I am currently way high in the air... it goes dark pretty fast when you board at dusk and fly away from the sun. Flying out of San Francisco is something I have done many times, but only today have I been on a flight that takes me over Ocean Beach and around the perimeter of the city- beautiful. Subjective, though.
Aside from a few flies in my ointment- like my new bag not only being too big to carry-on, but newly broken after the first use. I remained positive as I shipped my American phone to the family who got it for me and once again, became phone-less. I spoke to my ex for the last time in a long time, only to have it affirmed that it's best that I move by a conversation that just left me drained... I write this knowing he wont read it, even if I sent it to him- he probably wouldn't. Bless his heart.
I was in the airport when two British chaps walked by, talking- I loved their accents. I must admit, I was particularly attracted to one, he wore a blue blazer and brown shoes- sharp features- probably a poof. I reminded myself of his likely sexual orientation as I approached the gate and found we were both boarding last. Maybe we would have talked if he wasn’t with his male companion (fucking poofs). Low and behold, they were seated right behind me and they do like to carry on in a laughing way. I enjoy listening to their accents and begin anticipating London even more. I quickly realize they aren’t poofs, but probably date rapers... or something. The most obscenely derogatory motor boating you will hear, will come from Hugh Grant or some bloke. It is a very disappointing realization, to realize that the first co-ed interest I have had since the phone call with my disappointing ex, is in fact, worst than my lazy sweetheart. I am still over him, in the way that I must be. Perhaps, if this fellow behind me compliments my hair and forever lives to make up for his misogynistic ways, I will marry him. Perhaps.
The woman next to me doesn’t speak English, I think she’s Russian, if I am recognizing the text of what she’s reading... I barely recognize US capitols, so who knows. (rhetorical- she probably knows, but the language barrier)
I am trying to figure out the best way to prevent jet-lag, it’s about three in the morning in London now, so I really should be asleep... I took a quarter of a Valium, but I am like an angry rhinoceros, it seems. I may need another dart before I can be mounted by the sandman... or the bloke behind me. I just ordered a red wine and wasn’t charged... I guess that’s covered in the $250 over seas tax. I wish this whole plane was at a retreat getting to know one another, so I could just feel out who my new friends were going to be. Probably comics, and shitty friends at that, but I prefer being alone anyway.
The Russian is really going after her dinner.... it’s a salad cup, so I can’t blame her. Everyone seems to be talking because food is in front of them. I got my dinner 40 minutes ago because I ordered a specialty meal, now I am free to drink my wine and listen to the bustling conversation with two adorable rapists. I talked to him briefly about my seat being back and I could tell, he would totally rape me- I just got my lashes tinted and nails done. He wont rob me though, I bought a ultra-secure money belt. World Traveler over here!
I put my headphones back in because I got my wine and this band (Chain Gangs Of 1974) helps me stay in my own power. When you don’t understand English, that has to be really scary- this Russian woman actually seems stupid, but she just doesn’t know the language. My friend, Ula, is Polish. In Poland she had a lot of academic accomplishments, but in America she is just really good looking. I love her and I like this Russian woman. I am helping her with the flight attendants when they come around with their snotty accents, demanding she must know what ‘seat belt’ means, by using hand signals. I know that, in case of a crash, I will save her- after I make sure that my lap top makes it out.
My eyes are going out of focus as the wine begins to unlock The Secret Scroll Of Valium: Ancient Wisdoms On Making Yourself A Vulnerable Target For The Blokes Sitting Behind You. I think I will be napping as soon as I can put my seat back, which will involve me talking to Mr. Belvedere for another “convo” to see if I can yet.
Me: Are you done with your meal? May I put my seat back now?
Him: Yes, thank you.
Me: [turns away muttering] If you shower I will make a bidet of my mouth.
