but I could not see myself getting the job. She asked me if I had a lot of visions about career related stuff, and I said yes. She told me that she had similar visions about career stuff as well, and usually had daydreams that would come to fruition. That's weird, I thought, that we would share the same characteristic. I always thought that was just wishful thinking. Then she told me about our great aunt.

Our great aunt was a very special lady. She was the local palm reader, spirit medium and tarot card reader. From the stories my grandmother told, my sister said our great aunt was quite reliable in this area. She predicted my grandmother would survive the holocaust with her baby, and she did.

The point? I know it sounds ridiculous, but I think my sister and I somehow inhereted a tiny sliver of the foresight our great aunt possessed. Granted, I did not get the senate job, but when I interviewed for the LAUSD job, the events played out exactly as I pictured them in my head. I was disturbed when I did not get a call from them the day after the interview, because in my head, I could only see myself working for them. I could not see myself working in a classroom next year, of that I was certain. Not getting the job did not make sense in my head.

Unfortunately, this foresight is not always reliable, and does not transfer to all areas. People, for example. I have a hard time predicting how people are going to react to what I say. Like sometimes I will say something to someone, oh, I don't know, like "I really like spending time with you," and I think they will react positively. Only they don't. And maybe that is because it sounds stupid, because of COURSE I like spending time with people that I like. Perhaps it is a matter of getting the right words out at the right time.

But I can assure you, that has nothing to do with honesty. Open and honest, everybody says, is the way to be. That's crap. You can only be open and honest after you are deep into a relationship. The first few weeks, maybe few months, are all about games. Who has the power, who gains the power, who takes the power away, who starts first, finishes last, all of these are little games you have to play in order to get past them. Every time I try to be honest, it backfires. No amount of foresight can help that.

It might be one of those situations where I assume everything will end badly, and when it doesn't I will be pleasantly suprised. That philosophy, unfortunately, does not make living a very happy experience. I'd rather not adopt a self-defeating mantra.

I am trying to break your heart...

2005-05-23T20:45:00.000-07:00

Man, I just love to steal those song titles, don't I?

I feel like this one is particularly appropriate, for several reasons:

1. Clearly, Boy #2.

2. I keep screwing up with Boy #4. 'Don't worry about it,' he would say. 'It's not a big deal.' But I feel like a dick. Me. The chick in the relationship. I FEEL LIKE A DICK. I keep doing things to him that I would detest if the situation was reversed. I think it is a defense mechanism. Or revenge. Or sabotage. Perhaps I am purposefully trying to sabotage this situation because he is actually nice to me. Oh no, I can't be with a nice guy. Nice guys are too, well, nice. Oh, how utterly ridiculous. Why, as women, do we put ourselves in these situations? My friend, who shall remain nameless, consistently falls in love with guys who are mean to her. Not overtly mean, oh no, that would be too easy. They are subversively mean, which is ten times worse. These guys will say nice things, but then turn it around and make you feel inadequate. That is exactly what Boy #1 was. Subversively mean. The appearance of nice, but made me feel bad about myself in the process. Alishmandro could have told me that a while ago. I should have listened to him. He is the voice of reason.

Except that he (alexis) is moving to Long Beach, which seems unreasonable to me. Actually, it makes me overwhelmingly sad. I am glad he is doing what he wants to do, and I hope he finds what he is looking for down there. It might be kinda fun actually, because now we can pretend we have vacation homes in both places. Yay.

Anyway, back to Boy #4, because I am becoming somewhat nervous about the whole situation. I am starting to like spending time with him, which could be hazardous to whatever it is going on. I just can't help it. I get so excited when I see him, and it's not just because we have some hot shit going on. He's a talker, which as stacehlah knows is a good thing for me. He is passionate about what he does, wants to change the world. Still not my type? Maybe. I guess my best option is to go back to the lesson in the previous blog, which is to chill the fuck out and stay distant. Or distant-ish, because I haven't been doing such a good job with that distance thing lately. Maybe they have a pill for that. Preferably in chocolate form. With bananas might be nice.

I'll need it before tomorrow though, because I am driving down to his house after school. ;)

Oh, Potato Sacks!

2005-05-20T12:06:00.000-07:00

So I've never really obsessed about "girly" things (except boys) like hair or toe rings. But right now, I am beyond pissed that my nail polish looks like it was applied by a octopus with arthritis. I just got my nails done last Sunday, and I am already aching for a bottle of remover. Arg.

