I work too much, it's true. Sometimes I find myself moving so quickly that in the briefest moments of genuinely organic borne solitude I feel this sudden urge to explode, like a firework. Some kind of sound so that I know I'm not alone in the quiet.
But when I am made conscious of it, this curious bit of solace, I feel...like I'm floating on my back in water. It isn't contained, it simply...exists. I'm not even so sure I would call it an ocean. Almost like The Truman Show, but without the painted walls of sky. Just that sense of real but not real. My ears are submerged, and my face sits on the surface like a painted mask, my torso, knuckles, knees and bits of toes following suit. There is no fight, there is no struggle. I'm just there.
I can actually fix myself breakfast in the mornings without turning my mouth into a hoover vacuum so that I can leave the house on time, layered coats swirling through the air to wrap around my body as I open the door to leave. As soon as I simultaneously flip off the porch switch and close the door, it becomes as good as a pistol firing into the air to begin the race towards the end of the day.
Sounds become even more heightened and significant on days where the world makes no demands. The sound of the knob on the stove as I heat up a just washed pan, and the crack of the garlic shell as I peel away the thin exterior. The moisture of the minced garlic seeps into the cutting board, and as soon as the butter hits the pan it begins to brown upon impact. Sweeping the garlic with the back of the knife into the butter, my fingers somehow manage to hold all three eggs while they crack and drop, translucence matter becoming solid.
My plate is half eggs, half sliced strawberries. I make just enough coffee, and can actually pour soymilk into my mug because this time we have some. Two boxes, even. This doesn't sound like anything exciting, but because my adventures rarely travel beyond my work places and home, these kinds of mornings are things I look forward to.
As for the rest of my day? I shower, clean the house, dance with myself to Gotan Project radio, and get lost in the realms of politics, news, and art. This is my way of doing nothing. My own little music box for me to happily spin on one foot and think only of the sounds that I rarely get to hear because usually its companion is dust and time spent racing against myself towards the end of a day I've barely remembered once I've turned off my alarm.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Adventures in busland
So I'm waiting for the 56 at Washington Square when this old lady named Nes (which also means "nose," because she is apparently a nosy woman and talks way too much, according to her self analysis) asks me about when the 56 comes. We chat about that for a bit, and then she goes on to tell me how she'd been a smoker for 53 years and now that she'd quit (in October), she had gotten fat.
She doesn't like the fact that she's fat. She swears that she'll start exercising more, because when she smoked she didn't gain weight but still ate the things she wasn't supposed to be eating. She gave me a little torn sheet of coupons for KFC for me to use so she wouldn't be so tempted. Nes then goes to tell me that she told her husband that she swore she'd work out and soon get a six pack, but he retorted that it looked more like a short stack to him.
After talking about about when the bus would come, I casually mention that I'll probably go inside and get a cup of tea from Starbucks. She says that sounds like a good idea and why doesn't she buy me the tea since she wants to go in for coffee. And if Emily the 21 year old is there then the coffee will be really delicious. I politely decline at first hoping that would deter Nes, but apparently she had settled herself into the determination of continuing our conversation. So, Nes uncovered my weakness for not being able to say no to funny old ladies and I acquiesced and followed her into the mall.
At that point we'd learned one another's names and she went to list out all the other Teresa's she's know/n throughout her life, starting from the east coast and then working her way around from there. I can't quite fully recall. There was something about a woman who married an attorney which eventually caused them to get a divorce. Not sure if it was because he was an attorney or if it's because someone wasn't nice to the other person.
I'll admit, the initial beginning of our conversation I only half listened to because I wasn't too invested in our conversation, but I was intrigued enough to pursue this curious turn of events.
As we're walking towards Starbucks, she talks about how she was just awful at fourteen, just awful. She has 7 siblings, likes coffee but knows she shouldn't be drinking it, and a few other curious events. We get to Starbucks, and I get my tea and she gets her coffee. We wander over to the condiments bar and Nes proceeds to pour in a packet of sugar, a dash of half and half, and sprinklings of nutmeg, cinnamon, vanilla, and chocolate into her regular house coffee. Then she puts a straw through the mouth piece of the lid. Nes admits this is a terrible thing for her to be doing, and she swears she'll work on it soon. But later.
