Like a shiny surface.
I’ve been rather reflective as of late. Not for any major reasons or end goals but just because that’s where I am at. And it’s not the usual ‘Dawson’s Creek’ navel gazing but just the need to really look at where I am and where I want to go.
It’s not like there is some huge list of places I feel the need to be or ways that I have to change. Rather it’s more about seeing what is honestly going on with my life for good and bad. And it’s good for the most part but I just feel like a few things need to be revisited and retouched for my life to really be headed the way that I want.
It’s about the social stuff and romantic goals—creative detours and new challenges that I need to push myself through. And I’m not doing it for anyone else—even though some of these choices could have long-term effects—because that isn’t real change.
What is even more interesting to me is that everyone I know is in some small way doing the same thing—whether it is wearing more pink, or dating the boy, or asking for what they want or getting rid of what they don’t need. I’d like to think that these changes are for the best….
But that has yet to be determined…. Hopefully things will be clearer soon.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Neuroses—Not Just the Written Kind.
So tonight was a lovely evening. Valeska’s parents are in town and she invited a handful of us to have dinner with them at her newly done apartment. We had homemade lasagna and pie while telling odd little stories. It was quaint and nice.
I always find it weird when I meet my friends’ parents—it’s like seeing another window into their life. Where they looks come from, how they got their values and sense of humor. These are the people who feed them and clothed them, made them play sports or instruments, taught them to drive. They tell the awkward stories and have the embarrassing stories. They have so much they can reveal.
I guess that’s why so few of my friends have ever meant my parents. I worry about what stories they will tell, how they will behave and what they can say about me. Being that I have not always been up front and honest—that they see me still as the lonely, quiet and shy child I was. That somehow my friends will suddenly see me that way…
Nonetheless, the night was fun and interesting. Of course I was little thrown when Nick showed up. I should have known that he would come but I chose not to think about it. Nothing happened that was odd—I just chose to see it that way.
See, I know we are friends and that is it. It shouldn’t mean anything that he stood behind my chair half the night, his hand on it’s back even though there was enough chairs for us all. That he sat next to me have a large point of the evening. That he did boyfriend things that I have wished for from any guy. That he still wants to grab dinner and ‘catch up’.
I know that this is just one of my neuroses, that I’m building sandcastles in my mind. The best part of it all was riding home with Cissy. She picked up on the tension and I told what I was feeling. She laughed at me and said ‘I could see you going out. But not long term.” It was exactly what I needed to hear. Who would have guessed it came from her?
So tonight was a lovely evening. Valeska’s parents are in town and she invited a handful of us to have dinner with them at her newly done apartment. We had homemade lasagna and pie while telling odd little stories. It was quaint and nice.
I always find it weird when I meet my friends’ parents—it’s like seeing another window into their life. Where they looks come from, how they got their values and sense of humor. These are the people who feed them and clothed them, made them play sports or instruments, taught them to drive. They tell the awkward stories and have the embarrassing stories. They have so much they can reveal.
I guess that’s why so few of my friends have ever meant my parents. I worry about what stories they will tell, how they will behave and what they can say about me. Being that I have not always been up front and honest—that they see me still as the lonely, quiet and shy child I was. That somehow my friends will suddenly see me that way…
Nonetheless, the night was fun and interesting. Of course I was little thrown when Nick showed up. I should have known that he would come but I chose not to think about it. Nothing happened that was odd—I just chose to see it that way.
See, I know we are friends and that is it. It shouldn’t mean anything that he stood behind my chair half the night, his hand on it’s back even though there was enough chairs for us all. That he sat next to me have a large point of the evening. That he did boyfriend things that I have wished for from any guy. That he still wants to grab dinner and ‘catch up’.
I know that this is just one of my neuroses, that I’m building sandcastles in my mind. The best part of it all was riding home with Cissy. She picked up on the tension and I told what I was feeling. She laughed at me and said ‘I could see you going out. But not long term.” It was exactly what I needed to hear. Who would have guessed it came from her?
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
The Last 72 Hours or a Top Ten List.
Sometimes my life doesn’t need drawn out analysis and a list can just say it better. This is in honor of Lucy and in the vein of ‘Tales of the City’.
10 hours—the number of hours spent watching the Gotti Hotties at my temp-logging gig this week. I learned that Long Island Boys of a certain wealth bracket all look the same and that having a bad hairstyle doesn’t mean that you can’t be a pin-up.
9 drinks—the number of drinks I had over the weekend. Four of them were at Duncan’s birthday party at Cat and the Fiddle and the other five were at karaoke with Dom, the new girlfriend Lauren, Colette and Ronnette from his work. Though 2 of the drinks shouldn’t count because they were shots given to me. It would have seemed rude to turn them down.
8 girls—the number of females that I sat with on Friday who talked about weddings, engagement rings and vibrators. I wanted to die a little—sometimes I get a little girled out. It’s not always ‘Sex in the City’, people.
7 sins—the topic of a 24-hour show that I agreed to write about. I not sure why this topic appealed to me but nonetheless I have made a commitment and plan to have fun with it.
6 pounds—the amount gained from eating out and junking out to get over the rain. Subs, Chinese food, fast food all made its way to my lips, my hips and it was good. I have no regrets at all.
5 hours—the time spent in bed Sunday night even though I had to work the next day at the temp job. I was a little tired and cranky and just bored at work. I had no motivation to even try and impress people. I just got through the day.
4 songs—by the MC at the karaoke bar. They were all Journey songs sung by Frankie Dee who is so much of a Steve Perry look alike that I would not be shocked if it was revealed that Frankie Dee is not his real name.
3 panicked calls—by me in a crazed state as caused by a phone call from the guy I least expected. With an even more unexpected dinner invitation for me that I couldn’t take him up on. I almost did but decided I should not run to him—ever again.
2 Gossip Girl books—I just needed to turn my brain off and so I crashed out by reading the high school version of ‘Sex in the City’. It’s raunchy, funny, smart and a very good way to just chill out.
1 guy turned down—I did the right thing and didn’t jump through hoops just because he called. I made the right choice by doing that. I need to believe that. It’s like a mantra.
Sometimes my life doesn’t need drawn out analysis and a list can just say it better. This is in honor of Lucy and in the vein of ‘Tales of the City’.
10 hours—the number of hours spent watching the Gotti Hotties at my temp-logging gig this week. I learned that Long Island Boys of a certain wealth bracket all look the same and that having a bad hairstyle doesn’t mean that you can’t be a pin-up.
9 drinks—the number of drinks I had over the weekend. Four of them were at Duncan’s birthday party at Cat and the Fiddle and the other five were at karaoke with Dom, the new girlfriend Lauren, Colette and Ronnette from his work. Though 2 of the drinks shouldn’t count because they were shots given to me. It would have seemed rude to turn them down.
8 girls—the number of females that I sat with on Friday who talked about weddings, engagement rings and vibrators. I wanted to die a little—sometimes I get a little girled out. It’s not always ‘Sex in the City’, people.
7 sins—the topic of a 24-hour show that I agreed to write about. I not sure why this topic appealed to me but nonetheless I have made a commitment and plan to have fun with it.
6 pounds—the amount gained from eating out and junking out to get over the rain. Subs, Chinese food, fast food all made its way to my lips, my hips and it was good. I have no regrets at all.
5 hours—the time spent in bed Sunday night even though I had to work the next day at the temp job. I was a little tired and cranky and just bored at work. I had no motivation to even try and impress people. I just got through the day.
4 songs—by the MC at the karaoke bar. They were all Journey songs sung by Frankie Dee who is so much of a Steve Perry look alike that I would not be shocked if it was revealed that Frankie Dee is not his real name.
3 panicked calls—by me in a crazed state as caused by a phone call from the guy I least expected. With an even more unexpected dinner invitation for me that I couldn’t take him up on. I almost did but decided I should not run to him—ever again.
2 Gossip Girl books—I just needed to turn my brain off and so I crashed out by reading the high school version of ‘Sex in the City’. It’s raunchy, funny, smart and a very good way to just chill out.
1 guy turned down—I did the right thing and didn’t jump through hoops just because he called. I made the right choice by doing that. I need to believe that. It’s like a mantra.
Monday, February 21, 2005
This Makes It Worse
Teen Film Star Sandra Dee Dies at 62
2 hours, 34 minutes ago Movies - AP
By BOB THOMAS, Associated Press Writer
LOS ANGELES - Actress Sandra Dee (news), the blond beauty who attracted a large teen audience in the 1960s with films such as "Gidget" and "Tammy and the Doctor" and had a headlined marriage to pop singer Bobby Darin, died Sunday. She was 62.
AP Photo
AP Photo
Slideshow: Actress Sandra Dee Dies at 63
Dee died Sunday morning at the Los Robles Hospital & Medical Center in Thousand Oaks, said Cynthia Mead, nursing supervisor.
She died of complications from kidney disease after nearly two weeks in the hospital, said Steve Blauner, a longtime family friend who represents Darin's estate. Blauner said Dee had been on dialysis for about four years.
"She didn't have a bad bone in her body," he told The Associated Press in a phone interview. "When she was a big star in the pictures and a top five at the box office, she treated the grip the exact same way she treated the head of the studio. She meant it. She wasn't phony."
The family expected to hold private funeral services.
At Universal Studios, Dee was cast mostly in teen movies such as "The Reluctant Debutante," "The Restless Years," "Tammy Tell Me True" and "Take Her She's Mine."
Occasionally, she was able to do secondary roles in other films, such as "Imitation of Life," "A Portrait In Black" and "Romanoff and Juliet."
At the height of her fame, Dee was arguably the biggest female teen idol of her time. "She was Gidget, and she was Tammy, and for a time she was young America's ideal," film critic Leonard Maltin once said of her.
