Let me tell you. For two weeks I have been smoking like a chimney/a Brad Pitt/a mom on welfare.
When you aren't eating, smoking becomes sort of second nature. When you aren't eating because you're having extreme anxiety, smoking becomes sort of a first nature. I also drank a lot of orange juice to balance out the whole killing my body thing. It seemed like a logical and or tasty solution.
I feel so much better today because I am seeing Claude again (my tiny therapist boy genius friend voice of reason) and I left a crazy abusive job. And I had the relationship talk. That one. Theres only one. The one that goes like this:
(The Van Der Beek is a really good example of the Girl Crying)
Girl Crying: "I feel ______. And I need ______. And you aren't there right now and I don't know WHERE you are but its not THERE where I neeeeed you." long pause. Girl Crying: "I don't want to break up." This is where Girl lists some options and tries to remain calm and does weird things with her hands and looks terrified and probably goes to the bathroom at least once to avoid the situation momentarily. Then if the boy has any care whatsoever, he usually says what needs to be said, which fingers crossed, ends with this: Smart Boy: "I don't want to lose you."
Aaaaaaand SCENE.
Don't worry, everything is better, no one is angry, no one is scared, now you give eachother some kind of physical feedback like a kiss or a solid hug and everyone can stop freaking out.
Unfortunately, written out that way, it looks like total bullshit the way people communicate. But its not. Saying how you feel is fucking hard, because the assumption is usually that you will be rejected after you've said your piece. No one likes a complainer, or a drama queen, or a baby. And everyone is scared all of the time to change things that feel off. Because once you admit they are off, you're really in trouble if you don't intend to step up and right the wrongs.
We all know who I'm talking about and I don't really like that because I value the privacy he and I still maintain most of the time. But this relates to every single romantic relationship anyone will ever have so its not even like MY r'ship is being revealed here. Yes, I say r'ship. All the time. Usually daily. Because that is all girls talk about anyway. R'ships. I'm really sorry that I have to take it here, but, the moral of the story is "Your R'ship will only sail successfully in the waters of truth and open hearts." Most schmaltzy thing I have ever said? Or. Most awesome thing I have ever said.
I woke up quite under the weather this morning completely unable to swallow coupled with aching eyeballs. Not suitable for nannying. I had to call out of work of course because little babes don't need my germs no siree. (Suri?)
It was an unpleasant day of not eating, not really drinking, not really moving... just rolling around in my bed having feverish dreams and intermittently feeling the disgusting tingle of the sunburn on my lower back rub against my sheets.
Then I dragged myself up around 230 this afternoon to get ready to go to therapy on the upper west side. For some reason I thought today would be a really good day to delve into some ol stinky garbage issues I've had since I was a kid that possibly affect my current behaviours. Might I remind you, this is Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, and is all about living in the moment mindfully. It is certainly not about having an hour long self absorbed cry fest. Well...today I failed at mindfulness and self control. I sweat all over Claude's nice Eames lounge chair and snot up about half his box of tissues. I cried the entire time basically and I had that weird awful sobby choked voice that it just unbearable.
So that happened.
I came home to rest and take some pills and drink some tea which was nice but then I got shit on by someone who shall remain nameless. I really dislike being disliked does that make sense? I always feel this weird pity for people who berate those who care about them. It makes me think they are so beyond fucked inside that I have to figure it out and then assist them in some way. Maybe they just don't like me and thats why they talk shit. Either way, its essentially a lose-lose sitch.
So as of 7 minutes ago it became Tuesday and this horrible Monday ended and I am glad for it. I embrace every moment I have with those I love but today was pretty loveless for the most part. Thats why I'm going to think about all the happiness I had this holiday weekend. I am so so thankful for the people in my life who give me positive thoughts and unconditional acceptance. I hope these photos make you feel good.
On the train out to NJ to celebrate the 4th, it appeared as though Levin was not set to have a good time with the ladies. But I had faith in his ability to find enjoyment in all the vagina he was about to be stuck with for 48 hours.
Porto sits with me and is never embarrassed when I talk too loud or say "wet dick" in public. Maybe she is embarrassed but she doesn't scold me which is nice.
Marshy like disease time.
Beer. Meat. Livy's salad. Dinner in the yard. It was an immediate killing it type of situation upon arrival.
