These are the thoughts

Love is Everything

2005-04-16T21:41:00.000-07:00

It has been a few months since I last posted anything. Did you miss me? Probably not, but that's okay. I've been busy. I have been focusing on a new position at work, performing in a new show, and getting started in a new relationship. Oh yes, kittens, bitch got a boyfriend.

He is the most wonderful guy. He makes me feel in ways that I never thought possible, and that's huge because I have felt a lot. A plethora of dreams are coming true and he seems to adore me despite my steady supply of craziness. He even seems to like it, particularly when I do impressions of dogs. He's a keeper.

The new position at work is not so sexy. My manager is a controlling snatch and everyone is afraid of her. I'm not, and that's why she doesn't like me very much. She likes people that do what she says, and I like to do what I say. What I say isn't wrong, it's just not what she says. I'm also not a very good butt kisser, and she likes to have employees lined up behind her to give full anal lappings.

There is also news in the home state. My brother has impregnated his wife and the embryo seems to be growing just fine. My parents have reacted with reserved emotion and are looking for new property to build a house on. I just don't know if I'm ready to be an aunt.

Well, I'm going to get back to watching "Cops." Last I looked up, an officer from Portland resembling Reba McEntire was threatening to arrest an eight-year-old black kid for disassembling a neighbor's bike. I wonder what the outcome was. Cheerio!

Recycle

2005-01-11T22:35:00.000-08:00

I was thinking today about whether or not life's ultimate sum is determined by the aggregate of its moments. Moments, as we know them, are special. Moments we remember. But there are entire days out there that I cannot remember, so if moments are continuous, and many are forgotten, then does my life really exist?

It’s sort of like saying you’re only as funny as your last joke. Does the future erase the past, does the past determine the future, or are we responsible for balancing the two? And what’s the point of trying to balance everything if you forget most of the past and you can’t predict the future? I reason that we’re supposed to accept that we can control some of it and surrender the rest to chance. But if it’s your life then why can't you be in full control?

I guess that’s where many people turn to religion…to find some sort of meaning in the complexities and pursuit of life. I don’t really have that luxury. Well, I guess I could have it if I wanted it, but it’s really not part of my socialization. Religion feels like an easy way out to me. It’s sort of an excuse, a place where you can go to embrace your own weaknesses and feel like you can go to heaven because of them. Reborn Christianity is very popular in prison. It’s weird to me.

Perhaps I don’t admire religion because I’ve never seen anything particularly positive come from it, although I have seen its negative impacts. I just think that good people will be good people and that bad people will be bad people, and that religion is just a means to that end in one way or another if we look at it from a religious standpoint. Religion is flexible. It can be manipulated. And Churches are really, really smart businesses. They sell eternity.

Churches do a lot of good things, too. Really. But we could probably do those good things without them.

I’m not really good at revealing this side of me. I know that there are floods of arguments on both sides, and passionate ones at that, but none are really right and none are really wrong. The truth is that this isn't even the beginning of my thoughts on the subject.

It's just a thought. It’s just a moment. I won't forget it now that I've blogged it.

New Year Bunny

2005-01-08T10:21:00.000-08:00

I feel damn good about the New Year. I don't know what happened, but over my holiday break in Kansas (Happy Birthday, Jesus!) I have felt emotionally settled. In control. More aware of myself and the people around me. It's not that I've changed, but that different elements have risen to the surface, balancing out my more vulnerable qualities. Yay!

For the first time ever, I don't feel the immediate urge to be in a relationship. For the first time in a long while, my goals seem attainable. I have smiled more. I feel like life is funny again. I have even laughed alone (is that weird?). At work, I upgraded a woman's bank accounts at work to earn her a higher annual percentage yield.

Incidentally, last month, I made a pilgrimage to the doctor's office because I was experiencing a continual vocal problem which was putting a strain on my performances. I feared that I had damaged my chords and that my career would be over before it had really even begun. I would be sort of like Julie Andrews without the...well, without the Julie Andrews. It was intoxicatingly dramatic and a little bit scary. In a weird way, my vocal duress made me feel special and pretty.

Nevertheless, the throat specialist (who, by the way, made me snort spray that made my nose numb so he could jam a two foot tube up [and down] my nasal passages and into my vocal cords...just shove it my mouth, dammit!) said that my pipes are in tremendous shape. He said that I had probably strained a muscle in my neck, and that it perhaps wasn't healing because I was carrying a large amount of stress (apparently, young homosexuals tend to carry a lot of stress in their neck). Thus, he asked, "Is there anything in your life that has changed recently that could contribute to an inordinate amount of stress? Do you think you might be stressed out?"

No one had ever asked me that. I started listing off the changes in my life and realized that yes, indeed, I had been carrying around an assload of emotional baggage unneccesarily. So I released. I pulled out the tampon. I took an expository dump. Everything's not my fault.

