Almost Worth the Price of Admission

WALL-E

2009-06-22T12:47:00.001-05:00

it might be my purpose in life to perpetually stumble about this world, naive and amazed, dazed and confused, gravely injured and still trying to greet everyone i meet with a smile and an open hand...

there are worse things.

there we went.

2009-06-21T01:34:00.002-05:00

perhaps because i went full blown crazy all up in his face, or perhaps because the distance would always be a problem, or perhaps because its just how things were supposed to go, my new obsession has found someone else he would rather be intimate with.

i'm a little upset.

he would like us to be friends (don't we all always say that? do some of us mean it? do i?) but i'm not sure i can be a friend when i desperately want to see him naked; when i still want to explore his flesh; when the thought of him bestowing himself on another still hurts, and leaves me feeling alone, and jealous. that doesn't sound like a healthy friendship to me.

and while joseph was just a dead situation, this one really feels like my fault. like, i really might have succeeded in driving him off. maybe i needed to prove i could do it. maybe i'm over-estimating my agency in the whole thing. but i'll tell you what. either way, it does not, make me feel, like a super functional, together, with it person. in fact, it sort of makes me feel like the opposite. it makes me feel like i fucked up, and i'm fucked up, and a fuck up, and i'm really tired and whacked out right now, and its not a good time to judge these things. but i just, feel, fucked.

and it's stupid for me to even be looking for happiness at the hands of another. what i should be looking at, is my own inability to believe that i am deserving of love, and kindness, and acceptance, and any of those things that are my god-given fucking right! that all of us, no matter how fucked up, deserve. i cannot accept them. i will not take them. its like i don't have the neurons that deal with the uptake of love chemicals.

i feel damaged.

and this was probably all just an attempted rebound after the dismal wreck that was my final experience with joseph. i was feeling desperate, and lonely, and sad, and i wanted to find someone to love me. and then i freaked out when it seemed like i had, and i pushed them away. and so its all over now.

i used to say that we all deserved whatever we have the courage to desire. i don't know if i believe that right now... deserve is a terrible word... it always sounds punitive to me now... i deserve punishment? i deserve loneliness? i don't think i do. but i don't currently have the tools to change those mental roadblocks.

i don't know how to fix anything about my life, and it just seems like there's so much wrong with it.

how the hell do i get a do-over?

i want a fucking do-over...

i want a cigarette.

i want my mother to fall asleep, so i can sneak outside and smoke a cigarette or twenty.

i'm not very happy right now...

on the other hand, i can swim a mile, and am excited to be adding lap swimming to my workout plan.

now i if i could convince myself that i will ever be skinny enough to deserve... something...

i need help.

aaand here we go:

2009-06-17T15:39:00.002-05:00

so i'm back. things have been... eventful.

i don't think i really have the time to discuss it all, but there are a few things i would like to get out there.

i haven't spoken to joseph since reunion. i just... i don't know what to say, and don't trust myself to say it in any manner that is fair or makes sense. i know that in part, i have to apologize for putting my own desires for our relationship ahead of what is actually good for him. and not in the sense of wanting a romance when there is just not one in the offing, but in looking more for my own satisfaction and ego-reenforcement in any of our interactions. for making my own demands for comfort and intimacy paramount, and ignoring his own need for space and distance. so i fucked up there. i didn't fuck up, persee, but i didn't think, and i acted selfishly, and joseph, my dear, i'm sorry for that. you deserve more from me. i'm sorry i didn't deliver.

aside from the above, i am upset. mostly, because i thought you were strong enough to deal with me, and to not quail in the face of my emotions. but looking over recent events, maybe you were just being smart. maybe you understood my voraciousness more than i did. maybe you saw how completely i want to dissolve boundaries, and forge connections that you have no desire to engage in, and be responsible for. i am ravenous, and out of control. and i can understand your misgivings about doing anything that might encourage me.

and so fast forward to the present.

i am about to have a conversation with someone i've met. its all online so far. but that same emotional overload; that same lightning storm has caused a rift. and i'm afraid. i'm terribly afraid that i've shot myself in the foot, while keeping my foot firmly pressed to the poor man's chest. my hunting for inner secrets, my certainty that everyone has a dark side, my obsession with knowing all there is to know, and more, my passion for understanding... all of these have led me to endanger something that could be really wonderful. because this one, this man, doesn't seem afraid of feelings, or emotional connection, or physical connection, or romance, or any of the things that seem to be my undoing.

and i'm afraid to talk to him. i'm afraid that i'm trying to extend this fantasy even now, by writing to you, rather than taking a deep breath and plunging into the conversation at hand... the fact that he still wants to talk to me is not without its own kernel of hope.

and now he's messaged me.

i don't know what luck would look like in this situation, but i hope for it all the same.

Not

2009-06-02T22:38:00.002-05:00

things you are not:

you are not a cruel person. you are just a person, like me.

you are not someone who satisfies.

you are not someone who pushes boundaries, or is overly willing to go too far in an attempt to sketch out limits.

you are not very able to give or receive love.

you are not really to blame for these things, in a way.

you are not worth my tears. and so far, i haven't cried any.

you are not worth my sanity, though god knows my brain is humming along on all cylinders now...

you are not worth my time and efforts, which can be better spent elsewhere.

you are not worth my being fat, because no cake can fill the void i feel.

you are not worth lung cancer, no matter how attractive smoking seems in the aftermath.

you are not worth my feeling bad about myself, because i loved you the best i knew how, for as long as i was able.

you are not who i thought you were, or who i wished you were. and i cannot be angry about that.

you are not the recipient of my energies and worry anymore. they never did you any good in the first place.

you are not able to improve the quality of my life.

you are not able to gaze at me unafraid.

you are not who i made you out to be.

and sometimes, it all makes me feel so free, that i swear my feet don't touch the ground.

you cannot hold me unless i let you, and every day, i push further past your arms.

i do not need you anymore.

joni mitchell is my only friend

2009-05-25T17:53:00.002-05:00

really though... there is nothing else. i want to plug the album "Blue" into my car and just drive away and out of my life, and never come back. i will burn all my things; i don't need them anyway. i will empty my closets into the street, toss on my books, all the things i've written, all the things i've drawn, all the things i feel, and all my memories, and just light it up.

i want to be fresh, and i want to be clean. i want to own nothing. i want to be free of thought and feeling. i want to simply exist. perhaps i'll drive to washington state. i hear its lovely there. i will learn to walk in the rain, and i will change the address on all my prescriptions. i'll live with people i don't know, and maybe i'll talk to them, and maybe i won't. maybe i won't even like them! i don't really care. i just need a room, and a blanket.

i want to recreate myself. i've done it before. i can do it again. i can break every tie, to everyone. its nothing personal guys... its just time to be someone else again. i love you all, and maybe some day we can meet up and have an awkward conversation that fails to address its own awkwardness.

its time to hit the old "Reset" button. i want to wipe my mind clean. no more issues, no more problems. newborn, with every wrinkle erased from my brain. i won't be me anymore? swell! lets do a real "nature versus nurture" experiment.

i'll never have to think about how i'm not skinny enough again.

i'll never have to wonder how my parents are influencing the new relationships i create. no parents!

i'll never have to think about the things that have hurt me again. no more pain! no more trail of behavior modifying decisions and interactions.

people get divorced all the time; i'm simply divorcing me from myself.

in fact, why keep the body. its broken. right now, i'm still thinking about how skinny i'm not. i'm thinking about my insulin belly that i've never gotten rid of. my pancreas doesn't work, and my left leg is deformed. my knees are weak. why keep it? discard it! put me in something new!

we'll do it all over again, only this time it will all be different.

its going to be better.

i'm not going to be obsessive. i'm not going to be paranoid and jealous, and i'm going to be open to love, and open to people, and i'm going to be strong. i'm going to be strong enough to let people say goodbye, and know that i'm all right. i'm going to be strong enough to tell people goodbye when i am tired of them.

i'm going to be normal. and i'm going to be healthy.

i'm going to dance, and watch the lights spin. i'm going to laugh a lot more, and i'm going to not worry so much. tomorrow will be grand, and if it isn't, i'll hop in the car and put in "Blue" and drive some more. i will follow the sun, from east to west to east across this world, finding things, learning things, meeting people, running in night time streets and swimming in rivers and fountains.

maybe its that i want to be superhuman... maybe i can learn to fly when my car breaks down. maybe i can learn to be beyond all these old things on the dusty ground. maybe i can rise up so high that none of those things can catch me, or hold me. i can simply rise up, and be free of it all.

i wanna be strong
i wanna laugh along
i wanna belong to the living
alive, alive
i wanna get up and jive
i wanna wreck my stockings
in some juke-box dive

maybe tonight. maybe tomorrow. i'll start with the clothes in the closet i'm looking at right now...

FEEL

2009-05-24T19:33:00.002-05:00

i wanna feel alive,
wanna get up and jive,
wanna rip my stockings
in some juke-box dive!

so i'm sober. and so i have these things called "feelings" now.

drinking them away... was really not a feasible or long-term solution. so i don't.

not that i don't REALLY want to sometimes.

so the center of my fantasy collapsed this past week. ironically enough, the implosion was triggered by my friend's thesis, which is a work of fiction which itself features the implosion of the main character's emotional world. it also features a fair amount of autobiographical detail, portrayed so effectively as to make it feel like your flesh is being rent from your body. its overwhelming sadness rocked me. and i am left feeling my friend is a stranger.

i am left feeling shut out, locked out of his inner life. i am left alone, unable to help him, unable to contact him. and he has made it quite clear that he is not an open person, and has no desire to become terribly more open, or engage in the kind of dialogues about emotions that are the glue of my close relationships. i am currently wondering what it is, exactly, that i offer him that makes me worth keeping around. i mean, i genuinely care about him, and though i currently don't like him too much, i love him. but i am mercurial, volatile, emotionally driven, and a general pain in the ass.

the other time i asked a friend what he gained from my company, i turned the resulting conversation into a fight, and used the fight as an excuse to not talk to him anymore.

but i have the overwhelming need to stir the pot. i can't let it alone. actually, i removed myself from the situation by choosing to overnight at the hartford airport rather than tag along with him anymore. i think its an unfortunately good decision.

i also got to spend some time with some of his other friends, as well as his ex. and while they are all nice and pleasant people, i don't know that they and i have much in common. and his ex (who slept in his bed with him after i was relegated to the couch) is a rail thin young punk and much more stereotypically manly than me, as far as seeming sensitivity and emotional range. so again, why keep me around when i am so much trouble?

and the realization that, even if joseph told me about his trauma earlier, even if i knew and tried to help him, even if he was more open, and i was more willing to meet him halfway, even if all of these things were the case, i have never been what he wanted. i have never held anything that he desired or coveted. i am not what he is attracted to physically. i am not who is attracted to emotionally. i am not what he wants. and i never have been.

my whole ridiculous fantasy, is itself built upon the fantasy that i was ever a blip on his horizon. i wasn't. not ever.

and my rational and healthy response to this? part of me wants to love him until he physically craves me so i can then deny him. which will not work, because he isn't attracted to me, and i probably still wouldn't deny him, and because i really will not do that. i just... i want him to be denied. and he has already been denied by life, in ways more painful than i could ever hope to be. but i mean... we all wanna spread the hurt sometimes.

i'm actually glad to be feeling angry right now, since its a pleasant change from feeling sad.

but so i'm just mired in these feelings right now. i don't know how to deal with it other than just move through them as they come.

but i'm not super happy right now.

errant thoughts

2009-05-21T17:13:00.002-05:00

joseph, i fucking hate you in some ways.

i am secluding myself away from the rest of the world, and it isn't a healthy decision.

it might be more of a problem to find someone who wants me the way i might want them than to find someone to obsess over. i'll obsess over a crack in the pavement. especially if it looks like boobs.

i decided a long time ago that i couldn't afford to be a healer to everyone. it would run me ragged and eventually destroy me, since of course i am much more attentive to other people than to myself... also, who am i to judge whether someone needs healing? if they're happy, then what gives me the right to rock the boat, unless they are infringing on my ability to manufacture my own happiness?

but i've drifted from all of that recently. my first instinct in the face of someone else's unbearable pain is to try and help them bear it. which i think is empathetic, and noble, and kind. but my ability to help anyone is limited. and yet, i've had others share their pain with me recently, and all i can think about is "why didn't you tell me!?" completely selfish and narcissistic.

joseph, i'm sorry i can't get past my own selfishness and longing.

my god i feel so crappy right now. not crappy... just... i am full, very full, of very big feelings. and i can't really escape them, which is sort of the point; feeling aren't meant to be escaped. so i'm sitting with them. and writing in this blog twice daily.

awesome.

drought to death

2009-05-21T00:08:00.002-05:00

there has been communication. and i am pleased.

pleased is not the same as happy, but its not the same as sad either.

its like resignation. because some things cannot be changed, no matter how one tries.

and some things, just cannot happen. because sometimes, lives don't line up. and they just never will.

and the pain is real, and the loss is a void that can't be covered over.

but maybe time mellows the crater.

maybe erosion grinds it down until its another feature of your landscape. its a texture that you'll forever maintain, but that isn't the entirety of you.

maybe its like my friend's thesis seems to say. the crater becomes a story about a crater, and so long as we have tongues to speak and ears to listen, we can tell the story until it becomes how we understand our lives, and our selves.

and it has nothing to do with how much we love someone. and it doesn't mean we lose our ability to love either.

it is the loss of a memory of a thing that never quite happened.

but in turn, that doesn't mean it was never real.

so because it needs to be said:

joseph.

i loved you, like i have not loved anyone since. and i can't know what i would have done had things been different, but i would have wanted to shoulder your pain as my own, if it would have helped you. i would have cried every tear you were ever unable to shed, if it would have helped you sleep at night. i might have done it anyway. i might still do it now, because i don't really know how not to.

i would have left you alone, as you wanted. i would have vanished from your life, if it would have let your mind rest. i would have kept all my own selfish feelings, my own desires, and my own covetousness, secret from you. i would have been nothing but the perfect platonic friend, and worn my anguish alone, when you weren't there, and where you couldn't find it. i would have let you keep me or discard me, as you saw fit, if it were how i could help you most.

i wouldn't have wanted to. but i would have tried. and i did try.

and i'm lying. because i wouldn't have been able to stay away. the thought of your losses, makes me immediately want to hold you until you're magically better; until life has not been as unkind and thoughtless as it seems to have been. all i want to do, when i read your story, is fix you. all i want to do is make you whole again.

and i can't. i can't do those things, and never could. they are not within my power. i wanted to heal you, so desperately... maybe because i thought if i could heal you, i would be worthy, or i would have somehow healed myself. or maybe because of selfishness; because i cannot stand to see you, or almost anyone, in pain.

the motivations, devolve into pop-psychology in my head. they become suspect, and a matter of my own conditioning. i am fucked up in a variety of little and sometimes not so little ways. physician, heal thyself! i know... i know.

i love you, and i loved you, and while my reasoning may have been, and might still be flawed, i swear to you upon everything, everything, everything, that all i wanted to do was love you as well as i ever could, and maybe, make your life, just a little bit happier.

i'm sorry. i'm so sorry, and i wish i could have helped you more.

and now, the moment has passed, and time has rumbled on and taken us with it. and now, it is too late. now i am finally ready to let you go, because you never held me, and i've only skulked around like a dog hoping for any scrap you might throw me. and i feel foolish. but i can't imagine playing it any different way. and you have returned, come back, and turned your tragedy into a story, and even now it is being further incorporated into your past.

and now, i will learn to say goodbye.

and learn how to put one foot in front of the other.

goodbye joseph.

goodbye.

spill-over

2009-05-20T15:57:00.002-05:00

i've been trying really hard to be unreflective for a while.

not in the sense that i absorb all light that falls upon me, although that would be fun...

i haven't written, or created any art, or taken any pictures at events where one typically takes pictures. i haven't done any of these things, because i haven't wanted to think about my life. i already play the observer, all on my own, all the time. i don't want to put any more distance between myself and my actions. i don't want a pad and paper between me and my thoughts, i don't want oil pastels between me and my emotions, and i don't want a camera lens between me and the reality of experience.

my life is completely undocumented, at least by me, right now.

but actually, recently, the past couple of weeks... there's been too much. my brain is so overly full, of these things that i so desperately want to share... and right now, i'm spending a week with a college friend while he graduates, and i mark my five year reunion. also, i've sort of harbored an extreme love for this friend for almost nine years. it has pretty much been unrequited. but i'm here now. and well... i'm here.

i'm here, and we're sleeping in the same bed, but we aren't touching. and we're sharing conversation, but we aren't quite talking. and i'm finding that i'm almost the me who used to love him so much, that i came back, multiple times, after being rebuffed, with the full intention of being platonic friends, even though it might be incredibly painful for me. i'm almost the me that thought that there was nothing beyond him, and that i would drop whoever might be in my life, at any time, if he called me up and said, "i love you. i've been a fool. let's make this work."

i'm almost that person that i used to be.

my life is full of ghosts. or maybe i'm a ghost. i come back to these people and situations that i've photocopied and stored in my mind, and held on to for years. i come back to them, and the people and places have changed and grown (or shrunk, as the case may be) and i've changed too (and maybe grown) and the photocopies are really just subjective memories of how the past seemed.

i come back, and nothing else is quite there. or everything is there, but i've faded. part of me is held in check, away from the rest of the world.

whole lives have been lived and lost. the person i was has yielded so that the person i am can come forward. stories have begun and arced, and come back to rest, finished, needing an epilogue and a note from the author.

i am filled with this tremendous sense of loss, at the same time that i can sense the seeds of future possibilities whispering in my dark. i feel locked out of old stories, but comfortable with my otherness.

i regret the loss of who i was, but mostly as it pertains to the loss of those tidal feelings. i don't know if i'll ever have them again for anyone or anything, or if i'll let myself have them again. they frighten me, but at the same time, if i were never lifted by that swell again; if i never was propelled screaming forward, driven by parts of me that will not be controlled or contained, i would question whether my living was a worthwhile endeavor.

i want to feel like that again.

but perhaps this part of my life, can truly be over now. perhaps closure is what i've been seeking, and i'm in the right place to achieve it.

or i might just want an excuse to shut a few doors, and travel on alone, out of perceived necessity, since i won't do it by choice, even if its what's necessary.

i don't know what it is.

but i suppose i'll get back to living it now.

little tornado

2008-11-28T20:17:00.003-06:00

bane of the trailer park...
lifting houses,
to leave your mark;

lots of aimee mann recently. lots and lots and lots of aimee mann.

a target employee on long island was killed today when two-hundred people stormed the store at 5.00 a.m., tore the doors off the hinges, and trampled him.

gotta fucking love the holiday season.

i want to be somewhere else. very much.

make it go faster,
baby go faster...
make it go twice the speed,
of you and me...

i need to get out of my head for a while.

its too stuffed up and musty in there, and its all full of me.

i'm tired of me.

too full...

2008-11-17T19:43:00.002-06:00

not in any sort of physical way.

i'm full to bursting with... things. thoughts. feelings. emotions. things.

they're sloshing over. and they're sloshing over into this blog.

which i suppose is the purpose of a blog, but honestly... i started this things with the intent of not making it some boring as hell documentation of the trivialities of my days, and ALSO, NOT dredging up whatever crap is wedged deep down in my dark murky corners.

i didn't want to be the emo-kid who just whines and whines and whines. i didn't want to be the teenager who just vomits up the pain onto a computer page and assumes that that somehow makes their suffering, whatever it might be, important. i didn't want to drain my abscess all over these virtual pages again. its all i ever do. i wanted this to be different. i wanted it to be something more and better. not a quiet, or not so quiet, plea for attention and understanding.

in some ways i've succeeded. i am not emo, or at least, i don't dress the part. i don't think. i don't know. i don't care. also, i am definitely not a teenager anymore, so we handled that bit nicely. and i don't think i'm under any delusion that my sufferings or pains are in any way unique or special. they don't set me apart. they are simply another of the endless permutations of the same basic thrashings and sulks we all wade through. i care about them because they are mine; they are like a cheap room one has spent many years in. the items themselves are pedestrian and thrifty. but their usage over the years, has allowed something of their owner and inhabitant to accrete to them. they are familiar, and comfortable, even if they are plain and unremarkable.

i don't expect people to care. but somehow, they seem to. despite my own efforts to erase myself and efface myself, people keep giving some sort of shit about me. and i don't know why, or how, because this is how i think about my situation, but others... seem susceptible. they obviously see things in me that i don't, or that i take for granted because, once again, they are chairs and tables i've sat in and eaten from for my entire life.

all this being said, the basic gist has obviously not changed. i'm still dragging hot knives over infected flesh, letting the pain and misery ooze out until the blood runs after, hot and red and clean. and you get to come along for the ride!

honestly, after pouring out the vitriol of the last post, i felt somewhat better. tired, but better. better if only because i know where i stand. i can't find my place in reality unless i write it. framing it in words makes it real for me in a way that simple experience somehow doesn't.

now i'm sitting here, a day later, not much different from the day before. but i feel calmer, and rather than raging against the so very many things in my life that cause me anguish, i'm listening to song after song that is specifically crafted to break one's heart wide, wide open. in much the same way, i still read memoirs (is it too soon to use that word?) about november fourth, and the night we elected obama and said goodbye, and SHUT THE DAMN DOOR on the horrors of these past eight years... i read these things, and watch video of the speeches, and listen to these songs, because they all still bring me to the verge of tears. they all make me want to break down and weep. and that feels, really really, really good.

maybe i'm just thrilled that i'm writing something. anything. at all. for the first time in forever.

i obviously missed my calling. i would have made a wonderful goth.

yes, even you

2008-11-16T23:33:00.002-06:00

i hate everything right now.

hate hate hate hate hate.

i really hate my stupid fucking job. i hate it a lot. i hate its balls off. yes, the force of my hatred is such that my job's balls (were it to have any) would just fall, the fuck, off.

i hate christmas. i hate christmas so fucking hard... christmas can suck my slick monstrous cock. and i would totally smack christmas' face with my cock, hard, like, to leave cock-shaped bruises all over christmas' face. and not in an "i love you" sort of way... in the other way.

i hate my self imposed loneliness. i hate that i alienate the friends i do have, fail to make new ones, and exile myself from the land of the people who date.

i hate my neverending cycle of horniness, masturbation, and self-loathing. i'm pretty sure its not healthy, either.

i hate my inability to do anything meaningful, or even vaguely productive, with the little spare time i do have.

i hate that i'm convinced that this is a grave personal failing on my part, and that really, i'm just lazy, and not working hard enough, and making excuses, and fucking away my life.

i hate how noisy its getting in my brain. i hate how angry i am at everything. i hate how overwhelming this anger and dissatisfaction is, and how no matter where i go or what i do, it doesn't stop. it doesn't end. because you cannot escape yourself, so far as i can tell.

i hate how divorced from anything spiritual i feel. i feel dead inside. i know that there are worlds alive beyond the walls of my mind, but where those walls were once porous and permeable, they're now hard like concrete. i'm trapped between them.

i hate how meaningless everything feels. i hate how everything is a "why don't i..." followed quickly by a "why bother."

i hate people. particularly in large groups. particularly when they're all in a good mood because its christmastimeandaren'tyouinagoodmoodtoo!!!???

fuck, that, shit.

i hate running myself ragged and filling myself with such hate for no purpose in particular save the fear that if i stop running, i'll just fall into pieces on the ground. that and the little money i make.

i hate my stomach.

i hate feeling unlovable, or unsafe to love, or unable to love, or unwilling to love, or too scared to open myself up to any single life expanding experience that may come my way, including love, but encompassing everything else there is.

i hate feeling hot and vacant inside my head. i hate being blank, not knowing, not feeling a pull in any direction, let alone the "right" direction. and i hate not even having the patience or willingness or balls to start searching.

i, am really unhappy these days. and i'm not fully sure how to make it better. i want the chance to "win," but i don't know what to fight for. and i feel trapped, and manic, and blank. and i want to find the new, the better, the win, but i don't know where to look, and in the meantime, all i want to do is escape this situation, or escape my own head.

weed has been looking pretty tempting recently. that isn't healthy.

nothing seems terribly healthy anymore.

hate isn't healthy.

and i am very much full of it.

and then i had something to say

2008-11-11T19:13:00.002-06:00

i'm lonely.

i'll explain.

recently, and for the last several months, i haven't felt like blogging. i have no news, no things or goings-on to report. my life is dull, and it remains so. i go to work, i sleep to forget how much i hate my job, i fail to see friends, or instigate involving new adventures.

i am a mass of living tissues, but i don't feel very alive.

there has also been a great deal of stress for me regarding the recently decided presidential election. a GREAT, DEAL. i cannot really tell you how important this election was to me, on a personal level, as well as to everyone in our nation. the last few months of campaigning, were KILLING ME.

some people talk about politics being their sport. some people are policy wonks, who float theories and crunch numbers. politics, i think, at least in our democracy (maybe any democracy) are the last realm in which the populace truly debates and grapples with shared mores, values, and ethics. our republic gives us a unique forum in which to debate that which we hold most dear; we have a biannual discussion about who lives, who dies, under what circumstances, who is granted opportunity, who is granted privilege, whether we want to even that playing field, whether we tilt it further, what methods we use to alter this societal terrain.

generally speaking, i'm a socialist. yes, just like mccain was accusing obama of being... only i really am. i believe, personally, that at this point in history, a government such as ours, in a country such as ours, with such discrepancies between rich and poor (which intersect with race and gender, naturally) even though so much money is there and available... look, i think people have inalienable rights. they have a right to good and affordable healthcare. they have a right to jobs that pay a living wage. they have a right to not end up destitute on the street if they hit a rough patch.

we are the richest nation in history. IN, HISTORY. and we are unable to feed our own children. we are unable to clothe our own nakedness. maybe not unable, but unwilling; we don't know how. as to why, well, folks, we are all in this fucking thing together. and i don't even mean from sea to shining sea. i mean from coast to coast to ocean to coast to mountains to plains to coast again. this is it kids. the only exit from this ride is death, singular or plural. and i don't have a magic heaven to escape to. or a hell, more likely, judging by current religious teachings...

what kind of an animal would invent such a concept as hell, just to drive themselves nuts their entire lives? sigh...

anyway, even if i did believe in something beyond, which i might, it doesn't really matter. this, this life right now, the blood in your veins RIGHT NOW. the skin on your body RIGHT NOW. THIS IS IT.

so lets see. right. these rights i think we all have. at this point, we have two major options. we can rely on the free market to provide us with these things, or we can rely on the government. the problem with the free market, is that its run by people who have a desire and a responsibility (to the company, to its shareholders, etc.) to make as much money as possible. without regulation, you get what we have now; a financial meltdown, leading to a recession. and my its been a fun ride, hasn't it...

the other option, also unattractive, is to rely on our government, nominally of the people, by the people, and for the people, to provide these things for us. government is a whole network of conduits of power. power attracts odd people, and lampreys, and generally, is a corrupting influence. we know this. do i want the government all up in my business? not particularly. is it a moot point? are there satellites that can read your address from orbit (is it likely that's all they can do? would the public get to know the full capability of the global satellite network?)? are files kept of all our online doings? who does their banking and bill-paying online? i sure as hell do. who looks at porn? ooh... guilty again... forget it baby. government knows. its just likely that they don't care.

but here's the rub... the free market is made up of for-profit companies. no help there, unless you're already rich and want to invest. the government, intrusive as it can be, is ENGINEERED to protect and serve the people. and in this rich-beyond-belief nation of ours, is there an excuse for anyone to starve? is there a reason for anyone to go naked?

now, make no mistake, i am not advocating marxist "give it all to the state, let the state dole it out" bull-shit. i believe in free enterprise. i believe in hard work and virtue being pathways to greater compensation and a recognition of the specialties one brings to the table. all people are NOT created equal. i'm sorry, but the Declaration of Independence lies. and i love that document like i love few others. we are not all created equal, but that does not mean that there is not some base level of humane life that we are all entitled to.

more to the point; who are we, you and i, anyone, to judge what others deserve? are you prosecution judge and jury? am i? should our gossiping, petty selves be allowed to delegate resources? to decide who lives, who dies?

i simply happen to believe that those inalienable rights the founders spoke of, can no longer be defined so narrowly as life, liberty, and property. or rather, those three ideas have become much more complex. what quality of life? debilitating disease is no longer so debilitating. h.i.v.? how long has magic johnson had those three magic letters? diabetes? dead in a matter of years in the seventeen hundreds. how old is b.b. king now? how old will i grow to be?

who gets to decide?

what about liberty. the government may know which hand you use to whack off, but as long as they don't tell anyone, who cares? you'll get drunk and tell someone yourself anyway. public and private... but that's another debate.

this is all preface, to why the last eight years, of bush, of bush-co., of cheney, of government FOR THE FREE MARKET, of unnecessary war, of preventable terrorist attacks, of the erosion of our civil liberties, of the vindictive use of the private for political gain (can someone say valerie plame?), of the squandering of american lives, of the squandering of the world's goodwill, the politicization of one governmental agency after another, karl rove, withholding aid to health clinics worldwide unless they hewed to abstinence-only education, bad supreme court justices, the nickel-and-diming of our elderly through bad medicare and medicaid policies, the bills written by and for pharmaceutical companies, the axing of childcare and educational programs, the corruption, the firing of public servants who held to their own morals, the gaming of elections...

THE LIST GOES FUCKING ON!

the last eight years have been a HELL! a hell for you, and a hell for me, and if you don't think they were hell, wait until you see just how long, how involved, how painful and how expensive the clean-up will be. wait until you see your children fighting against a world that has been stacked against them. go abroad (if you can afford it! HA!) and see just how much the world at large "loves americans"... hint: THEY DON'T!

and fuck anyone who gives me that "we will not be held to an international litmus test!" bullshit! ninety-nine percent of the people i know think i'm genuine, generous, smart, kind, handsome, and one of the most exciting people they've ever met. i still refuse to agree, but i'm willing to admit that they might be on to something if the only person with a dissenting view is ME! i have issues, and i know it. but are they all lying to me in some vast conspiracy to inflate my sense of self-worth? doubtful.

particularly as a gay, jewish, liberal, populist, socialist trainwreck, who for all his hatred of people, all his profound sorrow at our failings and shortcomings, believes, KNOWS, deep inside, that we are capable of greatness, and of honor, of acts of compassion and selflessness. we are fragile, and we are weak, and in that very weakness, lies the opportunity for our greatest strength. we stand up to oppression. we stand up to injustice. we stand up against tyranny. we stand together against impossible odds. we stand together, to create strength. and fuck you for making me be all soppy and weepy. this shit is a secret. if anyone asks, someone else wrote this.

the last eight years, have been a nightmare. a NIGHTMARE. playing to the lowest drives in all of us. tweaking our fear like a guitar string. making us afraid of each other, of the world beyond our borders...

after long and careful deliberation, i decided to throw my support behind obama?

fuck. there is never a good reason to vote republican. NEVER. mccain was a disaster; senile, jerky, suffering from PTSD (possibly untreated), ensconced in a life of privilege he was born into, a napoleon complex, a serial adulterer, aged, a two-time cancer survivor, responsible in part for the LAST financial melt-down (look up Keating Five). and palin! oh god... the fact that he chose her was despicable enough. but she is... terrifying.

and obama.

i originally supported hillary clinton. i did. but i knew whoever won the primary, i would be voting for. and obama won. and he vaulted into the general election. the man can speak, like no other. he speaks in a language that is unifying, that is powerful, that insists that we are bonded, that we are the People, and that the People, United, Can Never Be Defeated! he handed out sensible, reasonable policy proposal after sensible, reasonable policy proposal. he convinced me, that he actually, truly, cares about people. not some faceless nameless mob, but you and me, regular people, who are watching our money evaporate, and who are watching our planet die.

and apparently i'm not the only one who supported obama. because he won in a landslide. and i heard it first from my wonderful friend jon stewart, who turned to stephen colbert and the camera and announced, "barack obama, our forty-fourth president!"

then i flipped to cnn to make sure, and they were showing grant park in chicago. and they were showing election tallies. and i started crying. i just started crying. and i didn't wipe away the tears; i never wanted those tears to go away. i wanted them forever, to be a permanent reminder of that moment. i cried. i cried in joy, in sheer exhaustion. i cried as people in grant park cried. i cried as obama gave his speech. i cried because i had been wandering in the diaspora for so long, cut off from those who were supposed to be my people, abandoned by a government that would not concern itself with me. every time i think about it, i almost cry again. sometimes i still do.

because our government belongs to us again.

because i am not a stranger in a strange land any longer.

and since that night, porn has actually held no interest for me.

i want more. i need more. i desire more. i crave more. i demand more. i am worth more.

this silly, dusty world is so empty compared to what we can be and are.

and so, i wait. my plans are in place, and it takes forever, but they are proceeding.

because i am done with being lonely. i am tired of being odd, and strange, and separate, and apart, and different, and queer, and single, and bitter, and convinced that in the end, i will settle. settle for less. settle for anything other than the fantastic, the amazing, the genuine, the real, the true, the magical, the mystical, the divine, the absolute greatest that i or anyone else can be.

so in the meantime, i am lonely.

but i am ready to not be lonely anymore.

