Mervis

2004-01-29T00:43:00.000-08:00

Two things I can no longer tolerate:

Cheese of the feta or goat variety.
Used to eat it, now I want to project it out of my body if I try to eat it. So sad to give a whole category of cheese. Two, really.

Cucumbers. Green peppers.
From the 'Oh my God, I'm turning into my Father' Dep't.
What can I say? I'm like an Alcaseltzer commercial. I like green peppers, but they don't like me...

We went to see "Lost in Translation" at the Arclight and not five minutes before the end, the manager came in and told us there was a security issue and we all had to vacate. So all I know is that poor Scarlet Johannson is still hanging out in the lobby of a Tokyo hotel, looking moonie eyed at a dashing Bill Murray. What happens? Do they run off together? Does he stay for an extra day so they can fuck like rabbits? Do they have a Casablanca ending? Magnum mysterium.

2004-01-20T23:21:00.000-08:00

From 'Valley of the Dolls'

"I'd marry anyone who'd give me a nice beaver coat, a part-time maid, and let me sleep 'til noon each day."

No fucking shit. I'm not sayin', I'm just sayin'.

So I asked for the raise and didn't low ball myself. He didn't balk exactly, but he made it clear that A) I deserved it. but, B) He can't afford it.
So I'm getting something and we're dicussing it after the weekend. The weekend, for which I live. So sad, it's come to this.
Goddamn. I really need to go to bed. Am I out of my bloody mind? Why am I still conscious?
Ok. Night night.

2004-01-19T01:46:00.000-08:00

OK, wow. check it out.

2004-01-19T01:01:00.000-08:00

Turning off the tv is the hardest thing I do every day. And I don't even have cable. I don't even have good reception.
I'm feeling sort of...not blue exactly. Taupe? Red's mad. Green's jealous. Yellow is decidedly chicken. White is, too, but in a stunned sort of way. Orange sounds sunny, and anyway it reminds me of that ridiculous business with the Alert. Black is far too morose for what I'm feeling.
That's just it. I'm not exactly feeling anything. I thought yoga would put me more in my body, to use a sort of theraputic term. But it really hasn't. I just have sore ass and arms.
Oh dear, therapy tomorrow. I missed last week and will have to pay double. I have one hell of a time getting and staying there. I feel bored. A defense, probably, but it doesn't really feel like one. More like I could be better using my time. The Red Cross. Feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, finding housing and anti-psychotics for those on the streets. But I'd end up shopping for shoes and bath products, I suspect.
It's like a fucking shvitz box in here. I can't regulate the heat very well, and I hate waking up cold in the morning. It's hardly conducive to getting up, in spite of what some people say. I don't find it invigorating, I just want to curl up for longer with the dog.
To bed! To bed! Tomorrow I ask for an 8 dollar raise. Believe me, it's still not enough. Not by a fucking long shot, and he knows it.

2004-01-16T00:40:00.000-08:00

Are we posting yet?

Amen, brother.

I could go one of two ways.

Living in New York or Paris as a very highly paid call girl. A small but elegantly appointed apartment, weekly trips to the spa for maintainance. Fabulous, complicated underwear. Perilously high heels. Taxi's only. Fucking interesting and sexy men who know what they're doing. Total discretion. And of course there's the smoking and the vodka. How else does one cope, darling?

A working ranch in Montana with ranch hands. I live in the big old farm house, which I'm refurbishing. I quilt, can tomatoes, green beans, pickles, peaches and ten other things from my kitchen garden in advance of the harsh Montana winter. I have horses and dogs, and raise grass fed, organic, hormone free black angus and I sell primarily to a shochet, a kosher butcher. I also start a small yoga studio what was originally the drawing room of the big farmhouse. I occasionally take a lover, but mostly I write.

2002-11-21T14:15:00.000-08:00

Busted, I've been. Charles accidentally found this absurd blog. I would guess he's the only other person on the planet who's read it, which is fine by me. But really! And only the day before I'd thought of deleting it. I wonder if he'll come back to read more? God is a funny fucking guy, huh?
I have no idea where I'll be living next month. That's fun. Actually it will be alright. The worst case scenario is that I move in with Paul, who is a dear and who has a house with a yard that Tuffy can run around in. It wouldn't really be that bad at all. A happy Tuffy makes my heart sing. I miss him so much I can't really think about it. My heart hurts, but the pain was allayed by Charles love, passion and exemplary pussy eating skills last night. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

2002-11-13T10:16:00.000-08:00

I'm just a singer in a rock n roll band.
Not really, but today I would rather be waking up in my Hollywood Hills bedroom in an alcohol induced fog next to some hot young boy. Or girl. and then spend the next hour or two trying to piece together the random, brilliant flashes of memory from the night before. But who needs a memory when you're a fucking rock star?
Instead I woke up to the sound of a barely one year old puppy crying to go out and my roommate (who I now think of as the behemoth, but only in my head, not to her face) filling up the tub for her quotidien two hour fucking bath. So when I came back inside, having to piss like a bloody racehorse, I had to wait. Because I am too much of a chicken shit to knock on the door. And I just can't bring myself to pee in the kitchen sink. All that said, I'm in a pretty good mood this morning.
I am trying not to sabotage a budding relationship. He won't fuck me. Yet. It's fine. I know it's bcs he likes me. But is there to be no benefit from being over 30? Can I get laid, please?

2002-11-07T10:43:00.000-08:00

I did not vote. There. I've said it. For all my posturing, my lecturing about our constitutional rights and responsibilities, my watching and tearing up at episodes of West Wing, for the actual heart ache I felt at the death, and subsequent disrespect of the memory of Paul Wellstone by the DFL at his so-called memorial service... I am a fake. But they were mid-term elections. What do you want from me?

