I have some good friends. By some I mean, I don't just have 1. Mostly, I have really cool friends, those that are border not-so-cool, I don't really call anymore. They are a lot of work and mostly it's one-way work (me doing it) and I hate that kind of work.
I have the mixed bag of girl friends, some blonde, some not. All of the them awesome and funny and unique. The guy friends that I have a slightly lesser in number, none are blonde and all are funny, awesome and unique.
My guy friends are very grounded individuals. They are chivalrous, charming, engaging, genuinely LIKE women (and I don't mean in terms of sexual preference, just in terms of appreciate them as equal members of the opposite team) and have a lot of
"girl" friends. Not girlfriends, just buddies they hang w/ that happen to have vaginas and breasts.
My girl friends tend to be split right down the middle, in terms of being grounded and airfuckingy. WOW! Unlike their counterparts, they flit and float about, undecisively like bees hopping from flower to flower. They are scattered in the mind-which is the case only with the single ones. I just realised that. Scattered=single? Strange.
Like E, who doesn't have this blog address so I can go on at will. E is the BOMB. She's blonde, of course, she's beautiful in that Marina girl sort of way, she loves men and men love her. Mmmm, but for all the wrong reasons. Seems E, at 34, has not figured out how to be discerning yet. With men, I mean. She's off to London in a few days, to meet MW, who has a partner, that he has a child with and a business with. Well, for whatever reason, E, who actually wants a relationship that is exclusive (or so she says), is okay (but not really) with being in a "vacationship" with him. They only see each other when he flies here from the Caribbean, where he lives. I know what the allure is, he buys her things, and she thinks that some guy blowing a bunch of bling bling on her, means he cares. Of course he calls her and tells her he loves her, that he wishes it was different, but now he has a kid and his girlfriend and him are getting "along" better. Enough to make your eyes stick at the top of your head from rolling them so hard (your mama warned you of that).
Okay you say. Okay, so it happens. It does, I know. Let's be honest, I have been involved in some shaddy shit. I carried on a small affair w/ an old roommate of mine (we were living together at the time) and still was dating someone else long distance. Hell, I took up with M while I was still blaringly married to someone else. I know all about this kind of "wrong timing" shit.
But with E, as with a few other friends, it's more than that. They don't have long term relationships with men. They have multiple and frequent relationships w/ them that leave them wanting more. But why are they then ALWAYS in indentical relationships time and time again. E wonders this and polls the entire female universe for opinions, advice, sympathy, etc. Not her fault, she's a LEO. Good lord, affirm affirm affirm, me me me, look at me, listen to me, pay attention to me. And this is what gets her into this space that she's in. How did M say it? She shows 'em her ass.
Not fucking literally moron. At each and every step, at each and every meeting with a new potential of the opposite sex, she unloads all of her artillery on them. There's nothing to be left of the imagination. WHAM! She flirts so that the sexual undertones are OVERTONES. She hooks them because all they see is a peice of ass, because she lets them see her that way. There are no barriers, no "whoa there asshole, you'll have to get to know me way better than that for me to even consider letting you get to 1st base." None of that, there's just this immediate "LOVE ME LOVE ME" desperation that backfires each and every time.
Ai ya yaiy! It's painful. Shit, it's painful for me to watch. And recently, she had some fucking coke addict, emotional leech of a wreck of a man, tell her that SHE was the one with all the issues. Did I happen to mention the coke addict emotional leech part? And then she turns around and actually LISTENS to him and calls me and ASKS me, asks me, if she has the right to actually be pissed at him for saying that.
Whatsamattawiththesepeople, eh? My god, who the fuck is raising our women? Who the fuck is raising our men, for that matter? Jesus, we are all so fucked up pulling our own cabooses full of baggage, that we have the nerve to dump on someone else for having their own baggage!!
Okay, rant over. I feel like Mt. St. Helens on this subject.
Monday, January 31, 2005
Friday, January 28, 2005
DPT and other ways to waste a good 2 hrs.
What the HELL! There are few places in this world as angry and depressing as the Dept. of Traffic & Parking. There's the DMV (wow, now that's a happy place-as I slit the wrists), the Morgue, City Hall/the Court House, the Post Office when you're in a rush..Now that's what I'm talking about.
The 2 hr. line is really counterproductive. All it does is get the "people" in line buddy, talking, trading stories of frustration, building up the riot mentality. And it all unfolds the same way once each and every one of them gets to Windows #3-#6: they explode in protest. There is so much hollerin' and shakin' and blamin' the man. It's the same every time. Each poor fool trying to plead a case that they will never win. Could you imagine working on that other side of the window. M was saying he'd rather be a dishwasher. No shit.
Anyway after all that, I could only get issued a temporary Stree Parking Permit for our neighborhood. It expires in 4 wks. I'll tell you why it's temporary, even if you don't care. It's temporary, because your registration is supposed to match your address; doesn't matter how much OTHER documentation you bring in, but in order to buy your $27 annual permit, which expires in 2 months for my neighborhood, you have to already have waited in an equally long and frustrating line at the DMV to pay them the $16 to change the address on your registration, to then stand in line at the DPT and then pay the DPT their $27. All to find out that on 3/31 your permit expires anyway, so you have to do the standing in the long line at DPT all the fuck over again.
I hate bureaucracy. I hate the fucking meter maids that have to meet their ticket quotas. I hate the system and equally hate "the man." I hate fucking government workers that don't know shit, act like robots and do so, because they would literally have to explode some anthrax bomb in the building before there would be ANY consideration for firing their lazy stupid asses.
