Swept Away

"One should always be in love. That is the reason one should never marry."

At a bar with Anna one night a few weeks ago, I met a man. I cozied up to the bar, ordered my standard white Russian—no, it’s not because I’m a Lebowski fan, it’s because I like them—and a handsome man starts teasing me. I watch him take a shot of whisky, a gulp down a mouthful of PBR. Oh a man's man, have we? Funny, you don't seem so manly with your perfectly sculpted but tossled hair and vaguely hidden Hollywood attitude. Making fun of a girl is the fastest way to her heart, so naturally, we struck up a conversation. He has amazing taste in music, he’s a working actor, he owns most of the Criterion collection. His name is Adam.

One afternoon last week he called.  He’s funny and he brings out a slightly wicked side of my sense of humor. It happens to be one of my favorite parts of my personality and when I find someone that lets me indulge it, I fall head over heels. We finally set a date to watch movies at his apartment. The plan was that I was going to go to his place after I got off work (we’re talking like...11pm) and watch some movies, Eyes Wide Shut in particular. That’s the most suggestive date I could imagine really. Saying to a lady, “do you want to come over at 11pm and drink wine and watch a movie,” is just shy of saying, “want some dick?” I got a wax the next morning and I never looked so fucking good at work.

I took a cheese plate from the restaurant and picked up a bottle of wine – just to make sure there was going to be enough. I call from outside the gate to his building and we have the awkward walk upstairs to his place. The walk upstairs can be a kiss of death. You feel uncomfortable saying a proper hello or hugging when you’re outside, but then it’s a little late by the time you’re in the apartment and set all the booze down. He opens the door and I’m pleasantly surprised. The apartment is furnished and very clean. Let’s face it, you can’t expect much from young bachelors these days; you’re lucky if they have a mattress and a lamp. He comes to grab the bags out of my hands and as he leans down he kisses me on the cheek and says he’s so happy that I could come over. He pours two glasses of wine, hands me one and two cds. He had burned me some compilations earlier in the day, music that he thought I’d like. It also happens to be his favorites, folk and bluegrass, banjos and steel guitars, The Avett Brothers and Sufjan Stevens. It occurred to me that if dating was really like this, then I had been seriously missing out the last few years.

We put the movie on and of course we talk over it. I’m sitting on my knees, with my left hand draped over the back of the couch, using it occasionally to muss my hair. He’s stretched out with his hands behind his head and his elbows wide against pillows and the couch corner. He has a face that puzzles you. It is difficult to tell if you want to punch it or kiss it, until he blushes and you feel like you’ve won a war. The messy hair, the adorable self-deprication, the leather jacket—I was doomed before I started.

The movie is over and we’re still talking, telling ghost stories and making fun of each other. At four in the morning, I’d had enough chatting. I couldn’t quite figure it out. We were having such a good time, but he still hadn’t made a move on me. I start trying to leave but it turns into 45 minutes of more stories. I start thinking that it’s actually kind of lovely that we didn’t hook up. Maybe that’s normal. Maybe he just wants to get to know me. Maybe he just wants to be a friend. I could use some new friends right now. Even with the positive outlook, the slight rejection only makes me want him more. I vow to myself that I will get what I want out of this – a good fuck and a fun drinking buddy.

We eventually pulled ourselves together and he walked me out to my car. He stopped me at the gate; the sun was coming up. The sky was gray-pink and palm trees were silhouetted against the morning haze. As I was turning to go, Adam put his hand on my cheek and kissed me. It was small and delicate and sweet. He pulled me a little closer and we breathed each other in. I smiled and asked him why he waited so long. “You’re a difficult lady to read,” he says. “From now on, I’ll be much more clear,” I promise as I throw my shoes in the back seat and climb into the car barefoot. I wasn’t able to sleep when I got home and I smiled all day that afternoon.

