memorialized day

i don't write about my sex life as often as i used to, and the reasons are plentiful. mostly it's because i know my readership, and a slim percentage of them decidedly don't want to read about it--i'd venture a guess that they'd much prefer i didn't have a sex life, or, at the very least, that i not air the details publicly. these people are, of course, all related to me; so to be fair, this first paragraph is both an introduction and an opportunity for those who have a distaste for too much information to close the browser window on this page for the day and to check back with me later when i'm back to bragging about good grades and posting pictures of fun weekends in san francisco. (feel free to use this link to move you away from the sex talk, before it resumes in the next paragraph. i won't mind.)

my friend bunny has this theory about memorial day, which has been reinforced for her three times over: people lose their innocence on memorial day. i am someone who ranks among that grouping, and this year marked my ten-year anniversary of the pivotal, ahem, barrier-breaking (couldn't resist it) event in my life. this leaves me to wonder: what does one get for such an anniversary? tradition indicates tin or aluminum (ouch!) and modern says diamonds. i vote latex. now, let's move on.

i had to work on memorial day, 1995, so i was not indulging in the typical long weekend debauchery and revelry. i was, however, indulging in a brand new crush on a new co-worker named mike, and i spent the weekend talking my head off, and, in turn, talking laurie's head off, about him. "oooh, he's so cute!" and "oooh, i wonder if i could go out with him!" being the common exclaimation. he was mysterious and aloof, older by about 8 or 9 years to my young (but legal) age of 18. we worked for greenpeace, going door-to-door on nightly canvasses raising money and membership with varying degrees of skill (mine on the low end; i sucked at it). so we'd opted to canvass memorial monday, because folks would surely be home to answer their doors.

so we worked the lovely spring evening in some section of los angeles, and rode the van back to the west side office. mike was playing hackey sack (this is 1995, okay?) outside, and i was amping up the charm, laying it on as thickly as i could muster with all the might of my utter inexperience. somehow he wrestled an invite to hang with me and laurie, as we liked to do, after work at our favorite coffee place. she had her dad's truck with the covered truck bed, so he and i hopped in back and lay on the carpeting. would you believe he initiated a game of "hide the hackey sack?" i complied, and giggled as we mashed together in the cramped space on the ride in to hollywood.

so we had coffee, we tried to break through mike's cool exterior. where was he from? how did he like the job? i have no recollection of the answers. i'm almost certain that he avoided answering them. he was clearly looking for something else. and so we decided to take the party back to my place, which was, embarrassingly enough, in the basement of my parents' place in the hilly suburbs of the city. he suggested drinks, and since he was of age (to drink, to drink! remember i'm 18!) he was elected vodka purchaser. but he wanted to buy something else, and before he hopped out of the back of the truck to head into the store, he asked the question: "so, would you? do you want to?"

i've been eternally grateful for this moment, even in the hindsight colored by his subsequent shoddy treatment of me, because i realize this moment was a luxury that is seldom afforded to girls on the brink of womanhood. i had a choice, and i sincerely believe that this was a choice that i was empowered to make. so i thought about it. i had a conversation with myself: "okay, self, do you want to do this? are you ready? do you accept the consequences?" and myself answered "yes."

back at the house, with laurie still in tow, we drank sloppy vodka drinks until he and i moved into the other room. (poor laurie, left tipsy with the television on the other side of the thin basement walls, and my poor parents, who, the next morning, asked "what was all that noise?" and i said without elaboration, "i had a couple of friends over.") i don't remember much, not because of the vodka, or because of the pain--because, yes, of course it hurt at first--but because i wasn't thinking about collecting the sensations and moments to record in my memory. i'd thrown out the idea of romance ages before that moment in the parking lot when i'd decided to go ahead with it, because i knew then, instinctively, that i was not the girl that was going to have someone special seduce her for her first time. and, really, ten years later, i still don't feel like that girl. i had no idea then what to expect of the moment, nor the potential for great feeling or satisfaction; those impulses came much later, with different partners, at different times. it was fun. it was as thrilling as anything one might do in a dark room late at night with figures of authority slumbering upstairs, no matter how adult you might be. it was, frankly, what it was.

