hot and cold

I went to a party last night and there was this gorgeous Venezuelan boy with one of the sexiest accents imaginable. I was a little drunk and I really wanted to kiss him. Suddenly we had to leave and I was almost grateful, because I thought of Marido and how I'd like to kiss him the most.

I have one more long day of shooting and trekking tomorrow in Montevideo, and then I go home to Buenos Aires. I'm really looking forward to returning to my own freezing house and cooling my heels for a few days. Although this trip has been uncomfortable and a little bewildering, I am thankful for the work and have been experiencing this incredible feeling of wondering, wandering, and making things work. It is also a tremendous distraction from my pre-trip anxieties with Marido, which I am trying so hard not to obsess over.

I'm staying with a host I've couchsurfed with before, one of the nicest and most generous guys in all of Uruguay. And I feel like that says a lot, since I adore the Uruguayos. They are such a welcoming, caring people. I've been asking for quite a bit of assistance getting around town and reporting this guide, and most people are extremely helpful. On the bus yesterday to I don't even know where, the bus driver not only helped me to get where I was going, but inquired to where I was going afterward, and wrote directions for me as he drove, nearly swiping a parked car.

Being in town for the World Cup quarterfinals qualifying celebration was also a trip. Everyone headed downtown for the spontaneous celebration. It felt like they had won the title. As my host said, "People don't even care if they win. They will celebrate each victory because it could be the last." Thinking I could be Korean, people get grabbing and hugging me in the streets to console me and show solidarity. It was beautiful, and I was so glad to be here.

One of the strangest things about getting used to being alone is suddenly desiring the company of specific people, to whom I find myself constantly writing letters. It is like I cannot go a few days without writing to someone. When I am really happy, I miss people the most. I just want to share everything with my loved ones, but I am surrounded by strangers. Nice strangers, though.

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.

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.

Mom 'n Pop Detox

Live from Illinois, it's Saturday morning. I had a great 30-hour trip from New York to my parents' home, via Amtrak. It was wonderful, although there was a six-hour stretch somewhere in Pennsylvania where I almost regretted getting on the train, but it dissolved as the sun rose. I was sitting in the cafe car, drinking crappy/wonderful coffee, and watching the fields go by with my new friends talking about the book of Revelations...

It was a much, much-needed respite from the three-week bender I've been on. Just when I didn't think things could get much more wanton/drunken/randy, I hung out with Joe again, artfully evading his inquiries about (a) sex stains on my bed that didn't belong to us, (b) breast bruises that did not belong to him, and (c) what I thought about his plan to start a tee-shirt company. Prematurely possessive questions aside, this last one really got to me, because the world needs more snarky tee-shirts just as much as we need more babies, nuclear war, and graphic designers. I wanted to call it our last night together, but it is hard because I really do feel like his body was made just for me, and he left his flask at my place before going out to meet his family for Mother's Day.

I had to hustle him out of my apartment because this Swiss couchsurfer called me from JFK to tell me he was on his way over. I half-heartedly dragged myself around my apartment cleaning up disgusting things and kind of feeling bitter/overextended about sharing my apartment for the third, fourth, night in a row. But he was passed to me by Love Affair and Girlfriend, so I had agreed to let him stay two nights with me.

As soon as I opened the door to let him in, however, I told him he could stay the week with me. He was so fucken adorable! Thank you, Girlfriend! What a delightful Swiss gift! I promised myself I wouldn't sleep with him--it's kind of against the couchsurfing protocol, and he's a bit younger than me--but it wasn't my fault. It really wasn't. I'm only human.

The funniest thing about that whole situation was happened as I was leaving for Penn Station Thursday morning. I was hustling around trying to get my shit together and give him instructions on what to do, whom to call, while he was sat there in his underwear scratching his head, and he asks me, "So...what should I say...when your friends ask about us?" I knew exactly what he was saying, but it was so fun to watch him squirm, so I was like, "What do you mean? Tell them we met on Couchsurfing. Or tell them about Girlfriend and Love Affair. They know what Couchsurfing is." And he's struggling to say the right words in English without being vulgar, "No, I mean...about...not that..."

Hilarity!

