IT LIVES!

I haven't posted anything since June.
I should be disappointed in myself.
...And I am.
Trust me.

Let's start off by saying that things have changed quite a bit. I took a small hiatus and hit the road for a while. I wrote some great new material until my fingers hurt. (I also wrote plenty of terrible material, but that kind of comes with the territory.) I took pictures of anything and everything and people I don't even know. I've welcomed some new family members and become a member of some other families along the way. Curve balls have been thrown my way. Some were hit, some were not, but still none out of the park. (Not yet anyway.)

****************************

I feel there is so much to tell right now, and not nearly enough time.
I promise to be back!

Starting New.

Sitting on my couch, wondering what happens next.

I traveled all around the country stopping at some of my favorite places and making a point to visit cities that have been on my list for as long as I can remember.

Colorado Springs, San Diego, Seattle, Austin, Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Albany, Boston, and Chicago.

Why the hell did I come back to New York again? I can't quite remember. With nothing here waiting for me, New York is feeling more empty than it did when I left. No steady job (still just doing paintings when I can and I want), no lease on my apartment (got the month-to-month), no boyfriend (though I did try this time), and no school. The only thing I got going for me here is the fam.

But now that I've seen other places, I'm itching to see more. More cities, more places no one in New York has ever heard of, more people I would never have the chance to meet here, and more countries. That's for damn sure.


So I have a few opportunities that are ahead of me. Some offers in places that do not involve here. Some chances to start fresh on all new turf. And I think I might just jump on one... Or two.

Will disclose such location(s) when I know which I will take.
Here's to starting over. And loving every second of it.
Cheers!

HOWDY!

Hey there, kiddies.

Just got back from an interesting "vacation". (Been traveling like mad ever since I officially got laid off from my job. Or should I say, the company went out of business.)

Sorry for the slight disappearance. Will report soon. Have MUCH to tell.

Hope all is well.
;)

Readers Digest Version.

So, Long story short: I slept with one of my brother's friends. Twice. Over the past three weeks. I'm only freaking out about it because I know that of all of my brother's single friends (and there aren't many) I know, should my brother ever catch wind of it, he would be most pissed about this particular friend.

Both were drunken hook ups, and while I would never do it again, I would totally do it again. Good god. Something about a cocky guy whose too smart/funny/hot for his own good just makes me melt. But only when drinking. Ha!

No big deal. After round one Jim made me promise I wasn't going to get all weird and clingy and that I wasn't going to tell anyone. Hello! Why would I tell anyone? (Other than my only two good friends who are not related to me in any way. Whom were both excited and jealous and wanted every possible detail. I'm not normall the type to kiss and tell, but this time I just had to. It was too good to be true.) I explained to him that should word get out of our little drinking/sleeping adventure, my head would be mounted on the wall, not his. I also tried to clarify that I am not, nor have I ever been, the type of girl to get "clingy" or "weird" about a guy for any reason whatsoever. He seemed relieved, and then I kicked him out. (I can be such a guy about certain things, I know.)

About a week goes by and we're forced to hang with a large circle of friends for my brother's birthday celebration. Being the only two single people there out of about 26 people, we dined next to one another, accompanied each other on cigarette breaks, and did shots at the bar side by side. Nothing was weird and nothing was mentioned. Which is exactly the way I like it.

Not really sure how it happened, but we managed to sleep together again that night. Yikes. Only this time, before kicking him out, I told him that as fun as it was (and trust me, it was) it could no longer continue. The more times we'd share a bed, the more of a chance we had of getting caught. And I wasn't really into getting caught.

*******************************************

A week later, a few friends and I make it to a small local bar for happy hour on a Thursday evening where I bump into another friend of both mine, my brother's, and Jim's. No big deal. We exchange hellos, I assume he knows nothing, and I carry on at the other side of the bar where my friends await.

Halfway throughout the night, I am introduced to a rather good looking friend of my friend's boyfriend named Tom. (The connection is not important, so if you can't follow, don't feel so bad.) We bullshit, share a cigarette and argue over who makes the best Winter Lager. (He says Sam Adams where I have to admit, I was a little turned off. Everyone knows Brooklyn makes the best Winter!!) At about 3am we decide maybe we should be responsible adults and go home since we all have work in a few hours.

In the door at about 3:30am and I have a text message from a number I don't recognize.

"Why didn't you tell me you were going to the pub tonight?"

Drunken Sarcastic Response: "Because I don't know who you are."

"It's Jim."

How the FUCK did he get my number? I never gave it to him! On purpose!!

I didn't answer when he told me who it was.

