I am not a vegetarian; I just have vegetarian tendencies.
Since my three weeks of vegetarian living (and the 3.5 days of vegan living sandwiched in the middle), I’ve been more in tune with my body. It probably has just as much to do with my age as my diet. The older you get, the more evident the effects of restful sleep, nutritious food and vigorous exercise can be (or the absence of any of these very important elements of maintaining a healthy body).
I have been looking at a photo of myself from the trip to Las Vegas with Alex last spring. I am so thin in that photo! My hair is also super short, but that’s neither here nor there. I tried to tell myself that I was so thin because I’d just returned from my month trekking through Thailand with all of my belongings strapped to my back. However I believe that trip was Memorial Day weekend, a full six months after I returned from Thailand. The extra insulation I’m sporting now is just plain old gluttony and laziness. It’s coming off, but I determined yesterday that it isn’t happening fast enough to satisfy me. I am having a difficult time staying focused on the training. I keep veering off into vain pursuits. I even went as far as to take up corseting again. It didn’t last, but mostly because the corsets I have are too big to cause any physical changes. I should be happy about that, but naturally I am not. I ‘m quite obsessed. I would like to embrace this obsession with reshaping my body, but that will only cause it to become so intense that it burns itself out before I get any results. I need to calm down and be patient. If I can bring myself back to the training, I will be fine. The goal is to run the half marathon, not to lose weight. It is for that very reason that I do not weigh myself. I’m not going to start counting calories either. I know when I need food and when I don’t. I’m trying to teach myself how to distinguish what type of food I need as well.
I haven’t felt very motivated to run. In fact I missed my long run on Sunday. I should mention that I was incredibly exhausted that day and trying my best to function on just a few hours of sleep. Even so, I still should have at least attempted the damn run. Now I’m beating myself up about it and will probably be so wracked with guilt on my run this evening that I end up having a crazy negative self-talk in my head the entire time. Oh OCD, go away!
So anyway, back to being 85% vegetarian. When you don’t eat meat, you don’t have to push. You know what I’m talking about. I know it’s gross, but it’s totally true. Your intestines are clean and lubricated. I still eat meat every two or three days to keep my muscles happy and my mood relatively stable, but I love feeling clean. I have always loved clean (duh OCD), but I never really thought much about being clean from the inside because I took it for granted that my body can process whatever I put in it. It can of course, but at a cost. My skin is clearer, brighter and has better elasticity than it has had in the past several years. My training recovery time is rarely longer than one full night’s sleep, and my energy is consistent throughout the day and night. I’d be curious to find out if my vision and/or hearing have improved.
I researched the Raw diet and determined that I have no desire to go there. The body is initially shocked by the amount of work it has to do to extract nutrients from raw food. It’s supposed to depend on the individual, but you can spend up to three weeks feeling tired and weak. Certain foods are more easily digestible after being cooked. For example, root vegetables - they are so full of wonderful nutrients, but the body has to work really hard to access those nutrients when the root vegetables are raw. Were I to “go raw”, it would look more like a fruit and veggie cleanse than a raw diet. Since I am allergic to seafood… There’s no damn way that I am going to zombify myself for three weeks with the sole purpose of experimenting with a damn diet.
This morning’s commute was spent thinking more and more about Thailand and the things I learned there. I don’t meditate anymore. I also don’t do yoga every morning anymore. It’s time that I readopted those practices.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Open Mouth, Insert Foot
If it was something within my knowledge and power, I would create a pill you could swallow which would activate an auto-shut feature for your mouth after your blood alcohol level reaches a certain percentage. This pill would have to come in a few different formulations. There would be a 0.01 formula so you can’t ask for your keys back until you’re sober enough to drive again. There would be the 0.05 for those people who, like me, lose their appropriateness filter after three for four drinks. Then there would be some upper limit like 0.10, which would also include some sort of visible effect to let everyone else know that you’re wasted.
I took our visitor from Italy to the monthly 1st Saturday Underground House party. I knew I’d be tired, so I told him and Twin Peaks that we should get there early. It was the 3-Year Anniversary Celebration, and started a couple of hours earlier than usual, at midnight. We got there at 12:30. By 2:30 AM, the place was so packed that they started turning people away. I saw a couple of friends that I had hoped to introduce our visitor to, but they left to handle what I can only guess was some sort of shady transaction and were never allowed to reenter. Oh well.
My favorite local DJ, David Harness was in the building. I told him that my heart skipped a beat when I saw him on the line-up, which would have been perfect if I’d have stopped there. But no, the auto-shut feature would have come in handy right then. “I don’t normally feel that way for men I haven’t slept with”. WTF? Booze is the devil. That’s all I have to say about it.
