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?

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!

The kwammunist

The boys get here in a few hours. I can't explain how good it feels to know that after almost 5 years out on the left, the crazy ass nyc kids still keep visiting. It says so much to me about friendship and connection and most importantly, family. Because the peeps are my family. Always have been, always will. I wouldn't be here or anywhere if I didn't have such an awe inspiring group to feel protected and loved by.

On the way to the treehouses a few weeks ago, I was telling Mary that I remember the first time I met almost all of my current friends. I remember a lot, but first meetings in detail, not always. Yet, I do remember the first time I met everyone I consider family. I didn't know we would be friends. Hell, some of them, I didn't even like. But something about our meeting lodged itself into my brain and stayed there. In some cases, I even remember the moment I knew we would always be friends.

The first time I met Kwame, I was 22 years old. And he made me cry. I had gone with other friends, long gone in my world now, to see Kwame's band. And Kwame looked like a long lost friend, even down to the Seahawks shirt. The only difference being Kwame played guitar and Mosley played bass. And the music was amazing and brought me back to a place I missed. And I cried. I'm sure he thought I was crazy (I know he still thinks I'm crazy) when Ezra introduced us and I still had tears in my eyes. And there it was. We started seeing each other around and gradually became more than acquaintances, not truly friends yet. But, I always felt connected to him. And he always made me laugh. When he called me on my 25th birthday, to try and coax me from my studies and celebrate, I knew. I knew we had passed into a new phase. It's been 12 years since we first met, and our friendship has been through many phases, incarnations of another band or two, but I know he will always be there if I really need him. Case in point, 6 hours after finding out that Miguel cheated on me, Kwame appeared on my doorstep. 3000 miles away. I can't even begin to know what those days would have looked like without Kwame there to support me.

next up: the husband.

Hurry Up Please It's Time

'My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
'Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.
'What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
'I never know what you are thinking. Think.'

I've had bits of "The Waste Land" rattling around in my head today. Not sure why. It feels like I am being admonished by my brain for not reading as much as I used to, for not reading enough poetry lately, for not thinking deeply enough. Or maybe it is a new form of procrastination? Perhaps I won't notice I haven't written my paper on Autism if I am rereading poems of my youth and researching references? Seems to be working. Still no paper written, but several critical analyses of The Journey of the Magi and Anne Sexton's "Hurry Up Please it's Time"read.

I used to think that the line, "Hurry Up Please It's Time", from Part II of "the Wasteland" was so haunting, as if the speaker were invoking death. I chanted it as a mantra throughout high school. It wasn't until college that I found out the reference refers to the closing call at British pubs. So much nicer than the calls here, which usually go something like, "finish your fucking drink and get the fuck out". Don't you think?

more inbox poetry

come over please
you just can't go around petting babies
i will never eat anything purple again, just to be safe, not even skittles
and by serial killer, i mean 5 cat having anal freak
so, the moral of the story is, never try.

Our rhymes are so bionic

can someone PLEASE tell this talentless hack that she will NEVER be these ladies?

JJ Fad - Supersonic

glitter. rinse. repeat.

treehouse - I'm from barcelona



Misty and Kevin got mawwied! Among the treehouses. It was undeniably one of the best weekends of my life. Watching a couple you love so much and know are so right for one another is amazing. And getting to be part of "bridesmaids" hula-hooping with full bottles of champagne under the stars is magical. My jaw and abs still hurt from laughing. I'll post pictures later.

borrowing

I'm stealing this from Charles. Go read him, he's much more eloquent. And he has a heart to match no other. It sums up how I felt at the time he wrote it.* And how I hope to feel always. Much love.

"And we're here and fucking vibrant as hell despite the shakes. the stunted wondering how the fuck it is that we've come this long and no one dares call it in anymore. not that we ever did (though i might have once or twice). nor that we ever will as our long teeth approach. as our hair grows thin and our pants fall short.

Because this is fucking friendship.

This is fucking kin.

