Thursday, June 26, 2008
32
today is the fourth time i turn 29, also known as my 32nd birthday. it’s a weird one this year, mainly because i feel like i’m not ready for it. another month would have been nice before i arrived here, but given that controlling the speed at which time passes is not something i have mastered yet, here i am having a birthday i’m unprepared to confront. not that birthdays call for so much preparation, but they’ve always triggered some level of introspection and inventory-taking for me, which is hard to muster when i’m shopping for window treatments nonstop.
so this year the birthday belongs to the house. it’s the thing getting showered with all the gifts anyway so i may as well shave a year off of my age and will it to the house instead. so the house turns 1, or maybe it’s just being born, and i remain 31. i mean 29. hell, let’s just make it 25.
i did get a few worthwhile gifts, most notably a new iPod from Mo. it’s full of tubes and has the internets in it. anyone else interested in getting me a gift is encouraged to send a bag of money to my new home address. don’t worry, i won’t spend it all in one place. i’ll just dig a hole in the front yard and pour it in. or maybe i can staple it to the roof or cement it to the siding. and here comes the house getting in the way again, like it always does.
back to birthday, it’s nice this year i guess. overall, i feel fairly spiffy, fairly content. i see now that with each passing year, fewer things are changing so i don’t expect too much crazy this year. at least none of that controlled crazy of my own making. not so sure about the curve ball crazy life might throw my way, but i’ll deal with that when i have to.
my only real resolution for the next year is to start taking better care of myself, which means more exercise, less red meat and more facials. the problem i’m having with aging lately is the actual aging part, where my body and face don’t look quite like i’d want them to. not that i was so satisfied with them before but i have noticed the lines on my face deepening and more gray hairs sprouting on my head. sometimes i’ll catch my reflection in a mirror and be startled by it, like “who’s this old broad with pores so big you can swim in them?” then i’ll go soften the light in the room, take another look and feel better momentarily.
so yes. 32. here i am. and still curious to see where i’m going.
so this year the birthday belongs to the house. it’s the thing getting showered with all the gifts anyway so i may as well shave a year off of my age and will it to the house instead. so the house turns 1, or maybe it’s just being born, and i remain 31. i mean 29. hell, let’s just make it 25.
i did get a few worthwhile gifts, most notably a new iPod from Mo. it’s full of tubes and has the internets in it. anyone else interested in getting me a gift is encouraged to send a bag of money to my new home address. don’t worry, i won’t spend it all in one place. i’ll just dig a hole in the front yard and pour it in. or maybe i can staple it to the roof or cement it to the siding. and here comes the house getting in the way again, like it always does.
back to birthday, it’s nice this year i guess. overall, i feel fairly spiffy, fairly content. i see now that with each passing year, fewer things are changing so i don’t expect too much crazy this year. at least none of that controlled crazy of my own making. not so sure about the curve ball crazy life might throw my way, but i’ll deal with that when i have to.
my only real resolution for the next year is to start taking better care of myself, which means more exercise, less red meat and more facials. the problem i’m having with aging lately is the actual aging part, where my body and face don’t look quite like i’d want them to. not that i was so satisfied with them before but i have noticed the lines on my face deepening and more gray hairs sprouting on my head. sometimes i’ll catch my reflection in a mirror and be startled by it, like “who’s this old broad with pores so big you can swim in them?” then i’ll go soften the light in the room, take another look and feel better momentarily.
so yes. 32. here i am. and still curious to see where i’m going.
Labels: birthday
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Happy Birthday, Blog!
last week, May 14, marked the 5th birthday of The Milla Times Journal. crazy, eh? five whole years of melodramatic ramblings and embarrassing gut spillage posted all over the interwebs!! and to think it all started with a post that read: “blah, blah, blah. testing, testing, testing.”
like many things in life, this blog started out as something very different than it ended up. five years ago, this website’s sole purpose was to satisfy a course requirement to maintain a dairy while i worked as a journalist in London. i had gone over for a six-week internship with Voice of America, courtesy of a work-abroad program sponsored by USC, where i was getting my master’s in journalism. the blog also served as a way to keep family and friends abreast of my happenings while i was overseas — first working that journalism job, then during a month-long hop on the Eurail that took me all over Europe.
i figured the blog would stop soon after i landed back in LA, but it just kept going and going, chronicling my last year in grad school, the graduation, a big breakup, three months of internet dating, the harem, finding a job, falling in love, then another big breakup, losing a friend, getting a puppy, and now owning my first home. mixed with that were recurring tales of drunkenness, depression, frustration and lamentation — sprinkled with some mighty bad photos of myself. in short, five years of self-obsessed drivel.
but why blog? why put your shit-stained laundry on the clothesline for all the world to see? i get asked this often, and while i won’t pretend to speak for all the bloggers in the universe, i think for a lot of us who keep a personal blog, its existence is as much for ourselves as it is for the readers. foremost, it’s a journal in the traditional sense so it’s fun for me to review older entries and see my evolution as a human. truthfully, i’ll read things i wrote five years ago, even one year ago, and want to barf. five years from now i’m sure i’ll be reviewing things i write today and feel the same thing. and that’s ok by me.
