This makes me so sad...
Monday, October 5, 2009
Sad
I sent my sister a couple of emails and most recently a letter and enclosed some class pictures of the girls. Never got a reply. I never do.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
I got it
For so very long, I toiled and despaired over my writing style. I finally understand it now though, how to tell my story without sticking to the formal writing styles. I need to do it my own way... express my thoughts and ideas in my own way. Write it and fuck it. It's what I do best.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
The best nickname ever
I knew this guy who was always fishing for reassurances and compliments. One of the things that he use to seek reassurances for was the size of his manhood. I dated him for a while, and while I hadn't thought he was inadequate, he certainly wasn't - um, overwhelming. I never said anything about it, because 1. I didn't care 2. because I didn't think it was anyone's business.
Apparently, though, other women he dated didn't think so. Issues concerning his size became a topic of discussion on two separate occasions. Once to me, and once to her sister, at least that I know of. I didn't say anything about it for a while though. I never mentioned it to anyone. That is until her sister and I went drinking, and she let it slip about her sister's complaint about the size of his penis, and since I had dated him too, she asked if it was true. I laughed and laughed and laughed. At this point I was annoyed with him, and I have no sense of loyalty to him whatsoever, but I never brought it up. I just never said anything, when I figured out that his current girlfriend was a paranoid psycho. Too bad her sister is my closest friend. Hence, the reason I never said anything except to bitch about my own issues. So, after I got over my hysterical laughing fit, I calmed down and explained to her that if her sister was really that into him, then she woulda just kept her mouth shut. She took that as confirmation, and we laughed even harder.
As the behavior and false intimacy of the paranoid psycho and the fisher started getting more and more annoying and bizarre, we just let our guard down and let our sarcasm take over... and boy did we come up some great nicknames. The best of which was STD (Stupid Tiny Dick). It was our way of venting and expressing how betrayed we both felt by someone so inconsequential. The best part about it, though, is that the nickname is totally appropriate and accurate.
It's a good thing that we don't see him, and I no longer see her. Otherwise I'd forget to call him by his proper name, and just keep referring to him as STD. At the very least, however, I suppose he can consider his fishing quest complete... he's penis is small, it's not even average, and yeah...I lied, I did fake it, almost every time.
Apparently, though, other women he dated didn't think so. Issues concerning his size became a topic of discussion on two separate occasions. Once to me, and once to her sister, at least that I know of. I didn't say anything about it for a while though. I never mentioned it to anyone. That is until her sister and I went drinking, and she let it slip about her sister's complaint about the size of his penis, and since I had dated him too, she asked if it was true. I laughed and laughed and laughed. At this point I was annoyed with him, and I have no sense of loyalty to him whatsoever, but I never brought it up. I just never said anything, when I figured out that his current girlfriend was a paranoid psycho. Too bad her sister is my closest friend. Hence, the reason I never said anything except to bitch about my own issues. So, after I got over my hysterical laughing fit, I calmed down and explained to her that if her sister was really that into him, then she woulda just kept her mouth shut. She took that as confirmation, and we laughed even harder.
As the behavior and false intimacy of the paranoid psycho and the fisher started getting more and more annoying and bizarre, we just let our guard down and let our sarcasm take over... and boy did we come up some great nicknames. The best of which was STD (Stupid Tiny Dick). It was our way of venting and expressing how betrayed we both felt by someone so inconsequential. The best part about it, though, is that the nickname is totally appropriate and accurate.
It's a good thing that we don't see him, and I no longer see her. Otherwise I'd forget to call him by his proper name, and just keep referring to him as STD. At the very least, however, I suppose he can consider his fishing quest complete... he's penis is small, it's not even average, and yeah...I lied, I did fake it, almost every time.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Annie Sprinkle
I recently picked up season 4 of Weeds. I'm too cheap to pay for the HBO/Showtime subscription, so I love TV shows on DVD. Anyway, Nancy was having a conversation with her sons and she quoted Annie Sprinkle!
I haven't thought of Annie Sprinkle in forever! I was 14 years old when I first read about Annie Sprinkle in a underground magazine. I can't quite remember the name of the magazine, but they had a "Gross Issue". It was thee most awesome issue ever in the history of publications. There was a column that told EMT's stories, and all the gory scenes and accidents that EMT's had to answer in emergency situations. Which was told in very graphic and explicit detail. It was awesome. There was editorial and feature stories about exhibitionists and fetishes. It wasn't porno. It was more like beyond porno. I am so the type of person that loves knowing all this stuff.
Well, Annie Sprinkle definitely was into weird shit (literally). She was a performance artist. The magazine ran an editorial about her, I think it was back in 1991. She talked about some of her performance art shows... people would pay to watch her have her period, she would make weird concoctions of meats and fruits (pretty much anything you can find) throw them in a blender and put them in a one of those icing bags, squeeze it into her ass, shit back out in pie crust, and eat it....ahahahaha.
That woman is hilarious. She's a former prostitute, porn star, PhD in sexology, and artist. I think they also did one of the HBO sex specials on her. She's extreme, she's funny, and she's honest.
I think it's good to have this kind of honesty around. More harm comes from ignoring things you wish didn't exist or don't want to acknowledge or understand, then it is to just confront it. Sex is one of those things for a lot of people. Just because you don't acknowledge something doesn't mean it doesn't exist, or that it can't affect you. It's better to deal with things head on and treat it with a little hearted sense of humor (within reason of course, like all consenting adults, no one gets hurt kind of thing). As disgusted as you might be about people like Annie Sprinkle... I think there are far far worse things brewing below the surface of normal conventional people. At the very least she makes me laugh. That goes a long way for me.
I haven't thought of Annie Sprinkle in forever! I was 14 years old when I first read about Annie Sprinkle in a underground magazine. I can't quite remember the name of the magazine, but they had a "Gross Issue". It was thee most awesome issue ever in the history of publications. There was a column that told EMT's stories, and all the gory scenes and accidents that EMT's had to answer in emergency situations. Which was told in very graphic and explicit detail. It was awesome. There was editorial and feature stories about exhibitionists and fetishes. It wasn't porno. It was more like beyond porno. I am so the type of person that loves knowing all this stuff.
Well, Annie Sprinkle definitely was into weird shit (literally). She was a performance artist. The magazine ran an editorial about her, I think it was back in 1991. She talked about some of her performance art shows... people would pay to watch her have her period, she would make weird concoctions of meats and fruits (pretty much anything you can find) throw them in a blender and put them in a one of those icing bags, squeeze it into her ass, shit back out in pie crust, and eat it....ahahahaha.
That woman is hilarious. She's a former prostitute, porn star, PhD in sexology, and artist. I think they also did one of the HBO sex specials on her. She's extreme, she's funny, and she's honest.
I think it's good to have this kind of honesty around. More harm comes from ignoring things you wish didn't exist or don't want to acknowledge or understand, then it is to just confront it. Sex is one of those things for a lot of people. Just because you don't acknowledge something doesn't mean it doesn't exist, or that it can't affect you. It's better to deal with things head on and treat it with a little hearted sense of humor (within reason of course, like all consenting adults, no one gets hurt kind of thing). As disgusted as you might be about people like Annie Sprinkle... I think there are far far worse things brewing below the surface of normal conventional people. At the very least she makes me laugh. That goes a long way for me.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Unblocking writer's block
I've read more than a dozen books in a period of 3 months. I've been trying really hard to read everything I can to keep my mind open and going while I write my book. I'm writing fiction, so I read non-fiction, memoirs, fantasy/sci-fi novels, mysteries, newspapers, magazines, young adult novels, children's books, poetry, philosophy, plays... jesus, I think I read more in the last few months than I did my entire college career.
My book is progressing, and evolving. I know the story, and I now how to write it. It's just hard sometimes to sort it out in a descriptive way. I worry about little things, like am I moving too quickly, am I not moving fast enough, does this need to be developed more. I think it about constantly, and it's the only thing on my mind. I swear if this was a man, I'd would have been obsessed and arrested for stalking. I don't know how Nikolai puts up with me and my inability to move away from my computer and office for 12 hours out of the day. I only really stop to eat, work-out, and sleep. There are occasions when I realize I hadn't left the house in days. How sad is that?
Despite this commitment I've made to myself, the distractions are endless. Children are too fun to just keep writing non-stop sometimes. They crack me up. Malena, she's got free dress this week and she has been doing such a good job accessorizing her outfits with scarves and boots...hehehehe. Layla? She's just awesome and hilarious all the way around. So, the writing isn't moving as quickly as I would like, but I'm getting there.
Sucks having writer's block for the last 2 weeks. I think I'm good now though. I finished another chapter, and am excited to get to the next. I usually have this big conclusion at the end of my entries, but I think I'm just trying to sort out what I'm doing, remember why I'm doing it, and keep on doing it. Seems self defeating to write about having writer's block, but there you have it...I'm self defeating.
