My heart is somewhere else..........

{"Opinion is really the lowest form of human knowledge," says educator Bill Bullard. "It requires no accountability, no understanding. The highest form of knowledge . . . is empathy, for it requires us to suspend our egos and live in another's world. It requires profound, purpose‐larger‐than‐the‐self kind of understanding." In that spirit, Scorpio, I encourage you to renounce three of your opinions, preferably those that are least-well-informed and not rooted in first-hand experience. I also challenge you to carry out a week-long experiment based on the following hypothesis: Expanding your capacity for empathy will make you smarter.}-----Courtesy of Freewill Astrology

I love all of the pictures on myspace of some beautiful girl, downplaying it in caption, and waiting to lure faithful cyber suitors to validate her beauty. I do it too. The "boob-o-vision" pic, it goes up from time to time when my ego needs stroking. Shit, Sooperstar jokes that I lost my body a couple years ago when I packed on pounds and decided to veto full body shots. Now, after losing 50 lbs, they shall soon return, when I can present some flawless image of myself. But, I will not say "I know, look at how I suck in this picture." I will say, damn, I am hot. Cuz I am, and I don't have to apologive for thinking so, even if you see me as such or not. I do not have to fake humility to be cool with my cyber family, when I know damn well that we all put up the pics that have somehow captured us as exactly how we want to be viewed

The polygamy post, well, I caught some hell on that. And I knew I would. Should have seen it live in class, I almost thought mob justice was heading my way. And, oddly, I am not even saying polygamy and young marriage/family planning is right, I am merely saying how do I know it is wrong? If we watch National Geographic, and see a 14 yr. old in her tribe carrying her baby and walking bare breasted, we do not question the humanity of it all. Shoot, look at the average age of marriage around the world, am I truly so arrogant to believe that my culture is the supreme moral compass? Is it the same in some distant tribe when a 40 year old man takes a 15 year old bride and when Bob Smith leaves his job at the firm early to go to the local mall to hit on 9th graders? One is merely a way of a people, an innocent culture, and one is a perversion. It depends on what the society's culture is to navigate what is custom and what is criminal. They are not the same. Bob knows his deviance. The tribesman is merely doing what his people do. Again, in no way do I condone use of force or fear in these situations, but how is the 14 yr. old who sleeps around because she thinks it will make her popular any less brainwashed than the religious sect girl? If I give my body to boys my age in various quantities, is that more morally correct than wanting to marry and start a family at 14? To have value to what I give? And, at what age do I truly have the capabilities to make such defining and moral decisions? 18? Shoot, my girlfriends and I made them far before that, and though some of us fucked up royally, some of us chose wisely. Some of us teetered between the two. And, I know if I had to choose between having a couple of 13 year old girls I know making my decisions for me versus my 33 year old ones in such matters, not to be rude, but that choice would vary dependent on who was up against who. I have plenty of friends my age who should still not be allowed to make decisions of sex and family at their age and who are just as brainwashed as a "sect girl".

I am not one of these girls in such a sect, but I know one. We speak freely about it, and she made me open my eyes. I did not want to at first. I felt sorry for her. But, she is happy and lives a life with love. A life totally opposed to all I know and believe. More power to her. It is like that quote, "If you are happy where you are at, do not curse what got you there." I am a human rights activist. I defend rights. This does not make me the human "right". I have to study cultures to see how they work. I have to be sensitive to differences. I have to fight for making sure one's will is not imposed upon another. It also means, I cannot impose mine. In the end of this case, it could be there are horrible crimes at hand. It could be that this closed society just does things completely different than I do. And the only way I can know which it is, is to ask the people who have lived it. To know their story. I can't analyze history, read a book, or find answers anywhere else. We all have our own reality.

But, I digress. As my prof and mentor said, "Say goodbye to politics, because no one likes a cultural relativist."

So, back to the first paragraph discussion I go.

Why do we want to lie so much? Why do we wish to take the hottest digital representation of ourselves and act like that is truly how we look? I have been told lately that I am vain and jealous. Well, I have always been told that.....and uh oh, I am. I tell people these things of me, from get go. When they counter, "no, you are a sweetheart," I say, no, I am those things. It is not me fishing for telling me I am sweet or awesome, which I am (see? vain.), it is so one does not feel I misrepresented who I truly was.

I think it is interesting how individual's want to shadow who they really are, like no negatives exist. Or that a negative is always, well, negative. That fiery jealousy that will make me delete you off myspace? Same fiery jealousy that will inspire me to protect you when I see trouble heading your way. Jealousy stems from a sense of entitlement, feelings of value being placed on what is sought and up for possession. I cannot be jealous over something I do not care about. Can it make me crazy at times? Sure. But, if I were to say, "No, I am not a jealous girl," because that is a "friendlier" way to be, you would still find out. And as for the vanity, well, the same way it can come across as arrogance, it is the same thing that keeps me afloat when I am all alone and have no one to validate me. I can. I will. No one has to tell me I am cool, because I know I am. So, do not expect me to compromise that to be a lap-dog in the house of perfect cotrived emotion. I am only capable of being the success I see myself as, so I am gonna go ahead and think big and not worry about how I am judged.

Things I have been asked/told of late: "Are you inlove with me?" "Why are you so bitter?" "Grow up." and, my personal favorite, "You know you would be happy/will end up with me." I can name a few people actually, who, if they are reading this list, will think each one of those is them. Some have warrant to ask/say such things, others do not. And, I have failed miserably. I did not fake being inlove, I did not act like I was completely positive that love and happiness always prevail, I did not say "my, you seem upset, and i am hurt by what you have said/done, but tis for the best you express your will and I shall sit quietly and feign tolerance as it is my mature role," and I did not say, "you are right." Was it Maya Angelou, I think?, who said, "if somebody tells you they are crazy, best accept they are." And no, I do not add that to say I am crazy, though I very well am as mad as we all are, but I do believe that if I feel something, I will tell you. I don't humor people, just to be nice. I don't channel my desire to love to whoever will listen, when I know I am not capable of living up to the words I toss around carelessly in casual conversation, I do not speak them. Even if it hurts you. If I tell you how I am, what I want, it is my truth. You are free to hate me for it, but I cannot pose for that photo. Reality is not a framework of words, but a tapestry of experience. And good lighting can easily betray truth.

Something to ponder.

Inspired by "The Problem with No Name"

Angelina Jolie is the Only Woman Who Has It All

I don’t know when exactly I gave up on love.
Was it at four with that forced grown up kiss,
When I felt that first fist,
Or in my heart when I first felt my eyes mist
And cry themselves dry
Til it seemed I would die…..
Cuz I hadn’t measured up?

You have to find success

Was it when I did a line to pass time
Waiting to break out and define
A piece of me that didn’t fit the puzzle
And muzzle
My mind?
At what point did I let go of love?

You have to find success

That shiny ring on my finger,
The suckle at my breast,
THE FUCKING LETTER I NOW WHERE PINNED TO MY CHEST
Because
I HAVE GOT TO BE A SUCCESS.
And settling for love…..
well,
that would be second best.

You have to find success

So when I read all the books
And I pay all the loans…
and I counter Nietzsche
And rest amongst prose,
When I drink a bottle of scotch,
Yet still leave alone,
Will I enter an apartment …….
But never a home?

Will I have found success?

I GAVE UP MY HEART AND MY LOVE AND MY SOUL
IN THE NAME OF THE WOMAN
AND MAKING ME WHOLE…….
(hole)
Independent and sexy
and smart and
……………
and
cold.
See I gave up on love
Cuz it was what I was told.

And that will always haunt my success.

*sigh of relief*

For those nearest and dearest, with a few hours to go before the semester begins, I found a blog tonight. A glorious blog about a woman going through the same yuck I have been facing lately. Someone who gets it and feels like my angel of mercy right now. I finally found someone who might actually know how to help.

Maybe I shouldn't say this, but.....

I love when someone uses that line. See, I am not one of those "honesty is the best policy" people. For instance, say my boyfriend goes to Vegas with friends, and in a moment of lustful, drunken, poor decision making blindness sleeps with another girl, I am not the chick who wants to know. I firmly believe that if I have a chance to take a single instance and either make it an oblivious, non-happiness-threatening secret versus an image that will haunt my mind and eat at my relationship for years to come, spare me. I do not wish for my best friend to tell me that the skirt I ask for an opinion on is indeed unflattering. If I feel hot, let me embrace the world with saddle bags while people whisper behind my back. I am 100% fine with that.

That line though, the "maybe I shouldn't....." disclaimer, well, that is a preface that speaks for itself. That is the lovely filter between the brain and the voice box which is quietly sending messages from synapse to synapse screaming, "Shut up!!!" It is a signal that should be embraced and heeded. Nothing good can come of speaking before you think.

Oddly, I have been able to enjoy some lovely moments of late due to that filtration system breaking down, apparently because having a penis somehow weakens the whole system. I know, this is gonna be a tad anti-male. Make no mistake, I love you guys, but the filter......c'mon! So, in my Cosmo-esque wisdom, let me offer a little advice.

1.) UNLESS YOU SEE A SMALL PERSON EMERGING FROM MY VAGINA, DO NOT ASK ME HOW FAR ALONG I AM
I thought it was just me and my belly and build, but I have now heard from several girlfriends that a certain shirt, a lil menstrual bloating, even a large meal has warranted the "How far along are you?" question from a complete stranger. Bad move boys.
As I worked a concert at the VIP bar this Fall, we were given shirts to wear. Now, no secret, I am 5'10 and have a "thick"(see how I did that boys?) build. Without fail, even this week at a new job, someone always tries to hand me a medium size shirt. The concert was no different. As I explained to the man in charge, their shirts were not fashioned for my physique. He offered that I could leave my tank top on and just tie the shirt above my belly. Great plan. It was like taking cheap cotton and sculpting a frame for fat. It was stunning. I knew it, but my boss was convinced that uniform, even in such flattering forms of styling, was the way to go.
An hour into the show, an old regular shows up at my bar. Hadn't seen him in a few years. After thirty seconds of "wow! Been awhile" and "how ya been?" he congratulates me on the impending arrival. I thanked him and told him I was not in fact pregnant, but had just gotten a tad more portly like himself. As he quickly apologized and turned red, I told him he should be, unbuttoned the shirt and threw it at my boss and told him to order some larger shirts or pay for my therapy. Now, all the while, as my self esteem curls up in a ball and hides, I want to stab this guy in the face. The Lesson? Doing this makes girls want to stab you in the face. Nuff said.