Wow, you can tell I've been standing in that line too long. Damn, I generally like people and once I got up to the window, I had no problems. I got my little 4 wk. permit w/ a smile even. And as we walked back to the car, I told M my plan for getting a marker and dolling up the temporary to extend it out another month. I have to get back at the system. I really do not like going w/ the flow on this stuff. It's the rebel in me. I have to protest. I believe in anarchy.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
down w/ the eastern block
amuse me. I want to revisit my previous thought about getting what you want, even if it doesn't get served to you in exactly the way you thought it would. M got his 1st wish-his job lost him. Thank god for unemployment or I'd be f-r-e-a-k-i-n! Or maybe not. A couple of days ago M apologized for pressuring me so hard to get a "real" job last year. Who knows, if he hadn't, I might be teaching yoga right now. It is what it is. Who's to say that this is not exactly the right thing for me to be doing right now. I think, no matter what, you are where you are at that very moment for a specific reason. You do with it what you will.
So, the Eastern Block is no longer (didn't it technically finally fall with the Berlin Wall?). The Bulgarians have lost a top official and the BBQ world has gained an overzealous white boy from Indiana that has soul and soul food on the brain and coarsing through his veins.
Soul or no soul,I'm putting the bitch to work at home. We have a plethora of home improvement, Design on a Dime, projects. We have art projects to create, bbq to make and someone (me) gets their lunch made every day!!! There is beauty in little simple things like not having to worry about making your own lunch.
Woo Hoo!! Househusband!!
So, the Eastern Block is no longer (didn't it technically finally fall with the Berlin Wall?). The Bulgarians have lost a top official and the BBQ world has gained an overzealous white boy from Indiana that has soul and soul food on the brain and coarsing through his veins.
Soul or no soul,I'm putting the bitch to work at home. We have a plethora of home improvement, Design on a Dime, projects. We have art projects to create, bbq to make and someone (me) gets their lunch made every day!!! There is beauty in little simple things like not having to worry about making your own lunch.
Woo Hoo!! Househusband!!
Fly Bar
right on the corner of Divis and Fulton it stands. Great place to chill and meet people. Last night after class, I dragged my ass in there to make a showing at CB's birthday get together. All for M, since this is his "neighborhood crowd." It was cool. Nice to see a bunch of black folk groovin' inbetween the tables and bar stools, just shakin' it this way and that. It's good to be in a place where the crowd is mixed and everyone just feels comfortable like each of them is in "their" place.
Evidently, my social anxiety has gone on vacation recently, because I was amusing myself quite nicely w/ out M. He was wherever inside or out and I was having a good conversation with Tony who I just randomly met. I hope he thought it was a good conversation, I could just be delusional after 3 sake cocktails. Whichever, I had fun.
Maybe I've just developed a recent comfort level with me, my neighborhood, my partner, etc. Either that or I'm just too fucking tired from having a go go go lifestyle that I just can't put ANY energy into feeling uncomfortable in situations like that. Like Sartre's version of hell, I have my own. But mine is a huge house party where I don't know ANYONE and I have to start conversations that are usually shallow and boring with people who never seem to give a fuck about talking about anything but themselves.
Like a lot of young guys. ME ME ME MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. Wow, that's interesting (sarcasmmmm). If I wanted to participate in a one way monologue, I'd at least go see an interesting non-interactive play. Better than having to listen to some asshole that "thinks" he's soooo interesting that everyone is captivated. I'm usually bored; it takes a two way conversation with effort on both parts to keep me from drowing in the boring abyss.
Public interaction is hard. On some level you just have to let go of your own judgements and worrying about others' judgements of you. You just have to put yourself out there and see who wants to try you out. No purchase necessary.
Evidently, my social anxiety has gone on vacation recently, because I was amusing myself quite nicely w/ out M. He was wherever inside or out and I was having a good conversation with Tony who I just randomly met. I hope he thought it was a good conversation, I could just be delusional after 3 sake cocktails. Whichever, I had fun.
Maybe I've just developed a recent comfort level with me, my neighborhood, my partner, etc. Either that or I'm just too fucking tired from having a go go go lifestyle that I just can't put ANY energy into feeling uncomfortable in situations like that. Like Sartre's version of hell, I have my own. But mine is a huge house party where I don't know ANYONE and I have to start conversations that are usually shallow and boring with people who never seem to give a fuck about talking about anything but themselves.
Like a lot of young guys. ME ME ME MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. Wow, that's interesting (sarcasmmmm). If I wanted to participate in a one way monologue, I'd at least go see an interesting non-interactive play. Better than having to listen to some asshole that "thinks" he's soooo interesting that everyone is captivated. I'm usually bored; it takes a two way conversation with effort on both parts to keep me from drowing in the boring abyss.
Public interaction is hard. On some level you just have to let go of your own judgements and worrying about others' judgements of you. You just have to put yourself out there and see who wants to try you out. No purchase necessary.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
2 cups of coffee day
it's raining outside this morning. Around 2am last night, it sounded like the heavens opened up and just dumped water onto the city for an hr. straight. It was the kind of rain that made A LOT of noise coming down. My plants have probably drowned on the back porch. So this morning, it was dark-4 am dark-when I had to get up for work. Mornings like that it's hard to drag your ass out of bed. Your mind starts to play tricks on itself: "it's not really 6.34am, the clock is wrong, go back to bed, it's Saturday..." You know, stuff like that. Doesn't help that I had much interrupted sleep w/ M coming and going. I hate not getting consistent sleep; makes me really irritable, cranky and mad. It doesn't help that sometime last night I threw out my back and it's killing me this morning.
There are days that are dark, you feel creaky like an old tree, it rains on your head even though you're bringing your friend/coworker coffee to surprise him. Shit, I had being here today. It's 9.04am and I've already read KM's posting, laughed, perused craigslist a few times, checked my email, gone to the bathroom and contemplated how the middle toilet flushes water up high so it's like a bidet. For more information on toilets that might assist you in passing the time, see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toilets#Types_of_toilets.
