Just opened my mail from the past week and a half- What?! All I have to look forward to are BILLS anyway... As if my mortgage wasn't already draining the crap outta my pocketbook...
Anyway, I saw my pile of unopened mail and immediately noticed amongst the bills a SASE. A couple of my writer-friends are now laughing their asses off as they read this, going, "Here we go with the submission-speak..." [NOTE: I can talk AD NAUSEUM about the writing/publishing process since I've worked in the creative end, the teaching end, and the publishing/business end. It's highly pretentious.]
But seriously: I see the SASE - self-addressed stamped envelope - and remember that a month or so ago, I submitted a short story to a semi-well known and very alternative/eccentric lit zine out on the west coast. And *trumpets blaring* MY STORY'S GONNA RUN IN THEIR PRINTED EDITION THIS FALL!
That's right, blogworld! After *counting on fingers* FIVE YEARS of not having been published- Wait. I was published two years ago, but that doesn't really count because I was one of the editors of the zine, right?
Anyway, it's been a loooong time. If I wasn't afraid that one of my students and/or employers would find this blog, I'd definitely plug my writing SHAMELESSLY. For now, I'll just say that the title of the story is "Plucking My Boyfriend." If you somehow glean any insight of Me from that, then congratulations, you're a CIA agent.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
If you give good head, clap your hands.
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Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Knowing. Relationships.
The last philosophy paper I ever wrote was on the subject of knowing. In it, I described that knowledge is, as most philosophers have maintained, "justified true belief." According to this definition of knowledge, in order to know that, say, Rob lied to me about having $450 in his possession, 1)I have to be justified in having this assumption, 2) it must be true that Rob does not have $450 in his possession, and, 3) I must believe that Rob does not have $450 in his possession.
All of these, unfortunately, have been proven true...
(Some background: Rob and I had an argument about his inability to tell the truth. He claimed to have earned and saved $450. I told him to prove it; I said he should take a cab to my place at that moment and - very reminiscent of Jerry Maguire - show me the money. He declined. A few days later, he got drunk and came to my house in order to confess that he'd lied about having the money. Big surprise!)
But that's not what I'm really thinking about. What I'm thinking about are the several conversations I've had since that fateful argument with Rob. I'm thinking about my friends' reactions. I'm thinking about friendship, in general (but I'll leave those thoughts to another post).
Wiccan Swinger simply laughed and shook her head when I told her the unabridged version of the story, thus expressing the idea "Whatcha gonna do? You already know what he's like..."
Military Mother laughed nervously and said, "I told you he's a weirdo!" (Strangely, the more I stay in contact with Rob, the less insulted I feel when my friends make these judgments about him.)
Best Guy Friend casually mouthed "Oh my God", and by that he meant "What a pussy. Why doesn't he just owe up to shit in the first place?" (An elaboration of this reaction would include, "Why does he have to prove you right?")
Tall Afro calmly listened to my story right after the events took place, and he said simply, "You expect too much of him. You know what he's like. Tailor your expectations. That way, you won't be disappointed."
Texti offered another explanation: maybe Rob had the money, but I'd pushed him too far and he'd decided that he wouldn't put up with any more of my requests. She said, philosophically, "You never know."
It's that last one that really hit a nerve.
I did know.
I do know Rob.
Even more so, I know what I have with him.
Maybe I was insulted at the idea that I'd pushed him too far. Maybe I didn't want to think that I'd fucked up somehow or that I was wrong or that someone had seen a facet of my relationship that I hadn't noticed.
Whatever the reason, I was put on the defensive when faced with these possibilities. I felt myself tensing when Texti said matter-of-factly that what I have with Rob isn't love. I found myself passively offering agreements - "I'm not in love with him..." - that needed qualification - "...anymore." - instead of allowing my hurt feelings to show. I was afraid that I'd sound condescending or cliche if I implied that she didn't know what she was talking about. I was ashamed of the very-real possibility that I'd sound brash or berating if I asked her to elaborate on her assumptions.
Instead of thinking that Texti was simply giving me a legitimate alternative opinion, I immediately assumed she didn't have faith in my abilities of people-reading.* Instead of opening up a discussion and airing out my feelings, I took what was said in stride and let the words eat at me. Instead of confronting the truth - no matter how much we joke about being variations of the same person, there are bound to be miscommunications - I waded in denial. All of that was wrong of me.
All of these, unfortunately, have been proven true...
(Some background: Rob and I had an argument about his inability to tell the truth. He claimed to have earned and saved $450. I told him to prove it; I said he should take a cab to my place at that moment and - very reminiscent of Jerry Maguire - show me the money. He declined. A few days later, he got drunk and came to my house in order to confess that he'd lied about having the money. Big surprise!)
But that's not what I'm really thinking about. What I'm thinking about are the several conversations I've had since that fateful argument with Rob. I'm thinking about my friends' reactions. I'm thinking about friendship, in general (but I'll leave those thoughts to another post).
Wiccan Swinger simply laughed and shook her head when I told her the unabridged version of the story, thus expressing the idea "Whatcha gonna do? You already know what he's like..."
Military Mother laughed nervously and said, "I told you he's a weirdo!" (Strangely, the more I stay in contact with Rob, the less insulted I feel when my friends make these judgments about him.)
Best Guy Friend casually mouthed "Oh my God", and by that he meant "What a pussy. Why doesn't he just owe up to shit in the first place?" (An elaboration of this reaction would include, "Why does he have to prove you right?")
Tall Afro calmly listened to my story right after the events took place, and he said simply, "You expect too much of him. You know what he's like. Tailor your expectations. That way, you won't be disappointed."
