Tuesday, September 30, 2008

I Dreamed of Malibu

A always comes in with her stories of restaurants she's enjoyed.
"The best macaroni and cheese, EVER!"
"The best hummus, EVER!"
"Great French fries, amazing seafood!"
It goes on and on.
I've never been one to eat out much. In fact, right now, I'm eating cottage cheese for dinner. I think it stems from my childhood. My parents didn't take us out to dinner much, but when they did it was a BIG deal. It didn't matter if the restaurant was McDonald's or the local Air Force base's Officer's Club, it was a time for excitement. On birthdays, me and my brothers and sisters were allowed to choose the restaurant we wanted to go to. My older sister would always pick Red Lobster and I never failed to be shocked when I saw the prices, wondering how anyone could afford to eat there.
Anyway, it's a habit that's stayed 'til this day. My recent time with B has made me go out to eat a lot more than normal, but I'm still hesitant about new places. I guess it's weird because I love food and I love eating. But it's still rare when I want to just go somewhere. And even when I do, it's not like I need to do it at right that moment. (It took months for me to finally fill my craving for Polish food by going to Polka in Glendale.)
For some reason, today I was dreaming of The Reel Inn in Malibu, which A had told me about weeks ago, raving about the fun atmosphere and good food. I wanted to go. I wanted to go immediately. A and I started plotting. We debated the 405 versus the 101, we wondered how much time we needed. We estimated the amount of traffic on the highways at different times. All that plotting... for nothing. The plans fell through due to work complications and A went on break by herself while I just went to the gym.
So, I'm left dreaming of Malibu.
I'm left dreaming of The Reel Inn.

Monday, September 29, 2008

Timing

It's all about timing. It's all about the when. At least, I tell myself that.
Yesterday, when I was hitting with B, things felt right and I felt it was all about the timing: getting myself to the right place, swinging at the right time. Asking my boss about moving to another job in the middle of the season--that was definitely bad timing. Meeting B when I did, after months of soul searching--that was good timing (at least for me, at first it seemed like he wanted more time to do his own soul searching, but luckily he cut it short).
I don't think things are coming together for me because I'm still not ready for them to come together. I forget that my one goal needs to be figuring out what it is I really want. Sometimes I feel like I'm flailing around, hoping to catch on to something. Part of timing is being prepared. I'm not prepared, but I want to be. I just wish I knew what questions I should be asking. And I wish I was brave enough to really answer the ones I do ask.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

Revenge (6-2)

I was nervous coming into today's match, but I think my opponent was more nervous. He had beaten me at the beginning of the season and it was on him to win. I was able to play pretty well, but he was constantly going for crazy drop shots and lucky for me, he was missing. The beginning was pretty tense, I had 3 break points that I couldn't convert and thought it was going to be a repeat of last time. But I steadied myself and was able to play a good mix of offense and defense.
Doubles was exciting too. It was a back and forth battle that ended in a tie-break and we won 7-6 (5) for mine and my partner's first doubles win of the season.
B won his singles and was still in the mood to play afterwards, so we went to John Burrows High School in Burbank and played some more. I was smacking the crap out of the ball and it was going in and wondering why I can't play like that during league. I guess the day I figure that out is the day the mysteries of the world come clear to me.

An Hour I Won't Soon Forget

I went to a shooting range in Van Nuys on Thursday. I knew it was a bad idea from the start, but I pushed through anyway, not wanting to disappoint MH, whom I had been promising I would go since last season.
The morning before our adventure had been filled with emotions. My boss, K, and I had been in the trenches...so to speak. We were in the midst of a battle involving "the poaching" (not my words) of K and I to another show within the same company. There was anger, stress, and hurt feelings swirling around our fish bowl. There were doors being slammed and feet being stomped. There were raised voices and closed door meetings. It was a bad day to be doing anything, let alone holding a firearm.
The shooting range wasn't what I had expected. I think I was picturing something more glamorous, maybe it was because K had said, "You be Jodie Foster in The Brave One, and I'll be Jodie Foster in The Silence of the Lambs," or Vice Versa. This place was in a back alley, shoved between rows of mom and pop auto repair shops with men wearing sword earrings and goatees and one piece jumpsuits. I could hear the gun shots from the tiny parking lot and I knew I was in trouble.
I felt like I was floating above watching someone else's adventure as MH picked the gun from the glass case and told us to sign our names on the X. On the wall in front of us multi colored stuffed animals hung on nails like they were at a Carnival dart toss. I guess some people prefer shooting an object. We opted for paper targets with the outline of a man stenciled in black. MH instructed me to grab earplugs plus eye and ear protection and we headed to our lane in the farthest corner of the backroom. In the other corner of the room, three Asian guys took turns firing a giant gun and I watched them and wondered, what are they doing at a shooting range in Van Nuys at 1pm on a Thursday? My mouth became dry and the black walls began closing in on me as I stared blankly at MH as he mouthed words I couldn't hear. He handed me a bullet and wanted me to put it into something that to me resembled an extra large metal Pez dispenser. My hand shook and I knew I was not present...I knew I had checked out to protect myself....I knew I had to abandon ship. I again looked at the Asian guys across the room and realized that at any moment they could easily turn and fire their giant gun at me and I wondered, what am I doing at a shooting range in Van Nuys at 1pm on a Thursday? I left the boys to play with their guns and I staggered outside to wait in the 100 degree San Fernando Valley heat. The cool air conditioned lobby beckoned me, but I knew even that was too close to the action. I sat on the burning pavement for an hour, talking on my cell phone and watching the parade of men entering and exiting the building with black bags and shotguns.
Soon, my boys emerged proudly carrying their shot up paper targets like prized deer or pheasants. They patted me on the back and presented me with my empty target as a remembrance of the day. S now has it hanging on the wall of his office. MH wanted to write "One Day" at the top next to my name. I guess he still thinks that "one day" I will unload some rounds at the Van Nuys shooting range. I suppose you never know. Maybe "one day" I'll want to relive one of the most uncomfortable hours of my life....strangers things have happened
.

