PickledCherub

Self-Pity

I have no rods.

That's right, I have no rods to describe the past few days. I meant, of course, that I have no words.

Ha. At least I can still be funny.

I had the best birthday so far, and I think it's because no one sang the birthday song. I made them sing Feliz Navidad instead. I got a Skate Team USA beach towel from Shauna, coulottes from Emily, a coveted skirt from Lindsay, a cake and a Chimay from the boss, a slew of neat things from Lexi--but the thing I loved most was the love. Lexi's card almost made me cry. I sang "Pour Some Sugar on Me" at the local lesbian bar/karaoke room, and got hit on by the woman who sang "Baby got Back." Then we went to the Holocene and danced it up in support of the Portland Radio Authority. Since then, though, I've worked an incredible amount of hours. Really I just picked up two extra shifts this week, but it turns out that I'm exhausted and maybe that's because I've gone out drinking almost every night this week. Or, if I don't fall asleep drunk, I can't seem to sleep. I'm sure that it's just a consequence of the mild manic phase that is soon to end.

Why is this mild manic phase soon to end, you ask? (Ooh, a guy with 'roos! must tell Shauna. He's totally gay, too.) Rejection. Out and out rejection. From crush, from schools (add you-dub to the list). No, that's it. It's more about the loss of hope, of potential paths denied to me. Oh, and I've been a bit extra-randy lately (product, too, of mild-manic phase).

The good news though is that I am on-call with the Red Cross this week, I have an assignment for 2GQ, and I'm learning how to close on Tuesday. I would also guess that I have band practice this week. It's time to start doing things.

I feel like I should spend some time describing what happened, to give you the blow-by-blow, but I feel too sensitive about it now. I'm taking it too personally. I feel like I've blown any chance of finding "the one that you love and who loves you" (thank you The Smiths, playing at Tiny's).

Just take comfort in the knowledge that this phase has allowed me access to a new found productivity. It's good, each time one begins to sink into one's own filth, to start with a clean slate.

Always with you.

I'll talk about it tomorrow. It all went extremely well. My best Birthday yet, all things considered.

To celebrate the bday so far I've gone to Target, napped on the couch with Athena, dreamt about being paralyzed, eaten breakfast at Henry's with Lindsay, watched the last fifteen minutes of "The Princess Bride," and taken one (1) Immodium AD. Dialogue with myself today: "Why do I have to have an upset tummy on my Birthday? Oh, I guess I just almost always do."

happy birthday to me. The song in my head at 7:30 this morning: "Pour Some Sugar on Me." My dreams last night involved pastries, pastries and my mother contemplating drinking again. And a certain type of dessert wine: Muscat Beuames de Vineaux.
Feliz Navidad!

So, what is everyone giving up for Lent? I thought about giving up burritos, but I almost fainted when I thought about it. I'm giving up the Hitachi. That's right, folks, the sexual frustration will increase until it explodes on Easter Sunday. I hope I have that day off!

one of the Friendster pictures I just saw was of JaNice, and she was holding her cell phone and smiling. Who ARE these people on Friendster? I think I'm going to bail. Nope, I'm too lazy to bail. For example, I got out of bed at two thirty P motha-fucking M this afternoon. Sure I was up until five A motha-fucking M, but COME ON! And now I'm at Tiny's (again) and I was too lazy to go grocery shopping or to stop and buy a burrito that I'm eating a glazed Voodoo donut. I am so opposed to donuts, but I was so hungry, and this donut is so good, so light and fluffy and not too sticky. And I'm sticking to the soy lattes.

A-mac, Shauna-bear, and I went boarding yesterday, and A-mac totally thrashed. It was really scary but really cool. We were going down Salmon from 28th, which is a really steep slope, and Shauna, golden child that she is, was just cruising down. A-mac was going, too, non-stop, and I thought, if A-mac can stick this, than I can stick this. Then it got too fast for me so I jumped off and ran after my deck. Right after I get my deck, I see A-mac fly off of her skateboard, roll down the hill, and land on her ass. She was alright, but she had this huge gash in her wrist from her watch. We all learned something from that. We walked to her new house on 22nd and Salmon and nursed her wounds.

