Wanderlust

Just about every year I get the urge to move overseas. I start researching cost of living...transfer options...etc.
London would be nice.
Or just outside.

I think I will definitely end up there one day.

When There's Nothing Left to Burn...

...You Have to Set Yourself On Fire.
So say the Stars. A Canadian band I was introduced to by my good friend Jason.

This phrase has been looping through my head since Sunday.
That, and
"Live through this and you won't look back."

There are times in our lives, when we absolutely have to go it alone because as a result of some part of ourselves, we've managed to set ablaze everything around us that could have helped.
It's called Rock Bottom.
Addicts experience this state of being right before they finally realize that it's time to go and get help.
It's usually after some traumatic event of their own creation and it may have resulted in everyone around them turning their backs on them.

Welcome to it.

It's not fun. It's not pretty. But it is necessary. And for the people who have turned their backs it's just as difficult. To be forced to take that step is nothing short of Abhorrent.

To Whom it May Concern

I think what bothers me the most about all of this is the complete and total disrespect for all of us as your friends.
I haven't gathered all my thoughts around this yet, but when I do, you'll be the first to hear about it.
But you both have injured all of us to the core.
What you've done is unforgivable.

Point to Ponder

Breakthrough!
Well, sort of, I suppose, if you consider finding a question to answer a breakthrough...

In a very cliched and "That's all the time we have" moment in therapy yesterday, I mused:

"Then I suppose the question becomes: what is it about one guy that makes me care about his approval over another guy?"

For instance...a few entries ago I told you about the text messaging boy-wonder. As soon as I got that text message, there was an urge to explain...to make it so he wasn't angry with me...to erase the disapproval. However, it abated pretty quickly when I reminded myself that if I do that, then he sticks around, and I certainly didn't want that. Don't ask why. I'm chalking that one up to oral tradition. If I tell you about it personally, then you'll know, if I don't then you won't.
So, sorry, dear blog readers I've never met.
Suffice it to say, he wasn't my type. For serious.
But I digress.

Ok, so, that urge (compulsive need) to be liked went away.

However, when I think of certain other men of yore, I am frustrated and angry and hurt that
a. I'm not altogether sure why we broke up in the first place
b. He won't acknowledge my efforts to be understood

Even when I remind myself (as I did in the aforementioned text message incident) that these guys were controlling, emotional cripples, borderline alcoholic and/or drug addicts with weird eating disorders—I am still raw about it.

Maybe the question is twofold. The above question and additionally "Why do I love whom I love?"

Put THAT in your crackpipe and cook it up till your teeth fall out.

So, I get to ponder this until my next session on the couch.

It should be an interesting 2 weeks.

Some Exes Are Better Than Others.

For the most part, I am on friendly speaking terms with most of the men who I've engaged in relationships. Even the ones who broke up with me. With a few exceptions. Mostly because I simply never see them or have opportunity to speak with them, but others, because well, they've decided that they don't want to be friendly with me. Fine.
But it really sucks when I'm in a position where I have to deal with their obvious disdain.

People say to me "Well, have you thought about the fact that he might be feeling uncomfortable?"
Um, ok, yes CLEARLY he's uncomfortable, otherwise, we'd be yucking it up and I wouldn't be writing about this.
But what about me? I'm EXTREMELY uncomfortable.
I'm the one who now has to watch him and his wife and daughter and I'm expected to understand that "he's uncomfortable around me". I have to sit there while everyone watches him avoid me and feel uncomfortable.

I guess my biggest beef about the whole thing is that it's been like 5 years. It was a pretty difficult breakup for me as I didn't see it coming, and then come to find out a couple months later he's dating a woman that he introduced me to at one point as the woman who was having an affair with his ex-partner. And now they're married. And due to circumstances surrounding his relationship with my friend, I get the pleasure of being around him about once a year. He never really acknowleges me. He's completely cold. And it makes me feel about 2 inches tall. I've tried being civil with him, but then I get accused of being "psycho and making him uncomfortable."
And it sucks. Because truthfully, it actually makes me feel like I'm not good enough to be nice to.