Texti offered another explanation: maybe Rob had the money, but I'd pushed him too far and he'd decided that he wouldn't put up with any more of my requests. She said, philosophically, "You never know."
It's that last one that really hit a nerve.
I did know.
I do know Rob.
Even more so, I know what I have with him.
Maybe I was insulted at the idea that I'd pushed him too far. Maybe I didn't want to think that I'd fucked up somehow or that I was wrong or that someone had seen a facet of my relationship that I hadn't noticed.
Whatever the reason, I was put on the defensive when faced with these possibilities. I felt myself tensing when Texti said matter-of-factly that what I have with Rob isn't love. I found myself passively offering agreements - "I'm not in love with him..." - that needed qualification - "...anymore." - instead of allowing my hurt feelings to show. I was afraid that I'd sound condescending or cliche if I implied that she didn't know what she was talking about. I was ashamed of the very-real possibility that I'd sound brash or berating if I asked her to elaborate on her assumptions.
Instead of thinking that Texti was simply giving me a legitimate alternative opinion, I immediately assumed she didn't have faith in my abilities of people-reading.* Instead of opening up a discussion and airing out my feelings, I took what was said in stride and let the words eat at me. Instead of confronting the truth - no matter how much we joke about being variations of the same person, there are bound to be miscommunications - I waded in denial. All of that was wrong of me.
*****
Today I had lunch with one of the people I've wronged, Crystal. Over a yummalicious sundae, we evaluated the tumultuous path our relationship has gone. We've both said and done many hurtful things in the past, and now that we've rekindled our friendship, we're working on determining what kind of friends we are, i.e., for a reason, for a season, or for a lifetime.
At one point, I suggested that we could be the best friends each other has ever had. Given our history - we once got into a fight which resulted in my having bruised ribs and her needing stitches on her face - anyone other than Crystal would've thought I was joking. But she and I both knew that I was being sincere. Like Pip's secret benefactor in Great Expectations, our behind-the-scenes actions make us uniquely qualified for the title of "best friends."
She laughed at the suggestion, nodding her head all the while. "You'd think it'd be easy to know who your best friend is," the world-weary woman stated.
"You'd think so..." I agreed, slurping up caramel topping.
"...but it's definitely not as easy as it sounds!" she chuckled with a lift and a twitch of her eyebrow.
We exchanged knowing looks, then erupted in riotous and pregnant laughter.
At one point, I suggested that we could be the best friends each other has ever had. Given our history - we once got into a fight which resulted in my having bruised ribs and her needing stitches on her face - anyone other than Crystal would've thought I was joking. But she and I both knew that I was being sincere. Like Pip's secret benefactor in Great Expectations, our behind-the-scenes actions make us uniquely qualified for the title of "best friends."
She laughed at the suggestion, nodding her head all the while. "You'd think it'd be easy to know who your best friend is," the world-weary woman stated.
"You'd think so..." I agreed, slurping up caramel topping.
"...but it's definitely not as easy as it sounds!" she chuckled with a lift and a twitch of her eyebrow.
We exchanged knowing looks, then erupted in riotous and pregnant laughter.
*****
One of my favorite authors, Frank O'Connor, wrote that "marriage is a secret between two people." I take that to mean that it doesn't matter how many people observe the relationship; it doesn't matter how much information is shared about the relationship; it doesn't matter what similar events and/or relationships you've experienced.
O'Connor meant that the experience of a particular relationship can only be known to the two people in the relationship. And that makes sense.
In many ways, our status and/or survival is dependent on our people-reading abilities, so we pride ourselves on "knowing" things about people - " I knew Angelina Jolie was strange! It was the way she did that scene..." - because it's proof of this skill. Artists attempt to break down the simplest experience into a (meta)physical study, in order to shine understanding on a universal truth. Even our daily interactions form subconscious judgments of people and what they're about.
But friendships, marriages, teacher-student relationships, and everything else in between-
Well, these relationships can only be known to the people in it. Everyone else might believe something about the relationship, and their belief might even be superficially true. But who is justified to make these assumptions? Who can really know what Rob and I have? Or what Texti and I have? Or what Crystal and I have?
No one, but us.
* But, more than that, the phrase "You never know", when said about a provable statement, really irks me.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Am I Too Blunt?
Maria_PQC: I think it's a bad idea that we hang out tonight. I just broke up w someone & might wanna fuck your brains out in an attempt to prove to myself that I'm okay.
Maria_PQC: Not that I flatter myself by assuming you have feelings for me that are more than platonic. But, rather than lying, I thought I'd be my usual blunt self.
Maria_PQC: Next week I should be better. How about we hang out then?
Cute_Guy_Friend: Thats cool.tho 4 the recond I hav no problem with the 1st idea.
Maria_PQC: Not that I flatter myself by assuming you have feelings for me that are more than platonic. But, rather than lying, I thought I'd be my usual blunt self.
Maria_PQC: Next week I should be better. How about we hang out then?
Cute_Guy_Friend: Thats cool.tho 4 the recond I hav no problem with the 1st idea.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Looking for work...
I came of age during the Clinton Administration, so it's no wonder why I always figured jobs were easy to come by. From the second I decided that I wanted a job, I got one. No sooner would I send my resume than I would land an interview, and thus land a job. It was like I was a bear and the jobs were salmon, swimming upstream...
Eh, the analogies ain't with me at this hour.
You get what I'm trying to say.
Anyway, at the moment I'm pretty much out of work.
