sat, oct. 18, 2003
movin' on up
Yup you heard right. I'm moving out of the Haight. The only thing I'll miss is occasionally spotting Benjamin Bratt when getting my mail.
What I WON'T miss from moving out of the
Cole Valley/Haight Hood:
While I move, Grrl.com won't be updated until the first week of November (I will be on email though)... so Happy Halloween early!
tues, oct. 14, 2003
Snagged words of wisdom from a comment box reacting to someone else's blog...
First from Sarah's blog:
A male friend of mine told me recently that younger girls (specifically girls who are either under 22 or act so) are particularly attractive to men because they tend to be more 'pliable.' This means, of course, that they are a bit more impressionable, a bit less worldly, a little easier to deal with.
Forgive me if I come off a bit self-absorbed, but 'pliable' isn't the word I want the love of my life using to describe me. It seems downright...insulting. If anything, I want him to tell people that I am complex, deep, that he enjoys the time he spends trying to figure out my little quirks and inconsistencies, that it's the small intricacies about me that he loves to explore and revel in. Although I spent a good week or so lamenting the extra year added to my age, I'm actually pretty proud of myself at this point in my life: I'm in my mid-twenties, I'm single, I'm ambitious and independent, and I know what I want from my life. This is what I think would be more attractive to an intelligent, well-rounded, determined man, rather than a 'pliable' little girl who giggles at his jokes and makes him look good.
I understand men have some intrinsic need for affirmation, they want to marry beautiful girls, they want someone they can show off at cocktail parties and company picnics. They want someone tall and thin and quiet and reserved, not someone who's got a loud voice and a lot to say. The truth is I'm all for being a woman who makes a man's life easier, who is familiar with him and who knows his every need, I'm all for making his life better. But until that man comes around, I'm not going to offer my compassion or my domesticity or my feminine instincts to any man who hasn't earned it, and if I'm asking too much or I'm being too difficult or if my reservations of self-preservation make loving me too tough, so be it. When will people get it through their heads that being easy is not one of my goals in life?
And now Ed's response in the comment box:
I don't know if 'pliable' is the proper adjective. But I can give your friend the benefit of the doubt because I think I know what he was trying to get at, even if he used one of the worst adjectives in Merriam-Webster imaginable.
Settling doesn't involve reverting to some presuffragette 'occupation housewife' Stepford Wife type. Nor does it involve becoming some Mata Hari figure who believes that she controls the strings.
Respect is a two-way street. And the lady who brings inflexible demands to the table, who insists upon the ultimate control in the relationship, is, in my view, just as bad as the sexist cocksuckers who want to manage 'muh l'il woo-muhn.' Relationships are about compromises, talking things out and accepting each other's strengths and faults.
Sometimes you just have to take a risk, giving compassion to people who, seemingly, may not deserve it. Because we're all pretending during that early dating period. Both parties are trying to put on positive auras when what they're inwardly doing is trying to muster a level of trust in which they can dare to be themselves. (And there's nothing like intimacy to completely obliterate this veneer while simulatneously opening up an entirely new set of issues!)
To cut to the crux, mistakes are made. But inevitably you either get to that real commonality or you become hopelessly mired in conversational flummery. And when it veers toward the latter, both people know it pretty quickly.
Some men, and I would suspect your friend falls into this camp, simply don't know how to go about filtering the real or mining the gold during this process (hell, who COMPLETELY does?) and inevitably take the easy route of trying to find "reality" within some "pre-adult" phase of life. But it's as hopelessly artificial as the first date high wire act. Sooner or later, the early twentysomething catches on.
I would agree with you that any man who pursues a young lady with these intentions ought to be ashamed of himself for taking the easy route. (And I would assure you that, deep inside, he probably is.) But it's equally egregious to damn the torpedoes because of your own inner hang-ups and capitulate towards that common ground. 'Settling' isn't caving in or becoming 'pliable.' It's all about emotional intelligence. And it has to come from both parties.
mon, oct. 13, 2003
why margaret cho is my hero:
Straight from Margaret Cho's blog:
"But I don't give a shit, because at least I am hot. I know I may not be traditionally pretty, but playas line up around the block to make some time with me, and they aren't even getting it right then. The line is just for the wristband, yo. The hotness is not about age, looks, body type, race -- it is about honesty, knowing who you are and being who you are, without trying to front like you are better than you are. It is about the down deep authenticity of self, then living it, loving it and looking it."
sun, oct. 12, 2003
your cat loves me more
I have a new hobby. It involves taking care of random pets and watching TV in other people's houses. No, I haven't turned to a life of crime as a dog-loving burglar. I'm a housesitter/dogsitter/catsitter -- for fun. I don't know why I happily volunteer to sleep in coworkers and friends' homes while they're away. I play mommy to various dogs, cats and houseplants. And of course, I lounge around in their living rooms watching marathon showings of secret-shame TV programs like Queer Eye for the Straight Guy (truth be known I'm in love with half of them...gawd I'm such a fruit fly!) and Vh1's "I Love the '70s/'80s."
Part of me offers to petsit because I love dogs (and other pets that hopefully don't attack me as I sleep). And also a nosy part of me likes to see how my coworkers and friends live. Do they have posh living areas complete with big screen TVs and fireplaces? Do they have an impressive collection of DVDs including obscure kung fu flicks -- or scary porn involving Plushies? Are their bathtubs suitable for 3-hour bubblebaths? Do they secretly eat jars of Vegemite? Are they nice enough to offer me free booze as I entertain Fido and Ms. Whiskers? (thanks for the wine, Kirsten!)
