…that my ex-boyfriends would stop marrying the VERY NEXT GIRL they date.  Even if I’m the one that breaks up with them.  Please.  We are up to FOUR (that I’m aware of).  It’s not that I’m dying to tie the knot (and maybe that’s part of the problem) but it still pisses me off.  It’s like sitting at a slot machine and pumping that fucker full of quarters for hours (try months), and then when you get up and walk away some broad sits down and hits the jackpot on her first pull.

Oh, Great! That’s awesome.  I’m glad I could help you out.  Enjoy all my money.

Insomnia + Infomercials = Existential Crisis

The electric broom ad
claims that it will pick up
rubber bands,
cat food,
pet hair,
cheerios–
even cooked green beans
and lettuce.
It gets under chairs and beds
so you’ll never
have to bend over again.

I have my favorites:
the Magic Japanese Straightening Iron
the Total Miracle Gym
and the Silver Bullet Blending System

All of these things–
financial security,
fresher vegetables,
flawless skin,
a home, life, face, and body
beyond reproach–
can be yours for the cost of shipping.

We can buy miracles and magic
and silver bullets right over the phone
and try them risk-free for thirty days,
making faith, and heroes, and bending over
obsolete.

I got these at a thrift shop and after loads of internet research still can’t find any information about the mark on the bottom which reads “Del Monte 1684″ beneath the icon of a little crown. I found out there is a china pattern called “Del Monte” but it’s made by another company. There’s also china from the Del Monte hotel, and a monastery in Italy that has something to do with the search term “Del Monte 1684.” But I’m stumped! Google is stumped! What is the story with these cups?!

Btw 95% of the reason this became a post was so I could use that Title. The other 5% is to push the crazy a little further down the page.

It has taken a lot of hard work, frustration, and heartbreak to be as well-adjusted as I am today.
*waits for laughter to subside*

Seriously though, anyone who knew me “back when” knows that even in my worst moments at present, I am ten times more sane than they could have ever predicted I’d be back in 1999.  But that is because I have confronted the skeletons.  Shit, I moved in with ‘em.  Washed their dishes and rubbed their bony little feet after a long day of working hard at making me feel inadequate.  Yes, there are people who have considered my navel-gazing days to have been a waste of energy–and they’re going to keep thinking that– the people who think you shouldn’t “dwell” on emotional problems, because that’s feeling sorry for yourself.  To those people, I have nothing to justify. 

They can keep that shit.

Guess what?  When they’re still just shoving their feelings deep down inside, turning them into a constipated little turd-ball of resentment and hate, I’m going to be experiencing the emotional equivalent of a tall daily glass of metamucil followed by an oat bran cookie.  Self-pity and self-realization are not the same, and just because they can’t tell the difference doesn’t mean I can’t.  I’m not saying I’ll be better than them.  Just better-adjusted.

I think the best metaphor for what I’m doing is relearning–like, how to write with your left hand because your right was damaged in an accident.  Only instead of having an accident, I took that right hand and smashed it with a ball peen hammer.  And instead of it being my right hand, it is the part of my brain that lies and doesn’t like me.

All of this stems from a conversation earlier tonight about the capacity people have for change.  I believe that you can’t change other people, but you can change yourself.  You don’t have to be who you have been.  You can let go of false values and self-images.  You can stop trying to be who you think you’re supposed to be, and just be yourself.  And then you’ll be ok enough to cut off the people that you wish you could change, or to learn how to accept them the way they are.

It’s not easy.  And I have a very, very, very long way to go.  But I have faith that it can be done.

I know who comes here regularly, and I know that you face at least a few of the same struggles I do.  I encourage you to share your own opinions, experiences, and thoughts–privately or publicly.

In spite of the fact that up until recently I’d been “on a break” (read: not actively seeking NEW men to date), I’ve had three different friends tell me within the last week that I date more than anyone else they know. I want to take this as a compliment. I really do. If you can help me figure out how, please do pipe up.

I’ll admit it. Crushes and dating are practically hobbies for me. I’ve been falling for near-strangers since I read my first anthology of poetry, “Love is Like the Lion’s Tooth,” in the 5th grade. There were some really amazing poems in that book. Like this one by Maureen Owen that still pops into my head on a regular basis:

A heart that’s been broken
has a tiny hinge
And when it happens a
second or third time
it just
swings open & shut
like a gate.

On that note, here is a new edit of an old poem (p.s. I’m not sure what happened but the seven year block has begun to lift!).

A Body in Motion

Drive faster.
Leave their indifferent heart behind you.
The tangle in your throat
is the hard part.
Knowing you’ve been used
too late to take it back.
A little water wells up in your eyes
but you’re driving faster
than you’re crying
so the wind’s whipping those teardrops
into the big black nothing behind you.
Just a bit of dew
floating in space,
a little moist star
without a constellation.

Drive faster.
Hurtle from one destination
to the next
because if I stop
it’s all going to come pouring out.
I’ve got to outrun the mistakes
gaining slowly
on me.
I’ve got to keep my face dry.

Drive faster.
Even if
every now and then
we find ourselves
in a pile of wreckage
steering wheel
jammed through our heart.

The Hard Way

You’re digging a hole to china.
With a spoon.
A plastic spoon.
And one hand tied
behind your back.
You say you like feeling
like you’ve earned it,
but the truth is
you’re hot for martyrdom–
like no one would believe.

Before bed
you gaze at a painting
of Christ on the cross,
and secretly hate the fact
that you can never sacrifice
your life
for my sins.

But I’ll be damned
if you aren’t trying.

I had this up, then took it down, and now I’m putting it back up. I’m not going to pretend that I’m not a big lame-o. I’m a huge lame-o. And I’m sharing my lameness with you. It’s my gift. My phenomenally lame gift.

disappointed
this morning i feel
like all the walls are caving in
like i’m inside an aluminum can
as it is being crushed
by a trash compactor
my little hopes and expectations
the things that i normally weed out so well
i let them grow
i nurtured them
i made a garden
out of dreams
where i cooked you breakfast
every weekend
and you turned out to be the best friend
i’ve been waiting for
all this time

today when i walked outside
everything had been torn up
months of care
destroyed in one night
by some heartless vandal
who didn’t know
how much it meant to me
or knew
but didn’t care

This amazing animated film from John Kelly could not have come into my life at a better time. I’m going to watch it over and over again until I am shamed into real action. Of course, that might just be one more way to procrastinate. It’s beautiful, funny, clever, and spot-on (especially the “overcomplicating things” part). I promise that you’ll be affected by it.

You can watch it here in Quicktime:
Procrastination

Or on good old Youtube (much lower quality):

Thanks to Matt for the link!

MacArthur Park

I took this picture of the swapmeet across the street from MacArthur Park when I was scouting for a shoot.  They were having a big event in the park that day and the Mayday Melee had taken place just a few months earlier so the whole place was surrounded by police (see helicopter).

As a result, I didn’t get out and take loads of pictures to bring back to work.  Just this one, but something about it really strikes my fancy.

I think it’s because it seems to capture the way that MacArthur Park is itself a great snapshot of what Los Angeles has to offer.  A little danger, a place to bask in the sun, beautiful architecture, and really bitchin’ tamales.