Observations in Barcelona

In Barcelona it is very difficult to meet a real Spaniard.  For example, the hostel that Emily and I are staying in is pretty much a co-ed dorm full of American kids.  There are of course the international students that hail from exotic places like Egypt and France, but they are only here to add a bit of flavor to what has literally turned into Girls Gone Wild: Spring Break Barcelona. 
On the beach today, we met some people who live here, but of course one was English from Manchester, the other German (and a ginger too!)  The people working in many of the bars and restaurants in the town center are from other places.  I´ve met Argentinians, Aussies, lots of English, even an Indian guy, but hardly a real Spanish dude.  The only two so far are Guillermo from the front desk here at the hostel and the waiter today at Santa Marta. He loved us so much that we got two free rounds of Ron (also know as Rum), pineapple skewers, and an invite to a beach party.
Unexpectedly, I met an Italian tonight on the bus on the way to the club who stuck with me for quite some time.  Emily met a french guy at the club and I haven´t seen her since (!).  As far as the Italian, letś all chuckle that his name is Stefano, and I work at a place called Stefano.  LOL.  The club we went to, Shoko, opens up onto the beach.  This crazy guy took all his clothes off and jumped in the ocean, so of course I did too DUH! (although I had to wear my purse because the bartender inside told me that the pickpockets will literally steal anything left on the beach...even unattended clothing)!
We are leaving Barcelona tomorrow for one last night in Madrid, and the timing is perfect.  We love it here, but Em and I agree that it is better to leave a place wanting more than to stay too long. Luckily, we did everything we set out to do, including the ultra touristy (but totally awesome) double decker bus tour that showcases all of the Gaudi buildings throughout the city.
Oh yeah, sidenote... if you hang out here on the main tourist beach (called Barceloneta) there are all these people selling things and the sound of it makes a chorus that goes "Cerveza, beer, cold agua... dolla dolla dolla dolla...water, cold agua, cerveza, beer...massagy, massage, massaje...cerveza, beer, cold agua...coco coco marijuana...cerveza, beer, cold agua...¨ We never figured out what the dolla dolla dolla guy was actually selling but the sound of it sends us into hysterics everytime.
Sidenote to the sidenote: All of the people selling stuff are Indian and they wear long pants and polos despite the 90degree weather (this is not racism people, this is fact) and all of the ladies selling massagy are Asian (again, not racist or stereotyping, just telling you what I saw).  I actually bought something off of one guy, after I bargained him down in Spanglish.  It was pretty awkward seeing him pass at least a hundred more times after that because I was gloating heavy over my obvious win. Go Jo!

Doparoll

Oh man, I might not come home!  I found this amazing stuff in Paris called Doliprane (or as I affectionately call Doparoll), which is an amazing headache killer, but I´m basically using it as my new party drug.  The dosage is so high that if you take this stuff and drink a glass of wine you hallucinate.  Ok, not really but I swear it gave me a sweet high and then I got the munchies! 
The best part about Paris was seeing my beautiful friend, Debo B. Crazy, and her hot French boyfriend...I got them real drunnnnk and made them sign a pact (in blood) that they will make me a baby within 3 years! Emily and I also introduced them to Ethiopian food.  It almost didn´t happen because D´s bf doesn´t trust any ethnic food...he´s kind of a Frenchie purist...but it was definitely the best Ethiopian I´ve eaten!!  It doesn´t get any better than the waiter who couldn´t even speak French.  These people were straight from Erutria and you could taste it.
Right now, I´m in Barcelona.



That was a moment of silence on your behalf to sort through your feelings of anger and jealousy that you are not here.  Now, for the good part... We met some guys last night in a band called Clouded Vision and a rapper named Fashawn (haha I gave him the pet name Diva...quote "do you know what it´s like to be famous?  No, itś not at all what you think... I just want to live my life, man!"  Ok, Eminem, nice to meet you too...
These guys are on tour or something and they had played this club here called the Apolo... so basically they took us out for some drinks, introduced us to a Gambino (Italian mafia?) and then walked right up to the club bouncers and in we went.  No line, no charge, no questions.  Thatś basically how we roll now that we´re on Spanish time.  I actually saw a sunrise!  So, again, take a moment to breathe and just consider that I am probably having the best time of my life, but you are probably sleeping a lot more than me so it all balances out.