And I feel great. Thanks, Doc. Happy New Year.

Sodieting

2004-12-30T21:12:00.000-08:00

Right now, I'm "enjoying" a twenty fluid ounce bottle of Diet Pepsi with Vanilla instead of the four-hundred or so chocolates I usually eat in the afternoon. It is surprisingly delicious despite its lack of palpable nourishment. It gives the impression of well-being, for I'm getting energy from the caffeine and gas from the carbonation, so physically it feels the same as eating healthy. It's the best diet ever.

Some folks are taken aback by the way diet soda tastes, but they are just missing the key to true diet soda enjoyment. The secret to making diet soda taste yummy is to avoid eating other sweet foods, or any food at all for that matter. Self-deprivation makes it taste like ambrosia. On an empty stomach, it's particularly delectable because it burns on the way down, much like a shot of whiskey (making it more appealing for alcoholics, former alcoholics, and alcoholics in training). It's sort of like treating yourself to a fudgy creamy dessert brownie with sprinkles, except it comes in a bottle and contains none of those threatening calories. It's spillable and it makes you pee. It stains your teeth and leaves a funny coating on your tongue. It makes you feel like you're in a commercial. It’s available in a can or a bottle. It's an addicting beverage experience.

I am on this diet because the holidays have made my ass rotund. Well, I guess the holidays didn't do it, but the fact that I ate my way through them did. Abundant food plus my characteristic lack of self-control equals big ass disease. I have one pair of pants in particular that keeps making my underwear insert itself into my crack. It feels like someone is trying to violently floss my crack with a scarf. The reality is that my crack hasn't been fed lately so there couldn't possibly be anything to clean out.

One unexpected bonus to dieting is that drinking is soooo much more rewarding. There's no food in the intestines to get in the way of a stiff buzz, and you can drink all you want and still feel thin the next morning (or after you get back to work from your lunch break). One must be careful, though, because drinking on an empty digestive system puts one at higher risk of obtaining a hangover, but when the buzz arrives so much more quickly there's less of a need to binge drink. So you drink less, feel drunker, and maintain the compulsory thinness factor.

However, the true risk of drinking while dieting is gorging oneself while in a drunken stupor. Many an inebriated eve I have balanced myself on the refrigerator door, probing the fridge for something fatty and inappropriate to chow. One of my favorite drunkie treats is cold General Tso's Chicken. Another is cottage cheese. I have even been known to visit a grocery store during this state, unraveling vast opportunities for no-no eating.

The best, however, is the food you're not supposed to eat...like the kind that belongs to your roommate, spouse, sibling, etc. Food crime is the shit, and I should definitely be arrested. You can always use the excuse, "I'm sorry...I know you were saving that...but I was soooo drunk..." It doesn't even have to taste good. It's like watching your obese neighbors have oral sex. You get to step into an intimate part of their lives. Instead of the food going inside them as intended, it goes inside you. It's almost like adultery. Adultery of the pantry. Patradultery.

It's fucking fantastic.

Too much drama

2004-12-14T15:27:00.000-08:00

I was held up at work yesterday. No, not the kind of hold up that delays dinner plans, but the kind that involves a man, a gun, a note, and a resulting felony. To his request, I calmly replied, “Okay,” and proceeded to stuff about five thousand dollars worth of bills into the bag that he had thoughtfully provided for my convenience. After he patiently demanded that I “hurry up” three different times, he zipped up what money I had already placed in his bag and split. Upon his departure, I hit the silent alarm, told my manager that I had been robbed, and locked up my drawers. It was that simple. Or at least it seemed so.

After the episode, I had to talk to the police on the phone to give a full description of the robber, fill out some standard bank forms, and get interviewed by an FBI agent and issue an official “statement” about the occurrence. During this whirlwind of dramatic activity, it was weird that I seemed wholly unaffected by the interaction with this man, that he had threatened my life for a mere few thousand bucks and I was laughing about the way he looked like a Pepsi delivery man. I didn’t know whether to give him money or ask how the new Pepsi Edge is selling. After all, no one noticed that I was getting robbed. In fact, a coworker of mine actually asked if I had any two-dollar bills as I was piling the money into the assailant’s bag and he didn’t get the clue. I was that tremendous.

I have also been surprised about the generous amount of moral support I have gotten from this ordeal. The manager ordered lunch for everyone and sent me home early. The district manager stopped by to tell me how well I had handled the situation. Last night, employee assistance called me at home to see if they could do anything to help. At work today, I was adorned with flowers and told to go home after only three hours. Okay, I won’t argue with that…I’m just surprised that I’ve been so laissez-faire about it. I tend to sway on the dramatic side of events, but with this, I’m in general more agitated by the lackluster Christmas Muzak we play at work.

