Kitty Power

Living In The Light

Arthur Russell - In The Light Of The Miracle

Sometimes life just feels better enjoyed and tossed about instead of documenting in precise detail every happening. I'm a neglectful blog mother, but I know the thrill of the word will come back sooner or later.

Life has been coming at me 150 mph and I've been doing my best to bob and weave. I turned 28, got into grad school, and found a freelance job all within a few weeks. Also my bathroom flooded for the third time due to my shitty upstairs neighbor (lease up in June! yes!), was in my first serious fist fight in over 10 years, and I'm trying to get past the sticker shock of taking out loans for 1 year of schooling that are more than what I owe for 4 of undergrad plus interest. I'm struggling with those extra pounds and trying to stay healthy. Also finally at a place where I can wrestle with wondering if I'm in love with a boy or in love with love while not being haunted by all those that came before. And I am so looking forward to Saturday when it's 70. In other words, I'm up to the same old shit...but generally happier. That's gotta count for something.

You Think You're Tired Now, Well Wait Until 3

One of the most important things I've taken from '08 is despite the best intentions (and wishes, hopes, and dreams), sometimes shit just doesn't work and you've got to pick up and move on. I've always been horrible with that kind of thing. I play tough, but occasionally I let things slip out of the marshmallow core and it's hard to repack shit once you've let it out. When I'm in emo mode, I let that crap drive me to distraction without fail. And eventually I accept the shipwreck and let melancholy set in. In dark days, I wonder if it's ever worth it since it always ends the same way. But, I know the answer is always yes. Sue me, I'm a closet romantic.

New Year's was predictably insane. I flew around town like a comet and had a hard come down that's taken all weekend to recover from. I'm trying to balance between waiting for things to happen (the app result, whether I'll even have a job at the end of the week) and taking care of business (the neverending apartment decoration project, building a better me). I'm just trying to scale down the fuckups this year and make it to 2010 without too much dumb shit happening. I'm aiming low this year. It's better that way.

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, but it's so much more enjoyable procrastinating/being depressed in your PJs in the comfort of your own home.
2. Friendster made my life a whole lot more interesting. Through cold bookmarking/messaging and friend of friends connections, I met Farmer, Grandmastah H and Jenny while also reconnecting with folks I had lost touch with. It totally transformed my social life along with...
3. The blog. It's about 7 months old now, though I've had a web site in one form or another for about 3 years. It's amazing to me all the time that people are interested in what I have to say and I love some of the tentative friendships I've made with this. In a lot of ways, I still intend it as something for me and my friends to read and comment on and it's always cool when someone who doesn't even know me can appreciate it. It's growing and developing all the time partially because I always feel so inspired by what other people are doing. The blogs I link are those I read all the time. People out there are doing some really great stuff. I'm really just a nerd, man. It doesn't take much for me to sit here at my computer all the time and post shit. I'm just glad you like me to go all Sally Field. Thanks for reading!

Roundup Part 2

2003 was a very good year. I can say that with strong feeling. I mean, natch, there was bad shit sprinkled here and there, but I feel more often than not happy, proud, fulfilled, hopeful, and light.

I had two main goals this time last year: the yearbook and leaving Middletown with my piece of paper (which included doing my senior essay). I didn't have to leave NYC over four years ago at all. I could've been at Hunter College with my full ride, maybe striking out and getting a place, working and being close to home. It's not like Connecticut was even that far. I originally wanted to go to Chicago or California or Minnesota. But, I felt an instant connection to Wes on my visit and I was determined to go. My years there, I doubted myself almost all the time. I felt disconnected, burned out, unhappy, and depressed a little too often. Then, I took on that yearbook knowing that I had unhealthy control freak tendencies and my folks looked on with mostly silent worry. Over the months, there were mild panic attacks, tears, too many days of burying myself under the covers, hiding in the office or my room, not going to classes, not doing anything. The yearbook was in disarray. I had 40 books for my essay but no words. I wasn't doing my work. In April, I was out of energy, ready to pack up and leave with everything just dangling. But, I stayed. I reached out. I got the support I needed. I owe that last month and a half to my friends and family. They pushed, pulled, walked me towards the finish line. They infused me with so much energy and reminded me that I, the procrastinator, the avoider, the slacker, was more than that. It all boiled to me having gone too far mentally and spiritually to give up. So I didn't and nothing will ever take that great feeling of coming out on the other side away from me.

I rang in 2003 in a strange way, surrounded by blasts from the pasts and one great friend who I hadn't seen for way too long. I was having a lot of problems letting go of Mr. Sailor yet I threw myself into mindless diversions for the sake of progress. I spent the first half of the year taking two steps forward and three steps back, getting crushed under the weight of my baggage. I wouldn't have said this at the time, but those extra months up in Middletown finishing the book was a good time for me. I did a lot of transitioning up there in between the hardcore bullshitting and creating something great. I got to take last looks at many of the places that had been backgrounds for so many stories and episodes. I could appreciate the beauty of the place and reconcile myself with the setting. I made my peace with Wes and Middletown. I settled the nostaglia that would've probably eaten me alive otherwise. I gave myself a clean break.

This year, I retrieved my poor little heart, wrapped it up tight, gave it some medicine, and it healed and feels better than ever. There was a time not so long ago when I thought on a daily basis that maybe I wasn't meant to be happy. I felt like I was under a curse last year with things I threw myself into turning into shit before my eyes. I grew up and learned how to stop taking myself so fucking seriously this year. I've tried to let a certain sense of lightheartedness power most of my relationships. If I would've met Farmer in what seems like my other life, I would've obsessed about him to death, wrote bad poetry, spent hours and hours writing pages about him in my journal. I would've convinced myself I was in love with him and our back and forth drama was too much to bear and driving me insane!!! Please. If I'm gonna be with a bad boy nowadays, at least I'm not going to get all overwrought about it. But, I think I'm enjoying nowadays not being with anyone. As easily as this might be to misinterpret, I love me. I'm over selling myself short because I'm in love with being in love/like. I like to think of myself as blissfully single, awaiting a surprising jolt and possibilities.

I also love NYC. I love the brashness, energy, mixtures, concrete, movements, and people. This is a city that can eat you alive if you let it. There's always someone offering something with the price and consequences to be revealed later. It's been so exhilarating for me to be in the place I grew up, this mad sprawling metropolis, with my perspective and positioning so different. You've gotta have heart for this city. An iron will. Belief in yourself. A loose plan. A collection of goals. If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. I'm just getting started. I feel fresh and new here. My head is screwed on straight, my eyes are clear. I'm going to make it. That's the mode I'm in for the New Year.

Fair Warning

I'm on a heavy "what has this year been about IMO" kick, you know, like everyone else. The next couple of days will be heavy on what 2003 meant to me: roundups, pics, plus some resolutions. It's gonna be hella boring to most I'm sure. More Me, Me, Me! than usual. You can take this week off. It's okay. Happy '04 to ya!

Christmas Musings

Merry Christmas!

I've got two vastly different things on my mind. One is definitely safe for Christmas cheer atmosphere and the other not so much, but I'll hide that under the extended entry.

Listening to Kings of Crunk (a Christmas present), I was thinking that now I really need to learn how to drive because this is an album that made to blasting out of car windows, you know?

But, on the more serious tip...

Sometime around 7am, I found myself on a couch surrounded by various illicit paraphernalia and people lolling about, trying to focus on Carlito?s Way and then King of New York playing in front of me on DVD. The room and apartment was somewhere in Queens and cast in a red glow from the light bulbs around the house. A phone was constantly ringing with people calling to get shit. The quiet kid in the corner with his hat cocked to the side, sincere-looking and trying to strike up a conversation with me in between the haze, would answer it, give them what they wanted and come back to the same spot.

I had a strange moment of clarity minutes after this one kid set a chain of events into motions. He, unable to handle his shit, came into the room in a way that struck me as weird and my first thought was that his hand behind his back held a piece and that I should be prepared to spring away at any moment. I eyed him steadily and suspiciously until he left the room. Then, a few minutes later, I heard him arguing with other guys around the place on the other side of the apartment and I thought of the neighbors calling the cops. I plotted out which shit should get tossed first in case they bust in and realized that I all of a sudden knew instinctively how likely I would be to turn into a Kemba Smith if that happened. He got tossed and that quiet kid and his friend talked for a while that boy was stupid cause in any other situation, he would've "gotten his ass shot in the face or something." I actually looked at what the fuck I was watching and where the fuck I was and was just struck all of a sudden that I just hit a rock to break my fall on the slippery ass slope I've been traveling the past months.

Though no one ever believes it, I grew up in East New York, where I saw people decimated by jail, crime, poverty, drugs, and disease -- and that was just in my family. Though I spent most of my time in my house walls reading books, watching TV, writing, and practicing escapism across the street from the police station, it was impossible to not see the bad always threatening to overtake good people just trying to live their lives. I've been away from there a long time. My parents and most of my family have since moved away to settle in other parts of the city and country. But, if I said I don't remember or know what can happen by being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I'd be lying. In the pursuit -- or rather, the interest of fun and adventure, I've forgotten that I?m the sort of person with an addictive personality and the potentially dangerous habit of finding myself in sketchy situations with sketch people and hanging back observing. Over the past year, I've done more than a few of the "I would never" list things and noted that the first time is tough, but that matters less the more you do it. Last night/this morning, I cast my detached eye on myself and noted bitterly that I really didn't need to go $40,000 in debt to be a stupid nigger caught up in drug shit begging for something to go down. It confirmed a truism that a person is never too smart to be utterly stupid. People, places, and things will drag your ass down in a minute.

The moral of this story is: I'm laying low for Christmas and probably the rest of this year (yeah, the whole week) to figure out where I went wrong and the best way to redirect myself while taking a hard look about the circles I've been running in lately. I've been taking the whole "try things out and eventually you'll find what you like" a little too literally in some aspects. Life's getting a little too fucking grit for my interests right now.

Dating Tangent

A nice piece of advice from Abstract Dynamics. I'll add if you're 5'6" or below, wear the high shoes so they can see you because those shows also seem to be populated by giants. (That reminds me of my early Friday adventure trying to see Battle Graphs. Memo to all show organizers: if you've got something that you know everybody's gonna want to see/free booze to draw people, maybe you should get a bigger space because the sardines in a can shtick is getting old, nah mean? Or perhaps it's just me. I hate crowds and being jostled and all that shit. Quickest way to ruin a venture for me is too many mofos in my personal space. Strange for New Yorker, eh? I don't care. I need room for my well-being.) Reading this week's Life As A Loser and talking to Hani reminded me of thoughts that have been floating around in my head since Thursday or thereabouts.

