Cacoethes Scribendi

2009-12-13T11:19:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the extended absence blog, since I spend about 6 hours a day writing for The Frisky, I usually want to run screaming from my computer when I'm done. I enjoy my job, especially when something I was proud of goes to ABC News or CNN, but there's something so fleeting about blogs. I can pour my heart out on day and five hours later, it's in the archives...it's kinda soul-crushing sometimes. So, in case you missed it on The Frisky, I'm going to repeat of a piece I wrote about my mother and music...since apparently I can't get it together to make anything an archive here.

How Singer/Songwriter Chris Garneau Helped Me Through My Mom’s Battle With Cancer

I vividly remember the best and worst night of my year. As Barack Obama cheered “Yes, We Can,” my mother was absent-mindedly thumbing what we all agreed was a lump on her chest. I took comfort in the fact that she said it hurt—cancer doesn’t hurt. She’ll be fine, I thought. But as we toasted champagne and hugged each other for Obama’s victory, with brows slightly furrowed, I prayed for my mother, my strong and stubborn mother. I didn’t go with her to the doctor—my father did. I probably slept until noon, which was a common occurrence since I’d just driven all my belongings and my cat 1,991 miles from New York City to Santa Fe in three days. I was jobless, tentatively moving to Los Angeles in a few months and had no idea what I was doing with my future. And it turned out that my 58-year-old mother, my best friend and deepest confidant, had breast cancer.

My mother fought hard, not once feeling sorry for herself, using her weakened energy to write disheartening newsletters about what she was going through. After a double mastectomy, she came home and I cooked pumpkin ravioli and roasted chickens. I kept shutting down the voice in the back of my head, that tiny voice warning me that the cancer could come back. Even though my lovable, inscrutably honest mother was here now, it didn’t mean she would always be here. What right did I have to keep two parents who’d both survived cancer?

I tried to play it off like I always do in awkward situations, making jokes to keep up her spirit, lovingly calling her “Cancer Momma,” using all my strength to hold back tears every time I saw her, and refusing to admit that she could ever be in any real danger. I secluded myself to the guesthouse and did what I always do when I need to silence my brain; I put on music. That winter, the only record I cared to listen to was Chris Garneau’s achingly beautiful Music for Tourists. I like to think of it as a more morose, less Jesus-loving Sufjan Stevens combined with something gypsy-like and Dresden Dolls-esque. I played that record on repeat for three months straight. I listened to it drinking alone in the guesthouse and driving around windy dirt roads lined with squat salmon adobe houses. “Looking for an exit signs, looking for a lucky nights, and my darkened and boring rhymes, face it we’re living in war times.” It resonated with me—every New York anxiety, every self-conscious/self-absorbed meandering, even in what seemed to be the most rural hippie-art colony in America. Every lyric hit the bruise in my heart.

I listened to the record, and it kept me in this magical sphere, bringing me just to the point where my eyelids filled with tears, but then keeping them there just before the saline spilled and forced me to smile at the cheeky, conflicted lyrics and painfully gorgeous melodies. “Men doing men thing times, chewing candy and tobacco lines, drinking heart pruned pints, tossing nickels and dimes.” I listened to it in the waiting room at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, while my mother received radiation. It kept me incubated in the world Chris had created, which was just like my world but more eloquent, less pathetic, and prettier. Afterward, I went wig shopping with her, trying on the most ridiculous and then scouring the store and finding the only one that looked like her. Feeling glowingly proud about winning each trial.

She survived the cancer, the double mastectomy, the radiation, and the chemotherapy. She survived the hair loss, traveling back and forth to the Mayo Clinic, and being tired all the time. In the spring, I moved to Los Angeles, because as hard as I tried to stay by my mother’s side while she healed, she refused to let me put my life on pause any longer. I retired Music for Tourists in the move, as it only reminded me of the winter I spent crying and self-medicating.

But one day, Ben, the drummer I’d loved all four years of college, came to town on tour. When I went to Melrose to pick him up, he was standing with an adorable, diminutive boy who said, “Hi, I’m Chris.” My heart sped up. Chris. Chris Garneau. The boy I worshiped in college was playing in Chris Garneau’s band. The boy I made matzo ball soup for when he was sick, and for whom I pretended I’d always liked Modest Mouse, was drumming in Chris Garneau’s band. He was playing with the beautiful man-child who kept me sane all winter. And so I watched this gorgeous man I still harbor an ocean of feelings for accompany this man I’d silently worshiped for months play one of the most powerful sets in my life. I felt like it had all come full circle. Of course this was how it would end, my lover and my musician savior, who had kept me safe while the woman who’d made me exactly who I am fought that bastard cancer to the ground, were performing right in front of my eyes. And while I watched Chris manipulate something that resembled an accordion and Ben seduce the drums, I thought about my proud mother and how she came out of the dark side of her tunnel, glowing and free of cancer. I cried in front of 40 strangers, and I thought about how much I idolize her, my dear mother, and I couldn’t have been more in the present, taking every breath in, for once in my life.

