Belly-flopping into the Pool of Imagination

My Dear Hidden Blog, How I've Missed You

2009-10-05T10:45:00.002-04:00

So I have this other blog, that's supposed to be the main event, the documenting of my life....and I never write in it. Somehow the fact that its a family blog, the fact that its not all about me, well, that just makes it boring to write. I guess its not new to anyone but me...I am a solipsistic blogger. Hello, my name is Synge and I'm self centered...at least in the blogging sense.

This here blog is my hidden blog. The one WB never wants to find because it has stories of my dating life before him, and he's Puerto Rican and jealous. Make that very very jealous. Its silly, but it feels almost like a betrayal to be writing here in this hidden blog, for that reason.

However, I need something that is mine and mine alone. I'm realizing more and more how important that is. And while I may not be as witty as in my former New York life, and I certainly don't have the same sort of interesting [read dramatic] stories as I did before, I'd like to come back here and visit every so often. Its like my little internet pied-a-terre, where I can come to be alone and sit in a comfy chair and just be with myself. A roaring fire would be nice too. And maybe some hot sake. Everything is better with a little hot sake.

Why I Have Been a Blogging Slacker aka This Time I Really Do Have a Good Excuse

2007-07-09T18:58:00.001-04:00

Ummm, surprise?

Bet that explains a lot, huh?

So I must confess - I have another blog. Yes, I've neglected this wonderful blog which has been steadfast and true, for a newer younger blog. But hey, I'm cooking a baby here and I only got but so much energy (which is really ummm, none) per day! So here's the new BABY BLOG, which I will be primarily posting on. I'm still going to keep this one around (hidden on my profile so that WB can't find it - he's been adamant from the start about not wanting to read it...he can't take reading about all my previous exploits with the men) to write about grown up things that I wouldn't want everyone in the world to be able to read. But I will probably be posting less often. Right now my world pretty much revolves around pregnancy anyway, and that you can read all about on the BB...gas and all.

The other little tidbit of news is that we're leaving New York at the end of this month (like less than 3 weeks away...yikes!!!). After four wonderful years, many adventures, and a hell of a good time, I'm saying goodbye to this place I love so dearly, at least for now. Its a hard transition, but the more the pregnancy progresses, the more I realize that I don't want to raise a child here..not unless I win the lottery and get filthy rich. Its too hard, not enough nature, and the pace is exhausting now...I can't imagine with kids! Also, a huge factor in the decision, if not the main one, is that Maman would not get a chance to really be able to be a part of this child's life for whatever time she's got left if we don't move close by. She's can't really travel much, and we couldn't go back and forth with a baby like we've been doing. Its hard on us, and we're ostensibly grown-ups (though thaht's debateable)...it would be incredibly disruptive for the baby (and the debateable grown-ups as well). All in all I feel pretty good about the decision, though there's a tiny part of me that has a hard time letting go of this particular incarnation of my dream. That's normal, I know, and it doesn't mean that I'm not excited about motherhood (because lord knows I am!), it just means that I have a transition process to go through. And I am....right after I finish freaking out about the actual physical realities of the moving process (namely that I have wayyyy too much shit! And its got to be packed! FUCK!).

And now I'm exhausted from writing this and I need a nap. See? That's why I've gotten very little done in the past 12 weeks.

There Are Tiger Pictures at the End If You Can Just Sift Through All the Babble

2007-06-07T20:33:00.000-04:00

Yet again I come crawling on my hands and knees, begging apologies for my blog negligence. I could cry on your shoulder about the horrible strep throat of death I had last week, which kept me in a feverish state of constant sobbing due to the fact that I evidently swallowed about 26 straight razorblades which were seemingly lodged in my throat and were not about to abandon their prime posts. Yes, it was gruesome and horrendous and the poor Boar was desperately trying anything and everything to make me just the slightest bit more comfortable. I did appreciate greatly the 8am run for no-sugar added real fruit popsicles. Especially since I was literally that specific in my request. I also appreciated his voluntary banishment to the couch, which I might add is in the room without the air conditioning. He is an angel indeed.

Yes, I could cry on your shoulder about all of that, but I have survived and am feeling human once again, and really, we all know that I'll be lax in my posting again, strep or no strep.

So instead, I'll complain about the fact that my refrigerator is completely broken and we had to throw away absolutely everything inside it, condiments and all, thus effectively flushing about $200 right down the toilet. Yay! There is nothing I love more than flushing my 2 jobbed hard earned perpetual exhaustion causing money down the toilet! To make matters worse, my super shows up to look at it today, stares at it for about 10 minutes before concluding that its broken. Gee, thanks! I hadn't figured that out from the stench of food gone bad! He has no idea how long it will take for them to get a repairman in there to fix it, so now we are stuck throwing even more money down the toilet by outsourcing every meal. Lovely.

And now, to leave you with the few pictures I took during our office trip to the awesome Bronx Zoo before I realized that I had brought a bunch of uncharged rechargeable batteries, just to make this post even more ragtag than it already was:

Evidently I'm Ancient

2007-05-25T11:12:00.000-04:00

The other day as I was doing the two job shuffle, going from one to another right around the time the local high school got out, I overheard one of the funniest converstaions I've heard in a long time. Imgine the following, but in rapid squeaky I'm cooler-than-you teenage voices:

Girl 1: Well just think, when you're 18 you can do whatever you want, and no one can tell you you can't do something.
Girl 2: Yeah but by the time I'm 18 I'll be old and a grown up and my life will be over and I won't even want to do any of the fun stuff I want to do now. It'll be too late, I'll be old and boring.

Ah yes, I remember when I turned 18 and became a spinster rocking in my rocking chair and communing with the neighborhood cats...life was indeed over. If only I'd been able to stay out late and go to certain parties my life would never have been such a useless wasteland of nothingness. The world will never know what genius would have befallen it had I only been able to do wjhatever I wanted to as a teenager. Life is so unfair, dude.

Do Not Disturb

2007-05-17T18:28:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I wrote a post about how frustrating it is to keep secrets. In general. Because it is frustrating. However, it was clearly a mistake to post it here in the blog, as it has prompted a very unwelcome bevy of inquiries by several close friends who read this blog. The gossip train is running full speed and I'm really slightly pissed about it.

If I say I have a secret, that means it is something I do not wish to or cannot disclose. It does not mean please call me 3 times in one day (and counting) while I am at work (I work 2 jobs remember? I'm usually at work until at least 10pm) and cannot pick up the phone. Because frankly, no matter how many times you call, I will not tell you what the secret is until I am able to, if I am ever able to. I would expect a little respect for my privacy. I would never badger someone to tell me something if they said it was a secret; I would assume it was a secret for a very good reason.

I'm sorry if this sounds harsh, but it has been a very frustrating day. Perhaps I was naive in thinking that I could post about something that was bothering me without it becoming a huge deal. I was told by someone that if I post on a blog which I know friends read that I am asking to be harassed, so I want to set the record straight right now that I do not wish to be harassed and am genuinely sorry I ever write that post. Please respect my need for privacy and discretion.

(That being said, I must also include that my friends love me very much and their harassment does come from a well meaning, if erroneous, place. )

Photo of the Day

2007-05-03T10:56:00.000-04:00

Snowball

Photo of the Day

2007-05-02T23:12:00.000-04:00

31 Kisses for 31 Years

Photo of the Day

2007-05-01T11:13:00.000-04:00

Urban Cotton

Next Week Maybe I'll Even Tackle Pottytraining

2007-04-25T16:56:00.000-04:00

At 31 years of age I am just now learning (hopefully) enough self control not to pick my scabs.

Sad but oh so true.

On Sudden Death vs Fatal Illness

2007-04-06T14:22:00.000-04:00

A friend at the sdj just received the news this afternoon that his mother died suddenly. The news was unexpected and the affect positively heartbreaking in such a way that I have no words for it, just a heart that aches for him and what he's going through. There was a domino effect, of course, and everyone within a 10 cube range got on the phone and called their mother, suddenly hyper-aware of the fragility of life.

Everyone except for me.

I mean yes, I did immediately get on the phone and call Maman, of course, but my experience is different because frankly I'm already more than aware of Maman's mortality. In fact her death is not a distant nightmare possibility, the spectre of which can be erased with a simple phone call. Her death is a reality, and a more imminent one than it is for most of my coworkers.

It got me thinking about how surreal it is to live with the knowledge of approaching death. Maman has been talking about it more and more, admitting (at least to me, probably not to my father) that she is dying, and we don't know how much time she has left. It could be 10 months, it could be 10 years (though that is highly unlikely, as her tumors are growing again, she's back on the hard core chemo regime, and her body's tolerance is pretty damn low at this point). But she summed it up well when she said that you can't get consumed by the knowledge that death is a soon-to-be reality, or else you're already dead, completely paralyzed by the idea. I think its definitely similar for those on the survivor end of the spectrum. Even knowing that Maman is going to die... its not a reality I can fully give over to, nor is it a reality I can ignore. I'm not deluding myself into thinking she will get better, because she won't, but I'm also not letting fear take over my life (which I think is what is happening to my father).

When my brother commit suicide, it was both a sudden extreme shock and no surprise whatsoever. He had been mentally ill for a long time (longer than anyone but me knew), and had already tried to commit suicide once before so it was always this looming threat hovering menacingly over every aspect of daily life. I even ran away to Europe for 3 months to escape the fear and the pressure of caring for him. Yet when it finally happened, it felt like such a shocking punch to the gut, knocking the wind right out of me. I think we can't ever fully wrap our heads around death, and even when we know its going to happen, the shock of it can never fully be erased. We can't fathom the finality of it until we are experiencing it.

So in my opinion, knowing that Maman is going to die does not in any way make it an easier pill to swallow than a sudden death, it just means I'm more aware of mortality in general.

And maybe just a teensy bit jealous of those who are blissfully unaware.

Love It

2007-04-03T20:02:00.000-04:00

Interspecies Conversation Between a Monkey and a Boar

2007-04-02T19:57:00.000-04:00

I sent The Wild Boar a link to this Hemmingway Challenge from the Guradian, which I found via the ever awesome Sarah Brown (who's Cringe night I keep meaning to go to. Somehow I have yet to make it there alive). Here are the emails that followed:

From: Wild Boar To: Le Synge Bleu
Superb new mind. Adversity. Small room.

From: Le Synge Bleu To: Wild Boar
a little obtuse for my taste

From: Wild Boar To: Le Synge Bleu
Wow,obtuse? excuse me
I just threw a pebble
That’s all

From: Le Synge Bleu To: Wild Boar
Main Entry: ob·tuse Pronunciation: äb-'tüs, &b-, -'tyüsFunction: adjectiveb : difficult to comprehend : not clear or precise in thought or expression

From: Wild Boar To: Le Synge Bleu
ob·tuse (ŏb-tōōs', -tyōōs' )adj. ob·tus·er, ob·tus·est
-Lacking quickness of perception or intellect.
-Characterized by a lack of intelligence or sensitivity: an obtuse remark

From: Le Synge Bleu To: Wild Boar
Its used more frequently in the connotation of the first definition*

From: Wild Boar To: Le Synge Bleu
sil·ly Pronunciation[sil-ee] adjective, -li·er, -li·est, noun, plural -lies.
-absurd; ridiculous
-Le Synge Bleu

From: Le Synge Bleu To: Wild Boar
I love you

[* = my very own obtuse remark, due to very awkward phrasing]

This is a rather typical exchange. Yes we are dorks. Dorks who flirt by way of dictionary definitions. Its a damn good thing we found eachother, though the prospect of us procreating is a scary thought indeed.

Mes Nouvelles...Vitement

2007-03-20T11:45:00.000-04:00

I'm in the midst of packing so this will be ultra brief and super-non-entertaining. My gramdmother died yesterday and I'm getting ready to fly to France for the funeral. My mother doesn't know yet because my father wouldn't let me tell her while they were on a mini-vacation in Charleston, SC...which I think is totally wrong. He will tell her tonight, when they get home...at which point it will be too late for her to be able to go. Even if she isn't strong enough for the trip, I firmly believe that it is her choice to make - a choice he is effectively robbing her of. He said "If you saw her smile...she's the happiest I've seen her since she got sick. I'm not going to take that away from her." I understand his reasoning, and I know he truly believes he is doing the right thing..however, I believe it is truly the wrong decision and ultimately controlling and disrespectful. I believe he has no right to do this. Unfortunately her cell phone is off and he will not pick up calls from me. After our last discussion (read argument) he hung up on me and hasn't turned his cell phone on since.If he were my husband, I would consider this act not only selfish, but unforgivable. A marriage certificate is not a liscence to steal one's power of choice, cancer or no cancer.

So in a truly adolescent move on my part, I charged the $500 ticket to Paris on his credit card. If he won't let Maman go, I'm going in her stead and he's paying for it.

I'll be back in a week and deal with the aftermath then. for now, I have to believe that going is the right decision...for me, for Maman, and for the generational stream of women in my family.

Just Call Me The Phoenix. Or Call Me From Phoenix. Or Call Me In Phoenix, Except I'm Not There.

2007-03-07T19:13:00.000-05:00

This post is so overdue and outdated it’s got a perm and feathered bangs. Seriously. But considering the fact that seldom do I have really good news to share, and even more seldom is it related to what actually means the most in the world to me (in addition to sex and stinky cheese, that is…but not together, that would be way too messy), so overdue or not I’m still gonna toot my own horn and I’m gonna do it with gusto damnit!

Except that every time I sit down to write I get distracted by far more important things like, umm, knitting. And biting my fingernails. And imagining what we could do to fix up the bedroom if a) we had any money and/or b) I actually cleaned it enough to find the floor on my side of the bed. But as I’m really trying to stop procrastinating writing down something, anything, for this here neglected, torn and tattered excuse for a blog, I might as well rally the forces and muster up a little excitement here.

The weekend before last, I was on stage! Yes, it’s true, believe it or not. I know its been so long that you probably thought I wouldn’t even know a stage if one mugged me on the street, and frankly I asked myself that very question on numerous occasions…in fact I was so certain that my creative juices had run dry and my acting muscles so atrophied that artistically I resembled nothing more than a metaphoric shrunken head. Or a raisin. And the two always looked kind of similarly frightening to me.

Let’s rewind before I launch into more hideous metaphors (as I’m prone to do when tired. Or typing. Or breathing…). The adventure began because my friend Buff (named so for his role in the show we were both in when my brother died, which if that won’t cement a friendship for life, I don’t know what will) ditched my birthday party. The rat. I sent out what I hoped were cute thank you e-cards through evite (because evidently once you hit 31 you suddenly are under the mistaken impression that you possess manners you never did heretofore) and they were automatically sent to everyone who had responded yes, whether they were a no show or drank me under the table while I mumbled a faint cry for a huge pink sombrero and more guava Margaritas. Buffster was the former, and being the awesome friend he is, he immediately called. Being the even awesomer friend he is, he asked if I would like to participate in Core24 – a 24+ hour (excluding sleep time) theatre project with a company he’s involved in. Of course I immediately became an overly thankful bastion of desperation, so ecstatic was I to finally have a scrap or two to feed the actor in me.

And it was much more than a scrap or two, let me tell you. First and foremost, it was one helluva fun ride. We all met (by all I mean actors and writers) at the theatre at 10am, where the parameters were drawn out of bags. Each 10 minute play shared a similar theme, line, and prop, and each playwright then chose their own genre and their own actors. The theme was drawing the curtains, the line was Vengence is mine sayeth the lord, and the prop was a 3 hole punch. My playwright chose farce – my least comfortable genre. This turned out to be such a gift, though, as I went farther out on a limb than I normally would have gone, taking risks right and left…and best of all, I was funny. They laughed from before the first line right up until the end blackout. And all this from having only Saturday night to rehearse a bit and learn the script (the final ending of which we didn’t even receive until past 11pm…yikes!), Sunday day to rehearse until our 5:30 “tech” onstage, and working with an actor who didn’t know his lines but was a fabulous improviser (except when he forgot key business) from whom you never knew what you’d get….and it was gloriously fun and challenging in a good way! Everyone I met that works with this fairly new company was incredibly nice, and funny and smart, and it was all in all exactly what the doctor ordered.

And best of all, better than the compliments on my performance I received, better than the great laughs the house gave during the performance, better almost than stinky cheese, was the fact that no one, not one single person involved in the whole thing, invalidated me as an actor because I haven’t been performing much at all in the last 2 years. No one. Just me. Everyone else seemed to be pretty much of the opinion that its par for the course as a New York actor, and everyone’s gone through ups and downs like that career wise…whether due to personal tragedy or just plain old growth time. That was priceless, internets. Absolutely priceless.

Wearing a French maid costume with cowboy boot slippers was pretty fun too.

Reason Number 2 Billion Six Hundred Seventy Three Thousand One Hundred Five

2007-02-14T12:38:00.000-05:00

The Wild Boar and I are both on a super strict super healthy diet, and I'm proud to report we're both losing a bunch of weight. But amidst a holiday engineered by the sugar industry, its definitely a challenge to maintain, especially with raging pms (min, not his, in case yuo were wondering). Enter my perfect and super thoughtful and considerate Boar to the rescue. Instead of flowers or chocolates, I got something even better - an edible fruit bouquet, which smells and tastes as delicious as it looks. The card accompanying it reads Here is a healthy way to show you how much you mean to me. I love you truly and cherish every moment I share with you. Yeah, the love and cherish parts are great and all, but what really gets my heart is the healthy. **Sigh** How long have I waited for that? And how much trans fat did I put up with along the way, right?

Tonight we're going to Gobo, which is not only super healthy, but also one of my favorite restaurants of all time. When my parents came up for my birthday last year I took them there, and my father who incessantly mocks vegetarians absolutely loved the food. Some really spacey monkey girl completely forgot to make reservations until last night, however (after deciding months ago to go there), and so we're stuck going to the Upper East Side (read Siberia, but even colder) location instead of the West Vilage for a 9:45 reservation. Hmmm...I can think of a few things we can do in the meantime to work up our appetite....

Happy Valentine's Day to you all. While I acknowledge that its a wholly commercial endeavor designed to fuel the uber capitalist machine, I must confess that this year its a commercial endeavor that I'm loving. Who'd have ever though life would turn out like this? Here is my not-so-commercial Valentine's Day gift to you, from a super talented friend of mine. Enjoy!

(ps. I got the Boar these. I don't think they're edible, and certainly not diet friendly, but I gotta admit they sound pretty freakin awesome. Plus they made me fall in love with B&H...but that's anoter love letter for another time.)

A Rather Discouraged Purely Factual and Completely Unfunny Update

2007-01-31T15:44:00.000-05:00

I know I haven't written about Maman in a long time, and I also know that many people look here to find out the updates instead of asking...and I'm sorry about that. I guess I haven't really been up to the task; I mean there are really only so many ways to say cancer sucks and I want my mother to be healthy and I want my life back. Its hard to write about, and even harder to live. So instead of really doing either, I've mostly been watching movies. Google video and Amazon unbox, I love you. You have numbed and distracted me with loving screens, and for this I will be ever grateful.

The doctors have taken Maman off of the chemo for right now; her poor body could not take it anymore and 2 blood and platelet transfusions a week were way too much on both her body and her state of mind. This is wonderful for quality of life, as she's now able to do a lot more regular life things that she hasn't been able to do in 7 months -simple things such as cooking a meal or driving to the store to pick something up. Daily chores that we take for granted, or even think we may want a respite from. Little things which make up a semblance of a life, and without which we feel helpless and non-existent. This also serves as a much needed break for all of us from the heightened state of panic and constant crisis mode we've been operating under for 7 months. WB and I are spending more time in New York and less time in airports, finding our own life together that we didn't necessarily get a chance to explore. So yes, there are many beautiful and good things to come out of this decision which we had no control over to begin with.

And then there are the dark and gloomy cold hard facts. Maman cannot receive chemo. And this is for an extended period of time - we're talking at least 6 months, if not more. And its not like the cancer's on hiatus too....nope, its working overtime, as its wont to do. Cancer is a workaholic who doesn't take vacations and works weekends and thus gets all the promotions until its Vice President of the entire body. And the really super shitty villainy of it all is that she's still needing platelet transfusions, even without the poison of chemo seeping throughout her veins. The only possible thing one can utter upon hearing that is a useless 13 year old battle cry of That is So Unfair!

Maman just called a few minutes ago to inform me that she's in the hospital yet again waiting for the platelets to arrive. I had so hoped that with this forced break her life could finally be more than one long endless wait, but perhaps that goal was too high.

Yes, I am feeling discouraged. Discouraged and tired and heartbroken. Although, as Maman so wisely put it, at least she's still alive to be waiting for platelets in the hospital.

Okay, I Get the Hint!

2007-01-25T15:05:00.000-05:00

Not only have I gotten several emails requesting that I update my blog (as sadly I am indeed that bad at maintaining contact that people really on the blog to know what's going on in my life - yes, i am aware how pathetic that is), but I have also been tagged by My Little Vidipookikins, aka Micawave to name 5 things about me that you don't know. As I am not exactly known for overwhelming modesty and discretion on this blog (or anywhere else for that matter) this is definitely a bit of a challenge indeed. Throw into the mix the fact that some of my readers have known me practically my whole life and that my big sister reads this blog and it because a herculean task. So I'll do my best and some of you will say "I knew that". Good for you, you win a gold star. Here's my confessional, how many hail whatevers do I need to say?

1. I have virtually no memory for names, faces, dates, places, and pretty much any and all information that is not related to the present moment or a play I am working on. I have been known to forget what I am saying in the middle of a sentence (more often than I'd like to admit) and I never introduce people because I've almost always forgotten the name of one party or another, even if I've known them for years. I am a big fat liar in this respect, often acting my way through awkward situations and people or things I don't remember at all. Despite all of this, I am always 99% word perfect on my lines for every play I've been in - even bash, where i was onstage alone for 55 minutes, all monologue. Go figure...and now everyone I know in my real life is totally going to call me on it when I'm bullshitting. Nice one Synge! All for the sake of a stupid meme.

2. Certain that I was destined to spend my life alone or in a series of dead end relationships with emotionally unavailable or autistic men, I asked Mr. Artsy Hotpants to fork over some sperm and father my child if I ended up alone with rapidly dying eggs and no prospects on the horizon. He agreed, and I'm still deeply honored by that. That would be one brilliant but amazingly neurotic child. With a big 'ol Jewish nose. I'd also offer up my womb and eggs even if I am with someone and MAH wanted a child. That's friendship for you.

3. I am terrified that I am becoming my mother - just the overly controlling, perpetually tense, and hyperdefensive version of her, which I was fortunate enough to grow up with pretty much right up until college, and the one who is unfortunately rearing her head a bit these days. Its amazing how much conditioning there is to overcome, and how aware and vigilant you have to be to overcome it. And I am afraid I am failing miserably. Especially since WB said the other day that he felt like sometimes I treat him like my mother treats my father. That scared the shit out of me, especially since he's been seeing the least flattering version of our family dynamics. Cancer fucks with familial relationships too...as if being the harbinger of death wasn't enough....

4. I am currently the biggest I've ever been in my life and I feel pretty bad about myself...so WB and I have embarked on a very strict diet, as prescribed by Lady Charon, who is quite knowledgeable in the nutrition department. Its no wheat, dairy, sugar, fat, and low sodium low carb. Pretty much we eat salads with fat free/carb free/calorie free dressing and steamed/grilled/roasted veggies and brown rice. Its amazing how much of a difference it makes, and even though I've always eaten quite healthily (is that a word? I"m too lazy to look it up), my body seems to be appreciating the lack of processed and extraneous crap. However, my confession is that while I am off all of those weight inducing things, I have not gone off alcohol, which is probably the most fattening of all! We're both still losing weight and my rationale is that we've both given up smoking and all of the yummiest foods in life (by that I mean baguette and stinky french cheese)...you can't take everything away! I still feel like a giant fraud though.

5. I am deathly afraid of fish. When I go snorkeling, my mother has to hold my hand and wave away the fish if they get too close. I once starting crying and panicking when a school of 3 inch teeny tiny fish were gathered around the ladder to the dive boat, blocking my exit from the water. That's when my mother realized I wasn't exaggerating my phobia. Yet I still snorkel and even own my own snorkeling gear because I try to confront my fears as best I can so they don't take total control over me. Also, snorkeling with sea turtles is pretty freaking awesome.

And now I have to go to my first ever acupuncture session (look, you got a freebie there! above and beyond the 5! wow!) so that I can pull up my pants without bursting into tears from the pain. I went to one of the $10 for 10 minutes Korean massage places that you find every 4 blocks, and when I was paying, the guy who kneaded and pounded my enormous knots (get your mind out of the gutter, I'm talking about pain here) said "Very bad! Back and neck very bad!" I replied "I know" as in duh, that's why I came here. And he said rather persistently "No, very very bad! Very bad! Very bad back and neck!" Okay, dude. I get it. My back is seriously fucked, but ummm...considering I'm the one in major pain, don't you kind of think I"m aware of that? So I'm putting all my eggs in this basket, and hoping desperately that acupuncture will be my salvation. I have pretty high hopes considering 1. the western medicine doctor who treated (read drugged) me for the initial car accident neck injury pretty much said my only hope was acupuncture. This coming from a western doctor...that's big points for both acupuncture and that doctor in my book. 2. I have more faith in what is a much older (read tried and true) tradition of medicine that is not in the pocket of big business (read the pharmaceutical villains). So wish me luck and send healing energy my way. Or vodka. That works too.

Oh, I almost forgot...I gotta tag 5 people. Oy. Okay, ummm...Jessica, Liza, The Evacuee, Chanteuse, and Vixanne. Now I gotta go pee and get stuck with very large needles.

In that order.

Ms. Synge's Neighborhood or Hell's Kitchen: It Ain't Just a Myth if You'e a Pig!

2006-12-27T19:27:00.000-05:00

I'm tired of writing about and living with pesky 'ol cancer as an everyday entity. He really cramps my style, and frankly bores the shit out of me. I've had it, okay? So for now, I'm trying to completely ignore his existence in our lives (and in Maman's body) in the completely unrealistic hope that he'll just go away. Yes, I've personified cancer...he's actually a pretty funny character. But I won't tell you about him. Not today. Because that would be acknowledging him, and I've already written the word cancer far too much for someone who's supposed to be ignoring its existence. Why do you make me do these things? Sneaky internet!

Today I thought I'd take you on a little tour of my neighborhood and show you some of the interesting sights I see every day as I head into work because I love you and I wanted to share my world with you. Also, I was procrastinating my actual arrival, and this lovely idea popped into my head. Damn convenient, huh? What was inconvenient was that I don't own a digital camera smaller than my head, so I was forced to use a crappy cell phone camera instead. First up, we have one of many hooch houses. These are the most important landmarks in my world, and luckily, there seems to be one almost every 5 blocks. We like our booze here in Hell's Kitchen, and we even have about 9 bars to go with every alcohol emporium. We also have all the hard core drunks hanging around Port Authority threatening to vomit on you as you head into work at 11am, but hey, that's just one of the things that makes the neighborhood so special.

Oh, and by we I probably mean me. Except for the vomit part. I hope.

Here we have the awesomely addictive 99 cent pizza shack. located conveniently right beside the farmer's market, so the dueling signs advertise farm fresh produce and 99 cent pizza. Guess which seems to always be more popular? This place is open 24 hours, and in the wee morning hours you are guaranteed to find at least one bonafide crackhead hanging around trying to score a slice. Its total crap, but WB and I like it better than any of the brick oven pizzerias near us. Its the crack, of course.
Its amazing how much more you see when you stop to photograph the roses in life....things that may have escaped your attention before as you rushed about your day. And weren't you really actually kind of lucky for that? I've passed by this meat market (no I'm not being euphemistic, its literally a meat market) every day for some time and only realized today the grotesque horror which lay within. Yes, folks, these are actual pigs' feet. And they look like actual little piggy feet....decapitated piggy feet! This little piggy went to market, only there he got chopped up and his little feetsies put on display to make innocent folks just passing by upchuck the 99 cent pizza they just scarfed down! No one warned me the rhyme ended like that!
When I think of the finest in American cuisine, two main things spring to mind. Yes folks, here they are together at least, the culinary king and queen, united for your dining pleasure. (and Zagat rated to boot!)
And last but not least, we have the creepy evil pig which hangs out outside of Rudy's Bar. He's clearly a vagabond and up to no good...cavorting with the creepy clown from Circus bar a block or two up. He'd better watch it, or he's gonna be sent downtown a few blocks....to the market....need I say anymore you evil piggy in a bellhop disguise? And as one would certainly ascertain by the friendly smiling paper mache pig welcoming everyone inside, this dark chamber of horrors then serves up free hot dogs to go with their cheap beer.

The lesson of today's little jaunt is that clearly the hell in Hell's Kitchen ain't no innocuous name....if you're a pig.

And I clearly need a fabulous digital camera that takes wonderful pictures AND is smaller than my head.

[hint hint hint......]

Its a CHunky CHanukah and CHristmas!

2006-12-22T16:02:00.000-05:00

This is my super awesome friend I did a show with last year. She's here to wish you a happy holiday from me. Well, really it was a spot for MTV and probably got her some mad cash and thaht's why she's doing it. I'm just co-opting her work really. Anyway, Happy Holidays!

Don't I have awesomely talented friends?

Beware the Milky Pirate! Words to Live By

2006-12-18T16:18:00.000-05:00

Monthary #8

2006-12-07T20:13:00.000-05:00

Tonight is the Wild Boar and the Blue Monkey's 8th monthary. And the above is a very unflattering cell phone picture taken to stave off the throes of hospital boredom during the last 12 hour transfusion for Maman. Just felt the need to explain why we're unshowered, sans makeup, and, well... pink.

