Surrender

What does it mean to “surrender”?  Because I don’t really know.

Somebody once said to me (and I am 100% positive that others have thought it), “You are the only one standing in your way”.  Okay…thank you…that’s helpful…what do I do about it?

A decade of therapy has taught me about all of the things that went wrong in my life and why my journey hasn’t been as easy as some.  And easy is a relative term.  I constantly have to remind myself that my village isn’t being bombed, I can say whatever I want (within reason) without being shot on sight, and I can access clean drinking water whenever I need to.  That’s something, I admit…it could be worse.  But this is America.  This is the only life I have ever known.  Do I know real and true suffering?  Probably not.  But…I suffer nonetheless.  And while I know how and why I became me…ME doesn’t seem to work in a lot of scenarios, and I don’t know what to do about it.

Why am I the only “normal” person that I know who has been single for over a decade? (This is a gross exaggeration of course, but I have not had a long term committed relationship since I moved to Los Angeles). And what I mean by normal is…I’m not a disgustingly hideous disfigured bum.  I am a relatively attractive person with brains and talent…and yet, I can never seem to put any of it to good use for an extended period of time.  I can do things.  I can get jobs, work, perform, make friends, meet guys…but eventually things come to an end for one reason or another and the only thing that has ever lasted are my friendships.  At least I have this.  I take great pride in my work as a friend.  I am a good one, and I have the lasting friendships to prove it.

But, when I have to take things to the lowest common denominator and comfort myself with the fact that I don’t live in a third world country…you gotta know something is wrong.

I quit my job on Friday.  I was there for seven months.  I had secured that job while working at another.  That other place was absolutely miserable.  The money was terrible, my boss was an asshole, the food was mediocre, business was slow, and I was dating my alcoholic self-destructive co-worker.  Everybody who worked there, including me, drank all night long just to get through it.  I had to get out.  So, I did the right thing (even though my current boss kept writing me bad checks and I wasn’t being paid) and I stayed there while I looked for something else.  And then I left.  So, now I’m at the new place.  I’m happy.  Ecstatic.  Grateful.  This place was shiny and new, my boss loved me, I loved him, everything was great.  A fresh start.  Everybody needs one of those.  But then the inevitable happened.  I got my first customer complaint.  This was several months in.  It happens.  I mean, let’s face it, you can’t please all of the people all of the time and I’ve been doing this a long long looooooooooong long time.  I know the drill.  I know what is expected of me.  I do my best and hope I can get through the day without anything too awful happening, but I am not perfect and no matter what you do…sometimes it just isn’t going to be enough.  Well, this was the beginning of the end.  This customer wanted something that isn’t on the menu and I didn’t know if it was possible to comply with her request.  I just wanted to get it right and in trying to do so, she got frustrated and embarrassed and then told my boss I was rude to her.  I wasn’t, but that doesn’t matter.  It’s like being accused of rape.  Even if you didn’t do it, people will always associate you with being a rapist afterwards.  I know that’s an extreme comparison, but it’s true.  It plants the seeds of doubt and that’s enough to ruin your reputation forever.  So, ever since then my boss has seen me differently.  He started getting on my case more and more about little tiny stupid things.  Texting me on my days off to tell me of a minor infraction made the day before.  Totally inappropriate.  While this may not be a big deal to some, it was a huge deal to me.  I spent years and years trying to prove to my parents that I wasn’t a hideous loser after spending a few years being one.  It took a lot to prove that my past wasn’t my present and that I had changed.  And now I was going to have to go through the same thing here at work.  I became increasingly more stressed as I strived for perfection, which as we all know is absolutely impossible to achieve.  I minded my p’s and q’s.  Took every precaution to make sure that nobody would ever have a reason to complain about me again.  Now, if you’ve ever worked in service, you know that there are some people who just don’t want to be happy, so despite my best efforts, someone else complained about me.  Now mind you, they didn’t complain about my service.  I did my job fine.  This person complained about a conversation that we had.  Now, I’m a bartender.  This is a job that’s heavy on conversation.  People tell you things, things get personal, people get comfortable, alcohol is involved.  It’s basically just a huge recipe for disaster for someone like me.  I have always been a pretty open book.  You don’t get a lot of surprises with me.  I say how I feel, tell people what I think, and I try to be as honest as I can.  It’s just the way that I am built…and this is the problem.  So, anyway, I don’t really remember this customer, but apparently we had a pretty in depth conversation about what I do outside of work, you know, the fire dancing and whatnot.  And somewhere along the line I expressed that bartending was not my life’s dream and that I couldn’t wait to someday be able to just do what I love all of the time and not work in restaurants anymore.  Well, that did it.  This customer was not going to stand for this.  She wanted me to be completely happy where I was and to go on bartending until I’m 90 and to do it with enthusiasm and joy.  So, what she decided to do was to write a page long letter to my employer to tell him I was not happy with my job.  Wow.  Really?  I wish I had that kind of time!  So, days after this conversation took place my boss pulled me into his office to tell me about the psychotic letter he had received.  He made me read it.  It was really bat shit crazy.  But that doesn’t matter.  It planted the seed…and that’s all it takes.  I proceeded to burst into tears.  I felt betrayed first of all.  I mean, how the hell does a person take a private and personal conversation and then blab it to my boss?  What a fucking bitch!  And I felt completely unsupported by my employer.  I felt that I had been there long enough (about 5 months) for my work to speak for itself.  There are shit ton of customers who absolutely adore me!  People leaving happy left and right.  And just because one bored and crazy lady takes it upon herself to interpret things that I said and twist them to suit her world view, now I’m an asshole who hates her job?  It really wasn’t the case.  I didn’t hate my job.  But I started to after this incident.  I became more and more careful with who I engaged in conversation and what I said.  I felt mistrusting of everyone and I also felt that my boss was now watching me very very very closely.  And he was.  After this incident I couldn’t do a damn thing right.  Criticism was the daily ritual and no matter how awesome I was with customers, how fast I made drinks, how clean I left my bar, it was never enough.  He kept finding things to complain about.  In twelve years of doing this kind of work, I have never experienced so much negative feedback.  Work became a place I dreaded going and my boss a tyrant who I never wanted to see again, let alone lift another finger for, ever.  But, like a good little girl, and an upstanding citizen who pays taxes, uses their blinker, and takes it right up the ass with a smile, I kept going back.  Because that’s what you do.  You work.  You do what you’re told.  You do whatever it takes because you have bills to pay and you don’t want to end up on the street.