There are days that are dark, you feel creaky like an old tree, it rains on your head even though you're bringing your friend/coworker coffee to surprise him. Shit, I had being here today. It's 9.04am and I've already read KM's posting, laughed, perused craigslist a few times, checked my email, gone to the bathroom and contemplated how the middle toilet flushes water up high so it's like a bidet. For more information on toilets that might assist you in passing the time, see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toilets#Types_of_toilets.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
every man's guide to happiness and liberation...
we don't really need a guide to figure this or anything else out. Yet, here come the onslaught of "self help" books and assholes like Dr. Phil and the Forum to assist you with "figuring" it out. Basically, we are living proof that in the general sense, we are too fucking lazy and scared to get us what we KNOW will make us happy.
M needs to quit is job. Hands down. The Bulgarians are really killing his drive, his spunk and his general love of selling VOIP hardware to the world at large. He just needs to take the leap of faith and quit what makes him unfuckinghappy.
And I know it's hard. I KNOW. Because I was afraid to do that. I knitted my stress and unhappiness into a sweater and wore it around, scratchy and irritating as it was. I wouldn't take it off. I hated that thing. I dreamt about unravelling it, thread by thread. And then Poof, it was gone. G-O-N-E. And after a momentary (2 seconds) bout of hurt pride and freak out about how am I going to pay my bills, I realized that eventually you get what you really want.
You just have to concentrate. You may just have to act. You may just have to take the bull by the horns and jump. M needs to unravel that Bulgarian made sweater. He needs to take the energy that he wastes in the Eastern Block and move it down South to the land of the bbq. To the land of Smokin' Herbs. Where the sun shines and it's glorious meat he sees and smells. And he is young and smiling and mans many bbqs at the same time. Wielding his tongs and knives and Cherrywood chips as his weapons of choice. It is a good dream. It will be a better reality. Down with the Bulgarians.
M needs to quit is job. Hands down. The Bulgarians are really killing his drive, his spunk and his general love of selling VOIP hardware to the world at large. He just needs to take the leap of faith and quit what makes him unfuckinghappy.
And I know it's hard. I KNOW. Because I was afraid to do that. I knitted my stress and unhappiness into a sweater and wore it around, scratchy and irritating as it was. I wouldn't take it off. I hated that thing. I dreamt about unravelling it, thread by thread. And then Poof, it was gone. G-O-N-E. And after a momentary (2 seconds) bout of hurt pride and freak out about how am I going to pay my bills, I realized that eventually you get what you really want.
You just have to concentrate. You may just have to act. You may just have to take the bull by the horns and jump. M needs to unravel that Bulgarian made sweater. He needs to take the energy that he wastes in the Eastern Block and move it down South to the land of the bbq. To the land of Smokin' Herbs. Where the sun shines and it's glorious meat he sees and smells. And he is young and smiling and mans many bbqs at the same time. Wielding his tongs and knives and Cherrywood chips as his weapons of choice. It is a good dream. It will be a better reality. Down with the Bulgarians.
poof
the worst thing about the Internet and the connections to it is that they suck. After much sweat and editing, my awesome post that took me many days of trying to slack off from work to write, disappeared in a cloud of cyber dust, to be found NOWHERE.
Now, I have to literally scrape the bottom of the brain to try to recall what the hell I wrote and the literary genius that was exercised in getting it from mind to post!! Arghh, very annoying.
Now, I have to literally scrape the bottom of the brain to try to recall what the hell I wrote and the literary genius that was exercised in getting it from mind to post!! Arghh, very annoying.
Friday, January 21, 2005
stepping into the flow of grace
I had some crazy dreams last night. Surprise, it's probably because I finally got some sleep last night. I've been going out A LOT lately; this is not bad, but not great since I have to wake up at 6.30am. There are some people, not me, that actually can get little sleep and they are a-okay. Not me.
So yesterday, another long day, I went to assist the 6pm class at the Tree. The classes have been really huge since the beginning of the year (with all the resolutions to get fit, get mellow, get with G-O-D, etc.), but really have been more beginner than advanced student. And as a practitioner, let alone an assistant, it's less fun when your class has to be modified to fit the majority. The advanced students get less attention and if you're the one practicing, you don't get to do more advanced poses. I mean these beginners, and we are all beginners in some aspect of other, don't have the trust built up, don't know how to apply the wording to their anatomy yet, don't know how to be safe. So it's hard.
But, last night wasn't like that. It is an AWESOME feeling when I can see beginners "listen" and "apply" instruction to their bodies. WOW! It's fantastic-they aren't hurting themselves. So I can go over to the more advaced students and try to get them "deeper" into a pose, get them where they have been holding back from and goooooooooo. I can feel the sigh of their muscles as they release. I can feel the energy as the nadis open. I can see the brightness come to their eyes. Hell, I know how awesome it feels in my own body when that happens. All of a sudden you're like "OOHHHHH, that's how that is supposed to feel!"
I took Jenn's class after. I can't beleive I still had energy to do that. It was a great class-smaller, so we all got attention. Handstand is one of my favorite asanas. And there are so many tricks to getting up there with a partner. Someday, I'll be able to do one in the middle of the room. I'll be able to fly someday too.
Can't W-A-I-T!
So yesterday, another long day, I went to assist the 6pm class at the Tree. The classes have been really huge since the beginning of the year (with all the resolutions to get fit, get mellow, get with G-O-D, etc.), but really have been more beginner than advanced student. And as a practitioner, let alone an assistant, it's less fun when your class has to be modified to fit the majority. The advanced students get less attention and if you're the one practicing, you don't get to do more advanced poses. I mean these beginners, and we are all beginners in some aspect of other, don't have the trust built up, don't know how to apply the wording to their anatomy yet, don't know how to be safe. So it's hard.
But, last night wasn't like that. It is an AWESOME feeling when I can see beginners "listen" and "apply" instruction to their bodies. WOW! It's fantastic-they aren't hurting themselves. So I can go over to the more advaced students and try to get them "deeper" into a pose, get them where they have been holding back from and goooooooooo. I can feel the sigh of their muscles as they release. I can feel the energy as the nadis open. I can see the brightness come to their eyes. Hell, I know how awesome it feels in my own body when that happens. All of a sudden you're like "OOHHHHH, that's how that is supposed to feel!"
