Echo

Once again, kids:

“[There’s] no substitute for real nutritious cuisine.”

One sign that you’re ignorant:

You go into a state of moral outrage when your state of denial is challenged.

I think she’s right, you know. Much respect to Maggie. If we as a country could be more self-reflective and take more responsibility for our actions and the things we do that cause reactions throughout the world, maybe we could start rebuilding our relationship with the rest of the world.

“Spurs insiders are understandably nervous about Duncan’s tentative movement after three ankle sprains and the lingering discomfort in Ginobili’s groin.”

Heh. The line that made thousands of sports fans across the nation suppress giggles.

I just got back from Hotdog, the Saturday night event at this gay bar. I went because I was promised there would be gay porn projected.

Walking in, the first things I see are male strippers dancing on a stage in front of a screen that had erotic film clips projected onto it. The strippers’ themes were Cowboy, and Mexican Wearing a Poncho (I know he was supposed to specifically be Mexican because his poncho had the colors of the Mexican flag on it). According to Brian, I walked into the door and my jaw just dropped. I was completely captivated by the strippers and how men would go up and nuzzle their faces into the stripper’s crotch. It was kind of hot. If someone wanted to call me gay, I think I’m much more gay man than lesbian. By the way, gay men are so much hotter than straight men. It’s so unfair. Also by the way, Brian has agreed to take me to a lesbian bar in an effort to get me over my fear of burly lesbians.

Speaking of…I don’t know what…I was at forty deuce early in the week for Thode’s birthday and I went to use the restroom. There was a white girl with short curly hair waiting in front of me. And before I go further with this story, let me say that I had gotten a good look at her and she was most definitely a girl. Well, when I went in after her, I was surprised to find the toilet seat was up.

Now…why would the seat be up after a girl goes in there?? I was so incredibly confused. I’ve heard of guys who pee sitting down (yeah, certain people…you know I’m talking about you), but girls who pee standing up?

I bet Julia Roberts pees standing up.

Ah, i figured it out. i’m afraid that if he can’t understand me but still insists on staying close, when my insides get anxious and angry because what I’m trying to communicate isn’t being understood, i’ll get frustrated and resent him and lash out at him. so if i were supportive of myself, wouldn’t i say, the need to be understood is very important to me so i shouldn’t compromise in this area, for the benefit of both parties involved? It’s amazing how similar my brother’s and my brain are. Sometimes I think my wiring is the same as his, but I just learned how to fake it better. I understand why autistic kids pound their heads against the wall out of frustration. Not being able to communicate what you desperately want to communicate and not being understood is an intense drowning feeling. They’re lashing out, desperate for a way to be understood. I think being truly understood feels like an affirmation that you truly exist.

after the sun goes down is when i fit in lifetimes of thinking about you
you keep finding new places to hide
while i close my eyes and remember that icicle that was dangling
recklessly from the porch overhang that one morning,
your frosted breath grasping at its stoic impenetrability.
perhaps you weren’t even present then but it’s become my thing these days,
painting you into every picture.

i need to be understood. i need for that person to understand me. because if they can’t help me get my life’s “point” out of me, it’ll just die with me. whatever it is that i’m trying to communicate, i want someone who can also see it and can help me translate what i’m trying to say. it’s lonely in here, yes, because i’ve managed to lock myself in! i’ve been so embarrassed to tell people this but i do need someone who can open that door. there’s something i’m really, really, really passionate about, but i can’t seem to find exactly what it is.

I am trying to be kind, but I just don’t think he understands me.

I’m looking for a mentor. Someone gentle. That’s what I’m looking for right now.

I’m in the dark of my bedroom, with only the flickers of a candle keeping me company. I’m in my expanse of a bed, laying within its sea of dark green sateen sheets with my computer nestled against my body, its battery heating up my skin. Earlier, I had worked out until my entire body was exhausted, with every muscle feeling alive and aware. I came home and took a shower, and suddenly realized something I’ve been taking for granted that I really actually quite enjoy.

