Such that:

Texans wish they were Alaskans
Alaskans wish they were New Zealanders

I'm so fond of being fed up with touching,  lovely, hipster, indie love stories.  However.  I realize that it used to be there was no model for nontraditional (or at least normal, not super-romantic) relationships.  It used to be a lot harder to look at film love stories.  I mean comprehend them as being realistic.

That said, it's a lot more difficult than Buffy makes it seem to be a ginger lesbian witch in a loving committed relationship.  Up 'til about season 6 anyway.

a list of things that don't matter

all the fucking waiting
conversations I had while drunk

Things I Suck At These Days

• Cooking.  I just don't.  It doesn't make much difference if I'm supposed to want to be cooking or whatever.  I just don't.  I throw my hands up in the air and drink some tequila and then go watch I Am Love or Mostly Martha and fantasize about feeling that way again.

• Working it out on the dance floor.  This is the part where the record breaks down/ yadda yadda yadda/ I just don't want to get dry-humped on the dance floor because I'm boss at shaking my money-maker while the chick who's actually with the dude who's dry-humpin' me stares daggers at me and I am trying to keep my no-barfight-free lifestyle intact, okay?  Plus when that one guy was  "dancing" with me and I could feel him getting kind of hard and All The Drunk Overly Aggressive Peoples.  Probably just gonna work it out on the dance studio and give everybody a fake name at da club whenevers I get talked into going.  Anastasia Beaverhausen?  That work?
  
• Calling my brother.  Sorry, bro.  I love you I just don't know when a good time to call is.  Maybe we should just rekindle the relationship we had were he'd text me at 4 AM.
  
• Sleeping.  Haven't we all been going through something lately?  And isn't that something constant daylight?  Yes and yes.  I've also been having twilight dreams and waking up every few hours, having trouble getting to sleep initially, unsettling dreams, etc.
  
• Dieting.  I'm not sure what changed (five weeks off the wagon?), but it's been hella hard to get in the habit of monitoring my food intake.  Some moderate success with reducing alcohol consumption.  Very moderate.
  
• Venting about my "personal" life to real-life people.  You know.  Even when given the opportunity, being hinted at broadly and given the Kristen Wiig eyes, I can't seem to do it.
  
  Querent:  So, Clara.  How have things been going lately?
  Me:  ....
  Querent:  Anything new?  Anything you'd like to talk about?  How's [significant other's name]?  How are the two of you doing?
  Me:  Um.  You know.  Good.  Pretty good.  Things are happening. 

Arizona Ragtime Bible

Sometimes titles are that easy.  Arizona Ragtime Bible.  Band name?  Book title?  Short story?  Dance?  Or my journal from Mississippi through Arizona.  I've been re-reading it the last week or so.  There's a reason I keep them.  It's enlightening.  Sometimes when I sicken after the parts of the past I miss I forget why it was so important to move on in the first place.

Some of it I can't confront yet.  Not even in eternal light and green heaven.  Nope.

• breathing
• Forrest yoga
• teaching classes?!  What?!  Soon.
• Magdalena
• Toshiro-to-be
• water water water everywhere
• the creek behind the house
• editing music
• 1970s movies
• movies set in the 1970s
• lepus grazing outside the laundry room for hours
• black cat
• Carla Gugino chutzpah
• Rosario Dawson's eyes
• biking 'round Narnia on the Dawn Treader
• Skryim soundtrack <3
• psychedelic hoops
• Romance & Cigarettes
  

in this gypsy drought

If I wasn't so dependent could I ask for more?
If I weren't so dependent would I ask for more?
If I weren't so tired would I accomplish more?
If I were more intentional with my memory loss would I be happier?
Can I tread this ground between feeling neglected and being the one who neglects?
If I bought the flowers myself would I Mrs. Dalloway or would I be more understanding?
Does this Calcifer represent desire, or do I desire it?
What is the nature of desire?
What is the nature of comfort?
Are these things mutually exclusive?
What is the nature of loneliness - malign or benign?
Do we need to go into the woods again?
Why have I never believed what people have told me about myself?

Life is long. And you are hot.

One of my favorite Doctor Who episodes is courtesy of Sally Sparrow.  What a sweet, sad, horrible, notthatheavyonTheDoctor episode.  The Weeping Angels are the scariest.  That must be a personality test online.  Your Least Favorite Doctor Who Nemesis and What That Says About You.

Anyway.  It's spring.  And time for cleaning, and love and sex and blooming trees and Accomplishing Things and Drinking Wine and hydrating a lot and riding bikes and Fuck the Diet.  Well, not really.  I transgress...ish?  And then I remember that I make the rules and blah blah blah.  I can be sad (?) about my 1920s body when it's winter and I have to pretend to be Boticelli's The Birth of Venus.  In the meantime: all shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.  Until the next crisis.  Duh.  Of course.