Now 8 months is nothing in the grand scheme of things, I am well aware of this (so back off all ye of the many yeared relationships), but lets consider 2 very important facts when examining why this is a pretty big deal in Synge-land.

1. Cancer (Maman's, I'm still cancer free as of right now) and the overwhelming familial obligation that accompanies it do not exactly create ideal circumstances in which to cultivate a happy healthy and successful relationship. Neither do the million and one crying jags the Boar has been subjected to. Not to mention the nonstop travelling, all encompassing exhaustion, and misplaced anger. I'll stop here, you get the picture.

We were a mere month and a half into this relationship when the doctors cut into Maman's brain and all our lives, forever changing the landscapes therein. We were relationship zygotes, still forming and learning in our giddy little microcosm that we believed was impenetrable. Yeah, umm, well we were a little wrong there.

Diamonds are the strongest known natural materials in existance, as well as being among the most coveted. These treasures are created under conditions consisting of immense and unfathomable pressure. I'd like to think the same principles of creation can be extended to relationships, and that we are forging the world's strongest relationship ever. Its certainly proving itself to be, considering the rigeurs it has already withstood in a mere 8 months. (Also, my therapist, Lady Charon, says we are incredibly solid...and if your therapist says you have a solid relationship, than you really probably do considering they make money off of your instability.) We're creating the fuckin' Hope Diamond of relationships, only without the shitty luck.

2. This is me we're talking about here. I don't exactly bear the most glorious track record when it comes to men. In fact, I was going to add a few links here to prior posts, and relaized that I would have to link to pretty much the entire blog pre-Boar. This makes 8 months in a happy healthy relationship not merely a big deal but a fuckin miracle when you think about it!

And our relationship is more than happy and healthy - it is fourth of july fireworks, birthday cake, presents, and unicorn magic all at once. Its its own damn theme park is what it is! He makes me deleriously joyous, to which I say its about fucking time. I have found the perfect fit of man, even on bloaty days, and I relish every single mooshy gooshy ridiculously cheesy gesture we share. He makes me pee in my pants laughing on a regular basis, while never faulting me for having wet pants. That, my dear internets, is priceless.

(the fabulous bounce-back-in-the-sack doesn't hurt either...)

Old and Bewildered

2006-12-05T13:41:00.000-05:00

I was just in the kitchen at the sdj (stupid day job for the anagramically challenged), making more shit soup, and my co-workertrons were all discussing some complex Christian metaphor regarding the whole Star Wars trilogy empire. According to their theory, Anakin Skywalker was an immaculate conception and therefore was like Jesus but then he went to the dark side so he's really Lucifer or something like that. Evidently the extended metaphors abound across the board.

Yawn.

I love Star Wars immensely and hold it on its revered pedestal as the huge childhood influence it was (in fact I have never really gotten over the painful memories of a million unfulfilled promises regarding the ability to be the Princess Leah figurine in exchange for cleaning my brother's room...which always ended up in me being yoda, an honor I did not comprehend at such a tender age and also somehow yoda morphed into a total Jewish mother constantly offerring Luke some nice hot chicken noodle soup in a voice that my brother made me replicate until the day he died and my mother still brought up the other day...and...oh, ahem, where was I?), but I couldn't give less of a shit about this Darth Vader is Lucifer crap. What I do care about, and why I'm even bothering to share this story, is the fact that one of the young co-workertrons at the sdj HAS NEVER EVER SEEN A SINGLE STAR WARS MOVIE!! Now I've always tended to be on the pop culturally illiterate side of the fence my whole life, so I'm not one to throw stones, but how could you never have seen a single Star Wars movie?? There are a gagillion of them! Its a huge part of our collective cultural lexicon as human beings! The last remaining cannibal tribe discovered was familiar with The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi ! Did you grow up in a vacuum? I was so deeply disturbed and in a severe state of shock (I mean its a scary thing indeed when I am in awe over someone else's lack of pop culture knowledge) that I could not refrain from asking:

Synge: Can I ask you a really tacky and rude question? Ummm, how old are you?

SDJ Co-workertron: 25

Synge: Oh. I guess maybe that explains it.

I feel old and bewildered now. Especially bewildered.

Enjoy Your Shit Soup

2006-12-04T15:51:00.000-05:00

I haven't updated for some time due to a newly developed phobia of making statements other than "I'm so tired". I could've written...I could've written every night last week, to combat the overwhelming lonliness that invaded our home when the love of my life was replaced by his absence (made tangible in pillow form, of course, because I am indeed that pathetic and he is indeed that much a part of my life). Instead I watched television. Anyone who knows me in the slightest is now gasping in shock and panic, as this is indeed a very serious statement. Yes, I was that depressed, and that lost, that I actually turned on the television. Even worse...I watched channels that were not PBS. My world is collapsing.

I was rescued from my self pity stupor by my best friend and big sister, Chanteuse, who opened her home and her arms (as she always does) for me to run into to hide from cancer, lonliness, and the fact that I've been feeling like the walls are closing in on me and I just can't take any of this anymore. And her expansive arms, heart, and liquor and wine cabinet provided the respite and comfort I was indeed craving. Since my brother died, I've always said there's noone that knows you or will ever know you like a sibling does, and no one who has to be there for you no matter what. Chanteuse and I have proven that the same thing applies to chosen siblings, and that fact and reality are stored in my personal treasure chest as the precious cargo they are. Saturday night we had the grown up version of a slumber party (ie same gossip with copious amounts of wine thrown into the mix) and Sunday we made homemade ornaments for my very first Christmas tree ever (yes, WB celebrates Christmas so the Chanukah grinch has taken leave this season). We were crafty, crazy, and cuddly...the perfect runaway weekend if you ask me.

The Wild Boar gets home tonight...in fact, I'll actually leave work at a decent hour to go home and get the apartment in some semblance of order (ie kick shit under the bed) and then I'm off to Newark airport for the 2nd time today, as my beloved did not bring any sort of appropriate winter garb with him and it will be less than 30 degrees when he gets here. I somehow think a zipup sweatshirt won't really cut for an island boy caught in freezing temperatures. Five more hours, and all that is good will be restored in my world.

In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy my lunch, oh so appetizingly dubbed by that self same big sister shit soup. There's a whole huge extended metaphor there, but I have neither the time nor the energy to explore it. Sometimes you just gotta eat your shit soup and refrain from examining it all that closely, you know?

Emotional Narcissism, With a Few Facts Thrown in For Good Measure

2006-11-14T21:24:00.000-05:00

I received an email today from someone who said "How is everything going with your family?...I read your blog from time to time, I haven't found any specific news in a while...", which made me feel rather guilty about the rather sporadic posting and also about the lack of the occasional purely factual update. Of course, the purely factual updates always feel like there's not all that m,uch to report, you know? With cancer, its just basically the perpetual balancing act between the disease killing you, the cure killing you, and the cure killing the disease, and sometimes the tightrope seems to be made of invisible fishing wire.

Maman had a much needed and gloriously long break from chemo, so that she would be able to visit her family in France. Both the chemo break and the visit were miraculous, and when I last took leave of her a week ago she was more herself than she had been since this whole ordeal began a mere (but exhausting) 5 or so months ago. We even went shopping a bit each day, which was really sort of the first "return to normalcy" type thing she'd done in 5 months. She was exhilarated, though still easily fatigued.

I was so thankful to have ma Petite Maman back, even though we both acknowledged that this was probably the last time we would ever have quite like this, with her strength quite this up. Realistically speaking, with the resumption of chemo and the cumulative affects of the poison, it probably was the last time I'd see her quite so "normal". It was so wonderful to get to have that time together, and we spent a huge amount of time together just the 2 of us (Wild Boar wandered off many a time in a wonderfully played and really quite subtle effort to give us this time), which I'm also so incredibly thankful for. It was the return of the ever-close mother/daughter duo that we had been for years now, but which somehow had been superceded by cancer's odious personality. Its nice to have this to hold on to, and nice to know for certain that the changes in her personality and in our relationship were due to the strains of chemo and cancer, and not exactly due to some horrible breakdown of our essential beings. I'm tearing up writing this, because I know just how important that last weekend was, and how much I now treasure the lucid moments, or the moments where she is simply my mother, and perhaps worries about something I may mention. These things that were taken for granted before and are now the gold standard in the currency of life.

I left for New York last Tuesday and Maman resumed chemo last Wednesday. The results of her last CT scan showed a decrease in the size of some of the tumors, but the chemo was attacking her bone marrow big time so they've had to massively scale down the intensity of the treatments...which means that they will not be able to fight her very aggressive squamous carcinoma as aggressively as they have been so there will be less of a decrease in tumor size, but there will be much more of an increase in quality of life. I think that's a fair deal, and that a lot should be said for quality of life.

I keep thinking back to the day in the hospital's basement radiology department, where they confirmed it was a brain tumor, and where, for the first time, we were given a realistic view of the big picture. This tiny cramped room, with the very sweet but incredibly awkward and socially inept Radiation Oncologist, who was hell bent on pointing blurry things out on the CT scan with faulty equipment and the shell shocked parents and little 'ol me trying to ask all of the important questions without having a clue as to what they were....I furiously wrote, and annoyed the hell out of him asking for even the spelling of certain things, hoping that by gathering and retaining all the information I possibly could that I would somehow be more armed for a battle that wasn't mine to fight anyway. The one thing I did not write down, but the things I can still hear so very clearly (although I might be the only one who actually heard it), is that the doctor said her chances of remission were so slim - that essentially, it would take a miracle.

I believe him...somewhere deep down, I don't really believe she'll go into remission. This makes me feel like a traitor of sorts - like I would never have saved the kingdom in Neverending Story, or saved Tinkerbell in Peter Pan. Worst of all, I'm afraid that my non-belief, which just may be realism, is somehow going to ultimately cause her death...in that same Tinkerbell Neverending Story kind of a way, you know? Its hard...its hard to find the necessary balance.

And evidently its hard to write a facts only post, which this was supposed to be.

I am so emotionally narcissistic, aren't I?

Petulant Pissypants

2006-11-13T20:03:00.000-05:00

I am in a foul foul fight picking mood today. You probably shouldn't call me, as you probably don't want to be faced with the considerable wrath of Synge. In fact, don't even read my fuckin blog, okay? Because that's just the kind of mood I'm in. Stop! Now! Fine, well I'm just not going to write anymore. So there, you fucking lurker, you. I hate you anyway. You and everything else in this stupid fucking world. And I know I sound like a six year old with a very precocious grasp on profanity and I happen to be just fuckiong fine with that, thank you very much, and you're a smelly poop head anyway. So there. Oh, and nanny nanny boo boo to fuckin you.

Tttthhhhhpppppptttttttttt!!!!!!!!!

Oddly enough, that really didn't make me feel any better.

Fuck it, I'm running away in search of wine.

Tellin' it Like it is!

2006-11-08T17:18:00.000-05:00

Although I'm the last one to post this clip (forgive me, I was down south, where it seems my vote DID make a difference, and swing the color spectrum to something far cooler and pleasing to the eye), I still say its worth posting and worth watching a million times over. I love Keith and I applaud him, big time for his passionate and unforgiving revelation of the truth...but at the same time, I ask why were voices and questions such as this not raised all along or have they? Why haven't we seen commentary such as this throughout the entire process, and not just when the wave of public opinion overwhelmingly turned heel with a resounding cry of "my bad" echoing across the land? While better late than never is tried and true, I still harbor more than a little resentment of exactly how late it is, how few the voices still being raised, and how severe the collective toll has been.

Exactly Why I am NOT a Writer or You Get A Prize If You Make It All the Way Through This Post

2006-11-03T18:17:00.000-05:00

Every day I make a pact with renewed vigor and determination to do any number of different healthy and life affirming or merely productive tasks that I feel have been grossly neglected in my life. Which of the various tasks are included in the daily littany depends upon the day, but almost always included is writing more. This blog can attest to how overwhelmingly successful I've been with that endeavor.

On the one hand, writing would provide the creative outlet I desperately need and crave, in addition to an emotional outlet, since this is a "tell all" style diary of sorts. It would also be a great oportunity to collect the stories and feelings and crazy roller coaster ride of this journey with cancer....which, opportunistic as it may sound, could later be compiled into something useful, such as ...oh, a one woman show? I mean, what's the good of painful life experiences if you can't magically turn them into a self indulgent horribly trite theatrical vehicle in which you play multiple characters and show the painful, the tender, and the comical all in one heart wrapped package that's too clever for its own good?

On the other hand....cancer and life (or the lack thereof) just doesn't seem funny or interesting these days. There are only so many ways to make "this is hard" sound like something interesting that you might perhaps want to read about, and I think I've exhausted them all and crossed over into something resembling teen angst, which illlicits more of an "oh god! help us!" response than an "hmmm...this blog is interesting" response.

For example (my not so subtle way of bringing up what I really want to write about without feeling like a total loser, just merely a partial one), who really wants to hear about how my relationship with my father is deteriorating faster than the speed of the sound of my damaged childhood sobbing? That sounds about as fun as repeatedly squirting bleach in my eye, which while I've never personally attempted it, doesn't sound fun at all. In fact, it reeks of self-pity, a disease I have neither the stomach nor the patience for.

Am I feeling sorry for myself these days? You betcha. And now I'm about to try and make you, oh hapless reader who is now trapped out of guilt, feel sorry for me too. Because that's what kind of a mood I'm in today. That, and in a mood to spike my co-worker's coffee with arsenic because he is wholly incapable of silence and will not cease and desist, despite repeated desperate pleas, from making little negative comments under his breath to himself every 6 seconds. But that's for another post that I will undoubtedly never get around to writing.

And to make matters worse, I just raided the Halloween candy here at the sdj, despite the entirely-too-depressing-for-words fact that I split my pants Wednesday morning by merely sitting down in a chair. That's right, I, fattty mcfatten, split my pants. Can someone please just severely maim me now? (because, you know, if your brother killed himself, yuo're just not allowed to say "someone please kill me"...it violates some sort of unwritten suicide survivors' rule. plus people tend to worry about you a little more, as if it were a familial trait)

I love that I've strayed so far off the real subject I fully intended to explore, and managed to spend 45 minutes or so talking about absolutely nothing. Well, that and spontaneously devouring an obscene amount of candy in a relatively short time in the hopes that I can burst out of my dress just as I sit down for dinner at the Italian restaurant I'm meeting one of the Wonder Twins at. I'm not sure yet which is the more coveted of skills, but I'll leave you to ponder that (since I've left you with relatively little else) while I roll myself, dress precariously attached, uptown to gorge myself on copious amounts of pasta, all with very thick cream sauces.

And one day I will actually update the 2 year old blogroll withering away into oblivion over on the side there. (No matter that I haven't even had this blog for 2 years, exactly...) That's on the to do list in between clean the space between the stive and wall and work out you lazy slob. We'll see if it ever happens....and if it does, someone owes me a drink just for accomplishing something.

Well, at least I posted....

2006-10-28T00:10:00.000-04:00

Escape From the Clutches of Death! (or something equally as dramatic..make up your own)

2006-10-09T18:08:00.000-04:00

I haven't had a cigarette since Thursday. [insert sounds of crowd cheering and applauding]

Yes, its true, after months of fucking around, being "in the process of quitting" and swinging wildly on the addiction pendulum somewhere between 3 and 7 cigarettes per day (and convincing myself this was something to be proud of...) I have rather inadvertantly quit smoking. Well, not inadvertantly, I mean I have been trying to quit, but the final abdication of the inhalation process was rather accidental.

Last week, when I finally returned from taking care of Maman, my body was run down, tired, and crying mutiny at the top of its grody tar stained lungs. I ended up having to go see Doc Harley (he was pretty much the only option seeing as I have no insurance and he's the only doctor I know of who provides affordable healthcare to the uninsured...as you can imagine, WB was less than thrilled with this, but that's for another post that I'll probably never get around to writing...). It turned out I had an upper respiratory infection (no biggie, I used to get them every other week as a small sickly child), pay with your firstborn for antibiotics, yadda yadda yadda...

The conversation turned briefly and abruptly (of course, keep in mind this was Doc Harley, who is not exactly Mr. Manners) to my mother's health, and as I sat there enumerating her various life threatening ailments past and present, all of which were due in some part to smoking, I felt like the world's biggest ass. It suddenly all added up in my head, and the scariness of it all finally superceded the strongest of addictions; it was utterly ridiculous that I never fully digested it before. If I didn't stop smoking, I was surely signing a death certificate, if I haven't already. Here's the amazing laundry list I ignored for so long:

My mother:

currently has stage iv lung cancer metastasized through her lymphatic system to her brain, adrenal glands, and various surface tumors. due to smoking
recently underwent serious surgery to bypass her aorta, which was almost completely blocked, in order to get blood to her legs. She now has a gortex tube going from just below her right collarbone to both arteries in her left and right groin area. the blockage? due to smoking
had a heart attack 14 years ago due to blood clots....drumroll please....due to smoking
her father died of lung cancer. due to smoking

My father:

his mother died of lung cancer which originally started as breast cancer. However, she was a smoker
just about every relative I've never met on my paternal grandfather and grandmother's side died of cancer. Evidently every time the phone rang in their house, no one wanted to pick up the phone because it meant someone else died of cancer.

Umm, gee...runs in the family very heavily on both sides...I think that's pretty good odds, and they're definitely against me.

Doc Harley recommended these nicotine lozenges you suck on, which reduces the physical craving portion of it, but also addresses the mental and behavioral addiction by replacing the behavior with something else. Its like the patch, but for the orally fixated (come on people, be mature!). I got the lowest dosage and I have 2 or 3 a day...I'm starting to phase them out and out regular mints in their place.

So there you have it...the tale of a quitter. I'm telling everyone I know because it well help keep me from a relapse, by virtue of pride alone. I'm off now, mint in mouth, to be crankier but healthier with my smoker boyfriend. Maybe, just maybe I will be a good example...well, at least he sure as hell ain't gonna smoke 'round me.

Thanksgiving...Not Just for Turkeys and November Anymore!

2006-10-02T09:52:00.000-04:00

I am back in New York as of about 2 hours ago... a little weary, a little worn, being a bad Jew and totally enamored of Jet Blue. I am a bad Jew because I am working on the holiest day of the year and I'm not fasting because I am a little sick and much more than a little run down. My rationale is that I atoned by way of taking care of Maman all last week, and really it is far more in line with the foundations of Judaism to repent through good deeds and righteous just action than to go to Synogogue and fast out of a sense of mere duty. In keeping with the introspective meaning of today, I actually wrote out a list of the things I am incredibly thankful for in an email to Lady Charon. It was wholly unintentional instrospection, mind you, and not exactly of the atoning sort...but it was such a gratifying and heartening experience to actually sit down and "count my blessings" as it were. I think we forget to do that in general, and its pretty damn important - especially in a stressful and sometimes painful time. So here is what I sent to Lady Charon...which may be a little cryptic and is written more in yoga speak than the oft sarcastic Synge speak, but its a pretty acurate account which just sort of spewed forth from the heart so I'd like to share it. Plus, I thought it was about time for a little bit more of an upbeat post and I'm a bit too tired to find the funny today. So without further ado (as if I were actually capable of that!), here is my list of what I am thankful for today. [editor's note: this list is in no way a complete accounting. Many things may have been left out in error or omitted due to the time constraints presented by sneakily emailing at work. For a complete listing...well, there isn't one. But you try writing this! it takes a while without even cracking the surface!]

"thank you for your beautiful grounding energy throughout all of this -
its huge and wonderful. i saved your voicemail and listened to it whenever
i could, and i felt your love and support with me at all times. such a blessing.
i am in weird transition back - breathing and remaining thankful for what i see as
the bounty of the season - a relationship with my father that is growing and
truly blossoming -there's a closeness there that has never ever been there before
(even amidst sometime frustration), a newfound commitment to making this time
with maman nothing short of quality togetherness -something i maintained a
constant awareness of in the past week, the deep love of a wonderful man and the
love we share together that seems to take firmer root and evolve more and more
each day, the lessons i am learning and teachings i am absorbing more and more
through my work for the school that i feel open my heart and expand my very core
in ways that words can't reallyexpress, my beautiful friends who have come to my
side at a moments notice before i can even say "i need you", my beautiful ruru
whose hand i feel in mine wherever i walk on my path, the wonderful energy i feel
with our "team"when we are rolling with the ideas and bursting with excitement,
ummm...oh,my veggies! my treasured veggies that nourish the body and the
spirit because they are gotten through a community...
wow. i didn't even mean to write that out, but that was a lovely experience! like a little gift to myself in addition to something i wanted to share withyou..but this email is long enough and the faucet that my nose has become needs some attending to.

2006-09-28T00:59:00.000-04:00

2006-09-26T15:33:00.000-04:00

2006-09-25T15:50:00.000-04:00

A Little Narcissistic Atlas Wanna Be...or....You Might Not Want to Read This Post if You Are a Close Friend of my Parents

2006-09-13T18:28:00.000-04:00

I feel like I'm carrying the world on my back and my legs are buckling.

This was the discovery of the day with Lady Charon....and it makes sense. I have both of my parents putting me in a parental/advisor role to such an extent that one will actually say to the other "well Synge thinks its a good idea!". My father calls at least every day for advice, though he couches it; it is me who organizes things so that he can feel comfortable to go hiking, me who has encouraged him to get away more before his head explodes, and me who made him start going to therapy on his own for individual sessions vs. with Maman. Today he said "When did you get to be so wise?" and he has said on several occasions that its like a role reversal and that I'm parenting him.

And that's not okay. I'm supposed to be the child, not the parent. I am supposed to receive nuturing from them, not nurture them. And believe me, I could use a little parenting too you know! This isn't exactly a picnic for me- just because I'm not there every day doesn't mean it doesn't affect me in some way every day. I DON'T GET TO REALLY HAVE MY OWN LIFE FOR CHRISSAKE!! I'm living in a constant limbo between two places getting very burnt out and feeling very hollow and nobody is freaking parenting me! I get love and nurturing from WB and my wonderful friends (when I actually have the time to see them or talk to them) and Lady Charon is somewhat of a parental figure, but I feel like an orphan and I see my parents all the time.

The hurt is compounded by the fact that its only been in the last 10 years or so that I've even had much of a relationship with my parents; growing up they were a bit too caught up in their own dramas of a suffering marriage and the fact that my father would compete with his own kids for my mother's attention (and often won) to really be parents. My brother was my parental figure, and it was when he died that I began to ask my parents to be parents. They stepped up to the plate and together we have been learning how to be parent/child. And now they've abandoned their post and passed along the burden for me to carry for a while.

And they're not supposed to do that!

Once you are a parent, you are a parent for life, the child does not turn around to parent you, but rather passes it along to the next generation. As Lady Charon says, "The generational stream only flows one way".

Can you tell I'm having a little bit of anger over here? Just a teensy bit of rage in this little corner of the blogosphere?

Ladies and gentlemen, the things no one tells you about dealing with the serious illness of a loved one..... the rage. But that's for another 5 million posts...

***********************************************************************

And god knows why, but I've been trying to carry WB on my back as well, just to make things even heavier. Whether by misinterpretation and a tendency to want to fix everything or by being asked to, I'm not sure. But I'm trying an experiment to not take everything he says as if I have a personal responsibility to fix it - to just listen, as a loving partner.

Believe it or not, that is Mount Everest for me.

For some obscure but surely ridiculous reason, I feel as if everything in the world is my fault - as if I am personally accountable for everything and everyone in my life.

Wow, that's a lot to heap upon onesself...especially whilst city hopping and working several jobs. Hmmm, perhaps its time to learn the all important phrase "I love you, but that is not my problem."

And now you have just been treated to someone's therapy session...pretty exciting stuff huh? Hello....hello? Are you still awake through this drudge of narcissistic masturbatory self analysis?

Oh fuck it....pass the vodka, the ice cream, and a copy of The Color Purple.
Thanks.

Tiny Pockets of Life Sustaining Manna

2006-09-07T19:25:00.000-04:00

Evidently my newfound motivation to keep up with this blog lasted a whole 2 posts. Wow...that just may be a personal record these days.

Just got back (Tuesday at almost midnight...thank you sooo much Continental airlines for your unfailing punctuality) from Maman's and my mind and body are stil in that weird transition state - the weeks that are divided like this are always the hardest, as its impossible to feel fully present in either place. Its the floater week, where I float in an exhausted state of perma-limbo. I am a real nowhere-woman, sitting in my nowhere land, making lots of nowhere plans for nobody because I can't exactly make advanced plans at the moment.

I did, however, in a life saving move, make plans for the next two weekends. Yup - read em and weep...a blessed two weekends in the city! Who'd have ever thought that the girl who loved perpetual motion would be thrilled at two weekends in the same place?

Why am I forsaking my filial obligations for a blessed 2 weeks, you ask? (in reality you are more likely questioning my use of filial obligation than the forsaking of it..) Because I got cast in an independent short film which will be shooting in four 14 hour grueling days of blissful work. Yes...work! WORK!!! I am being an actor for the next two weekends, something I not only have missed, but also need like food and water and oxygen.

And its my little bucket of salvation to drink and stave off dehydration while traversing what Lady Charon calls the path to burnout land.

Apologies for the short post - I wanted to get at least something up, but am almost on my way out of the office. WB and I are celebrating our "monthary" tonight - I've got a hot date with the man I love and an excuse to celebrate. We take full advantage of the little moments like this nowadays - a tiny pocket of calm for just us.

And cancer is NOT invited to the party tonight.

I'll Fly Away, Oh Glory, I'll Fly Away

2006-08-28T19:35:00.000-04:00

Jet Blue is having an unbelievable deal on tickets to the Carribean right now. I just looked it up for shits and giggles (which is an odd phrase when you think about it...as if those two things belong together in any way...), and well perhaps this internet foray into airline prices just might have been preempted by a comment from WB. The comment just may have allegedly been something along the lines of waiting to go home to Puerto Rico to visit his parents until the two of us can go together, rather than going with his brother in October.

And now this deal is pretty damn good...perhaps too good to pass up...$79 each way....hmmmm.

Am I ready to meet his parents? I already communicate with them via mail fairly frequently, and even recently sent a whole postcard in Spanish (which I am currently making an ass of myself learning, as his mother speaks no English whatsoever)...but, well, meeting them is a whole different story, not mention right now it takes a good 30 minutes for me to complete a simple haltingly spoken and gramatically bastardized solitary sentence.

Do I want to go? Yes. Absolutely. Si, quiero ir - me gusta mucho. Am I afraid? Abso-fuckin-lutely. Its hard enough to make a good impression when you speak the same language...but this? I've certainly got some tough odds stacked against me here. Hopefully my undeniable charm (read immaturity) will get me through.

Not that any of this is a done deal, mind you...WB has to think about it, and figure out if he's ready to introduce me. Saying it in theory and being faced with a potential reality are two very different things. I did already meet his brother, who in a very weird stroke of coincidence happens to live in the same city I grew up in, where my parents still live...where we are every other weekend (not that the brother knows that..). His brother also happens to have the same name as WB, as does his father who evidently wanted immortality one way or another...which is incredibly confusing, to say the least, but that's a whole other story.

Now, its time to go home.

I'm just trying to keep up with this blog, even if its a tiny blurb; it was left out in the sun to spoil for far too long and I'm trying to rejuvinate it with sunlight, water, and a little Mozart.

Maman, Ghandi, or Ben Kingsley? You Decide...

2006-08-25T19:00:00.000-04:00

A beautiful longtime family friend (whom we've known since I was 3 and who is always part of our crazy Passover traditions with My Little Vidipookikins' family and my family) just got back from a trip to the Buddhist monastaries in northern India, and brought back this scarf for Maman, which was blessed by a Buddhist Llama. I think it makes her look like a Buddhist Nun...wise, peaceful, and in the moment.I prefer to think of her this way, than kind of confused and sometimes miserably sick. She does have a certain grace to her in this picture (taken about a month ago ? By Mim).

And I personally think she looks gorgeous bald!

All's Fair in Love and Cancer? Well, Maybe Just the Love Part...

2006-08-23T20:17:00.000-04:00

I was hoping that the bi-monthly city swapping between Maman's and home would get easier. We humans are an incredibly adaptable species, after all, and its not like I have to give up my whole life...only half of it, really. But somehow when the adaptability gene was being passed around, someone in my lineage must have been on a potty break because I just ain't adapting here. Instead, i'm becoming more and more worn out. Its not tired - its like tired supersized. Its like new and improved tired! Its like a fucking train ran over my fucking head, but like a chicken my body remains a slave to inertia and I keep going through the motions.

And its every other week, with the end so far down the horizon that I'm beginning to think the Earth may not be flat after all.

As he was driving me to the airport last night, Dad was uncharacteristically sweet and sentimental and just the slightest bit mooshy gooshy; cancer brings out the softer side of Sears and all. He thanked me, sincerely and without sarcasm (which is a feat in our family) for coming down so frequently to help him out. He told me that I enabled him to have a life.

While I am infinitely thankful for the closeness he is cultivating here, I gotta admit that his statements did seem to put just the tiniest bit of pressure on me. So if I change it to every two weeks, will he suddenly implode, being left bereft and lifeless? Am I to sacrifice any hope of a life of my own to give him one? I thought parenting was supposed to work the other way around!
Then I remember that I am indeed being a spoiled selfish asshole and it must be that whole exhaustion thing, which also makes me quite prone to crying at the first sign of tenderness from anyone and everyone so don't tell me I'm not an asshole unless you want to hear me electronically weep.

.......Ah, Adventures in Cancerland....a Tale of Laughter, Tears, Frustration, and Vomit......