My book is progressing, and evolving. I know the story, and I now how to write it. It's just hard sometimes to sort it out in a descriptive way. I worry about little things, like am I moving too quickly, am I not moving fast enough, does this need to be developed more. I think it about constantly, and it's the only thing on my mind. I swear if this was a man, I'd would have been obsessed and arrested for stalking. I don't know how Nikolai puts up with me and my inability to move away from my computer and office for 12 hours out of the day. I only really stop to eat, work-out, and sleep. There are occasions when I realize I hadn't left the house in days. How sad is that?
Despite this commitment I've made to myself, the distractions are endless. Children are too fun to just keep writing non-stop sometimes. They crack me up. Malena, she's got free dress this week and she has been doing such a good job accessorizing her outfits with scarves and boots...hehehehe. Layla? She's just awesome and hilarious all the way around. So, the writing isn't moving as quickly as I would like, but I'm getting there.
Sucks having writer's block for the last 2 weeks. I think I'm good now though. I finished another chapter, and am excited to get to the next. I usually have this big conclusion at the end of my entries, but I think I'm just trying to sort out what I'm doing, remember why I'm doing it, and keep on doing it. Seems self defeating to write about having writer's block, but there you have it...I'm self defeating.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Sway
And she swayed to and fro
As she walked in and out of the room,
All eyes on her.
Her movements,
The shifting of her round hips,
Rotating her ass with each step.
Everyone knew this walk,
Everyone knew what each sway of her hips implied,
And what it would mean if you could get her alone.
Jo.-
May 30, 2009
As she walked in and out of the room,
All eyes on her.
Her movements,
The shifting of her round hips,
Rotating her ass with each step.
Everyone knew this walk,
Everyone knew what each sway of her hips implied,
And what it would mean if you could get her alone.
Jo.-
May 30, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Art of smoking...
An excerpt from the book I'm writing:
She leaned her side against the wall, took a deep drag, and exhaled the stingingly sweet smoke from her lungs out of her nose and mouth.
Clara perfected the art of smoking, and she thought about her actions deliberately and carefully each time she lit up. She loved it. She loved the look of it, the smell, the way it felt between her index finger and middle finger, always between the top and middle knuckle. It always irritated her to watch people who socially smoke holding a cigarette like it there’s a bomb between their fingers and a stiff hand. Stiff hands are always a dead give away, when you were dealing with a novice smoker. That and the way they took a drag.
Clara liked to let the thick tendrils of smoke creep out of her nose and mouth, draw it back into her lungs, and then blow it out in a long steady stream. When an "amateur" smokes, it's always a quick drag. Then they hold the smoke their mouths, never taking it into their lungs, until they practically spit the smoke out. Why bother, if you aren’t going to learn to appreciate it?
"Ok, so maybe I take smoking entirely too seriously," she thought sarcastically and smiled to herself as she watched the cherry burn and creep up the cigarette paper turning everything in its path into ash, "Like a fucking metaphor for exactly who i am..." she thought. Being a good girl was tough for someone who can’t help being bad.
She leaned her side against the wall, took a deep drag, and exhaled the stingingly sweet smoke from her lungs out of her nose and mouth.
Clara perfected the art of smoking, and she thought about her actions deliberately and carefully each time she lit up. She loved it. She loved the look of it, the smell, the way it felt between her index finger and middle finger, always between the top and middle knuckle. It always irritated her to watch people who socially smoke holding a cigarette like it there’s a bomb between their fingers and a stiff hand. Stiff hands are always a dead give away, when you were dealing with a novice smoker. That and the way they took a drag.
Clara liked to let the thick tendrils of smoke creep out of her nose and mouth, draw it back into her lungs, and then blow it out in a long steady stream. When an "amateur" smokes, it's always a quick drag. Then they hold the smoke their mouths, never taking it into their lungs, until they practically spit the smoke out. Why bother, if you aren’t going to learn to appreciate it?
"Ok, so maybe I take smoking entirely too seriously," she thought sarcastically and smiled to herself as she watched the cherry burn and creep up the cigarette paper turning everything in its path into ash, "Like a fucking metaphor for exactly who i am..." she thought. Being a good girl was tough for someone who can’t help being bad.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Stupid Quizzes
I've been taking those quizzes about what certain things define me. Ugh, I hate them. I got Wuthering Heights in the latest one. The one book I obsessed over for decades. Stupid book, that I love so much. And of course this would be my most favorite part:
"I cannot express it; but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is or should be an existence of yours beyond you. What were the use of my creation, if I were entirely contained here? My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it.—My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being."
Aww, now I have to go back and read the book again for like the umpteenth time. Reading Wuthering Heights is like sweet torture.
"I cannot express it; but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is or should be an existence of yours beyond you. What were the use of my creation, if I were entirely contained here? My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it.—My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being."
Aww, now I have to go back and read the book again for like the umpteenth time. Reading Wuthering Heights is like sweet torture.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Reading Writing Remembering
It all feels like such a joke, but I feel so happy when I finish writing a chapter. I'm consuming book after book like it was crack, and I can't turn my brain off for shit. I'm also constantly haunted by images of my past. It's coming at me in waves. I want to ask questions and find out answers about my life, but I can't. There isn't anyone to ask anymore.
I'm feeling like a pariah, a recluse. I want an apology, that I know will never come, and if it did... it's too late. It would be empty and worthless. It's so sad to see someone you love so much...and know they don't see themselves.
I'm purposely reading books written by women, and I"m finding that there is an underlying emotion behind a lot of broken characters. I find a lot of parallels.
He thinks he's a young bright thing, that someday someone will save him from his self-loathing. He thinks if he confesses his sins at the start, that if the woman knows what she's getting into, then that somehow proves how much she loves him. If she doesn't accept it then he's just nipping in the bud whatever real relationship that can develop on its own terms. What he doesn't understand is that all that invokes in a woman is either to love a broken one-legged dog or realize what a pathetic weakling he is. Either way it turns out, it's all true. He feeds off the love, sucks it dry, because he knows he can never be the man she's hopes he can be. It's silly, but women want to be the one that saves a broken man... but the only thing that can save a broken man is himself. No one can save him. EVER.
This is what I have relive every time I write.
I'm feeling like a pariah, a recluse. I want an apology, that I know will never come, and if it did... it's too late. It would be empty and worthless. It's so sad to see someone you love so much...and know they don't see themselves.
I'm purposely reading books written by women, and I"m finding that there is an underlying emotion behind a lot of broken characters. I find a lot of parallels.
He thinks he's a young bright thing, that someday someone will save him from his self-loathing. He thinks if he confesses his sins at the start, that if the woman knows what she's getting into, then that somehow proves how much she loves him. If she doesn't accept it then he's just nipping in the bud whatever real relationship that can develop on its own terms. What he doesn't understand is that all that invokes in a woman is either to love a broken one-legged dog or realize what a pathetic weakling he is. Either way it turns out, it's all true. He feeds off the love, sucks it dry, because he knows he can never be the man she's hopes he can be. It's silly, but women want to be the one that saves a broken man... but the only thing that can save a broken man is himself. No one can save him. EVER.
This is what I have relive every time I write.
Monday, April 27, 2009
8th grade life, no life...
My parents are cleaning out their house and have stored away many of the books that I left behind. I had more than 400 books at my mom's house. Everything from children's books from the 70s to all of my books from college. Among them were some of the journals I would keep, dating back to 2nd grade. It's so weird to read them again. But what's even weirder is that I found a journal that I used to write my stories and poetry in.
One of the poems was Satan's Scream, which I've posted before. The other was a story that I never finished about a group of high school friends who learn that one of their friends has a dark history filled with suicide and accidental deaths. They find out about his past from a new and mysterious kid at school. The friend with the dark past had moved away because he was sure that his best friend's suicide and his girlfriend's car accidents were murders. He was convinced he was next. So, he moved started a new life and never spoke about his past to his new group of friends.
I wish I had finished the story. The writing was juvenile, but the story and plot were actually pretty good. I was tripping out. I didn't use a computer, I would write everything down, and it wasn't the best way to write a story. I was 13, and I didn't have any patience. I was filled with happy nostalgia reading the story. I didn't do much as a kid or teenage, except write and read, so my memories are inside the volumes upon volumes of journals that I kept over the years, and rereading some of the favorite books I had as a child. It's kinda fun, and a little pathetic that I didn't have much of a life.
One of the poems was Satan's Scream, which I've posted before. The other was a story that I never finished about a group of high school friends who learn that one of their friends has a dark history filled with suicide and accidental deaths. They find out about his past from a new and mysterious kid at school. The friend with the dark past had moved away because he was sure that his best friend's suicide and his girlfriend's car accidents were murders. He was convinced he was next. So, he moved started a new life and never spoke about his past to his new group of friends.
