Foat Wuth, Ah Luv Yew!

Obviously I've had an aversion to writing lately. I've also been completely unresponsive to requests by Loved Ones to post again. Depression? I dunno. I'm definitely strange and undisciplined and cyclic (though not psychic) mood-wise. I've been having fun...living my life (extremely important) and enjoying myself, uh...for the most part.

Last month I took a few friends on a little trip to Fort Worth to see the Hip Pocket Theatre's Trio Molemo! It was a nostalgic good time and the most fun I had had in awhile. We left Austin after work and got to the theatre after the Friday night show, just in time to catch up with my sweet old friends Lake and Lorca Simons and follow them out to their house-sitting gig on Eagle Mountain Lake. They've turned into such beautifully amazing women and I'm so proud of both of them. At one point in the evening the neighbor motored up in his party boat and gave us a star-filled ride...ahhh, Texas. I love living in the Lone Star State.

We had a cool bi-level hotel room on the Trinity River near TCU, and after sleeping as late as possible, went to breakfast at Benito's, the long-standing haunt of all Hip Pocketeers. Their papas con huevos still taste exactly like they did 18 years ago. Awesome.

After breakfast we went for a walk through the historic Fairmount District, where the coolest houses on the planet can still be purchased and remodeled by regular, non-independently-wealthy people.

It was like a jaunt through my perfect fantasy, and made me toy (briefly) with the idea of moving back there. But I love Austin too much.

After our long walk we visited The Modern, which is new since I was last in Cowtown, and saw an awe-inspiring exhibit as well as a really cool Japanese anime film. The whole experience at this less 4 year old museum was breathtaking, actually. A nice surprise. Here's a picture I got away with taking at The Modern before that guard you see in the background kindly told me to put my camera away:

The artist's name is Ron Mueck, and if you're anywhere near Fort Worth between now and October 21st, get there. It's what art is all about. Oh! I forgot one of the coolest things about the Modern...this AMAZING interactive sculpture outside their front door:

It's Big - It's Echo-y - It's Beautiful

After the museum and the movie we went and had some good beers and dinner at the Ginger Man. Then as sunset approached we took the drive out I-30 to the theatre that reminded me of all the times I did that as an actress...the comingling of excitement and total serenity I felt every time I was on my way out to Oak Acres to do a show with my fellow hippie artist freaks. Everything about that trip served to remind me in so many good and wonderful-feeling ways of the things I've done in my life and the people I've met that and who have made me me. I've felt a little off-track all year, since my stint with the church served to completely obliterate my identity...and the Hip Pocket was good good medicine. OK, I'll throw in one more pic of the dear new theatre...as they have moved from Oak Acres to a beautiful new spot with some really great buildings:

(OK, two more photos.) I didn't get a shot of their new bandstand or the new bar, which are equally, if not even more, cool. But the HPT is and always has been cool.

I'm older now; I haven't acted in a long time, but I was reminded that it's never too late to be yourself. I guess, on the rarest of occasions, you actually can go home again.

Livin' the Dream

I had a lucid dream two nights ago that has been inspiring me since I had it. This is significant because for the last 3, 4, heck maybe even 5 years I haven't been able to regularly remember my dreams at all. And that is significant because in my prior dreaming life I depended on my nighttime visions as a powerful source for guidance, wisdom and creativity.

In my recent dreamless years, I have to admit to a sense of disconnection with my inner Self. When I left LA and my most intense relationship to date, I think I had to sever some emotional ties. With myself. It was a necessity for my survival at the time, because believe me, I was 10 kinds of crazy. Lost as Amelia Earhart in the Bermuda Triangle and searching for answers...anything...that would stop the pain and disappointment I felt for my entire life of perceived failures...my decisions, my acting "career," all my failed relationships and desires and...well, dreams. Unfortunately what got lost in that process of searching was me. I stopped trusting myself. Because obviously, I didn't know what I was doing, and, obviously, I needed to admit that perhaps other people knew a better way. For me. I gave up control.

The Christians love this, this thing called "humility." And there is no doubt that humility is a dwindling character trait that more people need to investigate. Americans, and subsequently, America, desperately need a large dose. But for some people, some people like me, we tend to take that concept a little too far. People like me actually relish the thought of giving up control...it's why we do lots of drugs and start drinking as soon as the clock strikes noon. People who have endured any kind of abuse, especially of a sexual nature, are naturally and tragically humbled in their lives. And have a tendency to place too much faith in others' opinions. And insert the phrase "I'm sorry" into every other sentence. These are some of my maladies.

I'm not here to bash Christianity again; I'm just reviewing last 3, 4, heck maybe even 5 years, and my choice to completely mistrust and ultimately abandon my own beliefs, desires and even my personality while I immersed myself in that faith is a part of what I want to say here. I think my dreamlessness was trying to tell me something. I walked away from acting (not just professionaly, but even just for fun), something I have been doing since I came out of the womb. I did this because my (Christian) therapist told me it was, well, kind of a skanky thing to do. I should use my gifts for God. Which I did, oh boy, did I ever, to the nth degree. I sang and acted and built sets and directed and painted and designed lighting and bought costumes and paid Home Depot's mortgage and spent nights alone at the church making 6 foot dinosaurs out of chicken wire and wrote and wrote and wrote and led other artists and left my second career in Corporate America and went into debt because of the pay cut and the buying of all the artistic materials because we had no budget at the church of course and I took out my own trash and worked about 80 hours a week and told people they weren't talented and couldn't be on the team because that's what my boss told me I had to do and I gained 30 pounds in a year and still I wasn't good enough for my boss, there was always something else I should have focused on or done differently and ultimately I couldn't even have a conversation with him without crying and then he smelled blood in the water and emotionally eviscerated me at every opportunity until finally I said I can't do this anymore and I quit.

No wonder I couldn't remember my dreams.

Back to the present...

In the months since all of that I have been lost...searching for answers...trying to discover who I am and what I want. Unfortunately, what I've actually been doing is reverting to some old, familiar escapist behaviors, which is equally as control-relinquishing as any dogma.

This is where my dream comes in. I was flying, and I was in total control of the flight, aware that I was in control and guiding myself. I was about 20 feet above ground...flying above a busy neighborhood...watching the people and their activities below but serious about staying on my own path and focusing on where I was headed. Most strange and prevalent in my thoughts is the fact that my body was completely upright, and in a star shape. Fully aligned, head erect, strong and guiding everything, arms outstretched to the side, long and strong and reaching out in both directions, legs also long and strong and balanced, hands and feet pointed powerfully all yoga-like. Significantly, the posture I was holding while flying is the preparation posture for the Triangle pose. No doubt, this was the strongest and best I've felt about my body in literally years...and that feeling has not left me since I had the dream.

What also has not left me since I had that dream is the realization that I am in control of my life, and that I am not only free but also completely able to guide its direction. I've been different since I had this dream. I have a sense of personal power and direction that I haven't had in months. I'm excited about the possibilities that lie ahead for me...here, in my new town and my new life that I chose for myself without caring about anyone else's opinion.

And though I admit I've been drifting...a bit lost and off course, I think I might be catching a tail wind and a view of the stars.

Family Ties

For the past week I've been enjoying my family. Even that statement carries with it an assortment of emotions...because in every person, every relationship that remains intact, there is this looooooong history of drama, laughter, nostalgia, storytelling, loss and survival. In every pair of eyes there is a connection to every other pair of eyes that has ever (family-wise) looked into mine.