Meanwhile, I had another life.  A new and improved life outside of work.  One that was free of alcoholic boyfriends and free of alcohol all together.  My last blog was 7 months ago and I stated that I would no longer be drinking and I stuck to it.  Oh, big woop.  They don’t hand out prizes you know.  But, still I am thankful that I made that decision and my life has changed in a lot of positive ways as a result.  I started the whole fire dancing thing and I gained a level of confidence that I didn’t know was possible for me.  I met a lot of really great people and became immersed in a world that I had never known existed.  The fire dancing community, while not without flaws, is a very supportive group of individuals.  We all have this one thing in common and we’ve all been changed for the better because of it.  The effect that it’s had on my life has been very profound and I know it has done the same for others.  Everyone tries their best to live in an elevated state of consciousness.  It comes more naturally for some than it does for others, but the point is, they try…and that’s more than most people do…in my experience anyway.

People from this community tend to be spiritual, liberal, and free.  Conversation is interesting, creativity is at maximum capacity at all times, there’s always some kind of inspirational quote on Facebook from someone or other, there’s always something social to do, nobody shakes your hand, everybody hugs (you need 12 a day for proper oxytocin production…did you know that?), people dance, and by people I mean even the men.  Everyone gets to be themselves, or a whatever version they choose to put forth, nobody tries to fit into a box, or put you into one.  It’s pretty great all around, although like I said, there are flaws…I mean, these are people I am talking about.  Not everybody walks their talk and that can be disheartening, but that might be subject matter for another blog.  But you get my drift.  Here I am in a sea of good people who are just happy to let me be who I am and show me love and then I go to work every night and try to be who somebody else wants me to be and get shit on.  It’s a mind fuck of great proportions and it’s hard to live in both worlds simultaneously.

The more immersed I become in “the community”…I know, it sounds like a cult…the more I see how screwed up things are on the outside of it.  And this isn’t news to anyone, we all see the world going to hell in a hand basket, but I am surrounded by people who want to make it better, who really and truly believe that it CAN be better.  I’ve been exposed to people who look at the silver lining ALL of the time.  Who believe in themselves and who believe in the abundance of the Universe.  People who believe that if you set your mind to it, you really CAN do anything.  That you ARE okay just the way you are.  That you ARE meant to be here and that everything IS going to be okay.  And, well, I drank the Cool Aid…and as a result, I no longer have a job.

Here is what happened.  Thursday night I was doing a stellar job not having inappropriate conversation with anyone, mixing amazing cocktails, keeping up with a never ending stream of customers and basically just being all around amazing.  Apparently, I forgot to take my bus tub (the thing you put your dirty dishes in) back to the kitchen at the end of the night.  Well, first of all…I usually work with a busboy who automatically does this for me.  And second of all, the tub had already been emptied earlier, so I know there weren’t that many dishes in it anyway.  Well, the busboy didn’t take it back and I forgot to double check.  Big.  Fucking.  Deal.  Yeah, it’s not the best.  You don’t want to attract critters, and I know this…which is why I’ve NEVER made this mistake before.  So, on Saturday I’m at the Silverlake Reservoir having the best day with a girlfriend of mine.  We did the stairs and were having a Spin Jam (practicing with our fire tools) in the park.  The sun was shining, we were laughing and talking and workin’ out.  Life was good.  And then I get a text from my boss that reads: “We need to talk next week.  You left your bus tub under the bar last night.”  Um…is this some kind of medical emergency that needs my immediate attention?  Why the FUCK is he texting me on my day off?  I have NEVER in twelve years of waiting tables been called or texted on my day off to be reprimanded.  And over something so little!!!  Is he serious?  “We need to talk”?  Really?  I mean, REALLY REALLY?  There goes my fabulous day!  He took it upon himself to swoop on in, uninvited and let me know that all was not well and that we’d be talking next week…I guess he wanted me to think long and hard about the horrible awful terrible no good thing that I did.  And this wasn’t the first time.  Another time he texted me to tell me that I left the a/c on all night.  Okay, well, let’s back up a little bit.  The a/c was indeed left on, but it’s on auto, meaning that it’s set at a certain temperature and will shut off when that temperature is reached.  I think it was at like 72 or 74 or something.  This means that it most definitely was NOT on ALL NIGHT because it’s not that hot at night and the a/c would eventually just shot off.  And the reason I had forgotten was because the a/c is the first thing I check when I am closing up at night, but on that particular night after I had checked to make sure it was off, the dishwasher asked me to turn it back on…it gets like a steam room in the kitchen and the poor guy was sweating like a slave.  So, I forgot I had turned it back on.  I forgot.  This happens to human beings every once in a while.  They forget stuff.  It sucks sometimes, but it happens to everyone as far as I know.  I guess I’m just not allowed to be human.  And even if it was a huge deal…it’s still not text worthy because it is not an emergency and it does not need to be addressed on my day off.

Now this may not sound like much to you, but you have to remember this rides on the coattails of being harassed all shift long for about two months (ever since the first customer complaint).  Harassed to the point that other coworkers notice and say things like “What the hell is going on?  Why does he keep riding you?”  Not to mention that every single time my roommate ever came in to visit me, as a PAYING CUSTOMER no less, he would constantly harangue me with nonsense making her feel awkward and unwelcome to the point where she eventually just stopped coming in.  And she’s in service as well, neither of us has every experienced anything like it.  She was a regular customer and he never made her feel welcome…but I’m the asshole…even though I bend over backwards for everyone who walks in…okay, fine.

