dream trio

Saw an ad last night for an upcoming Barry Manilow concert. I'd kinda really like to see him live. So then last night I had a dream that I had a chance to somehow get a message to him that I'd like to sing backup with him, that I was available (heh). But as soon as I did, I found out that (friend who gets all the opportunities) had already gotten the job, or was being considered. And if he didn't work out, some other friends who have many opportunities were next in line.

Then I was back at college at this age, finishing a degree I apparently hadn't finished. And I wasn't sure how I'd pay for it, if it had already been paid for, if my father was paying, or if I was going to have to go into debt to do it. I was driving around Gambier thinking, "I forgot how adorable this town is" (which, truth be told, you could never forget). I was then at the bookstore wondering if I'd still have $250 a semester with which to buy things. So yeah, money issues reflected.

THEN...I was at some event and he was there, and he was actively avoiding me, and I went up to him (many others were clamoring to talk to him, my nightmare) and asked if we could talk. He reluctantly agreed, and then walked away.

So there. A trio of dreams in one night that reflect all of my fears. No escape.

storms

Yeah, I get it. I mean, you were already in (at least) two other groups, but you got asked (surely you didn't audition!) to be in this one too and it's not like you could say no. The group that would never consider women...now has one. Plus, you're young and pretty and irresistible. You can mother the boys on the road, and get involved with whichever one/s are straight. Good for you.

For as long as I can remember, people have told me that my thoughts are/will be a "self fulfilling prophecy". I've heard it so often I want to kick people when they say it to me, as if it's never been said before. Yes, good. Got it. I blame myself for everything bad that's happened because I made it happen. My thoughts are just THAT powerful, apparently. You don't need to say it again. And the more I think about it, the more I think that being successful - at anything - must require at least a certain amount of haughtiness, even if you consider yourself insecure. Whatever it is, I lack it. But as an added layer on the shit sandwich, I've always been able to see my worst case fears on the horizon, the things that seem so unlikely that then come true, because they are of course the most painful things I could conjure up. And that's the case here. When he gets involved with her, which he will if he's not already, another little piece of me will crumble. Because I was just the springboard, letting him know that yes, he's desirable to other women. Glad I could help him out in letting him in on that. Primed him for her, young and precious as she is.

So fucking tired of being old, worn out, and not of interest to ANYONE. So tired. So sad.

virtual tour

My allergies are mostly under control. Pre-shots, at this time of year, I'd be absolutely MISERABLE. Now I have very few symptoms. But my eyes are watering and itchy itchy itchy. That's what I have going on now. It's the height of ragweed season. Like a little reminder that all that stuff outside is very powerful and I'm fending it off best as I can with the help of the immunotherapy.

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Last night, I couldn't sleep (again). Up until at least 4. While trying to get myself to fall asleep, I took a virtual tour in my head of the house I mostly grew up in. I can remember it pretty clearly but there are a few walls that fade away into nothing, as I can't visualize them. My parents (then still together) built a new master bedroom suite over the garage (he did the same with his current house) and I got the old master bedroom. So I had this HUGE room with two giant closets, lots of space, and MY OWN BATHROOM. I mean, as an adult, I don't have a bathroom off of my bedroom. Apparently I've downgraded. I thought about the pool room with the line drawing cityscape wallpaper, the den with the orange leather couches, the pool I loved so much (until my parents filled it in), the groovy 70s kitchen that was featured in some design magazine.

I tried to find a picture of the outside of the house, but can't. I know there are some around. I did find a real estate site that values the house at around $134K, which is, believe it or not, expensive for that area, which is so economically depressed that real estate is dirt cheap. I found this album page from my brother's flickr account. Tonight he's in the area and we're going to dinner with my cousin and his wife. My brother and my cousin are 20 years apart so they didn't know each other, but tonight we'll all meet up. That should be fun. That's my cousin in the middle row on the very right. He was 15. My brother wasn't yet born. My parents were - holy crap - 31. 

Shirley

I love this face. I have been looking at this face for so long.

arc of today

I could really do without the cats throwing up in places that are hard to access or see. Gross. You can see how easy it'd be for a house to turn into a "Hoarders"-style place because the fur/poop/vomit maintenance is relentless and tiring. And I only have two cats.

Had lunch with my adorable friend S today. You know how there are some people for whom you have nothing but affection? He's one of those people.

