2007 closing like a sticky window

hullo. just wanted to point out that erica and i are leaving in about a week to spend 3 weeks under the Thai sun. we (meaning the ever talented erica) created a beautiful blog where we will be posting updates and photos of our trip. wish us safety and fun. and please please send along your address if you'd like a postcard.

http://jandetravellers.blogspot.com/


happy holidays and best wishes for a peaceful and joyous 2008.

mended and mending

Part 1
I'm returning from my two week plus journey to the bay area (SF, SC, SF and Oakland) and I'm filled with gratitude and joy. YAY. I'm not even going to spend much time on this, because really it's beyond language. But let's just say, I love sunshine and the familiarity of place and I LOVE my friends. Holy shit. I am so fucking lucky to have the friends I have. Not only are they awesome, beautiful, smart, funny and all around interested and good people, but they love me! AMAZING. So cheers for good friends and interlocking Venn Diagram Co-Ops located somewhere between Los Angeles and Santa Cruz...

PART 2
My last morning in Santa Cruz I got the "mend" tattoo I've been planning for some time now. the letters stand for each of my members of my immediate family (matthew, erin, nancy and dean) but of course it also a shout out to fiber arts (hey!) and a reference to the upkeep of self, the healing of wounds large and small, and like all tattoos (and piercings) for me, a reminder to live in the moment.
It's interesting because my tattoo is itself a wound, one that is currently scabby and itchy as it heals. It's good to watch intently as my body heals itself (even from self-inflicted hurts) and to know that I work. That I can and do heal. I want my tattoo to be all healed already. I want it to stop itching and be all smooth and scab-less and pretty, but all I can do is wait. It can't be rushed. I just have to be patient and take care of myself the best I can.
A pretty apt metaphor if you ask me.
So this morning I am washing my wounds, even those - or especially those - without physical manifestations. I am gently cleansing with soap, rinsing, patting dry, applying cocao butter and taking care. The rest is up to time.
And Jesus. (Hi Erica.)

Hate is a strong word...

I dread strangers. And meeting people. And making chit chat. I dread extended family and neighbors and really any situation where I'm forced to act like I care about-- and am cared about by-- people I'm connected to on totally arbitrary levels. I know this sounds harsh, but really sometimes my life feels all too much like that scene from the beginning of The Graduate. Except that I don't even get the luxury of bad advice ("Plastics!") Instead, I get questions. Horrible, awful, ridiculous questions. You have no idea who I am or what I'm like and you're asking me what careers I'm considering or today's gem "What do you like to do?"
Believe me sweetie, if I knew do you think I'd be standing outside in my pajamas and slippers at 2:30pm on a Saturday staring at the cat to make sure he doesn't leave the property and get eaten by coyotes?

So I made this list over a month ago. It's probably the best thing I've ever written.


weird things i've noticed are IN right now:

antlars
pot
can't remember

Update

My granma has been going through some health problems, in and out of the hospital and whatnot, having several heart surgeries. She went to the ER last night because she was feeling real bad and tonight her boyfriend, while driving to see her, was pulled over for weaving. He was taken to the ER and diagnosed with some 14 syllable brain thing. He's her primary caretaker so yeah. Shitty, shitty times. I'm going to Southern Oregon for awhile to be with my gma. I don't know when I'll be back. I'll keep you updated, but please think good thoughts or pray or do whatever you can. <3.

The Hanged Man

The Mythic Tarot deck says that The Hanged Man signifies a person that must make themselves vulnerable, must suffer, must have faith in oneself and in something larger than themselves. Like a martyr the hanged man is strung up by his ankles and made to feel pain, physical and otherwise, as he waits for his punishment. But although he waits with fear and anxiety, he also holds in his heart the belief that this suffering will somehow contribute to the greater good. He has hope.

It's an intense image but one that's been a comfort to me lately. I've been sort of glidding along these past three or four months, having good and bad days, not really thinking about past hurts very much. But here they've come bubbling to the surface and although I've been crying and feeling some sadness, I know in the end that this pain only brings me closer to a much more rich and fulfilling happiness, far greater than the happiness I am mourning.