Basque Country

We are in San Sebastian which is really different from the rest of Spain.  Did you know they speak Basque, which looks like Arabic or Hebrew or something like that... ? In fact they´ve been trying to emancipate and escape the Spaniards for 1000 years!  That´s funny because we were starting to feel that way too...

Now that I got my money (with a new Western Union form), I´m fully ready to enjoy tapas, vino, and all the other offerings of San Sebastian Donostia. So far, we have spent a lot of quality time on the beach, where I went topless (!), been in and out of the tabacos shop for postcards and stamps, cooked dinner at our super cute hostel, and drank with the locals at a jazz bar...which hasn´t had live jazz since 1984! gah! The night might have ended with some of the city´s famous ¨maryjane¨ but in adhering to the ¨what happens in basque country stays in basque country¨  rule, I´ll never tell.

Back to the beach and mas tapas ahora!

TP versus WU

Dear People of the Estados Unidos,
ALWAYS carry TP into los baños de Espana.  While I think that most of the bathrooms have been very clean here, most of them do not have TP (although they all have TP dispensers, so it´s tricky to remember).  If I had been thinking, I would have realized that I needed to pack some tissues before I left the room today.  But obviously I wasn´t thinking, since I just went (right here at the internet cafe) before I checked the TP situation.  After a moment of panic, I did the only thing I could think of.  I wiped my ass with a Western Union form that I was saving for later...
OOOOOPS.  This is definitely a new one for me. 

We Ate the Churros

As predicted, we returned to San Gines Chocolateria for the famous vegan churros.  Apparently Saturday afternoon is exactly when you are supposed to eat these things because the tiny shop was overflowing with Spanish folks fighting each other for tables and toilet paper.  I had to dip into the private reserves of TP twice while in the place (reserves were kept near the bathrooms, discreetly stacked on a shelf behind the water glasses...don't ask me what the ladies were using before I showed up...)
We finally scored a table after standing Italian style at the espresso bar, trying our best not to miss out on the hot churro action.  We got settled at last. While I was busy with my pot of warm chocolate and espresso, Alia says "Oh my god, look at this waiter..." Emily and I are looking at her, but turn just in time to see a pretty big Spanish waiter lose at least 3 plates of hot churros, 4 coffees, and 4 pots of chocolate from a triple stacked tray!!  I think he was planning to head downstairs with orders for 10 tables, but instead splashed 4 little old ladies with a chocolate surprise.  The shock and awe was so great that not even a gasp was heard.  Silence alone was the only proper reaction, but if you know me, you know I was busting up laughing inside.  It was like watching Claudio on a Saturday night.  We felt so bad for this guy, because this place was so crowded and it took him at least 5 full minutes and two other employees to clean up all the liquid chocolate.  I'm pretty sure it was Alia who said, "That lady got chocolate all over her red jacket!  Free churros for life!"
We also ate some amazing Mediterranean chow at a place called Maoz (pronounced Moe's perhaps) which I heard might be the only vegan option in Paris.  Thank god this place is delicious, cheap, and gives you free refills on your salad bowl.  Put's Daphne's Greek in Daly City to super shame.
We saw "Guernica" at the Museo Reina Sofia, mostly because Emily and I both remember the print at our old kitchen on Hayes.  The print was the size of one wall in our kitchen.  The real thing is the size of one wall of the museum!  Go Picasso, you pervert freak!
Ok...since I'm using Alia's computer and being "that friend" who doesn't ever have her own technology to work with, in addition to having NO access to the ATM because of my lame-ass bank, let me wrap up by telling you that I went out to a bar called Paloma Blanca by my very lonesome just because I had to see a place that gives you free tapas while you drink.  Three beers deep, I managed to taste patatas bravas con salsicca, albondigas (meatballs), and 3 fish sticks.  Of course the only other person there by himself stood right next to me, and we had the best conversation in broken spanish ever!  After admitting I'm not actually 19, he replied it's ok, "Soy treinta" (30) which was the biggest whopper I ever heard since he was obviously 41.  "Christian", pronounced krees-ti-on, will be there again tonight at 9, even though he, of course, has a girlfriend.  Hehehe. Spaniards.
Our night ended at Alia's favorite club, Kapitol, which has 7 dance floors and stays open until 7 am.  Holy cow, what are all these people smoking!? It was 4 am when the big screen lit up, the gogo dancers took to the stage, and the acrobats climbed up the red curtain to do an aerial dance.  No joke, two acrobats used to one curtain to dance their way to the ceiling and I held my breath for a full minute praying that the chica would not be dropped to her death, since there was nothing holding her up but one arm of a guy roped onto the curtain by his feet.  !
Luckily, we made it home in a taxi around 5 am, and like a champion I had purchased some Golden Grahams and soymilk earlier in the day, so I was able to end my night there, like a real American.