Alaska's been having a bona fide heat wave.
I'm trying to figure out how to reconcile Mae West with Debussy with Lykke Li with The Sex Pistols.  (That says a lot about me, I suppose.  None of it contradictory.)

So....  I have to write a monologue about something I wish I'd said to someone else.  Maybe in response to something they said to me.  Something I wish I'd done.  I interpret this as me not taking responsibility.  Being afraid.  I don't think there have been many instance of that in my life.  Time without number, sure.  Sometimes there wasn't anything to say that would have helped.

Sometimes I'm still not sure what I should have done.  Should have said.  The big important things I've tried to take responsibility for.  Relationships with parents.  Relationships with siblings.  Relationships with significant others.  ...with one notable exception.

I find that really what I would do, if I could do anything would be to erase.  Not a very flattering thing. Not a good thing, certainly.  But a true thing.  The things that have grown into weird shapes undermining the person I'm trying to be now.  The perfectly true processes I went through that are now jokes.  Bad jokes.  Because all the people who went through these things with me, who were my friends and who said they'd be my friends 4EVAR (God, that sounds pathetic, doesn't it?  Still hurts, guys.  Still hurts.).  Or at least for the next few years, I guess, are now involved in their own lives to an extent that gives me the icy shoulder.

That's the way things go.  That's a part of growing up, and it sucks.  With all this globalization and connectivity and the people who fucking SKYPE for Chrissakes....  You don't choose to text me back?  It's a choice.  It says something to me that is true and negative and that I take to heart.

And that kinda makes me not want to reach out anymore.  I think I've written about this before.  The  difficulty of connecting with new people when you really liked the old ones.  When the dimensions of experience available with the old ones was not nearly spent.  When the new people are just going to leave.  Or have needs you're not going to be able to meet.  Or die.  Or outright reject you.  Or attempt to make you change who you are for no apparent good reason.

Jill just plain got tired of my shit.  College was extremely socially awkward times, man.  Necessary, but God.  So sorry.  Totally get it, guys.

I feared Bri would judge me for the non-Christian life choices I'd made.  So I stopped answering the phone and eventually she stopped trying.  This was a terrible decision on my part, as I loved Bri and she was by far the most supportive friend I've had with the exception of Katie.

Roman got sick and left.  He was in terrible pain.  I had to disconnect to keep from going crazy.

Luke had a life in Chicago and then Las Vegas that he needed to connect with more than me.  Plus it's not necessarily healthy to live vicariously through ones gay ex-boyfriend, amirite?

I don't know why Tyler abandoned me.  Not exactly.  There are lots of possible reasons.  Maybe all of them.  This is a big problem for me, though.  Because he'd seen the worst of me and helped me through some hard things.  Maybe I'm just too big a problem to have around in a person's life for extended periods.

tbc.

alright; I'm off this train ride

Let's all get high and go to a con next year.  I'll start working on my abs and my costume now if you'll provide the Mara Jade.

teh crush blog

It is a time-honored tradition.  Almost since there have been blogs, written communication, the internet.  There have been crush-blogs.  But why?  Since I'm dealing with some current springtime real-life crushness (which is always beyond awkward, amirite?) the why seems like a thing of immediate importance.

I was talking with a friend last year sometime about crushes.  His theory was that it was kind of an evolutionary drive.  That we're designed to always be crowd-searching for the best possible potential mate.  And thus bettering ourselves to increase the likelihood of gaining the potential mate.  So maybe that's the point of it all.  

My personal theory is that crushes tend to be the people we most want to be like.  I'm all for bisexual tendencies and outright non-hetero behavior, so obviously that's not all it is.  But there's some attraction in clinging to the notion that maybe this silly desire can be personally constructive, eh?

Erinn Hayes
She's rocketed to the top of my list lately, due to Children's Hospital suddenly being available on Instantwatch.  I remember her well from Kitchen Confidential.  Hot, raunchy, sarcastic - the whole ciabatta.  Remember the naughty picture battle she had with that sous chef in Kitchen Confidential?  No?  Signature hairflip?  Anyway.  You should.  Hulu that shit.  Erinn Hayes.  

Gael Garcia Bernal
Maybe you remember Gael from The Motorcycle Diaries.  Science of Sleep?  Casa de Mi Padre?  No?  Then perhaps you're more familiar with his work in that regrettable Kate Hudson movie from that one year.  Or his immortal Latin language cover of "I Want You To Want Me". He's kind of a big deal.  Probably has many leather-bound books.  Moreover, I guarantee that trilingual, socially-conscious Mexican dreamboats who can make comedy their bitch and tragedy their sycophant do not just grow on trees, guys.  You should read his Wikipedia bio.  It's pretty swoony.