Mixed Feelings...

2008-07-21T21:54:00.003-05:00

a lot of the time, it sort of makes me proud; like, if you like cars, you keep up with who's making what, what kind of engines they use, umm... how big the tires are?

i don't keep up with cars, so really, this was a bad choice for a metaphor.

but i'm trying to say, you tend to research things that interest you, and you like to have a decent grasp of what its all about.

so like i said, it sort of makes me proud, and it certainly makes me feel knowledgeable, but it also makes me feel sort of sad when i realize just how many gay porn stars i can recognize (by face, body, and... y'know... junk), name, and talk about relatively knowledgeably, in the sense that i have an idea of them as a performer, and an opinion on their performances.

like, i don't even watch a WHOOOLE LOTTA PORN. i watch... i mean... xtube doesn't count, since its all amateur...

i mean, like, so what? we all have favorites! WE ALL KNOW THINGS ABOUT STUFF!!!

i just don't see why i gotta get judged...

It's Not My Job

2008-07-19T21:05:00.002-05:00

but i want to do it anyway.

there are a lot of things in this world, that i want to do or say. there are ways that i want to act. but i try to not do those things, or say them, and i try to not act those ways.

because its not my job.

telling people and institutions how to better do their jobs, is not my job. bossing people around to make them do things more efficiently and effectively (which also benefits me, naturally) is not my job. being the answer to all the questions you don't ask because you don't actually care about getting my advice, is not my job.

all these things, and more, are not my job.

but i want to do them SOOOOO BADLY!!!

particularly right now, when i'm sort of getting stuck in a rut with my job, and feeling trapped, and not sure what my next move should be, even though i'm feeling more and more ready and sure that i need to make a move at all. i swear, sitting on all this stuff makes me just want to jump up and throttle people who aren't, doing, things, RIGHT!

because RIGHT is some objective measure that only i can understand...

well, i'm going to call upon the holy power of the blog, and say a few things that i feel need to be said, even if no one hears them. i need to say them. here we go.

1) people of america; lifting the ban on offshore drilling will do nothing to aid the current oil crisis. it will be at least, AT LEAST, seven years before any oil makes it from those shiny new off-shore rigs to the tank of your car. oh, and the people who own or will own the mineral rights to all that offshore territory? THE SAME FRIGGING CORRUPT OIL COMPANIES WHO ARE CURRENTLY MAKING WINDFALL PROFITS OFF OF YOU! beyond these pragmatic arguments, we would also be much better served by putting money and effort into alternate fuel sources instead of into new drilling. new jobs will be created by both ventures, but new jobs linked to renewable energy sources will be long term as opposed to jobs that dry up when the oil does. in addition, throwing money at renewable energy will wean us off foreign oil, meaning we won't find ourselves mired in the middle east for dubious reasons NEARLY as often. finally, offshore drilling would spoil our coastlines and pollute our waters, and more oil only means the continued pollution of the atmosphere. so do yourselves a favor, and JUST SAY NO TO OFFSHORE DRILLING!

that felt good. that felt really good. i don't even remember what else i want to say. but that one, it felt just sooooo good... cripes...

i just get really fed up with people. i get fed up with my coworkers, i get fed up with customers, i get fed up with my family, and i just get tired. tired, of it all. and then i read polls on aol, and i get more fed up. i get fed up with stupid. i get fed up with shortsightedness. i get fed up with fear, and knee-jerk reactions. i get fed up with crazy.

i REALLY get fed up with crazy.

i get fed up with crazy masquerading as common sense. i get fed up with crazy parading itself as traditional values. i get fed up with crazy cloaking itself in religion.

and i get REALLY FUCKING FED UP with cruel and unyielding self-interest.

people being mean and petty, and trying to advance their own agendas with no thought to others... it all makes me very, very tired.

and part of why it makes me tired, is because i see myself doing it too. i really want to be nice. i want to treat everyone with respect and kindness, even if i don't actually think they deserve it. but i fail. i mess up. i just can't do it all the time. and i bitch and moan about people doing things in less-than-ideal ways, but really, it just means they're doing things in a way that i wouldn't do them, and i think i have the fucking right to organize their lives for them, because i know better.

i get tired of being just as morally questionable and ethically ambiguous as everyone i criticize.

i'm just feeling really fucking done these days, y'know?

Satire and Its Discontents

2008-07-14T22:29:00.002-05:00

my sister, does not understand satire.

she is going into medical school. she's going to be a doctor. one day, she will be treating your child.

she is extremely intelligent.

but she does not understand satire.

my evidence:

family is watching "The Colbert Report" on t.v. this is not hypocritical on my part. i don't watch television, nor do i own one, but thursday night dinner and "the office" viewing at dad's house are something that happen... every thursday night? yes... every thursday night.

for those who aren't familiar with the program, colbert plays an over-the-top, buffoonish, self-important, right wing television show host, styled after, oh, i don't know... BILL O'REILLY, THE SAD SACK OF SHIT!? point being, its an act. he's so blatantly petty, hypocritical, and ridiculous, that its a joy to behold. he is the master of really, really, really good satire, for which he won a peabody award, a very prestigious that bill o'reilly did NOT win, but said he did, and then when confronted about it, got angry, went on a verbal rampage, and never actually apologized for making the mistake.

so we are watching mr. colbert, and sister is confused.

"so is he republican, or what?"

no, he's pretending to be a republican so he can make fun of them.

"but, so he doesn't actually believe the stuff he's saying?"

no, he probably doesn't. he just plays a character who says those things in a ridiculous way that makes their inherent ridiculousness clear and visible.

"but so... is he making fun of bill o'reilly?"

yes.

"but he says the same things as bill o'reilly?"

also yes.

"but he wrote a book. what sorts of things does he say in his book? like, is his book written from his character's point of view, or his?"

considering the title of his book is "I Am America: And So Can You!", i think its from his character's point of view.

"...huh..."

she's still clearly confused. and that's when this up till now slow and creeping realization breaks over me like a wave; my sister, does not understand satire. she does not, get it. i manage to suppress a look of utter incredulity and horror, but inside, my brain is going nuts. my sister, who is totally intelligent, totally going to be a doctor, totally smarter than most people, hands down, cannot understand satire.

i haven't the words, really. i just thought i'd share.

The Danger of Being Right

2008-07-06T19:07:00.003-05:00

sometimes, you make ridiculous assumptions about people right after meeting them. i've found i can't avoid doing this. i can't stop it. i'm on intuitive, vibe-sensing, personality-typing overdrive, and the brakes DO NOT work. i've tried to temper this by with-holding judgement, or for those of you who argue "what you just described IS judgement!" i try not to let my conclusions completely color how i interact with that person.

because you can make someone into who you think they are if you treat them a certain way. its a self-fulfilling prophecy.

i also try to be open to being wrong. it happens. i've had to reverse positions. and i hate it, but i mean, what am i gonna do? some battles, you've just gotta wave the white flag for.

but unfortunately from a "he'll learn someday" standpoint, my first responses are often fairly accurate. and sometimes, that's rather sad. sad that i'm accurate, and sad that people can be the ways they are. of course, i have a story to illustrate this whole thing, and like most of my stories these days, it occurs at work:

we've been severely understaffed for like, months. so i'm ecstatic that we've recently hired three new baristas. they're all in training right now. two are younger and seem just fine. one, A., is a little older, and we're going to pick on him.

A. is like, late twenties or early thirties. he's shortish (or average height, probably. skewed height perception on my part...) hispanic, and has a very upbeat and positive demeanor. like, dude is cheery. way cheery. and i'm sorry, but there's a certain kind of cheeriness that immediately puts me on edge, and makes me suspicious. maybe its just my general paranoia. maybe its unfair to distrust happy people. i don't care. A. seemed suspicious. threat level jumped to orange, and information gathering went into overdrive.

the day after meeting A., he had a long training session while i was at the store. while he was working with someone, i made a joke to someone dealing with the fact that i'm jewish. only that someone was sort of far away, so i made the joke sort of loudly. A. was all interested. "you're jewish? wow!" i see him talk to my store manager for a second, they point at me, and she nods. jew-ness confirmed. later that day, A. was next to me while i was at bar, and made some further inquiries.

"have you ever been to israel?"

"no. i was supposed to go this summer, but it didn't work out."

"ahh. i went just recently with my church. it was amazing! it was really something! have you heard of CUFI? they're the organization i went with."

"oh... no, i haven't heard of CUFI. what's that?"

"oh! Christians United For Israel. its great! what they do is, there are a lot of jews in parts of europe and africa that are really poor, and so CUFI basically gives them money to move to israel, and teaches them how to live in society. its amazing to see!"

at this point, several things have been confirmed; A. is indeed cheery, because he's full of the jebus. and he's apparently part of one of those "end time" organizations that needs jews to live in israel, and israel to remain whole and unpartitioned, so that things are ripe for the rapture, the reckoning, and all that fun creepy new testament cult stuff. y'know, when all the jews will either have to convert to fundamentalist christianity, or go to hell. the conversation is definitely on dangerous ground, if only because i'm unable to say ANYTHING that reveals my own positions on all this. i'm not giving A. ANY sort of an opening. fuck, the fuck, no.

"i see... what church do you go to?"

"oh! pastor hagee, up at cornerstone? you know him?"

oh yes. yes, i know him. know of him rather. and yes, that's the same pastor hagee who, if you follow the news, was getting john mccain in trouble because they were all buddy buddy, only news organizations got ahold of the fact that hagee called the catholic church "the great whore," blamed hurricane katrina on all the gays gathering in new orleans for southern decadence, and said that the holocaust was basically sort of a good thing, because it ensured the creation of israel and the return of jews to the promised land (again, a necessary event for end time proceedings).

"yeah... i know the place."

"yeah. a lot of jews are really excited about what CUFI and cornerstone are doing! a bunch of orthodox jews aren't too thrilled, but a lot of more moderate, mainstream jews are really with us!"

"hmm..."

at this point, i'm sort of sadly resigned to the fact that A. is going to be one of those people at work who i just have to be on friendly professional terms with, and have absolutely no meaningful contact with whatsoever. i'm also biting my tongue to keep from asking him how CUFI feels about iran. y'know... cuz i don't want to get fired...

because while A. thinks this is all information that will make me like him, i actually get nauseous thinking about the unholy union of fundamentalist christians and politically pragmatic jews united to keep israel safe, but for completely different reasons, and with both simply betting the other group's theology is wrong. i think its ugly, and i think unquestioned support of israel, particularly in the face of its relationship with palestinian refugees, is a simplistic and (perhaps unintentionally) cruel foreign policy.

i tell A. that "you can't win 'em all," in order to wrap up the conversation. but i'm left feeling sad that my hunch was pretty much correct. and also feeling sad that i'm in no position to actually have a discussion with A. about all this. partly because we're in a work environment, and if he keeps pursuing this line of conversation i'm eventually going to have to politely shut him down, just because it really isn't workplace appropriate, and also because i don't want to hear about it. the other issue is, in my experience, talking with people like A., or who have beliefs like A.'s, is a fruitless venture. they have their answers, they know their truth, and anything you say will meet with rebuttal and a fresh sally on your own views, whatever they may be.

and granted, i'm just as unflinching in my own political and spiritual beliefs as A. i will never "come around," because i find fundamentalist christianity terrifying, and the support of groups like CUFI feels disingenuous to the point of making me ill. you want to help out my country so that all my people can go to hell when you and your flock rise up to heaven? umm... thanks? no! fuck you! its a pointless thing.

but i now know how i should have introduced myself when A. and i first met.

"hi! i'm j. my brother toilet papered your pastor's house!"

CAUTION

2008-07-05T22:13:00.002-05:00

fireworks are dangerous.

when lighting fuse, be wary of getting scared when it catches cuz its a big motherfucker, running away like a bitch, spending ten blissful seconds watching it burst all blue and pretty while a spark burns out on your foot, having a sandal fly off your foot mid stride as you run towards the safety of your house, leaning down to grab it with the hand carrying the gas kitchen lighter, catching the sandal, but overbalancing and scraping your knee on the driveway as you tuck your shoulder and roll (cuz you're smart, after all...) and the launching tube skitters across the drive while your brother hunkers at the front door and says, "josh? what the hell happened?"

bonus: going out to take the launcher in so it doesn't get wet if it rains, and seeing your neighbor outside with a flashlight, looking for the perpetrators of this crime. and hoping they don't see you getting rid of evidence.

fireworks are awesome.

but very very dangerous.

please be advised.

Recurring Fantasy #11

2008-06-25T15:11:00.002-05:00

many, many times, when i come home from wherever, and am particularly tired, two things often happen.

A: since i AM so tired, i will try to use the car key in my hand to open up the front door of the house. for those who have never given this any thought, let me go ahead and tell you; it does not work. your car key, is for your car. your HOUSE key, will unlock the door to your house. now you know!

B: every time i get the car key and move it towards the deadbolt, i stop and switch to my HOUSE key (see above for reason why). but i always immediately think, "wouldn't it be funny, if i did put my car key into the door, and turned it, and the whole house 'turned on' and started chugging and shaking. and i went inside, and the house just swerved out onto the street, and went sputtering down the road... what if i could take the house out driving?"

i'm not sure what this means, other than that i am funny, and that i think having a drivable house would be awesome! but i suspect there's something to do with escape, and taking the safety and comfort of home out on the road with me. maybe to fiji, or someplace equally inaccessible and lovely, far from the rest of the world and its hectic stupidity. i mean, if the house can drive, it can certainly float.

and yes, this happened just today! thank you for asking.

Holy Fuck!

2008-06-24T16:38:00.001-05:00

all right, so its like, June 24th. how the hell did that happen? i am not good with this time shit. it just fucking flows right past me.

so first, an apology to you peeps. i've been a negligent blogger. which is why i don't have children. i am negligent in general. if i were to have children, you could bet that i would have them taken away from me by the state. which is sad, because it means that i don't even measure up to TEXAN parental standards. even the friggin' cult kids got to stay at the ranch! sad state of affairs. my negligence, that is. the kids going back to the ranch... i'm not fully sure how i feel about that.

so here's the quick breakdown on my absence: i actually sort of hate writing a blog. in all honesty, i don't enjoy having my stuff hanging all out there on the internet. i like privacy. i'm insular, and introverted (though i do a GREAT impression of an extrovert!), and i just don't like the idea of people who might have some form of work-like power over me being able to read this and get their boss panties in a big ole twist. but i've made a commitment, and by god i'm gonna honor it, because that's what i should do. which brings me to:

The Button

you may have noticed the new button on the right of the screen. well, that button leads you to the folks who i blog for. i mean, OBVIOUSLY i blog for you and your pleasure! but the good folks of Blog4Reel are, well, they're good folks. in fact, they're my good friends, who i have actually known for at least a decade. they aren't selling anything, they don't want your money, they're in fact an art and cinema collective who are always looking for fun new ways to insert their creativity into our (let's be honest...) rather boring daily lives. hence, Blog4Reel. hence2, me, here typing the words, in front of your face.

so, i suggest that you pop on over to Blog4Reel, especially if you live in the San Antonio area. and by all means, if you already have a blog, feel free to link it up and get in on the action! the more the merrier! i mean, am i right, or am i fucking right?

all right. before i get down to some serious blogging on this odd odd tuesday afternoon, lets make a little list of some of the major offings in my life. i mean, i like a story as much as the next person (probably more. but it has to be an interesting story. and semi-sexual.) but sometimes, you just can't beat the machine-gun rat-a-tat of a nice, bulleted list.

1) i have officially moved out of the apartment in Austin i was subletting to brother. this brings to a final and official close, my two-year sojourn in that city, which i could NOT be happier about. the sad fact is, i now hate Austin. i hate who i was there, i hate the experiences i had there, i hate the whole goddamned place. it all just gives me the heebie-jeebies. i really and officially freak out and lose my shit at least once whenever i'm there, be it even just a day. i do miss some of the people i met there, but right now, i'm slamming the door shut on that portion of my life and just running in the opposite direction. which is sad, because all this shit is gonna come up behind me and tackle the poo out of me later on. but i'm an adult now. i deal with my feelings and shit. i like, am all at one with my emotions, and dealing with my issues in mature and inspired ways. so when the effects of my current wild psychological immaturity manifest, i'll be all set to deal with them. or something.

2) my first raise at work finally kicked in. i'm pretty much super-stoked about that extra sixty-eight (68) cents an hour. i mean, thirty cents of it was a legally mandated six month raise, but the other thirty-eight cents was merit-based. i earned those thirty-eight cents an hour through grit, hard work, waking up at three in the morning, and basically being the shit. that's right. you heard it here first. i'm, the shit.

3) i've rolled to the end of hell season. spring is a difficult time for me. in fact, for my siblings and me. because due to things just being that way, my brother's birthday (he's a pisces) marks the start of my father's birthday (taurus), mother's day (for biological mom and step-mom (who has baby issues due to her never having a child of her own)), dad and step-mom's anniversary, stepmom's birthday (gemini) and father's day. holy hell. every year, its just like, "whew, i can recoup my losses and have a little time to myseeEEOOOH GOOD CHRIST!" i mean, i truly love my family, everyone in it. and i really want their days to be happy. i want them to feel that they're appreciated, and that they're loved and treasured. i want to get gifts that are personal, and show i know them well, and pay attention to them. i want to spend my time with them, because they deserve it. i want to nourish and celebrate them, because it makes me happy to make them happy. but goddamn, that shit takes a lot of energy!

4) i made plans for a motherfucking vacation. oh, yeah. i made some goddamn plans, man. my original summer vacation got stolen from me by inept planning, misplaced familial priorities, and a strange laziness inspired by extreme busyness. Jews With Guns '08 (Birthright Israel sponsored tour of Israel) was postponed (because we missed the deadlines). The Great White Vacation II (a second family cruise to islands peopled by poor black people who make a living selling coconut monkeys to comparatively rich white people) fell through due to brother needing girlfriend to come along, and girlfriend constantly being busy. so i made my own, motherfucking, plans. it works for my sister, it can work for me too. i will be going to San Francisco on August 18th to visit friend M., who you'll (maybe) remember from my trip to New Mexico. we will see the redwoods, and i will make her drive me back and forth across the golden gate bridge six times in one day, and we will go dancing, and i will explore the city to see if i might move there. M. will start her semester of law school, and i will pick up some hours at local Starbucks shops. we will go to the outside lands music festival in golden gate park, which lasts a full weekend, has twenty acts a day, and is headlined by radiohead, tom petty and the heartbreakers, and jack johnson on friday, saturday, and sunday respectively. then we will go to the beach for labor day, and i will get M. piss drunk on her birthday, and i will fly home on September 4th. i am going to have fun if it kills me, because i totally spent two whole paychecks on this venture. and i am fucking stoked.

5) i met a nice boy online, and we wrote letters back and forth for a week and a half, and then had phone sex. i'm not actually sure how i feel about this one. i'm sort of in the middle of freaking out. but i mean, hey. its more interesting than clipping my toe-nails, which by the way, i REALLY need to do.

6) i'm actively (slowly... but actively!) working on a story that i think i'm going to like a lot. i think its got a lot of good stuff in it, and we'll see how it goes.

excellent. we have a bulleted list. i actually don't even know if those were the things i felt needed to be listed, but maybe it doesn't actually matter. i told you stuff about my life. ta dah. i don't actually know what else to say at the moment, and the site is scheduled for an outage soon, so i'm gonna wrap this up, and just let it sliiiiide. i'm back, chumps. and i'll be seeing ya'. soon.

Oh My God I'm Gonna Pee My Pants!

2008-06-14T12:06:00.003-05:00

sooo, i'm way overdue for a post. and i have one percolating. it'll be all about how we manufacture our own masculinities and femininities, use role models, just wing it, etc. but its not happening right now.

BUUUT...

natalie dee has a blog. its the funniest shit i've ever read. i thought i was seriously going to pee my bed laughing at points. you should go read it. and love it. love it like the dirty overpriced whore your brother bought you the night before your first marriage. you know, the night where you got plastered and said, "dude, i just don't think she's the one!" and then, tequila and whores!

sorry about you getting your ass handed to you in the divorce, by the way...

http://blog.nataliedee.com/journal.php?user=natalie

June

2008-06-01T00:06:00.002-05:00

june is busting out all over.

its summer.

its fucking hot here, and i like that i work inside. i also really like air-conditioning, which is SO ungreen, so not earth friendly. but my god, i love air-conditioning sooo much...

i've slept a bit since my last post. sister has a friend here, so the rampant cleaning has stopped. and so i can spend my down time sleeping. a lot. which feels awesome. i'll like, fall asleep, with the light on, with all my clothes on, with the computer on. i'll fall so dead asleep, so fast, i took a nap today and woke up, and was afraid i'd slept until tomorrow.

for the love of god, all i want to do, is sleep.

because i'm tired, and i'm depressed.

i haven't figured out what to do about the brother situation. and it festers. i'm angry inside, and sad. and i'm never sure what to say, and when. because despite my grievances, i have to present my case completely right, or he'll ignore it all. the onus falls on me to make it all work. he's the jury, and i'm the lawyer. i present, and he judges me on my presentation. awesome. healthy.

i'm angry with my job. and my new store manager.

i'm angry that all i want to do is bitch.

i met an internet friend in real life. it was disappointing. his pictures were slightly misleading, and he's a downer. he's monotone. he says the same things he types, but its like he's rotely reading lines. there's no performativity, no theater, no emotion. he's a flatline. and he was right; his chin is weak. i feel bad for even noticing it. but i did. he said he's not that cute, that his chin's weak, etc. i told him he looks fine, and that he was being paranoid. well, he was right. he needs more chin. and more personality. he's intelligent, he's sort of funny, even. but he's boring. and he's so awkward, he makes me look at ease. it makes me sad.

it makes me sad, and it makes me feel shallow, and mean, and petty, and like an overall bad person. its all so ridiculous. i don't want to meet people online anymore. no one is who they seem. i'm probably not who i seem either. i'd stick to real life, except that i don't like men. the men i do like, end up being married with three children. they don't need me hanging around. its all a mess.

i'm a mess.

i'm tired.

i'm going to bed.

I Don't Like You

2008-05-19T21:10:00.002-05:00

what, like, you don't like me in that way? what do you mean you don't like me?

no, M., i don't like you at all!!!

i have made a decision. and i'm pleased with my decision. it feels right. it feels, true. i have decided, that i really just don't like my co-worker M. don't like her. i do not, like her.

that feels good.

i sometimes can't tell if i like someone or not, so its always nice when i can resolve one of those ambiguous situations. and i'd rather decide that i like someone, i just have issues x, y, and z with them, but not liking them is just fine as well. hating them, a little extreme, but also fair. what? i'm a hater. i hate. don't judge.

today's issue with M. brought things nicely into focus. sure, she's done a fair amount of stuff that makes me think she's self-centered and opportunistic, but whatever. she's also said a couple things that make me think she's sort of bigoted, or at least has some questionable beliefs and/or assumptions about things of an ethnic/racial/religious nature. whatever. its texas. if i started making a list now, i'd die before finishing it.

today, we had a brief chat about relationships. and M. jokingly(?) mentioned that she's been married eighteen years, and at this point, she and her husband have just decided to "stick it out".

i responded by saying that that probably would not really ever happen to me, because i like dumping people too much. this got a few odd looks, so i clarified. i said, "hey. its not like i just break up with people for no reason. but if i'm in a relationship, and things aren't working out, and the other person isn't interested in working on fixing it, or addressing the issue, then *BAM* YOU'RE OUTTA THERE!!!" and yes, i take a certain pleasure in breaking up with people. its like pruning an unruly shrub. you take out the crap you don't like. you simplify your life. and i am all, for jettisoning dead weight (i.e. unresponsive boyfriends) in the interest of simplifying my life.

M. was still not sure about this. she seems to have chalked it up, at least today and at that moment, to some sort of rampant superiority complex she thinks i have. she said that she thinks i just have no hope for a successful romantic relationship; she thinks i don't believe it can happen, and so it never will.

so i tried to deny this, and told her about my rule.

have i mentioned my rule?

i said, "you know how amusement parks have signs that say *i mime a hand at chest level* 'you must be this tall to ride'? well, i have a similar rule that says *hand at nipple level again* 'you must be this awesome to date.' i expect someone i'm going to date (i.e., spend a lot of time and energy on, in the hope of getting the opportunity to spend even MORE time and energy on them, long term, till we're old or dead) i expect someone i get involved with to be at least as awesome as me."

M. looks at me like i'm nuts, or just pure evil. one or the other. so rather than toss the shovel aside, i do what any good moron does and keep digging.

i explain that i want someone who's an ivy-league caliber intellect, who's handsome, who's devestatingly funny, etc.

she asks where i went to school. did i go to an ivy league? no, i went to wesleyan. its better than an ivy league, because we only put sticks up our asses in order to stimulate the prostate and/or g-spot. i didn't say that last part. M. admits that wesleyan is a good school. yes. i know.

so she retreats to the safe-ish position of "your standards are too high." if i demand someone who is as great as i think i am (because i have a superiority complex) then i'm just never going to find someone. i'm being "unrealistic."

bitch, i'm that intelligent, i'm that handsome, i'm that funny, i'm that kind, i'm that sensitive to other's, i'm that willing to give my all in a relationship, OBVIOUSLY such people exist. why should i settle for less? do i not deserve someone who brings as much to the table as me? i'm sorry, but if i think i'm the shit, its only because, in some ways, i am. fuck, i'll even admit i'm wrong (MOST of the time) if i'm wrong.

i say some of the above to M., or at least, the part about me being as awesome as me, so obviously it can happen. she stands firm, and asks why i have to have someone who is those things.

on reflection, i should have responded, "because i'm a little person, with a short attention span. i get bored easily with people. i'm not interested in a relationship for the paltry reason of not wanting to be alone. if i'm signing away an undetermined amount of my independence, it better be to someone who's worth it. it better be to someone who is smart, and compassionate, and can keep my attention. i'm not willing to go through the hassle that is a relationship just so that i can wake up one day and realize that i've settled for less than i want and need, and instigate divorce proceedings."

i think what i actually did, was just let the conversation drop. but a few minutes later, the thought sprang to my head, "wow, M. is a really mediocre person." and i laughed, out loud, a lot. because its such a horrible thing to think, but its just so true... i may be demanding and cruel, and call myself a tiny person, but M. is in truth, a tiny person, if she's willing to take anything less than what she truly wants in the name of being open-minded and realistic.

but mostly, M. is just a person who i don't really like. i don't hate her. but i definitely don't like her.

and i am totally cool with that.

Yes, I Have A Libido

2008-05-18T21:24:00.002-05:00

i have a libido, and it is getting a little bit out of hand.

since i'm either working, or trying to go to sleep and wishing i didn't have to work again so soon, or maybe even sleeping, i haven't had time to like... take care of business... in i don't even know how long.

yes, i'm talking about masturbation.

because lord knows i don't have sex. i haven't had sex in almost four years. and that, my friends, is way, way, WAAAAAY TOOOOO LOOONG.

but that's all right. its fine. i have hands. i have a fun silicon friend. i have lube. and i have porn. i can manage for now.

but really... like, i've started a few times. i'll scrounge around on x-tube, hunting down hot amateur action videos. i'll get all hot and bothered.

but i haven't "closed the deal" in quite some time.

i haven't even gone to the gym and sublimated my urges into fifty minute sessions on the elliptical machine.

and its all starting to adversely effect the rest of my life.

today, personal-trainer T. (venti americano with a half inch of steamed heavy whipping cream) came into the store. dude is six four, with that special V-shaped torso you only get with good genes and taking really, really good care of yourself. like, i've always thought T. was hot. with those mean athletic thighs that look so good in tight blue jeans... i'm getting hot right now. so today, he comes in, and i'm just like, GODDAMN! the shaved head, the strong jaw-line, those ridiculous shoulders and arms... i'm totally going menopausal. i'm having hot flashes.

so he gets his drink, and a little later i go on a spin to clean the store. and i'm cleaning the condiment bar, which backs up to a window wall between the store and the bookstore. and T. is sitting at the table right beyond the window, facing away from me. and i'm confronted with the expanse of his back, stretching his tight red and black striped t-shirt.

and i'm cleaning slower, and slower... and i try and see what he's reading. honestly, i do. like, i'm unwilling to realize what's going on.

and i'm cleaning more and more slowly, and then i'm like, "oh. OH. i see. i'm standing here staring at T., nigh on fantasizing about him, and apparently i'm willing to forget about my job in order to stare at him. apparently, i'm willing to clean more and more slowly until i'm no longer cleaning and am in fact just humping the glass between us and drooling on myself. its all clear now."

yes. and then, BEST PART!, i feel the need to tell my coworker about it. as though it were any of their business, and as though i would ever be comfortable sharing that with anyone but a close friend. i was immediately mortified.

"i can't believe i TOLD her that!..."

well, i did.

clearly, i need the big O, and fast, or i'm going to go insane. er.

insaner.

but goddamn he's so fucking hot...