I love when I go through my rejuvenating ritual after a night of abusing my body at the gym, exercising my discipline by testing my body’s limits. When I come home and shower, I love how clean I feel and how good my body smells, how my body is so spent of energy that it melts into a state of blissful relaxation. I love how the heat of the hot water is still emanating from my skin when I smooth on softly perfumed lotion and slip between the deliciously cool sheets. I love being alone, safe within my private space which shields me from the night by turning the darkness into a blanket. I can thoroughly enjoy this moment, this invigorating bubble in time.space where I am free to be completely content.

I’m listening to David Seaman’s Back to Mine, the glow of the computer making me feel like I’m in the mystical cave that Plato was trying to describe. It’s this secret place you find by going on an expedition through the endless forest that makes up all that is unkown. And deep in those woods, it’s there, along with many other treasures that you may not even notice. I stumbled upon this place when I was young, and even though I had no idea what exactly it was, it felt good. It’s a place where you can distance yourself from this earthly plane and give yourself enough perspective in order to recognize the different planes. I feel like Einstein had a similar vision of this aspect of reality, which he was trying to explain with the theory of relativity. Space and time are closely tied together because we’ve stored them in our soul memories as a linear equation, but they provide the boundaries of our existence, what keeps it all together, like a giant sack. But if our existence’s real goal is directed towards expansion, then it’ll require deciphering the clues from the past as well as from those far away to move us towards that expansion. Sorry, I think my robot side just took over for a little bit.

Pretentions are so heavy. I think that’s what the people who created the bible were trying to symbolize by the cross Jesus carries. It’s the stuff that’s distracting us from our soul’s purpose, and are causing us to react to things rather than embody our pure spiritual state. It’s the hidden messages that are transcendental in the clues we left ourselves for our future soul incarnations that are the important ones for our growth. Life, seriously. It can be treated like a treasure hunt for clues that point to the universe’s secrets.

I am having trouble staying awake. I’m feeling so stagnant. I want to go explore the world again. Under the cover of night of course. What is it I love so much about thunderstorms and the darkness of night? They just feel so safe to me.

I’ve gotten into the habit of blogging in bed when I’m crazy tired. My inhibitions are completely turned off and what I write is pretty much the raw output of what’s in my head. I was hoping to watch Go tonight. I’ve unplugged my phone. I am having the time of my life here all by myself…I’m just happiest when I’m alone.

My coworker’s father has a lemon tree. I asked him to bring lemons to work tomorrow so that I could make lemonade since they’re 33 cents down at Ralph’s and I don’t wanna pay that kind of money for the weed of the citrus family. He asked me to call him at midnight to remind him. The midnight call turned into no promises of lemons tomorrow, dragging on instead into a sleepy conversation about nothing in particular, though he asked me: So what’s your deal? Are you a player?

What is my deal?

I can and can’t be trusted. I am respectful to good boys, devious to bad ones. I fear chains more than anything, and will meet any threat to my independence like a woman fighting for her life. I am the future mother of someone’s children, the future ex-wife of perhaps another, and the imaginary conduit of cheap motel room fantasies with multiple faceless strangers I have yet to meet. I’m an internet prophet with a heart of gold, whose witnessing of a room full of people having sex turned my stomach to the point I didn’t want to be touched for a year. My politics are liberally suspect and I have a secret life that may or may not exist, depending on what time of day you ask me. And I eat. Red. Meat.

Would you trust me if I were you? Can you really be so sure? I saw a man in my dreams once and he was made out of so many prisms, the light was trapped inside of him in incongruent, jagged little pockets. I wanted to offer him a cigarette but was terrified the smoke would aggravate his internal situation. I still wonder what I would have seen if I had offered him one. Does anyone really know what’s inside of them, inside each and every one of those little pockets that contains entire universes complete with logical orders and desires and personalities? Perhaps there is a demon trapped in every one of them, but when you put together two or more demons finding out that they’re no longer the sole powers in charge anymore, suddenly no one wants a democracy.

If you want to look under the surface of things, I can promise that you can breathe underwater. But you should never believe everything you see. Because when you see that light appear at the end of a murky tunnel, you’ll have to answer yourself one question:

Is that light a combination of every shade of a spectrum? Or is it just an illusion completely devoid of anything?

