this imploding heart

out in the moonlight, just like we used to do

I've been taking opportunities to take long walks these days.

Yesterday I walked from the hill through downtown, to the kingdome's ghost, back down first, giving purposefully bad directions to men in matching polo shirts, through belltown to the Needle. Up Denny over to Olive and back up to the house.

Souxie and Camp Vassar and I walked to Linda's later, where I realized that I didn't have my ID, so I walked back to the house and back to the bar. We walked home again after that, a few hours later, but I don't remember much of that walk. We made a lot of friends last night.

Scott: "Sonya, those punks over there were having a conversation about you, talking about your skirt? And the tophat one was like "That skirt is awesome." and his friend saw your socks and was like "Check out those fucking socks.......I would fight for that."

You'll take me anywhere

I got a lot of first-quality treatment yesterday from my friends and family. Thank you friends and family. The lot of you.

Mom and Dad took me to dinner at the Local cafe, which is what took over the Green Cat on Olive. My dad ordered meatloaf, but they didn't have ketchup. The waitress flirted with him to ease his troubled ketchup-loving heart.

It's 1:09am, Happy Birthday To Me!

Okay. So the job that moved my parents out here is ending. The company was poorly managed, they're folding, and my dad needs to find a new job. To my suprise and delight, they both really want to stay in Seattle. Maybe move a bit farther into the city, even. But dad needs to find a new job with decent pay in the area before any of that can happen. This is his last week.

My big focus lately has been to try and arrange my life in such a way that my more basic needs (food, housing) are provided in exchange for some kind of part time work. When the housecleaning/cooking thing fell through, I started looking at situations like living with people who are learning to function with their mental illnesses in a group home (with other non-mentally-ill people as well) to help them adjust to regular life before going out on their own. And nannying school-aged kids in exchange for a basement room in the south end.
This is a pretty huge goal, because it means that I'm going to commit to going to school full time, and probably changing my entire lifestyle.

I was talking over some of the things that've been bothering me with my mom today when she said: "You know, Sonya. I know you don't really want this, but your dad and I would love to have you live with us. It's really the only thing we can offer in terms of helping you through school."

--Now, if you're thinking like I thought, you think: No. Freaking. WAY am I moving back in with my parents. No-Wippety-Do-Da-Way. I started packing to move out of their house when I was 16, I must have had SOME kind of motivation, right? I've been living alone forever! I'm still CAPABLE of living alone! Moving in with your parents is admitting defeat! What about the three basic fun groups? No Sex! No Drugs! No Post 1965 Rock N Roll!!--

So I sat there for a minute on the phone. "Well... hm. Mom, the thing is that I've carved out a life for myself that suits the kind of person I've decided to be, and-"

"I know. It would be limiting for you. You can't have friends over being loud at night and you have to be quiet if it's late, but we understand that you have your own life and ways that you do things. We can respect that and get used to changes."

My mom has had this fever for the last few weeks. Maybe more than a month by now. Just a pretty constant, low grade fever that makes her tired all the time. Her regular monthly bloodwork came out fine, so now we're waiting on liver biopsy results. Persistent fever is often a sign of organ rejection.

As we've been over many times before, my mothers aliveness or pending death has been an iffy subject for years now. She keeps getting unbelieveably sick, grinning her way through spinal taps and bile drainage tubes and infected cellulite that gets hot to the touch, and then miraculously getting better.

"What did the biopsy say?"?

"Oh, it isn't back yet. But it could be my liver, it could be my robot heart, could just be nothing. OH! I..ha! I had a dream last night that you spilled all the lentil soup I made for the ladies society dinner tonight all over the backseat of the van and I kept shouting "Scoop it up, Sonie! Scoop!" Isn't that funny? I just remembered that."

And it hasn't failed to strike me lately (again) that each year is a year closer to the inevitable. Of course the inevitable may delay itself another amazing 15 years. I just don't know how many years of modern medication one body can take.

And I start to think about it for a minute. My parents are going to move out of the place they're in now, and if I can convince them to get something closer in...

