2010 New Year Resolution

I can't even REMEMBER what my resolution for 2009 was. I'm sure it involved a lot of things I no longer have in my life now, so I'm taking a big fat eraser and starting over with a new one. 2009 clearly sucked. I lost two boyfriends, a city and a waistline not to mention a few friends. But going forward I'm setting a few goals I hope to reach in 2010.

1. Move back to New York


2. Finish my degree and teach


3. Buy a really good camera and start doing photography


4. Finish my book (and submit it to publishers)


5. Spend an ENTIRE year (12 months) sans boyfriend


6. Take a trip out of the country (even if it's just Canada)


7. Continue my pursuit to become 100% freelance (till I'm done with school)


8. Turn BurnOut NY into New York's premier go-to website for all things fab


9. Shop my ass off and re-work my wardrobe


10. Return to my size 6 jeans (w/o muffin top)

I think even more important than the goals we set for ourselves are the lessons we learn. So here, in addition are a few lessons I learned in 2009.

1. Don't ever move to Texas. Ever.


2. The most important thing in a relationship is that you live in the same city already.


3. Punching your blackberry will not make it work better.


4. Vegetarians can get fat.


5. Ex-boyfriends should be used as sex toys, nothing more.


6. The best medicine in life is booze.


7. Settling means you convince yourself it's OK to feel horrible more often than good.


8. Judging others is sometimes necessary to keep bullshit out of your life.


9. Don't allow anyone (not even family) to make you feel worthless.


10. No matter what....you can always go home again.

(©2009 Lotus B.)

Saying Goodbye to a Truly Fucked Off Year

I've been trying to avoid the inevitable reality, which is that come New Years eve I'll have absolutely no where to be. This would be the second time this has happened in my entire life, and this is somehow by far the worst of the two occurrences.

The first time, I was about 20 years old. I had just gone through the worst Christmas Eve break up of all time with the worst ex-fiance of all time. I was depressed and fat for various reasons. My attempt at suicide proved to be short lived since I ran into my mother and grandmother at the grocery store as I shopped for lethal items to off myself. So I gave up on giving up and instead was faced with the silence of New Years Eve. I laid in my bed and prayed that somehow my heart would stop and I wouldn't have to face another year. Instead, I fell asleep before the count down and upon waking decided to vigorously look for a new job (which I found). Things changed, slowly after that. But somehow here I am back in almost the same position.

Only this time I'm miles away from everyone. D has proved to be one of those estranged ex-boyfriends who looks at you as if you don't have an epic of a past together. And aside from him there is no one here. I've done so well at avoiding everyone that I couldn't even invite myself somewhere for the evening. In all honesty, I don't want to be anywhere. New Years is no fun if your out with people who annoy you. I thought about taking a cab to a downtown bar, dressing up and treating myself to all the alcohol I could afford stand, but then I don't see why I should get slushy drunk in public when I can do it, probably better, in the privacy of my own apartment.

I know this sounds pretty awful. So here is the part that makes me feel that despite this shit hole of a holiday season, I'm still better off than most people. So what if New Years, Christmas and Thanksgiving blew chunks? After February I am rid of this stinking ass city and it's brown water and beige people. I'm rid of D's cascading looks of boredom. I get to go home for a bit and be in beautiful California with the best mom in the world and the cutest grandma ever. I get to do nothing but relax and chill out with all my old friends and all my cousins. Then I get to skip my merry ass back to New York where I belong. I get to continue with all the things I have planned for myself in a place where I love to be. I get to be around my best friend and all the people who inspire me to keep reaching for what I want.

So maybe 2009 has proven to be the year from hell. OK. Well at least come Thursday I get to bury that bitch where it belongs. It's gonna be a messy burial, so it's best I do it alone. Just me and Jack Daniels saying "Fuck you 2009!" and promising myself NEVER to compromise my dreams for anyone else again.

(©2009 Lotus B.)

Death of a Blackberry

I suppose that'll teach me to be so damned dependant on my blackberry...

It all began last week when Valentine attempted to call me. I was sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone which had just lit up like a birthday cake, but couldn't show an incoming call or message because of that annoying little hour glass that was infinitely flipping over and over, as if I was somehow inconveniencing it with my silly phone calls. "Hold on a min..I SAID HOLD ON A MINUTE!" it seemed to say as I bit my bottom lip, knowing poor Valentine was taking the few minutes out of his hectic work schedule he could manage to call me. Any other day I would have answered by the third ring, but now I was helplessly glaring at my blackberry as if it was a screaming baby or a post office worker.

"My time is valuable! I am a person deserving of respect and forbearance!! Heed me!! HEEEED ME!!"

But it didn't matter what I screamed at the thing, it continued displaying the hour glass as my missed call icon began to tally three missed calls and a voicemail. Finally after ten minutes my phone completed whatever task that was more important than my relationship and I started calling Valentine back. I pressed the call button to pull up my call log and JUST as I was about to press "send" to call him back I was met with part two of the hour glass horror show. "Nooooooooooooooooo!" I screamed. I held the device in my left hand in disbelief and without even blinking balled up my right fist and plowed into the face of my blackberry, faintly catching junior high school flashbacks of my first fight with Damion Black who refused to keep his hands off of my developing boobs in computer class. For the moment relief took over my cheeks and I felt better. Then I saw the damage. A giant crack was stretched across my screen. Not sure why, but I still didn't panic. I was strangely satisfied as I watched my phone turn itself off then sheepishly back on as if trying to (you'll pardon the expression) save "face".

Well, now it's days later and I've already received my replacement phone (ALWAYS get the insurance plan, it works if you work it), and switched all my data and applications to the shiny, new unscratched, un-cracked device. Yet here I sit, lightly tapping my phone's screen with my fingernail. "Um hello?..." I whisper as I try to send an email- nothing.