[this message brought to you completely sober and topless]

My Belated Recap of 2004…
(as found on a ragged piece of paper in my purse)

2004 was the year of…

full time work. living without a net. chiropractors, acupuncturists and physical therapists. self-medication self-obliteration, resurrection on a bottle of wine. ipod was my savior when i saw someone else’s reflection in a dirty puddle. double digits with his little boy asleep in the next room. living naked in a dark place where i didn’t belong. and a sense that i was doing it all to myself. kinky lawyers. faceless penpals. mistakes promptly erased, and the not so clear aftermaths. Frei Bros. vs. Daniel Gehrs. Air at the Hollywood Bowl. false friendships and lesbian dramas. and souvenirs…an undeniable ball of unresolved anger. forwards backwards forwards back. not so much a dance as a stumble. contemplation of death. celebration of life. the birth of two new souls. words as code (never let them know you’re drowning). Never let them know what you need. muse. bleeding. industrial strength soul purger. saying goodbye, saying goodbye, Saying Goodbye. You will learn to like the pain. Whoever said it’s better to tear off a Band-Aid quickly never had a wound that wouldn’t heal. frienemies. letting go. pretending to let go. Fuck letting go. the chase for money. Crying in the closet. Crying in the closet, just because.

Untitled Nancy Travis Pilot = Good Hair

Last night I went to hang out at the taping of Nancy Travis’s new UPN pilot because Reggie’s friend Marcus was in it. It’s based on these people who work at a morning show and it’s actually pretty damn good. It’s got Nancy Travis in it, as well as the cute non-Ryan Reynolds guy from Two Guys and a Girl and a Pizza Place, the black girl from Real World: Los Angeles, and this really funny actress who was kind of like a non-flamboyant Jack from Will & Grace–super oblivious, goofy and adorable. Too bad no one will ever see it because it’s gonna be on UPN.

The thing that impressed me was that everyone had good 360 hair (hair that looks good from all angles). They would have hair people come out and retouch their ‘dos after every take, and then the women would kind of walk around stiffly for the next few minutes like they had nail polish drying on their heads, until they finally forgot about having to preserve their perfect hair. I wish I had a hair team following me around. The way rich women out here have Hispanic nannies tailing them wherever they go…if I ever made a lot of money, I’d have an entire hair/make-up crew running around 2 steps behind me at all times.

The show is produced by Courteney Cox and David Arquette, who were both there. David was wearing this retro brown suit with white leather shoes, and looked like an undertaker on his way out to a night of disco dancing. When I was introduced to Nancy Travis, I could only remember her from this play that I’d seen her in a few years ago about stalking, which was a terrible play. I was pretty lucky that I had forgotten that she was in So I Married An Axe Murderer (one of my favorite movies) until this morning, because I would have surely embarrassed myself by gushing. Being on set just made me stir-crazy because ideally, I want to do a half-hour single camera show. I love TV because you get to develop your characters and they’re always growing and evolving. It’s like having make-believe human Tamagotchi pets, with me playing God. But then again, I’m probably not the kind of person who should be trusted with that kind of responsibility in front of a national audience. Remember, my GI Joes had sex.

Do any of you remember the show Off-Centre? That was a funny show, with Eddie Kaye Thomas from American Pie, John Cho and that hot English guy. Too bad no one ever saw it because it was on UPN.

I’m excited about Brandan Wright. His knuckles must drag!

Got this from Brad’s blog:

http://www.woostercollective.com/2005/03/wooster-exclusive-banksy-hits-new.html

This street artist snuck into major museums and hung up his own paintings. And they’re really great!

This one is so disturbing, I can’t stop looking at it:

http://www.banksy.co.uk/indoors/index.html

The New Pope Sounds Like a Real Asshole.

On Monday, Ratzinger, who was the powerful dean of the College of Cardinals, used his homily at the Mass dedicated to electing the next pope to warn the faithful about tendencies that he considered dangers to the faith: sects, ideologies like Marxism, liberalism, atheism, agnosticism and relativism — the ideology that there are no absolute truths.

“Having a clear faith, based on the creed of the church, is often labeled today as a fundamentalism,” he said, speaking in Italian. “We are moving towards a dictatorship of relativism, which does not recognize anything as definitive and has as its highest value one’s own ego and one’s own desires.”

