I'm in a State (Of the Union) Year 2

So I always like to write during the State of the Union because when I yell, it annoys Devon. Last year I wrote a poem--this year I had an AIM chat with Marina:

[Marina]: state of the fucking union
[Marina]: woooo
ikanread: [commence yelling at tv]
[Marina]: i heart you
ikanread: i heart you too
[Marina]: hahaha
[Marina]: thats funny
ikanread: "Every time the president smiles or chuckles when he's talking about something scary and awful, like giant battlegrounds and forces of evil, smile and chuckle along with him — Haw haw haw! — then kick your dog"
ikanread: brilliant
[Marina]: hahahahahaha
[Marina]: I LAUGHED OUT LOUD
[Marina]: THANK YOU CARRIE
[Marina]: thank you so much
ikanread: i do what i can
[Marina]: HE LOOKS LIKE A LITTLE BOY!!!!
ikanread: ihatehimihatehimihatehimihatehim
thisisprobablybeingrecorded
andbigbrotherwillarrestmetomorrow
[Marina]: WIRE TAPS!!!
ikanread: i love how he's implying "isolationism"="not wanting to be in a warzone on every continent pissing people off"
[Marina]: im wathcing cnn
[Marina]: yeah
[Marina]: what the FUCK
[Marina]: TIERNY
[Marina]: haha
ikanread: DRINK!!!
ikanread: 9/11 reference #1
[Marina]: im not allowed to drink yet
[Marina]: but hells yeah!!!
[Marina]: im with you
[Marina]: i dont need to drink anyways
ikanread: i'll drink for you
[Marina]: DO IT
ikanread: fair enough
ikanread: "act boldly in freedom's cause"--how 'bout freedom from being blown up by american bombs, or insurgents bombs, or just fucking bombs in general
ikanread: sorry. devon doesn't like it when i yell at the tv so i'm yelling to you on im
[Marina]: i love it
[Marina]: RADICAL ISLAM
[Marina]: ooooh bin ladin
ikanread: trrrrrists--i think he's playing the drinking game, too!
ikanread: mass murder--no more mass destruction?
ikanread: "terrorists chose the weapon of fear"--umm, HELLO, they're TERRORists
ikanread: sort of part of the gig
[Marina]: stepping back a moment - how FUCKED UP is our country when the State of the Union beomces a popular college age drinking game
ikanread: eh. whatever gets the youngsters involved
ikanread: and it's the only way i won't smash the tv
[Marina]: eeeevil
ikanread: "there is no honor in retreat"--um, that's the biggest pile of bullshit i've ever heard--remember vietnam, bitch? you think we should've kept fighting that one?
ikanread: oh. right
ikanread: YOU never fought there
ikanread: YOU never fought a goddamn day in your life
ikanread: YOU did coke off a stripper's ass and had daddy pay for your yale "d"
[Marina]: no honor in retreat = julius caesar
[Marina]: yeah that retreat line - not cool
[Marina]: oooh
[Marina]: marginalized
[Marina]: big word
ikanread: like the minorities of our country?
[Marina]: learned that at yale
[Marina]: oh man
ikanread: "our coalition"--what, did we pull another unit from liechtenstein?
[Marina]: um
[Marina]: state of OUR union?
[Marina]: not iraq's
[Marina]: right??
[Marina]: here comes the fun stuff
ikanread: right...politicians only represent the people WHO SEND THEIR FUCKING KIDS OFF TO FIGHT AND DIE FOR THIS WAR I THINK THEY SHOULD HAVE A SAY IN IT
ikanread: --just me, apparently
[Marina]: nope
[Marina]: but we aint the repubs in the maj
[Marina]: that sounds dirrrrty
ikanread: totally. you're a political nasty ho
ikanread: dude--john kerry is TOTALLY getting out his laser pointer to put a dot on bush's forehead
[Marina]: YES
ikanread: courage without wisdom is foolishness
ikanread: there is nothing heroic about missing the bigger picture
ikanread: "that which is worth protecting"--like civil liberties? like my own goddamn right to choose when i'm ready to have a family?
ikanread: why the fuck aren't we protecting that?
[Marina]: or
[Marina]: to have my wires tapped?
[Marina]: dark vision
ikanread: DARK-SIDED
ikanread: !
[Marina]: those two goons in the background make me alugh
ikanread: dude on the right is totally a turtle
ikanread: no. a frog
ikanread: and the vp is the penguin
[Marina]: hahaha
ikanread: NUCLEAR!!!! god, why do i even bother?!!?
ikanread: 6 years as president and NOBODY could coach him?
ikanread: i grew up in texas, he grew up in connecticut, and I SAY IT RIGHT
[Marina]: oooh direct stare
ikanread: so if you want to date me press #547
ikanread: that's what that look told me
[Marina]: ha
[Marina]: why does he just want to laugh???
[Marina]: thats so weird to me
ikanread: he's so proud he has gotten away with it this long
ikanread: JESUS HOLY HELL THE PATRIOT ACT?!
[Marina]: we are FUCKED
ikanread: do not clap!!! what the hell is wrong with them?!
ikanread: 9/11 #2--DRINK!
[Marina]: here comes the wire taps
ikanread: "here comes the wire taps: a memoir"
[Marina]: hahaha
[Marina]: HILARY WITH A SOUR FACE!
[Marina]: haha
[Marina]: drink
ikanread: wake up! we have no friends and allies! we have people who are scared of losing our business and people who hate us but fear us and people who just fucking hate us
[Marina]: that is so true
ikanread: umm--we have a massive defecit--where is the tax cut coming from again?
[Marina]: so confused
ikanread: --there goes the national endowment for the arts
[Marina]: FUCK
ikanread: oh shut up! don't crack jokes!
ikanread: this isn't your brother's wedding, it's the state of the union, asshole
[Marina]: its like england
[Marina]: with the boos and yays
ikanread: commence pudding-throwing!
[Marina]: gosh
ikanread: "orderly, secure borders"--quick someone call walker, texas ranger!
[Marina]: chuck norris to the rescue
ikanread: why haven't i thought of this before?
[Marina]: totally
[Marina]: rage on
ikanread: "we are providing health care for the poor and the ederly"--yeah, right--where is that again?
[Marina]: soup kitchens carrie
[Marina]: duh
ikanread: oh, NOW he's anti-oil?
[Marina]: yeah
[Marina]: now he doesnt haveto get elected
[Marina]: grr
ikanread: we won't be dependant of foreign oil--because we'll have destroyed the middle east by that point?
[Marina]: yeah
[Marina]: or they will have destroyed us
ikanread: "math and science"--fuck the arts
ikanread: goodbye to the nea, part II
[Marina]: zing
[Marina]: i dont understand what the initiative really is
ikanread: WHO SAYS DRUG USE IS DOWN?
ikanread: not anything i've read
ikanread: conchus=conscience
ikanread: ...gay marriage...activist judges...drink!
ikanread: [me]
[Marina]: so gross
ikanread: why did you have to retire sandra?!?!?! you couldn't wait 2 YEARS?!
[Marina]: i know
[Marina]: i bet it pained her
[Marina]: but her husband wont live 2 more years
ikanread: did she have to take my uterus with her, though?
[Marina]: i know
[Marina]: mine too
[Marina]: that hurt
ikanread: i feel like i need to get an abortion soon since i might lose the right to do so--is THAT WHAT YOU WANT, CONSERVATIVES?!!?
ikanread: i never needed one when i had the option!
[Marina]: hahahahaa
ikanread: "end the stigma of aids"--it's the right wing of your fucking party that puts a stigma on it in the first place!
[Marina]: but NO CONDOMS to schools
[Marina]: and no sex education
ikanread: and teach only abstinence
ikanread: because that will stop people from having sex
ikanread: it's only been proven wrong IN THE WHOLE HISTORY OF TIME
ikanread: oh my god--it's done--i feel like i've had really disappointing sex
[Marina]: ugh

