New York, NY

This text to my brother pretty much sums up my first 3 weeks here:

Greazy Goombas, closet homos, anorexic business women, power mongering capitalists,
starry eyed Midwestern chewies, maniacal Euros, obsessive NY Giants fans, 12 hour work days, 1am dinner at Wendy's, rat race, bags-under-your-eyes-fatigue, grotesque wastefulness, rats in the street, tiny hot apartments with shuddering radiators, immigrant dreams, New York knuckle fuck!!!

Fortune Favors The Brave

Despite my rather grim portrait of my new life (?!) in New York, I do not have doubts about my move here. The fact is that I am a refugee, fleeing from my past failures. Like any immigrant I have brave dreams of a rosier future.

I never expected New York to be easy. Everyone knows that its not. I don’t even want easy. I don’t respect easy. I enjoy the journey. I relish the struggle.

When people ask me what brought me to New York, what made me leave sunny, idyllic California for the brutal, austerity of New York, its hard for me to answer. I didn’t come to get famous, I didn’t come to get rich, I didn’t come, really, even for school. The real reason I came is to change my destiny. Its that simple. And that complicated.

Oops I Did It Again!

Its sad to admit but I've haven't been having too much fun in NYC. My new job is running me into the ground! I've never worked so much in my life. Maybe I'm spoiled but I'm not used to 50 hour work weeks and 14 hour days with only one (unpaid) half hour break. Plus most of that time is spent on my feet frantically rushing around a busy restaurant catering to the needs of Upper Crust, Nice Enough but No Bullshit Bring-Me-What-I-Want-NOW-New Yorkers. The place is insanely busy. I spend most of my week running around (like a chicken with its head cut off), feet and legs aching, heart pounding, sweating uncomfortably in a black polyester vest and tie. It ain't glamorous, let me tell ya.

The only thing that has made my long shifts somewhat fun has been flirting with a cute busser. A lot of the guys that work there get really stressed out and aggro and yell at each other all the time. But this one is like an angel, always sweet and friendly and helpful. Not to mention tall and sexy. And only 22. Dear Lord help me!

We were riding the subway home the other day and he started up with the usual line of questions I get from non-American guys at work. It always goes like this: Am I married? Do I have a boyfriend? Why not?! They just can't seem to figure it out. How can a pretty, nice-seeming woman of a certain age not be with a man? How can she still be single and not even have a family? I always shut them up by telling them I am waiting for love, waiting for someone who truly has a good heart, who is loving and honest and kind. At that point I think I must seem like some crazy, high minded idealist to them.

Next thing you know we are having beers at a bar together. Then my new roommate called and told me that her boyfriend had been violent with her that day, she was staying at her sister's house and she wanted to warn me that he might try to come by the house that night. I felt horrible for her. I was tired and drunk and sad and I didn't really want to go home alone to the house with some psycho ex-boyfriend trying to get in. Honestly, there's been very, very little pleasure in my life of late. So, you can figure out what happened next...

We were crammed together in my little twin bed with the sound of the N Train constantly rumbling through the night outside my window. At five in the morning he said he couldn't sleep. He apologized and went home.

I lay alone in that little bed cursing myself. Cursing my rotten luck at love. Cursing my pathetic longing for companionship and affection. Cursing my raw need for sex and physical touch. I even thought maybe I could go to Iceland, far away from everyone I knew and end it all. Anything that would end the endless cycle of loneliness and stupidity.

In the morning I woke up. I felt OK. I'm used to these things, I guess.

Which came first, the ovary or the raisin?!

So I’m in New York. Everything’s great. Sort of. I found a job in just one week, an alarmingly short amount of time and a feat which has garnered the astonished praise of many. And within 3 whirlwind weeks I have my very own little room complete with a tiny twin bed all to myself in Astoria, Queens. In a conversation with my new roommate about the neighborhood (I was inquiring if it was safe) she noted that its mostly filled with young artists and actors and then said, “Yeah, my friend and I were just commenting on how many single, white women we see walking around here.” “Grrrrrrreat.” I replied sarcastically.

Oooops! I’m letting my jaded side show already. Keep it under wraps, girl. At least for the first week! Jeez.

Still, there’s no doubt that New York is filled to the brim with attractive, talented, young, ambitious women. Oh yes, they are everywhere, strutting down the streets in their fashionable knee high leather boots. Having a lot of cool women around is not a bad thing mind you, its just that if these smart, sexy, successful women are still single then my odds are not so good. And what can I say; I feel my dreams of ever meeting a man wither just a little more with the crisp fall leaves. It appears to be my destiny to swim in a sea of estrogen as my poor ovaries shrivel up inside of me like two dessicated little raisins.

Sob…[alone in my twin bed]

Let the Wild Rumpus Begin!!!

I've been so good lately. But after 5 months of chastity I sorta slipped up and had a FIVESOME with my ex coworkers last night. We were all out celebrating my move on to greener pastures. Little did I realize how green the pastures were gonna be...
The whole thing was ridiculous! It was like being in a porn.
I still can't believe it.
What a send off for my move to New York!!!

A Funny Thing

If you're a guy and you tell a woman that you recently met that you're leaving town in couple weeks, chances are she won't be interested.

HOWEVER, if you're a woman and you tell a man you hardly know that you're leaving town in a couple weeks - he's enraptured. Nothing like the prospect of no strings attached casual sex, a never-have-to-see-you-again hookup to light a fire in a man's loins!

I've never had so many propositions from guys to suddenly 'hang out' as I've just had in the past couple weeks.

Typical.

Still, could be fun...

Getting It

My coworker (who can, at times, be quite cutting) said something really nice the other day. I was worrying aloud that I looked old. He said, "Violet, You're beautiful. Don't let anybody tell you any different." That made my night.

The problem is I've started to worry about what's wrong with me. I search for reasons why I'm still single, why I haven't had better luck with men. I can't decide what's to blame - my personality or my looks! In the looks department; sometimes its because I'm too fat, other times too old, other times not hip enough. Then there's my personality - that's another whole issue! ha ha... Maybe I'm too intense, maybe I'm too shy, maybe I'm too depressed, maybe I'm not successful enough, maybe I'm not accommodating enough... Blah, blah, blah. Once I go down this path I feel bad about myself. And then I get mad too because I start thinking of all the other people out there who despite their many shortcomings have found love. I start thinking I'm cursed.

But when I'm feeling calm and reasonable about things, when I feel balanced, I realize that I just haven't met the right person or that maybe I wasn't as ready as I thought I was. I realize that my life - pretty much from its inception on a crazy, Catholic commune in the woods, has never been normal or conventional. I've never gone from point A to B to C. While most people I know are getting married, having kids and settling down, I'm preparing to sell everything I own and run away to New York City! This is just me. Someday someone I meet will appreciate these eccentricities and will love me because of/despite them!

And someday (soon, I hope) I will relax and learn to relish the richness of my life, just as it is.

Role Playing

The other day at work a guy asked if I was an actress.
I replied, "Well, I AM starring in my own melodrama."

SEX SEX SEX!!!

I’ve been thinking about sex a lot lately. Well, really when am I not?! But anyway, I was accidentally sent a Kings of Leon CD in the mail. I was going return it but then I just decided to keep it because I kinda like that 'Sex on Fire' song. I’m such a big dork. I so kept listening to this song which is all about great sex and its really got me thinking.
I feel like I haven’t had great sex in years. Actually, I think it would be accurate to say that I have only been having pretty mediocre sex in the past couple years. And yes, sex is like pizza - even when its bad its still pretty good (I actually hate that saying but its kind of appropriate here, so forgive me). So, if sex is like pizza, then I’ve been eating at Dominos for the last couple years when I could be licking delicious homemade sauce off of my fingers at some candlelit pizzeria on a backstreet in Rome! WTF?!
A lot of people will also say ‘sex is overrated’. Well, let me tell you something. The people that say this are always the one’s who are getting laid. After a while they get bored and feel like they could take it or leave it. I know because I’ve been there. But for me to hear this right now is pretty much the equivalent of someone who just walked out of a buffet telling a hungry person that eating is overrated. Sex is important. It helps us relax, it grounds us, it connects us, it feels great, it makes us appreciate our bodies, it’s a way of sharing with another person that transcends words. And when you haven’t had any affection in while, its bliss to be touched.
Problem is when you decide that you don't wanna give it up to just anybody who's hot; when you wanna hold out for something or someone special, then you gotta wait. And wait. And wait...

