Doing Exactly This

little girl caviar

2009-08-06T21:50:00.000-07:00

back to one time I remember with my father. we were watching full house on television and during the opening credits my dad, he says, look, her last name is Loughlin. You are related to her somewhere in your family tree. it took me several years before i learned that our family tree reads more like a doctors chart for the mentally unstable. and a rehab. a psyche ward for addicts. that's where our tree would grow. and everyone could look at it with its gnarled branches and knotted trunk and all of their ugliness and hatred would melt, because, really, who would want to be something so stationary and awful to the eye?

Lori, I think her first name was. I'm sure she's a major Lifetime actress by now. that's what always happens to the attractive, -but not too attractive- comedic relief female on your hit tv shows. the show gets canceled and Lifetime swoops them out of their shattered careers by giving them a second chance. only no one you know would want to watch these shows. maybe that's part of the appeal. you know it's bad. but it's ok maybe. these women, they get beaten, raped, assaulted, stalked by crazed boyfriends. this is television for women. what women, i don't know. Ask Valerie Bertanelli. Or that one with the real life eating disorder. The Seaver girl. Her, she's all over the place, throwing up after meals, being beaten. if only i had her agent.

but back to the full house moment. I think my father wanted me to feel connected with her. anyone. everyone in the world, perhaps? I'm sure he had good intentions. me growing up believing that everything is connected and how i'm a part of some bigger plan. it sounds wonderful in theory, but when you're told your connected to all of these strangers, which is what they are, by the very people that were supposed to be connecting with you, guiding you, it leaves an idea that, yes, these people exist. but you won't be getting any of that here. so go connect. elsewhere.

but more and more i feel like i'm just art imitating life, imitating art, until the circle closes in on itself and the original is too far gone. only the side effects remain. the reactions, the pain, the inappropriate happiness. sometimes it takes up so much room you can actually feel the oxygen being sucked out of your lungs and a feeling of immediate deflation impending. and then you inhale. now repeat. this is life.

wounded in love

2009-07-11T12:39:00.000-07:00

click on the bottom of the page to turn it...

and everybody said 'i remember way back when'

2009-07-10T11:57:00.000-07:00

Turning leaves. Turning pages. Turning my mind off. I'm trying, but it's complicated. Like handicapped sex. My inferiority complex about my superiority complex is starting to jumble things. But I'm awake and part of me wants to jump on a plan to LA. I'd say it was because my father's in the hospital, which is true, but I don't think that would be the complete truth.

I'm debating on whether to get rid of some things I have. I have a tremendous ability to attach myself emotionally to things. Objects. Stickers. CDs. Jewelery. Movies. Clothes. Pictures. Everything has a story. A beginning. A why. The past has answers. You're living proof. But this future stuff. So many unknowns. Questions. I know they always say the grass is always greener, but the view is getting harder to resist every day.

God milk

2009-07-01T09:37:00.000-07:00

I'd be surprised if anyone still reads this seeing, as I, being the creator/author do not even read it anymore. I guess my own life got too boring for me. Or maybe I got too boring for my life. Either way it still goes on. Life, that is. And maybe this blog is not lost after all. I don't think I am. Completely. But I don't think being 'found' is what it's all about. I'm trying to not let the future loom ahead of me like some big fat ugly unknown. I heard the phrase 'start being responsible for your own happiness' yesterday somewhere, and as fuck all cliche as it sounds, it really was what I needed to hear at that moment. Maybe, maybe, maybe. God I write that a lot. It's been too many dreams and not enough sleep lately, but I'll find my happy prophecy one day.

Maybe.

March 30th 1949

2008-12-02T12:18:00.000-08:00

*the first love letter my Grandfather wrote my Grandma. She kept it in her purse until her death.*

My Dear Ethel:

My first letter to you Dear. I have appreciated your letters to me very much. I find them most inspiring and also find it very difficult to express myself as well as you do as regards you and I. Believe me Darling it has been so grand to know you and I look forward to our every minute together. It seems that time really has wings when we are near each other. I have never known anyone whom I enjoyed being with so much until you, Duchess, came into my life. I love your tender ways, your interest and affection. Meeting you has opened a new life and future for me unlike anything that has ever come in to my life. Just sitting next to you and being with you seems to shut out all the rest of the world.

Irish, since we met and have dated only so few times nevertheless a new interest in life, fine hopes for the future, have been opened for me. I had a great time with you last Friday - a better time if that is possible, last Sunday at Young's, and then best of all being with you alone on the shore of the Pacific last Monday night. Standing on the coast overlooking a thousand miles of water with you seemed to me like the beginning of a new and terrific adventure. It is like a new page opened with a new interest in and someone to work for - a real purpose in life and a swell person like you to share it with. Time will tell us in the near future how much we will grow to love each other. I hope I will never become a source of disappointment or unhappiness to you, believe me Honey.

Up to last Friday night I was plodding alone as so many others are, just putting in time, hoping and praying that someone would come along to live, a purpose. You, Darling, have stirred me out of the fog I have been traveling along in. Best of all we can see each other daily and plan our dates together. I enjoyed meeting your mother and brother very much and like them both a lot.
So, my love, as a I must, Bye Bye until our next grand date,

Loads of love and affection,

Maurice

My Dear, listen motionless and tremble... Happiness comes, moves us, and kneeling, speaks to us.
Let us clasp our hands, be grave and listen still. No one is happier tonight, or more divine that we.

Remember that one night, upon the ocean shore. Our fingers trembling to unite as we caressed, we exchanged from mouth to closely pressed mouth the pearl inperishing wherein sleeps memory.

This is our eternal hour, now great eternally, one hour that will survive this --page torn-- love. As redolent of gardenia and jasmine, a veil preserves a hundred years and the newness of one day. Life has upturned again our golden glass of hours.

I thought, Dear, you might like this and read it while we are temporarily apart.