Stuff Boys Like

2009-05-17T23:19:00.000-07:00

A lot of guys don't admit to reading blogs. They probably like to pretend they read the news and ultimate fighting recaps or something. But judging from the blogs directed at the male audience, there are several things guys in general are into... in general: phones, side boob, Home Depot, and fight clubs.

Go Go Gadget. You know how girls dress well to impress other women? Well that's how men are about phones. Having the newest model of a phone is like the boy equivalent of having a Chanel suit...except instead of being timeless, there will be a new model every six or so months. Boy gadget blogs are like phone catalogs where every phone is a precious work of art, described in great detail, and anxiously awaiting its unveiling. Boy Genius Report If guys treated their women like they treat their phones, we would be very much appreciated...oh wait but then there'd be another model to covet every six months. Crap.

The Other Boob. According to our trend watch, cleavage is totally passe, anyone who is anything is rocking side boob. For some reason guys are obsessed to the point of shunning whole boob in favor of just side boob. Maybe it goes back to that vixen/virgin conundrum and side boob comes off as more innocent or accidental than a contrived push-up bra? Or because side boob is generally the product of a bra-less breast? Sideboob.org I can't believe there's a website devoted to the topic, what's next underboob? Oh wait...that's apparently a thing too. WTF.

Home Improvement. No matter how pansy-ass your man is, chances are he likes to pretend or succeed in building stuff. Men take great pride in their handyman skillz. This is why it pays to push a cart around your local Home Depot in heels and a hoodie. This College Humor girl knows what's up, "Favorite Smell: The lumber section at Home Depot---nothing like fresh cut wood." CollegeHumor You know hearing that makes boys want to build you a loft with their bare hands...so all sweaty and covered in sawdust, you guys can cuddle and stuff. Er...I mean do it.

Fight Clubbed. It's no secret that every guy loves the movie Fight Club. It unleashed every aggressive unrequited inkling in boys across the country. Even if a guy isn't actually tough, he's like to think that he could take another guy in a fight. They probably size each other up in the same way girls do when they're hitting on the same guy. Can I take this guy? Hell yeah, I'm scrappy son. That's how guys talk in their head. Even if a guy knows he's going down, he'll fight because losing is still cooler than just watching a fight. Gavin McInnes who founded Vice Magazine went ahead and got his butt kicked to prove this point. StreetBonersandTVCarnage I'm not sure what to compare fighting with in girl world, maybe starting an excellent debilitating rumor or finding nice clothes on sale? I don't really get girls. Any suggestions?

Be Good or Be Gone

2009-05-04T16:02:00.001-07:00

Cherry blossoms are blooming outside. My roommate's run away. Where should I go? I'm thinking Portland? Los Angeles is brilliant. It's beautiful and sunny and growing. I haven't done much with myself since moving here though. Sarah and I had an epic yardsale and the Hearts Challenger ice cream truck and the Tamale Guy came and there were lots of super attractive people I didn't know there. Then Sarah and I met this guy Matt who took us to Vegas for a weekend and fed us lots of Cheesecake Factory. It was awesome. My best friends Saskia and Demetra both visited me already so I got to explore the city with them a bit. I made some new friends and tried dating a bit but I went out with three guys in LA and every time we went out, we had to split the bill! I'm by no means a gold-digger and have really only dated totally broke dudes but when a guy asks you out I feel like he should pay and then I'll make him an awesome dinner and give him a bj maybe. It wasn't ever an issue in New York and 2/3 guys I've dated here have real jobs! I'm a blogger for gawd sakes! Buy me dinnnnerrrr! And it's not like they expect you to put out any less after not buying you dinner. Oh and then I got AIM booty-called by this actor I interviewed once and he hasn't contacted me since. I pride myself on not playing games but I think as a token of respect, a frickin' text message is in order. I have a date tomorrow with a guy who I met at Amoeba, but he's already called me three times in two days so he might be crazy. I hate talking on the phone so it's kinda doomed. I don't really know what to do with myself these days...I'm looking at classes now to keep me busy and might (shudder) apply for an internship to get some entertainment industry experience and have a reason to leave the house more than once a week. I don't feel actually depressed yet though...I feel pretty good-ish actually. It's probably the sun. Or the pretty boys I'm not dating. Or maybe it's just knowing that I got out of New York alive.

Habana Outpost Coming West Coast

2009-05-04T15:40:00.000-07:00

My new friend, eco-restaurateur Sean Meenan is as earnest as they come, which is maybe a surprising description for a former Heavyweight Boxing Champ. 40-year-old Sean keeps himself busy, he was the original investor for Etsy.com, the DIY shopping community and Positively Green, the new women's environmental magazine. Meenan also started the awesome nonprofit Habana Works, Inc which hosts monthly workshops on sustainable energy and allows aspiring environmental architects to create environmentally-minded architectural projects that are incorporated into Sean's restaurant Habana Outpost.

Manhattan's Cafe Habana and Habana To Go, and the corresponding eco-eatery, Habana Outpost in Brooklyn were inspired by owner Sean Meenan not just as restaurants, but as chill neighborhood meeting spots that happen to provide social consciousness. The dining experience at Habana Outpost has a totally festive family barbecue feeling...if your family had magically became eco-conscious, Mexican/Cuban, and unabashedly hip. This summer, we're psyched to announce that a Habana Outpost will be sprouting in Venice and negotiations are underway for a Cafe Habana in Malibu's trendy Lumber Yard shopping center.

