"All the people you knew were the actors."

Well, all the apostles
they're sitting in swings
and I'd sell off my savior
for a set of new rings
and some sandles
with the style of straps that
cling best to the era

Some days I feel I’ve gotten off track.

And all of the angels
they'd sell off your soul
for a set of new wings and anything gold
they remember
the people they loved, their old friends
and I've seen through 'em all
seen through 'em all

How have I gone so far from where I thought I’d be?

Well, I'll go to college
and I'll learn some big words
and I'll talk real loud
goddamn right I'll be heard
you'll remember the guys
that said all those big words
they must've learned in college

And the people I thought I’d be with?

And it took a long time
but I came clean with myself
I come clean out of love with my lover
I still love her
loved her more when she
used to be sober and I
was kinder

But what if I’m exactly where I need to be?

Follow-up to "Cover Letter to Philip Morris"

Someone that I don't know in L.A. wrote to me today with a comment on my last post regarding my cover letter to Philip Morris. He says:

Second-hand smoke aside, no one's forcing you or your uncle to buy or smoke cigarettes. Tobacco and alcohol are legal, yet they kill hundreds of thousands each year. Marijuana is illegal, and it kills so few people that I can't find a statistic on it. How is that possible ?

My responses to stoner dude can be summarized as follows:

1. Sweetie, it's called sarcasm.

2. From where did you pull this uncle? I mentioned my imaginary husband Johnny and my yet-to-be-conceived youngest daughter Ellen with the lazy eye. But there was no uncle.

3. Start your own blog. You can be on your soap-box and cite epidemiologic data (or your lack thereof) as much as you want to.

So life-like and inviting!

On Saturday I the most horrible date I've ever had in my life and, let's be honest, in the last year there's been a LOT. At least by my standards.

[Brief aside: Please don't misconstrue that last statement about there being a lot of dates. It should be noted that 1) I do not enjoy this process; 2) Mostly they've been first/last dates; and 3) It's not like I'm out whoring around. Not that I should have to justify myself in that area. But still.]

I've gone out with twenty-some guys in the last year, and there's definitely been some highs and lows.

A few highlights:

- the DJ who used words like "hella" and "word" at regular intervals and spent 15 minutes on his cell phone during the date telling his friend to quit doing drugs and come and stay at his place and then pointed out to me how this was evidence of what a sensitive and caring guy he was

- the guy who called me EVERY DAY for two weeks (at times ranging from 5:15am to 11pm, and including times that I was at work) and later went on to explain that he COULD NOT have a physical relationship with me.

- the sweet guy who showed me his apartment in a high-rise in Oakland and, after we'd gone up on the roof to look at the view, accidentally locked us out at 3am. The last BART to the city was long gone and we fell asleep on the floor of the lobby of his building waiting for a locksmith. I made it home by 7am in time to get ready for an interview.

I've mentioned others before. There's no need to go further. I don't even want to go into details about the one on Saturday because it was so hideous. I cried and cried as I was driving home and called Nannette to ask if she could meet me somewhere so we could talk.

I've mentioned before that I'm keeping track of how many there were so that, some day if and when I meet the right one I can say, "See how hard I looked?" Some days I find it all amusing. Some days I wonder if there's something wrong with ME. Some days I think, "Fuck it. I don't have the energy for this. I should buy a blow-up doll. There's probably some Christmas specials going on."

Cover letter to Philip Morris

Dear Philip Morris,

Please consider this letter and my attached resume as my application for Brand Manager within your company. I am confident that you will find me a qualified candidate with a well-defined long-range vision for insuring the continued profitability of the Philip Morris brand.

Once upon a time I was a consumer of your products. My husband Johnny was, too, until we lost him to the cancer. I’ve seen many relatives die after battling long illnesses, but do you have any idea what it’s like to watch someone die of lung cancer, Philip Morris? I wish you could have heard him beating on the walls, begging to die as quickly as possible.

