Archive for August, 2008

Informer….you remember that song?

August 31, 2008

My sister is here, as are my cramps.

If you are at the seaside tomorrow, I’ll be the one in the gray sweatshirt with the giant purple polka dots.

Quoteable and notable.

August 27, 2008

I read something in shysinger’s blog that struck such a strong chord with me I printed it out. While I encourage you to see it in the original context, the sentence that leapt out at me was that the secret to her success was:

‘being absolutely willing to be not very good at all… on the road to being very good indeed.’

I think I just really needed that today. So thanks!

A taste sensation.

August 27, 2008

My stitches: sort of
red and puffy, as well as
leaking white glob things.

Gay musings.

August 27, 2008

People keep finding this diary by googling ‘How can I tell if I’m gay’ or some variation. I tell you, if you’re even questioning, good for you!

I realised this morning that I simply did not realise that the way I saw the world and my place in it was any different from the way other people perceived things. I’m currently rereading House of Stairs, a book I read over and over as a child – and the gay subtext is HUGE. This never occured to me as a child. On one level, why would it? Rainbows and other ‘gay clues’ were not in my vocabulary then. However, one teen boy blatantly in love with another?

I guess it just didn’t strike me as odd.

I also knew I read Hey, Dollface and Annie on my Mind – and the second a good many times. A few years ago I went on a kick to buy childhood/adolescent books I’d liked. I was completely shocked when they were lesbian books – no clever little side story, but THE main plot of the books. Particularly the Annie one (one of the best books ever – read it now!!)…

Is it odd I found my way to all sorts of hidden away homosexual books? Is it strange I never thought reading them was cladestine, unnatural, etc?

I told TMD this surely ups my gay rating. I also went on a big theoretical lecture tour (just to TMD, you understand) about why my first MA and PhD were all about dystopian texts – books where the vast majority of society is living life a certain way, and usually quite enjoying it. The heroine/hero, though, they feel different inside, often having to go on a great life-threatening text to create a place they can be themselves – or, in fact, compeltely alter society for the better.

Hmm.

Other great gay books I should read?

It all comes back to poop or food in the end. (alternate title: back to honesty)

August 26, 2008

So. I’m hanging around those forums again.

I’m in the miserable bit of them, the place where writers go to moan, express their negative opinions of themselves, etc. You know, thought I would just like to be around like-minded people. Ha. (Or not.)

Thing is, I keep seeing the same themes cropping up – even on the I Am The Best Writer Ever threads. People talking about writing scenes in the middle of summer because they forgot their book takes place in winter. Main characters ‘writing emails’ to the authors – whatever the fuck that means. All sorts of lunatic crap, basically, that makes me wonder: am I so alien to these feelings because I am not a real writer, or am I so alien to these feelings because I am?

I should probably be all therapeutic with myself and point out that different people do things differently, and that’s okay. But sod all the therapy talk – that’s my job, not my secret emotional angsty world. Though I admit that studying therapy, undergoing two years of therapy, and doing therapy with people for the last three (?) years has made me irritatinly calm and wise. I use the word ‘wise’ to mean that I am okay with myself and other people’s sloppiness, mistakes, and glories. They are all part of life.

But in relation to writing? I am simultaneously judging these poor people online, and also worrying that I am not a ‘normal’ enough writer. How’s that for angst?

In the meantime, I have just dropped a fuckload of chinese noodles all over my desk.

Their master plans.

August 26, 2008

My sister, Blondie, is arriving on Thursday. I haven’t seen her in (almost) exactly two years.

I never would have imagined when I was growing up that I would live a life where I didn’t see my family – and, really, in my teenage years I probably wouldn’t have seen that as a bad thing, anyway.

TMD and I always talk about how good it would be if Mom and Bear lived in our neighborhood or right next door or something. Not in a creepy enmeshed-with-your-parents type way, but in a gosh-these-people-are-fun-and-good-friends kind of way. Ringing them, they’re always talking about BBQs on the deck, planting flowers, crazy friendships. I miss them both very much.

I’m curious to see Blondie. The first time she came over here to visit me was in October 2004 – in those days, I went home a lot and people didn’t come here – that seems to have reversed a bit. Blondie was here two weeks – the first week it was me, her, and TMD. Poor TMD.

Blondie and I screamed at each other constantly; we even got into an hysterical fight in the middle of a very busy station which ended with me running off into a tunnel, dodging crowds and trying to lose them. Mature, I know.

Blondie also came over with my mom at one point, and that time most of the fighting action was contained between the two of them. Blondie screamed ‘I hate you!’ at my mother in a cafe and ran out. My mother was crying and freaking out, and I ended up paying the bill – using some money from the tips jar I didn’t realise was a tips jar to get exact change. Blondie apparently spent her time in a pub writing angsty poetry around the corner, while I spent my time trying to convince my mother not to call the police.

My mother is all crippled up (a non-PC but highly accurate term) and she ended up limping along the high road crying and yelling my sister’s name.

The NEXT time, they brought Bear with them – this was the two years ago thing. They came over for our legal wedding. That evening was a laugh riot full of white trash fighting, finger pointing, and angry recriminations at my friends from my mother, via Bear. It also culminated in opening the doors to leave at the end of the evening to see my mother pointing at my sister, hissing, ‘You look like a SLUT!’

Sounds poisonous reading/writing it here, but that’s sort of how my family is – big fights, big love. Nobody can see past their own viewpoints to realise that everyone is as fucked up as they are, and no one knows how to gracefully give or take love.

I’m curious to see my sister. I’m taking her to a big old gay festival on Saturday. This should be good, as a recent Facebook message I have from her says,‘what did you say to mom? she thinks i’m a lesbain because i went on two dates with some douche bag who tried to attack a bear in the woods on our first date / tried to grope me our entire second date & then she thinks i like girls because i don’t want to marry him and meet his entire extended family.’

Ah. Family.

Master plans.

August 26, 2008

Both my shoes and my bra are totally inappropriate today. The bra sits a little too high for the shirt I’m wearing, so I have hoiked it (the shirt) up to such an extent that the little band that’s supposed to go under my breasts is actually disecting my nipples and it looks like I have four boobs. Classy.

In other news, I think I am totally getting in to a certain musician who has a name that starts with ‘r’ and rhymes with doofus. Doofus Painkite certainly seems to have a sense of humour, and I could just pour his voice all over my pancakes and eat until I’m as big as … something really big.

You know, my friend’s movie premiered last year and was fabulous. AND she also had some big celebration thing at a really important place in this big, big city I work in. And you know who one of the artists was who performed at her big celebration? Doofus.

Now I’m thinking, fuck, dude, it was cool to go to a world premiere, but ultimately I could have waited awhile and seen your stuff on DVD or TV! Invite me to the Doofus-related things!

I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I just need to meet him ASAP so he can write a song about me, that’s all.

Jerk.

August 24, 2008

My driving instructor just pulled up. Blame him for me not finishing this entry.

And now to move away from the wasabi (reluctantly).

August 22, 2008

Can you believe this is right behind my house? I can’t.

It’s odd because this was a very normal sight where I grew up. Trees, fields, animals, space. I then moved to Really Big City In Another Country, and tiny rooms and crowded streets became the norm.

I feel very Buddha like in saying that after all that exploring of the world and myself, I’m back where I started and appreciating it more and more.

Questions of the hour.

August 22, 2008

Chunky Peanut Butter Kit-Kats. Truly a taste revolution, an innovation shaping the lives of thousands of mouths into great big smiles.

I wonder what wasabi would taste like on this treat?

Is it me, or is wasabi just Japanese dijon mustard?


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