iamacatrancher

you must always give yourself options.alt title: either hedley is sleeping with his eyes open or we r having a really awkward moment.

2011-11-13T22:37:00.000-08:00

odd things i think about when i can't sleep

2011-08-15T09:55:00.000-07:00

switching to the right side of the bed has been sweeping LA in recent weeks.
we caught up with hershel jones—LA's fayest hound and lifestyle guru to the stars—and asked if he thought it was just another passing phase or if shifting to the right was here to stay.

H: "well it's certainly NOT a trend! my partner hedley and i made the switch weeks ago have been sleeping like pups ever since. it's simply fabulous. the right side is DEFINITELY the new "left side of the bed" for the fashionably forward sleep set. we wouldn't dream of sleeping anywhere else!"

how are your owners taking the change? are they for it, or do they feel left out & literally 'pushed aside' like so many others who have been down-graded to a less favorable address in the bedroom?

H: "oh they've been champs through the entire change-over. i don't think they've slept in days but they are clinging to the left side like middle america clings to their knock-off louis vuittons from 4 seasons ago. they simply refuse to give in and move to the living room. it's commendable really. sad, but commendable.

random phone calls

2011-02-08T21:17:00.000-08:00

i haven't been here much—i don't know that anyone is out there anymore. but i got a call today from an old friend named phil who found me on 4q and gave me a call. it i was so happy to hear from him and that he is doing well and that in turn made me think of ye ol blog. i thought it might be time for an update... and possibly a good deal of deleting.

i look back (or at least think- i'm too tired to actually browse through my months of depression on here) and see a very different woman. man i was a mess. i am delighted beyond words to say, that woman has gone away—forever i hope. i've had two glasses of wine at this point, so i can't promise eloquence (like you'd expect it) but let me just say this—no matter how shitty things are, they do get better. and my how they have.

for starters, i had a wonderful group of friends—both known and unknown—who crawled out of the wood-work to remind me that i was loved. it was a start. i muddled my way through therapy—found a great one, so actually i can't say muddled—he whipped my ass into shape—and before you knew it i was looking back on the year past thinking 'why?'.... and was eager to move on.

shortly after that & yet much sooner than i anticipated i met a wonderful man—or rather, re-met him. it happened on my 38th birthday and he changed my course forever. we had worked together in the past, lost contact and then out of nowhere—there he was.

just over a year later, we are married. i have never been happier in my life or closer to anyone—EVER. it's a strange, wonderful feeling. and a feeling i have never felt the need to question once. that is what makes it so surreal to me. i don't really know what else to write at the moment so i won't force it. but maybe i will come back here more often and try something new—writing about the contentment and feeling of finally making out of that deep, dark hole i feel. it seems like that deserves so many words than any of the i have endured.

thank you donald for completely changing my life.

and thank you phil for calling me out of the blue and reminding me this place existed.

heather

smoke, drink, lay

2010-08-25T20:14:00.000-07:00

last night i began what i like to call my 'no pore left untouched' experiment. during my journey of self-awareness i saw no exotic scenery, there were no copious platters of pasta to be had & my great moment of zen did not involve discovering that i no longer fit into my size 2 jeans. no, my big a-ha moment was discovering a few random old lady hairs on my face. there was no glorious feeling of liberation, just a slight pause in which i looked back on my decades-long love of dirt and motorcycles and tools and guns & wondered if maybe in fact i had a bit too much testosterone surging through my veins. had it finally broken free from the confines of my ever expanding flesh in the form of itty bitty man hairs on my nose & chin? maybe i was more man than woman? but then, how could i account for my deep passion of all things robin's egg blue, men's wieners (one in particular) and 50's era couture?

and then the world clicked.

the obvious conclusion to that moment of wonderment was naturally that i must be a gay man stuck in a woman's body. how else could i explain the melancholy days and nights of listening to judy garland's 'the man that got away' on repeat, a preference for french service at all meals and gruff manly men who often have dirt under their nails but clean up nicely & know how to say 'please' & 'thank you'? the whole 'men's wieners' thing even fit snuggly into the picture.

this is all just speculation of course. i have no hard data to prove that i am indeed a gay man trapped in a woman's body... and as for those couple scattered hairs... they are long gone.

like any gay man, i know the importance of good grooming.

a much better use of my time

2010-04-11T13:50:00.000-07:00

i've been trying to occupy my days in such a way as to not be bored out of my mind by 10 a.m. about a week ago i woke up in the morning & thought "i'm going to make austin & addy costumes." a trip to the garment district, a good amount of digging through random boxes in my closests & 48 hours later they were done. i don't ever recall having that much follow-through but i suspect telling both my brother & my sister-in-law that costumes for the kiddies would soon be on the way had something to do with it. one does not promise princess & green beast costumes to a 2 & 5 year old respectively without making damn sure you've got a princess & green beast costume readily available.

so i busied myself & quite frankly had more fun hanging out alone in my apartment while don was working than i have in some time. and it was surprisingly easy considering i completeley winged it. no patterns, no real plan—i just sat down & did it. i think all things considered–they turned out pretty good.

hello lucky... and everyone else.

2010-03-29T20:46:00.001-07:00

i'm here—just taking a break.
you can visit me on facebook if you want—though i'm not much more exciting over there. i'll be back soon.

http://www.facebook.com/iamacatrancher

make that a couple months of solitude

2009-12-07T11:45:00.001-08:00

i found something much, much better.

in the estimable words of dinah washington...

2009-12-06T11:54:00.000-08:00

'what a difference a day makes'

i should really get that tattooed on my stomach (upside down so i can read it when i look down) as a reminder that just when you feel life has hit that plateau of mediocre shitiness, something or someone crops up out of nowhere (or from right in front of you) bringing an amazing and much needed breath of fresh air and reality into your midst. and makes you happier than you thought possible.

thank you.

"funny, whenever i hear the phrase 'striking coal miners' i always envision incredibly striking coal miners!"

2009-12-03T19:17:00.000-08:00

i tried so many times this afternoon to take a nap & it was just not to be.
which ultimately is good because i must get up early tomorrow so getting to bed early tonight is a must. luckily the main reason my nap was interrupted was because my union rep called to talk about some stuff (explain) to me. it's such a confusing process & i am about as clueless as to how all of it works as i possibly can be. it's a bit overwhelming. but it was great to get someone on the phone who explained it all to me, discussed my different options once i get all my days & seems quite amiable about helping find work for those last 3 days that seem to be eluding me. all in all —very good and helpful. i'm going to meet with him sometime between xmas & the new year to sit down & look everything over.. and with any luck i will be a gainfully employed union 44 gal before 2020! haha. god i hope it doesn't take that long.

mid-morning repulsion.

2009-12-03T09:48:00.000-08:00

i think we're going to have to add a few more levels to the tower of douchebaggery and reinforce the supports because the current social structure is buckling under the weight of reality

it just never seems to end. it amazes me, it makes me pause in bewilderment, and it makes me wonder 'what the fuck is wrong with people?'

i really just can't fathom some of the bullshit and double standards that take the place of 'personality' in some people. it's repulsive and embarrassing.

goodbye to a year best forgotten.

2009-11-28T09:03:00.000-08:00

life certainly isn't what i expected it would be. i suppose that is because i never thought about it past the age of 25 so i never put much energy into what would be required to make sure i had a life beyond 25. i hadn't planned on all these extra years.

the last couple days have been difficult. it's not much fun turning 38 and having nothing worthwhile in my life to celebrate—or anyone to celebrate it with. not that i'm a "birthday" person anyway—but just once it would be nice to wake up in the morning & have someone else there who gives a shit. not that it's my birthday, just give a shit period. it seems like this is something i have spent my entire life watching other people experience but it's never me. i'm the girl who ends up with taiwanese spies at her 7th birthday party because all her friends are sick or away for thanksgiving. or i'm the girl who sits at home alone while her 'boyfriend' goes off for the weekend with some other chick who he likes more, because she's 'fun'.

seriously, it has been 38 years of this bullshit. am i wrong to wonder WHY? it's just weird. it's like i lack some integral personality trait that enables me to function in society like a normal person. there's something missing that makes me one of those people other people seek out to have in their lives. i'm fine if i happen to be around, but at the end of the day, not many people are like 'oh i wish heather was here.' i am always removed a bit. there's 'them' and then a few feet away... there's me. never shall the two really meet.

today, emptied of my tears cried over wishful thinking for something that was never to be—i just sit here. more or less void of emotion. it's just another day in LA, alone. i have a kitchen to clean, a bathroom to scrub, the dogs will want to go for many walks and wrestle under the covers. this is it. this is my life. it's not horrible, but it's not very enjoyable or fulfilling. it's just nothing. empty, lonely, and full of a lot of bins that need to be taken down to the garage.

a year of solitude.

2009-11-24T10:34:00.001-08:00

i sat up most of the night rolling a number of things around in my head. i had scanned through my birthday blogs over the last few years and found them depressingly redundant. this isn't the first it has struck me, it does every year but for some reason last night it just settled into my insides like a poison.

i am such a damaged person.

i don't know if i can change that at this point. i was on shaky ground before but i'm really worried that the events of this last year have destroyed my ability to trust people—men in particular of course. i don't feel like i'm capable of honestly caring about another person because i don't trust myself to care about someone who won't just use me over and over again—and i don't trust myself to just walk away when everything in my being tells me to. i don't even think i have it in me to care about a man at this point. i look at them on the street, i think of them from my past, i look around me trying to envision myself with any of them & i can't. my throat closes, my heart beats a little faster and i become nauseous at the thought. it's as if the last 11 months and 22 days have been an experiment in aversion therapy towards the male sex.

he annihilated me. he ground me into the pavement like dust & then pissed my ashes into the gutter.

i have never before in my life been so deadened at the thoughts of loving someone or caring for another human being. i talk about wanting it and that i feel i deserve it—but i honestly don't know if i will ever be able to know what that feels like. and should the most perfect match in the universe knock at my door right now—i'd be too terrified to even open the peep hole. i don't know if i believe anymore there are men out there who aren't animals. my life has been full of animals who treat me like garbage and leave me for dead—literally. i don't know if i can trust anyone ever again. i need to learn how i think. my judgment in that department is garbage.

so this year i am going to try something different. i'm not going to let anyone into my life. i have my own to figure out and the minute i care about someone else i push my own needs aside—foolishly clinging to some bullshit ideology that i am being selfless and i will be rewarded for it in the end. in 4 days i will be 38 years old & to date i have yet to be rewarded for such behavior.

in fact last time all it got me was a week in a 4th rate psyche ward while the object of my affection ignored me and apologized to the object of HIS affection for my bad behavior. and to this day he doesn't really care or feel badly for what he did. maybe in brief moments he allows himself a flash of guilt or emotion—but ultimately he rationalizes my outcome to defects in my own make up—not as a direct result of his behavior and actions towards me. to him all of this is just a point of embarrassment, not something to be reflected upon & considered as a lesson of things not to do. he walked away and hasn't considered me since.

so i should take advantage of this repulsion towards humanity. this is the perfect opportunity for me to do what i should have long ago. step away, shut my ears, eyes and emotions against the outside world and focus on all the broken bits and pieces of me that have been so poorly stuck together over the years.

i look around and can't imagine having another human in my life right now. i feel like a ghost slipping in and around them at the grocery store. we are not the same thing. i don't know what i am, but all those blurry faced, mumbling bodies scare me beyond the most superficial of contact and greetings on the street. i don't know what to do with these odd creatures and they have never known what to do with me. maybe it's best we take a break from each other?

as pathetic as it sounds—i think the only creatures i am capable of having a close, trusting relationship with are hershel and hedley. they are certainly the only ones who deserve it.

worst campaign ever (after that at&t debacle)

2009-11-13T20:31:00.000-08:00

i got my mail today and in it was a letter from the american diabetes association asking for donations. their headline read "every nickle counts in the fight against diabetes!"

a statement i don't find at all hard to believe. however, i don't think they really understand the sentiment of their own campaign slogan when they send along a nickel, booger glued to each donation card. my first impression was 'so really.. if EVERY NICKEL COUNTS... then why are you mailing them out unsolicited, to people all over the country?"

as it is my envelope was addressed to someone who lived here 3 tenants ago—so maybe that nickel would have been better spent updating their databases. this ridiculous over sight certainly doesn't instill any sort of confidence that a donation would be wisely spent. just a thought.

pardon my foray into cute dogness

2009-11-09T19:26:00.001-08:00

one of the first self portraits

2009-10-31T18:07:00.000-07:00

day after day after day

2009-10-30T13:25:00.000-07:00

i'm dreading this weekend. it has been such a lonely couple weeks and the thought of sitting home alone once again while he's once again out with some bimbo who is probably going to be dressed like a 2-bit hooker just leaves the worst kind of wringing knot in my stomach.

there are too many hours in the day to fill my head with thoughts other than him, i can only clean my bathroom and organize my closets so many times in a 72 hour period. i've completely run out of hope, i'm running out of distractions and now all that is left is to wait for the numbness to just take over so i can finally stop caring. i go to bed every night & wake up every morning hoping it will come. and every night my dreams are filled with either horrible nightmares replaying all my worst memories of the last months or sweet, loving dreams filled with emotions and moments i will never know. and every morning when i wake up and look around my room—i have no idea where i am for the first couple minutes.

it's the best part of my day. that 180 seconds of nothingness. no past, no present, no future. blissful, perfect nothing.

i never want to care about another person again in my life.

the next level: managed agony.

2009-10-26T14:10:00.000-07:00

i am going through the motions. i am doing everything i can to move on with my life and get things back into order. and there is much improvement. i am not the same tortured (& torturing) creature i was a month ago.

and yet i am more alone now than i was that night when i was left for dead on my bathroom floor. i have destroyed everything close to me, everything i cared for—whether it was deserved or not does not change the fact that i cared and loved and am now destroyed and alone. it's even more painful now that i have my senses about me and can see clearly how much i have ruined things. how far i have pushed him away. how irreversible i have made his dislike of me.

there is a new sadness that has enveloped me. this one entirely real & not brought about by insecurity and distrust. this is a sadness of knowing that i have lost him forever, forced him to turn his back on me in disgust and hatred. i am never to be forgiven, never to be cared for again. and i will pay for this always.

these are a new kind of tears that i can't stop from running down my cheeks. this is a whole new depth of sorrow and loneliness. i wish for nothing else in this world but to have him come back to me and care about me. to want me again. to care enough to help me be the woman i am supposed to be—not this wrecked, weak loser i have become.

and when my mind trails from what i wish most to what i know to be the truth—that he would feel nothing if i ceased to exist this very moment—it clenches my chest so tightly i can not breathe.

what is wrong with me? why am i such a horrible person that this is the world i have created for myself? why, just for once in my life can't i just have what i want and have it actually want me back? why am i so easily forgotten? why am i so hated by the ones i love most?

the horrible smack of reality

2009-10-24T10:27:00.000-07:00

i had a night of wonderful dreams. they were simple, quiet little flashes of happiness and affection that made me feel so cared for and loved.

and then this morning i woke and looking around my bedroom, realized that they were just dreams and shared no relation to my current waking life.

and in that moment i was filled with the heaviest sadness a human can feel.

the kid is alright

2009-10-19T11:02:00.000-07:00

I have taken a week or so off to collect my thoughts sans outside interference. it has been a quiet, lonely week but my solitude enabled me to put things into perspective and figure out what i want my life to encompass... well kind of.

have i figured out how to do any of it? well, no. not yet, of course. but i have set steps in motion to get myself there. most importantly i got something to love and adore that will only love and adore me back—not use me and make me feel inadequate at every step. that 'something' is actually 2 fuzzy little pups named hedley and hershel. they are a jack russell terrier/poodle mix, year and a half old brothers, and more or less perfect. i don't think i have ever had anything that showered me with so much affection or wanted to be with me every second of the day. it's a strange but pleasant feeling. and it's good to have something that can't be left behind. haha. they need me. i must take care of them.

in addition to furry balls of affection, i have corrected my medication and it seems to be working really well. i have started back on all my supplements, started eating healthier and go for a dozen walks during the day with the dogs—which has been so much better for me instead of hiding in my bed all day. i love my neighborhood, it has several really pretty apartment buildings and it's just green and soothing walking down the street.

i have been trying so hard to keep myself busy and not think about the fact that i'm currently unemployed, scarily close to being broke and that william won't speak to me. i am fairly certain he has happily moved back to his comfort zone where i do not exist at all. it breaks my heart but i must accept this. i wish things were different but he has made it completely clear—i am dead to him and he is never looking back. i have no option but to forget him as well and move on—hopefully to a future with someone who actually cares for me—the good, the bad and the ugly. i guess i just wasn't right for him.

over all though my view of things has lightened a bit. i'm terribly lonely and have my moments of sadness—because i wish i wasn't doing all this completely by myself. i'd give anything to have him at my side caring, wanting to be with me and help me get better—but despite this obvious omission from my life, i am more optimistic. i've been painting and sewing, cleaning, playing with the dogs, listening to lots of beethoven and other music that pinches me emotionally. i'm still going through a lot of what i was before, but i'm finding other things to distract myself and bring my head back to a calmer state. activities that don't include knives and poison.

i haven't had an anxiety attack in days. it has been wonderful.

