Echo

Greetings from Florence

I’m writing from a hotel room in Florence, once again embarking on a post that will not be checked for typos until I return to the states in a few days. The mutiny of the Good Ship we-ain’t-eatin’-no-stinkin’-Chinese-food proved a success as our tour guide spent most of today on the phone with the LA office trying to get us decent plans for tomorrow night. This company has been cutting all kinds of corners so we’ll see what they pull out when they promised us something “trendier” to ring out oh-four.

As of my last post, here is a brief rundown of this trip:

-received a sweet email from my early-morn Swiss tour guide. It appears he’s found my website and found the pictures to be “strange or funny.” Maybe this was something that was lost in translation but it seems, he doesn’t know which. Even in Europe, I get the same reviews…

-no gym + 7 days of gluttony = so glad when my pants fit this morning.

-we visited Venice today which was quite an interesting city. I wish I had more time to just sit and ponder how the hell they constructed the city, since the buildings are built right up to the water’s edge. I know that city is sinking 2 ft. per year, but I wonder if at some point there was more dry land surrounding the water, or how they managed to lay the foundations to the structures. Many of the buildings dated back to the 16th century (I believe. According to the gondola rower with a thick Italian accent). All I could think about was how haunted the city must be. There were pigeons all over St. Marco Square, which is the center of town. For a few euros, you can buy a bag of corn kernels and they would eat them out of your hand, sometimes landing on your head, shoulders, etc. I quite enjoyed watching but didn’t want to participate. I prefer not to have a winged rat shit on me. We took a gondola ride and saw Marco Polo and Casanova’s houses. I think people live in there now. I think that’s so strange, to be living in a house once inhabited by a world icon. I don’t know…I would feel kind of intimidated.
We visited a blown-glass factory where this guy with a gymnast’s body gave us a demonstration in the furnace room and made a vase. I couldn’t get over the masculine curves under his shirt and was apparently, mumbling over and over, “I wish he would do this without his shirt.” Because the guy who was sitting in front of me turned around and told me, “We GET it.”

-we headed out to Florence which was a four hour drive. Had dinner at a little restaurant and the previously mentioned mild-mannered algebra teacher who is turning out to be a huge flirt asked the little bald waiter if she could have a box to take home her pasta appetizer to save for breakfast tomorrow. The waiter was so flattered that she liked the pasta so much that he brought her a full portion in a take-out container. What followed was a five minute compliment orgy between her, the waiter, and the maitre’d in which she was trying to tell the maitre’d how much she liked the pasta and how she wanted to have it for breakfast the next day and how nice our waiter was, while the maitre’d kept saying he spoke very little English but he was so happy that she liked the waiter. It went on and on and finally I told her she had to stop because it was starting to sound like she was talking about pasta while the maitre’d was arranging a threesome between the three of them that would culminate in having pasta for breakfast.

-I forgot to mention in my last post about the weird ass porn I saw on regular tv in Switzerland. First of all, the televised porn rules are weird. It’s on a normal channel, and the rules are, you can’t show penis and you can’t show any sort of penetration. But you can show s&m stuff, and lots and lots of chicks masturbating. I was channel surfing all 9 channels that were available and it was on channel 9. I knew something was wrong when I reached it and there was an ad for porn that’s sent right to your cell phone. The next thing I knew, the program comes on and it’s like clips from porns presented music-video style. The one I saw was called Fetish and it was this s&m clip with this guy all decked out like an SS officer complete with monacle, boots, and evil moustache, intently (with a hint of cruelly) watching this leather-clad chick masturbate in an open jet cockpit. While this tied up guy in a leather mask and a bit between his teeth squirmed in anguish. Sometimes, der pretend-fuhrer would march around, clacking his heels while the camera followed his boots, fetishistically drooling. WHAT THE FUCK? It was one of the most disturbing things I’ve ever seen. Yet it was like a car crash. You just couldn’t look away. Thankfully, an ad came on for SWISS DATE with a girl who masturbates using her cellphone so I was able to switch the channel to something more stimulating in my mind…24 dubbed in German. (Even in German, Xander Berkeley’s a freakin’ badass.)

I want to do a quick retrospective list for 2004 but it’s 2am here so I have to get to bed. I’ll do it at a later time. Hope everyone has a fun, safe time tonight.

The Other Venice

Hello from Italy! I’m in a little hotel just outside of Venice right now. We got in after it was dark when everything was closed so I have no idea what’s outside of these walls. I’ll have a better idea when the sun comes up tomorrow morning.

Trip Summary:

# of hours flown: 11 1/2
# of bad movies not slept through: 1 (I, Robot)
# of cities visited: 5 (Paris, Dijon, Lucerne, Milan, almost-Venice)
# of pictures taken: 14 (ran out of space on my memory stick. Bought a new one today)
# of times was acting inappropriate in a picture: zero (!!! Good job, Julia!)
# of times cussed: 1
# of times reprimanded by a stranger: 1
# of cute Swiss tour guides: 1
Getting hit in the face with cold water from a misdirected showerhead at 6am: Priceless

Trip Synopsis:

We spent all of Saturday on a plane to Cincinnati and then another to Paris, arriving on Sunday morning. We immediately met up with our tour guide and started the tour running, with a trip to the Louvre. Our guide said we only had an hour and a half because it took half of us 2 hours to get our bags at the airport (they were accidentally sent to another terminal). Michael was grumpy from not having eaten so we broke from the group to find him food. Then I lost my ticket so I couldn’t get back in. I was a bit upset but my mom hates museums and Michael just wanted to go back to the bus and sleep so she gave me her ticket and they headed back to the bus. I only had half an hour before it was time to meet and our guide said she would dock people a dollar for each minute late whenever they held up the group. I figured I would just find the Mona Lisa and then head back. Well, the Louvre is HUGE. It took me about 10 minutes just to get to it from the entrance. I’m not an art guru so I can’t tell what makes some paintings valuable enough to put in a museum while others are stock wall coverings for Motel 6’s. But the Mona Lisa is really interesting. She kind of looks…alive. I sprinted back to the bus, only knocking down 2 people in the process, only to have the tour group (guide included) return 15 minutes late.

Next we went to the Cathedral of Notre Dame, which is one of my favorite places in the world. I love the gargoyles and I love the energy of the place. There were priests in there who were open for confession. They sat in these little offices with signs saying which languages they were able to take confessions in. Today’s priest could accept confessions in: French & Japanese. I thought this was kind of funny. Like when you go to the New Age bookstores out here in LA and they always have a little board withe fliers of all the psychics who are currently available for walk-in readings, along with a list of their abilities.

Again, my mom and brother could care less about the cathedral so they rushed me out and we went to a little cafe across the street. The waiter looked eerily like Dr. Ethan, my head shrink friend in Ohio. Like a French doppelganger. Snooty Faux-Ethan.

As the sun set, we drove around and looked at the other tourist destinations. And by looked at, I mean literally–we would drove by and the guide would say, “To the left…” “To the right…” and the driver would slow down just a wee bit. Sometimes, such as with the Eiffel Tower, we would get out of the car as the driver left the engine running while he held up traffic and we would take pictures as the guide yelled, “Back in the bus! Back in the bus!” (By the way, I’ve seen the Eiffel Tower 8 years ago in the day time and it’s quite non-impressive. But by night, it’s gorgeous. Absolutely stunning. As I thought as I flung myself back into the bus.)

We had dinner at a little French restaurant across from a theater. I say “French” because when we walked in, it was filled with Asians. You know how they always say, if you walk into a Chinese restaurant and it’s filled with white people, then it’s probably not a good Chinese restaurant? So what does it mean when a French restaurant is filled with Chinese? The food was okay. I had the duck and a lot of table wine and kept urging the mild-mannered high school algebra teacher next to me, “Come, Natasha! Ve dance!”

I was determined to hit a Parisian night club. We arrived at the hotel, I saw the bed, I was out.

We left Paris at 8am the next day and headed to Dijon. We were told by the guide that we only had 1 1/2 hours. We looked at a church they had there for a few minutes but no one seemed particularly interested, so everyone headed towards the shopping area instead, towards exclusive French establishments such as Sephora and McDonald’s. The bus couldn’t park at the arranged meeting area so we ended up chasing around the city square for a while. I kind of wish I could have not been involved in that scene and was merely an observer. A bunch of Asian people lugging shopping bags while chasing a large tour bus around an ancient city monument must have been a bizarre site.

We headed out to Lucerne, Switzerland. I was tired from all of the running around and bus-chasing so I unfortunately fell asleep in the bus. From the bits and pieces I gathered about the trip from fleeting moments of consciousness, 1. the mountains were beautiful; and 2. our guide was conducting some acapella karaoke contest. Thankfully, sweet sweet sleep took me to my happy place.

We arrived at Lucerne after it was already dark but I was determined to go out that night. I asked the guy at the front desk if there were any fun bars or clubs in town and he said the town was dead on Mondays so I may as well stay in the hotel. I went with my mom and brother to walk around and we found a small grocery store and went in and looked around. I asked the cashier, “Where are the good looking guys around here?” He directed me to a bar across the street. I headed out. The place was PACKED. Damn lying front desk guy. It was called The Roadhouse and it had kind of an American theme. Decent music. One of those places those traveler’s guides would deem a “cozy expat hang out.” Was harassed by a total doofus who thankfully couldn’t speak English. I made no attempt to use charades to communicate with him. Was finally rescued by a couple of nice German mechanical engineers. They wanted to know what I thought of Bush (I apologized profusely). I wanted to know about Dirk Nowitzki (“Yeah, he’s very good. He’s from Germany.” “Yeah, he’s definitely very good.” long awkward silence). Finally this cute guy in a baseball cap who’d been lurking all night comes and talks to me. He too wants to know about Bush. Again I apologize profusely. He asks me what I think of David Hasselhoff. I tell him that we make fun of him a lot in the US. He says, we do too. Because he has…[he does the universal gesture signifying “manboobs.”] I immediately like this guy. He tells me he doesn’t like horror movies. I figure he’s a Pisces, later confirmed. He’s exactly 9 months younger than me. If you think about it, if both of our mothers were exactly on time, then he was conceived the day I was born. Shout out! The bar closes down and he gives me an impromptu tour of Lucerne. Very sweet. I think I like Swiss boys.

We leave at 7am the next morning and do a walking tour of Lucerne. This place is GORGEOUS. Cobblestone walks, quaint little shops and structures, surrounded by snowcapped mountains. With the nicest people around. I tell the tour guide that I think that the people here seem very intelligent. She says that they’re very proactive, as they’re always voting on something, every few days. It’s too bad we couldn’t have important the Swiss in time for this year’s doofus election.