The festive outdoor venue, Habana Outpost, runs on (and supplies part of the neighborhood with) solar energy from the roof's solar panels. The plant-dappled rainforest-y restrooms use recycled rainwater to flush the toilets. And all the utensils, cups, and plates are compost-able (and shock of all shocks, actually composted) and made from sugarcane, corn, or potato starch. There's even a stationary bike-powered blender to blend your own smoothies (or pay an extra dollar to have the staff pedal), but working up a thirst makes it way more delicious!

Famous for their frozen mojitos and Mexican grilled corn with chili, lime, and cojita cheese, Habana also offers a full menu highlighted by the the catfish burrito, cuban sandwich with roast pork, ham, swiss cheese, pickles, and chipotle mayo, and cactus salad with a delicious melange of radishes, tomatoes, queso fresco, and cilantro in a spicy lemon dressing. If the food guilt from eating three dinners is killing you, just hop back on the blender bike and think about all the eco-friendly things you did today!

there we go again, so unsure about it. who we are and where we've been.

2009-04-07T02:10:00.000-07:00

If you trace the topography of your love life, could you ever determine if you've come to the destination or if maybe it's just where your car got totaled? Maybe it's where your heart got totaled...remained leaking, sputtering, totaled for three years. If the engine needs replacing, is the vessel salvageable or must you wait for the cells to regenerate into a non-version of what it/you, once were? Maybe if you open the locked files and pour over the details you'll find the story arc. Maybe you'll find another peak to climb. Or maybe you're Sisyphus and you're pushing your totaled heap/heart up a hill only to have it crush you again? Is it a lost cause? Can you figure out from the map you've traveled whether you're damaged goods or whether you're the damager? Maybe you left your own trail of totaled parts behind you. Who puts out the damage report on future lovers? Those walking wounded? If you compile the letters-relationships mapped out but never driven and unfurl the mixtape soundtrack, maybe you could give it all back. The bands introduced, knowledge shared, kisses stolen. If you re-trace your route, could you figure out where you made that wrong turn? If it was a wrong turn? Perhaps every punctured tire, heart-heavy hitchhiker, accidental bridge crossing, were written into your map in the smallest of print? Every time you think you made a wrong term, you're where you are, where you're meant to be, you can't get lost enough.

I found a journal in my high schooled castaways, started from the beginning. The first-this is it-in a long line of I thought it was it before but now I know(s). I found a letter I wrote to myself as a seventeen-year-old girl to the same seventeen-year-old girl 9 months later. Sympathetic. Hurting. Acknowledging hurt. I found the letters from half a dozen love affairs never entered but fully emotionalized. Those tucked-in notes and creased secrets. Very real, very temporary feelings. The immensity of knowing no. this. is. it. And losing it. Laying the map out will probably do nothing to determine where I'm going but sometimes it helps to know where you've been and how you pushed through to now. Ticking. Sleepless. Now.

The Worst Part's Almost Over

2009-03-20T00:50:00.000-07:00

I know... it's been a minute. So I'm living in Hollywood with Sarah Morrison and Weetzie Bat. We have a super cute house that I've been decorating/fixing for the past month and we both have blogging jobs. I'll share more details when it launches of course. But I'm about to go into a new mode up in here, because I'm bored talking about the now and wish to write about the past/future I guess? So I thought I'd put it in real time first and introduce you to my new life...through pictures I took with my awesome new camera! I've been working on my ellipses usage lately, but I'm afraid it's not working out. :( It's nearly 7 o'clock in Los Angeles and the sun's still out. Weetzie is sitting next to me, cleaning her face with her paws. Sarah is at the end of our couch, blogging and sporadically commenting. I painted our living room mustard yellow because it's my new second favorite color...after moss green of course. So we've got the all important Pee Wee Herman shelf complete with Annie commemorative plates and mustache smorking labbit. I've got three antlered wall-mounted creatures so far...this one's from Show in Los Feliz...but it lived with me in Brooklyn before returning to where it belongs, with me, back in California! I found this super random Ronald Reagan portrait (it's made up of a speach he made-the words are the lines in the print) and I painted the background mustard. OMG. You're so bored already...I guess I could have just posted pictures but I already uploaded them all small and now there's all this white space between the pictures and it feels really necessary! Ack! So, um, below we have an Ikea rug and chair, but I got the chair at Goodwill used. I made the log pillow with a log pillow kit from ReForm School in Los Feliz or is it Silverlake? I don't really know where I am half the time. Sometimes, when I've run out of errands to run, I start driving one way down a street and see where it takes me. Usually, it's into a mountain over here. I guess I live in some kind of valley? But not the valley? I spent weeks scouring craigslist for mid century modern furniture and Eames era everything. Then I scoured Etsy.com for vintage wallpaper for the kitchen and ended up with this brown on cream bicycle pattern! It ended up only being enough for one wall, but it's pretty cute. I think. I've been having some frustrating days where I don't leave the house and stress about not making enough money to support myself...but then I have awesome days where I wake up, look up at the warm blue sky and bristling palm trees and feel pretty excited to be in California. It's pretty amazing being two hours from Mexico, thirty minutes from the beach, and less than a days drive from Portland, San Francisco, Las Vegas, and Santa Fe. My mom's been writing me long emails telling me that she's worried about my current lifestyle (i.e. not leaving the house) might keep me from meeting my future husband. Meanwhile, I have no desire to be in another relationship right now. I'm in no rush to get married until I am in a place where I can be really proud of myself...not to mention I'm still emotionally bruised from my last venture to that place. Can't a girl catch a breather? I don't really want to get hooked into anything I'm not 100% excited about...which I have a tendency to do. It's much easier right now and be selfish in my new city with my new house! Yesterday, Sarah and I went hiking in Griffith Park and then drove to Santa Monica where we went shopping (with gift certificates) for a couple hours and then went to some awful Senior Frogs-esque joint full of guys that looked like un-stretched Stretch Armstrong dolls. But the place wasn't that awful because we were both exhausted and satisfied and 2-for-1 Watermelon margaritas are delicious. I hate to say it, but I feel optimistic. Sure, there's not much going right right now, but at least it's not going right somewhere where the sun can hit my shoulders and the stars can find me. Maybe my days of indulging in my own unhappiness are over. Maybe they're just going to be a different flavor.