.... and the dogs are jumping up into my lap letting me know it is time to whiz. so i think we are going to go for a little stroll around the neighborhood.

unconscious is the best way to wait

2009-10-10T16:49:00.000-07:00

for a phone call that's never going to come

i'm tired of sorting through my boxes of crap and i've lost interest in looking for something furry with four legs to take care of that can't be left behind.

i can do what needs to be done for the day in the first hour and a half i'm awake. and then i am left to sit and wait for the rest of the day. i hate being awake. i can't quiet my head. for every good thought i am plagued by 5 i'm not 'allowed' to let enter my mind. it's best to stay asleep. i load my belly full of sleep, i turn off the ringer and i slip into a mini coma because that's the only time i'm not staring at the phone waiting for a call i know i'll never get.

lil'darlin

2009-10-09T22:09:00.000-07:00

i've been dreaming about my grandmother a lot lately. she sits on the end of my bed and talks to me while i cry or stare into nothing. sometimes she just talks about music, other times she talks to me about my problems. i don't usually remember exactly what she says to me, but it is usually soothing.

tonight i listened to count basie while i took a bath and thought about things. lil'darlin was one of her favorite songs. when i was a child we would dance to it over & over again in her living room and she would tell me about seeing him play at the chautauqua institution and clubs in new york city when she was younger. my grandmother was the only person i have ever comfortably slow danced with. lil'darlin played at the end of her funeral as they walked her coffin out of the church. my cats would take her place as my dance partner. lucy liked etta james, tallulah preferred chet baker, monty... he was my count basie cat.

no more cats, no more grandmother. no more nothing really.

on the brighter side of things... tea bomb

2009-10-07T21:15:00.000-07:00

i was making some iced tea in my kitchen and the chem lab boiling flask i usually keep it refrigerated in inexplicably exploded after i added the hot tea. technically speaking—i should be able to make the tea in said flask without it breaking—it is for boiling chemicals after all—so i'm not quite sure what happened. i was funneling the boiling tea from saucepan to bottle. it sat there for a second and then a really loud "POP" sent tea and lab glass all over the place.

it surprised me so much i couldn't do anything but laugh. i had tea dripping off my nose & my socks were a rosy, wet, pink. i can't complain i guess—my kitchen floor & walls got a nice wipe down but i'm still thirsty. however, this was the highlight of my day so... well whatever. i liked the popping noise—but i always hate to see a piece of lab glass meet its end.

S U N D A Y: the battle of stalingrad

2009-10-02T22:55:00.000-07:00

there came a point on sunday when i completely lost control of my faculties for rational thought. i lost all hope and resigned myself to something i had only fantasized about in the past. maybe it happened by chance, maybe it happened because i needed to get it out of my system in order to really understand once and for all i do not want to die. whatever it was, one second i was riffling through my bathroom looking for bandages in order to engage in the 'nurturing' portion of my one man demolition show (usually the final act before i am able to lay down & sleep) and the next i had my hands on a top billing super star that could end it all.

all my whining about not being able to facilitate dying was for naught— i had actually been sitting on the mother load of death. a mystery emergency kit left in my possession— probably stolen off an ambulance by somebody (not me) a lifetime ago change my trajectory that night. the kit held the usual assortment of bandages & ointments but it also contained something your average family emergency kit does not: a sealed bottle of digitoxin and a handful of unopened syringes. (cleanliness is important even to the end)

for those without a brain full of higgledy piggledy information: digitoxin is a pharmaceutical derivative of foxglove used to treat cardiac arrest patients. it is also history and literature's second favorite poison (i believe hemlock holds the the number one spot). i sat for a moment in utter disbelief at what i was holding in my hand. this diminutive glass bottle held enough poison in it to kill off every character ever penned by william shakespeare and christopher marlowe combined. i had hit the jackpot.

i wrote my goodbyes (including two i should have never sent), i made a list of instructions and then i got down to business. it was like an awkward first date. i was timid and shy, still unsure if i'd be able to make it to the dessert course before making some excuse as to why i had to go home early. "things could work out, if i just give it a chance" never left my head entirely as i pricked & pushed, here and there — making a mental compromise with every stab of the needle — 'maybe i can inject just enough to slow down my racing heart', 'maybe if i just use a little it will keep the blood from coagulating so quickly and i can just let it bleed a little but not have to keep cutting.', 'maybe, maybe, maybe...'

there is nothing that went through my head that night which i can repeat now without the mortification of knowing i would be first in line for any number of darwin awards. hysterical stupidity was almost my undoing. but something was on my side that night. something that kept pulling that needle out before it could empty its belly into my body completely. a little nudge, a little tug — from some unknown force that said 'not yet, just wait' (this is NOT to imply i was hearing voices because i was not and this will be a question i became increasingly sick of answering in the week to come).

and so i was unsuccessful in my attempt to shuffle off this mortal coil. instead i shuffled off about 4 gallons of vomit and passed out on my bathroom floor for the night. it seems i ingested just enough to keep me from being able to do anymore damage to myself during the night, but not quite enough to fully stop my heart. follow through just isn't my strong suit.

what i found staring back at me in the dressing room mirror the next morning was terrifying. i looked as though i had walked away from a car explosion. my only thought was 'i have to stop this. i can't go another day without a doctor.'

...and so i set in motion a plan that would unfold into the worst week of my life.

M O N D A Y: D-day

2009-10-02T22:54:00.000-07:00

on monday morning i knew something needed to be done about my mental state. i looked back on the night before, what i had done, what i had said, what i had put my mind and hands to doing... and it scared me. i had gotten lucky. despite being utterly relieved that i did in fact wake up—i didn't trust myself to wait even another day without getting help. the time had come to find someone help pull me out. obviously i wasn't capable of doing it on my own.

the thing is i am in an unfortunate place in my life right now. i'm not working, money is beyond tight and for the first time in decades—i don't have insurance. in other words: i am just like the larger part of this country's population. a faction i don't usually identify, much less sympathize with. i was about to learn A LOT.

on the recommendation of a friend i went to USC. a county run hospital that will see anyone regardless of their financial situation. i was desperate so i tried to overlook the fact that i was in for a long day of mingling with the masses and at best the bare minimum of healthcare. it was better than nothing. or so i thought.

i passed through the throngs into a waiting room for the psychiatric ward. it was quieter, there were only a few people waiting and the workers were quite nice. i settled into my seat & thought 'well, so far this isn't so bad.' before long i was called into an office where an aide took my vitals & began the initial interview. as i was rather self-aware of my problems & eager to get the proper care i needed i divulged everything. when visiting the head shrinker it—is no time to be coy.

i should have sensed something was up when she examined my arms and chest & stared at me in disbelief as i told her about the digitoxin. (on a side note — i would have to explain how i came upon possessing the digitoxin about 100 times during the next 72 hours. what struck me was that i noticed in my file notes it finally digressed into "she took the digoxin from a friend." not only had they turned me into a thief, but every medical professional i encountered had NO CLUE what digitoxin was—so naturally they assumed i was just mispronouncing it & kept correcting me & calling it digoxin—which is similar, but not the same thing. everywhere in my notes — i overdosed on digoxin, not digitoxin. it was infuriating. i wanted so badly to just say 'oh for christ's sake GOOGLE IT you fucking morons!)

she got up from the desk & i heard her out in the hallway whispering the details to a doctor because she wanted them to see me right away. silly me... i thought 'yahoo, being suicidal at least gets you to the head of the line!'
i really am disgustingly stupid and ignorant sometimes.

the doctor took me into another barren office and we started to talk. i explained what had been going on in my life this past summer, my history of mild depression, my history of treating said mild depression when it reared its ugly head and my current state of affairs that had made it impossible for me to keep it in check as i had in the past. i told her i needed a therapist - be it psychologist or psychiatrist and i most definitely needed to have my medication re-examined because the 20mg of (self prescribed & slyly obtained) prozac wasn't quite cutting it this time around. and then came the chorus that would be ringing in my ears every 2 hours for the rest of the week:

"do feel like hurting yourself?"
"not right now."
"do you feel like hurting anyone else?"
"no never."
"do you hear voices in your head?"
"no."
"do you have suicidal thoughts?"
"yes, but i don't actually want to die. i just think about it."

and before i had even finished pronouncing the word 'yes' the paperwork was being filed.

she said she was very worried about me and wanted to admit me to the hospital for at most 3 days so they could keep an eye on me and regulate my medicine.

"how do you feel about this?"
"well, i guess if you think it's necessary. i don't actually want to die, but i know i need help.. i can't pay for this though.."

"oh no, if we admit you here this is a free hospital. you pay for nothing. we'll most likely put you in a bed in the ER while they check you out for the digoxin, and then we will transfer you to a psychiatric bed."
"well, i'm a little nervous about that. no offense but this place is scary. i'm not going to get raped and murdered simply because i can't afford to go to a real hospital am i?"

"no, it's definitely going to be a shock, i won't lie, but you will be perfectly safe and watched at all times. you will never be alone—to the point where it will be annoying—and dangerous patients will never be allowed near you."
"well, i guess it's ok then."

we talked a bit more and i asked about whether i would be able to go home & drop my car off, maybe get a few things, have a friend bring me back so my car didn't get towed. in a very nice, very soothing voice she told me it would all be fine. my car was safe in the parking garage (& she would double check just to make sure) and everything i needed would be provided for me by the hospital.

doubt and dread started to seep into my body. i didn't want to ask her directly, but i finally became aware of the fact that i had absolutely no choice in the matter. she was more or less asking me how i felt to be polite and see what my reaction would be— and whether i would require restraints and a police escort.

we finished our discussion, i thanked her politely, shook her hand and was taken to the ER adult waiting room. where i would wait for them to run the tests to determine if i was suffering from serious digoxin poisoning. luckily for me — i wasn't and didn't die during the 12 hours it took them to take my blood, my urine and run the tests.
the upside to all of this is that 'psyches' cannot be left alone. we are given a reasonably comfy recliner to sit in and an aide stays with us the entire time. the recliner was the upside, the aide — not so much. mine felt the need to question me in broken english why i was there. when i tried to answer her honestly but as generically as possible... her answer/suggest to my life's problems "you just need to relax."

i bit my tongue with every muscle in my body & silenced my strong desire to say 'oh really, is that your medical opinion? because legally, you aren't even qualified to record my vital signs in the computer. so pleeeease, spare me your thoughts on what i need to do to straighten out my life.'

... but she was just trying to be nice, so after a few hours i gave in and tried to engage in conversation with her. i allowed her to play nurse every now and then. and i demonstrated to her and the other aides that i was the perfect psyche. the likes of which they had never encountered before. i wasn't belligerent, i made little jokes, i shared my cake that came at dinner with the now homeless blind man who only spoke cantonese whose family had abandoned him at the hospital 2 days ago after his eye appointment. i figured 'who knows how long all of us are going to be hanging out here together, we may as well get along and i may as well show them i'm not a psychopath, just a well-mannered woman in distress who doesn't have insurance. besides, the rest of the ER was extremely scary 60% of them were in chains & had policemen with them and the other 40% were raving lunatics off the street who reeked of piss, shit & god only knows what else. i would continue running into these people as the week progressed.

when my barrage of tests were completed i had only to wait for the psyche-wards ER to calm down enough for 'transfer.' estimated time: 10 minutes. actual time: 3 hours. at 3:20 a.m. i finally bid my aide adieu and made my way back to the psyche ward— accompanied, of course.

by this time i was exhausted and all i cared about was a bed. we got to the ward & the guards and nurses looked at me & my courier like 'you're kidding right? what are we supposed to do with her?' as they looked from me to the man in chains & orange surrounded by 3 cops sitting on a bench being processed. the only solution was to move him to one end & put me on the other while i waited to have my vitals checked... again. of course, within seconds (probably to show off) the man in orange went totally ballistic. he jumped up from the bench and all i really remember seeing was the chick cop putting her hand in a 'ready to grab' position over her gun as the other two tackled him and he fell back onto the bench just missing me by an inch. i gave him my absolute shittiest look as the nurse took my heart rate and blood pressure & then i was sent into the bathroom with 2 robes and a pair of pajama bottoms to change into.

they took all my personal possessions – including my contacts rendering me completely blind. but not so blind that i didn't see a sea of orange as we made our way to the 24 bed mixed ward.. and my loss of sight in no way inhibited my ability to hear the clink, clink, clink of restraint chains coming from every direction. it was at that point that honest to god terror took hold of my body and it took every ounce of me to remain polite and docile instead of breaking down entirely and crying uncontrollably. an orderly put me in a private room and asked me if i would be ok there for a few minutes while they found a place with me. i said i was ok as long as nobody else was going to come in there & rape or murder me while he was gone. the orderly pointed to the ceiling and a camera and told me i wouldn't be alone for even a second & that i would be perfectly safe while they rearranged the prison patients to one side of the ward to make a 'safe haven' in front of the nurses station for me and a few other non-threatening female patients.

T U E S D A Y: battle of the bulge

2009-10-02T22:53:00.003-07:00

physically & mentally depleted, i fell asleep within minutes. i didn't care who i was bunking with or that the nurses were ridiculously loud and annoying. i just wanted to sleep. they woke me at some point and took many more vials of blood. they woke me again and took my blood pressure. it was really low so she made me uncross my legs, sit up & she took it again. it was 73 over 42 this time and a little alarm went off. she said "i'm going to have to have the doctor keep an eye on this." i immediately slipped back into my slumber and never saw or heard from her or a doctor about it again.
at breakfast they took more blood & put a tray of 'very bad with no coffee' on my lap. i picked at it and asked a nurse if i could have my contacts. she didn't know, she would check. i never saw or heard from her again.
a few hours later the doctor from the day before came to my bed and asked if i remembered her. of course i did i explained, i just couldn't see her because nobody would give me my contacts — so she would have to excuse my squinty, blank stare as i looked in her general direction. she said she would look into it. (she didn't)

we discussed how i was feeling. i told her i was scared and that the days events had put my problems into perspective. my troubles were nothing compared to those in every bed around me. she asked if i thought i needed to remain under the 3 day hold. i said no i didn't, what i wanted was to get my prescription and begin therapy as soon as possible. we discussed alternative medicine options (which sounded good) and then her boss came over & joined in the conversation. he was older, a bit too 'been there, done that, i'm a man & therefore i make the decisions.' for my liking & i sensed my younger, nicer doctor felt the same. in fact i know she did as she didn't do a very good job of hiding it when she went over the alternative cocktails we had been discussing and he abruptly cut her off and said "no just double her dose of prozac" and walked away. once he cleared i allowed myself one moment of snidery and said "al-righty then, 40mgs of prozac it is, i guess." she sort of smirked and walked away.

after our conversation i was under the impression the 3 day hold had been lifted and that i would be heading home soon. i sunk back into my gurney and let out a breathe of absolute joy and thanks. 20 minutes later an ambulance gurney appeared, my name was called and my possessions and files were handed over to one of the paramedics. terrified of what i was going to hear i asked "where am i going?" and the female attendant rattled off some psyche facility in a city i didn't recognize. i asked if i could put in my contacts. "no" was the reply as i was wheeled out of the ward, down the hall & loaded into an ambulance going god knows where.

i stared out the back window searching desperately for any landmark recognizable to my blurry vision. there were none and my heart sank as we got onto the highway. i counted the minutes: 12. i remembered and subtracted the beginning and ending milage recorded into the travel log: 4.9 miles. i had no idea where they were taking me and nobody i knew had any idea where i was — other than 'at a doctors appt. the day before.'

we pulled into a parking lot and backed into a drive. i couldn't see anything but i could see enough to know i wasn't being dropped off at 'promises.' this was confirmed when they wheeled me inside & i got my first blast of piss & disinfect and heard my first crazed cackle. they dropped me off at the nurses station, handed over my belongings and hit the road. again i asked if i could put in my contacts. i was told "probably, but not until my things were checked in & that would probably take another 20 minutes." i was lead to a dark room with 4 beds. my night-stand was removed from my mattress and set beside the bed. i was told dinner would be in an hour and female showers would be in 20 minutes. i was starved and dying to shower — but without contacts in i was afraid to leave my room. i laid down in my bed, got under the covers and let myself cry quietly to myself for a few minutes while it sunk in where i was. and there was no chance of forgetting that because for the next 6 hours an assortment of ranting and raving nutters and aides made their way through my room doing the rounds. those first few minutes were the only time i allowed myself to cry the entire week. i didn't dare.