12:15 (far from perfect but close to me)

2008-05-29T14:06:00.000-07:00

You were fond of marriage, tattooed hands
Budweiser, not making plans
You kissed me at that New Year's Eve
a spectacle in pin up sleeves
We threw you in showers to wake you up
an overdose in terrible luck
that time you broke her rearview mirror
she called the cops, poured out your beer
but you were simply nothing more
than the perfectly fucked up adorable boy
you hit my sister after you hit a vein
get sick of all her cried complaints
just leave him please and change your locks
screaming in streets for seventeen blocks
you never knew just when to stop
but your heart has finally finished the job
you were making effort, checking in
paint my canvas with your skin
your mother with the impossible job
of making herself still believe in God
she's got the daughter who talks to televisions
shoots up turpentine, her mind a prison
the son who couldn't stop to think
of quitting it, for goodness sake
he was at a hundred and eight
when heart cooked brain
the spinal tap could not regain
the perfectly fucked up adorable boy
who will never be less, but could have been more

Addendum

2008-05-24T20:12:00.000-07:00

I know dreams are like photographs, unless you're in them or someone's having sex, it's just not worth it, but whatever.

where the wild things are

2008-05-20T15:03:00.000-07:00

Well good God I feel like shit. Seriously. I feel more depressed and worthless than I have in, well, since I originally got myself into this mess, I suppose. I wasn't going to write anything about it, thinking "who the hell in their right mind would want to read about you feeling like crap". Which is probably true, I know. But. If I don't write about it, I'll continue to think about it, and think about it, and think about it until my head explodes. Which will probably happen anyway, but at least I made the effort.

Here are the 'things'.
1. I am currently unemployed and searching for a new job. Which leads me to....
2. I have NO FUCKING MONEY BECAUSE I AM UNEMPLOYED.
3. I feel like I'm coming down with a cold.
4. The rest is just so trivial sounding compared to the first two, so I wont even go into them. But they're there. Oh, they're there, alright.

I had a dream whilst perfecting my depression (sleeping as many hours in one day as humanly possible) and the feeling is still sticking around.
I was being chased by someone that I know in real life but who played a completely different character in my dream. I'm actually going to be seeing him and his wife in an hour or so. I hope things don't turn out the same way they did in my dream... Anyway, I jump into this car to get away, ya know, 'cause I'm a bad ass, and as I'm driving through the streets I realize that it's a stick. I can drive a stick, I just don't know if I'd trust my shifting skills to get me out of immediate danger. But I was going like a bat out of hell and things seemed to be working out alright. I remember being amazed at how long I could not look at the road and still be okay. I get to my destination (some dilapidated old apartments) and have to scale the outside of the building to get to my window. I remember a feeling of such paranoia and fear. I get inside, make sure everything is locked, double check it, etc., and then enter a whole new problem. Now, I don't know if he was supposed to be a father figure type, but there was a man there with another woman (both of which I knew in this dream world). The man started in on me and how I wasn't being truthful about having over four weeks clean. AND HE WOULD NOT STOP. Now, coming back to reality for a moment, not many things in life irritate me more than when people don't believe me when I'm telling them something that I know in my heart of hearts to be true. Anyway, we get into a screaming match, I'm throwing things at him (this is completely unlike me. I opt for a more anger turned inwards, passive aggressive approach). He runs down stairs and I hear him rummaging through my suitcase. I knew there was a bottle of Rx anxiety medication that was rightfully prescribed to me and that I was taking according to the doctor's instructions. He found it and starts screaming at me that I've relapsed, that I'm a liar, yadda yadda yadda. While screaming my case to him, he realizes his mistake, turns to me and calmly says, "oh, so you really have been taking this as prescibed."

And it was Dorothy's house finally being dropped after being in the tornado. "oop".

Wish I had a socket-set to dismantle this morning

2008-05-17T02:00:00.000-07:00

I can't really think of anything to blog about, so I'm just going to post a song.

Suede~
The Next Life

I don't hate them, but I know them.

2008-05-15T04:25:00.000-07:00

Most normal people (most, not all), women in particular, would be grateful and appreciative to have friends of the opposite sex that don't expect or at least try to have sex or other acts of intimacy with them whilst in their company. It shows that the person in question values you as a person, a friend, and not just an object or a quick fix for getting their rocks off. Now let me preface this by saying that I've never made the outrageous claim that I am "normal" by any means. Au contraire. I pride myself on not being ordinary, commonplace, or predictable. It's what makes me, me. And people that really know me know what I mean by that.

But there are certain times, events, or emotions that lead me to believe that not only am I not what society deems "normal", but actually bordering on "dysfunctional". And ya know what? I'm not making any apologizes or amends for who I am. What I do have issues with are the moments that make me wonder "what the fuck is wrong with me?". And we all have those moments. Right? Right?! I thought so. So why am I even writing this blog, sharing how off center my thinking regarding my self esteem and self worth might be? Because that's what it's here for. For me, anyway. My outlet. Sure, I could sit down, have a nice long session with a trained (the)rapist and come to some sort of epiphany of why I conduct my life is such a way, or get to the bottom of those pesky little self esteem issues. But this is so much easier. And cheaper, to boot.

I'm not seeking advice here, or looking for answers to anything. Chances are, I already know why I do the things I do, or react in the ways that I do. I'm entirely too self aware to believe otherwise. I believe myself to be a good person. And certain actions I take or thought patterns I have don't negate that in any way, shape or form. The things I don't like about myself, I work on. The emotional bullshit that I bring on myself or put other people through, I acknowledge and attempt to right the wrongs when appropriate.

So there you have it. A vague and mostly useless blog about the trials and tribulations of being human. And I'm okay with that. And if anyone reading this isn't, I'm okay with that, too. I'm okay with a lot of things right now.

And the rest? Hopefully one day I'll be okay with those too.

The Jesus and Mary Chain~
Snakedriver

that laugh you laughed

2008-05-12T20:26:00.000-07:00

Well it seems that I have learned two very important, invaluable life lessons today. Okay, maybe they're things that I've always known about or thought of, but I very much put both into use today.

1. Whilst feeling down, blue, reclusive, irritable, fed up, or just plain like you're gonna lose your marbles, blast a song that you love. And dance to it. Like a three year old dances. That's one thing we lose as we get older, unfortunately. We become aware of our actions and how others think, react or respond to what we do. Of course there are positive reasons for this "acknowledgment". Like how we don't pull up our shirts in public and poke at our bellybuttons. But really, back to this dancing thing. It can be more cathartic than an hour on a couch in some posh office with Freud staring back at you from the frame on the wall. It sure made me feel great.

2. Just because you have an electric stove and not a gas one, does not mean that it in any way, shape, or form is any different than an ACTUAL FLAME. When you rest the paper packaging that a tea bag comes in on it's burning red coils, does it not burst into flames like it would had it touched actual breathing fire? Yes, my friends, it does. So what to do after you almost burn your kitchen down trying to make English Breakfast?

Dance. Dance like nobody is watching. Or maybe like somebody is. Whatever blows up your dress. I'm not here to judge.

So here, I share with you my song that I danced to today. I could probably listen to this song on repeat for hours, and then get sick of it and never want to hear again because I exhausted it completely. But I don't care about that now. 'Cause right now, I'm too busy dancing.

