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Today, I found myself floundering a little in my bed, trying to think of reasons to get up. It was one of those days I was going to need coffee and a To Do list.

To Do:
-That really important thing you get paid for
-That second most important thing you get paid for
-Dishes
-Laundry
-Money making scheming
-Start a salon/art movement (not the hair kind)
-Write blog

So here I am sitting in my robe drinking coffee once again, except now my robe is really wet because all my towels are dirty, and my coffee is black because I’m too lazy to walk to the store I live directly above to get milk.

Last week, I had some great dinner experiences. Friends came over, and we ended up spending hours drinking and talking and cooking and eating. The first dinner, after running downstairs to purchase the second bottle of vodka, we came up with this really amazing idea for a salon. A SALON. Okay, so remember when you used to take that white liquid Elmer’s glue and rub it on your hand and let it dry so you could peel it off? Yeah, that was kick ass and sounded like a really good after-dinner activity. My hands, dry and flakey from doing dishes and cooking, were as tender as meat cutlets after the glue did it’s magic. It’s also really satisfying to peel off your hand from your hand.

We started to have visions… visions of slathering hot rich trophy wives with glue, putting them under heat lamps, and then making them shed skin like snakes. People would love it and I bet it would be fun for those skin peeling enthusiasts (I know you’re out there!).

The next dinner was full of hardheaded discussion of the nature of the world and political agendas and missed opportunities and isolation and selfish mentalities and community organizing and lots of good stuff. And I thought to myself, wow, if we could all get together like this more often, like, everyone in the world on rotate, I bet we could really figure some things out. My own pessimistic view of the world grew hopeful, and I could see dear old motivation rearing her head for the first time in a while.

I thought about how lovely my stranger dinner potlucks were.. People coming together for the sole purpose of sharing a meal, without any strings or futures or drama. People presented themselves how they wanted, spoke about their passions, grew less isolated, and more connected to humanity.

That is when I realized…. the universe is telling me something! I should start a salon! But not an Elmer’s Glue Salon, a social exchange salon. We need a place to invite people that isn’t a bar or restaurant. Somewhere we can be for cheap and spend hours talking and listening to music and sharing stories and hanging out. Intimate, cheap, fun, interesting, always changing. It would be a great way to meet new people, develop ideas, create community, etc.

Luckily, I’ve been reading a lot of books about art/literary movements, and Gertrude Stein, so I’ve been able to outline some steps to initiating a forum like this. Here’s what I have come up with so far:

1. Find a venue.

This place has to be a private home. It must be intimate, so it makes people feel at home, and it must not be money driven, like a bar or restaurant, so people can relax and not worry about whether they paid enough or too much, or if they can afford it, etc.. It has to be a place people are welcome to stay for hours, and which has a spot people can go to remove his/herself from the festivities with one or two other people. (Those moments where you find respite from the group creates intimate moments where a real connection can be made.)

2. Pick an active day for the salon.

I knew someone who had potlucks every week at her house in Seattle. Different people would show up all the time. Also, Gertrude Stein seemed to have a constant flow of people who would just show up at her door around dinner or tea time or whatever, which I think is awesome. In order for a salon to be established, there should be a time and place that it always exists. That way, there can be a community of people who always feel like they could be invited.

3. Get people to come.

With the Stranger Dinner, I would make invitations monthly and get people I knew to invite people they knew. In this way, we kept it pretty safe, but always had new people come and participate. I think this time I’ll do the same kind of thing, but also reach out to some pre-established communities. I think making up some cards that I could give out when I meet new people would also be a good way to invite.

The only snag I envision is that my apartment can at most accommodate six people. More than that and the connective, intimate nature of the event may be lost. I will have to include an RSVP on the invitation, and accept the first six who RSVP for a particular week. I wonder how that will go!

If you live in the Bay Area, and would like to participate, leave a comment or email me: arianna [dot] davalos [at] gmail [dot] com . I promise you will have a time, and good or bad, you’ll meet some new people, exchange some new ideas, and maybe even find some inspiration!

There are a lot of things that bother me about money, but I think one of the biggest things is the fact that no one talks about it. To me, it’s a mystery. I’m not always sure how to get it and I think it would be easier if I could ask other people about their strategies. But it’s like a math test in high school: everyone has their arm covering it up so you can’t see their answers.

Life is hard enough, but it seems to me we are all competing with each other for the same thing. We all need food, clothes, and shelter, but instead of trying to help each other get what we need, we have to hide all our tips and tricks so that we can do better than the others.

I have come a long way since we first moved to our little place. Before, we never had any money, and I would worry about how we’d pay our phone bill, or the ridiculously cheap rent our fairy god-landlady for our place. Now, I know we can pay the rent this month, but with my temporary job and imminent move I’m worried about three months from now.