Two minutes later...

"I heard you were hanging all over some guy tonight."

Drunken Angry Response: "What'd you just get your period?"

"Whose the guy?"

"Don't worry about it. G'Night!!!" And I shut my phone off.

First of all... I wasn't hanging all over anybody. And even if I was it's nobody's business but my own. And for Jim to make such a big deal about it after he practically made me pinkie swear I wouldn't get clingy was a bit odd to me. So odd in fact, I had to reread the text conversation in the morning because I couldn't remember if it was as bad as Drunk Dean thought it was the night before.

*******************************************

Two days later, we make an appearance at the same bar with the same group of friends intentionally to see a local band we love and for me and Tom to get to know each other a bit better.

And Jim's there.

....To be continued.

Ouch!

DC went snowboarding this past weekend. Good times were had, as expected. Three out of four days were spent snowboarding in the beautiful mountains of Vermont, freezing our asses off. The remaining day was spent playing ice hockey with a bunch of guys we met in the lodge on our first night there.

This is where I learned that not only do I not know how to ice skate very well, but that getting slammed on the ice will make every joint/muscle in your entire body hurt. And bruises will appear in places that might make an outside party wonder what really went on during this little trip we had.

[Yes, I'm the idiot who wears a vest instead of a full jacket when snowboarding in -20º weather. But before you all call my crazy, in my defense, I would like to note that when snowboarding, you use every muscle in your body. Muscles you didn't know you had. And when you're as out of shape as I am, you get real hot real fast. So a vest is always a good idea for snowboarders like me. AKA, chain smokers who don't exercise regularly anymore.]

I got my ass handed to me this weekend. It wasn't pretty. But it was a blast either way. After a quick Doctor's visit this morning it was determined: DC dislocated and broke her right wrist. Again. For a grand total of three times in her life thus far. Yikes. And I got that "I told you so!" when the Doc explained to me that since I broke it last year (snowboarding, ha!) and I refused to have it casted (6-8 weeks!!!) that it would not heal correctly and be much more fragile than the average 20-something's wrists, and I ran the risk of breaking it again.

Ask me if I got a cast put on it this time around.

Nope.

Ask me if I'm going to stop snowboarding.

Nope. (Though at the rate I'm going, I probably should.)

Ahhh... Thick Mick at her finest.

[Note: the picture shown above is an exact reaction to inspecting the damage of the cracked and dislocated wrist. Notice the smile? Yea... I'm a sick bastard.]

*****************************************************

After getting tossed and tumbled all day long on the slopes, our evenings were spent in quite possibly the sickest log cabin known to man. Woke up every morning in the loft with floor to ceiling, two story high windows overlooking the mountains. Drank my hot tea and read the newspaper/checked some blogs I make a point to read daily, and responded to work e-mails. Evenings were either spent at the lodge getting hammered and listening to a few local rock cover bands with some cool mountain folk or getting hammered at the cabin in the hot tub with some of my closest friends.

I've come to realize that my friends who seem like normal adults, will always be high school/frat boys when consuming mass amounts of liquor in a short amount of time, away from home, in a hot tub.

...Did I mention that I was the only girl on this snowboarding trip? Yea. Eight of my best guy friends and little 'ole me in a hot tub. It was interesting, that's for sure.

Without naming names, I got two of my straightest guy friends to kiss. No tongue, but open mouth for sure. Was trying to put an old rumor to rest that girls are turned on by two guys kissing. I explained that I needed to witness such an event up close and personal. I don't know how I did it, but I did. [The powers of persuasion are strong with this one.]

Like the twelve year olds at heart we all are- a game of truth or dare was initiated. Most of my friends were not only twelve about it, but twelve year old girls.

DC: "Ben, Truth or Dare?"

Ben: "Truth."

Are you kidding me? I was forced to get to know the inner-boy of all of my friends this weekend. I think after the male/male make-out session, all the guys were afraid to see what I would come up with for dares.

Oh well. It was good time all around.

Let's just say I got to know a few of the guys a little too well though. And when I say "little", believe me, the PUN was intended.

;)

[And, no. I did not sleep/make-out with any of them. Because I know all you pervs were wondering about it.]

(((P.S. I'm not sure why, but I was unable to get today's post to space itself properly. So I'm sure it looks jumbled and crowded. I apologize.))

Being the bigger person.

Original plans of attending Times Square tonight were squashed when I learned that with the snow, heavy winds, and low temperatures it would actually feel about ZERO DEGREES out tonight. So I opted for option number two.