i’ve thought of removing some of the racier posts or deleting those with the most atrocious writing or even correcting the typos that burn my eyes and chip away at my skull, but i tend to leave them alone. i need them to learn from. i need them to keep me honest, to keep me comfortable with my imperfections. i need them to remind me that the world won’t end if i publish something against my better judgment. after all, this is only a blog on the internet. big whoop.
the public side of it is another matter. i understand that people will judge. they could find me to be a certifiable shithead, just as i could find those same people to be pathetic trolls whose only concept of love is rubbing peanut butter all over their bodies for their dogs to lick off while they eat their TV dinners and blast bloggers for having a viewpoint. see, i’m people. i will judge, too.
with that in mind, now seems like the perfect time to let y’all know that i plan to post some ads here, probably sometime this year. they’ll likely start as simple google ads and will hopefully not grow into those annoying ads that taunt you to catch a monkey for $20. i don’t anticipate making boatloads of money from these ads, but now that mama has a mortgage to pay, every little bit helps. i’d also like to give this blog the makeover i’ve been talking about giving it for ages. hopefully also this year.
i’ve begun to tag entries with a subject, a process that will take some time to complete as i’m rummaging through the archives so that every post gets at least one tag. so far, i’ve created 17 different tags that range from birthdays to holidays to music. to date, the tag with the most entries is dating, which has 19 posts to its credit, followed by whining with 13, and then breakups with 10. i know — how totally poetic. i expect the travel tag to pick up the most entries once i get around to tagging those early posts of my adventures in Europe. of course my favorite tags include the photos of the cuties, labeled with dogliness (seven entries), and Mo’s love notes (nine).
other blog oddities in case anyone cares:
- this post is number 255.
- the posts that have generated the greatest amount of comments, 36 total, are this one and this one.
- the post that’s generated the greatest amount of emails was the one about my visit to the psychic in hawaii. i average roughly one email a month on that one. most just ask for her contact info — which is listed twice in the comments — but sometimes people share their own experiences of seeing her, which are usually interesting.
- the posts i cannot bear to read are those that deal with Angela’s death, labeled with the death tag. always a buzz kill.
- although i’ve broken this rule on occasion, i’ve vowed to never discuss details of my political beliefs or events that occur at my day job. the whys of this should be pretty self-evident.
- to date, there have been two sorta stalkers, more like fans, who have emerged from this blogging experience. the first, of course, started out as commentator “Chris Knight,” who turned out to be my arch nemesis from high school, Marlin (aka Mo), now my spectacular boyfriend. the other (plexi, you still out there?) was a former coworker who sent me a sweet birthday e-card one year and asked me out for a drink. (never happened.)
*******
last week i finally moved into my new house. it even looks new after all the work that’s gone into it. (photos to come in a few weeks once all the boxes are emptied). with the new house in tow, the blog turning five, my love of Mo growing by the day and a new position at my work that i’ll reveal more about later, i sense that this is the beginning of the next big chapter of my life. i know how absolutely cheesy that sounds and i wish i had better poetry to express it, but it’s a valid truth for me right now.
lately, i’ve been experiencing an intense blend of excitement, optimism, anxiety, tearfulness and wonderment — which means that i’m feeling like my usual self. i’m generally not a fan of big life transitions and emotional upheaval, but this one has been tolerable, even enjoyable as it’s engaged all my senses and propelled me into my future, which seems saturated with possibility. i feel alive, alert and so stupidly weepy that i could look at a flower now and cry.
the past five years have been sometimes terrific, sometimes terrible, and spilling their contents on this space has been greatly rewarding for me. plus, it’s cheaper than therapy. i can’t wait to see what the next five bring and only hope that you’ll continue to play along — leave some comments, click some ads, roll your eyes at my absurdity and maybe chuckle at my bad jokes.
thanks for reading.
Friday, July 06, 2007
31
now that i’ve finally crossed the threshold to become a true thirtysomething instead of just a thirty, i got exactly the push i needed to jump off the fence and arrive at the soft landing and happy acceptance awaiting me below. not that i could have hopped the fence to run back into my twenties. and not that i would have wanted to.
unlike last year when i found myself in a panic over the approach of this new decade — the textbook type of panic i’ve seen countless friends go through as well — this year there was no turmoil, no soppy lamentations, crazy chronicles or paralyzing thoughts of “oh shit, what the fuck am i doing with my life?”
this year, i felt happy on my birthday. this year, i knew conclusively that the only thing i could do with my life was to live it. this year, i woke up on the tuesday that was my birthday and went to work as usual, happy to have my career in copy editing. i received cards from a few thoughtful coworkers, with one even making me lemon bars. the evening i passed with my parents, eating a nice meal at fancy Maggiano’s. and of course nighttime i spent with my puppies, their wagging tails and smiling eyes confirming the suspicion i carried with me throughout the day — that i had much to be thankful for on this birthday.
that night, i leashed up the pups for a long walk in the twilight. the neighborhood looked lovelier than usual, peppered as it was with bougainvillea in full bloom, still bright by the moonlight. the weather was perfectly temperate, air crisp. big inhales and exhales.
as we walked, the reflections of the past ten began to roll in — the traumas and dramas, whether real or imagined; the joys, hopes, sorrows, fears and sensations; the boyfriends and broken hearts; the back surgery and resultant scar; the delirium of new love and anguish when he cheated; the people i thought i’d always know but haven’t spoken to in ages; the job jumping; the moving once a year; the summer traveling through europe; the inadequacies and self-doubts; the opportunities for redemption; angela’s suicide; the wild time in san francisco; the drugs and all-night parties; the youthful delusions, amateur epiphanies and yearly paradigm shifts.
