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. “

Nature/Nurture Swirly

Okay oh wow–I’m just putting this all together in my head, right now. It’s so rare I get to do my thinking and my writing nearly seamlessly simultaneously.

So I just changed my sub-head on my blog. The first time since I started this. “Not available in my size” is no longer the theme in my life. I do have a new theme for my one-woman show, and I actually have a potential writing partner, but I’m not veering from this right now. need to get back to you on all that.

I also added a quote to my right sidebar. The same friend who said that to me, about Junie B. Jones, gave me the follow-up explanation which is now my sub-head.

And I’ve been writing about and exploring this notion of changing my chemistry.

And I speak a lot about embracing my patterns.

So.

I have this childlike quality.

Pause, we’ll come back to it.

When I was in high school I had this childlike quality. Only that’s not what I called it. High school was when my persona, with the incorporation of whatever damage I’d absorbed and processed with my own flavor (the nature/nurture swirly), had begun to solidify. I was the fat chick. I believed myself undate-able. I was the friend; the sidekick. I was hilarious and self-deprecating. I dressed like a freak. You were beautiful, I was cute. And I was such a victim of all of it. I hated it so, so much. I hated me for being that girl. And I probably wasn’t so crazy about you either.

And I wrote a poem, when I was in high school, about being Peter Pan. Permanently a child. Peter is known to be androgynous, but it’s because he’s pre-sexual (or at least considered as such). I wrote this poem, and it was so angry and so sad.

(no-no-no, no-no, I am not posting the poem. I promise.)

Point is that yeah, this goes back aways.

I am no longer capable of stringing together each step of the progression from all that self-hate to not so much. Maybe I am. Because (and this would take a lot of effort but) I am capable of stringing together all the false-start relationships, the lovers, and the platonics, and where I was with this stuff around each of those.

But let’s fast forward. Because I do know this–five years ago I labeled myself an anomaly. And that label came from my pride in being childlike in combination with being wise. Five years ago I also got labeled a sage.

I believe that this childlike quality, and how it looks to the outside world, is what has me hit most people as “friend” and not “lover”.

But I also love it so, so much. And maybe for a minute I forgot that, but when I read myself compared to Junie B. Jones, I was filled with light at the compliment. And then it was the follow up remark, “Beautiful, unguarded id”, that brought it home. That is the fucking gift of this “condition” or whatever. My childlike nature is my wisdom.

I think this is the period in my life where I get comfortable with the cohesive me. I think I’ve always abandoned one part of me to full on play with another. I’m a wacky kid or I’m a beautiful woman. The child has always been the safer choice. What’s my favorite color? Glitter. (and it is–I don’t want to abandon that either!) I have the same issue with my music–some part of me is always getting left behind. Right now it’s time to have it all. That is why I love the “id” quote. It is the adult version of that childlike quality.

This post is a PSA, except really just for me. A reminder that when I say I’ve embraced my patterns I really really really have. I am not that miserable high school girl. And I can continue to expand on it.

All about my chemistry

I exhausted myself–Thursday I worked really inefficiently and therefore even later than I had to, and then there was a long wait for car service and I was too tired to not take it, so I just kept working until nearly 11pm.

But yesterday at work felt pretty great. I truly got done all I needed to get done, or at least enough that I could feel good leaving. After work there was a happy hour because it was someone’s last day–I have a feeling there will be a lot of these for awhile–and it was a great group, featuring my girls. (My girls = the group of girls I will be hanging with at a dyke bar for Pride day tomorrow).

So uh–I got a little drunk. My chemistry is so odd. It’s not that I got a little drunk that was the problem. It’s that I got to the end of the night by like, 8:00. I was just shot. I only have a small window, if I don’t pace things just right. Beer and shots is not pacing things just right. And this place had no food. So I drag a couple people out to a bar that has food, but I’m just beat. And I was heading to Marie’s to meet up with my friend Elizabeth. So then Marie’s ended up being less fun for me, although still, I have to say, a good time. I just didn’t feel great. I drank nothing but water, but it was all just exhausting–by around 11:30 it was like I had a hangover.

It was probably a good thing. I’ve been on this kick about my vacation, referring to it as the Toxic Avenger Tour–and the truth is I am not that girl. And last night was a reminder of that. There will be nights of drinking and there will be nights of not so much.

I also got just a little melancholy for awhile–I was speaking with a friend and we were talking about relationship stuff, and attraction stuff, and types, and people (women) not appreciating how sexy they are. I know exactly who I am. Exactly how attractive, how amazing, how beautiful, how sexy I am. But also I guess I know how attractive, how amazing (well maybe not that one), how beautiful, how sexy I’m not. What I know well is that I hit people almost always as “friend”. This includes past lovers–it certainly includes Joe. And I know this doesn’t mean I’m not all those things–sexy, beautiful, desirable. I know it doesn’t mean I’m not lovable. I know it doesn’t mean no one will ever truly want me.