I took Jenn's class after. I can't beleive I still had energy to do that. It was a great class-smaller, so we all got attention. Handstand is one of my favorite asanas. And there are so many tricks to getting up there with a partner. Someday, I'll be able to do one in the middle of the room. I'll be able to fly someday too.
Can't W-A-I-T!
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
getting what you really want
One of my new year's resolutions/ambitions is to get the ball rolling on actualizing my dream life. This includes getting to a place where I can quit the 9-5 job and start to teach yoga (and eventually, own my own space). Basically, if I can get my tiny ass debt paid off and save some chi-ching, give up one day of practice and get myself into a steady teaching gig, I can start the motor going on this reality business.
I spend my yoga meditation, my day dreaming time on the bus and standing under the shower in the mornings visualizing this life. It's going to happen. I know, I'm a Capricorn. I know how to wait it out. I'm patient and I can work hard for what I want. Point A to Point B baby. Very good at that sort of thing.
My partner is doing the same thing. His dream life consists of getting his ass fired from his current VOIP sales job (so he can collect unemployment), spend some time away at some type of "from Chubs to Luvs" Boot Camp losing unwanted stress weight (thank you Cortisol) and starting his BBQ catering business: Smokin' Herb's. That's my newest suggestion for the business name.
I have a vision of having my Smokin' Yoga studio next to his Smokin' Herb's shack. One can dream...and two can make a reality.
I spend my yoga meditation, my day dreaming time on the bus and standing under the shower in the mornings visualizing this life. It's going to happen. I know, I'm a Capricorn. I know how to wait it out. I'm patient and I can work hard for what I want. Point A to Point B baby. Very good at that sort of thing.
My partner is doing the same thing. His dream life consists of getting his ass fired from his current VOIP sales job (so he can collect unemployment), spend some time away at some type of "from Chubs to Luvs" Boot Camp losing unwanted stress weight (thank you Cortisol) and starting his BBQ catering business: Smokin' Herb's. That's my newest suggestion for the business name.
I have a vision of having my Smokin' Yoga studio next to his Smokin' Herb's shack. One can dream...and two can make a reality.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
"Dunkin' Donuts" - mmmmmm...
If you are from the East Coast, like me, you would know that one of the daily pleasures in life revolves around going to Dunkin' Donuts. I live all the way over here and I'll be honest, the coffee is way the hell better, the coffee shops REAL places for the community folk to congregate, shoot the shit, read the paper, play group game night or catch a poetry reading in. Coffee Shops here are fantastic. All are owned by the Jordanian coffee mafia and serve the best, darkest and yummiest coffee with bad art that's interesting in their cafes. On top of that, we have Peet's and Starbucks and Tully's for days. Despite all this, I can't WAIT to get back to Boston and make daily trips to Dunkin' Donuts.
I fly back about 4x a year with my current job (#1 perk of working in the corporate world). For me, I have to travel back home. And that means Dunkin' Donuts. And it's not just for the slightly burnt tasting, thermonuclear strength in a cup (which burns like HELL every time going down and no one has tried to sue them)-it's also for the munchkins. And I'm not talking about little people in green pants, I'm talking about the donut holes. They are the "less guilty because you're eating tiny" mini Ds. Thinking about them makes me drool. If you're not from there, this imagery is lost on you. Sorry, but it is. You cannot empathize in the least bit. But if you are an East Coaster, you know there's a soft spot in your heart and your stomach for the styrofoam (god, and I RECYCLE EVERYTHING) coffee cups with searing heat inside. It's guilty pleasure I tell you.
I think I heard (a rumor maybe) that Morgan Spurlock might do a sequel, a runner up, to his "Supersize Me" documentary; and this time, it may be on Dunkin' Donuts. And I wouldn't even be surprised if he did-because, it's packed. And not just with big beefy folks that love their donuts-ohhhhhhh no. It is a mecca for the working man, for the day laborer, the blue color guy. It is the pit stop of minivans or big haired, gum smackin' lipstick Jewish princesses. It is home. And I don't drive a minivan (I don't even have a car technically-my boyfriend drives an 87 Honda that his mom bought at the South Bend, Indiana chapter of Vincent de Paul church for $800), my hair is not big (it used to be, but then again it was the 80s and I was a teenager), and I don't smack gum (I don't chew it either). I'm the type of person you'll find at some warehouse party dancing away til 5am, doing a lot of yoga, buying organic food (even the cat gets some Hollistic Feline crap I buy at Trader Joe's), drinking wine that costs $11 a glass, recycling everything that I can, worrying about the state of the world and giving money to homeless people because I have it and they don't.
But,I am a SNOB about my coffee and where I hang out and where I eat. S-N-O-B. It has to be good, it has to be cool. Despite my imperfections and airs, I love double Ds. Maybe I should write an ode. Ode to the D. I hope I'm chosen to be in Spurlock's documentary. I'd love to go on a 30 day bing- just me, thermonuclear java potion and a lot of holes.
I fly back about 4x a year with my current job (#1 perk of working in the corporate world). For me, I have to travel back home. And that means Dunkin' Donuts. And it's not just for the slightly burnt tasting, thermonuclear strength in a cup (which burns like HELL every time going down and no one has tried to sue them)-it's also for the munchkins. And I'm not talking about little people in green pants, I'm talking about the donut holes. They are the "less guilty because you're eating tiny" mini Ds. Thinking about them makes me drool. If you're not from there, this imagery is lost on you. Sorry, but it is. You cannot empathize in the least bit. But if you are an East Coaster, you know there's a soft spot in your heart and your stomach for the styrofoam (god, and I RECYCLE EVERYTHING) coffee cups with searing heat inside. It's guilty pleasure I tell you.
