full of moxie and viscosity

I'm doing an experiment with Instant Messenger. I'm not going to sign on for a week. A WEEK. I seriously doubt I'm going to be able to do it, but I think it will do wonders for my productivity and creative flizzity flow. Don't be ridiculous, I'm still going to check my email, but the ol' AIM is gonna be on hiatus until I really get this writing shit done. I feel like I've been using it as my social scene, and that's just... sad. Maybe I should actually hang out with my FRIENDS instead of their screen names. Say la vee. ("La VEE!")

This post is dedicated to Jason, the pedantic fool. He absolutely ADORES my "life-changing move to LA" blogs, in addition to the fact that I consider myself a writer. Jason, the Don, this one is for you...

I'm moving to Los Angeles in May for sure, regardless of my acceptance or rejection to USC. There are too many people there that I miss horribly (Sean Bury, Lizzy Carley, Vicki Forman, Melanie Nyema, Stacy Burcham, Gabriel Mann) and too many shows that I am missing (Jay Nash, Saucy Monky, GM, Adrianne, Paper Sun... it's just too much for me to handle. Screw the expensive school. If I don't make it in, I'll go to Cal State LA.

Other new development. Upon conversing with Vicki, my new goal is to complete two novellas by the end of this month. One about the TA, one about the T-n-A. Just kidding. But two novellas, coming up, completed by February the 28th.

Before I forget, I wanted to mention how proud I am of my sister. She's doing so well at school-- with all of the motivation and sense of responsibility that I never, ever had. She is charismatic and witty, she draws everyone around her in... I had such a good time hanging out with her, and this is the drippiest blog I've ever written in my life. I've always liked the girl, but I have this newfound respect for her. Good job, and you not wearing charners? AAAACK!

one more picture of me in that awesome wig (with blair the roommate and magic mike):

Looks like I'm sleeping on a dorm floor tonight. Sacrifices must be made, people. The future party was good stuff. I spent the night feeling like I should be sort of... taking care of everyone, which was satisfying in a way and aging in a way. There was a handful of other alums present- that was nice. They felt the same. Good dancing, good costumes, fun times had by all, and for some reason my voice is gone? I don't know. Maybe it was all the talking I did. And perhaps the secondhand smoke from the party. Dastardly tar.

Tonight, Emily and her friends and I are going to a future-themed party. Running out of ideas for costumes, I put a wig on upside down and discovered that it is really a GYPSY WIG. Now as we all know, gypsies are awesome. I put on a purple scarf for effect and the following picture was taken:



Thank god for purple wigs and Los Angeles. This trip has been extremely worth it.

On my way to Los Angeles tonight for a much, much needed overly-social-try-to-cram-eighteen-people-into-one-weekend-and-still-have-time-to-write weekend. It is going to be well deserved and too expensive, but that is my life. If I don't see you and you live in Los Angeles, don't worry. I will be back. Soon. In the meantime, everyone wish me luck, for I am bringing on the train with me my laptop (there are plugs on the train!), scissors, and a hard copy of the first 50 pages of my novel. It is time to take the scissors to it once again. I am pumped.

I didn't think I was being grumpy, when I was talking online earlier, but then when I got offline, I was told that I was being difficult and "you must be tired. Why don't you go to bed?" so most likely, I was being grumpy so I'm sorry to anyone who spoke to me today, because I WAS grumpy and I didn't mean to be, I am just tired and underprepared and have a long weekend ahead of me, which doesn't seem to be shaping up in any approachable way.

Some days, aren't we allowed to just be sad? I am allotting myself the next thirty minutes as sad time. I'm going to listen to the house settle and cuddle up against nothing for the fiftieth time this month.

I have to confess, this blog has made me feel an ounce better already. Maybe I'll write a little tomorrow. Bring my laptop on the train with me on Friday. Force five hours of writing.

Night, all.

I got my Mercury back. Honestly, I had no idea it would feel as good as it does. Shall we reference an ever-obvious mobility metaphor here? Sure...