As I'm told by my provider that all blackberry users are having issues due to a nation wide outage, I suddenly wonder how many insurance claims I can submit before they cancel my policy....


(©2009 Lotus B.)

Brittany Murphy- Dead @ 32

Brittany Murphy via last.fm

I'm not in anyway a celeb blogger, and I'm not even a cliche love story movie watcher...but strangest thing ever. I was bored and started watching this movie, Love and Other Disasters. Sipping coffee and just kind of zoning out. It's staring Brittany Murphy, who I always thought was just as adorable as she is annoying. Then a friend on Facebook posts that Murphy died this morning.

32 years old. Dead. Not only was it sad, it was just plain weird that I was randomly watching the kind of movie I don't normally watch with her playing the lead character.

Anyway, here's the link: http://www.tmz.com/2009/12/20/brittany-murphy-dies-cardiac-arrest/

Another young star gone due to addiction. It's as much sad as it is annoying.

(©2009 Lotus B.)

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Yay Mom!!

It's my favorite time of the year again!! California time. In less than 48 hours I'll be back in Cali with my family, friends and my baby-poo Valentine. I can't wait to hug my mom and sis and kiss my Grams.

And that's really all I have to say. ♥

(©2009 Lotus B.)

There Words Are Not Magical

i love you

i have your back

i'm interested

it will work out

i'm not crying

you're my best friend

i promise

i'm sorry

i wish...

i'm fine

don't worry about it

i'm just joking

the above phrases do not hold magic powers. when you say them nothing physical happens to you or the person you say them to. time does not stop, rewind or fast forward. things do not un-happen. people do not become beautiful or less appealing. tears do not evaporate. the world does not shake. money does not appear from thin air. people do not come back from the dead. memories are not erased.

these phrases are just words. letters and nouns collectively combined to make the sounds consistent with American English. Air is press out between your lips and your throat vibrates. that little punching bag in the back of your mouth wiggles. you might spit a little. you might say these words with conviction, or bass, or determination or fear. you might feel god swimming through you as you say these phrases. you might even believe them to be, but they are not and never will be magical.

they are just words.

I'm getting sick...no I'm not...Ugh

Image via Wikipedia

7 days till I go home to Cali, and here I am beginning to sniffle.

I can always tell when a cold is coming because my contact lenses start to feel like their trying very hard to annoy me.

I took my temperature; 97.7, whatever the fuck that even means.

I listened to Valentine's hush tone over the phone as he stepped out of work for the second time to check on me. "Wish I could put an apron on and make you tea and soup." he said. I laughed.

"Just an apron, right, nothing else?" I verified.

"Uh. Nah...I'd have on, you know, like the NASA space suit."

I laughed and he continued....

"With the, uh, with the apron on....don't wanna catch nothin"

My smile turned to a laugh, which turned to a cough.

Not sexy.

(©2009 Lotus B.)

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World AIDS Day 2009

AIDS is a PREVENTABLE disease. 2 Million GONE in 2008.

http://www.worldaidsday.org/

http://www.hhs.gov/aidsawarenessdays/days/world/index.html

http://www.gatesfoundation.org/livingproofproject/Pages/default.aspx

(©2009 Lotus B.)

Adventures in Office| The Mystery of the Poster Bandit

About a month and a half ago my boss came to me and asked if I knew who was posting all the haphazardly placed posters around the office and the entire 7th floor. I figured this was his way of asking if I'd done it. "No idea," I replied, "But it's been pissin me off too." He agreed and since then I've made it my mission to solve this mystery.

Whoever they are, they might be suffering from a severe balance disorder, because every company issued announcement that they litter our walls with is crooked and secured with VERY visible scotch tape. I've armed myself with a roll of double sided tape and I plan on rectifying this inconsideration as soon as I finish my broccoli noodle bowl.

Now, if only I had clearance to take down those ridiculous Christmas reefs that are cluttering the hallway. Ba-Humbug

(©2009 Lotus B.)

Fin

Yesterday while pacing nervously down the isles of Target, I told D that I have a new boyfriend. I felt like a newly converted atheist, casually saying goodbye to God. Not that D is like God. But the feeling of permanence that comes with a relationship that lasts for a while, is something that doesn't just disappear. It becomes a shadow on the wall maybe. A ghost.

As usual, he remained calm. A familiar cold set into my bones, as I pretended to browse the beverage section in the back of the store. He asked a few questions, which I answered honestly. It lead to me telling him that Valentine moving to New York with me was in the works. That he was willing to leave his job and take a chance on a different kind of life. Despite the cold winters of Brooklyn. Despite giving up his BMW to take the train. Despite every inconvenience one might see when thinking about that kind of urban life. It gave me a shameful sense of satisfaction. That's right, I thought for a brief moment, someone will.

I didn't feel haughty though, I felt rather numb as we wrapped up our conversation. It wasn't that D was unwilling to sacrifice for me. Sometimes perspectives can make all the difference. The sacrifices we made for each other never seemed to even touch the surface of sufficiency. I told him we should stay in touch as always. Finish The Office, maybe get a drink. He agreed. His tone was still stoic, his voice a little scratchy and I was sure he could hear me swallowing gulps the size of mushrooms.

I told Valentine that night that I'd had "the talk" with D. He was impressed, and asked how he took it. Fine, I said. He asked how I felt. Fine, I said.

(©2009 Lotus B.)

I've Been Cheating on My Boyfriend

http://blambloozers.tumblr.com/

Confessions are hard. I needed an uncensored arena.

*Boyfriend, meaning: this blog

(©2009 Lotus B.)

Electronic Tattoo

HAWWWWT:

It's Like...

...twisting my bubble gum around a cold finger. Creating a sticky apple-pineapple flavored rope...around and around. Hoping it won't snap. Hoping it will.