I tried walking really, really slowly. I could hear her wheezing incredibly hard and for a few moments I wondered if she was borderline ready to have a heart attack. But she trundled on in her curious waddle like fashion, with her ridiculous furniture cushion fabric decorated little old lady shoes, her old lady cloth pants and flower long sleeve shirt and her multicolored knit cap that looked more like it should have been a doily set on a coffee table somewhere with an antique chalice-like ornate oval ceramic bowl filled with fake fruit. Or ceramic kittens. Something about old broads and ceramic kittens...
Nes then turned her attention fully to me and said, "Enough about me and all my talking, tell me about you." Blinking for a few seconds, I was momentarily at a loss for words on where to start. So I stick to the small talk descriptions, about being the oldest and how I'm waiting to get back into school again to go into art therapy. She makes an aghast face and apologizes for me about being the oldest out of three, because that means I have to do everything. And are my parents still alive and together? Yes? Well. That means I'll have to take care of them when the time comes, just I wait. I tell her that I don't mind that so much because they've done so much for me and I'm pretty grateful for what I have with my parents. I guess her history with her parents wasn't so easy breezy, being a terrible fourteen year old and all.
We head back outside, and she proceeds to tell me about her foster daughter who was in the Gulf War, had joined the army, and when she returned went to Marylhurst to get her degree in art therapy. Then she says how she herself went to Marylhurst for a degree in Social Work and attained four minor degrees in the process. She worked in the field of mental health, and is now in the process of writing a book. It's only 40 pages long on the computer, and she's been putting it off. But it's a reflection of her experiences as a social worker and it's for all different kinds of families to read because she herself has been adopted into so many different families throughout her life.
Nes then mentions that 8 years ago she was hit by an SUV by an old couple who weren't more than a few years older than she was. Her head bounced on the ground like a bouncy ball, and as she lay on the cement, she swears that 13 or so angels or spirits or whatever hovered around her in that instant. One of them said to her, "Hey! You. Pull down your dress and get up, you're not done yet. You've still got homework to do." Nes has never prided herself on being very obedient, but in the case of life or death, you do as you're told. I concurred.
She planned on giving me her daughter's tea because I love tea so much. Again, I politely declined. But she insisted. I then got a phone call from my lady and excused myself while I took the phone call. The 56 had arrived somewhere in between the Gulf War story and Marylhurst, and we boarded taking separate seats. As she was leaving the bus for her appropriate stop, she apologized for not being able to find the tea. I told her it was alright and wished her a safe night as she stepped off into the black.
And that is one of my many adventures in busland.
She doesn't like the fact that she's fat. She swears that she'll start exercising more, because when she smoked she didn't gain weight but still ate the things she wasn't supposed to be eating. She gave me a little torn sheet of coupons for KFC for me to use so she wouldn't be so tempted. Nes then goes to tell me that she told her husband that she swore she'd work out and soon get a six pack, but he retorted that it looked more like a short stack to him.
After talking about about when the bus would come, I casually mention that I'll probably go inside and get a cup of tea from Starbucks. She says that sounds like a good idea and why doesn't she buy me the tea since she wants to go in for coffee. And if Emily the 21 year old is there then the coffee will be really delicious. I politely decline at first hoping that would deter Nes, but apparently she had settled herself into the determination of continuing our conversation. So, Nes uncovered my weakness for not being able to say no to funny old ladies and I acquiesced and followed her into the mall.
At that point we'd learned one another's names and she went to list out all the other Teresa's she's know/n throughout her life, starting from the east coast and then working her way around from there. I can't quite fully recall. There was something about a woman who married an attorney which eventually caused them to get a divorce. Not sure if it was because he was an attorney or if it's because someone wasn't nice to the other person.
I'll admit, the initial beginning of our conversation I only half listened to because I wasn't too invested in our conversation, but I was intrigued enough to pursue this curious turn of events.