Money makes you worry, no matter how much you have. We worry about getting it, keeping it, having enough, and being about to do what we want. I’m worried not only about feeding and housing myself, but also being able to have the life I always wanted to live.

I am a very lucky person to have the things I have.. I know that. I’m very lucky to have been brought up to believe that I could be an artist, that I could travel, and learn new things constantly. I want the grand experiences. I want to feel success in the things that matter most to me. I want to have space and time and the freedom to do all the things I want to do in life.

But I need money to make all this happen. And it leads to difficult decisions. I can’t have everything I want, not even close. So what do I choose. A few months of fun and then back to square one? Throwing caution to the wild and letting things unfold? Or do I plan and miss out on the adventure that could be? Or will the adventure just come?

I wish I had people to ask who could tell me what to do. I wish I was still in school, or on a career path, or surrounded by successful people who would support any venture I wanted to start. But this is not the case, and I know even if I could find every detail about everyone’s financial history, I still wouldn’t have the answer to my future. But I want to be all in this together, instead of every man for himself. It would make me feel a lot less lame.

I am sitting in bed and eating ice cream that makes me teeth hurt. Last night I saw Charlene Yi perform. She’s a young comic/musician/performer who wrote Paper Heart, a sweet fictional documentary about whether love exists. She dropped out of school and lived in her car to get to LA and follow her dream. Her work is funny and honest and seems to come from her gooey chocolatey center.

Lately I’ve been thinking about what it is I want to do. A lot of the time I think about what I don’t want to do, or what’s stopping me from doing what I want, or how I can’t do anything and have no talent or passion, or how the whole world is fucked up and I just want to run away and live in a cave and eat berries like the guy in the book Hatchet I read when I was 10.

Some people make Bucket Lists of things they want to do before they die. Some people have lofty goals and ambitions that motivates them to do things like go to Law School, or climb a ladder of business hierarchy, or work 12 hours a day making food for people for very little money.

I don’t know what it is I want to do. When I was a kid I had these vague ideas of travel and adventure, being a poor hobo and relying on the kindness of strangers to get me where I need to be, and letting life carry me through good times in bad.

I haven’t gone for this lifestyle because it’s full of worried relatives and sketchy situations and being homeless and not getting what I need to eat, poop, and sleep safely. It’s not ambitious enough in the “I’m gonna be somebody” kind of sense, and there is no end goal except for exploring and seeing what is out there for me to see. I don’t know when a trip like this will end, or what I should do when I’m done. I always thought something would just happen.

The other thing, is money. I don’t want to have to rely on people for money, but I don’t want to work 40 hours a week for a paycheck, either. I wish I didn’t have to have money to live. Right now I’ve been working a lot at a temporary job where I get paid $23.50 an hour, but I’m always disappointed. I calculate pay during work and then am horrified when $200 gets deducted each week for taxes. When I didn’t have a job a month ago, I was always worried, but it seemed like I went out to eat a lot more, made more art, read more books, and wasn’t so angry. I seem to have a very short fuse and money lights it all the time.

The thing about this vague traveling trip I keep/kept thinking about what this: I don’t have any other plans. I seriously don’t think I ever imagined myself as old as I am now, and my plans were never definite enough to seem like something I should actually make a plan to do.

So I’m trying to make a list of things that I would like to do. People always say we never make time to just do the things that mean so much to us because we’re too busy with jobs and kids and things. Well, my job is temporary, and I’m not very fond of money and I don’t want kids until I’m done fooling around, so I thought I might as well make a list of things that I want to have happen at some point in my life and then just go from there. I hope I can think of something. I hope they aren’t impossible.

1. Have a studio that is all mine.

I want a place to go with big windows and tall ceilings that is my place. I want to be able to go there and be alone and work or dance or sing or record things or draw or paint of make prints. I want a big counter with a sink and an electric kettle and a hot plate and a refrigerator and I want to be the only one with a key. I like company, but this is a place I can go if I want to be completely alone. I work best when I’m completely alone and I never quite feel like that. Sometimes I would like a whole week of just being alone so I could get into it and get the voices out of my head. I want time to do whatever I want and I want to take all the pressure off of myself so that I don’t have to worry about how what I will do will impress people or how it will effect my future. And I don’t want this to be in a place where I am scared of getting shot walking out of my building, but I don’t want this place to be in the middle of nowhere either.

2. I want to work part time at a mindless job.

When I was in Seattle I worked at this frame shop/gift shop. I worked from 11-5pm four days a week, I got foodstamps, my work was two blocks away, and mostly I put price tags on things, made stuff pretty, and kept it all dust-free. It left me a lot of brain space to thing about things like what I was going to do or make outside of it. Sometimes I wish I had never left Seattle. The weather was bad, but that’s all I can think of that was bad. My best friend and I had our own radio show, I lived in an awesome house, I met really cool people who were doing amazing things, and I got to go see live music and eat for practically nothing all the time. I couldn’t afford cheese or meat or wine, but I was really healthy and cooked all my meals from scratch and spent like $100 on groceries for two people every month. I want to live somewhere where that’s possible. I’m tired of being cramped into one room. But I can’t think of anywhere I want to move either, not even Seattle. I like the sun too much.

