Amanda: Failure Princess

On the death of my grandfather

I have a mole on the side of my body, right between my right breast and armpit. It used to look like most of my other moles, small, flat, and brown, but it looks different now, and I'm kind of freaking out about it. Not because I'm scared it's cancerous or anything like that, but because this mole is special, as my grandpa, Poppo, had the exact same mole in the exact same spot.

For those of you who follow this blog, but don't know me in real life, my Poppo died at the end of this past December. If you do know me or read me, then you'll know that this has been a devastating, however expected, loss. I won't go into everything again (you can read more about him here and here) but he co-raised me and we were very close when I was growing up. For over a decade before he died, he suffered from Alzheimer's Disease. In the end he didn't really remember any of us except my grandmother, and he lived full-time in a special home for people with memory loss.

A lot of people aren't close to their grandparents, so they don't really get it, and they say or want me to say that he was like a father to me, but it wasn't exactly like that. I never had a father, so I wouldn't know what that means. Poppo was my best friend and one of the only people who has ever made me feel completely safe and loved. Years ago a sentence like that would have never appeared in my writing, because feeling safe and loved is not funny, or really very interesting as far as the big story goes, but getting older and trying to get healthy mentally makes you say and feel all kinds of things that aren't super amusing. I have lived for almost my whole life genuinely believing that I just can't seem to do anything right, but my grandpa's love always got through to me. He never made me feel ashamed or ugly.

I've been hard on myself for mourning so deeply. I can't figure out why it still hurts so much, especially since he was old and sick, so ready to go, and went so peacefully. But I suppose watching the person you love most in the entire world exhale for the final time doesn't fit neatly into the definition of "peaceful." It was harder in the end to watch him leave his earthly body because I had stuffed down my feelings about slowly losing who he was long before that. Just as my favorite mole is changing, I watched my grandpa change before my eyes for years and then had to turn away. It was too painful to see him, too difficult to accept that he was alive but not there to read my stories or meet the person I want to spend the rest of my life with (who reminds me a lot of him, by the way. Sometimes cliches work out). Of course, unlike the weird, raised, discolored mole (TMI), which I will probably have to get removed, my Poppo never turned into anything ugly. He was beautiful to the very end and beyond, from his last breath with most of my family by his side to the amazing pictures we shared at his rosary to the strength he gave my cousin to deliver his beautiful eulogy.

I know it will get easier, because there are more funny stories about Poppo than sad times, but I will miss him forever.

counsel

most of the time i feel like my entire being has been insulated with wet cotton. is it possible to be so frantic and still so disconnected? i suppose it is. i mean, i know it is.

today when i dropped joseph off at the airport (did i tell you he is spending the holidays away? three weeks to be exact), it was the most peculiar thing. i had been building up this despair, this rage against the whole injustice of him leaving, yet during that tearful goodbye, and yes, i did cry, there was that cotton. familiarly soft, decidedly dull. 

it's not that i won't miss him. every few hours i remember he is gone and i feel the panic rise. surely there is something wrong with me. or is that what being in love is? craving the smell of someone? his touch. his voice first thing in the... well, let's be real here, afternoon. i don't know, i didn't think i was like that. the wet cotton would not approve. 

i've been up to a lot these days. every week i go into the gay and lesbian center for counseling. my therapist is an intern, which i fully expected. what i did not really expect, foolishly, was a girl of around my age in tight jeans and high heels with a sassy haircut. a straight one, at that ( i have excellent gaydar). most of my past therapists have been aging lesbians in some degree of frosted hair and sandaled foot. i didn't know what to think at first, but just as i was getting a little more comfortable with her, i found out last week that they are transferring me into a group setting. i understand their motives. my therapist is young and gentle. that's not to say she doesn't know what she's doing, i just don't think the higher-ups think she has the chops to rip me apart and make me put myself back together. although, she was certainly clever enough to call that i needed further evaluation regarding the issue the group therapy deals with. it's complicated. i might talk about it and i might not. truthfully, i am devastated and upside down about it, and i haven't had the time to allow myself to deal with that. it was an unexpected diagnosis.

it almost makes me wonder if she is right across the board. what i mean is, she suggested i make an appointment with the nurse practitioner who dispenses psychiatric medication to those in need. at first i thought, "rookie. is that what they teach you kids in school now? dope up the masses?" then she let me talk for a few more sessions. she said "you must be tired." and she is right. the anxiety level in my life has become completely unmanageable. the things about myself i used to see as funny quirks have turned into knife-wielding thugs, circling on motorcycles. that being said, if i wasn't fighting them off, i have a feeling i would be tremendously lonely, or extraordinarily successful.

i do not know which is more unnerving. 

an open letter to my former parish

Dear St. Therese Parish,

I am writing this letter to state how shocked and appalled I am by you allowing signs supporting Proposition 8 to be posted on your property.