Jibran~
Amazing

untitled

2008-05-09T21:12:00.000-07:00

The Black Kids
I'm not gonna teach your boyfriend how to dance with you

strike dear mistress, and cure his heart

2008-05-09T01:06:00.000-07:00

Well, another birthday has come and gone, and I couldn't feel more confused. Am I changing? Have I made progress? Am I so fucked up in the head that one day nothing will make sense. There are these people that come in and out of your life from time to time, and most often you're not entirely sure what they meant to you until they're gone. And yet, they don't always have to leave completely. It's a status. Where you are. Where you were. How you'll never know where you'll be. A cohesive unit on the brink of self destruction. Am I desirable? Am I so cliche that I only want what I can't have? Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink. It's a time thing, yeah, I get that. I want to be honest. I want to say what's really on my mind, but that'll just fuck things up even more. At least that's the stupid thing I believe. My life, reduced. Work. Responsibilities. Bills. Emotions. Health. Stability. Right now, at this very moment, I feel them slipping so effortlessly away from me.

There once was a girl who loved someone so much that it left her partially whole.
The waiting is something that I'm used to, but more and more it's becoming this seemingly absurd idea that will never come to be. Is anything worth this? What this is I'm not quite sure of yet.
There is something out there, waiting. And my map has slipped under the car seat into the black hole. I could go on instincts, but look where that's gotten me so far.
But, in a way, I know how things will turn out. Nothing will happen. Not as far as this goes. And I'm not entirely sure if I'm okay with that outcome.
This is just so blah, blah, blah right now. I'm working 11 hour days and accomplishing nothing of any worth. I've been very lucky, if you could call it that. I'm okay, for now.
But the future. The future paid me for a blow job and now wants to fuck me in the ass.

teeth marks of time

2008-04-27T23:02:00.000-07:00

So after my third or fortieth cigarette and cup of tea, I've decided I need a change. Not the 'maybe I'll get more highlights around my face next time. It really brings out my eyes' type of change. More like checking the flights on Travelocity for tickets to Bangkok or London. One way. See kids, I've been through hell and back this past week (well, I'm not quite out of hell, yet. It was like a straight shuttle there, and one of those old gated elevators that jerks and you are almost sure the cables are gonna break at any moment, sending you straight back down). And whenever something like that happens I get the bolt urge. Sometimes I act on it. Most times I don't. But I"m really thinking about it this time. Hey, maybe it's the fact that I'm jobless. Maybe it's the near overdose amount of nicotine coursing through my system right now. Maybe it's the fact that I need to change my life to feel like I have some semblance of control over something. An eating disorder might be a little cheaper, but traveling just sounds so right.

I mean, what the fuck am I doing right now? Seriously. I look around my house and see all of these knickknacks, pictures, memories that I've collected over the years. What are all these material possessions giving me? Yes, yes, it's comforting to have my house, my nice tv, my couch, my safety. Yet somehow I feeling like I'm shorting myself. I've always had trouble making that first leap. I'm afraid of failing. I'm constantly comparing myself to others. And I do this all knowingly.

I'm sick of having one foot in the past, one foot in the future, and pissing all over myself in the meantime. Let me let you help me stop pissing all over my life (don't stop reading at this point, I really do have a point here. I promise).
********************************************************************************************************************************
SINGLE WHITE SLOPPYDUTCHESS SEEKING COUCH IN SOMEWHAT FOREIGN AREA-MEANING NOT SEATTLE. OK, NORTH SEATTLE

24 YEAR OLD WOMAN LOOKING FOR A SHORT GET-AWAY IN A TOWN SHE'S NEVER BEEN TO, OR HAS BEEN TO AND HAS NO QUALMS GOING BACK TO AGAIN. SMOKES LIKE CHIMNEY, BUT WILLING TO DO SO OUTSIDE. EVEN IF IT'S COLD. AM VERY OPEN MINDED, SARCASTIC, INDEPENDENT, PET FRIENDLY, CO-DEPENDENT, HYPOCRITICAL, INDECISIVE, GENTLE, EMPATHETIC, INAPPROPRIATE WHILST INTOXICATED, POSSIBLY ANGRY UPON WAKING, LIGHT SLEEPER, AND A NIGHT PERSON. ENJOYS READING, STRIP CLUBS, BRITISH HUMOUR, BACK RUBS, HOT SHOWERS, LONG WALKS IN MARKETS WHERE YOU CAN HAGGLE PEOPLE THAT SPEAK A DIFFERENT LANGUAGE THAN ME TO PAY LESS FOR SOMETHING THAT A CHILD MADE FOR FIVE CENTS BEFORE THEY WENT BLIND, (HANDBAGS, RUGS, MOSAICS, ETC.) MUSEUMS, ESPRESSO, TANQUERAY, MUSIC, MOVIES AND MEETING NEW PEOPLE. IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN MAKING ME AN OFFER, PLEASE EMAIL: SLOPPYDUTCHESS@GMAIL.COM
ALL MESSAGES WILL BE RESPONDED TO IN A TIMELY MATTER, SEEING THAT I GOT FIRED ON FRIDAY AND HAVE NOTHING ELSE TO DO EXCEPT BE ONLINE ALL FUCKING DAY. CANT WAIT TO MEET YOU.
CHEERS!

ice cream for breakfast

2008-04-27T15:19:00.000-07:00

My glasses are a bit fogged over, which makes it okay to write what I'm going to write. I cannot see too clearly at the moment.

Let's see. I could start at the beginning, but that would just take way too much of your precious time. And it hasn't always been exciting as it's been in this past week, here.

Sick in a cell and it's true, I thought of you. You might as well have been on the moon, for it would have been just as hard to get there as it would have been your bed. Did you have a bed waiting for me? The bottom of my steel bunk makes this big 'clunk' sound every time I have to get off of it. Which I'm making short work of. I am calm. Now. And before, too. The only moment of weakness coming when Buzz cut told me I was going downtown. It may sound impossible, but I had dreams there. In between them calling me out at midnight, and again at ten to four to tell me I was getting my.....I'd say freedom, but that sounds too cliche. More like waking from a dream. She was protective, but in a good way. The first thing she said was 'don't touch my shit and you'll be fine', and that sounded swell to me. But after that it wasn't so intense. I just lay there. Kind of numb, but not too sick. Yet. That would come, I knew that for sure. It's like clockwork really. And you can't fuck with time. I've tried. How is it that something that doesn't really exist, never, ever go away? It may shift, but that's usually reserved for those with a seat waiting for them at Fairfax. A friend once said they almost believed in time travel. Maybe I almost believe them. But that's my issue. I have trust problems. My problem being that I do it too much. And expect different results. But I'm severely digressing here. About the dreams. I dreamt of bowling balls, and good coffee and a hot dog with every topping imaginable. To be completely honest? It was nice to not worry for a moment and have nothing else to do but sleep. Or try to, anyway. The coffee cake wasn't so bad. Not as bad as my hair and skin and insides felt by breakfast. It had to be coming soon, didn't it? But I'm one of those pot not boiling if you watch it girls, so I mostly tried not to think about it. I guess technically the water boils, but you get my point.