As we're walking towards Starbucks, she talks about how she was just awful at fourteen, just awful. She has 7 siblings, likes coffee but knows she shouldn't be drinking it, and a few other curious events. We get to Starbucks, and I get my tea and she gets her coffee. We wander over to the condiments bar and Nes proceeds to pour in a packet of sugar, a dash of half and half, and sprinklings of nutmeg, cinnamon, vanilla, and chocolate into her regular house coffee. Then she puts a straw through the mouth piece of the lid. Nes admits this is a terrible thing for her to be doing, and she swears she'll work on it soon. But later.
I tried walking really, really slowly. I could hear her wheezing incredibly hard and for a few moments I wondered if she was borderline ready to have a heart attack. But she trundled on in her curious waddle like fashion, with her ridiculous furniture cushion fabric decorated little old lady shoes, her old lady cloth pants and flower long sleeve shirt and her multicolored knit cap that looked more like it should have been a doily set on a coffee table somewhere with an antique chalice-like ornate oval ceramic bowl filled with fake fruit. Or ceramic kittens. Something about old broads and ceramic kittens...
Nes then turned her attention fully to me and said, "Enough about me and all my talking, tell me about you." Blinking for a few seconds, I was momentarily at a loss for words on where to start. So I stick to the small talk descriptions, about being the oldest and how I'm waiting to get back into school again to go into art therapy. She makes an aghast face and apologizes for me about being the oldest out of three, because that means I have to do everything. And are my parents still alive and together? Yes? Well. That means I'll have to take care of them when the time comes, just I wait. I tell her that I don't mind that so much because they've done so much for me and I'm pretty grateful for what I have with my parents. I guess her history with her parents wasn't so easy breezy, being a terrible fourteen year old and all.
We head back outside, and she proceeds to tell me about her foster daughter who was in the Gulf War, had joined the army, and when she returned went to Marylhurst to get her degree in art therapy. Then she says how she herself went to Marylhurst for a degree in Social Work and attained four minor degrees in the process. She worked in the field of mental health, and is now in the process of writing a book. It's only 40 pages long on the computer, and she's been putting it off. But it's a reflection of her experiences as a social worker and it's for all different kinds of families to read because she herself has been adopted into so many different families throughout her life.
Nes then mentions that 8 years ago she was hit by an SUV by an old couple who weren't more than a few years older than she was. Her head bounced on the ground like a bouncy ball, and as she lay on the cement, she swears that 13 or so angels or spirits or whatever hovered around her in that instant. One of them said to her, "Hey! You. Pull down your dress and get up, you're not done yet. You've still got homework to do." Nes has never prided herself on being very obedient, but in the case of life or death, you do as you're told. I concurred.
She planned on giving me her daughter's tea because I love tea so much. Again, I politely declined. But she insisted. I then got a phone call from my lady and excused myself while I took the phone call. The 56 had arrived somewhere in between the Gulf War story and Marylhurst, and we boarded taking separate seats. As she was leaving the bus for her appropriate stop, she apologized for not being able to find the tea. I told her it was alright and wished her a safe night as she stepped off into the black.
And that is one of my many adventures in busland.
And....reset!
So, being that I all of a sudden have vast amounts of time on my hands (pfft) I am slowly but surely re-working my place here in the blogosphere. Now...while I could devote my material to a specific theme like most bloggers do to get their hobbies and pride n' joys out there for the world to see, I have way too many interests. And it doesn't make a whole lot of sense to devote one particular blog to said interests unless I've really been gunning for certain habits which would then require (out of common courtesy) me to filter my fandom into its own little interwebby cubicle of awesome.
Another problem with having as many interests as I do is that it is a guarantee I will accomplish none of these things to the fullest unicorn-like existentially orgasmic extent that I would like them to be. I am indeed a Gemini full force, with a million miles an hour attention span coupled with a million miles an hour IRL (in real life) schedule.
Dilemma? Maybe.
That, and there's that whole get outside into the real world and interact with real humanoids type...thing. Adventures are good, but...um...I wanna decorate my brain more. Kind of like the space pod in Little Big Planet. With doodles and bobbles and whiz-whams or clawm-foozles in harlequin and sparkle spandex while riding a fantastically muscular unicorn breathing glitter fire from its nostrils.
