(no subject)
Hello there Livejournal friends. Here's another long update for those of you who may be looking to procrastinate on something or are just feeling particularly persistent. I can't record every great moment that has gone on, but I'll give an overview of various trends in my life and try to do a recap of the past five weeks.
A lot has gone by in the past few months that I've neglected to mention here. Foremost in my mind is that somehow I've ended up in a serious relationship. I wrote about awkwardly exchanging "I love you"s with Jeff on January 1st a few entries back, but things have really changed a lot even since then. More than I intended them to, but I'm happy about everything. In the past few months I've collected so much with this boy, moments and ideas and scraps of information about various stages of his life. As an example, I'll list my top three anecdotes from his childhood.
1. "I used to suck on lemons when I was a kid, because I read somewhere that Stonewall Jackson did that too."
2. "Werewolves of London was one of my favorite songs ever when I was young. That might have been largely because I really enjoyed howling along during the chorus."
3. "My brother and I used to fight all the time when we were growing up. Sometimes we'd mix it up a little, by first covering ourselves in blankets, then emerging from the blankets and pretending that we were dragons who'd just hatched from our eggs, and then proceeding to battle."
When I imagine this little boy, who spent all his time being a romantic Civil War geek and howling along to goofy music and being so full of love for his younger brother that he'd devote large amounts of time and imagination into entertaining him, I feel like I can fully understand how he progressed into being this fun-loving, history-obsessed young man, so full of love that it can scarely be contained within his furry, furry chest. And in these flights of imagination, it feels like some backyard chef has poured a liberal dose of meat tenderizer on my heart.
He was deployed to Afghanistan in March, but it feels like the separation has made us even closer. Cause, like, I'm spending all this time thinking about him and writing letters to him, as opposed to when we were together, and I loved but was rather more inclined to be lost in activity instead of thought. And in letters and phone calls we talk and we start forming all these plans for the future (I'll talk about that in a different part of this post), and on the one hand that's weird cause I didn't want to get too attached to someone at this stage of my life to the point of shaping my plans around them, and on the other hand I'm okay with it.
So I have that going for me.
The title of this part of the entry contained the word career, which is certainly misleading. What I meant to say is, current job. Thanks to my friend Karl H., I am now employed at Murphy's Irish Pub of D.C., located near the Adam's Morgan Metro stop on the red line. I like it, and I think I'm a good server, though of course I have my off days. This works out cause I got mad people skills, and I'm cute, so the customers genuinely like me, and I sincerely enjoy taking care of people, so I like the customers right back.
My coworkers are pretty cool too, and I'm getting better all the time at navigating around the pet peeves of various people. Karl is fun to work with, and I've treasured the opportunity this has given me to get to know him better. I got Noel a job there as well, and sharing a shift with him is always deeply entertaining.
I have absolutely no interest in working in the food service industry for a significant portion of my life, but this suits me pretty well right now. I can walk to work, and I make enough to be able to go to lots of concerts, which is important for the remaining amount of time I'll spend in the D.C. area.
Also, I can no longer define myself as sober. In the past few months, I've taken to sometimes indulging in a nice glass of wine if I'm dining out, or a good beer or two with my coworkers after I end my shift, or a tasty cocktail here and there. I'm not drinking to the point of inebriation, simply relaxing and savoring various flavors. I'd particularly missed the taste of good wine with a meal in my nearly two years of abstaining.
So yeah, I'm still sober at parties, and drinking like an adult at quieter events. I did not expect this of myself. It's good.
On July 1st, I arranged for many people to come to the D.C. area in order to attend the Islands show at the Black Cat. Part of this was an effort to give Richard Hell a good birthday, since he turned twenty-three at midnight. I also got him a copy of American Psycho, personally inscribed to his full Reverend title by Bret Easton Ellis the week previously. It ended up being a very interesting night because many people from different parts of my life ended up coming together. There were my St. Mary's regulars, Richard Hell and Bill and Clare and Kat and Rachel and Molly and Tony. There was also Reuben, and a cute girl I met through him a few days previously named Angela. There was Rowan and Julia, which surprised and delighted me. Lindsay Patterson and her recent fiancee Joe also made an appearence! AND, there was Abby, one of my best friends from middle school who I'd just gotten in touch with again through Facebook stalking.
We congregated at Ben's Chili Bowl beforehand, for convenience and deliciousness. It was amusing to see Abby instantly hit it off with Angela (no surprises there) and Reuben (did not see that one coming).
