Law and (dis)order

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)

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.

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

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

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

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

Lemme break it down:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Waiting to callous

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, thanks Andre 3K.

Mexico and the pains of growing up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was an unforgettable experience.

rub a dub dub

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

City life

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

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

It's people.

Giving.

A shit.

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

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

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

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

Yet.

When they get it right

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

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

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

"What is Your Secret"
by Nada Surf

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

Repeat offender

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

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

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

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

Atonement and a shiny new face

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

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

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

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

Rollerskatin' Baby

So much to blog, so much to say.

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

Let’s start with the rollerskating/shortstop extravaganza.

It.

Was.

Incredible.

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

And now, the whole story.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You say it's your birthday?

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

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

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

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

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

5. Other suggestions?

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

Importance of self-importance

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emergency plan (a blog in two parts)

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

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

(part two, written on Thursday)

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

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

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

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

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

Strap on those tennies

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

But it just. Keeps. Happening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It looks like it is time for a run.

powerless

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We are not powerless to change things.

Excuses, excuses

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

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

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

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

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

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