A while ago I said something about wanting to settle down...it's not worth linking since I make many conflicting proclamations about that sort of thing. Basically, the impulse has passed. Guys are currently in the "too distracting" category and besides my track record is way more hit than miss. It'd be nice don't get me wrong, but I don't have it in me to make the effort. Seriously, dating in this city is fucking tiring. I was saying to Hani that this being NYC, world crossroads and all that, you've got millions of people milling about knowing damned well that the best, the brightest, the ______est are everywhere. In the same way that people have to have the latest shit or go to the coolest parties, even when they decide to take the plunge to be actively interested in finding their person, they're still thinking, "Eh...they're alright I guess, but I'm sure there's someone _____er waiting for me if I just keep trying." Or else they settle. I'm sick of settling. I settled with Farmer because the opportunity presented itself and what a fiasco that ended up being.

There's also a certain extent of laziness and conceit involved. I was telling Hani about my passive Friendster techniques and truthfully, I don't do much different in real life. I've grown accustomed to a stream of passes while out and about and it barely registers with me anymore. My stance with someone I'm interested in me not returning the favor: "yeah whatever, there'll be another one coming around the bend any second." It's not even a game, it's more general disinterest. I'm beginning to feel like I've got the permanent "impress me" face. It's interesting to note that I went from feeling like an ugly duckling...or rather, hyperinvisible to this. I'm exactly not sure when the transformation took place, but I suppose surviving a semester of crazy ex-friends and abandonment can change your perspective on a lot of things.

But, to prove I'm not as jaded and cynical as the words I'm putting out there: Thursday night, typical setting. I was hanging around, dancing, chilling, being merry when my Friendster introduced me to a friend of hers. He and I shook hands and he was all "very nice to meet you blah blah" and surprised me with a sudden kissing of my hand. Jolt. If I could blush, I would have. I always surprise myself by being a sucker for a grand gesture. There's a wide-eyed romantic in here somewhere. I guess my pose isn't really "impress me" as much as "surprise me." Is that a little better?

(And as for that guy, we hung out that night and ended up kinda star-crossed. His friend with him was making major plays for me and he backed off considerably as I was torn between making a serious move or sticking to my resolve. It's pointless to sweat things like that really. Situations like that pop up every couple of months or so to tantalize me.)

Time Flies

Six months ago today, I walked across a stage and received a diploma case and handshake from my scatterbrained drunkard of a college president. Fuck. Time flies when you're...still formulating a direction.

A Look Back

Umm, yeah...this one is a doozy.

A year ago this weekend, I was so totally, deeply and insanely in love that I spent everything I had saved from the summer except for about $20 in order to go halfway across the country for three days. On my way to doing that, I had come to back to Wes buoyed off the great summer than came after the horrible spring, lost a would-be boyfriend, gained a real one, and found myself thinking long-term thoughts that could shake up everything that had come before. I had a major series of blowouts with my father when I told him I was thinking of going and majorly shifted my relationship with him. This trip was one of those times where I just let go and did what I wanted in my heart despite the anxiety and constant thought cycling that surrounded it. The trip wasn't perfect by far, but it was mine and a year later I'm glad I went.

Last year was heavy for me from beginning to the end. I spent it on an emotional rollercoaster from start to finish. I never knew that I had enough liquid to produce all the tears I cried. I went to DC, I was betrayed by the people I thought were with me, I was stalked. I returned to Wes and was revitalized and built lasting relationships with my friends. I became social in my hometown and discovered plenty of new adventures. I found and lost love and people that were important to me. I was angry and depressed and peaceful and happy. But, most importantly all around, I moved on and evolved and became a better person for all of it.

Occasionally I still think of the boy I travelled so far for and how things soured between us. For a long time, I was wrecked with thinking that I should always work to maintain friendships/relationships with people who were important to you always. There have been many friends and more than friends I had in my life that I once shared everything with. As things do, our relationships soured and I was the one left with regretfulness about what I could do to fix it. That was definitely my problem in my past. I was convinced that I always had to be the person to make things right. But, coming out of last year having been shook so thoroughly by some things that made no sense and finding situations complicated by being a people pleaser, I've come to a place where I've realized that sometimes I have to cut my losses and move on because everyone is not essential or worth the fucking grief. Harsh, but real. Thinking about how different I was a year ago and a year before that is pretty amazing for me. I can only wonder where I'll be in another year. I can say with full confidence that I've learned to always expect the unexpected and that stuff will never fall in place exactly how I want it to. But, also that getting where I'm going will always be worth the ride. Life isn't for spectators after all and that's what makes it fun.

I'm Trying

There's two posts trying to find their way to being published, but I'm still formulating what to say without spilling my current sense of ennui into it. I feel I've definitely got that most unfortunately named problem, SAD. Or perhaps it's just fallout from the rough ass year and change behind me. Or the general "I need a real job quick before my world collapses around me!" stress. Or disappointment that not only did all my devoted energy return nothing back, but also the fact that I'm even surprised by that. Or feeling bummed that some things despite how far I've put it behind me can still hurt just like yesterday. Or feeling worn down by this pesky cold. Or all of the above and more I don't feel like talking about.

But, I'm trying on a lot of fronts. I just have to resist the urge to go bury myself under a lot of blankets and not move.

In Other News

In taking a break from the "too little sleep, getting up and out early sucks my invisible nuts!" train of thought, I need a hobby. I think I'm going to do the NaNoWriMo thing. You know, like everyone else. I've been kicking around getting back into Writer Mode for a while now, if only because there are so many upstart publications looking for someone to churn out something. I love to write, occasionally I'm good at it, so I need to get back in the habit.

My current complaint besides "damn, I'm fat" (and PrincessNella agreeing after she saw the pictures of me in May in the yearbook that yes, I am rounder than I was then) is "damn, I'm broke." Well, I'm not really, but I think the time has come to stop being so damned lackadaisical and find that ambition I like to hide away. I've had a good run hardly working, but truthfully the fall blahs have caught up with me and goofing off has lost its charm. That thought was aided along by getting my loan repayment book in the mail. December 9th is the day everything goes downhill as far as I'm concerned. I've got to say I'm a little disturbed that my monthly payment is about how much I've made in the past month. It's a little past due to fully throw myself into the working world, suck it up and deal like everyone else has. Just about all my friends in conflicted unemployment have left the raft and I can't afford to be all blase about it anymore. Especially since I'm not having any fun anyways. If I still was going out and living it up as I was for most of the summer, it'd be okay. But if a crazy night is going to be me sitting in front of the computer and eating all the ziti in the fridge, then I could be making money to upgrade to cable or better yet sit in my own living room and watch TV and surf the net like I did at Wes without the parental nagging.

So, I'm back to applying for jobs like mad. We'll see how it turns out this time. Mama needs a new pair of boots...and a coat...and some pants...and a pair of sneaks...and a scarf...and some CDs....and driving lessons...and a vacation.

Scary Friendster Browsing

I'm currently on a quest to be connected to a million people on Friendster before I quit. I'm at about 930K and that came in less than 5 months, so I figure I'll be quitting in another month or so.

I spent some of my long weekend browsing time searching out new folks to befriend -- possibly more -- and following links of friends. I've been having strange "blast from the past" episodes lately, probably due to hanging out with PrincessNella and Trendvickster who I've know since I was a wiry, androgynous, basketball and music obsessed thirteen. I've been running into and talking about all these high school people. My memories have become dimmer and more smile-inducing than they were in the past. High school was just funny. I went to a strange vaguely liberal artsy magnet school -- or lab experiment, depending on our moods. The Brick Prison, as we liked to call it. I know I was on the quirky side as a young sixth grader, but my high school experience was so bizarre that it's still the root of a lot of problems as well as the beginnings of a lot of the good.

Anyhoo, I stumbled onto a hub for my old school and then various folks I haven't even thought about in ages. It was kinda scary. The really scary part is I'm going to add it as a friend. Anything to reach a goal.

Marshmellow Girl

"The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results." -- someone who is way smarter than me presently. *sigh*

Sleep To Dream

Song of the week:

Don't make it a big deal, don't be so sensitive
We're not playing a game anymore; you don't have to be so defensive

Don't you plead me your case, don't bother to explain
Don't even show me your face, 'cuz it's a crying shame
Just go back to the rock from under which you came
Take the sorrow you gave and all the stakes you claim
And don't forget the blame

I got my feet on the ground and I don't go to sleep to dream
You got your head in the clouds and you're not at all what you seem
This mind, this body, and this voice cannot be stifled by your deviant ways
So don't forget what I told you, don't come around, I got my own hell to raise

What a strange weekend it's been! I've spent most of the days working on code to whip this place into shape and the nights out and about with friends yet here it is Sunday and I'm just blah.

I'm feeling more muddled than usual if that's possible. Tomorrow is Day 1 of that project I've been waiting all month to work on and that's going to be killer for the next couple of weeks. The hardcore day in and day out. I've been trying to regain my carefree early summer self for a little while, but it's not working so far. I'm kinda confused how I can really be making the conscious effort to be out there but not feeling it at all. I'm distracted by some total bullshit and it's pissing me off more every time I think about it. I presently need to be disentangled from my disentangling. Yeah, it doesn't make sense to me either. I'm on the verge of making some major decisions soon and I need all my wits about me.

A New Start

Here I am in my new home. A million thanks going out to Dean for giving me the last push to make this move and the technical support to make it happen. I've got so much work to do in moving my archives over and trying to make all of this a lot more spiffy. But, it's a start. Welcome to a new era.

TV Renaissance

Today I've been experiencing a renaissance of sorts. I went to the laundry and washed clothes. I thought to myself: "Man, I'm hippy hippy hippo, I can't take looking like this...I need to get off that "see food, eat it" mode. And I'm too broke to buy everything I could possibly need if I keep getting larger than my bleeping clothes." (With that said, this coat is way pretty. A little busy, but being that I've been complaining my personal style is kinda blah and plain, this would definitely brighten it all up.)