Lets look at the facts:

My parents moved to where I have already carved out a niche for myself and started going to school.

I hated living with my parents when I was younger because my parents lived in Idaho. I still can't stand town-life in Idaho for more than a week or so.

Having the opportunity to spend a substantial amount of time close to my mom and dad as an adult is actually really appealing. I know that my father wishes every day that he had spent more time with his parents as his own man, because his appreciation for them was so much greater. Many of the former dividing factors tend to melt away when everyone is responsible for their own decisions. I'm so jealous of my sisters for having my mom while she was healthy, and now for how much more time they'll have had her as an adult just by virtue of being born sooner.

All the room-and-board covered exchanges required some kind of work and thus, some kind of work ethic. I would have to have given up something in every one of the situations I looked at. If I treat my parents house as a workplace where I'm receiving compensation for a certain kind of or lack of behavior, working at my parents house is a fuck of a lot easier and reaps a much greater benefit than any of those other jobs. I can work at a more pleasing part time job and go to school full time without accruing any debt.

I can move out whenever I want. No lease, no long term commitment, and how often do your former roomates help you move into your new place and then make you dinner and tell you they love you more than you could ever know?

All this is entirely up in the air. Dad has to get a new job, I've got to make some key decisions, etc.

There's such a stigma about living with your immediate family, as if it's some kind of failure. Would I be commiting social suicide, or taking advantage of the greatest coincidental opportunity ever?

I'll just figure everything is cool

Some very foxy macintosh geeks came to the Derby and solved all our internet problems last night. They were followed by an unexpected (and also foxy) wandering minstrel. I had a slamming headache from repressing sobs all day, but the thing to keep in mind is that I have absolutely nothing to complain about, so I'd better get my shit straight and swallow those tears.

(easier said than done.)

This too shall pass

The only nice thing I managed to say all weekend was 'Hey you guys. Mercury just came out with a new car. An SUV. They named it THE MARINER. ...!? For FUCKS SAKE. It can't be a Mariner! It's a CAR."

And that wasn't even that nice.

How can I best sum it up? Maybe with a forecast: Continued uncontrollable public crying jags with chances of severe panic through the birthday.

no more forever.

Today, I sat and cried my eyes out over Chief Joseph and the Nez Perce.

Can't stand me now

I just bummed myself out by trying to figure out what's been the major focus of my day and realizing that I've spent most of it imagining a certain entity's greusome death. (Trained hornets that fly into the mouth and sting, swelling the windpipe and suffocating the fucknut. Stabbing a pen through the roof of the mouth and into the brain..etc.)

The Rock: If a person wrongs me in a certain way, it's really difficult for me to resist having horribly violent thoughts about them. Particularly when I feel powerless.

The Hard Place: I honestly don't want anything bad to happen to anybody. I want people to live happily with their friends and families. I want people to be treated appropriately so that I can be treated appropriately.

I'm trying to let it all roll off my back. I lost it for a minute in the middle of the day, so I called my parents house to see if dad was home. Mom picked up and made suggestions like: 'Get a doll you can stick pins in! Put an orange on your desk!' which ultimately made me feel even more powerless. In general, when it comes to the sort of relationship that's at hand, I prefer to talk to my dad. My mom has never really been part of the earning set, so this kind of power distribution is hard for her to understand.

"Daddy, I don't think I can take it. I'm losing my head. I want to (explicit description of violence.)"

"Have you been shopping around for something else?"

"I've put a few notes in, but I don't have much time considering I don't get home until after nine every day."