the aftermath was laborious on my part. the feeling of wanting him to be that perfect person, that guaranteed mate, came flooding over me in the morning light. i'd sold myself down a murky river, though, because he certainly wasn't capable or interested in being that person for me. i think i understand now more what i was for him, and i don't want to say i forgive him, for there wasn't anything to forgive him for. it wasn't the act that i wasn't ready for, but all that came with it. and, honestly, that can only be taught by experience.

my experience has varied in the ten years since then. i've been madly, tragically, profoundly in various states of love, lust, attraction, repulsion, and hurt since then, with an awful lot of men. sometimes it's special. sometimes there are moments after moments worth catching in my memory's butterfly net and pinning to my heart's scrapbook pages. many of it has been forgettable, including names, dates, details. but i own all of my experiences, because each time i embark on a new adventure, i've learned well to stop and ask: "okay, self, do you want to do this? are you ready? do you accept the consequences?" and ten years later, on memorial day 2005, i'm oddly, in the same place...but with an entirely different perspective.

san francisco, night one: filthy/gorgeous

trick of the lights...(at badlands)
originally uploaded by sassylittlepunkin.

i was so ready to get the heck out of los angeles this afternoon that every second i spent lagging and pausing on the 5 freeway was like an eon. i couldn't get to the airport fast enough. i couldn't board fast enough. we couldn't take off fast enough. and like a satisfying exhale, we landed in a mercifully short time, and the bart train whisked me away to the whirling melee of union square, where i soon was checked into my cozy hotel and ready for my fun to start.

before i knew it i was on the muni to the castro, where i had a hot date wit a hot guy for some hot fun. (and if you know san francisco and the castro at all you'll know that the hot date with the hot guy was strictly platonic, right?) we had a gorgeous, chatty, tasty dinner at blue, and then i was taken on a brief tour, wherein the first stop was a spontaneous chat with the "jesus loves you" folks at the corner, and the second stop was a sex shop. the third and final stop was badlands, a jam-packed, sweat-hot club where we charmingly implored strangers to let us take their photos, i swilled some low-priced booze, and the whole frantic, grinning, elbowing lot of us danced to dance-pop hits on the tight-as-they-like-it dancefloor. the pictures are blurrier than the moments they represent; for every instant where i felt free and unburdened i couldn't possibly capture the moment with my trusted camera. instead i have a hazy red-light slide show that reflects the energy, if not the actual episode. i don't know. and i don't care. i had a marvelous time. anything else, frankly, is just more icing on this filthy/gorgeous cake.

the twitch

in the past week or so i've developped this incredibly nagging and annoying twitch that rests in the tender triangle of muscle and flesh where my eyelid meets my eyebrow near the uppermost corner of the side of my nose. it throbs in flashes maybe once an hour, and while that doesn't hurt, all the rubbing and massaging i do on that little spot in hopes of obliterating the twitch has left the area somewhat sore. i like to show people that i'm twitching, just so they don't think i'm insane, or making it up, so i'll say "look! look! it's doing it!" and then they'll lean in real close and say "ohhhh, yeah, i see it." this has worked with everyone but housemate l.q.t. who, last night, leaned in super real close for minutes on end, and the twitch stubbornly refused to do its pulsing trick. i've heard all sorts of reasons for why i have the twitch, from an expanded blood vessel, to lack of sleep, to the more obvious, which is stress. personally, i like to say it's caused by men, and leave it as that. look, look, it's doing it! goddamn men.

me me me me meme

i asked secret agent josephine to interview me in this blog chain interview game that's all the rage once again. here are my answers! thanks, jo!

1. Following my last question of finding yourself in Japan, the next day you find yourself in Holland. What do you do?

i'm guessing i'm in amsterdam, since that's the major city. so, there are a couple of things for sure i'd do right away (particularly if i'm being beamed up and transported city to city at the whim of secret agent jo, i think it's best i get the major landmarks under my belt before i turn around and find myself in mozambique or something), such as the van gogh museum, and the anne frank house. it's funny, because most folks around my age bracket go to, or talk about going to, amsterdam so they can sit in hash houses or pot cafes or whatever they are, but that's sort of secondary to me. okay, sure, i'd hit one of those up--you only live once, right?--but i'd be far more interested in roaming those narrow streets, taking endless pictures, eating dutch sweets, and finding windmills, wooden shoes, and tulips to ogle.

