Tag: volumeone

SHAMELESS PROMOTION: AIDS Walk New York 2019

I wish I could say I took the last week to live life to the fullest, to really reflect and apply everything I learned in the wake of losing one of my favorite people. Grieving is weird. I’ve honestly never done it before. Some days I feel like I can take on the world, like I have this one life and I want to love everyone like Uncle John did, and be happy like he always seemed to be. Somedays I feel like I should take something away from this, like I should’ve learned something. I can’t clearly keep a hold on whatever that lesson is and the focus keeps shifting. Somedays I meltdown for no reason (Sorry Kean University. I don’t usually cry during presentations).

I remembered a thing. A bit of information dawned on me. Something that no one else would ever understand or maybe even care about. Only him. I keep wanting to tell someone, to share this secret, but the laugh I know I’d hear from him could come from no one else. And I’ll never get to tell him this secret. Part of me feels a warmth around it, like I’ll have something in my heart that belongs only to him. Part of me feels like I’ll just tell him when this is all over. But, when all of what’s over?

And work went on, and life went on and I was being dragged behind but every once in a while I stood up and ran with it.

On Monday I went to Central Park for some tree therapy. Myles and his friend Johnny joined me. We walked around in Central Park looking at these massive trees, making up scientific names and sometimes being in actual awe of size, texture or shape. We walked through the city and happened upon a giant dumpster stuffed full of balloons. It wasn’t full of much else, just some wood (?) so naturally we climbed in and played in the balloons for a substantial amount of time.

We laughed so hard, and wound up taking strands of balloons with us down the street. We took the balloons into a restaurant and laughed through a delicious meal and I had so much fun.

Dumpster balloons, dumpster people

I got home late, and couldn’t stop telling Myles how much fun I had. I crawled into bed and saw my Uncle’s memorial photo and for a split second, it was shocking all over again. I had such a fun night I forgot all about it. Which I’m terrified of, but so grateful for. Grief is next level. Sometimes I hamster wheel all my feelings and thoughts and can’t get out of this hole of feeling his death every second of the day. So though forgetting is painful, temporarily feeling joy was so good and so necessary and so hard to find regardless of this tragedy.

But of course everything reminds me. We went and saw Beetlejuice on Broadway. Aforementioned Johnny is a dancer in the show, and my boss got he, a coworker and myself some tickets. The show was wild. From start to finish you were laughing and clapping. The humor was relevant, the actors are SO talented. The set was probably one of the most impressive. The lighting reshaped the house over and over. They made giant set pieces and chased people around stage. It was wild.


And I only cried once. When Lydia was in the Netherworld and talked about how she was so afraid to forget her dead mom.

Then Johnny brought me and my coworkers backstage for a tour. We met Beetlejuice, who’s very much like Beetlejuice in real life.

The show was great. The set was insane, Johnny’s crazy in the show but still adorable. Go see Beetlejuice.

The rest of the week was filled with getting home too late, waking up early and only realizing I had eyes and mouth by around noon each day.

I did cook this week. I made an absolutely disgusting dressing for a corn and black bean salad. I made a pretty delicious vegan tuna salad out of walnuts and carrots. I tried to make Uncle John’s bagel specialty. It tasted amazing, but his also looked amazing. Mind did not.

This week I’ll try his pancakes. Because I’m actually nervous to try eggplant parm.

Anyway, this week I started research on the last thing I was curious about in Volume One.

With no context whatsoever, Tiny Jac left the following Q:

3-8-09 (def meant 06) “What is infrared? Ultraviolet? What’s it used for?”

She had yet to see Predator.

Well, I started digging in. I have the basic, uneducated understanding of both infrared and UV, but I’m not doing these projects to be basic, okayyy. First thing I will say is as I started researching it became abundantly clear that I do no understand science to any degree. If someone knows wavelengths and electromagnetic business I’ll buy you a drink to teach me. Or Skype me. I’ll do the entire conversation as my teddy bear Cinnamon as payment.

Second, I’m not giving up. Tiny Jac wanted answers and I’m going to get them. It’s just going to take me longer than a week to do it. So this is what I’ve got so far:

Infrared radiation, or infrared light, is a radiation with longer wavelengths than that of visible light.

