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.