To grossly understate the truth, we've all been through a lot. Personally, and collectively. We've endured the passing of some dearly beloved members, through death...and simple stubborn pride. Sometimes we can talk about these things and sometimes we can't. But when we all spend time together, I'm reminded of parts of myself that I have either forgotten or intentionally blocked out. I don't think I ever imagined our lives and relationships being exactly as they are today, but in spite of this short-sightedness, I'm immensely grateful that things have turned out the way they have, and that those of us who remain, remain close and accept each other "as is." That's pretty freakin' miraculous.

I have struggled in the past few days to find words to adequately describe the overwhelming pride and love I'm feeling at the birth of my great-nephew Tyler. I've bailed on weak attempts because while I've always loved to write, I simply don't have the incredible gift of creating transcendent odes to people (new and old) that my niece Becky has. In fact, I'm quite sure that the tangents you're about to endure will make you want to hurt me.

Part of the intense emotion I've been experiencing with Molly's pregnancy and ultimately the birth of little Tyler (who is, by the way, the most perfect and exceptional child the planet has ever yet seen) has been the overwhelming sensation of being a witness to the repetition of the cycle of life. I remember Becky, and then Molly, as they were little bitty creatures...they made me an aunt at age 9 and age 13, respectively...and since they arrived before anyone else on the niece/nephew horizon, they hold a unique place in my heart's memories. Prior to their debuts I had already been very close to their dad, big Tyler. (I'm told my first words, in fact, were "Hi, Ty." ...which indicates to me he probably loved me a lot and spent a lot of time with me when I myself was but a wee tyke.) And their mom was a huge part of my life since we were cheerleader and mascot together at Abilene High in '72. I was 5. She was the big sister I would never have otherwise had...she took me to movies (the drive-in!), the park, and even to her shorthand class after pep rallies. (Maybe this is why I ended up working in law firms?!?) And Tyler always took the protective big brother role way above and beyond. Once when I was 16 I rear-ended a guy in my mom's Cadillac. No damage to my mom's car, but the guy made a claim on his tail light that was cracked approximately 1/4" . Knowing that the repercussions would be steep, Tyler paid the guy about $115 for the damages, which equalled about a million dollars to me back then. And my parents never knew, which was worth even more than a million dollars.

So to say the least, because their parents were so incredibly cool to me, Becky and Molly were very special from the beginning, more like little sisters than nieces. I started baby-sitting when I was about 11, and kept at it until we moved to Albany when I was 16. I spent a lot of time refereeing their arguments, taking them to Baskin Robbins for mint chocolate chip cones, refereeing their arguments, trying to keep them from killing each other and destroying the house, fielding their unreasonable demands as reasonably as possible, refereeing their arguments, joining in their arguments, playing games with them, watching silly movies and TV shows and acting and singing the best parts. We grew up together. And because I was a little older I'm sure I remember things they can't possibly remember, since their memories probably don't go back that far.

They've known me through the best and worst times of my life...seen me make some pretty big mistakes, and some pretty strange decisions, and live with the consequences. And though I would imagine I'm probably at least something of a disappointment to them, they seem to love me anyway, just the way I am. On the other side, I have seen them go through some pretty intense life challenges and not only survive, but thrive. They're stronger because of the obstacles they've faced and overcome. They're closer as sisters and appreciate their common history. They've somehow become women...right before my eyes. Women I look up to, admire and deeply respect.

As I watch Becky with her first nephew I see myself when I first met her, when she was all new and wrinkly and red. She's already a pro at Aunthood. As I watch Molly with her son I am completely awed by how naturally she's handling this supernatural life-changing event. I'm so happy I have them here, to continue to teach me as I age, to humble me, to encourage me...

It's good to be grateful for the family you have. It may not be traditional; it may not look like anyone else's. But it's mine, and it's beautiful. And as Big Tyler so poignantly put it this week, "I like additions better than minuses."

Some Like it Hot

This week I rediscovered, but in a completely new way, something I used to love...something that once was a powerful and intense force in my physical, mental and spiritual life. Yoga. Only this time, as opposed to 15 years ago, I'm exploring the practice of Bikram Yoga, wherein the room is heated to a whopping 105˚ and you are still expected to hold intensely difficult postures for a very unreasonable amount of time. With all the sweating happening in there, it's a lot like an orgiastic triathalon on a typical mid-afternoon in Houston in July. Uh...well, kinda.

I started hearing about "hot" yoga a couple of years ago and, like most things outisde the realm of the Christian faith, I dismissed it as something I could not participate in. How ironic that after taking just two classes, I feel closer to God than I have in years.

There are many reasons I'm falling in love with yoga again, and that I'm grateful for having the opportunity to practice it at this specific time in my life. Most significantly, I've felt completely lost spiritually since I broke up with my church and moved to Austin. Until I was faced with the seemingly impossible challenge of wearing as few clothes as possible and actually looking at myself in the mirror...in the EYE yet...I hadn't realized how much I've been avoiding the last few months. This week I've been confronted with mySelf, and am timidly, warily, learning to connect with who I happen to be right in this moment.

It's amazing how strong the urge is to avoid, look away, avoid...unnerving how I have to remind myself or be externally reminded to simply open my eyes. So now I'm noticing other situations where I'm avoiding looking directly at people...not only in merely transactional relationships like the grocery store, but even in conversations with friends...and especially in my therapist's office.

Suffice to say there is some good, deep, synchronistic healing going on. Fortunately, I know from experience that self-awareness is hard-won, and never without some growing pain. But I've reached a point in my human bean existence: I'd rather sit in the hot seat than swim in the cool, comfortable waters of illusion and stagnancy.

Breakfast at Tiffany's; Lunch at Jo's

(written yesterday, sorry...no time to post!)

Sorry folks, this is, unfortunately, not a sordid story about a bisexual's fine dining experiences. I have a lunch date today. Strange, but true. I've never seen even a picture of this person but we've played a bit of phone tag and we actually spoke last night. (LOL & OMG. Am I still in 7th grade or WHAT?!?!) I decided to try a different kind of dating service -- since I loathe ALL of the internet's hook up services -- probably because in the rare event that I've actually gotten excited about someone I've met via the WWW, and have actually agreed to meet him for a date, I've always been truly meh over the dude and have been checking my watch every five seconds while not so secretly planning my escape route. (I don't actually own a watch. Sorry. I lied about that. I check the time on my cell phone.) Where was I? Oh, yeah, OK, this new service is apparently targeted to more "mature" people like myself. They spin it positively by saying it's targeting professionals. But ooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhh whatthehell; I want to meet people that don't work where I work (I will never again shit where I eat)...and the ya-ya's and yo-yo's I normally hang out with are very unlikely to introduce me to someone who would actually be good for me.

Of course, just as with the internet, I'm not pinning all my hopes and dreams on this lunch date. I'm way too cynical for that.

(ok now it's actually Wednesday)

So my date. It was actually really good! I enjoyed the conversation and he wasn't a total freak. How refreshing! There are other (at least seemingly) normal people who are 40ish, have never been married and don't have kids. (Yet.) Hmmmm....after living so close to Stepford for almost 5 years, I was beginning to wonder if there was even one other person on the planet like me.