Saturday, September 27, 2008

Hidden Treasure

Little did I know when I started ice skating that I'd end up in San Gabriel in someone's garage on a hot Saturday as my ice skates got sharpened.
It started during my stroking and edges class on Wednesday. Miss ML was helping me with my outside edges as I was skidding across the ice.
"You should not be skating on those!" she said and recommended Jerry A, the guy who sharpens her skates. She gave me his number after class and warned me that he kept "chicken farmer hours" and not to call after 4 PM.
I had B call Jerry A this morning around 11 AM. I could hear Jerry on the other end of the phone. He sounded grumpy and said he had closed for the day. Bummer.
The phone rang a few minutes after B had hung up and I handed it back to him.
"It's him," I said.
"How do you know?" B asked, since the number was blocked.
I gave him a look that said, "I know things."
It was Jerry A and he said he had misread the clock and what time could we get there. B took down directions and we drove off down the 134. I had thought Jerry A was based out of an ice rink, but I was pretty wrong. We drove for a while and ended up at a dead end street looking for a house with red bricks. Jerry A saw us from inside and waved us down. We went to his back garage and heard his story.
Years ago, Jerry A's daughter had a bad fall on the ice requiring 22 stitches on her chin. The fall was due to a bad sharping of her skates. After that, Jerry A decided to take matters into his own hands. He ordered a machine to sharpen skates and flew out a professional from Colorado for a day to show him how to use it.
Jerry A measured and took look after look at my skates, he adjusted the hollow and bite angle and did other technical stuff. He said that the blades had been sharpened for someone who was about 65 pounds and, no offense, but he didn't think that was exactly right for me. He was sweet and nice and informative. He explained that after B called, he remembered that next week was an important competition and that skaters would be calling him for sharpening like crazy and it was probably much better for us to come today. We talked about a lot of things and I loved thinking how he probably had no intention of sharpening any one's skates but his daughter's, but word probably got around and he ended up doing a lot of sharpening. Now he's probably retired and his daughter is grown up with kids of her own, but he's still sharpening skates. He had little notes all around the garage mixed in with pictures of his daughter. It said to call anytime after 6 AM but never after 4 PM because he and "his boss" liked to take their evening meal at 4 PM.
I love thinking that Jerry A is a hidden treasure in a neighborhood in San Gabriel. That somehow I started skating and took a class and my teacher referred me to him and I actually went and now I'm a little part of probably a much bigger and more interesting story. I mean, how many people have huge, complex machines that can only be used to sharpen skates in their back garage? It was a great surprise and a nice little reminder of how sometimes little discoveries can be the most beautiful things in life.

Corina, Corina

I saw a 50/50 Bar today and thought of you,
Corina, Corina
Like the movie when she blows the stoplights green.
I pick you up in alley
With your straggly hair and unkempt way.
I honk twice and you appear
Stumbling from the trailer where you sleep...or toss and turn
Covering your ears from the voices,
Hiding your eyes from the spiders that crawl on your small frame.
We park by the ice cream truck
And I remember Iowa in the summer.
I remember Ann Murray spinning on the record player
And a twelve-year-old me prompting her with the words.
I blink and I am back.
Back to this filthy, black California street corner with you,
Corina, Corina.
You walk towards me with two 50/50 bars
And we lean against the Chevy
And wait for the man with the face.
The face I see at night in my sleep
As I lie there tossing and turning,
Covering my ears from the voices,
Hiding my eyes from the spiders that crawl on my small frame.
He brings us what we crave
And I give you your share
And suddenly, I know that I don't need you anymore.
Or is it this that I don't need anymore...
Or is that the problem...
Do I need you,
Need this,
Need the man with the face
More than I want to imagine.
I hear the ice cream truck
And I remember Iowa in the summer.
I remember her nails digging into my suntanned skin
As our mouths opened and we laughed with no sound
At the lady with the Cocker Spaniel hair.
My legs ache
And I blink and see you,
Corina, Corina.
I drive you back to the alley
But you can't even wait.
It is out and open in my car
And you are someone that I don't know.
I look at you.
I mean,
I really look at you.
Not through you,
But into you.
And I'm scared at what I see.
I see me.