Sure, I do temp jobs here and there, but nothing really pays the bills. I do promotions work, and the pay is good, but I don't see any money until almost a month after a gig. I bartend now and again, but those gigs are through friends and their bosses won't take me on as an actual employee since they know I'm headed to the Philippines soon. Teaching for the non profits paid decently, but I never knew when the paychecks were coming in - and, besides, the school year's over, so there's no pay to be had anyway.
I could go back to phone sex, but, honestly, the work bores me now. Sure, the calls are great fodder for bar conversations - but the "magic" has worn off. You know: the new car smell. Now, taking calls, it's all been there done that. And, besides, the pay's not as great as it used to be. [My previous employer tanked. Now I have to choose from phone services that don't pay as much per minute.]
So I've decided to try my hand at domming. Yes, that's right: being a dominatrix. The phone sex operator-cum-high school poetry teacher is now gonna assert her domination over men. Look hot doing it. And get PAID.
That is the plan.
A good friend of mine did it for a bit and although her experience was less than stellar, she recommended it for the pay.
The other part of the plan [and this plan is "Mission: (Maybe) Stay in NYC"] is landing a writing gig. I've got my eye on something that would be pretty big... I'll let you know what comes of it after all's said and done and I either get the gig or I don't. Right now, I don't wanna jinx it.
I figure, between a writing gig and a dom job (plus going back to Brooklyn College, looking into Physician's Assistance schools, and getting a part-time office gig), I'll have more than enough reason for staying in New York City and being pretty damn happy about it.
This is not to say, of course, that that's what I want. Entirely. But then, when do I ever know what I want, entirely? The answer: Not these days, that's for sure.
But back to the subject of work: I've been writing a memoir-like story about my experiences in the workforce. My very first *real* job was as an office assistant at a hospital in Long Island. I was 13. It was a paid volunteership. I'm not really sure why it was considered "volunteering", but I guess back then the word "intern" didn't ring as true to the powers that be.
Since then, I've amassed a startling array of professions. Allow me to list, off the top of my head, five jobs and at least one strange factoid of each.
1) Administrative Assistant to the President of a High End Real Estate Firm - There were only three of us in the office (including my boss, who owned the company). The 3rd guy was an E-list celebrity who scored a top 10 dance single in the 90s. I'd still be working there if he hadn't groped my ass. [His best friend was my boss's boyfriend; I knew if it came between me or him, she'd have to side with him.]
2) Phone Sex Operator - On my very first night, my last call was a guy from California. I spent about an hour and a half on the phone with him, talking about horse racing. Now, before you jump to conclusions - it was a perfectly ordinary and vanilla conversation. He told me about his deceased father and how much he missed him. He mentioned that they had planned to go to Vegas on his 21st birthday, but that his dad had passed away before he turned 21. And, somehow, we got to the topic of gambling, then the ponies, and before I knew it I was talking about my dad and how, when I was a kid, he took me to the race track. The caller and I seemed to share a genuine connection over jockeys and thoroughbreds. Then I killed it by asking him what kind of sex he's into. A rookie's mistake.
3) Cocktail Waitress - A guy came in every night, sat in my section and ordered a drink. I wouldn't have given it a second thought, only the bar was in an artsy-industrial part of town and this guy looked like money. Every night, he wore a pricey watch and a neck tie. He was young and attractive. And, no matter how crowded the place got, or how much the hostess would insist on him sitting at the bar (because the place also served food, and he'd be unnecessarily taking up space by taking a table), he'd bribe and charm his way into my section.
One night, he walked in just as I got on the floor for my shift. It was early and there were hardly any customers, so I decided to talk to him a bit. That's when he started asking me questions. I lied about where I lived, what school I attended, et al., and instead made friendly banter. He asked how much money I made working at the bar. I demurely side stepped the question. He made an offer. Since I was such a busy woman, with work and school and responsibilities, how about he pays me the same I would make on-shift? All I'd have to do is get someone to cover my area for an hour, and walk down the street to another bar with him. We'd talk and drink a bit, and I'd get paid... He ended up being the reason I got fired.
4) Sex Toy Reviewer - There was a penis ring that I reviewed once. It was silicone and had spikes in it. I thought it best to test it out thoroughly. So I used it with four different men, all of them having different penile and testicular girths. It was like I was Goldilocks and they were my bears. I had to figure out who fit the ring just right. [And, yes, I cleaned and sanitized the ring thoroughly between each use, thankyouverymuch.]
5) Intern at Penguin Publishers - While I was an intern at Riverhead/Putnam, I worked for publicity/promotions. Even so, my cubicle was in the enchanted and bitchy land of the editors, who were all inexplicably a hybrid of hipster-yuppie and named "Rachel." One Rachel in particular - the one in the adjacent cubicle - was a cunt with me. She went so far as to imply to someone that I was incompetent.
So what did I do?
On the day that I'd had it with her bitchiness, I made it a point to walk past her desk more times than usual. And every time I crossed her desk, I said under my breath (so only she would hear) in my most menacing growl, "I'm gonna cut this bitch."
She shut her trap after that.
But it was too late: I had realized that publishing, like all businesses, is more an industry than an artform. And I had written it off.
Like the rest of my misadventures in the land of the dollar, it wasn't for me. Not for the long haul, anyway.
You can get ALMOST ANYTHING... FOR FREE!!!
The hippy tree hugger liberal in me - who, by the way, is slowly dying - wants to furnish her next place with stuff she found under the "free" heading on craigslist. I mean, SHIT, you can get anything for free on there. Why the fuck not?
Chase and Baker Spinet Piano---Free! (Upper West Side)
This Chase and Baker spinet piano has a sweet tone. All the keys work. It has a natural wood finish---with a little wear (minor). I am moving and won't have room for it---it needs a good home!