Yes, it’s better for people to be dictated on how to live according to antiquated moral laws rather than gaining a true spiritual understanding of why it serves an individual as well as a collective be be a good person. And also, all those “soft” religions are the ones that are killing each other to prove themselves superior in the name of God.

No, wait. It’s those crazy fundamentalists who only see things in black & white who can’t live and let live or be tolerant of the uniqueness and individuality of God’s creatures. Speaking of tolerance:

He also accused the media of fueling the priest sex abuse scandals of recent years. “I am personally convinced,” he one told an interviewer, “that the constant presence in the press of the sins of Catholic priests, especially in the U.S., is a planned campaign.”

And Sister Jeannine Gramick, a nun who he ordered to stop ministering to gays and lesbians in the United States, called his election “devastating” for those who believe the Catholic Church needs to be more tolerant.

OF COURSE it was a planned campaign! There’s a problem in the church and it needs to be addressed! You can’t repress a human being of his urges and thoughts and expect him not to have extreme psychological issues. They need to allow priests and nuns to have sex, to have familes, to be gay, if they so choose. They need to be allowed to be human as well as conduits of spirituality, and I’m sure they can do this while living respectable, pious lives. A kid who self-mutilates to gain the attention of and to show his commitment to his father doesn’t get more love; he gets sent to a mental institution. This whole punishment to prove commitment makes no sense anymore. Wouldn’t being a true servant of God entail living a good life and leading others to do so as well? Wouldn’t the first step be to allow one to be human and experience the trials and tribulations as well as the beauty and comfort of being close to those you love? I know many preachers who are amazing people, leaders in their community, amazing mothers and fathers who lead by example. They are counselors to the community and leaders. They are well-adjusted human beings who can empathize as well as love and be loved. Doesn’t this just make more sense?

And it wrenches me up inside to know this is a step backwards for the gay community.

The theme of spirituality is unity and reunification. Unification between a child and a mother, a man and his community, a community and its father. Reunification of the body with the earth upon death, of the spirit with God upon resurrection. When we humans build hierarchies, we are building our own human Tower of Babel with our misguided leaders at the top. In that story, God didn’t want people to stay in the same place and build this tower to heaven, so he made them speak different langauges and they scattered. And as people slowly come together through the centuries, they learn to understand each other again despite different languages, and bring together their different understandings of God.

We all scatter upon birth but as we grow older and seek out communities, we share our different life experiences and life perspectives to understand what it is to be human, and what it is that we believe in. This is the natural order of things and the way things work. You give human beings space to be, and they will find their own path through life’s trials in order to reach the same destination.

The church is always trying to force things down people’s throats. The problem is that so much of the Bible and religious doctrine have been used to manipulate people for political means and in the end, so much has been lost. Antiquated moral laws no longer have any relevance and the people need a leader not a tyrant father. Good things happen under gentle but firm leadership, not sadistic and rigid domination. This is the basic tenant of good parenting.

And when we have someone who’s saying, let’s go back to making things black & white and telling people what they have to do and what they have to be, it leaves people with no room to grow and find their own ways back to their connection with God and the collective soul.

So indulgent it’s filthy…

Ryan Reynolds/Amityville

Pink Dresses, Inebriated Asians and the Middle-Aged Businessmen Who Love Them

Dear Diary,

My boss’s wedding was today and it was a Pink Wedding, so everyone had to wear some form of pink. I’d been putting off buying a dress for a while since I hate malls and I really don’t like the idea of me being in pink, so I’ve been avoiding it. Coming upon the 11th hour, I figured that the wedding was at 6pm, so I had plenty of hours to hit a mall and find something pink. I vowed to get up early enough to go to the gym and still hit the malls as soon as they opened. I got up at 10, went to the gym for 2 hours, then managed to make it to the mall…perfectly on schedule if the mall opened at 2pm. I describe the next 3 hours as pure pink hell, as I went into mall-lit after mall-scented store, my eyes zoning in on anything pink. I was like a shark. A big gay, Persian shark locked into anything hot pink, sequined and gaudy.

