23 posts tagged “me”
After a week comes the weekend. The weekend where we condense as much non-work things into two days. The weekend where we take the opportunity to catch up with current friends, hopefully meet new ones and reconnect with old ones.
So after a week came the weekend and I kept myself busy and caught up with some sleep after the week. The week. What an interesting week.
But first about this weekend and then about the week...
Friday afterwork I met up, as usual, with Duke for the Friday afterwork drink which is always interesting. Trust me. We always bump into old faces in our pasts and other such hollaration in the dancery at this place down in the Lower East Side. One Friday I saw my former best friend who I did something terrible to. I hadn't seen her in about 7 years or so. We had a good talk and although it was awkward, it seemed all good. Last weekend I saw the former administrator of Prep for Prep when Ziggy was going there. Duke also went to Prep although at a very early contingent. A dude who used to live in Duke's old neighborhood in the Bronx recognized him and after talking about mutual folks from the neighborhood discovered they play basketball with the same people. Always something at that place. Today though it was just hot and we weren't in the mood to get drunk. Besides I had somewhere to go that night. We ended up sitting by open window people watching First Avenue. Duke was highly appreciative of the women wearing less and less clothing with the elevating temperature. I would smile politely at the old spanish bouncer guy of the spot who was unabashedly flirting with me. Duke would roll his eyes, suck his teeth and call him creepy and why was I enabling all that. I called him harmless. Duke felt some sort of way because honestly, he didn't know what Duke was to me. But it;s obvious, we talk and act like we're brothers. That's plain as the day is humid. We saw Oz walk past as he was going up further First Avenue to meet up with Matt. I hugged him then retexted Leah who was out with friends. She was meeting me soon.
Once Leah arrived Duke left and we walked up to Revitali to hang with Matt and Oz. We ate hummus, falafel and beef rolls. We drank champagne mixed drinks. We smoked plenty of hookah. The fave mix was jasmine and mint. It was a very good time with the guys and something I would totally do again. The heavens opened up and it was like someone was pouring bathwater from the sky. Big huge drops and plenty of them. One could get soaked just standing out in the mix of it and counting to ten. We walked towards Houston for the train now heavy with water. As we splashed past bar revelers pressed up against the buildings and under awnings for protection, we sang, "Hey, can I borrow your UM-brell-la-ella-ella-ay-ay-ay?" My sandaled feet were soaked. My skirt was soaked. My sweater I held above my hair and face was soaked. It was a good night.
Saturday I had promised an out-of-town friend to meet his friend who was in-my-town. She sells vintage clothing in Williamsburg, a neighborhood I had never visited. Ziggy had his best friend come over and I quickly dressed and made it down to Bedford. Friends, NY was flipping HOT and HUMID and BRIGHT AS BALLS last Saturday. Of course I walked around cute as hell... in black. I met the young lady, she is adorable and I throughly approve (all must be approved by me) though it was like a blind date acquaintance meeting in which it was word of mouth and all and you're being polite to each other yet feeling a little awkward. Again, I approve of all of this because I AM weird and awkward so ultimately I felt right. I bought a gorgeous japanese floral print skirt from her and a vintage purse from her neighbor. So now I'm addicted to vintage clothing. The girly classic stuff, not the stuff that makes you look like an 80's throwback or a hipster freak trying to look too hilarious ironic. Not my style.
Because it was still HOT, HUMID AND BRIGHT AS BALLS, I was in no mood to weather the weather, so to speak. I quickly dipped into a japanese restaurant to have sashimi and make a couple of phone calls. I tried this citrusy rice wine that was amazing. I saved the name for future reference.
I was planning on making the First Saturday at the Brooklyn Museum which was all Caribbean which would have meant a giant reggae party at the end, but again with the HOT, HUMID AND BRIGHT AS BALLS thing that I just didn't feel up to it. SO I went to CHelsea to get one of my stupidly expensive pedicures because I love my feet. My stupidly expensive pedicure is a guilty pleasure of mine. Well, one of them. I spoil myself too much. Shit, why not? It's not like I'm averse or anything.
Well, actually, I am averse. But that's another post altogether.
For Sunday, it was a brunch with Carinda and her girlfriends at Nolia where my friend Marc Smooth deejays. I decided to wear the vintage skirt I bought the day before in Williamsburg and use the cute widdle purse. Is nice, yes? It was a really good time. I really like her friends Safiya and Dana. I drank copious amounts of unlimited white sangria so I was sufficiently soused. Then Safiya, who has a car (!!!) drove us back uptown which was awesome. I spent the remainder passed out.
Really good weekend.
In fact, from Friday to Saturday to Sunday to Monday and then last minute tonight, I've been hanging with various peoples who I feel are becoming good friends. This is good. I need this. I'll explain why in the next post. I would have written more but I've been having episodes of a short attention span lately. It took me two days to do this post. And I haven't even been able to return my emails and such. I'm such a weirdo. Hopefully I'll have the update post done by tonight.
Okay, until later.
Officially POOR and for a good cause (Picspam with 30% more afro action!)
Today I bought the tickets... I'm officially on my way to California. To see my Brother. After twenty years. So here we go...
So the last time Donald saw me, I was 12 years old. He is the oldest and I'm the youngest of our father. Altogether there were seven. One died. The other four are actually running around here somewhere in New York City in various situations of messed up or in the case of one spiteful. I don't see them and haven't for many years. In the case of the spiteful one, I willfully don't go out of my way to see her because of the way she treated my mother. Not only was he the oldest and me the youngest, we were the ones most separated from the family. Me because of the circumstance of being the only child of my father's third wife, he because he put a whole country between he and his siblings. And because of this, he and I are the closest in terms of familiarity.
No, I don't know what it was. What it was that made my family as fractured as they were. But i have a feeling that it had something to do with Donald's mother, Vivian. From the little i can get from the old stories, Vivian died when Donald and his sister, Vivian, were young. Very young. Like Vivian was a baby young. And then it all went downhill from there. My father, left with two very young children, remarried. And supposedly she was a rueful woman who favored her children over the first two and was hung up on skin color favoring the lighter ones over the darker. Whatever the case, for as long as my memory is, Donald had always been the one who was the nicest to my mother. My father and he got along famously. And he was always very good to me. And so I had this brother. Somewhere over there. Who always had a smile for me. I liked him very much.