they rolled in like a flood. the bad, the good, the ugly. those shiny moments that defined my twenties, that once seemed so vivid and relentlessly self-important, the way they latched onto me like leeches. but now, finally, after years of agonizing over how i could have done everything i’ve ever done better than the way i did it, none of it seemed to matter anymore.
it was really past — distant, remote, stripped of its gravity and put into perspective. finally, i had let it go. finally, i had moved the fuck on. and damn, it felt good. i felt relieved, lighter, brighter, almost tingly as i strolled the boulevard with my pups wondering what the hell was put in my drink during dinner to make me so damn clear-headed. but here it was, very clear indeed, that the past was just that: irrelevant and not worth agonizing over.
as someone who is an agonizer, ruminator extraordinaire, capable of psychoanalyzing everything within an inch of its existence, this was huge. and while i don’t expect to ever rewire myself out of that (exhausting) habit, i needed to throw out the old to make some room for the lifetime of stress that’s surely ahead of me. and just like that, with a long walk and a bit of mental abracadabra, the old stuff had gone.
it was the oddest, most effortless catharsis known to humankind. a velvet revolution, with ten years worth of baggage tossed out of my psyche like a tacky prom dress that’s crowding the closet. it made me feel so super free and invincible that making senseless analogies about prom dresses is suddenly a-ok. i’m feeling that fucking good.
and now, a week into being 31 — thirty-fun! — i’m still feeling pretty fucking good.
unlike last year when i found myself in a panic over the approach of this new decade — the textbook type of panic i’ve seen countless friends go through as well — this year there was no turmoil, no soppy lamentations, crazy chronicles or paralyzing thoughts of “oh shit, what the fuck am i doing with my life?”
this year, i felt happy on my birthday. this year, i knew conclusively that the only thing i could do with my life was to live it. this year, i woke up on the tuesday that was my birthday and went to work as usual, happy to have my career in copy editing. i received cards from a few thoughtful coworkers, with one even making me lemon bars. the evening i passed with my parents, eating a nice meal at fancy Maggiano’s. and of course nighttime i spent with my puppies, their wagging tails and smiling eyes confirming the suspicion i carried with me throughout the day — that i had much to be thankful for on this birthday.
that night, i leashed up the pups for a long walk in the twilight. the neighborhood looked lovelier than usual, peppered as it was with bougainvillea in full bloom, still bright by the moonlight. the weather was perfectly temperate, air crisp. big inhales and exhales.
as we walked, the reflections of the past ten began to roll in — the traumas and dramas, whether real or imagined; the joys, hopes, sorrows, fears and sensations; the boyfriends and broken hearts; the back surgery and resultant scar; the delirium of new love and anguish when he cheated; the people i thought i’d always know but haven’t spoken to in ages; the job jumping; the moving once a year; the summer traveling through europe; the inadequacies and self-doubts; the opportunities for redemption; angela’s suicide; the wild time in san francisco; the drugs and all-night parties; the youthful delusions, amateur epiphanies and yearly paradigm shifts.
they rolled in like a flood. the bad, the good, the ugly. those shiny moments that defined my twenties, that once seemed so vivid and relentlessly self-important, the way they latched onto me like leeches. but now, finally, after years of agonizing over how i could have done everything i’ve ever done better than the way i did it, none of it seemed to matter anymore.
it was really past — distant, remote, stripped of its gravity and put into perspective. finally, i had let it go. finally, i had moved the fuck on. and damn, it felt good. i felt relieved, lighter, brighter, almost tingly as i strolled the boulevard with my pups wondering what the hell was put in my drink during dinner to make me so damn clear-headed. but here it was, very clear indeed, that the past was just that: irrelevant and not worth agonizing over.
as someone who is an agonizer, ruminator extraordinaire, capable of psychoanalyzing everything within an inch of its existence, this was huge. and while i don’t expect to ever rewire myself out of that (exhausting) habit, i needed to throw out the old to make some room for the lifetime of stress that’s surely ahead of me. and just like that, with a long walk and a bit of mental abracadabra, the old stuff had gone.
it was the oddest, most effortless catharsis known to humankind. a velvet revolution, with ten years worth of baggage tossed out of my psyche like a tacky prom dress that’s crowding the closet. it made me feel so super free and invincible that making senseless analogies about prom dresses is suddenly a-ok. i’m feeling that fucking good.
and now, a week into being 31 — thirty-fun! — i’m still feeling pretty fucking good.