Friday, September 26, 2008

K & A & A Gun

In retrospect, it probably wasn't the best idea given the week we've had--full of tension and uncertainty and mixed emotions. Both A and I had agreed months ago to go to the shooting range with MH, who has an interest in such things. I've been cautiously interested, but it wasn't like I was constantly asking when we were going to the shooting range. An email was sent to me along with a post-it on my desk saying we were going on Thursday.
Thursday came around and MH took myself, A and BFH. I was nervous and walking in made me more nervous. Hearing the gun shots was horrible. They were freaking loud even with the earplugs and earmuffs. MH arranged everything as A was beginning her freak out. She decided not to partake and I considered joining her outside in the hot Van Nuys sun, but I felt I could push through.
I did push through. MH went through a detailed guide to shooting and it took me a lot of breaths and trying not to freak out to be ready for my turn. I was shaky and nervous and tense. I kept locking my elbows when I was told to relax and be loose. The first shot was jarring. It felt like it took a lot of effort just to have a semblance of control. It was loud and the kick back was stronger than I expected although I was prepared for it. The second round of bullets was a little more comfortable, but I never felt at ease and didn't like being so close to other people shooting.
I'm glad I did it, but I don't think I'll be going back anytime soon. It didn't feel like that much of a release and was more frightening that relaxing. It felt dangerous, but I'm glad I've felt the reality of what it's like to fire a gun a couple times. But I think I'll stick to doing it in video games.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

For Numb, Press 1

The emotions are swirling around the office and beyond like nobody's business. At this point, everyone seems drained as we constantly careen from mad to sad to angry to frustrated to nervous to scared to happy to dead inside to resentful to bewildered and all around and back again and everything in between. There were heads on desk, constant moans of exasperation. And that's including people not even directly involved in the drama.
I think my brain pressed the numb button at some point. It's like that pain response one's body does when it's attacked, it just knows to shut down and spare the suffering. Yeah, it's going to hurt later and take a lot of time to repair, but if it didn't shut down one would probably die. My mind is taking as much as it can in and just refusing to process it. I'll be talking and suddenly start blabbering or be on the verge of tears or get angry or be speechless because I don't know how to clear up the different streams of emotions and information I've been a part of in the last day.
At this point, it seems like everyone is settling with unhappiness or going to be forced with settling with it. No one is going to walk away from this ordeal a winner. Everyone is being punished, even though most of the situation involved only a small percent of maliciousness.
Two expressions have been coming to mind lately:
"Be careful what you wish for," and "You reap what you sow."

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Worst. Wednesday. Ever.

Ugh. Numb again. I was angry before, and before that sad. Before that I was fine. It's up and down and down and up.
Today should be a day of reflection, and there was some good, but there was also some bad. I guess you just count on people to have your best interests in mind and to do right when you let them know what you want. I want support. I want understanding. And I wish support and understanding to the people in my life--
I had to take a little mini break because Herbert just plopped down in front of me and demanded I stop whining and start petting.
--Anyway, I am going to reflect. Today I had a long talk with DW. I heard things I didn't necessarily want to hear and I said things I didn't necessarily want to say. Despite the whole messy work situation I'm in, I think I've made baby steps. A couple of years ago, I might have just let things pass and kept my mouth shut. But today I said what I wanted to say. I expressed myself and had a discussion and a "point of view." The world didn't stop spinning. I allowed myself to take up space. It didn't resolve anything, but it felt good to hear and express the truth.
People can only disrespect you as much as you disrespect yourself.
I was honest with someone today and I'm going to try to continue to be honest with myself.
Next to an amazing Hannah Montana card, a very thoughtful postcard from "Tori" herself, some Herbert love, lots of boxes of Suddenly Salad and some nice "Happy Wednesdays," that's about the best present I could ask for.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

What Falls Away

So, today it all came crashing down. My best laid plans, my ideas about life, my hopes, my dreams, my opinions of certain people--they were put in the light of day. Actually, it wasn't that dramatic. There's a job I want, I was told I couldn't have it. It sucks. I was mad, I was bitter, I was nervous, I was uncertain. But through it all, something happened. Despite an attack of madness last night, I was somewhat composed. Despite heated discussion, raised voices and some unbalanced brain chemicals, I was able to stay mostly calm. Despite some rambling and random statements, I was able to make some decent points.
At the gym during my lunch break, I listened to my iPod and I heard Bonnie Raitt singing. And LeAnne Womack singing. And Gene Wilder singing "Pure Imagination."
I thought to myself ,"What do my job problems matter when there are people singing these songs?"
I came home and watched my DVR'd "Gossip Girl." It was a really good episode. I love Serena's turn to the dark side.
I thought to myself, "What does it all matter when 'Gossip Girl' is this good?"
B, tired from a full night and day and night at work along with driving his mom to the airport, was somewhat delirious and he leaned his head on my shoulder and smiled at me.
"I'll do what I can to do well. I'll let the pieces fall where they fall. I'll work to make better choices. I'll stand up for myself and let my voice be heard," I thought, "I'll try to make sure to take care of what really counts first and not waste energy on people or situations that don't deserve my time in the first place."