Rata de Dos Patas - Two Legged Rat

My lovely Salvadorian co worker taught me this song for men who are complete assholes...

English Translation:

Filthy rat
Despicable animal
Scum of life
Ill-made monstrosity!
Subhuman
Mirror image of hell
Damned louse!
How much damage you've done to me!

Vermin
Venomous snake
By-product of life
I hate you and despise you

Two-legged rat!
Yes, Im speaking to you!
Because any despicable insect
Even being the most evil
Compared with you
Just seems so innocent

Damnded bloodsucking leach
Damnded... cockroach
You infect where you poke around
You injure, and you kill

Vermin
Venomous snake
By product of life
I hate you and despise you

Two legged rat!
Yes, Im speaking to you!
Because any despicable insect
Even being the most evil
Compared with you
Seems so innocent

Psychos, Psychos, Everywhere

I noticed a kinda cute boy in the Self Help section (my favorite section, sad, I know) of the local bookstore yesterday. He had been reading intently for quite a while. When he left I took a peek at the book that he had shoved hastily back on the shelf. The title was MEN WHO HATE WOMEN AND THE WOMEN WHO LOVE THEM. Shit.
Oh, but it gets worse.... The book on the ground by the chair he was sitting in was "Getting It Through My Thick Skull: Why I Stayed, What I Learned, and What Millions of People Involved with Sociopaths Need to Know" written by Mary Jo Buttafuco.
Are you fricking kidding me????!!!! Just when you thought the bookstore might be a good place to meet a nice guy. Scary.

All the Single Ladies

In case you didn’t know (which you probably didn’t) this is National Singles Week. Although couples only get a day (the dread V Day), it seems highly appropriate that we singles get a whole week. After all couples get all those great fringe benefits that we don’t, things like, hmmmmm…let’s see – free backrubs (hey, if I want someone to touch me these days, in a way that doesn’t involve sex, I gotta pay!), wedding presents, lower rent, boxes of chocolates, someone to bring them soup when they are sick, flowers, help paying the PG&E bill, sex with someone who actually loves them, bachelorette parties, health insurance…

But people in relationships don’t have all the fun. Oh no. Certainly not! Let’s not forget all the lovely things we can enjoy all on our own: smuggling burritos into romantic comedy matinees in the middle of the day, sleeping in until 2pm with no one to bother you, no strings attached wild sex with someone you definitely won’t respect in the morning, eating homemade chocolate frosting in your bathrobe on the couch at 1am, long, drunken, late night walks home with plenty of time for you to giggle and scream out loud to yourself if you so desire (which you do), sultry afternoons in bed with just yourself and your Hitachi magic wand, rewatching the threesome sex scene from Y Tu Mama Tambien endlessly, speaking the international language of love (and not much else) with sexy locals in foreign locales, picking up hot Serbian soccer players at the Oakland International Airport, still getting to list your MOM as your emergency contact at age 35… ahhhh… the list is endless.
So cheers, to… US!!! Besos!

This girl is funny

I can kinda relate. 'Cept she's a sports fan, wears designer clothes, has a rich mom and just might be a jerk...

Ahhhh... this link thing is driving me crazy, forget the link below (unless you want to cut and paste) and just click on the title of this particular blog entry...
http://oopsiedaisy.typepad.com/oopsie_daisy/2009/05/index.html

Meditation Bootcamp

Last spring, utterly heartbroken and forlorn I decided to go on a 10 day silent meditation retreat. When I got back I tried to write about it. I got as far as the title ‘Meditation Boot Camp’ and could write nothing else. Those few words are pretty apropos though... Wake up at 4am, meditate, eat breakfast, meditate, take a short break, mediate some more, eat lunch meditate, take a short break, meditate, eat fruit and tea (nothing else allowed for dinner!), mediate, go to bed. Wake up and do the same thing. All in silence.

Needless to say, you get to know the core of your mind pretty well by the end of all it. The first couple days you are filled with doubt and fear, irritation and intense paranoia. You suspect you’ve been taken in by a cult. But you can’t talk to anyone about your suspicions. Then you start to get angry. Angry at the serenity and unflappability of the staff who work there (who could either be evil manipulative cult members or brainwashed drones), angry at those around you who annoy you with their very presence and who you can’t even talk to so you can find out that they really aren't that bad. Most of all you are angry at yourself for being insane enough to sign up for this. After about the 5th or 6th day a strange thing happens, all these emotions and thoughts start to burn off, like so many toxic exhaust fumes radiating out from your body and dissipating into the atmosphere. You start to feel calmer, lighter. By the 9th day you feel cleansed.

My mind was like a closet that I kicked open the door to; suspecting it was full of skeletons. Expecting the worst, I was instead confronted with profoundly tidy emptiness. No monsters, no murderers, no ghosts.

You can talk again on the afternoon of the 9th day. When we left our last period of silent meditation and stepped outside the meditation hall it was snowing. Big soft white flakes were covering the surrounding meadow and trees. It was so beautiful. I felt like it was a special miracle just for us. I wanted to cry with gratitude.

I ran across the meadow and found the girl who had been meditating the on the cushion next to me, my silent companion and neighbor all these wild and rocky 9 days. “Oh my god!!!” We were giddy. “What a trip!” “What was it like for you?!” We were stumbling over our words trying to describe our experience, giggling and laughing hysterically. We couldn’t stop talking. It turns out she had dated the lead singer of one of my favorite bands. Crazy, crazy world.

Boooooring!

I have been really bored lately. No men, no drama, no play, all this makes for a dull, dull day. People always like to imply if you are bored, then it might be because you are boring. Certainly I could stay up late at night reading National Geographic or French novels or even watching the news so I could be prepared to make interesting conversation on a chosen topic. What can I say? I don't. I've watched a lot of good movies on netflix lately but that's about it.
I need stimulation. Not from a book or a movie but from interaction in the three dimensional world. The good news is its making me more determined than ever to get the hell outta here. My friend is right, its just too nice out here in California, esp the Bay Area. We are lulling ourselves to sleep with all this comfort and convenience. Its the effin' Island of the Lotus Eaters out here!

Us and Them

I went to see 500 Days of Summer tonight. I have to say that I was not so thrilled. I got suckered into it by the trailer where she is singing the lines from one of my favorite Smiths songs...'if a 10 ton truck kills the both of us, to die by your side...'. It was just another take on sensitive-emo-love-sick boy chases emotionally unavailable but super hot (in a quirky sorta way) hipsterish girl and gets his heart broken. How many of those movies have there been?! I'm sick of seeing idealistic and earnest romantics getting their poor little hearts tromped all over by some cool, elusive, hard-to-pin-down lover. Its bad enough when it happens to you personally without having to watch this tired cycle endlessly glamorized in popular culture. (I'm sounding a bit cranky here...)

Anyway, my drive home was much more interesting than the movie. It was a lovely balmy night here in Oaktown, I had some good music on in my car stereo and I decided to take a little drive. First I had an idea to sneak into a cemetery to look at the moon. Sadly the gates were locked. I briefly debated hiking up a dark hill to check out a mausoleum but then changed my mind when it appeared that a lot of young thuggish looking guys were hopping in and out of cars on the dark street. Apparently a dead-end cemetery street is a great place for drug dealin'.

So I decided to drive through Piedmont. Damn Piedmont is nice! Huge houses stacked on hillsides with crazy panoramic views of the bay. Trees forming graceful arcs over the street. Skunks and raccoons waddling around on their nocturnal quests.

I love to walk through neighborhoods like this and peer in people's windows. It always fascinates me to imagine the lives going on inside those houses. What kind of people can afford places like this? Are they ordinary people who just happened to get lucky or who were born into money? Or are they extraordinary people - a reknown cardiologist who invented a new surgical procedure, successful filmmakers, trilingual international CEOs, famous novelists, a university professor researching the cure for HIV? How are their private lives inside those immaculate, manicured homes? I'd love to make a documentary about the American Dream and interview these people to find out more. How did they get there? What are their lives like?

It was 68 degrees out at 11pm. Nights like tonight remind me its gonna be a hard to leave Oakland. I'm a little enamored by this strange town. Still in the honeymoon phase, I guess.