After a one-month courtship, Dee married Darin in Elizabeth, N.J., in 1960. A son, Dodd Mitchell, was born to the couple the following year.
In 1965, with her divorce from Darin dampening her teen appeal, Dee was dropped by Universal.
"I thought they were my friends," she said in an interview that year with The Associated Press, referring to her former bosses. "But I found out on the last picture ('A Man Could Get Killed') that I was simply a piece of property to them. I begged them not to make me do the picture, but they insisted."
Born Alexandra Zuck on April 23, 1942, in Bayonne, N.J., Dee became a model while in grade school.
In a mid-career interview with The Associated Press, she explained her name change: "I used to sign vouchers and sign-out sheets with 'Alexandra Dee.' Somehow it stuck." When she was signed to her first film, she said, "'Sandra Dee' was the name they gave me."
Dee made an independent film "Rosie!" (1968), starring with Rosalind Russell, but her movie career dwindled after that.
Her name was resuscitated in 1978 with the film "Grease," which featured the song "Look At Me, I'm Sandra Dee" mocking her squeaky-clean image. But Dee didn't mind, Blauner said.
"She always had a big laugh about it. She had a great sense of humor," he said.
Blauner said her favorite films were the ones she made with Darin. Despite their divorce, he remained the love of her life, Blauner said.
In a March 1991 interview with People magazine, Dee said she was sexually abused as a child by her stepfather and pushed into stardom by her mother. Dee, who turned to pills and alcohol, said she hit bottom after her mother died in 1988.
"I couldn't function," she told People, adding that she began drinking more than a quart of scotch a day as her weight fell to 80 pounds. She said she stayed home almost constantly for three years. Her last film credit was for the 1983 movie "Lost."
Dee credited her son with helping her turn her life around. She began seeing a therapist regularly and hoped to land a job on a TV series.
Kate Bosworth portrayed Dee in last year's movie "Beyond the Sea," a biography of Darin.
Actor Kevin Spacey, who directed and co-wrote the film and played Darin, has said Dee approved of the movie. "She called me...and said she loved it," he said last year.
Teen Film Star Sandra Dee Dies at 62
2 hours, 34 minutes ago Movies - AP
By BOB THOMAS, Associated Press Writer
LOS ANGELES - Actress Sandra Dee (news), the blond beauty who attracted a large teen audience in the 1960s with films such as "Gidget" and "Tammy and the Doctor" and had a headlined marriage to pop singer Bobby Darin, died Sunday. She was 62.
AP Photo
AP Photo
Slideshow: Actress Sandra Dee Dies at 63
Dee died Sunday morning at the Los Robles Hospital & Medical Center in Thousand Oaks, said Cynthia Mead, nursing supervisor.
She died of complications from kidney disease after nearly two weeks in the hospital, said Steve Blauner, a longtime family friend who represents Darin's estate. Blauner said Dee had been on dialysis for about four years.
"She didn't have a bad bone in her body," he told The Associated Press in a phone interview. "When she was a big star in the pictures and a top five at the box office, she treated the grip the exact same way she treated the head of the studio. She meant it. She wasn't phony."
The family expected to hold private funeral services.
At Universal Studios, Dee was cast mostly in teen movies such as "The Reluctant Debutante," "The Restless Years," "Tammy Tell Me True" and "Take Her She's Mine."
Occasionally, she was able to do secondary roles in other films, such as "Imitation of Life," "A Portrait In Black" and "Romanoff and Juliet."
At the height of her fame, Dee was arguably the biggest female teen idol of her time. "She was Gidget, and she was Tammy, and for a time she was young America's ideal," film critic Leonard Maltin once said of her.
After a one-month courtship, Dee married Darin in Elizabeth, N.J., in 1960. A son, Dodd Mitchell, was born to the couple the following year.
In 1965, with her divorce from Darin dampening her teen appeal, Dee was dropped by Universal.
"I thought they were my friends," she said in an interview that year with The Associated Press, referring to her former bosses. "But I found out on the last picture ('A Man Could Get Killed') that I was simply a piece of property to them. I begged them not to make me do the picture, but they insisted."
Born Alexandra Zuck on April 23, 1942, in Bayonne, N.J., Dee became a model while in grade school.
In a mid-career interview with The Associated Press, she explained her name change: "I used to sign vouchers and sign-out sheets with 'Alexandra Dee.' Somehow it stuck." When she was signed to her first film, she said, "'Sandra Dee' was the name they gave me."
Dee made an independent film "Rosie!" (1968), starring with Rosalind Russell, but her movie career dwindled after that.
Her name was resuscitated in 1978 with the film "Grease," which featured the song "Look At Me, I'm Sandra Dee" mocking her squeaky-clean image. But Dee didn't mind, Blauner said.
"She always had a big laugh about it. She had a great sense of humor," he said.
Blauner said her favorite films were the ones she made with Darin. Despite their divorce, he remained the love of her life, Blauner said.
In a March 1991 interview with People magazine, Dee said she was sexually abused as a child by her stepfather and pushed into stardom by her mother. Dee, who turned to pills and alcohol, said she hit bottom after her mother died in 1988.
"I couldn't function," she told People, adding that she began drinking more than a quart of scotch a day as her weight fell to 80 pounds. She said she stayed home almost constantly for three years. Her last film credit was for the 1983 movie "Lost."
Dee credited her son with helping her turn her life around. She began seeing a therapist regularly and hoped to land a job on a TV series.
Kate Bosworth portrayed Dee in last year's movie "Beyond the Sea," a biography of Darin.
Actor Kevin Spacey, who directed and co-wrote the film and played Darin, has said Dee approved of the movie. "She called me...and said she loved it," he said last year.
Another Good One Goes
Pioneer Author, Journalist Thompson Dies at 67
By CATHERINE TSAI, AP
ASPEN, Colo. (Feb. 20) - Hunter S. Thompson, the acerbic counterculture writer who popularized a new form of fictional journalism in books like "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," fatally shot himself at his Aspen-area home, his son said. He was 67.
KRT
Hunter S. Thompson, who was 67 at the time of his death, earned notoriety for being the first "Gonzo" journalist.
"Hunter prized his privacy and we ask that his friends and admirers respect that privacy as well as that of his family," Juan Thompson said in a statement released to the Aspen Daily News.
Pitkin County Sheriff officials confirmed to The Associated Press that Thompson had died Sunday night of an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound. Thompson's wife, Anita, was not home at the time.
Besides the 1972 drug-hazed classic about Thompson's visit to Las Vegas, he also wrote "Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail '72." The central character in those wild, sprawling satires was "Dr. Thompson," a snarling, drug- and alcohol-crazed observer and participant.
Thompson is credited with helping to pioneer New Journalism - or, as he dubbed it, "gonzo journalism" - in which the writer made himself an essential component of the story. Much of his earliest work appeared in Rolling Stone magazine.
"Fiction is based on reality unless you're a fairy-tale artist," Thompson told the AP in 2003. "You have to get your knowledge of life from somewhere. You have to know the material you're writing about before you alter it."
An acute observer of the decadence and depravity in American life, Thompson also wrote such collections as "Generation of Swine" and "Songs of the Doomed." His first ever novel, "The Rum Diary," written in 1959, was first published in 1998.
Talk About It
· Chat | Post Messages
Thompson was a counterculture icon at the height of the Watergate era, and once said Richard Nixon represented "that dark, venal, and incurably violent side of the American character."
Thompson also was the model for Garry Trudeau's balding "Uncle Duke" in the comic strip "Doonesbury" and was portrayed on screen by Johnny Depp in a film adaptation of "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas."
Other books include "The Great Shark Hunt," "Hell's Angels" and "The Proud Highway." His most recent effort was "Hey Rube: Blood Sport, the Bush Doctrine, and the Downward Spiral of Dumbness."
"He may have died relatively young but he made up for it in quality if not quantity of years," Paul Krassner, the veteran radical journalist and one of Thompson's former editors, told The Associated Press by phone from his Southern California home.
"It was hard to say sometimes whether he was being provocative for its own sake or if he was just being drunk and stoned and irresponsible," quipped Krassner, founder of the leftist publication The Realist and co-founder of the Youth International (YIPPIE) party.
"But every editor that I know, myself included, was willing to accept a certain prima donna journalism in the demands he would make to cover a particular story," he said. "They were willing to risk all of his irresponsible behavior in order to share his talent with their readers."
The writer's compound in Woody Creek, not far from Aspen, was almost as legendary as Thompson. He prized peacocks and weapons; in 2000, he accidentally shot and slightly wounded his assistant, Deborah Fuller, trying to chase a bear off his property.
Born July 18, 1937, in Kentucky, Hunter Stocton Thompson served two years in the Air Force, where he was a newspaper sports editor. He later became a proud member of the National Rifle Association and almost was elected sheriff in Aspen in 1970 under the Freak Power Party banner.
Thompson's heyday came in the 1970s, when his larger-than-life persona was gobbled up by magazines. His pieces were of legendary length and so was his appetite for adventure and trouble; his purported fights with Rolling Stone editor Jann Wenner were rumored in many cases to hinge on expense accounts for stories that didn't materialize.
It was the content that raised eyebrows and tempers. His book on the 1972 presidential campaign involving, among others, Edmund Muskie, Hubert Humphrey and Nixon was famous for its scathing opinion.
Working for Muskie, Thompson wrote, "was something like being locked in a rolling box car with a vicious 200-pound water rat." Nixon and his "Barbie doll" family were "America's answer to the monstrous Mr. Hyde. He speaks for the werewolf in us."
Humphrey? Of him, Thompson wrote: "There is no way to grasp what a shallow, contemptible and hopelessly dishonest old hack Hubert Humphrey is until you've followed him around for a while."
