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.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Je m'appelle hermit crab
So, it's starting to happen. I am starting to hermit up. It needs to stop.
This week, I have been so averted to speaking to people for some reason. I have been alone in the apartment, which I think is one reason. Another reason I think I have not spoken to people is because I am afraid I have absolutely nothing interesting to say. But why, pray tell, do I have to have something interesting to say? If one of the lovely people that grace my cell phone book were to call me up for no good reason, I would jump out of my shoes. Maybe even my socks. True, I am depressed about #4 leaving, and that made me want to crawl into the small space in the corner between my bed and the wall. Plus the new Harry Potter came out, so of course I had to read that within four days of buying the book. But is that any reason to neglect my pals? Oh no, mr.smith, I think not.
I am so off kilter though, it's ridiculous. My schedule at work changes a lot. I never know when I am going to get home, so I never know when I can work out. I have been neglecting eating, because I never feel hungry, except when I am nervous at work. Then I usually eat fruit or a granola bar. And I think I feel guilty for eating, because I can't work it off, which I know is a bad bad bad bad bad bad thing.
The good news is I am in love. With my job that is, absolutely infatuated. I have only been on the job for three weeks, and already my piece that I wrote for my boss is being published in three different publications. No byline of course, but the satisfaction is beyond words. And I get to fight, every day, for all of the things I care about. I am learning more about politics in this city than I ever imagined.
I also found an awesome 1 bedroom apartment in Silverlake, right across from the Red Lion Tavern. I haven't signed any paperwork yet, but it looks good. And I can have a kitty. A very small one. Yay.
Tomorrow (actually, today) I play golf with #4. This should be ____________________(insert adjective). Two more weeks, and he is gone for good. askdjhf;aoiewrhtosaehrgok. That is the best I can come up with for describing that feeling.
A mishmash of thoughts, yes. More coherent blogging to come.
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.
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Bye bye pinky toe
With all the f-ing free time I had this weekend, I could not even bring myself to update my blog. What a shmo I am! And now I have to go to sleep, so I can't even write down any good details. Here is a brief update:
1. Still haven't found an apartment. Getting dangerously close though, so hopefully I wont have to crash on anyone's couch. Actually, my landlord called and said we could just pay by the day if we did not find a place, so that is good.
2. #4 and I went out on Friday. It. Was. Tremendous. Absolutely. And that is all I will say about that. I will also say that Jimmy and Jalexious were correct about the outcome.
3. Started reading the new Harry Potter. Mmm, YA Fiction.
4. I found this poem I wrote before I went back to visit my college friends two years ago. I had been going to this open mic poetry night in the Valley pretty consistently, so I think it inspired me. It's funny how cyclical emotions can be:
There’s too much anxiety right now
Too with two o’s
Hand cramps up from the upsidedown typing method I came up with
To curb my flittering
I figure if the blood rushes backwards
It will have to slow me down
Drain away into some superfluous part of my body
Like the right
Knuckle of my fourth toe.
I had four toes once
Until I ate my pinky toe
And then I realized I had had five all along.
It didn’t really taste pink at all.
It kind of tasted like dirt,
And raw matzo ball mix.
It was nice to chew on something for a while,
And not get a raised eyebrow.
Now I chew on things,
Especially when I get
Like this.
Shakey
And tired from the persistent beating of
Me against me.
Isn’t it always like that though,
You make yourself nervous.
You make yourself sad.
You make yourself.
You make yourself ruin a perfectly good stream of poetry
By adding words.
Looking for the end.
There is no end, none that you know
Self-depreciation wins every time,
Stops you before you can do anything great
Or at least, remotely interesting to those brave souls
In the Valley that bear their souls to you
Pleading with you to bear yours.
They don’t realize
There isn’t anything for me to bear.
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.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
ISO soul, a good one preferably
Ok, now I am just stressed out.
1. I cannot find a suitable apartment. All I want (which I guess is a lot to ask) is an apartment that is close to stuff (los feliz village or sunset junction), will take cats, and is under 1000. I am so tired of looking at crap. GROWR!
2. People hate me, because I do stupid things, and now I am being ostracized. (Am I blowing this out of proportion? Yes, but this is how it is playing out in my head). This is EXACTLY what happened to me at the end of my college experience. I did a stupid, stupid thing and I was labeled a social outcast for about two months. All of this is COMPLETELY MY FAULT. Why would people want to be around me? I think this is why I developed social anxiety disorder (undiagnosed, of course). I am always afraid people are going to find me out, then see the real me, and leave me. The real me, apparently, sucks ass. I guess it is time for a change. I guess it is time for me to be a bit more rational, to take better care of the people around me, to be better about thinking about other people before I act. I am not trying to be the stir-er of conflict. I don't want to be the person people are careful not to upset. I want people to feel comfortable around me, to feel like they can come to me for anything. I think I am going to print up those new years resolutions in big type and hang them in my room.
