Kitty Power

The Stars Should Lie Upon My Face

While I've been off bullshitting, I've been getting older. Starting my Saturn return and all that. 27 in itself doesn't really feel like much, even though I thought of it as this semi-magical age when I was younger. The age when you become a real adult. In reality, it's kinda...eh. I suspect it's because 26 was so fucking hectic. I'm all about closing the book on all that. A fun fact is that when I used to run around with Farmer and The Boy (separately, natch), they were 27 and I think that's when it first became crystal clear that it was just a number, not a particular badge of maturity. They're both over 30 now and Farmer's a daddy, which is scary and awesome at the same time. The Boy, on the other hand, is still running around like a jerkface. I had a hilarious and random encounter with him and his BMX near the Navy Yard a while ago. Time really does fly.

This year, I decided to sit out Miami and my annual tradition of going into debt to pay for that trip. Though the cosmos is toying with me: Robert Owens is doing a show here Sunday night and he was my highlight last year, but Erykah Badu is playing a free show down there Thursday. My plan for this year is go to Sonar and spend some time visiting P. Diddy and Alex. I've never been to Europe before and the best airfare I'm finding is about $800 (not to mention the dollar vs. the euro is pathetic at the moment), so I need to save my pennies. That might be easier to do if I ever got around to finding a roommate... Baby steps.

Lately, I've been struggling trying to get this Life vs. Work equilibrium thing right. I've spent a big chunk of the past five years being a party girl and it's an adjustment to realize now that I'm actually building a career (I sure wouldn't have said that this time last year), staying out all night most nights can't really mesh with that. I've been experimenting with ways to build up some self-control and still have fun. It still needs adjustment time for sure. Let's not even mention that whatever balance I build can potentially come tumbling down if I introduce a new boy into the mix. Then again, I'm so far out of that mode. I don't even remember what it's like to date at this point.

I was kicking around the idea of resolutions for this year, but what I want is pretty simple: staying healthy, even greater career success, traveling more, having fun and keeping good people around. And I guess blogging more, but I always say that whether I mean it or not.

You Can Be My Blazing Arrow

Happy New Year! I've basically been a sicky mess since then. I was on vacation for about a week and a half leading up to it and started the wild run early, so once it was time to go back to work, my body conked out on me.

New Year's Eve is a bit of a blur for me. 2007 was a pretty insane year and I was happy to see the tail end of it. I spent the early part of the day scrambling to finish off shopping and cleaning and getting things done and failing miserably. And just when I thought I had enough to preoccupy me, yet another bombshell. '07 was the year of "aww fuck, what's next?" I was never allowed to get too comfortable before a seismic shift came along to stir up everything. It sucked, but I think I'm a better person on the other side.

And there I was at 11:30 on New Year's Eve, surprising myself by wearing a party dress. I'd been wrangling with it since the dressing room the day before, still wondering if it wasn't just a bit too short. It was fine in the front and sorta in the back as long as I didn't bend over or sit down or something useful. And unlike some crazies I saw later in the night, I had tights to keep it all from being a little too drafty and indecent. To cap off a year I'd spent transforming away from minimalist and preferring to be unnoticed, I went with big hair and earrings and loved my reflection. I swilled cheap champagne and danced for the passively observing cat and waited for PrincessNella's call and just felt totally relieved. I had made it through the loss of the hell job, being so sick and weak for a while there that I could barely get out of bed, all the dumb entanglements, and the horrible potential move to something like happiness and (partial) stability for the first time in forever. I buckled down and suffered, but I did it. I earned my fucking adult tag.

Midnight was me and PN and champagne and fireworks from the park. We just listened to music and kicked it for a while before we rallied to go out. Studio B was the destination for the second year, but this time, we didn't kick around that long before she was off home and I was en route to the still patchy part of my night. But, I hear I was quite the dancer and I even made a friend to go off to another party with. Beforehand, I'd made an appointment to get cable installed on New Year's Day, so imagine how unamused the cable guy was to hear me pleading for him to come back later with a techno background since I still wasn't home at 11am. I stumbled out in the light feeling like a degenerate soon after, but still missed him because he called back while I was in the passed out part of my day. Good times. I even got a food delivery from Ms. Mommy with the affirmation that yes, my dress was too short. But hell, it looks different without tights is my final word on it.

I don't really have any formal resolutions this year. Besides maybe be as good to people as they are to me, do the right thing, and curb the dickheads in my life. And stay healthy, but that's more of a wish. I've already discovered that's not much under my control. Oh, and I guess to write more here too, but I can't make any promises.

You Can Start Over

Mea culpa. I'm always disappearing lately.

Nothing to report really. Life working with the mothership has its ebbs and flows. I'm gearing up to move at the end of the year to my first solo place and worrying about saving right and what I'll do with all the crap I've accumulated over the years. The cast/bandages are off and the ankles are a little crunchy, but at least I can dance again with only a bit of hobbling.

Over on my Facebook page, I've been building this photo album with some old pictures I unearthed when Helga was retired. Most of them are from senior year and the immediate time afterwards when everything was awesome and scary all at once. I'm constantly struck by how long ago it all seems. Sometimes I miss being filled with so much energy and piss and vinegar, but never feeling so awkward and unsure and hungry for any kind of experience that I could get. Looking back, I wasted a lot of time being passive and confused. Everything's not perfect now by far but there's something to be said for (mostly) feeling like my head's on straight.

It's kinda easy to ride the nostalgia train. It's been almost a year since the infamous drink episode and about six months since I crushed The Boy's ridiculous friends attempt. And I haven't seen him in a wonderfully long time which sometimes makes me smile at the thought that he ceased to exist or something like that. Farmer's my newish Facebook friend and I got floored at the news he's going to be someone's dad the other week. That's just...wow. I figure Mr. Sailor is probably married and/or with kids now too. I laugh at how stupidly intense I felt for most of the stupid shit I used to mistake for love. It's amusing the strange turns life can take sometimes.

At the moment, I'm just trying to have a good life and feel great. Sometimes a little solitary ambition does a girl good.

I Want To Kiss The Concrete

Skeletons and The Girl-Faced Boys, You'da Been Better Off

I haven't been having the best luck health wise this year, but I'm trying to avoid even thinking "worst body year ever!" The latest saga is my foot. I've been feeling pain in it for a while and my no insurance head in the sand fix was to get some arch support and stop wearing flat ass flip flops worked for a bit. But the other day, it became pretty unbearable and I got tired of hobbling along, so I used my 4-day old insurance (we heart The Freelancer's Union!) to stroll over to the podiatrist and get it checked out. I was hoping for a nice sturdy insert and some painkillers, but instead I got a soft cast and next week I go back for the real way. Yay me? I guess I'm gonna get my money's worth out of these months of insurance I just paid for. And amazingly, I woke up this morning finally not in pain for first time since I don't even remember. So, it's heading towards all good.

The drawbacks are: 1) strangely, a bandaged foot is a prime target for stepping on. Goddamned jerks. 2) It doesn't really get me a seat on public transportation. I just end up with funny looks really. 3) I'm showing up to my first day of the new job looking like an accident prone dumbass. Ah well. 4) This more or less ruined a really fun weekend I had planned. Hard to dance in a cast and boot. 5) The only places I'll probably be the next couple of weeks are work and my damned fourth floor walkup. I think my couch and I will develop a very special relationship.

In other life, this job transition is very nerve-wracking for me. I really liked the place I left today. Not only because it was a great port after feeling so adrift back in the spring and helped me gain a lot of confidence and pride in my abilities, but the people were awesome and taught me a lot and working for one of the motherships (even as a lowly freelancer) does have its advantages. Now, I'm transitioning across town and it's like Monday is my first day of school. I'm sure it'll turn out great, but it's very overwhelming at the moment.

Lately, I've been listening to the old Skeletons album, the new Battles, and Oui and the latest Sea and Cake. Considering those are the three groups I've been obsessively going to see this spring/summer, I'm sure that's not very surprising. Oui was unearthed when I was randomly browsing through CDs. That CD is very junior year of Wes, sitting on the porch of 68 High with Alex and Tino and the crew. I've been thinking a lot about random school times since my brand new Facebook obsession is putting me in touch with randoms I haven't seen in years and the reunion is looming. Five years! I was musing the other day that the current class going in there is Class of 2011 and I'll be 30 when they graduate. Then I thought how my brother will graduate high school in 2017 and I decided to stop playing that game. I need to learn how to live in the present more. Most of the summer I've been looking in the rearview or getting ahead of myself.

I Was Delayed, I Was Waylaid

I've been having a mini nostalgia trip today. Once upon a time, I really looked like my mother. And I didn't fret about the perceived thickness of my neck. And I was really vain and referred to my stomach as perfect. And the night that picture was taken, I was wearing black satin, cut dangerously low in the back, and I made jaws drop. I also drank shitloads on an empty stomach and ended up doubled over and dryheaving in a heap. But, I still was pretty hot.

I still have that dress here in my closet, pushed back into the corner, sad and neglected. I could probably still get it on...a quarter way before the seams ripped. I won't even pretend that it'd still be able to zip. It fit like a second skin then, but draped flatteringly. I'd need a lot more material nowadays.

I've been feeling kinda hit or miss healthwise and I made the step of joining my closest Y last week. Swimming and steam rooms and all of that supposedly help me feel better. Buying a swimsuit wasn't the semi-traumatizing trip I expected it to be. I'm a lot more realistic about my body and its limitations nowadays. I think I panicked more at the gym when I realized I'd placed myself in the high traffic area of the locker room changing and then when I had to sneak into the aquacize class with my little towel barely acting as a shield and all eyes on me. It's one thing to be mentally comfortable in your skin and have other people see you in it in bad lighting. But the class was fun and I kicked ass, bad knee and shoulder be damned. Maybe there's hope for me yet.

Last Friday night, I wandered to Williamsburg for a show at a venue I've seen only good shows at and amuses me by changing the decor every time I go there. I tangentially knew that the show was put on by this kid I'm conflicted about on a few levels. And I strolled up and there he was. We met in one of the random ways I can meet people when I'm feeling deliberate and the episode itself was fun if a bit tame. Strolling about the Slope on one of the hottest days of the spring, chatting aimlessly, and watching tv is strange on the surface, yet it was also perfect in a way. I so rarely just chill with someone I don't know well. Underrated it is. I've seen him around since then, usually at shows, and he's disarmingly friendly, but the outside venue communications lines seem to have dried up. I don't really feel anything but kinda off-put. He's an interesting guy and has a lot of the things I said I was looking for on my post-boy list of Mr. Next attributes. He's got some of the too cool for school trappings, but I felt that he was a stand up non-pretentious sort of person. Maybe I was wrong and the vague shallow hipster impression is the real one. I'm suspicious of people who put up the fake front whether they like you or not. It veers too close to the Shady school of life. Then again, it seems to work for him, so what do I know?