We had a lunch of fondue and then headed out to the mountains. To my chagrin, the mountain we wen
t to was called…Titlis. YES. I kept telling my mom that’s what it was called but she wouldn’t believe me. We took the longest ride up ever, consisting of a lift, a gondala, and a rotating lift (which rotated the people inside so you could get a 360 degree view of the outside.) The mountain was absolutely majestic. Near the summit, we were so high up that we couldn’t even see the ground. We were completely shrouded. The place was incredibly beautiful. In fact, we took a picture up there that looks like we’re standing in front of a cardboard backdrop of a “Swiss Mountain Scene” because it looked so unreal.

When we finally make it back down the mountain, it’s dark already and in the lodge, there are skiers and boarders sitting around fire pits drinking beer while a DJ spun records. Like a ski retreat lodge party. In Europe. The stuff that fantasies are made out of. But of course, I couldn’t stay because we’re on this crazy strict schedule and I have to run my butt back to the bus before I get fined.

This morning I managed to miss my wake up call and have 15 minutes to get ready and out the door. Somehow, the shower nozzle ended up facing outward and when I went to turn on the water, I got hit in the face and chest with some seriously freezing water. It was probably the worst way to be woken up that I can possibly imagine. Lucerne was beautiful in the morning as dawn broke and it was sad leaving. Switzerland is beautiful. There’s something about it–maybe it was the swans in the lake, maybe it was the feeling of safety and calm emanating from the surrounding mountains…it’s definitely a place everyone must try to check out before they leave this earth.

We headed out to Milan, Italy, where we saw the most amazing work of architecture I’ve ever seen. I think it’s called La Scala but I’m not sure because our guide does most of her guiding in Chinese. She got into a little cat fight with another tour guide who told her that she would be arrested for “guiding” inside a church, which was ridiculous. She went off on our guide in Italian and I couldn’t help but notice how catfights just sound a certain way, no matter what language they’re in. All she had to give was the universal sign of “The Hand,” and it would have been the complete experience.

I found this little market that looked like the Fish Market up in Seattle, except it was filled with more pastries than I’ve ever seen in my life. They were stacked in open cases the way the fish are stacked on ice in Seattle. I boughta cannoli because it made me think of Jake (“Have a cannoli, man”) and that thing was like eating a slice of heaven. I don’t like cannolis but wow…WOW.

We hoped back onto the bus because of course, we were only given an hour and a half to hang out in Milan (this tour is crazy…it’s the traveling equivalent of speed dating. I feel like I don’t really get to see things and I’m sprinting through places, spending most of my time just trying to catch the bus). We drove out to Venice were we ate at…at Chinese restaurant. What the fuck? We flew all the way to Europe and we’re eating at a Chinese restaurant? A lot of the people on the tour were really, really pissed about that. Apparently, we’re going to be eating at another Chinese restaurant in Rome as well…on New Year’s Day. Oi vey. Freakin’ Chinese people. They’re really stubborn about that. I went to Mexico once with my family and they insisted on eating at a Chinese restaurant. I personally believe in sampling what a culture does best, especially if I take the time and money to travel–I want to have what I can only get there. But my parents will always want bad Chinese food over no Chinese food. So it was weird. Anyway, I’m really really hoping that I don’t end up spending New Year’s Eve in a Chinese restaurant in Rome. I don’t want to sound spoiled, but that just seems like kind of a waste.

I’m off to Europe in a few hours. I’m up late trying to load up my brother’s new iPod for him but I managed to erase 9 hours of previously loaded music when I had to switch computers because his is virus-riddled. [Is it possible to add songs from a 2nd computer’s library without erasing the songs already on there? The only option I seem to be able to find is to replace one computer’s library with the other. What if someone has two computers?] So now he has 2 CDs on his. Utterly pathetic.

Since I’m out of the country until the New Year, here are my resolutions:

-fix my back
-fix my bank account
-finish open writing projects
-less cussing
-less cussing at work
-less bullying of superiors at work
-find moderation between being adamantly reclusive and manically outgoing.
-find moderation in inviting fucktards into my life
-find moderation in Costco expenditures
-find moderation in number of weird situations I purposely get myself into for the sake of the crazy stories
-better anger/anxiety management
-less time spent sitting in traffic
-be conscious of trying not to be influenced by people around me who cuss a lot or are very angry.
-get out of my head as much as possible
-travel more
-visit friends
-hang up on my downstairs neighbor at least once
-worry less about the things I can’t change that may or may not happen, and use that time and energy to be more productive, like training my turtle to be a champion turtle racer.

Merry Christmas and happy new year everyone.

Um…in case people thought I was serious about the last post, I was making fun of this story:

http://www.cnn.com/2004/US/12/15/marijuana.caskets.reut/

And I actually got my facts wrong. It was 610 pounds of marijuana.

Traveling the Landscape of a Gemini Rollercoaster

Sorry I haven’t blogged for a while. I ended up in jail. You may have read about it in the news. I was arrested for supposedly transporting 60 lbs. of marijuana stuffed into 4 coffins that were loaded into the back of a truck. It happened because my cousin’s girlfriend’s brother Rico was telling me about wanting to do this one night and I was like, that’s crazy. that’s serious trouble if you get caught. And he was like, you listen to me you little bitch. you ever disparage one of my idea again [Rico went to Northwestern], i’ll cut your fucking nose off. and secondly, they’re coffins. those cops aren’t gonna open up a coffin.

