Wallflower

Listen:

I can do this.
I CAN DO THIS!

Grrr Arrrgh

Oh, Universe. Why are you so intent upon irritating me? All I want is a simple teaching credential, preferably in Spanish, and you insist on mocking me at every turn. First, the List Of Prerequisites to Get in to the Effin Program. Math, Ok. Linguistics...Civics...Physical Education? Huh? But, OK, I trudge forward only to find that the prerequisites have prerequisites. I cannot take Math 210 for teachers unless I have taken Math .000110 for Morons and passed with a grade of "c" or higher. Universe, you know I can't pass a Math class with a "C" or higher! (Shhhh. Breathe...)
Hoop jumping, Universe! That's the lesson right now, isn't it? Hoop jumping! A few months ago it was all about Prevention, doing the Upkeep. But you're a wily, slippery beast and you keep changing the lesson on me.

I'll jump your hoops, buster. All you've got and more.

PS Universe, wanna go see "Return of the King" with me?
PPS Good luck to Jimmy rectangle, who is taking a Very Big Test today.

What if they made a girls' magazine out of the bible?

Wow. Kind of weird. It sounds very conservative and oppressive ("Guys are made to be the leaders! Girls shouldn't ask guys out.") yet is packaged like CosmoGirl.
It must be confusing to be a teenager. Bring back Sassy!

Flu-zilla

Nobody has ever had a flu like the flu I just survived. I lay in my bed yesterday, panting softly, my organs, my very organs, feverish and sweaty.
I got up to pee, to go buy drugs and orange juice, and to turn the TV off. All of those things took the life right out of me.
Last night I took some generic Nyquil like substance and I actually felt the moment when my fever went down. I felt so grateful! My sheets felt cool again! My breath wasn't fiery hot!
Woke up this morning with a sore throat and a stuffy head. I've never felt better. Yay drugs! Yay yay drugs!

Frida, I'm sorry.

I was sitting over a cup of coffee with an old aquaintance, a nun who lived in Tecolote when I lived there. We got to talking about animals (the poor hungry dogs of that town!) and I mentioned my dog Frida. For years I have been asking if anyone knew what happened to her. The response was always "Uh, she ran away." "Uh, she got hit by a car."
Now I know why.
Betsy, the woman who ran the program, apparently put Frida to sleep sometime in the year after I left.
Now, maybe that was the right thing to do. I left Frida there in the care of the volunteers who really didn't have the emotional connection to her that I did. I made a mistake. Or maybe I did all I could have done at the time, with little resources, no money, no place to live. I wish Betsy had called me to say, "Honey, your dog is suffering, come get her or we're putting her down."
What makes me really sad is that she lied to me and told everyone else to lie to me. Jane said it was a relief to finally tell me although she had been sworn to secrecy. "Never tell Trissy." is what Betsy said.
Others lied to me too.
I'm angry and sad. I'm sorry that Frida suffered, I feel horrible. I don't know what I would do differently--its not even useful to wonder. I just have to live with this sadness and guilt and anger. I think Frida will forgive me, won't you girl? I will try to forgive everyone else, too.

In not so sad news I have an exciting secret. Not gonna tell. But I am so so soooo excited.

What is glue made of? Wait, I don't want to know

Good day in Tijuana. We made cinnamon star ornaments. here's how you do it:
1 cup of applesauce
1 1/2 cups of cinnamon
1/3 cup of white glue

Mix it all up until you get a dough that looks, the kids pointed out to me, like poo. Then sprinkle a little cinnamon on your work surface and roll the dough out (just like Christmas cookies.) Cut with cookie cutters, and don't forget to make a hole to hang it. We used a bit of a drinking straw for that. Then let them dry for two days and you will have a lovely cinnamon ornament. You can also mix glitter into the dough to make it extra fabulous.
The kids in TJ had a lot of fun doing this. They love anything that is dirty and where they can use glitter and stuff to decorate. I love watching them all working on their little projects, they get sort of focused and some of them are quite artistic.
Finally, I gave them some pretty ribbon to hang their ornaments. "Are you going to take it home to your Mom?" I asked Alfredo, the most loveable out of control ADD kid.
"No," he said."I'm going to throw it in the garbage."
"OK" I said nonchalantly.
He looked at me, grinned.
"Not really," he said.
He's a good kid.

