If It Had A Theme—What Would It Be?
Current mood: Empowered
If It Had A Theme—What Would It Be?
So I had a very gay weekend—okay I can hear the comments from cyberspace already so just shut up—and found myself at a end by the end of it. It started simply enough with the end of my current job and no real plans to celebrate the occasion due to people either out of town, leaving town or other social obligations. So I decided to grab a bottle of wine and some DVDs and just send some time being chill.
(Random side note—whenever I get something new whether it is a cd or a book or dvd I have a compulsion to use said object right away. Nonetheless this means at any giving time I have a stack of novels, mix cds or films waiting to be watched.)
So I sorted through the DVDs and decided that instead of finishing 'Wonderfalls' or 'Queer As Folk' (season one) I would watch the first episode of 'Noah's Arc'. Not the short lived ABC family show but the gay sitcom from the Logo channel about a group of Black gay friends living in Los Angeles and I fell in love with the quirky characters and sense of fun and whimsy.
But after I plowed through the entire first season (yeah—it's that good) I got depressed. There is something about watching a show about a life that you have no part of that can make you crazy. I mean—as I watched the romantic trials and tribulations of Noah and the boys I started wondering why I never had that life. I always thought I would when I was a teen as I read all the 'Tales of the City' books, when I watched 'Beautiful Thing', when I would scour all the random websites about the different gay grottos of New York and Los Angels and Minneapolis. But I never have.
Part of it is my own fear, my shyness, my inability to be fully comfortable within my own skin. But in order to try and get over this claustrophobic feeling I am trying a new train of thought. It was spurred by two separate things recently said to me—one was an e-mail of Buddhist (or was it Zen?) school of thought which broke down to—'get over yourself, you're not that important'. The second was an old saying that my Nana told me—that when you are in a room with 10 new people it always breaks down like this—2 people will love you, 2 people will dislike you and the other 6 won't give a shite. Live like you're always dealing with the other six.
So what I have decided is to not only to listen and learn from both those saying but to take them as a call to action. That from here on out I am going to live my life as if I was that person I always thought I should be. That I will go out more—with friends or by myself—that I will get on the dating thing starting small with on-line stuff and seeing where that goes. To try and become my own star because there's no reason not to.
Hopefully this will involve a lot of new lot of new experiences. Bad dates, better outfits, drunken dancing, new advice column, more fun learning new things and taking myself out of the comfort zone. To put Carrie Bradshaw to shame, to make like Noah and get on with, and to make Mouse proud. There's gonna be a new blog involved with this to help push myself even harder.
I think the new opening is coming up and its time for this lead character to get on with it.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Monday, June 11, 2007
How Dumb Can You Be?
So my current show is ending and I have already started to line up another one which is good...very good... But what I hate is when you ask for the info and there's no following through on it... Especially when new jobs for me hinge on key elements such as location... But I hate getting into the details of how I don't drive--most people look at it as a major weakness--but it works for me on all levels. I can get anywhere and do most anything... But I need info to make that choice as to whether I can stay at a job...
So with this in the back of my head--I started talking to other people about wok leads... Plus I could pass off some of the new leads to Nolan since he is looking too so it's a win/win. Until you e-mail someone about job leads who is working at the new show you are SUPPOSED to be doing so they call you FREAKED OUT thinking that you are blowing off the job. So then you seem like an idiot or flakey so then you have to mull over which is worse... Full disclosure or confusion.
Le sigh. Life is not this hard. It's me being stupid or insecure I guess.
So my current show is ending and I have already started to line up another one which is good...very good... But what I hate is when you ask for the info and there's no following through on it... Especially when new jobs for me hinge on key elements such as location... But I hate getting into the details of how I don't drive--most people look at it as a major weakness--but it works for me on all levels. I can get anywhere and do most anything... But I need info to make that choice as to whether I can stay at a job...
So with this in the back of my head--I started talking to other people about wok leads... Plus I could pass off some of the new leads to Nolan since he is looking too so it's a win/win. Until you e-mail someone about job leads who is working at the new show you are SUPPOSED to be doing so they call you FREAKED OUT thinking that you are blowing off the job. So then you seem like an idiot or flakey so then you have to mull over which is worse... Full disclosure or confusion.