he likes the stories with sad endings so I tell him our future
the one filled with silence, and no moving pictures.

quarter past

2008-03-24T21:11:00.000-07:00

I've left messages and some regrets
forget my faulty stubbornness
you're not the kind
that one wont let inside
a motel room
can't set a stage
for solid ground
with broken legs
I'm laughing now
with no one in the
room
you're tired of
the miles you face
is being here
some big mistake
I'm looking for a picture
in negatives
so what becomes of being wrong
no happy end
in sappy songs
I'm looking towards
the waste
and I found you
your loneliness is not a job
don't choose the path
of small town fraud
I'm waiting for the time
with broken clocks
the driver said I'm worse for wear
but I am best when unprepared
so take what you can get
but don't take long

don't take long

hopefully this is just a phase

2008-02-21T21:25:00.001-08:00

but I really don't feel like blogging anymore.

This night is shit. And I'll be damned if I'm going down alone.

no title

2008-02-21T21:21:00.000-08:00

I have officially exhausted all possibilities of dealing with you.
I no longer have the energy to talk you down from the ledge.
Anything and everything I say is thrown in my face.
I hate that I don't have a choice but to care for you when no one else will.

I am your rock.
And you're breaking me.

Your eyes have opened, but you've got to go on.

2008-02-19T18:18:00.000-08:00

first attempt, left permanence
bullet fragments, you were blessed
a patch to hide the emptiness
doctors writing your death sentence
years have passed, a tolerance
none could match your resilience
five whole days, a marriage vow
a year went by, she's pregnant now
the baby lives off nicotine
a xanax bar, no in-betweens
you swallowed whole which killed the time
chased the bottles with cheap red wine

shortened name, you're none the less
every part a coincidence
morphine comes from Morpheus
God of dreams, they do exist
Maybe now you've solved your pain
and who am I to now complain?

now that your gone, and best content
was this just all one big accident?

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club ~Promises

Modest Mouse ~Baby Blue Sedan

I have to find my hairbrush

2008-01-15T17:17:00.000-08:00

"You be him.

And I'll be her."

Driven by loss

2008-01-10T18:41:00.000-08:00

Have you ever had that feeling? The one where everything seems to have lined up in the stars, the pieces all falling into place, your head and heart filled with a lightness that you could never fully describe? You're utterly and completely content. Happy. You're drinking from a glass that is now absolutely full. No room for ill feelings. No trouble ahead on the horizon. And you know, in your heart of hearts, that this feeling will conquer all others.

Do me a favor.

Tell me how it feels.

Catherine Creek

2008-01-06T22:51:00.000-08:00

hopping on a train-
tracks keeps me on a sure path-
way to keep your head up-
side down is where my coin's stuck

stolen rock in a bank jar-
head's haven't come far-
away is looking close-
up for me, never had the luck

shoes are what I pictured you-
never know what to do-
something for yourself once-
I have a plan, I seem fuck it up

You with your switchblade posse, I'll get my guns from the South.

2007-12-25T20:41:00.000-08:00

Call me crazy, but I'm in a pretty good mood right now. Just got home from the family gathering, ate some tasty food, got some great gifts (which was quite the surprise), I'm synching up my new iPod touch, (that's right, ladies and gents, Nico has joined the "kool kids"), digging on some Brian Jonestown Massacre, having a beer and smoking my menthols. It's quite a change from the fuck all that was this past week. And really, it has been tough. I've been mind-fucked (is that a hyphenated word?) three ways 'til Sunday, stressing out about the big bad Holiday, sick as a dog, and just generally miserable. As you might have guessed from my last two posts. But for whatever reason, right now, I feel okay.

So, before I turn sour, I'll leave it at this. Here are some songs that always manage to get me to sing along, jump around wildly, dance like a dirty little tramp, act a fool, or just put me in a good mood. Enjoy.

Noir Desir- Vive la fete

Alala- CSS

When the lights go out- The Black Keys

Dance Hall- Modest Mouse

Four Kicks- Kings of Leon

Disgrace My- The Prick and the Burn

Owen Meany- Lagwagon

What's mine is yours- Sleater Kinney

Young Folks- Peter Bjorn and John

The next two songs are not my first choice for genre, and quite the departure from my usual posts, but they are dedicated to my dear, dear friend and comrade at work, Koke. (Whose hair has loosened a bit over the months, JG) You've been there for me through a lot of shit, and, I'll have to admit, can be quite the guilty pleasure for me if given enough drinks and the right setting. I'm a very open minded lass.

I'm so hood- Dj Khaled feat. T-Pain, Trick Daddy, Rick Ross, and Plies

She say she love me- E-40 feat. 8 ball and Bun B

And I will end with my favorite song to pole dance to. By one of my two favorite bands.

Red eyes and tears- BRMC

My only request is that you listen to them loudly, for the utmost pleasure and impact.
If possible.

I'm ready for whatever 2008 has to offer. After this past year, bring that shit on.

PS I send my love to all my fellow bloggers out there. Your words, photos and music have a permanent place in me now. And for that I am eternally grateful.

“We dance round in a ring and suppose, While the secret sits in the middle and knows”

2007-12-24T13:15:00.000-08:00

Oh, yes. It's another blog. But fear not, it will not be half as uncomfortable to read as the last one. Maybe.
Well I guess you could say that my title says it all. A secret. Something that is kept from others, either to protect yourself, or other parties involved. But what happens when there are no other parties? It's just you. And this....thing. This potentially awful, devastating tidbit that is slowly eating you away. Where do you turn when you feel that there is no one you can share with? Naturally I wont be sharing this information on here, but I would like a little feedback, if possible.

I'm running out of options, and time. (I don't mean to sound so damn dramatic, I mean, there is no bomb that I must dismantle or a whole school full of special needs children and a field of bunnies will die, but yeah, it's kind of important. Maybe just bunnies. No children)

Still like you more than life itself

2007-12-21T11:31:00.000-08:00

So it's gone, they say. Financial difficulties. A few voice-mails left to (now former) employees, changed locks, and you've shattered so much of me. I've read the articles, looked at the pictures, you abandoned now, no neon signs promising something you never imagined, and will never forget.

