Friday, February 29th, 2008
I was thinking about this today. I have noticed a pattern in my thoughts where I feel guilty if I am not “in the loop” so to speak with the things that women or just people in general should like & dislike. Example: I start to feel like even though I really HATE gossip magazines, that I should try to like them because so many people do. & it really is such a woman thing to do to read trashy magazines. When I think things like this, I usually don’t stop myself; I let the guilt & awkwardness consume me & I feel horrible inside. But today, I finally said enough. & I thought of short, honest list of all the things that I like/dislike & I probably shouldn’t, according to society.
- It is quite alright that I don’t want to have anything to do with getting a Brazilian wax. I never knew that it was so popular until I worked in a spa, but seeing how many women decide to brave hot wax near their most precious asset is beyond me. I tried it for myself, because of peer pressure & curiosity & I am very proud to say that I hated the experience & I will never go through such pain again. A razor is just as well, thank you very much.
- It is perfectly fine that I cannot stand listening to top 40s music. I really have tried, for the sake of staying in the know about mainstream artists. Also because I have endured too much embarrassment when a song comes on the radio & everyone is singing along but me. & while I am getting weird stares they’ll ask if I’ve ever heard of Lil’ Big Daddy Pop (for example) & I respond, “No.” & when their mouths hang open in surprise, I won’t even blink because I am sure Lil’ Big Daddy Pop has never heard of me either.
- I have learned to accept that when it comes to high fashion, I could care less. Truthfully, it is the most boring thing to me to watch stick-thin models walk down a runway in clothes that are only made for the runway. This is not to say that I don’t enjoy making fashion statements; oh, I do. But not in that kind of way. I am learning that casual elegance in an indie, hippy mood suits me just fine. But I really don’t even bother to try to care about these top designers. Not mention that $1,000 for a shirt that just looks like someone spray painted it is ludicrous to me.
- There is nothing wrong with driving your grandmother’s car. Here I am always complaining that my car isn’t cool enough. Well, Lola (my 99′ Camry) is my “whip” & I am totally okay that she has some body damage. There is beauty in imperfection. These crazy looking street racing cars aren’t really that cool, anyway.
- I stick out like a sore thumb, which used to bother me amongst all the bright eyed, long haired blondes that walk around on the California streets. But my shortly cropped black hair compliments me, even if I do look like a boy when I wake up in the morning.
- I adore the fact that I am not into the horrible reality shows & fiction soap operas on television, which is all the rage right now amongst everyone, men, women & children. I’d rather watch an old movie.
Not that I am trying to brag — because I’m not. I just find it interesting that most of society is based on these things: mainstream music, mainstream fashion, mainstream television, mainstream beauty rituals, etc. What an awakening I just got, realizing that I am a lot more old-fashioned than I thought I was. I think this is why I can’t relate to women my age. Thus, the reason I feel like I don’t belong here.
Friday, February 29th, 2008
I have had one of “those” days. & because of that, I am mad at the whole world. Anything that breathes, moves or makes a sound, I am mad at you. Anything that eats, sleeps or drinks, I am mad at you. Alright, truthfully… no, I am not that mad, but I am quite mad. I had a horrible day & I am wearing it like a bright pink shirt in the middle of a snow storm. If you’d like to know, my day consisted of:
1.) Waking up. Not that I am not blessed to have another day, because I am, truly. But the fact that I must waste precious time at a job that no longer cares about me (which I’ll explain in a minute) made it impossible for me to get out of bed. I was scrambling & cursing, trying to figure out how I can possibly get ready in, oh, 10 minutes. Miraculously, I surprise myself every time when I do. But still, I am grumpy & unwilling by the time I am in my car.