"That's probably exascerbating the situation. Listen up, though. Nobody determines your value but you. Don't let anybody, through their mouths or through their actions, fool you into devaluing yourself."

wasting time, that's what you're doing

Tuesday is a carbon copy of Thursday and same goes for Monday and Wednesday these days.
Up by 6:40 for work at 8, frantic task completion and phone answering until lunch. I take my lunch at Cakes house, where I sit quietly and rub my eyes and ears like bread dough to keep them from blowing out of my skull. Back at work, more task completion, somtimes some homework. Leave work at 5, stop by Cake's house for my after-work/before-school eye rubbing session. Go to class until 8:30. Get home at 9:15, clean house for 20 minutes or so, start on dinner. Eat at 10:30 if I'm cooking, 11:30 if Cake is cooking. Take an hour to enjoy: The Only Actual Meal of the Day, Adult Swim, Not Talking, Not Listening, and Quietly Sticking It To The Man. Sleep the sleep of the dead, repeat.

When July is gone I'll be 24

I got my birthday present yesterday! Like everyone, I've been pining for an Ipod forever. Perhaps you've noticed, however, that ipods are a zillion dollars each. I just couldn't quite justify the cost to myself, especially considering the fact that the value will depreciate to almost nothing within a year or so. If I'm going to buy something that's going to be worthless in a year, I'd really prefer that it be almost worthless straight out of the box.

Because I haven't had any kids, my parents are generally willing to shower me with about 50 George Washingtons to celebrate my oh-so-miraculous birth. Between them and the sweet and thoughtful suprise gift certificate I received from a stranger this Christmas, I was able to pick up this tiny little number for the price of shipping. And it gets FM radio. And works like a zip drive for my schoolwork. And has a voice recorder I'll never use. And is 7/8ths of a zillion dollars less than an Ipod.

I'm feeling like a smart shopper.

got a hole in my heart that goes all the way to china

Sorry for the delay, my little butternuts. I got switched to a PC at work on the same day all things noematic went bust. The PC has very little to do with anything, (except for being stupid. stupid PC.), but thank you's are in order for the Sqwebmaster and his restorative skills. Thanks Sqwebmaster!

I didn't get my dream job for very shady-type reasons ("Oh, I see that you have a boyfriend. click."), but the anticipation of emancipation has put the taste in my mouth. I'm starting to get the morning-dreads. I'm snooze-buttoning, I'm thinking about calling in sick every day, I'm drooling and furious by 11am.
It's really unfortunate, because I love most aspects of my current job. There's just this one thing that's started grating on me, and I can't seem to get over it. Perhaps because the 'thing' has a lot of power over my career and the 'thing' needs a serious attitude readjustment and moral realignment.

So I'm keeping my eye on the prize. The Prize being the following:

I want someone who's willing to exchange room and board for clean house and 3-5 cooked meals a week. I essentially want to be a roomate you can boss around OR a housekeeper who's boyfriend can sleep over occasionally. However you want to look at it. Any takers who don't plan on murdering me and wearing my skin as a hat?

and you know that we can take it cause we're so tough

I've got my fingers and toes crossed.

You know how -usually- when something sounds too good to be true it's because the only part of the deal not mentioned is the part where you're expected to spank them with a dead opossum or something?

Someone posted an advertisement for my DREAM JOB on craigslist.org yesterday. I keep thinking that there must be some kind of catch. Some kind of hidden asterisk that notes *'Cooking' in this case includes dancing around in your underwear while I systematically sever my toes with a potato peeler.. Some kind of expected but unforseeable snafu. But I went ahead and wrote a letter of interest anyway. If I'm given the option and I take it, this will totally change my life...for better or worse.

I travel cross the desert to greet you with a smile

Both of my houses (as Cake likes to say) were out of coffee beans this weekend, so when I was approaching the pair of 6ft 7in tall men dressed all in black acting particularly street tough, one of whom was wearing a 3-D EYEPATCH SHAPED LIKE A COFFIN WITH A CROSS ON IT, I didn't have the presence of mind not to gush: "Dude, that is a KILLER eye-patch."

BTW

I'm SMing Spin the Bottle tonight, and it looks like it's going to be a really good show:

On the first Friday of every month Annex Theatre presents a late evening of unusual performance.  Performers of every description present short works that range from the unusual to the simply indescribable.  The show starts at 11pm at Capitol Hill's Oddfellows Hall, on the second floor in the East Hall Theatre, 1529 10th Avenue.  Admission is $7 and includes an entry into the raffle drawing.