3. Based on #2 as stated above, I am not sure i know how to go about fixing things. I need help. Help help help. I am afraid I am going to become a hermit when I move into my nonexistent studio apartment in los feliz/silverlake/echo park, because no one will want to talk to me. I am at a loss here, and it is driving me crazy.
1. I cannot find a suitable apartment. All I want (which I guess is a lot to ask) is an apartment that is close to stuff (los feliz village or sunset junction), will take cats, and is under 1000. I am so tired of looking at crap. GROWR!
2. People hate me, because I do stupid things, and now I am being ostracized. (Am I blowing this out of proportion? Yes, but this is how it is playing out in my head). This is EXACTLY what happened to me at the end of my college experience. I did a stupid, stupid thing and I was labeled a social outcast for about two months. All of this is COMPLETELY MY FAULT. Why would people want to be around me? I think this is why I developed social anxiety disorder (undiagnosed, of course). I am always afraid people are going to find me out, then see the real me, and leave me. The real me, apparently, sucks ass. I guess it is time for a change. I guess it is time for me to be a bit more rational, to take better care of the people around me, to be better about thinking about other people before I act. I am not trying to be the stir-er of conflict. I don't want to be the person people are careful not to upset. I want people to feel comfortable around me, to feel like they can come to me for anything. I think I am going to print up those new years resolutions in big type and hang them in my room.
3. Based on #2 as stated above, I am not sure i know how to go about fixing things. I need help. Help help help. I am afraid I am going to become a hermit when I move into my nonexistent studio apartment in los feliz/silverlake/echo park, because no one will want to talk to me. I am at a loss here, and it is driving me crazy.
You can turn a grape into a raisin, but you can't vice versa
Sorry about the delay between posts. It is has been a interesting week.
On Friday, I went to a luncheon for the arts education program for the music center. Last week they were having a workshop for teachers interesting in incorporating more art into their classrooms, and they had a lot of interactive activities that required the teachers to create their own art. In one class, they had teachers do interpretive movement to this poem:
Dream Deferred
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
and then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Naturally, when the teachers got to the part about the raisin in the sun, they crumpled to the ground. The second time they were asked to do the exercise, they were prohibited from crumpling to the ground to show a raisin drying up in the sun. The result was a tableau, the teacher of the workshop said, of the human emotions of pain and loss. Another workshop leader expanded on the idea of the raisin as what we become after years of negative messages. She was specifically relating it to our individual artistic talents. We all start out as these big, juicy grapes, she said, full of possibilities. We think we can sing, paint, draw and dance, because no one tells us we cannot. Then, she continued, as we go through our lives, we receive direct and indirect messages that we are not good enough. Someone turns off the radio as you are singing to a song. You get a look as you move to a certain beat. And after all of these experiences, our desire to express ourselves through art shrivels up, because we are afraid to fail. She said that all teachers, not just art teachers, need to work on this.
I think it is a good lesson for everyone. After all, as madame collinsina said, raisins are still sweet. Personally, I like them in my cream of wheat every Sunday.
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.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
bisexuality and generally scary politics
As I was browsing the news today, I came across several interesting headlines:
1. Straight, Gay or Lying? Bisexuality Revisited (NY Times)
This was a story about how they did a study about bisexuality in men, and basically found that men were either straight or gay, regardless of their reported sexual identity. To that I say, malarky. If women are bisexual, why can't men be? In this article, they cited another study in which women who claimed to be bisexual or gay actually had partners of both sexes. Is it more acceptable for a woman to be a lesbian than it is for a man to be gay? Perhaps it is, because of the straight male fascination with lesbians. What rubbed me the wrong way (or the right way, hehehehe) about this story was the assertion by some psychologists that bisexuality does not exist. Clearly, they have not studied me. I always question my sexual identity after I break up with a man, and Shmallipoo and I always say it is time for me to start dating women. I see two problems with this: 1. I have no idea how to make this happen, 2. ....well, I guess I just have one problem. I almost made out with a really hot asian chick at Bang on Saturday, but that is definitely not how I want to meet my first real girlfriend.