Yes, I am well-aware of the Catholic Church's stance on homosexuality, and thusly on gay marriage, however, there are a few things I would like you to know, if not fully understand or accept.

I was born into a Catholic family and attended Catholic school for eight happy years, four of which were on your very grounds. I am proud of my background for many reasons, spiritual and otherwise. One of the things that makes me most proud to be a Catholic are the teachings I learned from Christ and from the community.

What I learned in Catholic school, and what I will keep with me for the rest of my life, are Christ's teachings on social justice. I learned that Jesus did not look down upon others, and in fact taught us that we are entrusted with the welfare of the poor and meek, the outcast and forgotten. I learned to value love and equality above all things. I am choked-up, as I write this, to realize the hypocrisy that you, or we, as representatives of the Church are displaying openly for the world and community to see.

By displaying signs that support a proposition that intends to alter the California constitution to take away civil rights from a certain law-abiding sector of the population, you are supporting a grave injustice. 

The fact is that as a homosexual woman, I have to disagree with you on your belief that the way I was born and choose to openly live is an abomination, and I do regret that I will never be able to marry within your walls, however, I respect your right as a religious institution to believe, teach, and uphold your ideals. There is no question of that, and I do not know anyone who truly opposes your right to enforce that inside your Church community.

What I need you to know, what I am sure of, is that one of these Catholic ideals is not and has never been bigotry and the denial of basic civil rights to American citizens, or citizens of the world at large. At the end of my life, I will be judged for my choices, one of which, incidentally, was not to be gay, but I feel confident in the knowledge that I have and will continue to do right by the teachings I learned as a little girl, to treat all those around me with honor and respect, even if I disagree with certain aspects of their lives, and that it would be inherently wrong to make or enforce laws to treat those people differently. If anything, we, your gay and lesbian brothers and sisters, are often downtrodden by society, and as such are some of the very people whom Jesus taught His followers to look after.

I do not expect to change your mind regarding homosexuality because of this letter. That is not my aim. What I do want to say is that having these signs in my neighborhood and on the property of a parish I once belonged to and occasionally attend is extremely offensive. To many, including myself, this is no different than displaying propaganda seeking to ban interracial marriage, which we must remember was also once against the law. I do not believe you would allow someone to or choose to post racist or sexist signs on your property, and as these signs represent a similar prejudice, I would appreciate it if you would remove them immediately.

Respectfully,

Amanda-Faye

on application

wow, i just filled out the longest job application ever of all time. thank god it was online. the best part was how it renewed my confidence in my ability to bullshit. the second best part was how i bullshitted like an old pro in the free form section and then at the VERY end there were three simple yes/no experience-related questions which will undoubtedly determine whose applications they will and will not read. my answer to each was no.  

moving on...

today, as i rode to water aerobics class alongside my mother in her silvery grey VW Passat, i realized that if it weren't for water aerobics, i would almost never leave the house before 9 p.m., if at all. in fact, i am fairly certain that if not for water aerobics and all the internet research i have been doing on past olympic heroes, my body and brain would have completely atrophied by now. as i sat there, uncomfortably close to the woman whose hopes and dreams for me i have disappointed time and again, it occurred to me that if i don't figure out what to do soon, i might have to actually commit suicide. not because i am particularly melancholy at the moment, but because it is just starting to sound like one of the most viable options. at this point, i can't even imagine myself at a regular job. i can barely imagine myself getting out of my nightgown or looking at the sun, if you want to know the truth. 

i know this all sounds fairly abysmal, but fear not, dear friendly readers, for i have since then come to the conclusion that attempting to take my own life is out of the question, if only because i currently have no health insurance and, let's face it, truly lack any real sense of follow-through. therefore, the likelihood is i will simply find myself again in the emergency room of san gabriel hospital, only this time having caused my mother hundreds or thousands of dollars in medical bills. that is certainly no way to re-earn her trust in my abilities. no way!

for this you can thank the re-run i watched, in my nightgown, of course, of an episode of oprah on the u.s. healthcare crisis.