So he calls his best friend Loco Joe who’s got a hookup up in Sacramento. Loc and his buddy Benito come up with the coffins in a u-haul, and I just happened to be there. Loc and Rico loaded up the coffins, while Benito kept trying to molest me, acting like it was all just innocent flirting. Fucker. When everything was finally packed and ready to go, I obviously wanted to ride with Rico in the truck because I didn’t want to be left alone with Loco Joe and fucking Benito. I’d get sold into sex slavery or some shit. But then, next thing I know, the cops are pulling us over because as ingenious as those guys were about hiding the pot, they somehow didn’t calculate how pungent 60 pounds of weed would be.

So if any of my loyal readers would like to make a donation towards my defense in the upcoming trial, please look for my listing on www.foxy-female-inmate-penpals.net . I’m the non-burly one.

The Things I Say, Translated

Words

Lurve – the act of being so in love as to not see the fact that the object of your blind infatuation is uglier than you realize, a complete jerk, or is actually using you to get to your money, best friend, sister, brother, passport, etc.
Dingobat – a fat, curved penis, like a crooked salami
Pisser – an unfortunate event
Fucktard – men who are idiotic beyond words
Dooode – I’m sorry, my mind wandered and I missed everything you said in the last half hour. But by the look on your face, I feel like you’re expecting me to be either mutually disgusted or supportively empathetic so I’ll make a non-committal sound that could be interpreted as one or the other, or even both.
Wow. – I’m sorry, my mind wandered and I missed everything you said in the last half hour. But I’m not even going to pretend that I was listening.
Guh – whatever

Phrases

Punkass Bitch – ex boyfriend
Dumb Ho – a young woman in a Civic or some other economically priced compact car who cuts me off in traffic
Tricky Bitch – an older woman in a luxury car who cuts me off in traffic because she was doing her makeup in the mirror
Fucking Cunt – an older woman talking on a cellphone driving a luxury car who cuts me off in traffic, but flips me off when I honk at her
Ho Bag – a sleazy girl who lures other people’s boyfriends away with the promise of anal
God’s Natural Goods – pot
Monkey Torture – psychologically mindfucking someone
Vagina Music – chick music (ie Sarah MacLachlan, et al)
Cock Rock – boy music (ie Bon Jovi, et al)

Lines

Yawannabuyamonkey? – Haha, great story, now go away.
Shut the fuck up – Whoa.
Thank you for calling CSSN – I don’t care if you’re a customer. I’m fucking playing minesweeper here.
Bitch please – Giiiiirl…
Giiiiirl… – Wow.
Wow. – I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening.
My weekend was mellow – I ended up at the sex club again.
How was yours? – Please don’t ask me what happened.
I have to go now. – I ended up on stage, chained to a pole butt naked as a guy wearing a kilt named Georgie Boy spanked me silly.

I’m not gay – I played softball.
No seriously, I’m not gay – I played softball.
Why are you looking at me that way? I’m not gay! – I’m terrified of lesbians
Not that I have anything against them – because they can kick my ass.
I have lots of friends who are lesbians – I knew one girl in high school, but she used to wholely kick my ass.
And it’s all cool with me, but I’m not gay – I played softball.

Wait a Minute… – And suddenly I realized, I think I may have gotten into another bad situation involving a dirty old man again.
So I was like, I’m outta here – But I still gave him my number.
I was totally grossed out – we made out in the backseat of his Cadillac.
I hope I never run into him again – I think I’m carrying his love child.
Why do these weird things always happen to me? – please…stage…INTERVENTION.

It Ain’t A Good Time ‘Til You Throw Up a Lil In Your Mouth

So I was at the gym last night, sitting in the jacuzzi, which I’ve found has miraculously alleviated my back issues. Behind this wall are these shower spouts, and everyone who gets into the jacuzzi is required to rinse off first. So since I’m near the edge of the wall and can see around it, I happen to glance towards the shower and see this middle-aged obese, hairy Persian guy rinsing himself, wearing what looks like tight briefs. As he turns off the shower and starts walking towards me, I can feel the bile rising up my throat and into my mouth. From my lucky perspective sitting at ground level below him, he is indeed wearing briefs, which are now wet, see-through, and clinging to his…bush. There was quite a mass of hairy darkness in there.

He gets into the jacuzzi; I sprint out.

I know that swimming shorts are essentially underwear, but jesus. I’ve had that image burned in my head all day and it’s given me a headache.

“Normal people don’t drink things for breakfast that taste like old ladies’ cooch.”

-Brian, as he looked distastefully at my papaya-kiwi-pear shake.

Can You Phone In a Curse?

I got home at 4:20am late Saturday night/early Sunday morning (depending on if you’re an optimist or a pessimist) and managed to sleepwalk through my sleep-prep routine and tumble into bed 15 minutes later. Around 4:45 am, the phone started ringing.

I don’t know about you guys, but for me, when the phone rings at an unnatural hour, I assume something very bad has happened and someone is calling me to tell me who died. So I always pick it up, even if only by instinct, despite my brain not being in any way awake.