Pictures in My Head of the Final Destination

Damn.It.All.To.Hell.

We all knew this was coming. Trying to shut down the Alito confirmation would be like an Olsen Twin challenging you to arm wrestle. Valiant effort, but who are you kidding, honey? You can't even lift a fork to your mouth.



Obviously, the Democratic Party is the hungry Olsen twin of this analogy.

Oh well. I wasn't using my uterus anyway.

But I wish conservatives and whatnot would get their heads out of their asses and realize that people will make lifestyle choices that they do not agree with, but it is not the government's job to conform people to their idea of righteous living. Within the laws of our society, our government's job is TO KEEP US SAFE. To the best of their ability, they are supposed to PROTECT us. It is sad when we have no one to look to in order to protect us from OUR GOVERNMENT. That was supposed to be our Supreme Court. Now, we've got fuckers on the bench who think it's okay to peek into my uterus, peek into my phone records, peek into my fucking library card.

You can't stop at racial profiling. Look at Timothy McVeigh.

You can't stop at taking away a woman's choice. You might as well take away all her choices. I knew that whole "voting" privilege wouldn't last.

You can't stop at wire taps. It's time for chip implants. Ankle bracelets for all. Is it ironic that habeas corpus is written in a dead language? I'll have to check on that.

The gays should be happy we stopped making their sex illegal (for the most part). What the hell more could they want? Equal rights? Shit, we can't even give that to our minorities or our women, and those are the ones who are even in line with Leviticus.

It's dramatic, I know. But I feel it is a slippery slope and we just slapped on our skis.

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Cancer is a bad thing. It's only a tiny thing and it goes unchecked and then it spreads. We catch it. And we cut that shit out. And we get it all so it doesn't come back because if it does it can ruin everything.

It's a nice idea that we would have been strong enough to where it never was a tiny thing even to begin with. But we can never tell when or where or how or why a good thing mutates into something bad. Into something unstoppable.

Sounds a bit familiar.

Too familiar.

I don't care too much for Cancer. I'm giving Cancer a big middle finger and I'm calling my sister. This ain't nothing. We're working on solving injustice, putting beauty--love--compassion into the world and bad cells are either going to have to pipe down or get the fuck outta the car. Because we're driving now.

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January has been a rough month. I nominated it as a bitch and a couple people have confirmed the nomination and we're swearing it in at the end of the day. And then swearing loudly and then checking out. Peace out January. You can take your cold greyness, you wild weather mood swings, the slush and the death and the short days and long nights and the longing and the gloves and boots and broken hearts and missing pieces of ourselves and a million little lies while we all forget about THE ONE BIG ONE THAT NO ONE SEEMS TO TALK ABOUT and may angels carry Wendy Wasserstein to the land of great playwrights because she was too good to exist in a world where Nicole Ritchie gets a book deal. You can take it all, January--take it all with you. Because we're kicking you out and welcoming February and we're sick of your shit hanging around; it just reminds us of everything we want to leave behind.

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“Sometimes I want to clean up my desk and go out and say, respect me, I'm a respectable grown-up, and other times I just want to jump into a paper bag and shake and bake myself to death”
--Wendy Wasserstein (1950-2006)

To You Everything I Bestow...

The universe is kind to someone like me who isn't so good at remembering things. Well, I know, that whole photographic memory thing...the problem is, I can't remember what people tell me. Like birthdays. So the universe threw me a break by giving me my two best friends in the world. With the same birthday. My own little Aquarian twins--Ashlee and Conor. Twice the love, half the RAM space in my brain.

Today is the day--HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LOVES!!!

These aren't my favorite or best pictures of them, but it's the best I can do from the office. Only my pure love for Conor could get me to go to his surprise birthday party on a Sunday night. I could only endure this hangover for him. Or Ashlee if she were here or I was there. Here you go, my lovely, lovely best friends.



Who could that adorable little thing be?



Why, it's Ashlee. I took this picture of her when she, Abby, and I did brunch at the Coronado hotel in San Diego. Part of our epic road trip of senior year. She's beautiful, don't you think? Yup. And that seemingly innocuous breakfast on her plate cost $100. Freda paid for it. When she knew we were going, she handed me a hundred dollar bill and said, "You haven't lived until you've dressed up and done brunch at the Coronado." With an endorsement like that, I was expecting cunnilingus and a side of toast. No such luck. It was a pretty fine omelet, if I recall correctly.

I want to be Ashlee when I grow up.

Not to be outdone in sexiness, here is the Playful Bullshitter himself:



I knew his friends throwing him a surprise party would be difficult, because Conor waits for no man to throw a party. I avoided his calls (even despite my hibernation) because Conor was trying to get me to come over to have a little "party." He'd be the one to ruin his own damn surprise because he was gonna throw his own. Silly Conor.