Let me hit you off with a few more pics:
This is in Arizona. Dad, Lil Me, my niece, Kathy, and brother Donald
And then on to my favorites because honestly they look like the coolest cats (my brother still uses the term "Cat")
Doesn't my father look like the coolest dude ever? You totally see a resemblance to me, don't ya? Don't ya!
Throughout the years we would speak on the phone often. Every time there was an earthquake, I would dig up his phone number in my mother's blue address book and call him and then stay on the phone for an hour. One time one of those agencies who look up forgotten bank accounts and try to find the owners or beneficiaries in hopes to get a portion of the found cash called my house because of an old account of my father's. Because only Donald was listed as a beneficiary, we gave them his information and he immediately called back very happy. He went into a tale about how he was low on funds and a girlfriend who fancied herself somewhat psychic said that he would come into some money but he was skeptical. We laughed at how it all played out and he sent both me and mom some of the money because he said he always felt bad about how my sister cheated my mother out of part of my father's old life insurance policy because it was created before I was born. Time was passing but we didn't fully notice inbetween our intermittant phone calls. Throughout the years I had gotten older, and had my adventures. He retired and did the exterminating thing on the side for cash once in a while. I had a son. One time I had a passion to learn more about my father's side of the family. My sister would be the one to speak with regards this but I didn't want to be bothered with her. I would call my brother and he would tell me stories about how the family left the South eventually and moved onto the same block on Jennings Street in the Bronx. My grandmother was living with Alfredo. My father there with the second wife Marie. How Warren, my brother, was murdered a year before my birth. How my father had to quickly leave South Carolina on a night train at fourteen or fifteen to escape being lynched by the Klan.
A week ago my brother told me that my father really did love my mother very much and felt extremely guilty about getting so sick so soon after they were married. So guilty he contemplated asking her to leave him or at least date other men since she was still so young. But Donald said that dad didn't want to say that to her because he didn't want her to think he didn't love her. I knew from my mother that he did say such things to her. She stayed and cared for him without help from his other children until he died. She says now that she will never meet another man as good as my father. It's so weird to hear their memories like this.
He's been asking how tall I am now. He says he used to keep the picture of me and him from my father's passing in Cape May on his mirror in his room and was so upset when he was robbed and it disappeared along with his things. It dawns on me that he probably has no idea how I look like now. And frankly, although he had always been various shades of hairy grey, I wonder if he's still slightly thick in the middle? He mentions a hip problem. At our ages he could totally be like my father. It's all strange but all still very exciting. It's very weird to say the words: "I haven't seen him in twenty years." And everytime I do say it, the biggest smile appears on my face, both a little sad yet very hopeful. I know once I do see him I will hug him so hard and so long. I don't know how else to describe that first hug. He calls me about everyday now using a pre-paid long distance card which makes me chuckle. I tell him to hang up and I call him to use my long distance. He's older than my mother. He keeps repeating certain things because he forgets he told me before in the other phone calls. Don't bring cold clothes. It's Warm here. Don't pack too heavy. I'll drive you everywhere. I tell him not to worry, Ziggy and I will find our way. He laughs. I laugh. With each companionable HEY starting the phone calls you can her our delight, our excitement. I will hug him so hard.
I won't have to go to Disneyland this time, Donald. And I promise to not to run around all hyper and such around your litle house almost breaking things. I just now remember he used to make lemonade from scratch. And don't worry: my son is very well-behaved and rather quiet. We just want to be over there this time. Hanging out with you. I really can't wait. I don't know how to describe it. I'll bring all the pictures i have here so you can see the few images from our shared past I've had. I hope you have some too. So I'm going to see my brother. My father's blood who reminds me most of him. It's going to be weird but it will be good. And I can't wait. Still can't describe it yet.
:)
"What should I do about the wild and the tame? The wild heart that wants to be free, and the tame heart that wants to come home. I want to be held. I don't want you to come too close. I want you to scoop me up and bring me home at nights. I don't want to tell you where I am. I want to keep a place among the rocks where no one can find me. I want to be with you."
-Winterson, Lighthousekeeping
I'm not good at dating. I get it.
No, nothing happened this weekend to cause my saying this. It's just that all week I was obsessing over something to the point in which I think I've made not only my friends sick of me but I'm pretty sick of myself. Then again, maybe I was hormonal and such. That's very likely. But at any rate, I've beaten dead horses to a nice, goopy mush. No, I still don't have answers but i do know I'm not good at dating and I wonder why I do it at all.
What a weird thing this is... this whole dating thing. Just not as simple as in the movies. And yes, even the most complicated dating dynamic on screen is a 100 times more simple than doing it in real life. And there are tons of classes and books and pamphlets on the subject but still I don't thing anyone's fully "got it".
Maybe I'm not talking about 'dating'. Maybe I'm talking about 'wanting' or 'liking'. Maybe. Well whatever it is i think I'm talking about. I know I'm not good at it. And i don't have any hot water so I can't take a shower.
Do you ever feel like you're in pause. In some endless procrastination queue in which you'll do something later or that later such and such will happen but it never does? Meanwhile you won't get up off your ass and get started? What the hell is that about? That's just retarded. And that's totally me.
But anyway the quote above really spoke to me. Called to me and shook me to pay attention. I wrote a poem along these lines such a long time ago. Let me find it... Ah. Here it is:
Wild women become wilder at the implication – like the label fertilized the weak shoot into a straight-backed, chaos-canopied tree.
By then, wild women are deemed too far gone for the quiet life, the ease of notice, the decency.
But wild women know of a-thing and bind it by their hearts under the wire bra and gather it under their skirts, held by the supportive string by the sharp bone of the hip (where the stripper girls hold their singles). The thing, it butters their belly laughs and thrusts out their mirthful screams of mischievousness...
All it takes is one day, one moment, one hand on the small of the back – of the perfect pressure, mind you – one whispered entendre with a hint of promised innocence, one long deep sigh of patience to tested insolence, one warm tingle just a hair below the diaphragm, one moment of the sated, closing eyes rested in the crook of another’s neck. Just that one, and everything will change.
*snap!* Just like that.
Wild women know this.
Of course they do.
How else did they became wild to begin with?
And I guess that's the crux of the whole thing. wanting your freedom, your own peace of mind within the little life you know, you understand and you more or less have under control. Yet there is another call, outside of your own personal brand of wildness that doesn't mind the quiet. The wanting to be needed. The protection of another just to feel a little less alone, out on your own and 'out there'. I haven't quite reconciled these two people within me. (Ah, yes. Another instance of my dichotomous existence.) So of course, the better option is the safer option: go with what you know, know your limitations. Don't overextend yourself into something unknown, uncertain only to possibly lose yourself... again. Sure, I could rise to the occasion but doing so would leave me... vulnerable. And strength, or at least my version of it, is all I have left in this world. It's an odd world, isn't it? A very odd world with little support other than the very few who are willing to listen with no agenda and for no other reason other than they want to. And even that could change, which is the way of everything.
