It's so much worse

than we could've imagined. read here, if you are so inclined. my brother says he's ok. i don't believe him, because i keep having nightmares.

Ripped from the headlines

Today is surreal. I talked to my brother earlier to find out that a really good childhood friend of his murdered his wife today. murdered. and he is now missing. he's not just suspected of murder. he called his brother after it happened and told him, then said he was going to turn himself in. i've known this guy my whole life. he lived 4 houses away from me. he was the nice one, while his brother scared the crap out of me for years. his brother got his shit together, while choink apparently was losing his. i hope he at least killed himself today. because nothing good can ever come. we don't know if any of the 3 kids were home. and it scares me that this cycle will never end. his childhood was fucked and it apparently came to a head for some reason today.
i'm so worried about my brother, who never really expresses his emotions too well. but, i know that he probably feels more deeply than i do. i don't remember the last time i heard him on the verge of tears. i wish i could go home with him, to be supportive.
fuck.
we're not supposed to know these people.

Soundtrack of our young lives

OK, I really do love teaching munchkins, if only because I giggle all day long. Today, in an attempt to rival the Dee Schneider wannabe in 1st grade, one of my Kinders was humming while doing his math worksheet. It took about a half second before I recognized the tune as the Imperial Death March
Oh dear god, they kill me. And I pretty much feel the same way when it comes to numbers.

My Precious

I remember feeling privilege and shame when I was complimented on the first ring. I was 16 and I thought my life was worth ending. But, I remember sitting in a salon, feeling unjustified because I had this expensive gift of filial love on my finger. I cried later because 3rd world country children smiled as I hoarded prescription drugs while wearing expensive antiques on my hand. In 19 years, I've only lost sight of it twice. And even then, it was recovered within 24 hours. The second ring, purchased to commemorate failure or survival, I forget which, gets the most compliments. I'm ashamed to remember that it was on sale when I bought it with my discount. $11.98 was all my life was worth in 1994, apparently. The third ring is always changing. The "new" ring has been here throughout the whole Portland life, if not before. 6 years and counting?
I am never awake long without my rings. They are reminders. Of me, my life, where I have been. They are constants. Mostly. The third one needs to be changed soon. Because I am always evolving. I've been in a slump. I've actually been longing for depressive me. But only because that me was always ENGAGED in the world. I'm longing for that feeling.
WOW! suddenly this post has taken on this totally unplanned Freudian thing about rings and engagement. I'm going to let it stand, because maybe it is what I mean. And I've had some wine. Or maybe I just meant I want the third ring not to turn my finger green anymore...

What do you want to do with your life?

Sorry kids. I think I've been busy or something. It's been good. I'm substituting a lot. And working part time at the store that enabled me to come in off the ledge this summer. My hair, which I was pulling out in stress clumps, even appears to be growing back in. Back in July, I (unknowingly) realistically answered someone by saying things would be better in November. And they were. Financially, I'm not scraping quarters from old coats quite as much. And, I'm really excited about teaching. I actually think I am good at it. I've been in one school pretty consistently, so I know a lot of the kids and many of them call out to me or hug me in the halls. It feels good when even the naughty ones ask me when I'm going to be their teacher again.

And of course, I like the naughty ones most of all. One afternoon, I was walking down the hall while my class was in Library. A wee 1st grader comes out of the bathroom bobbing his head and quietly singing to himself. He is a cute little kid, but boy does he live in his own universe. As he gets closer, I can hear that he is singing "We're not gonna take it, no we ain't gonna take it." He stops, looks at me, "Hey Ms. D." Then, immediately back to his quiet rock. It was all I had not to cry with laughter. He looked so intent! The following day, in the teacher's lounge, an aide walks in and asks, "Did anyone else see some little blonde kid singing Twisted Sister?" And several chimed in, with reports of him singing it apparently all day. I love my job.