2.) AGE IS NOT JUST A NUMBER
Aw, the reason for this blog in the first place. New Year's 2008. I looked hot. Fresh off losing 20lbs and hot rolling the hair, eyes sculpted in my most expensive of MAC colors, and the ever so flattering black on black outfit, I was feelin sexy. Now, I am 31, and I am cool with it. I can still get away with my mid to late twenties thanks to a combo of good genes, fish oil, and Mario Badescu, but I do not hide my age. I compete willingly in a field where 25 is old, and my friends from school cannot get into my places of employment. I like the fact that I am still rockin it but get to be hot WITH the wisdom that comes with age. I am totally fine with my age.........but I do not like to be told I look 31 by you. or worse, older.
So, the beginning of the party, only a half hour or so in, I was making small talk with a guest. This was my first private house party I had gotten to contract. I was amped. I was tending bar and had hired on my good friend Kram to serve as the cocktail waitress. She is 28, tiny, and young in appearance. 28. So, Drunky Drunkerson asked me how I knew the hosts, and then proceeded to ask me if "the young lady working with me was my daughter". This had a similar effect as to walking up and hitting me in my non-pregnant gut. "Uh, no." I think he caught up quite quickly because he swiftly beckoned another party goer over to chat. I did. I felt crushed. I half wanted to laugh, as I would had this been done to one of my friends, but I also wanted to cry. Good job dude. Filter. (But I do have to thank Kram for such great jokes as picking up one of the many disposable cameras placed throughout the house, offering to take a pic of us, and saying, "you know, like a mommy and me photo op!" You suck. ---but that was good)
So, let me help ya guys, guessing or "dating" a woman's age, bad idea. Bottom line, never guess over 28. Crows feet, grey hair, ........an oxygen tank and senior living center I.D.? 28. And, if it is in the 20's you truly estimate the correct age, knock 3 years off that guess. Why? Because chicks like that. And making us happy is just, well, quite frankly it is just alot easier than pissing us off. For you.

3.) THOU SHALL BE CAREFUL WHEN ANALYZING THY GIRLFRIEND, WIFE, ETC.
So, say you have made it through enough filter situations to land a steady someone. Congratulations! Now, I am gonna give you credit that you do know that if I ask if I look fat, you know, without pause or hesitation to ponder, the answer is no. I can voice that I am fat every day. You may not. Ever. Doing so can only book your ticket to the island of Younogettalaid. It is a sad and lonely island. And, the return ticket can remain open ended for unannounced increments of time. Pack a book. (or some bookmarked broadband porn.)
But that one should be simple. The trickier one here is in the analysis of relationships past. Yes, at some point, we as women have been in a very bad relationship. Maybe more. We know this. You explaining it is only fuel for a fire. BUT, BY NO MEANS SHOULD YOU EVER point out that you think we are weak with men. Simple statement, maybe correct, but very bad. All that you have guaranteed now is that I will never again back down in a fight. You have called me out as this doormat, and now I will be forced to pull my ovaries down and show you how big my balls are when it comes to how I am treated. Remember those times that you messed up and did the cute little apology and she forgave you immediately? Not any more. Now that cute lil lettin it slide moment has been pinpointed as weakness, so it is Ultimate Fighting time, and we are ruthless in that cage. Some things are better left unsaid.



There. My offering of ways to start the 2008. My rant. If you do happen to commit one of these offenses, just back away quickly. Trying to justify your observation? Worse. Just accept that these things are very bad. We do the same. I have been with the guy who is less than well-endowed for instance. I could not say it to him though. I had to live in the fact that he knew all on his own. I could not make it endearing by lovingly calling him "baby dick". I cannot run into a guy I haven't seen in years and say excitedly, "Congratulations on getting so fat!" I cannot approach the 24 yr old who has prematurely grayed and say he looks 50. I use my filter. It works out nicely.

Returning Home

I had to come back....

I remember the first blog I found of my own free will, and I read it religiously, until the 4th of July 2006, when she apparently fell off the face of the earth. I theorized a million scenarios as to what had caused her to quit writing, but maybe, like me, she just got caught up in other stuff. Not quite as entertaining as I care to imagine, but whatever. We all float off into space sometimes.

So, I return. Because I miss this. I miss my anonymous, picture free, ranting/raging diary that keeps me on point. I miss the pinkness of the page and the havoc and hilarity it brings my real life. so, here goes..........

Time for catch up.......

I guess the good news is I actually have a life again. I can't lie, the job loss and the end of the elections this winter threw me off. I actually operate best on little sleep and lots of projects, so it has been rather hum-drum for a bit.

And FYI--I LOVE my new bar. It is my dream bar. Laid back crowd, good tippers, Wu-Tang on the jukebox.........it is heaven. So, maybe we have to put up with a couple gunshots down the street, but, sadly, becoming city-fied over the years has just made that one of the factors of being out in the night.

And, I am eating up a project I have started to help with relief in Darfur. All factors taken in, I hope to leave for Chad in early 2008. I am organizing two events, but as it has been my passion to help for the past couple of years, it is consuming me the more I get involved. I will post more about that though as venues are secured and I have a list of locked-in speakers for the first event and DJ's for the next.

And lastly, is it bad if you have been on three dates with someone and have fallen asleep on two of them? He actually asked me if I was using him for his furniture. (He does have amazing furniture, I admit). Screw the getting to know each other, I am apparently all about catchin some z's! He must think I am horribly engaging at this point.

Shelter.....some more

"This large and sunny 6th Floor Renovated 1 bedrooms apartment located in a beautiful pre-war elevator."

I am hoping this is a misprint, but that's not an apartment, that's an elevator.

Midterms and me.....

I do not sleep very often. This sentence is a regular of mine. I like to stay up all night. I like to write while the world sleeps. However, I have tried so hard for so many years to define "my voice" that it is now virtually impossible to shed in term papers. I have somehow linked everything from Ricky Ross to Nigerian oil to state sovereignty to Aristotle together in what may be the biggest political kaleidoscope of a paper ever written. This is definitely gonna be a love it or hate it grade.

An Adverse Reaction to Valentines Day

Like the rest of my life, Valentines' Day leaves me somewhat torn. I am the most hopelessly romantic jaded realist I know. I find myself sending out all of this love and heart manufactured happiness and totally believing in my intentions, yet raising an eyebrow to any suitor who crosses my path with a great deal of suspiscion.

I hate those girls who whine about the day for lack of cards and candy. That is just rather lame. Growing up I always looked forward to the day, special someone or not. It's like Christmas. Commercialization or not, the principle is good. A noble idea. Showering those you hold dear with a little extra love. I eat it up.

When I was 18, I had my first Valentines Day lesson. I won one of those lovely high school princess titles and got to wear my sash as "Queen of Hearts." It was odd because I was not the typical high school sweetheart, but as I do have the vanity of a true Scorpio's nature, I devoured it. But, at the end of the day, I was still a girl in my gown shoveling out her car from a blizzard. That sash was of no use.

By 19, Valentines Day changed my life. I had decided that staying in my small town to be with my drug dealer boyfriend was so much better than attending college in New York. What can I say? I am awesome when it comes to weighing my options.

I was at work at a truck stop motel. It was quiet. Then the phone rang. One of my friends from out of town was staying with me. She asked if I was sitting down. The boyfriend had been busted. Not "I got pulled over and had some shit on me", but involved in a federal undercover operation. It was like someone walked up and sucker punched me and then ripped out my small intestine. I felt sick. The room was spinning. Being a chick, my first thought was how I had said, "holding that much stuff on you is a bad idea!" and "the spot is bound to draw attention and fall eventually." Dealers do not have a good shelf life on a residential street. Then it hit me, I was gonna be under surveillance most likely too. It was a matter of time before my apartment would be searched. This is why living with a dealer sucks ass.

I think I may have one of the best boss talks in the history of having to speak to a supervisor ever. My old boss was a trucker himself, and had a heart of gold though. He looked out for me all through high school. But, conjuring up the words to say, "I gotta leave right now before I take the fall with my idiot boyfriend" is a crappy convo to have. I was straight up about the situation. He told me to go and wished me luck.

Every movie that shows the scene of trying to get rid of evidence is true. It was frantic. Anything that "could be used against me" had to go. And I only had one friend (who was not even legal in the US) there because the last thing I needed was extra traffic. As you all know, my writing documents my truth. Alot of truth. Too much truth. So, it had to go. I remember taking the two Rubbermaid(I wonder if they would like that plug?) containers to a guy's bachelor pad and telling him "Please don't read this, or ask questions, but hide it." That alone was nerveracking. Every thought, dream, story was conveniently packaged and at that point, in someone else's possession. Thank God it was a good friend.

As for the stash and the paraphenalia, it had to go far. I drove to a trailer about fifty miles outside of town with $7,000 worth of crap on my person. I saw every cop I passed as a predator that would destroy me. And, it wasn't even mine. I was just left to clean up a big fuckin mess. It was surreal. I don't think I said a word on that drive.

When I got to the trailer and dumped it to a guy who would eventually steal it and leave town (No honor amongst thieves I suppose), I finally just dropped to my knees and cried. I was scared, relieved, mad, sad...............a million little fractals of human emotion. Everyone there just stood quietly and stared. They knew how much I wanted to escape that town, that way of life, and they knew I was at that pivotal point of......."maybe not". I did what any psycho junkie girlfriend would do at that point, and I did a gram of total crap. Bad cut. It was soapy to the touch and flaked as my razor touched it. I didn't care. A couple people told me that it was a bad idea, but what did I care? This was the outcome of a long series of very bad ideas. It seemed to fit the situation in my mind. I wanted to be free of the situation, so I took the mental approach.

I went to my parents' house for what was supposed to be a happy family dinner and had to warn them of the next day's newpaper headlines. I watched my parents lose faith in me with a single sentence. I wanted to crawl in a hole.

I had to then go make the "favor rounds" and ask for bail money. It was horrible. I was in rooms that smelled of "corrosion and death" promising it would all be handled post indictment. I ended up having to post the remaining bond with my car title. As the lady warned me that I would be held responsible, I just nodded. I hated him for this. If he skipped bond, I had no problem with turning him in myself. This was now business. I also paid the retainer fee for a top lawyer. Hate.

