The Skinny If'n You Want to Support First Amendment Rights in NYC

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

RNC Arrestees Coalition Presents:

RNC Mass Arrests: Rally to Remember
We have not been silenced!

When: Wednesday August 31st, 5:30 pm

Where: Eastern Park Row sidewalk between Spruce and Beekman (by City Hall)

What: Rally at City Hall against mass arrests and police repression

Last year, on August 31, the Bloomberg Administration engaged in mass arrests and illegal detentions in order to silence dissent during the Republican National Convention. Hundreds were arrested, some while engaging in peaceful protest actions, others while simply passing by during the mass arrests.

Arrestees were held in cages in Pier 57, a toxic holding pen formerly used as a bus depot. Many were detained well over 24 hours, in violation of the law and in defiance of a court order. Some were held as long as 48 hours.

Emmanuel Goldstein, editor of 2600, and an eyewitness inside Pier 57, said, “I saw long lines of obviously overheated people, lines that didn't seem to be going anywhere. The whole thing had this refugee flavor to it. I saw a girl passed out on the ground, the people around her bending over to try and help. The police went about their business.”

Prior to the RNC, Commissioner Kelly said, "We're gathering information about plans that people may have to come here, and we understand, this is what America's all about, people to demonstrate peacefully, make their feelings known. And we want to facilitate that and keep it peaceful." But the mass arrests and detentions were carried out to deliberately silence and deter peaceful protests.

The Arrestee Coalition says that the attempt to silence them has failed. This year, on August 31, RNC Arrestees and supporters will rally outside City Hall to let the Bloomberg Administration know that we have not been silenced.

Speakers will include:

Norman Siegel - Former Executive Director of NYCLU and Candidate for Public Advocate
Bill Goodman - Legal Director of Center for Constitutional Rights
Marty Stolar - President of the NY Chapter of the National Lawyers Guild
Jon Winkleman
And Testimonials from RNC Arrestees

Endorsed by: National Lawyers Guild, International Action Center, Code Pink, Ladies of Liberty, Queens Lesbian and Gay Democratic Club, Stonewall Deomctratic Club of New York City

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

and the affiliated after party:

A31 Liberty Bash!

August 31st 8:00pm
Brooklyn Lyceum
227 4th Ave & President (R Train to Union St.)
PaRk SLoPe, BK

Protecting Protest ~ an A31* 1 year Anniversary Event and Fundraiser for the Bill of Rights Defense Campaign (part of the New York Civil Liberties Union).

The party will run from 8:00 pm to midnight on Aug 31st following the 5:00 pm RNC Mass Arrests: Rally to Remember - We have not been silenced! at City Hall Park

$5-20+ sliding scale donation at door
Featuring DJ's and dancing, community speakers, music, video & more!

Line up:
8:00 - 9:00pm: Special showing of Ryan Junell's video installation “See the Elephant!" filmed during the 2004 Republican National Convention.
9:00 -10:00pm: Local Community speakers: Donna Liebermann, Norm Siegel, Bill Perkins, Gloria Mattera and representatives from the BORDC, Freewheels & Develop Don't Destroy!
10:00 - midnight: Billionaires 4 Bush, Missile Dick Chicks, DJ Xavier

• A31 is the date August 31, 2004 when people took to the city streets for a day of non-violent direct action to confront the Bush administration’s unjust policies at home and abroad and to stand up against the Republican National Convention in NYC. On that day alone around 1200 people were unlawfully arrested in police dragnets across the city and detained in filthy holding pens at Pier 57 and at the Tombs for periods of well over 24 hours. Nearly 2,000 people went to jail that week! Although a handful of people were directly performing acts of civil disobedience, most arrestees were legally protesting or bystanders on the street. The NYPD and governing authorities denied our civil rights by acting as the Republican Party’s private security force to criminalize free speech and remove protest from the NYC streets in an attempt to silence dissent before the night of Bush's nomination for President at Madison Square Garden. Since A31, nearly all the A31 criminal arrests have been dismissed. A class action lawsuit has been filed and many more group and individual complaints are set to follow in Federal court. While the National media, NYPD and mayor's office have trivialized this event, we must not forget A31 and continue to take action to address and defend the accumulating desecration of our civil liberties.

"If a person cannot walk into the middle of the town square and express his or her views without fear of arrest, imprisonment or physical harm, then that person is living in a fear society, not a free society."
--Condoleezza Rice, National Security Advisor, January 18, 2005

The Kid Who Threw a Party That Nobody Came To or The Fearful Activist

Why, oh why do I commit to these things? I am a masochist, that's all there is to it.

I am currently working on a new project...an ulcer. Brought to you in part by the RNC Arrestee Coalition's RNC Mass Arrests: Rally to Remember....We Have Not Been Silenced!

I am not a planner, coordinator, or public speaker; these are not my strengths. Yet here I am, part of a four member team planning a major rally with big time speakers such as Norman Siegel, Marty Stolar, Bill Goodman, representatives from Time's Up, Free Wheels, and others; endorsed by NYC NLG, NYCLU, International Action Center, Code Pink NYC, Ladies of Liberty, Queens Lesbian and Gay Democratic Club, and Stonewall Democratic Club of New York City.

Can you say aaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!???

I feel like the little kid playing adult.

I also have this ridiculous fear that I'll be the kid who throws the party that no one comes to.

I'm thinking realistically, we can expect at least 100 people there, minimum, and it will most likely be more. We've also gotten a lot of press bites, including the wretched Fox News and the revered WBAI, so we're running the publicity gamut. Its sort of a rally and press conference combined, to call attention on the one year anniversary to the wrongful attempted silencing of free speech in New York City during the Republican National Convention, the horrendous entrapment techniques and illegal prosecution techniques employed by the NYPD and the DA's office that are currently under investigation by the US Justice Department, and the unsanitary and harmful conditions under which arrestees were detained for well over the 24 hour period in direct violation of a New York State Supreme Court order.

This is an important rally during a time in which dissent is unfortunately not a citizen's responsibility, but a citizen's discouraged shame. A time in which "free speech is a privilege, not a right" according to Mayor Bloomberg and his Republican cohorts.

I hope its not a gigantic cluster fuck.

I'm sure things will go wonderfully and that I'm just giving myself heart failure over nothing.

But I've heart failure and the beginnings of an ulcer nontheless.

I must go panic now.

The Secret Garden

Wow. The date with Mr. Compositionally Maxed was absolutely wonderful too, in a completely different way. Like in a scary how well we click kind of way. Like in an oh shit, this guy really listens and he gets me and I don't even have to translate Synge speak or flounder to feel like I'm getting across what I'm trying to say way. Ummmm...yeah. Just a little scary for she who flees from the possibility of anything real.

Not that I'm saying there is...I have no eggs in any baskets. Or unhatched chickens for that matter. No poultry or poultry products anywhere here. Nope. Just a bunch a bullshit, that's all, but no poultry to be found.

I crossed the river for this date, and ventured into hipsterville (Williamsburg), but it was well worth the schlepp and as I was not attacked by a band of way-too-cool-to-even-hang-out-with-themselves hipsters, all was well. I met him at his apartment, and the plan was to go to this club with great live music that's supposed to be this hidden treasure in Williamsburg. We never made it to the club, however, and spent the majority of the night drinking wine and talking out in his gorgeous patio garden that he built himself. The garden was downright magical, with christmas lights strung up, vines just begining to grow all along one wall, and an honest to god vegetable garden along the other wall.