Is it possible I accidentally stumbled onto something great? The date appeared very suggestive, but then he was a perfect gentleman. Illusions and games? Okay, sweetheart, you’ve got my attention. I’m delightfully intrigued. He seems perfect for me. But the timing doesn’t make any sense. What is the universe trying to tell me? I am trying to remind myself that I can’t get involved in anything serious; my heart is still in shock, and I don’t believe that I could really feel anything. At the very least, I’m terrified of feeling anything again. A good fuck and a drinking buddy, I remind myself.  

Thank you for the beautiful music.

Joshua: Round 3

" One should always be in love. That is the reason one should never marry."

I’ve already talked a lot about my ladies, those near and dear to my heart lunatics that supply me love and drugs. Now it’s time to introduce some of my favorite men. When I was dating Mike, I didn’t have any guy friends – well, a gay here or there and a close girlfriend’s boyfriend. But those hardly count. I like my relationships with more uncertainty and a lot more sexual tension. Since Mike and I split, a surge of boys has exploded on to my scene – and I’m hoping they’ll all explode on my…

Nevermind.

It’d be too much information to write all in one blog, so over the next couple of days I’m going to tell stories about them all. First up, Joshua. 

Joshua and I have a decent amount of history already behind us. 3 years ago, right before I started dating Mike, I met Joshua at the birthday party of a friend. I don’t remember much about the party, except that night Lizbeth (who was my roommate at the time) started hooking up with the birthday boy – a former flame of mine – and Joshua and I got to gabbing about comic books or music or something else that proves how awesome I am. I distinctly remember being in a bedroom with other people around passing pipes and smoking stoags, and Joshua and I standing in the middle of it all ignoring everything around us and just talking. That kind of thing doesn’t happen to me very often.  Not that you can tell from how honest I am here, but I don’t open up to people in my real life very easily - especially not at parties. Even though we were having a lovely conversation, something was missing for me. I wasn’t quite attracted to him. I couldn’t put my finger on it. He was too close to my height, or I didn’t like his face. Who knows? Lizbeth and her new boyfriend - the birthday boy, my old flame and also Joshua’s best friend - pushed and pushed and really wanted to get us together. Over the next month or so, it was all she would talk about with me and a couple of times actually ambushed me with a double date. I had a boyfriend at the time, Bird; we were unhappy but I still felt like what Lizbeth was doing was weird. So nothing ever happened. It fizzled out just as abruptly as it began. That was round 1 with Joshua. Round 2 came about 6 months later when Bird and I finally did break up. If you’re following the time line of my dating history at all, you already know that Bird and I broke up because I started seeing Mike. Early in my relationship with Mike, I was adamant about not being exclusive.  In retaliation, even though it wasn’t what he wanted at all, Mike was sleeping with other girls too. Joshua suddenly appeared in my life again. I don’t even remember how. All of a sudden, he and I were hanging out together alone, and I was wearing his sweater to sleep in. Lizbeth ate every moment of this up. Despite spending a lot of time together, nothing physical ever happened. We would ride around and play each other music; we bonded over Jeff Buckley, Radiohead, Bjork, The Talking Heads. One night we ended up at a lookout point on Mulholland, looking down at the sea of lights known as “The Valley.” Very romantic. We stood there together, and if ever there was a moment to make something happen, that was it. I don’t think I got so much as a hand hold. Someday I’ll have to ask him what in the world he was thinking about that stopped him from throwing me on the ground and shoving his tongue in my face. Life is not the movies, as it turns out, and sometimes people just chicken out. I didn’t see him again after that. I decided to let it go and besides that, things with Mike were heating up to a point beyond control.

I didn’t see Joshua most of the time that Mike and I dated. He started dating a girl too. Every so often (like.. once a year), I would force Mike to come with me to see Josh’s band, Audiobahn, play. Once I wanted to go to Josh’s birthday party and had to make Mike go or else there’d be no other way I would be allowed. We fought the whole way there and when we finally arrived, there was a line to get in the bar and Mike just couldn’t stand the whole situation. We left. Apparently, Joshua’s girlfriend wasn’t super fond of me either. In my opinion, she found me threatening for no reason.  Maybe he failed to mention to her that he never really liked me enough to touch me.