So, on Friday when I got that text, I finally snapped.  This guy has no idea what he is doing or how to manage people.  He has never bartended one single day in his life and has no idea what I do or how fucking good I am at it.  He couldn’t possibly know.  And while I don’t really relish serving alcohol, I have to say, I take pride in making a good cocktail, not because it’s a cocktail, but because it’s good.  And I know there is value in being good at what you do, even if what you do is clean toilets.  Well, it had been clear for some time that I was not being appreciated in anyway whatsoever.  And no matter how stellar I did under extremely pressured circumstances, it was never going to be enough.  And I knew for a fact that I would always make small mistakes…maybe not often, but again, the human factor guarantees this, and that he would never let any of them go.  So, I quit.  And there is more, so much more that I could say about him and about other people that work there and how unhappy they are and what they go through, but it really isn’t important.  You just have to trust me on this. 

I know that I deserve to be appreciated for what I do.  I know that I deserve to be treated with respect.  I know that …. Wait….I just had to stop typing for a moment…I don’t want to sound like I am justifying a bad decision, but it feels like it a little bit.  You see, I am programmed.  I am programmed by society, by my upbringing, by my experience…I am programmed to believe that you don’t ever walk away from a job, no matter how shitty the circumstances, unless you’ve got another one lined up.  I feel like I am in trouble.  I feel like I have misbehaved.  I feel like I have done something wrong.  That’s the old me, who is still alive and well in here.  But I have new programming.  The programming that I mentioned before.  The programming of “Jump and the Net Will Appear!”.  The whole, power of positive thinking programming, the Universe is Abundant programming, the Law of Attraction programming.  But this programming is new, it isn’t hardwired, it isn’t reinforced in my neuro pathways yet.  I have been living with and reinforcing the brain patterns of fear and “the world is a shitty and scary place” for 30+ years.  It takes work to undo all of those neuro pathways.  I know how the brain works.  I understand the science behind that.  And I do believe that those patterns can be changed, that the routing can be re-routed, that the thoughts can be different.  But it’s work.  And I’m doing it…it’s just not an overnight sensation kind of a thing.  I WANT to believe these things.  And on most days I do.  But on a day like today, I doubt.

I quit my job in a terrifying job market and a shitty economy.  People with master’s degrees are waiting tables.  And no, I don’t want to wait tables anymore.  I’ve never really been cut out for it.  It has been an extremely difficult 12 years.  I’m amazed that I’ve been able to do it for as long as I have.  Okay, so I quit my job AND…AND…AND you want to hear the even crazier part?  I have decided to give notice to my building.  I mean, I don’t want to live in the valley anymore anyway.  If you’ve read my previous blogs, you know that I did not choose this apartment.  I’ve never really liked it.  It’s waaay more than I wanted to spend and waaay more than I can afford now.  So, here is my grand plan: I am going to continue to look for work…possibly in management (so I can be in charge and put my knowledge and expertise to good use and not have some moron lording over me), but possibly doing something completely different…and hopefully I will have a new job soon…and I am going to give up my apartment and for the month of August…I am going to just be a vagabond.  I’m already going to be gone for a week (possibly more) in August at Burning Man anyway, so why spend money that I don’t have on rent for a place that I’m not even going to be occupying?

Am I losing my mind?  Have I just completely left the reservation?  Is this surrender?  Or is this giving up completely?  Is there a difference?  My life’s plan right now is to be homeless…and possibly jobless.  I have NO savings.  None.  Nothing.  What the fuck do I think I am doing?  How do I suppose I am going to survive?  Just where exactly do I think I am going to stay?  Yesterday, when I was in full Cool Aid mode, I felt pretty damn good about all of this.  You know?  I felt like, Yeah man!  I’m free!  I don’t have to work for an asshole.  It doesn’t serve my higher purpose.  It isn’t healthy.  I don’t have to put up with this shit!  Life is what I make it!  Life is what I decide it’s going to be!  I’m just going to throw all of my shit in storage and go to Burning Man, see how that changes me and then figure it all out when I get back!  YEAH!  YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

But then I went and got my period and now I’m up at 3:30am crying and writing this blog.  Terrified.  I know that isn’t surrender.  But if I was “giving up” I wouldn’t have all of these questions.  I wouldn’t care at all.  I’d just leave all of my shit here and go OD on heroin or something.  So what is this?

I have always been told, and I have always sorta believed, that I was meant for great things.  I do have a belief that this world and my life is an opportunity for something big.  It doesn’t have to be showy big.  I don’t mean like I have to be a movie star or anything.  But, I just think there HAS to be a way for me to make a living that gives my life meaning and purpose.  I thought maybe Yoga was that thing, but I haven’t been able to get anyone to come to class, so I don’t know…maybe that’s not it.  But fuck, there’s got to be a place for me where I belong, where the work I do is valued and appreciated.  There has to be a place where I belong right now, just as I am that my life experience and work experience are just right for.  I don’t want my parents to worry about me.  I don’t want my friends to worry about me.  Hell, I don’t want to worry about me.  I have made this decision.  This is what is happening.  And this is meant to happen, cause…it’s happening…I already said that, but that’s how you know something is meant to happen…it happens.  That’s reality.  Anyway…I am walking away from that which does not serve me.  I am walking away from that job and this apartment and I am walking towards whatever comes next.

Is this surrender?  I really fucking hope so…because that’s when all the good shit’s supposed to happen~

Dear John~

No, this letter is not intended for a person named John...but it is a "Dear John" letter...I guess.  Kids do not try this at home.  What I mean is, don't do the things that lead up to having to write a letter like this.  I am posting it here because I can never send it to the person it is intended for and I haven't written a blog in months.  Instead, I've been writing this letter for a week.  So, here it is in all of it's patheticness for your amusement.  I'm going to go back to crying now~  Enjoy