Hm. I'm posting about my nails. I think this is getting out of control. I feel sorry for everyone who has to read this. But if you do, thanks for at least humoring me.

Anyway, onto more serious issues.

I got a little teary-eyed today as I was hanging out with my students. I skipped working on my conference period to go watch the leadership class facilitate the lunchtime activity. This particular lunchtime activity was called "The Granny Race," and involved a tire obstacle course, dress up items, and a backwards potato sack race. A winning combination, as you can guess. It was so fun to watch my little (Ok, they're not THAT little, but little enough) kids organize the rest of the students. As I was sitting on the edge of the quad, my students who were not participating just kept coming up to talk to me, and soon I had a little congregation of 10 students, just shootin the shit with me. There are literally no words I have to describe what I was feeling as I was talking to these kids. They are so smart and sooooo funny. I'll just give you a brief example:

We were talking about the "battles" the kids have, where instead of fighting, they "battle" each other by dancing. It is very big, very important. 'Battle!' I said. 'I want to see a battle!' Two of my male students (who happen to be more brilliant then I will ever be) got up and faced each other, trying to look serious. One broke into a little disco inferno and passed it to the other. The other came back at him with the ROBOT. The freaking ROBOT. I was dying, needless to say.

I love my students, so so much. I love teaching them (most of the time). I just cannot deal with all the external bullshit. The paperwork, the periodic assessments, testing, etc. I am beginning to realize that being a veteran teacher means you have mastered the art of ignoring all these things. But this brings me back to one thing: WHAT IS THE FUCKING POINT? Filling out three thousand surveys is NOT going to help me serve my students better. Having to do grades for 100 plus students is NOT going to serve my students better. The goal of education reform is to increase student acheivement. Well, guess freaking what, if you want to increase this magical achievement, you better fucking take care of your teachers. Negative reinforcement usually has negative effects. But I know that is idealism, and no one wants to here that. I'm idealistic though, and I'm not, I don't care how many people tell me otherwise, going to give it up. Whew. Sorry. It makes me mad that I am so burnt out, because I feel like a pussy for leaving the profession. At least in my new job, I'll still be helping to fight the good fight.

Let's segue into more interesting topics.

Boy #4 came over again last night. It was both a freaking awesome and freaking weird experience. I never pegged myself as transparent, but I guess at times I can be. We talked about "types," and how he was not exactly mine. He was suprised that I had "typed" him already, and I guess I kind of felt bad about that. For the most part, he fits the part of a "dude." Yes, he is quite a man's man, which is very different than what I am used to. Sometimes it freaks me out a little, especially when he reacts to things in a particularly "dude-like" way. He was able to figure out what kind of guy I usually like immediately, and described boy #2 almost to the T. I like those quasi-emotional indie types who are hard to figure out, he said, are a little quiet in social settings but break out when it is just the two of us. My man has to be complicated and love music, maybe even play it. I can't remember what else Boy #4 said, but it was right on, which is kinda scary.

Boy #4 has developed his own category in my head, not even on the continuum that I usually work off of. He has created his own parallel line. Well now, how about that. A relationship that defies all laws of relationship/friendshipdom. This should be an interesting chapter.

David Cross is my hero.

2005-05-19T13:09:00.000-07:00

Check this out, you WILL laugh until you grow purple bumps on your toes.

http://www.pitchforkmedia.com/features/artistlists/c/cross_david-05/

:)

Standardize this, bitch!

2005-05-19T09:18:00.000-07:00

Spring is a wonderful time of year. Flowers are blooming, animals are having their babies, "like" is in the air. Only one thing screws up the whole pretty picture. Fucking. Standardized. Testing.

As I sit here, watching my students take these things, I have to quell the urge to rip up all the test books and have the students write I AM NOT STANDARD in big red letters all over their scantron sheets. These test are the biggest load of crap.

I was listening to NPR the other day, and they were talking about a report that said achievement has gone up since NCLB. OF COURSE achievement has gone up. EVERYBODY AND THEIR MOTHER is getting tested, so they have a lot more data. It is really easy to improve from ZERO.