2.) Work. I am — excuse my language, please — fucking through. I have had it up to here. My ridiculous boss decided to double cross me & then act as though she didn’t realize she did. The nerve of this woman. I have decided that nice girls do finish last as of today, so I am going to be the mean girl. I am quitting my job as of Saturday. I am going to tell this woman that I have a bone to pick with her & show her where she can stick it. I am tired of the mind games & the drama. They have sucked me completely & entirely dry. (Fortunately, my husband fills me back up again.) I am also tired of subjecting myself to sitting indoors when it’s absolutely gorgeous outside. California is having beautiful weather & I want to be in the sunshine. The only thing I will regret is showing everyone up outfit-wise. Other than that, good riddance.
3.) I was about to bitch about my Gevalia coffee pot, thinking that I had ordered the wrong one… but Jonathan is much more patient than I am & he discovered that it is, indeed, the proper fit. Thinking about how long we have gone without coffee in our apartment — since Christmas — & having to drive all the way to flipping Starbucks to get our caffeine fix (I truly loathe Starbucks, for they are killing the rainforest. Or so said one of my clients about a year ago while I was cutting his hair & I have chosen to believe him because it sounds like something Starbucks would do) makes me grit my teeth. But… no need to bitch in this paragraph because all is well with our Gevalia coffee pot.
4.) I love my doggie, Sofie Aiko, to pieces but she has been acting quite strange lately. Humping my legs, whimpering & clawing at my feet because she wants me to pick her up. She is being clingy & unrelenting. She requires my full attention & if I don’t give in to her she cries & protests like she is dying. As though she is a 3 year old child having a tantrum. Regretfully, I am annoyed with her, while, at the same time, I am thanking God that I don’t have children.
What does one do when they are consumed with frustration & four lettered words? Well, I do this, obviously. I also took it upon myself to shave every inch of me, which made me feel absolutely luxurious. Also, I prepared a delicious hashbrown casserole for dinner tonight; the only Stepford Wife moment I have had all day. Otherwise, you could find me driving like a maniac, cursing at poor, old grandpas because they were driving too slow, (don’t be too alarmed, my windows were rolled up & hopefully they were hard of seeing or else they could read my lips) & then, taking out all of my aggression on the bathroom door. I hate showing this side of myself because I really am very sweet. I am polite & kind & sometimes way too friendly. I have a tendency of getting walked on on accident because I cater to people, hoping that they will cater to me. Really, I am this way. But there is something inside of me that is always trying to get out. This mean, agitated, “I’m not going to take anybody’s crap today” kind of attitude that comes over me & I indulge in it, because it only happens every so often. I must admit that even though it’s horrible, cursing is my guilty pleasure. The f-bomb is something I say far too much… I really should wash my mouth with soap, but I am only human. & humans do get angry. It happens to the best of us. Even me!
Now I am feeling okay. I have expressed all of my discontentment & it is no longer bottled up inside of my chest. I am in a very comfortable silk nightgown that my mother gave me, imported from China. I have a casserole cooking in the oven that is the epitome of comfort food. My legs are soft & shaved. & I finally can make a single teacup of coffee without feeling like I am Starbucks junkie. Although… I will miss my cinnamon dolce latte with soy.
Wednesday, February 27th, 2008
This is something I wrote not too long ago & it’s very, very dear to me. I’d like to incorporate it into this blog. For memories, I suppose. I will do this often because it is such an out of body experience to read things you have written about. It’s a powerful & enlightening experience. It teaches you something all over again. I love that feeling. It’s a perfect, tangible example that you are, indeed, alive. That you are breathing, that you are dreaming. I am one person that needs to be reminded of this every second of everyday, for I get wrapped up in life like a bad soap opera. This is one reason why I am highly considering getting the word “breathe” tattoo on my inner wrist in Sanskrit. Because truthfully, I forget to breathe.
January 5, 2008
It rained all night last night. As terrible as that may sound, I enjoyed it very much. The sound of the rain on the roof reminds me to stay alive. When I woke up this morning, I felt drowsy & unwilling to do anything. I was running late, had only 5 minutes to get ready & came to work with no makeup on, undone hair that I shoved into a hat & had a breakfast of stale donuts & a over-ripened banana. Not that this has anything to do with what I’m wanting to say, but I didn’t really have what you would call a “good morning.”
