thirtysomething, the meme

modified from something I posted last night in facebook

(or, Thirty Things About Me)

1. I well up with tears frequently, but really cry almost never. Unless prompted by a TV show, film or song. Then it’s a water main break.

2. I got very upset in the moments leading up to my peacock tattoo–like, scared, like, very very young, like, I don’t wanna be a girl with a big tattoo on her arm. It took about a week for that to fully dissipate.

3. I take way too much Advil–for headaches, for muscle pain. Several pills most days.

4. These, the kind where you’re not answering questions, are especially difficult for me to do because I’m so out there–I tell everyone everything.

5. When it comes to alcohol, I am a crazy lightweight.

6. I adore show tunes, American popular standards, jazz–and I’m woefully unwell versed in all.

7. I’m a songwriter, though I haven’t written in years. One of my songs, “Stowaway’s Compromise”, is featured in the opening and closing credits of a really, really independent film that I haven’t seen–the previews look too awful.

8. My first love was a girl–some of my high school friends will know this, but most won’t. She broke my heart.

9. AND YET, and this despite the fact I went on to date other women and even live with one, I have been utterly and undeniably diagnosed as a STRAIGHT GIRL. And this from a gay man. And he would know better than anyone.

10. I believe in soul mates–or something. But not the kind where there is one person for one person. I don’t know that the nature or source of these intense, bigger-than-us connections is always the same, but I know there are many great loves in many great forms.

11. And so on that topic, I am currently in a most indescribable friendship/relationship with Bert, the aforementioned gay man. Soul mate or bashert or whatever it is, we were meant to be in each others lives and love each other and take each other through a bunch of stuff, and we are doing just that. I love him stupid and I love him smart and I love him without apology.

12. And so on that topic, I have always had, throughout the course of my life, spectacular and intense and indescribably unique platonic relationships, with elevated status compared to what most people would expect of a platonic relationship.

13. I didn’t graduate from college.

14. I played Magenta for a few years in the 8th Street Playhouse floor show of Rocky Horror, starting when I was still in high school.

15. And I was a backup singer at the 10th (that’s right 10th, what of it?!) anniversary of the film–at the Beacon Theater. There were four of us, backing up Richard O’Brien and much of the film’s cast, including Meat Loaf.

16. I was an on-air radio jock for a couple years–played Alice’s Restaurant on Thanksgiving day.

17. I love makeup. I could buy new makeup every day.

18. I feel naked without earrings. If I forget to wear earrings, I usually run and buy some.

19. I hate scented candles. Hate. But I love incense. Though I’m picky about my incense–usually I like the very smokey kind.

20. I was obsessed with the film”Pretty in Pink” for a very long time. I died a lot of clothes pink. I just thought it was the greatest thing ever. I’d still marry Andrew McCarthy right outta that film.

21. I have an idea of what I want to be when I grow up, and this ain’t it. Stay tuned.

22. Roller coasters scare the piss outta me. Not literally. But I’ve only managed to go on a few, and even fewer without crying.

23. I’ve been single for most of my life. I don’t intend to stay that way.

24. I am intensely introspective, and always try to look at myself with a goal of telling the truth, at least to me, about who I am and what I’m doing. I’m always striving to be more authentic, more loving, just a better person in general. I don’t always hit it right, but I’m deeply committed to it–I have at least since my early 20s, maybe before. I don’t believe this kind of work ever stops.

25. I watch Say Yes to the Dress. There, I said it.

26. I’m a lot girlier than I ever realized when I was a kid. The only thing that keeps me from knocking it out of the park is that my feet are terrifically wide, so I have a hella time finding shoes that fit, so I wear a lot of Birkenstock’s, ergo less skirts and dresses because of how bad that looks. If it weren’t for my feet, I’d dress way. way. girlier.

27. I had a gastric bypass nearly seven years ago. So weird. I had my boobs and arms done a year later–March 17th, erin-go-braless.

28. There was a cocaine/rehab chapter a long time ago.

29. My vocal cord was sick, and now I’m afraid to sing. But I want to sing more than almost anything else–for the whole world. My voice is beautiful.