It is the Lord's Day

I was going through an old box of notes when I found a portion of a folder from Junior year of high school. Amid the song quotes was this one:

"In love there can be no fear, but fear is driven out by perfect love: because to fear is to expect punishment, and anyone who is afraid is still imperfect in love."

If there is any doubt that I was raised hard core Catholic, the fact that I was quoting John 4:17 between REM lyrics and heart doodles should clear that up.

Also good to know that 20 years later, I am still afraid.

It's the other way

A few years ago, I dated someone briefly between tragically normal Dan and Miguel. Much like the situation in the previous post, I wanted it to work more than I knew it would. I just dreaded having the conversation. I am so often on the other side of the fence, I sometimes think I'd rather drag something out until they break up with me. I don't do confrontation well. But, I bit the bullet after days of anxiety We made plans to have drinks and he came to pick me up.

Me: So, I don't think I want to do this.

J: Are you sure?

Me: Have I slept with you yet? Even though we've been out more than once.

J: No. I see your point. (pause) OK.

Me: Can we go get drunk now?

J: Sure, I'll drive. But you don't get the seat warmer turned on. We have to differentiate this somehow.

Me: Fair enough.

And it pretty much went the same with the boy from below. I belabored making the call for days. But, I did and 10 minutes later we were making plans to go see a movie next week. I know that there are some people who think I am just running away from commitment and happiness, but I really know I did the right thing. I don't think you can talk or rationalize yourself into something that isn't entirely there. Sometimes, a strong friendship can be all there is. He and I both deserve the whole awesome.

You want it to be one way

but it's the other.

I'm pretty sure that no one but Miguel (6 months silent)* would know why I quoted this, but this Wire line runs through my head all the time. I DO want it to be one way. I DON'T want it to be another. And it always is.

Because, right now, someone awesome wants to be with me. He knows me, knows the crazy, knows all. And yet, I don't feel it. I want to. I do. I talked to Orange tonight. He told me to try again. I told him that I'll probably fuck up and date an idiot again.

What's the trade? In a pie chart of relationship, sex rates about 80%. How do I fudge that?

*choice man, conscious choice

Already learning new things about myself

I once stated that I would probably break up with someone if he ever gave me roses.

I hate roses. I think they are cliche. And they smell like old people.

I just now discovered that I would definitely not even respond to someone who gave me a virtual rose.

Yes, I am a bitch who is going to die old and alone with my cats. The same cats that will have eaten half my face before someone finds me. But at least it won't smell like roses.

Inspiration

In August, I realized I needed to end my dating hiatus. I hate dating. That's why it is so much easier to just stay in love with those that came before.

Thus far:

A Passive Aggressive Hippie
A Socially Awkward Narcissist (with a questionable marital status*)

And these were IRL meetings and experiences. And so, I'm jumping down the rabbit hole. I'm attempting the online experiment. It can't be worse, can it? And it'll keep Mere off my back for not trying and it'll keep Randy and others in entertaining anecdotes. I totally don't see this going well. But, it'll probably increase my blog output.


*Um, yeah. This was a tipping point. And another story.

Dopplegangers are all fun and games

until you realize they represent an old friend that died of a heroin/meth/what the hell was PJ doing? overdose. damn, this guy tonight reminded me of Pete. Looks, music, and what little sense of personality I picked up on (of the newbie, not Pete).

Fuck you Pete! You made me cry through Shaun of the Dead. That movie is still haunted for me.

And, I'm so sorry PJ. I'm sorry that we didn't talk more. And that I believed your lies. And that I wasn't there.

Hold everyone close. And visit more. Directives I wish to follow.

It's the sound that brings it back

I know that smell is supposed to be the sense that is most associated with memory. And I agree it is up there. However, for me, music will always transport me to very specific places. Certain songs have an ability to bring me to the spot in the dream that you can never remember when you awake, confused and trying to get back to that moment. Last night, k-os's "Dirty Water" (ignore the homemade video) put me in Nieka's old apartment: smell of claypot chicken, November air, candles, blonde Philly's smile as he sings towards Randy. A moment of peace before things shattered for a while. The pieces have been picked up, rearranged and glued back together with a polymer that seems strong enough. But we all know I hate change, and sometimes I wish to see the original again. Music lets that happen.