Since even that most basic description means literally nothing to me, I have to go backwards. WT actual F is a wavelength? I get the basic, middle school text book diagram explanation, but how does something emit a wavelength and how does it related to light and help.

I’m an egg or chicken kinda guy when it comes to understanding anything that doesn’t involve a punchline. What’s the origin story, etc. So I’ll be getting my science on until I can actually, genuinely understand this shit.

We (I) made it through Volume One. This week I’ll be starting my last project, one that couldn’t be more important than it is now. Also on this 3-8-09 (06) day I said went to BOW, Bible study On Wednesday or something like that. I don’t remember this experience, but here you go:

“BOW this morning really helped me. Not so much in Christ but to be a better person. I want to help people.”

Uncle John was always helping people, and I’m so incredibly self centered, I could do with being selfless from time to time.

I want to first start by saying, I currently work for AIDS Walk New York. I’m the representative for the Hyacinth AIDS Foundation who provide HIV and AIDS services to communities in New Jersey. Our funding is primarily received through government grants, and often gets tied to specific allocations. AIDS Walk is imperative for us to continue providing education, prevention and services to the HIV and AIDS communities in New Jersey.

So help me out, help Hyacinth out and support us by donating as little as $15 to us for AIDS Walk New York.

From now until the event date (Sunday, May 19th, come walk with us) this’ll be how I’m going to help people. I haven’t personally started fundraising because I’ve been begging other people to support us, but I can practice what I preach for 3 weeks.

Beyond AIDS Walk, like all my other long-term projects, I had a list of things that would assist in my journey to help people. This list includes making 10 new friends, volunteering and learning the subtle art of actually listening to people when they talk. I suppose helping doesn’t necessarily mean helping elderly people across the streets, or giving people the clothes off my back, but can also mean being a good friend, using reusable bottles or accepting peoples differences.

Volume One has been sweet, even kinda simple, sometimes slightly annoying. I learned a lot, I tried a lot and I think I’m still figuring out the point of the blog. But I guess I’ve kept these journals my whole life because I wanted to remember to try the things that sounded interesting. I wanted to remember the things I already tried and how I felt about them. And now I’m finally getting around to it. I want to look back on my life and feel like I gave all my dreams a shot. I want to feel like no stone was unturned, that I got to experience a million things. I want to look back and think I had fun, I guess.

So to recap what I’ll be taking with me into Volume Two; I’m writing a book with my pal Bryson (and taking too long to edit). If I get two published copies for him and I I’ll be satisfied. Tiny Jac had it right with not worrying. I don’t always remember, but nothing gets done by worrying. Going and doing and having fun, though, that’s where the real money is. I did a lot of things I’m not sure I would have if it weren’t for this project.

Opening up and meeting people isn’t my specialty but I do find value in it. I’m a shit talker, and I don’t want to be, so I’ll keep chipping away at that. I’m learning as much as I can starting with cooking (it’s going bad) and will now start a journey to help people as well as learn science-y smart stuff.

This has been fun and hard. I’m overambitious at times and want to do it all at once, but I also live a life. So I guess part of what I’m learning here, besides how to make good scrambled eggs or where the best trees in New York City are, is that even if we used every second of our day productively, sometimes it all just can’t get done.

Whatever. Remember all the cool shit I did?

Next week you’ll meet Lil Jaci. Volume Two continues her curiosity about growing up and being in a body and having societal expectations. We’re still amidst her weird obsession and hatred of Danny (love you, Bud) and also she gets Mono. So the world is ending.

Wish me luck this week and recycle your plastic.

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Peace and Hair Grease

Well shit.

This is a rough one. This week, unexpectedly, my Uncle John died. If you know me, then you know at least something about him. He was like a brother, he was a friend, he was even like a father at times. He was my Uncle.

When I was nineteen I needed out of my hometown. I was overwhelmed by my impending adulthood, I was overwhelmed with the expectations vs the way I behaved. I needed out and I needed it fast.