I ended up in the balcony next to a guy being a "badass" and sprinkling beer on people. I may have pointed out the slope kid (and his stupid shirt) for a splashing. It was wrong. The devil made me do it. But, I was still surprised when dude got inspired and practically dumped the whole can on him. Sloper looked up all aggro style for a second, but the moment passed. I ran into him later and he was asking what the deal was with the beer thrower. I feigned confusion and wandered off.

I can't help myself from playing the what if game as far as he's concerned. Well, he's not the only one. Sometimes I look back on the old pictures and think that if that was me now, I'd never lose. And then I remember the circumstances around the night this picture was taken when I couldn't quite hold onto the attention of my spring semester focus at the time and senior year in general which was like one misadventure after another. The grass is always greener on the other side. But I think at the end of the day, I'd just like less rocks on my lawn.

Rest Your Sad Head and Let That Shit Go

A moment of silence for Helga, my formerly indestructible HP that conked out on me. I had it about two months shy of 8 years, so I can't be mad and getting above and beyond my money's worth of it. I've been saving up for a shiny laptop for while and today I bought another HP tower that I'll pass along to my mom once I get my piggy bank ready for the laptop buy. A $400 computer was still lightyears away from what I've been working with all this time. Luckily, I've been slowly migrating my info to my external hard drive for a few months now, so no big info loss. I'm still vaguely confident that I can transfer settings, but it remains to be seen. That poor computer survived 8 years of moves, dust, good writing, bad writing, many IM conversations, angry emails, overlong blog posts, music downloads, and days and nights of overwork. The new computer clean slate feeling is kinda interesting. I feel like everything happening around/with me right now has something to do with salvaging the good pieces and/or rebuilding from the bottom. I don't mind really. Change is a very good thing.

The other week found me venturing into Midtown on a Saturday night. Very strange since the last thing I do when I leave it on Friday evening is clamor for more. I was off to check out this new to me band that I'd been digging for more info about. The show was in this art gallery, hidden in the shadows of office buildings and delis and theater row. The space was transformed into a maze with sculpture and writings decorating the walls. I wandered in, looking for the music that was promised to be at the end. I saw a band, not the one I was there looking for, sitting around and taking apart equipment. I looked at them, they looked at me, and wandered away. I came across this guy, looking like an antsy hipster complete with the shaggy hair, hoodie, and classic sneaks (shelltoes in this instance), and we struck up a stilted conversation as I asked where the refreshments were hiding. Our chatting would reoccur as the night passed. The place was on the miniature side. Three turns and you were either out the door or back where you started. I tried to wait patiently for everything (the set to start, the drink girl to replenish the supply, a lightning bolt to hit this girl who started some story with "not that I'm a racist, but..."), but mostly aimlessly walked around and around. That guy was from SC visiting for the week and one pass we talked about the upstate region and its little cities and towns. I felt a twang slip out and I missed my old summer trips for the quickest of seconds.

And then the band played, mostly acoustic with the music going low as the mike-less singer sang. I was mesmerized by the bass, all strings and neck. I stood in the corner on a bucket and tried to keep my balance and take a pic or two with my shitty camera phone. Almost at the end, there was competing noise from a sax player and drummer playing out front on the street. They wrapped up quick and suddenly and everyone ventured outside. The discordant noise brought down a tourist to complain about her lack of sleep. She walked about and fumed helplessly and everyone watched the showdown between her and the saxophonist amused. I used the lull to stroll off the next destination. There were no more fireworks to be had there that night.

I had a choice of parties to go to with one big possible drawback to them all. I was playing the shell game and trying not to be where The Boy could end up. But true to form, I paid my money and bought my first drink and looked to my left to see his friend and then him sitting there. Figures really. I kept to myself and this random I knew from the neighborhood where I used to work and he hovered around like the mosquito you can't quite kill and finally just ghost. I coped with the Long Island Iced Tea special and chugging to calm my nerves. Too bad my stomach wasn't so happy as time went on. I spent the next day at home lounging like Sheba and considered how fun it would be to live somewhere where my past wasn't always been thrown in my face.

Tuesday, I attempted to see a show by the old faves, but fatigue and the noxious crowd turned me back. Instead I went to the 2nd show of the week by Saturday's group. There again was that guy from SC. We had another strange conversation and he confessed that he was at the show for lack of a better option and stir crazy. I gave my condolences on that and perched myself by the bar hoping for a good watching angle. It was a good show again and I was happy that I got it together to see them. That guy had disappeared before the show was over. I hope he had a good trip.

Time Passages

I just realized that my blog is a few days over four years old. I usually pay more attention to the actual domain anniversary, but there's something about it this time around that has me a little amazed that it's been a good while. If this was my baby, it'd be on its way to school or something. I'm kinda itching for an overhaul. Most of the links are dead and I would like a color overhaul. We'll see if I have the time.

It's funny to read back at shit I've written even six months ago, so four years time is ridiculous. I definitely wouldn't be a tenth as open nowadays and I'm amused that the posts got way wordier at time went on. I'm still dealing with most of the same shit though. The more things change, the more they stay the same and all.

So who was I? Candicissima a.k.a. Candice. 22. Pisces. High-strung, conflicted, college graduate as of May 25th ('03), NYC born and raised, unemployed, writer, urban bohemian at heart, social butterfly, music junkie, scatterbrain, dreamer, crafty, intellectual, sarcastic, melancholy, passionate, idealistic, explorer.

And now? Candicissima a.k.a. Candice. 26. Pisces. Striving for zen and balance, NYC dwelling, cog in the advertising machine, realist, individualistic, explorer, music junkie, social observer, creative, clever, and a lapsed writer.

Still hope I'm keeping it interesting as the time goes on.

Every Day Is Saturday Night

I'm annoyed. (A quick aside, I often think how fun it would be to have some Movable Type hack – yes, I am a blog nerd, And what? – where you could have mood displays a la Live Journal. And then I think, well first of all, my mood would usually be annoyed, so it'd just be redundant. And also, I can save that for my real LJ where I can go on and on and on in private and non-cryptically. So, this is a dumb aside basically. My prerogative. Whatevs.)

It's a shame I'm salty because things are really not bad. My new favorite pastime is podcasts by East Village Radio, Stones Throw, and XLR8R. New to me – or even, memory jogging – music is always good in my book. Hours and hours of fun that is. The weather is nice, really nice. I had a good weekend split between much needed rest and reconnecting with folks. Brunch and a nice stroll through the nabe even fit in there. I saw a fun show by Kenna
last week at the new Luna Lounge and had the loveliness that is an Iona cider. I ran into one of the few Wes kids who it isn't (that) painful to see and I had a funny text convo with Justin when I got fooled by hisdoppelganger. He said he was at PB&J and I was confused about that until...er, about 20 minutes ago. I'm so out of the loop with what the kids are listening to nowadays.

Anyway, I think it's just one of those states where the good is awesome and the bad fucking pisses me off. The problem (if it can even be called that) stems from being a little too focused right now. I had myself on overdrive and did what I had to do, so now it's like I'm in that mode and I don't know if it's worth it to slip out. I feel like my game has been elevated and now I don't want to go back. Still, I know there's a significant amount of fun missing. I just feel stiff or something. I guess that's to be expected. It's been a big two months for me. So, I'm just a bit restless and impatient. I don't have it in me to wait around and hope I make square pegs fit in round holes. I'm tired of settling
and being jerked around. That's how I spent most of the past three years at the wrong jobs and being with the wrong people and spending too much time feeling bad. I'm not exactly sure what I want, just that Ihaven't found it yet. Clear as mud, eh?

Make Some Lemonade

T. S. Monk - Bon Bon Vie

That's my new favorite song. I've known it for years, but while I was browsing the goods I couldn't bring myself to drop tons of cash on in the Adidas store in Miami, the DJ put it on and I cornered him to get the name. I came back to NY and Soulseek wasn't being helpful and Bill thankfully gave it to me. It's such a strange song, very upbeat music with some really depressing ass lyrics. It fits what I'm going through right now.

I've been holding a post in draft all week because I couldn't find the right words/tone or encrypt things like I usually do. I'm going through a really bad time and I can't write cute around it. I just feel lately like every good thing that happens to me has some swift negative counter and it's bringing me down.

Miami was great, warm fun (minus the hotel losing my reservation, the fruitless lines at the Scion parties and getting shafted at hotel bars -- no matter how many times I go, $12 well drinks will never be okay). A highlight was making a friend at the Robert Owens show and geeking over the artist behind Strings of Life. Yay house and techno!

My doctor was harassing me while I was down there and I made an appointment with her for the Friday after I got back. I started seeing her over some random phantom pain in my knee that had been bothering me for a while. She did a complete physical (I'm fat and weigh a lot more than I used to, no shit) and took a heap of blood and got the results while I was away. It turns out that my joints are fucked and I have an appointment with a specialist to see if it's a bad disease or a worse one. Um yay? ETA: It's the mild version of bad. In case you were sitting on the edge of your seat or something.

Funny thing about Friday, I also got laid off that day. I was having a hellish week back at work and totally swamped with work. My boss walked up to me at 6:15 all "can I talk to you for a second?" and I said no because I had a shitload to finish by 7. Yet she was insistent and I went to find out to my surprise that I was out of a job. I don't even know how I felt. I was pretty relieved yet also frightened since being out of a job when you might potentially be really sick is no good. My work friends rallyed for me at the local bar and that was nice. Despite my evil boss and being overworked and grossly underpaid, I liked my job and most of the people there. It makes me sad to have that suddenly taken away from me, but I'm not really worried about landing on my feet. It's weird being home during the day. I've working more or less straight for the past 10 years, so I almost don't know what do with myself without a job, even if part of me just wants to fucking relax and write like I never have time for and collect unemployment for a minute. Instead, I've been applying and doing interviews and thinking about where to apply. I don't think I know how to relax sometimes.

Last night was the Battles/Prefuse/Soft Circle show at the Bowery. The show sold out last week (over the weekend? I dunno), something I didn't discover until I checked online to get the box office address to go buy a ticket. I made new friend off Craig's List (off the strictly platonic section, pervs) and got to go. (Thanks again, E!) I've heard a lot about Soft Circle, but never heard the music until yesterday. It was pretty rad, one man band drumming with droning vocals and electronics. Prefuse did a drum-less set with him and two dudes on the turntables/mixers/electronics. One of them was this DJ from LA called The Gaslamp Killer. Last year in Miami, he DJed this party I went to and dude's an experience. He's like a mixtape come to life or something. After/during/between a song, he starts with the hype man shouting business. It's half entertaining, half annoying. Battles was great also, but by the time they took the stage, I was already over the edge of drunkenness with no return. A fun result of that: I ran out of cash in my pocket, so I used to my credit card to buy a drink I didn't need. And to kill the tab, I bought drinks for Prefuse, Beans, and some of their friends. How random.