30. I will never forgive the Hostess/Drake’s merge. I will never not mourn the loss of the real Ring Ding.

45.5

Today is my half birthday. People who know me well, and people who’ve read my blog for these near five years, know that I have always revered my half birthday. As an adult, it is one of those things that I maintain partly to be playful, and partly because it is genuinely another marker, albeit a quiet one. Also, it’s April vs. October, and I really dig both. And I’ve always liked my birth date–the 25th.

So I obviously have not been writing in quite awhile. The health thing is moving along–I have been to a few doctors and have had several tests and procedures. Basically I’ve learned that really everything is okay–nearly seven years later, my insides, where the gastric bypass happened, look great. I’ve ascertained that I am not pre-diabetic, although at one point I was told that I was. My iron and D were down, but both look better now that I’m taking supplements. Overall stuff is okay. My vocal cord though, is still TBD–there is still soreness (although in fairness, I have not stuck anything resembling perfectly to the doctor’s “don’t” list) and I go back to the ENT in a week to take a look and see what’s what. In the meantime, with all these different things being revised at the same time, who knows what was causing the fatigue. I was starting to get depressed over all of it–no convincing diagnosis, no end in sight, and this horrible fatigue. Adding to that I started thinking I was really creating the fatigue, that by just indulging it and being lazy was making me think there was a condition that wasn’t even there. And then one day, and really it was one day, it lifted. My throat started doing a bit better that day as well, so maybe it was the stress on the cord itself wearing me out. I don’t know if I’ll ever know. So that was about five weeks ago.

And since then things are shifting. Well really, right before then, the day before in fact, I got a cat. Sweet Potato. He’s about ten years old and ginormous, and I took him because he needed a home and I just thought–There’s no reason right now for me not to have a cat. I’ve always had a reason. I’ve lived in many places that won’t allow it, but really I just never thought I could handle the responsibility. I still don’t think I can, but I’m ignoring those thoughts. It was quite a thing–at first I just didn’t love him, and I was really freaked out by his presence. Like, really freaked out. Also, he was unsettled and an amazing pain in the ass. Kept me up nights for over a week. And also I thought he was five years old until about halfway through the first week, so I didn’t understand his demeanor. Once I got his paperwork, he just started to make more sense. He’s not like doddering or anything, but nor is he a 5 y/o kitty cat in the prime of his life. Now I just adore him, and he loves me madly, and I can’t believe I have a cat.

Look, I hate to sound like a broken record, but the bulk of my emotional interest right now stems from my relationship with Bert. (Can I just say how hard it is to have a fake name for someone? I want to just call him his name. But I also want to always speak freely about him here and not have to worry about his identity.) This relationship I have with him is so special–we have a way of relating with each other, nurturing, educating, inspiring, humbling, mocking–it is exquisite. And I continue to work through layer upon layer of what I bring to men, namely my low and rotten expectations of them. No matter how much I anticipate that Bert will disappoint me or back away from me, he just doesn’t. And I am just left staring at the empty bag that used to carry my low and rotten expectations–my assumptions, as well as my disappointment, abandonment, and overall hurt in it. And I just stare at it, the empty bag that used to carry all this, always surprised that I’d been holding it. Again.

There have been other pushes; shift-causing events that I’m not sure I’m writing about for now. Also being a bit depressed for a few weeks and being fatigued for so much longer, starting to come out of that has been interesting. I still am not at full capacity, but there have been a few fun nights out, including a makeout session with a boy, seeing some old friends’ bands play, and a costume party.

There have also been some things happening at work. I’m attempting to light the world on fire in there, and so far, I have some major players on board with me. Everything will be changing there in the next six months or so, and I have decided to be part of creating that change, rather than seeing what trickles down for me after it happens.

I’m willing to celebrate me with a bit more frequency and enthusiasm. In many ways I know I’m the luckiest girl in the world, even when I’m feeling sorry for myself and am convinced that I’m the unluckiest. Neither are the truth, but it’s certainly more fun to get behind the former, right?