Perfect miscreants stumbling in and out of the shadows screaming something about beer and tits. firestorms. love and controversy.

And i'm better than ever in the thick of it."

*I was going to post this before the treehouses, but didn't. Because I knew it would sum up this weekend perfectly as well. And probably many others. I am SO lucky.

Swiss Family Robinson style

I get to go here in two days.

I know I come off as super debbie downer alot on this blog, but my life is usually fantastic. and I appreciate all of you who contribute to that!

so, I'm not even going to lament the cancellation of halloween in quinault, my brother's dog's death, or my postponed haiti trip. Or I am, but I'm going to remark that life is give and take.

And then, I'm going to go reread "The Alchemist"

For every door closing, there is a treehouse waiting.

Let's go dancing in the light

The harvest moon is tomorrow (Friday, October 6th). I love full moons in general, but I am constantly in awe of the harvest moon. Since moving to Portland, I’ve been amazed at the views I’ve had of it. Two years ago, on Hawthorne, buying costumes for Halloween, I stopped along with everyone else on the street to look at the most beautiful, low, pink/orange moon. A rare time when strangers all share a moment of beauty.

I recently bought a woodcut moon tarot card from an artist friend. I bought it because I feel affinity to the moon, and because I really liked his interpretation. I don’t know much about tarot, but I liked this description of the moon card from wikipedia:

"Have you ever lost the familiar to find, in its place, a world so extraordinary you can't even grasp it? This is the experience of the Moon.

Most of the time we live in a tiny pocket of normality that we wrap around us like a security blanket. We turn our backs on the mysterious universe that waits outside. From time to time we may sneak a peak with our imagination, or venture out through fantasy or expanded awareness. We can be thrust out there unprepared through drugs, madness or intense experiences such as battle.

The Moon is the light of this realm - the world of shadow and night. Although this place is awesome, it does not have to be frightening. In the right circumstances, the Moon inspires and enchants. It holds out the promise that all you imagine can be yours. The Moon guides you to the unknown so you can allow the unusual into your life."

Go out and experience the extradordinary...

only 22 more days

I just found out that the husband and kwame are coming West to Halloween! 200 peeps in the lodge in the woods! I heart the holidays!

We are all connected by glitter

“Does anyone have any extra glitter? Mine’s up the hill, in my tent.”
“Of course, it’s always in my bag.”
And that’s how I met Orange. Who couldn’t have a crush on a boy who carries glitter at all times?
Our relationship may have been many things, but it was always sparkly.
I just received a belated birthday gift from him in the mail. Beautiful woodcut Asian cloud prints for my room. Accompanied by a mylar and glitter card, wishing me sunshine and love.

The beautiful thing about glitter is that it stays on, even when you cry.

My Ancient Chinese Secret

So Friday night, I was in my PJs. But around 10:30, I decided I was rammy*. I put on clothes and went to meet Seb. While we were listening to some amazing DJ, Seb went up to someone at the bar and said hello. I couldn't see the person he was talking to. He returned and asked if I knew the other person. "um, yeah. last time we saw each other/first time we met, we made out and then I ran away". I subsequently called Orange, told him I hated subtacular kissers and that I missed him. We got back together as a result. But, I digress. So, after I told Seb the story, I felt that I should go say hello to the other boy (Boy A). Except, I didn't know which one he was. I didn't remember. I narrowed it down to two, picked one, and danced on over. I asked his name, ready to explain. But, it wasn't him. It was someone else. Who now thought I was interested. I ended up bringing him home, because, ya know. The next morning, as we were reviewing the evening's events, he asked me if I had ever met Boy A, because "he's really cool". I didn't have the heart or courage to explain.

This is not the first time that mistaken identity has gotten me busy.

*rammy = rambunctious tied in with trouble making and shenanigan seeking, just in case you didn't know.