I don't remember the names of the opening bands, but they were good. Props to Molly, for getting frustrated at the crowd of hipsters for not dancing and igniting an incredible and goofy interpretive dance session between her, myself, Rachel, and Tony.
During one of the other openers (two words in the name, second word was Child) I was cuddling on the couch with Reuben, Angela, and Abby, and there were all these blasts of beautiful harp music and oh god that felt transcendant.
And the Islands set was spent in the middle of the crowd with all mah St. Mary's bitchez, hugging eachother and bouncing around and being happy. And laughing uproariously at the amazing dance off between Rowan and Tony.
I remember at one point I retreated to try to drag the friends on the couch into the dancing throng. I had Abby and Angela by the wrist and was trying to tow them along as they sleepily protested, and then I heard the opening strains of the song Rough Gem and instantly dropped their hands so I could run back screaming into the crowd. Richard Hell instantly wrapped his arms around me and we twirled about joyously for the duration of that indie-pop classic.
At the end of the night we all ended back at my house, watching Boston Legal and passing around a few bottles of win until everyone either passed out or drove home. Except me, because Noel gave me a call at 3 or 4 a.m. that he was lost, having tried to find his way from Murphy's to my house, so I popped in the car and found him and then we ended up staying up till six, sprawled out snuggling and smoking on my back porch. This is a particularly fond memory because it was the first long talk we'd had in a while that wasn't restricted by keeping to appropriate topics while at work.
In the morning, everyone went out for cheap breakfasts at the Cereal Bowl and then departed, and I made plans to meet up with Bill and Clare that evening for Cryfest. I'd told them I was going to cook them dinner before the show, but this did not end up happening because I was tired and then I couldn't pick a good recipe that I could prepare in the time I had before the show and then I ended up having a seriously uncomfortable talk with my parents.
See, I am normally quite careful about clearing the internet browsing history when I am finished using the family computer, but this one time I was negligent and my mom ended up seeing the photos of my hook suspension. And my parents, having seen photos of their youngest child suspended in the air from flesh hooks, had questions and concerns.
It started off as them professing to solely be concerned for my safety, but even after I sat them down and provided them with assurances about the experience of the professionals running the event and the care which had been taken to prevent injury or infection, the plain fact that they still couldn't comprehend my motivations was still an issue. My father told me I was a deviant, with none of the positive inferences that I sometimes hear attached to that term. Neither of them seemed willing to accept my claims that the experience was not a sexual one for me, nor that the people running it weren't acting out of sadistic fantasies.
I think I made some good counterarguments, pointing out that other activities, say climbing Mount Everest, were far more dangerous than getting a hook suspension and yet mountain climbers are not referred to as deviants. Dad begrudgingly accepted that okay, some risky behaviors just happen to be more socially acceptable than others. But I still don't think there was any real understanding between us resulting from that conversation.
They asked, have you told Jeff about this? Jeff might think this is weird too. Implication being, we like and approve of Jeff. And we think Jeff is such a nice boy, who would undoubtedly be as shocked as we are by your strange habits.
Actually parents, I replied, I talked to Jeff about the experience quite a bit before and after it happened. Jeff received pictures of the event in a care package I sent him, one of which featured me holding up a sign I'd made for him while I was suspended in the air. Jeff took out the photo of me he originally had placed in his helmet and replaced it with a photo of me craning my head around and smiling for the camera with hooks sticking out of my back. So fuck your assumptions, parents.
Except assumptions continued to be made, and this was used as a segue for them start lecturing me about how being in an open relationship would ultimately drive Jeff away from me. Isn't that between me and Jeff? And wasn't this talk orignally supposed to a simple discussion about whether hook suspensions can possibly be conducted in a safe manner, not an open forum to criticize and/or speculate about every aspect of my life that differs from yours?
There was no resolution to this talk, just "Bill and Clare are walking up the street, so I'm going to go meet them and then go to the Black Cat."
I met them outside, and then waited there as they went in to use the bathroom. I started to tear up a bit, not because I shared any of the beliefs that had been directed at me, but it still hurt to see my dad look me in the face and say "Deviant" and have my mother tell me that I'm like Mr. Spock when it comes to emotions (in retrospect that's hilarious but it hurt then) and to have the way I choose to manage my personal life found wanting by two people whose opinions I normally trust.
Clare came outside first and asked if I was alright. I replied that I was freaking out a little but that I was really looking forward to the dance party tonight! She gave me a hug and didn't ask any other questions. That was very cool of you, Clare.
