If Sloane Crosley & I Were Friends We Would TOTALLY Be BFFs

Whilst a brief trip to Powells Book Kingdom, the smaller Hawthorne sister store, I happened upon this book: I Was Told There'd Be Cake essays by Sloane Crosley. Now I have TRIED to switch to using the library, but my library has roughly 10 books and thus involves the act of ordering books from other libraries, or (God Forbid!!), heading down town to what is probably the biggest and most overwhelming library I have ever seen. The problem with THAT library is that it is both down town AND, again, the biggest and most overwhelming library I have ever seen. That being said I occassionally wander into the beauty that is Powells and try to stick to the books with little orange sale stickers on them. But there, nearly jumping out at me on the regular, not even center or end cap, but regular shelf was this book. I picked it up, looked at it and put it back. I wandered. It beckoned. So I picked it up, looked at it and somehow it slipped into my grasp and I HAD to purchase it and start reading it the moment I got on the bus.

Now, here is why we would be BFFs: Sloane Crosley has written my stories already. There certainly are some differences, and a certain degree of talent that exceeds my own, but she, like Douglas Coupland, has snuck inside my head and stolen my thoughts and put them on, now published, paper. She made me realize that most of what I actually write, versus most of what I think or simply journal, is really sort of sad. It is depressing and reflective. It is not ironic or quirky. Irony and quirk - they stay in my head and my moleskin journal.

I imagine she and I would have coffee, but irregularly as she seems to have the same friend problems as me - poor contact, out of the loop, a great re-connecter but not so great with the staying power there. She has her friends, but these are the ones that secretly became fringe-friends. Who she can love but never speak to. While it is a little different for me, it's out there. I get it. So there at coffee we would laugh about this. We would laugh about weird relationship things - like ponies (please read essay #1: The Pony Problem) and other such oddities. I would get her opinion on the books of essays that by then I will totally be writing. Did I mention we'd be laughing? And we would probably have mimosas (if it were early in the day).

So if Sloane Crosley and I were friends I would obviously be an author. Simple. True. Mildly nuerotic and unfeasible and really not a good reason to not currently be seeking authorship by the writing of illeged stories of hilarity that live in my head - but an excuse nonetheless.

Be well Sloane - BFF - maybe we could get those necklaces too.

BEST BIRTHDAY EVER

Yesterday was fantastic. I had the chance to see old friends - some that I literally had not seen since high school! I got to see family and laugh and play a new game introduced by the amazing and wonderful Jenny Smith (true name protected due to the WPP), called Bananagram. I may have had too much beer in the early evening so my lameness factor was increased, and I was probably a TAD bit annoying - but it settled down. There was a bounce house - which is always a bit of plasticy goodness. There was a lot of laughter, a lot of stories and really, all around, a lot of love. I could not have imagined such a great birthday. I am SOOOOOOOOOOOO thankful for the graciousness of my friends. You are incredible people!!! All I could think was - I want to have dinner parties with each of you . . . damn 1000 mile distances! There is just something about old friends that makes it different. Anbd meeting the people that my old friends love and brought into their life - and sharing the person I love with them. I am sounding redundant but I am just so keenly aware of how lucky I am.

Thanks everyone!!

Oh! And I realized that I am totally a grown up because multiple people brought me wine - I find this SO awesome.

Day 1 - post 30th Birthday

If you haven't noticed birthday's are kind of a big deal to me. See, I love them. For some people New Years represents this BIG chance for change and promises but for me, it's my birthday. Something about a clean slate coming with a new year. Technically you could decide on any old day to make big changes, or even little ones, that are note worthy and special. But for me . . . it has always been my birthday.

My traditions used to be to clean the house on the 7th so that when I woke up everything would feel nice. Now I have added to have a manicure, so I can feel girly. Most importantly I am adding - to spend time with friends and family which will lead to my next blog: BEST BIRTHDAY EVER.

I hope everyone had a happy birthday this year - or will for those who it will hit in the next 4+ some days month. It's a great thing to have a chance at change and to really recognize it. And coming from a girl who REALLY cannot handle small changes in the day to day sometimes, that's a big statement.

Wow! Instead of counting down - I’m counting up!

Here I am on the end of not only my 29th year, but my last day of being 29 and I feel like there should be something monumental in my head. I looked for some Turning 30 sort of birthday songs and there was one by TimMcGraw that I liked - although it did have to do with our lives slowing down etc., it seemed like 30 means it is time to stop and smell the flowers - but he did have some busy years in his 20s. But all I could find generally had to do with settling down or having your wife and kids and house. And again, don't have those. And I am . . . almost . . . okay with that. :)

So the last wise thoughts of my 29th year. Here goes:

I have learned that you can't undo the things you've done, so you should be thoughtful with your choices. Sometimes you (I) get second chances - and you should (I should) relally know what a blessing that is. Love IS real and possible. There is hope in almost any situation - even when there isn't. People are so strong and you are too. Kids make me so happy AND drive me crazy.

