strange peace and happiness

I've been meaning to write for a while. I started a post that was about my 5-month sobriety anniversary. And then I started a post about this weird Joe-related story that I was obsessing over for about 8 hours. And then I wrote about living in Neighbor's apartment in her absence, even sleeping in her bed one night--escaping the claustrophobic mess of my own place, but also trying to absorb her calm, uplifting aura just by being here, surrounded by her. I don't know how I'm going to live in New York without her.

Part of the reason why I felt crowded this weekend was because I had a couchsurfer for the past four nights. I don't usually like people to stay more than 2 nights but initially I was feeling generous. When I woke up Wednesday morning I suddenly HAD TO HAVE SEX like never before, it being the critical three-weeks-without-sex combined with ovulation, and it was crazy. That was the day the couchsurfer contacted me and I thought, hey: maybe this will be just perfect. He was a very, very sweet guy and a photographer to boot, and I have had some pleasant surprises with couchsurfers before. But PMS swung the other way and honestly, two hours after he arrived, he could have been Prince Sebastien of Switzerland painted in white chocolate and rolled in macadamia nuts and I would have been pissy. Poor guy, there was nothing he could do to win me over. I mean, I was nice to him and everything and even let him stay an extra night because he was in a pinch, but FUCK I hate these goddamn mood swings. Actually, let's be honest here. I wasn't attracted to him, and if I had been, the story would probably have been different. Life is just kinder to the lovely.

I guess I sent out only the link to the last page of the hipster grifter story that had Joe in it, whoops. There's the real link. But my mind was laid to rest knowing he didn't fuck her, and I believe him. That would really make me want to throw up. I know, I know, it's stupid because in these exciting times you should just assume that everyone you're with has been with someone like that. Essentially we're all fucking each other in the six-degrees-of-separation sense. Sex degrees of separation? Is that a term? It should be.

I shot tons of photos, a handful of which I actually like, and experienced moments of extreme social anxiety despite being surrounded by people I've known and loved for quite some time. Saturday night I was thrown back into San Francisco--some kids I've known for years played a show at The Delancey--and I was hesitant to say hello to all of them. Ex was their photographer for a while--maybe still is, I don't know, and I guess I wondered if they still remembered me, since it's been a while. I also just have this complex where I never feel like I belong anywhere, and that people won't remember me. But they all did, and that felt good. I'm so excited to go back to San Francisco next-next week. It's been so long. I'm so excited for $chool to be over and for the time to begin where I'm doing what I want to be doing, all the time. I'm so excited for another gorgeous weekend, to shoot more photos, to go out with the sweet boy I met on craigslist who sounds exactly like me, but with balls. I'm excited for all these things.

I'm not afraid anymore, just socially awkward and sometimes sleepy. I'm not quite sure what to make of it.

high school reunion

So last night I walk up to the bar were my 1o-year high school reunion is taking place and the first person I see of the night is RS, basically my bus stop bully. He asked me for a cigarette. I don't know what I really expected last night, but it was a lot of hollering people's names, just to prove we remembered each others' names after all these years, and having very little to say to each other. I think I was one of less than a dozen sober people in the place, with five other people being the two valets, the coat check girl, and the bouncers.

Detox counselor was concerned about me going to this "high-trigger situation" but I told him it would be okay. When I got there, I was kind of glad I wasn't drinking because I'd prepaid $60 to go to this tequila bar, and I could have easily put down $150 worth of premium tequila and made an ass out of myself proclaiming eternal love.

I'd say that about 45 percent of my reason for going was to seek out "Calvin," this guy who always reminded me of Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes. He was a goofy kid, kind of a troublemaker with the longest eyelashes known to mankind and a perpetual smirk on his face. We never had common friends or hung out but we lived close to each other and rode the bus to school together. I always had a soft spot for Calvin, but after we both got our drivers' licenses, our interactions were pretty much limited to waving to one another when we drove past the other on the road. I never really thought about him much until this past year when I read something I'd written about this weird day when I found him standing outside in the rain at school, kind of frozen and unable to speak, and I brought him inside to the warmest spot I could think of, the pool, and sat with him for a while, not talking. I have always had a severely soft spot for troubled souls.