Hoping it does something. Anything.

(©2009 Lotus B.)

This is it, Joel. It's going to be gone soon

I was talking to Valentine the other night about love addiction. He said Dr. Phil was on Oprah explaining how some people are making up for a void in their hearts by constantly seeking or needing a mate. They always crave approval and attention, they always need to know that someone loves them and is committed to them.

He questioned his motives for a split second. I could feel him analyze himself. "Naw, baby." I said, "That's not you or me."

I want to find this person who invented the concept of "love addiction" and smack the daylights out of them. How could they sully love's pond like that? How could they over define the undefinable image of love, and pigeon hole it into some healthy quotation? Humans are messy and unkind, and afraid and undone. We're not supposed to fit our emotions and impulses into a clearly labeled box from The Container Store.

So what if I've had a lot of boyfriends? I like men. I'm a pretty girl, and I consider myself to be fairly interesting to-boot. So I tend to have a lot of options because of that. I sample those options and occasionally sit down to a meal hoping it might fill me (forever). Valentine is the same way (only the male version).

"So what", I told him over the phone yesterday, "we love hard. "

One day we'll all look up from our perfectly balanced meals and see a woman running through a flowery field on the TV screen. Her arms stretched out, and face to the sky as a long flowing dress catches in the wind like angel wings. The announcer explains in a buttery monotone voice that you too can be free of your clinical love addiction with one simple oral dose of Ileeva per day. No more pesky emotional attachments, no more loneliness. Just pure and simple well-adjusted, well-balanced, relationships that always make sense. And if they don't one day. If your confused or scared or desperate or hurt or disillusioned...just pop a pill and that deep seeded need for love with softly disappear.

Side effects may include: nausea, heartburn, empty-headedness, social failure, claustrophobia, sexual frustration, loss of perspective, dry mouth, and trouble conceiving.

(©2009 Lotus B.)

My Exegesis

Due in part to spending the past few days with a truly genuine man and comparing that to someone who I have slowly come to see as highly deceitful; I've decided to use my creative license and ever so liberally anonymously bash an ex-friend of mine.

Why do men cheat? Why betray someone who loves and adores in exchange fore a few forgettable moments of pleasure? Some might mystify the dirty facts and blow fairy dust on the truth to make it seem more noble than it is. But the fact of the matter is that men (or anyone) will cheat because they are ass holes. Because they're childish. Because they're scared and insecure. Because they have no idea who or what they are and need approval from people they know they haven't damaged (yet). Because they think they are the grand exception to the rule, and somehow don't have to answer to the petty guidelines that others try to abide by.

I had the "pleasure" of feeling the respect I once had for someone slowly drain out of my body and die because he can't seem to keep his dick in his pants. I had one of those epiphanies where I saw his truth in a flash of light as if I were giving a long speech in front of a crowd of people; suddenly chuckling to myself as I so vividly pictured them all naked. I hate it when people become laughable.

Well, friend, you are just that. Laughable. I genuinely hope you wake up and realize that an apology IS needed. You SHOULD be ashamed. You SHOULD get on your knees and thank the stars that someone who hasn't realized how much better than you they are has allowed you a second chance. You wreak of self-importance. Stop being so fucking pompous. It's unattractive and you can't carry it off.

Now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.

(©2009 Lotus B.)

An Open Letter

“Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls”.

-Kahlil Gibran

(©2009 Lotus B.)

In The News...

Not only is Alexis Hutchinson from my home town of Oakland, California; but her story about refusing deployment is part of a very long list of reasons I never will and never have believed in war. The 21 year old single mother of an infant son refused to show up for her flight to Afghanistan because she had no one to take care of her child. She was told at first by her superior that she would have to place him into foster care.

What else could she do?

Before we're anything in this world we're human, and after that, if applicable, we're parents. I don't know how married parents are able to leave their children behind to go over seas, let alone a single mother.

I just thought it was an interesting display of how the military can work sometimes.

Click here to read

*Photo: Associated Press
(©2009 Lotus B.)

So Long, Farewell

It was a nice (and kind of adorable) little run we had.

But now it's over.

I've calculated in my mind that I've broken up with 27 men in the last 13 years of my dating life. Sometimes they're the ones who pull the plug, sometimes I am. I think either way it's usually me doing it somehow.

Most recently, it was someone I actually had a lot of fun with. Someone I thought I had enough in common with to actually be intrigued on a pretty constant basis. He made the break up with D seem less like a terrorist attack on my heart and more like life just slowly changing. He wasn't a rebound, just a good guy.

But that's all behind us now, and we decided to end it last night. Which is fine. It was going to end anyway come January. I already started to get used to that one. In a way it was silly of us to indulge in the whole thing as long as we did. But this sort of thing has a way of just making sense until it doesn't anymore.

(©2009 Lotus B.)

Friday...

It honestly feels like yesterday was Monday. Here I am with my feet teetering at the edge of another weekend.

My stomach is tied in knots. Because once again, in life, I have chosen to take a chance on someone. I feel like I'm sitting through a shaky plane ride or clinging to the corner of a stalled elevator. I am helplessly dependant on the other shoe, which is sure to drop at any moment.

Speak of the devil.

(©2009 Lotus B.)

And I Quote...

If you've been paddling your little kayak along behind my ship's flowing rhymes through the waters of my travels so far, you might want to turn back here before you lose sight of the shore. Beware the deep. It may be that if you lost me now, you might lose yourself.

-Dante's Paradiso

4 Gentlemen & A Lady

It's quite possible, that I am more single now than I have ever been. It feels like there is no one, not even anyone who is just genuinely my friend within a 2,000 mile radius. Ironically...my ex-boyfriend is moving to Houston next week. Oz and I have grown a bit distant but are still friends, D and I have settled into ex-friendship (a hybrid of rebounding with your ex on a platonic level), and someone I've known nearly a decade (which feels like my entire life), whom I never really dated but have always thought the world of is coming to town next week as well. In a sense...I will be a totally single woman surrounded by 4 ex's starting next week. FOUR.

