My friend F came over last night, totally bummed. His boyfriend was in a funk. He had recently lost his job, and with summer coming to an end, he found himself without friends, without anything to do, binging out on television and feeling sorry for himself.

Since the fall of the economy, this scenario has gotten more and more prevalent. People become unemployed and have a hard time getting a job, which leads to feelings of helplessness and worthlessness. Without any money, it’s hard to go out, and many find themselves unmotivated, watching bad reality TV shows which just make them feel more resentful of their directionless, broke-ass lives.

Being in this cycle of helpless self-pity really sucks. It begins to make you angry with the world. Why do I have to live like this? Why do we cultivate a society that focuses so much on money? Why does it seem like we have to kill ourselves trying to get a job just so we can spend 60 hours a week doing something for someone else?

It got me thinking about the world I wanted to live in. Usually my utopian visions land me in a big meadow in the country near great swimming holes. It would always be summer, and I’d live in a giant house with a very large kitchen, a very large garden, and tons of friends living with me, as neighbors, and constantly passing through. I would spend my days gardening and planning activities like skillshares, storytelling nights, potlucks, band practice, dances, etc.

I don’t have room for work in my utopia, nor do I have room for money. I have plenty of room for community, creativity, sharing, collaboration, and mutual aid.

Now that I’m done being depressed that the utopia I have imagined for myself isn’t showing up on it’s own, and I’ve watched all the Rachel Zoe I can handle, I’ve been trying to think of ways to move my current reality closer to my imagined one.

Here are a couple strategies I have in mind:

1. Cultivate a community that helps each other get what we need without money.

Plan skillshares so we can educate each other. Start bartering. Sign up for those collaborative consumption websites like Neighborgoods. Trade books instead of buying them with BookMooch.

2. Entertain Yourself.

There’s no need to pay a $15 cover and spend $8 on a cocktail. Plan potlucks. Share food. Invite your musician friends over to play for you and your neighbors. Have a tea party in the park and invite everyone to come. Organize recurring events. Some days you might have more than someone else. Share, and let them help you out when you’re low. Some of the best times in my life have been at home with my favorite people around me.

3. Share information.

I read a lot, but I get tons of my information from other people. Whether it’s sharing an article online, forwarding a groupon email to someone you know would like it, or just sitting around and talking about stuff, talking with people face to face is a great way to cultivate relationships, come up with new ideas, get feedback, and inspire each other. If your bored, get a few other bored people together and see what you come up with.

Remember: Even though you’re being a revolutionary with these kinds of activities, you don’t need to tattoo “Anarchy” on your bicep or become vegan or stop shaving your armpits. Keep it intimate, keep it your own, and keep it casual. This is a way of living, not a way to join a subculture. This of these activities as a way of meeting people, improving in your quality of life, and living life the way you want.

Don't you wish you could be in your bathrobe at noon?

This morning, the brand new used coffee maker I bought yesterday at Goodwill kicked off at 7am. T’s alarm started going off soon after, every five minutes. At 9am, the jackhammer started. I think the universe was trying to tell me something.

Yesterday I spent all day feeling guilty that I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to be doing. I’m not good at getting things done when I don’t have that much to do and I’m working with vague deadlines. I need pressure, a deadline, fear of God or something like that to get things done.

I ended up torturing myself most of the day until the afternoon, when I said to myself. Self, if you’re not going to do it, just don’t do it. Why do you gotta be a martyr about it? Why don’t you just do whatever you want all the time?

Whatever I want all the time is my prime motivation in life. When I grow up, I want to be able to do that. Flow easily through most things, have sparkles come out of my fingertips and leave a trail of pretty flowers and magic blooming in my wake, like in Fern Gully when the forest starts healing itself or some shit.

I think the only thing that’s really blocking me is my thoughts. My thoughts tell me I have to be really awesome and amazing and smart and beautiful to do anything. It says I can’t to anything I want until I do all the things I have to do, like becoming really awesome and amazing and smart and beautiful.

But I have found a solution! Shut those thoughts down! Just stop thinking them. Just think… I’m thinking evil thoughts.. don’t think about that anymore! Think about what’s for dinner and what delicious cocktails you will make and listen to some music and dance around.

