Happy 2005!

So far, moment for moment, this year is already way better than last year! I have high hopes for the next 525,599 minutes as well.

My Resolution for 2005 is to remember what I learned in 2004. (and to stop swearing so much.)

Much love to everyone, and a prayer for peace in the new year.

Shout-outs for '04 go to: KCwhereveryouare, my girl Tina, Rand, Charles, DanaTom&AaronO., Ms. Meraz, Mr. Faust, Jennifer P., John M., Leah for keeping me sane (when I let you), Jessy-boo, Chanse, Lindsay but not Kristin*, all the gang at Chili's, Cassie!!, my awesome boss Rachel, ANG, Michael-Eric-and the sexy nerds all over the world, my wonderful and supportive family, my still-can't-quite-believe-he's-my-boyfriend, and my very own HP.

Vertigo

Milan Kundera, in The Unbearable Lightness Of Being, described vertigo, not as the fear of heights or fear of falling, but as the desire to fall.

It makes sense if you think about it.

Part of you wants to jump
...to fly?
...to prove that you are indestructible?

The other part of you knows better. It's the struggle between these two inner voices - and the fear that in a moment, the wrong voice could win - that causes your stomach to churn and your mind to reel.

It becomes an obsession, the suspense of will you or won't you?

You can't pull yourself away from the ledge.

Because you don't want to.

You want to believe that you can come to the edge of the cliff, and keep going.
You want to believe that just this once, the rules don't have to apply to you.
You want to fly.

You want to jump.

ATTN: Post-Holiday Shoppers

Earthquake/Tsunami Kills Thousands in Asia

For those of you who like to complain that Christmas has become too commercialized, here's your test: are you reading the news, or just the sale pages? How far does your Christmas cheer really extend?

While we were eating leftover turkey and wearing out the AA batteries (not included) in our new Christmas toys, thousands of lives were lost in Asia and Indonesia. There probably won't even be a final death toll for another couple of weeks, at least. Many of those who survived the tsunami are injured and left homeless.

So I'm not saying that you shouldn't be buying next year's Holiday decorations at 50% off - I work in retail, it's my job to sell you the stuff, and yes, I bought a couple of things myself - but while you have your credit cards out, why not make a contribution to a very worthy cause? No one person can assuage the needs of the world, but every little bit makes a difference.

To help, check out the American Red Cross
P.O. Box 37243
Washington, D.C. 20013
800-HELP-NOW
www.redcross.org

Catholic Relief Services
P.O. Box 17090
Baltimore, MD 21203
888-HELP-CRF
www.catholicrelief.org

Direct Relief International
27 South La Patera Lane
Santa Barbara, CA 93117
805-964-4767
www.directrelief.org

Sunday

What about Comfort and Joy?

Picture it: Christmas Eve, about 7:30pm. 29 degrees outside. I worked all day (and before you start feeling sorry for me because of that, let me just say that I had an awesome day at work! All my favorite people were there, and it was all fun, fellowship, and finger-food!) Went grocery shopping after work to get what I need to make Christmas dinner. Don’t have a car, so I headed home by way of a bus and a train…and unfortunately, I didn’t quite make the last bus that I needed. Called the house, and nobody was home who had a car to come get me, and I wasn’t eager to wait another hour for the next bus, so I called a cab. I got paid today; I could afford it. Besides, it’s Christmas Eve.

Cabbie showed up very promptly at the train station. He was a little brusque, but again – it’s Christmas Eve, and it’s cold, and I’m sure everybody would rather be home. So we get to my house, and that’s when I realize I’m out of cash. I gave my last nine bucks to a very nice homeless man at the first train station. (Call me naïve or whatever, but you know what? I’ve been there. If nine bucks will help him get a warm place to sleep, then yay. Nobody should be sleeping outside on a night like this.) So anyway, I have no cash, so I pull out my debit card, and the cabbie won’t take it.

This is a first for me; I’ve never had a problem with cab drivers being able to process a credit card. But okay – I went in the house to see if anyone had cash. Except now there’s nobody home. So I muttered a bit to myself, found my checkbook, and went back outside to offer the cabbie a choice: my debit card or a check.

(I feel I should mention here that there was a credit card reader attached to his meter. So I didn’t, and still don’t, see what the problem was.)

Well. All the frustrations that this poor cab driver had been building up all day (and possibly for the last several days) got unloaded on me. He cussed me out, took my card, took my ID, threw them both around a bit, imprinted my card manually, threw the imprinter on the floor, cussed me out some more, then slid my card through the aforementioned card reader… “Why you didn’t take the bus? This is why we hate the people who call from the train station…” on and on, ad nauseum.

Meanwhile, I’m standing at the driver’s-side window, in the cold, trying to apologize - explain - whatever. Finally, I just gave up and realized that at least his tirade was saving me the extra 25% that I would’ve tipped him otherwise.

Once I got inside my nice warm house and shut the door, I had a few choice words to say about the whole episode. But even then, I only said one of them.

Now however, I think it would be a fitting time to print the list that “Jonathan” was asking about today at work: the so-called “kill list.” The list he was talking about was the one I made a few days ago, when I finally left work, after spending all day on a sisyphian project. That list included:

1. Lauren



2. Ronnie



3. Laura



4. anybody who had anything to do with the buying, selling, or processing of the picture frames that I was unsuccessfully trying to organize.

Tonight’s list has just one entry:

1. f-ing asshole cabdrivers!!!

But since, as I keep pointing out, it is Christmas Eve, I feel the need to balance that list out with another list.
My Favorite People of the Week:

1. Angela



2. Jessica



3. Michael



4. Chanse



5. Dona
   (To my boyfriend: You’re always on that list. You are a permanent fixture, right above #1. This is a list of people here, that I’ve interacted with recently, in the course of my day-to-day existence… Okay, no way that I try to explain it sounds adequate. I love you. You transcend the list. How ‘bout that?)

Just Try It

How do you know you don't like it if you won't even try it???

Matchmaking

“I’d let the geek get the girl”

Wouldn’t be hard, if the girl was me. I heart geeks – anyone who knows me, or has read my ramblings all year, knows that by now.

It just so happens that I know of a geek, and a girl, who really need to get together. But I have no idea how to make that happen, without turning into Cher (the 90s version of Emma…not the zombified singer)

So I’ll just state the case here, and throw it out into the void and anonymity of the W3. I won’t even name names…yet. For immediate purposes, the geek and the girl will hereinafter be known, respectively, as “Jonathan” and “Judith.”

I wonder though…what would the effect be if I created a “Jonathan and Judith” website – except with their real names? Let the word spread, and get all kinds of people involved in speculation about if and when they’ll finally hook up… Would the suggestiveness and insanity of it all cause their humor to kick in, and let them have fun with it, and form a bond? Or would they fight it, and draw apart? It might be an interesting experiment to try…

Both of these people – Jonathan and Judith – are so completely unique that just to be around them is like breathing fresh air after being cooped up in an overcrowded, smoke-filled meeting room. My personal style is to fight conformity whenever I can – but these two don’t even bother to acknowledge it. They go where they wanna go, do what they wanna do. They will say whatever comes to mind, and each of them has a great sense of humor, so a conversation with Jonathan and Judith can crack me up and keep me laughing for the rest of the day.

Jonathan, as with any good geek, is known for being smarter than all the rest of us…but I think it’s just that sometimes he puts up a really good front. He is smart, but there are several things about which he willingly admits he knows little or nothing. If a subject interests him, he will know all about it; but I think that’s true about a lot of people. The thing about Jonathan is that he’s a wordsmith. He is very comfortable with words, and seems to enjoy using them, playing with them, trying them out to see what they can do. He is a master of the snappy comeback – only his style is to respond to ordinary, commonplace remarks with the most bizarre, outré replies he can get away with – and he can do it with a completely straight face. I think it makes him fun to talk to…but a lot of people don’t know quite what to make of it.