Oddly enough, Joshua and his girlfriend broke up around the same time as Mike and I ended. Probably within two weeks of each other. It started as chatting on facebook, then texts and now we are hanging out again three years after Round 2 had crashed and burned. I see him all the time. We talk all the time. It feels like we're very close, like we have been this whole time and there wasn't a three year hiatus in our friendship. For a boy that doesn't like me much he sure does like to pretend otherwise. It is odd and beautiful and overwhelming. This is exactly what I wanted. This is exactly the reason Mike and I broke up – there’s a whole world of people and friends that I’ve missed out on because I wasn’t allowed to develop friendships. Having a boyfriend is ridiculous. All it does it hold you back.

I’m unencumbered this time, and time has done some good things to Joshua’s look, style, and demeanor. Suddenly he is attractive. Very. Maybe he always has been but I was distracted. Or maybe I’m just trying to conquer as many people as possible right now. Either way, I’m locked and loaded and ready for Round 3. Bring it on, Darlin.

 
I played this for you that night driving up to that lookout point. I didn't know then that it would be so true. I dedicate this to you and here's hoping it won't be true again ;)

MY PUSSY IS A DICK

Watch the Sunrise

"To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance. "

 


Two weeks ago, I had a rough week – the kind of ruthless week that just won’t quit and might even land you with the nickname Bad Week McCoy.  I lost my job, I was arrested, and on top of that, the cops confiscated my whole stash, my pipe and my bong.  Hey copper, I don’t have a job – how am I going to replace all that shit?

My point is, I survived. I made it through. I flourished even. I got a new job. I barely missed a beat. More weed appeared in my apartment.  Gotta good deal on a new pipe and bong, and maybe these are even better. I survived. And I’m thinking about this and I realize – the world is completely based on our perception. I can choose to see losing my job as devastating, depressing, or punishable – and I have in the past. But I’m liberated now. I’ve set myself free. I’m untethered and the only person left in the world to impress or satisfy is me. And here’s the kicker – I don’t give a shit that I lost my job. It clearly isn’t a big deal. In the past I would’ve beaten myself to fragments. This time, I just packed a bowl and let it ride. I listened to music and cooked myself dinner and went to the museum. I enjoyed the sunshine. I was grateful for the break. My fresh start is officially official – I’m in a new apartment, I’m starting a new job.  I choose to perceive this situation, this life, in a new way. This time, I see myself as strong and empowered, pursuing my personal legend.

I just finished reading The Alchemist and the concept “Once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen” repeats throughout the book. I feel very comforted by that. And weirdly, comforted for having been booted from my job. The universe is showing me a new path, opening a new door. Well, maybe it’s more of a window; it’s a way out, but it’s not the most comfortable situation it could have been. Either way, I’ve been given a gift!

The universe is trying to tell me that what I’m doing is exactly right. I’m on the right path. I finally feel like my heart and my mind are aligned with each other and the world. I am giving and receiving the energy flow of the world. I was unknowingly communicating with my energy and my actions what I truly wanted – which was to be gone from that place. It’s just a restaurant. It’s just a job. It was holding me back. It was keeping me comfortable and lazy.

Thank you universe for all that you have given me. I prosper. The world is on my side.  We are all one.

Hello, Procrastination.

"Life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about. "

I haven’t written anything in a while – I’m long over due for a blog post. Here’s why all the procrastination:

First, I procrastinated because I didn’t know what to write. I didn’t want to write about losing my job and every thing else seemed pretty bleak and abysmal –not great adjectives for potential writing subjects, unless of course you’re Edgar Allen Poe or Tim Burton or Bret Easton Ellis. Let’s face it though, you’re not. And I’m not. So I didn’t write.