Anyhoo, I've been a television fiend today. I watched ATWT. It's the only soap I've managed to stick with all these years. It's some good stuff right now. Then again, anything's better than AMC of the raped lesbians and putting people on meathooks in cold storage. Bump that mess. I also watched the stuff a girl's sci-fi, eye candy dreams are made of on the WB. Smallville and Angel. My husbands are so pretty. I might even tune into Tarzan on Sunday to see the pretty man slink around in a loincloth. Lovely, just lovely.

I don't remember the last time I've just sat around and watched TV. It's been excellent. Sometime last spring, I just fell out of TV watching and believe me, for a person like me that's tragic. I still have the syndication schedules of the local channels burned in my brain because when I was a kid, watching the boob tube was practically a lifestyle. TV is fabulous for simply letting yourself get washed over by stories, fantasy, and prettiness. And also for honing your critical gaze and snark to play with the kids at TWoP. I'm loving it while it lasts.

Hmm...pretty definitely appears to be the word of the day. Ah well.

Pick-Up Game

Apparently the Friendster "it" pickup line for a Candice is referencing Prefuse 73. Not that I'm complaining...I guess. I am single after all -- not that I wasn't before -- but single and looking again, compared to the single yet tempestuously involved with someone of the past month or so.

But, I've realized (as conceited as it might sound) that I'm tired of guys hitting on me. Not altogether, just the shameless, lame lines having, leering, obnoxious ones. It's driving me nuts. They won't leave me alone, whether the bus, the train, the streets, in stores, in the building at work. It's like fuck, I don't care if you find me attractive, step off! Then again, I just might be experiencing a bit of "grass is always greener on the other side" because I spent years of complaining that no one ever noticed me.

The problem I think is that I'm the sort of person who likes to be proactive more times than not. If I like you or find you attractive, you'll know it because I've gotten pretty good at flirting (sometimes) over the years. Besides, it's just no fun waiting for someone to come to you. Sometimes it can be advantageous, like when I'm sitting at my bar, chilling and feeling cheap (or broke) and minding my business when some guy wants to step up and chat and offers me a drink (or 3). I don't discourage it yet I'm not doing anything but sitting in the corner most of the time so I'm not encouraging it either. I'll take the drinks, we'll chat, end of episode. But, the reason I embraced things like Nerve and Friendster so is that I get to be choosy and go after someone without the immediacy of a potential hit and miss at a bar/club. When you're talking back and forth online, you can develop a preliminary rapport and it's kinda playful and fun. The ultimate in no pressure. You can meet and even if nothing romantic happens, you can still be cool because you've developed a nice sort of friendship. Win-win all around. And of course, the occasional something else might happen and that's always excellent unless he's annoyingly bipolar and starts to make me crazy. That gets evened out because I'm kinda bipolar too and I'm sure I've dished out plenty of that. Ah well. Here's to a tentative reintroduction to the "dating" world.

The Interview Game

I called on Camilo to get me into the interview game.

The Questions:
1. How do you define your presence here?
2. What was your moment of power, your finest hour?
3. What was your most absurd dream that you had, that became reality?
4. What is your fondest memory from childhood?
5. What have you always wished you could do with your life, but
are too scared to try?

The Rules:
1. Leave me a comment or email, saying you want to be interviewed.
2. I will respond; I'll ask you five questions.
3. You'll update your website with my five questions, and your five answers.
4. You'll include this explanation, and acknowledge me as the interviewer.
5. You'll ask other people five questions when they want to be interviewed.

The Answers:
1. How do you define your presence here?
I kinda touched on this the other week when I jumped into the black blogs discussion, but I define Kitty Power as a loose narrative of my life, loves, adventures, and thoughts. I put this out there because I've got a certain degree of egotism, but also because growing up I spent a fair amount of time feeling a little too cerebral and out there. Ever since I started writing on the web (initially to kill story telling time), I've discovered that people find it kinda entertaining as well as it being an interesting way to connect to new folks. It's been cool to discover that yes, I might be a little outside the box as far as a lot of things go, but I've got my voice being heard from my little corner. I define this blog as me being free to speak my mind as I don't always get the chance to in real life...within moderation. But, as I am multifaceted and keep some things close to the chest, the same applies here. It's simultaneously totally yet not representative of me.

2. What was your moment of power, your finest hour?
My initial cop out answer is to say that I haven't experienced it yet because I'm so young and feel that my best moments are before, not behind, me. As cheesy as it sounds, graduation was pretty powerful for me. So much shit led up to that. Every moment before, I felt like I wasn't going to make it because of mistakes, missed opportunities, malaise, exhaustion, you name it. I've never felt so completely drained as I did the last couple of months leading up to that and I found it hard to mentally think of myself being really done because I knew I had almost 2 more months of work ahead of me. Yet, that day everything just went right and for that ceremony, every piece of heartache, misery, failures and frustration was just worth because I did what I set out do.

3. What was your most absurd dream that you had, that became reality?
Going to Senegal was pretty huge for me. I've always been an optimistic pessimist. My excitement about anything is always secretly inverted by the dark thoughts that it won't really happen. I blame it on plenty of things, but that's another story. Junior year of high school was a big trip for my chorus for a week in Senegal to sing. I wanted to go unbelievably badly, but the cost was a lot more than my family could afford and I was pretty sure I wasn't going to go. Being an optimistic pessimist means that most of the time that my drive for the object of the conflict is neutralized because of opposing forces. With my mother on my shoulder as a hypercritical naysayer, I stopped hoping for it and resigned myself to being miserable. Yet my stepmother, having traveled everywhere and believing that the trip would be something that I'd treasure forever, made my father step up and I went. Mindblowing is the short description of everything I saw and did there and I wouldn't trade those memories for anything. The dream of that trip itself isn't absurd, but my doubts and my mother's disencouragement are typical of from being from a community where something outside of a narrow range of presented experience is ridiculous. I know that's a strange statement and I've considered rewording it, but it is what it is.

4. What is your fondest memory from childhood?
I spent most of my formative years as an only child. My folks worked or were scattered about and I spent most of my time with my grandmother and great aunt. I trailed after them like a shadow, all through the city or down South, just soaking up being encouraged to be the little smart one and do whatever I wanted. My older relatives were strictly Southern, having come to NY in the 40s and 50s because where they grew up there were no opportunities. They didn't have the chance to go to school as they had wanted because they had to work in the fields or travel once they were older because by then they had families and responsibilities. Those women looked at me like an explorer of the possibilities a woman could have. I was actively encouraged not to cook (or rather, learn just enough to get by but also to keep it a secret), to study and read everything, to speak everything on my mind, to be loud, to be fearless, to be confident, to never settle for anything, to resist being "tamed." I was introduced as "the future writer" and clucked around appreciatively. I'm sure it sounds as if I retrospectively am lavishing being completely spoiled as a child, but what I am trying to celebrate is the memory of always being told that my possibilities were limitless, something which I rarely remember hearing since I was that tomboy running behind old women.

5. What have you always wished you could do with your life, but
are too scared to try?
When I was younger, I was encouraged to read everything I could get my hands on. A favorite was the Almanac, learning about all the different countries in the world and their histories. I used to write reports on Uruguay and Italy and Egypt and Greece, not being able to wait until I would go there. I decided in high school that I had to go to a college with study abroad, so I could go to England or France or Brazil or Japan. But, somewhere between sophomore and junior year, despite having the brochures and applications filled out, when it came time for me to pick some international location to call my home for months, I neutralized my own desire and killed that dream. It's been frustrating for me to have become more debilitated by self-doubt with age than I was as at 5 or 10 or 17. To do anything takes so much more encouragement and having to get fifth and sixth opinions. Having a friend like Alex always makes me more regretful because he is out there living his dreams unapologetically. Still, he planted the seeds in my head that with my coming temping financial windfall, I could pick up and go to those places I've only read and dreamed about. My excuses involving my parents' anger, potential wasting of money I should hoard, and a general fear of just saying "fuck it, I'll do what I want" are feeling pretty hollow for once. I don't even know if I need to do the stereotypical "post-collegiate backpacking" trip because that's not who I am, but me, my notebook, maybe a camera, riding the rails, seeing the sights, taking that leap is something that sounds so good to me right now. I strangely feel that if I can let go and just do it with this, a lot of other things that I'm always punking out about would follow suit.

This talk about jello cocktails...

This talk about jello cocktails has me reminiscent about freshman year with Jay when we were the hardcore jello shot eaters and no one else could hang. Good times. Jay, it looks like a place we have to go!

I'm feeling sort of creative lately. I think I'm going to reinvent Scenestress as an NYC specific travels/experiences essays sort of thing. I'm also going to add some my old site pre-blog posts to here (if I can). But all of that might be moot since I'm considering taking this guy up on his offer. But, money's kinda tight since I've got so many things I want to invest in. For a change, I'm not spending recklessly. I'm considering joining a gym because when even my Virtual Fit girl is looking like a hippy hippy hippo, I've had enough Double Cheeseburger Value Meals. I always forget that my genetic makeup has me predestined to expand outwards unless I'm up on that. I don't do enough right now to make my former "oh look, I keep forgetting to eat and lost 10 lbs!" methods work. For that, I have to be either hyperstressed/pressured or broke yet out and about. Being that I'm pretty chill, relatively settled down in something or another and not really up to anything, my bottom half is spinning out of control. Some Pilates will fix my fat ass...hopefully.

Taking it back...

Taking it back straight old school, I'm 51.8% pure. I chuckle back on the days where I thought I'd be 92% forever.

As quick as he reentered NY, Alex has jetted back off across the ocean. He gave me some wonderful sage advice that helped me make up my mind. If Alex says someone is too sketch for me to be involved with, that's enough for me to listen. Not like that wasn't what I was thinking already.

All summer I've been experiencing writer's block. Mostly because once I gave every once of blood, sweat and tears I could muster to the yearbook, I had no desire to create anything. You might think, how can you write so much in this blog and be having writer's block? Well, this is different. It doesn't take much effort for me to yammer on and on about myself. People have been helping me keep the past couple of months crazy interesting. But I've regained that urge that's always propelled me to just write something. I dunno. We'll see how it turns out.