I wish I had finished the story. The writing was juvenile, but the story and plot were actually pretty good. I was tripping out. I didn't use a computer, I would write everything down, and it wasn't the best way to write a story. I was 13, and I didn't have any patience. I was filled with happy nostalgia reading the story. I didn't do much as a kid or teenage, except write and read, so my memories are inside the volumes upon volumes of journals that I kept over the years, and rereading some of the favorite books I had as a child. It's kinda fun, and a little pathetic that I didn't have much of a life.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
I consider myself a pretty tolerant person. So long as you appear sincere and logical, and you have no intentions of hurting yourself or anyone else, then I'm pretty much okay with how most people live their lives. People who lie to themselves are the most intolerable people. People who can never admit that they are wrong or inflexible with their thinking, narrow, close-minded... they are the ones that I mostly take issue with me.
I was reading a book, and I came across something that really broke down how I felt about a recently falling out I had. A very significant falling-out...
The conversation takes place after an argument between old friends, where one attacks the moral character of the other. Basically, the friend is judgmental and critical about the way the main character is living her life. Another friend sees the encounter and as an unbiased third party makes a pretty accurate assessment about the situation...
"She's a whore, that one," Pam said.
I pulled out a Kleenex out of my purse to blot my tears. I often cried when I got angry; I hated that. Crying just made you look weak, no matter what triggered it....
"I wouldn't call her a whore, but she's truly not careful as she might be about who she goes with," I admitted.
"Why do you defend her?"
"Habit," I said. "We were friends for years and years."
"What did she do for you with her friendship? What benefit was there?"
"She..." I had to stop and think. "I guess I was just able to say I had a friend. I cared about her kids, and I helped her out with them. When she couldn't work, I'd take her hours, and if she worked for , I'd clean her trailer in return. She come see me if I was sick and bring me food. Most of all, she was tolerant of my differences."
"She used you, and yet you feel grateful, " Pam said. Her expressionless white face game me no clue to her feelings.
"Listen, Pam, it wasn't like that."
"How was it, Sookie?"
"She really did like me. We really did have some good times."
"She's lazy. That extends to her friendships. If it's easy to be friendly, she will be. If the wind blows another way, her friendship will be gone. And I'm thinking the wind is blowing the other way. She has found some other way to be an important person in her own right, by hating you." - from All Together Dead by Charlaine Harris.
That pretty much sums up how he is. He uses people, and then he finds someone else to use until they are completely useless to him, and then he moves on. Never really giving back what he takes, and never really understanding respect and loyalty to others. He can never be a part of anything, because he never really belongs anywhere. There are no good qualities about him, because he has to constantly remind himself of his manners and consideration of others. Good people, don't even have to try. It just comes naturally. He is the kind of person to kick you when you are down, and throw things in your face because he doesn't know how to articulate his feelings. I mean, I've actually seen him throw a tantrum. It's an amazing thing to watch a grown man throw a tantrum. He's like a lost 5 year old trapped in a 35 year old man. It's sad and it's pathetic.
I'm glad to accept the fact that he just doesn't belong in my life, and I am sorry to have extended my generosity and love in vain. I can't even say I wish him well, because even that would be a wasted wish...
I was reading a book, and I came across something that really broke down how I felt about a recently falling out I had. A very significant falling-out...
The conversation takes place after an argument between old friends, where one attacks the moral character of the other. Basically, the friend is judgmental and critical about the way the main character is living her life. Another friend sees the encounter and as an unbiased third party makes a pretty accurate assessment about the situation...
"She's a whore, that one," Pam said.
I pulled out a Kleenex out of my purse to blot my tears. I often cried when I got angry; I hated that. Crying just made you look weak, no matter what triggered it....
"I wouldn't call her a whore, but she's truly not careful as she might be about who she goes with," I admitted.
"Why do you defend her?"
"Habit," I said. "We were friends for years and years."
"What did she do for you with her friendship? What benefit was there?"
"She..." I had to stop and think. "I guess I was just able to say I had a friend. I cared about her kids, and I helped her out with them. When she couldn't work, I'd take her hours, and if she worked for , I'd clean her trailer in return. She come see me if I was sick and bring me food. Most of all, she was tolerant of my differences."
"She used you, and yet you feel grateful, " Pam said. Her expressionless white face game me no clue to her feelings.
"Listen, Pam, it wasn't like that."
"How was it, Sookie?"
"She really did like me. We really did have some good times."
"She's lazy. That extends to her friendships. If it's easy to be friendly, she will be. If the wind blows another way, her friendship will be gone. And I'm thinking the wind is blowing the other way. She has found some other way to be an important person in her own right, by hating you." - from All Together Dead by Charlaine Harris.
That pretty much sums up how he is. He uses people, and then he finds someone else to use until they are completely useless to him, and then he moves on. Never really giving back what he takes, and never really understanding respect and loyalty to others. He can never be a part of anything, because he never really belongs anywhere. There are no good qualities about him, because he has to constantly remind himself of his manners and consideration of others. Good people, don't even have to try. It just comes naturally. He is the kind of person to kick you when you are down, and throw things in your face because he doesn't know how to articulate his feelings. I mean, I've actually seen him throw a tantrum. It's an amazing thing to watch a grown man throw a tantrum. He's like a lost 5 year old trapped in a 35 year old man. It's sad and it's pathetic.
I'm glad to accept the fact that he just doesn't belong in my life, and I am sorry to have extended my generosity and love in vain. I can't even say I wish him well, because even that would be a wasted wish...
Monday, February 23, 2009
Haze
Sitting in the backseat of a car, close to dawn, when it's not quite dark, but it isn't quite day break... just a hazy grey light filling the atmosphere. I should be tired, but it was one of those nights that you know you'll remember forever, maybe not in detail, but that feeling... and my mind won't rest because you feel that perfect moment of contemplation. I could feel the effects my alcohol binge literally evaporating at the back of my throat, and it feels like it's coming out of my eyes. But I'm happy. I'm happy because it was good times.
I had one of those nights when I was with my friends, we partied, I met a boy, I fell in love with him, I loved him for about 2 hours, and then I fell out of love with him. I threw a drink at a girl on the dance floor, and I can't quite remember why... We laughed and we stumbled all over the place in 4 inch heels, I held back my friend's hair as she threw up behind a bush.
I remember going to an after hours club, falling down a set of stairs... like literally all the way down the stairs... jumping up when I hit the bottom and announcing that I had to pee... so I did. I dropped trou, squatted down, started peeing. Then BOOM, the doors of the club open and everyone comes filing out. Was it wrong that it was kinda kinky peeing in public in front of an audience? I don't know... I was wasted. So, I just kept peeing, smiled and waved at everyone as they walked by.
There are so few moments of true mindless nonsense and meaningless happiness that are this genuine. There are so few moments in your life you're actually allowed to be this stupid. Because before you know it, life happens and it's like someone pushed fast forward and your youth ends... and your other life begins. There are moments upon moments of happiness in my life. Different types of happiness, and many moments of complete perfection, existing all in synchronicity with my low and painful moments... and this memory of that hazy morning was one of stupid joy for me. I had stop and write it down before it becomes of those things I forget to think about.
I had one of those nights when I was with my friends, we partied, I met a boy, I fell in love with him, I loved him for about 2 hours, and then I fell out of love with him. I threw a drink at a girl on the dance floor, and I can't quite remember why... We laughed and we stumbled all over the place in 4 inch heels, I held back my friend's hair as she threw up behind a bush.
I remember going to an after hours club, falling down a set of stairs... like literally all the way down the stairs... jumping up when I hit the bottom and announcing that I had to pee... so I did. I dropped trou, squatted down, started peeing. Then BOOM, the doors of the club open and everyone comes filing out. Was it wrong that it was kinda kinky peeing in public in front of an audience? I don't know... I was wasted. So, I just kept peeing, smiled and waved at everyone as they walked by.
There are so few moments of true mindless nonsense and meaningless happiness that are this genuine. There are so few moments in your life you're actually allowed to be this stupid. Because before you know it, life happens and it's like someone pushed fast forward and your youth ends... and your other life begins. There are moments upon moments of happiness in my life. Different types of happiness, and many moments of complete perfection, existing all in synchronicity with my low and painful moments... and this memory of that hazy morning was one of stupid joy for me. I had stop and write it down before it becomes of those things I forget to think about.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Amy
Once upon a time, I met a girl ...her name was Amy. She was beautiful. She had an Aeon Flux body (the cartoon not the movie), a perfect face, bobbed jet black hair, and perfect milky skin. I remember her so well because she was the tallest girl I'd every seen. She was dressed up in vinyl booty shorts, vinyl halter vest and thigh high boots. She definitely made me feel homily, but that is easy to do considering my sexy outfits pretty much consist of t-shirts and jeans.
We were in a run down apartment building in Hollywood to pick up our new friends (Amy and her boyfriend Mani). Their apartment contained a dirty futon, against the wall, a cheap glass coffee table with dirty cups, glass pipes, and fast food wrappers scattered across the top of it. There was also a cat, and upon further observation, little piles of cat shit in the corners of the room. I was unaware, until we got there, that we were supposed to buy speed for my roommate. I also just realized that I was finally visiting my first crack house in Hollywood! oh yay!