27 is the new black

My last 3 boyfriends have all been my age. A formula that clearly has some flaws, as evidenced by how those relationships turned out. And so, in an effort to mix it up, I've been hooking up with 27 year olds. An age that I feel pretty close to. Yet, I did some math which really frightened me at the "when I was 21, they were 14". Does that make me like Wooderson?

Today's topic

Bad poetry written by a 22 year old...

It's the air that brings it back
The smell of Halloween
I used to be crazy
Do you remember?
It was raining
And the road was full of leaves
And my anger hit
Like warm breath during the first cold snap

...written to commemorate my first serious suicide attempt, the October I was 19. But, I'm never sure if that was accurate. I had pathetically attempted that August, with OTC drugs. I ended up asleep on my bathroom floor til noon. And two weeks before the "serious", I tried to slit my wrists. I even knew the secret, but I was too much of a wimp to go deep enough. And I was drunk. Essentially, I ended up having to bring wrist bands back way before their time. Or scaring unsuspecting gas station attendants when my sleeves pulled up. No, this was the first time that included charcoal and hospitalization. The latter one gets more press, but this is the one I remember. And I feel a small twinge when the air starts to change, like it did last week. But, I am reminded how strong I am now, even in my moments of despair. This is the one that empowers me. It's good to acknowledge, and then move on.

one would think

when having sleeping issues, revolving around nightmares, perhaps watching Buffy is not a good idea. Especially, this episode, featuring this guy.
however, I think I have a shot at the 18 year old video store worker who was impressed by my Buffy knowledge.

Magic ipod

Miguel had me do this a few months ago. It's like magic 8ball, but with your mp3 player of choice. Put it on random, and ask the following questions. No cheating. I decided to do it for my CD club mix. here's mine. If you want a copy, let me know. Or if you do it, let me know your results.

How does the world see me?
Float On - Modest Mouse
"And we'll all float on ok"

Will I have a happy life?
Naïve Melody (cover) – The Arcade Fire*
“And you love me till my heart stops
Love me till I'm dead”

What do my friends really think of me?
Dear Prudence - The Beatles
“The sun is up. the sky is blue. it's beautiful. and so are you."

Do people secretly lust after me?
License to Confuse - Sebadoh
"i'm not attractive today. i'm not a sight for sore eyes."

How can I make myself happy?
Get Right – JLo (feat Fabolous)
“Can't a woman take advantage of what she wants?”

What should I do with my life?
Let Go – Bugs (feat Storm Large)
“consider the possibility of wasted opportunity…free yourself, let go”

What is some good advice for me?
Sacrifice – The Roots (feat Nelly Furtado)
“I tell you one lesson I learned
If you want to be something in life
You ain't gonna get it unless
You give a little bit of sacrifice
Ooohh, sometimes before you smile you got to cry”

How will I be remembered?
Hey Now Now – the cloud room
“or we find a new reason, a new way of living
and we breathe it in and try to dream again”

What is my signature dancing song?
Starry Eyed Surprise – paul oakenfold
“I can do anything
Freaky deaky, star speckles and pink butterflies”

What do I think my current theme song is?
Moon Over the Freeway – The Ditty Bops
“It's warm, my favorite song comes on
Let's roll the windows down and drive
It feels like summer is a comin' round the corner
Here she comes”

What does everyone else think my current theme song is?
Close Your Eyes – The Chemical Brothers (feat Magic Numbers)
“In your eyes I can see that you're cracking up.
In your eyes I can see that you fell in love
and it pains my head”

What song will they play at my funeral?
Angels – Jacques Gelee

What type of men/women do I like?
Detroit Has a Skyline – Superchunk
“I had a crush,nothing works out”

What is my day/night going to be like?
Water - Dinosaur Jr.
"What will you let it do to you?"

What one thing could I not live without?
Planet Earth – Duran Duran
“Only came outside to watch the nightfall with the rain”

* I included the original Talking Heads version in my CD, because it's the better version, but I was playing by the rules...