I've also always been jealous of musicians because a musical ability allows you to emote when the words are missing. In the heyday of my depression, I wanted to be able to express without having to give words to those thoughts rolling around in my head. I wanted a visceral release. I still do. I'm doing ok, but I feel as if I am struggling for the words. Or more honestly, I am afraid to think too deeply to get the words. It's affecting me. Not writing, even just not writing thoughtful letters or emails, is weighing on me and causing me guilt. But, I'm Catholic, so everything causes me guilt. I just want to feel without analyzation and precision.

Anyway, these are the thoughts that have been bouncing around when I stumbled upon this Wired interview with Oliver Sacks. Thankfully, he has words when I do not. He describes in a way similar to my favorite Conrad quote about the commingling of emotions in the dream-like experience.

Excerpt:
"Sacks: Music doesn't represent any tangible, earthly reality. It represents things of the heart, feelings which are beyond description, beyond any experience one has had. The non-representational but indescribably vivid emotional quality is such as to make one think of an immaterial or spiritual world. I dislike both of those words, because for me, the so-called immaterial and spiritual is always vested in the fleshly — in "the holy and glorious flesh," as Dante said.

So if music is not directly representative of the world around us, then what's inspiring it? One has the feeling of the muse, and the muses are heavenly beings. This feeling is very, very strong with Cicoria, the surgeon in my book who was hit by a bolt of lightning. He felt that he was actually tuning in to the music of heaven — that he had God's phone number. I can't avoid that feeling myself when I listen to Mozart. I feel differently about Beethoven. I think of Beethoven as a sweating Prometheus, a terrestrial figure.

I intensely dislike any reference to supernaturalism, but I think there can be profound mystical feelings which do not have to call on fictitious agencies like angels and demons and deities. The whole natural world is bathed in wonder and beauty and mystery. The feeling of the holy, the sacred, the wonderful, the mystical, can be divorced from anything theological, and is conveyed very powerfully in music."

huh?

When looking for a movie to see tonight, I saw this listed:

Dance Party USA (Drama)

edited 9/19:

I find this funny b/c Dance Party USA was an extension of a popular dance show in Philadelphia, that I "appeared"* on in 1986 (in the mall) and in 1987 (on the beach). From Wikipedia:

"Dance Party USA is an American Bandstand style music and dance television program that aired on the USA Network from 1986 to 1992. The program was taped at WGBS's studios in Secane, Pennsylvania, a suburb of Philadelphia. Andy Gury was the show's host.

The series was based on a local program on WPHL-TV, Dancin' On Air, which was produced from 1981-1987 by Michael Nise and his father, Frank.

During 1986, the same studio set was used for both Dance Party USA and Dancin' On Air, and both shows were taped / broadcasted live on the same days. As a result, some dancers and guests appeared on both series which caused some confusion for the fans of the shows."

Other items associated with Dance Party USA and Dancin' On Air were Flip Magazine, and a radio show, Talkin' On Air.

More humorous, to me at least, is that girlfriends of mine decided to redo the idea of "bases" by using daytime television. Their argument was that the whole idea of scoring according to baseball was too male-centric. They came up with the daytime line up:

1st = "All My Children"
2nd = "One Life to Live"
3rd = "General Hospital"
homerun - "Dancing on Air"

in restrospect, dancing on air = dance party usa = drama, is probably fairly accurate.