I hope you can receive this with an open heart and mind.  I feel that I owe it both to you and to myself to explain a few things.  I want to tell you that the time that I spent with you was beautiful.  Sort of magical really.  I mean, dancing in the rain?  What an experience.  I told you I felt lucky, and I meant that.  You are gorgeous, talented, sweet, charming, fun, deep, seductive, bright, open, intelligent, passionate, energetic, surprising, full of wonder, inspiring, and I am sure a lot of things that I didn’t get a chance to see.  You were a welcome breath of extremely fresh and rejuvenating air right at a time when I was coming out of something extremely dark…I guess I just hadn’t come all the way out yet.  I recently lost someone very close to me.  It isn’t an excuse, but it is one of the reasons that I’ve been having a hard time being my best possible self.  This person that I lost was my best friend of 22 years.  She drank herself to death and nobody knew it was happening until it was too late to do anything about it.  She was my twin, my soul mate.  It feels like a piece of me is missing and I’m learning how to live in the world without her.  It isn’t easy.  It changes you and leaves you slightly off balance.  Not long after she passed away, I misguidedly got involved with someone who was a heavy drug user and also a heavy drinker.  I think I was trying to get a second chance at saving my friend in some weird-backwards-subconscious way or maybe trying to feel what it was like to be in her shoes, or maybe I wanted to drown out feelings that I didn’t like having…I really don’t know, but instead, I got sucked into this guy’s toxic world.  I don’t blame him, it’s just what the circumstances were.  While I was smart enough to finally get out of that situation, some of the habits I developed in that relationship had been hard to shake…and that’s when I met you.  Because I already wasn’t in the best place emotionally (read vulnerable and lost), and because you are so young and so beautiful, I have to admit, I felt insecure.  Believe me, I know how unattractive that is in a person (I can’t stand it when people tell me I am intimidating), but I told you before, I am not much of a bullshitter.  Sometimes the truth sucks, but I think it is the most important thing.  Remember when I asked you how you could put so many great things into one person (meaning you)?  I suppose I didn’t feel as though I deserved to have you.  I was confused and it sort of tapped into some stuff that I hadn’t worked through yet.  I should never have mixed alcohol with those feelings.  My bizarre drunken behavior might seem frightening or psycho, but I can assure you, as can those who have known me and loved me for many years, I am a wonderful (mostly sane;) girl.  I just also happen to be a person who blacks out easily and says and does really strange things when she is drunk that she would never in a million years say or do under any other circumstances.  I am extremely grateful (though sad as hell) that it took me completely humiliating myself in front of you to wake me up to how all of this stuff has all been affecting my life.   Now I have a chance to do something about it.  I have no reason to drink ever again.  And day by day, accepting the loss of my friend gets easier.  You seem to be very mature and well tapped into your spiritual side and I gather that you are a humanist and a deeply compassionate person (your friends seem to think so).  So, perhaps you can understand where this is coming from.  I am sorry that I ruined our budding friendship for both of us.   Maybe after I’ve had some significant time to get my balance back, you will consider getting to know me again.  Meeting you was pretty intense and I loved every minute of it…I just don’t think I was at all prepared to handle it. 

Whatever happens, I wish you all of the best.  Thank you for shining your light on me~

The Simple Story (Yeah Right)

"The Simple Story...unfurling slowly...is if you lay down with a dream...you'll wake up lonely"~Jane Berkin fet. Feist (remix album)


Oh Gosh, where do I begin?  See, this is what happens when I stop doing a "weekly" blog.  I have to catch you up on so many things that writing becomes a hurdle to be jumped (like everything else in life) as apposed to just a quick little trip into my psyche.

Well, a few months ago I met a guy.  Online.  Puke.  Barf. and Double Puke.  God, how I hate online dating.  We lasted exactly six weeks, which I must say is a bit of an improvement from my track record over the last ten years.  I used to have two week "honeymoon period" relationships that ended when the honeymoon was over.  I had two relationships with the same person, five years apart that each lasted for five months, so I guess you could say that my longest relationship in the last ten years was ten months long.  But that's cheating.  So, back to the guy.  He was Drop.  Dead.  Gorgeous.  I felt like I was FINALLY getting what I deserved after giving so many trolls a chance.  Okay, he was gorgeous, quirky, funny, down to earth and whatnot.  Now this is what I thought in the begining.  After getting to know him I learned that he was a "Dry Drunk" (from what I understand, that's an alcoholic who stays sober but still doesn't grow spiritually or whatever--basically they still act like an alcoholic even though they no longer drink).  He also had Mommy issues and was a narcissistic hermit.  Winning combo.  Man he was fun (groan).

Now, because I'm me and I like to beat horse until it's beyond dead (basically, I dig horses up from their graves and beat them senseless in the middle of the night when no one else is looking, but believe me...the horse knows...oh...it knows) I didn't dump this guy.  I let him dump me.  Apparently, I looove to be dumped.  I can't break up with anyone to save my life.  I used to break up with people.  That was years ago.  I don't know what happened to me, but my will to end a relationship is nonexistent.  It doesn't matter if you are the worlds biggest loser and I hate you.  I will not go down without making a visit to the horse grave yard.   I can't be helped.  Dump me.  Dump me now.  I implore you!

So, there I was, post dump (even though it really just fizzled out, but I liked to think of it as me getting dumped cause I am sick and twisted and like to wallow in self pity) and I was feeling rejected, dejected, ugly and unlovable.  You know, the usual.  On top of this, I'm STILL dealing with/grieving the loss of my BFF, adjusting to living back in Lala Land in an apartment that I hate and barely scraping by financially, I reached a new low.  Now, don't get your panties in a twist people, this ship has sailed and I am talking about the past, but I was starting to feel like life wasn't worth living any more.  This was not the first time I had felt this way, so to say that this was a "new" low is kind of a lie, but it was new again, so let's just go with it.  My therapist made me call her every day to check in with her and after about four or five days, it passed.  I know this is an uncomfortable topic for most and I know that the only people who read this blog are people who know and love me, but if I keep NOT addressing these uncomfortable topics (trust me, there is so much that I've been want to write, but haven't been able to), I'm never going to write a blog again.  I gotta tell it like it is or it's not worth telling.  Having your BFF die on you changes you and makes you feel things you never thought you could and makes you think things you never thought you would.  I often find myself saying to her (but in my head) "I don't blame you."  Sometimes I envy that she's done with all of the hard work.