So, why was I up until 5 in the A-M? After work, John and I went to the AAlto lounge because Steve was there, and John and I love Steve. The place was packed with Steve's super hep musician friends. Maybe I'm sexist, but the girls in the group always seem like they're just there--I never hear Steve talk about any of the girls making music. They're all pretty and well-coifed. Anyway, we drink at the Aalto--Steve is wasted and I keep pouring him water. There's something about Steve that makes me want to take care of him. Then John and I leave--I met a bunch of cute guys, but seriously, none of them sparked my interest. Gawd, what's wrong with me? I say, "Do you ever feel like you should do a cart-wheel but don't think that it's a good idea?" John says, "Let's jump the fence to the playground." He runs up to the fence and pretends that he can't jump it. I walk around it. We do cart-wheels. I'm not bad at cart-wheels--John is a little too long in the legs. Then I run to the playground across the park and we spend a good long time spinning each other on the tire swing and climbing up the slides.

Back at 2750 we talk in the nook. I finally got the dirt on his whole ex situation. Then he says something like, "now I'm really picky--she made me really picky. I go out and I think, 'No, no, no, no.'" Pause. "But I like hanging out with you." Pause. Um . . . I say, "Let's climb out on the roof!" It was so cold and windy up there. We didn't last long. I had an impulse to climb on top of him and kiss him, but I didn't.

I have things to do today, including: grinding with Amanda and Shauna; re-stringing my guitar (Sappho broke it practicing "Stairway"); laundry; dishwashing; learning the indieoke songs. I also have no cash so I don't know how I'm going to get myself a latte. I'm going to scrounge for change around the house. I spent all day yesterday reading web comics: Psycindom, Cat and Girl, A Softer World. I read all that I could of them because I liked them so much. Now I'm caught up in Psycindom, and almost in Cat and Girl.
I fell really hard last night because it was all slippery. We tried to find Forest Park but couldn't, so we went to the Blue Monk and the Triple Nickel. We saw boobies.

This totally explains it!

I'm downloading DJ Danger Mouse's "Grey Album" right now at Tiny's, so I'm blogging off-line. Sort of. And I'm drinking a SOY latte. I just felt like today was a soy type of day.
I went to work in an awful mood last night, thanks to the fam. I almost collapsed into tears a half dozen times. For no particular reason, I guess, except for all the myriad reasons. Shauna stopped by to see if I wanted to go to the Lesbian Disco Night at Holocene. Unlikely, I said. As always, Greg cheered me up a bit, and things got better once John and Steve arrived. But John got really sick and went home, so I covered his shift. It was alright because it was dishwashing and not serving. I really couldn't handle any more serving that night. I also took a valium, so I felt a lot better about life for an hour or two. I get really into the rhythm of washing. It's soothing and I don't think about anything. It may be physically demanding, my hands cramp up and my shoulder blades pinch, but it's a nice form of solitude. I knew anyway that if I went home I'd probably just mope, so exhausting myself was a nice way to cope.
Greg's opinion on the matter was that the specter of the ex-girlfriend must be tampered with, must be smashed forcibly and disintegrated. I'm more of the keep a respectful distance contingent. I can see that he has a point.
So, it's Monday night and I don't have to work. Maybe I'll go see a movie.

It turns out that the whole family is in a funk. I called Alex today as I was walking to Hawthorne to return "Grind" and "Johnny English" and we ended up talking for a long time. A good, long, depressing talk. It made me sad. Then I had a bagel with Shauna's housemate Isaac and his friend who had been out thrashing. They lead lives that don't appeal to me at all. Alex said that I shouldn't just waste my time serving, that I should do something. But I am doing things. I do lots of things that I don't get paid for. But these are things that I love. His point is that I don't want to wake up one day and be completely behind my peers. I guess that's how he feels. I take his words into consideration, but "after consulting all your friends and neighbors, you have to decide for yourself" as Grandma used to say. I'm supposed to go out tonight but I think I might stay in after work and catch up on sleep. Then, I need to start an exercise regime. It might be because of this cold that I'm so tired. It might be because of all the news and the schedule and the hard drinking. I don't know. I need to go to the Dentist and do my taxes. At least the weather is nice.

how could you smell so sweet yet be so nasty?
Bitch, Bitch, Get on my Dick
These are the new song lyrics.