On a less cryptic level, New York, particularly Brooklyn is quite lovely. Erin and I have been getting along great. I've gotten to see old friends and I've danced and drunk and sung and laughed and all that good stuff one should do on vacation. The weather has been really beauitful - sunny clear skies and a crisp wind. I've spent some really great quality time alone, watching dogs and squirrels play in the park. Yay. And long subway rides are only an opportunity to read. Shmau. I'm so grateful I could come out here and I'm really looking forward to the future. So yeah, it's a good day.

so pretty

So I'm coming up on three months into this arranged marriage that is my life in Portland. And yesterday, I finally feel in love just a little bit. It's been so rainy, but these past two days, the rain cleared and it was sunny and clear. The edges on everything seem sharper. The trees are brilliant yellow, orange and red. And driving to the airport, the sunset washed the horizon in pink just as I looked out to see Mt. Hood rising snowy and lovely past the ragged line of pines. Yes.

Transition Year

Shit is hard right now. Graduating from college is definetly the new graduating from high school. Man, I thought moving away from my parents, my childhood home, the only place I had ever lived - to go to a new, scary, independent, demanding world of college was going to be hard. It was a cake walk. I literally walked around and was handed cake. Or maybe that's just what it felt like. Now this. This is fucking hard. This is like a rainy, muddy, terrifying, pitch black grop through a dark tunnel where all you get handed is stale tortilla chips. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating.
It's not that bad, especially when you're mooching off your parents and living rent-free with no job. Indeed, I have had some great fun here in Peepeetown and I'm glad I'm not in school anymore, but good lord there is an abyss at my doorstep wearing a nametag reading "Your Fucking Future."

First world problem I know, but I have SO MUCH freedom. I have SO MUCH mobility. I can go and do just about anything. And I am terrified. I can deconstruct the feminist implications of that novel you're reading like it ain't no thang, but I have no clue who I am and what I want to do. And it's starting to really freak me out. The question "what am I going to do with my life" is not a joke anymore. I'm asking myself in all seriousness multiple times a day.

I've started making a mental list of things I think I could be good at, or at least care about. But every option seems soul crushing in one way or another.
All I really know is: I want to be my own boss. I want to be creative.

It's bizarre the way our lives have become so public. I used to keep a journal that only I (and only barely) ever read. Now, I post my thoughts and feelings on the internet for all to see. I think it's fucking with my head. Television, Celebrities, Reality TV and Blogs.... It's getting to the point that I don't think anything is real or good unless I can broadcast it.

in advocacy of best friends

I've been thinking a lot lately about intimacy, vulnerability and fear.

We live in a culture which elevates the monogamous heterosexual relationship. We all understand on some level that (at least culturally) having a romantic partner (of the unfortunately, opposite sex) gives us status. And, additionally, for many of us, we gain great comfort and pleasure from being in a relationship, having a partner.

But here's the thing, why do we seek closeness with the one person that will most likely not be a permanent fixture in our lives? We let our partners see us at our most vulnerable. They probably know us better than our family and even, our closest friends. And we are encouraged to be this way. We are encouraged to open ourselves up to a partner much more so than we are to our friends. Just look at the goal we are all supposed to be attaining-marriage. So we share more, we work through the fear, we push ourselves to be completely intimate with our partners in a way that does not compare to our friendships or family. And yet, how often do we break up with our friends or family?

I'm not advocating lessening intimacy and vulnerability with partners, but rather questioning why we don't award closeness with friends and family. I think most of us don't get as close to even our closest friends as we do to our partners. We're told we don't have to. Curious considering that we're probably much less likely to be hurt by them.

random thoughts from your favorite stoney

Is it just me or is Kevin Spacey's voice kinda sexy?

Why at a certain hour do all the commercials turn into single's phone networking ads? It's not just one company either. There's like 7 of them all promising "flirty singles in your area." How are any of these companies making enough money to stay in business when they have so much competition.... not just from eachother either but from legitimate avenues like ... bars.