Monday, September 22, 2008

Stuck

I'm at work, stuck. Waiting. It's B's mom's last night in town and I think they wanted to go out to dinner, but I guess I'm not going with them. You make sacrifices for work and wonder if they're worth it. Especially when it sometimes seems that the people you're sacrificing for wouldn't stick up for you when they had the chance to.
There's a person I know who keeps saying "At the end of their life, no one looks back and wishes they'd have worked more." We all know it, but I'm still here, waiting on other people so I can do my job and get home to the more important things in life.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Holly Golightly on a Tennis Court (6-3)

We lost doubles in quick fashion. We went down 6-1, although I felt I was playing well and making some good shots, especially because I haven't been playing that much.
It wasn't long before I was up for my singles match. I was so nervous. I even felt shaky. Things started out normal with both of us holding serve, but then something took hold of me. I willed myself to take it easy, not get stressed out and just try to play. For once it worked, I was skipping around and my shots were doing what I wanted them to do. Weird backhand slice drop shots, the loopy but safe forehand, the serve, the backhand down the line, passing shots, things were clicking in a way they normally don't. As I changed sides, two of the guys watching were giggling.
"Why are you laughing at me?" I asked, assuming the topic of conversation was me.
"We can't tell you right now. We'll tell you later," one of them said.
Things went on fine, until I was up 5-2. During the game, the woman I was playing asked me how old I was. I didn't want to tell and she made some comment about it. I tried to laugh it off, but I was thinking about it. I had match points in that game, but didn't win any of them. I was broken for the first time. I was somewhat worried but tried to calm down. The next game got even stickier. I had more match points but couldn't convert. I didn't know whether to play safe or aggressive, to junk ball or swing out. Luckily, she was being aggressive and I was forced into defensive mode, scrambling for a hard volley away from me and hitting a strange slice-lob over her head. It got to 2nd deuce, which is a sudden death point. I somehow found a way to be aggressive and won the point and the set on what I think was my 5th or 6th match point. Luckily it didn't go any further, I don't know what would have happened if it had.
Yikes, that match was a little of everything. Hitting well and effortless. Hitting well through nerves. Succumbing to nerves and hitting badly. Playing passively and missing easy shots. And some luck.
After the match, I went up to the guys who were giggling at me earlier.
"What were you laughing at?" I asked again.
"I just said, 'You have a very Holly Golightly way of playing tennis.' And then he said 'I can see him in a little black dress and pearls.'"
"I'll take that as a compliment," I laughed.
At least through all the inner torment and tribulations, I can look like I'm just having fun.

The Americana at Bland

I am convinced that the owners of the new Americana at Brand are filling the air with pleasant smells from our youth like homemade chocolate chip cookies and powdered Tang. I wouldn't be surprised to find that 'feel good' herbs like St. John's Wort and Ginseng were being pushed through misters for all the shoppers to inhale. No matter how much I have tried to hate it, tried to find every flaw in the Stepford Wives flavored buildings and overly manicured grass, the minute I step off the escalator, I find a spring in my step and a smile on my face that hasn't been seen since last November.
They have pulled me in to their fantasy. I have drunk their kool-aid. I ride the trolley and stroll through the brick paved alleys pretending I am in a Euopean Village (a European Village with Jody Maroni's and Pinkberry). I buy tops I don't like and fill bags with shoes I'll only wear in my living room. I feel depressed after leaving and have to take to my bed wearing my new wardrobe, asking myself once again, "What just happened?"
This happened to me when The Grove first opened as well. However this seems more severe. At least The Grove is in West Hollywood and has loads of good people watching. My new 'feel good' locale is in Glendale and is overrun with tweens and salespeople from The Mile of Cars.

Pre-Match Jitters

I don't know why I care, but I do. I've barely played tennis in the last three weeks and have a match today with one of the better players on my level. I just want to do well, to hit the ball, but who knows. After last week's loss, my confidence is low and I feel a little at sea. It's strange how things can just turn around. I can blame it all on not playing too much or not feeling well, but the truth is, my head can't wrap itself around doing what it takes to win. Last weeks loss was a feeble effort lacking in intelligent play. I was just out-hit and didn't know how to respond. It makes me worry that the only wins I've had lately are from other people having worse times with their nerves. I don't know, the nerves are back and I want them to go away. At ice skating on Wednesday was so nervous my legs were shaking. It all goes back to the pressure I put on myself wanting to do well. Miss ML said it's best to do things stupid, to not think about them. I guess my goal should be to be stupid today.

Saturday, September 20, 2008

Withholding

We all do it, for whatever reasons. I'm not a fan and I'm going to try to limit how much I do it to other people. Sometimes it's emotions, sometimes it's information, sometimes it's affections. I think I do it mostly because I'm worried about how other people are going to react to what I do. I waste a lot of time worrying about how I perceive other people will perceive me. It's a lesson I still need to learn. Lately I've been disappointed by people withholding things from me because of those reasons. I'm going to try to limit disappointing people with withholding. I need to take my own advice.

Friday, September 19, 2008

Life is Not a Lemonade Stand

There once was a boy who had a lemonade stand. He woke up early in the morning and made the lemonade fresh from lemons all by himself, constantly testing the mixture until it was perfect. He made sure to add the sugar slowly because once it's in, it doesn't come out. He strained the lemonade of its seeds and kept the ice on the side, so it wouldn't melt and dilute the amazing lemonade. He set up a stand outside his house. He advertised. He waited all day, but there were no customers.
So he sat... and sat.
And slowly he realized he was the only one drinking his lemonade. By the end of the day it was all gone, with no customers to show for it.
The boy's next door neighbor, B, who had been observing the situation came outside and looked at the boy.
"Life is not a lemonade stand," B said and walked off.
A, who lived down the street, saw the exchange while she was walking her naughty Golden Retriever, Liver. With a tool belt holding her pants up, A and Liver sauntered by the stand as the boy was packing up.
"Life is not a lemonade stand. By the way, have you seen my new phone?"
She didn't wait for an answer, she continued to eat the ice cream sandwich that was melting in her hand, trying not to let it drip on her dog's leash. Liver, wild and untamed, loosed herself from her owner's distracted hand and crashed into the lemonade stand, knocking the fragile structure down.
"Woof," barked Liver.
As the boy looked into Liver's eyes, he knew what the dog meant.
"Life is not a lemonade stand."