for the record, my nightgown is very short, sassy, and sexy. i was getting nervous that it is probably starting to infuriate my mom to come home to me on the couch in my nightgown (although to be fair, looking for jobs on craigslist), so yesterday i put a shirt over it and pretended it was a skirt. today i changed into my bathing suit before she even got home, as to tip her off to my eagerness to join the living world in the great out of doors. 

you may be wondering why i am spending so much time at my mother's in the first place. first of all there is the price of gas. i don't have the funds (duh) to be galavanting around the city. secondly, well, i don't know if you know this, but joe and i don't technically live together. we periodically try to spend more time apart so that when that glorious day comes, it will be all the sweeter, however we tend to fail miserably at that. i think this time will be the charm though, because honestly i am not doing so well and it's not good for a new-ish couple when a man regularly comes home from a hard day in the print lab to find his beloved wifey despondent and chain-smoking tear-stained parliament lights, with both feet dangling menacingly over an inadequately lofty balcony. 

what i need is to take control of my own destiny. i need to apply myself to seriously looking for a second job and selling myself, limited skills but stellar personality, to prospective employers. i need to apply what i have learned about myself in the last two years to actively changing patterns i have followed my entire life. i need to apply some goddamned mascara, throw open the front door and say, "look world, i know you have given me many chances, and i took a terrified shit on every single one, but i'm here now, and i'm ready to start creating the life i want to be in!" 

shortly after that, it will occur to me that i am deep in the suburbs of san gabriel, where people actually work during the day, and no one probably heard me, or cared, but somehow that won't matter, because i have had the right audience time and time again, but this time i will have finally found the voice. 

cloudbusting

this is my new fav video (thanks natasha!). it is kate bush's "cloudbusting", which is based on a true story. it is such a beautiful song and the video makes me cry. i especially get weepy when she whispers toward the end "i'm cloudbusting, Daddy." do i have daddy issues? yes. but also, there is the obvious in my life right now, which is that i am trying to change the weather. "i just know that something good is gonna happen. i don't know when, but just saying it could even make it happen..."

i should mention that the job hunt isn't going so well. i am in a constant state of worry, bordering on hysterics, which is proving to have a range of negative side-effects, from chest cavity-melting heartburn all the way to friction in my relationship. this is deeply vexing because while i am lucky enough to have a prescription for generic zantac, i do not have what i really need, which is deep, intensive psychotherapy. 

to make matters worse, i am (obviously) less than confident about how i look right now because of my weight-gain and because i am pretty sure i am going bald. this makes it difficult to look for a job because i have this idea in my head that i am not hot enough to work anywhere. joe says this is crazy. he says "do i always have to listen to you talking shit about yourself?" and i say "yes. welcome to the next 50 years of your life." jk i hope maybe i will get some self-esteem in the next couple of months, but honestly getting a second job is one thing that is really going to help that. but then how do i get a job is i am stupid, and ugly? SEE WHAT I MEAN??? vicious cycle! 

this is obviously old news, but i just saw a story on the news about sexy coffee shops popping up all over the pacific northwest. two thoughts: 

a) wtf? see, i knew it was just going to get harder and harder for regular-looking people to get jobs. it's bad enough living in l.a. where you sometimes feel like you have to be a hot model type, punky/piercings type, or hipster girl-uniform-wearing type (think skinny jeans, overpriced t-shirt, and bored facial expression) to get a job anywhere in the city at a retail store, but now you are telling me i might someday need to look great in garters to sell coffee? ridiculous. heinous. i'm going to resume planning my suicide now. 

b) speaking of wtf, wtf is up with the pacific northwest? i feel like they are playing a big joke on the rest of us. first they are like, "hey! everyone should do what we're doing! we make quality coffee with care and we have shops that we hang out in and it's like, our culture!" then they are like, "hey, now your coffee is going to be served by Suicide Girls rejects." i don't get it. when i think of the NW, i think of flannel, falling rain, and feminists (blame riot grrrl), and yet i always hear about crazy things happening there like drinking allowed in fully naked strip clubs (good idea? bad idea?) and now half-naked girl coffee! 