He is my brother. He plays him on TV. Well, not really. But here's a picture from a show we did senior year of college, where he actually played my brother, though it be on stage.



Aren't we just adorable?

Nothing but love. Absolutely nothing but love.

I have Become Pure Water / It's about Suppression

Cause it's too important
To stay the way it's been

And now that it's gone it's like it wasn't there at all
And here I rest where disappointment and regret collide
Lying awake at night

To say I had a meltdown on Friday is a bit of an understatement. I told Abby on the phone a little while ago,

"It was like a fucking exorcism"

Writhing, deep sobs that I brought on myself because I don't know how to not poke at open wounds. I ask questions that I know will make me hate myself because I know the answer. And the answer is never pretty. Begging for an end to it all, why when you're miserable nothing seems right and your life seems useless and pathetic and your friends are worried and so you want to run but you don't have anywhere to go and that just makes everyone worry more. Just run. As if the answer is going to be on the sidewalk of 4th Avenue.

But it's not. And Blythe rounds me up and tucks me in and I can't stop the sobbing, this demon released from my mind, crying and laughing because I think to myself, "I'm gonna cry this boy right outta my hair!"

I need to stop getting so fucked up that I go to that dark place and worry my friends and family. At least until I can enjoy being that fucked up again. Right now, everything goes along swimmingly and then I feel the need to pick scabs poke sores and in general make an art form out of Self Destruction.

I sleep. It's like inducing coma when head traumas are too severe. I don't take calls. I let everyone know I'm okay, but I make sure to do it when I know they won't pick up because I don't want to see, talk, hear from anyone.

The nice thing about exorcism is that sometimes it works. Sometimes you just need to let it all out in one massive freak-out. And then you exhale. It felt like that. We'll see what happens the next time I get drunk, but last night was the first night I dreamt of someone different. I didn't think about bad things--What I Did Wrong, What is Wrong With me, Why I do This to Myself...I thought--Well, fuck it, the new one's cute. We'll take it from there. The Light at the end of the tunnel is bright and it hurts my hungover Life, but I have a feeling if I just go to it, I won't see my shadow. Six more weeks of winter can blow me. I need to rewire my brain because it's too important to stay the way it's been.

----------------------------------

Enough of That. What I really wanted to write about was this Valtrex commercial I saw last night. Now I don't know if anyone creating these commercials knows a damn thing about herpes, but it didn't seem so.

First of all, the Chick With Herpes (who I shall name Herpelina) says something like "When I had an outbreak I felt it would take days out of my life." Cut to a cheesy shot of Herpelina and her loving partner (who I shall name NotMeI'mClean) sitting on a rocky beach and he tries to put his arm around her, and she brushes him off. Now, I'm sure if she's having an outbreak, Herpelina is uncomfortable, but I don't think NotMeI'mClean is gonna catch it by hugging her. And considering the mass amounts of people in this country who DO have herpes, I would think they would find this offensive. That somehow, you should feel dirty and unclean and like a whore for having this disease, to where you are so shamed that you cannot let your clearly-supportive partner put his arm around you.

Now you would think of all people, the folks at Valtrex wouldn't want to Shame their consumer market. All this shot does is piss me off. I know that people who are dealing with this disease probably have to go through their own Victorian Hangover of Sexual Politics, but you would think the company trying to help them wouldn't perpetuate the stigma. You don't see the people who have recurring asthma too embarrassed to let people touch them. The fact that this is a disease attributed to sexual activity should be moot. When are we gonna stop treating it like it's dirty? People have sex. Sometimes people will get diseases. Of course it's unpleasant and of course you should seek treatment. I don't like the prevalent ideas that this somehow makes you an Untouchable. Uncomfortable, maybe. But like I said, so is asthma; and when I have had an asthma attack, I could really use a hug. Especially from someone as lovely as NotMeI'mClean. So stop doing that, Valtrex. Stupid gits.

We then cut to Herpelina and NotMeI'mClean engaging in all the activities that Herpelina was too ashamed to enjoy before suppressing her herpes with Valtrex. And all these activities just make me think of herpes even more. I mean, seriously people. Bike riding? All I'm consumed with now are images of Herpelina's vagina. Riding a bike? Are you kidding?!

Then they follow it up with Herpelina and NotMeI'mClean enjoying a seafood dinner. A huge lobster is paraded in front of them. Leaving aside the fact that apparently a herpes outbreak prevents you from EATING, umm, did we have to go with the large lobster? Because in my head, I think lobster, then I think crabs, and then once more, I'm headed down my own herpes shame-spiral and very unnecessary concern over the state of Herpelina's vagina. Again. Would it have killed them to show the couple enjoying a lovely chicken entree?

On a random sidenote, I would absolutely LOVE if they got down to the real business at hand; mainly Herpelina getting head from NotMeI'mClean, or him taking her from behind with some really rowdy sex. I mean, that's what we're really talking about here, isn't it? It isn't that an outbreak prevents her from riding a bike or being hugged by NotMeI'mClean, it's just the poor girl has to go without a proper boning for a little while. Let's call a spade a spade, shall we? To reference the lovely Blythe's disgust over the graphic nature of commercials these days, I don't think this is too farfetched of an idea. Plus, the taking her from behind is good enough for Nip/Tuck, it's good enough for Valtrex in my humble opinion.

Basically, I felt this was a poor execution of what Valtrex was trying to say. And to annoy me even further, and just in general annoyance with prescription drug ads, "If you are suffering from genital herpes, tell your doctor about Valtrex." First, I think if you're suffering from genital herpes, your doctor has probably already told YOU about Valtrex, probably on the same day you got your diagnosis. I have a hard time imagining that you get your results back, and your doctor's all, "Well, good luck with that. It itches." It's like getting strep throat and you go months, until finally you see an ad for penicillin, and you call your doctor up and are like, "I've heard about this drug penicillin that apparently will help me out with this strep throat thing I've got going on." And your doctor says, "Hmmmm...You're right. I never even thought of antibiotics before. Thanks, TV." My opinion is also I don't think anyone should be telling their doctor about any drug. That's what they're there for. And if you walk into a doctor's office and demand a drug you saw on TV, well, doesn't that just make him a dealer?