The approach won him praise among the masses as well as critical acclaim. Writing in The New York Times in 1973, Christopher Lehmann-Haupt worried Thompson might someday "lapse into good taste."
"That would be a shame, for while he doesn't see America as Grandma Moses depicted it, or the way they painted it for us in civics class, he does in his own mad way betray a profound democratic concern for the polity," he wrote. "And in its own mad way, it's damned refreshing."
Pioneer Author, Journalist Thompson Dies at 67
By CATHERINE TSAI, AP
ASPEN, Colo. (Feb. 20) - Hunter S. Thompson, the acerbic counterculture writer who popularized a new form of fictional journalism in books like "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," fatally shot himself at his Aspen-area home, his son said. He was 67.
KRT
Hunter S. Thompson, who was 67 at the time of his death, earned notoriety for being the first "Gonzo" journalist.
"Hunter prized his privacy and we ask that his friends and admirers respect that privacy as well as that of his family," Juan Thompson said in a statement released to the Aspen Daily News.
Pitkin County Sheriff officials confirmed to The Associated Press that Thompson had died Sunday night of an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound. Thompson's wife, Anita, was not home at the time.
Besides the 1972 drug-hazed classic about Thompson's visit to Las Vegas, he also wrote "Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail '72." The central character in those wild, sprawling satires was "Dr. Thompson," a snarling, drug- and alcohol-crazed observer and participant.
Thompson is credited with helping to pioneer New Journalism - or, as he dubbed it, "gonzo journalism" - in which the writer made himself an essential component of the story. Much of his earliest work appeared in Rolling Stone magazine.
"Fiction is based on reality unless you're a fairy-tale artist," Thompson told the AP in 2003. "You have to get your knowledge of life from somewhere. You have to know the material you're writing about before you alter it."
An acute observer of the decadence and depravity in American life, Thompson also wrote such collections as "Generation of Swine" and "Songs of the Doomed." His first ever novel, "The Rum Diary," written in 1959, was first published in 1998.
Talk About It
· Chat | Post Messages
Thompson was a counterculture icon at the height of the Watergate era, and once said Richard Nixon represented "that dark, venal, and incurably violent side of the American character."
Thompson also was the model for Garry Trudeau's balding "Uncle Duke" in the comic strip "Doonesbury" and was portrayed on screen by Johnny Depp in a film adaptation of "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas."
Other books include "The Great Shark Hunt," "Hell's Angels" and "The Proud Highway." His most recent effort was "Hey Rube: Blood Sport, the Bush Doctrine, and the Downward Spiral of Dumbness."
"He may have died relatively young but he made up for it in quality if not quantity of years," Paul Krassner, the veteran radical journalist and one of Thompson's former editors, told The Associated Press by phone from his Southern California home.
"It was hard to say sometimes whether he was being provocative for its own sake or if he was just being drunk and stoned and irresponsible," quipped Krassner, founder of the leftist publication The Realist and co-founder of the Youth International (YIPPIE) party.
"But every editor that I know, myself included, was willing to accept a certain prima donna journalism in the demands he would make to cover a particular story," he said. "They were willing to risk all of his irresponsible behavior in order to share his talent with their readers."
The writer's compound in Woody Creek, not far from Aspen, was almost as legendary as Thompson. He prized peacocks and weapons; in 2000, he accidentally shot and slightly wounded his assistant, Deborah Fuller, trying to chase a bear off his property.
Born July 18, 1937, in Kentucky, Hunter Stocton Thompson served two years in the Air Force, where he was a newspaper sports editor. He later became a proud member of the National Rifle Association and almost was elected sheriff in Aspen in 1970 under the Freak Power Party banner.
Thompson's heyday came in the 1970s, when his larger-than-life persona was gobbled up by magazines. His pieces were of legendary length and so was his appetite for adventure and trouble; his purported fights with Rolling Stone editor Jann Wenner were rumored in many cases to hinge on expense accounts for stories that didn't materialize.
It was the content that raised eyebrows and tempers. His book on the 1972 presidential campaign involving, among others, Edmund Muskie, Hubert Humphrey and Nixon was famous for its scathing opinion.
Working for Muskie, Thompson wrote, "was something like being locked in a rolling box car with a vicious 200-pound water rat." Nixon and his "Barbie doll" family were "America's answer to the monstrous Mr. Hyde. He speaks for the werewolf in us."
Humphrey? Of him, Thompson wrote: "There is no way to grasp what a shallow, contemptible and hopelessly dishonest old hack Hubert Humphrey is until you've followed him around for a while."
The approach won him praise among the masses as well as critical acclaim. Writing in The New York Times in 1973, Christopher Lehmann-Haupt worried Thompson might someday "lapse into good taste."
"That would be a shame, for while he doesn't see America as Grandma Moses depicted it, or the way they painted it for us in civics class, he does in his own mad way betray a profound democratic concern for the polity," he wrote. "And in its own mad way, it's damned refreshing."
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Missing ‘IT’ or Prudes Should Look Away.
I have been missing sex—really missing sex. It’s been about 9 months people—this does not include the blackout sex with the neighbor because I have no memory at all of it—9 months. How did it get to be so long?
Well—Chance is why. (That and working the nightshift.) When I am hearting a guy (not crushing on because this is NOT Sweet Valley High) I tend to go all chaste—I’m saving myself for them in a weird way. I don’t know how I learned this behavior but it is how I operate. I think this is a good thing, the only sign that I have a romantic side at all—to eschew cheap sex for the possibility of making love. We all know how that turned out.
So it’s been awhile. And the other night, it just hit me. Not horniness because that is fleeting and can be ‘hand’led. I just have been having the urge to throw down with someone, just be animalistic and base with another person. So much so that it has shut down my ability to be social. Ruby and Kirby had a ringside seat to this the other night, me just being driven to distraction by (and leering at) a hot Colin Ferrall look-a-like. (I just lost my ability to speak and spent a good 15 minutes imagining me tearing off his little v-neck t-shirt and doing things that Prince would sing about. Really distracted.)
I was accused of being a sex addict, which amused me to all end because I know I’m not. I like it, I find it amusing, and it’s something that I am good at but it does not run my life. It doesn’t give me something that I can’t get elsewhere or need but is just fun.
For some people sex is an answer—it can be a validation of one’s looks, or it can be a sport to see who and how much you can get, for others it can a distraction from life. There are others for whom sex is the big elephant in the room—something not to be talked about or thought about. It’s always making love with the ‘right’ person. I wonder about those people.
I guess I’ve always believed that there are 3 things that make us different than animals—manners, morality, and monogamy. And there is definitely a place for each of them but sometimes you just have to get back to basics. This doesn’t mean I don’t ‘make love’ because I definitely do but there are times when I can’t or don’t.
I guess the difference between the two (for me) is quite simple. Making love is all about the connection with the other person—it’s about the eyes and the lips and the relationship that the couple shares. Sex is all about instinct and natural tendencies—about being 2 hot-blooded mammals craving release. And while you can have sex with someone that you would normally ‘make love’ with—it shouldn’t be the other way. That’s how one night stands and fuck buddies can lead to heartaches.
I guess I just enjoy the challenge of figuring out what turns someone on, getting to the edge of my primitive side, seeing how I can go. It’s not really about me or my money shot but about them and seeing how far they lose themselves. I enjoy being the architect of someone else’s orgasm.
And right now I am missing that edge, that challenge. Lord help the men of Los Angeles.
I have been missing sex—really missing sex. It’s been about 9 months people—this does not include the blackout sex with the neighbor because I have no memory at all of it—9 months. How did it get to be so long?
Well—Chance is why. (That and working the nightshift.) When I am hearting a guy (not crushing on because this is NOT Sweet Valley High) I tend to go all chaste—I’m saving myself for them in a weird way. I don’t know how I learned this behavior but it is how I operate. I think this is a good thing, the only sign that I have a romantic side at all—to eschew cheap sex for the possibility of making love. We all know how that turned out.
So it’s been awhile. And the other night, it just hit me. Not horniness because that is fleeting and can be ‘hand’led. I just have been having the urge to throw down with someone, just be animalistic and base with another person. So much so that it has shut down my ability to be social. Ruby and Kirby had a ringside seat to this the other night, me just being driven to distraction by (and leering at) a hot Colin Ferrall look-a-like. (I just lost my ability to speak and spent a good 15 minutes imagining me tearing off his little v-neck t-shirt and doing things that Prince would sing about. Really distracted.)
I was accused of being a sex addict, which amused me to all end because I know I’m not. I like it, I find it amusing, and it’s something that I am good at but it does not run my life. It doesn’t give me something that I can’t get elsewhere or need but is just fun.
For some people sex is an answer—it can be a validation of one’s looks, or it can be a sport to see who and how much you can get, for others it can a distraction from life. There are others for whom sex is the big elephant in the room—something not to be talked about or thought about. It’s always making love with the ‘right’ person. I wonder about those people.
I guess I’ve always believed that there are 3 things that make us different than animals—manners, morality, and monogamy. And there is definitely a place for each of them but sometimes you just have to get back to basics. This doesn’t mean I don’t ‘make love’ because I definitely do but there are times when I can’t or don’t.
I guess the difference between the two (for me) is quite simple. Making love is all about the connection with the other person—it’s about the eyes and the lips and the relationship that the couple shares. Sex is all about instinct and natural tendencies—about being 2 hot-blooded mammals craving release. And while you can have sex with someone that you would normally ‘make love’ with—it shouldn’t be the other way. That’s how one night stands and fuck buddies can lead to heartaches.
I guess I just enjoy the challenge of figuring out what turns someone on, getting to the edge of my primitive side, seeing how I can go. It’s not really about me or my money shot but about them and seeing how far they lose themselves. I enjoy being the architect of someone else’s orgasm.