In the middle of David’s set it got so hot in the joint that I had to take a break, a long one. I sat in the cocktail lounge and, even after I’d cooled down, I couldn’t stop sweating. Our visitor surfed through the crowd while I was there and told me, “There is a wrestler here. He is very famous. I want you to take a picture of me with him.” I waited for Twin Peaks to return from the bar and we headed over there. As soon as I passed through the hallway, I knew exactly who he was talking about. It was Batista (I looked up his name today with a coworker). He stood almost a full foot over every man near him and was at least twice the girth. Our visitor was barely larger than one of the guy’s arms. It turned out to be a great photo: Jack and the Giant LOL. I thanked him for taking a photo with my friend. I admit that it was a rather dry thanks, but this guy has to be sick and tired of being fawned over by everybody he meets. Seriously, he had come to the club to dance and have a good time, right? Let’s get the photo over with so everyone can go back to having fun. Besides, WWE wrestling is all fake soap opera fighting anyway. You wanna see me lose it? Introduce me to Jet Li. I’d probably forget my own name. I’d even stutter a bit if I met Rodney Yee.
We called it quits early that night – a little after 4AM. The crowd had thinned out by then. The dance floor looked a lot like it did at 1AM. I had run out of steam, intoxication and cash. I don’t think there is any better time to call it a night. I still had to take our visitor home to Berkeley as well.
I was gonna end it there with a little blurb about how my romantic life continues to be boring. However, that may not be entirely true. There was a tense moment around me on Friday, midway through the Red Bike and Green monthly ride.
Killa B and B-Ry have been having some sort of (not so) secret pissing contest where I’m concerned. I’m not sure what exactly has transpired between the two, but I often feel like I need to distance myself from both of them when we’re all in the same space. So my romantic life continues to be boring as far as I’m concerned, but there is some mysterious undercurrent at work, which I’m pretty sure has no effect on my future love life (or at least I hope not). Any interference on my part will probably just be interpreted as me showing preference, so I keep the status quo as much as possible and let these things work themselves out.
I took our visitor from Italy to the monthly 1st Saturday Underground House party. I knew I’d be tired, so I told him and Twin Peaks that we should get there early. It was the 3-Year Anniversary Celebration, and started a couple of hours earlier than usual, at midnight. We got there at 12:30. By 2:30 AM, the place was so packed that they started turning people away. I saw a couple of friends that I had hoped to introduce our visitor to, but they left to handle what I can only guess was some sort of shady transaction and were never allowed to reenter. Oh well.
My favorite local DJ, David Harness was in the building. I told him that my heart skipped a beat when I saw him on the line-up, which would have been perfect if I’d have stopped there. But no, the auto-shut feature would have come in handy right then. “I don’t normally feel that way for men I haven’t slept with”. WTF? Booze is the devil. That’s all I have to say about it.
In the middle of David’s set it got so hot in the joint that I had to take a break, a long one. I sat in the cocktail lounge and, even after I’d cooled down, I couldn’t stop sweating. Our visitor surfed through the crowd while I was there and told me, “There is a wrestler here. He is very famous. I want you to take a picture of me with him.” I waited for Twin Peaks to return from the bar and we headed over there. As soon as I passed through the hallway, I knew exactly who he was talking about. It was Batista (I looked up his name today with a coworker). He stood almost a full foot over every man near him and was at least twice the girth. Our visitor was barely larger than one of the guy’s arms. It turned out to be a great photo: Jack and the Giant LOL. I thanked him for taking a photo with my friend. I admit that it was a rather dry thanks, but this guy has to be sick and tired of being fawned over by everybody he meets. Seriously, he had come to the club to dance and have a good time, right? Let’s get the photo over with so everyone can go back to having fun. Besides, WWE wrestling is all fake soap opera fighting anyway. You wanna see me lose it? Introduce me to Jet Li. I’d probably forget my own name. I’d even stutter a bit if I met Rodney Yee.
We called it quits early that night – a little after 4AM. The crowd had thinned out by then. The dance floor looked a lot like it did at 1AM. I had run out of steam, intoxication and cash. I don’t think there is any better time to call it a night. I still had to take our visitor home to Berkeley as well.
I was gonna end it there with a little blurb about how my romantic life continues to be boring. However, that may not be entirely true. There was a tense moment around me on Friday, midway through the Red Bike and Green monthly ride.