He has some incredible looking tomatoes, let me tell you.

There was never a shortage of conversation throughout the night, and no awkward moments of silence. I'm not sure I've ever felt so comfortable talking with a guy on a date before, and was amazingly candid and honest with no censoring whatsoever, and no fear of saying the wrong thing or something stupid. Even in my less-than-eloquent moments that I'm famous for (I tend to use subvocal sounds more than words to describe things) he understood exactly what I meant, and tended to be right there with me in agreement.

He's also incredibly intuitive, which I find more than a little frightening. At one point, very late in the evening, the conversation ventured into rather serious territory. He was explaining the scars on his head, which I hadn't noticed but Mr. Saucy Funnybuns had mentioned, and talking about how they affected his self perception and others' perception of him. I told him that I understood very well abaout scars, as I had many, both visible and not. He replied, "I know you do. I can tell. You've been through a lot, but you've got incredible strength, and that strength is beautiful." I remained silent, and just kind of buried my head in the crook of his neck, partly panicking at my own transluscence and his X-ray vision and highly uncomfortable with how utterly naked I felt at that moment. He then said "Wow. You're really uncomfortable when people say nice things and compliment you, aren't you? If you want I can try to learn how to be an asshole if you want me to, but I'd really rather not."

I also broke the sex fast Lady Charon had put me on.

And ummm, he's pretty perceptive in that area as well. Yeah. Definitely.

I really wasn't going to, and was adamant about sticking to my guns, but in the end I am a weak willed creature in some ways. Particularly when it comes to sex. When it became pretty obvious that it was definitely going to happen, he stopped everything, looked right into my eyes, and said "Listen, I really really want to see you again." I don't know if he said it to assure me, or to let me know that if this was going to stop us from seeing eachother again he didn't want to do it, or to let me know he wasn't going to let me use sex to push him away; maybe it was a combination of all three, but it did definitely keep me from pushing him away and running. And it was just this really beautiful honest moment; the kind that scares the crap outta me.

Somewhere around four in the morning, after the lying in an exhausted heap phase had passed, we stayed up even longer talking in funny accents and laughing and eating peanuts in bed. It was almost like hanging out with one of my really good friends that I've known forever, except for the whole intense sex part of it. Even after lyling back down to go to sleep we continued to talk and laugh a la schoolgirls' slumber parties where you just can't shut up and let yourself fall asleep.

I ended up leaving my locket there the next morning; I am far from being a materialistic womyn, but my locket is the most important thing in the world to me. It is my security blanket, my comfort...my attachment to my brother. I am never without it and I rarely take it off. So I naturally, upon realizing its absence (once back in Manhattan, of course), I completely panicked. I called Mr. Compositionally Maxed, and when he picked up he said "You left your watch here, I was just about to call you." I said in a thinly veiled tremble progressively approaching a freak out, "And my locket! I forgot my locket! It's on the shelf by the bed!" He paused (assumedly looking) and "Oh, yeah, its right here." I said "Umm, I know this sounds really silly, and its just a locket and all, but that locket is the most important thing in the world to me." He offerred to bring it to my in the city, but I was already at work and I knew he had to work and then go out of town to Boston, so it wasn't really feasible. He assured me that the cats would not abscond with it and offerred again to bring it to me; most importantly, he wasn't treating me like the complete freak I was being about the whole thing. He said now we'd have to have another date so that I could get it back. I said "Okay, but could it be Monday night, because I really don't want to be without my security blanket for too long?"

So now I have two very viable very sweet and completely different options where before there were none. Of course now I also feel pressured to make some sort of choice immediately, when I know not only do I not have to, but I shouldn't; I should give it time and get to know these guys both and take my time. I guess I do tend to jump in headfirst; such is my extremist nature. It doesn't help matters much that Doc Harley has called and e-mailed almost every day since he left, which makes me feel a little suffocated. I understand that he's excited and all, but I think I kind of want to meander instead of going warp speed, you know?

On the one side I have the exciting adventure that I crave and on the other the incredibly supportive but also sexy best friend kind of thing that I've never had...at least that's the assesment so far, I guess I can't really judge yet. Mr. Artsy Hotpants made a good point that either guy doesn't necessarily lack the qualities that I admire in the other. And right now I want both, until I can figure out what the hell I want. But can I do that? I'm not entirely sure I'm all that capable of dating more than one person that I'm viably interested in and the pendulum shifts from moment to moment.

How funny to be now having this dilemma.

3 Dates in 24 Hours! or How Much of a Fucking Extremist Am I?

I had quite an adventure on my date with Doc Harley last night; and was so freakin fun!

We met at the theatre to see another one of the evenings of Alphabet City, and went outside so that he could eat his falafel sandwhich, which he proceeded to scarf down faster than the speed of light. He also spilled half of it on his shirt, which I can't really fault him for, as I tend to do the same thing with my food. The interesting thing, and I guess this is part of what fascinates me about him, is that he didn't seem to give a shit at all. It was the same story when we got into the theatre and he put his legs over the empty seat in front of him; that's how he was comfortable, so that's how he was going to sit. While the talking in between pieces of the show was a little too much, and I had to punch him in the arm, I really kind of respect the fact that he's totally no holds barred. He doesn't profess to be anything other than exactly what he is, and feels no need to apologize for it. Its kind of the "If you don't like it, fuck you" mentality, that I wish I had more of myself.

After the show is when the real fun began. He asked if I'd be uncomfortable riding on the bike in my dress (being that you're straddling a giant machine and all...in a short dress), to which I responded a resounding "Fuck No!" Then he asked if I liked Italian food, because he knew of a little place we could go to. So on the bike we climbed, and off we went.

This is when I discovered something I never knew about myself; motorcycles turn me on. A lot. Bikes are sexy. Bikes are so incredibly hot.

Bikes are really really really fun when combined with certain piercings too.

But I digress. Did I mention bikes were sexy?

I felt like I was flying and seeing things as I'd never seen them before. We drove down FDR drive, all the way downtown to Battery Park, taking in what was the most spectacular 360 degree view of my wonderful city. It was literally breathtaking.

We ended up in some neighborhood somewhere in the middle of Brooklyn - I have no idea where we were - at this really nice Italian restaurant (whose inhabitants I promptly flashed while getting off the bike). The food was great and the conversation odd, to say the least; Doc Harley is a virtual font of random odd and sometimes slightly disturbing bits of information. The conversation ranged from the cloning of beef cells using the same technique as skin grafting, to how the Brooklyn bridge was built and the single worst death count disaster in New York's history. While my brain was reeling, at least I wasn't bored.

We then went to this outdoor park right across the Brooklyn Bridge, which provides an excellent view of the Manhattan skyline, where we cuddled and talked and made out like horny teenagers on prom night. We stayed for a while on our little bench, and at one point I was sort of stretched out with my head in his lap, he was uncharacteristically silent for a moment, and he was stroking my head and it was just this lovely little moment of simplicity and happiness - one of those timeless and placeless moments.