When I moved to Vancouver, I considered myself mobile; in every aspect of my life. For once, I had a car. For once, I was moving somewhere that wasn't predetermined in some way by the experience before it. For once, I was not doing something based on my desire to be with someone. I was moving to Washington state to be adventurous, write a novel, and be MOBILE.

I was! I was mobile! I drove everywhere, got lost a ton, always found my way home, discovered the Pacific Northwest via my Mercury Sable. I moved around in my little soul, too-- going from obsessed to independent, girl to woman, crass to embarrassable, short fiction writer to novelist, talker to doer, socialite to hermit crab. Mobility was everything. I needed it. When my car was in the shop, I panicked. When the snow storm hit, I shoveled my driveway and drove down the street, just to prove that I could. When Daniel or Kevin didn't work out, I just moved on to Chris or Jake or Brad. When the corporate pigs told me how to dress, how to move, I quit.

For some reason, when I moved back here, the mobility issue took a back seat. I was home again, turkey sandwiches and guitars and grandmothers. It wasn't as pertinent to desire mobility. It was irrational, even. I didn't even notice when the car was in the shop how much I missed it.


TODAY, though, driving my familiar car with its familiar sounds and familiar brake pedal and familiar smell and familiar CD player and familiar seat adjustor knob, I was uncontrollably happy and exploded into a series (not too short) of raucous giggles and had to hug myself three or four times to calm down. I love my car. It still sounds like shit, but I love my car.

:::::Also, where the hell did this come from?::::::

grapefruits never held their shape anyway- with their
carved pithy ceilings of sainthood and prophecy;
a meek voice tapping its hand on my shoulder.
i cried for you, i scream, blasphemy, i cried for you.

you're a fucking whore, i swear it, i can tell him
i can scream it into the habit carved face for thirteen days
and still know that he found a darker embrace than mine
to sink his fingers into, deep, wet, in the night.

we were made for this earth, together, i can explain to him
we were all made for these passive circular motions and pulls
we were fine until the sun stopped being warm for either of us
we were fine until you sunk closer to the middle, wasted on scotch.

i have in my face forty women,
laughing with legs of wine
you have seen them all
without their minds

you are aching my bones, popping secret air bubbles between my joints.
what of these paths, my dearest, my fucking sacrifice, my love?
what of this decision you have drawn?
what of this mess?

you are waiting silently for me to finish
so that you can push me over again.
draw out this citrus serenade into long vibrato
and i will sing your tangerine chorus
fuck you, i love you.






That is some serious residual JR anger right there, but where did it come from? I was just having a normal poetry exchange with Krister and that just flew from my fingers. Totally out of nowhere. Well, it partially makes sense, I've been spending more time on the novel, but really, I've been a good girl. I haven't put myself inside of the events, just the writing... ha, that's such bullshit. How could I possibly do that? I may paint my bedroom soon and put up lots of foam board to spread that puppy out like jelly on toast. I gotta see what it looks like from the outside.

HERE IS THE GOOD NEWS! READ HERE FOR GOOD NEWS!!

Today was so refreshing and lovely:

I figured out all of my substitute stuff (I start tomorrow in the system!)

had a great day at Sylvan (despite my weird reaction to the iced venti light ice chai that I got.... all that caffeine was KILLING me... I wanted to crawl out of my skin)

sent a good care package to a sad, sick friend who needed it (well, I sent it through Charntha, she is a good little errand runner!)

received news that my car is fixed (THE MERK IS BACK)

got some money from Gramma

discovered how to fix my computer's iTunes situation (mix cd's, here I come... I haven't made them in FOREVER and it is required to make several immediately)


and realized once again that genuinely, things work out for me. My mom has always said it about me, that things go poorly for a little while but always end up working out in the end. I mean, clearly, because I'm not destitute or depressed or deranged, but more like, things really WORK OUT for me. In every area of my life except love. (I don't feel bad being so whiny about it this time, for some reason. I deserve a good love every once in a while, or... at all...)


Things just work out. That down blanket I was talking about? It's real.