Jenna Marbles
I just discovered Jenna this year.  I know, I know.  I'm late to the party.  Like, past fashionably late into the part of the night where everybody's already so drunk that nobody's going to realize I've shown up at all if I don't do some quick Instagramming.  Be that as it may!  Jenna.   JennaJennaJenna.  Jenna's bangin', nerdy , smart, brave enough to get drunk in public on the internet (which basically means she has more balls than all y'all) and a recipient of the James Joyce Award.  For her YouTube channel.  Ireland loves her, so should you. 

Danisnotonfire

Let's keep with the YouTuber theme, shall we?  Yes, lets!  Why am I writing all like I like the Union Jack?  Because Danisnotonfire is British.  From what I gather he's one of the people who started what we old people used to call a vlog?  I think?  See, I was never cool enough to Know Things Like That when they were first starting.  The venture took off and the appeal is that he's acerbic, funny, nerdy, self-deprecating, an escapist and likes A. A. Milne and Studio Ghibli a great deal.  He's a cute nerd-do-well and that's pretty endearing.  It's a Cinderella story, really.

Amanda Fucking Palmer

AFP is probably best known as the heart and soul of The Dresden Dolls.  Have you ever heard "Coin Operated Boy"?  Yeah.  That was her.  For sheer sexiness, punk-rock attitude, performance energy and commitment to her fan-base one can do no better than Amanda.  She tweets, she blogs, she does TED Talks and has this sooooo apparent, enviable understanding of the holistic relationship the minutes and hours of an artist's life must have with their art as a whole.  It's rad.  Oh yeah, and she's married to Neil Gaiman.  If you're into that sort of thing.

Joseph Gordon-Levitt

So this is The Big One.  This is my husband, my main man, my homie, my guy I'm all like, "Dude, just pick up some beer or something on the way home but whatever just get here so we can, like, get it on, already."  Or (I totes can't decide) maybe write some Tiny Stories together.  Which actually is not a euphemism.  Joe is hot.  Joe is a good actor.  I fully expect Joe to be a good director, although I have not seen Don Jon yet.  But where Joe really makes me silly, melty, fulloncan'ttalkorbreathesmitten lies proximal to the work he does with hitRECord and the Tiny Book of Tiny Stories series.  It's feckin' inspirational, gives me hope 'n that for the future of collaborative arts.   

Charlotte Gainsbourg
Charlotte's one of my favorites because she's elegant, magnetic, compelling to listen to and watch and intelligent and well-heeled.  She also seems like a real person, which is passing rare in this day and age.  Especially since she's the daughter of a celebrated model and a continental European crooner-God.  Her speaking voice is rather lovely too.  (Bonus.)

Moshe Kasher

Netflix recently turned me onto Moshe Kasher and I've been telling everybody to go watch the one.  Special.  He.  Has.  Because apparently there only is one.  (You have no idea how many negative feelings that makes me feel.  Want moar, plz.)  Every once in a while I'll find a comic that I just...watch.  Over.  And over.  And over again.  And since right before Christmas that comic has been Moshe.  Before Moshe it was John Waters, if that gives you an idea of aesthetic we're working with here.  But: yes. Articulate, funny, awesome pacing.

Kate Beaton

Okay, so, you know I'm a tiny little bit of a history nerd, right?  Not a lot.  When I say tiny, I mean tiny.  I also mean more than average and less than the people who got their secondary degree regarding a specialized chunk o' time.  And you know I'm pretty down with comics and nerdery of various kinds, I assume?  Dunno why that's assumed.  I just suppose it to be plastered on my forehead.  With all this information in mind it makes perfect sense that Kate Beaton would be my girl-crush.  She's a comic book artist who almost exclusively addresses all of the above with this groovy feminist vibe.  Plus her drawing style puts me in mind of the 70s.  Fantastic!

John Darnielle

It's been said many times.  I'm going to say it again!  This man is the Bob Dylan of my generation.  And the generation before us.  And maybe the generation after us.  Not very many people are paying attention...but more are now than ever before.  We'll get there.  John is one of the most gifted English lyricists now living.  Gods, demons, relationships, love, hate, butterflies, death, disease and every part of life that's too often neglected or gentrified in much music.  It's all there.  And there is a mind-blowing amount of material to get lost in.  No matter what specific emotionally charged situation you're in, I will bet you John has been there and written a song about it.  It's up to you to find it.  The pleasure's in the hunt, though, isn't it?