Him: [hand gesturing to his friend a blow job]
Poofs. It was never meant to be. Wish I had more Valium so I could just die now- a 29 year old spinster. Oh my! Not even to London and I am sounding like Bridget Jones... How promising... mainly because I am only moments from snagging Colin Firth and becoming Queen Of England. I am not sure I am ready for the responsibilities of a monarchy. I hardly want to be ‘People Magazine’ famous anymore, now that I am older... Hmmm, maybe I can wear a prosthetic mask or something. I should really nap. These should get better.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
Cat Baths and Other Falseties.
Starbucks, here I am, like I were 19 and didn’t know what good coffee tastes like.
I sit here, under the assumption that I am going to write jokes to perform on stage later tonight and in the future. The last couple efforts I have made to write jokes didn’t pan out as fruitfully as I would have hoped, so now I feel the procrastination set in. People didn’t laugh at the image of me bathing with my pets and I don’t have pets so it seems I am just a hollow shape of authenticity. I PRETEND TOO MUCH!
When I started comedy, I was so excited to perform and write. That isn’t saying that I am not anymore, but I am also in transit. I am about to go to Europe where my jokes might not hold any water. The only thing worse than a sopping wet sponge is a bone-dry one, especially when you’re trying to gather crumbs. I have a small handful of shows before I leave this country and I feel a lack of confidence that cripples my inspiration. I worked to write and alleviate this with the brute force of optimism only to find myself on a make shift stage in front of a room filled with trendy pedestrians wearing the “prove it” face that drains all fun from everything in life. So, this is my reeling, my recovery. Tonight could be better and should be, but what will I do? Not as much new stuff as I did Wednesday... shame on me.
My relationship with performance is bitter sweet at this point, I don’t know what I am doing and need to be working harder to solidify my successful performance ratio. My bad sets aren’t awful, but I want to feel consistently comfortable for 10 minutes, all the way through. No one knows how my knees shake at times, which would be fine, if I didn’t know how brazen and fearless I could be.
I guess I am just at the beginning of a road unknown. I look down the road with a back pack filled with items of undefined relevance. I am fretting about working for the immediate, not knowing how the future will look. I am not giving up on myself, but I am seriously questioning my qualifications. I want to strengthen the areas that stand to grow and develop, as opposed to clinging to some archaic belief of what worth looks like.
I want to be funny, but I don’t want hunger to envelope the lightness of approach. I don’t think I am desperate, but I am in transition and I don’t feel fully actualized or secure in what I am doing. I am writing, to write and watch where this takes me. I will go on stage tonight and see what permanence is placed on this mold as a result. I could feel amazing and in tuned with whatever guides this urge or I could get some free pizza or something.
I sit here, under the assumption that I am going to write jokes to perform on stage later tonight and in the future. The last couple efforts I have made to write jokes didn’t pan out as fruitfully as I would have hoped, so now I feel the procrastination set in. People didn’t laugh at the image of me bathing with my pets and I don’t have pets so it seems I am just a hollow shape of authenticity. I PRETEND TOO MUCH!
When I started comedy, I was so excited to perform and write. That isn’t saying that I am not anymore, but I am also in transit. I am about to go to Europe where my jokes might not hold any water. The only thing worse than a sopping wet sponge is a bone-dry one, especially when you’re trying to gather crumbs. I have a small handful of shows before I leave this country and I feel a lack of confidence that cripples my inspiration. I worked to write and alleviate this with the brute force of optimism only to find myself on a make shift stage in front of a room filled with trendy pedestrians wearing the “prove it” face that drains all fun from everything in life. So, this is my reeling, my recovery. Tonight could be better and should be, but what will I do? Not as much new stuff as I did Wednesday... shame on me.
My relationship with performance is bitter sweet at this point, I don’t know what I am doing and need to be working harder to solidify my successful performance ratio. My bad sets aren’t awful, but I want to feel consistently comfortable for 10 minutes, all the way through. No one knows how my knees shake at times, which would be fine, if I didn’t know how brazen and fearless I could be.
