Thursday, January 31, 2008

"It's Britney (Again), Bitch!"

It happened again. Minutes before the red microwave numbers flashed 1:00 (AM), she was rolled out of her house...plump full of Adderall and Laxatives (or should I say... once plump full of Adderall and Laxatives). I understand the fascination. We are obsessed, as a society, with watching the decline or the spiral of those who once seemed to have it all. It makes us feel better to know that fame pays a heavy price and you can't sit on top of the world forever, without falling at some point. It makes us feel better to know that those who seem so innocent...really aren't. As much as we want those around us to succeed, if suddenly their success comes to a screaching halt and they are swallowed by a big wave of defeat...we act shocked...surprised...upset...saddened...but, the little voice that lives inside our heads whispers, "I knew it couldn't last forever"..."She wasn't all that good anyway"..."At least I'm not the only loser"...
But, in this case, the truth is...the victim is just a kid. A scared, lonely, confused, self-harming kid who unfortunatley has kids of her own. So I tell myself, do something different this time. Instead of slowing down in the fast lane to sneek a glimpse of the train wreck's casulties...speed up...keep your eyes on the road...say a prayer for those involved. But instead, I rush to TMZ and scan every article, every blog...I open attachments entitled Britney's boobs and enlarge all six pictures...I rewind my TIVO and watch twice when CNN shows the helicopter footage of her being rushed from her Mulholland Drive home...I am worse then some, but not as bad as others. I justify my obsession because I live in LA and shrug it off because of what I do for a living...but the truth is...not too long ago...that was me (minus the fame and the see through wardrobe). I was the girl being wheeled from her house, I was the self-harming girl feeling scared, lonely, and confused...we all were at one time or another. Maybe that is why we are so obsessed...at least that's what I'll keep telling myself.

Not So Great Icepectations

I hate being wrong. And it seems like it's so often that I am. At the moment of realization it's especially bad. That light bulb goes off and I figure it out, and for a moment there's an embarrassing clarity. I think it's a hard lesson for me to learn that people aren't going to act how I expect them to act. Everyone is coming from a different place and has different modes of operation. So I shouldn't get upset when someone doesn't conform to my own ways of doing things. I guess someone I know is right when he keeps mentioning "managing expectations". When it comes to other people, they're going to do whatever they're going to do and I can either deal with it or not.
I don't know why it's such a big deal. I kind of live my life on doing what I want to and not expecting other people judge me for it. I get mad when people hold me to some kind of standard of how I should act. But still, there I am, doing it other people and thinking nothing of it. Double standard. Hypocrite. The old "I just expected more from you". But there are no excuses.
I guess the only person I can have expectations for is myself. I think I've spent a long time expecting nothing from myself and everything from everyone else. It's probably just a way to keep from doing the harder of the two.
Which brings me to ice skating. Ice skating. I decided to take ice skating lessons. I'm in the pre-Alpha A class. It's not even Alpha, it's before that. I started a few weeks ago and felt somewhat comfortable skating around as other wobbled around me. But then things got harder. I realized that after I struggled, I was much less excited to go to class. I think part of me only wanted to go if I knew I could excel and once things got hard I didn't expect to do any better and I just wanted to give up. But I went anyway (mostly because I have this thing about missing classes). We were doing crossovers, which I couldn't do last week to save my life. But I skated and skated around in our little circle at the end of the ice rink. And after a few minutes, it clicked in. I was doing crossovers. They weren't pretty but it was a start. I was ready to give up a week before because I didn't expect to do it, and there I was crossing over.
I think I've lived my life taking my expectations for myself and thrusting them on to other people. I've stayed small-time because it's safe while others around me took chances. I hope one day I can stop expecting so much from everyone else and so much more from myself.

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

London

What if, you have had a rough year...a year like no other? A year that tested you more then you ever dreamed of, more then you ever signed up for. What if, you lost those you loved...accepted the accusation that you weren't fun anymore...ended a relationship? What if, you were walking through the park in a foreign country with an associate you recently began calling a friend, and you fell? Fell into a manhole with a loose cover for a lid and tore all the ligaments in your pathetic, unreliable leg. What if this left you on crutches with a soft cast? What if you still had to fly home with these crutches and soft cast...what if the hard cast was waiting for you in your home country? Tell me...would you invite a perfect stranger...someone you have watched across an open room...someone with whom you have shared no more then 30 minutes of conversation, to carry your bags, share your peanuts, and sit with you on an 11 hour flight over the Atlantic? And if you were that person...would you go?