And right now I am missing that edge, that challenge. Lord help the men of Los Angeles.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
This Makes Me Sad
BERLIN (Feb. 16) - Singer George Michael said farewell to the world of pop music on Wednesday, using a candid documentary about his life to put the record straight before he "disappeared."
He also declared the genre that brought him fame and riches, as well as unwanted media attention, was dead.
"That genre is just dead as far as I am concerned," he told Reuters in an interview after the premiere of his documentary at the Berlin Film Festival.
"George Michael: A Different Story" traces a rags-to-riches journey that made Michael one of the biggest selling artists of the 1980s and 1990s but which was not without tragedy along the way.
"I just thought it was very important to explain myself before I disappear," the 41-year-old said. "I truly believe that there's a life for me that is not this one."
When asked what he would do next, he replied:
"Perhaps it will mean writing for other people. I have an ambition to write a truly contemporary musical, not necessarily even for the stage, but for the screen ... I have got to find ways to make music and enjoy it the way I used to."
Michael railed against the advent of manufactured bands and the music world's obsession with celebrity, explaining that he was not interested in competing with the likes of British musicians Robbie Williams or Will Young.
"Nobody want to hear about politics, or any kind of strong ideas in pop any more."
In the 100-minute film, he speaks frankly about losing a lover to AIDS and the death of his mother, of the infamous lewd act in a Beverly Hills toilet and the media fury over his anti-Iraq war stance.
CELEBRITY LIFE "UNBEARABLE"
The documentary is fascinating as much for its insight into life as a celebrity as it is for revealing some of the truth about the notoriously publicity-shy star.
"That genre is just dead as far as I am concerned."
-George Michael on Pop
"It's never suited me very well, the business of media and celebrity," Michael said. "Now I just find it unbearable."
His meteoric rise to superstardom, first with Wham! and then as a solo artist, was complicated by the fact that he was gay while widely believed to be straight.
"I thought, 'Oh my God, I'm a massive star and I think I may be a poof. This is not going to end well'," he said in the film.
Michael eventually outed himself after being charged with lewd behavior in a toilet in 1998, although he lost Brazilian boyfriend Anselmo Feleppa to an AIDS-related condition in 1993.
"I remember looking at the sky and saying: 'Don't do this to me'," Michael said, referring to the moment when Feleppa told him he was going for medical tests.
Ballads like "Careless Whisper" and "Faith" have propelled Michael to the pinnacle of the music world.
He has sold more than 70 million records, and his 1987 album "Faith" yielded six number one singles in the key American market. He has amassed a personal fortune estimated at 80 million pounds ($150 million).
But he has also had fallow years, such as when he fought a losing legal battle against his record label in the early 1990s.
He came roaring back in 1994, performing the acclaimed "Jesus to a Child" single under Berlin's Brandenburg Gate.
Elton John appears in the film and repeats his criticism of Michael that a decision not to tour was a waste of his talent.
"I find him very frustrating," said John.
John also takes a swipe at Michael's reluctance to tell the world that he was gay.
"To be busted in the toilet is not the best way to come out of the closet, is it?" John asked.
Michael said he never thought the incident would destroy his career, but he was "floored" by the media backlash triggered by his opposition to the war in Iraq.
The video for "Shoot the Dog" features cartoon figures of President Bush in bed with British Prime Minister Tony Blair and his wife.
BERLIN (Feb. 16) - Singer George Michael said farewell to the world of pop music on Wednesday, using a candid documentary about his life to put the record straight before he "disappeared."
He also declared the genre that brought him fame and riches, as well as unwanted media attention, was dead.
"That genre is just dead as far as I am concerned," he told Reuters in an interview after the premiere of his documentary at the Berlin Film Festival.
"George Michael: A Different Story" traces a rags-to-riches journey that made Michael one of the biggest selling artists of the 1980s and 1990s but which was not without tragedy along the way.
"I just thought it was very important to explain myself before I disappear," the 41-year-old said. "I truly believe that there's a life for me that is not this one."
When asked what he would do next, he replied:
"Perhaps it will mean writing for other people. I have an ambition to write a truly contemporary musical, not necessarily even for the stage, but for the screen ... I have got to find ways to make music and enjoy it the way I used to."
Michael railed against the advent of manufactured bands and the music world's obsession with celebrity, explaining that he was not interested in competing with the likes of British musicians Robbie Williams or Will Young.
"Nobody want to hear about politics, or any kind of strong ideas in pop any more."
In the 100-minute film, he speaks frankly about losing a lover to AIDS and the death of his mother, of the infamous lewd act in a Beverly Hills toilet and the media fury over his anti-Iraq war stance.
CELEBRITY LIFE "UNBEARABLE"
The documentary is fascinating as much for its insight into life as a celebrity as it is for revealing some of the truth about the notoriously publicity-shy star.
"That genre is just dead as far as I am concerned."
-George Michael on Pop
"It's never suited me very well, the business of media and celebrity," Michael said. "Now I just find it unbearable."
His meteoric rise to superstardom, first with Wham! and then as a solo artist, was complicated by the fact that he was gay while widely believed to be straight.
"I thought, 'Oh my God, I'm a massive star and I think I may be a poof. This is not going to end well'," he said in the film.
Michael eventually outed himself after being charged with lewd behavior in a toilet in 1998, although he lost Brazilian boyfriend Anselmo Feleppa to an AIDS-related condition in 1993.
"I remember looking at the sky and saying: 'Don't do this to me'," Michael said, referring to the moment when Feleppa told him he was going for medical tests.
Ballads like "Careless Whisper" and "Faith" have propelled Michael to the pinnacle of the music world.
He has sold more than 70 million records, and his 1987 album "Faith" yielded six number one singles in the key American market. He has amassed a personal fortune estimated at 80 million pounds ($150 million).
But he has also had fallow years, such as when he fought a losing legal battle against his record label in the early 1990s.
He came roaring back in 1994, performing the acclaimed "Jesus to a Child" single under Berlin's Brandenburg Gate.
Elton John appears in the film and repeats his criticism of Michael that a decision not to tour was a waste of his talent.
"I find him very frustrating," said John.
John also takes a swipe at Michael's reluctance to tell the world that he was gay.
"To be busted in the toilet is not the best way to come out of the closet, is it?" John asked.
Michael said he never thought the incident would destroy his career, but he was "floored" by the media backlash triggered by his opposition to the war in Iraq.
The video for "Shoot the Dog" features cartoon figures of President Bush in bed with British Prime Minister Tony Blair and his wife.
Open Mics and other Drive Bys.
So I have a secret. For the last weeks, I have been sneaking down to Hollywood on Wednesdays to Karma Café for Open Mic nights. I don’t know why I haven’t been open about these trips. There is nothing wrong with any of this. It just feels personal.
Karma Café has become a weird place for me—a combination of Valley comfort and Hollywood creativity. I first found Karma Café via Chloe during my Lido visits, a place for chi tea and a romantic debate. It became more important when Lucy came to visit and we shared multiple smokes and conversations at the outside tables. It helps that I have seen various cute guys there.
It became more important after Ruby decided to stage several 24-hour theater nights there. Suddenly it was a spot of PADWAD achievement, a place that proved how much we could accomplish. It is the wild twin to Aroma Café—dangerous and sexy, not too scene.
It became a place that I found very comfortable. And in to the mix an open mic night and suddenly Karma Café became even more important. And it’s not just fond remembrance of Chloe and Lucy or an artistic arena but a place that draws me in. I’m not sure what it means yet.
Open mics are not something I am very fond of. A good night of open mic can be amazing—an artist can touch me in ways that are impossible to find words for. The uniqueness of a voice or imagery and I can be inspired for weeks on end. But when it is bad—it’s like a drive by that one is forced to smile at.
And I don’t know why I am drawn to the open mic. I haven’t written poetry in years and yet I feel like I am gearing to take to the stage. Poetry has never been my strong suit, something I haven’t done in years but here I am. Maybe this is just something that I need to do just to get it out of my system. What’s the worst that can happen?
So I have a secret. For the last weeks, I have been sneaking down to Hollywood on Wednesdays to Karma Café for Open Mic nights. I don’t know why I haven’t been open about these trips. There is nothing wrong with any of this. It just feels personal.
Karma Café has become a weird place for me—a combination of Valley comfort and Hollywood creativity. I first found Karma Café via Chloe during my Lido visits, a place for chi tea and a romantic debate. It became more important when Lucy came to visit and we shared multiple smokes and conversations at the outside tables. It helps that I have seen various cute guys there.
It became more important after Ruby decided to stage several 24-hour theater nights there. Suddenly it was a spot of PADWAD achievement, a place that proved how much we could accomplish. It is the wild twin to Aroma Café—dangerous and sexy, not too scene.
It became a place that I found very comfortable. And in to the mix an open mic night and suddenly Karma Café became even more important. And it’s not just fond remembrance of Chloe and Lucy or an artistic arena but a place that draws me in. I’m not sure what it means yet.
Open mics are not something I am very fond of. A good night of open mic can be amazing—an artist can touch me in ways that are impossible to find words for. The uniqueness of a voice or imagery and I can be inspired for weeks on end. But when it is bad—it’s like a drive by that one is forced to smile at.
And I don’t know why I am drawn to the open mic. I haven’t written poetry in years and yet I feel like I am gearing to take to the stage. Poetry has never been my strong suit, something I haven’t done in years but here I am. Maybe this is just something that I need to do just to get it out of my system. What’s the worst that can happen?
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
32.59 on Porn—Or Karma
I had one of those weird days. I went in for a job interview—but only to help out a friend. Morey from BB needed a logger to fill in for a couple of days and so, in the interest of good karma, I decided to fill him for him. The only thing that was weird was that they really wanted to meet me and interview for what is about 2 days worth of work. I felt kind of put out by.