Remnents

Men are so weird. The last guy I went out with promised me he was gonna go home and make me a homemade B day card (he's an artist). For a while I checked my mail in anticipation. Everyday I would bet myself a $100 that it wouldn't be there, hoping that my pessimism would be proven wrong. It never was. All of a sudden today, there it is, two weeks late, a nice card saying he liked spending time with me and hoped to spend more time with me. Of course, I think he's leaving to travel like TOMORROW. WTF?!
Anyway, I am already imagining this cute little card being tossed into the dustbin of my dating history along with the many other random items men have given me. Various totems men have given me over the years include - a small crystal penis (given to me by my ex boyfriend to ward off other men before I embarked on a 6 month solo trip to Europe), a rug with a giant fire breathing dragon on it, a dvd of some terrible Brazilian rock band, an ugly little leather flask that says 'Te Quiero Mucho' on it, sappy poems written on scraps of paper, a glittery pink vibrator, a $500 custom made corset, a white leather jacket, dirty books, an easel, an audio tape of a guy describing his bedroom to me and then the sound of him jerking off...etc, etc, etc.
As I think about each of these objects, I see a small image of each guy. Who could know what was passing through their mind at the time? I'm sure they all had sincere intentions in the moment. Later though, it was another story...
Funny, but I like to keep these things. No matter how awful, I feel a bit sentimental about them. They are like strange little puzzle pieces - reconstructing an image of a time, a place, a face.
A face that once thought of me.

Why is dating so lame?!

I actually had a couple immensely fun and enjoyable dates with a guy recently (see post below). He was hilarious, he thought I was hilarious, he was all over me telling me how hot I was and making out with me, insinuating future things we might do together, my insanity seemed to excite him rather than terrify him, he seemed like he might be kinda dirty in bed, he was smart and had sexy eyes, he was cute but not so hot that he might be a player, etc... things seemed dimly promising. (Aside from the fact that he's leaving the country to travel for at least a month, god I'm such a sucker for impossible situations!) Anyway, he's an artist/architect and he mentioned that he had a ton of photos up on facebook. Being the nosey person I am I decided to check out his profile. I considered it doing a little 'psychological research'.
Shit. First of all he has 731 friends. What?! Who the hell has that many friends on there? I guess he went to some fancy pantsy school back east and now he's at Cal Berkeley so he has a big network but damn... Then he has 97 photo ALBUMS posted. Each albums has dozens and dozens of pictures. There are probably like a 1000 photos posted. What's in these photos? Picture after picture of him partying with a seemingly endless stream of hip young architects/Berkeley students/whatever. AND it to make it worse there are tons of photos of him posing with hot semi-drunk girls. WTF?! I honestly can't understand why he would even have to go online to meet someone if he is constantly out partying and surrounded by cute girls. It just doesn't make any sense. I'm extremely suspicious now. Everything he's said and done now appear to be disingenuous. Sigh...will this ever end?!!!

The silly things I say and do

Whenever I get too much time on my hands I start thinking about Juan and feeling sad. So, I decided to go out last night. I rustled up myself an internet date.

Due in part to an insane regimen of vodka, rum, beer, and wine with some sips of a gin cocktail thrown in for good measure, I was not on my best behavior...

I spilled my after-dinner glass of Reisling all over the table then asked my date to ask for a free refill.
I checked to see what he left as a tip. After evaluating whether the amount was generous enough, I declared "That tip just made you lose an inch off your penis!"
I also believe I may have spanked him several times...
At the end of the night when we were kissing (yes, he wanted a kiss after all that) I bit his ear lobe!

The crazy thing is we were laughing our asses off most of the night. Later he texted me saying he had a great night and wanted to do it again.
I suspect he may actually return to his senses soon enough and change his mind. We will see...

I may have to impose a strict two drink limit on myself on first dates.

For Juan V.

I love all the cooks at my work, they are all really funny and sweet and great. But Juan was my very favorite. Two days ago he was murdered. His girlfriend picked him up after work and was driving him home when someone open fired on their car. They were at a stoplight in a bad neighborhood in Richmond. Juan died at the scene. His girlfriend died later in the hospital.
I worked with him that night. The last thing he did was give me some food to take home with me since I was hungry at the end of my shift. While I was eating the food he had kindly cooked for me, he was unsuspectingly driving to his death. It breaks my heart.
I looked forward to working with him; his huge, sweet smile brightened my day. Our little flirtations made my tedious job bearable, even fun at times. We'd always wink at each other over the counter. Several days ago I drew a little picture of a heart and stuck it on his chef's coat over his heart. I can't believe that heart is not beating anymore...
He was so adorable. I had a big crush on him. We'd joke that he and I were married and one of the other young guys that worked with us was our son. I even had dreams about him. He had the most beautiful hands and the biggest, softest brown eyes. I loved watching him work; he was graceful and quick and usually laughing. My feelings made me feel vaguely guilty though because he had a live in girlfriend. Juan would always greet me with a "Hi Sexy" whenever he saw me. I made up some excuse to hug him every shift. I wish I had hugged him one last time before I went home Monday night.
He was only 25. I can't believe someone could take this beautiful, wonderful man's life so thoughtlessly. I can't believe we will never see him again. We will never have the pleasure of his smile again, never hear his silly laugh, never hear him sing in Spanish. His brother works there too. I am so sad for him. I don't even think I could look at his brother right now without completely losing my composure. I can't imagine the grief his family feels.
Everyone at work loved him. We all called him 'Juanito' as an endearment even though he was one of the biggest guys there. An air of tragedy hangs over the restaurant, the faces of all the chefs look like they are ready to crumple at any moment. Its really hard to be there.
Te estrano mucho Juanito. Te amo mi amigo.

Viva La Vida

Coming home inebriated and taking topless photos of myself, checking out the construction worker across the street, answering my door still in my slip at 2pm in the afternoon, eating kale tacos for breakfast, meditating, reading Buddhist precepts about refraining from 'sexual misconduct' (feeling vaguely guilty), cyber-stalking my ex boyfriend, dragging myself out of bed at 11am...ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...just another day in Nirvana at the bachelorette pad!

Bootylicious!!!

On a lighter note...
I just have to say thank god for non-white men's appreciation for the booty.
During a blissful sunny stroll at my local farmer's market in Oaktown I received many an appreciative glance and comment. Not grotesque, sleazy and leering like I've encountered by countless crackheads outside my last job in the Tenderloin; rather the pleasant, sweet acknowledgment of men noticing a woman they find attractive. Trust me, when you have been single for a while you start to enjoy this sort of thing...
My favorite was the overly enthusiastic sample boy who leapt at me with a piece of spinach stuffed naan smothered in chutney shouting "I FEED EVERYONE!! But I only chase the cute ones!!" He then followed me insistently with yet another sample. An older black man noted "Now, there's a REAL woman. How're you doing today beautiful?"

Somehow I ended up at the local beauty supply store in an isle full of press on nails and padded butt enhancing shapewear. Beyonce was gyrating sexily in a leotard on the TV singing 'To all the single ladies....if you like it, you shouldda put a ring on it...' Although the likes of Beyonce and JLo are not exactly ideal role models for promoting body acceptance, at the very least they provide images of non-white, non-stick thin beauty. I'd a million times rather look at them than someone like Gwynth Paltrow in all her skinny, austere, ultra-WASPy glory. And let's be honest, Queen Latifa and America Ferrera are beautiful and keep it even MORE REAL! I am infinitely grateful to all the men and women of the world who do not perpetuate the tyrannical belief that you must be very thin in order to be deemed appealing.

I was talking to my female co worker earlier in the day about how all the men at our work tend to get really fixated on certain parts of women's bodies. While I find this somewhat shallow and mildly annoying it also doesn't deeply offend me. Certainly, I do the same thing to some of the men I find attractive. Anyway, all this got me thinking about people's perceptions and judgements about women's bodies.

I've always felt somewhat shy about my body, wishing that I wasn't quite so voluptuous. Somehow my curves make me feel more exposed on the street. Men are forever looking and commenting; sometimes I find it charming (as above) but sometimes I find it horrifying and/or alarming. Wearing something that would seem innocuous on a less endowed body, such as fitted jeans, a tank top or gym clothes, often feels vaguely indecent. I've talked to with some of my... ahem... more buxom friends and I know they feel similarly. What is even more strange is the perception some men may have about you - if a woman has a certain type of body, she may be perceived as less intelligent, more slutty etc. I wonder how we, as women, internalize these beliefs and expectations.