Judith, on the other hand, speaks a language all her own. She has her own sayings, and inside jokes, and notions of what’s cool and what isn’t. If you don’t get it, that’s okay. She knows what she means…and if you ask, she’ll probably be happy to explain herself. Those who don’t immediately dismiss her as “weird” find that it isn’t at all hard to catch on – in fact, I’ve found myself borrowing some of Judith’s expressions lately. I personally think she’s one of the coolest people I’ve ever seen; there are few people I enjoy talking to more. She is incredibly sweet-natured and open-hearted, and almost always has something to smile about. Even the things she doesn’t like – the Christmas songs that we hear over and over and over and over, or the annoying rich kid who’s everywhere and drives us all crazy – are sources of amusement. She takes absolutely nothing for granted.

Maybe it’s just because Jonathan and Judith are two of my favorite people, within this particular circle of friends, that I’d love to see them coupled up. But they do play off each other remarkably well. His powers of observation are such that he can understand her nonverbals, and her open-mindedness gives her the ability to keep up with him in any conversation. She flaps her hand in a certain way, he immediately understands and moves to where she wants him to go – he takes a conversation into an unexpected and very strange avenue with one of his non-sequiturs, and she takes the gauntlet and runs with it – all while the rest of us are still looking on in puzzlement.

I know that at least one of them is aware of the possibilities of such a scheme. The other may or may not be persuadable. I don’t know, but I hope so.

To be continued. Maybe…

Nine days to Christmas

My feet are screaming
They said it got pretty warm outside today
I’m too busy
I worked for twelve hours
warm for the middle of December, that is
to talk to the person
with a fifteen-minute break
I wouldn’t know
who gives me a reason to stay busy
Because the high-school kids got out early today.
I was only outside at 9am and at 11pm
I hate that
And it was freakin’ cold both those times!
It makes the holidays a lot less fun.

Out Today

I wonder...?

oooh, I hope I hope I hope!

In Memory of KeDavi

There used to be a great - and I mean great - little coffee shop in Plano, at Spring Creek and Alma, called KeDavi (pronounced kuh-dahh'-vee.) My roommate Liz was their number-one recruiter. How she found it first, I don't know, but she took everyone there. And once you tried one of their frappucinos, you were hooked. End of story.

They had one called the Funky Frapp, that had an entire banana blended into it. Liz also loved the Hazelnut one, with an extra shot; I always liked the Mandarin Orange. The frappucinos were thick and rich, hand-blended to the perfect slushy consistency, and they came with these giant straws as big around as my thumb. The cafe itself was a cozy little space, with groups of overstuffed chairs and occasional tables with chess sets and decks of cards. There were internet stations along the walls, for those who preferred a dose of Java with their java, and two or three wrought-iron tables outside for those who favored coffee and cigarettes. It was a great place to chill, to talk, to try something slightly new and get comfortable with it quickly, a great place to come back to. And that's what Liz did - almost every day, in fact. We, the not-so-regular regulars, used to tease her about her habit...but deep down, we understood.

Another friend of mine mentioned today that she'd like to go to KeDavi and try a frappucino. She'd never been there, but she too has heard the legend. I told her it would be better if she went with Liz, that she needed to get the personal introduction from the unofficial spokeswoman herself. (Besides which, I was there earlier this week, a little too soon after eating dinner, and I got a large Mandarin Orange with an extra shot - when I should've been content with a small, regular. I spent the rest of the evening with my stomach ready to overflow, and my brain bouncing off its cranial walls! So I felt I needed a few more days before I'd be ready for another KeDavi encounter.)

Now that I've heard the news, I'm regretting - unreasonably - that I passed on KeDavi this afternoon. Somehow I believe that if I would've said yes, it might still be there. Instead, I got a call from Liz this evening saying that she'd driven up for her daily fix, only to find the windows covered in brown paper, the smokers' tables gone, and the storefront space empty! Everyone is in a bit of shock. Nobody saw this coming - how could we? We thought Liz's business alone would keep our favorite coffee shop running well in the black for years to come!

Sadly, the suddenness of it all makes me wonder what might really have been going on. Could KeDavi have been run by some kind of alternate League of Red-Haired Men? What exactly was in those frappucinos that made them so addictive - and do we all need to be drug-tested now?

Gotta Move

I need to get out of the city.

I've known that for a while now - not least because my boyfriend doesn't and won't live here - but the point was driven home this morning. I got off the bus at the train station, where I change buses every morning on my way to work, and there on the concrete was a purplish-brown splotch, about the size of two hands, that could only be a bloodstain.

I suppose there are any number of explanations for how the ground at Forest Lane Station came to be splashed with blood...but honestly, only one or two seemed very probable - and that's really more to the point than the reality of what happened anyway, isn't it? It's also interesting to me that, though the incident surprised me, it didn't surprise me very much. Not enough.

The chances that the blood on the sidewalk will ever be my blood are, I think, pretty slim. But that cold, queasy feeling - recognizing the splatters on the pavement, and what had almost certainly happened to cause them to be there - it's not something I want to get used to.

In defense of lyrics

'All art constantly aspires toward the condition of music,' Walter Pater said, in one of the only lines of criticism that has ever meant anything to me (if I could write music, I'd never have bothered with books); music is such a pure form of self-expression, and lyrics, because they consist of words, are so impure, and songwriters, even great ones like [Aimee] Mann, find that, even though they can produce both, words will always let you down. One half of her art is aspiring towards the condition of the other half, and that must be weird, to feel so divinely inspired and so fallibly human, all at the same time. Maybe it's only songwriters who have ever had any inkling of what Jesus felt on a bad day.
- Excerpt from 31 Songs, by Nick Hornby

Me, I like the words - though it's invariably the music that catches me at first - the song 'Kathleen' by Josh Ritter was one that I heard at work, and I fell in love with it, even though I couldn't distinguish the lyrics until I got home and tracked down the song and listened to it in the quiet of my living room. Now I love the imagery of the words; there's an innocence there that doesn't seem to belong to this day and age, or to any day and age that I've ever been a part of, but that maybe my mother would remember.

I think it's interesting that the songs I love tend to have tunes that are simple, repetitive, or even monotonic - 'Kathleen', Blue October's 'Eighteenth Floor Balcony', and 'These R The Thoughts' by Alanis Morissette come readily to mind. The music catches me, the words hold me...but it's the combination that really does it for me. In 'Eighteenth Floor Balcony', Justin Furstenfeld gives words to a mood...an atmosphere...an emotion that I've felt, but that I could never have put into words so easily. And the words aren't fancy, or especially poetic - seen in black-and-white type, in an entry in a weblog, they may not make much sense; and the tune, without the words, is so simple that it's almost obvious - it's hardly even worth humming. But there's a rawness in Justin's voice, and you just know that what he's singing means something personal to him (even if it's imperfectly expressed), and there's a violin, and it's beautiful. Everything comes together to make the music and the lyrics into a song - and the effect, in my humble opinion, is quite divine.

(Where the words are inadequate and flawed is here, in my attempt to explain the loveliness of a song that takes my breath away. Just listen to the song, if you can find it, and then maybe you'll understand...)

Eighteenth-Floor Balcony

I close my eyes
And I smile
Knowing that everything is all right
To the core
Close the door
Is this happening?