Vegan COOKIES (the yummy kind, not super-healthy hippie) (Lower East Side)Hello, I'm Scott Alexander,
I am making a bunch of incredibly tasty chocolate chip cookies Sunday JUNE 15th.. I will be giving them out during a concert of sorts at 9:00pm at Pianos- 158 Ludlow (at Stanton st.)
I happen to be an underappreciated rockstar. I want to show you how much I appreciate your attention. The music is complex and bittersweet. So hopefully the cookies will help balance things out!
If you can’t make it, I have my cookie recipes available (also for free) at www.scottalexandermusic.com
I’d love to hear from you!
RABBIT with Cage, food, books (central Brooklyn)
Lovable grey and white rabbit, floppy ears, would like a new home. The children grew up and left home, we don't have a need for this soft, cuddlely rabbit any longer.
Big pieces of CANVAS-- free! (Park Slope)
I have two big pieces of off-white canvas that I used as projection screens for a play a couple years ago. They're each about 5 or 6 ft. square... Free to whoever can pick them up at my apartment on Carroll St. between 4th & 5th Aves. in Park Slope sometime soon!
Please email me if you're interested.
Thanks!
Free Gazelle Exercise Machine (Brooklyn NY 11206)
Free Gazelle Exercise Machine. Great shape. Gives a really good work-out. Just come pick it up.
Free Closet AND TV STAND Available-free free free (EAST NEW YORK)
CLOSET AVAILABLE FOR PICK-UP -REMOVE YOURSELF, MIDDLE DOOR IS MISSING BUT ITS IN STURDY CONDITION
MAY NEED 2-3 PEOPLE TO MOVE
Giving anyway all my groovy threads-!!!! (north bronx)
artist trying to purge-looking to let go of my clothes!!!
have some great stuff
free to first come first serve
guys clothes only
med-shirts
32/33 pants
I am in north bronx
on d line
please only contact me if seriously thinking about coming by
many thanks
PEACE!!!! if u are 420 cool-throw me some!!!!!!!
Chase and Baker Spinet Piano---Free! (Upper West Side)
This Chase and Baker spinet piano has a sweet tone. All the keys work. It has a natural wood finish---with a little wear (minor). I am moving and won't have room for it---it needs a good home!
Vegan COOKIES (the yummy kind, not super-healthy hippie) (Lower East Side)Hello, I'm Scott Alexander,
I am making a bunch of incredibly tasty chocolate chip cookies Sunday JUNE 15th.. I will be giving them out during a concert of sorts at 9:00pm at Pianos- 158 Ludlow (at Stanton st.)
I happen to be an underappreciated rockstar. I want to show you how much I appreciate your attention. The music is complex and bittersweet. So hopefully the cookies will help balance things out!
If you can’t make it, I have my cookie recipes available (also for free) at www.scottalexandermusic.com
I’d love to hear from you!
RABBIT with Cage, food, books (central Brooklyn)
Lovable grey and white rabbit, floppy ears, would like a new home. The children grew up and left home, we don't have a need for this soft, cuddlely rabbit any longer.
Big pieces of CANVAS-- free! (Park Slope)
I have two big pieces of off-white canvas that I used as projection screens for a play a couple years ago. They're each about 5 or 6 ft. square... Free to whoever can pick them up at my apartment on Carroll St. between 4th & 5th Aves. in Park Slope sometime soon!
Please email me if you're interested.
Thanks!
Free Gazelle Exercise Machine (Brooklyn NY 11206)
Free Gazelle Exercise Machine. Great shape. Gives a really good work-out. Just come pick it up.
Free Closet AND TV STAND Available-free free free (EAST NEW YORK)
CLOSET AVAILABLE FOR PICK-UP -REMOVE YOURSELF, MIDDLE DOOR IS MISSING BUT ITS IN STURDY CONDITION
MAY NEED 2-3 PEOPLE TO MOVE
Giving anyway all my groovy threads-!!!! (north bronx)
artist trying to purge-looking to let go of my clothes!!!
have some great stuff
free to first come first serve
guys clothes only
med-shirts
32/33 pants
I am in north bronx
on d line
please only contact me if seriously thinking about coming by
many thanks
PEACE!!!! if u are 420 cool-throw me some!!!!!!!
Friday, June 13, 2008
Notice of Hiatus
I don't think there'll be much blogging going on in my little bit of the world wide web. Please don't take it personally if I don't comment on your blogs for a while. I'm tryna take It to the next level...
Midnight Brain Vomit
Some of us have problems of more pressing concerning than others'.
Take, for example, that opening sentence. I'm almost certain that the grammar and/or syntax is waaaaayyy off, but I'm too busy burying my nose in literature whilst burping my 1 year old godkid and simultaneously blogging/baking a late night snack/monitoring my 5 year old godkid to really pay too much attention to that sentence... And I'm pretty sure that's okay. That little problem - my horrid grammar and/or syntax - can suffer a wee bit longer while I put down American Gods and see how the popovers are doing in the oven. (Yes, I make my own. Betty Crocker ain't got nothin' on me.)
*walking afk to tend to popovers*
But really... Problems... It's always been hard for me to walk away from other peoples' problems. Being the oldest and only girl will do that - especially when, say, your father has a ridiculous Peter Pan complex and your mother has never come to grips with the fact that shit is never gonna change. Other peoples' problems have always been at the cruxe of who I am. They were the developmental cornerstones to my personality.