Labels: birthday
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
The Thirty Chronicles: The Next Ten
who knew a birthday could be dragged out for months? it’s the kind of fixation that’s only appropriate when one’s turning 21, not 30. or maybe that kind of fixation is never appropriate. in any case, i’ll stop with the birthday bonanza after this post. by now, i’ve made peace with my twenties and have already put both feet into being thirtysomething. the view from up here is different.
well, not really, but there are a few things that thirty means to me. primarily, it means that it’s time to quit being the go-with-the-flow girl. not that i’m to become inflexible, but the carefree attitude that’s characteristic of the twenties -- where you can float for years in crap jobs and mediocre relationships -- is something to kiss goodbye.
my (slightly) older girlfriends have given me the wisest advice on the matter, saying that this is the time to start fermenting plans and building a sound foundation for achieving them. this is the time to discern the outline of a future that suits me and start steadying toward it, because it will take years before it looks just right.
and to think i once didn’t believe in making plans, figuring everything will work out just as it should. to make g-d laugh, tell him your plans, har har. he has a plan for each of us, har har. bull-fucking-shit. what a copout. it’s lazy, existential drivel -- the twentysomething “i’ll let the wind carry me to my destiny” attitude one takes when she’s goalless and clueless.
i know i’ve spent enough time wallowing in that romantic ideal, where everything happens for a reason and life is one great search for meaning, with some absolute truth awaiting discovery. whatevs. we make our own meaning, our luck, our destiny, our reason.
to recognize that it’s all meaningless has been remarkably liberating, i gotta say. there’s no ultimate answer to subscribe to, no limitation to accommodate. finally, the search ends through forfeit! i wasted enough time on it as is.
where the hell was i going again? oh yeah, my list of things to focus on in the next ten years. i have a feeling these years will pass rather quickly and be less eventful than the last ten were. even in the last few years, life has turned rather monotonous: i’ve finished all the schooling i’ll ever need, have a steady job i have no reason to leave and, at a mere two and a half years, i’ve lived at my current residence longer than i’ve lived at any other residence that came before it, save my childhood home.
as someone who’s inherently restless, i get uneasy by a lack of flux. i need stimulation and newness and adventure to keep my senses engaged. but i’m trying to reprogram my thinking to see the stability as something positive, where i have my basic needs met and can focus on creating controlled adventures that still enliven. i certainly don’t care to return to the days of “find a new job because you’ve just been laid off... again” or “find a new apartment because you’ve just been evicted!”
yeah, that wasn’t much fun at the time, invigorating as it may have been. future adventures should be far more adult, as the following list demonstrates:
• have a kid! maybe even two (three tops). maybe this won’t play out completely perfectly, maybe you’ll need to visit the sperm bank when you hit your “scary age” but have a kid at some point, even if it’s just one, because from the outside, parenthood looks interesting, exhausting, otherworldly and definitely worth knowing.
• don’t get married just to have a kid or just to be married. honor the promise you made to yourself regarding marriage -- that you’ll do it only if it feels absolutely right in your bones, your blood and your brain. and even then reconsider.
• write a friggin book! or two or ten. find the time and discipline and just write already. potential without action is worthless. publish or perish, bitch.
• quit being negative. we’ve gone over this before.
• recognize that everything that’s happened up to this moment, whether good or bad, is not as important as what happens after this moment. remind yourself every day that the past does not have to impact the future.
• get better at buying your own bullshit if you expect other people to.
• buy some property. g-d ain’t making any more real estate. and then sell the property. paper equity is not as good as money in the bank.
• dogs. have more.
• all that adult shit that your pops has been telling you about for years -- saving for retirement, insuring everything, maintaining good credit -- subscribe to it. also, eradicate all student debt by 40.
• prepare for deaths in the family. you aren’t the only one who’s aging.
• don’t bother with people you don’t care for, tasks you don’t need to do and situations you’d rather not be in. you have the freedom to politely excuse yourself from all of them. up until you have that kid, your greatest obligation is to yourself.
now go get ’em, tiger.
well, not really, but there are a few things that thirty means to me. primarily, it means that it’s time to quit being the go-with-the-flow girl. not that i’m to become inflexible, but the carefree attitude that’s characteristic of the twenties -- where you can float for years in crap jobs and mediocre relationships -- is something to kiss goodbye.
my (slightly) older girlfriends have given me the wisest advice on the matter, saying that this is the time to start fermenting plans and building a sound foundation for achieving them. this is the time to discern the outline of a future that suits me and start steadying toward it, because it will take years before it looks just right.
and to think i once didn’t believe in making plans, figuring everything will work out just as it should. to make g-d laugh, tell him your plans, har har. he has a plan for each of us, har har. bull-fucking-shit. what a copout. it’s lazy, existential drivel -- the twentysomething “i’ll let the wind carry me to my destiny” attitude one takes when she’s goalless and clueless.
i know i’ve spent enough time wallowing in that romantic ideal, where everything happens for a reason and life is one great search for meaning, with some absolute truth awaiting discovery. whatevs. we make our own meaning, our luck, our destiny, our reason.
to recognize that it’s all meaningless has been remarkably liberating, i gotta say. there’s no ultimate answer to subscribe to, no limitation to accommodate. finally, the search ends through forfeit! i wasted enough time on it as is.
where the hell was i going again? oh yeah, my list of things to focus on in the next ten years. i have a feeling these years will pass rather quickly and be less eventful than the last ten were. even in the last few years, life has turned rather monotonous: i’ve finished all the schooling i’ll ever need, have a steady job i have no reason to leave and, at a mere two and a half years, i’ve lived at my current residence longer than i’ve lived at any other residence that came before it, save my childhood home.
as someone who’s inherently restless, i get uneasy by a lack of flux. i need stimulation and newness and adventure to keep my senses engaged. but i’m trying to reprogram my thinking to see the stability as something positive, where i have my basic needs met and can focus on creating controlled adventures that still enliven. i certainly don’t care to return to the days of “find a new job because you’ve just been laid off... again” or “find a new apartment because you’ve just been evicted!”
yeah, that wasn’t much fun at the time, invigorating as it may have been. future adventures should be far more adult, as the following list demonstrates:
• have a kid! maybe even two (three tops). maybe this won’t play out completely perfectly, maybe you’ll need to visit the sperm bank when you hit your “scary age” but have a kid at some point, even if it’s just one, because from the outside, parenthood looks interesting, exhausting, otherworldly and definitely worth knowing.