Yesterday, after I killed those thoughts, I went to the farmer’s market, got a coffee maker, found some cheese, made some delicious dinner that was lit by candlelight, made some muffins, and listened to music. It was fuckin’ bad ass. Life is more fun if you’re not berating yourself in your head and feeling guilty all the time.

And I’m starting to realize that if I just shut up those thoughts in my head pressuring me to be really cool and awesome (and successful and rich and popular), I can finally have the breathing room to be really cool and awesome, because that’s what I am naturally. COOL AND AWESOME. And hot. Yeah.

Also, I’m starting a salon (not like hair, like intellectuals and booze), because I want to feel like I’m in France all the time. ALL THE TIME. If you miss living in Europe you may know what I’m talking about: late nights, consuming things that are bad for you, long walks, and philosophical conversations over 3-6 hour drinking and eating sessions. It’s going to be fun and you wish you could be part of it.

I don’t have a kitchen, but I love to cook. The creativity, the use of all the senses, the delicious satisfaction that comes after eating something you’ve made can take your mind off of whatever is bothering you. It is a simple, necessary, nourishing act that gives me a sense of control in a world full of chaos.When you make something warm, delicious and comforting, like beef stew, it’s even more therapeutic. The best part is sharing it with someone you love. Light some candles, set the table, put on some music, and it’s a bubble bath in your mouth.

Here is a recipe for beef stew. It’s really a general outline, but the key is to keep it simple. Don’t doctor it up too much, and only use vegetables you really love. When you’re cooking for yourself, why make something you don’t like?

Ingredients
1.5 lbs beef stew meat, cut into bite sized pieces
1 cup flour
salt and pepper
1 large onion, chopped in large pieces
6 cups beef stock
3 Large Russet potatoes
3 carrots, chopped in large pieces
2 celery stalks, chopped in large pieces
5-6 mushrooms, thickly sliced
2 bay leaves
1/2 – 1 cup wine

Preparation:
1. In small bowl, mix flour and 1 tablespoon each of salt and pepper. Put flour mixture in a clean grocery bag and add meat. fold over the opening of the bag a few times and shake to coat the meat.

2. Heat large pot over medium low heat. Add 2 tablespoons olive oil. When the olive oil snaps and crackles when you splash a few drops of water in the pot, add the meat. Stir occasionally, scraping the bottom, until brown.

3. Add chopped onions and cover the pot to make them sweat. Stir occasionally. Heat up beef broth (3 minutes in the microwave). When the onions are starting to turn brown and slick with juices, add broth. Bring pot to a gentle simmer.

4. Add carrots, celery, and bay leaves. Bring pot to a gentle rolling boil and add potatoes and mushrooms. Return to low boil, then turn the burner down and simmer. After a few minutes, at the wine to taste.

5. Continue to simmer until all vegetables are soft and fall apart in your mouth. Add more wine, salt, or pepper to taste. Serve with crusty bread and salted butter.

This is a seriously delicious dish that is great for casual dinner parties. Get it to the final stages before your guests arrive, and you will be free to drink wine and hang out and smell the delicious as it simmers.

YUM! And here’s “Beef Stew” by Nicki Minaj to get you motivated.

I’ve been trying to make friends lately, but I don’t know how. I don’t think I’m doing this social media thing right, and I’m not sure how to pick up friends at bars. Or if that even happens. I’ve been posting ads on craigslist, but it always seems like a dead end for some reason. I think it might have to do with the fact that I’m not looking to sleep with anyone, and the virtual world and reality are so far removed from each other in my brain that I forget people on the internet are actually real. And I’ve been practicing being shy for so long that thinking about talking to people makes me want to get in my bed and watch movies for hours instead.

I did make a friend last week though. I was in training for the Census and we bonded over how we would rather be sipping cocktails than waiting for 50 people to get fingerprinted at the alarming rate of 1 every 15 minutes. We went bowling on Sunday. $20 for unlimited pizza and three hours of bowling (OMG bowling is so expensive and that didn’t even include all the booze). It was super fun.

*sidenote: Do you ever just hate someone automatically? Hate at first sight? Not that I really harbor lots of hatred, maybe irritation is a better word, but sometimes the way people talk and move their hands is just so aggravating that it makes me want to pull my teeth out with pliers. Sometimes I’m in a cafe writing with my headphones on but I’m secretly HATING YOU and everything you say and stand for. Get a chin, chicken neck.