What really pisses me off is that none of the tests we take are aligned with one another. For example, as a Language Arts teacher in LAUSD, I have to give four (yep, that's 8 days of lost instructional time, plus one to grade the essay portion) periodic assessments. Granted, it makes planning easier to have set units, but the tests are not at all aligned with the state tests. NOWHERE on the periodic assessment did it say anything about teaching students to identify rhyme patterns in poetry (you know, aaabbca, etc.). But what is the first question? Of course, it was identify the rhyme pattern of a given poem. I wanted to throw myself out the window. The kids were frustrated, I was frustrated.

I believe in accountability, particularly in education. But this cannot be the best way to do it. It's like we keep floundering around, trying to apply different models to our education system. Now the new hot way to run a school district is to run it like a business. But what is our product? Is it measurable? The answer to that is no, not if the measuring instrument is a piece of crap. How do you measure development? How do you measure increased self-confidence, or a newly developed love of fiction? That's right smarty pants, you can't, but those things are infinitely more important than whether or not a kid in EIGHTH FUCKING GRADE can identify the rhyme scheme of an obscure poem.

Everybody's gotta learn sometime

2005-05-18T21:22:00.000-07:00

Whew. Two posts in one day. Howja like dem apples?

Not to steal the line from Mr. Beck Beckrockstarstein, but really, it sums up a lot of what I go through, every time I think about Boy #2. Because with him, I never learn. Every time, it's the same fucking thing. I fall for him, I stress about him not returning my affection, distance myself, become friends with him and then fall in love with him all over again. It's a vicious cycle. I think I am starting to understand Dorothy Parker on a whole new level now.

Boy #1 is totally out of the picture now. I'll probably see him here and there, but I have not thought about him much this week at all.

Boy #3 is great, his ex girlfriend has been showing him more affection, so he is happy. And I am happy for him. You know that feeling you get when you talk to someone who is genuinely happy? Its like the serenity in their voice drips into your ear and seeps into your brain. It's not until you hang up the phone that you are smiling like a gap tooth kid with a popsicle.

The news is, that there is now a Boy #4. I know, I know, what a ho bag. But really, I'm only hooking up with one of these boys, so it's fine. Anyway, this one is EXTREMELY low maintenence, which is nice. I don't need to stress over this one. The strange thing is that I find him incredibly sexy, and he is the complete opposite of the type of boy I am usually attracted to.

Sometimes though, with all of these sort of loose relationships, I feel kinda used. I know it takes two to tango, but sheeit dawg, why can't I get it right? It's like, as long as I don't try and have a romantic relationship, everything is fine. The minute that starts to happen, everything falls apart. And I really don't want a romantic relationship with anyone except Boy #2, and at this point, I am lucky to have any relationship with him at all.

Today, one of my students gave me this advice on life: When in doubt, poke it with a stick.

Poke poke poke. Hm. No response. I guess I haven't learned anything about love yet.

Watch out for black goo, P Funk

2005-05-18T13:18:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure if it is against the laws of blogging to blog about something that happened before my previous post, but I'm gonna do it anyways. I harumph in the face of laws. Har-rumph!

Last Friday, a few friends and I headed down to the ever-magical and mystical Long Beach to see George Clinton and P-Funk. We were a bit skeptical of it at first because, as you may or may not know, these guys don't get together often. We were all very very excited. Kinda like chipmunks, but less fuzzy.

When we got to the club, the line was wrapped around the block in both directions, so we started to feel a little more confident about the band actually being there. As it was Friday, all of us were so tired from the week we decided we our first drink would have to be a redbull and vodka.

Once we got inside, we were sure this was going to be an excellent night. I believe one of my esteemed colleagues said the place looked like a Vegas-style place LA style, meaning the owners were too lazy to go all out with the swank. The silver sparkly curtains were enough for me though. With redbulls and vodka for everyone, we got the night started off right. I drank one, even though I think redbull looks like pee. For some reason, I felt like it was a good idea to keep drinking, despite the fact that I had a granola bar for dinner. People just kept handing me drinks. (If you are one of the people who handed me a drink, thank you, by the way. I hope one day I can do the same for you.)

P Funk managed to rope in about four cadrillion opening acts, so by the time they got on, I was thouroughly toasted. I'm talking wheat bread, on setting #7. You could have smeared me with butter and jam, and I would not have noticed. After the ??? song, I decided I had to sit down, so I worked my way out of the crowd towards the edge of the club.

