08/13/01
T Minus 6 days until Europe Weeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Frightening but yes. I’m still going to Europe. I’m scrambling in the meantime, trying to get all my affairs in order, all my errands done, and all my necessary items cleaned & packable for this weekend. I can’t believe I’ll be away from my computer for a whole fricking month. Poor computer. *pat pat*. That’s ok dahling, we still have a few days left before I go…I wonder if my brother felt like this when he went overseas from his girlfriend/wife to another country for months on end. Nyah, probably not…he’s not really sentimental or emotional or anything like that. When I need to hug him to recharge my batteries, he usually shoves me away after a moment or two and calls me loopy.
Yeah, I guess I am. I’m the emotional one, the outgoing one, the chatty one, the one who gets into trouble, caught up in whimsy, doesn’t necessarily always have the best business sense, and of the two of us, I’m the one who’s more likely guilty of the occasional fuck up.
He’s the one that’s responsible and got it together. Yeah. That’s him. That’s not me. And I’d like to believe that our differences were ok, but many times, I really get caught up in that little sister syndrome. What do you do then? When the lectures and the criticism, more often then not self inflicted, outweigh the encouragement, confidence, and dare I hope for it – pride expressed by those who have always made it seem easy to be a superstar? Suck it up, live your own life & snip the ties when they tangle and bind.
Honesty Hurts.
The other day I had a panic. An overwhelming sense of self doubt and a sinking, solidified scratchy heavy ball of frustration, embarrassment–>shame, and insecurity. During days like that I want nothing to do other than to hide from the world. As it is, it’s hard enough to reconcile the fact that it�s *really* hard for me to find a job getting paid for anything/everything that I thought I was good at. These are not the times to hang out/talk with superstars.
At those moments, if you’re really honest, you either feel like a barnacled anchor weighing down the mood of the conversation. Pitiable. Either that or you feel like a fraud wearing an easily chippable mask, trying to convince the others and yourself that you have things under control, that you’re not stressed, that you know what you’re doing, that you’re doing not just ok, but doing brilliantly and that you’re not nervous, that you are on top of your life, that you don’t need help. And then you feel really ashamed. A very hot wet denim type of shame that sticks and itches.
And while the check is split evenly among friends who’ve ordered entrees, desserts, and wine, while you’ve had only a salad and water, you smile, careful not to let a brittle part of your mask chip and fall into your lap, pull out “your share” and pay. Of course, you try not to be angry or resentful because this single meal, with it’s single bill split evenly among friends, good friends, costs your entire lunch allowance for the week. These are your friends after all, and it’s not their fault. Nor would you feel very good about yourself if you let them buy you dinner. After all, have you no dignity?
As you walk to the car, you take a deep breath, unlock the doors and throw your bag inside. As you lock the seatbelt in place and turn the engine, you try to remember what it was like when you didn’t have to feel so brittle inside sometimes. You drive home ruthlessly, knuckles taut white. After driving home, you have four glasses of wine from a bottle already open in the kitchen, and stop fighting with yourself to cry and cry and cry until you your sweats off the mask, falling into your lap and smearing itself down the front of your dress, and your eyes become so swollen and puffy that you find yourself looking like a chinkified parody of yourself. With bleary eyes, nearly shut tight from weeping, you try to pick up all the pieces of the mask, stitch it together so that the seams don’t show, and set it aside, next to your bed’s night stand.
Then you sleep unrestfully.
I personally think I write better when I’m conflicted. Yeah. Puah.
Poetica Spontenaium
Inspired
This afternoon
with the lazy sun
too shy to kiss me
I sculpted the fog
into our names.
Sharp hard lines
steel swords
slicing while laced with dew
defined my name.
Your name was wrapped
in curves and liquidy motion
luminous in the fog lights
that crashed through
Fabulous
This past Saturday, I felt fabulous. I would have to be a drag queen to feel more fabulous. House party. Drinking, revelry, flirting, and kisses on the cheek. Way too many hilarious notes to mention, and no photos this time around save for that of my crazy party hair. TDGirl is responsible but she flaked on showing up at the party. Such is life. Oh well.
Defying the rules, 3 dudes showed up at the party together.
Moi in Full on Diva Mode – Where’s the girl?
3 Dudes – “What girl?”
Moi in Full on Diva Mode – When 2 or more guys come together they have to bring a girl. It’s our house party rule. A very very very important party rule. We won’t be responsible for a sausage fest. It’s in the party invite…If you don’t know a girl to bring with you to the party then we don’t want your lame ass here anyway… otherwise you have to do two shots of whatever *I* pick.
3 Dudes – What? We didn’t know!
Moi in Full on Diva Mode – Who invited you?
3 Dudes – ******
Moi in Full on Diva Mode – and they didn’t send you the evite?
3 Dudes – No.
Moi in Full on Diva Mode – Tough. No excuses. Follow me to the bar?
3 Dudes – WHAT?
Moi in Full on Diva Mode – 2 shots. 1 tequila… 1 jagermeister. Right in a row.
3 Dudes – Come on! We just got here, not in a row
Moi in Full on Diva Mode – Tough shit… here you go!
3 Dudes – *Grimacing* Gulp, Gulp
Moi in Full on Diva Mode – Puah ha ha ha. I wasn’t kidding! We’re very serious about the party rules!
3 Red~Purple faced Dudes – Awww Shit!
Moi in Full on Diva Mode – Puah ha ha ha.
3 Dudes NOW SO RED THAT THEY ARE PURPLE – Dude, that’s it…we’ve been taken out…we can’t even talk to anyone now…
Moi in Full on Diva Mode – Puah ha ha ha. *giggle*
Later that evening…
After spotting cute boy talking with roommate
Moi in Full on Diva Mode – Who are you? You are so cute. Why haven’t I seen you before?
Tall Cute boy – Uh… *** never invited me before
Moi in Full on Diva Mode – to roommate “Shame on you… we need more eye candy at these parties…”
Roommate … “uh… ok…”
Moi in Full on Diva Mode – “Seriously hon, we need more guys of this calliber at our parties.. wooo”
Roommate… “sure…” (roommate chuckling to herself as cute boy blushes… …cute boy as it turns out is getting married in a scant two weeks – rats!)
Moi in Full on Diva Mode – to cute boy — “You are very cute…come back to our parties more often…wooo!… I’m off.. I gotta go talk to other people now before I blush…wooo!”
D&M
D & M are newlyweds. M is a hottie. D probably doesn’t appreciate this enough. As D & M were leaving the party, they were walking side by side, about 18 inches apart from each other. Calling out my goodbyes to them, I say to M, “Hey, one of my friends thinks you have a phenomenal ass!” D turns around and says “What?!”
Moi in Full on Diva Mode – “I said ONE OF MY FRIENDS THINKS THAT M. HAS A PHENOMENAL ASS!” M. starts giggling and D immediately walks over to place a possessive arm around her waist.
I swear, I’m not normally so weird. It was the hair.