Nonetheless I went just because. And everything went fine—I’m working for 3 days and they are screwing me on money but it is cool to get some karma for later with Morey. It should be fun and easy and a way to meet more people. That and there is a chance that they may need me back in March. Whatever.
But before I left Mrs. Garrett asked me to do a favor for her. She is working on a student him and they need a prop and she asked if I could pick it up. She gave me a list of magazines and asked if I could pick them up from the newsstand on Laurel Canyon. I said it wouldn’t be a problem because Mrs. G seemed a little stressed and so on. Little did I know.
As I walked in the newsstand post interview, the place was packed. I was annoyed because I just wanted to get home to my fried rice. (Carbs are back people!) I pulled out my list and looked it over—to my surprise it was porn. Straight porn. Not mainstream straight porn either.
So I tried to push through—though it seemed every man under the age of 80 was on lunch and looking at porn. As I tried to find the requested titles, I could feel myself a little queasy. There is something about reaching around men old enough to my grandfather to grab ‘Barely Legal’ that just freaks me out. For all my blasé attitudes, my worldliness, the idea of buying porn still freaks me out. I always have the image in my head of my mother magically showing up and catching me.
This is irrational fear. My mother is on the East Coast, she’s a free spirit who would applaud porn but not as a feminist even though it would normally be men being exploited. That and I was buying straight porn which would be probably shock her back to my pre-gay days so… The fear was worthless.
However it didn’t stop me from feeling odd as I lugged back the porn—32.59 dollars worth. I imagined being hit by a car and my wallet being lost and they could only identify me by tracing the porn back to my credit card leaving my friends with the question—“why was he carrying ‘Barely Legal’?”
The best part was when Mrs. G. confessed that she asked me to buy the porn because she was to. And she thought that I was more than cool enough to do it for her. Little does she know, eh?
I had one of those weird days. I went in for a job interview—but only to help out a friend. Morey from BB needed a logger to fill in for a couple of days and so, in the interest of good karma, I decided to fill him for him. The only thing that was weird was that they really wanted to meet me and interview for what is about 2 days worth of work. I felt kind of put out by.
Nonetheless I went just because. And everything went fine—I’m working for 3 days and they are screwing me on money but it is cool to get some karma for later with Morey. It should be fun and easy and a way to meet more people. That and there is a chance that they may need me back in March. Whatever.
But before I left Mrs. Garrett asked me to do a favor for her. She is working on a student him and they need a prop and she asked if I could pick it up. She gave me a list of magazines and asked if I could pick them up from the newsstand on Laurel Canyon. I said it wouldn’t be a problem because Mrs. G seemed a little stressed and so on. Little did I know.
As I walked in the newsstand post interview, the place was packed. I was annoyed because I just wanted to get home to my fried rice. (Carbs are back people!) I pulled out my list and looked it over—to my surprise it was porn. Straight porn. Not mainstream straight porn either.
So I tried to push through—though it seemed every man under the age of 80 was on lunch and looking at porn. As I tried to find the requested titles, I could feel myself a little queasy. There is something about reaching around men old enough to my grandfather to grab ‘Barely Legal’ that just freaks me out. For all my blasé attitudes, my worldliness, the idea of buying porn still freaks me out. I always have the image in my head of my mother magically showing up and catching me.
This is irrational fear. My mother is on the East Coast, she’s a free spirit who would applaud porn but not as a feminist even though it would normally be men being exploited. That and I was buying straight porn which would be probably shock her back to my pre-gay days so… The fear was worthless.
However it didn’t stop me from feeling odd as I lugged back the porn—32.59 dollars worth. I imagined being hit by a car and my wallet being lost and they could only identify me by tracing the porn back to my credit card leaving my friends with the question—“why was he carrying ‘Barely Legal’?”
The best part was when Mrs. G. confessed that she asked me to buy the porn because she was to. And she thought that I was more than cool enough to do it for her. Little does she know, eh?
Monday, February 14, 2005
Today is SAD--Singles Awareness Day!!!
As such I have decided to repost a past piece on the subject.
Confessionsof a GAP
Being A “Single”.
By Rory Lapointe
Being A “Single”.
Started out as an ordinary Saturday night—informal party, cute outfit, light drinking. All the usual suspects were there and we were doing our normal thing. Davis and I were on the porch, taking a smoke break and talking about some girls he had just met. We laughing as he explained how he isn’t really looking for much. I warned him to be careful about that and he talked about how he wanted to meet a single girl.
I laughed at the sentiment and cracked some joke about open relationships and Davis just shook his head. He explained how I was just like him—“a single”. At first I took offense, did it mean that I was somebody who is just a loner? Somebody better off without a relationship?
Davis realized what he had started and how I might take it. He assured me that it wasn’t a dig but that I was just a different type of person like him, like Valeska. I wondered what made us different than most of our single friends. They’re normal people, just looking for love, for someone to share things with. I guess what makes us “singles” is a difference in how we do dating. A single doesn’t look at a girl’s phone number as an unclaimed lottery prize or expect the guy they met at the bar to call the next morning. We don’t spend days imagining Sunday mornings lounging in bed after one date at Vitello’s. And we never let them make us dinner or meet their friends till after we have gotten to know each other—which always takes longer than three dates.
We have learned to go out for drinks and not scan the bar for Mister Right, that a Friday spent with a bottle of wine and a good book can be the best thing in the whole wide world. We go to clubs because we like to dance, to parties to be with our friends and can handle coffee for one at a nice café. We know that being alone sometimes isn’t the worst fate in the world.
It’s not that we don’t want a relationship, love, someone to curl up next to at night—it’s just that we are willing to take our time to be sure that‘s real and not just taking the first available person. We’re not stoic or cold or jaded, but that we can see the difference between wanting and needing a relationship. And that one is much worse than the other.
But the best part is that we’re fine either way. We don’t waste time asking, “why didn’t he?” or “why aren’t I?” but know that when the time is right then it will happen. We don’t expect Prince Charming to be standing at our door some random day nor to find him after one movie and a couple of cocktails. We don’t notice the wait because we’re too busy living our lives to be lonely.
I guess at the end of the day, that’s the ultimate difference between being single and being a “single”; we know the difference between being lonely and alone. Being single is going on the porch for a smoke break and hoping “he” joins you while being a “single” is taking a smoke break, looking at the stars and enjoying the view.
As such I have decided to repost a past piece on the subject.
Confessionsof a GAP
Being A “Single”.
By Rory Lapointe
Being A “Single”.
Started out as an ordinary Saturday night—informal party, cute outfit, light drinking. All the usual suspects were there and we were doing our normal thing. Davis and I were on the porch, taking a smoke break and talking about some girls he had just met. We laughing as he explained how he isn’t really looking for much. I warned him to be careful about that and he talked about how he wanted to meet a single girl.
I laughed at the sentiment and cracked some joke about open relationships and Davis just shook his head. He explained how I was just like him—“a single”. At first I took offense, did it mean that I was somebody who is just a loner? Somebody better off without a relationship?
Davis realized what he had started and how I might take it. He assured me that it wasn’t a dig but that I was just a different type of person like him, like Valeska. I wondered what made us different than most of our single friends. They’re normal people, just looking for love, for someone to share things with. I guess what makes us “singles” is a difference in how we do dating. A single doesn’t look at a girl’s phone number as an unclaimed lottery prize or expect the guy they met at the bar to call the next morning. We don’t spend days imagining Sunday mornings lounging in bed after one date at Vitello’s. And we never let them make us dinner or meet their friends till after we have gotten to know each other—which always takes longer than three dates.
We have learned to go out for drinks and not scan the bar for Mister Right, that a Friday spent with a bottle of wine and a good book can be the best thing in the whole wide world. We go to clubs because we like to dance, to parties to be with our friends and can handle coffee for one at a nice café. We know that being alone sometimes isn’t the worst fate in the world.
It’s not that we don’t want a relationship, love, someone to curl up next to at night—it’s just that we are willing to take our time to be sure that‘s real and not just taking the first available person. We’re not stoic or cold or jaded, but that we can see the difference between wanting and needing a relationship. And that one is much worse than the other.
But the best part is that we’re fine either way. We don’t waste time asking, “why didn’t he?” or “why aren’t I?” but know that when the time is right then it will happen. We don’t expect Prince Charming to be standing at our door some random day nor to find him after one movie and a couple of cocktails. We don’t notice the wait because we’re too busy living our lives to be lonely.
I guess at the end of the day, that’s the ultimate difference between being single and being a “single”; we know the difference between being lonely and alone. Being single is going on the porch for a smoke break and hoping “he” joins you while being a “single” is taking a smoke break, looking at the stars and enjoying the view.
Stars on Love--Just in time for V.D.!!!
Women might be able to fake orgasms. But men can fake whole relationships."
-- Sharon Stone
"My girlfriend always laughs during sex---no matter what she's reading."
-- Steve Jobs (Founder: Apple Computers)
"I saw a woman wearing a sweatshirt with "Guess" on it. I said, "Thyroid problem?"
-- Arnold Schwarzenegger
"Hockey is a sport for white men. Basketball is a sport for black men. Golf is a sport for white men dressed like black pimps."
-- Tiger Woods
"My mother never saw the irony in calling me a son-of-a-bitch."
-- Jack Nicholson
"Clinton lied. A man might forget where he parks or where he lives, but he never forgets oral sex, no matter how bad it is."
- Barbara Bush (Former US First Lady, and you didn't think Barbara had a sense of humor)
"Ah, yes, divorce, from the Latin word meaning to rip out a man's genitals through his wallet."
-- Robin Williams
"Women complain about premenstrual syndrome, but I think of it as the only time of the month that I can be myself."
-- Roseanne
"Women need a reason to have sex. Men just need a place."