My breath is on your hair
I’m unaware
That you opened the blinds and let the city in
God, you hold my hand
As we stand
Taking in everything

And I knew it from the start
So my arms are open wide
Your head is on my stomach
And we’re trying so hard not to fall asleep
But here we are
On this eighteenth-floor balcony
We’re both flying away

We talk about moms and dads
About family pasts
Getting to know where we came from
Our hearts are on display
For all to see
I can’t believe this is happening to me

I raised my hand as if to show you that I was yours
That I was so yours for the taking
I’m still so yours for the taking
That’s when I felt the wind pick up
I grabbed the rail while choking up
These words to say -
And then you kissed me

Yeah I knew it from the start
So my arms are open wide
Your head is on my stomach
And we’re trying so hard not to fall asleep
But here we are
On this eighteenth-floor balcony
We’re both flying away

And I’ll try to sleep
To keep you in my dreams
So I can bring you home with me
And I’ll try to sleep
I'm keeping you in my dreams…

I knew it from the start
My arms are open wide
Your head is on my stomach
We’re not going to sleep
But here we are
On this eighteenth-floor balcony
We’re both
Trying to make it snow

Idiot Tolerance

People are getting on my nerves today...

I didn't eat breakfast, and I haven't had any caffeine today, and I'm getting a headache, and I'm starting to lose it.

It's a Saturday, three weeks before Christmas, and I work in retail - what did I expect?

I keep thinking of that first scene in the movie Serendipity - five days before Christmas, at Bloomingdale's New York, and the shop assistant finds a single pair of gloves in the wrong place, and she stops what she's doing, and calmly puts the gloves in a basket, and takes them downstairs to where they belong. I just want everybody to know, that's not what happens!

...and now this lady wants me to wrap her satin napkins in tissue before I put them in the bag. THEY'RE NAPKINS!!!

God, grant me the serenity...

I really don't like writing about my job, and I try not to do it too often. There are plenty of people who spend most of their waking day bitching about their jobs - and there's a great website called iWorkWithFools, designed specifically for people like that. This is not that website. And anyway, I don't work with fools. Most of my coworkers are fun people and I enjoy working with them. My usual state of mind is much more Clerks than Office Space. ("This job would be great if it wasn't for the fucking customers.")

The Magician

When I first met the Magician, I didn't know who he was.

He didn't look like what I expected the Magician to look like, based on everything I'd heard, or read, or been told. I never saw any magic, so I didn't recognize him; I just knew he was different. And that bothered me a little, but I never knew why.

And I always wondered why I'd never met the Magician, and never seen any magic.

One day, I heard a voice say, You can't always see the magic. Sometimes you just feel it.

Then I realized I had felt it.

Then I realized I could still feel it.

And then I went looking for the Magician again. Only this time I knew who he was...so I found him.

----------------------------------------

Magic isn't always what you expect it to be, and the Magician wears a thousand different faces.

Cacophony & Motion

It's late fall, and the air is rich  with the variegated chatter of a million birds. They swarm so thickly in the pewter twilight that some of the trees don't even seem to have dropped their leaves - the dark shapes of the birds form clever silhouetted stand-ins - until a car horn blares and the fluttering shapes are suddenly airborne, leaving the trees bare again.

I am intrigued by the shapes of these sudden flights. All together in a great sweeping circle, then break in a hundred different directions. It's a grand ballet for anyone who cares to watch, each set of wings making its contribution to the graceful whole, then swooping away to its predetermined place of rest, waiting its turn to join the dance again.

I wonder what the birds do when they're not dancing in the public sky. Is there an avian equivalent to lounging in front of the TV, or splurging on a cheeseburger, fries, and a diet soda?

The story of the rhino

"The rhino sleeps in the apricot tree, but Tuesday the typewriter will choose the yogurt."

That's my philosophy of life, in fifteen words. Interpret it if you can; make of it what you will; continue at your own risk...

Here's how it began, twelve years ago:

There was a boy who went to school with me, who supposedly had the same birthday as mine. And I just happened to have an insane crush on this boy, who was the smartest person I'd ever met, and had one of those weird and twisted minds. Nothing he said ever made sense, and that in itself made perfect sense.

So when the birthday came around, I was on a mission to find the perfect card for this fascinating enigma. And I finally found it: on the front of the card was a long-legged, funny-looking bird, and it said "I'm going to take the plunge by saying something that a birthday card has never said before"...and on the inside, "The rhino sleeps in the apricot tree, but Tuesday the typewriter will choose the yogurt."

It seemed to me at the time that there were only two people in the world who would ever get that, and he was the other one. (Now, of course, I realize there must have been more - because somebody wrote it, and somebody bought it, and there it was on the shelf in a major department store - so obviously somebody else was getting it.)

At any rate, he did get it, and we spent an afternoon laughing, not only at the card but also at the looks of bewilderment we got from other people who read the card, trying to figure out what we were laughing at. We tried out various interpretations of the line about the rhino...I think we finally decided that the rhino was nuclear power, the apricot tree represented the world's superpowers, and the yogurt stood for world destruction. Something like that.

In later years, the phrase still stuck in my mind. Eventually it became my own personal Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious - something to say when I wanted to throw people off their stride. And I still think it works pretty well as a metaphor for life.

Interpret it if you can; make of it what you will.

Continue at your own risk...

Three Little Words

You know the routine. Someone special comes along - maybe not so special right at first, or maybe the two of you bond right away, like we did - and sooner or later, you find yourself dancing around those three words. You want to say them, but you don't, for the usual variety of reasons: you've only known each other a few months, you don't know if they feel the same way...and of course, once you say them - that's it. It's out, they know how you feel, there's no taking it back. If you're like so many of us, you've said the words before, to other people, in other times and places, and you've gotten burned, and you've come to fear what those three words can do.

Maybe you choose to ease into it - you say the words to other people, when the person isn't around - see how it feels. Let yourself get comfortable with the idea of saying them out loud. Then eventually you're ready to take the plunge and say the words, and let that special someone know how you feel.

Me, I did it by accident. I've used the words a few times when talking to other people - then I used them here, in a post that I wrote a few days ago, about somebody totally else - I was angry and disappointed with one of my other friends, and I wasn't paying attention when those three words slipped in: my best friend. It wasn't until later, when I asked her to read the post, that I realized what I'd done. That she would see what I'd written about her.

My best friend. Oh god, I said it - not out loud, but in print. And now the questions begin: Is that okay? Am I being presumptuous? Am I going to end up looking stupid? Will she feel sorry for me because I may not be her best friend?

WHY DO I FEEL LIKE I'M STILL IN JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL???

There's been quite a procession of "best friends" through my life. There was Erin, in eigth grade, who moved to another city and said she'd write me with her new address; that was the last I ever heard of her. Then there was Elissa, in high school, who started dating a guy who'd started out as a friend of mine, too...that was the end of both of those friendships. In college there was Sarah - she was great, we even had a house together when we moved off-campus. But then she got married and everything changed. Later on there was Amy, who ended up getting lost in the haze of a party scene that got to be too brutal for me. There were several other minor players in between those, but those are the highlights.

And now, it seems, there is Jessica...

Authors Note (six months later): Turns out Jessica wasn't even much of a highlight. That friendship was intense and all-consuming, but it didn't take much for it to fall apart. And once it was in pieces, I found it wasn't really worth trying to put back together. Other relationships have proven to be much stronger in the long run, and they haven't left me much time to regret the ones that couldn't hold up. All the same, I don't find myself using those three little words much anymore. They've come and gone too many times for me to really trust them again. Maybe some day...

Reality Check

The Miss Universe Pageant is on TV. Hard to believe that somewhere in the world there are women parading around in beautiful evening gowns. Hard to believe that their biggest concern is whether, at the end of the night, they'll get a bunch of roses and a tiara. Hard to believe that I used to sit in front of the TV, fascinated by the spectacle of the living Barbie-dolls.

