Washing

have you ever been in a laundromat for four hours?
i have. here in new orleans.

my favorite city in the world.

should i be complaining about doing one load of laundry over the course of four hours (3.5 of them drying) while sitting in the rain in my favorite city?

i strain for the answer.

one thing i can say, is that everyone i have met in the laundry room in four hours (4 people, three parties) is that they have all been really really nice, friendly people. plus they have all cheered on my drinking wine and my smoking cigarettes in the laundry room, and while i do hope to smoke less and drink less in the future, it has been a gracious respite.

The Ninth Ward of Hell

we drove through slowly, in disbelief and with every block getting worse.

Xs everywhere with the count of the dead on almost every house, and almost as many SPCA messages about dead pets. i feel it coming, the rain onslaught in the sound of the thunder and the approaching storm, as well as the storm in my throat: the tears coming out of my face. we saw a few cars here and there and people working on their houses. new orleans has a new demographic: the mexican and central american man. i told guy, "i don't remember seeing so many latinos in new orleans before." it is now apparent why.

we drive and drive. the further we go, the less cars we see, that are running, and no people. no people. no people. just broken houses left open and abandoned. i think about people who died in the houses, drowning in their lives, in the memories they refused to leave behind. i try not to cry, because i cry so much (half hormone treatment/half me), it gets to guy, but really...this is certainly cry-worthy. we shoot pictures of people's belongings in piles on the street and storage sheds on their sides, lodged in between trees, and handpainted street signs, because they are a definite low-priority replacement. guy and i have been in a fight and are not talking much. i say only, "it's so sad. it's so sad." he agrees.

we drive for a few miles in three directions. it is hideous.

i try not to hate.

2 inches of rain expected...

what a day.

today was our last day with the rental car. guy is taking it back to the airport right now. it's pouring here in nola. when it pours like this in The City, people stand under overhangs and stare in wonder, which is maybe only once a year. our hotel courtyard is so deep in water, that stepping in it covers my entire foot, fortunately clad in snow boots (yeah, snow, mom bought them for me, not sure why). i'm sitting in the laundry room doing laundry that couldn't wait as it reeks so terribly from bio-dad's house. he never stops smoking with all the windows closed and no air flow. p-u. BIG TIME P-U!!!

guy and i visited the Merigny Fourbourg (sp?) district this morning after reading that it's the truly coolest place in town. turns out that is only for nighttime activities. no breakfast to be found. we finally found a place that wasn't a bar and were faced with a menu that we, a left-coaster and a right-coaster, could barely understand. "Hot Shrimp Salad" "Beans and Rice" "Chitlins" etc. i ordered a $10 ham sandwich, guy got the hot shrimp salad which turned out to be iceberg lettuce with fried shrimp on top. turned out to be delicious. my sandwich had REAL ham on it, nothing processed and his tiny shrimp were far more tasty than anything we could dream of on the west coast. total bill: $25 when all we wanted was coffee and a croissant.

a little while ago, he dropped me off at the hotel and took off for the airport. i had a simple plan to grab the laptop, as there is only WIFI in the courtyard adjacent to the laundry room, grab the laundry, grab a bottle of wine and my smokes, but it couldn't have been more complicated. it went something like this:

1. must get laundry detergent. walk two blocks in pouring rain so bad that my pants and raincoat are soaked clear through and soak my clothes underneath as well.
2. run back to hotel with detergent.
3. grab computer, wrapped in three layers of plastic, backpack with wine, a glass, cigarettes.
3. go to laundry room, realize i have not brought the right key for the room and am locked out and have no change for laundry.
4. put laundry in machine and race to front lobby to get new key. front lobby filled with people checking in. takes 15 minutes to get new key and that is with me cutting in front of some people.
5. run back up to room to get in with new key and grab change.
6. run down to laundry room to put in detergent and get laundry rolling.
7. sit down with computer and attempt to pop cork, doesn't work. cork will not come out. hotel employee runs by, i call out to him, he pops it after much much effort. i offer him some as a thank you, he accepts after finding a cup. sweet, little toothless guy who probably stayed here throughout katrina.
8. pour wine, get back on computer, ready myself for a desperately needed cigarette and glass of wine. NOPE! lighter doesn't work, it's soaked.
9. pack up computer in layers of plastic and put inside backpack and run to bar to get matches. no matches there. no one in the bar has extra matches. at this point i'm BEYOND coping. i'm in survival mode.
10. run back up to room, to grab another lighter, new door key doesn't work. i am now resigned to not getting a cigarette.

finally after only 10 minutes in laundry room, nice lady from kentucky arrives to dry her sneakers. she is a smoker and i'm in luck. finally, my simple wine-cigarettes-writing-laundrying idea kicks into full action.

all of this would actually be kinda fun if guy and i hadn't gotten in a fight after seeing the wreckage of the ninth ward which sent two inches of rain flooding out of my face.

my favorite town, my favorite guy and typical weather, that's all i ask

guy and i are sitting in a beautiful courtyard in new orleans. just the way i like it, it has been raining, it is fairly warm and it is humid. we have taken down two bottles of wine and are packing it up soon.
love to all for their good wishes for our crazy marriage adventure soon to come.
more later, when it's, perhaps, a little less crazy.
xo

I said "Yes."

last night, after we arrived in louisiana and had a couple of drinks to calm our fried plane nerves...

guy played a trick on me.

he'd been telling me for weeks, that my christmas gift had to be opened in louisiana and it was made up of many different components. for weeks he would get home late from work saying he had to go pick up a component, check on a component, get a component shipped to our hotel, etc. etc. he even bought me some kick-ass new boots, kd lang would be proud of, to open on christmas eve with my parents at their house in carson city. he played me. he played me good.

so last night, after getting a drink and going back to our room, guy said i had to face the window while he arranged all the components on the bed so i could see them all at once. i told him i'd have to sit, my back was achy, you know...while i faced the window he made a lot of "fiddling" noise, knocking stuff around. i really had no idea what he could put together to make one present, what the theme could be, what this was all about. i'd been trying to figure it out for weeks and had come to no conclusions at all. i even found a clue, i found the words "september birth stone" left in the google search bar on his laptop, but considered receiving jewelry so preposterous, i put the idea out of my head and completely forgot about it.

when he was done fiddling, he told me to stand up first and then turn around. i did so and, sitting at my feet, on his knees, was guy and he was crying and he was holding a box out at me and he said, "will you marry me?" and then he stood up and we held each other, and yes, CRIED AND CRIED and i said yes!! yes! and we held each other for a long time and then there was a knock at the door. i was just shocked. shocked, i can't tell you, i was floored. and guy got the door and it was a man holding champagne glasses and a bottle and some chocolate and strawberries, clearly the "romance package." and we drank champagne and he told me that all of his friends knew, and all of his family, except him mom and even one of my dearest friends, W. knew and then he told me that he had already told my parents. he said he told them that he was going to ask me to marry him and did he have their blessings. he said my mom grabbed him and hugged him and cried and cried, saying yes, yes, and my dad gave him an awkward hug and then backed off and gave him a big "Thumb's Up!!" and that they were very happy and said yes, he has their blessings.

then he asked me to call his mom. i woke her up from her cold maryland slumber. i said, sarah? sarah? your son proposed to me. and she cried and i cried some more and she told me loved me so much and she was so happy.

i feel undeserving. and scared and excited and empowered more than anything. i feel like we have just joined forces to created an unstoppable force. i am filled with hope and excitement for what will most certainly be an outstanding future. i feel we will have a HUGE future. together we are gigantic. is that what kim deal was singing about?

"gigantic gigantic gigantic
a big big love."