We walked to the fireworks at the river and somehow ended up with the perfect seats despite a crowd of 125,000 people. Supposedly 125G, Nancy may have exaggerated.
Levin posted up Americana.
This is real. Real emosh. (emotional? can i say emosh?) Stephanie cried a few times and forced Levin to hold her hand dramatically. I enjoyed that. I mostly clapped furiously and wiggled with excitement. Red Bank fireworks are by far the best I have ever seen in my life. There were hearts and purple things and star showers and hibiscus shaped ones with red lanterns in the center that floated away as the explosion faded. Steph and I now have a plan to be cremated and stuffed into a tube WITH fireworks so we can be shot into the sky and transcend time and space like magik. I made up that last part about transcendence.
Levin caveman duties.
This is what drunk ghosts probably look like.
The next day, the actual July 4th, we had a plan to remain at the beach until the fireworks went off on the ocean around 9pm. It is very hard to be at the beach for ten hours. But Ilona and Werman showed up which was entertaining, especially because Ilona was wearing her mans underpants as a babin suit.
Werman is a good beach DJ.
Look at these butts! Look at these mexican blankies from 7-11!
Stephanie's beach walk is so good, she does it a certain way 'so nothing shakes' Shes my tiny pony.
If they have a baby I think they should just name it Jew. No other moniker would really explain a creature from their combined beings.
Jey and BabyBows finally showed up late in the day. They did not disappoint on Jersey costume prep. Best part is they sort of always look like this. I just never realized what I was looking at. Glory.
I wish I had thought of this first.
I don't think it is possible to blog anything after the beginning of the sunset. It was too good. Dogs running on the beach. So much color. Music and swimming and all kinds of good things. Heavenly is a good adjective in very few occasions but here it may apply.
Olivia took photos of me with seashells over my boobies like a mermaid laying in the wet sand. And me and Jey holding hands in the creek reflecting the pink from the sky. And Stephanie dancing with a scarf like a bird. And water dives and poodle chases and Micheal Jackson beach house blasting celebration. All those parts are in my head where they belong and I wish I could share them but I just don't know about that. I would have to be so much better of a writer...
We had one more little trip to the beach Sunday after I ate probably 3 entire bagels and drank 14 glasses of juice. Then to Jeys to eat all the food at her house. Also to show off my sunburn.
And sing this:
Then to the ferry to see another sunset and go back to the reals.
Out-feeeeit!
The moon!
This to that.
I walked South Street to my apartment and was greeted by a giant dead bird on the stoop. It stared at me for a few minutes then whispered Welcome Home.
*PostScript thank you mom for taking care of us and loving us and feeding us and having a place for me always
Marion did not think it was that funny because it was in her soup. PS Marion is in Richmond now. Hi I miss you. Road trip!
In other news, I think it is weird that Bowery Electric has that mirror wall outside. I don't understand the concept. Furthermore, the interior of that place is not so bad (recent realization) Too bad no one ever goes there. They need some sexy bartandrahs and some special hipster djs and its in the bag. Or drink specials. Always a good idea. I just right now put it together that thinking outloud on a blog means it is inevitably going to be bor-hong. I am falling asleep just writing this.
Today was therapy day and my best friend I mean therapist, Claude, discussed with me why I am afraid to be gentler with people. I told him its because I play the role of being absurd and uncouth so well that it gets laughs. I don't know who I am really if I'm not saying something negative that in turns comes out as humorous. I told him I'm willing to bet if I soften up I won't be nearly as entertaining. Case in point, this blogging sitch right nyah. He told me when I want to be mean I should pretend that part of me is like the asshole cop everyone hates, who can never just be decent and let shit slide. I thought that was an amazing suggestion so I'm going to try it. When my mouth is ready to say "Hey fuckface I bet yer hung like a baby I can tell because you've got lady hands. I hope yer whore mom buys you a new car for your birthday then you accidentaly drive it off a cliff" I will tell that part of myself to shut up. I will be telling the asshole cop character inside me to shut up though, so it will be like a lil trick on meself. Hooray for tricks!
Speaking of tricks I learned a few from this guy the other night
I have more news but I would rather eat my green beans in peace instead of doing this.
I just touched my cat's butt by accident and I'm really disgusted by it.