That little girl that used to be me would've been furious with the Severe Weather Alerts that keep interrupting the pageant to tell us that there are tornadoes on the ground in downtown Fort Worth. She would have screamed with frustration when the TV went blank, as it did just now because the satellite's signal has been hopelessly lost.

The me that is sitting here now actually finds the weather alerts more interesting than the pageant...but is slightly concerned that the power may not stay on much longer. So, I'm going to wrap this up and go join my roomies outside to watch the lightning!

To My Friend, Part 2

Here's what I've learned this week:

1. It never occurred to me that not everyone is suited for the "tough love" approach. My best friend does it wonderfully, and I love her ability to tell me what I don't want to hear, in such a way that I can accept it. I tried to do that with a friend of mine, and it was a disaster.

I said the wrong thing, at the wrong time. I don't know, I guess some people can do it and some can't, and it would seem that I'm one of the ones who can't. So, okay. I screwed up, and I feel bad, but I learned that "tough love" isn't my style, and I doubt I'll try it again.

2. I learned that even when I screw up, I don't have to feel guilty forever. My friend, apparently, is furious with me, and doesn't seem to want to talk to me. But I apologized, very sincerely - many times over - and that's all I can do. I won't beg, because I shouldn't have to. I screwed up. It happens; it's happened before, and it will happen again. I'm sorry for what I said, but I won't continue to beat myself up over it. If he doesn't want to talk to me, then I'm sorry for that too.

3. I learned that I don't have to minimize my own feelings because someone else is hurting. I'm sorry for what my friend is going through. I can't imagine how badly he must be hurting. But when I realized the mistake I had made, I felt terrible - and when I apologized and got nothing but silence in return, I was hurt, too. And while my pain may be less than his, it is every bit as valid. The idea that I don't have a right to be upset, because of his greater pain, is wrong.

So, to my friend: I'm sorry. If you can't, or won't, accept that, then I'm sorry for that, too - but I'm also angry. I get that you're going through something horrible, and I wish I could do more to help you. But you know what's going on with me; all the issues that I'm working through don't get magically resolved because you need me to be the perfect supportive friend. I've tried to put my own difficulties aside in order to be there for you. But I can't do this much more, especially if you won't even talk to me; at some point I have to take care of myself. I'm sorry I can't be what you need me to be...but I'm still willing to do whatever I can. I'd like to be a better friend in the future - if you're willing to give me the chance.

To My Friend

One of the best ways to keep from wallowing in my own self-pity is to talk to someone else about what's going on in their life. Luckily, I've been blessed with many friends, so that I have no shortage of opportunities to do that.

One friend in particular has been on my mind today. He told me a few weeks ago that he was going to be going through something pretty rough. A little later, when I asked how he was doing, he said he didn't really know, and that he was beginning to get fed up, with everything.

I'm a "fixer" by nature - if I had my way, I'd be able to make everyone's problems and heartaches go away, or at least come up with an easy solution, on a silver platter. But I can't do that. I don't know what to do about my friend's problems; all I can do is offer myself, as a friend, in whatever capacity I may be most needed. Even though that feels, to me, like I'm not doing enough to help, I know that just being there can be one of the most helpful things anyone can do. I know that because I am always so grateful when my friends are there to lend me their support when I need it.

So, to my friend: I know I've said this already, but I'm here whenever you need me. I'm on your side, and I'm thinking of you often, and I hope everything's going okay.

Keep your chin up, and keep me posted.

Love

Why?

I've been posting these whimsical anecdotes about the hilarity that surrounds my life, but the laughter is starting to sound forced, and there's a ringing in my ears. Behind the face that dutifully puts on a smile every morning, the thoughts are getting cloudy.

I started this experiment a little over a year ago, and now that all this time has passed, I can't really see a lot of difference. I'm starting to wonder, what was the point? To give me a better life? To make everything make sense? Or just to keep me out of jail? Why am I still doing this?

I'm still at the same crappy job, and I'm actually struggling more financially than I was a year ago. I still don't have a car (I did for a minute, but that's about all...they're gonna haul it away in the morning.) I'm still single, and lonely. I gained weight, lost it, and then gained it back. I still have a tendency to procrastinate, to toss my money away, and to compare myself to everybody around me. After all of it, at the end of the day I'm still myself, and I'm not real happy with that today. And I'm still so tired, of everything.

I know what I'm supposed to be doing, but right now it just doesn't seem to be making any difference. I'm gonna go try some more though, because right now there just isn't any alternative. (Not any good one, anyway...)

Mullet Guy and Rodman

(Part Two of my Summer Concert Series)

I went with some friends last night to see America, Peter Frampton, and Styx. We got the tickets for free, at the Wildflower festival last weekend when I went to see Blues Traveler. It was another great show, but almost as much fun was the down-time between acts, which we spent people-watching. It was especially amusing because everyone around us, as I'm sure you can imagine, was severely fucked-up, and we were totally sober.

I shared a hug with a girl who was wearing the same "I Love Nerds" T-shirt as me, and one of the girls in the group of kids next to us had on a white, furry mini-top with a brown suede jacket, and looked for all the world like Penny Lane. We saw a dazed-looking guy wearing a long-tailed blue T-shirt, nondescript dark-colored shorts, and knee-high army boots with buckles all the way up the outsides.

But the best - without a doubt - were Mullet Guy and Rodman.

Rodman was a younger dude, with a totally goofy look on his face and braces that weren't doing a bit of good, with his teeth sticking out to there. He was wearing a Rodman jersey (to a Frampton concert??) and he was seriously impaired - I bet my friends ten bucks that he'd fall on his head before the night was over. And that it wouldn't make much difference.

Mullet Guy was even better. He had, of course, a mullet that wouldn't die (though it needed to!) He kept wandering off, to the restrooms or wherever, and every time he came back he'd get lost on the way back to where he was sitting, and he was weaving and staggering all over the place, and bobbing his head to the random beat of whatever music was playing in his mind...it was sooo funny. Every so often he'd punch a fist into the air - sometimes even both fists, Rocky Balboa style. It was great! I tried to take a picture of him, but it was too dark and it didn't come out. So now Mullet Guy is only a memory - but it's one that will keep me laughing, possibly for years to come.

The Harmonica

So I'm standing...oh, maybe twenty feet from the stage, and John Popper - the man himself - is right there! I've tried to see Blues Traveler in concert three or four times, and I always miss it, or I can't get there, or it was last weekend. And now, finally, here I am, and there they are, playing Devil Went Down To Georgia, with John playing the fiddle parts on his harmonica. The song ends, and I'm whooping and screaming along with everyone else...then I look up, just in time to see John toss his harmonica out into the crowd. It lands on the ground, on the other side of the barrier, right in front of me...and I dive over the fence, and next thing I know the harmonica is in my hand! I got a thumbs-up from Ben, on the keyboards - he looked amazed that I actually dived over the fence!

So now I'm the proud possessor of a Hohner "Special 20 Edition" harmonica. And I don't even know how to play the harmonica!

Man, that was a great concert. They looked like they were having as much fun up there playing as we were listening to them. And I tell you what else - Chan Kinchla is getting added to my list of celebrity crushes. That man is hot! And an awesome guitarist. And he wrote Manhattan Bridge, for which I am eternally thankful.

May the Fourth be with you

I was on the bus going home from work last night, reading Dave Barry and laughing so loud at times that I was afraid the other passengers would start looking at me funny, when I realized I didn't need to worry because while I was laughing, the man behind me was singing into his cell phone.

My first thought was, "How cool is that?"