So that's it for another year.  

thursday

Sometimes (often) I get so caught up in the people, activities, events that surround me I forget that these people, things don't make me...well...me.  Hell, they don't even pay me.  They affirm me plenty, but I'm of the mind that I need to affirm myself to be psychologically well, etc.  So it's nice, but not essential.

• Clara, you are worrying about things that haven't happened yet.  Yes, they probably will.  But they haven't yet.  And when they do you will be equal to dealing with them.  It's okay.
• How people treat and view me reflects on them.  Not me.  Duh, right?
• I want to help you, but I don't want to machete my way through your insecurities.  I'm not your fucking girlfriend.  And I dare guess that we're wired the same in a lot of ways.  Which means there's probably no way to "win" at the game of you.  At least not and keep my own sanity.  At least not yet.
• I can take a hint; it's one of the things I like about myself.
• Can't remember why I'm doing this in the first place.  Body control, yes?  A lifelong pursuit.
• I'm performing so that I can do the other things.  Still waiting on the other things.

I'm not just a dancer.  In fact, I feel like I'm barely a dancer.  Barely a performer.  Liken my life to come as a simile: the college professors who think you are doing nothing with your life besides taking their class.  Too bad, so sadly not the case.

"And if I loved you Wednesday,   
Well, what is that to you?
I do not love you Thursday—    So much is true.

And why you come complaining   
Is more than I can see.
I loved you Wednesday,—yes—but what   
Is that to me?"

Edna St. Vincent-Millay

creep

You're so fucking special.  I wish I were
a) special
or b) could fade away like a stranger's shadow in a club.  Completely.  Painlessly.

How German/emo/teenager, right?  Ah, well.  I'm on the rag (kinda).  And one has to keep ones sh*t together around little ones.

It's funny.  The more I'm around kids the more I realize that I do want one.  And that I couldn't possibly do my job and have a kid.  It's just not practical.  And my good peasant stock blood is appalled at all sorts of things I do.  I assume my body would reject itself if I did something like work solely to pay for the cost of childcare just because I like my job.

(I secretly think I would work up until about four weeks after maternity leave terminated and then turn in my notice or switch to part-time; spend the rest of the time raising spawn and doing freelance work.  Doesn't everyone?  I mean to say.)

The world would probably go on spinning and all, but just because it's relentless that way.

Would it be better to be more nomadic?

Worse to plant?

What?  More people vs. less people?  It seems I can't do much beyond 3 years.  And then those things do not maintain.  Not really.  Not in my heart, my head, my blood.  It's just my personality type, I know.  But, oh man.  AwKwArD.

But things are mainly okay.  One more Big Performance.  Things Are Happening.

Motions are being made.  It's looking like I'll be able to do my own thing (if I want and can gently make out with The Fear, banishing it to others), teaching-wise rather than being tethered to a studio.  Which might be for the best, I don't know.  I do appreciate the art of the subtle kiss-off.  So I ain't mad.

With Alice's love.

4.48 Asscosis

The thing about doing a play about depression, psychosis and suicide is that it brings your coping mechanisms to the fore.  Sometimes that coping is outed as a propensity to turn everything and vulgar and ass oriented.

Sometimes it manifests as an interest in stories of past lives.

I used to watch It's a Wonderful Life obsessively as a small child.  I abruptly stopped around age 4.  I have no memory of doing this.  And even watching the movie these days doesn't "ring a bell", as it were.  See what I did there?

But, you know, the whole movie was a massive, classic near-death experience.

I had imaginary friends; I think they were named Frank and Jerry or Jerry and Riley.  I don't really remember very well. I know that they were there in California and for part of Texas.  But they vanished sometime around age 5.

I feel as though I died of drowning in a past life.

I feel as though I was pregnant in a past life.

I feel as though hands and/or feet were amputated somehow in a past life.

I have a friend or two I think I knew in a past life.  Maybe my mother.  No more than that so far as I know.

People consistently seem afraid of me, or like me a lot.  Or both.

I wish I knew more.  It's quite difficult to say what with the sheer amount of stimulus one has in a life.  Especially in these times.

it goes like this this is how it goes

...so now I begin reminding myself that there is something blacker than what is.  What was.  These spaces between what I wish for and what I will actually get.  The vague despair; wrenching at the idea of wanting -- anything.  Deserving -- anything.

I feel that the future is hopeless and that things cannot possibly improve.

Let it all go.

I tell myself that it's all right.

But I have no friends. (I have very seldom have friends; they never stay for very long.)  Maybe I had friends until recently.  Sooner or later I become something they don't want.  Inconvenient corners, creases, peaks and valleys.  Inconsistencies.  Inconveniences.  Neglect (on my part; theirs).  I tell myself to keep my distance.  Not to get involved with more people.