Maman is getting weaker and weaker and sicker and sicker - chemo is cumulative like that. Don't get me wrong, when she's awake, she's still spunky old Maman, albeit much less capable of following a conversation than before (she tends to get lost easily, which doesn't exactly pair well with my tendency to ramble). Unfortunately, she is awake less and less, and either sleeping or vomitting more and more. I'm clinging to the old adage that the body heals itself while sleeping, but that's kind of hard to do when you're pumping it full of evil and uber-debilitating poison. I'm not a huge fan of the chemo. Its really nasty harsh stuff.

I did, however, wrack what is left of my severly addled brain, and managed to come up with several options for the blandest, least offensive, and easiest to eat with a single spoon options for cuisine. While it won't earn any Michelin stars, it will hopefully stay down and prevent her from edging any closer to the pattented Nicole Richie Concentration Camp look. (Can you tell what pop-culturally challenged lady did a little headline reading at the grocery store this weekend?) The menu du jour includes completely unseasoned and very very thin mashed potatoes, cream of wheat, sometimes lentil soup, and a very fluffy (lots and lots of milk) egg and swiss omelette. (the yogurt, fruit, and protein powder shake wasn't the hit I hoped it would be.) Of course that's until those things become unbearable or she becomes incapable of eating altogether - the other night everything stayed down just fine and then out of nowhere, as she was getting ready for bed, she just began vomitting. I don't think we're dealing with an Exorcist type thing here, so the other option is that her body is trying to expell anything and everything that's put in there. Great. Kind of narrows the dinner options, huh?

I hope no one is eating while reading this...or was.

The week before last we had a special treat - she had not only one, but TWO transfusions! Jackpot!!! First was the interminably long blood transfusion (interminably long for me, she was knocked out with Benadryl the whole time), and then came the oh-so-coveted Platelets - all of which served to temporarily boost her up to such a degree that she was even able to go with Dad on a mini-trip to a little town about an hour away. Of course, this excitement was short lived, as the next Thursday was the nasty ass-kicking 6 hour chemo, which would flatten even the heartiest of the bunch. But at least she got out, and for just a moment was allowed to feel slightly closer to normal.

And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you....The Silver Lining!! :

I am still so head over heels in love with my Wild Boar. He is best friend, lover, and support syextraordinaire! We transitioned to domestic life together swimmingly, and considering all the odds and challenges we've been thrown up against, I'm pretty damn impressed with how we've stepped up to the plate time and time again. Its pretty mind-boggling really, when you think about how new the relationship was when this all began. There's nothing like personal tragedy to either accelerate or kill a relationship. I'm glad we chose what was behind door number one.

WB goes with me every time I go to Maman's, and stays through Monday morning at the crack of dawn each visit (we have to wake up at 4:30am to go the airport - if that's not love, what is?). He has won over the hearts of not only my parents (who vow to keep him, not me, should anything happen) but pretty much everyone I've ever kown since birth (and that is not an exaggeration, there are literally friends he's met that have known me since ages 1, 2 and 3). He is pretty much the only thing keeping me from the loony bin at present and he somehow manages to make me laugh or smile in even the worst and most trying of moments.

And...I came home last night to a dozen roses spread out over the bed in a valiant attempt at creating a heart shape! (although it looked kind of more like a spade really...but who's counting?)

Its funny how the universe gives you all extremes at once, isn't it?

(see, notice how I start writing about him and suddenly my tone gets lighter and happier...shit! Clearly I'm going soft on y'all ....and clearly he is my silver lining)

Testing...testing...1, 2, 3...

2006-08-15T13:15:00.000-04:00

This is a test of the emergency blogging via email to get away with it at work system. this is only a test. Were this a real post, it would be far more interesting. I repeat, this is only a test.

I annoy even myself at times...

Ah Ah Ah Ah Stayin Alive, Stayin Alive

2006-08-09T16:57:00.000-04:00

Okay, both Maman and I are still alive, albeit both exhausted and semi-coherent at best. I realize how unfair it is to have left what very few people are still checking in dangling mercilessly, especially considering the uncertainty of the situation, medically speaking. Unfortunately, I don't really have time at this precise second to write a whole update, I just wanted to let you know that a real post is coming soon....I am in creative outlet withdrawal, so I need to get back on the blogging horse asap, its just a question of making the time and finding the energy in between dividing a life completely in half between two cities, cultivating a relationship and home with the man I love (yeah, the whole moving in news got a little lost in cancerland), working two jobs and constantly trying to make up for the many hours missed while with Maman, and fighting valiantly to retain some shred of sanity and dignity amidst it all. I am still here, staying alive but no dancing queen. Hopefully the quest for balance will bear a little fruit soon...that or I will collapse completely (not that I haven't many a time already - The Wild Boar is a wild saint, to say the least). But for now, I cannot collapse as I have a humoungous stack of work in front of me, a party (thath I completely forgot about but cannot under any circumstances miss) for Mr. Artsy Hotpant's life transition into law school to go to shortly, and have stumbled into some sort of energy quicksand causing me to yawn every 10 seconds and slide further under my desk with every passing second. Muuuust goooo naaaapp noooowww....

2006-06-08T11:36:00.000-04:00

The Bad News

2006-06-02T16:23:00.000-04:00

This will be a quick, no frills humor-less post; a quick update of just the facts m'aam, just the facts. My humor is being given where it is direly needed - to my mother. Some of you know the knews already, some of you don't and if you stumble on this page I'll tell you right now that pity is not wanted or accepted here. Humor, and lots of it is the official currency.

My mother was diagnosed Tuesday with a brain tumor. She had no previous symptoms, no headaches, no nothin'...this was as completely as out of nowhere as it comes. Tuesday morning I called her, which I never do in the morning, and she sounded a litle weird. I asked if she was okay, and she said her vision was blurry. My first thought was heart attack (she had one 14 years ago) and my second thought was brain tumor. I thought I was being ridiculously overdramatic. I was wrong. My father (once I hunted him down telephonically) took her to the doctor right away - they sent her federal express to the ER, as she also had loss of equilibrium. By the end of the day it was confirmed that she had a brain tumor - whether malignant or benign was unknown- and surgery was scheduled for Thursday. I already had a suitcase packed, MAH got me the ticket online, and I hopped in a cab...all within less than half an hour. WB, who waited with me all day at home, rode with me to the airport.

Unfortunately, it does get worse.

Wednesday we did an MRI, to scan the other vital organs for tumors while awaiting surgery. The outcome was not the one we were hoping for, at least that's the way it was phrased. Her brain tumor was not a primary tumor, but a secondary one. She has 2 tumors on her lungs, 1 tumor on her adrenal gland, and 1 tumor on a lymph node in the center of her lungs. Lungs are thought to be primary. The radiation oncologist said that it would take a miracle to get her cancer free, but we can certainly buy time...who knows how much. First step, however, and matter of utmost urgence was the tumor in her brain and getting through surgery. I took notes, asked as many questions as I could with each doctor as my parents both nodded in complete shock. She was perfectly healthy a week ago, and except for vision and balance, even then.

I washed her hair in the sink (I still had creative problem solving capabilities despite what we dubbed my sympathetic brain tumor) and gave her a sponge bath (I told her I knew she never wanted me bathing her but I figured I owed her at least 7 years' worth and it was time for me to pay up a little) and we had time just us as Dad went home to sleep. She told me that there was a small chance she wouldn't survive and that she just needed to tell me then so I heard it clearly that she loved me. Then she magically waved her hand to say okay, enough seriousness, back to the jokes and laughter. My mother and I deal with things by laughing as much as possible; its more healing than crying. I told the multitudes of visitors spilling in and out that engaging in what Maman and I dubbed "tumor humor" was mandatory and frowny faces weren't allowed.

Oops, this was supposed to be just the facts, and I need to get back to the hospital - I'm at Sarachkah's new house, getting a desperately needed shower and change of clot.hes. Absolutely everyone has been incredibly supportive and helpful - too much to name, but thank you all. Also, I am getting your voice mails, I just haven't been able to return tons of calls or talk too much...it is still appreciated.

Yesterday was ttruly the longest day of my life. They took her down at 11am, surgery was scheduled for 1pm. We began the long wait, outside, where we elected to camp the entire day despite the heat and humidity. We had a steady stream of support the entire time and were never alone. At 3:30 we got a call from the OR that they had begun late. At 9:30 they were finally finished and at some point after that the Neurosurgeon came to speak with us. The tumor was spherical, the size of a golf ball, and definitely malignant, which we already knew without having the pathology report. He said a lot more, but its a lot of clinical details that you probably don't need to know, and I've had virtually no sleep since Monday night.

She is doing remarkably well for someone who just had her cerebellum hacked away at; she is joking and laughing and pretty much making sense. Yes, there are definite effects, and you can tell she's had brain surgery, but she's absolutely amazing and positive. As long as we can still laugh...

Dad, however, is like a child around her, and I feel exhausted from taking care of both of them, keeping everyone's spirits and energy up, and I'm really about to crack. I haven't been able to yet, as I'm the one talking with all the doctors, taking care of what Maman needs, and keeping Dad together. WB is flying in - he'll be here in 6 hours, thankfully, and then I can be held together a little myself. It will be helpful, especially considering if I do fall asleep, whenever I wake up is when I fall apart. It will be good to have him there then.

Quick story - when I told Maman what time the surgery was finished, her eyes grew very wide and she said "Oh!....Poor Dr. Wilson!". That's my mother.

Now I really need to run back, calming as this tiny moment away has been.

If this doesn't make sense, remember I had what Maman and I are calling "sympathetic brain surgery"..we figure the excuses should be liberally shared.

Wall On the Fly

2006-05-17T18:33:00.000-04:00

I admit it, I'm overextended...so what else is new right? Problem is, being overextended when flying solo is much easier than being overextended as part of a duo - a team- a partnership. The Wild Boar is wonderful about coping with my stress, doing things like offerring to have dinner there when I finally wander home in my exhausted delerium, but its frustrating for me nevertheless. It also means blog absences and excruciatingly boring posts talking about nothing but stress. No one is exempt [insert ominous sounding music here].

This past weekend I escaped real life in pursuit of re-living the college years; yes, that's right, I went to my best friend's bachelorette party. While I can never hope to regain those brain cells, the entire weekend was super sloshy fun; exactly what a bachelorette party should be. Think good 'ol fashioned slumber party meets mass quantities of alcohol and you've hit the nail on the head. Now add in the fact that it was at a resort in Wisconsin that is the old Playboy Mansion, insert even more alcohol just to be true to events, and for the garnd finale...a swimming pool.

Which brings me to my next point...

Do not, dear readers, under any circumstances delude yourselves into thinking that it is a good idea to go swimming while highly intoxicated. I don't care how accomplished a swimmer you are, and whether or not you may have swum on the Unites States Swimming League from the ages of 10-12 and a half; it is still not a good idea.

I have a fabulous souvenir from my weekend of debauchery. Its colorful, wearable, and unique - the new bindi for unmarried gals.

I will never trust a swimming pool floor again.

Mooshy Gooshy Sink-oh de Mayo(naise)

2006-05-05T15:48:00.000-04:00

Happy Cinco de Mayo- that's Mexican for "lame excuse for Americans to get sloppy drunk on copious amounts of margaritas and other assorted tequila drinks to celebrate a holiday that has absolutely nothing to o with them." Tonight the Wild Boar (WB) and I are meeting SL2000 and her boyfriend, Two Fingers of Breakfast and his boyfriend, and whoever else shows up for margaritas in my favorite outside place in this little concrete park near my apartment. Im excited...in fact I'm like a giddy 7 year old, which is odd because I've never made a big deal out of Cinco de Mayo before. But this year I was dying to do something. WB says its all subconsciously because I have a hispanic boyfriend. Whatever it is, I got all dolled up in my cute little 1940's-ish dress with my only mildly painful adorable sneaker wedge heels and the plunging neckline who's effect I have dubbed "boobs on a platter". I'm so ready I can taste the tequila now.

******************************************************************

I got an odd phone call the other day from some long waspy sounding law firm wanting to hire me as an actor to play a witness for some continuing legal education courtroom drama interactive extravaganza thingie. I've actually done this before for a friend's sdj, and they passed my name along. The last time I was wholly unprepared, and had barely read through the huge fucking 3 ring binder of information they had given the actors - all of which were pretty much in the same boat. We all dealt with it in different ways...mine was to become the hostile witness who just kept entrapping the lawyers with the exact phrasing of their questions, thereby making them flustered and never having to answer the questions. Oddly enough, they absolutely fucking loved it and thought I was brilliant! No, just full of shit, but thanks for the compliment. This offer, however, is infinitely more exciting, because in one day I will make almost as much as I make in a week at the sdj. Yay! Suddenly I don't care if its cheesy crime reenactments for court tv...I'm all about the moolah. So sure, I'll work for the man...I'll play their little witness game, and I'll eat their free food and probably even shove a bunch in my purse...and at the end of the day I'll rest assured that I can now afford to purchase a bus ticket to Chanteuse's wedding (which I'm in, so knowing I can get there is pretty important). Yay for stupid corporate law firms who hire actors!

******************************************************************

So, ummm....(copious blushing)......WB said the words. And I said them back. And best of all, there was no text messaging involved whatsoever! Though he did say it in Spanish a few times before he said it for real. This I found out the third time or so that he mumbled something in Spanish that I didn't understand and was evasive when asked for the translation; I caught one of the words, quiero, and asked my multi-lingual father for the translation.
It means like, love. Te quiero means I love you. Why?
Umm, well, WB said something this morning, and it had that word in it.
Oh, that's nice. So I've started a lot of the planning for the Thailand trip.
I spent the day basking in the glow of secretly knowing what he had said, but I didn't call him out on it. I figured he'd say it when he was ready, and I was in no position to say anything given the fact that I had been mouthing it while he was asleep and writing it on his back in very circular unidentifiable letters whose meaning only I could divine.

That night, we stayed in, cooking dinner at home with fresh produce we bought together at the farmer's market on the way home from the sdj. Chopping veggies, siping wine, singing Simon and Garfunkel (off key on my end, of course), decked out in a comfy worn tshirt and little shorts with Hawaii written across the butt and my hair in two childlike pigtails....it was anything but a romantic scene of seduction. We danced to "Sound of Silence" and I looked up into his eyes with my insides screaming "Oh my God! I love you! Ahhhh! Shit!! I love you!! AHHHH!!" and clearly my insides were louder than I thought, because he said "I know, baby. I know. Remember this morning when you were in the shower, and I said something to you in Spanish? Well..."
I know. I called my Dad and asked him to translate.
What? You asked your Dad to translate? I thought you didn't hear me!
Well, I didn't exactly. I heard one word...quiero...and I called my Dad as soon as yuo left for work and asked him what it meant.
I can't believe you heard me, and asked your DAD!
I shouldn't have told you that. I wasn't going to tell you. But here I am telling you. Oops.
So you knew. You know....that I love you. I love you.
[I go in for the kiss, and whisper barely audibly] I love you too.
[*kiss*]
I heard that.
Heard what?
I heard what you whispered.
Me? I didn't whisper anything!
Yes you did, you whispered I love you....in English...and I heard it.
Damn you and your supersonic hearing.
I love you, and your whisper that I totally heard.

Then I said it out loud, for real, and proceeded to cry and say stupid things like "What if you wake up tomorrow and you don't love me anymore and none of it was for real?" He held me through my ridiculous tear laden freak-out and said really sweet spot on things like "I'm not trying to steal your heart, I just want you to share it with me." It was all really sweet and kind of comical, really, which I actually find to be quite fitting. We're an odd pair, both of us, but he speaks Synge-speak fluently, and says really cute things like "Do you want to go steady with me?"

So, ummm, yeah. In love. Aww, ain't it cute? Ain't I mooshy gooshy make you want to vomit profusely?

Just wait...I haven't even begun to gush.

They Like Me? Huh?

2006-04-28T17:46:00.000-04:00

I only took the damn class because Eliza made me, and frankly, she can be quite persuasive when she wants to be. Of course I knew why...it was the motivational kick in the ass I had been needing for quite some time....but improv comedy? Me? I'm not funny! I don't have any funny ideas! I can't think quickly on my feet! I'm an actor, not a comedian!

I fucking loved it.

I loved it so much I decided to take the level 2 class. I loved it so much I now genuflect at Eliza's feet every time I see her and defer to her for any and all major decisions in life. (Okay, maybe I don't genuflect, but I do respect the hell out of her opinion)

But I still get nervous and still can get caught up in the whole vicious circle of being afraid thus not going with my instincts thus making crappy choices thus being afraid kind of thing. I still think I'm not any good at it, but I definitely see the huge value in these classes, both in regards to my acting career, and in my life in general. In fact, Eliza said that the reason she had me take the first class was so thaht I could learn and see that my ideas are as valid and interesting as anyone else's. She fet I was giving the city too much credit, and needed to reclaim a little for myself. Yeah, I know, my friends are fucking phenomenal, huh?

Last night I went to my level 2 improv class with a little anxiety and trepidation packed into my already overstuffed purse; I had missed class the week before and just felt out of sorts, and stupid, and not at all creative...you know, like Jabba the Hut trying to do stand up or something. (I guess I also felt slimy and fat?) And the first half of the class, for me, kind of reflected that, I think. So on the break, instead of spending the whole time kicking myself, as I would normally do, I walked briskly around the block to pump my energy up, and returned with renewed comittment to just fucking jump out there and take a risk. I also asked to play "Big Booty" to up the energy of the class....don't ask, its really not as saucy as it sounds, but it is fun.

I suppose I did bounce back, because at the end of the night I did these two scenes that even I was pleased with and which had everyone laughing. I even heard someone telling their boyfriend about it on the phone. But best of all...my teacher said I was a very talented actor! Not a talented improv-er, but a talented actor, and that could really work for me in improv. It was just really nice to get a little recognition for what I do best, but sometimes forget I do amidst the hustle and bustle of just even trying to live in this city.

And I felt realy good about myself when I left the classroom. I felt like my ideas maybe are valid, and that maybe I am giving this city too much credit.

It was also really cool that while hanging out for a few beers afterwards, many members of our small but very tight knit class came up and said how much they missed me last week. Wow! They like me! They really like me!

My Blissful Boar

2006-04-26T18:27:00.000-04:00

Sorry to leave you hanging so long in neurosesville, but I have been swept off my feet, leaving me no equilibrium with which to write. Yes, neurotic freakazoid girl still pops her head out every so often, but on the whole I've begun to relax into this fantastic journey of getting to know (and tame?) the Wild Boar.

I also spent the entire weekend in bed...mmmmhmmm, that's right oh yee of the gutter minded, you are correct, in that way. But not because I wanted to figure out if I liked him or not (by that time I knew that I did), or because I felt like we should...because it felt right in the moment and I was ready to. What a weird simple little concept that I've somehow never ever done before.

Ummm, wow! No really, WOW!

I'm talking mind boggling.

Maybe I've dated way too many older men, but I've never ever had sex like this before. I'm talking 'bout this extraordinary ability that I've dubbed "the bounceback". I'm talking an obscene number of times in 48 hours. No exaggerration.

I'm also talking fine tuned g-spot radar...need I say more?

Couple that with wonderful cuddling and talking afterwards and this caring and closeness that kind of snuck up on me when I wasn't looking so it was already there before I could block it, and you've got a winning ticket....at least this week.

We finish eachother's sentences and spontaneously quote 80's lyrics in unison. We stayed up all night Sunday night laughing non-stop until we couldn't breathe and being completely dorkified goofy silly. He has the same favorite sushi and the same favorite Tom Waits album as me. I can talk about anything with him and laugh about everything, and we even share a few of the dark spots of personal history that we've both been through. Last night he went with me to a fundraising trailer screening of a documentary that My Little Vidipookikins is making, and met SL2000 and her boyfriend, and when we got home he took me into his arms and said "Thank you." And I, of course, replied "For what?" and He said "For letting me in...letting me into your world, letting me into your home, and letting me into you. Its an honor." And he was totally fucking sincere!

And at this very moment, he is out buying a shirt just so that he can spend the night with me, because I have pms and am having a very overemotional sad day and just wanted him to come over and hold me. And he knew that. Without me needing to spell it out for him.

I'm waiting to find his fatal fucked-upedness flaw...you know, like he's a serial killer or something, because this seems to good to be true. Its like having that best friend who totally gets you and you don't even need to explain yourself fused with a lover...and an excellent one at that.

He says his fatal flaw is probably his snoring....and I think he may be right.

(He's also buying snore strips so I can sleep)

Insecure Freakazoid Battles Wild Boar...Tonight at 11

2006-04-18T18:46:00.000-04:00

Okay, it was a date. I, who made hollow vows of dating celibacy, broke those self same vows. I am guilty as charged. I have nothing to say in my defense, except HELP!!

You guessed it, its the return of the frighteningly neurotic mess, in all her insecure glory. However, the incarnation du jour is this ridiculous waffler who can't figure out what she wants and if she really likes this guy or is making it all up in her head.

It makes her write in the dreaded 3rd person for chrissake!! Noooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!

I literally go from Equator at noon in the summer to Siberia at 3am in February. Not that I've ever actually been to either of those places and have any inkling whatsoever what they are like...I'm just that off kilter that even my metaphors are suffering.

Here, let me try to impose at least a smidgen of the linear in here; its a long shot but I'm trying for clarity. I will call him WB or the Wild Boar, because unfortunately that is what he sounds like at 4am when he is snoring. Really. I assure you that you have never ever heard anything like this in your life, and this is coming from a woman long used to being ridiculed and almost detested at many a caving gathering for her father's infamous snoring, which incidentally sounds like a lullabye when compared with the Wild Boar's.

And for the record, though I know I owe no explanations, I have actually not slept with him yet. I bring this up out of pride, not defensiveness, as I'm usually naked before the appetizers have a chance to get cold. Abstaining for several dates is rather shocking behavior on my part (as I think my frustrated hormones will attest to at this point).

I met WB at the sdj...another bizarroid fact, and what's more while he is absolutely passionate about art, literature, and music, he is not an artist (or so he claims). While I admit to having a very hard time with both of those facts, I'm pushing through and actually giving the guy a chance. I must be getting soft in my old age. The truth is that he's fun and funny and really nice and he pays attention to little details, and pretty much gets me, calling me on my mini-bullshits in a friendly just-keeping-you-honest way. Of course on the other hand, these things scare the shit out of me and sometimes I worry that he's boring because he's lacking an edge. The question is, in my book does edge translate to is a freak who treats you like shit? Because past evidence seems to kind of point not-so-subtlely in that direction. The truth is he's quite an interesting person, even if some of it gets lost in translation (he just moved here fairly recently from Puerto Rico, and while he's completely fluent and highly educated, I get the feeling that some things just don't translate all that well); we definitely share some interests and he's open to others. He's as obsessed with travelling as I am! Maybe the boring also stems from lack of drama (of the overblown soap opera genre I have found myself accustomed to)? Maybe I'm a neurotic freakazoid who needs to shut the fuck up and just keep getting to know this guy?

He's completely aware that I am a serial freaker-outer (a term which he finds charming...for now at least, when its a seemingly innocuous word) and seems to be quite adept at handling that, I must say. He makes me laugh, he gets what I mean even when I sometimes don't, and he is an extraordinary kisser. He is very sensitive and terrifies me in that pee-in-your-pants on the wooden roller coaster kind of way because he wants intimacy...like the real kind, not just the physical kind! I'm not sure I even know what that is! I'm writing in a panicked tone of clicking here, ya just can't hear it folks!

When he spent the night (because he lives upstate a little ways right now and it was a schoolnight and all) I, of course, clumsily blurted out in my not-so-tactful voice "I'm not sleeping with you, you know!" To which he replied, "Well good because I have no intention of sleeping with you." Excuse me? What? So I said rather defensively "Well why not?" (I am so predictable) and his reply was "Because there are many different layers and levels to you, and if I sleep with you tonight, I don't ever get to see those, do I?"

Damn. He got my number.

And today, when I was in the world's pissiest mood (though nothing compared to the terror that is me on pms) because Doc Harley took the box of my crap I had left at his apartment and dropped it off at a restaurant for me or someone else to pick up which I strangely enough happen to find quite shitty, he made me laugh all day, diluting the vinegar whether I wanted him to or not. I actually said "Excuse me but I'm trying to stay in my pissy mood, could you please stop making me laugh?" I actually was pushing for him to come over tonight and stay the night, despite the fact that he didnt have anything with him for work tomorrow and was really disappointed that he didn't. Then I inexplicably freaked out and did a 180 and started with the questioning again. What the fuck is that about?

It seems to be that when I am actually with him, I have a wonderful time. Sometimes on the phone too, but considering I hate the phone and cell phones and accents do not mix well, considerably less. The freaking out seems to mostly occur when I am not at all with him, and can't seem to remember to relax and just enjoy the process. I create reasons why I shouldn't date him, or I convince myself that I made up the entire attraction in my mind. My objections seem to be purely made up in my head and don't always make sense, but just because something looks good on paper doesn't mean your gut always agrees. The question is whose voice am I hearing - gut or fear? Because the guy definitely wants to ultimately head to relationship land and I can't figure out if I want that or not. He teases me about my fear of being boxed in, and he's right. Well, at least he's aware of that little hurdle. He also has told me to remember that I don't owe him anything - which seems like a "well duh!" thing to say, but really kind of reflects a lot of past behavioral patterns and decisions in my life when I sit down and think about it.

I know this sounds weird and crass, but I feel like while the waiting and getting to know eachother thing is great, I really need to sleep with him and make sure he's good in bed before I invest any more into it - make sure we're sexually compatible. I know sex isn't everything and shouldn't be the foundation of a relationship, but it is an incredibly important part of one and pretty heavily weighed in my book. With Doc Harley, there were issues like differences in appetite (mine is evidently voracious) which made things really strained and difficult and ultimately made me kind of unhappy. Plus we weren't really all that compatible, except for the whole tie me up tie me down thing, and that's just not enough in the long run. I want to make sure the sex is hot before I progress any further, whether or not Lady Charon thinks that I need to learn how to develop a relationship where there is true intimacy and not just sex.

Plus if I get laid, I just may be a tad less neurotic.

Maybe?

(That's if I can survive the horrible mating call of the Wild Boar in his sleep - the most dreaded of sounds akin to nails on a chalkboard)

Revenge of the Loft Bed

2006-04-13T12:26:00.000-04:00

I sleep in a loft bed in my uber cluttered apartment, to create the illusion of more space and allow for a tiny one person 1/2 futon that I sometimes can call a couch...if I'm really drunk or something. So being the tiny cluttered apartment that it is, the side bars which I climb up and down to get into and out of bed are about two feet from a shelving unit thingy (that's the catalogue term, I think), which I sometimes brace against to get up and down with more ease. For some unknown reason, when I woke up at 7:45am this morning, having to pee desperately, in my half sleep exhausted state (I hadn't slept well at all), I for some reason decided it was a fabulous idea to climb down the shelves instead. Or I couldn't tell the difference...who knows. The point is that both the contents of the shelving thingy and my oh so graceful person went crashing to the ground cutting a gigantic though not too horrendously deep gash in the ball of my left foot right under the big toe. Needless to say, this is not a practical place to have a large chunk of flesh dangling half off, as its REALLY FUCKING PAINFUL!!!! I am probably being a whiny baby, but it hurts to walk, stand, and even just sit here with it propped up...and we all know New York is such a great place to be when experiencing any discomfort walking or standing.

What a stupid way to injure yourself....almost as stupid as telling everyone exactly how it happened.

Did I mention this FUCKING HURTS?? AHHHHH!!!!

Hawaii Part I - The Big Island

2006-04-09T12:55:00.000-04:00

I have had a very hard time re-adjusting since getting back from my long trip - between the agressive assaulting feeling of the city after the laid back slow going of Hawaii and extreme jet lag, I've been thoroughly exhausted and quite overemotional. In my attempt to re-acclimate, I haven't felt much like writing (or doing anything else for that matter), hence the almost week long silence. I still don't feel much like writing, so I decided to show a few of the 600 photos I took on my trip and let the pictures speak for me. Plus I'm secretly hoping for photographic accolades (subtle aren't I?) to boost my ego which is in constant photographic competition (war) with my father.So without further ado...the Big Island, Hawaii.

Bird of Paradise...on paradise. One of my favorite photos of the trip because the light even gave the "bird" an eye. I am such a dork.

Speed limit sign on the old Chain of Craters road in Volcanoes National Park buried in a lava flow that covered the road in 2003.

Holeil Sea Arch formed by waves continually pounding against the volcanic rock with steam plume caused by lava flowing into the ocean, hitting the cold water.

Steam plume caused by lava flowing from the current eruption on Mauna Loa at the Pu'u O'o crater as the hot lava meets the cold ocean water. Creation in the making.

Two very adorable explorers trekking through the rainforest. Aren't they cute?
I think I'll keep 'em.

Detail of a pool of water flowing in a series of waterfalls at Pe'epe'e Falls, which I'm almost certain I misspelled.

Pe'epe'e Falls shot from above, and misspelled yet again.

Rainbow Falls, near Hilo. Yup, there really are tons and tons of waterfalls in Hawaii...if you only knew how many waterfall pictures I'm not posting....

On the edge of a stem vent in Kiluea Iki crater, Volcanoes National Park. Yes, it was very hot, but the hike, which began winding through lush rainforest and then abruptly went through the desolate crater floor was incredible!

This would be super hiker in lush rainforest. It was much lusher than the photo makes it appear.

The big crater at Kiluea Volcano with a long name starting with a U that I can't even begin to remember and couldn't pronounce at the time. This is said to be the home of Pele, the volcano goddess, and this is where people leave offerrings for Pele. I left her some Japanese rice cracker snacks. I hope she likes seaweed and wasabi.

At Southpoint, the southernmost point in the U.S., its so barren and windy that the tradewinds have taken their toll on the few trees thaht manage to survive.