fine, i guess that's only two things, and i guess it's my fault for seeing the NW as some kind of stereotypical queer utopia (minus the flannel and rain). joe says if i move there, which i toy with often, i will realize that there are downsides and upsides to living in any town. as you know, i LOVE l.a., but i am currently feeling a bit down on the queer community here, and on any sense of community at all. i'm craving that, especially a community of real, down, queer femmes, who are less interested in screwing each other over for andro/butch/guy attention and more interested in being besties, shopping for lipstick, making muffins, and having reading groups. maybe it's right in front of me and i am looking in all the wrong places, but i am having a hard time, nonetheless. 

last time i was in portland i was like, i HAVE to move here, i don't have a choice. i NEED this. then i was in the bathroom and i had an epiphany. i don't remember what club i was at, but the bathroom was the same as any club in l.a., minus the hair extensions, and it occurred to me, no amanda-faye, running up here would be the easy way out, you must stay in l.a. and try to build that community, try to make it better, BE the femme you want to be friends with! then i got home and one of my friends was hanging out with this really obnoxious girl who i'm pretty sure isn't even gay, and i realized i was a) up against the impossible, and b) a total judgemental bitch in addition to being lazy. i am probably not the person to try and carry the l.a. femme revolution on her back. can anyone help? i googled los angeles femme groups, but it didn't go so well. i REALLY don't want to have to move. my boyfriend goes to school here, i am very close to my family, and i am simply in love with this breathtaking city in ways that no one who doesn't love los angeles could ever understand. 

plus, if i move to portland, i will not have nearly enough use for HD wraparounds, these beautiful and stylish sunglasses, which i MUST have.

   

this is hilarious. the best part is the guy who is TOTALLY SHOCKED that his clip-on sunglasses let light in on the sides. 

i probably would seriously wear them, though, because lord knows i totally wear my sunglasses over my scrip glasses whenever i can't wear contacts. i honestly do in the car, and sometimes forget to take them off in public! emabarrassing!

the failure princess playhouse is dark

it's not like i never think about going back to school, it's just that every time i think about it, i want to slit my wrists because i fucking hated school. i'm feeling fairly unintelligent lately on account of the fact that i haven't had a real conversation with anyone other than joe in weeks. if you were wondering about the dream job i mentioned i interviewed for, i was moments away from getting it when the proprietors of said dream-establishment made the somewhat abrupt decision to close it down. i will tell you all about that (aka rant like hell) later, but that's not the point right now. the point is that in the interview, despite some very notable (at least to me) missteps, i found that i did surprisingly well. i was scared shitless even though the girls interviewing me were familiar and friendly, because a) i wanted the job really bad, and b) there were actually official company interview questions, like, on a clipboard, which is always intimidating. somehow, as the questions came out, so did my answers, many of which were seemingly well-thought-out, oft-spoken, coherent thoughts. WTF? me? like i said, i surprised myself even a little. i guess that's because these days when i talk out loud to anyone other than my beloved, i am mostly in a crowded bar, cracking a joke or recounting the latest OMG moment that occurred among my friends. i guess there are thoughts and opinions i have that i haven't been voicing for months now, which honestly, and those of you who know me will attest to this, should be damn near IMPOSSIBLE given the profusion of words that escapes my lips on a constant basis. literally constant, as i totally talk in my sleep.

it makes me think of the tori amos lyric in the song "silent all these years" :

"so you found a girl who thinks really deep thoughts/what's so amazing about really deep thoughts?"

when i first heard that lyric, my little 15-year-old ears were taken aback. after all, i myself thought really deep thoughts, and tori's lyrics were all really deep thoughts (SO DEEP!!!) so what the hell was she on about there? was this guy just a pretentious ass? were the other girl's thoughts DEEPER than tori's? did tori hate girls with deep thoughts like me??? (lol)

i guess she could have been talking about anything in most of her songs (peyote anyone?), but as i got older, i finally began to understand that lyric, at least my own final interpretation. any of us could be the really deep thoughts girl. thinking really deep thoughts is not so great a feat if you can't put them into the world, in words, on the page, in a song, papier mâché, whatever. i thought i was pretty smart, but i didn't know anything about it until i learned how to express myself, or rather, about the different ways of expressing who i am.

i've found that my life is so different since i embraced my "lighter side". when i was younger i felt like there were two of me in constant battle. "funny amanda" who everyone liked so much, who would do anything for a laugh, and "real amanda" who was miserable every second and wished only for the sweet relief of death's embrace. ah, youth! anyhoo, i always felt like i couldn't be both people because they were too different and that i must be some kind of cursed impostor, like the beast in "beauty and the beast" except with better hair and only slightly better posture. i decided that i was meant to be miserable, and it would be only when i had fully accepted that and lived my life in that way that i would be able to feel comfortable in my skin.