2. Describe your best painting and why you painted it.

i'm sort of a lousy painter on canvas, that's for sure. the summer i took painting as an elective for my undergraduate degree i was very cocky about the fact that my job was art-related, and saying "i sell my work", and "this would be an easy A", blah blah blah, and i wind up with a b+ because i don't understand shading, i can't draw spheres and cones or straight lines, and my paintings are very juvenile. that said, i did a couple of things in that class that make me smile with a bit of pride, only because it was like pulling teeth to get them done. one is a copy of a picture of myself when i was about 5 years old, all girlish exuberance, arms thrown in the air. the skin tones are horrid, the shading deplorable, but my parents hung it up as soon as i gave it to them. the other one is this surrealistic piece with a river full of koi running through a room, and perched on a red overstuffed chair is a black cat meant to be my cat jezebel, who'd died not too long before then. it's called "jezebel sees fish" and it's kind of an afterlife imagining tribute. i think i won't quit my day job, though.

3. If you could write a sex-in-the-city type television show for L.A., what would it be like and how would it be different from New York?

the purist in me says: "it can't be done! so i won't do it!" this is partly because, one, you can't tamper with genuis, and, two, new york was the fifth star of the show, and so integral to the concept and story, that to remove it from the equation would be sinful. on the other hand, a show like that set in l.a. could be valid--i won't say the (untrue) obvious: "just get a camera to follow me around" because no one wants to watch a train wreck. and i could say the politically correct thing, which would be that i would cast diverse types of women, and there'd be the sort of commentary on california culture, and it would be very sunny and glamorous and glib and feature lots of exclusive parties and scenes where people drive two blocks rather than walk. i'd probably hate the show, though, and never watch it. i think what it would have to be would be real people (not a reality show, but real three dimensional characters) who have real struggles that are exacerbated by the fake plastic shiny backdrop of a city that is obsessed with wealth, fame, popularity, youth, and good looks.

4. Sponge Bob or Dark Wing Duck?

meh. how about the snorks? (as an aside, one of the highlights of my young life was to go see "snorks on ice.")

5. What accomplishment are you most proud of? And why?

that's a tough one. sometimes i'm pleased i get the photocopier to make double sided copies. sometimes i handle meeting new people better than expected. sometimes i conquer phobias, like i did this weekend, when i had to buck up and face my fear of talking into microphones so that i could co-host and speak at my literary journal's launch. i'm proud of a lot of things i've done, like getting published in the book, like working on my master's and knowing i want to and will go on to get my phd, or for being editor-in-chief of the journal, or for some of the changes i've helped to bring about in the writing skills and confidence of my students at school. i don't know how to measure accomplishment, because it's so flexible, it's so changeable. i know i'm not done with achievements. i know that i aim to have a life of learning, so i feel that maybe my best accomplishment is that i've not yet hit my apex. there's plenty more to do, to accomplish, to get to. however, if you're looking for some funny, the answer i provided the coordinators of my ten year high school reunion last summer for the same question was: "not getting pregnant." so there you have it.


well, you all know the rules. if you want to be interviewed by me, leave me a comment with a way i can reach you and i'll send you off five burning, itching, insightful questions. you'll then post the answers on your blog and offer yourself up just as graciously as i have.

the busy body

call me crazy, but at some point a girl's entitled to slow herself down and do some deep breathing. try it with me, if you'd like. inhale...and exhale. feels good, doesn't it?

this has been an incredibly busy few weeks--some of it stressful and demanding, some of it tangled in small details, some a little more heartbreaking, and a lot of it fun and fulfilling. it seems to be cooling off (although temperature wise, things in los angeles have heated up to the extreme, and i'm just thrilled to come home to bask in the overpriced glory of the central air system) and i'm going to get some quality time with me, myself, and i soon. well, actually, the trio will be this: me, my camera, and two days in san francisco. friday afternoon following work i'm on a plane headed north to the bay, me and my backpack, laptop, digital camera, and walking shoes. yes, i'm going alone. no, i'm not staying with anyone. yes, i know my way around the city. and, no, you can't come with me.

