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Wednesday, July 23rd, 2008
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4:53 pm - Planning all my days away but never finding ways to stay
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Last week, many of you received an evite from me. On eight-eight-oh-eight, I'm having a party at my house for the first time since I turned twelve, because in one short month, this house that my mom and I have lived in for ten years will no longer be ours (technically, I suppose, it never was- we rent). So, this seems like a perfect occasion to throw a party, if not only to disguise the terrifying chaos of big life changes as something fun. I mean, what? Party! Come to it. If you didn't get an evite, it is most likely because I don't have your email address. So, if you'd like one, leave your email address in a comment. I'll even screen them. However, I will probably unscreen any that don't have email addresses in them.
*
We are no longer in a relationship, according to facebook. That means this is real. But unlike so many people whom I've witnessed go through the stupidity of the myface/spacebook portion of a breakup, we changed our settings while talking to each other over IM, rather than one person doing it unannounced, thus causing the other whole new bone-crushing pangs of digital emptiness. Ehem. The point is, I'm relieved, and quite frankly impressed, that we can still be us. And I think it will only get better.
I'm going to San Francisco tomorrow. I shall return on tuesday.
current mood:  I can hear the ellipses....
current music: The Cure- Want
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| Tuesday, July 22nd, 2008
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5:11 am - Something filled up my heart with nothing- Someone told me not to cry
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Last week, I performed Magenta for the first time in a year, and I also took my best friend's virginity. You know, in the Rocky way.
On monday, my mom officially moved out of the house and started her job in Marin.
Last thursday's Perversion was one of the best club nights I've ever had. It was like Rocky, transplanted into a sexier, louder environment. And even though I was still sick from the germs of the pretty bi boy who attached himself to Nick and moved into my house for three days the previous week, I ended up with three drinks for the price of one and a half, but didn't drink so much over the course of the night to feel it the next day. A perfect balance.
Sins shadowcasted Super Troopers on friday, and because of my relationship with that movie, having seen in dozens upon dozens of times in ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) boogastrehouse's living room (in the drinking and being silly way, not the rehearsing way) and then sitting with forktronica and laughing our asses off...it reminded me, dare I say, of going to Rocky for the first time after having watched it dozens of times at home. I suppose that's appropriate.
I skipped Rocky in favor of Brett and Jessica's wedding, in which rydot was one of the best men. I'd never been to a friend's wedding before, and in fact, the only wedding I'd been to was for rY's cousin whom I'd never met before. I would say that my family is just not the marrying kind, but those all happened before my time, and all my cousins are younger than me. Anyway, the dinner was on saturday night, but the wedding itself was on sunday. I got to get ready with the best men and groom. It was a lovely outdoor ceremony, and I'm so grateful that I go to go. The reception was a lot of fun, though a little odd at some points. Oh, I wonder why.
Today....I kind of broke up with my boyfriend of three-and-then-some years. It was scary and awful and yet somehow entirely necessary. I do stress the "kind of," because I suppose we didn't break up like normal people do, as we've never been much for the official; if this relationship didn't have a concrete beginning, then why should it have such an end? He continued to hang out with me until a scene in an episode of Mad Men that we'd both seen before crept up on us, an awful coincidence, one of those the-universe-wants-to-tear-your-heart-out kind of moments, and he had to leave. This kind of overshadows all of the above events.
I made it twenty years without having to deal with anything like this. Such is life, it turns out. Afterward, I spent an unusual amount of time talking to my dad, and then I went out with forktronica. I think that did me well.
And that puts me here, at 5:30 in the AM, fucking scared of my life like never before, but entirely okay with it.
current mood:  Turn the summer into dust...
current music: The Arcade Fire- Wake Up
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| Saturday, July 12th, 2008
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3:08 am - May the best queen hold the crown
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FYI...
My house smells like fag.
current mood:  Get it girl.
current music: Scissor Sisters- She's My Man
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| Tuesday, July 8th, 2008
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8:20 pm - I don't advise and I don't criticize, I just know what I like with my own eyes
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I got back from the Oregon Shakespeare Festival late last night, and let me tell you...never in my life have I seen such a high concentration of Teva sandals in one place. Yes, some had socks under them. Some had socks under them and shorts above them. The only consolation that I can offer my bruised psyche is that they were not crocs. Other than those harsh aesthetic blows, one right after another, it was a good trip.
Of course, I loved the play that everyone else hated because it was too over the top ("too over the top" is a phrase that doesn't even make sense to me). I've seen two productions of A Midsummer Night's Dream in my lifetime, this being one of them, and both times Puck has been excruciatingly hot. You know you're a litfag when you go to a Shakespeare festival for the eyecandy.
Tomorrow, the gay boyfriend comes to town. And this weekend, I'm playing Magenta for the first time in about a YEAR. Thanks, mono.
current mood:  Hair needs dying. It told me.
current music: Depeche Mode- Clean
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| Wednesday, June 25th, 2008
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2:24 pm - I wanna go where my thoughts can take a nap
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On monday, I went to the dentist for my second filling ever (this time with novocaine!), and afterward I had to fill out one of those postcards. You know, the ones they send to you in six months to reminded you to make your next appointment, provided you don't feel like staring half a year into your future and picking out a date right then and there. Well, it occurred to me as I picked up the pen to write down the address that I've been instinctively writing down for a decade, that no one I know will be living at that address six months from now. I couldn't quite recall the address that I will be living at in San Francisco, and besides, won't I have to find a new dentist, anyway? Sufficiently overwhelmed in just a few seconds, I stubbornly wrote down my soon to be obsolete yet still beloved current address, figuring things will work themselves out somehow. It occurs to me now that this brief anecdote is extremely emblematic of the way in which I choose to deal with big, looming change: ignore it for as long as possible, and figure it will work itself out, which it usually does. I can't help but wonder when it finally won't, though. What a waste of a postcard.
My mom has been going to stay with her friends in Berkeley on the weekends to look for a house in Marin. This weekend, she got one. So, like, I guess that means this is really happening. The house sounds amazing, though, and I will be able to have a room in it. It occurred to me few weeks ago that the only time I've had a party in this house was when I turned twelve, and I think that I will have a farewell party sometime in august. Be on the look out for an evite.
I am officially unemployed this summer. On one hand, I am glad, because that gives me maximum time to do the fun shit in LA that I soon won't get to do regularly anymore, and not have to worry about getting scheduled on sunday mornings and things like that. I would have to ask for too many weekends off for any employer not to hate me (what with EDC this weekend, OSF next weekend, and, oh, MOVING in really awkward increments). But on the other hand, it makes me extremely uncomfortable to not have an income of my own and ask my parents for money when I'm not doing something that legitimately gets in the way, like school. This is one of those things that doesn't quite fit with my personality persona, because after all, a gentleman should never be seen doing anything useful. And I don't believe in guilt, but in this instance, I feel it anyway. However, I'm going to try to ignore it and have fun while I can, because I can.
