I liked you.

Then, i found your Myspace page. I am so disappointed.

April Fools Fall In Love (Redux)

What the fuck was i thinking? I flirted and somehow i fell. Before falling, i thought he was already down there. But now, i think i might be alone. Another full moon in two days. Maybe a good time to make wishes. What would i wish for? For him to love me? Or to make sure i don't love him?

I can barely remember when i noticed. Now-
am i tired or depressed? I won't love him till i know him or at least until i know he loves me.
He can't make me. But i wanna say, "I love you."
I used to want to say, "I hate myself," so things are changing, bad poetry and all.

You'll Get a Free T-Shirt!

From the good people at Save Darfur:

Greetings!

Tomorrow is the big day! Hundreds of people will take to the streets during rush hour to ensure that Fidelity hears loud and clear that their support of genocide in Darfur MUST stop now. Thank you so much for committing to join us for this important event – we can’t wait to see you there!

We're happy to announce that Manute Bol, Sudanese NBA player (retired '95), Council Member Eric Gioia, Council Member David Yassky, and Yhaya Osmoun, member of the Darfur People's Association, will be joining us in our call on Fidelity to divest from PetroChina.

We are REALLY looking forward to seeing you there! Here's all the information you'll need.

When to meet: 7:30 a.m., Tuesday, April 24th

Where to meet: Whitehorse Tavern, 25 Bridge Street, NY, NY 10004 (4,5 to Bowling Green, R,W to Whitehall, 2,3 to Wall St, 1 to South Ferry, J,M,Z to Broad St)

Google Map Link

Frequently Asked Questions

What should I bring?
Your enthusiasm and commitment to the cause!

If you bring a small bag you will need to keep it with you for the duration of the event. We will supply t-shirts, visuals, and leaflets.

What should I wear?
The weather is expected to be sunny and in the sixties, so please dress accordingly. Wear comfortable clothing and shoes. We will supply a t-shirt to wear.

Can I bring a friend?
Of course – bring everyone you know! We would like as many people as possible to join us in our call on Fidelity to divest.

What if I need to leave before 9:45 a.m.?

We encourage everyone to stay for the duration of the event, but we realize that some people have other commitments. Even if you need to leave early, please join us and stay as long as you can.

See you tomorrow!

Sincerely,
Joanna Rooney

4-20

I shan't be around to post on 4-20, so in advance, a little 50s propaganda for you. Like the man says, "Hundreds and hundreds of teenage boys and girls are becoming hopeless dope addicts every year. It's fantastic!"

Indecisive.

Indecisive, i walk toward San Loco. Do you truly want another guaco loco? Or are you walking in the direction of your dealer? Oh, look at that. I am walking toward his place. Let's see if he's home. Too bad. Not there. San Loco doesn't sound so good.

I walk down Broadway. Wendy's. Because earlier, i had a brief craving for McDonald's, but not even at my stoniest, people. Why are these chicken sandwiches so expensive? Further south to the deli that serves bibimap. But i guess only before 6. Their chicken sandwiches are more expensive than Wendy's. I keep walking. How far down am i gonna go? I head back to Wendy's. On the way, i pass a halal stand. A gyro is 19 cents less than a spicky chicken filet. I buy it and walk to Prince Street where the R is waiting for me.

Upon my return home, the dog is barking. The house smells like gas; a burner has been left on. Dog shit on the carpet. The piece of chicken i'm eating seems to be particularly chewy. Oh. That's because it's a rubber band.

And RIP, Mr. Vonnegut.

A Picture of Myself

I took a picture of myself from every angle that i could and asked--
"Am i pretty if you look at me from this direction?" I was at someone else's house.
She is more important to me than i thought.
I returned, found an angle i hadn't thought of,
asked the same question;
the answer is no.

Tibetan Personality Test

So, my dear friend, Bev, forwarded me this personality test. After one click, you are told that the "Dalai Lama suggests you read it to see if it works for you." Before you begin, you are requested to make a wish. I wished to fall in love during the month of April. I took the test, read the results, and was intrigued by some of the interpretations. My interest lessened significantly when i was then told that my life would improve drastically and my wish would come true if i sent the test to 15 or more persons. Ew. I hate chain letters and according to this web site, the Dalai Lama has nothing to do with the test. Ew. I'm posting the test. Below the questions, you will find the results. If you don't want to have the computer-generated results of a decades old, falsely advertising, sketchily insightful identity test-cum-chain letter spoiled, then don't scroll down. If you want to know yourself, meditate. Try this book for a good, down-to-earth start.

(1) Put the following 5 animals in the order of your preference:
Cow, Tiger, Sheep, Horse, Pig

(2) Write one word that describes eaxh of the following:
Dog, Cat, Rat, Coffee, Sea

(3) Think of someone, who also knows you, who is important to you, which you can relate them to the following colors:
Yellow, Orange, Red, White, Green

(4) Finally, write down your favortie number, and your favorite day of the week.

And the interpretations:

Cow signifies career.
Tiger signifies pride.
Sheep signifies love.
Horse signifies family.
Pig signifies money.

Your description of dog implies your personality [mine is cute, apparently.]
Your description of cat implies the personality of your partner.
Your description of rat implies the personality of your enemies.
Your description of coffee is how you interpret sex.
Your description of sea implies your own life.