Ahem. If you are going to be my new friend, this is what I would do to take you out and show you a good time.

1. Go to Ocean Beach and build a fire in their big Sea Star fire pits.

I’m currently working as the assistant for the artist who made these. Maybe you will be impressed by this. My boo, T, will help us build I gigantic fire and we can cook things over it on sticks and make s’mores and likely there would be a couple bottles of something and we could sit and sip and talk about all the things that are close to our heart and maybe make some music if we were so inclined until the fire died and it got cold and we started wondering how we were going to get home again and omg the train stop is so far away we’ll never make it let’s just sleep on the beach.

That happened to me once, but not exactly. We arrived at this beach park 5 minutes before it closed and got our car locked into the parking lot. We build a big smokey fire from some wet wood we found and stayed up all night shivering and watching the trains go by. We eventually ended up in the car which is where the park guy found us at 6am. It was awesome, like we were stranded on some cold island in the northwest and would sooner or later have to resort to cannibalism, or trapping squirrels, and build shelters out of stuff that washes up on the shore.

2. 50 cent Beer night at Bar on Church

We are broke artists, so we live a romantic trashy existence. On Saturday afternoon, we are going drinking at the place that most closely resembles a frat party at a gay club. We will scoff at the beer pong players, but would secretly play if they were friendly and asked us to. There are available poles and ropes hanging from the ceiling in case you had the hankering for suggestive gyrating, but I must warn you that if you are a girl you will be almost immediately be thought of as a slutty attention whore. The way to avoid this is to wait until you are pretty tipsy and then do it to get people to dance to this song because OMG IT IS SO GOOD!!! Extra points if you are hot and fun and get people to dance. If you are a cute gay guy, go forth with no reservations, but if you run off to have sex somewhere and ditch us, that is lame.

3. Monday Night Movie at Roxie Cinema

I love to watch movies, especially if they’re arty and independent and funny or heartbreaking or pretty and make me feel hip and smart. Enter Roxie Cinema. They always have something offbeat or interesting playing, so it doesn’t even really matter what’s playing. Especially because on Mondays the movies are $5 (cash pls). Before the movie, we can go get pupusas down the street at Panchitas #2 where you can have a feast for 2 for like, $12, I kid you not. This is a fun thing to do esp. when we’re just getting to know each other because there’s a little conversation time mixed with silent movie time that will give us something to talk about if we don’t really know what to say otherwise.

4. An Afternoon on Hippie Hill

On sunny days in the spring, there’s no better place to be than on Hippie Hill. All kinds of people come out. There are tons of hippies and weirdos and freaks to talk to that make great stories. Last time I was there, I watched this guy dressed in all black going crazy on this big empty trash can. He was covered in body armor and training himself to kill people. He came over and said his name was Ash and started throwing knives into the grass. He was awesome, and I feel sorry for any authority figure that runs into him when he’s in a bad mood. His pipe was given to him by an native american who made it out of the horn of an elk he shot with a bow and arrow.

Anyway, I’d pack a picnic with some food to spare, bring a little cash for homemade baked goodness we will inevitably be invited to try, and maybe even something to bang on. There we can spend all afternoon people watching and talking to whoever rolls up. We will share some food, lay in the sun, read, dance at the drum circle, hula hoop and generally chill out until we are so chill we are ready to find a rainbow gathering or go live in a van down by the river with all our new friends.

5. Pho

At this point in hanging out, it is likely that you will have encountered a hangover. Never fear! I would not leave you to somehow vanquish Yesterday’s Cheap Beer Dragon alone. I have found that the best way to fully and quickly cure something like this is through a big bowl of goodness in your mouth. Pho is like a day at the spa. It’s like a sauna, but better because it won’t make you want to throw up when you’re hungover. Delicious broth. Meat or veggies if you want. Noodles. Bean sprouts. Add in some hot sauce and I swear your pain will be gone and you’ll feel so much better.

Maybe after Pho we can go home and make something awesome or think of cool posters to hang all over the neighborhood or work on some sticker tags to slap on newpaper boxes and fire hydrants.