Killa B and B-Ry have been having some sort of (not so) secret pissing contest where I’m concerned. I’m not sure what exactly has transpired between the two, but I often feel like I need to distance myself from both of them when we’re all in the same space. So my romantic life continues to be boring as far as I’m concerned, but there is some mysterious undercurrent at work, which I’m pretty sure has no effect on my future love life (or at least I hope not). Any interference on my part will probably just be interpreted as me showing preference, so I keep the status quo as much as possible and let these things work themselves out.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Controlling Myself
Pandora is screwing around with me today. Everything that plays is a poor excuse for music. Of course I could just be projecting. I’m filled with dissatisfaction. I thought that would change after my hour of personal training with “The Sage” and a half hour of massage late this afternoon. Perhaps tonight, after the Red Bike and Green Ride, Home Grown - Best of the East Bay Party and thePeople’s All Styles Afterparty I'll feel much better.
My dancing will be ambient. That’s how I’m feeling. I’ve been starving for sensual stimulation (all coming to a peak in the past couple of days it seems), and I’ll be telling that story with interpretive dance tonight. Needless to say, I’m rolling solo this evening. Yes, it’s that time. I’ve been running with a posse for several weeks now, and I need some freedom. In the safety of a group, one can only glimpse the mysterious underbelly of nightlife. Last weekend’s underground loft party left me itching to strike out on my own and delve into the depths. The room was filled with beautiful people, all tinted with the familiar tinge of mischief that I so enjoy. I felt confined. It’s not that my friends aren’t fun (and perhaps the best group of friends on this planet), but there are moments when I want to move among the shadows. That’s impossible when I’m “the driver”.
Yesterday, even after my dawn run, bike commute and full productive day at the office, I remained restless. I knew that I couldn’t go dancing because of my obligations at work today, but I needed something more than a cold bed and cartoons. My first thought was to cut to the chase, call someone over to warm the bed for a few hours and then put him back out afterwards. I thought in particular of Secret Squirrel and how he looked at me when we met the other day. Then I thought of Killa B and how candlelight turns his body into a work of art. I managed to shake that off almost as quickly as it came over me. However, to flirt with the possibility, I opted to shoot a few games of pool with him instead. He is the least threatening of the hot men I hang out with. My memories and imagination are stronger determining factors than his intentions. I had those pretty well in check, so I took the chance just for the sheer entertainment and anjoyment of his company. He said, “You like to be pursued”. He was absolutely right. A predator he is not - that is for certain. We ended our outing after four games, I won the first two and he evened up the score on games 3 and 4. I had a moment of waffling afterwards, but as I’ve stated before: Love, then Sex. My own words echoed in my head as I clicked the peg into the lock, closing the door between us and again confirming our platonic status. We'll ride together this evening.
The combination of meat for dinner and cocktails made me sluggish this morning. The fact that my urges remained unfulfilled just compounded the effect. I predict that I will train very hard this weekend to shed these last few pounds of winter insulation, incorporate the additional mileage training schedule for the Nike marathon and (most importantly) keep myself from finding trouble. I always know where to look and I never have to go very far.
I need to keep myself relatively spent. Too tired and I won’t make it out at all, not tired enough and I will either fall prey to the lures of shady characters or become a shady character myself, sniffing the air for the scent of the next unsuspecting victim. I’m getting too old for that life. It was fun in my twenties, but now I just want to have my fun while I’m out and go home to peace and quiet. I haven’t forgotten how to hunt. In fact, I may have already caught an interesting scent. We shall see. A patient hunter doesn’t need to work as hard, and I'm not doing it just to pass the time anymore.
My dancing will be ambient. That’s how I’m feeling. I’ve been starving for sensual stimulation (all coming to a peak in the past couple of days it seems), and I’ll be telling that story with interpretive dance tonight. Needless to say, I’m rolling solo this evening. Yes, it’s that time. I’ve been running with a posse for several weeks now, and I need some freedom. In the safety of a group, one can only glimpse the mysterious underbelly of nightlife. Last weekend’s underground loft party left me itching to strike out on my own and delve into the depths. The room was filled with beautiful people, all tinted with the familiar tinge of mischief that I so enjoy. I felt confined. It’s not that my friends aren’t fun (and perhaps the best group of friends on this planet), but there are moments when I want to move among the shadows. That’s impossible when I’m “the driver”.