Amy offered me a seat while my roommate and Mani went to the back to "conduct business". I sat on the floor, against the wall, facing the open front door, which let in the only light in their apartment from the hallway. There was a crazy black man kicking a six pack of beer down the hall muttering to him self, "I'm fucking cutting him, motherfucker...fucking motherfucker thinks he can fuck with me....fucker". He paused in front of Mani and Amy's open door way, looked inside at Amy and me sitting against the wall, and waved. We waved back. Then he continued to kick the six pack down the hall and muttering away.
Aside from Mani's speed dealing business, Amy also starred in only girl-girl porn, because "Mani would get jealous if I were with another guy on film. And if I did do a guy, I could only do it up the ass." Hmm, good to know.
We began talking. She started talking about her cat, doing porn, never touching speed because it messed her up pretty good, growing up in Washington, running away the year before, and how she met Mani who was her boyfriend/pimp and 18 years older than her. I listened, as I always do. I nodded when it was appropriate, tried not to act to shocked in certain parts of her ramblings, and sympathetic when expected...but finally, I had to ask, "How old are you Amy?"
"I'm 17."
We were in a run down apartment building in Hollywood to pick up our new friends (Amy and her boyfriend Mani). Their apartment contained a dirty futon, against the wall, a cheap glass coffee table with dirty cups, glass pipes, and fast food wrappers scattered across the top of it. There was also a cat, and upon further observation, little piles of cat shit in the corners of the room. I was unaware, until we got there, that we were supposed to buy speed for my roommate. I also just realized that I was finally visiting my first crack house in Hollywood! oh yay!
Amy offered me a seat while my roommate and Mani went to the back to "conduct business". I sat on the floor, against the wall, facing the open front door, which let in the only light in their apartment from the hallway. There was a crazy black man kicking a six pack of beer down the hall muttering to him self, "I'm fucking cutting him, motherfucker...fucking motherfucker thinks he can fuck with me....fucker". He paused in front of Mani and Amy's open door way, looked inside at Amy and me sitting against the wall, and waved. We waved back. Then he continued to kick the six pack down the hall and muttering away.
Aside from Mani's speed dealing business, Amy also starred in only girl-girl porn, because "Mani would get jealous if I were with another guy on film. And if I did do a guy, I could only do it up the ass." Hmm, good to know.
We began talking. She started talking about her cat, doing porn, never touching speed because it messed her up pretty good, growing up in Washington, running away the year before, and how she met Mani who was her boyfriend/pimp and 18 years older than her. I listened, as I always do. I nodded when it was appropriate, tried not to act to shocked in certain parts of her ramblings, and sympathetic when expected...but finally, I had to ask, "How old are you Amy?"
"I'm 17."
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Unstoppable meets Immovable
When I was 17 I started dating Nikolai. I met him way before that, but we didn't actually start dating him until a fews years later. I'm crazy, in the way that isn't conventional or cute. More like, I'm pretty fucked up in the head. Nikolai likes crazy fucked up in the head chicks though. I guess because he never knows what I'm going to do next. College was an adventure for us both, and while we may have strayed away from each other, he's always been there for me even if he hated himself for it. There has never been anyone who has ever loved me so completely and perfectly as he has all these years.
The funny thing is, we go through our highs and lows. We go through moments when things aren't so great, and maybe we can see our lives heading in different directions and we at times when fight like crazy, but there has always been the one thing that remains true... the thing that happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object ... we love each other so passionately and so truly that it has always been a constant in our life together. No matter who I was with, no matter who I may have loved throughout my life... Nikolai is the only person I have ever been completely in love with all the time. It's true, that you cannot define yourself by one person your whole life, but there can be the one person who will always be there for you now matter how stupid or bad you may be, and Nikolai has always been that to me.
It's fun watching people trying to figure me out. It's even more fun watching them trying to figure out Nikolai. He's easy, at least to me. You can pretty much assume what he tells you is true, because it usually is. Occasionally, he will form an opinion about what you say after he's had a moment or two to digest what you mean. For the most part, what you see is what you get with him. I like that, because it's the opposite of me. I mean, I will tell you the truth if you ask... it's just that most people are afraid to ask. I don't know why...I'm not mean. Just direct and sarcastic, which I guess could be easily interpreted as being an unsympathetic asshole.
Ok, so maybe the latter is more true, but I never said I was perfect. Far far far from it, actually. But I do what Nikolai tells me to do for the most part. If he tells me something private about a person or situation and asks me not to say anything, I don't. If he tells me to stop directing the blame at him for something isn't his fault, I do. If he tells me that someone is spreading lies about what I said or didn't say, and he wants me to just ignore it to save the trouble, I do. Always. Rumors always end with Nikolai.
Which is why I never feel the need to justify my beliefs or actions to anyone, even if what they believe is wrong or just a flat out lie. I just let it go. I figure people need to believe certain things to make them be able to stand themselves... to justify themselves to themselves. The hardest thing anyone has to do, is to live with their own mistakes and shortcomings. Lying to yourself... well that just makes facing yourself a little easier.
The funny thing is, we go through our highs and lows. We go through moments when things aren't so great, and maybe we can see our lives heading in different directions and we at times when fight like crazy, but there has always been the one thing that remains true... the thing that happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object ... we love each other so passionately and so truly that it has always been a constant in our life together. No matter who I was with, no matter who I may have loved throughout my life... Nikolai is the only person I have ever been completely in love with all the time. It's true, that you cannot define yourself by one person your whole life, but there can be the one person who will always be there for you now matter how stupid or bad you may be, and Nikolai has always been that to me.
It's fun watching people trying to figure me out. It's even more fun watching them trying to figure out Nikolai. He's easy, at least to me. You can pretty much assume what he tells you is true, because it usually is. Occasionally, he will form an opinion about what you say after he's had a moment or two to digest what you mean. For the most part, what you see is what you get with him. I like that, because it's the opposite of me. I mean, I will tell you the truth if you ask... it's just that most people are afraid to ask. I don't know why...I'm not mean. Just direct and sarcastic, which I guess could be easily interpreted as being an unsympathetic asshole.
Ok, so maybe the latter is more true, but I never said I was perfect. Far far far from it, actually. But I do what Nikolai tells me to do for the most part. If he tells me something private about a person or situation and asks me not to say anything, I don't. If he tells me to stop directing the blame at him for something isn't his fault, I do. If he tells me that someone is spreading lies about what I said or didn't say, and he wants me to just ignore it to save the trouble, I do. Always. Rumors always end with Nikolai.
Which is why I never feel the need to justify my beliefs or actions to anyone, even if what they believe is wrong or just a flat out lie. I just let it go. I figure people need to believe certain things to make them be able to stand themselves... to justify themselves to themselves. The hardest thing anyone has to do, is to live with their own mistakes and shortcomings. Lying to yourself... well that just makes facing yourself a little easier.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Satan's Scream
We are all in the hearts of sorrow and desperation
Scraping and screaming, feeling its manifestation
Obsession take control of our minds and hearts
Rolling us away in meat carts
We feel the sorrow
We feel the love
We feel Satan's scream
Like an evil dove
Jo.-
Written in 1990
Scraping and screaming, feeling its manifestation
Obsession take control of our minds and hearts
Rolling us away in meat carts
We feel the sorrow
We feel the love
We feel Satan's scream
Like an evil dove
Jo.-
Written in 1990
Blog Observations
I always think its weird that people never have anything bad to say on most of the stuff I read... and I can never think of anything good. I have all these weird insights and perceptions, but they do me no good in most realities and situations. I know a lot more than I say, and I mind most things more than I let on. I think Nikolai is the only person who comes close to to being... I guess, close to me. He's the only one I trust, when it comes to knowing anything about me. The only one who isn't afraid of my vicious mind.
Most people, I find, just like talking about themselves. They may be interested in what I have to say, but only in a way that pertains to them and their own crisis. At this point in my life, I'm learning more and more to just keep my mouth shut. But where does that leave me?
Most people, I find, just like talking about themselves. They may be interested in what I have to say, but only in a way that pertains to them and their own crisis. At this point in my life, I'm learning more and more to just keep my mouth shut. But where does that leave me?
Yoda of Interview Campfires
I was in an interview recently. They interviewed us in a group, which was a weird experience. But there was a question that kinda stuck with me... and it was interesting to hear other people's answers (you know, in the way, that it was completely not interesting). "How do you, as a manager, keep someone or your team motivated and keep conflicts to a minimum, especially on difficult projects?"
The premise was superficial... and so were most of the answers..."Oh, I try to keep them focused on our goal... I try to remind them of their rewards...blah blah blah". I was bored, watching everyone in their stuffy outfits, bad shoes, and even worse hair (I really believe that hair clips should be banned from formal interview attire).