Well, low and behold, right about this time I meet someone new.  Someone like me.  Someone who is questioning whether or not it's worth giving another day a go.  We connected in our depression and desire to self destruct and a new relationship was born.  Let's call him Mr. X.  Mr. X is a wonderful guy. I'm not being sarcastic either, he really is.  He's brilliant.  Probably a genius.  He's easy going, super duper friendly, has a lot of charisma and for some reason I find him incredibly sexy.  Not sure what's going on with that last bit.  I don't usually describe men this way.  In fact, I've never done so before.  I dunno, it's weird.  He was kind to me, a great listener, he understood and he reached out when nobody else was doing so.  We were both in a bad place and since I've learned that we attract what we are putting out there, we were immediately inseparable.  It lasted two months.  A NEW RECORD!  Why did it end?  Well, Mr. X has an insatiable appetite for self destruction.  I won't get into particulars because I don't wish to tell his business, but let's just say, I couldn't keep up with him.  And I tried.  Boy did I ever.  It was like reliving the worst parts of my twenties all over again.  The thing is though, the worst parts of my twenties also housed some of the best parts.  Incredible experiences that are a right of passage at that age.  If you choose to look at it that way.  There are many ways to look at over indulgence, experimentation, and living on the edge.  Take it how you like it.  My mind can change on this subject from minute to minute and I guess maybe that's how I so easily revisited a certain way of life that I thought I had long been done with.  Whatever.  It happened.  The thing is, being with him made me feel better and having someone to talk to and do things with, to hold was all I really wanted.  And because I was feeling better, I no longer wanted to self destruct.  Unfortunately, my charms didn't have the same affect on him.  I don't know if it was a lack of attraction or anything having to do with me at all.  He's expressed that he is not up to talking about "us" at this time, so I can't really speak for him.  All I know is, even though he had me, he still had a need to numb and escape.  And again, I don't blame him.  I'd like to think I was sooooooo awesome that he'd just want to clean up his act so he could bask in the glow of me, but...that's wishful thinking.

Okay, so I couldn't keep up and he knew I couldn't and he's not ready to get off that train, but I knew if I didn't get off, I'd be reunited with my BFF sooner than I would like.  I started to make more and more comments in reference to maybe going in a different direction and I guess he reached a point where he didn't want to hear it anymore.  So, basically even though I knew it was over before it even began...I let him dump me...just to keep my perfect record.  I mean, why spoil a good thing?  Being with him was indeed like "Lay[ing] down with a dream" and yes, when I woke up, I was often lonely.  As time went on, it was lonelier than being by myself.  When the novelty of being with me wore off for Mr. X his behavior towards me became inconsistent.  The honeymoon had long been over...actually, I'm not sure it had ever begun.

It's hard to watch another person who I care about go down the same path that led the the demise of someone who I cared so deeply for.  I think a part of me wanted to see if I could make up for not being able to save my BFF.  You know, maybe if I could do things differently, care more, say more, do more, love more, not just stand by and watch, maybe the world wouldn't have to lose another amazing human being before it was ready.  There's no doubt that that was part of the attraction with Mr. X.  Oooh goody!  My chance to get it right this time!  And they are a lot alike Mr. X and my BFF.  Two of the most easily likeable and bright shiny people that you could ever meet (with a blackness that few, except for myself, get to see on the flip side).  There's a nutty part of my brain (the part that sometimes wants to believe in ghosts and other weird inplausible stuff) that indulges in those fantasies of "Oh maybe BFF sent Mr. X to me so I can do with him what I couldn't do with her."  You know, you can't blame me.  Those are the types of thoughts us big hearted half crazy humans have.  Sue me.

I know that I have to let go and I have.  I didn't even get closure this time and for the first time in my life, I'm okay with it.  I'm growing!!  I can't and won't stop caring, but I know that there's nothing that I can do other than let this person know that I'm there for them should they need me and there's not much else I can do beyond that.  But, oh how the mind loves to continue to go back to that place where it says "You can do it!"  No, I can't.  Like I said (previous blog), all the kings horses and all the kings men...they couldn't do it and neither can I.  Now, there is absolutely no guarantee that Mr. X will meet the afore mentioned fate and god willing, he won't.  A lot of people that I've known in my life, including myself have been to dark places only to rise from the ashes.  It happens every day.  I am rooting for him and I have a lot of faith.

The long and the short of it is, I gotta worry about me.  I gotta take care of me.  And that brings me to what I really came here to write about.  I am fuckin' WORRIED about me.  And YOU too!  Don't even get me started thinking about kids and what they are all going to have to deal with when they get older (global warming, our food and water supply,  those are just for starters).  I'm worried about everybody!  For realz dawg.  Shit be scary out there.  I know that the thoughts that I'm about to share border on compulsive and are part of my lingering depression (that is improving daily, thank you), but here they are and they have to be worked through.  What the hell is going to become of me?  And when I figure out what I want to do to earn my keep for the duration, what is going to be the point of it?  (A few things that make life worth living that I will interject so you don't get too depressed:  Babies, Music, Art, Laughter--I haven't given up, I swear!).  Existential crisis anyone?  Yes, I'll have one of those please.  I was driving home from a crappy movie a few hours ago and I just started feeling really panicky.  I'm worried about social security and my retirement and shit that I really don't have to worry about right now, but then again, I do.  Right?!  I mean, RIGHT!?  I'm gonna be old before you know it.  I keep getting older every day and I'm just so worried about the state of the world right now and how it's all going to affect me.  I'm currently looking for a second job to supplement my income cause I literally don't make enough right now to even cover the most basic necessities of food and shelter.  It's damn scary and all I can think is of the AUDACITY that I had to quit my job last August and up and move out of my awesome apartment.  I had NO IDEA what was going on in the real world.  I really and truly didn't.  I lived in the bubble of Hollywood and the security and comfort of a job that I'd been doing for almost eight years.  I had no idea that things were getting so scary out here in the real world.  Since I got my shit together in my late twenties my parents have been more than willing help me out of a pinch now and again.  But, they are both getting older and their income is going to become fixed soon.  The world is getting scary for them too.  So, what happens when I no longer have that safety net?  That question needs to get answered and soon.