We went back to his place, had a little whiskey, made out some more, and I refused to spend the night. I told him I had promised my therapist that I wouldn't, which is true but also pretty funny in my opinion. This man, probably in his 40's, was such a little kid at times and was like pouting about me not spending the night. He said "We don't have to do anything!"...ummm, yeah, what guy ever says that and means it?

He's leaving today for a camping (yes, camping! wow!) trip across Nova Scotia on his bike, but we made plans to go on a 4 day camping trip to the Adirondaks in mid September. It was odd - he moves fast like that, talking as if we're like already a couple, and we've really only just met. Then again, that's kind of his personality I guess. I just have to keep telling myself that its okay to go at whatever pace I'm comfortable with and not be influenced by his.

He did take me out to a very nice restaurant for lunch today, after my appointment with my lawyer, The Godfather of Civil Liberties. It was kind of nice to play hooky and get treated like a princess all at once.

But I'm not jumping into anything, despite the fact that he had his friend take a picture of us together for me to have while he's gone (ummm, hello? 2nd date, buddy, not marriage!) and said he'd call from the road. I told him "Look, I just met you Doc! I've lived just fine up to this point despite not knowing you, and we're still getting to know eachother; I think I'll be okay on my own for 10 days - you don't need to call me." I'm sure he will. He's pre-sex smitten - that is to say the condition wherein someone is overly into another person, primarily because they have yet to and are dying to get down their pants.

I made a promise to my therapist.

Besides, I don't want to jump the gun here, because I also have a date tonight with Composer Boy...heretofore Mr. Compositionally Maxed, renamed as such due to one of the truly endearing things about him being that when he was a little boy he had his room painted like the book Where the Wild Things Are, which is one of my favorite alltime children's books. I'm incredibly excited about this guy and about our date as we just seem to click conversationally, and share the same wacky sense of humor. The other night I was talking to him on the phone, and he was telling me this story about how a donkey in Poland almost bit his nipple off, and he invented a random weird word: uninipocular. I love inventing weird words. I love people who make up their own vocabulary when the existing one just doesn't suffice. Tonight when he called, I was at the SDJ (well, I still am) and was whispering because I was on the cell phone at the SDJ (a crime akin to the rape and pillage of an entire village, you understand); Mr. Compositionally Maxed started whispering too, and we went off on this whole secret agent tangent wherein even directions to where we are meeting became a part of the game.

So this is weird. I go from one emotionally unavailable unpromising year and a half long misadventure of hurt to two viable options. Two! What the hell! So far I like them both. Why the idea of liking and casually dating two different men sends me into a panic, I have no idea. Shouldn't I be able to do this and really take my time learning who these boys are? Aren't I entitled to that as long as I'm honest about it?

I suppose its really quite premature to be asking these questions anyway, its just I'm feeling oddly guilty. I guess I've never really done this before - I mean dated more than one person where I was actually genuinely interested in both. Most other situations involved sexual usury on at least one, if not both, parties' sides.

Umm, so I'm off to my 3rd date in 24 hours...wow, if you just started reading this blog you probably think I'm quite the little hussy, but I'm not. Well, sort of not. Oh damnit, after all the Mr. EU self torture I suffered, I freakin deserve this!

Forward Motion; Growth

I appreciate everyone's sweet concerned comments, but the thing is that two people I love were hurt by my actions (or lack of). I can't say that's invalid - they're hurt, and that's completely valid, and they're hurt because of me. I have to take responsibility for that and own up to that. No, it certainly wasn't intentional, but that doesn't miraculously take away their hurt. I wish it did.

I apologized to both, one in conversation and the other in a voice mail message. That's all I can do - that and try to be better in the future. But i can't take it back and erase it from ever having happened and that's hard to accept.

I can't stand the idea that someone's hurting because of me.

But I let go of the self hatred I was wallowing in yesterday. The self hatred doesn't solve anything either. It just gave me more internal bruises that I don't need. And I am proud of myself for letting go of that.

One of the friends actually wrote me a very sweet note saying "staying mad or upset isn't an option for me and feeling shitty and ashamed is not an option for you. so we have cleared the air, now let's move forward." I thought a lot about that statement last night, and he's right. It doesn't honor the friendship or either party to hold on to either emotional state. It took me a while, but I finally got it.

Thank you oh wise one, you are right.

There's a great passage I remember from Yom Kippur services at my new agey synongogue. Yom Kippur is part of the high holidays celebrations marking the Jewish new year. It begins with Rosh Hashanah, where you usher in the new year, and ends with Yom Kippur, which is the day of atonement, wherein you atone for the transgressions made against others and yourself and promise to try harder. The time in between the two holidays is devoted to honestly looking within and kind of evaluating what changes need to made this year in order to be a better person. The passage basically says "I've tried. I wasn't completely successful. I've failed on some counts. I am human. I will try harder." That is a lot of what Yom Kippur is about. Its an honest journey inward, with the end goal of moving forward; its not about punishment, its about enabling the most growth possible.

I am not religious at all. I believe sprirtuality to be a wholly personal endeavor, and religion is a cultural phenomenon, not a spiritual one. For myself, at least; for some, they can find both in one place. Judaism has always been more of a cultural thing for me; its my roots, my heritage. But sometimes there are things like this that I remember that just make sense in terms of how I think life should be lived. I heard that passage every year for most of my life, and its only now that its beginning to make sense to me.

So...

I tried.
I was not completely successful.
I failed on some counts.
I am human.
I will try harder.

My Solipsism of Late Comes Back To Bite Me In the Ass...Hard

I am so deeply ashamed of myself and absolutely horrified at my own selfish behavior.

I try incredibly hard to be a good friend to the people that I love and to always treat them with the respect and undying affection that they deserve. I'm not sure that I'm always wholly successful in this; the intention is always there, but I guess sometimes the commitment unintentionally wavers.

And then sometimes I'm just an asshole. Plain and simple.

Within a 10 minute span, I just had two different friends - who mean the absolute world to me - let me know that they've been hurt by my silence as of late; a silence I wasn't even fully cognizant of. They've felt neglected, and rightfully so. One of the friends had been in the ER for a respiratory problem, and I hadn't even called to see how she's doing. The other friend said that he feels like he gets less time with me than others, and feels like he deserves equal time and equal energy, at the very least. He had written an email on the 14th that I never even opened (somehow it got lost in the insanity that is my inbox). I've been running around like my own personal version of tornado alley, selfishly wrapped up in a million and one different crazy things, spending hours trying to save the world while virtually ignoring those I love most.

And I've been so wrapped up in my own little solipsistic existance that I had no clue I was even doing it.

I feel like the world's shittiest person. While I am overly competetive, this is hardly a title I covet.

I feel like crying about this is only another example of my selfishness.

This is the e-mail that I got, which in conjunction with my phone conversation with another friend I treasure beyond belief, wrenched my head from where it was semi-permenently lodges up my own ass:

Now, I do have a problem that only you can fix. [Beautiful Friend] is
feeling quite neglected by her friends and she is right to feel that way.
Have you called her and talked to her since she was in the emergency room?
You are busy with your organization, and meeting people, etc., but you forgot
the most important thing of all, the people you love. I am disappointed
that you have not spoken to her and I know she feels hurt. Only you can
rectify this.