3. I want summer in the country.

Freshwater creeks to live in, gardening to do, bonfires, learning to play an instrument. I want to do all these things. I was thinking about the ukulele or maybe making stuff electronically. But I want to make songs and sing them at night on the back porch after a day of baking chocolate cake and swimming and drinking minted lemonade.

So those are three things for now. Maybe I’ll think of some other things later. I wonder if the place in my head that I want to exist is real or if it’s just the amalgam of everything I like about all the places I’ve been so far. Either way, I feel compelled to travel until I find it.

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.

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.

Delicious fare rustled up by volunteer cook-geniuses

I would say that for at least 90% of my life, I have been too busy. I’ve gotten by on too little sleep by slamming redbull before french class. I’ve forgotten to show up for that over there because I was too busy doing this and that and this over here. I’ve been hounded by deadlines and up all night and rushing here and there with millions of to do lists falling out of my bag. People to see, projects to execute, i’s to dot and t’s to cross. Happy, because I was doing so many things that I enjoyed, but also stressed out, sleep deprived, running on empty, and leaving little things undone.

Recently, however, I’ve been bored. Bored and broke and with few friends. Living in the suburbs, it was hard to get out. Transportation is expensive, so is toll, food, drinks, movies, and most everything else you could do for fun times. It led to many a night eating beans and rice and watching movies on the internet, feeling unmotivated and depressed because there is no pulse to life when you’re unemployed and have no regular schedule. There are no constant places to be, things to do, people to see, stories to tell, parties to plan, entertaining to be done.

I do better when I’m not bored. When there are things to do, communities to be a part of, projects to work on, goals to aspire to. Since the move to the city, I’m still broke. There’s not a ton to do when the world is a big puddle outside, but I can feel the boredom seeping away, slowly. Even surfing online is more active. There’s the searching and planning for things to do. Cheap yoga classes to find, cheap shows, happy hours, discount movies, art openings, and bus tours.

This weekend, after we had recovered from moving in the worst storm of the year and the subsequent illness it bestowed on us, we finally got out. On Saturday we volunteered at All Access Cafe, an all volunteer-run donation based community brunch. I bussed tables and T washed dishes while mountains of delicious vegan food poured out of the kitchen. Bands played, people danced and did flips on the dance floor, tea and mimosas were served and there were big grins all around. This is what I’m talking about! I always wanted to start a secret cafe, ever since I read about one in Doris zine . It would be a place only known by word of mouth. There would be good food and good company for cheap. Sometimes live music, sometimes art workshops, sometimes dance or yoga classes on the floor. Board games, space helmet parades, good tea and bread and cookies.Everyone would feel welcome there, and everyone would be welcome. There would be no hip-hierarchy. You wouldn’t have to spend money to come and hang out. It would be like a clubhouse for whoever wanted to come. A community for people who wanted a real community, instead of feeling the isolation of living in a society that’s entirely based on money, having it and getting it.

After brunch, Tim and I walked home, the cafe still buzzing in our over-stimulated heads. We walked home to our new place, watching all the people filling the streets. We smelled all the smells, looked in shop windows. Later we went to a free event at Grace Cathedral, where hipsters were dancing to DJs in the huge gothic building. We walked through the night lights. There were people everywhere, and it made me think that this was what I was missing. All kinds of people all around me.

The cafe was a great taste of something I really need to find for myself. I can’t wait to gather up friends, projects, community, food, and music until I’m busy again, running around without a moment to catch my breath. It’s seeping in slowly, but surely, like rain that gives the park grass that satisfying squish. I can’t wait.

A little while ago, I discovered this awesome website called The Art House Co-op. This is a website that offers collaborative art projects to participate in for anyone who would like to sign up. I signed up for The Sketchbook Project, wherein they send you a sketchbook with a theme and you fill it up and send it back. I’m particularly excited, because though I am usually in the habit of keeping a journal/sketchbook for my drawings and doodles and thoughts, I have been without one for quite sometime. My theme is “Elephant in the Room.” I’ll be posting some of my pages up here for all to see. I’m excited to have a sketchbook that actually has a tangible purpose and a due date (January 4th) and an exhibition associated with it. It gives me a solid reason to spend time working on it. While I don’t ever need a reason to make stuff, sometimes it’s hard to give myself permission because of all the other things I should be doing. It will be lovely to see what people come up with. I’m really excited.