No: Columbia.

No:Berkeley. At least I don't have to ask how to spell "Berkeley" all the time.

I'm thinking that it's time to revise my goals.

My boss and her boyf and his friends came into work last night. Greg says, "You want Cheryl?" I say yeah, and bring them water, beer. A lot of beer. I drink half of my shift drink with Colin, our newish 19 year old dishwasher, then move over to Cheryl's table. I get invited to the Goodfoot. I go, we run into Ryan and the other Ben, my manager's fiance, and brother, respectively. Everyone gets another beer, Cheryl and Ryan break on the floor, I do my one move. It's late so the DJs are packing up, and Ryan starts looking for the sweater he'd thrown off in the middle of some daring dance move. He can't find it, but he does find Cheryl's purse, which he carries around with him while looking for his sweater. We get into Ben's (Cheryl's boyf Ben) Caddy, drive his friends back to his place--they were visiting from Seattle--and go to work. Cheryl made me call Greg to check if next door was open--it wasn't--because she insisted that they'd open for her and have an after hours party. No such luck. Ryan says to call John and Steve, so I do. Steve didn't answer, but John picked up, and he agreed to come rock it with us. This is around 3 am.

We roll the Caddy over to John's house, and Cheryl's up front honking the horn. John walks out of his house wearing his requisite tie. We go to the Montage, but Cheryl doesn't want to go in, which is good because there were some dudes in there wearing face-paint. We get back in the Caddy and John looks like a scared rabbit. Ryan calls Sarah, who I know has been asleep for a couple of hours, and wakes her up saying, "Hi Sweetie. Is it OK if I come home with your co-workers and your boss and Ben and we have a party?" I hear Sarah on the other end of the line, half asleep, say Yeah. Now Cheryl is starting to feel bad about waking Sarah up, and I feel pretty awkward that I'm driving around North East Portland in a Cadillac with my boss, her boyfriend, my manager's boyfriend, and my bewildered co-worker. But, OK, I've already bought the ticket, so I guess I might as well finish the ride.

We pull up to Sarah and Ryan's house, and it's completely dark. Ryan blows into the house, turns on the lights, turns on Outkast. Sarah comes downstairs in her pajama pants and glasses, with a bump in the middle of her forehead that I gave to her earlier in the night. Now I feel awful. Actually, I feel a lot better because I finally get to pee. Sarah's house is awesome. The furniture, the paint, everything. She even has a bar downstairs, and makes us all some drinks. At this point in the evening it's completely unnecessary for any of us to have any more to drink. But, rock on, Ryan made Tater-tots. John points out that Sarah's drink menu from Thanksgiving says "Royal Tiger . . . a great after dinner drink." So Sarah makes Royal Tigers for everyone: Kahlua, Triple Sec, and Soy Milk. They are good.

We go back upstairs because Sarah's brother wants to go to bed and his bed is right next to the bar. By now Cheryl can barely stand up and keeps saying that she wants to go to bed. Ryan and I decide that she needs toast with Pumpkin and Port spread. She eats it, we all share the toast. John is elected to drive us back to his house. Cheryl is passed out next to me, dangling off of her seat belt. That was probably the most bizarre part of the night, sitting next to passed-out-boss. I didn't know what to do. If she were just my friend I probably would've propped her up or something, but I just sat there. I call Lindsay--it's about 4:30 now--and she's awake for some odd reason, so she agrees to meet me at John's house. John and I try to convince Ben to let us drive them home, but he swears that he's good to go. Lindsay rolls up in her Otto's Sausage Kitchen Sweatshirt, and I say goodnight to John and we hug. Lindsay looks at me and says, "Well, what happened here?" "It's a lot fucking weirder than it looks, Linz."

Once again the mailbox turns out to be the enemy. This time: Princeton. One flimsy little piece of paper regretted to inform me that I was not up to snuff. Now a litany of reasons why I don't want to go to Princeton, after all, runs through my head. Number one on the list: It's in New Jersey. In all fairness, it was the last school I decided to apply to. On the bright side, I'll have the distinction of being rejected from only the best graduate schools in the country. Har dee har har.