Anywayz...we'll see what happens.

I had a whole brilliant post in mind when I started this one yesterday. Of course I can't remember any of it now.

Urbanity

After submitting an extremely obscene word made up during the course of conversation last night, I've spent the entire day cruising urbandictionary.com's Words of the Day. Therefore, I've spent the entire day lmmfao. Some of my personal faves:

check your vitals (accounts for about 95% of my workday)

floordrobe (describes my domestic skills perfectly)

disco nap (took one of these yesterday, so it made me laugh)

epiphanot (i've had so many of these during my lifetime, i'm ashamed i didn't create this word myself)

craptastic (during an epiphanot, i thought i created this word myself; but it's been around since 2001, and i can't claim it. craptastic.)

retox (a daily practice of mine)

Truthenize (a satisfying endeavor, unless you're the truthenizee)

pre-pull (just plain funny)

connectile dysfunction (holy shit. even funnier.)

and finally...

blogorrhea (accounts for at least 99.9% of what i post here)

I obviously have nothing interesting to say

I have a friend who blogs all of these intelligent and interesting, educational pieces on her blog. It's pretty damned impressive. I think most of what I've vomited onto the world wide web has been some kind of weak emotional catharticism, centered around a relationship, or just plain fluff. Not that this strikes at my ego, mind you, because I yam what I yam. But I think it's telling about the depth of my mind. Mwa ha ha. Perhaps that's why this blogoriffic thing is a therapeutic enterprise... a mirror into my own life that I couldn't otherwise see clearly through. I like it, I like it.

I'm going to therapy today. The therapist I'm going to see is a hypnotherapist as well and deals with some of the major damages I've experienced in my life. I'm excited about going. Not that I think she'll hocus pocus me into pristine mental health or anything, but maybe I'll suddenly have the uncontrollable urge to work out every day, have great posture, drink water and eat only to fuel my body for optimum energy, and let go of at least some (one? please?) of the 10,000 annoying and not-so-constructive habits I've acquired over the last 39.5 years. Now THAT would be worth the price of admission.

It's a Beautiful Day

Don't let it get away!

(Sorry Becky and Molly, I know how much you LOOOOOOOVED it when I forced you to listen to that cassette tape over and over and over again in my Jetta at Christmas!)

I woke up this morning feeling much more...uh...positive...than I have in a while. Good sign... One of my earliest thoughts this morning was that if I don't take care of myself, no one else is going to. Well DUH! How old am I now?!? It would be cool if I could actually remember that for at least a couple of years together. Anyway, after that thought my friend Debbie called and she was a total ray of sunshine and inspiration. God, I love that girl.

My trip to Fort Worth was truly, truly awesome. It's been TWELVE years since I was last there. I was young and...skinny. Now I'm neither. But it doesn't matter because everyone else is old too. And I don't really have wrinkles, so that sort of makes up for my fat ass. It's totally weird not seeing people for that long, especially people who have been extremely important influences on the way you have chosen to live your whole life. (Now before you start thinking less of those people based on the way I've chosen to live my life, wait a minute. I would have been a hell of a (bigger) mess had I never found my way to Hip Pocket Theatre in the late 80s. But that's fodder for another blog.)

I had a super positive presentation today that hopefully bought me at least another month on the payroll. I'm taking the time to be grateful for the many many good things in my life, all of whom are people, and none of which is STUFF.

Starting tomorrow I'm going to blog on a specific subject instead of using this just as a journal. If you're reading this, I love you, because that means you love me enough to go through the SHIT with me, while I'm wallowing in uncontrolled self-pity and self-absorption.

SMAX to you!

Friends

So blah blah blah I'm not talking about my breakup today. It's such bullshit anyway. I'm focusing on what is really good in my life, which is a helluva lot. I have some really good friends here. I have some really good friends who are NOT here. I have my family here and there. I have terrific coworkers. All of these people have shown up for me in their own way, and I would be incredibly remiss not to mention my gratitude for the blessings I have received. I think it's easy sometimes to take the folks in your life for granted. They are probably sick of me talking about what I'm not talking about today, yet they listen anyway. Let me just take the time to recognize how amazing the people in my life really are. Thanks, mates.

I'm looking forward to a trip to Fort Worth this weekend with my old pal David. We'll be hooking up with our old pal Gary. Gary and David and I used to do wacky and creative plays and mime shows at the Hip Pocket Theatre ... in fact, we sort of all grew up there. That place was a huge extended family of fun-loving and lovable characters. Mostly hippies and freaks. It changed my life forever, challenging me to always defy convention, always think outside the box, always believe in beauty and magic. It opened up a whole world of possibilities for me that I never even imagined as I was growing up in West Texas.

I haven't seen Gary since I last lived in New York...which was early 1992. Until we recently connected I haven't seen David since he came to New York in 1997 and saw me act on Ellis Island as Sophia Tovali, an Italian immigrant.

These guys are near and dear to my heart. There is one special memory we all share that had an otherworldly quality to it. (And yes, we were probably stoned, but that's not where the magic came from. Gosh.) I was finishing up a semester at good ole Tarleton State University and wanted to celebrate with my new theatre friends. I borrowed my roommate Vicky's awesome James Bond car, a bright yellow Toyota Corona that her dad had tricked out to the max. I drove to Fort Worth and picked up David and Gary and Michael K. (another Miscreant of the First Order)...and we headed out to Gary's cabin on Possum Kingdom. We picked up some Rolling Rock and some Shiner Bock and made up a stupid song that I have sung ever since...that I still sing to this day ... every time one of those beers is mentioned. (Which is often. I live in Austin.)

Gary's lakefront faces the west, and when we arrived it was nearing sunset. We headed out to the dock and all climbed up the poles to get as high as we could to see the sun as it sank into the mystical waters. Then something strangely beauteous happened...someone started howling/singing...whatever. It turned into this four part harmonious dischordant chant that was unlike anything I'd ever experienced...before or since. Being with people that free and spontaneous and strange has a way of lifting your soul to new heights.

When I think of that one amazing day and night...I am reminded of how free I can be. How free I am right now...and how many possibilities of spontaneous and strange moments I have ahead of me, just waiting to be made. I'm thinking this weekend might offer up a few.

Pain

I didn’t invite you
But you stayed for dinner anyway
You always come when you please
And never leave soon enough
You never leave though I ask politely
In fact your presence in the morning
Is the most troublesome of all

I endure you
Because you teach me
You make me stronger
You help me change
Even so…
I can’t help resenting you
I can’t help but resent you

You are universal
Unavoidable
Unimaginable
Unmistakable

You steal
my breath
my days and nights
my hope

You never do my bidding
Though I seem always to do yours
Every time I think I’m through with you
You knock on my door again
And enter without permission

Broken Heart, Schmokin' Heart

I'm so glad I have a public journal to process...it helps me keep a sense of humor amidst the chaos. :-)

OK so my life is not falling apart and I think it's safe to say that it won't. I'm actually proud of the way I've been responding to this situation...for once. I'm finding that the old routine of blanket bitterness and anger towards The Departed One simply does not work; it only makes me feel worse. Sure, the pain is there, but it is just grief and I'm well-acquainted with that. I know every day it actually does lessen, at least somewhat.