Yellow: someone you will never forget.
Orange: someone you consider your true friend.
Red: someone you really love.
White: your twin soul
Green: someone you will remember the rest of your life. [is this different than the yellow interpretation?]

Your favorite number is supposed to represent how many people you ought to forward the test to; the day of the week you choose is the day your wish will come true. Before getting all meh about it, i was struck by the fact that i wished to fall in love, yet sheep was the last animal i listed. Indeed, before writing down my answer, i thought, sheep are kinda gross. I also declined to choose a favorite day of the week. I'm extremely busy ( like all of NYC) and all the days are giving me an equal amount of pleasure and suck. So, no falling in love for me this month, i guess.

My vedic horoscope did, however, tell me a "positive phase will run for possibility of new relationships, which could have a long term potential." But not that long because "unmarried people might not get a chance for marriage this month."

April Fools Fall in Love.

It's been a long time since i've been in love and i don't see it happening any time soon. Being alone runs in my family, although my mother is the one sister in her family who is married (and quite happily!) She is not married to my father, but she is married to my dad, if you know what i mean.

I've been flirting with someone, but that's as far as i figure it'll go. It's as far as i want it to go. I'm enjoying it thoroughly, but i need to put an end to it. I'm fairly certain that he has feelings for me, as they say, and i don't want to lead him on, as they continure to say.

Tomorrow is a full moon, an auspicious time to perform spiritual practices, like meditating and being honest.

Earth Hour

I just received this today from our friends down under:

EARTH HOUR - 7.30pm to 8.30pm - Saturday March 31, 2007


Earth Hour is a fabulous opportunity for you and your family to do
something about climate change. On one night, in one hour, more will be
done, more will be demonstrated, and more will be learned than through a
hundred 'talk-fests'. And you can help make it happen.

What is Earth Hour?

It sounds simple, but it is very, very dramatic. At 7.30pm on March 31st
2007, we will be encouraging companies, government departments,
individuals and families to turn off their lights for just one hour. If
we meet our objectives during the first Earth Hour, the savings in green
house gas emissions will be the equivalent of taking 75,000 medium sized
cars off the road for one whole year! Now that's something worth doing.

Why?

The facts are alarmingly clear:

* The climate is changing! The 10 hottest years on record have
occurred since 1990. In fact 2005 was the hottest year since record keeping
began.

* More than 95% of the Great Barrier Reef will have been destroyed
by 2050 if carbon dioxide emissions aren't reduced. (WWF-International)
* One million species worldwide are facing extinction due to
climate change.

But not everybody listens to the facts. Earth Hour is your opportunity
to demonstrate how a simple change in our way of life could change, and
help save, our planet.

The goals of Earth Hour:

Households : Most of us use unnecessary electricity. Appliances on
standby,
old style light bulbs, lights left on when we're not using
them. Earth Hour will help us all to realise just how simply we can make
a dramatic impact upon global warming (and our own power bills). We will
see it in action.

Companies : We want companies to be involved. If every company turned off
its lights when the buildings weren't in use, and
combined it with energy saving technology, we would save between 2 and 4
million tonnes of greenhouse gasses every year. Earth Hour will show
companies just how easy that is.

To make it an annual event : Out of the 8,766 hours in a year, let's
give one back to the earth.

What you can do:

Sign up to Earth Hour and Pledge to turn off your lights on March 31st
from 7.30pm to 8.30pm by logging onto www.earthhour.org

You will receive all the information you need to make Earth Hour a great
success (and to cut your own energy bills in the long term). Pledging is
free.


Get off standby : Turn off all the electronic equipment and appliances
in your home that are not being used or are on standby. Computers,
televisions, stereo equipment, phone chargers, DVD or video equipment.

Tell a friend : Spread the word about earth Hour by involving your
friends, family and workmates. Get them to pledge at earthhour.org and
most importantly, turn off the lights at 7.30pm
Saturday 31 March 2007.

Spread the word - Once you have signed up for Earth Hour tell a friend;
spread the word at work; tell your boss; mention it at school, at your
local sports club or society group, you can even run it past your
neighbours!

Make it an event. Get your family and friends to switch off their lights as
well;
Take some binoculars and look at the stars; sit and talk by candlelight;
Explore your backyard
by torchlight;
Have fun with sparklers; or just do something non-electric as a
family;
Have a picnic-at-dusk; pretend you are camping; or have a candlelight
dinner.

For more info on Earth Hour, check out www.earthhour.org


EARTH HOUR. MAKE IT HAPPEN.



DO THIS !

This is happening in Syndey, but i think this should be mandatory for United States citizens once a week. In a word, our administration sees things otherwise. So let's show our governement that we are ready to take responsibilty for the mess we've made; maybe they'll follow our example.

Go to Bed.

The sun comes up and i go to bed
What am i waiting for?
No - who am i waiting for?
I cry and i cry and i cry.
No - it's not true.
I wish and i wish and i wish i could cry.
You must miss me terribly. Look closer, not harder.

Inconceivable.

My days have been filled with ennui and distress, joy and laughter, as usual. Here are some things that have happened:

• I saw Wally Shawn speak at the Stella Adler Conservatory of Acting. He told the students not to get a real job. He told them that it was possible to act for the rest of their lives, but they might have to put up with meager financial circumstances and perhaps have to live in crowded conditions, cold conditions or even "smelly conditions."
  
• I saw David Nichtern speak at the Interdependence Project. He told us that we were all doing all right. Not in so many words.
  