I think I heard (a rumor maybe) that Morgan Spurlock might do a sequel, a runner up, to his "Supersize Me" documentary; and this time, it may be on Dunkin' Donuts. And I wouldn't even be surprised if he did-because, it's packed. And not just with big beefy folks that love their donuts-ohhhhhhh no. It is a mecca for the working man, for the day laborer, the blue color guy. It is the pit stop of minivans or big haired, gum smackin' lipstick Jewish princesses. It is home. And I don't drive a minivan (I don't even have a car technically-my boyfriend drives an 87 Honda that his mom bought at the South Bend, Indiana chapter of Vincent de Paul church for $800), my hair is not big (it used to be, but then again it was the 80s and I was a teenager), and I don't smack gum (I don't chew it either). I'm the type of person you'll find at some warehouse party dancing away til 5am, doing a lot of yoga, buying organic food (even the cat gets some Hollistic Feline crap I buy at Trader Joe's), drinking wine that costs $11 a glass, recycling everything that I can, worrying about the state of the world and giving money to homeless people because I have it and they don't.
But,I am a SNOB about my coffee and where I hang out and where I eat. S-N-O-B. It has to be good, it has to be cool. Despite my imperfections and airs, I love double Ds. Maybe I should write an ode. Ode to the D. I hope I'm chosen to be in Spurlock's documentary. I'd love to go on a 30 day bing- just me, thermonuclear java potion and a lot of holes.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Attention span
Have you ever had one of those days or weeks, you just feel like you're constantly "doing" something. Shit, I swear, I no longer poo-poo those people that are fortunate enough to have enough money or insight to hire a goddamn maid. If I could have someone else worry about cleaning the apt., the cat crap out of the litter box, do the laundry, I would so be PSYCHED! And Matt and I wouldn't have to have one of our "occassional" arguements about "cleaning up your own shit" or "when the hell are you going to clean the bathroom." It's funny, but I finally told him after one of his retorts of "but you like to clean" with "WhO THE Fuck likes to clean?" People get confused. I personally would loooooovvvvvvvvvvvvveeeeeee to sit around like a fat ass drinking beer on the couch, scratching my crotch and watching the Simpsons every night, but alas, I have things to do. And no one's doing my laundry or cleaning up my shit. I might need a man-slave. And seriously, I would just make him clean. If he was cute, maybe naked, but it's not required.
I digress. I just really wanted to reminisce about yesterday, about how long it was and how tiring and how "off." Do you ever have those days where shit just isn't going right? Yeah, me too. Well, I prefer them not to arrive on the day that I assist my yoga teacher with class. Besides practicing a type of yoga called Anusara (see http://www.anusara.com/) about 5-6 days a week, I assist my teacher once a week. Those are long days. I work my little draining corporate job from 8-5, walk to the studio (about 45 min, because I like to-see previous posts), assist her class which has anywhere from 30-38 students, bust my ass and then take a 1.5 hr. class right after. By the time I crawl my sorry ass home, it's about 10. And I drag it home. There are weeks where my own practice and my assisting just F-L-O-W. They are beautiful expressions of body movement and technical skill. Last night was NOT one of those flowing experiences.. Maybe it was the new moon, maybe people just suck. Maybe both.
Maybe it's just that shit really bothers me. Like what? Like when people, hey you may be lopped into this category-beware, are so completely disconnected from anything but themselves and their own progress. They bump into people, have NO FUCKING concept of other peoples' personal space or even that you have to work together to get shit done in a society. Yoga is about your own journey towards something better within yourself that you extend outwards and until you get that, you're still some sad de-evolved caveman thinking anyone else gives a shit about how strong you are or how great your pose looks. No one fucking cares. Especially me. I just care that you are conscious and conscientous and not act like a selfish brat. But people have a hard time with that.
So after an okay class, I took Jenn's class that follows. Her class was as full of beginners as the one I just finished. But next to me, while in the middle of meditation, comes clunking this flittery nervous bird. I'm sure she was there to help me practice patience (you can tell I need to practice right). All I can say is, do you ever watch people? No, I'm serious, watch them and their actions. They are fascinating if you pay attention. So this one, of the super vatta imbalance, is craning her head this way and that and looking around and getting up and huffing and puffing. And NOT listening to a damn thing that was being said. That's the sad thing about humans, they don't pay attention. They do not LISTEN. They look and are deaf and then get run over or jumped for their money. They don't listen to instruction. They don't have the means to interpret the meaning of what someone else is trying to convey.
I feel lucky I wasn't born here, that I had to learn how to listen and interpret what people meant when I couldn't understand them and had to learn how to do the same when I grew up, had to continually figure out what my parents were talking about when they said things in English that didn't translate correctly. I feel lucky that I have a brain that always sees something and interprets it, quickly. You would never say that I didn't pay attention to something or, rather, someone (unless I'm super overstimulated at a party or driving and yelling at my boyfriend). Or you would. I have one opinion of me and allow myself much slack. But I interpret all day long. I rarely take peoples' actions at face value-there's something ELSE always underneath. It's barely ever about what it looks like on the surface. But we're too stupid and too lazy to see that or try to understand that. Ahhhh, I'm working on the makings of patience and world peace I see.
I digress. I just really wanted to reminisce about yesterday, about how long it was and how tiring and how "off." Do you ever have those days where shit just isn't going right? Yeah, me too. Well, I prefer them not to arrive on the day that I assist my yoga teacher with class. Besides practicing a type of yoga called Anusara (see http://www.anusara.com/) about 5-6 days a week, I assist my teacher once a week. Those are long days. I work my little draining corporate job from 8-5, walk to the studio (about 45 min, because I like to-see previous posts), assist her class which has anywhere from 30-38 students, bust my ass and then take a 1.5 hr. class right after. By the time I crawl my sorry ass home, it's about 10. And I drag it home. There are weeks where my own practice and my assisting just F-L-O-W. They are beautiful expressions of body movement and technical skill. Last night was NOT one of those flowing experiences.. Maybe it was the new moon, maybe people just suck. Maybe both.