The best phone conversation I've ever had wasn't actually much of a conversation at all. When I first got my cell phone, I of course started calling everyone I ever knew to give them the number. One of the first people I called was an old friend of mine who, Lord love him, almost always boosts my ego by being thrilled to hear from me. This particular time, he had a new toy of his own - he'd spent the last three or four hours downloading music to his computer (I don't know if he paid for it or not - I didn't ask.) Anyway, so he started playing selected songs for me, so I could hear how great his computer sounded, and I started singing along - or offering "constructive criticism," whenever he played a song I couldn't believe he actually liked. It was so cool - I hadn't seen this guy in forever, and there we were, listening to music together, over the phone. Definitely the best phone call ever.

Upheaved

Hi, this is Hal. I'm not here right now. If you need to get in touch with me, I'm either at the old house, the new house, somebody else's house, at work, or...somewhere else. Wherever I am, chances are I just left there. Try again in an hour or a week.

Fly away and be at rest

I don’t know why, but the sleep I get in my bed each night doesn’t seem to count. It just isn’t enough. By the time I go to bed, I’m already dreading the time when I’ll have to get up again and start the next day’s grind. So even in sleep, the stress of my day-to-day life crowds me with its schedules and appointments, and errands and to-do lists.

I want to be able to sleep during the day. I want to lay me down, comfortable and safe in the knowledge that there’s nothing I have to do, and that I can sleep as much or as little as I like. Only then will I truly feel rested.

For now, I’m listening to Blues Traveler, and that’s working pretty well. John Popper’s voice is as familiar as an old friend, and I always feel at home as soon as he begins to sing to me; and “Manhattan Bridge” is just so beautiful, it makes me feel like I’m already in heaven and I won’t ever have to wake up again.

OVERLOAD

My life is running on "essential functions only" right now, and everything's gotten to be just a little too much. I'm tired, not physically but emotionally. This weekend was very, very hard. I learned a lot - cried a lot - and I'm still sorting through what's left of what I thought I knew, or felt, about anything.

I'm trying to write about all this because I know it's good for me to get it out of my brain, but I don't really know what to say, or where to begin, and nothing is making a lot of sense to me just now. And I have a hard time believing that anybody out there really cares that I'm mourning the loss of a friend who isn't mourning the loss of me. Or that I'm having to learn to let go of someone I love (again) because talking to him hurts me. Or that I'm so tired, and so close to a breaking point, that it's hard to even enjoy the good things in my life - like all my wonderful friends, and the new house that I'm about to move into. I love spending time with the other girls, and they really have kept me sane during the last few days, and I'm so thankful for them...but as soon as I get to work, or on my way to whatever I have to do next, I get overwhelmed again so easily, and it's really discouraging. I just want to shut down for a day or so, hide from everybody and everything, and sleep so I won't have to think, and wake up to a new version of reality that's already all sorted out and settled into place.

Disneyland

It's a nice day if you wake up in Disneyland

That's a line from a song I just heard on my radio.

Maybe it's just me, but that doesn't bring a very pleasant image to my mind...I'm picturing some guy in yesterday's clothes, hair stuck to his face, disoriented and stumbling out of the flower bed where he passed out the night before.

I'm sure they wouldn't really let that happen in Disneyland, would they?

I am...

what I eat (usually either sweet or spicy)

a librocubicularist

an Alanis Morissette fan

a Sagittarian

way too close to the big 3-oh

older than I look, but younger than I am

a geek, and a weirdo

a pyrophobe

a starving artist

a dilettante

not really a waitress

a Twin Peaks fan

an addict

a Texas native (Hey, y'all!)

Calvin and Hobbes

insecure about my looks

short

a child of the 80s

a Beatles fan

a smart-aleck

smarter than I act sometimes

a dreamer

afraid of too many things

uncategorizable (at least I hope so)

a little bit different every day

Roadside Oddities

My friend and I were out for a drive on a Saturday morning, and we passed a man walking, and he was carrying one of those dog leashes that rolls up inside a plastic carrying case. We both noticed it - but it was my friend who pointed out that the guy didn't have a dog with him. That didn't even occur to me...

The next day I was out with several friends, driving around looking at houses. During the course of the afternoon we saw: a guy dressed up as a sub sandwich, a real-live bunny rabbit hopping through someone's front yard (this was in the middle of Dallas, TX, and it was Easter Sunday!), and another guy in a chicken suit. I took Rain Man-style snapshots of all three from the car window.

And today, another friend told me about a time when she was stopped at a red light, and saw two guys in cow suits, selling leather furniture (...?) and directly across the intersection from them was a homeless man holding a cardboard sign asking for money, and eating a Snickers bar.

Failure

There are certain situations in which I am supposed to be an "enforcer" - impartial and objective, like Ted the Bellhop wielding the cleaver in the last segment of Four Rooms. But tonight I couldn't do it. After the Cristal, and the Benjamins, and the persuasive patter of Quentin Tarantino, I turned to see that the guy with his hand on the chopping block was a friend of mine, and I couldn't do it. In the end, I had to hand the cleaver over to someone else.

I feel like I've let my friends down by not being able to do the job I was called to do; and I feel like I've betrayed my other friend by handing the cleaver to someone who will wield it, instead of just winking at the rules and letting him keep his little finger, whether he upholds his end of the bargain or not - because he's my friend, and friends are supposed to look out for each other, aren't they?

I'm hating myself right now. There are times when "doing the right thing" just sucks, and this is one of those times. And when I say I did the right thing, it's not from any kind of smug, satisfied self-righteousness - I only believe what I did was the right thing because that's what people keep telling me, people whose opinions I trust. I don't feel like I did the right thing at all. I feel like a failure, and a back-stabber. And a joke.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...

Gratitude List

These are some of the things I was thankful for today:

1. My coworkers - the ones who keep me laughing, and the ones who remind me of what I don't want to be like!

2. My customers' patience and generosity

3. My wonderful friends - all the new ones, and the few but cherished old ones

4. That I have enough close friends now, that I'm having to learn to juggle them - spend a little time with each one, and not get too fixated on anyone, and not ignore anyone for too long

5. That I have a great smile, and a cheerful face

6. That I have a car, even though it doesn't work sometimes

7. For public transportation - when I do have to use it, I'm glad it's there so I can get where I need to go

8. That I have a friend who's willing to give up his day off, to fix my car for me

9. That I made rent again!

10. That I've had really good music to listen to all day - including Alanis' new song, Everything

11. Web-cams, great memories, and learning what it means for a guy to make a girl blush!

Good Question

Where did the word 'cocktail' (as in a mixed drink) come from?

Why is that little bottle opener tool-thingy called a church key?

Who was the first guy ever to look at a cow and say

"I think I'll drink whatever comes out of these things when I squeeze 'em"? (that one's from Calvin and Hobbes, but it's a damn good question)

Why am I "skittish" around men?

How's Annie?

Saturday Morning

High of 76; Low 62. Slightly overcast with a nice little breeze blowing and a possibility of rain in the afternoon. The birds are twittering around the backyard, having breakfast with the cracker crumbs my roommate scattered for them. The house is cool and breezy, and everybody is already up and about and planning their Saturdays.

My Saturday agenda is completely, beautifully blank. I think I'll go out and spend some quality time with the hammock later, maybe listen to Jess Klein.

Beverly*, another one of my roommates, has a lot of stuff set out on the kitchen counter; looks like she's planning to cook something. So I'll probably sit on the tall kitchen stool and talk to her while she cooks and nip any yummy tidbits that might happen to wander my way.

I'm in the middle of a book that I can probably manage to finish this afternoon.

Maybe I'll get that plant repotted, the one my mom and dad sent me.

And this evening, maybe I'll finally start drawing pictures all over those khaki jeans that I never wear anymore, like I've planned to do for a while now.

Maybe I'll finally learn to play that stupid guitar.