Secondly, I further procrastinated because the deadline for a new blog was coming Apparently, I promised myself they’d come up every Thursday. And they will. If I get around to them. Otherwise, they may come up on a Monday or Tuesday, or some day of the week on which the moon and my menstrual cycle are in alignment and I can function like a normal person. I cave at deadlines. They make me cranky, anxious and stubborn. Fuck you deadline! I DARE you to actually make me do any work! .. is something I might think as a deadline approaches.

Thirdly, I procrastinated because I started to doubt myself and get insecure about my work. I thought, nobody cares if it goes up on Thursday, or next Tuesday or never because no one is really reading this. And that’s true. But I think it’s important to always challenge yourself and do things you promised you would do. My counter thingy says that 900 something people have checked out this blog. I don’t know what they’ve read – since no one seems to leave comments AHEM –  but maybe they’ll read this blog about procrastinating and they will subscribe. And I will be their favorite person ever and they will tell all their friends about me and overnight I will become a huge sensation. Or they will think about doing that and get around to it later. Like I would.

Fourthly, fourth, so on and so fourth, I got a job and then I couldn’t write because I was happy again. On top of that, I had a bunch of awesome auditions this week and a really fun weekend with some friends. So I wasn’t around to write because I was out, in the world, trying to experience my life! If I don’t experience and enjoy life, what on earth will I write about?

And fifthly (try saying that fifth times fast), I didn't write because I was high. I know what you're thinking - write WHILE you're high. Well, I usually do. I usually do everything high. I'm usually high. But this week I discovered Tostito's Creamy Spinach dip. That plus chips have been taking up both of my hands which I need to type. Blame it on God for not giving me enough hands to snack and write. 

So there. Now this is done. Can I get back to watching The Shield already? As lame as it is, at least this takes away the pressure and the guilt of being overdue for last Thursday’s blog. Now maybe the next one can be the amazingly genius blog that I want it to be. Oh fuck.. it’s Thursday again in three days.  

And also, a song. Just for funsies :D

Pothead Reflection

Jail House Crack Rock

"I think God, in creating man, somewhat overestimated his ability."

Travis and I have just rolled in from a bar down the street from my place and also we’ve been smoking joint after joint after joint. We’re fucked up, it’s 3AM, and we’re laying on the floor in my apartment, watching The Chapelle Show on dvd.

Out of nowhere there’s a lot of noise and banging. It sounds like there are people rolling around on the floor in the apartment right above me. I look at Travis, he doesn’t seem to mind so I shrug it off and reach for a cigarette. Dave Chapelle is screaming something about Coppers! and it has been about 5 minutes since the noise upstairs started. It’s still going on. I’m getting more and more worried. I start to think I can hear muffled voices like someone’s mouth being covered. I know that there are dogs that live upstairs and they make noise on occasion, chasing toys around their apartment, but this sounded different to me. After a few more minutes I convinced Travis that we have to call the police.

I call 911, I explain to the operator what I hear, she asks me how long the noise has been going on, and I tell her about “10 minutes, maybe less.” To be honest, my sense of time is a little skewed, I only know that we’re still on the same episode of The Chapelle Show. Maybe.  She says she’s going to dispatch some officers, I say thank you and hang up. Travis makes me a cup of hot chocolate and packs a bowl for us, trying to calm me down a little. An unknown amount of time passes, Travis and I have had cigarettes, a good fuck, and moved on to another episode on the dvd. The noise upstairs has long since stopped, maybe someone was killed and the struggle was over. Maybe it was just the dogs afterall. Either way, it has been long enough now that I barely remember why I cared so much about the ruckus.

I have almost forgotten that I called the police until there are suddenly heavy footsteps tromping through my apartment building. I hear them walk down my hallway first and then clamber up the stairs to the 4^th floor right above my apartment. I hear them knock, loudly. Man, these guys are not shy. Travis and I are stoned and giggling. We turn off the TV so we can hear the cops and what’s happening better. It seems like no one answered the door upstairs. See? False alarm. Thanks gents for coming to check that out!