Yesterday, even after my dawn run, bike commute and full productive day at the office, I remained restless. I knew that I couldn’t go dancing because of my obligations at work today, but I needed something more than a cold bed and cartoons. My first thought was to cut to the chase, call someone over to warm the bed for a few hours and then put him back out afterwards. I thought in particular of Secret Squirrel and how he looked at me when we met the other day. Then I thought of Killa B and how candlelight turns his body into a work of art. I managed to shake that off almost as quickly as it came over me. However, to flirt with the possibility, I opted to shoot a few games of pool with him instead. He is the least threatening of the hot men I hang out with. My memories and imagination are stronger determining factors than his intentions. I had those pretty well in check, so I took the chance just for the sheer entertainment and anjoyment of his company. He said, “You like to be pursued”. He was absolutely right. A predator he is not - that is for certain. We ended our outing after four games, I won the first two and he evened up the score on games 3 and 4. I had a moment of waffling afterwards, but as I’ve stated before: Love, then Sex. My own words echoed in my head as I clicked the peg into the lock, closing the door between us and again confirming our platonic status. We'll ride together this evening.
The combination of meat for dinner and cocktails made me sluggish this morning. The fact that my urges remained unfulfilled just compounded the effect. I predict that I will train very hard this weekend to shed these last few pounds of winter insulation, incorporate the additional mileage training schedule for the Nike marathon and (most importantly) keep myself from finding trouble. I always know where to look and I never have to go very far.
I need to keep myself relatively spent. Too tired and I won’t make it out at all, not tired enough and I will either fall prey to the lures of shady characters or become a shady character myself, sniffing the air for the scent of the next unsuspecting victim. I’m getting too old for that life. It was fun in my twenties, but now I just want to have my fun while I’m out and go home to peace and quiet. I haven’t forgotten how to hunt. In fact, I may have already caught an interesting scent. We shall see. A patient hunter doesn’t need to work as hard, and I'm not doing it just to pass the time anymore.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
What the ... I've been up to
I have truly lost my MFing mind.
This morning, I woke up so sore that I could barely drag my ass out of bed. Today I did the bike commute, a lunchtime yoga class and jogged the lake when I got home. Now I am waiting to go out dancing. I can barely get my ass out of this chair without cussing. I just took an Aleve in hopes that it will help loosen up these joints so I can dance tonight. See! That’s just crazy.
I signed up for the Nike Women’s Marathon. I’ll be doing the half. My goal this time (this will be my fifth time participating in this particular event) is to run all of it or come as close as I possibly can with three months of training. I had my first outdoor run today, after a very long hiatus. In fact, I believe the last time I ran outside was when I did the Nike last year… if you can call that running.
My knee still makes that crunchy noise, but it’s not going to stop and I accept that. Now the other knee is starting to make the same noise as well. Eh fuck it. As far as I know, this is the only life I’ve got so I’m going to run. It feels empowering to just go outside and run. I want to do it. I am going to do it. I don’t care what the damn doctors and trainers say. I am going to figure out a way to run that doesn’t make my knees hurt. Today, I tried a light tiptoe style. That seemed to work for the joints, but it makes me tired very quickly. I will have to condition myself to run that way. My knee feel absolutely fine right now, especially considering how tired I am from pushing myself all week.
I’m eating meat again. I had three weeks of vegetarian, and now I’m over it. At first I felt like I was starving all the time (and then bloated when I ate until satisfied). After I got used to the idea of eating more frequently, I was happy for a time. I felt light on my feet. I was sleeping better than I had in years. Although my strength and stamina didn’t seem to be improving, my recovery time was really fast. I couldn’t do as intense a workout as I was doing, but I could work out more frequently. I started doing a one at the office and then turning around and getting two more in the evenings at 24 Hour. Then I started back on the bike commuting and it all came crashing down. Apparently bike commuting is very difficult for me with a meatless diet. I began to get irritable and listless.
The first time I had meat again, I overslept the next morning. I don’t mean by a few minutes either! Meat makes me feel sluggish. It’s much more difficult for the body to process than fruits and veggies, so that makes sense. I just have to make sure I allow my body extra time to rest when I have meat. Although I miss feeling light and quick, I LOVE feeling strong and tough. I am trying to find a happy medium. So far I have determined that there will be no meat with dinner. I don’t want my body digesting meat when it should be sleeping.
That’s all for the update. Still nothing on the dating front. Well, maybe nothing – too early to tell right now.
This morning, I woke up so sore that I could barely drag my ass out of bed. Today I did the bike commute, a lunchtime yoga class and jogged the lake when I got home. Now I am waiting to go out dancing. I can barely get my ass out of this chair without cussing. I just took an Aleve in hopes that it will help loosen up these joints so I can dance tonight. See! That’s just crazy.