Maybe I'll just learn to fly instead.

Avoidance

I should be cleaning my room right now. And yet here I am, in front of the computer...I have no idea what I want to write about, but it beats hanging up clothes.

Maybe I'll just start typing at random...what's that theory? That three monkeys, typing into infinity, will eventually write Hamlet? Something like that.

"Bedsocks, knockwurst, Tinkerbell!" - "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" - "Stuckelschwantz!"

...Sorry. Got a bit carried away. (50 points to anyone who knows where all that came from, though.)

Okay! My roomie just told me she's gonna go tan, so I'm going to go with her, and that'll get me out of cleaning for an hour or so. Maybe I'll carry on with the randomness later.

They Might Be Geeks

Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch

Who watches over you?

Make a little birdhouse in your soul…

I once took one of those internet personality tests, only it was a “geek test” – and one of the questions was whether you listen to They Might Be Giants. What’s that about, I wonder? I admit that I am a geek…but I didn’t ever know that listening to TMBG contributed to one’s geekiness. I think they’re cool! Of course, since I am a self-confessed geek, maybe what I think is cool is subject to some scrutiny… I mean, I know “Particle Man” is kind of dweeby, even if it is familiar to many people. Maybe that’s my problem - I know too much of their music. Maybe it’s acceptable to be silly and sing along to “Istanbul (Not Constan-tinople)” …but what if I told you my favorite three songs off this album (Flood) are “We Want A Rock,” “Dead,” and “Women And Men”? And that I also like “Don’t Let’s Start” from their 1986 self-titled album, not because it’s such a great song particularly, but because another band recently did a remake of it that I really like. That band is Common Rotation, which I’ve mentioned here before, and the reason I know about them is…No, I can’t do it! This is a band that - at least in Texas - almost no one seems to have heard of, and whose CDs are nearly impossible to find outside of their website. I hate to destroy the coolness of that by telling why I know about them. But if you read or hear anything about this band, odds are, you will eventually learn that the lead singer, Adam Busch, had a recurring role on TV’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer – he played Warren, one of the sixth season’s “evil nerd trio,” who was crucial to the final episodes and plot twists of that season. Now he fronts a band that toured with They Might Be Giants, and covered one of their songs. (It's a good song - you should listen to it, and I think you can if you click the link and go to their website.)

So there, now I’ve established my geekhood forever. But that’s okay - I have my own brand of cool.

Inspiration

This is the text of a song called "These R The Thoughts" by Alanis Morissette, which just came on my radio. I love this song, not only because the words are great, but because she took the words and then fit them to the melody. The rhythms of the sentences, and of the words themselves, are broken so that the melody comes through. The text, when written out, doesn't look like a song at all; there's no pattern to it. And the tune, catchy though it is, isn't really substantial enough to be called a song. But when they are put together, it's wonderful! This is one of the reasons why I love Alanis' music so much, and this is the kind of songwriter I would love to be someday.

These are the thoughts that go through my head, in my backyard on a Sunday afternoon, when I have the house to myself and I am not expending all that energy on fighting with my boyfriend:

Is he the one that I will marry?

Why’s it so hard to be objective about myself?

Why do I feel cellularly alone?

Am I supposed to live in this crazy city?

Can blindly continued, fear-induced, regurgitated,

life-denying tradition be overcome?

Where does the money go

that I send to those in need?

If we have so much

why do some people have nothing, still?

Why do I feel frantic

when I first wake up in the morning?

Why do you say you are spiritual,

yet you treat people like shit?

How can you say you’re close to God,

and yet you talk behind my back

as though I’m not a part of you?

Why do I say I’m fine, when it’s obvious I am not?

Why’s it so hard to tell you what I want?

Why can’t you just read my mind?

Why do I fear that the quieter I am,

the less you will listen?

Why do I care whether you like me or not?

Why’s it so hard for me to be angry?

Why is it such work to stay conscious

and so easy to get stuck,

and not the other way around?

Will I ever move back to Canada?

Can I be with a lover with whom I am

a student and a master?

Why am I encouraged to shut my mouth

when it gets too close to home?

Why cannot I live in the moment?

The Blonde Question

Why am I blonde?

My natural hair color is what I liked to call “honey brown” – light brown/dark blonde, with red and gold tones. I like the color of my hair.

And yet, the day after New Year’s, I went blonde. Not quite sure why. I like it; I just don’t fully understand why I did it.

One thing about me – I was a theatre major. So in my world, nothing happens at random. The tiniest details have meaning and symbolism, and there are no accidents. (Theoretically, that is. In reality, of course there are accidents.)

I met Kathy Bates once – the first film she directed, called Dash and Lilly, premiered here in Dallas a few years ago, and was followed by a question-and-answer session. The film was about the relationship between Dashiell Hammett and Lillian Hellman, and in one scene they were arguing over the fact that he was a bigger celebrity at the time, and how she felt invisible whenever they walked into a room together. In the scene, she was wearing a burgundy-colored dress, which matched the burgundy wallpaper behind her almost exactly. So their argument became literal; she disappeared into the scenery, while he stood out in his tuxedo and white shirt-front.

I loved that. I thought it was a great touch, and in the question-and-answer, I asked Kathy Bates whether that had been her idea as director, or whether those details were the work of the costumer or set designer (as a theater student, I was interested in the level of collaboration that went into the film, and whether everyone involved had contributed to the imagery, or if it was mainly the work of the director, with the designers simply carrying out her ideas and vision.)

She answered by apologizing for that…it was an oversight that nobody caught. She apparently hadn’t noticed how the effect enhanced the scene and the conversation in question, until I asked about it!

So accidents do happen. And then they, too, get incorporated into the symbolism – the “I meant to do that” effect. And the theory that every little thing has meaning continues. (That theory, by the way, is called “semiotics”. It can be a lot of fun, if you take it too seriously.)

My choice to change my hair color on 2 January - the day after a disappointing New Year’s Eve - could be worth questioning…and I’m fairly sure the two events are related somehow, but I’m not sure how I got from that particular stimulus to that particular response.

And now, looking back…I remember that the blondeness was an accident at the time. I was trying to just lighten my hair overall, with some streaks of all-the-way blonde – and I miscalculated and ended up with blonde hair. And then I kind of liked it, so I kept it, and played with it some more – cut it shorter, and later on added (semi-permanent) pink streaks. (Sometimes I feel like Frenchie, from Grease!)

I like the blonde, random though it was at first. It’s something that I never expected to do, but I’ve gotten used to it and I think it suits me now. Don’t know how long I’ll keep it…or what will trigger the next change.

#@!!% Men!

I've been talking to my best friend in the world on the computer - I love talking to Kenny, because he knows me better than anyone else in the world, and he has a degree in psychology (very useful.)

And yet, we have a lot of history together, which means things can get tricky sometimes.

Kenny and I haven't been a couple for years. We've both struggled, at various times, with having to accept that it's over, and it's time to move on. There have been long periods when we haven't even been in contact with one another, yet the bond between us is strong enough that we always find our way back eventually, and I'm very grateful for that.

Because of our history together, and because of all we've been through, I am totally comfortable with Kenny, and I trust him. I can talk to him about things I can't talk about to anybody else - like the fear and hurt I felt when I didn't hear from my parents for an unusually long time, and the fears that kept me from pursuing my dream of being a singer. I've also talked to him about Ethan*, a guy I like a lot, about an evening I spent at his house last weekend, and about the unreasonable fear that keeps me from letting him know how much I like him.

I'm wondering now if telling him all that was a mistake. Because tonight, when I came back to our conversation after being away for a minute, Kenny chose to ignore my explanation for why I'd been away, and said instead that I must be messing around with Ethan - "don't try to cover it up", he said. He was joking, but there was jealousy behind the remark, and that really annoyed me.