The cold lingers on. I keep smoking. I keep feeling like poop. I keep thinking: Emphysema. Emphysema is better than lung cancer, isn't it? Cancer is such a nasty word. Chemo, Cancer. The Hard Cs. Emphysema sounds like it could be an Italian delicacy.

Who am I kidding?

I have an Airport Extreme Card now, so I'm blogging from Tiny's on Hawthorne and 12th. I know all these people I see around.

Lindsay and I had this intense conversation at the Basement Pub last night after seeing "Buddy." Ryan has a new lady friend, so now Lindsay is facing the future. That is, she's facing Noah, head-on, without any distractions. I wondered about my insistence on remaining self-sufficient. I lie in bed in the mornings and wonder about my inability to shake this crush like the piece of toilet paper stuck to my shoe that it is. What I need is for someone to come up behind me and step on the toilet paper so that it's no longer stuck to my shoe.

despite all evidence to the contrary, the Portland Internation Film Festival wins my highest praise for bringing "Buddy" into my life. Look it up. Anyway, finished cover of "Sweet Child." Thank you illegal copy of Reason.

Every night around 1:45 Lindsay gets out of bed and eats. I try to be done jilling off before then.

I have a new computer bag, and a potential filing system now. I think it must be Spring cleaning. I bought cigarettes from the Arco on Belmont and the guy behind the counter said he thought I could "use some cheering up." In a nice way, in a concerned way. That made me a bit happier.

Had the first Indieokie practice today. It went fairly well, considering I didn't know any songs. I'm pretty quick at picking things up--sometimes. I'm excited about it. Douglas and Lisa and Jane are all supportive and nice--and there to have fun.

New song lyrics I thought up while dishwashing tonight

You can touch me in all the wrong places/And I'll still make all the right faces/I'm used to faking it, I don't mind./You don't have to say that you love me/When you're lying below or above me/Don't need to hear that shit, I don't mind.

Still some work to do on that one.

The mailbox is my enemy now. I have an irrational fear of checking the mail. I'm thinking about settling down and having children. I'd probably need a few things I don't have right now: sperm, a good job, joie de vivre.

Should I be embarassed that I don't know any of the songs I'm supposed to know for indieokie? I slept for almost 12 hours last night. I woke up at 4:22 am and felt so free of illness but so entirely crazy from the NyQuil. Noah left this morning. I am in the middle of reworking "Sweet Child" so that it's more of an insane dance song than heavy rock song.

These are the suggested Indieokie songs:

Bikini Kill: Rebel Girl
Unrest: Cherry Cherry
My Bloody Valentine: You Made Me Realise
Neutral Milk Hotel: Holland 1941 (or whatever it's called)
New Bad Things: Josh Has a Crush on a Femme From Reed
Swell Maps: Vertical Slum
Big Star: September Gurls
Strokes/Christina Aguilera/Freelance Hellraiser: A Stroke of Genius
Halo Benders: Don't Touch My Bikini
New Pornographers: Letter From an Occupant
Quasi: Our Happiness Is Guaranteed
White Stripes: Fell In Love With a Girl
Wire: I Am the Fly
New Order: Love Vigilantes

I guess we'll just see how this goes.

I got my first rejection letter today. It was only a matter of time and I'm taking it fairly well. It wasn't from a school, but from a Fellowship. They told me not to take it personally. All things considered, in the scheme of things it doesn't matter a rat's patootey. I have bigger emotional fish to fry at the moment.

John invited me to go bowling with his housemates (he calls them "the boys") last night. I took some extra Advil Cold & Sinus and steeled myself. I dusted off the old ball and shoes. We went to a bowling alley and it was too busy. We drank in the "Players Club" bar. Patrick spilled his 12 ounces of PBR all over Matt. One tough looking guy was wearing a shirt that said "It's all in the past bitch." We left and went to the Bonfire, then to Holman's. John asked if they had any tofu sauce for his french fries and the waitress (really cute) said "This is Holman's." It was funny at the time.

Then I went home. Alone. As usual. Rejection letters come in all forms.