I'm surprised my dreams weren't haunted by NotMeI'mClean and Herpelina's vagina. Then again, it really is about suppression.

Don't Throw Away Your Playful Beginnings

Alright. Daily dose of cute from Cute Overload:



I once put my foot in a shoe with a wasp in it. That wasn't nearly as pleasant as a kitten, I can assure you.

Keep all your sights on
Hey the black cat changing colors
And you can walk under ladders
And swim as the tide choose to turn you

In a better mood today. Probably because I got a nice, full night of sleep. I imagine you've really become part of Corporate America when that still doesn't make waking up any easier. And I've gotten compliments today that came out of nowhere (not sure how I feel, sometimes I like that I fly under the radar so much--so many other aspects of my life I am bit larger than life--a bit too much to swallow). Also, Jeremy's band is playing tonight and it'll be fun to dance around like dorks with Sharon and Spring (and BLYTHE!!--yes, you're coming, lady). There's a threat that I have to work this weekend, but with all the time I took off around holiday time, the lack of overtime is going to make for a very sad check, so I guess I don't mind it picking up a bit.

My fingers seem to be callousing. Is that a verb? I just made it one. So there! I'm having a bitch of a time practicing tuning the guitar. I have a good ear, but right now it has a hard time keeping notes seperate. It wants to make a song out of everything, and narrowing my ear down to tune frustrates me. Chris had told Spring (one of her resolutions was to learn the guitar as well, but I think I've been a bit more proactive with it--to be fair, I'm not planning a wedding or anything. I don't even have plants to water) that you should make a list of ten songs you want to learn to play on the guitar. This one gets me stuck--I could do a complete other list of Ani songs I want to learn, but I'll give it a shot:

1) Where did you Sleep Last Night--Nirvana (I believe there's a whole entry on the significance of this song to me, so I won't explain it beyond that)

2) Out of Range--Ani Difranco (duh)

3) Across the Universe--Beatles (though I'll probably sing it more in the style of Fiona Apple)

4) The Legionnaire's Lament--The Decemberists (I'm listening to it right now--so far I'm only hearing one chord--this could be one that you need the other instruments to make work--but whatever--MY LIST, DAMMIT!)

5) Volcano--Damien Rice

6) Satellite--Dave Matthews Band (to this day, this song puts a huge smile on my face--it will be hard to play because my fingers always want to make twinkling motions to it)

7) Miss Misery--Elliott Smith

8) Me and Bobby McGee--Janis Joplin (this needs no explanation, I feel)

9) Such Great Heights--Iron and Wine (Yes, I know the Postal Service does the happier, techno-ier--making up words right and left today, kids--but this one is slower and with an acoustic guitar)

10) Wish you Were Here--Pink Floyd (I once fell in love with a boy who played this at a high school talent show. Time to return the favor)

I think it's a good list. And very doable, I feel. Notice how I left off any Hendrix, though the ambitious creature in me is like--"I'm gonna be playing with my teeth trippin on acid in no time!!!" But then I feel I'm just setting myself up for disappointment because chances are, even if I pick this stuff up quickly, I'm years and years and years away from matching anything Hendrix-related. So I feel like my list of 10 should be reachable goals because otherwise, I'll get too frustrated. Honestly, that Ani song is probably going to be the hardest one out of the ten. Damn you Ani, and your amazingly schizophrenic guitar skills!

So it is written. So shall it be.

Have a lovely weekend, all.

There's a Galaxy of Emptiness Tonight

It's stuff like this that makes me want to stay in bed.

"I don't see how you can be a partner in peace if you advocate the destruction of a country as part of your platform."--President Bush

Right, right sir. We only attack ideas. We love to declare wars on abstract nouns--if only there was an Terrorismaland (which in my head is right next to Marijuanistan and also borders on the Homo Republic). Turns out, the only successful war-on-an-abstract-noun we're fighting is the unstated War on Common Sense. I would say that his above statement makes us look like hypocrites (again), but I think we gave up our position as a "partner in peace" when we gave the finger to the U.N.

All the War on Terrorism has given us are people who hate us who now have even more reason to hate us than they did before. And now we're handing them the Palestinian authority as well. I say we handed it to them because so many of our policies have led to so much of the unrest there that brought these people to elect a drastically different style of leadership. And so, though not directly, we just gave terrorists a governing body. I'm not quite sure how we define terrorism anymore, but Hamas pretty much says, "Um..yeah. Israel? Not gonna happen. I have something in my backpack for that. Where's the nearest hotel?"

Perhaps this is unfair. Perhaps they will hand every Israeli a kitten and we will all sing Kumbaya (sp?). But chances are the kittens have poisoned fur and the Palestinian holding your hand is a woman and therefore, expendable.

After a long night of work (until 1:30am) where a war zone broke out of sorts within my team, I wake up, weary and drained and come in and turns out my microcosm just became the macro.

Whole 'lotta bad mojo in the world today. It makes me sad. The cold air hangs heavy. Winter is a time of death, which is supposed to clear the way for the new life of the spring. But in my world, in the world beyond, I have a hard time imagining what spring will look like. What life can form in these particular brands of death that even make Winter shiver? I fear it has scorched the Earth. I fear what comes next.

Stars light the sky in a gutter full of of broken dreams tonight
Though how not content that's the way it seems to be
Still I've been fightin' all week though I don't know what for
Hopin' someone else, someone you used to score
Could you please knock me off my feet, for a while?
Could you please knock me off my feet, for a while?

And there's a galaxy of emptiness tonight
A whole galaxy of emptiness tonight...
--Beth Orton

ADDENDUM OF JOY:
Robert just got into Harvard Law. He's going to be rich and we are going to have a sham marriage. It's gonna be sweet.

A Case of the Mean Reds

Ten cool points for identifying that reference.

In a poopy mood. So I will entertain with other links.

Not my fault.

Need to get me one of these.

You're kidding, right? If they get a star on the Walk of Fame, I should, too.

If anything could make me feel better, it's these two pictures:



Holy crap, I just exploded with Cute.

Aron went with me to D.C. a while back. On the bus he asked me what he should draw and I said, "Draw a pretty, pretty princess on a horse and there's a witch who says, 'Wait till you turn the corner, bitch.'" And so he did. And here it is:



Amazing. The boy is Amazing.