So now, after that week of sluttery and drunkening, I am chastely sitting at my parents' house, sporting the patch, and remembering what life in middle America is all about: big houses, big cars, big meals, and big televisions. TV is crazy, man. Me and Little Brother are watching Pretty Woman at one in the afternoon, and there are commercials on for BecomeAnEx.Org, a quit-smoking program. It was a hilarious commercial, by the way. You must check it out.

patience, newest crush

With a loving reminder from Papa, I am practicing patience this week. It has worked out really well. The first example was when this chick I was out with on Friday started freaking out about losing her credit card at a bar and was about to rush home to cancel it, when I advised her to be patient, and went through her purse for her and found it. I was rewarded with booze. The second example was when the barbecue we were going to got canceled due to a fire, and we were about to rush off somewhere else to barbecue, but we decided to wait, and the Q was reinstated and we were rewarded with booze, brews, and burgers.

I am also practicing being patient with boys, but it is hard. Part of me wants to get back on the craigslist dating circuit, but the other part of me remembers that I don't really operate that way--although I've certainly tried. Last night I wasn't going to go out. I was tired as hell and I thought my liver could use a rest from the previous night's tequila assault, but I also kind of wanted to put some space between me and my current couchsurfer, who is staying with me until WEDNESDAY. I don't usually like people to stay with me for more than 3 nights, but he seemed to really need a spot. The thing is, he's kind of a strange duck and I'm not sure how to deal with him. I mean, what are you supposed to do when a bespectacled dude shows up--mid-thirties, lives with his dad, and hands you a comic book called "Boobie Biter?" I guess my response is, "Make yourself at home. See you later."

Actually, the real reason I agreed to goto the not-burned-down barbecue in Bed-Stuy was because Neighbor's boyfriend told me that Tyler would be there. I met Tyler two or three weeks ago, the day after my golden birthday smackdown, at someone else's birthday, also associated with Neighbor's boyfriend. I don't think that I was into him at first but then I found myself trying to impress him and simultaneously act indifferent and actually kind of hostile, and this schizophrenic treatment was because I wanted him to like me. This realization always grosses me out, particularly when it incites this weird behavior in me for no apparent reason--i.e., I didn't understand why I found him interesting. Maybe it was because Neighbor told me that she thought I'd like him, and also that he had a boring girlfriend that he was looking to get rid of. I like to be a catalyst for change.

Anyhow, I'm glad we got to hang out last night. I put on a dress and was on my worst whiskey-drinking behavior. I was being especially antagonistic, and we argued about everything from the baseness of human nature to exclusionary religious practices. Have I mentioned before how much I hate it when guys just sit there like bobbleheads and agree with everything I say? There is something about stubbornness that is a real turn-on for me, as idiotic as that sounds. Of course there's a fine line between having convictions and just being narrow-minded, but I admire people who stick by their guns. It makes them more interesting to me.

So, obviously, I have a crush on this young man, but I'm not in the mood to chase or obsess, so I'm just going to be patient, and trust that he will continue to make appearances in my life until the time is right. I got time.

this is the brief version

I am back in New York and straight into the first day of classes. I am inexplicably happy to be isolated in my little apartment, hiding from the freezing weather. I just ate a plate full of oatmeal-coconut-chocolate chip cookies with this stellar train of thought: Oh god, I have all these cookies. I'm going to end up eating them all week. Wait! I know! Why drag it out? Better if I eat them all right now.

So maybe I'm just weaning myself off a week of eating fried oysters and po'boys. I spent the last week of my month off in New Orleans, doing a little bit of volunteer work (digging ditches, painting houses) but mostly wandering around the city by myself, feeling alternately lost/confused and peaceful. At the 11th hour, the NPO I was signed up with got its shit together and contacted me, and I didn't end up staying with my couchsurfing connection, but at a Best Western a few blocks from the western edge of the French Quarter. They hooked us up there for $20 a night--more than the free lodging with my couchsurfing friend, but less than what it was going to cost us to rent a car.

I met up with him Tuesday night, and he took us to three sweet spots around town: Bullet's to see local trumpeting legend Kermit Ruffins, the Spotted Cat to see the Palmetto Bug Stompers, and then the Maple Leaf to see the Rebirth Brass Band. He gave me a bunch of recommendations for the rest of the week, and I ended up running into him every night. He was a big reason why I enjoyed the city so much.