So, yeah, talked to mom tonight, and, surprise surprise, she has emphysema. Not a surprise at all. This is exactly what I've come to expect from mom. But she's going to quit smoking, and has a new doctor. I don't know. I'm still in shock and I'm still a bit spacey from my cold. I'm seriously reconsidering my love of cigarettes. Shit. Shit shit shit.

Shit.

Maybe going bowling will take away all of my sorrows.

I've been knocked on my arse with head cold. I almost passed out at work last night, but luckily most of my shift was slow. I watched--gag--Johnny English. What a waste of time. My cats are sneezing, too.

Now we have to make a decision. The house was nice. It's smaller, which means we'd had to get rid of a lot of stuff. I have some sort of cold and I have to go to work. grr. I have nothing to say except that I feel like poop.

Still no rejection letters, but Claire sent me a letter with "ACCEPTED" stamped all across the back in bright red. Noah and I shopped the Pearl this morning after breakfast at Genies Cafe. We had Gellato: Pistachio and Lemon (for me), Moka and Hazelnut (for Noah). I infinitely prefer Noah's company to some of Lindsay's other boyfs. I think I'm going to clean my room and listen to NPR for a while.

Aren't people who read The Economist total snobs?

I've been thinking a lot about West Texas and the ranch. I've been thinking about Anthropology as a meta-discipline. I've been thinking about living in a house with a sound-proofed basement. I've been thinking about how I react to love.

The ranch, with it's open spaces and the rolling hills and the neighbors with their healthy bounding dogs. Chaparral. Honky Tonk bars.

Anthropology with its insistence on field work and initiation. A discipline which takes extreme liberties in borrowing from other disciplines. A discipline which sees self-analysis as a cornerstone to impartiality.

A sound-proofed basement and the potential for recording, a space dedicated to music.

My inability to see anyone else as a prospect when I've had one chosen for me, it seems, by the universe and all of its interminable machinations. I can't think outside the box about love. And although I know my past actions well enough, I still see this crush in a fatalistic manner. I see it as tragically impossible. I also see it as one in a series of many tragically impossible crushes, all of which I've, to the greater extent, recovered from. So I'm taking the higher moral ground by insisting that I'd prefer it if I could cultivate a lasting friendship rather than a fleeting but passionate romance. Am I lying to myself? Perhaps. But there is more than one person involved, and I am, in this equation, less than half. It's all well and good to profess one's undying love, but it's also rather imposing to do so. To profess one's undying friendship, however, seems nobler and to some extent farther reaching.

I think I'm getting a sinus infection. I am not pleased. I have some homeopathic remedies now, but do those really ever work?

Two hours until I have to be at work. It's never enough time.

There's nothing I love more about my job than delivery day. Sure, it involves a lot of heavy, awkward lifting, but I get to drive the Pix van. I get a lot of respect in that van. It's a big van. And I get to hang out with the cute dyke who works at Pasta Works and sells cheese. Today they sent me to the bank and to Provista, a wholesale gourmet food warehouse up in NW. Is there anything more satisfying than hauling 44 pounds of fancy German chocolate? No, there is not.

I'm getting more excited about going to merry old England and jolly old NYC.

If Lindsay and I move out of this house, I don't know what will become of my identity.

John called last night and left a message while I was at work. I called back a little later but his housemate said that he had "stepped out for a bit." What does that mean? I think that it's code for "he doesn't want to talk to you." Maybe he just stepped out for a bit BECAUSE he doesn't want to talk to me.

I have tonight off so I must do something exciting. I think I'll go see Bubba Ho-Tep. Is that really exciting? Not really. Maybe I should go out. But I don't feel like drinking so much. What can one do besides drinking or seeing a movie or both? Board games?

Some things that have troubled me lately:

living in 2750. Lindsay and I are thinking about moving out, in spite of our big old lease penalty. We don't like el landlord. The house has leaks.

songwriting. I haven't been able to match words and music in a while. I know that people go through phases when they aren't as prolific, but still I worry. I have been learning songs like "Every Rose has its Thorn" and "Without You." I used to write songs fairly easily, even if they weren't good. What I need, I think, is a collaborator.

Grad schools and fellowships. Where are the rejection letters?