I know that for a long time, I really needed to be viewed as beautiful and desirable by men. I presented myself in a way that was highly sexualized. I have no regrets or shame about the good times I've had in the past. My myriad dating experiences, as well as my sexual experimentation, are an integral part of who I am. They've not only left me more open minded about trying things out for myself but also led me to be less judgemental towards others. I completely get women who want to revel in the power and joy of their sexuality. Hey, its fun! The thing is now, while I still want to be considered beautiful and attractive, I'm not satisfied with being viewed primarily in a sexual way by men. I want to meet someone who I can stay up all night with... talking.

Something to think about..

Love and Compassion Can Defeat Suffering And Depression
From UrbanMonk.net

Editor’s Note: This is a guest post by Lisis Blackston of Quest For Balance.

I recently learned about the power of love and compassion from someone who had all but given up on life. I met him, if you can call it that, in the comments section of another blog, where he posted that he was contemplating suicide.

What really bothered me was that no one had addressed his comment. Did they not see it? Were they uncertain of what to say? Was it a breach of blogger protocol to address a serious issue in someone else’s comments section? I didn’t know, but one thing was certain: this person was suffering. I could not simply go about my day as if I had not noticed it. The last time I tried that approach, things did not work out so well.

When Depression Threatens

Four Christmases ago, a very dear friend of mine took his own life. In a moment of hopelessness and despair, he shot himself. For fourteen years he had been one of my closest friends; we were always there for each other, and I loved him dearly. This was no mere acquaintance, so the news affected me deeply.

This was a fellow pilot and grieving soul. Like me, he had lost his parents at a young age, so we felt a strong connection; we promised to be each other’s shoulder to cry on and soft place to fall when life was knocking us down. He called me every year, without fail, on Valentine’s Day and my birthday, even when I moved to Costa Rica and he moved to Belize.

In 2005, when I got that birthday call, I knew something was terribly wrong. I had never heard him so despondent before. This guy was an aerobatic pilot, a Reno Air Racer; he was full of adventure and passion. But on this particular call, he was somber, quiet, and sad.

He had been struggling with bipolar disorder for a couple of years. He never would have admitted this fact, or sought treatment; but I knew. I recognized all the telltale signs because I had seen them in my dad: the endless rambling phone calls at all hours, the god complex, his blacklist of “enemies” which grew increasingly longer, the purchase of insanely expensive things with other people’s money, the topics of conversation bordering on sexual harassment…

These, and many more, were the symptoms I had been watching develop in him over the course of a few years. I would hear from him a whole lot when he was manic, then not at all for months at a time, during his depressive hibernation.

His family and friends had noticed this as well, but when they tried to get him to seek treatment, he just put them on his blacklist of people to avoid (and get even with). Finally, they did the responsible thing: they reported his condition to the FAA, who promptly revoked his medical certificate. He could no longer fly, and he’d never really done anything else. He used to tell everyone, “The day I can’t fly is the day that I die.” It was his whole life.

Reaching Out for Help

When he called on my birthday, I knew he was in utter despair, trying to figure out what life he could possibly have without flying. But I assumed it was just a phase, and that he would resolve it on the next upswing. I was busy and distracted, moving from Costa Rica to Austin, so I told him I’d call him later.

My birthday was in October; we moved to Austin in November. I almost called him then, but decided I would wait until we were settled in our new home, in early December. Then I was busy moving in, meeting neighbors, and getting ready for Christmas. I meant to call him; I really did… and then I got the email from his ex-wife. Just like that, it was over. All the history we shared and all the promises we made vanished into thin air.

I spent the first two years after that torturing myself with guilt. I should have been a better friend, and called him. Perhaps I could’ve gotten him treatment for his depression since he trusted me and knew about my dad. It would have made all the difference if I just took a moment from my busy life to let him know he was not alone. WHAT IF he had felt loved, instead of abandoned?

I will never know. I did nothing.

Maybe there was something I could have done, maybe not. But I could have tried. I didn’t reach out to help him when he suffered, and I can’t do anything about that now. But I can try to help others who are suffering.

What if Love and Compassion Win?

So, when I saw that person mention suicide in the comments of a blog, I gave him my email and asked him to contact me. And he did. We have been in contact ever since, and I cherish each email I receive from him. He still has a whole set of challenging circumstances to deal with, and I can’t make those go away. We all have those constant burdens to bear, each in our own way. But I can let him know I care, I’m here, and things will get better. Sometimes that is all we need to find the strength to keep going.

A short while ago, I told him I was going out to the yard to plant strawberries with my son. He asked me how long it takes to grow a strawberry plant.

I replied, “I don’t know yet how long it will take to harvest my strawberries. There’s a good chance I never will, because the birds will beat me to it. But it’s ok… I like the planting… and the birds.”

His answer helped me understand the key to happiness: He said, “Yes, there will be birds, but we should not stop planting strawberries. That is the essence of life. Like what Albert Camus tried to propagate in his essay, The Myth of Sisyphus.”

For those of you who may not remember, Sisyphus, of Greek mythology, was the guy condemned to push a boulder up a hill, watch it roll back down, and repeat this for all eternity. His burden is constantly present, but he presses on anyway. What else can he do?

It seems to me, since we each have our individual burdens, that the way to fight off suffering and depression in order to be happy is to find the little things that bring us joy, the simple pleasures. Make time to find them; take time to appreciate them. Just as importantly, if someone you know has lost the ability to enjoy anything, take a moment to help that person. Show a little Love and Compassion, because even little things can make a world of difference. You never know… the life you save may be a friend’s.

Author Bio

Lisis Blackston is a wife and mother who is dedicated to helping others find happiness and inner peace. You can learn more about Lisis at her blog, Quest For Balance, which is dedicated to this concept:

Whether we find happiness through grand adventures, or seek it in every-day places, we all want less pain and more joy. Quest for Balance is a place where people can be reminded that finding lasting happiness and inner peace is not only achievable, but surprisingly simple… for all of us!

Sola

Recently I told my mom, in a rare moment of unabashed positivity, that at times I view my singleness as a luxury. I have no one to report to. There is no need for compromise in my lifestyle. My home is my own blessed oasis, seldom shared. Alone, I am free to roam the corridors of my mind, tending to every thought and emotion as if they were the most treasured and precious of objects. It is true; I have come to love my solitude, the unadulterated contents of my mind, fiercely.

What Else Is There?

I love this song. The video is really creepy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WOt15JsLloU

The Savagery of Women

I just finished She Came To Stay by Simone de Beauvoir. An entrancing book. Apparently its a semi-autobiographical account of a sort of menage a trois she and her lifelong lover Sartre had with a young student of theirs. She's a beautiful and ruthless writer. I can't believe I haven't read her earlier.

I love this passage: "With a sudden movement she pushed back her bangs, baring her smooth forehead. Her face seemed to swell in a burst of violent hatred and suffering. Her mouth was partly open in a smile, like a gash in an overripe fruit; and this open wound in the venomous pulp was exposed to the sunlight. It was impossible to get anywhere."

I've been thinking a lot lately about my mistrust of other women. Its not about jealousy or competition for men. Its more about my fear of being emotionally open and vulnerable with someone outside of a sexual relationship and my past history of feeling hurt by female friends. Why is it that I feel more comfortable having intellectual/philosophical conversations with men? With my female friends I often find us returning (again and again) to discussions centered on interpersonal relationships. I myself perpetuate this cycle with my endless complaints about my love life (or lack thereof)! Its so frustrating. Especially when I know that women are having these types of conversations - but probably with whoever they are in a relationship with. I think this is what partially accounts for my deep loneliness and sadness without a partner; I miss the intensity of the conversations I used to have with the men I've been with. Now, I have no one left who wants to engage in passionate dialogue with me. I remember with my first boyfriend how we used to stay up all night discussing philosophy, art, music. We played each other our favorite songs (he first introduced me to Leonard Cohen and Jimmy Cliff, among infinite others) til 4am and read out loud to one another. My brothers and I still engage in heated political diatribes but other than that I feel intellectually void, my thoughts tangled in my head with no outlet.

As my aspirations for romantic love crumble slowly in my hands and slip away, I long for the company of wise women.

Haunted

I'm on an 80's - 90's music kick. Everything still sounds good. Not much has changed, I'm still alone in my room writing while listening to sad music. Now its this blog rather than morbid teenage poems scratched out in my journal along with smears of my own blood and melodramatic plans for my funereal ('play The End by The Doors' - jeez how original!). Yeah, I guess I'm mellowing out a bit in my old age...