• I saw a hooker at the corner of 25th and 3rd in Brooklyn. This surprised me because i've never seen a pro there before 10pm. Turns out she was a cop. The guy she was soliciting got taken in. Her "pimp" pulled the not-john out of the car and his own badge out of his shirt. Very COPS.
• My favorite dealer got "lassoed," to employ the term his wife used when she called me to let me know why he had flaked on me the night before.
• I got the wind knocked out of my sails with my last cold. Now, i have to row.

I'm going to be shaking my ass at the bootie party at Element tomorrow night. I recognize the ew factor of the club, but DJ Party Ben's mission in life is to get people dancing. Come be a part.

Sick.

My energy is leaking out of my fingers and toes. I miss you guys.

Turn Your Clocks Ahead.

I found this flyer in a yoga studio:

Endless War:
A Memorial

How can you ask another person to be the last one to die for a lie?

READ THE NAMES

Times Square Recruitment Center
Broadway and 44th Street

At dawn on Sunday, March 11th, 2007, as we approach the fifth [Ed.: fuck.] year of the Invasion of Iraq, people of conscience will begin reading all the documented names of the war dead, both civilian and military. We will continue reading from sunrise to sunset through Friday, March 16th, 2007.

We invite you to join us to read for a period of time, to bear witness to this tragedy and suffering. Be part of a growing resistance movement demanding an end to the illegal occupation of Iraq and saying "NO" to an arrack on Iran.

To add your name to the list of participants and schedule a time to read, contact endlesswarmemorial@gmail.com or call 212-533-2125 and please leave a telephone number where you can be reached.

WE WILL NOT BE SILENT.

If you're in NYC, i would highly recommend participating or at least as they write above, bearing witness. I would recommend it for those both in favor of and against the invasion of Iraq. For each name read, there is a family missing a son or daughter, a wife or a husband. If you're in favor of this war we're fighting, then have the balls to clearly see what it's costing us to protect our freedom. If you're not, then take the reading of these names as inspiration for creating peace. Remember, the best way to win the terror is to stop being afraid: stop being afraid that you won't be heard; stop being afraid that there is nothing that can change our country's direction; stop being afraid that what you do doesn't matter. You will be; there is; and it does.

This Is Just to Say.

This is just to say that i am feeling pretty good.
I used to be afraid of jinxing myself, but now i admit
that i have a little more control than that.

I hope that you are all well and that you spend your weekend doing something you enjoy.

xo,
SG


p.s. Happy birthday, Osama bin Laden. You, too, Neneh Cherry and Jasmine Guy. Best wishes, Chuck Norris and Timbaland.

Tampons, Tampons, Tampons!

From the site Tampontification:

Women’s shelters in the U.S. go through thousands of tampons and pads monthly, and, while agencies generally assist with everyday necessities such as toilet paper, diapers, and clothing, this most basic need is often overlooked. You and I may take our monthly trips down the feminine care aisle for granted, but, for women in shelters, a box of tampons is five dollars they can’t spare. Here’s some good news: you can help us contribute to rectifying this situation by making a virtual! For each virtual donation, Seventh Generation will send a pack of organic cotton tampons or chlorine-free pads to a shelter in your state.

All you have to do is visit the web site and click through this cute little game. And some woman has a little bit less to worry about each month.

I think this is important.

That Whole Daffodil Situation

That whole daffodil situation was disturbing and distressing. The volume, the sharpness, the dirtiness, the squishiness of the lugey he was hocking. My disgust over his public display of phlegm. My disgust over my judgment. My compassion for someone who sleeps outside during a blizzard. You can't get rid of a chest cold if you sleep outside in weather this cold and wet. My surprise seeing that his grocery cart was not a grocery cart, rather a handtruck carrying a dozen snow-sprinkled daffodils. Poor cold freezing flowers wheeled around by the poor cold freezing man. He sees me pouting over the flowers and says, "Do you wanna buy a plant?" I say no, but approach and get that flutter in my belly that asks, "Are you sure you wanna do this?" every time i decide to stretch past my shyness and talk to another human being i do not know. "I was just thinking how cold they must be with the snow." They? He said, "Yeah, i don't know what i was thinking." He shakes his head at his decision. He reminds me of The Old Man from The Old Man and The Sea. "I think they'll be okay, though. Just cold."

"Yeah," i say, rubbing a snowy petal in between my fingers and thinking that one of us must not know very much about horticulture.

"Can you help me out? $5?" I want to help him and what's more i have the cash on me. And what's more i want a daffodil plant all of a sudden. But Paul is picking me up in his new car and Jerzy is gonna be there and sometimes he's kind of hard-hearted. I'd be ashamed to show him that i had bought a cold dead plant from some cold dying man, as if that would actually help. "They're daffodils," he tells me. "I know," i say. Jerzy calls me from the car. "They're beautiful. I'm sorry."

Here's Your Chance to Smoke with Chong!

If you're around Piedmont, California and have an extra $125 to spare, you could hang out with Tommy Chong and at the same time help out Ed Rosenthal, one of the leading experts on marijuana cultivation and a major advocate for medicinal marijuana. Rosenthal is scheduled to go to federal court on March 19th for growing weed, laundering money and falsifying tax returns. Rosenthal figures the trial could set him back $300,000. Green-Aid is hosting a benefit party on Sunday to "celebrate how far we've come in legalizing medical marijuana," and help fund Rosenthal's trial.