Wow. Talk about a much needed reality check. And she's so absolutely right and I'm so absolutely ashamed of myself. I wrote a quick bumbling reply...what can I really say to either friend except you're right and I'm sorry? And this was the reply I got, which makes me feel even worse:

We love you no matter what. We all get wrapped up in things and get self
involved and that's okay. But try never to forget to just say a quick hi
to those you love. It doesn't have to be a 30 minute conversation.
Just let people know you are okay and are thinking of them. It is
unfortunate that [Beautiful Friend] doesn't have email since you could
have written a quick note, but she doesn't so the only way is by
telephone.

Remember that we love you and nothing will change
that.

I clearly do not deserve the friends I have.

Officially Back in the Saddle, But Holding On By My Bootstraps

Surely it is no coincidence that just after running the telephonic emotional gauntlet with Mr. EU and coming out unscathed with renewed strength and renewed self respect men are suddenly coming out of the woodwork. Despite the obvious connection between the two and the fact that I'm clearly a little more open to the attentions of others, it still comes as quite a shock to suddenly hit an oasis after trudging through the scathing desert for the last few months. Its also kind of shocking that anyone has any interest in me, much less more than one person.

My friend Buff (named for a role he played in the show we were both doing when my brother died) is doing a show called Alphabet City at Metropolitan Playhouse. The show is created by doing interviews with various lower east side personalities and creating pieces from the interviews and characters from the actual people. I went to see one of the evenings on Saturday night, and it was actually really powerful and interesting theatre. I met up with many of the people involved last Wednesday, which was their opening night, after the show. Among the peopl there on Wednesday was the man from whom Buff's character was developed, Doc Harley. Doc Harley is definitely a character in and of himself; he's a harley riding doctor covered in tatoo's and robin hooding those with money enough to pay for laser cosmetic surgery to fund the health care of the poor and uninsured. He's also one of those people who talks a mile a minute and likes to tell you the way it is. He's definitely interesting, and I've got to say that I definitely admire the fact that philanthropy is not an idea or a tax writeoff to him, its a way of life.

Doc Harley is also a gigantic flirt.

I gave him my card on Wednesday night - he wants to help me write my own one woman show because that's just how you get anywhere, and if I'm too scared to begin on my own and don't believe that I can write one he can help me find my story in two minutes. Whether he can refrain from talking or jumping into the middle of the telling of any story for two minutes remains to be seen.

He e-mailed me today and asked me if I wanted to go see evening C of Alphabet City this Wednesday night. I was actually planning on going Wednesday night anyway, as one of the characters being portrayed in evening C is a womyn who was in The Vagina Monologues with me this past spring, and it turned out that Buff has rehearsal on Wednesday. So I accepted Doc Harley's offer, we emailed back and forth a bit throughout the day, and it looks like I have a date for Wednesday night.

At least I think its a date. I'm pretty sure. In his most recent email, he said "I'm bringing another woman. But don't get jealous. She's a goodfriend of the family." which leads me to believe its probably a date or he wouldn't have said don't be jealous. He's also an old school Jersey boy, so he's probably a horny toad. (nothing against Jersey boys or horny toads, just an observation based on experience)

Anyway, it should be interesting. At least I know he's anything but boring, as I've already witnessed. In my return e-mail I said "jealousy is not in my repetoire, doc, and i've known you far too briefly to even approach anywhere near its realm. its lovely that [family friend] is coming along - you're so shy and quiet, she can keep the conversation going." , as he's anything but shy and quiet.

We'll see how it goes. But I guess I'm now officially out there in the dating arena again.

That makes me nauseous.

Hey..Let's Bitch Slap the Temp (anonymous craigslist post reprinted)

The Lone Star Talent sent me this very funny Craigslist post, reprinted here for anyone who has ever been in or is still clawing their way through SDJ hell:

Hey..let's bitch slap the Temp .
Reply to: anon-14322437@craigslist.org
Date: Fri Aug 01 11:32:23

That's right...I do temp work...

A hired gun...

I'm here to sit at the front desk and answer your phones for 9 hours a day...that's right 9 hours...and stock the refrigerator w/ soda...I get to come in an hour early so that your damn coffee is hot...you're a corporate giant. Would it throw off your budget to go the 'bucks?

You complain when I do a job too well...what the hell?!!! Fucking, forgive me for setting up the conference room with a decent set of cups, napkins and cold water...I'm here an hour early...I made good use of the time.

oh...does my mail distribution take alittle too long? It's the whole floor of an damn office building that I've never been in before...and you...

you lazy...

...uncombed...

...too lazy to come in before 9:30...

...with an amazing number of personal calls...(oh and close your damn office door or speak in a normal speaking voice...It's unprofessional...and I don't want to hear you screaming at some poor vendor because you can't figure out how to do work the Video Conferencing System...use the on-screen prompts or ask me...it was on my list of skills...but what the hell sit there with your little friend and stare at the screen complaining about how poorly set up an internationally known communication system is)

...third person talking...(because you're obviously afraid of confrontation)

...complaining about my 16 minute break...

...running shoe wearing (with absolutely no wear)...

...organic herbal tea swilling...

...man-hating (yet heterosexual...I've seen you check me out...w/ the small mirror I have set up on my desk)

...self-important..."Office Manager"

don't blame me when we run out of stuff...you keep saying you want to teach me how you order stuff, but can't get your ass off the phone long enough to explain it...it doesn't matter...I figured it out on my own..and set up my own account...same w/ Fed/Ex...cuz like I said...I'm a hired gun...

...it's not my job to check out the laptops to the execs...why would I want to be responsible for $10,000 worth of computers...that's a set up waiting to happen.

...I don't want to sign b-day cards for people I don't know...and I don't want to chip in for the 'Get Laid It's Your Birthday" T-shirt...I don't want to run to the post office for you on my lunch break, unless I'm your personal Admin, and then you pay for my lunch if you have any damn manners.

An armani suit doesn't make you a good person...

and guess what...I can read hard back books too...and I have run triathlons as well...and traveled internationally...

I'm not a temp because I'm a drug addict or can't hold a job. I'm a temp so that I can be out of here before I'm fantasizing about digging a hole somewhere south of Market to hide your body, while I fake an alibi by sending out time delayed e-mails...

...I could do your job...hell - I HAVE done your job...I didn't want it

Oh and I can here it when you whisper in the kitchen...I've got nothing to do but listen.

You get mad when I you think I'm online too much...but I've offered to:
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...i've offered to do, any goddamn thing you want...you haven't taken me up on it. I can't read a book because the phone rings. I can't eat anything at my desk because that would lack decorum...(sometimes I hide crackers in the top drawer). I can't make phone calls, cuz that would keep me from doing my job. So, I shop online...and I look for other jobs...

WOW...I feel so much better...

HIRED GUNS hardly ever get to vent...

oh...one last thing

sometimes...

when no one's around...