I went through every store at the mall and couldn’t find a pink dress that wasn’t extremely ruffled, fashion-senseless or a prom dress. Then again, I believe those first two traits are redundant. Finally, I settled for a pink top and white slacks. I was really hoping to find a dress since I prefer dresses when going to events and I wear pant suits to work a lot so showing up in a dress would really help my cause in negating the office teasing that I’m a lesbian.

Tonight, I realized why weddings and more blatantly, wedding receptions, are such strange but truth-revealing events. People show up to celebrate the beginning of a journey, the peak moment when two people are completely in love with each other and are so happy to be alive. In the face of this, I think the people who want to reach that place of optimism and happiness become aware of wanting it, while the people who have been disappointed by love or miss the excitement and optimism of new love wish to regain it. Thus, why people always flirt with each other and hook up with each other at weddings. These are some random things I observed or thought of tonight:

The wedding was a Jewish wedding. There was a pre-reception because these things start really late. I didn’t really know anyone and most of my coworkers hadn’t shown up yet, so I just stood at a table by myself and people watched. This rough-looking guy in his 40’s asked if he could share my table. He had an earring and cold, penetrating blue eyes, and looked like your average cocky white American middle-classed male who was divorced and bitter at his bitch ex-wife who had taken the kids and overall, fucked up his life.

I had him pegged for a car salesman.

He turned out to be a private investigator so my evaluation of him wasn’t too far off. He fished around into my life and I wouldn’t give him much. He mentioned that he had kids, was divorced, then ask me if I’d ever been married. I knew he was digging for my social status and PERD (Psychological/Emotional Relationship Damage, aka Baggage, aka Potential to Fuck Someone Due to Low Self Esteem) so, feeling a bit sadistic and knowing that I could run mental laps around this guy, I went into my spiel about how a marriage is basically a legal and religious convention, but if one were not religious, then basically a marriage is the forming of a corporation where resources are shared and a commitment is made to accept responsibility of taking care of each other’s livelihood. Because what is really so different between a long-term committed relationship and a marriage, if the emotional bond and responsibility towards one another’s emotional well-being are the same? It’s mostly about a commitment to resources and contributing to them and sharing them.

My coworker finally comes over and gets me out of the conversation by introducing me to the owners of our sister company in Dallas. I’m meeting them for the first time and I’m surprised because I’m always talking to one of the guys on the phone or over email, and I always envisioned the guy as older, probably really fat and bald or with light color/gray hair. Because he always sounded so Texas-jolly on the phone. But he was young with thick, dark brown hair and I just couldn’t get over how he didn’t look anything like I’d expected.

You know how sometimes you meet someone for the first time and there are just sparks? Not necessarily the romantic/sexual kind, like when you look at someone from across the room and you get butterflies in your stomach. It’s just an opening, where both of you are curious about the other person. I’ve found out that, as a Gemini, I will get really flirty when I’m intrigued by having a new person to explore, and will flirt to get them to open up so I can see inside of them. That attention and flirtation can turn on and off like a faucet, depending on how interesting the things that I find are. It’s not really conscious, but kind of built into my constant craving to get into people’s heads and understand where different people come from and how they experience life.

I was really happy to finally meet him and I gushed that he was supposed to call me whenever he made it out so we could shoot baskets (I’d never mentioned any such thing). We chatted about life in Texas versus California. His business partner was really serious, an intriguing nut to crack. Every time I asked about cities in Texas, he would describe their topography.

The wedding was beautiful. I cried because I cry at weddings. But the feeling is strange. On the one hand, I’m so happy for the people getting married because I can feel how happy they are. But then there really is a sadness that tinges it, almost a feeling of me missing something that I lost a long time ago as a child. I couldn’t figure this feeling out.

I think that when you really believe in someone so much, when you really believe in a partnership that feels safe, your whole world suddenly has incredible meaning, if only just to stay alive long enough to experience another day with this person. I was watching the wedding and feeling so happy for my boss and his new wife, and I realized just how much I love people. How much it means to me when people are happy and comfortable and feel safe and loved. How I worry about being socially appropriate because I want everyone to feel connected to this world and safe so much, that I wish that giving them unconditional love and positive regard and by sending in good energy will make a difference. But then sometimes people respond with this unhealthy clingy neediness, the death grasp of a drowning person taking his rescuer down to share a watery grave. The more you give, the more these type of people demand you to heal their wounds rather than using the strength gained from being supported and believed in to find that place where they can attain contentment. Maybe one day I’ll find a place that will make me happy and feel safe myself, where I’ll feel that I can give and not feel like the people who try to get close to me are people who will inadvertently drown me.