I slipped today. I didn't mean to, gosh, I've been so good. But in being good my fingernails grew long, and those white tipped angels just spoke to me. I was typing away, defragmenting (thank you, whomever blogged me computer advice... it worked!) and reconfiguring my wireless card when suddenly, my hands were on my chest, my fingernails in my skin... it was easy. I had valleys of white, mountains of pink, rivers of red, deltas of all three. No blood, no broken skin, not this time, but enough to make me gasp, slap my own cheek, clutch myself with horror.

I feel bad, but then again, it's just me, I did it to myself, and nobody else was hurt in the process. I'll take care of it partially tomorrow and be careful not to slip up again. I refuse to cut my nails, though, because that is the truest sign of weakness. I have to trust myself. Trust trust trust.

And besides, who likes a girl with messed up boobs in the first place? I've spoken to this before, how literally, I judge so many girls (not guys) on the perfection level of their skin. If they have perfect skin, they are AUTOMATICALLY more attractive than I am. Literally. Especially boob skin. I think this is clearly another extended metaphor for the whole mutilation thing in the first place. I pick on myself because I'm self conscious, and the parts that I marr are the parts I so seek perfection in on other people. Such a vicious cycle, I swear it.

Honestly, what would I do without my Gramma? Thank you, thank you, thank you, for being such a generous and helpful soul to me.

She seriously rocks. She's letting me borrow her car all week until mine gets fixed, she's letting me clean her house and do random chores for her for a little extra cash, and she's just damn funny and great. I love being around her.

So thank you, grandmother dear, for everything. I wish I had something I could do to repay you for your kindness.

Sometimes bull t-shirts make everything better, and sometimes they do not. Tonight, I am wearing a VERY smart looking yellow bull t-shirt but yet:

my computer is still freaking out on me (no matter how many updates i download, no matter how many times i restart, no matter how many damn temporary internet files i delete... it is still crashing... AND gmail won't load? why? just to make me feel even more insane)

my novel is still in the shitter (i had a major breakthrough, however: i can have it be in both second and first person! it's brilliant! it may turn into a series of short stories. i think it makes more sense that way) but at least I'm writing it again

I still have no money... however, I am still planning a trip to Los Angeles for this coming weekend and therefore have decided to spend this week with my gramma and with Eleanor cleaning houses and doing projects. I still have to call Eleanor but Grams is all for it.

I must send my baby Merc into the shop tomorrow for repairs. Merky, you'll be fixed up in no time. Don't you fret.

And lastly, (this is not a bad one, this is actually pretty good) the New Year's Resolution to keep my skin from being self-sliced for the rest of the year is going swimmingly. I have to admit to a little bit of indulgence because I really can't resist sometimes, but I have made a VERY conscious effort to remain off the boobies and so the majority of the attacks have been elsewhere. Nothing serious, no real wounds. I'm doing the Best That I Can. It's workin.

I flew off the handle at Emily and Josh last night and the words that I heard come from my mouth explaining my irrationality were not words that I expected, or even believed in. They just came out, reflections of my bitterness or loneliness or craziness, who knows? They were something, but certainly nothing I'm proud of. I cried to Emily, telling her I thought I was going crazy. But I know that's not the case. It's just a strange reaction to a difficult situation... the only problem is that I don't know why it's difficult. Why should my sister and my good friend's extremely happy relationship make me feel so alienated? As Cap said, "Don't hate." And that's exactly what I'm doing and it's exactly what, logically, I know I should avoid. I don't know how to deal with it. Seeing the two of them together should conjure up happy images, not make me want to cry. I think I need to just realize that what they seek in a relationship and what I seek in a relationship are different things.

Once again, a lesson I learned a long time ago is rearing its head today. Everyone has their own context. Everyone is looking at the world through their own little glasses, their own translation of the bigger picture. It has to happen that way. The huge, fundamental clouds of construct just float above us until we process them. It's not anyone's fault. The way they see the world, I mean. It's just... the way they see it. We can choose to blame them or we can choose to blame ourselves. How about we just look carefully at our own translation and do our best to be happy with it? I don't know, it's cheesy and cliche but really, it's true.

