Welcome, Walter Bernard!

Here he is, the new addition to our family, Walter the Pekingese!

We adopted Walter a little over a week ago when he and his sister were left at the shelter by a series of people who "didn't feel like keeping them anymore". Thanks guys! Sure hope none of you have kids!

The Giraffe and I had no intention of adopting a dog like Walter, but a really awesome woman who works at the shelter stopped us and asked, "You like Pekingese?" We couldn't say no. She showed us Walter, and the next day we took him home. He had a stupid name at the time that he didn't respond to, but as soon as we started calling him Walter, he started listening.

For the first few days he was a confused shadow, following us from room to room, sleeping always, and looking depressed.

Now Walter is absolutely the best dog you could imagine. The most loyal animal I have ever had, happy and relaxed with people and animals, loves to eat and run, and really loves to nap in our arms. He is calm and happy and loves to sleep by the tub when you shower. This dog is such a gift. He is only a year and a half, and we look forward to our long life with him.

The Barron is home, indeed!

Dear, I think I Dreamt Of a Murderer, or Actually I did

Twice. I really admire people who have dreams about flying and turning purple cotton candy like dinosaurs at circus boarding schools or ridding a hum backed whale to Egypt. Or any of that. I seem to have trouble with my dreams. And it gives me trouble with the waking up. Which can make me trouble to be around. And it feels troubling, stomping around the kitchen for the first hour I'm awake. It'd be much nicer to delicately squeeze some juice, pet the dog, and do a crossword.

I feel like someone kind of famous said that everything happens in fits and starts. Or that someone I know and love said that. And either way I think they're kind of right. At least here. I seem to get really motivated for really condensed periods of time, and for the other part of it seem to gestate, get nervous, think more than I act, and then wake up one morning so stressed out that I scrub the kitchen floor for three hours, and get really productive for a bout all over again. And maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm more constantly productive than I think (wouldn't be surprising), but so often it doesn't feel like enough. It seems like there could, should be more. I'm willing to bet if you talked to most people who know me, or have taught me, they'd tell you it's true. It's not consistent enough. I think by now I should have figured out how to change that.

You know, I just came off a magical weekend. Louis and I planned a weekend retreat for the first one of us who's getting married. Just the closest five of us for three days in a Bavarian themed town, staying in an A-framed house called the Wolf Den. It was wonderful. it was special, and fun, and full of drunk and meat and polka and everything you might think being surrounded by old people in Leiderhosen might entail. One of the cute-slash-tacky-slash kind of cute again things we decided to do was come up with a series of questions to answer with each other one night, that may or may not have involved makeovers. This is excusable for the following two reasons: One, it was a Bachelorette party for crying out loud, and Two, we've all been friends for long enough now, and get together so rarely, I think we've earned ourselves some Steel Magnolias Kind of Moments.
So one of the questions we had to answer was "What is one thing you always thought you'd be doing, but aren't, and what is one thing you ARE doing but never thought you would be?" Cute, right? I know, it's so emotionally adorable. Just so much so that you want to call Julia Roberts. But the thing is, we went around the room talking about it, and I started feeling a little displaced. A little like I needed to scrub my kitchen floor for a few hours. Here I was, in this house with these beautiful women i've known for a decade (a feat for me), all of whom have known each other for longer, and they are magnificent. I am a swamp monster. I mean, the thing I never thought I'd be doing, but am, is so special and wonderful, I'm not trying to undercut it at all. Not ever. But the "what I always thought I'd be doing" was hard to settle with. I realized that night that it has been hard for me to settle with it for the last two years. A mentor of mine told me a few years ago to "Let to four year old die". And I have done that in so many ways over time, but I think I'm probably still doing it and it is frusterating. The great thing about it was, that having that Sisterhood of The Travelling Emotional Bonding Moment allowed me to see these "women" (are we women now? It sounds weird to say) as the accomplished, assured people they are becoming. The one marrying the love of her life and starting her business; the one teaching children who need a mentor; the one learning sustainability and growing her own food; the one in the circus--the true artist of us all. And me. Not sure where I fit in. This beautiful collection of people, and this odd piece dancing around its edges.
I know how "woes is me" that sounds, and I'm sure everyone feels that way. (really? does everyone?) But you know, fuck it, I DID think I'd be doing something more by now. I do also think I'm doing what I should, but when you lay out the tracks of everyone's life and mine is "embracing happiness and learning all that that means" it is certainly fulfilling, but I'm not sure weather or not that should be the whole. A part, yes, but the whole? Also, if it is the whole, shouldn't part of that whole involve nurturing my "dream" (thanks art school, thanks life long ideas)? It probably should. And maybe it is. Maybe my life really is nurturing and embracing slow productivity and the enjoyment of happiness on all fronts. Maybe I just wish I could see that more clearly. Or that I could make myself do more with it everyday.

I know that the only time I can seem to write is late at night. And I get conflicted about that because the Giraffe goes to bed and I want to be there, too. I know I get caught up in situations I have no business being in, and I'm just trying to make people feel better. I know I communicate poorly, and I'm just trying to do it aptly. I know I make lists I don't cross off, and I wish I had less to look at when I pick them up at the end of the day. I know I have to work by myself now, and I wish I had a teacher. I know I never could have guessed I would have so much to work at. Surprise surprise.

I guess the thing about it is, I got to have this beautiful weekend, and I got to come back to a beautiful thing. I just have to realize what I am. Or what I want to say I am and make it so. Otherwise there are too many days of cleaning the kitchen floor for someone who never had a wish to be a housewife.

That person has a beautiful house, and a beautiful partner, and a dog, and slow prospects. But I look at that person with question.

There is the beautiful party. Full of the beautiful people I have watched over the years. The people I can never quite seem to really convey my Green Fried crying moments to.

The Lover, The Teacher, The Farmer, The Clown, and me. Whatever I am.

So whatever I am, goodnight.
Mama

Dear All the Blog Titles I've Thought of the Last Two Months

Some of them are written down on various receipts and scraps of paper. At first I thought it would be good to write them all down, you know, like some innovative card-catalogue for my thoughts and milestones, but really, A-I can't find them as of now, and B-probably they wouldn't be so refferential to anything that exciting anyway.

I remember San Francisco with my mother. I remember my roof in high school on weeknights. I remember cold lousy Bushwick mornings, schlepping through the neighborhood half drunk still, alone and with that beagle, waiting for him to pee, only for him to pee blood despite himself and everything we tried. I remember feeling not like myself. I remember David Cross and how tiny he actually is.

Moving was definitely the best thing I could have done. Things are slow to get off the ground here, but they are actually moving, and I feel glad to help them. The Giraffe and I have moved into a beautiful house--a house!--with a yard and more space than we will ever need. We live on the same property as a house full of wonderful friends who are always close at hand, and growing a beautiful garden, and making amazing plans. And we don't know how the money will pan out, but for some reason I don't feel so afraid. Because this is just kind of nice. This is just kind of really nice. The right thing. When something feels like the right thing you just make it work.

Moving, though, kept us off the map for almost a month, bouncing around with family and my mother and "staycations" and selfishly rewarding trips. So now I'm back. On the map. We've lived here for almost a month, and still I am catching up, and still I am remembering how long it takes to move. So long. Plus, once you have a lot of space, you realize you have crap to put in it, but it all lives in piles. We need more recepticles. I need more recepticles.