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Tori Amos & Me (Again)

JG called to let me know that I am a star in a little feature that Amoeba Records did to document Tori Amos's signing there. And by star, I mean you can see me for a few seconds talking to her. It's not much but it's exciting to me! At 2:25 prepare to see me trying not to have a break down as I talk to Tori Amos!

I Will Not Be Dead Again

Last night's dream involved Laurence Fishburne as a serial killer in my grandmother's house. My cats were involved too. I remember worrying more about them getting hurt than myself. Luckily, my grandmother's house is filled with stuff. She's a hoarder and has rooms full of drapes, sheets, towels, napkins, blankets, toasters, strange blouses, polyester pants and a lot of other things as well. I was able to avoid Laurence by running behind mountains of junk and then shoving them at him. It was all horrible and he was doing that thing that killers do where they like to slowly stalk you before they kill you, so I had all this dread about him coming out of nowhere after me and my cats. After a while, I realized the door was open and I could just run down the street. I did. The ground was wet and I ran and ran, but realized the cats weren't with me and had to go back.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Surprises

It's nice to be surprised by someone--especially when you least expect it. Some people you don't expect much from; they pass by and are on their way. But it's weird when you assume someone's like that and they surprise you with their depth, their passion, their openness, their back story, their quirks. I was kind of surprised by someone who was open and sweet and interesting, especially because she has such a seemingly harsh exterior. I found myself fascinated today when I least expected to be. I stood enraptured as a woman dished the dirt and mentioned the healing waters of Lourdes like another seemingly hard shelled woman I know. I'm not a good judge of character, but I love it when someone fascinates me.

LA Blues

Today I wish I was invisible
I wish you would scoop me up
And carry me off to New York
Where the streets are busy
And nobody knows me
And I can get lost in a city.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Dirty Secrets in Bathrooms

I've never been a fan of public bathrooms, but sometimes you just have to deal. Work provides its own problems. There are the single bathrooms, but you're never know what you'll get. The worst is when you walk in on someone else's mess and realize you can't just leave it the way you found it or someone might think you were the perpetrator. I don't know how people are so brazen to just leave behind overflowing or non-flushed toilets and think they can get away with it. But I guess they do get away with it a lot of the time. The other problem is using multi-person bathrooms. It's in those that you learn who who washes their hands and who doesn't. Sometimes the answers are surprising... and disturbing. Today I was surprised and disturbed at who didn't wash his hands. Was he in a rush? Was he trying to conserve water? Was he raised wrong? I guess you never can tell.

Monday, September 15, 2008

One Palin-inspired dream, one not

In my first dream, I was swimming in the ocean with my niece and nephew. We went out pretty far and the tide came in. It got really deep and we had to swim to a sandbar because getting back to shore was too difficult. We were in this cave-type place for a while and wondering what to do when a helicopter picked us up.
In my next dream, I was in a forest-type area covered in snow. I went walking around and was chased by wolves. I had to climb up a swing-set for safety, but the wolves were trying to climb us as well. I had my phone in my pocket and was able to call my dad who came and shot the wolves.
Both dreams seemed to involve troublesome situations, but I never felt out of control. I always felt there was a way out and never was completely freaked out. I guess I should live my life more like I dream: things in control, figuring out solutions.

Sunday, September 14, 2008

Weird Yogurt

B and I went back to Studio City Yogurt tonight. He wanted Cookies-n-Cream but they were out, so he ordered Caramel Fudge. As we were walking out, he took one taste of it and asked me if I wanted it. When I said no, he dumped it into the trash. I don't know why, but this action made me incredibly sad. I can't explain it, it makes no sense, it's not rational. But for some reason, I was sad he threw his yogurt away. I guess I'm just irrational for no reason. It's a bit upsetting, but what can I do?

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Celebrity Sighting

I still get a thrill from celebrity sightings. I try not to bother the people in quesiton, I just try to catch as many covert glances as possible. Tonight's sighting was a good one, Jason Bateman at Studio City Yogurt. He was by himself and seemed happy and in good spirits as he waited in line to get his yogurt. I thought it was admirable that he was at the local yogurt place rather than Pink Berry which is just a few feet away. Speaking of Pink Berry, I am over it and all of its demon spawn. I'd much rather have a Dairy Queen Chocolate Dipped Cone. Yummy.

