march 25, 2004

Why Did I Buy This?

Some people wake up in a stranger's bed after a night of partying or perhaps on a city park bench surrounded by stray cats. After a night a partying I end up with mysterious eBay purchases. I'm not sure if it's the combo of booze and easy Internet access, or perhaps the lure of online shopping is just too strong to fend off after a few margaritas. Plus it's not like someone stole my credit card and is randomly buying items for themselves, mainly because I'm the one getting the packages.

I simply cannot explain what possessed me to by a scroll poster of a naked Japanese lady with a full body tattoo. It does have a hipster tattoo vibe to it at first. However after hanging the poster up in my apartment for three days I began to feel trashy -- and not the good trashy, but more like the Van Halen logo mirror you win from a creepy Midwest carney kind of trashy. So I take it down, roll it up and stick it in the corner. I can't resell it on eBay because they're mass-produced and already a ton are for sale there. So it just sits in the corner for me to contemplate its destiny. (Anybody here want to swap me something for it?)

I think I've also been buying way too many taxidermied insects while intoxicated. Just the other week I ended up with a box full of beetles. And this week I have a huge African grasshopper that looks like it could take over my apartment if it were alive.

I've also found myself receiving quite a number of self-help books thanks to late night non-sober moments spent on Amazon. Apparently my lush self thinks my sober self is in need of pyschotherapy. If I end up with a book by Dr. Phil, I'll never drink again.


march 17, 2004

Pass the Dayquil

Judging from my last introspective Lost in Translation-induced post, it's pretty obvious that my immune system was about to take a major dive. Sure enough, I'm sitting here with a sore throat, downing endless cups of tea, and slighty humming to the ringing in my ears. Good times.

I spent the day in one of those surreal Dayquil-enhanced stupors trying my best to concentrate on writing about stormtroopers. The highlight of the day just so happened to be the yearbook party where we all drank Skywalker wine at the Main House, looked over images of company parties and candid moments, and had a good giggle. Even with my cold medicine head I had a blast. I have to confess with all my bellyaching about loves lost and apartment hell in this blog, I don't think I mention enough how damn lucky I feel to be working with such a talented group of people at Lucasfilm. So here's me counting my blessings: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 ... okay, that's enough.

My first book is at the publishers, so I'll be blabbing endlessly about it here very soon. Plus I have an article about colorful potatoes in the latest issue of Organic Gardening magazine, for those of you who are interested in gardening, or just want to see my byline in a gardening mag. I just finished a short article for BUST magazine too. So I seem to be staying busy with my freelance work.

However, I also still seem to be dragging my heels on this second book -- my first attempt at fiction. But I'll keep at it until it's done. After all, I have to prove to myself that I'm a real writer after all this time saying I am. But in the end, this book is for me and quite frankly I don't care if anyone else digs it. This is what I'm focusing my future on. So it better be great to me, or it's sort of all for nothing.

No pressure....


march 15, 2004

not dead there's room for improvement

For those of you wondering if I'm still kicking, here's an update on the apartment -- it wasn't gas fumes that I smelled throughout the studio. Instead it was BBQ at the house next door. They had a bit of a fire and I got all the smoke. Lucky me.

So today marks the one year anniversary of the rest of my life. Awhile back I was lost in the ether of domesticity. I think it was a form of happiness. The kind of contentment you feel when you know deep down it isn't real, but you don't care because it feels so cozy and warm. Like a soft chenille blanket that isn't yours -- one you have to get back because you can't afford the pricetag. I don't know how to rephrase the past few years of my life in easy-to-swallow descriptions. It just is what it is -- thorny, complicated and full of unknown corners. Sometimes the window opens when a door slams shut. And sometimes, I'm just left pressed against a windowpane trying to figure out how to get into the sunlight in six easy steps.

Early early in the morning, when no one is up and the traffic outside barely murmurs, I wonder how my parallel selves are doing. Each decision I've made in my past recreated a self who happily or miserably went on with her version of my life. One of me digs a hole with her bare hands, not caring about ripped nails and dried skin, just so she can plant an exotic succulent next to a stone path. Another me takes a beloved dog for a quick hike in the woods to gather bizarre little mushrooms to sketch in a journal later. An earlier me dismantles a drum set for a meladramatic boyfriend who doesn't have time anymore for private inside jokes and I love yous. And another me makes homemade creme brulee for a boy who has grown bored of dating a girl who doesn't dance naked at moonlit parties for all to gaze at in wide-eyed amazement.

And then there's the current me. The girl who still has yet to find a place to sincerely call home (I suppose I don't know where my heart is to have one). The girl who can't feel comfortable with the present long enough to stop wondering about her lives that could have been if she had just done this or that. This girl who tries to write a novel to save her from meandering thoughts that encircle her like a icy cold figure 8. This girl who just wants to want to wake up. Lost is an overused adjective, so I won't use it here. Adding predictable to my long list of self-descriptives would hardly be worth noting. i think i may stop now before i start making any sense.

march 4, 2004

I hope I don't blow up

I've lived in the smallest studio apartment in the Mission here in San Francisco since October of last year. It's not as great (not even close to great) compared to my swank pad of 6 years in the Castro. But life threw me some curve balls and I ended up here.

"Here" is quickly turning into "hell."

In the short time I've been here the shower rod almost came out of the wall, the toilet broke, ants took over the kitchen, a senile old man who lives across the hall rings my doorbell at 4am, his cat craps in the hallway and all around my car in the parking area and now my entire place smells like gas from a grill, or a stove. I'm not sure if I have a gas leak, or if it's related to the renovation to the apartment across the hall (aka paint fumes) or if I'm really that damn unlucky when it comes to this place.

So I proceed to spend the evening checking my stove (which I never use) and then my heater (pilot light just fine) and take a look at my water heater (no funny smells there). My next door neighbors who like to BBQ don't have their lights on in their backyard, and I don't smell it outside. When I stand on my office chair and point my nose up to the ceiling, the smell is pretty strong, and it's really strong in the room (it's a studio so it's parts of a room) that has my two biggest windows. But my windows weren't open to let any smokey/gassy smells in.

None of this makes any sense. And of course, I light candles like an idiot to get rid of that annoying "gassy" smell. Me = Darwin Award waiting to happen.

My friend Brad says I should have a fan going to get rid of the smell instead...and so now I'm sitting here freezing in my cramped apartment wondering if I'm going to die in my sleep tonight as the fan whirls away a few toxins out my wide open windows.

I'll put you all in my will.


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