Back Down

Way back in the olden days, the general public never knew anything about actors except which films they had starred in. For the most part, there were never films about an actor's private life until after they had died.

There was a president in a wheelchair and nobody even knew he was handicapped. Now we know the intricate details of a former first lady's medical condition. There are gay people who've lived with their partners for decades and may not be able to find out the status of a partner in a hospital, but we know about Hillary Clinton's brain clot?

The fact that we have a tv show that tells us the details of Khloe Kardashian's uterus? Granted, she is an adult who made the decision to make her infertility struggles public. But I think she has made a mistake. I don't believe someone should be able to be famous for ... nothing.

Dance Moms could be a great show, if it featured what the moms do for their daughters in relation to dance. Instead, it's the teacher manipulating the students and mothers into frenzies, pitting them against each other, and the moms constantly sniping at each other, exchanging petty insults I could have come up with in seventh grade. My mother spent tons of time driving me to and from dance class, sometimes sitting in the reception area through the classes, and I assure you she was NEVER decked out in a dress, with full hair and makeup.

I just want everyone to back up a bit. Take a little pride in their talents, and showcase them, and ONLY them. Here's the press release I would like to see regarding Hillary Clinton's health: Former first lady and current U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton was hospitalized on Wednesday for a non-life threatening medical condition. During her hospitalization, Jane Schmane, Head of Blah, will be covering for Ms. Clinton. We wish Ms. Clinton a speedy and full recovery. That's it. We don't need the details. It's none of our business. Why the hell do we need to know the medical intricacies of a non-family member? Does Hillary Clinton expect a get-well card from us? Should we tweet Bill?

I don't want to know why Bethenny Frankel is getting divorced. Hell, I don't even need to know that she's headed in that direction. Tell when her next book or product debut. The end.

We need to take things down a notch here. I never thought I would spend time thinking about how to be ignorant, but right now, that's the direction I'm headed in. I want to be ignorant of these things.

The Michael Jackson Thing

I've had this rolling around in my head for a week or so now, but with all this coverage of the funeral, it's spilling out. I just want to start out by saying that I liked a lot of the older MJ music. I liked his dancing. I have always separated the artist from their art. I can like a person without liking their art, and can like their art without feeling I need to profess my love for the artist.

There is no denying Michael Jackson was huge. It is a fact. However, I believe, and have believed since seeing his interview with Martin Bashir, that his hugeness was a huge part of Michael Jackson's problems. It was during the airing of that interview that I came to think Michael Jackson did not believe the rules and laws applied to him. (I happen to think Tupac Shakur had the same problem, by the way.)

You may be rolling your eyes and thinking things that involve the phrase "speaking ill of the dead" to which I roll my eyes back. Because this is all just Too Much. CNN just interviewed some woman (who does NOT have tickets to get into the Staples Center) standing on the street. She traveled by bus for three days from North Carolina to LA in order to attend this event. She said she sold all her belongings.

Really? REALLY? When you go home and are hungry and want to cook some pasta but realize you no longer have a POT to boil water, will you truly feel it was worth it? When it gets cold and you don't have a sweater or extra blanket will you feel like it was worth it? Sometimes grand gestures are not so grand. They are just stupid.

Another thing disgusting me this morning. There is a red carpet at this funeral. Celebrities are posing. For a funeral. Gross. I get that this is to celebrate Michael Jackson's life. But this is also a funeral.

How would you feel if your parent had just died, and millions of people who didn't even know him were crying over it, and screaming that they love him? Michael Jackson is not theirs to cry over. He "belongs" to his children. Well, and maybe those little boys he developed "special relationships" with too.

Don't talk to me about how Michael Jackson is an icon, how he invented the moonwalk. I know. I don't care. Los Angeles is asking people to donate money to pay for all the security they are forced to provide for crowd control.

Bad to Worse

Things are not going well. I know, things seem to never be going well with me. Sorry - that's just my life these days. If you want to read about something happy, go read a mommy blog - I'm sure someone's kid pooped in the toilet for the first time today.