The life that I'm living right now is something that I heard about on the news and that I only thought happened to other people.  I used to live in a fantasy world of hope and dreams that consisted of me thinking that some day I might actually go back to acting or singing and maybe I would get "discovered" or get my "big break" or whatever and I would live happily ever after.  Next thing I know, I'm almost forty and that shit just sounds plain crazy now.  I just want to make sure I don't end up homeless at this point.

Where are we headed people?  How much worse is our economy going to get?  How much more corrupt is the government going to get?  How much wider is the gap between the haves and the havenots going to get?  And we can't even have a revolution.  Not with technology and weaponry where they are at now.  We mere mortals, civilians, peasants, broke ass mofo's, we don't have a prayer in the world of turning things around.  I don't want to be one of those people who fixates on how the world is going to hell in a handbasket, but dang...I'za sceered.  I know that some of this will pass and I won't worry so much as I feel better and crawl out of the whole that I dug for myself while I was on a tear with Mr. X--it takes time to normalize again afterall--but in the meantime, I have to figure out a Plan X,Y, and/or Z (and I will repeat the mantra "Babies, Music, Art, Laughter" over and over).  I can't just stick my head in the sand and pretend like it's all going to be okay without me taking an active part in the security of my future.  I feel like I've been living in a dream for the last 37 years and I've just woken up to find out that I'm not in Kansas anymore.

For now, all I can do is take things one day at a time and be happy that I do indeed have the stamina, the will and the downright desire to wake up each day and try to make a go of it.  At least I know that I'm no longer dreaming...and I'm okay with just waking up with myself.

Humpty Dumpty

Did I say that I was living in Limbo?  I think what I meant to say was that I am living in Hell.  It isn't that I don't know what I want to do, it's that I think I've officially given up trying anything anymore.  There's only so much a person can take before they say "enough is enough".  I've had enough.  We are taught growing up that life isn't fair, but no matter how many times that notion is crammed down our throats, it never gives us any comfort.  Life should be fair.  It just should.  It's not okay to have a broken childhood, to become a hardened survivor because of it and then have to spend your entire adult life unlearning all of defense mechanisms you had to learn growing up.  I've learned through years of therapy that almost every single feeling I have is an overreaction.  My emotional self is stuck at about eight years old and no matter how much I try to encourage my inner child that "everything is going to be okay", years and years of life experience has done everything to convince me otherwise.

Ignorance is bliss.  Unfortunately, I am smart enough to know certain things that keep me from being less than blissful.  For instance, I know that a beautiful, cheerful, bright and sunshiny woman can hide a deep dark secret from the world and die from self medicating because her life hurts too much.  I know that a man can be married to a woman for over twenty years, help raise her daughter and then leave her when he comes into his inheritance...and never speak to the daughter again.  I know that not everyone gets to live their dreams.  Some people just end up being bartenders.  I know that you can lie beside someone and feel more lonely than if there was no one there at all.  And I know that you can cry for hours and hours and nobody will come to comfort you.

I have never been more terrified in all of my life.  I'm scared of myself.  I'm scared that I see old demons resurfacing and I know better than to indulge them, but I do anyway.  I can see myself running, no sprinting, into the center of disaster.  I can feel this need to be taken care of as though I were a child, but I'm not a child.  It's too late to get that kind of love.  And the sad fact is that I will never stop wanting it, never stop needing it.  I have been here before.  A few times.  What's scary about being here now is that I am creeping up on forty.  I should have learned to cope by now.  I haven't.

It is amazing to me to have as many advantages as I do and still not be able to make a go of things.  I am smart, attractive, talented, or so I've bee told.  And this isn't me being conceited or anything.  Trust me.  Knowing these things about myself does nothing to make me feel confident or able.  For how I feel, I might as well be the ugliest, stupidest, most untalented person to walk the earth.  And I know I am being super self indulgent with these feelings.  Oh poor me.  I get it, I really do.  But there's just this self destructive part of me that has taken the reins and doesn't care.  I am broken.  And I don't know how to put myself together again.  How many times can you  super glue something back together before you decide "this thing has just become a piece of junk" and toss it into the trash?  Besides, we already know that not even all of the kings horses and all of the kings men could put Humpty together again.

I recently met with my therapist and I felt bad for her.  I felt bad that she's taken so much time and energy to get me to this super good place (where I was about nine months ago) only to see it just all come crumbling down.  All of her hard work.  All of MY hard work.  It's all gone to shit.

The one and only thing that I want is to love.  That is all.  But you can't get other people to love you until you love yourself and show them that you are worthy of their love.  With me, it's a bit of a catch-22 cause I'm never going to believe that I am lovable until someone else actually loves me first.  I wouldn't love me right now if I were someone else.  I don't know how I would feel about me.  Lemme think.  Yeah, it's too hard to see myself from the outside.  I think I would just feel sorry for me and then walk away.  It's hard to watch people be in pain.  It's hard to watch people struggle.  I feel like maybe if someone were to just hold me for about a hundred years, THEN, MAYBE I would feel better.  I honestly think that's what it would take.

Here's a question:  Would I hold me for about a hundred years?

Yes, I believe if I could I would.  I guess that's something.

The Limbo

Apparently the Vatican decided a few years back that Limbo doesn't really exist.  I am here to tell you, it does.  I have been living in Limbo for eight months now.  It is everything they said it was and more.  It totally sucks.

When I decided to quit Lala Land and move far far away I had a vision, I had a plan.  The plan was good.  But then one thing led to another (see previous posts) and the plan became null and void.  And now I am back at square one.  My friends are getting engaged, getting married, having kids, moving on, living life, and I'm watching Grey's Anatomy for seven hours a day.  What the hell has happened to me?

I don't want to get engaged, get married, or have kids.  I did, but now I don't.  In my mind the world has officially become this uber scary place and I do not wish to bring any other humans into it.  Perhaps that will change, but for now, that's how I feel.  I thought I wanted to be a Yoga teacher.  It seemed to be a life that would hold some meaning and that would keep me happy and healthy, but now I just don't think I will be fulfilled by that.  I haven't practiced regularly in months.  I've lost my Yoga mojo.  So what the f do I want to do already???  Why can't I figure this out?