Escaping The Rut

I might have made the most intelligent and penetrating remarks about the ramifications and the causes of my sufferings, my sickness of soul, my general bedevilment of neurosis. The mechanism was transparent to me. But what I needed was not knowledge and understanding. What I longed for in my despair was life and resolution, action and reaction, impulse and impetus. - Herman Hesse, Steppenwolf

Food and Mood

Click on the title of this entry (above) for an interesting article about the impact of different foods on mood and brain chemistry.

Existential Angst

As I was searching through my computer files tonight for an old resume, I stumbled upon this angst ridden little epithet from several years ago. At least I've cheered up somewhat since then...

The attention always seems to come from the wrong places - hungry men wanting to somehow pin down an elusive aspect of me. And me always shying away, never impressed, wanting to be alone in my bed with my shabby continual despair, my flabby repetitive jealousies and petty hatreds. Examining the small white scars of the years as if they could etch themselves into a storyline explaining where I've been and why I'm here. The crushing inertia of daily survival has spent my energy and exhausted my bravery so that I am too tired to flee responsibility or inevitability.
Doldrums coming on hard again and the constant fear of being alone; a shadowy finger which might press down and smash me no matter what language I speak, what far place of the world I try to hide. Fucking uncertainty follows me through my waking hours (which I try to make few), a relentless foe and surely the only thing I can count on besides an intense isolation which will gradually abate to vague misery in an endless repetitive cycle, rising and setting with my days.

The Damage Done

This blog was started on a whim; it was meant to be a (hopefully) witty and semi-amusing way for me to document all my silly dating dramas. And I have lots and lots of dating stories. Waaaaay to many if you ask me. The problem is that I don't know when its going to stop. Honestly, I don't think I can take it much longer. I used to enjoy the thrilling roller coaster ride of meeting new guys, I used to love the hedonistic indulgence of casual sex. The last time I had sex I ended up alone, sobbing in my bed at 2am. Its just not fun anymore. I don't feel sexy or empowered anymore. I just feel used and sad. I'm terrified that I will never find anyone who values me.
I saw a bunch of couples at the restaurant tonight. Most of them seemed really happy and in love. The guys were really nice. One couple was looking through a photo album together, laughing and sharing ice cream sundaes. Another couple was pregnant. I can't be jealous or angry but my heart feels like its going to collapse. I can't remember what its like to have a man look at me with love in his eyes. I can't remember what its like to feel safe and taken care of.

Gringa loca

One of my friends from work is a beautiful girl from El Salvador. She has a radiant smile and is sweet and funny. She practices her English (very good!) with me and I practice my Spanish (not so good)with her. We giggle together a lot. About a week ago she invited me to a birthday party for her friend's daughter in Redwood City. Although I suspected I'd be the only Gringa there, I was totally into going.
First of all, Latinos know how to party. There's always lots of good homemade food, lots of alcohol and lots of loud music. This was a FIVE year old's birthday party and they had hired a band, a DJ, private security(!)and a giant bouncy castle. As I drove down the sunny residential street, I encountered 2 other large parties in people's front lawns complete with banners, balloons, DJs, etc. Apparently whole block was celebrating something.
I love that the parties are not just for the kids; everyone was getting down and dancing sexy to salsa and reggaeton - from the cute 4 year olds in fancy dresses to the 60 something grandma. Dogs and kids were running around everywhere. There were glasses of blended margaritas lined up on tables, piles and piles of fresh pupusas and tamales, giant coolers full of Tecate. I was in heaven.
So, let me tell you about the band. I didn't know this but 'banda' music is a form of traditional brass based music from Mexico. The band was a whole line up of trumpet and trombone players, a bunch drummers and sousaphone player. There must have been 10 or 12 guys up there. They also happened to be quite young and cute. Very suave in tight matching jeans and button down shirts. My friend Olympia and I were sitting at the table right in front of them. A couple of the guys kept staring at us and giving us smoldering looks while they were playing. They did sexy little gyrating dances with each other, they even turned around and provocatively wiggled their butts in our faces. I was mesmerized. Next they started parading around while puffing away on their instruments. Everyone was clapping and shouting. They grabbed Olympia and I and dragged us out to dance. We were laughing and trying to escape their clutches.
At the end of their set they tried to chat us up and ask us out. Most of the guys were from the Bay Area and spoke perfect English. A tall cute one with a faux hawk kept insisting on getting my number. Obviously a total player. He kept saying "Why don't you dance for me? I want to see your style." I kept looking at his lips which were all swollen and cut up from blowing his horn so hard.
As I was getting a sweater out of my car, we ran into them again, on their way out to another gig. They were leaning out the car window asking us to come with them. I grabbed a $100 bill from my pocket (my tips from work earlier) and waved it in their faces. I said they could have me for only $400 dollars! A bad joke obviously, but amusing to see their confused expressions. Afterward we went back to the party and ate Tres Leches Cake. Olympia's boyfriend came later from the airport. He works as a cab driver in Vegas. He told me stories about how crazy it was there. Before I left, I gave everyone big hugs. I had such a good time.
I don't understand it, but I feel much more comfortable in many ways with people from other countries/cultures, than with my so-called peers. With people from other countries I feel free, relaxed, at ease - even if I speak their language like a retarded 4 year old. Yet with people from the U.S. I feel out of the loop - I don't get the pop culture and TV references (and I don't care), uncomfortable about my body and my clothes, hyper-aware of all the subtle undercurrents of the social scene. I feel invisible and unacknowledged by the men, subtlely judged by the women.
I've always felt like an outsider. Growing up on a commune in the woods with no electricity and being home-schooled until age nine will do that to you. Am I fetishizing and romanticizing different cultures?! Or do I feel comfortable with people from other cultures because they are outsiders in this country too?! Maybe a little bit of both...

Behind the times

Ok, I'm a couple years late but I can't stop listening to this song by The Knife. The video is too good to be true, everything I love; a tranny, hot thuggish boys, weird dancing and old people.

Embarazada?!!!

Well, I'm back from my lovely trip to Argentina. Despite lingering romantic dreams of foreign locales, I've more or less recovered. Usually I am abysmally depressed upon my return from trips - I run away from all my problems, hedonistically indulge my senses and then I have to return home to responsibility and everything I've tried so hard to escape. I have reverse culture shock and mope for weeks.

BUT this time I don't feel too bad. Mostly I think its because my trip was only 2 weeks, but I also like to think its because I'm being more positive and proactive about my life now. Ummmmm yeah...

Anyway, it was not too bad being back at work. I got lots of hugs from everyone. That was really nice. And the chef I used to hook up with was suddenly surreptitiously checking me out again. The guys in the kitchen kept telling me "B. likes jueras." (Juera is pronounced 'where-a', it means white girl, usually blonde, in Spanish). They also happened to mention that he is going to be a father. I know he already has one kid in Mexico and that the mom wants pretty much nothing to do with him. But apparently he's knocked up some poor girl here. So now he's got another kid on the way in the US. His friend told me this in front of me of him. I was like "Is this true?!" He nodded. I didn't know what to say. It was a bit awkward to have the man who you used to casually hook up with tell you that he got some girl pregnant. I joked that he'd better start working harder, to support his new family. Then he started making jokes half in English half in Spanish about how he's gonna pay only $10 a month in child support. Damn... I told him I felt sorry for the baby momma. I really do.

Ahhhhh... Thank god we were always really careful about that sort of thing. I just could not see myself having this man's child. He's not a bad guy but he reminds me of a lost, confused 14 year old boy.

Argentina!

I'm in Argentina. Needless to say I haven't been on my best behavior and I've been subsisting on a diet comprised almost entirely of empandas, beer and wine. Its been a great time but I'm hardly walking a path of moderation. Its tempting to fall back into my old slutty ways. More on that later...
Funny how all travelers think they are having this unique experience when it turns out that everyone is doing almost exactly the same thing and having very similar experiences. I have to acknowledge that I am not that different after all.

A Poem

Kindness

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.

~ Naomi Shihab Nye ~

(Words From Under the Words: Selected Poems)

Craigslist Crazies

I was looking to sublet my place for a couple weeks while I'm traveling in Argentina. So I put up a posting on craigslist looking for a temporary subletter.

This is a response I got.

