Wednesday, August 24, 2005

ay amor, me duele tanto...

Just saw Broken Flowers, which was about ten times more depressing and alienating than I had imagined for some reason (yes, it was Jim Jarmusch, but still, the plot sounded like it had room for whimsy or something!). By the way, why has Bill Murray played the same character in the last five films or so? It's not even that interesting or complex: just a burned out guy that stares into space a lot. But I digress.

The main plot of the film revolves around his character visiting some old loves that may or may not be the mother of his child, revealed to him in an anonymous note. What would it be like if I visited some of my old loves? Am I going to end up alone and washed up like his character, after a string of short-termed love affairs? I have dated a lot of interesting and wonderful men; I've dated a lot of lonely and confused men. I have dated people that seemed to be right for me and then disappeared, or that seemed they were right and then weren't, or that never seemed they were right at all but the sex was great or, pathetically, they were the only ones around at the time. I guess I'm feeling kind of down because I've reconnected with a person of my past. This person and I have always had an ill-fated relationship, which was part of its allure, but I'm afraid at this point it's gotten stale. People that are wrong for me or that I hold no chance of having a real relationship with are just not as appealing as they used to be. It seems like that's a good thing, although what the hell will my prospects be soon?

Thursday, August 18, 2005

Thanks for not being helpful!

Jeez, I'm leaving in three weeks and haven't heard from the people in my program in about a month. I know they're busy and things are hectic in Nicaragua, but I kind of need to know how to prepare. Even an e-mail saying, "That information we promised you is on the way, this is why it took so long..." would be much appreciated. I did quit my well-paying job and leave my life behind for this job, as well as buy a $700 plane ticket to Nicaragua, and I am starting to feel uneasy that I haven't signed a contract, haven't received my health insurance forms, and haven't gotten my packing list! At the same time, I don't want to feel like I'm being a prima donna or some kind of neurotic asshole. Maybe they'll appreciate how good I am at thinking ahead? I'm really not used to being the anal one!

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

The "I have left DC post"

WEll, I haven't had internet access for a few days, and since I've been in Maine, I've been in perhaps the most beautiful place on Earth, so you can't blame me for forgoing sunning myself on a beautiful lake and listening to the echoing of crickets and the cooing of loons to write a blog entry. My mom and I just made (veggie) burgers and drank beers, and then ate smores for dessert, cooked by the bonfire. I swam all day, and feel refreshed in the way that only the familiarity of home and the wholeness of being level with trees, water, bugs, and animals and bring you.

So, I have left DC.

I vomited all morning the morning I left, which I felt was fitting. Not because DC made me sick or anything lame like that. Rather, it was a form of cleansing, a letting go of all that was making me feel unwell. I have been carrying around anxiety, not just about this upcoming move, but also because of what it felt that it signified for me. I haven't been unhappy. I also haven't been happy. I'm not sure there is a specific something that will make me happy, but starting over and doing something that challenges me and excites me is a start. This isn't to say that I couldn't have found what I was looking for in DC, but I also don't want to blame myself for not having found it yet. To be honest, I wanted something new. When I threw up that morning, I was letting all of the pain and the anxiety and the disappointments of the year well up inside of me until they made me sick, and then I just let them go.

My last two weeks or so in DC were wonderful, however. I remembered what true friendship means in the form of the people that made an effort to be with me and to wish me well. I remembered that I want to get better at telling people what they mean to me the same way, and that I need to show people how much I care about them. I also remembered how easily deceived I am by people that I would like to care about me.

So that's it. I would like to have reflections about life in DC, and I will soon. I will also probably be talking about how scared I am about the upcoming transition. It will all come soon, my friends. Until then, more swimming on the lake!!

Friday, August 05, 2005

OH MY FUCKING GOD

My last day at work is over.

I am done with my job.

I want to cry. I want to run around screaming with happiness.

The bigness of this moment is smothering.

Wow...as excited as I am, moments like these I can see why people fear change. It is scary. It feels so uncomfortable! How the hell do I know if I'm making the right decision???
Fuck..........

Thursday, August 04, 2005

My love affair with HR-57.

I had forsaken it for the better part of the year that I've been here, but going back last night, I rediscovered my love for it. No, not love, infatuation, because HR-57 is just the type of place that won't let it love you, it's too cool. It will let you visit it and whisper proverbial sweet nothings in it's ear, but then it'll turn away and go back to playing its sax solo.

HR-57 is a non-profit organization dedicated to the preservation of jazz and blues as an American art form. It's named after a bill passed in 1987 that establishes jazz as an American cultural tradition to be preserved; it designates it as "a rare and valuable national American treasure to which we should devote our attention, support and resources to make certain it is preserved, understood and promulgated". It offers workshops, music lessons, has a youth orchestra, has a recording studio, and more. It also has jam sessions four times a week, in which you pay $8 or so to sit and listen to some amazing (and, granted, some not so amazing) artists play jazz.