I still have my artistic desires.  I still want to write.  This is why I am forcing this horrifically boring and dismal blog right now.  I still want to act.  I still want to sing.  I still want to do a lot of things.  But after being run over by the biggest steam roller of my existence over the last few months, I'm still trying to get my bearings and figure out how to put one foot in front of the other.  I feel like a cartoon character who's just been knocked out and while I back on my feet I'm still dizzy and I have those cartoon drawings above my head indicating that my brain is still the equivalent of scrambled eggs.

You know that saying "No matter where you go, there you are?"  I hate that saying.  I hate it because it's so true.  I thought if I relocated I could start fresh.  Wrong.  What I can do is refigure out everything in my life that I thought I had figured out.  While I am grateful for all of the freedoms that I have, there's a part of me that wishes that I didn't have any choices.  I mean, I have a hard enough time choosing a shampoo when I'm at Target.  There are too many to choose from.  And that's how I feel about my life.  I can do anything.  So, how do I choose?

When my BFF died, along with the grief came this powerful rush of ambition.  I felt like I had to live my life for both of us.  If she couldn't do ANYTHING, I would do EVERYTHING.  Well, that's obviously not realistic and maybe that has become a burden now.  I've turned around and done NOTHING...and that ain't good.  I'm still dealing with the grief from that loss, but there comes a time, and I believe that time is now, when you have to pick yourself up and just move on.  It's embarrassing for me to continue this way.  Something has to change, and I have to figure it out, but nothing is coming.  I've been through hard times before.  Times when I was unsure what the next step was going to be, but then I become inspired somehow and I put one foot in front of the other and I move towards something.

It's scary not to be able to look ahead and have some sort of insight into what your life is going to look like in five or ten years.  I think we are expected to be able to do that.  I can't seem to.  What does that mean?  I envy my departed friend in a lot of ways.  She doesn't have to work.  She doesn't have to deal with having a broken heart or with being disappointed.  She and I shared a lot of the same worries.  Now it's just me.  I know you aren't supposed to say that you envy the dead, but sometimes it's true and I'm not here to tell lies.  But, the other side of that is that she doesn't get to experience any of life's joys, and there are many to be had.

Maybe this is a start?  I really don't know.  But, there is something inside of me that NEEDS to express itself even if it doesn't quite know what it wants to say.   Even though this is surely my most boring and craptastic blog of all time, it's something.  Maybe the artist inside of me hasn't died after all.  Maybe it's just waking up from a long nap.  I know one thing for sure, it doesn't like doing the limbo.

Happy Valentine's Day to Me

It all started when I decided to move back to Lala Land (btw, Iiiiiiiiiiiii'm baaaaaaaaaaaaack).  I thought, let's try something new this time around shall we?  I mean, I love a good douchbag as much as the next girl, but any and all schtick gets tired after a while, so I figured this time around I would check out a different area to live in.  An area that might be douchebag free, or at least dbag deficient.  Studio City is close enough to Hollywood that you can still see your friends on a regular basis, attend the odd casting here and there, plus, it's cheap, not hideous, and safe.  Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeert! (That's a car slamming on it's breaks)  Not so fast cowgirl.

I moved into my new place on February 1st.  On Feb 8th, I left the apartment for a few hours to go get my hair did.  I walked exactly 1/2 block down the street and was gone for exactly four hours.  When I came back, I noticed that the screen to my kitchen window was flappin' in the breeze.  I wondered, "Um, was that like that before I left?"  But, I just couldn't be too sure.  Now, I know it wasn't flappin' in the breeze before I left, but I wasn't positive that there maybe hadn't been a tear or a hole or something and that maybe an afternoon breeze had blown it wide open.  It seemed odd.  It looked like a perfect cut, but...I don't know I guess I just didn't want to believe that someone had come to my house and sliced my kitchen screen open in broad daylight.  Plus, I had all of this crap in front of the window and nothing had been moved.  I called a girl friend and told her I was suspicious, but that I didn't want to be psycho and paranoid.  She didn't have much to say on the subject, just that she was familiar with my street and thought it was a really nice neighborhood and whatever.  I blew it off pretty much, but made sure from then on to shut and lock the windows every day before I went anywhere and of course before I went to bed at night.

I didn't mention it to anyone else and eventually I forgot about it.

On Valentine's day (YES VALENTINES DAY, BECAUSE THIS IS MY LIFE PEOPLE!), six days after the screen cutting incident, I came home from running errands and went to bed super early (like 5:30ish) and watched Seinfeld DVD's on my laptop til I fell asleep.  Around 8pm a noise woke me up.  I could hear my neighbors being super duper noisy, but I could also hear another noise and it sounded like it was coming from my kitchen.  It took me a minute to completely wake up (by the way, I am freaking out even writing this and starting to get all scared again...yuck), but when I did, I realized, "Holy motherf*cking sh*t someone is trying to get into my m*therf&cking kitchen window".  (The expletives are completely necessary because when your heart starts thumping like mad and you are all of a sudden feeling your most animal survival chemicals coursing through your veins, that is the language that your brain now thinks with.)  Like every girl in every horror film ever made since the dawn of time, I got up out of bed and started walking directly towards the sound, which would also be the source of impending danger.  I did not turn on any lights because I did not want the serial killer, monster, Freddy Krueger, ASSHOLE to see me.  I crept on, and with every footstep became more and more positive, holy shit, there is a person out there, trying to get in here.  I arrived at the window, parted the blinds...and there he was:  A huge, possibly bald, silhouette of a man with his hands wrenching my window open further.  I screamed, "What the F***********************CK" with the voice of an animal that has yet to be discovered in the wild, but that could certainly frighten off an eight foot grizzly bear, or even the king of the jungle himself.  You do not know this noise.  You have never made it, and you have never heard it, and I hope you never have to either.  Anyway, I made that noise and the stupid F*CKHOLE JERKOFF ran away like a little girl.