First off, I broke the lease to leave my last place where I lived with 9am. I did this because 9am decided to break the lease himself (giving me less than 30 days notice) to move out to the suburbs, I couldn't find anyone to take over his place and couldn't afford the over $3000 rent by myself. So now we (collectively and separately) owe the leasing company $4600. Obviously I can't pay that, so I'm all, "Add it to the other shit I owe, what's another collection call when you already get over half a dozen each day?"

Last Thursday I went to the leasing office to talk with someone and get them to break down all the fees so I could see which could be attributed to 9am. My thinking was that I'd have him pay me, and I'd tell the leasing company that I'd take responsibility for the entire balance. I don't mind temporarily fucking over a company, but I prefer not to fuck over individual people. Unfortunately, the leasing company contacted me today to say 9am paid the entire thing to avoid having his credit affected, but asked them not to deposit his check and now they are waiting on me. Fuck. Waiting on me is a terrible idea.

Moving on. Because I am so short on cash, I did not want to think I had more in my checking account than I really do, so ages ago (like over half a year) I took out 9am's security deposit and have kept it in my night table in a bank envelope. I figured that after that meeting with the leasing office, I would deduct the things 9am should pay for and then re-deposit his money, and write him a check for the remainder.

Last week I bought a dozen eggs and a package of english muffins, figuring that would give me six meals (two eggs, one muffin per meal). On Friday I noticed that Wooffers took one of my english muffins. We do not have the type of relationship where we share food. She did not ask. She did not leave a note. I told my friend about it, and she suggested I sent her an email:

I noticed this morning that one of my English muffins was missing from the kitchen. Unless one of your dogs is capable of getting into the refrigerator and calmly taking one english muffin, I am going to have to assume that you decided to overstep your bounds and help yourself to something that was not yours to take. Please replace it ASAP, as I am on a very tight budget, what with having to pay steep moving costs twice in one quarter, and this is costing me one meal.

I was very saddened to learn that you would steal from me and my feelings are very hurt. I now do not feel safe leaving any of my belongings alone to be stolen from your home.

Please let me know that you have received/read/understand this email and feel free to express your feelings about this violation of my personal fridge space in your return email. I will expect a replacement muffin by end of day today, Friday, June 19.

I did not send that, deciding instead that although it'd be funny, I didn't want to deal with whatever reaction Wooffers would have, and besides, I'm moving in less than a week. Except, last night I went to make my very last box of mac & cheese. When I opened my cabinet to take out the box, it was gone. This morning, home alone, for absolutely no real reason, I sinned. I opened one of Wooffer's cabinets. Bet you can guess what I saw. That's right.

Know what else happened this morning? After the mac & cheese discovery I sat down to do the math for 9am's security deposit. When I opened my night table to take out the envelope, it was not there. That's $1399 that's missing. On Friday evening Barrett came back to help me pack again. I called her this morning to double check that we hadn't opened my night table drawer. We hadn't. I haven't had anyone else over. I can not think of any other way to handle this than to call the police.

In other news, I had my interview in the Tenderloin. You know how there are some men who think they're god's gift to the universe? They usually have slicked back hair. That's who my interview was with. Guys like that always hate me, for not being hot. The husband of an acquaintance of mine is this type of person. I once had to drop something off for the acquaintance at her husband's office, and when I approached him, he all but sneered at me. The other reason the interview didn't go well is because I was told they are moving. To the Bayview. I asked the guy interviewing me if the new office would be near the T-line, a train that goes out that way. He was emphatic in telling me no, it is way out there near nothing at all, not near any public transportation. I'm supposed to call Tony to tell him how the interview went, but I'm not sure what to say.

The reality is, it's a very small office, I don't fully understand what they'd need me to do, there's nobody to train me, even the attorneys don't understand the programs they have, oh, and they're totally swamped and way behind. Yeah, talk about knowing you're going to fail. If I had to describe the type of position I'd do worst at, this is it.

Meanwhile, now each time I leave the house, I'm feeling like taking my checkbook, jewelry, birth certificate, iPod, camera and passport with me (that's in addition to the wallet, keys and cell phone). I also want to write my initials on the bottom of all my food and have a list (that also leaves the house with me) of all the food I have.