at this point i don't think i'd even want a man to come with me. recently i've found myself at various stages of connection to a couple of fellas, one of which has since earned the moniker "colossal asshole" for having pulled off the most juvenile, self-centered, emotionally disturbed stunt in dating etiquette, thereby rendering him no longer part of my life-thank gawd. the other, let's call him houdini, pulled a complete and thorough disappearing act, after our initial days upon days of instant messaging, after one lovely night together that bore (verbal) promise of more to come, after a follow up get together that allowed him to give voice to his recent angst and malaise ("but it's got nothing to do with you, i swear!") and further assurance that we'd see each other again ("of course we'll see each other!"), followed by his seemingly having fallen off the face of the earth, rendered utterly incapable to even return my considerate "heyhowareyoufeeling?" phone call. this recent display of men aged 33-36 acting like boys aged 4-9 has me leery of any subject-verb combinations tumbling out of their deceitful little mouths. don't say it if you don't mean it. is that so hard, i wonder? i'd much rather hear "it's been nice meeting you but i don't think we should see each other anymore" over "of course we'll see each other!" if it's not true.

on the optimistic side, i'm still out there in the dating world, and now that things are settling--schedule wise--i'm going to keep putting myself out there. (feel free to eliminate "myself" and "there" from that last clause; at the very least i can admit the truth about myself.)

oh, and what's kept me so busy, you ask? there's been the annual graduate student conference hosted by my university, and planned by the small, but powerful, triumverate of pisces, foxy, and me (with some help here and there); i also presented an academic paper in one session, and moderated the creative writing panel in another (photos here). the next night was the honors society (phi kappa phi) induction banquet, wherein i was inducted (not abducted, as the shoddy microphone meets poor oratory skills led me to believe) along with some friends, and our families as guests (photos here). i even made time to mosey on down to my neighborhood's annual art festival (photos here). and there's been the usual lunches and dinners out with pals, work and school daily grind, errands, and the friday afternoon knitting circle (new name: knit two, brute?) to keep me out of trees. but, the feather in my overachiever's cap was this past weekend's launch of my school's literary and art journal, statement, for which i am the editor-in-chief, as well as a contributing author and artist. we had a release party in the art gallery that coincided with the annual graduate art exhibit, and included all sorts of delicious nibbly treats, the handing out of some awards (yes, i won one), a reading (co-hosted by yours truly), and was attended by so many of my beloved friends, family, and faculty members (photos here).

now the spring quarter is winding down, and i'm just trying to keep my head above water. i'm treading a little, trying to balance exhaustion and overwhelm with good old fashioned do-little rest--season two of the golden girls on dvd helps a lot, i assure you. i've got portfolios and stories to write, presentations to give, meetings to attend, the summer's schedule to plan, and...two days and two nights in san francisco.

inhale....and exhale. feels good, doesn't it?

assonance

perhaps it's a sign that i've been studying literature and creative writing for too long, but last night i took great poetic pride in the fact that not only did i use the term "colossal asshole*" in a text message to someone, but also that i noted its lovely assonance.

*i thought that "colossal" was a term reserved only for use on wb dramas like felicity and dawson's creek, but it turns out it's very usable in real life, too. and who, you may wonder, is the colossal asshole? well, they're the recipient of the very text message to which i refer. i might not choose my men well, but my words, well...i've got something right.