somehow the opposite happened and i ended up having more funny days than suicide days. it turned out "real amanda" was funny after all, and the whole world rejoiced around me. jk. it's not like that at all. i'm still as miserable as ever, but i have somehow assumed the role of general entertainer and making people feel comfortable and avoiding awkward silences person. joe calls that "charm" but i call it "work". it's something i complain about, but of course when people don't pay attention to me i start to go a little insane. the point being, lately i have been wondering for the millionth time if i have taken things too far in this direction. i've complained for years that no one takes me seriously, but after being nearly shocked out of my seat by my own answers in that job interview i realize that i have actually stopped taking myself seriously at all. this is not good. i don't want to be a little dark cloud of gloom over l.a., i'm just saying i see a lot of people around me working a lot less hard, personality-wise, and having much more respect for themselves and from others. granted, most of those people are good-looking, but i have to work with what i've got.

so, once again i am entering into one of my self-imposed subdued periods in an attempt to be seen as the strong, silent type. no more show pony-ing around for this princess. i'm gonna read a bunch of books, eat seven different kinds of expensive cheese a week, and only go to bars so i can passively observe the rituals of nightlife and talk about books and cheese. it's going to be really great.

p.s. i will still write my blog. and probably have drinks.

p.s.s. this song/video still makes me cry and i ain't ashamed.

i'm coming out... as average.

i am boring. it's true. i know it's hard to believe for most of you, especially those that know me in person and get to drink from the bubbling spring of my effervescent personality on a regular basis, but it's true. i am just a regular girl who likes fucking girls who look like boys or identify as boys but have titties. B.O.R.I.N.G!

my coming out story? well, i was 17-18 and i fell in love with one of my best friends at the time (zZzZ snore) who was really kind of boyish and treated me somewhat indifferently (ladies, how much do we LOVE that?).

then i went to a somewhat prestigious writing summer school for teens where i learned that despite my talent, i was utterly ordinary and, upon returning home, tried to kill myself with sissy pills and ended up getting taken to the hospital by my real best friend, who is straight but had a shaved head and all the nurses assumed was my lesbo gf. she stayed by my side and painted my toenails in the hospital bed. they gave me this thick, black charcoal to drink and looked at me very sympathetically, but i heard them talking about how weak the prescription pills i took were, even if i did swallow 83 of them. better luck next time? fyi, the charcoal stuff leaks right out of your butt in the shower. it's humiliating, in case you were thinking of trying it.

it was at that time that my mom told my whole family i was gay, and no one really gave a shit. that's how i came out. there was no fanfare what-so-ever. there was no cursing or tears, no denial. i am lucky, i suppose.

years later, as i walk down the street and everyone assumes i am straight, i feel bitter. i am sad that i will never get the "gay nod" from other homos. yet, i also feel cheated that despite my "feminine" appearance, i will never enjoy the luxury of being ogled and revered by butches and tranny boys as forbidden fruit. no, alas, i am just your average, normal, everyday queer girl who never fucked a bio guy in her life.

super-boring.

mega-menstrual over-share

the good news is, i have my period right now, so 1) i won't have it next weekend at dinah shore, and 2) i'm not pms-ing anymore and will hopefully stop bursting into tears at any feelings of even mild discomfort.

the bad news is i don't get to try out my new toys (lube, cock ring, condoms) until at least sunday or monday, when the coast is completely clear.

you might ask, "amanda, why not just do it while you're on your period? are you not a modern, liberated woman in a steady relationship with a considerate partner?" well, the answer to your question, nosey, is yes, but for some reason period sex has always freaked me out a little. i know some women and their partners don't mind it at all, some even enjoy it, claiming that the extra hormones and lubrication can lead to some kind of magic, but i am unconvinced. as sexually adventurous as i am, my terrible secret is that i kind of hate body fluids, even my own. being in love for the first time, with joe, has made me understand why people in love/high lust situations don't mind having someone sweat and jizz all over them, and how it can even be fun, but i'm not into the idea of wet-napping my blood off of myself and my boyfriend.

okay... and there's something else. since i have been such a bad blogger lately, i am going to let you guys in on a very personal sexual secret of mine. although, on second thought, i may actually be punishing some of you more than rewarding with juicy (unintentional pun) banter, so don't read on if you hate hearing about ladystuffs.