Can you appreciate how many of my hopes and dreams went to the grave with Johnny? We were supposed to be putting a roof on the house this year. We were finally going to be able to afford to take our youngest daughter Ellen to the doctor to see about her lazy eye. We had plans to buy of those inner tubes with the built in coolers so that we could spend lazy summer days floating down the river with ice cold beer. Have you ever known such carefree plans, Philip Morris?

I think you owe me this job. I might not have some fancy college degree or any marketing experience, but how can you compare those things to the education I have received from life, Philip Morris?

Help me dry my kids’ tears and put Hamburger Helper on the table. Help me to get the dog some flea and tick medication—dear God, we are being eaten alive in here Philip Morris. Help me buy the fancy panties I’m going to need to snag me a new man to help support us.

Please don’t be an asshole about this, Philip Morris. I look forward to speaking with you soon.

Sincerely,

Amie [censored]

10 things to 10 people

1. I feel like you've saved me over and over again.
2. I miss you.
3. Sometimes I wish you would just leave me alone.
4. I feel unworthy of the esteem in which you seem to hold me.
5. Let's start driving. Now.
6. I feel more peaceful now that we've forgiven each other.
7. What if...?
8. Thank you for loving me.
9. I am so grateful that I can say absolutely anything in the world to you and know that it will be heard without judgment.
10. You give me hope for myself.

2 unrelated things

1. I woke up this morning to this message:

We need someone to write song lyrics for our band. We're a moderately terrible band with pretensions to be something between the melvins and kiss. We have not obtained a singer, but when we do, we need something for him to sing.

If interested, let's get a drink. If not, let's get two.

I don't really want to have a drink with this person, but the message did make me laugh.

2. One of my favorite websites, A Softer World, has t-shirts for sale and advertised them this way:

If you buy one of our shirts for your mom or your dad for Christmas, your parents will probably get back together. Unless they are happier apart. Then they will just look good.

Far from heaven

That was the day I stopped believing in love. That kind of love. The love in books and films. The love that tells us to abandon our lives and plans, all for one brief touch of Venus. So often we fail at that kind of love. The world just seems too fragile a place for it. Perhaps it's just that we are too fragile.

"There is hope. Make the call."

Today I worked on something that I started over a year ago for the first time: making greeting cards. It was an extremely satisfying experience.

For years I've felt there was something creative in me trying to get out. And for the last couple of years I've taken pictures of random things and never really knew what I would end up doing with them.

Here are some prototypes:


Once I bluffed and fooled everyone, I stopped playing. It was enough that my eyes hadn’t revealed everything for once.

This one above I actually made last October, and I still like it. So after mailing out all those copies, I made another.




Momma wished for a bigger set of tits. See how that didn’t work?





This one above was a postcard secret I made last October, and it's one of my favorite things I've ever made because it was so anguished and heartfelt. I felt like it didn't need any writing inside because it said enough already.




We painted our bodies like savages and vowed to give our children names of towns we’d never been to. Then your mother called and told you to come home for dinner.




Do you honestly think that slut Henrietta will love you the way I can?




I heard, I heard. I heard it clear. I was afraid to follow. (Shel Silverstein)

This one above I have on my MySpace page entitled "run away with little boy blue." That title is appropriate for so many reasons. As is this caption.




Turned off the stove—check. Set the cat free—check. Told the landlord to go fuck himself—check. Gave you all my taped MacGuyver episodes—damn…



I bought stamps and put my brand name on the back of each: 6 Birds Cards

There are a couple that I want to re-work a bit. There are at least a dozen more that I've made and am still thinking about the captions. But I'm pretty happy with them. Also, I realize they're not for everyone, as has already been evident from the people I've shown them to. I don't care, though. I love them. I'd buy them.

All you need is...

I have this weird thing I like to do.

