I am on a hiatus between work assignments and I feel like I’m dreaming, or waking up, or something. There’s nothing to do. Well, actually there are tons of things I should be doing, but I’m letting myself float in the “do what you would like to within reason” land, which means that mostly I sleep, or clean, or paint, or watch really bad movies with Sally Field in them.

I feel like I keep waiting to be able to do the things I really want. I’m not exactly sure what those things really are, but this is what I’m waiting for:

Cook good food in my new kitchen.

Make fun friends and invite them to dinner parties in my new place.

Eat healthy, get new clothes.

Have a routine in which I get to do fun creative projects.

Have my own space.

The last is the one that all the others stem from. I can never really feel like I’m being myself lately… I miss having good friends around me. I miss the time when anything we did was an adventure. Life seems so lame now, and maybe it’s because I’m jaded, or maybe it’s because I’m just not in college anymore, but nothing seems exciting. I don’t feel cool. Sometimes I think J took my mojo with him when he went to Tokyo.

Sidenote: Why do hot, well dressed people always seem like they are having more fun than I am?

Nothing is new, everyone’s a poser, this American culture bites and squashes all attempts at creativity. Everyone is too hipster or too lame. Can’t make any friends. It’s probably my bad outlook that is making me think this way, but it would be so nice to just be able to relax.. stop having to work so hard to prove to myself that I’m not wasting away my youth.

I mean, I’m too old to even be a pornstar… my fallback career. Now what am I going to do when I’m really broke and have no hope? I’ll have to be a madam and squeeze my living out of the blood of younger, more beautiful ladies.

Sometimes I try to think of it long term… I haven’t even thought of most of the really amazing things I will do in my life! But I also feel my reserve start to crumble… I’m starting to understand more and more everyday why people take the corporate route with the big paychecks and the fancy weddings. Get married, have kids, buy a house… sometimes it sounds like stability, more manageable then a roller coaster life where you have no idea what will happen in another year. Right now I’m just disappointed that life isn’t always new shoes and new cities, new adventures and late nights on public transit. I want to start a bike gang, befriend a group of radical lesbians who throw the best impromptu dance parties, and are building a ropes course in the empty lot next door.

I bet it’s the internet… all that stimulus and now I’m trained life to go faster, present me with more content and information every step of the way. Connect me to hundreds of my friends every moment. I find myself staring at the screen waiting for someone to start talking to me. Waiting for my life to come to me instead of trying to make it on my own.

I know it’s just me, and I’m hoping to get out of it soon, but now that I have a few moments to relax, I can’t help wonder… why is everything so lame? But soon, we will have our own place… we will cook dinner, and if it kills me, I will have a dinner party and it will be fun, dammit.

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.

I think I might have an issue with social anxiety.

On really good days, I am a fun, funny, outgoing, open-hearted person. I think up projects for meeting strangers, like putting up a tea party booth in the park. My dream is to run a multipurpose space for shows, classes, art, happenings, secret cafes, and dance parties. I love throwing elaborate parties, making friends, and seeing how other people live. At night I like to walk around the neighborhood and look into people’s windows and see what other people are doing. My favorite song is “The Sky Opened Wide like the Tide” by The Blow, which is all about driving around looking for your friends. “and what I want to know is where all the people are, and where they go. And what I wouldn’t give to know where everybody gets together where it is that they really live.” Oftentimes I feel isolated, like I don’t have any connection to the world around me. Sometimes I feel like everyone is a stranger to me, and I long to have some kind of community to be a part of more.

It’s been hard, over the last year, with all my best friends scattered around the globe. I’ve heard from so many of my friends how hard it is to move to a new city and find friends to hang out with. Unlike school, where there’s a built in community and constant activities to share with the hundreds of people you are living with, it’s a lot harder to make friends naturally in a city. People are busy working, living with partners, and often have an established group of friends already and aren’t looking for new people. You can go to bars, but most of the time when you approach someone, they expect you want to have sex with them, not hang out in the park and drink beer.

And while on good days, I’m open and confident, funny and outgoing, and able to make people feel comfortable around me, on bad days I’m scared of everyone. I want to hide somewhere and turn off my phone and be invisible in my gmail so people won’t try to talk to me. I’m terrified of running into anyone I know, or having to interact in any situation. I’m not really sure why that is. I have this fear that I will do something wrong, that people will judge me, or be mad at me for some reason. I’m scared of being asked to do things because I’m afraid of failing. I also afraid that if I see someone I haven’t seen in a long time, they will think I’ve made a turn for the worse, that I’m not as good or cool as I used to be. I’d hate to disappoint them.

I know these fears are irrational. I know they are not justified. I know deep down that I’m bad ass and can do pretty much everything I try pretty well. But after a year of being unemployed, continuously rejected from jobs I apply for, depressed, feeling unwanted and like a failure, those little hater voices in my head have undermined my confidence.

I’m working to get it back. Shut those voices up in my head. Feel the physical signs of anxiety and calm myself down, remind myself that what I think is not who I am, and I don’t have to believe my thoughts. That my head sometimes plays tricks on me, likes to overanalyze and worry, and that those things are unnecessary and what I think isn’t always true. That no one hates me.

I am definitely getting better at this, and I have big plans for some new fun social sculpture projects this spring. There will be potlucks and parties and tea and strangers and cake(!). It will be a blast, so stay tuned.

bed

Song of the Day: Harry Nilsson – Gotta Get Up

In fact, last night I purposely did nothing and gave my tired body a rest after the long weekend. Since I work for myself, there are a couple obstacles I need to work out. I am a horrible procrastinator. I get things done, but I get them done when they have to be done and not a moment too soon. It causes stress in my life, which I think is the root of the problem. The fact of the matter is, stress is my biggest motivator. I only get up early when I know I absolutely have to; when there is a big enough penalty for not getting up early.

Now that I work for myself, I have to be my own motivation. I either have to learn how to work without threatening myself, or I have to get rid of this need for stress. I’m not sure what to do. What I do know, however, is how much better I feel when I get up early, do yoga, and start my day in a better manner.

The other problem is my boyfriend. Not that he’s actually a problem at all, just that I make him a problem. I use him to rationalize. If he isn’t getting up, it must be okay for me to stay in bed!

What I would love is if I could have some big scary authoritative person get my out of bed and make me do all the things I wish I did all the time. That way I can be helpless to resist, and I’d have someone to hate for getting me out of bed. I’d do everything I wanted myself to do, and eventually I’d get used to this new routine.

Maybe I need an imaginary friend. But this is the thing, I don’t think my brain would let me imagine someone like that vividly enough for me to not remember they’re imaginary while I blew them off.

The other problem is that I really want to do all these things for myself, and in doing so, learn how to take care of myself, and having someone else tell me everything to do and when totally defeats the purpose.

I suppose the only solution is this: I’ve got to “man up”, as it were. Grow some “bigger balls” and become that person who can kick my own ass. I need to kick my own ass!

Sometimes, taking care of yourself is hard. You don’t always know what’s best for you, and even if you figure that out, there’s no guarantee that you can convince yourself to actually do it. Sometimes it feels easier to be lazy than to do things that will make you feel good, and do good things. My friend Sam and I sometimes remind each other that it helps, sometimes, to treat ourselves like little kids. For little kids, it’s totally normal to not want to do anything that is remotely good for you. You go to bed late, drink too many milkshakes, and make strange contraptions out of rope and send your friends to try them out for safety.

I’m trying to do the best I can, but not everyone in my head is quite on board yet. Hopefully I can coax or bribe everyone soon. I’ve been meaning to do that.