Had it not been for one particularly heroic person, we'll call him Snappy, I probably would have passed out in a puddle of black goo on the floor. Snappy made sure I drank water, and even plopped down next to me on the floor (and got black goo on his hand) so I could pass out on his shoulder. I must have slept for at least 30 minutes, when Snappy asked me if I wanted to go to the car (or did I suggest it? I don't remember.). So we went, Snappy and me (aka Superdrunk Girl who made a complete ass out of herself) to the car so I could sleep and so Snappy could make sure I did not die.

And if you are raising your eyebrows at this point because I am stopping the story, you can put those bushy brows back down. (yeah, i just told you you have bushy brows, what are you going to do about it? huh? huh? Oh. Don't do that. I'm sorry.)

I didn't, which was good. And I didn't even barf. So there. Needless to say the evening was one I will not forget, even though parts are still a bit fuzzy.

Is it the man, or the idea of?

2005-05-15T14:32:00.000-07:00

This just keeps getting worse and worse. The episode last night was ridiculous.

I planned on going to Revolution at the El Cid with my friend Jeff, and Boy #1 was supposed to meet us there. Jeff and I did not leave his house until after 11, as that particular club night seems to be a late starter. Much to our dismay, when we arrived, there was a line.

Boy #1 was just a few steps in front of us. I had a quick moment of panic, and almost booked it out of there. But no, he saw us, and came to say hello. I was shaking so much he asked me if I was ok. I even forgot to introduce Jeff. Fortunately, he detected my panic and introduced himself. We had a few awkward moments of silence, and then I remembered I had a voice again. Boy #1 brought me something from his travels, and Jeff suggested i go put it in the car while he waited in line. Again trying to stay cool, I walked with Boy #1, the whole time trying to figure out his agenda. I think I got the "just want to be friends" vibe out of him pretty quickly, but I wasn't completely convinced.

Unfortunately, when we got back to the club, Jeff was still in line. The stupids at the El Cid had overbooked the club that night, and they were at capacity. Feeling like a loser, I opted for leaving as I did not want to wait in line. My whole "I'm gonna show Boy #1 that I am doing fine without him" totally backfired. We opted for Bang, and Boy #1 bailed. He said he wasn't up for it.

At Bang, I was completely distracted. I had to know. What the hell. Was going. On. With Boy #1. Here are the text messages that ensued:

me: What are we going to do?
b1: This is almost as cryptic as your txt yesterday that just said "See."
me: what can I say? You make me tongue tied. I can't reason my way out of this one.
b1: I don't know what 2 say. I no longer think breaking up was a bad idea. And as tempted as I might be, I don't think its a good idea 2 hook up.
me: I agree
b1: Then why the txt?
me: Because its hard. I know you and I are not a match. But for 6 months I missed you, and it fucked me up. Its the history, I think.
b1: I'm sorry, Is there anything I can do? Unrelated: I forgot to say hi from Sandra. Are you still at bang?

And that was the end. I wanted to barf, and I was not even drunk. I am such an ideeeeot. There was no reason for me to act all needy. I have been fine, better than fine without him.

So OK, now what. On to better things. I've seen him, gotten over the initial shock, and it should be easier from here on out. Right?

Dammit. I lost.

2005-05-13T11:45:00.000-07:00

With all of these games I have been playing, I think I have lost.

My excellent roommate and I had a discussion last night, that made me think hard about how I spend my brainpower.

We were talking about the first year of teaching. How wrapped up in it we were, how it consumed our every waking (and sometimes sleeping) moment. I would think about teaching in the car, in the shower, when we went out. It was not until 6 months into the first year that I began to think about other things, namely relationships.

Now it has become an obsession, as Alexis pointed out. It is unhealthy and it must stop at once. Sure, I still think about work a lot. But when I pull out of that parking lot, or have a slow minute, those thoughts are there, banging on my conscious. Lots of little evil voices in my head say things like "what are you going to do about it?" or "man, you are so lame, why the hell don't you have a freaking man/woman?" or my favorite, " why the hell hasn't he called?"

The problem is that the only conceivable solution is to be in a relationship where I don't have to wonder about those things. Now, don't get me wrong, I have no qualms about being alone. I have been alone my whole freaking life. I have never had a relationship, a functional one, that has lasted more than 6 months. I think I am getting impatient, and it is driving me nuts. Love is a funny thing, je suppose.

Boy #2 seems to have lost interest, and I think I was pressing the issue too hard when I called him last night. He did not respond to my text message about Saturday, and I was compelled to call him to see what was up. There was nothing in his voice. I have known this kid long enough to know when he is interested in someone, and when he is just trying to be friendly. I seemed to have slipped back down to friend status, and this time, I am going to make an effort to stay there.