I am glad my 20s are over. I mean there is this part of me that says: NO! Not yet! But generally it is not only a new year, but a whole new decade. Time for the first number in my age to change over. I made a lot of mistake in my 20s and though I am sure I will make plenty in my 30s, I have learned from what I have done - who I have hurt - how I have been hurt - when I was insanely stupid, vulneralbe, gullible, lucky, blessed, happy, lonely and loved.

It's like I get to make a bouquet of flowers. All the flowers from my past lay before me and I can choose which ones to put into the vase. I will take the daisies and the sunflowers, those orange ones there, that blue one, oh no! take THAT one out and . . . You get it.

I still have not forgiven myself for all of my 20s but I HAVE to look at this as a new beginning. A new chance to love, live, share and show my friends and family how important they are. My words mean it, but my actions often don't show it (hello far-away friends - i REALLY think of you a lot but am . . . going to work on it).

So - here's to new beginnings! To my 30s!

You turn 30! Then tell me about it!

I was so excited. I thought - yay! A new decade! A new time of my life! I'm a grown up! This is great!

Hmmm. A week a way I am having some cold feet about turning 30. I know it is fine. I also know it is self and societal pressures that make me feel like I do. But it is little things. Elasticity in skin. Anti-wrinkle creams. Increased calcium. Things I really should have focused on since I turned like 27. Not married. No house. No kids. No MA degree - I will be like 32!! or 33!

And it IS okay, but it probably won't feel it for a little bit. And no, if you are not turning 30 or in your early 30s your opinion is not really counting. If you are like 23 you don't really get it. If you are like 35 you TOTALLY get that 30 is not bad and that good things happen and we come more into ourselves etc. That's why your positive opinions are not being invited into my mild freak out. :) Let me be irrational, but as of like August 15 you can totally chime in!

1 week and 3 hours and 22 minutes and it officially happens.

The party awaits. So does the future.

$153.00 (a rought draft vignette)

$153.00

She pours the pills into her right hand – rattling the bottle with her left. The sound of the medication dancing against the plastic orange bottle is better than she could have thought. The slow motion feeling had come back – she can always tell when it’s been past her drugging hour – the room doesn’t feel or even taste the same. She can inhale but it is like cotton on her tongue and her thoughts cling to the sides of her brain. Nothing seems right. Realizing that is what is holding up the day - holing her up in her apartment with eyes focused on the television set, remote control in one and coffee in the other hand – she moved to the desk to tear open those white pharmacy bags. Setting each bottle atop the desk she felt a strange comfort in these manufactured feelings and hopes with an RX address.

Bottle 1: RX 1045640-03890

Bottle 2: RX 1045639-03890

Bottle 3: RX 1055935-03890

Bottle 4: RX 1032583-03890

The remaining, over the counter, drugs don’t contain the same sort of feeling as the ones dressed in orange. As if the color of the bottle makes the medicine – the way that a woman is more attractive in pink satin than green taffeta. The drugs haven’t calmed her hands or helped the synapses meet like they should – they are still crashing into some damaged interior wall in her mind.

Texture has always been a strange sort of trigger – flashes of taffeta connect where the chemistry should be catching. Taffeta is crinkly and even feels shiny, but an ugly 6th grade graduation dress shiny. Hers was blue but if the light switched the color changed to black. Bought downtown in the Los Angeles garment district she owned her first and last article of taffeta clothing. And now 18 years later she can feel it in her hand, the netted slip scratch against her thighs, the puffed 1990 sleeves hugged people’s chests long before her arms actually reached them. Bette Midler and her first pink roses adorned with baby’s breath crack in and out of focus as she waits for the drugs to take effect.

2008. She has put $153.00 onto her credit card to settle the demons – medication to bring her to some form of comfort and reality. How can it be reality if it has to exist in the confines of manufactured calm and chemically controlled depression and anxiety? If something is forced into her brain to prevent her crazy from coming out – like her own weapons of minor destruction defending her against herself – how is that reality?

She returns to the couch. The joyful sound of dancing pills and plastic washed away by the feeling of helplessness, of being owned by something she pays for every month, overwhelms her. The drugs don’t win against the depression today, so even though she survives another day not dead, she thinks she is barely living. Because what is living if she is most excited about orange bottles and not humans or the smell of orange flowers and trees?

She picks up her coffee with one and the remote with the other hand.

Welcome Back!!

I am reintroducing this blog! It is a step away from the land of myspace and where I will post significantly better things . . . or things at all. So look for the new - the improved!!