Oh, yes. I did that thing up there.
I have been at my semi-comfortable yet ill-fitting job for a very long time. Multiple sleepless nights fraught with Sunday Blues or crippling Next Day Dread had me day-dreaming about this very day quite often – with the ifs and whens and hows filling up a bubble that hovered over my head, bloating it with possibility and consequence until . . . it eventually popped. I wiped up the mess and went back to life-as-usual, developing amnesia over the thought-bubble’s existence. It was too heavy to carry. And far too murky and littered with obstacles to process. Every morning I put on one of my many affordable wool or polyester dresses and thick tights, all shades within the color of a bruise (the uniform of the uninspired), and forced myself to go back and earn an honest living and convince myself that my negative attitude was my only problem. I clipped down the street from the bus stop to my office and saw my troubles reflected in the many furrowed brows bobbing through the Financial District. Joining them was the price I had to pay for not making the right choices throughout my life. I was late for work every single day.
Quitting My Job didn’t go the way I thought it would. It was not dramatic. My delivery lacked triumphant undertones. I didn’t scream, “I QUIT” into anyone’s face, list my grievances, or hop onto a file cart and roll out of the place with my middle fingers stretched to the sky, fanning and slicing unfiled papers into surprised faces, shouting, “SEE YA LATER SUCKAAAAAS!” with a maniacal, go-ahead-and-call-security-to-escort-me-out grin. I didn’t sprout wings or suddenly learn how to take in the appropriate amount of oxygen in one breath. I didn’t lose any weight in my step.
The whole thing was, um, fine. Fine like a life with a stable lot, a reliable paycheck, and functional shoes. Fine like a mediocre salad bar.
Unlike the me in my dreams, after I gave my official notice, I felt nothing but fear that perhaps I have made a fatal mistake and could not turn back. I was a rubber-band ball of nerves bouncing my way down a one-way tunnel, not completely sure that the way I was going was the right way, certain that I was heading for a collision of immeasurable proportions. I had clammy palms. I envisioned my life on the street. Tap dancing in dirty, bare feet. Savoring the last tooth dangling from my slick gums. Relying on old, broken eyeglasses held together by scotch tape. Using my English major to pen the perfect sign for begging (something honest and witty, not too desperate, but pathetic enough to make them give me some money so I can pay for another night at a residence hotel or for a snack for my loyal, emaciated dog).
YES THIS IS MY BRAIN SHUTUP.
I am still a little wired.
So, in a nutshell, instability makes me a little bit crazy. Stability makes me a little bit crazy. But I figure getting closer to something I love makes me the good, passionate kind of crazy. And I am holding on to that thought like a pin, ready to instantly pop any future head-hovering anxiety bubbles.
Wish me luck.
I am here (and am probably the only one). I have been so occupied with living life outside of the internets, that it might seem like I have fully abandoned ye olde ticklefight. Like a friend or an ex-boyfriend that I’ve moved on from and never looked back. But here I am. Sitting down to revisit the past and stick my fingers all up in old business (ew). The truth is that I need to practice writing again. Even if I am writing about stupid stuff in an inarticulate way . . . I am at least writing. Here I am! Can you see me?
After a long, cold “winter” of wearing drab business casual consisting of blacks and blues and grays, pouting my bottom lip, going straight home to watch old movies, spending entire evenings cooking dinner followed by passing out on the couch in the comfort of party pants and my own drool, and feeling disconnected from and misunderstood by so many around me, it is finally sunny and I’m feeling like sitting by the water and breathing in fresh air and rays and optimism. I’ve been burned, irritated, jaded, inspired, in love, and elated. All steps have brought me to this point and I’m thrilled. Nerd. Fucking. Alert.
I am encountering more new things than I have fingers to count them on and I am going to try to document inspiration and experiences (even if only for myself).
Let’s just say that I am leaving something, going somewhere, uniting with someone, doing much, and making sweet love to something (okay, a vegan salted caramel donut from the SF ferry building).
So. Let’s dance. Recital style.
Oh look, it is Andre 3000. Hippy on the inside, quite dapper on the outside. My favorite kind of human.
I sometimes write “hey ya” as a hello to friends on gchat and although I mean it as a “hey you” type statement, I always sing Outkast’s song Hey Ya! in my head when I type it. Then I have the song in my head for like an hour.
That is all.
Mondays are always extremely difficult for me, particularly the mornings. My weekends are always so full of leisure, exploration, good company, and contentment. When given the chance to make my dreams last just a little bit longer, it is no wonder that I feel bitter about the stark return to conformity, capitalism, and unimaginative tasks. Some things that inspired me this weekend (that I am still holding onto, in protest of the day’s implications):
I love Agnès Varda’s thoughtful, beautiful, and quirky (I wish I had a better to word to replace that word forever) approach to art and film. I am not a film critic, so I won’t torture you any further with my elementary observations. But her life and perspective are definitely inspiring to me.