In Facebook there is this strange little application (among exactly 9,458 others) you can add to your page. It's called "send good karma" and I added it months ago when a friend spammed me on a list. You earn points when you send people good karma, and you can use those points to "purchase" different types of good karma to send to people--things like health, prosperity, love, and wisdom. You can send it to your friends and you can send it to strangers. You can also put out a general request to all good karma users for a specific type of karma you want.

At first I was amused by this ability to send and receive good karma to and from strangers. Then, as I started reading the reasons people listed as to why they'd requested a good karma, I was touched.

Take love for example. People give responses to the prompt, "I ask for this karma because..." such as these below:

"...because I have been unlucky in love lately."

"...because I feel like love is something for other people and not for me."

"...because I am lonely."

"...because the one person who loved me is no longer in my life."

It's true that I'm a sucker for sad bastard stories and this has been pointed out to me by more than one person. But after reading these responses, I started sending "Love" to every stranger I could. (Am I, like, a good karma whore?)

Then I tested it for myself. I typed the reason I was requesting the good karma of "love" be sent to me:

"...because sometimes I am afraid I only have a limited supply of it."

I started getting "love" and encouraging, supportive messages from people all over the globe. Somehow I never get tired of them. This application really cheers me up.

Conversation at work

Co-worker (regarding our company's 25th anniversary party this evening): Are you bringing a date tonight?

Me: No.

Co-worker: Thank God I'm not the only pathetic one.

A symphony in three movements

The song in my head right now:

I'll take advantage while
You hang me out to dry
But I can't see you every night
No, I can't see you every night
Free

(I do.)

The book quote that just struck me:

Our backyard looked into the woods, and we'd sit out there when it got too humid to breathe inside. Charlottesville turns into a rain forest every summer; the sea winds blow in from Tidewater, a few hundred miles to the east, and then they run slam into the Blue Ridge, so all the hot, wet air just hovers over Charlottesville. We'd look out across our neighbors' yards and try to imagine their lives. Did the really live here, call it home? Or were the on their way to bigger things, like us? Did they get stuck here on their way somewhere else, or was this the town where they arrived and said, This is the place? Did they give up and blame each other? Were they lying low and planning their next move?

- From Love is a Mix Tape by Rob Sheffield

The vivid dreams I've been having:

1. I dreamed about my bike. I barely know how to do anything to it, including ride it, and I've been thinking about it a lot lately. I dreamed I finally got on it to go for a ride. When I got there I had a flat tire and absolutely no idea how to fix it. I stayed in one place forever trying to get it fixed. I finally broke down and admitted I couldn't do it myself. I asked someone to help me so that I could finally get somewhere.

2. I dreamed I was flying. I haven't had one of those dreams in years. I would have dreams where I tried desperately to get off the ground--would run and run and hold out my arms, hoping the wind would lift me--but I never got there. In this dream, I was gliding over meadows as the late summer sun started setting in the sky, and I was thinking, "My God, it's been so long..." A voice of someone I knew in my past--I couldn't quite place her--said, "How do you do this? Can you show me?"

I shook my head and said out loud as I continued to fly, "No. I don't think so. You have to figure it out for yourself. It took me a lot of trial and error. I still don't always get it right."

She persisted. "Just tell me how you do it! Teach me how!"

I answered, "I can't. I can't teach you."

Confessions of a dangerous mind

I am bored.

I think I get bored way too easily.

I get lonely frequently.

I think I get lonely way too easily.

I would like to be having sex.

Going to Richmond--however briefly--has made me think a lot about what I want in my life.

I am planning my exit strategy now more than ever--on the drives to and from work, in the quiet moments before sleep, with my head underwater in the shower, while waiting for the coffee pot at work...

In between

I imagine there are only a few moments in your life, at best, when you have the opportunity to tell another human being--really tell them--the impact they've had on you. The funny thing about these moments is that it seems like each second should be momentous and dripping with meaning, and that usually isn't the case. It often seems that they could easily be mistaken as a moment of lesser import because they are sandwiched in between more mundane and trivial affairs: Did I remember to turn off the coffee pot? My foot itches How long would a piece of hail last if I were to save it in my freezer?