As I vaguely feared, I ran into the boy at the show. He rolled up on me when I was chatting with E before the show started and I eyed the drink in his hand really warily. He said that he read the email (actually MySpace message) that I had sent him, but he'd been busy and hadn't had time to respond (whatever, fuck him). I didn't really say anything in return and for once in his life, he took a hint at the awkwardness and went away. I ran into his friend (the one I've seen at Sputnik a few times and have a pretty good relationship with considering) and told him about the job situation, so when I ran into the boy again later, he said: "sorry to hear about your job, but you're one of the most resourceful people I know, so I'm sure it'll work out for you." Which was nice, but way to pass on my bad news, friend! We had a nice conversation which was strange and I said as much. He invited me over to hang out with him and his friends and I didn't. I feel good about the whole thing though. I wanted a nice postscript to the whole thing and now I have it. I'd rather look forward to something new than keep looking back.

The end of the show is a drunken blur. Somehow somewhere I fell and hurt my elbow and sorta broke my phone (thank god for cell insurance!). I cabbed it home and woke up in bed fully clothed. I've spent most of the day convinced that I lost my phone and was inconsolably hysterical for hours (missed two phone interviews also...yay me), but there it was randomly a few minutes ago when I bent down to get my fallen pen, off and taunting me. Meh. At least it's here. Sometimes shit just works out...sooner or later.

Everybody Is Trying To Be His Friend

Birthday in less than 17 days! Despite my love of the countdown, this year feels like a non-event for me.

I'm marginally amused that I'm not doing much to uncomplicate my life, despite a nice little run of quiet I had there. Of all the boys in NYC that I could have a) a crush on and b) want me for...something besides my big, entertaining brain, it would have to be roommates. Ugh. Extracting myself from that situation with no one but me (and you, my delightful non-them readers) knowing about it is going to be interesting. Good thing I was playing Girl Scout for a while there because it'll be a lot easier since nothing's gone on all around. I don't really want to bother with either of them. A girl would like to be surprised and swept off her feet for a change. That's not happening with either of them.

In many ways, I'm pretty much mentally checked out of the city. As it stands, I'm either finding something new to do that's awesome and well-paying or staying where I'm at working up towards a move in the spring. Top 3 destinations: LA, DC, or SF with LA being the front runner. But I'm starting to downplay that since the idea is making (almost) everyone I know foam at the mouth. To answer the inevitable "why?!" I'm getting from everyone, I just want a change of scenery. It might be millions strong, but it seems like my little hometown more times than not and I'm at a place where I'd rather miss it. It's starting to feel clastrophobic. Either everything I remember comes rushing back when I go certain places or I end up feeling down because so much has changed. And there's the constant turning a corner and seeing a HS or college person, a failed date, a former coworker, some random I met once at 2am in a backroom. I want to go where I don't have such a layered history. Just for a little while. And if I hate it, the city will always take me back.

Resolutions

I don't know if I can muster up the attention span to do mega-end/beginning of the year roundups like I used to. I've had shit sitting in draft for weeks with no end in sight, so I'm throwing in the towel on them. Last year was rough. I feel that much has been obvious around here. In some areas, I'm more distant and unfocused than ever and in others, stuff is/has come together in ways I wouldn't have imagined. Everything needs work though and I'm just trying to keep some sort of upward trajectory going.

I could list my regrets for days, but at least I really felt like an active participant in my story for the first time in too long. Everyone's annoyed at me for slowing the output here down to a crawl, but if it's a slight comfort, the less I'm writing here, the more I'm out there actually living. I need more of a balance this year.

Anyhoo, the resolutions:
01. Move
02. Ask for help
03. Rebuild my nest
04. Get the savings in better shape
05. Leave the past in the past
06. Stop neglecting my site
07. See one secret creative project to fruition
08. Go easier on myself
09. Kill the inner control freak
10. Have more fun

Bring It All Back

Left to my own devices, I brood and obsess and internalize. I lounge and overthink and become melancholy and wring my hands about what next steps to take. I usually decide to sit and wait for inspiration to hit and take things in and bite back my reactions. This year, I'm mostly about shaking that bad habit.

And it's hard. I think I've cried more since I have when I was a child. Fucking change is hard. Sometimes I don't feel tough enough and I slip and do what I'm trying not to. I've always been a person who does the "right" thing since it's the good thing to do and the mysterious they say if you work hard and rightly enough, you get nothing but good things back. But, what the fuck do they know? Do they have names and can their references be verified?

I've been precariously trying to keep equilibrium. I've spent a lot of time thinking about what I want. Sometimes I just don't know. Other times it's clear: happiness, success, security, respect, and feeling appreciated. I've ripped up some of my foundations with jackhammers and tried to subvert everything I thought I was about. I've tried to kill the dead weight and be forceful and be me. I know I've been more self-absorbed than usual, but I don't get the same thrills in sharing that with others that I used to. I'm just trying to keep shit together a day at a time, even when it seems like things are falling apart all around me. I quit my old mostly comfortable, but extremely hated job and threw myself into a new scary place that makes me proud and cry and be upset and want to do the best I can and sometimes just want to throw in the towel and start again. It's hard for me to not be my job nowadays especially when it has me for 60 hours a week. The rents think that I am insane and alternately encourage me to walk away and stick it out. I don't know what I'll do. My mind changes daily.

I feel raw this year, all exposed nerves and shaky. Just when I'm putting one foot in front of the other to maintain, weird shit happens and I'm thrown again. There's been death and Mr. Daddy's medical crisis surprise (all better but still weirds me out) and getting a blast from my little girl past and the random thoughts of having screwed up and not being able to fix my trajectory. And the forceful expulsion of people from my life. Sometimes I have random dreams about Farmer and we're still friends or whatever. I miss him sometimes and wonder about him, but mostly think the break had to happen. Sometimes you just care more about people than they do about you and life is better when they're not around. Sad but true. I had the long overdue showdown with the boy the other week. I didn't realize I had so much anger simmering under the surface until I threw a drink in his face. It was a bad quick episode, but also on some slow motion movie shit. That was like the bow to a colossally shitty week. I'm sorry but not especially and I wrote him a vitriolic letter that I buried in my notebook and will never send. It's my nature to try to have a coda and make things tidy, but I'm starting to accept that sometimes endings are jagged and bad.

Thursday night, I revisited a place that had some appeal over the summer and the kid who introduced me to it. I was sitting alone, not really sure if I was waiting or not, feeling aimless and drinking a cider. I'm pretty sure I was frowning and ridiculously far into my head and the problems I'm sorting through. The bartender made minor small talk with me and I responded in monotone capped off with a weak smile. The kid came and we small talked and I resisted the urge to dump the bad at his feet. I killed the work and bad old relationship talk and focused on the moment. A nice little bar, a good cider, a DJ randomly playing the Metro Area album, colorful bar characters, the fun flirtation and the unspoken knowledge that it was leading to more, and a real smile on my face probably for the first time that day. It's just better sometimes to focus on the great little things.

Wake Up and Live Forever

Note: this post has been liberated from the unpublished archives and I was just too lazy to update most of it

August was a super strange month for me, with a lot of deja vu-inducing moments. Wacky neighbor friend who gets a little besides himself after some drinks? The DJ looking cute but ultimately ridiculous to me? A boy who should be in the past, but I'm having random hangouts with him where I just kinda shake my head and wonder why? What fucking year is this really? And I've been on my broke as a joke diet and looking downright early 2005 lately. Sayonara, chipmunk cheeks! Until the next round of cheeseburgers at least.

And me flitting about until real life ultimately comes slapping me in the face. Trying to be a grown up is really hard work. Sometimes I'm juggling like a pro, others things just get broken and I have to get out my superglue and try my best to fix it. I've spent a lot of time thinking about social superficiality and the few things and people that really have brought me joy in random, flighty ways. It's funny that I went in a week from saying that everyone's social MO is to greet drive-by style to wishing that I had broken myself from that pattern with the ones who were really special. Like the wonderful AG, gone now but briefly a bright light in the after dark world for me.

I've definitely seen more shows lately than I have in a while. PrincessNella and I went to Amsterjam thanks to a guy at work with connections. Busta: weird and leaning on the newer shitty material and not looking so hot. LL: the awesome! He did songs I forgot I knew from all through his career. But, he teased us by not going totally shirtless. He's looking less bullish lately. It would've been super hot. Foo Fighters: I really thought I sorta liked them until this show. They did the newer hits which blow and every song just ended up annoying. That might have been because the mosh pit erupted right next to me. Fuckers still do that shit? Christ on a cracker! We escaped to the lovely scene of a chick giving her pedophile boyfriend bus head in the corner of our eyes. As my dad used to say before he went all suburban, "you pay your fare, you get a show." Eww...I'll pass.

We wandered through Queens lamenting the utter lack of post-10pm eats and ended up in a spot familiar to me, near where Trendvickster lived before her big Chicago move. I marvelled at the time I used to spend in the area and how long ago the bulk of the '03 hijinks seem. Then off to Greenpoint where work and my life combined in fun ways. I felt really glad about how different everything is for me than it was six months ago. I don't regret the leap a single moment, even though many of these months have been painfully tight. The happiness will always win out.

In the past month, I've seen a few celebrations of love and commitment. I'm in a place where I'm happy to see really loving couples because I think "one day, that'll be me." I don't feel a rush, but in doing this ridiculous palling about with the boy, it makes me feel more acutely what I'm missing. There's not really anything I can actually do about it, but just sigh I guess.

You Don't Have To Dance For Me, I've Seen Your Dance Before

I have a hard time letting go sometimes. I'm a hard, self-possessed bitch who lives and dies on first impressions and if we start off on the wrong foot, it's never getting good. But the ones that pass and get through some of the layers, they gain a person who will be selfless to the point of ridiculousness and always care even when I shouldn't. It's not an eternal thing (e.g. Mr. Sailor), but sometimes even after falling out# 2,027681(e.g. Farmer), part of me still feels like I'm connected to them until one day it just finally sinks in to cut my losses.

It's more than partially me. I've got a million things going on and I like to be involved in a lot, weaving my way in and out of different areas. I like to know things, I like to learn about stuff that's new, I'm always open to share what I've gathered. But, I'm not an out there social animal and I'm usually low-key to a fault. And I like to get my kicks when I can. I like the guys with the big personalities that do "crazy" stuff or the ones so relaxed generally that I look manic in comparison. Usually some combo of the two.