Boy #1, well, who the fuck knows. I want to see him, badly, but I don't want to seem eager. I think he is getting tired of the runaround as well, and it is backfiring.

Boy #3. When you base a relationship purely on making out, well, the maintence is rather low. Things are all good here.

I keep thinking about doing something drastic, like showing up at #2's house tonight at 2am, and just confessing. Perhaps that is a side effect of living in LA. Every situation can be translated into a movie scene. Girl shows up at house in the pouring rain, makeup ruined, hair dripping, asks confused boy if she can come in. He says sure, she says he has to tell him, she cannot take it anymore. Boy's eyes sparkle, he knows what is coming, he has felt it for weeks. She confesses.

The Speilberg ending would have them waking up the next day.

My ending results in me staring at my blog, shaking my head at that stupid idea.

What's cooler than cool?

2005-05-11T19:29:00.000-07:00

Oy.

So it has been five days since I last updated this thing. I am already falling behind. Bad bad self.

And so much has happened. I became a master. Of education that is, not really at anything else. It was a fun ceremony, because I got to sit next to the marvelous Maggie, and she cracked me up throughout the whole procedure. Our graduation speaker left us all speechless, because we could not quite figure out what he was trying to say. We did decipher however, that somewhere in his speech, he mentioned something about the Rolling Stones and the Highway Act of 1956 (or was it ’63?). Isn’t the connection obvious?

Well, it wasn’t to us, smartypants.

Right now, I feel like I am about to burst, because I am going in 30 different directions. I would like to smack that stupid part of me that said I could take on two jobs at once. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I just want to sleep.

As for the boys 1, 2 and 3, things are developing in weird ways.

I am still completely baffled by boy #2, although I feel like that situation is going to be resolved soon. I have been “playing it cool” with him, although it is taking a great amount of willpower to do so. We are supposed to hang out this weekend. I guess we’ll see.

Boy #1, ah boy oh boy. The ex-boy, ex-love. I think I am starting to understand why we broke up. At this point, I think we are both playing the same side of the “play it cool” game, because both of us kept coming up with excuses as to why we could not see each other. It’s not quite working to his advantage this time, because I am not playing the doting lady in the wings. I want him to come after me if he wants me, because that’s the way it should be, right? (Any advice here would be great)

Boy #3, yeah, still good to play with. Although he did get a call from his ex-girlfriend, saying she wanted to get back together with him. He hasn’t made any final decisions, but if I lose him to her, I will be happy for him. He was very happy with her before, and I am pro-happiness.

Alejandro the great says I need to stop fucking around with all these people, and find someone more my speed. I agree of course, but I do not think that person exists. That’s why I’m sticking to cats. ;)

Me vs. Me

2005-05-05T14:39:00.000-07:00

Hypothesis #2: Overexposure to hormonal teenagers results in the mimicking of teenage dramas in your own life.

Perhaps that is it.

Today, one of my brilliant colleagues said, “Amy, you cannot figure out matters of the heart with your brain. You have to figure them out with your heart.” Well, OK, I said, but what the hell does that mean?

If I left everything to my heart, I don’t think I would have any heart left. It would probably be a tiny shard of nothing after being broken so many times.

If I let my heart dictate my course of action right now, I would probably drive straight over to Boy #2 (the childhood friend) and confess my love. After that, since it is not too far away, I would likely drive to Boy #1’s house and say goodbye for good.

Another profound comment came from my roommate yesterday, as he was talking about one of his old mix CDs from a few years ago. “I wonder if the me then would like the me now,” he said.

In the current state of things, I think the me of sophomore year of college would probably get into a straight out brawl with the me of today. Sophomore Me would most likely call Now Me names like “Lame-o” or “Boyfriend Girl,” and remind the Now Me about our promise to never care so much about a boy/girl that it would distract us from being happy. Now Me would cower and admit her wrongdoings.

The fact is that I do want to chill out about this, I do want to forget about this, I do want to have the power to make it all go away. But no matter how hard I try, it just keeps getting worse. I get sick thinking about the moment when I see Boy #1 again. It angers me to think that he has the power now, as does Boy #2. And that is the most maddening thing; the loss of power. I should be able to dictate how I feel on a given day, and I know I can.