Millions of champagnes

I totally recommend turning 35. Especially if you are friends with the peeps. My birthday week was spectacular. Tom Dugan rang in the new year with me from the east coast via telephone. I got to drink pink bubbly in a lingerie shop with many of my favorite girls as we discovered we had no idea how to buy a bra. I'm currently sporting matching underwear that could cover most of my rent. My beautiful new co-workers at the store, along with the fabulous T2 bought me the best hoodie ever! Luke & the exquisite Nursefusion gave me a wristband for the NW musicfest. Luke and I rocked out to amazing bands that you all must check out as soon as possible. Fist Fite (they threw tubes of glitter at the audience *swoon*), Pseudosix, and the unbelievable Bobby Conn. But wait, there's more! 14 hour champagne brunch! And some well deserved booty throughout the week. I am continually awed at the love and attention I receive. Thank you all so much! I don't know what I did to deserve it, but kick me if I start complaining.

You don't need to change your shirt, just change your mind

How to explain Tillamook? friends. love. glitter. us magazines. champagne. music.

none of it does it justice.

thanks to randy, mere, MARTIN*, nicole, and most especially ron & nisa for sharing.

turn the volume up and try to imagine listening to this under the stars.

*I apparently love screaming MARTIN when he's spinning. I tried a hundred times to go to bed, but he and Donna kept it kicking and I kept having to come back out and dance. Not complaining, mostly b/c I have no voice...

The whole song vs. the lyric

"Standing in the middle of nowhere,
Wondering how to begin.
Lost between tomorrow and yesterday,
Between now and then."

This was my senior year quote. Underneath the shining blonde smile, I was admitting to being terrified. The Kinks resonated with me and seemed appropriate on the journey into the unknown of grown up life. Those lyrics play in my head often. They still feel applicable. Ray Davies and I still seemed lost.

Except, tonight at the 1984 tribute concert, some fabulous band put it back into perspective for me. I wasn't remembering the whole song until now. And fuck ya, it still resonates:

"And now we're back where we started,
Here we go round again.
Day after day I get up and I say
I better do it again."

I've recently mentally recommitted to getting up day after day to do it again!

Perspective & Reality are tricky

So, the best thing heard tonight was a statement made by Miguel's best friend. She referred to me as the girl who broke her best friend's heart. Wow. Those two months of crying everyday and calling out of work repeatedly must have been my karmic revenge for wanting to marry someone and relocate to their city.

grrr.

Smartypantsless

When I first met T2 so many years ago, she very kindly told me, "I'm sure you are nice and funny, but I have more friends than I can handle and I'm stressed out and I just can't be friends with you."

I took it as a challenge.

For months, she had an email card waiting for her every morning. And I mailed a card about once a week. I sent gifts. It wasn't even because I desperately wanted to be her friend. I didn't know her that well. I had just never had someone end a friendship before there was one. And, I had a boring office job that left me with some time on my hands.

5.5 years ago, she picked me up from the airport when I arrived in Portland. I am so thankful that she broke her resolve. She kept me sane when I moved here. She keeps me sane now. She knows when to show up with wine and veg out or drag me out and talk. She watches Degrassi with me and goes dancing at 1am on a school night. She connects me with opportunities and jobs. She also provides a ton of free therapy.

A favorite moment: We're being harassed by churchies asking, "Why don't you want to go to church?" as we are walking down a street. T2, a churchie on a church staff, turns and says, "because we're drunken sluts." She then turns to me and says, "I hate pushy churchies." awesome.

I can't imagine Portland without her, but it is soon to be a reality. She's heading towards her heart in El Salvador, to share her light and talent with those that need her. I'm jealous and selfish and excited. It's gonna be so weird. I don't know what made me campaign for her friendship back then, but I will always be thankful I did.