Our next Spin the Bottle is Friday, January 7th . Be on the lookout for:

The circuitous lingo of Reggie Watts!
Silent movie antics from Andy McCone!
Delirious dance from Mary Sheldon Scott, performed by dazzling Allison Van Dyck!
A macabre character from Jonah "Baron" Von Spreecken!
The syncopated sounds of John Osebold, David Nixon, Tommy Smith, and more!
A sneak preview from Annex Theatre's "Pent-Up"!
The simmering thoughts of Jason Schmidt!
The usual inexplicabilty of Gude/Laurance!
Something truly deeply filthy from returning smuttress Keri Healey!
And more, more, more!

Including, as ever, the refreshing damp drizzle of our host Bruce Hall.

I look around to find her but she's gone

I'm making an animal noise, but I can't remember which one it is. it goes kind of like...Mwaok! with a big 'a'. Bwaaaak! chicken. Mwak! duck. I guess it was a mixture between chicken and duck.

When Tiny and I were sans-company in NY, we spent a lot of time doing our favorite things. One of our favorite just-for-us things to do is to walk around and practice our animal noises.

"eheeeeioheeioheeioh"

"That's not an animal noise, Sonya."

"It's an elk noise! I was calling elk!"

"Okay, okay I've got one. ahem. M-m-m-m-m-eh-eh-eh!"

"That was a nice sheep!"

"Yeaaahp. ah. I'm a natural."

she's my favorite.

UPDATE!!

I just realized what it is. I'm making the noise the cadburry bunny makes.

but then my homework was never quite like this

Well, I've made it through the first week of winter quarter. I'm back to 10 credits again, so that means I get off work at five, go to class at six and stay until 8:30 Monday through Thursday now.

I'm taking Pacific Northwest History Monday and Wednesday. This is my first 200 level class, and holy crap am I thankful that english is my first language. The first little reading assignment was a paper about 'sense of place', concerning the ways that human inhabitants think about their geology as part of their personal sense of place in relation to work and natural resources and way of life, and how the people who live in a place have to be considered as a part of the place history. It was one of those articles that uses the same word to mean 3 or 4 different things, and while I understood it, it was so jumbledypeg that I couldn't regurgitate the information without confusing the pants off of everyone with the word 'Place'.

TuesThur is World History 1500-1800. This is a 100 level, and it shows. Dude is all: "The reading assignments are mostly suggestions. Don't sweat it if you don't quite finish them, just come to class with enough information about them to be able to discuss."
There are a lot of Running Start (High School advance program) kids in the class which means, for the first time in my life, I'm on the lecherous end of the "Well aren't you the tasty jailbait niblet" spectrum. These inclinations would obviously be illegal and disasterous and are not to be flaunted or acted upon, but any class is more interesting when there are hot hot hotpants around. (This is Cake's favorite part about going to class in the daytime. More hot girls. Fewer old ladies who ask half hour long questions and send emails in all caps.)

The younguns, however, are the least of my worries. Both my current Profs tend to dodge around the classroom and pick up on every passing tangent with wild abandon. MW obviously loves/hates the Pacific Northwest with the same kind of passion I came home from NY with, and his family is old school PNWestern just like mine. TTH has a breakneck stream of consciousness monologue that is not so much random as 'not the direction you expected it to go." So far, history professors are turning out to be Extremely Enthusiastic Motherfuckers.

And I am damn hot for enthusiasm.

I don't even really care what the enthusiasm is about. You could come up to me and say "I'm CRAZY about identifying the makes and models of dump trucks! Did you know that while there are 3 major dump truck manufacturers in the United States, most state owned dump trucks are made by specialty truck companies other than the major 3?! WOW! Dumptrucks are awesome!", and I'd generally consider you quality makeout material.*

So I guess I'm experiencing 2 naughty and somewhat conflicting firsts at the same time. Hot for young and fresh faced students, Hot for balding, enthusiastic teachers.