But, then, what does it matter if I add to the body count of people encountered?  I don't know that I'm hurtful.  I only know that I'm hurtful.

I tell myself not to need approval.  To need approval, to be liked, to be loved, even, these things are childish.  They are human.  I am human.  I am human and that's okay I am human and that's okay....  Only there's nobody to tell me that.  Only the me in my head.  Sometimes I get an: "Oh, well.  Never mind, then.  Escapism.  That's what everyone else does.  Do it too."

I do of course I do how can I not be an escapist.  These things lose their significance, though.  They pass.  They pall.  They trickle away.

The head stuff is more like a snake that will someday eat me.  Is sapping me.  I wonder if it will win.

itemized lists are the best

retronaut
weird dreams about baths and horses death and sandwiches (yay...?)
interviews
Alice In Wonderland
1890s coppers
good(ish) English accent
"I love a woman who was never born"
way-out doctors (I call David Tennant)
do I dare to go paleo?
does it fu__i__ matter?
why do I care so little about (x)?
is mystery really that important?
how terrible.
have I really got to keep that ocean of distance or despise?
how terrible.
how unbearably light.
war and peace (again).
words of only three years ago - so foreign.
I feel so sad; I feel like goodbye.
there is desire.
there is resignation too.
spring is coming on like an orgasm.
that most impersonal of ecstasies.

Some Unsolicited Tips On Working On Projects Gleaned From MANY Years of Involvement With Various Organizations

• Sit down with yourself, pour a drink and contemplate whether Project X is something you really, really have time for.  Bust out your schedule.  If you have a tendency to be one of those people who love obsessively planning their time: bonus.  You probably have a pretty good idea of what you can and cannot support.
• Like the people you're working with or cultivate a very intentional zen attitude toward them if liking is not possible.  You're going to be in close quarters with them; patience will wear thin; tempers will explode.  If you think you'd still like to to see them the next night right after work and right before that assignment is due, by all means.  Dive in.
• Do something meaningful to you.  If it don't mean shit to you, then you're going to half-ass it.  And that's not how you roll, amigo.
• If you realize that "It's Not Going To Work Out" be honest.  Be honest with yourself and your people.  It happens sometimes.  As soon as you realize it, cut losses openly and graciously.  This may leave the door open for future projects down the line.  If that kind of thing interests you.
• Structure your time well, set boundaries and be firm with yourself and your people.  This is akin to the idea that if you are too accommodating, it's just going to start, proceed and end up biting you in the butt.  If you set a time and date for a rehearsal, class, event or meeting -- stick to it.  No matter how much people whine about really wanting to attend if it were, gosh, at time x, y, or z on day x, y, or z.  The people who want to be there will make room in their lives to be there.  This doesn't mean ignore valid scheduling concerns of people who you know want to be there (say, work), but it does mean don't use the insincerity of others as your foundation.  No good can come thereof.
• When in the midst of the process, compromise, compromise, compromise  The shit that bitch said behind your back about that one unimportant thing?  Ain't nobody got time for that.  Be the bigger person.  Focus on the endgame, find a workable compromise and trust the process.
• Do what you say you're going to do.  The end.  And if you find you've bitten off more than you can chew, communicate it and restructure your plan.
• DON'T expect anyone else to do what they say they're going to do.  They're just not.  It's not their fault, it's just the way the delicious cookie crumbles.  Take a deep breath and accept it.
• Be flexible.  Change is the one constant.  Fall into it.  

pistol-whipped

A comparatively lazy three days commencing.  Just work, working out, rehearsal and nesting in progress.

Applying for a job at work that's a lateral move, but could answer some questions I have about my ability to work and stay in a single classroom all of the time.

Holy cow my body hurts.  Hasn't hurt so badly since I had the flu.  Holy frijoles.  Holy guacamole.  All these things.  It's good to know I have deep-down abs deep down.

Naps!  I love them.  I just woke up from one.  I was dreaming about a taqueria pub crawl.  I sucked at it, because I refused to pace myself and just drank aaaaaaaall the tequila and negra modelo.

I refuse to start dieting/weighing myself again until May.  I'm sick of it.  I'm still trying to eat healthy, but if I want to slip up sometimes I do it and don't worry.  I'm up to ten times more likely to just listen to my body's cry for water and veggies and rest at this point than stuff it full of chocolate and champagne.  (I'm saving that for my birthday!)

One week of shows down.  Three to go.  I feel semi-professional.