The old boat hoists right by Southpoint, looking north toward the rest of the island. No, Dad did not jump in.

Pu`uhonua o Honaunau National Historical Park detail of a statue.

Hawai'i's version of litter; a papaya discarded in the rocks at Kealakekua Bay.

My friend the sea turtle, sunning himself at Pu`uhonua o Honaunau. Mom and I seriously bonded with a pair of sea turtles who we swam with for about an hour while snorkeling off the Kona coast. I am completely in love with sea turtles, and hanging out with them for so long was one of the highlights of the trip.

The house (I should say mansion - it was fucking HUGE and amazing!) where we stayed in Kona, which belongs to a client of my father's, and was sort of the impetus for thw whole trip to begin with.

This is my Japanese artistic shot. I am a pretentious photographer indeed.

Dramatic photo of the cliffs of the Waipi'o Valley taken from the very northern tip of the island. This was also me proving that changing the F-stop, even on a digital can help you create the photo you want. Take that, Dad! Hah! Who's the better photographer now? (not that I'm competetive or anything...)

Okay, this one was taken by Dad on my camera, I confess. A lucky moment with lighting, where I was too busy sulking about something or other to take a pitcure and he grabbed my camera. Damn my moodiness!

While consistently cloudy skies and frequent showers (it rained almost the entire vacation) are not what you imagine when you think of an ideal tropical vacation, it can be absolutely stunning in its own way.

The front yard and view at the house we stayed at in Kona.

Hawaiian petroglyph. This one is a man..that third leg, well...its a...ummm.... third leg.

While that is an awkward place to end, I must go shower and get ready for what may or may not be a date, I'm just not sure at all. Don't ask.

Super Slacker Synge

2006-03-15T01:00:00.000-05:00

Mr. Artsy Hotpants keeps reminding me of my blogging slackerdom. I know, remiss doesn't even begin to cover it these days. All I can say in my defense is that I've been a bundle of exhausted and overworked stressed out nerves. Yeah, yeah, aren't we all? But between two jobs, an improv class (I start level 2 tonight) and general life exhaustion I feel like I'm constantly attempting to juggle rubber balls covered in slippery dish detergent and dropping them at every turn. Forget the dating traumas of days gone by; these days if I'm lucky if I even have time, much less energy, to meet one of my very forgiving friends for a quick glass of wine. The girl who was once known for never being home because she was always in search of adventure and fun is now always in search of bed and sleep. Saturday night I did a virtually unheard of thing; I stayed in and read. And I wasn't even sick!

Thursday morning I leave at the crack of dawn for a much needed vacation with my parents. Not only is it a blessed escape, but its an escape to Hawaii...for two and a half weeks!!

Of course all things come with their own price tags...I am the official (as titled by my father) chaperone of my mother and general all around chauffer for everyone, which entails driving my father to dive sites at 5:30am, but hell, for a free vacation? I'd even wash my dad's feet, anmd he has quite possibly the most disgusting feet I've ever seen.

The other price tag isn't so easily quantified, or even identified. My parents take a trip every year at this time...last Friday was my brother's birthday and today is the anniversary of his death. While its not a somber commemerative kind of thing outright, we all know why we're flying the coop. We just don't necessarily discuss it. Those waters of acknowledgement with verbal avoidance ain't as easy to navigate as you may think. All three of us tend to be quite off kilter around this time; blurred around the edges with virtigo of the soul. Nothing feels quite normal or right, but in no clear definable manner. Three touchy dizzy confused and hurt people with jet lag and a hell of a lot of baggage...it could be a wonderful after school special of bonding and hugs, or it could be a gigantic chaotic mess against a backdrop of coconuts, palm trees, and volcanic mountains. Somehow I feel like I'm supposed to hold everyone together, which I wonder how I can accomplish when I'm not so sure I'm doing a stellar job with just myself.

Then again, I'm exhausted. (so what else is new..) Its 1:30am, I worked all day then ran around the entire city on various errands, and finally at 11pm arranged for my neighbor the African Goddess to take care of the demonic (but well loved) cat. Now it is 1:30am, I'm wilted and slouching myself right off the futon and perhaps not quite in the most positive of moods (fatigue will do that to you). I need to go to bed anyway, as I've got a horrendously long day ahead of me what with working all day, running to class until 10pm, and then coming home to begin the packing that I haven't even thought about and the cleaning (at least enough so that the African Goddess doesn't fall in one death trap or another on her way to getting the litterbox to clean - reference picture above of my stellar organizational and cleaning skills) I've been avoiding for months. I'm afraid it will be an all nighter and then off to the airport at 4:30am. I will sleep again, one day...in Hawaii maybe....

The Heartbreaking Awakening or The Vicious Circle of Violence by Way of Intolerance

2006-03-05T21:20:00.000-05:00

I had a very upsetting awakening today...not necessarily a rude awakening, more like a heartbreaking one.

SL2000 and I somehow ended up running an entire event today, which we weren't supposed to be running, but that's an completely different story. The fact is, we found ourselves in the position of having to devote the whole weekend, including hours of running all over Manhattan (mostly on foot at that) to this very important event, and well, we rose splendidly to the occasion if I may pat our collective backs for just a moment. Despite the fact that we most definitely weren't supposed to be doing everything, we decided that damn if we weren't going to make it phenomenal.

And we did.

And we worked our collective asses off.

It was an event where a group of Iraqi womyn were brought to the United States to speak about the conditions in their country, the toll of the occupation, and the horrible cost of this war. The tour began here in New York, today, and will end in D.C. It was a beautiful and incredibly important event, with powerful speakers including a delegation of 5 Iraqi womyn, Cindy Sheehan, and some of the most courageous and hard hitting activists out there today.

And I was proud to be a part of it; proud to have worked so hard for something I believe to be so important.

Which is why it was such a complete and utterly heartbreaking shock to me when one of the Iraqi womyn was so upset that she didn't want to go onstage....because of me.

I have a locket that I wear all the time. It is an incredible piece of jewelry designed by a friend of mine (unfortunately I don't have a picture of it, but it is an amazing work of art) that is as much a part of me as my own skin. It holds the precious cargo of my family inside and is my way of keeping my dead brother with me at all times. It is a source of great comfort and strength to me, and represents who I am in many ways.

And it has an enormous Jewish star on the front of it.

While I am a highly spiritual person, I am not a very religious one. My own personal belief system is more along the lines of religion as mythology - created as a sort of guideline for living. Individual spirituality is a whole other ballgame, and really wherein I connect to whatever you wish to name the collective spirit and energy that connects us all as living things. Judaism is my heritage, my legacy, my tradition, and my culture. It is my people, who have been and continue to be inextricably linked by what I see as a completely empowering and phenomenal will to survive - a will that has always been and unfortunately continues to be tried and tested. I am fiercely proud of this strength that I have inherited through my people. I am proud to be connected to an inspiring tradition of questioning and giving and learning.

And that whole litany of what being a Jew means to me is thoroughly unconnected to whatever I may or may not feel about Israel. I realize this may not be the case for all people, but it is very much the case for me. The truth of the matter is that I am very conflicted and still unsure as to exactly what my views are regarding Israel.

What I do know, is that I value and strive for peace and an end to violence above all else.

And that's why I was there today.

Unfortunately, that alone does not seem to be enough to bridge chasms so achingly wide that evidently no amount of goodwill or common ground can heal some wounds. This was my stinging slap into the reality of a very complicated and deeply scarred world that we are living in. I idealistically thought that working together for a common goal could be enough to overcome the bottomless well of hatred that seems to lie so very near the surface of our planet. I bought the dream, hook line and sinker, only to see the cracks and flaws upon taking my purchase home.

And there's just no return policy.

I spoke at the very beginning of the event, very briefly (and much to my unaware, unprepared, and terrified of public speaking chagrin). I spoke in front of the audience and cameras, wearing my ever-present locket...the one with the Jewish star prominently displayed on the front. And because of this, one member of the delegation from Iraq was so incredibly upset that she didn't even want to go onstage to speak. Evidently, in Iraq, wearing a Jewish star is a sign of support for Israel, and she did not want to be seen in association with a supporter of Israel.

I understand that this woman is afraid and angry; she lost many loved ones during the occupation and has witnessed horrors I can't even conjure up in my imagination to have sufficiently realistic nightmares about. She put herself at great risk just by coming to this country; I understand that completely. But a few key points should be mentioned here. She is in America, where she agreed to come, where we ostensibly have freedom of religion; this is something she needs to be prepared for and ready to deal with. This was also brought to my attention after the fact; I had already spoken, the situation could not be changed at this point. Had she presented this as a concern before I spoke, I would have tried to find a way to respect both perspectives and it could have been addressed in a healthy manner. Instead, it became high melodrama, and very painful to all parties involved. Not to mention the realistic fact that with a delegation of womyn from Iraq and Cindy Sheehan there, its pretty damn doubtful that any of the not even very mainstream press that was in attendance would chose to put a clip with little 'ol Synge in it on the air. I may have done an okay job of the intro, but I am most certainly not anywhere near a news worthy main attraction here.

And lastly, it should be noted that the Unitarian church in which the event was held had not only a Jewish flag hanging from the rafters (among representations of many other faiths), but it also had an ark with Hebrew writing on it, containing at least one torah, on the stage. Yup. A torah; the most revered of Jewish texts.

One of the most upsetting aspects of the story, is that when this problem was brought to my attention, being the people pleaser who is paranoid of offending anyone at all that I am, I actually offered to hide my necklace under my shirt. I didn't end up doing it, but that was my first response, and I am so deeply bothered and ashamed by that.

The womyn I was working with on this event were wonderful and supportive, and I am so incredibly thankful for that. I still went outside and sobbed. I still called my father, who said to develop a thicker skin and that there were a frighteningly large number of people who did not and never would want Jews around, and that his advice was to stay away from those people. Umm, okay, lovely. Run with my tail in between my legs? Never have an ounce of faith that humanity can exist? I certainly don't want to live my life that way, no matter how much history he can show me to back up his point of view; and there is a horrific and incredibly long history to that effect. I called Mr. Artsy Hotpants and left him a teary message, and called My Little Vidipookikins and cried on the phone to her, not only one of my oldest friends in the world, but my friend who I grew up in Synogogue with. I was shocked and hurt and confused beyond belief. I felt so wholly betrayed; here I was on her side, working on her behalf, and this woman not only made assumptions as to my opinion regarding my views on the political activities of a nation, but I felt she was judging and yes, even hating me. Because I wore a symbol of my faith and my people around my neck.

I did not afford her the same disrespect because she wore a traditional head covering; a symbol of her faith and her community.

She finally ended up coming onstage and speaking. And I finally ended up walking right back into the hall of worship, with my head held high and proudly wearing my Star of David on my chest, close to my heart, and in full view; right where it belongs.

She glared at me on more than one occasion after that, and while I did not go and speak to her or try to address the situation, I still felt proud at the end of the day of all the work and hours and energy I put into this event. I felt proud to be a part of something so important as these womyn's voices being heard. I felt proud of the flower arrangements that everyone thought were done by professionals. And most of all, I felt proud that whether or not this one womyn was able to do so, I was able to put aside the differences to work for a common goal and try to heal, not continue the hurting.

I'm only sorry that perhaps she cannot appreciate that.

I'm still trying to process what happened today, and all that it meant and the many layers involved therein. I'm not even sure the entire scope of it has fully registered yet. But what I do know, is that I am deeply wounded and so incredibly disappointed that this kind of hatred reared its hideously ugly head in the midst of a movement and an event that was supposed to be about peace, and love, and unity.

When can we sit in a room of mutual respect, without judgment and anger? Because until that happens, there can be no end to violence, and that is a sad and scary reality.

Access Denied; Hopefully Not To Extend to All Areas of Life

2006-03-01T23:26:00.000-05:00

At first I thought it was just a temporary glitch, a porblem with network connections. Then, as the day progressed, I realized that no, my precious internet access was gone, disappearred into thin air literally overnight! What's worse, I realized that it was not a department wide block, oh no, I was a lone target, being punished for my gross abuse of internet privileges. No one said a word about it, but the truth was written plainly across my moniter; the only site I had access to was the company site.

I was paralyzed by this sudden loss; floating in a haze of mourning for the absence so acutely felt. I was lost without the comforting ability to google whatever I wanted whenever I wanted to. How would I ever be able to function? The panic was a palpable presence rising in my throat, my heart ready to explode from my chest.

I decided the only logical course of action was to quit my sdj. I could never survive the long arduous and horrifically boring tedium of data entry, endless spreadsheets and access databases, and perpetual papercuts amidst the mountains of manilla files without my one sole comfort. The thought was unbearable and I felt so very alone, that not even steady emailing could salvage my broken spirit. I became withdrawn, listening to my audiobook du moment, staunchly refusing to interact, and becoming more and more taciturn and bitter with every passing moment. I was so distraught I even lashed out unfairly at poor SL200, amidst the steady flow of our daily emailing saga. I was becoming a stranger to even myself; something had to be done and control had to be regained.

I have never had any formal training in computers whatsoever; in fact I was so technophobic growing up that I made my father take the computer out of our house once my brother left for college, certain that it was an evil invention that sent out subliminal messages while we slept. As with most things, I learned my way around a computer experientially, and by necessity; trial by fire, otherwise known as non-profit land where everyone has the job of 12 people and you sink or swim but care about what you're doing far too much to have failure as an option. While I am still no expert, I can generally figure out on my own, through trial and error, how to do anything I may not already know. Thank god for non-profit land.

I spent a good portion of the day trying all sorts of various tricks to regain my beloved internet access, only to be foiled at every turn. Reloading internet explorer, what I did last time my access was taken away was no longer an option, as the programs were no longer available to reload without a networkl administrator; evidently they got wise to that little ruse. I tried a million other things to no avail, and just when things were looking hopeless beyond belief and the taers were poised and ready to flow, salvation came in the most unlikely of places. I will not reveal how I thwarted the evil empire this time, just in case they have this blog address; I will only say its a good thing I am resourceful, no longer afraid of computers, and a damn stubborn woman who does not give up easily.

I feel like I have climbed Mount Everest and returned intact.

And yes, I really do, at times, loathe the sdj that much that without internet access I would quit.

Hopefully this trend of denial only extends as far as the realm of the machine, for I have a bit of a new crush. He is in my wonderful improv class that has been returning my long lost confidence to me bit by bit every week, as well as being a fuckiong blast. I'll call him Mr. Potato-head because he's Irish, cute, and I just think that's a funny name even if it is bordering on offensive. Mr. Potato-head is tall, lanky, funny, kind, smart and very laid back with a good outlook on life. I, however, am evidently a gigantic spaz who instantly regresses to Middle School when having a one on one conversation with him.

After class on Monday, a number of us went to the theatre to see our teacher (who by the way said in the first class that she strongly encourages falling in love in her class - what can I say? I am a good student...) perform. I found myself standing outside with Mr. Potato-head, waiting for the other classmates to arrive via the unbelievably slow elevator. While my insides melted completely from the mere presence if his eyes locked on mine, I vaguely attempted to retain some level of composure as he leaned toward me and said "You know, I think you're really great." Uh, no, in fact I did not know this...and was he talking about improv or in general? Did it matter? Umm..oh shit..it was my turn to say something wasn't it? Uh, uh..."I think you're great too!" [said in some weird ditzy character voice as I retreted into actor mode and made a joke of it]. What the hell?

We walked together, ahead of the group and talked about fear and life and choice and who knows what else, as I slid in and out of serious mode like some multiple personality freak. Lovely. I did sit next to him at the show, but when I emerged from the ladies' room afterwards, I found much to my dismay that the majority of the class had already left. Damn. So now I'm debating calling him and asking if he wants to go see another show with me, or just waiting until Monday. Do I woos or do I push? Will I be able to have an actual conversation with him without acting like a total idiot? And what the hell am I doing, as I've been so proud of myself for being so un-focused on stupid boys as of late?

And he's going through a divorce. Yeah. Giant. Red. Flag.

(but his accent is really cute and he's kind of shy and turns all red when he's embarrassed and he seems to be a really good person.)

Oh well, at least I have internet access again.

A Little Nookie For the Soul Beats Chicken Soup Any Day

2006-02-28T12:29:00.000-05:00

I suppose I was a little premature in calling myself the first Jewish nun; it takes a much longer commitment to celibacy than 2 months or so, despite the feeling that two months can be an eternity. I'm not wired for celibacy of any length, as evidenced by the fact that I had sex just this morning and already feel like I have been wandering a desert for 40 years and am starved and painfully thirsty. But this post is not about celibacy...oh no, not at all. This post is about the glorious inspiring healing properties of sex.

Yes, my friends, nookie is good for the soul, with far greater healing properties than chicken soup, not to mention the list of ailments it cures is infintely longer.

I'm sure this is not news to you; this is not a new discovery for me. But I had forgotten exactly how fabulously regenerative its powers truly are. Especially when its good sex.

I got some good booty recently and I am a new woman. Here me roar (I'm sure they did for a 10 block radius..all 5 times).

I have a wonderful convenient arrangement with a very good friend who I adore as a person out of the sack as well. We have a friendship first and foremost and a longtime history of being lovers if the stars are aligned, we are in a situation where we are free to do so, and he is in my neck of the woods. I am not the world's biggest advocate of convenient arrangements, despite having had far more fuck buddies than relationships in my 30 years; it can far tooeasily be an unhealthy thing. But this is the one instance in my life where it has truly ever been a really good thing. He's a wonderful friend, and there are many times when we get together and spend time just as friends. I respect the hell out of Mr. FB and that respect is most definitely returned. But I would never ever want to actually date him or be in a relationship with him, at all. Not because he's not a great person, he is, but he's just not the person for me. He is however a perfect fuck buddy. We discuss everything from art and politics to personal growth to food and travel. We laugh a lot. And when we hit the matress...its hot. Very hot.

I didn't realize how much I needed this.

I still have perma-smile.

Where Am I? Who Am I? And What the Fuck Am I Supposed to be Doing Right Now?

2006-02-27T18:00:00.000-05:00

I love working part-time for Lady Charon; its ultimately a far more relaxing environment than the full-time sdj, despite being a lot more work, a lot more difficult, and of course the fact that I can neither blog nor email my day away there. It is a safe haven, if you will, of encouragement, positivity, love and $5 an hour more than the shameful salary I make at the sdj.

The problem (and you knew damn well there was a problem in there somewhere or I wouldn't be blogging abuot this) lies in finding the balance between working enough hours at both jobs, still having a social life, and getting enough sleep so that I don't kill myself with fatigue as I"ve been known to do throughout many a period of my life. And historically speaking, out of all of these things, sleep is unfortunately the first to be abandoned, as I am an overly social creature by nature.

But I just ain't 19 years old anymore, and while 30 is still quite young, I do need more than 2 hours of sleep per night.

I'm feeling slightly overwhelmed at the moment and am probably pushing myself a bit hard but see no other possible course of action when the stupidity of massive credit card debt is thrown into the mix. I'm certainly paying the piper, and the price ain't cheap, folks.

And just wait, because starting tomorrow, another time eating monster is thrown into the mix; I start auditioning again. My goal for now is at least one audition a week, even if its a stupid EPA*.

Watch my amazing daredevil feats of schedule juggling in awe and wonder! Watch my head explode from trying to do it all...on $10 and 5 hours sleep a day! Step right up, ladies and gents, the carnival has begun!

(Bets will be taken starting tomorrow as to the amount of time before I have a nervous breakdown)

*EPA stands for huge fucking waste of time because we've already cast it and are just doing this because the actors' union makes us hold open auditions for the pathetic members who don't have agent representation and haven't bribed a casting director. Or Equity Principal Audition. Whichever definition you prefer; either way, about as productive as putting your wet finger in a light socket, and about as fun too.

Oh Laundry, Like Blogging, Thou Art So Easy to Forsake

2006-02-26T17:55:00.000-05:00

In case you haven't noticed (which would be of absolutely no surprise considering the infrequency of my posting as of late; something which, among the thousands of other organizationally challenged aspects of my life, I am aiming to rectify), I have been trying to get my proverbial act together these days. I've been trying to sleep more, eat better, work more hours, pay off astounding debt, and live on an impossible $10/day in Manhattan. Yes, I have completely lost my senses, thank you for asking. Oh, and I'm also becoming the first Jewish nun, at least temporarily, and eschewing the romantic roller coaster for the self-improvement Himmalayas.

Setting goals can be incredibly gratifying (though, admittedly not as great as sex despite all my efforts to pretend the contrary) when they are achieved, inspiring endless amounts of renewed confidence and self congratulatory momentary highs. And I have had my share of these recently, such as the miniscule and thoroughly uninteresting to anyone but myself personal victory of arriving on time at 8:00am to work my new extra job for Lady Charron as personal assistant and administrative help for the World Yoga Center. That's right, 8:00am! Me!

However, it is anything but gratifying when embarking on a personal journey of self-improvement such as this, when the simplest of tasks suddenly becomes a monumental obstacle that seems impossible to overcome. Yes, I am talking about my lifelong battle with laundry.

Laundry?? you ask incredulously. Yes, my friends, laundry. Even more challenging than the impossible $10/day budget is laundry.

I have a history with this particular battle, and it is neither pretty nor pleasing to the olfactory senses. I have improved, mind you, since the days of yore (commonly referred to as the college years) wherein I actually had a friend spend his one night in three months off of rehearsal helping me with and forcing me to do the endless piles that had accumulated over an embarassingly long time because he noticed in Theatre History class that my clothes were stinking. (There are certain things one shouldn't necessarily reveal on the internet, and that is probably one of them)

These days I do not stink, and I never double dip into the used pile, but I still loathe the seemingly unsurmountable task of laundry and end up carrying a way too heavy suitcase or two down the five flights of stairs and around the block to the always overpopulated laundromat with the scary little Asian woman who yells at me and mercilessly criticizes my folding technique. If I were to do it more often, not only would it take less time, but it would be far kinder on my back amidst the endless stairs. So I decided that I was going to try to do it once a week, despite my overwhelming aversion. This task must generally be done on the weekends, due to the strict all loads in by 9:00pm rule strictly enforced by the laundry nazis.

Did I do any laundry this weekend? Did I accomplish this one simple task? Absolutely not. Granted, our apartment has become an infectious diseases ward with The Lone Star Talent and I continually passing one strain of flu or another back and forth, thus Friday night through Sunday morning were spent in the sick bed (my 1/2 futon, as climbing into the loft bed is a bit of a scary prospect when my body calls an embargo on strength). However, I am feeling better today, and had the whole afternoon in which to get the damn thing done before meeting my old friend and perpetual flirt for dinner and drinks at 7:30pm. Instead, I finished crocheting a scarf, tried on any and all bathing suits (a depressing prospect) for my upcoming trip to Hawaii with my parents, and generally spent the day being silly and lazy with The Lone Star Talent; in other words fucking around and playing the game of laundry avoidance I seem to have perfected.

At least I did the dishes, and managed to shit out this thoroughly untinteresting and surprisingly long for the mundane subject matter blog entry. The day hasn't been a total waste, just a 7/8 waste. Lovely progress, no?

Now I need to go put on some clothes or something...despite my laziness, I'm being treated to dinner and I ain't gonna miss that one due to an overdeveloped propensity for fucking around.

This Makes My Day

2006-02-20T18:54:00.000-05:00

Okay, I'm sure everyone's seen this already...I saw it a few weeks ago, but happened to run across it again by the weird trajectory that workday fucking around on the internet always seems to travel. And it made my day. So just to always be able to find it again and make myself shoot coffee from my nose, here is the fantabulous David Hasselhoff being hooked. On a Feeling. Wow.

http://www.thesuperficial.com/archives/2006/01/26/david_hasselhoff_is_hooked_on.html

For the first time ever, I'm embarassed to be half European.

(well, that and Jerry Lewis, but I ain't even going there...)

The 10 Day Old and Moldy Birthday Post

2006-02-20T17:46:00.000-05:00

This is what evidently happens when you turn 30...you keep meaning to blog about what a glorious celebration it was but you keep forgetting to, as time accelerates exponentially once you round that corner. Hopefully my aged and failing memory can recollect enough to fill you in on the details...

The actual day was perfect in every way, as was the entire weekend. I must say, I am completely spoiled. All day people were calling and singing on my voice mail and the surprises were neverending. Since she wasn't able to be here in person, Chanteuse decided to make the building receptionist work for her money, much to her chagrin. My co-workers were duly impressed by the almost continual deliveries that were happenning throughout the day. The first surprise was stinky french cheese, my absolute favorite thing in the world, in this gorgeous basket from Murray's Cheese Shop with fancy schmancy chocolates and natural honey. As if that wasn't enough, the next delivery was a potted plant of tulips, which are one of my favorite flowers in the world (along with daisies), and then the coup de gras was an incredible bottle of French champagne and a bottle of my favorite kind of wine (Cotes du Rhone). Not only was it incredibly fun to be surprised all day long, but the fact that she knows me so very well (I suppose after 16 years we should) was incredibly touching. I also got a bouquet of tulips, some chocolate ice cream, and best of all...CASH from my coworkers! God bless the office collection.

I hobbled from the sdj, fullen laden with my birthday spoils. and made my way 20 some blocks uptown to my horrifically messy apartment where Mr. Artsy Hotpants was kind enough to brave the fearsome spectre of my room to join me in a lovely birthday champagne and cheese toast (all of which were incredible, by the way). From there we somewhat tipsily made our way downtown, in a cab no less (see, spoiled all around) to the west village theatre where Mr. Artsy Hotpants had treated me to tickets to see In the Continuum. MAH is my absolute favorite person in the world to see theatre with, and as always, we had a wonderful time discussing it afterwards. After the show, MAH took me out for sushi dinner at Sushi Samba, where despite the trendy and packed atmosphere we discovered that Japanese, Brazillian and Peruvian cuisines really do not mix (though I enjoyed the varied types of seaweed salad). The celebration was capped off by several beers and many wonderful cheesy songs sung at the top of our lungs at the Duplex, which has become a personal MAH/Synge tradition over the last two and a half years.

And that was just the beginning....Maman and Dad were still to arrive the next morning at the oh-so-daunting hour of 8am and the official celebration was to be the next night....

---TO BE CONTINUED---

Ack! I Was Tagged!

2006-02-16T14:17:00.000-05:00

Oh my, I was tagged by Swandad...I haven't been tagged in forever. It was good for me, Swandad, was it good for you?

Okay, here goes...

Four Jobs I've Had: Actor, Cocktail waitress, Administrative Assistant, Pre-school teacher

Four Movies I Can Watch Repeatedly: The Princess Bride, Say Anything, Waiting for Guffman, West Side Story

Four Places I've Lived: Isfahan, Iran; Chatenois, France; Oxford, England; New York, NY

Four TV Shows I Love: Oh god! this is a tough one considering I don't ever watch TV! Umm...let's see...what did I see at Doc Harley's? Curb Your Enthusiasm; PBS Mystery; The Daily Show; The Simpsons

Four Places I've Vacationed: Dominica; Bonaire; Most of Western Europe; the canyons and mountains of the Southwestern United States (and most of the U.S. in general)

Four of My Favorite Dishes: Stinky French Cheeses!!; Coquilles Saint Jacques; Malai Kofta; Brussell Sprouts (prepared the French way, of course)

Four Sites I Visit Daily: Gawker; Bloglines (which makes keeping up with blogs much easier); Gmail; and I'm totally embarrassed to admit this, but I'm addicted to Go Fug Yourself

Four Places I Would Rather Be Right Now: Vietnam; The Atlas Mountains of Morocco, India; Turkey

Four Bloggers I am TAGGING: Jon, Ava, SL2000, and just to get him out of blogging retirement again...Mr. Artsy Hotpants

So there, I did it.

If I ever make my way out from under the piles of files around me, I still have to write about the BEST birthday (which lasted all weekend) ever.

Not-so-Poised On the Brink

2006-02-09T15:46:00.000-05:00

It didn't really hit me until today, when graciously and repeatedly reminded through various phone calls, emails, and text messages.

Today is my very last day in my 20's.

Forever.

Come tomorrow, I will never be in my 20's again.

Its not that it necessarily bothers me; I have the wide open expanse of the unexplored terrirtory of my 30's yet to navigate, and from what I hear the paths are far less rocky, so one can spend more time enjoying the scenery and less time tripping up. Its just that its weird to think of. Its weird to know that as of tomorrow I am viewed in a different category. As of tomorrow the delicate balance of woman-child shifts a little more into the realm of woman and a little less in that of child.

I know its just a number, and numbers are arbitrary beasts...and its not like I haven't been identifying myself as 30 for the past 4 months anyway....its just that it feels so...final. Goodbye 20's.

In many ways, I am happy to bid a not-so-fond farewell to a decade of my life that was frought with nonstop drama and more painful trauma than many very fortunate people experience in an entire lifetime. Yet it also encompassed infinite strength and light years of personal growth. There were many mistakes made...many many dangerous stupid mistakes....yet here I am at the end of that path about to embark on a new one. And I am shifting gears, whether consciously or not; I'm already making life changes, what with the budgeting and fiscal responsibility, the grand experiment in mornings, and generally treating myself with far more care than the overwhelmingly self-destructive child-woman of my 20's ever did.

And these are things I am incredibly proud of.

I do feel like I am poised to enter my 30's with a self awareness that I never quite grasped before and a commitment to growth and healing that I never even considered. I feel good about who I am, and ready to point a foot towards this unknown future...yet somehow, today, there's a little sadness involved as well in this purely metaphorical transition.

I'm not sure what that's about.

Not to mention I deeply regret the unfortunate circumstances (a horrendous stomach flu) which caused me to spend my last week in my 20's vommiting profusely.