Le sigh. Life is not this hard. It's me being stupid or insecure I guess.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Rocky Interviews Me
We know the game--if you want me to interview you--comment away.
1 - You are on a yacht with 5 people - who are they and why?
Okay--hmm--hard one. I think it would be Michael Dawson, Dylan Drazen, David Levithan, Mom and Edie.
Michael Dawson was the first boy I was ever involved with and it was a complicated and stormy tenage affair that in some ways still effects me to this day--I have many questions for him for my own peace of mind.
Dylan Drazen is one of the few people in my life that I have actively done wrong and I would like the chance to reconnect and make admends. I don't know if he would ever understand what i did but I would like a chance to make it up.
David Levithan is one of my favorite authors of ten lit ever and writes in such a smart and beautiful way--I'd like to try and understand where he gets his muse from.
My mom because i love her and would love to be able to talk with her about everything away from all the stuff that gets between us like real life. She has a lot to impart and I need to take the time with that.
And Edie to get drunk and dress up with. She's really good at that.
2 - What is the title to the New York Times article you write, and what is it about?
'I Was A Fat Bulimic' and it would be about the misconceptions regarding what is a eating disorder and how it doesn't mean painfully skinny girls but rather all types of people.
3 - Describe the perfect accessory.
The perfect accessory would be the perfect pair of sunglasses. Eye care is important and should be sexy and well fitting.
4 - If you had to pick your lowest low, when would that be and what triggered it? Do you feel foolish now for letting that get to you?
My lowest low--that's a hard one to pick. I think it would me begging someone out of my past for an acceptence that they would never giv me. I still wonder why I was deemed unworthy but it has been said to me any times since that I was unworthy of the entire situtation in the first place.
5 - If you could be anyone, who would it be and why?
I would stay myself. I already know the lay of the land and am comfortable with who I am. I don't need much more than that. (Though I would think being Justin Timberlake would be fun for a night.)
We know the game--if you want me to interview you--comment away.
1 - You are on a yacht with 5 people - who are they and why?
Okay--hmm--hard one. I think it would be Michael Dawson, Dylan Drazen, David Levithan, Mom and Edie.
Michael Dawson was the first boy I was ever involved with and it was a complicated and stormy tenage affair that in some ways still effects me to this day--I have many questions for him for my own peace of mind.
Dylan Drazen is one of the few people in my life that I have actively done wrong and I would like the chance to reconnect and make admends. I don't know if he would ever understand what i did but I would like a chance to make it up.
David Levithan is one of my favorite authors of ten lit ever and writes in such a smart and beautiful way--I'd like to try and understand where he gets his muse from.
My mom because i love her and would love to be able to talk with her about everything away from all the stuff that gets between us like real life. She has a lot to impart and I need to take the time with that.
And Edie to get drunk and dress up with. She's really good at that.
2 - What is the title to the New York Times article you write, and what is it about?
'I Was A Fat Bulimic' and it would be about the misconceptions regarding what is a eating disorder and how it doesn't mean painfully skinny girls but rather all types of people.
3 - Describe the perfect accessory.
The perfect accessory would be the perfect pair of sunglasses. Eye care is important and should be sexy and well fitting.
4 - If you had to pick your lowest low, when would that be and what triggered it? Do you feel foolish now for letting that get to you?
My lowest low--that's a hard one to pick. I think it would me begging someone out of my past for an acceptence that they would never giv me. I still wonder why I was deemed unworthy but it has been said to me any times since that I was unworthy of the entire situtation in the first place.
5 - If you could be anyone, who would it be and why?
I would stay myself. I already know the lay of the land and am comfortable with who I am. I don't need much more than that. (Though I would think being Justin Timberlake would be fun for a night.)
Rories Wobble
It is six months—almost to the hour—of when Samuel and I ended. Not broke up—that happened over the days and weeks afterwards with drama and phone calls and sex and too many words. Useless words as it turns out—words that better writers than us would have edited out of the story, the script. But six months ago is when I knew that things were over.