I called him up. I had only met him maybe three times at that point, and asked if I could move in with him. He could’ve said no, he could’ve called my Dad and they could’ve kept me home. But that’s not Johnny Mac. Of course he let me live with him.

He always made me feel equal. Never made me feel like a kid, that I wasn’t welcome, that I didn’t belong. It was the first time I felt like someone really trusted me, and I trusted him. More than almost anyone. Still to this day.

He was all the things I want to be. Humble, a good friend and brother and uncle and husband. He didn’t worry. He always said, “It’s all kool and the gang.” He was happy, he was an expert at listening and making people feel heard and valid. He always made me feel like the person I was becoming was okay. And he was so fuckin’ funny. He could remember every movie line he’d ever heard. I think most of the time he spoke it was in quotes.

He loved talking about the time it snowed four feet while I was living with him. I’d never really seen snow like that before and he took me with him to shovel driveways around town. We worked in a cul-de-sac that had been plowed and all the snow was pushed into the middle into a giant mountain. I climbed to the top and dug a hole just big enough for me to fit in and crawled in. He looked for me, shouting and shouting until he saw my little feet sticking out. He couldn’t stop laughing. Every time he told the story he laughed. Somewhere in the world is a picture he took of me stuffed into that little cave.

His whole life he lived the way he wanted. He did what he wanted, he loved everyone he knew, he always gave out more love than any one person should possess.

Last summer he married the love of his life. As I grew up, every time I’d come see him he’d scold me for a new tattoo I got. Man, he hated my tattoos. Then met Sue, and the two of them were crazy about each other. They went and got tattoos.

How does something so beautiful like that happen so late in someone’s life, only to be taken away less than a year later? I just don’t get it. I saw him, looking like a wax version of himself in his casket and I just don’t get it.

All the plans we made, all the things we had, it’s all gone now. And I guess I just, I’m not ready. I don’t understand why it had to be him. Why did it have to be him? I thought I was going to have him until I was his age. I’m so afraid that I’ll forget. That he’ll fade away as I grow older, when I’m 60 and things have changed. He was supposed to see me become the person I’m going to become and it’s just not right.

Anyway, he’d call and tell me “It’s all good in Johnny-hood” so in honor of the man who half raised me to be the person I am now, I’m going to keep being the person he taught me to be. I’m going to write, and journal and do this dumbass blog. And this week, on my absolutely disgusting journey to feed myself edible food, I’m going to cook all my favorite foods he used to make for me.

Uncle John made a BOMB eggplant parmesan. I never like eggplant, but he begged me to just try it and he did not disappoint. He also used to make me these bagels that are essentially just a toasted bagel, a fat slice of tomato, and cheddar cheese broiled over top. Simple. His pancakes were amazing. I think he used lemon, we’ll find out. And he made tomato sauces that I think were from a can, but somehow they always tasted fresh.

I’m heartbroken. It’s fucked up. He was 61, in regular health. Its just not supposed to be like this. But it’s hard to not think of how wild his life was. He was so cool. He was a Harley rider for life. I loved hearing his stories about riding across the country on his bike. He was always up for a good time, always available for an adventure.

Bababooyow, Uncle J. You always inspired me, you always made me feel like I was okay. I love you and I miss you. Fuck, I don’t even know how much I miss you yet.

Peace and hair grease. I hope you’re poolside sippin’ Johnny Walker with Lennon.

Wish me luck this week.

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Chefs in the Kitchen

Welcome back to Volume One, where I felt for the first time, both love and hate. The very same feelings I’ve felt for this month.

Last week I said I’d be listening to Neon Blonde, a one album wonder from 2005. I also mention they resembled a band we all liked called The Blood Brothers. Turns out it’s because Neon Blonde was a brief side project by two of the Blood Brothers members. Solves that mystery.

This band and their one album is a slight departure for the macabre music of Blood Brothers which we all loved. I remember Danny showing it to me, he and all his friends were in bands, and they asked me if I wanted to play piano with them. I wanted to so bad, but had never just riffed before. I wasn’t a jam-band pianist. I took lessons and learned from books. I played ballads, and Scott Joplin pieces and could listen to music and play it, but never had I just made up stuff.