thoughts on a tuesday morning

the first thought is always the same: "i don't want to get up and go to campus today." but it's even stronger today because my blankets are so very comfortable, and yesterday i cried at work, and i've had to go to campus now eight days in a row and, really, enough is enough. i'm wondering why when you're hoping one person in particular will contact you their polar opposite will emerge from the woodwork instead, all come ons and text message shorthand happy faces. and if sometimes people aren't necessarily missing from your life, but have removed themselves with intention, but without explanation. there's thoughts about a short story i have yet to write, and the hopes that a deadline extension and a couple of me-time days in san francisco soon will settle the issue. i'm hoping i remember to pick up bunny from the airport tonight. and that nothing will prohibit me from continuing on to my plans afterwards. which are not so much plans, but an indulgence of bad habits. bad habits resumed brought me and l.q.t. out on the balcony the other night, and we were both wearing shorty-jammies, hoodies, and high heels, and we joked that we were dressed as the ultimate lazy hookers. speaking of balconies, i'm also thinking that it would be amusing, if only to me, to go all golden girls and start referring to my balcony as the lanai. and how i should probably write the vitamin water people a note to say just how very much i appreciate the label of their vital-t drink, because it made me laugh so hard that i peeled it off and saved it and stuck it to the front of my pretty blue file folder with the p-touch label on the index tab listing said folder's purpose. and i guess right now, i have the talking stick. and a big event in my small life to go to on saturday. and nothing to take with me today for lunch. years ago, ashley and i assigned the name "becky" as representative of troubling people, or to use as a phantom person to whom we wanted to assign culpability: "oh that? becky did it." but now i have to deal with an actual becky, and it's making me mental. is that weird sensation in my gut what i think it is? maybe it's just gas. why is "gas" always the offered explanation? it's what babies apparently do instead of actually smiling. it's tuesday morning. i feel a mixed cd coming on.

anxious in the waiting line

i'm a lousy waiter. that is, i don't wait things out well. i get antsy. i get nervous. i get frustrated. i loathe waiting in long lines; not once will you hear of me getting up early to line up for a parade, a sale, or concert tickets. but it's not just lines, it's the little bits of waiting i have to do all the time in life. waiting for my luck to change. waiting for a weather pattern to break. waiting for an arduous task to be completed. waiting for traffic to clear up. waiting. and waiting.

in particular, i'm horrible at the waiting period in relationships between the shaky footing of getting things started and the somewhat more secure comfort and familiarity of things having been established. it's as true in romantic relationships as it is in friendships; there's a period of newness, of having to pause to weigh and measure the pace and feel of the give-and-take of things. and it's not to say i don't like meeting new people; it's hard to beat the thrill of getting to know someone, when each new revelation is a widening of the door to their life, and, hopefully an invitation for you to share of yourself as well. in dating, in our post rules culture, we still find ourselves tripping on mandates and codes of conduct. how many days do you wait between calls? is it three? or a week? should the woman ever call, or is it always the man? if i ask him out, will he be relieved, impressed, and maybe even turned on by my upfront attitude? or will he think i want to create an instant boyfriend and cling as long and hard as i can?

i know i don't want to turn anyone into an instant 'boyfriend' by any means. i'm certainly not operating on some sort of timelined agenda that has me out husband-hunting. i'm not ready to merge households, bank accounts, or pick out kids' names. but what i am always struggling with is the wait. waiting to settle in to someone else's vibe, schedule, comfort zone. hoping i can express myself clearly so that no action is misread. and always, always, struggling with the waiting. i'm a person who thrives on connections; my professors are my touchstones and points of reference, my closest girlfriends like sisters. when i start to date someone i'm eager to investigate the connection: is it there? is it sustainable past the initial meetup, chemical reaction? the person becomes a presence on my personal radar; it's my way of seeing if they fit in my life. and when i think of them, i want to bring them in to my life. maybe you and i just kissed goodbye on a saturday morning...no matter what i'm up to that sunday, chances are i'd love to hear your voice. i'd love to call just to say hi. sometimes i do, and sometimes i don't. so often things are misunderstood. it happened way past the new stage with an old boyfriend of mine, whom i'd call up at night when i knew he'd be driving home after dropping off his housemate at work. he thought i was "checking up on him." what i told him was the absolute, pure truth: he was the last person i wanted to talk to before i went to sleep.

so these days i'm in the waiting line a little bit. i'm juggling the etiquette of the instant message, the phone call, and the text message. i'm trying to get a feel for someone else's routine, habits of communication, feelings for me. and i want to call, because i'm a lousy waiter. i try to remember that slower is better, that patience is a virtue, that good things come to those who wait, and that i'll probably be happier if i curb my communication temptation for now. but there's someone i really want to talk to...so i'm waiting.