Then my turn came around. "And how would you approach this type of situation, Ms. Damian"
"Well, I find when people are unhappy, especially with work, they mostly just want to be heard. Most people seek out someone who can relate and understand why they are unhappy. If an unhappy employee can express their concerns or unhappiness to their managers, and have some sense that they understand who they are, and that they are more than who they are during work hours... it can make a big difference between having an unhappy employee and a motivated loyal employee. So, I listen. It has worked for me so far."
I don't know if it was a good answer. I just know that everyone got really quiet and starred at me like my left tit popped out of my blouse. Well, whose bad idea was it anyway, to interview people in this way, for an upper management position, no less. It's a sure fire way to invoke artificial and disingenuous response. It's also a little degrading, interviewing people like it was some sort of campfire. I figured an insightful response would throw people off.
The premise was superficial... and so were most of the answers..."Oh, I try to keep them focused on our goal... I try to remind them of their rewards...blah blah blah". I was bored, watching everyone in their stuffy outfits, bad shoes, and even worse hair (I really believe that hair clips should be banned from formal interview attire).
Then my turn came around. "And how would you approach this type of situation, Ms. Damian"
"Well, I find when people are unhappy, especially with work, they mostly just want to be heard. Most people seek out someone who can relate and understand why they are unhappy. If an unhappy employee can express their concerns or unhappiness to their managers, and have some sense that they understand who they are, and that they are more than who they are during work hours... it can make a big difference between having an unhappy employee and a motivated loyal employee. So, I listen. It has worked for me so far."
I don't know if it was a good answer. I just know that everyone got really quiet and starred at me like my left tit popped out of my blouse. Well, whose bad idea was it anyway, to interview people in this way, for an upper management position, no less. It's a sure fire way to invoke artificial and disingenuous response. It's also a little degrading, interviewing people like it was some sort of campfire. I figured an insightful response would throw people off.
Lové
My best friend is the most spectacular person in the world. I emulate her because she embodies everything I would like to be. She's tactful, graceful, brilliant, beautiful, and successful. Even her name is lovely.... She and I attended LMU together, and I hated her when we first met. She was more brilliant a writer than I could ever hope to be, and while we were never competitive, she makes me want to be a better person. She's a bitch to watch Jeopardy with, because she knows every fucking answer. We really have nothing in common on the surface, but I love her more than words will ever express. She was with me through my darkest times and is a huge reason why I pulled through them.
She was my roommate, my maid of honor, she was there at the birth of both of my daughters, and second in my heart only to my children (equal to and sometime comes before Nikolai). Even if we don't speak for months, it always seems like time never passed when we do start talking again. And when things go wrong in my life...I can't make things right until I talk to her.
She called me yesterday and informed me that I would be her Maid(en) of Honor. I've never even been a bridesmaid. My girlfriends never get married, and when they do, I'm not really close enough to them to be considered. Which is great for me, since I generally hate weddings.
Actually, we both hate weddings. They usually aren't what they are suppose to be. They turn out to be an annoying precession of events that completely alienate guests... kind of like watching slideshows of people's vacations at the Grand Canyon. Basically, a lot of weddings are like torture. There are exceptions of course.
Marriage, in general, is something that I am wary of. While I'm happily married (about 85% of the time, hehe)...it's probably the hardest thing I've ever done. Being a mom is easy and natural, but staying married is a challenge. Nikolai and I went into it blindly and forced into it in a lot of ways... but here we are making up our own rules as we go along and have faith in our love and our family. We are grateful that we love each other more than we ever have in the almost 14 years we've been in one another's lives.
For Stefana and Steve, I have never been happier about two people getting married. During her Maid of Honor speech at my wedding 8 years ago, Stefana said, "The two of you were a foregone conclusion…" Well their wedding day is the same. Their love is unique and genuine, and it breaks all the rules… and it's perfect. They are perfect for each other, and I adore them beyond measure. I am honored to be a part of their lives, and share their wedding day with them. Te ubesc!
She was my roommate, my maid of honor, she was there at the birth of both of my daughters, and second in my heart only to my children (equal to and sometime comes before Nikolai). Even if we don't speak for months, it always seems like time never passed when we do start talking again. And when things go wrong in my life...I can't make things right until I talk to her.
She called me yesterday and informed me that I would be her Maid(en) of Honor. I've never even been a bridesmaid. My girlfriends never get married, and when they do, I'm not really close enough to them to be considered. Which is great for me, since I generally hate weddings.
Actually, we both hate weddings. They usually aren't what they are suppose to be. They turn out to be an annoying precession of events that completely alienate guests... kind of like watching slideshows of people's vacations at the Grand Canyon. Basically, a lot of weddings are like torture. There are exceptions of course.
Marriage, in general, is something that I am wary of. While I'm happily married (about 85% of the time, hehe)...it's probably the hardest thing I've ever done. Being a mom is easy and natural, but staying married is a challenge. Nikolai and I went into it blindly and forced into it in a lot of ways... but here we are making up our own rules as we go along and have faith in our love and our family. We are grateful that we love each other more than we ever have in the almost 14 years we've been in one another's lives.
For Stefana and Steve, I have never been happier about two people getting married. During her Maid of Honor speech at my wedding 8 years ago, Stefana said, "The two of you were a foregone conclusion…" Well their wedding day is the same. Their love is unique and genuine, and it breaks all the rules… and it's perfect. They are perfect for each other, and I adore them beyond measure. I am honored to be a part of their lives, and share their wedding day with them. Te ubesc!
Disconcerting Marriage Advise
Nikolai and I recently had our 8 year wedding anniversary. Many of our friends have been asking how we last so long and get along so well. Others...mainly family members...are waiting for our marriage to implode so they can tell us "I told you so! See what you get for marrying that crazy whore!" Personally, I can't wait for that day! At least that way everyone can just be honest about the way they feel about me in the first place. I like honesty.
Ok so mainly Nikolai and I get along for pretty obvious reasons. We try to be drunk about 90% of the time we are alone together. We tell each other every single little thing there is to tell. We can either accept it or not, and mostly we accept everything there is about each other because we choose to make it work. Then I have a few philosophies that i live by:
1. If man is unhappy with his career or doing what he's doing, he's bound to make you miserable or unhappy too. I never want him to look at me as the person who got in the way of what he wanted to do with his life. I want to be the person who helps him get what he wants. If he fails, then we both fail. If he succeeds, then I get even more during the divorce! Yay me!
2. Women leave a marriage when they are unhappy. Men leave when they have better options... So, as long has his sole purpose in life is to keep me happy, so I can keep the family sane, then he knows there are no better options than me! Oh having sex like twice a day helps a lot.
3. Never stop partying together. I'm not saying to do every single thing together. Nik and I, though, have fun together. We drink, we laugh, we goof off...like old drinking buddies (minus the "old").
4. I never concern myself with the way things should be...just the way things are.
I made a commitment for life to him and my kids. He is my husband and I have his back no matter what. This is what our marriage is about. This is what our love is. To me, I have no choice but to make it all work, and if I'm going to do that then I'm going to have fun doing it dammit. I love him, I love my family. For that, I'm more than lucky. If there is a God, I guess you could say I'm blessed.
Ok so mainly Nikolai and I get along for pretty obvious reasons. We try to be drunk about 90% of the time we are alone together. We tell each other every single little thing there is to tell. We can either accept it or not, and mostly we accept everything there is about each other because we choose to make it work. Then I have a few philosophies that i live by:
1. If man is unhappy with his career or doing what he's doing, he's bound to make you miserable or unhappy too. I never want him to look at me as the person who got in the way of what he wanted to do with his life. I want to be the person who helps him get what he wants. If he fails, then we both fail. If he succeeds, then I get even more during the divorce! Yay me!
2. Women leave a marriage when they are unhappy. Men leave when they have better options... So, as long has his sole purpose in life is to keep me happy, so I can keep the family sane, then he knows there are no better options than me! Oh having sex like twice a day helps a lot.
3. Never stop partying together. I'm not saying to do every single thing together. Nik and I, though, have fun together. We drink, we laugh, we goof off...like old drinking buddies (minus the "old").
4. I never concern myself with the way things should be...just the way things are.
I made a commitment for life to him and my kids. He is my husband and I have his back no matter what. This is what our marriage is about. This is what our love is. To me, I have no choice but to make it all work, and if I'm going to do that then I'm going to have fun doing it dammit. I love him, I love my family. For that, I'm more than lucky. If there is a God, I guess you could say I'm blessed.
Missing fantasy
I am stressing out big time these days. I'm trying my best to keep it all under control, but it can get difficult when you can't see clearly because there is so much shit blocking your view.
Notes from a novel I'm working on:
I have come so far from where I've been the last 10 years... it's ridiculous. I miss having my dreams, my dark motivation, my self inflicted pain. Now, the whole thing is just... disappointing.
I have misjudged him and I was foolish to believe that I lost something years ago. I assumed that his pain and experiences made him a better man...I was wrong. The worse part is, I can't stand seeing everything so clearly. I can't stand that I feel nothing for him anymore. I miss the pain. I missed being the victim, and mourning over my loss. Now, though, I see that there are specific reasons why we didn't see or speak to one another for over the years. He's a massive self-centered, asshole manchild. He has no concept of anything outside himself, and he thinks he knows everything, when he understands nothing.