I was supposed to be at a table where I didn’t know anyone but I switched over to the table with all of my coworkers. My aunt and uncle where there. I felt bad because I had debated for weeks whether I should invite Reggie to the wedding but the biggest issue was that my aunt and uncle would be there and they would treat my being there with a black man as a huge scandal and family disgrace. I figured that if I ever told my family anything, I would want my mom to hear it from me first and judge this on its own merits, rather than to find out about it through the grapevine where all information is twisted by judgmental minds into an insult to the family name. So I went solo and during the whole ceremony, I really wished he were there, but then afterwards, I was glad that he wasn’t because I did a lot of people-watching and got really introverted thinking about my life, who I am, and what are the things I want.

I think the place where I put the things that I love is the place where no one
would ever know about them. I keep them a secret. I tend to be secretive about my relationships and even my friendships. Not just the details of them, but even in terms of who these people are. The more I care about someone, the more likely I keep things hidden, almost because I’m so afraid that when something I care about is held up in the light of day, it’ll turn out to be all smoke and mirrors, and then I’ll have to deal with the disappointment and disillusionment. Or that other people will disparage what I believe in or try to destroy it. The beauty of what goes on privately between two people is magical…like the things people experience alone in the woods in the dead of the night. And when the sun comes up, things are different. The magic is gone and it leaves you wondering if it was ever there in the first place. I don’t think it matters whether or not it even existed or if it doesn’t hold up in the light of day. If it means something to me, I want to keep it protected, safe in a place deep inside me where no one even knows there’s something valuable to destroy.

My aunt said to me, you need to settle down by the time you’re 29. I rolled my eyes and she said, no seriously. I have a friend who’s 34 and the only types of guys she can get are divorced or widowed men, and then it’s a family disgrace. She made it sound like these men were the ass bottom of the barrel. I told her that statistically, second marriages tend to be the strongest and also, sometimes people need life experience to grow and fulfill their potential as human beings, so having gone through a marriage and learned from it makes them better partners. She looked at me and just repeated, trust me, get married by 29 because otherwise, when you’re left with used people, you lose face.

Seems kind of small-minded, doesn’t it? When, just because someone is “used” and has been through a marriage that didn’t work out, that you should be ashamed of dating them. Thank you for letting me know. For future reference and for the sake of my face, please fax me a list of all the types of people I should avoid or else suffer the loss of face. I’m assuming the list includes: Divorcees, Otherwise Previously Married, Non-college grad, non-steady income, Black, Mexican, Vietnamese, non-age appropriate, comes from a low-income background, has working class family, is of the same sex, is not a filial lump of homo-ethnic being that can be manipulated in the name of tradition.

I would also like to point out that my aunt is really gossipy and makes judgments about what’s right and not right as far as what other people will think. It seems like she’s just really insecure about what other people think of her. I was listening to her speak to someone and realized her English wasn’t very good, even though she’s been in the US about as long as my mom who’s good enough to give speeches. I thought maybe she wasn’t intelligent enough to fully grasp English, or more likely, that she had an aversion to picking up the language, wanting to cling to all that embodies being Chinese, including not becoming too Americanized. But I can tell that when she converses with people in English, she’s uncomfortable because it’s easy to hold this elitist position in her own head, but once she’s in a position where her subpar speaking abilities can be revealed, she feels insecure.

I think putting insecure people in positions of power is a dangerous thing to do. Insecure people tend to have control issues, which means their mistaken ideas can influence groups into embracing a nonsensical status quo.

There was a fat guy at the next table who kept slipping glances at my chest.

There was an old guy with a camera who kept flirting with Eddie’s girlfriend, who looks like a model. He kept coming over to talk to her like he was approaching a celebrity seated at a restaurant.