Other reasons why my week in New Orleans ruled: (a) When you order a drink at a bar, they ask you "for here or to go?" (b) I decided not to worry about the other kids in my class who were there, and to just do whatever the hell I wanted to do, which was less hassle, and more fun. So I picked out what I wanted to do every night and did it by myself. (c) You can smoke everywhere in New Orleans, except for Preservation Hall.

YES the music scene in New Orleans is just as legendary as you hear. Imagine live music, free, every night of the week! I saw so much music last week that I may just have withdrawal symptoms this week.

Speaking of withdrawal...I've been smoking. ARGH! I KNOW...! But I've been on vacation for the past month, and I smoke when I go out and have a drink or two. In San Francisco many of my friends smoke, and many of us are cutting back, so we really enable each other when we're out together. So by the time I got to New Orleans, I was back to my old tricks. It didn't help that I kind of ran out of nicotine patches either.

But I'm not going to dwell on my failures.

I also developed a little crush in New Orleans, on a guy who I kind of pulled into our trip from another program. Although it's true that I fall in love with about 63 percent of the men I meet, I hadn't yet developed any interest in ANYONE in our program (yeah it's real bad), so this was a very welcome development. Our trips to Nola overlapped by a day, and I had a great time hanging out with him. I was happy to see him this morning in class, and we ended up getting dinner together before a meeting tonight. It was the perfect mutual ask too, where he asks what you're doing, and then you ask him out right back. I was so thrilled at this prospect that I could hardly concentrate on my reading about the origins of phylotogenetic repression. Yay! A crush who I will see a few times a week will truly make everything so much lovelier.

let it go, let it go, let it go...

I'm sorry, but I just can't. Something really fucked up has been bothering me.

So I had this charming couple stay with me the last few days. They were very chill, and I told them to please make themselves at home, and to help themselves to whatever. I meant it, too. Within reason. So, please help yourselves to: foodstuffs, shampoo, use my computer, borrow a sweater, I don't care.

But really? You're going to drink my only bottle of wine...and instead of recycling the bottle, you're going to put it back where you found it, like maybe I won't notice? Really? My feelings are hurt. And...my vitamins? You're going to take my bottle of vitamins? Come on, now. You could have taken a few, but the whole bottle? And that clearly homemade bottle of hot sauce my mother gave me in Chicago...you're going to...use it ALL? And then leave it in the sink for me to wash? Oh, it's all right. At least they gave me that bar of chocolate from Germany. No, wait. Where is it? Are you fucken kidding me? You ate it? I liked that shit. Apparently, I liked it more than I liked you.

I thought we were friends. Okay, let's say that you mistook that huge bottle of vitamins for yours. Maybe we had the same bottle, you saw it sitting on the kitchen table, and just threw it in your bag. Then I better get an email from you saying, "Oh, dude, sorry we swiped your multivitamins. I know that shit cost like ten bucks. It wasn't on purpose."

Otherwise, next time I see you, I'm gonna mug you like a Mitchell.

Update: I'm so going to hell...
That's right! I found the vitamins. They were tucked way back in the spice cabinet? Crazy couchsurfers. Does this mean I'm turning into my grandma, who accuses the cleaning crew of stealing her earrings? Oy.

craigslist dating III

Uh oh, I'm back on craigslist. Ever since my last posting got flagged and taken down, I convinced myself that I had an addiction and cut myself off. (Okay, I scrolled through one night last week, but I didn't respond to any.) But, like a true addiction, I came back to it.

I found a boy from San Francisco (my true goal here in New York: to find a boy from San Francisco. How fucked up is that?) who is coming here next week. That could be fun.

What about Boy, you may ask? Didn't I tell Boy I wasn't going to date any others? ...Well, Boy is out of town. Boy has left me high and dry to entertain myself for the next two weeks. And I haven't even kissed Boy yet. So there.

Also I had a mildly depressing e-conversation with my Ex, who just broke up with his long-distance girlfriend because he needs to get laid. Oh Ex. It's so fun to talk about relationships with your Ex, because who knows you best? Ex cheated on me more than once, and I accused him of breaking up with her just so he could sleep around without guilt.

Ex admitted I was right.

Oh Ex.