I signed up for the Nike Women’s Marathon. I’ll be doing the half. My goal this time (this will be my fifth time participating in this particular event) is to run all of it or come as close as I possibly can with three months of training. I had my first outdoor run today, after a very long hiatus. In fact, I believe the last time I ran outside was when I did the Nike last year… if you can call that running.
My knee still makes that crunchy noise, but it’s not going to stop and I accept that. Now the other knee is starting to make the same noise as well. Eh fuck it. As far as I know, this is the only life I’ve got so I’m going to run. It feels empowering to just go outside and run. I want to do it. I am going to do it. I don’t care what the damn doctors and trainers say. I am going to figure out a way to run that doesn’t make my knees hurt. Today, I tried a light tiptoe style. That seemed to work for the joints, but it makes me tired very quickly. I will have to condition myself to run that way. My knee feel absolutely fine right now, especially considering how tired I am from pushing myself all week.
I’m eating meat again. I had three weeks of vegetarian, and now I’m over it. At first I felt like I was starving all the time (and then bloated when I ate until satisfied). After I got used to the idea of eating more frequently, I was happy for a time. I felt light on my feet. I was sleeping better than I had in years. Although my strength and stamina didn’t seem to be improving, my recovery time was really fast. I couldn’t do as intense a workout as I was doing, but I could work out more frequently. I started doing a one at the office and then turning around and getting two more in the evenings at 24 Hour. Then I started back on the bike commuting and it all came crashing down. Apparently bike commuting is very difficult for me with a meatless diet. I began to get irritable and listless.
The first time I had meat again, I overslept the next morning. I don’t mean by a few minutes either! Meat makes me feel sluggish. It’s much more difficult for the body to process than fruits and veggies, so that makes sense. I just have to make sure I allow my body extra time to rest when I have meat. Although I miss feeling light and quick, I LOVE feeling strong and tough. I am trying to find a happy medium. So far I have determined that there will be no meat with dinner. I don’t want my body digesting meat when it should be sleeping.
That’s all for the update. Still nothing on the dating front. Well, maybe nothing – too early to tell right now.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Am I Black enough for you?
"She's not really Black." I didn't think too much about it when a friend I bowled with a few weeks ago told me that the woman who bowled in the lane next to us said it to him about me. I dismissed it as just her being ignorant, which really it is. However, I've heard this shit since I was a small child. You'd think that adults would get past that. Is it a sign of immaturity that this woman still thinks this way or is that a general consensus amongst full-blooded Black people that I have ignored?
Every other nationality that I interact with considers me Black. Most people don't even know I'm mixed. Sometimes Asian people notice it around the eyes, but it's pretty obvious by looking at me that I am of African descent. When asked what nationality I am on a form that only gives you one choice, I choose African American. I often forget that there are Black people who don’t consider me to be “really Black”. Mostly, I don’t hang out with people who say things like that as anything but jesting.
Well anyway, I just wrote it off. I figured I’d never see the woman again. Who cares what some random bowling alley woman thinks, right? Then when I did see her again I felt so disturbed by her. I wanted to say something, but what was there to say? I couldn’t think of anything except, “You’re ignorant”. I didn’t think that would go over very well.
Today, while out shopping with my mom, who is Filipino, I thought about it again. I thought about all the things I do with my hair, which is a strange combination of the two nationalities: frizzy and coarse in the center of my head, but smooth and fine along the edges near my face, ears and neck. I’ve tried texturizers to make the center hair limp so it lays down more similarly to the outer edges. I’ve tried cutting the edges shorter and fluffing the center up so that it makes an afro-type thing that always turns out lop-sided. I‘ve permed and hot-curled for years. “She’s not really Black” felt like I’d been slapped in the face. I mean, is being Black like having some exclusive membership? Is there some unspoken value to being Black that no other races are privy to?
Now I feel kinda sad for bowling alley woman. Living a life filled with labels sounds unnecessarily complicated.
Every other nationality that I interact with considers me Black. Most people don't even know I'm mixed. Sometimes Asian people notice it around the eyes, but it's pretty obvious by looking at me that I am of African descent. When asked what nationality I am on a form that only gives you one choice, I choose African American. I often forget that there are Black people who don’t consider me to be “really Black”. Mostly, I don’t hang out with people who say things like that as anything but jesting.
Well anyway, I just wrote it off. I figured I’d never see the woman again. Who cares what some random bowling alley woman thinks, right? Then when I did see her again I felt so disturbed by her. I wanted to say something, but what was there to say? I couldn’t think of anything except, “You’re ignorant”. I didn’t think that would go over very well.
