09.27.08

Depression:
depression |diˈpre sh ən|
noun
1 severe despondency and dejection, typically felt over a period of time and accompanied by feelings of hopelessness and inadequacy.

Based on this definition, I'm positive I suffer from depression. Maybe even clinically. People around me don't believe me. Well, maybe they believe me, but they would rather just handle by telling me that I'm not.
It comes in waves. Its not ALL the time. Lingering over my shoulder. It just came about again this evening. I was sitting around waiting... God waiting. The word alone is depressing. Waiting is never associated with anything positive. WAIT is. Waiting, never.
So I called my friend to ask when he would be at this place I was waiting to go to. He said he was at a birthday dinner with this girl, who I know I am not REALLY a friend of. I mean, I feel like she is curtained. She pretends to be my friend. But she hates me. Or dislikes me. Hate is a strong word. But she has the right to. I wish she would be straight though. Either way people I know are there, and I wasn't invited.
I thought I had friends in this city. And by friends I mean people I can rely on. But I don't. And I know I bring this on myself. This is what is depressing about the situation.
I just looked through my phone trying to find someone to talk to. It was useless. I have a phone full of numbers that (my H key falling out-hhnhhhhhhghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh) I never call. I guess thats what really just tipped me over the edge. I guess I am moving to London because I have nothing here to lose. The people I rely on all live 3000 miles away. And they are even annoyed by me it seems.
Not that people here are annoyed by me. I just don't fulfill the standards they need in a friend. And I guess the feeling is mutual.
I don't have any answers for myself. Usually one side of my brain is sensible. And then there is a balance. But right now I feel blocked. Flooded. Spoiled. Selfish. Angry. Lonely. Pathetic. Annoyed. Hopeless. Wasted. Empty. Full.
SPOILED.

09.26.08

I need to keep writing here. Sometimes I slow down. Like yesterday, when I was feeling under the weather. I wonder where that phrase originated. Maybe when I feel great I should say on top of the weather.
Anyways, Wednesday I went to trivia night at Pete's Candy Store. It was Jeopardy themed and my team bet it all and lost. I left there and went on to meet Paige at Northeast Kingdom. Her ex was there and she was contemplating whether or not to speak him, as she had vowed not to. She did, and in the course of this time I drank a Boddingtons and a Six Point Obama brew. Obama did not taste very good. A tad too bitter for me. I'd imagine McCain would taste like a Bud Light. He would want you to drink as much of you could of him, so you would forget what he was actually saying. Maybe black out for 4 to 8 years. But Obama beer won't let you do that.
So I sat chatting with strangers while also reading one of those birthday books that tells you what kind of person you are based on the day you were born. I think those details can vary depending on the person you have in mind when you are reading about "them." Also, in this time, Paige informed me that her asshole of an ex, referred to me as the Ice Princess. The guy next to me said that that was probably a nice way of calling my a cold bitch. I agree. So I will nicely refer to him as el Huevo Uno.
This all lead to me returning home to an apartment that had nearly burnt down. My sister explained that there was a grease fire, and she had done everything wrong in order to put it out. She took it off the burner, it caught fire, she moved to the sink and put water on it. There was a small back draft and she put on the floor and suffocated it with a towel. It had just happened before I got home so she was still quite a stoned wreck. She was worried that we might have been exposed to carbon monoxide, and I said it was probably not a big deal. The detector hadn't gone off. Regardless she wasn't convinced. She tried to figure out a way for just one fireman to come over. It didn't work. Two fire trucks, and over 20 firemen showed up, to save us from a small fire that had already been put out. It was nearly one in the AM. I wish I had gotten a picture. It was pretty amazing. They were wielding axes!