I'm short on money, as was previously mentioned in the blog. Strangely enough, random money is coming in to me for various web design things... bizarre... really bizarre... but good. I have to find a way to make about a hundred bucks this week. I think I can do it. Anybody got any weeds to pull or houses to clean or anything? Ooh, houses to clean... brilliant... I bet I could clean three houses this week. Sixty bucks a pop. This is genius.

I chose very carefully to stay home tonight. Emily and Josh and some others were watching a movie at someone's house and I was very cordially invited. I just decided that some nights it's better to stay home, help Mom and Dad do dishes, take shower #2 of the day, organize my stacks of shit, write a little, think a little, make some email excitement, research a much needed trip to Los Angeles, and make my bed so that when I slid into my covers this fine evening, toes cold and head still damp, my legs were immediately enveloped in tightly drawn sheets beneath layers and layers of cozy comforters and blankets. That's what makes it all alright. Everything else melts away, at some point, somewhere in between the down blanket and my cotton jammies. Just when you think it's all in the shitter, there's a down blanket waiting for you somewhere. That's a metaphor, you know.

Blogging is so weird. Vicki and I have talked about this before, how the blog voice is totally different from any other voice. It's true. It's clearly not a fiction voice, it's ostensibly a writing voice but we have to ask the question: to what audience? It poses such an interesting issue... each blog must have its own very specific audience. Each blog has a unique audience (VERY unique... just kidding, i hate it when people adjectivize unique. something is either unique or not. no very or a little... and yes, adjectivize is a word. i just made it up). So who is your audience, fellow bloggers? My audience, I think, is made up of a group of curious friends looking to catch up with my life on occasion, some family members, some passerby, and hords of agents and literary types hoping for just a sliver of my writing, any writing, to feast upon.

Whoa, I just got laptop vertigo. Must be time for bed. I never did make it out to Avalon tonight... just got... distracted? Wait a minute, I'm never easily distracted...

This is not something I can rectify, or nullify, or even make up. Not if I tried. He called me to tell me he had asked for her hand in marriage, and then flown the coop.
It makes sense that it would happen today, because this morning I was shoving homemade cookies down my throat, holding my debt papers at arm's length to assess the real damage; the perfect misaligned moment for the call. So come on! Did you think I would see his number and let the call drop?

And I spoke to you, this afternoon, with you sitting almost on my lap. You were cold and clammy in your nervousness. I spent only moments explaining with sloppy mouth movements how much I am going to miss you. I spent a little time explaining why I had to leave but really, you didn't want to discuss.

"Goodness, your arms are almost feverish," I said to you in a sarcastic attempt at remedy.

You didn't respond to that comment. You just asked me when I was leaving and handed me your door keys. You were crying last night at home in your bed, I could smell it.

Didn't you think I would see through your ploy to love me?
Let's talk one more time before this is over for good.
Let's explain to everyone here how it was "written in the stars."
Like the cliche maniacal tub thumpers that we are.
Then, I'll send you home with baggies of snickerdoodles and remind you that if you ever want me back, just treat me badly and turn your back on me in the night. That is how to win this little girl's heart.

Today I have to run errands, all of which are spastic and horrible. The roots of my hair hurt. (?) Emily is home but she's busy with Josh. I have no, I repeat no, money. I'm going to strip wallpaper today for a little extra cash. I really want to go to LA next weekend but I don't see it happening with my current money situation, buuuuuuuut I feel like I will explode if I don't get the hell out of Dodgeno, and fast.

However. I feel inspired to write, so I will do that tonight. I feel happy about my New Year's Resolution, so I will continue with my progress. I feel confused about the future; anxious about the response from USC-- but still, really hopeful. Hopeful. Despite everything, somehow I still feel hopeful. Purrr.