Feeding the Louisiana jones

guy and i are about to embark on a little adventure. it's all about my weird family this time.

stop number one is an ugly desert town called carson city in nevada, where my stepdad moved my mom from a beautiful town in the napa valley, so that they could grow old in a very cold climate and remote location that their children would have trouble reaching at christmas. there guy will experience my stepdad at truly his finest. stepdad is always in a good mood on christmas, excercising his seldom seen sense of humor and relaxing for the first time all year. guy will see my mom in the way she really is: sentimental, fun, conscientious, into decorating with poinsettias just like his mom and happier than any other time, because one of her children has come to visit her in the godforsaken land of nevada.

then we'll leave for midstate-louisiana where my bio-dad and my second cousin live. these are the only people who make sense to me besides my grandparents who are dead. bio-dad has been a drunk for 45 years and has lived an exceptionally colorful life. he's on his 18th month of sobriety as of this very minute and is hilarious and entertaining when alcohol is not the dominate liquid in his bloodstream. we are very similar and guy gets to see this, a family member like me. the others (the step-family), while i love them, are not like me. this is huge for bio-dad as he has never, ever, in his entire life, had someone come visit him at christmas. he grew up without a dad, and with a violent mom who considered him a nusciance. bio-dad's brain is about to explode with joy. i too, am really happy about seeing him on christmas for the first time in my entire life.

after that we will travel back down south to new orleans, where we hope to dedicate one day to the katrina effort and three days to partying, shopping, filming, photographing and maybe exploring the bayou in a canoe.

dudes. we are so excited.

i'll be writing from the road as i will have guy's laptop to use. do they have cell service and wifi in midstate louisiana? this is a serious question, and seriously, the answer could be no.

we promise to hang out on the safe side of the levee*, but we cannot promise to stay away from bourbon street.

check you from the road in loozy.
xo


*ok, in new orleans, no one lived on the wrong side of the levee and they died anyway, but in vidalia, where bio-dad lives, people actually build their homes on the river side of the levee. seriously.



ps. my boss is the newest angel in my life. more on that later.

R.I.P Syd Vicious, the cat

when i picked up syd at the shelter in june of 1995, i didn't know i'd have him until i was almost 36 1/2 years old. like, almost 40.
when i picked up syd, i didn't know we would move three times together and that i would get us out of the ghetto, a place that made us both nervous, and move us into a beautiful apartment with a yard for him to watch birds in.
i didn't know that i would find a way to make a living as an artist one day.
i didn't know that i would find a way to make a living as a writer one day.
i didn't know that i'd get married.
and divorced.
and make two wonderfully-shlocky movies with my friends.
and stay friends with my ex-husband who would cry when my cats died.
i didn't know i would meet guy and have more fun than i ever thought possible, camping in the rain, driving up the coast, going to trader joe's. stupid shit like that. or that syd would make guy, a non-cat person, love a cat.
i had no idea i'd fall in love again.
i didn't know my little sister would get pregnant and marry her long-time boyfriend, a shy man, several years her junior who guy calls "giggles" because he doesn't talk much but giggles a lot.
i never knew i'd become friends with a cincinattian (forgive the spelling) who would reveal syd's masochistic side by slapping his butt over and over and over again much to syd's delight. and then that that friend would get married, move away and have two kids.
when i got syd, i had no idea he would see me through two nervous breakdowns.
i had no idea that syd would ever stop asking for food.
and get skinny when he'd always been such a pig.
i had no idea that syd would stop biting my guests, scaring them. that he would become an old softie and quit being punk rock.
i never could have guessed that he would be so sad after the yeti died, and get sick. and stay sick.

i certainly had no idea that he would die on december 21, 2006.
xoxoxo he's free now.

Christmas Special #4: the night i danced with Beck

so i danced onstage with beck once.

the show was at the santa cruz convention center (?) which looks like a high school gym (although i had that feeling seeing nirvana on four hits of acid at the oakland coliseum arena, but that's another story).

it was towards the end of the show. i felt a strong tug on my dress by my friend who pointed towards an open doorway on the right of the stage, very near where we were standing (rocking out actually). i looked and saw girls from the audience walking through the door and ending up onstage where beck stood, dancing and singing. i looked at my friend, she gave me a look like "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" i looked at guy. he gave me a "go ahead" sign. i paused: i was wearing little clothing, namely a slip that had previously been underneath my dress. but i had taken the dress off from rocking out so hard and being so hot in the high school gym. i paused...and then went. my thoughts were, "are you fucking kidding? you're not going to go onstage and dance with beck because of what you're wearing?!"

and so i went.

and so i danced.

the thing about dancing is, you can't do it if you're looking at anything. eyes following other people's movements does not make it possible to make one's own movements.

i stared at the audience through supra-hot bright lights. i looked at the other girls,

i looked at beck.

i was onstage at a rock concert, in front of thousands of people. with beck. i was onstage with beck at a rock concert and the lights were really hot and there were thousands of people, and you really can't see them from up there...and it was just so unreal. it was just like...definitely a dream.

so i closed my eyes and danced my stupid dance. my non-dance. my lame dance. whatever. i did it and didn't care.

after that one song at the end of the show, we were sort of encouraged to leave, very gently, but obviously. some girls went up to beck and hugged him or kissed him. i stayed in the back and i felt fine with that.

i've already met beck. i've locked eyes with those baby blues. it was the other girls' turns.

when i got to my new job the next monday, my snotty little coworker asked me what i did that weekend. i said,

um, well, um, i danced onstage with beck.

it got her attention. she really was a little bitch but she made me laugh the next monday when she asked sarcastically, "so, what did you do this weekend? dance onstage with beck?"

i totally laughed.

My cat, my valentine

3 pages of instructions, about how to deal with my ailing cat, have been written for housesitting friends who will be here while guy and i are in louisiana, curing my jones.

it was exhausting to write, it's exhausting to read, it is in fact, exhausting to take care of syd. i'm so afraid he's going to come to the end while we're gone, i gave my housesitting angel-friends my death-desires for him in case they can't reach us if something serious happens: valium shot, euthanasia shot, save the ashes.

i need a support group.

syd is so high maintenance right now. annoyance at that conflicts with my deep love for him. he's been my closest pal for 11 years...he's been the perfect cat for me. smart - listens to me and responds like he understands what i'm saying. intuitive - knows when i'm upset and comforts me. quiet - is not a vocal cat, we always communicated fine without sounds, which can be very annoying to me. i'm so sound-sensitive. he's been perfect for me, for the 11 years i've had him of the 16 years of his life.

until now.

now he will do this meowing thing that won't end. it just doesn't end. i'll look him straight in the face and say, "syd. what. what do you want from me." and we stare at each other and his mouth keeps opening and closing opening and closing opening and closing MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW.

it's like he doesn't know why he does it either. it's like neither of us recognizes this situation at all and we're both tired of it.

to deal with this constant meowing, guy puts a tshirt on syd's head, but this doesn't last long. i throw him q-tips, his favorite toy, but that doesn't last long enough either. all morning long, it's "give me q-tips," it's "put me on the counter," it's "i hate this food. i don't feel like eating but i'm starving. give me something else, figure it out," it's, "figure it out figure it out figure it out." it's, "i haven't eaten in days because i'm sick and my brain isn't right..." MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW.

it's "let me in the bathroom." it's, "let me on your lap even while you're wrapping gifts and eating all at the same time."

it's, "help me, i'm dying."

i tell you what: i can't help him, and it's fucked up.

sometimes i wish he was already dead, because i can't take anymore. then i hate myself because i love him so much and when he's gone i don't know how i will deal with that. i'm sure this is common, but i've never felt it before. it's fucked and i'm on my own.