I take an extra Snapple

There May Be Life On This Planet Yet

Its amazing how much of a roller coaster ride life is. Since I last posted I think I have been up and down more hills than one encounters in an old school tour of San Francisco. But I'm doing amazingly well despite the many bumps and bruises along the way. I've been proud of myself for the way I handled the call with Mr. EU; proud and sad, for the two seem to be inextricably linked. I've been working like a madwoman for our A31 rally to commemorate and draw election year attention to Bloomberg's gross mishandling of the RNC preemptive mass arrests and went to the WillyB Summer Arts Festival with the Ladies of Liberty yesterday. I had a phenomenally inspiring Ex-Er Actor Class at Black Nexxus Friday night, where the teacher said I was incredibly talented and welcome in any of his classes anytime (the Vagina Goddess and I are going back next Friday). And I met an incredibly intriguing man tonight.

Mr. Saucy Funnybuns is stage managing a show in the fringe festival this year and as he had gotten some disturbing news yesterday I went to his place before the show tonight and ended up accompanying him to the theatre. The show is sold out for every performance until the end of the run, but I was going to sit with him in the booth, until I received a phone call from Ms. Laughing Wild Mountain Treasure. As I was feeling a little weird about hanging out in the booth and a little down because my friend The Lone Star Wonder got cast in the Estrogenius Festival (as well she deserved to be) and I didn't get a callback this week, I decided to go for a cocktail with her instead. We went for a few drinks and met up with Mr. Saucy Funnybuns afterwards, as he was leaving the theatre with the sound op who was also the composer for the original score of the piece as well as a teacher at the 92nd street Y. Composer boy and I hit it off immediately, and spent a good 20 minutes jabberring back and forth in fluent French before Mr. Saucy Funnybuns really needed to go home. I gave him my card and we parted ways, at which time Mr. Saucy Funnybuns informed me that they had left the theatre together because Composer Boy had wanted to meet me; he thought I was very friendly and fun.

At this point I'd like to add that I had been dripping with sweat all day long, was wearing a tank top and skirt/shorts with my hair in two braids like a child and my legs covered in mosquito bites to the point in which I looked like I have leprosy; I can't imagine a less attractive picture, really.

But somehow we instantly hit it off (he must be blind) and it was so weird to feel attracted to and intrigued by someone other than Mr. EU. He's probably a creep and I'm probably just in heat (I think I am ovulating or something) but it was odd nonetheless.

I have no expectations, but it was fun to feel like there might possibly be other men in existence, you know?

I'm also a bit tipsy, so don't believe a freakin word I say (hence the nonsensical writing contained in this post).

The Shameful Monkey Dance

I got the call last night; I didn't get the role. I was actually surprised by this, as I was pretty sure I was going to get cast. Its okay that I didn't; I really thought the play was bad and the director couldn't even get two people with the same name straight, which made me slightly nervous. It was, however, a bit of a blow to the 'ol ego. Today I am feeling much better about the whole thing and on my way to Manhattan Theatre Source to sign up for this week's Estrogenius auditions (they have four weeks of the festival and four weeks of auditions corresponding with each week of the festival). Last night, however, was a different story.

Theoretically, at least in my lush mind, the best medicine for a bruised ego is to surround yourself with a huge table of wacky loud artists and drink away your imagined shame. This works especially well when there are $4 mohitos all night. This, however, ceases to be a good solution when you are deposited on your doorstep by a taxicab that your gay boyfriend paid for, with gigantic bags of fresh veggies in tow that seem doubled in size by the very extreme effort it takes to keep your fingers grasped around the handles. It becomes an even worse solution when you then sit on the stoop and realize that you have a cell phone in your hand and an overwhleming longing to use it.

I tried vainly to keep from dialing his number. I called Mr. Saucy Funnybuns to make sure he had gotten home safely (although we shared a cab and I saw him go inside), but he was drunk as well and had to be up early in the morning. I called Orphannie and left what I'm sure is a mostly unintelligble gurgle about how I was trying not to call Mr. Emotionally Unavailable. I called My Little Vidipookikins, but she was probably nestled in with her new boyfriend and didn;t pick up. And then I did it. I did it knowingly too...I took his number off of speed dial, so I had to look it up, which takes a bit of time when you can't really focus on what you're reading. It was thankfully busy.

Were I a smart monkey, I would have left it at that.

But no, I felt compelled to give it one more try. I was having such a hard time abstaining from calling, at least to say that it hurt too much to talk. I think I knew I could do this and hide behind the flimsy excuse of alcohol; on some level, I was cognizant that the alcohol was merely a tiny push that sent me into a full speed gallop. It was permission to do what I knew I should not but wanted so desperately to do.

The phone rang on the second try, and he picked up almost immediately. I identified myself, and he sounded so excited to hear my voice. I told him that I was only calling to say that the reason I hadn't been calling him back was because it was too hard. He said he thought it might be, and had felt selfish for calling. I told him that he was.

This began what was to be the general tone of our conversation, and this I am infinitely proud of. I continually held him accountable and reminded him that I was a human being, with feelings, who is hurting. I continually reminded him that what he claims to be able to give is not enough. I continually let him know that I have been deeply hurt by him, and I would not let him forget that.

It killed me to hear his voice. He genuinely misses me; there was no question about that. He even said so several times, to which I responded "That's really great to know, and I miss the hell out of you too, but it changes nothing. And it deosn't mean you love me." He said "I like you very very much and in my range of emotion, that's probably the highest you can get." and I replied, "Well my emotional range is considerably bigger than yours, extending infinitely in either direction. And I deserve someone who can give me more than just the middle range." He also said at one point that he felt badly about my having fallen so hard for him; that he had tried to be as painfully honest as he possibly could. I told him "That's not honesty, Mr. EU; that's defining the terms and boundaries of the relationship. Honesty is saying this is how I feel, and I'm scared shitless of being hurt." He also said that he had thought about looking for my blog; I told him he probably didn't want to read it. He said "We can't ever get back together because your friends all poabbly hate me now." and I responded "We can't ever get back together because you are unwilling or incapable of giving me what I need."

He was more honest and willing to talk about feelings and what happened in a relatively vulnerable way, which was of course such a very tempting hope trap. And the shutter to his higher self, as Lady Charon calls it, was invitingly open. But I know that it does not stay open. I know that he is not where I want and need him to be. I brought up something he said when we had our heartbreaking ending; I had asked him "So this isn't ever going to go anywhere is it?" And he replied, "No, it isn't. Not unless I get a lot more mature and I don't think that's going to hapen anytime soon. I was a lot more mauture ten years ago, and I'm just not ready to be back there again." Only I misquoted him and said that he had said "I don't want to be back there again." He said "I said that? That doesn't sound like something I'd say." I restated it changing my error, and he said "Now that's more like something I'd say. I guess the best way to describe it is its like little baby steps. I'm taking them, but it takes time to get there."

I understand that. I understand that very well. That is something which actually makes total sense to me, having been there before. He's working at it, but isn't where I need him to be. It doesn't mean I will or should wait around for him; but I get it, and its nice to know he's actually working on it. I told him that even if he called tomorrow and said he was willing to commit and that he loved me that I couldn't go back to him, because he hadn't done the work he needs to do on himself to be able to be in a loving relationship. Hell, I'm just starting my own self examination, who even knows if I'm there yet. He seemd to agree with that. So we're in total agreement that basically the situation sucks and there's just no getting around it. We miss eachother, we'd like to be able to be together, but we can't because our needs just don't mesh right now. That fucking eats my insides with razor sharp teeth.

