Another attempt

Here I go.





With no readership but myself.





I have to start all over and get it going again. I made a promise to myself that after my trip to Chicago over the weekend of March 6th, I would jump back on to this "writing" idea that I have. I am not sure if a blog is exactly the way to go anymore, but for now it seems like the best way for me to do it. Using my ballpoint and a sheet of lined paper inside a leather bound book seems so archaic at this point. And, truthfully, the thought that even one person (even somebody I actually know) could read this is just the amount of pressure/validation I need to keep me writing...ANYTHING!





Right now that ANYTHING is a haunting sadness and an overall lethargy. These two emotions seem to be the most powerful over the rest of my flurries that bluster through me on any given day. Sure, the sadness can be linked to my departure from NYC after nearly 14 years of braving the "concrete jungle where dreams are made of." The lethargy is part complacency, part normalcy, part growing older in a city that always makes you feel 10 years older than you are. I am tired all the time but don't sleep well. I am lazy with my days but still get everything done that needs to be done, for work, for home, for me. I am lacking motivation but have a tendency to keep knitting, keep reading that one book that has taken me 4 months to finish, that one vocal CD I have been working on since December, and the organization of my belongings that seems to be 3 years in the making. I am bloated and feeling fat for my frame, yet I am cutting out carbs, drinking less, and trying desperately to not indulge in the late night binges. I am not an idiot. I realize this all points to me just not being happy with myself, or where I am in my life. I keep trying to understand that "unhappiness." I don't necessarily feel unhappy. But, I think my actions, feelings, and demeanor all point to something unhappy within me, around me, about me. I know that I wished I were doing more in life. More meaning what, I don't know? I guess when I say 'more' I mean something bigger than myself, or something truly myself. I feel pulled in too many different directions hence never giving anything 100 percent of my devotion. I always spend my days wishing for more time, looking back at what I didn't get done instead of what I did. I also tend to wake up with a feeling of anxiety. I always feel like there is some impending doom awaiting me when I turn off my alarm and turn on my phone, when I open my mailbox, when I open my front door, when I take my first step into the jungle. I know that I need some inspiration, some motivation. I hope I am not putting too much pressure on my huge life change to suddenly spark the inner artist in me, or to transform me into an overnight healthy, successful version of myself. But, they say that huge life changes like "moving" can either be the most difficult thing to go through or the most rewarding. It forces you to face the harsh realities of starting over, getting to know new people, new places, and new life. I can't sit on my couch anymore in a pile of safety blankets, hugging a pint of complacency and sipping a cup of soothing liquid of my choice. I hope this is the case for me. I hope I can face the new chapters in my life with more zest. I hope I can zoom through those chapters in half the time it has taken me to read the last book I read.



Here is to another attempt.

Dee in Dolce

We will call him Dee. This will stand for his designer douche bagness and his dee-lite that he added to my night. Let me fist describe Dee. He's a little bit chubby if I'm going to stoop to the shallow edges of myself. Dee is tall. Dee is young (23-25). Dee is also drunk. He's feminine without being tranny. He is stumbling and fumbling somewhere he is not supposed to be and I politely ask if he needs assistance and guide him in the proper direction out of the basement of the bar. How he got there in the first place is beyond me. The following is my 2 min and 2 sec exchange with Dee.

(Oh and btw, I was also on a phone call)

Me: Can I help you? You shouldn't be down here?
Dee: Wha? I just...ummm...I am looking for drag queens.
Me: Well, we don't keep them in the basement here. Besides, I think they left.
Dee: (Pause with an open mouth stare then finally in his best valley girl voice)...Um...geez sorry I am wearing dolce. (Which could also be Sorry. I AM wearing Dolce.)
Me: What? That's nice. Now right this way up this flight of stairs. Watch your step.

Dee stops dead in her tracks and he says: "Do you know? I mean where on earth can you find Micheal (insert long weird name of some designer perhaps)? I mean you can't find him in New York..."
Me: Excuse me? I don't understand what you just said?
Dee: Puhleeeessseeee, I am just saying...
Me: (interrupting) I am not sure what you are saying because it has been nothing but hoots and clicks since I found you stumbling around. Can you please head up these stairs and I will show you out.

Dee begins to work up the stairs. This is different than walking up a flight of stairs. It's runwaying up the stairs. Work! But, just before he reaches the top of the stairs he speaks in his best Janice Dickinson and says...

"You're a poor bitch."

Me: Excuse me? What's that supposed to mean?
Dee: You heard me. A poor Bitch! This is Dolce+.

With that he shonteyed* out the door and back into the gay fray of Therapy bar.

+Apparently Dolce is this really tacky black jacket with horrible black floral stitching on it. But, also apparently it makes you NOT Poor!
*shontey is a word used by Rupaul in her hit song Supermodel. It's really spelled Shante. At least according to her liner notes inside the CD. But, since I am a poor bitch who can't afford an education, I made up this spelling. I am certain my pal Dee would know the proper spelling of this FABULOUS word from the fashion and pop culture vernacular

I Shall Scream

It will happen when I least expect it. Probably awakened by a dream or I will have lost my keys. And in that panicked moment, It will grow inside me like a whistle tone that only the bats inside my stomach can converse with. Then it will rise up to my chest with a rumble like a train. It will pound at my heart like the big bad wolf. Finally, it will take up residency in my throat bouncing off of my chords and my tonsils and my glands and my pipes like a pinball wizard. But, when I open my mouth hardly any sound will come shining through. Because, my true colors aren't always vibrant and full. Because, instead my mouth will hang open and my eyes will squint closed and drool will fall from my mouth which will seem separate from my body. But, the scream will be heard. Not around the world. But, it will ring and echo inside my head.

Blah and Gross

It's days (and nights) like these were I want someone the most. Someone to heat up my soup. Someone to stroke the back of head and neck and back. Someone who will watch a movie with me. Someone to run downstairs to the store for more bottled water or gatorade. Someone who will rub my hands and feet. Someone who will run all my errands for me and call me while out to make sure I didn't change my mind about dinner. Someone who doesn't mind watching a Full House Marathon on Nick at Nite. Someone who likes the discovery channel and E!

I hate being sick.

Nuff said