On Saturday, Jake came to Rocky. Jake, my best friend in high school who I haven't really seen in two years and yet will always be one of my best friends, in a way, even when estranged. We used to fight a lot, and I am not a fighter, not even a healthy debater, but our personalities clashed in a very harsh and interesting way. No matter how much we angered each other, we always knew it was Fine. After Rocky, I invited him into my (empty) house because he was still too buzzed to drive home, and friends don't let friends drive drunk nap in their cars. We hung out and talked for a couple of hours, trying to make up for the past two years. When the tired finally began to set in, I asked him if he was okay to drive home, to which he asked in jest, "So we're not going to hook up tonight?" Any possibility of anything sexual between us died in the tenth grade, at least on my end (amusing anecdote: we planned to lose our virginities to each other, but he found someone else on a backpacking trip, and they just now started dating each other). But I couldn't help but feel that the joke was only kind of a joke, like so many of that nature turn out to be. Luckily, Jake is one of few people to whom I do not feel even a little bit awkward saying "Oh god no." Maybe because I mean it with love.
current mood: O, life.
current music: The Raveonettes- Uncertain Times
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| Saturday, June 21st, 2008
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8:47 pm - I set myself on fire without you
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I am currently sitting on my porch with my laptop and a glass of white wine, because it's too hot in my room to sit and write a post, however brief this one may be. I did my makeup out here, too, because inside, I sweat even when doing nothing at all, and my bangs stick to my forehead, thus rendering my straightening efforts in vain, in every sense of the word. I realize that sitting outside on a summer's eve with a laptop and wine sounds nice as I describe it, but I feel pretty disgusting.
And yes, I do live in west LA. No, it is hardly ever 97 degrees during the day 81 now that the sun has gone down, as it is now, and that's why it isn't usually a problem that we don't have air conditioning. But right now, I cannot help but wonder how shitty it will be to try to fall asleep here tonight. Last night I actually slept naked, which I hardly ever do at home. The fact that I've been on a nocturnal schedule does not exactly help me in this battle of heat vs. sleep.
I do not take heat well; funny thing is, it's almost as bad in the bay area. If this is any indication of the rest of the summer, I am certainly glad that Bats Day was moved to November. Don't even ask if I will come down for it, you know I will.
Now I'm going to go over to boogastreehouse's, where there is AC.
current mood: Overheated
current music: Ladytron- Burning Up
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| Saturday, June 14th, 2008
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2:37 pm - She could hear the highway breathing
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I returned from the east coast on sunday. I had a reunion with the part of my family that had been estranged for the last few years, since my grandma died. The part about whom I used to write really uncomfortable posts while up late at their house. I thought that the lack of communication over the last few years might actually be advantageous to me and my cousins, such that now that we're all older, we might be able to start over and interact like interested, engaged humans. Turns out, it's still awkward.
In addition to this disappointing discovery, I got drunk with my mom and her high school friends, saw Crybaby on Broadway, and attended my great aunt's 99th birthday party in Maryland, which was actually (somewhat surprisingly) a lot of fun. That said, I hope never to fly Southwest across the country again.
Since returning, I've begun the agonizing hunt for summer employment. HATE IT. I want to go back to Peet's (I use the word "want" very loosely here), but have a feeling that being truthful about being here only for the summer has been to my detriment. I also, wait for it, got my driving permit. Again. When I told Nick, he replied aptly, "Congratulations, how does it feel to finally be fifteen and a half?" The permit is the easy, innocuous part; it's on paper and I've done it before. Now I actually have to learn to drive, and get my license. I hate learning; I just want to know. It's the same reason that I don't speak a second language (Latin does not count), and can't play a musical instrument, aside from being slightly aurally retarded. Driving has come to scare me, though, in a somewhat irrational way; lets just say, laziness isn't the only reason I've come this far without a license. But I finally feel like this shit has to happen.
current mood:  Moving out in all directions.
current music: Talking Heads- And She Was
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| Wednesday, May 28th, 2008
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11:42 pm - I can't see the point in the sense you were born with
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Almost two months later, I am finally in the presence of digital cameras. At long last, I have pictures of my tattoo.
( The time of your life for the marks that you left on me )
For those of you who have not followed the entire saga on the edge of your seats, it went as follows:
1. The Idea
2. Action and Denial
3. Shock and Regret
 Now that the initial shock of the disappointment has worn off, it has become just that, a disappointment. It is no longer gut-wrenchingly traumatic to talk about or to expose, but that may be due in part to a whole new flavor of denial. Though I am undoubtedly dissatisfied with the result, I am just as in love with the original concept as I ever was. And because it's on my back and I didn't even have pictures until today, I wouldn't see it up close unless twisting my head around to stare into the mirror. From far away, I do think it looks good; and when I see it from far away, I get to imagine that it looks how I wanted it to, that I look complete rather than marred. In addition to my original reasons for canonizing Oscar Wilde on my body, this tattoo was going to represent the part of me that is feminine but not female (and let me tell you, that's a big part- penis pun unintended, but welcome); with this in mind, I figured I would lovingly refer to the tattoo as "he." But when I found myself saying "it," I really knew it hadn't turned out right, if that wasn't obvious upon first sight. I now vacillate between the two; "he" is wishful, "it" is realistic.
Yes, the image to the right is my original drawing. I fixed it up a little bit when I took it to my poorly chosen artist, and didn't think to ask for it back afterward; one of many, many oversights on my part, because I do wish I had it. I touched on this in my trauma-fueled post, but the denial and delusion that clouded my judgement during this process is absolutely mind blowing. The strangest part is that my judgement was actually completely in tact; I knew I should have been looking elsewhere, and that her Sailor Jerry style of tattooing was nothing at all like what I was, or should have been, looking for. Never in my life have I so blatantly and consciously ignored my intuition. This whole ordeal has been a fascinating psychological study, if nothing else. As a mostly rational being, I had no idea that I was capable of such conscious delusion. I'd never approached anything this way before, or if I had, my excruciatingly good luck swayed the outcome to match my delusion, such that I don't have to recall my initial denial at all. But fortune is a fickle bitch, and I should have known she would turn her back on mine. Correction: I did know. It wouldn't be denial if the awareness wasn't there to deny.
The reactions it has gotten have been overwhelmingly positive, but on the other hand, it's got to be pretty hard to tell someone that a permanent addition to their body sucks (especially when they're topless and crying, sorry Erin). The first non-San Francisco people to see it were my parents, when they came up to the bay area for passover. If anyone would give me the brutal truth, it would be my dad; as an artist and architect, he is more aesthetically critical than I am. In fact, I'm fairly sure that's where I get it. When he saw it, he breathed a huge sigh of relief, and my mom did too. My descriptions of it had been so laden with regret and repressed sobs that their ideas of it has become grotesque, so I can't help but wonder how much their approval is dependent upon my distress. I actually have come to terms with the mediocre line work; the only thing that is in absolutely dire need of fixing is his face. He is supposed to be looking up (not unlike Saint Sebastian), but his eyes came out vacant and lazy. The nose looked like something I would have drawn when I was twelve, and the halo is extremely uneven, though I suspect that has more to do with this healing process than her work. Again, I don't even have the luxury of being genuinely shocked by these shortcomings, because she showed me her sketch beforehand, and it looked exactly like this. The fact that I kept it folded up in my purse instead of lovingly tacked to my wall in the days prior to the tattoo itself was telling enough. I am going to get it touched up, and I've already gotten a few promising recommendations. I'm so afraid of making another bad decision, but I want him fixed up so badly.
