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Pillow Fights

I used to think Valentine’s Day was the worst holiday in the world for singles. All those happy couples all over the country (and, in my fantastical brain, all over the world) expressing their love, giving thoughtful gifts that prove just how well they know each other, talking about how glad they are that they aren’t pathetically single on this Holiday O’ Love like their friend fill-in-name-here.

But I was wrong.

Because I am single. And I had a fantastic Valentine’s Day. I woke up to coffee poured for me by the host of my couchstay. I had a productive day at work, punctuated by an adorable phone call from my Mom. I went to a mass pillow fight in Justin Hermann Square with some friends and met some new buddies.     I checked out two potential apartments. I went back to my other house stay, where I got into my glow-in-the-dark star pajamas and was cuddled and snuggled by my other fantastic hosts (who had celebrated their romance the night before – hence the couchstay - and therefore weren’t bothered by my presence.)

It was delightful. It was fun. I laughed. I got some exercise. I fell in love (again) with this city, and with my friends, and with my life.

What I learned when I came to work today, however, is that meanwhile, one of my in-a-couple friends felt so much pressure about the holiday that he managed to get drunk and surly, not only refusing to be affectionate with his girlfriend but also passing out before he could … well … consummate the holiday. Another in-a-couple friend went to a fancy dinner out, only to get into a huge fight with his girlfriend. For both of them, V.D. was not only unpleasant, but probably caused problems they’ll both have to deal with in days to come. Not exactly the point, right?

As far as I can tell, this is the classic equation: too much pressure + too much expectation = surefire disappointment. And of all the emotions we’re forced to deal with, I think disappointment is one of the hardest to handle.

I don’t know what the solution is. I’m not sure I could avoid the instinct to celebrate this holiday if I were in a relationship now. And as nice as it would be to take back Valentine’s Day as something about expressing love rather than about validating love, I’m not sure even I would be able to put aside my expectations and obligations.

And so. In the meantime, I’m just glad that I spent this particular V.D. completely free. Free of candlelit dinners and long, passionate love-making sessions, yes, but also free of the kind of morning after that both my friends are having – and the impending dread of next year’s holiday.

Viva la single life!


(But now can I get laid?)



February 15, 2007 in Regular ol' blog posts | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

Happy

fucking Valentine's Day.

(Not to be too bitter. I actually kind of like the result of this holiday, with people expressing their love to each other and my Mom sending me a homemade card made out of drink stirrers and my co-workers setting out creepy stalker candy hearts that say things like, "I C U" and "U NEED ME." I just hate the obligation and expectation inherent in it. It's actually a much more pleasant holiday to experience single...)

February 14, 2007 in Regular ol' blog posts | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

I'm so tired, Part 1

I am so tired.

Brain tired, body tired, heart tired.

It's a good tired, the kind that comes from stretching all the parts of your life in new ways, the kind that leads to growth and change and unforeseen fortune. But it's still tired.

Which brings me here, to Amber, where I'm drinking a Bass and smoking a cigarette (Inside! Oh, San Francisco and its blatant disregard for the rules that govern the rest of the state...) and waiting to meet up with Blaine, the host of tonight's couch stay, because I've decided to let my hosts for this week, a married couple, have a night of peace and copulation to themselves.

And meanwhile, I'm running over in my mind all the places I've been - physically, emotionally - in the last month.

There was the L.A. goodbye, which I've written about.

Leaving the Nest

Then there was the Camarillo goodbye, a tearful ordeal not unlike the first time I left home for college. In fact, I wonder if this one was harder, since neither Mom nor me expected to have the experience again. After two months of her getting to be a mom and me getting to be a little girl, it was finally time to go out into the big, big world again - and this time, most likely, for good. (Though with the lifestyle and income of a writer, you never know...)