Stop the Ride, I Want to Get Off Now

2008-05-18T20:06:00.002-05:00

i swear to god, i feel like, this job, i feel like i've stepped onto the merry-go-round from hell. and now its just goin' faster and faster, and i can't get off, and its just gonna spin me around until it decides i've had enough. or until i die, or at least have my psychotic break. at which point, i will certainly be fired, but conversely, not having a job will be the least of my worries. good? bad? i don't know. i can't decide. but sadly, involuntary commitment sort of sounds nice at the moment.

my feet hurt. my knees feel very old and creaky. or like i give blow-jobs in alley-ways for a living. or both. my legs are tired. and mostly, my brain hurts. i am very, very, very, very, VERY, VERY TIRED. i'm too tired to exercise, so i'm not sleeping well or clearing headspace in my brains. and since my sleep schedule is whacked anyway, i've given up on limiting my caffeine intake and am slamming doubleshots of espresso alllll day long. which makes sleep even more elusive. but if i don't do it, i can't manage my shifts, which are until midnight one day, and at five a.m. the next. and long. they're always long. and i'm not functioning well. i can't deal with people. i want to punch them all in the face. even the ones who aren't morons (although there are a lot of morons...) and who don't ask question after stupid fucking moronic question.

i have things on my mind. that's the other issue. i have, like, major ish on my mind. the issues, have been stirred up by my family's inability to plan a summer trip. bear with me a minute; i'm heading into middle-class white privilege territory. but really... we don't take vacations. we were going to go to israel for a few weeks this summer because we could do it for free (birthright israel, check it out.) i was excited for the "Jews With Guns Tour '08", but alas, we waited too long, and missed registration. so it will be postponed until next year.

so no israel. fair enough. well, sister is booked until june first, and then is booked again at the end of june. then she starts med school. brother insists that girlfriend comes with us, regardless of what we do. girlfriend is working and attending summer classes, and has all sorts of prior family engagements. brother, for his part, is smoking pot and trying to avoid the reality of needing to find a goddamn job. mom wants to miss as few days of work as possible, since she isn't salaried, so every day is a double loss of pay; once for the money she's spending, and again for the money she isn't making.

i'm in the same boat as mom, but i get paid crap, so i don't care when we go, except that my store is so short staffed that we're all walking around with ptsd half the time (post-traumatic stress disorder, for those less learned in the mental health sciences.) and no one can have any time off, ever. seriously, we each get two days off a week, maximum, they're never in a row (so all you can do with your day off, or all you WANT to do, is sleep, and not be on your aching feet), and my favorite part is that even though we're in such dire straits, the company is exceedingly unwilling to pay us overtime. now, people at other stores can incur overtime if they do it by helping out at our store. that's like, totally kosher. but we're still trying to cut labor whenever we can. which leaves us shortstaffed when the inevitable crush comes ten minutes after we send a partner or two home.

so if we go anywhere, well, i'll have to find a lot of nice people to take all my shifts for me. or something. that, or i can't really go anywhere. and at this point, i'm starting to feel like its all too much work. all i really want to do, is go to sleep.

and here's part of why.

we've had like, five separate plans for our vacation. and each plan, has gotten axed in succession. often, because an issue comes up with brother's girlfriend. we were going to take a cruise (its the off season, so it would be cheap, even though we would have to buy a second cabin for all five of us if girlfriend comes along) but a four day three night cruise is during the week, when she has school. so nope. can't do it. three day two night cruise is too short and hurried. not a relaxing vacation. we finally settled on a long weekend cruise, and had it all lined up, but; girlfriend's sister has high school graduation that weekend. so that plan is axed.

now, my issue, besides feeling trapped in a job that is slowly killing me, and which won't let me take the time off i would need in order to be able to continue being ABLE to do the job... deep breath... my issues, are centered on brother, who on the night before his high school graduation, told me that he would feel better if i didn't come to the party that his girlfriend's family was throwing for the two of them the next day. he'd feel better, if i didn't come. it would be uncomfortable for him to have me there. because they're very christian, you see. very conservative. and i'm... well, i'm me, and you just never know what i'm gonna say, do yah!!! i'm just, y'know... a loose cannon. unpredictable.

he didn't really say those last parts. i insert them myself, because i have to do something to explain why it felt like the bottom dropped out of my stomach when he said that to me. "i'd feel better if you didn't come." my mind instantly emptied of all thought. for once in my life, i was completely speechless, and my mind was blank. and my stomach, my abdomen, felt emptied of all viscera. i was hollow, and cold.

because brother has said in the past, several patronizing things like, "i know you're going to be how you want to be..." or "i understand that you're going to do what you want." implying:

a) that though he's trying to sound like he's non-judgemental and cool with it all, he has major issues with how i behave, and

b) that i choose to to do the things i do, and that it's my fault that he's embarassed. that i choose to be gay, and neurotic, and loud, and odd, and that really, i could be like all the normal people if i wanted (and god help me, but sometimes, in all honesty, i find myself wanting to be like normal people) but i insist on acting the way i do. to prove some cosmic point, or something. or maybe just to spite him.

and its stupid to complain. because really, my entire family is an embarassment to my brother. our strangeness, our jewishness, our intellectual natures (except for my sister. she is not, an intellectual. nor will she self-identify as jewish. she's just smart.) our general, and in my opinion healthy, abnormality, our messy house, the way our lives run from one crisis to another, just like any family (again, in my opinion)... he hates it all. god, how he wants us to be normal. he really wants to have a normal life, with a normal family, in a clean normal house where you know that the spaces below the furniture get swept regularly, and nothing accumulates clutter or dust. nevermind the irony of his own abnormality, and how its a part of the net abnormality...

in addition, he's never wanted to expose his girlfriend to us, or our house, or our lives. he made it quite clear, from the beginning of their relationship, when they were in high school, that she might come over, but they would spirit themselves away to his bedroom (formerly my bedroom) with its window out onto the roof where it looks south, and opens onto a valley of single-story house roofs nestled among green trees in the summer. he and i used to sit there, where the eaves cluster around the chimney. back when i smoked, we would get high together and look at our valley, and have the closest we've ever come to a happy and mutually satisfying relationship. now its his room, his roof, his friends and girlfriend. safe from all the weirdness inside the house, down the stairs.

i'm all right with this, in a way. i think its silly, and immature, but its his relationship, and he gets to call the shots. and i've never wanted to be friends with his girlfriend. she's nice, and they seem happy together, but i'm five years older, and a very different person. so fine.

but it was still, to me, the ultimate betrayal; it was beyond cruel, when he made it clear that not only am i an embarassment, and a liability, but that he is ashamed of me. he is ashamed of me to the point where the thought of introducing me to his girlfriend's family terrifies him. i'm sure he loves me, or whatever passes for love with him. but it felt like i'd effectively been disowned.

and now, for the sake of the family of a girl who he's too ashamed of me to have me meet, our vacation plans are changed and rearranged.

it felt bad to me. it felt really bad then, and i ate it. i said, hey, "if [me not being there] is what you need to feel comfortable, then i won't go. i won't go." he was a nervous wreck, graduating high school. what was i supposed to do? well, i forgot about it, or repressed it, or whatever. but after the last axe, the memory sprang up in my head. and i got angry.

really, really, really, REALLY ANGRY.

and part of it isn't justifiable. like it or not, my brother would sell his entire family, me included, down the river at the drop of a hat for the sake of any of his friends, or his girlfriend. he just would. he's shallow, and callous, and unthinkingly cruel, and he really likes playing normal with his blond christian girlfriend and her blond christian family, where no one seems fucked up, and everyone loves each other, and relationships are easy, and the house is always clean.

and for my part, i've really stopped trying. i don't try to talk to him anymore, because i automatically assume that my questions and concerns will be ignored and kicked aside, like i've been. like i did to him, unwittingly, when i was in high school and then went off to college; an abandonment that he has never forgiven me for, and maybe never will. i assume that he'll never be around to talk about serious stuff, and honestly, neither of us really want to spend time with each other. he has friends his own age, and has written me off, and i'm sober now, and can't go back to where we once were. i don't belong on the roof anymore, and it strikes me now, even as i write this, that i hope my brother is at least sad, every now and then, and missing me on the roof with him. but i can't go, and don't want to. time with him sounds unpleasant.

my brother and i don't like each other very much. we're not very similar in a lot of ways. and we've traded a lot of hurt back and forth. and when we do try and talk about things, he's the only person allowed to have emotions. if anyone else starts broadcasting hurt or pain or anger, he throws up his hands and leaves the room. its a defense mechanism he's developed, and well, it works. i don't bring up unpleasant topics.

this is my brother. and i don't really believe in making people change for my benefit. its not a fair thing to ask someone to do. but my friends, i would hope they might try to find a mutually agreeable solution if an issue came up. and my family too, i would hope that if it was obvious that a family member's behavior was hurting me, they might behave differently on their own, if only because they love me, and don't want to be hurting me.

but that, is not my brother.

and that is my truth to accept. and honestly, it makes me want to cry. it makes me feel so small, to not matter to him at all, or to matter so little. it makes me unbearably... its not even just "sad." sad is too short a word. too shallow. it doesn't do the feeling justice. maybe heartbroken. it makes me feel so broken and empty inside, like i'm a hollow person, a pretend person crafted of cardboard and paper. it makes me feel cold, and icy. it makes me feel empty, like a corpse on a slab, with all my insides taken away and discarded.

i can't stop thinking about this.

honestly, it makes brewing coffee seem like a very very difficult task.

so if someone can please stop this ride i seem to be on, i would appreciate it. i would really like to get off.

Skin

2008-05-08T22:47:00.002-05:00

in case you're like me, no, this post is not about foreskin and how i feel about it in general. and believe me, i have some pretty well-developed and nuanced opinions on foreskin. we can have that discussion at some point. but not today.

i'm talking about all our skin. from our toes to our scalp. i'm recently fascinated with skin. and my recent fascination with skin, stems from my long-standing fascination with makeup.

background: i am really, really, really, really obsessive. not so much compulsive. just obsessive. like, not OCD, just OD. i get so wrapped up and worried about the planning of a project, that i inevitably reach a point where i become terrified of actually starting it, because i've built it up into such a nuanced and detailed machine, that i am convinced i will inevitably fail.

for a long time, upon receiving a sandwich, i would spend several minutes taking it apart and reassembling it in a manner i found more pleasing. my family continues to make fun of me for how long it takes me to prepare food. and it bugs the hell out of me. and they can eat shit and die.

obsessions can also be soothing. when the big messy world is simply too overwhelming, i can focus in on a single little detail and very easily tune everything else out. i could stare at birds, or bugs, or the birthmark on my hand for ages. sometimes, i look at catalogs of flower bulbs, and read the glowing prose about each variety of tulip or lily, and i look at each wonderfully composed picture. its all very, very soothing. or at the least, a defense mechanism; a way of kicking the complexities and worries of the world out, and creating order and simplicity within.

naturally, makeup is a perfect outlet for my obsessive tendencies as well. i love walking up and down aisles of carefully arranged bottles and sticks and compacts, all grouped by face area, by ingredient, by product line, by product type. and then, within each of those categories, all the various hues are assembled in ranks; pinks and plums and reds and oranges and browns and buffs and teals and taupes and greens. its very, very soothing.

its also very much a study in covetousness. because in real life, i actually never wear makeup. but i still feel like its always good practice to have a bottle or two of good foundations at my disposal, "just in case." and of course, with those, i need so eye-shadow, maybe a couple of liners. some lip gunk. etc. then there's nail polish, which comes down to a rothko-like study of color. i haven't painted my nails in at least two years, but i hang on to my two dozen bottles of polish, taking them out of their box at times to look at them, and marvel at the strength of their hues. its similar to how i view the buying of a scarf as a tribute to the art of the spinner of the wool, the weaver, and the assembler. its barely clothing, straddling as it does the line between functional item, and an exercise in fiber art. nail polish is even less functional, but in its retreat from purpose, it at the same time blossoms into an experiment in pure color.

now, i never have an occasion to wear makeup in real life. so sometimes, i just choose an evening during which i will apply everything that i have on hand, just to see what it all looks like. i immediately wash it off afterwards, several times. but its still important to give in to the compulsion.

except the last time i put on a foundation, it resulted in an odd effect.

it was a relatively lightweight neutrogena foundation, matched quite well to my skin tone. but after applying it evenly, i looked in the mirror, and all the color had been sucked from my face. i suppose it smoothed me out, made my face a blank canvas, which i suppose can be the purpose of foundation. but it was remarkable how cold and dead i suddenly looked and felt.

hence, my current fascination with skin.

never mind that our skin is our largest organ, weighing in at about six pounds. never mind that its a wonderfully dualistic creation, simple in its appearance, complex in its function as a border between the inside and the out. never mind that it serves as physical protection, sensory system, temperature regulator. skin is all these things, and by fulfilling its purpose, it is utterly beautiful.

it is beautiful in what it reveals and what it conceals. it is beautiful in its layers of transparency and opaqueness. just like a squid or cuttlefish, we change our colors, blush and flush, pale and turn ashen, glow, almost flouresce. our forests of tiny hairs spring forth from our pores, raise and lower according to the weather. our pores open to bring in air and release sweat. veins are revealed and concealed with each movement. fields of wrinkles surround our joints. our knuckles are like great canyons. our genitals like florid blossoms.

makeup, i think, does the world a great disservice. it takes all of this away from us. it trades in artistry and a facsimile of "perfection" for the millions of permutations that our bare skin can display. it robs us of our emotions, every one of which registers on, IN, our skin. makeup can only conceal. it can only convey one thing. our skin, can convey desire, envy, pain, sadness, joy, everything and anything we may be feeling. and at the exact same time, it shows where the knobs of our elbows sit. it reveals and then hides away the muscles of our forearms. it breaks out in gooseflesh when a cool breeze whips around the corner, and all our little hairs rise up; taut skin, soft down.

its comforting to know that if i'm exhausted, i can look in the mirror and get evidence to support the theory. the slick, shiny purple bags under my eyes, my sunken sockets and heavy-lidded eyes all say, "yes, you must sleep." its soothing to be able to look at my hands and recognize them as my own, to recognize my knotty joints and bony knuckles, the flushed expanses of muscle between my thumbs and pointer fingers, to see the same patches of miniscule hair, and the same moles in the same places.

and its comforting to know that my cheeks flush red, and my lips remain a ridiculous hue that varies between pink and rosy purple; they are so garish, my lips, that they are part of the reason i wear a beard. alone on my face, they would be too obvious, too much "... a piece of raw tuna laid across my face." (go read "Memoirs of a Geisha," IMMEDIATELY!)

i am in love with skin. my own, and yours. its vitality. its expressiveness. its two-fold nature; what it reveals, and what it conceals inside.

i am in love with skin, and secrets it keeps.

and the secrets it doesn't.

There's Something...

2008-05-07T18:14:00.002-05:00

there's something about standing in front of a cash register and service person, i think, that leaves human beings unable to process simple information in a timely and intelligent manner.

case in point:

i am at my cash register. an asian lady walks in, and no, she does not have an indecipherable accent. i can understand everything she says. its not that kind of a story.

she reached me, and told me she wanted to buy a fifteen dollar gift-card. i directed her to the display of cards in front of me, and told her to pick whichever she liked, and i would put fifteen dollars on it, and she'd be set. oh if only things were that easy...

she picked a card, i put on fifteen dollars of store credit, and that's when she asked for an envelope.

"i'm very sorry ma'am, but we're out of envelopes. we had three kinds just a week or two ago, but we've run out completely."

my manager pops up from below the counter. (she was looking for something, she wasn't hiding there for dramatic effect. oh if only she had been... if only life really were a cabaret...)

"you can put the card in a cup, and then say, 'hey, i got you a drink!' then, they open the cup, and they get a gift-card."

i love my manager. she's a fucking riot. sadly, her suggestion is dismissed by the customer.

i pipe up.

"what we've been doing, is taping shut the bottom of a cup sleeve with a coffee sticker, and slipping the card in there. its really very nice."

no no. this will simply not do either.

"but you don't have any envelopes?"

"no, i'm sorry, but we don't have any envelopes."

this provokes a long and serious sigh. and then, four other permutations of the same exchange.

"you don't have envelopes?"

"no, we don't have envelopes."

"well, do you have anything else i could put the card in?"

you mean like the cup, or the sleeve, or like an envelope?

"no, i'm sorry, we can put the card in a sleeve for you, or a cup, but we don't have anything else."

"when will you have envelopes?"

my manager comes to the rescue.

"not until thursday at least, ma'am."

"but you don't have any now?"

at this point, i really, really want to say: its because you're asian, miss. i'm sorry. if you weren't asian, i'd be able to help you. we have a billion envelopes, actually, but since you're asian, i just can't give you one. sorry.

really, i wanted to say anything just to make her go away. a line is growing behind her, and she keeps asking me, if i have an envelope.

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! I DON'T, HAVE, AN ENVELOPE! I'M SORRY! DO YOU WANT THE CARD, OR NOT!?

finally, she sinks into a silence punctuated by sighs. she looks at the card in the sleeve, she looks at me, she looks around the store, and she looks at the card.

"no, i think i'll buy the card somewhere else."

like somewhere where they have envelopes, i'll bet... i take the money off the card, and she leaves.

i still somehow do not understand the human animal. why do we do these things? what is wrong with us?

by the way, i've heard that lots of stores are currently out of envelopes for their gift cards. have a good drive, ma'am.

The Pleasure of Not Doing Business

2008-05-02T01:04:00.002-05:00

i love time off from work. and it is rare these days, my friends. i had today off, though, and i have tomorrow off as well. i am pretty fucking stoked about that, i can tell you.

however, i'm tired, and a side effect of being all topsy-turvy due to work-related issues (and moderately productive on a day off even, thankyouverymuch) is that you don't have much time to blog. or at least, i don't have enough time or mental energy to patch the random events of my life into a coherent narrative. not that my coherent narratives are necessarily that coherent, but you know. i like them to sort of have a flow of some sort.

so i will be establishing a flow as best i can, at the moment, which means writing a list, basically. i like lists. i like lists a lot. they make it so that everything has a place it belongs, and everything is easily visible, and you can go along the list and check tasks off as you complete them, or insert rod a into slot b (hahahaha, i can quote family guy! i truly am just as intelligent as the vast majority of bloggers!), and just generally feel productive about your time.

and god knows but i love feeling productive. its like the greatest aphrodisiac in my life. i get wet when i smell three-ring binders, freshly cut paper, and professional binding machines.

i don't actually want to make a list right now, though. it would be a good way to sift through a lot of information that i've been storing up for when i actually have time to make blog entries about it. i could quickly give you an update on all things josh stone. but it seems cheap. and it seems like a really good way to sell myself short. and i don't want to flirt with either of those. so i think i'll just ramble for a bit, and see where we get.

i've been talking to someone online. its getting to that point where i can't actually tell if i like them or not. apparently, this is a problem that afflicts many INFJs. its amazing. i can talk to someone for ages, and not be sure how i feel about them. then, when i figure out i hate them, a tremendous weight is lifted off me. and when i find out i'm in love with them, its like i've been hit in the face with a frying pan. well, mostly, my current situation has led me to the following conclusions.

any way you slice it, twenty years old is young. its really young. and no matter how mature someone seems, or how grown up they sound, every time you talk, they are going to say something that makes you take a step back and look them up and down while you mutter, "my god, you really are twenty, and that is an amazing thing."

i've also realized, or allowed myself to actually pay attention to, a few facts: a) i graduated from one of the top ten or fifteen universities in the nation. THE NATION. i got in, i went, i learned a shitload, and i graduated. i am smart. b) i applied to three competitive graduate schools in my state, and i got, in, to each, one. all three. accepted. austin was always my first choice, but i had my pick of all three schools that i applied to. i am some kind of smart. i am good. i am smart. i work hard. i succeed. i do not fail. i made a choice to not continue with my graduate schooling, but i did not fail. i succeeded. by all accounts.

i don't read enough. i miss reading. and i miss reading academic texts. i miss reading critical articles about literature and race and class and sexuality. i miss theoretical writing. i miss feeling strong, and smart. the strong, i need to attack from a few new directions, but the smart, i'm feeling a little more, recently. its a good thing to feel.

also, its really hard to blog when you're listening to goldfrapp.

they kind of demand your attention.

and i'm sort of willing to give them my attention. and its a nice change, right now, to feel able to give my attention to something, without having to feel like i'm avoiding something.

Status Update:

2008-04-13T23:48:00.002-05:00

the jock-itch has returned.

this is both literally true, and a good metaphor for how my life feels in general at the moment.

fungus is rapidly becoming something other than my favorite thing ever (big mushroom and yeast fan. i'll tell you about it later.)

fungus, is starting to really irritate me.

also, i feel like i weigh a ton.

that is all.

Well, I Asked For It...

2008-04-09T01:49:00.002-05:00

recent events aren't actually doing much to make me something other than "the WEIRD guy," but they're certainly making me... something...

they're making me think i should be careful about wistfully longing for change.

because karma has no, sense of humor. none. at least, you won't find the shit funny until some time has passed. because karma, is one bad ass, combat boot wearing, sniper rifle carrying, unfiltered cigarette smoking, whiskey chugging, souped up mustang driving, all bets are off motherfucker.

recent events:

1) my store manager was fired.

2) two thirds of the staff decided to quit in a show of solidarity. or something. reasons are varied, but the general consensus is that things are just not the same. also, lots of them are young, and "don't want to work for a corporation that would just fire someone whose worked for them for seven years!" i must bite my tongue to not yell that indeed, all corporations are like that. oh well. i'm cynical. bite me.

3) i'm staying. and the next two months are going to be chaotic, depressing, and a major pain in the ass. but i need the job, i need the money, i need the insurance, and i probably need to learn how to weather such storms and practice saying the serenity prayer. so i'm staying. perhaps a raise or promotion is even in the works! who knows, right?

4) i feel fat like easter candy. i feel like a cadbury creme egg (i HATE those fucking things! EWWW!!!). after a three week hiatus, i'm back on a workout schedule, but i'm tired, man. i'm tired, and i feel like a jiggly pudding cup, and i'm just... not pleased with my physical situation right now. my blood sugars took this brief opportunity to climb up to unacceptable levels, and when i close my eyes, i see doctors amputating my gangrenous toes one by one. also, not exercising makes me depressed. welcome to suckfest.

5) my sister's totally unnecessary breast lift (she's twenty-three and gorgeous. and i'm not saying that because i'm her brothers. she's fucking beautiful. no one has EVER complained about how she looks naked. and she ain't the neighborhood bike or nothin', but she's had her kicks, y'know?) is coming up in a week and a half. i keep hoping she'll wake up one morning and say, "wow, this is something i don't have to do, and don't want to do! i like my body, just the way it is!" she won't. and i have to be supportive. but coming from a place where i've been diagnosed with a number of actual physical diseases that don't "go away" or "get healed," things that i just have to "deal with," this is all just too strange.

in fact, let's explore this last one a bit more. because recently, i've been rather upset with my body. i feel as though i've been doing everything right: i eat really, really healthily; i exercise regularly; i try to stay on top of my psychological shit, so as not to go apeshit; i take all my medications, on time and as prescribed; i don't drink, smoke, or toke.

my repayment: low functioning thyroid. totally treatable, common, no big deal.

BUT IT BASICALLY FEELS LIKE MY BODY IS GIVING ME THE FINGER AND TELLING ME TO GET BENT!

born with club foot. operated on. leg looks funky, but i can walk just fine, and have never had a problem with the limb since.

never a jock, never a fan of physical activity. feel fat. always. will only wear sweatpants or shorts until fifth grade. my first appearance in jeans is remarked upon by all the cool kids. super.

diagnosed with insulin dependent diabetes. ten years this july. thrilling. just, thrilling.

depression, alcoholism, drug abuse. attempted slutty behavior (failed, despite my best, most drunken efforts).

hypo-thyroid condition.

and this is totally turning into a pity party, and i don't want it to be. i don't like spending time moaning about how bad i have it, because i don't actually think i have it all that bad. i'm completely mobile, i'm smart and mentally agile, i'm articulate, i'm physically attractive despite my best efforts to hide or ignore it, i can basically do, whatever i choose to do. because i'm also a white male, not overtly effeminate, born into a middle-class family of well-educated professionals, with enough money left to me by my dead grandparents to pay for college and allow me to feel safe and comfortable. i really, have it fucking made.

i'm just shocked, is all.

i keep expecting that at some point, i'll get used to it. one day, i'll wake up, and everything i eat, every action i take, all the things i do that count double, because of my diseases, well, i'll just be all right with them. i'll have "dealt with them," and that'll be that. but i don't get used to them. you apparently can't just put these things to bed and get on with your life. and its so amazing to me that every time i have to tweak my insulin doses, or force myself to go to the gym, or work really hard to not eat that one cookie, its like a slap in the face. its fresh again, real, visceral. and lately, its been driving me crazy.

i've mentioned (have i? i don't remember...) that my current "project" is to not invalidate my feelings, but rather to let myself feel them, and accept them as just as powerful a reality as "objective" reality. and i didn't expect that a great deal of feelings are wrapped up in my health issues. which is so silly sounding when i type it. but i really thought i had dealt with it; packaged it, boxed it, taped it up, and put it on a shelf with a label so i can find it if necessary. but with this whole last month, its really been one big frustrated and pissy "FUCK IT!" i'm tired of dealing with this shit. i'm tired of everything i do having both an immediate effect, and a long term cumulative effect. i'm tired of my future forever being a question of "i wonder if i'll get to keep both my feet?" i'm tired, and i'm sad, and i'm pissed of, and the wound isn't healed, it isn't even scabbed over at the moment, its open, and bloody, and it hurts and hurts and hurts.

so perhaps you can see why my sister's unnecessary surgery is bugging me so much. BEYOND the fact that i think plastic surgery, or cosmetic surgery, or "getting work done" is just, its so horrible. its such a hatred of body and self, to feel you need to erase, or jostle, or change what you were born with, and given by the universe. and obviously, i'm not talking about corrections of major issues, be they accident induced, or genetic. because we are a society that judges people on looks, and everyone deserves at least a fighting chance. supermodels are supermodels for a reason (and that reason is anorexia and cocaine) but no one should be relegated to the category of sideshow anomoly. (though i suppose there could be good money in the field. i don't know. i've never checked.) but my sister is beautiful. she's beautiful, and so gorgeous, and i don't want her to feel the need to change for anybody. i want her to see herself the way i see her. i want her to feel as beautiful as she looks. i don't want her to let people cut on her so her "saggy titties" don't bother her anymore.

but of course, i'm a little biased.

in other news, i think the jock-itch has cleared up. and that makes me pretty happy.

sigh...

Mid-Course Correction?

2008-03-28T23:31:00.002-05:00

i've decided i'm tired of being "the weird guy."

cuz that's totally what i am, who i am, the character i end up being in everyone's life, including mine. i'm that crazy, funny guy; i'm the guy who talks to himself, and who dances around, even when there's no music. i'm that guy that says funny things. i'm that guy who always gets played by a character actor. i'm the guy who isn't super-attractive (even though i sort of am) and who plays second fiddle to the guy who gets the girl. i'm the guy whose name is never above the title during the credits. i'm the funny-man, the second banana, the kramer.

i'm tired of it.

i'm tired of it not in that i think i'm being somehow not "genuine." i think i'm being perfectly me. i haven't even been thinking overly much about how i'm presenting myself to who, and how they are in turn perceiving me. well, my "not thinking much" is often your "thinking way too damn much." but still, i'd been doing well for me. i've to a surprising degree, just been living. but here i am, able to count the number of close friends in the area on one hand. to everyone else, i've been classified as the nutty dude who may or may not be a complete and utter pot-head. i'm the loopy one who no one wants to really pry open and take a look inside of.

i'm tired of it.

and i'm not tired of it in the sense that i want to fundamentally change who i am. nor do i like caring about how i'm being perceived. but i'm finding a dearth of people who are willing to look at me wholly and fully, not as simply a caricature of a few of my personality traits. i'm tired of being pigeon-holed. and much as i would resist it until fully ready, i'm tired of people having little desire to explore me more fully. i'm tired of weak people who are willing to take what i feed them, and have no interest in rising to the delicious and complex challenge that i am.

in short, i feel like i'm not allowed to be a protagonist in my own life. i feel like i'm perpetually there to amuse others, and even me, but that a constant parade of people are passing me by, spinning out their own stories and making progress, making love, making connections. and i'm the funny guy. the creepy guy. my story never gets told.

and i wonder, as i type this, how much of this is because i won't let my story go on. i'm on the right path, but i know i'm... still in a holding pattern? not moving on? i don't know. i'm working on it. but i'm still in first gear? i also wonder how much i'm simply creating my own reality with people. i know i project an air of unapproachability. sure, i'm goofy and funny and shit, but i'm very careful about what i see as "imposing" on other people, or looking desperate or lonely. so i don't ask to be included, and i don't do anything to invite them to. and i have a great many "protective mechanisms" in place, and even if people aren't consciously aware of them, or understand what i'm doing, i'm sure they sense them. i think i trick people into thinking i'm dangerous, and that they should stay away for their own good.

maybe i am dangerous, and they should stay away for their own good...

but for the love of fucking god, not EVERYONE should stay away!!!

geeze...

so i don't know. i don't particularly want to be "normal," but i sort of do. i don't feel like i'm THAT cracked out... but maybe i am. i just don't know. but i know i'm lonely, and i know i'm tired of being whatever it is that people take me for.

i'm tired of being taken for less than i am.

i'm tired of it.

Feeling Kinda Hostile...

2008-03-25T19:57:00.002-05:00

sooo i'm in a foul mood.

yes, i know, this isn't really a "suprise" or "something out of the ordinary" or "blah blah blah blah sarcasm!" i know i'm petulant and whiny. i know you know. but i'm the one writing this blog. i KNOW why i'm coming back. if YOU'RE coming back, well, maybe you should be looking at that, huh?

so everyone at work basically thinks i'm a total pot-head. AND NO, I'M NOT!!! i've actually been stone cold sober and unaltered for almost two years now. but apparently, i still act and look like a total druggie. this is not actually a surprise, per-see, but it was still sort of disheartening. like, if i'm going to be perceived as a smoked out weirdo anyway, shouldn't i at least actually smoke and have the fun?

and no, no, no, that's not really an option. because i get really non-functional when i'm stoned, and i don't like the person i eventually became when i was actively smoking. i'd like to not be that person again. so i'm not going to smoke. but really... geeze. i didn't know i was that ridiculous...

best part: i was so tired and mildly ill the day after i got let in on this rumor that i was COMPLETELY cracked out. full on spazz mode. that, and the fact that i was sort of fixated on the situation, made it all just look like the world's worst denial.

and really, i don't overly care. except that i've been working so hard to stay clean... sigh...

and today, i got written up for giving away free drinks to co-workers when they aren't actually working. a no brainer, right? sort of. allow me...

as much as i was aware that free drinks are only during a shift, and the half hours before and after a shift, it was made quite clear to me by co-workers that what you did, when someone from the store came in off-shift, was hook them up. end of discussion. against the rules, yes. but what you do.

now admittedly, i'm not that great at like, subtlety, or reading into the finer points of a situation. i should have been more careful, obviously. but i wasn't. i didn't think to distinguish between times when a manager in on the sitch was around, or when a manager NOT in on the sitch was around. i didn't think to keep it quiet and low-key. so last week, i got caught by our new manager (who i'm sort of friends with. except when she needs to lay the smack down. its all very difficult, this personal versus professional stuff. and i'm horrible at it.) giving free beverages to an off-duty co-worker, and she gave me a verbal warning.

which was irritating enough, because then i get mad at her as i would at a friend. when she's totally just got her boss hat on and is doing her job. i know it isn't a reflection on how she feels about me personally, and i know that i'm not good at separating personal and professional. in fact, i'm not sure how much i've EVER developed the "professional" side of that equation. anyway, i digress.

so today, the district manager was in the store all day (FUN!!!) working with our store manager. during a break, store manager pulls me into the office (he actually politely asked me to come into the back room for a minute. there were no goons. it was not a mob-type thing.) and tells me that during discussion, the manager who caught me mentioned the episode described above to the both store and district manager. so the same incident was filed as a written warning.

now, i'm told (and i probably AM) getting off lucky, as giving away drinks is tantamount to stealing from the company, and i could have been terminated instead of getting a verbal warning. and then, i could have gotten terminated instead of getting a written warning. now, i can just be terminated the next time i'm caught doing it. which will probably be never. sort of. i don't know.

but in the meantime, i'm irritated, because of a few things:

1) i'm irritated because i was caught, and i got in trouble. simple as that. everyone knows that rules are there, and that they're to be followed. i know this, i agree with this, but i also think that rules just shouldn't apply to me, especially when i've been breaking them. its a human thing, we all feel like that, its how we're wired. whatever.

2) i'm irritated because of my own problems with not being able to distinguish when things are personal, and when things are professional. the easy solution would be to always be professional when i'm at work. but that doesn't sound like any fun to me, and i would like to be able to relax and have fun while i'm working. by the way, i think i'm getting some sort of eye twitch from the sustained stress. that's something separate though.

3) i'm irritated because the store manager knows that basically, everyone and their dog gives away drinks to a few people. but i'm the one who happened to have done it most recently, i'm the one who was brought up in conversation, so i'm the one who got the slap on the wrist. dumb luck.

4) i'm irritated because i'm getting dinged twice for the same instance. i got my verbal warning, and trust me, i heard it. i don't like being in trouble, i don't like being irritated with my boss for being a boss because i'm personally hurt by something she did as a professional.