2. Thai teachers to be allowed guns (BBC)
If you need a reminder about how AWESOME your school is, I suggest you read this story. I see potential for significant gains here, I really do.
3. G.O.P. Asks Conservative Allies to Cool Rhetoric Over the Court
Leaders of the democratic party, pay attention to this quote from the article: "The extremism of language, if there is to be any, should be demonstrably on the other side. The hysteria and the foaming at the mouth ought to come from the left." THIS IS WHY WE KEEP LOSING ELECTIONS. The republicans in power are too f-ing smart - they have us pegged - they know we are reactionary and cannot keep our mouths shut. We cannot let this happen anymore. It is time to start developing some political foresight, for goodness sakes.
Hey. Maybe I should work on that too.
(P.S. I am doing a REALLY good job not contacting 4. If you could be so kind as to make sure that I keep this up for 30 more days, that would be greatly appreciated.)
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.)
Sunday, July 03, 2005
tragically emotional and wonderful desparation
So I am sitting in the middle of buzz coffee, on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, trying to create words that will fit in someone else's mouth. This whole speechwriting thing is tough, but gratifying at the same time. It's like wearing sexy underwear underneath really plain clothes -- only you know what's underneath that diplomatic exterior. Thankfully it is three thousand times better than lesson planning.
It's been two days since I parted ways with 4, and I think the people around me are expecting the breakdown any day now. I just don't feel it coming. A part of me feels sad and distracted, and maybe even a little lonely, because it was nice to have someone in that position. The other part of me however, feels an incredible sense of liberation. I mean, for the love of miniature ponies, does anyone realize how little alone time you get when you are in a relationship? I had the whole day yesterday to myself. I read for two hours, took a nap, worked out, cooked a kickass tofu stirfry, and joined a few friends at Bang for a crazy night of dancing. Would it have been nice to lay on the beach with 4, or to have brought him on the secret adventure I had planned? Yep, prolly. Was I OK without him, without anyone? Yep, absolutely. Doing things alone in this society is frowned upon. You are a loser if you go to dinner by yourself. You are ridiculous if you go to a movie alone. But I LOVE going to the movies alone. I LOVE getting lost in this city, without having to worry about disappointing the person in the passenger seat. I LOVE trying new restaurants from my LA guidebook. I LOVE being able to go to the club with my friendiolies when I want to, and dancing to my heart's content. Was 4 prohibiting me from doing these things? No, but I did have to explain myself a lot more. And I am not sure why I felt the obligation to do that. We should have kept things cold, emotionless. Why did I spend energy getting emotionally involved?
I know why -- because I am a writer. Or at least, I think I am a writer. I'm not even sure I am that, mostly because I do not have the well-known 'writer's insomnia,' and the rest because I think everyone's writing is better than mine. (Especially Stacedawg and JayJayNaNaNa, my fellow journalists -- y'all could kick my ass in a write-off any day.)
After watching Little Women and closely analyzing the "Jo" character in the movie, I realize that writers NEED to live tragic/emotional/wonderful/desparate lives. Actually, a writer might live a boring life, but do things to make it seem tragic/emotional/wonderful/desparate. Her character was constantly emotionally charged. She felt guilt enough to squeeze out tears, rage enough to pummel her sister, and failure enough to crumple her to the floor.
So, it got me to thinking. Why DID I put all that emotion into 4? What was it about him that set off that thing? Why are my feelings of guilt so intense that I cannot even throw a piece of plastic on the ground? Why is it that I get so angry when I get angry? Is this the plight of the writer? Are they doomed to feel everything tenfold, because they have to figure out a way to put all those intangibles into words?
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?
Saturday, July 02, 2005
No, seriously, what is wrong with me?
How could I have been so blindsighted to not see the damage that I was doing with these words? I guess passion does silly things to your brain. So let it be said, publicly, that I am deeply sorry for hurting any number of folk, including all unnamed and numbered, 4, 3, 2 or even 1. Yes, even 1 gets an apology. Single, double, triple venti mocha espresso sorry to anyone who I offended during one of my rants. I hope we can still be friends. Otherwise, I will be forced to feed myself to the rabid sea lions that I am going to visit tomorrow at the zoo. Please let me know soon so I can alert zoo personnel.
That said, I must write about 4 one last time, because we are no longer. Like the mean words littered throughout my blog, my mean words ended it prematurely. I said one thing, expecting one reaction, and got a completely different reaction from him. Serves me right, I suppose. In the end, 4 is a wonderful, thoughtful, caring person; just not the wonderful, thoughtful, caring person I am looking for. He is going to make some girl brilliantly happy. I wanted something from him that he could not give, and he wanted something from me that I could not deliver. Sigh. I have to say I did learn a lot from the relationship, even if I did end up in the reject pot again.