Growing up feels pretty ok at the moment. I went to the gas station to buy wine the other day and when the checker asked for my id, she looked at it, and said "you no look old. You look 18." Getting older, I imagine we all come up with idiotic responses to comments like that, and mine, seamlessly, in that moment was "Oh man, I'm deffinitely not 18. Sad. I WISH I was 18." And without missing a beat she looks at me stone-faced and says "no you don't . Young is bad. Old much better. Know more stuff. Never want to be young."
And yeah, she's actually pretty right. I don't really want to be 18 again. But then, I never thought I would want to be 25 either, and yet being it now, you know, it kind of feels relieving to be one small step further into being a functioning person on the planet. As long as we have the planet. But thats another story... So, age? If 40 is the new 30, we're all set. This time right now can still be baby time, and we can relieve ourselves from the pressure of having all the answers. I find that people our age who have all the answers are insufferable to talk to.

What's the hurry in trying to know everything? It must be boring if you know everything right now. It must be hard to find people who know as much as you. How lonely. And the thing that I didn't say before is that we shouldn't. We shouldn't know everything. We just shouldn't let ourselves feel so lonely. Besides, in the coming years we will need each other more than ever, and how nice would it be to feel like we have a community of people to reach out to. A community of people to build a real community with. Grow some vegetables. Shear some wool. Because we're going to have to. So not knowing much now is actually kind of relieving.

And speaking of not knowing much, I know I just want to just curl up with the Giraffe and our new Muppet, most valuable, who doesn't know anything, but tries only to figure out who's leaving, and who's staying. And I can't talk about him, this muppet, because I don't have pictures yet. But he's coming. Oh, yes, he's coming. He's mellow, so you might not take notice at first, but he is definitely coming.

I like that life can be filled with things you love if you allow yourself to see it that way. And I'm not trying to say anything there. I'm simply saying. With such a short time, let's give ourselves the gift of happiness and discovery. Let's not go wrapping ourselves up in tie-die and burning our bras, but let's have discovery.
I'm certainly having some.

Goodnight, world, and all the things in it. Goodnight moon, though I never felt attatched to that book.
Mama

Old Now

Who knew Leslie Nilson had such a beautiful speaking voice.

It was my birthday yesterday. My dad called and said "happy birthday, kiddo," and he also said "I'm so proud of you for turning sixteen." And I said "thanks, buddy, for all that tough teenage support!"
I'm older now, but I don't feel older.

Now today two things have gotten me choked up: an episode of Full House, and one of the Golden Girls. Two things. Both Tv sitcoms. There is something I find both comforting and disturbing about that. It's very nice that I can


8-08
Yeah. I was saying something up there. But now, almost two months later, it doesn't seem all that important. I just am the kind of person that gets weepy about the nostalgia and moral lessons of 80's and 90's television shows. Probably nothing special up there except that something special triggered the "something special" part of my brain, but god knows what that was about. Probably Rose made a comparison to Saint Olaf, and I thought "That is so topical to how things really are today". Or maybe someone talked about teddy bears and I happen to like teddy bears. You know, that kind of thing. If they were talking about hippos, I surely would have gotten choked up.

The Giraffe took me to the zoo on my birthday, and we discovered I am actually quite attatched to hippopotomi.

Also, I have no idea why I thought Leslie Nilson sounded so nice. But Naked Gun is funny.

Detox Body Cleanse, Come Again?

ON this date, the 6 of June, 6-6-08, I started a blog post talking about the cleanse that the Giraffe and I had decided to do.

There was a lot I could have said about that. We did it for two weeks with minimal cheating, which is pretty exciting considering I don't think either of us had gone without a beer or red meat two days in a row in...years? Probably years.

We did the cleanse because it didn't involve starving yourself, and there were suppliments you were supposed to take, which made it feel a lot more doable than drinking lemon-pepper-ginger water for ten days and still trying to be a normal functioning person. AND, we also did it because we found the kit at the co-op we sometimes shop at, and it happened to be one of those days where I think we were more open to trying new things.

All in all, so long after the fact, I would have to say, it wasn't terrible. At first it was pretty bad--we were always hungry, always tired, always irritable. But eventually once we learned how to make real meals within the rules of the cleanse, it got much better. It was even kind of fun.

In the end though, I personally never felt I was that "cleansed". (come on I kept thinking, where is the crazy shit in my lower intestines that is supposed to be revealing itself and making me feel *years* younger, or more energetic, or whatever). Mostly it was a good lesson in eating better. I felt healthier, and then the fast stopped, and I balooned up to the alarming rate I felt I was at before.

So. Maybe next time we'll just join a gym. And buy some grape nuts.

Dear I did Some Crying

You know the weiner that I am. Today is Memorial Day, I had a beautiful time with my mommy and her buddies on the beach. There were dogs everywhere, chasing sticks that were or were not thrown, three blonde masses of puppy flying up and down the waterfront. And when my mom's dog tried to aggressively join in--the one that I rescued for her--I did the whole "oh, i know what's best for that animal" thing. And then everyone told me I was wrong, and the brown scared dog returned to the beach. Despite whatever I may or may not have been right about, she then wandered around the food station like the lump that she is, and all the blonde dogs ran on the beach chasing sticks into the sound, even if they sank into the water. Not a bad Holiday, all told. ...And then I came home and thought about Oscar, which is pointless since Oscar is gone. But often when I get to thinking about him I also tend to get to thinking about good things. And seeing as everyone here is asleep--and by that I mean the giraffe--I have a lot of time.

If you don't read this, maybe you should. Maybe soon something super intelligent will be said and you'll really want to be there for it. Yeah, I can feel that.



I've been infected by the idea that someday in our lifetime we will really need to rely on each other. I'm not going to claim how it's going to happen, because no one would believe it (isn't being comfortable SO MUCH better than acknowledging the future?! FUR REALS?!) But I do believe that our greatest goals will become about survival of our younger generations. SO maybe I'm a hippie in thinking that, or maybe figuring out how to grow a GARDEN IS THE SMARTEST THING YOU CAN DO NOW. I don't know, maybe... .


The future is terrifying. The thing is, if you read about the future, you realize we're all dieing. We can maybe just choose the rate at which we die. Soon we will have no rice, or fish, and our meat will be cloned, and there will be no resources for global fruit farming. So if we maybe figure out how to grow crops, maybe, on our own, in the long run, our babies won't starve. Maybe I'm a fanatic. Maybe I'm reading too much. (ok, that will probably never happen). Maybe I want an answer. Maybe I think we should come up with one.

Maybe I think people should share ideas.

Maybe dogs should always be integrated into packs, like equals, and be given a chance to work it out.

Maybe you should invite me in. If I'm right here. Now all our friends know. So special, a'int it? Really. A'int it? I'm not really ever going to leave this space...

Maybe all death row dogs deserve a meeting with you. If you don't want them, then, we'll let them run...

OH, ALL THESE THINGS ARE HAPPENING AROUND YOU, LIKE A DOUCHE BAG WHO DOESN'T LISTEN. BE SO SPECIAL, AREN'T YOU? HMMMM???

HEy, duede. I know you're sleeping. But maybe we'll have fun. How's about next time we all sleep together. Fer shizzle, right my bizzle?

Dear Updates Of Things

It's been almost a couple months now, but I'm still here...