It's tax day.  So, of course, I lost my debit card.  I'll bet it's somewhere in the apartment or on the floor at work or swimming outside in the middle of breakup.  But I spent half the day looking for it.  No dice.  No unauthorized charges on it, but just to be safe.

kthnxbye

My life has scanted (does that work?  I think it works.) into a series of to-do lists and things I can and cannot eat, days I can and cannot eat them, amounts of water I must drink and minimum amounts of physical activity.  Goals and tests and things.  Rehearsals and journals.  Memorization.  It's basically like college.  Except I appear to care a little more now.

I find myself on the cusp of another anniversary.  This will be year two coming up.  Things are okay.  Not amazing.  But good.

Psychological quirk: I think I've probably experienced enough love for my lifetime.  Like the breath-catching, staying-up-all-night-talking, butterflies, heartbreak, deep "everlasting" connection kind of love.  I've experience that.  Feel like I've had two shots at happiness and fucked them both up pretty well.

So where I am right now is Switzerland.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_lw-rZ73H7Q
Nothing wrong with that.  Just means I keep my pretty mouth shut when it comes to My Boyfriend So Romantic pissing contests.  He's attractive and nerdy and he cleans up nice and is not psychologically, physically or emotionally abusive!  So: win.

(I have trouble feeling connected to other people.  Don't worry.  I'm not a sociopath, it just takes a lot to feel involved, connected, a part of, as though I've shared an experience with and God knows I'm lazy.  I feel bad about it.  And simultaneously relieved.  Because, guess what?  If you think I'm not worth your time and effort?  ...you're probably right.  And no hard feelings, mate.)

It's spring, so the snow has started to receded.  Much of the remaining snow is black.  The ice is melting in that special, weird, squicky Starcraft brood mother way.  It half-hearted powdered yesterday.  It will do so again today.  And again in April.  There's so.  Much.  Daylight.  Already.

It's spring, so everything is burdened with All The Memories.  Which is good for certain things and bad for others.  Between these different types of energy that wind themselves around me and emerge from my sternum, fingertips and hip flexors and the soil beneath the snow, I realize it's going to be another sleepless summer.

plans: cotton: fabric of our lives: etc.

While I have not nearly got the hang of being an adult yet, I've been adult-aged for quite a while now.  And I must say....  Ideally?  I would set aside one day a month and spend it entirely alone.

I should do it now before I get the overwhelming urge to have kids.  Because, you know.

excuses, excuses

Late last week, I pulled C aside for the umpteenth time to talk about throwing snow.  Neverending Alaskan Story.


"You know that it's not okay to throw snow at your friend, right?"

"Yeeeeeeeah...."

"So why did you do it?"

"...I was hungry."


Oh.  Okay, then.  Carry on.

things that occur to me when swapping stories about family

...did I ever tell you about that one time my first cousin once removed went camping in Arizona and died?  At least, they think he died.  He disappeared without a trace.  A body was never found.  It happened years before I was born.  I later moved to Arizona, lived there rather unhappily (but relatively happily) for a few years and did not go camping and then die.

Or the time my aunt shot and killed (I think) on of her husbands.  Obviously ex-now.  I believe it was categorized manslaughter.  She served no appreciable jail time, so all ya'll lawyers will have to let me know how that works.

One of my grandmothers was 13 when she had my parent; the other was almost 30.  Talk about disparity.

One of my cousins is extremely white and ginger...and also 3/4 Mexican.  Go figure.

My maternal grandfather loved puns and sang "I saw the salad dressing" whenever he...saw salad dressing.

I'm third generation Texan.  It's hard to tell until you put me in the same room with another southerner.

One of my ancestors (19th century) reputedly left to buy milk one day and disappeared for ten years.  He showed up on the doorstep ten years later as though nothing had happened.  I don't believe he ever did say.

One of my ancestors (19th century) was evacuated from a burning house one night and, upon being told that the baby has been left in the house, remarked, "Let it burn."

To be continued.  We continue to do things.  I continue to remember stories.  And sometimes write them down.

tradition/TRADITION

One of my favorite things about being an adult is the amount of freedom I have to create my own traditions.  To a certain extent society binds you to certain traditions (Christmas, New Year's, Halloween, etc.) but to a much greater extent I've found that it's surprisingly okay to let my freak/hipster flag fly in respect to calender celebrations.

Current

Ghetto-Fabulous Thanksgiving

• This one is a personal tradition I've kept alive for all of...oh...two non-concurrent years now.  I lived in Mississippi for five years of my young adulthood, and Texas for my entire childhood.  You might say I'm familiar with the South.  The only time I miss the South is around the holidays, which makes it the ideal time to eat chicken and waffles and drink ghetto koolaid, shitty screwdrivers, everclear, try to recreate them awful little Krystal burgers, slather all my vegetables in butter, biscuits and gravy/molasses, shoot bourbon, mint juleps and disgustingly sweet caramel frappucinos out of red solo cups.  The possibiliites are endless and I get my nostalgia fix for the coming year.
  