This film is about a group of hairstylists who set out to open a beauty academy in post-Taliban Kabul. I last watched this film on the very night that I suffered a concussion, so my memory of it is fuzzy. I rewatched it this weekend and realized that I actually have mixed feelings about the project (especially upon learning that the school has since closed), but I appreciate the sentiment and the stills of the Kabul landscape were very interesting to see.
Yes, a cake inspires me. Maggie Mudd is an ice cream shop in San Francisco that has really delicious dairy free ice cream (my favorite is peanut butter palooka) and you may customize your own stuffed cake or order one of their combinations.
I could not find a great picture, but here are some of the descriptions. I feel greedy and want all of them.
Fudge Cookie: Chocolate ice cream, oreo cookies, fudge swirls, cookie crust (Vegan).
Sundae Someday: chocolate ice cream, fudge swirls, marshmallow swirls, strawberry swirls, oreo cookies, cookie crust (Vegan).
Peanut Butter Flutter: Peanut butter ice cream, chocolate chips, peanut butter swirls, brownie base (Vegan)
V-Banana Split: A vegan version of our Waffle Banana Split. Vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate ice cream stuffed with fresh banana slices, cherries, fudge and marshmallow swirls, and waffle bowl pieces on graham cracker crust (Vegan).
And, finally, hip-hop dance class with Micaya at ODC Dance Commons. I have a more traditional dance background and am therefore having a difficult time adapting to hip-hop style, but this class is fun!! You can drop in to any class you want at ODC. A great place. I will be working on my “slouch” more in the future.
Play on, Monday.
HOLY TICKLE FIGHT NEGLECT! I feel like every letter I type right now is echoing.
So, here I sit. Staring at a mostly empty text field on the screen. Trying to make amends with internet crickets. Having a written conversation with myself. In public.
Having saaaid that (Curb Your Enthusiasm, what?what?), I am slowly but certainly working on something new. Since it will be less personal and more focused, I will probably drop in here every once in a while, when I am feeling bored or emo or 12 years old. Which is like all of the time. Oh, and I will post the Something New once it is presentable. Almost there, so probably very soon. Nothing to get too, too excited about.
It is freezing and rainy in San Francisco (again, sigh) and I am on lunch, wondering if I can survive the day by eating only peanut butter and starburst jellybeans, supplemented by the office kitchen tea selection. I want to go anywhere but out there.
Questions on my mind at this moment:
Do people really want their friends to be happy?
Did the quality of my Scrabble game go down or did the quality of my opponents go up?
Am I an entirely different person than I was a year ago?
Does Yoko Ono ever hook up with dudes?
Am I really eating peanut butter out of the jar right now?
Honestly, I only have answers to about 1.5 of the above questions. But questions make life more fun, I guess. Just look at that little (wildly popular) show you might have heard of, LOST. LOST murders my mind on a weekly basis, but I love it, so there you go.
And while my brain likes to generate new questions constantly, the questions become less and less crippling. Life seems to be getting nicer. I smile and laugh a million times a day. I respect myself and others more than I ever have. I don’t let anyone bring me down. My mind feels clear.
But most importantly, I finally know what I want.
It is Friday, I am wearing jeans that are probably from the 1990’s (what year is it anyway?), a ponytail, and glasses and YES, I feel pretty. It is cloudy and dreary and chilly in the world outside of my window and I’ve spent a good amount of time talking and typing people’s ears off with my current weather report, scientifically based on the flag perched atop the building across from my 20th floor window.
“Woaaah! Looks like it is getting wiiild out there, dude. The flag is choking its pole!”
“Look at that flag go! Sure looks windy out there.”
I am a genius. Don’t hate.
So, blah blah blah, work, blah blah, dreaming of being in my doggy’s arms, eating the vegan cupcake waiting for me at home, and watching horrible tv (uhm, James Franco is on General Hospital, WHY AM I HERE) . . . which leads me to what I am perving around on the internet for lately.
Survey says . . . cozy bamboo items! I found some of the softest bamboo undiepants at the Green Festival and of course they only had size HUGE for HIPPY (just kidding! I’m a hippy, we’re all hippies!), so I was unable to purchase them. Usually, unrequited lust quickly becomes obsession for me.
Therefore, check out some of this cozy dreamwear (some of etsy’s finest) that I hope will get on my body someday soon.
Fashion + function. Built-in bib/crumb-catcher meets cozy, pretty top meets incredibly realistic mannequin nipples.
I don’t really wear beanies, but I might start. New fashion icon: Johnny Depp.
Leggings are totally pants. Shutup.
Cute dress with maximum space for food baby expansion.
And, finally, the addition of cute little side bows keeps you from looking like a complete jerkface in these yogini pants.
Now get shopping (for me!). I will be waiting on my couch, eagerly awaiting your arrival/gifts.