So, I am completely single again. One. Single. Person. I have always been one single person, even when I was with someone. JimJim always talks about how you have to make sure you can make yourself happy before you can be happy in a relationship. That is true, I think. The only problem is that much of my happiness is derived from being around other people, or making other people happy. Yes, I can be happy painting or playing the guitar or going to the zoo. Euphoria for me is usually found on the dance floor, in some way or another, and most recently has appeared when I am zooming down the highway on the back of a bike. All those things make me happy. But it is hard to top that happiness you feel when you kiss that person hello, or when you feel their arm wrapped around you first thing in the morning.
I think perhaps, my equillibrium is not equillibrized (yeah, I made that word up, whaddya want?). All of my nervous habits have returned, which only happens in extreme cases of stress. But it is the new year as Jaynafersonsmitherpants reminded me, so it is time to stop and breathe. Think. Clear my head. Stop being subversively mean. That is not who I am, or who I meant to be.
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.
Friday, July 01, 2005
Man, what is it with me?
I guess when I leave one thing, I have to leave all things. My job, my apartment, my _____.
Why do I do that?
I think sometimes when we make changes, we begin to feel so good about making changes that we keep making them until they start to hurt. Now, I don't hurt. Hopefully, in two days it will feel like a blister. In seven, the blister will be healed and I'll move on.
One day, I'll get it right. One day, I won't have to sit in a half lean against the wall, loathing the fading light of the day. I won't hurt anyone, and I won't get hurt.
Could I be more cryptic please?
On the upside, I am going swing dancing tonight, and I just had a maaahvelous time last night at bike night. Yep, I have a shiny new blue and silver bike helmet to show for it. See? I have stuff to be happy about. Be happy, dammit.
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.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Packin' it in
It took me exactly eight hours to clean my classroom yesterday. Eight hours to clean up two years of work. Eight hours, to remove every trace of my being from a place where I cried with my students as they shared their personal narratives, a place where I begged students not to give up on themselves, a place that taught me about the world and myself. I gave away everything, which is generally painful for a pack-rat like me. My classroom library was mostly distributed amongst three new teachers, along with all my files, posters and other teachery items I accumulated. I managed to fit the things I wanted to keep down to three crates, two plastic boxes, and one laundry basket.
It is funny how your senses become heightened when you are at a turning point in your life. After I had loaded the last box into my car and turned in my pink sign-out sheet, I just began wandering around the school. If anyone asked, I had a purpose; I was looking for one of the plant managers to ask him if I could borrow a rolly trashcan to throw out the buffalo-sized bag of trash that was consuming the middle of my room. But even as I was walking around, I realized that was silly -- I didn't even have the keys at that point, and I had no real intention of entering that room again. I just wanted to see the place, as an insider, one last time. So I walked around, and smelled everything. I archived the smell of the disenfectant they use to clean the floors. The faint smell of the rosebushes that surround the small parking lot. That weird, indescribable smell of the hallway, it just smells like school. And I listened to the defeaning silence of the school, and the quiet buzz of the people who were finishing up for the day. I watched the pidgeons fight over a forgotten piece of bread, and coo in contempt after losing ground. I looked for a long time at the way the blue and white buildings cut into the clear blue sky.
And I guess when I walked out, and got into my car, I expected it all to stop, because for me, this was it. This was the end of teaching, the end of being a part of the community, the end of my first real job. I drove away, feeling like I just broke up with somebody. I was, and am still, heartbroken. Not because I want to go back to teaching, but just because it is no longer a part of my reality. I think I am afraid to fail, or afraid I am making the wrong decision. I think I stayed after, walking around, because I expected some internal neon sign to start blinking and screaming, 'you're doing the right thing! run! run now!'
I do feel like I am doing the right thing, but internally, I am only 90 percent convinced. How that other 10 percent is going to be converted is beyond me right now.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
On a completely different note, Boy #4 will no longer appear in the blog. Too many people know who he is, and for the first time that I know of, someone gave him shit about it the other day. When boy #4 tried to play it off, the person said, 'guess you don't really like having your personal life broadcasted, huh?' (or something to that affect). I'm kind of pissed about that, but I guess it is inevitable with things like this. Why that person would feel the need to bring up the blog to Boy#4 is beyond me. I feel incredibly guilty for putting Boy #4 anywhere close to that situation. Even though it is June 30, I am going to start working on that forgiveness thing early. I am going to forgive that person for making fun of Boy#4's involvement in the blog, and I am going to forgive myself for making the mistake of forcing Boy #4 to be OK with this situation. It sucks that I will no longer be able to write about him here, because I actually think this medium was helping my relationship with him. If it is hurting him though, it is just not worth it.