OKAY AT THIS POINT ALL I WANT IS A JOB. I DON'T CARE IF IT'S A FORTY HOUR A WEEK OFFICE BULLSHIT JOB WHERE I LOOK AT A SCREEN ALL DAY AND ANSWER PHONES. I JUST WANT FIFTEEN DOLLARS AN HOUR AND FORTY HOURS A WEEK.

whew, i feel better.

I am routinely magnetized to weird men. This didn't used to be the case, when I was in college, though I had a propensity toward assholes. This last couple years I've been attracted-- no, not just attracted, MAGNETIZED to people with irreversible, unfortunate, harrowing, flattening, obfuscating, heartwrenchingly maniacal ways of BEING. Not habits, or tendencies, just the simple way that they exist is as hard to swallow as I have illustrated here. I see it, within moments of meeting these men. I see it, acknowledge it, label it, and then sit up at their mess hall table with no bib on, no utensils, a grumblingly hungry stomach and INDIGESTION. There have been three very obvious ones:

Doorknob (remember, he freaked out after plutonic partnered bed sleeping)
The Biter (Portland, Oregon... bit my shoulder, wanted me to move in)

and then the most recent addition... who has proven to me time and time again that he wants to be cold, heartless, a literary genius with no life experience with which to write, a bridge over an empty ocean, the connector between himself and nothing.

Each had a different ailment, for sure, but I was no more or less bound to any. I crave the weirdness, I desire the cloudy nature of our communication, I thrive on the confusion. I peel back little layers inside of myself without really telling them I'm doing it, and they sense it anyway, and get out their peelers, too. With each I've had a different ending, but with all, I want the end to be de-finalized. I want to be involved with people I do not understand. It makes me feel normal and unstable.

If anyone is sick of reading about my new life plans just let me know... but guess what, I have a new one!!

I'm still waiting on my acceptance/rejection letter from USC for grad school. If the latter ends up finding its way into my anxiously awaiting mailbox, then I have a new plan. Well, I have three new plans.

1. Stay in Fresno indefinitely until I get my finances seriously under control... this means quitting the tutoring job, stopping subbing and getting some kind of forty hour a week office job and waitressing on the weekends.

2. Pack a backpack and a camera and go live with Erica in Zurich for a month, traveling all the while throughout Europe. I'd see Italy, go back to Spain, maybe Germany, Finland? This seems like it would be very expensive but I think I could do it for two grand.

3. Move back to Los Angeles regardless, be a live-in nanny somewhere or go back to work at Starbucks and be an Assistant Manager.

While all of these three options are happening, I would be applying to other grad schools and looking into other options for my masters. Maybe I should be examining writing programs? I would research.

So those are the plans. Three plans is not very definitive, I know, but at least I have them. And let's not even get INTO the plans that I have if I DO get in...

In other news, thanks to Cap for good talkin last night. I like my newfound AIM partner.

When it comes right down to it, girls are crazy and complicated and boys are assholes and simple. I think.

Honestly, think about it. I rather despise generalizations, but this one makes sense to me for most of the people I know. The majority of girls, though, tend to get a little bit crazy (the jealous, irrational kind of crazy) and guys tend to be assholes (the self-serving, horny kind of asshole). Not to say that guys can't be jealous and irrational and not to say that girls can't be horny or self-serving. However, when there are issues in a relationship, I believe that girls tend to go crazy and guys tend to cheat, so girls get more jealous which makes the guys want to be more self-serving which makes the girls irrational.

Fresno, California. Center of my Central Valley Universe. My little brain has about thirteen more pomegranite seeds to roll around on its tongue. I have a new brown jacket, only one job, two cd's worth of pictures to upload onto my website and a hankering for some masochism. Oh, don't fret, dear readers. My 2005 New Year's Resolution, as trite and ridiculous as resolutions are, is to Stop Picking. Now of all resolutions for me to choose, this is the most important and the most difficult for me to follow through. I'm a big girl now, I'm worldly and experienced and have a heightened awareness of my surroundings and trajectory. As the ex-convict on my bus ride from Bakersfield said, sometimes we need vectors to keep our sporadic nature at bay... probably true, and probably something I should listen to. I lied and said I had a husband with a PhD and he lied and said he had a girlfriend in Colorado who was waiting for him but we both knew and talked about Mars and hydrogen and vector systems instead. Neither of us knew what we were saying, but I know personally I felt pretty satisfied at the end. Regardless, I have a vector, Victor (though his name was Gary) and I want to follow through. How do I expect to follow through with changing the world one tiny tot at a time if I can't even keep my own dirty fingernails out of the surface of my tender breast skin? It's a stupid thing for me to do, so I'm buckling on a Maturity Belt and giving it the best go that I can. Now, time for a shower, an unpacking, and some tutoring. Back in California feels lovely.

