i've abandoned this personal blog in favor of more themed blogs so if you want to check out my (feminist) take on television humor go to sodisappointing.blogspot.com and for my newest pet project - a craft-oriented la-based free school, go to pigeonparty.blogspot.com

hearts.

confession corner

recently i caught myself thinking: god, i need a life. but i'd settle for a boyfriend.

yowza. i feel like i have, for the most part, escaped much of the pressure to be constantly in a relationship. but, like most ladies i know, i do sometimes find myself thinking how much i want and even, need, a boyfriend. any amount of this kind of thinking is too much as far as i am concerned.

luckily, the last time this unfortunate thought crossed my mind, it was pulling a banner behind is reading:
what do i need a partner for?
when you think that i have emily, kitty love, a body pillow and several vibbies... it's basically 80% of a rocking boyfriend complete with a total lack of his own needs! so cheers to progress and blog-erapy.

"I bet he's firm but gentle" - Emily on Mike Rowe's prowess as a gay lover.

Also, Emily and I are planning to change our facebook about me function to: Would pay to see Mike Rowe: Gay Porn.

so look for that.

Dolor and decay

So I find myself here in LA, hot and sunny in the middle of February. Wonderful and a little scary.

Watched the Oscars last sunday... or at least, part of them. 80th Anniversary and supposedly the least watched Academy Awards of all time. Makes sense cause no one gave a crap about any of the nominees this year, including me. Haven't even seen any of the films, besides Juno (which while good, didn't really deserve a nomination in my opinion).

The night before I watched the first post-writer's strike SNL - hosted by Tina Fey. I love that woman and totally believe she is a great comedian, writer and probably person, but shit did SNL suck. Which I guess isn't surprising since it's been sucking for a while now. I don't get it. There are so many funny people on right now - Bill Hader, Will Forte, Andy Samberg, Amy Poehler and yet every episode I see is so lame. I mentioned this recently and a woman got on my case, explaining it isn't the fault of SNL because the hosts ultimately decide what sketches get done. Okay then, that explains a shitty episode when Britney hosts, but Tina Fey?! What's going on folks? How can we be simultaneously experiencing a renaissance of hilarious movies (Superbad, Knocked Up, etc) and a drought of television sketch comedy? Makes me sad.

I want to acknowledge that Ms. Fey tries her best to create female-centered comedy (by, for and about ladies) but it usually falls flat at best, or offends at worst. BITCH magazine said it before, but I'll say it again. What the fuck is wrong with her that she allows Liz Lemon of 30 Rock to be such a pitiful character? Exposing feminist rhetoric, claiming she is happy as a successful, single career woman, Lemon is continually cut down by her *male* boss who points out that she is indeed unhappy because she is a single, career woman. Swear to god, every episode goes something like this:

Fey: I'm a successful woman! I'm the boss in a male-dominated field! I'm totally happy ! I don't need a man!
Baldwin: But you dress like crap, eat like crap and are totally lonely.
Fey: You're right. I'm miserable. Better find a man.

Sigh. One step forward, two steps back.
Tina. You said that Bitch is the new black. Time to back it up and Bitch it up.

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.