Then I got home to find a very disturbing...note from my father. Shit.

well, that was fun

I have a lot of weird, and sometimes disturbing dreams, but not a lot of doomsday dreams. In fact, I'm always a little amused/annoyed at people who label themselves "positive" or "sunny" who have persistent and recurring dreams about, say, DYING, or of people they know dying, or some horrific Michael Bay-ish scenario. Maybe check what's going on in your subconscious there, pal, because it's telling you something.

But last night I had one of those Michael Bay-esque type dreams. I was inside and I see out of the corner of my eye some very intense lightning hitting a GIANT transformer in the distance. Direct hit. The transformer explodes massively, the pole it's on falls, and a huge fireball goes zooming through the sky and right towards me. I see it zip past the house, land, and start a huge fire nearby. Now I'm essentially right beside an inferno, and it's moving my way. The cats, who have been scared under the bed, need to be gathered into a carrier, and the only way to get them is to crawl under the bed (this is what would really happen), then I try to assess what else I can grab before the fire gets to my place. That's where I woke up. Holy crap. I could have done without that. But it makes sense. It sure does feel like I'm going up in flames.

FML

me: my payment is a few days late. I'd like to make a payment
automaton in some other country: ok, I can help you. can you tell me why your payment is late?
me: because I don't have enough money coming in
automaton in some other country: oh well, there are no payment plans to help you, but if there are at some point, we can use that info
me: then why did you ask, if there's no payment plan?
automaton in some other country: well, we use that info for when there might be a plan, even if there's not a plan now, we can use that info if at some point there is a plan. without that info, we won't know if we can give you a plan, even though at this point there's no plan
me: why do you guys speak in riddles and talk about plans that don't exist?
automaton in some other country: I'm sorry you feel that way... [more shitty platitudes] I can now take your payment for August and September.
me: no, I just want to make the payment for August. it's not September yet.
automaton in some other country: well, that number I just gave you is for the past due amount.
me: PLUS SEPTEMBER. I just want to pay August.

this went on and on, and this was only ONE phone call. it's like talking to Dr. Suess. I wish we could dispense with the riddles, the offering things that don't exist (are they going to offer to send me a unicorn too?) and asking for payments in advance. this is fucking absurd. this is my life. fuck it. just fuck it.

haul

Back from a delightful weekend in upstate NY with the bestest pals A and G. Sooo nice to see them. So the contrast between there and all the Bad Things I have to deal with here is stark. More on that later. Aside from the dear friends and the cool places we went, I came home with a stash of awesome stuff:

- TC Boyle book from library book sale
- early apples from Lakeside
- cool homegrown heirloom tomato from A and G's garden
- plum tarts A made
- tea
- coffee pods
- coffee maker from A's stash
- pine incense
- Lakeside strawberry-rhubarb pie
- cucumbers from the farmers market in Troy
- owl stickers
- chocolate balsamic from Saratoga Olive Oil 

And we saw these pillows that are scarily like Rocco and Shirley:

another geezer alert

You're a geezer if you have said something like this:

"OMIGOD TIMELINE! I HATE THE FACEBOOK TIMELINE! DOES ANYONE LIKE IT? NOONE I KNOW LIKES IT! I'M QUITTING FACEBOOK UNTIL THEY GO BACK TO THE OLD FORMAT!"

etc

list

- laundry done
- sheets changed
- cat food bought
- trash out
- litterbox cleaned (blech)
- hair gel bought (yet another experiment)
- key copied and ready to take to friend
- bank
- wrote voiceovers for web series
- work on Tara's site
- sync iPod
- start packing

strawberry ice cream for dinner? maybe. I think I'll go to the store before my 6p call.

STFU

Between the cicadas, the motorcycles, the ice cream truck music, the neighbors on two sides who apparently do not believe in mufflers, and the kid upstairs running/falling/pushing furniture over and over all day long, I'm about to kick some ass. Or jab out my eardrums.

where am I?

Sometime last night I partially woke up and thought I was in my living room on the couch, or somewhere else completely. I remember looking right at the clock radio and thinking I was somewhere else. Didn't recognize the contours of the room. I was very disoriented for a few minutes and then I realized I was in my own bed. I don't remember that ever happening as an adult. I mean, sometimes you wake up disoriented when you're somewhere else, but not in your own bed. Very disconcerting. Right after that, Rocco jumped on the bed smelling like poop (uncommon), then I got up to a raging storm and poop on the rug (never happened before) and an upsetting email from my stepmother. Things haven't improved since then.