My phone rang off the hook that night. I couldn't even answer. I had to take my friend to another friend's house so that she would not be asked for papers. I was alone. As I kept seeing the "unknown" caller ID pop up, I knew it was him. I couldn't bring myself to talk. I didn't want to hear the "I love you's" and "I'm so sorry". I wanted to sit in the ash and ponder my rise. I was threatened by the big wig who was still free so I knew that my options were limited. I answered investigators questions in a state of unknowing shock. It was the toughest role I had ever played. Dumb girlfriend.

I went to work the next day still shellshocked. I knew what my options were. I grabbed an atlas and stared blankly at all the faceless cities. This was not the time for NYC, so I had to reevaluate. I picked 10 cities that I always liked and put there names in a pile and drew........

He was home when I walked in. A million apologies ensued. A million promises. I was numb. Then it happened. He dropped to his knee and proposed. It was all I could do to keep from laughing. I had asked before, if he had to choose, drugs or me, what would he choose? The answer was always silence. Now, my competition had fallen out of the race. I just stared blankly at him. "I am moving. And I will never come back here." I then called my parents and told them I was leaving. Two months later, job and apartment lined up, I was gone.

I hated him for using me as the branch to cling to as he had willfully jumped into the raging floodwaters.

Oddly, I learned the lesson from afar three years later. Valentines day and I got the "busted" call from another boyfriend's sister. It was like Groundhog's Day. But I digress. By this time, I kept men at arm's length.

So, Valentines' Day is two things to me. A heartbreaking reminder and a chance to hope for more. This year, I am just trying to post bond for my heart.

On a lighter note.......

So perhaps the posts have been a bit dark or non existent of late, but that is about to change. I like a new boy! I am wildly excited about it as I have not had a real live crush in almost three years. That giggly, happy, ball of yummy gumdrops that it makes me become. I love it. Maybe it isn't the anticipation of what is to come of it, but more just revelling in the moments of being giddy and having a certain innocence between us. It is making my heart happy, which tends to make the days a little brighter and the birds song's a little sweeter, all of the cliched yuck. It also makes me want to purge the ex. I guess I am just tired of being told to wait on happiness and such like it is some illusive creature that we are waiting in the woods to catch. A happiness wood nymph if you will. Apparently, some people just do this whole happy thing naturally. Intriguing.........

How it really is..........sans sugarcoating and romanticism

Four hundred miles in twenty four hours,
to find you spread your seed like the common cold.
A roll of toilet paper dowry for my teardrops now.
Our favorite restaurant where the fish is great.
A heaping helping of reality now sits on my plate.
No Co-Co Ritas tonight.
Too shocked too fight.
The misgivings of romantic ideals, no Mrs. Right.
Today your words are cold as they inch through my veins,
the cool salty sting of your audible saline.
This offers no hydration to replenish my tears.
Closer together, farther apart, the due date nears.
"Sit back down." "Shut the door."
That's my heart helplessly laid out on the floor.
Hurts too bad, this open sore.
I cannot do this anymore.
I cannot love you anymore.

I guess I had tried to be a romantic about the situation of the past few years, but I have grown bored with that. I thought maybe it was time for this ol' girl to get posted. Just because that night, which seemed so trivial to the other player in the story, changed me forever. A million decisions and revisions stem from that night. It seems so distant, yet could be today for how our story has gone. But, it was time to put this up. I would explain it, and I will someday, but for now, I just don't want to feel like it doesn't exist to the rest of the world. I do not want to keep secrets and hide from our truth. I want to heal and move on.

How many years.......

.......would you have liked for me to wait for you to love me back? To be the answer to all of your questions? To be the sparkle in your eye?

I would rather be no one's something special than someone's nothing that great.

Closure. I found it in me instead of looking to you again.

The Search

Well, after a few snow days, it is back to school time. *sigh of relief* But, of course, until it is full swing of learning again, I have been trying to do some extra stuff.

I try to look over the real estate available in New York each day, just to get an idea of what area will destroy me financially the least. I think I have a job there, so that helps, but it kills me to think of the rent when I start to glance at the listings. So, imagine my surprise today at the listing for a one bedroom in Manhattan for $229. Yeah. I am trying to figure out what the stipulation is to that. Do I dress up in a cat suit and pretend to be someone's pet and they give me a pillowy bed to curl up on in the corner? Do I get 7 strangers to live in a loft? Do I get the boiler room as long as I am up to some repairs?

It made me realize that unless it is hideously overpriced, I do not trust it. Given, the 229 has got to be a misprint, but even at $650, my mind pictures the chalk outline I may have to decorate around in the living room.

I have started looking in advance though as I know my last experience with living out there. When I did find the perfect place, the family then decided to stay. First for a month, then two...it was like holding a lottery ticket every month waiting to see if I could move in. I finally gave up. They won. And now, I start the quest early to avoid the pain. Keeping those options open less I live in a hotel for two months.

My very favorite part of looking however was the "open house" on one particular place. The realty company said they had the perfect two bedroom. It was okay as apartments go, but I couldn't help but notice the absence of that second bedroom. When I asked, the realtor quickly opened the closet door in the bedroom.

Now, I can't lie, I would have probably been more thrilled at the idea of a walk-in closet than the second bedroom, but this was a new tactic for me in trying to be looped in to signing a lease. There it was, a closet. You could see the spackle from where the clothing rack once was. No bed would have fit, perhaps a cot, but it was ......a closet. I may have done the same thing to a visiting friend, said, "Here, this is your room." But hell, that would just be for entertainment purposes.

I said, point blank, "this is a closet."

"No, this is a bedroom," replied the realtor.

I always love that moment. That time in which someone is saying some utter bullshit to you, but is so calm and direct, that he/she is unwaivering in the statement of fact. They know you know, but without the assistance of time travel, it is impossible to argue. I can't PROVE it is a closet. Shoot, why not argue that it is a pet playroom? A cozy study? A breakfast nook? The darkroom? Have some fun with it. It really doesn't matter what we call it because in the end, I could do whatever I choose with this space, but it will still be my revamped closet.

So I look, each day, hoping to find my 1 bedroom with a closet. Or whatever you wanna call it.

My Dog Has a Hole in Her Side? WTF?

Last night, I had vowed to start posting some pieces I had been working on that actually A.) contained a story and B.) were not about my pets. I thought this was going well as I typed away, P. Diddlez by my side. She had been busy playing the day away at my parents' house, so she was quite content to curl up in her puppy ball and sleep. Very normal. She began to do some intense licking though. Again, no big deal, this happens from time to time, but with a snap of the fingers, she will chill. This worked for awhile, but then, more licking, same spot. I looked down at the little roll of puppy flesh behind the shoulder blade that seemed to be the problem. Nope. No blood or irritation, just puppy rolls. When once again licking ensued, I decided I should pull back the skin thinking perhaps a bug bite? A scratch? As I began to separate the skin, I was horrified to see that I was dismantling my dog! At first, it looked like a leach as I could see swelling and slick....stuff? Then I realized that, oh no, the Diddlez had a tear in her side. Not a small one either. She had a hole in her!

So, panic sets in: What happened!? How did I not notice this?! Why is there no blood or whining?! Shock!? Yeah, I freaked. She, on the other hand was just like, "Yeah, hole in my side. Whatever. Can I lick it and chill please?"

Now, mind you, Diddlez has a rather high pain tolerance. This is the same dog that I found as she was thrown out of a car, with every parasite known to man and beast, at five weeks old in front of a PetSmart. She stood in the dog catcher's truck wagging her tail and licking my fingers, just happy as can be. She had been called in to the pound immediately and it is illegal to intercept once they are documented FYI. I figured I would just go spring her from doggy jail, until I found out they can neither release an animal under 8 weeks old and/or with infectious parasites. "No kill" shelters can't even get to 'em. It became a bit of a battle that my vet had to be a character reference and give a full plan of treatment in writing. *I love my vet* I couldn't give up though. She had heart. She was a hard knock lifer and kindred spirit. She also smelled like raw sewage.(The also is intended to reflect her state. I do not have the sewage thing in common, to the best of my knowledge.) The first few days(sorry former patrons) she stayed in my car at work, AC on, so she could have meds/feedings every two hours. All her meds were in a bar cooler and each employee took breaks to go nurse her, followed by intense hand scrubbing as she was highly contagious. (Sorry health inspector. And to think people only worry about a roach or cross contamination!) It was a labor of love.

She is also notorious for a shock collar incident. We went on a cross country adventure a few years back and headed back to home sweet home to see Jesi. Jesi's landlord had this amazing garden with the invisible fence to keep the dogs out. The dogs had to wear a shock collar and the other dogs lived in fear. Sitting outside next to it one night, Diddlez comes to join us and sit down. Every couple seconds her face would contort from the electric current surging through the collar. She was above being shocked and just took it. In dog world, that's one hard ass bitch. She later taught the other dogs that if you just ran fast, you could drink from the serenity pool in the garden unfazed. It was a moment of pain. My Diddlez. Always with a plan.

Back to the matter at hand though, did this mean it was bad and she was just bein a soldier? I continued the path to panic, and called Syd. She would know what to do. She is my AKC dog whisperer. In cleaning it, we were not past the fatty tissue. No muscle. (sigh of relief) See, for po pet owners, the animal ER is scary. It is quality vet care at triple the price. Not that each one of these pets isn't worth it, but if it can be handled until morning, it is easier. I love my zoo, but as you can guess from Diddlez entrance into my life and the same for the others, I have about $10,000 worth of pet at this point. So, I now know that if she is calm, I have to be. Syd reinforced this and I thus spent the rest of the night keeping the licking to a minimum and comforting....well,....me mostly. Diddlez was still unfazed.

As the vet opened early today, we were there. It was odd. As I got her leash, which is normally a group signal for fun, Ike just layed there and Diddlez sighed, and then quietly walked over. It was as though she knew, "Here we go. Great."

I felt a little guilt relief as the vet techs came over to see their buddy (oh yeah, we know the vet quite well. Go figure) and said, "where is it?" Totally hidden until she wiggled to the side then BAM! Hole in the dog! It is frustrating to have no answer as to how or when it happened. I know it was at some point during her outside day, but neither her nor Ike were talking. It is a great mystery. No blood in the yard either. Just a hole in the dog.

At first, it looked like it would need to be handled surgically. As I had cleaned it the night before, it was a very clean cut though, so the doctor checked it out and agreed. Surgery wasn't the bad part, but I hate the idea of her being alone for the weekend in a cage. Very anti-Diddlez. She is part badger I think. The doc said I could go on about my day as it would take awhile, but I said I would stay for her comfort. He just laughed. Ok, for my comfort.