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Floating

Today, I feel like I am floating above watching my life happen and wondering why I am not a contributing member. Today, my work was pulled apart and ripped to shreds by the mouths and hands of those in higher positions. Today, I felt like the world was conspiring against me, but I had no evidence to prove this accusation. Today, my puppy got into a fight with a tiny French bulldog over a stuffed toy. Today, I realized that if these are my only problems...I have a lot to be grateful for.

I W A N T O U T

I am going to my happy place.
Where is that?
I don't know where I want to go.
I think it might be anywhere but here.
It's been raining again and I imagine being at home as the rain falls and watching movies and tennis and television and eating chocolate chip cookies.
I remember some of my favorite weekends were when it was raining and I never left my bed.
There are too many voices talking.
There are none I want to listen to.
Am I hard headed?
Do I not want to hear thoughts that aren't my own?
Am I jealous of my lack of involvement?
Maybe some of us are meant for less and not more.

I can see dark clouds over the waves on the beach.
I want to be sitting on the sand, wrapped in a blanket with nowhere to be.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

The Windstorm

Last night, there was a ladder in the fast lane of the 134. Not a step ladder or one you have hidden behind your stove to reach the top shelves in your kitchen...a heavy duty, metal work ladder...tall enough to rescue a cat from a elm tree or retrieve a football from the gutter of your neighbor's two-story. I slowed down to avoid the collision and quickly swerved into the other lane as the wind storm gently lifted the ladder like a plastic bag only to forcefully drop it seconds later. And I wondered, is that what life does to us at times? Picks us up gently and carries us, only to drop us into a parade of oncoming traffic? If that is the case...I think I would prefer to just stay on the ground.

Howard's End

There's a huge poster for "Howard's End" up on the wall and I wonder how Petricia will react to it. I think it's a great poster and I love the movie. I know most people aren't fans of long, slow, period movies set in England, but for me they're the bees knees. I could watch "Howard's End," "The Remains of the Day," "A Room with a View," or any similar movie over and over again.
There's these two guys I've been house-sitting for for the past 2 years. I've been over to watch their dogs and take care of things about six times. "Howard's End" is DVR'd in their bedroom. I always watch it. I put it on, lie in bed, and am mesmerized. There's something about falling asleep in the middle of the afternoon with the sun shining and a movie on that's kind of like heaven. And only a few movies can bring about that amazing sensation. They have to be calm and soothing and when you're waking up and falling back asleep they have to be good enough to keep your attention but not jarring enough to where you can't doze in and out.
The "Howard's End" poster has a history. I think it's rare because it's not paper, it's plastic. It was discovered in the depths of the basement at Tower Video at 383 Lafayette Street in New York City. I worked there and there was this whole off-limits basement area that connected some of the buildings. It was alarmed and you could never go through the door that led to it. One day some cleaning up had to be done, so the alarms were shut off and we went back to see what was in some of the rooms. There were a bunch of unused rooms and in one of them there were a bunch of old TVs and light boxes that used to hang around the store to display posters. One of them still had the "Howard's End" poster in it. I guess when they were taking them down, no one wanted it. Even when people were taking things out of the rooms in the basement, no one wanted it except for me. I was so excited to discover it. So I grabbed it, rolled it up and it's been with me ever since.
The guys I house-sit recently moved into another house. I wonder if the movie is still on their DVR. And Tower Video went out of business a while ago. Last time I was in New York, I walked by and saw that it was an NYU building.
But now the "Howard's End" poster hangs on the wall at work. It's more than a poster. It's a reminder of that exciting sense of discovery. And lazy days that always seem the height of perfection when I remember them.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Petricia

I love being teacher's pet. I always have. In 10th grade, my English teacher, Mrs. Baker loved me and we would sit around for some classes and just talk about entertainment issues. She had a free period after our class and sometimes I would stay well into that and she'd write me a note excusing me for being late to German.
So, when someone else usurps my position as teacher's pet, it's devastating. Why aren't I the one being told secrets? Why aren't I the one being consulted for special projects and the like? Is there something wrong with me? Am I not saying the right things? Acting the right way?
I don't know the answer, but I do know that someone I'll call "Petricia" is stealing my limelight. She's so glamorous and good at what she does and puts me to shame. And she has this attitude that people pay attention to and when she talks people actually listen. When I talk, it's usually just to myself. Anyway, I guess I'll have to settle for second place. For now.