House party at a friend's. Local. Which is sometimes nice. No worries about transportation, etc. Semi-nice attire, champagne bottles popping at midnight, free beer, watching the ball drop in a warm cozy house on a giant projector and screen. I'm all over it.

The only problem with scenario number two? An old fling will be there. Normally I wouldn't give a damn, but here's a breakdown of the situation:

Xiv and I have known each other forever. I mean forever. He is a few years older than me, grew up around the corner and played hockey with my brother when were kids. But we lost touch in our teenage years since we attended different high schools. A few years after that, when the loser Ex and I finally split, I heard rumors that Xiv was pumped about it. I was confused, I hadn't really seen the kid in years (other than the occasional bump-into at random bars and whathaveyou).

[Note: He works with a very good friend of mine, Joe.]

Joe confronts me at Monday night poker. "Xiv thinks you're adorable and really wants to take you out one night. He wanted me to see if this is something you might be interested in." I agreed. Though, I'm not really sure why. I thought it might be weird because we were friends when we were kids and he was friends with my brother also.

But we went. We had an alright time, nothing fantastic. Then we hung out another night, casually, at my place just kicking a few beers back and catching up, bullshitting, you know the routine. Then we started talking about our "date" that we had. We both decided that we were much better as friends, that the date felt a bit... awkward.

Awesome. I was really into it. We had a lot of fun together, but I just didn't get that feeling, ya know?

About a year goes by, and we're practically best friends. He calls me when he's had a fight with his girlfriend and I call him after a bad date. Tuesday officially became drinking day. Every Tuesday we got together and drank at my house. He came over and got shitfaced when he and his girlfriend split and he took me out to get hammered on my birthday. (The only one of my friends who wouldn't let me pay for my own drinks.) Life was great. I was really enjoying our friendship. It was unique and just what we both needed, wanted and loved.

...Or maybe it was all one sided and I never realized?

He came to Bonnaroo with me and another friend. We meet these kids as soon as we get there and wound up hanging out with them the entire trip. Sharing food, beer, tents, toothpaste; you name it.

Well, the first night we're there, I got drunk and stupidly slept with one of the kids. (Whoops.) And that was it. That was ultimately the end of mine and Xiv's perfect friendship. I got the cold shoulder from him the rest of the trip and haven't really spoken to him since.

He'll never come out and say it, but I know that's why he hates me today. When we got home, a few Tuesdays passed where I never saw or heard from Xiv. He never called, he always just came by. But all that stopped. I would call... no answer. Text... nothing. I was heartbroken. I missed my friend.

Joe and I went out for drinks with a bunch of friends a few months after Bonnaroo. Joe gets drunk and lays right into me. "What you did to my buddy, Xiv wasn't right!"

Huh? What the fuck did I do? I don't get it. We were great friends. And even if he didn't feel the same way I never knew that. And it's not my fault. Or my problem! He can have a girlfriend the whole time we're friends and I can't sleep with some random dude? What the fuck?

[[And I thought girls were annoying about shit like that.]]

Anyway, still no word from him today. But I do know that he's dating a girl we went to school with when were younger. She and I never got along. She and I got into a fist fight in junior high and another one in high school. This broad will just never let shit die. She's a tad too scrappy for my taste.

[Note: I didn't start either of those fights. I didn't lose either of those fights either.]

Anywho... they'll both be there tonight. And all I can hope for is that they both just be adults about the whole thing and don't do anything stupid. Because it's MY friend's house and I won't tolerate any bullshit.

***********************************

Actually... Why do I even care?
I'm going to have the hottest date there. And to boot, he's fucking awesome.









I win. ;)

Invisible Man Part II

You sang sad songs in my ear
And wondered why I didn't smile.
Thinking that sad songs
Were the way to my heart.

You poked fun at my art
And wondered why I wasn't laughing.
Thinking that mocking me
Wouldn't tear us apart.

You tell me we're friends
But tell your friends different.
Saying that you can't live without me
I say "ditto"
And then you doubt me.

As if to mimic Houdini
You disappear without a trace.

Your pessimism and negative energy
Have left my world
Leaving nothing but sunshine and rainbows in their absence.
Making stress dissipate
And yet you didn't say a word.

*******************************

And now it's Christmas
And somehow... I miss us.

Invisible Man.

You fade in and out

Like a star whose level of brightness can only be measured

When you're not looking directly at it.

You clog my brain

With thoughts of your cynicism

And with your ability to wash out important things

With unimportant things

As if to cleanse yourself of anything

That would ever truly make you happy.

(Disregarding things that cannot be labeled,

Because labels are what make the thing exist,

Not the thing itself.)