-- Billy Crystal
"According to a new survey, women say they feel more comfortable undressing in front of men than they do undressing in front of other women. They say that women are too judgmental, where, of course, men are just grateful."
-- Robert DE Niro
"There's a new medical crisis. Doctors are reporting that many men are having allergic reactions to latex condoms. They say they cause severe swelling. So what's the problem?"
-- Dustin Hoffman
"There's very little advice in men's magazines, because men think, I know what I'm doing. Just show me somebody naked."
-- Jerry Seinfeld
"Instead of getting married again, I'm going to find a woman I don't like and just give her a house."
-- Rod Stewart
"See, the problem is that God gives men a brain and a penis, and only enough blood to run one at a time."
-- Robin Williams.
Women might be able to fake orgasms. But men can fake whole relationships."
-- Sharon Stone
"My girlfriend always laughs during sex---no matter what she's reading."
-- Steve Jobs (Founder: Apple Computers)
"I saw a woman wearing a sweatshirt with "Guess" on it. I said, "Thyroid problem?"
-- Arnold Schwarzenegger
"Hockey is a sport for white men. Basketball is a sport for black men. Golf is a sport for white men dressed like black pimps."
-- Tiger Woods
"My mother never saw the irony in calling me a son-of-a-bitch."
-- Jack Nicholson
"Clinton lied. A man might forget where he parks or where he lives, but he never forgets oral sex, no matter how bad it is."
- Barbara Bush (Former US First Lady, and you didn't think Barbara had a sense of humor)
"Ah, yes, divorce, from the Latin word meaning to rip out a man's genitals through his wallet."
-- Robin Williams
"Women complain about premenstrual syndrome, but I think of it as the only time of the month that I can be myself."
-- Roseanne
"Women need a reason to have sex. Men just need a place."
-- Billy Crystal
"According to a new survey, women say they feel more comfortable undressing in front of men than they do undressing in front of other women. They say that women are too judgmental, where, of course, men are just grateful."
-- Robert DE Niro
"There's a new medical crisis. Doctors are reporting that many men are having allergic reactions to latex condoms. They say they cause severe swelling. So what's the problem?"
-- Dustin Hoffman
"There's very little advice in men's magazines, because men think, I know what I'm doing. Just show me somebody naked."
-- Jerry Seinfeld
"Instead of getting married again, I'm going to find a woman I don't like and just give her a house."
-- Rod Stewart
"See, the problem is that God gives men a brain and a penis, and only enough blood to run one at a time."
-- Robin Williams.
Sunday, February 13, 2005
Hey NHL--You're Not Football!!!
Oaky--so the NHL is going to cancel the season due to labor disputes. Meaning the players want more money and no salary caps to interfer even though the cost for most teams is so overwhelmingly huge that a single bad season can close down a whole franchise financially.
NHL, you are not as popular as football, you don't drag in the same profits. You have a hardcore fan base that, when pissed off, might not come back when you decide to hit the ice thus making the profit margin even worse and just creating more problems.
The truth is---I just want to kick both sides of the dispute in the nuts. That would really make me feel better.
Oaky--so the NHL is going to cancel the season due to labor disputes. Meaning the players want more money and no salary caps to interfer even though the cost for most teams is so overwhelmingly huge that a single bad season can close down a whole franchise financially.
NHL, you are not as popular as football, you don't drag in the same profits. You have a hardcore fan base that, when pissed off, might not come back when you decide to hit the ice thus making the profit margin even worse and just creating more problems.
The truth is---I just want to kick both sides of the dispute in the nuts. That would really make me feel better.
Friday, February 11, 2005
This Makes Me Sad--I Love His Work
ROXBURY, Conn. (Feb. 11) - Arthur Miller, the Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright whose most famous fictional creation, Willy Loman in ''Death of a Salesman,'' came to symbolize the American Dream gone awry, has died. He was 89.
Miller, who had been hailed as America's greatest living playwright, died Thursday night at his home in Roxbury of heart failure, his assistant, Julia Bolus, said Friday. His family was at his bedside, she said.
His plays, with their strong emphasis on family, morality and personal responsibility, spoke to the growing fragmentation of American society.
''A lot of my work goes to the center of where we belong - if there is any root to life - because nowadays the family is broken up, and people don't live in the same place for very long,'' Miller said in a 1988 interview.
''Dislocation, maybe, is part of our uneasiness. It implants the feeling that nothing is really permanent.''
Miller's career was marked by early success. He was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for ''Death of a Salesman'' in 1949, when he was just 33 years old.
His marriage to Marilyn Monroe in 1956 further catapulted the playwright to fame, though that was publicity he said he never pursued.
In a 1992 interview with a French newspaper, he called her ''highly self-destructive'' and said that during their marriage, ''all my energy and attention were devoted to trying to help her solve her problems. Unfortunately, I didn't have much success.''
''Death of a Salesman,'' which took Miller only six weeks to write, earned rave reviews when it opened on Broadway in February 1949, directed by Elia Kazan.
The story of Willy Loman, a man destroyed by his own stubborn belief in the glory of American capitalism and the redemptive power of success, was made into a movie and staged all over the world.
Arthur Miller's Life
''I couldn't have predicted that a work like 'Death of a Salesman' would take on the proportions it has,'' Miller said in 1988. ''Originally, it was a literal play about a literal salesman, but it has become a bit of a myth, not only here but in many other parts of the world.''
In 1999, 50 years after it won the Tony Award as best play, ''Death of a Salesman'' won the Tony for best revival of the Broadway season. The show also won the top acting prize for Brian Dennehy, who played Loman.
Miller, then 83, received a lifetime achievement award.
''Just being around to receive it is a pleasure,'' he joked to the audience during the awards ceremony.
Miller won the New York Drama Critics' Circle's best play award twice in the 1940s, for ''All My Sons'' in 1947 and for ''Death of a Salesman.'' In 1953, he received a Tony Award for ''The Crucible,'' a play about mass hysteria during the Salem witch trials that was inspired by the repressive political environment of McCarthyism.
That play, still read by thousands of American high-school students each year, is Miller's most frequently performed work.
Miller and Monroe divorced after five years and in 1962 he married his third wife, photographer Inge Morath. That same year, Monroe committed suicide. Miller wrote the screenplay for the Monroe film ''The Misfits,'' which came out in 1960, and reflected on their relationship in his 1963 play ''After the Fall.''
Reminiscing about Monroe in his 1987 autobiography, ''Timebends: A Life,'' Miller lamented that she was rarely taken seriously as anything but a sex symbol.
''To have survived, she would have had to be either more cynical or even further from reality than she was,'' he wrote. ''Instead, she was a poet on a street corner trying to recite to a crowd pulling at her clothes.''
Miller's success, so overwhelming in the 1940s and '50s, seemed to be on the wane during the next two decades. But the 1980s brought a renewal of interest, beginning with a Broadway revival of ''Death of a Salesman'' starring Dustin Hoffman in 1984.
Enthusiasm for Miller's work was particularly strong in England, which marked his 75th birthday in 1990 with four major productions of his plays.
Miller also directed a Chinese production of ''Death of a Salesman'' at the Beijing Peoples' Art Theatre in 1983.
Those who saw the Beijing production may not have identified with Loman's career, Miller wrote, but they shared his desire, ''which was to excel, to win out over anonymity and meaninglessness, to love and be loved, and above all, perhaps, to count.''
In his later years, Miller became increasingly disillusioned with Broadway, and in 1991 he premiered a new play, ''The Ride Down Mt. Morgan,'' in London - the first time he had opened a play outside of the United States.
Miller said at the time he opted for the London opening to avoid the ''dark defeatism'' of the New York theater scene.
''There is an open terror of the critics (in New York) and of losing fortunes of money,'' Miller said in an interview that year. ''I have always hated that myself. All in all, it seemed like we ought to do the play in London.''
He returned to Broadway in 1994 with ''Broken Glass,'' a drama about a dysfunctional family that won respectful reviews and a Tony nomination, but no big audiences. In London, it won an Olivier award as best play.
Even in his later years, Miller continued to write.
Arthur Miller at a Glance
· 1936: First play, 'Honors at Dawn,' produced at the Univ. of Michigan.
· 1949: 'Death of a Salesman' wins the Pulitzer Prize and three Tony Awards.
· 1953: 'The Crucible' opens on Broadway
· 1956: Marries Marilyn Monroe. It was his second marriage. They were divorced in 1961.
''It is what I do,'' he said in a 1996 interview with The Associated Press.
''It is my art. I am better at it than I ever was. And I will do it as long as I can. When you reach a certain age you can slough off what is unnecessary and concentrate on what is. And why not?''
''Resurrection Blues'' had its world premiere at the Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis in the summer of 2002 when Miller was 86. Set in an unnamed banana republic, the satire dealt with the possible televised execution of a revolutionary.
In recent years New York even rediscovered Miller's first Broadway play, ''The Man Who Had All the Luck,'' which was a four-performance flop in 1944, but had a successful revival, starring Chris O'Donnell, nearly six decades later.
Last October, another new play, ''Finishing the Picture,'' premiered at the Goodman Theatre in Chicago. It was based on an episode of his marriage to Monroe.
In accepting his lifetime achievement award at the 1999 Tony awards ceremony, Miller lamented that Broadway had become too narrow.
''I hope that a new dimension and fresh resolve will inspire the powers that be to welcome fiercely ambitious playwrights,'' Miller said. ''And that the time will come again when they will find a welcome for their big, world-challenging plays, somewhere west of London and somewhere east of the Hudson River.''
He was born Oct. 17, 1915, Miller was one of three children in a middle-class Jewish family. His father, a manufacturer of women's coats, was hard hit by the Depression in the 1930s, and could not afford to send Miller to college when the time came.