Has anyone seen the Mastercard ad with the three little kids dancing to funk music? (Backpack -20 dollars, being with people that understand you - priceless)

Ummmm, it's amazing. And if I could be guaranteed that my kids would be as cool as those I would get knocked up in a second!

I dreamt I was in Santa Cruz, near Westcliff, parking a car on a steep hill. Then I encountered the crazy dog lady from Reed who was trying to tell us that picking up dog poop makes her feel alive. Then I was having sex with Zach Braff in his warehouse apartment.

Have you heard the new single by T.I. feat. T-Pain and T9Word? OR Thank Jesus My Phone Knows "Shmau"

Words my phone does not know how to spell:

1. Nevermind
2. Catchphrase
3. Conchords
4. Bullshit
5. Voicemail
6. Snuggling
7. Beyonce

Each and every one of these words is integral to my life.

This Is Going To Be So Nerdy

I love to make my bed.

1. Okay, I don't really. It's a pain in the ass and from a practical, I'm-only-going-to-sleep-in-it-later way, totally pointless.

2. But when I do do it (if you laughed at "do do" you get 55 points) it's like this great magical thing. I love my bed. I spend a lot of time in it. I go out of my way to acquire things for it that please me visually and to the touch. Tonight making my bed, I got sucked in. The soft 70s (yet still pretty) floral sheets I bought at a thrift store. Then the light cotton blanket, the only thing I don't love the look of but it's practical and the only thing that I didn't buy or make, but rather came from my family and has been on my bed since 1987. Then a well-loved, well-worn garage sale find, an all white blanket with lots of overhang and even a tasseled edge. This blanket reminds me of Civil War-era America. It's full of holes, but when it's spread flat across a bed, I just can't not stand and admire how beautiful a bed looks draped in white. Why the hell is that? Next is the blanket I made myself, a quilt. I enjoy it's pattern and the fact that it's my own handiwork - it's a great feeling to know that you can provide for yourself something as fundamental as bedcoverings. Lastly, the beautiful off white blanket covered in bright orange flowers. It's crocheted, but unlike most crocheted blankets it's not ugly, and it drives me wild with happiness to know that somebody spent so much time and energy and made such a gorgeous blanket. I like to think that an old woman made it and then died, hence the donation to thrift store land, and that my having it somehow connects me to crafty ladies from all of history. I just hope I never find out that it was a top selling item at Target in the nineties or some shit.

N E W S

My parents bought a gigantic house in the SW hills of Portland. It has 4 bedrooms, a giant downstairs/basement to be rented out, a nice backyard and a HOT TUB. That's right. H O T T U B HOTTUB! so get your ass up here and sit in my new hot tub with me. No excuses.

LAcation Part 2.

amazing.

LAcation

So I came down to LA (from my new home in Portland, OR) for a friend's birthday and then decided to stay a month until another friend's wedding (mid august to mid september). I've been hanging around, moving from couch to bed to couch again between lots of fantastic LA and Orange County friends and doing a whole lot of nothing. I read, go online, watch DVDs, play guitar, accompany friends on errands, shop, ETC and in the evenings I usually find myself drinking and smoking with my buddies. I have no responsibility, no obligations, no job, no whatever....

I should be blissed out, right? Why do I feel like I'm just killing time? Don't get me wrong, I'm having fun and enjoying hanging out with all these cool people, but part of me feels totally dead. I find myself feeling the impulse to get back to Portland already, but why? What am I returning to? What is there to look forward to? Getting a job?

This is such a weird time in my life. I'm twenty-two. I've just graduated from college and I'm extremely privileged. I have more mobility than I know what to do with and faced with knowing that the world is my proverbial oyster, I just want to go back to bed.

why i'm obsessed with Vh1's "The Pick-Up Artist"

For the first time in the history of my family, we have cable. So a few weeks ago I stumbled upon a show on VH1 called "The Pick-Up Artist." The show is hosted by a tall, skinny, perpetually hat-and-ski-goggles clad obvious ex-nerd named Mystery and the premise: 12 nerdy ass dudes, ranging from a 45 year old virgin to a 22 year old anxiety stricken cutie, come live in a mansion and learn how to talk to, pick up, make out with, and date W O M E N. Each week a dude is eliminated based on how well he puts Mystery's "teachings" into action. The last man standing will earn the title "Master Pick-Up Artist" and travel the world with Mystery teaching other wayward dudes how to talk to ladies. K?