Yeeaaaa glitter fire.
I had a point...somewhere...
Ah yes! Before my brain collapses infinitely into potential cold doom, my point was that I will plan to blog more. I've become much more inspired artistically and intellectually with the various news articles and tumblr feeds I've come across (my tumblr btw is gaysianwanderlust.tumblr.com). It's stretched my noodle to magnanimously laffy taffy sized proportions, for which I am eternally grateful (which makes it fair game to warn you that my brain has become more dangerous to traipse around in. Ask my roomies).
This also means that I will be adding and subtracting to the blogs I follow (and will try to keep track of as well), which is another reflection of my interests as they bumble along like bumblers do.
Which reminds me. I need to blog about this amazing old lady I met today.
Another problem with having as many interests as I do is that it is a guarantee I will accomplish none of these things to the fullest unicorn-like existentially orgasmic extent that I would like them to be. I am indeed a Gemini full force, with a million miles an hour attention span coupled with a million miles an hour IRL (in real life) schedule.
Dilemma? Maybe.
That, and there's that whole get outside into the real world and interact with real humanoids type...thing. Adventures are good, but...um...I wanna decorate my brain more. Kind of like the space pod in Little Big Planet. With doodles and bobbles and whiz-whams or clawm-foozles in harlequin and sparkle spandex while riding a fantastically muscular unicorn breathing glitter fire from its nostrils.
Yeeaaaa glitter fire.
I had a point...somewhere...
Ah yes! Before my brain collapses infinitely into potential cold doom, my point was that I will plan to blog more. I've become much more inspired artistically and intellectually with the various news articles and tumblr feeds I've come across (my tumblr btw is gaysianwanderlust.tumblr.com). It's stretched my noodle to magnanimously laffy taffy sized proportions, for which I am eternally grateful (which makes it fair game to warn you that my brain has become more dangerous to traipse around in. Ask my roomies).
This also means that I will be adding and subtracting to the blogs I follow (and will try to keep track of as well), which is another reflection of my interests as they bumble along like bumblers do.
Which reminds me. I need to blog about this amazing old lady I met today.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Hello, ladies.
It being International Women's Day, it seemed appropriate that I should list the women in my life who have been an undying inspiration to me. Even if I never talk to some of them anymore due to diverging life paths or what have you, I still think of key phrases and quirks that keep me in check whenever I come across something out of the ordinary in my daily life habits.
Obviously the first person I should be listing is my mother, Lisa Nguyen. She was brought into my Vietnamese family as the first white woman to be married into our generally absurd but religiously vehement Catholic hive. While it took me the better part of forever to appreciate everything about this sturdy and endlessly compassionate soul, I suppose it's better now than never. My existence became the first marker for my two siblings and eventually several cousins of mine who were born half Vietnamese and half white. And now, half Filipino as well. We're certainly expanding and growing as far as nature's genetic kitchen is concerned, if not fully mentally for our more traditional family members.
Where to begin? She is one of the most resilient women I've ever known, and is a fierce warrior when it comes to providing and giving her children and husband all that she can offer within her reach. If there was a way to realign the stars so we could get our favorite cookie from the bakery that closed three years ago, she'd do it. Despite her being a conservative Christian woman, she is one of the most welcoming and openly loving humans who actually sticks to the practiced philosophy of loving people for who they are despite her own personal moral disagreements. Quite the rare breed, if I do say so myself. Especially with having a queer as all get out heathen daughter like myself. ;) She taught me how to say what I meant but using a delicate finesse at the same time, how to love unconditionally, how to fight when I needed to and to let lie what could be revisited later. She taught me to rely on myself and be resourceful, investigate things to the tiniest detail so as not to be taken advantage of, and most importantly she taught me to work my tail off. Because that's what she did to provide for my siblings and I. We are a middle class family, so we didn't have too much to want for and too little to savor. It makes her sad that she spent so much time working to give us what she couldn't have and missing out on some key moments in our childhood, but to me she is still my hero.