I fear that I've sounded like a whiny teenager, going on and on about this conflict with my parents. I can't help it. I feel mostly better about the whole thing (especially after talking about it with Jeff), and we've managed to not bring it up again and have nice family dinners and such, but I still feel a little sad and a little incensed when it comes to mind. I feel more motivated than ever to find a roommate and GTFO, so I shall be endeavoring to find someone who wants to get an apartment in D.C. for a year when I get back from Thailand. Did I mention I'm in Thailand right now? I have lots to write about that, but I still have some more catching up to do first.
So Bill and Clare and I went out for delicious Greek food near my house, and then we hopped on the Metro to the Black Cat for Cryfest, which is a dance party held every year as a joke competition over who is sadder, the Smiths or the Cure.
It was a great night! I think it can be summed up pretty well by an observation I made while the three of us were outside in between bouts of dancing. "I was kind of surprised to see these legions of teenagers enthusiastically grinding on each other while singing along to songs about being sad and ill, but I guess I shouldn't have been."
Aside from watching the antics of the crowd, I love dancing with Bill and Clare, singing along to the songs I knew and enjoying everything that was new to me. I've never listened to the Cure very much but it ocurred to me that night that I should begin, because they're pretty fantastic, lyrically and musically.
Oh yeah and there was this guy who kept tryna dance all up in my grill, and split from his buddies to dance near us when I opted to stay with Bill and Clare rather than go dance with them. His attempts at making conversation outside were pretty priceless. After assuring us all of what an earnest fellow he is, he started to rhapsodize Johnny Cash. Which is cool and all, but I couldn't follow the logic of, "So what I'm saying is, Johnny Cash sang that cover of Hurt, right? And then he died! And then his wife died!" and then there was wild gesturing to display the connectivity of these events. This was later recreated among the three of us on the Metro back home, to much laughter.
I haven't written all that I intend to, but the computer I'm paying to have access to isn't available past ten p.m. I'm back in writing mode though, and will return tomorrow to write some more about a few more adventures I had in July and then proceed to record my goings on in Thailand. It's been good. One of my best friends got married here two days ago. And today I spent two hours on horseback galloping all over this tiny beautiful island, OMG. So I'll be back soon to tell you all about it. Stay cool, LJ-Land.
Signing out now.
A lot has gone by in the past few months that I've neglected to mention here. Foremost in my mind is that somehow I've ended up in a serious relationship. I wrote about awkwardly exchanging "I love you"s with Jeff on January 1st a few entries back, but things have really changed a lot even since then. More than I intended them to, but I'm happy about everything. In the past few months I've collected so much with this boy, moments and ideas and scraps of information about various stages of his life. As an example, I'll list my top three anecdotes from his childhood.
1. "I used to suck on lemons when I was a kid, because I read somewhere that Stonewall Jackson did that too."
2. "Werewolves of London was one of my favorite songs ever when I was young. That might have been largely because I really enjoyed howling along during the chorus."
3. "My brother and I used to fight all the time when we were growing up. Sometimes we'd mix it up a little, by first covering ourselves in blankets, then emerging from the blankets and pretending that we were dragons who'd just hatched from our eggs, and then proceeding to battle."
When I imagine this little boy, who spent all his time being a romantic Civil War geek and howling along to goofy music and being so full of love for his younger brother that he'd devote large amounts of time and imagination into entertaining him, I feel like I can fully understand how he progressed into being this fun-loving, history-obsessed young man, so full of love that it can scarely be contained within his furry, furry chest. And in these flights of imagination, it feels like some backyard chef has poured a liberal dose of meat tenderizer on my heart.
He was deployed to Afghanistan in March, but it feels like the separation has made us even closer. Cause, like, I'm spending all this time thinking about him and writing letters to him, as opposed to when we were together, and I loved but was rather more inclined to be lost in activity instead of thought. And in letters and phone calls we talk and we start forming all these plans for the future (I'll talk about that in a different part of this post), and on the one hand that's weird cause I didn't want to get too attached to someone at this stage of my life to the point of shaping my plans around them, and on the other hand I'm okay with it.
So I have that going for me.
The title of this part of the entry contained the word career, which is certainly misleading. What I meant to say is, current job. Thanks to my friend Karl H., I am now employed at Murphy's Irish Pub of D.C., located near the Adam's Morgan Metro stop on the red line. I like it, and I think I'm a good server, though of course I have my off days. This works out cause I got mad people skills, and I'm cute, so the customers genuinely like me, and I sincerely enjoy taking care of people, so I like the customers right back.