It makes sense, then, that up until I was a teenager, I had a very hard time telling the difference between a "matter of urgency" and an "issue." Having always been thrust with other peoples' problems, I had assumed that ALL o' dem were "matters of urgency." It hadn't occurred to me, for whatever reason, that "My stepdad rapes me while my mom's at work" is a matter of substantially more importance than "I can't get rid of my pimples." I'd seen/heard/done it all, and whenever a minor problem like "I can't get rid of my pimples" entered my periphery via the loud mouth of a close friend, it was always closely accompanied by, "And that motherfucker STILL hasn't paid child support, and my job cut back my hours, and I swear to God if I find out that my sister's fucking my first baby's daddy, I'm gonna kill BOTH o' dem..."
What you have to understand is, my friends and I (for the most part) grew up poor or working class. There were some days when a few of us would be doling out food at a church or homeless shelter, and some days when we were on the receiving end of the welfare line; it was all just a matter of time and circumstance. We learned early on that shit changes quickly, and if you're not prepared for the inevitable shift in tide, you'll be drifting off to sea. We were good at telling when the tide would turn, and even better at rolling with the punches. Problems, we learned early, were inevitable and horrible and unstoppable. They popped up unexpectedly on the best day of your life. They made it impossible for you to reach your dreams. They derailed peoples' entire life stories.
We understood problems.
We knew problems.
Problems, to us, were BIG deals.
So imagine our surprise when, as we got older, we peeked out of our ghettos and projects, and realized that there were Other People with Other Problems. These Other People worried about whether their gardener was syphoning gas from their Lexuses and Beemers. They worried about the Riff Raff coming into their neighborhood (read: us). They worried about brand names and hair styles and the color of their nails - and God almighty, did they spend time and energy into those aspects of life that we had regarded as menial and unimportant.
My girls and I (all minorities) would laugh about the white girls we'd see in the city, who'd gab to their friends ad nauseum about their manicure. We'd scoff at the price of designer jeans or shoes - "$560 for a pair of heels?!" - and swear that we'd be shopping at Payless even AFTER we made it outta the 'hood. We'd watch diners walk into chi-chi restaurants and exclaim proudly that our Mama or Gran'ma cooked just as good. We relished our otherness, our strife, our roots. We drew pride and honor and character from our backgrounds.
And then, one by one, we realized that there's no shame in being able to afford an exorbitantly priced pair of Jimmy Choos or extravagantly priced meal at Le Cirque. Not only that, but why not splurge? We'd obviously made It if It was an option.
Unfortunately, more often than not, It was not an option. It was simply a place to pretend to be one of those Other People. One of those "better people." One of those people whose problems were more about which Ivy League to send their kids, and not the gang initiator who will be knocking down your door for your oldest son.
Those Other People, we'd decided, had the kind of problems that We wanted. Fuck what Biggie said. If we dragged our asses out of the 'hood and got paid, we wouldn't have more problems. We'd have better problems. The kind of problems that equaled status and respect and power.
Take, for example, that opening sentence. I'm almost certain that the grammar and/or syntax is waaaaayyy off, but I'm too busy burying my nose in literature whilst burping my 1 year old godkid and simultaneously blogging/baking a late night snack/monitoring my 5 year old godkid to really pay too much attention to that sentence... And I'm pretty sure that's okay. That little problem - my horrid grammar and/or syntax - can suffer a wee bit longer while I put down American Gods and see how the popovers are doing in the oven. (Yes, I make my own. Betty Crocker ain't got nothin' on me.)
*walking afk to tend to popovers*
But really... Problems... It's always been hard for me to walk away from other peoples' problems. Being the oldest and only girl will do that - especially when, say, your father has a ridiculous Peter Pan complex and your mother has never come to grips with the fact that shit is never gonna change. Other peoples' problems have always been at the cruxe of who I am. They were the developmental cornerstones to my personality.
It makes sense, then, that up until I was a teenager, I had a very hard time telling the difference between a "matter of urgency" and an "issue." Having always been thrust with other peoples' problems, I had assumed that ALL o' dem were "matters of urgency." It hadn't occurred to me, for whatever reason, that "My stepdad rapes me while my mom's at work" is a matter of substantially more importance than "I can't get rid of my pimples." I'd seen/heard/done it all, and whenever a minor problem like "I can't get rid of my pimples" entered my periphery via the loud mouth of a close friend, it was always closely accompanied by, "And that motherfucker STILL hasn't paid child support, and my job cut back my hours, and I swear to God if I find out that my sister's fucking my first baby's daddy, I'm gonna kill BOTH o' dem..."
What you have to understand is, my friends and I (for the most part) grew up poor or working class. There were some days when a few of us would be doling out food at a church or homeless shelter, and some days when we were on the receiving end of the welfare line; it was all just a matter of time and circumstance. We learned early on that shit changes quickly, and if you're not prepared for the inevitable shift in tide, you'll be drifting off to sea. We were good at telling when the tide would turn, and even better at rolling with the punches. Problems, we learned early, were inevitable and horrible and unstoppable. They popped up unexpectedly on the best day of your life. They made it impossible for you to reach your dreams. They derailed peoples' entire life stories.
We understood problems.
We knew problems.
Problems, to us, were BIG deals.
So imagine our surprise when, as we got older, we peeked out of our ghettos and projects, and realized that there were Other People with Other Problems. These Other People worried about whether their gardener was syphoning gas from their Lexuses and Beemers. They worried about the Riff Raff coming into their neighborhood (read: us). They worried about brand names and hair styles and the color of their nails - and God almighty, did they spend time and energy into those aspects of life that we had regarded as menial and unimportant.