So now that you’re all impressed at how much fun I can be, and are wishing you could be my friend and hang out all the time, comment! I have no idea who reads this thing, but I know someone does because I HAVE VISITORS. Tell me if you’d like to hang out, or what you’d rather do that’s more fun. Or even better, tell me what you’re ideas are for fun things to do and give me some good ideas for fun cheap things to do. Or just say hi! You can also include a link to your blog if you want to be blog buds.

OH YEAH THAT’S RIGHT! HOLLA BACK!

I’m planning an awesome giveaway that will be a secret surprise care package full of such amazing wondrous items it will satisfy the void in your heart and fulfill your life completely. Get on my good side now and maybe you will be the winner!!

When I was in school, I was always excited for what I would do when I got out. Free from all the restrictions and requirements of education, I would be finally free to do what I wanted, and become the person I was meant to be. Then I got out and figured out that I have to pay rent and feed myself, which can be a little dream-crushy at times. Sometimes it’s hard to get back aspirations when you still have to get the everyday stuff handled. For a little while now, I’ve been trying to remember what or who I was striving for all those years I dreamed of graduation.

When I was really little, I wanted to be a talent agent. My mom was a producer and media trainer, and my sister was an actress, so it felt like a good fit. Little but fierce, I’d be able to haggle the most money and the best jobs with my quick wit, charm, and manipulative tactics. I’d take care of people who couldn’t do it by themselves.

Then there was the torch singer idea. I wanted to lie around on pianos and be treated like a princess and admired by all for my sweet, smokey, sultry voice. I’d hypnotize everyone with my satin dresses draping over the piano. My world would be slick, rainy cityscapes lit by streetlights, walking home on the arm of a tall man in a big coat. I’d drink manhattans and smoke with a long cigarette holder and basically live in the 1930s. I’d break hearts.

I thought it would be fun to be a diplomat’s wife. I wouldn’t have to deal with the boring aspects of being a real diplomat. I’d just get to travel a lot and wear fancy clothes and speak tons of languages and be super classy. I’d throw the best dinner parties and bring the best out of everyone and have an amazing place for entertaining. Everyone would adore me and I’d be like a slightly lower level, less famous, but more interesting and artsy Jackie O.

When I got to high school, I did this awesome after school arts program where I met a bunch of practicing artists. I’d visit their studios and go to their shows and that was when I first realize that there were people who actually made art for a living. I remember this moment, because I always loved to make art. It was my favorite thing to do, but I thought it was too fun to be something you could make a career out of. After that, I was hooked. My mantra was “Do what you love, and things will happen.” It led me to major in art in college, where I learned not only about making art, but I also learned how cut-throat and shmoozy the art world supposedly was. It was a big turn-off, one that I haven’t worked through fully yet. Plus, I became more interested in making events and parties than static sculptures or paintings.

When I really think about what I want to do, and who I want to be, I keep coming back to the same thing: anyone/anything I want all the time. I used to think that I could just do whatever I thought was really cool, but lately I’ve been a little blocked on the coolness front. My vision is a little blurred. But the fact remains that I just want to be amazing. I want to be that person whose presence changes a room when I enter. I want to be confident without being cocky, effortlessly beautiful, truly authentic, trusting, and candid. I want to make everyone I meet feel comfortable, like they are already my friend, and like they don’t have to pose or posture at all. I want to have so many good ideas that I give most of them away and inspire art and culture and projects and good deeds. I want to make magic happen, and glide through life, crushing obstacles and worry and troubles underneath me, as though they were nothing. I want to make art, make events, make dinner, make lemonade stands, and get people to stop and think about how lovely and beautiful thing moment is right here. I want to turn reality into a place that people think must be a a dream from which they never want to wake.

Yes, I want to be a faith healer. An artist. An organizer, a planner, a carouser. I want to sing in the street and give everything I am to everyone around me and get it right back. I want to dream and break the rules. I want to do everything, because I can. And I want to give people this perspective, that they can do anything too. And then maybe together, we will.

I’ve been watching a lot of trash TV this week. We are house sitting at a place in a super residential district with no internet, a big flat sceen, and Direct TV. I never watch broadcast TV, but every so often it’s nice to experience. I like to think of it as a sociological study about American Society and Pop Culture. Mostly, my conclusion is that it’s really fucked up. There are some quality shows, but I would say 99% of television tells you how to be, who to be, how to fix all that is wrong with you, and be as beautiful as the skinny bitches strolling happily along Caribbean beaches in bikinis with hot guys. THIS IS LASTING FULFILLMENT.