However, I can’t stop thinking about the desperation that must exist in this felon’s life. There is a certain lack of hope one must have in choosing to commit such a crime, for it is not something that one would carelessly jump into. Indeed, it’s a choice that would likely include lots of consideration and premeditation before actually pursuing. I mean, has he done this before? How much did he get before? Did I make it too easy for him? Was I the thinnest person he had robbed? Does he have kids? Had I resisted handing over the money, would he have shot me? I want a full sociological profile. I don’t care if he’s caught or if the money is confiscated, but I want to know his name. Did his dad beat him? Was his mom a hussy? Maybe he needs help. Perhaps he’ll get the assistance he needs with the stolen cash, or maybe he’ll just buy crack and hire out prostitutes. I want this information…

Oh, well. I hope he really needed the money. I just wonder if he knows he held up a queer.

Honestly

2004-12-07T19:16:00.000-08:00

I am struggling a little bit in Seattle. With the newness gone, I am now left with everyday life less the excitement of a new adventure. I miss my friends terribly. I miss what feeling of community I used to have, even if it was a community that I was frequently frustrated by. I felt like there was something wrong with me in Minneapolis, a falsely conspicuous history that was going to haunt me until I accepted its accusations or moved. I participated in the latter and chose to escape the wearisome patterns that colored my life.

It is important to admit that many positive things have happened to me since I arrived here. I got a call last weekend from a theater producer who wants me to audition for his show in Portland. I have two willing pianists for a cabaret show. I’ve enjoyed critical success. People have noticed me. I have a show lined up for next spring. I feel good about my acting career.

However, the negative things – namely in the personal sphere – feel so much heavier here. I’m still derailed by men. I met a guy last weekend who I felt something for. Deep within my chest arose a feeling of possibility that I haven’t experienced for well over a year...since the last guy I sincerely dated. Contrary to all expectations, he hasn’t called. I didn’t bother getting his number because I was so confident that his request for mine guaranteed an interaction. I may just be acting stupidly...he could still call, but I can’t be optimistic anymore. I don’t have the energy or the track record to maintain that it’s likely.

Over Thanksgiving, I called my parents to wish them a happy holiday. When my dad put mom on the phone, she could hardly speak to me through her tears. The reality that I wasn’t there was tremendously and unexpectedly painful for her. After all, my brother just got married to a woman whom she feels no connection with, and her younger son moved across country for no apparent reason and was unable to make it home. These memories are cutting.

I feel a certain obligation to be closer to home. My family is not a large one; it consists only of those mentioned in the previous paragraph. No extended family, period. No grandchildren for my parents, no nieces or nephews for me. As much as it pains me to admit, if something happened to either of my parents – or to my brother for that matter – I would feel completely orphaned. In many ways, I regret that I am not closer to them, that I’m incapable of investing the time that some are able to. It makes me feel selfish that I cannot be a regular part of their lives. My relationship with them is subject to airfare. Perhaps my ability to move thousands of miles away stems from my closeted adolescent urge to get the hell out of the house and never look back. Maybe I should rethink this credo.

The point here is I’ve fallen a bit off track. I need to do some analysis and consider what I should do with my life. I have potential here. I have potential anywhere. I have a reasonable and desirable life in Minneapolis. I have family in Kansas (where I’m sure as hell not moving, of course). I have a huge credit card bill for the flight home for Christmas.

One good thing about living in Seattle is that grocery stores sell wine, and there are three markets within a few blocks of my apartment. I know what I’m doing tonight.

Kenny

2004-12-02T18:35:00.000-08:00

Oh, butthole. I’m one tired bitch after a crazy day at the office, and to add salt to injury one of my Kenneth Cole shoes split wide open like a dilating cow. Of course, I didn’t notice that my shoe was dead until a meeting at the end of the evening, where I nellied out and squealed, “Eeeek! Kenneth is wounded!” People laughed, but I was embarrassed by my revealing moment of materialism.

Now that I’m home, I think the people that live upstairs are fucking. A heterosexual couple in their mid-fifties, they’re bouncing off the walls like gerbils on angel dust. I’ve always wanted to be thrown about my living room in the throws of ecstasy, but I guess I’ll leave that fantasy to the geriatric sex fiends above me.

Once again I’ve successfully averted going to the gym in exchange for an evening in front of the television. This isn’t a good habit. Not only is my brain being turned to tapioca, but my ass is losing some quality. My tits are smaller, too, and my snug fitting work pants are angrily suffocating my waist. Nevertheless, I enjoy making bitchy comments to my roommate and generating an opinion about The Apprentice. I think that Donald’s female minion, Caroline, is a tampon. She just reminds other people to be assholes. What use is that? Shit, pay me to sit around and make bitchy comments…I already do it for free.