What was really important was that she never quit on my siblings or myself. I think the biggest thing was that she never quit on me even though I was hitting rock bottom morally (according to her, anyway) and rock bottom in a couple other areas. Or close to it. She always focused on what we could do and where we could go next to be great. I've probably been her biggest challenge and the overall result for her grey hairs that keep cropping up like weeds but she refuses to let me slip away from her. And that never giving up attitude is...amazing. Insurmountably.
My maternal Grandma, Angie Tucker. Sicilian immigrant to the states in 1939 before Mussolini came into power, my Grandma grew up Italian raised but American bred, if that makes sense. She always stuck to her roots of where she came from and made sure to raise me with a sense for having an iron will and speaking up for what I wanted. Even if that meant ordering for myself at our usual breakfast spot, which for a kid who never talked and was insanely shy, those were terrifying moments. She nurtured my curiosity for science, art, nature, and overall the meanings of life. Plus she took me to the mall so I could play with the virtual arcade games. You know, the kind where you're standing on this platform and wearing a head device from the future and a gun blaster in hand. She was responsible for keeping my tiny human brain from lapsing into deep depressions, and even fended off a mad goose when he tried to bite my face off at the local Sellwood park. Both she and my mother are also responsible for my feistiness.
Aunt Jen. Regardless of our current relationship status now, when she was around she was my idol. Anytime I got to speak with her or hang out with her I never felt judged, under-appreciated or like I could do any wrong. Rather, I was gently guided to figuring out what to do with my angry 17 year old self and allowed a safe haven (out in the middle of no where in McMinnville) to hide out at on weekends when I just needed to get away. I almost moved in with her and my uncle when they were still married just to get away from my mother, because at the time I was convinced she (my mom) was a terrible person and should just piss off. But, thankfully, that never happened. Not only would it have altered the course of events as they have guided me here, but it would have turned my world even more inside out with the events that happened with her marriage. But I am grateful that for the time we were bonded, she was the lighthouse I could go to in my times of extreme emotional needs.
Vicki Doyle. I initially dropped into her universe at the mention that I could watch her kid and get paid for it while she ran her hair salon downstairs. So I was a part time live in nanny on weekends. She and her brother and parents grew up with my mother and her siblings and parents, so there was already a good solid foundation of history. She even took me to church for my parents when we could have easily avoided it all and just said we did it. For me she somehow landed the role of...mentor/aunt...thing. She is a back-breaking hard working lady, and a whirlwind of a personality to boot. Despite her penchant for being one crass old broad, there was no question in my mind that she was a fierce fighter for her family and close friends. If you needed a hand she was there to help in any way that she could. She worked for everything she has now, and will probably be weilding a pair of clippers until she is six feet underground lobbing insults and laughing at you the whole way down. She kept me in line during the time I consistently spent with her, and didn't let me get away with squat. She also influenced me to work my butt off for what I had and do whatever it takes to get to where I need to go. I think she also got me started on my snarky sense of humor as well, seeing as how I was her regular punching bag for a good couple of years. ;)
Angela Gay. Artist, business woman, friend, mentor. As weird as it is to have a friend who is also fulfilling the mentor role, I had to eventually admit to myself she was just that. But not only, if that makes sense. She was in a way like an older sister, once I got over my puppy love crush that went on for ages. Also a sarcastic piece of work, she was there for me during my baby gay days. I was at one point her biggest fan (before life took over) when she finally started showing her work in galleries. Now she's married to a beautiful woman (whom I've never met), and momma to three dogs and two cats in a house she bought with her lovely wife. I've never seen her house, I wasn't invited to her wedding, and despite my repeated attempts to rekindle our friendship she seems to hold no interest. But when she was in my life she reminded me that it was important to appreciate the people who you spent time with and to be ok with letting them go when it was time for them to leave. I always remember that whenever my connections with people begin to disappear and I still feel like there's more to go, but really there isn't. And I think of her any time I make "your mom" jokes.