So last night I flipped on the Boob Tube and my boo, T, and I started watching Phat Girlz on Oxygen. Intrigued, and yet, also slightly put off by the movie’s title, I thought it would be a hot minute before I turned the channel, but something stopped me. I got sucked in.

For all of you in the dark, Phat Girlz is about three ladies who go on vacation, two of whom are lovely thick women, and one of whom is a tight assed aerobic instructor. They are all surprised when a group of Nigerian doctors at the hotel for a conference introduce them to a different point of view. In Nigeria, they say, the thicker the woman, the richer and more attractive she is thought to be. The aerobic instructor, thong and all, starts getting treated like the ugly chick while the other two are swept off their feet, at which point one of them can’t believe that this hot guy actually likes her and freaks out, sure that his affections are dishonest, and bails.

I related to this movie in two ways:

1. I once had a Nigerian boyfriend too!

And when I told him that usually thick girls are treated like lepers, he didn’t know what I was talking about. He could hardly conceptualize the idea that people would prefer skin and bones to hips and boobs and butts. He thought I was hecka sexy and it felt really good.

2. I still ask my boo, T, if he thinks I’m attractive.

I think he’s super hot, and I often wonder how I get to be with such a beautiful guy. I have never, in my whole life, been skinny. Add to that bad skin when I was a teenager, a few stupid boys treating me awful,  many years being single, jerky comments from jerky jerks every so often, and you know, 24 hour media messages telling me that I am ugly, unhealthy, unattractive, not sexy, and not rich enough, dirty, slobby, unfashionable and pathetic, and you have my crippled self-image. For the longest time I thought I’d never have a date, that no one would ever in a million years want to sleep with me, and I would just be alone and live with my best friend and his lover and whoever else and we’d be like Full House only queer and without any widows. And I was okay with that.

The point I’m dancing around is this. ISN’T THIS FUCKED UP?

It’s fucked that I have spent so many years feeling all these inadequate feelings about myself because this society is so obsessed with LIES! Just looking at the other channels, most of them are dedicated to making yourself feel shitty about yourself, and then trying to sell you something that will make you better. Or trying to make you jealous of a lifestyle you will never have. Or making you buy crap you don’t need because it will lead you to a more fulfilled and happy life.

Lies!

We are all insecure humans, and lots of business feeds off our insecurities. From now on, I’m going to make a dedicated effort to not give a shit how ugly I might seem to some people. I’m going to look in the mirror, say “Hot.” and call it good. I’m also going to tell everyone beautiful I see that they are beautiful, and why. I mean, doesn’t it feel good when someone gives you props? Sometimes it can change my whole mood for a whole day or longer. Why don’t we do this all the time? Why do we have to be jealous and compete and try to bring each other down when we can drive around the city yelling “Hot Stuff!” to people on the street? I think the latter would definitely be more fun. And it would be time spent having fun, instead of just sitting around thinking about all the things that are so wrong about you.

*Not actual tilt-a-whirls, but like, brain spinning media messages and stuff. And it rhymes.

My boo and I went out last night. We drove through dark residential neighborhoods, looking into the lit windows of people’s houses. We drank tall boys on the sidewalk, listening to hipsters name drop and out-cool each other. We drank coffee at our favorite cafe, listening to a lady sing and a man strum his guitar. We listened to Journey in the car and when we got home we watched a movie about an epidemic wiping out 90% of the population of Earth.

I love my boo and I love the apocalypse.

A few months before I met him I was writing a column for  Sustainable Style. I had been watching all these documentaries about peak oil and energy and 2012 Mayan Calendar end of times junk. Sometimes I like to fantasize about the apocalypse. Usually I skip the bad stuff and end up somewhere safe with everyone I love. We build shanties and cabins and grow gardens and live this amazing communal-hippie anarchist-back-to-the-land existence where it’s always spring and everything is wonderful. When I think about all this I look forward to is as a time where I will be released from the confines of having to actually work for money and instead I can just build and grow things and do that whole mutual aid thing, which I’m totally into.