Img_0025_1 So I said goodbye to the bed where I spent so much time recovering fromImg_0026, well, the last five years. Goodbye to the Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches that spontaneously regenerated in the freezer, with no help from me (and maybe a little from Mom and her wallet), and that I discovered you CAN eat in 3-a-day doses, as long as they're not 3-in-a-row. Goodbye to the television I would watch from the bed while eating Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches (most often set, as it is in the photo, to VH-1.) Goodbye to the smoking patio connected to my room, where I smoked as a teImg_0028enager and as a college student and, again, as an adult. Goodbye to Gary, the steImg_0024pdad who has become my Dad dad: my rock, my patriarch, my giver of unconditional love and infinite hugs, the man who can withstand our boundless energy and loving pestering and daily choruses of "Gary, Indiana" and "Gary Gary Gary pants." Goodbye to my stuff, packed in the van parked outside the house, which will sit there who knows how long?

And goodbye to Mom, the Great Nurturer, my playmate and kindred soul, fellow tap dancer and Richard CheeseImg_0031 listener, the footrubber and movie watcher and conversationalist, my first and best friend.Img_0022

So Long, Santa Barbara

And then there was Santa Barbara. After a brief stop to see Jenessa (and drop off a stuffed bee and an artist-made chair for little Olive from my Mom), I made my way to the other most significant home of my recent life. This strange land by the sea, all sorority girls and burgeoning underground art and love and pain and confusion. I stopped at Muddy Waters, the coffee shop that used to be Burning Man headquarters, home and business of my best Santa Barbara friend, location of numerous events and performances and fights and experiences, carpark for napping, and motel-stop for trailer surfing - all different now that Siobhan has sold the business and moved to (yup!) San Francisco.

There was a long and difficult and wonderful and painful and confusing, tearful (again) goodbye with Jeff - tea and sushi and conversation and open wounds that this move will hopefully heal.

Drinks with friends at Elsie's, my former place of business and savior from debt and destruction, and The Press Room, the second home to so many of my friends. But the group was small - so many of my friends have already moved on...


(...more to come...)

February 13, 2007 in Regular ol' blog posts | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

Bye Bye, L.A.-ve

What a difference a week makes.

Seven days ago today I was in Camarillo, packing my things and having dinner with my parents at Enoteca Toscana (where we were served by a girl I had a P.E. class with in high school.)

Now here I am in San Francisco, three days into my job at The Bay Guardian, two apartments visited, one 30th birthday celebrated (not mine), a half-marathon watched and one afternoon wasted at Zeitgeist.

Already, Southern California seems so far away. The parties I'd vowed not to miss, the freelance jobs I stressed about, the small jealousies and connections that seemed so big when they were nearby.

I am glad I had an appropriate goodbye, though. Last weekend was a bittersweet farewell: A sushi dinner with new friends (who are quickly becoming old and dear friends) in Long Beach, that city that represented so much of my last four months' transition time. A lovely brunch at the Long Beach Museum, which was supposed to be the site of an unfulfilled date so long ago. One last hurrah with sweet Andrea and the girls, getting dressed in her Echo Park apartment before embarking on our rock'n'roll adventure in Hollywood. Another fantastic show from Poets and Pornstars, with the pleasant surprise of Jeremiah and Bethany's company as well as the all-too-rare chance to spend some quality time with my sister. Drunken text messages. Girl bonding over pretzels and salsa. And my last caffeine-fueled drive North from Los Angeles to Camarillo as a Southern California resident.

Though I'll probably see all of these people and all of these places fairly often, there seemed to be something momentous in saying goodbye last weekend. Perhaps it's the awareness that this is a new phase of my life — not just a change in my basic life details, as it would've been had I moved to L.A. — but a whole new era. There was college. There was Ventura County/Santa Barbara. And now there's the San Francisco portion of my development. Growth. Passion. Fulfillment. Manifesting my dreams.

I'm ready.

February 04, 2007 in Regular ol' blog posts | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack (0)

Casey's Funny (...or Shameless Indulgence for Highschool Friends)

Unless you actually know Casey Brown, and by "know" I mean "have spent an evening in her presence, preferably after you've shared a bottle of wine - or three - with her," you probably won't have any interest in the following videos and should just move along. But if you do know Casey, please feel free to indulge in the following moments of candid Casey-ness caught on film at Paige's bachelorette party when Katy thought her camera was on "picture" and not on "film" mode.