At any rate, it's a nice diversion from the usual Bonnie abode, and of course, since I miss my own pup I had to leave behind, it's comforting to have some animal look up at me as though it's thinking, "Wow, you're one heck of a girl and sleeping on your lap makes me happier than you'll ever know."
Oh, I know. Trust me.
mon, oct. 6, 2003
Project Greenlight on Life
On another note -- I'm over it. Some of you know what I'm talking about here and some of you probably think I'm being all mysterious to get you to read on. Basically there will be no more mopey passages of regret and heartache in this blog or in my columns. I'm tired of writing the same depressing self-kicking banter over and over again. I have too many good things going on in my life to waste wondering "what could have been" with someone who is long gone. What's done is done.
Actually the truth is I saw him in a recent photo with his current girlfriend on a friend's web site and well... they both look happy. Really happy. So who am I to judge? Who am I to say that he should have given our relationship another try? He looks happy with this person and his new life and that's the point to all of this. Happiness and contentment.
So I wave the white flag and move on. Life just happens. And you can't expect it to go one way or another. All you can do is wish the best for those you love and know that in the end everything will work out for the better.
I'm still not dating for a year. Heh.
sun, oct. 5, 2003
I spent the weekend dog sitting in a co-worker's house in Petaluma. The town kind of reminded me a bit of the rural-suburban area I grew up in Kansas -- only more quaint. It was nice to be around a dog too. Since I gave Sophie back to my ex-sidekick in Santa Cruz, I've been nothing but heartaching over her. It's hard to do the right thing when it comes to having a furry friend. I wanted to just keep her in the city when I moved back up here, and spend every non-working moment with her -- taking her to the park, to the ocean, for walks, to doggie events. But when you work 8am-7pm weekdays, that's a lot of time for a normally carefree, happy puppy to be trapped in a small apartment. And that's not fair to anyone, especially her. And so I gave her back to my ex-fella and my old housemates who love her as much as I do, and will watch over her as she runs around the forest behind their house all day, chasing after lizards, deer, squirrels and hiking hippies.
Of course, I can't help but miss her daily. Any time I see a dog that remotely looks like her, I start to tear up and get depressed about how I couldn't make my life turn out the way I wanted it to. I know, I know. Life cannot be controlled. Things happen. Change happens. And no matter how happy or miserable you are, you can't stop change. And you either learn to adapt or you stay trapped in the past wondering why. I think I'm somewhere stuck in the middle. I'm working my butt off to have a future, to have a life. But I'm also struggling with the past, looking back way too much only to stub my toe on door frames. I stopped counting how many times I've broken my pinkie toe.
I once heard someone say that life only makes sense when you look at it backwards. I suppose that's true. If we could see into the future whether it be a few months or a decade into the fog, we'd all be different people leading completely different lives. I don't know if that's good or bad anymore. I've hit the rewind button enough times that I've completely worn out some memories. In fact, I keep changing them slightly to fit a theory. And of course, sometimes theories of why things went wrong aren't formed with all the facts. Half the time, I wonder if having theories of why my life is the way it is matter. I'm here now. In the present. And if I'm smart, and learned anything from all this, it's that I need to live in the present and make real goals for the future. Constantly looking backwards, does me no good. And quite frankly, my neck hurts.
wed, oct. 1, 2003
Last week I was on the set of a TV show in Burbank. Surreal doesn't begin to describe it. I'm so used to guerilla filming (without a permit or script) with my other shows -- Teletunes and Subculture. With those programs, I was the snarky music video host who pretty much just introduced videos and dished gossip on various bands.
And for that E! True Hollywood Story: The Real World episode, the camera crew simply sat me on a couch and interviewed me in a trendy San Fran hotel. This time around, there was a staff with segment writers, producers, directors, hosts and real camera guys who'd worked on everything from film production for Star Wars: The Phantom Menace to various sets of The Real World.
It's always a bizarre experience to visit Los Angeles. I never quite know how to act. I mean I'm not really into stalking celebs. Did I mention that my neighbor Benjamin Bratt walked by with his baby in tow a couple nights ago and said hello to me just as I was getting my mail? I totally played it cool and said "hi" instead of "Hey Ben, way to go getting cast in Catwoman or "Ya know, Lenny just doesn't seem as happy on Law and Order without you." He looked just like he does on TV, only a bit more on the Cole Valley - Gap store side.
Anyway, as I was saying -- I'm not really an LA kind of girl. All my body parts are original. I could probably pass as an extra in The Sopranos before they'd cast me in OC. And I really don't care if I ever tan. I don't talk loudly or over-dramaticize all my movements as if to say "hello I'm a great actress with thighs of steel and I'm looking for an agent." I'm just me. I don't exactly blend in the LA scene. Which is probably a good thing.
The show (which I can't reveal right now because I signed some papers that bind me to secrecy or someone named Vinnie will find me and break my wrists) is created by Brits, and the staff is also a great deal of UK kids relocated to LA. I tend to appreciate British humor more than the average Yank, so it was kind of nice to be around guys that didn't say "dude" every other word. Heck, if it were up to me, I'd gladly uproot and become an expatriate for the chance to dwell in London or Leeds or Manchester so I never have to hear the word "dude" again. (That's what I get for becoming addicted to BBC programming at an early age - damn you Dr. Who!)
I hung out with a few fellow writer/director types as well, so who knows -- maybe we can collaborate and you'll soon hear all about my new animated drama involving talking cockroaches or my reality show featuring the Governor candidates for California all living in a condo together, just trying to get along and share the TV remote. Sure you laugh, now.