Happy half birthday. Halfway to 91, man. That is something.

Voices voices mesmerize

Today almost everything went right. I woke up at a decent hour, didn’t eat for just the right amount of time, ate at just the right time, did a lovely and effective yoga practice (and once again, that’s been at least a week, so all the more yay for me), came up with the right outfit, face and hair came out right, drove into the city, found a parking spot, and got to my improv class performance exactly on time for warm-ups.

Our teacher sent a sub because he had screwed up his schedule, but the sub is brilliant and I learned a lot from him despite the brevity of our time together.

The performance went about as could be expected for our level, but I was pleased with my work. Nothing outrageous, nothing extraordinary, but I think I made some smart moves, and while I’m sure if a teacher had been side-coaching I’d have been shown some missed opportunities, overall I did well. This improv is very smart stuff, and we are a bunch of babies when it comes to the techniques, but I didn’t want to crawl into a rabbit hole and die, and that’s honestly pretty high marks.

I had a terrific turnout–my mom and sister, our family friends Paul and Marcia, my friend and Basket of Kisses writer Marly, and Bert. It was hilarious actually–there was a big gap in the curtain where I was standing, backstage, and who can I see clear as day but Bert in his shiny white shirt with his shiny smile sitting of course in the front row.

Afterward the group went out–really only about half the class, if that, (and each person’s friends), went to a pub where we all packed into a back room, one that was non-conducive to mingling. Deb, Bert and I sat in a corner, and no one from the class ever joined us or spoke to us. Except the occasional hello, goodbye, or oh hey, good work. But it was great. I was glad for Bert to meet my sister (yeah I didn’t write about the epic and gorgeous day we had last week where we traveled across many state lines–well really only two, but so many times! and went to a party where I met an old pod of his friends from one/several points in his past, as well as his brother, and then we stopped at each of our parents houses and met each others parents–stunning) and the three of us had an awesome time. Later on I drove him home to Brooklyn, came back, hit the ShopRite (I don’t do this often–supermarkets with parking lots and my car) and then got a parking spot directly across from my apartment (cue choir of angels).

And all I’m saying is when I look back it was a very awesome day but I am not feeling full of the awesome. I’m feeling a little flat. And I’m not sure what that’s about.

Look, this week was so exhausting. Each day at work I wound up feeling extremely fatigued and like I was getting sick by the afternoon. I don’t feel that right now but maybe that’s where it’s at. I usually feel better on a day I’ve done yoga. I dunno.

Sorry to bum, but sometimes that’s what this thing’s (da blog) for.

how I’m doing. vocally speaking.

Let’s open with, big picture = EVERYTHING IS FINE. Not great, but nothing epic.

But yes, there have been some things going on. The last few months, and in particular this last month, I’ve just been struggling. There have certainly been emotional components, but for now I’m going to focus on the physical.

To quickly recap, I moved to Jersey City at the beginning of February, at which time I started hanging out a lot at Marie’s Crisis, where I quickly and seemingly unskillfully belted my way into a hoarse voice.

Thing is though, I’ve been taking it easy now for a few months, singing much much less frequently. And I haven’t been getting better. I can’t sing one song, one easy, non-belty song, without feeling strained and sounding terribly hoarse afterward.

At the same time I have gotten sick, as in, coughing from my chest, a few times–once over Memorial Day weekend, and again about three weeks ago. Seems my sinuses are causing it, and they are not really getting well.

And through all of this there has been an exhaustion. Now that I have chalked up to a few things–the whole throat thing and sick thing kind of knocks you out, but really I’ve mostly just blamed myself–first for partying too much, but now that I’ve slowed down (by a lot!), just my general lack of exercise and crappy diet.

In the last few things, a few different things converged to get my ass to some doctors, including a change at my job that loosened the reins on my doctor-visiting abilities.