Hello?

No answer. I hang up, wondering if maybe I had merely imagined the phone ringing in my sleep-deprived delerium. I throw down the phone into the corner and am asleep before my face hits the pillow, when the phone starts ringing again.

I have to scramble across the floor to pick it up.

Hello?

Silence.

Hello?????

I hang up, definitely irritated. I don’t have caller ID on the phone in my bedroom, and I know that I should go to the kitchen to check the caller ID there, but I don’t have the energy so I go back to sleep.

A few minutes later, the phone is ringing again and I let it ring, trying to incorporate it into my dream. It goes silent, and then starts ringing again. I’m seriously peeved at this point. I pick it up.

Who is this???

(I really wanted to say, who the FUCK is this, but even totally pissed off at 5 in the morning, I can’t help but be polite)

there’s silence, and then someone rattles off something brief in a foreign language, then goes silent. I couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman.

I ask again, Who is this?

There’s silence, and then they rattle off something brief in a foreign langauge again, followed by silence.

I ask again, Who is this?

No answer.

We both stay on the line for a while, neither person saying anything, but neither person hanging up. Finally, I’ve had it so I hang up, but a few moments later, the phone starts ringing again. I ignore it, letting it go to the machine.

What the hell is that??? If it’s a wrong number from someone in a foreign country, they’re wasting a lot of money misdialing someone who is obviously not the person they’re looking for, as evidenced when my answering machine and I consistently answered.

Then I started worrying, that maybe someone was phoning in a voodoo curse on me.

this is about pain.

Brian was sweet and brought home a copy of the New York Times because it had an article about the siblings of autistic kids on the front page.

http://www.nytimes.com/2004/12/10/health/10siblings.html

This article wrenched me up and made me cry. It threatened to open a door that I’ve got locked up, boarded and barricaded, and I just don’t know if I can handle that door being opened. This part hit me the hardest:

The goal of teaching Andrew to play Uno was Jeffrey’s pleasure. But that does not mean the younger boy is free of responsibilities unusual for his age. When the two brothers visit their grandparents, for example, Jeffrey is a translator. He is the one who can tell whether Andrew is trying to say “juice” or “cheese” and also can distinguish a “fake” cry, which is best ignored, from a real one that requires adult attention.

Dr. Bridget A. Taylor, one of the founders of Alpine, Andrew’s school, said that younger siblings like Jeffrey “don’t know anything different” and thus slide naturally into an adult role. They are also so attuned to their parents’ stress and heartache, Dr. Taylor said, that they hide their own feelings and “walk around like everything is fine and dandy.”

But it’s not. Things are not fine and dandy. Those of you who have siblings like this know what I’m talking about. All that you carry inside that no one in the world knows about, that you have no voice for, that you can’t even talk to yourself about because you feel like an evil, evil human being when you do. You have no voice to talk about the war zone that home can be, when you have an unpredictable sibling who needs so much, when frustration starts tearing at your parents’ marriage, when they themselves become rageful and volatile.

There’s really no way and with no one to talk about these complex experiences. What it’s like in a house that has this element. You’re obligated by responsibility to people, to protect people on one side while feeling like a horrible selfish person for having any inkling of resentment on the other, so that there’s no way to feel anything or confront anything. You just lose your voice and your memory just trying to bring anything up to your consciousness. It’s a feeling of drowning from the inside, whenever I try to dissect what happened between the ages of 8 (when we started realizing something was wrong with my brother) and 18 (when I left home and had the chance to find myself). And it’s true. I can’t remember. I can’t remember most of what life was like between those ages. Near-total amnesia. Sleepwalking. A long blank that could have been filled with anything. Or maybe nothing. Like trying to piece together my past with faded photographs that may as well have belonged to someone else, of someone else’s life.

The article takes an interesting angle but doesn’t dig deep enough into the experience of these siblings. It doesn’t talk about how, once you’re supposedly “your own person,” your identity and experience of the world are still forever tied to that complex web of responsibility and emotion and amorphous guilt, and at any moment, the universe could call upon you for complete, total self-sacrifice, which you will give without a second thought. Because it’s everything you’ve come from and all you know. It doesn’t talk about how it’s always somewhere in the back of your mind, that listening, that waiting for the phone to ring, because there is always an emergency right around the corner. And when things are too quiet, it just means something very, very bad is about to happen.

Because when you live with something so unpredictable and volatile during your formative years, you’re always on call. And if you aren’t prepared to jump into action and something disastrous happens, you will destroy yourself with blame. And if there’s anything you fear more than death and physical torture, it’s those nights alone when all you can do is blame yourself and tear yourself apart.

[The sibling] became animated only when the conversation turned to people who tease or stare at her brother. “I give them an extra dirty look with a swear or two.”

The article alludes to it but it doesn’t mention the rage and guilt the siblings feel towards a cruel world where people don’t understand their autistic brother or sister. Where people aren’t tolerant of the person they desperately try to shelter. The article doesn’t talk about the complex issues the sibling hides from the world that stem from the repressed rage at the people who say and do the most cruel, ignorant, hurtful things to their helpless brother or sister, these people who terrorize the very ones they’re trying to protect, and their impotence to fully protect them. The siblings are terrified that they may be capable of enacting the violence against these people that their minds obsessively envision, this rage screaming inside their heads, demanding that the offenders be made to feel what it is to be on the other side, helpless victims, so that they can understand. They wonder if they are monsters for having these thoughts, and worry that if they are found out, they will be locked up. But truth is that these siblings are equally helpless, too cowardly to avenge these wrongs. So this rage turns on them, tearing them up from the inside for their lack of strength, so disgusting, their impotence as human beings.