California Dreaming: The TV Show

2009-01-22T17:35:00.000-08:00

It's been a couple weeks...relatively boring weeks. I went to Minnesota with my mom and while wandering around the Mall of America, I got a call. I got a call about a job. I got a call about an awesome job that I started last week! It's a blogging job for a site that doesn't officially launch until the end of February, but we're perfecting it now and it's gonna be totally awesome and for the first time in awhile, I feel good about my writing! I get to write about random news and I learn things every day. Nothing I've written in the past really had any affect on anything and now I feel like I can talk about things that interest me in my own voice without dumbing anything down! Super excited! Now I just need a part time job in LA and I'll be up in the mornings scanning the world for weird things to write about. Then I'm gonna lay around on the beach and make Erika and Sarah Mo come with me. Other awesome things happening, I blogged about Gilt Groupe on Missbehave, it's this super awesome sample sale site (they're having a HUGE sale right now...I bought a shirt and a dress for $50), anyway, whenever someone you invited buys something, you get $25 and apparently 169 people signed up from my link! So yeah, I bought presents for Erika and Sarah and me! I'm getting in my car next Friday, visiting my buddies in Vegas and then moving to Los Angeles officially (and finally). There'll be new drama, new friends, a new home, and lots of awesome new boys to makeout with (hopefully). In other fun news, I found this website called Iron Hymen today that's hil-arious. The road ahead is looking pretty awesome...I have no idea how I'm so excited right now but I'm gonna roll with it! Love you, mean it!

Hip Teens Don't Wear Blue Jeans

2009-01-07T21:05:00.001-08:00

In preparation for my move to LA, where I'll be living (at least at first...if not FOREVER) with Sarah Morrison and my new friend Erika Paget (woohoo!), I've been planning a wardrobe and beauty makeover! It is imperative that I plan who I want to be and what my shoes, impending homelessness, job, and hair color will say about me. I bought some LUSH bright red henna...cause my usually strawberry blonde is starting to look strawberry erm...green? It looks like a giant green block of chocolate...but I guess once I melt it down I'll be on my way to Jessica Rabbit locks in no time? My mom and I bought a CHANEL suit to share (I get the skirt and belt!!! Mom gets the jacket...terribly on sale of course), I'm not sure how I managed this...I think my mom saw the sparkle in my eye when I asked her to take my picture in it. I got some great pencil skirts at J.Crew and may I say, they've REALLY upped their style, they must have gotten all new designers! I've also had my eyes on these Moscot nerd frames...Lesley Arfin and Brooke have some like them and I'm way jealous. Too bad my eyes are damn near perfect. Maybe I'll spend more time reading in the dark? I have no idea what I'll be doing. I'm going to send applications out to various magazines in LA (Flaunt, Mean Magazine) and to some Talent Agencies, TV/Film Production companies...but I really don't want to have to start at the bottom again after three years in magazines! Jesus...three years. I've been throwing around all sorts of other ideas...Sarah Mo and I need a reality tv show, we could write a roadtrip book, or a tell-all magazine book, or what it's like to live in a trailer, or we can both work at Cinespace. OOOORRR, I could open a hunting lodge-themed bar (where I would serve awesome bar food like homemade beef jerkey, soups, and homemade goat cheeses) or (as my dad wishes) a bakery/catering company...but the last two require tricking someone into giving me large amounts of money and perhaps figuring out whether LA is the right place for me to settle down for a spell. I'm terrified, excited, and terrified again! Any words of advice? Career advice? LA advice? Fashion/beauty advice? Should I just jump in and see what happens and stop stressing? Please say it's that one...

Why Can't We Be Friends?