My Portland Girls

I belong to a very special tribe known as the Philly Girls*. Antonella, Keely, JenJen, Dorothy and myself earned that moniker back in 1993. And these girls are my sisters. Even now, flung to different corners, with different lives, I know that I can call upon any of them at any hour, in any country. So many people don't have that EVER in their lives. Which is why I found myself so incredibly graced, when I realized, I have Portland girls!!! For the past 5 years, I have been grateful for my friendships out here. And I have met incredible, incredible people. However, a few nights ago at Ms. P's house, I realized I had Portland girls. These were girls I knew were my best friends out here, but it was the first time I realized it existed on the same level of Philly girls. Therese, Misty, Patty, JenJen and I were doing what we had done a million times before. We were gossiping, trading memories, drinking wine, perusing bad magazines and half paying attention to each other on a Thursday eve. But, there was just a moment when I realized what I had. What we had. It doesn't replace anything. But it made me smile and feel safe to know that I had a second set of sisters. The people that you costume with, dance with, forward hurtful emails to and laugh continuously. The girls that give you presents on your ex-boyfriend's birthday, read US magazine when you are talking about serious issues, bring you food when you have pneumonia, and wait in the emergency room with you. Oh, we also make sure there is wine in the ER. I am awed.

*I owe a much longer and detailed post to explain the absolute love I have for my Philly girls. A, I hope you still rock your Dad's girl gang.

I need space, preferably the space you are currently occupying

The Kid only comments when the titles reference his wit. 10 years ago, I had a boyfriend who called me at my office every day at 10 am. We unexpectedly broke up one weekend and I was much more hurt than I planned on being. I came into work on Monday and told the the Kid all about it. He sympathized as much as he could, which I believe meant he waited 5 minutes before mocking me. 2 hours go by and *bring* *bring* goes my extension. I glance at the clock, 10am. "What terrible coincidence", I think. No coincidence, it's Roller. This continues for the entire week. Finally, on Friday, the kid grabs me from my chair at the appointed hour. We are standing face to face. As the phone rings, he states, "I think I need space," pushes me and continues, "preferably the space you are currently occupying"

I bring this up b/c I'm still in a loop. People that should be gone, opted out, keep trying to occupy my space in some shape or form. If only to piss me off.

I need you Kid! To remind me that it is legitimately my space. And mine alone. They should go push other girls. We also have some movie watching to do!

Outpatients have more fun

A long time ago, I was giving a book of poetry entitled "eclipse of reason" by Bana Witt. I lost it to a boy who claimed he did not love me or poetry, but my many requests for its return did not result in success. It took my own trip across the country to City Lights in order to replace it. I don't reference it as much as I once did. But, this poem has been in my head lately.


Hard Work

It’s hard work going crazy
maintaining this level of anxiety
requires the stamina of a long distance runner
morning comes on like a Waring Blender
dicing-up the ugly parts you’d hoped were behind you
already breathless
you hit the ground backtracking on sandpaper

When you’re younger
you rip your shirt open in crowded places
and say, “look at my madness!”
but after years on the job
you start wearing baggy clothes
and you avoid doing public
because strangers haven’t heard your excuses

So it becomes a proud secret
like making large anonymous donations to science

When your beeper goes off
no one else can hear it
and you can’t shut it off
because the manual is in Japanese!

It’s hard work going crazy
and it’s kinda hard to handle
without a little outside help
but when you’ve handled it so long
you become reluctant to share

Still
I go to the Cafe Babar for pointers
that’s where the real pros hang out
they write poems like thorazine
or skip their lithium
and illustrate the finer points of method madness

You see
they’re all clever enough to still be on the loose
they all know
that outpatients have more fun

Sunday! Sunday! Sunday!

It’s summertime in Portland!
There are people everywhere. Outdoor coffee shops, the park blocks, the waterfront, and all open spaces are crawling with them. What better time to exploit that fact for fun altruism?

Come on out peeps and let’s have some fun for no money, while fending off rickets and working towards an excellent cause! Think sun, competition and let’s not forget wigs and costumes.

Where: High Noon at Pioneer Square on Sunday, July 22nd
What: Some competitive fundraising for the Art buy the Inch gallery fund
Why: We love art. We love shenanigans. But mostly, we love peep competition. Think of it as training for scavenger hunt. If you’ve never been to a scavenger hunt, think of it as your qualifying event.

Come on….it’ll be fun. When we hit the bar later that night to give out major awards*, you’ll feel like you accomplished something.

*I can not promise a leg lamp will be awarded, but there will be legit prizes.