If you ask me if I know what hate is, I’ll tell you. I do. Oh, I really do. It’s the taste in my mouth every time I see intolerance in someone else’s eyes. It’s what I feel towards myself every time I think about just how cruel people and this world can be. And how there’s very little I can do to change it. To neutralize it. It’s like trying to stop the blood from flowing out of the mortal wound of someone you love, but you can’t because your little kid hands just aren’t big enough. The way you fail just by being what you are. Human.

My pronouns are all messed up here because this is not a subject I have ever really gone into as it’s not an easy subject nor one I have a good grasp on. There have been so many studies done on how divorce affects children and their ability to commit to relationships and lead anxiety-free lives, but I would love to see a study on siblings of autistic kids. I think they’ll find a high prevalence of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder among this group as well.

“I keep it all to myself,” [the sibling] added. “But when I can’t keep it in any more, I just sit in my room and cry for hours. If my parents catch me crying, I just say hormones kicked in and sometimes that’s true.”

Yes, there’s a lot of that. Endless expanses of loneliness and feelings of isolation. Sometimes, you don’t even know that you’re sad. Until you’re already crying. And even then, you don’t know why.

here’s the closest I’ve ever come to explaining what it was like growing up, that black hole I carry with me that I don’t know how to get rid of.

michael

when my brother rages
his face fills with blood and
his mouth snaps open
erupting
a high pitched scream
like an animal with its hind leg clenched
between the unflinching jaws of a steel-toothed trap

i restrain him by sitting on
his frail flailing body
feeling his primal fear twist and
claw against my overwhelming weight
as if subduing a six year old
whose brain will eternally reflect
only a small fraction of his age is
some heroic feat to be proud of

someone once asked me why we don’t put him in chains

i told her i would go home and ask my dad
but instead went straight to bed and prayed that
her parents would die in a violent accident
so that she too could know what it is to be helpless and flawed
in an thunderous world that turns a deaf ear to the tiniest voices

Liars/Cheaters on Internet Dating Sites

Hey guys…I really need your help. I’m writing something about the prevalence of liars and cheaters on internet dating sites (ie match.com, lavalife, etc.). Apparently, a lot of people have experienced finding out someone wasn’t as advertised (looks, background, even gender), or finding out that the person they meet actually has a significant other but is using the site to find people on the side. So if you have any of these experiences, are someone who has done these things, or know of friends who have had these experiences, email me! Everything will be confidential and nothing will be judged. Thanks so much!!

This was one of the most well-thought out, well-articulated postings that really touched me in a while. Guys and girls, it’s worth a read. Link provided by Avatar, who also has another link and some great commentary.

http://waiterrant.blogspot.com/2004/09/leftovers-i-was-hungry-at-start-of-my.html

Want a Pen Pal?

So I was surfing the net and I stumbled upon some interesting sites.

Be a Pen Pal to a Death Row Inmate

If you’re more interested in someone you have a chance of seeing on the outside, check out:

http://www.thepamperedprisoner.com/

You may even find your future husband/wife/partner!

I can’t even remember how I found that first site, but their profiles and webpages are quite interesting and worth reading. A part of me kind of wanted to know what each person was in for, but I guess if we were truly being non-judgmental, it wouldn’t matter? I can’t help it. I was still curious.

(by the way, it’s nice that Canadians look out for our prisoners).

Do These Tights Make Me Look Gay?

http://pixyland.org/peterpan/index.html

I know some of you may already be familiar with this guy because he’s quite famous, but for those of you who aren’t, please begin your education ASAP. Make sure to check out his fashion gallery.

And for all you hot ladies out there, he’s looking for his Tinkerbell!

Favorite Michael Stories

Someone recently wrote me and asked me to compile stories about my brother. I can’t remember them all because I did a lot of drugs in the 60s and mostly, because he creates anecdotes so often, that I can’t remember them all. So here are a few of my favorites, but if you remember some, remind me and I’ll elaborate. Someday, I’m really going to write a book about him.

Car Alarms Are Really Sensitive

My mom is very conservative and does her best to shelter my brother from “getting the wrong idea” about things. So obviously, the subject of homosexuality is quite taboo. Last year, my mom and brother came down to Los Angeles to spend Thanksgiving with my friends and I. After dinner, we all kicked back and watched the O.C. In this episode, the son goes to his dad’s dealership with his friend to say hi to his dad. Unfortunately, when they show up, they catch his dad in the middle of a lover’s tryst with his business partner…another man. So on screen, the boys walk in just in time to see the dad grab his partner’s head and begin making out. Everyone in the room goes silent, afraid to move, painfully conscious of my mom and my brother.

So the men on TV start mugging down and Michael says, incredulously, “Are they…gay?” No one is brave enough to say anything.

Michael, in an attempt to dissociate, says, “Maybe not.” As the men are still mugging down.

Then he asks again, “Are they…gay?” No response.

