Things That are True

I do not want to get married any time soon.

I do not really want a baby right now.

It is not a bad thing that I ever met Jeff. He is not a bad person. He's not good or perfect, either. He just is.

(Things aren't good or bad, they just are. And that's okay.)

Everyone is necessary, worthful.

There are other ways to be happy, and those aren't wrong or less.

It is okay to be -and for other things to be- impermanent...that's the way they are anyway, so just let go, it's easier and feels better.

I cannot change what has happened or the way things are now. I can only change what hasn't happened yet. Think about the future.

Everything really is okay.

". . . I know things will get better."

kissed my head and face, held me, rubbed my hair and held my head to him

This is not the end. This is not the only place where laughter is. There will always be interesting, beautiful, fun people to meet. Everyone matters in how we are connected to and need each other. There are people who love me and they are important; there are people who hate me and they are important. It's all linked. Lives and people touch and bump and drift away to bump into other people and that's okay.

I have what I have, right now. I am not always going to have it, but that's okay. It only matters right now. Enjoy it now, but don't be afraid to let it go, because everything will be the way it is supposed to be. Right now matters.

"He who binds to himself a joy / does the winged life destroy. / But he who kisses the joy as it flies / lives in eternity's sunrise."

It's okay. It really is all right.

This was important and needed and right. It is good to let go. It is okay to move on.

It really, truly is good, and okay and needed to move on.

It will feel good to let go and move on.

It's okay to make a fool of myself and get rejected. It really is. Do it. It's fine, it doesn't matter. Don't be ashamed of not knowing, take the opportunities to learn, people don't mind.

"I have no shame." I need to be more like that.

(They're just clothes. There's no point in judging people. That's not what matters. Look at the people inside. They're cool and real and you might have a good connection with them.)

Adventures with Mr. Pinkwhistle

For the past five days, I have felt similar to what it must feel like to be a large pile of shit.

It is not fun.

Yesterday, however, there was so much excitement over my hair that I didn't have time to get distracted by excrement. It was a relief. A day of respite, a tropical breath of fresh air amongst the mire--

"Excitement?" you ask. "Hair?" Yes, there was excitement, and it really was all about my hair. Details? Right this way...

See, I went to have it cut by this boy that I met on the Haight. I had an appointment with him at nine, so I figured that would give me plenty of time to get my hair cut, finish my homework, and be in class at noon.

Uh, yeah. IT TOOK ME FOUR HOURS. Actually, it took him four hours. To cut my hair. Forget homework, I missed class. I was amazed at the astronomical length of time. I'm not complaining or anything, because I actually had a pretty good time while I was there, but GEEZ. Who would have ever guessed that you could even find something to do with someone's hair for four hours?

Anyway. My hair now looks quantitatively worse than it has ever in my entire life. (Pictures will follow. Well, maybe. If I can stand to let anyone see it.) Don't get me wrong, the boy did a lovely job. The cut is fine, well done, it's picture-perfect. But do you know what kind of cut it is? It's that near-mullet, highly-stylized shit you see on those scrunched-leather-boot-and-leggings-wearing, high-maintenance, pseudo-artsy/hardcore/intelligent chicks.

Feel free to scrape your jaws off the floor.

I wasn't prepared when they began asking me what I thought of it and did a horrible lie-job which included a hefty amount of sputtering and moments of speechlessness. I put my hood up once I was out of the salon's viewing range and when I got home and looked in the mirror in the privacy of my room, I teared up and nearly began to cry.

It's bad.

I told myself beforehand that if it didn't turn out well then I could always shave my head or into a Mohawk or something. But good lord, I didn't think it would truly be so bad that I would have to seriously consider actually doing it!

Pff. Anyway, I've since dyed it black (which helped a bit, but not much) and I'm still considering an electric razor.....but until anything is decided for sure, let's just say I see a lot of the Simon Hat in my future.

The worst part is I absolutely adored the kid who cut it --we chatted it up and got along quite well-- and I'm afraid I've spoilt my chances of being his friend because of my transparent reaction to the atrocity that now sits on top of my head...which he was quite proud of, I might add.

He is alarmingly short and resembles a cross between a dachshund and what an animated iguana might look like, but he is intelligent, pleasant, sociable and unassuming, and he has good taste in music, all of which combines to make a rare find in the sea of discardable twenty-somethings this city has to offer.

I like his hands and the fact that he said "rock and roll" when I asked what kind of music he plays, and the concerned, intensely-absorbed faces he makes when he cuts hair. He runs everywhere and smells --unplaceably-- familiar. Conversation was easy.

Twelve hundred and sixty-nine cheers for distractions. (Even if they come in the form of intensely unattractive hair.)

Slam Dancin' the Night Away

Hey, he stole my shoes!


The one on the floor, whose head is being sat on. Little bastard.

LOOK. LOOK LOOK LOOK.

I WANT YOU TO SEE THIS.

Yeah, you.

There's a First Time for Everything

I made my first booty call! *grin*

arms behind back can I tie them there (whatever rearrange me rearrange me rearrange me)

I couldn't believe that it's April 19th already, and that tomorrow is 4/20 and then you know what comes after that.