Maybe it's just that shit really bothers me. Like what? Like when people, hey you may be lopped into this category-beware, are so completely disconnected from anything but themselves and their own progress. They bump into people, have NO FUCKING concept of other peoples' personal space or even that you have to work together to get shit done in a society. Yoga is about your own journey towards something better within yourself that you extend outwards and until you get that, you're still some sad de-evolved caveman thinking anyone else gives a shit about how strong you are or how great your pose looks. No one fucking cares. Especially me. I just care that you are conscious and conscientous and not act like a selfish brat. But people have a hard time with that.
So after an okay class, I took Jenn's class that follows. Her class was as full of beginners as the one I just finished. But next to me, while in the middle of meditation, comes clunking this flittery nervous bird. I'm sure she was there to help me practice patience (you can tell I need to practice right). All I can say is, do you ever watch people? No, I'm serious, watch them and their actions. They are fascinating if you pay attention. So this one, of the super vatta imbalance, is craning her head this way and that and looking around and getting up and huffing and puffing. And NOT listening to a damn thing that was being said. That's the sad thing about humans, they don't pay attention. They do not LISTEN. They look and are deaf and then get run over or jumped for their money. They don't listen to instruction. They don't have the means to interpret the meaning of what someone else is trying to convey.
I feel lucky I wasn't born here, that I had to learn how to listen and interpret what people meant when I couldn't understand them and had to learn how to do the same when I grew up, had to continually figure out what my parents were talking about when they said things in English that didn't translate correctly. I feel lucky that I have a brain that always sees something and interprets it, quickly. You would never say that I didn't pay attention to something or, rather, someone (unless I'm super overstimulated at a party or driving and yelling at my boyfriend). Or you would. I have one opinion of me and allow myself much slack. But I interpret all day long. I rarely take peoples' actions at face value-there's something ELSE always underneath. It's barely ever about what it looks like on the surface. But we're too stupid and too lazy to see that or try to understand that. Ahhhh, I'm working on the makings of patience and world peace I see.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
b-o-r-e-d-o-m FIX
I'm so seriously, extremely bored out of my mind today. Jesus, it's so bad that I've gone through craigslist missed connections and misc. romance so often today that since the last time I logged back on, there's only been two new postings added. This is sad! If you haven't yet discovered the many distractions available to you on this community board, I say you should investigate and soon. Not only can you buy yourself a new couch and sell your LPs, but you can hook up with a couple seeking to add a trois to their menage. And if that's too sedate, well, I'm sure you can find a more compelling arrangement. I have. I puruse these things like scanning through a trashy glamour magazine just inhaling the pictures. I never actually BUY one of those magazines, openly criticising those that pay (I mean really pay) upwards of $7 for these soft covers of fashion (you'll never be able to afford) trash. But I LOVE THEM. Yeah, I am a total girl, no matter how much hiking in mud I do, or camping outdoors. I love that crap.
Matt, my boyfriend, knows this about me and laughs his head off when I try to explain that I would never "spend" money on this slight pleasure. He knows I'm full of shit, a jumble of contradictions, probably more high maintenance than low (god that's hard to admit). I'm probably easier for my friends to deal with, than I am for him. That's because you typically tend to save the "whiney" you for your significant other. Your friends wouldn't put up with that shit for long. And somehow, you'd probably be too embarassed to act like such a pussy in front of them. And they'd probably kick your ass.
After living in this city since 94, with a minor sabbatical in Mpls, I've built up a nice little community of friends that I wouldn't trade for anything. Lately too, it seems that there's a lot of really cool people around to spend my time with. And for someone as moody and juxtaposed between hermit and socialite as I, it's a wonder that my friends are as understanding as they are. Well, not all of them. Some are more moody and hermetic. And not juxtaposed betwix at all. You need balance; that's why I hang out with people that balance me and my moods and bring out positive stuff. It's why I date the guy I do; he's my alter-ego and god bless his little ass. And damn him at the same time. That's love for you.
Actually, love is being scrunched into each other on our AWESOME couch, with the cat human laying on top of us (that fat bastard), falling asleep to a rerun of the 5th Element, and having him sleepily tell you he loves you so much that he can't imagine his life without you and if you bought him a ring that he'd wear it. In context, what that means is, that while neither of you believe in "marriage" (it personally causes an allergic reaction), but do believe in life long committment without societal chains and contracts (additional causes of allergic reaction), that he bought you a promise ring and wouldn't be opposed to wearing one. That is, if you wanted to buy him one.
After a few years of being together, I can honestly say, that he has yet to fail to surprise me. And sometimes those surprises are wierder than others, but at least I don't find myself lolling in a pool of apathy and comfortable numbness. Being with him makes me try to be a better person, be more open/understanding and see things from a point outside of myself as an objective observer. That's why I think you choose your friends and lovers as you do-to learn, to try, to be more. Okay, right about now though, lolling and apathy on a couch sounds great. Mmmmmmmmm...lolling.
Matt, my boyfriend, knows this about me and laughs his head off when I try to explain that I would never "spend" money on this slight pleasure. He knows I'm full of shit, a jumble of contradictions, probably more high maintenance than low (god that's hard to admit). I'm probably easier for my friends to deal with, than I am for him. That's because you typically tend to save the "whiney" you for your significant other. Your friends wouldn't put up with that shit for long. And somehow, you'd probably be too embarassed to act like such a pussy in front of them. And they'd probably kick your ass.
After living in this city since 94, with a minor sabbatical in Mpls, I've built up a nice little community of friends that I wouldn't trade for anything. Lately too, it seems that there's a lot of really cool people around to spend my time with. And for someone as moody and juxtaposed between hermit and socialite as I, it's a wonder that my friends are as understanding as they are. Well, not all of them. Some are more moody and hermetic. And not juxtaposed betwix at all. You need balance; that's why I hang out with people that balance me and my moods and bring out positive stuff. It's why I date the guy I do; he's my alter-ego and god bless his little ass. And damn him at the same time. That's love for you.