Friday, September 12, 2008

Love the Night

Tonight was my first late night of the season. It was dark outside and I was riding my bike home when not one, not two, but four black cats crossed my path. They were beautiful and as I was thinking about them, I started wondering about the nights. People always ask me why I worked the nights for so long. I don't think I've ever given a good answer. I've been on the night shift for the majority of my time working: at a movie theater, at a video store, as a night logger. Seeing the cats reminded me of the beauty of the night.
The day doesn't try to disguise what it is. It's frantic, it's people going here and there, it's traffic, it's heat, it's smog, it's loud, it's work, it's responsibility. The night is so different. It's cool, it's quiet, it's calm, it's sinister, it's secret, it's freedom, it's relaxed, it's jazzy. There were fewer people making their way home and things were so much smoother. The sounds were more subdued. But still, there's an unspoken undercurrent of danger and the sense of the possible and the unexpected. It's a seductive feeling. I even found myself skipping songs on my iPod so I could find something more fitting the mood. I loved watching and listening to the orthodox Jewish congregation making their way to and from synagogue down the streets off of Chandler Blvd. It was a great reminder of why I enjoyed being a creature of the night for so long.
Having lived in New York and California, I've been able to confirm what I've always believed. California is the day and New York is the night. I remember so many late nights, walking the streets of New York City to nowhere and just enjoying the magic. It's different in California, but there's still that charge in the air. It's some electric connection that I didn't realize I missed until I saw that glare in those black cats' eyes.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Inner Critics

My head aches
And my hand cramps
Because of you
Climb back into your short yellow bus
And drive to someone else's mind
I don't need your chatter
You elect a foreman
And climb aboard a table
Like you're sentenced to a jury room
This is my mind
You fucking idiots
Come down and meet me face to face
Stare me in the eye
And tell me what you think
You are safe up there
In your short bus
Looking out the foggy window
Yelling at me
Calling me names like a 3rd grade bully
I spit on you
I spit on you and laugh at you and stomp on you
Now you are Flat Stanley
And you fit in my pocket
But not in my head
And your lips are flat
So no sounds comes out
And my head
Is quiet.

Studying

I'm so happy to be home on my couch after today. Ugh. Will I ever get better?
Anyway, I'm studying. Last night, my new coach, Miss ML gave us videos to watch that demonstrate basic ice skating "moves in the field." Things started out fine. There were 8 year old girls and boys doing edge work and I was watching them thinking, "My stroking is better! My edges are more secure." And then this little girl in glasses, a hideous floral costume and her hair pulled up with a scrunchy just turned around and started doing everything backwards without even thinking about it. BITCH! And I'm only 5 minutes into the video. Miss ML warned me not to be intimidated by the little pipsqueaks but it's hard not to be when they are half my size and tearing up the ice!
Last night was once again difficult. In my first class, the others were doing crazy moves as I skated off to the side and did my own hackneyed versions. The second class was a little better. Especially when Miss ML complimented my flow on the ice, that was a nice thing until a few seconds later she said that my edges needed a lot of work. I stayed after class for the free skate longer than ever before. I kept trying to do three turns to no avail. That is until I tried them on a different foot. What do you know, I did one. It was bad, but I did it. My right foot seems to have less trouble with things than my left. In any case, I've got a long way to go, but I'm still trying to get on with my sick self!

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Blow-up?

It's easy to think that the signs of a blow up are easy to spot. You assume there will be some fireworks of some kind: snappish comments, bad moods, throwing things. But with some people it's the opposite. Instead of big signs, things turn inward. The person gets silent. Things that you would normally think would set someone off are easily dealt with. The person takes a deep breath and declares the bad things beyond his or her control. It's scary because it's rational. But when a person works against their nature, the internal suffers. It's like a pent up volcano. Things are fine while it's dormant, but when it blows, watch out.
I think a blow up is coming soon. I guess I'll have to wait in see. But people are rare to change, so when a change happens, it's usually a sign of something...

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

Sickly

You can really tell what a person's like when they're sick. There are so many types of sickly people. There are the martyr sickly who just want to be left alone to writhe around on the floor. You try to ask if they need help, but they want nothing except to bask alone in their sickness to show their strength and the fact that they need no one but themselves. There are the baby sickly, who revert to an infantile state when sick. They want to be catered too, taken care of and cry at any opportunity. There are the bitchy sickly who turn mean and evil. They let the world feel their pain and lash out at anyone who even asks them a question that rubs them the wrong way (which is probably any question). Their pain gives them the freedom to let out their inner devil. There are the saintly sick, who suffer in silence and offer their pain up to a better place, not wanting to be a burden on anyone. There are the crazy sick. Those people let sickness take over their better senses and can't keep it together, they get frazzled and psycho and anyone near them can tell.
There's a bug going around. I don't know who I got it from, but unfortunately I'm spreading it. I guess amidst all the sneezing, runny noses, sore throats, achy bodies, headaches and other horrible symptoms, at the very least I get to see what people are made of.

Monday, September 8, 2008

Intuition

Sometimes I sense things about people. Usually these things are right. It's not judging character. In fact, when someone says "I'm a good judge of character," I usually roll my eyes. It's something deeper than that. It's about knowing someone's intention. Day after day we say things, do things and create a personality that the world sees. But there's a lot more going on underneath. There's always words unspoken, things left undone. People can say whatever they want to, but sometimes what's really going on comes blaring out. I can't really explain it and I don't know why I'm writing about it. When I try to explain this to people, they usually think I'm delusional and making things up, but I've found that even though sometimes it might take months, things end up panning out.
There's a few things going on right now that make me think there's more going on than what people are saying or doing. I guess I'll have to see how they turn out.