2009-01-05T06:42:00.000-08:00

Like I mentioned yesterday, I saw my ex best friend Hester this week. I blogged about her on Missbehave about seven months ago, so it's been about two and a half years since we'd shared a single word. We met in health class sophomore year of high school...she was the converse and leopard-sporting punk rock girl and I was the converse and plaid-sporting new girl I guess? I think we bonded when the health teacher asked us what we ate all week and I brought in an empty bag of frozen corn (my parents were out of town). Then we shared one of those crying plastic babies for those early parenting classes. Everyday, one of us spent the evening sewing intricate outfits and it was also the only doll with zero minutes of crying (since everyone else threw them in their lockers)! So, fast forward seven years and we're finally decorating our dreamhouse apartment in Bushwickw after moving in together when I graduated from college. I painted. She went out. I worked a couple jobs. She took some classes. I went a little nuts and couldn't hack living with her cause she's always a little nuts and the crazy had built on itself until I couldn't support it and I guess she didn't know it was there. I moved across the street with our mutual best friend Demetra. So we hadn't talked in forever and I lived in fear that we'd run into each other. I had nightmares. I ran out of Beacon's Closet when I saw she was at work. Anyways, she called me last week and we sat down for drinks. My palms were sweating, I half expected her to come in and throw my drink in my face and leave. We talked it out. Two drinks later, we were buddies again and I'm more relieved than I ever imagined I would be. We went thrift store shopping, we went over two years worth of stories of boys, jobs, friends, favorite things, etc. and realized we hadn't swayed so far from each other but have grown into little women. Demetra's gonna kill me for being a traitor, but it's a huge relief not feeling like I have to hide from someone who was once my best friend. Now we're working on a movie. Well...we got drunk and devised a plan to make a movie involving mustaches, godzilla, heroes and heroines. Should it come together, like so few of our outlandish plans, I will make it known...you know, by winning an oscar and being hailed as the next/better whatsherfacewhowroteJuno! Yay! Naranja Julius for everyone!

I don't feel any different: This is not a love song

2009-01-04T20:32:00.000-08:00

The new year. It's common for people to make outlandish promises to themselves with no intentions of following through. I never bother because I want the same things every year and I know perfectly well that they would happen if I put forth any effort. This year, I want to get a fantastic job , eat more vegetables, try new things, live without fear of failing, and make fun friends in LA. I read my astrologyzone today, which had a hopeful view of the next two months! Except I know a bunch of virgos and there's no way we're all gonna be happy. I'm in Minnesota at Mayo Clinic with my mom, she's asleep under the polyester bed-spread next to me, snoring lightly. I'm supposed to be taking care of her but have been stricken with a sore-throat and case of new year-paranoia. I'll be up at 6:30am to hit the hospital. It's been a crazy good week or so anyway! Minus New Year's Eve when I kissed my ex boyfriend (see depressed myspace blogs) and he made an "ugh" noise...and some girl he was going to take home glared at me later. I almost went back in to punch her in the vag...but I figured she'd be getting enough of that later. On happier notes, I finally had cuddlefest with guys! First with my ex-boyfriend who proceeded to whine for half an hour afterwards...seriously, this guy has turned into the biggest vagina. He was all, wahhh I've been seeing this girl for a few months. And I was all well, we just did it, it was awesome, you can't possibly like this girl that much if you forgot to mention her until after we'd slept together. I told him I felt no guilt, I felt awesome, and then I went home smiling. The next morning my mom told me I looked so much happier since I'd spent time with friends (instead of staying home and cooking for her all day)...I told her I did it to Matt. She wasn't impressed. Then my best friend Alex told me I looked about ten years younger. Awww, the power of hate sex. A few days later, I was at a party where the ex glared at me from a corner the ENTIRE night. I don't know what his deal is, must be on his period. Hardly talked to me, just chugged scotch and wonkily stared. So...I went home with my friend and we got breakfast burritos in the morning. Next night, I went to my 2 dearest friends' show (ex was flirting with ugly chicks) and I saw my ex best friend which was terrifying...but I'll get into in my next blog. This one is about me making out with mad dudes. After the show, I gave the drummer a ride home. So, in relation to boys, in my experience, every time I have sex, it seems like a swarm of boys suddenly realize I exist! What is that about? Is it because you're suddenly confident? Can they smell it on you? Do they just want what everyone else is having? When I had my last major relationship, about eight different guys appeared and demanded to know why I had a boyfriend! Like they gave a shat that I was single to begin with? So that's my rant about boys. Anyone else start the new year off with a bang?