I also feel like I should do something really stupid and childish tonight that I will be embarassed about for years, just to comemorate a decade filled with such experiences.

But I won't. I will go to my Code Pink meeting, and then I will do laundry, like a responsible almost 30 year old. I will, however, be drinking at my favorite neighborhood bar with B.B. King (who knows in no uncertain terms that I am only available for friendship as women's solidarity is a deeply embedded-to-the-core facet of my personality - so don't worry, its just as friends) in between trips to and from the washer....perhaps there's still a little life in the old gal yet?

My Parents Were Kidnapped by Aliens!

2006-02-03T10:25:00.000-05:00

I just wanted to write a quick something, knowing I've been more than remiss in my perpetually fatigued state of adjustment to the new sleep schedule and mornings. I can't dally, however, as my wonderful friend The Spunky Funky Triath-A-Mom is coming to visit and I will be spending all weekend laughing with one of the coolest womyn I've ever met in my life. This was her Christmas gift from her gusband, but I get wonderfully spoiled in the process-not only do I get a whole weekend with someone I love and miss dearly, but we will be staying together in what is evidently the world's smallest hotel room (which means it will still be bigger than my apartment) and I get tickets to go see Sweeney Todd! Of course this is someone who could make being trapped in an elevator seem like a fun vacation, so it really doesn't matter where we are.

My biggest news of late is that my parents have been kidnapped by aliens and replaced with these odd facsimiles who are undyingly supportive all of a sudden! Not that they are horrible parents normally, but let's just say that when I fuck up they're not ones to easily dismiss it.

I was dreading having the conversation with my father wherein I confessed my horrendous financial quagmire, but it was a necessary evil for both maintaining an open honest relationship and for being able to sell my mutual funds (graduate school money since college was free), which do not pay off the debt entirely but knock out a huge chunk of it. After much thought, I found this to be a much smarter solution than paying about twice what I owe once the exhorbitant interest rates of debt consolidation companies is factored in, despite the fact that it involved the terrifying spectre of my father holding this over my head for years to come and berating me for being so irresponsible and idiotic until I melted away into a puddle of what once was a tiny modicum of self respect. This fear was not merely exaggeration; it was founded in past experience, which explains much in my regards to be rather harsh on myself.

But this new alien father did not berate me or call me stupid (well, perhaps once, but that's nothing in comparison to my fears). This new alien father was wonderful and supportive and basically told me that I made my own bed and now will be lying in it, but that it sounded like I knew that already and was already making the necessary lifestyle changes so there really wasn't anything he could tell me except to sell the funds, continue paying off the remainder of the debt and learn my damn lesson. I was shocked to my very core. I confessed my great fear in having the conversation, and this stranger on the telephone went even further to say that if he had berated me in the past for mistakes made that he was very sorry and very very wrong to do so; he said that it most likely came from a fear that when his children screwed up in meant that he screwed up and that now he knows and understands that children are not an extension of you, but individuals completely separate from the parents.

What?? That sounded like both an apology and an expression/explanation of feelings! Impossible!

But yes, yes indeed it was. He then went on to talk a little about my brother and his feelings of responsibility he had to get over there. Wow. This is the same man who told me about a year ago that he only discussed feelings with the dog - and the dog had been dead for a few months at that point!

This alien father continued on to instruct me to stop feeling badly for having screwed up; that what was important was that I was doing something about it and to turn the page and just learn from it but move forward. The surreal supportive and oh-so-loving and perfect words just kept spewing forth from the lips of this alien father like coins from a Vegas slot machine finally rewarding the little old lady that has waited patiently all day pulling the lever in sad desperation and wearing a very bright flowered mumu. I was in tears by the end of the conversation. Gone was the fearsome spectre of the overly critical perfectionist and in its place was the supportive father I had always wanted; the one who could believe in me and make me believe in myself in the process.

If I didn't know better, I would swear my father had been sneaking in a little therapy on the side. Really. It was that level of healthy productive and loving interaction.

The next day I phoned my mother and talked to her for over an hour; she was not only incredibly supportive (she of the infamous "Oh Synge!" exclamations, with the insane ability to twist any innocous comment to put me at fault for something), but we also covered a broad territory of topics that needed to be discussed but were perpetually avoided. We talked very honestly and very in depth about my brother and his suicide, the sometimes taboo subject, and the many complicated issues involved therein. And again, she was nothing but loving and supportive. My mother and I healed our relationship long ago, and while I expect this from her more than from my father, it still seemed above and beyond the usual.

So, yes. My parents have indeed been kidnapped by aliens, but I am so thankful for the replacements they left behind...the realtionship with these two people has grown by such leaps and bounds since I began seeing Lady Charon. I'm sure a large part is my behavior that has changed as well, but still I see the huge amount of work they have out into this, and it is ever so healing. I am infintely lucky.

And that was so not the brief posting I meant to write. Now I must scramble to bathe, lest I arrive at the airport as the smelly girl.

My Brain is Leaking Out Through My Nose and I Have to Pee

2006-01-30T17:58:00.000-05:00

Jet lag has gotten the better of me...as has the inordinate amount of mucous currently being produced in my nasal cavities. While I know this sounds particularly lovely and oh-so-appetizing, I will spare you the sordid details; suffice it to say I am fairly miserable at the moment and my poor nose is raw and partially skinless. Its a good nose; it doesn't deserve this torture.

In a absolutely uncharacteristic streak of productivity, I have planned my upcoming 30th birthday festivities, eschewing the normal last minute scramble for an organized evite and reservations approach. While I am hoping that this kind of on-the-ball behavior will continue, I suspect it is merely a short lived reaction to the change o' decades. Mr. Artsy Hotpants chose this awesome restaraunt for the dinner with close friends and family portion of the evening, and even made the reservations for me after this restaurant wouldn't let me make a reservation for 12 people on a Saturday night. Then we will only have to walk a mere 3 blocks to get to where the $4 drinks portion of the evening, which will be held here. I'm actually incredibly excited about the whole thing, and already about 25 people are coming and I only sent the evite last friday! I usually find birthdays a bit disappointing, but this one seems to be shaping up to be the grand celebration it should be...and a good thing to, considering its my 30th...

I am sticking to my $10/day budget thus far, though it is proving far more difficult in practice than theory. I am feeling quite proud of myself though - proud that I am making the necessary changes in my lifestyle (including a clumsy attempt at mornings) to take responsibility for my own messes and try to deal with them as an adult. Of course, it hasn't been very long, considering the time spent in Paris doesn't really count. Still, I have been trying and am learning, and that's what counts.

I feel like I'm making changes all around, and in this newfound restructuring of my life somehow boy craziness and obsessing about becoming that weird old lady with a million cats has gone blessedly by the wayside. I am too busy trying to become the new organized and motivated me to worry about what someone else thinks, and this is an ideal seat for me to be sitting in right now. I like the view from here. Its expansive, limitless, and full of possibility.

In my doped up on allergy meds haze that I am currently in, coherent writing seems to be thoroughly out of the question so I believe I'll go back to copious drooling while staring blankly at the meaningless numbers and letters facing me on the computer screen. The fun just never ends 'round here.

Bilingual Jet Lag

2006-01-26T20:37:00.000-05:00

I'm sure you've surmised by now that my long silence was due to geographic dislocation; namely my trip to Paris to see my cousin Peek-A-Boo. I wold love to tell you all about it, but unfortunately its now 3am for me and jet lag is most definitely taking its heavy toll as I struggle to keep my head from rolling like a deranged rabies victim. I'm desperately trying to rehabituate myself to this time zone and not go to bed at 10pm, but its a losing battle. Unfortunately, tonight I must stay awake to go support the Comedic Chameleon in UCB's Cage Match championship match...at 11pm (yikes! I'll be the coma victim in the 2nd row).

Some very quick highlights with links, just to pretend I'm not copping out on this blog entry:

Saturday night we went salsa dancing, cuban style, at a lovely and slightly trendy but still incredibly accessible establishment. Yes, you read that correctly, we went salsa dancing, though rather I should say Peek-A-Boo went salsa dancing and I went clumsily tromping on everyone's feet to a rhythm only I was aware of. The only man brave enough to dance with me was a law student getting his degree in International Law and working at the Lebanese embassy. Every time he spun me around I would spin with such, ummm, exuberance, that he was forced to repeatedly say "doucement! doucement!" (which translates gently! gently!) every time he turned me. He was a patient man indeed.

Peek-A-Boo took me to see two very different theatrical productions while I was there, knowing that I love seeing what's going on with theatre in Paris. The first was a modern day farce called Le Clan des Divorcees, and was a very well paced though slightly overdone well written piece. The second, however, was a one woman show called Mademoiselle Werner, which was absolutely phenomenal. I thought the actress, a well known figure in French theatre and cinema known simply as Anemone, was quite remarkable and her performance was beautiful nuanced and detailed while still being really fresh and believable.

Monday we continued our tradition begun 5 years ago of going to the Mosquee de Paris, where we indulged ourselves in absolute relaxing luxury of steam, massage, and mint tea at the hammam there, which is like a turkish bath. Afterwards we went to the restaraunt next door for a delicious and copious couscous dinner. Mmmm, couscous...I'm hungry just thinking about it.

Now I have to run go meet My Little Vidipookikins, who promises to keep me awake for the show tonight. I'll write more about the trip later, for now, enjoy the links and jet lag infused post.

[insert sound of snoring here]

Heigh Ho! Heigh Ho! To Debter's Prison I Go!

2006-01-17T18:24:00.000-05:00

Today I took a good gander at my financial situation; the results were disasterous, to say the least. It appears that I have finally become entrenched in the quagmire of debt, from which escape does not appear to be possible. I do not currently make enough to cover my bills and rent, so even a very strict budget cannot pull me out of this mess.

Panic does not do justice to my reaction to this news.

After careful thought and a heart attack or two, I have figured out several things I can do:

1. Enter one of those horrific bleed-you-dry debt consolidation programs.

2. Make sure I work a full 40 hours a week and get extra work whenever possible. This will require a renewed commitment to mornings, which will be good as it will help discipline me to re-enter the audition scene, which also involves dreaded morning coherency.

3. Put myself on a strict cash-only budget. This will greatly diminsh my social life (or any hope thereof, as said budget is about $10/day at most), which could possibly help with #2.

4. Rob a few banks. While its a skill I have yet to learn, I am certain this is one I can master.

5. Get hit by a city bus. This one is admittedly risky, as avoiding death could be a challenge, but the payoff could be quite a nice sum.

6. Change my name to Twinklestarlight and go on the lamb, ending up in a 3rd world country living off of the pottery and bead work I make with found objects. I think this is the most realistic of proposed plans, once I figure out the logistics and dye my hair blonde.

This bed of my own making is quite uncomfortable...I wish now I had chosen the futon.

Let Me Off This Ride!!

2006-01-16T18:21:00.000-05:00

When I was in sixth grade, I went to the nearby amusement park and was forced to ride in the seat-o-death (the very last car) on the rickety old wooden roller coaster (read death trap) that made you feel as if you were going to fall out at any minute; the not-so-substantial "protective safety bars" being way too far away to do any good and being no match whatsoever for the bouncing and jumping and thumping that I was certain would be the death of me.

It wasn't.

It was, however, the death of my very short lived middle school social life, as I had gone with one of the neighborhood girls who was a "popular" (read vapid) girl, and I had made the damning error of crying profusely on said roller coaster ride. (She also made me watch terrfying horror movies; a fear which I still have yet to conquer. I have since forgiven her sadistic delight in my fear, as I have my own theory that she is a lesbian who was incredibly miserable and maladjusted in those awkward closeted middle school years. This theory is based in nothing but an almost infallible gadar and a strong gut feeling.) I ended up absolutely loving roller coasters a few years later, but from that experience, its a wonder I ever climbed back into any such instrument of terror. It either speaks volumes of my resilience and tenacity or of my masochistic self destructive tendencies; I see no need to explore wherein the answer lies.

Substantially less fun, I've since discovered, are emotional roller coaster rides. I suppose it's like riding a roller coaster as a blind person, with no idea whether a peak or plummet is forthcoming; both take you equally by surprise, and the peaks are less enjoyable for fear of the impending stomach lurching descent.

To say I have been on an emotional roller coaster lately would be a gross understatement. And it really varies from moment to moment, not just day to day. Within the course of several hours, I am covering entire mountain ranges of emotional landscape, thus rendering me rather exhausted and feeling like I have no energy to accomplish even the most menial of tasks (aka locating that damn elusive floor of my room!).

I'm not sure where this is all coming from; I'm sure some of it (probably a lot of it) is hormonal; I seem to be in a severely elongated term of PMS and pray for the reprieve of my tormentingly late period (sorry guys, though if you can't deal with blood by now, grow the fuck up). Don't worry, there is no possibility of pregnancy, just a somehow altered cycle (which can be altered by emotional states, so which came first the chicken or the egg?). I'm sure a lot of it is also connected to the recent changes (read losses - one of my least favorite themes) in my life with Mr. Saucy Funnybuns' move to the far reaches of the earth (L.A.) and the end of my realtionship with Doc Harley. But I feel like there's something else there, slightly blurred and out of focus, having to do with my confidence, which rises and falls along the drastic vertical pendulum connected to the mood roller coaster. Something I'm probably afraid to put my finger on and name, otherwise the picture would already be much clearer. I'm at a definite point of change in my life, and as usual, am fiercely bucking it every step of the way.

Along the peaks and ridges the view is stupendous; the vast expanse of possibility and capability combined is infinite and truly breathtaking. The blitzkrieg free falling descents, however, come without warning and are breathtaking in a grotesquely violating sort of way; like getting the wind knocked out of you by betrayal personified.

Like that vulnerable little 6th grade girl, terrified of the ride she found herself on, I want to howl "let me off now!!".

If I could apply the same release to this roller coaster as I did to the physical ones, perhaps this wouldn't be such a fearful thing. A letting go and giving over to the process, trusting that it will undoubtedly end and could possibly turn out to be fun if I would only let myself truly experience it. I'm pretty sure at the end of the ride lies great growth, but the getting there feels nauseating.

Couldn't I have ridden the swings instead?

For My Age??!!

2006-01-14T04:59:00.000-05:00

In the self same night, I was told by a really hot 26 year old Aussie that I looked really good and was really photogenic for my age!!! AND as I was coming home at 4:30ish am, I encountered a 13 year old (okay, probably 19 or 20, but what's the difference really?) drunk as hell that I had to help and teach her friend how to take care of her while she was vomitting and clinging to the railway of the building next to me. The thing is I'm way way drunk myself and instantly clicked into mother hen mode, holding her hair back, handing her napkins, and holding her up until we got her in a cab. I have no clue what their names are, but I was mothering this young woman..MOTHERING!!! And I'm quite drunk myself (though I evidently look good for my age)! What is happening here? I feel so freakin old tonight! I don't want to be sexy for my age, I just want to be sexy period!

What an oddly depressing evening, despite being hit on and so forth.

Since when is 30 old???

I Am Either the World's Largest Freak or Totally Adorable...I'll Even Settle for Both

2006-01-13T17:52:00.000-05:00

Last night after a lovely and wonderful wine and cheese rescue by my knight in shining armor, Mr. Artsy Hotpants, I met My Little Vidipookikins, her boyfriend and her friend and co-worker for a drink before we all (minus Mah) headed down to UCB to see a late night show with the Comedic Chameleon and my improv teacher. I was just looking forward to a fun simple night with friends, and what I found was that most wonderous and thunderous of all the wild things; a new crush.

Just a teensy weensy harmless one, really.

In my defense, it totally snuck up on me. I certainly wasn't out to meet anyone, as I was feeling about as interesting as a lump of plastic fake vomit. But there he was, Professor Chin Face (christened thus due to the fact that he created an upside down chin face character for a project he and Vidipookikins are working on), being all funny and cute and weird and interesting. Anyone who does a silly upside down chin face for the internet wins big points in my book. (Yeah, okay, so I have slightly unusual criteria...I think that's already been established.) He and Vidipookikins' boyfriend got into a pile of discarded books and each walked away with thier various treasures they found, and he left one the books that were his pirate's booty outside of the bar we ended up going to, for someone else to find. Its the little things such as this which perk my interest and raise my antennae. He also had magnetic eyes, which I duly attempted to avoid all night, being the awkward lump of plastic fake vomit that I was that evening.

So today, despite having behaved as a total social neanderthal last night, I decided that I was just going to bite the bullet and ask this guy out. I mean why not? The worst he could do is say no, and this way I'm getting it out of the way early instead of feeling awkward and idiotic and just sitting around wondering if there's any way he could be interested in me. He peaked my interest, I'd like to know more, and there's pretty much only one path to that address.

Did I mention, though, that I'm a bit of a weirdo and tend to shun conventional means for most any task? Its not exactly intentional, its just sort of how things tend to come out.

This was the email I sent:

Hi Professor Chin Face,

Synge here - the weird girl from last night with copious amounts of yarn in her bag and the brilliant sock puppet performance art idea. I thoroughly enjoyed meeting you and your infamous chin along with its lovely sense of humor.

Since I feel utterly middle school in this endeavor, I might as well do this a la middle school style...

Soo, ummm [insert awkward foot shuffling, bright blushing, throat clearing and staring at toes here] would you be interested in having a drink or a cup of coffee with me sometime?

Check box:

YES

NO

(or you can call me at [phone number] if you're interested)

-Le Synge Bleu

I am either totally adorable or a freakish loser - I'm still not sure which (but I'll take any combination of the two which involves the word adorable. endearing is good too...).

More Quizzes to Avoid Writing an Actual Post

2006-01-12T18:37:00.000-05:00

You are a Buff Girl!

You've got a boomin' body and a fearless spirit.Most guys have trouble keeping up with your energy and fitness level.Competitve and fun loving, you're up for almost anything.Make sure you pick a guy who doesn't mind getting beaten by a girl!

What'>http://ynr.blogthings.com/whatkindofgirlareyouquiz/">What Kind of Girl Are You?

You Were Naughty This Year

You Were 65% Naughty, 35% Nice
You may not have been good this year...But you sure had a really good time.And nothing from Santa could top that!

How'>http://ynr.blogthings.com/hownaughtywereyouthisyearquiz/">How Naughty (Or Nice) Were You This Year?

You are Bettie Page

Girl next door with a wild streakYou're a famous beauty - with unique lookAnd the people like you are cultish about it

What'>http://ynr.blogthings.com/whatfamouspinupareyouquiz/">What Famous Pinup Are You?

okay, so this one's a given!

You Are Downtown

You're a funky spirit that requires freedom to live.Your city girl persona needs adventure, diversity, and great pizza.

Are'>http://ynr.blogthings.com/areyouuptownordowntownquiz/">Are You Uptown or Downtown?

You Are Trinity

"Touch me and that hand will never touch anything again."

What'>http://ynr.blogthings.com/whatsuperheroineareyouquiz/">What Superheroine Are You?

Your Hat Personality Is A

Cowboy Hat

What'>http://ynr.blogthings.com/whathatareyouquiz/">What Hat Are You?

You Are Fall!

ThoughtfulExpressiveCreativePoeticSmart

What'>http://ynr.blogthings.com/whatseasonareyouquiz/">What Season Are You?

You Should Date An Australian!

You're a down to earth, outdoorsy kind of girlAnd you need a guy who can keep up with your adventuresA rugged Austrailian guy is just your styleBetter start learning how to surf!

Which'>http://ynr.blogthings.com/whichforeignguyshouldyoudatequiz/">Which Foreign Guy Should You Date?

You Are Chocolate Caramel Kiss Lip Gloss

Saying that you're one of a kind is ... well ... an understatement.You're unusual, quirky, wacky - and you love to challenge people.
And you are a total trendsetter. Your friends are quick to copy your fashion and music tastes.Which is why chocolate caramel is your perfect flavor. It's as rare and outrageous as you are.

What'>http://ynr.blogthings.com/whatflavorlipglossareyouquiz/">What Flavor Lip Gloss Are You?

Okay, the funny thing is this is my least favorite flower.

You Are a Rose

You are a total alpha female who tends to be a leader.Your friends depend on you to hold things together and make decisions.Men are drawn to your feminine powers and strength.While you are the center of attention, you are secretly introverted and a bit shy.

What'>http://ynr.blogthings.com/whatflowerareyouquiz/">What Flower Are You?

Your Element is Metal

Your power colors: white, gold, and silver
Your energy: contracting
Your season: fall
You are persistent (and maybe even a little bit stubborn).If you see something you want, you go for it.You have a lot of strength, and it's difficult to get you down.Very logical, you tend to analyze everything going on in your life.

What'>http://ynr.blogthings.com/whatelementareyouquiz/">What Element Are You?

Umm..WHAT????!!!!

Your 80s Heartthrob Is

Bill Gates

Who's" Your 80's Heartthrob?

What Your Black Outfit Means

You're a sophisticated woman with big city taste.You have a strong creative force - even if you don't wear the boldest clothes.You tend to intimidate people. But the right guy won't be intimidated by you!
Designer match: Dolce & Gabbana
Signature accessory: Gold framed sunglasses

What'>http://ynr.blogthings.com/whatdoesyourfavoriteoutfitsayaboutyouquiz/">What Does Your Favorite Outfit Say About You?

You Are Most Like Samantha!

For you, dating is the ultimate sportYou're into guys with power, looks, or a lot of money.You rather have a great two weeks than a great forever.But even you fall victim to love from time to time. :-)
Romantic prediction: You'll find love in the next few months...
But you'll be the last one to realize it.

Which'>http://ynr.blogthings.com/whichsexandthecityvixenareyouquiz/">Which Sex and the City Vixen Are You?

You Are Psyche!

Eternally in search of purpose and insight.You're curious and creative with a total sense of wonder.Totally empathetic, you pick up on other's moods easily.Just be sure to pamper yourself as well!

What'>http://ynr.blogthings.com/whatgoddessareyouquiz/">What Goddess Are You?

You Are an Exotic Beauty!

No matter what your ehtnic background, you've got a unique lookAnd your one of a kind beauty makes an imprint in every man's mindYou hardly ever wear the same outfit twice, and your hair is always changingAs a result, your look is always new and fresh - never outdated or stale

What'>http://ynr.blogthings.com/whattypeofbeautyareyouquiz/">What Type of Beauty Are You?

Your Inner Muse is Melpomene

You are most like this muse of tragedy.While you aren't depressed, you don't shy away from sadness.Although you do tend to be gloomy, you have a sensitive side.And this sensitive side helps inspire and help others.

What'>http://ynr.blogthings.com/whatmuseareyouquiz/">What Muse Are You?

oh god, vixanne, please don't get any ideas!

You'll Find Love Through Friends

Your friends get you better than any guy ever hasAnd they're the perfect people to introduce you to your soulmateSo look and act you're best with them, even if it's a girl's night outYou never know who they might find for you!

Where'>http://ynr.blogthings.com/wherewillyoufindlovequiz/">Where Will You Find Love?

Okay, enough silliness. I have to go meet Mr. Artsy Hotpants for wine and cheese.

I Am Orange Silly Panties?

2006-01-12T18:15:00.000-05:00

Your Power Color Is Orange

You live in the fast lane. You love action, risk, and competition.You're spontaneous, enthusiastic, and persuasive.But you're also easily bored - and love to rebel against structures.You resent rules ... as well as people's attempts to control you!

What's" Your Power Color?

You Are Silly Panties

You're a goofy, fun loving girl who is always smiling.You like your panties to be a silly secret - even if only you know.Men feel instantly relaxed around you, with a little instant chemistry too.Even though you're a goofball, you can be sexy when you want to.

What Kind of Panties Are You?

Hey L.A., Plant Your Own Fucking Trees and Gimme Mine Back!!

2006-01-10T19:31:00.000-05:00

Mr. Saucy Funnybuns and I could have been voted "least likely to be friends", after all, we are such polar opposites in so many regards; instead we were voted "most like a married couple" by those who knew us, and indeed at many times we were. After all, I packed his suitcases that were going on the plane with him today, as he flew out of New York to move to California, because I knew exactly which clothes he wore most and which could be sent with the movers. I know when he's ready to leave the party and go home without him saying a word and I know what he's trying to say when he can't find the right word. He knows when I need him to come to my rescue even if he's across the room and distracted and he knows when I need to be given a wide berth.

We also know how to push eachother's buttons and pinprick the more tender spots of annoyance or hurt...you can't have one without the other, you know.

The fact is that we have spent so much time together in the past two years, and held eachother through so many various and assundry crises, that we do know the little intimacies of eachothers' lives and routines. We can each shop for the other's toilettries, brands and all; that's the level of intimacy we're talking here folks.

And now he's gone.

He left today to move all the way across the freakin country. And what's worse, he's moving to my least favorite place on earth; L.A.

I escaped the glaring fluorescent of the sdj for a moment to go outside for a smoke an hour or so ago, and I was thinking to myself "I guess I'll stop by Mr. SF's apartment when I leave here" (he lived literally around the corner from my sdj). When the realization hit me that he was not there and would never be there again, it literally knocked the wind out of me.

Mr. Saucy Funnybuns has been such an integral part of my life here in New York that I cannot imagine a consistant life without him here; its just utterly unfathomable to me. I know that he's just moving, and its not like I can't go visit him, but the fact remains that the landscape of my daily life has just been drastically altered and where there was a beautiful tree there is now only a stump. While you can still sit on a stump, it cannot provide shade or shelter and you cannot climb it and rest in its branches for comfort.

And who will water and lovingly care for my precious transplanted tree? How will I protect it from being over watered or starved for nutrients? My tree requires a finely honed delicate balance of care in order to thrive and blossom and what if the new gardeners don't know how to care for it?

Its amazing how quickly someone can become such a powerful presence in your life that their absence feels like a tangible hole, residing somewhere between the chest and throat at the moment, to be precise.

::sniffle sniffle::
I fucking hate L.A.

And Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, For Some Long Overdue Good News!

2006-01-05T19:15:00.000-05:00

Finally some good news!

And the best part of all, is that it has nothing whatsoever to do with stupid boys or stupid dating or any other such nonsense....in fact, it has to do with the thing that makes me happiest of all in the world, damnitt!

I received an email from a casting director in the city that I moved to New York from, telling me of a possible work opportunity in said Anonymous Southern City (ASC) that would be financially worth the travel and such. I, of course, was excited and so wonderfully flattered. I have been gone from ASC for two and a half years, I expected to be thoroughly forgotten by now! Not to mention the fact that while I knew this casting director, it was mostly through her work in the theatre community, and I had never auditioned for her at all. What an incredible ego boost to not only be remembered, but be remembered as somewhat talented (I would assume a casting director would not call in someone they felt was untalented), and to be thought of for an opportunity.

I needed this.

Its a commercial. Not only a commercial, but a commercial for THE locally owned fancy schmancy independent chain of grocery stores! The same store where my mother has shopped for 20-some years and where my brother worked in high school. If I book this, not only will I get decent compensation, but also I will feel like a SUPERSTAR!

Of course I do realize that the real cause for celebration is that I was even thought of, that I will now be in this casting director's database, and that I now have a handy dandy excuse to email the casting director who taught my commercial class, thus reminding him of my existance and hopefully spurring him on to call me in again. I also know that whether or not I book it has little to nothing to do with talent and more to do with looks and type. Still, it would be nice to book it.

So I received the copy today, will film an audition tape this weekend, and overnight it first thing Monday morning. Thank god I have My Little Vidipookikins who can film and edit the tape for me. Best of all, I get to send as many takes as I want. That's right, folks, as many takes as I want! This is positively unheard of! Here its two - that's it. You screw up one, you've only got one good one. You screw up both and you're just screwed. Multiple takes just feels so deliciously self indugent! I love it!

So thank you, universe, for reminding me where my attention, focus and energy should remain. I believe wholeheartedly in signs, and this certainly seems like a cosmic reminder!

...................................................................................................................................................................

Continuing along the vein of positive non-boy related news, I am going to Paris in exactly 2 weeks; I just got my ticket (and such a deal, you never did see...oy! ). I will be spending 5 glorious days and nights with one of my favorite people in the whole wide world, my fabulous older cousin Peek-A-Boo! (the nickname is a long story, having to do with a 3 week camping trip across the Southwest and a pun dealing with the end of the baguette - you have to be weird and bilingual, so just forget it)

I haven't seen my cousin in three years now; the longest we've gone without seeing eachother since I've been an adult. Peek-A-Boo is like a big sister, and we always have a wonderful time just being together and talking, which I think will be the bulk of this trip. Its more about spending time with someone I love than getting out and about on the town. We've both not had the easiest of times lately, so it will be perfect to be there supporting eachother in person rather than a mere phone call.

And I am looking forward to it so very much.

I had been missing Peek-A-Boo so acutely, and worried about her, that I asked for a plane ticket as my Chanukah present from my parents; a wise choice indeed.

And now I leave in two glorious weeks! Yay! I'm going back to my other country - where I won't be mocked for pronouncing Brie and Camembert the correct way! I will say entree with a French accent to my heart's content! Vive le fromage!

(mmmm...fromage. I'm hungry....)

The Blame Game

2006-01-04T20:40:00.000-05:00

I have been wanting to write about Friday's date, New Year's Eve, and DH handing me back all of my toilettries from his bathroom (which I had not asked for) when I went to pick up the Code Pink things that were stored in his basement, but was prevented from doing so by gigantic keyboard eating monsters that followed me around because I smelled like soggy garbage. Also I was alternately drunk, cocooning, or wallowing in self pity. Tonight was supposed to be my golden opportunity, as I was at the sdj late (my stolen wifi at home has not been particularly reliable recently) and thus could catch up. Unfortunately, so was my supervisor, who just left, leaving me a whole 15 minutes or so in which to hastily whip together a post before heading off.