At Rocky, boogastreehouse gave him bloodshot eyes with a red sharpie. It didn't even occur to me until the next day how very Dorian Gray that was; I was the one drinking, and my tattoo the one that bears the signs of it.
In less introspective news, I feel like I got chewed up and spit out by the LA club scene in just a few days. It doesn't take much, I guess; fun as it is (and it is), it turns out I don't take well to consistently coming home at 6am, 9am, 3pm the next day, etc. However, someone with a neon pink mohawk gave me his phone number at an afterparty, after I fed him a drink that matched his hair. That so rarely happens in a way that isn't creepy, uncomfortable, or overbearing, but I most likely still will not use it just because I don't know how to deal with these supposedly normal things. After these sleep-depriving and liver-saturating nights, I have been binge-sleeping in preparation for going to the east coast with my mom tomorrow.
current mood: Vaguely adjusted.
current music: I Am X- White Suburb Impressionism
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| Saturday, May 17th, 2008
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2:56 pm - You know it's generally known, you've got everything at home
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The day that I moved out, it was 95 degrees in San Francisco. Of course, the one day that the bay area reaches inland empire temperatures is the day that I have to completely disassemble my room and carry loads of boxes up and down stairs. Despite my struggle, I am here in LA, where it is ironically not as hot as it was up there. I am officially done with dormlife forever. It had it's rare charms, but I'm ecstatic at its riddance.
So, my mom might move to Marin. She came up for a job interview a few weeks ago, but didn't think she'd get the position; of course, she did. They need to know by monday, and it's looking like it's going to happen. She has been talking about moving back to northern California for literally as long as I can remember, and it would definitely be a Good Thing. Even though I know this, I cry whenever we talk about it. It's just a fuck of a lot to take in upon my arrival home, which I guess won't be home for very much longer.
I'm really not in the mood to be posting at all right now, but it seemed necessary. More to come as the plot unfolds. I'll be at Rocky tonight and Ren Faire tomorrow.
current mood: What?
current music: The Ramones- Don't Come Close
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| Sunday, May 4th, 2008
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8:15 pm - Antique shops and alcoholic homosexuals
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I find it utterly shocking that I've gotten this far in my life without having read Susan Sontag's Notes on Camp. Not only is it shocking, but it's embarrassing. I just read it today, and I could have just quietly incorporated it into my repertoire, pretending to have absorbed it years ago, and I did consider this approach. Though that would have been appropriately pretentious, I cannot help but express my genuine awe at not having crossed paths with this essay sooner. Unfortunately, the version linked above seems to be slightly abridged, but I can't seem to find another version online.
The ideas delineated in this essay were not new to me, but their concrete articulation was; in fact, the problem of why camp is so hard to articulate with description rather than example is itself explained here. I tried to write something like this in eleventh grade, but little did I know that it had been done so well so long before my time. It was written in 1964, before Rocky Horror, glam rock, John Waters; the whole thing is structured around Oscar Wilde quotes.
I cannot believe that I have been involved in Rocky for almost seven years, have a tattoo of Oscar Wilde, and just now read this. If ever Sins wanted to reach a whole new level of pretentious, a copy of this should be given to new cast members. And old ones, apparently.
current mood: Enlightened.
current music: Rufus Wainwright- Hometown Waltz
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| Saturday, May 3rd, 2008
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3:39 pm - Facts are living turned inside out
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This coming week is my last week of classes, then I have finals, and then I come home for the summer. I am so ready to come home, and to move out of the dorms for good. This semester has been a lot of fun, but holy shit, it cannot end soon enough.
I realized recently that I have not overcome the bad time management for which I was notorious in high school. I have, however, learned how to manage bad time management. I just turned in a twelve page paper by email, but of course, the paper itself was due on monday. The interesting thing is that my professor didn't care even a little bit, and she had seemed like the kind of person who would. If there's one thing I've learned from a high school career as a neurotic slacker and a college career as an English major, it is that deadlines don't mean a thing unless you're convinced that they do. I was never convinced; and by never, I mean I realized this around the tenth grade. I've had a lot of exceptionally intense and intelligent teachers and professors, and many of them give the impression of having very strict agendas. It's hard to tell if I just have a gift of seeing through this illusion, if it's something about me that causes them to make exceptions, or if it's just been consistent dumb luck. It's a very intriguing phenomenon. My working theory is that they give the impression of strictness because it does keep most people in check; those people are the ones who naturally treat deadlines like the gospel, and also those who are afraid to talk to teachers and professors like real people. I consistently get away with turning in large projects late, but I also have not lied to a teacher since ninth grade; I think these two things may be related. I think some people tend to conflate tardiness and disrespect, and I've become very skilled at making their separation apparent. It's not the tardiness in itself that bothers people, I think, it's excuses. They just happen to go hand in hand far too often. Generally speaking, I'm not that ballsy of an individual, but I do think that professors are impressed by my ability to talk to them without pretense. (Or rather, without any extra pretense.) It turns out that it really is true that it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission; of all these late assignments I've done just fine on over the years, I've asked for an extension on maybe one. Of course, part of having bad time management is not being able to foresee the obvious, but could this have actually worked in my favor? I've just become a little bit dismayed at the warnings I used to get in high school about how I wouldn't be able to go through life this way, that it couldn't become a pattern, that I'd have to shape up. I seriously wonder how true this was.
Can I just say that the lowest class grade I've gotten in college has been a B+? I would say that I don't mean to brag, but I don't know how true that would be. My point, though, is really just to add another example to my infinite list of reasons why high school was so fucked up. I still get literally angry when I talk about it. I've had a really good experience at USF, and have even had two professors who I would not feel odd calling mentors. But considering how badly I did in high school, I sometimes wonder if I should transfer somewhere that I couldn't have gone to straight out of high school. In theory, my options are completely different now than they were then.
That late paper was the largest thing I had to do before the end of the semester, and though there are still more things, I feel immensely relieved. I spent five hours in the library on thursday, and as soon as I finished, I dropped my laptop off in my room and went out to buy a fifth of Absolut. My good friend vodka and I had been estranged for far too long. My brain was so utterly fried when I finished writing on thursday that I couldn't stand to proofread it or compose a coherent email until today. But, as I've learned to ask, what was another day in the scheme of things, really?
My nails are green for the first time since eighth grade, and I feel this was a very good choice. My hair and scalp are fuchsia; that was kind of an accident, but I'm okay with it. I'm coming next thursday. Be ready.
current mood: Accomplished slacker.
current music: Talking Heads- Crosseyed & Painless
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| Sunday, April 27th, 2008
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6:51 pm - When the wind is in your hair you laugh like a little girl
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I've been doing fun stuff all weekend, and had an interesting time last weekend, too, but now I am absolutely, devastatingly swamped with work. As in, I've been writing all day and yet still haven't touched the ten page paper that's due tomorrow evening. I have a lot of things to say, but no time in which to say them. So, the point of this otherwise pointless post is really to share the following observation. It is both obvious and alarmingly profound:
There must be a direct correlation between the hipness of bikes and the hipness of side-swept bangs.