But I am proud of myself. I held my ground, despite a longing so real it was physically palpable. I proved that I will not go back; yes, the longing, the want, the desperate painful need is still there and still as puissant as ever. But I had my chance to run back into his arms and instead I found myself saying these truths that I must invariably own somewhere deep inside the remainders of my shredded guts. I therefore will say, before the flood of well intentioned admonishing begins, that it was not a bad thing that I called. As Lady Charon said today, I held my finger to the flame and did not get burned. Instead, I proved to myself that I had indeed made a commitment to honor myself that I had every intention of keeping, despite the extreme difficulty.

Towards the end of the conversation, he changed the subject from that of feelings, and began to talk in general about life and ask about mine. This went on for about 5 minutes, and then I said "Mr. EU, I think I want to stop talking to you now. This is too hard." and just like that, I ended the conversation. He told me it was really wonderful to hear my voice, even though that was selfish of him. He said "Talk to you soon. Maybe?" and I said "Maybe one day we can talk and it won't be painful. I hope so. That's the goal here, but that's not right now." And we hung up.

I thankfully was supposed to see Lady Charon today anyway, and it was very helpful in seeing the positive aspects of the conversation (ie my newfound strength in regards to this situation), as well as hammering home the fact that hope is a moot point, he was essentially telling me that nothing had changed. She mentioned something interesting in that he fights to protect himself from falling in love and being hurt again just as vehemtly as I fight to protect myself from ever being or feeling violated again. We are both extremely fierce boudaried warriors that turn everything into a battle of self protection. And we reached an impass.

I then returned to the sdj and hid behind my ipod (courtesy of the wonderful Mr. Artsy Hotpants) all day and have just been letting myself sit with the torrential rains of emotional extremes, letting them flow as they will. I think this will take a long time to get over; far longer than I would have thought. But I held my ground. It hurts and the wounds are bleeding profusely, but the sutures held and I will heal from the inside out.

It is moments like yesterday and today that I really miss my big brother. I have realized that he was always the one I turned to, even at a very young age, and even when he abused that trust. He was always the one who could make me feel safe and secure and always the only one I could really count on. I have been desperately searching since for that same security; I have it to a certain degree with old friends, especially Orphannie who has rescused me from many a self dug ditch. But I am perpetually searching for a safe harbor, and unwilling to trust enough to drop anchor anywhere. I want someone to hold my hand and protect me from all that I should have been protected from much earlier in life. I want someone to assure me that those traumas will never happen again. I want to be protected from any future traumas or even minor scrapes and aches and pains. I am tired. I am still fighting and still know that I am okay and will always be okay, but I am very very tired.

I definitely veered a sharp left at the end there, but I'm leaving it in, as it is all interconnected. But being so tired and needing to go to the theatre and its already 9:00, I am going to block the electrical impulses being sent from my spewing brain to my frantically flying fingers and leave you on that unfortunately very sad sounding note. If it were on a musical instrument, it would definitely be a haunting clarinet solo. However, I'm sure things pick up in the next movement, and there is a surprise clash of cymbals just around the corner.

The Callback and Then the Call Back

So I just got back from my callback, emerging from the deep dark underground into a surprise monsoon. Luckily I, for once, had my umbrella on me, but I ended up sharing it with another Synge (its not an uncommon name), who had been at the callback with me, whom I only recognized when we got off our separate subway trains and were walking towards the exit; she was on her way to a rehearsal, and needed to stay dry much more than I did, so I got mostly wet and let her take the lion's share of the shelter. We were actually up for the same role, but such different types that it there was no possibility of petty competition; besides, things just don't work that way here.

Then when I finally slog my way through the flood, slipping and sliding in my heels that seemed to no longer wish to contain my feet, to arrive safely at home, I get a phone call from the director. She tells me that she is not able to use me and has decided to go with someone else, but thinks I am incredibly talented and should come back to audition for the other weeks of the efstival, as I will surely get cast. I respond in that I'm-so-friendly-and-great-to-work-with sort of a way, thanking her for her prompt call and for not leaving me hanging in an agonizing hell of waiting. She seems impressed with my cheerful attitude, and asks if she can keep me on file for future projects. I say absolutely and we hang up and I find myself not too upset or discouraged, although I had definitely thought the callback went fairly well. I chalked it up to type, and was mentally re-arranging my schedule to go by the theatre to sign up for this week's audition.

And then I see my phone, which had been put in silent mode for the callback, flashing the same number that just called. I didn't reach it in time, and was turning the ringer back on and waiting for the voice mail, when I the call comes again. So I pick up, and she says "Hi, its [the director] again, I actually made a huge mistake and thought I was calling the other Synge. What I actually wanted to say to you was that its in between you and another womyn for the role, and I was wondering if I could have until Tuesday to let you know." I said that was absolutely fine, and we laughed about the mix-up; thank god she didn't do it the other way around! Can you imagine getting those two calls reversed?

So the Synge I shared my umbrella with is now going to get the first phone call I received. Its weird knowing that. Its weird that it happened to be the womyn I walked 6 blocks with, getting soaked the whole way so that she could go to rehearsal dry.

I'm glad I was so pleasant on the first phone call; it really does always pay to be that person who always comes across as good to work with.

I have opted not to go to the acting class I was supposed to go to tonight. I arrived home a little too late to be able to dry off, change clothes into something I can move in (ie not a dress), and hustle way across and way downtown. Its probably for the best because I'm actually exhausted from a horrid night of sweat drenched misery in which I woke up every 5 seconds, startled and windering if I was breathing or not. I also am not able to do the bellydancing class on Wednesday because my friend The Comedic Chameleon is doing a sketch comedy show at UCB and asked me to do a tiny 2 second bit in it, which I thought sounded like fun; bellydancing class will always be there, but silly fun 2 second bits in a sketch comedy show won't. So out of my turn-it-around anti-depressed-funk goals, I did only one, the audition, but that was probably the most important one anyway. The fact of the matter is that I'm feeling quite positive and excited about things; even if I don't get the role, at least I was down to the last 2 people, and that's not a bad for an audition that I forced myself to go to.

Much healthier things to obsess about than emotionally unavailable heart breakers, dontcha think?

My Brain Melted Hours Ago

While I do think talking about (and whining about) the weather is always a conversational cop-out and is merely stating the obvious, its so fucking hot right now that my brain melted hours ago and this infernal (forgive the cheesy pun) heat is really all I am capable of focusing on. I'm usually pretty good about just sucking it up and accepting the fact that in late summer I will generally be a gross smelly squishy walking blob of sweat as I continue to melt away throughout the day and night...but when it gets to the point where you feel like you're suffocating under a one of those cheap mexican blankets they sell in border towns and gas stations that's been soaked in foul smelling wet garbage, it can become a tad bit difficult to remain positive. I am drowning in my own personal lake-o'-sweat in my air-conditionless 5th floor walk up and the heat has sapped too much of my energy to attempt to swim. I've even set up camp on my little half-futon (they call it a love seat that folds out into a twin size bed...I call it a glorified chair that folds out into a children's bed), as it just might be one degree cooler than up in the loft bed. I'll take whatever semblence of comfort I can find at this point.