a few hours after arriving i met with some guy who looked over my file & asked me how i was feeling, was i thinking of hurting myself, did i feel i should be there blah blah blah. we chit chatted a little, i explained to him the now epic tale of the 'digoxin' (i gave up correcting them ages ago) and then blindly made my way back to my room. at 10:30 that night one of the counselors (for lack of a better term or actual title) checked in my belongings. he was completely ocd & could not decide how he wanted to divvy up my valuables to be put into envelopes. then i had to lay out all my clothing & purse contents in piles of 'like items' to make recording them easier. 90 minutes later he was done making the appropriate check marks on a pre-made list denoting how many pairs of pants i had (1) and how many socks (2), etc. the temptation to ripe the pen from his reticent 'is a bra a top or would it be considered underwear?' hand was overwhelming. but again, i bit my tongue and stared into the grain of the formica table. i would be staring at a lot of fake wood grain. he dismissed me & i went back to my room — but this time with my contacts, which i had to remove & turn into the nurses station where they would hold onto them when i slept. apparently they can be used as a deadly weapon?? i was told to leave nothing i wanted to keep out in the open or else it would be stolen within minutes. the clothing and personal items i was allowed to keep were locked in my locker. including my sneakers... sans shoelaces. i wasn't in kansas anymore.

one last stop at the nurses office. i was told i would meet with my 'social worker' and doctor the next day. they asked if there was anyone i wanted them to let know of my current residence so they could call me. i gave them my sisters number & waited by the pay phone. they told i would meet with my 'social worker' and doctor the next day. within minutes the phone rang & kri was on the other end. all we could really do was giggle as i described my 'one flew over the cuckoo's nest living situation' and what a crock of shit my 'psychiatric facility' was.

i went to bed and could think of nothing other than jack nicholson as the quintessential nutter and how quickly my own life was descending into a much cheesier lifetime version about a decent woman who was never seen or heard from again because she got lost in the system. as cries and fights broke out in seemingly every corner and the constant chatter and intrusions into my room by anyone and everyone kept me peering out from under my single, scratchy, cover i tried to fall asleep during my first night in the government sanctioned nuthouse. i didn't sleep at all.

by 5:30 someone was stealing my blood again while someone else was jabbing me with a TB test. i thought to myself 'if i come out of here with more critters than i came in with, i'm gonna be pisssssed.' and then my heart skipped a beat & i thought 'what if i don't get out?'

W E D N E S D A Y: the dirty dozen

2009-10-02T22:52:00.000-07:00

armed with eyesight at last i was ready to conquer the previously terrifying worlds of the shower room, the dining room and the recreation yard. as i was waiting in line for the shower i was told my social worker was ready to see me but they would tell her i was just about to shower & i would be there after. "my social worker" wow, that was a phrase i never expected to use. as i gave myself a silkwood shower with the most abrasive drying handsoap in a semi-private stall i tried using it in different phrases to amuse myself. "i would love to go to dinner and the ballet, but i have to meet with my social worker first." "hey, there's a great sale at fred segal's, want to head over there after i talk to my social worker?" "my social worker doesn't think you're the right man for me. i'll be eating this pie entirely by myself if you don't mind (& i know you won't)" this phrase actually provided (& still does) a great deal of entertainment for me. i use it whenever i can just to hear the absurdity roll off my tongue. i have a social worker. me! one day you're a darling of new york, the next you wake up a ward of california with your own social worker. the world is a strange, strange place. luckily mine was nice. her name was pearla and she listened to my retelling of the last 48 hours intently. the first thing she said when i was done was "because of the economy and so many people losing their jobs and insurance we are experiencing a number of higher functioning clients. we aren't really equipped for you but we are making changes." i was relieved that she was not only aware of my status as a higher functioning being, but that she acknowledged it. she empathized with the fact that despite having serious problems, unfortunately i had become a misplaced product of the system and that really, i didn't belong there. especially since i had gone to the doctor of my own volition because i recognized i needed help and was willingly seeking it. she told me she would pass on our conversation to the doctor, who with any luck i would meet with shortly and who could very possibly discharge me that day. the only downside would be that he would not be able to prescribe me medicine if i didn't stay so essentially i would be going through all of this for nothing—in a sense, she was quick to remind me that i did in fact need help. but we both knew i wasn't going to get it there.

bolstered by the hope of getting out. i joined one of my roommates in the dining room for breakfast. let me be more specific. i ate breakfast with the roommate who hadn't just thrown a fit in the hallway while talking on the phone about how the secret service was watching her neighbor for mail fraud & that she was going to have to move because nobody deserved to live under those conditions. oh if only i had a tape recorder.

after breakfast i spied a coke machine out in to the rec yard and wandered out. apparently there was going to be a 'group' and i was told to sign-in & sit down. i took my coke and parked my butt on a wall where no one else was sitting but still close enough to the action to not seem 'reclusive.' seconds after sitting down the craziest lady of the bunch plunked herself down next to me. i smiled while trying not to bare my teeth in case she might take that as a sign of aggression. my mind wandered off to the ridiculous banter that was comprising our 'group'. it wasn't therapeutic in any sense, it was a group reciting of the days schedule. showers at 7, 1st breakfast for rooms 23-32 at 8, cigarettes at 9. i couldn't believe what i was hearing. a sensation that something was hovering near me broke my daze and i looked down at the coke i was holding in my hands. glenda, the crazy lady next to me, was caressing my almost full soda bottle with her scaly hand. i frowned inwardly at my lost coke and before i could even think 'well, won't be drinking that.' glenda slipped it from my hand, chugged it like there was no tomorrow & then poured what was left on her legs (and many open sores) and feet in what i realized was an attempt to squeeze her swollen feet into a pair of flip flop like sandals that were easily a size too small. as i watched my coke spill all over the side walk i though 'well, i have to give her points for ingenuity, she may be crazy as a bed bug but she has the sense to lube up her feet to try & squeeze them into her shoes.' as i was thinking this the group got to the part of their recital about not sharing food because of germs & because some people have diet restrictions. i watched as glenda guzzled the last of the coke & thought to myself 'she's drinking that like a person who isn't allowed to drink sugar. she better not fucking keel over because of this.'

when group ended i went up to one of the aides & told her what had happened & that i only wanted to let her know in case glenda was diabetic and she probably shouldn't be pouring coke on her sores anyway...' the aide, thrilled that she had an example that could be made for the benefit of the others immediately ran to the front of the group & announced that stealing snacks from others would NOT be tolerated.

great, 20 minutes in the rec yard and i'm not only glenda's bitch but now i'm a narc too. excellent. i feebly explained to the few dazed & confused who were still sitting on the benches looking at me that i had simply not wanted her to get sick if she wasn't supposed to drink sugar. they looked at me like i was speaking ancient greek. i sat down on the bench and tried to figure out what to do for the rest of the day.

i looked up to see 3 people standing in front of me. a woman and 2 guys. she sat down and said, don't worry, i'm one of you. i felt so bad for you when i saw glenda grab your coke & start showering with it. i wanted to snag you & bring you over by us. how did you end up in here? i gave her an abridged version and reveled in my first contact with someone who didn't scare the bejesus out of me. before long we were laughing at the insanity of supposedly being insane and marveled at the people around us. we made the rounds & got to know all of them. it was fascinating and i have to say aside from the constant fear that i would do or say something that would make my stay permanent i rather enjoyed myself. i even went into the activity room & colored a picture of ants that was photocopied from a coloring book for 4 year olds. i just loved that at the top of the page it read 'color the ants' (so demanding!) & so i thought to myself 'well, ok, if you insist. it will make a nice memento for my fridge... or maybe mom.' i held it up to my new friend & said 'i think this piece of paper is telling me to color it." we broke into a fit of giggles in front of the aide who was over seeing the art projects & i started digging through the colored markers.

when i was finally called to my doctor i literally ran into his office. he took a cursory glance through my binder of notes & files and talked to me for all of 5 minutes. i was asked the same barrage of questions about whether i was hearing voices, did i want to hurt myself, was i feeling suicidal. he told me he was going to put me on 20 mg of prozac since that was what i had taken in the past. i mentioned that the doctor at usc had suggested double the dose and he shook his head like i was a complete idiot and said "no, no, no! i can't just start you on 40 mg right off the bat. you will start with 20. i'll order it from the pharmacy today and it should be here tomorrow" my heart sank — no early discharge and obviously this man who was making these huge decisions about my life hadn't bothered to even look at my file because he had no clue that i had been on 20 mg of prozac for 3 months and it wasn't doing enough —which is why i was there in the first place. i silenced myself from pointing this error out to him. "keep your mouth shut and get out of his office. ride it out until tomorrow, take your fucking pills & get the FUCK OUT OF THIS PLACE. do not give him any reason to hold onto you for a few more days 'just to observe how you are doing on your meds.'"

i spent the rest of the day with my new collection of comrades making crazy jokes about each other, keeping each other in check if we started doing anything that elicited 'too much note taking' by any of the aides and basically tried to entertain ourselves any way possible. i shot some baskets but declined playing a game of 2 on 2 as it was too difficult to run in sneakers without laces. out of sheer boredom we found ourselves playing ping pong. yes, ping pong. i suck at ping pong & i have to say... i'm not ashamed of that. tennis is my paddle sport of choice if i must engage. we sat through an anger management group that was so unbelievably ridiculous, ill-informed and ignorant that it actually pissed me off. but again, i bit my tongue & stared at the floor. it was agonizing and i have nothing left of my tongue anymore. we mingled with the rest of the patients and got to know them a little. most were just unfortunate people who had no one to care for them and no money to get proper help. most were younger, a few older. i like almost all of them. there were only a few that scared me & that was plenty. especially since i was sharing a room with one. the other was a man in his late 20's. mean as hell looking, covered in prison tattoos. he was the only one of us who had a personal aide at his side 24/7. they sat in his doorway as he slept (which i might add was 2 doors down from mine which i did not like at all), they stuck by his side in the yard while he smoked. and even though the aide was always with him he was still terrifying. he watched me everywhere i went (an observation made by debbie not myself) and at one point when his aide wasn't paying attention he sat down next to me and asked my name. "heather" i said. "really? nice, i've got you on my neck"
i looked at him obviously confused & he turned around & showed me a tattoo of my name. at this point the aide noticed him & pulled him up away from me. as he was dragged away he called back to me "that was my baby's mama, i hate the bitch & wish she would die." and then winked at me. i'm not entirely sure but i think he was flirting with me, not trying to terrify me. he really needs to work on his social skills.

determined to get some sleep i asked for a "prn" which apparently is crazy code for sleeping pills. they handed me two pills in a tiny cup & a dixie cup of juice (just like in the movies). i swallowed them & went to bed early. as i dozed off i heard debbie come into the hall and say that melissa had just puked everywhere & it needed to be cleaned up. i fell into a slumber to the sounds of a mop slopping up puke, the smell of disinfectant burning my nostrils and my super crazy roommate talking to herself excitedly in her bed, hoping out every few minutes to run down to the nurses station & yell 'i want all the files from A-deck transfered to the government right now! DO IT!" and then she would run back into our room & mutter for a few more minutes. oddly enough i actually slept. that is until about 5 when my super crazy roommate snuck out of our room and set off the alarm at the end of the hall. i woke up to the oh-so-annoying chime of the alarm & a ton of commotion in the hall as they tried to figure out what was going on, if anyone had gotten out (or broke any glass) and finally to subdue that crazy bitch. i just rolled over in bed & went back to sleep. after only 2 days in the nut house i was already a seasoned pro.

T H U R S D A Y: last call for the burma railway

2009-10-02T22:51:00.000-07:00

the sleeping pills had knocked me out. i woke up just barely in time to make it to breakfast—which once again was completely inedible. afterwards we got in line for our meds, then we got in line for our shower then they got in line for their cigarette & i got in line so i could get out into the yard & get some m&m's out of the vending machine for breakfast. it was most likely that 3 of the 4 of us were most likely going to leave that day. the 4th was this hilarious guy who was completely schizophrenic and would occasionally drift out of your conversation & into one with someone sitting right next to you who wasn't really there. it was always the same very agitated argument with a lot of finger shaking at the invisible person and then the inexplicable addition of the word 'witchcraft' at the end of his other wise entirely chinese dialogue. it was positively surreal & at first a bit disconcerting. naturally we weren't around him for 20 minutes before we started tacking the finger wagging & 'witchcraft' to the end of our own sentences just for added affect while telling each other stories. it takes so little to entertain yourself in a ghetto psyche hospital.

we exchanged phone numbers & email addys in the morning. deb was the first to leave, then eric. i had my meeting with the doctor around noon. he sent me on my way. an hour or so later, my papers were finished, my locker was emptied, my possessions were given back to me. albert, one of the aides, escorted me out of the compound, gave me my valuables & contraband back at the main office & pointed me in the direction of the bus stop. i sat down on the bench & re-laced my shoes — at last. and then prepared myself to ride the bus back to USC where hopefully i still had a car.
psyche wards & public transportation all in one week. it was a banner week for me.

i got home and spent the night in complete amazement that i made it out of there alive. i relished every second i spent brushing my teeth — when i wanted to, and eating what i wanted to, when i wanted to. i took an insanely hot shower & bath and went to the grocery store. i looked around at my lovely apartment and wanted to kiss the walls i had missed it so much.

as happy as i was to be home i still was unable to shake that fear of being watched every second. i found myself jumping at every noise and looking around me expecting some lunatic to come charging at me from the corner or some psychopath to whisper into my ear that he wanted to wear a part of me around his neck. i was traumatized. i still am. you have no idea how terrifying it is to be locked up surrounded by people who are completely insane and have no idea if they are going to let you out. the fear of being forgotten and lost in the shuffle is agonizing and not easily shaken.

i was also faced with the realization of what a mess i had made concerning certain people. certain things i said & did while in my downward spiral sunday night will most likely never be forgiven. it kills me to know this but i must accept it. tonight i wrote my apology and severed all ties. he hasn't spoken a word to me since sunday. for all he knows i am dead and he simply doesn't care anymore.

i can't blame him at all. he is completely entitled to that feeling. i'm sure we will never speak to each other again.

The Joy Luck Schmuck

2009-09-20T16:43:00.000-07:00

An-Mei: What are you going to do with left-over peanut butter pie after he eats one slice?
Rose: Throw it away I guess.
An-Mei: You ask yourself ‘why you made this?’ because I know, even if you don’t.
Rose: I like being tragic ma, I learned it from you.
An-Mei: You think he will see this pie, now he’ll be so sorry he took you for granted? You think this, then you are the foolish one. Every time you give him a gift it’s like begging. ‘Take this, I’m sorry, please forgive me. I’m not worth as much as you.’ So he only takes you more for granted.
You’re just like my mother, never knowing what you are worth, until it’s too late.
I was raised the Chinese way. I was taught to desire nothing, to swallow other people’s misery, and to eat my own bitterness. And even though I taught my daughter the opposite, she still came out the same way.

Maybe it is because she was born to me and born a girl; and I was born to my mother and I was born a girl. All of us like stairs — one step after another; going up, going down — but always going the same way.
And now this cannot be. This not knowing what you’re worth, does not begin with you. My mother did not know her worth — until too late.Too late for her, but not for me.
Now we will see if not too late for you.

— The Joy Luck Club, Amy Tan

Apparently I have much to learn from old Chinese ladies.

While perched in my bed working on some sketches this afternoon, I had “The Joy Luck Club” playing in the background. I think it is a lovely movie and watch it a few times a year - sobbing uncontrollably throughout. But no tears today as I was somewhat preoccupied. That is until the scene between An-Mei and her daughter Rose where An-mei asks her daughter — who is mid-divorce — why she does not see her own self-worth. She proceeds to tell Rose the rather tragic story of Rose’s grandmother and An-Mei’s own up bringing.

It was at “left-over peanut butter pie” that my ears pricked to attention and knowing full well what scene was about to unfold before me, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of “Oh God, my entire life is about to be summed up in a single scene from a Chinese/American romantic drama... right down to the goddamn peanut butter pie.”

Just this past Friday afternoon I busied myself the entire day — cleaning, shopping, baking, cooking — a vision of devout housewife and conscientious host a lå 1954. I sweated and toiled for one person and one person alone... and that person was not me.

While part of my manic preparations stemmed from a life time of Emily Post like ministrations on the art of being a good and gracious hostess (rules never to be strayed from even if Hitler is sitting at the dining room table), there was a very distinct part of my poor, pathetic psyche that whole-heartedly, desperately believed

‘maybe this time, maybe if I just do everything right this time — it will all work out and we can begin again.’