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case in point. yeah, you see what I mean...

I'm fascinated/horrified by aging, and I've noticed that some people might be aging really well, BUT their eyes look horribly tired, and that gives them away. I don't know if it's about lines or puffiness, or an emotional weariness that translates physically (or all of those), but there are lots of people who otherwise look youthful but have those tired, tired eyes. No clue if I'm one of them. It's just something I've observed in others.

fuck you, unfriend me

Penn's been doing this thing on Facebook lately that's actually pretty funny. It started out more seriously. When he'd post something potentially contentious or political, he'd close with something along the lines of "if you don't agree with me on this, fuck you, unfriend me". Though he continues to do it with those types of things, he now does it for trivial things too, like "I eat chips naked standing in the kitchen. If you don't think that's sexy, fuck you, unfriend me". We diverge politically a fair amount, but I don't post many political things, so he hasn't unfriended me, though I know he does it fairly often when someone posts something he really dislikes. Obviously he's not someone who shies away from confrontation or controversy, but I think he wants his friends list to be made up of people he generally actually likes.

Sample:

I agree with him on this, but that's another post.

Anyways, I was watching some show where one of the characters said, about his brother, "he's single for a reason, believe me". Now, this is something I've heard in media and shows and movies forever. And you hear people saying it in real life too. I have an abject fear that people say that about me, though noone's ever said it TO me. It kills me that I'm single (now - I'll put "now" in just to put in some forced optimism). It feels like one of my greatest failures, and that's really saying something. But there's nothing more presumptuous than a haughty coupled person making that assertion. There but for the grace of (your diety) go you, really. I KNOW I'm a good partner. And it kills me to be alone. And I kinda wish there were some real life equivalent to Facebook, where I could simultaneously notify everyone I know that if they ever said or thought that about me, well, fuck you, unfriend me. Or unfamily me. Or whatever. Because like I just said, I have a million flaws and I own them, but there are lots of very very flawed people who found someone. Why do I have to be punished and alone? Anyone who thinks that's what I deserve isn't someone I want to associate with, even a little bit.

more from the Massholery Chronicles

I recently read a question on askmetafilter.com where a guy wondered why aggressive and mean people seemed to lash out at him, even when he wasn't doing anything, or anything he could identify that would cause those responses. He got lots of thoughtful answers, as usual, including one of my own. See, these things happen to me too. And almost always when I'm alone. Case in point from today: I almost always use the self checkouts at the grocery store. I usually wait a little while while the person before me (if there is one) bags their stuff, then I start scanning mine. And if that person isn't yet done when I start scanning, well our things touch and they bag up their own stuff, or they use the divider that's at the end of each belt to keep the things separate. It's never been an issue for me, on either end of the belt. And I've been using the self-checkouts for some years. Today, I started scanning though the guy before me was still at the end of the belt, bagging, and he said to me (nastily, of course), "you couldn't have WAITED until I was done??" I said, "there's a divider right there for that very purpose, if it's an issue", and as I said this, I walked to the end of the belt, where he was bagging, and put the divider in. "OH NO - IT'S OK", he said, dripping with assholery. So though I solved his "problem", he persisted being a dick. I reiterated that that was what the divider was for. He continued to mumble nastily. At this point, an adult in control of their emotions would say, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know that was there. I'll use that from now on" and go about their business. But we're in the land of the Masshole, where courtesy doesn't exist, and unbridled nasty is a-ok. So I said, "this is the point at which you'd apologize for being rude...but that would prove you're not a Masshole". And he scurried away shaking his head. I guess someone else in my position here would have shuffled and apologized (unnecessarily, but just to keep the peace) and said nothing? Just walked down to where he was and put the divider up and not engaged the guy? But I am so full up of Massholery that I just...can't. I try VERY hard to be courteous and accommodating in every situation, and even if being an asshole is the default here, I've not become accustomed to it, so I bite back. If you're that fussy that you can't tolerate your things touching my things, put up the damn divider. But would it even have happened in the first place to someone else? Lots of people would say that it's my own energy or something that brings these people to me. And therefore I really should just blame myself. And there's nothing someone else can say or think about me that's negative that I haven't already thought, 1000% worse. I'll never pass up an opportunity to beat the shit out of myself. But I can't get myself to beat myself up over responding when someone is outright rude. I know we live in the "I'm scared of confrontation!" world, but I...I just can't. But it's not fun or satisfying (I have an ex friend who loved nothing more than to fight with strangers). I wish it had never happened in the first place, and wish I could avoid those people to begin with. Maybe because this has never happened before, it's just a numbers game, and my number came up today. But I could really do without it, most especially today.

secrets and lies

Stereotypes, sometimes, exist for a reason. Patrician east coast real estate agent with cartoony name? We've got 'em! Perky Magee. Perky Magee. Seriously?? She's pretty though.