  Pancake Day

• aka Shrove Tuesday, aka Mardi Gras.  Well, I no longer live anywhere near Lousiana.  So the likelihood of me getting a proper King Cake up here are slim to the none.  Luckily I've discovered that another option for kicking off the Lenten season is Pancake Day!  It was brought to my attention by Danisnotonfire.  It's basically what it sounds like.  It's February 12th (ohhey!  That's tomorrow!) You make pancakes and, in my case, drink butterbeer.  Because why would you not drink butterbeer if you had the option?  Gosh.
  
  Guy Fawkes' Day

• This is a little less structured.  No flash-mobs or anything.  Everyone in my generation is at least somewhat familiar with V for Vendetta.  Either they've seen the movie one time or own the movie or have read the graphic novel or have a hard-on for Frank Miller.  Anyway.  It's the type of holiday that sums up politics very well in my mind.  You can try to change the world by blowing up parliament...but you'll probably get caught and probably nothing will really change.  Also people will celebrate your gruesome execution with rockets and fireworks and bonfires and movies about current-future fascist society.  /sigh
  I celebrate it by quoting the poem on Facebook, smoking a cigar and getting depressed. Moving on.
  
  Halloween (observed as New Year's)
  
• Samhain is like New Year's with more fairies, offerings to your ancestors and general pensiveness.  The season shows itself to be in the middle of changing more than it does in January.  

Talk Like a Pirate Day

• This is an excuse to talk like a pirate, dress up, drink copiously and watch bad movies like 1960s Treasure Island, Muppet Treasure Island and Yellowbeard.  I also count 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, but I'm not at home to reason after a few snifters.

May the Fourth

• May the fourth be with you, Padawan.  One of these days I'm going to arrange a theatrical production of a Timothy Zahn novel and present it at the Library or something.  Like Trek in the park.  All you otha muthas bettah watch out.

Christmas Celebrated Harry Potter Style

• You know....  I'm at a point in my adult life where I'm not only pretty convinced that I could die at any moment but also that I'm not interested in celebrating holidays that aren't themed.  So given the choice between Harry Potter Christmas and regular Christmas?  Mmm....  Yeah.  The possibilities are endless.

Future

• JRR Tolkien Day (1/3)
• Buffyversary (3/10)
• Pi Day (3/14)
• Towel Day (5/24)
• Glorious 25th May (5/25)
• Alice In Wonderland Day (7/4)
• International Cosplay Day (8/27)
• Back To The Future Day (11/5)
• TARDIS Day (11/23)
• Day of the Ninja (12/5)
• Futurama XMAS/Doctor Who Christmas/Hogswatch, etc.

This stupid cycle of saving and being saved.

Save me Doctor/mom/teacher/lover/friend.  An impossibility.  Obviously.

It's your birthday tomorrow.  I don't know if you're alive (still).  Almost afraid to rip through everything I own looking for your phone number.  Address.  I accidentally (?) threw those things away a year ago.  I still look sometimes.

Everything I regret, I think.

Every time someone asks me to be sad, even though things have been worse.  Even though people have died.  Worse (I suppose) things have happened.  Every time: I think of you.  I'm still in your living room in Mississippi.  Scared and bored.  Running.  I was running then.  Still running.  Haven't gotten anywhere yet.

But I can't fix anything.  Can't change anything.  Even if I went back tomorrow, tonight.  I couldn't change a thing.

It's a regret and a trap.  It's marrow and I bet it'll outlast everything else in my life.

I don't really desire.  I just feel the absence of.

A vacuum, vast space in my heart.  Doesn't mean things don't happen in this really fucking long meantime.

We're so so so used to loss.

Anyway.  Hi, Tyler.  If you're reading this.

Happy 28.

I love you, man.

...the pursuit of knowledge.  Why do you love what you love?  That is important.

maybe black mesa

...and sometimes the lovely things that happen on days that long, long, long are like little apologies to get you through.

Usually they're interactions with people.  Sometimes they're songs on the radio.  Or glimpses in the distance. Or an obscenely pretty sunset.  Or little hits of achievement.  Not perfect, still trying.  Still getting somewhere.