Sunday, September 7, 2008

6-2

I got lucky today. I was playing someone who's beat me the 3 previous times we've played. I was nervous earlier, but once we got there, I was just hitting and playing fine. Nothing special. Luckily my opponent wasn't playing his best and I was just steady. What was the most interesting thing about it was the thoughts that were going through my head.
"I haven't been broken yet."
"I always get broken, it's probably coming soon."
"He's not playing well."
"He'll probably start playing well soon and I'll get nervous."
"I'm surprised I haven't double faulted yet."
"Just shut the hell up and get the ball back in the court."
It was difficult to silence my brain, but although I had a little case of nerves serving it out, I got some easy errors and it was over.
Sometimes the hardest thing to do is just get the ball back into the court.

The Man In The Blue Jumpsuit

Today my life became a CSI episode without the benefits of Marg Helgenberg, Armani suits, and layers of sprayed on make-up. An Armenian man crashed into a tree outside our house. He fell from his white mini van with blood gushing from his face and with a stagger that would put a drunken college boy to shame. My neighbors and I, with Blackberries and IPhones in hand, stood watching, whispering...wondering if he was drunk, high, or just disoriented from his head on collision with a stationary object. "Are you okay," I asked. No response. Just some shuffling from the driver's door to the back. "Do you need me to call anyone for you," I shouted, wondering if maybe he just didn't hear me the first time. I received a grumble, some words shoved together not in any order, more just like sounds really. The airbag in his van had exploded, and white powder was filling the air, with what some around me thought to be smoke. But, I knew better. I had been the first one on the scene. I saw him open his door and scream as he fell to the pavement. I saw the white powder as it escaped from the balloon that now covered his steering wheel.
As we waited for the police..the firetrucks...the ambulance to arrive, the Armenian man in the blue jumpsuit began to walk down the street with a cell phone he recovered from the sidewalk yards away. We tried to stop him, but he just kept walking, with blood coating his face. Within minutes, the police arrived and I told them that the man in the blue jumpsuit had escaped, and had disappeared around the corner. They jumped into their vehicle and peeled away, racing down the street, in the direction I had pointed. Soon, a helicopter hovered overhead, searching the tree lined streets for the man in the blue jumpsuit.
Eventually, I went back inside the house, mainly because I was judging every other person who sat outside watching the drama unfold. It took me about five minutes to realize I was one of those people.
Twenty minutes passed and I heard a knock on the front door. It was the police. They wanted to know what I saw. I told everything I knew and he asked me to describe what the man was wearing. "A blue jumpsuit," I replied. He nodded is head and asked if I could come to the hospital to ID him. "ID him? You mean like pick him out of a lineup?" I asked. The officer, realizing my panic, and my obsession with Crime dramas, reassured me that I would simply be pointing to him at the hospital and saying, "Yes, that's him."
I'm still waiting for the officer to come back and get me. That was two hours ago. Maybe I scared him off?

Saturday, September 6, 2008

Dream Come True

The dream was actually a premonition. I thought I was safe in my house. I thought I knew what was coming. I didn't know there were sinister forces at work all around me. I didn't know that someone I trusted would try to stab me and wound me and take me down with ruthless plotting and things left unsaid.
I guess there's nothing I can do about but try to defend myself. I can carry on and try to do my best while other do whatever it is the do when I'm not looking. You can't control anyone but yourself and your reactions to other people.
I guess I'll try to stay strong.
Like Roger Federer in his defeat of Novak Djokovic.
He was down, but he kept fighting and came back victorious in the US Open Semifinal. Hopefully Serena Williams and Rafael Nadal can do the same.

Violence!

I dreamed I was with A, who was meeting someone to pick up her dog. We arrived at a park and got out of the car to get her dog, but she didn't put the car in park and it started rolling. There was a cop nearby, so A motioned for me to get in the car and drive off, which I did. I ended up driving to a house where my cousins were staying and was there for a while when a crazy man broke into the house with knife in one hand and scissors in the other. He was going to attack us and I grabbed a blanket to distract him and wrap around his hands as he came after me. He ended up stabbing me in my arm and hand, but I got the items out of his hands and got him to the ground and tied him up. We called the police, but they never came and after a few hours, he wiggled loose and ran to an upstairs outside area that lead to a busy street. I couldn't find him and was worried that the cats would get out, so I had to go back.

Friday, September 5, 2008

Desire

I'm fascinated by my own want and desire. Dealing with them is like being taught lessons that I never learn. I'm always interested something whether it be little or small. I become engulfed in figuring it out how to acquire it. There are things I'll do and things I won't, but that desire is a powerful thing. Suddenly what I'm trying to get becomes THE answer. It's the cure for everything. If I get it, I'll be happy and fulfilled. Everything will fall into place.
But it doesn't.
It never does.
There's never that one cure.
But I still don't learn my lesson.
And it's not like the things I want are a big deal that often. It could be a DVD, a season box-set of some television show, some toy I remember from childhood, a rare CD soundtrack. I think I don't learn my lesson because I don't want to. The act of desiring is seductive and powerful. The actual idea that one thing could be the be-all end-all is a great thing to think, even if the thought is delusional. It's like a momentary trip to a fairytale wonderland.