My girls and I (all minorities) would laugh about the white girls we'd see in the city, who'd gab to their friends ad nauseum about their manicure. We'd scoff at the price of designer jeans or shoes - "$560 for a pair of heels?!" - and swear that we'd be shopping at Payless even AFTER we made it outta the 'hood. We'd watch diners walk into chi-chi restaurants and exclaim proudly that our Mama or Gran'ma cooked just as good. We relished our otherness, our strife, our roots. We drew pride and honor and character from our backgrounds.
And then, one by one, we realized that there's no shame in being able to afford an exorbitantly priced pair of Jimmy Choos or extravagantly priced meal at Le Cirque. Not only that, but why not splurge? We'd obviously made It if It was an option.
Unfortunately, more often than not, It was not an option. It was simply a place to pretend to be one of those Other People. One of those "better people." One of those people whose problems were more about which Ivy League to send their kids, and not the gang initiator who will be knocking down your door for your oldest son.
Those Other People, we'd decided, had the kind of problems that We wanted. Fuck what Biggie said. If we dragged our asses out of the 'hood and got paid, we wouldn't have more problems. We'd have better problems. The kind of problems that equaled status and respect and power.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Yes, it's really THAT serious.
I dunno why, but I'm all about Fashion right now. [Yes, with the upper case F. It's that necessary.]
And in case you didn't get the memo, by "right now", what I really mean is, "at this moment, wherein I may be the third brokest I've ever been in my life."
AAAAAHHH!!!
Why, oh why, did I have to look in my closet this afternoon and have a "nothing looks good" moment?
And why did I have to be right about nothing looking good?!
WHY?!
Damnit. Damnit damnit damnit. Damn. It.
It's too fucking hot to sew shit together, and I just can't deal with not looking the way I wanna look. I don't think I should have to deal with it.
See, the way I look at it, there isn't much I have control over. In my world, fifty-one year old moms suffer from strokes, dads cheat on moms on mother's day, best friends become estranged in the blink of an eye, trips to France are arranged within a five-hour period, teenage godsons drop dead after getting shot in the face, gynecologists say that you deserve cervical cancer because you've had an abortion, 'quitting jobs that you love' becomes a necessary action because you're not getting paid or you're getting sexually harassed, et al.
This - how I look - is something I can control. Or, at least, I should be able to control it. The facebook profile of an old friend says, "I can not control how I am perceived. I can only control how I am presented." That's how I feel right now.
The weather is hot. My schedule is booked solid. Communication and correspondence take up huge chunks of my time. I'm busting my ass, making as much cash as I can without holding down a regular-paying job.
The least I can do is like the way I look.
So tomorrow I'm getting my hair permed and cut. Maybe colored. [I don't wanna damage my hair beyond repair by doing all of that in one day; maybe I'll hold off on the dye job.] My homeslice, Chanel [one of the first Filipino drag queens to make a name for herself in Atlantic City], is taking me to Sephora and doing my make-up. Then we're gonna hit the thrift stores for some chice vintage-y threads.
And, in the meantime, I'm hitting up the usual online stores to see if there's a wardrobe out there that'll fit my non-existent budget. I'm writing away and keeping my publishing/literary contacts fresh, because there's something real that I'm working towards. I'm dealing with drama after drama after drama and getting so lost in all of it that none of it seems real to me anymore.
It's all becoming kind of cut-and-dry, black-and-white, easy/hard. It's all becoming doable. I don't know how that happened. When did I turn around and have all that I needed? Did the self confidence always exist, or did I work up to this point?
It's taken me a long time to reach a point where my greatest concerns revolve around Me. Now that I'm here, I don't care if I seem shallow or narcissistic. I've earned this privilege. I've earned the right to put myself first. And if I'm currently about fashion - not politics, nor romance, nor family, nor friends - then so be it.
Tomorrow, the winds will change and I'll no doubt be all about something else.
Either way, I don't give a fuck about what anyone thinks.
And in case you didn't get the memo, by "right now", what I really mean is, "at this moment, wherein I may be the third brokest I've ever been in my life."
AAAAAHHH!!!
Why, oh why, did I have to look in my closet this afternoon and have a "nothing looks good" moment?
And why did I have to be right about nothing looking good?!
WHY?!
Damnit. Damnit damnit damnit. Damn. It.
It's too fucking hot to sew shit together, and I just can't deal with not looking the way I wanna look. I don't think I should have to deal with it.
See, the way I look at it, there isn't much I have control over. In my world, fifty-one year old moms suffer from strokes, dads cheat on moms on mother's day, best friends become estranged in the blink of an eye, trips to France are arranged within a five-hour period, teenage godsons drop dead after getting shot in the face, gynecologists say that you deserve cervical cancer because you've had an abortion, 'quitting jobs that you love' becomes a necessary action because you're not getting paid or you're getting sexually harassed, et al.
This - how I look - is something I can control. Or, at least, I should be able to control it. The facebook profile of an old friend says, "I can not control how I am perceived. I can only control how I am presented." That's how I feel right now.
The weather is hot. My schedule is booked solid. Communication and correspondence take up huge chunks of my time. I'm busting my ass, making as much cash as I can without holding down a regular-paying job.
The least I can do is like the way I look.
So tomorrow I'm getting my hair permed and cut. Maybe colored. [I don't wanna damage my hair beyond repair by doing all of that in one day; maybe I'll hold off on the dye job.] My homeslice, Chanel [one of the first Filipino drag queens to make a name for herself in Atlantic City], is taking me to Sephora and doing my make-up. Then we're gonna hit the thrift stores for some chice vintage-y threads.