I thought we'd moved on, and had both reached a point where we can be the kind of friends who talk to one another about things like this. It was really hard for me to accept the fact that it's over between us; that the mistakes I made can't be taken back; and that I have to go on with my life and learn to think of Kenny as a friend, nothing more. (Even though he is, and will always be, so much more than "just" a friend.) And I'm finally able to do that, to be grateful for the friendship we have, without wishing for anything more - and now he's gotta go and act jealous (and let me just say, Kenny is in no position to be jealous over me!)

As for Ethan, there's not even anything going on there. And most likely, there won't be. Much as I like him, I have too many issues to get through; I'm just not dateable right now. There's some kind of pattern with me and men, that only allows me to get to a certain degree of closenes before I freeze up, or he loses interest, or whatever. It's like there's an invisible force field around me, and I know that somehow, for some reason, I put it there... I know it has something to do with my dad, but I haven't figured out yet how it's all connected, and I don't know how to make it go away. Meanwhile, another guy asked me out, one that I'm not at all interested in, and I got to practice turning someone down gracefully, and not being horrible to him afterwards - all the while wondering, why is it always the ones you don't like, and never the ones you do?

And now on top of all that, I feel betrayed because Kenny is trying to bring some weird element into our friendship that does not belong there.

Can't we all just get along?

All I want is to be friends with both of these guys.

Just Friends - that's it. No romance, no jealousy,

no awkwardness of trying to deal with my issues before the're ready to be dealt with, and no ghosts of emotions past coming back to spoil the friendships of the present.

Is that really so much to ask?

(I dunno, but while I'm asking...I'd also like a new car.)

*Names have been changed

The Bad Friend

You ever have one of those friends who isn't really a friend, but you keep in touch with them anyway?

Kristin* is a girl I work with. We used to be friends - I used to think she was one of the coolest people I'd ever met. Time went by, things changed, and a while back I started describing her to people who didn't know her by saying "she's really cool, outside of work." But now, I never hang out with her outside of work...and I'm not sure I'd find her all that cool, even if I did.

On the plus side, Kristin is very intelligent, and well-educated. She's artistic, likes music, films, books, dancing, good food, good conversation...you name it. Like me, her taste tends toward the obscure - if most people have never heard of it, she probably has. She seems to have a lot of confidence and a good sense of herself.

As I've worked with her though, I've seen that she is an overwhelmingly negative person, almost always angry or annoyed or not feeling well. She's also a closet alcoholic, and she's bipolar, self-centered, and extremely opinionated. And she's six feet tall, and she's loud - so she takes up a lot of space, and a lot of the time that space is filled with negative energy.

I was trying to talk to her today, about something work-related, but I was in a fairly good mood and was joking around a bit. She cut me off and said "You know what? I don't have time right now for bullshit."

That was it for me. I've kept Kristin on my "friends" list way too long, and she's not worth it. We rarely spend time together as friends, and when we're at work, she talks down to me a lot, and doesn't make me feel good about myself. And listening to her complain all day, all the time, makes my job much harder. That's something I can't get away from until I find a new job...but I'm through claiming her as a friend.

I have so many wonderful friends, who make every day joyful for me, and I am so thankful for them, and I don't even need to waste my time with people who aren't worth it. I was so insecure for so long, that it's a great feeling now to realize that I don't need Kristin. So here's to one less "friend" at the end of the day!

*Names have been changed.

Look closer.

Ever since I was a kid, I've believed in what I saw. I think that has a lot to do with why I'm as messed up as I am today.

Example: the "cool" kids who picked on me all through school - I always thought they were really as tough as they pretended to be. I was well into adulthood before I understood that they were just scared, stupid kids like me, only with better masks.

I watched innumerable sitcoms and romantic comedies, and came to believe that the happy ending was a reality in every situation. I thought that everyone who hurt me would either apologize or get theirs in the end. I fell for guys who underestimated or ignored me, firmly convinced that they would come to appreciate me finally, because I'd been there for them, devoted and dependable through it all.

Madison Avenue, with its ideals of what a woman should look like and how she should dress - that messed me up for years, because I totally believed it!

And I thought my family had it all together - that they were perfect and normal, so that was how I was supposed to be. Being good seemed to come so easily for all of them; it wasn't easy for me, so I thought I must be the misfit. And that went for almost everybody around me, as well - they all seemed to be so cool and together; if they struggled the way I did, I never knew it, so I was jealous of everyone and never felt like I fit in anywhere.

I'm learning now, not only to accept that I am flawed (and that that's ok) but that everybody else is, too. I feel much more normal now that I've realized there's really no such thing, and that what you see on the surface isn't all there is, and that maybe the people I always envied because they seemed to have it all figured out, were just as lost and screwed-up as me, underneath it all.

A friend of mine said it really well - as we drove past a Victoria's Secret billboard, he pointed up to the model and said "You know, somewhere there's a man who's sick and tired of putting up with her shit."

Friends & Family

I've been learning a lot about family systems; how the dynamics and relationships within your family affect how you relate to everyone else. Gotta say, it's causing me to feel some real anger toward my family! That's okay, though. I love my family, and I'll work through it. But, man - I thought they were all normal and I was the screw-up! I don't think that anymore.

Meanwhile, I'm growing ever more grateful for my friends, who are some of the coolest people in the world.

I used to say "friends are the family you choose for yourself." But then, I've always had a gift for making really bad choices. I ended up creating a "family" for myself that was ten times more screwed-up than the one I was born into! Go figure...

The friends I have now, I would never have chosen.

Five years ago, I decided that I would never have another roommate. Now I have six - and if someone had lined up a hundred women and told me to pick six I would want to share a house with, these are not the ones I would've picked! But they are the ones I look forward to coming home to at the end of the day; the ones I talk to when things aren't going right and I need help to make sense of the world; the ones I run screaming to when something wonderful and exciting happens.

The rest of my friends are much the same. They don't fit the criteria I once used to choose who I wanted to associate myself with. They don't all look or dress the way I like; they don't all think or speak the way I do; they don't all listen to the "right" music or have the "right" taste in food and films and other essential life things. And yet, I have the coolest friends!

One thing hasn't changed: I used to always hang around with people that I wanted to be like. And I still do.

What do you suppose...?

This text is printed inside the cover of Common Rotation's CD The Big Fear. I have no idea who wrote it, or what kind of narcotic haze it was created from, but I find it intriguing and I hope someday to find a deeper meaning behind this elaborate nonsense. (Feel free to contribute to the effort.)

DON’T be scared.