Dear Last Blog,
I thought I could look at you and not feel bad anymore, but I was kind of wrong. Since everything happened I wasn't really alright with writing more blogs about other things, but I still knew you, last blog, were there. The thing is, over the past couple of months I have been retraining myself in some ways. In the beginning, and until recently, each time I left the house I felt like I Was forgetting something. And when I was gone I felt like there was something I had to return to. Neither were true. This being the case, I started to ease into the new phase of life, without my dog, and started to accept that he was in a beautiful blue pot next to my golden retriever, and below my wiener dog. But the thing is, last blog, I looked at you again tonight and realized that I'm not so over it as I want to be. There's a wonderful being in these pictures here. And I still wish I had gotten to know him better. So I guess, Last Blog, I am glad you exist as you are able to pay in-the-moment-tribute to a wonderful dog, but I don't like to see him there, and know that I can't see him here again.


Dear East Coast,
You guys. Ok. I just gotta tell you that, uhhhmmmm, 98% of the time I forget that we're not all living together anymore, and that if it's an appropriate time for me to call you, that YOU ARE, in fact, probably in bed. And see, the crappy thing about this for me, besides just having to admit we are so far away, is that I have to come to terms with the fact that if we are going to "phone chat" it has to be in my "afternoon", and um, I don't so much like chatting, and not in the afternoon. So I think about calling a lot of you a lot, but know that 1AM is not such a responsible time to do so (on a Wednesday). And that's when I do this: "But it's so Ear....Oh,. Right. Shoot." Someday I'll grasp it.


Dear Dogs,
If you have nowhere to go, I will house you. I will take care of you all until you get to where you need to be. I promise. I think about you all the time. I see some of you on the street, and yeah, if you don't have a tag, I'll chase you down. Like Patrick Swayzee with a double black belt chasing a degenerate or maybe chasing some damsel who's super hot. But you know, chasing with the intent to catch. I would like to build Mama's Urban Reservation for Kanines. And sure, maybe I'm living in a 400sqft basement apt with my boyfriend. But if you start coming, I promise, PROMISE we will find the ranch we belong in.


Dear Stranger Girls Slash People Slash How Could I Discriminate,
First things first, and kind of a major point here, I happen to fall into one of those super antiquated groups of people who finds someone super great and wants to only do that for a while. I have lots of buddies who subscribe to different terms in their relationships, and the cool thing about them is that, well, I embrace the way they function, and they embrace the way I function. It's like a cornucopia of relationships going on. And we all have a lot of fun. So with my square, one-person-lifestyle being embraced, let me say this:
We share a lot of things. Like time, and space, and hangouts, and mailboxes. So if one were to want to maybe send this dude letters about things without an envelope, y'all should know there's two people getting the mail. And I don't want to be an eavesdropper. So maybe just put your shit in an envelope. Or maybe don't send it? OR send it in code? Your choice. Just maybe respect ours. Sounds good, right?


Dear New York,
I really miss you, New York. You know, I didn't think I would. But, surprise! I do! So we have got to find a way to keep everyone there and talk about how we can involve careers there as much as we can brainless work. Because we all know brainless work can be a real part of living there. And we all know it will kill you quicker than cancer. (And maybe, if for no other reason than it will drive you to get black out drunk and make an unwinning bet with a man who will sell your organs for cab fare or lemonade or a twelve pack of beers and a feelie.) I hope to someday meet on our own terms of being together. Because, New York, I think we should be together, but I think we both know it should never be the way it was. I mean, really, I was pretty horrible. Neither of us ever had a winning time with one another. But we can. So let's work on that. And I'll work my way back east. The boy wants to go to school there. So you have to be ready for us both. And we don't want to live in Staten Island. And if we live in the old neighborhood I would hope you could maybe show me some of that fabled neighborhood feeling I've heard so much about.


Dear Australian Shepherds,
Is there anything that you do wrong? I didn't think so.

Dear Delany,
I miss Tiger Woods Golf, and walks in the park. Let's have a day/night of being equally gay in different ways. I been workin' on my put strut.


Dear Giraffe,
You might be having to work in three hours, but who is looking at you right now? Who will be thinking about your sweet moves in the Am? Uh, this guy. You are the tallest giraffe of them all. The most favoritest.


Dear West Coast Friends,
I moved back here and got so afraid you were gone. Like really. Doing your own thing so much that nobody needed each other anymore. I have come to learn how different we all are now, and I think it's a very special thing. But I think it's special too if we all remember and embrace one another. I might be crazy, but never have I missed you all as much as when I am right here in the same city a you. I wish the people that love each other could be closer....

And maybe I said too much tonight. But we all know how I am: all or nothing. Or a lot of little things with a lot of trepidation.

Right now I love, miss, and believe in everything. So please, all soldiers, let's do that. Here we all are. The question we have to answer is, "what are we going to do about being here?"...

He Loved Cheese, Watermelon

As most of you know I recently took a trip across the country. It was our intention to write about it once we got to Seattle, but settling in took a while and we're lazy about developing film. It is now further postponed by the fact that other things are happening.

It is difficult to start explaining something that you wish wasn't happening. Many of the people who know me or have read this blog understand very well how much I have wanted a dog, and how long I waited to have one. Adopting Oscar in October was one of the happiest and most surreal things I've done in my life. I waited for so many years to finally have a dog, and then, all of a sudden, he was just there. This bony, smelly, big headed Beagle. My dog. I knew nothing about him when I got him, including that he was so old, and sick.

Over the past six months he has endeared himself to everyone he has met, and we were both lucky enough to have friends and loved ones around that were willing to extend their love, time, and support to us.

It has been a very long road trying to rehabilitate Oscar. We tried many medications, tests, and hippie diet plans to help him get better. Even after the somewhat hilarious trip to the emergency room, we tried to do the right thing by him.

The decision to drive back to Seattle was made because Oscar was too sick and ornry to get in a crate and allow himself to be put on an airplane. It was not very long into the process before I felt very thankful for his stubbornness. Our trip was a beautiful thing. I'm even going to say that it was special. Because the three of us got to spend a time together which not everyone is fortunate enough to have. It was an amazing start to our relationship, and a gift that I feel blessed Oscar gave to us. He peed in every motel room we stayed in (thanks, Super 8), and generously on the front seats of the car (sorry, National), but other than that he was pretty much like the third human. With curtain ears. Who mannaged to eat our sandwiches every time we left him in the car.

After getting here and settling in we took Oscar to his new vet to try, once again, to stop the pain he was feeling and make him a healthy old man. But after testing and a week of new medication we discovered that his problems were worse than we thought.

To try and keep Oscar alive would involve specialists, ultrasounds, and thousands of dollars worth of surgery. Even after that, his complete recovery was unlikely. Because he was so old, his body just couldn't do it.

Being faced with this decision has been extremely painful and difficult. I hope that no one ever finds themselves in a position like this. But I have tried to do the right thing for him at every turn, and now the right thing is to help him leave this world peacefully.


Thank you so much to everyone who has shared with me their time, patience, and with Oscar their love. I wish there was a better way to express how grateful I am to you. You helped make it possible for the autumn of his life to be a happy one.


I love Oscar very much. I hope wherever he is going it is filled with cheese, watermelon, and girl dogs to sniff. And that somehow, in his own way, he knows how deeply loved he was by so many people, and how much he has changed my life.


Goodbye, my friend...

I Cired at the End of His Typical Dj Night

Because I'm leaving.