Today, while out shopping with my mom, who is Filipino, I thought about it again. I thought about all the things I do with my hair, which is a strange combination of the two nationalities: frizzy and coarse in the center of my head, but smooth and fine along the edges near my face, ears and neck. I’ve tried texturizers to make the center hair limp so it lays down more similarly to the outer edges. I’ve tried cutting the edges shorter and fluffing the center up so that it makes an afro-type thing that always turns out lop-sided. I‘ve permed and hot-curled for years. “She’s not really Black” felt like I’d been slapped in the face. I mean, is being Black like having some exclusive membership? Is there some unspoken value to being Black that no other races are privy to?
Now I feel kinda sad for bowling alley woman. Living a life filled with labels sounds unnecessarily complicated.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Transformation Project: Assignment #1 - Get to Know All of My Neighbors
I’ve lived in this building since Halloween last year. I’ve met seven of the other twenty-nine plus residents here. I met one of the newer people at this past weekend’s Oaklavia street closure event. We were both volunteers. I recognized her electric bike because it has been locked to the staircase for a few weeks. I told her that it was nice to finally meet someone other than the people in the units next to mine. We agreed that this building is strangely anonymous. When I lived across the street, I’d at least seen every resident’s face and could strike up a conversation with about half of them. I was only there for about a year, and the man who lived next door to me was the hardest nut to crack. I actually had to take a bottle of wine to his door to get a “hello”! After that he just acknowledged me and smiled, but that seemed to be quite a breakthrough for him.
On one side, there’s the Cat Lady. She has two huge tabbies and she is extremely quiet. I never hear a TV or music or even voices from her side. Whenever I have people over, she always knocks on the door to ask us to be quiet. She may not be the ideal neighbor for me, but at least she talks. On the other side there is a young couple. From what I gather, they are college students and hip-hop dancers. They must have family who live relatively nearby because they are rarely around. When they are home, they are friendly and social. Cat Lady often goes over and asks them to be quiet too. Hip Hop Girl told me that she hates Cat Lady because she's always compaining about the noise. At the time, we were having an impromptu toast of ice cold cognac. I just managed to be passing by at the right moment to be included on the toast. Yes, these are my favorite neighbors. My first introduction to them was when they threw a party to raise money for a nonprofit that matches organ donations with needy recipients. How could I not like them?
Then there’s the really short older guy at the end of the hall. He used to have this crazy ass girlfriend whose temper was eventually her downfall. She has terrorized this building. He, on the other hand, seems perfectly serene. I don’t talk to him much though because I don’t want that crazy bitch chasing me with a kitchen knife! Yeah, she has done that. I thought they were the cutest little troll couple until she flipped out and the man had to lock her out of the gate to keep her from attacking her own niece. That particular incident reeks of questionable shenanigans, but my mind is far too twisted to even consider my version of what happened to be the truth.
On the other side of Hip Hop Duo, there’s this tall white guy who loves the Chargers. He seems to be a regular guy with a good sense of humor. I’ve run into him more than anyone else in this building. When I was going out a lot, he and I kept similar hours. I figure that’s gotta make Charger Fan someone who knows how to have a good time. I should introduce him to Cat Lady so he can mellow her out a little bit, but I get the feeling that she’d only turn her nose up at him anyway. I can’t fault her for that I guess. He is kinda geeky. I think she would be more receptive someone with charisma.
Maybe Cat Lady is a Christian or something – no booze, no sex, early to bed, early to rise, blah blah blah. I considered inviting her over for one of my video game parties, but then thought better of it because she might take me up on my offer and be the biggest buzzkill I ever met. Then what if she wanted to come over every time? She’s always at home, so I wouldn’t be able to avoid her crashing. Awkward! Best case scenario, however, would be if she loved the parties, got along with my friends and actually let her hair down once in a while. That would be so awesome. Hmmm. Maybe I’ll reconsider.
I've gotta figure out a way to swing this whole neighbor meet and greet. I need to get some face time with everyone. I can't do it all at once (going door to door) without looking like a freak. Maybe I can recruit some help from Hip Hop Duo, Charger Fan and Electric Bike. I really need to start by learning these people's names.
On one side, there’s the Cat Lady. She has two huge tabbies and she is extremely quiet. I never hear a TV or music or even voices from her side. Whenever I have people over, she always knocks on the door to ask us to be quiet. She may not be the ideal neighbor for me, but at least she talks. On the other side there is a young couple. From what I gather, they are college students and hip-hop dancers. They must have family who live relatively nearby because they are rarely around. When they are home, they are friendly and social. Cat Lady often goes over and asks them to be quiet too. Hip Hop Girl told me that she hates Cat Lady because she's always compaining about the noise. At the time, we were having an impromptu toast of ice cold cognac. I just managed to be passing by at the right moment to be included on the toast. Yes, these are my favorite neighbors. My first introduction to them was when they threw a party to raise money for a nonprofit that matches organ donations with needy recipients. How could I not like them?