Tampony women aside, I feel that I have learned something from The Apprentice tonight. I need to have a plan. I’m never going to have success without a plan, unless I’m really lucky. And I haven’t been that lucky lately considering my batting average with men and designer shoes. I need to make promises to myself and keep them, but I need to be committed to those promises. Otherwise, I’m just lying to myself...and I’ll just get mad. At myself. Then I won’t talk to myself anymore.

No one wants that.

Distraction

2004-12-02T08:01:00.000-08:00

Sorry, kids, that I've been silent lately. I've simply been distracted. I can't seem to put my finger on exactly what I've been distracted with, for I have no idea. The blogs I've started writing have been interrupted by other thoughts, so I have four or five pending entries that I haven't had the patience to revise. This theme has poured over into my life in general. For example, last night I got up to go to bed, and five minutes later I found myself making a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies. On Tuesday, I got up from the couch to go to the gym and ended up making my first baked potato.

Perhaps I haven't been distracted. Maybe I've just been eating.

Songstress

2004-11-22T23:56:00.000-08:00

In trying to get perspective on this whole man/rejection/heart exposure ordeal, I find that I am coping with my feelings through a series of songs. Here are a few examples...

"...Now I'm running. Faster. Faster and faster to nowhere," Donna Summer.

"Loving you is a not a choice but who I am..." Barbara Cook sings Sondheim.

"Helpless, helpless, helpless...." kd Lang sings Neil Young.

"...You needed me, I needed you. How quickly need can turn to love..." Bernadette Peters also sings Sondheim.

"You spend all your time waiting for a second chance. For a break that would make it okay," Sarah Mclachlan.

"You may never be or have a husband. You may never have or hold a child. You will learn to lose everything via temporary arrangements," Alanis Morissette.

"Sometimes I think you want me to touch you. But you just look away in the distance," Tori Amos.

"Suddenly Seymour, standing beside me," just kidding!

And my personal favorite...

"I regret everything, every single step I take. Every path that I choose only leads to more boo-boo's!" Patti LuPone, in a cheap French accent.

I shan't mix feelings with boys.

No, really, I'm gaining my sense of humor back. Look, I even created a clever new word: DUMBASSHOLE. On which syllables you put the emphasis is up to you. Please use it liberally and don't forget to credit me.

Right is wrong

2004-11-21T20:00:00.000-08:00

My crush crushes not on me.

It doesn't always feel good to be right.

I wish things were different. I am sad.

A message of sight

2004-11-21T13:19:00.000-08:00

It’s time. I need to tell my crush how I feel about him. While this simple rule of communication is clear and concise on the surface, in my head it is a clusterfuck of thoughts and feelings, including but not limited to scary ones like “Insecurity,” “Oh, shit,” and “I just want to eat Nutella with a spoon and watch Oprah with you.”

I am an actor. I was a communications major. I was a state champion debater. I won first place in my Performing Arts Club three years in a row for making the best animal sounds, for shit's sake. Why can’t I disclose information of this nature without putting myself through a month of anguish first?

I guess I am slightly guilty of enjoying the hell that potential heartsickness brings. It's like hope with alcohol breath. Regardless, I have spent most of my life doing this, either proactively or retroactively cultivating heartbreak to the point of multi-faceted and self-manifested psychosis. I use up so much energy avoiding the moment that I have trouble remembering what day it is. I tend to save up life in little Ziploc bags and enjoy it in private sessions, where I can play it to a soundtrack of my choice.

Chronic Moment Avoidance Syndrome (C-MAS) aside, in the last week I have gained insight into the essence of my aforementioned crush. I have seen him, and I still like the motherfucker. The importance of this phenomenon is not to be abased.

I once read an article about how important it is for people to be “seen.” Friends and family can get so accustomed to who you are that they begin to observe you in concept but not in detail. You become a stranger to them, a creature caged into rigid boundaries of who they have decided you are and aren't. Yet, in the most random and awkward of times, you meet someone outside of your circle who peers into your soul (and perhaps even smiles and waves at it). You feel good about the transaction because you realize you’re still alive, that you’re a person who is capable of being discovered. You’re new, interesting, and possibly desired. That’s why people have affairs. Well, that and because people are whores.

Anyway, I saw him. I shall tell him in a few minutes. My next entry will undoubtedly be about the beauty of moving on, but maybe in the process he will have seen me, too.

A different perspective

2004-11-15T22:56:00.000-08:00

I realized that all my recent posts have been about men. Fuck men.

Today I took my parents to eat Mexican food. I drank margaritas and made my dad do a tequila shot with me.

That's what life is all about. Well, that and marshmellows in hot cocoa. Those are the two most important things in life.

Happiness is a moment

2004-11-14T22:57:00.000-08:00

”Save me, save me from you. But pave me the way to you.”