Jingle Balls

2008-12-20T23:01:00.000-08:00

Happy Holidays! I spent the day making cookies and preparing festive food with my mom. Mostly, she entertained a friend and decorated cookies. It was a good time anyway...for some reason I feel like I accomplished a lot today? I guess we did go grocery shopping at two grocery stores, rented movies, and bought a torch to make baked alaskas. I didn't write though. I didn't revise the piece I just wrote for Missbehave. Oh well. I think I'm just starting to get comfortable with this being home thing. Not seeing anyone at all but my mother seems to help. So my mom wanted to watch this movie called Far North because she heard it was good. It was about these cute eskimos who have to move around the tundra a bunch or some whiteys will kill them. Then they find a nearly dead whitey who they both fall in love with. The younger eskimo says they're going to run away together, so older eskimo cuts off her fucking face and wears it!!!! wtf! I totally didn't see it coming and there needs to be warnings on movies if that shit's going down! Right? So then we had to watch a whole 'nother movie to get the awful awful image unburned from our tender corneas. So we watched an Audrey Tautou movie called Priceless. It's adorable and kinda like Amelie, except she's a gold-digging fashion horse! The other night, my friend Alex and I went to every bar in Santa Fe for drinks. I don't really remember paying for them...but I'm sure I did. Kinda sure. I vaguely remember reading someone else's Playboy and then kissing Alex at the bar. It probably looked a lot like the kiss above only less hot, with more falling, and without facecutter watching from a distance. I need someone who's not my platonic best friend to make out with...I've got my eyes on the produce guy at this hippie grocery store but I'm pretty sure he has a wallet chain and a bowl cut. I bet he tastes like sixth grade. I also ran into a director/screenwriter I used to work with way back when I donned costumes and pretended to be anyone but myself...oh I guess I'm still doing that...anyway, he's going through a divorce and I'm wondering if it would be sketchy if I asked him to coffee. Not that I want to undress him with my teeth or anything. But it's kind of weird being of a more "adult" age and not knowing how to relate to those who've been adults for a bit longer. I have no idea how he envisions me now. Am I still a sixteen-year-old drama geek in his eyes? Or a 25-year-old straight-out geek? On an unrelated note, here's my bee tattoo!

Baby's Romance

2008-12-15T12:52:00.000-08:00

Have you ever considered someone to be a friend for years and then, at some point in time, you're forced to spend a couple days with them and realize that you absolutely, positively hate them and can't figure out how you ever got along in the first place? Yeah, I'm there. My friend called upon me to assist him on a photoshoot. Even though he refused to pay me, I had nothing better to do and was open to seeing someone outside of my Santa Fe friends. We had a good time at the bar mitzvah and headed to a divey sports bar for drinks...where he proceeded to leave me alone for 40 minutes "going to the bathroom". Turns out he was on the phone with his girlfriend. Okay, this requires a back story, we had been seeing each other for a few months when our mutual friend confides in me that he is seeing another girl and just keeping me around as his dish on the side. Now, I don't have trouble finding men who want to date me. I'm generally the one not interested in anyone at all, so for some prick to be two-timing me, is fucked up. We stopped talking for a while, he occasionally solicits me for im sex. I decline. He sends me porn at work. Fast forward to now: he won't stop poking me, has a retort to anything I say, bitches about suitcases at thrift stores costing seven dollars, leaves his shit EVERYWHERE, tracks snow all around the house, and has not ONCE, not even once, asked me about my life, about my mom's cancer, about how I feel about anything. He refuses to watch any of the shows I like, insisting on watching football or the news. He grabs my boobs and puts his cold feet on my warm legs. He wears my father's robe wide open so that not only am I utterly repulsed by his hairy pregnant belly, but I will always feel a perversion to my father in his robe now. I don't know why I maintain friendships with utter losers who make me feel like shit. He's not the only one! Guys who have continually used me as a doormat, broken my heart, bruised my ego, etc. I want to be their best friends! Why is that? Why can't I just cut assholes out of my life? What is it about me that only attracts sexually deviant, manipulative babies? Am I asking for it? Am I deviant? How do you cut these guys out of your life? I feel like the more self confident I get, the more I'm able to say "no" and say "you're an ass, this is why..." but keeping these guys around at all is detrimental to a continuous growth of self-confidence. Yeah, they think I'm cute/funny/will buy them drinks maybe but none of them like me enough to actually treat me well! Fuck. Guys are fired from my life. (Except for Alex and Ryan...and my dad as long as he's not wearing that robe). I refuse to be any man's port in a storm. They've got to start appreciating the things I do to take care of them and then take care of me when I need them! Power to the peoples.

Queen of Squash Blossoms

2008-12-02T21:43:00.000-08:00

Something about being home is extremely isolating. It's so strange being surrounded by the same boy faces from high school, but now we're supposed to be adults. I slept in a bed last night in between two of my closest male friends, as if we were siblings. I like to imagine myself as 'one of the boys' because I'm at least as crude and can generally follow a conversation about comic books or video games. But I miss my girls! I miss consuming whole pizzas with Sarah Morrison, trying new pork products at fancy New York restaurants with Mary HK Choi, sake and sushi night with Demetra...even just sitting in the office, laughing at ridiculous emails and instant messaging from two feet away. I don't know how much I can organize my life from my parent's guest house...I'm already antsy to leave. The sky gets dark so early, my drinks get drunken so quickly, and I wake up hurting in one way or another every day. Today, I spent about 3 hours researching apprenticeships at goat cheese farms. Turns out, you can work at a farm, live for free, get fed, and in some cases, get paid while learning how to create a sustainable environment for yourself. God, I'm totally turning into a hippie.
For dinner, I made a pear and avocado salad with crumbled goat cheese, lemon olive oil, and aged balsamic. It was kinda gross unless you ate the avocados first. I've done that a few times...made awful salads that I could barely eat. I'm usually pretty awesome with my food intuition...it's hard when you really want two things that are utterly incompatible. Huh. I think I accidentally just made a giant metaphor for my life. Crap. I'll assume that metaphor has something to do with wanting to do exactly what I want to do while sacrificing everything necessary for basic survival...but come from insanely motivated parents who won't call something a real job unless you are compensated fairly, in which case, I've never had a real job. I don't even know how to do a job hunt. I did make a website, which shut up my parents for a couple hours in the hassling department. Everything up to this point has flowed into the rest. Now I have to figure out if I have anything valuable and convince everyone else of it. So far, the only jobs of interest have been back in New York and I really don't want to go back unless I have enough money to live comfortably! Job searching is depressing though, I kind of assumed that New York was the one place where companies could get away with not paying their employees minimum wage because they're getting experience they couldn't get anywhere else but it looks like LA is just as bad, just in different fields. Am I ready to jump back into the lion's mouth of city life? I know I can't stay here and I'm not sure whether taking a month off to learn how to make goat cheese would benefit me...I kinda just want to exist for a while though! It seems that might be much harder than diving in deep and letting your life go over your head.