Dear Friends, Lovers, Associates, Drunk Acquaintances, Distant Favorites, People I Haven't Called (and who don't read this), Past Teachers, Dogs Like Benjamin,,,,,

I'm leaving New York. It has taken a lot of things to come to the point of writing it down. You know, those things you do when you're in your twenties that feel very "heavy" and "important". Whatever it takes to come to that kind of decision is what I did. OK. What I actually did: Went home for the winter holidays thinking that it would be a time of great rejuvenation, re-focusing, and re-grouping. But we don't actually get to choose what those things entail. The long and short of it (since it's not such an epic story unless you were one of the four people around for it) is that a question was posed.
How important is happiness?
If we are lucky enough to be alive so long, then we eventually come to the point where we are lucky enough to have control--completely--over our choices. So is it better to, A., exist unhappily while working towards the idea of ultimate happiness that may or may not happen? Or B., be happy in the moment, while taking smaller, less dramatic steps towards the "eventual ultimate happiness"?

I decided the latter. Because wasting your time is not good for anything and never will be. Happiness is an amazing thing. If you can see it, feel it, then it is your responsibility to take it. And all those rules you set when you were fourteen? Well they're not so relevant when you're living your life out ten years later. And turns out, you may never be able to follow those self-imposed rules if you're not happy.

So I'm leaving New York. Not for good. I'm keeping some belongings, my lease on my apartment, important things here. I know this is where I will wind up, but I know it's not where I need to be right now. I am not myself here, and God, if not being yourself someplace isn't the biggest waste of time I don't know what is.

It's scary to make your own decisions, without the fall back of another thing to blame for it. It's scary and powerful and awesome to know that you can enjoy your life every day without waiting for some kind of release. That you can make your own release. So I'm leaving. And I'm driving across the country. And I don't know when I'm coming back. Because deciding when I come back is counter productive to what I need to do.

Me, a boy, and a dog in a car with my stuff. A week and a half. Don't really know how that's going to feel, since I haven't made such an entirely self-sufficient choice since choosing where to go to college (which was one of the best, if not THE best choice(s) I ever made). It's strange to make decisions without a fall back for blame. And even though it's new it is still ok.

I mean, I'm the kind of wiener who always cried on the last day of school, despite when she was coming back. Always bawled on the last day of summer camp. The kind of person who, despite moving every two years, still feels devistated about goodbyes. I'm just a big wiener. So when I worked my last night at a job I kind of didn't care for,,,I cried a lot. But it's ok. Acknowledging the great things around you happens most importantly when it's coming to an end.

So thank you, The Cave. Thank you to all the Beautiful friends I have there.
Thank you, Studio. You may be full of ungreatness, but you yourself are not at all ungreat. Thank you things that showed me I am unhappy and gave me the tools to change it. If Mary-Kate can walk a whole day in her five inch heels, I can take charge of my situational circumstances. Thanks, MK.

Next Wednesday the boy comes and we get the car. We put the dog in it, and the piles of clothes, and we drive. And when we stop driving we will be on the other coast. The coast that makes me feel happier just by stepping onto it. And it might be a baby time or a giant time before I come back again, but for the time being, I am choosing happiness over great possibility. And that feels like one of the smartest decisions I've ever made.

And maybe the dog will die. Maybe the boy will want to leave. Maybe my mother will become tired and all my friends will get married. Maybe the work will fade. But then at least I can come back and know I am not at all worse for the wear. I also don't think that will happen. Since, when you open yourself up to the things you truly want, in the end you never lose.

Once again, speaking like a hippi. But finally taking responsibility for what's important. Ad, at 18, said "self-preservation is a full time occupation". It rhymes, but here's to seeing weather it's true or not...I've already loved everything and feared the future much more since knowing I'm going....

February 20. Enter Terrible Cheesy Song Quote Here.
Goodnight, America. All five of you.

Xoxoxo
Mama

Dear Under Water and Full of Words

An Open Letter to I Think You Should Know,
You'll get what's coming to you. I hope you get it hard, and I hope it's not pretty. Talking to you doesn't work. My other options involve things and people I don't want to involve. So I am choosing to put it in gray tones on the internet, on my all important, all consuming 'blog'. And take it on faith that karma is real. Retribution is a beautiful and powerful thing. Shame on you. You should know better. I know you know better. People don't actually need to own a lot of things, outside of their thoughts, feelings, and bodies. Those things are important. Those things are invaluable. Those things are with you as long as you're alive. I'm taking mine, and putting them some place safe. I'm taking mine, and taking control over them. I'm out.

Mama



Dear Kibble Slash Giraffe,
This is for you. This is different. This is just for the record. Papers get lost, words get forgotten. But the internet is forever! Whatever. You are the kind always trying to read between the lines, but now there are no lines. Thank you. Just, thank you. For everything. And for everything that hasn't happened yet. Having the faith to believe that bad karma is real also means having the faith that good things happen and miracles are smaller and more common than we think. Thus far this has proven true. Thank you for being the thing that you are. That thing is a gift. Something I am still trying to find words for.

love Mama



The thing about calling in sick to work is that sometimes you are actually sick. The thing about needing to call in sick is that sometimes the people you're calling understand and don't ask you questions. It's 70 degrees outside in New York and it's January. Sometimes global warming isn't something you can complain about. I'm just saying. And yes, I'm listening to TLC. I happen to like them. Not as some ironic hipster joke. Sue me. I'm a little tired of irony. Unless it's for comedy's sake. What happened to actually caring about things? Go to Union Pool and drink a crappy beer and talk about how unaffected you are by the world. That's a great way to exist in the world. Or not? I'm just saying.

The thing about calling in sick to work is that I did, and it happens to be 70 degrees in New York and I'm going to cut my losses, pick up the pieces, say fuck it about the down shit, and enjoy this day and the fact that I'm alive. Peace.

This Just In!!! Important Newsbreak: Dog Urnine Destroys Nature!

So I've learned.
Very important stuff here.

As my little buddy Oscar and I are reaclimating to our home after my much needed visit to my real home, and his little vacation with some ladies who love him too much, we have gone on a couple of walks. A couple, because we haven't been home that long. We do this because sometimes we like to reconnect with the world beyond. Because the apartment can get boring and we can hear excitement out of our windows we feel we just HAVE to be a part of (always in the action, he and I). Because we like wacky urban adventures. And because he's a Beagle, and he has to go to the bathroom.

Beagles, by breed, are hunters. They are commonly used for rabbit, or "hare" hunting, as well as other small mammals and water fowl. "They are determined, keen hunters, and their baying during a hunt brings goose-bumps to novice hunter and the oldest professional alike." Oscar, true to his breed, is determined, and even in the September of his years very much enjoys, nay THRIVES upon, chasing scents and investigating. Oscar's top likes include: Sniffing, trotting, cheese, meats, naps. Those are the main ones I've discovered so far, but there may be greater likes we have not yet uncovered, because of my next highlight.

We live in Bushwick. Bushwick, in Brooklyn, particularly the area surrounding my building, is not nice. I live in an industrial area with buildings that are only now being turned into residential spaces and invaded by poor white "artist" kids like me. The area outside of that is mostly low income apartments and government housing projects. Needless to say, it's not scenic. Along with it's not-scenic-ness, comes the extreme absence of nature. I have never seen my dog frolic in grass, or chew on weeds, or dig up dirt, because those things aren't really around. Due to his recovering from health issues we have not been able to travel to the country to play, but I'm willing to bet that he would like that. Because he's a beagle. He sniffs. He sniffs the trash and cruddy pavement around here whenever he is given the chance.