My boss’s little girl cried. He sat down with me at one point and mentioned that she was having a hard time. I told him it was because he’s a great dad. She’s felt so safe and happy with him, that she’s afraid that that goodness will go away when things change, so he has to just make her feel safe and over time, she’ll feel better. But to be honest, things will change because he’s going to have to give some of himself to his wife and his daughter is going to have to share him. The little girl just got too much of a good thing–getting her dad all to herself for a while and now she’s going to lose some of it, even though it doesn’t knock her down from being #1 in his life. It’s a tough situation, really, and it made me a little bit sad, because the girl was sad and my boss was sad.

I saw my boss get some dessert and automatically bring it to his wife. It made me smile inside because he’s such a thoughtful guy (like a sweet little boy), and he’s so in love with her. I want someone who feels that way about me.

I realized one of my coworker is in love with another one but he doesn’t know it. He can’t classify the feeling but I know what he sees–the electricity between them. They argue like cats in an alley, complete with hissing and claws and even as a bystander, I can tell how potent that mix can be. Read…great sex. He wants her and he wants her bad. She drives him crazy and it’s stirring him up. So I told him…I know your secret. You should just go for it. He first said he doesn’t date people from work, then said they’d have to lock up the office because they’d always be at it. He tried to give me excuses but I just kept saying, you know you want to. Later, I noticed him leading her out and her being flirty irritated but she was going along with him. He looked back, saw me looking, and winked. They were gone for a while and I asked her where they went when she came back. She rolled her eyes and mumbled something about, “Oh…far away…pshhht. ” Then she added, “He took me around and around, looking for fruit or something.” Fruit. Uh huh. Now, keep in mind she’s also Israeli and doesn’t speak great English. But even in broken English, it sounded like bullshit to me.

I was standing by that owner of our sister company and we were all talking to some of my coworkers, and then he kept bumping me playfully. I asked him why he wasn’t dancing. He said he was but felt awkward out there. I asked him why Serious Guy didn’t dance. Serious Guy said he didn’t, not because he couldn’t but because he didn’t. Not-Serious-Guy asked me to dance and I said no. He said I looked really nice and he wanted to dance. I was tempted by the idea that this guy was a major business associate and I’m sure that with my willingness and a little encouragement, things could turn out scandalous tonight, but I try to live responsibly, even as delicious as the idea of scandal is. So he asked me again to dance and I told him that Serious Guy had to dance too. We we dragged him onto the floor. We danced for a bit and at the end of the song, I said I had to get some water, got distracted, then wandered off. I saw them later as they were leaving. I know it was kind of shitty of me to leave them on the dance floor like that but I wasn’t going to tempt that devil on my shoulder that wants to flirt irresponsibly and create situations that are messy. I have a good feeling that if I weren’t so staunchly disciplined about repressing things and could travel around the country and be in environments where no one knew who I was and there was no emotional accountability, I would be uncontainable. I would be having a lot of sex. I would have at some point been best friends or worst enemies with everyone for short bursts of time. I’m so intrigued by exploring people and the things behind closed doors that they don’t share with the rest of the world in broad daylight. Their secrets. It’s such an obsession for me that without boundaries, I would go wherever those feelings and impulses went, as far as they went, just to squelch that craving for different experiences. Intimacy junkie. I’m a pure intimacy junkie. But I shun emotional responsibility.

I went to take one of those Listerine Stri
ps but pulled out my Chloraseptic Strips for sore throats by accident. They come in the same packaging except the latter is orange. I never noticed what the physical effects are, but it numbs your tongue and throat, like a mild analgesic. It’s kind of freaky if you think too much about it.

I was watching people at the wedding, talking and dancing, and I just feel like such an outsider. Sometimes I feel really socially awkward and like I’m not experiencing life like other people, that I wasn’t born right. That I’m not as integrated into this plane as other people, like everyone is asleep but I’m not fully, so that rather than dreaming the same beautiful and complicated and tragic landscapes along with people, I can see people as they dream, and are aware that what they’re doing is dreaming and I don’t get to see what they’re seeing. And I’m left out of this romantic experience of just being human and sharing the same visions of life.