I guess I am just at the beginning of a road unknown. I look down the road with a back pack filled with items of undefined relevance. I am fretting about working for the immediate, not knowing how the future will look. I am not giving up on myself, but I am seriously questioning my qualifications. I want to strengthen the areas that stand to grow and develop, as opposed to clinging to some archaic belief of what worth looks like.
I want to be funny, but I don’t want hunger to envelope the lightness of approach. I don’t think I am desperate, but I am in transition and I don’t feel fully actualized or secure in what I am doing. I am writing, to write and watch where this takes me. I will go on stage tonight and see what permanence is placed on this mold as a result. I could feel amazing and in tuned with whatever guides this urge or I could get some free pizza or something.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
The Oregon Coast Diaries.
Driving back from Cannon Beach, OR. Had my first cup of coffee in months which makes me think I am a strong writer... perhaps even brilliant. My driver/ friend is telling me his brilliant ideas for screenplays, which sound brilliant to me... it’s like we are both on caffeine. We are and why not? It's bril.
Ideas, how do you put the work behind them to make them functional? Even if you do make them function, there is no guarantee that they will become anything more than random accomplishments. That is no reason to not walk in the functional direction, right? Perhaps it will lead you to the next piece and everything will feel aligned eventually. Maybe I should meditate.
Most everything I write seems to be aimed at humor, like something silly, irreverent and ridiculous means more than the other aspects of my personality. I’ve been hanging out with comedians too long. I try to avoid seeming too righteous or preachy, but I am... I am totally pretentious. I wish I weren’t, because I see people who put other people at ease and there seems to be a better quality of life there. Grass is always greener on the other side, but learning how to better my landscape doesn't have to leave me longing for the out of reach.
I used to make fun of my mom for how dysfunctional she was and eighty percent of the time, it worked, she laughed and I felt like I had a voice. Twenty percent of the time, I struck a nerve and even though it was true, didn’t make it funny to her. That twenty percent got me into foster care, but that’s over... it’s like it didn’t even happen, so I don’t know why I try to draw water from that desert bed. Habitual pride in the “wrong” that happened in your youth, which entitles you to righteousness. I liken an abusive childhood and foster care to being a racial minority and the pride you feel identifying with something that separates you from other people. Even while I write this, I imagine people collectively validating me by admiring my transparency. “She’s so aware.” I started this paragraph to explain where I learned how to pick people apart or why I think I do it. The tendency could also be born out of a general dissatisfaction with the way my own life is going.
I am running out of money and still have so much to spend. I am nervous, but mostly just overwhelmed by life. I am on a physical journey across the world, but my destination is to grow into that person who can listen without wanting to change what she deems wrong with other people. To recognize where I'm at and what I have to do with out a monochromatic label. To be okay getting out of a routine and being at ease with experiencing life. I understand how it seems like I am new aging here; silver “wisdom streaks” and majestic crows feet, physical traces of "life’s beauty". Just being able to trust myself and giving my ear graciously to other peoples’ stories without thinking about what I can interject to be right. Giving up the idea of “winning”.
Can this be my destination and also, can life give me a killer deal on some airfare? Not figuratively, but to Europe... I've been waiting to buy the "right" ticket and may just need to splurge.
Ideas, how do you put the work behind them to make them functional? Even if you do make them function, there is no guarantee that they will become anything more than random accomplishments. That is no reason to not walk in the functional direction, right? Perhaps it will lead you to the next piece and everything will feel aligned eventually. Maybe I should meditate.
Most everything I write seems to be aimed at humor, like something silly, irreverent and ridiculous means more than the other aspects of my personality. I’ve been hanging out with comedians too long. I try to avoid seeming too righteous or preachy, but I am... I am totally pretentious. I wish I weren’t, because I see people who put other people at ease and there seems to be a better quality of life there. Grass is always greener on the other side, but learning how to better my landscape doesn't have to leave me longing for the out of reach.