It's impossible to live and sleep with someone on a pretty much daily basis, garden with them and feed their miracle cat through a tube without developing at least some level of intimacy, and when that's gone, it's like being an herb fiend in a dry season. That said, I'm maintaining the consciousness that I entered the relationship on specific terms. Since I fully agreed to the Rules of Participation, I cannot allow myself whine about the fact that I ended up not being able to keep up my end of the bargain. I accept responsibility for my actions, even if they were quite impulsive, and possibly even ill-advised, considering my emotional makeup. But learning key things about yourself, even if you have to learn them over and over again, is valuable.

I feel the most liberated and hopeful when I can think of The Departed One as happier and freer now to pursue the desires of his, er...uh...loins (heart just does not work in this case). That actually makes me laugh out loud. Good sign. Anyway, he truthfully is a wonderfully unique and entertaining being, and I'm happy that we spent the time together the way we did. It liberated me from a lot of self-imposed limitations that I didn't even know I needed liberated from, and piercingly reminded me of some of the things I like about myself and forgot somewhere along the way.

I'm happily surprised to discover that I'm not allowing myself to truly wallow in pain or destructive, negative thoughts for any amount of time. This is a new turn of events in my life...actually commanding control of my sometimes scary mind, adamantly refuting the brooding inner critic and replacing the lies with some light and love for myself.

I do, however, still have a mischevious penchant for the taboo. I defied the number one breakup rule of all time and sent my ex-lover a lengthy letter (email) describing in painstaking detail (as I am wont to do) what my current perceptions are of our relationship and its demise, and of course wishing him well. I have an unlimited appetite for discovering deep psychological and emotional truth, which is probably why I'm approaching 40 and still single! :-) Anyway, I wrote it without expectation of reply, without expectation of resolution...but with a desire to bring closure for myself. It helps me to read it and to know that he will read it and at least know my heart, even if he disagrees or sees things differently (highly likely).

But that one action, however ill-advised, is actually helping me to let go. I think since I survived the first week, I'm ready to start my life again...get excited about the idea I have for a play, start working out religiously, focus on setting and achieving some meaningful goals at work.

P.S. I did go out on a date last night. He was cute and intelligent and all, and even interested in me, but my heart just wasn't in it. As Becky says, "meh." I'm going to keep dating, though, until that old familiar spark appears again.

Mailroom

"Out Going Male"

I just thought that was funny.

And now...for something completely different

Well this has been a challenging week. Breaking up with someone you think you are in love with sucks. Ass. But, that is a well-known human phenomenon and I certainly can't add anything new or interesting to the discussion.

I've been keeping myself as busy as possible...accepting every invitation that comes my way. Fortunately, that means I haven't been sitting at home crying. (I actually do most of my crying sitting in front of my computer screen at work.) Last night a really hot guy, young enough to be my friggin son, locked eyes with me and asked me for my number. Since I was at Rutamaya, he could have been on some serious drugs. Nevertheless, it made me feel less like a toad.

The entire point of this post is that I have an actual date tomorrow with someone I met online and have been chatting with. I of course have no great hopes for this date since I am still wallowing in my post-T misery, but it will at least be something to dress up for, look forward to, and hopefully enjoy. He's in grad school so I'm assuming he's at least intelligent enough to hold up his own end of an interesting conversation. And he's 12 years younger than I, so our maturity level is probably pretty close. ;-) We're going to see something sure to make us laugh that one of my coworkers is in. This guy (coworker, not the date) works in the mailroom and is consistently one of the brightest spots in my day. He always has a smile and extraordinarily energetic and theatrical behavior. He knows I'm an actor too, so we have some fun exchanges. I've been wanting to go see him in his show, and it just so happened that he offered me a couple of free tix, which I can't pass up. Like I said, I'm happy to have a distraction.

In another of my conversations today the prospect of 2 comp tickets to the ballet came up, and I jumped on those too. I had heard about this production on the radio recently and it's one of the few things that have caught my attention...something I really wanted to see. And then I forgot about it. I have a special place in my heart for Taming of the Shrew since I had the pleasure of a lifetime playing Kate in grad school. Needless to say, I can't wait.

I have Friday off since it's Good Friday. This is ironic to me for a couple of reasons:

#1) For the past few years I did not have Good Friday off, but since I was so involved with my church, always took a vacation day to volunteer at Good Friday Day Camp. So it was kind of a double whammy of suckage.

#2) Long weekends are major super bonuses when you are in a relationship, whether or not your SO has the day off as well. It can be used to prepare something fantastically romantic for your mate after they get off work, for example. This was a plan of mine, which is now obviously null and void.

#3) Since I recently broke up with said T-person, weekends are an ominous prospect at best. The potential for down time in which to obsess is great. I made it through the first weekend by removing myself from Austin. So my first "single" weekend in Austin will be 150% longer than a normal weekend. Great.

OK, now that THAT is out of my system...

I once again choose to look on the bright side. My friend David has the day off on Friday as well, so we will spend the day together catching up, having fun, possibly exploring this arts festival. (You have to scroll down to see a pic of the place.) Then we'll go to the ballet, which will be awesome.

The most ironic/strange/strange/strange thing about this weekend will be that it is Easter. Since I'm currently "off" organized religion, I already know Sunday will be weird for me. But, c'est la vie, and la vie marches on. One step at a time.

Au Revoir, Mon Amant

Breaking up is hard to do. But for the first time in my life, I feel equipped to survive it. I was falling in love; he wasn't...so there is nothing to be done but part ways. For once I'm mostly seeing things more logically than emotionally, while giving myself the opportunity to feel every feeling I have, acknowledge it, and let it go...as I let him go. Having a broken heart truly sucks...it's probably the worst pain in the world; but from experience I know I will heal, and that keeps me breathing.

I don't want to get too psychological here and start analyzing all the mistakes I made. For sure, there have been plenty. But I'm glad I still have the ability to love and to be unguarded with my deep emotions. I'm glad I've decided to place a higher value on what I have to offer in a relationship. I'm glad I made a choice to protect my heart instead of staying in a situation that is unrequieted. That's never good and I believe it hurts less now than it would later.

I entered this relationship with my eyes open to the rules, contexts and boundaries. I was willing to be in a situation where other women were also welcome to my boyfriend. That never materialized while I was with him, but the "threat" was always looming and slowly beating a deep purple bruise into my heart. When the issue arose again last week I realized that this is not a situation I can handle emotionally; more importantly, it's not one I want to handle.

I'm extremely giving and generous to the people I love. I aim to give freely and without expectation, because I find great joy in giving joy. This is not a particularly valued or respected trait in a Capitalist society, so I've always devalued this aspect of me. This year I've embraced the part of my nature that receives pleasure and fulfillment from serving others...it's been a wonderful thing to accept as an important part of Who I Am. Prior to this acceptance of this part of myself, I always ended up with bitterness and anger about what I gave to others...often receiving a meager percentage in return. I'm grateful that I don't feel that way in this situation, and instead that I'm taking responsibility for my choices. It's a different reaction and that must mean I've learned something.

As I go through the inevitable grief and loss of a really fun relationship, I'm working on claiming as my own all of the good things I gleamed out of it. I earned all of the goodness, so I'm taking it with me. In the past I've always wanted to divorce myself of every single thing that reminded me of the relationship...but not this time.