HI,
If I have not answered your questions and answers that you wanted me to in your ad, please excuse me because I don’t have time. I’m in a hurry to find housing and have to put some general description of myself together. I’m honest if you don’t like me, don’t call me.
I’m 29. I’m F. I moved here independently. It was terrifying and I’m stressed out all of the time. I work technical opportunities. I had some displacement and was left in San Diego. I worked and worked for several years and lost track of time almost hypnotized by the need to survive, I didn’t like the people I was around or the work or the conditions, it was nearly intolerable.
I lived in SF in my lower twenties and enjoyed myself a lot. I was into work, arts, crafts, music, had a great life.
Now I work technical jobs and they are hit or miss. I have difficulty finding a perfect fit, some of these places are very picky and weird. I do work hard and have worked 5 jobs since I got here by myself a year ago. I’ve also moved about 8 times, if not more in just a year. It sucks to be me, I get gross roommates and have to leave.
How I live: I work 40 hour plus weeks when I can. I am independent. I run, cook, clean, clean up, am angry about getting old and don’t bother anybody with it much. I meet freaks out in public so I never make friends and then I come back and read some more, take some classes, cook some food and remain detached. I don’t have a car but if I had one I’d go hiking and looking at wildlife. I love stuff like furniture refinishing, art, running around and stuff that is entertaining. I have terrible luck and get into some problems because I’m small and vulnerable and people harass me about my need for them and whatever, I don’t have any.
I like to live with people who can tolerate my disposition because I’m always fried and worried. I’m prone to depression because I don’t have family and all these bad things happen to me that don’t happen to others. I’m not joking, it’s painful to change things all of the time.
I love dogs, animals and stuff in general. I never make any friends. I’m unsuccessful on interview and get ready for them now just believing I will not be hired, I’m not material.
I quit taking some classes and have to re-take them. I get upset and feel defeated.
But I am clean, neat, organized, reliable, have a resume, have references, clean, make nice household things and can be relied upon for things around the house. You would like that about me.
I’ve been told that I thump when I walk and my door slamming habit needs alterations. I’ve decided that it’s just human. I’m not a fille.
Please get back to me if I am going to be a good fit. I like sublet now because you never know who the fuck you’re working with. Some of these people I’ve rented from or attempted to rent from had to be sued later on for the way that they treated me and I’ll do it again, don’t FUCK with me, please. I’m nice.
I don’ tlike men who want to take me on a vacation, I don’t need one. I might as k you where I can find work, who wouldn’t?
Oh, my décor is just clean, basic, drab white stuff. I do crafts around the house constantly to make it fun and more livable and work with my surroundings to figure out what is acceptable.

IS THIS FOR REAL? It must be a joke! Who would say these things when looking for housing?! I'm actually a bit concerned about this person!

The Middle Path

I was sitting here trying to meditate and my cell phone chimed to indicate I had received a text message. Technically, I guess I should have just turned the phone off. Then I was distracted, wondering who it was, wanting to rush to answer it. I finished my mediation anyway. But when I was done the first thing I did was reach for the phone.

I want to be a good person - a spiritual, peaceful, non-angst ridden person. I really do. But there seems to be this huge schism in my life between my developing spiritual side and my mediation practice vs my daily life. From day to day I’m dating, drinking, gossiping at work. Having lustful thoughts about the sexy cook. Texting my ex. Squandering precious hours online. Trying to ‘fit in’. Being vain. Comparing myself to others. Indulging in sensual pleasures. Basically being anything but mindful.

The thing is, I don’t know how to live without these pastimes and behaviors in my life; I fear that if I give them up I will be totally alone. I won’t be able to relate to any of my friends. I will be more of a freak than ever. And yet I see that these activities are less and less meaningful to me, they are more anxiety producing than comforting. I am not sustained by these things.

My daily meditation practice is making me feel better. But I’m conflicted. I don’t know who to talk to about these things. Most of the teachings seem to be written by and directed towards people who are monks or at the very least very strict about their religious/spiritual discipline. In general organized religion does not appeal to me and I don’t even know if I want to be a Buddhist per se. I would like to start by being a happier, more balanced and compassionate person in my everyday life. Can I do that? All I know is that somehow, despite my confusion, I’m on the right path…

Virgin Whore Complex

From Urban Dictionary (to see more definitions click on title of this blog which links to Urban Dictionary)
Madonna-Whore Complex
The seemingly conflicting desires that some (but certainly not all) men have for a woman who is experienced in the bedroom and unashamed of showing sexual prowess ("whore"), but at the same time a woman who is wholesome, clean and nuturing ("madonna"), particularly enough to not be branded a "slut".

This concept is due to having a large population of sexually frustrated people (both men AND women) who were raised to believe that sexual activity or just being sexy is a dirty and shameful act, and a society where both men and women have been led to believe that women have to either be complete prudes or totally promiscuous.
"Dick is an ex-quarterback with a madonna-whore complex. Jane is an equally confused prude who needs to drink a quart of whisky to release her sexual inhibitions guiltlessly. They were made for each other."

I think I have a virgin/whore complex about myself! One part of me wants to be a raging slut while the other strives to be a long-suffering masochistic saint. I feel like a lot of my other sexually liberated, smart and dynamic female friends struggle with the same dilemma. What to do, what to do?!

Porn

In the anticipation that I will be spending many long lonely nights (and days) with no one but my boring self I decided to invest in some porn. I'm a bit embarrassed to admit this but I made my first porn purchase. While I'm not anti-porn, I also don't totally support the industry. I think, in most cases, its an exploitative way to earn a living and usually I feel sorry for the people, especially the women.
That being said, against my better judgement and begging forgiveness from Buddha and Jesus Christo, I ordered some porn DVDs. On the list where Bi Bi Brazil - hot bi Brazilian guys with (naturally)sexy Brazilian women and Cochinas (which means dirty in a sexy way in Spanish). Jesus Christo, lo siento mucho~

What self control?!

This explains a lot! Now I don't have to feel bad for having 3 mojitos tonight and texting several of my exes...

Losing It: Why Self-Control Is Not Natural
LiveScience.com
Meredith F. Small
LiveScience's Human Nature Columnist
LiveScience.com meredith F. Small
livescience's Human Nature Columnist
livescience.com – Fri Apr 10, 9:45 am ET

After dinner last night, I lost my usual self-control and ate half a box of cookies. No wonder. My self-control had been under pressure all day. I righteously refused a muffin at breakfast, didn't scream at my kid to get out the door although we were late, made a conscious decision not to run over a pedestrian crossing against the light, kept my fist from pounding on the table during a faculty meeting, and resisted the urge to throw an annoying student out of my office.

But by 7 p.m., my self-control mechanism was worn out, and down those cookies went.

The empty box would have been no surprise to Yale University psychologist Joshua Ackerman and colleagues who have discovered that self-control not only wears us down, even thinking about other people's self-control is too much to handle.

In the latest issue of the journal Psychological Science, the researchers taunted subjects with the story of a waiter who was surrounded by gourmet food but not allowed a taste. Some of the subjects were encouraged to go beyond polite listening and actually imagine this poor waiter, to have real empathy with his situation. And then everybody was shown pictures of expensive stuff. Those who had put themselves in the shoes of the waiter, had suffered all that self-control as he had, wanted that stuff, no matter the price.

In other words, just the thought of someone, anyone, depriving himself eventually makes greedy beasts of all of us.

Apparently, it's human nature to be out of control. Imagine our early ancestors roaming the savannah looking for food. They might bring down a gazelle, but that meat was probably not enough for some of the group. As soon as they wiped their mouths, those lacking self-control were probably off again on the hunt because they could not deny themselves anything.

Such an attitude was probably adaptive. It kept the group on the take, always looking, always wanting, always getting, and those who wanted more surely lived longer and passed on more genes that those who sat around the first gazelle and said, "We'll, I'm satisfied," not imagining they would be hungry again soon.

The need for self-control must have come much later, and in other spheres than food. Group living, for example, takes great self-control; it takes a lot to live with people day after day and not kill them, and so those more reflective humans who could keep their anger in check probably did well once humans settled into communities.

But that kind of self-control has become so painful in the modern world because there is so much to want, so much to tempt our restraint. We live in busy, complex communities surrounded by desirable goods and fun ideas, and so all day, every day, we hold back. And we see that most everyone else is holding back too. We are hit hard by both our own weary self-control as well as the exhausting empathy we apparently have for everyone else's self-control.