The Crocodile Cafe. Like so many other markers, you've been taken away. First it was the boys leaving the house, our house, then it was another house reduced to rubble. The house that kept knives in freezers, hearts in boxes, and Virginia Woolf until we couldn't keep our eyes open another moment. Guilt trips, missing friends, Rooster sauce and Fight Club smoking sex. It was all there. Next door was the Baby Blue. That you gave back. That was given back again. Let's re-gift our hearts one more time. This time, with feeling. Of course, like many occurrences that provoke such emotions, the closing of The Croc itself isn't what makes my heart ache. It's what it represented.

It was here that I snuck my twenty year old self in, practicing "the face" that was on the ID with you in the car. Coaching me. Laughing at me (but in a way that made me know you loved me all the more for it). It was at The Croc that I watched you up on stage, ever aware that she was in the back of the audience. Knowing that even though I was with you now, some of your songs were about her. But for a few moments it didn't matter. And again, nearly two years later, choking back my tears with benzos and gin and tonics, I shook her hand. Carefully avoiding looking at her ring finger. Because if I looked, it would make it real. And I wasn't (am still not) ready to accept that. Dancing and twirling around with the one who's "hair is mistaken for a personality", I tried my best. And now I was the ex-girlfriend. Maybe making someone else nervous. Smiling and singing along to every line in every song that I knew was about me. But like we always used to say, against all odds, we were going to make it. And where exactly have we made it? Are you truly happy? Have you filled that void hollowed out by career, creativity, and corruption? I sure as fuck haven't. Yeah, I'm getting along. I've got my job. I've got my two cats. I've got my best friend. I'm one step away from a Cathy Comic on my fridge. But you. It always comes back to you. And how does that make you feel? Does your mind wander away from you at night? Do you think about all the mistakes that were made and what could have been done differently? Do you think about the good times, with the jumping in your arms at the Drive In, standing close enough to make me nervous in the theater concession line, getting told you were going to be trouble? You probably do. We're just as fucked as the other. But maybe the roar has quitted for you now. On your way to a picket fence, golden retriever and the 2.5 kids.
So. The Crocodile. With your timely manner of shutting down right before what was going to be a hard enough holiday, you have managed to summon these horrific thoughts, feelings, closed eye slideshows, and tears that were happily brewing beneath the surface. True, it wasn't here that we got carried away by the crowd, and I said "Maybe". It wasn't here that my bank unknowingly gave us two blue stones. It wasn't here that we fought about old lovers, new crimes. It wasn't here that I smoked on the wrong side of the building because I knew you were there. It wasn't here that we had the last hotel room in the ruined city and a Champagne Room. And it definitely wasn't here that gave us that amazing view of freezing cold Seattle, set to the end of a song with beautiful violins. But you were so much. And, like so many parts of me, I'll never have you back.

So go on now. They're calling you back home. It's time to rest in peace. At least one of us should.

Sweet Suzy- The Croc

Shade of Blue- The Laundry Truck

Cowboy Dan- The Showbox

Howl- The way back from B&N

And on the 8th day...

2007-12-03T17:35:00.000-08:00

...He created opinions.

So I've come to face a lot of questions regarding my faith, religion, spirituality, etc., lately. Not neccessarily by someone directly asking me where I stand on things, more of circumstances around me pointing, time and time again, to make a decision or explain how, why, where, and who I believe in.

Growing up in a bi-polar religious house- my father, through guilt, mixed with the great hope to be a better person, often fell off the bible thumping band wagon, while my mother could not be less religious if she had in fact died, saw there was nothing, and came back to (not) tell the rest of us just how silly all of this "believing business" was, made for somwhat of a confusing childhood. Although I have to admit that my adult hood is proving to be much more confusing than quite a lot of my earlier years ever were.

I was a constant witness to my father's rants and raves regarding fire and brimstone, "I swear on the holy spirit" (which, to this day, he still says when making clear just how honest what he's about to say is), and the great glory and power of Jesus. He was raised an Irish Catholic in the fifties and sixties, one of six children (birth control's for the birds...) with a beaming set of raging alcoholic parents. Nothing out of the ordianary, really. I saw him off to that wonderful church time and time again, where he met a lovely young woman with whom he started an affair with. Swelll. I was so young at the time that I only vaguely recall how sad I was when he spent my 3rd Birthday with her, instead of at his mother's house where I had a wonderful party consisting of family and whatever friends a three year old might have (I'd say neighborhood kids, but considering I lived on the verge of Beverly Hills and the ghetto of Los Angeles, I wouldn't of been
surprised if one kid's parents bought me a pony, while another's went through my Grandmother's jewelry box while we cut the cake).
Only later in life did I learn that said woman in cahoots with my father actually got pregnant while my father was still married to my mother and -gasp!- had an abortion (funded by the collection plate, perhaps?) . That's what's so tricky about so many of those damn religions. Find yourself off of that soapbox, and you might have to actually carry out some of those judgements that you so easily pass on to other people. Tricky, indeed.

I would never intend to use my family to excuse or explain any of the beliefs (or lack there of) I harbor today in my adult llife. I must however explain that the example that is set before us, in such early development, shapes us in a way that, while not impossible to reverse, can be a bitch to deny.

Example: my take on marriage.
While some believe marriage to be the end all, be all of love and commitment, I just...don't...get it. I don't see it as a neccessary next step in the union of two people. For me. That's one thing I cannot stress enough. These are my beliefs. Right now. Peoples ideas and feelings change over time. Mine are still forming and shifting. But oddly enough, I don't feel it my responsibility to tell every damn person that asks. And more importantly, I do not look down on people that choose to get married (certain moral and biased feeling aside, mind you). Hell, it's more cake and Champagne for me.

Now my feelings on this are greatly impressioned by the relationship I witnessed being raised by my mom and dad. Those were not tears of sadness when, perched upon my sister's boyfriend's shitty couch I was told "mommy and daddy are getting a divorce" at 9 years old. Those were tears of joy, possibly mixed with some springtime allergies. I can't exactly recall the season.

The thing is, I knew my parents were not supposed to be together. At a very, very young age that became clear. And I was not one to waste sadness on the fact that my two, separately, loving parents were not going to be living together under one roof. I could've pushed that through long before they did, possibly saving us a whole lot of grief, and giving me more time to play at the beach where my father ultimately ended up getting an apartment after the split. I could have, if it were not for that pesky "being a toddler" thing that got in the way.
"Play in this dirty sand?! How dare you? I must be off to split up my parents and reap the rewards that it offers. Broken home, my ass."
The particular example shown to me by my parents planted a seed in my brain. A seed that, once shown that life was actually better with them apart, grew into a full blown "marriage isn't neccessary" plant.