But sometimes it feels like it exactly means all those things. And last night I had a moment. That’s all. Just a moment. Of sad. For me.

I said to my friend, Obviously you can’t change your chemistry.

Then I said, Shit, I bet Bert would say you could.

I also am starting to decipher the code–I’m starting to understand the choices I made when I was young that actually built this chemistry.

I don’t know. Changing my chemistry? Can’t I just fucking own it and have the life I want anyway?

I’m off now for midsummer. I think it will be beautiful and quite emotional.

who you calling mama?

There is just. so. much. swirling around in here right now. My vacation starts tomorrow when I leave work and I will not be back at work for ten days, but I don’t think the swirling will stop. That’s just not the vacation I’m planning.

this is going to be even more stream of consciousness than usual. just lettin’ you know ; )

I am just a little overstimulated right now. So much feels really good, and some doesn’t, but it’s all high-peak. Not highest peak, but still.

And nearly everything is new, which is part of why it’s so stimulating. Even work–we moved offices, and it still feels odd. And some work situations are shifting, and so that feels new.

The social stuff is always the most interesting and exciting to me though. I wrote about having a lot of new people in my life. but it’s–I mean, I have so many of those “perfect nights”. You go out, you run into just the right people, you meet just the right new people, you have just the right conversations–you’d do anything to have another night exactly as great as that one. And then you have one! Almost every time I have a night out it’s just fantastic. And certainly this all has an addictive quality to it, and I do recognize that there is the potential for toxicity. And I don’t use that word or concept lightly, or even regularly. And my eyes are open, but that doesn’t mean I have my own best interest at heart.

But it also all feels brilliant and loving and enriching.

So I’m planning a week of it.

It’s got to happen, happen sometime

I love falling in love. I’ve been doing it a lot lately. Friendship. Deep, loving, fascinating, committed friendship. It’s my thing.

I do not want any of this, any of my joy, to sound in the least bit sardonic. Yes. I still very much want the other kind of falling in love–the kind that involves romance and connection and sex and partnership and a bunch of things I’m not thinking of right now. But this post is not about what I don’t have.

Abundance and luck is what I’m writing about. And gratitude for who I am.

I moved to Jersey City four and a half months ago, and the very first night that I moved, I paid a visit to Marie’s Crisis in the west village. Marie’s is a gay (pretty much) piano bar, where, seven nights a week, a pianist/music director (please pronounce that “pianist slash music director”) plays show tunes (mostly) all night long.

From the beginning, I started meeting wonderful fun people and having nice moments of connections. I could write volumes on why it is that I can strike up conversations so easily with gay men. I will say that it is not a matter of feeling that it is safer or less risky. Well maybe a small percentage it’s that. But it’s a whole lot more, and it’s about who they are, that community. Also, for the record, it is a function of the dynamic of a piano bar. We are singing around a piano, and this is a true communal experience, and suddenly you’re singing with someone, and then you’re talking.

Where I was accepted at the Notch, at Marie’s I’ve been embraced. And this happened so quickly–I can walk into Marie’s almost anytime and see familiar, welcoming faces, and get a few hugs.

It has been nourishing. It is a chicken-egg thing in terms of the openness of my heart–I receive loving attention, I give loving attention. And I really recognize more and more that I am especially gifted when it comes to making connections. People are drawn to me, and when I remember to use my powers for good, I make a lot of friends.

All of that said, I remain (or to be more accurate, have long-last become) discretionary. I’ve made, I dunno, a hundred friends. fifty? I should add a Marie’s group to my facebook friend list so I know for certain. Point is though, they’re not all getting invitations to my mom’s seder, y’know?

Bert. Elizabeth. Andrew. There are a few others who come close–Jason, and David and Brian. Definitely Brian.

Elizabeth is a fabulous gorgeous young woman with whom I just clicked. And we buddied up. She is just fucking cool. And we adore each other and are good for each other.

Andrew is one of the first people I met there–he is young and gay and just lovely and quite giving. And he lives right in my neighborhood, which is such a perk for both of us. We’ve met up for brunch a few times, and seen a few shows together (he is always getting student priced tickets). And now we’re going to Fire Island together for a few days in a couple weeks. He is interesting in that he seems quite timid by nature and yet is endlessly introducing himself around, meeting new people, and exploring. And so he’s kind of been my tour guide to the gay music scene in Manhattan. And in turn I’ve been showing him around our neighborhood (which he never realized was so happening and had so many great brunch options).

Bert (please see my last post for explanation of this name) is why I’m writing today, and who knows if I can capture our story. It is an amazing story; one that is only beginning.

kicks the ass of working 9 to 5 each day

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B2WGNB–fjA
(embedding code has been disabled–this is one of my favorite songs in the world)

I got robbed the other night.