Does that seem fair?

I relayed this fact to my sister over the phone the other day and for a second she wreaked of jealousy. She, who is happily married to my brother (in-law) whom everyone adores, and who adores her to no end. The two of them are in the "process" of attempting procreation and embarking on the next glorious phase of life where you start to truly become an adult for the sake of a new little life. As she envied me, I was envying her in return.

Of course, I'm more than aware that I'm in no position to have what she has. For the most obvious reason, which is that I have absolutely no permanent prospects. Not that I want any, but I can allow my mind to wander on the subject a bit....at least for the purpose of this blog post.

It's not a secret that I'm in the very least NEARING that part of my life. After all I was perfectly prepared to marry D, have his children and start a real life with him. If it weren't for the un-ignorable components of our relationship that were tragically missing, we would probably be planning a wedding right now. I was ready... just not ready to settle and make someone else settle for something that wasn't right. I refuse to commit to someone that I have to squint at in order to see them as perfect and who does the same of me. Smearing all the jagged lines, and pretending a blurry version of each other is good enough. No thank you. I'm not looking for perfection, but I would like perfection's half brother. Distant cousin, perhaps.

So from time to time, and as the "Engaged" announcements continue to fill up my Facebook page, I do feel that pang in the depths of my stomach. It reminds me that I'm at a very exciting place in my life. I'm single. Single in that REALLY single way. Where I am not obligated to anyone or anything but myself. On the other hand, I know I CAN be in a relationship. I'm capable of being with one person, if he's the right one, and making something work and possibly building up to what me and D almost had and beyond what it should have been.

In the mean time, I kind of get to just be me again. Sure, these last few months in Houston will be kind of a bore. But once I get back to New York, I'll have school to look forward to. Setting up the new website with Tia, partying and meeting new people, writing, kissing the air in Brooklyn and whatever else might come my way. I'm looking forward to FINALLY, after a long time of holding my feet in the air...planting some roots that I might want to share with someone one day.

(©2009 Lotus B.)

This Is It

Last night after coming home from work, I changed quickly into my favorite jeans, patchwork faux python sandals and my favorite purple sweater and waited for D to pick me up. We were on our way to go see This Is It , the proclaimed last performance of Michael Jackson. I had my doubts, assuming it would be nothing more than cheaply done, rushed footage of things Michael probably didn't even want anyone to see. But our mood was pretty light as we caught up with each other's lives in the car on the way over, found a parking spot and headed into the theater.

I'll admit that I wasn't overly surprised that the theater was only two-thirds full, and that some woman with a bad weave job fell asleep half way through the movie, making me feel really bad for her poor date who brought the most boring woman in the world to dinner theater. I have been to maybe 10 or so clubs in Houston, 5 or 6 lounges and countless movies....there never really is a crowed in very many places from what I've seen.

The beginning of the movie was Micheal's dancers talking into the camera about how grateful they were to have the opportunity to work with Jackson. I could tell it was filmed after he died, because most of them couldn't hold it together enough to finish their sentences and it was also very delicately scripted. My expectations for the movie suddenly fell towards the floor.

But then Micheal got on stage. I never realized how extensive rehearsal was for live concerts. Micheal was singing in his flawlessly vibrato voice, and dancing across the stage as if his shoes were dipped in oil. 50 years old, months away from his final breath and he was just a kid again putting on a show.

Going to see this movie, you have to take it for what it is; a marketing scheme. Jackson left a large amount of debt, and in that way I wonder if he'd even be upset about the footage being put in theaters. After all, I'm sure he didn't want to leave his family with that much debt. But aside from all that, the movie is also a tribute to his fans. Its proof that Micheal lit up when he was on stage, that he was a big kid at heart, that he loved nature and the world and that music meant everything to him. He knew every beat of every song, every chord, every rip, every note. He seemed to be taken back to his childhood when he performed a few Jackson 5 numbers, loosing his voice suddenly and looking as if he could barely make it through the song. But he knew every step of the dances and performed them as if his legs were on strings and his body was transported to the hay-day of his childhood career.

Bottom line, don't see this movie if you don't want to support the exploitation of Micheal's fame in order to pay off his enormous debt. But...see this movie if you just want to walk away from Micheal Jackson's legacy knowing that he was in fact an entertainer and, still could wipe the floor with any of the so-called "pop stars" of today.

Good for him.




(©2009 Lotus B.)

Right Now Sucks Ass

Today and the days sandwiching it, suck ass.

There's nothing to say.

I have two deadlines and nothing to write.

I have a person coming to visit me in about 2 weeks who literally scares the shit out of me.

I am bored out of my mind.

I can't spend money like a lush anymore because I'm saving to move.

I was going to make a haiku, but I can't contain my malignant thoughts into the 5,7,5 rhythm...

(©2009 Lotus B.)

While My Ink is Still Wet...

Excuse me while I cut to the break down....

I've never been touched that way. Until he ran his fingers across my keys placing mislaid periods and commas, so we could feel the breaths. And pauses. I don't remember ever feeling so warm from the creation of a sentence.

He penetrated me, pulled me closer, penetrated me, pulled me closer, penetrated me.

We created a time capsule where I was a child and he was a child and we could step inside of it's chamber and look around and smell the air and taste the water. Even though it was choked by my apprehension, even though it was brief and left me wanting more but scared to touch it again; it was the best sex I've ever had.

(©2009 Lotus B.)