But I severely digress. Obviously marriage isn't a sore subject for me whatsoever. Nope, not even a little bit.
In fact, I'm gonna get married just to prove that I'm okay with it....

....Gotcha.

**So I've been informed that I must have a soundtrack for such posts. This song speaks to me in a way that I can't describe. Or maybe I don't have the energy too. I'll let it do the talking for me.
Bankrupt on Selling

Writings of yore.

2007-12-02T15:55:00.001-08:00

Sitting at a bar, taking shots and sipping karma. Tip your hat to the barback, Drama.

Hands on knees, and shaking hearts. It's hard to tell you two apart. He's a fan of old time language, fancy words to make us cave in. Other's just begining, wet brown eyes, and lies forgiven. Runner up must push much harder, turning hearts towards writing martyrs. She's regift special, one man's treasure. Breaking bones, you'll never bend her. Sorry's used and gone home early, charming's tired of mocking friendly. Call a name and stick the landing, beg off lonely, big pretending. Giving rings and paper weights, loving love for your lovers sake. Such a shame, a shining star. Freezing hands in old gold cars.

Lollygagging

2007-11-21T12:48:00.001-08:00

I'm currently visiting family in Los Angeles, getting ready for the holiday in the mountians. My blogs have been non-existent lately, and for my four readers, I apologize. But I must be going now.

Off to drink expensive Champagne, eat inappropriate amounts of food, and spend time with my wildly dysfunctional family.

And that's what I'm thankful for.

Working on shenanigans..

2007-10-25T20:53:00.000-07:00

P.S. I am still working on my challenge, Colin. I'm waiting for someone to email me back with help on posting music on here.

That, and there are just so many dysfuctional memories to choose from.

Syncope, schimcope

2007-10-25T20:05:00.000-07:00

Ya know, working at a doctor's office really has it's perks. I get to work with great, intelligent people. I help people on a daily basis. And hell, drug reps bring free lunch and breakfast twice a week.
But the best perk in my opinion: having immediate help when your face goes pallid, your heart starts beating, well, not like a normal heart should beat, and you feel as if you're going to pass out and die.

Now, having to deal with anxiety and panic attacks for about 10 years now, I've developed coping skills when I start to feel it coming on. I'm on medication that has helped greatly. But the viscious cycle that is panic, unusual things like palpatations and shortness of breath can cause a panic attack, which will in turn intensify those same feelings that made you panic in the first place. Pretty much, it's awesome. You should try it sometime.

But this was different. It was not like the begining of a panic attack. My little heart flutter (that happens from time to time. Which, again, I've learned to talk myself out of) lasted a bit longer than usual. Then the whole feeling like I can't breath started (which is when I retreated to the floor, the best sounding place at the time). My good friend and lab partner told me to sit down, then told me she was going to get someone to look at me. Apparently, she was not a fan of how I was looking. I was half carried into a room and pampered by friends who are MAs in the clinic. After bouts of getting my blood pressure, oxygen levels, and pulse taken, I was given a note by a one of my favorite doctors (RD, for JG) to go home for the day.

I got some blood taken, and upon returning to the lab to grab my belongings, my friend told me "if you ever scare me like that again, I'm gonna punch you in the face."

We're friends like that. Yet another reason why I love where I work.

That, and the company paid for my cab ride home.

Robbing Peter to pay Paul

2007-10-14T23:15:00.000-07:00

I'd blog about what an absolutely shitty and sad weekend I've had, but it's still actually sad and has not transformed into witty, ironic sarcastic sad.

Give it a few days.

Addendum

2007-10-10T21:06:00.000-07:00

The title of my last post comes from an amazing song from an amazing band called Interpol.
I will be seeing them on the 18th.

P.S. addition: I will be going to this show solo, so if anyone would care to join me, it would be fabulous. I'm a lovely person to catch a show with :)

Urge in the icebox

2007-10-10T17:38:00.000-07:00

The ever reliable changing of the seasons have begun. And try as I might, I cannot free myself of introspection right now. It happens around this time every year. But none stronger since I came back from New Orleans close to two years ago. With something that occupies almost every thought, you'd think it would come naturally to write about it. But on the contrary, it takes up so much space that it's almost impossible to start. I had to force myself to start this blog. In part, because I'm afraid that once I start, I wont know how to end it. And so I write with no conscious idea of where this will go. And honestly, that makes me uncomfortable. I guess now is as good as time as any to begin though.

Warning: This blog may be treacherously long and maybe boring to some, so feel free to skip around and/or not read it at all.
My feelings wont be hurt.

Long distance relationships. Love them or loathe them, at some point in time some people are put into a situation where the person they love (or yourself) are tens, hundreds, or thousands of miles away. Two years ago I was at the hundreds mark. I was working a steady job as a Front Desk Representative ( I used caps to make it sound more important than it really was) at a hotel in Lower Queen Anne. I was in a serious relationship with someone who had moved to Eastern Oregon to pursue their career in a small town where the street lights went out at 11 and blinked yellow. I had my own (albeit, shitty) apartment run by a slumlord. I was making due.

Enter Hurricane Katrina.

One day I get a call from my boyfriend telling me he had the opportunity to drive cross-country to New Orleans with his best friend and a new friend whose father has one of the only mobile laundry trucks in the US. Turns out the ever helpful FEMA contacted him and proposed that he and a few helpers drive to New Orleans and do laundry for various police, military, and organizations in the area. I'm not going to lie. There was a lot of money involved with the deal. Problem was, my boyfriend had about 30 minutes to make this potentially life changing decision. I was excited for him and the opportunity and encouraged him to take advantage of it. Of course I was worried. This all happened while the damage was very fresh. Flooded cities, floating bodies, looting, etc. I can't remember how many times I told him not to drink the water.

So he set off on his adventure, while I continued to check in elderly retired couples and listen to them complain about the hot water situation at 7 in the morning. And I'll admit, for as much as I was excited for him, a part of me was jealous. Not jealous of him, but jealous because I so wanted to do something important. I wanted to make a difference in peoples lives. I wanted to live in the ruins and live to see it written into the history book and tell my grandchildren "Yeah, I was there." Well, that chance came roughly two weeks later when I got a call from my boyfriend telling me that they needed an extra person and he did his best to "sell" me to Duane, the owner of the whole operation. Well, he must have done a good job, becuase I was invited to join them. I was on a break at work at the time. I went inside, told my boss what was going on and that I needed to leave in a week. Luckily we were good friends, so this went smoothly. I packed up my crappy studio apartment, put my whole life in storage and stayed at my Mom's house until I could find a flight that would get me near my destination.