Then I met my boo, T. When he asked me out I invited him to this potluck series I was doing. Every month I would find 6 strangers and invite them to a potluck at my house. I’d sit in the kitchen, serve their courses one by one, and record the conversation they had. So our first date was really me listening to him relate to 5 other complete strangers about life, existence, humanity, philosophy, and experience. At this point, T was a stranger to me. He worked across the street from my shop, and whenever I saw him I got totally drunk by his charisma. Not that he really did anything special, but to me being in his presence was like being next to a pop star I was really into. Like Billy Corgan when I was 13.

In the kitchen, I heard him talk about jumping out of planes, traveling the world, talking to shamans. He whistled the sound of a hawk. He spoke of seeing visions while sick with ameobic dysentary. He talked about the philosophy of the Tao and traded lessons he’s learned about society and human nature with those around the table. It wasn’t just him, everyone at the table had their own piece to add to this night. At the end of the evening a pipe was brought out, all the wine was drunk, and people sat on the stoop smoking and literally singing with each other. It was the best potluck of the summer.

He stood out. We moved in together after a month. It was magic. He would bring me wild flowers and we would sit on the porch for hours looking at the stars and talking about the dragon that appeared every night in the bush across the street, under the streetlamp. He told me about all the different lives he has had, all the things he’s learned and seen and suffered. He even helped me build a shanty in the backyard one Sunday, and we spent the summer living in the backyard, watching movies, eating, sleeping, listening to music. When we didn’t have a barbecue, he made one using a pitchfork, a few bricks, and the rack from the oven. When we got locked into a park all night, he built a big fire and we spent the night talking and watching the trains go by. And when it came time to move, he spent the day cleaning the gutters, washing all the windows, and loaded the truck down the windy staircase all by himself.

And in the back of my mind, I knew. He was the person I wanted with me when the shit hit the fan.

Right now, we live in the city, struggling to keep a roof over our heads and food in our mouths. We spend days in front of our computers, learning, stressing, dealing with clients, and reading. But I dream of the day when the population is wiped out and we are stuck on our own, surviving on what we can do with our two hands.We will be the ones to build a safe haven for those we love. We’ll be really buff from chopping wood and gathering wildflowers and swimming in creeks. We will have an amazing hand built house, delicious hand-grown and gathered food, and all our friends will finally be in bucolic harmony.

But even if that day never comes when the apocalypse strikes, there is still the catastrophe of everyday to manage. And it’s so nice to know that no matter how little or big it is, he is always there, making it a little easier.

Since moving to the city, I’ve been working on cultivating possibilities. I feel like the more seeds I plant, the more chances stuff will happen. In the last couple weeks I have joined a ton of event mailing lists, found tons of calendars with things to do, researched the cheapest happy hours in the city, and thought of a ton of ways (read: art projects) to make new friends in this place. I might get a job with the census, I’m working on buttering up this bakery I really want to work at, I’ve applied to volunteer at the botanical gardens, and figured out when the collective bookstore has their monthly meetings to introduce new volunteers. I’ve even figured out what permits to get to become a street artist and started experimenting with making things to sell out of my supply stash. I also found a baking and pastry program at the community college that’s free. Though my next few months are still veiled in mystery, it’s nice to think about all the things that could happen as a result of all the seeds I’m planting. I hope something sprouts.

In addition to the now future, I’ve also been thinking about the future down the road. I try to remember what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wanted to be a talent agent, a torch singer, an artist. I wanted to travel around the country, sit in the sun, find swimming holes, make forts, and live like an indian. Nothing has changed much. I envision myself learning to play the ukelele and sing on the street corner for passersby. Sometimes when things get tough I imagine just running away, walking out of town and just trying to keep going and see what happens. I went to a show for the first time in a long while on Friday, and listening to the music reminded me of how much pleasure music-making gives me. I thought about being at house shows in Seattle, and letting visions of art and sculpture float through my head inspired by the sounds going on around me. I want to sing loud, without fear, my own words with a strong voice.