Think about it.
current mood: Fuck you, semester.
current music: The Magnetic Fields- The Luckiest Guy on the Lower East Side
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| Sunday, April 13th, 2008
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5:03 pm - It was summer or maybe spring, I can't recall
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It's been so hot this weekend that it feels like southern California. I'm talking comfortable in a sleeveless dress and thigh highs in the middle of the night hot; this is not San Francisco. The strange thing is, I don't find it disgusting like I did at home. Because it's so rare up here, there is this effusive carpe diem mentality that is utterly infectious even if it's not the weather that I'm enthused about. There is a sense of urgency to JUST DO FUN SHIT that you can't normally do in this city. I spent two afternoons lying on the grass in Golden Gate Park trying not to change color, and I spent so much time walking on friday that my legs still hurt. That night, I went to a friend's show at the cafe below the Red Victorian Hotel, and in the bathroom was the best conversational graffiti I'd ever seen. The first part said, "You are beautiful! Stop shaving and sucking in your belly!" followed by "I agree! Wax and exercise!" I told as many people as I could about it so that I could burn it into my brain. Later, we went up on the roof of the law building and got kicked off by public safety, but they were surprisingly nice about it, and said they wouldn't report it to anyone.
Last night, after a very nice outdoor dinner, I went to a party with a bunch of barefoot kids (my boot heels made enough noise for the whole group), and sat out on a fire escape dangling my legs above the telephone lines. When the police got called, they were so nice. They said that the neighbors heard a fight, though this was most definitely not a fighting group, and they just wanted to make sure everyone was okay. The asked us to keep it down a little, as it was a third floor apartment, and one of them said, "If we get called again, make sure to stash your contraband. Other than that, party on." San Francisco is amazing. Since when does having the cops come into a party elevate the mood?
Yesterday, I wore something that exposed my tattoo for the first time. Don't worry, it was covered in the sun, but at night it came out. I've been feeling better about it, and by better, I mean not quite as actively devastated. I got a lot of compliments on it, but that doesn't really change anything. I've had an interesting week thinking about it and staring at it over my shoulder, and I actually have a lot more to say about the whole experience. However, this post is not destined to be an introspective one, and that will have to wait until next time.
Addendum: Just two hours after making this post, all the fog that has been at bay (pun unintended) rolled in, and is creeping past my windows. It missed me.
current mood: Party on.
current music: Cockney Rebel- Hideaway
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| Friday, April 4th, 2008
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3:04 pm - Baby, dumb is forever
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( I fucked up. )
current mood: Submit to the decoupage.
current music: David Bowie- Looking for Water
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| Thursday, April 3rd, 2008
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6:15 pm - Carve your name into my arm, instead of stressed I lie here charmed
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I got my tattoo today. It's over my right shoulder blade, and it didn't hurt even half as much as I thought it would. It was exhausting, though.
Pictures when it heals a little, words when I can find them.
current mood: Branded Dandy.
current music: Placebo- Every You Every Me
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| Thursday, March 27th, 2008
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8:46 pm - We'll find us a home built of packaging foam that will be there 'til after we die
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So, I did not delete that frantic friends-only post (two qualities that I try to keep away from my journal) like I thought I might. The night that I posted that, I was so anxious and stressed that I couldn't sleep; last night I was so excited that I couldn't sleep. That said, I am exhausted and ecstatic and still a little bit guilt ridden, but such has been the figurative roller coaster of the past week. Now, as my hands shake from nerves and caffeine, I will type to you the epic saga of how I finally found a home.
( After the wrecking ball bereft you of house and of home and left you with sweet fuck-all )
I realize that all of this stuff is excruciatingly normal for people my age, and maybe even for a decade or two to come. But this has been my first time dealing with such issues, so it seems epic to me, right now. EPIC.
current mood:  Housed.
current music: The Decemberists- Clementine
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| Tuesday, March 18th, 2008
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10:54 pm - I don't dream about anyone except myself
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For the past few weeks, my dreams have been so vivid that I've been confusing portions of them with reality. This kind of thing has always happened to me to a much lesser extent, and I would imagine that these more sparse and subtle instances are not uncommon for other people, too. For example, when I have an exceptionally mundane dream, like the kind that makes me wonder why my unconscious brain even bothered to dream that up in the first place, and I find myself remembering how I looked in the mirror in a certain way while brushing my teeth and then realize, wait, that never actually happened. Except it's gotten more extreme, like "remembering" entire conversations that didn't happen, and the only way I actually know that it didn't happen is because I'm sure that my companion wouldn't have responded in exactly that manner, or I couldn't have been ballsy enough to say what I think I said. Reality is extremely, mind shatteringly fragile. Who knew?
I always tell myself that I should write down and keep record of my dreams, but I almost never do. The main reason I always wanted to do this was not necessarily to keep a grasp on reality, though that is quickly becoming a concern. I used to want to do this because I seemed to reference past dreams in current dreams, and even have dream-deja vu; however, I could never tell if the past dream that my mind was referencing actually happened in the past. Perhaps the act of "remembering" was just another layer to the current dream, and deja vu just a sensation, not an actual recurrence. Well, perhaps it is beside the point that this possibility calls into question the legitimacy of memory in general, a concept which frightens me immensely, but every time I think about this, the plaster ceiling of my world crumbles into my hair just that much more. But if I would just write some shit down, or even just tell somebody else, I might be able to solve this quandary.
Though the following are not what has been causing my world to slowly crumble, I figure that I might as well regale you with some of my ( sleepytime anecdotes. )
In real world news, I'm on spring break. About a week before break, a construction paper monstrosity was erected outside of the USF cafeteria, known as none other than the Safe Spring Break Promise Tree. What is a SSBPT, you might ask? Well, it is an enormous construction paper cut out of a palm tree (in other words, an effigy of my enemy) that looks as if it might be at home in a kindergarten classroom, except that on each "leaf" is written a resolution that students are encouraged to sign in order to represent their "promise." Some leaves urge you not to drive drunk or drink at all, to wear sun screen, to be a designated driver. Though obnoxious, these are not unreasonable things to encourage students to do. But then, oh, then there is a leaf that read I promise not to have sex until marraige. Wait, what? I became so outraged staring at this cutout that I stormed out in a huff with Erin laughing at me. It's things like this that get me worked up, these little things that, though other people may disagree with them too, they will shrug off and move on with their lives, usually to more important things. I could not stop thinking about it all week, and finally, just before I had to go meet my airport shuttle, I did something that I would usually only think about doing. I typed up my outrage, printed it out in purple, and taped it to this stupid tree on my way out. I don't think I've ever written anything that quickly, and perhaps it was the cover of anonymity that kept me from agonizing as I usually do. I'm not posting it here because it's an amazingly crafted piece of writing, but rather just because I'm proud that I did something about how I felt, ( for once in my life. )
Like I said, it's nothing special, but it's something. And I don't even care if it got taken down an hour or a day after I left; it was mostly for my own benefit. When I was in high school, either junior or senior year, the Women's Issues Club put up a flier that made me so angry that it still burns in my mind's eye to this day. It was anti-high heel and also very anti-male (and, c'mon, men and in high heels are two one of my favorite things). Next to a picture of a woman's foot in a high heel shoe, it read, "Men love women who can't run away." The fact that there might be an ounce of truth in there is utterly irrelevant in the face of all the things that are so glaringly wrong and offensive in a statement like that. It still angers me to this day, and I actually do regret not doing anything about it; telling that tree off helps to ease this regret, more than anything, actually.