Like the boy. When I first met him, I thought he wasn't like anyone I know. That, of course, was discovered not to be true as time passed. He and Farmer are two peas in a pod, with the extreme personality replaced by dogged intensity. There's something about the dynamic between us that bothers me in the same way. I'm always sitting back and playing the supportive audience, the second fiddle, the sounding board. I don't like myself when I'm with him. So, it's kinda strange that picture defacing aside, I've been wrangling with extracting myself. I tried the no contact thing fairly successfully for a while until the other week when I was feeling kicked puppyish and he made rare supportive noises that made me feel better temporarily. That lasted until about Thursday.

I'd been bored and feeling random after a semi-rough week and I reached out to him to hang. He was drunk and monologuing from the start about his new "friend" (he's so transparent) who makes so much money (we actually calculated it...and I'm not even shitting you) and supposedly has an awesome place in Midtown and had taken him out for drinks earlier and he was going out to the movies with the next day and walks on water in shoes lined with cash or whatever. OMG, someone who makes a lot of money and lives large and makes people jealous -- though not intentially because they're the most awesome person in the universe? Someone alert the press to that super special person! It was especially so fascinating when you're hearing about it for an hour or more. And his new job working in Manhattan. Dude, commuting is hard...apparently. Oh, how's my newish job? Who cares! How's my dad who just had neurosurgery less than two weeks ago? Eh...let's talk about that another time. Let's talk more about how you hate NYC fakers and the demands people make on your time....minus that awesome rich "friend!" Ladies and gentlemen, if like me you wondered back in junior high English class if a real-life Holden Caufieldesque person would be utterly insufferable, let me tell you: yes.

I was actually hating him more than a little bit and that was before we went to this random party and he disappeared on me and then got snippy when I got tired of sitting in one spot and wandered away on my own. But, this was the same guy who didn't want to date (officially) yet got mad at me because I wouldn't count the non-dating as dating anyway being a stickler for technicalities. Waiting for the train back to Brooklyn, he pushed me over the edge and I snapped "stop fucking talking, you're so annoying" and wandered away down the platform, wondering why I was just torturing myself by hanging out with him in the first place.

He's outlived his usefulness. I don't like him. He's not particularly nice or cool or insightful or interesting. He looks stupider than he acts. And there's not even the all those trumping factor of us hooking up counteract that. He's got zero that I want or need in my life. At this point, I should just never talk to him and/or kick him in the balls. But, I'm just irritating myself by turning back when I shouldn't. It's a disease really and knowing that it's wrong should count for something.

For Your Trials And Tribulations

I'm considering selling my bass guitar. I've owned it about 6 years, hardly ever look at it, hardly ever think about it, definitely don't play it. It's like a reminder of failed endeavors. A logical solution would be to learn how to play it for once and for all, but that costs money and that's something I don't have to spend on random shit at the moment. (I'd like to take a moment out to send a bad thought or 10 to Farmer who greatly screwed up the April projected budget. Asshat.)

I'm more than a little bit scattered at the moment. As I'm known to do, when one aspect shapes up, I have to go work on something else. We're reconfiguring the music/social life. All we like listening to at the moment is techno, techno, techno, old soul, techno, techno, dub, tech-house remixes, and more techno. Detect a pattern? That's what I gathered as fresh fun for my ears from Miami more or less. We're planning a Sunday evening excursion to dance dance dance at Love and we're slightly amused that we won't have to feel bad since the party is over by midnight and all. Though if we're thoroughly wasted by then, that plus won't be so major. We need more dancing in our life. We also like boys who like techno, especially when they pretend like they don't know anything about it (despite collections of it).

It suddenly dawned on me that I like too many weirdos. Where did this love for crunchy artsy cornballs come from? I mean, when dude's dancing made me cringe so much that I had to immediately get him out of my line of vision, that's a problem. Some things are just too big to get over. Someone who isn't trying to go out and doesn't know what to do with himself when he is, just isn't for me. The Wes indoctrination has made me a little more accepting than I ought to be. I'm fine with opposites attracting, but I think we were from different planets. Fresh blood, post haste.

Two Years and Counting

Two years ago today, my little procrastination tool is still here. I started off talking about the silly things I was up to and shouting my frustrations to far away friends. Now, it's been pretty much the same -- though occasionally a little too emo for my tastes. It's been a fun ride and shall hopefully continue on. My little KP is two! (Does that make the blog a toddler now?)

Since it's becoming a sort of a yearly tradition, I'm still Candicissima. 24. Music junkie. Jaded New Yorker. Social explorer. Hater and a lover. Aspirant. Temperamental. In transition.

Let's hope the next 365 are even more interesting.

Auf Wiedersehen

I feel like this has currently outlived its usefulness.

I've got a lot on my plate and I'm at a point where I'd rather write for me than passive strangers. I'm trying to move forward on a lot of things and be well and healthy, but I've got too many distractions. This is one.

I'm sure I'll pop back in a min. I always do. Meanwhile, wish me the best and the best to you.

ETA: Since I've been asked, the date at the top is May 31st for a few reasons: 1) so it'll stay at the top for a while and 2) I'm not killing the blog (because if I was, I'd pull a Liminal Liberal and delete the whole thing, archives and all) 3) when it finally goes away circa early June, maybe everything'll be sorted out and I'll be ready to come back. In the meantime, the archives will be good for a laugh and I can recommend those links heavily. And I still love IMs and emails. Laters.

Ah fuck it. I give up.

Stand Up Tall

Still here. Sorta. But if I play "Apache," "Pow," or "Stand Up Tall" one more time, my cat might scratch me to death. Did I mention I'm going to the Dizzee Rascal show Saturday? I'm so fucking cool I can't even stand it.

Yesterday, I was keeping myself occupied by throwing myself into the mix in this thread. This was seriously just about the only panel (the music blogs one too) that had me checking airfare like "I could totally go to Seattle...oh wait, I don't even have $10 to spare. Nevermind." It was running pretty well for a while there, but petered out some time this morning. Such is the nature of ILM mostly and also where would the discussion actually end up going? "They give me funny looks at shows." Check. "I never have problems, you're just being sensitive." Check. "Damn, y'all are just some complaining black bitches women. I don't want to deal with that." Check. "I can like metal/rock/country and Mary J too. Get over it!" Check. "But really what does this mean in regards to white people?" Check.

It's an uneasy position feeling like I should be able to go into a show situation neutral/neutered as a music fan and yet usually end up being the most conspicuous person there. The one thing doesn't look the other screech moment. I hate having to end up feeling self-conscious. If as an a confident and secure person end up feeling like an annoyed bug under a microscope, I can't imagine how someone else might. But isn't that the role of the black feminist in life, the strange visible invisibility? What better to illustrate that but a thread filled with over a hundred posts where a call for extra commentary besides us (really the only time such a call would be made) is a "eh...we'll sit back and watch." I'm considering a revive but I don't know what to say really. Obviously it's a highly personal topic for me -- black, feminist, critical (not a "critic") -- and reminds me of why I liked Afropunk, the movie and now the message boards. In there for once the field is level because with so many different representations of black people no one has to be the HNIC figurehead and finally black can not be the capitalized primary descriptor. The stance is I want to put across is that participation and opinions are needed because otherwise becomes the black people sideshow which unfortunately it seemed like the panel turned into. I don't know how to counteract that though. It's bigger than me. I can admit that.

Anyhoo, the Man Man show last night was fucking excellent. They were amazing -- the songs were filled with this unstoppable energy and they just really rocked. (See...this is why I'm not a critic.) I was most happy because they played a spanking new (to me) multi-instrumental (well more than usual) version of my favorite song. I got new converts in Alex and The Director. Lina was all "this is so weird...but the drummer is a monster." I rocked my old chopped t-shirt and let's just say, it was a little snug. I looked like I was late for my shift at Hooters. They might be real and fabulous, but too much for me yesterday, that's for sure. The funny part for me was running into the bouncer who was trying to kick it to me at one of the shows way back when. He's actually alright...NYU student and seems pretty interesting, but he just strikes me as sorta bland. I'm just a picky bastard unless I'm just gaming for fun. There really is no rhyme or reason.

It's A Living

I've got the disease known as GOSPLAC dementia. It's what happens when you send broke kids from broke families to play with rich kids for most of their school lives and then set them out in the real world where they have to make ends meet.

I've been thinking a lot lately about being dramatic and walking away from my job because I don't feel challenged enough. Though I can (and do) go there wearing whatever t-shirt/sweater and jeans that didn't look too dirty in the morning rush, I can sit and listen to my Zen all day and be as anti-social I want to be, and the pay while not i-banker awesome is considerably better than any shitty publishing job I probably want. At least weekly I tell Jay-V and PrincessNella that I just want to walk out and never look back. And then I come to my senses and urge myself to stop smoking that shit and to just suck it up and deal because there's a lot of people out there who can't even consider something so ridiculous and bourgeois because if they don't work, they don't eat.

And then I kick myself because I'm one of those people too and I've always had the bad habit of forgetting that. What the hell is wrong with me? I've been working since I was 15 and have no savings. I rarely if ever pay more than $70 for sneakers and I haven't bought a new pair since last summer. All my clothes come from Old Navy or H&M. The reason I wear my hair natural is because I really can't afford the money pit of being someone who literally does not know how to do all those super girly things (you know like keeping it from looking like you've been electrocuted and stuff) to their hair. I've got over $40,000 in student loans. I'm still paying off the three credit cards I maxed out and "forgot" about in my early days of school. My share of the rent plus utilities and food is more than half of what I make a month. Rooting out parties I can go to free or damned near isn't just me being a social butterfly or whatever but because I can't afford to go out otherwise. If I quit my job with no net, I'll be ruined within the month. And who's going to bail me out? My parents? Yeah right. They've got money problems of their own. If I don't work, I can't survive.

In a financial sense, it was stupid to even strike out and get the place, but there's a serious part of me that would rather be poor with a place (mostly) of my own than how I was in Queens, relatively flush for a crappy money handler but having to be bound to someone else's location choice and rules. I worry about money a lot -- no nightmares of bankrupcy...yet -- but like Jay-V said to me earlier, it's better than feeling like a kid pretending to be an adult like I did at home. Obviously, I didn't need to go to LA or Miami because I just spent money that could go to bills, but sometimes it's just good for the soul to say "fuck it, it'll be tight for a min afterwards but I work hard, I deserve this!" Sometimes I just get so sick of having to be so on the grind that I have to splurge on a carrot to make life worth living, i.e. the Zen. And that may still be ultra bourgeois of me, but it is what it is.

It's tough being raised knowing that you can't fuck around with your money because there's always someone to pay and at the same time being around people who are so carefree about it. I simultaneously envy and don't understand people like Alex and Farmer (who just took a trip to Cuba on a whim!). They're both flitting around foreign countries all relaxed, hardly even working, ultra blase about coming in and out of the States and I can't even wrap my brain around being free enough here to go abroad. Sometimes I get really bitter and mutter under my breath that if I was a white man I could not give a fuck and do what I want too, but it's more than that. I just feel like my hands are tied and I know it's because the system is set up that way.