• I still want to learn more about the French language...to challenge myself with its impossibly seductive dialect and sentence structure.
• I want to explore more about gardening
• I want to continue to have relationships with "his" friends who are now my friends
• I want to keep listening to my newfound desire to have children, even at this late stage in the game
• I want to keep healing from my past and opening myself up to the possibility of love
• I want to keep believing I am lovable and worthy of an equal return of the love I give
• I want to keep listening to the radio station he turned me onto

My personal challenge of the moment, in spite of my desire to retain all that is good, is to start experiencing Austin sans Thierry and claim my experience here as my own. Because we've been together since I moved here, he is in every vista, every highway, every place...and almost every relationship here. There is a perilous dichotomy of embracing and letting go...embracing and letting go...

Texas Sky, 1st Edition

I find myself on a beautiful evening in South Texas admiring the sky and all of the everchanging wonders it holds. My soul is quieted by the beauty...for a time my existence, and the existence of those in my general planetary vicinity, teeters on the edge between darkness and light. It is breathtaking to ponder.

The sky is an impossibly enigmatic mixture of grey subtleties...cloud formations float and also float against each other in relative movement that makes one wonder about the power of the air and how we usually don't notice it at all. Like breath, we take this visual masterpiece for granted on a moment-by-moment basis. Our atmosphere is always dynamic, showing off with or without admirers. There's a lesson there.

Now as the darkness wins over I'm seeing colors that I never thought possible in a sky...the new moon hangs in its inconstant constancy with Sirius or Venus or whatever the only visible star in aspect is...the perfect circle shadow is visible in its bluegray backdrop...all the clouds are - and this is true - burnt pink orange and yet not neon but harmonious in hue and pitch to the pollution-influenced grey-blue of the horizon...gradating subtly into the midnight blue perfection that defines this rare time of night. As the clouds dissipate around my viewing of the moon and her satellite, they brighten and are suddenly diamond-encrusted in their luminescence. It's as if they know I'm documenting my awe of their mysteries.

As is magical about Texas as the season grows warmer...a cicada is serenading me as I sit in suburbian solitude, somewhere North of Austin and South of Round Rock near I-10. My boyfriend rents one-quarter of a McMansion near Braker Lane. His gardening efforts and my assistance are ongoing, as our attempt to worship the earth and its timings and what it promises to offer with some effort on our parts are symbiotic and harmonious and perfectly timed and ordained.

My thoughts are generally of the spiritual, whether I am rejecting or accepting them. I am tuned that way. I've been in disquietude spirutally for what seems like, and upon review, actually is, months. Floating.

"Undeciced."

I realize tonight that life is so full of choices that we are bound to drive ourselves crazy with all of the things we do not choose. It's an inevitability.

Choice is our ultimate downfall in a country of abundance, agression and apathy. We obsess incessantly over what we do not do and rarely acknowledge what we have consciously chosen. We rarely acknowledge the wisdom accessed in our past decision making and instead berate oursleves mercilessly with the "hindsight is 20/20" adage.

Mistakes are a given, aren't they? We're flawed; it is an essential component of humanness...and beautiful in the precise moment we acquiesce pride in favor of humility. I think we're rarely gentle with ourselves because life just never fucking stops and the choices just keep on comin'. There is a equal negative reaction for every positive one. There is another side to every coin toss. And these "what ifs" I think can drive us crazy.

WHAT IF we recognized that we're making the best decision possible in every moment with the information we have at the time? WHAT IF we acknowledged our history...not as baggage but as vital information that gets us through every day a little more smoothly than if we were still 17? WHAT IF we gave ourselves a break and took a moment to acknowledge that where we are right at this moment in time is a composite result of our moment-by-moment negotiation of a volitile, no-rules existence?

You're doing well, Grasshopper.

Guerrilla Gardening

I miss blogging. I've been really busy. And sick. Damn. For the last week or so my entire drain has slowly been dripping out of my nose. Now my chest has decided it wants its own view of the outer world as well. Yummy. Bronchitis.

I have a lot of cool things to write about...life is good and groovy. Mostly the T person has been guerrilla gardening and I have been participating on various levels. It's intensely beautiful to plant a seed and watch it sprout into existence through an expert's loving care. It's also neat to gather a group of people together for the purpose of a common goal that requires a lot of hard work. A couple of weekends ago T and I went to John and Patricia's house and helped them till their front and back yards and then spread 6 cubic yards of compost. If you don't know how much work that is, it's a lot. But more importantly, there was good food, good beer and good conversation. There's nothing like breaking your back for someone else's benefit to bring about a true and strong bond.

This past weekend they returned the favor and we got to re-experience some of the chicanery. I found it poetic to listen to the men as they toiled with pitchforks in clay-hard Austin soil. Just the repetitive sound of the tool against the earth...the truly manly gutteral emissions expressing both frustration and delight. Since Patricia had a baby, uh one freakin week ago and I am (as I mentioned) in the midst ye olde bronchitis bout, the womenfolk mostly made food for everyone and constantly cleaned the ever-renewable supply of dishes. Inevitably when we are in the midst of this pattern, Patricia, who is Tanzanian, will proclaim that we all need to move to Africa and buy a farm together. Wow. There's a thought.

I love how this labor naturally divides into gender roles...even though I am normally rebellious of this kind of division. There's a connection to the past that is filled with beauty. But I love more the fact that when I am feeling well and when Patricia is neither about to have nor just had a newborn, we enjoy the hard labor just as much as the men, and the men have an equal proclivity to care for the needs of the children or attend to the food.

What I'm most excited about is witnessing the 2007 gardening season from its beginnings. Looking at my raspberry bush that I bought at Lowe's in January...T has nurtured it and it has sprouted beautiful leaves. I can't wait to taste the berries. Talking together about what kinds of veggies we want to grow...and thinking about all of those fantastic late summer salads. Gently pressing a tiny seed into the freshly prepared tray, and anticipating the Daisy or Nasturtium that will be born.

Email That Keeps On Giving

Excerpts from an email exchange that has produced uncontrollable bursts of laughter from me all day long, hinting to my cubemates that I am a wasteoid:

D2:
...These legs in shorts are not pretty, and the thought of putting on a swimsuit is just disgusting. ...

Molly:
...And you don't even know fat legs until you've seen what I'm working with here. My doctor says I'm gaining too much weight. I hate her. What does she know anyway. ...

D2:
...By the way, eff your doctor and her "you're gaining too much weight" bs. Has SHE ever had a baby?!? ...

Molly:
...Anyway, my doctor can suck it and you can call me when you're done workin it out. ...

A Shout Out in Four Beautiful Directions

This is an intersection of the most beautiful kind. Earth, Air, Fire and Water. Hmmm...who is whom? OK let's just deal it around. Of course we all are all, which is harmonious in every way. Water is Becky. Emotion and Depth, with a steadiness that comforts and holds worlds of the brightest imagination unseen and therefore unknown and underappreciated because it is secret and untouchable by most humans. Air is Debbie. Always of the Spirit and Higher Thought. Always caressing that which is otherwise neglected. Tender and sensitive to the environment, necessary for enacting all change and further - capable of moving mountains and shifting weather patterns. I am Fire. Passionate and dangerous, unpredictable...truth-seeking. And Molly is Earth. Solid and steady, capable of MIGHTY provision for all who are lucky to feel her love. Rooted, grounded, full of natural, breathtaking resources...bringing forth goodness and renewable supply.