That said, SPRING BREAK WOOO!
Ehem.
current mood: Oh fantasy free me.
current music: The Smiths- William, It Was Really Nothing
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| Sunday, March 9th, 2008
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11:55 pm - He said you changed, but he wouldn't say how
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I am twenty today. I was never one to overdramatize the onset of 20, to lament the loss of teen years, etc. In my opinion, the only thing that changes is that when someone asks how old I am, I almost get to sound like a real person when I answer.
Yesterday, in observation of said birthday, I had a picnic in Golden Gate Park with lots of amazing Trader Joe's food, wine, and a bunch of friends whom I like, but don't really seem to like each other. I think it's the kind of thing where, when I look back on it in a week or two, I'll think it was totally amazing even though it was actually kind of stressful. I totally peed in the trees, though; I don't know what it is about Golden Gate Park that makes that totally okay.
Today, I saw a play with my mom that brought to mind Oscar Wilde meets I Love Lucy, and yet, somehow, not in a good way. I was given amazing black jeans that fit like denim stockings. I made an appointment to get my tattoo consultation this thursday. And I had absinthe with Nick and my MOM. Apparently absinthe became legal in October, available in San Francisco in January, and is served at an amazing (no really, amazing) restaurant called, guess what, Absinthe. Though I'm not a fan of licorice or fennel or anise, I'm charmed senseless by the Dandy essence of this bright green beverage to the point where I literally have no choice but to be completely taken with it.
I don't have any pictures from this, my birthday weekend, but I do have some from the past couple of weeks that ( deserve posting. )
As the douchebags we say at Rocky, one more year!
current mood: Aged.
current music: Emiliana Torrini- Honeymoon Child
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| Sunday, February 24th, 2008
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3:15 pm - Hairstyles and bloodstains and such
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I went to a party in the Mission last night, full of super hip people and super average people. But in this sea of normalcy, there was one other goth girl; black hair, purple lipstick, very well assembled, like someone I would be briefly acquainted with from the periphery of the LA club scene. Erin told me I should go talk to her, and I said, "No, I can't. It'll be like two betta fish in a bowl." And we didn't so much as make eye contact the entire night.
When I woke up at 1pm today, I was still drunk. It has since slowly faded into a dull, persistent giddiness. I'm not actually hung over, but I kind of miss my brain cells.
Speaking of which (?), I'm coming home next weekend.
current mood: Uhh...
current music: Dirty Sanchez- Really Rich Italian Satanists
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| Monday, February 18th, 2008
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11:03 pm - Don't interrupt me as I struggle to complete this thought
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I miss the drive to write in my livejournal. I don't know where it went or what it's been replaced with, or when it will return with a wit-tastic vengeance. But that time, unfortunately, is not right now. I tend to get overwhelmed with my own absence after a certain amount of time passes, and shy away from actual life updates until something utterly monumental happens. Because that thing either hasn't happened yet or I was too busy experiencing it to write about it, I will let you, my faithful reader, in on my recent endeavor to catalogue my own bitterness. That is to say, I've actually been writing down a list of my pet peeves, because though their specificity amuses me when I'm provoked, I always wish I had a complete record of them. (Is it overly neurotic to catalogue one's neuroses?) The following is what I've compiled thus far.
- People referring to outfits as "numbers."
- When someone stops the microwave before it's done, and then doesn't reset it back to the clock setting. I want to know the time when I glance over there, not the flashing remains of your cooktime.
- When girls talk to drag queens or overtly femme boys as if they've beaten them at their own game, i.e. "You walk better in heels than I do!" and "Your waist is smaller than mine!" etc. I'm sure I was guilty of such utterances at around fifteen years old, but then again, many people aren't lucky enough to be exposed to drag culture in their early teens. Pity.
- The "word" "2fer."
- People who run their hands through their hair when they dance, women especially.
- Velour.
- When people speak song lyrics like they're not song lyrics.
- Socks and underwear and nothing else, on men especially. Holy fucking shit.
- "Your guys's"
- Whatever accent it is that causes the pronunciation of "monday" to be "mun-dee." I think it's the Delaware area; I have family members who speak that way.
- Misuse of the word "random." Thank you, forktronica, for making me excruciatingly aware of this one. I'd been living in pleasant ignorance until you pointed it out years ago.
- Nick doesn't put caps back on water bottles after drinking out of them, but it's only in my room when it really gets to me. I totally flipped out this one time (actually a couple of times), and now it's this big joke, but these capless water bottles still shatter my sense of stability and security in an uncomfortably profound way.
Ironically, I also really dislike the term "pet peeve," but granted, that's just a general dislike, and even more ironically, not an actual pet peeve. Sure, there are plenty more things in this world that bother me, such as children and false modesty and genocide, but the above list are the idiosyncratic things that have little explanation, if any. Though it may seem particularly angsty to focus so much energy on cataloguing bitterness, I don't think it actually counts as long as I find it amusing. It will be a dark, dark day when this is no longer true.
Delving a sliver deeper into my psyche, perhaps I'm currently so fixated on recording bullet points of bitterness because I HAVE NEVER FELT MORE UTTERLY DISJOINTED AND AIMLESS IN MY LIFE, HOLY SHIT. And I absolutely hate the substitution of gratuitous capital letters for actual written elaboration (so much so that it might belong in the above list), but that just goes to show the severity of my current state of mind, or lack thereof. Then again, I'm nineteen-about-to-be-twenty, and I hate when people at this age pretend like they have their whole futures figured out, because they usually don't, and the more I write and delete, the more I realize that this is a full blown rant for another post.
...Until next time.
current mood: Neurotically yours.
current music: They Might Be Giants- Til My Head Falls Off
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| Thursday, January 31st, 2008
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2:49 pm - He asked us what our favorite work of art was, and never could I tell him it was him
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I've been seriously considering getting a tattoo for the last year and a half, and since going with Nick to get his most recent two, I've finally decided that I am going to go through with it.
When I was in eleventh grade, I did a drawing of Oscar Wilde as a saint. The drawing was based on a caricature of him from the late nineteenth century, in which he is holding a giant sunflower. It was on the cover of a piece of sheet music, and unfortunately I can't find a picture of it online; it's in a book I have at home. Anyway, I redrew it without the sunflower, which left his hands in a prayer position, and added the flat halo, as in Catholic devotional art. And yes, I like that it can be mistaken for a wide brim hat. I knew at the time that if I ever were to get a tattoo, it would probably be of that drawing. Granted, I would need to clean it up quite a bit, and I don't know if I want to try to do it myself, leave it up to the tattoo artist, or commission some of you artist-types who are more skilled than me to help out. Would any of you be interested?