Also, Cheech is on LOST tonight.

Halleluja!

Without knowing them, i seriously question the sincerity of his congregation:

A self-described Reagan Republican from Los Angeles who has founded a religion that makes marijuana a part of its ritual must defend his beliefs in court.

"I'm a Jewish kid from Beverly Hills who went to UCLA," Craig Rubin told the Los Angeles Daily News. "I could have been a lawyer making $250 an hour like the rest of my friends, or a TV producer. Instead, I'm teaching the Bible, selling weed on Hollywood Boulevard, facing seven years in jail -- of course I'm crazy."

Prosecutors charge that Rubin's Temple 420 is simply a front for a marijuana-distribution operation.

Rubin, who describes himself as a Republican admirer of President Ronald Reagan and preaches in front of a U.S. flag, says his beliefs are sincere. He has Friday night services where smoking marijuana is part of the ritual and preaches twice more on the weekends, using texts from Old Testament on Saturday and the New Testament on Sunday, the newspaper said. (UPI)

I could be born again.

Where You Place Your Attention.

Every time a great, shared tragedy occurs, like the Staten Island Ferry Crash in 2003, i'm struck by the importance of mindfulness and what can happen when our focus strays from its necessary object.

On the afternoon of Oct. 15, 2003, the ferry slammed into a pier at top speed after the assistant captain operating it, Richard J. Smith, blacked out during the last half mile of the trip from Manhattan to Staten Island. The accident, one of the worst mass transit disasters in the city’s history, ripped the side of the 3,300-ton boat open like a sardine can. People were crushed, mangled and decapitated.

A city rule requiring that two captains be in the pilot house in the front of the ferry while it is in motion was not followed. The captain, Michael J. Gansas, was on board at the time of the crash, but in the pilot house that faced Manhattan, not the one that faced Staten Island, as he should have been. (NYT)

The danger of self-absorption slices my ego wide open. Don't mistake me: i'm not talking about arrogant self-absorption only. The time spent fretting over "my" looks, "my" youth, "my" skin, "my" money, "my" relationships is as wasted as time rhapsodizing to myself over "my" looks, "my" youth, "my" skin, "my" money, "my" relationships. Depressed self-absorption draws us in and in and in till we thoroughly and mistakenly believe that what we do doesn't matter. More precisely, we fail to believe that everything we do matters.

We have to turn that inside out. However we do it - meditation, prayer, volunteering, art, science, family - let's clearly see the impact we have on everyone around us. Trust me: cast your net wide when you consider how many people you touch. If this is hard for you, try this technique. On any given day, from when you wake up till you fall asleep, count the number of people you notice. The deli guy, the girl with the same shoes as Bev, your roommate, the guy you would not have noticed had it not been for his U of M hat. You're gonna lose count, especially if you live in New York City. You can safely assume that the number of people who notice you is just as high. (And probably higher as cute as you are.) And to some degree, those people saw you, acknowledged you, and probably had some sort of opinion about you.

The "big" relationships provide the foundation and skeleton of this self we develop. But the throngs, the masses, the millions? They chisel in detail, character, the just-soness that make us who we are. If we don't pay attention to these mini-relationships, we may find ourselves shaped into a "tower of me-ness" that we neither like nor understand.

I didn't make the shift from thinking only of myself, to considering others because i wanted to be good and altruistic and Zen and whatever other buzzwords are used to describe what happens to you when you cultivate compassion. I made this shift because i saw how much i thought about myself and it made me sick. And then, it made me bored.

Thank God we get away with being self-absorbed so often. And since it cost so many unique lives, let's hope those involved in the ferry crash are learning the appropriate lessons. And let's avoid having to learn such extreme lessons ourselves.

I'm Getting a Tooth Pulled Today.

wish me luck.

Don't Assume Anything About Anyone.

Especially not old folks on vacation.

Philip-Morris, Where Are You When I Need You?

The video below is of Dr. Claudia Jensen. She advocates the use of marijuana as a better alternative to Ritalin for kids who have ADD and ADHD. It's fantastic and inspiring and i hope you enjoy it, but please let me rant a little first.

If you're asking yourself, "How could anyone justify giving weed to a kid?" please don't let that be a rhetorical question. Most of the lawmakers in this country seem to have a double standard for what kinds of drugs get utilized. We need to acknowledge the fact that many prescriptions drugs' side effects are worse than marijuana's and that abuse of prescription drugs is becoming just as prevalent as the abuse of any illegal drug. If we deem it safe for kids to take a drug whose long-term side effects include vision problems, skin rash, insomnia, loss of appetite, anxiety, weight loss, (if you're lucky) uneven heartbeats, light-headedness, and increased blood pressure (if you're not),* then it is reasonable that we could acknowledge and take advantage of the benefits of weed.

But law reformers have been making this same argument in favor of the legalization of weed for years; doesn't seem to work. Doesn't the government know how much money it could be making? And what about Philip-Morris? I heard a rumor in high school that, in anticipation for the eventual legalization, they made a design for Marlboro Greens, their first marijuana cigarette. Why aren't the big, evil tobacco companies using their lobbying power? I don't want them to make anymore money than they already have, but if they can help me get high on the up and up, i'd do a little soul-selling.

Anyway, enjoy the video.