• don’t get married just to have a kid or just to be married. honor the promise you made to yourself regarding marriage -- that you’ll do it only if it feels absolutely right in your bones, your blood and your brain. and even then reconsider.
• write a friggin book! or two or ten. find the time and discipline and just write already. potential without action is worthless. publish or perish, bitch.
• quit being negative. we’ve gone over this before.
• recognize that everything that’s happened up to this moment, whether good or bad, is not as important as what happens after this moment. remind yourself every day that the past does not have to impact the future.
• get better at buying your own bullshit if you expect other people to.
• buy some property. g-d ain’t making any more real estate. and then sell the property. paper equity is not as good as money in the bank.
• dogs. have more.
• all that adult shit that your pops has been telling you about for years -- saving for retirement, insuring everything, maintaining good credit -- subscribe to it. also, eradicate all student debt by 40.
• prepare for deaths in the family. you aren’t the only one who’s aging.
• don’t bother with people you don’t care for, tasks you don’t need to do and situations you’d rather not be in. you have the freedom to politely excuse yourself from all of them. up until you have that kid, your greatest obligation is to yourself.
now go get ’em, tiger.
Monday, July 03, 2006
The Thirty Chronicles: The Celebration
well, the world didn't end. thirty arrived on june 26 and incorporated itself rather seamlessly. no great fireworks or traumas or parades. it came, sat down with me for a drink and recessed into the laugh lines around my mouth -- the only wrinkles i enjoy since they reflect happy smiles.
the happy smile was much displayed during my annual birthday party, which drew the usual crowd of suspects, commemorated in the photo essay that follows. thanks to those who showed and brought gifts and booze and warm wishes. i felt loved.
Dirty Thirty: that was the title of this year's bash, and my architect superstar boyfriend Mo drew a handy floor plan on the dry erase for newcomers.
balloons & booze: the party was largely confined to my backyard and stocked with libations. my drink of choice for the night was vodka and red bull.
happy smile: happy dirty thirty to me.
the view from above: my birthday wish was to quit smoking forever. the monday after my party i awoke with strep throat and haven't had a cigarette since.
revelers: dan, kate, nick and jason cheese it up for the camera.
my future bridesmaids: twas a momentous occasion as Dee and Raidis, my longtime girlfriends, met each other for the first time. i must have a thing for ethnic, dark-haired beauties.
more ethnic, dark-haired beauties: Lacey and Michelle
chin on palm: Chad indulges in fascinating conversation with Tim as Polly looks on.
sorta sepia: Juan and I indulge in our own fascinating conversation in the corner.
you are getting sleepy: Juice got baked like the rest of us.
strike a pose: in an effort to not take the standard smiley picture, Jayson and I make the standard non-smiley faces.
festive brights: Mo inflated every last balloon before stringing them above the yard. then he gave me a special edition box set of all 6 seasons of "Sex and the City." and he helped me clean the morning after the party. i returned the kindness by not taking a single picture of him the night of the party.
blame the booze: there was enough for leftovers.
ok, found one: Mo and Dan talking trash by the trash.
going quietly: what 30 looked like after a few drinks.
it could be food! juice eyes the prized fortune Zee pulled out of her fortune cookie.
coolest guy ever: Nick is tops.
Juice agrees: the furry baby enjoys some mid-party playtime.
shiny happy: Niaz, Michelle, Kevin and Willow
the medication must be working! alien hand dave left his alien hand at home this time.
inner photo: KT and Zee in the doorjamb.
comedy in the hammock: Casey, Raidis and Ann catching a laugh.
more revelers: still reveling.
dang, i got a lot of teeth: thirty's alright.
thanks to everyone who came.
the happy smile was much displayed during my annual birthday party, which drew the usual crowd of suspects, commemorated in the photo essay that follows. thanks to those who showed and brought gifts and booze and warm wishes. i felt loved.
Dirty Thirty: that was the title of this year's bash, and my architect superstar boyfriend Mo drew a handy floor plan on the dry erase for newcomers.
balloons & booze: the party was largely confined to my backyard and stocked with libations. my drink of choice for the night was vodka and red bull.
happy smile: happy dirty thirty to me.
the view from above: my birthday wish was to quit smoking forever. the monday after my party i awoke with strep throat and haven't had a cigarette since.
revelers: dan, kate, nick and jason cheese it up for the camera.
my future bridesmaids: twas a momentous occasion as Dee and Raidis, my longtime girlfriends, met each other for the first time. i must have a thing for ethnic, dark-haired beauties.
more ethnic, dark-haired beauties: Lacey and Michelle
chin on palm: Chad indulges in fascinating conversation with Tim as Polly looks on.
sorta sepia: Juan and I indulge in our own fascinating conversation in the corner.
you are getting sleepy: Juice got baked like the rest of us.
strike a pose: in an effort to not take the standard smiley picture, Jayson and I make the standard non-smiley faces.
festive brights: Mo inflated every last balloon before stringing them above the yard. then he gave me a special edition box set of all 6 seasons of "Sex and the City." and he helped me clean the morning after the party. i returned the kindness by not taking a single picture of him the night of the party.
blame the booze: there was enough for leftovers.
ok, found one: Mo and Dan talking trash by the trash.
going quietly: what 30 looked like after a few drinks.
it could be food! juice eyes the prized fortune Zee pulled out of her fortune cookie.
coolest guy ever: Nick is tops.
