low down

We've all been low. No person alive hasn't gone through the regular troughs of existence that come with day to day breathing and existing and such. Some lows are lower than others, and some are just a part of the ebb and flow of the tides of life.

The amazing thing about hitting an all-time low however - in any category,- is that when you think you have come a decent climb up, you realize both how far you have yet to go to get to even, and then right after that - and perhaps more startlingly, just how far down you'd gone.


This is not necessarily a dumpy, woe-is-me sort of pontification here. It is however, a focused peek into the well.

First, and along these lines, let me say I would strongly caution anyone considering that wonderful and ethereal 'follow your dreams' category, educationally speaking. For fucks sakes, pick a collegiate major that can easily sustain you if you need it to, lest you find yourself switching gears and trying to learn a new career in the middle of a decade where you are supposed to (and your peers all do) have your shit together and the macro subject in which you will build your livelihood, sorted out and on track. Your passions will never go away - and for that matter, can continue to be cultivated while in school, and if you keep it all in the right order, you can do it all, have it all with much less pain.

Because then it's not backwards. then it's just about adapting to the set of circumstances before you and not just about weight and physical prowess and the elimination of debts. Then it's about a feeling of a job well-done. Of accomplishment and understanding and intellectual confidence. About being able to explain yourself in the middle of a subject on which you were previously and blissfully unawares and not about scrambling to keep ever so slighlty ahead of that 8balllll.

Trust me when I say it will make the matter of having thrown yourself headlong into an exceptionally challenging situation much smoother, and you'll have a better road of assuance in knowing that you have risen to the challenge and not had the challenge rise over and swallow you.


Simply put, it will be easier to achieve satisfaction.


In the mind of a relentless perfectionist, I don't know that this is ever achieved, however. I mean, it's so easy to sit and tally failures, isn't it? A million greats toppled by that one awesome falter. And when you sit with an awesome failure and own it, the way a real person should, it pretty much just sucks.

So there you are, with your big balls and big risk and your big brain and your big ideas and your one, big, throbbing, taunting failure. If only to put distance between the lows that come with the trials, and the exponential compounding of the fact that at one point in time, you fucked up, somewhere, somehow, to someone, on something. There's no do-over, no take-back.

Oh the scissors to the sweater, that one. All it takes is one thread.

Such gloom and doom, I know. But then comes the bottom - and the bottom is at a lot of different levels when you really map the undulation over time. But wherever the low is, then starts the climb and it all looks familiar on the way up. The velocity of climbing increases with confidence and resolve and soon, the fact that literally every single thing in your life is different doesn't matter anymore - you're climbing. Right?

Dldfowbahdfgls

This is my brain on moving.

Phase I of operation change everything all at once, is complete. Holy shit I'm tired.

back in the saddle

I have had that song stuck in my head, along with the songs of various commercials, for about a week. I think it's my brain's way of saying....only 86 days to go until (technically) you're considered healed! Who gives a shit if you only have 205 bones, to everyone else's 206? The doc says it's time to push the envelope and walk normally. Whoa. I mean that's just crazy talk.

But so is sticking with all of the other things that were causing me grief for the last 2.5 years. So is moving for the 10th time in 6 years, soon to be followed by yet another interstate move, shortly after that. As long as it all gets sussed out and I am actually physically capable of moving the boxes, and don't have to rely on a certain macho lad I know, it's all good to me.

So I'm not dead, though not really writing at the moment, but once I quit my job and throw myself headlong into confusion and uncertainty, this may once again pick up. As long as I'm without a job in fact, I should maybe consider taking this writing thing to the streets. See if I can't eek out a byline here and there for myself.

And yes, once again, I cover myself and my relatively un-interesting life, as opposed to commenting on the greater universe and all of the interesting and asinine people in it. It won't always be this way.....

square feet

So interesting how things go down, sometimes. It helps however, when one has the comfort of knowing that within an insanely short period of time, eeeeverything will be different. And how.

I think the comfort of starting over....from scratch, really, is that, well....when its all ashes, then everything from then on is a built piece.

roots

I have nothing to write about tonight. How about that? Finally have all of the necessary resources including time, and nary a stray thought to pin down. Insane.

This must be the result of spending so much time reading about strategies and inefficient markets. I no longer have thoughts. I am at an intake-only point in my life, apparently. I don't actually know what that means, but that's neither here nor there.

All I know is that slowly, the world is looking very different to me and my curiosity is somewhat motivating to actually get more shit done than is currently done. Meaning I did get a lot of shit done and now it's time for the next wave. But I'm inching toward peace of mind, and that seems quite promising too, so it's all looking okay, for the most part.