I'm in-between. Maturity and childhood. Being grownup and being emotionally stunted. Being free and being tied down with my responsibilities. By my limitations and by my wants.
But that's the way of women who ventured out into the wild to be abandoned there. Who had to learn from scratch and make do. Who flirts with civilization and the occasional episodes of domesticity. You dance between what you want and what is wanted from you. And the only way to navigate is with a straight back, a myopic eye, and a belly heavy with acid. Heart optional.
But I'm just rambling, what do i know?
It's good to have friends. The people around you who know you maybe a bit more than you know yourself. And the very few who can tolerate you only a bit more than you can tolerate yourself. When showing up with little to no prior announcement, plying you with bawdy comedies, ox tail and two bottles of wine, they can help you stop your incessant thinking, refocus and look at things from another angle and then magically make everything all better. Leah made it all better by asking me a question and then posing a concept. And poof it was all done then. All better. And then I tried to learn a monologue about dicks, pussies and assholes.
Life is good.
"What are you still doing in Brooklyn? I get it. You love Brooklyn..." he said over the phone.
"It's like in Godfather," I quipped while tramping down the street from the jazz club. "Every time I try to leave, they pull me back in. And I'm just Michael Corleone trying to get back to Harlem..."
I never made it back to Harlem. Yes life was good.
Let's cut to the chase. Let's bypass the long of it and just go through the bulletpoints of it. How after a week, seeing each other again was awkward but still friendly. How he and I are still trying to measure each other's words and actions gaging for danger due to our own efforts of unspoken preservation. How it's a weird back and forth with little to nothing being said so the only obvious thing is to do what one wants and feels within reason and once things inexplicably starts to meet at a common place, it's more fun, less pressure. That's the thing: No Pressure. Pressure busts pipes. I don't like pressure. And beer loosens the screws.
We didn't see any exhibits, just went straight to the parking lot where the stage was set up. He wanted to see Stephanie McKay perform. The deejay was playing some old school pre-breakbeat breakbeats. I kept trying to compel my feet not to dance, not to get down to the music like I would usually do. I wished Leah was there since we enable each other's madness.
"Aw, man. You have no idea how badly I want to do the 'running man' right now." I shouted into his ear above the musical din. He was standing looking at what was going on with the stage setup. I was doing a barely contained bounce in time.
"I don't think the 'running man' is appropriate for this kind of music," he looked at me with a mixed look of confusion and amusement.
"Honey, the 'running man' goes with every song. Oh yes it does," and I constantly had to fan myself to beat back the oppressive heat and the possession of the get-downs. Oh how I love to get-down.
A band from New Haven, CT went up first and they were pretty good. The Brooklyn brewed beer hit the spot. When I went to get the second round Leah found me and I hugged her so hard since I hadn't seen her since she had come back from London and Paris. During the second beer, I was aggressively shoved from behind and found my best friend from HS who I hadn't seen in 15 years. Evie. I couldn't believe it. After HS and college she moved down to Atlanta, got married, had a child, got divorced and here she was in front of me with her vivacious four year old who was bounce-dancing with Quizas like a mad child.
After Stephanie finished, and it was a great set, mind you, we looked at each other carefully as we bounced off ideas of what to do. See some exhibits? Do you? I dunno. You want to see the next set? Maybe. Frankly, I am a bit hungry. ME TOO. Let's go. Awesome.
Next came the next round of Whatchoos. Do you want to eat here or this other place? Well, granted, this place is closer and we ate here last time but it was for breakfast which is different than dinner so I guess it wouldn't be the same. Okay, we'll go for something different, at least for you. And we started the long walk to Park Slope.
He was remembering the place in his head but got turned around a couple of times. It was a good talk, playful banter. We would keep a respectful yet familiar distance. Occasionally a double entendre here and there. Playful, fun. No pressure. Pressure busts pipes. Pressure ruins a good time. It was a beautiful dusky evening for a walk.
"I'm surprised you didn't say anything, when I told you that... y'know, that I was relationship averse."
My eyes quickly shot up to him from my plate of flautas. "I'm sorry? What did you say?" His bringing it up came from out of nowhere. No lead-in or anything of the sort.
"When I told you I was averse to relationships. You didn't really say anything."
I wiped my mouth during the clearing chew. "Well, if I recall correctly, I did say 'fair enough'."
"Yes you did. Usually, women start talking with me about it. Discussing whether I have issues or anything." He looked at me carefully.
I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, at least you told me, right? You could have not told me." He nodded. "Besides, be honest, would my having a problem with it and making a deal out of it have changed your mind? Probably not, eh?" And I went back for another forkful. "Basically you told me, I heard you, and so how I decide to deal with it is on me, right? Right." And I shoved my mouth with something drenched in lettuce and sour cream.
I saw him nod more pronounced now, almost in relief. As I chewed, his words did happen to seep in. So this comes up often? He throws in this disclaimer or something perhaps around the third or forth date or something? Usually the female would have a problem with it. And he was expecting some drama from me because of that. Now I was thinking about questions. About why he brought it up. Did he feel the need to clarify something? Did I confound him with my silence like he did that night with his statement?
Earlier in the day, when he would see a far away look in my eye, he made a joke that it looked like I was thinking, which was dangerous. I continued the joke just as facetiously asking whether it's because I should bother my pretty little head with things like 'thoughts' and opinions. We both chuckled but with a sardonic tone. He knew pretty early I tend to have opinions and usually don't keep them to myself. So now, even though we changed the subject of the conversation, he could tell I was thinking again. Thoughts I hadn't had thought of before he brought up that whole 'relationship averse' thing. He chuckled something about an "oh no".
"Well, now that you brought it up, how did you think I would take your saying that?"
"No, I mean," and he powered through purposefully, attacking the food with his fork to gain control of it. He repeated what I had said as if he was in full agreement. He was just being honest. And however way I wanted to take it, at least I knew.
And I looked at him square in the eye and I think I uttered a "okay", took a beat trying to gage how I would process that and I knew right that second, there I was, confounded again. Dammit. And so I quickly covered it by asking if he wanted to switch plates again. My flautas for his pernil.