So first off, I learned I am (again? still?) severely anemic–like, there is no iron in my blood. Also I am severely deficient in vitamin D (I know, I know, we all are. But still.). Ergo, I’m way frigging fatigued, and also I don’t have a whole lotta fight in me in terms of keeping the colds and stuff away. So I’m taking a lot of supplements and will have my levels checked in two months.

But the bigger revelation came from my visit to Dr. Steven Sacks, a most excellent ENT. Seriously, he is awesome. I could provide a list of reasons as to why I know this, and maybe at some point I will, but not now.

Here is what I’ve learned:

I don’t have nodes. This was my biggest concern–terror, in fact.

However. My right vocal chord is tilted.

For a bit of history: ever since my weight loss surgery (that be gastric bypass) 6 1/2 years ago, I’ve needed to take 80mg of Prilosec a day. This is double the maximum allowed dose. Any time I’ve tried decreasing, I end up in agony.

I’ve worked with two GI guys post-surgery. And neither of them asked me what my new ENT asked–how am I taking them?

See, turns out you need to eat something 30-40 minutes after taking the pills or they do not get fully activated. And so for over six years I’ve been improperly managed and I’ve had too much acid and it’s been ruining my voice. I just didn’t notice until, y’know, the Marie’s abuse.

How do we treat this, you ask? Excellent question.

In addition to finally taking the Prilosec properly, here is a list of all the things I need to avoid:

• Coffee
• Chocolate
• Alcohol
• Singing
• Screaming
• Whispering
• Eating less than two hours before going to bed (seriously. practically. impossible.)
• Tomatoes/tomato based foods (think about this–pizza. ketchup. I’m just saying.)
• Caffeine (in case that wasn’t clear from the coffee/chocolate restrictions)
• Spicey food
• Vinegar/vinaigrette

In case that was in any way unclear, that list includes coffee. and alcohol. singing. and coffee. I am giving up coffee and alcohol, and when it’s all over, I don’t get a baby.

So the plan is, we try this for two months–resting my vocal chords and not agitating my stomach, while at the same time getting the Prilosec working properly. And in two months we have another look.

And reason number 12 for loving this doctor, I will be getting a scan of my neck just to ensure that there is no other cause.

Oh and yeah my sinuses are a bit wacked. Steroids for that–Nasonex, prescription, the steroids don’t go into my bloodstream.

So I’m feeling a bit down–it’s a lot of my fun I need to give up. And I’m not entirely hopeful, but I have no choice but to try all this–I need to get my voice back. It’s my most favorite part. Kind of, I don’ know who I am without it. (have you seen the name of this blog?)

That’s the scoop. I hope to be able to sing again soon. I’m looking forward to energy coming back in other ways. I’m looking forward to fall, and the crispness and intensity that comes with that. And I am, in fact, looking forward to shedding my skin.

Clueless is a pair of jeans from the 80s

this may all sound like a dream.

You said, the only thing standing in my way is me. I am paraphrasing. a lot. I was listening, I absorbed, but I didn’t retain the words. You said, I think, that I fill the space with stuff, with clutter, with the noise of my–well, of my excuses, for lack of a better word–I’m certain that was not the word you used; I can’t imagine you putting that word to me out loud, but I think that’s what it comes down to. If I were to clear that space of my own muck, then I could fill it with everything I want. Do I have this right?

A) it makes perfect sense, and it’s not even like it’s a surprise or an entirely new concept. and conversely B) really? I mean, c’mon. REALLY? Because it all sounds like beautiful-in-theory in its simplicity but it is honestly so fucking elusive in its intangibility. Because in here, in my head or whatever parts it hangs out in, it just feels like I Don’t Know What To Do-I Don’t Know What To Do-I Don’t Know What To Do. Yes. I get it. I Don’t Know What To Do is my favorite old pair of jeans–not my prettiest look.

Moving on–there are three other people telling me the same thing, is what you said. Although they are probably phrasing it differently or presenting it in ways that might not obviously hit me as the same. In addition to you, there is a man, a woman, and the third we’re not sure.

