Ya gonna eat that?

As much as I love my muffin top Polly, she doesn't fit in with my plans to not buy any new clothes until I finish grad school. It was bad enough that I had to buy all new jeans just last year, but now I don't fit in those anymore either. This means that my waist has increased by more than three inches in three years. I honestly don't think I would care so much if I just had bigger pants. But I don't, and I feel fat.

I wish I could blame it on a slowing metabolism, or American-sized portions, or the car lifestyle, but the fact is that I live in New York and I walk fucken everywhere. What I can blame it on is the incredible satisfaction I get from eating.

But no, satisfaction isn't quite the right word. When I eat, I'm never really satisfied. Basically, I have two stages: "hunger" and "ohgodifeelsick." I can't remember the last time I was really "hungry," because I eat about every two hours, and overeat about three times a day.

Like any normal girl, I spent most of high school exercising at odd hours of the day, eating reduced-calorie Snackwell's cookies, and fearing any weight gain that did not go directly to my breasts. After I left high school, though, some sort of pride in my appearance or fear of social exclusion due to fatness just completely evaporated.

It's not my fault that I have an intense oral fixation and wish I could be eating/drinking/smoking/makingout every second of the day. It is my fault, however, that I do not try to control this compulsion. It's also my fault that I allow myself to feel bad about it rather than doing something about it...

So yesterday I decided to go on a severe diet. "Severe" for me means eating only three meals a day, and having two of those meals consist of yogurt with crunchy things thrown in and, as Weight Watchers would say, "a sensible dinner." It also means that I am utterly miserable. I am one of those people that thinks about what I'm going to have for lunch as I'm making breakfast, what I'm going to have for a snack with my 11 a.m. coffee, what I'm going to make for dinner, and if there are any cookies around. And the first (and only) thing I want to do at home is eat. My happiest childhood memories are of me and my little brother coming home from horrible days at school and spending the next four hours running back and forth from the television to the microwave during commercial breaks, eating everything we could get our hands on.

I figure that if I want to lose 10 pounds I only have to do this for what, a year? Even if I exercise every day, I think it would take me forever to be able to fit into my pants comfortably. I'm so used to squeezing into tight jeans that I think I think I've rendered my uterus completely uninhabitable by any fetal matter. Maybe this explains why I've never gotten pregnant.

Speaking of feeling bad about myself, I was perusing craigslist yesterday when I came across a very hateful post where this guy was like, "what's with all the fat chicks?" etc etc and then he goes, "Why are there so many Chinese girls who want to go out with only white guys? I'm sorry, but nobody wants to go out with a stubby girl with a face like a pug." Oh god it made me so angry. You'd think that I would be over shit like this, but I guess I'm not. Every time someone says anything about Chinese people, I get pissy. It just reminds me that I'm Chinese, and that no matter what I say or do, some people will see me in whatever fucked up way they want.

Makes me so mad that I just want to bake a whole batch of chocolate cookies and eat them all.

Urm...I don't want to just post something about feeling fat and Chinese, so I will say that I had a lovely weekend, and that I hung out with a boy on Friday night who seemed to like me just the way I am, even though I tried to pick a fight with him. I don't know where all this anger is coming from lately, but I'm glad that I'm surrounded by soft boys who are willing to absorb it all.

Summer Regression Theory

I have serious San Francisco nostalgia this week. Even though I have my last week of classes and then finals, I was *this* close to buying a $200 ticket for next weekend. I think this warm weather is doing it to me. There are motorcycles out on the streets now and I am daydreaming of the ocean, the hills, and sunbathing/beer-drinking/dog-watching in Dolores Park.

This is the feeling I get when I think of San Francisco:



Just got off the phone with The Ex. I realized it had been a long time since we talked and I caught him on gchat and asked if it was a good time to talk. This happens to me a lot now. I get to gchatting and then it's like, "Wait...we could be having a real-time conversation, you know. Should we be crazy and ...chat-chat?"

It's hard to believe that we're so fully separated now. We're in the phase that I dreaded but also wanted, where we are supportive and friendly but have no idea what's going on in each others' lives. I guess that's what you want with a clean break-up, but it's jarring to hear someone say, "So tell me what's going on with your life...you dating anyone?" The Ex makes it hard too because he's always in a rush, and so conversations like these just beget very superficial conversations, and I hang up the phone still wondering how he's doing. At the end of our brief conversation he told me he loved me. He does that from time to time, and it always catches me off guard. One minute he's telling me about this new sandwich place where you can get outrageous toppings (like mozzarella sticks...MOZZARELLA STICKS!!!) and then, pulling me back into the last embrace where I felt really, truly loved.