Juice agrees: the furry baby enjoys some mid-party playtime.
shiny happy: Niaz, Michelle, Kevin and Willow
the medication must be working! alien hand dave left his alien hand at home this time.
inner photo: KT and Zee in the doorjamb.
comedy in the hammock: Casey, Raidis and Ann catching a laugh.
more revelers: still reveling.
dang, i got a lot of teeth: thirty's alright.
thanks to everyone who came.
Labels: birthday, parties, thirty
Sunday, June 18, 2006
The Thirty Chronicles: The Last Ten
thirty looked different at twenty. it certainly looked much older than it feels today, and i'm very thankful i’m not turning twenty this year. that was a sweet enough time when life seemed so limitless and people seemed so genuine, but it was also a big waste of time, because people in their early twenties are a total waste of cells.
i certainly was, strutting around as I did, convinced i had already unlocked the mysteries of the universe when i was still figuring out how to do my laundry properly, perplexed every time a wool sweater shrank in the wash. those were the salad days, when i could subsist on a diet of coffee and cigarettes and think nothing of the way i was ruining my credit. ten years and twenty pounds ago.
if i could talk to my 20-year-old self today, i’d give her a good shake and smack -- and a long hug, though she'd probably fight me off. she was a bit angry then, capable of mega-bitchiness, and wholly convinced of her immortality and infallibility. she could have never conceived of the minefields and piles of quicksand that she would encounter, the obstacles needed to humble her.
not that my twenties were so horrible, but they had their mania and moments of despair. i changed cities a few times, must have lived in ten different apartments, gone through numerous jobs, boyfriends and paradigms. it was like a decade-long coming-of-age film that i've surely romanticized in being something better than it was.
i know i won't miss my twenties, as i spent most of that time being poor, confused, anxious and fearful. sometimes i cook it up to be something so pure, an age of innocence even in its anguish, but when i go deeper and remember my excesses and missteps, the many nights of lying awake wondering what will become of me, i am so thankful a new demographic is here to wipe my slate.
but if i had that coveted hindsight to do it again, the opportunity to give my 20-year-old self the shake, smack and hug i needed, my stubborn ass probably still wouldn't have listened. perhaps if i stabbed her and wrote the following in blood, it might have gotten her attention:
• quit smoking. it's doesn't look so cool, especially in california, and it makes you smell bad.
• calm the fuck down. you'll waste so much time trying to be tough, independent and self-assured that you'll forget how to be yourself. i know that's who you want to be, but that’s not who you truly are. you’re sensitive, insecure and needy, and you’ll still be that way at 30. get used to yourself and know that it's ok to be vulnerable. it doesn't mean that you're weak, only that you're human.
• be nicer to your parents. they have been so good to you.
• in general: eat more bran, take better care of your skin, never drive drunk, use condoms every time, exercise more, whine less.
• at 23, you'll fall madly in love and be persuaded to leave San Francisco just as you begin to enjoy your life there. don't move back to LA for this man; make him move north instead. a few years later, you'll have the opportunity to attend NYU for grad school. GO!
• trust your instincts more than your heart.
• cherish your friends. they are even more important than you already think they are.
• your writing is atrocious now, but keep trying, though avoid writing poetry altogether. you’ll also keep a blog in your later twenties. it will be a cheap 'sex and the city' ripoff that will amuse your friends and cause you occasional embarassment and intruige.
• don’t skimp on personal hygiene products, coffee, the perfect gift for someone else, a good mattress, a good haircut, sushi.
• on men: give up the fairytale. your happy ending is not guaranteed. it's work and you will make mistakes, but you'll keep trying because you are a romantic at heart. and you won't be married with kids by 30 like you think, but that's ok because you will still like your life.
• don't worry so much. nothing is insurmountable.
• there's more that i'll need to tell you offline -- additional stuff on men, about drugs, and the self-destructive and depressive tendencies you'll be grappling with always. some mistakes you'll need to make; others you don't need to make twice. when you finally know better, do the right thing.
• talk less, listen more. swallow your pride sometimes. stay out of your own way. trust life to take care of you.
now go get 'em, tiger.
i certainly was, strutting around as I did, convinced i had already unlocked the mysteries of the universe when i was still figuring out how to do my laundry properly, perplexed every time a wool sweater shrank in the wash. those were the salad days, when i could subsist on a diet of coffee and cigarettes and think nothing of the way i was ruining my credit. ten years and twenty pounds ago.
if i could talk to my 20-year-old self today, i’d give her a good shake and smack -- and a long hug, though she'd probably fight me off. she was a bit angry then, capable of mega-bitchiness, and wholly convinced of her immortality and infallibility. she could have never conceived of the minefields and piles of quicksand that she would encounter, the obstacles needed to humble her.