Alex's guerilla visit was great for me because it inspired me to again reassess what's going on with me. I want money to pay the approaching loans, a place of my own, to settle down into some sort of romantic bliss for a min (I'm such a softy underneath), and a way to combine my interests into something that's not completely draining. Sunday, we met up with other Wes kids who are now across country doing their own thing. I felt kinda stifled that I haven't done anything but rush from CT to here. Yeah, I had a good time for a while now, but I haven't had a real vacation in ages...minus that ill-fated 21st birthday trip to Miami and a visit to the Midwest. I've got invitations extended from France, Belgium, Portugal, New Mexico, and California. Fear of not being able to pay what I need to has me running to a "real" job, but truthfully, I don't mind the temp stuff, just the hours right now. What's to stop me really from working enough to pay stuff off and do some traveling? I think I'll hold off mentioning it to my parents just yet because they already attribute my general lack of "get up and go" to all the damned hippie schools I went to. Still I'm considering it.

I'm just being a punk

I'm just being a punk complainer, but I've got to be somewhere at 9am 4 out of 5 days this week. *sob* Who's prepping the little violin for me?

Thoughts

There's a major part of me that spends a lot of time second-guessing myself, especially in the context of my blog. Am I too personal? Am I rambling too much? Is there any focus? Just about everyone I know and like reads it because it is an extension of me. It is my thoughts, my words, my feelings. I suspect it has caused some problems in my non-relationship, but fuck, what am I going to do really? This is me. If you don't like it, then there's nothing more to say. Despite my wishy-washiness, that's my final word.

Black Blogger Thoughts

Cruising a site I link and like to read, I stumbled onto this discussion. I followed links and ended up smack in the middle of it here. Apparently, this is the origin.

What does it mean for me to be a black blogger? The same thing is means for me to be a black woman. It's a part of my identity, practically one word because they are so intertwined. Does it necessarily mean that I have to go screaming from the hills that I'm black or preface everything with "in my young black female opinion?" No because it's obvious. It's not something I'm hiding really.

The cyberspace conversation is a one that takes place in real life too. What does it mean to be black? Does it involve an intellectual frame or behaviors or shared history or is it social conditioning? Do you have an obligation to "be" a certain thing and discuss certain approved topics? I am what I am. My blog, writings and life are unique in some ways. Not necessarily in others. In words I can say I am a black feminist progressive urban educated young sexual neurotic yearning cynical woman, but that doesn't even sum up the half of it. But, I think that my little corner of cyber space is important even if it's not necessarily on the radar of those who envision themselves the authority. And that's pretty much it.

Ongoing Blahness

A thing I do that annoys me is obsess about my age. I'm 22. So what? I've been thinking about a lot of things this weekend cruising to a close, especially how I like to hide behind things. I hide behind the blog, my age, my pride, my memories, my fear, the Ex and those that once a held a piece of me.

In feeling stuck in limbo, I've felt inept. I hate feeling that I just can't do things -- it shakes something in me. Helplessness breeds dismay which brings overcompensation. If I can't have that perfect situation I hoped would fall into place by now, I'll be damned if I won't exert control over one aspect of my life. So you like me and you want to be with me? I'll make you wish you never met me because I'd rather have us both miserable now than have you pull the rug out from under me later on like they always do.

How fucked up am I? I'm tempted to run away from myself about now. I definitely need a break from this. It's getting a little too raw.

In A State

I've been in a shit mood all weekend. It just kinda snuck up on me sometime after waking up Friday -- the shrillest alarm in history damaging your eardrum would probably do that I guess. I've been trying to fight it, being social all weekend, but between the rain and the fucked up journey to and from anywhere, I've been worn down. I'm unhappy. I feel like I'm in limbo. A lot of stuff has shaped up for me nicely, but I'm not satisfied. I want that permanent job. I want my own place. I want to nest. But, I'm also avoiding a Conversation and surprising myself by being pulled towards all sorts of fucked up things that would ruin something that feels nice a lot more than it doesn't. I'm doing that push-pull thing I've always despised in others. I don't make any sense. In my defense, I put that out there beforehand as a disclaimer, but that's no excuse to be a fuckup.

Walking to the bus stop earlier tonight, a guy across the street was doing that annoying hiss thing. That's gotta be one of my top pet peeves for sure. What would make a guy think by doing that he would be getting anything more than a dirty look (or a middle finger)? I mean, I know damned well he's skeezy and not thinking: "Wow, look at her big brain! She looks like she'll have crazy witty observations on life. I should ask her to recommend a book to me." Fuckwad. A look is too much to give a guy like that.

I hung out with Wes kids tonight. It's been a while. I've been in my own little world for a heap of weeks now. It ultimately made me more melancholy because it feels like everyone has their shit together but me -- though even thinking it, I know it's not true. I suck at keeping in touch. I've been trying to think all week what that's about. I've been searching for something all summer, bouncing from place to place, group to group. I need a routine. I need a foundation. I want someone to ground me, not push me to crazy heights I'm not ready for. I want that nice wholesome relationship, but I also want a mind reader.

I need to stop using this an emotional crutch. Sometimes I feel like I've lost my ability to speak with real words and breath and that is the root of most of my problems. I need to unplug for a while, but right now, I'm just reading and thinking..

Once Upon A Time (Perhaps Last Week)

Once upon a time (perhaps last week), I was crazily bent out of shape over some garbage. Then again, when am I not bent out of shape? I was a wreck in May, June, July, August...it's par for the course around here. So what I crossed out some text in my posts and it was hard to read or something? I could sum up all of that for you pretty easily: "blah blah I need to stop liking bad boys blah blah and while I'm at it, I need to stop being crazy blah blah it sucks to me blah blah I want a relationship...oh, wait I don't blah blah I like feeling sorry for myself blah blah I need to shut the fuck up because this whiny crap is really annoying blah blah." I blame it on those pesky hormones. This week, however, I think if I was any more chilled out, you'd swear I'm high on the regular. I'm not, natch. Strangely, getting tortured by a 4-year old and holing myself in a basement on DSL did wonders for my disposition.

Sunday, I made the Wes visit I've been putting off for about a month. We went there all guerilla style and I went to the office and gathered up my stuff. It was totally bittersweet -- downloading pics (though crackhead I am, I forgot most of what I wanted. Ugh...brains. So underrated Nevermind. I did get it.), straightening up, erasing my chalkboard, throwing things out, talking to P. Diddy (or for the cuteness factor) on the phone like I had done so much of the spring and summer. And then I gathered up this crap I had borrowed from a professor back in April that I had left sitting around in the office all summer (oops!) and trekked to PAC. I ran into a few people I knew, dropped in the mail box and I was done. I can't describe how it felt. I never have to go back. Never if I don't want to. I feel fucking amazing. Sunday felt better than graduation for my soul -- plus I didn't get choked up like a baby this time. Freedom is a beautiful thing. And the yearbook is getting shipped out in a little under 2 weeks. I should plan a viewing party since most of my friends are wack and didn't buy one. *ahem* The best part is that I've moved on so much mentally that I don't give a fuck if it's wack. Not that it will. And of course, I say that now but I'll be nitpicking on that bitch for the next 20 years. Watch.

It's nice to be settled for a change. Now my only pursuits are dancing to southern booty music for the cats ("Get low, get low, get low, get low"), mentally counting my money and thinking of the crazy adventures that are going to make the fall bananas. And being happy that I have friends in high places as well as mid-range fun ones. I've also reversed my position on what I did last week. Is it just me or is the crop shaping up nicely lately? I've changed my gallery age range, so that might have something to do with it. Something about the 23s and the 26s spicing up the playing field.

The Definitive Post On Me and The Inevitable Romantic and Emotional Problems

In a way, I wonder why I'm letting this whole thing with him bother me. I mean, there's more fish in the sea, I probably fucked up, shit happens, all those things. That doesn't change the fact that there were warning signs going off a mile a minute. I didn't mean what I said how it came out, but I was inherently saying "where this is headed with you, I don't like it and I'd rather just nip it before it spins out of control." Maybe that's not how it was on his end, but I know me and I was beginning to see "Goner" written on my forehead in blood.

I'm a laid-back person -- despite how it may appear here because this blog is a little too far in my head for comfort occasionally really. There's a lot that goes on that I don't write about because a girl needs secrets and breaking everything of myself down into some words on a computer screen makes me feel like my life isn't my own. I made that mistake with the other site where someone who liked me thought that describing what went wrong in a lot of situations gave him some sort of special in to pigeon hole me. Everything I write is like a brain capsule. What I might be feeling now at 12:40pm may not be what's up with me tomorrow at 2pm. That's my prerogative, that's why it's Kitty Power subtitled "disjointed dispatches," not "definitive manifesto."

It's hard for me to like someone. At the root, I'm a control freak, it's a defense mechanism. I'm also an open person which makes me practically bipolar. I liked him and I accepted all these things he was throwing at me (figuratively) that were making me completely scared shitless. I do like the guys that ultimately not for me, but there comes a time in your life when you gotta let go of that "it'll never be boring" mentality and save the fucking heartache that is coming. I'm tired of being wrecked. I spent the better part of a year thinking that I was fucked up and I didn't deserve to be happy and he moved on and left because that's what's supposed to happen to me. I don't think that anymore. Shit is too important for me right now and I don't want to waste any more time stupidly unhappy. And that's it. I chalk it up as a failure and I'm moving on. The End.

I'm getting tired of my need to qualify myself. Fuck it all. Life's too short.

Red Red Wine

Red, red wine Goes to my head Make me forget that i Still need her so

Red, red wine
It`s up to you
All I can do, i`ve done
But mem`ries won`t go
No, mem`ries won`t go

I'd have thought
That with time
Thoughts of her
Would leave my head
I was wrong
And I find
Just one thing makes me forget

Red, red wine
Stay close to me
Don`t let me be alone
It's tearin' apart
My blue, blue heart

And no, I'm not still wallowing. Who doesn't love "Red Red Wine?" That song is the shit. But, with this crap ass weather, who would blame me? How the hell did it jump from August to October? It's cold as hell.