The sad part of me, is I don't love him. I don't anything anymore. I don't want to be there for him. I just want him to go away.
It's really quite sad to be faced with reality when you lived in fantasy for so long.
I miss this:
Written March 24, 2000
Hey babe, how’s it going? I hope life finds you well. I hope everything has worked out for you. It has been a long, hard road for us…at least for me…and I’m still here. I still love you the same. I’m also kind of sad because I can’t remember you anymore. I can’t feel you, that part of you that I was so in love with, when I was in love with you.
The only thing I can remember is the pain. The wonderful pain of being in love with you. You know, the kind of pain that pushed us closer together, because it felt so good. Our love that was so intense it literally caused grief.
But everything else…the happiness I felt in my soul when I was with you…it is beginning to fade into my memory…and I miss it.
Notes from a novel I'm working on:
I have come so far from where I've been the last 10 years... it's ridiculous. I miss having my dreams, my dark motivation, my self inflicted pain. Now, the whole thing is just... disappointing.
I have misjudged him and I was foolish to believe that I lost something years ago. I assumed that his pain and experiences made him a better man...I was wrong. The worse part is, I can't stand seeing everything so clearly. I can't stand that I feel nothing for him anymore. I miss the pain. I missed being the victim, and mourning over my loss. Now, though, I see that there are specific reasons why we didn't see or speak to one another for over the years. He's a massive self-centered, asshole manchild. He has no concept of anything outside himself, and he thinks he knows everything, when he understands nothing.
The sad part of me, is I don't love him. I don't anything anymore. I don't want to be there for him. I just want him to go away.
It's really quite sad to be faced with reality when you lived in fantasy for so long.
I miss this:
Written March 24, 2000
Hey babe, how’s it going? I hope life finds you well. I hope everything has worked out for you. It has been a long, hard road for us…at least for me…and I’m still here. I still love you the same. I’m also kind of sad because I can’t remember you anymore. I can’t feel you, that part of you that I was so in love with, when I was in love with you.
The only thing I can remember is the pain. The wonderful pain of being in love with you. You know, the kind of pain that pushed us closer together, because it felt so good. Our love that was so intense it literally caused grief.
But everything else…the happiness I felt in my soul when I was with you…it is beginning to fade into my memory…and I miss it.
Covet
A girl fell in love with a married man. A very married man with kids and a wife he has loved wholeheartedly for over 10 years. His undying loyalty and love for his wife and family is what she fell in love with, aside from the fact that she she thought he would look good naked and all she could think about was how badly she wanted to lick his lips. She starred at him, memorizing his face for her fantasies later. She wanted him bad and if she gave in to what she wanted just once, she could have it, taste it, and feel him for real. She knew it. It was her move to let it happen.
This perfect man, that she wanted so bad...could never love her. He has made that clear. She still seeks him out for affection. She likes the way her head feels on his shoulder and his arm resting around her. She likes the way it fills up her loneliness, even if it was just for an short evening. The feeling is mutual, but his feeling are guided partly by flattery, curiosity, horniness, and genuine caring. It scares him a little, but he likes the way she makes him feel. It's the first time since his wife, that another woman made him feel special without having the (dis)advantage of knowing everything about his soul. This other woman, just loved him because he was beautiful to her.
She's not as beautiful as he saw his wife. He did not love her, but he cared about her, like he cares about everyone. He's kind, without being fake, and she knows it, and it only makes her ache for him more.
She knows its wrong to love him. If it was just lust, it would be over and done with. She knows it, but part of her doesn't want to care. She wants this man. She wants to love him. She loves him more than she should, and more than he would ever be willing to give her in return. It's a dangerous game to play with her heart. She's not 20 anymore. She's at her expiration date. She wants a boyfriend, a husband, a family of her own...but its so hard and it all seems so far away from her...and she's so lonely....
This perfect man, that she wanted so bad...could never love her. He has made that clear. She still seeks him out for affection. She likes the way her head feels on his shoulder and his arm resting around her. She likes the way it fills up her loneliness, even if it was just for an short evening. The feeling is mutual, but his feeling are guided partly by flattery, curiosity, horniness, and genuine caring. It scares him a little, but he likes the way she makes him feel. It's the first time since his wife, that another woman made him feel special without having the (dis)advantage of knowing everything about his soul. This other woman, just loved him because he was beautiful to her.
She's not as beautiful as he saw his wife. He did not love her, but he cared about her, like he cares about everyone. He's kind, without being fake, and she knows it, and it only makes her ache for him more.
She knows its wrong to love him. If it was just lust, it would be over and done with. She knows it, but part of her doesn't want to care. She wants this man. She wants to love him. She loves him more than she should, and more than he would ever be willing to give her in return. It's a dangerous game to play with her heart. She's not 20 anymore. She's at her expiration date. She wants a boyfriend, a husband, a family of her own...but its so hard and it all seems so far away from her...and she's so lonely....
River Rafting Opium Adventure
I was in China in March 2007. I had the opportunity to see and do things that I would never be able to see or experience anywhere else in the world. There was one pivotal point during my trip, when I was in GuiLin China, when I realized how fucking amazing my life is. This is what my story is about.
I had met Alison, a photographer from New York and her friend Yvette from France, in a cafe in GuiLin and I was excited to meet girls like me, my age, and spoke English. I love the people of China, but it gets draining trying to communicate with a series of gestures and smiles. I really need to learn more Chinese.
Alison was tall and blonde and had an aire of a world traveler about her. She was very friendly and smiled a lot. She had a faint New England accent. She spent the last six month throughout China, and was teaching English to be able to pay her travel expenses. Yvette, was smaller, dark hair and wore glasses, and was a little quieter. They had only met earlier that day, and she was traveling alone.
Alison and I hit it off right away, and she asked me if I wanted to join them on a raft tour that night on the JiLing River. I immediately accepted, and left the cafe with them. We tracked down someone willing to take us out on their raft, which is very easy to do in GuiLin. The raft was about 5-6 feet wide and had a 2 rattan lounging chairs bolted down to them. During the day, I had noticed that these rafts had umbrellas covering the seated area. But it was near evening now, and there was no umbrella to block the night sky.
I grew up in Los Angeles, and the idea that there were more than a dozen stars in the sky was inconceivable to me. The night sky in GuiLin was breath taking and perfect, and I had never seen anything like it. I finally understood the idea of a star actually twinkling, except this time there were thousands upon thousands of tiny little lights twinkling in the black sky.
Alison, Yvette, and I talked on and off, but for the most part we just enjoyed the night and the ride. The water was calm and we glided along the water effortlessly. It was nice to spend time with people who didn't feel that it was necessary to talk endlessly about nothing.
Then our guide spoke to Alison in Chinese and she became eager and turned to us and said, "Hey girls! Wanna try some opium?"
Let me just say...wow! After a quick exchange of money and reassurances that we were going to be safe and everything would be fine (which foolishly hadn't even occurred to me at that point), we started on our opium river rafting adventure.
And then it happened. I was laying on back staring up at starlit sky and I became fully aware of myself, "Holy fucking shit. I'm on the other side of the world, on a river in China, high on opium." It was the first time in my entire existence that I realized how happy and lucky I am to be the woman I am.
I've seen and done a lot of things in my life. I have been lucky enough to love and be loved passionately more than once in my life, spend my life with a man I love and adore, have perfect and healthy children, and a career I am proud of and enjoy. Most of this gets lost in all the noise of everyday life. And here I was, lucky in life again, because I had my first moment of clarity, floating on a raft on the JiLing River, high on opium with a female photographer from New York and a girl from France. Sometimes the most perfect moments happen in strange places with people you don't know and will never see again. It was a perfect and beautiful moment that I wil keep with me throughout my beautiful life.
I had met Alison, a photographer from New York and her friend Yvette from France, in a cafe in GuiLin and I was excited to meet girls like me, my age, and spoke English. I love the people of China, but it gets draining trying to communicate with a series of gestures and smiles. I really need to learn more Chinese.
Alison was tall and blonde and had an aire of a world traveler about her. She was very friendly and smiled a lot. She had a faint New England accent. She spent the last six month throughout China, and was teaching English to be able to pay her travel expenses. Yvette, was smaller, dark hair and wore glasses, and was a little quieter. They had only met earlier that day, and she was traveling alone.
Alison and I hit it off right away, and she asked me if I wanted to join them on a raft tour that night on the JiLing River. I immediately accepted, and left the cafe with them. We tracked down someone willing to take us out on their raft, which is very easy to do in GuiLin. The raft was about 5-6 feet wide and had a 2 rattan lounging chairs bolted down to them. During the day, I had noticed that these rafts had umbrellas covering the seated area. But it was near evening now, and there was no umbrella to block the night sky.