"When Do You Ever Enjoy Your Life"...he said

I've found that one of the most tiring efforts one can possibly ferret after is the approval of others. Aside from the fact that it's painfully pathetic, it's also virtually impossible to have EVERY ONE'S approval. Every one in their own individual complex lives, with their own stupid idiosyncrasies and imperfections has an ideal about life that is as diverse as a thumbprint. One person's mathematical equation is another's aesthete rhythmic prose.

So more and more, when people begin to paint their approval or disapproval onto my skin I immediately shutter. Like last night when a new acquaintance of mine asked if I wanted to get out with him and have a drink. "Nope" I said, "I have to work tonight and be up early tomorrow." Work, at that moment meant write. I was chasing after a 12000 word project for a publisher in Oregon and working on the details of a site Tia and I hope to have up in the next few months. Being "up early tomorrow" was so I could be at work-work on time. The work-work that pays my bills and will ultimately fund my escape form cowboy central and back to regular society where I belong. My new acquaintance scoffed at my tight-lipped response, "When do you ever enjoy life? I'm flying to NYC this weekend to see if the Yankees win..."

Blank stare.

Side eye.

His assumptions were suddenly suffocating me. The gull of someone who hardly knows me at all to first assume that I don't "enjoy" my life, and secondly assume that what I was doing at the moment wasn't bringing me any pleasure. Not that I orgasm with every sentence, but writing is like breathing for me, like therapy. 12000 words is definitely intimidating, but at that moment I wouldn't had preferred to be anywhere else but in front of my laptop letting my head pour into a Word doc. I wanted to tell him all of this, but realized there was no point. His idea of enjoying his life was simply and at this time in my life, different than my own. He wanted to go out on a Thursday night and get drunk. Doing that would have been pointless for me on at least three separate levels. As for his NYC comment.... part from not being a Yankee's fan (go A's!!) I'd much rather LIVE in New York than visit. But that's my ideal, not his.

I simply replied, that I do in fact enjoy my life and that I hope he has fun in NY. I went back to what I was doing and laughed to myself. True, it's slightly out of my MO to turn down drinks on any night of the week (flashback of nursing a horrible hang over on the subway to work after 30 minutes of sleep). But I'm too far gone, folks. I have a mission and it's in sight now. I don't want to waste a moment on anything that doesn't have to do with writing, or getting the fuck out of Houston.

(©2009 Lotus B.)

The Most Awkward Conversation in the World

A few days ago D and I made it official.

That's right folks, after much deliberation we are in fact totally and 100% EX's.

What made our "divorce" official?

That awkward conversation you have with someone you recently broke up with where there is more than just a hint passed between the two of you that you have both definitely slept with other people since the separation.

And it's OK!

I mean hey....he's perfectly entitled.  As am I.

I mean...heh...that's what BREAKIN up is about, right?

Sewing the, uh..wild oats an' shit.

Good for him.

Good for me.

Boy..... this feels GREAAT.



(©2009 Lotus B.)

Theory of Evolution

I know that if I step back from the canvas and take in the entire scope of the story, I am only at the beginning. There is so much that is hard to see right now. I know that "this too shall pass" and before I know it I'll be painting the walls of my new apartment in Brooklyn, and taking bitter cold walks to Tia's house for wine and chit chat like before. I know I'll look back on this and think of how grateful I am that I was such a hanger-on-er. But right now, for this moment and for the few days immediately surrounding me, I am miserable. From the cockroach invasions to some of the country-ass social retards I deal with at work, to the bittersweet awfulness of living so close to Desman and so far from my family. It's times like these a girl like me needs to make a few simple lists:

Things That Make Me Miserable:

1. The girl at work who thinks I'm an idiot and doesn't realize I'm just more polite than she.
2. When D acts like we're strangers.
3. The fact that we actually ARE strangers.
4. My hair…I never should have straightened it.
5. Those disgusting cockroaches that crawl around all over the fucking place.
6. How being "different" isn't considered a commodity here (in this city).
7. The girl at work who is painfully afflicted with diarrhea of the mouth (different girl).
8. Hurricane Season.
9. Not having a car or access to a convenient transportation system anymore.
10. Weather that feels like living inside a whore's vagina.  

Things That I'm Grateful For:

1. The ability to write about any and everything that is on my mind (publically or privately).
2. An amazing best friend who keeps me sane.
3. An apartment in Brooklyn that is mine for the taking. 
4. A pretty face. 
5. A mother who (and I've checked into this) is the BEST kind of mother to have. 
6. The learned ability to give things a try before I dismiss them. 
7. My blackberry. 
8. A place to rest my head, cook my meals and read my books. 
9. Ossie's return home this Sunday. 
10. My guts…which will allow me the nerve to chop my hair off again (coming soon!). 
11. A job that pays me well enough to live, save, and occasionally enjoy myself. 
12. A detachment with the shitty worldly things that turn people into animals. 
13. My confidence in my personal belief system; there is a God and she is everywhere. 
14. Vegetarianism; we live longer and apparently taste better… 
15. The 50% off coupon I got in the mail for Adam & Eve dot com…. (Google it if you don't know). 
16. The left over Chinese take out I plan on murdering when I get home today…Lo Mein is my boyfriend. 

So I guess, as long as my list of crummy shit is shorter than my list of fab shit, I'll be ok. True, at this moment…I kind of half want to quit my job and run out into the street screaming "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!"….but I also half want to close my eyes for a second and tell myself how strong I am and tell myself I've been through worse and hope that my mother is right about all this; that all the miserable crap is really just to shape us into better people.

(©2009 Lotus B.)

Giant Cockroach Resurrected

A peace had finally fallen upon my apartment here in Houston.  I was no longer tearing apart my entire bathroom before taking a shower every morning.  The giant can of RAID was placed back under my kitchen sink and I was starting to feel like me again.  After the last cockroach episode, it was nice to finally stop living in fear. 