...Or so you like to think.

"Life is not a game."

You say.
Though I know how you play.

Whoops!

So it's Saturday night and I'm out for a drink with some friends. Trying to maintain somewhat of a social life on Long Island isn't easy. Especially since the only people that are here are the ones I went to high school with. (Thankfully, there are a few I don't mind seeing/hanging with.)

We headed to the local pub because it's cheap, close to home, we LOVE the bartender, and Saturday night karaoke is always good for a laugh.

Stepping out for a smoke Bebe and I get approached. "Can I bum a smoke offa one uh you pretty ladies?" Without thinking much of it, I open my pack, pass one over to him and then continue with my conversation with Bebe. Until we get interrupted again.

"You look familiar." He says to Bebe. Turns out they went to high school together. Well, we all went to the same high school actually, but Bebe and (we'll call him) Dave are about 8 years older than me. We all introduce ourselves, his friends wander over and introduce themselves also.

About two minutes into the group conversation (mostly Dave, his friends and Bebe catching up on people from high school while I sit there quietly) Dave is so drunk that he's practically falling into me. "You're pretty. Can I get your cell phone number?"

I have to laugh at this point. This kid doesn't know me from a whole in the wall! "Yea... I don't know if that's really a good idea."

"Come on! I'm a good guy. Bebe will tell you, she knows me." Dave pleads.
"I don't know you! I haven't seen you in ten years."
I'm laughing so hard now, I'm seconds away from peeing my pants. "Well, you have to appreciate her honesty!" I say as I flick my cigarette into the parking lot and make my way back inside.

Moments later a HORRENDOUS choice of karaoke song is chosen. The Grease Montage. But after about 9 shots of I don't know what (Kay-the bartender-makes great shots but never tells me what's in them) and more beers than I can count, Marc and I decide that dancing to this song is a GREAT idea. I then notice, while Marc and I are out on the dance floor, Bebe and Red (yes, her name is Red) are cornered by Dave and a friend of his.

Upon my (angry) return to the table, Dave and his friend leave without saying a word. "What the fuck was that all about?!" I'm not sure why, but I was REALLY annoyed that he had cornered them.

"That kid's a mess. He asked me what he needed to do to get you to give him your number."
"What did you say?"
"I told him that if he still needed help getting girls' phone numbers at hisage, than he was even more pathetic than I can remember." While what Bebe said may've been really harsh, you have to admit, it was kind of funny.

I felt a little bad for the guy, so I made Kay send a beer and a shot of Patron his way. Dave winked at me from across the bar, and that was the end of that.

We're all laughing and having a great time and the entertainment was to die for. Then, next thing I know, the bar goes silent.

"You are.... so beautiful..... to me....... CAN'T YOU SEE!!!!" Some dude actually chose that for a karaoke song?! I couldn't believe it. And this is the last thing I want to hear on a Saturday night. So, what do I do? The asshole that I am? I 'boo' this guy. Only, it sparked a wave of 'boos' coming from the far end of the bar. Now, almost the entire bar is 'booing' this poor guy. But he doesn't stop.

He finishes out the song and when it's over, he gets down on one knee and says (into the mic), "Stacy, I love you more than anything. Will you marry me?"

...Wow. I kinda feel bad now. What a dick I am!

Whoops!



P.S. She said 'no'. Ouch.

Just another statistic.

"...Pushing you away before you walk away, hurts a lot less in the end." These words have passed through my lips, entered your ears, and appeared to have registered with your brain. I have been fooled. Either these words did not register, or you tricked me into opening up to you.

Dick.

You begged and pleaded, practically got down on your knees and cried at my feet. You were eager to gain the knowledge of the truth, of the feelings, the thoughts in my head; swore they would be sacred to you, that you wouldn't do a thing to hurt me.

I was reluctant. I hesitated. Thought you might be just like the others. Then something happened. I cannot describe it, because I'm not sure what the trigger was. But for whatever reason, I felt it comfortable enough to divulge such information to you.

And where did you go? I'm not sure. But your current location is not what's important. For it does not matter where you are, it matters where you're not.

...And that's here.

Thanks for helping me justify old habits which have protected me from people like you in the past. I will continue to do so, despite your efforts to try and change me forever.

Just another one to add to the list. Another statistic.
That's all you are to me now.

Be seeing ya.

October twenty-seventh.

October 27th came and went as it does every year. Of my twenty-something years I can clearly remember fourteen of those October 27ths.

I have bittersweet sentiments regarding Autumn. The changing of the leaves, slight chill in the air, clear sunsets. It's my favorite time of year. But with that cold chill comes memories. Some good, most bad. I know that things would be different today had things been different in the past. But I also know that everything happens for a reason.