And, though it took three techs to hold her for anethesia, she was indeed a soldier. As the doc sewed the final stitch, he brought up that Diddlez would not work in a cone collar and would merely scratch what she couldn't chew. He recommended an amazing trick and sent me to the store for baby T-shirts. When bandages are a bad idea, use a snug T-shirt. Now, I am one of those people who highly believes that dressing up the family dog is ridiculous, although she will need a sweater once I move to the land of winter again, but Diddlez does look awfully cute in her sporty little red Tee. It is, however, rather hard to convert children's sizes to dog. Very hard.

We are resting comfortably now, and I have yet another pet post. Go figure. Now that Humpty is put back together again, we will try this again tomorrow.

I haven't bitched in awhile so.......

Now, I will start this by saying I can be rather secretive. Oddly, I will tell anyone anything about me you want to know, but I rarely let people know such things as my address, where I live, or my residence. Yes, I am a hermit, get it? I love to go out and be the life of the party, but I will find you should I wanna hang. If I deem you cool enough, you will be invited over, but I STRESS, this is not what I am about. So, here is my new problem.

Random pretty boy moved in awhile back with his girlfriend next door. She is mean, he is HOT. But, no big deal. I have someone, he has someone....and to be honest, he isn't my type. He is slick. More slippery in fact. Moreso than a salamander. Like the other night, he brushed against me going to his car. Not a situation where it was a tight space or a minor slip, more like a gentle massage of bodies. It was creepy as his girl was 10 ft. away fussing over the neighbor's dog. Weird.

Still, this is not a big deal. I just let it go. But, now he seems to want to hang out....alot. All the time. He comes by at all hours. So, I have been doing the same slick thing that I would do if some unwanted suitor was calling; I just don't answer. Yes, I know he knows I am home, but I could care less.(And I keep wondering, is there not a hint here?) Mind you, I do not even know this dude's name. But, he has crossed the line tonight. And, this has been my test. He twisted the fucking doorknob! Uh....HELLO?!?! I realize we are on this non-first-name-basis and all, but I wasn't quite ready to exchange keys. So, now I am in a bit of a pickle. I have to call him out, or rat him out to his chick which would probably serve better, but I can't. It is like I am on slimy dude house arrest. Does he wanna chill(screw)? Rob me? Make cookies? What slimey guy? What the fuck?

This does lead to an awesome couple of stories however, that I now feel like telling. See, a few years ago, an ex of mine shows up drunk beating on my door. I look out the peephole and see he is hiding something. After a brief exchange informing him that I have no intention of opening the door, especially whilst he is concealing something behind him, we began to have a slight dispute. He inevitably shows me that he has brought a tire iron. You know, the housewarming tire iron present? I love to show up at a friends home and say, "Hey, got a surprise for ya!" and thus whip out a tire iron. Some people value the look of surprise from an unwrapped gift. I like straight up fear and awkwardness. But, i am probably in the minority. Silly me.

Knowing that he will not use it, I only become pissed at this point. Not only is he intruding, but I feel a little violated. Angry even. So, I do what any pissed-off, fiery-bitch would do, I open the door and take it from him. I also start yelling at him. I was not very kind, but I do feel that one has a right to lose proper etiquette when a tire iron is involved. Now, he would argue at this point it was because he was scared of my neighbors. It is, in fact, a valid point. After we come to an agreement that he will leave and no, he does not get his tire iron back, my neighbor comes out high and packin, and asks if I want him to shoot him. Awww, and we think acts of neighborly kindness in society are gone?! I am a little(lot) unnerved by the whole situation. Though it is always handy to know you have that neighbor ready to catch a charge for ya, it just seems a bit extravagant. I do however have a coffee mug that I borrowed from that neighbor and failed to return. Oooh......I hope he isn't pissed about that one.

Now, I will say that this ex had a bad moment. Given, a real bad moment, but we are actually quite fine now. It is almost ha ha funny. Sure, a couple of you are like, that is sick, but for anyone who has had to see a shadier side of life, you know that laughing is the best remedy, no matter how heinous.

And, this brings me to the, "Thank God for the tire iron" story. See, I realized that I had no real protection against intruders. When living in a not so friendly part of Brooklyn once, I was keyed in on the cup of bleach by the door. It was fabulous I thought. I am big and talk tough, but I lack the real oomph to actually kick some ass. (Don't tell the people I have thrown out of the bars this.) I did know I could throw bleach in someone's face though if needed. This, had been a good idea until I had gotten dogs. I then lived in fear of some crazy bleach mishap where a dog would lose an eye and I would be at fault. So, the tire iron seemed to work. (I also keep a trailer hitch for a fist pack. I will go with the Britney excuse here and just say "we're country".)

Now, for those of you who have made it this far and don't think I am a complete psycho yet, I will say, I am probably one of the friendliest, most trusting people you can meet. However, I do have a bit of a temper if it is needed. Certain situations call for certain things. That noted, I will continue in a very offensive story.

I worked as a bartender until I was 9 months pregnant. Yes. I know. Odd. But non-smoking environment--ok? (Note: never ask a girl why she is bartending at 8 1/2 months. Or why she is working in general. It was my favorite. Like I had some secret hobby and adoration for being on my feet and putting up with drunk guys for long periods of time. Means to an end people.) Anywho, when I was roughly 8 months along, my neighbor (new one) had company in town. This neighbor was very nice, very cordial in passing. Good guy. His friend seemed to be the same way. They came into the bar one Saturday night and said hello. It was very busy so be it brief, we talked for a moment and thus went on about our duties.

As I got home that night, I was eager to just get off my feet. My parents had the dogs for the night (as some of you will ask about my bodygaurd), so I had the spot to myself and could relax. Until, a knock at the door. Since it was 4:30 in the morning, I was curious, so I peeped. Low and behold, it is my neighbors friend. I assumed something must be wrong so I opened the door. Big mistake. He tells me he can't sleep and if we can talk for a few minutes. As I tell him I am planning to go to bed, he just kind of slides on in. So, we sit on the couch and talk for a few moments and I then mention sleep again. I was not scared as he was the timid guy. You know the one. Can't talk to girls, shy, but a lil alcohol gives him a boost. He is easily controlled though. He is submissive, you can smell it on him.

As he gets up to leave, he says, "I probably shouldn't say this, but......."

Now, nothing good comes of that which shouldn't be said. I had in fact made this guy many martinis for the evening, so I have watched the decline of logic and judgement, so I brace myself.

"I have been waiting for you to get home."

Great. I have been waiting for you to say you brought avocados. Mmmmm. Avocados.

"My friend has told me about your situation."

Even better. My knight in shining armor. Drunk and creepy and in my space. Yes!

"I know what you need right now...."

Here it comes. The valiant declaration of what can be done for me. Avocados.

"and I am willing to lick that pussy and you don't have to do anything......."

Stop. What? There was more talking going on at this point, but I kind of tuned out. I know this STRANGER is not coming into MY space, while I am making the miracle of life happen and being all vulgar and hitting on me.......What? This is the type of shit I expect at the bar, but it sure as hell isn't coming into MY home. I am angry. And I own a tire iron.

So, I push him out the door as I grab the tire iron. He now has that "Surprise, I brought a tire iron" face. As I begin to sternly educate him on respect, in a bit of a forte vocalization, I also let him know that the best thing for him to be "willing to do" is go back to his friend's house and pass the fuck out before I beat his ass with a tire iron.

Perhaps I am not very likely to "beat someone's ass with a tire iron", but if I were, this would have been the moment. I think he knew it as he got very submissive rather quickly. He started to tear up.

I cannot picture what it looks like to see someone that pregnant screaming and getting ready to whoop someone's ass on her porch with a tire iron, but in my mind, and in one of my neighbor's minds, it is rather funny. Again, not quite ha ha, no, kind of ha ha. And, I think he may have wet himself a (insert pun here)wee bit.

He left rather abrubtly the next day never to return. I did mention to my neighbor who had been passed out, that should he return, well, I do still own a tire iron....that may have played into his distance. I have a feeling he hits on pregnant girls a little less now.

So, what is the point? Slimey dude, I do have a tire iron. And, hopefully, I can still convey a fucked up story in a moderately entertaining fashion as most of my stories are just that. Fucked up/moderately entertaining......you be the judge. Or maybe it is just a good indication that it is time to move.

and to 2007......

I have never been good at resolutions. I hate them. Mainly because I have consistently lived in the moment for as long as I can remember. I don't crave to be a better person as each year starts out, as I realize that, inevitably, shit will happen to knock me down, and thus things will come along to build me up. So I can't pinpoint what finished product I want to see in the next 365 days. Besides, I like that element of surprise. I will undoubtedly have at least 50 soul reallignments before the next switching of the calendar.

On the other hand, I love New Year's Eve. It is like the dawn of a slight chance that perhaps things will be so much better with the stroke of a clock. And this year is sooo magical. As I said goodbye to a hundred people I will probably never so much as pass on the street again (not out of avoidance, just outta life), I realized that this is where I finally get to live my dream. It makes me want to piss myself out of excitement and fear at the same time. It makes me believe. I have never wanted to settle. I am not pursuing a degree with a ten year plan. I do not wish for anything in particular that I do not already have. I don't want to believe in a false dichotomy of right and wrong. I would prefer to meander in some hazy grey area.

So, in this new year, though I wish everyone enough happiness to perma grin and enough heartbreak to hope, I hope that some things just stay the same. I am just happy being me again...........finally. And I will never apologize for that.

My Secret Life

I did it! Yes, I have found out that I actually have the ability to cook! It wasn't easy, and at times I felt like giving up(aka: the "out of pepper" breakdown. It wasn't a pretty sight.) But, mission accomplished. I was able to pull off the pinnacle of cooking, the holiday meal. I did learn that if brussel sprouts are damp, they become little torpedos rapidly firing hot grease in every direction. At that point, I did what every well prepared chef does. I threw a lid on them and ran away squealing. Knowing I had to return, I approached with caution and killed them with chicken stock. Bastards. But it was a fabulous meal. And, I have made three cakes to get rid of the supply of yogurt since I am out of fridge space. Let them eat cake........alot of it.