Opened doors of perception

today i corresponded with my best friend in 2nd grade (and a few other scattered years). we have known each other for 29 years. we write a lot. but today we talked about some childhood perspectives. she thought i had her dream-life. she had no idea my mom was very depressed when i was young and that i made breakfast and lunch for myself and my little sisters every day, starting in grammar school. she had no idea i had a stay-in-bed mom. she thought my house was super awesome, that we had cable tv. but we didn't have any kind of tv at all until 1980. she didn't know i got laughed at for not knowing who chachi was in 2nd grade. she thought i had nice clothes growing up. she didn't know i bought them myself because i loved designer and my parents wouldn't buy me designer. she didn't know that i was able to work as a babysitter at a young age, because i was very tall (and thus seemed older), in order to get the designer clothes. i was as tall as my mom at age 9. she also didn't know that i was a thief and i stole a lot of the nice clothes. she certainly didn't know that i didn't stop that habit until the embarrassing age of 27.

i knew her family was poorer than mine, and although we lived in a nice 1970s tract house on the west side of town, my dad didn't work for years and we drank powdered milk for a while. i knew she was embarrassed of her house because she never wanted me to come over, only to come to my house (even though a screaming maniac dad lived there), and she would meet me at the end of her driveway when my mom would pick her up to come over. i knew she didn't have a phone for a long time when we were in grammar school...our moms communicated via passed note between she and i, about whether she could come over and spend the night or not. i did not know that she thought so highly of the hell that i felt i lived in. i did not think anything weird about her, and she did not say today, but i know, that that probably surprised her.

“There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors of perception” -A.H.

She must have been drunk, high and confused

i wore my L7 wifebeater to work the other day, tastefully covered up with a nice sweater, and the little L7 logo peeking out the top.

i found out who the rockers at my work are, always nice to know. one guy told me he saw L7 in galveston, tx, where he's from, and "the singer picked up on me. she was really going after me." i told him, "uh, well, she's a lesbian. i don't get it." i asked him, "two of them sing, it wasn't suzi gardner, the straight one?" no, he says, no, it was the leader.

i didn't know what to say. i can't explain it but if it turns out that donita sparks, the raddest, most hardest rockin' woman of all time, turns out to be bi, or god forbid, straight, my whole image of L7 will be a little bit blown. i mean, this woman wrote the line, "got so much clit, i don't need no balls."

Images from my mom's life

i'm making a mobile for my mom for christmas and filling the spots with images from her life. this is the list i came up with. for some reason, i really love it, as far as lists go.

crawdads
antebellum homes
cheerleading
sewing
"hand avenue"
mobile bay
shells
children
marriage
love

Placement Agency Holiday Party: Total Success!

last night i had the best time in a very unlikely place: a placement agency christmas party that had only 8 people in attendance. i met two very interesting women. my agent, who placed me in my copywriting job, was there and she is fun and hilarious. she introduced me to a woman i couldn't help but notice around the building where i work. she looks like Ivanka Trump, only slightly less flawless, and happens to have the best girl-ass i have ever seen in my entire life. she has the ass i dream of having. in my mind i truly thought awful things about her like, she must be such a bitch because she looks like Ivanka and has the most perfect girl-ass of all time. well, she walked in to this stupid-fun agency holiday party and my agent introduced us. turns out, she is really really nice and cool and fun!! oh my god! i am a jerk for being prejudiced against beautiful people.

so, my agent, my coworker who i arrived with, and this new girl, who happens to also be from hungary JUST LIKE Ivanka and Ivana, and ANOTHER very interesting woman who was a guest of an artist represented there...just chatted and laughed for almost two hours!! WHO KNEW. we all made plans to get together and i really think we will. it's just so exciting to meet people who are so interested in life and so easy to talk to and laugh with, people who have something to say, are intelligent and funny and totally lacking pretension.

the second interesting woman i mentioned meeting is writing her dissertation on something environmental. ANYWAY, she said her boyfriend is a graphic designer and is always bored with his jobs. i countered that perhaps that's because as a graphic designer you are always doing what other people want, not what you want, that as a graphic designer you are really just one step away from being a bathroom monkey. she said, "well, i would LOVE to do what someone else wants, it's so much easier than figuring out what YOU want. i've been doing only what i want for AGES and it's very difficult. i say 'give me your dumb job, i'll be happy to do whatever you say!!'" i found that a quite enlightening point of view.

you just never know when you're going to meet people who make you feel more alive or give you new ideas. for me it's usually bored bored bored all the time, most people aren't that cool, or smart, or funny...and then BAM! out of nowhere, i go to an agency placement holiday party and find the people i've been looking for.*

ps. to my single guy friends: beautiful Ivanka girl is married. sorry.


*when i met guy and his friends...well, i won the lottery, folks. guy has amazing friends. as do i. xoxoxo

It's all about health, ok, i believe it now

a 35-yr-old woman who used to work as i writer where i work, died today. they say she had a headache one day and cancer the next. she was married. there are tears everywhere. my boss, who has become my friend, is taking it hard. i went into her office this morning and, even though she was on her cell, i grabbed her hand, put a valium in it, held her hand for a moment and whispered those three important words, "i'm so sorry." she immediately started bawling. it's because she was grateful and felt that relief you feel when someone recognizes that you're hurting and holds your hand or says they're so sorry. i read this in her eyes in a split second and then left the office before i lost my shit too. but i don't talk about that anymore.

my wish for all my loved ones this year, is something i used to think only old people say: your health is the only thing that matters.

here's to your health.

Christmas Special #3: The night i met Jello Biafra

i haven't written much about this, but i "act" in movies my ex-husband writes, directs and produces with his best friend. these movies are based on the classic exploitation flicks of the 60s and 70s. i don't know anything about this stuff, even after being married for five years to a man who talked about it nonstop. it's just not my thing, but i sure do love participating in the guerrilla filmmaking aspect of the whole, creative, $3000 budget moviemaking process. it's a lot of fun.

sunday night, we got our first star. he found out about the movie because of a screening someone recommended he attend due to the fact that it's "like those movies you like" and that it was filmed across the street from his house (in front of mine). he came to the screening and approached my ex as a fan. my ex is a DKs LOVAH. from the GET GO. big time fan. it was a good moment for the ex, that's for certain.

now, there is now a "name" attached to this crazy project. and while it is a name of questionable ethics, (and more) i definitely set aside judgement for the evening and fully enjoyed meeting him and working on a scene with him.

it was last sunday when i walked in the door of the "studio" and my ex introduced me to him and he held out his hand to me and said, "Biafra." he read his lines really well, and was funny in the scene and really pretty great. he plays a mayor of questionable ethics.

"biafra" proceeded to make us laugh after the scene was shot and we were chillin' with a beer. he has a slightly nerdy voice and an insecurity that keeps him constantly talking. he told us a story of trying to burn a flag onstage with al jourgensen of ministry at the crest theatre in sacramento during a gig, once. they couldn't light the thing on fire, because it turned out to be fire-protected somehow, so they threw it into the "pit" of the concert where wild metal heads and punk rockers tore it to shreds. this was right after 9/11, and somehow the authorities found out and slapped Ministry with a $2500 fee for flag damage. he talked about a lot of punk rockers ending up in jail and i said, "and probably just for drugs." but he contradicted me saying, "no, there were murders." the singer for fang strangled his girlfriend. i had forgotten that story, and for good reason i won't go into.

sunday night was another strange moment. like meeting yoko ono and doing whippets with doug irwin, and fighting with kim deal and chatting with bjork and dancing onstage with beck, or having a smoke with john doe, but some of those are other Christmas Specials*, and i'll tell ya about them later.

xo

*i've decided to pull out some rock star stories for christmas. it's a special occasion so why not. i shy away from it because i'm afraid of sounding like an asshole, "oh guess who I MET..." you know what i mean.