That would have to be one hell of a peanut butter pie.

And so I sat in bed weeping at what sort of person I have become. I cried over every dinner, every dessert (4 birthday cakes for a man who took someone else away on his birthday — what is wrong with me?). every stupid, inconsequential thing I have done for the men in my life. never once because they asked me to but because I was begging them to care for me more than they were ready or willing.

I have no one but myself to blame for my foolishness. For my constant confirmation to them of “you do something wrong — I won’t walk away like I say... I will cook you dinner, bake you your favorite dessert and give you something as a token of how much I care about you... and then I will desperately hope you feel the same.”

Who the hell could ever respect someone like that? I may as well have covered my back in sisal & printed it with the word “WELCOME—have a nice walk all over my back”.

GOD I HATE MYSELF.

lines of lament

2009-09-19T18:16:00.000-07:00

maudlin malady

2009-09-03T08:47:00.000-07:00

"after all, one knows one's weak points so well, that it's rather bewildering to have the critics overlook them and invent others."
— edith wharton

i will to you my empty head

2009-09-01T11:59:00.000-07:00

my sense of humor was never to their liking. my looks never fulfilling the lies of photographs. my self — with all its complications and darkness — never able to hold its own next to the easy and the fun. it seems in a world full of shiny nothingness i have even less to offer of worth.
so instead i leave my empty head.

just put a bullet in my head now please

2009-07-10T16:06:00.000-07:00

so it seems that my job has been given to a girl with a mustache. i found this out less than 48 hours before we were supposedly going to start shooting. silly me for assuming i would be working on the next project. silly me for thinking i warranted a phone call or at least an email saying 'hey sorry, we had to put someone else in your position.'

i feel sick. i feel so full of rage i could punch the living daylights out of something — but i know deep down i am the only one i can hurt.
what smacks of complete degradation more than anything is the fact that those in charge of hiring & firing have never had a decent word to say about her. they despise her. how is it that she came to take my job? a job i might add which many believe i took from her. however that is not the case in the slightest. she brought that baby on herself — by being a cocky, loud mouthed, know it all bitch. in fact, on the first movie i ever worked on i was the ONLY one who kept asking when she was going to start. finally a week before filming began i was told that she wasn't going to be working with us anymore or ever again for that matter. and so i walked onto set knowing that i was facing an entire crew who would assume i took their friend's job because i was a long time friend of the producer. that is not such a good feeling. but i tried to not think about it & i busted my ass day after day — 18 fucking hours a day minimum...

and this is where it got me.

sitting at home, alone, broke, depressed and mad at the fucking world yet not a bit surprised. the afternoon i found out she replaced me i sat in 'house of pies' (YUM!!) uttering over & over 'i can't believe it.' & my friend said 'why not? it's shitty as hell but it should not be a surprise all things considered. think about it.'

it put things in perspective. of course i can believe it happened. it's par for the course around there — you bust your ass, you get nothing. you act like a bitch & have certain people backing you — who cares if you were despised 9 months ago.

what i can't believe is that once again i have had the rug ripped out from under my feet to make way for someone worthless & obnoxious. 37 years of this bullshit & i'm sick of it. i'm so sick of shitty people.

now i just need to figure out what to do before my entire life collapses around me — it was well on its way before this latest episode. i'm starting to get those old feelings & i wonder why i even bother getting out of bed in the morning. my life consists of nothing layered on top of bullshit on top of misery.

so fucking over it.

N E W P L A C E

2009-07-01T11:00:00.000-07:00

things i don't understand

2009-05-21T18:08:00.001-07:00

girls who take group photos EVERY TIME they are together.
uggs
the mentality/fashion retardation of a girl who wears shorts AND uggs
why my dvd player turns itself on & pops open
the appeal of young, stupid women. ok, actually, i think i get it —but i think it's gross and an embarrassing sign of weakness in men — therefore i don't understand why THEY don't see it/care. i'd be mortified.

i suppose there is more, but these are the things on my mind right now.

i dedicate my first kidney failure to all the fine men

2009-05-11T03:23:00.000-07:00

who have found fault with me gaining (at most) 15 pounds this past year — most notably, it seems, in my ass. i’m sorry my physique can no longer hold up next to 22 year old strippers. i apologize profusely that stress, unhappiness and a years worth of horrible sleeping and eating habits FINALLY caught up with my 37 year old body.

how fucking presumptuous of me to think that after 2+ decades of pigs like you telling me my 5’8”/115 pound, anorexic, coke fueled body was ‘too big’ i could finally take a break from it all and just live like a normal person. it makes me sick to my stomach when i think that not one of you has any idea what it took for me to get to this point & you destroyed it with a few callous, thoughtless comments.

it says a lot about the male mentality that not one of you ever thought for a fucking second that maybe YOU were the ones who were fucked up for thinking there was something wrong with ME just because at 37 i don’t mirror the repugnant, stupid, 25 year old day time stripper cocktail waitress/whores you find so fucking attractive.

i’m hurt, i’m humiliated and most importantly — i’m pissed as fuck.
i can’t think of a single one of you that has an inch of ground to stand on when finding fault with MY body. take a fucking look in the mirror boys — i don’t believe johnny depp is looking back at any of you, is he?

fuck you all — you superficial, shallow, insensitive pieces of shit.

i will lose that fucking 15 pounds out of pure spite and you can all kiss my bony ass when my heart stops because i was terrified i would lose my boyfriend to some whore again because i dared to eat that piece of cake that has been denied to me my entire god damn life.

the hate runneth over.

2009-04-26T19:04:00.001-07:00

i am the epitome of everything you never wanted in a girlfriend while at the same time being everything you seek in other women who will never come close to being what i have been.

to all the pathetic little natashas of this world

2009-04-26T04:29:00.000-07:00

that your greatest aspiration in life is to be nothing more than a 'model' is revolting enough — that you lack what it takes to ever achieve such a self absorbed, narcissistic goal is truly sad. but since your life's endeavors have been set to such low yet completely unattainable goals let me give you this tiny bit of advise:

the last time i flipped through a vogue 'uptown trailer park chic' was not in vogue. it never has been and never will be and should it come to be — photogenically beautiful women will be styled to look the way you spend everyday — not the other way around. additionally, if this is your only ambition — despite lacking a look that could even land you some catalog work — might i suggest you go about it in a more industry acceptable fashion.

NO agency is going to hire a chick who any moron with an internet connection can find online — albeit in poorly executed, highly questionable photos. furthermore, paying for those photos via what i can only imagine were poorly executed blowjobs & highly questionable sexual favors is no way to further your career — unless you strive for nothing more than a life of being taken advantage of by repugnant, animalistic men who could give a fuck about you as anything more than a body without a brain that is there for their fucking pleasure. your world repulses me.

if you shave it, he won't come.

2009-04-02T21:12:00.000-07:00

it is a universal law known to any and every woman on this round ball of water: if you shave or engage in any sort of primping/attempt to make yourself more palatable to the opposite sex you will set in motion a mystical force of nature that dictates you will be in no way looked upon favorably by said members of the opposite sex. more importantly, if you do this with a specific man in mind, for the express hope of pleasing him and ensuring that all aspects of physical contact will be as enjoyable as possible — you can pretty much guarantee that he won't look at you twice and if he does it will not be with the admiring eyes you had hoped for.

i went on a bender yesterday. after a month of more or less getting by on the essentials of feminine up-keep it was finally time to do a full body over haul. for a woman who does not live and breathe hair, makeup and personal primping — this is an all day affair and often with painful ramifications.

for a good part of the afternoon i sloughed, i scrubbed, i shaved, i moisturized, trimmed, kneaded and massaged magic potions into my ugly parts, melted away layers of my epidermis that probably weren't meant to leave me just yet — with one goal in my sights: i wanted to look, feel and smell as nice as i could when i finally saw the person i have been waiting to see for over a month (and slacking terribly with my daily grooming in his absence).

i had even gone so far as to think about what i would wear. sad as it sounds... but it helped pass the time while waiting for the day to come when i would get to see him again. it embarrasses me now of course — that i wasted such time and energy on something so frivolous which he would neither notice or care about — but i suppose i hoped it would make a difference. in the end as i scanned the tasteful, cute dresses laid out on my bed i chickened out knowing they would just bring about some sort of commentary opposite what i was hoping for.

yes, i am utterly pathetic.

after hours of this silliness i was finally as soft and hairless as a newborn. my face was burning because the chemical peel took a few too many layers, there were spots that still stung from the brand new razor and my arms ached from all the rubbing and scrubbing — but i was at least clean, my skin looked fairly decent and even though my hair is a hopeless mess right now — it was as soft and healthy as it's going to get without stealing a wig.

all for naught. i primped and preened with the express hope of pleasing him (because i'm lame). to be so excited to see him and foolishly assume it was mutual.

it wasn't. not even remotely.

his lack of enthusiasm in seeing me was palpable — helped along with a couple too many xannies and residual disappointment/annoyance over having to spend the evening with me instead of with kelly as he had originally planned. from beginning to end it was the antithesis of everything i had hoped for.

in the end we gave up, rolled over and fell asleep with our backs to each other like strangers instead of nestled together like two people who actually like each other (a little anyway?). i left in the morning wondering who that person was i had just spent a very unpleasant evening with — and knowing i should have never bothered to shave. that just makes me more of a pathetic sucker.

whoa, wait, 'teat chaps'.. what?

2009-03-30T11:29:00.001-07:00

i was going through my email account just now deleting the 7000 bullshit emails i get every week and i clicked on the span folder (which doesn't even come close to catching everything) & as i was hitting the 'delete all spam' link an email subject caught my eye — but i saw it only as the emails were disappearing & it was too late to click. all it said was:

"teat chaps"

my mind instantly went to strange accessories one might find at leather bars in the meat packing district.... but a quick google search didn't bring up anything quite that interesting. it seems to be more of a cow & dog boob inflammation type thing?? the photos were very unappealing — especially before breakfast. either way, it sort of begs the question: why am i getting this? what sordid virtual path did i take to get on their mailing list?

fun girls

2009-02-17T00:26:00.000-08:00

i don't know what makes them so different from me – i just know i'm not one of them. what's amazing about them? i don't get it. i always end up losing to fun girls. maybe that's why i'm not much fun.

it used to be so much easier

2009-01-10T23:37:00.000-08:00

you met someone, you liked them. if they liked you back you spent some time together & got to know each other. not every guy on the planet required a clause in the deal that allowed him to sneak around with any number of seriously questionable females & then if you dared find fault with it or god forbid be hurt by this.... then you were immediately reminded of the fact that you were the 'new' one and had no right to be hurt or jealous... or incredibly hurt. did i say hurt, yeah fucking hurt. because that is exactly what it feels like to be sitting at home thinking that guy is off alone somewhere & then discover he was in fact off with someone else, certainly not you. and not just once — they just keep floating to the surface like dead fish on the salton sea. it's really rad. i've never experienced anything QUITE like this & as i've mentioned in the past — i've dated some seriously shitty men in my day. how do i end up so fucking lucky?

his response to all of this of course is the standard quote of all men these days it seems. 'why can't we just have sex & see if it turns into a relationship? back off & maybe it will — but i'm still going to see all these other women."
hmm, well let me think about that. MAYBE it has something to do with NOT really wanting to be treated like a fucking prostitute. i'm not here for the singular purpose of you getting laid... especially since all your 'quality' time seems to be spent with other women you deem more appropriate to hang out with in public & take on little vacations. it makes me sick to my stomach. how many fucking ridiculous, stupid, narcissistic bimbos does a guy need to take away for the weekend in any given month? and am i seriously supposed to sit back emotionless and without a care at all about it? give me a fucking break. i lose so much respect for a guy who is in most other regards an intelligent man and then i realize i cease to exist the minute some chick who looks like a two bit stripper walks into the room. it's so offensive and demeaning and makes me seriously wonder what the fuck i am bothering for. i mean really, what am i sticking around for? some relationship that is NEVER going to happen? call me crazy but it's really difficult to get to know someone better when every other day there is some other female cropping up or you are constantly discovering yet another one who ranks just a little bit higher than you — though i can't imagine what their qualities are that makes them so desirable. what sort of relationship could possibly come from this? nothing good i am sure. it's purely a bullshit excuse to keep on getting laid until something better comes along.
why am i bothering? why do i ever? it has been the same old shit with every guy i have met for years. i have a chronic attraction to men who are attracted to everything i am NOT. it's the most frustrating, depressing feeling to sit back & watch what you want squandered on girls who will probably never give a rats ass about anyone other than themselves. ugh god i really fucking despise men sometimes. they are pure fucking pigs. i haven't dated a guy since living in california who hasn't deserved to have the shit slapped out of him for his complete inability to think with something other than his dick.
i'm so fucking sick of it.

it really is just easier to be alone. blahhhh god i am so over it i'm not even angry, this past week and a half has completely deadened that emotion in me. i'm just annoyed, depressed and so fucking sick of it. do i really want to work towards a relationship with someone who has made me feel completely unhappy & insignificant 80% of the time we've been together? the 20% when he's sweet — i adore him, but what are the odds that number is going to improve? all he ever really has to say for himself is 'i'm an asshole. don't hate me.'
i don't hate him but every time some new 'element' surfaces he makes melike him a little less. how exactly does one 'work towards' arelationship that way? you don't. i'm just being a fucking fool & he is playing me like he plays every other bimbo who walks into the picture and that is NOT a feeling i appreciate at all.

it's a pretty telling moment with regard to what your existence in the world of men is when you realize that the flowers sitting on your desk (& the only ones that have made it through your door since you can remember) are only there because you had to buy them as a prop for a movie & brought them home at the end of the night.

teenage whine fest over. i'm taking a shower & going to bed.

unnecessary cruelty

2009-01-02T22:47:00.000-08:00

it's a crushing moment when you realize how insignificant and unimportant you are to someone. what's worse — is to know that no matter how you explain yourself or what your rationale, that person will never see your side of it or why/how they have hurt you. you are always going to be the irrational, jealous woman, despite all your worries being blatantly paraded in front of you on an almost daily basis.

i am not stupid, nor am i naive and completely lacking in backbone or the ability to walk away. my gut instinct has rarely been wrong when it comes to sensing where a man's true desires lie — especially if it is not with me. so do not half-heartedly deny something one minute and then brazenly project it into my retinas the next as if to say 'fuck you, this is what i think of you. you are not important enough to be part of this.'

it's amazing how 10 seconds staring at a photo that makes your stomach wretch can change the way you feel about someone almost entirely. there is so much distaste, sadness, dislike, anger, repulsion and disgust. and yet there is still a little part of me that wishes it would all just go away & i could forget it. instead, i am left with the unfortunate task of still caring about someone who doesn't care about me or my feelings, someone i probably will never have a real conversation with again, and someone i will have to watch day after day — looking over my shoulder at what he really wants in some vain/delusional belief that there is always someone better around the corner. that, is a horrible place to find yourself.

it's funny how people never mean to hurt you — but they never put much thought into NOT hurting you. i think that hurts the most — to know that you never even meant enough to warrant a moment's pause is an ugly, empty, gut wrenching feeling. and one i am fucking sick of waking up to every time i meet a man. i don't give a fuck if it is 2009 — common decency & consideration shouldn't have a expiration date.

i’ve done so much & it shows so little

2008-12-07T23:15:00.000-08:00

story of my life.

i've been on a 'clean up' rampage this weekend. the horror of letting anyone see my apartment in its current state of biohazard was a little more than i could stomach & since we'll be shooting my next flick in long beach the chances of people actually seeing it are slightly higher than the normal 'no way in hell can you come over.'

so i've been packing, stashing, stowing, cramming, hiding, discarding and obsessively sorting every minute i'm not working — which isn't a lot of minutes but i've been trying my best to attend to both. it has been an eye-opening experience in terms of my previous — apparently completely random — packing job. the last two boxes i opened contained the following: a prosthetic leg, my ceramic pig head plaque (i was looking for that a few weeks ago too!), a dvd player, a few skateboarding mags, and my collection of glass insulators. the second box had a big container of industrial strength jasco which was not only open but leaking. if i don't have a brain tumor, after 6 months of breathing paint thinner used on jets i'm guessing there isn't much that is going to give me a brain tumor.

the worst part is, while i have cleared out a lot of shit & the path has become decidedly less dangerous through my apartment... i look around & it still looks like a serial killer's lair, albeit one with some rather expensive accessories. it's not like i'm trying to make it look pretty... just less scary. and after all my hours of work it seems like i have so much more to do. it's a little frustrating, especially since i'm dead tired, starving, my hands burn from getting jasco on them & i have to get up at 5:30 tomorrow. if i was really dedicated i would get up at 4:30 so i could make a pit-stop at universal & tag a few things before my production meeting but that's just not going to happen.