Heading off...for date #2 with the lawyer, henceforth known as B.B. King, because he is a Blue-Blooded veritable Indian prince (who thinks he's a king)...as he told me more than once throughout the evening. I am not impressed by the Rockefellers of India, I am far more impressed by intelligence and wit. He also showed me that his suit was Armani; he clearly did not know with whom he was dealing here.

Oh, and by the way, just guess whose firm is one of those defending the city in the RNC Arrests related lawsuits? I shit you not.

But he was a really good kisser.

There's also a question as to whether he's married or not. Yeah.

So I'm going out with him tonight, to hear Part Deux of his life saga, begun over many a cocktail last Friday night.

I have a gut feeling he's married.

This could be related to the fact that he mentioned something about a wife, and when I said "You mean ex-wife" his response was "We'll get to that part in the story." Hmm.

My guess is that he's married and slumming it in Bohemia...he kept saying what a free spirit I was. Yup, its like the reverse of "Uptown Girl"; big money hot shot lawyer having an artistic adventure. I can just imagine him telling his lawyer buddies excitedly that he saw his first genital piercing ever! Wow! And she had no idea what a Marc Jacobs dress looks like either!

Oh dear, did that sound jaded?

How do I keep finding such winners? I tell ya...I have a real talent for this.

[to be sung to the tune of The Muffin Man]
I'm off to see the married man, the married man, the married man. Oh I'm off to see the married man who lives in a house with a pool in Manhasset.

(If I didn't find a way to laugh, it'd be damn tragic.)

[editor's note: BB King has yet to see any piercings not normal exposed to public view. Just wanted to clarify this point. Also, I don't really know if he's married or not.]

The Talk, The Date, and the Wardrobe

2005-12-30T18:45:00.000-05:00

I am relieved; the "talk" has been had.

It went surprisingly well, much more so than I anticipated. The beginning did not bode well; he walked in and said that two of his friends were over at the apartment hanging out and would only be there for half an hour and did I want to go over and hang out with them and then we'd have time to ourselves afterwards? I believe the expression on my face was something along the lines of looking at a 3 headed baby eating alien monster. I replied that no, I did not at all want to go hang out with his friends because I had some things I wanted to talk to him about. He was fine with that, as well he should have been considering we had plans and his friends dropping by played no part in the equation as far as I was concerned.

I launched in with the entrance that the relationship was not growing and had in fact been regressing as of late.
"I've kind of been feeling that way too."
Huh? Wow, that was ummm, unexpected. It set the tone for the oddest conversation of this type I've ever had; he agreed with positively everything I said. He said it was a "fair and reasonable description of his behavior". He apologized, gave some excuses but ultimately acknowledged that they were excuses and that he was still responsible for his own behavior. It was like having coffee with a stranger - at least it definitely was not the man who's been causing me so much strife and frustration as of late. Whoever this guy was, he'd drunk some pretty heavy face-the-music syrum in his coffee or something. He agreed that his behavior was shitty, attributed it to his "autism", said he was working on it with a professional, and agreed that stepping back was a good idea. He seemed relieved that I wasn't ending it,totally, and appeared to be contrite and ready to make more effort, even discussing ways of ensuring that this behavior doesn't continue (ie he evidently needs to be reminded of plans, like a child, and will be putting post-it notes on his computer to remind him of things...ummm, okay, whatever). The whole damn conversation was quite short and sweet, and I was left feeling quite bizarre, really. I stated my case, and the defense merely agreed continually with the charges. And yes, it was sincere!

So where we left things is that we're still seeing eachother, giving this a chance at growth, but in the meantime opening it up to seeing other people and taking one giant step back from a relationship that was too quickly entered into.

So, ummm...(she blushes)...I already have a date tonight.

It wasn't my fault! It happened by accident!

After the somewhat satisfying albeit weird as hell conversation, I went in search of My Little Vidipookikins, my partner in wine. As she was nowhere to be found (except in a movie theatre, as I later found out), I headed uptown to my own neighborhood and to the comforting arms of The Lone Star Talent. While the thought of continually screaming icing and parncing about to cheesy 80's music was tempting, I decided that I actually wanted to be out and about, so I headed over to my local neighborhood bar with instructions for LST to do the same. I found my Hood Haunt to be quite lively, with a gaggle of men (mostly gay) all interacting with eachother. I proceeded to down Cosmos as if I had been wandering the desert for 40 years and this was my first oasis I'd found. Luckily, they were paid for by a very friendly and interesting corporate attorney who said I was special because I could do something he could never do (act) and not to lose track of how extraordinary that made me. Uh, hello? Isn't this New York? That talent isn't exactly a rarity here ya know. But I had a lovely time, got completely bombed, and although I don't remember it, I evidently gave this man my phone number.

This morning, there was a voice mail message from him. It said "Umm, hi...this is [drunk guy from bar]. I know I said I'd call you tomorrow, but I just realized it is tomorrow! So, umm, I don't know if in the sober light of day you'll be at all interested or not, but I will be at Hood Haunt between 7 and 8pm if you would like to join me. If you don't that's totally okay, I understand we were pretty drunk and all and you may not be interested...I'll leave you alone and won't bother you again. But if you are interested, please come meet me at Hood Haunt tonight."

So I'm going. I mean, why the hell not, right? Its only a drink or two, he was very kind and paid all of our bar tab last night, and well, I am free to see other people, why not excercise that right? If I remember correctly (and that may just be giving myself a little too much credit there) he was very intelligent, very well spoken, and interesting.

So I'm going.

As soon as I post this.

Its already 7:25.

Maybe I shouldn't go.

I'm ridiculous.

I'm going.

Bye.

The O'Reilly Who Stole the Consti-Who-tion

2005-12-30T12:45:00.000-05:00

The Whos down in Who-ville
Were a tolerant lot:
Who Christians, Who Muslims -- a Who melting pot.
Who Hindus! Who atheists! Who Buddhists, Who Jews!
Who Confucians, Who pagans,
And even Who Druse!
The Who First Amendment's Establishment Clause
Said, "No crèches in courts," and the Whos loved their laws.
Because somehow ... they worked. The Whos rarely fought,
Mostly, each Who did just what he ought.
Every Who down in Who-ville
Loved the Consti-Who-tion a lot.
But the O'Reilly, who lived up in Fox-ville,
Did NOT!
The O'Reilly DETESTED the Who Consti-Who-tion,
He thought it was some sort of liberal pollution.
Now, please don't ask why, for I really don't know.
Perhaps it had something to do with his show.I
t could be that his head wasn't screwed on quite right.
Or it could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight.
But I think that the most likely reason of all
May have been that his RATINGS
Were two sizes too small.W
ell, whatever it was, bad ratings or tight shoes,
He stood there one Christmas, just hating the Whos.
"They're so multicultural," he sneered, "and wherever they're from,
They lack the good sense to just launch a pogrom!
There's no Who ethnic cleansing, no Who Inquisition,
If this PEACE can't be stopped, I may lose my position.
Those sensitive, tolerant Whos! It's quite grating.
I must think of something to fix my show's ratings!
"Then he said with a smirk, "I know just what to do
To destroy all the joy in the land of the Who!
I think I can end that PC Who peace.
This year, not one Who will enjoy his Roast Beast!
"Here's just how I'll do it:I'll tell each Who Christian
That the liberal Whos have devised a new mission
To take away Christmas!
To mock and destroy
Till no little Who Christian is left with a toy!
And when secular Whos -- most likely Who Jews --
Attempt to deny it? Why,
I'll just SPIN THE NEWS!
"I'll bluff and I'll lie; I'll sow seeds of mistrust.
Soon they'll form battle lines into
Who 'THEM' and Who 'US,'
Based on which Whos prefer
To sing out, 'Merry Christmas'
And which Whos say, 'Kwanzaa!'
Or 'None of your business!'
"They'll get so confused and so MAD, MAD, MAD, MAD
That they won't even notice the way
They've been HAD!
They'll be so busy squabbling
They won't notice the war!
They won't care if Who rich
Start to trample Who poor!
"Forget torture, and terror, and taxes and health!
They'll waste all their time on some red-hatted elf.
"And the Who Consti-Who-tion?
They'll stretch it or burn it!
If it came as a gift, they would try to return it!
"The Who Christians will think that they fight the good fight,
They won't know that they're puppets of the Fox-ville Far Right.
They'll forget all that DRIVEL about faith, hope and LOVE
And say 'Merry Christmas' with a sneer and a shove.
"But I? I will prosper! My ratings will soar,
And maybe at last they'll forget I'm a BOOR.
Then for every Who Christmas tree
A most fitting adornament:
My O'Reilly MUG on the tackiest ornament!"
... And what happened then?
Well, the rest's up to you.
But I know what I'd like this holiday season:
A little less NOISE and a little more reason.
So Who Christians! Who Buddhists! Who Muslims! Who Jews!
WHOever you are, just say NO to Fox "News"!
If you don't want to lose the whole Who Consti-Who-tion
It's time to reject the Far Right Revolution.
So turn off O'Reilly and everyone shrill,
Let's have some peaceAnd old-fashioned GOODWILL.

(Rosa Brooks, an associate professor at the University of Virginia School of Law, wrote this for the Los Angeles Times.)

The City Smells Like Soggy Garbage

2005-12-29T17:52:00.000-05:00

The city smells like soggy garbage today. I'm certain there's a metaphor in there somewhere, but not entirely sure I really wish to explore it, so we'll just leave it at that.

Though stylistically uncharacteristic, this post will be a hodge podge mix-n'-match chloroform choose your own adventure type thing, due to both time constraints and inexplicable lethargy on my part. Please deposit any and all expectations here.
...................................................................................................................................................

The Lone Star Talent and I spent a lovely night last night swilling wine amidst random shouts of "Icing!! ICING!!" ringing through the air at piercing volume and frightening intensity. We also dyed my hair a lovely new shade of reddish golden brown, chosen by her gloriousness, the girly queen of roomates, who also helped wash the spilled dye off of my naked back and shoulders while laughing about what a wet dream for many men the whole scenario was. This is why I love having a female roomate again after so much time living with men. This hilariously empowering fun-fest only further confirmed the oft repeated mantra of the evening.

"ICING!!!"
....................................................................................................................................................

I receieved a phone call from the director of HR shortly after arriving somewhere in the neighborhood of noon today. "Can you come to my office?" Oh shit! Either a reprimand for the very short length of my skirt or my slackness as of late was forthcoming. I paraded in with my very short skirt and very bright hot pick lace fishnets layered over black tights entering a full 2 minutes preceeding me.

"Can you shut the door please?" Oh god! That just confirmed it...shutting the door is never a good sign. Well, I'd been here before, and learned then that of course I am a highly marketable highly intelligent human being with no need to freak out.

So of course my innards were plummeting to the depth of self-esteem hell.

But no, the universe was merely fucking with me, providing a grand joke at the expense of my fragile digestive system; I was being offerred a full time job...again. Not only just any full time job, but a highly coveted one as the administrative assistant to the big man on campus. This was huge! This was extraordinary! Not only had my self-perceived slackness not been noticed, but I was being paid the highest of compliments for my work ethic and performance!

But wait...accepting the job meant no more flexibility. Granted it also meant being able to pay my bills and not have to pay rent on the credit card, as I am forced to do for January yet again, but no flexibility whatsoever.

Chains and shakles, chains and shackles......rent! rent!....chains and shackles, chains and shackles.....

"I'm sorry, if it means compromising my flexibility, I'm going to have to respectfully decline."
"I knew it! I told Dr. Big Man on Campus that you wouldn't take it, that you had your own thing going on and that SDJ Company wasn't your life. I just won the bet and got a free lunch!"
"Umm, glad I could come through and get you a free lunch?"
"Seriously, I respect your decision and respect your commitment to the whole acting thing. But I did want you to know you were absolutely the first choice and that you're highly thought of here."
"Wow, that really makes my day! Especially considering I thought you were calling me in here to tell me that you were getting rid of all the temps again."
"Actually we are, tomorrow. All except you, of course."
"Umm, okay. Whew, guess I'm lucky, huh? Well, thanks again for the offer, and I'll be more than happy to take on any administrative work [editor's note: IDIOT!!! YOU FUCKING IDIOT!!!] in the interim before someone is hired. I'm always happy to be given problem solving tasks to conquer."
"Great! Then I'll definitely take you up on that myself, as I'm often in need of administrative support."
[Editor's note: PLEA TEMPORARY INSANITY!!]
"Umm, great. More than happy to help out."
"Thanks, Synge. You're very highly thought of here, just wanted to make you aware of that. Oh, and this conversation stays between us, okay?"
"Of course it does. Absolutely."

Us and anyone stumbling onto this blog, which hopefully will not be the instrument of my downfall.
..........................................................................................................................................................

Naturally, after being paid such a high compliment, I then proceeded to spend the rest of the day emailing back and forth with SL2000 and Mr. Artsy Hotpants entrenched in the hopeless task of actually making a decision as to New Year's Eve plans. After a record breaking low of 25646843 emails, a consensus was finally reached! The evening will commence with cooking dinner and drinking wine at MAH's; sharp wit and fabulous commentary complimentary. This will be followed by a party at a friend of MAH's where there will be more food, more alcohol, and did I mention food and alcohol (probably great witty commentary there as well, though I can't vouch for it personally). The evening will be rounded off with a (surely drunken, by this point) jaunt down to the West Village to ring in the New Year in great style surrounded by many fabulous queens belting out show tunes, just to ensure no possibility whatsoever of a New Year's kiss. I am very happy with this plan, and very happy with the wonderful friends that I'll be ringing in the New Year with. Perhaps one of the fabulous belting queens will take pity on me and kiss me on the cheek for luck.
...........................................................................................................................................................

And last but certainly not anywhere near least, tonight is the night in which I have the talk with Doc Harley. I spent whatever portion of the day leftover from making New Year's plans fortifying my resolve, finding my strength, and freaking out about what the hell I'm going to say and how the hell I'm going to say it. I emailed back and forth with a wonderful co-worker of mine, who gave such beautiful and unexpetced tidbits of wisdom that really sent the message home, ending with, "You have strength, my sweet. Let's just bulk up your arms."

My fear is that my resolve will be lost amidst excuses and my tendencies towards sympathy and giving too many chances. But as trite as any and all "new beginnings" themes are, I do want to begin the new year with a fresh start and a renewed commitment to myself. Bowing to someone else's needs is not doing that. I must gather my forces and plunge forward, no matter how blind and inexperienced I may feel in this arena.

Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!

I'll be the one sipping wine, wearing superwomyn underoos and smelling like soggy garbage.

I Am a Whole Cake, Not a Doughnut!

2005-12-27T18:14:00.000-05:00

I was going to write a very funny post relating all of my Chanukah adventures, replete with a collapse leading to a Christmas Eve trip to the ER (not me), a horrific and bloody cell phone hit and run leading to the untimely and quite smooshy demise of my beloved ever-present crutch, and a text message from my father to Doc Harley leading to who the hell knows what.

But I'm not writing that post.

I'm not writing that post because as I sit here at the sdj trying desperately to prop up a body that is slouching further and further downward as the day progresses, it strikes me that there is something else that I'm much more compelled to write about - the newly discovered territory of me.

I have been spending much time in hibernation, holed up with my yarn and crochet hook in the remote recesses of my consciousness, and I like what the excavating has yielded thus far. Yes, you heard right, I am liking being with myself. It only took me almost 30 years to even get an inkling of what that feels like; 30 years of frantically avoiding and running from it. Furthermore, I am discovering and fully owning the wholly joyous epiphany that I do not need men; I am a complete and whole entity in and of my own right. A damn funny, interesting, intelligent, and creative entity at that (and I certainly do enjoy sex with myself as well). Men are supposed to be icing on the cake of self, not the flour, sugar and eggs. I hadn't looked in the cupboard in a long time; I was shocked to find the ingredients were indeed all there (the flour was hidden underneath some spilled nuts that I had neglected to clean up until now).

I talked to Mr. Emotionally Unavailable on the phone tonight for quite a long time. It was wonderful to hear his voice, wonderful to laugh with him over familiar things, and yes, I am definitely still in love with him - that might never go away. But I don't need him, and I don't want to get back together with him - not with what obscene disparity there is between what I am ever learning I want and what he is prepared to give. It didn't hurt when he said "I like you", it merely felt nice to know that someone likes me. I like him too. But I don't need him, and I love saying and owning that. I loved that I hung up the phone feeling good about myself, and the conversation and this man that I care deeply about. Without disappointment; unqualified. When he told me that Doc Harley was a fool because he didn't know what a catch he was letting go of, I didn't think "Why did you let go of it?" or "Why is DH doing this?"; I thought "That's right. I am a catch, and they are fools." And I meant it.

Things with Doc Harley have pretty much ended already, the conversation is just a mere formality. We most certainly have not been behaving as a couple for a little while now; a healthy couple does not go a whole week without speaking to eachother at all and then pretend like nothing's strange about that. The more time that goes by in this limbo-land, the more I am leaning towards ending the relationship completely rather than opening it up to seeing other people. I am also realizing that perhaps I was more in love with the idea of him than the actuality. Whatever the case, I certainly do not love the reality that is this man right now.

Even after last Wednesday's text message in which I believe I was very clear about how I did not care to text message anymore, his response still arrived via text...and not until Sunday night. He wrote that he was coming back into the city the next day and hopefully we could talk live in person on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday. My father composed and sent a reply back to him, which said "God forbid you should lose a couple of fingers. You'd be mute. Happy Chanukah, Synge's Dad." While this might not have been the best course of action, it certainly provided us with endless hours of laughter and turned what was a frustrating and hurtful situation into a lovely family joke. I do believe that's the way things like this should be handled; I am tired of being disappointed, angry, hurt, and the like...I much prefer the laughter and empowerment route, hiccup inducing though it can sometimes be.

If he ever responded to the message, I have no idea of knowing, seeing as how my cell phone is in various flattened components resembling more a bizarre Rorschach test than a once functioning tool of torture..er, I mean comunication. But the fact remains that he is only making a half assed effort, and that's just not good enough for me. I don't need that kind of treatment, and I don't need someone for whom I am an afterthought when its convenient for him.

Because I am a whole entity. I am a delicious homemade cake, not a processed crappy doughnut awaiting my filling.

(even if I may be a fruitcake)

I Want a Free Trip to Italy!

2005-12-22T19:23:00.000-05:00

I had a great audition today.

Wait, that felt so good to write, I'm going to say it again...maybe even in all caps with lots of exclamation points...

I HAD A GREAT AUDITION TODAY!!!!!

Its about fucking time, too.

I accredit it all to my wonderfully centering and confidence boosting weekend in Chicago, not to mention Orphannie's friend, Madame Luscious Long Room, who told me repeatedly to just fucking go for it, that this was my time to shine. She was one of those everyday angels who tell you exactly what you need to hear in that precise moment - then again, I tend to think stepping on a crack may indeed break my poor mother's back and that a lightbulb burning out is a sign.

But whatever the reason may be, the fact remains that I had a great audition; I was confident (but not cocky), prepared (but not over rehearsed) and I just went in and did my thing. This audition was for an indie film that's shooting in New York and Italy...ummm, hello! Free trip to Italy? You betcha I'm all over it!

I had submitted my headshot and resume some time ago, and had of course totally forgotten about it, when one day I am surprised by an email asking me to come in for a four minute interview to see if they then wanted me to audition. In a stroke of planning genius, the interview happened to be just after my plane landed from the trip to Chicago (thank god the strike wasn't on or I never would have made it), and after approximately an hour of less-than-sound sleep amidst a birthday party. To make matters worse, Orphannie's printer decided that it would really prefer to print only the last 2/3 of the screenplay, which I was to have read for the interview.

Despite the many strikes against me, I somehow managed to speak coherently enough about the character and my view of her (amazing considering I barely knew my own name at that point) that I was offered an audition slot there on the spot. I evidently used my four whole minutes well.

Due to a miscalculation in time (omission of the grapefruit sized ankle factor), I arrived at the audition one minute late. While this is not a big deal, and no one seemed to notice really, it meant that I had no time to focus and get my bearings. Great. That's usually a bad omen. However, I walked in, with my head high, ready to just play and see what happened. I shook hands, made some sort of comment about hoping they were getting around okay with the strike and all, got introduced to my reader, and boom! We were off and running.

The scene took place in a car; specifically, with me driving said car. Of course the props were 4 chairs, and the "sunhat" (a jacket hood) placed in the "backseat" where it was supposed to be out of reach. The director began by telling me that he really wanted to see me driving the car; he wanted to see the whole strife arising from not only the conversation, but the stress of doing two things at once. Great. Umm, see, I'm an actor, not a fucking mime. I hate having to mime crap at auditions, I think it totally takes away from what's going on between the two people. Then again, that was his point. So I said "sure! absolutely!" and other such "look how easy I am to work with!" statements, and plunged in.

The Chanukah miracle of the year is not oil lasting for 8 days and 8 nights, but the fact that I somehow did not get totally thrown off whatsoever by the whole simulated driving thing - in fact, I did exactly what I'm supposed to do, and used it to my advantage.

After the first take, the director seemed quite pleased and remarked on how interesting and compelling the moments were when I was doing "nothing" (assumedly meaning no dialogue, as let's not forget, I was "driving" after all). He was also impressed that I remembered from an early scene in the screenplay that the car was a stick shift; evidently he did not catch the fact that I kept shifting from neutral to 2nd gear only...or maybe 4th gear came into play once or twice. He gave me feedback for a mere 2 little moments, but generally liked what I was giving him. I did the second take, incorporating his direction, and that was it. Audition finito. He remarked again that I was very compelling to watch when I was just "driving" and on my transitions between moments and overall he seemed quite pleased. I shook hands with everyone in the room again, my reader apologized for messing up my hair and I made some sort of joke about her having actually improved the look, and I was on my way.

I felt good about what I did. It wasn't perfect, but it wasn't fraught with self awareness and self criticism. I just went in, did my best in that moment, and left. That was all. No drama, no tripping myself up, just doing what I do best, and having fun doing so.

I think this is a huge lesson to me in what auditions should be.

I walked out of that room knowing that if I do not get this, it will have nothing whatsoever to do with my audition. That's a wonderful feeling. I must try this again.

MTA, Must You Ruin Everything?

2005-12-21T23:33:00.000-05:00

Dear MTA,

Can you please, puleeze just give the Transit Worker's Union Local 100 their fucking pensions at age 55 and get this whole thing over with? You had a giant unexplainable surplus this year, which you stupidly chose to give away with bullshit riders discounts which really only benefitted tourists and pissed of New Yorkers anyway; that was a really stupid move, but okay, we're over it. Now you're holding out on the pension issue, and we're walking. In the fucking cold! Hi, MTA, have ya been outside lately? It ain't exactly summer ya know. The Red Cross is out there at the Brooklyn Bridge taking care of feezing commuters! The Red Cross! Last time I checked, this wasn't a war zone with refugees streaming to and fro, but these days it sure does look like it.

You know, MTA, if you just learned to manage your money a little better this wouldn't even be an issue. How many times have your father and I told you that holiday fare discounts are just not a smart way to spend your money? Sure, you win the hearts of the tourists, temporarily, but wouldn't a nice investment in your workers' pensions be even more gratifying in the long run? If you managed to have a surplus of several million dollars this year, you can do it next year and the year after that. Doesn't that sound nice, MTA? Hmmm? That way everyone wins out?

MTA, its not that I'm lazy and mind walking, because I don't. I would (and am currently doing so) gladly freeze for TWU Local 100, because I think they should get their fucking pensions at 55, after all, they put up with us assholes on a regular basis. But I have now twisted the same ankle a sum total of 16 times (and that's no exaggerration) and at this moment it is the size of a grapefruit. This is very painful to walk on, and even more painful to walk 30 fucking blocks on. I will now be forced to hobble into my film audition tomorrow, if I am even able to make it there at all, looking like a total freak.

I think my ankle is clearly contemplating a sympathy strike with the TWU, the slowdown has already begun.

MTA, this just isn't funny anymore. You may get as many publicity shots of Bloomberg walking across the Brooklyn Bridge as you like; you may sick Elliot Spitzer on the union leaders threatening jailtime (which will only increase the length of the strike you dipshits); and you may spin doctor this to villify the union, but they are holding to their cause so can you stop this pissing contest already and admit you were wrong? Come on, MTA, no one will think less of you for it, I promise.

Please? Before my leg has to be amputated already?

Sincerely (and painfully),
Synge

Text Messaging It Like It Is

2005-12-21T23:15:00.000-05:00

After not having spoken in a week, I called Doc Harley when I returned from my surprise trip to Chicago for Orphannie's 30th birthday (which wasn't exactly a surprise, but an amazing fabulous weekend nonethless...but that's for another post). I called just to make sure he was feeling okay; I was doggedly dragging along after one hour of sleep peppered with partygoers coming in to retrieve their coats (which had been moved to the living room) and was barely able to hold myself erect, much less carry on anything remotely resembling a conversation so it was quite short and sweet. Before hanging up, he said "I'll talk to you tomorrow. I'll be up around 10, give me a call.", to which I responded, "No, why don't you call me.", and he agreed to do just that. He actually said the words "Okay, I'll call you.". I heard them with my own two ears.

Of course he didn't call.

But he did text message me this morning, inane drivel about the hellishness of Penn Station amidst the strike and how the world had gone mad. He was at JFK, about to board a flight to L.A. for the weekend.

In that moment, something inside me just snapped for the final time. That's it, no more text messaging, no more easy way out. Its a cop-out and I'm tired of this bullshit. I'm just plain tired.

So I wrote back, because he was already on the flight by that time (the message was sent before I woke up), and said, "Txting has lost its novelty - its 4 people who don't wanna talk. Ring me sometime when u decide 2 have a conversation. Enjoy yor escape from the world gone mad."

If he ever calls, and I'm not holding my breath that it will be bofore he gets back from L.A....in fact I'm willing to bet on that.....I will tell him that I am not at all happy with the way things are and that we can certainly work to improve them, but in the meantime I want to see other people.

But no more text messaging!

The Great Houdini

2005-12-16T17:58:00.000-05:00

First of all, all of you who commented both on the blog and via email have given me a lot to think about. My particular modus operendi has always been to let things simmer and stew on their own, and eventually the answer becomes so pungent that it cannot be ignored. You have all given me many ingredients for my personal stew, and thus my plan is to pull a magical disappearring act this weekend in order to let the flavors mix and see what comes of it.

I still have not spoken to Doc Harley since the last conversation I wrote of; I have not contacted him and he has not contacted me. Part of me thinks this is a good thing, as I'm not yet certain of what it is I want to say, and part of me thinks it is a bad tactical move on both our parts. But I need distance right now, in order to adequately evaluate. Perhaps I should inform him of this, rather than just being a missing persons, but at the same time he hasn't afforded me such respect in the past. Juvenile, I know.

Its funny, New York is truly a place in which you can disappear quite easily if you choose to do so - you can become a walking talking invisible ghost. I think I've already begun retreating into myself this week, as I tend to do when feeling particularly fragile; living in the world of my head and sometimes my imagination. Its like a vacation without the travel part. And sometimes, you just need to get away. I've always felt like distance provides perspective that you cannot otherwise achieve in the midst of the tumultuous day to day scramble.

...Stepping back, I suppose.

I'm amazingly even keeled, though, in a weird and completely surprising way. I'm not necessarily depressed and definitely not joyous either, but not exactly numb. I feel like I'm trusting myself to make the right decision when the time comes. Wow, this is new! Kind of exciting, really. Hmmm...trusting myself...it sits well on the tongue and on the gut.

I'm trusting myself.

I like that. I think its a keeper.

Let's hope I can hold onto it.

One Step Forward Two Steps Back?

2005-12-13T20:50:00.000-05:00

I'm taking a step back. In everything. Cocooning, if you will, cloaked in a comforting blanket of my ipod and my crocheting (which is an extremely addictive habbit).

This hibernation was first inspired by the need to step back from my relationship with Doc Harley, as evidenced by Saturday night's pitiful crying in the snow episode. Things with DH had been going rather well after our wonderfully productive and mutually supportive discussion (which this slacker monkey never quite got around to translating into a blog entry - sorry). I wasn't freaking out, I wasn't overly sensitive, and I wasn't bringing past experiences into the present; I was more confident in our ability to work things out and inspired by the fact that he wanted to...he wanted to fight for this to work.

Last Thursday night, he met me and two of my friends (including my lovely stage manager, Potato Person, from the out of town show I did a little over a year ago) to go out for Thai food. He was positively charming over dinner and a lovely time was had by all. Afterwards, I was going to walk my two friends to the subway, and I assumed I would meet him back at his place. While we were walking briefly in the same direction, he asked me what my plans for the evening were, and whether I wanted to go to his place or go home. The truth was, of course, that I wanted to (and totally expected to) go to his place, but being the overly proud idiot who is slightly incapable of voicing her wants that I am, I said "Its entirely up to you; I can go either way. What do you want to do?" Ummm, hello, wrong answer! He responded that he was tired and wanted to go home, meaning alone. Naturally, I was wounded, but by my own sword. He mentioned getting together on Friday, but I told him that I already had plans, and that on Saturday I was going to Not-So-Sneaky-Eliza's party. He looked slightly disappointed, so I reminded him that I had already invited him to the party and he had said he'd go, and he said "Oh, well then I'll see you Saturday then. We'll go to the party."

Remember that sentence folks.