So again, me standing in my own way isn’t exactly news, and if I could go back and freeze-frame single conversations I’ve had, I’m certain that I can find instances with lots of my peeps over the years where this has been the topic of conversation. But I cannot identify who is actively trying to give me this message, right now.

Maybe the woman–there is someone at work who is especially encouraging and, dare I say, empowering to me. Also, the metaphysician I met a few weeks ago–have I written about her yet? That was intense, and very much this message, specifically in regards to my singing. But is she in my life enough that you would be plucking her out of the mind of my experience?

I cannot think of a man. Not one, who isn’t you, who has the kind of focus on me and this message. I can’t.

(hmm–maybe Joe. okay maybe Joe. He just doesn’t feel like a presence right now. But that has the tendency to shift. and maybe sorta this is what he says to me–we say to each other. So okay maybe Joe.)

As for the third, me and Gwen think it would be SO cool if it were her, only because she is such a boy. It would just be fun that the reason you couldn’t pull the gender was because her gender is a gray area. And Gwen is such a true and supportive and honest friend. But it’s not this message that she brings. It’s not.

So I am stumped.

I know that solving this little mystery is just one more distraction, but it’s of interest, and you found it important enough to tell me about it, and I really am trying to find the voices around me that are trying to pull me along. Because they are love. And I am appreciative.

Where the Boys Are

A lovely if slightly odd weekend. Maybe they’re all slightly odd.

Friday night Bert and I had made dinner plans–the first time we’d ever managed to do such a thing. We met in Grand Central. I was all fluttery and not grounded having come off a very bad day that ended less badly, and he was fluttery and fuzzy, with a visibly rotten sinus headache. We got on a train and then kind of wandered around a few neighborhoods in circles trying to figure out where to have dinner.

Once we finally landed somewhere, it was just great. It was interesting–this was different from our usual marie’s-and-drinks routine. Neither of us felt like drinking, and it was just a little–starker, maybe, or scratchier. We have had so much of the metaphysical-intuition-we-already-know-so-much-about-each-other stuff; this is us getting to know each other a little better in like, real life. I’m enjoying it. He has such a distinct way of being with me, of observing me, of speaking with me, and of loving me. Plus dinner was yummy and inexpensive.

Eventually we went to Marie’s and it was just another great night out. Really wonderful. I always have a great time there with him. And as a rule, lame nights at Marie’s are usually still fun, but great nights are somehow magical for me.

boys, toys, electric irons and TVs

Four years ago today I was visiting Joe for the first time. We’d met a few weeks earlier. I drove down to Maryland, nervous as all get-out, and with a getaway plan in case the whole thing was a bad mesh. I stayed four days.

We saw the peacock tattoo that week, four years ago.

The end of that week, back home, I started my new job in Morristown.

You look at the two quotes in my right sidebar, and you’ll see the direct influence of Joe and of that job.

I’m not–this isn’t about Joe. I’ve always been fascinated by the chapters. How you know you’re in one, but you don’t know what it is. You know you’re in a very important moment, and it feels like the beginning of a chapter, but really it’s the end. Or the middle. Or it feels like it is its own chapter, but really it’s just one small section. Oh, the big picture. When do you really know how it all fits together?

That job only lasted one year, and Joe–kind of around the same. Joe of course is still in my life, and that job pivoted my career path–I’d interviewed for one position but ended up taking a much better fitting title, and I currently do that work.

A year earlier was Urinetown, which was such an brilliant and vibrant experience for me, one that rattled my world in a thousand ways. Only now, looking back, it seems like the wrap-up to the previous chapter.

And here I am in a very obvious new thing. And my job–changes are coming. Everything is very intense right now. I am both compelled by and wary of the intensity. But I am ravenous for what is coming.

One of my worst–I dunno. flaws. deficits. is not taking action, not really taking charge, not setting things in motion. Action and charge and motion happen around me, to be sure. And I still experience that, all the time–I see it (me not doing the next right thing) and I feel it (guilt, such a waste of headspace, around the inertia). But I am the one who moved to Jersey City. I did that. And there are a few other things I’m doing as well, other than being umm–socially masterful. (That has always been my one saving grace.)