We walked it off. The food. Didn't discuss anything of that sort again. We kicked around whether to stop off for dessert at Chocolate Bar but we both agreed that we were exhausted and rather sleepy even though it was ridiculously early like 9 or 10 at this point. He gave me basketball shorts to wear and put on The Fountain but he quickly fell asleep. It was at the height of nightlife at this point, and he lives on the first floor with no air conditioning, windows wide open. I wouldn't be sleeping for a while with all that noise.
Throughout the night, the questions kept running through my brain. What was I doing? Am I just setting myself up to just be used? Get hurt? Did I just give him a 'pass'? During our regular afterwork Friday drink, I spoke with Duke about my new situation. "He's corny," Duke first said when he realized who it was. He knew Q from a friend of a friend so he "knew" him but didn't really know him. In my mind, if Duke think's the guy is corny then that's a good thing. Duke's a bit of a hater.
"I can't believe you gave up the draws so quick, Joanna. You usually don't do that."
"I'm a grown assed woman, Duke. It felt like something I wanted to do at the time and I don't regret it."
"The problem with you, Joanna, is that you put your heart into everything. I'm not saying that's a bad thing, but he's a guy. Guys don't care if they can get the draws." I've been hanging with Duke for almost 20 years off and on throughout the years. I've seen them do their different levels of 'mack', all the women who have traversed in and out of their lives, their silly adventures at the bar. Just ten minutes ago Duke starting wondering what had happened to his life. Everyone around him was linking up, married, kids, moving away and here we were, again, Friday drinking for the weekend now took tired to hit the clubs, trying to find something different.
"I'll be alright, Duke. Whatever happens happens. Right now I just hanging with the guy. I'll try to be careful."
He shook his head in slight disgust as he and I watched people walk past in the street past our window. An elderly couple holding each other by the crook of their arms tightly gingerly walked through the outside cigarette smoking crowd. Duke pointed at them and wondered if he could have that one day.
Even the keys jingling in the person's hand as they approach the building... you can hear that clear as a bell as if it was right next to you from the open window. The boy could sleep through everything. Meanwhile, my mind was making up little speeches. Bullet points of my opinions. I was going to bring up that whole dumbassed 'averse' bullshit and tell him what's what about the whole thing. All of the sudden I was under some sort of pressure. Pressure busts pipes. And only the releasing power of speaking my mind would work for me now. Yeah, that's it. When the morning comes I'll tell him...
I would tell him that 'relationship averse' just just a 'cop-out'. An out. A get out of jail free card. A way to just Put it out there as a disclaimer or release himself of any liability. Hey, you know now. Don't get too close to me and expect something in return. It won't happen. And I thought that was just stupid. I didn't ask him whether or not he was relationship worthy. I just knew that I liked him and that he liked me. I thought that was enough. And I felt slightly insulted that he felt the need to just throw in that piece of information like I was some sort of cookie-cutter formulaic thing. Putting in extra information that wasn't necessary. I would ask whether he would be 'cool' with my just telling him that I was just fucking around with him until I found someone better. That's how most females would process 'relationship averse'. With his overly-practised term with no clarification, it was unfair. Self-defeating. And I would tell him that I have my own 'cop-out'. My own way that I filter whether or not I want to do certain things. That would be whether something was special enough for me to even deal with. My aversion. I would tell him all this. And I practiced it over and over. Because I do have opinions. And I do feel some sort of way about being discounted before anything even began to count. And I kept trying to hold on to sleep through the early morning sounds of the garbage trucks that seemed to idle right at my head. And then he turned over in his sleep, reached for me and I settled in his arm's grip.
Once again, no substantial food in the refrigerator. Eggs, butter, the sliced bread he kept in the freezer. He scratched his head at the countertop where he unloaded the potential edibles. I looked at the ingredients and chirped promisingly, "French Toast?"
"Really? I guess so." He then stuck his head into the fridge again, "I guess I would need syrup, cinnamon... requests?"
"Orange juice, PLEASE," and there I was, in oversized basketball shorts and one of my black t-shirts frying up two french toast and making scrambled eggs from the rest of the batter while he went to the store. I threw in some leftover pernil (roast pork) from the night before into the eggs since I figured we would need some sort of meat. I don't really eat much in the morning so I left the food and told him to take what he wanted and I would have the rest while I plopped on the couch since the kicthen was too small for me and company in my mind. After he sat i went and saw he cut each piece of toast and the batch of eggs right down the middle so we would have equal portions of the same food. I smiled at this. Pleasantly surprised. He asked if I wanted banana as he sliced half of one onto his plate. Not used to eating that way I said no and we ate in silence. Halfway through he mentioned the toast was good with the banana and syrup so intrigued I took a piece of his and was again pleasantly surprised to see he was right. I was full but he asked for more, (wow because ziggy usually doesn't eat my food like that) and I cooked two more pieces which he finished quickly. That was cool. The coffee shop at this time was open so he went across the street and got two iced coffees while Bill Withers crooned on the stereo. Soon we were just sitting on the couch while he read a book for work and I did the crossword in New York Magazine. It was nice. Easy for a Sunday morning. No pressure. Nothing I felt like saying. In fact I think I forgot I had a semi-beef with him. Bill Withers sang about a lovely day.
He had mentioned the day before that he had work to do, which he always does, which I guess is his thing. He wondered if we would sit in the park again so he could get his reading done. I told him that I should just leave since I didn't want to get in his way. Besides, the case of the 'worries' was coming again. The questions in my mind, the speeches in my head. I'm a one-fell-swoop type of person when I am on a mission. I was going to give him the business at the door. Speechify him then walk on leaving him to marinate. Maybe call him after, maybe not. I was a little heated. How dare he throw disclaimers at me. I felt the need to legitmize myself. Stand back straight and assert my specialness and my power. And it's all just little battles for power, isn't it?
I plopped before him on the couch as he reached for my face for a kiss. I looked at him, face to face. Pressure. My mouth bunching up, moving, stopping. How was I going to begin? Pressure busts pipes. Your little statement on relationship aversion is a huge cop out, I would start. Almost a little insulting. Like you're throwing the brakes on something before it even starts. I wasn't even going to let him speak. Pressure busts pipes. I was going to give him the little speech in my head and then go. Any time now. Pressure. He looked at me suspiciously and asked me what the matter was. I opened my mouth to speak and then quickly closed it again. Pressure busts... His eyes narrowed as if waiting for something, maybe even the inevitable.