So I never played with them. I was too scared and didn’t (and still don’t) know how to bridge the gap between playing what other people wrote to playing what I write. But everyone could play the piano bits from The Blood Brothers. And it felt so much like a circus that I fell in love with all the chaos of the style. Amanda Willis can probably still play their songs on piano.

Neon Blonde is a touch too much for me, and perhaps that’s because I haven’t sat with a scream-o band in over 10 years. However, I did like one song. Chandeliers and Vines:

A ballad so indulgent I felt like touching myself. I felt like if I cried, no one would blame me. Are we in Vegas, alone, watching a singer past her prime beg an audience to care she was ever there? We get a vague variety to Whitney’s crooning, a brief relief from the sound walls all around this song. I’ve noticed myself singing the bridge “It’s a long way from New York City to Santa Fe. Back where we belong. You’ve got luxury colognes.” Then the sound wall of smashing and screaming. Which I don’t hate, because I’m crying anyway and fuck you and fuck you and fuck you. They bring it back to the crooning, please see me, then back to screaming, fuck you anyway “well go on chew your food talk about sports, weather and stocks.” The music and the swells of screaming suck you into a vortex of emotions you’ve purposely been neglecting.

I write more about the album here if you’re desperate to be told how to feel about something.

Moving on, I literally completely forgot about my mission to quit my shit talking. Which seems so convenient. I’m not giving it up, I think it’s important. I just hope I don’t actually subconsciously rip people apart when I’m not actively trying to be mindful.

This week I went and saw The Cher Show on Broadway. The show itself was emotional and powerful and so inspiring. It’s the story of Cher’s life told by three different ages of herself. All three of the women who played her were so talented and funny, they have incredible voices. The whole experience was amazing.

Of course, the only thing anyone could talk about was how Cher, real Cher, showed up for the show that night. She walked right passed me and my boss was hitting my arm and before I knew what happened the crowd engulfed her. But she walked by a few times (I was near the aisle seat) and made an appearance on stage.

The photo I panic-snapped of her as she floated by me.

For my adventures this week I’ll probably be inside museums a lot. It’s supposed to rain, so unless I’m in the mood to break out my Dancing in the Rain choreography, I’ll be inside. I may check out the Morgan Library and Museum because it doesn’t fulfill my nerd fantasy more than to combine a library and a museum. City Reliquary sounds interesting also, a museum of the history of the boroughs of New York.

I’m also taking on a long-term project. Tiny Jac was ambitious and deeply insecure (it’s amazing how we grow up into such ambitious, insecure adults). She was afraid of wasting her time, afraid that it was all slipping away and she’d never squeeze all the things out of life that she wanted. I swear so little has changed about me I’m afraid I’m in a time loop. Get this:

3-8-09 (I 1000% meant 06 but often wrote in the morning when I was v sleepy): “I want to learn as much as I can. I want a lot of knowledge. So if I go to college I can take higher advance classes rather than regular classes. It’ll look impressive. Because…. I want to be a photographer or journalist or artist or a design editor-in-chief at VOGUE magazine. I want to live comfortably in NEW YORK! I can do it. I will do it. I have a lot of high ambitions, I’ll make my goals and achieve them because that’s what I want.”

Awwww. Two things on this; 1. Technically I’m a journalist now, yeah? (Cue drums) 2. I’m living in New York. “Comfortably” is actually a goal I write in my current journals.

I talk about wanting to learn as much as possible throughout my journals. I’ve always just wanted to open my pages and fill them with as much as I possibly could. And so I take on this project. Conveniently enough, like the go, do and have fun project I’m continuing weekly, I had a list I kept on my computer of all the things I’ve wanted to learn. It includes the Mill’s Mess, a juggling technique you could lose a hand over (jk, I just wanted to be dramatic), learning to make my own weapons (which I guess you could actually lose a hand over) and learning morse code. Why? Short haired shrug emoji.