Duty calls now. And I think chocolate might be calling me tonight.

I Replace You Easily, Replace Pathetically

I came to the odd realization that Death Cab for Cutie songs are really, really depressing. But beautiful. I think it's because his voice seems so pleasant and happy. Sublime tricked me too. Not depressing, but Sublime is very angry. I get tricked by the mood of the song and then I check the lyrics and realize I had been approaching the song or artist all wrong.

But if this song doesn't sum up all my more melancholy feelings currently, well then, nothing can.

Another diet fed by crippling defeat
And i am waiting for that sense of relief

Indeed I am.

And why be afraid of love? Because men feel like this. And I'm sure men I've been with have felt this way about me. And it makes me want to never get involved with Another ever again. I spent so long when I was dancing not even thinking about it. I want to go back to that. Minus my D.C. fling, I could make 2006 not only the Year of the Fabulous, but the Year of the Celibate. I did it for 22 years. One more shouldn't make such a difference.

Or I could take the advice of Lee from Prep:

"There are people we treat wrong, and later, we're prepared to treat other people right. Perhaps this sounds mercenary, but I feel grateful for these trial relationships, and I would like to think it all evens out--surely, unknowingly, I have served as practice for other people...

I'll come to understand much earlier (much earlier, that is, in this imaginary life than in my real life) what dating is--not necessarily the biggest deal. Not obsession or nothing, love or disinterest. There is a middle ground. In the winter, especially, sometimes it's just nice to dress up a little and go out into the night with another person."

The problem is that Lee is 16, and I am 23. So we'll see, won't we?

Won't we?

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On a happier note, I went by Neighbors [Neighbors shall ever refer to my two coworkers that also happen to live a block and a half away from me] to watch 24 last night. And now, for your alcoholic enjoyment, the drinking game I have created that you, too can play at home. Now, Neighbor 1 and I did this with Jameson on the rocks; and that, based on one of the rules, turned out to be a dangerous mixture.

Anyhoo--

With whatever your poison is, take a drink:

--Whenever some kid fucks up the plan [there is always a meddling kid--it's worse than Scooby-Doo, because these meddling kids rarely ever solve anything]

--Whenever there is a double-cross

--Whenever Chloe makes a snide/sarcastic comment (the original rule was unnecessarily snide or sarcastic, but as it turns out, being snide in a life-or-death situation is ALWAYS unnecessary)

--When they play the Philip Glass-inspired "The First Lady is Batshit Insane" music

--Whenever Jack Bauer "doesn't play by the rules"--an extension of this rule is anytime this season where Jack makes reference to "NOT working for CTU" [my guess is that he's doing this all pro-bono? That sucks. He's been in jeapordy 4 times in 5 hours and he's not even going to get paid? I don't move a muscle within the firm without making sure I get paid for it]

That's it. You'd be surprised how much that actually makes you drink. Last night, Chloe went on a monologue-snide-rant where we were basically downing our Jameson's on ice for a minute and then right after was followed up with a double-cross. I wobbled my way home and almost face-planted into my massage mat (still hurting a bit from bellydancing).

Enjoy, boozeheads. I did. The booze helps keep you mellow because otherwise, 24 could be the biggest cause for heart failure on a Monday Night.



Drink up!

The Agony and the Ecstasy

I was riding the N train home on Sunday night, after Sharon and I had our private bellydancing lesson [ps--my arms are killing me today]. I had told her over Sangria after the class that I was 85% happy.

This was an overestimation. After bellydancing, I'm 85% happy. I cannot believe it's at a fixed percentage because I woke up today at about a 35%.

It was nice to have a drama-free weekend. Minus my small relapse on Saturday, where I burst into tears for reasons not worth the explanation. My heart is open, and that leaves it more vulnerable to such things. By the time Spring had been buzzed in, she reached our apartment and I had wiped the tears away and pretended I needed to put makeup on to get my shit together.

I hate when people see me cry.

And the rest of the time was lovely. Jeremy gave me my first official guitar lesson, and he was just about as Dad-like as you can imagine. While this is going on, Sharon is cooking what smells and turns out to be, a quite lovely meal. Those are going to be some lucky future-children, is all I'm saying. Very lucky indeed.

I got my homework. I have to practice my transition between C chord and A minor. It's getting a bit better. My fingertips are sore and I can feel the future callouses just waiting to be formed.

It feels good. The kind of pain that is the reminder of the greater goal. The kind of pain that is human and temporal and mortal and hopeful.

Spring and I relax on Saturday night. There was consumption to be had, but we sat in my living room with Devon and Blythe and had a grand ole time. I even busted out my interpretive dance that I do to Beth Hart's "Mama". Good song, folks. Check it out if you get the chance. Her soul spills out with her notes and it's the kind of music that makes you long for the ability to belt at the top of your lungs without sounding like a soundbite from a slaughterhouse.

Spring rests on the lounge chair. She sits like a Queen. She sits with the air of experience but not of condescension. I roll around on the air mattress like a puppy that hasn't figured out its legs yet. Devon is perched on the couch like he's about to jump at any moment. And Blythe has melted into the squishy pillow I bought the other day that has turned out to be the best investment I have ever made. Our little messed-up sewing circle.

Spring and I can only agree that the cover of A Million Little Pieces is good. Beyond that, it's a no go. To be fair, her memoir's gonna be much better anyway. And she won't even have to lie.

All these things float in my head on that N train back home. I'm reading Prep, which Dru gave me, but when the N train crosses the Manhattan Bridge, it really is a sight to see. No matter what, I take the time to reflect. Manhattan waves goodbye to me, I catch the twinkles of what I know to be my office building. It's winking at me like it's saying, "See you tomorrow." I resist the urge to give it the finger.

Skydiving has no appeal to me. I care not for the sensation of falling. But flying is something else. I long for the feeling of flight. The N train flies over the Manhattan Bridge and I wish that my thoughts could be liberated from my brain and my raw emotions could be softened or sent into Space. My broken heart could find its home in the greenhouse gases of Venus, because living in a broken heart is just as inhospitable to life as the toxic atmosphere of our twin planet.

It's broken by a number of different people, including myself. It is disappointment and frustration and dissatisfaction with a number of different situations. I'm working on it and I know these things take time, but I have never been one who was known for her patience. When will it come together? Who am I becoming?