Lolly Patton. I've slowly been learning more about this amazing specimen of a human being as time goes on, and she wows me like nobody's business. Not only is she a vision to behold and worship for eons, her mind is a delightful endless collected calamity of odds and ends that range from your daily dose of advice to anecdotes about stealing gnomes from your front lawn (of which I've been a hapless victim to). ;) She is a quiet riot, a battle ready defender for justice built on her long and well traveled road of shaping and re-shaping her place in the universe. A proud mother of three children wise beyond their years and husband to one of my other good friends Benjamin Balzer. She makes no apologies for hacking away at the places, situations and people who didn't add to her life and fills the bellies of those who do with more rice and beans than you can shake a stick at. Pull a stool up to the kitchen bar and swap tales of all things sensical and non around a mouthful of food and a small glass of Jameson, and that in my book is a way to end your day when the world seems to enjoy beating the crap out of you.
The list is endless, really. My cousins Lizzie, Julie and Amy, who continue to be as true to themselves as they know how and make no apologies for where they've taken themselves in life. Carol Kappertz, who has survived a million and a half things that most humans couldn't survive and is still rarin' to go (and laughing at your woopsies in the process). My good friend Chelsie, who is a ridiculous powerhouse of a human being. I've never met anyone more determined to get what she wants out of life and is fearless about tearing herself down to build back up into a human she can be more pleased with. That takes balls. My oldest friend Alex, whose endless compassion for people never ceases to amaze me. Her patience is long and courageous, and is one of the more stable people in my life that I know will always continue to love no matter who you are or where you're from.
To all these women...thank you for being in my life. I probably wouldn't have made it here without you.
Obviously the first person I should be listing is my mother, Lisa Nguyen. She was brought into my Vietnamese family as the first white woman to be married into our generally absurd but religiously vehement Catholic hive. While it took me the better part of forever to appreciate everything about this sturdy and endlessly compassionate soul, I suppose it's better now than never. My existence became the first marker for my two siblings and eventually several cousins of mine who were born half Vietnamese and half white. And now, half Filipino as well. We're certainly expanding and growing as far as nature's genetic kitchen is concerned, if not fully mentally for our more traditional family members.
Where to begin? She is one of the most resilient women I've ever known, and is a fierce warrior when it comes to providing and giving her children and husband all that she can offer within her reach. If there was a way to realign the stars so we could get our favorite cookie from the bakery that closed three years ago, she'd do it. Despite her being a conservative Christian woman, she is one of the most welcoming and openly loving humans who actually sticks to the practiced philosophy of loving people for who they are despite her own personal moral disagreements. Quite the rare breed, if I do say so myself. Especially with having a queer as all get out heathen daughter like myself. ;) She taught me how to say what I meant but using a delicate finesse at the same time, how to love unconditionally, how to fight when I needed to and to let lie what could be revisited later. She taught me to rely on myself and be resourceful, investigate things to the tiniest detail so as not to be taken advantage of, and most importantly she taught me to work my tail off. Because that's what she did to provide for my siblings and I. We are a middle class family, so we didn't have too much to want for and too little to savor. It makes her sad that she spent so much time working to give us what she couldn't have and missing out on some key moments in our childhood, but to me she is still my hero.
What was really important was that she never quit on my siblings or myself. I think the biggest thing was that she never quit on me even though I was hitting rock bottom morally (according to her, anyway) and rock bottom in a couple other areas. Or close to it. She always focused on what we could do and where we could go next to be great. I've probably been her biggest challenge and the overall result for her grey hairs that keep cropping up like weeds but she refuses to let me slip away from her. And that never giving up attitude is...amazing. Insurmountably.
My maternal Grandma, Angie Tucker. Sicilian immigrant to the states in 1939 before Mussolini came into power, my Grandma grew up Italian raised but American bred, if that makes sense. She always stuck to her roots of where she came from and made sure to raise me with a sense for having an iron will and speaking up for what I wanted. Even if that meant ordering for myself at our usual breakfast spot, which for a kid who never talked and was insanely shy, those were terrifying moments. She nurtured my curiosity for science, art, nature, and overall the meanings of life. Plus she took me to the mall so I could play with the virtual arcade games. You know, the kind where you're standing on this platform and wearing a head device from the future and a gun blaster in hand. She was responsible for keeping my tiny human brain from lapsing into deep depressions, and even fended off a mad goose when he tried to bite my face off at the local Sellwood park. Both she and my mother are also responsible for my feistiness.