To be honest, I left the wedding overwhelmed by my loneliness. Sometimes I see too much, get too deep into people and I wish there were someone I could talk to about how to handle all the impressions I get, the images and the feelings. Sometimes I wish the night lasted forever and we could all lay down our costumes and masks and the roles we play, and just be ourselves under the cover of night. Sometimes I think playing a human being is a hard job because you can’t just exist, unencumbered by contrivance. Every situation demands a different set of social protocol. No one gets to behave “as is” in the light of day. We lose the fluidity and truthfulness of just being.

I called Reggie and tried to explain why I was sad. I could tell he had no idea what I was talking about. And that made me even more sad. So I told him I was feeling down and didn’t feel like hanging out. I just wanted some time alone to think about life and who I am and what I want.

Why does there exist within me, a cold, logical robot as well as an amorphous emotional being? Why is it so hard to be a human being? When I went in to have Lasik on my eyes, there were complications so it took a long time. They had put anesthetic drops on my eyes, but after everything was said and done, they reapplied the anesthetic on my left eye and operated, then FORGOT to reapply it on my right and operated. I felt the laser slice into me and it was like a slow paper cut on my eyeball, but I didn’t say anything because you’re not supposed to move. It only last a few minutes, but they basically operated on my eye without anesthesia. Sometimes I feel like that’s my experience of life. I don’t go through it numb enough. There’s too much awareness, of things I don’t even need to be aware of. All that’s inevitable…everything gained will eventually be lost. All that we have is borrowed and never owned. Our lifetime is a loan, blessed upon us to gain experience. The people in our lives, our youth, our beauty, our wealth, we give it all up someday, and death is the great equalizer when it’s time to give up our borrowed time and human identities. And there’s such an urgency to be real and for us to understand the very power we have when we are all connected and real, but we’re standing on a stage so it’s hard not to fall into acting within this play that has yet to conclude. Everything is ephemeral and things have to always be in motion but on the outside, there’s one connecting line that runs through every single person and being in existence, and we just get so caught up that we forget that there’s a bigger story beyond pages measured out by single human lifetimes. But to survive in a world built by humans, which plane do we choose to live in?

Interview with a Porn Star

So I’m at work doing my usual random searching, when a Craig’s List ad under the Platonic section about being an imprisoned Porn Star’s pen pal led me to search the web out of curiosity regarding why he was imprisoned. Somehow, half an hour later, I stumbled upon this interview with a female porn star named Mila. All I know is either she’s a Porn PR machine, saying just the right nasty things that lonely middle-aged virgins with potbellies and clammy hands want to hear, or she’s flat-out disgusting.

Here was an excerpt that makes me want to throw my brain into the dishwasher:
(A= Interviewer, M= This Nasty Ass Bitch, B= Her Manager)

A: Ever have any sexual partners that couldn’t handle what you were doing?
M: Well yeah, of course. I mean, some women don’t like being fisted in their asses, but I do.
A: I mean, anyone ever just go “Fuck! Stop!! I can’t take it” and just get up and leave?
M: Not like that, because that wouldn’t be professional. Instead of just getting up and leaving, they sit there with my foot up their ass and start crying. After I get my elbow out of their pussy they are usually a little better off and they relax a bit.

[I don’t know whether to laugh or cry]

A: Considering all the stuff you’ve had up your ass, do you find that having a bowel movement comes easier?
B: Dude… she was swimming in my pool the other day… when she dove in the pool, she dropped her day planner from her ass. It was from 1979. She thought it was lost forever!
M: No, my bowel movements are normal just like everyone else. Only difference is some of the things I find from like last week.
B: Speaking of bowel movements, we need to cut out that pop where the new girl accidentally dripped poop on your face.
M: That bitch shit in my mouth! I almost kicked her ass down the street!
B: It was an accident.
A: I need to hear details about this one…
B: She never heard of an enema. She’s Russian, fresh off the train.
A: It actually went IN your mouth?
M: Right in my mouth! I was like “Noooo!” and then next thing I know, I’m pinned down by Dave fuckin’ Hardman and a clump of shit and cum is smacking my face!
B: She did her first dp, and did not prepare. So, we had a mess, and the Queen took it like a champ.
M: The cum was okay, but the shit… well, you know I have to draw the line there.

*****

The moral of the story? At least there’s a line, kids. At least there’s a line…

These provided me hours of Mirth…