5) i'm irritated because it feels arbitrary. we all bend the rules, we all skirt some things. and i work damn hard. i take my job seriously, i make myself be pleasant to all the customers, i work really hard on the bar, i do what i'm told, even if its not my favorite task, etc, etc, etc. this is embarassing. i'll warn you now. but i really like starbucks, and i really like my job. i don't like starbucks as a corporate entity, i don't think, but i like them for giving me a job, and giving me a place to go and work. i like them for giving me benefits, and taking care of me. and i like the people i work with, and the store i work at. i like being a part of all of that. and the people i work with know it, i think. i'm pretty sure... anyway, to be so invested in something, and then get dinged for something that really seems like a technicality... well shit. what the fuck?

i do understand that the disciplinary action has nothing to do with how my managers feel about me. and i completely understand that we lose a good chunk of change every day from people giving away drinks. i understand that its technically stealing from the company, and i understand why its as serious an offense as it is.

but in the interest of not short-changing myself, i FEEL really upset. i FEEL really fucking pissed. i'm irritated, i'm annoyed, and i'm really fucking ANGRY. i'm not sure what to do with it, or where to put it, but its there.

and that was my day at work.

also, in the "Use It Or Lose It" department, my sadly neglected jockal area has jock itch. which is in actuality, a minor fungal infection. but i can't find my lamisil. and its gonna sting when i do.

all in all, what with the tiredness, and crap, and the dick issue, i feel like i'm falling apart, and i don't necessarily feel like its even worth the effort to put myself back together again.

and having written about my jock-itch, i am now absolutely certain that someone i know will find this all. because the chance of my cover being blown increases in direct proportion to just how embarrassing things get on this page. well, we have a new winner.

Jock Itch, everyone, Jock Itch.

soooo Jesus...

2008-03-23T22:43:00.002-05:00

jesus was totally a zombie.

think about it. or allow me to illuminate MY thought process. (more fun, less effort. for you, anyway...)

he died on a friday. a good friday. bummer. didn't even get a last weekend. just a last supper.

three days later, he's "resurrected." yet his body is never found, as my step-mom brought up.

where did he go? where did his body go?

i, think its a safe bet that his soul went to "heaven," or wherever it is that souls go upon... going.

AND HIS BODY LEFT THE CAVE TO FEAST ON THE BRAINS OF THE LIVING!!!

jesus: king of king, and lord of the living dead. i am so making a line of t-shirts about this...

seriously though, i don't even have this strange zombie-fetish that so many people my age do. like, they just don't do "it" for me... like, they don't give me the big "O". i'm not a zombie-luvr.

but zombie jesus... that, THAT, is something i can totally get behind.

i still dislike christianity though. and jesus' life story makes me really uncomfortable. i hate martyrs. i hate cruelty. and i really dislike easter. i don't think the bible is any sort of definite authority on what is "sin" and what isn't. and i don't think anyone can absolve you of your sins but yourself, the ones you sinned against, and your own conception of any sort of higher power.

and yes, i will continue to be offensive and over-defensive every easter. possibly until i die.

there's just a lot of jesus in the air, and i can't help it. i'm allergic.

Anger

2008-03-18T21:55:00.002-05:00

anger feels really, really good.

scratch that. not all the time. well... here. anger unfortunately can cause us to do things that are not in our own best interest.

but being angry, and releasing that anger in any sort of constructive (or at least non-destructive) fashion, feels fucking amazing.

i had an anger-gasm today. it was good. it was real good. i realized what a fucking knot i've been tied in over this "thirty percent body fat, hypo-thyroid condition" bullshit that i've been hit with. and i spent the day letting myself feel really, really, really angry. and i spent my evening trying to describe to mom just how fucking insanely irritated, irate, livid, depressed, frustrated, and pissed the fuck off i am about it all. and then i ate dinner.

now, i'm feeling much more relaxed. i'm feeling tired, and better. i'm basking in the afterglow of having successfully started dealing with an extremely intense emotion. sighhhhh... it feels good.

i don't know if i'm done being angry about this. my guess is no. but for the moment, i feel really nicely cleaned out and hollowed, like i've let a hot wind blow through me, and scour out my insides, and now i'm all warm and clean.

and the best part is, for the most part, i didn't upset anyone else for the sole reason of spreading the misery.

nor did i eat a whole bunch of crap in order to take revenge on my body.

hey look! progress!

Systems Failing!

2008-03-18T00:16:00.002-05:00

you know what i love? and i mean that in both the completely ironic sense, AND the serious and honest sense. i LOVE (leaning towards ironic...) when my coping mechanisms get in the way of my daily life, or in fact, stop working all together.

let me unpack that a little bit for you.

used to be, if i was upset about something, i would sleep. i would just fucking sleep the clock around like belle and sebastien suggest. it was a coping mechanism, and i'm sure it wasn't actually all that effective, but dammit, it allowed me to mostly function, most of the time. whatever was upsetting me hung around in the background until it got actually dealt with. whatever.

let's not get into drugs and alcohol. suffice it to say, they don't really work. and they're a lot more harmful than sleeping. in fact, after i stopped using drugs and alcohol, i went back to sleeping to deal with my cravings for them, and the mess i was in, and the mess i was. sleep, and lots of cigarettes.

another fun one, is zoning out on the internet for hours at a time. you fool yourself, because its not as passive as t.v., so you feel like you must be a step up from watching "Golden Girls" reruns. but you're not, really. i waste, fucking days of my life on this stupid machine. i check my e-mail, check my networking/dating site profiles, look up cute/interesting people, watch music videos, watch porn, read blogs, write in my blog, catch up on news, catch up on my webcomics, see what my horoscopes have to say, wikipedia a few items of interest, and then do the whole damn cycle over again. over, and over, and over again.

i'm so exhausted i forgot to change out of my house sandals before going to work this morning, and had to A. look down at my feet to figure out why they felt so different, and B. drive home and put on my work shoes and drive back so i was able to grab a register and then pour hot water on my hand, and just let it keep pouring for a few seconds before figuring out what was going on and stopping the madness. and then i charged the district manager for her drink. and failed to give anyone their pastries for thirty minutes. i think my throbbing boiled hand might have been distracting me.

i am this tired. my eyes constantly feel gritty. my feet hurt. i act like a stoned cheerleader. minus the boobies. but here i am, writing to you (and watching episodes of "Home Movies" on youtube.com) instead of sleeping.

don't get me wrong. i fucking love "Home Movies."

but i really need to be asleep three days ago now.

i just can't get it together.

Pneumonia Vaccine

2008-03-15T23:17:00.001-05:00

also, i got a pneumonia vaccine yesterday while i was at the doctor's.

my arm fucking aches like a motherfucker.

i am not pleased.

i suppose that's all.

i hate everything. goodnight.

F.Y.I.

2008-03-15T02:45:00.003-05:00

i have watched/listened to the video to Robyn's song "Be Mine!" about one hundred times today.

i am fully and completely addicted.

i even did that thing i do, where i just start writhing around on my bed in some strange uncontainable convulsion. you do those things too... when no one's looking, you do them. i have my bed dance. i don't know what you have. but like, i was all over the place. moving to the music made me feel really good. and hot (and bothered).

so yeah.

go, and watch the video (either one. there are two.) and like, do your own little bed dance. because i swear, the song is like crack. swedish blond crack. and beyond that, its really really good. its good crack. high class ho. like eliot spitzer was into, back when he was governer.

oh! OH! i went there... i am SO topical...

also, robyn totally reminds me of a girl in my architecture program. a totally awesome girl. i miss her. but she's also a really big personality. so i'm coping with her absence all right. but yeah. teh awesome. robyn, and the girl.

It's Glandular!

2008-03-14T23:44:00.002-05:00

remember how homer simpson is always saying that when people tell him he's fat?

well, he said it at least once. i remember. where were you?

anyway, the point is, NOW I GET TO SAY IT!!!

isn't it exciting!

actually, its really depressing, and i feel like a whale. i don't look like a whale. i just feel like one. its a feeling that has no basis in objective, physical reality. but in my brain, man... its fuckin' REAL! i hate brains. i think they should be outlawed.

no, the thing is, i apparently have a hypo-thyroid condition. the thyroid controls your metabolism. hence, if its functioning at diminished capacity, you may feel very tired often (check), feel sluggish and slow (check), and have trouble with prolonged activity and losing weight (aaaaand CHECK). also, i got the news about this new bit of fun (completely treatable with a simple pill, mind you) the same day i get told twice that my BMI is twenty-nine.

for those of you blessed enough to not know or care what one's BMI is (and go to hell, every last one of you...), its a measure of the percentage of your body weight that is made up of FAT. anything over twenty-five is overweight. over thirty is obese, or fat as hell, or something like that. over forty means you are a failure as a human being and completely unlovable. not really. that's just how it all FEELS...

feelings are real. they are real, and completely valid. they may not be an accurate reflection of reality, but they are totally real.

ain't that a fuckin' bitch?

so anyway, i'm having an issue with this. because i've been working out, hard, for the past nine months. and i'm pleased with the results i've attained. but i feel like they've been slow in coming. and now i can't even get to the gym as often as i want to (thyroid) and when i go to yoga, i feel weak (thyroid), even though i'm now on my feet and moving at the store most days and shouldn't reasonably expect to be able to exert myself as much because of that.

it all just makes me want to stop. its really discouraging.

and the fuck of it is, i know that the BMI results i'm looking at are wrong. they're skewed. i haven't had any actual BMI tests run on me, which means the results are using my height and weight. and those mathematics are flawed. they don't take into account your frame, (i.e. someone with size forty-two shoulders versus size thirty-six shoulders. ditto a woman with wide hips versus one with narrow hips.) nor do they take into account the fact that the taller a person is, the more bone and basic connective tissue mass there is to support the larger frame. that relationship isn't linear. you can't "start at five feet and one hundred pounds. add a pound for every inch. when you hit your height, that's the middle of your ideal weight range. anything fifteen pounds above or below that is within your thirty pound window." it doesn't work that way.

case in point. for the sake of argument, let's say a man is six feet tall and two hundred pounds. we don't know exactly what his body looks like, but we have a basic idea of how he might be put together. the tallest man in the world, was eight feet and a couple inches. he weighed, four hundred pounds. you wouldn't know it to look at him. he didn't look like what we imagine four hundred pounds of human would look like. but to keep the human body functional at a two foot height increase (133% of our six foot man) another two hundred pounds were needed (200% of our six foot man).

the ratio is exponential, not linear.

so i know, rationally, i know, that these measurements are incorrect. not that you can't do a real and accurate BMI exam. but i haven't had one done. these results are incorrect. and all my other numbers are good. my cholesterol, my hemoglobin A1c, etc. i have none of the indicators that an overweight person would have.

but it's still fuckin' me up.

on the plus side, brother's birthday was today. we had breakfast as a family at the geunther house by the river, and there was totally a hen mallard duck nesting in the hedge. it was the cutest thing i have seen in recent memory. she had the nest all lined with down feathers, and she was snuggled up, presumably on some eggs, with her head resting on her wing. and it made me really, really happy.

the meal made me sick. i cannot, eat waffles. they make me sick. i thought i would vomit.

duck...

i love ducks. i almost typed "i love dicks" by accident. which is totally true, but not what i was actually thinking about right now. i was thinking about ducks. and my strange, extreme love of them. i just think they're like, the best fluffy cute things ever. and i want some of my own. which is not going to happen. right now.

oh, but the best/saddest part of my BMI crisis was when i was telling mom about all this, and ended by saying "i would rather expend my energy freaking out about the results than on examining my assumption that i must be skinny and attractive, otherwise i don't deserve love and affection." which we both know is not how things work in reality. i mean, how many ugly people are in perfectly satisfactory relationships? then we both laughed. we are sooo going to hell...

i totally love dicks...

do you know how long its been since i've seen a dick in real life, other than my own? years. YEARS!!! too long.

this is degenerating. i'm done.

Flossing

2008-03-05T23:26:00.002-06:00

ahhh, the suckage... i am really, really, obviously shitty about updating this blog on a regular basis. a fact that my editor is totally going to have a cow about (rightfully so. and not my editor. i guess she's the queen bee of our little blogging-for-film enterprise. she's the baddest bitch, y'know?) anyway, yes. i'm still alive. the sickness did not consume me. and in fact, i managed to fully avoid vomiting. which is AWESOME!

cuz vomiting, fucking sucks, yo.

so its march now. the sun is in the sign of pisces. brother's birthday is coming up. as is Steven's. and C's. my life is full of pisces. we are, after all, opposing signs. opposites breed curiosity. and with my brother, they also breed frustration. but what can you do? i've decided that if he doesn't plan on being home with the fam on his birthday, i will totally work that day, and not feel bad about it. it is not my responsibility to be at his beck and call, and ever wait in the wings in case his other plans don't work out, or whatever. fuck that. i'm done.

work continues. i still really enjoy it. i'm getting markably better at it. and i got my official certification in the mail this last tuesday. of course, i forgot to bring it home for reasons i'll get to in a second, but its there, waiting for me. i am now an official barista. as my manager said, "you're a real boy now." yup. there are no strings on me, save my crippling fear and my all-consuming avarice. but other than those, and my inability to trust people, i am completely stringless. free as a bird.

but this tuesday... i was reeeally tired at work. because i finally got to pull ye olde Demon Shift. the one where you close the store one night and finish up at midnight, and then have to be there to open the store up again at five the next morning. the schedule where you wonder whether its even worth sleeping at all, and if you do opt for sleep, you're tempted to just sleep in your clothes so you can roll out of bed and right into your car four hours later. now, i did do this by choice (see the reference to "all-consuming avarice" above), and i figured it was bound to happen eventually, so i decided to just make it happen and get through the first one so i know what i'll be dealing with in the future. and it was rough, but it was fine. the best, the BEST part, though, was tuesday morning, when i was at the register trying to smile and going off of three hours of sleep, and the person who was supposed to get there at seven or so (in time to help the two openers field the morning rush) didn't show.

AWESOME!

but my manager was really pleased with me, which is good, and i'm pleased with myself. i like having a job that forces me to roll with punches and deal with situations that are beyond my control. those are things i'm not great at, and need to practice. and the pleasant thing is, i really don't tend to get mad at this point. so i work four hours without a break. fine. eventually, someone will get there to relieve me. every situation must end, and until then, you simply deal. and it really isn't that bad.

however, there is also another undercurrent of ... stuff ... in my life at the moment, and that's where the title of this post comes into play.

i am really excited to be in a position to make some money right now. and really, if i were ridiculously avaricious, i wouldn't be working at starbucks, because let's face it... they don't pay all that great. scheduling flexibility, benefits, fun times, sure. but i'm not like, hauling it in. which is fine for now. i'm learning things right now. i'm where i need to be. but my sickness of two weeks ago, and my willingness to work the Demon Shift, are also part of my failure to floss regularly for a few months. gross, right? but in truth, all three of these things are about my willingness to balance my greed, or my comfort (i hate flossing...) against doing what is truly best for me.

because money is nice, and nobody likes flossing, but in the end, if you don't take care of yourself, you get sick, spend your salary on doctors, and your teeth fall out of your head. the flossing argument comes from my friend E, who is in a program that is aaaaall about learning to take care of yourself. because some of us aren't good at it, for a variety of reasons, both genetic and behavioral. and E is one of those people, and so am i. E's big thing is flossing her teeth. she hates flossing too. (who doesn't?) but taking care of yourself sometimes means engaging in activities that aren't comfortable or pleasant, or that stand in the way of doing things that parts of you want to do, and think you SHOULD do.

so i flossed tonight. i brushed, i flossed, i brushed again, used the anti-bacterial mouthwash, and then put vaseline on my lips (which is sort of like dessert, because i really like my lips, and i don't take care of them unless i'm flossing). and i also spent the entire day in bed, except for when i went to my yoga class. because that's part of taking care of myself too. i also need to not schedule myself into exhaustion, which leaves me much more open to getting sick and then missing work later on.

its all more of that goddamned, middle-of-the-road bullshit that i hate and am no good at.

its lessons, and processes, and time and effort and energy.

but its something i need to learn, and better now than later.

on that note, i get benefits now! and i am BEYOND excited to start therapy again. it's been a long time coming. and believe me, i need it. because i joke about my unwillingness to trust people, my inability to let down my defenses enough to let any new people in, and my paralyzing fear that leaves me just able to hold down a job at starbucks. but really, i'm not fully a fan of any of those things. i would like to be healthier. i would like to be able to feel more at ease around people. and i would like to feel more at ease with having feelings.

feelings are not easy.

i am not a fan of people who make me feel things. i make things miserable for people who make me love them. because that is such a scraping raw nakedness, to love somebody. its being naked in the tundra, the wind whipping across the frozen waste and rushing ice crystals across you that leave your skin red and burned. loving someone is an abdication of a portion of my well-being to another person. its a surrender to that tundra, or the perpetual potential of that tundra. so i push those that make me feel things away. i say horrible things to them. i ignore them, and then make ridiculous demands of them. i try to push them away away away from me. because the fear of that pain is oh so great...

and i know that this is a way-beyond-rational, over-extreme reaction. but i haven't had great luck with intimacy this lifetime. and i'm not talking just romantic whatevers. i'm saying my models for intimacy, my relationships with my parents, and my parent's relationship to each other, are not great. i'm talking Daddy Issues. i'll just start calling them DIs. i won't. but yeah. and mommy issues too. all the romances are simply copies of those primary relationships. xeroxes where some of the details are fuzzy, and parts look different, but the overall picture is the same.

like i told you, i'm not that healthy.

but i can make a list of things that i am. it recommended i do that in a book i read yesterday; "Toxic Parents: Blah Blah Blah Blah You've Got Issues". or something like that. i'm not fully sure about the second part of the title.

i am funny.

i am smart.

i am compassionate.

i am sensitive, and caring.

i am empathetic.

i am nice, and mean well, and try to see the best in people.

i am a hard worker.

i am a good team player.

i am able to make people laugh, and feel good, just by being my regular old self.

that's probably enough for now. no, i forgot some important ones:

i am a vessel of god.

i am holy.

i am sacred, and profane.

i am human.

now i'm done. for now. ohhh self help books... the things they make me do. this is really an truly embarassing, and that means i totally have to leave it here for anyone who wants to look and see. because its about taking steps towards being vulnerable, and being all right with that.

what, you thought this blog was for you or something?

well yeah, i suppose its for you a little bit too...

cuz i'm nice like that. right?

Sick

2008-02-19T21:17:00.002-06:00

i'm sick.

i'm achy, and cranky, and generally feeling terrible. my gastro-intestinal tract is currently in "delicate" condition. and i can't, fall, asleep.

i'm supposed to open the store tomorrow, but i'm trying to scramble and find someone to take my hours. (so far, no luck, and the calls were made like, over an hour ago. not good.)

my entire brain seems devoted to telling me exactly how my body feels. my skin is super-sensitive; taking off my work shirt and putting on a t-shirt was a painful experience.

and dear sweet god, i just found someone to cover my shift for me. i am so, fucking, happy right now. about that.

i'm not happy that i feel like a lumpy flesh-sack. which is what i feel like. i can't do anything. i can't think well. i can't fall asleep. i can't eat. i can't read. even video-games are beyond me.

being sick, fucking sucks.

and my friend M. went to the emergency room, and i don't know why yet. but she was able to text me, so i'm guessing she's mostly all right.

i hate everything. i'm going to bed now.

What We Are Dealing With

2008-02-12T20:22:00.000-06:00

i submit to you, my avid readership (hahahahahahahahaha! HA!), the following example of the great mind that is now (hopefully) entertaining you.

*ahem*

How I Woke Up This Morning

my phone started sounding beethoven's "Ode To Joy" at seven-thirty in the a.m. i reached out to get it, and realized it wasn't on my pillow. i tracked the sound to the foot of my bed, and over it into the cat-box (thankfully poop-free) where i'd managed to kick my phone during the night, after forgetting to plug it in to charge. by the time i sniff it a few times and flip it open, whoever is calling has hung up, as the line is silent. i check my recent missed calls, and the latest one is from my father. i hit the send button, and he answers sounding surprised. yes, he called me, but that was on sunday. today is tuesday. he might stop by the store today, but no. he didn't call me. that's when i realize that "Ode To Joy" is my alarm ring-tone. the "Can Can" is my call ring-tone. no one called me. its just time to like, wake up.

this is what you are dealing with.

i am teh genius...

Other Highpoints of the Day include:

brewing coffee, but leaving the urn's spigot open, so the fresh coffee (decaf espresso roast) poured down from the funnel, into the urn, and out the spout onto the catch-plate on the counter. and then, when the plate filled up, onto the counter itself.

also, i think some middle-aged guy noticed the clip in my hair (its at that awkward length. my hair, not the clip.) and got really angry about it. i was totally nice to him, and looked totally respectable, so i'm assuming it was the clip. process of elimination, right? but yeah. no joke, no confusion, just like, "WHAT the FUCK, man?" grr! angry!

I AM ANGRY WHITE MAN! DO NOT CHALLENGE MY PARADIGM!

sucker... i totally fucked with his world-view...

also, i am in love with natalie dee. go to her site. read her comics. buy her shit.

DO IT NOW!!!

www.nataliedee.com

Shame shame shame...

2008-02-11T23:15:00.000-06:00

before i make this revelation, i would ask you to remember that we all have our personal quirks (ye olde "Everybody's got their Something" clause) and that really, i'm so full of awesome that i'm bursting at the seams. so this is really, just, you know... like, a drop in a bucket. only its a creepy drop in teh buckitt of awesome. and win.

anyway, the announcement:

i am sort of vaguely (editor's note: two qualifiers already!) addicted (ahhh...) to watching abscess-draining, boil-lancing, and cyst-popping videos on youtube.

its disgusting, its wrong, and it makes me ill, but it also fills me with awe.

pus is revoltingly awesome...

i guess that's all, for now.

Hi! We're Your Racist Neighbors!

2008-02-10T15:41:00.000-06:00

i'm having an issue.

i'm having a long-standing issue with our (relatively) new neighbors.

i don't know if you remember, but way back in november, our newish neighbors put a sculpture of an "Indian Brave" on the decorative low wall in their front yard. my initial reaction was a general WTF? i mean, its sooo stereotypical, and racist as hell, and it was just suddenly there, like it grew out of the ground one night.

a week later, i realized, "ohhh... its a thanksgiving decoration. a horribly racist thanksgiving decoration." i mean, for fuck's sake... really... you want to put that up as a thanksgiving decoration? all right. i sort of understand. but remind me to get you a copy of "A People's History of the United States," by Howard Zinn.

can i also mention, the matriarch of this family is a school-teacher? public education is great, except for the fact that it exposes one's children to the public... sigh...

anyway, yes. so i tried to let the indian go. not my business. and i let it go throughout december too. i mean, its still the holiday season, and i don't take my decorations down like, ever, if i get around to putting them up. no really, its totally common for people to leave their christmas lights on all year round in my neighborhood. i mean, on the house. you don't light them up at night, unless its like, your birthday or something.

but now we get to the crux of the matter.

the indian is still there.

its february. thanksgiving is long gone, and it was barely an excuse, so far as i'm concerned. christmas is over. mlk day has even passed us by. there is no, fucking, reason to have that thing out there anymore. i still find it really disturbing.

i have fantasies of taking it down at night and leaving it on their stoop, facing the front door and ready to be found in the morning. there'll be a sticky note on its forehead; "Hey! I'm racist!" maybe just put the sticky on and leave it where it is. or maybe just hit it with a baseball bat until it goes away.

its their bad taste, and its their private property, but aren't these the reasons that zoning laws exist? doesn't public opinion (or at least my opinion) carry a certain weight?

i hate that motherfucking indian.

and i would hate to have to do something about it myself.

but sometimes...

I May Be an Utter Doofus

2008-02-07T00:04:00.000-06:00

things is bad.

today i had to ask someone else if i liked them. because i genuinely didn't know if i liked them.

i don't trust my gut when it comes to quasi-romantic stuff anymore, because i just don't. i'm not getting into it right now.

i don't trust my gut, so i just ignored my first impressions and decided i would keep talking to him. if i liked him, he would grow on me until it became obvious. right?

no. its been a month or two, and i was still confused. so i asked.

he told me, quite honestly, that no, i definitely did not like him, but i would find somebody yet, so don't fret.

the sad thing is, he's completely right. i don't like him. its not a question of him being an acquired taste, or his being a different kind of person than i normally get involved with. i just don't like him.

god bless the internet for making such things possible.

and god bless me for being such a hapless, though lovable (maybe?), twit.

and god bless him, for being honest.

i really need professional help...

Just For The Record...

2008-02-06T01:31:00.000-06:00

if you meet someone, and in the course of conversation, they tell you they are jewish, do not, DO NOT, say:

"oh! i knew that!"

or:

"i would have guessed that!"

or:

"well, that makes sense!"

none of the above are appropriate responses, and even if they are completely, COMPLETELY true, you will sound like a total douche, and your new jewish friend, will more than likely be feeling less friendly.

because they will be asking themselves:

"what stereotype did you buy into that makes you assume i'm jewish!?"

c'mon people. use your fricking heads. we don't go up to people and say, "howdy, you're a mexican, aren't you!"

its RUDE!

same goes for jews. hey big nose; hey kike; hey money-lover; hey neurotic; hey whiner; hey smartie; hey nerd; hey christ-killer. these are what cross our minds when you say, "well of COURSE you're a jew!" i have to stop being a person, interacting with another person (marginal person, perhaps, in your case) and be THE JEW. i have to stop being a complex human being, and wonder exactly what caricature i've been reduced to in your head.

and yes, most people have to go through this to some degree. no. most people who are of minority status have to go through this. and if its a question of "passing" for whatever is normal in the area (white usually, and protestant usually) jews have it easier than many. we're often white, in a way, and religion is usually, USUALLY, a private matter. people who are not white invite judgement just by wearing the skin they were born with.

truly, i shouldn't bitch.

but i do. because i'm pissed off. maybe because i have never met as many people with ass-backwards ideas about jews as i have in texas. maybe because those same people have no desire to be educated about the subject, but are quite happy with their ignorance, thank you very much. maybe because those people are just so happy to share, in a completely good-natured way, their views with me. maybe because i'm just born to bitch; perhaps its my raison d'etre, my purpose in life, what have you.

it makes me want to strike a new deal with the general populace. if you feel the need to tell me just what you think i am, then i will reciprocate in kind. in the most offensive and bigoted way i can imagine.

so when it happens, if it happens, you just drink it down. savor it! you've earned it!

February is for Chumps

2008-02-03T21:37:00.000-06:00

it happened on the first day of the month. it happened at work. i was ringing someone up, and looking for an envelope to put their new "Starbucks Card" in. we now have lots of Christmas envelopes that were delivered late. its all right though, they're pretty. but the customer had chosen one of our "hearts! stars! deer! cupids! red! pink! love! whee!" cards, and i actually managed to find a pack of our valentine's day envelopes. and i suddenly remembered.

i fucking hate valentine's day.

i totally have to start swilling my haterade. big time. because i only have a week and a half to fully express just how much i really dislike valentine's day.

and i would like a show of hands by those of you who are actually surprised that i hate this particular craptacular "holiday." hmm. no hands. good. i like when the audience starts getting a sense of who they're dealing with. you all get to live until tomorrow. have fun with that.

the groundhog saw his shadow, which means six more weeks of winter, or, that bill murray and andie macdowell will really hook up for good and break the curse.

my hair is growing out. i'm starting to clip the front strands to the side of my head so they don't explode out into the faces of those i talk to. the clip has gotten a wide range of reactions from co-workers. it also made me burst out laughing because i realized it would be really funny (to me...) to tell everyone, "you know, i've just been fooling you all up until now. i'm actually wearing the clip because i'm the world's ugliest twelve year old girl." its that kind of clip. and truly, if i were a twelve year old girl, offing me would be a mercy killing. twelve year old girls should never look like me; starting with the beard, passing by way of my full six feet and two inches to my size eleven and a half feet, with a quick stop-off at my junk.

junk.

so i've been talking to this guy who lives in houston. and its nice, because i really sort of don't care what he thinks of me. which is liberating. usually, i end up attracted to people who make me so desperate to win their approval that i stutter, fall all over myself, and end up looking exactly like the nervous wreck that i am. this guy, i just talk to. i say horrible things to him. they're all true, these things, but they're horrible. i tell him i like talking to him because he can actually take care of the whole conversation by himself, and i can just kick back and listen. i tell him his accent sort of bothers me. (texas, born and bred, this one) i make my complete ambivalence known.

and he's just fine with it all. and not in the creepy "i like the abuse" way, or the "i like you so much i'll put up with the abuse" way. he just doesn't care what i say, and thinks that i'm only a pretend mean person. that i only say the things i say to try and keep myself safe from people. which a) means he's more perceptive than i've given him credit for, and that leads to b) i might have to destroy him.

but really, the key sentence in the above paragraphs is "i make my complete ambivalence known."

its accurate.

i feel very, very, VERY ambivalent about the whole damn thing. i don't know what i think about him. i don't know how i feel about him. i don't care what he thinks of me, and i give him rough treatment and scathing honesty. as revenge for telling him some personal details about me (nothing dangerous or compromising, you pervs. and he asked, that's why i told him. he asked me to "tell [him] things about [me].") i acted especially callous and aloof the next time we talked, to try and force some distance between us. it didn't really work. he knows what i'm doing, and it amuses him. which is in truth, much much better than someone not seeing what i'm doing, being hurt by my actions, and asking me honestly what's going on and did they do something wrong. i hate those people. i hate them like i hate fat ugly racists.

so anyway, beyond the question of what to do about this houston gentleman (who expects no sex, nor does he actually expect us to meet in real life any time in the near future) lies the greater issue here exposed. i live in extreme, out and out bowel-clenching fear of intimacy. i look upon mutual affection the way most people look upon a hidden nest of cockroaches that they've just pulled the plaster away from and are staring clear in the face. i think feelings are warm and moist and squishy and squelchy, like oozy pond scum that you can't brush off; it just clings to your hand, and then its on your clothes, and soon, you're covered in it.

the threat of love leaves me cold.

i have fantasies of breaking people's hearts, just because its so easy to do, and because it seems like a smarter option than letting myself become entangled with another human being. in my brain, it all reduces to the mother of all power plays, and when i think about it in those terms, i don't want to come to a mutually satisfactory agreement. i want to fucking WIN. i want to navigate out of any such compromising position while giving up a minimum of myself and keeping as inviolable and invulnerable as possible. i'll hurt people to accomplish this. there are no fucking rules when this shit is at stake.

but i'm lonely. so i pull people in, and then push them away. over, and over, and over again. sometimes the same person, sometimes i switch around. but the pattern is always the same. and it isn't, healthy.

there are a lot of things wrapped up in this. there are a lot of reasons why this is the way i am. but that doesn't make it any better. it doesn't excuse me.

i didn't see the movie, but i'm fascinated with the title "A Mighty Heart". i should see the movie. it was supposed to be great. but lets ponder for a second, the phrase "a mighty heart."

what does that phrase bring to your mind?

for me, it presents a vastly different imagining of the heart, and how its currency (love) functions. i go by the conservative, economic model. i'm terrified of giving myself, my love, away. i hoard it. i imagine it can be used up, and that if i spend too freely, one day i will wake up and my heart will be empty. there will be nothing left of me. my secrets will all reside in other people's brains, and other people's hearts. i'll be an empty room, with all the windows open. there will be nothing left of me. nothing left to give. and i will be alone, and loveless.

the phrase "a mighty heart" is a different model entirely. the mighty heart is not a receptacle to be filled and guarded; the mighty heart is a font of love, a producer of love. the mighty heart is not afraid of giving itself away too freely, or of being rebuffed, battered, and treated poorly. it scoffs at the idea of running out of love. for the mighty heart is ever producing more, all on its own. the mighty heart knows that love inevitably brings pain, and suffering. there will always be tears, and sleepless nights. but the mighty heart looks at the balance, the warmth and the light, and the promise of hope, against any resultant pains and betrayals. it looks at the balance, and over and over again, openly, gladly, it says "Yes. Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes!"

the mighty heart invites it all in. and when one experience is over, the mighty heart is full of that experience, every other experience its had, and its own mad, dizzy love that is fueled by its own pumping. the mighty heart understands that love is not best measured on a ledger sheet. love is an endless cycle, and each of us are producers, sellers, buyers, and consumers of love. you can't run out. if your heart is running properly, if it is truly mighty, you are always at least full of your own love, even if you lack that of others.

don't misunderstand. i'm not advocating any sort of brainless acceptance of any and all comers. but it all reminds me of my own final thoughts on my kiersey personality type. i'm more of a feeler than a thinker, but only by the barest of margins, and the two have traded places throughout my life. but my final assessment of this quirk in my makeup, is that i will forever reason and argue myself into positions where i can make a decision based on what will satisfy my logical, rational side, or what will satisfy my intuitive, irrational side. and more often than not, i will choose to satisfy my intuitive, irrational heart, and make my peace with any subsequent cognitive dissonance or hypocrisy.

its like the ladies man eventually says about how he knew his wife was "the one". "yeah, she was beautiful, soulful, intelligent, sophistimicated, and also, i felt it in my pants." all the desirables are there, sure, but with or without the looks, or smarts, or humor, you still have to feel it in your pants. i need to feel my choices in my pants/heart. the have to satisfy my emotional, intuitive, fierce and wild side, or they cannot be satisfying at all.

but this is where i am now; i am not making choices based on what is best for my emotional and spiritual growth. i am not making any decisions. i'm not letting myself be in situations where people and love and relationships present themselves. i've taken my bucket of love, and am burying it deeper and deeper within my heart; deeper with every disappointment and pain that i feel. i keep excavating, looking for the perfect, secure safe-house for my love. and meanwhile, my heart grows colder, and more shriveled and dry, like a comet hurtling through space.

all right. this is getting melodramatic.

suffice it to say, my heart doesn't feel mighty. my heart feels fragile. and it all probably links into my low self-esteem, my issues with loving myself, my parent issues, my previous relationships (if they really merit that title), being a victim of sexual assault, and a host of other things. i know what's going on. but i feel helpless to fix it. i don't know how to begin. i don't know where to start. i need help.

and i am greatly looking forward to the promise of therapy once the benefits from my job kick in.

but my meditation, i think, must be the mighty heart. i desire to have a mighty heart once again. and it will be a while, and it will take work, but it is my goal to once more have a mighty heart.

and i will not fail.

and valentine's day can suck it. it can suck it dry.