not that my twenties were so horrible, but they had their mania and moments of despair. i changed cities a few times, must have lived in ten different apartments, gone through numerous jobs, boyfriends and paradigms. it was like a decade-long coming-of-age film that i've surely romanticized in being something better than it was.
i know i won't miss my twenties, as i spent most of that time being poor, confused, anxious and fearful. sometimes i cook it up to be something so pure, an age of innocence even in its anguish, but when i go deeper and remember my excesses and missteps, the many nights of lying awake wondering what will become of me, i am so thankful a new demographic is here to wipe my slate.
but if i had that coveted hindsight to do it again, the opportunity to give my 20-year-old self the shake, smack and hug i needed, my stubborn ass probably still wouldn't have listened. perhaps if i stabbed her and wrote the following in blood, it might have gotten her attention:
• quit smoking. it's doesn't look so cool, especially in california, and it makes you smell bad.
• calm the fuck down. you'll waste so much time trying to be tough, independent and self-assured that you'll forget how to be yourself. i know that's who you want to be, but that’s not who you truly are. you’re sensitive, insecure and needy, and you’ll still be that way at 30. get used to yourself and know that it's ok to be vulnerable. it doesn't mean that you're weak, only that you're human.
• be nicer to your parents. they have been so good to you.
• in general: eat more bran, take better care of your skin, never drive drunk, use condoms every time, exercise more, whine less.
• at 23, you'll fall madly in love and be persuaded to leave San Francisco just as you begin to enjoy your life there. don't move back to LA for this man; make him move north instead. a few years later, you'll have the opportunity to attend NYU for grad school. GO!
• trust your instincts more than your heart.
• cherish your friends. they are even more important than you already think they are.
• your writing is atrocious now, but keep trying, though avoid writing poetry altogether. you’ll also keep a blog in your later twenties. it will be a cheap 'sex and the city' ripoff that will amuse your friends and cause you occasional embarassment and intruige.
• don’t skimp on personal hygiene products, coffee, the perfect gift for someone else, a good mattress, a good haircut, sushi.
• on men: give up the fairytale. your happy ending is not guaranteed. it's work and you will make mistakes, but you'll keep trying because you are a romantic at heart. and you won't be married with kids by 30 like you think, but that's ok because you will still like your life.
• don't worry so much. nothing is insurmountable.
• there's more that i'll need to tell you offline -- additional stuff on men, about drugs, and the self-destructive and depressive tendencies you'll be grappling with always. some mistakes you'll need to make; others you don't need to make twice. when you finally know better, do the right thing.
• talk less, listen more. swallow your pride sometimes. stay out of your own way. trust life to take care of you.
now go get 'em, tiger.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
The Thirty Chronicles: The Panic
it could be worse. i could be turning sixty, i suppose. thirty is definitely still young, relativism aside and included. lots of energy left; i’m ambulatory and alive. health, family, friends, security and self-esteem. good stuff in there. no need for this birthday to latch onto my radar like this, but i must confess that it’s thrown me into a Huckabees-esque existential conundrum.
i thought it wouldn’t matter so much, that the turn of the decade would pass through me seamlessly. but i find myself in funkytown lately, unhappy with father time. i hear people around me saying “embrace it” and “be thankful your twenties are over” and “better stuff lies ahead.” and i believe all of that. yet still. still.
thirty’s a bit heavy. i’m taking inventory and coming up short. i’m realizing that i’m still far from the person i’d like to be. i find myself drifting into the fantasyland of where i thought i’d be by now, but am not. and i can’t seem to reconcile the discrepancy. my father always tells me, “it takes a lot to make you happy.” perhaps he’s right.
i know that two years from now, turning thirty will seem as insignificant as turning 28 did two years ago. i know that the grand scheme of life will forget this thirtieth birthday and scoff at the anxiety it’s caused. it’s only as big a deal as i make it. the problem is my attitude, not my age.
the problem is that my crappy genetics had me sprouting gray hair at 19, meaning that i have to color my hair every 6 weeks, otherwise it would look all salt and pepper. the problem is that when i told a coworker about my upcoming birthday (this June 26), she guessed that i would be turning 33, meaning i probably look much older and she tried to underestimate my age to be kind. the problem is that i can no longer fall into the “cute” category anymore, given my gray hair, laugh lines and crows feet.
it sucks that in the twenties, one is “maturing” and “growing,” though once thirty comes, it’s only downhill “aging.” it sucks that my body is already beginning its decay, given my cervical cancer scare last summer, to which my older girlfriend Dee remarked, “welcome to your thirties.” and – i gotta say it -- it sucks that it’s different for men and women.
could i possibly complain anymore? yep, i can and will. this is the first post in a multipart series chronicling my thirtieth birthday.
i thought it wouldn’t matter so much, that the turn of the decade would pass through me seamlessly. but i find myself in funkytown lately, unhappy with father time. i hear people around me saying “embrace it” and “be thankful your twenties are over” and “better stuff lies ahead.” and i believe all of that. yet still. still.
thirty’s a bit heavy. i’m taking inventory and coming up short. i’m realizing that i’m still far from the person i’d like to be. i find myself drifting into the fantasyland of where i thought i’d be by now, but am not. and i can’t seem to reconcile the discrepancy. my father always tells me, “it takes a lot to make you happy.” perhaps he’s right.