Due to highlights one and two, I try and let him enjoy whatever he can in his cement and steel urban lifestyle. Now that you know some of the facts, on to the event, or "enlightenment" of the day.

As he and I, along with one of our preffered female companions, went walking one afternoon, we came upon something glorious: a tree. To be fair, we come upon this tree, and the three next to it, each time we walk, as someone has had the kindness to plant their sad skinny roots in wooden boxes in front of the "here come the white folks!" art space, coffee slash video shop, and natural food store. We know they're there, but each time we see them it feels like the first time because it's so exciting. And naturally, in our excitement, we want to investigate them. On this day, as Oscar was investigating the tree in the wood box, he got the urge to do what any good boy dog would do, and lifted his leg.

As he was relieving himself, as close to nature as we can find, we were approached by a woman. This woman was really more of a girl. A hipster girl. I label her this due to the following qualities: shaggy shinny black well placed haircut. Jacket with pointy shoulders. That face make up they so often have that says "I don't give a shit, but look at me, look how good I look". Dark jeans that cling for dear life all the way down the leg and scrunch up the right amount of inches at the bottom. Boots that have that cowboy-go go dancer-Stevie Nicks thing going on. And an angry, unaffected, bored demeanor. This girl looked so cool she was even bored with herself. And let me tell you how cool that is to be bored with even yourself. Or maybe she was just having a bad day. Who am I to judge. Anyway, this girl--who is undoubtedly a popular public buddy since apathy about the world around you means elitism, which means desirability, which as we all know means "Super amazing interesting person!"--approaches us, rolls her eyes, and then locks them with mine like she is some sort of migratory bull.

"Could you, like, not do that?" she asks, so aggressively that my response was silent, but said
"Um, what? I mean. Huh? What did I--what am I doing that offends you so?"
"You need to not let him pee in there. It kills the trees."
I'm sorry. Now you're just speaking Chinese. Are you serious?
"...Sorry." is all I can say.
"Well, don't. It's not ok." The way she says this also says "You and your filthy dog are everything that is wrong with the environment and if I actually cared I would fucking punch you in your trashy face."
"Um. Ok." is all I can say, as I watch my beagle karate chop his leg against the tree, dominating it.
"Yeah, well, just a tip for next time. So don't."
Then I proceed to drag my dog out of the tree box, both of us confused, as I watch her turn and storm (or was that just her strut?) down the street.

So, while animals of all species have been relieving themselves in nature throughout the history of the world, apparently domesticated dog urine now destroys foliage in urban neighborhoods. Thank god I know now. That is so enlightening. But more questions have been brought up: Is it limited to just tress? Or does my dog single-handedly have the power to take down entire bushes, flowerbeds, patches of grass? For fear we might find out the hard way I will be sure to limit my dog's bathroom activity to pans in my apartment, which I will then pour into tin cans and dispose of like bacon grease.

I would like to send a big thank you out to that girl, wherever she is, for enlightening my mind and brightening my day. Thank goodness there are people concerned with doing good out there, so ready to lend a helping hand and spread the word.

And my duty, as a citizen of the world, was to share this important piece of information with all I can. Please, everyone, refrain from allowing your animals to do what they've instinctively been doing for thousands upon thousands of years. Together, we can beat this thing.

Dear Holli-Days, and I Remember Your Face or the Sound of Your Voice

Every once in a while the last couple of months I have had a reminder that there is something I haven't been keeping up with. Typically there are so many things that could be in reference to so I generally just hope it presents itself or goes away. Of course eventually I realized that thing was this blog. And yeah, a blog is a blog--just some self-indulgent or intellectually/culturally masturbatory thing that had no social relevance ten years ago--but damnit, if you're going to start something you should finish it. Especially when you take stock and look at all the really big things you still can't finish, a quiet internet blog feels fairly achievable.
And it's not that I haven't had anything to say. More has happened and been thought about arguably since I moved to New York. But that's just it, probably. Sometimes life happens, and you need to just let it happen. You can't be in the place to comment on it,,, or think about it through a medium like the world wide web.

Because of this, and the nature of never successfully catching up with time, I will not attempt to fill out the time that has passed. If anyone reading this has not been in touch with me and is truly curious about some things, please ask me questions, all of which I will answer with colorful storytelling in such a way that attempts to make up for October, and November.
Though to be fair, this has largely been a forum wherein I don't say anything that important anyway. So questions about important things might seem out of place.
Regardless, I am recommitting to the "blog". Maybe it's an easy first step to committing to the tangible things in front of me.

To be fair to the universe, I read an article today, which spawned much of this. Having Attention Deffecit tendencies, and being from the TV generation, I am one who can find extreme inspiration and great affectation from short simple sources. I am not an avid novel reader or investigator of culturally important figures. However, this article I read was about people who are, and it has had me stuck. Remembering the last time I was this hit by people who are gone, but so relevant they are still warm, is hard. I can't remember. But these people, with a love story so twisted and transcendent, and creative lives so twisted and innovative, are living inside of me right now. And one of them happened to have a blog. So. It reminded me. And woke me up. I should read more. If people like this are everywhere (which they may or may not be) we should talk to them. We should be them, but without all the suicide; all the early endings. Everyday here is a precious thing, whether you're making art that changes the world, or just reading about it in popular magazines.

I have been thinking recently about aging. To be fair, I think about this often. Because it terrifies me. It leaves me shaky and unsettled. But recently, I have wondered: does aging just become ok the more you do it? Like does being 29 feel fine when you're in it, eventhough when you're 19 29 seems like this point where you slow down and possibly start to bald? Do you feel more at peace / realistic about your age once you finally get there, or is it still as scary and sleepless as you thought of it eight years prior? I hope it's ok. I really do. Otherwise I hope there are some life-changing experiences that make getting slow and boring feel like the right thing. I kind of bet that's what happens. Otherwise there'd be a lot less middle-aged people. It has also occoured to me that eventually we will all be dating bald, fat people. And that's not bad nessiscarily, just strange. I still can't picture myself dating a bald, curiously overweight person. But then, I also can't imagine the place in your life where the greatest qualities in a mate are single-ness, and not having illegitimate children be-boping around the country. So, you know, I obviously don't yet see getting older in the most realistic of lights.
But what is out generation going to do? I feel like I know a fairly equal amount of people our age who either feel that getting marries id the thing they will never make the mistake of doing, or have found someone they connect with and feel unshakingly that they are their partner for the rest of time. I guess we'll just have to wait and see. All these products of divorce, not wanting, in their polar ways, to make more products of divorce...

This was all not what I meant to say. Or, in part, perhaps it was, but not in such ways that avoid the issues that qualify as "issues".

Will i ever be able to thank all the people who deserve it in the way the deserve. Will I ever be able to make peace enough with myself to build a solid foundation. Will i let go of necessary things to focus on the passions I have harbored so intensely all this time. Will I write down the things I need to before I forget them. Will I remember that worrying is futile since time is irreversible. Will I eat well. Will I sleep enough. Will I do my best to save the things I care about, like my dog, and my fingers, and my stories. Will I stand up for what I really believe in at the risk of temporary alienation, which is silly anyway. Will I listen as much as I think I am.

All questions still only half-asked. All so many more not yet recorded. It's a thick journey into honesty, and the internet is rarely the stage to explore it on.