I'm not even going to scout for the booby trap right now, I'm just going to keep my eyes open and see what happens. I've already lost enough limbs, so I ain't scurr'd....the tree is still kickin.

This made no sense.

Aaathankyooo.

shorts

One of the coolest things I ever saw happened when I was driving in Long Island City one day. I was going past the projects and there was this kid - couldn't have been more than 11 or 12 years old - and he was running with this huge, ancient discman in one hand and just kicking ass. I mean this kid was fast. Really fast and he was completely focused on it. He had on a plain white shirt and a pair of shorts that looked a little worse for the wear. He probably inherited them from someone, I guessed.

But he had really good quality shoes, so that means that someone cares that he can run like that. That's the part that made me happy.


i think that's it for now. who knows how long i'll have internet access from home....gotta ease in here.

nothing

I thought I was at the bottom before. About 7 months ago. I thought that was it and it couldn't get any worse on many levels. I now realize I was wrong. There was further down to go, because I added gas to the embers and created a forest fire. This is the bottom, it has to be. This is the end of a long, slow, hard fall and the impact has shattered everything. And not just for me.

And what is left to do now, is climb. And that's all that is left. And I will. But that doesn't mean it will get better.

this about sums it up

I have been on an I'm-not-fond-of-religion kick lately, and this was presented to me today and pretty much sums it up nicely.

It's a little small, so click on it if you want the full treatment. This is why spirituality is one thing and is something I can get behind, but religion is just wacky.

lame update

Ironically, this could be an update on me being lame....literally, as I still have my broken paw and have, in the last 6 months, done nothing about it.

But really it's a lame update to explain in some way, my lack of posting. It's been a crazy time and recently, I had my computer among other things, pilfered from my apartment by what the popo's called an "office creeper". More on that later.

What this means to you, dear empty, vacuous space that a reader could occupy, is that posting will be uh...well...light, to put it mildly. I have no funds with which to procure another, so I will do my best to find the time and resources to regale you with my uninspiring tales of hyjinx and woe.

But stay tuned....I'll be back.

I hate it that I can't say that last part without thinking of the Governator.

support, please

A few hundred years ago, there came an amazing invention. It was designed with support and comfort in mind and it revolutionized a gender. Suddenly women found themselves able to lift themselves like never before. The concept of high and proud took on new meaning and the phenomenon of the brassiere was born.

Over time it developed into the fantastic construction of stitches, wires, and hooks we now know today. It exploded into an entire multi-billion dollar industry for women of all shapes and sizes, all styles and fetishes. It took what is a basic need for every woman and made it interesting and fun and sultry.

You can get bras in virtually any cut or material, from size A to G (yes they have a size G), in solid, flowered, lacy, leopard print, cut out, demi-cup, full cup, air push up, water push up, chicken cutlet insert push up, smoothing, t-shirt and minimizing. And I have only scratched the surface of what is available to the delicate, xx gender. So why, o why, I beseech the masses, do so many women scoff at the usage of this fantastic and necessary unmentionable? (*hint*, this is one I truly do not have an answer for).

As an ample-bosomed woman, I can pretty much never go without this item, nor have I ever been able to, on a regular basis and certainly not without some other sort of safeguard in place like a strategically tightened strap or a shelf bra. This is not for fear of sagging, but really more in awareness that my girls are ahead of me every step of the way, and need some comfort and protection. However, I am of the opinion that none of us should go without. Not if you are small and perky, not if you are sadly pancaked, not if you are large, full and voluptuous. No, no, aaaand no.

See what the ladies don't seem to realize is that even if they are small and perky and their mini-jugs are not flopping and crashing into one another, they are still often heading in different directions, each with her own agenda. One says Statue of Liberty, the other the Empire State building. Uptown vs. downtown, and the little pencil erasers are there to let each passerby know which wants to go where.
See the thing with boobs is, they can't be left unprotected, covered only by a thin piece of fabric. Because when there's a nipple standing up, demanding attention, you can't help but look, no matter who you are. It's like a magnet screaming NIIIIIPPPPLLLEEEEE!! Avert your eyes! Try and look away, I dare you!

But you can't. Because see, even if they are tiny, they are still sorta saggin. And if they're not perky, which lets be honest, the lion's share are not, it's even more unavoidable, bordering on tragic. I see it all day and I cringe each time. I think to myself.....is this woman poor? No, she is carrying a real Gucci bag, wearing Louboutains and a well-tailored silk shirt. Silk, incidentally, is like a flashlight on the problem area, exposing not only the nipple, but the outline of the areola as well - a horrifyingly inappropriate sight.