I gave off a massive exhausted sigh and then gave him another kiss and then rose.
"I was ready to give you this giant speech, but I guess not," I said from behind my shoulder as I went for the door.
"Speech? What about?" The locks were tricky and I found myself clicking in one direction, pulling, clicking in another, pulling harder.
"Oh, you know... Women. Thinking. Dangerous, and all that." The door wrenched open and I quickly stepped out. In the lobby, I turned and I saw him behind me. I told him he didn't have to walk me to the train and waved him off like it was nothing. I was outside in seconds. My fight or flight reflexes are extraordinary. My uncanny ability to remove myself from a situation is legendary. But what always results once I'm seperated from an uncomfortable place is that I'm left realizng I left with no answers. The things i wanted to say left unsaid. More questions, more worry. Nothing resolved. Basically, always a dumbassed move on my part.
I did it again.
"I did it again, Leah," I said over the phone. Now I was sitting on a bench looking right at the Grand Army train station. "I did it the hell again. Chickened out when I wanted to tell him something. Why do I always NOT say what I want to when the time is right?"
"Wait- who brought up the relationship thing?"
"HE DID!"
"And just what the fuck does that mean?"
"I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA! Why did he say anything to begin with?"
"You do deserve answers."
"Why do boys do this? Totally try to find ways to confound you? I like that word now: Confound. I'm confounded. What the fuck do I do with all these thoughts in my head now?" I didn't measure the volume of my voice. I was venting, HARD. Thank goodness Leah was there as a sounding board. "You know, I could totally just walk back over there and ask him what's up. I could just go there right now." A voice in my head said I was crazy.
"You can also just call him."
"Yeah, I could do that too." I would want to look him in the eye, though. I hated being lied to and I was waiting for lies. All I was ever was used to dealing with was lies. Perhaps that was my problem, always waiting for the shoe to drop.
"But honestly, what do you want him to say?" I wondered that too. Did I need giant overtures of poetry? Some giant overblown fight when everything was perfectly fine? When did this happen? This overt need to assert myself? When did my earlier philosophy of "at least he was honest so I know what I'm dealing with" suddenly shift to this "he's being so intentionally vague that he's probably mindfucking me!"? Was it with the mention of other women? Was it when I was starting to become so comfortable that it actually started to worry me? Gaining something I would miss if I lost it. When did I start arming myself for war? When I was so excited to hear from him to the point in which I felt embarrased? Was it at the french toast or when he played with my knee cap while reading on the couch? When did the pressure suddenly come? Why did I feel the need to sort out some pressure?
"Joanna," I heard Leah's voice cut through my thoughts. "You're coming over, right?"
French wine. Real French wine. From France. Check that shit out.
It was on the table at the Caribbean food restaurant right between us. Thank goodness for Ox Tail, Wild Catfish and places that are BYOB. Leah bought the wine from her trip in Paris. Bought it for One Euro. She asked back at her apartment whether we should drink it now. I said it was from Paris which made it special, so I figured she would want it for a special occasion. She said Hell, it's gonna be drunk so we might as well make it today. So we were filling our bellies with what is comfort food for us, laughing a bit too loudly off the heaviness of a real French Bordeaux. And she asked me the million dollar question. The same question Carinda asked me and it stumped me back then too.
"So? What exactly do you want from him?"
Fast forward to this morning: I'm finally going through my emails. Checking my calendar. Adding detail here and there. A meeting today for the co-op. Thursday, taking the intern out to dinner with the other guys. Got a text on a BBQ next Saturday. Ironing out the details for possible paintball this Saturday. I forwarded some evites, received a couple and a few of us on the IM about plans coming. Who's available. Who should we invite. My little life. I like it. My friends, my time with Ziggy. My mother. Things I look forward to. What's sacred to me. I looked at my calendar and smiled. I didn't want any of it interrupted. And honestly, I didn't feel like including Quizas into any of it since he I considered seperate from all the other things going on in my life. I didn't want anything extra.
Back to yesterday... "I guess that's the core question, right? I mean, I'm pretty happy with what I have and I'm not so anxious to mess with that." I looked at Leah in confusion. "So what's the problem?"
"It's like you're fabricating things to be upset about," and she was right. Was I finally insane?
And then she said one really simple thing that actually clicked inside my head. Poof, made everything better. Pressure busts pipes, she somehow released the valve.
"Sometimes it seems that women, especially in their thirties, are supposed to fuss and want something more. Like we've been conditioned to be this sort of relationship harpie. But you don't want that, so why be that?" and she was absolutely right. Poof.
It's hard to explain, but in that moment it's like she wiped some dust from the window and I saw the same outside from a different angle: My angle. The angle of no battles over power. The releasing of the ego and allowing just the enjoyment of the now matter. French wine, good food, awesome friend. Walking down shaded street, easy laughter, a nuzzle at a crosswalk. Later, another bottle of wine, Team America/40 Year Virgin double header at Leah's, later live jazz. My life. My happy little life. And it made sense to me and I complicated it with things that ultimately didn't matter. 32 year old women are supposed to be always vying for commitment. We're supposed to be always gunning for the big relationship talk and giving up our lives for another person. That's what the pressure is, isn't it? And it's excerbated when you mention other females. That's when the sense of competition comes in. And then, I dunno, under some biological imperative, you're supposed to assert your place or something. But what if you like your place? Your little life. Your days and nights. Your best friends and new acquaintences. And what if you just like spending time with a person? Cause the conversations are easy and for now you consider the person pretty sexy? It doesn't have to be a big deal, just exciting to be excited about someone; but not huge enough to upend your life.
What Leah had said resonated with me, and the pressure, the inexplicable pressure to be under pressure even though I didn't want anything huge and like what I was getting so far, was gone. And the French wine was delicious on top of that.
After Leah's comment, that topic suddenly went away and I actually laughed at myself. Okay, maybe the wine helped. In the oppressive heat we shuffled home, yes with our open container of wine (whut?) back to her apartment and tried to cool off while watching both Team America (which I hadn't seen yet) and 40 Year Virgin. And we finished another bottle of wine. Then two of her former bandmates were performing at a jazz club in Bed Stuy so we took the bus there, singing loudly and with no shame various old TV theme songs including the ones for Family Ties and Diff'rent Strokes. Evil Giraffes on Mars is a great band and I was totally getting into it. I drank a lot of water. I needed the water. I was having a great time.