I walked my friends dejectedly to the subway, feeling like a grand asshole lying in the bed of my own making, wondering when the hell I would finally learn to say what I want. I dropped them off at their trains and decided to take a different train home, to walk in the direction of his apartment and allow him time to get home so that I could call and tell him that I did indeed want to come over. I was being proactive! I was being strong! And by the 7th unanswered call I was being pathetic once again! By the 8th call, he had turned off his phone, or for some reason it went straight to voicemail. I left a message saying that I did in fact want to go over there, and that I didn't feel like making the long trek across and uptown. The message was just a fruitless formality, really, as I was almost at the subway and his ringer was off. While changing trains on a subway platform that allows enough signal to text message, I sent him a text message saying "I did want to come over, but I wasn't sure u wanted me there."

By the time I arrived home the whole thing had snowballed to epic proportions in my mind. I knew, however, that I was being silly, and that he had just spent several hours having dinner with my friends so clearly his wanting to go home and sleep was not a rejection of me. I miraculously did not end up sobbing on my roomate's breast, and instead went to sleep with the understanding that I would see this all differently in the morning. I did.

Friday night, I was out with one of my lovely Vagina Warriors, whom I had not seen in months. We were splitting a bottle of wine and talking about everything under the sun, including Doc Harley, when lo and behold a text message arrives saying that he was going to the Russian baths for a steam and then wanted to go get sushi at 10 and asking me if I was around. So I quickly composed a message back saying that I was with the Kissable Kiwi (I had to go for the alliteration there...too tempting not to) and to call when he got out of the steam baths. He replied "Ok". Now perhaps I am being presumptuous here, and perhaps "ok" has a different meaning in his world, but I assumed that it meant he would call. I am clearly not entirely insane, as the Kissable Kiwi took it to mean the same thing and was looking forward to possibly meeting him. When he hadn't called by 10:30, at KK's urging, I sent a text message saying "What time is sushi?" (the definitive no loopholes message). Still no response via text or phone call. We finally left the bar at around 12:30pm or one bottle and 4 glasses of wine later, depending on which unit of measurement you ascribe to. I called and left a voicemail message saying "Clearly you evaporated in the steam, because you never called me." The next voicemail message, left on the way home from the subway after a short ride with my short fuse, said "It really bothers me when you say you're going to call and you don't. It wouldn't bother me if you just didn't call; but when you say you're going to call and don't that hurts my feelings. It's inconsiderate. I hope you enjoyed your sushi." (ever the petulant child, I couldn't resist)

[Editor's note: here would be where I spent a good hour or two composing a brilliant (I can say that because its lost) rest of this post, which was subsequently and frustratingly lost out somewhere in the blogosphere. Perhaps when I learn how to be in a good relationship, I will also learn to write in word and then copy and paste for saving purposes. It is now 3:45am on Thursday morning, and as I can't sleep, I am bound and determined to finish this epic post begun so very long ago. Perhaps then rest will come, but its doubtful...]

Saturday was spent in the arduous and treacherous task of discovering that there was indeed a floor in my room, long ago buried under mountains of clothes and papers and plastic bags filled with clothes and papers and other various and sundry missing objects long ago forgotten but suddenly vitally important enough not to throw away. This grand feat was celebrated by all, especially The Lone Star Talent, who could now enter my room without the usual tripping and falling among the unintentional booby traps. The celebration was , however, slightly marred by the conspicuously and continually silent phone. As the party hour drew closer, I stubbornly refused to break the silence and call DH. He presumably knew we had plans for the evening (considering it was discussed a mere day and a half ago), he presumably knew I was upset that he had not called the night before, and damnit, he still owed me a fucking phone call. I was not going to call him like some nagging parental figure reminding him of our plans and instructing him where and when to meet me only to be disappointed. I prefer my disappointments to be with a side of dignity, thank you.

By 8pm, the appointed hour for the festivities to begin, he still had not called. I phoned Not-So-Sneaky-Eliza, the host, to ask her if she needed me to bring anything. She asked me to bring some beer and then asked, "So are you bringing..?"at which point I interrupted her saying, "No one. Just me, myself and I." Being the phenomenal friend that she is, her reply was "Yay! That's my favorite person anyway!"

Why can't men be like that? You know, magically say just the right thing that makes it all okay?

I had a lovely time at the party, pre-crying in the snow episode at least; I felt social capable, perhaps even slightly attractive and interesting. I usually tend to be slightly shy at parties which comes out in one of two modes: silent human art wall decoration or sarcastic bitch; I'm still not sure which is worse. But Saturday night I was neither, I was actually interacting and flirting a little (having been pimped out, by the host in the know who was trying to help me achieve my goal of a little holiday smooching), having conversations and meeting people. Early on, despite my solemn vows not to, I made the mistake of checking the phone. I had decided that for the evening I was going to pretend like I didn't have a boyfriend, thus preventing disappointment in the behavior of a certain pseudo-non-boyfriend. I broke my own rule, however, and found a text message waiting for me. It read, "Its 9:30pm on Sat. U at ur party?" So he did remember about the party. Wow, even pretending to be single couldn't erase the hurt and disappointment at being knowingly stood up. Mind you, the text message contained no explanation for not being there, no explanation for not calling, and IT WAS A TEXT MESSAGE AND NOT THE FUCKING PHONE CALL I WAS OWED!!

Now, dear reader, can you understand how I might have ended up in that alley crying in the snow?

The Lone Star Talent informed me that when I got home that night I was drunkenly sobbing "I'm defective! I'm defective!", at which point she lifted my shirt and said, "Nope, there's a quality control tag here on your back and its dated 1976. you're most definitely not defective." My brilliant change in tactic was to then start sobbing "I'm faulty then! I'm faulty! Something's wrong with me...it must be me." Yeah, good times in the 'ol apartment o' sobs. Our neighbors must love us. We've decided that we should just make crying noises and shout random self depricating phrases even when we're not upset just to further the illusion that we are the freaky manic depressive sobbing girls. We actually tried this the other evening, but ended up laughing too hard to disguise it as crying.

Sunday I decided that I most definitely needed to pull back and just go about living my own life, as Lady Charon counseled me to do. I decided to pull back, I was going to really and truly pretend like I didn't have a boyfriend; trial singledom, if you will. And it actually worked quite well. I enjoyed time with friends, I shot a trailer for an indie film, I went to a Code Pink protest, and enjoyed a few glasses of wine with SL2000...all without being hurt and disappointed that my non-boyfriend STILL HAD NOT CALLED. Not one word. But I was okay, because I didn't have a boyfriend in whom to be disappointed. Doc who? No, no lack of respect was felt when there was "no one" to feel it from.

On Monday I recieved a text message at around 4pm which said "Where are you? How you doing?". I did not reply right away, as it was a text message, and just in case I hadn't amde myself painfully repetetively clear in all caps, HE OWED ME A FUCKING PHONE CALL! Instead, I went to yoga, where I found inner peace and stillness of the mind through a series of bodily contortions and an instructor who ranged from what sounded like hebrew chanting at synogogue to drill sargeant. With my newfound inner peace and stillness of the mind, I decided to return DH's text message, as I was feeling quite loving and compassionate. I wrote "Doing ok, and u?", as I wasn't feeling so loving and compassionate as to forget that he still hadn't called, he stood me up, and he never acknowledged any of that. The textation that ensued went as follows:
"ok. I was not feeling well. I think I'm better now...just working..."
"Sorry you were ill-glad yor feeling better."
"Thanks. Doing much better..."

Wow, that was such a productive exchange! I'm so glad I didn't waste valuable thumb energy on that one. The discerning reader will note that there was no reference made to the lack of contact throughout the weekend, nor the thoughtless behavior echibited, nor the standing up of Saturday night's plans. Oh, unless of course that was meant to be covered under the blanket caviat of "not feeling well." Wow, he must have been truly dying, because I know even when I've been incredibly ill myself, I can at least muster enough strength to contact someone I care about to let them know what's going on, even if its by carrier pigeon.

To make a long story slightly less epic (if I am indeed capable of such a thing), as its now 4:30am and I have yet to sleep, I broke the stubborn fast Tuesday when I initiated contact after receiving a rather severe 2nd degree burn to 1/4 of my lower lip (don't ask - I'm incredibly accident prone to say the least) and the ensuing gigantic swollen blister was threatening to take over my entire face. I was frightened by the ever increasing swelling, so I text messaged him (I wasn't frightened enough to actually call, as I still had some stubborness about me) and he was quite sweet and helpful. An hour or so later, miracle of miracles, he actually picked up the phone and spoke into it under the auspices of calling to see how my lip was. We spoke briefly about my lip, his tentative plans to go to LA Chanukah/Christmas weekend, and his not feeling well; no mention was made by either party of the huge white elephant in the room. I cut him off mid-unintelligable-yawn-sentence and told him to go to bed, as he was clearly tired and really, I didn't know what I wanted to say and I wanted to talk to Lady Charon before making any moves to be sure that I wasn't making mountains of molehills or trafficking in the past rather than the present. He seemed quite surprised, having assumed that the burn text contact initation meant he was in the clear. He said, "Ok, I'll talk to you tomorrow?" I replied, "Sure."

Of course, he never called yesterday.

Lady Charon provided a wealth of sage insight, as always, among which was the fact that he is clearly acting out like a little child, running full speed ahead in the opposite direction from my voiced expectations (which include oh-so-burdensome things such as not blowing off previously made plans and calling when you say you're going to call). She also said that there's something funny going on - either another woman on the side (highly unlikely) or some secret he's hiding regarding his emotional life which I'll probably never be privy to considering his withholding patterns (highly likely); she said people don't just disappear like that for several days from someone they care about. She said either way he is deeply wounded, but as he's unwilling to share his wounds, there's little room for growth the way things stand now. She agreed that his behavior was thoughtless and highly unacceptable, and no, I wasn't making mountains of molehills, I was in fact being treated like shit. She did say it was a mistake to contact him about the burn, as it amounted to jumping over the gigantic pile of poop on the living room floor of the apartment that is our relationship (see, she does actually speak in Synge metaphors) and now he thinks its all okay when its not.

I have a few options now. I can sit down with him and say that we are at a plateau in our relationship on which I do not want to set up camp; we either go deeper into the canyon, or agree to see other people and start the hike out, thus beginning the process of disentangling. Or I can just cut my losses and jump ship totally right now. I'm not sure what I want to do, but I know I don't want to leave things as they are.

Its not okay to be sobbing alone in the snow at 2am; that is not the mark of a healthy happy loving relationship.

Its time to shit or get off the pot - I just need to sit on it a little bit longer in hopes of a little clarity. I didn't bring in a magazine or anything, and I don't intend on staying there all day, but I do need a little time before I do whatever I end up doing.

Its Your Party and I'll Cry if I Want To

2005-12-11T08:38:00.000-05:00

Nothing says Happy Holidays! quite like getting totally smashed at a good friend's party and then going out in the alley and sobbing so pathetically and endlessly to another good friend on the phone to the point where they have to call the party host to come outside and collect your blubbering remains strewn about the half melted snow. Wow. Yay! Happy Holidays! I'm so festive! A great addition to any holiday gathering! I'll be your genuine 100% gauranteed holiday asshole replete with a total lack of social skills. Invite me now and I'll be sure to appear at your party with my very own pity party of one in tow.

Not-so-sneaky Eliza, I guess you were right and those Peppermint Sticks really do catch up with you. I'm so sorry, I've always been a lyric misquoter but I did indeed know that the song doesn't in fact go "Its your party and I'll cry if I want to...". Mr. Artsy Hotpants, you were an angel once again. Thanks for staying with me on the phone until I got home. Lone Star Talent, are you regretting the bargain of cheap rent for tiny space, killer cat, and roomate who frequently sobs on your shoulder in the middle of the night? I bet you didn't realize how often you'd be pulling snot duty...neither did I. I do count myself quite lucky for it though. And Orphannie, I have no recollection whatsoever of calling you (though I've been known to drunk dial you crying on more than one occasion, so I shouldn't be surprised), but I just got your voice mail and it was so very sweet and wonderful. I saved it to play back to my pathetic little ass ad nauseum.

Perhaps I have now crossed the relationship threshold to the not-so-good point. Perhaps I also have a teeny weensy bit of a melodramatic streak in me. Perhaps I should not drink Peppermint Sticks next year.

I think this totally counts as worse than last year's annual holiday party story of My Little Vidipookikins falling asleep on the subway and getting confused as to how the hell to get to the Upper West Side from Astoria. (besides, I think I fell asleep on the subway that year too, so I can't really make fun.) Can someone else please take the reigns o' shame now? I'm a little over the thrill of being a joke in and of myself.

I also think I'm still drunk, but don't worry, I'm not crying at the moment. I am, however, going back to bed, where I can hide under the covers and pretend I didn't embarass myself quite so thoroughly.

The Chemical Formula for Drama - Part III (of a way too long series)

2005-12-02T17:14:00.000-05:00

Our heroine was at a loss as to how to explain to this man exactly how his failure to show and share his emotions affected her; she only knew that it did, and deeply. "It affects me because its a huge part of you that I don't get to see. It affects me because I have no idea what's going on in your head, what you're thinking and feeling and that hurts!" She knew this was not an explanation, but rather a statement of her position, yet this was one of those times where words seemed wholly inadequate and empty amidst the surge of feelings. "But I'm not responsible for your feelings. I may be sorry you feel that way and I may not like it, but I'm not responsible for causing those feelings." "I never said you were." "Yes you did, you just said that this is how you feel and its because of me. I have no power over your emotions. I can neither cause or change how you feel. I'm sorry that you had some idea in your head as to how you wanted me to be after not seeing you for a week and that I failed to live up to your expectations." Whoah, what was this? An acknowledgement of sorts as to what happened that evening, albeit a defensive one."I understand fully and do agree that we are all responsible for and in control of our own emotions, but certain actions have a cause and effect thing that happens as a result. And I'm just saying if you know I'm feeling like you didn't miss me, you may not be able to take away that feeling, but what you can do is tell me that you did miss me. Tell me that I am important to you." "Sure I could do that, but then there will just be something else that comes along."

At this point she is tired and at a total loss as to how to bridge this communication chasm (for it seems much broader than a mere gap). She sits silently for a moment, as the energy, fight, and heightened emotional surge drains completely from her body. He quietly says "I have never treated you badly. I may have a hard time showing my feelings, but I don't treat you badly." She looks into his eyes and sees an expression she has never seen before. It is fleeting, but undeniably there. Hurt? Fear? She does not know how to read the cryptic clues into the murky waters of his carefully hidden emotional territory; she only knows this is something new. "Please don't go home. Please stay. Please go wash your face and brush your teeth and come to bed. Please stay. I want you to stay." The voice is ever so slightly different as well, muted and strained as if poured through an esophegal collander. It is still quick and urgent, but the tone is different. She retreats to the bathroom once more, as it has become a base camp of sorts where she can check in with herself, catalogue her wounds, take stock of her forces and decide what the next move may be.

He clearly and undeniably showed something there at the end of the conversation. He was at least trying to share in some way, this she knows in the very depth of her womanly intuition. He allowed just a moment of vulnerability to creep in and he allowed himself to reveal that he wanted, he needed her to stay. She could not leave at this point, nor did she want to. The conversation was nowhere near its completion; it had barely begun. But the door was open, even if just a crack. She knows they must both sit in this new space that has been created, and figure out where to go from here. But she also knows thaht leaving, at this point, would be a mistake for both of them.

Many years before, when she knew nothing of love and only of sex, power, violation, and self protection her best friend was navigating her way through her first young love and first young love break-up. She remembers so vividly (the best friend was wearing a ribbed burgundy sweater) the best friend telling her that she wanted to be someone worth fighting for. She feels like in this confusing melee of emotion and misperception and defensiveness on all sides, the moment the boyfriend asked her to please please stay, he was saying that she was worth fighting for and that he did not want to let her go. She feels like her decision to stay signals the same on her part. She takes one more look in the mirror, as if to check in with her reflection one last time to make sure she is doing what she truly wants to do and not what she thinks someone else wants her to do (she has been doing a lot of that sort of checking in as of late). The reflection confirms her decision and she turns off the light for the last time that night.

She disrobes rather hastily, trying to avoid his noticing the sexy undergarments that are now an emphatic punctuation of her expectations for the evening, but all of his attention is now focused on her and of course he notices and makes an appropriate fuss which she feels is too little too late. She climbs into the warm bed, where he is waiting with his arms open, and she folds her body into his, finding the familiar nooks and niches where they have learned to fit their bodies together. He wraps his arms around her and says "I did miss you and I am very happy to see you." She can solidly feel that perhaps they are not going to listen to the radio and fall asleep, but she does not want a forced gesture and says "I don't want pity sex. That's insulting." "Its not pity sex at all." "That's what it feels like." "Well its not. I was trying to think of a sincere and sexy way to tell you you are wanted."

Afterwards the couple lay in eachothers arms, still holding on tightly for a very long time. Even after he fell asleep, the boyfriend was holding on tightly to her as he snored and would pull her back and sleep-whimper when she went to pull away. She wondered why he could clearly demonstrate his need in his sleep, but had such difficulty admitting to it in the waking hours. It was as if his muscles could only express in sleep what his mind held in check when awake.

The next morning he left before she did (she being quite sluggish in the morning hours by nature) to go take care of things at the office. She took her time getting ready and taking stock of where she was and resolving to continue the dialogue that was begun but not resolved. She phoned the boyfriend when she was leaving, to let him know that he needed to come home and lock the apartment; he was with a patient and had to put her on hold for a brief moment. When he came back on the line, he asked her how she was doing that morning. "Umm, i'm okay. How are you?" "Are you still mad at me?" Mad? Did he think this was really about anger? "I'm not mad at you...its not about being mad. Its a lot more complicated than that...way more. And...aren't you with a patient right now?" "Yes, but its okay, they're in the other room." "Listen, go deal with your patient, okay?" "Okay, I'll call you later?"

She did not speak with him that evening, despite the text message imploring her to let him know when she arrived at home. She needed to process and sort things out and drink copious amounts of wine with her girlfriends while they bandied about terms and phrases like "bastards!" and "what's wrong with them?" and "they don't get it!" in overly emphatic and high pitched tones. She needed to hear how she was unconditionally right and he was unconditionally wrong. She resolved and unresolved a million times that day to break up with him. Better now than a year and a half later right?

The next day she went to see her therapist, ready to collectively speak indignantly and to proudly display how bravely she stood up for herself. She described the whole scenario in detail and finished with her tale, eyes sparkling defiantly and head cocked proudly to show how she was not a woman who would put up with anything. Her therapist quietly, methodically, and supportively took her down a few notches, pointing out the mistakes she percieved in the handling of the situation. Our heroine was shocked to the core, expecting something entirely different than the lovingly gilded mirror being held up to her face. She was so afraid of reliving past indignities that she was creating them where they weren't. She was re-enacting past relationships with manipulative lovers, brothers, and fathers and dealing with everything but the present. She also was not approaching the discussions with the boyfriend from a point of love, but rather from a point of self protectiveness, and was so eager to stave off impending doom and attack that might never come that she was not approaching things from the point of the two of them could grow from this.

Our heroine still has much to learn about relationships, but had to concede the point that in love, one should approach from a perspective of growth and collective learning. She had to concede that she had never stated her needs up to that point and had been relatively lax in the communication department up until that point. So she called the boyfriend, and they made plans to have a much needed talk.

TO BE CONTINUED IN WHAT WILL BE THE EPILOGUE...

Brief Interlude - Jews Represent!

2005-12-02T15:20:00.000-05:00

I just had to share my holiday spirit revenge in all its bad cell phone photo glory. Yes, my desk is a hellish cluttered mess; so is my apartment, and so is my life. But hey - check out that festive blue and silver garland! Wow! Catchy, ain't it? And the slightly deformed star of David...upon entering our section of the sdj office, there's this gaudy oasis of Chanukah amidst the sea of red, green and gold. Tacky, but festive and lovely at the same time.

And the Jews were happy...

The Chemical Formula for Drama - Part II

2005-12-01T18:30:00.000-05:00

Our lovely (and modest) heroine stood immobile under those glaring harsh truth lights for quite a long time, tethered firmly in place by the multitudes of conflicting thoughts racing through her mind at a more than dizzying pace. What should she do? Was she blowing things out of proportion, as was her tendency, and would she find in the morning that the deep wounds were merely papercuts in disguise? Yet she ultimately could not bear the idea of lying down in bed next to this man who barely seemed to register her presence, or so she felt, as if everything were normal and okay. Nothing felt normal or okay and she was so mired in the swamp of fruitless expectations that she felt she absolutely needed to leave in order to find clarity and figure out just what was going on.

Taking a deep breath, she left the comforting solace of the bathroom (finding it incredibly bizarre to find comfort in the cold tile and bright glare) and walked into the bedroom to inform her boyfriend of this decision. She sat on the tiny edge of the bed between his curled up body (they always do become little boys in bed, whether asleep or awake) and the vast expanse of nothingness on the other side of that edge, aware of the metaphorical accuracy of this precarious perch. "Listen honey, I'm going home. I just really need to go home to my apartment right now." He made a sharp movement that can only be described as bolting upright, trite as that phrase may be, in bed, his inner alarm clearly sounding. He turned off the radio immediately (a first in her experience) and said "What's wrong?!" in a very surprised tone of voice, as if he was completely unaware that she would have any cause to be upset. "I just feel like I need to go home. I need to go home and process all of this." "What's wrong?!" This time it was spoken with more urgency and almost panic. While she has always been quite uncomfortable with speaking her mind, especially without the benefit of some reflection time, she decides that these things do need to be addressed now, clumsy though the attempt may be.

"What's wrong is that I feel invisible. I feel totally invisible right now." "What does that mean?" "It means I feel invisible. It means I feel unimportant. It means I feel like I barely exist." The words began to pour out more rapidly now, as if an avalanche of feeling had begun and could no more be halted than the snow hurling down a mountainside and gaining momentum with every inch it traverses. "I mean, here we haven't seen eachother in a whole week and its like its absolutely no big deal to you! First you're out having dinner when we had already made plans the night before..." He opens his mouth to interject but she cuts him off before he can "And I know it was a last minute thing and all but it still hurt my feelings.." And here the boyfriend does interject, raising the stakes while furiously backpedalling, "I had to go. It was something I couldn't get out of. I had to go to this thing." "We've already been through this, I know, but it hurt my feelings, okay? And its not just that, its not just that at all." "What else? What else is upsetting you?" "Well, the fact that I haven't seen you in a week and was dying to have sex and you couldn't seem less interested in it, even after I practically threw myself on you!" What makes you think I'm not interested?" This was just too much for her frantically whirling brain to take in. She takes a microsecond tour of the evening's events, searching for any room for misinterpretation. Finding none, she blurts out "You got in bed to go to sleep with the radio on and everything and just said 'come to bed' that's all," feeling like this does not do her position of the rejected lover the justice it deserves. "I didn't say I didn't want to have sex, I just said come to bed." What? Was this more backpedalling or had she truly misinterpreted? "But you said you were tired!" Yes, and that's true, I am tired. But that doesn't mean I'm not interested in having sex with you."

But he was still missing the point somehow, so she tried to push things further, to make him understand how hurt she was and why. "My point is that you hadn't seen me in a week and didn't seem to even care, didn't seem to miss me at all!" "I don't show my feelings, that's just the way I am." "Yes, I noticed. I'm well aware of that." "What, you think I have no feelings? You think I'm a robot?" She notices the choice of the word robot; a word she has never nor would ever choose to use in that situation. This must be quite a familiar argument to the boyfriend, and she recalls from the deep recesses of her dusty mental attic a conversation long ago on the edge of a pier looking out over the Hudson River, in the days where he was still wooing and she was uncertain of how she felt about him, where he mentioned that his coldness and lack of emotional display had been a problem in past relationships. One of only a handful of insights into his life and past that he has carelessly dropped like a crumb of bread for the starving to lunge at. "Sometimes it certainly seems that way." "I have feelings! I have a lot of feelings!" "Well that's not something I'm let in. You don't share that with me. I don't get to see that." "Well that's just the way I am. I'm weird, in case you hadn't noticed, and you happen to like a lot of my weirdness. This is just one thing you don't like so much." "Okay, but can you see how hard that might possibly be for me? How frustrating and hurtful that could be? Can you see it from my perspective?" "Well, I'm trying to, but I don't think I undertsand why my feelings and whether or not I share them with you affects you."

TO BE CONTINUED....

(sorry, I have a dinner engagement to go have an important conversation with someone regarding a whole hell of a lot of unresolved issues)

Brief Interlude to Bitch About Christmas Being Shoved Down my Little Jewish Throat

2005-12-01T13:33:00.000-05:00

Gorwing up as a Jew in the South, I am used to (though not at all okay with) the total ignorance as to any other holiday in the season thanChristmas. Every year I would get bitter and when wished a Merry Christmas for the gazillionth time I would invariably snap back a snotty retort like "Thanks, but its not my holiday!" or "And Happy Chanukah to you!". I understand its confusing - no one knows which of the 50,000 different spellings to use and it falls on a different date every year - but come on, people! I wear a gigantic fucking star of David locket around my neck - and no, its not a Satanic symbol, wrong star!

Since moving to New York, the virtual mecca of the Americas for Jews, my bitterness fell by the wayside with every passing Happy Chanukah greeting and every menorah I saw accompanying the Christmas trees in building lobbies. I was shocked at first, but since then have come to expect this sensitivity I am so proud of from my new home.

Which is why I was so shocked and offended when I came into the sdj today to find a magical winter wonderland had invaded - a Christian winter wonderland blanketing everything in red, green, and gold. Not only was Christmas shoved down my throat on all of the walls, but my own little cubicle space had been invaded as well, drowning me in red and gold tinsel. One of the doctors that I work with and whose sense of humor I adore came over to express her outrage at the state of things; I heartily agreed. I removed the tinsel from my cubicle, without ceremony or kicking up a fuss, to quietly shed light on the offensive error committed. One of my co-workers asked me why I did that, and I simply responded, "It's not my holiday."

There is this mistaken notion that Christmas is a secular holiday. In fact, I have been told countless times upon enlightening people that I do not indeed celebrate Christmas, that Christmas is an American holiday. Wow, I didn't realize that Christ had anything whatsoever to do with the establishment of this democracy! In fact, I thought this country came into being long after his time. How odd, then, that Christmas would be an American holiday. Because it is celebrating the birth of Christ, in addition to celebrating the great consumerist machine.

So the doctor, another co-worker, and myself are all going to retaliate with the largest and most garish Chanukah decorations that we can find. We're debating dressing up like dreidels, and the doctor and I danced the Hora back to our respective cubes.

My supervisor just called to apologize for having decorated my cubicle; she said she forgot I was Jewish (not so easy to do considering the gigantic glaring Jewish star taking up half of my chest, but okay). At least she's aware of her faux pas.

The funny thing is that I'm not even very religious or anything by any stretch of the imagination. Hell, my synongogue growing up was so liberal artsy fartsy we were practically pagan. But its my cultural identity, and as such should be respected. I respect other cultures and religions; I make an effort every year to find out when Winter Solstice, Ramadan, and Kwaanza fall and recognize the importance and validity of these other traditions as opposed to merely my own. I think its solipsistic not to.

And thus is my grand bitch du jour. I'm going to Duane Reade on my next smoke break to buy out anything blue and silver to inundate the office with.

The Chemical Formula for Drama - Part I

2005-11-30T18:38:00.000-05:00

I almost ended things with Doc Harley yesterday. I almost walked out of his apartment Monday night. Then I almost blogged about it yesterday. Wow, with all these almosts, I'm exhausted...its been a full week and its only Wednesday.

Our story begins with our lovely (and oh so modest) heroine preparing to see her boyfriend, whom she had not seen in a whole week. Imagine, if you will, the schoolgirl excitement of it all - the opening night butterflies in her tummy as she puts on secret saucy lingerie, replete with garters and stocking that she knows he likes. They had made plans on the telephone the night before, and she finds she has really missed him after a week's abscence. Despite having been up since the crack of dawn to take a train home from her Thanksgiving weekend, she is all energy and a tumble of overly awkward fumbling limbs as she prepares for their mini-reunion of sorts.

Now imagine her frustration when he is nowhere to be found; the endless rings and that hideous voice mail message in which a grown man somehow manages to camoflauge his voice to sound like a boy in the losing battle with awkward puberty. Granted, she was a half hour later in calling then she had originally told him, as she ran (well, okay, she who pays rent off of her credit cards actually splurged on a cab) uptown with her two ton suitcase in tow to drop off her things at her own apartment before heading downtown. But he's been a half hour or more late, as she recalls, and even left her out in the rain as a result. She leaves several messages on the voice mail with the voice that does not in any way belong to him, and tells him she is waiting at her apartment to avoid wandering aimlessly around the East Village waiting for him. She also text messages, at the risk of overdoing the communication attempts, because, well damnitt they had plans and where the hell is he?!!

Finally she receives a response to her text message informing her that they do still have plans for the evening and that he will pick her up at her apartment with the motorcycle. She writes back for him to call her when he is downstairs (she not only lives in a 5th floor walkup, but an embarassingly filthy pigsty 5th floor walkup at that) and receives a response that he will be there at around 9:30, a 45 minute wait at that point. While she is slightly irked by the delay, she puts it aside in lieu of the much more joyous excitement of anticipation.

The boyfriend arrives exactly on time, and they begin their journey downtown, when our heroine's stomach suddenly plunges to the tips of her boots, threatening to fall and be lost forever on 5th Avenue. He was out to dinner at some restaurant and that's why she was left waiting around? He didn't even bother to call her? But she hadn't seen him in a whole week! Wasn't he as anxious to see her as she was to see him? Had he not missed her at all and had her abscence gone unnoticed? The sting from the perceived slap in the face of it all is almost a physical reality. She mentions that she has not eaten, as they were going to cook dinner together at his place and he offers to take her anywhere to get food but at this point her appetite seems to have plunged south with her previously butterfly inhabited stomach that is now precariously perched on the pedals of the motorcycle whose roar seems to be ringing far louder in her ears than when they had begun.