Okay, I'm sort of kidding about the above paragraph. Sort of. I'm not kidding about calling the police about the money.

Suddenly (I See) Susan

By now, you've all seen the Susan Boyle video. I have too. And I'm absolutely disgusted by it. By everything surrounding her. The only thing that doesn't disgust me is Susan herself. Once again, I am disappointed by society. Society, you have let me down once more.

Something really needs to change if we would look at someone, and decide, based on appearance, how well they might be able to do something that has absolutely NOTHING to do with appearance. Maybe we need to go back to the old days when we heard singers on the radio and didn't watch them on tv, so we would focus on their actual talent, rather than their fake tits and perky, Crest White Stripped smiles.

The only shocking thing to me about Susan Boyle is that she wasn't discovered years and years ago. Her looks should have absolutely nothing at all to do with her ability to be marketed for her voice. Quite frankly, if a marketing team said they were unable to market her due to her looks, I'd think they weren't very good at their jobs.

I hope Susan Boyle is able to use this show as a springboard for a singing career. Partially because she has a fabulous voice and it would be great if more people got to hear Susan, but also because I hope she will be a (visual) reminder that appearance is not everything. People are so much more than how they look. It's sad that society needs to be reminded of this fact.

My hope is that as people are reminded, they will stop being nice to stupid-yet-pretty girls who coast on their looks, and expect them to propel their lives.

Susan, your voice is beautiful. I thought you were beautiful. I hope you go far. If I bought music, I would totally buy anything you recorded.

Loose Ends (In My Brain)

- So remember Christian Siriano, on Project Runway? You know, the young gay guy with funky hair? Well, he has a boyfriend, Brad Walsh. I follow Brad on Twitter and read this morning that Christian would like to send some dresses to Michelle. Obama. You know, that woman whose husband is going to be POTUS? Yeah, her. If anyone has a direct connection...

- While I am beyond elated that you know, yes we did, I am having a hard time believing it's really real. I am more excited about this than I was at going to Disney for the first time. And that's not just because I ran into my sixth-grade teacher at Sea World while holding three dead fish to go feed to the dolphins.

- With this elation comes worry. I'm scared of an assassination attempt. Can we donate money to the Secret Service?

- In his acceptance speech, Obama told his daughters he will get them a puppy when they move to the White House. Mr. Obama, please consider me for all your dog-sitting needs. I can provide references.

- Lastly, I'd like to throw out a big what the fuck regarding California's Prop 8. I'm very disappointed. While I know it is not a gracious thing to insult those who think differently, I can't help but feel that people who voted YES must be stupid. I don't say this as an insult, though I know it is one, I say it because I feel surely those people must just not understand what they're saying.

People are BORN gay. It's not a choice. You come out (literally) into the world, and it's just ... inside you. It's not a decision, but an inevitability. Kind of like with hair color. Can you imagine if the bible said anyone with blonde hair should not be allowed to marry? It would be laughed at, and everyone would stand around agreeing that while the bible has some interesting things, clearly it has not kept up with the times. Except not everyone would, and that's just one more example of why I think critical thinking should be taught in public schools.

I Never See My Mom

Many days when walking through the streets, I'll think I see my father. Even though the reality is, there's no way he'd come here without telling us ahead of time, I can't help but look at the Dad-Impostor, until I've figured out what makes this man not my dad.

Oh, well my dad wouldn't read the newspaper while standing around outside a building.
or
Huh? My dad doesn't smoke.
or
Of course my dad wouldn't ever wear that.
or
Hey, why is my dad kissing that guy?!

Funk

I hate posts about why people aren't posting. Oh, but you know what I hate even more than that? Posts about how the blogger promises to start posting more often, every day even, very soon. It's always bullshit. So in relation to my blog, what I have to say about my posting is, I'll post sometimes. And some of those times? They will be more frequent than some other times.

I have been in a funk lately. I am not happy. I feel disorganized all the time. I feel, not only misunderstood, but like nobody cares to understand. I feel critiqued. I am not appreciative of what I have. I am jealous of everyone else.