• The kids are debating Star Wars.  They've by now almost all discovered Star Wars, The Avengers and Pokemon.  This leads to some pretty interesting discussions.  And me chiming in a lot to correct misinformation.  Pronunciation of Leia.  No, Leia's middle name is not Leah.  Darth Vader is Anakin Skywalker.  [explosive sound; mind blown] Maybe I should go watch Star Wars now.  Hm.  I don't know as much about Pokemon or The Avengers, but I do know Iron Man's real name is Tony Stark.  You're welcome, Q.
• Artists being super-nice and responsible.  There's a stereotype...perhaps you're familiar with it, perhaps not...that artists are irresponsible, perpetually late and generally loaf-abouts.  If you've ever experienced artists like that (and I have) you have my sympathy.  I've been running around collecting art to donate to my dance company's silent auction and I'm happy to report that the three I've talked to have been absolutely  responsible, nice and apologetic when appropriate.  Anchorage artz reprezent.
• Glimpse of my Code Angel.  Always nice, always weird.  Code Angels are...crushes, basically.  Yup. Crushes.  Just a slightly cooler name for it.
• Getting to talk briefly with people who should probably be my friends.  Would be my friends if I and they had more time and weren't so introverted.  Although I suspect to think that the secret to a successful friendship is...distance.
• Excellent yoga class.  Just breathe and sweat and...mostly breathe.  Breathing's the hardest part, you know?  Also, Kim is my favorite pagan foul-mouthed female Christopher Walken yogi ever.
• Being able to lose a pound a week, despite everything.  Thanks, body.  I know you're tired right now.

e.scape v.elocity

So I was sitting on the couch reading...things.  This one blog.  This one book.  In my self-mandated downtime (it's a thing) when I remembered I could be blogging.  So I am!  Hello.

Thus far January has not been my amigo, buddy, compatriot or friend-with-potential.  No, no.  January has been kind of a sly needling bint at a party who insists on using her passive aggressiveness to reduce me to a crumple ball of wallfloweriness.

Maybe that can become a series of some sort.  January: A Bint Who.  Like a cross between Doctor Who, The Cat Who and Downton Abbey.  Or (better!) Upstairs, Downstairs.  Truck things keep happening.  Gypsy is having a bad time of it.  Things keep coming up.  Which is understandable, given that it's original everything-but-the-clutch since 1992.  Need to do some maths.  Car payment or money into this one?  ...probably the latter plus a bike for the summer months.  All three of them.  Assuming I have the same job by summer.  Which I hope to.

Have I ever told you how much I love my job?  Someday.

Things have been generally otherwise slidey and stressful.  Warm weather in Anchorage in mid-winter is no bueno.  I know, I know.  One would think it would be bueno, but no.  Not much of anybody gustar that sh*t.

Deep in rehearsals for the January show.  This genuinely is like having a second job.  Plus sometimes I still model and study and whatnot.

It's nice to be working towards something that I know will ultimately be very rewarding and badass with people I enjoy and respect...but I will so love having a consistent sleep pattern again someday, too!

...also, needing to plan for things months away when I can barely think beyond the end of this month is a bit grownuppy and makes me feel like flipping my hair all emo-like, rolling my eyes, slamming the door and listening to Amanda Palmer really loud.  Maybe while sleeping in past the start of class.  After staying up until 4 AM.

Overreaction is key!

'til next time.

shot glam rock but did not shoot the deputy

Obligatory part about new years, new resolutions and needing to accomplish certain things within a certain time-frame in order to feel like a productive person.  This blog is by way of addressing what can best be described as a psychological nutritional deficiency.  It is what it is.

I'm sure we can all relate.  All of us but the sociopaths, that is.

To my surprise, this profile automatically linked up with my Google+ profile.  Which means that if there's anything, dear reader, you wish to know about me you could probably just investigate the Google+-ness and have all your burning questions well answered.

Return to this post once you've a grip on who I is.  Got it?  All right.

Sunday List

• Waking up early enough to do this before rehearsal.
• Must work on kitchen mural of awesomeness.
• Must finish laundry and be dazzled by the strange and wonderful feeling of all the things being clean.
• Pre-rehearsal coffee.  Never-ever happens.  Except, today, it might....
• Rehearsal: immersing myself in sort-of fairytales and hoping that my PMS results in no bloodshed or alienation.
• Forrest yoga.
• Dull domestic pursuits which I suck at and so need practice.
• Wine and merriment and Skyrim, probably.  I have to kill a Draugr Warlord.  It's not going well so far.

It's getting difficult to talk, be hear and interact well with people.  Maybe because the script in my head is wearing out.  Maybe because I don't practice the script anymore.  Haven't really for years.  There was a time I could get the head-stuff, the script, the dissection of everyday minutiae out of my system via a significant other.  That's not possible anymore and hasn't been for some time.

I'll bet it's better to get it taken care of like this.  Friends get tired of hearing it.  People don't really want to deal with the messy mechanics of another person without a little distance.  Distance like miles.  Distance like words.  Distance like years or generations.

Happy Sunday.