Thank God Churros Are Vegan

So we made it to Alia's house (Emily's sister) just as planned around 3 in the afternoon Friday... which is crazy because we left San Francisco at 3 in the afternoon on Thursday!

The first thing I did was shower because airplanes are nasty and will give you syph if you don't. The next thing I did was sleep.  And I'm told I slept through 5 roommates coming and going for about 2 hours. I think Alia's apartment must be about 400 years old, so that makes a lot of sounds seem exaggerated.  Not that I cared. I was sleeping off the Ambien that Emily force fed me on the airplane hours earlier.

After waking up and realizing !Holy F*ck I'm in Spain!, I put on a tank and some sandals and we hit the town.  

First walking downtown to enjoy a beer and "tortilla" at Tapas 44 (basically Spanish style fast food...except wait, they also have Mickey D's, Starbucks, and Subway here.).  Anyway, the tortilla is basically a small omellete stuffed with potatoes... so you know Emily was not eating that. She had patatas bravas which are some pretty mean roasted potatoes covered in red sauce.  Apparently what we call breakfast is what Spain calls tapas.  I don't think they eat "breakfast" because they are just going home from the bar when most Americans are getting up for work.  In fact, I've been warned that this evening will include going to a nightclub that stays open until 7 am...we won't be getting there until 1:30am. !

Naturally, after we finished the tapas and beer we continued walking towards other food and beer opportunities.  Before that, however, we walked through two major plazas. Plaza Mayor, which is instantly reminiscent of the Palazzo Pubblico in Siena, Italy.  Next was Plaza Sol where I took a bunch of photos.  Nothing says tourist better or more obviously than snapping pictures of yourself from above.  Oh yeah, I also noted the plethora of street performers, like the classic "gold man" and even more classic "gold guitar man" (personal fav!).

The time frame is important here, because it was about 9 pm, the weather was around 70 degrees F, and the city was literally in full swing.  I never saw so many people walking so closely together over cobblestone. It made my heart leap to arrive at the indoor market (roughly a miniature ferry building scene) and see people enjoying hearty glasses of wine and small delicacies nearing on 10pm.  We ate about 100 samples of almonds in there and Alia discovered that goji berries taste like soil, but are full of antioxidants and are totally worth eating.

Finally, we left that wino palace and got to our real destination... a vegan/vegetarian restaurant called Herba Buena.  Like all vegan/vegetarian restaurants in otherwise meat addicted cities, this place used an abundance of green, orange, and neon colors to attract guests who would otherwise be scared off by big words like spinach and seaweed. Everything there tasted great, from the guacamole amuse-bush, to my spinach loaf with Roquefort, to Emily's seitan steak (it really did look just like a steak to me).  The only gross thing was what they were calling a seaweed "caviar", which I'm sorry, tasted like pureed tuna.  All was not lost however, because it was served on top of a delicious piece of fried dough, which I chewed, swallowed, and digested in 4 and 1/2 seconds.

I thought our night would end there, what with all the belly grabbing and heavy sighing over how regrettably full we had become.  Yet, we still found ourselves at the churro shop, nearly ready for an order of churros and chocolate.  We tag teamed the waiter to get him to admit that even vegans will love these churros!  Flour, water, salt.  Of course, you are supposed to dip them in chocolate.  Which is what we will be having for breakfast today, probably around noon or 1pm.  Don't worry...I'll be eating all the chocolate while Emily thoughtfully makes one churro last for 15 minutes.  This is why she is skinny, people.

Our night ended in Plaza Santa Ana, which is absolutely gorgeous at midnight.  A large beautiful building is lit in purple against the night sky, the cafes are full of happy people drinking sangria like they're on vacation, and of course, there are kids running around on the playground like school just let out.  

All that and we still caught the last metro home by 1:30.  Alia was spit on by some gross old man in the metro station, but luckily she had a metro ticket to clean it up with.

Barf Bag...

That's the first thing Emily said as we made our descent into Madrid today.  It went something like this:
Me: Emily, how you doing?  That's Spain out there!
Emily: Barf bag...I mean, really, is there a barf bag?