After all you purchased this record for a mere 19.99 plus tax. At the very least, the ideals you once subscribed to that cajoled you into buying this disc might eventually become a laughable memory. Always chasing the fleet foot of the past, are we? A nation under guaranteed overnight delivery, living in a dream of constant motion rounds the corner to the drugstore on main street for a bigger, more cost efficient sucker for it to let dissolve in its mouth. Too much sugar, too many carbohydrates, you are going to get fat you’re gonna get fat you’re gonna get fat you’re gonna get fat. Eat your supper before it gets cold. WE all want it. Our found out fathers who created art in heaven and their fathers before them wanted their lives, measured out in coffee spoons and stuck in designer gourmet coffee cups with sex on the side. Anxious no not I for another line of unattainable frontiers, a dream of lofty, waspy aspirations for over-paid, over-privileged white children, the pierced eardrum of middle management. Jacob’s ladder teetering on blades, skating across the pond hold it still for a second, could you hold it for me, hold it still damn it, I’m going up. Target your audience, tools on the wagon wheel, cleaver hooks or crescent moons, it’s all in the eye of the napkin, the pencil sharpener, the scantily clad volumes of mangled tourists with intimidating facial hair; sexy. (people that go in for long winded beatnik-type lists of unrelated metaphors conveying one central theme) The stars of the power plant twinkling to nursery rhymes while jukin, the split end fantasy straining to squint at the old knee high, the ol, light box, the ol, 78 trash talk between heaven and/or hell, blue and/or white collar. Extra starch please. Wait. No. No starch. I’m gonna get fat. I can’t get fat and happy. Well, happy; yes. Fat; no No, wait. YOU have to hand it over to the nuclear scientist and say, put wings on this. Proceed to chop your head off and frantically run about Chelsea inventing turmoil for advances in stomach ache and good times. Good times, great coffee. Trust someone to work in the fog of London, the dust of Beirut, in your kid sister’s view from the Brooklyn Bridge. Very much like a Hollywood movie, starring the action hero, your friend produced to make himself some money in order to fund the important low budget film, collaborating with the homeless African-American director awaiting the death row of hospital bed moves. Very much not a movie. This is a movie but it has to bat a thousand eye lashes. So fatten it up no wait. Well you’re right. You got me. A glossy move is not a movement. Yes you hear the choo-choo but no matter how far you travel it’s the same 3 and 2 pitch. It’s a late night infomercial with a new and improved, fool-proof way to masturbate. There, I hope you feel better about yourself. So let’s forget it and return to the sickeningly pretentious list that details the ideal. By omitting this last stanza from the short term and continuing fearlessly into the divine quark of a loophole, we breathe easier while burning more calories.

Inhale, exhale, inhale,

now hold it

It’s too late, you bought it.

All tales are told, all sales are final.

So what are you so afraid of?"

New Year's Eve revisited

Ok, so I thought I had plans for New Year's Eve. I was going to go over to some friends' house and just hang out...no big deal. I talked to one of the guys, my friend Ethan* - the day before, just to make sure - and he said yeah, he'd call me at such-and-such time and come pick me up.

So the next night, New Year's Eve, rolls around. I'd had kind of a bad day and was looking forward to getting out of the house, so I called Ethan to see if he'd come get me a little early. But he wasn't home - he'd gone to another party. So I got on my cell phone to see what's up, and he said he forgot to call me!

(I don't know if the part about forgetting to call me was supposed to make me feel better, but it didn't. I hate being forgotten about. That's what my psycho-ex used to do.)

The thing is, it wasn't even a date! ...Ok, yes, I have a bit of a crush on Ethan and I would've liked it to have been a date, but facts are facts. It was not a date. It was just me going to hang out with some friends. And I spent several weeks being mad about it, and then I decided it was time to let it go. And yet I brought it up again tonight, to another one of his friends, and now I really wish I hadn't. That was just me trying to get sympathy, by talking about something that doesn't really bother me that much anymore. And that's a part of myself that I really don't like.

So to everyone involved, and to everyone who's listened to me harp about this for the last two months - I'm sorry. I'm going to drop it now, I promise.

*Names have been changed.

I Would Do Anything For Love...

But I Won't Do That. What the hell does that song mean, anyway? What is "that"?

One of my roomies is cleaning the kitchen and listening to Hits of the 90s, and that's the song that just came on. We both cracked up.

I remember being in college, full of intensity and earnestness, listening to that song and singing along with tears in my eyes. Now I listen to it and just laugh...I think I'll always like that song now, just for the memories it evokes. I've actually been tripping down that particular stretch of Memory Lane a lot lately. College...

God, if I had known then what I know now - well, I don't know what would've happened. Probably some tragic butterfly-effect series of events that would cause me to realize that everything happens when it happens for a reason, and that I had to travel the road I've traveled in order to come to where I am now and be content. Some kind of nonsense like that. But it's an enticing thought - if I'd only known then what I know now...

I seem to go through periods of nostalgia. Does everyone do that? I'll go for months or years and never really think about times gone by, and then suddenly I find myself overwhelmed by fond memories, and off I go down the road of reminiscence once again.

I recently got back in touch with my college sweetheart - the love of my life, though I didn't know it at the time (see, that's what I'm talking about - hindsight, man.) We're friends now, and it's good to be back in touch with someone who's known me since way back when. Talking to him helps me remember that no matter how far I've come since then, I'm still me.

Truth be told, I'm grateful for the distance I've traveled since college. It was a good time, but I like where I am now. So, I guess...I would do anything for love, but I won't go back.

All the same - Kenny, this one's for you. Thanks for the memories!

Alison*

She's not an easy person to get to know. At least she wasn't for me.

I had a hard time getting along with her at first. I think I was intimidated by her, or maybe some instinctive part of me recognized her as someone very similar to myself, and so immediately categorized her as "competition." I've always had a tendency to compare myself to others, and lack of self-esteem has caused me to view anyone very much like me as a threat.

I am very competitive with Alison in a lot of areas: within the dynamics of our house, and within our mutual circle of friends. We are similar in age, and our jobs are comparable. We've had similar experiences in the past year, and I think we have a lot of the same strengths, and a lot of the same weaknesses.

Because of some of the things we have in common, Alison and I have been spending more time together recently. As I've gotten to know her a little better, I've come to really admire her. Ali is a very strong woman who treats herself and the people around her with kindness, dignity, and respect. Where I used to compare myself to her and feel threatened, I now look at what she and I have in common and feel thankful.

She has had some really good things happening in her life lately. Not too long ago, I would've been jealous. Now, I'm just happy for her. Everything good that's happened is something she deserves, and most of it is long overdue.

The women I live with are all my family. The relationships between each of us are different, and they're constantly changing. But I've often felt that Alison is more like a sister to me than any of the others - there's that weird blend of affection and rivalry. And now there's friendship, and a trust that I haven't felt for a while (not since the last roommate I was close to moved out.)

Ali - Thanks for everything. I'm so glad to have you as a friend and a sister. I love you!

*Names have been changed.

Late-Night Frustrations

I have no idea what to do with what I feel right now.

I feel lonely, and isolated, and trapped, and frightened.

I feel guilty for feeling lonely, and for wanting to cry. I feel like I don't have a good enough reason to cry; after all, I have friends - real friends, not the "friends" who disappeared on me a year ago, when I decided to leave the party. I am surrounded by people who care about me, and who are there for me when I need them, and when I screw up. I am deeply grateful for these people.

And yet, I'm not as close to any of them as I would like to be. I have intimacy issues; many friends but few, if any, close friends. I would very much like to change that, but I don't know how, and I'm frustrated and lonely.

I'm also angry, and I want to blame someone for the way I feel, but there is no one to blame. I want someone to come along and fix it, but there is no one who can fix it. My tendency is to blame myself for keeping everyone at arm's length, but I know that I am doing the best I can for right now.

I am also tired, and it is late; I'm sure that once I've had a good night's sleep things will look brighter. That's almost always how it works, with me.

The Cat House

I share a house with six other women.

Generally when I say that to people, the response I get is one of incredulity - "How can you stand that?" - "I couldn't do it." - "That would drive me crazy." (What they don't realize is that I was crazy to start with. Maybe this will drive me sane.)

It's not for everyone; it takes a certain kind of person to be able to live in a situation like this. And yes, there are times when it grates. Seven women, seven sets of hormones and issues and neuroses. Seven periods, usually within about a week of each other. There are times when personalities clash, when boundaries are crossed, and feelings are hurt. There were times in the beginning when I wondered what I'd gotten myself into. But I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world, now.

This is more than a house that I share with a bunch of roommates. This is our home. This is a family.

For the women who share this house with me, and who have become my sisters and my support system, I am more thankful than I can say. This site is dedicated to them, with love and gratitude.