I'm pretty sure I'm okay with having a blasphemous image etched onto my body forever. It is both subtle and extremely thorough in its sacrilege in that a) one of the least likely people to be canonized is being portrayed as a saint and b) is being done so on the body of a Jew who, if practicing, c) should not be getting a tattoo at all. Although all of my grandparents are buried in Jewish cemeteries, I'm not very concerned with the issue not only because I am decidedly against planning that far into the future, but my dad is tattooed, so it's not going to be me who has to break the legacy, or whatever. I have talked to my parents about it, and in true my-parents fashion, they are not too enthused about it but are totally fine with my doing it if I want to.
Anyway, back to the blasphemy issue. Oscar Wilde spent his life professing against the repressive ideology of his age. While Victorian morality insisted that the senses must be starved in order for one to achieve spiritual refinement, the dandies believed the opposite, that spiritual refinement could be reached by indulging in earthly pleasures rather than denying them; Dandyism is essentially the conflation of hedonism and aestheticism. (Is my history lesson pretentious enough for you?) When he was convicted to three years of hard labor in prison, a punishment equivalent to death for a dandy, it drained him of the will to be the person he'd spent his entire life becoming. On his death bed, he converted to Catholicism. Now, it's hard to know exactly how to interpret this, and it's also hard not to pretend that I was there, man, and know exactly how society brought him down. From what I've read, it seems that he did have a lifelong fascination with Catholicism, and yet refuted the dogma of the church's followers. In De Profundis, he writes about Jesus as the first individualist, which is pretty much contradictory to traditional Catholic thought. This encourages me to believe, or at least hope, that when he converted, he was really owning it, rather than succumbing. And yet, I can't help but get the impression that after a life of defying convention, fear got the better of him and he thought, what if I was wrong. This probability saddens me immensely. He was a martyr for the dandy movement, which I hope to spend my life reviving, and then converted to a religion that, generally speaking, would denounce his life's work. In my illustration of Saint Wilde, I intend to canonize him not as a Catholic, but as a Dandy.
Ever since I started considering this seriously, I've wanted to do it for my twentieth birthday, which is in March. There are two reasons for this, the first being that I was eighteen when the thought occurred to me, and wanted to keep myself from rushing into it just because I could. The second is the nature of turning twenty, I think. It's an age that sounds utterly monumental, and yet there's nothing remarkable about it; no new privileges or responsibilities or opportunities. (Why is it that we only discuss lowering the drinking age from 21 to 18, and never to 20?) So, I'd like to do something monumental for my newly teen-free self, and this will be it. I'd like to get it done while I'm up here, which leads me to ask you, do you know of any skilled tattoo artists in the bay area? I'm considering going to the woman who does Nick's, but I want to seek out other options, too. I'm excited for this.
current mood: So much pretty rain!
current music: Rufus Wainwright- The Art Teacher
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| Tuesday, January 22nd, 2008
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3:37 pm - I've never been lost like this, but I wouldn't be happy anywhere else
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I'm in San Francisco now, and I started classes today. I had one at 10:30 today, which may not be early for normal people, but it's the earliest I've had in college, and I'm not too happy about it. Luckily, the class seems like it's going to be awesome; Gender and Sexuality in Literature is one of those subjects that could either be amazing, or go horribly, nerve wrackingly, devastatingly wrong. I'm very glad to find out that it will most likely be the former.
I've only made one post in this new year, and I think it's because I got sick of talking about mono. Mono mono mono. But lo and behold, I got a blood test right before I left LA, and got a call yesterday saying that it's finally gone. Yay! I still get tired very easily, but I think that's mostly because my muscles spent the last month atrophying.
In the last few months, it seems like I've been hearing a lot about people having dreams in which their teeth fall out, and how that is supposedly one of the most blatant symbols for feeling like one's life is out of control. I never had dreams like this until I started hearing about other people's, and I've had two in the last month. They're so utterly real that in them, I think to myself, "Fuck, if only this was a dream, it would just be a symbol that I could analyze. But it's not." The feeling of loose teeth is so disgustingly tangible, and in these all too realistic dreams, I have to deal with these inexplicably loose teeth in an oddly practical manner. I had to explain what was happening, and try to hunt down a dentist in San Francisco. All I could find was a cosmetic dentist, and even once they agreed to treat me, I didn't have the funds to pay for it. It usually doesn't seem plausible to me that the analysis of a symbol would mean the same thing for every dreamer, but I can definitely see how this one could.
That said, I feel more aimless right now than I ever have in my life. And I've never been a very goal oriented person, so that really is quite a bold statement. Nick and I spent the majority of last semester and winter break planning to move to LA for next year, but it's all very up in the air right now, and I think it's going to come crashing down on me any second now. I don't know. I have no idea what I want; I don't even know what I miss. I know intellectually that I will be fine either way; I have great groups of friends in two different cities, and I have parents that can pay for my schooling, wherever it happens. I know that however this turns out, it will probably be fine, but it certainly doesn't feel that way. And it doesn't help that the prospect of writing transfer applications was giving me flashbacks to high school.
On a more uplifting note, I realized on my flight up here that at this time last year, I was totally stoic upon my arrival to San Francisco to avoid completely freaking out. I wasn't met by anyone at the airport, and took a supershuttle to meet, for the first time, my Vietnamese recluse of a roommate. A year later and still a little stoic, I was met by my awesome roommate and gay boyfriend, and didn't even go back to the dorm that night because I have friends' beds to sleep in. I've done pretty well with this past year, I think. Would you believe that I even got good grades again?
The rain has been a nice welcome, but I hear it's raining in LA, too.
current mood: Let's make out.
current music: Oingo Boingo- Lost Like This
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| Sunday, January 6th, 2008
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11:08 pm - Withdrawing from splendor and royal decay
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A new year has dawned since I last posted, and just like last year, I spent it at boogastreehouse's party. This time, of course, with the addition of mono. I was doing well enough, though, to drink and be merry and dress up to fit the post-apocalypse theme. Four of us were the horsemen of the apocalypse, and I was War as described by Neil Gaiman in Good Omens. Yes, that is a samurai sword strapped to my back, and yes, it is attached by my purse string. Thank you.
I didn't set out to write a year-in-retrospect post, but I think it's worth acknowledging that I'd never felt more apprehension at the start of a new year than at '07. This time last year, I was about a week away from starting school in San Francisco, and it scared the shit out of me. Now, I'll be going back for my third semester in a couple of weeks, and I can without a doubt envision myself living in San Francisco once I'm out of school. Which, somewhat ironically, reminds me that I want to let you in on a little secret: I might not be going back to USF next school year, and I might come back to LA for a while. But I get exceptionally overwhelmed thinking about moving and transfer applications and such, so I'm going to leave it at that.
Even though I drank on New Year's Eve, I also consumed three bottles of water in conjunction with the wine and champagne. I really am trying hard to be good, but there's only so long that I'm willing to keep this up for. All the online reading I've been doing about mono cautions me against engaging in contact sports due to the risk of rupturing my now apparently enlarged spleen. I've translated this irrelevant warning into a temporary ban on corsets. None of these websites take glam-goth mono patients into consideration, though. Way to not look out for us, WebMD!