In other news, I did what I was thinking about. It takes some of the pressure off. I am all about no pressure after all...except when I lose my cool and end up looking like a stupid stupid kid! *ahem* Random was reading the blog and said that I've got a "Seinfeldian" thing going here. Yes indeed, I'm a New Yorker and neurotic as fuck, but neither a man nor Jewish, so I can be a black Elaine. I'm short (though not that short really, about average height) with mostly crazy hair and nice breasts -- or so I was told the other day, but that point's up for debate. Since I'm oversharing, I noticed that his profile thingy is currently changed to "Just Here to Help." Hmm. I really need to shut up about this shit. I'm making myself look worse. Plus he reads it like everyone else I know. Candice is a jackass, la la la.

Song for the new week

Song for the new week:

We got just one shot of life, let's take it while we're still not afraid.
Because life is so brief and time is a thief when you're undecided.
And like a fistful of sand, it can slip right through your hands.

I've been on a 80s kick since Sunday afternoon. The cats got a kick of me dancing around to "Party All The Time." I love that song. Did you ever see the Mad TV skit where they dramatized the writing sessions for that with Eddie Murphy (Aries Spears) and Rick James (Phil LaMarr)? Hilarious. Beyond, just beyond.

Ever noticed how the universe seems to mock you if you're remotely feeling down? I heard Eric Carmen, "All By Myself" in a deli. I haven't heard that song in years. It could've been worse -- I could've caught the Celine version. Ugh. And then my comp's playing Steve Perry, "Foolish Heart." Okay, now I've got to get "Time (Clock Of My Heart" out of my brain. It's making me feel worse. No more sappy 80s stuff. Craptastic wallowing music. Time to bust out the upbeat stuff.

I also realized today that I'm completely overreacting, but that's my nature. I think I was more embarrassed by revealing myself to be both non-chill and young all at once and watching it dawn on him also, especially since I didn't say what I meant to. Funny how "I just want to make sure we're on the same page" turns into "I don't even like you" when you're on panic mode...and yes, straight sober. Now I get to watch him retreat from the immature kid, but for real this time. I don't really know how I feel about it. He's not who I want him to be, he said that himself. And it's rare for me to kill stuff before it has the chance to reveal itself as bad for me as I knew from the start. Fuck it. Closed topic.

The Madness Begins

For a minute, I actually wondered why Sixteen Candles was one of my favorite movies. And then I remembered that when I watched it when I was a high schooler, I wholly identified because I was a spazz and always hoped I would be lucky enough to have some super cool guy see beyond that. Years later, I'm still a fucking spazz and I'm beginning to think I have a better chance being struck by lightning than making something work. Just an inkling of a fuzzy and I'm all "oh shit, was that a feeling?! Self-destruct mode, on. Deny, deny, deny! Spazz, spazz, spazz! Run, run, run! Start the annihilation process." I'm a stupid jerk.

Sex makes me stupid. Lack of sex makes me stupid. Guys make me stupid. But I was just stupid from the start. I'm just gonna find a hole and hope it caves in. Pity party, table for one.

ETA: This why I don't date (or not, as the case may be) even put out myself out there. Fucking melodramatic nature rearing its ugly head. Who has time for this shit?

Friend Speak

In continuing with the "I'm a random magnet" train of thought, I've realized that no matter what stage of my life I'm in (or something), the friends I have are essential archetypes in my life. I used to say that they're all nothing alike to each other, but they've all got a piece of the pathwork that makes up me. Trendvickster and I were/are wide-eyed and optimistic together when I'm not letting whatever beat me down. Jay, PrincessNella, and I are charismatic cynical bitches with sharp tongues and big laughs. Tino, Alex and I are the adventure seekers -- up for whatever, down for whatever with those glints in our eyes while looking deceptively fresh-faced. Mr. KT and I have vibrant personalities and dirty minds/mouths that you would never guess looking at our sweet little faces. Every once in a while, I get latched onto by a Dancing Queen or my ex-housemate and we share that reckless, hypersexual, fun-loving nature. But, that part has been toned down in my old age. It's an intensity that I can't keep up. All kinds of shit ensues that'll drain the hell out of you. The guys that pass through are all the same too. Wolves in sheep's clothing, occasionally just a bad sheep mask. I think I'm officially over it. For the 8,000,000th time. Doubt it'll stick.

"Misadventure is all around."

"Misadventure is all around." An email quote from Mr. Scenester earlier in the summer.

Being that it's August 29th and all, for all intents and purposes the summer is over. It's been good -- despite the extended Middletown residency and the lack of a job/funds and various things I bent myself out of shape about over the course. Truthfully, I'm easy to please about now. I enjoy random episodes, good company, strong drinks and interesting music. I'm so wonderfully glad to be out of school that the world is totally fine with me. Hopefully the fall will be equally as fun but different. I've got to admit that I'm on the flighty side, new things are needed to keep me amused.

Last night was rolling with Random, a new friend I met where I tend to meet everyone (besides the net, natch). He's funny and crazy and we met in what has to be the ultimate of randomness, hence the pseudonym. I've been drafted into the subversive randoms coalition. That's right up my alley. We went back to the scene of Wednesday's jump off and the bartender there is my new friend. She's a little bitchy in that good way yet completely chill with the coolest hoodie:

Wednesday she gave us stickers! Yay! From there, we went here where I got to practice my belly dancing skills. Bet you didn't know I used to do that shit for a min, eh? Indian dance for a min back in high school too. How ya like me now? Hehe. From there to another place where it was so empty that the highlight was surfing the net and being squicked by this guy unashamedly looking at straight up porn. It's was like "you do realize this is a club, right? Get up and drink and dance. Go home to look at that." Not that there's anything wrong with porn. Porn is good, fantastic even. Total endorsement from the Kitty Power corner.

Random left at this point because he indeed in that working world I happen to know nothing about. I strolled over to my place and was at first surprised because some of the usual suspects weren't in attendance. Strange, I noted, but I made a new instafriend. I totally attract the randoms I swear. I must give off "seek me out for chill conversation and acceptance of your randomness" vibes. Then again, I'm random as hell, so it must be a birds of a feather type deal. She's a crazy dancing completely in the mix sort. We were chatting about something strange and having one of those instafriend episodes. In walks Mr. Man, drunk as hell and telling me that he just ran back from "Puffy's VMA party." I gave my typical "whatever" look and perhaps even a shrug. You don't impress me, you name-dropping SOB! I mean, hey, I totally believe it, but he threw that in as bait. In case you haven't noticed, I'm hypercynical, but besides that I grew up with boys and my best friends are guys, so I know all the games when I hear them. Never let them get a rise out of you. Ms. Dancing Queen decided though that he was next on her conquest list. Their little pre-running off dance was kinda pathetic, especially at the same time, she's just finished saying what a player and woman hater he is but that she'll "fuck him" instead of the other way around. Right. Have I mentioned that I'm glad that I've kept myself to only going there to chill? Well I am. I felt like I was watching a cliche play out in front of my eyes. You know the surefure way to get over a pre-crush? Watch him embroiled in all sorts of grimeyness.

The Blahs

I've been suffering through the blahs. I'm super restless. Luckily, I've got an interview Wednesday but some time this week, I need to go up to Middletown for the day to retrieve my sleeping bag and various files off the office computer -- and maybe send people their pictures back, if I feel like it. I went to the usual place and found myself sitting outside on the front step more than socializing. I just totally wasn't in the mood. This guy called himself being all slick and sliding up to me, whispering in my ear: "You wanna dance?" I shot him a nasty look and said: "if I wanted to dance, don't you think I'd be on the dance floor instead of holding up the wall?" I mentally added "bizzounce!" and indeed he did. I wasn't feeling the crowd at all tonight. Everyone was so fucking hip that it was painful. I know I'm going against the grain and knocking what's hip, but I'm not feeling this 80s revival shit at all. Sure, I rock the Adidas and the Kangol, but that's got flavor. Who would willingly try to look like Cyndi Lauper or Dale from Missing Persons all these years later when we know they were just playing and/or high as fuck? There's nothing cool or "ironic" about looking like a technicolor clown. Then again, I'm just a hater. I've been hating everything -- and almost everybody -- for a week and change now. As my away message tends to say: "Haterade. Tastes great and less filling." A byproduct of the blahs I'm afraid.

To honor both my blahs and my hate, I've got two songs of the week. Numero uno is STP because I've been having a high school era renaissance:

I'm lookin' for a new stimulation
Quite bored of those inflatable ties
I'm lookin' for a new rock sensation
Dead fish don't swim around in jealous tides

I made excuses for a million lies
But all I got was humble kidney pie
So what

I want somebody to walk up behind me
And kiss me on my neck and breathe on my neck

If you want to feel me
Better be divine
Bring me water, water for my mind
Give me nothin
Breathe love in my air
Don’t abuse me
Cause these herbs are rare

Ask Men Okay

Mr. KT and I get a kick out of surfing Ask Men. Him for obvious reasons and me because I tend to "think like a guy" about most relating things. I was reading it tonight and was kinda taken by their version of a surefire way to segue a conversation into something else. I gotta admit that it's shit simple. Imagine that -- getting a person into you by talking to them, listening to what they have to say and responding accordingly. Mind-blowing.

Thursday I was like a poster child for what not to do. Need I say where I was? Do I really go much of anywhere else? Besides, the Thursday party is thrown by my Friendsters, so I can get hooked up -- more than usual -- like a mofo. One of the things I love about the place is that most of the people rolling through are connected to the place, i.e. other night promoters, DJs, bartenders, etc just hanging out and kicking it. Despite the other day's assertion that platonic is ideal, there is one dude who I see there all the time and just kinda trade looks with, but nothing's ever come of it -- not that I'm necessarily trying or not one way or another. So, the typical was occuring and I was chatting with my boys and not really thinking much about it. At one point, I'm waiting for the bathroom, contemplating that the bitch ahead of me must've fallen in the toilet or something. Stupid heffa. The guy himself stands next to me and we start chatting:

Mr. Man: You waiting?
Moi: Yep.
Mr. Man: You know if someone's in this one? (gesturing towards the men's room)
Moi: No clue.
The door swings open on the men's and Mr. Man grabs it as a guy walks past
Mr. Man: Do you mind if I go? I have to go up and DJ in a min.
Moi: *shrug* It's all you.
Mr. Man goes in the bathroom and I raise my palm in a "WTF was that about?" sign.

It's a good thing I don't actually wonder why there's nothing happening romantically with me. My middle name is Self-Sabotage. Like I said though, it's no biggie. He might be fine (and indeed he is), but in my indifferent state, unless he steps up his 3:30am drunken chatter/game or I become less indifferent, it doesn't really matter.