Starting this week, I’m going to learn to cook. If you’re reading this, you already have to know that I’m notoriously bad at cooking. I’m not just a bad cook, my smoothies are gross. I can’t blend things together properly. I mix liquors that shouldn’t touch, I’m even pretty bad at ordering good food at restaurants. It has haunted me my whole life, but no more. I’m going to learn to cook food that tastes good, and not just accept that I’ve acquired a taste for my shit cooking. I’m going to cook for other people, so anyone who’s willing (in a few months, I’m not trying to trick anyone. I can’t afford a lawsuit) to be a guinea pig, step forth. This will be remembered as the moment when everything changed. I have standards now. No more shit food (except the egg and cheese from the corner bodega cause I go so often the guy always serves me first no matter how big the crowd).

So just to keep myself on track, I’m opening up, meeting people, going, doing and having fun, I’m not worrying I guess. I’m choosing to be aware of how I talk about people, I’m writing a book and now I’m learning everything. It’s chill, I got this. “I can do it. I will do it. I have a lot of high ambitions, I’ll make my goals and achieve them because that’s what I want.”

Wish me luck and give me some cooking tips.

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Princess Skullface Sings

Howdy.

This week heavily compensated me for the rude bitch it was last week. My one year anniversary in New York was on the 10th. Woop. Whimsy is my biggest strength and New York is my best example. I basically slipped on a banana peel and ended up in NYC. So, that’s cute.

My parents came to visit a couple months after I got here. My mom is so cuuuuute.

Also this week I cracked into a brand new journal, Volume 60. The big 6-0. My journals can retire in a few short volumes (they won’t though, cause they love working and wouldn’t know what to do with all the free time). Stellar news, my pal Yancy’s surgery went well and the tumor isn’t cancerous. Double woop! Lastly, it’s pretty legit to say now that Jeff Bryson, the friend who helped me with the outline of the Damsel story, has agreed to do the art! Brb, updating my fb status to “In a Relationship.”

Last episode I mentioned how Tiny Jac was upset at herself for talking about her friends in a bible study. So, in an attempt to ease her sweet, innocent little mind I decided to not talk negatively about people for one week. Turns out I’m much more of a shit talker than I thought I was. I caught myself taking my frustrations out by complaining about the people I believed to be causing my frustrations. Let’s just all get this straight; I’m only ever frustrated at myself, I just have a tendency to make it seem like it’s because of someone else. Sure, sometimes living, working or existing with people is hard. But also sometimes a casual solution is communication.

For Tiny Jac’s case, she thought she was gossiping because she was saying personal things about her friends to people who were in a better place than said friends. In that case, is it gossip or is it the act of putting forth positive energy against other peoples’ seemingly negative situations? Is it fair to be the one standing above someone saying their situation is negative simply because I deem it? Was it gossip because Tiny Me left feeling guilty?

I will say, being aware of how you behave is never a negative and because of this I’m going to keep chipping away at this project. I even prefaced gossip this week (“ok, so you know how I’m not supposed to be shit talking, well I’m hella going to shit talk right now.” – me, verbatim all week long).

This also leads to prayer, which I think I’m going to back burner for now. I only say that because I spent this week continuing my vapid genie wish list of all the things I wish I did better. Then I talked to my parents, who are both Christians, about prayer and how hard it was for me. My dad talked about how it was about a relationship with God but I think what really struck me was that before I got off the phone with them, my mom said “You know, Honey, we pray for you every day.” (Which I 100% need every day, my life is a nightmare). And that’s when I kinda realized prayer isn’t about wishing. It’s about acknowledgment. It’s about bringing people to your mind, holding them there and hoping good for them.

So, I think I got it. And it turned the second half of my week around. But I also know that it’s going to come back up in later journals (I get heavy into Christianity through Volume 7). It may find me at a time where it feels like less pressure to pull my whole universe together to find the things I care about other than myself. I’m really, very selfish. Taking pointers for how to get out of my own ass.

The go, do, have fun of the week led me to dancing. I went to the cute queer party called Hot Rabbit. I casually got sick from the food I ate before I went out, but I started to feel it right after I pretend ate an imaginary ball as a dance move. Still, Hot Rabbit was worth dropping by. I spend a lot of time in male dominant settings so it was really refreshing to be around a bunch of queers. I haven’t mentioned this much, but I tell people I’m a lesbian because it’s easier than begging them to follow me on the whimsical tour of my identity. The truth is I’m queer. I have no identity other than that, I have no idea what I want or who I am. It’s not new, according to Volume One:

1/1/06 12:40pm

“I am one girl who doesn’t know what she wants.”