2002-04-30T14:54:00.000-07:00

The real axis of evil:

1. Environmental degradation.
2. Poverty.
3. A world awash in arms.
4. Oil dependency. (Which is the real problem anyhow.

"My pride swollen face has closed up my eyes." St. Augustin

2002-04-24T16:55:00.000-07:00

I am hating blogger right now because I just wrote a brilliant, succinct blog describing my current state of mind and the events which brought me there. So lame. Perhaps I can recreate the magic. For the second time in five months I've had my vehicle booted by the City of Los Angeles for overdue parking tickets, which I could not afford to pay. It's not like I had a honkin' big pile of them and i thought, why bother? It was more like, how the fuck? I got up at 6a.m. to take Tuffy out to pee and it did occur to me to stay up for the day, instead of returning to my still warm and cozy bed. In my perfect life, I'd stay up, take a mild digestive cleanser, do yoga, take Tuffy to the Canyon for a run, come back to the apartment for fruit, tea and a little bit of the New York Times, then head off to an AA meeting before going to work. And work would be a lovely studio with a decent piano and a computer, so that I could alternately bang out jaunty little essays and new songs to sing. Instead I hauled my lazy ass back into bed and oblivion, only to awaken to the sight of a bright orange warning sticker pasted to my windshield. Nice.
I've had to ask my boss for a cash advance fof 600 bucks (ouch).
Here's a quote I had post-it-noted to my computer in a fit of being very clever and cute (these thing always come around to bite one in the ass later):

"Trust is proving trust in the fullness of life in spite of the experienced course of the world" Martin Buber. from I and Thou. I think. But it's Buber, for sure.

I know it's only a lock on the wheel of my car, anchoring it to the parking spot just below my bedroom window, but it's the priciple of the thing. I'm a grown woman who cannot seem to keep her car rolling free. It's humiliating. And demoralizing. Really, I'm just broke, and every week the decision to eat or pay a ticket comes up...
Clearly, I need a parking spot. And some M-O-N-E-Y.

All that said, I'm really quite well. It's a weathery, gloomy day in Los Angeles and I like it. Not to mentio that the day is basically over, and I am looking forward to a hike at Runyon with my friend Carey and her dog ( a Belgian Malanois), Fanny. Tuffy will go out of his little skin with joy. He'll plotz. He'll pee.

2002-03-27T14:39:00.000-08:00

Now I can tell it's a full moon tonight. I really hate admitting that these kinds of things affect me. I want to believe that it's bunk. Moon, shmoon. I am not subject to the vagaries of the planets and their satellites.
Passover starts tonight, and I am looking forward to two nights of matso and charoset. I had my last bit of chometz for lunch. Avacodo and cheese on whole wheat and rice pudding for lunch. I was supposed to have the next two days off for the holiday...and I don't want to work and ought not to...
In spite of the amazing sex life Peter and I share, my life seems to be lumbering along these days. The harder I work, the further behind I seem to get. I cannot seem to focus on what I want to do: sing. write. Not that the lack of focus should surprise me. I spent eighteen years of my life listening to my father quietly, yet effectively, discourage every creative endeavor I had as a waste of time, or ridiculous. Funny, I know that today, he wouldn't dream of discouraging me. I don't mean to whine, but that is what I struggle against. The voice has become extremely sophisticated at keeping me in a dead end job, not singing and writing but never even suggesting to anyone that I have something worth reading. This blog is as 'out' as I can be without destoying myself, mentally, later.

2002-03-22T14:49:00.000-08:00

People are kind of nutty today. Or maybe it's me. Example: I was walking down the alley behind work on my way back form getting lunch and this yeshiva kid looks right at me in this sort of lascivious way and says, "Hello, there!". These kids are usually pretty resevered. I pointed out the moon in the sky (at noon) and he just nodded and grinned. I mean, it's not a full moon for nearly another week. Weird.

2002-03-22T14:28:00.000-08:00

I went to the homeopath for an hour and a half intake interview this morning and I'm exhausted. It was like therapy, but more expensive. Betrayal, salt, anchors, the ocean, drinking drinking drinking, sinking ships, isolation, human connections, wearing lipstick outside the lines...all bound together.
When I went to pcik up my lunch at Erewhon I saw Uma Thurman with her baby, waiting in line like all the real people. She was tall and plain and seeing her made me feel peaceful. Like anyone's life could be shiny and famous, just like hers.

2002-03-21T13:01:00.000-08:00

Eating Kung Pow tempeh with brown rice from the Erewhon Deli for lunch. Alot of kung, not enough pow, but it looked pretty on the plate, which has to count for something. The smog obscured view of the Hollywood HIlls notwithstanding, it is the most perfectly fabulous day to call into work too damn well and head for the beach with one's dog, demodex mange and all.

Pao. I mean pao.

2002-03-20T18:31:00.000-08:00

Read some stuff my boyfriend wrote.

www.abouttheauthor.blogspot.com

2002-03-20T13:41:00.000-08:00

From the Department of Genteel Poverty:
Today I am sporting a $170 skirt. I have 1 lb of tofu, a half carton of orange juice in my fridge, a quarter tank of gas, no dog food and thirty bucks 'til next week.

2002-03-18T13:58:00.000-08:00

Song I can't get out of my head: It's De-lovely!, as sung by Miss Ella Fitzgerald.

I'm just another self-loathing, disgruntled employee. How cliche!