So for this moment I am rehabilitating my dog, and not looking past the next phase. I am healing my emergency-room wound, and not fearing it has ruined my career. I am going home for Christmas (far and away the best present of all) and not worrying about the medical outcomes of being there. I am engaging in competition that brings friends closer together and makes Tuesday nights the best time of the week. I am laughing harder at one time than I have in almost a year and not feeling guilty when it's over something as simple as Helen Keller or the number 69. I am making new friends. I am talking to myself, sometimes out loud in my kitchen. I am writing rhymes I keep to myself(for now), and things I would hate to forget (trivial though they may be). And when men cat-call me on the street at 7 in the morning when I'm in pajamas, walking my dog with make-up running down my face and a poofy-ball hat on, I try to remember that unless I have the courage to ask them what they exactly want from the exchange that they have their own agenda I do not yet understand. Because there can't possibly be this many people in one place who are so demeaning for no reason.

For the first time in almost a trimester of pregnancy or something like it, this is me reporting back.

..."The message is brief. Here it is in its entirety: ‘Traveling very fast. No time to say good-bye.’ And then, ‘There are no dogs here.’ ”"...

Sincerely,
Mama

Bringing Home Baby

A change has occured. A long awaited, overly anticipated change has finally occoured. And before I can put pictures on here I don't want to say too much. But baby's come home. And, no, it's not a human one. It's a strange little one, who, in the next 48 hours will be announced like he was a human one, with the kind of bells and whistles you can read on the internet. Because after building it up for so long, we really should revel in the actualization.

It's going to be a scary and strange day when you can approach someone on the street you've never interacted with before and say "hey, we met on the internet", and instantaneously have a relationship of some form. The Internet: taking the middle man out of human connection.

So what I need is about 3-7 more hours in the day. I'm not even asking for 10. Just a couple more. Even doing things like this only take away from the meager amount of sleep time I'm alloted each night. I'd really like to remember what it feels like to just hang around a little bit. And not try "hanging around" for the sacrifice of something you really have to be doing. Who's with me?

I think sometimes you should only move to this city if you really need to. Enough people are from here and I know they wouldn't like my saying this, but sometimes I am overwhelmed at how fucking busy everyone always is. And people are so good at pushing through their own lives that they simply refuse to recognize the existence of the people around them.
How, HOW can you not notice the half-homeless man on the train who is so drunk he is drooling Old E down his shirt and bleeding from his hands? How can you not notice that he is alone, and can't take care of himself? And at one point he was six years old and only wanted to color in Mickey Mouse coloring books and drink Pepsi. People are so busy making appointments in their Blackberrys and playing games on their sidekicks or PS22-Pockets or whatever they're called and staring up at the advertisements about the semi-famous TV actor who donated his eyes when he died ("give the gift of sight--this guy did!") that they have little to no interest in taking in the fact that they are surrounded by people-who also matter-some of whom are not doing so well.
It frightens me. Sometimes it's like people in this city aren't living much at all. But they're moving so fast. What kind of community is this? If this is the city where everything happens shouldn't we have a little more regard or concern for what is happening around us? Shouldn't we at least admit that the world is happening?
I know I'm not from here, I haven't been here long, and I am very sensitive about things in general. But sometimes I worry that this city is meant to strip you of your sensitivity, and I think it's a really fundamental value for people existing around one another.
At least in college you could worry profusely about how slutty you were going to be when you dressed up for the Aerobics Instructors VS Cowboys party (never slutty) and who was getting the most shots in the drinking rooms, and how much you hated "that-one-over-played-dance-song-of-the-moment" even though you danced to it anyway, and who was making out with whom in which ex-girlfriend's vicinity. And that was fine, because at least you were accepting the terms of your environment.
It feels like terms here too often revolve around shutting things out, being impatient, and working relentlessly toward something more, though you are mostly working relentlessly to just stay afloat.
Maybe I'm way off base. Probably. But sometimes the things I see just overwhelm me.

Five in the morning also overwhelms me. Because then it means you have spent your sleeping hours as "hanging around" ones.

The new baby is barking in his sleep. I hope he's dreaming about chasing giant rabbits through a field of rainbows and cattails.

What I would also like is this: To be able to go into my itunes "radio" library, and click on a category of stations called "sleepy time". And then I can choose between a variety of men and women who will speak to me in soothing voices and play very soft songs (or sounds of babbling brooks) and lull me into sleep. Like a giant Mother Goose (or Daddy Goose) putting me in a giant cradle with a quilt blankee. Maybe the radio section should just be called "Giant Cradle". America? Anyone? Can we make this happen?

Dear Little Factiods and Peices at Random

When you think too much about yourself it becomes very hard to discern what you really are, what you have conditioned yourself to be, what you are as a result of your "oppressors", what you want in essence to be, what you are working towards being, and what you are in this moment as a result of something. But I suppose what you are is always a result of something. It's too much. It's like those stoned thoughts you could have for five hours at a time when you were 16 and overlooking a beach somewhere and asking the sand "why, man, why?", and there was Mike Patton playing on a ghetto blaster, and your canvas shoes were soaked with salt water, and people were standing around a fire somewhere near by, and really, in the end, there was nowhere you needed to be, but there. You only had to be there at that moment. I would like that again. So many thoughts to sort out with sand.

If we can't be ourselves with someone, why are we with them? It seems like people are always so dreamily caught up on "well, I can't say what I really think, or be how I really am around them, but goddamn they're amazing and I'm going to make it work." Shouldn't the mark of something good mean not having to make it work despite yourself? It just seems to me.

I think I'm constantly tipping cab drivers more than I should. But I think driving all day in the city would be such a terrible job, I can't help it.

Sometimes the concept that everyone is mortal really hits me--out of nowhere at all--and it blows my mind. On the subway, at my shitty job # 1, half asleep, talking to my mother, looking at maybe dogs, hugging, eating, doing laundry, walking home, whenever. What are we to do when everyone around us dies? I don't feel ok about this. I know it may be childish, but I can't. Let's just love eachother for all the time that we have. Whatever time we have.

I think text messages are actually a terrible way to communicate, but they are one of the most comfortable methods we have anymore.

At some point it was like having a negative outlook on life was really refreshing and funny, and now we can't erase it and go back to anything pleasant. But you know, all those days of my life when my grandmother took me to get McDonalds for breakfast--the same egg McMuffin, hasbrown, & orange juice everyday--those were really good times, and they didn't need a qualifyer to be good, they just were. Even if I can't have that again, I can remember it happened. And when I'm 35 & have a heart attack I'll know that the breakfasts of my youth were always very delicious. (of course my grandmother doesn't read my blog, but Nanny, I just wanted to say that even if I actually had a heart attack, I in no way blame it on you or the things you fed me, however fatty they may have been, because you only ever wanted the best, and when you were growing up nobody knew jack sh*t about partially hydrogenated corn oil or caloric intake. You just wanted me to be full. And you really are my hero. I should tell you this in real life.)

Seems like no matter how many times I say "I just want people to love each other." "I just want people to love themselves" I am always finding another way of saying it. it's probably old by now. AHH but I still feel the same.

So I know it's your birthday. And I know you, it was your birthday yesterday. So many dates that mean things, and so many things to keep track of. But you, the first you, I somehow seem to remember your birthday every year weather I think of it or not. It is just one of those things that reminds me it's there; a little window of memory, or a mysterious phone call I think I should make. And I know you don't remember my birthday anymore, and I don't blame you. Anymore I think it's funny that I remember yours. But you're an important person in the world, and so, even though I may not tell you straight out that I know it's your birthday, you should know that I am wishing you well. Because you deserve well. So, good luck.