Again, the situation is made ever more delightful by their total inaccessability. Both are husbands and dads and on staff at a school I attend. Besides all that, I've been going out with Cake all this time because he's the most insanely enthusiastic guy I've ever met. (But don't tell him that. He thinks we're going out because he's handsome.)

*this does not apply to know it alls, only excited learners.

Out here in the field

I have a sneaking suspicion that the people who write CSI:NY are tapping into my brainwaves (or my internet presence). At least once in every episode I've watched (5), one of the characters has used a word or a line that I hold particularly close to my heart.
Example: Last night in the first half, 2 detectives are talking and one says something like "Ramsey is the previous gallery owner." and then the other guy says "Who? Mister Sweatervest over there?"

MISTER SWEATERVEST!? very interesting.

I wish I had been taking notes from all the previous episodes that had terms I'm particularly fond of using and pretending that I coined. It's uncanny! In the end of the episode, we discover that the lesser of the 2 murders was caused by frozen toilet debris falling from an airplane. More specifically: "You mean the guy was killed by a CRAPSICLE?" Need I say more? Who the fuck else uses crapsicle!? It makes me sound like a dumbass and I'm relentless with it!

Watch CSI:NY! Convince your paranoid self that the TV writers can see inside your head and are gleaning your favorite catch phrases!

There isn't any more. I'm just saving something here for later.

Download file

Hey! You got to hide your lovely ways

Tiny and I were both retailed-out by the first, so we spent most of the weekend engaging in our other favorite activities: Eating breakfast, walking around having complicated conversations while looking at stuff, and snuggling under the covers while talking about boys.

We walked through Volunteer Park to the conservatory to warm up. The conservatory is almost as good as the aquarium in terms of crazy natural occurances, plus it's free and smells like summer. It's been unnaturally sunny, beautiful and freezing in Seattle lately (knock on wood) so the conservatory was bright and extra warm. Somehow this prompted a big conversation about power and the global economy, so we went to the cemetery.

"Ew, we're walking on dead bodies."

"Shit man, they don't care. Look how many of the Spanglers are buried in these 3 plots! That's some effective land management."

The best part of the walk was coming across a headstone that read:

Ellie May Hartfordson
Assasinated by Her Husband
April 1890

Aged 20 years

It was flat and plain white, and very similar to a few others we saw.

"Assassinated. Wow. Why do you think they used Assassinated instead of Murdered?"

"Somebody sounds royally pissed. She was only 20!"

Clock strikes twelve hey don'tcha feel so well

Oh man, internet. You missed a doozy of a New Year party at the ol' Derb.

At 8:00 the evening of, we were a little worried that making punch for fifty had been a bad idea, since we couldn't figure out who of our friends had said they'd come. Roxy and Max had crepe-papered both the front rooms in black and off-white, we were all dressed in maximum spangle and we finally just decided that even if nobody came at all, we'd still dance our sparkley asses off together and drink knockout punch for the next week.

We shouldn't have worried. Tons of fun folks showed up, drank, danced, sang Happy Birthday to our New Year Baby Max, kissed on the porch, got stoned, got sick in the bathroom, spilled punch on the floor. By 10:30 we were making a second batch of knockout punch and I was doing that awesome thing where I dance with abandon for 15 minutes and then cruise through the rest of the party winking and pointing at people, "heartcha", occasionally wearing a mask and accidently sticking myself in the eye.
All in all an absolute success. But you want to know the best part?

People started showing up at 9:30 like we asked, so I was still sober and collecting coats and greeting guests when motherfucking TINY ROOMATE walks through the door. Totally unexpected (she didn't let *anybody* in seatown know she was coming), I kind of lost my shit for a second and whooped and cried. You've gotta give me a break though, because I haven't seen her since she left NY last summer. She was the best damn new year present ever.

I was busy doing drunken dance-gymnastics most of the night, so I didn't end up taking many pictures, but I'll wrap it up with me and Alisha A well after midnight.