So, now I am trying to plan out the New Year. New job. New school. Cross country move. I have been spending alot of time at home just trying to take care of my dad and enjoy my parents because I am worried my mom will freak out if I try to bring her to NY. I haven't even been out in over a month. It feels odd. But, it has been cleansing also. I feel like maybe this was a break I needed. Now, I am trying to organize the house so packing will be easy this Spring. I am notorious for packing boxes of ridiculous crap and labeling it something vague and just moving it from spot to spot unopened. "Dejenerate's Homeless Tour 97 yo" is a personal favorite. It is like the Easter Bunny and Pete Doherty got together and decided what to pack up for storage. I think that unpacking should be the 13th step. Seeing my zanyness wrapped in bubble wrap is a delightful reminder of what can happen on drugs. It is entertaining to say the least.

I am excited for this year. It feels like a lifetime of "oops" is finaling passing and I am on the cusp of everything I have dreamed of. It is finally happening. Breathe.

Merry Christmas.......

Well, this week has been a busy one. As many of you know, this is my first Christmas with the role of Matriarch due to family illness. Basically, my first "grown up" Christmas. My biggest excitement? Preparing Christmas dinner! This may bring fear to some of your hearts, but alas, I finally found something that inspired me to cook. I am inlove with a blog called "Pinknest". All of the pictures get my tummy growling and she focuses on all of the joys each meal brings. I love it. That said, I decided to research her blog and make a meal consisting of recipes she has posted. One thing is a bit hard though. She seems to be a tad(light years) ahead of me in the cooking field. I am notorious for throwing a casserole together with whatever is left in the pantry. (I make a mean tuna, mac and cheese, and pea one. It is my signature dish.) So, thus began my plight to overcome. How hard can it be? Following directions, I can do that.

I did make a small mistake though. I decided to go to the grocery store at 11am yesterday. The grocery store and I normally get along. I go at 3-5am, get my Lean Pockets and cereal and leave. Simple. Not quite the same yesterday. It was straight up guerilla warfare for food and a covetted front row spot in the aisles. It was insane! For those who would assume bread crumbs are with the bread, they are not. (And I know I am not the only person to not know this) Plain yogurt, apparently only comes in gallon drums. And though I love jicama, I now have a whole one that I held like an inquisitive chimpanzee. Do I peel it? Do I hit it with a hammer? Do I jump around squealing and throw it on the ground? (This may have gotten me some shopping space at least) I am learning though. I have faith. I can do this.

The best part though was the cardemom plight. My mom, in her fragile state, still found the energy to laugh at me in the idea of me grinding spices. So, I cheated and found out that I can buy it ground, though I sacrafice a lil flavor. This seems worth it though, because though I wouldn't let on, I am scared of grinding my own spice. It just sounds like a task for a more accomplished chef. I was expecting an expensive price, but at $13 for a small jar, and with a tub of plain yogurt, expect to be eating my cardamom streusel for awhile if you come by. Hell, I may send them out as gifts. Check the mailbox guys.

It is funny though as my mom's spice cupboard(that's right:cupboard. she has a collection) is full with spices that date back twenty years. I am not sure if these are even good, but being packrats, my mom and I save stuff. Waste not, want not. But she did freak out at the price, as I knew she would. We have now deemed this a "Cardemom Christmas". I, of course, after being forced to watch Hallmark specials to no end with my parents sick (and Barber Shop 1 and 2. My new favorite Christmas memory? Trying to teach my mom what various slang means and having her now use it with such a look of accomplishment. It is weird.) decided that perhaps it has screenplay value. The whole family is sick and not feeling Christmasy, decorations aren't up, but then I start cooking with this glorious spice. The wafting aromas inspire my dad to walk, my mom can breathe again, Cardemom heals Christmas!! Ok, blame the Hallmark Channel. But, it has brought the fam some laughs, so I like it.

But, now it is D day. Or C day more appropriately. I am off to the kithchen. Wish me luck.

Karma.....

It is always there.

Compromising what I feel......

This blog is my diary. Sometimes it is funny. Sometimes it is sad. Sometimes it is angry. And, it will continue to be all of these things. I don't write it to get back at people, I write it to stay sane. So, if you are one of the people that I trust enough to give this address to, respect that I have a million little secrets for you all, but that is not what I post. I post how I feel and I tell my version of the story. It is the one place that my voice doesn't get lost in a crowd or silenced. Show a little respect, just as I do for you. Don't be high school.

D.R.

The sun is hot on my face and makes each breath seem heavier than the one before,
like the heightened sensations as I waited outside of her door.
I do not have the energy to do this today.
Maybe it would have been better to just fade away.
Each step. Each breath. Is riddled with dissonance of sight and sound........
and I can't keep up with Stu.
Somewhere. Sometime. I fell so far behind you.
And every child. And every womb. Is assauting me with that faint glimpse
of you. you. you.
Rocks keep slipping beneath each well thought out step,
I forgot to take those breaths,
And I can't climb that fast.
I stumbled and tumbled down into my past
fuck stuck, I am submerged.
Fighting the urge............
Should I just sit down and cry?
Footsteps behind
Footsteps ahead
a fragile version
of that unsaid.
I just can't keep up today.
Do I leave? Do I love? Do I fuck? Do I dream?
Do I cry? Do I wilt? Do I kick? Do I scream?
Do I fight? Do I fold? Do I smile? Do I crawl?
If I did.........
would you stop and look back at all?
so I keep going, robotic, on my own long walk.........hearing the gunshots all around.
And I plead it will not be me to hit the ground.
Then I notice I am still taking each step.

I am not meant for optimum health..........

I decided to quit smoking a while back, and since I have been out of smokey bars and clubs, I thought, "why not do it now?" a few days ago. I also thought I would do my body a favor, and detox it. A lil seaweed, some pommegranite, no soda, no liquor........the works. Funny thing, i have always said some people are cut out for that which is hardcore. For instance, look at athletes who do an enhancement drug a couple times and keel over on the field. I maintain, the body is a well oiled machine, no matter what. My car runs on gasoline, and I know that I can go fill the tank with koolaid, but the results will not be good. Those athletes have trained to premium health, so throwing in that which is foriegn is crazy. How does this apply to me? Well, I could snort an eightball, drink a half bottle of Jager, and smoke a pack of cigarettes and still go on my morning walk, but apparently, my body is rejecting that which is good for me. I am sick. My lungs feel as though they are crystalizing, my skin is pale and breaking out, my body is achy, and my pee smells very weird and is an odd color. (Yes, that is too much information.) So, I asked my doctor what was wrong and apparently this is just part of switching from my Garbage Pale Kid lifestyle to a healthier one. Lovely. I guess I was naive. I thought if I ran so well so full of crappy toxins, healthy me might harness the power to possibly fly, but not yet. For now, I just cough up tar.

I am not sure what I went looking for last night........

but I do know what I found. Feeling much better today.

"I just wanna give a shout out to..."

"Jesi with one s Jesi", you are the coolest person I know, as I have said, and now you are in the same age group. Yes! May Jesus bless this day and year for you.

I took a shower!

For those of you who have been following my post-canned progress, there is good news. I have showered! I could no longer tell if it was me or the dogs that smelled funky and "Dharma and Greg" reruns were beginning to provide spiritual solace. So, I am off to the internship. Self Pity Week is over, but we had fun right? And now, I am going to see if Congressmen really do mind pink hair or if that is just what those crazy grown ups tell us to scare us into not dying it. So, I am out. (PS--I did get an extension for the paper) I am full on Taco Bell and way too much computer and TV time, so now I am ready to reclaim my spot in the land of the living.

Let's just call it a "Mental Health" day.......

Maybe I should start with the timeline of yesterday. 1.) talk to father who just had to have blood transfusions in Dallas because he quit making red blood cells for a few days post-op 2.) get fired for BULLSHIT 3.) get 85 calls all tryin to cheer me up in some lame Dr. Phil manner or tell me i am bitchy 4.) have my clothes stolen out of dryer in laundry room (wear my Pixies hoodie outside tough guy. c'mon. I dare you. See what happens. Ever had almost six feet of crazy white girl whose favorite sweatshirt you are wearing come flying at you? I will take it back and put your severed head on the laundry room bulletin board as a warning to other dickwads. Dickwad.) 5.) have Jesi on the phone as I fuck with my broken window and in turn, roll my finger up in the window and smash it. I said at that point, "This hurts so bad I could cry", as I pryed my finger back out. I followed that with........crying. (Hey, ex-boss, here's a note for ya. See, #5 could be said to be "the straw that broke the camel's back." Notice how that is used. There were a series of events that led to the end breakdown. Saying that you fired me because of Friday --not my fault dude. Talk to Oakenfold[he thinks] if ya want an antagonist. He is a shit DJ anyhow. Check the numbers if ya want proof.-----and it was "the straw that broke the camel's back" when you have not said anything but good stuff for 6 months, is misusage.)

So, that was the fabulous Wednesday. Yes, drinking ensued. And today, I pleaded for an extension on my paper and skipped school and have been drunk in my apartment for 18 hours. I have reassigned my internship hours and taken today to...........get to a place where I don't feel like punching anyone in the face. Don't get me wrong, I am quite positive about where I am heading, but I can have one day of FTW, right? Even fairy princesses need a break. So, today:

1.) I slept in. Windows open, dogs and cat curled up with me. It was warm and cozy and sunny.

2.)I listened to Westside Connection and realized how much me and the boys have in common. I may not "make more deliveries than the postman", but I do like calling people bitch or a punk ass right now.

3.) I read the internet. Yep, the whole thing.(Beat you Jesi!) And I met cool people on MySpace, which I had given up on. No, the guys who want to know me and my vagina were still there, but I actually balanced normal conversation with invitations to fuck. (Does that really work? Are guys seriously getting laid off MySpace? It is kinda like the "guys in the van" porn. I find it hard to believe that girls do three guys in a van for a couple hundred bucks straight off the street. But, I could be wrong. I don't have sex, so how would I know?)

4.) I dug out my giant box of writing and blew the dust off.

5.) I made muffins.

6.) I told my Lit teacher I couldn't finish my paper due to emotional imbalance.

7.)I made up a dance to Tracy Ullman's "They Don't Know About Us" and sang along. (Don't tell my West Coast Crew, don't wanna lose street cred.)

8.) And, I drank. Lots of vodka. Vodka, it's what's for dinner.