Some huge questions have begun to be raised for me in terms of who we are as people to each other, and how we form relationships. Yeah, and I'm not going to start asking them, because I'll sound like a total dick (not an actual dick, but like that guy who tries to wax poetic when he doesn't have any metaphors), but I'm trying to figure out how I could. Every way you know someone is based on something that uniquely exists between you two, and that makes your relationship important. But what if that relationship is built on something less organic, or more unfair than it would appear? Vaguarities to be discussed further.

I mean God, I already sound like the biggest hippi on the internet. Though, to be fair, I don't read so many blogs. Probably there are bigger "hippis" than me.

On an ending note, my grandmother's family founded a small town in Washington, which holds a parade for us every couple of years. They make apple / nut fruit cookies there. Those cookies are delicious. My grandmother was much more than those cookies, which while being a suggary combination of apricots/apples and nuts and powdered sugar, were still not such an important part of american life. But now she lays in a graveyard next to the factory where we visit and thank her for things, and the factory trucks pass their dust over her on their way out of town to deliver their fruit treats to the greater northwest. So Grandma Mac, though you don't know what the internet is, I want to thank you for being here, or there. Wherever you were. You're not just collecting dust along the highway.

So it's back to the velvet underground...

So Everyone's Got Someone and I've Got Myself

This has occoured to me. And by everyone I mean some people. Some people you are constantly running into. And by that I mean that occasionally I care though mostly I don't. It makes me think of the homeless men I would meet on the street in Seattle when I was out with my male friends, and in an attempt to get money from us they would talk about how pre and real our love seemed, and how "he" should never let "me" go and "we're" something special. But "we" were always something special because we were not what the homeless man thought. But he flattered us greatly none the less, telling stories about when we would be older and how we would be and how the most importnat thing in the universe was love if only we'd give him a dollar. But no one in this city gives two shits about your fake or real relationships. So it seems that everyone holds them much more dear than if someone--anyone--else was to care. But what do I know. I just wish we could all be together like a family, and that we could all ride horses in Montana. All I want is to ride horses.

It's Simple.

As long as you're distracted, you'll never have to examine who you really are. Period. Stop distracting yourself. You're smarter than that, aren't you?

Dear Indian Summer & Adventures

First things first:
My mother told me that when she and my grandparents were talking yesterday, about me, my grandfather (Papa, the lighthouse) remarked "that girl can do no wrong. I love her so much." At first I thought "if he only knew...", and then I realized "I think he actually does know, and he believes that anyway." I think that's really something.

Secondly, I am noticing that when I get excited about something, or when something makes me "giddy" (I hate that word, but it's such a specific descriptor) I tend to just sort of freeze up and expose too many of those dorky idioms we all have that should be slowly leaked out over long periods of time. That, and I get hyper-conscious of what I am saying and worry that I will run out of things to talk about. That's why I can sometimes become that guy that just wants to hide under the tablecloth at parties with people they're really impressed by. Surely there's a way to remedy this. It's probably just to relax. Damn it.

The question still remains: when you spend so many hours of the day being so tired your eyelids stick together when you blink and you forget your own apartment number (I did that yesterday morning), why why is it impossible to fall asleep when it's time, and you just wind up repeating the cycle the next day? I swear to god, me and everyone like me still have that last-man-standing-slumber-party mentality. I was always the last one awake at slumber parties. But now most nights I'm at a slumber party with myself. It should stand to reason I'd be able to cash in the chips on that contest.

So I've been thinking about adventures lately. I think I have not been aware enough about what adventures really are. Adventures could happen all the time. For some people they do. For some people (and I'm putting myself in this category) they might be and no one is aware of it.
So what if:
Adventures can happen down the block or on a mountain top, and for no reason, and without the whole world knowing, and without a thesis of fun first, and without knowing what you want from it, and with or without a soundtrack, and through telling the truth, and through telling what you want, and being brave in ways that no one would catch but you, and deciding what you want from it right then and not the rest of your life, and you don't need five days off of work to do it, and you don't need money, and you don't have to surprise anybody but yourself, and you don't even have to surprise yourself as long as you're having fun, and that the purpose in an adventure--if there is one--is something only you can know & not something you can be instructed on, and you're not too old to do it, and you can be with eight people or one person or no one at all, and that expectations are what build the anticipation but also kill the adventure of you let the overcome the excitement and the just letting things be. Adventures are happening all the time. Or they can if you want them.
And with those things to think about, goodnight, for this brief hour.

Dear Mama's Sermon. Some Things. Lesson 1.

I need a stool. I am officially using an end table from the living room as a chair, because I am tired of squatting, and because, as a good person put it to me tonight, I have not "made it a priority" to clean my room. So end table stool it is. At least my feet aren't numb...not to mention the fact that there are enough piles of things clouding my room that it's as if trolls have moved onto mountains beneath my bed. Do they have treasures? Will they share them with me? I should clean my room.

A good cab ride. I finally had a good cab ride tonight. Living in a city like this, it can be so relieving to have a pleasant experience you don't have to guard yourself from the entire time. You know, to just enjoy things the way they can be enjoyed in other places. Thanks, cab driver. Thanks for the good talk, and thanks for not asking my name or how old I am. Cheers.

A thought on momentary realizations: Some more than "a" thought(s): It can be such a great feeling, such an alive thing, to know you don't want what you don't have; this "other"; this "completeness"; this true confusion and compromise of yourself. Knowing you don't want that is both liberating, and informative. Knowing you want to be your own is quite nice when you actually want it. But when you think of sharing, and you think of whom to share it with, other thoughts can be nice, too. Like, in this make-believe world there is no coincidence that two people look at each other at the same time about the same thing, which is about two people being together. And in this it is not strange that two people should get along so well. And, in this, it is not strange that people assume things about it, which they do. And you don't want anything from it, but you have to ask how much it might be the right thing, when teams are formed, and lies are made in unison, and hard things aren't made so hard. But the only way to know if something is really good or not is to take it somewhere it doesn't belong, like the Badlands, and watch it run, and see how it melts into something foreign, and how it adapts to something you find so beautiful. And maybe then, after that, you'll know what it's worth. But lucky you, if you get to bring anything to the Badlands. Lucky, lucky you.

What I think is so beautiful is that the world constantly shows you that moments between people are really beautiful if you are lucky enough to catch them. Sometimes you catch the moment, and it feels like that one thing could be the entire day. You don't need all the in between things. And those things are never big things, but just little things, little signs, that somewhere, something is right. I like knowing a little something is right.

So. I saw the look. I remember the dream. I replay the advice. I appreciate the upgrade of temporary susstainability. I write down the name of the nice person tonight to have record of a tiny angel. I review the work I believe in. I know things are as the should be. And I ask the question of importance, "how could they be?". I am not so stupid that things slip past me. I just have to think of them as they pass. You know, things always pass. But as long as we are alive, things are ok, and they are passing.

A movie for this would be too long. We can't Hum this. Sleep schedules must be corrected. Questions must be asked (why won't you inquire?). Organizations must be made. Opinions must be stated boldly. We must learn to love ourselves enough to stand up for what we believe is real and good.

And even if I sound like a rote, sleep-deprived, drunken hippie, if you've ever thought about these things at all, you know what I am talking about.

There is nothing wrong with admitting what you think. There is nothing wrong with admitting you believe in magic.

Don't tell me stories, Don't tell me dogs.

The only Chris' I have in my phone are the professional ones. Very, very funny...