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.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Mr. Byrne, you can sing Beyonce anytime
Wow, so it's been a few days since I have blogged. Bad self. Bad baddy bad bad. Here's what's been happening:
1. I had to go in for a colonoscopy on Friday, which sort of sucked. The prep went OK, as did the procedure. Actually it was kind of scary to be in that situation alone. They don't let visitors back into the recovery/prep area, so you are just waiting there, with the IV in your arm, hooked up to the heart monitor for about 30 minutes before you go on. There were a bunch of old ladies waiting to get theirs done too, and they were all moaning about being too cold or waiting too long. Nonetheless, during the time before my procedure, I was amazed by how diverse the staff was. If you ever question the multiculturalism of America, take a nice little trip down to Cedar Sinai. I think you will be pleasantly suprised. The staff was comprised of all races, nationalities and sexes. The team that took care of me was comprised of a Korean lady, a Filipino man, a Jamaican woman and a Japanese man. My anesthesiologist was also Asian, although I could not nail down whether she was Korean or Chinese, or even Taiwanese (je suis un Americane stupide, je sais, je sais). The whole room could have been a corporate promotional video, everybody working together, side by side, la da dee da dododo goulet...!
2. Before an after the procedure, Boy #4 was incredible. He took such good care of me, I am not sure I deserved it. We went to eat at the Newsroom Cafe and then went to see Rize at the Mann Chinese Theater. I think the movie was good, but to be honest, I was still in a drug haze, so I don't remember much. After the movie Boy #4 took me back home and I slept until morning. (Ps. thank you, Jrey, CelinaBeena, PrincessRockstar and Mia for the texts, they made me smile until my cheeks fell off.)
3. On Sunday, Boy #4 and I joined Toddykins and VivaciousVanessa for the David Byrne/Arcade Fire show at the Hollywood Bowl. When we finally arrived at the bowl, we felt extra confident and began to look for the will call line. When we approached the ticket windows, we saw a large line. Now, when I say large, I don't just mean 30 or 40 people. No, no, my friends, this line wrapped clear around to the edge of the parking lot. Needless to say, we were a bit peeved, but we followed the evil snaking mass of concert goers around the path until we found the end. We tried to distract ourselves by playing "line games" and making T-dogg dance, but no amount of sidesteps could distract us from the blatant inefficieny of the will call system. Next time, we WON'T call, thank you very much.
(Still 3) Eventually, we did make it into the bowl, which is HUMONGUS yet very beautiful. It is nestled in the valley of the large hills/mountains of Griffith Park. The sound was incredible - you could actually hear every instrument, including the often inaudible violins. I must admit that my appreciation for arcade fire grew incrimentally as the show went on. They are really talented musicians, and basically rock the f out of every song they play. Their album is definitely going to rotate in my car this week. David Byrne knocked my socks off. Both pairs. And I wasn't even wearing socks. He played a bunch of Talking Heads songs, including "Home" and "Psycho Killer." He has a funny little dance he does with his hips, which was really quite cute. You can always tell who has real vocal talent by how much an artist dances on stage. For example, Britney Spears has to dance a lot to make up for the fact that she sucks, whereas David Byrne can just sort of scoot around and still have the audience in the palm of his hand.
(Yep, 3) The real tofutti cutie of the night was when Mr. Byrne brought out the Extra Action Marching Band to join him for his last song. Now, you might be thinking, what could possibly add extra action to a marching band? I'll just give you this image and let you figure the rest out: the flag girls (and not all of them were girls) incorporated a move into their routiene where they pretended to masturbate using their flags. You with me now? Tremendous. So what does he do, now that he has a full band and erotic dancers to back him up. HE FUCKING COVERED 'CRAZY' BY BEYONCE! The whole bowl went nuts. It was, quite possibly, the best cover I have ever seen live. I hate that stupid song, but with the Extra Action Band in the background and Byrne holding down the vocals, it was heaven.
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.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
So this is the new year
Tonight was another affirmation of the idea that a trip to the gym always provides clarity. Whenever I am not sure what to do about something, or upset about something, or what have you, I am going to head directly to the gym. When I was running tonight, I had an epipheny. Actually, it was probably due to the multitude of deep conversations I had today, but it seemed to all come together in the middle of the second uphill mile.