Christmas Special #2: Doing whippets with Doug Irwin

doug irwin was an artist who made jerry garcia's guitars for him. one day, back in 1993, when i worked at the legendary Psychedelic Shop, in walked doug irwin. i knew him from pictures, probably from reading High Times or Relix, two classic stoner mags. i said "hello, what beautiful guitars you've made," and introduced myself. he had come in to drop off some custom-made jewelry (of which i have a piece) and buy whippets. i don't remember the conversation, but before i knew it, he was behind the counter and we were inhaling whippets together.

it was another strange moment for me, smalltown girl, new in the big city. another strange moment for me, huge rock fan, unknowingly on the verge of meeting and talking to just about every rock musician who ever meant anything to me. it was a strange moment for me, doing whippets with the man partially responsible for the sound of the grateful dead. it's just one story of a hundred that have made every miserable moment of trying to survive in this city at the poverty level, totally worth it.


ps. it was upsetting when jerry died, and even though he left the guitars to doug, in his will, the other members of the band fought it and ended up with one of them. how could they? how dare they?

"Black Irish Lovah"

likin' my people. i was told a long time ago by my bio-dad, a storytelling man, that we are black irish, Iberian and Irish. ever since i told him, guy has greatly enjoyed calling me, endearingly i admit, his, "black irish lovah."

what i am is scots-irish (newer spelling...scotch is a drink, not a people, my bio-dad told me a few days ago, however, it is said that while the scots appreciate this sensitivity, they prefer "scotch" used in two ways, "scotch-irish" and "scotch-whiskey"). therefore, i will say the scotch-irish were cool people. they were against slavery and had "independent spirits, adventurous personalities and restless natures...loyalty to kin, mistrust of governmental authority and military readiness*" all of which describes me. especially the restless part, and if military readiness means "ready to fight." then yeah, that's me.

basically what my heritage comes down to is that i'm white white white, as i am also english. i am glad my skin is on the dark side though, Iberian dark, if for no other reason, than it's the opposite of george bush and i tan well.

Crybaby

alright, enough with all the crying. i'm reading through some posts and i mention that i'm crying or i cried in almost every one. WHAT A BORE!! i promise from here on out, to not be such a freakin' crybaby. good god. sorry, people, i didn't realize i talked about it so much.

but first, i might have to tell the story about how good i am at making other people cry.

some other day.

Christmas Special #1: The day I met Yoko Ono Lennon

holy crap, there's a show on NPR right now about the day john lennon died, and although i cry a lot, this is getting bad. i can't stop crying. i really love that man. i love his message of peace. i love his coolness. i love his humor. i love his intelligence. john lennon had balls. he told the truth. and so does yoko.

so, it's the eve of his death and the show has gotten to a point now where people are telling stories of where they were when he died. i remember where i was and i've told that story here.

what i haven't told is the story, of the great privilege i had one freezing san francisco summer day, of meeting and speaking with yoko ono lennon.

it was june 16, 1996 and for reasons that are truly, another story attached to another story to another story, i was backstage at the Tibetan Freedom Concert in Golden Gate Park. actually, i was onstage...or just above the stage on some scaffolding, looking down on the stage, about 12 feet below me. sonic youth were just about to start and i was already holding my breath. thurston had just walked on stage and was plugging stuff in. kim was there in the centerstage, tuning her bass. lee was there on the far side of the stage, steve, as always, was there in the back and the show was about to start, when my friend (D) tugged on my arm. i turned around and came face to face with yoko and a massive man i determined to be her bodyguard. she clearly could not see around me, but had said nothing. through the beginning squeals of thurston's guitar, i said to her, "do you want to stand in front of me?" i was right on the frontlines, with one of the best views in the house. she looked up at me, and eyes wide, she nodded and moved to the side, and i backed up a bit and she stepped in front of me. the bodyguard stayed courteously behind me. i'm sure he could tell i was in awe and was reflecting nothing but total respect for yoko. needless to say, i was completely out of my mind in wonder, excitement and shock. i looked at my friend and she looked at me and we were just...speechless.

right then, just before sonic youth launched into their song, "the diamond sea," thurston said to the crowd of 50,000 people, "This song is for Yoko Ono, whose rock and roll is beautiful." and with that, yoko spun around and looked at me and smiled a huge smile and clapped her hands and said, "ohhh, they are so far out!!!"

and thurston slammed into his guitar and then slid into the gentle beauty that is "the diamond sea" and my mind blew itself way out of my body and out of that park.

i really don't know what else to say. it was just BEYOND. i am still speechless.

News from the lunatic fringe; happy endings

after shopping all day in downtown san francisco for christmas presents on a saturday (thank you valium for making it possible), i was so tired my legs hurt all the way up to my waist and it was way past time to go home.

uh, except when i got there, i was met with an interesting and unexpected scenario. the front door was closed but i could hear guy talking loudly and excitedly on the phone from the inside. i see a bottle of wine, mostly gone, his wallet and some cigarettes sitting on the outside table. i open the door and he's standing there right in the entry way, his blonde hair all crazy on his head and he's wearing my wool jacket, which looks silly-small on him. i look in the house and there is no furniture, no nothing anywhere in the living room and the floor is super shiny black. he had been cleaning and scrubbing and painting three layers of high gloss black floor paint all day. he says to the person on the phone, as i put my bags down on an outside chair, "(J), i gotta go. she just got home." and then, "hey, wait, ok..." and he hands me the phone and i know it's his cousin (J), who is more like his brother, a man i adore. a man of gentle contradictions, a man who is a party animal and a man who survived the gulf war, two things i highly respect. he's fun, and sweet and seems to really like me. when he tells me to keep his "cuz" happy, i get a little nervous. this is not a guy i want to disappoint.

anyway, i get on the phone with cousin (J) and i hear, "lou, honey, i just gotta say you made (N) cry...and i just love you and you're a wonderful wonderful girl..." i say, (J), are you drunk? "nevermind, nevermind, i just want to tell you that you made some people very very happy with your story."

what he was referring to was a story i wrote about that awesome boat ride in the chesapeake bay on the yacht...i don't know if you've read it here. but it was (J) i was with and "(N)" a man who guy describes as a CONSTRUCTION guy from EDGEMERE, like that means something and i don't know what that means but it sounds TOUGH. and i made him cry with my writing?? wow. guy is blown away, so i take his cue.

then i hang up the phone and i tell guy i gotta pee. he says the floor's wet, you can't go inside. so i squat in the yard and pee, i don't care, i just gotta do it. as i'm pulling up my pants, guy is looking at me, he's staring at me and i said, what's wrong with you? and he says, just button your pants. and it seems weird, so i say, are you ok? and he says just button your pants. so i do and when i'm done, he grabs me hard, he pulls me to him and landed on my lips a serious, "i love you i'm so sorry, you rule, that really sucked, it's over now, i love you i love you" kind of kiss. and then we just held each and cried. and our bodies shook against each other as we were crying really hard inside, and we just totally let all that stress and fear and sadness go and just BAWLED.

and that's when we returned to ourselves. our volatile, yet generally happy selves.

next, i pulled my living christmas tree in, a tree i've had in a pot outside for seven years. the living room floor had dried and i was allowed. i strung it with lights and put all my grandmama's ornaments up and it was so sweet and so pretty.



guy listened as i told him and showed him every little thing about every handmade ornament and he looked at every tiny little date written in teeny little grandparent handwriting every time i asked him to.

later...

we slow danced on the shiny black floor in the glow of tiny white lights and a tree-symbol of big love.

Martian talk for the fashion folk

check it out, i just got LAUGHED at for using the word "accoutrements" for an accessories billboard. i used it like this: "all the accoutrements for an amazing now." when i read it, people laughed and laughed!! i so didn't get that people were laughing AT ME, that i kept reading! i didn't realize something was up until my boss walked across the room and stood by me, literally, and said, "STOP laughing!"

so i stopped reading and this is what my audience of 8 people had to say: WHAT DID YOU SAY???!! now, granted 3 of the 8 speak english as a second language, although one of them is the design director and has been in the fashion industry for 20 years!!

these people were laughing because it was as if i had just said "gobblyey eh googy goo jah shagoo goo!" they weren't being mean-spirited, they really had no idea what word had just come out of my mouth. i'm not insulted, because they weren't laughing at me for being stupid. uh, sorry, no. they were laughing at me, without knowing it, for having...what? paid attention?

immediately, two girls apologized. one said, hey lou, i'm sorry, english is my second language, i just don't know that word. another girl said, hey, sorry, i have a terrible vocabulary.

i just stood there, stunned. the head designer sitting next to me said quietly, "i've always liked that word." i told her, "i thought it was common!" she said back, in a near-whisper, "it is."

who are these fashion people who don't know a fashion word? it's totally befuddling, i tell you! UNBELIEVABLE!