I sent an errant, tipsy text to Quizas: "Can you believe I never made it out of brooklyn?" And I was truly amazed. But seeing that it was quickkly approaching 10pm, and my not having a clue of where I was, I decided to head on out.
After the first set finished, we met the band outside for the hugs and such. Leah decided to stay and I ran inside to get some sort of directions from someone. The A train was five blocks thataway. Still very tipsy I made sure I understood where "thataway" was, waved wildly to Leah and the crew and counted my steps down the block. My phone rang and it was Quizas.
"You must love Brooklyn..."
"Stupid Brooklyn. Everyone's moving here. Brooklyn's so far!" It's like the Godfather. They keep pulling me back in. I'm just Michael Corleone just trying to make it back to Harlem.
"Have you been drinking?"
"Just a little. We drank two bottles of wine and watched Team America." He laughed. I told him I was still traumatized from the urination and defecation. Where was I heading, he asked. I was told to go five blocks thataway otherwise I had no idea where I was.
"Do you need to crash with me?"
"I, uh-" That took me by surprise. I wasn't angling for that. In fact I thought he would be a little freaked out about my admission of trying to speech him earlier. "I mean, that would be okay? I won't be in the way or anything."
"I know you won't." He was at Flatbush Flats. Through directions first from Leah on the phone and then bumping into a bunch of people I knew outside the next train station at So. Portland, I found myself there. After the walk and the heat, I was suffiently sober and rather thirsty. Met his friend who he had worked with, Stacey, and I was thankful I could keep up with their conversation about films and such, which is their industry. We said their goodbyes and I walked alongside him as he pushed his bike back to his apartment.
Fast forward to being on the phone this morning with Duke. "How was your 'date' with that guy?" he spat out rather sarcastically.
"It was good," I had said.
"It wasn't 'MAR-velous'? 'Ah-MAZ-ing'?"
"It was nice," I said lightly. And I told the truth, it was.
On the walk back to the apartment Q thanked me for my insisting on leaving so he could work earlier. He needed the time to finish his stuff but he doesn't want me to leave sometimes. I playfully rolled my eyes at him and told him that lines of velvet smoothness like that needed to be spoken in a deep Barry White tone to really sound more playah-like. He chuckled and then held out his arm as he checked the traffic before giving the go ahead for us to trot cross Flatbush.
"Ooh! I finally say Leah's new apartment!" I said to Duke.
"You went there because you were already still in Brooklyn on Sunday, weren't you?" I said yes like it was obvious and what's the big deal. I didn't tell him that I never made it back to Harlem until Monday morning for me to turn around to leave for work.
"But didn't he say he was against relationships or something?"
"Yup. He brought it up again."
"So why the fuck didn't you run for the Hills? I mean-"
"Duke, it's not that deep for me. Meanwhile he keeps inviting me out. So it's all good."
"Well, of course he's inviting you out, as long as you keep giving up the- oh forget it." Not so veiled implication that I was either being used or setting myself up as a hoe.
"Duke," I said quietly but sternly, "I'm a grown woman. And I'm having a good time. Okay?" He sucked his teeth.
I still find it hard to sleep in places not my own house. I woke insanely early, still not used to how amazingly loud everything is on the first floor and in awe as to how he can sleep through everything outside, but the moment I brush up accidentally he awakens like a shot. The toothbrush was still there. So weird. I wasn't prepared to be out of my house for two days so my running home was necessary but at 5:30am it was still too early. On top of my bag was the book he had been reading all Sunday for work that he wanted me to read so we could discuss it later. I smiled and plopped down on the couch to begin to read. At 6, the alarm that he had set for me went off and from the hall I saw him awaken and turn off the alarm and look around confused. I waved. He settled back and said good morning.
We shared a couple minutes of shared silence as I sat at the bed and rubbed his back and he hovered between awake and dozing. I whispered in ear I was letting myself out. I played with those damned locks again: Click, pull, click-click, pull harder and it suddenly wrenching open. As I started to walk through the threshold, I thought I heard something from the bedroom behind me, I poked my head back around the corner and saw his smiling face, now fully awake like he was laughing while watching my door wrestle.
"Have a good morning, Beautiful." I scrunched up my face and stuck out my tongue and smiled to myself as I closed the door behind me.
(will go back and proof this for mistakes, later. it's hard to just write off the top of your head and edit mistakes as you go.)
But first, a quote:
Do you have doubts about life? Are you unsure if it is worth the trouble? Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person's face as you pass on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing. Stand up and face the east. Now praise the sky and praise the light within each person under the sky. It's okay to be unsure. But praise, praise, praise.
- No One Belongs Here More Than You, by Miranda July (highly recommended website, by the way)
I foresaw May as being a particularly interesting month. And at the midpoint, it has not failed me. Between a couple of concerts, a plethora of birthday celebrations (six, people, SIX in one weekend!), two trips out of state, going to a specifically-gay bar (as opposed to just a regular NY bar which are more than half-gay anyway), wandering unknowingly into a lesbian-heavy hotel, going to the computer doctor, taking myself to the emergency room, writing an insane email on no sleep to my boss basically drawing a line in the sand which resulted in a never-before-done private lunch with him while high on Benedryl, and travelling 1,600 miles in ridiculously oversized pants, I would say the last few weeks have been lively; at least somewhat.
And now, with a couple of "regular" days under my belt, I'm terribly, terribly bored.
Fear, my friends. Fear my idle hands and my resultant idle mind.
Monday, after returning from Miami and then the next day's Mother's Day, I emailed a friend and told him I was back from my whirlwind couple of weeks and everything was "back to normal". He chuckled at me at my concept of "normal". And then I thought about that. Okay, I had to chuckle, too.
Consider, if you will, like floodmarkers along a riverside at a bridge or whatnot. There are various watermarks that show where the water level usually reaches. Up too high and you have a flood. Too low and it's a drought. Then there are levels somewhere in-between. That's where the river flows on a normal basis. A "normal" highwater mark.
Granted, my highwater mark is higher than most.
So lately the highwater mark has been reached and the waters playfully choppy. And I'm evidently all about that since I enjoyed the river rafting and all (okay, let's get off metaphors, why don't we?). And so now I'm "back" and it's somewhat "normal" I'm wondering what's next. I'm like a junkie now. The weather's been beautiful, I've gotten some color. I've met some cool people and seen some cool things. I've told some stories and have now new stories to tell. Yet come Monday, here I am at my desk and I want to know when's the next "thing"?