timing

there was a moment last night, when i was outside in the chilly darkness, when i wondered just exactly when the other shoe would drop. i was tallying up all the lovely, encouraging, wonderful things that have been happening lately, and realizing that in the name of balance, i was due for a curveball. this sentiment was particularly exacerbated by my sense of impeding karmic retribution for a wee bit of a cutting-out-the-middle-man (well, the mail man) caper i'd initiated just hours earlier, resulting in the tiniest smidge of a guilty conscience that was shushed by the boisterous cheers of accomplishment, thanks to the news the caper unearthed. the cherry on the cake of this was the sing-song "i know something you don't know" my professor had left dangling before me like a carrot, leading me to believe this little bunny rabbit was due for even more good news soon.

this morning, while i was happily sipping my morning coffee and perusing my usual haunts online, my darling housemate l.q.t. called to say my car had mysteriously come to a halt as she was backing it out of our tandem parking space. i peered over the edge of my bed and onto the carpet: indeed, the shoe had dropped.

triple a was summoned, plans were diverted, and soon l.q.t. and i were greeting our mechanic, who pulled my weighty repair record up on the screen without even having to be reminded of my name. turns out my trouble is in the timing--my timing belt, that is. but the trouble couldn't have come at a better time; typically these breakdowns happen mid-drive, on the freeway. i lucked out and it happend in my own parking garage. on a day when it was a breeze to snag a downtown subway-to-bus ride to campus. at a time when the cost of the repair is affordable, if only an inconvenience. when the repairs can take place in time for me to pick up my wayward child in the evening so that i can make it to the LAist "office hours" cocktails rendezvous tonight.

so i rode the subway and the bus, my trusty ipod providing the soundtrack, and meg wolitzer's fabulous novel surrender, dorothy (you were right, ari!) providing the entertainment. i felt a little new york, riding asses-to-elbows, then strutting the long, windy halls of union station, thinking about some of the other examples of good timing i'm lucky to be familiar with these days. and of course, riding the same bus as me, was a student that i'd tutored recently that had resulted in so much frustration on my part that it had been cause for an impromptu tutorial pow-wow meltdown session. he didn't blink an eye in my direction--i don't even know if he saw me--and it didn't matter one bit. my playlist was producing another comfortable song, the sun was high and bright, the wind giving my walk just the right push as i strode onto campus. a voicemail from a new friend, the promise of an upcoming get-together with a great guy, some wonderful news forthcoming, and a gorgeous spring day were mine for the enjoyment.

not bad, really. in fact, i'd say the timing was perfect.

from knitting pretty to la fete des meres

friday afternoons have taken on a new purpose: knitting. i know, i know--it's so completely boho chic meets little old lady, but a couple of wonderful gal pals from school and i have started meeting every friday afternoon for copious amounts of cheese, crackers, and fruit, and the joy of using needles to tie yarn into rows of knots to create usable accessories. these weekly moments of zen, gossip, and craft make for a nice segue into friday's other new purpose, which is dating. i've endured some rather horrible experiences in the recent past, but this weekend's friday night adventure was delicious and memorable and fun and exciting and...enough said. that's all you're going to get. a girl's got to keep some things sacred. you understand.

girls who have lovely fridays often like to spend their saturdays slumbering, which is precisely what i did. it was the perfect lazy, hazy day to catch up on my netflix movie watching, to meander the high, well-stocked shelves of my lovely neighborhood used bookstore, to pick up some odds and ends at trader joe's, and to generally take it easy. i feel a little spoiled because with two creative writing classes this quarter the workload is lighter than it's been so far in my master's program, and i'm left with plenty of free time to waste away. mind you, this may well have been the last weekend of slack, since the next few weekends are packed with big goings-on; they're mostly nerdy school things, including an honors society induction banquet, in regards to which my nana asked me via the phone the other day: "and how many nerds will be attending?"