New Mexico, Amongst Other Things

2008-01-26T22:10:00.000-06:00

so i took a trip to new mexico. january 6-9, 2008. it was awesome. let me tell you about it.

i made the plans for this trip way back when, when i was unemployed, and miserable, in the middle of moving back to san antonio, and just not having a lot of fun. so i did something uncharacteristic of me. i said, "Fuck It." i said fuck it to being unhappy, and fuck it not having any fun. i said fuck it to not seeing my friends for years at a time. i said fuck it to not allowing myself to do something that would be good for me, fun for me, healthy for me, pleasant for me.

i booked a round trip flight to albuquerque, and my friend M. did the same. i made plans to rent a car, we made a general plan of what sites we would like to see, and we just fucking went for it.

there is a reason, that not many people tour new mexico in the dead of winter, but we will get to that later. first, some backstory.

i have a passing familiarity with new mexico. during a special year of jew-camp, my bunk went on a bus trip across the southwest. we passed through "The Land of Enchantment" (new mexico's official state motto) and hit up carlsbad caverns (awesome!!!) and white sands (also awesome! totally got heat stroke!) on our way through. later, like, last spring, i scored tests for Harcourt Assessment, which is a standardized testing company. this, by the way, makes me think of Harcourt as a satan-inspired bureaucratic maze, all with the overarching aim of fitting children into tiny boxes. i am not a fan, to put it simply. they are a bad place. they use people up until they are bitter and wasted, shrivelled in mind and body like a prune, and then they cut them loose. they use a lot of temporary labor, so they have the freedom to get rid of anyone who doesn't toe lines fairly easily, with no mention of severance packages, etc. and you can fucking FORGET about benefits and office perks. the best perk they have to offer is if your cubicle is within a five minute walk from the coffee machine.

anyway... so spring 2007, i scored tests at night for them. i was even promoted to team leader! go me! i can excel, even at jobs i motherfucking HATE! yes. i'm that good. but the point is that our tests were from new mexico schools. and i gotta tell ya... if these tests were any indication (and they are) public education in this country is pretty damn effed up. i mean, i sort of knew that already. but now i have actual solid data, and i am relaying my findings to you. a lot of the kids didn't understand the questions. many were practically unable to write, or to string a couple sentences together. there was clearly a breakdown between what they wanted to say, and their ability to say it. and this was like, fifth grade. we're not talking "write a well reasoned post modern critique of latinos in film since 1975," etc. blah blah blah. then again, the vast number of people are not all that intelligent, so i suppose i shouldn't get all broken up about it.

but i do.

but it was clear, at any rate, that the state was poor, an intriguing mix of anglo, hispanic, and american indian cultures. it was clear, furthermore, that it must be pretty damn dry if the state tree is a yucca.

for the uninitiated, a yucca is sort of like a palm tree equipped for desert warfare. it usually has lance-like leaves, tough and leather. it slowly drops the older ones to develop a sort of stubby trunk like affair. it will put out a flower stalk ranging from a few feet to twenty feet, and there you have it. its what the sand people in star wars would grow in their patio garden, IN ORDER TO MAKE IT LOOK LUSH. because your other options are cacti, and SAND.

so M. and i arrive in new mexico, get our rental PT Cruiser (which is an odd off-yellow color...), and drive for the north-west, a land rich in mountains, mesas, pinon trees, indian reservations, and indian casinos. our goal, four corners. lame, but whatever, we're on vacation, and we're already really enjoying each other's company. i haven't seen M. for truly, years. i miss her, terribly. it was so good to see her, and so quickly lapse back into this whole rich friendship that had been on hold. like, all the behaviors, the sayings, the references, the music, the dynamic... it was all so suddenly there, and it all made such perfect sense... its like coming home. its "THIS is what a friendship feels like!" its knowing someone so well, and having them know you... it was good. it was really good. it might have been the best part of the trip, in all truth.

so to try and break this down (because i want to give you a schematic for our travels before i devolve (or evolve?) into stories) i'm going to give a basic list of our activities. as a help to both of us, the predominant activity was driving.

1) drove to town fifteen miles away from four corners. get a motel room. (with wireless, for M.'s computer)

2) retrace steps to indian casino for "Sunday Night Special: Fried Chicken Plate; $5.99!" M. has a bit of a fried chicken fetish.

3) almost get caught in the middle of a fight in which the word "baby-daddy" was tossed around, as were some fists, a table or two, and a well-aimed gob of spit. this after M. asks, "why are there so many security guards in the casino dining room?" well, now we know. we each lose five dollars worth of quarters at the slots. i wonder what people find fun about gambling. we go home and go to sleep.

4) wake up to snow. snow all over north-western new mexico. a family of four, and a couple, are missing. (all six are eventually found, in good health.) plans for four corners are scrapped. next stop on itinerary, Roswell, in the severe south-east of the state.

5) drive. a lot.

6) albuquerque. we eat food. M. takes the wheel for a bit. we head south through mountains, and stop off at a store called "Jackalope." initially, we had high hopes, but it turned out to be a new mexico chain that seems to be aiming at some of pier one's market share. we move on.

7) after M. screaming "PUEB-AH-LOH!" every time we pass a sign for an indian pueblo, we decide to finally visit one. we drive around for five minutes and look at the little houses and buildings, and tribal leadership quarters, and immediately start to feel like stupid american tourists invading a little community. it was voyeuristic, and wrong, and though i doubt anyone much cared, we both apologize for barging in. our bad.

8) M. continues driving through dusk. we head through "Jornada del Muerte," or "The Plains of Death," cross a mesa, and then fly through the "Malpais Lava Flow," which was pretty fucking awesome. and when i say fly, i mean to say that M. managed to get our trusty cruiser up to 100 mph in el Jornada del Muerte. and truthfully, watching the flat, stunted expanse fly by, you couldn't even tell.

9) M. starts driving as night falls. gets distracted by glare. i take the wheel.

10) ROSWELL!!! we get a room at a motel, check on the status of the New Hampshire Primary, watch "Golden Girls," and go to bed.

11) Roswell International U.F.O. Museum and Research Center. it truly is a labor of love for all the many, many dorks who have contributed blow-ups of 1948 newspapers, dioramas of the crash-site, x-files posters, national geographic maps, original artwork, and all the other many maquettes, models, and brouhaha that take up the space. note: this is where i picked up the majority of souvenirs for my family. i also got my picture taken and inserted into a background of a u.f.o. and aliens in a field. i doffed my hat to the visitor. he placidly looked on. i have three copies for myself and posterity.

12) later that same day, the roswell museum of art. actually, many gift-shops intervene. at one, i purchase a t-shirt showing a little "Grey" (the aliens with the big heads who are about three feet high. yes, they've categorized the creatures...) striking Leonardo da Vinci's classic "Vitruvian Man" pose. you know, circle, man inside, limbs straight down, and then extended? yeah. awesome. we also take pictures of a shiny metal silo.

13) lunch at "Cattle Baron." M. has prime rib. i go with fried catfish. we both partake of the salad bar.

14) as we have exhausted most of what Roswell has to offer, we drive. we drive east, joking about reaching the texas border. we drive with the sun at our backs and the sky streaking orange and pink. we stop at a ghost town and take a great many pictures of the abandoned building. i want to go to the old cemetery, but M. says no. i acquiesce. there might have been snakes anyway. better off avoiding the unbeaten path.

15) back to Roswell for more golden girls (i'm afraid to say that i think i'm rose... the dumb one from minnesota. i would KILL to be dorothy. i heart bea arthur. but alas, i'm rose.) and bed.

16) WHATABURGER! M. has never been to a whataburger, so we partake of breakfast at one. i do not care for fast food, just a general statement. M. has a bacon cheeseburger. she is pleased. i have two breakfast muffins with sausage. i am stuffed. we start back to albuquerque and the airport.

17) we almost have a fight involving the amount of soda i drink, and the accompanying regularity of my needing to stop and use the restroom. M. alleges i should see a doctor. i allege that she's being ridiculous.

18) the lava flows once again break my heart.

19) try as i might, i cannot force the cruiser up to 100 mph on our second trip through the plains of death.

20) we do some random souvenir shopping in the city, and then, we go our separate ways. i buy a silver bracelet from Java and a necklace made of Chinese Turquoise. which sort of negates going to New Mexico. ah well. M. gets some southwestern jewelry, and we share a last few moments before my taxi comes to get me. (my flight leaves before hers.)

so now i'm back. everyone liked their souvenirs. i'm thrilled with my haul. i have a digital camera full of blurry pictures of mountains and and plains, and documentation of everything in Roswell, as well as the ghost town. i saw M., and it was so so so so wonderful. i forget what a good, solid friendship feels like sometimes. i have good friends in town, but somehow, its different. its liberating to almost lose control of the car when your friend shouts "JACKALOOOOPE!!!" or "PUEB-AH-LOH!!!", and then you both collapse into fits of laughter. its wonderful to have a conversation about the use of spit in a fight. and its just been so long, since i've been so so happy just existing with someone by my side. it might have been the best trip ever. and next time, we're doing arizona.

Promises of Things to Come

2008-01-21T00:13:00.000-06:00

i am alive.

some of you might have been wondering. i know i've been woefully unactive here in blog-land. its an issue. and part of it is that i'm still digesting a great many things that have happened.

granted, i also know that blogging aids the digestion process, but still... it just all feels like a big sunny swirl in my head, and its pleasant, and i'm not sure how much i want to start picking apart a corpse. i'd rather let the memories remain alive and amorphous in my head right now. i can start telling stories soon. but i'm not ready to yet.

part of me is tired of telling stories.

it really is starting to feel like writing an account of an event, is like taking the living memory, sticking it in a jar of ether, and then dismembering the corpse, examining each part, and then laying them out on the table in as close to a copy of real life as you can manage. but it doesn't all quite fit together anymore. some parts have to be shifted, and isn't it sort of better as a whole to fix that little aspect? this part relates to this part, that thing just distracts, and soon you have frankenfrog.

i had christmas. i went to new mexico. i own a drum. i stood in the plains of death. i hung up the phone on a retarded person (BY ACCIDENT!!!). i drove through mountains. i finally saw juno. i backed into my sister's friend's car, and she's been being a total cunt about it. i watched the sun set on a ghost town.

and i've thought about all these things, lots and lots. and i've thought about other things too.

i've thought about how some people use the terms "independent" and "willing to listen to both sides of the issue" to avoid making an actual moral stand of their own.

i've thought about how too much news can make me unhappy.

i've thought about how stupid so much of life is.

and i don't think any of this thinking makes me "deep" or "wise." i've just been doing it. i don't own a t.v. i have to spend my time doing something...

i have a lot to say. i'll start saying it soon. until then, know that i'm alive, and feeling good.

and yes, it is possible for me to feel good. thank you ever so much for asking.

Fulfillments

2007-12-28T00:13:00.000-06:00

satisfaction is a tough bird to run down. fulfillment isn't easily caught, and if it is caught, it always slides away before too long. there's a constant hunt, a humanity-wide perpetual motion machine of seeking that holy grail.

at least, i'm a perpetual motion machine in my search for fulfillment. for all kinds of fulfillment, all at the same time. like the multiple orgasm, cluster-fuck of fulfillment. i want fulfillment in every available hole, tickling every nerve ending, engaging every aspect of my body and brain and soul. clearly, this is never going to fully happen.

my mom told me about a workshop she went to that discussed "two basic types of people". all these "two types of people" things are bullshit. but this one serves as an interesting tool. there are "satisfizers," and "maximizers." satisfizers look at what they have, evaluate the situation they're presented with, and choose to be all right with it. some things could be better, some could be worse, but all in all, they decide that they're going to be happy with what they've got. they either choose to be satisfied, or its simply a hardwired behavior. maximizers look at that same situation, and slowly drive themselves insane. they can't accept what's in front of them, or are unwilling to accept it. there's this little detail that could be tweaked this way, and that irritating fold that could be undone and flattened. the imperfections well huge in their vision, and they set out to get as much out of the situation as they can. they need to maximize returns.

guess which one i am...

just guess...

sometimes, i would like to be a satisfizer. i would like to be at peace with myself, with my surroundings, my life as it currently is. i want to sit down, and not feel like there's something that urgently needs doing. i want to live without the harsh voice in my head that's constantly telling me i could have done that better, or that i don't do enough, etc, etc, etc. and this gets caught up with my own... obsessive nature. or my low self esteem and its backpack full of need for acceptance. i want to be a satisfizer. i want to be happy. but most of the time, the thought of sitting back and feeling complete and full frightens me. it feels like laziness, and it feels like a surrender to forces that are, in fairness, out of my control. i don't know a life where i'm not hungry. where there isn't some project that i'm pouring myself into. i don't know days when i'm not yearning for something, or lusting after it, or pursuing it like a shark, or in my own patented, round-a-bout way. and most importantly, i don't believe i'd be truly alive if i wasn't hot on the heels of my next promise of (temporary) deliverance.

i was so fucking thrilled with my job at starbucks. and yes, that was a past tense "was" in the previous sentence. i still like the job. i like having a job. i like getting a bit of a pay check. i'm not thrilled at having to go back to austin to finish emptying out my apartment, but its something to get through and i can spend the rest of my life trying to sort out what those two years in austin meant, in the grand scheme of things. the people at the shop are nice. i'm making fewer mistakes. the manager is pleased with my work at the bar. i'm quite pleased with my work at the register. its fine. its really just fine.

but its not enough. i knew it wouldn't be enough. it wasn't supposed to be enough. i can never have "enough." i want more. i want harder. i want better. i want faster. i want stronger. i want things to be deeper. i want things to be more meaningful. i want things to be more beautiful. i want things to be more sensitive. i want things to have more layers. i want things to be smarter, hipper, with a bangin' beat, and more genuine lyrics. i want more and more and more and more and more!

i'm like Veruca Salt from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory; the one who wants the world, who wants the WHOLE world, who wants to lock it all up in her pocket, its her bar of chocolate.

at any rate, please don't laugh. i couldn't tell my dad because he would laugh, and i would get angry, and harsh words would be exchanged, and then i'd have to apologize, and we'd go back to the status quo. because he doesn't know any other way to be. and its that or nothing. so don't laugh, but yes, i am dissatisfied with my job at starbucks. i graduated sixty-fifth in a high-school class of six-hundred and fifty. i graduated from a premier liberal arts college in the expected four years. i performed more than admirably at a standardized testing company. i got into the u.t. architecture graduate program, and successfully completed the first semester with no grade less than a b-. and i am dissatisfied with a barista position at starbucks.

DUH!!!

it was just so wonderful the first few weeks. i was out of the house, and there was all this new information to learn, and all these new skills to acquire. there were new people to meet, and things to do, and it was just such a wonderful change from sitting on my ass all day looking for a job that just wouldn't, fucking, appear.

well, i always knew that this wasn't my life's ambition. this isn't my goal. its a way station. its making me money while i figure out what it is that i'm really here to do. its keeping my from atrophying in so many ways. but it is not fulfilling. i am not full. i am not at ease. i am not, SATISFIED.

i am not UNhappy, but i am not HAPPY either. i am in between.

and considering where i've been emotionally the past few months, in between isn't that bad. at all. but after just a couple weeks of happiness, i'm ready to stick a spike in my arm if it gets me back to that feeling. its addictive, this positive sort of existence! and i'll get it back. i'm tired right now, and it was a rough day. i worked bar, and i'm not so hot at that yet, but i'll only get better by practicing. but still. two or three hours of doing something i'm not very good at really wears at me. who likes doing things they're bad at?

this is just what's going on right now. it will be different soon. perhaps better, even!

a real christmas post soon enough. i'm not ready to rehash right now. but i got my korean drum, and it is beautiful and loud, and i love it like... i just love it. i love banging it. i love remembering the rhythms. and i'm very excited to practice outside around the neighborhood. other than that, food was wonderful, the family was pleasant, and all gifts, all around, seemed appreciated and thoughtful.

sadly, it didn't really feel like a day off. being around family, behaving and being pleasant and all that jazz... its TIRING!

and this is tiring too. i know i slacked off this month. its been busy. but hopefully, i'll get back to toeing the line here. its just so much EASIER when i'm pissed... i swear... tolkien said in "the hobbit" that the happy parts of adventures, the weeks spent in the house of elrond, etc., were glossed over, because they are static. there are no monsters or adventures or hikes during the happy times. its the difficult times that give us grist for the mill. those are the times that spur us to action.

well, things aren't all that difficult, but that doesn't mean that things aren't sticking in my craw. so get ready to be... crawed. i guess.

eww...

Austin: Redux

2007-12-15T16:36:00.001-06:00

i went up to austin yesterday to drag home a van full of stuff from my apartment (brother will be taking it over and going to u.t. until the lease expires during the summer).

it was unpleasant.

i really hadn't thought at all about the psychological impact of going up there, but it was... something that should have been considered.

austin in general was all right. driving the streets, bumming around, etc, fine. whatever. going back to the apartment (not MY apartment, but THE apartment, notice the distancing language i use...) was so bizarre. all my clothes and books and crap, just waiting for me. the bedroom assaulting me with memories of entire days spent rolling in bed, doing nothing. reading, surfing the net, and being really, really lonely.

the whole place just felt like an unfinished set for a life that was supposed to happen, but didn't. there were supposed to be friends, and gatherings, and parties. there was supposed to be a workstation, and drafting and planning. there was supposed to be school meetings, social functions, a reason to have a queen-sized futon beyond the extra leg-room it gave me. there were supposed to be pleasant afternoons spent reading in my balcony gardens, and maybe little meals at the iron cafe table.

none of that happened.

school was unpleasant, so i quit (a very good decision, thank you very much) and then i couldn't find a job. for months. and months. i went to a lot of twelve step meetings, and bought dozens of books, and talked to a lot of strangers online, and holed up in my apartment like it was some sort of last refuge. i buried myself in my third floor one bedroom, and tried to hide from the world that waited at the bottom of the stairs.

and now, i'm hauling all my accumulated stuff back here. i work at starbucks, which i truly enjoy, my cat still seems to love me, and i'm enjoying being surrounded by my family. i'm glad to be out of the apartment. i'm glad to be out of austin.

but life takes some funny turns.

i've avoided picking up the pieces of my sojourn in austin for several months now. because i'm not ready or able to start addressing those two years of my life. i don't know where they fit. i don't know what they mean. i'm not sure what was accomplished.

but the decision to return home has finally been made. i'm moving on to a new stage of my life. the starbucks stage, apparently. but its no less valid than the architecture graduate school stage. i'm moving in a direction. i have no clue where it will take me, but i'm moving. and i'm closing the door on what came before, with all its goblins, and teeming hordes, and sleepless nights and wasted days. i'm moving forward to a place where i can sleep through the night, and feel productive during the day.

adieu austin. i would shed a tear, but i do not cry; and any tears i could muster, would not be for you.

Veering Predictably Towards Shitsville

2007-12-14T00:41:00.000-06:00

sometimes i wonder if all things really do gravitate to a certain state of being. entropy and all that. no, i actually don't think i wonder that. i lied. but i think i'm speaking from the part of me that's smart. or at least, smart enough to know that cosmetic enhancement of one's life doesn't really do much to change the way you interact with the world in the long term.

having a job is starting to feel like a cosmetic enhancement. or maybe i'm just coming from a day off, having done nothing more than eat, sleep, jerk off, and otherwise waste time. oh, and get into a spat with my sister, but that didn't really last. still, not a happy day, and i'm sure that i'm anxious about going to austin tomorrow to start hauling all my stuff back down here to san antonio, since it seems i'll be staying for a while. austin is scary. i'd like to just forget i ever lived there.

i got into my first snafu at work on wednesday. i offended an old lady, and rectified it as best i could, but its odd to be in such a powerless position. and retail, is just FULL of such powerless positions. most of the time, i don't mind remaking a drink, or changing someone's order, or whatever. its my job. that's fine. and i want to do a good job. i have a ridiculous urge to please. but this exchange was different. i'm not sure why. i'm just not used to having people not respond well to me. which is basically me being blind to my own luck or whatever, and also me having ridiculous expectations as to how i should be received by the world at large.

but perhaps the most oddly comforting thing about the situation with this old woman, was that she was mean. she didn't have to be mean, but there's no reason for her not to be, and she was mean to me. and i really wanted to defend myself. i wanted to yell back at her. i wanted to tell her that she was being cruel and unfair. and i didn't, because i'm not ready to get fired yet. (oh that yet just says it all, doesn't it...) and i know this is all just part of a learning process for me. but i felt the need to take care of myself. and i wanted to defend myself. i felt like i was worth defending. and that, is actually a really wonderful thing for me.

and clearly, this episode is sticking in my craw. and i'm not fully sure why. because it was uncomfortable, surely. but also... i don't know what happened. it was like a hit and run accident. i was functioning on autopilot and don't remember exactly what i said, and if it made sense. i can't objectively say whether i was rude to this woman, though i'm sure i didn't mean to be. i didn't think she was a pushover because she was old. i wasn't trying to get away with anything. i wasn't trying to be mean. but i was trying to be lazy. i was trying to make my job easier by getting the rest of the line taken care of before grinding her beans, and saying that this is all about grinding beans makes it sound just as STUPID as it all really is...

and it might just be that i don't want to admit that i was in the wrong. which i was. i should have gotten her beans started (dear GOD, we're talking about BEANS!!!) and then helped the next person in line. i was trying to shirk.

and i don't think of myself as a shirker. i'm a hard worker. i love to work. but i was trying to shirk, and i got caught. and maybe that's why this is eating me up. because i don't want to be a shirker. i don't want to be lazy. but i am.

or rather, in this instance, i was. it doesn't mean i'm a full shirker, nor does it reflect on my personality or something. i don't know. i don't know i don't know i don't know.

but it doesn't feel good. it all feels dirty and messy and ragged around the edges, and i'm unwilling to let it go for some reason. probably the same masochism that tends to run my inner life.

also, B. was on floor as manager for the first part of wednesday. and i shouldn't talk about her, because that only gives her more power over me. but she is such a painful person to work with. i don't think she's ever smiled at me. she doesn't like me. she thinks i'm a shirker, and a lazy, and a time-waster and a day-dreamer. and i'll manage. it'll be fine. and i can't expect everyone to love me everywhere i go. and i KNOW that i tend to inspire extreme reactions in people. it's just so opposite day that she dislikes me so, when i feel like i act just the same to her that i do to everyone else, and they're all fine with me. but at any rate, i know i'm not the only one who dislikes B. and that's vaguely comforting, though it doesn't help me figure out how to deal with her.

i'm feeling sort of muddled here...

i just sort of feel like i desperately want some people on my side, even though i don't think my side is the right side.

i'm feeling confused, and i'm feeling tired, and i'm feeling like i ate crap all day and am going to wake up fat tomorrow as a result.

i should go to sleep. even if it doesn't help, at least i won't be awake and worrying about all of this... i'll be asleep and dreaming about it. much better. muuuch better.

old woman, i'm sorry if i was rude to you. i didn't mean to hurt your feelings, or treat you badly. but i wish you'd expressed things in a different way. because now i'm angry at you, and i'm not supposed to be, and i know its not right. i don't like you, old woman. i think you're mean, and cruel. and you think i'm mean and cruel. and this is all just a horrible mistake that i know i could have avoided... we could be friends right now. i wish we were friends right now, instead of me doing something stupid and making you be mean to me. or something. i don't know, but this was all avoidable, and i'm sorry i let it happen.

i'm hoping that work feels like a comfortable place again when i go back on sunday...

fuck and shit. i'm not happy right now. and its all right to not be happy, but its also unpleasant.

like its been so long since the last time i was unhappy...

life just ain't never good enough for me, is it?

See!?

2007-12-07T00:06:00.000-06:00

days, DAYS since my last update. this job business... too time consuming.

but oh, it does result in fun blog fodder... so long as i manage to have absolutely no tact or scruples.

who's your guy!? c'mon... who's, your, GUY!!!

i would like to report that i may have reached a defining extreme in my obsessive attitude towards life. i had to open the shop this last tuesday, which meant reporting for work at five in the morning. suckage, right? so, flawless, i'm up at three thirty after five hours of sleep, have the dogs fed and out (cuz i'm watching dad's dogs and house while he's at his mom's funeral. bizarro-world has definitely arrived...) and am sitting in my car in the parking lot at a quarter to five, rocking out to M.I.A. and waiting for the manager to get there to let me in.

cuz that's just how i roll.

and on the subject of managers...

R is really an okay girl. i think i can manage. its cool.

Anne is nineteen. NINETEEN!!! WTF!!! its amazing how the way you perceive a person can ENTIRELY change in an INSTANT! just because you get your hands on the right information.

Anne is nineteen.

i don't even feel comfortable being alone in a room with her anymore; it totally makes me feel like a dirty, skeezy old man. and sure, she's perceptive, and discerning, and very real, but she's also a CHILD. i'm sorry, but nineteen... and mostly, its just that i'm finally starting to really feel my age. i feel like enough of an adult for hanging out and playing head games with a nineteen year old to seem creepy and wrong.

shit, yo... damn.

another manager is nice, and has the same name as sister. along with the older woman who has the same name as my mother, the shop can feel downright homey at times...

and then, there's B.

B was recently promoted to a managerial position. she's also in school, and hence in the midst of finals. she is extremely compulsive. she is also obsessive. she is curt. she takes things really, really, ridiculously seriously. she is not fun. in fact, she is the black hole of fun; all fun within a certain radius of B is drawn to her and absorbed, never again to be released. the sight of her makes small children cry. all ice-cream within her sphere immediately turns to rum-raisin flavored fat-free frozen yogurt.

and she does not, like, me.

i am an unwanted burden to her. i'm a n00b. i fuck things up. i ask lots of "stupid" questions. i send out a signal that seems to let her know that what i need, right now, is a ten minute lecture on how i need to standardize everything i do so that if i were to go to a starbucks in guam and work, i would get everything exactly right, "because they're all the same. we're all the same."

charming.

granted, we don't have to like each other. and i understand the whole corporate "thing." and while it's not my favorite aspect of life on this earth, i understand that its useful and has its place. look, chick just really grates on me, all right? she imparts essential information, she works hard to make sure that i'm learning what i need to know, but every interaction is a jarring neon squiggle in my brain. i even discussed with E & M how i wanted to start hiding things she would need, just to drive her insane. she's clearly already at the brink. i would just start "strategically misplacing" some essential items, and then watch the worry lines around her eyes develop. fun!

but then, after a monday of the josh and B show, i realized something both sad, and gratifying.

all the normal shit i do will drive her insane anyway. all the random new-guy mistakes i would make regardless, all the register oopsies and beverage code violations, will chip away at her just as much as any little plan i could come up with. the B model we have does not come equipped with the ability to deal with that "shit" which we've been told, just "happens". and in this instance, i am like a diarrhetic cow. not a flattering image, but hey. i am a walking "mistake" with gravy on it. and its sad that B will never really like me (i guess) but its also funny that she's immune to all the things i do that make people like me, and in fact angered by them.

but really, i just have to remember that in the end, i'm bigger than B. not physically, morons, but just, BIGGER. i'm not going to let her bad attitude ruin my days. i'ma smile, and nod, and do it right, and otherwise ignore. because my time at work is too precious to spend sulking. i'm gonna enjoy the hell outta my days, and B ain't gonna do nothin' to change that.

in other news, i am exhausted. oh! and remind me to tell you about the funeral! or, relay to you what certain sources have told me about the funeral. there hasn't been a full "debriefing" yet, but i do hope there is one!

i had other things to talk about, but i've forgotten what they are.

which i'll assume is a message from "god."

goodnight!

FUCK!

2007-11-29T23:38:00.000-06:00

what do i do, what do i do, what do i do, what do i do?

i'm starting to feel happy and content.

and its all because of this stupid job. which doesn't mean i'm advocating that you all go out and work at starbucks or something... that would just be stupid. or would it? what if everyone just went out and worked in a coffee-house? and i'm thinking like, all the people in the pentagon, all the people in d.c., all the evil blood-sucking wall-streeters. what if we all just went to work for an only semi-evil corporate entity that actually tries to do some good in the countries it does business with?

world peace. within five years.

not actively doing harm and letting, say, norway, sweden, and the u.k. steer things for a while could ultimately be the best foreign policy this nation has seen in years. go ahead and add italy to the team, just for the style points. they could even call us up, and we could have a collective voicemail set up.

"nope! nope, don't know nothin' about that. however, i can get you a cup of fair trade coffee from an african nation i'm restructuring that will make you CRY its so good. oh yeah, we have them using renewable agriculture and every'ting. and ten cents from every cup you buy will go to finding a cure for AIDS. pound'a beans? ten dollars, and a buck to research. but if its about something else, no one's home. hope all's good!"

and yes. in this ridiculous fantasy, we all have scandinavian accents.

because i said so.

but seriously... i have tomorrow off, and i have no clue what i'm gonna do! what do i do with a day off!?

no, i'm worried. i'm worried i'll stop writing in my blog at all if i start feeling happy and content. and this is the only writing i even do right now! which is SO sad... but what if i start feeling happy enough to not use this medium to complain? worse, what if i keep writing about how pleased and satisfied i am? why the hell would any of you read that? i wouldn't want you to... but really, how boring!

i mean, i can blog about the people i work with...

