Love

I woke up earlier than I would have liked in order to pay the goddamn meter. It was a cloudy day, a gloomy way to begin a birthday and I wondered if I should take it as a sign. I crawled back into bed after satisfying Maya's hunger and re-awoke beneath sheer sheets, love, faux-wind, and thoughtful gifts. Vinyl Dylan, yoga, sage, a candle, a feather mask, and a ticket to the block party...he knows me...

K- treated me to a guilty, greasy, Americana vegan lunch. I can't remember the last time I had such delicious Macaroni and "cheese"...it's been so long and maybe if I were to have the real thing, the "Mac and Yease" would not measure up, but who the hell cares? It was gooey, baked, creamy, spicy, and I could have eaten it until my stomach exploded. However, I reminded myself that it was after all my birthday and therefore thought better of suicide-by-gorging. At the same time, wouldn't it be poetic if my birthday and deathday shared a date? Romantic even?

The day proceeded into one of even greater guilty pleasures as I walked to the theater, cancer between my fingers, bottled poison stuffed into my compact satchel. (2012 is approaching anyway, right?) And so, I used a free movie ticket, spent way too much on a "small" fountain drink (which is in truth large enough to hold the Euphrates) and basked in a cinematic soup of raunchy, inappropriate, sacrilegious content. It was a shitty movie, more or less, but it was a day for junk food of all sorts. I loved it and plan on watching it again. It will sit on my shelf right next to Superbad.

I came home to an empty apartment in which I reveled for several hours. My spree of indulgence continued and I spoiled myself... something I used to do fairly often in high-school, but less and less as I grow older. I'll spare you the details and have you know that all that matters is that I was alone (ALONE) and...it...was...divine...

...for a time...

The pleasure of solitude only lasts so long.

I love when he walks through the door.

He made me dinner and mixed me drinks, gave me kisses and hugs and adoration, but still, my favorite part of the day was when he came home. That moment, today and every day, was and is my favorite.

Earning my Fair Share/ Celebratory Youth

Some nights I roll into bed feeling like I don't deserve eight hours of rest. Take for example last Sunday. I woke up late and stayed in my pajamas for a few sedentary hours while I read "The Nanny Diaries." 

(...Side note: the owner of a local used bookstore lent me "The Nanny Diaries," free of charge, after I mentioned my profession. We talked for a while about the books I had picked up ("Night" and a reference text) and she, for some reason, decided that I was fabulous. When I told her that I only had checks on me, she said that she was the owner and though they usually didn't accept checks she had an affinity for me. "I just love ya and I want you to have these books!" All this to say, I was flattered that she trusted me to return merchandise ["The Nanny Diaries] I did not pay for and concluded that though this particular book was not something I would ever pick up on my own accord, I needed to read it as a sort or grateful gesture...)

After I peeled myself from the couch, I managed to shower and get dressed in order to crash a mild Easter gathering at which I sat and chatted for a few hours with people who had consumed a fair amount of cheap wine (Jesus would have too if he had been with us in the flesh). It was there that I learned about the appetizing delicacy known as "soil" as well as a simple recipe for beets which I tried tonight for dinner. Que Delicioso! When I came home, I spent several more hours on the couch glued to cheesy pop-fiction, until I succumbed to an evening nap. I woke up in darkness, ate dinner, and went to bed feeling like time on the mattress was just another activity of the day. It was something to do.

I remember reading someone's blog a while ago which said something like "I want to go to bed exhausted every night, knowing I have lived fully."

Yesterday was record-store day and I woke up early (unheard of for a Saturday morning) so that I could go the Easy Street's "Coffee with Dylan" and preview Bob Dylan's new record. I spent a while (unsuccessfully) looking for "Two Suns" and came up with a Cold War Kids disc of live performances. Do I need to mention that I also pre-ordered Dylan's new one? J- met me and we went back to my apartment to cook breakfast. Cooking food together is something we do often. I like having a friend who shares my dietary preferences and flavor palette. We haven't cooked a bad meal to date, as far as I'm concerned. 

Stuffed with tofu-scramble, we went to Sonic Boom to see "Say Hi" who were energetic, fun, and put on a great live show  (despite the cramped quarters). I have liked them since the musical awakening of my sophomore year in college and felt a nostalgic connection as I watched them perform on a tiny stage in a glamorously crowded and sweaty record store. It was magic. At the show, I kept making eye-contact with a familiar face. I could not place where I knew him from and part of me thought that my mind was confusing recognition with lust. He was, well, better looking than a tofu-scramble. J- and I were standing outside of Sonic Boom for a few minutes after the show and I saw the guy again. He waved, but I shied away and did not respond and we left. Missed connection. Damn. Why didn't I wave back and ask him where he and I had met? I still can not figure out where he is from.

Our next mission was to find an low-budget tennis racket. Let's be honest: when it comes to rackets, size does matter. Goodwill: We only carry badminton-sized rackets. Value Village: We only carry rackets from the 1700s. What's it Called: Go away; we're not open.

We, slightly disappointed from the fruitless racket-search, headed back to Easy Street to see Moondoggies. I was pumped to see them, but after the first song I sensed that they would have rather been somewhere else. Maybe they are low-energy performers, or maybe they are too hip to rock out, but either way I was slightly let down. We should have gone to see Vetiver. Maybe I am being pretentious. It's just that I find the trendy, 20-something hipster-angst, veneer-of-perpetual-boredom to be distasteful. I wear my fair share of black clothing, boots, and oversized sunglasses, but am not above showing my teeth and laughing at elevated volumes in public.