Monday, I was just sorting through my photos, relishing in caught up sleep. Tuesday I was zooming off of over the counter antihistimines while tap dancing at work. Wednesday I'm rolling my eyes again, setting up my Saturday. Bored as all get out, thinking I need to get out more. This is Wednesday I'm talking about. I debate about taking classes, finding someone to go to a bar with, Hell- going on blind dates not to date but just to mix it up. And now it's Thursday, and I've figured it out. I'm a lunatic.
See, the thing with having the weather change on you, the days getting longer, your skin (and especially your gams) finally kissing air, being able to eat and drink outside and all that other stuff that happens when the cold and dark of winter starts to roll away is that you get antsy. Restless. You want to do more, condense more into your days, your nights. Time for wickedness. Time for adventure. And then I went and sated some of that hunger with a couple of trips and long days out with my friends. I want more. I'm like a voracious vampire with a bitchin tan. (there I go with friggin metaphors again. dammit)
Life is too short, my friends. To friggin short for idle bullshit. Don't get me wrong, I bullshit with the best of them, the good-time bullshit- especially at a picnic, a barbecue, hanging with some good people with a beer in my hand-all about it. I mean the idle bullshit that stems from foolishness of a bothersome nature. The trying to pin down the intangibilities of ethereal concepts and people. Who is mad at whom? What did such and such mean by that? Do you want to kiss me or not? Y'know, time to speak plain. Move forward and not back. Go hard or go home. Always wear clean underwear. Trite stuff like that. (I actually am rather fond of sports metaphors and especially football movies. I should have been born a boy. I really would have been a hot boy)
A good friend just told me that she learned a school chum of hers just died. She was 33. I gasped and then stated while still shocked "Life is too damned short for bullshit."
"That's for damned sure," she uttered.
That's for damned sure.
I had said last year that I would make an effort to just say "Yes" to things because, hell, why not? And staying to true to that I had many adventures involving shooting rifles, traveling to Long Island to shoot paintballs, going to the Caribbean, dope stuff like that. Well, it's a new year and a new season and I'm kicking it up a notch. The winter was a long one, and if it weren't for a few birthdays a couple of weeks ago, I still wouldn't have seen half of you. So it's time to travel. Go out. Do something. I have a lot of pent up energies here. Whoot I say. Spring. Totally.
So as for you all, here's what you do. Do it for me. Yes, ONLY for me and believe you me you will profit from such a venture. You know me, I will make sure you do. I'm a giver. A lover, not a fighter. I am losing my train of thought here.. Oh yes! I want brunches with you people. After-work drinks. I want rooftop parties. Barbecues. House parties. Picnics in the parks that you choose. I'm talking about catching the Philharmonic again in Central Park under the stars. I'm talking about bogarting somebody's pool but someone will have to drive cause Lord knows I can't. I'm talking about one of you helping me get my driver's license this year. I'm talking about movie nights. Museum days. Hell, I have a museum membership... what are we waiting for, peoples?!
Fear my (relative) idleness! As many of you know, when left to my own devices I get into trouble. In fact, I always get into trouble. Granted, you all gain grand entertainment from my "okay, so last night when I-" stories. Whatever, yo. Until I figure out what next outside-of-NY locale I will visit, I'm totally using this place up. And I'm using all of you too for the good times. Okay, so not only am I a giver but I'm also a user. Sue me.
Okay, I think the coffee, nicotine lozenge and ham sandwich has kicked in. I'm zooming. So while you figure out what to do with me, please sample today's IM Hall of Fame submission between me and Carinda, reminiscing about our short life in Miami.
A little color here, though. Carinda and I arrived in Miami, unwittingly, during a Lesbian Film Festival. While asking for directions, someone mentioned it like "Yeah, well, you guys know what you're (you plural) doing... the party over ___ for the festival, right?" And it still didn't dawn on us. Then later we were walking to the beach and noticed the back of the hotel next to ours were having a bitching party. Without hestiation we walked right in through the gates. As we kept going further and further in, we indivdually started to wonder to ourselves where all the guys were. I kept looking around sizing up everything then turned to Carinda, who was still wondering about the guy situation, and said to her, "There sure are a lot of lesbians here." Embarassed laughter ensued. Needless to say, we would joke about "The Festival Girls". Then later, when walking down Ocean, guys would try to stop us to buy their CD or something. When we wouldn't slow, a couple of them, pissed off, would scream out LESBIA. Again, hilarious because it was like his logic was, we wouldn't listen to his self-burned indie cd because we were two girls walking around together and therefore lesbian. So as we continued and we passed those guys again I asked him whether it was a cd of lesbian music because we would only listen to lesbian-like music. Fight ridiculous with ridiculous. So that's where the following "festival girls" conversation stems from. And Carinda's going to kill me for posting this. hehehehes.
EDIT: SCORE! Birthday party and possible "show" tomorrow. Man, internets, you work fast!
Who's next?
August 2006
Life is good.
Now back from South Beach. Will upload, picspam and update. I just have a couple of things to do tonight and then Mom's Day tomorrow, of course. But one thing I wanted to say:
I came home and unpacked, about to start a round of laundry, things like that. Spent a couple of days with a really good friend and basically recharged our relationship. Other friends kept me in the loop of something that seems really fun for tonight. Then randomly an old friend just called up about an impromptu gathering. So things, all in all, are pretty good. It's all relative, eh? I tend to fuss over things that I don't have. But what I do have, it's good. Very good. And I'm glad.
Y'all make me smile. Oh, yes you do.
And thank you Lee and Denise for "sitting shiva" with me. Heh. Now let's get Winehousey Drunk, y'alls!! (And yes, when I landed at LaGuardia, the first thing I said outloud was "Back to Black. Black to Black".)
BWAHAHA. This was taken 8am Saturday Morning in Miami. We were back in NYC by 1pm. That's how you do it, folks. Take notes.
So I've uploaded photos, starting to caption and such. Have many pictures to share and stories to expose. You know how I do.
I need help, though. My neck is burning and such. No, seriously. On the last night my neck broke out in a rash. I recall Carinda started to get afflicted with something at the same time. Something must have disagreed or bit us or something. Itchy as all hell. It was fine until today when Mom gave me some cortizone. Now it's all super hurty and such. I've stopped the cortizone but can't put anything else on it to cool it off. I'm all ouched. Not fun. Can someone help me? Yes, I'm asking the internets about a rashy thing. Sexy as hell, yah?