Shameless promotion

For the two people that check in here, and for the one person who might actually check comments: drew's (from Everyone is NOT a complete disappointment) stickers are for sale here
check out the site, I'll be fundraising for the art by the inch gallery in the next few days.

Everyone is NOT a complete disappointment

This morning, in a hungover and post peep depressive state, I ran from my house in the morning to go get gas before going to my crappy temp job. At the station, midway through my fill-up and while salivating over my diet pepsi in hand, I realize I don't have my debit card*. or my id. they are snug as bugs in my jeans. at home. 4 blocks away. fuck. I tell the cashier to stop. And suddenly the man who has seen me at least once a week for the past 11 months decides I am sketchy. They don't take credit cards or checks. He wants his money. And all I can think is that I'm never getting that diet pepsi. Worse is that my temp job feels precarious, is needed and I can't be late. Add PMS, and you have a barely functioning wendyrella. I finally talk to the station manager, who lets me leave my checkbook to go home. This still sucks as an option because of work, but is better than nothing.
And then, I go to the cashier to tell him I got clearance. And he tells me it's ok, someone has paid for my gas.
I run out, full of tears, to thank a yound dad in his truck. He rolls down the window and says "it's totally cool, you look like you are having a bad morning and I'm happy to do it." I was so overwhelmed that it wasn't until 10 minutes later I realized I could have written him a check or gotten his name and address.
Wow! Thank the universe for the non-jaded!



*everyone knows I never have cash..

Making numbers rhyme

For every one person that receives my unconditional love and doesn't deserve it, there are four people who love me more than I can possible compete with.

I'm going to keep loving everyone with as much devotion as I can; because in the end, I win so much more than I lose.

Have you seen my sparkle?

It's gone missing. I've been looking high and low, but as a rejected sidekick, it isn't easy. If found, please email me at glitter.rinse.repeat@gmail.com.

It's Over!

On Saturday, I graduated with my Master of Arts in Teaching. I decided to skip commencement and celebrate my own way. So, instead of sitting on a basketball court, no doubt decorated with streamers, we went hiking.



Wildflowers, sun, good friends.

But wait, then we went wine tasting and headed off to sacrifice a virgin here.



Who doesn't love druids and mini stonehenge?

The best part, however, was the champagne bookends of the weekend. Thanks for the bubbly Smartypantsless and random gay bartender!

Now, all I need, is a job!

It's an Adventure

Through the window I hear the rain
It reminds me of you
The sounds of the drops
Caress me as sweetly as you

What are you doing for 4th of July?
Getting in a car and going to Atlanta?
It’s an adventure.
I’ll pick you up at the train.


On my pillow my eyes fill with tears
And I'm here feeling blue
Call me crazy but I can't stop thinking
Of how you could never be true

Can we drop these guys I met on the train off at the hostel first?
Enjoy Philadelphia, we’re off.
10pm and we’re headed to Georgia
Do you think we should nap at this rest stop?

Still miss you
even though you done me wrong
Still miss you
it's been much too long
I thought I could find another fella
But all I want to see is
your red umbrella

I thought it was only 12 hours away?
Um.
Oh well!

You walk by my door
You always would knock there before
But tonight you walk on
I guess our love isn't that strong

The sun is coming up, spreading tentatively across the highway.
My bare feet are on the dash, as I wipe sleep from my eyes.
Lush, humid air envelops the interior of the car.
The South in July.
I flip through stations. 17 hours on the road with only the radio.
And this song comes on. The song that sounds like wisteria covered porches, with mint juleps beside rocking chairs. Acoustic guitars and harmony accompanying cicadas.
The South in July.
Back when college radio meant something special.


I try to erase
All the days that I looked
at your face
With love in my eyes
Your leaving was such a surprise

And I look at you. My best friend, as we head on an adventure. I am so in the moment. But so in my head. Not knowing until this song that the phone call made to Smith before we left would be my last. But hearing the lyrics, it all became clear.