Finally, the son freaks out and runs out of the dealership, but accidentally stumbles against a car, setting off the car alarm. The dad sees his son and yells, “WAIT!” and chases after him. Cut to commercial.

All of us sit quietly, not moving, enjoying a lovely awkward silence while I’m frantically trying to formulate some answer in my head that starts with, “You see Michael…when a man loves another man…”

But instead, my brother turns to me, wide-eyed, and says, “Boy Julia…car alarms are really sensitive!”

And that’s all he had to say about the scene.

Michael and the Good Poo

The first time I brought this one boyfriend home, my brother took it upon himself to explain everything about our house and our routines in as much detail as possible. At one point, he leads my boyfriend into the kitchen and points to a plate of sliced cantaloupe. “We eat cantaloupe every morning because it’s digestible and let’s you have good poo.” Hmm. Thanks, Michael.

Michael and the Preacher

At my grandfather’s funeral, all the adults sat in the main area, and the kids were cordoned off to sit in this side area, only visible to the preacher. I was assigned to the kids area to keep an eye on the kids (mostly just Michael) and to make sure they behaved. My brother kept wanting to talk to his cousins and the preacher kept looking over, glaring at us. Finally, he looked over and went, “Shhh.” And in no time flat, my brother has his hand in the air, middle finger extended, and is flipping off the preacher.

Michael and Urethra

Once when I went was up north, I got a call from my friend Urethra* (not her real name). She asked me, “Julia, are you on IM right now?” No, I say. I’m in my car. “So you weren’t just IMing with me.” Nope, I tell her. I probably left it on at home. Apparently, she was IMing me for advice about a relationship, and my brother started answering. She thought something was wrong when I kept writing back one word answers in ALL CAPS, but the clincher was when she laid out the situation that she was worried about and asked me what I thought, I wrote back, “DON’T WORRY. YOU’RE NOT FAT AT ALL.” Obviously, this had nothing to do with what she was talking about.

Michael and My Mother’s Drinking Problem

Lauren and I took Michael to get ice cream one day. I saw him scratch himself in a manly place and I shot a look at him and he quickly retracted his hand, saying, “Oops! I know I’m not supposed to do that in public.” Then he quickly turns to Lauren and says, “Lauren…”

I think he’s going to tell her that his mother tells him he’s not allowed to scratch himself in public so I try to head him off by saying, “MICHAEL.”

He immediately gets defensive and says right back to me, “JULIA. …. Lauren…”

I say, “Michael. Don’t say it.”

He says, “I’m NOT. Lauren…”

I say: “Michael! Do NOT say anything inappropriate!”

He says: “JULIA! I’m NOT going to say anything inappropriate.”

Then he turns to Lauren and says, “Lauren…my mother has a drinking problem.”

Holy FUCK.

He meant that my mom dribbles when she drinks out of a glass.

Michael and the Mango

When my mom, brother and I went to Mexico last year, they both bought these mangos speared on 3 ft. sticks. My mom was sitting down with the stick propped straight up, so she looked like a queen sitting nobly, with a staff. So I wanted to take a picture of her but Michael wanted to be in the picture. I told him he couldn’t. So he got huffy and moved away. I should have known that Michael would be determined to be in the picture in some way, because as I looked in the viewfinder of the camera and centered the picture, I saw this hand with a mango stick slooooowly creep into the bottom right of the picture.

Michael Says No to Lesbians

I was once bored and told my brother that his mom was a lesbian. I told him that if he didn’t believe me, to call his dad and ask. So he calls my dad and says, “Is mom a lesbian?” My dad says, “Yes.” Michael just says, “Ooooh” and doesn’t bring it up again. A few days later, Brian was making fun of me and called me a lesbian in front of Michael. And Michael gets upset and says, “JULIA. You can’t be a lesbian. We can’t have two lesbians in the family.”

When Michael was staying with me last year, I had a post it up on the fridge that said, “For July, No More Bullshit.” I was on the phone with a student one night and saw Michael come into my office, write something on a post-it and then leave. A few moments later, Brian came in, put a post-it in front of me saying, “I thought you might like to know what your brother just put up on the fridge.” It said, “For August…No More Sex Life.”

Don’t Touch Michael’s Food

I was home last Halloween and wouldn’t let anyone see my costume until the actual day. I had promised Michael that I would show up for his school Halloween party, so I got dressed up as a Blaxploitation chick (huge fro, big sunglasses, a lot of cleavage and a nose ring) and went to his school. I found him camped out in front of the food table with a plate piled high. I walked up to him and said, “Yo wassup bro, can I get some’a that food?” He discreetly angles his body so that it’s between me and his plate, averts his eyes and says, “No.” I say, “C’mon, man, I’m starvin’ here!” He shakes his head and turns away. I say, “Just give me a bite of that sandwich,” and he turns around and screams, “I SAID NO!!!!” I start cracking up and he realizes it’s me and starts laughing. I say, “Can I have some of your food?” And he says, “No” and walks away.

People Who Only Believe What They Want to Believe

Okay, I think I figured out what crawled up my butt in regards to the movie, Closer. It has to do with one of the final scenes, when one of the characters is so convinced of something that happened, that he demands the “truth,” but won’t take any other answer other than the one in his head as the truth. Including the actual truth. Even though he’s wrong.