I'd like to stay stoned for the next two weeks, please.

No.

...I'm just not good at handling pain.

That's not true either.

He used to ask me how I did it. How did I refrain from drugs and alcohol when I was so upset? I told him I did other things instead. I don't remember if I mentioned that a lot of times that included bleeding myself.

Blood, drugs, alcohol or tears, sugar or fucking or fake laughter, none of it helps.

I'm just tired of having to handle pain and I wonder (doubt) if rearranging me would help.

ntfp = us

On the way home from the Legion of Honor today (where I was truly miserable and was not at all calmed--or distracted), I was listening to Anberlin's sophomore album when suddenly it hit me...

Do you expect me to wait here
all alone in my thoughts and fears?
My whole life could flash before your eyes...
Hope one day that you'll realize
this isn't the way it's supposed to be.
This is your life going on without me.*
May regrets for us well up inside
as feelings for you are buried alive.

"These words are meant for me."

Those words were meant for me.

This is what he would say. Exactly.

It stung.

I could, at long last, see the finality in it. It seemed bleak. "This is what you must have felt like all those months."

I pondered that, even though I was never in love with you, I can't fall in love with anyone else because...because my heart is still covered in your fingerprints. Well, that and the fact that it's also made out of stone.

I didn't even like you. There are a million tiny reasons why it's suddenly become terrifyingly difficult to let go of you.

You would laugh to yourself if you read this. Smugly. You would be pleased at my stupidity. I think you're happy now, which you deserve. And this, this is what I deserve. So then.

It will be over when it is ready to be over. I am at peace with this fact, even while sometimes I wish I could rip my heart out with my own two hands. :)

Tonight I began listing aloud all the things I didn't like about you and that got on my nerves, to help me stop angelicizing you and missing you so much. It was such a successful endeavor (and quite fun as well) that the other girls got in on it as well, until we were all sitting around coming up with things we couldn't stand about our past relationships, for over an hour. This worked quite well for a while. Of course, in the end, we wound up dissolving into puddles of saccharine ooziness over sweet, adorable things that had happened in said past relationships, courtesy of Boy. *sigh* We're so sentimental. But it worked when we gave it a half-ass try.

As I bemoaned today, "I don't have a type. No, my type is psychotic people who aren't that good-looking! Mahh!"

Ah, the trivialities of young love.


*As it turns out, it's actually this is your life girl now without me, but Crystal and I have changed Stephen's lyrics before (i.e. you only stayed to break my heart and we are the loudest ones), so why stop now?

Exciting News!

I live a mere four hours from Charles Manson!

The Sentimental Post

Everyone told me I would miss that town, eventually. I told everyone that I wouldn't, ever. And I don't. But that doesn't mean there aren't a few things I won't look back on, fondly, and remember.

Like the heaviness of the air on a hot summer night, when you're walking from the car to the Dairy Point, holding the hand of your little sister. It's light, breakable, and the bones are as thin as a baby bird's. She examines the red and white marbled stones along the walk, and you notice the yellow light against the grass and think, This, this I will miss.

You'll miss sitting in his car where the driveway meets the road, when the early morning air is foggy and the sun is just about to rise. It's chilly outside but you're warm in his lap, in your pajamas and his arms. A settled, heavy sleepiness overtakes you as you take off your glasses and snuggle into him, breathing the scent of him. Drift away...

You miss...not the freezing thinness of gray, 7AM air underneath "the breezeway," but the way one look from That Boy takes it all away, makes you forget how cold and grumpy you were. Chocolate-drop eyes, uncut hair, and a sea of freckles you could drown in.

The mid-night movie-thons, heartfelt conversations that could last for hours. Waking brothers up at 2AM to put makeup on them. Children's birthday parties, in town and outside, on summer afternoons. "SEX IS BAD FOR YOU"? High school inside jokes, "lunch," that could relieve all sorts of gloom.

There were good things. There were things that will never be the same again.

Picture Time!

My super sexy hip boots I bought in LA. For 80, so not bad. Not the greatest picture, but whatev. A girl I met in the kitchen of my dorm one night said, "Those are 'come fuck me' boots." =D


This is on the side of a car wash on Folsom and I love it. I have NO idea why it's painted there.


One one of the benches in the park where I, uh, got drunk with Jeff, Sury, and their friend Jen. This amuses me.

I love my building.



How fun is this? On Powell and Post.


My neighbor Amy at the Sutro Bath ruins along Ocean Beach. I love Ocean Beach.


Okay, I must share this picture of a hickey my friend Tej gave me. We just gave each other hickeys for fun (he has dark skin and I wanted to see what hickeys looked like on it, and then he just wanted to even the score), it wasn't a make out or anything. But look! It's a perfect circle! How weird is that! How is it even possible to give a hickey in the shape of a perfect circle??? I loved this hickey...but then it faded away. =( So I just wanted to share.


New earrings! I like them lots. I'm up to 6g now.


Orange hair! Jeff has completely latched on to Crystal's labeling of it as "Fraggle Hair" and now always calls it that. It's pretty fun.