The other night I came home and decided to tidy up a bit before company came by. I vacuumed, dusted, washed some clothes and did the little things I'd been eying all week but couldn't stop to do.  When I was finally finished I was ready for a long hot shower to wash away the day and the smell of Lysol on my skin.  

You see where this is going....

No sooner had I pushed back my lavender shower curtain did I see it hovering above me like Satan's own diabolical pet.  This one was ENORMOUS.  At least 3 inches long with a scowl I swear I could see with my own little eyes.  I looked at him, he looked at me.  There I was once again, terrified in my own bathroom wearing my birthday suit frozen from the sheer idea of having another cockroach invasion.  

I bolted out of the bathroom.  Again I was screaming bloody murder as I ran through my entire apartment.  Again I grabbed my boobs as the deathly sounds of terror came spilling out like a war horn.

I ran back to the bathroom and stood just outside the door, peering in while whimpering, tears now streaming down my cheeks.  "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhh" was all I could manage to say in a desperate whisper.

There it was above my shower, not caring about the state of panic he had thrown me into. Then I realized, I was actually panicking.  This was no normal reaction.  I was shaking uncontrollably, my head was getting light, my limbs were cold and numb and suddenly my heart felt like it was going to explode.  DAMN IT, I thought to myself....I'm having a fucking panic attack!!  I tried to breathe calmly, empty my mind and think of a safe place. There I was, with my hands in the air (a trick I use to keep them from going numb) telling myself that I was in the shoe department of Barney's New York (one of my safe places).  

After catching my breath and still not taking my eyes off the disgusting creature in my bathroom, I ran to the kitchen and got my handy-dandy bottle of bug spray.  I let loose on that thing with the vengeance of a disgruntled housewife.  I screamed, "Die! Die! Die!" as it flew from the wall to my shower curtain and somehow managed to retract inside itself, shrinking it's body in half and becoming a fat bug ball glistening in the rain of my constant spray of poison.  It was the most disgusting thing I'd ever seen before my eyes.  It was clinging from my shower curtain.  No signs of life, no signs of death....just this ambiguous presence.  My gaze still firmly on the roach I felt around the carpet for my pants, then my tank top...then my cell phone.

I called my friend who was on his way to my house.  "Ho...how close are you to my house?"

"Like 30 or 45 minutes...why?"

"Remember when that roach ....there's a roach...I have a...a...a...there's a thing in my bathroom."  

He laughed.

"Well kill it..."  I love it how people who don't have these fears of insects or spiders make little helpful suggestions like that.  How easy it must be to live in their world without fear of giant cockroaches that might possibly crawl into your bed at night and lay eggs in your hair.

"I sprayed it...but I don't know if it's dead."

"Well spray it some more then."

"I ran out."

After hanging up with Mr. Helpful, I called my other friend...who could help me even less being that he lives in California.  At least he shared in my disgust.

"Eeeeeeeew," he said coughing back the image I'd placed in his head. "That’s nasty, man....kill that mufucka!!"

"It's LOOKING AT ME!!"  I shouted falling back into panic.  

A half hour later, I'd become a ball of submission on the floor outside my bathroom, still staring at the roach who I'd now named Ernie, when my friend finally knocked on my door.  He stepped inside, put his Jack in the Box bag down on the kitchen counter, drew two sheets of paper towel and stepped into the bathroom.  He admittedly agreed the sucker was pretty huge, then calmly grabbed it in the paper towel (a crunching sound was heard) and flushed it down the toilet.  He washed his hands, and then looked at me as if I were some kind of insane person.  

Still, days later as I sit relaying this horrific story to you all, a part of me can’t help but feel a little sad for Ernie...having to die like that while being screamed at by a naked black girl grabbing her boobs in terror. May he rest in peace.

(©2009 Lotus B.)

Onomatopoeia

Lately I've been heavily contemplating the ideology of love. How much it comes and goes, and takes on so many faces. How it's so complex, but often unfairly simplified.

I wish love were a harder word to say, like "antidisestablishmentarianism" or "onomatopoeia"...instead it's almost easier to say "I love you" than it is to sneeze or fart. And so, people use it so often, and so freely...sometimes forgetting that the confession of love can sometimes and easily be a lie, even if by accident.  

Click HERE to continue...

So, It's Decided...

I'm going back to NEW YORK!!

The adventures of Wiki & Lotus continue...

(©2009 Lotus B.)

How to Boil Water

D and I never had a mountain of things in common. The bulk of it centered on entertainment. We both liked dancing our asses off at Luca's, a lounge/club in downtown Oakland. We both liked eating new types of food. We both liked to shop, and we both liked The Office. For some reason that crazy little hour long NBC show brought us together every week, even in the midst of trouble.

When we broke up the first time and I moved to Brooklyn, we both stopped watching. Maybe he stopped because the introduction music reminded him of my "Office Dance". Maybe I stopped watching because I missed his overly-boisterous laugh that tromboned out causing us to miss major plot points. Things fall apart.

So we ended up being about a season and a half behind, and mutually decided this month to rectify that with a running Office marathon (via Netflix). Season 4, disc one came yesterday.

D picked me up after I'd had time to come home from work and change. For a while everything felt normal. Everything felt untouched and aside from his new car, nothing seemed different at all.

"You hungry?" he said.

"I could eat."

"Thai Cottage?"

"Hell yea."

Without words we both already knew what the other wanted to order (tofu chili basil for me, spicy wings of paradise for him). We started towards Pearland and as I saw the traffic speckled horizon my stomach began to drop. Oh yea I thought, we're going to our house...his house...The House.

The house where truth was rudely shown down on every single existing flaw in our relationship like over head lighting on a room full of trannies. The house I left incomplete and half empty while our nosey neighbors watched...surely whispering to one another.