Anyway, I have stories and such. I know you're all excited and whatnot. I know you're all excited and whatnot. You're excited and whatnot, right?
My pants are too big.
The other day I bought pants in my regularly known size and they they seemed too small. Well I exchanged them for a greater size without trying them on again.
I'm wearing them now...
These pants are too big.
They're barely staying on my hips. And they're gathering at my feet to point in which I look like a Sk8er Boi. What happened? Was I just thicker that day? Is this a freak occurance? Could it be a result of pants not moving up one size but only available in even sizes: 2 4 6 then 8? What happened to 7? Can't people be 7? Maybe I'm a 7. 7's plausible, right? I don't know whether I'm a 7. I just know I'm somewhere between 6 and 8 and my choices are either "too tight around the ass Jo" or "Sk8er Jo".
Is this fair? Where is my freedom of choice? Why are my hips all exposed to air? This isn't normal? This isn't me...
So I've ripped out the tags already. I'm at work. I could either run down to FIfth Avenue and hopefully they'll have another pair in the "tight around the ass" size and in the color of my choosing, or travel around in something resembling linen Hammer pants. You remember Hammer pants? Just look at me right now and I'll refresh your memory.
Oh, yeah. I'm traveling today.
Anyway, I'm pondering my looking crazy right now. My pants are too big.
And this is how it is to be me at 8:30a EST this morning.
I don't update enough. Let's fix that.
If anyone's been around Denise, she damn near has a line on anything going down. True story. So all I knew was there was a special invite to a website launch. Hell, all I fixated on was free drinks and food. Guaranteed me in.
Come to find out, two drinks in, that it's for a dating website. Not just a dating website, but one in which women rate, recommend, evaluate guys. As in previous dates. Date recommendations. Whatever. Where can one find it? BAM.
Anyways. I did say free drinks and food, right? More like chips and maybe some bartered bruschetta. Long story. True story but long and stuff.
So then, on a lark, Denise, Leah and I decided to late night spa at a Korean Spa. This involves a shower, sauna, steamroom, herbal soak and then the scrubbing by hand of a lifetime. Very good times. We were so relaxed, we forgot each other's names. There was a promise to return within 30 days.
Of course, being hungry and in the midst of Koreatown, we had to do Korean BBQ.
i was broken.
Leah was bent over, exhausted in a good way, head on the table OUT. I kept talking myself to keep myself conscious. Denise, God love her, kept making it happen with the food and the soju. One of my few regrets is that the soju was wasted. I didn't hit the soju like it deserved and I am of the supreme belief that whenever soju is at the table, there should never be any extra soju left once I leave the table. I disappoint myself.
So I'm home now after my half mile walk home from the train station all the way on the west side of me. I'm feeling good.
I need to update more. i will fix this.
1. What did you do in 2006 that you'd never done before?
Went on a weeklong vacation with Ziggy alone. Floated in the Caribbean Sea. Snorkeled. SCUBA'ed. Tried to climb a mountain. Chased a cow. Rode a horse.
2. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I don't recall whether i made any resolutions this last time around. But at least I've started on a longterm one which was to quit smoking. So far so good. I also have started a "101 things in 1,001 days" list.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Almost. :( A good friend had a still birth.
4. Did anyone close to you die?
Tita Cynthia. My best friend's father died as well.
5. What countries did you visit?
St. Kitts Nevis.
6. What would you like to have in 2007 that you lacked in 2006?
Come to think of it, I don't think I've lacked in much this past year. Huh. Interesting. I guess what I would like is a weekend away somewhere with a good friend.
7. What date from 2006 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
I have no clue. May get back to this one.
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
I would say Thanksgiving, but I totally didn't do that all myself so that doesn't count. Maybe having more parties at my house?
9. What was your biggest failure?
Helping Ziggy become the best he could be.
10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Not really other than the usual sniffles and such.
11. What was the best thing you bought?
iPod? My new Mac? I also bought aTV which is cool but the sound is shite and I need computer speakers for it.
12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Carinda. For being a wonderful, attentive mother. Something I envy in her.
13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Ziggy. Then again he's 13 which makes me step up my game more. SO then I guess my answer would be me.
14. Where did most of your money go?
Bills. Credit cards.
15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Seeing an out-of-town friend.
16. What song will always remind you of 2006?
Stay with Me by Nee-Yo. It just was perpetually on play since it's just a happy song.
17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
Happier or sadder? Looking back, sadder.
Older or wiser? Older
Thinner or fatter? Flabbier
Richer or poorer? Richer grosswise. Poorer netwise.
18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Working out. Household organization.
19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Sleeping. Being lazy. Watching TV.
20. How will you be spending Christmas?
With my family.
21. How will you be spending New Year's Eve?
Private semi-formal affair at my house.
22. Did you fall in love in 2006?
I don't think so.
23. How many one-night stands?
none.
24. What was your favorite TV program?
Countdown with Keith Olbermann
25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
Well, I try not to hate, but I have severely disregarded a couple of people.
26. What was the best book you read?
Seven Types of Ambiguity by elliott perlman
27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Manu Chao
28. What did you want and get?
A raise.
29. What did you want and not get?
A really good lay. (hey, i'm being honest)
30. What was your favorite film of this year?
Lucky Number Slevin
31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
31. I did the three day birthday trifecta involving a bar crawl, a party at my house and brunch. kudos to those few who lastest all three days. :)
32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Please reference #29.
33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2006?
What's clean?
34. What kept you sane?
Friends.
35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Angelina Jolie/Anderson Cooper tossup.
36. What political issue stirred you the most?
EVERYTHING.
37. Who did you miss?
My father. I miss him all the time.
38. Who was the best new person you met?
Wow. There were tons. Huh. Darrell. Safiya. Um, okay, I'm trying to remember them all because everything's a blur right now.
39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2006:
Patience and self-determination is key in everything. (even in elections)
40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
"Be kind to me, or treat me mean/I'll make the most of it, I'm an extraordinary machine"
What would the title of your autobiography be?
Submitted by princesskasren.
Wabi.
Wabi, more specifically "Wabi-Sabi", is the Japanese aesthetic of there being great beauty in imperfection and asymmetry.
Like the jazz singer who holds the note then warbles. That is wabi.
Like the handcrafted vase with a slight irregularity in the curvature. That is wabi.
Beyond convention. Beyond permanence. Beyond pretension.
There is something beautiful and memorable in something imperfect and unexpected.
Which applies perfectly to my life and my growing world-view.
So there you go: Wabi.