I grew up in Los Angeles, and the idea that there were more than a dozen stars in the sky was inconceivable to me. The night sky in GuiLin was breath taking and perfect, and I had never seen anything like it. I finally understood the idea of a star actually twinkling, except this time there were thousands upon thousands of tiny little lights twinkling in the black sky.
Alison, Yvette, and I talked on and off, but for the most part we just enjoyed the night and the ride. The water was calm and we glided along the water effortlessly. It was nice to spend time with people who didn't feel that it was necessary to talk endlessly about nothing.
Then our guide spoke to Alison in Chinese and she became eager and turned to us and said, "Hey girls! Wanna try some opium?"
Let me just say...wow! After a quick exchange of money and reassurances that we were going to be safe and everything would be fine (which foolishly hadn't even occurred to me at that point), we started on our opium river rafting adventure.
And then it happened. I was laying on back staring up at starlit sky and I became fully aware of myself, "Holy fucking shit. I'm on the other side of the world, on a river in China, high on opium." It was the first time in my entire existence that I realized how happy and lucky I am to be the woman I am.
I've seen and done a lot of things in my life. I have been lucky enough to love and be loved passionately more than once in my life, spend my life with a man I love and adore, have perfect and healthy children, and a career I am proud of and enjoy. Most of this gets lost in all the noise of everyday life. And here I was, lucky in life again, because I had my first moment of clarity, floating on a raft on the JiLing River, high on opium with a female photographer from New York and a girl from France. Sometimes the most perfect moments happen in strange places with people you don't know and will never see again. It was a perfect and beautiful moment that I wil keep with me throughout my beautiful life.
The Beginning of Many Ends
It has been more than 5 years since I last saw Jennifer Carol Lee. For those of you who even passingly know me, you've probably heard of my infamous porn star roommate. Well, that was Jennifer. Jennifer and I shared a bedroom in an on campus aparment our second year of college at LMU, and she was a big part of my college experience and made a huge impact on how I viewed the world everyday after she entered my life.
Jennifer was my friend. She was someone that a lot of people didn't understand because, frankly, she slept around a lot, she was very comfortable with her sexuality, and was an exhibitionist. She introduced me to an entirely different world, and from the moment we met...she lived out my dark side. I guess you could say, I lived vicariously through her...and I was fascinated with her. Jennifer was very "in your face" honest about who she was and what she liked. It was no secret that she began dancing at Jet Strip during our second year.
In fact, she asked me and our other friend to go and see her audition as a dancer on amateur night at the Jet Strip in Lenox. So, we went. At the last minute we decided we didn't necessarily want to see our friend naked, so when they announced "Jezebel" we quickly turned around, only to face a wall of mirrors reflecting the image of "Jezebel" in lingerie and dancing to Metallica. It felt intrusive, but it was still fun and funny. Then she tried out the pole...and *krrrplattt*....she fell off. Now...you tell me... how are you going to forget a girl like that?
She landed a regular gig and pulled in pretty good money. It beat work study, I guess. Then someone at her club told her about making adult films. I remember a Sunday afternoon, in our apartment I was laying down on the couch watching TV. The phone rang and it was Jenn's mom, Sandi. Sandi's a very nice person, and was never blind to her daughter's lifestyle.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Hi, its Sandi, Jennifer's mom. Can I speak with her?"
"Uhhh-" I wasn't sure if her mom knew she was stripping, and I didn't want to be the one to break the news...but I didn't want to lie. Plus, Jenn was 3 hours late. "Uh-she's not here. I'm expecting her any minute now, because we're suppose to have dinner together".
Silence. Then, "I know, you know where she is. She's dancing right?"
Ok, queue the wave of guilt...but I still didn't want to be the one to tell her, "Uh-I don't know...She doesn't tell me anything..." LIAR!
"It's ok. I know, you know. You're just being her friend. Just tell her to call me when she gets in, so I know she's ok".
"Ok, I'm sorry" I say lamely.
Then an hour or so later Jennifer came home. "You're mom called. You better call her back! I pretended to not know where you were."
"Oh- that's ok. She knows. I told her last week" Jenn said her nonchalantly.
"Yeah--- well, call her back, ok?"
"Whatever...guess what I did today?"
"I don't know...I was only expecting you 4 hrs ago...what the fuck? What the hell was I suppose to tell your mom?"
"Just guess what I did!"
"No, Jenn..." I said warily.
"Fuck you!" she laughed, "I did a fucking porno! It's called The Adventures of Foot Man!"
HOLY SHIT! "What the fuck did you do that for?!" I asked.
"I got 400 bucks!"
My first and honest reaction was, "That's it?! What if your parents find out?"
"They won't. They don't watch porn"
"OH- they'll find out...everyone watches porn...even if THEY don't, Jenn. It will get back to them."
"Oh-no it won't!"
Now this was how I remember Jennifer. She was so fucking ironic. Jennifer came from a good family. Her parents were professionals, she had a happy childhood...I know because I asked her. Someone like her, you wonder if something bad happened to her to make her so promiscuous ... but honestly...she was basically a happy girl. Other than the fact that she had a bad habit of choosing the absolute wrong kind of guys....she was still self-confident...sometimes overly self-confident ... and optimistic. It was almost like she couldn't help but be this way...but it never affected her being a good friend to me. Jennifer was in the sex business and stripped, but we were attending LMU (a Catholic Jesuit University), and she did well in her classes, she was smart. Jennifer started doing S & M shows at the club we use to go to, Perversion, and allow her self to be strung up, bound, gagged, cut-up...but she was always very neat and clean about how we kept the apartment. She never asked me to be apart of anything, other than as a spectator. She never offered up drugs, even if she was tweaking or smoking right in front of me. She had an orgy in our living room, but never allowed anyone to enter our bedroom or even sit on my bed...she respected my space, I guess. Then the next day...she disinfected the sofa. Jennifer was open about her life, and if you didn't like it...Oh-well...fuck it.
Everything Jennifer did, and everything that she allowed to be done to her....she never hurt anyone else outside herself. She never flaked, and always did what she said she would do, no matter how small or crazy it was.
I went everywhere with this girl. Every Wednesday night, Magic Wednesdays, every Thursday night, Perversion, every Friday night, Stigmata...But toward the of the second semester the porn thing started to pick up and became a whole new animal. Jennifer wasn't Jenn anymore. She started snorting heroin, aside from the crank smoking she had just taken up...I never saw her do heroin. She mostly did it on the set of her movies... which were quickly becoming legend at LMU, since everyone could rent them at Odyssey video down the street. She explained to me how the industry worked when you became a regular. They give this list of sex shit...basically like a sushi menu...and on it are the sexual acts you are willing to perform and check list for those you agree to...and the price for each one.
FP (fuck position) 1,2,3 --- Circle: Yes No Maybe Price: $400
Anal -- Circle: Yes No Maybe Price: $600
Cum on face --- Circle: Yes No Maybe Price: $200
You get the point.
This shit was fascinating to me. I couldn't believe how casual all of this seemed to her and to the people she worked for and with. However, toward the end of the school year...things became very uncomfortable between us. It was becoming exhausting being her friend. I felt bad for her all the time. The ironic thing was...she never once felt bad for herself. And that...I think...was the hardest part for me. I loved Jenn. Aside from all the sex and drugs...she was my loyal friend. She's saved me more than once and was always there if I needed her. She trusted me not judge her by all this shit...but just be her friend. I never told her what to do, or how to live her life. You can't change a girl like that. You just don't.
But when the heroin got a hold of her... I couldn't be her roommate anymore. She asked if I wanted to get an apartment with her, but I opted to stay at home and just commute the following year. I told her that I didn't have the money to stay on campus. The truth was, I wanted to live normally for a while. We still hung out and talked every now and again, but the last time I saw her, she looked like hell. She had started skin popping, and insisted that she wasn't like everyone else. She could handle it. Jenn said that heroin made her completely useless and lazy and that she recently stopped. She showed me her swollen hand that was bothering her because she started shooting up between her fingers and on the top of her hand to avoid track marks on the inside of her arms. All I could do was shake my head and tell her I hoped she felt better. Sadly, I felt relieved when she walked away. It was too hard to see her like that.
I have been searching for her for about 2 years now. Yesterday, I found out she passed away. I thought it might be a sick myspace joke...so I looked up the death records in Palmdale, where her parents lived...and there it was...Jennifer Carol Lee, Died: November 5, 2005 Obituary: November 8, 2005.
I looked up her myspace profile that our former roommate found....Jenn XXX...and found a blog her mom posted about her death, "What mother ever thinks that their beautiful 28 year old daughter would die from a drug overdose?" So, I wrote Sandi a letter of condolences. I said what I could, and honestly stated, "She made everything memorable and worthwhile. And for that, I am thankful for having known her." But that...was the biggest understatement of my life.