- kd Lang, “Save Me,” from Ingénue

Love is still in the air. It stinks. As my mother would say, “It smells like male cat pee!” But I want to talk about why I’m happy for a moment, and then I’ll go back into all of this longing crap.

I’m happy that I have a roommate. I’m happy that my parents love me. I’m happy that the opening weekend of the show went well. I’m happy that there are curse words. I’m happy that soy milk has fewer carbs than cow’s milk. I’m happy I know what the next step in my life is. I’m happy that I have four different options for Thanksgiving dinner. I’m happy that I drive a Honda. I’m happy that I took my dad to eat fish and chips today. I’m happy that I have a happy thought right now.

Okay, I feel better having expressed some optimism. Now, back to business…

I’m still in my “I want a man” phase. (I’m also still bloated from lunch, but these two “stills” are unrelated.) I guess I think that if I talk about it enough then it will happen. This is a pattern with me. I go through little phases where I am focused on something and I won’t move on until I have attained the said focus. For example, last year I really wanted a new car. Say hello to my mini-tampon, the white Civic Coupe. Over the summer, I grew the desire to move out of Minneapolis. I can see the Space Needle from where I’m typing. Now, if I put all of my faith, energy, and motivation into a dickwich, then within a few months (weeks!? days!?!?) I will be introducing you to Mr. X.

Let’s discuss the current possible Mr. X’s.

Mr. X(1) is still getting over his ex-boyfriend. He is looking for jobs where his ex-boyfriend is living, and I don’t understand why one would move to be closer to one’s ex. He also keeps referring to me as his “friend.” Is this a sign? This man fails to provide me with sufficient evidence to convict him of potentially loving me.

Mr. X(2) I haven’t really discussed in this blog. He’s a smoker and I have suspicions that he’s an alcoholic, yet he’s smart and treats me well. (I guess I would have to get over my aversion of whiskey breath.) However, he talks to his pets when he’s on the phone with me and forgets to do weird things like put on anti-perspirant after showering. On the other hand, he has a successful career as an engineer (particularly for a twenty-two year old) and maintains sexy ambitions to be an architect who specializes in earthquake proof skyscrapers. Lastly, he recently had a run in with the police because of a self-destructive drinking binge related to his ex-boyfriend. Oops. This isn’t a good idea, either.

Mr.X(3) everyone knows. He’s brown, solid at room temperature, and can be enjoyed in all shapes and sizes. His name is chocolate. He’s in my mouth right now.

The reality is none of these Mr. X’s will ever be my Mr. WhateverthefuckitisIwantrightnow. I need to sniff the roses, or at least sniff something other than my drool-encrusted pillow in the morning. There just seems to be “couplehood” happening all around me, and I want to join in on the fun. I thought I just had bad luck getting men in Minneapolis and I hope to shit that the man poison hasn’t traveled west with me (I didn’t think there was enough room in the car...).

I know, I know. He must be out there somewhere…but where?

By the way, the quote that started this entry is the tentative opening number to my as of yet unnamed cabaret show. Pretty cool, eh? No…really, you can stop applauding.

Low carb faggot

2004-11-11T01:23:00.000-08:00

I’m on the ass end of a low carb diet blitz. I’ve eaten so much lunch meat in the last two weeks I could puke. In fact, I’ll be right back…

Okay, I feel better now.

Anyway, in this carbless chaos, I didn’t eat anything without first dipping it in ranch dressing, and don’t ask me how much I pooped (because I'll tell you). It was hell, and I loved every minute…even the pooping, because it was interesting that my body doing something different. I haven‘t endured this much self-deprivation since I stopped breast feeding...or stopped being breast fed, rather.

However, this diet was mostly successful until the inevitable happened...it coincided with my time of the month. That’s right, boys and girls, Jakey was riding the cotton pony…waving the crimson flag…straddling the diaper dildo. I crave sugar like a motherfucker during my cycle, and the only thing that circumvents my need for sweets is some sugar in my poo nagie…and Lordy knows that ain’t be happenin'. Shit. I don’t even know what a dick looks like anymore, much less what to do if presented with one. Do I squeeze it like a tube of toothpaste or stroke it like a newborn kitten? Do I slurp it like spaghetti or sip it like sweet and sour? I have no idea how to answer these questions.

Genitals aside, after eating a sensible salad and cottage cheese for lunch today, I proceeded to consume spaghetti and berries coated in white chocolate after getting home from work. It was almost too easy to get derailed. As I brought the glossy ball of chocolaty ambrosia to my lips, I thought to myself, “Am I going to feel guilty?” In short, yes, but I feel guilty for most things (thanks, mom!), so that doesn’t necessarily offer any insight to my disposition.