Yesterday morning I had the opportunity to say these things to my grandpa--my favorite person in the world, living or dead. I was exhausted and feeling rushed My hair was dripping from taking a bath and I was having trouble getting my suitcase closed. I needed to stop and get gas before getting on the interstate to go back to the Pittsburgh airport.

I felt self-conscious about asking my mom and my step-grandma to leave me alone with him for a few moments. I worried that I would lose my nerve to face up to this conversation. I wondered how to sum up a lifetime of love for and memories of and gratitude toward someone.

He looked small and frail in pajamas that have grown too big for him. I pulled a kitchen chair into the living room and sat next to him in his recliner. I took his hand into mine and looked him in the eyes. I told him everything I wanted to say. I wept. I thanked him for loving me and helping to raise me. I told him how important he was to me and I loved him very much.

He squeezed my hand and listened to me with tears in his eyes. He told me in a weak voice that I'd brought so much happiness into his life. He told me not to feel guilty about not coming home for his funeral because he didn't want one. He told me he would watch over me. He told me he'd had a good life. I stroked his arm and asked him if he was scared. "No," he said quietly.

I hugged and kissed him, called everyone back in the room, and said my goodbyes. Then I slipped back into business mode--loading my suitcase in the car, checking my watch, and returning to the life I've created for myself on the west coast.

Preparation

My grandpa is dying quickly, and my heart is breaking. I will feel really alone when the last most important person in the world to me is gone.

Indifference

I received an email early this morning that said, "I didn't feel anything special when we kissed. I felt like one of your birds. Except I can't compare myself to them, because you love them."

Best overheard conversation ever.

Sadly, it wasn't overheard by me!

Overheard

Person A: Look, I’m telling you, they’re not bears. This should be the end of the conversation.

Person B: The Care Bear Cousins count as bears.

A: No, they don’t! Brave Heart Lion isn’t a bear! He’s a lion! You know why? Because he’s a fucking lion, that’s why! Brave Heart is a lion and Bright Heart is a raccoon and Fat Heart is an elephant. Now what do all of these things have in common? Oh, right, they’re not bears!

B: Look, they do the Care Bear Stare. They are honorary Care Bears. Maybe not by species, but -

A: Ah ha, but they don’t do the Care Bear Stare. They do a “call.” Only bears can Stare.

B: Cats stare.

A: We’re talking about cartoons, man. Don’t bring real life into it. Besides, I meant “Stare” with a capital S.

B: Need I remind you of the second Care Bears movie? The one where the fat motherly Care Bear and the unicorn - Super Heart or whatever - quite clearly took care of the baby Care Bears and Care Bear Cousins? It is obvious that the Care Bears and Care Bear Cousins are all sprung from the unholy union of bear and unicorn.

A: So you’re suggesting that the Care Bear Cousins are the result of interspecies breeding?

B: That’s why they’re all plushy.

A: That’s horrible.

B: Well, when you get right down to it, the idea of magical bears embodying emotions isn’t great either. Where are the evil Care Bears?

A: There’s Grumpy Bear.

B: Grumpy Bear is good-natured down deep. I mean an actual evil Care Bear. Nastiness Bear, Anger Bear, Hatred Bear, Racism Bear. That sort of thing.

A: Bad Heart Mongoose? Greedy Heart Ostrich? Brutal Heart Hippopatamus?

B: Wow, evil Care Bear Cousin names sound like the titles of David Lynch films.

Here's the original link.

"You're so fine, and you're mine."

I'm so over these Blue Angels and the constant sounds like the city is under attack today.

I got my teeth cleaned this morning, and I LOVE going to the dentist. My dentist, Jeremy Velasco, is a sweetie. Today he looked at my chart, looked at me, and said, "So, you're going to be 32 in a couple of months, huh?"