Anne is my usual day manager, and she's the shit. i love her. she reminds me of someone, i can't put my finger on it. but she laughs at the things i say that are supposed to be laughed at, and i like her. she makes me feel good. if i were straight, there would totally be sparks. there might be sparks anyway. i might have a girl-crush on Anne. how creepy is that!

other than that, the only major thing i'm noticing is that i do not like R. R is another person-in-charge. she treats me well enough...

sorry, but i'm totally going to start stalking Anne. i'm going to go to jail for stalking someone who doesn't even have the equipment i'm down with.

and do not, do NOT, question my commitment to or love of dick! don't you EVER question my love of cock!

wow. i'm in the middle of a really creepy few seconds here where i'm actually questioning my sexuality... i'm seriously considering if i might be bisexual right now... do i bend in both ways? god knows i'd like to... sort of. but see, nope, vagina still terrifies me. i know, i KNOW, that there is something fundamentally wrong with me touching vagina. its like the eleventh commandment.

JOSHUA STONE, THOU SHALT NOT TOUCH A VAGINA.

i would seriously have to regress and desexualize to the point of exploring a vagina like a toddler in order to not simply fall down dead at contact.

and i'm sure there are no issues tied up in any of this.

anyway, R is just... i get a "vibe" from her... a, "bad vibe," if you will. she's like a flight attendant's smile. all glint, no emotion. she acts like her teeth hurt. and she feels as tightly wound as a watch spring. and i am pretty sure, that she doesn't like me much.

which is really fine with me, since clearly, i am not too hot on her. and not everyone has to like me. R and i just have to tolerate each other, and i'm sure we are both perfectly capable of that.

but if i were to sieze the store and rule it myself, i would totally fire her ass. first thing. on the spot.

is it wrong to say i miss the taste of cock?

seriously, i love the dick. i worship it. i'm a slave, to the dick.

am i crossing a line?

is my defensiveness showing?

am i overcompensating?

GOD I DON'T WANT TO LIKE PUSSY!!!

my misogyny is certainly showing... which is such a nice change from my general misanthropy...

i think i'm just really happy to be out of the house, doing something productive. i'm so so so so happy to be interacting with people during the day, customers and coworkers. i'm so fucking thrilled to be learning things, and doing things, and talking and laughing and yes, yes, dancing behind the register... i worked a register tonight! how crazy is that!? a REGISTER!!! with money in it! i'm sorry, but its all just so... stupid, obviously, but god, i'm fucking LOVING IT!

and i think Anne is just a part of that. i just want to be her friend. i have no desire to see her naked. there! a-HA! total lack of sexual desire. but she's just so cool, and great, and she likes me (hesitantly. she's still in the "feeling him out to make sure he's not an axe-murderer" phase of getting to know me.) and she is totally pretty, in a totally not conventional way, and its just all good. its all, fuckin' good.

i feel wonderful...

i am completely incapable of finding any sort of middle ground, ever.

mark my words, this will come back to bite me in the ass. and you'll know, too. i'll tell you ALLLLL about it.

but right now, i'm really fucking happy.

and its okay to be happy.

some might even say its good.

sigh...

Bungly-Krash-ka-Jinglejinglejingle-SWU-THUNK!

2007-11-26T22:23:00.000-06:00

life is like the ultimate game of chasing jack-rabbits.

that would be a southern expression. or a texan expression. either way, let me explain...

jack-rabbits (which are NOT cute and cuddly... all right, III think they're cute... but they'll basically kick the shit out of you if you even manage to get close enough...) are a common enough species out here. they are wily and athletic. when startled, or just whenever they feel like it, they will bound away at great speed. but the key, the KEY to their escape lies in their habit of changing direction often and erratically, without noticeably slowing down.

when someone is prone to taking sudden tangents and circuitous paths when talking, rather than a straight line from point A to point B, you say they're chasing jack-rabbits. if you can keep up, you also chase jack-rabbits, and may have a mental connection with this person not easily described or defined.

LIFE, is the ultimate jack-rabbit chase. and i'm not sure if ANY of us can really keep up with it.

hence, i have several disparate items to post about today.

FIRST ORDER OF BUSINESS

my paternal grandmother actually died today.

dad and his mom have been estranged (mostly because of him) for the past several years; maybe a decade or more. during that time, she has lost two of her children (the middle son to a heart attack, her eldest son to alcoholism) and moved around the northeast region of the country, drifting from one relative to another, one living situation to another. she finally settled with a grandson (now a doctor in rochester, new york) and has been near him for the past bit of time.

today, while visiting the doctor, she was sent to get an x-ray. this required a walk across the parking lot, in the cold and frozen north. (where winter is more than a philosophical idea) she walked across, got x-rayed, and on her walk back, slipped, fell, and hit her head. hard.

ludmilla stone was a tough old bird. she lived to age 87, mostly by simply keeping a stubborn stranglehold on life and refusing to let go. true to form, after hitting her head, she got up from the asphalt, and finished walking back to the doctor's office. by that time, she was apparently incoherent, and clearly in bad shape, but by god, she made it to where she was going. they took her to the emergency room, did all the things that one does in that situation. but by the time grandson got there, she was comatose, and she slipped away at six thirty eastern standard time today.

she was my last surviving grandparent.

dad called at nine tonight to tell me. my first response was "you're kidding." grandma lud was a fact of life. she can't die! she's like the wind, man, she just blows on no matter what you do. "of course you're not kidding. god, what a horrible joke that would be!" stone's often take refuge in humor, even/especially in inappropriate situations. i asked if he's all right. he says he is; he severed all ties to her (he thinks) a long time ago. so we chatted about it briefly, and hung up.

me: i don't know what to feel. i know i'm sad, but right now, its mostly strange. it really is like she was a fact of life rather than a person who could and would eventually die. and my relationship with her was estranged as well, simply because dad didn't really encourage his kids to develop relationships with her. it got a little better as i got older, and began to take responsibility for parts of my life (begrudgingly, i assure you). i spoke to her on my birthday this last september.

i don't know what to say about her. she had a hard life, married to a horrible man. she buried two children, and was estranged from the other two up until the last. she was callous, and difficult, and so frail frail frail by the end... the last time i saw her was at sister's graduation from college. she was pulling in on herself like old people do, gently curling into a permanent fetal position, even as they walk around. her skin was translucent, and her hair was smooth white.

and she fucking loved me, up until the last. however she could, in her own imperfect way, she loved me, and wanted the best for me, always. no matter how much i neglected her (and at times i did) and how much i loathed talking to her on the phone (which i did for a long, long time) she remembered my birthday, sent cards at holidays, and she goddamned loved me.

and i think in my own flawed way, i loved her too. love calls to love. how can you not love someone when they love you so much, just because you're you? just because you exist?

she loved me, and wanted only the best for me, and encouraged me in my writing. and today, she died. i really, really, really hope she's at peace. i think she got precious little of it this lifetime.

Second Order of Business

not nearly as important. just a discussion of my day at work.

mostly, it was amazingly fun. i got to work the espresso bar, and man, when you get on the bar, fuck all the shit they teach you in the booklets. during down-time, my first coach worked with me on decoding cups and learning standard measures for each size of each drink. syrup, shots, milk, cream, garnish... ohhh so much. by the end, i was doing pretty well, i have to say. still asking a lot of questions, but ticking over pretty well on my own.

oh, and FUCK all that shit about cold beverages being another unit for another day. you hit the bar, you're doing it ALL. i can make all manner of frappuccino beverages (sometimes with help) and most iced teas and coffees. bitch, i'm the SHIT!

you don't really stop moving too often, and when you do have a lull, you restock cups, make sure all your ingredients are there and fresh, clean pitchers, and if you're new, ask lots and LOTS of questions, or make practice beverages. you just go! and it just left me feeling so damned industrious! whee-hah! rock the fuck out!

i wore an apron for the first time today. holler at that.

and i tried to be genuine, and courteous, and helpful, and all that shit that the book talks about. so i think i connected with the customers. most of the time.

it was awesome.

Third Order of Business

yoga today for the first time in like, a week. i still did pretty good. but the cold has not been kind to me feet. after my shower, i put on tiger balm and then covered them in socks. hopefully, that will help.

but yes. for a week break, i still managed a pretty good session. but oddly enough, my mind wouldn't stop turning over during relaxation. funny thing that.

it won't stop turning over now...

i [heart] xanax.

A Million Dollars

2007-11-26T00:00:00.000-06:00

i'm sorry that i got my panties in a twist over stupid issues involving money.

i feel like i got caught up in what i hate about this season in the first place; the hectic, insane drive to prove your love to all the people you hold dear by spending the right amount of money on the right gift, and presenting it the right way.

love and money don't seem to mix well, in my mind... love should be freely given, and returned in kind. and gifts are nice, but its what they mean that matters rather than what they cost or what they are.

what i'd really like this holiday season, is to be free of this. to be free of these doubts and hurts and "reasons" for anger and self-pity. i'd like to feel clean and purposeful, and happy. i'd like to be busy, and to feel like i'm headed in a good direction. i would like the journey to start feeling good, with a bracing wind cooling the sweat on my brow and my pack feeling easy on my back.

i'd like to feel happy and content. if only for a little while.

and i'd like for my family to feel happy and content too. i don't want them to feel the need for gifts that right wrongs, or presents that make up for things past. i want them all to feel wonderful, and grand, and happy, and content; pleased with where they are and who they are right now.

i just get worked up sometimes. and it gets hard to figure out what is what anymore.

but since i promised:

today, my cat knocked a plastic container of hoya cuttings off the windowsill. then the dog ran through the spilled water and tracked paw-prints all over the house. meanwhile, the spreading puddle damaged several papers and books important to mom.

my cat also decided he likes lying around inside our springy foldable mesh hamper. the dog is kept at a decent distance, and when cat bats at the dog, the whole hamper lurches forward. all in all, its pretty fun to watch them during these one-sided cage matches.

he's also decided he likes sleeping near my feet.

Fuck it All

2007-11-25T00:44:00.000-06:00

i'm just not gonna talk about anything ever again.

i'm starting to hate the sound of my own voice. or typing.

i whine, i bitch, i complain.

i roll over the same issues, time and time again.

i'm tired of it.

from now on, i'm going to post about... the things my cat does each day.

its cute, its cheery, and its absolutely at the level of the average blog reader.

and i won't have to think about anything. ever again.

i'm done.

sorry to have dragged you along with me.

Cost of Love: $150 USD

2007-11-24T18:18:00.000-06:00

i actually *hissssssss* went out shopping today...

it was totally unplanned. i called dad, we went for coffee, and then, he left, and i went to the bookstore. and then the half-price bookstore. and then a different coffee store, after a quick jaunt through a very catholic jewelry store.

my father, continues to be a hypocrite (sort of) and a shrink rather than a father or friend. whatever. thanksgiving was actually an extremely pleasant day. it was lovely. it was great. and i really am in a much better mood what with having a job and all that jazz. i have a purpose, even if its shallow and temporary. we'll take it. let's go.

anywhoo... i don't want to dwell, but i don't tend to ask my dad for much. well, not much in the way of material goods. last christmas, i was so shell-shocked after my semester in grad school that all i wanted was for my life to be a happy place again. you can't box that and put it under a tree. anyway, my m.o. is to let things slide most of the time, and every once in a while, ask for something slightly large-ish. which my siblings do all the time (ask for something large-ish, that is) and dad usually obliges. brother gets video-game systems and electronics. sister gets... whatever it is that sister asks for. neither is shy about it.

so it irks me when i finally decide to ask dad to get me a korean drum for christmas (which he had offered to do before, mind you. i just took a little time choosing to take him up on it.) and then get the old "hem and haw" when i tell him the price ($300-$350). its not that he won't do it. its not even that its really not that much money to spend on me, compared to the other kids. its that i can't ask him for anything without getting the old "well, gracious, i'm not sure my old pocketbook can handle it..." which is bullshit, because he's more comfortable now than he has been in YEARS, and he and wife are looking to make another slew of home improvements. clearly, the money isn't the issue. apparently, making me feel like a greedy s.o.b. for asking is. whatever. he's an ass. i don't care.

but the point of this post, is warm fuzzy feelings. i don't have them often. no really, it's true! but i stepped into the bookstore today after the generally pleasant coffee date with dad, and they had the "calvin and hobbes" complete treasury again. and its $150 USD, again. but looking at it, and seeing even just the front cover of calvin laughing with hobbes, beautifully hand water-colored by watterson...

there should be more things in the world that make me feel like i felt after seeing that. there should be more things that are as good and decent, as comforting and inspiring and admirable, as calvin and hobbes.

the grouchy old coots at my favorite aa meetings would often say: "i didn't get sober just to be miserable!"

i think i need to remember that i didn't either.

Musings

2007-11-21T22:02:00.001-06:00

i hate the holidays. i'm just going to put that out there right now. right in front. no skulking around the door of the bah-humbug closet.

i fucking, HATE, the holidays.

but i'll talk about that later.

today, i'm rolling some things around in my head. things dealing with my dad, and the issues our relationship encompasses. unless you're headless, you've figured out that there are several. but this one has reared up before, and its... an interesting one, to say the least.

i have an overdeveloped self-defense mechanism. its a close cousin to my control-freak compulsion. and its rooted in the soil of my low self-esteem and paranoia. and god knows, that soil is rich and fertile.

recently, my cylinders have been firing over this new job. granted, free-floating anxiety, excitement at finally being employed anywhere, all this other random situational stuff, is hitting me. i'm like a target practice dummy. but there's also The Issue; my way of instantaneously going to a five alarm "this is not a drill!" defensive posture when i perceive something as a threat to my right to freedom of expression, freedom of existence, freedom to i don't know, whatever, freedom in general. this happens every time i get a job. i try and boil it down to Me versus The Machine. i'm either an individual, or a machine. etc. blah blah blah, every dystopian fantasy ever created.

i'm trying really, REALLY hard not to fall prey to this. it's simply a trade-off. complying with the demands of the job opens doors to pay, benefits, and most importantly to my rabidly obsessive self, worlds and worlds of coffee knowledge. i don't need to press envelopes. i don't need to be passive aggressive (fun though it is...). i just need to show up, do a good job, and i get a number of valuable and even enjoyable things in return. its a job. its coffee. wheee!

however, where i am right now, is the fact that every time this happens with a job (which means every time i get a job...) my dad has to needle me, and joke around a little bit, and in general, say "they're necessary skills, you need to learn them, i just want the best for you, blah blah blah."

seems innocent enough. and i could just be displacing my anger with my situation onto dad. its easy enough to do, and its a good... no... well-trodden path for me. granted, a lot of the issues that i'm left dealing with are due in part to my dad, but at this point, i'm an adult, and its up to me to deal with them, or just let them deal with me for the rest of my life. and much as i don't especially like dealing with my issues, letting my seething emotions override my logic and focus is anathema to me. its a total lesser of two evils. i just don't want to be a rogue human meteor, crashing through life, bouncing into people, unaware of or unwilling to look at what's driving me to carom around.

knowing the issues are there, for me, means its my responsibility to work on them.

blah blah blah, i'm a thoughtful and considerate person...

bullshit. i hate the thought of not being in control of myself, all the damn time.

but back to the meat of this post: while i wonder if i'm just displacing, i also wonder if dad isn't doing the same. i've tried at various times to let him into my life, to open myself up to him. every time has resulted in him hurting me. a lot. to the point where i can still honestly say that No-one has hurt me as much as he has. so now, i keep him where i like him. i'm good at defining my relationships at this point, and i'm sure it irks him to know that he has a specially designated cubby in my brain and life. it might irk him even more if he understands that he was instrumental in making this setup my best option; that he could have had a larger and deeper role in my life except that he kept lacerating me after i'd let my guard down.

self-justification. blah blah blah.

so in one sense, maybe he likes seeing me come up against something as unyielding as i've been to him (in his mind). because i do get a sense that there is something about this recurring situation that he enjoys. he likes watching me struggle, maybe. or he is amused by the concentric circles of insanity i travel in my quest for the right course of action.

but my hunch, is that he identifies with the "law and order" aspect of my jobs. of the world, really. isn't that how archetypes work? nurturing earth mother, authoritarian sky father? and by identifying with those tried and true power structures, he gets to rein me in and exert control over me in a way he never has before. i mean, sure, he's frightened me into mute acceptance of whatever he wants time and time again. he's held power over me, and still does. but he's never managed to be the authoritarian father. perhaps he feels like he doesn't measure up to his father. (who by all accounts, was a son of a bitch. he broke his children. he shattered them. and i am honestly glad he died when i was less than two years old, and that i have no memory of him, and my siblings never even got the chance to meet him at all.) dad longs for that sort of control, even as he actually loathes to feel it on his skin himself, and actually exhibits the same issue as me, though in different forms, perhaps.

ohhh... stockholm. ladies and gentlemen, we have stockholm syndrome. this, is what having shrinks for parents does to you... sort of...

so i'm wondering, basically, if dad is identifying himself with the universal paternal figure here. he's certainly exhibiting his cruel streak (which i've also inherited) which is irritating enough. (both that he's exhibiting his, and i inherited it. but whatever.)

and on the other hand (we have other fingers...) he brings up a good point. i wouldn't be so desperate to protect myself and my identity if there wasn't some flaw or weakness to them that made them particularly vulnerable. at least, in my mind. and when he did bring that nugget up, it felt right. it hit me like a cold ice-pick digging into the base of my spine. it hurt like truth. so there's certainly something there. and perhaps all this theorizing is just an attempt to mount a counter offensive and take the all-seeing eye off me. because i don't want to see what's there.

but then again, there's no reason we can't both be right.

jumping yet again to my own defense, it's taken me a long time to develop into who i am. and its taken a lot of hard work. hard-won spoils, blah blah blah. fine, i'm clutching tight to my relatively new sense of self.

but at the same time, i do feel weak right now, in the sense that my definition of myself is undergoing a major overhaul. i dropped out of school. i'm aimless and purposeless. i had some fun with chemical dependency for a while (alcoholism runs in BOTH sides of my family, so wee-ha to that...) and am now having some "fun" with maintaining sobriety (a year and a half this past november 8). i moved to austin, only to move back home with my mother. i'm training to work at starbucks. and i own a cat, which has ended up being a very positive experience, actually.

but i'm not sure how far back i can accurately trace this shaky sense of self. maybe it does go back to childhood. i'm sure my current situation isn't helping. the end of college really pulled the rug out from under me too. its all such a hazy mess of memory and sulky hurt. the past so often refuses to be neatly categorized and filed away...

i don't know who i am. and yes, i'm angry at dad for being the messenger, but i'm trying really hard not to shoot him for his troubles. this time.

and learning these lessons is clearly important for me, otherwise they wouldn't be so hard to learn.

but i'm not sure i'm ready to believe my father only wants the best for me right now. i feel like he really does have a vested interest in my current problem. he enjoys it too much. and god forbid people were required to be nice all the time, but a little more tenderness on his part in regards to this might not be a bad thing.

i want him on my side. that's what i want. i want to hear him say "i'm sorry these things are so hard for you. they're important, but i wish it wasn't so difficult for you, because i don't like to see you struggle like this." sigh. i was going to say that we don't like to see the ones we love in pain, even if we think the end result of it all will be positive, but i'm not sure that's even the case. different issue. different post.

at any rate, thanksgiving tomorrow is shaping up to be an interesting affair, if i decide to whip this one out.

gotta love family fun time.

Ask Me About My Psychotic Break!

2007-11-19T17:11:00.000-06:00

no, not really.

by which i mean i have not actually had a psychotic break. yet. (i'd hate to rule something out, y'know?) if i do have a psychotic break, i can assure you, i will let my blog, and by extension, its readers (assuming i have any...) know ALLLL about it. in detail. and if you ask about it, i'll tell you about it, if i feel like it, or not.

sigh...

so i started starbucks job today. it was all talking from the manager (who goddamnit, has one normal eye and one not as normal eye, which is already something i'm having to work hard at not noticing. like, every time i look at his face (which was like, for hours today, as he gave his opening spiel) i had to look him in the eyes, firmly and fully, and act like i totally was NOT noticing the aberrant eye and wondering how it ended up that way.) and paper work, and here is this, there is that, this is what you do, blah blah blah.

i forgot to take a xanax before i went in. i will not be making that mistake again.

but at any rate, i'm already sort of spazzing out. the shirt i was wearing (a black button-down with tiny white pinstripes) was NOT up to dress-code specifications. it is surely a black shirt, and it surely has a collar, and looks very nice on me, but it does not meet the requirements. i can see why; they want shirts either plain white, or plain black. but still... isn't the point that i look nice?

its not really my place to wonder why. its not my place to ask questions. its not my place to flip out about the dress-code. but i have these... "issues..." like, every time i start feeling like my freedom is being restricted, its like a hot brand on my skin. i freak. i start feeling like i'm in a cell and the door is swinging shut. and its not a logical response, and its not a realistic response, and i'm writing about it because i want to get this anxiety out of my system, at least enough to where i don't want to quit after my first day.

i have a gun perpetually aimed at my foot, and i have a really itchy trigger finger.

everyone seems nice there. the other guy starting today is Phil; he seems to be your standard skinny twink. i'm pretty sure he plays for my team, but i have no interest in throwing any balls his way. he seems... nice. i guess. i met a few other people who seem nice as well. they all make me feel old, but they're nice.

its just a job.

i need to keep reminding myself that its just a job, and that it really doesn't merit my expending all this energy over it. it doesn't define who i am. the clothing i wear doesn't define who i am either. and on that note, it might actually be helpful that the manager's name is also josh, so i get a nickname. it may help me disassociate my starbucks' identity from my actual identity. and you know what? none of its a really big deal. it just isn't that big a deal.

but i think i'll add another strand of beads to my "individuality necklace*."

*the individuality necklace is the necklace i decided to make immediately upon hearing i had been hired. since i inevitably feel the need to act out against any sort of perceived restraint, i decided to do so using a specific item that i could actually wear to work rather than incurring a variety of dressing downs for actual infractions. so far it has one strand of beads. after today, i'm wondering how many strands can actually fit on the clasp i'm currently using...

oh and look. i italicized text on my blog for the first time ever! i am truly trying new things today.

so much of this random bullshit is my rampant desire to not look like a nimrod. i don't want to have to clean toilets and mop floors and empty trashcans in front of people. because the ugly truth is that i feel like such activities are below me. not that i don't do them at home or anything. i just feel like they're private activities. i just... i'm just scared. and it'll be all right. it'll be okay. but i am scared. and we'll just have to see how things go.

and now, i'm going to work on my individuality necklace (doesn't it sound like a camp art project?) and get ready for yoga.

obviously, i'll keep you informed.

Oh, My, God...

2007-11-19T09:51:00.000-06:00

i can't remember the last time i laughed this hard.

once more, thank you to www.marriedtothesea.com

click on it. click on it, for the love of god!

for the record, ma'am, i'm not good with paper either.

actually, i am good with paper. i do origami. its like the olympics of paper. and i win. i win the gold, in the olympics of paper.

and i start my job today. i'm ready to puke up my guts.

i love prescription anti-anxieties...

wishmeluckgottagobye!

A Little Insight

2007-11-17T00:48:00.000-06:00

or; Why Do I Do the Things I Do?

i've been shopping for my work wardrobe. more on that later.

during my shopping, i visited a new strip center just outside the city proper. now, texas does strip centers a little differently. we do acres of asphalt parking, a few spindly trees, and linear miles of storefront surrounding it all. since land is cheap (and unlike california, not prone to wild-fires when dry, mudslides when wet, or earthquakes any old time) and the rich creep (further and further into the hill-country) we grow horrible mega-developments practically overnight. this is why, if you want to live in a city with any sort of infrastructure and general urban plan, AND you want to live in texas, your option is Austin. which austinites will tell you while wearing VERY smug smiles, whether you want to hear it or not.

i'm sort of an honorary austinite, i think. i mean, i have a major hard-on for urban planning, functioning metropolises (metropoli?) make me moist as a snack cake, and i lived there for... a year and a half? anyway, blah blah blah.

so the point of this all is, the name of this new shopping center is: wait for it:

The Rim.

i'm not sure why they decided to name it the rim. i'm not sure what actual physical rim its on. the rim of the city? geological rim/balcones escarpment? not a clue. i'm not sure why there is actually a J.C. Penney's in the rim. truly, i thought they'd died out.

all i know, is what i'm sure you know by now.

my family doesn't call it The Rim.

well, we do, but we add an extra word to the end. because for gods' sakes, they practically MADE us! how can you possibly look at that name and let it be? its like putting a cake in front of a dog, leaving the room, and getting mad when you come back and rover has frosting all over his face.

so later that day, i'm showing mom everything i bought while shopping at The Rim Job. and i call it The Rim Job. and mom, being mom, asks the question; "why do all you kids call it The Rim Job? what's a rim job anyway?"

our mom is really damn cool. you can talk to our mom about almost anything without it getting "awkward." but there, in the living room, both of the other kids out of the house, and a simple question with a simple answer out in the air, i freeze up. would the answer gross her out? no. would it freak her out? no. can i bring myself to simply say "analingus?" no.

"uhhh... its something sexual." that's what i can say.

which gets a loud "duh!" from mom.

fair enough. episode over.

except that there is something fundamentally wrong with me, and how i operate.

fast forward to tonight. mother, brother, sister, and i are at the cheesecake factory having celebratory dinner in honor of sister's acceptance to one medical school. (so far... she'll get into others. i have no doubts.) its crowded, and we're sitting in the middle of the room, eating, talking, having a pleasant evening out as a family, for once. everyone is happy, no one is sniping at anyone or taking potshots. we are having, a good, time.

i swear to god, it came out of nowhere. i wasn't even thinking about it. i wasn't dwelling on it. the episode had been basically forgotten. but unbidden, it rose up in my mind, and i was unable to quell it. the path before me was suddenly clear, and i was powerless but to walk it.

"a rim job is, basically, analingus."

i don't think other tables heard. the siblings sat in silence for a moment, and then conversation resumed. mom asked, rhetorically, if it was absolutely necessary for me to wait to answer the question until we're out in a crowded restaurant, rather than in the privacy of our home. dinner resumed. at this point, my outbursts really aren't that big a deal for most of the people who are close to me.

but to answer a question that obviously doesn't need answering; yes. for some unknown reason, because i'm just prey to these strange compulsions, maybe because i simply have to do the most inappropriate thing possible, yes. i will tell you what a rim job is, but only if you take me someplace nice.

Things I Want to Blog About:

2007-11-16T01:14:00.000-06:00

male feminists: possible, impossible, helpful, or not.

in a similar vein, the larger question of identity politics, and whether or not they have run their course in today's society.

sister has gotten into medical school! heart-shaped balloons and confetti!

the koreans in l.a.'s korea-town are not in fact evil. they just had a dodgy internet connection.

trying on clothing makes me feel fat.

my face is covered in zits.

why do i not trust people who are open and honest and emotionally available/accessible? is it partly because they end up sounding like they take themselves really seriously? or is it just that i don't happen to speak that language? or is it in this instance, that the person in question has a slippery grasp of the english language when typing? because yes, i am that petty and shallow.

why do my neighbors think that it is appropriate to have a "lawn-jockey" like statue of an american indian outside their house in honor of thanksgiving?

what level of hell do i go to for enjoying thanksgiving, even though i know all i'm celebrating is the genocide of an entire complex world of indigenous cultures and peoples by uppity white folk lacking senses of humor and articles of clothing that DO NOT feature a large buckle on them somewhere?

why does shopping for clothing drive me so incredibly fucking nuts? and not in the good way. in the "take an anxiety pill and have a lie-down" way.

at the end of wednesday yoga session, we were all instructed to think a good, kind, and loving thought, and i usually send that thought, image, feeling, etc, out into the room for everyone else to partake of. well, this time, i sent it to me, and it just about knocked my socks off. it really surprised me. i'm not used to being treated nicely by myself. and that's really sad.

and the thought was: lying on soft grass, being showered in fresh petals, like the japanese idea of a beauty so fresh and full and perfect and ripe, its represented by that spectacular moment when the cherry trees all over the islands have burst forth into blossom, flown open into creamy explosions of whites and pinks, and the flowers are so big, and perfect, and at the utter height of their short lives, that one or two have even begun to fall from the branches, floating softly to the ground; not a speck of rot or wilt on them, just a strong ruffle by the wind to spin a few away. i thought of being rained on by that kind of utter softness and beauty, that unsullied and pure moment. i thought that everyone should feel that way, that everyone has that beauty and purity and joy in them.

and then, like a suicidal christmas elf, i turned my joy-gun back on myself, and while i was COMPLETELY defenseless, nailed myself between the eyes and thought, "you feel like that. you make other people feel like that. you are a distillation of that purity and glory and jubilation. you are all that is good because it knows no other way to be. you are being showered by a million petals, and you are a million petals."

something happened to my heart when i thought that thought. i'm not fully sure what. but i felt warm, and i felt loved, and i smiled that stupid goofy smile that you half want to stop, and half don't, and aren't really able to stop anyway. it just creeps up on you.

it knocked my socks off, saying that to myself. it left me weak in the knees.

and now i'm going to bed.

goodnight!

I Feel...

2007-11-13T21:16:00.000-06:00

i feel kind of strange.

i feel kind of like i have a job at starbucks.

hold the applause please, hold the applause.

i really don't know whether to be really excited (yes), or break down crying (also yes).

this is the culmination of months of searching for a job. its the end result of miles of frustration and angst. its a temporary reprieve from feeling like a housebound invalid.

or one of those crazy-obese people who like, die from congestive heart failure at age thirty-eight, and then they have to knock down a wall of the bedroom and forklift them out, because they're so goddamned HUGE!!!

anyway, i have a job, and it mostly feels like i've sold my soul for $6.75 an hour (before tips).

this is where things get very, very tricky. this is where i have to learn not to let my job be my identity. rather, this is where i learn that a job is a single aspect of my life, perhaps not even the most important one. i have to disassociate myself from my job. which considering my psychological makeup, shouldn't be that hard.

i disassociate like THAT is my job.

but at any rate, welcome to starbucks, what can i get started for you?

Ultra-Productive Day: DONE!!!

2007-11-12T23:37:00.000-06:00

sunday was ultra-productive day.

i did half the sunday times crossword puzzle (curse you, will shortz, you're the man i love to hate!) and drank coffee.

then i mixed soil, dug holes, and planted four new plants in the bed in our front yard.

i am gardening TITAN!!!

then i went to the gym. then i stretched out my back, which i hurt on wednesday, and which is still slightly painful.

then i sponge painted a pair of chuck taylors i picked up (my first pair of converse EVER!!!) in preparation to customizing them into the awesomest pair of shoes in the whole entire world, EVAR!!!

and tomorrow, i have an interview at starbucks for a barista position. i maybe can make the monies soon!!! WHEEE!!!

it's always exciting to make headway on your jobsearch, but it makes me kind of sad that i get so excited at the prospect of pouring coffee and frothing milk for several hours a day for minimum wage.

its and job and stuff, but really...

and today, i finished my shoes (they are so, the best things ever. i'll post pics soon...) and that crossword puzzle (i win this round, will shortz!) and in general did a whole lot of nothing other than that.

i am so, damned, tired... i think i'm ready to die now.

two skyflowers (one regular white, one variegated purple), one turk's turban, and one rock rose. our landscaping is gonna be teh awesome. because i am zen ninja master landscaper. and i can dig holes.

please to being the sleepy time now?

What Information, and Where?