More about our adventures after we get over the jetlag...

Madrid is awesome so far and clearly does not sleep.

Sights to Unsee

I'm making a list of things I hope to never see again:
1. Porn of females with male genitalia
2. People blowing snot on the bus
3. Mice
4. Raccoons in the music studio
5. Young Rapscallions (McLovin's band... sorry McLovin)
6. Kids watching TV at the table in restaurants
7. Unconscious bikers on the sidewalk
8. The man who had anal with a horse/received anal from a horse? (thanks Emman/Elliot for this one)
9. Dogs pooping on the bus
10. Humans pooping in the planter in front of my old house

Oh yeah, this list was definitely inspired by an unfortunate and accidental viewing of (un)choice #1, which then reminded me of several other things I've seen and wished I hadn't. What have you seen that you wished you hadn't?  Think of it and leave it here, so you can be free of the taint of that image.  It will be safely kept here with the daily O if you would like come back and relive it!

The Sweet Life...

...of me and my boyfriend. (I can hear some of you laughing already.)  But really, I'm out of town and I miss him.  He's sweet and snuggly, like a bear.  Some of you are thinking, "Grizzly Man?" because you are worried that the bear is only tolerating me and will someday eat me alive.  What you don't know is that I am really, really salty and weird... like a crab.  If you piss me off I'll pinch the shit out of you and then frantically run sideways down the beach until a wave carries me back into the ocean.  On a good day, however, I'll allow my legs to be plucked from my crispy shell, cooked, smothered in butter, and then eaten.  So, although the bear is bigger and growls a lot, he's ultimately a simple creature that sleeps for half a year and wakes up to eat ants and honey.  The crab, on the other hand, is a tiny bitch waiting for any excuse to use the pinchers.
 

Is Wednesday really Friday?

For me, every Wednesday night is a Friday night.  My work week comes to an end around 4:30 on Wednesday afternoon and doesn't pick up again until Sunday night.  It's not like most schedules, but then again, I'm not like most people.  During my weekend, I'm out there pounding the pavement (read: beers), practicing songs (read: hanging with my band), and engaging in vigorous aerobic activity (read: flirting with cuties).  This lifestyle is not for the faint of heart.  As you know if you've been following the saga, I have nearly died trying to make my dreams of bohemia come true.  I believe not in the virtue of hard work, but rather, the virtue of hard play.  All things I do are part of the game of my life, and I don't take this task lightly. 
Some have misinterpreted my whimsy for flightiness.  Quite the contrary. I know exactly what I'm capable of accomplishing, and I don't intend to look back on my life and wonder "why not?".  I only give you the impression that I'm out of control, because you've never seen anyone so comfortable with her own fuck-ups.  And yeah, maybe sometimes I am a little too carefree (read: drunk) but I'd rather be honest than safe.  I mean really, what is the point of living if you have to be careful all the time?  Sorry folks, but it's just not for me.  So, perhaps against society's better judgement, I will continue to carry the torch of my bohemian vision.  I don't care what the people at Kaiser say.
And tonight, because it is Taylor's birthday, and because the weather is fine, and because he would have carried me on his back to the hospital if I'd needed it last Tuesday, I'm going out to Madrone to drink and dance and celebrate one of the best people I know, in the best city on earth.  When I'm no longer fun, and I need a walker just to stand up, then maybe I'll give up the sex, drugs, and rock n roll.  But even then... ;)

Wipeout

Oh holy shitballs! Wipeout!
Last night was one of those weird I-don't-know-how-I-didn't-see-this-one-coming kind of nights.  I started the afternoon with a couple of beers at lunch... and next thing I know I'm looking up at the night sky from the pavement. 
If you know me at all, you know that at any given moment something is troubling me.  Last night, there were at least three things troubling me, all of them male.  Not that it is an excuse for bad biking, but my brain likes to trick me into ordering another drink when I get overwhelmed.  And seeing the guy I'm trying to get over walk in as soon as I'm about to leave the club, well that's overwhelming.
I want to be friends with this person, but unfortunately I also shared a toothbrush with him not that long ago.  Incredibly enough, the mopey female side of me only kicks in when I want someone I can't have... The rest of the time, you know I'm a total dude. 
So I tried to play it cool, but as I'm was biking away, I just had to take a hand off the bike and wave goodbye to Eugene. Mind you, I turned my body fully around to do this wave, and as I was yelling his name, I felt a tilt like no other. I'd only heard about these kinds of crashes, but the feeling is really something to be savored.  A wiggle, a wobble, a wave of confusion, and a sudden patter of footfall.  As I'm being lifted up, I find myself fully hysterical with laughter.  It was one of the more ridiculous displays of drunken behavior I've ever executed, and I can only imagine how 3-stooges I must have looked.  As Eugene put it, I "definitely lost a few cool points." 
I'm lucky because Taylor is a medic and he was right there to remind me that I had, unfortunately, survived the crash.  Just a couple of scrapes and bruises.
The real damage is to my ego because I'm pretty sure that guy I can't get over was driving away as it happened, and well, I have a pretty strong feeling that was the icing on that cake. 