It really is too much. It makes perfect sense that we sometimes lose it and eat half, or even a whole, box of cookies in one sitting.

*Meredith F. Small is an anthropologist at Cornell University. She is also the author of "Our Babies, Ourselves; How Biology and Culture Shape the Way We Parent" (link) and "The Culture of Our Discontent; Beyond the Medical Model of Mental Illness" (link). Her Human Nature column appears each Friday on LiveScience.

And I thought I was Melodramatic...

I heard a Portuguese singer called Mariza the other day. I must say I'm captivated. Apparently there is a whole tradition of Portuguese music which is typified by its theatrical and depressing nature. I love it!

From Wikipedia: Fado (translated as destiny or fate) is a music genre which can be traced from the 1820s in Portugal, but probably with much earlier origins. In popular belief, Fado is a form of music characterized by mournful tunes and lyrics, often about the sea or the life of the poor. However, in reality Fado is simply a form of song which can be about anything, but must follow a certain structure.

The music is usually linked to the Portuguese word saudade (that has no match in English but it could be understood as nostalgia felt while missing someone), a word describing a sentiment. The word "pine", sharing the same root as the Portuguese word "pena" (which has evolved to express the feeling of being sorry for someone) seems to describe the meaning of the word saudade only in very crude terms as a feeling of nostalgia, or longing, which is agreed by translators to not be an accurate description.Furthermore, because the word pine is actually a verb in English whilst saudade is simply a noun, any translation using these two words would be inaccurate.

Some enthusiasts claim that Fado's origins are a mixture of African slave rhythms with the traditional music of Portuguese sailors and Arabic influence.

Here are the lyrics in English and Portuguese.

Primavera
Spring

Todo o amor que nos prendera,
All the love that had tied us,

como se fora de cera,
as if it was of wax,

Se quebrava e desfazia.
was breaking and crumbling down.

Ai funesta Primavera,
Ai, tragic Spring

quem me dera, quem nos dera,
how I wish, how I wish that we

ter morrido nesse dia.
had died on that day

E condenaram-me a tanto,
And I was comdemd to so much

viver comigo meu pranto,
to live with my crying

viver, viver e sem ti.
to live, to live, and without you

Vivendo sem, no entanto, eu me esquecer desse encanto,
Living, however without forgetting the enchantment

que nesse dia perdi.
that I lost that day

Pão duro da solidão,
hard bread of loliness

é somente o que nos dão,
that’s all we get

o que nos dão a comer.
that’s all we are given to eat

Que importa que o coração,
What does the heart matter,

diga que sim ou que não,
whatever it says, yes or no,

se continua a viver.
if it keeps on living

Todo o amor que nos prendera,
All love that had tied us,

se quebrara e desfizera,
was breaking and crumbling down,

em pavor se convertia.
was turning into dread

Ninguém fale em Primavera,
No one should talk to about Spring

quem me dera, quem nos dera,
how I wish, how I wish that we

ter morrido nesse dia.
had died on that day.

More Romantic Words

Ahhhhh the men of online dating. WOW. They really are quite amazing...

From BodyofaGod who apparently is a real magician:

message me back..i'm so worth it.

peace

luci

310-413-4414

i'll be in the city today..being fabulous,
playing the guitar and making up love songs to random women i meet.

love you!

Another one:
From BodyofaGod Yesterday - 3:21am

ｗｈｅｎ　ａｒｅ　ｙｏｕ　ｆｒｅｅ？　ｉ　ｎｅｅｄ　ｔｏ　ｌｅｔ　ｇｏ　ｏｆ　ａ　ｌｉｔｔｌｅ　ｓｔｒｅｓｓ．

ｃａｒｅ　ｔｏ　ｄａｎｃｅ？　　ｍｏｖｉｅ？

ｍｙ　ｐａｓｓｉｏｎ　ｉｓ　ｄｅｅｐ　ａｎｄ　ｍｙ　ａｉｍ　ｉｓ　ｗｉｄｅ．

Gag Reflex

I received this sleazy little missive in my inbox at an unnamed dating website... Wow, there's a lot of winners out there!
Just horrifying, really...

None could whore you I am sure all men love you equally. A Magdellena for sure. You are so lovely I would write a dozen poems just to meet you. That is my proposal. Endure my words twelve times and my heart will be thine. Love me or I'll love you, maybe we can get the synchronicity going and fall for each other. You will fall, deeply and I will catch you completely.

messenger addresses
Yahoo: jestingsorrow@rocketmail.com
AIM: jestingsorrow

Love ya

Come With Me

Come with me woman
I will fill you up with my love
The sea currents in your cave
Enshroud me as no woman has

Take me inside of you
Pull me in your currents
Release me and I will come again
Always coming to you, for you

If you wash my feet with your hair
I will wash your body with my locks
Sanctifying my desire with firm cock
Wetting your oceans and sea with my care

Come for me or I’ll come for you
Push your spike into my heart and in turn screw.

'Jesting sorrow' weirdo is the 3rd guy so far this year to write me a poem. Although, I have to say that this poem wins hands down for being the most pornographic. And the least appealing. ICK!!!

High and Dry

I haven't been writing here much lately. There are many reasons behind this. Suffice to say that I've decided to stop playing trivial games with men and fucking around. That is to say that I must be earnest with guys - not flippant and wanton, I must be mature and respect-worthy, not crazy and slutty.
Sigh...
All this seriousness and integrity has left me with little to report.
Also, I am not going to have sex anymore. Not never-ever. But I'm abstaining for a while. I've realized that its been causing me a lot of trouble (DUH!!!), taking up too much of my energy and causing me to develop inexplicable attachments to men who are blatantly not right for me.
So yeah, I'm taking the high road. Let's see where it gets me.
So far things are a little dull...

Who were you in a past life?!

Click on the 'Who were you...' link above the picture.
I stumbled upon this while looking up some Buddhism teachings online. I don't even know that I believe in reincarnation, still its intriguing. I did one with my birthday and one with a friend's (OK, exboyfriend's!) birthday. Creepily enough, the descriptions seemed plausible for both of us.

Maybe the better question to ask might be - what kind of world do we live in that we can look up our supposed past lives online?!

Obviously, to be taken with more than a grain of salt...

Gotta Give it Time...

I love this song



Arcade Fire - Neighborhood 4 (7 Kettles)

The French Lit Major

Last Saturday I was at a bar with some coworkers. One of my gay coworkers is always daring me to talk to cute guys. So when a young, good looking, muscular guy was standing next to me at the bar he interrupted our conversation (during which I was firmly stating, "At least YOU'LL be getting laid tonight... I know I won't be...")to demand that the guy sleep with me. Not missing a cue the guy introduced himself to me. Turns out he's in a PhD program at Stanford studying French Literature. Needless to say, I was impressed and intrigued. I even managed to score some points with him by enthusing about my love for existentialist writers such as Sartre and Camus. So when he invited me outside for a smoke I had reason to believe we might be having an interesting conversation. Well, after several minutes of small talk during which he told me he was 25 (and guessed my age to be 24 - serious beer goggles!) he lurched toward me and said, "Let's make out!".
I backed away.
He approached again, "Come on, let's make out!"
He was cute but this was not what I'd had in mind. "Uhhhhh... I'm not really in the mood right now. How about another time?"
To which he replied, "Well I'm only in town visiting my friend for tonight so there won't be another chance."
Hmmmmm... The great 'Its Now or Never' argument from men. Gotta love that one! Nothing like the prospect of being used for one night of instantaneously gratifying casual sex (only to be dissed the next day) to light a fire under a woman. Should I be jumping at this chance?!
I politely excused myself and went back inside to attend to my beer.

This guy did score some points though...

When introduced to my coworkers he asked why two of them were dressed in suits. They told him they had just come from a Mad Men party.
"What's Mad Men?" he asked.
They were shocked, "Its a TV show, you don't know Mad Men?!"
"No." He replied. "I don't watch TV. TV is bourgeois."
HA!!! I loved it. You should have seen their faces...