Now is my chance to start over.
For the past few weeks, I have been looking at the end of everything. It is the end of my TFA committment. The end of teaching. In four weeks, the end of Boy#4. The end of life in WeHo with Alekandrizx.
I keep forgetting to see the beginning that comes after the end. It is the beginning of a new job, with new challenges that will most likely shape my life. It is the beginning of being single again, scary, but exciting at the same time. It is the beginning of a time when I can work on myself, so I am better in the next relationship that may come along. It is the beginning of life in Los Feliz/Silverlake, in my own apartment, where I can walk around naked if I want. It is the beginning of having a vacation home in Long Beach. It is the beginning of me calling my friends when I want to see them, and being OK if they don't call me.
Therefore, I am throwing out my January 1, 2005. On July 1, I begin my new year, starting with my new job. I am going to make a conscious effort to be better, in all aspects of my life. Fortunately, I have a blog to keep me in check. ;)
Now is my chance to start over.
For the past few weeks, I have been looking at the end of everything. It is the end of my TFA committment. The end of teaching. In four weeks, the end of Boy#4. The end of life in WeHo with Alekandrizx.
I keep forgetting to see the beginning that comes after the end. It is the beginning of a new job, with new challenges that will most likely shape my life. It is the beginning of being single again, scary, but exciting at the same time. It is the beginning of a time when I can work on myself, so I am better in the next relationship that may come along. It is the beginning of life in Los Feliz/Silverlake, in my own apartment, where I can walk around naked if I want. It is the beginning of having a vacation home in Long Beach. It is the beginning of me calling my friends when I want to see them, and being OK if they don't call me.
Therefore, I am throwing out my January 1, 2005. On July 1, I begin my new year, starting with my new job. I am going to make a conscious effort to be better, in all aspects of my life. Fortunately, I have a blog to keep me in check. ;)
And this is why I love YA fiction..
Some people make fun of me for liking YA lit so much. You know what I say to them? POOP! Young adult fiction can oftentimes be superior to adult fiction. Here is a perfect example from the book I just finished, entitled "A Great and Terrible Beauty" by Libba Bray:
"But forgiveness..I'll hold on to that fragile slice of hope and keep it close, remembering that in each of us lie good and bad, light and dark, art and pain, choice and regret, cruelty and sacrifice. We're each our own chiaroscuro, our own bit of illusion fighting to emerge into something solid, something real. We've got to forgive ourselves that. I must remember to forgive myself. Because there's an awful lot of gray to work with. No one can live in the light all of the time."
Fucking brilliant, I say. I know it is not an original idea, but it is well-timed. The idea of forgiveness. Forgiving yourself for being both good and bad, and realizing the importance of that equillibrium.
And perhaps, in regards to our most recent blogs, we can forgive ourselves for our mistakes in relationships. Wanting too much or not wanting enough, wavering between the player and the played, being the giver and the taker. I think, Machellian, in regards to your question earlier ('but what IS love?'), THAT is what love is. The "something solid" we hope to emerge into. Everything we are doing now is just an illusion.
"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.
Monday, June 20, 2005
If you blog it..
Here is solid evidence that if you blog it, it will come. Yay.
So remember that blog I wrote today, about Boy #4 not fulfilling my romantic needs? Yeah, well, you can forget that. He is wonderful. I am swooning.
Today I found out that I have to go to the hospital for a procedure on Friday. They are knocking me out completely, so I need someone to take care of me. Immediately, I thought of him, and not just because he is on summer vacation and has a vehicle. OK, maybe it had a little to do with that, but I like to think I that there are only a few people I would trust with my care after heavy doses of morphine (sp?).
I was nervous to ask him, afraid of his reaction. Was this something only serious friends do for each other? Would he be freaked out? Then I thought, well, i would do it for him in a heartbeat, so why wouldn't he do it for me?
Not only was he absolutely willing to drive me, he was not at all freaked out by my condition. Thank kittens. See? It's the little things that get me. The fact that he is willing to help me through a really yucky experience is enough to make me stay up past 11 pm.
So remember that blog I wrote today, about Boy #4 not fulfilling my romantic needs? Yeah, well, you can forget that. He is wonderful. I am swooning.
Today I found out that I have to go to the hospital for a procedure on Friday. They are knocking me out completely, so I need someone to take care of me. Immediately, I thought of him, and not just because he is on summer vacation and has a vehicle. OK, maybe it had a little to do with that, but I like to think I that there are only a few people I would trust with my care after heavy doses of morphine (sp?).