I feel like a total rebel, an outsider who has rejected the frivolous chains of a low-carb lifestyle. I’m like a carbohydrate superhero, a sugary stallion who may choose a scone for breakfast if he chooses…or maybe even a muffin. Freedom is on my side, and I didn't even have to declare war to earn it. I just had to eat candy.

I’m already planning my trip to the grocery store tomorrow morning. I will dance down the aisles and select items that will bestow my cabinet with foods that saturate my blood with insulin, only leaving me to want more. I think I will bake some chocolate chip cookies…with extra chips. Hell, maybe I’ll get a wild hair across my ass and bake something new. I’ve always wanted to make lemon pound cake. Mmmmm…

The most exciting part, however, is that I’ll be able to enjoy a Starbucks Gingerbread Latte this holiday season. Make it a Venti.

Relationshit

2004-11-07T23:14:00.000-08:00

I made a mistake. For the first time in over a year, I allowed myself to want a boyfriend. In concept, a boyfriend it is an easy thing to dismiss, but after it’s assessed in detail it becomes a much more attractive thing. I erroneously wrapped my thoughts around those silly relationship moments - the intimate conversations in bed, the smug touching of hands under the table, the mutual smiles from a shared thought - and got excited, like a puppy who gets a doggie biscuit after peeing outside. I remembered all of the nice things that I want to do in a relationship…the flowers I want to buy, the letters I want to write, the things I want to say...

Oops. I need to focus on what I have control over.

I keep pondering why I haven’t been in a substantial relationship during my seven years of being out. I admit that I’ve fallen in love a couple of times - but I promptly lost those men, and by and large I have been single. There must be some sort of purpose to this, a function that serves to justify my condition (at least that’s what I like to believe).

But what is it?

Well, before I try to answer that question, maybe I should look at the other side of this equation - why have I kept myself out of a relationship? It could be argued that I furtively build walls to fence others out, even in friendships, but this is a relatively recent phenomenon. I recall a time when I wore my flaws on my sleeve in order to arms-length people so I wouldn‘t have to worry about losing them later. Now, I find that I hide my complexities and quirks…and as a result the essences that compose who I am. My uniqueness. My particularities. My mojo (wait, that’s something else, although it‘s an accurate concession). Anyway, is this called maturity, or is it just fear?

Maybe there’s something deeper than simply getting what I want. Perhaps I should allow myself to indulge in the process of my life, whether I’m nursing myself through the tribulations of singledom or raising a kitten with my new beau. Sometimes I feel exhausted therein because I spend so much energy compensating for what I don’t have, but I have so much that I forget to be humble. I am incredibly fortunate. Most of us who read this blog probably are (and not just because you know me!). I have food, water, friends, a job, income, and a life. Ooh, and a dishwasher…love that!

Maybe there’s nothing wrong with me. Maybe the love that I want to give is a beautiful thing, a gift that’s yet to be fully appreciated. I’m like an exotic bird that sits in the back of the pet store, waiting for someone to give me the chance. I just have to wait for everyone to learn that the hamsters, gerbils, and goldfish they impulsively purchase in the front of the store die quickly (and are flushable) before they are willing to invest in me.

Alas, I know I won’t ever escape my feelings about men. I will always like someone. They probably won’t like me back.

A new outlook

2004-11-06T18:43:00.000-08:00

My new hobby is to fall in love with men, e.g. potential husbands. I used to be the type of guy who couldn’t open himself up to another man without getting soundly trampled, but I have now decided that the more the merrier. It’s sort of like insurance. If I spread out my risk over a variety of areas I will reduce the risk of loss. Thus, if one asshole lets me down, I will have a selection of others to fall back upon. As long as I keep the shelves stocked I will never be hungry again.

Of course, my new pastime has some undeniable shortcomings. For one, I can never have sex with any of them because I would assuredly contract some sort of bacteria/parasite/virus/ and spread it to each participant, revealing my emotional affairs via a love chain of infections. Secondly, I mustn’t let the subjects know that I am in love with them because they will abandon me or worse, want to start a relationship. At that point, I would erect standards that they would certainly not meet and I would be back at square one (the chocolate chip cookie dough consumption square). Lastly, I must never commingle my participants socially. Doing so would deconstruct my entire plan, as they would fall in love with each other and abandon me entirely. Thus, I must follow these rules in order to feel emotionally successful.

One of my interests is a bartender at one of the clubs in town. I flirted with him unabashedly during my birthday celebration last weekend. We exchanged numbers and email addresses at the end of the evening and promised to be in contact. I haven’t heard back from him. He’s my boyfriend.

My eggs are scrambled

2004-11-03T18:24:00.000-08:00

Well, it seems that we don’t have a new president. I thought I deserved one, but I was wrong. I don’t understand why so many people support Bush. I guess I would feel more comfortable if he were intelligent.