I didn't get to kiss anyone on New Year's Eve, due to the illness. This shit has been going on for a MONTH, as of today. But as pissed off and antsy as I am, I keep having to remind myself to be grateful that I'm not totally bed ridden. However, I'm relatively sure that I did absolutely nothing between monday and saturday, which, I suppose is the only reason that I felt well enough to re-indulge in a little debauchery at Rocky. Even though I couldn't perform for alumni night, I had a great time. It was raining, and we got to the theater extremely early for the sole purpose of drinking in the parking lot under a canopy of umbrellas, held by people of so many different generations of Sins. It was a long and lovely night. And today, I was still feeling well enough to go to rydot's production of Chicago.
Nick is coming to stay with me tomorrow, and though I'm excited to see him, I fear that I will either be a terribly boring host, or die trying not to be. Stay tuned to see the plot unfold.
current mood: SPLEEN.
current music: Nico- Winter Song
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| Saturday, December 29th, 2007
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8:22 pm - Maybe it's the fever- I'd kill to see you fly- And for a glass of water before I die
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So, this zombie-virus that I've had for nearly three weeks, now?
Turns out, it's mono. I'm kind of relieved that I was diagnosed with something rather than worrying and wondering why every system in my body seemed to be failing, even if that something is mono. And as pissed off as I am that it had to come now, when I'm home and want to do all these fun things, at least at came at a time when my obligations are at a minimum.
I still have a low but constant fever, and though I am feeling much better than I had been over the past few days, I'm being responsible and not going to Rocky tonight. I was feeling better last weekend, and I went to the show dressed as a Mormon and broke The Great Boozefast of 2007. Then on sunday, I felt worse than I had over the course of this whole stupid thing. So, since then I've taken up said boozefast again, as mono apparently inflames the liver, though I'm sure I'll break it again on New Years. Even if I don't, I'm going to boogastreehouse's party on monday night even if all I can do is sit on the couch in costume and not drink.
I was supposed to go to rydot's parents' on Christmas day, but my brain was so fever-fried that I broke down in tears on the way there, and couldn't go. I had to tell kitschin_witch that I can't perform on alumni night next weekend even though I'd originally been looking forward to it so much. Alumni night is one of the most fun Rocky shows of the year, in my opinion, and I was excited that I finally qualified to perform in it. But even if I feel better by then, I know that going and doing something like performing would be a terrible idea. Nick was supposed to come down and visit on friday, but we're both so sick that he decided to put it off for a week. I wouldn't be much of a host in this state, anyway. And on top of this little pity party, I got my period two weeks early, even though I've been on birth control for about a year and a half, and have never had irregular periods, even when I was younger. I guess having a constant fever for three weeks will fuck you up like that, though. This fake period seems to be clearing up just in time for the real one to come in a few days. Fuck this!
The only exciting thing in my sedate, vegetative life is my hair's recent transformation back to a vibrant, unnatural red. I spent six hours sitting in a salon chair on thursday, and then two more on friday. Getting two years worth of blue-black out is not an easy process, and even though all I really have to do at a salon is sit while people fawn over my tresses, even that wore me out.
( Mono + scarlet fever )
I roasted and ate an entire bulb of garlic this evening, so perhaps it's for the best that I'm not socializing. It'll keep the vampires away, too; I'm sure they'll miss me.
current mood: Monorific!
current music: Throwing Muses- Fever Few
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| Friday, December 21st, 2007
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5:34 pm - People said that you were virtually dead, and they were so wrong
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I've been home for a full week as of today, and I've hardly done anything or seen anyone other than rydot and my parents. Yes, that means that I was so sick last weekend that I was actually unable to go to Rocky; I'm pretty sure that declaring myself too sick for Rocky was unprecedented. I also have not had a sip of alcohol since before I fell ill, which is two weeks tomorrow. This is actually some kind of record. Usually when I'm sick, I still have the energy to go out and do irresponsible things, but this is a new beast entirely. This has been a very emotionally and socially taxing illness.
I haven't made any posts in my time at home because they would have been nothing more than an old Jewish lady updating the poor, unsuspecting world on the varying degrees of her health problems. I do not aspire to be one of those ladies, especially not at nineteen.
However, I'm finally beginning to beat this zombie-virus into submission after nearly two weeks of living in a vegetative haze. Today is the first day since this started that I haven't had a fever. I actually feel kind of like a human. I'm determined to be at Rocky tomorrow night, and I might even make the bold step of going to see other humans tonight. Amazing!
At least I've gotten to spend quality time with my cats.
current mood:  Slowly recovering...
current music: The Smiths- Reel Around the Fountain
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| Tuesday, December 11th, 2007
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4:43 pm - Stay indoors, beneath the floors, and talk with neighbors only
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I've fallen a new flavor of ill in the past couple of days, and it sucks. It's a feverish, achy, dizzy, fatigued kind of thing that I pretty much never get, and without the usual symptoms. I almost fainted yesterday when I got out of the shower. I got so dizzy that I had to sit down on the bathroom floor in my little robe, which is something I never hoped to do, and then...lost my hearing and sight for about a minute. I didn't lose consciousness, but it occurs to me now that part of what fainting is, is losing your senses. Yeah, that sucked.
Usually when I'm sick, I still have enough energy to go out and do irresponsible things, but now I get tired just walking to the caf to get food, and I haven't put on lipstick or eyeliner in two days (I do have on foundation and mascara, so all hope is not lost). I was supposed to go to my aunt's tonight for the last night of Hanukkah, but I had to tell her that I couldn't make it. I probably would have passed out on BART. I hope this is just a really obnoxious flu and not, uh, mono.
I am for the most part done with classes; I have one (easy?) final tomorrow and my creative writing portfolio due, and then, that's it. Luckily, for once in my life I did not procrastinate, so I don't have to feign the ability to write wittily when I can't even shower without peril.
I'm coming home on friday, and I'm so excited. I've been so happy with my social niche here that I haven't given that much thought to missing. But now that winter break approaches, I cannot wait to be reunited with that part of my life. If this plague of fragility doesn't go away soon, I will be very upset.
current mood: I go stir crazy very easily...
current music: Nick Drake- The Chime of the City Clock
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| Friday, November 30th, 2007
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3:37 pm - You'll lose me, though I'm always really free
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There really is something to be said about being out in the world in yesterday's makeup and sunglasses, unshowered and utterly trashy. It leaves me feeling rather accomplished in a disgusting kind of way. Because cleanliness is such a high priority for me, it's a little bit thrilling to be so grossly outside my comfort zone. It doesn't take much, I guess.
Anyway.
During the week of thanksgiving, my parents came up here. For those of you unaware, my parents are separated, as they never got officially divorced, but good friends, to the point where coming up to see me together is not particularly unusual. But they stayed in the same hotel room this time. And, for the first time in almost a decade (as far as I know), slept in the same bed. I think I can safely say that my parents are doin' it. Weird. When my mom tried to talk to me about it, she just said, "Well, you're good at dealing with things that aren't clear black and white. So, yeah. How's that for a conversation?" And that was that.