Then there’s the really short older guy at the end of the hall. He used to have this crazy ass girlfriend whose temper was eventually her downfall. She has terrorized this building. He, on the other hand, seems perfectly serene. I don’t talk to him much though because I don’t want that crazy bitch chasing me with a kitchen knife! Yeah, she has done that. I thought they were the cutest little troll couple until she flipped out and the man had to lock her out of the gate to keep her from attacking her own niece. That particular incident reeks of questionable shenanigans, but my mind is far too twisted to even consider my version of what happened to be the truth.
On the other side of Hip Hop Duo, there’s this tall white guy who loves the Chargers. He seems to be a regular guy with a good sense of humor. I’ve run into him more than anyone else in this building. When I was going out a lot, he and I kept similar hours. I figure that’s gotta make Charger Fan someone who knows how to have a good time. I should introduce him to Cat Lady so he can mellow her out a little bit, but I get the feeling that she’d only turn her nose up at him anyway. I can’t fault her for that I guess. He is kinda geeky. I think she would be more receptive someone with charisma.
Maybe Cat Lady is a Christian or something – no booze, no sex, early to bed, early to rise, blah blah blah. I considered inviting her over for one of my video game parties, but then thought better of it because she might take me up on my offer and be the biggest buzzkill I ever met. Then what if she wanted to come over every time? She’s always at home, so I wouldn’t be able to avoid her crashing. Awkward! Best case scenario, however, would be if she loved the parties, got along with my friends and actually let her hair down once in a while. That would be so awesome. Hmmm. Maybe I’ll reconsider.
I've gotta figure out a way to swing this whole neighbor meet and greet. I need to get some face time with everyone. I can't do it all at once (going door to door) without looking like a freak. Maybe I can recruit some help from Hip Hop Duo, Charger Fan and Electric Bike. I really need to start by learning these people's names.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Fashion for Today's Shrinking Violet
I just confirmed for myself that this blog exists for a good reason. I hung out with some old Junior High schoolmates last night. I was okay at the time (probably because I was drinking), but now it makes me feel weird. I get this feeling like I don’t really know who I am when I’m with them. Naturally that’s crazy. I do know who I am, don’t I? I’m just a regular person who feels the same thing other people feel. I’m just a little bit insensitive sometimes. Isn’t everyone? I say things that are offensive sometimes. I often think they’re funny. Hell, they ARE funny! I just feel like there is so much I can’t say around them because they don’t think the shit I say is funny. That brings me back to my friend (what are we calling him? OMG or something stupid like that. OMB says that if I’m the only one laughing, then it wasn’t a joke. I asked, “What if I meant it to be a joke?”
“You didn’t.” He stated, rather matter-of-factly.
Is that true? Do I say mean things and then laugh in the person’s face after insulting them? Do I secretly want to insult people but cover it up with humor to make it seem harmless? Who does that? Do I really care so little for other people that I don’t give a damn who gets hurt? The strangest and most disturbing part of this train of thought is that I don’t know how to answer those questions. People tell me I’m a nice person all the time, but those are mostly the people who don’t know me that well or people that I love. Yes, I said love. I mean every kind of love. I wouldn’t torture the people I love, would I? Yeah, maybe. That is how I was raised. If you can’t punish those who love you, who can you punish? Sure that may be sick, but at least I’m not in denial about it like most people.
Then there’s the whole gender gap thing. Men find it endearing to heckle each other roundly. Women just…well, I don’t really get women. As a woman, that probably makes me some kind of weirdo. However, that is the plain and most honest truth I could ever speak. I DON’T GET WOMEN. I don’t understand what they expect from friendship. I expect my friends to:
pick me up when I’m stranded
calm me down before I do something irrational that may land me in jail or on Jerry Springer
provide me with a place to sleep if I need to spend the night
tell me when I’ve done something wrong, ESPECIALLY if I didn’t catch it myself
be honest and direct as much as humanly possible
expect the same in return
With most women I meet and try to be friends with, I can never really figure out why we’re friends. In other words, I don’t get the feeling that I can count on them for any of the things I listed above (or that I could even feel comfortable asking). With men, you know where you stand. It’s not a guessing game. When it comes to friendship, it really shouldn’t be. Seriously, life is hard enough.