BANG BANG BANG! Oh damn. They’re at my apartment door. Oh right.. I had to tell them who I was when I made the complaint. Wait, FUCK, what am I supposed to do now? I get up and scurry to my closet to throw on some pants and I see Travis putting the bong under the bed. I open my door, trying to stand as straight as possible – the little voice in my head is screaming DO NOT LET THEM KNOW HOW FUCKED UP YOU ARE.  My whole sobriety scam was shot when I opened the door and a huge draft of weed smoke goes billowing out the door and right in the po-pos faces. Travis is sitting on the bed and I hear him pronounce, “Hello officers!” Probably trying to appear as sober and friendly as possible, although it would’ve been more helpful if he had actually shown his face at the door.  All I can think is, "Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!"

This is where I first have the thought that I might be in trouble. The boys in blue ask me a few questions about what happened upstairs, and in my effort to persuade them that the noise was real, I suspect that I came off even more suspicious and retarded. My gaze was hazy and I honestly cannot recall what I said to the men. The next thing I knew they were asking me to step aside and coming in to my apartment. At least Travis hid the bong so everything should be fine!

Until they find the crack pipe.

OK OK, I can explain. It’s an unused crack pipe. I swear to god, I’ve never put crack in it, or coke or heroin or meth or anything like that. Anna bought me this bong-like thing as a gift one day, only the pipe part of it was oddly shaped. I attempted to put weed in it ONCE and it obviously did not work at all. Then I realized that it wasn’t a bong, that silly bitch had bought be a crack pipe. We had a good laugh about it, I replaced the insert with a piece from an old broken bong and put the crack pipe insert away in my memories box, never to be thought of again. Two weeks ago, I did a scene in my acting class where the two characters are passing a crack pipe back and forth. I happened to still have that one, so I took it out and used it for the scene – again, NO CRACK IN IT, but there were burn spots on it from holding a lighter to it. I neglected to put it away.  Also, the massive amount of weed I just bought is sitting next to it.

OK OK, I can explain. I had that much weed because I got a good deal on it, I’ve been going through it a lot lately, and part of it was a gift for Travis. I was not going to sell it! My pipe and rolling papers were also on the floor by my rocking chair. This looks bad. 

Really Travis, you put THE BONG away?!

I try to explain to the cops about the crack pipe, how I only used it for weed once, and then for acting class. But the motor skills in my mouth were failing me and I don’t think my brain was communicating to my larynx especially well and all I can recall saying is, “I use it for weed. I use it for weed man! It’s not a crack pipe, dude, it’s for weeeeeed.” I don’t do well in high pressure situations.

Since I’m the one that lived there, I’m the one that “prank called” the cops, I’m the one in possession of copious amounts of drugs and paraphernalia, the Hispanic man with a crew cut and a shiny badge and the black man in the blue uniform with a billy club put me in handcuffs and walked me out of my apartment. I don’t think the handcuffs were necessary! I was too drunk really to be able to pull any kind of parkour maneuver and jump out of the third story window to freedom.

I spent the night in jail. When I sobered up, a policeman that I vaguely recognized from my apartment a few hours earlier pulled me out of the holding cell –more affectionately known as the drunk tank—and sat me down in a small office. I’m so tired, my vision is a little blurry from not having slept all night, my stomach hurts and I’m hung the fuck over like nobody’s business. But at least I’m sober enough now to have a real conversation and explain the situation again. They let me off with a $100 possession ticket, and obviously they had confiscated all my shit the night before. But no charges, no misdemeanor. Thank god I’m a cute little white girl with no prior record. 

 

This is a picture of the new bong and pipe I had to go buy. Upgrade! Still, I’m going to fucking KILL Travis.