Actually, love is being scrunched into each other on our AWESOME couch, with the cat human laying on top of us (that fat bastard), falling asleep to a rerun of the 5th Element, and having him sleepily tell you he loves you so much that he can't imagine his life without you and if you bought him a ring that he'd wear it. In context, what that means is, that while neither of you believe in "marriage" (it personally causes an allergic reaction), but do believe in life long committment without societal chains and contracts (additional causes of allergic reaction), that he bought you a promise ring and wouldn't be opposed to wearing one. That is, if you wanted to buy him one.
After a few years of being together, I can honestly say, that he has yet to fail to surprise me. And sometimes those surprises are wierder than others, but at least I don't find myself lolling in a pool of apathy and comfortable numbness. Being with him makes me try to be a better person, be more open/understanding and see things from a point outside of myself as an objective observer. That's why I think you choose your friends and lovers as you do-to learn, to try, to be more. Okay, right about now though, lolling and apathy on a couch sounds great. Mmmmmmmmm...lolling.
Monday, January 10, 2005
5 Fulton
If you are a public transportation commuter, like me, you might understand when I say that riding the bus can be a venue for some of the best meditative introspection ever. BIG WORDS, I know. I'm moody as all fuck this morning and feel like tossing around words that make me feel a bit self-important.
Riding in the morning towards downtown, you get the daily news (neighborhood style) from the inevitably chatty ass person that has to bother the bus driver as he weaves his way down McAllister. This morning some lady was going on about how some youngster was found dead flat on the ground, apparently a victim of a possible drive by (only guessing). The delivery of this information came so nonchalantly that it made me really mad. But then again, I got the feeling she was one of those people that were spewing whatever stream of noise she needed to get out of her mouth. Crap, life for some people is a fucking Jerry Springer episode. They have no connection to the fact that it's on tv and not reality. And they approach "life" the same way. Okay, this is NOT going to turn into a rave about how the general public at large is a bunch of empty headed sheep roaming through life completely unaware of what matters...not today at least.
So, I was on the bus and I'm mulling over the weekend, looking that the stores and people as they pass by the window like a video stream of images. For whatever reason I started thinking about sculpting and how it's been so long since I actually MADE anything with my hands-something tangible that you build up, beautiful and part of you, a manifestation of a vision in your mind. On my way to work I think I'll buy some clay and try to figure out how to convert the living room closet into a small office to do work in. Right now my avenues for creative expression are few. Even writing is a serious exercise that I find excruciating. Maybe it's about the fact that you're trying to present your ideas truthfully. I mean, you don't paint a lie, or at least, when you paint, your motivation, your reason for painting is not to LIE about what's inside of you. It's so you can finally be truthful, on whatever level, to release your truth. And writing, well, that's not exactly interpretational. It is, but if you're anything like me (and you may be, god help you), you might instinctively express yourself cautiously because one does need much to interpret what you're saying-a little too honest sometimes, eh? Almost as if you're writing as if someone is going to see it (and yeah, someone is going to see it because it's posted on the damn web). Have you ever had a diary? Well, call it whatever you want. I've kept a journal for years. And the only time I wrote "truthfully" and "brutally" in it was when I #1 didn't think anyone would ever see it and #2 didn't care if they did. But then was way back when, after the moving out of the house, living in an apt. with my roommates, etc. Being truthful, truthfully expressing what you have on the inside when your intentions are crystal clear and exposed to the judgments at large is a little hard. But I'm working on it.
Funny what riding the bus gets your brain stirring on...I'm big on thinking and scheming.. Plotting and planning..
Riding in the morning towards downtown, you get the daily news (neighborhood style) from the inevitably chatty ass person that has to bother the bus driver as he weaves his way down McAllister. This morning some lady was going on about how some youngster was found dead flat on the ground, apparently a victim of a possible drive by (only guessing). The delivery of this information came so nonchalantly that it made me really mad. But then again, I got the feeling she was one of those people that were spewing whatever stream of noise she needed to get out of her mouth. Crap, life for some people is a fucking Jerry Springer episode. They have no connection to the fact that it's on tv and not reality. And they approach "life" the same way. Okay, this is NOT going to turn into a rave about how the general public at large is a bunch of empty headed sheep roaming through life completely unaware of what matters...not today at least.
So, I was on the bus and I'm mulling over the weekend, looking that the stores and people as they pass by the window like a video stream of images. For whatever reason I started thinking about sculpting and how it's been so long since I actually MADE anything with my hands-something tangible that you build up, beautiful and part of you, a manifestation of a vision in your mind. On my way to work I think I'll buy some clay and try to figure out how to convert the living room closet into a small office to do work in. Right now my avenues for creative expression are few. Even writing is a serious exercise that I find excruciating. Maybe it's about the fact that you're trying to present your ideas truthfully. I mean, you don't paint a lie, or at least, when you paint, your motivation, your reason for painting is not to LIE about what's inside of you. It's so you can finally be truthful, on whatever level, to release your truth. And writing, well, that's not exactly interpretational. It is, but if you're anything like me (and you may be, god help you), you might instinctively express yourself cautiously because one does need much to interpret what you're saying-a little too honest sometimes, eh? Almost as if you're writing as if someone is going to see it (and yeah, someone is going to see it because it's posted on the damn web). Have you ever had a diary? Well, call it whatever you want. I've kept a journal for years. And the only time I wrote "truthfully" and "brutally" in it was when I #1 didn't think anyone would ever see it and #2 didn't care if they did. But then was way back when, after the moving out of the house, living in an apt. with my roommates, etc. Being truthful, truthfully expressing what you have on the inside when your intentions are crystal clear and exposed to the judgments at large is a little hard. But I'm working on it.
Funny what riding the bus gets your brain stirring on...I'm big on thinking and scheming.. Plotting and planning..