The past eight October 27ths (as well as the past eight August 13ths) I have spent alone. Thinking. Dreaming. Wishing. Desperately trying to pry open locked filing cabinets in my mind containing valuable memories only I know exist. Stories would never do them justice. The smells need to be inhaled; the nerves, touched; faces, seen; and voices, tickle every bit of my insides.

Instead, I settle for stories. Because the keys to those filing cabinets have been missing for fourteen years. 5,110 days. Give or take. But I dump the filing cabinet? Never. The key could turn up. All hope cannot be lost.

This October 27th was spent in a hospital. As well as this August 13th. I strayed away from routine for the sake of my sick father. The "miracle man" who keeps miraculously getting better. Or did.

****************

I know that she wouldn't've minded. In fact, she would've much preferred me where I was. She wishes I would be at his side every October 27th. But I am not. Not every October 27th. Because there were October 27ths that I was traveling, working, sick, busy, far, far away. And there were October 27ths that my father did not want to see me. Or any other day in October, November, December, and so on.

No matter what the circumstance, I always made an appearance to where I felt in my heart I needed to be on that day. And then it became the place to be. The thing to do. The spot to visit. The peace I needed. The view that took my breath away. The place I thought about crying, but never actually did because I am not a crier (years or pretending to be tough with eventually make you tough).

And this October 27th, I felt I betrayed her by not visiting. Thought she might not be able to find me if I wasn't where I normally am on this day every year. Hoped she didn't get lost up there in the dark looking for something that wasn't there to begin with.

But then I realized. She was right by my side all along. And not because she had been following me, not even because it's "our special day". But because right where I needed to be is right where she needed to be too. At his side. Whispering in his ear. Loving so much that the room filled up and no one else could squeeze in there with us.

Sorry, Mom. I didn't make it up there to "our spot" this year. The day that marked the fourteenth year you left me. But I will be there soon. Because I need to be. Because I want to be. Because I can be.





Dad says "hi."

NYC Cynic will be cynical elsewhere.

My phone has officially crapped out. It's not entirely the phone's fault. In a mad rush to leave my meeting over the weekend (which went REALLY well by the way) and hop on the next subway downtown, I dropped my phone in a puddle at E65th and Third.

Awesome.

[Sorry to those I had plans with/was trying to make plans with/promised phone calls that never occured. Had I not been such a fucktard, shit would've worked out better. Or I like to think it would've.]

*******************

So the New York City Cynic might just have to be her cynical old self (and possibly even more cynical than ever) back in her old homestead. Until God knows when.

Things with my dad have taken a turn for the worse. He's in another coma (I swear, he's only doing this to keep me on my toes) and my step-mom, the nurse, is no help... ironically.

My sister is falling apart, my brother is "disappearing" like he always does when shit goes down that he doesn't know how to handle. And trust me, if I could do it, I would be disappearing too. It's what we thick-headed Irish do. Shit gets tough, I pour another drink and slip into a world where I don't have to deal, because I don't want to deal, and I don't know how to deal.

But someone has to be the adult here. And that someone is almost always me. So in the next few days I will be deciding on whether or not I am OK with taking a leave of absence from my job, letting my lease run out, and moving all my shit, an entire apartment's worth and a few pets into a shoebox sized bedroom until shit either ends or gets better.

I sound really bitter and blunt about this whole thing, I'm sure. But I cannot let myself get too "down" about it anymore. It's too depressing, too draining, and gets me nowhere in the end anyway.

Taking this all with a sense of realism and being prepared for all things. A miracle, and the worst.

From NYC to ATL and back again.

Dean is back in good 'ole New York. And back to work as well. (God, I did NOT miss this place, that's for sure.) The trip went well. A little hectic with somewhat of a tight schedule.

Because I have much work to do and not a lot of time to do it, I'm going to make this short and sweet:

I got offered a contract. Yup, a contract. If I sign the paperwork, they publish my book. And maybe one day you might be able to find it at a book store near you.

Don't get too excited just yet! This a very complicated process. My lawyer and I will look over the contract together one night this week and deteremine whether or not this is something I actually want to go through with. (Contracts can get sticky... I want to make sure I know all about it before I just dive in!)

...Will most definitely report back as soon as I know anything.

Leavin' On A Jet Plane.

I'm leaving for Atlanta tomorrow morning to find my fate.

I've got "Under Pressure" (Queen ft. David Bowie) playing in my head right now. And I can't help but smile.