I used to make fun of my mom for how dysfunctional she was and eighty percent of the time, it worked, she laughed and I felt like I had a voice. Twenty percent of the time, I struck a nerve and even though it was true, didn’t make it funny to her. That twenty percent got me into foster care, but that’s over... it’s like it didn’t even happen, so I don’t know why I try to draw water from that desert bed. Habitual pride in the “wrong” that happened in your youth, which entitles you to righteousness. I liken an abusive childhood and foster care to being a racial minority and the pride you feel identifying with something that separates you from other people. Even while I write this, I imagine people collectively validating me by admiring my transparency. “She’s so aware.” I started this paragraph to explain where I learned how to pick people apart or why I think I do it. The tendency could also be born out of a general dissatisfaction with the way my own life is going.
I am running out of money and still have so much to spend. I am nervous, but mostly just overwhelmed by life. I am on a physical journey across the world, but my destination is to grow into that person who can listen without wanting to change what she deems wrong with other people. To recognize where I'm at and what I have to do with out a monochromatic label. To be okay getting out of a routine and being at ease with experiencing life. I understand how it seems like I am new aging here; silver “wisdom streaks” and majestic crows feet, physical traces of "life’s beauty". Just being able to trust myself and giving my ear graciously to other peoples’ stories without thinking about what I can interject to be right. Giving up the idea of “winning”.
Can this be my destination and also, can life give me a killer deal on some airfare? Not figuratively, but to Europe... I've been waiting to buy the "right" ticket and may just need to splurge.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Recopy
I put this on my momwantsmedead blog, but it is about travel, so I will post it here as well... because it's about my traveling adventures.
Hey everyone! Greyhound has free wifi, so I am VIRTUALLY cruising.
There was actually one seat left on this hub of a hot spot and it is right next to the toilet! How convenient... well, not right next. I have two heavy-boy-bookends, who have probably robbed something... like my personal space! It’s okay, though because I was so lonely in my early twenties, that now it just feels like soul mates. Also, it's a great exercise in being assertive, something I have never had an issue with.
me: “are you awake now?”
ex-con: “huh?”
me: “yeah, I’m going to need my seat back because my thighs are sweating too much by being forced so close together.”
x: “you got any R&B on your iPod”
me: “I have a little, why, you want to listen to my iPod?”
x: “yeah”
me: “you can’t.”
x: “why?”
me: “because it’s mine and I’m using it.”
Stop talking to me while I have headphones in, people!
So, you might think I am complaining- I am just illustrating that these people are out there. The terrorists need to know what to attack next. Hey TERRORISTS, you’re wasting your time trying to get back on airplanes... all the WORST people are on the Greyhound and there is absolutely no security! I am only telling you this, because I will never ride on one again.
Another strong point was that I was doing a show right after I got off the Greyhound that night and I was on the phone with my friend, who was picking me up, when I mentioned something about the show... Little did I know that ears are EVERYWHERE on a Greyhound, just dying to talk to me about MY LIFE!
passenger: “I couldn’t help but strain to hear your muffled, but brief conversation... did you say you were doing a show?”
me: “yes, I did.”
passenger: “what kind of show? What do you do- are you an actress?”
me: “a comedian.”
passenger: “COOL.”
Here’s the thing about being a comedian, I don’t want anybody I don’t know to know about that. So now, the whole back of the bus knows this about me to the point that I get asked "where are your smiles?!"
“OH MY SMILES?! Is my face an unpleasant backdrop to this joyously delayed trip in the heaven wagon?! Why, they must have been SQUEEZED out of me by the two beef patties in this backseat burger! OR they were fumigated out by the facilities half a midget away from me."
Speaking of small children, yes- one is screaming 3.5 feet away from me. How can I think?! I CAN’T and that’s how Greyhound likes their customers: mindless. So I am doing a fine job fitting in and luckily it's getting dark.
Outside the bus, during a pit stop, my future agent/ the inquisitive eavesdropping passenger is asking even more questions:
passenger: “are you famous?”
me: “no”
passenger: “oh, well you get paid, though.”