But not today.

Is it true?

2005-05-04T17:30:00.000-07:00

Is it true that if one part of your life is going really well, the other part goes to shit? I wonder if anyone has done research on that. I think I would make a good case study. Hey, I could even publish the results on this blog. Yeah. This is almost like a prestigious medical magazine.

Stethoscope.

See? That was a medical word.

Hypothesis: All things being equal, if Ms. O's career is going well, her love life (ug, I hate that phrase).

Method: Watch that chick.

Results: Test subject employs herself in various tasks, including teaching small children, fighting for social justice and generally saving the world. In these professions, she does well enough to not harm anyone. A natural cause compelled the subject to seek other employment, which led her to another, more fulfilling career. Test subject is confident on the job, and enjoys working to improve her skills.

It seems as though we are watching an entirely different subject altogether as we examine her in romantic interactions. She seems to have three difficult situations plaguing her all at once:

1. Her former interest, to whom she is very much still attached, has returned after a six-month absence. She said she worked hard not to think about him during those months. She would reward herself mentally if she went several days without thinking about him. She even tried listing his bad qualities, so she could attempt to rationalize the situation. His return, although she has not seen him yet, is troubling her greatly. She has trouble figuring out how she can be so confident on the job, and yet such a "stupid" female in this situation.

2. She believes she is misinterpreting signs from another male whom she has feelings for. This male seems to call at extremely opportune times. She is afraid of pursuing this interest, despite advice from her peers.

3. She is feeling guilty about another male subject, whom she has no real feelings for. She says she "keeps this one around to play with." On multiple surveys, she indicated that sex/sexual acts are very important to her. She also noted that she was tired of having "loveless" physical contact.

Conclusion: Our recommendation to this woman is that she should "chill the fuck out." She is most likely blowing things out of proportion, a behavior typical of many females in her position. She welcomes any additional recommendations from other professionals.

Note: She promises to stop writing about this soon, as she is sure her audience is bored already.

New New Year's Resolution

2005-05-02T20:48:00.000-07:00

I tried to keep a blog in Europe, and I think did a pretty good job. That is, until I got to Hungary. It all went to shit in Budapest.

Oh well. This time, I'm really gonna do it. Seriously. Don't make that face.

I suppose I feel a little selfish doing this, like who the fuck would want to hear about the ups and downs of my life. I am hoping this will be theraputic during this time of extreme confusion. And maybe I'll magically become a better writer. Nah.

Things feel a little surreal right now, what with going back to teaching after two months of vacation, trying to do work for the job I will start July 1, my ex-boyfriend coming back from South America after six months, and one of my long-time friends getting ultra-weird around me.

It is great to be with my students again, I could hardly keep a straight mean face today when I saw them standing outside the door. (They aren't nearly as insane as your munchkins Mags, but hey, they're only in middle school). I am slightly stressed out by this new job though, because I cannot do my best at that job and teach at the same time. It's overwhelming. I hope they don't fire me before I start. Perhaps I need performance enhancers. Does viagra work for that too?

Speaking of performance, onto the mysterious boys in my life. Yes, the juicy part of the blog, the stuff I really need to get out. Ew. I'm not sure that came out right. Wait. Double Ew.

Anyway, ex has returned to the states, sans the mass email he said he would send before he returned. All I got was a mass invitation to the "supper club" he had formed before he left. I am wondering if he included me in that email by mistake, and possibly sent out another mass email to the group (minus me) announcing his return. I emailed him to ask him if he was really coming home this time (last time he said he was coming home, it was an April Fools Joke). He said yes, and asked if I was coming to dinner. I told him I wasn't sure, but asked if we could hang out later next week. I hope that is the right course of action. Am I in love with him still? Yes, perhaps, but I think that feeling intensified because he has been gone for so long.

Now this other mysterious friend, one of three people I have been in love with, is acting really strange. He is a strange kid to begin with, and has known me since I was just an awkward teenager fumbling around in Cleveland. A few weeks ago we had a, um, well "moment" after some sake. Logic took hold quickly and nothing happened, but the last time I saw him he was a bit jumpy. And now every time we are on the phone, he gets all nervous. I could be jumping to conclusions, which is entirely possible, since there is that little screaming part inside me hoping that it all does mean something. But then there's that pesky logic again. It says, 'oh for the love of green tomatoes amy, please find yourself a more stable partner.'

I say stability is for the eels.