09.24.08

I need to step back:
Let me start by saying that I did write yesterday. This blog is more of a form of practice for me, as a writer, than as a public forum to attract an audience. However, what I wrote was maybe too harsh, and I could quite possibly have offended someone, so I avoided that all together by keeping it to myself. I will definitely use the subject, the character, in a script or a story someday, and I will paint him as he is. Ugly, on the outside and especially on the inside.
I needed to write today to vent thoughts about myself, and my inability to communicate face to face. It has repeatedly lead me down a path of actions which I would otherwise detest.
In the last year, as I have grown more lonely, I have become addicted to cruising Craig's List Personals. I get drawn in to the mysterious longing of the missed connections, and the overt sexual gratuity of Men seeking Women. I have posted in these personals as well. I once actually had a missed connection completed, but I was bothered by the guy's behavior when I actually met him. To say the least I was let down. I ended up getting along with his friend better, but was completely bored by both of them.
The other times I posted under Women seeking men. During the first round I sought out humor.
Humor is what I got in the form of a long term instant messaging relationship. It was fun, and it lasted about two months, maybe three. We finally met, and I wasn't exactly pleased with his physical appearance. Call me picky. We only hung out that one time, and have occasionally emailed back and forth since.
More recently, I posted in response to a crush that was unfulfilled, and lasted no longer than two weeks. I pretty much wrote down the qualities I liked in him, and waited for a response. Now to make this understandable, one of the primary details was his affection for comic books. So you can imagine the responses. Most of the people that got back to me I didn't bother with. But I ended up talking to one guy, and eventually agreed to meet up with him at a roof top party in Bushwick. All in all it was ok, but I found him boring, and he was also shorter than me, which always puts me off. He started leaving me odd messages from this point on. I didn't respond. I was annoyed by the fact that he would tell me the exact date and time he was calling, because the automated voice before the message does that anyways. He also continuously suggested getting "coffee" which I always hate because its such a bullshit cliche. He also preferred saying "coffee" in a stereo typical New York accent. He would also say lets get a drink, but I couldn't even handle a beer. Probably because he was pint sized. Regardless it lead to him sending me a message online, which I finally, honestly, rejected. There was no point in cutting corners.
After these two experiences I should have given up. But I didn't. I had been so lonely lately, that I decided to pursue pure sex and affection. This was made clear in my latest posting. Now, in any given episode of Law and Order SVU, this would have lead to me getting raped and murdered. But I didn't. It lead to me meeting up with Mr. Lee for drinks last night. As I sat at the bar waiting, and contemplating why I had once again fallen into this awkward situation, my fear was that an awkward rotund Chinese man would walk through the door. But he didn't
To my surprise a very handsome Chinese man walked into the bar. He was nice, and intelligent, but yet again, I was lost. He seemed bored. I kept trying to keep the conversation rolling. At one point I even asked him point blank if he was bored. He said no, he was just drunk. I found that hard to believe. It lead to me feeling like one of those characters you view from the mans perspective in a movie. She is talking, and he is nodding, but really he is invested in other thoughts. It was uncomfortable.
So, after these episodes of disaster created though CL personals, I officially wave it farewell. I am saying my goodbyes. It is over. I do not care anymore. I would rather be lonely than face this awkwardness and embarrassment ever again.

09.22.08

I'm starting the work week. This, is (I hope) my last week at this job. Well, my last full weak at least. Technically, I am completely finished on the 30th. But, since I'm in pre-production, my job is done before the rest of the crew.
This morning, on my way to work I had to stop off to pick up a package at the post office that my mom had sent me(I had missed it on its original delivery). She kept calling and hassling me about it, because inside was a book with money wedged into the front cover. $200 dollars. Why no send me a check? Answer: "Well, I realize now, maybe not you, but your sister's, in the past haven't been very good at depositing checks, so ... I don't know! Just let me know when you get it and stop giving me a hard time!" Excuses, Excuses. My answer: "Fine, but I hope you know I'm not reading that book." That really sealed the deal in my effort to offend her. She generally goes "ugh" and hangs up. In that "endearing" Mom way.
Anyways, I go to the post office at 86 Wyckoff in the good ol' 11237 to pick up the package. I experience by far some of the worst post office service. Must there only be one woman working what seems to be the availability of 4 staff positions? AND in addition, why are you wearing acrylic nails that makes it almost impossible to function. Holding onto every package, or roll of tape, pretty much anything thing larger than your two hands, as if it was a ginormous piece of poop, because you can't use your fingers. Fake nails serve no practical purpose. If you're looking to excuse yourself by saying that this is some sort of a fashion statement, then I will ignore you immediately. Mostly because they usually look pretty gross. I would actually be curious to know the true reason behind the need to wear them in my neighborhood. Perhaps it reveals some class hierarchy that I don't understand.
If I just step back for a moment and attempt to find the time in history when women thought, "Well these nails I have on my hands just aren't enough! I need more than these simple human nails! I need fake plastic nails on top! Adorned in tacky designs and bedazzled with rhinestones!" (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manicure)
Surprise! Something that started classy and ended tacky. We Americans really know how to crush culture.