You Can't Go Home Again

2008-11-23T21:19:00.000-08:00

Today was slightly better. I need to accept that I am kinda homeless now in some purgatory until I move to Los Angeles and find a new life for myself of some sort. I watched two of my closest friends get tattooed at Four Star today, Alex got a red umbrella to finish the bottom half of his sleeve and Ryan got a tiny ghost and "boo!" on the inside of his lip. It looked painful...thinking about getting "scrappy" inside mine, but am afraid I may have stolen that from someone else. Weetzie Bat is sleeping on my butt and I'm in for the night at 10pm which is miraculous. So, um, I'm going to Albuquerque with my ex tomorrow while he auditions and I sell 60% of my closet. I know it's really stupid of me to spend time with him now that I got over him well...yesterday? But I'm hoping it won't be awful and if I'm real lucky, he'll look like shit and I'll remember that there has got to be someone out there who'll love me for reals.

I watched Superbad last night, I forgot how fucking funny it is! (Still really awkward swearer). I'm going to interview Jonah Hill some point in the next few months...pretty excited. Must seduce him into friendship. I've got like 3 friends in LA now. It sucks starting over from scratch when a lot of people are probably settling into adulthood friendships. Wait, do people do that? I don't know. I'm sure everything will be peachy keen. Clark Duke simply has to hang out with me now that we're in love and all. Even though I haven't heard from him since I texted him during Sex Drive to let him know that I was watching him get a blow job...and that it was awkward. Hope I didn't give him the impression that the movie sucked. Zack and Miri Make a Porno was probably worse...even though I adore everyone involved and would probably see both movies again. Crap. No gumption.

I got a package Sarah Morrison sent me that contained a gift and thank you note from Betsey Johnson...she sent a Vosges chocolate Dias de los Muertos skull and $300 gift certificate. It is probably the best thing that's ever happened to me, second only to the time she hugged me. I fucking love that woman. She must be the nicest person to ever live. I'm trying to figure out what I can send her...I'm thinking pinon brittle and maybe one of those little Mexican skeletons in a tutu or something? With a letter maybe begging for her to hire me. Nylon is hiring an assistant to the editor in chief...I wonder how mad Missbehave would be if I moved back for that job? JK. I can't come back to New York until I get rich...and even then I think I might prefer sunshine, good produce, and medical marijuana. It's really weird watching shows set in New York now though...I don't necessarily feel remorseful but it's kinda like watching your ex make out with a hot chick.

We Hurt the Same Black and Blue

2008-11-23T00:16:00.000-08:00

I've been drinking too much. This is not an unique realization, but the fact that I've given myself alcohol poisoning more times in the past month than the rest of my life disturbs me. Generally, I only drink too much before a nervous life venture or when something awful has happened. It's a combo now. I'm home in Santa Fe for two months, looking at jobs and apartments in LA and letting my Missbehave responsibilities fall by the way side a bit while I wallow in a half sleep half depressive state. Kicking sand and staring into half-empty coffee mugs.

Drinking half bottles of Bourbon and spending time with my best friend Alex. I feel like I've been imprisoning him a bit. There are only a couple people here that I can stand at all. I've had a breakthrough in my quest to fall out of love with my ex-boyfriend Matt. We had one awkward sleeping-not-touching thing (where he insinuated that lovestruck me couldn't control myself around him) followed by him texting me after snorting some pills asking for help. I went to rescue him. Him, blacked out on a gallery couch. After an hour of coaxing, I managed to get him awake and angry enough to storm out where he stared at me with such drunken hatred that I told him to hit me. He didn't. BUT, and here's where my moral dilemma stems, the next day I told him he did. I told him my nose wouldn't stop bleeding for half an hour to see if it was broken. I told him next time he gets drunk and snorts painkillers to lay in his own puke and think about how awful he's been to people that love him. He had no issue believing this and told me he felt awful and loved me. Now he loves me. Only when he thinks he's beaten me, he loves me. He loves me but not in that way. It was a breakthrough on so many levels. He doesn't love me. He believes he is capable of hitting someone he "loves". I think I'm finally free! But now I think it's the loneliest place I've been in years and years. No one to love. Not even unrequited. Useless.