At the salon, behind the desk, in the midst of my sleepiness, I had a very interesting & enlightening conversation with a Polish girl. Her name is Asha. She is simply gorgeous & if I could be someone today, I’d like to be her. She stands at the perfect height of 5′8” & has long blonde hair, which she wishes to cut into a short “Victoria Beckham” bob. (In this day & age, who doesn’t with this?) The most graceful thing about her is her voice. She has an impeccable voice; this could be because she speaks with an accent & I fancy anyone who is not from America. But, the ancient instantly makes her exotic & rare & if I could be anything, I wish to be those things, next to graceful & captivating. We spoke of a lot of things; things 2 strangers would not likely speak about the first time they are “small talking.” She told me that I should be a model, & told me, convincing me completely, that I simply MUST try it, if only just to try & see what comes out of it. She used to be a model — for some reason, this surprised me, & I instantly thought, Why wouldn’t she be a model?! — & she was telling me the importance of just doing something for fun, with the hopes of it turning out into something greater. I said “Well, I would… but I terribly camera shy, if you can believe it.” & she said, “Oh no… but you should. You really should just try. I mean, if only just to say that you did. To make a little extra money on the side, you know.” We talked about modeling & fashion for 10 minutes maybe… & then we got on other subjects, like lovers & where she was from. I was tempted to try to dig a bit deeper because she seems like such an interesting person. I was hoping she could give me a glimpse at how a girl like her lives her life. I suppose I’ve always fantasized that people from other countries are these sophisticated, semi-humble, charming creatures. They drink their wine & have their chocolates or pastries or desserts & they mingle with fashionable & professionally elegant people. They are deep, but down to earth. They are beautiful but in an effortless way. & they are captivating in their own personality without even trying to win you over. I wish, I wish I could possess this kind of power.
(sigh) Unfortunately, I haven’t been quite blessed in this area. I try to incorporate these traits into my everyday lifestyle, but I either fail because the people around me don’t provoke me enough to do so, or I forget to try because I get distracted with the Californian ways or living. For instance, starting a sentence with “like” or “um” or using slang words like “duh” “totally!” or “shut up?!” Now, if a Polish, Parisian, Italian, English, Scottish — what have you — were to say these things, it would sound cute! Endearing! Almost like, “Awww, she’s trying to use a slang.” But for Americans, Californians especially, these terms of typical. When we say them it’s like “Yawn. I was expecting her to reply like that.” How wonderful it would be to be unconventional. I wish so much that I could inspire someone in this way, the way that I am writing about someone else…
Either way, Asha’s words have stuck with me. Not just her words, but her presence. Her carefree ways. Her easy going attitude. This is not to say that she is this person all the time, 100%, but just the fact that she excudes this aura, this energy at first glance is amazing to me. So many people you meet have this overly obvious heaviness to them & I am not speaking about pounds. I mean in the sense that people carry so much on their shoulders day to day & it shows… it’s written on their faces. Sometimes in expressions, other times with actual physical signs, like wrinkles. Being around people for so long, I am able to notice almost instantly someone’s mood without even having them speak. It’s the way they walk, the way they glance around the room. As though they’re so exhausted from carrying this invisible backpack on their shoulders, but they must continue pressing on. I am guilty of this, too, though I try not to show it. Everyone is guilty of this. But Asha, when you meet her, you can’t imagine that she would ever subject herself to that kind of treatment. That, yes, she has had bad days & maybe she has cried a million tears over a lost love — she mentioned this, too, while we were small talking — but she refuses to carry that on her shoulders. There is a time & place for it. In just 15 minutes of a conversation with her, a very light one at that, I felt all of these things pass through me like a gust of wind. I’m still recovering from the presence of her spirit.