*This information was found on drugs.com.

Escape/Return

It's difficult to write about people on the train because i never know when they're getting off. Strangely enough, as i was contemplating the impermanent relationship i have with my fellow subway travelers, the little boy sitting cross-legged by the window woke from his nap and said, "One more stop?" "3 more," came the reply from his mother.

She's got another child in a stroller facing her. And a cold. She keeps sucking the snot up into her nose. That's about all i can see of her without being obvious (note: i don't know why i insist on being subtle.) The cross-legged boy is leaning up against his mother and falling asleep again. I wanna be asleep. How did these days get so long?

An older white guy in the opposite seat by the window. He's leaning on the glass instead of his mother. His mother is probably dead, but that's my personal projection based on the fact that old age doesn't run in my family. He looks completely present, but not for the moment that's happening now. His eyes are alert, but not scattered. His facial muscles move just so or he tilts his head slightly in one direction and then the other, rehearsing his next important conversation. The look on his face is painfully familiar, but i'm not quite sure i can name it.

My nomenclature is interrupted -- Apparently, the mom with the cold and two children lost track of the stops. When the doors open at Bay Ridge Avenue, she jumps up and yells, "C'mon!" At her cry, another child emerges from the seat behind her. She quickly shoves the sleepyhead into awakening and takes hold of the stroller. Turning the wheels on the stroller slows her down and i think, i should probably be helping her instead of writing about her. Fortunately, the woman sitting next to the door is more useful than i am and holds the door open. The walking boys are doing their best to gather their sleepy confusion into enough order to move in a straight line. Their lines keep converging and they, along with the mom pushing the stroller, arrive at the door at the same time. They bump back and forth into each other like they and the closing subway doors were forming a mini-moshpit. "GO!" the mom says, although she knows that's exactly what they were attempting to do and that's exactly the problem. The doors rebound open and they tumble out, like toys spilling from an overstuffed closet. Mom smiles and says, "Thank you," to the woman who held the door for them. I feel like i just watched Houdini.

As he leaves, the suitcase he rolls behind him provides me with thie final clue i need to solve the mystery of his expression: the look of someone returning home after a long time. He was thinking, They've stayed here and i left. Will they be different? I'm different- will they notice?

They'll be different, but he'll think they're all the same because they're in the same house and have shopped at the same grocery store and taken the same train and eaten at the same restaurants, but they've changed, too. Despite the fact that they don't know it. Fine-toothed changes, hairline differences that go unnoticed until...

And they'll wait for the first signs that he has changed. Does he still like American coffee? I thought he used to put salt on his eggs. Should we have more wine in the house?

And the first time there's a disagreement, someone will finally get to say, "You've changed." Or maybe, "I've changed." But it will be the same argument as ever. Where are the keys? You had them last. So help me look. Did you take the garbage out? After dinner. So the whole place smells while we eat. You've done this and i don't like it. You won't do this and i want you to do it. You don't like this thing i do and i won't do that thing you want me to do. Why can't you be what i want when i want it and why won't you let me do what i want when i want to do it? Things would be easier that way.

It's Just Unfortunate that Your Last Name Rhymes with "Shears."

I've shaved my head a few times; i look fucking hot. If you're a woman, it's one of the bad-assiest things you can do. So, fuck 'em all, Britney. Hope you keep remembering that you're a human being.

The Prodigal Daughter Would Like to Return.

Dear Mom,

I miss you. The last time i saw you in Michigan, you said you remembered the fun we had when i was little and that you thought, based on my toddling years, that we were going to be best friends. I don't remember; i'm sorry. I wish i could because streams of nostalgia are working their way around my circulatory system lately- and i don't know where they come from. I am reaching backwards blindfolded for memories i don't have.

I spent most of my childhood years waiting wishing working to get out of Jackson as soon as i could. If i wasn't noticing how much fun we were having, it was becuase i was too busy hoping i was adopted and making plans to drop out of my family's sight as soon as i turned 18. Lo, my plans worked! -- I didn't go to Gramma's funeral or Uncle Juney's. I haven't spoken to Aunt Linda or Uncle Kenny in a decade. Aunt Del was the cool aunt; i'd like to talk to her - i just don't. I think about calling and then i think about the first conversation i had with my father as an adult. Do you remember when he got in touch after i moved here for college? He called me in October of that year. He said: "It's been a long time." "A long time" = 12 years. So when i think about calling the family, i think about stupid, trite jokes i could make to disguise the fact that i've been ignoring all of you for 10 years. I don't wanna be trite; i just don't know who any of you are. And i don't know how to ask who you are because you're my family and so much is simply assumed, as opposed to understood.

And i want you guys to know me, in particular, i want you to know me. But i don't think you'd like me very much. I mean, what if i told you about a friend of mine who smokes pot several times a day, indulges in a couple packs of cigarettes a month, hasn't paid her taxes in 3 years, is close to defaulting on her student loans and who is so scared of being left alone and knocked up that she makes excuses any time someone asks her out? What if i told you that that friend was me? Is that the kind of stuff you're talking about when you say i can tell you anything?

I'm practically a figment of your imagination. When you call, i stick to answering your questions about what i've eaten and how warm or cold it is compared to where you are. Thus, for 10 years, your daughter has told you as much information as you get from a waiter and a meteorologist and you still declare, "You're my daughter. I know you."