Man, that fucken killed me.

So yes, San Francisco is on the brain this week, even though I am really excited to party party party all summer long in New York. I am not keeping my promise to myself not to obsess over the latest boy, but it is hard. I really want to see him again but I want to exude patience and confidence and play the Tao of Steve: Be Desireless, Be Excellent, Be Gone...

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.

Bitter Tulips

The rapid transition from winter to summer is bringing out my most schizoid personality traits. It doesn't help that I'm supposed to be in this serious business mindset in the final few weeks of the semester and all I can do is reflect on how little I've gotten out of my $chooling this year.

It was a little unnerving to be offered nine fucken dollars an hour at a part-time job this summer, which is less than I made making sandwiches--without a college degree. And when I hang out with My Friend, we get off on these tangents talking about the real value of our education and how it's pretty much just a big-ticket buy-in to the world of credibility for people who don't know how to create their own credibility and right-of-way.

Then, today I find out that some shmuck who was on our newspaper staff at SF State just won the fucken Pulitzer Prize. Okay, shmuck is a harsh word and to be honest, the extent of my interactions with Jose were pretty much limited to getting tanked at Joxer Daly's Thursday nights, but bitterness is just one schizo feeling that comes out in the spring, just like the tulips. More than hearing that my former classmates are married, having children, and taking adult vacations to Aruba, seeing him in a jacket and tie with the word Pulitzer Prize in the near vicinity really made me wonder what the hell I'm doing with my life.

I think I'm just feeling fed up because school is particularly annoying this week, and in fact as I write this, I'm actually in Hour 4 of a 10-hour group meeting, one of those group meetings that makes you want to, as My Friend puts it, "take a bath with a toaster."

Other than that, life is just dandy!

The Lose Your Shit party Saturday night was really fun. I danced, danced, danced until 4 in the morning, after playing some primo pinball and air hockey at Manitoba's on the Lower East Side. That bar was full of nice young men, and drinks weren't too pricey either. Looking for cute boys? Go to where the bar games are...

We booze, we boozed, we will booze

Yesterday was a day to reflect on. It started with my exciting purchase of plane tickets to Alaska and ended, predictably, with my head in the toilet. I was so plastered that I first threw up next to the toilet, and I still haven't cleaned it up because...well, that shit is gross and I can't yet handle it.

But in the 14 hours between the beginning and end of my day, I had a lovely post-birthday walkabout with Papa. I was feeling the loopy high of 8 hours of drinking the previous night, and we took advantage of the lovely weather to walk from Chambers Street over the Brooklyn Bridge. We meandered through Dumbo for a while, went up the Brooklyn Heights promenade, and then traversed the Gowanus Canal on our way to the Brooklyn Museum. We did this all on foot. I'm actually sore today. The whole day long we were just giggling and chatting and pointing at dogs. Papa is such a great ambling companion, and we were definitely moving at the same speed yesterday.

I can't stop talking about how ecstatic I am that winter is over. I honestly didn't realize how much the winter got me down. And I bet that if you did a study, you would discover that blogging decreases significantly in the spring and summer months. We're all too busy having fun outside to pause, reflect, and gripe online.

But now that spring has sprung, we can turn our attention to love love love again, and the confounding state of relationships today. Let us pray:

Before omelettes with my lovely neighboroommate, I got a message from a former lover, a guy I used to call My New Best Friend, because I was trying not to sleep with him. (It didn't work.) It's the second time MNBF has messaged me this week, which is a little strange, but that's beside the point. The first message was a photo of him wearing this hat that I'd given him. And the second message was a photo of Love Affair. No words, just the photo. I don't really know what that's all about, but I had this vision of them talking at a party, fishing for some common thing to talk about, and that common thing being a common lover. Brrr. I usually try to avoid thinking about shared bed partners.

Seeing Love Affair last week was a mixed bag. I think I used every possible excuse to touch him and kiss him. I got him to help me with some cooking and it really made me miss My Former Life, where we would cook together, eat together, sleep together...I told myself I wouldn't allow myself to miss him. But it just felt good to be next to him. Baw!