Now my mother is at Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. She found a lump in her breast, they found another. She refuses to label herself a cancer survivor. She's already past it and she still has lumps and radiation and scalpels in her future. I'm scared. I don't know what I would do if I lost my mother. I always imagined that I would move in with the remaining parent and take care of them if anything happened. I always imagined that happening far into the future. I cry spontaneously at bars and in grocery shops. I might not make it to LA until February if I go to Minnesota with her for her radiation. I don't even know what I'm doing. At all. I'm faking it now. The drunk keeps me in charge but irresponsible, uncontrolled. I feel like I'm falling.

We Don't Try

2008-10-25T19:06:00.000-07:00

When I'm holed up in my self-absorbed bubbledom, it's really easy to forget how important friends are and how accessible happiness can be. It's hard when your life isn't following the path you've carved out for it to flow into...when it seeps into awkward cracks in the sooted sidewalk. I've been packing for weeks. Things keep appearing...heavy pointy things mostly. Meanwhile, I've cut off two knuckles, managed to burn my thumb white with a lit match, and wisely decided to get a wrist tattoo a week before leaving New York. I do love New York though. This week, I went to Sylvia's in Harlem...where I've wanted to go since I read Francesca Lia Block in middle school. I think it was Witch Baby, maybe? I ate chicken and waffles. Then my friends (Saskia and Joe and Joe's cousin) and I went to Korea Town...which is actually just two blocks. Apparently people are eating panda in New York...as unlikely as that seems. Some of the swankier clubs didn't readily welcome whiteys but we managed drunkeness and ate Korean barbeque and kimchee. It was fun to visit parts of New York most people don't bother to visit I guess. I have no regrets of leaving...but I suppose regrets are one of those things that hit you after the fact. I don't know. I have no idea how I'm going to manage a cross-country trip in a week. I have so many tidbits, Weetzie might go nuts, and it might take four days. So...obviously, my mind is all over the place. I'm kinda really excited to get to Santa Fe though! And erm, not just because I'm still in love with my ex boyfriend and may or may not want to trick/convince him to move to Los Angeles with me. It's also cause my best friend Alex is there now and if my ex won't have me, I won't be left to my drunken self! So, back to packing the knives.

Finding My Way...Away

2008-10-22T23:28:00.000-07:00

"One final paragraph of advice: Do not burn yourself out. Be as I am-a reluctant enthusiast... a part time crusader, a half-hearted fanatic. Save the other half of yourselves and your lives for pleasure and adventure. It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it is still there. So get out there and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, encounter the grizz, climb the mountains. Run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, that lovely, mysterious and awesome space. Enjoy yourselves, keep your brain in your head and your head firmly attached to your body, the body active and alive, and I promise you this much: I promise you this one sweet victory over our enemies, over those desk-bound people with their hearts in a safe deposit box and their eyes hypnotized by desk calculators. I promise you this: you will outlive the bastards."—Edward Abbey

I've got little more than a week left in New York...and I'm already happier knowing there's a light at the end of my tunnel. Looking back at my old blogs and journals, it's apparent that I've been depressed more than I've been happy here. I've met a couple people who've made a huge impact in me in a short time. I've worked my ass off, sometimes in 3 jobs at a time, and I finally kinda feel proud of myself. At a Women's Writer's Conference in June, I had an epiphany; I can write anywhere! While I've been killing myself to be where the action is...I've kinda stopped caring about the action itself. I don't really know what's in store for me, but my priorities have changed and I'm looking forward to wide blue skies, close friends, and new adventures. I know—pure cheez. It's my first lapse of optimism ever, give me a break! In honor of my new found freedom, a quote from a little over a year ago, when the depression was nearly swallowed the both of us whole...is it troublesome that my writing is rubbish when I'm not an utter mess?

"Ah, the summer's hand lays heavy on this land and what is left of it suffocates the heavy-headed who can afford it. What is there to be excited about at this age? It's just like every other day but with excess sweat behind the knee caps and brow. Working the same jobs, holding out before the inevitable collapse. But for what? It's as if my body is going without me, pouring itself into everyday tasks without my mind...without that heart which remains tangled. So it appears that I will continue going ahead without it because I've been given no choice. My hand held out, you chose to push it away. So these days I carry on, somehow managing to push through sunrise day by day. For only just my arms are dancing marionettes. Surprised to wake up every morning...dumbfounded by some persistence I didn't know I had.

It's been 20 days since my last day off...only 3 more until the next. Editing for hours until I can leave to bartend at a restaurant of the unhinged...arriving home in the wee hours. Standing idly in a white sunlit store, writing for no extra money...pulling by bloody fingernails to the next job. Still left with barely enough money for rent. What for? So that I can afford to do what I love. To do it alone...because I've sacrificed something in pursuit of my only dream. I wanted this so badly. Here it is and it will take everything in me to keep it up. I will keep on wondering if I could have had the other life, if you would have let me stay. But in the meantime, I am here. Here in the humid, as vulnerable as always, perhaps more so. Imagining that one day I will pull out of this city, feeling that I've conquered something, move to the west coast...slowly through these states."