She decides that if one is to pick and choose their various battles (a lesson she has yet to grasp fully), this is one that cannot go by without any action whatsoever; the lack of consideration on his part is too great to go unmentioned. She waits until they have dropped the bike off at its garage home, not wanting any distraction from what she wants him to hear.

"Listen, I really don't want to make a big deal out of this, but I feel like I can't not say something either...the next time we have plans and you go off to dinner at the last minute, can you please at least call and let me know?"

He draws in a breath and opens then closes his mouth, as if preparing to say something in his defence and then thinking better of it. "Okay. I will." Then, unable to refrain, he says, "It was a last minute thing, I had to go." "Well you could have at least called." "I was on the motorcycle, I couldn't call. I text messaged you and told you I was coming to pick you up. I knew yuo had stuff to do..." "Oh, what stuff would that be?" "Putting away your things and all." "I didn't get anything done, I merely waited for you because we had plans." "I'm sorry about that. I had to go to this dinner." "Well it just makes me feel very unimportant to you." He pulls her to him in an awkward hug, his bicycle in one hand and his girlfriend in the other. "You are important to me." She accepts this, as she desperately wants this night to be somehow special, something of the stuff of the romatic classic novels she has been revisting and not of the dysfunctional relationships theme so prevalent in newer fiction.

They go into the apartment together, but the boyfriend has to go pick up his computer from his office, as he informs her there are a few things he must get done. While she would have preferred he were overcome with desire fueled by the week's separation and had thrown her down on the dining table right then and there, she settles for a kiss, takes off her boots, and positions herself in the big chair so that just a hint of garter is showing as she takes out the compelling South African novel she is currently reading which is somehow subtlely steamier than her own life at that precise moment. When he returns (faling to notice the garter peek which becomes more clownishly obvious and less sensuously subtle as the night wears on), he offers her food and she makes a trite and overly obvious attempt at seduction, the metaphor in keeping with his offer. This is acknowledged but not acted upon, as the boyfriend has things he must do, which do not seem to be more important than what she would like him to do, but our heroine keeps her chin up and as always, takes solice in fiction and the lovely realm of her imagination that is always ultimately fulfilling.

After the infintely slow passage of time, the accomplishment of the boyfriend's tasks, an in depth but circumstantially out of place discussion on the civil war and slavery (our heroine having just returned from the south), and the obscenely comical rise of her dress in a garish attempt to reveal the still neglected garters and stockings, she bluntly tells him that she does not wish to discuss slavery and the economic motivation behind it when he is sitting in front of her in his underwear and she has not had sex in a week (with something not battery operated at least). He goes into the bedroom, where she finds him in bed, beneath the covers with the radio on and NPR holding court. She is stunned and literally stares at him, mouth agape, whether in shock, horror or frustration she has no idea. "What? What's wrong? Why are you staring at me like that?" You're going to bed? You're going to bed?!" "I'm tired. What? Close your mouth and come to bed." But she doesn't. She stands there, mute and frozen for a good minute or so, before turning around and heading for the solace of the bathroom with its glaring lights eliminating any option of hiding from the truth of her infinte disappointment in the entire evening that was supposed to be magical, not mundane.

TO BE CONTINUED..........

Spring Cleaning in Fall

2005-11-29T18:08:00.000-05:00

I am having a day of clarity amidst all the ups and downs of late. I'm not quite ready to write about it yet, but one good things that I wanted to share is that I have finally realized that I am worthy of nothing but the deepest and kindest and most passionate and trusting of love.

And I should settle for nothing less.

I am listening to Simon and Garfunkle's Bridge Over Troubled Water, the song I insisted we play at my brother's funeral and the song I associate deeply with him. It just happened upon my ipod, set to random, but at exactly the moment I needed it.

He'd better fucking have my back..that's all I got to say about that.

I think I'm spring cleaning my internal closets in fall...or maybe I'm getting ready to go into hibernation, I don't know yet.

I do know I'm okay and always will be.

God Wants Me to be a Bitch Today

2005-11-29T15:32:00.000-05:00

One of the automatons working at the sdj is talking with the womyn sitting in the cubicle right in front of me and he just declared that "This is where God wants me to be right now.", meaning the sdj. Now I don't know his god, I'm not hanging out grabbing a beer with his god or anything, but I have serious doubts that "God" is a fan of this company. In fact, I would go as far as to say that any god that believes in and supports managed health care is not a god I want any part of. Personally, I think if anyone would want someone to be working here, I'd look in the opposite direction for that answer considering the nature of the business.

Then again, some people just can't handle taking responsibility for their own choices I suppose.

Did I mention that God wants me to write bitchy blog entries about perfectly nice people?

Why Greyhound Bus Lines Can Go Fuck Themselves

2005-11-28T20:10:00.000-05:00

I had a lovely time at home over the Thanksgiving holiday, despite the less than promising adventure in getting down south. It was a very typical Synge story; the type where upon hearing of the perilous journey my friends all shook their collective heads and sighed, "Only Synge. Of course this happened to Synge..."

I was forced by circumstance and wallet to take a bus down; an all nighter at that. I had wanted to leave enough time to pick up my sick friend from the hospital and get him situated before abandoning him for the long weekend, thus I chose to take a Greyhound bus, departing at 11:30pm, as opposed to the Chinatown bus, which leaves at 5pm. I also erroneously thought that Greyhound would be a little nicer than the often sketchy-as-hell Chinatown bus; had I only known exactly how very wrong I was.

The bus left promptly at 11:30pm and we were off to an excellent beginning of our trip, when all of a sudden the engine cuts off just past the entrance to the NJ Turnpike. The driver prayed to the gods and goddesses of bus engines and must have offerred up his first born because miraculously the engine starts again, and we are on our shaky way.

For about a mile or two, at most.

Evidently his first born was an inadequate offer, as the bus then breaks down again...on a bridge...with no shoulder...and its very windy.

This is the point where I begin laughing hysterically, much to the chagrin of my fellow passengers. This is also the point where, of course, my cell phone battery dies.

After much waiting and many threats from self described ex-cons currently violating their parole, the bus was finally towed off the bridge, where it was perilously perched and holding up traffic, to a very spooky isolated junkyard somewhere near the illustrous vacation destination of the world...Newark, NJ! Luckily, my seat mate, a very sweet cabbie from the Bronx, came equipped with a travel emergency kit, conveniently rolled into two mid sized cigars. We exited the bus into the freezing air of the junkyard, and proceeded to alleviate the stress stemming from our unknown fate. I, myself had also brought 3 mini airline bottles of cheap vodka, hoping to knock myself out for the voyage; little did I know how thankful I would be for this. After our little junkyard impromptu party, which was quite comical given the circumstances, we shuffled into the tiny trailer offices of the junkyard, where people were packed wall to wall with a standing room only house most theatres dream of. While this was nowhere near a dream, it was slightly warmer than the freezing exterior or the heatless bus; probably due more in part to the closely packed bodies than anything else.

After about 20 minutes of very uncomfortable standing and with the after-effects of our supplies really beginning to take hold, I decided that it would be better to brave the cold but comfy (yes, at that point they qualified as comfy) bus seats than to stay standing for an indefinite amount of time. My seat partner/angel and I made our way back onto the frigid but comparatively spacious bus, where I then proceeded to invent a new game of who can hit their head hardest when suddenly awakening with a jolt due to extreme cold. Had I not been passed out, it would have been unbearable; as it was, it was certainly no picnic and for someone as fucked up as I was at that point. I woke up apporximately every 3.5932 seconds shivering; at one point I remember one of the many passengers coming ion and out of the bus informing us taht it was snowing outside. Lovely. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore and decided to go stand in the slightly warmer trailor and forgo any attempt at sleep.

This is when I discovered that it had been about 5 hours of waiting already, and the passengers who had been ruthlessly hounding (bad pun intended, I'm ashamed to say) the bus company telephonnically were still getting the run around and empty promises with no bus in sight. I waited my turn to get to charge my cell phone in one of their outlets and stood waiting. Finally, after a very long hour, at about 6am, another bus arrived to pick us up.

I understand completely and do not fault Greyhound at all, seeing as how Newark is so incredibly far from New York City, a virtual hub for bus travel. Naturally it would take anyone 6 hours to collect a bus full of freezing and starving passengers about 10 miles away!

I think the new bus driver was expecting a pack of rabid wolves by that time, but we were all so tired that we promptly fell asleep in silent warmth.

I arrived in my hometown, usually a mere 6 to 7 hours away, at 1pm; a total of 13.5 hours after departure, with only a phone number to call as any hope of compensation.

Happy Fucking Thanksgiving, Y'all!

My father proceeded to tell everyone we came in contact with (much to my embarassment at times) the whole weekend that Greyhound Bus Lines may leave you stranded for 6 hours, but at least they provided free pot (which was also not true, it certainly wasn't thanks to Greyhound). I'm certainly glad he found it entertaining.

I will never ever take Greyhound again; thankfully the train home was only 25 minutes late, as opposed to 6.5 hours late.

And Finally Something to Celebrate!

2005-11-23T15:26:00.000-05:00

Vixanne gave birth to her beautiful healthy baby boy, Gideon, this morning at 5:48am. He is 7 pounds, 7 ounces and 19" long and the grapevine tells me that he is every bit as beautiful as his parents! Congratulations Vixanne and hubby and welcome Gideon!

It is ultimately beautiful and comforting to have the range of life experiences all at once; a reminder of the cyclical nature and the beauty of things flowing onward even amidst fear and illness.

Quizzing is Wonderfully Distracting

2005-11-23T12:24:00.000-05:00

Stolen from Jon. I'm not sure how accurate this is, but umm...okay...I'll take it...

Your Seduction Style: Au Natural

You rank up there with your seduction skills, though you might not know it.
That's because you're a natural at seduction. You don't realize your power!
The root of your natural seduction power: your innocence and optimism.

You're the type of person who happily plays around and creates a unique little world.
Little do you know that your personal paradise is so appealing that it sucks people in.
You find joy in everything - so is it any surprise that people find joy in you?

You bring back the inner child in everyone you meet with your sincere and spontaneous ways.
Your childlike (but not childish) behavior also inspires others to care for you.
As a result, those who you befriend and date tend to be incredibly loyal to you.

What Kind of Seducer Are You?

Will Work for Cuddle and Shoulder

2005-11-22T23:31:00.000-05:00

I am one tired very puffy eyed monkey who has to go to bed because tomorrow will be a hugely long day involving a session with Lady Charon, many hours at a hospital with my friend and then more hours getting them settled in at home and then an all night bus ride home for what does not feel like a joyous Thanksgiving. I just want to crawl in a hole somewhere.

And I really wanted and needed to cuddle up with Doc Harley tonight but he is not feeling well and was going to bed and somehow then became the recipient of my misdirected anger. I called him back when I got home and basically told him that he was pretty crappy in the emotional support arena; he then stayed on the phone with me while I gave very abbreviated replies, trying to be there telephonically for me. I didn't want him there telephonically; I hate the telephone and wanted him to hold me. I wanted him to use his freakin mammoth brain for just a second and realize that I may need him, and most of all I wanted him to just know it without me having to tell him. I finally got off the phone, saying, "I don't want to talk on the phone, I don't like talking on the phone. I want to go curl up into my roomate's breast and cuddle and have her hold me while I cry." I wanted to add..."like you should be doing!", but I didn't. I just said goodnight and agreed to call him in the morning when I wake up (he said he'd have the phone by the bed, in case he was asleep). Why can't he call me in the morning when he wakes up? Why can't he magically make everything better, because perhaps that's what I'm really wanting from him?

Its all confusing, and I'm so emotionally frail and exhausted at the moment that I don't know what I'm doing or saying. Its a good thing I didn't break up with him just because he's not feeling well and wanted to go to bed, like I had decided to do on the subway ride home from my friend's apartment tonight. Its just that I've been spending the last two days holding someone while they cried, and I wanted him to do the same for me. Why does it always feel like its only the womyn who come through when you need them? Why is it only the womyn who instrinsically know when you need to be held?

Teary Eyed 2 Seconds

2005-11-22T00:59:00.000-05:00

A very good friend of mine is very ill; this sort of thing always puts everything in perspective, doesn't it? While the illness is not new, recent developments have put this at the forefront of my consciousness and the hyper-immediacy drowns out anything and everything else. I have spent a good part of the day dealing with the various levels of chill that accompany medical terminology and the rest of it sobbing. I am tired and drained and sobbed so loudly upon my arrival home that my neighbor diagonally across the hall came over to check on me. Its time for bed. I cannot write about this heartbreak or any other at the moment, I need to take something stronger than the bedtime tea I've been choking down and get some sleep, hoping for clarity and magic powers to appear somewhere in the night.

Going With the Flow Sent Me Over the Waterfall in a Wooden Barrell

2005-11-17T13:36:00.000-05:00

The go-with-the-flow relaxation approach was great while it lasted...which was a record breaking 4 hours or so. Impresive, I know. Clearly I can talk the talk but trip and fall when trying to walk the walk. And I wasn't even chewing gum!

On Tuesday evening when I talked to Doc Harley on the phone, I asked if he was free for a date Wednesday night; I used the word date to differentiate from the hanging-out-at-home-with-friends kind of informal thing we've been doing a lot of lately. I wanted to do something just us, and something special and different at that. He said sure and voila! a date was made.

Or so I thought.

Last night while I was still at the office and we were text messaging back and forth, I had mentioned taking him out to a celebration dinner but by the end of the day he wasn't really up for it. Despite my initial selfish knee jerk reaction, I was very proud that I was able to realize that perhaps he had a long day and just needed to relax. I tend to forget that not everyone has a relaxed (albeit practically non-paying) sdj, like me, and that sometimes days can be long, trying, and stressful. Wow! I was being caring and accomodating! I was remembering that he has needs to and I should take those into consideration! Yay! Growth!

Or so I thought.

So the plan became to hang out at home, which I was okay with. I text messaged him that I was leaving the sdj at 7pm and that I would be there around 7:30pm; he wrote back that he was going down to the basement workspace. However, upon arrival in the midst of a monsoon, he was nowhere to be found. I called repeatedly, left several messages, and finally settled into a cafe a few blocks away to wring out my soaked person and have a glass of wine to soothe my soaked ego. I knew he was down in the basement, but I couldn't get into the basement without keys and he gets no cell phone reception in the basement. As the minutes ticked by, I became more and more upset. He knew I was coming over! How insensitive! I felt forgotten and unimportant and insignificant, to say the least.

I finally called again at 8:15, over half an hour later; much to my chagrin he answered the phone quite nonchalantly. I said "Where are you?" and he replied, "At home, on my couch. Where are you?". I was naturally quite taken aback by this answer and I said "I've been waiting for over half an hour! I called you like 5 times!" He said "I'm sorry, I was in the basement, I don't get cell reception there. Where are you?" I said "I left like 4 messages!" He said "i didn't get them except your text message just now. Where are you?" I told him that I was at a cafe around the corner and he told me to come over. He also mentioned that two of his friends were coming over for dinner in a bit. That little innocuous statement touched a raw nerve and just kind of set everything off. Not only was I left out in the rain, but then he had invited friends over for dinner? On a night that I wanted to spend with just him? I sat in silence for a moment and then I said, "You know, I think I'm actually going to head uptown." Naturally, he asked me, "What's wrong?" to which I of course immaturely replied "Nothing, I'm going uptown, okay?". He said, "Okay, well, call me when you get there, okay?".

I hung up the phone and sat in the not-so-comfortable cane cafe chair, staring out the giant window at the rainy bleak and miserable outer landscape which I was certain seemed to be the universe reflecting my inner landscape. I sat and stared, completely motionless and barely aware of what I was even feeling for quite some time; feeling only a symbiotic outpouring with the endless drops descending resignedly from the sky.

I finally summoned my wits from the deep depths of who-knows-where into which they had descended, paid the check and stepped out onto the street clutching my pink umbrella as if it were my only lifeline. Like a lost child, I wandered aimlessly for a few blocks, undecided as to what to do or where to go. I finally picked up my cell phone (the one just purchased for an exhorbitant amount yesterday afternoon because Verizon took off my insurance without my knowledge or permission when I changed my cell phone account last fall) and called Mr. Saucy Funnybuns.

"Hi!", I said in a desperate choked voice. "I'm coming over, okay?"
"What happened? What's wrong?"
[to be read as one long sentence inserting random overdramatic sobs throughout]: "I finally called DH and he said he was at home on the couch and didn't get my messages and I was forgotten in the rain and he invited his friends for dinner and I wanted time alone with him and he doesn't want to spend any time with just me! I told him I was going uptown and he asked if anything was wrong and I said no and he just said to call him when I get uptown, that's all!"
*pause *
*more pausing *
"Okay, well, you're welcome to come over...you're welcome to come over anytime, that's why you have keys. But are you sure that's what you want to do?"
"Do you think I'm overreacting?"
"Maybe just a little? Well, not overreacting, please! I'd never say you were overreacting. But I think this may be about something else entirely, Synge. I think this is more about the fact that you sent that text message and put yourself out there and he hasn't responded. I think its more about that than the fact that he invited friends over for dinner."
"But I was waiting for half an hour! And it was raining!"
"Listen honey, you do what you want. If you want to come here, come here. But if you're going to call him when you get here, you might want to just call him before you get all the way up here and then just turn around and go back downtown."
"Should I call him?"
"I think you should do what you want to do, I'm just saying if you're going to call him you should do it while you're still in his neighborhood, that's all."

So I called Doc Harley and I told him that I was hurt and upset. He was concerned and asked why and I told him that I had wanted tonight to be some time for just us (in all fairness, I had made no mention of tonight being just the two of us up until this point) and then he invited his friends over for dinner and I was feeling like he didn't want to spend time alone with me. He told me that it wasn't at all that he didn't want to spend time alone with me; his friend had spent all day building a desk and shelves for his office and he felt like the least he could do was invite him and his fiancee over for dinner. He said the friends wouldn't stay long and then we'd have some time to ourselves. He did apologize, and I asked if he thought I was overreacting and he said "Maybe just a little bit?"

So I went over there. I called back Mr. Saucy Funnybuns on my way, still a little tearful. As I approached his front door, the Funky Godchild was walking towards me on the block and gave me a big hug and kiss and asked if I was okay; I felt like perhaps I was wearing too much of my heart on my sleeve and should put on an overcoat but it turns out that she had been at Dh's place and knew I was upset.

When I walked into the apartment Doc Harley was on the couch smoking a cigar. He got up, crossed the living room to me, gave me a hug and a kiss and said "Don't be sad. Its okay! Everythings okay! I do want to spend time with you, I just had to invite over these guys because [friend] built these shelves for me. That's why I was in the basement when you called. I was staining the shelves." He actually told me not to be sad several times in the evening; while I know he was trying to be reassuring, the phrase "Don't be sad" is not exactly super reassuring to me.

So the friends came over for diner - and the thing is that I do love these friends. I think they're great and I really enjoy hanging out with them. It had more to do with me and feeling like I was unimportant and invisible, just in general, than it had to do with the fact of these friends coming over. We ate dinner and got into a bit of a political discussion (imagine that) that I was enjoying except for the fact that DH has the tendency to interrupt, as if his opinion and what he has to say holds far more weight and validity than anyone else's thoughts and opinions. Then we watched Southpark and part of Meet the Fockers.

And here we enter yet another difficult ground to navigate. DH loves TV and I hate the TV. I don't think Doc Harley fully comprehends exactly how much I abhor the TV. I would rather do pretty much anything...even clean, than watch TV. That to me is not spending time with someone. When I was in college, I used to get angry when I came home and my roomate was watching TV, because I get sucked in and its just not enjoyable to me in any way shape or form. I feel my entire being atrophy with each second that passes; it makes me want to scream! So far, I have compromised and watched TV with him a few times (albeit often burrying myself in a book after a little while because I can't stand it), but I don't want this to become a frequent activity. To me it almost feels like an impolite intrusion in our relationship, like the relatives that just don't know when to leave or something...only its an inanimate fucking object!

Okay, sorry, I didnt mean to go off on that, but my aversion to television is really that extreme; anyone who knows me well knows that about me. I'm sure it has something to do with the fact that I was only allowed to watch one hour of PBS a day growing up; something for which I am eternally grateful to my parents for.

Finally, Doc Harley decided that for whatever reason, we'd watched enough of the movie and he told his friends goodnight and that it was time to go. He then took me to the basement to proudly show me the desk and shelves that his friend had built and that he was staining underground as I was drowning above ground. I made the appropriate oohs and ahs and we walked back to his place to have the little bit of alone time I wanted.

We had more than alone time and it was lovely; he was ummm, extremely attentive (not that he's not usually). I guess it was like make-up sex, minus the fight and minus the resolution really. We stayed up talking for a bit but he was starting to drift off as I was talking and keeping him awake. Finally he asked if he could just listen to the radio for a bit. I was a little pouty, but quickly fell asleep myself. In the morning he asked if I was upset that he didn't want to talk anymore last night; he explained that his brain just kind of shuts off when he falls asleep at night and when he wakes up in the morning (that brain of his is beyond my comprehension sometimes; while he's incredibly intelligent the leaps of logic he makes create these giant complex webs of art in my brain after a while and all I hear is the pattern not the words). I told him that I had forgotten, so I supposed I wasn't that upset. It showed he is trying to be sensitive of my feelings.

So I've been a bit upset all day; more so at the insensitivity shown by leaving me out in the rain when he knew damn well that I was coming over. He didn't know that I wanted time alone with just him, so I can't really fault him for that. But he did know I was coming over, he knew I was leaving work at 7pm, and he was still down in the basement staining shelves and a desk until 8pm. That is insensitive. That shows me that I am less important than a desk and shelves!

I am waffling between feeling completely justified in being overemotional and feeling like perhaps I am blowing things a bit out of proportion. I am also bleeding like a stuck pig at the moment so I am ubersensitive and ultraemotional; throw that into the mix and its one hell of a confusing/sobby/angry/apologetic/sensitive day. In one moment it feels like this is so huge and horrible and I should clearly end it all right now and in the next moment I think that perhaps Mr. Saucy Funnybuns is right and this all has far more to do with the fact that I put myself out there and have received no response and I'm feeling naked and vulnerable and scared and then I just think maybe its all because I'm having a really tough period because I took the Plan B pill this month and my hormones are all screwed up.

I have no fucking idea which feeling to listen to.

So I'm going to go to Mr. Saucy Funnybuns' apartment and drink copious amounts of wine while crying on his shoulder; while it may not resolve anything, it will make me feel better.

Trying to Relax Into it All

2005-11-14T17:27:00.000-05:00

I was asked by Sarachkah where I stand now, Monday morning (okay, so its not morning anymore) in the light of day and if I saw Doc Harley this weekend. I'll answer the second question first, as that's far easier to formulate a coherent answer to, then I'll clumsily attempt to answer the first...ha ha ha.

Saturday morning I awoke to a text message from Doc Harley inviting me to ride out to New Jersey with him on the motorcycle to visit his father. I figured I would have to see him sooner or later, and that clearly this indicated that he had no intention of bolting (unless he was going to dump me during lunch at his father's house, which seemed rather unlikely) so it seemed in my best interest to go, no matter how anxious I was as to whether it would be awkward or not. I scrambled into the shower, got ready in record time and when I bravely emerged onto the street, things were completely normal and not at all awkward. The lunch was lovely, the motorcycle ride out there glorious, and not one single mention was made of the text message written about so much as of late. It was as if it had never happened. It is still there, in my phone, so I know it did in fact happen and was not some melodrama created entirely in my head. But its as if it never happened.

I had DH drop me off at my apartment, as I was taking Mr. Artsy Hotpants out for his birthday and needed to go home to get ready. I asked if he wanted me to call him when I was leaving MAH's apartment and he said "Yes, of course". I did, but he was already tired and ready for bed and it would have been another 45 minutes or more to get down to the lower east side, so I went home, with plans to meet him the next day.

Sunday he text messaged a few times and called and we made plans to make dinner at his place . I went downtown after the audition, and we met up right in front of his building. The deceased friend's daughter, the Funky Godchild, came over to have dinner with us...unfortunately her timing was ummm, shall we say not ideal? Slightly frustrated we went off to buy groceries for dinner, with a brief stop at his office to drop off some things, which became a not so brief stop as we shed our frustration (among other things). I returned to the apartment all smiles and made Shrimp Massaman Curry with rice noodles for the Funky Godchild and myself, despite Doc Harley's running commentary on the amount of time it took to make; it turns out good things come to those who wait and the Funky Godchild loved my cooking. More friends came over throughout the evening, and everything seemed quite normal - quite good in fact. No mention was made at any time throughout the night about the text message yet again, but it was clear by this point that he wasn't running.

It is now Wednesday, and I didn't have a chance in the last two days to complete this post. I'm probably in a different place than when it was first begun, but I'll still attempt to answer where I stand now, in the light of day on Wednesday evening.

He's not freaked out and not running; this is a good thing. The lack of any mention whatsoever of my late foible is worrisome, but what's he going to say? "Hey about that text message where you said you were in love with me...yeah, uh..well its not reciprocated."? Clearly he doesn't feel the same way or he's not ready to say it. I respect the fact that he did not say it out of obligation, and "very sweet of you...xxxx" is a hell of a lot better than "Uh-oh, I don't think we're on the same page here" or "I don't feel the same way about you."

I feel like I did not damage anything by my textual revelation, I just made a simple statement; one that was made without expectation. Yes, it was made with hopes, but no expectations. So while his silence was much louder this weekend, it has become less of a presence in my mind as the week has progressed. The most important fact remains that he is sticking around and still being quite wonderful. He behaves as if he at least cares deeply, so chances are that my fears of entering another year and half of trying to love someone who cannot love me in return are unfounded. I am not heartbroken or hurt, at this moment I am patiently waiting to see how this unfolds.

I am slowly learning how to just be and enjoy what is here and now. Oddly enough, I've been freaking out much less about the little shit this week, and questioning this much less. One would think logic would dictate the opposite, but then one would be wrong in this case. And pretentious - for calling themselves one. I'm also learning how to stand up for my needs but also learning to take his into consideration as well. For example, tonight I was going to take him out for dinner to celebrate an upcoming expansion of sorts in his practice that has kind of been in the works for something ridiculous like 2 years; he text messaged a little while ago that he wanted to stay in tonight, and I was incredibly disappointed. My first reaction was like "Great! So much for a sweet romantic evening! Oh joy...another evening in. With friends over no doubt. What is he avoiding spending time with me alone?" Then I remembered what Lady Charon had said about looking at things from a different angle and that being a doctor is an incredibly draining profession. So I wrote back "Long day?" The reply was yes. My first instinct was selfish, reactionary and all about me...an adult loving realtionship involves two people, not just one person and all her insecurities. I tend to jump the gun at times, and I'm trying to learn how not to do that.

So I have no idea if that answers your questions or not, Sarachkah. Where I am at changes every 10 minutes anyway, so perhaps the short version should have just been trying to relax into it all.

Back in the Game

2005-11-13T20:41:00.000-05:00

Today I made my tentative (and utterly humiliating) re-entry into the world of auditioning. As Orphannie and I were saying on the phone earlier today, its been a week of taking risks and somehow surviving the ensuing embarassment.

I've been wanting to and needing to excercise the auditioning muscle and get back into the whole habit of putting myself out there on a regular basis, so I finally forced myself to go out this morning (yes, not only did I wake up in the morning, but on a Sunday morning no less!) and sign up for an audition slot. This has come on the heels of several weeks of self examination culminating in the realization that I have been spending way too much of my energy on other things and nowhere near enough on what I love most. A lot of this is due to fear, both of failure and of success; a dichotomy, as usual.

After mustering my guts, balls, chutzpah (and all other terms of that ilk), I marched off to the battlefield for my scheduled 2:50pm audition, fortified by the positive outcome of the critique and coaching session the Lone Star Talent gave me working through with my had-not-been-looked-at-in-over-a-year monologue.While working at home with LST, I felt very good about the monologue and my work; I was having fun, making bold but committed choices...it was looking great.

Too bad that didn't necessarily carry over.

I entered the audition room already nervous (I hate auditioning, and remember it had been a while) and the complete lack of pleasantries and hellos threw for a bit of a loop (again, it had been a while). I was completely unfocused and launched into the monologue without giving myself that tiny moment to focus; the ensuing crap that came out of my mouth and body can only be described as bad high school theatre at best. I redeemed myself somewhat, managing to pull it together about 1/3 of the way through the monologue...that is until I fucked up a line towards the end of the piece.

Did I mention it was Shakespeare? Umm, yeah. The good 'ol Bard. The good 'ol Bard whom everyone knows and who happenms to write in fucking iambic pentameter so that when you fuck up a line, even if you seamlessly run right through it it is alarmingly obvious. Yeah, nice one.

I somehow managed to finish the piece - the ending being the one time anyone laughed (it was a comic piece and when done right, really quite funny...the stress, of course, being upon when done right). They politely thanked me for coming in; I thanked them in return for seeing me and then tried to fly out of the door but had to humiliate myself further by backtracking to pick up a piece of paper I had left on the floor. Lovely. Huge points for professionalism there.

The really stupid thing is that I am very comfortable and at home with Shakespeare. Hell, I fucking studied it at the Oxford School of Drama in England (as did Orphannie, before me and for grad school). Yet I walked in almost begging to fail.

But at least I did it. I'm back in the game. I took that first step of re-entry, humiliated myself greatly, and now I can move on from there. There is a certain freedom that comes with humiliation, because you have nothing left to fear. You've fucked up, you've survived, and now you know that fucking up won't kill you.

Yay! I fucked up!