Aunt Jen. Regardless of our current relationship status now, when she was around she was my idol. Anytime I got to speak with her or hang out with her I never felt judged, under-appreciated or like I could do any wrong. Rather, I was gently guided to figuring out what to do with my angry 17 year old self and allowed a safe haven (out in the middle of no where in McMinnville) to hide out at on weekends when I just needed to get away. I almost moved in with her and my uncle when they were still married just to get away from my mother, because at the time I was convinced she (my mom) was a terrible person and should just piss off. But, thankfully, that never happened. Not only would it have altered the course of events as they have guided me here, but it would have turned my world even more inside out with the events that happened with her marriage. But I am grateful that for the time we were bonded, she was the lighthouse I could go to in my times of extreme emotional needs.
Vicki Doyle. I initially dropped into her universe at the mention that I could watch her kid and get paid for it while she ran her hair salon downstairs. So I was a part time live in nanny on weekends. She and her brother and parents grew up with my mother and her siblings and parents, so there was already a good solid foundation of history. She even took me to church for my parents when we could have easily avoided it all and just said we did it. For me she somehow landed the role of...mentor/aunt...thing. She is a back-breaking hard working lady, and a whirlwind of a personality to boot. Despite her penchant for being one crass old broad, there was no question in my mind that she was a fierce fighter for her family and close friends. If you needed a hand she was there to help in any way that she could. She worked for everything she has now, and will probably be weilding a pair of clippers until she is six feet underground lobbing insults and laughing at you the whole way down. She kept me in line during the time I consistently spent with her, and didn't let me get away with squat. She also influenced me to work my butt off for what I had and do whatever it takes to get to where I need to go. I think she also got me started on my snarky sense of humor as well, seeing as how I was her regular punching bag for a good couple of years. ;)
Angela Gay. Artist, business woman, friend, mentor. As weird as it is to have a friend who is also fulfilling the mentor role, I had to eventually admit to myself she was just that. But not only, if that makes sense. She was in a way like an older sister, once I got over my puppy love crush that went on for ages. Also a sarcastic piece of work, she was there for me during my baby gay days. I was at one point her biggest fan (before life took over) when she finally started showing her work in galleries. Now she's married to a beautiful woman (whom I've never met), and momma to three dogs and two cats in a house she bought with her lovely wife. I've never seen her house, I wasn't invited to her wedding, and despite my repeated attempts to rekindle our friendship she seems to hold no interest. But when she was in my life she reminded me that it was important to appreciate the people who you spent time with and to be ok with letting them go when it was time for them to leave. I always remember that whenever my connections with people begin to disappear and I still feel like there's more to go, but really there isn't. And I think of her any time I make "your mom" jokes.
Lolly Patton. I've slowly been learning more about this amazing specimen of a human being as time goes on, and she wows me like nobody's business. Not only is she a vision to behold and worship for eons, her mind is a delightful endless collected calamity of odds and ends that range from your daily dose of advice to anecdotes about stealing gnomes from your front lawn (of which I've been a hapless victim to). ;) She is a quiet riot, a battle ready defender for justice built on her long and well traveled road of shaping and re-shaping her place in the universe. A proud mother of three children wise beyond their years and husband to one of my other good friends Benjamin Balzer. She makes no apologies for hacking away at the places, situations and people who didn't add to her life and fills the bellies of those who do with more rice and beans than you can shake a stick at. Pull a stool up to the kitchen bar and swap tales of all things sensical and non around a mouthful of food and a small glass of Jameson, and that in my book is a way to end your day when the world seems to enjoy beating the crap out of you.