I was nervous to ask him, afraid of his reaction. Was this something only serious friends do for each other? Would he be freaked out? Then I thought, well, i would do it for him in a heartbeat, so why wouldn't he do it for me?
Not only was he absolutely willing to drive me, he was not at all freaked out by my condition. Thank kittens. See? It's the little things that get me. The fact that he is willing to help me through a really yucky experience is enough to make me stay up past 11 pm.
If it's just your heart, talkin', I don't mind
I must be insane. I'm talking utterly, completely and totally insane. Just as things are going well, my heart goes a different direction. Am I bipolar? It's possible.
A few posts ago, I wrote about how I was craving a romantic situation, despite the fact that Boy #4 should have been filling that need. In the end, it is my misstep, not his that is leaving me unsatisfied. He's right, really, I do want to be swept off my feet, but it doesn't take much for that to happen. I just want to be suprised I guess, by something. Is that unreasonable? Perhaps it is, for our situation. Perhaps it is better that things are stagnant and predictable, because of the time limit.
But I never liked stagnant and predictable. I want volatile and unpredictable. I want to drive down to his house and have my jaw hit the floor because of something he does or says. I want to find him sitting on my doorstep after a hard day at work. And maybe, if I do these things, he will reprocate. However, according to JummyRay, that would not be playing the game right. If I did those things, I would seem desparate, which is a very unattractive quality in a woman.
Oh, and the other thing I realized on Saturday, but couldn't quite get it out, is that I really hate that he pegs me as a "girly" girl. He and his friend (who was TREMENDOUS, by the way, except for this little incident) said some shit-ass comment on Sunday that just pissed me off so badly I wanted to run screaming from the restaurant. Granted, I peg him quite often as a "dude," but come on, he is a dude. Keg stands and all. And I accept him for that. I am NOT a girly girl. Yes, I like to talk shit with my friends, because let's face it, that is fun. Yes, I like it when my toes look pretty, because well, it looks like I take care of myself. But I cannot take the stereotyping. I pride myself on being different. One of my worst fears is becoming someone with no suprises. I can't be that, I refuse. I know I am not that.
And maybe that is how he deals with me. I fit into a category for him, so it is easy for him. No suprises.
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.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
In the south bay. FOr the second saturday in a row.
Yes. Insanity rules. Blogging drunk. yay.
Michael J. Surrago, Esq says you gotta take the tuna cap to the ketchup in batuplico. You're doctoring the magic, he says, you;'ve perveted my words to change my perverted dreams!I dont want to be a hero right now.
Realistic, she is. She healthy? She's pretty Ok. She is healthy enough to be like fuckit, I'm traveling. - A conversation by boys at Boy#4's party.
Actually I think that it would be nice if the lunchy clubby faccey was here. I could use some advice on things. And stuff. And other things I cannot mention because there are at least 1 - 3 watching me do this blog.
Michellian, I hope you are revolutionizing your night tonight.
Jayna, I hope you found and conquered butter.
:)
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.
:)
Friday, June 17, 2005
Are teachers crazy?
Next topic. If we weren't teachers, do you think we would worry as much about our relationships? Like if we were in an emotionless job, like a professional telemarketer or rodeo poop-scooper, would we talk as much about how dysfunctional we all are in our relationships?
I truly believe that this job magnifies every little emotion you have, because you have to be 'on' all the time. It is stressful. You are constantly asked to reflect on your teaching, your practice, etc. etc. etc. What effect does that have on the way you live your life? Is it better to be completely distracted from performing any type of metacognition?
I would also submit that hanging around with middle school kids escalates our need for drama.
I truly believe that this job magnifies every little emotion you have, because you have to be 'on' all the time. It is stressful. You are constantly asked to reflect on your teaching, your practice, etc. etc. etc. What effect does that have on the way you live your life? Is it better to be completely distracted from performing any type of metacognition?
I would also submit that hanging around with middle school kids escalates our need for drama.
Jayna's perfect man
I think for our first post, we should tackle one of the great mysteries of life. Who. Is Jayna. Actually. Attracted to?
This question has eluded me for many (ok, two really) years. I have consulted many parties on this. Now I put it to you, lunch club. What do you think?