i'd give anything to take a long hot bath while eating something and walk out of my bathroom in an hour to a different apartment entirely. that would be one fucking amazing soak.

the lament of an almost 37 year old woman

2008-11-25T18:33:00.001-08:00

i don't really feel like writing at the moment — but i don't fee like cleaning my apartment, doing my dishes (all of which are currently dirty, down to the last cheese knife which i just used to cut a bagel) or lugging my entire wardrobe to the laundromat. so here i sit, hair tied up in a messy bun, italian wool ballet tights & a white long sleeve t-shirt full of holes — a vision of beauty, surrounded by clutter and a life that most days does not feel like it is my own.

i have no desire to step foot outside my door, pick up the phone or see another human being right now. i wouldn't say i'm depressed but i feel strange and out of sorts, anxious. the last 6 months have been an upheaval. my whole life, changed. i'm confident it is for the better, but there are times when i walk through my door, into an apartment i barely recognize as my own and i wonder how i ended up here and what over the last 37 years (almost) i have given up to get to where i am.

i never thought getting older would bother me. that's an easy stance to have when you are 22 and the world is literally being handed to you left and right. everything is an adventure, there is nothing to stop you from doing what you want and getting whatever it is you desire. and when you are young it is easy to side step certain aspects of your life to make room for the future you think you want. i gave up so much — always with the thought that there would be time later — once i got my career going and was settled in the sort of life i saw for myself. the clincher is, i come to that point and realize that everything i ever wanted wasn't what it seemed. i'm not complaining. over all i rather love my life & its long, haphazard, crazy history. i've worked extremely hard but i've also been extremely lucky and have had more 'adventures' in my years than most people can dream of during their entire lives. i would be a selfish fool if i looked back on all of it and complained. and i'm not dead yet, i have many years of triumphs and failures ahead of me — which i am fairly certain will prove to be just as bizarre and comically wrought with absurd twists and turns as my past.

the only difference now is that i have a deeper understanding of the phrase 'you can't have it all.'
you can't. and every morning when i wake up alone at some ungodly hour to go to a job i have wanted since i was 4 i am reminded of everything i have given up to get here: relationships, family, a stable, consistent life, friends...
these are all things that have been pushed aside for decades because work always came first — no matter what my work was. i justified it to myself and those around me by saying i was doing what i had to do to get my life in order & when i got there i would find time for a real relationship, to have a family and a home & all the things normal people seem to come by without even thinking about it. and now i am almost 37 and i am no closer to finding any of those things than i was when i was a 22 year old junkie playing dress up in nyc.

for all intents and purposes i have created exactly the life i set out to have. what i wasn't counting on was that none of it would really matter in the end. much as i wake up in the morning, i go to sleep at night — alone. and no matter what anyone tells me i know deep down this is how it is going to be. i'm 37, intelligent and independent and i live in a city that covets the young and the insipid. the only man i have had any interest in for over a year wants nothing to do with me except for the occasional bout of sex — so he can concentrate on his career and sleep with whomever he wants. and from what i can tell he has a fondness for the young and the insipid. it's like a triple smack in the face. 1. total rejection 2. rejected for girls i wouldn't look twice at and 3. a painful glimpse of the person i used to be because i used to be just like him.

i got what i wanted. and i must pay for it by not getting what i realize now is so much more important. it doesn't seem that i ask for much, i don't NEED a boyfriend or family of my own as some entity from which i can identify myself — all i really want at this point, after all these years is to have something to take care of other than myself.

i'm so boring. after 37 years of a life that has revolved entirely around ME, ME, ME i would give anything to think about someone else for a change. and after all i have been through the only thing in my life that scares me right now is the realization that it might never happen. the material shit i have under control — i can do whatever work i want, i can move wherever i want & do anything i desire — but the only thing i can't control is if i'll do it alone. instinct tells me 'set the table for one.'

i don’t need a therapist - i have long staple egyptian cotton sheets instead

2008-10-08T17:34:00.001-07:00

i've been moping around this god-fore-saken apartment for months. beating myself up over everything that wasn't quite what it should have or could have been — all while knowing it would never be. it hasn't all been drudgery of course. my friends have done a very good job of poking their heads into my life when it is most needed while still respecting my hermitic tendency for privacy regarding my closely guarded personal life. it's a precarious balance to achieve and they've hung in there for years when many would have walked away long ago. i am a precarious balance to achieve. most don't bother.

but anyway, back to me & my teenage doldrums. i'm sad. i'm disappointed. i'm frustrated. waa waa waa. i feel like i have no control over too many aspects of my life and it's pissing me off. i like a little control in my chaos and a little chaos in my control. right now everything is just fucked and it has left me sitting in my apartment for hours on end wondering what to do. what to do, what to do. that phrase in my head is starting to synch up with the horns in the harbor.

of course at the moment i don't HAVE to do anything. i'm in between jobs at work, i can live in crazy lady squalor if i want — i'm not really a fan of company anyway. there's really nothing that i must do and it has left me feeling uneasy. i'm not an idle woman. it leaves too much time to think and idle heather is a very troubled heather. it is best to keep me moving as much as possible. it's the chondrichthyes in me.

so here i sit and i think. there are a few little blades of metal pricking at my brain and festering in my belly that won't let me rest — and i can't do a single thing about them. they are beyond my control. that is a hard one to swallow. but i can sleep and i have been doing an awful lot of it. my dreams are currently running 50/30/20.

50% idealistic-hopeful-nurturing.
30% depressing-shatter the delusions-little salt on the wounds-slap in the face.
20% terrifying visions of violence and horror.

i keep having the same dream where different women i know are being choked and last night my sub-conscious finally got around to me. i don't know if i ultimately died but my last image was of me standing in front of my mirror and watching the blood pool to the surface of the skin on my face from all the broken capillaries. it was enough to convince me that i would much prefer spontaneous combustion to all other forms of death. choking is such a personal, hateful way to kill someone and if it's anything like my dream — rather painful.

on the brighter side, most of my dreams have been languishing in the lovely pool of surreal heaven nestled deep within my cranium. that wonderful nugget of escapism that keeps my chin just above water. and so i retreat day after day into my sweltering bedroom and crawl between the covers to hide for just a few more hours — 'just a few more, i'll get back to life after one more nap i swear.' i love my bed. my soft, clean, robins egg blue sheets that smell of freshly bathed heather and peony linen water. they have been my salvation these last few months. they have swaddled me through many a breakdown and no matter what transpires during the night — they are always there in the morning, happy to see me as ever — whispering quietly 'no need to rush away little girl, stay awhile.'

and i do.

i start working again in a week or so — until then i just want to take refuge between my lovely linens. they are my greatest comfort and sanity.

an open letter to the person responsible for the AT&T banner ads

2008-09-26T17:09:00.000-07:00

this is the best you've been able to muster?

the concept itself isn't horrible. it's not going to win any awards for breakthrough profundity in design history but for your typical web 2.0 banner ad hawking tech gadgetry it's just like everyone else's crap. oddly enough, in advertising that is usually exactly what the client wants — especially if they tell you they want something 'new and different, something to set them apart from everyone else.'

'blah, blah, blah... yeah whatever — so what you're really saying is that what you want is a variation on whatever MAC is doing right now. got it.'

easy peasy.

with that said, i must move on to your execution, which is poor at best and i must confess to being a bit surprised that a client as large as AT&T would let something like these babies slip through the cracks. not only are they a billion dollar corporation who can afford to drop a few bucks into advertising... THEY HAVE. to the best of my knowledge BBDO is their current agency of record and with a budget of nearly $4 million.

so why may i ask does one of the foremost communications conglomerates in the world have a MISSPELLING in their copy?

"prices staring at free"

really.... of the 307,550 employees at AT&T and 17,200 at BBDO world wide there wasn't ANYONE available who could proof read these? tsk, tsk, tsk.

that gross oversight aside - the inconsistency between the suite of ads, the complete lack of attention when it came to kerning and leading, the random abbreviations of words which should not be abbreviated and the "higgledy-piggledy stick it where it fits & if it doesn't fit change the size... who cares if it's their corporate branding!" half-assed-ness of the layout screams 'intern on the C team'.

i wasn't aware BBDO had a "C team". they are after all one of the largest advertising agencies on the planet who historically speaking has been a part of every contemporary design and advertising movement. not only are they an agency one usually expects breakthrough profundity (though not on the same par as saatchi and saatchi of course) they are one of the agencies i dreamed of working at when i was a little girl.

so really..

"prices staring at free"

give me a fucking break... and while you're at it... pay attention to your use of white space because it fucking BLOWS. nice margins assholes.

OH THE AGONY!! i present to you AT&T's oh-so-effective web advertising:

shame is the best cleaning agent ever

2008-09-24T18:47:00.000-07:00

for months i have been droning on & on about the state of my apartment. it's too small, i have too much crap and too little storage... and too much crap. i am a keeper of things great and small, mundane and esoteric, useful and potentially hazardous.

i started working shortly after moving and had little time to fulfill my laundering needs on a weekly basis much less unpack & organize a house worth of crap into an apartments worth of space... so it sat, and it piled up and occasionally came tumbling down — where it would sit and still sits. it drove me crazy but i pacified the feelings of anxiety & nervousness every time i walked through my living room with the thought that 'once i'm done working i'll have plenty of time to take care of this.'

well, i've been done working for going on two weeks now. the first was spent sleeping and i make no excuses for that — i had 3+ months worth of deprivation to make up for. but more recently — though i have been picking away at it — i have to say, i'm not as far along as i should be. in fact, i think while sorting through boxes and bins i made more of a mess.

which is exactly the state my apartment was in when my friend brandon came to visit last sunday. now up until this point my apartment has been strictly off limits to everyone. i didn't even spend much time there. but brandon has been witness to my crazy lady living quarters for years and he sort of revels in my debauchery so i was like 'oh fine, fuck it — come in.' followed by a 1000 excuses as to why my house looked like an insane asylum factory that had just experienced several natural disasters. (shit, i should have blamed it all on the earthquake — "yeah hermosa got hit HARD, would you look at this place?!")

but it was his exclamation of 'oh my god you are totally insane — i love it. this place is perfect.' as he walked through the front door that made my heart flutter with dread and realize it was time get my ass in gear.

so i have been diligently putting up shelves, sorting boxes and shifting things back and forth — but i fear i haven't made as much headway as i would like. it still looks like insanity's dumping ground and short of cutting through the roof and making my own storage i am out of room.

why can't i be one of those people with extra rooms devoted to oddities and random bits of junk they can't bear to part with but don't necessarily want on display in their living room. it's so frustrating when people are like 'oh you must have an amazing apartment, you're so good at that sort of thing' & i have to honestly reply 'actually, i can't let anyone in my apartment because it's dangerous and there's a good chance i could be legally committed if anyone ever saw the squaller in which i am currently living.

maybe by the end of the week i will be a little closer to the wearstler vision in my head. of course that would require much more than packing away a few odd prosthetic limbs and taxidermy bits... but one must have goals.

and i have been shamed into mine.

my piano guy is gone.

2008-08-01T21:56:00.000-07:00

i saw his piano on the street tonight by a moving truck as i walked to the store.

there was nobody around so i wrote 'thanks' on my cig receipt & tucked it into a crack & nearly cried the whole way home—
for so many reasons that have nothing to do with a stranger who played the piano poorly.

when goths don’t dye

2008-06-11T21:27:00.000-07:00

i was driving through the neighborhood this evening looking for a parking spot (as usual) & i saw a girl sitting at a coffee shop down the street. from a distance the poor thing looked as though she had long, black hair but was entirely bald on the top of her head. as i got closer i realized she simply had the worst case of albino girl blond roots i have ever seen.

now as anyone who has spent 10 minutes in my presence & been forced to listen to me bitch about the fact that i desperately need to get my roots touched up can attest — this doesn't seem like something i could fault another human for being neglectful of as i tend to be a bit lazy in that department myself. however, i am a dirty blond with dark brown hair and my roots — while not exactly attractive — don't give the illusion that my hair line starts somewhere around the top of my ears.

it seems to me that if you've got the time to apply 3 oz. of eye liner and lace up 24 hole doc martins just to go get a cup of coffee — then you can probably rinse a bottle of matte black hair goo through your locks every couple of weeks as well. put on a little 'suzie and the banshies' and invite your friends over. you can drink bloody cosmos, trade striped thigh highs and tell make-out-at-the-cemetery stories while you cover up the blinding white spots on top of each other's heads. really kids — there is nothing sadder in this world than a lazy goth. if you're going to walk with the dead you have to commit to the upkeep.

rear window

2008-06-04T21:25:00.001-07:00

my usually very noisy neighborhood has fallen silent tonight.

the woman behind me is out. she had company over the other day for dinner and the entire night was a cacophony of loud conversation, dish washing and etta james. it must have been someone else's turn to host this evening.

the surly family next door is tucked into bed — leaving me to wonder what that large rubber- made tub filled with 'odd brown sludge' in the back yard contains. i'm convinced it's the remains of some past nanny.

the only sound, aside from the occasional car down the alley, is someone in one of the top floor apt's on 4th street practicing the piano. they are struggling through some slightly haunting piece — fumbling every few notes, repeating the 'trickier' parts over and over and over. it sounds like someone left an old record player running in the attic of some huge old house and only snippets are making their way down through the gables and servant's hallways.

it's the nicest thing i've heard in awhile. i wish they would keep playing forever.

i'm beginning to wonder if snow white is my alter ego or i just smell like steak?

2008-06-01T19:52:00.001-07:00

it is common knowledge that i am much better around children and animals than i am around people of the adult persuasion; but it's starting to get a little creepy around the homestead. i have lived in long beach for about 2 months — of which i have spent about 10% of that time actually in my apartment, usually sleeping. i haven't exactly had a chance (or desire) to mingle with the locals beyond the tidbits of their lives that drift through my windows (which is actually quite a bit — hermosa avenue is home to some loud ass people) and yet i am quickly becoming the place to be if you are an animal looking for a place to hang out.

let's disregard the plethora of squirrels, birds and other small critters that like to visit me on my back porch — to date three different dogs have made their way up my back stairs, onto my porch and through the door into my kitchen. today hannah showed up. she's the perpetually escaping, obviously very bored dog from next door. everyone within a 10 block radius knows her by name and she is brought back home numerous times a day.

apparently today she decided it was time we become officially acquainted. i was in my living room unpacking and i saw a flash of black in the kitchen. i leaned back a bit to see through the door and there she was: sniffing monty's face and grinning her big, stupid dog grin. i let her hang out for about 20 minutes while i listened to daddy and son search the yard for her... and then finally picked her up and took her home. didn't even get a thank you really. they are so fucking weird over there.

if i was a bartender the only shots i could serve would come out of a gun.

2008-05-24T22:17:00.001-07:00

i have never found myself having so much fun that i felt the need to break out into spontaneous bouts of hooting. this evening there is a bus parked down the street in front of the pike and it is full of such creatures. i believe they call these latest incarnations of mobile drinkery 'party buses'. judging by the auditory vomit coming from the upstairs level of this thing i would venture to say it is nothing more than a short bus disguised in micro minis and cheap, pheromone saturated cologne.

what is it that goes on within those tinted windows to procure such unbridled, primordial shrieks? furthermore, could someone PLEASE explain to me what the mentality of a woman/chick/girl/broad is whose only means of attracting attention to herself and expressing her state of exalted merriment is to gather in packs and screech for minutes on end? what are they drinking and how do i poison it? what is it that men find attractive about these girls? big tits, little brain.. yeah yeah, i get that — but doesn't the mermaid cry get annoying? are there some circles where it's not considered impolite to gag a girl when you hump her in the back seat of a bus covered in neon lighting?

i just don't get it. i try to be open minded and optimistic about humanity (really, i swear i do)... but then something like that parks in front of my house and i have no choice but to say 'the world is populated by idiots.'
i realize i am the minority in this thought but i am sticking by it.

maybe i have just never really had fun. or maybe, i'm just not retarded.

lilman's 6th birthday

2008-05-19T08:16:00.000-07:00

last sunday was my first social engagement in a long time. i've been working almost constantly & haven't had much time for anything else... but i've always got time for a few hours (or 8 as it ended up being) for gusticles and lilman.

it was lilman's 6th birthday & goose had quite the 'carnival of things for little boys to hurt themselves' set up at the compound for 30 or so of the most adorable 3-7 year olds i have ever seen. i knew there was little chance of any sort of 'parental control' when goose went head first down the water slide & cracked his head on the asphalt parking lot. hahaha. dork.