I was thinking today that I would make a better President than Bush. At least I have the ability to give a good speech, although I might have a problem with cursing too much. I wouldn’t go to Texas all the time and let the cameras follow me around while I walk my dog so he can take a shit. I wouldn’t let my daughters get drunk at college parties; I would make them go to school in England where it’s legal to drink earlier (isn’t that what Clinton did with Chelsea?). I might even remember how to pronounce “nuclear,” (it’s a cheap shot, I know, but a valid one at that). Then, I would take the time to contemplate the impacts of my decisions before actually making one.

Anyway, my Presidential aspirations aside, I’m still crushing over a guy. I think he’s in love with me because he still talks to me after I snuggled up against him in bed last weekend. Yes, I said it…in bed, but there was no action to be had. It was innocent, promise. I just don’t know if he’s interested in me.

Earlier tonight I decided to boil some eggs. Instead of turning on the appropriate burner located under the pot of eggs and water, I elected for the burner that happened to have a crock pot sitting on top of it. After ignoring a strange plasticky smell for a little too long, I turned around from my steeping tea to see flames sprouting up the side of the crock pot.

Now, I had a moment in all of this commotion. Baking soda? Water? Call 911?

Well, in this moment, the fire extinguished itself after I turned off the burner. I hope I didn’t break the crock pot.

It's just a little crush

2004-10-31T20:13:00.000-08:00

I have a crush on someone.

I'm not very good at having crushes. They're sort of like little death sentences. They make my life temporarily hellish, providing worry where it's not necessary and uncertainty where it's not welcome. Aren't crushes supposed to be fun?

Let's talk about the guy for a moment. He's one of the sweetest men I have ever met. He is caring, genuine, cute, and honest...and to cap it off, he wants to be in a monogamous relationship.

But...

He has very recently been involved with someone.

Of course.

And he's not over him.

Of course.

I crush nevertheless because this guy shows such a strong passion for life and for people. Talking to him makes me feel comfortable. Being with him makes me want to relax. Now that I feel like I've revealed too much to him, I'm scared.

Oops.

Already Dreading Valentine's Day...

2004-10-25T23:20:00.000-07:00

I had a horrible thought today: that I would be alone again on Valentine's Day. Oh, mother of shit...I've endured far too many occasions of this holiday in solitude...I think my "I don't care; it's just a stupid marketing ploy" condom is starting to burn off. 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004 have all passed without any recognizable fart of a man. Is this going to happen again?

I want to be one of those disgustingly affectionate couples, bathed in the wine of romance and giggling over whispered sweet nothings (whispers followed up by gentle but persistent nibbles to the ear, of course). Then, after ordering dessert (I will only eat one or two bites...I don't want to feel bloated when we hit the sheets...but I want to have the sexy taste of chocolate on my breath), he will pick up the tab without argument and tip the valet after slyly ensuring that the seat heater were placed on full-blast. After arriving at his top-floor penthouse condominium, I will sojourn out to the balcony and patiently wait for my beau to ravish me with the intensity of the passion he harbors for me...and then lick my poo nagie.

Naaah, I'll probably be alone. I won't be lonely...I will drink some wine to serve as a chaser for the longing I'll hide inside my chest, sharing the evening with like-fated men at my side. Cheers to friendship and masturbation.

Missing you

2004-10-23T01:02:00.000-07:00

I just got a phone call from a former coworker of mine. More accurately, it seems I was the winning number of a drunk dial. Details aside, I am realizing how much I miss seeing her every day. She was someone whom I had the utmost respect for because she was always honest, even if her candor revealed her flaws. That was a lesson that I've really taken to heart...the idea that you don't have to be afraid of your own flaws. People are intimidated by her. People think she's a bitch. I think she's fabulous.

I enjoyed the organic interactions that we had. I never had to pretend around her. It was always enough to just...be. Instinctively, I try to "entertain" people, but with her it was enough to be me.

That feels good to say. She made me feel like it was enough to just be me. No matter how bitchy she was in interactions with other people she never failed to help me see the humanity (and humor) in every day life. Her presence reminded me that even simple things in life can be interesting and entertaining, and that success comes from effort...

I miss her. I wish that things were different and we could have checked out more guys together...only to get drunk later and relive those moments through the veil of jell-o shots. At least we have liquor and speed dial. Sigh...

Careers are blah

2004-10-21T20:06:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling ambivalent about work. My position here has evolved into a thankless sales job - my manager tells me to "sell some shit!" as a morning motivator. I don't care what they say, no matter how many times I repeat the benefits of a free checking account it doesn't become any more appealing to "sell." It seems to me (and others) that banks are a necessary evil, a machine that processes a routine affair, and no matter how hard we try it's never going to have the satisfaction of, say, a Godiva truffle. I could sell a truffle...