2007-11-10T21:18:00.000-06:00

this sickness, it persists. i feel yucky. and i threw my back out yesterday as well. so that was a really fun day.

at times, i idly wonder if i'm in the early stages of acute renal failure.

i'm not, but still...

mostly i'm tired, my hips and lower back hurt, my brain is fuzzy, and i don't want to deal with people. which makes my morning spent at the Car Show all the more ironic... E was surprised that i even go to the stupid thing. i am too. mostly, its a family event, and its kinda cool, and for one morning a year, whatever. i can look at a lot of cars. i oggle the scions, we check out the toyotas (big surprise: i don't fit in a yaris), i lust after the short lived volkswagens, and we all make fun of the buicks (sad note, they no longer make the "le sabre". mercury, however, does still make the "monte carlo", and its as ugly as ever.)

sister gravitates towards anything that looks like "high finance soccer-mom", brother goes for anything flashy and fancy. stepmom likes luxe and staid, and dad is pretty much the same, though a tad more daring. my favorite of the show might have been the new vw Rabbit, which yes, shares a name with a vibrator (the ferrari of vibrators, no less), has a little silver rabbit icon rather than its name spelled out, and which comfortably seats four, despite it's small size. i could not stop cackling and grinning wildly while sitting in the driver seat.

which brings me to a revelation: my ideal car was apparently the Gremlin, and the closer a car gets to looking like that Grem-puppy, the happier it makes me. go figure.

post car show, the day was mostly spent sleeping on a heating pad.

i hope to sleep again in the not too distant future.

it's what it is, baby. also, i'm developing a twitch in my right eye. this does not please me. i swear to god, it really feels like i'm falling apart recently.

i did get my shizz together and apply to five starbucks locations within a five mile radius. so if all else fails (which it seems to do on a daily basis) perhaps i'll get to be a barista. it would be a job. i would make some money. and i could try to get my life in order. benefits. therapy. etc.

i was really excited when i started out on my mission to deliver completed starbucks applications. but then, i ended up feeling sort of pathetic. its hard to feel like a superhero when you're hoping you don't get passed over for a job making coffee. and really, let's face it. i'm not going to be satisfied until i'm recognized for the superhero that i am.

which sort of means that i'll probably not be satisfied like, ever.

being human is hard enough. but from myself, i truly do demand super-human everything. i expect the impossible, the larger than life, the grandiose, on a daily basis. and that, is not a healthy way to live.

because i'm really only human.

and can i say how irritating it is to know that i'm writing all this, and it will never get read, because this project isn't getting off the ground until 2008? i mean, i know, things take time, etc., whatever. and granted, in the end, i'm writing this for me. but still... the idea is that someone will read this shit, and they'll understand. and we'll meet, and they'll be attractive and loving, and caring and understanding, and we'll have a protracted and awkward courtship, and exchange gifts and poems, and then one day, a special day, we'll do it in the butt.

its so sad that that is sort of a climax (har har) to any relationship. nudity, genitals, secretions, moaning, and then a shower and a clean set of sheets. the mundane nature of it all is so incredible sometimes... and its not that i don't like sex or anything. and its not that i don't think sex can be amazingly complex and emotional. but any climax is such an anti-climax in the grand scheme of things. we want the love, and the trust, the understanding and the support. we want the intimacy and closeness, and the excitement and frenetic rush of chemicals. we want these incredible, complex, intricate and fully engaging (enthralling) relationships, but somehow, it ends up being a focus on "are we doing it, is it often enough, could we be doing it better, and why do you always do THAT?"

this is why all love stories end with the first free and fulfilling kiss. or the initial night of passion and utter abandon. or with the death of one or both of the protagonists, after one or both of the previous options. because after all that passion and "melding into one" new age blah blah blah, there is the laundry to do, and showers to take. it all boils down to who lets the dog out at one in the morning, or who was supposed to wash which dish.

apparently, i'm feeling a little down on love and sex.

maybe its just my jealousy showing, since its been so long since i've had any of either.

the heart is an amazing, surprising, and stubborn organ. its meant to operate best when broken into shards, and carefully reassembled. the pieces clink together when you walk, and when you twist, they cut you, and bring you to tears. they each mirror a different angle, and a unique facet. the heart is a mosaic of past, present, and future. of fresh love, love that hasn't been born yet, old love like worn t-shirts, washed to lacy thinness; there is love curdled and turned bitter with time and jealousy, dormant love, buried under snow and forgotten, but ready to revive at the first sign of spring. there is love that burns on, like a lamp on low; the object is gone, but the light remains. and all this, as long as you take the hammer firmly in your hand, and bring it down to give your heart that first !*SMASH*!

a good friend of mine used to say that hard times of your life were just when life was wearing you raw. he was, rather is, a stonecutter by trade, and i just know lots of random shit, so it was understood that "wearing you raw" meant cutting channels. it meant opening up parts of you that would later make new things possible. it meant exposing bits and pieces of yourself that will in time, make you and others catch your breath. its being "worn raw" that brings the beauty and depth to things; stone, people, and many other things as well.

le sigh. so i'm being worn raw. and its all just compost. in that its shitty. no, yes, but no. its compost in that the mental and emotional shit that i'm in will fall to ground, and later fertilize periods of lush growth and comparative happiness. every teardrop i can't shed is a diamond waiting to be mined and fashioned into a story. i'm creating the soil from which new growth and beauty can spring. because that's just the way life works.

i found a map in the house today. its not even a super duper awesome map. its a handy dandy map of the u.s.a., one side political, one side physical. i'm in love with maps. they're a kind of information i always stop for. a coffee shop near my college had its bathroom wall-papered in various maps. maps of cities, regions, countries, continents, worlds, parks, neighborhoods, etc. maps are the best we've done, in a way, to tell the story of our earth. they're amazing documents, they're like the face of an ancient old man, with every wrinkle and put there by so much laughter about this, or so much crying about that. each fold of skin is an entire emotional history made physical; tangible.

every so often, i go on google earth. yes, the really invasive one. but what i do, is i look up the most exotic places i can think of. hawaii, barbados, jamaica. and its all satellite imagery; its the closest i can get to being in space, looking down upon these places.

and i choose islands, because i like them, and because they're like these tiny droplets, scattered across the blue ocean. i can only handle one island at a time. and i zoom in, until its a patchwork of water, and green plains, and dark mountains, and black lava, and blocky greys of human settlement. and clouds arc over the land and water. and i don't think i've been any closer to tears recently than just looking at these exquisite... i don't know whats. stories. histories. paintings. testaments. but if you have the time, i highly recommend.

Whiplash

2007-11-04T23:55:00.000-06:00

i should probably look for more comics on Married to the Sea. but i'm not going to right now.

i'm going to look through my iTunes playlist, and play every sad song that might cause me to edge closer to crying.

its just that kind of a night.

buying underwear is just such a fucking rip off... you can buy the sweetest, most awesome boxer-briefs in existence, and they never satisfy, because all you really want is to look like the casually ripped eighteen year old german model who's sporting those trunks (in a small) on the box. you want to put on those stupid cotton/lycra junk buckets, and inhabit his body, his chest, his ribs just visible under his tawny skin. you want his toned stomach; not aggressively cut, just smoothly muscled, like he's saying in your head, "no, i don't have to work too hard on my abs. they're just like that naturally." and you want to kill him just as much as you want to fuck him. you want his ass, cheekily (har har) flexed, contraposto; and you want his cock, the head just visible below the embroidered codpiece.

the gender gap is slowly being erased. men are now just as unhappy with their bodies as women. i'm not sure if anyone really wanted it to even out like this, but if you're selling something, ANYTHING, you come out a winner.

yet another reason capitalism sucks.

so much jealousy. so much self-loathing. i've been working out a lot for the past three months. and the results are pretty impressive. i'm not underwear box material, but i'm a long, long way from where i was when i started. which is good. i'm happy with myself. i still work myself too hard, and feel really odd if i skip a day, but generally speaking, my exercise regimen makes me feel healthy and well.

except for the fact that i'm sick. best guess: sinus infection. no, it hasn't gone away. i hate antibiotics, but i'll go to my doctor tuesday night, and he'll prescribe them, and i'll take them. gladly. because i hate feeling this way. i hate the malaise. i hate the lethargy. i hate my head being a fog specially imported from london. i hate my stomach gurgling and asking questions i don't have answers to. i hate the physical weakness, the inability to get through a circumscribed workout at the gym, and the inability to fully open my back during yoga.

my body has been good to me. i was born with a club foot, and thanks to fancy surgery while i was an infant, i have two legs that are almost the exact same length, and that are able to carry me around just fine, thank you very much. i have diabetes, but it didn't make itself known until i was in high-school; well old enough to take care of myself. and the technology always improves. i'm doing all right there. i needed surgery to fix a flap of loose cartilage in my right knee, but since then, the knee has been in good shape, and so long as i take care with it when it feels a little loose, all is well.

i take my body entirely too much for granted.

despite its flaws, it functions fully and well. it responds well to exercise. it rises to just about every challenge i've thrown at it.

but when i'm sick, it's like i'm suddenly a houseguest in my own physical vessel. my brain won't fire right. or at least, not quickly. my limbs are heavy and slow. i smell different. am i the only one who notices that? when you're sick, or at least when i'm sick, my urine, my stool, everything about me, my skin and hair, it all smells different. it smells wrong.

i can be as busy as i want, have as many things to do as i can possibly schedule, but when physical basics assert themselves, none of it matters.

i already mentally feel like a waste of organic matter. now i can't even make use of my body, which was my main tether to feeling like a human at all.

and i'm bitching far too much, i know. and a large part of this, is the same old frustration of my situation.

because i feel pregnant. now that i'm laid low, splattered over the house like roadkill, i'm suddenly so full of things i want to do. things i want to produce. i suddenly see what i should be doing, paths i should be pursuing, projects i should be working on. fuckin' A!

so i think, i'll try to write them all down, so i have a list. so that when i can pull myself together, and get my innards back inside the envelope of my skin, i know what i'm supposed to do.

i'm supposed to create.

by god, i'm supposed to create.

I Laughed...

2007-11-04T00:48:00.000-05:00

i laughed, so hard...

oh god, it hurt to laugh so hard. tears came to my eyes, i laughed so hard.

and you know what, it really isn't even that funny, i don't think.

but then, when i think about it some more, it totally is.

here. you decide.

i dunno. i sorta think its the best thing ever, really.

happy november.

all credit due to www.marriedtothesea.com

totally worth the hype, this comic.

Canned Angst

2007-10-30T19:40:00.000-05:00

i would really like to apologize for the last post.

i can't actually quite remember why i decided (it was relatively recently) that queer people aren't just like straights. i do believe it, but there was a catalyzing moment, and i kept putting it off, and now i don't remember it. genius.

i'm tired. i'm tired, and irritable, and i think i'm actually sick. my blood sugars aren't staying where they're supposed to be (i have juvenile/insulin dependent/type I diabetes. have i mentioned that?) and that's usually the main indicator. because truthfully, i could have ebola and be losing body parts, and still just be walking around wondering why i'm in such a foul mood.

this doesn't mean i'm necessarily in a happy place, mind you. but it does mean that i know i'm not reacting to things rationally. and it would explain why i feel so hungry, so exhausted, so weak, so fuzzy and unintelligent (which is really the worst part). it would explain why i want to tear somethings head off. and am just looking for an excuse to go off.

and before you be getting ALLLLL clever on me, yes, i am capable of going to happy places. i have been to happy places, and i do know what they look like. so back off!

but at any rate, i totally phoned in that whole last post. it was poorly organized, and built around an idea i don't even remember. i didn't even bother to look up data on the "facts" i failed to cite. i'm pretty sure they're still true, but i need to at least like, link to wikipedia or something. and i need to write entries when they occur, rather than doing whatever it is that i do, which is basically procrastinating, but infinitely more interesting and deep because i'm doing it.

i should have just checked in and told you all that i haven't died, that i'm not thinking well, and that i don't really know what to say. my standard entry. but i tried to do something i really wasn't up to, and i'm sorry.

but hey. even ridley scott made "gladiator," so i guess i'm allowed mistakes.

Musings on That Whole "Gay" Thing

2007-10-30T15:01:00.000-05:00

no, not that gay thing; the other one. to the left... little more... next to the, yeah, that gay thing.

go ahead and bring that thing over here. i wanna muse over it a little bit.

musings on that whole gay thing...

you know, i keep wanting to make a point about the gayness, and the gay-e-ti. about my own, inherent FAH-bulousness. (cue glitter!)

yes, in case you missed the earlier mention, and are, in fact, headless, i am gay. i suppose. still don't like that word... i like the dudes. there. i like that better. i am a dude, who enjoys the "company," of other dudes. in this definition, "company" can actually include a wide variety of activities, up to and including re-enacting major light-saber battles from all six Star Wars films with the help of a dimmer switch and a couple of glow-in-the-dark condoms. muse on that one a minute, all would-be suitors. when you belong to me, i might ask for some luke on darth action, and i really do expect you to comply.

anyway, all kidding aside (suitors... i swear, where do i come UP with this stuff?) i'm here to talk to you today about how gay people are really not just like you, aside from all the scissoring and anal penetration.

and before you start reading all sorts of "self-loathing" into my dislike of the term gay, which is of course there a little bit (what, i'm an equal-opportunity self-loather. no part of me gets overlooked.) mostly, i like to sit back saying nothing and watch other people be confused and make idiots of themselves. but look. i'm being all honest and open with you, and making myself vulnerable by arming you with some "truth" to sling around. don't hurt yourself though. i've seen people shoot their eye out with the truth; they didn't even know it was loaded, apparently.

gay people are really not your differently-wired counterparts. i know that so much of the current argument for acceptance or tolerance, or marriage, or adoption rights, is rooted in the continuing battle to prove to the "impartial" straight arbiters (notice the sarcasm quotes there... you're straight, you can't be impartial. neither can i; i'm gay.) that gays, lesbians, bisexuals (dirty, dirty bisexuals, who want it both ways, just like someone born on a zodiacal cusp... dirty, dirty cuspies...), transexuals, transgendereds, and general all around non-normative (discussion of term "normal" to follow...) sexualities are as fit to wed, mother, father, raise, live without fear, love jesus, just fucking EXIST, really, as all you breeders.

it really does boggle the mind...

and i am not, NOT, an advocate of jesus, thankyouverymuch. i'm just sayin', there seems to be a little friction between the gays and the jesus freaks. just a smidge.

little bit.

we are not just like you. we can't be. in fact, you're not even just like you. the whole fiction of "normalcy" is such a farce... have you ever met another straight person whose family was just like yours? no. no, you really haven't. its like the douglas coupland book, "All Families are Psychotic." its like the book, because its true. everyone has their own "hella-crazy" to deal with. sexual abuse, violence, illness, divorce, love with strings attached, no love at all, death, the list goes on forever, with endless permutations and exceptions to the rules. and so do humans. six and a half billion people, all with their own unique story to tell; quiet heartaches and major upheavals, and endless quests on all sides to see if you really can record the sound of a heart breaking.

and this is not an argument that sexuality is behavioral rather than genetic.

which illustrates another point.

someone on my dating site slash perpetual pain in the ass and underscorer of my loneliness, was wondering what the point of "gay pride" is. how is one expected to be proud of some inborn trait that they had no control over in the first place? the short answer, in my opinion, is that when society teaches you to hate yourself; when society teaches you that your place is as a subject of mockery and derision; when you are relegated to the outside, only allowed to look in and never actually reach for what you want and everyone else has... well, you need to really cultivate a rich sense of self-worth, or you're not gonna make it for long. "pride" might seem like an extreme, but in the end, the two extremes might balance out. maybe.

and we can take a moment, just a moment, to reread the above, and think about how many queer kids have no support network, because they feel alone in their secret, or their own family has rejected them. we can think about how many queer kids run away from home, commit suicide, or turn to alcohol and drugs in a vain attempt to cope. numbers much higher than their straight counterparts.

to carry the weight of a secret, all by yourself, it can crush you. its too much.

on the other hand, i live in an optimistic time. acceptance and tolerance are growing. and the gay community is ever-present. and gay culture is... there. alive and dancing, because alive and kicking is really so pedestrian...

and as long as they never actually find the "gay gene," since it seems to exist, (or the gay genes, since its likely a trait that requires multiple switches to be flipped) well, that means that parents-to-be won't be able to have their children tested for "gay" early in the pregnancy, and then turned staight by hormone therapy. because for some people, eradication is the only solution, as though we were polio or spinal meningitis. and however long it takes, those alleles will be found. and i worry about the future.

i'm really so cheery...

Is It Worth It? Lemme Work It...

2007-10-24T14:27:00.000-05:00

I put my thang down, flip it, then reverse it...

what is worth it? and what is decidedly not? ya got a big trunk? oh i'll definitely search it, maybe even find out how hard i gotta work it. but no one with any-size trunk is approaching me, so that's not really here or there. sadly. however, i've come to a time of reckoning with my job search.

no, its not worth it. i mean, clearly, i need a job. i thought it was worth it, i thought getting a job at the University of Texas at Austin was totally worth it, and i even though living in austin, alone in my apartment save my cat, was worth it. i'd get a job, get my life in gear, have some money, schedule activities for my free time, make some friends, maybe find a partner for a little nookie, etc.

well, its been four or five months since all that began. i'm currently living at home with the family, because i can't stand the thought of living in austin alone. i've sent out fleets of letters each week applying to jobs in austin, and i'm no longer even getting the odd interview. rejections just drizzle into my mailbox, one or two a day. austin itself feels like a beautiful shoe that doesn't actually fit your foot. i love it, but it rubs in the wrong places, and wiggles around when i walk. i really, really want to be able to wear that shoe; i really want to feel okay in austin. but i don't.

so we're overhauling the jobsearch. i'm looking pretty strictly in san antonio now. and i'm trying to call people in the library system, scratching around trying to find an "in." i'm also applying to customer service centers at insurance agencies. possibly, i'll give medical transcription a try. but i'm trying to branch out now. because my efforts in one direction have hit a brick wall, and either i adapt, or i die. not like, physically dead, but you know.

but even in the first few days of this new search, i'm already getting discouraged. everyone wants you to apply online. you upload your resume, and a letter of interest, and everyone gets to be a set of documents. nice and impersonal for the HR departments, and sort of equal opportunity. you can't pre-judge anyone, because everyone is a slip of paper. whatever you can glean from their name is your image of them. beyond that, its dry skills and statistics. well, i'm still just as inexperienced as i was before. there's now a longer gap since my last job. and i've already been denied from one customer service job, becausei don't have enough experience, and blah blah blah...

what am i supposed to do? no one will meet with you face to face anymore, and obviously, my resume doesn't manage to distinguish me from anyone else. and believe me, i'm way far away from "anyone else". i just can't seem to convince anyone of that. i can't seem to convince anyone that i really did graduate from a prestigious university, that i made deans list during a condensed, high speed physics summer course, that i got into a super-competitive graduate program, and made it through a semester, even though i chose not to continue. i can't convince anyone that i've been in managerial positions, that i've effectively done my job, WAY better than those around me, that i'm intelligent, personable, even-tempered, professional, quick, funny, dedicated, and willing to really fucking WORK for the money i get paid.

and you know, all that stuff is in my resume. its all in my letters of interest. and its like no one hears it, or no one believes it. i feel like one of the puppets in those whack-a-mole games. every avenue means months of fighting; fighting my own depression and lethargy, fighting anxiety, fighting hopelessness, fighting against a system that seems unwilling to see me, and unwilling to even try. and each avenue is ending in brick walls. and i crash, pick up the pieces, reassemble them into a reasonable facsimile of myself, and start down another avenue.

to similar results.

and in my spare time, i wonder about the strange nature of our modern world, that so much of our self worth is tied to having a job, being productive, gettin' them wages, makin' that money. i try to separate my sense of self-worth (which is shakey to begin with) from my employment status. and its really fucking difficult. because every rejection notice is like being stamped with a giant "NOT GOOD ENOUGH; YOU LOSE" stamp.

i'm tired of it all. and that makes me unwilling to even try anymore. but i'll reach into my guts, and drag up that pleasant smile. i'll crease my eyes in just the right way to convey guileless enthusiasm, but without seeming desperate. i'll write letters, and fill out forms, and just keep on pressing on the door.

eventually its gotta give, right?

"Bow down, stupid!"

2007-10-18T01:21:00.000-05:00

yes, stop what you're doing, scoot your rolly chair away from your desk, and bow your head for a moment of silence.

my car has passed on.

though the camry never had a name, she was definitely a she, and a trusty steed. nimble and sure, quick and slightly bumpy at high speeds; in short, a vision of utilitarian goodness and fair gas mileage in navy blue.

her passing was caused by my over-zealous revving of the engine during an attempt to jump a friend's ford. my heavy foot caused a rod to break the engine casing. this was accompanied by fire, smoke, and a great deal of oil and metal debris. sadly, the replacement of the engine, even with a used part, would cost more than the car is worth at this point.

the lady done gone.

yes, i killed my car. and though i don't feel especially great about it, the deed is done, and there's no way to bring her back.

in other news, i found out i was turned down by ten potential jobs today.

but i did go to yoga.

goodnight, solemn mourners. casserole and canadien blended whiskey will be served in the parlor.

Dentists

2007-10-17T00:27:00.000-05:00

i went to the dentist about two or three weeks ago.

i have the beginning stages of gingivitis. i need to floss, EVERY DAY, and use mouthwash and mints with xyletol in them. i need to brush my teeth in a special new way.

i'm driving myself crazy over my teeth. i'm convinced that they're falling out of my head. i'm convinced my gums are both inflamed and puffy, AND retracting from my teeth as the gum disease takes hold. the first week, i flossed every night until my gums bled. i've since lightened my touch, and the bleeding is almost gone. but that makes me feel like i'm not flossing hard enough. i don't have the special mouthwash yet, but i'm trying to suck on the mints.

my teeth always feel weird. my gums are sore, and they look so funky... i don't know what they're supposed to look like. and i'm afraid its too late and my whole mouth is just going to end up a toothless mass of infected gums. and i'm pretty sure that's not something people look for in a potential mate.

i'm convinced all the flossing is just pushing the bacteria further down into my gums, hastening the decay. i'm convinced my teeth are being eroded.

i'm obsessing over my teeth, and its really, really ugly. and i just want to know that my teeth are going to be all right. i want to know that i'm not going to need reconstructive surgery and dentures because i didn't start flossing until i was twenty-five.

i want to know that i'm going to be all right. and all i have is the taste of mint, and a faint tingle along my gums.

and that isn't enough.

Then Again, There's THAT

2007-10-16T22:13:00.000-05:00

hello, i exploded my car today.

wait wait wait... i totally just shot my wad in the first sentence of this whole blog entry... let me try and set the stage for you... play a little mood music, get the lighting just right... flip that dimmer switch, and throw some al green on the stereo. pour yourself a glass of something amber-colored and potent. slip into something loose, and easy, something that grazes your skin and makes you feel all relaxed, right down to your toes. you feelin' it baby? yeah... you feelin' it? that's what i like to hear. well listen up baby; i've got somethin' to tell you that'll blow, your, mind.

I EXPLODED MY CAR TODAY!!!

MUUUCH better.

for those playing the home game: we have woman, Sue, who is a sixty year old bat out of hell, born and bred in Texas, smokes marlboros to this day, and is currently on painkillers due to a car accident that was totally not her fault. when i say we "have" her, what i mean is that, partly because houses get dirty and partly because Sue needs a little more cash than she tends to get, my mom pays her to clean the house a bit once a week, and visit with our dog most afternoons of the work week.

now, at this point, i'm usually at home with the dog, all the freakin', day. but Sue still comes. the dog loves her. i like her, whatever, its cool.

so this afternoon, i get a call from mom. Sue's car has stalled out on her about ten minutes away from the house. she had been coming to say hello to the dog, who i have been letting inside and outside twice an hour for the entirety of the day. at the time of the call from mom, said dog (i suppose i could tell you her name is Emma. not a fan of the name, didn't pick it. don't blame me.) is stretched across every pillow on a couch in the living room, sighing like a lovelorn flapper on a fainting couch. and sometimes licking her crotch.

i throw the jumper cables in my '97 camry, grab my cell phone, and head of to rescue Sue.

i know nothing about cars. i am not mechanically gifted. no longer inept, but still not gifted. so i make sure to read the directions on the cables VERY CAREFULLY, because ever since driving school (ten years ago now, i think?) and mr. ayala telling us hooking up batteries incorrectly could result in an explosion, i have been very, very careful when i jump cars. because lets face it... me plus batteries minus careful attention to detail could very well equal BOOM! and BOOM! is something i like to avoid, generally speaking.

we hook up the cars, i start mine, and susan tries to start hers. it won't catch. i rev my engine a little bit, but she still can't get a jump. according to click and clack (the tappett brothers, based in boston. listen to npr at ten or so on saturday morning. then send me a thank you card.) her starter is probably out, so no amount of juice will get her going. that's my best guess anyway.

so we fiddle a little bit more, and i start my car again. she tries to jump her ford, and i rev my engine, perhaps, a little too forcefully. whatever the case, we know, we just KNOW, what happens next.

BOOM!

it was actually more like a THWUNK! to be honest.

the car shudders, and i'm suddenly able to see flames below the edge of the hood. my car, is on fire. my car is on fire. MYCARISONFIRE!!! actually, after a few seconds of "whoa...", i realize my first order of business is probably to turn off my car. so i remember how to do that, flip the key, and remove it from the ignition. the fire is already dying down. there's a lot of smoke though. but eventually that stops too. i can't be certain, but it looks like things in the hood might have shifted around a bit, and there's a massive spattering of oil all over everything.

Sue gets out of her unresponsive vehicle and we sort of talk for a few minutes on the subject of my having blown up my car. we watch the smoke billow away, and note that the attempt to jump her has failed. i call mom. she's free in thirty and can pick us up. i call aaa, and they say they can have a tow-truck there within forty-five. Sue and i chew the fat for a while, talk about the idiotic nature of Texas drivers, myself now possibly being included in that number.

mom arrives. she takes a look at my hood, gets Sue's things in her car, and drives her home while i continue to wait for the tow-truck. mom gets back, and we just sort of talk about things, and stare at my car.

when the truck DOES arrive, we're greeted by a skinny, spastic man who is missing teeth, which only further convinces me that he is in fact on meth, a suspicion i first arrive at when he tells us he's been working 22 hour days fairly regularly for a bit. (he's trying for a promotion.) he is both irritated, and amused at having to block traffic in order to dislodge my car from the shoulder, and he is certainly amused at my story, featuring as it does, flames and explosions and good deeds wreaking horrible, horrible consequences. when he moves my car, there is a puddle of oil on the ground under where the hood was, liberally peppered with chunks of metal, bolts still in their housings, now blown off of whatever they were once holding together, etc.

methy tried starting the car at first. the battery is absolutely fine, thank you very much. but the grinding and wailing sounds from under the hood didn't seem "right." so the car went off to the garage, and i went off to mom's office (she didn't have time to drop me home, and only had one more appointment) to drink diet dr. pepper and read vogue for an hour. yes yes, i am SUCH a fag...

so. the moral of this story would be, if you are jumping someone's car, do NOT, under any circumstances, rev your engine.

i don't actually know if that's the moral of the story. right now, i'm content just to HAVE a story. and really, i feel better today than i have for a few days. dad warned me not to get hooked on the rush provided by cars blowing up. i agree, its not an economical way to get rid of my blues. but still, the thought of sneaking into parking garages and blowing up random cars, every day, just to take the edge off... its holds some appeal. it really does.

and did you know that barry white was a virgo? its true! look it up! and who said we can't be sexy!?

Then Again, There's Violence

2007-10-14T22:50:00.001-05:00

cheap therapy my ass.

i have impulse control issues. this should come as no surprise to you. maybe it should. i don't know. but regardless, when i start feeling intensely (which is, basically, anytime i let myself feel, AT ALL) i often start to have major fantasies about all sorts of kinds of actions. there is the eyes closed, orgasmic full-body shudder when i have an unbidden sexual thought about someone. there's the always humorous desire to just push someone for no reason. and then, there's the violent rage-fueled fantasies.

guess which kind i'm entertaining now.

guess.

my situation is starting to move beyond being "grating." this is no longer an unfortunate time period in my life. this is now officially a struggle to not buy a baseball bat and destroy everything i see. i'm starting to feel like i'm swamped in this thick, heavy black curtain. its acres wide, and feet thick, soft and dense, and completely devoid of light. and i really want to just punch, and kick, and scratch, and wail, and gnash my teeth, and bite and claw, and thrash, and do everything in my power to try and free myself. i'm willing to completely destroy myself if it just means i can find a way out of this stupid, smothering fucking felt wall.

i see myself smashing the light fixtures in my house. yelling at my family members. tearing things off the walls. breaking windows. knocking over furniture. the whole works. i just want to destroy it all. i want to break everything. i want to break the world. (haha, too late...)

i don't even want to try and find a job anymore. i do, but i'm so tired of being polite, and eager, and friendly, and smiling. i want to walk up to counters and desks and say, "i need a job. you need to give me one. send me to someone who can give me a job here."

i want to smoke like, a pack of cigarettes, all at once. i'd like to do anything that ends with me oblivious to what i've been feeling recently.

that's healthy, right?

right?

Cheap Therapy

2007-10-10T23:52:00.000-05:00

blogging is cheap therapy. at least, for me it is. i get to hurl all the crap in my brain at a computer screen and watch it dribble down, waiting for you to consume it. all the raw brains i jettison go straight to you! and isn't that just so special and sweet of me? i think you should send me a cute little thank you card. filled with money.

i'm not good at updating once a week. i can only imagine how thrilled my friend and her associates are to have me on board for this project... the spazzy lazy one, who doesn't update and abuses his readers. yup, i'm gonna make a WHOLE MESS'A FRIENDS with this baby!

i'm getting to that irritating place, where its midnight, and i really am tired, but i just can't go to sleep. my brain won't shut down. no matter how much i've done during the day, it just isn't enough. my wheels continue to spin, and gummy allergied eyes shift around in their sockets, looking for diversions. i read every horoscope i can think of, check to see if my webcomics have updated, read my news sites, see if there's anyone worth oggling on my dating site, read a book, crochet a hat, play final fantasy XII, chat with people online who i like a lot, or just a little. i'll do anything but just lay back and close my eyes, and try to go to sleep.

i feel like if i do that, i might cry.

fucked up, no?

every day, i do the job-search routine. i do at least one crossword puzzle because i'm absolutely certain they're "good for me." i go to the gym and burn 650 calories, or go to yoga and end up soaked in a gallon of my own sweat. i try to take care of all those stupid little tasks that make up real life. filling prescriptions, shopping, drinking coffee, keeping up on current events, etc.

i would be so ready to sleep if i felt at all like i'm not wasting my life...

and its all in my head. because my body is exhausted. i'm not eating enough, or doing too much physical activity. because i can't make it through my yoga sessions like i used to be able to. i feel weak, and depleted, and just used up. i know something will turn up eventually. i know this stage of life can't last forever. sort of. i'm pretty sure it isn't permanent... anyway, at some point, something will click. i'll get a job. or have an epiphany. or something. but in the meantime, i'm so tired. i'm not the most optimistic person under the best of circumstances, (i can literally hear all your eyes rolling and the chorus of "no, really?") and this is starting to stretch too long, this whole situation. i need me a little bit of hope. and its not coming in from anywhere.

i've been holed up in my hometown for almost three months now. maybe longer. its just a short drive from austin, so i can go back to the apartment whenever i want. but i never want. i've been applying to jobs in austin, and here in town, and am just letting the situation tell me what's next. that way, i can stop trying to make the decision about whether to leave austin, or stay. i don't want to make that decision, so i'm quite happy to drift along, and let whatever happens, happen. abject surrender is not necessarily a bad thing. and there's not right or wrong answer. so why not just let the current take me?

in other news, my collection of seeds from native and adapted plants is reaching epic proportions. i at least need to go get my plants from austin, and my gardening bench. there are things that need to be done, involving soil, and seeds, and pots and saucers. and i need to rescue my eucalyptis. its hung in there during my abscence, and it deserves to be taken here and cared for properly. i love me that plant! hot diggity!

this is such a pitiful entry... no, its not. it just hasn't hit its stride yet. i'll just keep trying different things until something sticks. i guess.

sadly, writing this blog entry is actually making me sleepy.

i'm done.

stick a fork in me. i'll talk to you later.