Exhibit A

   

No, I don't know what she's doing here, but it's an especially good clip when played over and over and over again.

Exhibit B

   

Casey, Debbie and Roya crack themselves up.

Exhibit C

   

Casey listens. She talks. She drops her cigarette. Meanwhile, Katy does some abstract art thing with her cinematography.

Ah, Casey Lou. How I love and miss that crazy redhead...


January 21, 2007 in Geek Stuff, Regular ol' blog posts | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

Christmas Ketchup. Uh, I mean, Catch-Up.

Wow. Have I really not posted since before Christmas? I guess I've been busier and more distracted than I thought. I'll do the quick catch-up so I can get on with it.

Christmas
It was lovely. Fantastic. I love Christmas. In mid-December, we had our annual family Christmas party (and by annual I mean every single year except the last six) because my childhood friend Katy (I'd link to her myspace page, but she refuses to join the computer age) asked us to and a bunch of my current friends came. We drank mulled wine and sang carols around the piano (for real). The kids did crafts in my teen bedroom and my mom bonded with my friend Jenessa's daughter Olive. There were cheese logs and frosted sugar cookies. It all ended with girltalk on the trundle bed.

Christmas Eve we visited Gary's family in Seal Beach and then raced home for our traditional Christmas Eve take-out Chinese food dinner, movie watching, one-gift opening (this year it was a papier-mached candle holder from my uncle) and pretending to still believe in Santa. ("Mom, when did I find out that Santa wasn't real?" I asked this year. "What do you mean, Santa isn't real?" she said, smiling but refusing to budge. Then she put leftover almond cookies out on the fireplaMomxmas_15ce.)

Christmas Day was a gift orgy, as usual.

My favorites to give:

  1. A set of rainbow-colored phoSpacedance_copyto holders with digital prints of pictures I know my mom doesn't have, includingImg_2314_copy those on the right.
  2. A book about pigeons that was so perfect for Gary I couldn't help but congratulate myself.

My favorites to get:

  1. Blood red Mac lipstick from my sister.
  2. A new camera.
  3. A car full of money. Seriously. (Explanation: one of the items on my wishlist was getting my car's 60,000-mile tune up. So Mom and Gary gave me the money, inside a cardboard-and-felt replica of my car.)

    Img_0021

Img_0025

Strangest gifts given and gotten:

  1. A turtle-shaped finger puppet made of alpaca wool that I gave to my grandfather.
  2. A bottle of liquid cheese spread I got from Grandma Pat.

The balance? I'd say I did pretty well.

New Year's Eve

There isn't much to report between Christmas and New Year's Eve because all I was doing was preparing for my NYE burlesque performance with Andrea, Ali Kat and Heather - as part of Fire Groove - for a party thrown by Dask Productions. That meant rehearsing in Santa Monica, downtown L.A., Burbank, Echo Park and in Hollywood; trying on corsets with stripes and panties with fringe; buying a man's suit; eating lots of Tiger's Milk bars and drinking lots of Red Bull; getting my first Brazilian from the lovely Miss Karen K; and trying to get used to wearing high heels for longer than five minutes.

The party itself was a mainstream Hollywood fete at the Rennaisance Hotel and Kodak Theater. The main attraction was the fire troupe, but somehow it turned out that we, the burlesque dancers, had four performances that night:

  1. A chair dance strip tease to Fergie's "London Bridge" in which we took off, in order: oversized men's suit jacket, suspenders and suit pants, white button-up shirt, tightly-fitted cropped vest and bowler hat, leaving us in fringed white panties and bras.
  2. An improvised number in which Heather and I played dolls (dressed in gorgeous white gowns Ali Kat made) and Ali Kat and Andrea played marionettes, controlled by Free. As Andrew clowned around us, A and A gained control of their strings and freed Heather and I from our dollness - and most of our clothes. (You can see snippets of this performance in this video.)
  3. A group number at midnight in which we all did a small burlesque routine (to the Pussy Cat Dolls "Don't You Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me" and then Ali Kat and I did a duet with two fire-dancing guys to JT's "Sexy Back" before we all counted down with the party's organizer. (Photos below)
  4. A repeat of the chair dance, except this time we ditched the bras and donned sparkly pasties instead. (The first version was taped for T.V., which is why we did it so early, and also why we kept it PG-13). (No photos yet)