The hostile nut and grain girls of Aix-en-Provence

When I lived in Aix, we would often go to a little store that sold only grains and nuts. I bought popcorn there a lot. I can't remember if popcorn was hard to find, like peanut butter, or I just liked that I could control my amounts. (I did a lot of shopping at Monoprix which was unattractively American in its supermarket style, but sort of helped with my cash flow problems. I could use my credit card there. The cashiers sat on stools and looked bored. Monoprix sucked but it had the added attraction of being literally next door to our apartment.) The little nut and grain store was run by a group of women--it was hard to say how many. Three? Two? They were sisters, we thought, and they were sullen as hell. Never cracked a smile. It was almost charming. We would sort of brace ourselves before going in to their store, I think we had some name for them like the Sisters Grim or something. They were sort of large (for France) and vaguely Samoan looking. I remember masses of dark, curly hair. They were probably North African. I wanted us to bond in our Outsiderness, but they weren't buying.

I thought about them the other day. Not sure why. Sisters Grim I hope you are well. I hope you are still scooping cacahuates if that is where you want to be. I scoop coffee beans for a living. Sometimes I'm hostile. Customers can be so annoying, right?

I wish I knew the Electric Slide

Last night was Western night at the gay bar. I stood and watched the boys (and a smattering of girls) line dance their hearts out. It thrilled me. Line dancing can be so gorgeous--all those bodies moving in rhythm together, each adding its own flair. Some hips shaking, some boots clicking. I kept theinking that a lot of these guys were from places like Oklahoma, Texas, Kansas. The Bible belt. They were weaned on this kind of music, on these dances but they had to find a home somewhere else. It makes me really sad that there are still parts of this country (hell this city) where being gay is unacceptable. Why can't people see that gay is beautiful?
It wasn't until a few songs in that I noticed the guy dancing right in front of me, the chubby guy with the curly black hair, was practicing his line dancing in stiletto heels. I giggled. I feel right at home among the outcasts, the freaks, the unwanted, the strange, the lonely. Wave your freak flag high, my brother!

nice to meat you

oddly, I'm craving meat. Not red meat just yet. But I want a hunk of fish or some grilled chicken flesh or a fat turkey sandwich.
Twenty years or so of vegetarianism. My body is telling me, hey. Done with that. Noble, still against the Factory Farming and all that, but will you please give me some meat?
And I guess my answer is "yes."

"I'm the devil!"

I could have a lot of fun with this doll. I'd make her frisk with my Che Guevara action figure! I'd make her lick the boots of my Marx doll. Ken would freak her on the dance floor, then lecture her on gay pride. And she wouldn't be able to talk because I'd take her batteries out. Yay!
I wish I could take the batteries out of the real Ann Coulter.

mmmmm...books

Chronicle books is having a 40% off of everything sale, if you can get to the website. Its acting all funky right now. Chroniclebooks.com. Only until Thursday!

I don't want this

It's so frustrating living with this illness. At work today someone made a crack about my eyesight--not intending anything--but I tried to explain that I don't have depth perception, blah blah blah. She sort of made another crack and I just went into the bathroom and wept, my hands on my knees, doubled over. Feeling sorry for myself because living with this is sometimes so shitty. Every day I am afriad that I have a problem, that a new leak is forming, that I will have to rush to the retina specialist, be pumped full of dye, prodded, poked, photographed. I just want to be whole again. be perfect, the way I once was.
I've been thinking that the nature of illness is chaotic. No one knows why one person gets sick and another doesn't. Chaos and instability breed insanity in lab rats, right? If you shock the rats in an inconsistent manner, they go nuts.
Chaos.
I kept thinking today how hard it is to explain what this condition does to me. I don't know what will happen if I lose more vision. How will I work? Will I have a family? Will I stop writing?
What can I do but feel this sadness and then keep on trudging along, just like Sam and Frodo. Be brave, I said to myself today. Or just fake it.