You knew me at a time i can't remember, before i knew myself. You still think i'm that memory. It's ok; i think of you in memory, too. And choose not to think about obesity, high blood pressure, diabetes, sore knees, achy back. I try not to think about how you didn't understand why breathing was important. Instead, i think about a story you once told me: You were nine, the only year you can remember celebrating Christmas. You got a Trina doll. You "loved that thing" so much that you brought it to school. On the way home, you dropped it while crossing the street. The doll broke; you were "so sad."

Instead of imagining who you are now, how you are now, i imagine you at nine, in the middle of the crosswalk, right before you drop Trina and i wish and wish and wish for you to catch it before it hits the ground. But it's useless- you drop your doll and 14 years later, you have a daughter who ends up dropping you. (I think, is karma that subtle? Would i be here if that doll had stayed in tact?)

Jim's father just had a stroke. Margaret's dad has been diagnosed with alcohol-related dementia. I know about impermanence; i don't wanna waste the time we have left missing you. I'll save that for when you're gone. Or maybe you'll save that for when i'm gone. We don't know how it's gonna end up.

I love you,

[the name you gave me.]

Medical Marijuana Article from Rolling Stone

Great. Although, the subject of the article compares the raids on medical marijuana dispensaries to pogroms, which suggests to me that he might be taking himself a little too seriously. All in all, though, i'm sure that if you read this blog, you'll find something of interest in the article. It's my Valentine's Day present to you. Enjoy.

Mindfulness.

Across the aisle from me on the R train, a father and son sit, the father being about my age, the little boy around Lane's age or Sam's. The father is playing a portable video game, which is sounding lots of bells and whistles. The kid says, "Daddy, let me play," and reaches out his hand. The dad monotones, "No," and slumps into the game like a teenager.

The kid rests his head on his dad's lap, kicking his little feet back and forth methodically, as if he were playing piano. He's wearing a camo down jacket; his face is encompassed by the fake fur trim of his hood. The crests of his lips are perfectly rounded, bottom lip inflated. He looks like a wolf puppy.

The dad is using his son's back as an armrest.

I Am Not the Same Person: a beginning

I have been hanging out at Target; and
sneaking lunches of hot artichoke-spinach dip at the Olive Garden.
Is there a Chi-Chi's around here?
10 years in and i'm finally getting homesick.

I thought i might get lost in Target today and forget that i was in Brooklyn, but the differences were too many and too manifest. For a moment, almost, considering the purchase of boys' A-line t-shirts, but i turned them down because of their color. I could have completed a circle; instead i may have begun a new pattern.

Assuring myself i am not the same person, i proceeded to check-out.

Who knows how nostalgia turns up? And beauty?

I reminisce about those who reminisce tired old towns, red slop and sagging courthouses, teacakes frosted with sweat and sweet talcum. For me, it is shiny white floors, embedded with flat, gray stones reflecting fluorescent lights, rows of right angles and smooth round corners, eyes sore from seeing so much.

I want to throw my arms around shopping malls and strip malls!

O, JC Penney's! Waldenbooks! O, Spencers!

I Don't Think Anna Nicole Smith Is Really Dead.

I want that rumor to start here. Is that disrespectful?

ConEd Doesn't Know That Much about the Internets.

So, i don't know how you pay your bills, but i do all my stuff online these days. I do it under the assumption that the powers-that-be are protecting me. I think most companies have figured out that it's a good idea to require a password to access one's online account. Not ConEd. You can e-mail them at customercare@coned.com to tell them to clean up their act.

Breaking: Potheads Get Arrested.

I signed up for news alerts about marijuana from Google. (That's how i knew that Spongebob was moonlighting.) I'm rather disappointed; most of the news about weed covers busts and arrests. People grow/deal/distribute/buy/smoke weed and the police sometimes catch them. Is that news? This story managed to get my attention. The anonymity of the internet is dwindling and there is no such thing as privacy.

SG

I Thought Christmas Was Coming: a triptych of haiku

It's not October?
I realize
I just celebrated last year's New Year. (i)

I got older overnight.
The weight of the season;
settled down on my face. (ii)

Cleaning doesn't seem to help.
Snow makes every other white dingy;
fingerprints-- white walls! (iii)

Happy Belated Birthday, Dr. King.

I Don't Want to:

1. give up smoking weed.
2. not want to give up smoking weed.
3. be a buddhist.
4. get hit by a car.
5. make excuses.
6. be judged.
7. love unrequitedly.
8. lose my potential by not living up to it.

Dr. King said:

If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.

At the end of June, Sotheby's, one of the big auction houses in New York, had on display many very rare documents of Dr. King, including drafts of the "I Have a Dream" speech with his handwritten notes in the margins. Lots of stuff with his handwriting on it. Isn't handwriting personal? It was intimate, poring over his sermons and bluebook examinations and letters to his congregation and his wife. As i stood in Saotheby's, dressed up (it's Dr. King, after all.), writing in my journal about what Dr. King had written in his, i felt like i was doing something that human beings had been doing for ages: using my own hands to do my own work.

This week, i listened to "I've Been to the Mountaintop," which was the speech he gave the day before he was assassinated. I thought, the world needs another Martin Luther King, jr. Then, by way of the maze of thoughts my mind winds itself through, i thought, no, wait, the world needs me to do my work. I remembered the exhibit, seeing his history in one place. None of us can predict the consequences of our actions; but i'm certain that Dr. King knew that what he was doing mattered. Not because he thought he was a superhero, but rather because he deeply understood that the actions that each of us take are important.