A Forehanded Compliment

I got an email recently from someone I played tennis with. It seems that a co-worker he had never seen before stopped him at work and mentioned that he and his friend were at the same courts we were playing at over the weekend. He asked how the match went and then complimented my forehand. I'd like to play it cool, but in all truth, when someone notices your shot, it's quite an ego boost. To me anyway.
I just thought I would put it out there.
It's kind of a big deal.
To me.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

New Year...New You

Every year, around this time, I make a decision to do things differently. Exercise more, step out of my comfort zone, finish my unfinished manuscripts, live each day to the fullest, move to Africa and change the world one orphan at a time…you get the picture. And every year, around this time, I think back to what I actually accomplished the year before…how I did things differently. Unfortunately, my list is usually short. Sure, I manage to red pen a line through a couple painless tasks, ie. getting a puppy, landing a “real” job, joining a gay tennis league. But, anything that requires real effort on my part is forgotten or left for next year’s resolution list. So, tonight (while watching the season premiere of American Idol), I will sit on the floor with my magazines and my poster board and create my vision board for 2008. But, this year feels different…at least for now. Maybe it was the loss of my niece, the toll it took on my sister, my parents, me…the awareness of how short life is and the realization that the phrase “live life to the fullest” is much more then just a cliché. This year, I really am making a decision to do things differently…at least for now anyway.

Monday, January 14, 2008

Pleased as Punch

When you know someone who comes through when they really aren't in the mood to, it's a such a great thrill. I must say, that as one that flakes out, it's always impressive when someone puts it on the line and does what they said they were going to do. I think it's good for me to see because in the end all those little victories and steps one takes are ways of setting up to be ready for the big one whenever it comes. Like tennis--you try to set up your shots so then when you have the opportunity for the winner, you're more prepared to make it.

Friday, January 11, 2008

FEAR

Today...Fear is on my mind. Not fear like; "Is the ancient, giant craftsman that sits next door to us haunted with evil, angry spirits who, at any moment, could fly through the right upstairs window and devour me with just their breath" (not that I haven't considered that possibility). Fear like; "Is the pill rolling that my dad does with his fingers an early symptom of Parkinson's?" or "Is my moms inability to come up with the word dementia, because she herself is in the early stages?" or "Is the Middleastern man sitting next to me on the red eye jiggling his leg nonstop because he is afraid to fly or because he is nervous he won't be able to retrieve the knife he has stitched into his left forearm?" I go further with the fear when I make a conscience effort to be overly nice to the gentleman sitting to my left in the hopes that we will bond, if even for an instance, and he will let me escape with a parachute above Colorado before he takes the plane down in Los Angeles.
I can only assume that most of these fears stem from the year 2007 and all the heartache and devastation it brought to my family. I understand that most of these fears are not rational and the likelihood of their occurrence is slim...and yet, I consider the possibility. So, just in case...I research Parkinson's on the Internet and I offer one dark skinned United passenger my snack box when he wakes from his 2 hour nap.
Yeah, I know all the sayings...I've read all the books...Fear is not my friend...and it is certainly no way to live. So, tomorrow I'll try to stay in the moment, and put Faith first, and know that everything is going to be okay. But, just in case...I'll probably still sprint the short block from the old, white Craftsman to my front door.

Too Many Cooks in the Kitchen

Writing by committee sucks. I don't care how I prepare myself and I don't care how much I tell myself it doesn't matter.
I realize that a lot of times people have a lot of helpful information, but it all comes down to intention. I don't think anyone can really understand someone's inner motivation and reasoning as to why they write what they write. I'm more than willing to take criticism. Explain to me why you think something should be changed and I'll decide whether it works for me or not. I'm more than willing to make changes. But I hate when someone just hacks away willy-nilly on something that started out as mine. I think part of it is the loss of control--the letting go of something that belonged to me when I'm not ready to let it go. And part of it is wanting the final product to be a reflection of my choices and my style, not some bastardized version of it. I'd rather the mistakes be mine than someone else's.
Honestly, sometimes it feels like I'm sitting on the ground while someone throws up all over me.
And I don't normally enjoy that.