I'm determined not to have another crush until I'm out of high school.

Well... it's my birthday.  And I'm really into that. 
Here's what I'm not into: people saying they will do something and not doing it. 
I don't care what the hell it is, but I get especially frustrated when I'm lied to.
Listen people, I'm a 12 year old with a learning disability OK? If you tell me you'll give me a cookie, I'm going to be waiting all day for the goddamn cookie.  And like a poor kid with OCD, I'm going to be so focused on you and your stupid cookie that I forget all about how much fun I was having before you came around with your false claims.  And the thing I don't get is... if you can't/won't/don't want to give me a cookie, why did you offer in the first place?  When I was little, my dad would say, "want to go get some ice cream?" Me: "ahduh yesssss" Dad: "that's nice, I was just wondering."  Thanks a lot, Dad.  That game wasn't fun when I was 6 and it still sucks at 28.
I believe I so badly tarnished my dating karma when I went out with Bryan, that now everything is one big cosmic joke.  I have been asked FOUR times since Jan. 1, 2010 to be in a threesome with four different established couples.  REALLY YOU ASK?  Fucking really.  I guess it's a compliment, but it has a way of ruining the moment, if you get my drift.  The point is... I have feelings too people!!  When did I become the girl you bring home to your girlfriend/boyfriend for an anniversary present?  Maybe I could get propositioned by someone single?  Does that seem fair? 
Instead, when I call someone I really like to confirm plans, I not only don't see the guy, but I sit out front of a club gushing tears and being comforted by a homeless dude!  (part of this gushing was due to the sake bombs, part of it due to my own lameness, part of it because that was a really nice homeless dude). 

So... apologies to my roommate for being a lame-o on her birthday, which is also st. patrick's day, which is also the eve of my birthday.  I wanted to grow a sac and enjoy the band, but when I realized that I once dated the bartender (john) who was working last night, I felt that I positively do not have the luck of the irish.  So, I ran away from my friends and cried in the privacy of a doorstep on Polk street.  But not being really hidden, a lot of spectators were mystified by my sadness and tried to help.  One guy even circled the block 3 or 4 times in his creepy white van asking me repeatedly if I needed a ride!  I was tempted but thought... WHY?  even creepo will find a way to get inside of my head and then spring it on me that he's only interested in having me over to please his bi-curious lady. 

All I wanted was to wake up next to someone special on my birthday. 

But so much for that romantic bullshit... let's go find your girlfriend!!

Is truth beauty and beauty truth?

Truth can mean whatever you want it to mean.  It is a concept of relativity, meaning you can percieve any situation how you please, and create your own truth for that moment or situation.  It is up to the individual to use facts to make a rational truth assessment, however it is sooooo tempting to take opinions and speculations and make them truth.  If you have a really fanciful imagination like I do, you are likely to be living out several truth scenarios at the same time.  For example, sometimes I dream about things that seem like reality (ie conversations with people I know, in dream places that look like the real places I hang out), and even upon waking, I am still tempted to believe that these dreams are part of reality.  Like if I'm on bad terms with someone (like that ever happens, pshh), and I dream a good dream about them, I can suddenly feel as if we are not on such bad footing.  I might even be tempted to kiss and make up.  My toolbox is full of all kinds of mental tricks for altering the truth to fit my needs of the moment.  Today I might be confident, tomorrow depressed, the next day happy, the next night doubtful... all these changes in mood and faith seem to be related to my idea of what is true. 
So, I'm giving up on finding truth, and have decided to search for the only thing with meaning in this life: beauty. Some say they are the same thing, but I see it like this. Truth is a fluid state, subject to change based on feelings of the moment. Beauty IS those feelings of the moment.  When we see reality, the only part of it that can be trusted is the beauty.  The chaotic, disorganized, mysterious, relentless beauty that we call life.