Even the most construction-worker-y men I know, while they will admire this faux-pas for it's almost-skin exposure, will digress that it makes the wearer look like a twinkie dressed as an eclair. Trash in fancy wrapping. I wonder.....do these women not own mirrors or friends who don't let friends sag and flop in public? Do they not have mothers or better yet fathers, who see them in photos and say "dear god, girl cover those udders up!" I can only surmise that they lack all of those essential elements to a happy and non-humiliating life, or some caring soul would let them know of the embarrassment to which they expose themselves.

Another and less talked about issue here is that the woman who likes to let her girls run free, will most likely do this for the bulk of her adult life, destined to become that woman. The one in her mid-forties, who regularly dons the light-colored tank top, drawing attention to the race toward her knees, perpetually being run by her deflated fun bags. She still thinks she's hot.

I can only pray that at some point, the fashion gods will rain down hellfire and brimstone on the shunner of the great, womanly supporter. Eventually, they must all fall into line. I think even Gloria Steinham will be with me here. Lock 'n' load, ladies.

bailin palin

Sarah Palin is just dumb.

I could stop there, because that pretty much encompasses it, but I won't. When I first offered up an opinion, albeit at the request of people who wondered what I would be thinking about this huntin', fishin', down home gal, I was gentle. Nice even.

That's because she hadn't really had any challenges yet and she hadn't really started to talk about anything of substance. Then came the foreign policy experience because of a "maritime border" with Russia - despite never having had a passport in her life. Then there was the Katie Couric interview, which pretty much cemented her status as a liability for John McCain, and then there was the huffing and the fussing because she didn't get to make a concession speech, - after she tanked his campain - too.
She thrust herself into the limelight and tap-danced a quick number on the national stage, thinking that 2012 would be her oyster if she did it. Saying to herself in the mirror at night, "Wow, they love me. They reeeaaallly love me!" But you know who 'they' are in that case?

I'll tell you. They are the fucking morons who think that George Bush was a good idea. They are the ones who have no concept of what is going on in the rest of the world and have decided that anyone who speaks a different language or clings to a different god is somehow an evil-doer. They are the bible-thumping-second-grade-education-having-gas-guzzler-driving-gun-toting-no-traveling weirdos that seem to populate parts of this country where I shudder to even pass though.

So she's a tough broad in the outdoorsy sense. She's from fucking Alaska, people. I'm pretty sure there ain't a lot else to do up there, and they've probably only had electricity in her town for a couple decades, so at some point, it was all a result of needing to survive. I am no longer impressed.

The last straw though, was quitting her noble job as governor, so she could "focus on making change". I'm sorry, but wasn't it her that said the only way to affect change in the government is to be IN government? Yeah, I'm pretty sure that was her. But now that people call her names and have exposed her for the attractive little dumbass she is, she doesn't want to play anymore and is declaring "freedom from politics as usual". Good gravy.

I think ultimately it is indeed the best thing for the people of her state, because she can't abandon them to traipse off and declare anything else, anymore. Now, the good people of Alaska can turn back to the simple, if not slightly obscure lives and talk about back in the day when this crazy bird got some big ideas that were too much for her tiny mind and lack of experience.

Perhaps she can do some international policy negotiation by shouting her ideas across to the Russkies from the peninsula. That Putin could use a good talking to, dontcha know!

mysteries

* Why big fat guys can never seem to buy pants that go all the way to their shoes

* Why people stop at the top or bottom of busy stairways

* Why women who wear exceedingly slutty clothes and loads of makeup get upset that no nice boys like them

* Why some people jump to anger first, instead of understanding

* Why people go into the gym and just lie on the mats and then leave, without touching a single weight or machine

* Why people wear t-shirts that say things like "Sex Kitten" or "FBI: Female Body Inspector"

* Why people smoke directly outside of doorways

* Why women set our gender back by being competent in only one area and completely useless in all others

* Why anyone would ever wear a toupee

* Why obese people get mad at people who eat well and take care of themselves

* Why parents scream at their children in public places

* Why people move to a country (any country) and then refuse to learn the language of said country

* Politics

* Why religion has such a stranglehold on the entire world

* As a subset of the above, why "good, god-fearing" people choose to war over whose god is better


This could (and probably will) go on and on. These are the things I wonder - to which there never seems to be a satisfying or quantifiable answer. Take a stab at it, if you feel you can shed light.

house stories

First, let me just declare my love of limeade. It has absolutely less than nothing to do with the subject matter at hand, but o, o, o how I love thee, limeade. A refreshing summer beverage that is perfect for when you come home from the gym and need a little extra acid in your stomach to make you feel alive.