And, in the meantime, I'm hitting up the usual online stores to see if there's a wardrobe out there that'll fit my non-existent budget. I'm writing away and keeping my publishing/literary contacts fresh, because there's something real that I'm working towards. I'm dealing with drama after drama after drama and getting so lost in all of it that none of it seems real to me anymore.
It's all becoming kind of cut-and-dry, black-and-white, easy/hard. It's all becoming doable. I don't know how that happened. When did I turn around and have all that I needed? Did the self confidence always exist, or did I work up to this point?
It's taken me a long time to reach a point where my greatest concerns revolve around Me. Now that I'm here, I don't care if I seem shallow or narcissistic. I've earned this privilege. I've earned the right to put myself first. And if I'm currently about fashion - not politics, nor romance, nor family, nor friends - then so be it.
Tomorrow, the winds will change and I'll no doubt be all about something else.
Either way, I don't give a fuck about what anyone thinks.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Rob Doesn't Sing Well
But when he starts strumming his fingers along my fretboard and makes excuses for his less than perfect singing voice, I can't help but swoon a little. He plays the opening once twice, curses, catches himself, then sings the first verse and cuts straight to the chorus (which he fucks up). His voice breaks, his fingers fumble.
But oh, on those first few chords, when I recognize the song and remember the hints on the phone - "I'm working on a going away present for you." "Why'd you ever date me? I'm not a musician or a writer or a film maker." "I wish I could be creative for you." - my heart melts a little.
[To the tune of "Hey There, Delilah", by The Plain White-Ts.] "Hey there, Maria / You're leaving New York City / I'll be a thousand miles away / But girl, you'll still be the prettiest / girl in the world..."
The rhymes and meter aren't perfect, but in my bedroom, on a sweltering Sunday morning, with our clothes strewn on the floor and text messages clogging my cell phone, I'm in heaven.
This is what I've been waiting for.
Not just this moment of romantic persuasion, but the last few days. The culmination of my attempts to teach him how to communicate. The conversation we had in the shower when he spouted off philosophies and I stood, shocked, as I realized how humble and sincere and intelligent he is. The sex. OH, the sex...
I know I go back and forth about he and I. Maybe, if I didn't have my trust issues and he didn't have his honesty issues, and I wasn't so sure that I deserve The Best (and that he may not be it), and he wasn't so sure that I deserve The Best (and that he may not be it), we wouldn't constantly be in limbo.
But that's us.
There are times when he drives me crazy with his inability to articulate himself. There are times when he makes me cry out of sheer frustration because he can't pick up on what I need (even when I clearly articulate what I need). There are times when he reminds me that I can't trust in him to be Everything that I need.
But then he sings a song or philosophizes in the shower, and I realize that he's learning how to say what he feels. He gives me what I need long after I need it, and in the meantime I have the space to remain an independent, strong woman. He reminds me what it is to be human and flawed, and loves me fiercely despite my many very human flaws.
Last night was the first time we really communicated about important issues. I talked about my needs and my issues (with family, friends, lack of funds, et al.), and he voiced his concerns and opinions. I was surprised at how intelligent and heartfelt and sincere he sounded; I was also surprised at my reaction to his newfound articulation. He'd go off on a philosophical/anthropological/sociological tangent, and I'd be upset that the spotlight was off of me. I needed to talk, to vent, to reach conclusions - and I couldn't stand the thought that my ideas were being cut off by his ideas. I got frustrated that he was talking instead of listening.
The irony is, I've been complaining that he doesn't know how to articulate himself. The second he shows that he can articulate himself, I wish he would just shut up and wait till I'm done talking before he commented.
And maybe that's the problem. We haven't worked on our communication, and now I know that in order for us to talk, I have to talk. I have to get it all out, and then he can be his intelligent, articulate self. We'll both feel like we contributed to the conversation, and both of our feelings will be heard...
Two and a half years, and only NOW does this dawn on me.
But oh, on those first few chords, when I recognize the song and remember the hints on the phone - "I'm working on a going away present for you." "Why'd you ever date me? I'm not a musician or a writer or a film maker." "I wish I could be creative for you." - my heart melts a little.
[To the tune of "Hey There, Delilah", by The Plain White-Ts.] "Hey there, Maria / You're leaving New York City / I'll be a thousand miles away / But girl, you'll still be the prettiest / girl in the world..."
The rhymes and meter aren't perfect, but in my bedroom, on a sweltering Sunday morning, with our clothes strewn on the floor and text messages clogging my cell phone, I'm in heaven.
This is what I've been waiting for.
Not just this moment of romantic persuasion, but the last few days. The culmination of my attempts to teach him how to communicate. The conversation we had in the shower when he spouted off philosophies and I stood, shocked, as I realized how humble and sincere and intelligent he is. The sex. OH, the sex...
I know I go back and forth about he and I. Maybe, if I didn't have my trust issues and he didn't have his honesty issues, and I wasn't so sure that I deserve The Best (and that he may not be it), and he wasn't so sure that I deserve The Best (and that he may not be it), we wouldn't constantly be in limbo.
But that's us.
There are times when he drives me crazy with his inability to articulate himself. There are times when he makes me cry out of sheer frustration because he can't pick up on what I need (even when I clearly articulate what I need). There are times when he reminds me that I can't trust in him to be Everything that I need.
But then he sings a song or philosophizes in the shower, and I realize that he's learning how to say what he feels. He gives me what I need long after I need it, and in the meantime I have the space to remain an independent, strong woman. He reminds me what it is to be human and flawed, and loves me fiercely despite my many very human flaws.