It was the first time that I was making a huge life decision on my own. I was terrified, but more than anything I was amazed. Amazed that this was actually going to happen. Amazed that I had no real second thoughts about leaving my job, my apartment, my family, everything, to go and do something that was bigger than my little existance here in Seattle.

I was finally ready. Of course I had no idea how many things would happen while I was there, all the things I would learn, lose, and ultimately, later, regret. But the good turned out to far outweigh the bad, and there's not a moment where I would take going back.

So here is where this chapter must end. Turns out this might have to be somewhat of a series after all. There is too much. Stay tuned for my next installment.

After all, what's life without a little anticipation?

8 days a week

2007-09-04T18:25:00.000-07:00

Trading in a good nights sleep for pilfered beer, Sex and the City, a little self reflection and one too many menthol cigarettes, I've come to the realization that I might not have a clue about many things in life. Most everything I have learned has been layered beneath doubt, snap decisions, even snappier judgements, and a desperate need to find whatever it is that will make me a whole person. With the myriad of fixes out there, whether it be religion, enlightenment, love, lust, family, children, drugs or even solitude, it's difficult to pin down exactly where the ultimate comfort lies. If after searching diligently through the closet of perfection, and finding that nothing really fits the way it should, where is there to go from there? They say that insanity is repeating the same task and expecting different results. But if you gain even the smallest amount of insight or knowledge from these tasks, maybe they're not all in vain.

Unfortunately there is no handy dandy instruction manual with bold type, bulleted points of useful information and a neat table of contents to skip to the pages that are most applicable to yourself.
o Death of a family member, page 42, check
o Crazy family (I don't actually have page numbers to reference due to the fact that I wrote a whole separate addendum)
o Heartbreak, pages 19, 167, and 227 through 316, check, check, and check
o Career indecision, page 56, still highlighting
o What the hell is wrong with you, why are you still reading this book? It's not even a real book you whack job, getting there

If you really delve deep into it, being borderline self desructively self analytical can be quite...calming. Who better to tell you what is missing from your life than yourself? If everyone practiced what they preached, it would be a painfully dull world. We need that break in normalcy to gauge what level of efficacy other's practices would have on our lives.

Being the person that I've grown up (I use that expression lightly, of course) to be, I'm wondering more and more about the little connections in life that we are presented with. Where do we draw the line, without wearing out the welcome of either party involved. Usually it's too late, and good ol' hindsight rears it's ugly head to remind us, with caustic clarity, where the line could have been drawn for ultimate positive impact. Whether I blame genetics, my environment, or my astrological sign, I continue to be the same person no matter where I've traveled. By no means do I intent to diminish the effect that such events have on myself and my peers. You take what you can from these experiences, pile them atop years of callused misfortunes, hoping to come out the other side a little more clear. Like a salve. For mistakes, bad judgement, or even that small nagging feeling that you could have done something different.

And really, it seems so simple. Do good, give good, and receive good. It's those tricky curveballs that throw us onto an entirely different path, rife with the possibilites of another chance. And many of them. If you truly learned from the mistakes in your past, then why is it so easy to pick at the scabs of the unhealthy choices? Dressing the wounds gives you purpose. It's a fleeting moment of tranquility. And yet we still travel backwards, again and again, hoping to make this one really count. And when your options have run dry, it's too easy to pick up another. Stuck in the purgatory of "this time will be diffferent", you trick yourself into believing it. The circumstances may have changed, the scenery new, but ultimately, it's just you. Trying to do what you can to survive without using all of your allotted takes.

Free will's a bitch if you're not careful. You just might end up finding what really makes you happy.

And how boring would that be?

In every house where I come I will enter only for the good of my patients

2007-08-21T17:39:00.000-07:00

Imagine for a moment that you are a young woman, (again, the penises, so young man for those of you that read this), contemplating your career and future. You've always had a knack for the medical field, could out smart the latest version of PDR Prescription Drug Guide, can fake customer service better than Ol' "Luscious" at the Lusty Lady, and helping people is something that is very organic to you.
After a somewhat nomadic summer, with more than your fair share of rough patches, you decide to buckle down and really do something with your life. You have clarity, focus, drive, and something you haven't felt in far too long: pride. After some deliberation regarding small things such as thousands of dollars, loans, a place to live and working full time, you make -gasp!- a decision and embark on what will hopefully be only the beginning of your journey into the rest of your life.

Fast forward one year and 3 months later. Your foot hurts from the spider bite wound that is relentlessly reopened by your sneakers that you are constantly walking/jogging/running in , you have 6 doctors and six MAs barging into your workspace all demanding important, absolutely cannot wait information, a screaming 3 day old baby awaiting you down the hall to take a very sharp lancet to it's fresh heal, squeezing and squeezing for the bare minimum of blood for whatever test is being performed so you don't have to explain to the doctor the next morning that the patient will have to come back and get poked again. That's a look you don't want from a doctor. That you work with and see on a daily basis. (Here I must thank Juan for never having many (if any?) babies for me to inflict pain upon..And later break the terrible news to...)

When I started out in phlebotomy, I'm not sure I knew where I was headed. Between the obnoxious heartbreak, confusing career choices ahead of me, spending more time on a Greyhound than the majority of America's Most Wanted (I'm positive I spotted a few on there), and the general unsettled feeling I had, I mostly just had to finally make up my mind about something. I'm that wonderful rare (or too rare, unfortunately) breed that postpones any decision involving major life changes until the choice is almost made for me. I was definitely seeking stability. But couple that with a fear of commitment, and you get the wacky world of what I do for a living. Nothing says "I want a career in the medical field, but I don't want to go to school for four years and give up my life just to make a decent living and do what might really make me happy" like 3 months at a medical vocational college. Not that I'm ungrateful. If it were not for the the path I chose, I wouldn't have many of the people that I value in my life today. But that's getting a little touchy feely for me. I'm too sardonic for such pleasantries. Pretty much Lab Assistants are at the bottom of that age old "shit rolls downhill" hill. I'm constantly fighting that nagging feeling that I'm too good for this line of work. Too smart. Too.... narcissistic, apparently.

But ultimately I have to remind myself that I'm apart of "the greater good". I'm doing work that helps people. That can lead to their well being and allow them to lead the happy lives they deserve.

I just wish it didn't make me feel so ill in the process.

Next time you visit your family doc, and you're fed up with waiting for what seems forever to be seen, have your blood drawn, or try and convince them how bad your "back pain" is for that sweet Rx, take a moment to think about all of the people that go into keeping health care running.