Without a doubt, the show is sexist. Women, during episodes, are frequently compared to children and animals. In the club, the men of the show are encouraged to approach their "target." It's the typical misogynist bullshit that makes my feminist blood boil. But I can't stop watching it.

I'm completely hooked and here's why: Yes, Mystery is a chauvinist who looks to be seeking revenge on the women who shunned him when younger and nerdier. But the men, the 12 participants, could not be more sweet. Imagine men. On television. Being insecure and emotional. Not for laughs. These dudes are insecure. They want relationships. The openly admit that they are terrified of women. And they obviously love eachother. Unlike the inevitable drama among competitors on shows like "American's Next Top Model," these guys are really looking out for eachother, providing support through ups and downs. During elimination it is not uncommon to see tears. A lot of tears. Especially from the bottom two, the one that stays ultimately crying, hugging and consoling the one that is eliminated. Where can you see that on television?

does that make me sound like an alcoholic? part 2

met up with brad tonight. he's in town visiting for a little while. (it's strange - so far the only people i've been hanging out with have been people that are just visiting portland - it really makes me feel like i'm just on vacation) he was hanging out with emily heller & co. at a bar/arcade. we played one round of dance, dance revolution and felt thoroughly embarassed. then a bunch of kids took off and me, brad, emily and her bf alec just wandered around downtown. it was nice to just be out walking around at night which i haven't done at all yet. it's so weird. i'm so reluctant. i feel totally wary of this town, of liking it, of settling down. i want to run away. ANYWAYS. we wandered around and ended up hitting up some fancy hotels - taking elevators up to random floors and then walking the halls looking for room service trays and carts. we only found one tray but don't call the adventure a bust or my awesome new salt and pepper shaker set will have to bodyslam you.

does that make me sound like an alcoholic?

i'm a bad blogster. i don't know what to write on these things. i had a delicious burger today. it had whole cloves of roasted garlic on it. (is that blog worthy?) I also got buzzed on half a beer because I am a GIANT lightweight. it was a fun time though. everything is better when buzzed.

I went with my parents to see two houses today that just went on the market. One was HUGE but sort of unimpressive. The inside was really pink and though the floorplan was nice and I could probably live in the basement for six years without anyone noticing, the fact that it was right off the freeway sort of killed it for everyone. The second house had a lot more character, a craftsman in the NW section of the city. It was really rad, in a nice neighborhood, close-ish to 23rd street, but the kitchen was old and small and the rooms were too few and too small to make a B&B. I was ready to make an offer, but alas I'm not the ones with all the moolah.

i think i need to watch more female comedians and musicians

i am troubled by my response to things that make me happy... instead of thinking, "hey i want to do that" (regarding people making music or comedy) i think, "i want to date someone who does that"

time to stop living vicariously through boys.

there was a time
you dreamed of
small houses here
nestled among these
spiked trees
and a porch
to sit after dinner
with a guitar
and me.

these days you are
across a continent
swallowed up by
the biggest city
to break my heart.

the trees are pointier here

Portland, OR.

My family and I moved into our very small, vaguely ugly, little white box of an apartment. We brought far too much furniture and it's feeling a little like housesitting for a giant. who is also a packrat. Everything is too big and there's too much of it.
BUT! It is only temporary until my rents find a huge lovely house that can rival old 545 S. Grand St... And there's a pool, hot tub and fitness center very close by. So.

It's very strange to be living in a new place. Here are some things I've noticed about Oregon:

The trees are less round than in California. Also, there are more of them.

Californians really are just on average more attractive. Sorry, rest of the world.

I guess that's it.

Oregon: good if you like trees and uggos.

location: santa cruz, for now.

i thought this might be a good way for people-who-care-about-this-sort-of-stuff to keep track of me and my life since it's looking to be pretty mobile over the next few years.