LA kids are ridiculously cool — but they are saved by the fact that they don't realize it. the goose factory was a sea of cute kids with long hair, leather wrist bands & typical LA names. i have never wanted to become impregnated on the spot more. i'm not sure what i would do with a child — as i glance over at my impossible to kill jade tree & watch petals fall to the ground — but that doesn't stop me from wanting a baby & lamenting the fact that i probably never will.

over all it was a good time. the kids were funny and cute as fuck. i was the water balloon wench for a couple hours & they actually scared me a bit when they would swarm around me in pack formations 6 deep vying for a good spot in line (which basically became my lap as they surged forward) little kids don't get the whole concept of throwing their water balloons at other people. instead they tend to drop them on the ground right in front of themselves — which also happened to be right in front of me. so within 10 minutes i was soaked to the bone & pickling inside my skin tight jeans under the 100 degree sun. at one point i was worried that if my jeans actually dried on my body they would need to be surgically removed.

when the kidlets finally started heading home, the adult faction took up residence on the trampoline and relaxed. i met a new girl & was once again stunned by the idea of meeting a woman who didn't hate me for no reason immediately (it seems to run rampant down here.) her name was jen. she was funny, endearingly nutty and nice. to be honest she sort of reminded me of myself a bit. speech patterns, habits of blushing, gestures, totally esoteric things she would say that i was either thinking or on the verge of uttering myself, etc. just weird little crap like that. she said something about not being able to resist any man who keeps a motorcycle in the kitchen and it was like getting a glimpse of myself when i am alone at home & talking to myself. i liked her instantly, more than i generally like myself — so she's got that on me.

tonight when i got home

2008-05-08T22:28:00.000-07:00

i found a nekkid chick riding a motorcycle stuck in my door. a few of them actually. i'm glad to see her nips turned out — i was worried about them.

thanks davey.

p.s. ed kissed me tonight & tried to grab my boobie – but all he got was my rib & a little bit of skin. he totally lingered on the smooches. we are totally dating.

sadly, i didn't get to stare like a pathetic old cougar at my young one much today. i looked like absolute shit though so i suppose it's best he didn't catch my gazing at him for 12 hours straight.

sick and tired

2008-04-29T21:18:00.000-07:00

today was a blah day.
i woke up feeling a bit shitty & it was pretty much down hill from there. slight fever, achy, drained of all energy. however, sleeping during the day around here is not to be done. it was as though everyone's pent up anger from the last few days of heat finally boiled over when the temperature broke and the entire afternoon was filled with arguments in the street, screeching tires and conversations all held at top volume — even if they weren't heated in nature.
it made for some interesting eavesdropping — not by choice of course so i don't know if that constitutes actual eavesdropping. i've discovered that the woman in the building behind mine has diabetes, is losing her hair because of the meds she's on & just got a hair cut (that's quite short), she's one of those people that blows her nose while showering & the best — she hasn't been in 'four car accidents.... she was in the car and it was hit four different times.' nice distinction lady. i think i kind of like her — she's got a brazen, booming voice and she does the dishes after every meal. i can't keep any sort of normal schedule of my own but i take comfort in the normality of others.
fortunately my voyeurism hasn't been strictly auditory in nature. i was sitting on my back porch this evening and saw the couple across the alley with the excessive kitchen curtains totally gettin it on against said curtains. maybe the swags & valances act as some sort of aphrodisiac

the closest i came to going outside was sneaking down to my front door in my underwear to get the mail. my front door is glass & i tend to forget that when i am down there i am completely on display for anyone who happens to walk by. i peeked out for a second & contemplated venturing out but it wasn't to happen today. i came back upstairs & got back into bed where i listened to the next door neighbors dog whine & the people across the street duke it out with the ups man.

it was not an entirely futile day though... i managed to unpack my clothing in between restless naps. i hate my wardrobe. i don't even remember buying 90% of it & have no idea where it all came from. all i do know is that it takes up a lot of room that i don't really have. and considering for the next month or two anyway i'm going to be doing complete grunt work as an art department lacky i don't need any of it except a pile of jeans, ratty wife beaters & tshirts and sweatshirts for those lovely 14 hour days when blistering heat turns to cold nights spent out doors waiting for people to set up lights & give a final dusting of powder on noses. movies are mind numbing, tedious affairs. it makes no sense that they are so much fun to make.

and now it is 9:36. i am still feeling like crap, i'm still tired and i am still living in an apartment surrounded by boxes — but the path is getting wider and it seems to be quieting down a bit outside. i think it might be time to try and sleep. i was hoping i would have to work tomorrow but it's not looking that way. if i let myself think about these things it puts me into a catatonic state 'fucked' that is hard to shake.

so i just listen to the neighbors was their dishes.

peeing in another dimension

2008-04-22T13:19:00.000-07:00

i am convinced that my bathroom exists on an alternate plane in the universe. one in which square corners and standardized sizes for plumbing and fixtures are irrelevant and any time you try to introduce a mass produced item into the mix it is instantly rendered completely useless by nature of being designed for use in 99.9% of bathrooms in the country.

welcome to my pisser.
i should have realized greater forces were at work when the plumber at home depot cringed as i described my shower set up when trying to replace the shower head.
"oh man, you'll have to pull all that out, nothing will work with that thing."
should have been warning enough to quietly back away from the bathroom humbled in fear and relinquish myself to a life of zero storage and crappy water pressure.

but i am stubborn and what's worse i insist on trying to do everything myself. i hate asking for help. i hate the thought of being one of those insipid little girls who is incapable of getting her own glass of water from the sink much less putting in a new one. i have nightmares about admitting i need help (except the psychiatric kind — there's no hiding that shit). i will bitch and moan incessantly about how much i hate doing everything myself, especially when things go wrong — but i will have undergone a minor stroke & lost all control of my facilities before i finally break down and ask for someone to take care of something for me. and even then it will be killing me inside. help is something that is offered — never asked for. in my opinion — if the world sees you struggling and they don't offer assistance it means they have no interest in lending a hand and i'm not really interested in begging for help from someone who has no genuine desire to be helpful.

so today's adventure to home depot and target involved returning storage 'things' meant for a bathroom with average height ceilings and normal width tubs. naturally it was entirely futile. oh to be average. it's something i never thought i would wish for, but alas here i sit dying to be plain old boring average.

i found it!

2008-04-21T17:21:00.001-07:00

kramer metals @ 1000 slauson ave.
i want to go there.

god help us all

2008-04-21T14:01:00.000-07:00

if my magazine shelves decide to give way & crash down on the stairs in my hallway. the impact would be so forceful it could set off a nuclear reaction that could prove cataclysmic around the world.

if nothing else it would make one hell of a racket and be a total bitch to clean up.

so let us at least hope that when my 2500 lbs worth of food & wine, martha stewart weddings & juxtapose come tumbling down there are no women or children on my stairs. the men aren't such a worry as we don't get many gentleman callers 'round these parts & generally speaking when they do come they don't stick around for long (and they certainly don't congregate around the magazine racks in my stairwell.) — thus getting my hopes up for nothing, only to send me reeling back into a state of bitter, crazy old spinster lady who is utterly annoyed with the male race in general because of their unwillingness to just deal with me and all my esoteric eccentricities (try saying that 3 times) that apparently only i find charming. i will die alone & forsaken, but at least i'll have something to read during the interim.

dave

2008-04-21T13:34:00.001-07:00

it's all your fault.
hahah

i fucking hate my neighbors

2008-04-20T22:48:00.000-07:00

i'm starting to feel like i am living in one of those shitty comedies from the 90's about suburban life that stars the cories and an over-weight dan ackroyd.
this evening i took my first bath in the new place. i'm a compulsive bather & i haven't gotten around to taking a long soak in my short tub since i moved it — so it was much awaited. i filled it, slathered some enzyme peel onto my face & slipped into the water for the first time. i'm 5'8" and much too long for my tub. i did my best to enjoy it though, that is until i realized i had forgotten to move my car which i parked on some other street this afternoon & i couldn't remember which one. fuck. so much for slipping from tub to bed in one easy transition sans clothing.

so i get out, get sort of dressed & try to retrace my steps. 4th street was my best guess & much to my delight there was an open spot outside my house. i high-tail it down to the corner & have a peek around 4th street. hit my lock switch a few times & see my tail lights flicker half way down the block. almost in a panic i head for the car & haul ass around the corner so that my spot isn't gone by the time i get back home. it's not, but in the 45 seconds i have been gone the neighbors who are having company at the moment have parked a big ass truck in the way & i can't fit anymore — because people around here park like fucking blind retards.

after many shouts of "FUCK!" and many obscene gestures towards their front door i begin the mind numbing task of cruising through the streets looking for a spot. did i mention that people around here park like morons? apparently parallel parking is not a maneuver taught in southern california. 15 minutes of driving in circles & every time i pass the neighbors house i can see into their living room full of fucking slobs lounging on sofas yammering away. i hate them. they drive me insane. they have about 15 kids who all wake up at 6 a.m., they never want to attend to them at that hour so they let them sit in their rooms and whine for an hour. then they let the kids AND the dog out into the yard to play as loud as possible — the dog they just let run free & he can often be seen charging down 4th street in traffic. it's infuriating. to make matters worse — despite being the only house on the block with a garage and a driveway — they seem to take up at least 3 street spots as well. how many fucking mercedes & mini vans do you need? i swear there is a small community living in that god damn house.

so tonight i drive all over hell & end up BACK ON FUCKING FOURTH STREET only now i'm about 50 feet farther away because someone else has parked where i was before. this also means i have to get up tomorrow morning and move it because it's 2 hour parking starting at 9. i walk back to my apartment, come upstairs & look out the front window — some mother fucker on florida is pulling away. i actually yelled 'cocksucker' at him but i don't think he heard. pissed as hell i decided to drown my parking woes in chocolate gelato — which is hard as a rock & thawing a bit on my kitchen counter. as i am sitting here writing this piece of shit.... i can hear the party disbanding next door — their annoying laughter trickling onto the street amidst the honks of security systems being disarmed & car doors slammed. one after one — i can hear them pull away & each and every time it pisses me off more. the street is probably empty now but i refuse to look. because if i do i will go back out & move my car. and if i go out and drive my car around the block only to get here & find them all full again i will kill someone... and i'm going to start with the kids because they make the most noise in the morning.
just kidding, i won't kill the kids... just their parents & extended family.

ojai in the morning

2008-04-20T20:29:00.000-07:00

believe it or not...

2008-04-20T20:28:00.001-07:00

this is enormous progress

my favorite pirates

2008-04-20T20:20:00.000-07:00

goose died a horrible death

remembrances of germ

2008-04-20T20:18:00.000-07:00

my old roommate. some of his finest work.

i'm off

2008-04-17T18:42:00.000-07:00

to lake casitas tonight. steve's shooting there this week so i'm going to go hang out with him and make my film debut — hopefully in some steamy sex scene with ed asner. i'm really tired and haven't eaten. this is a record for me lately.. why am i not 20 lbs. thinner? huey is furious with me. i'm not really looking forward to the drive but i think traffic will be semi-minor. i hope anyway, it has been a long week — i'm looking forward to hanging out for awhile. getting paid for hanging out is just a bonus — albeit a much needed bonus. i'm afraid to even look at my bank balances at this point. at any rate, i don't want to roll in at midnight after a trip that should take an hour and a half or so.

suppose i should get my ass on the road. fun, fun, fun.

i just heard

2008-04-17T11:59:00.000-07:00

my first horn in the harbor and i smelled the ocean when i opened the windows this morning.
i think i might actually be happy. it feels sort of strange & i don't know what to make of it.

::
just got off the phone. i'm off to santa barbara tonight. my friend steve asked me to be an extra in the flick he's working on. i'm going to be the background MILF at a 4th of july bbq. excellent. i'm sooo going to hit on ed asner. i'm sick of being single.

i hate to admit it...

2008-04-16T15:44:00.000-07:00

but the old shower head won. i'm returning the new one tonight & buying one that requires a ball adapter — since it seems to be welded onto the shower arm coming out of the wall. i'm a little frustrated. no, i'm very frustrated. everything i've tried to 'fix' since i got here has turned into a monumental ordeal. today while i was at the hardware store (for the 3rd time) i decided to buy some larger shelves for in the kitchen. a simple task for most — but not for me. i bought some wider ones but they ended up not being long enough to really be safe & the next size up was 2 feet too long.... so then i decided to buy some wood but painting isn't really an option at the moment considering i have a house full of boxes and the glasses & dishes to go on said shelves are currently scattered all over my kitchen. SO... i opted for the lazy mans paint job & decided to cover them with fabric. apparently the only fabric store close by is actually way out in suburbia hell & also under construction — but i got my fucking fabric. now i just need to screw in all the supports, cover the planks of wood & hoist them into place. god fucking forbid i just be able to put my dishes away like a normal person.

i think i need to eat. i haven't ingested anything but coffee since dinner with goose & i think that was monday? tuesday maybe? no, i think monday. the days are all running together. god i'm tired. so, so tired.

*note to self

2008-04-15T22:31:00.000-07:00

*in the future — remember to REMOVE coffee cup filled with wd-40 that is taped to the shower head arm BEFORE turning on the water.

i thought it was a little gross when i got some in my mouth earlier while filling the cup.
that was nothing compared to my little mishap a few minutes ago.
now i'm the only girl in southern california with blond roots and a lubricant deep conditioner. god only knows what this will do to my skin which is already revolting against me for the last 5 weeks of stress, hormones, poor diet & weekend commutes back & forth between apartments.

that fucking shower head will be the death of me. it's like the universe is cursing me for not marrying a doctor or lawyer when i was 22 & marketable.

of all the things

2008-04-15T20:27:00.000-07:00

i've got running through my head — the one that is most persistent is the junk yard i passed while riding the metro into LA to pick up my car at the goose factory. i took a photo of it but apparently didn't save it because it's not on my phone... i know, i keep looking to see if it will magically appear.
it was the junk yard to end all junk yards, i nearly stood up from my seat to get a better look and i haven't stopped thinking about it. (except during a rather rowdy pirate sword fight in the back lot of the goose factory with gusticles and lil'man after eating 5 pounds of gnocchi with gorgonzola.)

i want to go there.

i must go there. it's on slauson in what looks like a pretty shitty area of LA. maybe i'll do a drive by over the weekend. i'm a girl on a mission.

::

other than that — things are good. i've moved. it was a fucking nightmare & i will post photos of my bruised body later to prove it. my ANKLES are bruised??? how the fuck does that happen?
at any rate my mind is in total overload right now & i'm physically & mentally pretty much dead. but i am home and i'm happy. it would be so nice if it actually lasted.

we shall see.

home at last

2008-04-15T14:56:00.000-07:00

anyone know where i packed the wd-40?

hi my name is

2008-04-12T06:56:00.000-07:00

heather fucked h
if you see me driving my moving truck today south on I-5... feel free to wait until we get to a nice steep drop off & then run me off the fucking road.

thanks!

damn kid almost made me cry

2008-04-11T17:01:00.000-07:00

jane, my dearest little friend brought me a going away 'cake' today. it's a 6 pound mouse. cutest thing i have ever seen. she is such a cool kid. i really, truly love her.

so long, farewell....