Last night was the first time we really communicated about important issues. I talked about my needs and my issues (with family, friends, lack of funds, et al.), and he voiced his concerns and opinions. I was surprised at how intelligent and heartfelt and sincere he sounded; I was also surprised at my reaction to his newfound articulation. He'd go off on a philosophical/anthropological/sociological tangent, and I'd be upset that the spotlight was off of me. I needed to talk, to vent, to reach conclusions - and I couldn't stand the thought that my ideas were being cut off by his ideas. I got frustrated that he was talking instead of listening.
The irony is, I've been complaining that he doesn't know how to articulate himself. The second he shows that he can articulate himself, I wish he would just shut up and wait till I'm done talking before he commented.
And maybe that's the problem. We haven't worked on our communication, and now I know that in order for us to talk, I have to talk. I have to get it all out, and then he can be his intelligent, articulate self. We'll both feel like we contributed to the conversation, and both of our feelings will be heard...
Two and a half years, and only NOW does this dawn on me.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Updates!
The very abridged version of what's been going on:
- Mom went to the hospital for a minor stroke. She's only 51, and the docs say she's fine, but I'm making her see as many specialists as her coverage will allow; I'm not taking any chances.
- I've all but quit my job, as they haven't been paying me and I need to make cash pronto. I still love the work, and would totally still teach if my schedule/budget would allow me to go pro bono; as it stands, though, neither are that generous.
- Bills are piling up like leaves in autumn, and my ability to leave the country in September hangs in the balance because of this fact.
- Rob's been helping me out with my bills, which is so strange for so many reasons (et al., I'm too proud to accept anyone's money, he doesn't have a job, etc.). He and I are (as always) in a strange gray area wherein we (at the moment) don't fornicate with each other [every other word/phrase - "make love", "fuck", "have sex" - seems wrong for some reason] and we have to make a real effort to even like each other most of the time.
- I found out that my dad's been "seeing another woman." Again. [He's been cheating on my mom for at least the past 15 years.] I promptly called the other woman and gave her a talkin' to; I threatened to cut off all ties with my dad if I found out that he continued his indiscretions.
- During my talk with my dad, he employed these mind games that I instantly recognized. He asserted his "father knows best" dominance over me - and neglected the fact that I'm too grown to fall prey to that bullshit. I will respect him because he's my elder and my father, but I will NOT eat up whatever he attempts to spoonfeed me.
- My bonds with certain friends have been developing nicely. They make me feel like I'm never alone, and that I'm a good person - and both of those things are severely lacking from a lot of the friends I've made over the years.
- I took care of two of my godkids, ages 1 and 5, and got a crash course in motherhood. Allergies, ear infections, food poisoning - Jesus! I had them for only four days [they arrived at my house, sick], and let me just say: CRAZY PROPS TO ALL THE MOMS OUT THERE!!! I seriously don't know how you do it.
- I had this moment today where I realized what's wrong/hard about having so many friends in different social circles. It's something about always wanting them to be on your side... I need to think more about this and get back to you.
- I'm breaking out like crazy, feeling ridiculously hormonal, and bloated. Plus, there's a huge and painful zit on my left butt cheek that I'm sure was caused by running around the five boroughs wearing itchy wool pants in 70+ degree weather. (I needed to look "professional" for work, and I misgauged the weather!)
- I think I'm ready to put the comments back on here. No pressure to actually comment or anything, *laugh*
- Mom went to the hospital for a minor stroke. She's only 51, and the docs say she's fine, but I'm making her see as many specialists as her coverage will allow; I'm not taking any chances.
- I've all but quit my job, as they haven't been paying me and I need to make cash pronto. I still love the work, and would totally still teach if my schedule/budget would allow me to go pro bono; as it stands, though, neither are that generous.
- Bills are piling up like leaves in autumn, and my ability to leave the country in September hangs in the balance because of this fact.
- Rob's been helping me out with my bills, which is so strange for so many reasons (et al., I'm too proud to accept anyone's money, he doesn't have a job, etc.). He and I are (as always) in a strange gray area wherein we (at the moment) don't fornicate with each other [every other word/phrase - "make love", "fuck", "have sex" - seems wrong for some reason] and we have to make a real effort to even like each other most of the time.
- I found out that my dad's been "seeing another woman." Again. [He's been cheating on my mom for at least the past 15 years.] I promptly called the other woman and gave her a talkin' to; I threatened to cut off all ties with my dad if I found out that he continued his indiscretions.
- During my talk with my dad, he employed these mind games that I instantly recognized. He asserted his "father knows best" dominance over me - and neglected the fact that I'm too grown to fall prey to that bullshit. I will respect him because he's my elder and my father, but I will NOT eat up whatever he attempts to spoonfeed me.
- My bonds with certain friends have been developing nicely. They make me feel like I'm never alone, and that I'm a good person - and both of those things are severely lacking from a lot of the friends I've made over the years.
- I took care of two of my godkids, ages 1 and 5, and got a crash course in motherhood. Allergies, ear infections, food poisoning - Jesus! I had them for only four days [they arrived at my house, sick], and let me just say: CRAZY PROPS TO ALL THE MOMS OUT THERE!!! I seriously don't know how you do it.
- I had this moment today where I realized what's wrong/hard about having so many friends in different social circles. It's something about always wanting them to be on your side... I need to think more about this and get back to you.
- I'm breaking out like crazy, feeling ridiculously hormonal, and bloated. Plus, there's a huge and painful zit on my left butt cheek that I'm sure was caused by running around the five boroughs wearing itchy wool pants in 70+ degree weather. (I needed to look "professional" for work, and I misgauged the weather!)
- I think I'm ready to put the comments back on here. No pressure to actually comment or anything, *laugh*
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