No matter the outcome, no matter how anxious I am, I am thrilled to see what the world (or one publisher) really thinks of my life and my work. A memoir of a mess. (Not the title, but it pretty much sums it all up!)

For those of you know who: I've been rackin' my brain trying to find an "ending" to the book without making it end. Everything felt so final to me. I must've rewritten the last two chapters a hundred times. I'm in my twenties and it's a story of my life. And my life's not over. So the book can't have such a final ending.

So I found an alternative.

Thanks to a recent discussion with an old flame, I finally found the premise behind the final chapter of a book about my beginning. Not my life.

He had unanswered questions boggling his mind. "What went wrong with us? We were great, why wouldn't you just let me in?" This is a conversation we've had (many times) before. And much to his disappointment, I have not been able to fully answer everything he's wanted to know. Mostly because the little amount that I could muster up and put into words and coherent sentences, I was too afraid to utter.

The final chapter is the explanation. It's why I was so afraid to let him in. To let anyone in. To trust people. To open up. To really be the real Dean. It's finally a step into the mind behind all of the bad decision making, all of the stories, all of the rumors, the truths, the feelings, the fears, the love, and the life of me.

And then I explain the anonymity of it all. For those that are unaware, Dean is not my real name. It is a pen name I have used for years that almost no one knows exists. It is the one my clients know me as, the name I sell writings/paintings/photographs under. It is the one that I will (hopefully) publish a book under.

Should my closest family and friends, for whatever reason, decide to read the book, they will never know that I was the one who wrote it. All names/places have been changed. (And some specific details that would've given away my identity.)

But the mind will not change. I will always be the same me.

And they will never know why...
And maybe that's the way it's supposed to be.

IT LIVES!!!!! Barely.

I am alive, kids. Sorry for the absence.



An Update:

• Work is crazy right now. With New York looking like it might turn into rubble any day now, the stock market dropping rapidly on an hourly basis, banks folding and small businesses getting crushed, I have been on office lock-down. Someone's got to make sure we stay up and running! We're losing clients and aren't getting paid by others. We had a few clients high up on the food chain over at Lehman Brothers (and the like). Needless to say, they're holding onto every penny they've got right now. I can't say I blame them.

• Family is good and bad all at once. Dad was doing great, then doing horrible, then making progress, then at a standstill. I'm constantly on the phone with a few doctors, exchanging e-mails with others, and meeting in person with a select few. Yikes.

• Job #2 is getting "scared" of the financial situation right and is cutting hours left and right due to high payroll demands and such. So I am getting less and less hours there. (Which I'm alright with. I only work there to keep my insomniac mind busy and to keep from going crazy in the long, lonely, late night hours in which I should be sleeping if I could.)

• Side work is piling up. While no one is running to sign up for a custom mural (which I charge a pretty penny for) I have been committed to a few already (that have already paid me or partially paid me) and are looking to get the work completed. But with family life taking up most of my free time and attempting to keep a small social life alive, I'm finding it difficult to set aside the time to complete such tasks.

• The book. For those that are unaware, (and when I say those, I mean my one reader... who already knows...) I am leaving for Atlanta in 8 days to meet with a publishing company about a novel I (nearly) completed a few months back. They've already read 98% percent of the book, are awaiting my arrival to discuss it in person, and anxiously looking to receive the final two chapters (which I have NOT yet finished, not to MY satisfaction anyway).

• To sign or not to sign? The lease is up on my apartment in less than two months. It's a very nice place (some pictures have been posted here in the past) and it's huge. Which is nice. But I intend to travel more in the near future, and make some rather large purchases (keeping the details of those a secret for now) and am looking to save money when and where I can. Thinking about not resigning the lease and getting a newer, smaller place more fit for Doc and I. Someplace about half the size (thus half the price) to put some money away for future endeavors. Apartment hunting? Yea... I got time for that.

Taking deep breaths.

One at a time.

And trying not to drown in the greatest city in the world... New York.

Cloning is not on the market for everyday people, is it?

(Though, I don't think the world is ready for TWO Deans. Or one for that matter.)

Sit. Stay. Good girl.

Long story short: I had a best friend growing up. I mean best friend. We've known each other since we were born and did everything together. We were the odd couple. Cute little, Lynne and her sweet, innocent smile and matching personality. Me? Rude, crude tomboy with an in-your-face attitude and no regard for rules or authority. And yet we were each other's perfect match.

Inseparable. That is, until, we got to junior high.

"I can't be your friend anymore." She tells me at the lunch table in front of all my friends. "Kelly said I had to choose between the two of you. That I can't be best friends with both."