Hi, hello. Fast forward thirteen years and I have the same haircut. It’s me.

I deal more in just living how I want until something catches me. It’s not an efficient way to live, but it is a way to live. So being in a space full of people who identify and express themselves in ways I’ve never even considered makes me feel like maybe I haven’t found myself because I haven’t been to all the places I might hang out. I’m crazy for queers who don’t identify, for body hair, for feminine men for masculine women. I’m crazy for people who look and feel and act like everything all mixed up into one and aren’t asking for permission. And sometimes, existing in the straight world makes me forget. So thanks Hot Rabbit. A dance party and a vehicle for self reflection.

I finally hit up Albertine, the French Bookstore I mentioned a while back. So worth it. What I didn’t know was that it was inside of a restored mansion. Seriously, it’s called the Payne Whitney House and it’s amazing. You walk into a gorgeous, empty, marble covered entrance adorned with busts and full body statues. One gated off viewing room is the favorite and preserved room of the late Helen Hay Whitney and is gold with a harp and beautiful furniture. Then you walk back to a French bookstore. Mostly in French but a few English language, French origin books. They have quite the variety and when you go upstairs you see what makes the store famous. Actually pretty reminiscent of the mosaic at the Museum at Eldridge, this ceiling was painted a swirl of blue and yellow with planets, stars and constellations. It’s very magical.

The adventures of this week may lead me to find a variety of temporary tattoos. I have a fantasy that all the creative, artistic friends (which I’ve only a few of at the moment) come to my house (in my fantasy it’s the Payne Whitney House) and we have a party where everyone puts temp tattoos on each other. You’re invited.

I’m also going back to the music scene of 2006. The same Audrey Jordan mentioned Neon Blonde, which I want to say was more popular than Test Icicles and was considered in the realm of a band we listened to called The Blood Brothers. One of their songs is called Princess Skullface Sings. So it could really go both ways. Or lend a creepy name to the book. If you’ve listened to their only album or saw them live or have an anecdote I can use hit me up.

When does music you loved as a kid (2006 Jac like Sugarcult) become the music you’re embarrased of? Or, when and why do you grow out of it? Cause I’m 100% not still listening to My Chemical Romance (though Umbrella Academy was dope, so I’m still on the Gerard train).

Wish me me luck and listen to Neon Blonde.

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STOP Right Now

Hello. Thanks for being here on this most glorious of Fridays. Friday. I’ll say it again, Friday. I’m so hot for Fridays.

If you also had a demon week, if you also almost killed three people on purpose for pleasure, if you tried to get hit by a car just for a little relief, then we had similar weeks and I’m glad you’re here right now. The new job is rough, the man I work for who is my only saving grace had emergency spine surgery on Tuesday because his arms went numb, my event director’s father passed away, one of my best friend’s husband had brain surgery to remove a giant tumor and I was slapped with a $700 electricity bill because my heater “isn’t cost effective” and I’m a moron.

I’M. GONNA. LOSE IT. In the overly dramatic words of Tiny Me:

1-12-06 “I feel like scum-ocean-fish-parasites-dirt-earth’s core-me! Very bottom right now.” Some days you just shouldn’t get out of bed.

Anyway, the French cottage was a restaurant. It had a fireplace and books on some shelves, but not even for a single second while I was there did I forget I was in a restaurant.

I didn’t go to casino night. I got all dressed, cute outfit, got my books and everything to read on the way. Then my subway kicked me off after three stops. So I had to take a shuttle bus over the bridge into the city. Once I’m off the bus, the only train I could take wasn’t running. So it took me almost an hour just to get to Port Authority to find a proper bus to take into NJ. I still had two hours before I’d get there. So I bailed. All the episodes of Broad City you non-New Yorkers watch where they spend an entire episode just trying to get somewhere is really really real.