The reasons for him breaking up with me are nebulous at best. I never got a straight answer from him. I've heard some mumblings about my smoking, the show I was going to be doing (the same one that I was fired from after losing this boyfriend), and a weird quirk I had once upon a time when I would carry a notebook with me out wherever I went and write when the urge struck me. I'd also let others write in it...strangers, etc. I'm told he didn't like it.
So, here I am today, with these "things" about me that may have caused our breakup and him still being a douchebag towards me.
I just think it'd be nice if one day, he just came into a room, saw me, and said "Hi LC, how are you?"
I feel like I deserve that. I suppose it would take some of the sting out of his rejection, you know?

Well, I suppose I should take my own advice. It's been 5 years. Time to let it go.
We can't seek approval outside ourselves. It's just hard when faced with obvious disapproval.

Just Another Day...

This is my band.
We're called Five Foot Nine.
Music coming soon to a myspace page near you...

Note To Self

When a guy asks "How many guys have you been with"
Don't answer:
"I don't even know anymore. I stopped counting. I don't care about that anymore." and then drunkenly launch into a diatribe about not wanting anything serious and being damn tired of guys who are all judgemental and shit.

Because in response to a text asking said guy to "Let me know you got home ok" after he leaves in a huff,
you get this:

"I'm alive, technically. Does it even matter? I didn't think so either, not to be dramatic but you have bigger fish to fry, im just another guy you don't have to count, sweet dreams."

Seriously?

Yeah,
Seriously.

Better Late Than Never...RIP Croc Hunter...

Poor Bastard.
No one has a greater fear of stingrays than I.
Growing up, and once I was able to let go of my crippling fear of sharks by convincing myself the water was too shallow, warm, crowded, whathaveyou for sharks to be an issue...we swam care-free in the Gulf of Mexico. That is, until the Stingrays came. I swear, one day, not a creature save an conch or two and then WHAM! Stingrays. EVERYWHERE! I wish I could find a picture of what Stingray spawning looks like from above the water...but basically, picture an expanse of blue with brown blotches all over the place. Essentially, it looks like the ocean floor, except the blotches move. And from in the water, you can't really see them until they're either right next to you, or you've stepped on one and gotten a leg full of Hell on Earth. After watching my little brother (a toddler then) almost get stung only to be scooped up and rushed to shore by brother-the-elder, my career in the Gulf of Mexico and any other free-existing water ended.

But, in honor of Mr. Irwin and the dumbasses In Australia and their misguided anger at otherwise beautiful and docile animals...

I give you
An Odd Fishing Trip or Drunk Sea Captain Horrifies Everyone on Board with His Terrible Wrath.

Many years ago we were fishing off the coast of Florida in the Gulf. It had been storming the night before and the water was pretty churned up. So, really fishing was useless.
It was one of these fishing/shelling boat for hire tours where they take you around to little islands around Marco where ostensibly you can find the best shells (this was in the days before the laws against taking living things from the water came to be)...and if you don't feel like doing that, then you can stay on the boat and fish.

Ok, so, while I was on one of the islands with my mom and grandmother, my brothers, and grandfather were on the boat. My little brother managed to hook a small (young) stingray...pretty common for the condition of the water and as the "captain" was removing the hook (Uh, why in the fuck didn't he just cut the damn line? Answer in a minute) the little fucker stabbed the guy in the hand.
Now, for those not familiar with the pain of a stingray wound, (nor am I, but it's the stuff of urban legend down there) apparently, it really fucking hurts and usually requires a trip to the hospital for an even more painful shot that neutralizes the venom. Well, our intrepid and apparently drunk (answer to the previous hook question) captain decided that he would instead anchor the boat and disappear into the bracket of one of the islands and scream his ass off and drink some more.
I get back to the boat and hear the story.
Captain is back, says
"Yeah, I'm allergic to the little bastards too",
and we return to fishing.
I hook a larger stingray. When I say larger, and no, I'm not making this up, it's wingspan was about a foot and a half to 2 feet across. The captain grabs the line, and with one of those hook things used to grab a line when it's attached to a large fish and you don't want your hand near it's mouth), tosses the stingray by the line into the air, and proceeds to kill the shit out of it by hacking away at it with said hook. He'd stab it, throw it back up in the air and as it came down swing at it like a fucking baseball. Screaming. Swearing.
Basically exacting drunken revenge on the entire species.
It was all very awkward.