09.08.08

I’m am writing from a top my creative post. Here we sit, me and my 2002 MAC PowerBook G4, on top of a Yamaha Keyboard. A hand me up from my brother (completely functional) that is now serving as a desk. But why you ask? Must a keyboard be used to hold a lap top computer up? Answer: My computer is 6 years old, and last year, I (with the contribution of others) broke its neck. It might be compared to holding a colastamy bag for an elder. Holding it up and nursing it every time it is used. You kind of see it as pathetic, but smile at it for its effort. I do love my loyal robot.
I am 25 years old as of last Tuesday, and these are the artifacts displayed on my wall. A “JAWS” poster is first and foremost my greatest possession. I bought it in 1999 whilst I was away at my first of many summer film programs. I was in Boston, at a poster shop, and there it was. A “JAWS” poster with the graphic from a “JAWS 2” poster. I fell in love with it immediately and haven’t lived in a room without it since. I hope I never get married, because I have no idea where it might be displayed. But I can guarantee it will be in the hospital room the day I die.
A few years ago, I also gained possession of “The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou” DVD release poster. This is also near and dear to my heart. This movie slapped me in the face with emotion and happiness. I bear this badge of honor in the form of a second rate poster. The aquatic theme however, only grows worse.
Side note: There is announcement going out in my neighborhood over a loud speaker. I can’t tell if it is threatening, but it definitely brings to mind the Holocaust. “Vamanos al Parque!” That’s what they are repeating. I live across from Maria Hernandez Park in Bushwick Brooklyn… New York City. The park closes at, well, I suppose now, and there are still occupants lingering. Los Policios want them out, immeditaley. I’m sure it was just a harmless game of handball… or drug related, maybe.
On to the continued adventure that is the brick orange landscape of my wall. I LOVE SHARKS. I would say that the easy way out is to call them my power animal. But its probably beyond that. Lets put it this way. I have repeatedly told my family that if I die an early and untimely death, that I demand I be cremated, and have my ashes mixed with chum and fed to great whites. My brother is the only one to support this choice, and the only one who would carry the plan forward if so needed. The third poster I mention is and opened mouthed great white. Teeth thrashed, gums unfolded and ready for the kill. It helps me fall asleep.

07.06.08

Starting to recognize my age.

I have recently realized that I’m starting to realize I’m not THAT young anymore. I am two months, almost a month and a half from turning 25. Now I understand that most women, if they heard me say this, would want to hit me. Especially when I say that I’m also going to complain about the fact that I am at my heaviest I’ve ever been at 145. Maybe heavier. I’m probably lying. A “I’m giving you the old 5 pounds under.” It makes me feel better about myself.
However, this is not what made recognize, or think, “I should really start acting my age.” The other night. July 4th 2008, I attempted to break dance at my friends roof party. There is a simple break dancing move, I don’t know what its actually called. You get into a sort of, frog like squatting position. And then proceed to spin you leg clockwise, or counter clockwise, around and under your other leg and arms. I used do this easily when I was younger. (mind you I was wearing sneakers and it was usually a slick floor) I also probably weighed closer to 115, 120.
So here, on my friends roof, I attempted to pull this, many a Fourth of July drinks under. After nearly two revolutions, I stood up and suddenly felt a burning feeling on my left foot. I was probably moving counter clockwise. (In retrospect and knowing where I’m scarred, I’m positive it was clockwise.) My foot starting bleeding in an arch like shape over the patch just below my ankle. Like the arch of a shark bite.
I was kind of shocked, and then felt stupid very quickly. I ran into a back room to calm myself down. I may have cried I think. Pathetic. I was quite a bitch for the rest of the night to my friends. I also got a little freaked out by the people doing lines in the back room. I’m not a coke person.
Now I’ve been healing for the last two days, dwelling on my own stupidity. Then suddenly it hit me. First off I need to be healthier. BUT also, I shouldn’t really be break dancing. I need to accept that fact that I’m a little older. AND I actually never really could break dance, which means drink less. It’s a hard transition and accept that your not in college anymore. I used to say that I never really had a real “college experience” and that I’m making up for lost time. But chances are I’m drinking to hide the fact that I’m afraid to accept responsibility. This is true, and now I need to get over it, move on, and grow up.