2008-04-11T15:08:00.001-07:00

(my response to my going away card today)

thank you all for my lovely card. you never really know how the outside world perceives you until they say it on a flocked peep card. the numerous references to sibling marriage, taxidermy and excessive consumption of fatty foods makes me think i might be in need of some intensive therapy (& a diet.)

regardless of what you may think — i will miss all of you. i'm sure ed asner is going to suck as a lunch partner (though he'll probably be much easier to get out the door than you could ever hope to be, bryan) and i'm quite certain that where ever i end up i will surely be without TWO other 'twins', a spiritual guide as prominent and close to god as sister mary and a whole gaggle of hilarious ladies & gents with whom i can exchange scandalous, semi-x-rated emails AND nicknames. my ability to write soft core porn on the fly will surely suffer without the daily practice all of you have afforded me. and where else am i going to find a group of men who can be entertained for hours solely by repeating each other's name over, and over, and over in funny voices. i mean come on... that is top shelf! (OK, so maybe you were just indulging my psychotic rainman-esque ways... it was totally fun for me.)

who will i scold when my refrigerator is out of pepsi? who will judge my dismounts when i get to the bottom of the stair case? who will draw pictures of me not only with my head in a guillotine but also with chihuahua 'implants' and a belly full of cake? these are things i will miss for sure.

i will always be able to find people to make snide remarks to/about... but it's gonna be hard finding people that make it so goddamn easy.

thank you all for everything, you haven't heard the last of me by a long shot.
xo
heather

all future emails and gifts of food, cash and cakey goodness should be forwarded to the following address:

(wouldn't you like to know)

if i was a little girl

2008-04-11T11:56:00.000-07:00

this would fascinate me.
actually, even as a 36 year old woman addicted to all things laduree & french macaroon-ish... i'm a little fascinated. but if i had that next to my old playhouse as a child i would have been in heaven.

new shoulder-blades please

2008-04-11T09:22:00.001-07:00

i have a knot under my right shoulder-blade that is making it difficult to breathe. i sense a LONG weekend ahead of me. as it is i'm already operating in 'dazed and confused' mode. people ask me questions and i just shake my head noncommittally and half smile in a way that says 'i have no idea what you just said and i'm not going to ask you to repeat it — this nod is all you are getting, interpret it as you wish.'

who knows what i have agreed to in the last week.

cute babies

2008-04-10T08:34:00.001-07:00

thank god my brother got married and had babies... it has taken an enormous load of pressure off me to produce. considering i have a long history of dating men who should be in jail or mental institutions it's probably best that i haven't found myself carrying their progeny. i don't think they sell cutesy t-shirts that read 'mommy's little serial killer' and offer 'skinning your pets' classes at gymboree.

but i have a niece and a nephew who are adorable... and relatively normal — though austin is definitely showing signs of 'auntie heather precociousness' which gives me a great deal of pleasure. he's smart, funny and has a good bit-o-the-devil in him. a few weeks ago during lunch he said 'oh crap' & rolled his eyes. when my mother suggested that maybe that wasn't what little boys should be saying he rather matter of factly replied 'well i like saying it and i'm not going to stop.' (he's 2). that is a child after my own heart. god help them all when he learns to say 'fuck'.

and addi, my niece adores him... so i see a future of little hell-raisers on the horizon. look at those faces. perfect.

the longest day(s)

2008-04-09T23:11:00.000-07:00

i'm sitting in my empty office. the walls are bare and embarrassingly dirty. not my problem anymore but i still can't help seeing them in my peripheral vision. the echo is rather prominent as well now that my wall of hovel has been taken down and haphazardly packed into a box. crazy lady in an unpadded cell. it doesn't feel right. i have four more days of this. i'm not sure how i am going to make it and for once i'm not being melodramatic. i really don't know how i am going to swing it. exhaustion is the least of my problems but it's the one that is keeping me from being able to think rationally and figure out the next 18 steps that will find me settled in my new home — body and mind intact.

i ran out of tape tonight and when i had spent 5 minutes staring at my front door with my hand outreached midway to open it — i decided that maybe walking to the store to buy more wasn't an option. maybe it was time to stop. not even pretending i am packing up my black ops camp under enemy invasion works anymore. i just don't care. every time i move an 80 pound box all i can think of is

"if my heart pops i wonder if i will die instantly or if there will be a moment where i hear it & know what is going on before i die?"

over and over and over. just like marcia's terrible nightmare when she got popped in the nose with a football the night before her hot date with the foxy varsity boy at school and learns a valuable lesson about vanity and not being a two-timing bitch. the only lesson i've learned is that maybe i should have been taking those meds all these years past — because maybe then i wouldn't have more shit than fred sanford. at least i'm not as crotchety as he was though. oh wait, i am. fuck. the other lesson i have learned is that if i ever have to move again the only preparation that will be necessary is loading a gun.

i'll finish up this time with my skull intact but the temptation to wire the compound and catch the next bird outta ho chi minh is tempting. watch it burn from the sky like satan was pissing from the heavens on a weekend furlough. but i think i packed the plastic already and the truth of the matter is: i'm a girl who likes her stuff. i just wish i wasn't the one who had to move it. exchanging sex for moving duties is starting to sound more and more tempting. oh if only i were more of an emotionless whore. life could be so much easier.

you don't know how often i have uttered these words.

bedroom notes to self:

2008-04-09T16:01:00.000-07:00

wow

2008-04-09T09:33:00.000-07:00

nothing says desperate loser like a 36 year old woman sitting at her desk designing bookmarks for a baby name book with a chihuahua nestled into a baby snugly strapped to her chest.

i'm so lame. bella's in heaven though.

i have a thing for kissing pleats

2008-04-08T16:03:00.001-07:00

i don't know what it is — but every time i see them i fall in love. i always think of fluffy piles of meringue.. and while normally 'meringue' is the last thing a bride wants to look like — there's something about this dress that i keep coming back to. it's the kissing pleats. (& possibly the enormous window — i've always had a thing for grande architecture as well.)

fading fast

2008-04-07T21:16:00.000-07:00

i only packed a couple boxes tonight. i suck so bad. my house is a nightmare but i don't have the energy to do anything right now. i think i might be getting something. i was a little feverish all day but i kept ignoring it. i finally gave up trying to pack and took a bath. it was mildly pleasing but when i got out i had to lay down on the floor for a few minutes because i blacked out while trying to dry off. when i could open my eyes again i noticed that jack had ashed his bloody cigarettes all over the floor in the little toilet room. fucking pig. whenever he comes home i always have about 3 days where i walk through the house finding dollops of peanut butter or jelly where there shouldn't be peanut butter or jelly (last time it was my pillows and the floor by my bed), there are ashes everywhere and 8 days worth of dirty dishes in his bedroom and in the sink for 36 hours worth of being in residence. it's absolutely anxiety inducing. i just don't understand how someone could be SUCH a slob. our house is NOT a public restroom... use a fucking ashtray if you insist on smoking inside. it's unreal.

but at least the ashes in my eyeline on the bathroom floor got my blood pumping enough that i was able to sit upright again and dry off. now i am sitting here in my robe, a light sweat on my forehead and still feeling a bit woosy. i think i really am getting sick. i've been trying to deny if for a week and keep it at bay. i don't have time for this. i don't have the energy for it either.

i could actually have a bit of a cry but my head hurts too much and i don't want a puffy nose. god i would give anything for a foot rub. uuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhggggggggggggg.

i don't feel so hot.

2008-04-07T15:27:00.000-07:00

i'm guessing it has to do with the chili cheese fries i ate at lunch, the bowl of m&m's i just inhaled and the over all desire to go home and crawl into bed rather than sit here in my office pretending to work. i don't even like fries — but i picked at them because they were there. no wonder i am turning into a fat ass. i really need to stop eating for awhile but i can't seem to make myself do it.

i also have a fucking headache from hell. it goes something like this:

saw off the top third of my skull, flip back, push brain matter to sides and fill cavity with broken glass, nails, razor wire and stick tights. let brain matter slosh back into place, flip skull cap back into place and secure with shoddy stitches sewn with a rusty upholstery needle and waxed shoelaces from your dad's old wing tips.

the headache i am certain is stress induced and it is in no way helped by the fact that my phone has been ringing off the fucking hook all day. i don't get it — i work. everyone knows i work and they also know that as a rule i loathe talking on the phone unless it is for a reason. so when you send me THIRTEEN completely pointless text messages (NO I AM NOT TAKING A FUCKING BATH WEIRDO.... IT'S 3 pm and i'm up to my eyeballs in WORK!!!) and i don't reply... it's safe to assume that following up with a phone call is only going to irritate me more. i just don't get it. i mean, i work in a design agency — we're pretty lax. i have a dog sitting on my lap right now & i was just in a meeting where she walked across the conference table. nobody wears shoes & i put a homo-erotic spin on anything and everything that takes place during the day.... it's hardly a 'corporate' atmosphere. but i still have to work & i don't have time to chit chat on the fucking phone for 4 of the 10 hours i put in during the day. i would love to know how everyone else gets away with it.. and why can't they just talk to each other & leave me out of the equation if they can't survive an afternoon without completely inane banter?

it's one thing if they have a valid question or concern — then i don't have a problem with it at all but i've got a couple people who i hardly know who are serious text offenders and it drives me up a fucking wall. the most annoying part is they never, ever have anything legit to discuss, it's just stupid 'are you naked?' type banter.
1.) NO, as a matter of fact i am NOT naked. and quite honestly if you saw me right now you would NOT be impressed because i look like shit.

2.) even if i was, i'm not going to TEXT back and forth about it... so get over it.

i am a terminally single 36 year old woman. the chances of me getting a boyfriend or married at this point are pretty fucking slim... but i haven't hit that brick wall where i get off on titillating text messages with people i barely know. it makes me wonder if the rest of the world is collectively brain damaged and seriously in need of a cold shower.

whatever, fucking get over it. they're boobs. more than half the population has them. take some hormones and you could too.

ugh, god dammit. the dog just barfed on my desk. i really need to not be working anymore. i'm getting cramps, my skin is totally revolting against me and i feel like i could sleep for days. i just want to crawl into my bed and have someone, anyone promise me things will work out okay instead of exploding in my face like they normally do. instead, i get retarded text messages inquiring about the state of my boobies.

why me?

today was a good day (long and rambly)

2008-04-06T22:40:00.001-07:00

and as the harbinger of death, doom and destruction (minus the heavy eyeliner), hearing such words from me is really saying something.

yesterday i made my next to last trip to long beach. it was time to lug yet another load of 'things i can carry that fit into my car' and then drop it off at the goose factory to hang out for the next week. got in later saturday than i had expected, unloaded my crap, met some guy, john from next door who had the most adorable 'sausage like' dogs. of course i had sweat dripping from my nose, a tangle of 'ozzy osborne circa 1979' hair sticking to my neck and steamy raybans.... i looked like i had just made it out of a meth lab explosion. rad. i love it when people meet me & wonder 'man or woman? crank or speed?'

didn't do much that night, i was dead tired and my only real objective was to get that mother-fucking-god damn sonofabitchin piece of shit shower head hooked up. (i didn't) and my ugly metal shelves assembled. it was very distressing. i sprawled out on my living room floor and got to work. 2 minutes into it i discovered that these shelves were made for two. i have NO idea how i got them together by myself before — but it was sooo not happening saturday night. i felt like a moron. i would get one section assembled and the other would crash to the floor. i haven't felt that alone in a long time. and at one point i actually thought to myself 'even my ugly bookshelves are mocking me over the fact that i will die alone and forsaken'... and then burst out laughing at my melodrama and ordered something to eat. (when my furniture starts taunting me it means 'time to eat')

i gave up after one wobbly, hideous metal shelving unit was semi put together. i used to have them in my laundry room & i hated them there.... i'm having a really hard time coming to grips with the idea of having them out in the open — but i am currently about 200 square feet short on bookcases as my new apartment has about 25% the built in storage as the sacramento one does... so something's got to hold them until i can come up with a new plan. metal shelves it is. or maybe not, i don't know if i can get the rest of them together without needing therapy.

woke up sunday after a night of dead sleep... still on my floor though i had the foresight to bring along my feather bed and favorite pillows so i was really quit snug and i only woke twice during the night when my ghost was flushing the toilet. i did have a dream that i took off my vans and had extremely long toenails that were shaped like gossamer butterflies.. and i was NOT AT ALL happy about it but i don't remember how that issue was resolved. walked to get some coffee, waited in line with 40 of long beaches trendiest. i felt a little chubby and hid behind my hair as much as possible... not because i cared about them in particular (they were all kind of dorks), just because people make me nervous — especially lots of them crammed into a small area all talking.

after that i headed into LA and went to a few different furniture stores i like &/or wanted to check out... scattered all over bloody hell of course — but i got to stop by boulé and grab some macaroons and i found a bunch of things at grace that i would really, really like and will never, ever be able to afford. i must say though — i was a bit disappointed in H.D. Buttercup — the younger sibling of my all time favorite new york city home goods department store: ABC carpet and home. the only stuff i found even interesting was the collection of old military, office and hospital furniture at 20 gauge... which was INSANELY over-priced and 9 times out of 10 painted some garish color. i like my military issue furniture plain stainless steel thank you very much. don't fucking 'cute it up'. they did have some neat one-off things though. a custom roll-top metal desk that was way cooler than it sounds and this refrigerated medical cabinet that i would have sawed off a limb for provided they gave it back to me so i could keep it in the cabinet.

blah blah blah, went to steve's, we drove to goose's dropped off the car and he dropped me off at the airport. the guy at the check in counter points out to me that my ticket is for NEXT sunday. i'm fucking retarded and forgot to change it (i have changed my moving date/plans about 40 times in the last 2 weeks). i go inside to the ticket counter, ready to puke because switching it will most likely cost me a couple hundred easily, provided i can even get a ticket. i wait in line for 25 seconds. get to the counter and the nicest man, named dan, gets me a ticket. there's a glitch in the system that happens from time to time & it didn't charge me the extra $200 & he says he's not going to worry about it if i don't. i love dan & tell him so.

i'm back in sac now. in another week this will no longer be my home. i can't wait.

finally i can play jackie o again. (A.K.A. all good girls like pearl necklaces once in awhile.)

2008-04-03T22:44:00.000-07:00

at 21 the ladies of the family are given jewelry. traditionally it is a strand of pearls or whatever happens to be au courant. by the time it was my turn not many girls were wearing tiara's and diamond brooches. especially at the limelight or the scrap bar. and even if they were, the family had stopped shopping at harry winston long ago. in fact i believe i am wearing the last vestige of that era on my middle finger as i type — a 2 carat emerald cut engagement ring from my great aunt anne. it was her third and she always married up.

so anyway, by the time it was our turn, tradition turned to hand-me-downs. which actually both my sister and i preferred since we like vintage jewelry and even more so if it's from a beloved aunt or grandmother. kri was/is a bit of an eccentric, nutty professor hippy type — so flashy do-dads were never really her thing. she got a really pretty amethyst cocktail ring and a sapphire one as well.

being ever the blue blood, i opted for my grandmother's pearls. they were given to her by my grandfather during 'camelot' when all proper ladies wore oleg cassini, pill box hats and the requisite triple strand of pearls and the men drank double scotches, also wore hats, kept mistresses and smoking was di rigour for everyone.

as a child i loved that necklace. when i spent the night at their house i would dress up in her flouncy dresses, put on the necklace and one of those damn hats and ride the stationary bike in her bedroom for hours pretending i was riding around town visiting people — her closet doors being the entrances to all my fashionable friend's townhouses. i was probably the only 6 year old who could ride a bike in size 6 kitten heels — and damn if i didn't look good.

as an adult who spent most of her days drugged out of her mind meandering from one punk club to another and occasionally popping into a fashion show or fancy gala event — pearls weren't exactly the crowning accessory to my otherwise apocalyptic wardrobe. i was however known for showing up at bars from time to time in an evening dress when i didn't feel like going home and changing after some party. my friend jonny once commented that it was the weirdest sight in the world to see me huddled in some dark corner surrounded by HA's all fumbling to light my cigarette while i sat there in some black tie frock and a vintage ostrich feather hat egging them on mercilessly. i was 1994's answer to eddie sedgwick.

at any rate, the pearls didn't get much wear back then. later in life as a full fledged adult who moved from the city and had no reason to wear black tie frocks i had even less reason to pull them out except when i wanted to play dress-up while i cleaned the house. every christmas i would take them home and put them on for dinner and that was really about it.

until two years ago when i lost them. i couldn't figure out what happened to them since they aren't the sort of thing you check with your luggage. but when i got back to california they were nowhere to be found. i spent weeks frantically searching for them. and finally sure that they were gone forever told my mother they were missing and asked her to search the house and see if i had dropped them somewhere. she never found them and we both sadly resolved ourselves to the idea of them being gone for good.

tonight while pulling down an old suitcase from my closet i heard a rattle inside. i opened it up and inside i found the red satin bag they travel in. and sure enough, inside sat 3 strands of perfect, hand knotted pearls.

nothing is lost forever.

cutest blog on the face of the earth

2008-04-03T11:58:00.000-07:00

it's hard to believe i am seriously jealous of an illustration, but i cannot lie, i am absolutely smitten with fifi lapin and her wardrobe is heavenly.

h ttp://fifi-lapin.blogspot.com/

photo taken from the fifi lapin blog.

quitting my job was easy enough. quitting my little girls was a bit more difficult.

2008-04-03T10:47:00.001-07:00

almost from the day i started my job i have been a favorite of the little girls belonging to the owner and a former IT guy (who happens to be the brother-in-law of the owner — we're one big incestuous company). during summer/school breaks, sick days and the random lunch the girls would come to work and spend the day parked in my office. we would do our make-up and hair, i would bring in pearl necklaces and manolo blahniks for them to play in and we would swill 7-up from champagne glasses like we were A-listers at the annual costume institute gala. we made paper dolls of colin firth and johny depp and made them kiss, i would tell them stories of eating mice for dinner and they would squeal and squirm in horror and delight (& to this day i think they honestly believe i eat vermin). from time to time i would take them to lunch. we would either go to a pub a few blocks away and eat on the patio or procure something and eat it under my desk a la urban picnic. it was a given that on these days i wouldn't get any work done. it's really difficult to work when you've got two little girls plunked on your lap for 8 hours. it's even difficult to work when they are under your desk giving you a pedicure.

now i am leaving and apparently they are not taking the news so well. they are still young enough that they don't see it as a 'heather needs to leave because her life sucks in sacramento' situation. they see it as 'heather is deserting us.' so this morning i found myself composing a letter of explanation and apology to an 11 and a 13 year old. it was infinitely more difficult to write than sitting in the office of my boss and telling her i was moving away.

i feel so terrible. i absolutely adore them.

oh my god telemarketers BLOW!!