"I should tell you right now," he mumbled, "The grass looks like shit."

I laughed.

I can only say that walking back into that house after 2 months felt like walking through an old neighborhood. I felt the same way when my mother and I went back to 68th avenue in East Oakland to the house both of us grew up in and realized someone else now lived there. I looked around and saw the small touches he had added, the gross addition of bottles of alcohol at the bar in the dining room, his collection of vintage 70's TV show and movie posters he'd hung in the game room and of course he had inched the red leather sofa we'd picked out together closer to his plasma TV. I hated when he'd done that before. "This room doesn't have to center around the dummy box, ya know." I'd say. He'd nod.

We watched a few episodes of the Office, although I didn't do my Office Dance. He still laughed boisterously and I still forced him to rewind it and "shhhh, so we can hear." Some things were very much the same.

Still, I can't help but feel nostalgic and a little left out, as I'm sure he does every time he notices small changes in my life take place without him. It very much felt like a pot of water I'd walked away from and revisited to finally find a few tiny bubbles making their way to the top.

Kanye West: Multi-Tasker...

He apparently found a way to draw attention to himself, and simultaneously suck Jay Z's dick...

Forgive me, I don't have TV (by choice) , so I'm a few days behind with this whole scene at the 2009 VMA's. Not to mention I've been boycotting MTV and BET for years now.

Kanye, as talented as he may be, is a disgusting person for his little act (which I saw via You Tube) and fame can't save your soul. I heard about it and laughed, thinking it may be more innocent then it sounds. Then I got curious and You Tube satisfied my itch for details. As I watched Kanye's short ass rip the microphone from the overwhelmed and humble Taylor Swift; I was reminded of a 2 year old snatching his sippy cup from his mother.

MTV is just as bad. God forbid anyone should go up there and start spouting out the f-word or speaking against Viacom directly....they would have cut to commercial in a hot flash. But when their biggest money maker, their black ken doll...Kanye West comes up and ruins the first time award winning moment of a young singer...they couldn't seem to find the easy button. This is why I don't listen to pop music and why I have never had any interest in indulging myself in watching those silly award shows. My advice to those who do: read a book.

Mama Bear, Sissy Bear

"Oh, I'm just gonna squeeze you and kiss you all over!!" My mother squealed on the other end of my office phone. I rolled my eyes, then tried to hold back giggles. In reality I wanted to tell her that not only was I super excited to be seeing her, but that all my love would probably come pouring out and I would cry and grab her and hug her and throw her through the wall.

This is how we love in my family. So big, that it hurts.

My sister is also coming this weekend. "Sister" always seems like such a plain choice of words for her. She's more like my esophagus....or my spine. She's like the nuclei to every cell in my body. My sister is me...only older and probably much wiser. But only slightly cuter.

When they visited me in New York I could hardly muster up the energy to show them all the wonderful amazing things the city had to offer. Here in Houston, aside from the ridiculously shamefully wide range of eateries and the "who shot John" cockroaches....we're kind of left with the main components; hot weather and miles of sky and time to talk.

The best part of seeing them, under any circumstance is that it's a refresher course in who I am. Seeing my mother's wide shy smile and hearing my sisters mountainous laugh. These are the things that are more a part of me than anything else I've become recently. Underneath it all, even when I'm far away and even though I'm not all that high (yet)... they keep me grounded.

Relationships Are Like French Fries

I watched a film today called Pull Out, a doc film about a woman's journey into her past. In it she interviewed the objects of her most important 5 relationships over the past 15 years. She spoke with 4 of them, one refused to be interviewed, the other who was so obviously David Eigenberg of Sex and the City (Steve, Miranda's husband) chose to remain anonymous and another who asked for the crew to stop filming as soon as she asked the most important questions. I couldn't help but feel a of little of two things. Sorry. For her, this 35 year old woman who couldn't see that she was far too needy to hold onto any man. And familiarity. I've been guilty of the same crime. Going back, that is. There isn't a single ex in my entire life that I haven't gone back and talked to later.

The thing about going back is that after a break up, almost immediately there is a staleness that takes over. Suddenly such a familiar person is a stranger. I've had ex's tell me I was and still am the most amazing woman they ever dated (blush), and I've had an ex tell me I should kill myself. That is the range of emotions I evoke in the men I've given my love to. Leaving the past in the past has never been my strong suit, and now I wonder if that will hinder me down the line.

Rarely single, always available, never quite comfortable enough to strike out completely unshielded. These are things I feel describe me. And yet, I'm unmistakably aware of the truest fact in Relationship 101. That is that relationships are like french fries. Quite addictive, but never re-heatable.

The image is clear in my head. I am standing before a dirt pile, a shovel firmly in my grip. I stand over a 6 foot deep hole, housing the live bodies of all of them. There at the top is D, smothered in confusion and unanswered questions. I scoop up a mound of moist earth and toss it in. I am in a killer black dress and heels. I have not brought a date to this funeral. I bury them all alive and call a cab. I am now free to find the next man. Or to not find him. (But probably to find him).

To watch Pull Out click here

The Day After Tomorrow...

It's Thursday and my mood is GREEN.

It is the day after (WARNING: TMI coming) my period and I am extremely horny.

There.

I said it.


Now no one come near me, or I shall hump thee.

Money Can't Buy You Time...

When people ask that age-old question, "What would you do if you won the lottery?"...my thought tends to drift to something Barbara Streisand said in one of my Mom's favorite movies (The Mirror Has Two Faces).

"...Whats the point, I still look like me. Only in color."

I know when people think about winning the lotto, two main components come to mind. One; that they would be swimming in more money then they could ever imagine. Two; that all they had to do to get it was go to the store and buy a ticket. In that one swoop of events, their lives are changed and the ability to buy whatever their hearts desire is finally within their grasp.