Last night I had a dream my father died. And then I was supposed to go see my shrink who I hated (who hated me but liked the money) the next morning to talk about it, and my whole family was there. When we went to walk up the long staircase to the shrink's office my father tapped me on the shoulder to let me see everyone was gathering in a circle at the bottom of the stairs. Yes, even though he was dead. I was the last person to get down the stairs and when I got there, there were only the shitty, metal folding chairs left and I was pissed because *I* was the real patient so I felt one of the comfy chairs should have been left for me.

Everyone had notebooks on their laps and were taking notes. My grandparents were there. Even my grandmother who has been dead over a dozen years. And when my grandpa tried to say, "We miss him so much," I snorted and asked why he always treated him like such shit when he was alive. Then I walked out because this was not therapy the way it was supposed to be, and not the way I wanted to process my feelings surrounding my father's death.

So I went to take my biology final, but instead of sitting down to take the test, I walked up to the teacher and said, "Look, let's just save ourselves time. We both know I failed the class, and that I haven't understood a damn thing you've said all semester. I don't know any of the answers on your test. Just give me the F."

In real life, a friend told me that when I talk about my parents, I talk about them like they're dead. And that is a bit upsetting to me, and probably to them too (and that is reason 582 why parents should not read their children's blogs). I bet a shrink would have a field day with that.

Walk This Way

My friend is getting her kid a bike. My friend and I are from New York, during a time when nobody who had a bike wore a helmet, even if their parents forced them to have one. I often saw kids riding their bikes through the streets of Long Island, with their helmets dangling from the handlebars.

You don't have to comment with the story of how you went over the handlebars and landed on your head and would have died had it not been for your dorky-yet-life-saving helmet. I know. Really. I get it - helmets save lives. That doesn't mean they don't look dorky. Because they do. All of them. And yes, I know - wouldn't you rather look dorky than be dead.

So I asked my friend if she's getting her kid a helmet, and she said something that surprised me. That she has to. Apparently it's a law. And that offends me.

Never mind for a minute that I find helmets to be dorky. I will be honest with you. If I had a kid, and there were no helmet law, and my kid were riding their bike with training wheels on flat sidewalks in a suburb, no, I would not make my kid wear a helmet. Riding in the street, riding down hills, all that - yeah, I'd probably force the helmet.

What offends me is the idea that this is a law. That decision-making is being taken away from people law by law. There's something wrong with this. With people not having to take any personal responsibility outside of what the law tells them to do. Can it really be healthy to not have to think for yourself?

I don't think so. Not only do I find it insulting to people who are then forced to follow the law, it strikes me as unhealthy. Where will it end? It recently became a law in San Francisco that supermarkets are no longer allowed to bag groceries in plastic bags. They have to provide paper bags. Supermarkets are not happy about this - paper bags cost them more money than plastic bags. Jennie wants you to see this. So see it.

Is this going to become the norm all over the country? Will a law be passed that prohibits plastic garbage bags soon? Ziplocs? Where does it end? Should it end by force?

There's this theory in therapy that you can't say to a patient, "The reason you own 86 jackets is because as a child you were forced to wear a hand-me-down jacket for four years in a row." They have to figure it out themself, because it will mean more that way. Is it more important that plastic is yanked from the shelves next week, or that people get interested in being green and saving the earth and come up with ways to conserve on their own?

Here's another law I disagree with - that whole being illegal to let a kid sit in a car unattended thing. That's ridiculous and pathetic. It's also ineffective since at least once a year we hear of a child dying because they overheated in a car. There were many times growing up that I stayed in the car while my mother went shopping - much more fun for me to sit there reading my book than have to follow my mother around the supermarket, drugstore, or stationery store. And if I got bored (or hot, or cold, or felt like a stranger looked at me the wrong way) I could just get out, lock the doors, and go inside the store to find my mom.

However, my mother is not a fucking moron. She didn't let me sit in a car by myself when I was a baby. Or even a very little kid. She let me stay in the car in places she felt were safe. Places I was comfortable. If I got warm , I cranked open a window for some air (because in those days it wouldn't set off an alarm, plus we had manual windows, not electric ones).