Don't say "foodie"

DON'T SAY "FOODIE!"

please, people, stop saying "foodie." jesus christ.

un-whole-some

hormones: hell has seen no fury like a woman on hormones who should not be on hormones.

i am so relieved to find out today that i'm not totally insane. my doctor told me today that hormones can wreak unbelievable havok on certain women's brains. mine included. now, while on valium to keep me from being a crying, violent wreck (so far working total magic), i have been informed that if i am steady-as-she-goes three weeks from now, there is a huge chance i will be sane, not on valium, and not uterus-less.

amazing, the peace that information can bring despite what they say about ignorance being bliss.

as we get older, and have more complicated physical problems, how much are we to ask of the partners we have who live through the confusion with us. really?

Sandwich-making perfectionist Virgo

if i was not a sandwich-making perfectionist virgo, i would not have to remake every sandwich i buy so that all the ingredients are distributed evenly.

if i was not a sandwich-REmaking perfectionist virgo, i would have eaten the dead fly i found on a piece of lettuce in my club sandwich this morning at 11:53am.

News from the lunatic fringe

i have been a lunatic lately. not a fun lunatic, not a manic lunatic, but more a lunatic on the side of RAVING. i have been saying totally wacko insane things to guy. i have been crying everyday for i don't even remember how long. i have been affected in an unbelievably extreme way by everything that guy does or says. on monday night, i punched him in the stomach.

there is no excuse for violence ever. i am a former "victim" of violence. i have never ever in my entire life inflicted violence on anyone but myself until monday night. guy admitted to being mean to me, but he's frustrated. he has a right. There is something VERY VERY wrong with ME and it's really anyone's guess as to what to do about it.

i have two guesses:

1. hormones. those motherfuckers are very intense, body-altering chemicals. my gyno has me on a new kind (since the insanity started) that did stop all my endometriosis hemorrhaging, but has turned me into a monster.

2. lexapro withdrawal. obviously a drug invented by satan. satan. satan. this shit is practically lethal. i have felt a whole new level of world-hatred, life-hatred and self-hatred than i ever thought possible, since it has been leaving my body (the exact same amount of time that i have been on the psycho hormones).

this morning i listened to my ipod really loud.*** ahhhh, finally peace. all that noise pushed the insanity right out of my head. i have been doing super loud headphone therapy since i was 13 and got my first sony walkman. i may someday contract tinnitis but the brain benefits i gather from this therapy far outweigh the detriments. i mean really, what's more important: ears or brain? i think brain, don't you.

i have doctor's appointments on thursday and friday so i can get to the bottom of this. i have been a whirling dervish, i can't imagine what it must be like to live with me. guy does the best with me he can, but a Regular Guy is no match for a Crazy Lady.

i need to be quarantined.


***yep, i got my ipod to be loud again. i swear to god i felt the heavens opened up and placed golden hands on my heart. the secret, in case you have this problem, is going into "settings" and making sure that "sound check" is "off."

Three Blind Lives

i have a cousin who i am not close to. she lives in alabama and the last time i saw her all she had to say were things like this: bong, crack pipe, whatever, they're all the same! they're all criminals!

she is on her third marriage. she is married to her father's lifelong best friend. he is nearing 70 years old, she is 39. she just had a baby with him.

before him, she was married to a gay man. well, that's what my grandmama told my sister. they never had sex. they were married for three years. she saved up some insane sum of money to throw herself a lavish wedding to the gay man. she saved money for a YEAR. this guy used to carry a handgun in his fanny pack when he took their two chihuahuas out for walks at dusk.

before him, she was married to a preacher's son. he abused her. he beat her up. then he bought her horses. she stayed married to him for ten years.

interesting, isn't it?

here's some more:

her father, my uncle, who i was close to as a child, used to do deep diving, rescue diving, something like that, where he would dive underneath barges to check shit out, fix stuff, find stuff. he couldn't see anything under there, it was zero visibility water. this career, these activities really blow my mind. it's so scary. can you imagine? it's like being totally blind AND not being able to breathe.

then my uncle became a cop. he used to say he was going to go "pop some nigger ass because nobody else is going to do it." he got so into that, that he was promoted to undercover narcotics officer. he believed that people who smoked pot were the root of all evil. he said to me once, "lou. these people are criminals. they don't care about being in control. i would never do drugs because i like being in control. you can't trust people who don't like being in control." i didn't say anything to him right then, but it got me thinking. everybody likes being in control, it's human nature. it all depends on how you look at it. he had no idea ever that i was a hardcore pothead for 15 years and that by smoking so much pot, i was indeed controlling myself and the perceivable world around me. he's a grown man. why did i, as a teenager, have more sense than a grown man?

then uncle developed vertigo and has, ever since, been pretty much confined to his 40 year old wooden kitchen chair that has a holster underneath it holding a gun, just in case someone breaks into the house, despite the sticker on the front door window stating, "this house protected by smith and wesson."

A barrell full of bullshit

i recently kissed my old boss' ass because i was sort of hoping that his wife, the head of (gargantuan retail brand) there, would flow me some freelance copy work. i have totally maintained a very high level of bullshit to make sure this is a possibility in the future.

then i said to myself, are you fucking kidding?

this is my new approach, which i have conjured up due to the fact that i have not received my insurance continuation through COBRA, yet i have paid for it, the check has been cashed and the papers signed, yet i get no answers and am in fact told that i must cease to be "threatening" and "rude" to HR. those of you who know me, um, know that there is not one piece of me that has the capabilities that "threatening" would require.

so here goes:

dear (name of asshole who owns company),
last time i wrote to you i was exceedingly polite and apologized for any misunderstandings concerning my insurance, as well as made it clear to you that the last thing i want is a bad relationship with you...well, it was all bullshit. it was bullshit to the max. it was a barrell full of bullshit.

your company sucks really really big ass. every single one of your employees is miserable. EVERY SINGLE ONE. some of them even get sick before arriving to work in the morning. anxiety attacks while driving, sour stomachs while eating lunch etc. you are known as a liar and a cheapass by every employee you have. no one says it to your face because we were all scarred by the dot com bust and the inability to find work for a couple of years. your employees are so depressed from working for you at such low pay and for such long hours, since you refuse to hire the necessary amount of employees needed to get the work done, that they find it difficult to look for work. you have, in essence, grown a farm of depressed adults that you ply with beer once every three months and think that makes you awesome-boss. "oh, he's so cool, he buys us beer." but really asshole, you are the reason that people are miserable at that work address. and as long as you keep that tyrannical bitch (n) on staff, you will never have a happy crew on the upper deck. (j) got a bigger computer monitor so he wouldn't have to look at her screwed up bitchy face all the time and he's her closest friend! you are a joke. oh, and (r)? he's a bald-faced liar. he lies about why people are fired, hired, raised and dumped. he's called "the politician." did you know that? oh, and everyone thinks you're closeted by the way. it's kind of hard to disagree with them, even though i don't really get that vibe. but i haven't known you as long as they have.

i am one of the lucky ones who escaped and i feel it is time for you to know the truth. pretty soon you'll be paying for (jc's) in-patient mental hospital bills, you can count on that.

sincerely,
your typical ex-employee



so, friends, now you know me to be the passive aggressive pussy that i am, although i would like to add an update: turns out i know an insurance lawyer. i wrote to this lawyer and told her the whole story. she expressed her condolences and noted that they have acted "way out of line and in violation of federal law." she offered to find me an advocate. she also told me i could file a complaint, but that i might feel better just putting it behind me. my choice: i wrote to them and told about the lawyer and what she said and let them know i wouldn't be pursuing anything, they'd wasted enough of my time already.