We have intersected, my Dear Ones.

Read this blog, and it expresses in words what I can only feel intangibly in my heart and memory and future. Everything I've failed to enunciate about the Divine knowledge of all that is Feminine. What we mean and give to each other, often unknowingly.

http://randompermutations.blogspot.com/2007/02/blog-envy.html

SqueakMasterFlash

My bf's cat Squeaky was hit by a car last night. Awwww, Squeaks! When T took Squeaky to the animal hospital, x-rays revealed a completely fractured palate (ouch) and multiple fractures in his jaw, but no brain damage and no other injuries. Recovery from surgery: 6-8 weeks while being fed through a tube. We spent a harrowing time period deciding whether Squeaky's potential quality of life was going to be worth the $2k+ vet bill that no one can afford. It was excruciating. Teetering on the side of euthanasia...the vet offered another option for $600. I want to know why this option was not offered up in the first place, because now T is understandably, yet somewhat irrationally guilty about even considering ending The Squeaks' life. I mean, if this cat can survive a car crash with no brain damage, he deserves to stick around, if for nothing else but bragging rights in all those future cat chat circles.

Back at the ranch...neither of us slept for our thoughts of poor Squeaky...there all alone and hurt in the animal hospital. It was a long, restless night. We went to pick him up at 6:00am and received the detailed instructions for his care. He has a long road ahead of him, but he's going to be okay. This is a pretty amazing outcome in my mind after all of the other possibilities floating around last night. I'm glad poor Squeaker will still be around to covet my Cheetohs and give me the sexy eyes. And I have to admit my fascination and respect for my bf's true Buddhist nature. Any man who agonizes for hours over saving the life of his cat to the tune of 2 grand...and most decidedly not his favorite cat at that, has a heart worth inspecting very closely.

Ain't Life Grand?

In case you haven't noticed, I don't write when all is not right in my world. I prefer to live in la la land...where everything is happy and nice. I don't like documenting the myriad moments and events that don't fall either into the parameters of my happy little illusions, or into the category of funky fantasmatism.

So I have resurfaced, since today is happy, funky and fantasmagorical.

I've been dwelling in an anxiety-ridden state for a couple of days. Make that several days. I had my first "real" presentation today, demonstrating a new piece of software for my peers. I was freakin nervous, man! I realized last night that I've been piling on so much significance, weight and importance on my job, which has translated into lacing myself up in a straightjacket of performance fear. Having money issues the last couple of months has added to the pressure, because I MUST succeed in my job in order to keep my life from falling over the proverbial cliff into actual destitution. Somehow all of that melded together in my mind and body to equal the belief that unless I gave the most stellar, thorough and scintillating presentation of this piece of software this morning, my life in Austin as I know and love it would be unrecoverably destroyed.

Yesterday, on 3 hours of sleep, I had one of the most trying days of the year. I'll spare you most of those details. After work & dinner I took a laptop home so I could work on my presentation. When I was finally ready to settle down and go to it, I couldn't log in to the bloody bugger. Left an accusatory-in-tone message for one of my coworkers, who had very kindly set the bleeding laptop up for me, at 10:00pm. "Umm. Why can't I log in?" Immediately after I hung up, I realized I actually know the admin log in and that's what I am supposed to use, since that login gives me God powers and is thus far superior to my own login. So I text message my coworker. "Oops! Sorry...just remembered admin...iou a coke!" Of course, he got the text message before my voicemail, so he was highly befuddled and called me back; I was forced to explain myself. Since the whole day was a series of diabolical stress tests, this little scenario did not assist with my anxiety issue. At that point I did what any sane person would do: popped an Ambien, powered down the laptop and went to sleep.

I'm going to have to remember this technique because from the first moment of my awareness everything about my day has been quite lovely. Anxiety gone, I drove to work in a day fecund with glorious promise (it's 80° and blue skies in Austin today, folks). I got to work early and received a silly little message from a specifically yummy and goofy person. Mighty encouraging. Then I calmly organized my thoughts and materials, setup the conference room and breezed through my presentation with confidence and humor. Immediately sensed my tech cred rise among my peers. Jovially lunched with said peers at groovy noodle place. (Did I mention the weather here?!?! Just the walk was edifying.) Leisurely enjoyed espresso and vivifying conversation in even groovier coffee joint. Returned to desk and began to blog.

Oh, yeah, and the money issue that has been stressing me out was alleviated greatly. This morning I deposited a little rent checkie from my roommate and remembered why I made that semi-sacrificial business deal.

It's grand, people, it really is grand.

Million Draft Curse

So I have, yeah, you guessed it, like a million draft blogs going now. As you can see, none of them have actually fleshed out into fruition. But I kind of feel like a squirrel storing away her nuts. One of these days I'll find an idea in there I can actually use. I know I'm the only one reading my blog anyway, so it doesn't matter. (Hey me, how's it going? Have a nice day!)

Aliens

We're all aliens.
None of us are actually from here.
Didn't you already know that?
Don't act surprised.
Have you ever felt at home
Standing in front of yourself?
My guess is, if ever, not many times, my friend. Not many.
Aliens all.
Every One.

So when you feel superior
Because your wallet's thicker,
Your bank account exceeds that, and
You have so many accounts - hmmm.
Remember, that you're actually...probably...well, just fat.

When you think you're better
Just because the percentage
Of your pigment
Is lower...ummm...
What did YOU have to do with the outcome of THAT?

When your nationality dictates - no feeds -
the impregnable superiority conflict you've developed and justified;
You've entrusted to governmental bodies and figures
Explaining to you at every opportunity that this is so...the more money you have, the more right you are my friend. The more right you are.

Elected governmental bodies and figures
Engraining fear into your very soul
At every opportune opportunity
Like the outrageous and shameless opportunists they are.

Have we been invaded?
And not from our southern border...try one day without a Mexican.
I mean have more intelligent forms
From somewhere out there
Out there
"Somewhere out there, beneath a sea of blue..."
(OK tangents are fun)

Have we been overtaken by beings that live
in a relativity beyond our imaginations
Beyond our perceptions
Beyond our ability to defend ourselves against...

And then...
I thought

What if

All the computer systems, old and rehashed...composted on the layer of plastic our generation will be reduced to after the "NOOKYOOLER" holocaust...

Suddenly found a source of intelligent energy and were called into service as an army.

Swimming

traveling beneath air
substance of mystery
world misunderstood
irrelevant history
resisting arrest
floating, bouyant
rising emotion
reception dormant
allowing, flowing
patches of light
through the darkness
i reignite

Thank You, Marianne Williamson

Today I discovered that my favorite quote is frequently misattributed to Nelson Mandela. Turns out he did not say this in his 1994 Inaugural Speech.

Urban Myth #982,243,561,071,260.2

Here it is:
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

It titillates me to no small degree that a woman penned these words. Don't get me wrong, I love Nelson Mandela. But now that I know the truth, it should have been obvious to me that these words come from a woman's heart and soul...the inspiration is uniquely feminine and speaks to me in that deep place.

I am also intrigued that the words came from a book written out of a (study? spiritual text? journey towards enlightenment?) that crossed my path of consciousness in the early '90s while I was living in New York, called "A Course In Miracles." At the time, I felt led to read the book but like so many other things, never got around to it. (Maybe because a friend of mine who went through it shaved his head, quit drinking and took a vow of silence, essentially making it impossible to communicate with him further. Or maybe because I was even more ADD then than I am now, and the book was thicker than a newspaper. I was intimidated.)