if every weekend in may for me is about an event, well, this weekend was surely for sunday's la fete des meres, or, as the anglo-speakers call it: mother's day. i spent the afternoon with my darling mamacita, indulging in sushi, roaming the gorgeous gardens at the huntington, and topping it off with some ice cream and some enthusiastically relayed jokes about country folk doing weird things with pigs. it was a beautiful, balmy sunday, perfect for being outside in the fine company of the best mom i could ever ask for. incidentally, it also was a perfect day to be thankful i'm not a mother, considering how many harried women were seen chasing squealing mutant drool monsters around. three cheers for birth control! i'll be damned if i'm ever going to need to knit myself some baby booties on a friday afternoon.

hello baby

spring this year is all about bright, bold colors, crisp and sparkling days of featherweight breezes and cozy sunshine, and the satisfying fizz of conversational connections with friends, new and old. my may days are a pleasant balance of rest and motion, of play and work, of obligation and delight. my weekend hours are bookended with major academic events, small celebrations, coffee dates, gallery openings, and time well spent with wonderful people. and i'm feeling as capricious as the springtime sky; free to deviate from my own little rules of "no, i don't eat ice cream" to "what a great idea, to have a little cocktail right now." i'm as corny as a brilliantly hued butterfly newly emerged from winter's suffocating cocoon. see me flit? it feels marvelous. it just feels good to feel. it's the great shoes. it's the laugh i know you'll find infectious. it's the glimmer of potential. it's the flex of the creative muscles. it's the immense satisfaction of getting my nails done on a wednesday afternoon at the regular place, and when i say: "do you have my color handy?" my manicurist replies with the name of the shade: "hello baby!" and finishes the job out with perfect strokes in my favorite tint of slight white. hello, baby. spring has certainly sprung.

even the best laid plans

everything about my weekend was sort of one-off. not necessarily in a bad way, because as far as weekends go, mine was pretty good. i got all the erranding that i needed to do done. i had a lovely and relaxing pedicure. i spent time with friends over indulgent meals. i reconnected with someone who, a week ago, i'd thought i'd never see again. i even caught up with a beloved old friend who shared with me some very eye-popping news about some people very much in my awkward past. but by sunday night, i had the distinct feeling that things were just generally awry. was it because i'd stubbornly stepped over what might have been a lucky penny, without stopping to pick it up? was it planetary? or was it just me?

there i was, on a cool and mellow may day sunday evening, showered and ready to dress for a date that wound up having to be cancelled at the last minute. i had already done my laundry, gone to the grocery store, tidied my space, and all my brown-bag lunches were packed for the next couple of days. both housemates were nowhere to be found. i had no schoolwork to do, no looming deadlines for LAist posts to meet, no poems or short stories itching to fly off my fingertips onto the patiently waiting screen of my beloved laptop's word program. nothing. just nothing--except my thoughts.

i spent a lot of my weekend thinking about things. about relationships, and how i always manage to ensnare myself rather profoundly with men who are fundamentally no good for me. i've been thinking a lot about connections, too; about how people communicate, and the feelings of unresolved tension when the communication isn't happening. how sometimes people leave us hanging in a precarious balance. how sometimes we have to come up with coping mechanisms to fill in the gaps. and these gaps are sometimes rather wide, like the gap that most women of a certain age feel is due to the lack of a life partner. sometimes they're just small gaps, like on a night when a date is unexpectedly cancelled, and you're left with a whole lot of nothing to do. regardless, there are gaps, and we feel responsible for filling them.

sunday night i filled my gaps with fruitless text messages to another one of those men who is fundamentally no good for me (not to be confused with the cancelled date, whose status has yet to be determined). i filled it with a quick chit-chatty phone call to a dear friend who revealed that someone i used to be very close with just married someone i once fooled around with. and all this made me more aware of the gaps, and even more aware of the power of connections. and there i was...even the best laid plans, and still my weekend--my connections--were one or more off, or gone in the gaps altogether. my comfort came in yet another phone call, this time to my beloved bunny, who generally always knows just how i'm feeling; like so many of my friends she's either been there or in it herself. "just don't think about," she told me, and urged me to do something, anything, like she does. "watch tv," she suggested. "it could be worse, though," she added. "be grateful you're not the mother of a vampire with a soul."

she's right. mind you, vampires i don't know about, but i do know i have a lot to be grateful for. but there's always my purple flower moments, when even the best laid plans go awry, leaving me with so many things to think about.