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?

Can atheists have guardian angels?

I have an Uzbek Guardian Angel. It’s super bizarre. On New Year’s Eve 2003/2004, I hooked up with a cute boy from Uzbekistan, who looked like our friend Chase. Some may argue I made out with him because I had a secret crush on Chase. I argue Maker’s Mark. Anyway, I was in NY for the weekend, we hung out, I came back to Portland. The UGA and I chatted on email for a few months and then trailed off. I mean, seriously, even I can’t get too entangled in a 48 hour “relationship”. Then, the summer of 2005 hit and Miguel broke my heart. The story of Kwame arriving on my doorstep that fateful summer can be read here. But, in addition to that, the UGA sent me an email out of the blue. A year and a half since we last wrote. We replied back and forth everyday until I was finally able to come out of my black space and recover some sparkle. Then *poof*! He stopped emailing. This past Spring, when Orange and I ended, the UGA appeared in my inbox again. We chatted for a few weeks, made plans to see each other in NY, I wasn’t able to and we just fell out of touch again.

I’ve been in a bad head space lately. No one particular reason. Just struggling a bit. And a week or two ago, I get this in my inbox:

Happy upcoming holidays!
Where in the world are you nowadays?
Cheers,
Uzbek Guardian Angel

Hey UGA! You always show up at the right time! Do you really exist? Or are you another figment of my fractured reality? I’m still in Portland. Finishing school and super broke. Sorry I missed you last time I was in NYC, but you know how it goes. What’s up with you?
Sparkles,
Wendyrella

Dear Sir, Madam, or Machine, I am on vacation in St. Kitts until the 29th of December.
UGA

I now see your evil plan...you only emailed me so that I would get your automated "gone to the islands, sucka!" message. nice. thanks.
W

Man, I e-mailed you weeks ago, when I would've commiserated with uneventful sucky life! Now I decided to take matters in my own hands.
Anyway, I'll have a more full response when I get back. Enjoy portland, sucka :)
UGA

I didn't say he said nice things to me...

The most wonderful time of the year

Much love and sparkles to my party co-hosts!

Silver and Gold 2006

This party means so much to me. It's a tie to an old life in Philadelphia, in which I was part of the princesses three, and we threw a grand event to celebrate ourselves and our friends. But truly, it was just an excuse to wear a tiara and feel slightly more legitimate. We weren't debutantes, but we threw a hell of a party. In year two, the phrase, "Give me back my tiara bitch!" was sincerely uttered. And by JenJen, no less. Needless to say, it has been repeated often.

When I moved out left, I abandoned many parts of myself. Some good, some bad. Leaving behind the princess party was something I regretted. Thankfully, an amazing little princess himself, who had once orchestrated a similar party, thought we should team up. And glamour was born.

Portland is so cool in many ways, but dressing up and being fancy isn't really on top of the priority list. Which most days is fine. But sometimes, just once a year, it's nice to pull the glitter and glam from the closet and come decked out! No costumes, no themes. Just champagne, Toys for Tots and amazing love in friendship.

The past two years have been evolving. Our traditions are being tested. But this one stood up tall. And rained down some amazing sparkle!

Until death do us part

I doubt most married couples laugh as much or as hard as the faux husband and I do whenever we are together.

(please note our unintentional color coordination, which I didn't realize until I saw this picture)

Ruiner

5’6”

Wendyrella in boots.

That’s what we marked on the kitchen column, while drinking champagne, and waiting for turkey.
My boots immortalized, along with me, until a coat of white paint.
Later, alone, and down to the end, we couldn’t get them off fast enough. You ripped the zipper apart and threw the boot to the side.
“That can never be fixed”, I thought for a millisecond, “but I have others”.
We broke those two months later.

I just bought new ones. Images of you/me/us were in my head while I tried them on. I blushed. This is the first time I can recall being sad that a new purchase will not be destroyed.

The Cheat is grounded!

I have a terrible habit of eradicating electronic communications from people I date, so as not to obsess later. It's the slight argument for letter writing, they feel more special and less easily destroyed. But emails and texts quickly go to DELETED! (didn't even intend to make a strongbad reference there, in this homestar based post, huh)

anyway, The Cheat has been in my head lately for lots of sentimental reasons. I was promised my very own one. However, I lost proof of that. But, I thought it might be nice to have these handy.

go forth and enjoy his work!

here.

and most importantly, here

Prison of the Rhythm

http://beta.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif
I first heard the Golden Palominos when I was working at Urban Outfitters in 1993. " This is How it Feels" was one of the few albums that constantly played that I didn't tire of immediately. The album is a conceptual interpretation of Graham Greene's novel, "The End of the Affair". A novel that reminds me of train stations, uncontrollable bleeding, and taking a chance on a boy. But that is a different memory. Instead, in 1993, this album helped me through so much, with thoughtful and compelling lyrics and vocals. It was at a time when music still spoke to the depths of my soul, and I thought it could save me.

A few nights ago, I posted lyrics from that album. There are days when I feel as if I am the only one who remembers them. But, in all things serendipitous, the Nursefusion was just advised to read Graham Greene. Which made me feel as if timing, life, the universe, the fluidness of reality was asking me to think more on this novel and this album.

Anton Fier and Bill Laswell did an amazing job with this project. Read the book, buy the album. Track five, "To a Stranger", actually uses the last sentences from chapters as starting off points in lyrics. It was one of the last times that an album just managed to blow me away, time after time.