Jenn opened my eyes and showed me things that I, otherwise would have only known about through movies and books. Jenn was the best example of a little girl lost. You really couldn't nail her down and get to the root of her behavior, because really, there was no negative cause for it. Instead, I think Jenn wanted to seek out this darker side of life. She had it good for most of her life, only child, happy loving parents...Sometimes I think she craved pain to make sure...of what? I don't know. Maybe too see if she could feel, that she had control of her own life...see how far down the rabbit hole she can get...and still pull herself out.
I don't think a week in my life has gone by when I either didn't think of her or mention her frequently to friends, "Oh-I had this roommate...she was so crazy...stripper...porn..." Wow...the stories I could tell...this barely scratches the surface. The thing about someone like me is that I talk a lot of shit. I talk like I know shit. But to be honest...until Jenn, I didn't realize how little I really knew, and how much I did know when she was no longer in my life. Because of her, I understand people...and know that someone's actions aren't necessarily a reflection on the person you really are. Sometimes, your actions don't have anything to do with the good or bad people in your life. Sometimes your actions are about the demons you have within yourself. I hope Jenn finds the peace and love in death that should could not find in life.
Jennifer was my friend. She was someone that a lot of people didn't understand because, frankly, she slept around a lot, she was very comfortable with her sexuality, and was an exhibitionist. She introduced me to an entirely different world, and from the moment we met...she lived out my dark side. I guess you could say, I lived vicariously through her...and I was fascinated with her. Jennifer was very "in your face" honest about who she was and what she liked. It was no secret that she began dancing at Jet Strip during our second year.
In fact, she asked me and our other friend to go and see her audition as a dancer on amateur night at the Jet Strip in Lenox. So, we went. At the last minute we decided we didn't necessarily want to see our friend naked, so when they announced "Jezebel" we quickly turned around, only to face a wall of mirrors reflecting the image of "Jezebel" in lingerie and dancing to Metallica. It felt intrusive, but it was still fun and funny. Then she tried out the pole...and *krrrplattt*....she fell off. Now...you tell me... how are you going to forget a girl like that?
She landed a regular gig and pulled in pretty good money. It beat work study, I guess. Then someone at her club told her about making adult films. I remember a Sunday afternoon, in our apartment I was laying down on the couch watching TV. The phone rang and it was Jenn's mom, Sandi. Sandi's a very nice person, and was never blind to her daughter's lifestyle.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Hi, its Sandi, Jennifer's mom. Can I speak with her?"
"Uhhh-" I wasn't sure if her mom knew she was stripping, and I didn't want to be the one to break the news...but I didn't want to lie. Plus, Jenn was 3 hours late. "Uh-she's not here. I'm expecting her any minute now, because we're suppose to have dinner together".
Silence. Then, "I know, you know where she is. She's dancing right?"
Ok, queue the wave of guilt...but I still didn't want to be the one to tell her, "Uh-I don't know...She doesn't tell me anything..." LIAR!
"It's ok. I know, you know. You're just being her friend. Just tell her to call me when she gets in, so I know she's ok".
"Ok, I'm sorry" I say lamely.
Then an hour or so later Jennifer came home. "You're mom called. You better call her back! I pretended to not know where you were."
"Oh- that's ok. She knows. I told her last week" Jenn said her nonchalantly.
"Yeah--- well, call her back, ok?"
"Whatever...guess what I did today?"
"I don't know...I was only expecting you 4 hrs ago...what the fuck? What the hell was I suppose to tell your mom?"
"Just guess what I did!"
"No, Jenn..." I said warily.
"Fuck you!" she laughed, "I did a fucking porno! It's called The Adventures of Foot Man!"
HOLY SHIT! "What the fuck did you do that for?!" I asked.
"I got 400 bucks!"
My first and honest reaction was, "That's it?! What if your parents find out?"
"They won't. They don't watch porn"
"OH- they'll find out...everyone watches porn...even if THEY don't, Jenn. It will get back to them."
"Oh-no it won't!"
Now this was how I remember Jennifer. She was so fucking ironic. Jennifer came from a good family. Her parents were professionals, she had a happy childhood...I know because I asked her. Someone like her, you wonder if something bad happened to her to make her so promiscuous ... but honestly...she was basically a happy girl. Other than the fact that she had a bad habit of choosing the absolute wrong kind of guys....she was still self-confident...sometimes overly self-confident ... and optimistic. It was almost like she couldn't help but be this way...but it never affected her being a good friend to me. Jennifer was in the sex business and stripped, but we were attending LMU (a Catholic Jesuit University), and she did well in her classes, she was smart. Jennifer started doing S & M shows at the club we use to go to, Perversion, and allow her self to be strung up, bound, gagged, cut-up...but she was always very neat and clean about how we kept the apartment. She never asked me to be apart of anything, other than as a spectator. She never offered up drugs, even if she was tweaking or smoking right in front of me. She had an orgy in our living room, but never allowed anyone to enter our bedroom or even sit on my bed...she respected my space, I guess. Then the next day...she disinfected the sofa. Jennifer was open about her life, and if you didn't like it...Oh-well...fuck it.
Everything Jennifer did, and everything that she allowed to be done to her....she never hurt anyone else outside herself. She never flaked, and always did what she said she would do, no matter how small or crazy it was.
I went everywhere with this girl. Every Wednesday night, Magic Wednesdays, every Thursday night, Perversion, every Friday night, Stigmata...But toward the of the second semester the porn thing started to pick up and became a whole new animal. Jennifer wasn't Jenn anymore. She started snorting heroin, aside from the crank smoking she had just taken up...I never saw her do heroin. She mostly did it on the set of her movies... which were quickly becoming legend at LMU, since everyone could rent them at Odyssey video down the street. She explained to me how the industry worked when you became a regular. They give this list of sex shit...basically like a sushi menu...and on it are the sexual acts you are willing to perform and check list for those you agree to...and the price for each one.
FP (fuck position) 1,2,3 --- Circle: Yes No Maybe Price: $400
Anal -- Circle: Yes No Maybe Price: $600
Cum on face --- Circle: Yes No Maybe Price: $200
You get the point.
This shit was fascinating to me. I couldn't believe how casual all of this seemed to her and to the people she worked for and with. However, toward the end of the school year...things became very uncomfortable between us. It was becoming exhausting being her friend. I felt bad for her all the time. The ironic thing was...she never once felt bad for herself. And that...I think...was the hardest part for me. I loved Jenn. Aside from all the sex and drugs...she was my loyal friend. She's saved me more than once and was always there if I needed her. She trusted me not judge her by all this shit...but just be her friend. I never told her what to do, or how to live her life. You can't change a girl like that. You just don't.
But when the heroin got a hold of her... I couldn't be her roommate anymore. She asked if I wanted to get an apartment with her, but I opted to stay at home and just commute the following year. I told her that I didn't have the money to stay on campus. The truth was, I wanted to live normally for a while. We still hung out and talked every now and again, but the last time I saw her, she looked like hell. She had started skin popping, and insisted that she wasn't like everyone else. She could handle it. Jenn said that heroin made her completely useless and lazy and that she recently stopped. She showed me her swollen hand that was bothering her because she started shooting up between her fingers and on the top of her hand to avoid track marks on the inside of her arms. All I could do was shake my head and tell her I hoped she felt better. Sadly, I felt relieved when she walked away. It was too hard to see her like that.
I have been searching for her for about 2 years now. Yesterday, I found out she passed away. I thought it might be a sick myspace joke...so I looked up the death records in Palmdale, where her parents lived...and there it was...Jennifer Carol Lee, Died: November 5, 2005 Obituary: November 8, 2005.
I looked up her myspace profile that our former roommate found....Jenn XXX...and found a blog her mom posted about her death, "What mother ever thinks that their beautiful 28 year old daughter would die from a drug overdose?" So, I wrote Sandi a letter of condolences. I said what I could, and honestly stated, "She made everything memorable and worthwhile. And for that, I am thankful for having known her." But that...was the biggest understatement of my life.
Jenn opened my eyes and showed me things that I, otherwise would have only known about through movies and books. Jenn was the best example of a little girl lost. You really couldn't nail her down and get to the root of her behavior, because really, there was no negative cause for it. Instead, I think Jenn wanted to seek out this darker side of life. She had it good for most of her life, only child, happy loving parents...Sometimes I think she craved pain to make sure...of what? I don't know. Maybe too see if she could feel, that she had control of her own life...see how far down the rabbit hole she can get...and still pull herself out.
I don't think a week in my life has gone by when I either didn't think of her or mention her frequently to friends, "Oh-I had this roommate...she was so crazy...stripper...porn..." Wow...the stories I could tell...this barely scratches the surface. The thing about someone like me is that I talk a lot of shit. I talk like I know shit. But to be honest...until Jenn, I didn't realize how little I really knew, and how much I did know when she was no longer in my life. Because of her, I understand people...and know that someone's actions aren't necessarily a reflection on the person you really are. Sometimes, your actions don't have anything to do with the good or bad people in your life. Sometimes your actions are about the demons you have within yourself. I hope Jenn finds the peace and love in death that should could not find in life.
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