Ironically enough, one of the last classes I took at Wes was about this. It's sad and more than a little ironic that they don't teach it anymore.

I Got No Time For Rearviews

It's that time of the year/quarter/month for the ultra serious, disclaimerrific type post. I'm sure it'll be of little interest to most.

I too often forget I'm not in a vacuum. I don't want to accept that it's not May '03 and no one that I haven't know forever/have never seen is reading this. I forget that everything I write has to be stripped of any resemblance/reference to people I actually interact with. (I can remember that in case of the job because it's as simple as I can't afford to be fired and I'm not trying to be assed out like that.) I let this place get a little ungauzy and then get all paranoid/annoyed checking out the traffic/activity log. Then comes the further stripping of meaning until I chafe and say "fuck it, it's mine! I'll write what I want!" More scrutiny and paranoia. Rinse and repeat.

I seriously don't get what strangers are interested in. The misadventures of an early 20something, foul-mouthed, narcissistic, self-important, self-deprecating, undermining, usually unhappy underachiever powered by booze, money, music, and NYC. (Actually, fuck that, I'd read that shit too!) I mean, it's me but it's not me at the same time. Words on a screen may be less than the sum of the parts -- or greater if a snapshot of the wrong time got thrown up there. I'm not completely mental because this is the wide open internet and all, but I do scratch my head looking at the super specific activity log results and wonder what the hell someone(s) are looking for. Is it sheer nosiness? Vanity searches perhaps? Here's the scoop: I fucked them all. Any further questions?

Writing like I do leaves me open to getting my feelings hurt a lot. I obviously take myself rather seriously (sometimes), so I was semi-traumatized by the outing because it's not like this is so high-profile that it gives me some sort of pleasure to be known as "that blog girl." I've killed a few budding things -- mostly inadvertantly, rarely passive-aggressively -- because they read something vaguely referencing them and it made them angry. I'm also not so far up my own ass that I can't tell when I'm being downright like a bull in the china shop but sometimes I just roll with it. Those situations in general make me sad, but I think somewhere deep down I knew this outlet/ego feeder would last longer for me than they did passing through. I think I've gotten a lot better at protecting identities but that's always up for interpretation.

As Bill and I were discussing the other day, bloggers are fucked up. We think we're all so important because strangers are constantly checking to see what new thing we have to say. I know a shrink would make a pretty penny just off my surface neuroses. Then again, everyone's fucked up. I think I dealt with more crazies pre-blog because at least now they know beforehand if they can deal with another drama queen in the relationship. The blame goes both ways usually, but I'm good for the "you read this, so you think you know me? Let me show you how you don't!" Luckily, this is totally a useful tool because I can crossreference dumbass mistakes I've made with a few keystrokes.

I'd say about 75% of the life passes through here but there's plenty of stuff that will never ever be referenced. It would probably explain a lot of the downright bipolar postings if I did, but that's neither here nor there. It is what is though and so am I, I suppose. But, this current incarnation of the blog is fucking weird and I think I'll be tinkering.

Hard Times Befallen The Soul Survivors

One day in, 24 can go either way.

In many ways from last year's blowout to now, the excitement died. Right after the party in '04, I went into hardcore job hunting hibernation. I'd spent most of the post-school fall and winter as super temp over at the evil empire (with some funny episodes) and having the best of both worlds: hardly working yet having enough money to finance going out up to 5/6 nights a week (plus the knowledge and skills to leave the house with $20 and come back after a long run with $19). But by March, that was mostly over and I was staring at walls again. Farmer had moved to Florida and I was adrift. I'd spent too much time for comfort in strange places just disassociated from everything. And really I admitted to myself that I was simply bored doing fuck all and wanted to settle down and be respectable.

So, I went and stayed in the house until I landed the job, then I started staying in because I just couldn't hang (often) until 5am and then whip into shape in an hour and change to get to work on time. But, I kept at it because I'm really a night owl and I had to work through my whatever with needing to find something more interesting at all times. Spending 3/4 of my time in the straight world and trying to make some sense out of compressing my running around into bite sized fun has failed miserably. The same parties, the same people, the tired music, the outdated trends, the terrible mismatches. I'm tired of paying in time and currency to stand around and wish I was home. I can't find excitement out there anymore. I was born jaded and my current state is really beyond the pale. As anyone who knows me well is aware, I do the most inexplicably fucked up things out of boredom. (Didn't I used to not smoke? How did I end up in so many strange situations?) I've been cruising towards the brick wall at a steady pace and early this week, I crashed. I'm down here on a heap, so the only way to go is up. What better time to make a real change than the year leading up to my quarter century anniversary?

Here's to foresight and using that undervalued brain in there somewhere underneath all the hair. And less melodrama -- dumbly manufactured and reaction wise -- in 2005.

The Body Politic

Sometimes I like to be dramatic and say that puberty ruined my whole life. After the initial toddler catepillar period, I was a lean and mean sort of kid. I escaped chocolate when I became allergic at eight and spent the time away from TV and books with a basketball or a bike.

Puberty and its accompanying annoyances threw the body for a loop and it made me into a reactionary. I hated the attention that a budding body brought me. I resisted the bra push from my mother and stuck to undershirts as long as I could. When men noticed the curves and started commenting, I sought refuge in baggy clothes and dark colors. That was also when I started wearing hats. I wanted to blend into the woodwork. I enjoyed the confusion/curiosity on people's faces when I came along with my hat pulled down low to my eyes, giant army jacket, jeans two sizes too big and layers of shirts. Was I a boy or a girl? I wasn't sure myself. I would wear a skirt once or twice a year and spend most of it hiding. But as junior and senior years rolled around, we had our class formal dances and I broke out forcefully at both with such overwhelmingly girly dresses that I shocked everyone. "You're so pretty. Why do you wear all those clothes?" Because I could, more or less. The irony of a hardcore tomboy wearing a floor length pastel pink ballerina prom dress with pink heels was delicious. A fitting end to six years at a place where no matter how much you changed, you were that ___ kid from 7-X.

I'm never going to be stereotypically thin. I'm just not built for it. I've accepted that fact. The least I've weighed since I started curving out was 133lbs in the summer before freshman year, when I wore a size 8 and had bones sharp enough to cut glass -- not to mention skeletor face -- with muscles and a booty. Just before senior year, I was flouncing around wearing a 8/10 and hovering around 164. I was complaining about my chicken legs and flat chest, but I enjoyed having finally shaken the remnants of my tomboy reactionism and embraced color. For my annual visit, the doctor clucked at my weight number and suggested I lose a few pounds to get on track with my BMI. I looked at her like she was insane. I was still bones with muscles and a booty. It wasn't possible to be any thinner without starving myself to death. I turned my back on scales and have been trying to ignore the numbers thrown out at during the physicals ever since.

Ms. Mommy (always good for words of encouragement) enjoyed warning me through the years to enjoy my metabolism while I could because after teens, it was all downhill. She's thrown out there that 25 is when your body gives up and goes to shit. I have no idea what I weigh now, but I spend a lot of time thinking about it. I guess I've gained about 20lbs or so in the past two years. Besides my mom lecturing gleefully that I have bad genes and it's not a good sign that our weights changes are inverses of each other, shopping is becoming increasingly frustrating. I am the average sized woman -- height and clothing wise -- but I might as well be a freak in the average store. Some days I look in the mirror with a mental red pen marking up the problem spots. The upcoming trip to the WMC is scaring me shitless because I've never felt less prepared to throw on a bathing suit.

Mostly, I just feel angry. I'm not fat in any sense of the word. In my office, I'm one of the tallest women at 5'5" and the fattest because unlike most of them, I'd be hardpressed to shop in the kids' section. The first couple of months, I looked at them and me and immediately thought I needed to go to the gym so I wouldn't stand out as much. That worked for a while but I just got tired of restricting myself to follow the status quo of the people I most hate anyways. What I has been bothering most is the attention. I've never been so openly ogled in my whole life as I've been in the past two months. The street peanut gallery has been in rare form. I've been whistled at, catcalled, yelled at, followed, pawed, and menaced because somehow they feel that I'm not a real person and just a walking Black Tail pinup. The disrespect pisses me off and I'd be too happy to Mace someone if I got the chance. Not so long ago, I was with this guy chatting about first impressions and he felt the need to add that he liked that I was stacked. What's next -- someone saying I'm built like a brick shit house? I'll admit I'm overly sensitive about things like that, but it's a dance I've been through too many times. It's always the guys you least expect that will unconsciously reveal that you're playing the role of Black Fantasy and they just want to get you naked to see if you're really different from all the other girls. (What came first: the visual images or the physical episodes of black female sexual exploitation? Are so-called "video vixens" the Venus Hottentots of the 00s? Then again, I'm just a negative cynic, so YMMV.)

But really, fuck it. I'm happy with my body despite the complaints. I'd rather look like a woman with distinguishable curves than androgynous like I did when I was 11. Especially since I'm just not built anymore to ever look like that again. And old saying is that a time comes in a woman's life when she has to choose between her ass and her face. I choose both with a slice of cheesecake...and a burger.

On Hating Well

He uses the word "hater" often, and sometimes in a positive context. Star seems to view hate as a kind of natural energy (perhaps like the Freudian id) that can be channeled for constructive purposes. In his view, an "Objective hater" is potentially a person of great purpose and passion.

Who would think that an odious radio personality and I would see so eye to eye?I have full-time hater in that about section for a reason. There are no sacred cows here. If I don't like it, I'll say so. The time I got into "trouble" I'm always alluding to had to do with my version of Man Man Show # 875, I got a friendly phone call from Ryan MM saying, "you're so off blah blah no groupies blah blah." My response was basically: "eh...I don't really care. Last time I checked, I wasn't writing for you." And he was on my shit list for months, but naturally it blew over and throughout I still loved the band.

This is a personal blog on whatever the hell I feel like, bought and maintained by yours truly. Some days I'll talk about music, some days nightlife, some days why I'm mad, others why gender relations can be such a pill. It's been fun making blog friends and getting links and shit, but at end of the day, I'm happier telling you what parties I went to, why that venue/DJ/music was shit, and what some idiot had to say on the street...or not for that matter. Along with what I read on the web that was totally insipid. (Though hey, I'm a teddy bear. I'm definitely a happy-go-lucky sort in real life -- if by happy go lucky we mean not scowling...that much and even known to laugh.) Despite that, I believe it's important for there to be a certain degree of armchair criticism because the danger of mindless fawning and lip service is everpresent.