I hope he pooped his pants. (see image to the left-mwahahahahah)

Anyway, I immediately shut and locked the window and grabbed the phone and dialed 911.  Okay, that's a lie.  I did not immediately dial 911.  I actually stood in the middle of my living room and thought, "Who do I call?  Do I call 911?  Is this an emergency?  I'm not currently being murdered?  Does almost being murdered count?" and then I proceeded to call 411 so that I could call the regular police department.  The idiot at 411 could not move fast enough for me though and I cut that call short (hung up on her dumbass) and called 911.  I did not move one single muscle the entire time that I waited for the cops to show up (although I was on the phone with my Mom--I just stood stock-still in place while we talked.)

The police showed up exactly 9 minutes later.  She (it was a she and a he-there were two of them) arrived and knocked on the door and I was still so frightened and in shock that I screamed "WHO IIIIS IIIIT?!?!?!?" in the same exact way that I had at the (enter expletive that describes jerk who tried to break in) and the officer said that I scared her.   Oops, sorry.

Anyway, she came in, I told her what happened and she looked around my place.  Then the next unit of cops showed up.  They were cute.  It felt weird to be attracted to anyone at this given point in time, but when a guy is cute, it doesn't matter how upset you are, especially if he's wearing a police uniform and is there to rescue you.  Not much happened after that.  They asked me to tell them what happened, so I told it again then they gave me my police report at which time I reminded them of the episode of Seinfeld where he gets his TV stolen and says something like, "Something tells me that unless the criminal gets HIS copy, I don't think we're gonna crack this thing".  They thought that was pretty funny.

I didn't.

I asked the cops to wait for me to pack a bag and get in my car and they did and I left.  I never spent the night there again and over the next few days I moved my stuff out (always accompanied by a good friend of course--thank you again:).

Perhaps I will share more of this disturbing tale at a later date, and yes, there is more.  Ugh.  But for now, I've had enough.  I am safe and sound in a new building (Thanks Dad for flying in like Superman and saving the day).  I'm trying to get used to all of the sounds and to convince myself that they aren't all someone trying to get into my windows.  Something tells me it's going to be a while before I am completely convinced.

Until then, I'm sleeping with a hammer under my bed and considering becoming a member of the NRA.

Lesson #1 of this blog:  Never leave one side of town to avoid douchebags.  The other side of town may be full of serial killers.

Lesson #2: When you think someone has tried to infiltrate your home, but you just aren't sure, go ahead and buy a gun just incase so if he comes back to kill you (or steal your microwave, whatever) you can blow his face off.

And finally Lesson #3 (last but most certainly not least):  If you think spending Valentine's Day alone with Seinfeld DVD's is bad, think again...it could always be about 1 trillion billion gazillion times worse.

John Travolta

This week I watched the episode of Biography that featured John Travolta.  Now, John seems to be the brunt of quite a few jokes these days with his Scientology background and his new and not so improved hair rug.  Well, poke fun if you must, but let us not forget the many ways in with Mr. Travolta has enriched our lives.  If you are a child of the 80's like me, your life would not, could not be complete without the movie Grease.  Maybe it's just a girl thing, but there is no denying that this movie shaped my childhood.  On any given day I wanted to be either Sandy, Rizzo, or Marty Maraschino..."You know...like in Cherry?"  And when I wasn't hoping I could one day set the gym on fire with my cool rendition of the Hand Jive, then I was secretly hoping that I could one day have a nice upstanding citizen like Zucko or Kinicki...okay, maybe even Doody to bring home to mama. 

There's also Saturday Night Fever.  Now, I was too young to see this movie when it came out (I was three), but my mom owned the album and like all children of the 80's I would sit with it for hours on end HUGE headphones trapped to my ears, and stare at the huge foldout album jacket.  I did the same with the Grease album too.  So, even though I didn't have images from the actual film running through my head, I still had those still images from the album artwork to use as a point of reference.  Oh John...in all of his glory, white tux and disco stance.  Where would the late 70's have been without John and The Bee Gees?  Nowhere!  Nowhere I tell you!!!

And this got me to thinking about the films that have shaped my life and/or our generation as a whole.  Grease, Saturday Night Fever, all of the John Hughes films, but mostly the trifecta-Pretty In Pink, Sixteen Candles, and The Breakfast Club and then a few others that led to many afternoons of imaginative play with various cousins-Star Wars, The Goonies, and Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. 

Now, don't get me wrong, there are many other great films from many great decades, but this isn't about film reviews or the greatest films of our century.   What John Travolta sparked in me was this really wonderful sense of how this medium, film, has really and truly created much of what my reality has been throughout my life time.  I mean...just think about it.  What kind of world would it be without these movies?  They stand out and stand up through time because of something special: MAGIC!  Timing.  Casting.  Every single element was just so.  Change any single one of the actors, the costumes, the director or touch even one hair on anybody's head...and I guarantee that the whole thing would have come tumbling down.

My question is...what are the movies of the 90's and the new millenium that are going to feed these follow up generations in the same way?  Who are little girls wishing they could be?  Who are they crushing on?  I had Jake Ryan.  Top that.  What imaginary worlds are kids getting lost in these days?  I guess that one is a bit easier...there's Narnia and the Harry Potter world...but those kids are "special" and have magical powers.  The Goonies were just like US!  I'm not dissing movies of today or saying that this generation doesn't have what mine did, I'm just saying that if they do...I don't know what it is.

It will be interesting to see what happens in another 20 years.  I know that those John Hughes films are still standing up today and filling in the gaps for these next few generations.  In this genre at least...there is no substitute for those films.  It's sad, but a the same time...it's awesome cause we can all still be on the same page...even if we are a few generations apart. 

So back to John Travolta.  Thank you dude.  Thanks for being the most awesome Vincent Vega that ever could be (cause let's face it...the world wouldn't be the same if someone else had tried).  And thanks for making me realize how much I not only enjoy film, but how much I really and truly LOVE it and how much a part of my life this art form is.  And how important your job as an actor is too!  Cause if you didn't take your job seriously, then...those movies would have sucked and my whole entire childhood would be ruined.  And if I hadn't been crushing on Vinnie Barbarino, things could have turned out much worse.