Maybe I’m just mocking people and getting some selfish jollies out of it. Whatever the case, I’ve obsessed over it all damn day and I’m pretty much tired of thinking about it. I’ve already determined that trying to be more sensitive is not going well for me, so I’ll just resign to believing that those who are too sensitive to be my friends will just go away and find others to coddle them.
In the meantime, I still need to figure out some way to stop being so closed off to the world – emotionally. I’ve shrouded myself in aloofness so much that it has now been over six months since the last time I was even kissed. I’ve made no moves towards changing. In fact, I am more solitary with every passing week. With the exception of those I see every weekday, I don’t really socialize at all. Sure I go to clubs and dance, but rarely with anyone that I don’t already know and never with anyone showing some interest in me beyond that dance. It has come to a point where it makes me feel uncomfortable when I’m being pursued now. I dread that moment when I have to tell the guy to back off. The way I socialize with people is so often misread as purposeful flirting that I try to avoid more than polite interaction.
I sometimes fear that I will turn into a hermit, but that’s just crazy talk… isn’t it? Maybe it’s the moodiness from this traumatic and disgraceful BP oil spill that is now in its 53rd day. 53 DAYS!!!! It’s tragic. It’s the worst thing that we (humans who use and develop technology) have done. I’m ashamed of myself for being a dirty human. I am ashamed of us as a species. I suppose this is not the best frame of mind to be in when one is looking to rediscover themselves socially. Six months may as well be six years if it's not meant to be.
“You didn’t.” He stated, rather matter-of-factly.
Is that true? Do I say mean things and then laugh in the person’s face after insulting them? Do I secretly want to insult people but cover it up with humor to make it seem harmless? Who does that? Do I really care so little for other people that I don’t give a damn who gets hurt? The strangest and most disturbing part of this train of thought is that I don’t know how to answer those questions. People tell me I’m a nice person all the time, but those are mostly the people who don’t know me that well or people that I love. Yes, I said love. I mean every kind of love. I wouldn’t torture the people I love, would I? Yeah, maybe. That is how I was raised. If you can’t punish those who love you, who can you punish? Sure that may be sick, but at least I’m not in denial about it like most people.
Then there’s the whole gender gap thing. Men find it endearing to heckle each other roundly. Women just…well, I don’t really get women. As a woman, that probably makes me some kind of weirdo. However, that is the plain and most honest truth I could ever speak. I DON’T GET WOMEN. I don’t understand what they expect from friendship. I expect my friends to:
pick me up when I’m stranded
calm me down before I do something irrational that may land me in jail or on Jerry Springer
provide me with a place to sleep if I need to spend the night
tell me when I’ve done something wrong, ESPECIALLY if I didn’t catch it myself
be honest and direct as much as humanly possible
expect the same in return
With most women I meet and try to be friends with, I can never really figure out why we’re friends. In other words, I don’t get the feeling that I can count on them for any of the things I listed above (or that I could even feel comfortable asking). With men, you know where you stand. It’s not a guessing game. When it comes to friendship, it really shouldn’t be. Seriously, life is hard enough.
Maybe I’m just mocking people and getting some selfish jollies out of it. Whatever the case, I’ve obsessed over it all damn day and I’m pretty much tired of thinking about it. I’ve already determined that trying to be more sensitive is not going well for me, so I’ll just resign to believing that those who are too sensitive to be my friends will just go away and find others to coddle them.
In the meantime, I still need to figure out some way to stop being so closed off to the world – emotionally. I’ve shrouded myself in aloofness so much that it has now been over six months since the last time I was even kissed. I’ve made no moves towards changing. In fact, I am more solitary with every passing week. With the exception of those I see every weekday, I don’t really socialize at all. Sure I go to clubs and dance, but rarely with anyone that I don’t already know and never with anyone showing some interest in me beyond that dance. It has come to a point where it makes me feel uncomfortable when I’m being pursued now. I dread that moment when I have to tell the guy to back off. The way I socialize with people is so often misread as purposeful flirting that I try to avoid more than polite interaction.
I sometimes fear that I will turn into a hermit, but that’s just crazy talk… isn’t it? Maybe it’s the moodiness from this traumatic and disgraceful BP oil spill that is now in its 53rd day. 53 DAYS!!!! It’s tragic. It’s the worst thing that we (humans who use and develop technology) have done. I’m ashamed of myself for being a dirty human. I am ashamed of us as a species. I suppose this is not the best frame of mind to be in when one is looking to rediscover themselves socially. Six months may as well be six years if it's not meant to be.
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