Still miss you
even though you done me wrong
Still miss you
it's been much too long
I thought I could find another fella
But all I want to see is
your red umbrella.

For the moment, it was just warm breeze, feet up, old friends acting impulsively. We lived our lives to the furthest extent. And the commingling of pleasure and sadness in memories would become familiar. But for then (and now), there are always adventures to be had.

Potty mouths

J - "Ms. Wendyrella, I don't feel so good. I ate something in the bathroom."

me - "you did what?"

J - "He told me there's a new candy machine in there."

me - while on hold with poison contol. "you really think if we had a secret candy
machine, we'd put it in the boy's bathroom by the kindergarten?"


***********************
J - "and then he wiped his butt with toilet paper and threw it at me."

where did I go so wrong?

Proof that I have taught them something

The other day, one of my lower level students wrote a sentence that was spelled out enough that I could read it. It was tremendously exciting to see this child progress from barely being able to write her name to writing out an intelligible sentence.

It said: I hat u (She even picked up on the fact that we point to each word as we read. She was very focused on it while staring at me)

The next day, she went a step further.

It said: I hat ms wenderlla (See, she knows that a sentence has a purpose. And cool, I wasn't sure she actually knew my name!)

Are we really harming our kids?

Today, in my first grade classroom, during a lesson on long vowel "A' and silent "E", a girl asked if we could spell "shame".

Me: "Why that word?"

J: "Because it is the name of a song."

Me: "Who sings it?"

J: "the Pussycat Dolls"

Me: Ugh, and you're one of the smart ones.

Later, a boy was singing 50 Cents' Candy Shop

WTF? I thought, Oh Fuck! This is what our kids listen to. How will they survive?

Then, I remembered the music I grew up with. Afternoon Delight? 50 Ways to Leave your Lover? The entire Queen catalogue. The70's?

I may be screwed up, but I don't think it was the Starland Vocal Band that did it. Hell, I really didn't know what it meant until I was in my 20's. I also didn't realize the Village People or Freddy Mercury were gay until college. And I'm not naive. I just think you are exposed to certain things as a child and if your situation allows you to keep innocence, then you can. Unfortunately....

A quiz

which is worse?

a. I'm playing online scrabble

b. with miguel

c. he's playing a lifetime game (all 7 tiles used 2x)

d. I care that I got trounced

e. did I mention the online scrabble with the ex-boyfriend?

Split thy skull

5 years before moving to Oregon, this is what we would do on Easter Eve. The morning of the first time, I was forced to call out drunk from Easter church with the boyfriend's parents. Did you know that barleywine can be about 12% alcohol? Imagine the festival. Split thy skull indeed! I soon had to start dating the boy I went to the event with, in order to not feel guilty. While I love Bloody Mary Easter brunch immensely, I loved Easter Eve for its professionalism. It was like taking back the night from all the other fake holidays: Fat Tuesday, St. Patrick's Day, Cinco de Mayo. Amateurs. Real Catholics get wasted on Holy Saturday!
Thank you Jesus!

(I'm a hypocrite because I can't wait to get up and drink mimosas with all the peeps, while singing all the tunes from "Jesus Christ Superstar". I need to end East vs. West rivalry and combine traditions...)

Why I had to break up with the film major

In college, and beyond, I dated a boy who had majored in Lit and Film. I was very film educated then. This means, I watched a lot of Peter Greenaway while smoking from a 4 foot bong and abusing prescription drugs. So wasted on me in several senses. At the time, my favorite film was "Buffy, the Vampire Slayer". I apparently like bad acting. When left to me own devices, I watch CSI in varying cities and NCIS. I like to chalk it up to only being able to watch shows online;* but secretly, I'm pissed that I don't have cable to watch reruns of these shows. (Then, I'd watch "Crossing Jordan" and "Criminal Minds" too)

In the past 2 weeks, I have left watching intelligent films, such as "Hotel Rwanda" and "Blood Diamond", in the middle. I care about Africa, I swear. Next to returning to Haiti, visiting is a dream. However, I just want my visual celluloid to be fluff.