Twenty minutes and two mini Mighty-Os later, we met a few friends back at my apartment to watch "Vicky Cristina Barcelona." I love when my friends come together. Every one of them is unique, intelligent, strong and opinionated. Many of my friends have disparate ideas and hold deep convictions, yet I still perceive unity and a genuine respect for one another despite differences. Sometimes when I am in a gathering with my friends I like to detach myself for a moment and view the scene from a third-party party perspective and admire the fact that such seemingly mismatched people are able to connect and love one another. It is beautiful...

11 came unexpectedly and after a few late-night, restful minutes J- and I trotted towards the Egyptian to see the final midnight showing of "Christmas on Mars." The preview consisted of hard-core pornography (I'm not exaggerating) and J- and I thereby reached a new level in our relationship. "Thank you, Egyptian!" The movie was not that great and some of the sounds were offensive to my sensitive auditory senses (and I don't care if that was the point; at 1 a.m. I do not want to suffer high-pitched frequencies for the sake of art). 

As the movie spun on, I sunk further into the padded, folding theatre seat and thought, "I can't wait to sink into my mattress," and for the first time in a while, I meant it and felt it. When I was abroad, I felt this way every night...

It was a day for music, art, friends, love, air, life, joy, and divine exhaustion. And it was good...

The Impossibility of Cutting the Chord

Maybe communism is the best choice for me...

As G- and I skipped down Broadway, making sure to avoid the cracks in order to ensure the security of our mother's backs, she asked me, "Why do you have to pay taxes, Marie?" I tried to present her with a respectable, law-abiding answer, but came up with no sensible explanation. Call me crazy. It all sounded like smelly, patriotic propaganda to me.

I ruminated aloud a few nights ago, "Why can't we just be alive?" K- giggled, B- nodded, J- considered... 

Communism does not work, I know. I can't be alive and avoid regulations completely (if you know how, please let me know). On the other hand, if being alive (as I am considering it) is nothing more than struggling to survive on a basic level, regardless of capitalism, health, sanitation, social acceptance, finances, dependable shelter and so on, it is certainly possible to enter the world and do nothing more than inhale and exhale. However, if inhaling and exhaling were the only two activities we were to focus on, quality of life (in terms of longevity and wellness) would be sacrificed and humankind's evolution would likely cease. 

Note: red wine expenses are included under the "wellness" section. Something to consider.

Most of us desire longevity and wellness, right? Sentient beings struggle for existence, but is our superlative existence dependent on governmental order?

Strings have been strung through our palms and heels. Regardless of how free we think we are, we will always be part puppet. Even if I were a nomad, I would have to answer to someone along the way. There is always someone to answer to.

Perhaps I just need to genuflect before our Yankee lord and work and pay until I turn into compost... 

Life is a carnival, believe it or not.

Portable carnival rides are still being manufactured. Some people have been wondering.

Killer whales won't leave me alone. 

I am being conditioned for a continental move. Every time I hear a Spanish word, I drool a bit.

And that's all you need to know about that.

La Dolce Vita

It was a day for sundresses, bare feet, resurrected freckles, driving with the windows all the way down, pink shoulders, roof-top picnics, doing yoga in-front of picture windows, and "Brother Sport."

Unpacking shouldn't take this long, but what's the rush? Maya has adjusted quite well and she (like her mamma) seems to like it much better here. There are more sirens, for one. Secondly, the view proves much more interesting than our old one; plus she now has her very own window seat. Sure, the old building was not half as shitty as this one, but...

Location, location, location. There are parks everywhere. It's one block to Freeway park, one block to a dog park, one block to a tiny park that reminds me of England. There are bars everywhere. Where to begin? Where to end? There are vegan or vegan-friendly restaurants-a-plenty. The people in the building are colorful and loud and some fight and yell and GOD I LOVE IT! 

"You are not H.I.V. positive, Ashley! Get out of here!"

"How did you even afford this place, David?!"

"I worked my ass off you dumb bitch! Leave or I'll call the cops! You're trespassing, Ashley!"

"Fine, call the goddamn cops!"

Ahhhh....The sounds of the city don't bother or keep me awake. I am not sure that I could ever live without them. 

Could this be love...?

Good-night, 9-5ers.

       
I have bleached and  disinfected and unpacked until the tips of my fingers have cracked open. I should have gone to bed several hours ago, but there is so much to do and going to bed is... so...dull...

There is some type of bird that begins calling at around four in the morning. It chirps incessantly and I can not decide whether its trill is charming within the urban jungle or if it is simply obnoxious.

The city's soundtrack tonight consists of: this bird; droning car engines; drunken ramblings; train calls; Bon Iver; a cough; and dreamy puppy snores.

It is time for me dream. I have been having detached dreams recently and I am excited to enter into the foggy reality again. A few nights ago, I had a conversation about Saint Francis of Assisi. Last night, I watched myself die while saving a girl I used to babysit. I hope that tonight I will dream about traveling to an undiscovered, inhabitable planet with Jason Schwartzman. 

Ciao planet Earth!

I'll leave the sun behind me and watch the clouds as they sadly pass me by.

It's late, I know. 

I missed my friends and Maya, but I wish I could wake up in San Francisco tomorrow and the day after that, and maybe the next day as well. More later. In brief, I felt the thrill of wandering once again. It was the same feeling I had when I was abroad: few demands as far as my schedule went; I was alone for the most part; and I had to ask for help because I was lost more often than not.

I was a sponge. 

Maybe I'll move there in a few years. 

For now I must make my way to a familiar pillow and rise with the overcast dawn.