-------------------------

So, my "Secret"-loving cousin lost one of her cats recently. She was only a few years old, but had feline HIV when she got her. She'd been through many illnesses and hospitalizations and alternative treatments in her short life. My cousin even alluded to having moved because one of her roommates was a problem vis-a-vis the cats. Not sure what that's about. I stayed at my cousin's place the year before last (she wasn't there) and there was a whole page of RULES for taking care of the cats. Detailed and specific rules. Cats are easy. You can take care of them, well, with a lot less effort than dogs. This was crazy. Anyways, it's very sad that she lost her cat, and the cat had a good life, albeit short, because of my cousin's devotion.

When her cat got sick this last time, she posted requests for prayers on Facebook. Then again when she had to take the cat in a second time. And when she died, she posted various things: links to her blog entry about it, a notice on the pet hospital's page, an announcement, etc. Missives to the cat about how much she was loved and missed. Apparently she loves "The Secret", but not secrets! And of course I offered my condolences, because I know how awful it is to lose a pet, having done it twice as an adult now. Especially when you don't have someone else to go through the process with. It tends to make (one) feel a little crazier for mourning, because you're doing it alone. But how publicly you do it is a an individual choice. I post some fairly personal thoughts here, but only a select few of the people I know are aware of this blog, and it is not connected to me in any way, and I've been careful about that. And in an environment where it's apparently of utmost importance to feign success and happiness at the cost of playacting, I keep overly personal stuff off Twitter and Facebook. Especially Twitter, which is publicly viewable.

But I'm interested in people who are willing to lay out their deepest issues and heartbreaks, hoping to connect and get support in those forums. And it will always work...I think. One of the many reasons I don't do it is because I fear that I'd get NO response. After all, I rarely get responses here, so I must assume that my writing and thoughts don't affect people such that they want to react or respond. I doubt it's that I'm so profound that I strike everyone speechless. It is what it is. I haven't unlocked the mystery yet. That'd be exponentially awful in a more public forum. But more importantly, I'd be telegraphing weaknesses and vulnerabilities to over 1000 people that I actually know in SOME way. Professionally, that doesn't seem like such a good idea. And I very much use social media professionally, for myself and several others. There might be a momentary satisfaction in venting there, or asking if anyone knows a single, available guy (aka the unicorn), or for job leads, but I think the ultimate price would be too high. Conversely, I don't like it when people post vague or cryptic things that noone but them understands. Especially of the "if you pray, I could really use some prayers about now" variety. That manages to be both cryptic AND overly confessional!

For example, right now I'm in trouble. BIG trouble. But I can't talk about it, not even here. To lay that out and have it met by silence? I can't.

Lucky

Yesterday, I took my car in to the dealership for an oil change. I was told I need brakes, tires (all 4), a battery and both filters (cabin and air). Normally, I'd assume they were trying to screw me, but I've done none of these things since I got the car (6 years) and know they're needed. At the dealer: $1600. At my awesome mechanic: $1000. But either way, I don't have the money. And it needs to be done by the end of next month when my car gets inspected. No clue how I'll swing that. I'm almost immune to bad news now, since that's the only kind of news I get. But I really don't know how I'll do this.