Someone told me he was there last night. I spent about a half hour looking for him. I pushed my way through the tight-packed bar, avoiding the same people, looking at the faces over and over again, wondering if I was seeing him without seeing him. Finally I gave up and decided to go home. I felt like an old crotchety lady. The bar was loud, everyone was drunk, and I was sick of yelling the same thing over and over again, losing my voice, and so I'd begun to just give nonsensical answers and decided to leave. I was retrieving my coat when I looked up and there he was, sitting at a booth by the door with some blonde and some assholes I vaguely recognized. He wasn't the cute, sweet, slightly vulnerable looking boy that I'd remembered--surprisingly, a lot of guys still looked exactly that way--he'd gotten a lot bigger and meaner looking, but I approached them unafraid and he graciously rose to talk to me, to give me his full attention for the first time we'd laid eyes on each other in ten years.

The little exchange we had, the hugs we shared, made my night. Just by being there, by getting up and being there, Calvin made my night.

I couldn't live up to my expectations last night, which was tough on me. My current drug cocktail is making me a little spacier than usual. Combine that with PMS, stress, sobriety, and home-induced nicotine reduction and you've got Serious...Something.

The funniest moment of the evening was when this guy stopped me and called me the name of one of the four other Asian girls who were in my class. "Emily Lee," he said. "I got your message on facebook and..." I just smiled pleasantly and corrected him: "I'm Seriously." He went on. "Emily, I didn't expect to see you here." And I said again, louder, "I'm not Emily. I'm Seriously." And he slapped himself in the face and said, "Oh man, I'm so sorry! Seriously Serious! I'm so embarrassed! That's awful! And you were one of the people I actually respected and liked! I remember the last time I smoked pot with you and Chuck Smith. That sucks! Man! I'm so sorry. That's awful. I'm so sorry. I'm so embarrassed."

I said, "If it makes you feel any better, I have no idea who you are at all."

interconnectivity biting me in the ass

The Internet is freaking me out tonight, which is unfortunate because (a) I've been missing it while my free connection has been acting up and (b) I was just beginning to trust it with all of my mental vomit.

This past year or so, I've jumped from the usual use the internets to find jobs and email people, and have started two blogs, joined Facebook, hosted a number of couchsurfers, and went on a wild internet dating spree that ended with that horrible horrible horrible crazyblinddate date. Tonight I got one of those random emails from one of the many dating sites I logged into ONCE, and instead of ignoring the email, I decided to go check in on what I actually disclosed about myself on the site. Then I ended up spending a few hours on it taking tests and uploading a photo. Haha! I guess I was somewhat inspired by an evening spent with two of my favorite people in the world, both of whom have are currently in committed relationships with online roots.

While my internet connection dawdled me in and out of okcupid, I got a message from a couchsurfer I hosted a few months ago, telling me he found my blog because I'd mentioned his comic in it by name. He wasn't offended though, and wondered when we could hang out again.

Horror of fucking horrors! I was appalled. This is my anonymous blog and even though I write about everything from period sex to puking on subways, I felt extremely exposed. Then he went on to explain himself in defense of a comment I'd made about him. BAD internets, BAD! This made me want to puke all over my laptop (and then write about it, of course). Is it normal that I am okay posting all this shit online, and then feeling cheated when someone connects the dots? But this is how I felt when Boy started keeping up with my Myspace blog...hence my new blog, unconnected to anything...anything except a semi-detailed account of my existence, I suppose.

And how do I tell couchsurfer that I just don't have time for anyone new in my life with whom I'm not specifically obsessed? With any luck he'll just read this blog while I am systematically going through all my defunct dating profiles and removing them all. But I don't even know which ones I've joined, it turns out.

Boy 3 Says Hello

So, yesterday's interview with my hero, Mark Gorton, went terribly. It was one of those things where I over-prepared and then I failed to cover the basic rules of good interviewing skills. It was pretty fucken embarrassing. That said, he did grant me a full hour of his time, and I did get to check out the sweet Tribeca split-level that his hedge fund occupies, filled with plants, fuschia pillows, and statues of Buddha. But when I left, I felt like an asshole, and wandered around Tribeca for a while, smoking cigarettes and feeling like a failure.

Oh well.

Then today, I get this email from Boy 3, the guy I saw for one hot minute in October. The email was two lines long..."Saw you yesterday...in my office...with my boss..."

How fucken weird! Of course Boy works for Mark Gorton. I'd like to say "Suddenly, it all made sense to me," but everything made even less sense. It really tripped me out to get that communique. It was the second time I'd heard about Boy in the past two weeks, because he'd run into a friend from school, and she actually recognized him from a party we went to at her place. It made me want to re-think life and fate, which I don't particularly believe in. But I'm willing to rethink these things.

I asked him why he didn't say hello. He wrote back:

i wish i had said hello, too.  instead i left the
office at four fifteen to avoid a potentially awkward encounter.
that's how much of an adult i am.

Oh Boy...