The N train keeps chugging away.

I look over and a man brings a water bottle to his face. He then proceeds to pour the water into his eye. I can't tell if he's drunk and missed or if he's trying to flush something out of his eye, or if he's just crazy and thinks his eye is thirsty. Knowing New York, I wouldn't be surprised by any of these options.

I chuckle to myself. This is New York. The Agony and the Ecstasy. The Sublime and the Ridiculous. The Profound and the Mundane. All in a subway car, all looking for a destination or an answer or some goddamn local service.

I sigh and pick my book back up. Maybe I just need some sleep.

Open Up My Head and Let me Out

I emptied my brain out last night.

I got nothing today.

But I am very excited about this weekend.

Have a good one, folks!

Not Becoming Suicidal. Just Becoming a Woman

I wrote that somewhere in the context of an email to Spring and she made me promise that it would be the title of my country album.

I dreamt last night I went back to Austin to live. I had given up on New York.

Austin didn't want me. So then I was scrambling to see if I could fit back into my life in New York--if they filled my job yet, if my roomies had replaced me.

i know you've supported me for a long time
somehow i'm not impressed

Odd dream it was. New York Cares.

Blind to the last cursed affair pistols and countless eyes
A trail of white blood betrays the reckless route your craft is running
Feed till the sun turns into wood dousing an ancient torch
Loiter the whole day through and lose yourself in lines dissecting love.

I'm looking forward to this weekend like it's Christmas. Is it Christmas? Was year is it? Where are we going and why am I in this handbasket?

I just want a little passion
to hold me in the dark
I know I’ve got some magic
buried deep in my heart yeah

My doctor says
you just took it to the limit
and here I stand
with this sword in my hand

I'm relaxing into my new routine. Luckily, I have found love in 8,000 unexpected places and it mends and it heals and I shake my head that I had to go through the Thieves' Forest to get there. My friendships in New York are different from all the ones that came before. They are forged in steel. Our secrets are loaded down with concrete and sent to the bottom of the East River.

night falls like people into love
we generate our own light
to compensate
for the lack of light from above
every time we fight
a cold wind blows our way

I told her over a beer,

"I'm not afraid of dying alone. It's not about my need to settle. I don't want to be with someone just to be with someone. I'm afraid that I will die alone because I had the perfect person and I was too messed up and I ruined it. I'm not just scared of the dramatic Dying Alone, but that the Perfect Love cannot Cure Me."

And the world may be long for you,
but he'll never belong to you.
But on a motorbike,
when all the city lights blind your eyes tonight,
are you feeling better now?

Cool points for all who identify the lyrics. Should be easy enough. Just trying to make this entry interactive.

What is Kept Behind the Eyes of a Fallen Angel

I walked in and I just wanted to run out
The problem is the little girl, the woman, and the fighter
all wanted to take the stage
I laugh like I always do
My whole life is a Comedy of Errors
The Divine Comedy of Errors
The crawl to the subway seems eternal
Keep me silent and keep me strong
We shuffle on like pilgrims to the subway
Our Church of Eternal Bad Lighting
Where everyone looks like a Holy Ghost
Heads bowed in prayer and exhaustion
Over the Manhattan Bridge and into the
Promised Land--
Of sorts--
I stay silent though my Confessor is to my left
So tired of asking the same question
So tired of needing the same reassurance
Though it sticks in the back of my throat
Like some uncontrollable verbal tic
Just waiting to get out
I grip the pole in a moment of scattered clarity
My own metal communion
Keep me silent and keep me strong
The train spits us out into the world beyond
Walking toward the light carries a different reverence
My Confessor goes before me
I want to walk in the rain
To hear my music bleed from my ears to my heart
The cold rain is my baptism
And from my lips to the Almighty's ear
I ask the question to Brooklyn
Keep me silent and keep me strong
But confession is good for the soul
I curl up
And dream a dreamless sleep
It is silent
And it is strong

---------------------

"apparently nothing
apparently nothing at all"

The Hunger Artist

The weekend was far too epic for words. So I'm doing an interpretive dance at my desk to try to illustrate it.



Did you like it? Did you get it?

Issues, Reconcilations, Reunions, Relapse, Revelations, Good Ideas, Bad Ideas, Tears, Laughter, My Stupid Heart, My Wiser Mind, The New Year, and everything in between. I even worked. I even bellydanced. I didn't however, sleep. Not so much at least. Not the best way to recover from strep, but just because I'm getting used to staying away from some Bad Ideas, doesn't mean they've all been exorcised from my being.

This shit's just getting started, kids. Keep all hands and feet inside the blog.

I was sharing with Blythe on IM my sadistic little facination with America's Next Top Model. Because they're pretty? Naw. Because they're idiots? A bit. Because they are skinny and obviously not eating well and this makes them cry and act like crazy bitches? Ding! We have a winner.

I'm a pretty small girl myself, so it's not jealousy. And I grew up in a world where starving yourself was par for the course. And as much as I'm actually pretty happy with how my body looks these days, it was a long time coming and I think I still harbor a little resentment for these chicks that make us want to starve ourselves still. Half of them I don't even find all that pretty. They are skinny and tall. The make-up artists and photographers do the rest. Models get paid for being skinny and tall. I love all the half-assed attempts in their "challenges" to make it seem like modeling is more than that. Yes, a certain amount of it needs to be about personality and you have to look alive on camera, but once again, these things can't be taught. They just are. One of their challenges on the reruns playing on VH1 yesterday had them being judged on how they learned a traditional Japanese Tea Ceremony. They're right. If you're a model and in another country, you SHOULD be respectful and try to learn about the culture that you're in.

But once again, that's not a requirement. I don't think a single model in the History of Modeltasticness ever didn't land a job because they held their tea cup wrong in Tokyo. In fact, I'm pretty sure Naomi Campbell booked ten more jobs by walking in and very reverantly dumping a pot of tea on some Japanese Icon's head. If she hasn't, can we start that rumor here? I would love to see that in The Superficial tomorrow.