Reality

Remember it's not real

More Ghost Stories

7 years ago, I had my last severe break down. And I survived it. Mostly, I survived because 7 years ago today, another friend did not. He opted out. And we were all left behind, dealing with our demons. The night of the wake, we got drunk. Pop Pop cornered me, tears in his eyes, and yelled at me. He told me that we couldn't go through this again, that I wasn't allowed to cause this kind of pain. The week after the funeral, I took off across the country, trying to run away from my head. I ended up back in Philly, locked in own suicidal thoughts. But, I had to figure out how to live. Because, for the first time ever, I truly knew what it would do to others. And I decided that my misery was nothing compared to causing it to others who simply loved me.

I fought and I won.

I think about him alot, because I owe him my life. And I feel so sad that I could not return the favor. I hope he found the peace he needed.

Who ya gonna call?

About 12 years ago, I moved into an apartment that I was convinced was haunted. For the first few months I lived there, every couple of nights, I would wake up with the feeling that someone was in the room with me. They would sit on top of the covers and I’d be unable to move. It would last a few minutes, or a seeming eternity.
At first, I was terrified. But then, it felt soothing as this “ghost” sat on my bed and rubbed my back.
It eventually stopped and I moved, leaving the ghost behind.

Doing some research, it seems what I experienced is known as sleep paralysis. Looking back, it stopped when my addiction to sleeping pills started. About a year ago, I experienced it again. But, this time I knew the cause. I had taken too much 5htp and couldn’t get out of REM sleep. It wore off, my normal sleep patterns (lousy as they are) returned.

That is until this past August. Starting with a housesitting gig and continuing when I moved into my new house, I’m experiencing it all over again. Except this time, the “ghost” isn’t rubbing my back, but rather trying to steal my soul. I’ve had four really intense episodes, which left me wide awake for hours waiting for the dawn. I try to explain it rationally away when it happens, but it’s scary and nightmarish. I feel a bit like I’m cracking up, and not in the usual wendyrella way.

So, if I start asking if you are the gatekeeper, call Bill Murray please.

Beyond Beliefs

We didn’t have cable. Just crazy bad network TV. Which was ok with him because he only really watched PBS and Discovery anyway. One night I let him in on my secret interest. I kept apologizing, he told me he liked it. A few days later, I was in the kitchen when I heard him say to my roommate, “Watch this.”

Him:“Hey sweetie, can you come in here?”
I walked in to see a woman talking on the television. There was no name under her.
Him: “Honey, who is that?”
Me: “Elaine Pagels. I love her.”
Him to my roommate: “I told you she would know. isn’t that cute? She has a favorite biblical historian that she can recognize on sight.”

I miss him. More than I thought I would. More than I should. But I was most real with him, more real than I’ve been with anyone in a while. And he was more influential than anyone probably knows, or that I would have guessed when we first got together. he’s why I’m in educational boot camp now, doing it with both feet in it. I’ve said it before, but being a grown-up is hard. It’s all about timing and maturity. And finding someone that you can let in on your dirty little secrets.

It's so fun. why stop?

When I was the tender age of 22, I moved in with an old friend whom I hadn't spent much time with in the years leading up to this point. The first night that we lived together was a circus of hilarious events including many strangers (to both she and me) arriving at the apartment at various hours of the night after much debauchery. I then had to leave the shambles and the people behind and be at work at 8am the next day. I called her to apologize for arriving into her life like a hurricane and promised, "it won't always be like this."

this past weekend, after turning 34, I called her and said, "I finally realize it will always be like this."

Thanks to all who celebrated with me in reality and spirit this weekend. It was a great reminder that I will never grow up, I really don't want to, and that I still believe my friends have more fun in a day than most people do in a lifetime.

Soap box derbys and millions of champagnes. What could be better?

kettle black

I hate when people don't update their blogs. what are they doing? do they have lives?