God, what is wrong with me?

*I'm working on learning how to appropriately use a semi-colon. As an English major, you think it would have come up more. How'd I do?

Angry and vengeful gods

So, I had real pneumonia for two weeks. In addition to feeling akin to a soft rock radio station, with fevers such as 102.9 and 103.7, it sucked. On Saturday, I declared myself better and went from tussin to champagne. That worked out, I guess. But today, I arose to find my entire rear wheel missing from my car and a window broken. Welcome to my Spring Break 2007! Who the fuck did I piss off in some weird karmic retribution?

Spirit of the Irish

I absolutely detest the amateur drinking holiday that is about to descend tomorrow. Green beer is one thing, but green carnations? Ugh. I mean I’m all for drinking in the AM, but not with a bunch of idiots wearing shamrocks and yelling, “Top of the morning!”*

That’s not Irish. For me, and for others I’ve talked to, growing up Irish Catholic is about keeping up appearances and trying like hell to hide all of the dark, family secrets. Whiskey works well to keep stamping them down. Although, I’m fairly sure there wouldn’t be as many secrets if it weren’t for said whiskey. And I don’t even intend to start in on the guilt that is apparently manufactured in the placenta.

Some of my friends are lucky. Their families at least want to keep family history alive, even if it may be misremembered. Not my family. By time I came along, so many closets and hidey holes had been built precariously upon one another, it would all come crashing down if anyone were even to whisper. And so, I accepted life in silence. I know absolutely nothing about my heritage, about my family. I don’t even know how my parents met. Seems silly, right? Just ask. I used to think it would be that easy. But we don’t know how to talk to each other. For years I tried, and it just wore me down. So now, I just smile and ask about the weather. It infuriates me to know that I will never know what happened in my mother’s childhood to break her into so many pieces, but I’ve had to chalk it up to not getting to know the meaning of life either.

I’ve done a good job in the rest of my life about being open (some think to a fault) and inquisitive (another fault). But, if you could have heard the silence in my childhood house, your ears would still be ringing with the nothingness. I’m just trying to create a new Irish for myself.

*this of course does not refer to a certain group in Manayunk, Go Forth! (lest they kick my ass)

A Cry in the Dark

When left unattended, I send emails like this:

if you want to date me, turn to page 87.
if you think i'm quirky and fun, but not right now, page 93.
if platonic rules all, turn to page 103.
if you're just not looking for another friend, page 105.
if a dingo ate your baby, go to page 45.

It's bad when you know that even the husband would disapprove of such things and he recently told a girl he hoped bears ate her face.

The Year of the Cartwheel

Every year, the peeps and I try to come up with a motto for the year. I don't bother with resolutions, I know myself better. The motto, however, is more like an overarching theme which can be interpreted individually and fufilled likewise. Some past mottos are:

2003 - "Drama Free!"
2004 - "Get shit done!"
2005 - "Get awesome!"
2006 - "Fuck 2005!"

We spent the better part of the weekend tossing ideas around, and some peeps may adopt two or three other mottos. Because seriously, "Suck my Face!" works on a variety of levels. And I really have to agree with the girl at the new year's eve party declaring that it should be the year of the cartwheel, so I'm taking that too.

But the one I'm really embracing is:

2007 - "The answer is always YES!"

This motto is about being more spontaneous and adventurous. It's about engaging in the here and the now. It means I am striving to really be present. It is mostly based on being more positive and pro-active. Say yes to everything and worry about it later.
examples:
Q: "do you want to go see this band tonight?"
A: "YES!"

Q:"do you want some water?"
A:"YES!"

Q:"do you want to sleep on a mountainside, drink champagne, and then drive to Canada?"
A: "YES!"(this is a good example of saying yes first and then worrying about it...we didn't actually sleep on the mountain once we got there, and the driving to canada was postponed to a later date. the champagne, however, was delicious)

Happy New Year everybody! Want to go do some cartwheels?