Worse yet I was forced, by an oh-so-convenient cancellation of the 7 train service, to spend an inordiante amount of time in the molten subway in an attempt to get to PS1 in Long Island City; it was well worth the hellish journey, though by the time we arrived I wasn't quite certain if I was still a living being. I was tooling around town with My Little Vidipookikins' brother, The Wacky Pirate, and his girlfriend, Ms. Surprise Installation; I suppose it was actually less tooling, and more sludging like snails leaving a slimy trail of sweat in our exhausted wake. The museum was hosting a weekly music event in the courtyard, sponsored in part by Target, whose presence could be detected to the careful observer by weird circular seat cushions and tacky visors all sporting the Target logo which everyone seemed to be utilizing and which seemed to be shoved in your face every ten seconds by an overeager crowd canvasser distributing the free booty. It was actually rather surreal; uber corporate mass marketing meets contemporary art? While it worked for Worhol's stylized soup cans, it just seemed grossly out of place and horribly intrusive spread around the bodies in the courtyard of PS1. I'd even go as far as to say it was slightly nauseating; then again, maybe that was a by-product of the heat. Amazingly enough, there were people with enough energy (or coke...probably coke) to actually dance amidst the straight jacket of humidity enveloping us all. We, however, escaped the booming base and sweat and retreated into the museum.

I'd never been to PS1, and am not always the hugest fan of contemporary art; modern I adore, but contemporary often strays into pretentionin my humble opinion. While there were many pieces and installations of that ilk, I found the museum to be a refreshing surprise. The way the space is set up and utilized (there's art everywhere- in the stairwells and bathrooms and hidden little corners) was brilliant, and some of the work was really quite good; most of it was at least interesting, with the exception of a few pieces that you really had to wonder how the hell they got in there. By the time we hit the 3rd floor we were all in such sensory overload that we ended up doing a bit of a speed through (I tend to be that obnoxious lingerer) and I could no longer even focus what precious little there remained of my brain on what I was barely seeing. But I had such a great time. It was one of those days where it feels like you go on vacation in your own home; all the details and awareness of regular day to day life are momentarily suspended, and you kind of get to float in the moment. I often crave that feeling.

We ended the evening with a huge group dinner at Uncle Nick's, as stragglers made their way west and the odd menagerie of haphazardly thrown together personalities convened thankfully close to my apartment (which rarely happens). Good food, good company, and best of all...plenty of cool air.

Now I will hopefully not melt as I try to get a little sleep so that I am not a narcoleptic at tomorrow's callback. Being sweaty and stinky and gross is one thing, randomly falling asleep is a whole other ballgame here.

Changes in the Tidal Ebb and Flow

I have a callback on Sunday for a play in the Estrogenius Festival at Manhattan Theatre Source. The director said she was "very impressed with [my] work". I guess the audition did go well after all.

Rise Up and Resist! (.....the temptation to call)

I erased the message this morning. Okay, so I listened to it 5 times in a row first....but I erased it, that's what's important here. Of course I felt this weird sense of panic afterwards, like what if he were to suddenly die and I just erased the only recording of his voice I had (which actually has happened to me, with my brother, so its not that weird of a phobia really...)? Then where would I be? Wishing I hadn't been so quick to erase the message in a fit of contrived liberation, that's where.

Way way back in the very beginning of this whole misadventure, I erased Mr. Emotionally Unavailable's number from my cell phone. He had said he would call that weekend, and when he hadn't called by Sunday morning at 1am I made a huge show of erasing his number in a fit of empassioned female empowerment. I was overly proud of myself for my oh-so-heroic action on behalf of all womyn waiting for phones to ring all across the world!

Of course I felt quite stupid when he called the next morning.

As I'm prone to do, I immediately confessed the comical situation and my ridiculous actions and he wouldn't give me his number for about two weeks, teasing me that I clearly didn't want it. I should have trusted my instincts then, huh?

I did take him off of speed dial the other day. I know its not quite as brave and bold and final as erasing his number, but I'll celebrate the small victories nontheless.

I also haven't called him back, despite desperately wanting to.

I thought about sending an e-mail explaining that I am not angry or trying to be cruel or bitchy or vengeful, but that I still need my time away from him; that I'm transcending the vicious cycle, as Lady Charon puts it. But were I to be honest with myself, I really want to send the e-mail in the completely unrealistic hope that he suddenly has this explosive epiphany and realizes how wonderful I am and that he really does love me and wants to be with me. That being confessed, I've abstained from clicking and typing as well.

Thus far, at least.

Lady Charon said its almost like an addiction, and it definitely seems like there's more than a little bit of truth to that.

Damn, of all the things to get addicted to! Couldn't I just choose heroin like normal addicts? Nooo, I've got to get addicted to an emotionally unavailable man and a destructive relationship. Lovely. I just don't think methadone treatments work for this one.

I did have a really good audition today, though. And for those 10 minutes, I felt on top of the world and couldn't have given less of a shit about Mr. EU, or any silly boy for that matter. So in an effort to be proactive and positive and hopefully rev up the ailing motivational engines, I am doing a drop in class at Black Nexxus this Sunday, and am going to start Belly Dancing classes (something I've always wanted to do despite being anti-rhythmic in nature) next Wednesday. The belly dancing class description says that the instructor inspires her students to move and feel sensual, neither of which I've been doing all that much of lately. If she can actually make me feel sensual, rather than feeling like the invisible cow I've become of late, I will be a lifelong devotee. The important thing is, though, that I am trying to do something rather than sliding down into a rut.

And that I haven't called, that's important too.

Or e-mailed.

Yet.

I think arrhythmic cows make excellent bellydancers.

Wherein I Am Reduced to a Snivelling Pathetic Blob of Anti - Female Empowerment

Just when I think I'm doing really well...just when I think I might even begin to be proud of myself for my honoring of my self respect....just when I might have fooled myself into thinking that I'm actually getting over him, guess who comes out of the woodwork and calls. I'll give you one guess and tell you that the initials stand for a unified continent who's monetary value is the euro.

The voice mail message is as follows: "Hey Synge, It's Mr. Emotionally Unavailable, and umm, yeah...if you don't feel like calling me back I understand, but I was just wondering how you were doing and calling to say hi. I hope all is well and ummm...yeah, I hope all is well. So long."

(the unmistakable eloquence of Yale grads with a law degree from Fordham)

(I mock, but my voice mails are far worse...and far longer...as many who read this can attest to)

The thing is that its completely sincere and I know it comes from a good place; I know he's concerned and he really does hope all is well and he might even miss me a little bit. I know he cares about me; he just doesn't love me and cannot be what I so desperately want him to be.

And it fucking kills me. It kills me to hear his voice. It kills me to hear the genuine concern. It kills me to know the sincerity is there.