Some other challenge had them learning African Dance. There is absolutely nothing like watching gangly starving bitches try to do this. I had an African Dance class while I was at NTI and absolutely loved it. It also was the first time I ever felt really freakin white. I'm surprised I didn't just clap my hands awkwardly while shuffling my feet. It was the first time I felt like anything BUT a dancer. And I've had training. So you can imagine all these dumb, hungry bitches trying to do this stuff with even less qualifications than I do. And if it ever becomes necessary for them to know African Dance in their subsequent "careers," I'll eat my own face off. I have a feeling that the writers for this show just sit around and think, "How else can we make these skinny bitches cry? Make them look like idiots in Africa while dancing." At least their bodies types fit that whole famine-chic thing going on.

My favorite thing to do whilst devouring these hours of TV that are eating my brain and my soul away is to...well, devour anything else in sight. I mean, I put on America's Next Top Model and pretend I'm at the Golden Corale's All-You-Can-Eat-Fried-Chicken Night or something. It could be because I'm trying to fill the void of what the show steals from you. But more likely, I just like to think to myself, "Cry, CRY, you skinny bitch! I'm going to order pizza! Ha! Like that? How's African Dance and Purging working out for you?!"

I even got the brilliant idea (when my bodega didn't have chocolate ice cream, all I was looking for last night) to make my own ice cream by getting vanilla and Oreos and making my own cookies-n-cream. I'm sure every single person on the planet has done this at some point, but even so, I felt like the Smartest Girl in the World for doing so.

Someone cried over not doing their Kimono right, or stealing a Red Bull, or because Tyra Banks is sometimes really scary, or whatever. And I scooped Haagen Daas and Oreos into my mouth like it was my job. And I rollie-pollied around in my bed, feeling stuffed and sadistic and that the five pounds I gained in one evening was worth it.

Because I'm not starving myself. Not anymore. And I hate this culture that perpetuates the need for young girls to do that to themselves. I suppose that some of these girls are doing it to themselves, too, and I guess I actually feel sorry for the ones that fight it as well. I think we must be the only species on the planet that can fuck itself up enough to where the ONE BASIC SURVIVAL TACTIC--aka, FUCKING EATING TO STAY ALIVE--gets tossed aside in order to...what? Wear clothes? Are you serious? And we're the dominant species on the planet?! The dolphins are fucking laughing their asses off as they chomp on some tuna or whatever the fuck it is that dolphins eat. Holding the standard of beauty to be something that happens only freakishly in nature is idiotic. So even the skinny-ass models who are hurting themselves to be that way are victims, too. As for the rest of the skinny bitches? Well, they can just take their goddamn rice cakes and shove it.

But I'll totally watch the next episode that comes on.

Yeah, so What?

Sing to me, Ani:

so it takes two beers to remember now
and five to forget

I should have known better than to go out on Friday the 13th. Should've known.

But in the face of temptation and wounded pride, I turned down Bad Idea Sex. It would have been so easy. It would have been for all the wrong reasons. And I'm finally trying to learn from my mistakes.

I turned it down. Year of the Fabulous, people. Year. Of. The. Fabulous.

It's gonna be me and the C chord from here on out.

He wasn't for me. Neither was he. Neither was that one or this one or the next one or the one breathing down my neck or the one...well, pick a guy, any guy. Crying over boys that aren't worth it is so last season. But every once in a while, I go retro.

I finally talked to Dru. We worked out our issues. He's sorry. I'm sorry for it all. We'll take it from there. I've missed him. I've missed a step. I've missed out on it all.

I am a mess and a burden to those who love me. I love big and laugh loud and cry easily. I am a fighter who doesn't like to fight. A drama queen who hates drama. A lover afraid of love and a tired girl who can't sleep. And no, it isn't ironic, Alanis.

I am 10,000 little pieces.

so it takes two beers to remember now
and five to forget

Don't Come Around / I've Got My Own Hell to Raise

But first--more joy from www.toothpastefordinner.com:



Man, I love this site.

A very good description of myself from my lady Ani:

The one person who really knows me best
Says I'm like a cat
Yeah the kind of cat that you just can't pick up
And throw into your lap
No, the kind that doesn't mind being held
Only when its her idea
Yeah, the kind that feels what she decides to feel
When she is good and ready to feel it

And it's very true. Aron calls it the "No Touch Carrie" effect. But when I'm good and ready to feel...well, then watch out. Spring calls it my "windmill." But as much as I'm a cat, I've also been described as a terrier. Because when I really sink my teeth into something, saying it's hard to pry me off is a bit of an understatement.

Not so good in my personal relationships. But it's why I'm a very good dancer. I sunk my teeth into it and wouldn't let go until I did what I went there to do.

And it's happened again. And I haven't felt this inspired to do something since then. For the first time, I have completely stopped worrying about boys. They're fairly useless creatures in the end and for what I want them for. I get annoyed I spend so much time thinking about them. But not lately. Lately, a different sort of Everest has presented itself to me to climb.

I buckled down and decided to do it. And I'm dead serious about it. I've been dreaming about it for a while.

That's right. I have decided to Learn Guitar. Hoozah. I'll be starting my Ani Difranco Cover Band in no time.

Right...

I asked Jeremy to help me because I think he'd be the perfect teacher for me. He's a very talented player himself, but moreso, extremely focused and would be a Task Master, which is good when your pupil is Little Miss A.D.D. I need someone to ride my ass. I ain't playing around, kids. I'm playing for keeps.

He sent me the neck diagrams for Chord C to practice before I meet with him in person for my first official lesson. He reiterates that he ain't playing around, either. I appreciate that. But most people who see me take very little seriously in my life don't really know the sort of grit determination that I can get when I decide when I want to do something. It's been decided.

This is what a neck diagram looks like:



What the hell? When did playing guitar become a Crossword Puzzle? Oh, shit. Now, I may be determined, but I get frustrated VERY easily. Not that I expected to pick up the guitar and suddenly be Jimi Hendrix or something, but just trying to get my hands on this bitch and the fingering right was driving me nuts. And we're talking ONE FUCKING CHORD. That's not even a drop in the bucket. At a certain point, I'm pretty thankful that I'm borrowing Derek's guitar and that this isn't mine because I now totally understand why people smash guitars. Totally.

I can't get a hold of Jeremy. So I call my next Rock Star on call, Mr. Chris. He gives some pointers, lets me know what to expect in the terms of hand cramping and finger callouses, plays the C chord for me so I know what sound I'm looking for and wishes me luck. Thank you, kind sir. I believe I might need it.