Three Important Words

a friend of mine i've had since the third grade, lost a baby in a miscarriage several years ago, and was devastated. she and her husband spent some time getting over it. she involved herself in erstwhile activities like getting in shape and advancing to a very high position in her company. and she became happy again.

i heard from her recently: she got pregnant again. boy oh boy, was i happy. she and her husband are very kind and funny people. they SHOULD make more people. she told me in an email a couple weeks ago, "i'm pregnant! i'm due in april!" she was so super stoked. we laughed about how my sister's baby and her baby would be in the same grade.

i got notice today, from another good friend of ours, that the baby is gone now. again. that she lost her baby again.

i asked our good friend what i should do. what i should say. i told her i can't stop crying. i can't put myself in her shoes. what should i do. i asked our friend who has sustained loss, who is very wise and very kind. i asked our friend who would know what to do, and who would tell me what to do.

she said, just tell her you're sorry. send her a note. say, "'i'm so sorry.' you know sometimes just hearing those three words can be very comforting." so i did that. i just got her and her husband a card and i wrote, "i'm so sorry." i cried as i bought the card and i cried as i wrote it, but i kept it simple.

i think that's very good advice what our good friend told me to say to them. i think it should be kept in mind for other people with loved friends who experience pain. three words, "i'm so sorry." that's all that's needed sometimes, to provide some comfort when it's needed most.

Medication Migration

ok, so the progress is progressing, the medicine that i do not need is slowly, slowly, slooooowwwwwly leaving my system and in it's wake are tears. hard, hot tears that come every day.

soon, lexapro will be totally out of me, no longer making my eyeballs and brain float around, in a weird lateral motion, no longer having to wear pants 3 sizes bigger than normal, no longer giving me small brain electrocutions.

i feel hatred for these pills. i wish they were something that i could injure, like a wall, or an umbrella.

Gettin' Hitched

guy's sister's boyfriend is a guy i like. guy likes him too. he's a computer dude of some kind with a wicked sarcastic sense of humor. he's also severely into intense lego setups like building the millenium falcon. he builds the lego constructions with guy's sister's twin 8-yr-old sons. don't even get me started on these boys. they are the best kids i have ever met. but that's another story.

anyway, one night recently guy's sister (she's a vice-principal at a middle school) was chaperoning a dance and the boyfriend was home with the twins. they spent their evening that evening decorating the massive playroom that is over the garage, with christmas lights. just decking it out, lights upon lights upon lights. before guy's sister returned from the dance, her boyfriend sat her sons down and had a conversation with them. i can just see their little faces. all big eyes and serious and listening intently, they love the boyfriend, they listen when he speaks. so he sits them down and he asks the boys for their permission to marry their mom. holy crap, just typing it makes me cry. i think it's the coolest thing i have maybe ever heard. what a guy. those boys were, of course, stoked beyond belief. i know they love him. i didn't hear their answers or see their faces, or even talk to them, but i know they were STOKED.

what kind of guy asks two 8-yr-old boys if he can marry their mom, before asking her? a fucking-a cool guy, that's who. someone who respects kids and i guess that kind of action really rings in at number one in my heart because whenever i think about it, i get choked up and cry.

later that evening guy's sister gets home, and with the boys in the room, the boyfriend gets down on one knee and proposes to her, in that playroom with all those twinkly lights. and she cried, and she said yes.

CONGRATULATIONS TO SOME OF MY FAVORITE PEOPLE IN THE WORLD.
XOXOXOXOX
big love.

Face to Face (a little homage to the bloody hand man himself)

faces are fucking bizarre. all so different. some with severe aesthetic handicaps. big, bulgy eyes that are seen through. long and skinny little lips. mouths. they open and there is entry. entry to life, death. breath, sexual entry. tactile. emotional. then there're noses. more holes there. two right in the center of the picture that is your face. two round holes. with hallways.

everyone in the world sees your face all the time except the owner. the owner never sees this thing that is an entry to everything in their lives.

i became a portrait artist because faces are so personal and it gave me a sense of intimacy with someone i didn't know, or have to get to know. this happens when you spend a lot of time duplicating the image of their face onto a piece of paper.

but faces still seem stupid. they're just this mess of wrinkly, bumpy stuff on the other side of a globular shaped computer center. and they can be so unsettling.

i wish there were less of them.

Crusted Butt

"Crested Butte, CO"

ha ha ha ha. can't stop laughing. sounds like crusted butt. ha ha ha. Crusted Butt, Colorado. i want to live in crusted butt.

The Hall Pass Smile

isn't it great, when you're walking through the hall at your work, and you pass someone you know, and you HAVE to acknowledge this person, so you give them the raised eyebrow look or the half-smile? god, those moments are really really AWESOME.

at my old job, where every single employee was miserable, we passed each other in the hall, with the raised eyebrow look.



at my new job, where people are given ample time to concept their creative projects, but where there are 600 more people, we give the "total ignore" which is a look, a look down, and a look away – or we give the half-smile, the "hi, you're there, i'm here, this doesn't suck" look.

i still can't get over the differences in working for a worthwhile company vs. working for a rip-off company. it's all in the face.

Radio rain, rainhead, rainio and so on

radiohead and the rain. they go together like pot and brownies. like little girls and baby dolls. like vodka and divorce.

i never listen to radiohead between the months of april and november. it just feels weird. radiohead is made for the rain. sad, slow, heavy, beautiful, downtrodden, just like tears. like rain. like radiohead.

i love larry

larry david in GQ about being named one of the "Men of the Year."

"i haven't been referred to as a man since my Bar Mitzvah, so i'm delighted to be included in the Men of the Year."

Just say "No."

withdrawal symptoms from lexapro, day 14, on a half dose (5mg):

1. sensitivity to noise. not necessarily just loud, but noise in bulk, like from a crowd. makes me irritated and agitated. a feeling of a need to escape overcomes me.

2. headache. a slight pinch in the afternoon.

3. easy to cry, although this is coinciding with PMS time. and that is a common PMS symptom for me.

4. extreme reaction to stress. "this is the end" etc.

5. lack of desire to go out, socialize, unless seriously previously inebriated.

6. indications of proactive aggression: fighting with a random lady over who was at the change machine in the BART station first, and winning. also, cutting my own hair.

7. brain zings in the morning. like someone has stuck a live wire into the center of my brain, making me cross-eyed for a split second.

i just read that there are studies suggesting that non-caloric sweeteners actually make people gain weight because the body gets confused. the body senses there is something sweet going in, but when no calories follow, it makes up for the indiscretion in some other way. interesting, isn't it? i've always thought chemical food was bad. especially fake sugar. i wonder how taking antidepressants would relate in that way. like, if you suppress your emotions, but your brain recognizes that something bad is happening, what does it do when the appropriately accomodating emotions do not occur?

does it freak your shit out and turn you into some kind of monster? or what?