My prerogative…not just a song, it's a state of mind...

My prerogative…not just a song, it’s a state of mind. This little kitty is experiencing the blahs. I’m partied out. I’m looking for alternative stimulation. I suppose that’s because my whole week has been screwed up by Tuesday being such a freaking rager. I’m type tired.

With that said, I’m finally venturing out the house cave today. I need to see people and be social, but perhaps lay off the sauce. I might even be home before *gasp* 2am tonight. I’m finally checking out the Fela exhibit going on at the New Museum – especially since it’s $3 entry on Thursday nights. Hey, I’ve probably lost my student discounts privileges, so a kid’s gotta take a deal where she can! (In an aside, my first instinct is to call that place the Newseum, which would be totally wrong because there is already one of those in DC and it’s awesome.) And I’m meeting up with the throwers of the hottest store party hybrids in the city to catch this movie Afropunk. I was actually gonna hold out for the Saturday showing, but since my weekend’s looking jammed packed like a mofo, there’s no time like the present. The screening’s at Pianos which should prove an adventure.

Another reason I’ve been in is because Tuesday drove home some irritation I’ve been feeling. At the store opening that blew, I saw a group of people that are extremely familiar to me. Strange because I have no idea who the hell they are. But I know them by face because I saw them here, there, and here, and there, and this one too and various other events and spots around town. They are the present scenesters, the black bohemian variety that occasionally I aspire to be. You’d think as a scenestress in training, I’d get to know them and hang, making contacts and getting the hookups yadda yadda what’d you’d expect from someone that professes to want to go into PR, but fuck, I’m sick of looking at them. NYC is downright claustrophobic for me sometimes. If I’m not running into someone from one alma mater, it’s the other. I run into people I’ve only seen online via Nerve or whatever. Even online, I run into someone who knows people I know and I can connect myself and various nemeses in less than four degrees. Add to that, I haven’t decided what I want “my scene” to be and as I’ve discovered everywhere else eventually, though you see yourself as fluid and able to defy characterizations, other people don’t see it quite that way and will give you static. So, the question remains for me: what to do? I obviously can’t hide in the cave forever because truthfully, though I might be occasionally scared, timid and/or dismissive, I love people and what I love about NYC is the different opportunities for interactions everywhere. I suppose I should suck it up and deal across the board. Being a scenestress is about being in a not-so-loose network. I think this whole dilemma is boiling down to my notoriously convoluted Piscean thinking because as much as I want to be loose and free, I’ve also been feeling a need to settle down and nest. Hmm. I’m starting to confuse myself.

Conundrum

Last night was one of those where I spent a lot of time feeling weird. Actually, the last couple of days have been like that. Spending 25 hours with no electricity brought it home my general lingering thought of feeling overstimulated. I'm in a mood to weed out the unnecessary clogging of my space. The strangest thought that hit me was to take the "dating" part off my Friendster profile. I only put that in there in the first place to imply that though I wasn't looking for a "serious relationship," I wanted something besides "friends" which is what I suppose "dating" means. I hate "dating." I don't do it well -- in fact, I don't know how -- and I'd rather avoid it whenever possible. It's like a neverending series of interviews and you have to maintain that sunny false front. There should be a category that envelopes "chilling just for kicks -- no pressure -- and if I decide I like you (or just get the urge), I might have sex with you. Again, no pressure." or is that dating and I never got the memo? (Oops, mentioned the "s" word. Silly me, I keep doing that.)

But what does it matter anyway because I don't want to do it in any of its forms. On my train ride home last night, I was just struck with how utterly bored I am with that stuff. I ended up there where I had more chance of being struck by lightning in the basement than getting a second look and I just loved being out of the game from the door -- though the novelty of that will wear off soon enough. I had enough of that every year of school but the last one, thanks. I chilled, was left alone, and just had a good time, not disappointed because I had no hopes out there. Not that I do anyways. I've realized that I'm indifferent, stuck on neutral. I don't like anyone, I don't want to like anyone and anyone that crossed my path, I've feigned the motions but I don't really care. I can't remember the last time I've been really excited about someone -- wanting to hear their voice, talking about them all the time, just feeling smiley and fuzzy when I'm with them. Perhaps that's a silly standard to have of what's good, but I'll stick with it until I know better.

Besides on a practical sense, I'm jobless and broke, working on a master plan and feeling a bit of pressure right now. Why the fuck would I try to further complicate the issues by having to worry about someone else and/or lose energy to tackle that by focusing time on them? I'm being selfish to get my shit together. I can almost guarantee I'll be a better person to be around once this crap has passed. I also realized last night that I've been single for about nine months now. It's been rough through a lot of patches, but I've earned my security. If it's not something that I think is going to make me feel the way I did the day this picture was taken, I really don't know if I can bother. To be clear, it isn't even about him -- after all, when I was crazy, I thought he was great, but I'm not so crazy anymore -- it's about regulating that youthful exuberance and the inevitable fallout because disasters are just tiring after a while, you know?

Oh, and what does this have to do with anything? Nothing. Just saying.

Bored bored bored...

Bored bored bored. I'm impersonating a log today. I was supposed to go to Summerstage for this, but I just took a nap instead. I'm definitely on for tomorrow...I swear.

The strangest part is that I'm dressed, have been up since before noon and had the motivation to get up and go, but I just can't bring myself to get out the door. *whisper* Secretly, I think I might be a little antsy about getting on the subway. But don't tell anybody. I've been devising all sorts of alternate bus-based routes to Manhattan or else considering outer borough ways to amuse myself. Williamsburg isn't really that hard to get to from here. I'm just not really into travelling under the river because I've got a long list of worst case scenarios playing in my head. I remember my first visit back to the city after 9/11 and being on my way upstate via the Short Line. I just about jumped out of my skin as we started going through the Lincoln Tunnel. There's something about shit going wrong in the city that gives me Daylight flashbacks. A pussy, you say? Why yes am I, thanks for sharing.

It'll pass I suppose once it gets closer to prime time. I refuse to stay in another night. I love the cats and the mom, but enough is enough. I need loud music, people, bars, and stories for my Scenestress. Tonight I might be doing the Panty Party up big -- but keeping the pants on, thanks. (They're not ready for this jelly, kid.) Or perhaps here. Or here. I can't decide! Getting out the house is half the battle.

ETA: "Me, I'm a pimp/I'm not paying for no sex/I'd rather buy a car or new rolex" and pictures!

Bitches Ain't Shit But Hoes And Tricks

Now a queen's a queen and a stunt is a stunt/You can tell who's who by the things they want

I'm remotely holding court with Trendvickster over the assholeness of the male specimens that we keep encountering. She liked this guy who liked her back, but he jumped for the first girl to pass by with a loose snatch and some weed -- and a fiancee and stories about cheating with dudes up and down the eastern seaboard. The kicker is that all of this interoffice. Ugh...drama. I think it's reminding me of why I'm choosing to remain blissfully unattached right now -- too many encounters with fuck-ups. There's The Continental who was dating 4 girls at once (including moi) -- no small feat in the middle of nowhere Connecticut and years later doesn't understand why it might make someone angry. Beats me... There's Mr. Sailor, for whom I'm the first and last person over the age of 18, he's been involved with since he passed that age that didn't understand why his ass got dumped when he disappeared for two weeks and changed his cell phone number -- and passed that along to a mutual friend, instead of you know, telling me himself. That was sure the mystery of the ages... Or my "friend," who I didn't want to slander so I blogged about the encounter tamely, that lost out on a sure thing because he didn't understand why I wasn't particularly impressed by: "you know, I came to Wes because I was sick of dating white girls, but as soon as I got here, I just got snapped up again. I'm sad I never got my chance." Because after all, what is a liberal arts education for but giving little suburban white boys all the colored ass they can handle. Fucking jerk.

So, I'm raging. Just because I can.

A Little Yearning

Isn't it kinda sickening how what's simplest is really so true? My dear Trendvickster is all bubbly and excited about this guy she's cruising towards something with in Beantown. I dished sage words, advised her not to put the cart before the horse, and grinned to myself at her smilies after every sentence. Despite a case of extreme jadedness and the general disgust with the males of the species that NYC will invoke, I remember what it's like to be warm and fuzzy about somebody...kinda. It's been a while, always complicated by some unresolved something or another. Sometimes I miss that, constantly talking about someone, always anticipating seeing them. Just that new stuff feeling. But then, I think of the distractions and miscommunications and how shitty it feels when stuff just gets jumbled and I don't miss any of it at all.

I'm torn. The hopeful kid full of verve and pep wants a little amusement to pass the time with. Something bright and shiny to go with the summer weather. The still wincing kitty with an elephant memory wants to be left alone. The position changes daily. That's why I dealt with C: all the perks, none of the liabilities. That's how it should be...for now at least. Perfectly nice kids that I might like if I weren't just...indifferent have been crossing my path. That's been the enigma of the summer: I give off an air of being totally disinterested and closed. As I said to one, "I don't play hard to get. I'm telling you I'm impossible to get." Assured words, but as always, I reserve the right to be flighty and I'm a sucker for a grand gesture or bold words. Occasionally.

Job Thoughts

Nice thing about sitting at home all day with nothing to do is you can do all these long put off tasks on your computer that would just streamline a lot of stuff...and fuck off on the net too, but I've done that at work too, so that's no real plus. I've changed the color schemes and stuff again. Sure looks like red and gold are my favorite colors, eh?

But seriously, on the job front, I'm beginning to feel the crunch. In case I forgot to mention it, the original pact I made with my mother back before school ended was that she would lay off my back and let me be as productive (or as leisurely) about the job search as I wanted, but when August rolled around, she could nag and prod me to her heart's content. Oh look, it's August. Great. She's been cool for the past week or so but I know that can change quickly. In my corner, my schedule and life is finally clear. No more yearbook, no more helping out with the event. I finally have some sort of focus about what I want to do. And to top is all off, I'm so broke that I'm all about finding a job posthaste because I can hear the loan people starting to call my name. *sigh* Making my life miserable is that I'm still not really hearing about people finding anything and in Sunday's Daily News, their feature article for the Lifestyles section was all about elite college graduates languishing jobless. They especially were talking about this kid that graduated from Princeton who has been out of work for 11 months. 11 fucking months! That's crazy.