once, a long time ago, when i was with my ex girlfriend, she insisted upon going down on me while i was on my period. i protested to the best of my abilities, but she wouldn't let up, so finally i agreed. i was freshly showered and hadn't been bleeding too heavily, so that kind of made me think everything would be okay. well, so, she was down there, right, and things were actually getting pretty good for me. it felt really intense and i was pretty sure the orgasm was going to be awesome. suddenly she stopped. i looked down at her, her mouth faintly smeared with red, and she was glancing up at me with a look of dismay that i had never seen on anyone before. her voice wavered, "i...i don't think i can do this."

it was so humiliating! i felt so disgusting and gross, even though it wasn't my fault and it was her stupid idea. it only added to my shame that i had been enjoying it so much, and to this day i wonder if the pleasure equation in any way involved the menstrual factor. the answer to that question is something i will never know, however, because i vowed at that very moment that no lover of mine would ever look at me with that kind of unconcealable terror in their eyes again, at least not during the act.

so, there you have it, my traumatizing period sex story. it's not like i haven't fooled around or even had what i would consider sex while bleeding since, but i always make sure to keep it nice and clean, with nothing too crazy.

with that, i wish you a fine weekend. i am planning on taking it easy because i am going to have a busy week writing, hopefully working, and preparing for dinah aka not eating anything, running every day, and laying in the sun establishing a base tan... aka probably passing out and dying before i even get to palm springs!

will the Failure Princess ever be Queen?

contrary to the rampant rumors making their way around the interwebs, i have not committed suicide, as i promised long ago to do once i turned 27 if i had not accomplished anything significant. i have just been beyond depressed lately and wit completely escapes me. san fran was loads of fun up until the last day, which is really what sank me, plus i got my period that day, plus the afore-mentioned suicide deadline was this past tuesday, my 27th birthday!

i don't even really know why i'm writing this except to say hello. i hate not writing for a whole week, it's silly, but i just can't think of anything funny to say. i wanted to post a video of my new reason for living: the jenny craig commercials featuring queen latifah, but they don't have it on youtube, so you will have to watch it here. the best part is obviously how she keeps it real from the get-go with "i don't watch the scale. that's never been my thing..." while also subtly letting us know with her body language that wearing purple cowl neck sweaters with long, flowy skirts has never been her thing either, along with not being a huge dyke, which is MOST DEFINITELY NOT her thing. she is the biggest lez ever. i actually found the commercial somewhat inspiring though, and i liked the health over forcing thinness upon oneself angle. lord knows queen is never going to look like nicole richie, and thank god for that! she's gorgeous!

in that vein, i found it ironic that i posted this entry about losing weight and what you gain and lose with it exactly a year ago when the other day i stepped on the scale only to discover that i have gained pretty much all the weight i ever lost back. i don't know how that is possible since i still fit onto some of my "skinnier" clothes, but i guess it just kind of creeped up on me. i was barely holding on, well over fighting weight, but still at jean shorts-and-high heels-possibly-getting-laid-tonight weight when i met joe, got laid, fell in love, and totally just lost it. i am in this sort of delusional denial of it all, but all the signs are there. if i see a dress i think will fit me and try it on, it never does. this is a dangerous game when you acquire most of your clothes thrifting, cause sometimes there are no fitting rooms and also to not fit into an awesome dress or blouse is 100,000,000 times more depressing when it's one of a kind. so sad. i've been back to my old tricks of only buying accessories and shoes, but i hadn't even noticed i was doing it! three things are to blame for this (besides me) love, pizza, and american apparel, for making it so easy to live one's entire life in a super-low v t-shirt, showing sexy cleav and not even realizing that your waistline and backfat are slowly but surely obliterating the possibility of you getting onto any tops with buttons in the foreseeable future. none of my favorite vintage dresses or tops fit and i think even my feet have gained weight.

one of the things you take for granted when you lose weight steadily like i did last time is how easy it becomes to look "good" in a photograph. i had completely forgotten the old fat girl days of taking shots at extreme angles, extreme close-ups, or avoiding the camera altogether. suddenly, while there were of course LOTS of awful pics of me, there were a lot of good ones too... and by good i mean thin-looking, even though i realize that is wrong. these days i have to erase just about every pic that is taken of me, which is a damn shame, since i just got a new camera for xmas. to me, all my pictures look kind of like the ones of those who had watched the evil video in "the ring," blobby and awful. horrific.