My coworkers are pretty cool too, and I'm getting better all the time at navigating around the pet peeves of various people. Karl is fun to work with, and I've treasured the opportunity this has given me to get to know him better. I got Noel a job there as well, and sharing a shift with him is always deeply entertaining.
I have absolutely no interest in working in the food service industry for a significant portion of my life, but this suits me pretty well right now. I can walk to work, and I make enough to be able to go to lots of concerts, which is important for the remaining amount of time I'll spend in the D.C. area.
Also, I can no longer define myself as sober. In the past few months, I've taken to sometimes indulging in a nice glass of wine if I'm dining out, or a good beer or two with my coworkers after I end my shift, or a tasty cocktail here and there. I'm not drinking to the point of inebriation, simply relaxing and savoring various flavors. I'd particularly missed the taste of good wine with a meal in my nearly two years of abstaining.
So yeah, I'm still sober at parties, and drinking like an adult at quieter events. I did not expect this of myself. It's good.
On July 1st, I arranged for many people to come to the D.C. area in order to attend the Islands show at the Black Cat. Part of this was an effort to give Richard Hell a good birthday, since he turned twenty-three at midnight. I also got him a copy of American Psycho, personally inscribed to his full Reverend title by Bret Easton Ellis the week previously. It ended up being a very interesting night because many people from different parts of my life ended up coming together. There were my St. Mary's regulars, Richard Hell and Bill and Clare and Kat and Rachel and Molly and Tony. There was also Reuben, and a cute girl I met through him a few days previously named Angela. There was Rowan and Julia, which surprised and delighted me. Lindsay Patterson and her recent fiancee Joe also made an appearence! AND, there was Abby, one of my best friends from middle school who I'd just gotten in touch with again through Facebook stalking.
We congregated at Ben's Chili Bowl beforehand, for convenience and deliciousness. It was amusing to see Abby instantly hit it off with Angela (no surprises there) and Reuben (did not see that one coming).
I don't remember the names of the opening bands, but they were good. Props to Molly, for getting frustrated at the crowd of hipsters for not dancing and igniting an incredible and goofy interpretive dance session between her, myself, Rachel, and Tony.
During one of the other openers (two words in the name, second word was Child) I was cuddling on the couch with Reuben, Angela, and Abby, and there were all these blasts of beautiful harp music and oh god that felt transcendant.
And the Islands set was spent in the middle of the crowd with all mah St. Mary's bitchez, hugging eachother and bouncing around and being happy. And laughing uproariously at the amazing dance off between Rowan and Tony.
I remember at one point I retreated to try to drag the friends on the couch into the dancing throng. I had Abby and Angela by the wrist and was trying to tow them along as they sleepily protested, and then I heard the opening strains of the song Rough Gem and instantly dropped their hands so I could run back screaming into the crowd. Richard Hell instantly wrapped his arms around me and we twirled about joyously for the duration of that indie-pop classic.
At the end of the night we all ended back at my house, watching Boston Legal and passing around a few bottles of win until everyone either passed out or drove home. Except me, because Noel gave me a call at 3 or 4 a.m. that he was lost, having tried to find his way from Murphy's to my house, so I popped in the car and found him and then we ended up staying up till six, sprawled out snuggling and smoking on my back porch. This is a particularly fond memory because it was the first long talk we'd had in a while that wasn't restricted by keeping to appropriate topics while at work.
In the morning, everyone went out for cheap breakfasts at the Cereal Bowl and then departed, and I made plans to meet up with Bill and Clare that evening for Cryfest. I'd told them I was going to cook them dinner before the show, but this did not end up happening because I was tired and then I couldn't pick a good recipe that I could prepare in the time I had before the show and then I ended up having a seriously uncomfortable talk with my parents.
See, I am normally quite careful about clearing the internet browsing history when I am finished using the family computer, but this one time I was negligent and my mom ended up seeing the photos of my hook suspension. And my parents, having seen photos of their youngest child suspended in the air from flesh hooks, had questions and concerns.
It started off as them professing to solely be concerned for my safety, but even after I sat them down and provided them with assurances about the experience of the professionals running the event and the care which had been taken to prevent injury or infection, the plain fact that they still couldn't comprehend my motivations was still an issue. My father told me I was a deviant, with none of the positive inferences that I sometimes hear attached to that term. Neither of them seemed willing to accept my claims that the experience was not a sexual one for me, nor that the people running it weren't acting out of sadistic fantasies.