Miller worked as a loader and shipping clerk at a New York warehouse to earn tuition money and eventually attended the University of Michigan, where he earned a bachelor's degree in 1938.
He wrote his first plays in college, where they were awarded numerous prizes. He also published several novels and collections of short stories.
He wrote several screenplays, including ''The Misfits'' (1961), which became Monroe's last movie, and ''Playing for Time,'' (1981) a controversial television movie about the women's orchestra at Auschwitz.
He also wrote a number of books with Morath, mainly about their travels in Russia and China.
Miller had two children, Jane Ellen and Robert, by his first wife, Mary Slattery, and he and Morath had one daughter, Rebecca.
ROXBURY, Conn. (Feb. 11) - Arthur Miller, the Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright whose most famous fictional creation, Willy Loman in ''Death of a Salesman,'' came to symbolize the American Dream gone awry, has died. He was 89.
Miller, who had been hailed as America's greatest living playwright, died Thursday night at his home in Roxbury of heart failure, his assistant, Julia Bolus, said Friday. His family was at his bedside, she said.
His plays, with their strong emphasis on family, morality and personal responsibility, spoke to the growing fragmentation of American society.
''A lot of my work goes to the center of where we belong - if there is any root to life - because nowadays the family is broken up, and people don't live in the same place for very long,'' Miller said in a 1988 interview.
''Dislocation, maybe, is part of our uneasiness. It implants the feeling that nothing is really permanent.''
Miller's career was marked by early success. He was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for ''Death of a Salesman'' in 1949, when he was just 33 years old.
His marriage to Marilyn Monroe in 1956 further catapulted the playwright to fame, though that was publicity he said he never pursued.
In a 1992 interview with a French newspaper, he called her ''highly self-destructive'' and said that during their marriage, ''all my energy and attention were devoted to trying to help her solve her problems. Unfortunately, I didn't have much success.''
''Death of a Salesman,'' which took Miller only six weeks to write, earned rave reviews when it opened on Broadway in February 1949, directed by Elia Kazan.
The story of Willy Loman, a man destroyed by his own stubborn belief in the glory of American capitalism and the redemptive power of success, was made into a movie and staged all over the world.
Arthur Miller's Life
''I couldn't have predicted that a work like 'Death of a Salesman' would take on the proportions it has,'' Miller said in 1988. ''Originally, it was a literal play about a literal salesman, but it has become a bit of a myth, not only here but in many other parts of the world.''
In 1999, 50 years after it won the Tony Award as best play, ''Death of a Salesman'' won the Tony for best revival of the Broadway season. The show also won the top acting prize for Brian Dennehy, who played Loman.
Miller, then 83, received a lifetime achievement award.
''Just being around to receive it is a pleasure,'' he joked to the audience during the awards ceremony.
Miller won the New York Drama Critics' Circle's best play award twice in the 1940s, for ''All My Sons'' in 1947 and for ''Death of a Salesman.'' In 1953, he received a Tony Award for ''The Crucible,'' a play about mass hysteria during the Salem witch trials that was inspired by the repressive political environment of McCarthyism.
That play, still read by thousands of American high-school students each year, is Miller's most frequently performed work.
Miller and Monroe divorced after five years and in 1962 he married his third wife, photographer Inge Morath. That same year, Monroe committed suicide. Miller wrote the screenplay for the Monroe film ''The Misfits,'' which came out in 1960, and reflected on their relationship in his 1963 play ''After the Fall.''
Reminiscing about Monroe in his 1987 autobiography, ''Timebends: A Life,'' Miller lamented that she was rarely taken seriously as anything but a sex symbol.
''To have survived, she would have had to be either more cynical or even further from reality than she was,'' he wrote. ''Instead, she was a poet on a street corner trying to recite to a crowd pulling at her clothes.''
Miller's success, so overwhelming in the 1940s and '50s, seemed to be on the wane during the next two decades. But the 1980s brought a renewal of interest, beginning with a Broadway revival of ''Death of a Salesman'' starring Dustin Hoffman in 1984.
Enthusiasm for Miller's work was particularly strong in England, which marked his 75th birthday in 1990 with four major productions of his plays.
Miller also directed a Chinese production of ''Death of a Salesman'' at the Beijing Peoples' Art Theatre in 1983.
Those who saw the Beijing production may not have identified with Loman's career, Miller wrote, but they shared his desire, ''which was to excel, to win out over anonymity and meaninglessness, to love and be loved, and above all, perhaps, to count.''
In his later years, Miller became increasingly disillusioned with Broadway, and in 1991 he premiered a new play, ''The Ride Down Mt. Morgan,'' in London - the first time he had opened a play outside of the United States.
Miller said at the time he opted for the London opening to avoid the ''dark defeatism'' of the New York theater scene.
''There is an open terror of the critics (in New York) and of losing fortunes of money,'' Miller said in an interview that year. ''I have always hated that myself. All in all, it seemed like we ought to do the play in London.''
He returned to Broadway in 1994 with ''Broken Glass,'' a drama about a dysfunctional family that won respectful reviews and a Tony nomination, but no big audiences. In London, it won an Olivier award as best play.
Even in his later years, Miller continued to write.
Arthur Miller at a Glance
· 1936: First play, 'Honors at Dawn,' produced at the Univ. of Michigan.
· 1949: 'Death of a Salesman' wins the Pulitzer Prize and three Tony Awards.
· 1953: 'The Crucible' opens on Broadway
· 1956: Marries Marilyn Monroe. It was his second marriage. They were divorced in 1961.
''It is what I do,'' he said in a 1996 interview with The Associated Press.
''It is my art. I am better at it than I ever was. And I will do it as long as I can. When you reach a certain age you can slough off what is unnecessary and concentrate on what is. And why not?''
''Resurrection Blues'' had its world premiere at the Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis in the summer of 2002 when Miller was 86. Set in an unnamed banana republic, the satire dealt with the possible televised execution of a revolutionary.
In recent years New York even rediscovered Miller's first Broadway play, ''The Man Who Had All the Luck,'' which was a four-performance flop in 1944, but had a successful revival, starring Chris O'Donnell, nearly six decades later.
Last October, another new play, ''Finishing the Picture,'' premiered at the Goodman Theatre in Chicago. It was based on an episode of his marriage to Monroe.
In accepting his lifetime achievement award at the 1999 Tony awards ceremony, Miller lamented that Broadway had become too narrow.
''I hope that a new dimension and fresh resolve will inspire the powers that be to welcome fiercely ambitious playwrights,'' Miller said. ''And that the time will come again when they will find a welcome for their big, world-challenging plays, somewhere west of London and somewhere east of the Hudson River.''
He was born Oct. 17, 1915, Miller was one of three children in a middle-class Jewish family. His father, a manufacturer of women's coats, was hard hit by the Depression in the 1930s, and could not afford to send Miller to college when the time came.
Miller worked as a loader and shipping clerk at a New York warehouse to earn tuition money and eventually attended the University of Michigan, where he earned a bachelor's degree in 1938.
He wrote his first plays in college, where they were awarded numerous prizes. He also published several novels and collections of short stories.
He wrote several screenplays, including ''The Misfits'' (1961), which became Monroe's last movie, and ''Playing for Time,'' (1981) a controversial television movie about the women's orchestra at Auschwitz.
He also wrote a number of books with Morath, mainly about their travels in Russia and China.
Miller had two children, Jane Ellen and Robert, by his first wife, Mary Slattery, and he and Morath had one daughter, Rebecca.
Bohemian Boy
So the last few nights have been a blur of artistry. Tonight Kirby and I went to the What? Club over in Glendale to watch our friend Justin Catalino perform. It was a beautiful, odd, Boston like loft with big chairs and Christmas light curtains. A lone painter worked as poetry was read and people milled around for conversation and art.
Eventually Justin came to the stage and I became like some 14-year-old girl at a Justin Timberlake concert. I sang along to the songs—squealed as he went in my favorite and just swayed and swooned as his set continued. Kirby joked about taking pictures of my foolishness—I love how she just lets me be that way some times.
My favorite moment of the night had nothing to do with Justin, or the cute boys, or the drinks I had but rather Los Angeles itself. I snuck outside for a smoke and watched the rain fall slowly. One of the trains came by and I could still hear the soul singer’s lonesome song and for a moment it felt right.
I often question being in Los Angeles, being an artist, whether I have the right to use that as my title. I am so scared of my talent, my words, the places they take me—I am afraid that if I was truly successful that I would no longer being to myself. I would belong to a director, an editor, an audience and I would no longer belong to me.
I know that in some ways this is silly. That nothing would change, that my blasé attitude serves no one at all. That I have been able to be successful in some ways, published and paid, admired by some. But that fear still sits in me and holds me back more than any writer’s block could.
I guess it’s a leftover from my childhood, to be noticed slightly, to not want too much, that I never belonged then and I wouldn’t know how to belong now. It’s the same way when it comes to guys and relationships. I’m too afraid that being with someone or being successful is akin to being someone else’s. I’ll have to figure that out eventually.
So the last few nights have been a blur of artistry. Tonight Kirby and I went to the What? Club over in Glendale to watch our friend Justin Catalino perform. It was a beautiful, odd, Boston like loft with big chairs and Christmas light curtains. A lone painter worked as poetry was read and people milled around for conversation and art.
Eventually Justin came to the stage and I became like some 14-year-old girl at a Justin Timberlake concert. I sang along to the songs—squealed as he went in my favorite and just swayed and swooned as his set continued. Kirby joked about taking pictures of my foolishness—I love how she just lets me be that way some times.
My favorite moment of the night had nothing to do with Justin, or the cute boys, or the drinks I had but rather Los Angeles itself. I snuck outside for a smoke and watched the rain fall slowly. One of the trains came by and I could still hear the soul singer’s lonesome song and for a moment it felt right.