Something else I'm disgusted by is the state my legs are in. I look like a teenage runaway who lives under a bridge and has a vitamin deficiency. I have been tearing up South Street on my bike as well as having too many drinks and aggressively dragging said bike up and down stairs and such. That explains the severely bruised ankles/calves/thighs. I have this super irritated shredder cut that looks kind of like a tiger tried to climb up my limb. Its is a little swollen and still fairly dirty. I fell. That's the whole story.
So today Claude, my cognitive behavioral therapist/new best friend told me in jest that I should tattoo 'I don't date losers' on the palm of my hand to serve as a personal reminder. We talked for at least 20 minutes about the fact that I specifically chose to continue seeing men who I am FULLY AWARE are unavailable. AKA substance abusers, cheaters, jobless drifters, emotionally invested in other women, depressed, etc etc etc. To be totally honest, this is something I swear to God, I didn't know I was doing. Heres a sample of how blind I am:
Claude: What exactly do you want from ____? Me: I think I have no idea what I want. I think I wish things would just be happy and awesome. The men I like, they are actually good people, seriously Claude. Claude: OK. Good. Are they available? Me: No. Claude: OK. So you have to stop seeing them. Cut it off. Its OK for things to just not work out. No one is a 'loser' we are just humans. You are not picking losers, you are just being *MALADAPTIVE. Me: But that means I don't win. (THAT IS VERBATIM. VERBATIM) Claude: Riiiight. So you're winning right now? I mean... wouldn't winning be dating people who want to be with you? And respect you? And are ready? Me: What? This is stupid. I win if I make it work. Claude: Guess what. You just made my job easier. Repeat yourself outloud. See how it sounds. Me: Oh shit.
Aaaaaand SCENE. Tada! Then he gave me some exercises to do and things to research and looked at me like a little gnome and wiggled his glasses and said, "Its all about the path. Thats all. Just the path." That gave me a panic attack but I settled down and was fine. Great Job.
*Maladaptive behaviors refer to types of behaviors that inhibit a person’s ability to adjust to particular situations. This type of behavior is often used to reduce one’s anxiety, but the result is dysfunctional and non-productive. For example, avoiding situations because you have unrealistic fears may initially reduce your anxiety, but it is non-productive in alleviating the actual problem in the long term.
Enough about that for now. Here's some things me and Gob did together recently. (not this Gob)
Gob and I looking at the river while weird Chinese people fish and set things on fire.
Gob and I looking out at machinery and dome as pictured below.
Awkward running father who did not understand that one would need wind in order to successfully fly a kite. Men alone with children is interesting because of their completely sporadic fits of logic. Its there...then its not? Oh here eat this popsicle for breakfast. What? You refuse to now eat these eggs? Why??? Lets fly a kite! Shit, there is no wind. I guess I'll just walk around with you with no water and long sleeves on this very hot afternoon until your mother gets home. Shrug. I love men, I do. And the idea of a loving father, a fun father...its a Dream. Its special! But. Lets face it. Theres a reason why kids think dads are fun and moms are pests. Somebody has to be the pest or every kid in the world would have rotten teeth, dirty faces, infected fingies and weird brown bag lunches with little to no nutritional value. I generalize because its funny.
Death is part of life. But maggots eating squirrel eyes is still gross. FDR is literally killing it. (ba-dum CHHHH!)
Tank top balding sandals guy and his giant turtle, who may in fact be his romantic lover. PS the turtle lives in a boat house. Baller.
This has nothing to do with my bike rides, but please look at this man on the train. His toupee was SO UNBEWEAVABLE in person. It looks like a hair hat! I have never seen anything like it. It was so shiny and wiggish and his little remaining wiry gray hairs poked out all around its border. He also had the weirdest kit I have even seen, dirty denim with elastic waist and cuffs? One velcro shoe one with laces? A fucking confetti party time pattern umbrella? An expensive-ish watch? I'm pretty sure hes one of those people who tries to sell you free things like copies of the Onion or 'appraisal on air conditioning unit installing' coupons he got in the mail. Super Saver! He probably also eats people.
The opposite of scary train guy is this kid, who I met at Stephanies bday BBQ.
He was really good at scrounging our food and also tried to plant an avocado pit in the dirt so the park could have a fruit bearing tree. I gave him bubbles and a pop ice. Then I played ball with him. His face makes me happy so I am going to go to bed before something ruins it.