I am clearly not anywhere near as over him as I wanted to believe that I am, as evidenced by the gigantic glass of vodka I am now drinking and the tears that are threatening to spew forth at any moment now. Just hearing his voice sends me into a state of almost panic because I want to see him and to be completely enveloped by him and fall asleep to the sound of his breathing that is so incredibly familiar and know that when I toss and turn in a nightmarish fever that he'll put his arms around me to comfort me as an automatic gesture despite not being truly awake and never be angry or impatient at my nightly acrobatics, screams, and tears. I want more than anything to bury my face in his humorous compassion and feel the safety and nonjudgemental understanding and acceptance I found there. I want those instances of sublime comprehension completely devoid of words but replete with newly forged innocence that I never thought possible found in those very rare moments of improbable connection and unity. I want to see his expression of awed wonder and hear him say "wow" in a mirrored echo of my exact thoughts as he pauses, hovering above me, and his eyes seem to tear through my tissue paper elmer's glue elementary school art class project defenses.

I want him to love me, not care about me.

And it fucking kills me.

More than I expected.

Far more.

How long does it take until this goes away?

I feel like a cliche.

I feel entirely pathetic.

All from one little voice mail.







The worst is that I saved it.

(Please tell me I'm not hopeless)





(Anyone got an ark? The great flood of tears has commenced... Please? I'll settle for a swimming pool raft?)

I Must Have a Faulty Magnetic Field

Pier 57

(above and below)

a31

As if it were not frustrating enough to attract only those proudly unwilling to venture anywhere near anything remotely resembling commitment (and we're talking the level of reluctance to plan a week in advance here) in my dating life (I use that term loosely...both terms actually) now I'm encountering it in my activist sphere of existance as well. Lady Alice and I are working together on an action that among other things will mark the anniversary of the a31 unlawful mass arrests during the Republican National Convention last year, and shed renewed light on the conditions and inordinate length of time under which we were held. While many on the various arrestees listservs are interested in showing up, a disappointing few are interested in committing to helping with the legwork involved. Worse yet, those that did seem to be flaking out on us. The guy who is theoretically obtaining the permit is suddenly nowhere to be found, and has not responded to the flood of e-mails we've sent. The other womyn involved in the planning has gone away on vacation, without any notice that she was going to be mia.

Frustrating isn't quite large enough a word to encompass it all...frustra-discombobul-ennervant might do the trick, but if you say it loud enough you'll never really sound precocious, not to mention the rhyme and rhythm are missing there.

In my terribly narcissistic way, I can't help feeling like its got to have something to do with me. I must have a faulty magnetic field around me that only attracts people who abhor commitment on any level and are the very definition of solipsism; I repel everyone else. My magnetic field was attached the wrong way...inside out...and I can't ever stick to the fridge! Oh god, I've figured it all out now! I'm doomed to a life of being propelled onto the floor every time I try to connect with the fridge!

Maybe its a reflection on me; after all, I'm not exactly sure I always want to be on the fridge.

Or maybe I just smell and no one's told me yet.

Antilles is an Old Dutch Word Meaning You Must Wait Unimaginably Long Periods of Time to Eat When You Are Very Hungry

Bringin' home the bacon (cave formation called bacon in Bonaire caves, but referred to as draperies in American caving)

And I thought my nose was big! (octopus)

That's amore! (moray eel)

I'm floundering for a caption here (flounder)

Bonaire lawn decoration (flamingos...like you didn't know that one...)

The anemone of mine anemone is my friend (sea anemone)

My ex (I couldn't resist- aren't all men eels?)

Self portrait (angel fish - I'm so modest aren't I?)

I have returned rejuvinated, centered, relaxed, and covered from head to toe in mosquito and sand flea bites, which, while stunningly attractive, is not what my deli guy first remarked upon during our grand reunion; no, deli guy #3 took one look at me, gasped in horror (and no, I am not exaggerating here), and said "What happened??!! You get so big!!". Just what every woman aches to hear after just having spent a week exposing her flesh for all the world to see.

How I got so big is a complete mystery since we practically starved every afternoon while awaiting lunch. It became the big joke of the week as you had to plan 2 hours in your schedule just to wait for the food to arrive, and when it did it wasd almost always inevitably not what you ordered (which can prove a bit difficult if you don't eat meat or chicken and that's what they keep trying to set before you as you drool and cry from hunger). This was merely a minor inconvenience, however, and I didn't take it half as seriously as many of the divers did. Then again, I was always on top of the water, which evidently makes one far less hungry than being 60 feet below. Don't ask for the logic behind this; the only answer I got was that it was a pressure thing.

I did spend a great deal of time on top of the water, however, and I am so incredibly proud to officially announce that I believe I just may have conquered my fish phobia. Aside from the 6 foot tarpon fish that suddenly turned me into an Olympic swimmer, I did incredibly well and even found myself really enjoying snorkeling. I ended up buying my own snorkel, mask, and fins (it was only $20 more than the week's rental and much better quality so it seemed stupid not to) and have now added snorkeling to already overflowing basket o' hobbies and interests. I even have a favorite fish from this trip, the trunk fish, which is the hummingbird of the carribean and can swim backwards and hover. I also find the trumpet fish absolutely fascinating, as it swims vertically. I, however, swam horizontally, but I swam horizontally with fishies and that's huge!

I also went caving for two of the afternoons, and because I'm a caver and have been doing it since I was 15, the guide let me do a bunch of stuff that he didn't let the others do, like diving under a huge rock where I had to twist my body to get through. We went down a 100 foot drop to get into this snorkeling cave (not rappelling though - using rope and rocks...it was actually pretty easy) and it was incredible! I've never snorkeled in a cave before and it was absolutely magical. Another one of the caves used to be under the sea millions of years ago, and had these incredible fossils and inverted brain coral throughout; yet another new caving wonder for me.

I took a kayaking trip through the incredible mangroves one afternoon and was paired with Mom in the kayak; I had no idea she was as good a kayaker as she is and the two of us together made such an unstoppable team with our naturally synchronized strokes that we were always getting way ahead of the group. We have this joke between four of us who go snorkeling together (this was my second trip with the dive club; the first having been to Dominica right before I moved to New York) that weare the Franco-American Olympic Snorkeling Team in Training (Team Spagettio for short); that day it was extended to the Olympic Kayaking Team in Training as well. The cute Dutch guide was quite taken with our paddling; it was all Mom, really.

As much as I'd like to go on and on more, its now 3:30am and unless I want to sleep through the majority of the day tomorrow (which is appealing, don't get me wrong), I should make the arduous climb into bed. Besides, there really aren't many funny stories about the trip, just fun ones, and I really don't want to be that person that bores the shit out of everyone droning on and on about my vacation; don't worry no slide shows here. I will, however, subject you to some photos Dad took while diving; my photos have yet to be developed, though I took shockingly few as crime is rather high on the island so the camera rarely ventured out with me. Most of the pictures are things that I actually saw, with the exception of the octopus and moray eel, which I saw snorkeling in Dominica, and the big eel picture. One of the divers took an underwater shot of Mom and I snorkeling above him while he was on a dive; can't wait to see that one, though me in a bikini shot from below is not exactly my idea of flattering.

Okay, enough blabbering - I'm shutting up, posting picturesm and calling it a night (even though technically its an early morning).

Editor's note: The editor is a big dummy and the photos loaded above the post. The editor is too tired to change it. The editor seems to enjoy speaking of herself in the third person. The editor clearly needs sleep (as proven by the use of overly chessy bad punning captions of photos - sorry, sleep deprivation produces a chemical alteration thus turning me into my father...aaaahhhhh!)