i know that two years from now, turning thirty will seem as insignificant as turning 28 did two years ago. i know that the grand scheme of life will forget this thirtieth birthday and scoff at the anxiety it’s caused. it’s only as big a deal as i make it. the problem is my attitude, not my age.
the problem is that my crappy genetics had me sprouting gray hair at 19, meaning that i have to color my hair every 6 weeks, otherwise it would look all salt and pepper. the problem is that when i told a coworker about my upcoming birthday (this June 26), she guessed that i would be turning 33, meaning i probably look much older and she tried to underestimate my age to be kind. the problem is that i can no longer fall into the “cute” category anymore, given my gray hair, laugh lines and crows feet.
it sucks that in the twenties, one is “maturing” and “growing,” though once thirty comes, it’s only downhill “aging.” it sucks that my body is already beginning its decay, given my cervical cancer scare last summer, to which my older girlfriend Dee remarked, “welcome to your thirties.” and – i gotta say it -- it sucks that it’s different for men and women.
could i possibly complain anymore? yep, i can and will. this is the first post in a multipart series chronicling my thirtieth birthday.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Sunrise, Sunset
i really feel like i'm 19 years old most of the time. like my ID is a fake ID and i'm engaging in underaging drinking when i hit up a bar or club with my friends. so imagine my dismay when i turned 29 last week. that's so close to 30, which is so close to 40, which is so close to death. luckily, i had some very good friends around to ease my uneasy 29-year-old soul. here are some photo highlights from the party.
it's my party: and i'll let my tits hang out if i want to.
my number one fan: i know y'all have probably never heard this before, but i really dig my dog.
it was the best punchline i've heard in ages: too bad i can't remember it. (thanks for coming out, pauly.)
Jok rocks! he is really one of the coolest and smartest people i've ever met.
juan juan juan: he always says that i'm him in a wig (because we're so alike). thanks, juancho, for letting me stay at your friends' houses whenever i'm in spain and for terrific post-party conversation. besos.
yes, there were girls there, too: raidis and ann hanging out in the hammock.
party people: partying.
the secret's out: for those regular readers of my blog and its comments, i present to you the mysterious "chris knight," who looks suspiciously like this guy, marlin, i went to high school with.
no hard feelings: nope, none whatsoever. in fact, we've been quite the fiery item lately. but more on that at another time.
i'm such a hippocrite: i say that my life isn't about wild orgies and lesbianism, and here i post a picture of me kissing one of my girlfriends.
can you blame me? Zee is smokin hot. and super cool and smart and kind. plus, she has the sexiest voice.
Nick knows all that: that explains that smile. them two make a terrific couple and terrific friends.
i'm getting weepy: and, apparently, i'm running out of new ways to express my love for my friends. they just rock. period.
there was still no orgy: i swear! thanks, robin, for the wet one.
join us next year: for the party celebrating the second time i turn 29.
it's my party: and i'll let my tits hang out if i want to.
my number one fan: i know y'all have probably never heard this before, but i really dig my dog.
it was the best punchline i've heard in ages: too bad i can't remember it. (thanks for coming out, pauly.)
Jok rocks! he is really one of the coolest and smartest people i've ever met.
juan juan juan: he always says that i'm him in a wig (because we're so alike). thanks, juancho, for letting me stay at your friends' houses whenever i'm in spain and for terrific post-party conversation. besos.
yes, there were girls there, too: raidis and ann hanging out in the hammock.
party people: partying.
the secret's out: for those regular readers of my blog and its comments, i present to you the mysterious "chris knight," who looks suspiciously like this guy, marlin, i went to high school with.
no hard feelings: nope, none whatsoever. in fact, we've been quite the fiery item lately. but more on that at another time.
i'm such a hippocrite: i say that my life isn't about wild orgies and lesbianism, and here i post a picture of me kissing one of my girlfriends.
can you blame me? Zee is smokin hot. and super cool and smart and kind. plus, she has the sexiest voice.
Nick knows all that: that explains that smile. them two make a terrific couple and terrific friends.
i'm getting weepy: and, apparently, i'm running out of new ways to express my love for my friends. they just rock. period.
there was still no orgy: i swear! thanks, robin, for the wet one.
join us next year: for the party celebrating the second time i turn 29.
Labels: birthday
Thursday, July 08, 2004
My 28th Birthday Party
choose your booze: the bar was fully stocked and provided many alcoholic leftovers.
'it's my party': and i'll get as drunk as i want to.
the dynamic duo: Zee and Nick
lip service: Raidis puckers up porno style.
yogaman unveiled: Me with my (ahem) new boyfriend Justin.
dig my yard! Saba, Chris, Raidis, Justin.
ex's can get along: Juancho with his soon-to-be ex-wife Kiana.
the girl at the end of the alphabet: Zee and her beautiful bedroom eyes.
the furry chaperone: Juice had a good time, too.
hey, ladies: Chris is single.
whereas... Justin is not (and neither am I).
she calls me 'chinadoll': thanks for the wine glasses, Alsy.
my fellow M.A.s in journalism: Melissa (aka Gonzo) and Grace.
dig my living room! we move the ruckus indoors.
few are funnier: than Stevie (pictured with me) after a few cocktails.
fedoras and coronas: Nick parties in style.
burnt by the sun: Kiana's been incredibly tan lately.
my cream dream: ain't he cute?
the coolest gift ever: thanks to Garron for the Aztec thingy here.