The way I look at it, I've got nothing to lose. I'm not an actual music critic -- aspiring or otherwise -- so I don't have to worry about stepping on toes and blocking my career trajectory. So, it's easy for me to say for example: my thought on M.I.A. is that Nelly Furtado owes her an ass-kicking for stealing her shtick and therefore, ruining her career -- and I don't even like Nelly Furtado; I'm so bored with the "ohmigod, it's Black Sabbath and Jay-Z on the same song/I totally put America and Mobb Deep back to back, I'm such a great DJ!" bullshit because you obviously aren't. Did you see that? You know, the crowd stopping the movement thing? That means you just failed your DJ test; and I think that blogs consisting of childish potshots at those who express even the mildest nonplus and insecure proclamations of greatness are shit and no matter how much cold fire they send my way, it's not going to change that fact anytime soon (aww...I was on a roll, I couldn't help myself). But naturally, all things are subjective.

There's shit stirring for the purpose of being a blowhard and there's having an honest to goodness dissenting opinion. I don't need to throw my weight around like 300 lb gorilla because my blog (and the blogosphere in general) only has my attention when frankly, I'm sitting around with nothing else better to do. Still, I am a little bit disgusted how the arena of whatever this loose collection of blogs around the music critic print folks is has developed into sycophancy. And THAT's what I was getting at in the original post that set it all off. Too bad some folks got selective vision and want to turn it all about them once it starts to process in the ego. I was being mildly provocative while venting my frustrations. There's not enough honest dialogue around. Everyone's worrying about stepping on toes and/or getting in good with the "powers that be" (says who?). I miss the days when I followed a link and started reading a blog because it was funny and fresh with a clear voice. Nowadays, everyone's an ultra sensitive junior editor in chief.

Perhaps there's nothing to be done about it. Perhaps it's growing pains as O-Dub says. I think it's fair to say that blog beefing or whatever is one of the most colossal wastes of time since...erm, message board beefing, I suppose. Part of taking responsibility for your words is knowing that everyone doesn't have to care about them. We've all got our little slivers in this pie and at the end of the day I'm not trying to be anything but me and my disjointed, flightly self, you know? But I pay my $x.xx a month to do as I please.

Limbo

(Before I get into it, I've actually updated my page o' mp3s to grab because I love.)

Over the weekend, I was cross legged on the floor surrounded by papers, keepsakes, and all sorts of accumulated crap from the past few years of my life. There's that book about the puritan family I couldn't unload from my US History class. A little wallet sized photo of me in my pink princess prom gown. Graduation program. Yearbooks. That photo of me and The Ex that I still love. LA pics. Me, Ant, and Farmer at Union Pool. Do I need Find Law printouts from the DC program...shit, almost three years old? Yes...no...maybe.

I'm mentally moved into our little walkup place, but I'm physically boxed up in Queens. As terrible as it sounds, I almost didn't realize Monday is a holiday until I got an email about it at work. I've got the long weekend to get my stuff in and nest a bit.

I made a harrowing trip through town with Grandmastah H's lent air mattress strapped to my back. I couldn't even be too stoked that I made it door to door from the West Village in 25 minutes because that fucking thing felt like it weighed 25 pounds. I was doubled over in pain at Underhill, almost unwilling to walk the extra half block. But, I made it and faced down my new apartment nemesis: the tricky lock before inflating the fucking thing and collapsing. All the while, I was thinking "I can't die out here. I've got to get home first." Because that place already feels like home. Probably because home is where your money vanishes into thin air.

The weekend was pretty low-key. I've been rolling lean and staying out of sight because $10 can only take you so far once you've gotten used to being limitless. Saturday though I found the best parties ever. What I like to call "that crazy motherfucker going apeshit" party at the Knit. I was surprised to see it so underpopulated but the man is unstoppable -- DJing and scatting with horn players and percussion. I love that shit and I was amused at the yuppies just in for a drink who were glancing at the stage like "what the fuck is going on over there?" I like an element of "what will that crazy do next?" at a concert. Most shows are the same old setups and proceedings, so a dash of zaniness adds a little something. Plus they've got cider on tap there. I'm all about enjoying a glass of not!Beer for a cheap.

From there, I was up at Starfoods for this. I was doing the old sitting off to the side and taking it all in routine, but the music was so ridiculous. I love that party but something about it makes me feel inhibited. Perhaps it's the feeling of social claustrophobia as I see the same old friends of friends plus randoms I've met along the way. For a city of millions, I see the same 30 people everywhere I go. Maybe I'm just burrowing deeper and deeper into the scene, even as I "branch out," or perhaps maybe this is all there is. As I've been mentioning a lot (only on the web, I don't know anyone who'd care in real life), MF Doom was supposedly there also. I think that's neat because what little I know about him, I feel cool to be somewhere he might be. Compared to if it was like, I dunno...Fabulous -- one of the reasons I haven't gone to Gustavino's (does that place even still exist?) ever again. Of course, me being cameraless -- no mugging with him. Not that I'd know him if I fell over him. I know he's black and that's about it. I've got no identifying features besides that...which is kinda the point, I suppose. At least I can admit I'm fronting in this situation. I'm good for talking to someone I guess I should know as a music fan sort, i.e. running into the Greenskeepers guy when I fucking love them, and being all "duh...blah blah let's talk about bullshit and I'll kick myself later." Or looking right at them and not reacting at all (hey, Rufus Wainwright!). Ah well. At the end of the day, they're just regular folks. I've had my one lifetime "famous" person spazz episode, it's all whatever after that.

Get A Life

Reality sets in sometime mid-morning Monday. I queue insertion orders on one screen and toggle to the furniture listings on the next. I'm aiming to buy the bulk of the apartment furniture off Craig's List. That site is good to me as the spot I found the apartment, job, former column, parties, and misadventures. The Zen plays on low (since I have a thing about ear-drum splitting music outside of clubs) and I'm unable to drown out the screeching whines across the aisle no matter how much I zone out. This scenario has played out for too long. I don't think I can last much longer.

I'm in a position of liking the job in itself but hating the co-workers. I like my team. I like that I'm autonomous. But, I hate the pervasive camp culture and the team near us with the most high-pitched voices (male and female) I've ever seen. I'm a loner in a box. I know I've been isolating myself further as time has passed out of spite and I'm sick of it. It's counterproductive and makes me feel worse. I want to be a part of a group, just not that one. I'm mentally planning my escape.

Ant and I both view the new place as a fresh start. He hopes to be released from the desk chains and I just want to feel creative again. Money is always the big factor. In a way, I should've been more proactive and laid down some tracks for the writing last year in my marginally employed state, but hindsight is 20-20 and I also couldn't afford it then either. I wasn't mentally ready. In a way, I feel like I'll be more hungry now. I need you to accept my pitch/resume because I've got my share of rent/cable/gas/electric to pay and have no nest egg/parental bankrolling to fuck around with, motherfuckers! Meanwhile, I'm stepping up -- brainstorming, researching, eyeing the options... but I can't jump until I've got something set. And you probably thought my resolutions were just lip service? Shit is real, people.

Resolutions

01. Be more social
02. Reconnect with those I've lost touch with
03. Update my personal style
04. Take a class
05. Dust off my creative side and start cracking
06. Keep writing
07. Be more proactive
08. Build an oasis at home
09. Do something career wise that makes me happy
10. Get a new passport and take a major trip
11. Fine tune the radar
12. Keep building the nest egg
13. Take more chances

Roundup Part 4: Kitty List Power

The Most Cliched Parts Of My Year:
1. "Oh my God...not them too! Another fucking sniffer! They're everywhere!"
2. "Wow...I had no idea you were black on paper/the phone! And you're like super black...nappy hair and damn, you are really dark!"
3. "Oh hey, Candice. It's me, [insert punk here]. Just giving you a call to see how you're doing/what you're up to tomorrow. I'm/I'll be around in the city and I wanted to see if you wanted to hang out. Talk to you soon."
4. "No, he's very nice person. You guys only hate him because I told you all that bad stuff about him. If you'd got to know him, you'd like him. What if we got married or something, are y'all gonna disown me?"

Favorite Free Alcohol Fueled Adventures:
1. Film Fest Volunteers Party
2. Getting PrincessNella Involved In The Hijinks...Twice
3. Is That Scott Or The Doppleganger?
4. The Birthday Party, natch

Most Memorable Concerts of '04 (No Real Shockers):
1. Tortured Soul at Deep LA, Halloween.
The LA trip was pretty up and down. The weather was eh at first and there was drama with the host, but I got a kick out of the first trip checking out cool things and exploring. Halloween had been a glorious day -- going to the beach, snapping pics, getting baked in the sun, and really just having a blast on the last day in town. I had never heard a song of theirs prior to the show, but their grooves were so infectious that I became a diehard convert on first note.
2. Man Man/The Art of Shooting at Trash Bar, 6/19.
It was my first (and so far, only) visit to a place I'd heard more than a lot about in its previous existance as Luxx. I strolled in and liked TAOS because as stupid and base as it is, as a girl, I'll always give extra bonus points for a band of women playing and doing it well. I really thought their music was great heavy pop/punk and was excited to talk with Kelly and let her know that that. I remember that MM show as rather inspired and I've got a polaroid with Ryan as a memento.
3. Phoenix/Benzos at Bowery Ballroom, 12/2.
My post is one of the few that captures the thought process. I was super excited about getting the chance to see Benzos again and coming it towards the end bugged me. I only stayed for Phoenix out of curiosity, but the won me over with their breezy songs and charm. Every once in a while, the hardest cynical heart needs a good old pop show.
4. Man Man at Siberia, 4/28 or thereabouts.
Because really I've been getting mileage of "that's where I got trampled by a guy in a yeti suit!" all year. Plus that was probably the last time I was still pretty anonymous and talking to band people made me all nervous.
5. Erykah Badu at Chapelle's Block Party, 9/18
Yeah there were other people there and Fizzie and I left about midway, but I don't think any act would've compared to seeing her. I've got all her albums -- legally! -- and I've always been dying to see her in concert. And she didn't disappoint with that voice and talent jumping off the stage and her rolling with the punches as her giant afro wig was almost blown away by the wind. She is an amazing live performer and I want to see her in a proper setting in 05 for sure.

Wonderful Things That I Really Got A Kick Out Of This Year:
1. "You know, that was a good article/book/album. I wonder if they have a website/blog...oh, nice...they do!"
2. Strange encounters. If I wasn't getting surprising emails because of some thing I wrote rather flippantly on the blog (c.g. Fizzie), I was going somewhere and finding out that a person I just met was: in a group I liked, someone I should introduce people I knew in bands to, or had parallel interests to my own. Random magnet to the end!
3. Feeling like a real adult for a change. I feel like I definitely got my shit together in a lot of ways. It's been nice.

Getting It Over With: Roundup Part 3

I'm annoyed because I wrote a big bunch of stuff basically finishing off the roundup so I could get on with the coasting out the year and then my comp froze and I lost it. Son of a bitch...

I plan to go to bed and sulk and try again tomorrow. If I'm not still sulking. So close though.

ETA: Aight...I'm ready.