"It's nice of you to point that out," I told him. He laughed and said he was going to be 40 soon and that I had nothing to complain about.

While he and the hygienist were preparing "the Jet" (this awesome sandblasting tooth carwash that makes my teeth whiter than white), I sat back in the chair and listened to the music that was being piped into the office. It was "Like a Virgin," and I bounced my foot along with the music. Jeremy was writing something on my chart, the hygienist was lining up the necessary equipment on the little stainless steel tray, and suddenly we all burst into song together at the chorus: "Like a virgin, woo! Touched for the very first time..." Then we all looked at each other and laughed. It made me so happy.

Then I stopped at the bank and while waiting in line, "Another One Bites the Dust" was playing somewhat loudly. I found myself rocking back and forth and swishing my check for deposit around in time to the music. I halfway turned to find that the guy in line behind me was passionately (and silently) lip-synching the words and jutting out his chin to phat, infectious beats. We giggled at each other.

"And another one down, and another one down, and another one bites the dust-AH!"

Being without clothing or covering

The lovely Nannette and I had the most beautiful Sunday in the world this past weekend.

It was a beautiful day in San Francisco and we started out with a walk at Lake Merced which, apart from the rather jarring skeet shooting, was lovely. We had a leisurely lunch and then made our way to the Kabuki Springs and Spa. I'd never been here before and wasn't quite sure what to expect in terms of how I'd feel about the nudity part.

Though we were going on a 'women only' day, I still considered taking my bathing suit as a sort of safety net in case I chickened out. I ended up electing to leave it at home and was pretty proud of myself for such bravery.

The spa was lovely and relaxing. You bathe before you go in, and they provided lovely cucumber-scented shampoo and body wash. We did the dry sauna, wet sauna, salt scrub, and both the hot and cold pools. Plus, we spent a lot of time just hanging out on a bench and sipping tea.

I felt more comfortable than I thought I would, but I couldn't stop being aware of being naked. I just couldn't...I don't know...FORGET. It's a strange feeling to walk into a room of naked people. Going through my mind was something along the lines of:

Naked. I'm naked. I'm definitely naked. She's naked. She's naked, too. And so is that lady and that one. Holy crap, I'm naked with a bunch of strangers! Naked, naked, naked. I'm now laying down. Naked. Now I'm getting some more tea. Naked. I think I'll lay across this bench. Naked. In my birthday suit. Nude. Nekkid. Let's see...what are some other words for naked...?

That was pretty much playing on a loop through my head the whole time.

I also became startlingly aware of just how much I stare at people. It's not exactly a secret that I love to watch people. I observe them and make up stories about them and ponder what they're doing or thinking. But staring at others takes on a whole new meaning when one or both of you is NAKED. I'd forget myself for awhile and sit back and watch everyone, and then I'd feel suddenly creepy and self-consciously avert my eyes. Even opening the door for someone or smiling politely when passing them took on a whole new meaning. Naked.

My favorite part of the whole experience was probably the gong. It was on-hand in case people were ruining the serenity of the experience by talking too loudly. The bathers were gonged a couple of times while we were there, and I decided that if I worked there I'd gong people every day.

We were incredibly relaxed afterward and lingered over some Mediterranean snacks, wine, and a hookah--my first one ever.

Email goggles

Google has recently released a sort of designated driver for your email. On Friday and Saturday nights, when they deem you more likely to be, um, cognitively impaired, Gmail asks you to complete some math problems prior to sending out emails. I'm terrible at math problems in my head, but I could totally do these while drunk.

It's a good thing I've never needed this, though. I've definitely never needed it on a Monday night.

I want this speech at my own wedding...

This man makes me laugh so hard. I've never laid eyes on him, but I swear to God I'd marry him tomorrow. Blindfolded. And drunk.