I'm sure there are people who would have found the musL_f5c18728b45a54ea3f7ebf7ff41fb250L_c1af492f5518f835ff08ad438b7b6164ic Img_5459_2horrendous, the party boring and the whole thought of doing this on New Year's Eve painfully silly, but I adored it all. It was the perfect mix of my junior high school jazz class recitals and the performances I used to do with Clan Destino. With a paycheck. And besides, I got to ring in the new year with Andrea.Nye

Welcome to 2007

Shortly after the party, I crashed. The flu (or something) relegated me to a life of daytime naps and compuNewyearsdancers2lsive "America's Next Top Model" watching, which gave me lots of time to focus on what comes next: a job interview in San Francisco, a renewed realization that I need more dance (and performance) in my life, a reorganization of priorities, and a decision to make commitments and expend my energy more mindfully.

I was also sent a list of reminders for the new year, all cliched but wise nonetheless. The one on which I've been reflecting the most, though, is this:

  • Never Regret Anything That Made You Smile. In moments like these, in the midst of transition and confusion, in heartache and loneliness, it's easy to wish I'd made decisions earlier in the year which would've brought me less pain at the end of it. But it's a good reminder, however simple, that certain experiences are worth having for the experience itself. And I've had many this year: Love. Passion. Inspiration. Clarity. Confidence. Freedom. The fact that many later led to loss, grief, anger and upheaval doesn't diminish the impact those initial feelings have had on my spirit -- at least, not if I don't let them.

And so here I am in 2007 (three months shy of my 29th birthday) and I'm ready for what it has to offer. Welcome, new year. Welcome, new joy and suffering, inspiration and confusion. Teach me. Push me. Enlighten Me. Show me whatcha got. I can take it.

January 07, 2007 in Regular ol' blog posts | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

Midcentury Molly

As of last night, and until the day after Christmas, I am living in Midcentury bliss. I’m housesitting for friends at their lovely, swank pad in Eagle Rock, a place that positively screams style, leisure and comfortable beauty. Let me explain:

Right now I’m sitting at the outdoor hibachi, listening to the burbling of a fountain (in which fish live, when they aren’t eaten by raccoons), the tinkling of wind chimes and the gentle rustle of the wind moving through the leaves of the numerous plants on the patio. Last night, I sat out here in the hot tub, sipping on Francis Coppola champagne (left for me, wrapped in pink cellophane, by the home’s owners), smoking Chesterfield lights and peering through red-lit Japanese maple leaves to the hills, valleys and radio towers in the distance.

Earlier this week, Heather pointed out that Apryl and David have mastered the purpose of mid-century style – chic, comfortable leisure. And she was right. Being here makes me want to be my swankiest self. I donned my 40s style bathing suit for lsat night’s soak. Today I’m drinking my coffee in blue ruffly bloomers, black knee socks, wedge-heeled boots and a polka-dotted head scarf. Sweats and an oversized T-shirt wouldn’t be appropriate here – and what’s more, it makes me think that they’re not appropriate anywhere. For comfort, maybe. When you have the flu, yes. But wearing this while wandering the halls past the piano and fireplace, past the gold swivel stools attached to the kitchen counter, past the robin’s egg blue office where Apryl does her writing, makes me feel beautiful, sexy, full of life and love and passion. I think of my sister, who believes the purpose of fashion – above impressing other people – is to make you feel good. And right now, I feel connected to the living of my life in a way I never do in my twelve-year-old flannel pajamas.