What pissed me off last week was two seperate encounters with stupid old men (what else is new really?) that basically thought that coming from my school and not having a job, I was a pretty loser. The first guy basically replied to my bitter "I'm taking the summer off" response to the inevitable "what do you do now" question with: "The summer off? You can't find a job? You must be rich because if anyone can find a job if they want one." I suppose -- well, I know -- that's true, but part of me just wants him to fuck off anyway. If I wanted to have a job just to work, I would've interned at a number of places this summer. But wait, they were unpaid and being totally not independently wealthy and having a $40K noose over my head that starts tightening right before Thanksgiving, that wasn't really a viable option. Don't get me wrong, I made money this summer. I got a minor stipend for yearbook stuff because hell, it was sucking my lifeblood away and a kid had to live and I got paid for helping out at the event last night (plus all sorts of networking and nightlife perks I'll talk about in that post later). But, I didn't make a lot. Not enough to shop without immediately mentally cursing myself for days afterwards when I've got $5 to my name yet a nice new shirt or three. The second fool came out of his face when I was promoting by saying, "what are you doing that for? With your education, why would you want to promote?" Because you can make good money doing that shit, elitist mofo. Besides that, what's a degree but a piece of paper? It's not actually a pedigree of anything, it's just a toe in the door and networking credentials. I can puff Wes all I want and go all Cardinal Pride, but at the end of the day, you have to hustle and be proactive. Wes grads do all sorts of stuff anyways. The ex girl of the metrosexual from the spring is currently a stripper in Hawaii says the grapevine. We've got a porn impresario and I've always heard there's good money to be made in phone sex. *ahem* Regardless, I'm on a heavy scenester track about right now because to get into PR, you need connections and I'll make them how I need to. I've started surfing the alumni database and found a few involved with that. This girl needs to do some informational interviews.

Potential

Sometimes I just amuse myself. Every once in a while, I regress to ninth grade. I find it endearing. Though I talk a good game, I definitely have the tendency to be awkward around the male sort. That was formed mostly because when kids that went somewhere besides my high school were branching off into dating or at least had friends that were, my rag tag bunch of friends and I were stuck in the "dirty minded but clean behavior" category. In ninth grade, we would always cry "nasty double meaning!" but we'd be more willing to kiss the floor than another person.

So, while stuck up here and perusing the summer directory, I came across the name of one of my end of the year friends. He and I had worked together the whole year but became really close as he finished up his thesis and came back on the social scene with a vengeance and I was out and about because that's what I do instead something useful like what I'm supposed to. I found him super amusing and he fit the mold of my guy friend. I tend to befriend the boys who have sex appeal in spades and are always out pleasing their female fans. I, being that cool dude in a girl's body, tend to get the salacious details and some insight into the inner workings of boys -- along with bad influences plus tips/tricks/habits that get tested out on unsuspecting males, but that's another story. There's a line between confidante and potential that I'm always careful to observe. That pesky curiosity buoyed temptation will fuck stuff up if given the chance, but I'm good about following my self imposed rules.

Until now maybe. I'm tempted. We haven't seen each other yet, but who knows? Life is indeed a lot easier when school isn't in session (though the conversion of Wes into a pseudosummer camp is kind of frightening. Too many little kids running around here) because the grapevine matters a whole lot less. Naturally of course, nothing's probably going to happen. I tend to be upright and noble in the most inopportune moments.

ETA: When I'm right, I'm right. I know myself and I kept it platonic as fuck. I think at times I actually made myself shift so I wouldn't be so close on purpose and had closed body language all over the place. A rule is a rule. *sigh*

An Interlude

Who'd have thought that time in Middletown would be kicking up all the shit I thought I had buried somewhere behind me? I'm beginning to think there's something about this town which spells drama. The part that's annoying is that it isn't even mine, but trying to be helpful has opened some sort of emotional floodgates. Fantastic.

I am a good listener. It's a skill I honed because I yammer and I feel bad for talking someone's ear off and not giving them the chance to return the favor. I also observe because a writer always pays attention to details. Somehow I got mixed up in interpersonal shit because people like to talk and talk and talk and I blend into the woodwork watching the shit they do. One situation in general really bugs me because I hate seeing people walk into traps. Really liking someone can make you so damned clueless. It's kinda painful to see the side of the girl who is building it up to be some great love affair and the guy who would really fuck anything that moves and has no shame about being a dog. Sigh. It reminds me of how stupid I was -- and probably will be again because I'm not so untouchably evolved or anything. That point where you compromise yourself and ignore all those voices inside screaming at you to open your ears. I remember too well the fear of thinking that it's better to be with someone good or bad and feeling something than alone and miserably thinking of what you'd do if you if only someone would be with you. I don't know what it even means that I'm friends with a person that would have no regard for someone's feelings. There's no excuse to be cruel.

Karma's a real bitch. Lately because of a chance viewing on Nerve, I've been thinking about the mess I made of a lot of things last fall. I came back to school really happy, with my attentions towards this kid J overseas. The way we existed was kind of ambiguous but there's something to be said for having care or faith in someone no matter how far they are. A chance arrangement in Middletown blindsided the hell out of me and I became conflicted (and the writer of some bad poetry, but that's neither here nor there). I ended up starting the trend of bowing to agressively applied pressure no matter what I felt. I'm no innocent and I have to admit I was exhilarated by the rush of someone like the Ex who was forceful and wanted the whole world -- or specifically, J halfway around the world -- to know we were together. I botched my relationship with J who I really liked for that heady rollercoaster that I grinded to a stop three months later, worn out and sick of feeling like being with the Ex meant that I had to spend all of my time on emotional overload. And still hurt me (though I was glad it was over) that while I was thousands of miles away driving myself insane, someone put the moves on the Ex as he did me. But nothing was as fucked up to me as knowing that I broke J's heart over a guy not half the person he was. I wonder about J sometimes. I wonder if he still hates me. I wonder if he's happy. I don't believe in going backwards, i.e. trying to pick up old relationships, but I feel like he deserves some sort of an apology from me.

Sometimes I hate being young. You have to make mistakes in order to become stronger and build character and all that shit, but in retrospect, I feel like I've spent so much time working through the stress that I've missed out on things. Despite being in Middletown and not having a job yet and a laundry's list worth of present complaints, I feel happy. But, there's a sad aftertaste because I've spent 10 months -- or more if we wanna go through some more history -- being as miserable as I could be because of fuckups that keeping my wits about me would've made nonexistant. I've finally gotten to a place where I feel like I've shed all the dead weight that kept me down. School, failures, issues, relationships. It's all over. If I could just leave this town, the visual cues can go the way of the memories -- harmlessly behind me.

Back In NYC Roundup

I've been keeping it chill so far on my couple of days back. Sitting around, playing with the cats, catching up on the Blind Date-EXtreme Dating-5th Wheel-Elimidate dating show extravaganza!, doing a phone interview for a job I may get.

The job thing's been the strangest part of the week. I got a call from the lady on Monday for a resume I sent out before school was even over (that being a good month and a half ago). I called her back and she did the phone interview right then. Eek! I think I was charming and thoughtful and intelligent enough to make a good impression though and I'm kinda hopeful that I get it -- even though it's nothing like what I've been prepping myself for as I've let my mind wander in the last month. I got it in my head that I want to be some sort of publishing/media diva -- well, okay, lackey -- climbing my way up the ladder and getting the heads up on books/events/whatever. I think my editrix position warped my mind. A month or two ago, I was all about working a non-profit!, doing something progressive!, research!, implementation of social theories! when I applied for that job. I'm kinda stuck trying to make the shift right now. Is it wrong of me to want a job where I can be a media diva for a progressive non-profit? That exists, right?

I've also been thinking that my blog is kinda shallow. I mean, all I talk about is boys, music, drinking, sex, myself and parties. That's not all I think about, man. Only when I'm chained to a computer in the middle of the night procrastinating. At home, I've been contemplating that the move to the center by the left has really undermined the progressive political gains of much of the past 50 or so years; the decline of courtesy and manners amongst people; the many layers of the excellence of NYC's 24-7 transit system; black feminist thought: theory vs. praxis; and how 10 or so pounds can totally change your body. Oops, to the last one. Fuck it. It's my blog. I can be as shallow as I want. I always reserve the right to be flighty.

My highlight of the week will be going to Shelter tonight for the Little Louie Vega and Robert Owens show? Who the hell are they, you ask? Vega and Owens. I love Robert Owens. I'm definitely a come lately, not having been up on that until Photek's Mine To Give, but I'm a massive fan. I'm so much of a fan, I'm blowing money I should be hoarding to go to the show. Ah well. I've rested up all week for it. I hear Shelter is like house paradise and I'm all about that. A huge collection of Wes kids are coming/in town this weekend, so it should be downright apeshit. Happy 4th! I plan to be stuffed and happy through all of it.

Odds and Ends

Friendster's becoming a bit unbearable. A Wes person is always only a friend of a friend away. Still, I have run into people I actually like and are in NYC, adding to my offline hanging out list. Nothing wrong with that.

I woke up this morning suffocating and feeling like I was being burned alive, but more importantly thinking that I need more friends my age. 22 is a strange age to be, mostly because it's BLOWN so far. In retrospect, I enjoyed the hell out 21 because that age gives you license and an excuse to go stupid wild -- though the freedom cliche had the least do with why that year was a very good one. At 22, I'm finally out of school (for the time being) for the first time in like 18 years, kicking this independence thing up a notch, and trying (but failing miserably so far) to be a genuine Adult. The last thing I need is to be patronized or be viewed like that bouncy little puppy because I don't do puppy. Kittenish perhaps but only in moderation. 22 is "you better be marching towards responsibility, punk, and liking it." I don't know if that has anything to do with hanging out with "older" folks really, but the inevitable "just wait a few years and you'll understand" shit even from folks who have me by a year or two boils my freaking blood. I'm insecure about being young party favor as strange as that sounds. I dunno. There is no real conclusion or points to this argument. That was just on my mind.

In other news, it's time to start weaning myself away from blogging. I'm feeling anxious that my Boys Superpost is getting pushed onto the next page because I want comments on it but it hasn't really happened yet like I want. I've got just a teeny bit of an obsessive personality. If you couldn't tell already.