This is where it gets good.

HR-57 reminded me last night that listening to jazz is a lot like having sex, and being in a room full of people listening to jazz is not like having sex with all of them (which I know you thought I'd say) but rather is like everyone is having sex in little booths, and you can hear moans of pleasure echoing. Well, take that image and make it far less creepy than it sounds, and that's what it's like. The beautiful thing about HR-57 is that it is there not to make money, but to celebrate jazz as a form of music and a cultural tradition. Thus, everyone that goes there goes for the music. You see old men in fedoras sitting alone, drinking whisky out of a flask, and hipsters smoking cigarettes in big groups. At HR-57, you bring your own bottle of wine and corkscrew, because they don't play around with serving drinks (although they do have beer and wine). For $6, you can get a plate of collard greens, fried chicken, and red beans and rice. At HR-57 you sit in folding chairs and look at old posters of Dizzy and Ella and Miles and all the rest. At HR-57 musicians come and go, and they find their jam together, and they keep going. They play wonderful solos and everyone claps. You can pick out the nervous ones, the pros, the adventurous ones, the ones that only play the hook from Kind of Blue over and over again, and somehow it all works. Some of them probably play together all the time, others probably have never met each other until they're on stage.

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Wow, I drank way too much last night.

First, Kramer's. Old classic. Sonja and me waxing philosophically, Casey serving up delicious vodka tonics (that taste like Sprite!). As the reality sinks in of my leaving, I'm doing my best to blur it, one VT at a time (yes, I am proud of utilizing two cliches at once).

Brian and I then took advantage of restaurant week, eating at the Tabard Inn, which was kind of quirky! It felt like an old fashioned bed and breakfast for rich people. They had a cute little patio. I am glad I got to go to restaurant week, because it's awesome to only have to pay $30 for a three course meal! I was too drunk to remember exactly what I had, but I did know that it was fucking delicious. And now that my crush has finally and completely subsided, I could talk to Brian like a human and not a weird zombie (crushes turn me into zombies). I realize that he likes how well I know him and he likes how honest I am with him. I still can't tell if he really likes me at all, but the great thing about having him as a friend again is that it doesn't really matter all that much. We traipsed back to his house, I was trashed, and hung out with his mom, and then on the balcony. The only downside to the otherwise great evening was that I passed out at 11:30, missing phone calls from a certain reporter. Damn it!

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

This is weird!

I do not know how I feel about this:

"American scientists have discovered they can create orgasms in women at the touch of a button.
Clinical trials into the new electronic implants are expected to start in the United States later this year."

Whoa. While I love orgasms as much as the next person, I also love the procedure that leads to an orgasm. How depressing would it be to just press a button and have an orgasm? I have always appreciated how women are so much less goal oriented when it comes to cumming. Men always have to be so focused on it, on either delaying it or achieving it, and women can enjoy the pleasure, and finally get to have an orgasm. But they can have fun without one, or can have three. Then again, I've never had trouble with that, and I'm sure for women that can't achieve orgasm this button thing would be awesome. Thoughts?

This is beautiful!

Word of the day:

ylem====[i-LEM] (in the big bang theory) the primordial matter of the universe.

I want to start using that in a sentence. I feel it would be a good metaphor, for the point you're trying to get at, or a person or thing's essence...it's just my ylem! Except people will think I'm either saying lime with a speach impediment, or maybe just fundamentally confused if they know what it means. No worries.

I feel very Washingtonian! I went to Screen on the Green last night and then for drinks on the hill. I railed against Bolton's nomination and checked out men in suits with conservative haircuts. I need to keep doing stuff like this!

Monday, August 01, 2005

Loneliness.

The only downside to having friends that are incredible lovers, and that spend the entire weekend with you, is that the Monday morning afterwards is incredibly lonely.

He is not perfect, nor we do have a perfect relationship. We are often awkward and I feel like the comments I make are silly. He kind of got on my nerves this past weekend. He is incredibly cocky.

He is also, hands down, one of the most honest and compassionate people I have met, and I value those traits so much that I can look past everything. It doesn't hurt that we are extremely well matched sexually, and that we have an amazing time together whenever that can transpire.
The current suffocating loneliness I feel wasn't just brought on by having this intense weekend and then being alone in my apartment. It was more brought on by the realization that I have very few intense connections with people, and even those that I have are fleeting. I don't want to be someone that needs to hold on to others to feel at all connected. I want to be okay with having memories and having moments and seeking things and sometimes, or even most of the time, not finding them. But I am young and I will grow into myself, I suppose.

Man, it sucks to sleep alone again, though, and have no one to share your dreams with in the morning. On to the next one, I suppose (I'm not going to even go into a certain E and his whereabouts...geez!)