Living in Florida, I called the police several times when I saw dogs panting in cars. It's *really* hot there. So hot that when you turn off the air conditioning in your car, it immediately gets hot and stuffy. How people thought it was okay to leave an animal in that environment baffles me.

Are people really so stupid and lazy that they can't stop to think "gee, I have a two year old and it's 90 degrees out, so even though it'll be a pain in the ass, I should NOT leave the kid in the car while I run in to pick up a prescription"? Yes, apparently they are. They don't think ahead enough to realize they might get stuck in a line full of geriatric people who move slowly, or might have a problem with their insurance, and what they think will be two minutes could be stretched to more than 20.

So you say the laws are for them. Fine. That's why people should be able to opt out of laws that take away the thinking. Isn't there a road in Europe that has no speed limit? I wonder how many car accidents happen there. Am I supposed to assume there's a death every day because it can't possibly be safe to drive as fast as you want? I don't. I assume people who drive there appreciate the freedom and handle it responsibly, so the freedom won't be taken away from them.

San Francisco is a bit unique when it comes to laws - they're more suggestions and guidelines, rather than laws. There is construction going on where I work - so much so that a cop is stationed there, to help coordinate street traffic with construction workers with pedestrians. Every day I cross the street in the middle of the block, rather than at the corner. Cop never even blinks. Jaywalking schmaywalking.

This is how it should be. I am an adult. I am capable of deciding when it is safe to cross a one-way street. If it were not safe, I would not cross where I do. I know that in another state, I would not be able to get away with this.

Now, I know that there are a LOT of dumb people out there. And maybe it's for those people that laws are invented. But if that's the case, shouldn't we be able to "test out" of having to follow certain laws?

I'm just worried this nation is headed in a direction that does not involve having to think and make good decisions, but rather follow laws.

Pass the Passport, Maybe (Thanks J)

My new boyroommate has done a lot of traveling. Mostly within Central Europe. He was shocked to find out I've never left the country. I'm always shocked to hear that other people have. Guess I have no sense of wanderlust, because a part of me is absolutely baffled at what would inspire someone to go someplace where they won't understand things. Of course, I come from a different place than most, since I want to understand much more than I'm able, whereas I suppose most people find a way to understand anything they want.

Yet a tiny part of me is curious. I think it's from living in San Francisco, a major city. In South Florida, nobody travels. I mean it - you honeymoon in Disney and then take all your vacations in Key West. If you have relatives there, you go to New York once every few years, but you hate how busy and crowded and dirty it is. But in major cities, people go places. Like to other major cities.

I'm tempted. My friend told me to start out slow - go someplace where they speak English, at least. Like London. I might be able to do London. I read British Glamour. I like the song Here Comes the Sun. I ate a scone once. I even know "chips" are really french fries.

Except, remember on The Real World, London how hard it was to figure out the front door of their apartment? And what if I got lost trying to take the Tube somewhere, and the people there were like the kids I went to high school with, and gave me wrong directions? Plus, I don't really like fish all that much.

Okay, not London. What about Paris? Every girl is supposed to want to go to Paris, right? I could be like Sabrina, and come back beautiful. I could acquire a cute, French accent. Supposedly they teach English in the schools there. So what if there are no anti-smoking laws?

Well, here's what I imagine.

1. I would arrive.

2. Day one - would not leave hotel due to not being able to figure out fancy lock on hotel door. Convince myself that's okay, because I can "adjust to time difference" and finish reading airplane book and magazines.

3. Day two - would figure out lock and venture around lobby of hotel. Spend at least four hours people-watching in lobby before going back to room, depressed that I can not understand what anyone is saying. Before going inside room, cry in hallway for half hour at not being able to figure out lock on door from outside. Console myself with thoughts that the people walking by who give me strange looks will never see me again, so it does not matter that I cried in front of them.

4. Days three and four - stay in hotel room, scarred from last time I left. Call my brother and cry about how hard it is to be somewhere I don't understand what's going on around me and how much I hate myself for not being able to learn new languages and learning disabilities really suck.