Thursday, September 4, 2008

The Emotion Vacumm Has Landed

Do you ever feel like all emotion has been sucked from your body? I feel like my elderly neighbor, the one who shuffles down the block in her housecoat, has hand washed me, squeezed out my emotion and then hung me on her backyard clothes line to dry. I feel numb and yet void of all feeling. (How can I be void of all feeling, isn't feeling numb a feeling? )
When I was in rehab years ago, one of our therapists sent around a feelings sheet and everyone had to pick the one that best represented how they were feeling at that moment. I could never pick one, so she always told me to guess. I would usually pick the feeling that had the best picture. Maybe I'll get one of those sheets and start carrying it around with me in case anyone asks me how I am feeling.

Death on the Ice

Ice skating took a turn for the worse last night. I started two new classes with new classmates and a new teacher. In the first class, Stroking and Edges, I was so out of my depth. The teacher asked us to do 3-turns and I had never done one. I tried and ended up falling on my ass. (It was made worse by the fact that A had come to watch me.) My edges were sloppy, my form was bad. I ended up asking the teacher if it was the right class for me because I'm at such a lower level than everyone else. She assured me she'd work with me.
Ah, my teacher. Mary Lucas. She's very direct, very no-nonsense. At first glance you'd think she'd be a strict task-master, and she is, but in the best way possible. She let's you know what you're doing wrong and tells you how to do it right and does it simply and efficiently. But she still has time to crack a joke or make a wry off-hand comment.
I was flailing in my first class and then moved on to my second, where my teacher was... Mary Lucas again. I flailed even more, but she made it seem all right. Yes, things are difficult. Yes, I realize my form is a mess and I need to get better at everything. Yes, I'm nervous and scared. But I'm excited to learn more and get better. Hopefully I don't fall on my ass too much more.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Sick

I feel a little delirious. My head is somewhat heavy, like I'm top weighted and if I lean down too much my face will just hit the desk. At the same time it feels like my brain is rattling around. My nose is dripping, my throat is sore, there's a crick in my neck, the rest of my body aches, I have no desire to do anything. I kind of want to go home and just lie down but that makes things worse. Things are actually more manageable when I'm up and moving. I sooooo wanted to call in sick the last two days, but I know there's too much to do and no time to do it in, so I come in and do what I need to do, just waiting until the time to go home.
But tonight, there is no going home. I have my first Gamma class. I have a new teacher to deal with, maybe new classmates. Maybe me being sick will make things easier. No pressure, no expectations. Just get through, get home, get something to eat, watch the Serena Williams versus Venus Williams US Open quarterfinal, jump in the shower and call it a night. I know I'm supposed to live in the now, but I can't wait until I'm home with my head in the pillow.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Flower Truck

It seems like it should be a surprise, but it isn't. I can see her, her hair blowing in the wind as she picks up the keys and races out to the truck. It's a flower truck, meant to deliver beautiful arrangements in a timely yet manageable fashion. After all, it's rare that someone needs an emergency flower delivery. She gets in the truck and races around campus. She sails over speed bumps, races past stop signs and tries to keep an eye on the road. She calls up her friends from an archaic cell phone that charges over a dollar an hour and shoots the breeze. She invites them to meet her outside their dorms and jump in and they can race around together. Six bodies loaded on top of each other in the single, long front seat. She laughs and shoves a speeding ticket somewhere where she hopes it will be forgotten. The ladies who run the flower store know she's trouble, but they love her any way. They mother her, they give her advice, try to put her on the right path. They pretend not to see the speeding ticket stuffed in the glove compartment. The make her a laminated list of things she needs to do in the order she needs to do them. They understand. She's young... and she's allowed these moments of abandon...

Monday, September 1, 2008

List of signs of...?

1. Unprovoked Psychotic Breakdown
2. Non-finished Rice Krispie Treats
3. Coke in a glass glass, with ice

No Milkshake Redux

I wanted to make the Coke cry. I wanted to make the burrito cry. I wanted them to both cry Pollack-like tears on the sidewalk, but I thought the better of it and didn't. It's dangerous when irrationality meets irrationality, but it's interesting when you're met with your mirror in someone who you don't expect it from.
When I see someone making the same missteps that I make, I so want them to turn it around--to choose the right direction. It's as if their victory is my victory, an example to follow. But when they don't, I find fault. And it's not as if I'm judging them, it's more like I'm judging myself. In the end I just hope for the best and hope we all figure it out somehow.

People Watching at the Dog Park

"She's way past the pin-up phase," Marian whispered to me yesterday at the Pasadena dog park. I squinted my left eye to avoid the glare from the setting sun and lifted my sunglasses to get a better view of the 60-year old short haired blond woman standing across the park. I had noticed her when she first walked in with her brindle colored Boxer/Great Dane mix who's gait was more like a galloping horse than a lanky, 11-month old puppy. She looked like someone who had recently had her stomach stapled and the excess skin left on her body couldn't keep up with the fast weight loss. Marian didn't think it was proper to leave your house braless with droopy boobs peeking through a white tank top or sporting Levi cut offs after the age of forty. "No one wants to see all those leg dimples. Just shoot me if I ever look like that," she added through clenched teeth. "This is a great place for people watching," Marian observed as she fished her oversized Chanel sunglasses out of the one of a kind Ed Hardy messenger bag she ordered off Ebay, and settled into back into her chair.