It makes me appreciate every musician I've ever met. Man, they're amazing. I'm a loser. What the Hell am I thinking?

But before I drop down the Carrie Shame Spiral Special, I remember that it's all a dance. These boys AND GIRLS SEE SHARON GIRLS ARE RAWKERS TOO!!! are good at dancing their fingers on the bridge and the neck and around chords and majors and minors and that's amazing and I'm very proud and they should be, too. But I'm no slacker, either. If you stuck them onstage with point shoes and told them to do a petite allegro into a grande allegro leading into the grande pas de deux, they'd probably shit themselves right there. I just dance in a different capacity.

And if I were teaching them ballet, I wouldn't come down on them for not knowing grand allegro. You get there. But you got to start with plie [for those of you who don't know ballet, it's just bending your knees. Only a shitload harder, but it's the fundamental root of every movement that follows. And every class and every dancer, no matter how advanced or talented, starts every class with a combination of plies. If you need a visual, this is what it looks like]. And this goddamn C chord is my plie.

Breathe. You take it slow and then you build from there.

Giving myself the freedom to be a novice relaxes me. I sit and if it doesn't feel right, I pause and try again. I sit for two hours until my left hand feels like a gnarled up corpse. When I get stuck, I go online and research. I learn new terms and go to sites that will play the C chord for you so I know what sound to play for. I play it, and then I arrange my hands as best I can and try to imitate it. Sometimes I get it, sometimes it sounds like a cat being sent through a shredder. I stop when I can't do it anymore. But by the time I've stopped, I've hit the C chord more than I've missed it, and it's just as exciting to me as hitting the G spot for the first time.

Better than sex. Less temporal. I woke up this morning with sore hands and my heart all a-flutter. I haven't been in this good a mood in a really long time. This is going to be Long, and Painful, and Frustrating. This is going to Suck Hard. But these things that do tend to pay off in far more rewarding ways than had I picked up the guitar and played Stairway to Heaven without even thinking about it. And maybe I'll turn out to be a far worse guitar player than dancer, but I'm going to put my guts into it for real so I know for sure.

2005 was me Half-Assing it. It was me Fumbling toward Parody. 2006 is the Year of the Fabulous and I've sunk my teeth into something truly delicious. And I ain't letting go till I feel I'm done. That took 18 years for ballet. We'll see what happens with guitar. But I'm excited either way.

Go On and Dream / Your House is On Fire

Holy Crap These People Know My Mom



An LJ friend sent me the link to this site. I think it's pretty brilliant.

Enjoy, kids.

In Other News, my favoritest book that I have raved about here, A Million Little Pieces, is apparently A Million Gigantic Embellishments. Now I loved the book because of the style, not because it inspired me to go into rehab or anything (Pish! Posh! Whatevs. Rehab is for quitters), but it does lose a little something when you feel you've been lied to. I think we all eye our parents a little bit funny once we learn that the Tooth Fairy and Santa are total bullshit (sorry for the spoiler, for those of you unaware of that). Maybe that's why we all leave the nest. You just can't trust or look at them the same way after that:

"But Santa had different handwriting!"

"It was all part of the lie."

"Dear God, is anything REAL anymore!?"

[Welcome to your first existential crisis. You're 9 years old, you can't even spell it, but what you are facing, my young friend, is what you will lovingly refer to as "the void" in coming years. Generally, while you're wearing all black and smoking Parliaments. I know. You will be that lame. Hate to burst another one of your bubbles. You'll also think you know Existentialism because you read the Cliff Notes version of The Stranger and No Exit. But you will spend the rest of your life trying to figure out how to spell AND pronounce Nietzsche--I just went through it twice. Welcome to the Big Kid's Table. Enjoy the food poisoning.]

Anyhoozits, it kinda bummed me out. My friend Chris wrote an amazing blog in the style of James Frey. Enjoy. I still love that book, but with the new "Oops, maybe I lied a whole lot" I can see the outside perspective on how ridiculously it can be interpreted.

I'm back on the job. Even Dr. House couldn't come up with anything more interesting than Strep Throat. But, at least, that means I get Penicillin instead of just trying to drink more water than all the seas. I already mentioned that I HATE waiting for viruses to pass. Why do we even have doctors, then, if they're not going to give us drugs that fix us? I know, I know, we all overmedicate too much. But the damage is done and that's my mind set, so get out your little prescription pad and give me something that will make me happy. And if it can't make me happy, make me think that it MIGHT make me happy and that's just as good.

This is the little bugger that's been making its home in my throat:



Hope you enjoyed, because you are about to get your ass beat down. And I would like to swallow again (leave the sexual innuendo behind, folks. I snicker enough at it myself).

Apparently, the firm is dropping like flies with it, too. Two of my coworkers and my boss have been struck down with it as well. Oh, the tangled web we weave, when at first we don't use our Sick Leave.

We wind up taking everyone with us.

But I am less like Zombie and more like Human with each day (and more importantly, each pill) and should be Little Miss Sunshine in no time at all. Except for the fact that I was never Little Miss Sunshine, but I think that might be one of the side effects of Nyquil and Penicillin. Drugs are awesome.

The Nighttime Sniffling, Sneezing, Aching so You can Blog Better Medicine

Nyquil makes my brain heavy. And my body heavier.

There are now two angry trolls residing in my throat.

I go to the doctor tomorrow. But chances are, I'll get the "Drink lots of fluids and let it run its course" line. I hate that. Give me sugar pills, but I want to think I'm working toward fixing this thing. I am a huge advocate of the placebo effect. Trick me into getting better. Please. I'm very gullible, I promise.

Screw this. Someone get me Dr. House.



He'll tell me something cooler. And maybe I can bum a Vicodin off him.

I Get a Fever that's so Hard to Bear...

I had a long post all ready to go.

Then I woke up and was struck with the Plague.

My temperature is rising and I believe my right tonsil has been replaced with a very angry troll charging admission to my esophagus.

So it will come. It will. Because my life is ridiculous. And Things Have Happened, Things Are Happening, This Release is on its way.

But for now, it seems I have come down with Bird Flu or something. And all I can think about is going home and napping until 2007.

OK, You Got Me. Uncle.

I shall write again. We have much to discuss.