That Shizz is Fuzzed Up

2007-09-27T22:33:00.000-05:00

you'll have to hold on, because upon re-reading my entry title, i'm totally having a laughing fit.

seriously though... "that shizz is fuzzed up." or, "my shizz is fuzzed up." how about, "that totally fuzzed my shizz all up in this bizznatch!" its like a P!nk album title gone crazy!

all so i didn't have a title that had cursing in it... why? you're not my two-year-old niece who compulsively repeats everything i say. you're not an intelligent parrot. you're not those kids i was babysitting sophomore year of college during reunion/commencement weekend who almost drowned right in front of me... are you? yes its true, yes i exaggerated A BIT, no, i'm not telling that story now. that's definitely a third date story.

i'm not actually sure what this entry is going to be about, but i've been reminded that i must blog as often as possible, and so i figure waiting for inspiration is the wrong strategy. i need to sit my ass down, open up the blog, and start an entry, and just see where the hell it goes. its not like i have to do a good job anyway. you people aren't paying me or anything... i could type complete jibber jabber and that would be just fucking fine. or something.

not really, though...

i am still unemployed. this does not please me. i do not let myself have fun when i'm unemployed, and did i tell you about that?

no. i just checked. i didn't.

i heart feist. i really and truly do. i love her voice, i love her music, i love her videos, which always feature her dancing very badly, but very enthusiastically, and looking quite happy to be doing it. feist is the shit. AND she rocks my shit. there. that's a preface.

when i have the inclination to trawl youtube for interesting things, i usually end up trawling for music videos. and several months ago, i had the good fortune to trawl for feist videos, which is how i really became familiar with her and her music. and how i became familiar with the video for "1 2 3 4", which is now being prominently featured in the first ads for the new ipod nano [with video]. bitch is 'bout to blow up big time. if anyone deserves to be linked so awesomely with a great product, rocketing her into mainstream america like a bitch on wheels, its leslie feist.

anyway, when i found this video, i fell in love with it, and shared it with anyone i could convince to sit still in front of my computer for four minutes. (which, given the amount of porn on my computer, can be a frightening prospect.) i shared it with my dad, who liked it, and was impressed. time passes. the ipod commercial comes out, and since he isn't as distracted by the visuals of the full video, he gets a chance to listen to the song, and he realizes he really likes it. so we have a conversation about how feist is wonderful, quirky, was roommates with peaches (yes, THAT peaches) in music school, can rock the banjo in a tune, etc.

we also talk about how jacked up i feel without a job. how worthless that tends to make me feel as a person. i'm not doing anything with my time. i force myself to go to the gym every day because at least that produces endorphins and makes me feel all right for a few hours. i don't feel like i deserve to go out, to see friends, to play video games, to have fun at all. like, if i insist on not being able to find a job, even though i'm certainly trying my damndest, well then i just don't get to do anything else. no movies. no coffee trips. no loafing in bookstores.

its not logical, and its certainly not a nice thing to do to myself. it is not, shall we say, "healthy behavior." but there it is. working on it. anyway. while i tell dad about feist, and my "josh sucks and doesn't deserve anything good in life" mode of existence, i also mention how much it doesn't make sense, and how unfair it is to treat myself that way, and that its ridiculous that i won't even buy myself a cd. which is like, what, sixteen dollars. dude, i can totally afford to buy myself a cd every now and then. but i haven't been willing to let myself.

three days pass. i'm hopping in the car to go do something. i don't remember what. obviously it wasn't that important. i stop and pick up the mail on my way out and throw it in the passenger seat so i'll remember to take it in when i get back home. i also riffle through it to see if i've gotten anything fun. actually, there is a yellow shipping envelope, with my name and address in dad's handwriting, and his return address on a label in the corner. which is completely odd and unexpected. i'm in town. what did he have to send me? what couldn't wait till the next time i see him?

so i open the envelope and tip out the contents, and there's no note, there's no letter, no explanation. a copy of feist's "the reminder" slips out into my lap. i remember the cover art from an online article. i sit in the car for a while, flipping the jewel case over, and over again, reading the tracklist. i fumble the ridiculous wrapper open. i leaf through the insert.

i don't cry very often. i try to cover over this failing by making jokes about having no soul, or simply lacking the ability, or saying its an activity reserved for mortals. i have emotional issues. whatever. i'll deal with it later.

the point is, i sat in the car for a good five minutes, just looking at the cd, feeling very full of a feeling... a warm and soft feeling, that spread out from my mouth, which was all curled in a smile, all down through me.

and i didn't cry. but my eyes were a little shinier than usual.

and its wonderful to have the feist album, and i'm sure i would eventually have bought it for myself (or so i like to think, anyway). but its even more wonderful to have a dad who can so eloquently tell me what it is he thinks i deserve, even if i'm not currently able to believe i deserve it. its wonderful to be reminded that somebody loves you, even when you don't.

and this entry has ended up having nothing to do with the title. and i could say a lot of stuff about how complex relationships are, considering my last entry dealing with my father. but i'd rather leave things just as they are right now. i'd rather end this entry while listening to feist, and remembering what it feels like to be loved.

Stupid Things

2007-09-19T00:54:00.000-05:00

i want the freedom to do stupid things.

i want the ability to do really idiotic, crazy, unconscionable things.

i'm not talking about mean things, like punting babies or anything like that. i'm just talking about the dumb shit that so many people do, so much of the time, that we just take it for granted, or think of it as normal. i want to do that shit.

what's holding me back from my mindbendingly great stupid potential, you ask? me. i currently won't even let myself buy a cd because i'm unemployed, and feel the need to pinch pennies. actually, mostly because i feel that since i'm doing so little with my life, i don't DESERVE to have things like cds, or new clothes, or any of the random little things that one normally buys (or normal ones buy) without even thinking about it.

DESERVE.

i used to say, that one DESERVED whatever one had the courage to DESIRE.

admittedly, that little mantra might not be appropriate for everyone. paris hilton deserves nothing but a swift kick in the rear, regardless of all the things she might desire.

my mantra isn't about money, or power, or baubles, or any of that bullshit. its about fighting fear. its about combating low self esteem. its about learning that if you don't have the courage to want, to desire, to say, "this is something that i can have, and there is no reason on earth why i shouldn't have it," then you will never begin to strive for that thing, and it will fall by the wayside, and get lost, and become another sigh, another regret that haunts you. it will be picked up by someone else, or perhaps it will languish and fade away. but you won't have it, and you'll never try, and you will have yet another reason to find shelter in resignation.

well, i'm thinking its time i start having the courage to desire things again. because i've forgotten that i deserve certain things just as much as anyone else in this world. and if i have to flex my stupid muscles in the pursuit of those things, well then get ready, because you are about to see the smartest use of applied stupidity ever. EVER.

obviously, i'm edging dangerously close to being in love with someone. well, if you understood how my warped little walnut of a mind works, it would be obvious to you. its only obvious to me because i've had so much practice... you see, when the stone starts having... feelings... for someone... the stone's first reaction is usually vitriolic anger that he is being put in a position of vulnerability; that he might be (probably will be) hurt and feel pain.

and yes, i'm referring to myself as the stone. fuck you.

but after the anger, comes crippling need. because i have a secret that i try to keep very well hidden. in fact, i try to forget i'm even keeping a secret at all. i try to give myself selective amnesia. i just push it down so deep, and cover it with (questionable) wit, and cynicism, and bitterness and RESIGNATION, that i forget its there entirely. the secret being, that i am so desperate to give and recieve love that its like a constant dull ache once i start thinking about it. my core feels that regardless of job, career, interviews on npr, books written, etc, if i cannot find a way to share in the giving and recieving of love, i am a failure.

to cut a long thing into a short thing, i'm thinking that i need to wrest the controls away from the autopilot and start making decisions for myself. bad decisions. silly decisions. anything to follow my current crush down the rabbit hole and get out of this miserable wreck of a world i'm currently inhabiting.

its very late at night and i'm not typing well.

anyway, the other thing i want to hit on right now, is resignation.

i've decided, tonight, in fact, that i hate resignation. i hate having to resign myself to things. because resignation is like capitulation. its acknowledging that things are not optimal, but there is little we can do to change them, and so, in effect, we give up. we stop trying. we "make peace."

now i'm well aware that there are things beyond my control. i've had insulin dependent diabetes for over nine years now. if one needs any evidence of there being things beyond their ability to control of influence, they should try getting an incurable (though easy enough to manage) disease. anyway, this is a situation i do have to make peace with, because fighting it will sap my energy and get me nowhere except possibly an early grave. not an ideal end result.

but i'm tired of having to say things like "c'est la vie," or "such is life," or, "its unfortunate, but i'll be all right." all those little things we say when we try to turn a big deal into a small deal. all those things we say when we decide to stop fighting for what we really want. all those little soothing lozenges that are meant to mask the sour taste left in our mouths. i'm tired of saying them.

i feel like life really calls upon us to resign ourselves to too much. and i'm fucking tired of it. i'm tired of being mature about it. i'm tired of being wise. i'm tired of being tired of fighting. i'm sick and tired of letting melancholy give ass-lancingly irritating situations a tragic shimmer that obscures the fact that i've stopped fighting for what i really want.

i want the world,
i want the whole world.
i want to lock it
all up in my pocket
its my bar of chocolate
so give it to me!
now...

i think i need to work harder at being a bratty little child who is not at all shy about demanding things be my way. this is completely unrealistic. all of it. and it will end in tears. but i think some calculated immaturity and selfishness right now might be a helpful thing.

because i'm tired of doing the right thing. i'm tired of compromise and negotiation. i'm tired of sensibility and careful planning. i'm done with the greater good. i'm finished with pragmatism and realism. i'm just fucking done.

fuck resignation.

fuck reality.

fuck. it. all.

i think i might feel slightly better after all that...

Those "Good Old Times," Are Unfortunately, Still Happening

2007-09-07T23:43:00.000-05:00

unprecedented, i know. a second entry in the same day. i'd love to say that i'm only killing time until midnight, so i can check tomorrow's horoscopes, but i'd be lying. i actually have a few things on my mind.

mostly, i'm irritated. i'm pissed off, as a matter of fact. in and of itself, that's not a big deal, but i still feel the need to post about it here so i can always remember? i don't know. i just want to try and get it out of my system. again.

i had plans with Father to attend a movie tomorrow morning. Superbad. i'm sure you've heard of it. supposed to be hilarious. i'm down, like James Brown. cool. let's go to a movie.

issue: i suddenly realize that i go to yoga saturday mornings, and i'm really serious about my yoga. its sort of my method for keeping in touch with the spiritual side of life. dippy hippie, all the way through, but its the truth. i'm also very intent upon trimming myself down to a more pleasant weight. not that i was all that big to begin with, but things needed to change. in addition, i'm much, much, much happier when i'm exercising regularly, and since i love cardio but refuse to lift weights, yoga becomes an important facet of my fitness regimen. and really, yo... its like, helping me get in touch with feelings and shit. and i HAD FORGOTTEN I HAD THOSE for a while. so its painful, but good things, really good things, are coming from it.

dad knows all this.

so i called him tonight to see if we could move the movie to an early afternoon showing so i could get to my yoga class and shower prior to the movie. and he totally pulled the passive-aggressive snarky voice, and said the morning showing was cheaper (y'know, cuz he's like, hurting for money or some shit... ass...), and basically made it clear that no, he would rather do the morning showing, for no reason other than that's how he wants to do it, and if i insist on going to a later showing, experience has proven that he will be irritated and irritable about it, and why go to the movie at all if he's going to be in a funk, right?

so i'm skipping yoga tomorrow morning. i don't want to, but i'm doing it. because at this point in my life, i'm tired of having these "conversations" with my father. because i'm tired of him refusing to see my side of the issue, and refusing to think that my argument has merit. i'm tired of him trying to make me feel like i'm some heinous beast drunk on entitlement for asking him to compromise a bit and let me go to yoga before the movie. because its really not like he has a packed schedule tomorrow. his wife is out of town, like many people, he takes saturdays off from work, and i think his only concrete plan was to see a movie with me. he's simply unwilling to do it any way that deviates from how he wants to do it. because my dad, is a big fat jerk. or an infantile adult. or i guess we could simplify and just say that my dad, is a prick.

and it irritates me. because i'm not being unreasonable. and if someone asked me to bend my schedule so they could do something important to them, i would say yes. BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT YOU DO! you work with people to find solutions. and it irritates me because this is how its always been with dad. and i'm sick of it. i'm so sick of it i'm actually toying with the idea of bringing it up with him at some point soon.

which brings me to the next wrinkle in it all. i'll bring it up, and ninety-eight percent chance, he'll say, "well you should have said something about it instead of being a weakling about it and caving," or something of the sort. except if i say something, we get cranky pants dad. so its a wonderful catch 22, and i'm fucked coming and going. and i'm really not willing to keep having this fight, which is always the same, and which i'll never win, because... just because. because my dad is the way he is.

but still. i'm not willing to let this go very easily at the moment. this one's sticking. i'm usually willing to indulge dad. i usually don't really care. so long as he's not asking something COMPLETELY ridiculous, i'll work with him. its just not that important to me when things happen, or how they happen, so long as they happen, and people are happy, and we all have a good time. that's what makes me happy. but i'm miserable, unemployed, and relying on the sketchy routine of daily exercise to keep me from burrowing into my bed and not coming out for weeks at a time. and he'd rather deny me something that important, a yoga class i paid for, with money that i don't have because i'm unemployed, than compromise his plan for what he wants to do with his day.

that's what it comes down to.

that's why my dad, fun and funny though he can be, is a fundamentally unreasonable person.

and that, is why i'm fucking pissed off.

on a separate note, annie lennox is the most amazing woman ever, her new song "dark road" is beautiful, and so is the video. look it up on youtube. and be in awe of the lennox.

she was born on christmas day, you know. capricorn. makes a strange bit of sense, i think.

but yes. i hate my father right now. and i want to be able to be a healthy and proactive person about this, and talk to him about it, but remember all of the above. and instead, i'll be a passive aggressive dick tomorrow, just like he would be if i'd insisted on going to yoga. because i'm his son, and sometimes, we function in the same way.

and you can bet, if i'm cranky, he'll want to talk about it. he just won't hear how its largely his fault.

and i'll be pissed that its partly mine.

Rut. Definitely Rut.

2007-09-07T16:38:00.000-05:00

same coffee shop. same situation. however, this time, i'm absolutely SURE i boned my interview. there was even something kind of grandiose and tragic about it all. the apt metaphor, is getting out of the starting gate, tripping over the first hurdle, continuing to roll along the ground for several minutes, tripping up nearby racers, and somehow, things escalate to the point where you're left watching the last prop of the Titanic dip below the water. it was that, awesomely, bad.

maybe not.

but still, the first question was about working with people with different backgrounds. now, despite taking it for four years and living in south texas, i don't know spanish, so i feel unable to say that i'm proficient in working with people from the non-white culture i'm most likely to encounter here. i don't know the language. i'm like, automatically disqualified. beyond that, i mean, i deal with different people, of different races, etc, all the time. whatever. its not like a big deal for me. which is totally NOT meant to be interpreted as me saying "I ain't no racist!" because i'm totally racist. we all are. its part of being a product of american culture. i'm racist, you're racist, lets all deal with it, try and improve ourselves, teach our children better than we were taught, and just go on living. done.

but so i stumbled sort of hard on that question. because i've never been a missionary in the third world, or worked crisis management in a place where my skin tone is the odd one out. my daily life is a constant attempt to treat everyone with basic human dignity and respect, and beyond that, i'm not like, any more qualified as "racially sensitive" than anyone else. though i do try to keep the slurs to a minimum.

like, "spic" isn't part of my vocabulary, really. aside from like, "the kitchen is spic and span!" and i don't think that's the same thing, is it? like, "my kitchen is hispanic and span!" "my kitchen is hispanic and an unsupported length of material!"

and i really, really, really just want to type the word "nigger" right now. just to do it. but i CAN'T! i feel comfortable saying "spic," but nigger isn't all right. that's some fun racism right there! slurs against hispanics, fine. slurs against blacks, nope. huh. really though, the word nigger has this horrible sound to it. its like a horrible dull "thud" in my head when i say it. its as unacceptable as "cunt." they both make that "thud." its the sound i imagine a toddlers head would make as it hits the floor after being swiftly removed from the rest of the toddler. with a sharp sword. its that "thud" that makes it not all right to say nigger. or cunt.

should we have a discussion about how the history of the word nigger, how it takes everything, all the people who say it, all the people who hear it, right back to a time when it was possible and in fact encouraged to sell black human beings like livestock? it has four centuries of insane, indescribable societal racism behind it. that's what gives it that "thud". spic is like, a newborn two-headed freak baby next to that. still horrible in its own right, but slightly more divorced from our society.

um... what was i saying?

justifying my internal racism what?

sigh... anyway, to cut a long story short, i think i actually boned this interview. if i get the job, i'm going to say, "wow, thank you so much! you know, i left last friday thinking i had TOTALLY boned the interview and i could kiss this job goodbye! thank you!"

i'm feeling the deep and strong urge to be really, painfully inappropriate. and not in the way that the use of racial slurs above is inappropriate. like, i feel the need to be the hub at the center of a massive wheel of breakdowns in the fabric of prescribed and acceptable social interaction. i want it all to be traceable back to me; the crying children, the shivering adults, the yelping dogs and disgusted elders. i want it, i want it bad, i want it now, AND I WILL NOT BE DENIED!!!

i've lost my mind. i've finally just lost my mind. i lost it last night, when my friend E decided she and another friend and i would all go play bingo some night soon. that was what pushed it all over the edge. the hysterical laughter, the near-tears excitement, it all traces back to our decision to storm "flamingo bingo" and play that game-o. i told her, and i'll tell you, that i want it to be like ft. lauderdale when we step inside the parlor. i want old people in track suits and sunglasses. they need to have names like abner and estelle, and they need to look at us like we're scum. they need to totally pwn us at the game. they need to make us feel like the n00bs we are. i have really high expectations for bingo night. i think you can tell.

also, since this entry isn't schizophrenic enough, i'm trying to slowly end my long burial. i went to ground for a long while recently. didn't sign into any message programs for two months. didn't call friends. didn't respond to e-mails, went home to live with my family, etc. i've been completely gone, like the earth swallowed me whole. and i know its not a mature way of dealing with life, and i know that there are people out there who are probably worried about me, but it still feels good. it feels really good to just drop out of sight. to be a non-person. you even start feeling like an outside observer in your daily life. you're disconnected from the things going on around you. you find all this breathing room.

but i'm trying to come back now. i'm trying to come back, and its so far been all right. i still need time outs after interaction, but i'm interacting in the first place, which is a nice change. i wrote a letter to my cousin A, and i talked to T for the first time in months, which is really nice. i want to talk about T right now, actually. and you're going to indulge me because its my blog and you can't really argue.

actually, it feels strange to talk about people. i don't want to drag them into this whole blog fiasco. actually, i'm probably more worried about T finding the blog, figuring out who i am, and realizing that i'm talking about him. not that i care if he knows that i'm talking about him, but rather, what i SAY about him might be something i don't actually want to share with him.

oh, i'm gay, by the way. i'm not sure if you knew that or not. i might have forgotten to tell you. its just one of those things. i don't actually like the word "gay," just cuz it has a lot of baggage, but its easiest for people to understand. queer is nice, in the re-appropriated sense, but not many people have a positive connotation of it. i could break it down and say that i'm a male who is interested in other males romantically and sexually, but that takes a lot of words. we could have a long conversation about sexuality, but we won't right now. what you need to know: i'm gay.

i really hate coming out to people. because i keep, having, to do it. it's never ending. you think its just your family and it can end, but no. every day, you might get the chance to tell people personal information that may TOTALLY change their perception of you. its tiring. it gets so old. you want the "issue" of your sexuality to be taken care of, but it never is, because you're always meeting new people and finding yourself in new situations, and its suddenly the topic of the day AGAIN. whatever.

also, i'm addicted to internet dating and profile sites. which i find interesting, given my hermit-like nature. i want the possibility of community and relationships, but i like keeping it all at a safe distance also. its one of those stupid things that doesn't make sense, and its fucked up, and i'm very proud that my most recent dating profile has kept almost anyone from contacting me. which is sort of the opposite of what you want your profile to do, but i got really tired of being approached by well-intentioned (usually) people who were either idiots, or just really not that interesting, or at times simply horribly inept socially. ***irony alert***

T is someone i met on one such site. and at this point, i'm too tired to even want to talk about him at all. or something. but suffice it to say, it was very nice to talk to him again.

he lives very far away from me, and neither of us believe in long distance relationships. you can see how i enjoy shooting myself in the foot, can't you...

err... i might be done. this entry feels really long.

in other major news, i think i'm actually capable of love after all. i've alerted the media. photos of my newly discovered "heart," which apparently does not resemble coal, in color or texture, will be published with my next entry.

good day to all.

Habit, or Rut?

2007-08-27T17:22:00.000-05:00

at the risk of establishing a pattern, i am posting after another job interview. i am at the same cafe as i was for the first post. i am almost in the exact same seat. of course, my lovely computer Grindel is providing my e-awesome. and i am over-caffeinated (duh).

its moving towards rush hour in austin. i should leave in not too long, but i wanted to what, deify? no, record! i wanted to record the day's events while i'm still inert.

i wore nice clothes. this means i wore closed toed, non-sneaker shoes. with dress socks. i wore a nice button down shirt, and i even wore a jacket. but don't worry, in keeping with the idea of truth in advertising, i didn't tuck the shirt in. yes, it was visible below my jacket. and it was open at the neck, exposing a hint of my groovy, manly chest hair. or something. god forbid people think i'm a complete and utter priss or something. i like to look a little rough around the edges.

besides, its fun to misuse an oscar de la renta sport coat. try it sometime. you'll feel like a fashion model, or something.

the woman who interviewed me, olga, was super nice. she was a sweetheart. she's in charge of the physics department's office, and has twenty-seven people applying for a position as an assistant in the office. i am one of those people, and i'm really freaked out. because i'd really like this job. olga tries to keep a happy, well-adjusted office going, with nice people, a friendly demeanor, and hella productivity. she's nice, smart, reasonable, and i so, SO want this job. and i now am frightened (thanks to my mother) that my untucked shirt will make her not consider me. and thanks to me, i'm frightened that my own (percieved as) idiotic answers to her questions will make her not consider me.

i'm afraid i looked and sounded desperate.

i'm afraid i came across as a floundering, underachieving young adult.

i'm afraid i didn't point out my strengths.

i'm afraid i flagrantly displayed my weaknesses.

i'm afraid i boned it.

sigh... i probably didn't do any of those things. and i did elicit a few laughs, so i think i appeared charming and intelligent. if i appeared well-suited to the job, word. we'll just have to see. but its nice to know that there are work environments out there that i would like to be a part of.

i need to send her a thank you letter. i'm not sure that should be done by snail mail, or by e-mail. i'll ask people who know tonight. in the meantime, i'll blog about my oh so interesting life, and debate another cup of coffee. (i should stop. for serious.)

in other news, the little hipster-mo running the cafe is playing an eighties station on the sound system. irritating... its so fun to stereotype my own people... it makes me feel like a good person.

OH! you know what's really fun! watching children in public and deciding which of them are going to grow up to be gay. that shit is fun! just like, don't tell their parents. "hey, lady, i just wanted to warn you that there's an eighty percent chance that your son is gonna be a fag. just wanted to let you know." sigh... i'm having an issue with austin. pull up a chair. i'd like to tell you about it.

i feel as though austin is one of those places that puts a lot of value on image. i mean, people are inherently shallow, but there are certain places where image just truly trumps all else. you can't just be a guitar player, for example. you have to dress the part, have the tatts and piercings, the shaggy hair and the air of slight disinterest. this is a good example, because austin's image comes in part from the huge music scene, and the fledgling film industry, i'm sure. there are hippies so crunchy you would chip a tooth on them. there are indie kids in jeans ghandi couldn't squeeze himself into. there are rockers, mcs, hangers on, and all manner of college prep.

what does this mean to me, on a personal level?

it makes me feel like i'm perpetually underdressed. and it makes me feel lost. and one level up from there, it makes me pissed off that i'm so affected by physical appearances.

i don't tend to care too much what i wear. or at least, that used to be the case. but somewhere along the line, it became an issue. i've always like quality clothing, and i do know how to dress, but most of the time, i try to project the image (note the hypocrisy inherent in the blogger...) that i really don't care how i look. i shop by the care directions. if something needs dry-cleaning or ironing, its going back on the rack. but in austin, my crummy wardrobe is starting to bug me. its making me feel like there's a perpetual party going on that i refuse to take part in. and all i'd have to do is try and say SOMETHING with my style and dress. something other than, "blow me."

hence the lost feeling. i feel like my public persona has been negated. and so i feel invisible. and granted, i feel invisible in life right now, so this is just an exacerbation of a pre-existing condition. but its still real. i just don't feel cool enough for austin. i feel like unless i drastically change the way i present myself, the town will never acknowledge me. and the worst part is, that i actually care about this crap. i'm being adversely effected by this social crap. and that, is so so so so sad to me... because i really don't want to care. and now i do.

note, that this is all a part of my current struggle to find direction and meaning in my life. if i felt like i had something more meaningful going for me than how i look, i would find it much easier to wear my clothing and be all right. but i'm lost and aimless, and so i keep feeling on the outs.

blah blah blah lonely. grrr... i know my feelings are valid, and i suppose there's nothing wrong with posting them onlline, but it does make me feel like every other blogger that ever existed. my situation is temporary, and i'll be fine. such hassles are common to everyone, or so i believe.

there's an underlying struggle going on here. several, really. i think they're all on display in every one of my entries so far. theoretically, they are what help my blog be "interesting" and "worth reading."

the jury is out on that one, but i always get pissed off when i start evaluating what i'm writing. too many levels spoil the simile.

and i'm going to start my drive home so i can go to the gym and sweat the day out of me.

wtf

2007-08-24T23:27:00.000-05:00

i can't sleep, so i suppose i could like, write some stuff here... what i should be writing is something creative that might be publishable. but i don't think i'm doing that right now.

pretty sure i'm not.

i had a job interview this last wednesday. it was a chance to relearn how to set phasers on "charm." it was sort of a clusterfuck of an interview. one guy (whose shirt, oddly enough, was inside-out. i mentioned this on the way out.) came to get me and lead me through the maze of cubicles to the "interview room," which contained an additional two people. WHOOP! WHOOP! i'm truly impressed i didn't sweat like a thing that is really prone to sweating. and i am a thing that's really prone to sweating; an unfortunate side effect of using herbal hippie deoderant. but no aluminum, so less chance of alzheimers. woohoo!

and for god's sake, its HIPPIES, not HIPPYS, you idiots! you know who you are. correct yourselves immediately and beg for forgiveness.

so i made inside-out man and his cohorts laugh, and i think i gave thoughtful and intelligent answers to the questions they asked. i have no intention of actually taking the job, should they offer it to me. it entails using high-volume scanners in a windowless room for eight hours a day. in my spare time, i act as a courier to various banks and financial institutions. they had to drag out the "how do you do with repetetive tasks?" question. i actually do all right with them, but this job sounds like a migraine. i think i'll skip. but at least i got to make some well-meaning strangers laugh a bit; one of the many services i provide.

i also pet kitties until they purr.

i'm not sure how to broach a few other subjects right now, but i'll have to eventually. i have to insurance for therapy, so this is my only outlet. i'm just so paranoid about old acquaintances finding/stalking me. again. its happened, and its scary, and you might ask why, if i'm afraid of being identified and found, i have a picture of myself up in my profile.

good question!

secrecy and anonymity really don't come naturally to me. i feel the need to desperately throw myself at the world in order to elicit the positive critical and personal response i crave so very much. at the same time, i value my privacy more than i could possibly put in words. i'll reveal, if i think its safe or in my interest, but only on my terms, and if you drag me out of myself, i'll resent you forever, and harbor interesting revenge fantasies. what i think deserves privacy and what i think is fair game depend on my own skewed and unique rules. so you might not understand, but you don't have to.

the point, or rather the goal, is to retain my sense of safety and comfort.

and anyway, i can hopefully figure out how to properly deal with anyone who, unfortunately, figures it out. i'm apparently a "grown-up," or some shit. i can "engineer solutions" and "synergystically think outside the box." and i guess i can also buy a gun and figure out how to use it with a fair degree of accuracy. i spent my childhood playing videogames and typing in chat boxes. its like i've been practicing for fire-arms my whole life. and i'm no slouch when it comes to stalking myself. (go ahead and ask any of the many people with restraining orders against me. i promise, they'll agree my techniques are "well honed" and "effective," if memory serves...)

i wish i were that cool. you know, cool enough to track people down and commit murder... cuz that's like, the measurement of cool, right? the chicks dig it, eh? its so too early for a virginia tech joke, so i'm glad i don't have one. suffice it to say, i do not own guns, never want to own guns, and would probably shy away from committing murder. mostly, i'm... i'm like a marshmallow rather than a knife. and it makes me very sad.

i'm going to go to sleep now, but i would like to make a final observation: the pleasure of listening to a band called "Girlyman" is squared when that band is really quite good. the name alone could be enough, but they also kick ass. so check them out.

Well...

2007-08-22T12:44:00.000-05:00

i suppose i should start blogging, since that seems to be my job...

that means we have to have introductions. i LIKE introductions! they're the comfortable interval during which you get to know whatever side of themselves a stranger decides to present.

in other words, they're relationships before reality kicks in.

so, my name is Josh, i enjoy sitting inert in coffee shops, overdosing on caffeine and trying to be productive. i don't like using capital letters online, since they just get in the way most of the time. i just don't do it, all right? its one of my many little... whatevers.

all right. so i like coffee, i LOVE diet coke. i have insulin dependent diabetes, which i suppose is important information. at this point, i forget to tell people, and sometimes years can pass before i say anything about it to someone. err... i'm effortlessly charming. i am also devestatingly intelligent, when i'm not acting like a twit. i like acting like a twit. its a form of relaxation for me. and its cheaper than actual vacations.

i am tallish. since my dad is six four, tall is very relative in my family. i'm about six two. i have the strange ability to look like i weigh much less than i actually do. however, since i'm currently suffering from what my psychiatrist calls "MDD," or Major Depressive Disorder, i'm trying to get back into working out six or seven days a week. because oddly enough, physical activity really does help keep you stable and functional.

everything about me is brown. my teeth are a coffee and nicotine-stained tan. (i am constantly fighting to quit cigarettes for good. don't tell my mom.) my skin is a healthy brown that makes people think i am something other than "white jew." i tend to get hispanic a lot. once, south asian. middle eastern is a common misperception as well. my face is bony. by which i mean i have a pronounced brow ridge and a high, thin, angular nose with a bump on it. my cheek bones are also set high and wide. my lips are overly florid. my eye-brows and lashes are unmistakably THERE, and my lashes are curly rather than cow-straight. this seems to matter to some people.

i realize that you can look at a picture of me, which makes all this description rather moot, really. but i have to start somewhere, so i'll just keep going, thank you very much. i might as well make a note of the fact now, rather than later, that while i appreciate your (assumed) readership, i don't actually write "for you." i write for me, and if you happen to enjoy it, awesome. tell your friends. buy the t-shirt. go see the movie. (in theaters this christmas!)

i use a mac, and every day, it gets harder to deal with pcs. don't want to jump on that train, just saying. i like things (including people) to have substance. i like layers of meaning, the space for multiple interpretations. i like complexity and contradictions. this being said, i can be swayed by very pretty things lacking all the preceding good stuff. but it will never last. also, i am a horrible elitist. my own low self-esteem aside, i am hopelessly judgemental, overly critical, and am not above using other people for my own amusement. but to my credit, i usually feel bad after doing so.

i'm also long-winded.

so here's the thing. by way of this introduction, hopefully you've learned a few things about me. mainly, that i... i actually have no idea how to finish this sentence. i just zoned out for a few minutes staring into the middle distance and letting my mind go blank. which was fun, i have to admit.

all right. i need to go do something else now. this entry is effectively over. but its been fun making your acquaintance.

go read something informative, and brush your teeth before you go to bed.