I need a digital camera (or at least a way to post my semester's worth of cool pics from this pesky Mac). I'm seriously considering housing the yearbook camera. She and I were inseperable for a while there. I can work her like a pro. We have a deep bond and she's made it clear that she feels she belongs in NYC with me and not hanging out in a drawer in Middletown. And that the thought of me palming some other spanking new bitch isn't something that makes her happy. We're in negotiation.

ETA: A little sad (for him) but hilarious.

A Small World and Other Late Night Thoughts

Here it is past 3am and I was meaning to blog about it being stupid late and me being a slacker as usual. I've really spent about 3 1/2 hours aimlessly surfing the net after finishing checking the proofs and put it in the basket for mailing. I still have 2 1/2 sigs to do by Friday when I plan to be the freak out of here. I log onto Blogger and curiosity strikes as I see the recently updated sites list.

I'm clicking just for kicks and I see that one site belongs to this kid who just graduated with me. We used to have our radio shows back to back before I did my time in DC and had inconsequential conversations that usually boiled down to "have a good show. See you next week." And then when I came back to visit in my semester away, he was a surprisingly kicked up a notch friendly and he boggled my mind ever since. Sure, I had a crush on him from the first day I realized he was my station mate, but I'm the type of person that thinks a certain type of good-looking guy, i.e. stupendously so, wouldn't be interested in me...or least I used to. My self-esteem has greatly improved over the years and so has my ego...take the good with the bad I suppose. I always found him frustratingly elusive because nothing ever progressed...not that I was taking charge or anything...beyond innocent flirting.

After one Senior Cocktails -- the infamous Valentine's Day one I think, I can't really remember -- I was in a really shitty mood at this house party. It was because of my upcoming singing debut stress plus that I'd lost Alex...or rather, he had wandered off in that reckless way he can when drunk. He's like a big little brother/puppy to me, despite having done things I can't even imagine, and I can be overprotective, sometimes to a fault. Tino (who deserves a post all of his own because our ever-evolving friendship has been some shit over the years...oh wait, he has pages all about him on the other site...never mind) was being typically blase and prickish as he can be, increasing my edge. This house party was garbage...or at least felt like it. I didn't want to be there, I didn't know or like anyone in attendance, and I wasn't in the mood for a senior party (a.k.a. standing around and gabbing with no music and a big ass keg...for the record, I don't drink piss and it's not an alcoholic beverage to me.) when my mood was in the toilet. Along comes The Kid, doing his usual "hey" low-grade flirtation thing. My exhaustion was so great that I pretty much turned on him with "what's the point of this really? You always say the same thing, as do I and nothing ever comes of it. Why bother?" or something to that effect. Every once in a while I go into train wreck mode where I'm doing something really wrong and feel bad but can't stop it either. He was not surprisingly flustered and said that he thought I was a "cool person." Being on a roll, I rolled my eyes and said, "Yeah, you're a cool person too" in the most sarcastic way possible. I don't remember what he said next, but it involved him still being nice before backing away slowly from the bitch. Tino, watching the whole thing but pretending not to, got his next before I dragged my miserable ass home. Left-field emotional fluctuations are havoc on the nerves, so I went home and cried. Pathetic, huh? At least life turned around for the better the next day. I don't handle stress well and I'm a strong believer that crying is essential to picking your sorry ass up because sobbing personally makes me feel like it's the lowest I can go and just feel better when I let it out.

But, this isn't the Candice is a manic-depressive story (yet). To stop my digression, despite my horrible behavior towards him that night -- not that he probably remembered, it was a Senior Cocktails night, he was probably too drunk to remember -- stuff continued in the same harmless vein between me and The Kid until...well, now. It was really bizarre seeing that site because I'd pretty much forgotten about that story until now. That's the problem with Wes: stories of stupid situations/episodes are always chasing me around like ghosts, especially at almost 4am when I'm feeling exhausted. That's why Mr. Sailor has lingered so long in my consciousness, this school has too many bad memories associated with it for my well-being right now. This was hell year. I'm emotionally drained. I need to finish my book and just go home and not look back. It's time for bed.

To wrap up this incredibly disjointed post: Sorry for yelling at you, Josh. Congrats on your fellowship. Have a wonderful time travelling the world. I wish we would've been friends. I used to put down your radio show as my favorite on my time slot application but I think I told you that before.

I'm off to trot down the hill and pass out. Perhaps a good night's sleep will make me productive again.

Bottoming Out

I don't feel especially head in the clouds this week. The book is just...annoying. I suppose this can be blamed on -- besides the obvious: taking this freaking project on -- not planning ahead as I should've. Then again, when was I supposed to do that? I guess while I wasn't working in between feeling depressed and cheering up. Umm...not really.

Adding to my fun is this month's stroll down memory lane being "All Ex, All The Time." I need to get over it already. It's been 6 months. I hate it when I'm suddenly blindsided (again) with the bitterness that as he's frolicking in the tropics with his jailbait rebound (though being that they've been together since we've broken up, she's not technically. A rebound, that is. She is indeed barely, if even, 18.), I'm pining, alone, and miserable more often than not. I can't even take any consolation in having walked away from him because though I felt like I was heading to some sort of breakdown with the combination of him being so ridiculously far and all the general crap going on here, the last thing I am is satisfied. I can't even imagine thinking of simply finding a replacement. The whole episode has turned me so far off to the concept of relationships, being emotionally open, or just being out there. But, I want to. The stupid episode from earlier in the semester was my tentative reentry into the dating world -- besides my January fit of debauchery, but that's a totally different story for a real site post perhaps. The thing with that kid was that I could never be sure if I really liked him. I even I confused myself on that matter. I just loved the attention and having someone crazy over me for a change and the fact he was shit hot and the grapevine fallout was like a constant ego boost didn't hurt. But then, wackness. I totally let my ego get too wrapped up in him because when everything went sour and stupid, I lashed out in a big way. I was mad pissed off that I was going to be cast aside it was with someone that isn't really that cute and besides that, has been passed around more times than a dollar bill. (Why yes, I am a bitch. Thanks for asking.) Seeing them near constantly and him still sniffing around like a pathetic dog was like salt in my wounds.

Aurgh...I need to stop dwelling. I won't see them again -- if I'm lucky -- besides reunions. Though she is moving to NYC. I do actually know how to avoid Wes people, but fate might bring us together out of spite. The ex and I have most of the continent plus a chunk of the Pacific between us. Deep in my heart, I know he's not worth the angst. He's immature and full of macho bullshit which is why I broke up with him in the first place. I went to Iowa for him. I've been tortured enough. It's time for more work and less drama. Once I go back to NYC, I have a clean slate. I always thrive at home.

End of A Stage

I am a college graduate.

I feel decidedly underwhelmed. This past week has been such an emotional rollercoaster, as this year and the past 4 have been. Today, I was choked up as we went through the aisle of faculty cheering us on, but I couldn't manage tears for anything else. I am so drained. I just want Friday to be here already so I can have 192 pages sent to the publishers and leave this school behind...if not forever, until I feel the need to reconnect. Right now, I just don't care. I have no emotions to give to the thought of walking away and not looking back. That sounds like heaven.

On the TMI side of life...

On the TMI side of life, I need to get laid. As in post-haste. As in I'm hurting on the inside. As in the next guy is going to be the happiest guy on the East Coast for a few days.

But because this is Wes, I might as well put it as far out of my mind as possible. The way things work in this alternate universe -- despite it being Senior Week when the general rule is that at every event with booze, there is so much pulling of ass that it turns into a near orgy without fail -- I'm just not destined to win. Believe me, I've tried everything but clubbing of guys and dragging them home and natch, blowjobs at the Semi Formal. I've embarrassed myself for a date -- and didn't even get one. I'll admit I have been in situations where I've found success with my predisposed "who gives a fuck" attitude but that rate is about once a year. That leaves mad days of total misery.

I think the one thing I've learned over the years finally is to not take it personally. Wes boys generally suck. They are wishy-washy and interested only in the cache of getting with certain people, but have no substance beneath their not especially slick veneers. Nor any game -- and that really is annoying when someone you could have been inclined to kicks it to you in such a pathetic way. All I can do then is walk away and cross them off my list just for being weak. Ugh...okay, I never said I don't accept any blame. But hey, in the long run who cares? I'm not interested in most of these fools anyways. I'm just irritated about the ego deflation and drought building that not being on the radar of those in mine has brought me over the years. Then again, what did I expect going to a school in the middle of nowhere with less people than the neighborhood I grew up in?

A few more fucking days, man. Then I can go to NYC and go wild amongst the millions. Sounds like a plan.

Nothing To Report

I'm sure wack. Finally got a freaking blog and not a damn thing to say.

Life is bouncing between drama and moments of utter chillness. Presently, I'm just exhausted from a bunch of nights of debauchery and going to bed after the sun rises. Stuff is fun, but I'm feeling a little overloaded. The book is stressing the fuck out of me, but what else is new? I just wanna chill, man. Who would've thought I'd need a break from wildin' out?

Mostly Over It All

You have to learn to not give a fuck, while still giving a damn -- Stolen from Tad's member info

With the end of finals, I've gotten to a place where I can't wait to let go of everything around here... or rather, every stupid thing that has been getting on my nerves. I'm so over this place as callous as that sounds. I'm glad this long demoralizing frustrating semester and year are finally finished. I'm done with insipid housemates , the yearbook, student accounts, boys and their overflated egos, stupid university bureaucracy, shitty Connecticut weather, allergies, the abstraction of every topic until your own lived life doesn't feel real, loneliness, and wearing the mask.

But this place has been good to me. I will also miss the thrill of a good party, talking with friends at 3am, laughing at the "pirate ship bounce," crushing, adventures at the lake, making an empty room into my warm home base, sunny days in the CFA, the lab, random encounters, Bob the cat, making a connection with other people, profs who grab and inspire, the satisfaction of good work finished, and realizing how I've much I've grown in 4 years.

I think the best place to be is ready to go yet still mindful of the memories.

I Have Entered The Modern Age

I have entered the modern age.

Kinda...sorta...not really.

I've been jealous of all the bloggers and their quick and easy templates and dated posts and knowing that most hid their lack of HTML skill behind simplicity (or friends with know how) where I just used FrontPage yet they had sites still prettier than mine. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

So who am I?

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

I'll try to keep it interesting.