It all feels like the beginning of some great new chapter, but who knows. I am still at a job I’ve been at for three years, and so this could be the dead center of that story.

I met a woman this week who is a metaphysician (I’m still working that out) who had heard me sing a few times and spent a solid twenty minutes telling me that my talent is so big all I need to do is have people hear me and I can have everything I want. I mean, that’s not all I have to do, but that’s the 1-sentence version of the twenty minutes. She was pretty amazing, and quite specifically about me. If what she said is right, this job I am at will fade into the background of my story as I take my rightful place as like, a famous entertainer.

I don’t know where this will all fit into my life. Forest, trees. I know I’m in a thing. Big chunks are flying around in my life. (of love, of challenge, of opportunity, of fun, of inspiration, of creativity, of darkness.) I’m drawing in some ridiculously amazing people. I’m overstimulated, and also overwhelmed. Everything is interesting and vivid and potentially solid-and-forever but just as potentially temporary-and-transitional. To be blunt and more than a bit clichéd, none of this seems real.

I am so interested to know what this all looks like in four years.

I accidentally changed themes.

I hit activate instead of preview. Not to this theme, this was a quick fix to the first one. I have to see how I feel about this, while desperately searching for my old theme, the name of which I can’t remember.

Independence my ass.

She thinks I’m cuuute!!!!

Turns out it’s July. I’m loving this vacation.

Let’s see–Wednesday was the day I kind of loafed, then I went into the city, brought Bert soup at his job (he was all congested and shit and I am just compelled to be excessively loving toward him), tried to meet up with Elizabeth but found myself alone in a cafe, dining and blogging. But then after that cafe event me and Elizabeth did end up connecting, kinda late. I went to her apartment and hung out there for a bit. And then the two of us headed down to Marie’s. I had the most amazing conversation with quite a fantastic woman. She had a whole lot to say about my talent and my future; it was very specific and focused, and she made me feel incredible. I may come back to this at some point, but not today.

straight girl.

So here I am on vacation. I still have the core problem of being couchbound. I don’t get out of the house easily, and I don’t get the stuff done around my apartment that I want to get done. My apartment is just—well, it’s one me away from being beautiful. And today I wanted to get into the city and just enjoy the beautiful day, and that resulted in my leaving the apartment around 4pm.

ahh me— I am a conundrum.

I’ve been definitely enjoying myself—my goal was to immerse myself in fun and activities so as to create that sense of being away on vacation. I think I’m starting to achieve that. Last Friday, my last day at work, seems like a lifetime ago. There was a work happy hour and then I went to Marie’s. On Saturday I attended our midsummer ritual. It was lovely to be in the space and see all those folks.

Sunday was my first pride parade. I went in and met up with the girls—it was like a gajillion degrees out and my most macho move was stopping for coffee—that’s right, hot coffee. I saw maybe 45 minutes of the parade. It was surprisingly moving. Just—I could go on, at length, of how amazing it is to see how far we have come. There is a lot of forward to get to, but I am old enough to have witnessed a different world. And I found this parade to be majestic. And I was proud.

Which brings me to my next topic. Let’s jump ahead to the following night, where I am telling Bert about my day at the parade. Afterward we all went to a big party at a big dyke bar. (The dykes were not especially big, but the bar was. A huge outdoor space kind of thing.) I was mostly bored and out of sorts. I’m telling him, just as I’m telling you, that, to be fair, I’ve never enjoyed that kind of bar scene. Loud music, lots of drinking, hundreds of people. Not my thing. I’m talking here and there with my each of my friends, but they are flitting about. And okay plus how it was still a gajillion degrees. But at some point I finally notice that what is probably more stimulating for all of my friends is that there are lots of women around—gay women. And that was probably pretty awesome for all of them. Me? It kind of didn’t register. Except that there were no men around. “So”, I say to Bert, “not that I needed to, but I reaffirmed that I am not gay”.

He just laughs and says, “You are so not gay. “