I am still internetless at home, so all of my midnight smary wit or pathetic whining has no place to go. And I have been camping, and have a visitor in town, and started educational boot camp again this week.

but, hopefully soon, I'll expel some of the trapped in my head stuff that's been going on. I know you can't wait!

for now, I leave you the tidbit of my "car accident" the other day. Once again, I got rear ended at a red light. If you've ever driven in Oregon, you'd know that this is actually quite lucky and by all accounts I should have been crumpled many times over by drivers "who flaked it", or were busy looking at butterflies while turning, or stopping dead to let someone cross the highway. Yes, everyone driving IS high. Anyway, no damage to the exterior of the car. But, I was just taking a sip of a brand new diet pepsi. This is what happened to the interior.

Hey kids! Are you ready to be disappointed?

I've been a mini-vacation fool lately. After Napa, T2 and I headed to Astoria to look for Goonies. We didn't find a treasure, but we got to do some wonderful people watching. And I got a bartender to agree to spearhead my campaign for skeeball *in bars.

The more exciting part was our trip the next day out to Cape Disappointment. We got to see lots of creepy old structures being overrun by nature. And the views from the top were amazing. It was a wonderful getaway.

Looking forward to the next few weeks with Dorothy. Skamania and Tillamook await. I heart summer! Hope you all are having fun!

*unrelated, but my new basement would easily fit a classic skeeball machine. just sayin'

Disneyworld of Wine

The fabulous Nursefusion and I just got back from a free weekend in the lovely Napa Valley. As guests of her office, the trip was a bit more structured and corporate than either of us truly are. It's interesting to experience how the upper middle class defines luxury. I'm always amazed by other people's aesthetic. We're hoping to plan a trip back that involves more bikes, smaller vineyards and authentic experiences. But, even with all of the fat old men golfers in Hawaiian shirts, I had a terrific time.

And I'm lucky we got there at all, what with both of us being singled out at two airports. We were puffed, searched, swabbed and checked luggage inspected. Hope they enjoyed the dirty underwear...

I feel safe!

Text Message Inbox Poetry

I will put pants on then
Only take cash for babies
I will eat the shit out of those fries
I am sparklebiscuit
So much beauty in this world…
Deez nutz!
))<>(( forever
synchronicity is consuming me
I love you!

no real internet

sorry kids-

i'm currently housesitting without the internet. i love you eric and always welcome your shenanigans! i'm just uninspired to post from coffee shops. plus, i've been soaking up some sun! that said, i'll try and put something up soon...

No one cares but me

or serendipity.

for about the past two years, I have had this dancehall song stuck in my head. I don't know where it came from*, but I hear it from time to time in my head and in places where I can't ask about it. I once tried singing it to Orange, but it didn't come out right. Tonight at a house dinner with friends, it appeared as a small sample on a track in the background. I dropped my fork, and asked for the CD case immediately.

I now have a name and a direction, but have had no immediate gratification online as of yet. meaning...it exists, but not in a $.99 cent way, downloadable way. that's ok. i'll figure it out. but, you know, if any of you have "bam bam" by sister nancy lying around, help a girl out.

*given that this song is from the 80s, and i was indoctrinated to serious dancehall in 92, it could have been on a long ago misplaced tape from my jamaican co-worker. he is also responsible for my love of the track, "kill the bitch".

confusion

hey y'all -

looks like someone is not only stealing my id, but also that of nursefusion. so, some of the recent comments from either she or i aren't really from she or i. and now, i'm confused because i am not so sure i know the identity thief anymore. which means it went from being funny to just feeling icky. maybe i'm just tired. so, if I do know the man behind the curtain, please send me an email and let me know. if not, i'm not really sure what to do.

Old School

Wow. I pulled my first academic all nighter yesterday/today. In the past, if I wasn't prepared, I just skipped class. That would explain 14 years of undergrad. I've never understood the designer roommates and friends that stayed up all night, half of the time in kinkos, and then went to all day classes and crits. But, I pulled it off somehow. Shower at 5:30am. 45 minute nap. 8 hours of class. Then drinks on an empty stomach. And I feel like I've completed some missing rite of passage. Sorry to anyone who had to deal with me after the drinks...you are the best roomies!