I'm currently experiencing yet another new chapter in my spiritual life...one of deep questioning, and not a little personal conflict. For the past 4-5 years, I was a member of - and then an employee of - a conservative-as-possible Southern Baptist Convention church. When I landed on the doorstep of that institution I was as lost and broken as possible. I found real hope and peace there that was truly like "living water" to my soul. I found loving people and I found a reason to keep breathing and I accepted everything they told me as Absolute Truth. I simply wanted a way out of my pain, so I threw out all of my prior negative deductions about Jesus and decided to see what blind belief would accomplish.

The end of my experience with said institution was...not pretty. I'm not ready to talk about all that here, mostly because anyone actually reading this has already heard my incessant pining on the subject ad nauseum. Suffice to say I feel disillusioned...and my disappointment extends beyond the specific institution. I'm extrapolating my negativity, perhaps subconsciously, towards Christianity as a whole. And I'm saying it out loud even though I know it's blasphemous. As my dear friend D sagely states, "I can't subscribe to a theology that requires me to check my brain at the door."

I can finally confess all the many conflicts in my heart while I was attempting to blindly adopt the church's beliefs as my own. For example, I never could quite reconcile the church's position on homosexuality. I love gay people. They make the world much more vibrant and interesting. Then there's the take that science is evil since it all doesn't fit neatly into Creation Theory.

But no doubt, The Big One for me, as a mildly intelligent, wildly independent woman, was always the woman's place in the church, workplace, and family. Even on a theoretical level I couldn't subscribe, even though I actually, really, well, sort of...wanted to. For a minute.

I'm still in mourning for my illusion. Sometimes I want it back...but then I realize that's just because it was easier to let someone else think for me.

So this is a beautiful full circle. The words of a woman, Marianne Williamson, inspire me to trust myself. To let go of my fear and allow myself to become the best me I can, without placing the limitations of self- or societal-perception on exactly who I will be.

Parenthetical:
About the misattribution Marianne Williamson said, "Several years ago, this paragraph from A Return to Love began popping up everywhere, attributed to Nelson Mandela's 1994 inaugural address. As honored as I would be had President Mandela quoted my words, indeed he did not. I have no idea where that story came from, but I am gratified that the paragraph has come to mean so much to so many people."

Life Satisfaction: High

A day really can make a lot of difference. I, along with 99.9% of my acquaintance, have been bluesy lately. I've attempted to post about various topics and ideas and have really just been too emotionally exhausted to be interesting.

I've been worried that my job performance has, well, sucked. I was late to work 4 out of 5 days. Anywhere from 15 minutes to a couple of hours. Seriously. Since I just started and my coworkers don't really know me, of course I am imagining what they must think of me:

"Wow. In the interview she was so energetic."

"I wonder if she'll ever contribute anything meaningful or if she'll surf the web and sigh all day...every day."

"I wonder if she'll ever comb her hair or wear makeup again. She looked pretty decent in the interview..."

"Is she schizophrenic?"

"Why, again, exactly, did we hire this chick?"

Then I realize that after they get to know me they'll still ask these questions.

This morning I walked into my boss' office. "Uh...can I come in at 9:00 instead of 8:30?" "Sure. Start on Monday if you want." "I'm sorry I've been erratic this week." "I haven't noticed. You're doing a great job." I worked with THE Big Cheese of the Firm for 10 minutes, and he says, "I've been hearing great things about you." We proceed to laugh and I notice that the words coming out of my mouth are not only coherent but mildly intelligent and humorous as well. Bonus. One of my coworkers says to me, "Wow, if I would have known you when I had my own training company, we'd still be in business."

I'm starting to wonder if I have a Good Twin who has been kicking ass in my stead, while I surf the web and sigh all day. If so, I love her.

My personal life is good too. I am happy. (Wow.) You know, having sympatico people in your sphere is important. I feel like I went away to another planet for ten years and just got home again. It's nice to be awake, and aware of the abundance in my life.

Potential is a Dirty Word

I realized today the depth of my dislike for the word potential. It's destructive. Don't use it. I know people who apply it are well-meaning and attempting to be complimentary, but when I hear it in relationship to myself, I get one of two messages, or both of them alternating:

#1) In my opinion, you're not there yet. You could be doing so much more with your life. Why aren't you using all your gifts?

#2) You need to work a lot harder to become who you really are. The pressure is on. You are not acceptable "as is."

(OK, these two messages are so similar that they're actually the same message. Perhaps I have the potential for redundancy.)

These messages, people, are not encouragement. They are a mental death sentence. I've experienced the damaging effects of abundant potential for myself and I see it in others whom I care deeply about. And I'm pissed off about it today. Because I'm pretty sure that believing you have potential versus accepting and loving yourself right where you are can lead to a pretty serious bout of depression. Don't we have enough trouble seeing and admitting what is good in ourselves?

If you live in America you're also lucky enough to be daily bombarded both willingly and unwillingly, consciously, subconsciously and unconsciously by media monsters with a single message: YOU ARE DISSATISFIED WITH YOURSELF AND EVERY SINGLE THING IN YOUR LIFE. UNLESS YOU BUY THIS PRODUCT YOU WILL ALWAYS BE A LOSER. IF, HOWEVER YOU DO BUY THIS PRODUCT YOU WILL FULFILL YOUR TRUE POTENTIAL. Advertisers loooooooooove our potential.

The "P" word has been applied liberally to me throughout my life, and I have to say I've cringed at least a little bit every time I've heard it. It's not that I think I am or even want to be perfect already. It's not that I can't take feedback. I love feedback. I also genuinely enjoy the process of growing towards a summit and learning what doesn't work along the way. In theatre, I've always gotten at least as much (and very often more) juice out of the rehearsal process than performances. And blah blah blah, I know, but it is actually true that failures usually teach us more than successes.

So I say fuck potential. That is someone else's idea of who you are and who you can and/or should be. Be who you are right now...and place a lot more emphasis on what's good.

Weekends vs. Mondays

Everything about my weekend was awesome. So WTF with getting the blues on Monday?

Indications that Weekends are Yummy:

• Spent 19.5 hours in the delightful sphere of incredibly enlightened, soulful and sensitive girlmate. Solved every existential unknown. Feel sure my world, if not The World, is going to be okay now.
• Spent more than my fair share of time at the A&L Haven of Harmony and Peace.
• In spite of ambitious schedule, never felt rushed. Experienced only goodwill and smooth sailing everywhere I went.
• Started my hour and a half road trip home at the exact same time as my friend H started her hour and half road trip home in California. Caught up on the Buzz.
• Confirmed with Genius BlogMaster niece that I did not, in fact, plagiarize her in my Fartiste blog. Her comment: "It's natural that we would have the same fart narrative."
• Made it back in time to enjoy the last rays of sunlight and the remainder of Sunday evening In Austin With People From Austin. Highly entertaining and satisfying.
• Bonus: Met even more intelligent, quickwitted, loving people.
• Extra Bonus: Encore in my apartment in front of glorious fire with One Specific Person From Austin. Highly entertaining and satisfying.