"But I want to touch it."

when my mom came to visit me recently, i showed her the outrageous and gorgeous building i work in, and the astonishing gallery that is adjacent to the monstrous lobby. i had not previously entered the gallery. the idea of it made me nervous. a gallery in a lobby? privately owned historical works of art that are accessible to me, free of charge whenever i want as long as i use my supersecret all-access pass?!

we walked in at 1:30pm on thursday, november 2nd, and were immediately met with warhol's silver elvises. and about ten other warhols. and about six calders. and a cy twombly and maybe 8 chuck closes.

i stood there, stunned and stimulated, as i always am in the presence of big pop art. then, even more unexpectedly, my mom, in a delightfully childish motion, walked over to a stack of andy's brillo pad boxes and proclaimed,

i want to touch it.
no, you can't.
why not?
because it's fine art.
she looked at me like i was just kidding.

and she moved closer...
but i want to.

her fingers inched closer and closer to andy's brillo box. she looked at me again, in an endearingly, rebel sort-of-way, watching my face for a reaction. i paused dramatically, my breath held, my insides inflaming as i imagined her skin oil leaving a permanent mark on the pop art perfection.

mom. there's probably a camera on you right now.

and with that she moved away.

that's when my art talk started. it comes out of me unexpectedly in galleries. there are a lot of thoughts and ideas in my head about art and i forget that they exist. i explained to her why andy was a genius because he achieved a weird, and difficult art expression...a distinct lack of expression. i talked to her about, perhaps, why she liked one chuck close over the other. i was surprised to find that she very much enjoys modern art, like a stack of empty white blocks hanging from the ceiling and one calder mobile over another. she exhibited absolute feelings for difficult art...that i didn't expect. i really truly loved it when she would say about any particular piece, "ohhhh, i REALLY like this."

the gallery with my mom was an enjoyable experience and it showed me something i didn't really know about her, that she has an appreciation for abstract ideas...a beautiful thing to discover at such a late date in life. and from someone who really doesn't know that you do not, under any circumstances, touch an artist's work without their permission. such a funny juxtaposition. she, a baby boomer, a southern belle, a born-again christian, a woman born and raised in alabama, not a place where typical people have feelings about art, or abstract ideas, but more a place where typical people carry handguns in their fanny packs when they take their dogs out for walks in the early evening.

i saw my mom in the gallery in a whole new way. she was adorable in her innocence and sophisticated in her artistic taste.

The Real McCoy

my best friend from 8th grade until high school graduation, said the first time she ever saw me, i was drooling.

it's probably true. i wish i could say it's because i'm incredibly relaxed, but for those of you who know me, that's a big laugh!

today during a meeting with the copywriting head lady and the other three writers, i took a sip of my rockstar right as the head lady said my name. it dribbled out of the right corner of my mouth and down the front of my cashmere sweater. i smiled, and in a dramatically ladylike manner with my pinky raised, rubbed the soda into my sweater and said, "yes (smile)...this is me." everyone laughed.

i feel like i'm making friends.

i've been told that i'm intimidating. i think it's my height and spinning brown eyes that hypnotize the weak. but i'm just a big dork, with a clumsiness factor of 105 and a tendency to laugh at everything. especially stuff that other people in the theatre don't think is funny.

i love it when people around me finally realize this and we can start making fun of each other. i'll volunteer myself for the joke anyday.

random sunday thoughts

i hate U2.
and socialists.
and anyone who takes themselves very seriously.
holy crap
what is playing on guy's itunes.
i can't let that thing go wild. oh it was joni mitchell.
i guess i'm not a joni mitchell fan either. is she serious?

"you only paint when you're crazy," he said.
it's true. it's a way away from blackout land.
it's a way away from destruction.
it's a place to put the energy.
it makes ugly paintings, that's too bad.

i dreamt last night that i was pregnant by my college boyfriend. it was present day, but guy and i had broken up for a bit nine months previously and that's when it happened. i was going to marry college boyfriend, and then it hit me, i don't actually want to do that, why am i doing it? i would be HAPPY right now if it was guy i was marrying, instead of walking around all mopey. i don't have to marry the person who inseminated me. this was all very revolutionary in my dream-brain. when i realized this me, guy, college boyfriend and maybe my sisters were swimming in the ocean. there were rapids too. it was difficult but mandatory, necessary to maneuver correctly.

when i realized i could marry guy and suddenly the whole dreary aspect of pregnancy and forced social customs didn't have to exist i was so happy, in my dream i could feel warmth spreading throughout my body, like a firefly.

"what happened to the door there in the wall"

i am going off of lexapro, the newest, coolest, most refined of anti-depressants.

i decided to go on it a year ago. i have past experience with SSRIs (namely 1996 - 2000) and have found that i am a situational depressive, not a chronic. for a non-chronic to stay on drugs indefinitely is for sure BIG BROTHER-ish. i refuse that. so, if i find out/feel that i'm behaving a little out of the ordinary for even a crazy artist type, i get on the drugs. i stay on for a while and then i get off, and i'm fine. until i feel "nuts" again (which is really a glorified overreation to events that are not as tragic as i perceive them to be), and then i'll go back on them.

i have been feeling spectacular lately. really great. my job. my man. my home. etc. good stuff. so i decided, hey, it's time to get off of these drugs that block my perception of things and the way that i process such perceptions.

and i feel fantastic. i'm so happy to get these drugs out of my brain and my body and i feel sane and able and good. and soon the 30Lbs. that mofo drug put on my body will be gone too.

i encourage people to do their own research, always, for all medical concerns, but especially those that are less researched, like mental health and treatment. doctors/pharmacists/pharmaceutical companies/the goverment would rather you just take them all the time. in fact, a regular medical doctor has the power to prescribe such drugs, without any study whatsoever in psychology or psychiatry. how ridiculous is that? would you have a foot doctor diagnose and prescribe a heart patient???

so, it's important to keep track yourself, do your own research, and make your own decisions because those guys: mds, phds, and whatever, don't really know. mental health is too new a science and the drugs they prescribe have barely any history or trial tests to pull information from. it's a fucking crapshoot and the guinea pigs, ironically, are the crazy people who most often can't give a doctor an accurate snapshot of what is happening if they tried their very hardest, especially if they're on freaking brain drugs.

just a thought.

What happens when your family goes from happy to rot?

my mom, who i love so much, who i feel i got my best traits from, has been visiting since thursday. she was to leave tomorrow.

she left today. it's 1:30 in the afternoon.

the fight started when i opened up a newspaper and said, "this is what your next car should be: the saturn SUV hybrid. then you'd have all the room you want and not be driving a gas-guzzler like this (plymouth voyager mini-van, the thing is gigantic.) she says, "no. i'm waiting for an ethanol." well, i read a lot and i haven't come across much on ethanol so i tell her, i think, mom, maybe those cars are more in the development stages and you could get a saturn, which you trust,for a reasonable price, that's a hybrid and start saving money and the environment now."

that is how the fight started. we were pulling out of the REI parking lot. she wanted to get guy a christmas present, i showed her what he would want, and we found a good thing for her to give him, and she was going to buy it outright. instead i encouraged her to look it up on the internet to find the best price because she's always talking about how pinched their finances are (because she and my stepdad have invested all their money in strip malls in a tiny town outside of amarillo, texas - needless to say i don't get this). she seemed upset. i explained how guy looked for a tent he wanted at REI and then found it online for $75 less. i said, why not do the same thing? her reaction seemed like i was pissing on her parade. nevertheless, we went out to the car and were headed to the new mall downtown, just so she could see how much san francisco is changing. this is a town she and i have shopped in since i was 8 years old and started to give a fuck about fashion. we were excited, but after the discussion about hybrids and ethanol, and as we're driving away, things got hairy. and hairier.

we got into the same old fights all of a sudden about my step-dad and my half-sisters and her and their crazy freaking way of living and my grandparents who died, who were the only voice of reason ever in my life and it just got BAD.

we pulled over, tried to discuss it some more, and she announced, i'm going home now (to carson city, nevada). i said you know, we could just say let's think about what we've talked about and continue on and have a nice day. NO. she says she is too upset. she wants to go home. i start tearing up. she tells me i'm crying hysterically.

we get home to mine and guy's house and while i pour a fat vodka and smoke a cigarette, she gets her stuff together. i help her put it in the car. i'm feeling very depressed that my mom is leaving this way...but it's happening. she gets in the car and drives away.

there are many lessons to learn, but driving away from them, is dumb. i have learned this. taking a few moments to think is smart, but driving 6 hours away from the problem is why we are still having the same problems. money. half-sisters. me, an only child in a way, college, who worked for it, who got a semester paid by them for it, who didn't work for it, who didn't get a semester paid...it's family.

my family used to rule. i used to think we were special and seperate from families who didn't like each other or who fought.

then it totally changed and we became that family, the fighting family, the family who rolls their eyes and says, "Well, i'm spending the holidays with my family, better bring the valium! ha ha ha." we are now the family who can't be around each other, and while there is love, there is little tolerance for anything psychologically challenging. there is driving away. there is closing doors.

there is vodka drinks on the front porch at 2pm in the afternoon on a saturday.

i have no answers. i don't know how to fix this.