I once drank so much limeade for such an extended period of time, that I started to get acid reflux. Too much of a delicious thing, maybe. Kind of like the time I broke out in hives in Mexico, because I all I ate was shrimp ceviche and lobster and crab for 6 days. It was worth it both times.

Anywho, on the side of the building where I now reside - until I begin the co-habitation period of my romance - is a sign that says Burlesque. When I moved in, I thought that the jazz club downstairs was actually a burlesque joint, and I was waiting to see what "types" came jaunting in and out.

I then thought, hey - those burlesque folks like the buxom lady, I hear. I entertained the idear of getting some black lingerie with fringes and rhinestones and making some extra money for vacation. But alas, the burlesque club and it's sordid entourage have long since left these parts. However, turns out that this was a historic location, for interesting reasons.

I suppose the tiny, almost makeshift kitchen should have been the first tip off to the previous goings on here. Or perhaps the bidet and the pink jacuzzi bathtub with the loud and ornate gold fixtures, all surrounded by lavender tiles and the shell from The Birth of Venus, would have been a clue. But no, I just thought that the tenants or owners before us had some eccentric taste. Turns out, not so much.

See, the landlord - with whom I have no affiliation - is apparently most infamous for running the aforementioned club and along with it, a brothel in my very building and apartment. At the time, it was apparently quite seedy and popular and in my research, I have uncovered that this, purportedly, is where the lap dance was invented. Yes, the art of disease ridden, paid, grinding one-person-clothed-contact was founded right downstairs, while the art of disease ridden, paid, grinding, no-one-with-clothes contact was practiced just a shy floor above.

Giuliani took care of that.

And then came Wyclef, who it turns out was not responsible for the decor, and then came my housemates and now there's me. Come to find out though, the landlord is completely nuts. Not surprising, given her history with the building. But the folks in this neighborhood, well they don't stand for that kind of shenanigan no more, which is why when she advertised on Craigslist that she is opening an "anything goes, gay sex club" the tenants got a little uneasy.

She could of course, never open such an establishment here, but just the idea that this is still her modus operendi is worrysome. And here I sit now, wondering how I have such a penchant for bizarre locations. But I suppose, in the ever-evolving landscape and peoplescape of Manhattan, I should just consider this par for the course.

So now, since there are only rich people with maids around here and there are no laundromats, I am going to go and launder my trou and unmentionables in the lovely pink and gold bathtub and try to cleanse my mind of the thought of what possibly happened in there, before I showed up with rubber gloves and a large bottle of bleach.

death

Iran is finding out that the cost of freedom is great. We Americans are forgetting how valuable it is and also that we cannot foist our freedoms on other people, crusader-style. Change does not come from fighting; hate does. Fighting against a perceived tyrant in your own land is understandable. Fighting a people on their soil in defense of your beliefs only works for a while. Look what happened to the Romans.

More to say, but sleep to be had.


I can't believe it's been nearly a month since I've written. This, my friends, will change - sans combat.

as if

it's 3:49am. I am watching Dolphins: The Dark Side.

What the fuck? I realize I'm 49 minutes late to the dark-side-dolphin party, but I say there IS no dark side. As if. In fact, I dare say that there is no dark-sider dolphin. Those fuckers are smart and well-adapted and fun and I bet they don't snore, either. Dolphins are all good.

Smart shits, those dolphin. Did I really just call dolphins "shits"? Oi. I have been on the east coast too long, friends. I mean between the shits and the oi, what the hell is goin on? In fact, I said the word stoked tonight and I got me back 4 blank stares. And that's one that has been co-opted by the dreaded masses. So far from home.

All I know is that it's late, the stroopwafel have been cleared out and there are 4 people up at this hour in the abode where I reside. God I love New York.

play list

I got my ipod back up and running, albeit with a few glitches, the most notable being that I have lost about 3/4 of the music I had on it. That said, there are still a few thousand songs to choose from and as I have walked, run and read over the last month or so, I have taken a little inventory of the ones that have stuck with me, for a variety of reasons.

So in no particular order, and since there is nothing else to really do at this hour - alone anyway - this is what has been catching my ear and bouncing between the walls of my brain (since there's plenty of free space). Enjoy, as there are several genres represented. I've entitled it BHBS, just for my own amusement. A special prize to the person who solves the acronym.