Alcohol. I really drink a lot. I feel normal when I've had a couple of beers. What's that about?

general health. I don't exercise so much anymore. Skateboarding has helped me to get out of the house and at least walk around. No more yoga--it's too expensive. And the dishwashing is pretty labor intensive, so is serving. I do a lot of running around and hauling things, I guess. My body aches, though.

Catnip. My cats go nuts over it, but I have to wonder if it's any good for them.

Love.

Listening to Harry Nilsson before going to work. He has a great version of Without You in Spanish. I'm-a totally digging it.

I finished _The Portrait of a Lady_ today. I think I have a new favorite book. Now I'm moving into the absurdist genre: En Attendant Godot. I've been jumping countries and periods and genres like a horny bunny rabbit.

I tried skateboarding today but kept getting scared of my incredible speed. I'd like to blame it on my Cancerian tendencies, but truthfully I'm just a wuss.

"Doctor: ain't there nothing I can take. Doctor: to relieve this belly ache?"
I have to wash dishes tonight. I'm going to look on the bright side: I had a burrito for dinner.

I woke up this morning, I set my alarm, to watch the Ellen show. It wasn't bad. The best part is that in the beginning she dances. It was her 100th show. That's a big deal, I guess. I'm in an inexplicably good mood. I think that it must have something to do with the sun being out.

http://home.comcast.net/~packss/heyyacb.html

I'm going to get dressed and go thrash in the sunshine. Maybe I'll get a Stumptown Coffee, too.

I got dressed to go out, got in my car, drove around, and came right back home. I wanted to change.
I feel torn, oh so torn, lately. Last night I stayed at work until the guys finished closing, then we came back here to drink and talk about, among other things, child-prostitution rings, the anti-Christ and pop-idols, and sex sex sex. I'm not accustomed to being around so much machismo. We went skateboarding in the street, practiced tackling, drank whiskey. I enjoy their company, but I wonder at how uneasy they make me feel. Firstly because I am uncomfortable about their attitudes about sex and women. Secondly because I have the desire, despite of my unease, to be desired by them. But, I need more friends. People keep moving away; or, I keep alienating them.

Lucier is back in town and has a new job in Seattle. I'm going to see Low tonight at Dante's. The song in my head: "Dinosaur Act."

I saw Groundhog Day tonight with a nice Rogue Amber and some people I ran into. We made fun of Mormons for a while.

Today I went to CarToys and it truly was "a better way to go." I have a camera phone now. It is a replacement phone since my other one up and croaked. Jordan and Tony, the gentlemen who helped me today, were really funny. I said to the guy next to me, "This place is fun. These people are funny." "That's a good way of describing it," he said. His name was Jeremy. I think that I could have made friends there. Gabe was nice, too. He sat in this chair looking amused and lazy. He didn't want to install a "custom box"--whatever that is. His boss, Tony, said, "Go in there and do something for that ten fifty-eight an hour I pay you." He did. He got right up and walked into the shop, I think to install the "custom box." I really like that phrase: "custom box." Maybe that'll be the name of my next album. It could be ANYTHING. I didn't make any friends at CarToys, but I certainly didn't make any enemies. Not that I know of, anyway. I thought: I wouldn't mind working at Downtown CarToys. Nick even got to walk to the bank to make a deposit. He went just because he felt like taking a walk.

I got lunch at the Detour Cafe today. I read my cell phone user's guide there. I skateboarded there and back. It's so nice out today. That's why Nick wanted to take his walk. I think that Nick and I have a lot in common. First, he works at Downtown CarToys, and I wouldn't mind working at Downtown CarToys. Second, he wanted to take a walk today; I boarded down to the Detour for lunch because it was so nice out. Third, he was wearing a belt: I almost always wear a belt.

I have taken two (2) photos so far: my cats. It (my new phone) still doesn't know who it is yet. I hope that it soon will. I'm reading "The Portrait of a Lady" by Henry James. I relate well to the protagonist, Isabel. I don't have to work tonight so I think I'll drink. I've decided that a DVD festival is about to happen: Stuvie< and Ruby Starr. I'm trying, on the whole, not to be too obsessive.