I have forgotten that lately and i've gotten lazy. When i remember that what i do matters, compassion and mindfulness absorb into my actions and apathy is negated. When i don't remember, i usually smoke too much pot and take a lot of baths. I've been lucky so far; my forgetfulness hasn't caused too much harm. But i keep asking myself this question: Am i being helpful? And further, what can i do to promote balance in the world i live in? And how are my actions contributing to imbalance?

Since i started this blog, an unexpected consequence has occured due to having an audience. I write about my trials and tribulations with weed all of the time in my journal; but until i became StonedGrrrl, i never had a mirror to show me what i looked like. What this mirror is showing me is that justifying my weed habit is becoming more and more untrue. I could spend the rest of my life smoking weed like Michelangelo painted pictures; but i don't know if it would be worth it.

Up and Down (a short story)

I am lying on my back, awake behind half-shut eyes, in bed. He is running his fingers up and down the inside of my thigh. I open my eyes and turn to what i suspect will be Nathan's face smiling at me; but his face is closed. His fingers keep running, up and down the inside of my thigh. Touching me - not just touching me, but caressing me - has become a part of his constitution now. Awake or sleeping, his fingers don't have any choice. As soon as they make contact, they have to start stroking, tracing little pictures over my skin. No one else's fingers have touched so much of me.

As i am lying on my back, awake with open eyes, in bed, watching the sun brighten my room, his fingers chasing themselves up and down the inside of my thigh, i'm also wishing that i were stoned.

I turn my body to face his and his fingers adjust, without so much as a hiccup of confusion, and make their way around my side, up my back and then down and then up, and then down and down, and then up, and then down down down. His fingers tease the edge of the slit between my cheeks. I wonder if i am his marjiuana. Does he wish for my presence when my presence isn't needed? Does he think about giving me up? Does he think he might be better off without me?

Would i be better off without him? When i get stoned, i think, this would be perfect if Nathan were here. Is that true? Or do i get so high that i don't remember anything about him? If i had to pick between the two, i'd definitely choose the boy over the plant. Is that true; if it is, why am i lying on my back, awake, in bed, next to him, his fingers doing their work of memorizing the topography of my body, wishing for a joint?

Maybe i don't wanna get too close to this. Maybe i don't wanna get used to this. If i spend this relationship stoned, i won't grieve as much when it's over, i won't remember as much as he will. He'll reel and rail and sink into depression and i'll be a little bit sad. Beyond the sadness that arrives whenever a thing ends, i'll have nothing. And if my amygdala does spit up a memory, maybe this one, i'll be so far removed that i'll mistake my own memory for that of a sentimental movie i once saw.

I watch the movie of him breathing, sleeping, touching, stroking, running. I watch the movie of my hand crawling around to his back. I hear the soundtrack of his voice say, "Tamar." I breathe under the darkness of blankets and his body; my breath gets hot and i want Nathan. I move closer to him so i can hold him with my whole body and the arch of my foot discovers his calf. The way he's holding me changes and i know he's gotten the point. His fingers expand and then contract over my ass, pulling me even closer to him. I wrap my leg around his waist so that he has an unobstructed path to my sex; he kisses me. At the peak of our kiss, as we begin to exhale together, he is inside me. He makes yummy sounds. I'm gasping for breath and my voice climbs higher than it normally does. Why can't i hit notes like these when i try to sing, i think. After that momentary distraction, my mind comes back to him and i don't wish i were stoned anymore.

He guides me onto my back without falling out, and whispers, "Hi," before he slips down down down. He folds my lips back and licks me on the inside and then lands his tongue on my clit. Slowly quickening circles, around and around as he moans and i moan. I'm gonna come soon and i try to enjoy the path to coming instead of just waiting to come. I remember that he likes doing what he's doing right now; i'll take my time. He's good at what he's doing, sounds like he's eating an especially good meal. He can feel me about to come and right before i do, he stops, pushes himself past my clenching muscles and i come all around him. He holds my arching back and now those slowly quickening circles are around my nipples. I'm screaming his name. He's panting. You know how it is. I hope. He says, "You're so fucking hot." I wonder why he didn't say i love you instead. But i know he loves me; and i love him.

He's inside me and i wish i were stoned.

Afterwards, i am lying on my back, awake, in bed. He's taking a shower. I run my own fingers up and down the inside of my thigh, and wonder why he likes me so much.

I Don't Want To:

1. go to jail.
2. get evicted.
3. die from a dental infection.
4. get an STD. (highly unlikely at this point in my life, by the way.)
5. get caught.
6. die alone.
7. look older than i am.

I think that's all i'm actively trying to avoid today.

I do want to be your friend.

SG

The Personals

I gave up on The Crush because it's been over a month since i've seen him. But i'm more of a word-y person, not a visual, image-y type person, so i'm probably gonna keep using The Crush's face and body for my masturbation/marriage fantasies. I don't know The Crush at all, so anything that i've been fantasizing about is a result of what i want my next boyfriend to be as opposed to what The Crush is actually like. It's gonna get boring pretty soon, though.