Yes Jayna, you can comment too. :)
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. :)
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
If I had an Alex romance
Sigh. Alishmandro's blog is beautiful. Did you read his post about his date last weekend? Holy crap, it's amazing. He can just let himself go and this girl freaking responds. It is a drastic change from the last two, for the better, undoubtedly. I am so so so so so so so so happy for the boy. I think he has met his match.
And Celina, holy fish fry, that comment about being able to breathe out, very profound. I am glad that we have come to the part of the cycle where all of my friends are happy in relationships. Everyone is generally in a better mood when the pendulum swings this way.
I wish I could write about someone that way. I know it is incredibly selfish to think that, but I really do envy Alex and Celina and all you other happy campers (you are not excluded, Stefffony, Toddykins and Chewy). I just keep waiting, to feel that thing that you all have. But I can't help thinking that I really will end up alone, with cats. And in the end, it is my dysfunction(s) that keep me from finding what I am looking for, not the boys. As one fine friend said, the common factor is you, not the boys.
I prohibit myself from thinking about Boy#4 the way Allio thinks about his lady, because boy #4 is on the out. In my brain, I am already saying goodbye to him, so that when the day comes I'll be ready. Detach detach detach is my mantra, whenever I begin thinking about him. Like when I am driving home, and thinking about him, I try to actively switch my thoughts to something else, usually work stuff.
It's like this:
La dee da, listening to Jon Brion, Oh, I wish I could see Boy #4 tonight, wouldn't it be fun to play Boggle with him, I want to drive down and get that CD from him...NO NO NO NO...WHAT AM I DOING? WHAT WORK DO I HAVE TO DO TONIGHT? NEWSLETTER? OH YES, NEWSLETTER! I HAVE TO DO THE NEWSLETTER!
and so on and so forth until I am completely focused on work. It's a great method I call the 'distraction' method. It is great if you want to put a lot of energy and passion into your job. I mean, think about it, you get all those feelings stirred up and then redirect them. The product is always going to be high quality.
(Ok, I'm deluding myself, but let me have it, just for a minute)
In other news, my apartment search is proving quite taxing. Any advice agent Forman? I found a beautiful apartment just two blocks north of Vermont and Franklin, but the security deposit is huge and they want someone to move in on July 1. Arg.
Hopefully my next post will be about how in love I am with my new place. I promise to use at least 3 to 5 metaphors.
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.
Sunday, June 12, 2005
Validation should always come in stamp form
Today I was at the verizon store, getting a new phone (yay! It's a camera phone), and someone next to me asked for validation. Sure, the store clerk said, here you go. And with one quick motion, she stamped the customer's ticket, and they were validated.
For some reason, the phrasing got me thinking. Wouldn't it be nice to be validated, for everything you do, with a stamp? Like everyone could just walk around with their own validation stamp, and whenever someone wanted validation from them for something, they could just stamp the person and the person would walk away happy.
For example, if you wanted validation for putting your life into teaching, your students could just stamp your hand on the way out of the classroom. Or if your significant other does some nice random thing, and you don't know how to thank them, you could just stamp their cheek (butt or face, it does not matter). I am certain this system would eliminate a lot of unnecessary hard feelings.
Believe it or not, I have found a new way to publicly humilate myself. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the drunk dialing of the 21st century...DRUNK BLOGGING! The last post was an example of how blogging while drunk is generally a bad idea. Fortunately, the post was not that damaging, but the fact that I had the urge to do that while drunk scares me. I am going to make every effort to make sure that I am not near a computadora with internet access while under the influence. (Look at that, the "whiles" line up. That's snappy).
An update on the Boys. Or Boy, considering the fact that I have not seen Boy #3 in weeks, Boy #2 and I are friends again, and Boy #1 is non-existent. Boy #4 has been making some strategic moves lately, despite his behavior early last week. On Wednesday, we hashed things out one last time, and he suggested he come up to my house to play scrabble. Needless to say, I melted. We had talked about playing scrabble, but never actually made it happen. I was insanely happy that he brought up the idea, and followed through on it.
So we played. And I kicked. His. Assssss! Ha! I don't win at scrabble very often, so it is very gratifying to triumph occasionally. The odds were really against Boy #4, because I have so much scrabble experience, and he was slightly frightened by the intensity with which I played the game. I apologized for my extreme focus, and promised that next time we would play something less serious like Boggle. Or drunk Boggle. Or coloring. (Ok, I didn't really suggest coloring, but you know...)
Things with Boy #4 are just plain good now, it is almost a shame that he is leaving in a month and a half. At least that won't give me time to fuck it up further. But then again, there is always tomorrow. And the next day. And then the one two days after that. Hm.
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.
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