He was so adamant and aggressive that there was no way around it, so the character being harassed just admits to it, even though it’s not true. And I felt so emotionally and psychologically trapped and claustrophobic from the impact of that scene, that I just wanted to run out of the theater and throw a chair through a plate glass window or something just to relieve that inner pressure and discomfort.

One of my biggest triggers has always been when I tell the truth about something and people don’t believe me, acting like they know I’m lying. Being falsely accused, even with the smallest things. It’s even worse if they’re smug about it. They’ve already made up their minds about it, and there’s nothing that you can say to change their minds, even if everything you say and have said was the truth. I used to flip out when I was a kid if I was accused of something I didn’t do. Because you feel so helpless…there is nothing you can say or do that can change that person’s mind, because they’ve already got it made up and it’s the only “truth” that they’ll accept. I would get so angry, like, if you’re just going to assume I did this, I may as well have done it. And it makes me want to go out and do something bad. Because for some reason, Truth is sacred to me, for better for worse, and I can be quite vigilant about it. While Truth can be complex or in the gray area sometimes, I feel strongly that if someone is adamantly holding on to something that is clearly not true, especially if it comes to their perceptions of me or my actions, then I’ve essentially been pegged into a hole that I don’t belong in with no way to get out.

I’m feeling trapped and desperate just talking about this.

It can be something small, like someone thinking you’re just making up an excuse because you don’t want to hang out, or that you’re mad at them even when you’re not. Or something big, like someone claiming that you stole something. Because you essentially have no way to prove otherwise if this person has made up his or her mind that this is the truth, even though they’re wrong.

Maybe I was falsely accused of a crime in a past life and punished for it or something. But all I know is that consistently over my life, nothing makes me feel more afraid, more helpless, more angry, more violent, than when people don’t believe me when I’m telling the truth or when people accuse me of something that isn’t true.

v. funny

Oh, forgot to mention something disturbing, for those of you who are tracking the downward spiral of my mental health.

Each morning of the past 4-5 days, I’ve woken up confused and bothered, feverishly repeating the name over and over…Zydrunas Ilgauskas.

For those of you who don’t know who this is, let me show you why this obsessive randomness is so bizarre and disturbing.

http://sports.espn.go.com/nba/players/profile?statsId=3121

(Oh! He’s a fellow Gemini! I didn’t know that)

Thank God it’s just the name and not the man that’s stuck in my head.

Big 7 ft balding Eastern European guy…PLEASE get out of my head…

Weekend Recap

It’s kind of early for a weekend recap, as I have about 5 more waking hours within which I could easily get into all sorts of trouble that will end up not being covered because I chose to recap early. But seriously…I’m bored right now and have nothing to do.

So I’ve finished the 5th dvd of 24 (Season 1), with one more to go (I am so freakin’ irritated with the Kim character and storyline). Unfortunately, that last dvd is in some Netflix warehouse, because I’ve been lazy about sending back my dvds, so at earliest, I won’t get the last installment until Wednesday. I’m comtemplating just running out to the video store and getting it. I need to learn moderation. Here I am, spending extra money on a dvd I’ve technically already payed for that I’ll get in a few days, while sometimes, I can hold rented videos for months on end. In fact, I think I currently owe the video store over $40 in late fees, which is why I’ve been avoiding them.

Posted new pictures up on the He Looks Like Game. Quite proud of finding the most recent pic. Feel a bit diabolical. I hope he’s no one’s grandfather or dad or boyfriend.

I think Closer messed me up a little. I have that Damien Rice album that the title song is on, and I wanted to put it on today but was suddenly stricken with anxiety. I don’t want to think about the film anymore. I think the wonderful thing about it, is how well it pinned down the complexity and brutality of human relationships. But it shows us that no matter how much we analyze or confront, there really isn’t any answer. It’s like those questions of, “If you were on a sinking ship, and could only choose to save one family member, who would it be?” These kinds of questions can drive you crazy, as there is no answer that isn’t tragic.

It was raining out here and I loved it. I love the rain, which we don’t get enough of in Los Angeles. I went to the gym for a little bit and then wanted to grab lunch and read. I was craving a turkey spinach salad from Literati, but when I showed up, I saw the car of a former friend whose family and I are entangled in a messy lawsuit. I haven’t seen her or talked to her since all this went down so I decided that I’d hit up another place. I wanted to go to Toast, to hopefully catch a C-list celebrity incident that would make me “really uncomfortable,” but they were closed so I ended up at the Farmer’s Market. Had a smoked salmon/scrambled egg crepe. Still not a big fan of crepes. Went to Border’s to read. Realized I forgot to bring Bridget Jones so I read about the psychology of child psychopaths. Fell asleep. As I always do when in a seated position in a public place. Drove home. I love the sound of rain falling on the rooftop, the swishing of windshield wipers, and good ol’ oldies on the radio. “I’m so tired of being alone…”
Yeah…but look at it this way…at least you don’t have to constantly be aware of someone else and making sure they’re content. Everything is a compromise. When you’re alone, you’re lonely and wish you had companionship. When you’re in a relationship, you fight for your privacy and space. I’ve decided, Little Julia that is in this world wants companionship. Big Julia who is of this world and serves this world wants to be alone to do the things she’s supposed to be doing. And no, Little Julia is not a euphemism for my penis. His name is Phil.

Thought of the Day:

The only things you can ever be sure of in any given moment, are what you feel and what you want. And even those things are questionable.