The list is endless, really. My cousins Lizzie, Julie and Amy, who continue to be as true to themselves as they know how and make no apologies for where they've taken themselves in life. Carol Kappertz, who has survived a million and a half things that most humans couldn't survive and is still rarin' to go (and laughing at your woopsies in the process). My good friend Chelsie, who is a ridiculous powerhouse of a human being. I've never met anyone more determined to get what she wants out of life and is fearless about tearing herself down to build back up into a human she can be more pleased with. That takes balls. My oldest friend Alex, whose endless compassion for people never ceases to amaze me. Her patience is long and courageous, and is one of the more stable people in my life that I know will always continue to love no matter who you are or where you're from.
To all these women...thank you for being in my life. I probably wouldn't have made it here without you.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Keys.
Every time I hit a wall I always remember something that my guru said to me. People seem to find themselves in cages but what they don't realize is that they were the ones holding the keys the entire time. You don't have to settle for what's in front of you and be upset and angry and think that there's no way out. There is. You just have to decide that you're going to make this change.
Sometimes the absurdities we put ourselves through allow us to forget why we did them in the first place. We forget how sometimes there are happy moments and as soon as they're gone we remember why we were sad and hold on tighter to that. It makes me wonder, why do we always hold on to what makes us unhappy? Why should so much energy be expended into maintaining a stasis which serves no greater purpose other than to offer unfortunate health problems and a fouler than thou mood?
Working three jobs puts a few things into perspective for me. Number one, it leaves very little time for self care, much less time spent with lovers and friends. Number two, all I think about is work. I worry about whether or not I'm accepted, whether or not I'm doing a good job, rearranging the order of events I normally perform in my head so as to be more efficient and somehow earn more kudo points. If people notice. I mainly always wonder if I'm noticed. Some rubbish childhood trigger of always being made invisible or some such thing. Who knows. :P
I've allowed myself to settle into this commitment to a relationship I haven't even given myself the time to properly explore. And I don't mind breaking my back (sometimes literally) to make sure I'm helping move the day along that much more smoothly. I love the people I talk to, I'm actually really liking my bosses and co-workers (most of them, anyway), and the road continues to get brighter as things go on, hiccups or no.
But all I think about...is work. Money. Savings. Or lack, thereof. I thought this time out of school was to be spent working and having fun. Not working and being exhausted all the time. I hold the key to my fun.
Didn't I say I was going to draw more? Work on music more? Dance more? Laugh more? Didn't I say that I was going to give myself a chance to breathe and be and exist and celebrate?
Well, didn't I?
I think I did. I'm going to unlock myself now. I'll see you when I get back.
Sometimes the absurdities we put ourselves through allow us to forget why we did them in the first place. We forget how sometimes there are happy moments and as soon as they're gone we remember why we were sad and hold on tighter to that. It makes me wonder, why do we always hold on to what makes us unhappy? Why should so much energy be expended into maintaining a stasis which serves no greater purpose other than to offer unfortunate health problems and a fouler than thou mood?
Working three jobs puts a few things into perspective for me. Number one, it leaves very little time for self care, much less time spent with lovers and friends. Number two, all I think about is work. I worry about whether or not I'm accepted, whether or not I'm doing a good job, rearranging the order of events I normally perform in my head so as to be more efficient and somehow earn more kudo points. If people notice. I mainly always wonder if I'm noticed. Some rubbish childhood trigger of always being made invisible or some such thing. Who knows. :P
I've allowed myself to settle into this commitment to a relationship I haven't even given myself the time to properly explore. And I don't mind breaking my back (sometimes literally) to make sure I'm helping move the day along that much more smoothly. I love the people I talk to, I'm actually really liking my bosses and co-workers (most of them, anyway), and the road continues to get brighter as things go on, hiccups or no.
But all I think about...is work. Money. Savings. Or lack, thereof. I thought this time out of school was to be spent working and having fun. Not working and being exhausted all the time. I hold the key to my fun.
Didn't I say I was going to draw more? Work on music more? Dance more? Laugh more? Didn't I say that I was going to give myself a chance to breathe and be and exist and celebrate?
Well, didn't I?
I think I did. I'm going to unlock myself now. I'll see you when I get back.
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