Friday, January 07, 2005
Dorito Desire
Today is the kind of day, that screams for habitation of entire couch area, watching crappy ass tv, consuming, one by one (licking from each side of the triangle) every chip in the $3.29 bag of Doritos. And I'm talking the BIG bag.
This is my one comfort food that, lately, I have not allowed myself. For whatever reason, even though my stomach is still unsettled from last night's pitchers of margaritas and Mexican food from Tommy's, I'm craving a bag right now. Okay, after this cup of coffee.
Last night, Matt organized a little get-together of neighbors for drinks, sort of as a dual birthday present for me and Jared. Jared and Jenna live across the hall from Matt and I and are fantastic people, let alone neighbors. I'm such a pig though, because by the time the birthday flans came around to Jared and I, I got very selfishly absorbed (ME ME ME), that I blew the candles out for both of us. I hope my birthday wish comes true for Jared too. It was a good one.
Birthdays are strange. Besides holidays, they are really the only demarkations of the passing of time here. I mean I guess we have seasons = rainy season (which we're in now) and not rainy season. And because of that, you're wondering where the years go and HOW THE HELL DID YOU GET THIS OLD! Living in Never Never Land where no one wants to grow up doesn't help. I read an article the other day that only 44% of the population of San Francisco is made up of families. That's 56% on my side. That's 56% that looks young, acts young and adamently refuses not to be young. This is GREAT most of the time. Except when you're getting a little older and other stuff starts to matter more than just being selfishly absorded in ME ME ME. Like my Doritos.
This is my one comfort food that, lately, I have not allowed myself. For whatever reason, even though my stomach is still unsettled from last night's pitchers of margaritas and Mexican food from Tommy's, I'm craving a bag right now. Okay, after this cup of coffee.
Last night, Matt organized a little get-together of neighbors for drinks, sort of as a dual birthday present for me and Jared. Jared and Jenna live across the hall from Matt and I and are fantastic people, let alone neighbors. I'm such a pig though, because by the time the birthday flans came around to Jared and I, I got very selfishly absorbed (ME ME ME), that I blew the candles out for both of us. I hope my birthday wish comes true for Jared too. It was a good one.
Birthdays are strange. Besides holidays, they are really the only demarkations of the passing of time here. I mean I guess we have seasons = rainy season (which we're in now) and not rainy season. And because of that, you're wondering where the years go and HOW THE HELL DID YOU GET THIS OLD! Living in Never Never Land where no one wants to grow up doesn't help. I read an article the other day that only 44% of the population of San Francisco is made up of families. That's 56% on my side. That's 56% that looks young, acts young and adamently refuses not to be young. This is GREAT most of the time. Except when you're getting a little older and other stuff starts to matter more than just being selfishly absorded in ME ME ME. Like my Doritos.
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
Cityscape SF
I walk home most days, from work. I work in the Financial District and basically, that puts me in at the far end of Market Street, if you know the city. I've lived here a long time, but it never ceases to surprise, amuse, disgust, annoy and disturb me. It also never ceases to excite me. My most thought provoking time of the day is the end of it-when I walk home on Market. As you walk block by block, your senses are thoroughly occupied with images, smells and sounds. The coporate world dissolves to the world of the tourists and shoppers, past the chess players, onto the droves of the nearly homeless and homeless haunting the street corners, past Civic Center plaza where you pass droves of huddled men, collected together for comfort, protection, dissemination of information and products (?). You can spend a while musing on that one.
Past out of towners waiting to get into the Lion King and a few Art students spilling out of class. Only when I veer onto Hayes do I actually feel like I can relax and stare and nothing. It's not that I feel the city is dangerous; I actually think the opposite. But it's a strange place and you'd be stupid to sleepwalk through it. Then again, it's kind of stupid to sleepwalk through anything. You miss all the good stuff. And if you don't pay attention, you will. You'll miss the not so covert drug transactions, impromptu flea markets selling stuff that surely was plucked from garbage that someone has a need for, clips of conversation and mumbles of pain, anger, lonliness that no one in particular is meant to hear.
It's why I like living in the city, in a city. Life can be full of promise and sometimes full of nothing, but it's there, it's present and it's throbbing and thumping in your ear demanding your attention. You are faced with confronting it, yourself and others, even if you don't want to. Some people can't stomach all this, they run as fast as they can to the suburbs. Just so they never have to deal with themselves or the fact that they are all part of each other.
Past out of towners waiting to get into the Lion King and a few Art students spilling out of class. Only when I veer onto Hayes do I actually feel like I can relax and stare and nothing. It's not that I feel the city is dangerous; I actually think the opposite. But it's a strange place and you'd be stupid to sleepwalk through it. Then again, it's kind of stupid to sleepwalk through anything. You miss all the good stuff. And if you don't pay attention, you will. You'll miss the not so covert drug transactions, impromptu flea markets selling stuff that surely was plucked from garbage that someone has a need for, clips of conversation and mumbles of pain, anger, lonliness that no one in particular is meant to hear.
It's why I like living in the city, in a city. Life can be full of promise and sometimes full of nothing, but it's there, it's present and it's throbbing and thumping in your ear demanding your attention. You are faced with confronting it, yourself and others, even if you don't want to. Some people can't stomach all this, they run as fast as they can to the suburbs. Just so they never have to deal with themselves or the fact that they are all part of each other.
Resolutions
There is a profound gift in the ending of something: the beginning of something new. I'm one of those people that has categorized themselves as "hating change." But, as I really sit back and muse over the past X amount of years, I only sort of agree with that statement. I don't hate change, it's just really scary. It's all really scary, like dangling one foot over a dark abyss, not knowing what awaits. I think that inevitably, you should choose to jump in, especially if the place where your other foot is planted on SUCKS. Then, by all means, jump as quickly as you can. Even if you don't have a clue as to how it'll work out. Life is a journey. Are you going to be the driver or the passenger on this ride?
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