My Champagne Revelations

So, I am doing what anyone does when they get the boot.......have a few drinks. Two things are working in my favor; 1.) I have a ton of liquor at home and just cracked open my favorite champagne(No Jesi, not the Crys. Luckily, if you are rarely exposed to the good stuff, you develop the palette for the cheap. Ex: Ol' E. It tastes like corn people. Burnt corn. But drunk on five bucks?..........Priceless.) 2.) When ya get fired from a bar, the last place you feel like headin to is a bar. So, drunk Jenny, relieved wallet.
But as I sit here tonight and ponder the last week, I realized how fucking unhappy I have been for awhile. I am not content in this city, in my prior job, in aspects of my relationship, and just in fucking general. I miss my freedom. I miss creating. I have been writing incessantly remembering what it is that I love to do. I even got out the keyboard and guitar. So, I am taking this opportunity to go back to my old self. Maybe it took a raw deal to get here, but I am not one of those curl up and cry chicks. And I believe that we are redirected to where we need to be if we start to stray. So, yes, the move is still gonna happen. And I am going back to creative Jenny, because maybe, just maybe, I have been so hard core with everyone because I was pretending that a part of me had died which is truly the core element to how I thrive.

for a bunch of people right now.

MY LOYALTY WAS SUPPOSED TO BE UNDYING,
WHETHER TRIED OR TRUE
THE EXPECTATION THAT I AM THERE FOR YOU.
SO I WASN'T.
I LOOKED INTO THE LIGHTS AND TOOK MY OWN FLIGHT,
TO TRY OWNING MYSELF FOR A DAY.
MAYBE A GLASS OF CRYS OR A BOTTLE OF THIRTY THREE,
MADE ME REALIZE I AM ONLY LOYAL TO ME.
AND NOW THE CHEESE STANDS ALONE.
BUT THIS WAS ALWAYS ME.
I CAN'T GIVE TIL MY FACE TURNS BLUE WAITIN FOR SOME SUBTLE APPROVAL FROM YOU.
IT WAS HUMAN, WHAT US HUMANS DO.
SORRY IF I AM HUMAN TOO.
THIS IS ME, AND YOU ALWAYS KNEW.

The best part.......

of getting fired is to find out from the regulars at work. And to have swirling stories that nowhere resemble actual conversations or events as the rumored reason for your dismissal. The businesslike handling of this is what brings the warmth to my heart. Merry Christmas, Happy new Year, and my ass hurts. And perhaps.......just perhaps, when you are standing face to face with the person you are firing, you should have a reason. Not something you drunkenly agreed to and changed your mind about days later. A reason. They are fun, and let's face it, they are just plain professional. Save a guy $50,000.00, you are invaluable. And for everyone who wants to know, the song list was approved. Not my fault if people drop the ball. We all have our loyalties. Know who has your back, and who holds the knife. Kisses.

So, I am a lil older

As a child, I was always bombarded with sugar for my birthday. There was the cake, but then having Halloween the next day, it was like and unending blitz of candy and glucose. Yum. Apparently, as I have gotten older, the sugary sweet goodness was replaced with alcohol. I have been drunk three nights in a row which I don't think I have done in years. And now, everyone wants to go out tonight. I am in pain and with the election being next week, I need to set down the drink and have a tad more focus. But, I did have an awesome time. And I am excited for the year to come. I love it. Being thirty is actually a welcome change.

I am gonna be 30. Fuck.

So I am in the final countdown to the end of my twenties. I remember turning twenty and being soooo excited. Kris pulled me aside for the big sis chat. "Your twenties are gonna suck. You will face financial devastation. You will have your heart ripped out repeatedly in love. You will watch your life be less than what you planned. Your twenties are shit." Was she right? Yeah. Would I trade em? HELL FUCKIN NO. That was the most tragically delicious ride of my life. So now......30. And that is cool. Her new words? "It's just the beginning, babe." And she is right. Again.

The best phone ever!

Last night my phone decided to be tempermental as usual. The buttons quit working and it wouldn't close. The best part? I now know how to fix it. I must throw it down repeatedly on the ground. Hil thought I had lost it, but Viola! Phone was fixed.....again. It is like this phone was made for my lifstyle. I love it.

Oh you crazy Spurs.........

I am quick to point out some of the drawbacks in my line of work. There is vomit, cheap asses, asses in general, and hours that are none too forgiving. however, there are the perks too. My favorite time of year is coming up.........basketball season. One of the best parts of not lobbying for golf course time amongst my liquor reps, is awesome seats at the game. They know my weakness. So last night, after early birthday gifts of bottles of expensive liquor (YES!), it was time for preseason center court. (YES.....again.) But, thus comes my love/hate relationship with the Spurs.
Now mind you, I realize preseason games are an excellent time to rest your starters and see what those other crazy kids are up to. Who needs court time? Who needs to be traded? etc.....And lets face it, our boys are getting older and a bit more brittle. (I loved Ginobli 3 years ago, but Jesus. Apparently "hard playing" leaves you looking about the same as a good year ridin the white horse and living on the streets. If he has a short career due to the injuries, I plan to act as his manager and get him some roles on Law and Order as the old, wise junkie who has been runnin the mean streets for years. As for Duncan, I am the bitch. He straight up pisses me off every year. Plantar Fasciitis. I have it, he has it. It fuckin hurts too. But c'mon! I manage to work the bar full throttle everyday for a few hundred bucks a week. For a few million? I could get caught in a bear trap and I will gnaw the thing off. And I know you got the good doctors, Tim. Quit whining. Oh yeah, and tip better. Ooops! Did I say that? Go ahead guys......ask me about Tim and my lunch fiasco a few years back. I hold a grudge.)

Anyhow, I was still anxious for the game last night against the Bulls. Heard the Bulls actually had a decent team this year, so I was expecting a good game. Not a 32 point loss for the Spurs. now given, Chicago seemed to have that same deal with the devil that Terry and Dirk made last year in that they could be triple teamed and not even lined up for the shot and sink it, but they also were there just to play some basketball. Unlike the Spurs, who pulled their old "we replaced the team with Folgers Crystals" playing style. In high school, if we couldn't hit lay ups in a completely open lane, you were out. Passing to the other team? out. that simple. So, i have a new idea for the franchise. I noticed everyone leaving during the fourth quarter. Not a good money maker. (Which is soo lame people. If you go to the game, watch the game. I hate summertime soldiers and sunshine friends.)

So, for $100,000, I am willing to show up with five on the court. See? Cost efficient. And, I guarantee you all, we can lose the game by a huge spread, but, keep people watching. hell, if i play, just to see if i make it to the end without coronary! For $250,000, my team will be skins. i don't care. And no starter will need to risk injury, no newbie a career damaging mistake. just good "it ain't a real game" fun. call me.

Bitter Sweet and Sour

Well, nohmen and I broke up. Yep. two+ years of crap finally got to be too much. I have given that man everything a female can give and what do I get? Well, as his career takes off, the answer seems to be verbal abuse. I am to old and too young to shed any more tears for that guy. I guess Hong Kong opened my eyes to alot and I am going to start doing it a bit different. So, he asked for the "condensed version" of how I felt, and all I could say was "fuck you" and hang up. That pretty much sums it up. Damn I loved that man.

A really big high school

What have I learned from my internship? I will be heading the activism route rather than the political journey. This is soooooo 1993.

A better way to look at it

So, I am still heartbroken about the camera, but when I got home I spoke to an ex who just happens to be a long time Buddhist. We were talking about the trip to see the giant Buddha on Lamtau Island, and all I could think of was how much I missed that camera. the mountains and the view had been so majestic, and i did work really hard to take photos and video feed that captured it. Well, leave it to Gaius. He told me that the common practice of all of the intricate art (think sand painting/sculpture) in the monestaries was usually destroyed shortly after completion by the true Buddhists as a lesson that on this earth, all hard work and beauty is not timeless. That which is created by us is lost. We are not the true creators. So, thus humility is learned. So, maybe as I became so attached to those pictures, I needed to learn a lesson. I like looking at it this way, as I got a little obsessed with designer purses and cars with a driver for a couple of days there, but in the end, I lost the one thing that was the most important souvenir of the whole trip. I got a little high maitenance chick, which surprised me I guess. Sometimes this whole voyage teaches shitty lessons, but in my head, every snapshot is still with me.

Home..........for now.........

Well, I am back in the States, to mixed emotions. I miss Kris and Hong Kong and the handful of amazing people I met on my latest voyage. Sigh. But alas, it is time to focus on the club and DNA restucturing. But, as someone mentioned in Hong Kong, I am going to break my rule. I am linking my MySpace and the blog. It is like 30 year old me and 16 year old me meeting in cyberspace to battle........uh oh. But, as my camera and all of my lovely photos are gone (keep an eye out for my nipple drinking out of a straw on the internet. This is why drunk pics are bad.) due to getting the camera stolen, Kris was kind enough to post some of her pics. So, should you care to check it out, feel free. (Goodbye sweet anonymity) I have a ton of blogging to do, but until I have my next 48 hours of hell with work and school, MySpace will have to suffice. Do Che.

English my ass.........

Well kids, Kris went back to work yesterday, so I have been left to my own devices in this lovely city. I was supposed to have a car sent for me from a gentleman I met on the plane, but last night I had a party(Basically, with the size of the flats here, it is like living in the dorms in college. But it is hella fun, only...nowhere to put a keg. : ) So, last night, it was party in my room. 5 people partying in 10 ft of space. I might be pregnant just from sitting so close in the same area. We are stacked on one another like blocks.) and thus, all wasted, I said to Kris, "Is it a bad idea for me to get in a car sent from a stranger, go to a strange place, in a strange land, alone......while no one knows where I am going?" We decided, yes. Indeed it was a poorly thought out plan. So, we opted for the safer meeting for lunch tomorrow in Times Square. I have a better chance of not being sold into the sex trade with that one.

Anyhow, this has left me alone as I was saying, which I love. But I am a tad pissed. To everyone who said that of course they speak English blah blah blah........old English port blah blah blah........well, kiss my ass. English apparently went away with English rule in 97. Now, I am not an American who needs/expects everyone to speak English everywhere I go, but from the recommendations, I did not prepare properly for Cantonese, which has left me scrambling to learn words. I have spoken Spanish, French, and now, Arabic more than English while out. So thanks everyone who said, "Of course they speak English". Have fun with that one while over here. Thank God the subway posts in English too, or I really might be staying here......only lost here would be better phrased. ( And it ain't easy like with Spanish, or European languages to read it and do latin roots or such. It is symbols people. So no, you cannot contextually grab it.)

But, I still am loving every moment of it. What an adventure.

Learning experiences........