If 2003 was: Tying Up School Loose Ends And Starting Fresh Back Home, 2004 was: Pushing Things Forward. I rang in 2004 in the company of Hani, Ant, and Ant's friends from school, with most of us resentful that one chick was keeping us from being merry elsewhere since she had to see the ball drop if what would happen would be different from any other fucking year. The days/week leading up to it, I decided to be dramatic and not spend the turning over of the calendar with the person who loomed so large that year but we met up later and started this year's mode of just being (mostly) platonic friends. It's been up and down, but it's been real. (BTW, that used to be one of those most mindboggling things because used to say. "It's been real"..compared to "it's been fake?" So silly.) On the guy front, I kept my head together mostly, despite a few spazz episodes. No dramatics, thank God. I'm just kinda floating.

My criteria has become more rigid in some ways, way less so in others. It's funny that I just realized that even though I made a conscious effort to find guys in normal places (compared to ones I ended up in random convos at 419 circa druggie wave time or you know, on the net or whatever), the same result came about in the end. Though, I've been more chaste this year strangely. Well, not really. It's been more of quality vs. quantity. Sometimes I think an actual conventional relationship would be nice for a switch -- and then I remember that I'm not the most conventional person. Something's bound to work out sooner or later, eh? I'm not holding my breath though -- and I mean that a lot breezier than that reads.

This year, I got a real fucking job and tried to fold myself into office life. It's totally a square peg in a round hole situation, but I surprisingly don't hate it or the 9-6/7, though sooner or later I'll be off for something more along the career path I've been planning for me. I've learned I'm a bit social maladjusted because I can't bring myself to muster up the nerve to be over the top social (for me) when it'd be in my best interest to do so, c.f. why I don't particularly get along with most of the co-workers. Live and learn. I've got about 50 more years of working ahead of me (if I'm that unlucky) to figure it all out.

The hardest thing about being a worker bee was giving up the party/night-owl lifestyle that got me through the tail end of '03. I started off the year pretty ambivalent about the places I had been going to though. There are no young people really anywhere that I go. The music isn't your standard radio/video fare. The crowd is pretty insular. The hours go either beyond 4am and/or everything is just getting started when the nightlife tourists are done circa 1:30/2am. The people around have been at it for a long time. I jumped in feet first but at a strange angle. "Kids" get chewed up and spit out all the time trying to roll. They aim for the big splashes -- getting an in via sex, drugs, or money. I'm broke, have been to too many NA meetings in my lifetime, and misanthropic, so I met people just by being there and being an aloof random magnet. I remember the first time I got the feeling that everyone was so strange and had to be on drugs. Well, they are. I've found that most are also emotionally-stunted and fried from years of abuse. You'll find yourself surrounded by hedonistic adolescents in the bodies of people at ages I'd like to think I'd have been known better. It's strange to be 23 doling out advice to 30-somethings and feeling that a prospect might be better in a few years when he hits middle age because maybe he'll act like a "real" adult by then. I found myself opting for shooting the shit and being a homebody over going out to rage until the sunrise. I could feel my interest in being out die as I spent a few too many Fridays in out of sheer exhaustion from lack of sleep all week long. It was easy for me to accept that I needed to find alternatives because really I wasn't missing anything. Plus bar drinks are expensive and hell on a figure. I'm on a bit of a sabbatical. I'm a true night owl, so I won't be gone for long.

The understatement of the year is that the apartment hunt has been my life. I really was addicted to CL listings and NYT real estate page and my newest fave website, Curbed. It was a second job for most of this year. But, we got it! I've got to say that my hatred for Queens only intensified as time went on. I've hate out here where I live now forever and became very disillusioned on the search as we were turned down time and time again in Astoria and LIC. The look on people's faces when PrincessNella and I would show up to look at places! "Wow...I had no idea you were black on the phone! And you're like super black...nappy hair and damn, y'all are dark!" Ant and I also had an episode in Brooklyn where the realtor was perfectly pleased to see a dark face wanting to move into a popular area, but not especially thrilled at the thought that my roommate might be more than that (definitely not) as a Chinese man. It was a mostly demoralizing and frustrating process. Especially those close calls that fell apart inexplicably. On the bright side, I've learned that there really isn't anything that can't be found on Craig's List...I got my job, a writing thing, easy survey cash, and now the apartment among other things.

Overall, 2004 was a lot of personal upheaval. I spent a fair amount of time taking inventory and feeling sad, frustrated, angry, relieved, disappointed, excited, and depressed about many things in my life and the world at large, but I think it has been one of my biggest growth years ever. I had great friends around and great adventures with everything I needed and most I wanted. It was rocky, but I feel good. Ever upwards.

Resolutions 04 Revisited: Roundup Part 2

So at the start of this year, I was poised to:

01. Write, write, write...
And I sorta did. In theory. I've worked out some damned good ideas, people, you don't even know! Natch as the year went on, none of those played out here. Win some, lose some, etc.

02. ...and get something published
Indeed. I was on a roll for a min there. God bless the web! But, there really aren't as many hours in the day for me as I need to churn stuff out like I should be.

03. Finally put my slacker days behind me
But...but...being a slacker is too much fun though! It's all I've got. Ixnay on this one.

04. Get a spanking new place
Oh yes, oh yes...I just got the green light earlier today and as of the new year, I'm dragging Ant with me to a place in Prospect Heights. Viva Brooklyn! It's nice to be back.

05. Roll through some poor boy's life like a hurricane and make him love every second
Done...and done...and done. The year started off shit slow, but fall was classic.

06. Take the music junkie status to the next level
Hmm...I don't know what I meant by that. But, I was a concert-going, music-devouring fool in '04, so I guess I can check that off the list.

07. See how nice it is to have money in the bank without spending it almost immediately afterwards
Oh, it was glorious! Too bad between furniture and expenses, I'll never have a savings again. Yay?

08. Leave town more often
Done and it was fun. AC, DC, LA...all golden.

09. Follow through on my plans
Eh...I'm getting better.

10. Keep that adventurous spirit while looking before I leap a bit more
I was mad on the ball. Go me!

11. Be more present-focused
That's a blessing and a curse when the present is blah as hell, but I think I did okay.

12. Be the best Candice I can be.
Natch. Always.

You Know It's Coming

There are a little under 11 days left in 2004. (Good riddance!) I'm working on my roundups because I did it last year and it was fun. And because I need to put something up for real.

I miss the blog, the near constant writing and formulating posts. I missed being able to write anything and vent and share the randomness that happens. It's always bizarre to me that people besides my longtime friends actually give a shit about what's occurring in my mind -- but I'm sure everyone with a blog feels the same. I know I totally fell off as the year went on -- we've got 1) my job and 2) being screamed on...excuse me, having a situation I wrote about clarified...to blame for that. I shake my head that people want to send me music and ask my opinion on whatever. I'm just a slacker writing about bullshit in between drinking, going out, listening to music, and raging at the world at large. It's fun little hobby though.

Low

I am utterly bored.

It's easy to blame this on myriad of things, but I'll go with stagnation. I go to work and sit and talk and type and sit some more. Go to the gym and step and lift and sweat. Go home to eat and sleep. In between, riding the rails and walking around, always watching but disinterested. I go to shows. I see people. I drink. I listen to music. The apartment hunt continues. I watch what I eat. I smile wanly at myself in the mirror. I think about writing. The world turns.

Rinse and repeat.

I'm not even depressed. I'm just stuck in neutral. What is desire? What is excitement? I think I forgot somewhere along the way. Everything just strikes me as boring or ridiculous. My only saving grace (I suppose) is I've grown out of the "I need someone to entertain me" stage. Mostly because I doubt they can. I'll get over it. Eventually. Because angst is so 90s.

I'm too young to be so jaded.

One Year Ago

I was in the computer lab in the midst of finals week. Trying to finish up my senior essay and tackle the yearbook. Knowing that I was in for a long next two weeks because of graduation and then after that a long summer until the book was done. I was feeling overwhelmed and wanting something easier than my previous site to write to. So, I created the Kitty Power blogspot site with this dispatch. Growing pains made me move on and buy kittypower.com and the ride has been really great. It's being a fun year. Some things change, but most have stayed the same. Happy blogiversary to me!

A year later, who am I? Candicissima a.k.a. Candice. 23. Random magnet. Night owl. Media newbie. Writer building a portfolio. Music junkie. Social intrepid. Lover of friends, drink, and a good nap.

Here's to another interesting year!

For The Best

If I said that I spent the entire weekend at home, alternating between cleaning my room and a Soul Food/Sex and The City Season 5 marathon on InDemand, would you believe me? Well, you should, because that's exactly what I did. And damn, it actually felt good. I'd say I'd do it for good now, but I'm me, so I only liked to novelty of it all.

This week is looking hectic and the weekend, I'm off to marvel at how things have(n't) changed in the almost year since I left Middletown for good. I'm just hoping it doesn't turn into a stupid nostalgia fest. I did my walk and I'm done with the place, but I'm going back to watch P. Diddy and others take theirs. The only thing I miss about college is having my friends close by and living the same late night whacked out schedule that was like second nature for me. Okay...and some of the profs, though I felt like actual learning was few and far between. In general, I'm proud of coming out of there mostly unscathed, but I can't be bothered to keep up -- if only because the place has only continued becoming a repressive pile of shit in the past year. When I read some of the stories/opinions in the paper, I get really depressed and feel glad that I'm out.

I feel like I'll go there and won't even recognize the place -- or at least myself in the context of it. Life there seems like a million years ago sometimes. I'm in a different place on a lot of levels. Then again, maybe I'll surprise myself and slip back into school mode effortlessly. I suppose I'll have to wait and see.

I Confess

I supposed it's just because I've realized that my one year blogiversary is on Saturday, but I've been reflecting on this whole webspace/writing thing. I'm sure all the words on here could've written about 3 novels. It's been a good run so far.

I think it's interesting that

A) I've stuck with this so long and got so obsessive that I went out and bought the domain -- plus have it almost filled to capacity with stuff (though the mp3s have more to do with that)
B} sometimes it seems like everyone and their mom has a blog
C) I've met so many people through this whether fellow bloggers and/or just readers
D) I don't think I'll ever get used to someone referring to me as Candice Kittypower, though I've taken that naming practice into real life
E) despite having so many words about myself and what I do on here, I never fail to be surprised when someone references something I've put up or say that they read it.

Wednesday night was hilarious because the just about the first thing out of Ryan Man Man's mouth when we sat down was: "so, I hear you have a problem with my moustache?" "Wha?" I feigned. "I never said anything like that." "Kate said you did. She said she read it on your blog -- whatever that means." In case you don't want to work your way through that old megapost, the incriminating piece in question was:

My highlight was this group Man Man (aka Magic Blood aka Gamelon) from Philly, that seemingly appeared out of nowhere to be a B-52s/Talking Headsesque colossal bit of wonderfulness. They've got a fucking xylophone! It's two keyboardists and two percussionists, but everyone also plays percussion too. Dude, they've got a song where the chorus is "Meow Meow." Man Man can have all my kids. I'm in love. But, we'll only consummate after the singer guy cuts that damned poor excuse for a moustache off.