After all, it is possible to make that needle just a little bit more dull.

Quit being such a baby

2007-08-17T21:27:00.000-07:00

Depending on your relationship with the guest of honor, a baby shower can be an exciting experience full of good food, dear friends, silly games and ooohs and aaahhhs as presents are opened and moments are captured that will live on for years to come. Or, it can be an awkward gathering of semi-aquanitences, perfect strangers, forced conversation, whispers of who slept with whos ex, and looking at the clock on your cell phone wondering when it was exactly that time, did indeed, stop.

Tonight happened to be the Twilight Zone perfect combination of both. Falling in and out of my comfort zone throughout the night, I mostly stuck to my best friend that is a new mother herself. (And yes, we were the ones whispering about who fucked who while so and so were still dating them. I was surrounded by pink paper plates and teeny tiny plastic babies for Christ's sake, I gotta have something).

Moving on. Arriving with no gift in hand other than a six pack of fine ale for myself ( a sure fire way to not be invited to another baby bash), I popped open a beer with my trusty lighter (one of the many useful family practices passed onto me) and began to people watch. Now I don't consider myself so much as judgemental, as I do more of an inner dialouge life coach. If those around took to heart even half of what I said to myself about them, they would live mucher fuller lives. Here is quick peek at one conversation I had the pleasure of participating in (mind you, this was someone I had never met in my life):
Me: "So do you have any children?" (asked to a girl who looked, oh, say, about 17)
Girl: "No, but I might be pregnant."
Me: "Oh. Right now?" (it was the only thing I could think to say other than "Oh, go kill yourself")
Girl: "Yeah."
Me: "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" (I get nosey when I'm bored. Or hungry. Or awake.)
Girl: "Ex-boyfriend. Court order" (is that somehow an explanation? Anyway, I took it as 'bad', and steered the conversation in that direction)
Me: "Ouch. I'm sorry. So is the court order for...........?"
Girl: "Against the boyfriend. I just hope I find out before my court date next week. (What? Why??) He _____________________ (this is the critical point of the conversation that was so very unfortunately blocked out by me making sure the cigarette I stomped out hadn't attatched itself to my new pair of platform peeptoe heels.) It was his 21st birthday and he got all fucked up and my cousin who was there had to call my dad at 4:30 in the morning to come get me and he called the cops on him. And that was 3 days after I got in a really bad car accident."
Me: "Is that your natural hair color, because women pay hundreds to get those highlights."
End scene. I decided to not vomit up all of my opinions of her terrible life. How she shouldn't be having sex with some possible woman beating inbreed. How she should value herself more and not sink to the level of her "I need to have sex with an older guy because my dad never loved me as a child and when he hits me it's only because he loves me and gets a little jealous sometimes" cronies. How she should under no circumstances be wearing that shaphire shirt that looks as if a wild animal had picked up the scent of raw meat on her back and attacked her with the intent to kill. And, more importantly, if she does decide to wear such shirt, to not wear a white bra that is very clearly seen through the claw marks across her back.

After that gem of a learning experience, I headed back inside to clear my head, take a percocet, and participate in the games of the evening. I don't know how many of you have been to a baby shower (considering that the four readers I have have penises, I'm guessing no, but I'll go on nonetheless), but there is one special game in which the knocked up honeree (or one of her minions) takes several different chocolate bars, melts them down, and places each in it's own diaper. The guests then have the special task of guessing what type of candy is in each diaper by looking, smelling, or tasting the contents. I don't really know (or want to know for that matter) what this says about me, but I fucking schooled in that game. Hey, winning is winning. And I took home some great Bath and Body Works cranberry lotion, shower gel and soap for my faux shit diaper skills.

All in all, I can't really complain about the night. There were some fun moments. And it was nice to see my friend all pregnant and glowy.

But just for the record, if I ever have a baby shower, you can bet your ass you'll be waking up the next morning with half of your clothes missing, nursing a wicked hangover, wishing you could remember all of the amazing things that happened the night before.

Shaking hands with hands that shake

2007-08-16T22:00:00.000-07:00

"God gave me a girl so I wouldn't kill myself."

This is one of the first of many pearls of wisdom I remember my father telling me as a young girl. Now here I am, some 19 to 20 years later, reaching out on my own to connect to someone that has seem to make it his purpose to throw in the towel on life.

Roughly 9 years ago I moved to Seattle from Los Angeles with my mother who remarried. About 1 year after that my dad told me he had Parkinson's Disease. It obviously affected me, but other than explaining some of his weird idiosyncrasies, (tripping for no reason, waking up to a soaking wet pillow every morning) it more or less was just another affliction to add to his ever growing "life shits on me" list. A devoted Christian, alcoholic, and pill popper, my dad had somehow over the course of 8 years transformed from a borderline ego-maniacle gym enthusiast, adrenaline junkie to a man that lived in an RV, remote in one hand, pale ale in the other, talking to his cat as if it were a human. Not that I'm judging feline conversations here. If there were a fly on my wall, I suppose some would find my interaction with my own cat less than normal. But I'm not one being judged here. That's my job.

In a recent effort to make a difference in the lives of others, while making myself seem less selfish, I have decided to offer my time and assistance at the annual Parkinson's Disease Symposium hosted at the Seattle Hilton. I don't really know what sparked my sudden interest in volunteering, or why I chose a Parkinson's related event as opposed to say, doling out broth to the local homeless, handing out second hand teddy bears to children that have half a face, or some other worth while cause, but I do know that, sadly, part of me is doing it to say "I volunteed at the 2007 Parkinson's Disease Symposium. Look how wonderfully caring and selfless I am! Aren't you jealous of how much I give to the community??". Of course, the majority of that conversation would be internal, but that's between me and my ego.

It's not that I only care about what others think of me, it's just a good gauge on how worthwhile of a person you are. Of couse I love myself, I just happen to love myself a little more when people around me make sure to tell me how much they admire what I've done.

Which leads me to think of so called good deeds as a whole. How do you know what you are doing is completely selfless? That swelling feeling inside of pride and accomplishment you feel is in itself a reward for whatever you have done. Do you have to strip away all comfort to actually obtain true selflessness? And if so, when you hit rock bottom and offer everything in your power to help those around you, isn't there only one way to go from there?

You go up. You go up that podium, accept the award for all the amazing time, money and effort you have given, and smile for the camera taking your picture for the front page of the paper. And maybe some little girl out there seeing your face will go home that night practicing her acceptance speech in front of her mirror, using her hairbrush as the goldplated statuette, smiling for all the world to see, wanting nothing more than to appear to the world as a good, caring, selfless woman.

Just like you.