Thursday, January 10, 2008

Now I Can Sleep In On Saturdays

When I was six years old, on Saturday mornings, when other kids were watching cartoons and filling their mother's mixing bowl with Captain Crunch, I wore a Speedo and dove into the icy blue ocean at the YMCA. Granted, it wasn't really an ocean, but when you were six...the indoor pool at the Y, felt like the Atlantic. I would wake up late, force down a bowl of Grape Nuts (no sugar cereal allowed in our house), fake a stomach ache, and pray that just this once...my mom would buy it and I wouldn't have to walk the plank of death (aka; the low diving board). But, it never happened. Every Saturday morning for eight years was seen through the foggy lenses of my leaky, bright blue goggles. And in the ninth year...I joined the Mustang Swim Team and breaststroked my way to a varsity letter.
So...thanks mom, for turning on my light when I wanted to sleep in...for spending your Saturdays on the shaky, wet bleachers watching your anxiety filled daughter walk the plank of death. Thanks for wanting me to not have to be afraid...afraid like you were...and still are.
And now on Saturdays...I can sleep late and fill mixing bowls with sugar cereal. But, I usually don't. I'll let you know what I decide this week.

Waffling

When someone takes the steps to do something for themselves, but the thing they are doing excites you as well, it's fun. But when that same person changes their mind, it's disappointing. I know it's not my life to lead, but I can't help but be a little sad when I was looking forward to a certain someone joining a tennis league I'm on and that same someone starts waffling on whether she's going to take the necessary steps to actually do it. I won't like her any less if she doesn't do it, but it leads me to wonder what's really going on inside her head. Is she scared? Nervous? Fearful? Busy? Over it? She said she doesn't want to go for the initial ranking because she hasn't played in a while,but I say why not. It's a couple hours out of a Saturday and tennis is one of those lifetime sports. And you only get better the more you play. Whatever she chooses, I'm here for her.

Monday, January 7, 2008

*Title Changed*

The rain falls for days and Los Angeles is clean for a moment. But the things that really need cleaning still have a sheen of dirt. Those things seem to stay the same no matter what happens--those passive-aggressive digs and ways of keeping control. I know there's a reason for everything, but it gets frustrating when you think that you might not figure out that reason until years down the line.
It seems that people go about things in completely different ways but the results are the same. One person will make jokes about how bad the things you do are, another will just take away the work you've done and replace it with a product that's somewhat... lacking. And in the end, you're left unsatisfied.
On the way to work this morning, a woman was smoking in her car with the window cracked open. She flicked her ashes out as she drove and threw out her cigarette butt when she finished. Even if the sheen of dirt is washed away, some people find a way to reapply it.

Friday, January 4, 2008

I Need To Get My Act Together...

But instead, I wander...or wonder...or both. I butter my bagel and hum wedding marches. I listen to the annoying voice that echoes from the room next door, "Cross breeze denied!" My TV is on, the stringout ready for viewing...but there is blogging to be done and presents to be delivered. Did you know that Betty Crocker makes birthday candles? Does she have molds in her kitchen next to the bundt pans and the Kitchen Aid mixer? I wish I was that motivated...I wish I wore an apron and and my name blanketed store shelves.

Honey Ryan [A poem]

No! It's not terrible
And you don't need specifics.
You should
Clear your mind
And listen to the sound.
I mean, in general, it's
Honey--
Sweet--
Honey--
Ryan--
And it's wonderful.

Thursday, January 3, 2008

Young Boys and Melon Biceps

Sitting next to someone who reacts with such a hostile tone, is a difficult task. Difficult...but, not impossible. Not impossible for someone who brings such a compassionate, understanding vision to the table. Not impossible for someone who offers so much to the young, melon-bicepped, gay lads who are lucky enough to share not only a life...but a room, with this wise woman who nurtures them and holds them tight. Think twice before you lash out with that filthy, protein powdered tongue.

Honey Ryan

I, for one, think "Honey Ryan" is a brilliant title. I think it's snazzy and mysterious and somewhat elusive. It makes you think. I apologize if others can't see it.
In other news, some people get jealous when others bring stacks of papers to you because they are secretly in love with you. Don't be jealous. Someday, someone will bring stacks of papers to you.