"The dark chocolate shell encases a smooth, creamy hazelnut nougat that entices your mouth to ravish its sweet nectar and embellish in the satisfaction of knowing that you've just enjoyed the best chocolate your money can buy."

See, it's not difficult at all, whereas a checking account is much more challenging...

"You put money in it and if you overdraw the account you get a fee. We don't charge you anything unless you order checks, need a stop payment, use online bill pay, utilize overdraft protection, or have a returned deposited item. Otherwise, it's completely free. Oh, and here's the 1-800 number if you have any further questions."

Do you notice the difference?

Sarcasm aside, I can do anything you place in front of me. If someone needs a loan, I'll work to find them the best product and the most competitive rate to fit their needs. If someone needs a checking account, I will ensure that they reap the most benefits given their "account relationship." However, if in the morning a manager encourages me to "sell some shit" and wants me to make outbound calls to "create" business, I take issue with that demand. If someone doesn't have all the products the company has to offer, a banker probably didn't do their job correctly in the first place. Secondly, the customers likely have a reason why they don't have all of their business with us. Doesn't it make sense?

I guess they just want to make the most money possible in the least amount of time with the fewest employees possible. However, it is my speculation that the company will lose employees and customers both if they keep hounding for sales...or maybe they'll just lose me.

Chamomile Tea

2004-10-19T23:26:00.000-07:00

I enjoy drinking tea after "accidentally" putting too much sweetener in it. It's a little trick that I have pulled ever since I was a little kid trying to fool mother into thinking that my habitual "over-sucrosing" was merely an error. Come to think of it, I used the same trick with sweetening cereal. Still, tea is a simple pleasure that is best enjoyed before bed.

It's difficult for me to drink tea socially because I always feel like I'm trying to pretend that I'm above drinking coffee. It's sort of like choosing a diet soft drink over regular...you know what you want, baby, but you want others to believe that you have some shred of self control (which, of course, you don't). So you drink the diet coke. Just enjoy the beverage: it's coffee, it's beer, it's soda, it's you.

Anyway, back to tea. My first memory of tea is when I was about twelve when I had my mother purchase a big box of cracked pepper saltine crackers. I don't know why I had a craving for this particular type of crackers, I guess there was something romantic about the way "cracked pepper" sounded in my head. It sounded a bit like a gunshot of flavor that made me salivate. In sampling these crackers, I had a vision that one day when I had a family I would come home and enjoy some hot tea with (lots of) honey, a few cracked pepper crackers, and sit on my chair while the kids told me about their day.

One of the hardest things about coming out to myself was letting go of all of those socialized ideals that were implanted in my head. The very idea that even my passing thoughts had to change didn't seem so transient at all.

One may be thinking that I could still have kids huddled around me after a day at work in the future, and that assumption would be correct. I sure as hell won't be eating those crackers, though.

Tis my blog

2004-10-17T19:22:00.000-07:00

Well, I have finally stepped into the modern public forum: the blog. Or, as I prefer to call it, the blogette (which makes it sound like a French loaf of bread). I am doing this mostly to pacify my friend, Aaron, but also to pacify myself. So, within my blogette I will share some of my silly thoughts. Some of them will be scary, some of them promise to be weird, and others will be blazingly insightful. They're my totally abnormal normal thoughts, an anomaly of words.

I must say that blogs, or blogettes, are interesting creatures to me. I admit that I have had limited exposure to them, but every blogger has their very own idea of what topics a blog should contain. Some people write about ideas that they have while others prefer to focus on the relative insanity of others. I have noticed that when one writes too much about oneself it reads as self-absorbed and narcissistic...yet isn't this what a blog is for? In short, I am scared that I will be a bad blogger because I will want to talk about myself. It is also important to note that in my writing I have a tendency to reveal insecurities in text that I would not share otherwise, because what's the point in sharing my thoughts if they don't represent my core truths?

Alas, here I sit in Seattle, a city I have lived in for roughly two weeks. I love it here. I am so happy that I had the courage and stupidity to make such a random transplant...I had no specific reason for the relocation; I had wonderful friends in Minneapolis, a job with potential, and a theater career in process (well, at least I like to think so). Yet here I sit, a meek 1,660 miles away, missing my friends but feeling how full my heart is with the satisfaction of a new adventure. I am fearless right now. (Well, I simply feel fearless, but if a spider came scuttling into the room I would probably squeal.)

Well, I should share a few things about me...

I love to do theater. I love singing and acting. That's who I am no matter how much I have tried to deny it.

I like to eat. A lot. I struggle with it daily. But I don't eat because I'm hungry.

I know what love feels like. I know what loss feels like. I like love better. I crave it.

I think I should adopt a kitten, or maybe even an adult cat. I should talk to the roommate...

I love my family even though I didn't always have the best relationship with them.

I think that money is corrupting.

I am done...the rest you'll just have to figure out!