2008-04-02T19:20:00.000-07:00

i have had a long beach phone number for all of 36 hours and it has been ringing off the fucking hook... 99% of the time — fucking telemarketers. i have only answered once: to yell and all i got was a recording in spanish.

sooooo aggravating. i registered my new number at donotcall.gov but i could still have 31 days of this shit.

TELEMARKETERS MAY YOU FUCKING ROT AND BURN IN EVER-LOVING HELL!!

fucking lowest scum of the earth.

whew... i've eaten lunch and feel much better now.

2008-04-02T14:02:00.001-07:00

i still think jack is a dickhead but at least i am over the violent desire to castrate him.

the healing powers of a burrito are really quite amazing.

now i am free to move onto more important things: like the color palette for my glorious new apartment. i'm so in love with blues and greens but then again, i like oranges and reds and pinks and browns as well.

i salivate over color. it's an affliction.

sometimes i really hate people.

2008-04-02T09:56:00.000-07:00

actually, i really hate myself for letting worthless, sacks of shit into my life who serve no purpose to humanity other than sucking the life from it.

naturally i am speaking of the man i share an address with. i am so tired of him. so over it. so fucking sick of every word that comes out of his mouth being pure bullshit — because he is lazy, selfish, irresponsible and too much of a fucking pussy to take responsibility for the fact that his life sucks. nothing pisses me off more than listening to grown men bitch and moan about how they fucking hate life but are completely unwilling to accept even a modicum of responsibility for how they got to where they are. what the fuck? why don't you cry a little more bitch? and while you are at it — why don't you take a good look back at every bullshit lie you have ever vomited forth, every person you have completely fucked over and manipulated for sport and every opportunity you have had to do the right thing, only to turn around and do the opposite... and after you look back on a lifetime of 'cocksucker' why don't you, just for once in your life, stop blaming the world for everything that has gone wrong, because there is absolutely NOBODY to blame but yourself.

shitty things happen to shitty people. it's the law of the land and you my boy have hit the end of the road as far as i am concerned.
i could give a shit about swinging from the balls of germ. i know exactly what you are and i'm NOT impressed. save your bullshit for the ignorant whores who are bred to believe their contribution to society is having huge tits and the inability to string together complete sentences is a first class ticket into the coveted world of men who treat them like 3rd class citizens.

i am smarter than you. i always have been and i always will be. don't fuck with me — because i will rape you blind mother fucker and hide your corpse in my closet so i can kick it at will when i am in a bad mood.

senor fish

2008-04-01T13:34:00.001-07:00

oh my god, i am such a pig

2008-03-31T21:52:00.000-07:00

i just spent the last couple hours talking to brian about the pros and cons of being a nutter. it's nice to have him in my life again — especially since we sort of get each other's mental issues. i don't feel like he thinks i'm completely insane when i tell him that even when my life is great and you look at me and i am happy and laughing — inside there is a part of me that feels like i've got 4 loaded guns in my face and a cold fist shoved through my chest cavity clenching my heart. not everyone gets that feeling — but it exists and you just deal with it. so anyway, we just chatted and it was nice.
then we got off the phone and instead of making a proper dinner for myself i stood at my kitchen counter and ate an entire row of oreo cookies. i'm a disgusting, vile pig... and i sort of don't care. i liked them.. and now i am going to go soak in the tub, rub my round little belly and then go to bed.

if you have a problem with that — you can go fuck yourself. xo.

the most liberating moment in my life was when i ceased to care.

the first weekend

2008-03-31T13:44:00.000-07:00

i’ve been getting very little sleep, my mind — an organ always overflowing with conversations for at least 10 is now running at hyperspeed and the clatter is seizure inducing. the only way to describe what i’m feeling right now is “i don’t know how i am going to do all of this.” and it’s a phrase i have been murmuring nonstop for the last couple weeks. even the constant reminder ‘don’t worry, it will all work out’ isn’t soothing my rather abraded mental state right now. i KNOW it will work out and in a month i will be happy for probably the first time in years. i like my new sunny apartment, i like the new city near nice, intelligent friends and people i trust. several who in the last 72 hours have done more for me than any of the people i have known in sacramento combined over the last 5 years. but i am still faced with the cluster fuck of getting myself down there and situated. i'm shooting for the weekend of the 11th instead of the 18th. i really don't know how it will all come together — but basically it must.

i went down this past weekend to sign my lease and do a bit of cleaning. the apartment was surprisingly clean so i only had to give it a quick once over — it's never really your home until you clean the toilet sort of thing. the shower-head wasn't so simple. i hate it when people fuck up plumbing because they are too cheap to do something properly. i'm not really sure what to do with it. i don't have the upper body strength to wrangle it apart (though i spent a good portion of each day trying my damnedest).

the one thing that has stuck out the most about this move is that at every juncture where i find myself standing alone wondering if i have just made a horrible mistake, there has been someone to swoop in and reassure me that this is a GOOD move and it will all end well. friday night those people were dave and dre and i am most appreciative for it. i wasn't in town for a full 6 hours before they took me to dinner and basically had me laughing the entire time. and dre was such a great surprise. i am so accustomed to meeting women and having them hate me for no good reason other than i am a woman and apparently pose some threat by virtue of being another with boobies. it's what i despise about sacramento the most — the women here BLOW (with a few godsend exceptions). she was out-going, polite, funny, intelligent and NICE. her immediate openness was refreshing.

i spent my first night alone in my apartment – sans bed which really sucks. it made me realize how old my body is getting. i didn't sleep much, i had too many things going through my head and... it seems my toilet likes to flush itself periodically through out the night. now i am not a total wuss — but it was unnerving to be alone in a strange place and have things move around on their own. fortunately i was so exhausted i couldn't even bother to investigate, i just called out 'please put the seat down.' and fell back asleep.

the next morning didn't go quite so smoothly. lack of caffeine, hunger and a list of 300 things that needed to get done sent me into a bit of a tail spin. it wasn't so much the list as it was the need for a cup of coffee and food. a hungry heather is a scary heather. i ran around town and took care of some things — the vexing shower-head that still sits in pieces on my kitchen counter, a little cleaning, a little mental accounting of how much this was all really going to cost when all was said and done... and then i freaked out. that was when i headed to LA for a little reassurance from steve. i got that and lobster bisque. i also got several hours of ridiculously filthy/hilarious conversation while he finished doing a re-write and i sat and made lists and sketched ideas for my new home. being the consummate 'producer' he also solved about 90% of my major worries in about 20 minutes and then we went for an insanely heavy dinner of mac-n-cheese and steak at 10. the far-flung XXX vulgarities of the day/night were colossal and i still laugh audibly when they flit through my head — however, i think for now i will keep them to myself and leave it at this: i love having a friend who has known me forever. through glasses and braces to serial killer boyfriends and thai masseuses in need of green cards... and all the weird stops in between. i also love that we can make completely esoteric jokes about ben franklin's gout and totally get what the other one is talking about without missing a beat.

i left LA saturday night refreshed and once again feeling good about the move. it took me 30 minutes to get home going an easy 70 on the empty 705. the high light of the trip happened once i was in long beach, waiting at a red light i looked over and saw an older woman totally puking on herself in the gigantic suv sitting next to me. it looked like she had foam insulation coming out of her and her lack of emotion over the whole ordeal led me to believe that on top of an obviously very heavy dinner she had also ingested massive quantities of alcohol. it ruled. i was poised to take a photo until the very large man in the driver's seat looked at me like 'do you want that camera shoved up your ass?' it would have been brilliant though. talk about full body annihilation. she was all dressed up too. brilliant!

and then i had to park....

i have heard the horror stories but got the full blown experience personally saturday night. as i drove in circles, dead tired and sore i was almost in tears. all i wanted was bed. i kept thinking 'half hour drive home. over an hour spent looking for a parking spot... i am so fucked.'
i ended up 10 blocks from my apartment and had to walk in cold, spitting rain. it was a rough way to end the night and then i opened my screen door and found a hefty, age worn channel lock tied with a ribbon and a note. a 'welcome' gift from a visitor i missed while having my nervous breakdown in LA. i was bummed to have missed her, but the token was the perfect end to a rather long day.

bitch ate my beef bra

2008-03-27T14:00:00.000-07:00

we have these huge slabs of beef jerky in the office this week. i'm not sure where they came from — but they are here and despite not being a big beef eater... i can't walk by without grabbing a pelt and gnawing away like a little woodland animal.

we also have an office dog, named bella. she's a small chihuahua who loves me best and therefore spends most of the day either tucked into my shirt or walking around on my desks. today i had one of the aforementioned slabs o beef on my desk. i was cutting it into assorted shapes with one of my xacto knives to make beef jerky bra top. i got up to get something from the kitchen and came back to my desk to find bella gorging herself on my beef jerky pasties.

"thaaaaaaaaaaaat's Myyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy Beeeeeeeeeeeef Jerkkkkkkkkkky!"

at the top of my lungs, in the most undignified screech imaginable as i lunged towards the dog.

that dog isn't getting in my shirt for a good long while.

i believe this is what they call rock bottom.

if he could hear me now, his heart would sink.

2008-03-27T10:32:00.000-07:00

while sorting through boxes of old journals, letters and assorted writing last night i came across a character outline a friend wrote nearly 2 decades ago in which one of the females was a direct transplant of me onto paper. nothing ever became of the play, but i always loved his elegant perception. i was much different then. the same in essentials i suppose — though not quite the wreck and not as inclined to secret myself away behind closed doors and a less lofty tongue.

"she spoke with a lilting gait — the likes of which one only comes across these days while reading hemingway. it was the sort of voice that told her listeners:
'i have never hurried for anyone.'
simply by virtue of annunciation."

i don't live in a world that appreciates a large vocabulary and east coast articulation. i save that for our private conversations when i am alone in my bathtub or cleaning the kitchen. i'm sure he hears and approves; but i know somewhere, with every utterance of 'cock-sucking mother fucker, i will crush your skull with my bare, bony hands.' there is a ghost shaking his head and wincing with every grotesque syllable.

i'm sorry.

i'm finding it increasingly more difficult to concentrate

2008-03-26T16:33:00.000-07:00

mostly when it comes to work. i have another 3 weeks to go and the thought of sitting at this desk for another second is killing me. especially when my house is torn to pieces and i would much rather be home packing or at my new place cleaning and painting and fantasizing about new sofas and how i am going to make that bathroom less scary.

i dreamed of sofas last night. well, sofas in between a smattering of nightmares where i couldn't find my way to a number of different job interviews. and when i did find my way i had a 5 year old in tow and no shoes. then we made it to the 'office' and instead of being an advertising agency.... it was a collection of rooms that reminded me of the hotel in the shining and the man in charge was my old copywriter who just got shipped back to england. he didn't have any design or art director work for me — but he needed 11 lady eowyns for his version of the lord of the rings. it was all very confusing. i mostly remember the rooms being littered with empty food containers and dirty socks and a resounding inner monologue of 'fuck no, get out of here quickly!'

i woke up jobless and i believe i lost my child somewhere along the way. i was doing such a good job of holding on to her too. all very distressing.

at any rate, i want the fuck out of here. i'm actually looking forward to getting into my new place and cleaning. and i plan on cleaning like joan crawford after being dropped from the lead. it's going to be crazy lady in a cocktail dress and toothbrush on the floor. i'm trying to decide what dress i want to take along for the occasion — i really think my virgin sweep should be done in style. of course i need to hook up a new shower-head too... that might require i lose the 50's taffeta cocktail dress and ladders and manolos never mix.

i just ate a rather large lunch and i feel like a pig. i'm not in the mood to write. i want to think about colors instead. i'm fancy-ing icy robin's egg blue, a deepish orange, chocolate brown and a nice thick white.

like any smart single girl moving to a new city

2008-03-24T18:54:00.001-07:00

i bought a shiny new shower massager today.

must learn to not stress

2008-03-24T16:01:00.001-07:00

it'll never happen, but it's a nice thought anyway.
i've decided to drop kick the silly notion of moving my possessions south this coming weekend. it all stemmed from a futile attempt to not make an extra trip but i'm so over it i don't even care. this weekend i will go down, sign my lease — maybe move a jeep cherokee's worth of books and not worry leave it at that. maybe do a little cleaning & get the place ready for when i actually move.

then i'll come back to sac, finish my remaining 3 weeks at my job, get the rest of my crap packed and on the 18th when i am finally done working i can make the big move. i still need to figure out how to get a 15' moving van and my car both down to long beach. dave suggested i line up a sucker to fly north and make the drive. hahaha. i need to find myself a sucker. (anyone? anyone? thrills are sure to abound....)

at any rate, i'm excessively relieved to have a little breathing room. the thought of having to pack my entire house by thursday night, load it, drive it to long beach, unload it and then fly home was more than my little stress ball of a brain could handle. in fact, i'm so relieved it has actually put me in a bit of a giddy mood which in turn just makes me want to have sex which isn't going to happen.. but at least i can entertain myself with torrid impure thoughts while packing boxes this evening.

it takes so little these days.

let us forget for one second that i am a 36 year old woman

2008-03-23T23:19:00.000-07:00

because 36 year old women don't spend 40 minutes of every night sitting in the dark, in their bathtub with a posse of light up peeps. nor do they render what was intended to be a relaxing soak into a stressful, seizure inducing frenzy as they try to make all the peeps light up and blink at once. and i'm most certain that your average 36 year old woman hasn't discovered that bashing their little peep heads against the side of the tub 3 times is the best way to get them to work.

poor little peeps. mummy was a little rough on them tonight. porkchop, ever the perfect peep, sat tubside thankful he didn't have a small led light shoved up his bum — thus sparing him from this latest episode of mommy dearest.

i'm drowning in a sea of my own crap

2008-03-23T08:57:00.000-07:00

(to all the fecophiliacs who came across this page accidentally via a pervo google search — you can just move right along because i'm not talking about that kind of crap.)

by crap i mean 36 years worth of
'can't throw this box of broken glass away i might use it in a sculpture or painting someday, every empty pack of lucky strikes i smoked between 1994-1997, scraps of paper scribbled with bits-o-brilliance-a-la-heather by the 1000's, if you don't want those baby teeth your dog keeps spitting out, i'll take them'
kind of crap. so far all i have accomplished is a living room full of boxes. aside from a few empty bookshelves and bits of tape and cardboard everywhere there is no indication that i've been packing — i still have that much crap left to go. i feel a bit defeated. i'm also incredibly bored with packing and feel like i pulled a muscle in my ass and damaged my spine permanently. art books and magazines have the same atomic weight as ununoctium and the men i hire to move my belongings up to my second floor apartment are going to despise me.

i need more boxes but nobody has any so i have to keep buying them. call me a cheap ass but shelling out $50 for BOXES sort of pisses me off. that is money that could be spent buying more books.

one of my favorite brian/new york moments:

2008-03-22T20:20:00.000-07:00

we were walking back to my apartment on 6th street between A & B and i showed him an old triumph that had been chained up for months on the street. i was all excited, i think it was a '58, 650 and i wanted to buy it. he took a half glance at it and looked at me like 'yeah whatever, heather.' and we continued down the street to my haunted house. i persisted, rattling off the multitude of benefits to having a motorcycle in the city (as if i needed to explain these things to him of all people). he kept shaking his head 'no' as if i was asking my dad for a pack of puppies. we stepped into my kitchen from the cold and he said "you've got no place to work on it, what are you going to do, work on it in here, in the kitchen?"

h: "maybe, why not?" (a little indignantly)
b: "you don't have any metric tools — triumphs are all metric"
h: "well, maybe it won't need a lot of work. it looks okay. i could at least call the guy. i sort of want to just steal it though, it's been there forever."

b: (completely rolling his eyes) "heather, it doesn't have an engine."

h: "ooooooh? (sheepishly) i didn't notice that." (total mortification) "..... ummm.... i could get one?" (half-hearted attempt to redeem myself... that failed miserably)

i'm not a thief, but i've always looked back on that & wished that i had stolen it. not bought it, stolen it. i think the owner was dead and i would have given it a good home. i might have even gotten it a motor some day.