We had thanksgiving dinner with my dad's sister's family in Albany, and it was actually really great. I met a seventeen year old second cousin of mine for the first time; I don't know how our paths never crossed before. To put it bluntly, he fucking rules. He's vain like me, most likely gay, and has a very dry, awkward sense of humor that I love. It's very strange to discover that one's family is full of cool people. I feel like it's not supposed to work that way. Meeting this new part of my family also revealed that Brad (honorary roommate Brad) and I may be distantly related, as they share his last name. He says he is the black sheep of his family (he's not even that unusual), and I told him that if we are in fact related, I'd come in and make him look good. And when he asked if I was the black sheep of mine, I had to respond that, although I may be the only person that actually looks like it, the majority of my family is made of black sheep. It's the normal ones that seem to get shunned. I'm really very lucky to come from a cool and unusual family.
I flew home with my parents on thursday night, but the only day I was really around was friday, and I was sick. I took the train back up on saturday with rydot and elasticity. It was a very nice, relaxing journey, even with the illness.
Somewhere in my recent absence from LJ, I went to one of San Francisco's bigger drag events. I'm going try to keep up with my own life a little better.
current mood: Raining in LA but not here?
current music: David Bowie- The Wild Eyed Boy from Freecloud
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| Saturday, November 17th, 2007
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1:47 am - Singing funeral songs to the studs
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One of my favorite things in the world is getting pseudo-hit on by gay men. Surprise, I'm sure.
I danced to David Bowie tonight; unfortunately, I also danced to Britney Spears. I realized tonight, as a strange remix of Let's Dance played at Badlands, that the first time I went to Perversion (at sixteen, with someone else's ID), The Heart's Filthy Lesson played. I've never heard David Bowie played in a club aside from these two times: my first time in a goth club, and my first time in a Castro club. These are good, glam omens, I think.
Last night, I found myself at a dirty, dirty hipster bar with a bunch of American Apparel employees. I ended up yelling on the street to the one with the biggest beard, "I AM SEXUALLY ATTRACTED TO DRAG QUEENS." The conversation somehow lead to a point where that seemed appropriate, but apparently that is unusual in that group of people. Eh, well.
I used to have actual thoughts. Remember that? Speaking of which (I guess), I registered for spring classes today. They include Gender & Sexuality in Literature, a philosophy class called Aesthetics, and a Shakespeare class. I can only hope they'll be as good as they sound.
Oh, and when I walked into the club tonight, the Spice Girls were playing, with video. It was a pretty amazing welcome.
current mood: The drunker side of things.
current music: Beck- Tropicalia
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| Sunday, November 11th, 2007
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7:46 pm - My girl takes her drinks with dust and rusty razor blades
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We drove down to San Luis Obispo on thursday evening, and rydot trained up and met us on friday night. SLO is a very normal college town; bros playing beer pong in their front yards, you know, that kind of thing. Well, on thursday night, we went to a small party with Erin and Brad's friends, at which I was the only goth and Nick was the only gay, which I guess is to be expected in places like that. Even so, or perhaps because of this, I ended up getting the drunkest I've ever been, which is quite a claim, I think. I'm never the sloppy drunk, the one that needs to be taken care of, that's embarrassed the next day. I almost never forget things that I do and say when I drink, either. But this time, I was That Guy. I guess it was about time, right? I fell down a lot, in places that I don't remember, in front of people I'd just met. I'm not used to my friends telling me stories about myself as if I wasn't there for the action. But the crowning glory upon my night of buffoonery was none other than my very first black eye, obtained by falling face first into the street. My nose is pretty bruised, too. What a class act. Amazingly enough, I wasn't hung over at all the next day, thanks to an enormous intake of water. Not that I got off particularly easy, though, what with the black fuckin' eye.
If I didn't look enough like a battered woman as it is, rydot happened to have on a wrist brace, due to a goth rollerskating injury from a few years ago that had been acting up. Or maybe he broke it on my face, you don't know.
It was a good weekend, though, even with the facial damage. By now, the blackness of the eye is mostly gone, and it's pretty much just a rather large scrape under my right eye and an unfortunate nose bruise. Sitting in the caf upon our return to school, Nick said to me, "It could pass for smudged eye-makeup at this point. Oh, but you'd probably rather have a black eye than smudged makeup, huh? I forgot who we were for a second."
I feel like this journal is devolving into nothing more than a record of my drunken escapades. I don't doubt that my life will eventually escalate back into the realm of the higher brow, but for now, bear with me.
I only took one picture on this trip, and I'm so glad that ( this was it. )
current mood: Busted face!
current music: Scissor Sisters- She's My Man
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| Sunday, November 4th, 2007
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12:31 am - How strange it is to be anything at all
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I'm sitting alone in my room on a saturday night, drinking a sad little cocktail and doing laundry. Wow. Thing is, the reason I haven't been posting at all is because I am always surrounded by people I like, and don't really have much time for the internet. Because of this, I'm not too terribly disappointed that I'm here by myself, even if it is a saturday night. I haven't slept here for the past three nights, or even spent one alone in weeks. I like this lifestyle, but it's nice to have a little break.
As it turned out, that epic Deceased & Delighted party was really our Halloween Observed. I refused to admit it at the time, as I was convinced that it was merely the beginning of weeks of festivities, which, of course, lead to my disappointment on the holiday itself. But I'm glad to say, at least, that we did make quite a production out of the days leading up to it. Last friday, we drove down to Half Moon Bay to explore the beachside pumpkin patches. We spent hours romping through foggy pumpkin patches, corn fields, and even a surprisingly elaborate labyrinth of hay, which unfortunately lacked both David Bowie and muppets, but was amusing nonetheless. We stole corn right off the stalk, a very strange experience for four city kids. When we got it home, it turned out to be a little bit on the caterpillar infested side, so our dreams of farm fresh corn on the cob never really came to fruition.
That night, I went home with Nick to Sacramento. We pretty much spent the whole weekend with his catholic, republican, and yet completely loving and vulgar family. I'm usually exceptionally awkward with other people's families, but I do enjoy his. His mom (the motheriest of mothers) tells me that if she were our age, she would want to look like me.
(I'm trying to learn to sum up entire weekends in concise, flippant sentences. Considering that I so rarely have time or energy to write about the events in my life, and yet still have an overwhelming desire to maintain my internet persona, it seems like a skill worth cultivating. However, it's not going very well.)
Anyway, on monday, we carved our pumpkins. We had planned to have a big drunken pumpkin carving extravaganza, starting with a bunch of shots, and frantic carving to follow. But instead, we got unusually invested in the quality and integrity of said pumpkin carving, and proceeded with sobriety. I carved the only good pumpkin I've ever carved in my life. You have to understand that after five years of studio art, plus having an artist for a dad, I still cannot for the life of me competently wield an exacto knife. Needless to say, pumpkin carving was never my forte; in fact, I hadn't even bothered to try it for a good few years, because it usually ends in frustration. But this year, I carved a lovely Transylvanian flag into my pumpkin. Erin baked all of the seeds afterward. The pumpkins are just now beginning to get unpleasantly furry on Nick's mantle, but we're so reluctant to throw them out.
( I'm a master of fright and a demon of light )
Nick told me that if I could lactate, it would most likely produce dust and vodka. That statement comforted me more than you might expect.
current mood: Fall back?
current music: Neutral Milk Hotel- In the Aeroplane Over the Sea
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