Sometimes I dream of moving to the country, into a big wooden house in a meadow not far from the forest. I’d plant a garden, learn how to keep goats, make cheese, bake bread, build a greenhouse, and find somewhere good to go swimming in fresh water. At night we’d light a fire outside and sing and play music and look at the stars and hear the crickets. I would cook, make art, read and write. I’d invite people over to make things, eat, drink, dance, and make music. I’d take long walks and bring home wild flowers. I’d have special places to go for picnics, make forts, and hang birdhouses in the forest.

I am trying to get there. Guide my life in the direction that will lead me to this place, this time. Sometime the path seems invisible, blocked by lack of money and obstacles in my way. Sometimes I feel like I have to be able to trick society in some way to get this. Sometimes I just want to run away because that’s the only way I will get to where I want to be. Sometimes I feel like I need to sacrifice something to get to this place, but I’m not sure what it is.

Sometimes I wish there was a set, known path I was on. Where I could just follow the directions and go along the conveyor belt, not having to thing about how I spend each day, each hour. Just doing what they tell me and not having to think about it outside the hours of 9-5pm, and be able to have money to pay my bills and buy my groceries and go out and have a good time.

So I’m figuring out how to ignore the obstacles. How to think of what I want to do and just do it. How to stop waiting around for the right time or the right resources and just go for it. Get some failures under my belt. Learn. Be active. Stop feeling anxious or scared. Dance, sing, be good to those people around me. And maybe one day I’ll look up and realize that I’m already on the right path.

Life is definitely more exciting in movies.

There are plots. A developing story. Obstacles that are overcome. Interesting characters. Magical items.

Sometimes my life comes close. There are many times in my life, days where I look at whoever I’m with and say, “Did that really just happen?”

And then there are times in my life when my dreams are far more interesting.

Sometimes there are places I want to be and things I want to do that are just out of my reach. Last October, for my best friend’s birthday, I couldn’t go celebrate with him because he lives in Tokyo and the taxi fare would have been just a little too much. But I was there in spirit. And in my imagination, we went out and had an amazing night.

In Tokyo there is no crime. You can walk around at any time of night and feel completely safe. No one locks their bikes. It’s amazing.

On the night of Justin’s birthday, we woke up and the sun was shining. He lives in this amazing apartment with a sportswear designer roommate, big picture windows, and a tiny back garden with a mini fire pit and a fountain. I sabered open a bottle of champagne and made chocolate chip pancakes and we sat around the garden drinking mimosas and discussing our plan of attack for the day. I promised I would help him spruce up his pad right, so after breakfast we got our goggles and suited up in our white painter jumpsuits before gathering all the paint in the house and starting in.

There’s this great side room in his apartment that opens onto the garden. It’s southfacing, so it gets amazing light all day and we wanted to trap it in and magnify it so got some metallic gold paint and went to work. Before long we got all the ceiling and the walls completely covered in it and it started to look like some crazy egyptian tomb and we had to put on out sunglasses to finish it.

I had made this big drawing of mountains and the sea cascading into this giant pile of brightly colored shapes that were supposed to climb up the walls. We set up the projector and Justin made shadow puppets and danced around to some great funk records while I outlined everything. He started on a ladder at the sky and I started on the floor to paint the ocean and before long we had met on the mountain and climbed up to the crazy shapes. By then it was late and we were exhausted, but we had a ton of stuff to do, so we drank some crazy ass Japanese energy drinks that I swear should have been illegal and I clicked my heels three times and we were on our bikes, flying kites off the back of them through the streets with Justin’s mini ghetto blaster blasting from his basket.

This kind of thing, plus not being Japanese tends to get some attention in Tokyo, and we stopped at lights and struck poses while people on the sidewalk took surreptitious photos on their smartphones.

We went to a friend’s house and she made us some cold noodles and we slurped and slurped while she got ready to go out. This girl is amazing. She has a closet full of wigs and ended up wearing a giant blond beehive with seriously fake lashes and a blue metallic bodysock with platforms built in. She took us to this crazy club that was built to look like a treehouse. You could climb and climb into these little platform rooms and every room had a different drink special. At the top of the fake treehouse was this room that mimicked dawn every 45 minutes and had this infinity pool with, I kid you not, japanese mermaids swimming in it. If you dove in and held your breath, you could go to this totally awesome secret room with one glass wall where you could watch the mermaids swimming, and a deck with a sauna  and a ton of plants that looked out across the city. It was unreal, some weird gateway between jungle and metropolis that totally looked like one of those portals in sci-fi movies to a different universe.

