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)