That all that we had been working towards, building towards, making allowances for had been in vain. That he was leaving, that I couldn't make him stay, that for all of the best reasons and the worst of emotions we had reached the finale. No goal or end result. Just an end.
And so I made a deal with myself. I could have six months to work through it. Six months to get over all of the moments and the memories and the missteps. To take a deep look at myself and see where I went wrong. That I could only examine myself in all of this—that I could try to understand where he was coming from but how many of us can do that. No one really can.
So I spent my days on ledges, sometimes the constant bitch, my own Margo Channing storming the stage, sashsaying down staircases, being smug and demanding and mean. The half of the time I was Mrs. Habersham, in my moth-eaten wedding dress, speaking of sad love gone away, pacing the interiors of my mind. I took myself to task.
I wondered if I loved enough, did enough, changed enough, was fair enough, believed enough…. Whether I was ever really there in the moment or just watching from the sidelines and waiting to see how the story ends. I do that more often than not and while it makes my wit, it also makes me aloof. But I came to certain realizations
That I am not a lover—at least not in the Dante's meaning of the word. I am not some wide eyed romantic, I don't long for the wooing, I don not take much delight in the first bite of the apple. That when it comes to being in love—I don't pursue it. I don't live for it the way some do. I don't need to be married or have the family or the whirlwind of courtship or any of a million things that a million people more than I could count. It's not who I am.
I am sure that part of this is from the grab bag of emotion weirdness I grew up in; that all the little things that brought me through childhood shaded and coloured how I would always view relationships. This is not to say I that I push away love—I'm more like Drew Barrymore in 'Never Been Kissed'; I live on the pitcher's mound, I am waiting and meeting love half way and the timer hasn't even started yet.
It may not be the best start but it is the one that I am best at. So when I wake up tomorrow I'm going to allow myself to be over it. That all this stuff I have been holding on to gets pushed out finally. It's not perfect and I'm going to force myself. But now it's time to wobble—not fall down.
It is six months—almost to the hour—of when Samuel and I ended. Not broke up—that happened over the days and weeks afterwards with drama and phone calls and sex and too many words. Useless words as it turns out—words that better writers than us would have edited out of the story, the script. But six months ago is when I knew that things were over.
That all that we had been working towards, building towards, making allowances for had been in vain. That he was leaving, that I couldn't make him stay, that for all of the best reasons and the worst of emotions we had reached the finale. No goal or end result. Just an end.
And so I made a deal with myself. I could have six months to work through it. Six months to get over all of the moments and the memories and the missteps. To take a deep look at myself and see where I went wrong. That I could only examine myself in all of this—that I could try to understand where he was coming from but how many of us can do that. No one really can.
So I spent my days on ledges, sometimes the constant bitch, my own Margo Channing storming the stage, sashsaying down staircases, being smug and demanding and mean. The half of the time I was Mrs. Habersham, in my moth-eaten wedding dress, speaking of sad love gone away, pacing the interiors of my mind. I took myself to task.
I wondered if I loved enough, did enough, changed enough, was fair enough, believed enough…. Whether I was ever really there in the moment or just watching from the sidelines and waiting to see how the story ends. I do that more often than not and while it makes my wit, it also makes me aloof. But I came to certain realizations
That I am not a lover—at least not in the Dante's meaning of the word. I am not some wide eyed romantic, I don't long for the wooing, I don not take much delight in the first bite of the apple. That when it comes to being in love—I don't pursue it. I don't live for it the way some do. I don't need to be married or have the family or the whirlwind of courtship or any of a million things that a million people more than I could count. It's not who I am.
I am sure that part of this is from the grab bag of emotion weirdness I grew up in; that all the little things that brought me through childhood shaded and coloured how I would always view relationships. This is not to say I that I push away love—I'm more like Drew Barrymore in 'Never Been Kissed'; I live on the pitcher's mound, I am waiting and meeting love half way and the timer hasn't even started yet.
It may not be the best start but it is the one that I am best at. So when I wake up tomorrow I'm going to allow myself to be over it. That all this stuff I have been holding on to gets pushed out finally. It's not perfect and I'm going to force myself. But now it's time to wobble—not fall down.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)