Anyhow Papa and my day transitioned into this very entertaining situation when we decided to go meet up with the kid I met in Chicago, the night that I Crown-Royaled myself into sleeping in my car. Let's call him Crown Royale Companion (CRC). I'm not attracted to him at all, but he'd invited me to meet up with him for the Murakami opening at the Brooklyn Museum, and I said yes. From the text message, it seemed like he was going with people, and I should meet up for a drink if I was around. Let me add a disclaimer here that one of our friends was "sure" that CRC was "gayer than a picnic basket," and didn't believe me when I said that CRC was hitting on me, and so I kind of was seeing this as a playdate with new friends.

Text messages have brought communicative ambiguity to an entirely new level.

Anyhow, Papa and I started to wonder if I was going on a date, so I made sure to mention in my next text that I was bringing a friend. I think this caused him to hustle to bring someone with him as well. It ended up being me and Papa, and CRC and CRCroommate.

So the four of us are strolling around the museum, and the dynamic was just funny because Papa and CRC and CRCroommate don't know each other at all, and I don't really know why we're there, because I'm not into CRC really. I thought CRCroommate was gay, so I was trying to give Papa and CRCroommate some space. I was also trying to give me some space so as not to make CRC think I was all into him, but I also didn't want to lose anyone. It was a little challenging because it was such a scene last night, with the collision of opening night and free first Saturday. The ambiguity of the arrangement was very funny to me. CRCroommate (not gay in the end) was probably disappointed that Papa isn't a hot chick, but was being a tremendously good sport about it all, and we had a nice time.

After the museum we went to the boys' apartment in Williamsburg and had beers. I started acting like a dipshit, just chattering to keep the energy up, but also to avoid thinking about the funny social dynamic. I was entertaining myself by rotating us about methodically so I wasn't just walking with CRC and such, and I was a little disconcerted to discover that I liked CRCroommate more than CRC. That kind of stuff amuses me. We then went to Barcade, which was great fun. It was just as crowded and noisy as the museum. We played a bunch of video games and then got crunched into a corner of the bar, where I connected with CRCroommate about architecture and urban planning. I decided I liked him a lot more. Then CRC came to break us up, and in response I went outside to smoke a cigarette and exchanged phone numbers with two boys who I got to talking to about pinball.

Anyhow, CRCroommate left after 3 drinks (smart guy) and we went off to a fancy bar where we somehow dropped more than a $100 drinking wine and eating prosciutto. What the fuck. I was so la-la by then I probably would have agreed to anything. Over the first bottle of wine, we got into a heated discussion about capitalism and the role of the financial markets in New York City specifically, and I found myself hating CRC because of the way he was arguing. He kept saying, "Wait, let me finish," as though we were just taking turns talking. To me that's such a power play in a conversation amongst peers. Part of the conversation is negotiating points and delimiting your own speech in the interest of participation. Again I went outside to smoke cigarettes and demanded to sit with these three guys who were talking about black holes. When I went back into the bar I ended up making out with CRC.

Now that I write this all down, it seems far less amusing. But now I'm stuck with wanting to see CRCroommate again, but not really CRC. Is it possible to make this switch? I didn't get CRCroommate's number. If I want to see CRCroommate again, I'm going to have to set things straight with CRC.

Then this morning I got this weird text (fucken text messages--although they are a hangover's best friend) from him that says:

"All the passionate talk of politics and social reform. Yet I sleep here alone. A man not of capitalist greed or liberal anarchy. But of loneliness."

Does this message give anyone else the creeps? And does anyone have advice for me on making the switch?

Do you think this will work?

Sausage Fest!

My excitement level for tomorrow's birthday party has reached junior high social dance proportions. It's great! My biggest concern is that I won't be able to sleep tonight. This also goes hand-in-hand with springtime MANIA SEASON! Woohoo!

And, at the eleventh hour, I am suspiciously close to meeting my quota of having 5 crushes attend the festivities. I hadn't realized I'd given my number to the boy I met while I was raving drunkenly at Soiree in Chicago, and supposedly he's going to show up. Then tonight I created a mini-spectacle of myself by purchasing an obscene amount of Rice Krispies for the centerpiece, thus attracting the attention of a man with a beautiful smile, to whom I also extended an invitation. I wonder if he'll come. Love Affair RSVPd today as well, for himself and two of his high school buddies (no woman with him, good job Love Affair). And, happily, My Friend will be in attendance as well.

