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.