"Tell Kelly I said she can fuckin' blow it out her ass." I was such a pleasant 12 year old.


***************************

I ran into Lynne at a bar just a few days before her engagement party. "You're coming, right?" She seems to happy to see me. "I know that you wouldn't want to be in the wedding party. It's all boring girly stuff. I know you hate that stuff. But I really want you to be involved."

I start thinking to myself... Is she... doing me a favor? I can't tell.

"Write a poem for me."
"A what?"
"A poem! C'mon! You were always so good with words." Notice the 'were' she threw in there. She thinks I don't write anymore. That's how out of touch we've been. I guess she doesn't know that I wrote a novel, a few actually, and am finally attempting to get one of them published. Next weekend. [And I'm nowhere near ready.]
"What do you mean, 'a poem'? I'm no poet."
"Yea, but you're so good with words. C'mon, you've wrote poems before!"
"Yea, but I'm sure you want something about love and marriage, no?"
"Yea!"
"What makes you think I know anything about either one of those things?"
"I have faith in you. It'll be perfect. I just know it. And you'll read it at the wedding, right?"

She forgets that I've had horrible stage fright since... I was born.

"No way! I can't even promise that I'll be able to write anything."
"Well, we can talk about the reading thing later. Just promise me you'll do it. It would mean to much to Jimmy and me."

The poem is for the wedding but she wants it by the engagement party. So she can read it and make changes no doubt.

Geeeeeeeeeehhhhhh.

So here I am. Three days before the engagement party attempting to write a poem-on demand-about love for someone I hardly even know anymore. I couldn't even write a poem about love for myself.




...As if I don't have enough shit on my plate.

Finding my place.

Been looking for that spot. You know, where I fit in this universe.

It's funny, I never really gave it much thought before. But lately, I can't seem to get it out of my head.

Am I destined to be who and where I am today? Working two/three/four jobs? Living in a great place... alone. Dreaming of fantastic adventures in various different countries, but settling for weekend trips to Atlanta, Boston, and Baltimore? Writing, writing, writing, and getting nothing published?

Where do I go? The "average" category? The ones who just get by and unless you know them personally, you hardly even notice them. Walk right past them everyday without realizing they're the ones who actually make the world go 'round.

The "successful" ones? Do I get my book(s) published? Make tons of money and quit my job and enjoy the free lifestyle of a writer. Drift from place to place connecting with people along with the way, but never actually connecting with people.

The "nobody"? I quit my job so I can focus on my writing and my painting full-time. Really put the effort in. Try to make it all happen. Just to end up a starving artist. That person whose friends constantly brag about. "She's really got it! The talent that girl has is amazing." Too bad their opinions are biased and I would never really make it anywhere anyway. Because who can these days?

******************************************************

So the universe is calling. She's knocking on my door and she demands to know where I want to be next year, in five years, in 30 years, for the rest of my days.

And I tell her that I've never really known where I've wanted to be. Because life's too short to be in one place/be one person forever. I need to know things. Learn things. Accept things. Try to change things. Effect things/people in some way, shape or form. I have to be ever-changing. Because this world, and the universe are ever-changing.

And besides all that... I wouldn't have it any other way.

But I did ask the universe one small favor, perhaps a bit on the selfish side. No matter what the result of things to come for the next three weeks, just please them all work out for the best. Meaning, let everything turn out the way it's supposed to be, not the way I want it to be at the exact moment in time.

Because this time tomorrow, I will already be a different person than I am right now. And by then, I may want different things.

Maybe.

As promised.

West Coast travels: Flight from JFK to San Francisco.

My sister had a panic attack at the airport (despite the Valium that was so graciously given to her from a family friend who - for reasons I'd rather not know - has a bottle of them at home). She decides she's "not going to California" but assures her husband and myself that we'll have a great time and she'll gladly pick us up from the airport when we arrive home.

10 days on vacation with my brother-in-law? I'll pass. But thanks.

By the time I convince her she's going and really has no say in decisions regarding this trip, they've locked us out of the plane. Can't really blame them. They called last call for boarding... twice. So I start weighing my options.

A) Fight with whoever I have to to ensure that we get on that flight.
B) Call the airline and see what they can do.
C) Go to jail for murdering my sister in an airport with my bare hands.

Option A it is.

I tell the flight attendant at the adjacent terminal desk to radio the plane and demand that they reopen the door. She radios over: "Sorry ma'am. There's nothing we can do. Once they've locked the doors, that's it." Despite her really sweet southern belle accent, I can sense the attitude she is giving me. I explain to her that my sister is a big baby and that the plane is not scheduled to take off for another half hour anyway. "Sorry ma'am" is the only response I'm getting. Fucking southerners.