Still love Hong Kong. Totally. But perhaps a couple of things should be posted for those who may come to visit me when I make the move in a couple of years. Plus, just funny stuff.

Firstly, when i got here I was on my own to try and find Kris, hence the $548HK cab ride. And, I had thought that cabs in the islands and South America scared me, but oh no. We call it "the fear" here. "The fear" is what you get everytime you take your life into your hands and hop in a cab. Think of that "almost" moment of impact while driving or riding in a car, the raised pulse, the sweat, the chest tightening, all the good stuff........that is what you get about every 30 seconds here. Actually, in Kowloon, it doesn't leave. But yesterday we went to Lamtau to make the pilgrimage to the monestary and sacred Buddha, and it rocked. We rode a cable car that, as my friend Rinnette could tell you, if you get over the distance and height, is soooo worthwhile. It goes high above the mountains and the views are worth the nervous tummy if you hate enclosed, dangling, high spaces. Me, no biggie. However, the cab ride back to the MTR was awesome. Picture mountains. Now picture winding roads on the edge of large plummetting gourges. Now picture a one lane road. Only, the one lane road is for two way traffic. Hmmmmm. I rode shot gun and we were cool driving crazily fast down the mountain as we assumed this was a oneway street. So the cabbies drive fast and hug corners, you are already adjusted to that by this time. But as a BUS, that's right, a BUS people, comes around the corner head on, it is instinctual to scream. But our Sherpa of automotive transport didn't even blink, as this was the way it was the whole way down. There are tiny stopping spots on corners where each driver must decide if it is go time or no time. It is the shooting craps of driving. We made it, we have the pictures to convey the horror, and now the story to tell. But even as we got back to Kowloon, Rinnette almost took a bus to her door. "The Fear". You will have it in cabs here.

Another thing, another blog posted about a tempermental shower awhile back. Anyone who lives in apartments in the city can feel his pain. But here, wow. it ios not the option of "what will the temp of the water be?", it is "please don't burn my skin off, shower". Now, due to the fact that I am basically squatting in my own flat here as a girl moved out and no one moves in until Sunday, I have my own bathroom and bed in 14x7 square feet. (It is like a upscale jail cell with a great view, so no complaints) But, Kris warned me that the water is frighteningly hot, all the time, so I turn it to cold as far as it goes and just aim the shower head away from me and use it in well monitored spurts. (Trust me, when your toilet, sink, and shower are in the same 3x4 ft space, you don't stay in there long!) But, I stumbled yesterday and fell against the pipe on the wall. Now, I have a second degree burn on my arm. Yep, it is that hot. So be warned. However, I will say they gave me a Chinese balm to put on it and this stuff rocks! It kills the pain and keeps it moist. It is awesome. But it is funny that when asked what the hell I did, I say I took a shower. I learned the hard way, as Charles said.

Lastly, I am open to trying new things. I love it. I truly believe that it is rude to make fun of what another culture eats just because, especially in terms of meats, they have access to different things. Would I eat Lila or Ike? Probably not. But if dog was the readily available meat to me would I purchase it and eat it? Probably. And, I am that dare girl. You want someone to taste it? I will do it. How bad can it be?
Yesterday at the monestary however I learned about the nourishing properties of eating swallow's nests. Now they basically use their spit to build them, but it has more protein than most all products in the world. And the list of medicinal purposes goes on and on. I couldn't eat a whole nest, but I knew I could drink one. So, I tried the Ginseng and Austailian frog jelly juice made from the nest. (Supposed to help smokers especially). I went in open-minded, but I have to say, my gag reflex was not keen on the frog jelly. And the taste was oddly salty sweet. Not to incrimate myself, but it oddly resembled a sweeter version of GHB. I finished the whole bottle as not to be rude, but I did use the childhood drink of holding my breath and chugging. I also used my teeth as a makeshift strainer for the jelly to keep it to a minimum. I felt a bit nauseous after, but feel amazingly good today. So, does it work? I have to say yes, but good luck drinking it. (And FYI, just because MacDonald's is open 24/7 and delivers, doesn't mean you should try the "Chicken Fantastic" while drunk. It is not fantastic. And possibly not chicken)

But, those are my warnings and funny bits of lessons learned thus far. I am off to the Festival of Lanterns in Kowloon. It has been their Independence Day this week and now the Mid-Autumn Festival. I love that I seem to show up in other countries during their holidays. It is shock and awe and beauty and wonder and knowledge and peace, all in one. So, to everyone who is searching for the answers outside of what they know, "Beached" by Angelo Badalamenti and Orbital. It is my soundtrack right now.

I am inlove.

I have been extremely blessed this last year when it comes to traveling. I thought Europe was amazing, but i found the small villages in the Alps to be a tad too quiet for me. And, with that said, it is no secret that NYC and I have shared a love affair for years. ( I love her, she kicks my ass.....I didn't say it was a healthy relationship.) but, Hong kong may perhaps be my favorite city of all time. It is somewhat of a mixture of New York, Miami, Jacksonville, and Toronto. It has the diversity, crowds, and overall bustling city vibe of NY(and the skyscrapers, wow. As a country girl who is guilty of many a NYC trip that involves neck pain from gazing at the buildings from the ground, this place is insane!) Very Miami in that the tropical vegetation and pastels of South Beach's Art Deco District are evident all around. Hong Kong has the ports and bridges of Jacksonville and the mountains of Toronto. All in all, it is a combo of the best of all the cities I love. The culture and food is amazing. I had baby octopus tonight that I had forgotten just how good it is when prepared properly and not just pickled. Yum! but I am inlove. It is by far my new favorite place in the world. I heart you, Hong Kong. Tomorrow, we venture onto the mainland for a trip to a monestary and a cable car ride over the mountains. As for tonight, more enjoying the ablility to buy beer and liquor in a 7/11 or Cirkle K (which are every 100 feet) and roam the streets and take cabs while drinking. Ah, public intoxication. yum.

What good is a ship ............

Well, I am off. I work a rather grueling day tomorrow and then it is time to head off into the mystic. Yep, it's Hong Kong time. I am as near to well as I can expect to get, so thanks for the calls and recommendations guys. I am actually pretty excited....and nervous. I have a habit of freaking out prior to trips every time I get ready to leave, and it is not some post 9/11 thing. I just feel I have to prepare for the worst. Even in booking my flight, I couldn't fly over the Artic Circle and had to reroute because the first thing that struck me is that if I were in a crash in the Arctic, I would have zero chance of survival. Somehow, in my mind, I am totally set if I plummet 35,000 feet into the Pacific. Yep, strong swimming me could handle that one, but the Arctic, freezing is expected. I know, horribly morbid, but i cannot help it. I have looked into Bird Flu, Malaria.....you name it. Maybe it is not totally morbid as I have a knack for contracting crazy illnesses and ending up in quite the pickle, but I always pull through some how. So now, I come prepared. totally normal.

But, I had to do a post as Jesi has made the perfect CD to travel to. It is a mix of every emotion I am feeling at present, the past five months, the past five years. It may be the most perfect musical combination of all time, that is, until Jesi makes her next. I don't know though, I am hoping to get an Ipod over there. I can't handle riding the subway and being looked at like I have a third eye because I am still rockin the Discman. Yeah, I have fallen behind. So, without further ado, here goes:

Danger- Erykah Badu
Waltz (Better than Fine)- Fiona Apple
What's the Altitude- Cut Chemist
The Trapeze Swinger- Iron & Wine
Roots of Creation- Sublime
She Looks to Me- Red Hot Chili Peppers
ABC- Jackson 5
Papercuts- Gym Class Heroes
The King of Carrot Flowers Pt. 1- Neutral Milk Hotel
Summertime Rolls- Jane's Addiction
Heart of the City (Ain't No Love)- Jay-Z
Start Choppin'- Dinosaur Jr.
Make You Feel That Way- Blackalicious
Champagne From A Paper Cup- Death Cab For Cutie
The World Is Yours- Nas
Natural One- Folk Implosion
E=MC2- J-Dilla
Everything Will Be Alright (Will's Lullaby)- Joshua Radin
Jesus Walks (live)- Kanye West
Atmosphere- Joy Division
Strangers On A Train- Loveage
Grow Old With Me- Postal Service
Wet Sand- Red Hot Chili Peppers
Incinerate- Sonic Youth
Cupid's Chokehold- Gym Class Heroes
'Til I Collapse- Eminem
When I'm Fine- Cody Chesnutt
Marvin Gaye- Felt
In the Aeroplane Over the Sea- Neutral Milk Hotel
2nd Period: Shoot Down The Stars- Gym Class Heroes
I Told You So- New Order
The Ten Crack Commandments- Notorious B.I.G.
Hide & Seek- Imogen Heap

Is it me?

Logan, my adorable black panther(anyone who has seen his size or watched him "prowl" instead of walk can attest to it) has gone to stay with my Costa Rican Princess in preparation for my trip. While in Europe this summer, though he once did not mind alone time at all, he let me know he had been neglected for far too long by A.) snuggling up to my mother whenever she was here(he is usually not so sweet and cuddly of a kitty) and B.) by peeing on my fave chair. This had actually become quite a way to let me know when i had done anything wrong this past few months. didn't get the food out the second I walked in the door?--pee on chair. shut the bathroom door while showering? (and no, his litter isn't in there)----pee on chair. Dogs taking up too much attention?--pee on chair.
So, I lost my favorite chair's cushion a couple months ago, which hurt. It is an awesome chair. 1920's antique from my grandparents that I had redone in gorgeous fabric with all the zodiac signs on it. Funky and one-of-a-kind. Now cushionless and under plastic until we get past this phase.
I fully warned CRP of Logan's bad attitude of late. He has been biting also, and with panther fangs also, I thought she deserved a heads up. But, I have now been informed that he is just charming and soooo well behaved. Eating well, no biting, and most importantly, using a proper restroom. though I am glad that he is sparing my friendship with a good friend, I now feel like such a bad cat mom.....was it me? Did I cause this? I was hurt.........until........
Well, CRP has a kitty also. And CRP, her boyfriend, and her kitty, Luna, live in a studio downtown, so very close living quarters. Luna has not welcomed Logan. Lots of hiding, lots of hissing. CRP, in trying to make amends, dug sweet little Luna out from behind the couch to which, low and behold, what did her precious do? Peed on her. So, though I feel terrible and empathetic and offered to come and get Logan, I feel some relief that I am not the sole victim of cat urine warfare. Cat Urine: when you want to make your point.