I was with Tanisha at The Living Room seeing Jenny Owen Youngs again. She asked me what kind of guys i liked. Here's what i came up with in the order that i came up with them or the order i can remember them. Please excuse the lack of paralellism and continuity:

1. Has big ideas and thoughts and is able to talk about them. I like to talk.

2. Kindness.

3. Has to be hot.

4. Needs to be grounded in some sort of spiritual practice.

5. I need to feel like i'm learning something from him.

6. More importantly than #5, i need to feel like he's learning something from him/i'm teaching him something.

7. We need to be okay with farting in front of one another. (Tanisha then told me she never demonstrates headstand when she teaches yoga because, "farts come out of my vagina." hee-hee.)

8. Lots of laughing. LOTS. A fuckin' lot.

9. I didn't tell her this, but thinking of it now: needs to be able to share good music.

Now i feel like this is a Craigslist ad.

After Jenny's set, i ran into my friend, Tracey the Boy, as he was leaving. I think he has or continues to have a crush on me and a psychic once told me that we would be good together. Apparently, she's the psychic to Eric Clapton.

It would be very odd indeed, and most unexpected if Tracey the Boy and i ended up ensemble; I thought he was a fucking idiot when i first met him. My feelings since then have softened, as has his idiocy.

I think i might have accidentally flirted with him.

That Guy

My friend, Tanisha, works at The Living Room down on Ludlow Street on Thursday nights. I visit her and she gives me free drinks. This is a slightly complicated process since she is the service bar bartender and customers can't get get drinks directly from her but rather through the waitress. I lean on the bar as she makes me whiskey sours - heavy on the sour, which does not mean light on the whiskey. She turns to her right and gives the drink to Matilda, the waitress. Matilda turns to her left and hands the drink to me.

While i get tipsy for free, i listen to whatever well-intentioned artist might be playing. Jenny Owen Youngs played tonight. I had never heard of her before but she's my new favorite. I assume that she, like so many female singer-songwriters aged 12 to 16 in 1992, was inspired by Ani DiFranco. Jenny actually has managed to develop her own attitude and style. She sang and played guitar with another guitarist and a drummer. They had some surprsising melodies along with satisfying predictability. (Of course! After the slow vocal/guitar intro comes the driving bass line. Or something.) Jenny's rapport with the crowd endeared her to me even more than her music. Complaining about the warmth of the lights, she said, "It's like a holocaust, but with heat instead of people dying." I believe that should be the new meta-politically-incorrect catchphrase. "It was like a holocaust, but with a job interview instead of people dying." "It was like a holocaust, but with a cab ride instead of people dying." Anyway she's good and you should listen to her because there are fewer and fewer songwriters that have voices to carry the lyrics they write.

Before Jenny's set started, some guy next to me turned to his friend and said, "Gotta turn off my phone before the show begins. I don't wanna be that guy." Looking at his skinny, sculpted like tiny purple flames mohawk and Carhartt "work" jeans, i thought, you already are that guy. Perhaps you've managed to overcome your insecure self-absorption enough to silence your cell phone (although, i'm guessing it was an attempt to refer to your new Razr or Treo), but your Livestrong bracelet is showing and i suspect there is a tribal tattoo circling your bicep underneath your thermal t-shirt. Give it up, guy. The more you resist becoming "that guy," the more you will become him. Just avoid saying the N-word, even if you REALLY indentify with hip-hop.

Earlier in the day, i was strolling throught the East Village. I passed a woman i had never seen before, who, as i passed, said (to me? i don't know.), "She's a black dogwalker with an orange scarf and my leg has a cramp." I thought, i am black. I am weaing an orange scarf. I walk dogs. This situation leads me to several questions: First, what the fuck? Who are you? How did this limping, overweight New York woman know anything about me? Where has she seen me before? Has she seen me before? With a dog? How does she know i'm the walker and not the owner? I was a good 30 minutes from my dog-walking route during our encounter and based on her slight handicap and girth, i had to assume that she wasn't very far from her home. Striking the possibilty that she knew me, i must believe that this is a revelation from the Universe that i am being noticed and taken care of. I don't get the whole leg cramp thing, though.

a haiku (in spirit, if not in form)

up too late and so is A.
so are you
what are we doing?

Metaphors Are Best When Hidden by Literal Truths.

I'm getting that things-aren't-gonna-get-any-better-for-me-no-matter-how-much-i-do-yoga-meditate-pray-this-is-as-good-as-i'm-gonna-be kind of feeling. I'm a fuck-up in yogi's clothing, suspended in the air on the upward swing of a pendulum, on the side of goodness and sainthood, preparing to careen back to slovenliness and diabolism. The latter side has some major air resistance.

I haven't gotten caught, but that doesn't mean i'm getting away with anything. I wish lying didn't come as easily to me as it does. I smoke too much pot to remember all the stories i tell to cover my ass.

There's been no shift, no opening, no fresh start. I'm carrying the suck of 2006, the slimy, leaking garbage bag that 2006 was, right on in to 2007. This will be a year of reckoning. I hope. And i hope not. I hope i can pay for the shit i've fucked up without ending up feeling too bad about myself. But that's just another way of trying to get out of the mess i've made. I've gotta pay for the shit i've fucked up, whether it feels good or no. It's gonna be no. My body is getting itchy thinking about how much i screwed up this year. Now, screwing up isn't nearly as fun as it used to be. Let's just say this:

1) I can no longer fool myself into hunger when all i want is to taste.
2) I've had eight glasses of water today and my lips are still dry.