The 6 Week Phenomenon

I'm not a complainer (cough cough yes I am) but there's something I have to get off my chest.  Why is it that I'm always falling for some older, charming guy that starts acting all batty after 6 weeks together? What are these people looking for and why the hell isn't it me?  Dammit. I can screw all the 25 year olds I want and walk away completely unscathed emotionally, but get me near somebody over 30 and I'm a complete basketcase. SERIOUSLY. Its like some kind of voodoo magic spell that these supposed "successful" "men" put on me. Maybe my focus on the guy's accolades blinds me to his relative disinterest in my needs and wants.  Or maybe I'm dating out of my league. I don't know, but let me just say that having sex for fun is really up my alley so don't even think about asking me for a date. Unless you're older than me. But then be prepared that I'll most likely fall in love with you and you'll be forced to either a) drop me cold turkey or b) let me down easy by saying how much you like me and then never calling again, or c) tell me that you're just crazy, as if that would make me go away.  Apparently, as long as you do it about 6 weeks after you meet me, it's perfectly acceptable to break my heart.

My mom advises me to become celebate for the next year.

Roommates

To those of you who daily celebrate NOT having roommates...I am here to tell you that roommates are the perfect thing. 
What is better than coming home from a hot overnighter with one of your love interests, only to discover that your roommate has an even better idea... the party that is still going from last night.  I thought I'd be coming home to my room, my computer, perhaps a pot of coffee made by my more melllow roommate Emily.  But no... Steve and several of his friends are snorting ecstacy and getting ready for their second or third wind of the evening, or should I say morning?  When I'm already wearing an olive green jumpsuit just for kicks, you better believe I cannot resist jumping into the party at least for an hour or two.  Doesn't it make sense that we ended up on the roof cuddled up in blankets drinking mimosas? 
Wisely, however, I opted not to join the caravan for a mid-day costumed pub crawl, although I generously loaned all the hats and shades I could find in my halloween box.  Luckily, one of the entourage had the decency to offer a tasty bit to keep me going for the rest of the day, since rolling is not the best way to show up to work.  God bless roommates who quite often take the monotony out of an otherwise average Monday. 
And it doesn't hurt that I spent my Sunday evening with someone special and his roommate drinking a fantastic cab and watching Zombieland.  My life has never been more charmed.

As I sit here absorbing whitening gel into my coffee-tea-nicotine-spunk-weed-juice-chocolate-wine stained teeth I am thinking on why I stopped writing my blog.  A few key reasons come to mind...
1. Very few people (albeit important and sexy people) actually read this thing.
2. Of those reading, one sexy person (my ex), was finding my sexual dishing (tame as it was) quite obnoxious.
3. Said ex then quoted me directly from my blog during an argument...hardly fair considering that he has no quotables that I could use against him as a comeback.
4. The month of January included so many shenanighans that I really didn't know where to start...

BUT THEN, my friend Emmanuelle told me that my life is his favorite reality show.  As far as I can remember, no higher complement was ever paid me in all my life.

So, you see, I was selfishly hiding myself away from you dear readers.  But I realized, that's not fair to you!!  If entertainment is what the world needs, then that is what I will give.  If I can make people happy just by telling you what I did last night, then why not? 
In closing, if having a hot threesome, kissing beautiful strangers, or maintaining a relationship entirely through phone sex is not what makes life worth living, then I must have died and gone to heaven!   

I'm not bored, yes I am

Do you ever feel like you do things, you do things, you do things, and you're still the most boring person you know? I just spent 2 good hours on facebook looking at how exciting every one else's lives are. I mean, there's not even ONE photo of me doing any kind of water sport.  The only picture taken of me outside was at a wine tasting.  And we were forced to sit outside.  Thank god I like running or I'd be indoors all of my life.  I'd be dead of a vitamin D deficiency by now. I'm very thirsty by the way...

Two Thousand and Ten Sensations

"It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me... And I'm feeling good."

-Muse, "Feeling Good" from Origin of Symmetry, best rock album EVER

Yesterday at work, I was overcome by one of the stranger sensations of my lifetime.  Seriously, this beat the first time I was eaten out, which was so foreign and amazing that I shed tears of shock...