Oh, What are you thinking of?

hmmm...
So, I've been busy with school lately and neglectful in my posting. Thankfully, one enterprising reader has posted in the comments section as me. Sweet. I may just turn over the password for a while and let him blog for me. He hit it right on the nose about thinking and feeling (minus the elbow ability), though I doubt I would have made the Divinyls* reference.

also, since my post about anonymous commentors, the anonymous comment spam has been ridiculous. Does spamming actually work? I may have to turn on the verify function, but that seems like a pain in the ass.

I'll try and come up with something to tell you in the next few days or so. Perhaps my SWF commentor will fill in during the interim.

*btw, did you know the original bassist from the Divinyls was from Air Supply? I find that fascinating and disturbing.

It really is a bad neighborhood in here

I am operating on very little sleep today. busy bee at school made worse by a motivational lack earlier in the week. anyway, just to remind you all how really fucked up my brain is, i'll share my thoughts from a few minutes ago.

me to myself: ah, warm fuzzy, people read my blog.

me: hmmm...is this most current anonymous posting from A or T? (yes, I could have done T&A, but give me some credit)

me: funny, how everyone chooses to remain anonymous.

me: fuck. what if other people think i sit and write comments to myself so that i don't look pathetic and sad with no friends?

love,
tyler durden

Do as I say...

Yesterday, Misty and I were discussing the validity of asking advice from those that seem so much worse off than you. As I have said before, my life is serving as a warning to others, but sometimes I do make good rally speeches. I sent this to someone a few days ago, and actually amended its tone for someone else today, so I decided to share. Mostly because I was over being Debbie Downer. Make it applicable to you.

So what if your MFA is indulgent? It strikes me that you are not indulgent enough. Spoil yourself. Allow yourself to do something that causes you to leap out of bed on Monday, frantic and excited. Invest in your soul and
your intellect (which in turn will invest in your other relationships). If you had told me a year ago that I would be in school full time and not working, I would have told you there was no way to make it happen. But being with orange really helped me see that it's ok to leap. And while you may think I am taking a practical direction, it doesn't feel that way. And I’m ok with that. I think doing something you want to do, whatever it is, will help position you for something better. You know how when you are really happy in a relationship, other people start hitting on you? It’s b/c you are putting out this amazing energy. I feel the same things will happen if you enter a scholastic environment you really love. You’ll attract
other opportunities. Will you finish and be a full time novelist? Maybe not, but you will position yourself for the next thing. And you'll have awakened a spirit that is suffocating thoroughly.

This is it. It sounds cliché, but we only get to do this once. Everything is fixable except death. We can DO anything if we allow ourselves. As someone commented on my recent post, "btw its pretty damn easy to forget that this experience is yours, you are the only one having it, and the only thing you can control is you and your experience."

Now, if I could just listen to my external voice, instead of the one that fucks me up all the time.

Paddling the school canoe...ooh, you better believe that's a paddling.

The kid emailed me and asked what happened to my entertaining misadventures. I don’t have as many without him, the kid could make the DMV impound lot fun. I think he’ll like this one.

I used to work in a weird industrial park. During walks at lunch, my co-worker and I would play “guess how many hypodermic needles we’ll find”. I usually took the over and won. One day, I was walking our normal loop alone. On what is normally a raceway, a man pulled along side me on a bicycle. It’s summer, and he is in layers. I wouldn’t say he was homeless, but if we were playing “your boyfriend!”, he would have been a good assignation.

MB (my boyfriend): “Do you need a ride?”

Me: “um, I’m ok. I’m walking.” And you are on a bike.

MB: “Because I think you are really pretty. I have a car I can go get. It’s just down the road.”

He points to the river.

Me: “really, it’s ok.”

MB: “Do you want to be my girlfriend? You’re probably married. Are you married? Do you have any friends that might want to date me?”

Me, back at my office on email: Dear Miguel, who says I don’t have options?