Tonight I had two conversations, quite dissimilar, but involving the same theme.
That theme was: "I know more than I am going to let you know I know. And I will make you feel good because I am keeping my mouth shut." Those discussions were about acting, and canine behavior.

Now, I don't susspect I am an expert on either subject, but I hate to talk about either, just based on the fact that they are both so close to me. I have this elementary feeling that if you talk too much about something you care about, others will try to take it away from you with their debased understanding of it. Almost everyone in this city is, or was, an "actor". And almost more people think they understand dog psychology and breed behavior because they knew a couple of people with pit bulls, and they hung around some shiba inus, or puggles, or irish wolf hounds. Those people don't know anything. And that I can tell you for almost certain. Well, most people don't know anything, and that can be said for almost certain. But by the end of the evening I was close to appaled at how long I had sat silent in more than one conversation when, in both instances, I knew so much more about what was being said than the one who was lecturing me.

But what could I do? I hate argument, conflict, and I really hate proving to wrong people that they are wrong. So, on some really immoral level I guess I just wanted them to feel like they were doing something great so that the whole conversation wasn't a bust. Because arguing doesn't get you anything, except maybe a win. But when you're arguing with people who never get wins, you just get the glory of making someone feel badly--again. And that is no glory.

So I sucked up everything I know, twice in one night, to avoid argument, and let someone feel good. But I almost feel like that's wrong. Should I have been honest about how much I know? Would that have been the right thing? Even if it was proving someone wrong? Someone who seems rarely to be right? That doesn't seem just. But here I am. I know nothing of "justness".

And you know, I would never bring it up, but it's come up many more than once, that I will either have to admit what I know, or hide it. And I hide it to protect people. But then, how am I protecting myself? Should I just be honest? No one will, but someone tell me. I hate arguing people. But I also hate being condescended to.

So don't tell me about telling stories. And don't tell me about dogs. I know those things. Unless you specialize in them, ask us to have a conversation; don't ever plan to have a condesntion; a lesson. I've had my lessons, and I'll have the rest my own way....

Dear Questions: When Will We be Happy?

A girl finds something after the fact: Seems the thing you wanted was closer than you thought. Though funny how you were not granted access to any part of it. ...and watched it ride by....

I'm starting to understand that it is only very late at night that I start thinking of things. The Everything, the "big things", the things people wonder about, gaping-mouthed when they're stoned. And because this kind of thinking is limited to 6:30 in the morning when I am either too tired to function, or half drunk and too tired to function, it is striking me as being a very overwhelming thing. "Big Issues" should be brought up early on in the day so that you can mull them over, consider the pros and cons of them, and feel pleasent about your momentary conclusion. Not twenty minutes before bed, when, all of a sudden, you cannot go to bed anymore, because these things are staring you in the face, asking you "why haven't you learned to meditate?" and "when are we going to solve this?', and "why don't you go sit on the roof and think about this for two hours?', and "can you really sleep if you know these things should be addressed?". Suffice it to say, it has created burn marks in my desk (see: the last post). There are no answers to the bigger questions, there is only time.

I know that when I saw the picture of the couple on their wedding day, and of all the people dancing for them, that I understood there was something out there yet to be discovered or deconstructed. Our mysteries are great and still lay before us...

I know that when I was ridding in the cab tonight something donned on me, or rather, a thought crept over me. Which is this: Why are people always asking God to not let them be so lonely?
No one seems to want to be alone. And when they are not alone, why are they always asking for a greater sence of happiness? Is the discovery of partnership not enough? Is it really just that people feel alone no matter who they are with? Is that just because we are actually alone? If that is so, couldn't people stop asking to find someone and start asking to find themselves? That's probably too much to ask. But I look around at everyone I know who is unattatched, and I see that the root of their unhappiness comes from the lack of a relationship. And I look around at everyone who is attatched, and the ones whose brains are still active seem to be searching for something beyond what they have. So what is the problem here? If god is listening, and he/she/it/whatever brings you someone to be with eventually, and you still feel a sence of longing, how are you supposed to resolve that feeling? I suppose you never do. And that is part of what keeps life moving. I guess I am just put in awe by the fact that everyone is crying to god not to be alone, and that not being alone is never enough. Maybe these are generalizations. Maybe these are common truths. All I know is what I see.

I smoked the last crackhead's cigarette. No, it was my cigarette, the crackhead just led me to it. And after she had I kissed her on the cheek, gave her a dollar, and watched her boyfriend steal five dollars from me. But they left me the key I would have otherwise lost. And they stood up for me. Her name was Chanel. She guided me through the streets, and took me under her wing, and though I know she just wanted my money (little of which I had any to give), in the end I understood her needs, and I think she understood mine. So I let them take the money. I don't know why. Because I was a white girl in a black neighborhood? Because I was too tired to argue? More likely because I knew she knew I understood the hustle, and there was an agreement there. I know that in her neighborhood I would never be ignored. Chanel hugged me, and talked to me, and shared her desires about the next day. She argueed with men behind walls of thick plexi-glass so that I could get my way. Maybe these things are the mark of a good crakchead, or maybe they are the mark of a person with needs who understands them in others. My night with the crackhead reminded me that people are capable of caring about eachother, and that their self-serving behavior is not meant to go against that care. Stephen Adley Guirgis wrote a play about it. And no one could tell it better than that.

There is a strange man asleep on my couch. Where did this man come from? To whom does he belong? Why does he not have a blanket? Isn't he uncomfortable like that? These are questions I ask myself uppon finally seeing him though he has been here all this time....

So are there other things, seemingly obvious, that have been there all this time? Is the answer to my question about why people always ask to not be alone so clear and present that the question is null? Is the answer a sleeping man on the couch? That is a ridiculous way to frame it. But these questions themselves are somewhat ridiculous. Especially for a "blog". Oh, we are so heady. Such an intellectual people. Wow. Give us an award.

But my phone today, called an exboyfriend, while sitting in my bag, bouncing against my leg as I walked to work. Uppon noticing this, I promptly hung up the phone, and thought about the coincidence of my phone randomly choosing that number out of all numbers. Such a slight chance. Being someone that believes in dreams, and supersitions, I thought, maybe, does that mean something? And then I went to work, and thought about all of the things that happened that could be more than coincidence in that night. And why something so appropriate can seem so foreign. And why something so unfinnished can be too big to finnish. And why girls are the biggest dickheads at bars who never feel a need to tip you. And oh, I'm sorry, I forgot about your inherent entitlement to get whatever you want. Here. Have it. But no. It's not the time to talk about the job...

Just, it's just, there are so many questions.

When will we be happy? When will we be truely happy? What does this take? Are we capable of overcoming ourselves to make it happen? How many people actually feel happy to be alive? Well, how many people actually think about it? How many people aren't affraid to admit it? It's very uncool, you know, to admit you care about being alive, unless of course you have some issue attatched to it. "I care about life, only because, you know, the dolfins are dieing, man".

This is too long. This is too long already. Like everything else and all my questions that are all trying to be framed in the ideology of the landsape of a native american reservation somewhere in Montana. You probaby don't know what this means. You probably haven't even read this far. If we could go to Montana I would show you what I mean. If you have ever been on a horse you might know what I mean. Though, at this point, I couldn't ride one long enough to justify this blog.

I just want to know: When will we be happy? When will we know we are happy? and when will we stop asking for more happiness? when will we appreciate the happiness we have? Can we do that now?

I will go to sleep, but I will never put myself to bed...