I think I made some good counterarguments, pointing out that other activities, say climbing Mount Everest, were far more dangerous than getting a hook suspension and yet mountain climbers are not referred to as deviants. Dad begrudgingly accepted that okay, some risky behaviors just happen to be more socially acceptable than others. But I still don't think there was any real understanding between us resulting from that conversation.
They asked, have you told Jeff about this? Jeff might think this is weird too. Implication being, we like and approve of Jeff. And we think Jeff is such a nice boy, who would undoubtedly be as shocked as we are by your strange habits.
Actually parents, I replied, I talked to Jeff about the experience quite a bit before and after it happened. Jeff received pictures of the event in a care package I sent him, one of which featured me holding up a sign I'd made for him while I was suspended in the air. Jeff took out the photo of me he originally had placed in his helmet and replaced it with a photo of me craning my head around and smiling for the camera with hooks sticking out of my back. So fuck your assumptions, parents.
Except assumptions continued to be made, and this was used as a segue for them start lecturing me about how being in an open relationship would ultimately drive Jeff away from me. Isn't that between me and Jeff? And wasn't this talk orignally supposed to a simple discussion about whether hook suspensions can possibly be conducted in a safe manner, not an open forum to criticize and/or speculate about every aspect of my life that differs from yours?
There was no resolution to this talk, just "Bill and Clare are walking up the street, so I'm going to go meet them and then go to the Black Cat."
I met them outside, and then waited there as they went in to use the bathroom. I started to tear up a bit, not because I shared any of the beliefs that had been directed at me, but it still hurt to see my dad look me in the face and say "Deviant" and have my mother tell me that I'm like Mr. Spock when it comes to emotions (in retrospect that's hilarious but it hurt then) and to have the way I choose to manage my personal life found wanting by two people whose opinions I normally trust.
Clare came outside first and asked if I was alright. I replied that I was freaking out a little but that I was really looking forward to the dance party tonight! She gave me a hug and didn't ask any other questions. That was very cool of you, Clare.
I fear that I've sounded like a whiny teenager, going on and on about this conflict with my parents. I can't help it. I feel mostly better about the whole thing (especially after talking about it with Jeff), and we've managed to not bring it up again and have nice family dinners and such, but I still feel a little sad and a little incensed when it comes to mind. I feel more motivated than ever to find a roommate and GTFO, so I shall be endeavoring to find someone who wants to get an apartment in D.C. for a year when I get back from Thailand. Did I mention I'm in Thailand right now? I have lots to write about that, but I still have some more catching up to do first.
So Bill and Clare and I went out for delicious Greek food near my house, and then we hopped on the Metro to the Black Cat for Cryfest, which is a dance party held every year as a joke competition over who is sadder, the Smiths or the Cure.
It was a great night! I think it can be summed up pretty well by an observation I made while the three of us were outside in between bouts of dancing. "I was kind of surprised to see these legions of teenagers enthusiastically grinding on each other while singing along to songs about being sad and ill, but I guess I shouldn't have been."
Aside from watching the antics of the crowd, I love dancing with Bill and Clare, singing along to the songs I knew and enjoying everything that was new to me. I've never listened to the Cure very much but it ocurred to me that night that I should begin, because they're pretty fantastic, lyrically and musically.
Oh yeah and there was this guy who kept tryna dance all up in my grill, and split from his buddies to dance near us when I opted to stay with Bill and Clare rather than go dance with them. His attempts at making conversation outside were pretty priceless. After assuring us all of what an earnest fellow he is, he started to rhapsodize Johnny Cash. Which is cool and all, but I couldn't follow the logic of, "So what I'm saying is, Johnny Cash sang that cover of Hurt, right? And then he died! And then his wife died!" and then there was wild gesturing to display the connectivity of these events. This was later recreated among the three of us on the Metro back home, to much laughter.
I haven't written all that I intend to, but the computer I'm paying to have access to isn't available past ten p.m. I'm back in writing mode though, and will return tomorrow to write some more about a few more adventures I had in July and then proceed to record my goings on in Thailand. It's been good. One of my best friends got married here two days ago. And today I spent two hours on horseback galloping all over this tiny beautiful island, OMG. So I'll be back soon to tell you all about it. Stay cool, LJ-Land.
Signing out now.