BHBS Playlist

sarah mclachlan - stupid

sheryl crow - the difficult kind

soundgarden - the day i tried to live

lit - perfect one

hoobastank - disappear

poe - fly away

sarah mclachlan - drifting

fugazi - promises

coldplay - amsterdam

the streets - dry your eyes

hoobastank - what happened to us

green day - give me novocaine

olive - trickle, creature of comfort

massive attack - exchanges

massive attack - protection

incubus - i miss you

howard jones - no one is to blame

garth brooks - the dance

sinead o'connor - the last day of our acquaintance

justin timberlake - cry me a river

incubus - aqueous transmission

my chemical romance - i'm not okay

the bah

I found my local bar a bit ago. Well, one of them - there is still a lot of exploring to do in the hood. But I found a good one. The back door is a quiet stumble home and the beers are cheap, the tender(s) of bar friendly and the food ain't bad neither. Nothing bad to say about that.

Being that it was such a good experience and all, I have gone back several times and realized that:

a) I have a knack for warming up the atmosphere, which eventually translates to free drinks

b) Being single is hard on my liver

c) There are a lot of other people in the world who engage in weekday liver and lung damage, of which I was previously unawares. This leads me to believe that being single is hard on other people's livers too.

Or maybe they are not single and being in a relationship is harder on their livers than being single was. I would probably counsel these particular people to consider leaving the relationship that is driving them to drink alone and find a partner who would like to drink in tandem. Seems more fun at least, anyway.

Having avoided serious relationships for the bulk of my life, I don't know if I have had a long enough track record with any one relationship to gauge my own in-relationship drinking habits. Plus, I have had the added bonus of being broke for most of my adult life, and I don't think that Natty Ice really has hurt my filters too much, since it's pretty much water with a dash of hops.

I now understand though, how one stumbles into, claims and slowly starts to stink up one's "spot", because the rush of familiarity and safety to be felt in a not-quite-a-dive-yet-far-from-swanky establishment is like a happy, gin-soaked blanket of comfort. A blanket you can pull up over your eyes over and over and over again. A blanket big enough to share with other people and no one feels like you're hogging the warm part, or leaving their left thigh exposed to the elements.

And so I will now claim my special stool, donate a deck of cards (since they are not playing with a full deck at present, although neither am I, technically) and sully up to play gin rummy and talk politics with Mark and Thomas and whomever is my lucky drinking buddy du jour.

I sent a memo to my liver and promised my kidneys at least 3 litres of water everyday, so hopefully the all-out revolt won't begin for at least another 20 years. Who knows, by then I may have warmed up to a relationship again and it will only be my patience and sanity that take a beating.

acid

I'm the amazing girl that can be exhausted as fuck, after a long workout and still be sitting up with racing thoughts at 1am. Looookattergo.


Like right now, I am marveling at how many drugs ad executives must be on. There is some amazing and creative stuff out there, not to mention some killer graphics, and I do dare say that there must also have been some great e or mushrooms, or potent weed.


I said this about Lewis Carroll one time. I - who actually was Alice in the feature length play put on by Mrs. Stegge's 1-3 grade GATE class - I was in about my sophomore year of high school at the time, and it occurred to me as we studied the effects of psychotropic drugs on the brain, that indeed, many of the childhood fictions that I enjoyed, were enjoyed by a host of free-spirited adults for a whole 'nother set of reasons. I verbalized this to my mother one day while we made dinner.

She told me that I must be the one on drugs, if I would challenge the creative genius of such endeared artists. I maintained that while I did not challenge the genius or artistry in Lewis Carroll's works, I did have well-founded challenge to his sobriety. In effort to watch her head spin around, I busted on Aesop and Dr. Seuss, to boot.

She didn't speak to me for two days.

When you see an ad that really only loosely fits the product being sold, but is odd and meant to "stay with you" in that sort of je ne sais quoi way, the person who thought of it was loaded one night on any one of a variety of substances, all of which will produce a new electrical experience in the brain and are purportedly quite fun. Now that's a way to work!

What this has to do with nerve disorders, illegitimate children and the price of rent in Manhattan is, well, up for discussion. It has killed a decent amount of time in the analysis, at least.

powerthirst

I may have posted this before, but I didn't find it and it's fucking hilarious, so here it is again. Laughter offsets the sting of adversity, don't you think?

the needle

I saw a story on CNN today, and it really just blew my mind and put a few things in perspective. In many places in the country, it is cheaper to get a balloon of heroin, than it is to buy a six pack of beer. Wonder why we got so many junkies?

I think this is a clear statement that we obviously need to lower the price of booze.