Monday I spent the evening with a work and business-free mind to chat with my friend Cam about her engagement! Cam is the literal reason I’m in New York and I got to live with her and her fiance Matt for a while. Very excited, very happy for them. And it was nice to just enjoy the presence of friendship and have a nice time.

“There’s a room full of people waiting to feel normal by comparison.”

Tuesday I saw Kinky Boots. I’m a changed man. I still dream about it. God I love drag and Broadway theatre.

I’m giving up on drawing. The whole reason I was doing it was to live my “go, do and have fun” life, but it’s not fun. It’s harrowing. Bless all you artists out there, you’re special and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

This was yesterday. “Prayer hands.”

Prayer was a wash. I hardly did it, though it was nice to see just how self centered I am. I was asking mostly for things for myself, and it genuinely made me see that I spend very little time thinking of others. So, huh. Did I learn something or did I learn something? I’m going to keep going because truthfully I wrote three prayers.

For comparison, 1-21-06: “God – help me to be a better person. To always be kind to people and to care for everyone like you would care for me. Help me to be a better person in your word and to believe in you like I really want to.”

Vs.

March 31st [2019]: “Dear whatever… I pray that I grow in my confidence at work this week. That this is the week I really grab the wheel and take off, talking with new people, coming up with new strategies and securing REAL MONEY. I pray my belief in myself grows along with my initiative. I pray I can stay on task and be present and productive.” TL;DR – Idk what I’m doing oooh something shiny.

Ok so I’ve only got about five more posts for volume one. And because of this, the last few will either be dull af or big tickets. And this week I chose a dull af one because I simply don’t know if I could take on more.

This week, though, is still important in lesson.

3-7-06: “STOP telling people things.”

This one is about how I had been talking about some of my troubled friends in a bible study group and when I left I felt super guilty about, what I felt was, talking shit about my friends.

The intention was to help. I wanted them to be prayed for because I was concerned, but knew what really happened was that I was talking about how all the people I spend my time with weren’t doing well with a room full of straight A students.

Gossip isn’t a huge part of my life, and I truly don’t believe that’s what I was doing back then, but I do believe I spend a lot of my energy trying to commiserate with people. Which is only half relevant to what I wrote, but I just felt bad that I talked about other peoples’ lives with people who weren’t invested in them like I was. And so, the takeaway here is that I still, like us all, have a tendency to use a focal point (usually another person) to start conversations, to commiserate, or to vent. When really, there are millions of other things I could use to have the exact same affects.

What us kids live by. Or, at least what our moms say to get us to shut the fuck up.

So this coming week I’m going to be aware of how I talk about other people. If I don’t have a positive factual thing to say about someone, there’s really no need to say it at all. I have a million other people I’m trying to be, so I’m just going to leave that one behind. I’m going to STOP talking about people.

Also on the agenda this week: actually dancing, making a NY time capsule inside a briefcase my boss from my previous job gave me, going to a kickboxing class with my friend Sharon, maybe getting out to Hallett Nature Sanctuary in Central Park (I’ve been but it’s so beautiful. Follow my Insta for videos of me breathing really hard outside). I’m still riding the have fun life and will be meeting with my artist on Tuesday about the story!

Life is wild. I’m tired.

Wish me luck and have a drink for me.

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Weed Privilege

Hey wussup hello. Over ten years ago, I asked myself why coconuts have cholesterol. I’m finally going to give Tiny Jac peace of mind.

Ok, so what I think happened here is that someone might’ve said coconuts are bad for your cholesterol and Tiny Jac interpreted that as coconuts have cholesterol. They don’t. I’m not the only one with a weird story. My friend Joshua knew someone who thought that mayo was actually called cholesterol. We’re 90s kids. Cholesterol was a myth back then.

She (I) went on to to ask (myself) what cholesterol is. So for those of you who don’t know and likely don’t care, cholesterol is “a type of fat found in your blood.” This website for children says, “You need cholesterol to help your brain, skin, and other organs do their jobs.” These experts are suggesting 60 minutes of exercise a day which I did not know and come in grossly under the expectation.