The Upstairs Neighbor

As I conduct yet another late night giggling conversation in both English and broken Portuguese, I remind myself not to be too loud because of the upstairs neighbor. When I first moved in she knocked on my door after a particularly uninhibited night and discreetly informed me that this was 'like a roommate situation' because we can hear fairly well what goes on in eachothers' places.
Sometimes I wonder what she must think of me. Does she hear me playing Christmas carols in late January? Singing along to 80’s power ballads? Arguing in broken Spanish and English as the cook I am hooking up with leaves at 2am? Having loud sex on the creaky murphy bed? Crying on the phone to my mom at 3 in the afternoon on a Sunday? Is she annoyed by the smoke alarm which always goes off loudly when I burn toast in the broiler? How did she like the smell of burning oil as my shirtless Brazilian boyfriend deep fried chicken in the kitchen with the back door wide open? Could she hear my brothers, their girlfriends and I tirading about the dissolution of the American Dream at top volume during my last dinner party? Has she noticed I play the same albums over and over? And that I listen to my ‘Latin Lounge’ compilation constantly? Did she hear me dancing and wailing along to Justin Timberlake’s Lovestoned?! Has she noticed the revolving door of strange foreign men coming in and out of my apartment at all hours of the day and night? Does she sometimes suspect she is living above a brothel?!

Does she think that I am A COMPLETE MANIAC?!!?

All I know about her is that she watches A LOT of TV and she seems to enjoy dropping heavy items onto the hardwood floor. I am always hearing strange thunks and thumps right over my head. Other than that she’s a mystery. Oh, and she was once sleeping with a guy who had a personalized license plate that said ‘Let’s Play Master and Servant’. I could hear him spanking her late at night sometimes.
My only hope is that she can’t hear TOO well up there…

Adorable

This Rocks!

Stoner

I decided I needed to smoke a little pot. I don't do this too often but it just seemed like a good idea tonight. My initial plan was to watch a documentary on the Romans. Well, 20 minutes later and I am warbling along to Mazzy Star...'I've been let down...I've been put down...and i'm still coming 'round...again with you.' Then I start thinking all these nice things about my friends and my ex boyfriend. In fact I realize that I was completely in love with him, in a way that I'd never experienced before, and I realize that I am still in love with him. I even begin to suspect that he might be in love back with me! I am so filled with love in fact, that I decide to text one of my friends about how great I think she is and how much I admire her. I had been thinking this for a long time but I guess I never really said it and suddenly I thought that it might be nice for her to hear. Funny huh? Who would guess that I would be so happy and loving stoned?! Maybe its all the meditating...
OK now I'm gonna go watch Cutting Crew 'I Just Died in Your Arms Last Night'. AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH this is the life! ha ha

Despair

So far this blog has been all about my search for love. But lest I neglect the mental illness bit, I need to talk a little about depression. Depression is awful. That’s fair enough to say. People who have struggled with depression throughout their lives are sympathetic, they understand. But those who haven’t experienced it personally can be a bit judgmental. They will suggest you ‘snap out of it’, ‘pull yourself together’, ‘stop being so self-centered’, ‘get over yourself’, ‘stop whining’, etc, etc. I’ve received that type of advice a million times. The problem is you can’t do that. Depression is not laziness, or negativity or merely a lack of will power, or an inability to appreciate things. It is many things – a biochemical imbalance, a systematic way of looking at the world, a dysfunctional coping mechanism, learned helplessness, a catalyst for change when change is needed, an illness, a symptom of our sick society, a response to problems in one’s life, an addiction, a consequence of isolation, something that runs in families. Depression completely takes over your life and distorts your perception of reality. You cannot think straight. You cannot make decisions or plan for the future. And once you know you have depression you are forever scared that you may be falling back into its strangling grip. At least I am. I’m never sure if I’m over- reacting to a situation because I’m depressed or whether the situation really is shitty. Such is the case with my life right now.

I’m tired of pretending to be OK. My life, at this point is somewhat of a fiasco. When you question what is the point of being alive on a daily basis, that is not a good thing. But I don’t know what to do. There is no one to blame. I know now that I am responsible for my own suffering. What I don’t know is how to stop.
Years of failed relationships with men who could not love me back the way I wanted (even the way I deserved, as they all later confess), friendships that I never felt secure or safe in, jobs that were not only uninspiring but completely draining, confusion about my career, crippling loneliness, depression and isolation, have left my self esteem at a low point.

But I know I am ultimately responsible, I am the only one who can change things. And how I have tried to get better. I may have been ignorant but certainly not lazy. I have tried everything I can think of: therapist after therapist to liberate me from my depression, medication – so many different ones to quiet the obsessive negative ruminations of my mind, to help me feel ‘OK’ enough to make it through the day, hours and hours at the gym exercising to help me feel better about my body, to create enough endorphins to dull the pain, countless hours of prayer, pleading to a god I am uncertain of, a million tears to cleanse my eyes, days of silence and meditation trying to unravel my existential questions. Yet, I am lost. As lost as I’ve ever been. As lonely as I’ve ever been. And so, so, sooooo tired of it. I just don't know what to do next.
I don’t want to die. I don’t want to kill myself. I just want to change. I want to be at peace. I want to feel alive again. I want to feel that my life matters.
The teacher at one of my Buddhist classes last night reminded us, ‘Every life contains ten thousand sorrows and ten thousand joys.’ Certainly there has been joy in my life but at this point I feel blind to it. Like I will never, ever, glimpse it again. I’m terrified I will never find love. I’m terrified this depression will never leave. I’m terrified I will never feel alive and happy again.

The Mating Text of the Alpha Male

I’ve never been one to date your run-of-the mill, business major, domineering yet completely average, guy-next-door, kinda guys. They were never attracted to me; I was always too weird, or too chubby, or too over-the-top for these guys. The feeling was mutual; their conventional ways filled me with boredom and contempt. However, things have changed recently. All of a sudden these guys are into me, they think I might fit into their world. That is, until I open my mouth and start taking! I blame my long, blondish hair for the initial deception…ha ha…
Never-the-less, in an attempt to be open minded, I found myself out on a first date with a guy whose online title was ‘sf_techguy’. I mean, really...not very promising. Couldn’t he have used just a tad bit more creativity here? I myself came up with the witty and winning moniker of ‘whoreableperson’ and that’s the best he can do?!
Anyway, he was your typical alpha male – tall, dark and handsome, with a good job and nothing of much interest to say. The kind of guy who is used to getting what he wants. Immediately after our first date, which was quite mediocre and PG (I gave him a quick hug goodbye), he texted me telling me how cute he thought I was. The next day he texted about how much he wanted to kiss me. Despite my reservations, he seemed nice enough, rich enough and hot enough that I thought why not give him a second chance? However, later in the week he canceled our next date saying he had been dating someone and they had decided to be exclusive.
A month later, completely randomly, I get a text from him asking me to go out for a drink with him this weekend. I questioned him ‘aren’t you dating someone?’

His reply: ‘she’s out of town this weekend and i have this burning desire to make out with you.’

He quickly followed that with: ‘i want to make you moan’. (I’m cringing here…)

Then when he got no response from me: ‘if that was too forward, i apologize, i just get really turned on thinking about you… are we on for drinks tmrw night?’

To which I replied: ‘I’m not into cheaters.’

Him: ‘Her and I aren’t exclusive. This isn’t even remotely cheating. Let me take you out for a drink tmrow. Let me taste your lips.’…

(Are you fucking kidding me??!!!)

Me: no response

Him again, a little later: ‘I chose to tell you she’s out of town right? A cheater would have lied and said we broke up. Think about that! Cmon, I don’t want to be dry all weekend!’

Me: no response

But thinking:
I don’t want to be dry all weekend!
UMMMMMMM EXCUSE ME????!!! Let me get this right, your girlfriend is out of town for the weekend. You want to fuck me. BUT its not cheating (on her) because you told ME that you were with her. That makes no sense. I’m sure SHE would consider it cheating! And you can’t possibly go two days without sex so I’m supposed to take this as a wonderful opportunity to come over and screw you?!!!
Is this guy out of his mind?!
I’m offended for myself and for the sake of all womenkind!!!

Change

Despite, or perhaps, because of, all the drama, suffering and self-involvement expressed here (and lived out in my life) I would like to start the New Year off more positively. I just started an 8 week Buddhist class called Transformations of the Heart. The teacher shared this quote with us from The Dhammapada that I find very beautiful and true.

We are what we think.
All that we are arises with our thoughts
With our thoughts we make the world.
Speak or act with an impure mind
And trouble will follow you
As the wheel follows the ox that draws the cart.

We are what we think.
All that we are arises with our thoughts
With our thoughts we make the world.
Speak or act with a pure mind
And happiness will follow you
As your shadow, unbreakable.