We got lost in the treehouse, and by then we were a little less than coherent, but somehow I remember finding a tiny little door, like in Alice in Wonderland, that set you out into the street. By then we had somehow collected more people and we stopped at a karaoke bar, but after the treehouse club it seemed kind of lame, so we came home instead and put on an impromtu shadow puppet opera with our new friends and a bunch of random japanese opera records we had found mixed with Sun Ra samples before watching the sunrise in the golden room, which was totally bad ass and actually felt like a womb it was so warm from the light.

It was a totally bad ass birthday, even without a birthday cake. It was okay though, because when we finally woke up there was a giant mountain of strawberry cupcakes being carefully constructed in the kitchen. It was almost too beautiful to eat, but then we ate it and omg it was even better.

Birthdays like this are definitely too awesome to not come true sometime soon. I swear. My life is like a movie.

I love food. Since I was little, food has been one of my favorite activities. I grew up eating brie and pate from infancy. I learned how to mix martinis when I was eight. Every night my family would sit down to dinner. Both my parents are amazing cooks, and I’d watch them make sauces and marinate meat and make pie crusts. In high school, I started baking. I experimented with bread, cakes, cookies, biscuits, crumbles, and anything else I could think of. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday because the whole family comes over and cooks together. Food makes community. Cooking is cooperation. It’s a beautiful thing.

When I was a teenager, I used to eat at this amazing, sadly departed restaurant called Bistro E. Europa. Julia owned the restaurant with her husband, Sdravko (I hope I spelled that right). This restaurant was different from any other restaurant. You would show up at 7pm and be there all night, drinking, dancing, laughing, eating, and drinking. At around 4am, you would pour yourself into a taxi and go pass out at home, where you’d wake up the next morning sore all over and with a wicked hangover. But it was all worth it. My sister and I took a cooking lesson with Julia once, learning to make her flatbread and paprikash, delicious staples of her menu. She taught us some key steps to cooking success.

When you are going to start cooking,

1. Open a bottle of wine and pour yourself a glass.

2. Start frying some onions so it smells like something is cooking, for anyone who is waiting for food.

It is with these two tenements of cooking that I started last night to tackle a new challenge: cooking without a kitchen.

This is the sole drawback to our new place. There is no stove, no sink, no cabinet full of dishes, and until last night, no knife. My amazing mother sent us home with some steaks, potatoes, mushrooms and onions, and I was determined to make a feast. So I started out, opening the cheap bottle of chardonnay, bracing myself for the task before me, armed with wine, a microwave, and a george foreman grill. This won’t be hard, I thought. My mom said you can make baked potatoes in the microwave, just stab ‘em a few times with a fork, cover them in butter, and nuke for 15 minutes. Everything else would go on the grill.

I started with the onions, slicing them into rings to be easily manageable on a grill that is sloped downwards, and using a cake tin shoved underneath the front of it to keep the juices from dripping all over the top of the mini-fridge. I sliced the onions, then ran to the bathroom crying to wash out my eyes. Put the onions on the grill. So far so good. Then I stabbed the potatoes and stuck them in the microwave. After trying to figure out how to set the time instead of having the automatic express 5 minutes go on, I gave up and pressed “Add 30 secs” until I got to 15 minutes. After 10 secs, the whole thing shut off.

T: “The surge protector tripped off. It’s pulling too much juice.”

Me: “Can we just plug it into the wall?”

T: “That might blow a fuze. No potatoes.”

What? Steak and potatoes without the potatoes? I would not be thwarted. I took out the potatoes, and cut them in slices. I pulled the onions, mushrooms, and garlic off the grill and stuck them on.

It worked well. After a few minutes the potatoes were crispy on the outside and soft on  the inside. I took them off, slapped some steaks on the grill. They were cooked in just 3 minutes. I put the onions and mushrooms on top to heat them up again, slid them onto the plate with the potatoes, and poured the drippings from the cake pan over all of it.

It was delicious, if I do say so myself. I think I could get the hang of this. One grill, dinner for two. Faced with obstacles, wine is key. Dinner #2? Bring it on.

P.S. If you don’t have a wine opener, don’t use a drill. I just gets cork everywhere.