But wait, there’s more. Fast forward seven months to a ding dong. Our office required visitors to be buzzed in. The doorbell rang about every 2 minutes. Let’s just say, that no one was usually looking through the peephole.

Disclosure: I was the one who was supposed to be doing the peeping and I couldn’t be bothered.

MB: “Hi. Remember me? Are you still married? Can I use your bathroom?”

Me: “um, sure?” fuck.

Me to the office floor: “So, some guy who wants to date me is probably taking a bath in the men’s room right now. Anyone with snarky comments is going to feel some philly girl wrath. Oh, and can someone call security?”

Me, later on email: Dear Orange, who says I don’t have options?


(Kid, I miss you! Clerks II and Snakes on a Plane won't be the same without you. Maybe I'll invite MB.)

I read the DSM so you don't have to

I'm really trying to focus on perspective change, to remember that this is my experience. To listen to advice that I give others, which includes the cliched "this is our only chance, take advantage of it, be indulgent". I come in and out of it. I keep rallying back to the positive with a much quicker turn around time than I used to. But, it makes me feel as if I come across as bipolar II* (hypo-mania and depression) or insincere. And I know I need to stop caring. But when I continually act as one minute lar, next minute lar, it's no wonder I find it hard to sustain romantic relationships. In the past three days, I have sent Orange (the boy who is not Miguel) three very different text messages. All of them meant in sincerity at the time, but the sum total makes me look as if I am rapid cycling.

But, I just want you to know,gentle readers, that it is truly a function of me trying to readjust my view. With a healthy dose of hormones thrown in for good measure.

*I like to say that this knowledge comes from my psychopathology class last year. I like to say it, but...

Will the DSM V cover Sunday Dread?

Sundays belong to you or maybe they just belong to boys. Is it leftover from school? They are nights mixed with dread and anxiety and the desire to stay up late to prolong the inevitable. You are always leaving on Sunday or you were, until you left for good. But the Sundays you stayed, we retreated to the horizontal world, with wine and network dramas. I felt domestic, comfortable, together. Now, I am alone again. I feel insecure on Sundays. I feel insecure always. But you made me feel wanted & beautiful, if only for a second before my brain cast the compliment out.

not even SMRT

"Both of them suffer from the same problem. They stand poised, ready to come through for me, but never quite doing so. But I guess the problem is really mine, because I keep watching their stance, hoping."

- me, a few days ago.

damn. I have had so much therapy and yet, I'm constantly slow on the uptake. it's so obvious it pains me to admit. I stand poised. ready to come through for me, but never quite doing so. why should any one else?

seriously, how did this just occur to me?

I'm sorry that I haven't offered anything interesting or smart recently (or at all). I'm annoying myself.

Go read Fark or BoingBoing...

Just a memory without anywhere to stay

I first saw Neil Young’s Rust Never Sleeps when I was 8 or 9. My brother, who is 9 years older, had a habit of missing curfew and subsequently found himself locked out of the house on an almost daily basis. My parents’ plan for enforcing curfew was that we kids were only given a top lock key. Miss curfew and the bottom lock was engaged. Never a problem for my drunken brother, he just threw rocks at my window until I came downstairs and let him in. If anyone wonders why I am nocturnal, it’s because from 8 – 11 years old, I was accustomed to getting up at 2am and hanging out with my brother, usually watching concert videos. I would cuddle up beside my brother, breathing in beer and absorbing his attention. I learned to expound on why Neil Peart was the best drummer, how Asia wasn’t given the recognition they deserved and at what point the girl threw her bra onstage during Neil Young’s Cinnamon Girl. I regard these moments as the best part of childhood. I used to describe my parents as very nice people who let me live in their house. My brother was family. And for a few hours, late at night, I was allowed to be part of his world. He gave me advice and listened to me talk, without ever making me feel less than his equal, his peer.
On a visit to my brother a few years ago, we watched Rust Never Sleeps together. It was about 20 years later and I had stopped regarding my brother as a god. I think we had even had our first fight by now. But we curled on the couch, both of us with beers this time and I still remembered when the bra would fly onstage.
I just returned from seeing Neil Young’s Heart of Gold. It made me miss my brother. Yet it felt like home, hanging out in the dark with 40 strangers drinking beers, reminiscing with Neil.