I often question being in Los Angeles, being an artist, whether I have the right to use that as my title. I am so scared of my talent, my words, the places they take me—I am afraid that if I was truly successful that I would no longer being to myself. I would belong to a director, an editor, an audience and I would no longer belong to me.
I know that in some ways this is silly. That nothing would change, that my blasé attitude serves no one at all. That I have been able to be successful in some ways, published and paid, admired by some. But that fear still sits in me and holds me back more than any writer’s block could.
I guess it’s a leftover from my childhood, to be noticed slightly, to not want too much, that I never belonged then and I wouldn’t know how to belong now. It’s the same way when it comes to guys and relationships. I’m too afraid that being with someone or being successful is akin to being someone else’s. I’ll have to figure that out eventually.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
On Paper We Make Sense
The recent situation with Nick has once again spun my head around. As a smart person, a navel gazing individual, I know it shouldn’t. That no matter how many times he compliments my legs, e-mails me for coffee or has a decent conversation with me that nothing will change. Fool me once and shame on you, fool me twice and shame on me and fool me three times… You get the picture.
And yet I can’t seem to let it go. In some ways, we are the same person; similar backgrounds, both work in the ‘industry’ and even the same group of friends with a shared history. We want the same goals—marriage, children, and a comfortable life style. We laugh at the same things, think a similar way. There’s the lingering attraction between us to this day--a strong chemistry that is almost intoxicating. He feels important.
I rarely have this feeling—that someone will be a huge part of my life, that there is something almost destiny-like about our relationship. I have only had this feeling 3 times in my life and each of those people did have a profound effect on me. It scares me but draws me closely at the same time.
Some would call this feeling stupid, that Nick has hurt and ignored me enough already and others would say romantic. The smart part of me says that he is not this huge figure and that I am projecting. But the emotional part of me feels that this could change if I allow myself to get close to him. I don’t mean in a romantic sense but in an indefinable way.
And I don’t know what to do. But I don’t want to be hurt again. And yet part of me wants to risk myself for the unknown and indefinable.
The recent situation with Nick has once again spun my head around. As a smart person, a navel gazing individual, I know it shouldn’t. That no matter how many times he compliments my legs, e-mails me for coffee or has a decent conversation with me that nothing will change. Fool me once and shame on you, fool me twice and shame on me and fool me three times… You get the picture.
And yet I can’t seem to let it go. In some ways, we are the same person; similar backgrounds, both work in the ‘industry’ and even the same group of friends with a shared history. We want the same goals—marriage, children, and a comfortable life style. We laugh at the same things, think a similar way. There’s the lingering attraction between us to this day--a strong chemistry that is almost intoxicating. He feels important.
I rarely have this feeling—that someone will be a huge part of my life, that there is something almost destiny-like about our relationship. I have only had this feeling 3 times in my life and each of those people did have a profound effect on me. It scares me but draws me closely at the same time.
Some would call this feeling stupid, that Nick has hurt and ignored me enough already and others would say romantic. The smart part of me says that he is not this huge figure and that I am projecting. But the emotional part of me feels that this could change if I allow myself to get close to him. I don’t mean in a romantic sense but in an indefinable way.
And I don’t know what to do. But I don’t want to be hurt again. And yet part of me wants to risk myself for the unknown and indefinable.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Monday, February 07, 2005
Boys, Boys, Boys
Boys are running amuck in my life. All of them. It just seems that regardless of what choices I make or hard I try they just run me over with an emotional steamroller. Honestly people—this is why I don’t have a boyfriend.
First of all, the situation with Beauchamp blew up in my face. After an interesting first date, the second date never materialized. I tried to let him run the show, to let him pick the time and place but he never really followed through but rather wanted me to continue to run the show.
Then there was the next guy Art. Art is extended family, ‘Big Brother’ associated, and someone whom is cute in the way I like. I was encouraged to talk with him and after a few flirty moments Art gave me the address to his on-line column. He is about music and this I find intriguing and so I exchanged an e-mail or two with him but there was been no forward movements.
And then there is Nick. We hung out pre-Super Bowl party and had a great conversation. I could be his friend but it’s hard. This got more weird when he broke out the camera and was taking pictures and wanted to take several of me, so much so that he asked Kelly to move out of the way. Add to this a comment about how sexy my legs were and my head went all fuzzy. I wish that things were clearer but Nick then talked about wanted to meet for coffee and so things are just more blurred.
And so I am confused about what I should do and so I will do nothing. I wish I could make things clear in my head but I can’t.
Boys are running amuck in my life. All of them. It just seems that regardless of what choices I make or hard I try they just run me over with an emotional steamroller. Honestly people—this is why I don’t have a boyfriend.
First of all, the situation with Beauchamp blew up in my face. After an interesting first date, the second date never materialized. I tried to let him run the show, to let him pick the time and place but he never really followed through but rather wanted me to continue to run the show.
Then there was the next guy Art. Art is extended family, ‘Big Brother’ associated, and someone whom is cute in the way I like. I was encouraged to talk with him and after a few flirty moments Art gave me the address to his on-line column. He is about music and this I find intriguing and so I exchanged an e-mail or two with him but there was been no forward movements.
And then there is Nick. We hung out pre-Super Bowl party and had a great conversation. I could be his friend but it’s hard. This got more weird when he broke out the camera and was taking pictures and wanted to take several of me, so much so that he asked Kelly to move out of the way. Add to this a comment about how sexy my legs were and my head went all fuzzy. I wish that things were clearer but Nick then talked about wanted to meet for coffee and so things are just more blurred.
And so I am confused about what I should do and so I will do nothing. I wish I could make things clear in my head but I can’t.
Saturday, February 05, 2005
It’s Not Me—Relief Abounds
So I was blown off again—making it 3 times in 2 days. The plan was that since Wolfman and Ross were in town that we would all go to dinner and then the BR for dinners. Since I had no plan to go to Skylar’s tonight because of the fallout from the blog incident this would be the only time outside of the Super Bowl party that I would get to hang out with them.
Imagine my surprise when I was called around 6 and told that I wasn’t invited to the dinner. Wolfman and Ross wanted to have a small group for catching up and then met up with everyone else at the bar. On one level I understood this but on another I was pissed off—this was 3rd time people!!!
Of course, Edie, back in town and as social as ever, felt that I should just show up at the dinner with her regardless but if I have learned anything from my parents it is not to show where one is not wanted. There was talk about picking me up after dinner to arrive at the bar but as I thought about it I realized that I wanted nothing to do with it.
So often in this group of ‘friends’ I feel left out, ignored and just an extra in the grand scheme of the social whirl. And I was sick of it. I left the house and went for a walk, grabbing a coffee and on the verge of tears. But then I had a moment of clarity.
It’s really not me doing anything wrong—it’s them. They don’t think before they act, they do want they want regardless of my feelings and choose to see me as a brat or bitch when I get upset about things. So after I talked with Edie, I realized that I had no desire to go to the bar. Like I said, I don’t go where I’m not wanted.
Of course she did tell everyone this—choosing to speak for me—and this led to a drunken message from Ross making fun of me. Whatever. I intend to standup for myself because no one else wants to do.
And if not letting them treat me this way makes me a bitch then hand me a tiara and nutcracker. People can’t say they weren’t warned.
So I was blown off again—making it 3 times in 2 days. The plan was that since Wolfman and Ross were in town that we would all go to dinner and then the BR for dinners. Since I had no plan to go to Skylar’s tonight because of the fallout from the blog incident this would be the only time outside of the Super Bowl party that I would get to hang out with them.
Imagine my surprise when I was called around 6 and told that I wasn’t invited to the dinner. Wolfman and Ross wanted to have a small group for catching up and then met up with everyone else at the bar. On one level I understood this but on another I was pissed off—this was 3rd time people!!!
Of course, Edie, back in town and as social as ever, felt that I should just show up at the dinner with her regardless but if I have learned anything from my parents it is not to show where one is not wanted. There was talk about picking me up after dinner to arrive at the bar but as I thought about it I realized that I wanted nothing to do with it.
So often in this group of ‘friends’ I feel left out, ignored and just an extra in the grand scheme of the social whirl. And I was sick of it. I left the house and went for a walk, grabbing a coffee and on the verge of tears. But then I had a moment of clarity.
It’s really not me doing anything wrong—it’s them. They don’t think before they act, they do want they want regardless of my feelings and choose to see me as a brat or bitch when I get upset about things. So after I talked with Edie, I realized that I had no desire to go to the bar. Like I said, I don’t go where I’m not wanted.
Of course she did tell everyone this—choosing to speak for me—and this led to a drunken message from Ross making fun of me. Whatever. I intend to standup for myself because no one else wants to do.
And if not letting them treat me this way makes me a bitch then hand me a tiara and nutcracker. People can’t say they weren’t warned.
Thursday, February 03, 2005
Gone With the Wind
Sorry I haven’t posted in the last few days—I’ve been busy or rather, quasi-busy. I have made plans with several different people and after clearing my schedule for them, nothing happened. And this sucks.
I guess this is mostly my problem. Each of the people involved has had good reasons for changing the plans but I’m like a puppy when you say ‘walk’ and I get all excited. Then I get depressed when events change and am unable to roll with it. And I should know better but I guess not.
Hopefully I’ll write better and more soon. But now I am going to take a nap. Depression does that to you.
Sorry I haven’t posted in the last few days—I’ve been busy or rather, quasi-busy. I have made plans with several different people and after clearing my schedule for them, nothing happened. And this sucks.
I guess this is mostly my problem. Each of the people involved has had good reasons for changing the plans but I’m like a puppy when you say ‘walk’ and I get all excited. Then I get depressed when events change and am unable to roll with it. And I should know better but I guess not.
Hopefully I’ll write better and more soon. But now I am going to take a nap. Depression does that to you.
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