I have been stressing at work beyond my norm. The pressures and injustices have just been oh so great ::back of hand to forehead, head tilted back in distress::

But the other stuff in between—last week there was a problem with my car, and I didn’t know where to bring it because it’s a new neighborhood, and that took a hundred phone calls, plus I needed an air conditioner, (there were two bad nights, early for the season, and what we learned is there is no air flow in my apartment at all) and that took a hundred phone calls, and there was another problem with my apartment, and my management company being non-responsive, and then they lost my keys yes MY LANDLORDS LOST MY KEYS, so yeah there’s been some stress.

So I scheduled a day off yesterday (Tuesday) to take care of all of it, but also, let’s face it, to just fucking de-stress.

Monday I worked until 10pm and then headed down to Marie’s Crisis. I haven’t been writing in here, but I started hanging out there literally the day I moved into my new apartment, and now it’s 3 ½ months later and I have gotten to know so many people and found myself a home, at least for this chapter. I love it there so much. G’head. Google it.

a word about Basket of Kisses/ LippSisters.com

If you found me because you’re really looking for BoK, the world’s leading Mad Men blog, please know that we are doing everything we can to restore our blog. It’s a long story, about servers and hosting and data oh my; and really, it’s not a particularly good story, but there you are. We’re sorry we disappeared, and I promise you, we will be back soon, stronger than ever.

Back when I had a blog.

ten minutes

I never made it to yoga this weekend, so now it’s been several weeks again. I found a class I really like, Saturday mornings at 10:00. I’d had this incredible night that got me home at 5:00am, (a whole separate and wonderful story) and I was okay, yeah I was hungover and it wasn’t happening. Sunday there is no class I know I love, but there is one I could have explored. And it didn’t happen. The hardest thing for me is starting again each time I stop.

Last night I didn’t get home until nearly midnight (I’m reading scripts in a screenwriter’s group that meets every couple weeks–so many good things!) and then I spent over 20 minutes searching for a parking spot (oh yeah, that’s a new game I’m not enjoying). So this morning I overslept, blah blah blah.

I rolled out the mat and did ten minutes of practice.

I just want to say that it is fucking miraculous how much better ten minutes of good practice (because I do know what I’m doing, how to have ten minutes be balanced, flowing and generally substantive) makes me feel. And what a better mood that puts me in.

the end by rkl.

Hear my song

This really needs to be the year I meet someone. It just does. Anything you can do, even just energywise, your personal equivalent of lighting a candle. Set it up. Let’s go.

I’m just over being brave and single. I’m GOOD at being brave and single. I’ve mastered it.

Witness the winds of change a’blowing.

Listen to the song that I sing
Listen to the words in my heart
Listen to the hope I can bring
And you’ll start to grow
And shine

adjustments

The reality is that it is much harder for me to type on this netbook than it was on my laptop (may it rest in peace), and I need to retrain myself to put the motivation back into my fingers. And I suppose the only way to do that is to write sometimes.

Also, when I miss great chunks of time, and especially when so much has happened (like, I moved), I want to play catch-up, so what I charge myself with writing is an overwhelming amount. I have a post that I started a week ago about the move, but I’d written for more than half an hour and hadn’t gotten halfway to where I’d aimed. It’s in drafts.

The move has been difficult and wonderful. This was a very good move. I’m living in an apartment with beautiful hardwood floors and 11′ ceilings–feels so light and healthy. I am also living a much more urban lifestyle. My car has been at my mom’s since the move (getting it next weekend; it was a whole permit-to-park-on-the-street story that is excruciatingly uninteresting) and I have been getting around well–a lot of walking, and I’m a few blocks from the path, right into the city.

The main goal for this move was for me to be able to enjoy Manhattan more. My old commute was via the Port Authority–a fine commute for work hours, but anything after hours was badly restricted. I had to give myself a lot of lead time to make sure I got on the bus, and it would turn into a two hour commute home from door-to-door, unless I stayed within a few blocks of the bus terminal. Now I have a lot more freedom. Downtown Manhattan is an open field for me, now that all this pressure is removed. I’ve already had a few visits with my brother’s kids (this was high on my list of priorities), made a spontaneous decision to see a play, and spent a few fun nights in Marie’s Crisis singing showtunes around a piano with a multitude of gay boys. I’ve loved this place for years, and have never had the opportunity to just sink into it. And now I’m doing it.

(And yes, I’m aware that as a single mostly-straight woman looking to meet a man and fall in love and stuff, this seems counter-productive. But it feels very right.)

Settling into the apartment is slow-going. Roberta-pace is not the fastest, and I’ve encountered some barriers. Yesterday I fell down splat onto a sidewalk (while cheerfully walking around my charming neighborhood that apparently has some crappy sidewalks). Painful, scary, upsetting. I’m a bit scraped, bruised and whiplashed–I led with my chin to save my face and it pulled my neck forward. Owwy. I am incredibly lucky. And really I’m okay–I spent the afternoon with a friend and we walked around and had a bite, and today more friends are coming by.

Life is a bit confusing and tumultuous but it’s feeling genuinely vibrant.