While walking through the dining room at my restaurant, I realized with much amazement that I'm truly happy.  And not just the "it's-almost-9pm-and-I-can-go-home-now" happy, but a deep feeling of content that was so foreign and amazing I wasn't sure how to receive the message.  At first, I felt a sense of loss for the melancholy I had held so close to my heart for the past 27 years.  Then I felt a quiver as that feeling of melancholy was replaced by a split second of nothingness, whereby I felt absolutely neutral.  (All this, imagine, as I'm walking from table 13 back to the kitchen...)  As I processed the neutral sensation running through my body, a question arose... How am I supposed to feel if I am not upset, pissed off, sad, manic, overjoyed, or just plain cheated?  Really, what IS this feeling?  That's exactly the moment when it struck me like Shawn Slater's nimble tongue: I have everything I want. 

Now, I know what you're thinking. One moment of clarity is not going to erase 27 years of shit splatters from riding the pity-party wagon.  Not at all.  And if all I really want is to work in a restaurant and share a flat with a couple of roommates and some mice, then I guess my idea of happiness might seem a little less than the American dream come true.  To each his own, however.

It took me 4 years, but in that time here's what I've accomplished that can't be put on a job application or used to buy a house:

I learned to play the piano.

I wrote a hundred songs, and I love each one of them.

I joined a band that I rock out with twice a week.

I got over my ex-boyfriend, no easy task considering that our 6 year stint spanned from ages 18-24, and that without his influence I would not have found music.

I became a vegan.

I freed myself from the bondage of co-dependence, and entered a hot relationship with myself.

I became a runner.

I accepted my life for what it is... MINE

So, interpret this how you will.  I think we are encouraged to practice false modesty because it is somehow against the social mores to admit that life truly is good.  Being a human is an intensely painful and unique experience, but that is why it's so amazing.  Every moment of the journey is worth celebrating, from the best orgasm of your life, to the moment you decide to come down from the ledge. 

Pain, pleasure, hunger, darkness, lust, joy, evil, wonder, puzzlement... the stuff of life IS life.  We can spend our time however we want.  I made the executive decision to practice happiness, and suddenly that's what I've got.  It's not luck that got me here but perseverance.

In closing, don't assume my new found contentment means the blog won't still be a sounding board for daily resentment and ranting.  Quite the oppposite in fact.  My baggage still holds a hot mess, but the suitcase is brand new, and it's got my name written all over it.

  

For a little extra joy, please watch:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nh7D2g5v-Sg

Hygiene Update

SOOOO.... you want to know how it's going right?  Well, my mouth is a little like the Taj Mahal these days.  So old, and yet so clean and sacred.  Wonderful. The spirituality of tongue-scraping is the nearest I have been to Nirvana, except when I saw them back in '93.  There's still gunk, but at least that gunk is now in the sink and not in my mouth.
To all past lovers and that one guy I kissed on Halloween: sorry that my mouth used to be a festering sespool of germ and funk. I apologize for kissing you with my unclean tongue, and most especially after it had been you-know-where.  If you would like to experience that again, only this time with the freshness of a spring morning, give me a call, shoot me and email, text me, find me on facebook, hit my myspace page, ring my doorbell, call my work, post a missed connection, or just hang out at Bean Bag.  One way or another you'll find me... you always do. 

Dental Hygiene

Hey thanks to the people who are following my blog!  You know you are part of an elite group of very special people.  Kind of like that old MTVnews bit... "You hear it. First. dunduhduhdunduh."  YEAH! 
So I got my teeth cleaned which was GREAT, but now I'm supposed to not only brush and floss everyday (which of course I do) but also scrape my tongue (and believe me there was some sludge on that badboy) and also use a "gum stimulator" on a daily basis.  Anyone who's ever seen me get ready for bed knows it takes approximately 10 minutes to go through the whole routine.  Now it's going to take 15.  Jesus H.  All this to just to undoubtedly need oral surgery at some future date.  But at least my breath will be fresher.  And I might even let el dentirino whiten the pearlies.  Any advice on that?  Good idea, bad idea, horrifying stories to sway me off of chemical bleaching?

ps. note to Jesse Lee: in the last post when I said I "forgot" about you, I only meant in a temporary sense I was distracted.  You are my precious moments friend and I enjoyed every minute of watching you attempt to get hit by a car while on my bicycle.