Two more terminals down I see a male security guard who looks like he might have a soft spot for my poor, pathetic sister who was early having breathing difficulties due to anxiety and is now having breathing difficulties because she's crying like a little girl with a skinned knee. She "feels really sorry!" and now she "wants to go really badly!" The security guard radios the plane once more and eventually gets the flight attendant to open the door for us. What a peach.

This woman is nothing but sunshine and rainbows. "I'll have you know you've held up our flight and if the other passengers choose to voice their anger in the matter, I'm not going to stop them." Yes, thank you. I'm so glad I'm paying your salary right now. "We've given up your seats and the flight is booked, so you'll have to just take the only three open seats." Awesome.

My sister, the scaredy-cat, sat in the first row in the window seat. Lucky fuck. I sat about 15 rows behind her sandwiched between some stuffy, up-tight business man who frantically attempted to do math in his head while writing spreadsheets. And the kid to my right looks like he was just flying home from the Olympics. Seriously. Red Nike track suit, white Nike baseball hat, white Nike speakers, white Nike backpack. He either likes Nike a whole-helluva-lot or he just got sponsored. My brother-in-law sat another 10 rows behind me on the aisle next to a couple celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary.

Jet Blue is pretty sweet because they all have TVs in the back of the headrests. I would have really taken advantage of this had the flight been smoother. We had straight turbulence for almost the entire 5 hour and 40 minute flight. The "fasten seat belt" light never shut off and my brother-in-law had my headphones.

So I watched Sports Center, nearly the only channel (aside from the weather channel) that does not require sound. I had seen the same 17 sports loops over and over. And I have to say, Delgado's pair of three-run home runs against the Astros looked less and less impressive with every replay (and in an almost six hour flight, there were many) only because they both narrowly qualified as home runs.

...And this coming from a Mets fan.

The Olympian next to me almost arrived at the West Coast with a bloody nose. If he leaned on my arm rest one more time resulting in my TV changing its channel, I swore I was going to elbow him so fast in the face he would've been out cold.

*************

After, what seemed to be a hellish morning, we landed in San Francisco where I was ready to ditch my sober sister and her loving husband and let the festivities begin.

Which I did.
(And will write more about that later. Some of us have work to do, you know!)

Taking advantage.

...What I wouldn't give to be back in California or Vegas right now instead of in my office doing damage control and playing referee.

Only 16 days until my trip to Atlanta. (Original trip got pushed back two weeks.) Short trip, but it's not work, so I'm alright with it.

Approximately six months until my trip to India. That should be a good one. I'll be gone for about 3 weeks and undoubtedly missing my dog like crazy. Have to attend a friend's wedding in Mumbai (you may know it as Bombay) but decided if I'm spending a few grand on a flight to and from, I might as well make a REAL trip out of it and see the sites. Packing a backpack ONLY and will be moving throughout the country soaking in all its history, architecture, culture, and wonder. I can't wait.

Oh, New York! I love you so, but often yearn for so much more! With a world as big and wonderful as this one, I cannot honestly say I am satisfied staying in the same place forever.

Currently: Shopping for a house boat on Long Island that Doc (my puppy) and I can inhabit for Summer 2009. A bit ahead of myself? Perhaps. But I am not the happiest camper in the world to be back to work (and in full swing, might I add). So to pass the time I dream of future adventures. I'm thinking of quitting my job before the start of Summer 2009 and only working on art part time (while enjoying the house boat of course) and traveling as often as possible.

Life's too fucking short.
And if anyone should know that, it's me.

So I'm taking advantage. And I suggest you do the same.

Vegas, baby. Vegas.

Current Location: Hotel Suite in the Paris Casino
Current Mood: Fucking shocked.
Current Outfit: The skimpiest thing I've ever worn. (Something involving A LOT of skin, some glitter, tight materials, and heels bigger than my head.)
Current Financial Situation: A few grand more than I came here with. Fuck yea.

Will update fully when I'm a tad on the sober side. (Note: My liver packed up and went home about 9 days ago. She's had enough. And just might forgive me if I bring home lots of [non-alcoholic] goodies for her.)

Tonight's Plans: A dash of lipstick then off to club Rain in the Palms Casino to meet up with a handsome, young, Southern thing that hit on me at the Three Card Poker table. Things go well? Then we'll see where the night [morning] takes us. If they don't, I'll head over to club LAX in the Luxor for some free cocktails and killer 80's music.

Catch you kids around the bend.