well, there you have it folks, i am officially a 27 year-old failure, still broke, still fat, and still crazy, if only mildly suicidal. i have decided that since i love joe so much i will give myself one or two more years to live and see if i become famous, and, if not thin, then at least healthy and not giving a shit what anyone thinks, like queen latifah.

here comes that feeling again

i am adverse to beauty. or rather, several of its key components, including vulnerability. i refuse to feel soft. i have often thought of how funny it is that god (or whomever) decided to make me so enigmatic, and yet so un-mysterious and profuse, an enigma in itself. i have all this love to give, and i love so easily, but i will never, ever be able to experience the transfusion of love that happens between two people, because there is no way the needle is going in. even if they find my vein, it would likely be made of steel, or surely collapse just then, paper-thin. should the other person's ichor somehow seep into my stream, it would undoubtedly be intoxicating for a moment, at least for the moment before my body ultimately rejects it. i am set in my ways, and anything variant from my own kind of love, no matter how true, could sicken me, curdle in my vessels, and weaken my heart. is any high worth that? i am left to wonder.

give me a break, it's a holiday and i'm depressed. you may be happy to know that all is well in the Failure sector of this little ship. i am ruining as planned, no delays or stops. my valentine's day with joe was lovely and perfect, and still i am miserable and wishing to remove my skin piece by piece. it is a sickness, clearly untreated, but i feel like it's my responsibility to feel this way. i had almost forgotten this, which is kind of embarrassing, when i really think about it.

in way more hilarious news, i went to this lesbo night last night at the falcon in west hollywood. on sunday nights this "hotspot" screens the l-word for l.a.'s dyke elite (LOL) and celesbians. recently it has been a frequent haunt of paris hilton, puzzlingly, or rather, tellingly enough. in case you don't know, i spend 99.9% of my time on the east side of l.a. and my stomach pretty much fills with bats when i have to travel west of la brea. i really wanted to take pictures for you guys, but i only got a few of me and my friends looking petrified, and what i reallly wanted to show you is how fucking ridiculous all of the girls there are. holy crap. it's like what a nazi propaganda cartoon of los angeles lesbians would look like, complete with femmes in dresses, heels, and lez-cred-giving fedoras and butches in... wait, were there any butches? if butches spend $60 on pomade for their short, spiky hair and wear sparkly lipgloss, then yes, yes there were. i'm all for the idea that we queers don't need to fit into labels or roles if we don't want to (or can if we do), but i think the women out at this club are less the poster children for "being who you are" and more those of "being who's who," at least in their minds. dis.as.ter! ew.

of course, the typical celezzies were out. kate moennig (shane), rose rollins (tasha), malaya drew (adele, jenny's assistant), and clementine ford (molly, phyllis' daughter and cybill shepherd's real life daughter) were all spotted at a corner table. i will say, btw, that tasha and adele are really hot in person, and i did not see shane with my own eyes, but i have seen her 500,000,000 times in l.a. so whatevs (still...). i was secretly hoping to see paris (even though i am not a fan, i just thought that would be extra-hilarious), but she wasn't there. i was pretty bummed, then something remarkable happened. i was waiting in line for the bathroom when i looked behind me, saw this little girl and thought "who brought their kid here?" then i started to recognize her. could it be? YES! it was mackenzie rosman, better known as RUTHIE FROM 7TH HEAVEN!!!!

wtf? i'm not outing her by saying she's a lez, by the way, because unfortunately (or fortunately, if you believe this is going to lead to diversity as opposed to appropriation) straights are coming in droves to gay bars, at least here in l.a. anyways, it was amazing. she looks so fucking young and exactly the same as she did when she was, like, nine. i don't think she's even 21, but upon further inspection, she did look a little older than a child and she was with some older-looking friends. this may have been one of the best celeb sightings ever. seriously, way better than if it had been jessica biel. we heard about two lesbian fights breaking out and saw the cops outside taking pics of a seemingly perfectly normal girl with a huge shiner and a bloody scratch above her nose. dyke drama = serious biz.

not too long after that we had our fill of $12 dollar drinks and giant outdoor fireplaces. we headed homeward to echo park's fav dive bar, the little joy, where one of the bartenders (who i'm sorry to say i know personally) ran up to me and one of my other friends and screamed in our faces for coming in with another friend of ours who she used to date. it was both disheartening and comforting to know that no matter where you are in town, east side or west, gay bar or straight, there are totally psychotic people waiting to possibly attack you.

wait, did i say comforting?