Not really, but I didn’t have the heart to break it to this star struck kid, who couldn't handle the reality of doing something for nothing while he was still under the impression that a famous person might be sitting behind him on a bus in the middle of Colorado. Only somebody who rides a Greyhound bus could possibly think that someone famous might be riding the Greyhound bus.
Anyway, a 2 hour and 50 minute bus ride is going on 6 hours, but at least I have a scarf to bury my face in when I see someone get up to use my bedside-public toilet. When I see someone coming, that's when I fart real hard, because- why not?!
I would continue writing but this 6'5' giant is reading over my shoulder and where his eyes go, his legs follow, so if I want to walk again I better shut this lap top... I don't think he can read so much as he is waiting for pictures to show up on this "book".
Hey everyone! Greyhound has free wifi, so I am VIRTUALLY cruising.
There was actually one seat left on this hub of a hot spot and it is right next to the toilet! How convenient... well, not right next. I have two heavy-boy-bookends, who have probably robbed something... like my personal space! It’s okay, though because I was so lonely in my early twenties, that now it just feels like soul mates. Also, it's a great exercise in being assertive, something I have never had an issue with.
me: “are you awake now?”
ex-con: “huh?”
me: “yeah, I’m going to need my seat back because my thighs are sweating too much by being forced so close together.”
x: “you got any R&B on your iPod”
me: “I have a little, why, you want to listen to my iPod?”
x: “yeah”
me: “you can’t.”
x: “why?”
me: “because it’s mine and I’m using it.”
Stop talking to me while I have headphones in, people!
So, you might think I am complaining- I am just illustrating that these people are out there. The terrorists need to know what to attack next. Hey TERRORISTS, you’re wasting your time trying to get back on airplanes... all the WORST people are on the Greyhound and there is absolutely no security! I am only telling you this, because I will never ride on one again.
Another strong point was that I was doing a show right after I got off the Greyhound that night and I was on the phone with my friend, who was picking me up, when I mentioned something about the show... Little did I know that ears are EVERYWHERE on a Greyhound, just dying to talk to me about MY LIFE!
passenger: “I couldn’t help but strain to hear your muffled, but brief conversation... did you say you were doing a show?”
me: “yes, I did.”
passenger: “what kind of show? What do you do- are you an actress?”
me: “a comedian.”
passenger: “COOL.”
Here’s the thing about being a comedian, I don’t want anybody I don’t know to know about that. So now, the whole back of the bus knows this about me to the point that I get asked "where are your smiles?!"
“OH MY SMILES?! Is my face an unpleasant backdrop to this joyously delayed trip in the heaven wagon?! Why, they must have been SQUEEZED out of me by the two beef patties in this backseat burger! OR they were fumigated out by the facilities half a midget away from me."
Speaking of small children, yes- one is screaming 3.5 feet away from me. How can I think?! I CAN’T and that’s how Greyhound likes their customers: mindless. So I am doing a fine job fitting in and luckily it's getting dark.
Outside the bus, during a pit stop, my future agent/ the inquisitive eavesdropping passenger is asking even more questions:
passenger: “are you famous?”
me: “no”
passenger: “oh, well you get paid, though.”
Not really, but I didn’t have the heart to break it to this star struck kid, who couldn't handle the reality of doing something for nothing while he was still under the impression that a famous person might be sitting behind him on a bus in the middle of Colorado. Only somebody who rides a Greyhound bus could possibly think that someone famous might be riding the Greyhound bus.
Anyway, a 2 hour and 50 minute bus ride is going on 6 hours, but at least I have a scarf to bury my face in when I see someone get up to use my bedside-public toilet. When I see someone coming, that's when I fart real hard, because- why not?!
I would continue writing but this 6'5' giant is reading over my shoulder and where his eyes go, his legs follow, so if I want to walk again I better shut this lap top... I don't think he can read so much as he is waiting for pictures to show up on this "book".
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