In the height of being suicidal when I had already promised that I wouldn't do it again, these lines ran through my head almost daily:

a promise is a promise
until the time you break it
nothing is forever
when you can forsake it

The complete lyrics:

prison of the rhythm
used to be a habit
now it is the measure
sex the only pleasure

think you are an angel
put me through the whole hell
speed it up to love time
over like a sex-crime

dizzy from the fucking search I seek the love of God

I knew it when you told me
you meant it when you said it
I never could believe it
I really should forget it

a promise is a promise
until the time you break it
nothing is forever
when you can forsake it

dizzy from the fucking search I seek the love of God

it's just a reflex
just the soul text
sleeping and awaking
taking and taking
it's a hunger only skin-deep
another one I can't keep
I dream you are the lost part
blame it on a soft heart

I thought I could trust you
but I don't even want to
what's it even good for?
always out the back door

empty as a tin can
angry as a jealous man
working with the same plan
doing it all again

dizzy from the place I spend all day and night
trying to tell myself that I can get it right
turning the world into the middle of my bed
turning the world into the hold inside my

really just a reflex
really just the soul text
sleeping and awaking
taking and taking

dizzy from the fucking search I seek the love of God

synchronicity? serendipity? reality?

Today, I was reminded of Leni Riefenstahl for no apparently good reason. It's been about 10 years since I last saw a clip of one of her movies. And, I don't really know that I've thought of her since her death 3 years ago.

But this morning, she popped into my head.

Then, while researching movie times for my night out with Steve Sweet, I saw this . It offers no explanation, no synopsis. Is it about Leni Riefenstahl? Searches have left me cold. Is it a figment of my imagination?

I had a similar experience last year, when Wittgenstein and Spinoza kept turning up in the weirdest places, days after I had referenced them in my journal or in conversation.

I thought I was really clever when, on a terrible hallucinogenic trip, I was convinced I had invented Donnie Darkio and Mulholland Drive to explain my death dream sequence. But hell, if I invented Wittgenstein, Spinoza and Riefenstahl...I'm brilliant.

Here it is 3AM and I'm still wide awake

Here it is morning again
life unstoppable
I'd open my eyes if it were still possible
Just tell me why
tell me why
tell me why

There were days
when I thought we could
Don't know why
that was when no one does
There were days
when I did not dream
We could hurt this way but two can play
Twist the knife
twist the knife

Over and over and over and over
And over and over

It was in your voice
It was in your eyes
It was in your body
It was in the room
I could always feel it
It wrote my dreams
It stole my peace
It robbed my sleep

Here it is 3AM and I'm still wide awake
I think in circles and circles are hard to break
Just tell me why tell me why tell me why

Trust contains the seed of betrayal
But also of something higher beyond the fire
You're not the exception
it's the rule
You know any fool can just give it away
Can just give it away
twist the knife

Over and over and over and over
And over and over

It was in your voice
It was in your eyes
It was in your body
It was in the room
I could always feel it
It wrote my dreams
It stole my peace
It robbed my sleep

Some things are fragile and some irresistable
Some things are easy and some irreplaceable
Just tell me why
tell me why
tell me why

There were days when time could have stopped
When it was enough to be in your love
There were days
but those days are gone
Those days are gone
twist the knife

Over and over and over and over
And over and over

-all hail the Golden Palominos

Me and the boys

It may seem unnecessary to say that these photos are from Halloween, but you never can tell with peeps. *sigh* I still have the PPD (post peep depression - a symptom which occurs after any extended peep-centric event)

Me and Missy

I can't stand the rain. Yes, I understand that I live in the PNW, but the rain here is usually more of a constant drizzle, a misting, if you will. I don't even own an umbrella, I just throw on a hat. But it's been like Old Testament rain for the past few days. My basement is flooded and the service chimney in my room has become the soothing water treatment I've always wanted, for my back yard! I feel like I'm living in Alaska, as it's been dark since last Wednesday. And it doesn't show signs of stopping anytime soon.

My seasonal affected disorder shouldn't be kicking in for at least another 2 months. I have a feeling it will be a long winter.

I am trying to break your heart

and you apparently aren't taking the hint.

Over at Will's, he has a post "You had me at shut up and bite down", in which he asks readers to recount moments when they knew someone wasn't "the one". Reading through the comments made me sad, mostly because of the terrible things people we love are capable of doing. I considered commenting, because I'm obviously in the not having found "the one" category. But then I realized my problem is quite different. For me, people have done things that very clearly let me know that I was(am) wasting my time, but yet, I still tried(try) to figure out how to make it work.

examples:
1. I'm going to move back in with my ex-girlfriend, but I can still imagine marrying
you.

2. I'm going to move to LA, but I see us together in about 10 years. (I believe the
"after I try and fuck movie star wannabees and models" was implied)

3. If you move back from Portland I can't promise that anything will be any
different, but at this very moment I want you here.

4. I know I have an extremely small dick, but I'm still going to break up with you
first.

You all get the point. I'm realizing I'm pretty screwed.

Guess what?

I can hula hoop in my room. I discovered this last week when I was up til 5am on a Wednesday due to the normal nocturnal behavior, anxiety and general sleep disorder.

The boys were here, and it was awesome.

Non-Quinault Halloween was still pretty kick ass!

I have a heater in my room for the first time since moving to Oregon. Not sure if that makes me happy or sad, because it eliminates the need for a winter boyfriend.

I only have 5 more weeks of classes. Ever. Until my next degree. Next term, I teach the whole time. I graduate May 5th.

The peeps get more wonderful everytime I get an email. A peep storycorps project of sorts has been going on and for the past few days my inbox has been flooded with wonderful memories of peeps and the mystical spyann. Thanks T2 for arranging!