On another note, I came down with a cold almost moments after I posted last week, so needless to say, I didn’t go dancing. I didn’t do much of anything over the weekend except watch Buffy reruns and feel sorry for myself. But good news! I’ve had a friend agree to do art for the Damsel story! Woop! Once things get a little more official I’m post details, but I’m very excited to see how it turns out. Now I just need help coming up with a name. HELP ME COME UP WITH A NAME.

Thank you so much to those who sent me new songs to listen to.

An interpretive piece on the alt-rock band Sugarcult. 12-27-05

My favorite this week wasn’t even rock and roll, so now I feel like a liar, but is the Canadian hip-hop artist Tasha the Amazon. I was very… shall I say… high… when I listened to her and the combined sounds are so satisfying. Dig it if you have not done so.

I also got a killer recommendation from my friend Amanda Willis for the band Ex Hex. Rock and roll girl band who gets lumped in with other bands like Sleater Kinney. Kinda throwback-y, but very groovy stuff.

Feel free to stumble on more rocknroll and just pass it my way. I share it with my Dad, so it really keeps our relationship active. Thanks in layers.

I need to get something off my chest. It has come to my attention that I don’t understand weed at all. I’ve been telling EVERYONE in New York that an 1/8 of weed is $12 in Oregon. I’ve been saying that because this entire time… all of my 20s I thought an eighth was a gram. Dead fucking serious. That’s privilege, dude (and like basic stupidity). In Oregon, I just have to grunt and point at a lump of weed and someone will sell it to me for whatever price is on the sticker. Shout out to the aforementioned Joshua for helping me see the error of my ways, and I apologize to anyone who believed me. I suppose in that way we’re both suckers.

This week’s adventures start now: Tonight I’m going on a (2nd) date to a place called Black Mountain Wine House in Gowanus. I was told it looks like a cozy French cottage. We’ll see. I just need wine asap.

Saturday will be weird. I was asked to join my client’s Casino Night. Which I love except it’s in Montclair, NJ (a cool 2 hours away by train) and starts at 7pm. Getting a date for this will be a teeny bit harder. Also getting a train home will be harder. Getting home at all will be hard. Excited for free wine.

Ikea and Myles testing out how he’d look on each sofa.

Sunday is my beautiful baby dew drop Myles’ birthday. Follow me on Instagram for all the cute throwback pictures in his honor.

The rest of the week will involve working on the art outline for the story, and doing some drawing for myself for literally no reason other than to cross it off my list. So there’s that.

I will also be taking on a weird new task. It’s good this is starting now. It’ll prep us for future journals.

I grew up in a Christian household. I went to church every Sunday, went to church camp, was a part of the youth group for my school and both of my parents were youth pastors most of my life. I’m currently not a religious person, and I’m treading lightly because my mom reads this blog (I love you, you’re an angel).

In journal one I wrote out a few prayers. Or rather, I was praying in written form. I really believed in something, I really felt what I was saying, and I think there’s value in that habit. However, as I said, I’m not religious. I even tried to pray just, like, up at my ceiling the other day, but I’ve come so far in my life as a woman. Too far, actually, to devote any faith I could possibly muster to a man in the sky who is, like, super hands off but also requires devotion for what I think is the award of eternal peace. Also, have you read the Bible? (The most popular answer to that question is “no”). It’s treatment of women is comparable to Greek Mythology (obviously) and also to Hollywood.

Anyway, Pastor’s daughter. I’ve got a very specific perspective but the point is though I will not be praying this week to a Dude I’m going to practice the act of spiritual prayer. I do believe that if you put out good intentions and good energy, you will then begin to act as though your intentions and your energy are both good. Which harms no one.

Phew. I hope I don’t get grounded for that. And honestly, I get HEAVY into Christianity and reading the Bible and shit all the way up through my seventh journal. So this is a gentle intro to what will eventually be me spewing negativity about the oldest work of fiction (and even a lil sci-fi) still in print. Now here’s a video of N’SYNC’s God Must Have Spent A Little More Time on You to lighten the mood:

Ok I don’t remember JC being this hot…

Wish me luck and HELP ME COME UP WITH A NAME.

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