I am a tad bit concerned....

Leave it to me. I am scheduled to leave for Hong Kong on Sunday, and upon Kris' invite she warned me, do not get sick. Well ha ha Kris, I have walking pneumonia! You have been fooled! So, I indulged yesterday and after eight years of not having health insurance, I now have some. (Thank you Unicare. Thank you for realizing that though some of us are above Medicaid qualifications, we are far below the $350 a month your competitors want for basic coverage. You will even let me go to the gyno since I have a vagina without extra coverage. No sexism with you my pretty pet. Unlike Blue Cross/ Blue Shield who covers Viagra but won't count my annual pap as "necessary". Fuckers.) ---Anyhow, I did my doctor visit and found out it is walking pneumonia, which I had already assumed as my lungs are all raspa style right now. So, the problem now is, will I recover in time for a 24 hour flight? I am on everything from the trusty Z-pack and Amoxicillin to every over the counter remedy that I can afford. Even bought some "Airbourne" to try and get those white cells back in line, but here I am, still sick as a dog. I am at a loss. I have even done hot totties, miso with heaping teaspoons of freshly ground ginger, nothin. My body has turned on me.

How do you know.....

.....when you have fallen out of love?

I do now....

To the fighter pilot dudes last night who bought me a shitload of shots and a cigar, trying to lure me in, and asked, "so do you have a problem with military men? Some chicks are on that 'I hate the military' thing." Well, though not a fan of defense spending, international policy, and especially war, I never thought I hated the guys serving. Shit, most of them just wanted to travel or pay for school, what have you. But you were such classy gents, that I may knock a fighter pilot out should he ever approach again. You guys were awesome. Making fun of homeless people, telling me how to run the bar, and not tipping.......all highlights of an enchanted evening. Here is a hint though, if you do the "I will keep ordering shots behind her back even though she says she needs to leave, so I can get her drunk and bang her", don't choose the bartender as your victim. I can drink four shots in a row and still balance my checkbook while on rollerskates, not a big deal. And I realize that chicks smoking a cigar make it look like we are sucking a dick. No big shocker. So buying me one and giggling is silly. Especially when I say, "don't waste your cash". That is me saying just that. So, thanks for another run in with our upstanding soldiers who think that I owe them ass as a good patriot. Or to be belittled. Awesome. God Bless America.

Well, that was a week.......

So i made alot of money. Had a best friend turn on me to the point that i almost wanna drive to where she is and smack her. had a boyfriend let me know that his career will always be light years ahead of me on the importance scale. Started back to school.......and.....decided I need to expand my mind and open my eyes some more. Hence, thanks to an amazing friend....I leave for Hong Kong the beginning of October. I just went online to look at pics of Causeway Bay and check out the city. Wow. This is where the page turns.................

I loved "Idlewild"........the first time I saw it.

I have waited nearly two years for "Idlewild" to come out. I have had many a conversation about how great this movie is going to be. I was mad when "ATL" got the big financing and backing and came out first. I mean c'mon people. America likes rappers in movies that may lack the artistic beauty and focus more on thug life undertones. Maybe i am the only one who sees this as an accepted racial stereotype, maybe every rapper is cool with it, but I can't watch each rapper in the same either autobiography or coming of age melodrama without wondering if there is not perhaps a more diverse role out there. Sorry.
But "Idlewild" was the first time I thought that a musical/period piece had the innovation I was seeking. At this point, if you haven't seen it and are anxiously awaiting to, do not read on. I am going to give it away. Disclaimer done.
Now my day sucked Friday. The bar is in the middle of backstabbing, shady bullshit that all seems to trickle back to me directly or indirectly. Bleh. I started at this place for the fact that it was low on drama and shadiness. Oh well, everything has its moments. But, Titz had cancelled and I was down to drunk hillstreet as my partner in crime. Don't ask her for a review though, as she yelled at the screen for the first twenty minutes or so and then passed out on my shoulder. (Don't worry girl, I got ya.) But i truly was pumped. The dancing alone had me excited. And the cinematography.....wow. And the music was very Andre. My favorite. Even remixed one of the best tracks from "The Love Below". And no, it wasn't "Hey Ya".
So, there I was. ready. And I loved it. It was a beautiful movie. It had some weakpoints, but as a visionary masterpiece in terms of film....mission accomplished. One problem....I have seen it before. It was officially "Moulin Rouge" of the Black Renaissance. I mean, same plot, same camera angles and tricks, same lead in to musical numbers, same characters. Now, Moulin Rouge might be my favorite movie of all time, thus, so is Idlewild, but didn't anyone notice this in reviewing it? I don't know if that is good or bad, like I said, as I love MR so much, but it made it so predictable that I couldn't be as entranced by it as I planned. Still, go see it. make Hollywood give us something a little more artistic for once.

No, I am not a bad friend.......

Ok guys, why haven't I called or hung out? I am officially in the homestretch for "Destination NYU". Yep. This semester is crucial. And, after this European vacation I am broke. So, I have two things on my mind. Getting an acceptance letter and being able to pay for the move. Work, school. Yes, the Jager shots are slowin down. I can't party all week anymore. I took this partial summer break off strictly to have one last Texas summer to remember, but now.........well, my heart has already started this move. Will we still have our times? yes. Should Syd and Jesi get their asses here for Thanksgiving.....yes. But now is the time that 25 years of whistful dreaming are about to come into fruition. I have no choice but to go, and yes, that entails much preparation. So, here we go. The mother ship is calling.

I Heart Beyonce

I remember where I was the first time I saw her. Yeah, so there was the Wyclef produced song with the four girls in the window of the house, but I had tuned it out. Then came "Bugaboo". She was shot walking down the street and I remember hearing her voice and looking at the television entranced. As a vocalist, i was spellbound. You could tell even on a rather weak song, that chick had pipes. I said to my boyfriend at the time that that chick was gonna be huge. Not the group, the girl. Yes, Beyonce. She can do no wrong in my eyes. She has an eloquence in every interview, an elegance to every frame shot, she writes, produces, acts. (ok, the acting isn't my favorite, but I LOVED "Carmen--a hip hopera") I bought her first solo album. Yep....Bought It. I will do the same this album as I am amazed at her new direction. And "Ring the alarm" is the finest song this year. The rawness of her vocals and the emotion of the song, damn she's become a force to be reckoned with. So, BUY IT. Support a female who is making one good track after another, can be sexy while writhing on a beach OR in a ballgown singing "Phantom" tracks for the Oscars. A woman who can make an album with or without the direction of prepackaged producers. And for everyone who wants to be Destiny's Child PC, yes, all the ladies were/are talented (way to claim the charts outta nowhere there Toya!), they are all beautiful, but B, you have the mojo. You can't practice that in the basement for 8 years under dad's supervision. it's somethin you just have. It better be number one people or i will have lost all faith in the remains of the pop charts. And please steer clear of Paris' album or I will vomit.

A tad bit disturbing.......

Alright, I like America for many reasons, but she is kind of like my boyfriend..........Though the love is there for some key elements, I have to ask, "What the fuck are you doing?!?" every once in a while. Ok, alot actually. So yes, I am back from Europe. And it was quite interesting to be over there whilst America went on lockdown with the new wave of terror enforcement. Yep, seven security checkpoints to get home. So, I did what dejenerate is famous for, I tested this new safety program. And, after those safety screenings, I made it home.........lipstick and mascara in the purse still. Awesome.
But, this is not my rant. I noticed, excluding some guys who were fascinated with my hair and accent, that people weren't feeling Americans so much. I am not talking about shopkeepers being rude, I am talking about friends who live there and their circle. For instance, telling a girl who had just fled Israel with her family after living there for the past ten years that I was from Texas didn't sit too well with her, or anyone else for that matter. I had to explain with each formal introduction that I do not own a gun nor heart Dubya. That's ok. Allow me to open your eyes that Texas doesn't make you into a conservative, NRA joining, Bush lovin patriot, it just tries to. (Keep up the fight my Texas Liberals......Kinky is gonna save us all)
So I started to notice things that they have that seem like hmmmmmm, maybe we should be taking note over here.
A.) People have hybrid cars. Alot of hybrid cars. And they aren't $25,000 more than a Honda Civic for some reason.
B.) People have healthcare. And I mean, good healthcare. Not " I'll take my chances rather than hit the HMO" scene, but good, NATIONAL healthcare. And, being that the countries I was in are more Socialist, I checked the taxes on paystubs. Funny, not really any different from here. Maybe if Switzerland wasn't so damn neutral they would be bleeding themselves dry beefin up their military and headin into war. It's like they value their citizens. What's up with that?
C.) Every man gets a gun at fourteen or so upon joining the army. They use it each following summer to train until age 34. Yet, somehow, there hasn't been a murder in St. Gallen in 10 years. This is simply a fact, but we will look more into that in the close of this.
D.)Each doorway has an inch or so raised piece at the bottom that holds the air temp inside steady. not to mention the energy based upon geothermal and hydrolic systems. Somehow, oil is not their lifeblood. Somehow this one inch panel is magical. I know, with science like that, how can we possibly keep up.
E.) You can be a whore. A real, live whore. And then guess what comes at the end of that.....no rape cases. People, we have em here. Make it legal and prevent your sister, girlfriend, mom from being the victim of some sex crazed lunatic. (And don't comment me on Rape being a control issue. Got it. But there is also alot to be said for those dudes who aren't gonna get laid ever. Give em a healthy outlet)
F.) The homeless don't exist for the most part....as if you file, you get money and an apartment. No, not packed shelter, apartment. nice.

So my mom asked me why I thought that people were so much better off there. And here it is. America is famous for dangling that elusive carrot in front of us, yet making the reach for it impossible. Turn on the TV and see all the excess. Then go drive a five mile radius and tell me what you see. Is Paris Hilton feeding the hungry people on your block. Is the doctor's office accepting any and all people that need medical attention? I could go on and on......but as Americans, we are trained to be aggressive. thus, if you are at the bottom of the food chain....you see my point. I watched Tupac's "Resurrection" the other day and was reminded of why i love him. As he explained why his music is hard, he talked about going up to a gate asking for food. As he continually gets turned down and blown off, his return asking goes to yelling and cussing and gets harder. so, until our citizens have what they need and security.....be ready for angry hard America. Odd how other places have figured it out, don't they know who we are? We are the world's leader dammit!!!! Or, perhaps a country that could learn something if we stopped and listened for awhile.