Last night I went to see my ex play (upright and electric bass) with a band he's touring with. Hadn't seen him in a long time. I asked several people to go with me and they all said no. I feel special. But I said I'd go so I went alone. The band was ok. They had some good tunes, but the vocals were severely lacking as was the keyboard player's playing (eg, Amy-level keyboard playing). I could see them being really good if they got or became good singers. But they also have only been playing together a little while. They're touring with a few solo acts who were likewise interesting, one better than the other. It was good to see him, and I remembered how different we are from each other. He's frenetic and energetic and positive and everything he touches turns to money, seemingly. When we dated, he was doing the folk scene thing (and also being a wetlands specialist), then he got very tired of that and re-branded himself Lucky, toured Europe for 5 years fronting a band and did very well, bought properties and flipped them, bought more and rented them, converted his barn to a full service recording studio, got re-married (to someone he says makes "silly money"), recently bought a house in St. Croix that he plans to rent and when it's not being rented, stay in (saw pictures; it's gorgeous). He had a daughter at 19 and was always a hands-on Dad. Now she's 25 living in SF and they're the closest of pals. So not all teenage Dads drop the ball. He worked his ass off, was a good Dad to her, and is reaping the rewards. FYI he still looks great. He's a tall (6' 4") Portuguese guy with an amazing body, who dresses well. Good combo. Sort of Adrian Brody-ish. He's been a good uncle to his sibs' kids too. One of his nephews was there last night. He named his dog after his late uncle Stanley. He smokes pot every day and drinks. But he's far from a slacker stoner.

He told people that we were "lovers back in the day" and kept cracking himself up saying that, because noone uses that word (lover) for a reason. He said he'd never used it before, but thought it was funny. He was very affectionate, and you both get caught up in that energy and tired out by it. He doesn't seem to overthink anything, just lives in the moment, and somehow it works. I wish I could be a little more that, though being around it is something that's good only in small doses.

unseeing

You know how they say you can't unsee something? I just saw something that confirms my fears on multiple levels, and I wish I'd never seen it so I could continue living in ignorance. I liked that better. Now I just feel exponentially more heartbroken and hurt, even surprisingly so. I could never have predicted this exact outcome, which is absolutely...terrible. I'll be retreating for the foreseeable future.

full of history

I understand why people don't answer their emails: every one has some beckoning task associated with it. And when few of them will result in monetary or personal gain for me (or some other gain for someone else), it's hard to leap at the list. Yet that's what I'm going to attempt to do today.

Here are some funny coincidences: recently, I noticed a copy of The House of the Seven Gables on my bookshelf and took it off thinking I might read it. I didn't remember ever having read it, but when I opened it I realized it's my own book from jr. high or high school. So there's a chance I never did read it, because though I LOVE to read, I hate being told  WHAT to read, so I think I skipped a lot of things in high school. I also read very slowly, so it's hard for me to read on a schedule. Then on Friday, my friend Andrea asked me if I'd like to go (yesterday) with her and her boyfriend and her father...TO THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. Yes, I would. Because though I've lived near Salem for years now and have gone past it a million times, I've never gone in. And at over 350 years, it's one of the oldest houses in the country. So we went there, and also to Phillips House, another historic house. One of the main rooms had a HUGE, and I mean huge, library. I walked up to it to see what kind of books were in there (see, I do love books! and reading!) and the very first book I saw was a history of Marblehead, my own town. I looked at the books around it to see if there were any other Marblehead books, and I saw none. Out of the thousands of books in that library, the first one I saw was that one.

And Andrea gave me a little owl collection, as she knows I love owls, and a handmade math/geometric necklace made by someone she knows. Then I had seared salmon and key lime pie. All in all, not a bad day...

The Friendship

Andrea's behind the canon

oops

woke up and thought the bra on my bed was my cat.

- eyes bad
- cat little
- bra big

Shortbus

Last night I saw "Shortbus". I've been wanting to see it since before it came out (2006). Not sure what made me seek it out last night after all this time, but I found it online fairly easily. If you're not familiar, it's John Cameron Mitchell's (Hedwig and the Angry Inch) movie that has explicit sex in it, with the actors having actual sex, not simulated. Centers around a disparate cast of characters who convene at a Manhattan sex club. Well, there wasn't nearly as much sex as I expected or wanted, and it was decidedly unsexy, which I guess was the intent. It had its charms and left me feeling that it's sweet moreso than anything else. But it's full of plot holes and the characters aren't particularly well developed. The music is nice and there's one standout song that is (actually) played and sung by one of the actors. That was cool.

Wiki says:

The audition website elicited half a million hits and 500 audition tape submissions. 40 people were called in for improv auditions and nine actors were cast, all before there was any story in mind. The film's characters and story were created collaboratively over 2.5 years through improvisation workshops with the cast. Mitchell wrote the screenplay from the raw material generated by the workshops and rehearsals.

I guess I'd recommend it in that it was interesting, and messy in a good way.