I hope that my words are coming out right. I want to say that this is not me professing a love affair for a Polish girl. At least, not in that way. I do believe, though, that it is possible to fall in love with someone’s spirit. Better yet, to fall under the spell of someone’s spirit, to the point where you must have it. Even if you don’t know how, you’ll try to get it because you have been moved far beyond words by this person & you are envious. I have always been that girl, reaching & hoping, wishing & praying that I could be what I like to call That Girl. More than ever in my life, I wish for it now… maybe it’s because I am growing older. Maybe it’s because I am realizing that there is more to life than quantity. Quality. It’s all about quality. For the first time in my life, I’m understanding the real difference between the 2.
I have a lot of words trapped in me today, & I’m desperate to get them out. I had another very interesting experience that happened to be several days ago. Something that has done almost what Asha did to me earlier, but left a bigger impression on me. It was nearing the new year… & my co-worker Alma, a very intruiging & inarticulate but in a speechless way, was handing out Christmas presents to everyone in the salon. She presented me with a candle & told me to light in on the 31st — which I totally forgot about! — & then… a few minutes later, she came up to me, with Tarot cards in her hand & sayd very quickly, “Pick one. Don’t think about, Babe, just pick one.” So I did… I didn’t think, which is VERY rare for a girl like me, & I gave her the card. She looked at me wide-eyed, with a grin on her face & said, “Ooo, Babe. You got the best card from the whole deck!” I asked her what it meant & she said, “This card means that whatever you’re doing for the year 2008, you must make it artistic, you must put all of your creativity in it. The job you’re doing now, Babe, it’s not the job you should be doing. Find what it is you’re destined to do, & put all of your artistic creativity into it. Don’t stop. This is what you must do.” I was giggling the whole time she was saying this me because I’ve never been a believer in Tarot or anything like that. But later on that night, I started to ponder over everything that happened & decided that even though Tarot is far beyond my reach, I would take it as a sign. I would do everything in my power to find what I should be doing with my life — which is obviously something very creative & artistic — & I need to do it until I die. I’m assuming that this may have something to do with words… but I won’t let it stop there. Maybe I should paint. Or maybe I should get back into photography. The options are endless & I’m excited — & a bit nervous — to start.
So I suppose that my missions this year, among many, many others, would be the find my artistic creativity & to finally understand & capture the essence of That Girl.
Wednesday, February 27th, 2008
This is strange; I can’t think of anything negative or sorrowful to write about. This isn’t like me. I usually can conjure up some sad little story about past lovers & how I wish I could have given them a reason to stay. I usually have these things on my mind no matter what the situation is… even if I am happily married. Not saying that I pine over lost lovers. I don’t. I think I am just a girl who doesn’t know how to fully let go. Let go of things that don’t even matter anymore, that don’t even effect my life now. I still hold onto things that are pointless & ludicrous because I feel like it’s still a part of me, even though it has happened years & years ago. I’d like to find someone who is an emotional pack rat like I am. Then maybe I wouldn’t feel like such a loser. Because, really, only losers live in the past & wish that life could be how it was “back then.” Am I the only person that does this? I remember how wonderful it was to be a child, playing in the mud, climbing trees, listening to the stories my mother used to tell us. How I wish I could be back to those places again. Not physically, mind you, but emotionally. To be in such a state of serenity & comfort — almost like a dream — that nothing matters. There is no crime. There are no bills. There is nothing else in the world but what you know best; or, rather, what I knew best. My mother, my father, my sister & all the toys I held dear to me. That’s all that mattered. Love was defined by my family back then. Not boys or even music. When I was young, I would hear that word Love & instantly see my mother or my sister. They are still Love.