The big question for the evening will be PhD crush, the most intense target of my affections. Discouragingly, when I ran into PhD crush today (first time in two weeks) he handed me the 'no' of the new millenium: I'll try to stop by later. So I'm not planning on seeing him, although, dear friends, that would really make my fucken night! So cross your fingers twelve-year-old girl style and hope hope hope with me! Don't y'all want to meet him?

I love parties! I hope that it won't be too much of a sausage fest, as Karim points out some of my parties tend to be. Man, if only Girlfriend and Sleepwalker could be here, I know they would totally clean up with me. I'm so appreciative of my New York family and I can't wait for us all to party together tomorrow night, but oh San Francisco, I'm going to miss you hard. I just know it.

Countdown to party time! Luis, Papagayo, Muffin, (keetens wish you could come!!), Wandering, get ready to raaaage! In a mere 20 hours from now I will be giddy and golden and glamorously 28 years old. I'm the luckiest girl in the world.

Kisses,
seriously

the queen of this here space

I'm feeling especially crazed lately, and it is all due to the fact that I'm in grad school and I have not a clue what I am doing, but I have many crazy thoughts and not enough time/direction to pursue them all. This story has something to do with it.

The other night I was back in The Chi and I decided to start drinking Crown Royale at 9:30 in the evening. This is what happened:

(first drink): This is nice. I like Chicago. This bartender is nice. I like this song. I wish I could get out of my head though. I can't believe this drink was $12. If Eric weren't DJing here, I would never have come in here. That go-go dancer screen thing is pretty fucken cool though.

(second drink): I wonder how long we have to stay here. I can't drink too much. I have to drive home.

(third drink): Dude, let me tell you about New York. Shit is fucked up. I kind of like it though. Oh you live there too, huh? Well, let me tell you about it. Hey, you need a drink?

(fourth drink): Man Eric, that was a great set. Meet my new friend. What's your name, dude? He's visiting from New York. Hey, you want to fight? I'm just kidding. Hey, you want a cigarette?

(fifth drink): Man this is great. I love Chicago. Hey, you need a drink?

(sixth drink): What are you talking about? I'm a great dancer. Fuck off. Who needs a drink?

(passed out in some bathroom): No, Eric, you can't come in. I'm fine. But I will need to leave soon. Get ready.

(wandering aimlessly down Lincoln Avenue): No, my car's not on Lincoln. It's...parked in front of another car. On the side of the road. (apparently I said the next thing 3 times) Man Eric, you know what's great? As soon as we find my car, I'm gonna get in the back seat, and I'm gonna go to sleep. It is gonna be great.

(7 a.m.): Am I dead? Oh my god, I'm frozen to death. Weird, I'm under a blanket though...but I'm not in bed...I'm in...my car. Parked...on the side of the road...on Diversey. Frozen to death.

When I got the lowdown on my behavior the next day, I was glad to hear that I'm not a bad drunk, and that I contained all of my grossness to the bathroom of some diner we were at. Also, I started to talk about how crazy I was feeling, but it made me sad, and so I stopped talking about, and started trying to beat people up. The things a person will do to get away from their craziness!

It is a very lonely feeling, and I am desperate for some real guidance. But I don't know who to get it from. I don't even really know what I'm thinking about, just that it's driving me crazy and I can't escape it. Some of it is circular thought. Some of it is just bottomless philosophizing. A lot of it leads back to Marx.

I guess it is grating on me more than I know. I hate the feeling of not being able to explain myself or what is on my mind. That, I suppose, is why I write. I want to know that what I'm thinking can be explained. If I get bogged down in heady thoughts that are inexplicable, they are pretty much worthless thoughts. What is the use of thought if it isolates you rather than connects you? But I am floating lately, and I try to get into things, and then I try to avoid them, and then I get frustrated because I don't even know where to begin. I don't even know how this all began.

Waking up in the icebox of my mom's SUV at 7 in the morning made me feel like the desperation is coming to a hilt, that all the thoughts that I've been having, all the explanations I've been seeking may not actually be getting me anywhere except towards psychosis, cirrhosis, and complete alienation from society. It is a weird sensation to wake up alone, freezing, and thinking, "I don't even know the last thing I remember. It all blends together into this confusing feeling that is so overwhelming it brinks on numbness."

And then the nausea kicks in.

As I drove home, I thought of the last time I'd woken up cold and alone, and probably saved from freezing to death by my high BAC. It was in San Francisco when I leaved by Ocean Beach, and I got locked out of my apartment, and I slept on the stairs for a few hours because my roommates would not wake up. Oh, these cold and drunken nights when we are so close to home...