Indications that Mondays Suck:

• I realized this morning I forgot to get most of the things I went to San Antonio to get.
• I lost my wallet last night, rendering me the Penniless, Identificationless Wonder.
• Since I promised to take my Freshman at UT niece to lunch today, went back home to retrieve backup money acquiring implements.
• Experienced rush hour twice (actually three times if you count both ways).
• Tempting Specific Person still in my bed. Had to resist. Had to focus. Had to go back to work.
• At post-time, Tempting Specific Person is still in my bed. I am still at work.

Indications that I Will Get Over It:

• I'm going to the opera tonight.
• I believe I will have another opportunity to sleep late with Tempting Specific Person.
• I believe another weekend will ultimately arrive.

Blogphobia

Dear Blog,

Now that I told some people about you, I'm too self conscious to write. Help.

Sincerely,

D2

Nothing is Constant But Change

(Even the subject of this blog is subject to change.)
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As has become normal for me, I've recently gone through some blindingly fast and surgically precise life changes. A month ago I was working as a full time artist in a conservative church, 5 minutes away from home, where I lived with The Most Beautiful and Wonderful Dog in the World

and my almost elderly mother. (Whatever your opinion is about that, I have my reasons. They'll probably get divulged here sooner or later.)

In my mother's house there are three gargantuan TVs, probably the biggest TVs that ever were made or ever will be made, since they are the kind that guys who watch football bought right before flat panels hit the market. Inevitably, all three televisions are on, and there is a high probability that the Fox News Channel is on ALL of them. ALL DAY. And that's all I'm gonna say about that.

Last month I was single. SO single in fact that I don't really even want to talk about it. I lived in a conservative town where EVERYONE my age is already married and has 2.5 kids. I received some very interesting feedback during my stay in this town about the fact that I am still single. These helpful comments caused me to question my judgment, my sanity, every decision I have ever made regarding a man, my eligibility as a potential relationship partner, my viability as a woman, and even my worthiness of walking around on the planet with these other obviously more well adjusted and married humans. Once I wrote a comic monologue about that, which actually enabled me to move on somewhat. But I do seem to remember that the day before I performed it I pulled a Linda Blair-like freakout on my innocent and unsuspecting family members and promptly went to live in a hotel for a night.

But that is all in the past now. That was a month ago.

In July I started asking for awareness. (FYI, beware of asking for crystal clear truth unless you want to enter WARP.) A series of undeniable events to be extrapolated upon later led me to resign my arts job in November. Before Christmas I somehow schmoozed my way through an interview that landed me The Perfect Job in The Best Town in the Universe. Now I live in Austin. Magically, I'm not weird anymore for being over 25 (oh ok over 35) and single. That is apparently perfectly normal in Austin. Magically, I can be satisfied at work and still leave my job at the door when 5:30 rolls around. Magically, I am finally making decisions based on what I want instead of what I should do. I even kind of have someone who is kind of, sort of, although not really, like a boyfriend. Which is...well, perfect.

I've always been a bit like a cat about change...my instinct is to hide behind the warm refrigerator for at least 3 months. I live in a new city, have a new job, new friends and new connections with old friends. Some of the people I was closest to in my one month ago life have seemingly dropped off the face of the earth. So I definitely have moments of...uh...strangeness.

Without a doubt the hardest change is that I had to leave my beloved pooch behind with my mom. To take care of her. And of course to continue his reign over his kingdom, The Backyard. And it's only fair. After all, my mom's the one who found him and brought him home. Even though I trained him and molded him with great patience into The Greatest Dog in All the Land. Even though I lost more shoes in the process than she did.

I'm visiting him today. He's looking a me right now with those eyes that say "I love you more than any other human being in the entire history or future of the world."

I guess some things don't change.

Fartiste

Growing up with 6 older brothers, I learned L'art du Fart at an early age. When I was about six or seven years old, my brother Scott tickled me (tickle≠love; tickle=warfare) until I hyperventilated. He then proceeded to throw me on the floor and suffocate me with the pillow he had at the ready. Right before I died, he removed the pillow, and as I sucked in what I assumed would be sweet, life-giving air, he farted, the kind of fart that only he could fart, right in my face. Then he stood over me and laughed his ass off before he walked away in triumph.

You'd think I would have developed some kind of fart phobia after an incident like this. But even in the moment I had some kind of deep, sick appreciation for his development of such an intricately calculated plan, and the flawless timing of his execution. He was damn funny.

Perhaps I am actually stuck in the 7th grade, but farts are funny. Period. A few years ago my coworkers, knowing that farts, especially the fake kind you make with your mouth, always take me to the verge of peeing in my pants, purchased a remote controlled fart machine and surreptitiously taped it underneath my chair. Anytime someone would walk by my desk, they would set it off. That made for good times.

Since Christmas was just around the corner, I purchased one to entertain my family with during our annual gift-giving extravaganza, and strangely enough, my brother Scott's 7 year old daughter took to the joke like a duck to water. She stole the remote from me, and every time someone would bend over to pick up a gift, she'd set it off. With 5 separate and hilarious sounds, the fart machine, especially in this child prodigy's hands, made our Christmas one of the jolliest in recent memory.

Sidebars:

Le Pétomane, the original Fartiste, is worth studying. Here's a clip from a really bad mini-movie made about him.

And my friend Emily sent me this video yesterday.

So Was She Dreaming or Not?

I cannot remember NOT being completely awestruck and fascinated by Judy Garland. Though in my recent, mature years I have not willingly owned up to this fact, the influence she has had over my entire life is undeniable.

I'm writing about this because for some strange reason I woke up this morning thinking about the Wizard of Oz. Especially Frank Morgan. And I had this horrifying thought. Maybe it was all just a dream. I've never fully considered this possibility, probably because I believe in faeries and most other unseen and unbelievable things. Which leads to the Oz Catch-22: have I always believed in faeries and most other unseen and unbelievable things, or did the Wizard of Oz's influence over my young mind give me a high propensity for crack smoking?

I think it's just that I wanted to be Judy Garland and skip down the yellow brick road, looking beautiful and sad, singing gloriously longing and soulful songs on the seat of an old tractor, holding my beloved terrier's rapt attention, and meeting new, helpful friends who are as unusual, unique, and over-the-top as possible. I now know I identified mostly with Judy's deep, hidden pain and her desire in her personal life to escape to a more acceptable non-reality. I still want to travel to Oz and hang out with a good witch who gives me magic shoes and travels in a bubble. I even want to sleep in the poppies for a while...though probably much, much longer than Judy and her crew did.

Ultimately, I simply cannot subscribe to the dream theory because that would mean the Cowardly Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow are really just farm hands. And that is just unacceptable.

Parenthetical:
Of course nothing I'm discussing has anything to do with some of the more sophisticated layering of symbolism in this story, which is quite interesting and could be titled, "Sex, Drugs, and the Issues and Figures in American Politics at the End of the 19th Century." (My relationship with this movie is probably more aligned with the crowd who watch it while listening to the Dark Side of the Moon and smoking copious amounts of weed.)

Virgin Blogger

It's intimidating to start a blog because you wonder things like, "Am I the only one who thinks I might have something to say?" Fortunately the next thought is, "Fuck it."

Oh my God. I already used the "F" Word. And it only took two sentences.

I'm starting this public journal so I can better understand myself and how I fit into the world in its current state. So read at your own risk.

This is a work in progress, like me.