I think of Love now & I see many, many faces. & things. When I think of Love, I think of my husband, I think of my doggie, Sofie. When I think of Love, I think about rainy days spent only inside, underneath blankets & sheets, whispering & wishing & making promises. When I think of Love, I think of Death Cab for Cutie, I think of monkey bread & I think of candles; lots & lots of candles. When I think of Love, I think of my adult baby sister in Texas… I think of my aging, searching father & my forever young & faithful mother. I especially think of them in overwhelming happiness & sorrow. I wish that I could say that when I think of love… I think of my family. But I don’t. I think of them, individually. In their own lives, with their own plans, with their own definitions of Love. It’s very hard to see things in this way. It’s hard to see Love change throughout your life, even if it’s better that way. I have always thought that love was unchangeable.
Monday, February 25th, 2008
Yes, that’s what I want to do: be honest. I want to be honest without feeling guilty. I want to be honest without much regard to hurting anyone’s feelings. I want to be honest because, well… it is the best policy, after all. I have always struggled with this, partly because I never quite understood my own emotions & because I was often ashamed of my own thoughts. I think the best way to explain it is in this:
Ever since I was young — & by young I mean 5, 6, 7 years old — I have always had trouble with smiling when I feel bad, or when something went terribly wrong. I don’t know why I would do it but it was awful. I remember once when I was about 8, I went to a funeral of someone I had grown up with. It was an open casket & when I caught glimpse of his corpse, I wasn’t taken aback. I wasn’t even sad or frightened. I had a oh-so-subtle, but curious, smile on my face. Another example was when I was in highschool; someone made a racial remark to my face in class, while my ex-boyfriend was sitting next to me. My ex-boyfriend jumped up, pushed this idiot out of his seat in full force & started screaming profanities at him… in the middle of class. Everyone was riled up & my ex-boyfriend ended up getting suspended. After they had both been taken out of the classroom, every stared at me, wide eyed. Someone asked, “are you okay?” & with all my might, I did the best I could to sound like I was frightened as well & said a meek, “yes” while trying to hide the fact that I was about to burst into a fit of giggles. Or, lately, when I am at odds with my husband & it’s a very serious moment when we’re both staring at each other as if to say “Now what?” I have to stifle laughter. Not because I find pleasure in smiling at a dead body; nor is it because I enjoy hearing racial slurs or fighting with my husband. Honestly, I think that when I am stricken with irony or confusion, my brain doesn’t quite know how to process it’s grief, anger, sadness or fear, so… I smile. Growing up, I have always hated this thing about myself because I felt like it was inappropriate. The only times I would let it come out, full force, was when I knew someone wasn’t around. For instance, on the telephone, finding out that someone I know is getting divorce. Better yet, when MY own parents announced that they were getting a divorce, there I was: sitting on the couch next to my little sister trying not to smile, or giggle & even burst out in fits of laughter. Oh, the irony. Oh, the confusion. What a mess.
Now that I’m older, I feel like I understand these things a lot better or else I wouldn’t have been able to explain it the way I did just now. That my mind doesn’t know how to comprehend bad news or bad times… so the best thing I can muster at the moment is a smile, or a laugh. A fine thing, too, because we all know that it takes more muscles to frown then it does to laugh. Hearing that doesn’t make me feel so bad, but I still struggle with this weird habit of mine.
There. I just admitted something that I have never honestly said on paper, to anyone’s ears or even to my own self. Other than scolding myself for smiling or asking myself, “why do you DO this?” & because I have been honest it’s given me clarity as to who I am, what I am about & what moves me. This is what this blog is about, I suppose. I feel like I am at a place in my life where I have finally woken. As though my eyes have been shut for so long, blind almost, being led by people I trust rather than trying to make the voyage on my own with my own intuitions. Quite recently this happened, the opening of my eyes. A few months ago, actually. I don’t know what provoked it or how it came about. It just happened & oh, how scary it was to be me. But, I have gotten used to the awkwardness of finding my own voice & now I am excited — instead of feeling dread or fear. I am excited to be honest & reveal myself to the world. I feel like what I have to say is intriguing. Really, if you only knew what goes on inside of my head…