5. Day five - embarrassed that I'll be leaving soon and will have to face Americans who will ask what I did in foreign country and don't want to have to admit "nothing," force myself to leave hotel. After writing out on two pieces of hotel stationery diagram of door lock, complete with step by step instructions.

6. Walk three blocks to left of hotel. Find cafe. Say, in my best, yet awful and improper French, "I'm sorry, I do not speak French; do you speak English please?" only to have people laugh at me and ignore my request for water. Cry.

7. Try to walk three blocks to my right to get back to hotel, only to find myself in very seedy area, sun has set, and now I am hopelessly lost. Pull out diagram of door lock to see if stationery has hotel phone number, only to realize I can not figure out how to use pay phone. Spend night sitting in a curb. Pigeons poop on my head multiple times. When I get back to my hotel, find I've lost my precious diagram and spend 20 minutes outside door trying to unlock it.

8. Finally get inside and to to take shower to wash off bird poop, which has congealed into my hair overnight. Can't figure out complicated shower, wash hair in sink. Lay on bed and cry myself to sleep.

9. Arrive back in the States after being fleeced by a cab in Paris to take me to airport, where I am most proud that I got it down to a solid ten minutes to work the lock on my hotel door. Frantically run to Borders to write down sightseeing places in Paris to lie about to people when they ask where I went while abroad.

It might not be as bad as that, but keep in mind that I don't drink wine or coffee, and don't like cheese. You can survive on Evian for a few days straight, right? And they'll let pb&j sandwiches through customs, right?

Write Now

1. I've been up since 4 a.m.
2. I interviewed for a job yesterday and got an e-mail that they want me back for a second interview on Tuesday (which I can't get to, and had to ask for a different day).
3. I'm hoping today will be the day I finally send mail to my mother that's been sitting for a month.
4. I'm excited about dog-sitting for the cutest dog in the world.
5. My feet are ripped up from breaking in new heels yesterday, and though I try to console myself with the fact that they looked really cute, it's not enough to dilute the raw pain.
6. I'm wishing a magical house fairy would make my breakfast.
7. The parade of prospective roommates is tiring, especially when they flake or don't read the details of the ad.
8. I wish strawberries were in season.
9. I am ready for warmer weather.

In My Perfect World

I need a vacation. Not a long weekend in LA, or flying across the country to spend time with the 'rental unit and whatever grandparents aren't dead or lost. A real vacation.

In my perfect world, I lay outside on a hammock that faces the Atlantic Ocean, a bottle of Poland Spring by my side, a magazine on my stomach, book in my hands, a soft, thin blanket thrown over me. It doesn't need to be green.

It's one of those books that's the tiniest bit beyond me. Not completely out of my mental reach, but one that pushes me to stretch my brain. All the people I admire are behind me somewhere, in a house, drinking or listening to obscure music I've never heard of before that I will come to love. When I don't understand something in my book I call one of them out to my hammock.

"Do you think I'm like Ann in my friendships?"
"What's your stance on mandatory counseling before being given a marriage licence?"

And my friends will tell me their thoughts, and explain them. They will explain all the big words I don't know. We will argue and disagree and eventually agree to disagree. I will have them write down their deep thoughts in a notebook for me to look at later. They will never get frustrated with me for not knowing so much, and I will not be too ashamed to ask all my many questions, even when I have to ask four times what the same word means.

When I'm tired of all the reading, I will oh-so-gracefully slide off the hammock and walk along the water. When I'm just plain tired I will sit in the sand and watch the ocean, thinking more deep thoughts, and letting all the negative float away into the waves.

And when I'm tired of drinking only Poland Spring .... just kidding, we all know that's not even possible!

At night I will fall asleep to the sound of people telling me stories from their life. How they met their spouses, when they called the operator as a toddler to see what would happen, how they broke their arm, anything. I hate hearing people read out loud - it makes me want to punch someone in the face. But true stories told by real people? I love falling asleep to someone telling me their real stories.

This is what I need. When I go home, and return to reality, I will be a calmer person due to all my new insights, and secure in my knowledge. I will know that this day-to-day crap is all bullshit.

The real reality though, is that all this bullshit is my life. And right now life is kicking my ass.