I don’t know if I’d want a mid-century style house of my own. But I do know that I want a place with cohesive décor, a place that creates a mood not just for my guests but for me. A place that inspires me to dress up when I’m alone, to eat fine chocolate and drink gourmet coffee, a place that reminds me I am already living my fantasy life, I am already who I want to be, and I don’t need to wait for anything – a job, a relationship, a paycheck – to enjoy waking up in the morning.

Oh. I also want cats.

December 21, 2006 in Regular ol' blog posts | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

I'll take your insight and raise you a life change...

This morning I was having a discussion about the astrological concept of Saturn's return with my sister, her bandmate Domo, and my parents. No one but my mom seemed to even consider the concept of astrology governing the chaos and confusion that so many of my 28- and 29-year-old friends are currently plagued with. But they were interested in what I thought the concept was.

So I explained that every 28 years or so, Saturn returns to the place it was in when you were born. And when it does that, you enter a period of deep introspection, re-evaluation and, usually, major life changes. It's painful, I said, but it's ultimately part of your path of becoming your true self. And if you know what's happening and can accept it, it can be profoundly exciting.

They contemplated this. And then Domo had a thought.

"But do you have to wait for Saturn?" he asked. "What if another planet gives you a better deal?"

Ah, "what if" indeed. Perhaps Neptune offers to help you figure out your life at 22 instead of 28? Maybe Mars will take away some of the confusion if you'll agree to accept a little less enlightenment? A tempting thought. But as much as this period of my life is difficult, I wouldn't trade it for anything. I have absolute faith that I'm going to come out the other side happier, more settled and more successful than I've ever been. And I wouldn't give up that longterm gratification for the short-term satisfaction of actually knowing what the hell I'm doing right now.

So come on back, Saturn. Do your magic. Just be gentle, okay?

(And by the way, if you do believe in Saturn's return and need a little help, apparently there's an online support group for dealing with just this phase of life. Of course, it also looks like a way for the site owner's to earn some extra cash, but still...)

December 16, 2006 in Regular ol' blog posts | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

How Jewish Am I?

A few days ago, I had an essay published in the Ventura County Reporter about my experience with Hannukah. The essay's mostly about how Hannukah as we know it is an American invention, and so the fact that I only kind of celebrate it (and always celebrate Christmas) makes me a part of the distinct culture of American Jews.

At the same time, I came across an ad on Craigslist for a couple seeking a Jewish egg donor. They're willing to pay $10,000, which would almost wipe out my debt. In discussing whether six months of taking hormones, undergoing a painful operation, and knowing - for the rest of my life - that my spawn is walking around somewhere, would be worth $10,000, one friend pointed out: "But you're not really Jewish." Which is true. With only my Dad's side of the family Jewish, I'm only half -- and the wrong half, at that.

Both of these led me to the interesting question, How Jewish am I?

I look Jewish. I identify with Jewish culture. Israel might not give me citizenship, but the Nazis certainly would have killed me. (So I may not be a real Jew but I'm a Gas Chamber Jew?) I can read a bit of Hebrew, but I never had a Bat Mitzvah. So, does my Jewishness count?

There's no real answer, of course. It's all up to personal interpretation.

But discussing it with another Jewish friend did bring up a delightful little story about passing a bakery as a child with his mom and his sister. The trio peered in the window and his sister, who was seven years younger than my friend, spied her first doughnut.

"Look, Mom!" she exclaimed, delighted. "Chocolate bagels!"

Now that's Jewish.



December 16, 2006 in Judaica, Regular ol' blog posts | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack (0)

Me + Paris Hilton = BFF

Okay, so that may be an exaggeration. And thank god, because I can't stand that girl except in a morbid-fascination kind of way. But I found out today that Chris Applebaum, the brother of my childhood friend (their mom is one of my mom's best friends), directed Paris in the oh-so-famous Carls Jr. commercial. And in one of her music videos. Apparently, he's directed all kinds of A-listers in all kinds of stuff.

Which makes him almost famous.

Which makes me almost-almost famous.

I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. Demille.

December 12, 2006 in Pop Culture, Regular ol' blog posts | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack (0)

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