And despite what some may think, there's so much self-censoring going on around here. Isn't it almost scary to imagine that these long posts of "I went here did this, then that, blah blah 2500 word narratives" are only part of the story half the time? I try to leave out the parts of episodes that make me appear to be insane, a n____o (let's not give the p0rn seekers any leads, shall we?), a step away from rehab, too misanthropic, and/or the dumbest girl alive, but believe me, there's a lot of shit packed into those long posts. Sometimes I throw in really scandalous shit about 3/4 in because I know y'all don't really read all of that. Not blatantly of course, but it's in there. Or maybe I'm just fucking with you. You tell me.

There's been plenty of days when I want to talk some serious shit, but I know that person might read this, so I save it for the journal. Like Saturday, there was this party where P. Friendster and I ran around boozing it up for real. (Poor P. He tried to match me drink for drink, but felt that shit the next morning. I've got a pickled liver. I can go about my day and be alright, so me in the moment is no real judge.) Now, I'd like to talk about the party, but I'm kinda torn. It was thrown by a friend K (who I seriously need to hang out with more) who greeted me with a "Miss Kittypower" which really threw my shit off. I'm tempted yet not gonna get all into the stuff that happened at the party -- especially not how I got cockblocked and am still bugged by that -- except I just did, but that's so vague that it's almost meaningless.

It took almost a year but it's kinda like a science.

Distractions

This morning I felt like I had to face the firing squad. Everyone's running around because the issue is closing today, but that wasn't even what was bothering me. What did was having to walk through the row of desks in order to drop something off to the editor's office. My heart was racing just thinking about having to do it. I forced myself to get out of the seat and put one foot in front of the other and I got myself around the corner and partially down that aisle until the blank stares of the desk inhabitants turned me around. I practically ran back to my chair, palms sweating and feeling ridiculous.

Believe it or not, I can be painfully shy. I enter new situations as a shadow, loitering on the outskirts until I've acclimated myself to the surroundings enough to venture off the wall tentatively. Making the situation harder is that I'm also an inherently social person which makes things weird. Once I get going, it's golden. I've found that the blog has hindered and helped that dichotomy slightly. Write so much about various exploits or whatever that I think sometimes the impression is given that I'm some sort of social dynamo, rocketing about town like a powerhouse. Eh, not really. It's not my nature. I'm an observer, a commentator, a recorder whether I'm in the mix or not. My thing isn't really being the center of attention. Most of my stories involve me on the sidelines before getting swept up into something due a mix of fate, the randomness of strangers, and/or an experimental movement on my part. It's what works for me. It makes meeting blog-related people interesting because I'm sure they don't quite expect me to geek out and talk about bandwidth or stand in the corner and steadfastly refuse to dance. *shrug* But, that's me sometimes. I can't really help it.

Regardless, a few deep breaths later, I had to suck it up and deal here on the work front. I stood up, set myself into train mode and made my way to the office. I dropped the info the editor needed and he was totally impressed. The brownie points almost made the whole thing worth it.

And in other news, firm handshakes are overrated, especially since people take that as their cue to squeeze a little too much. People, I've got little hands, try not to break 'em, if you please.

I'm Looking For Dead Presidents To Represent Me

I've been taking the J train lately. It just dawned on my recently that it makes more sense to take that diagonal swatch across Brooklyn and Queens than to take the roundabout travels through most of Queens and Manhattan of the E and F. Especially since it takes me right to downtown where I want to be. The homestretch of crossing the Williamsburg has to be one of the best views in the city. You've got most of the Manhattan famous skyline in front of you plus views into the lofts and buildings along side the tracks in Brooklyn, the sky-high projects in the LES, traffic crossing the bridge. That is New York. All of these people crammed into a small area, lights in their homes illuminating their lives to the outside world. It never fails as all of this is spilling out before me to have "The World Is Yours" reverberating in my brain. The world is mine. I'm gonna conquer that shit.

Meanwhile, I'm heavily in shadow mode right now, plotting and planning. Number one thing weighing on my mind is not having two cents to rub together to pay what needs to be paid. I'm tired of endlessly sowing. I'm ready for the harvest like yesterday. I feel kinda stuck between doing what I love, taking a chance to really apply myself as an "artist" and develop and suffer and do what I need to do to make that life successful and wanting security and being comfortable and not wanting even if something is stifled in me. Right now, I choose the sensible path. It's not too late to change my mind later.

I'm so preoccupied with being pissed that I lost one of my favorite earrings. Don't you hate it when you realize something was your lucky charm when you lose it and things go semi-to shit?

Totally Unrelated

Every once in a while, I get completely blindsided with wanting to call people up and say "I just blah blah and thought of you so I called." But, of course, I don't because those are the bridges that have been razed with the locations burned and surrounding areas inhospitable.

Tonight, after stewing that I hadn't spotted myself in the Chappelle's Show audience (grr...), I was watching VH1 Classics and "C'est La Vie" came on. I was struck by a sudden surprising impulse to go to IM and say, "hey, Woof, fucking C'est La Vie! Is that the shit or what?" Woof, would be Woofie, former best of friends from high school. The pop culture connoisseur -- bordering on obsessive -- with whom I have many warm and fond memories of being a smart-ass and critic, tough girl, marshmellow, and always myself with over many years. But, we grew apart and different as years past and that relationship litters my past. Perhaps it sounds callous, but just because you miss someone and know you'll always have a lot of love for them in your heart doesn't mean they should be a part of your life.

I am constantly surprising myself by thinking of Mr. Sailor in strange times. For a long time, it hurt to do that. More than a year later, I have a lot of relics of him. Some of the pictures hang on my wall because I, usually averse to pictures, have so few with those kind of intensely radiant happy smiles. There's albums I loved when he was around that are forever linked to him: Mama's Gun, Hood Rich, In Search Of. For better or worse, that was the last time I put myself out there like that, so Saturday when I had that uncharacteristic heart to heart with Moon, he came up.

Then again, I think I'd be worried if I didn't have these memory flashes. I think it'd be on the scary side if I shut off the memory banks and pretended that people who were in my life for years or months or however long just ceased to matter once they are no longer actively in your life. Life definitely goes on, but your past is your foundation. As long as you're building on it and not letting it weigh you down, everyone has their place.

Tracker Roundup

*sing songy voice* I know where y'all work! I know where y'all work!

I'm glad to see I'm like a go to person for the definition of haterade. That's cool I guess. And someone needs to transcribe the lyrics to White Horse already. I don't have them, folks, but thanks for visiting.

(Confidential to whomever is searching for Shady related content: unless you are him, what's the deal? Confidential to a former college person: Jay-V and I both see you. Try linking directly, so it's at least less obvious.)

Tracker Roundup

*sing songy voice* I know where y'all work! I know where y'all work!

I'm glad to see I'm like a go to person for the definition of haterade. That's cool I guess. And someone needs to transcribe the lyrics to White Horse already. I don't have them, folks, but thanks for visiting.

(Confidential to whomever is searching for Shady related content: unless you are him, what's the deal? Confidential to a former college person: Jay-V and I both see you. Try linking directly, so it's at least less obvious.)

Resolutions

Most of this list really isn't anything new to my Friendsters, but for 2004 I'm going to...

01. Write, write, write...
02. ...and get something published
03. Finally put my slacker days behind me
04. Get a spanking new place
05. Roll through some poor boy's life like a hurricane and make him love every second
06. Take the music junkie status to the next level
07. See how nice it is to have money in the bank without spending it almost immediately afterwards
08. Leave town more often
09. Follow through on my plans
10. Keep that adventurous spirit while looking before I leap a bit more
11. Be more present-focused
12. Be the best Candice I can be.

Roundup Part 3: Kitty List Power

Surprising Things I Miss About School:
1. The food. How bizarre is that? I complained about that shit all the time, but what I would give for a Turkey Club or Chicken Salad Sandwich. The meal I will definitely be having if/when I go back for a visit: grilled chicken with cheese sandwich with spicy fries and cranberry juice. That was my usual.
2. Not having friends within walking distance. Since school's been over, I've seen Jay once. Not that we saw each other all the time but still. She's just across two rivers. Alex is across the ocean. Tino's across the country. Everyone else is just scattered about. Gotta love the power of the net though for keeping us in contact.
3. Learning. I'm beginning to feel like my brain is atrophying. There's a lot of information passing across my eyes in NYC, but most of it is of the common sense or "people do the strangest things" variety. I really miss reading interesting things and talking about it -- or not so interesting things and marvelling about the sheer amount of bullshit that fell out of people's mouths. The classroom when it was on was always an experience.

Surprising Things That Have Happened To Me Since I've Been Back In Town:
1. Social claustrophobia. I think I've reached the oversaturation point with a lot of places and things. I'll admit that in a way I limited myself by deciding that I was most interested in hanging out below St. Marks and 2nd Avenue yet above Delancey and Essex with occasionally jaunts to the far West 13th and 14th Streets. I figured at the time there are literally hundreds of places within that area, how could I possibly get bored? Very easily. I naturally expanded that area and at times simply found something better to do than going out, but I'm definitely sick of seeing a lot of people and I don't even know them. But, there is the flip side to that...
2. Social currency just for being a familiar face. That's how I made my Sapph Friendsters actually, by being the quietish girl who always showed up and slowly became a part of the crowd. Saturday night hanging out with Hani, I convinced him to go with me to 416 since I've been spending way too much time there spending all my freaking money. We got to the door where the list girl and the bouncer were double-teaming everyone standing there to turn them away. I found myself getting sorta nervous. I mean, who the hell I am? Some kid, so I figured I was about to get embarrassed. Instead, the girl turned to me with a smile and said, "come right in" because she knows my face. And I gotta admit I was mad gassed. Score for me!
3. Occasionally being in the right place at the right time. I'll admit I'm a random magnet. Apparently I give out that vibe to people that whatever they can throw out there isn't that surprising and they're usually right. I've been on a serious roll in the past couple of months. There was getting involved with The Closet literally the day after I hit town or the start of my media "career." Discovering Man Man! Meeting Rissa and apparently knocking myself into Shady's orbit (unfortunately). And not to mention all the swag I've gotten. The spoils include concert tickets, TV show tapings, a designer bag, makeup, CDs, t-shirts, magazines, headphones, money, and the ego boost is always nice. Sometimes it's good to be me.

Why I Love The Internet:
1. I don't know how I would've survived two extra months in Middletown or even the truly jobless months here in NYC without it. Naturally, I could've gone off and pounded the pavement or whatever