But, we managed to find some pretty nice shells.

What the F?

Ok so, I'm minding my own business last night.
Out with friends. Some actor types and such.
And it hits me.
I haven't really acted in anything in a while.
I haven't "practiced the craft" in a long time.
My friends and I make fun if the idea of "the craft" all the time as some pretentious, pompous bullshit reserved for an elitest point of view.
Trouble is, once upon a time, I had a lot of respect for that terminology. I was good. I trained. I studied. And then it just all disappeared. The drive, the passion, the desire to learn and to grow. And it made me really sad.
Maybe I've been making fun of it all this time to cover the fact that I miss it and I've been complacent and lazy. And jaded.
I've let my anger at circumstances beyond my control (or comprehension for that matter) lead me away from something I truly enjoyed doing.
And now, I have to take this big break after I'm done with my present show (that I'm not acting in) so that I can be available to my family as we approach my brother's marriage. So, in essence, I won't be able to get back on any type of track until next fall.

I suppose I could take that time to get back into a class. A class that isn't disgusing itself as a cult.

Remembering 911

It's hard to believe that it's been 5 years.
I was only 26.
It seems so long ago, and yet all the video footage still reduces me to tears.
I was humming American Pie in the shower this morning.
It's raining.
And I'm just ... sad. No one at work seems to be talking about it. It seems like just another day. And it is. Just like the last 364 days have been since the last anniversary. It's easy to forget it until it pops up again. I'm surprised at the depth of emotion I still feel about it. I didn't lose anyone. I don't know anyone who lost anyone.
And yet, I feel so close to it.
I feel a little silly actually.
The silliness comes from years of politicking we've suffered through at the hands of bi-partisanship. And a nation devided over the competancy of our current Administration. And the war. The fucking WAR. The War my brother fought in for 16 months. And the hatred I see that people have for our country.
We're divided. Separate. So, today, I don't really feel connected with anyone.
Not like That Day. That day I felt as though I knew everyone in the United States. For weeks you could walk into a bar and people would look up and smile at you with that mixture of sadness and gladness over being an American in that moment.
I miss the gladness.

Just Another Day....

It seems that I'm not very prolific these days.
Not entirely sure why.
Could be the fall into fall is getting to me.
The Surly is feeling more melancholic.

But Tom Cruise can still fuck right the fuck off.

Announcement

I have eaten McDonalds twice in as many days.

That is all.

Catholic Guilt

Is a bitch.

FY Goddamned I

Hey, MTV?
Shooting in, or applying a 35mm filter to the video feed doesn't make your damn awards show seem any more legitimate or important.

JLO? What in the fuck was up with your sparkly Ukranian Grandmother babuska?

Also nobody fucking buys the whole "security breach" bullshit that happened. You guys do something like that every fucking year in an affort to make intelligent people who had much better things to do than watch the VMA's (also, when, exactly, do these fucking videoa actually air??? In between "Next" marathons and episodes of Laguna Beach?) feel like they "missed something."

And aside from their hipster tight fitting suits and emo hair, OK GO are my secret boyfriends when they're on those treadmils.


This information was compiled from news footage from this morning. For, while I indeed had nothing better to do, I certainly wasn't glued to the "high-browed art and expressionism" of the VMAs.

Douches.

Oh, and Fuck You Al Gore.

And Panic At the Disco can Eat Me.
Best Video of the Year. Have you SEEN that video?? Oh, wait, maybe not...I don't even remember how I saw it.
But trust me. It sucks.
Circuses, Carnivals, and Freakshows as thematic elements or metaphors are not original ideas nor good ones.
You suck.

That is all.