dark on a sunny day

After my first post, I was asked why I refer to my attempts as just straight up suicides. I haven't answered the question yet. It's something I wonder if I can give words to exactly. I guess I just never liked the word "attempt". Suicide failure, maybe? Failures that I am grateful for now, but failures from the goal at the time, nonetheless. But honestly, always in my head just referred to as suicides. I could offer up that each one brought a death of some part of me. Even if that death was eventually of the suicide spirit. Each change or transition in life is always a small death. The truth is that I don't necessarily know why I consider them suicides. But apparently, I am in good company. Nursefusion sent this amazing link to me today which had this tidbit of an Anne Sexton interview. For the record, I've always admired Sexton as an artist way more than Plath. And that's probably not Plath's fault, but the way her death was romanticized at some point always felt detracting to my own inner turmoil. I resented her for making me feel like a silly, sad girl writer. Essentially, for exposing me.

"Often, very often. Sylvia and I would talk at length about our first suicide, in detail and in depth—between the free potato chips. Suicide is, after all, the opposite of the poem. Sylvia and I often talked opposites. We talked death with burned-up intensity, both of us drawn to it like moths to an electric lightbulb, sucking on it. She told the story of her first suicide in sweet and loving detail, and her description in The Bell Jar is just that same story. It is a wonder we didn’t depress George [Starbuck] with our egocentricity; instead, I think, we three were stimulated by it—even George—as if death made each of us a little more real at the moment."

Try not to suck any dick on the way to the parking lot

Miguel asked me yesterday if I thought it was possible to still define someone in our age range as a slut. Having slept with him on Sunday and with someone else on Monday, it hit a bit close to home. He decided that it probably boiled down to intention. I debated that it depended on how the person defined it for himself. In either definition, I’m feeling like a slut.

I shouldn’t have slept with Miguel. We had a perfectly awkward rated G date on Friday that left me feeling as if we had never met before, much less been in love. When I woke up on Saturday and realized someone was in my bed, I felt disappointed that he wasn’t someone else. It was unbelievably depressing. So clearly, I let him spend the night on Saturday and slept with him. Why? A myriad of answers, none of them make any sense, except of course the one I gave to the other boy when he asked the question. “Might as well get off”.

I shouldn’t have slept with the other boy, but that’s entirely less complicated. I do stupid things. I am constantly throwing the drama dice and pretending that my emotional life is dictated by fate rather than by me. I always choose the immediate over the prudent. I like this boy who was only supposed to help me heal from Miguel. I like this boy because I want to win. I slept with him because I wanted to and it was important that he wanted to. And yet, I’ve now lost this boy. Because he shouldn’t have slept with me. Because even if I ever did win, I wouldn’t trust him. Because ultimately “might as well get off” applies to this scenario as well. For both of us.

So now, I’ve lost them both and am truly alone. For a year and a half, I’ve been falling back on Miguel emotionally, if only to express disappointment and anger. For eight months, I’ve felt a strange sense of comfort in the other one, even if it was false. Both of them suffer from the same problem. They stand poised, ready to come through for me, but never quite doing so. But I guess the problem is really mine, because I keep watching their stance, hoping.

Giving the people what they want

I was told last night that I still tell stories better in person and oh, there needs to be more sex in my posts. yeah well, at times, there needs to be more sex in my life. But since I'm currently having a "when it rains, it pours, but I still sleep alone" weekend, I should be able to comply. Once I figure out how to really convey my conversational humourist pathos into print.

Also, if any other ex-boyfriends want to get in on the action, show up on my doorstep now, before I write my piece. It'll save me time in the long run and I can go back to studying for school.