Hell's Dells

dude, i'm on a dell!

holy crap i have been thrown into computer hell at my new job as a writer! dude, i want to kill this dell! how stupid the PC is with its inexact cursor and click and drag and stupid WORD, where you accidentally erase whole sentences when all you're trying to do is excommunicate a period!!

DUDE! the dell is hell! i can't believe how fucking tedious pcs are! i totally forgot after 10 years of nurturing my mac love.

it's no surprise that the higher-ups here at work, even though they're not artists, they too are writers, ARE ON MACS! huh, what a surprise!

"Rocket-powered and nailed to the ground"

anyone who says beck's new record isn't great, is only spoiled by his continued genius over the last ten years.

seriously. it's totally exciting and inspiring in new ways, in the same ways, in beautiful ways that his music has always been. heavy beats, hardRock, manic words, melodies that speak to your native language, amazing off-beat percussion, variation in style, perfectly produced: lo-fi, hi-fi and experimental.

why would anyone want to make beck compete with beck, anyway? be nice to beck. that wouldn't really work with his personality.

Halloween in Gaytown

the castro is insane right now. it's insane a lot, so really i should say that the castro is over-the-top-gonna-kill-ya-with-an-axe certifiable right now.

helicopters overhead.

28 port-o-pottys per block of two blocks of castro street, not counting the side streets.

one fire lane that they finally figured out should be set up, since no human can move in that crowd when it's at its peak, much less an emergency vehicle.

ahhhh, the thumping dj disco gaytown music just started and it's only 7pm. i do love the joyousness of gaytown. seriously. i just don't like the soundtrack.

what i am supposed to be doing tonight:

1. throwing a party
2. going to a friend's punk rock show at bottom of the hill
3. raging on castro street in a costume

what i am doing tonight (while incurring certain wrath of certain friends i am sure, and deservedly)

1. writing
2. working on a cookbook i'm writing for my friend's birthday present
3. eating vicodin
4. drinking red wine
5. reading courtney love's diaries which just came out today and yep, i already bought it, eschewing sale prices from amazon and the like for immediate gratification. that's what courtney would have wanted.

so, essentially, i have decided to do exactly what i want to do on halloween, living in the castro. yet another sign of growing up (meaning doing what i want, as a person who has to present copy to scary people tomorrow, for the first time ever in a new career/job.)

xo

ps. i am left wondering if "growing up" just means "growing old."

Stripe Woven Bullshit Lifestyle Pant

This is what i write for my online fashion company copywriter job:

5647301 Stripe Cotton Woven Pant
A clean sophisticated taupe and grey stripe is just the beginning of these casual and comfortable cotton spring pants. Adjustable drawstring waist and straight, wide leg ensure carefree movement and a sense of easy-going cool. Goes perfectly with the Vintage Zebra Logo Tee.

This is what i really want to write for my online fashion company copywriter job:

5647301 Stripe Cotton Woven Pant
A clean sophisticated taupe and grey stripe is just the beginning of these casual and comfortable cotton spring pants. Wear with loafers to the corner organic market. Buy mangos and jicama for the brunch you’ve invited your Napa valley in-laws to. Make sure to pick up sunscreen! Even though you have a market umbrella on your deck, that sun could ruin your luxe complexion and all those microdermabrasions would go to waste. The twill lining at the waistline means you’ll feel no pinch when your pants get tight as your wife’s best friend bounds out of her land rover in your driveway, only to throw her arms around you and say, “it’s so good to see you! I brought the mimosas!” This handsomely detailed spring pant is sure to keep you in the style of everyone else around you. There will be many forced social occasions your wife throws, that you’ll have to endure with vodka-crans and sneak-a-tokes in the side yard behind her painting studio, and you’re going to need easy artillery like the stripe cotton woven pant. Pair with the worn Heritage Fitted Polo styled with a frayed collar, arms and hem. You need to keep that hip factor up even though you’re wearing beige. Bottoms up sissy boy! You’ve really made the big time!!

monday night letter to guy (who's on vacation in mexico)

baby. i lost my grandaddy's teething ring necklace down a city drain on castro street. i tried for over an hour to get it out. two different methods, lots of people helping: walgreens, cliffs and strangers on the street. i could not get it, i couldn't even see it. the drain is too deep and partially under water.

i came home and freaked out. i hyperventilated. i called my sister and she tried to calm me down, she did a good job and then i started to freak out again. i felt myself going to a hateful place. my sister kept talking, telling me that grandaddy would hate to see me so upset, that he would have loved that i wore it and lost it rather than kept it in a box where i never saw it or touched it.

so i decided to walk myself back from the ledge, and i calmed down. i had a cigarette and then smoked some hash. i feel numbed but lucid about the ideas of things.

the truth is i wasn't careless, it wasn't my fault, i wasn't being stupid or cosmically undeserving of nice things, or reaping bad karma or all the things i say to myself. i wore the necklace the same i wear all of them. all my pendants on the same chain. why this one falls off? i can't fucking begin to understand.

maybe this is just another reminder that i'm holding on to my grandparents in an unhealthy way, through their belongings. belongings are not permanent and i cannot allow myself to put all my love for them and memories of them in such a faulty place, in things.

i love you.
me

Hey Now Brown Cow

i recently read that women over 35 need to tone down the amount of black they wear, that it makes them look old. i never thought of this before, never heard of it before. i find it curious then that i am suddenly, inexplicably, turning brown. going brown. i just bought two pairs of brown boots and a brown purse. i'm finding myself liking all shades of brown and i have been ANTI-brown my whole life. it's the color of shit, i have said. it's the color of people who live in fear. it's the color of no imagination.

i grew up in a house that did not experiment with color. ever. everything was brown. brown shag carpet. brown plaid sofa. white walls, dark brown wood laminate kitchen table. foam brown ceiling braces crossing the ceiling. brown vinyl flooring. the 70s were really all about brown and i have rejected it with disgust since forever. until now. until now that i'm reaching 40 and the time that, supposedly, to those who are paying attention to such things, the time that women should no longer go so heavy on the black.

guy says i wear black because i'm punk rock. well, i am punk rock, but that's not why! i say, nuh-uh! the truth is, i wear black because it is not brown. i proudly own 7 pairs of black boots. what other color would i have?

until now. everything is different now in 2006. i suddenly want to move to the country. and wear brown.

god help me, i guess i'm growing up. i guess it comes with the territory of haivng to seriously discuss something called "hysterectomy." i guess it comes on the heels of being treated as a grownup at work, not being micromanaged anymore. i guess it comes with the territory of really feeling that i am with the man i want to always be with.

brown? brown equals now.

The Burgler

i'm going to a party tonight in a big victorian house. the owners of the house, way old friends of most people who will be there, are in italy. we are all showing up at their house to party in burgler outfits. then we'll take pictures and it will be funny.

i wish so bad guy was going. then i could make him giggle all night, just by saying, "Burgled."

for guy (who is in mexico drinking dos equis right now):
burgled.
burgled.


burgled.


i've been burgled.

wanna get burgled?

(above, me, a mysterious burgler. barely caught on film)