In London again. This trip has proved to be way more expensive than originally thought... of course... but that's okay. It's not like I quit my job right before I left or anything.... oops... I kind of did. Anyway, I have a few options when I get back. Either I can talk to Sylvan and see if I can rearrange my schedule a little bit and start subbing again... I can wait tables... or I can get a different Starbucks job.

This trip has also been an awakening. Some friends that have been tried and true before have sort of... proven themselves to be a little more involved in their own legacy than in my friendship. I don't know how to talk about this; some things feel easy to say, some feel hard. I don't know, either, to sort of... sign someone off? How do you break up with a friend? I don't know.

I love this trip, but wish I had done a few things a little differently. I have fallen for European men and historical buildings... and the metro.

Let´s hope a few things for the next trip (Paris for four days)...
that the men in Paris are as attractive as the men in Barcelona
that my punctuation mark will be short and easy
that there will be NO MORE SIRENS DRAMA
that Mona´s Parisian friend will come through with local bars and dancing
that I continue to be quietly inspired, so quiet that I´m silent
that I don´t run out of money

My eyes are stinging from the cigarette smoke inside this internet cafe.
I thought about Gabriel Mann today, just out of nowhere... someone said we were coming down to the wire... that was it.
I am full with the enormous, fantastic dinner we made for ourselves.
I was very good with money today. Tomorrow I will try again.
Good discussions regarding post-relationship communication and its effect on the healing process with Tiffany Shinn today. She has Shinn splints... hahahaaaa!!
Tomorrow, with my sore shoulders and dirty clothes, I am heading to Paris. JR says he hopes it is the best city in the world and I´m sure that it will be.
Caution! Thieves operate in this area.

Barcelona Blog:

We got into Barcelona yesterday at about 11 am and checked into our apartment (I wish I had the pictures with me to post for you of the apartment... it´s the most amazing thing I´ve ever seen. I wish I could move here and live in it... red hardwood floors, stained glass windows, two balconies, white cake frosting ceilings, a wall of beautiful shelves, amazing art, a gorgeous gaudy mirror in the entryway, three bedrooms and two bathrooms, a huge kitchen and dining room... it´s like a dream apartment... pictures to follow). We ate some good Barcelonic food (dry sandwiches and horchata... mmmm!!) and showered, napped. I slept for six hours. It was beautiful. We woke up and got ready for.... LAS RAMBLAS!!

I have never been with so many people at once before. The street of La Rambla was literally PACKED with people, so diverse and wonderfully drunk, just wandering around, celebrating the new year... we stumbled around with them, screaming, laughing, running around... it was just nuts and we had such a good time. Shannon sprained her ankle and a couple girls got sick (not me, though!) and miraculously we all got home together in one piece. We had to shake off a couple weird guys who were following us around, but it´s to be expected. Seven beautiful women? Clearly. We slept but I couldn´t sleep past 5:30 am, so I woke up and took a shower, did some reading.

The light in Barcelona is truly different from anywhere else. There´s a thinness to it, a sort of transparency. It´s not just clear, it´s invisible. Everything looks pure and definitive. I don´t mean to say that everything in Barcelona is this way, just the light. The people are not London pushy and they´re not American friendly but they´re happy and full of love and food. I have to say that Barcelona is more inviting to me than London was, AND the men are more attractive- as though that is the most important defining characteristic of a city. Anyway, all is well and everything is expensive, but so go the days of our vacations. Love to all.