When I think about winning the lotto, or any large sum of money without much effort, my thoughts fall on God. God didn't invent money. He probably never meant for us to scramble around chasing after green pieces of paper that fly around all day. Saying things like, "Thank goodness it's Friday!" and "Sorry, I was in a meeting." Buying work pants and bringing frozen lunches in old grocery bags. Sitting in a cubicle, staring at a screen, slowly going blind in more ways than one. Some of us work because we have a fire in our belly to be what we've worked so hard to be. But even then, the majority of us do it because at the end of the day...we HAVE to. We need money to live. Money is everywhere and in everything. From the keyboard I'm touching at this very moment to the carpet I'm planting my feet on. Money is in our televisions, our cars, our children, our stomachs and our beds. Nothing is ever an even exchange, because the entire idea of money is profit. The world has created the idea that some things are worth the amount on their price tags, but all money accounts for is time. All it really adds up to is time spent chasing something that has absolutely no actual worth. Maybe it's easy for someone who has never invested in anything besides a mash-up of moderately priced clothes, to say that money means nothing.

And I won't even pretend to be that ignorant.

It comes down to this. If I had millions of dollars and everything the capitalist world had to offer was a click away.... I would finally feel like I had an actual life. Ironically that' s the freedom of not loving money. I wouldn't need to go buy some huge house, or fill my closet with thousands of dollars worth of designer clothes. Because once you take that road, how do you ever really leave it? I'd rather go live in the city I love (New York) and rent a loft apartment in Williamsburg, fill floor to ceiling shelves with $1 deal books from Strand. Invite friends over for weekend-long parties. Take my mother to Spain. Back-pack through Europe with Tia and Anthony. Sleep in on Mondays and have the privilege of sending my children to whatever school their hearts desire. I would still wear my old black sweater with the ripped pocket in the winter. I would still take the subway. I would still look for the cheapest plane ticket for trips back to California. The only thing that would change in my life, besides the scenery, would be the long sigh of relief as I wake up and remember that I can live the hours of my days as I choose to. And that I don't have to wait until Saturday to feel human again.

The Guinness Book of Texas

Before I left California, I never really thought of states in the US as separate entities. I knew they had their own birds, flowers and flags. I knew they all had a thing or two they were particularly proud of, but generally I just thought since we're all in the same country....whats there to be so competitive about?

Plenty (apparently).

Since moving to Houston, and I must say this may be the the MOST annoying thing about living in this city, I have encountered so many people with the worst state-pride version of Big Man's Complex I've ever seen. Did you know that if there was a Guinness Book of US records, Texas would be at the top of every list? Ask anyone here, they'll tell you. If they don't have the worst roads or the craziest drivers they have the largest malls or the best Christmas light show.

A little perspective is in order here. Sure, Houston is a very big city...big as in footage...BIG city. Texas is a big state. So 9 out of 10 times that I ever bring up my own home state in either a positive or negative light...I am slammed with some chart topping fact..."Well Houston has a huge amount of homeless people..." I mean what's to gain in telling someone that seeing a few homeless people gathered under a bridge or at the freeway entrance asking for change is nothing compared to the hoards of homeless in San Francisco, Portland, DC or Manhattan? How can I explain to someone who has never been to Santa Monica or San Diego that there are nicer beaches than Kema or Galveston?

I've been holding this little rant in for a while, because the sheer concept of being annoyed by this is so....annoying. The fact that I could be irritated by this meaningless verbal competition Houstonians are so obsessed with makes my skin crawl a little. Their "little" big city is full of itself and for no apparent reason. I'll tell you what they've got on the rest of the country; Fat muther fuckers, Huge cockroaches, Fashion that's at least a season behind and Absolutely no natural skyline. There...you want a trophy?

The Fearless Freaks

A favorite band of mine, The Flaming Lips. A friend of theirs put out a doc film about the bands unlikely story of success and failures. Any Lips fans, or fans of unique rock might appreciate...

Courage, the Cowardly Lion

Never wait for courage. It's an illusion that courage comes before the leap. Courage is what comes after we realize we survived the leap. Step up to the water, let your toes hug the edge, hold your breath, close your eyes and jump while your still scared shitless.

A Giant Cock...

Short story, won't take long:

I woke up this morning feeling pretty refreshed. I had a nice long 8 hours, and before that an awesome dinner consisting of all my favorite vegetables and a new kind of lemon tofu I was trying out. I already knew what I was going to wear; the whisper blue slacks I hadn't worn in months and my favorite puff sleeve black sweater (its cold in my office). All was right with the world.

I walked into my bathroom and turned on the shower. As I waited for the water to turn hot, I pulled out my new clay face wash and mask that I'd gotten from Organics and smeared it all over my cheeks laughing at my crisp white face in the mirror. Ahhhhh, Wednesdays, I thought to myself.

I turned to step into the shower when all of the sudden a giant cockroach the size of two conjoined black olives scattered from the drain pipe and started bolting up the tile in my shower.

Blood curdling screech.

More screeching.

Running out of the bathroom screeching.

Then into the kitchen, clutching my boobs as if they could save me.

There was not a man in sight. All I had in my defense was an extra large can of Ant & Roach spray that I bought when D accidentally brought me over a baby roach infested bag of rice (which I forced him to drive all the way back and dispose of).

I held that can of Raid as if it were my only hope of infinite life in the face of Armageddon. I doused the criminal with the Raid and screeched as it fell to it's doom in the half water-filled tub. I watched as it struggled and twitched in the water, then gave up and let death rescue him from his misery. I was triumphant.

"You know roaches can hold their breath under water." Tim said this morning after I replayed my horrific bathroom battle to him while we stepped into the elevator.

"I know.....
........like....for how long?"