An oldie but goodie from my tortured twenties

1. In honor of Mimi Smartypants, who, I am happy to see is still blogging after all these years, I am doing today's entry as a numbered list.

2. Pity the poor Hugo House conference attendees who will be attending my classes at Saturday's conference because I have just taught myself how to use animations and sound in Power Point! (Loud sound clip of extended applause here).

3. I forget.

4. This morning, awash in nostalgia, I hunted down the lyrics for a song I wrote in my twenties with galpal Karen S during our brief tenure as a "band" called The Underwear Stains (We never actually performed. Or wrote any other songs. Or played instruments). Herewith I present it to you, published for the FIRST TIME!

Boys in Torn Leather Jackets
[chorus]Boys in torn leather jackets
Want you to think they’ve been around
Turn your life into a cliché
Don’t want you to tie them down

Always drunk or stoned at night
Watching Star Trek when you come over
You’re too real, he just can’t deal
He’s his own one true lover

Ohhhh...

[chorus]Boys in torn leather jackets
Just wanna play guitar, wanna get stoned
Boys in torn leather jackets
Wanna get laid and left alone

No skin broken, just his jacket
But he says he’s been hurt before
Just an excuse to make excuses
So why does it make you want him more…

[chorus] Boys in torn leather jackets
Want you to think they’ve been around
Turn your life into a cliché
Don’t want you to tie them down

[Insert another loud sound clip of extended applause here plus flashing animation of stadium crowd going wild].

5. The end.

Me and Blogger -- Headed to Couples Therapy

Sigh.

Look how early I'm posting today. You can always tell I've had a bad night if I'm posting before 8 a.m. in the morning.

You know, I wish I could blog like in the old days. If I could, I would tell all: from how sexy my boyfriend is when he's playing the guitar to how we got in a stupid fight about (insert mundane household item here) last night that has extended into the wee hours of this rain-lashed morning.

I would have delved more deeply into the relationship dynamics that played out in Alaska. What happened, exactly, as we piloted a kayak over too-big waves and got stranded on beaches that we couldn't get off? Who took charge? Who panicked? Who spotted the first grizzly (And the second? And who was ready to pack the kayak up and flee and who insisted we stand our ground?)

Hell, I would tell you the most private details of our s*x life if I could. Because God knows, I don't have anyone to talk to about that now my best girlfriends have dispersed to far-flung corners of the world.

I would share our thoughts on having kids and adoption (who's pro, who's con?) and that I think he would be great dad but that the thought of kids still terrifies me. I would talk about how my niece gets a googly, lovestruck look in her eyes every time he appears.

I might even talk about how I saw my most recent ex-boyfriend last week for the first time since our breakup more than 2 years ago and how bittersweet (but mostly sweet) that was.

I would talk about how I worry I'm emotionally shut down and might never be able to open up except to people I can't trust because they can't hurt me as much. But then I might say how that's stupid psychobabble and I should just shut the f*ck up.

But no. I don't talk about those things anymore. And, therefore, I don't really blog anymore, because nothing engaged me like talking about love and sex and dating and boys.

There I was, talking to a blogging class at Write on the Sound yesterday, telling them how the #1 thing they needed for a successful blog was PASSION.

And here I am, blogging day after day without passion anymore.

Me and Blogger need to go into some serious therapy.

Brown Bears in Alaska, Moving Boxes in Greenlake

Yours truly has returned from the Great White North and gone all the way south to Moving Hell. OK, so maybe it's Moving Purgatory now. But whatever it is, it's transition and it's hard.

Things have started to get organized but there are still random pieces of furniture scattered hither and thither, and numerous unpacked boxes, which have been stored in the haunted basement for me to deal with "later" (i.e. next time I move).

I also can't find any of my clothes and currently have a "nighstand" made of unpacked boxes. (Hmm, I bet THAT'S where my clothes are!)

The dog has not adjusted well to the move and starts making an unholy racket in his crate every morning at about, oh, 5 a.m. We try to ignore him and show him who's boss, but this morning the racket got so loud I had to check on him to make sure he wasn't suffering mortal injuries.

But nooo. Once I opened the door, he trotted out healthy as can be, wagged his curly tail, and waited expectantly for me to take him on his morning walk around the neighborhood. Which I did NOT, thank you very much. I grumpily took him outside to the yard, then put him back in the torture chamber where he finally went back to sleep after another half hour of caterwauling.

Anyway, I am sorry to whine. I have many non-whiny things to say about everything. Like how stunningly beautiful and mind-blowing Alaska was. And how it was the most intense wilderness camping I've ever done in my life -- with no people around for miles, a churning ocean between you and safety, and brown bears (aka GRIZZLIES but BIGGER) hanging about nearby.

But it might have to wait for another time when I am cranky and less sleep-deprived to wax poetic about that.

I also have more to say about dogs. Like why is it so much easier to shower love ondogs than people? Even when dogs make you so mad, i.e. by waking you up at 5 a.m., you can't hold it against them and you constantly hug and kiss them and tell them how lucky you are to have found them, how they are your best buddy, how cute they are, etc. Do you know how much more often I say these things to my dog than to my boyfriend? Ahem.

And speaking of that, when you go for walks and see people with cute dogs, why can you only ask the name of the dog and not the person? WHY? And why can you pet any old cute dog that you see and not the person, even if they are cute and adorable and you want them to be your friend??

Sigh. I'm a bit lonely here north of the ship canal bridge. Can you tell I need some new friends?

Public Libraries and Podcasts -- Who Knew??

I wanted to clue you in to two really cool things that I've discovered lately. This is very cutting-edge stuff for helping you build your music collection. I hesitate to even mention them to you for fear of the whole world finding out and cashing in, but...oh, what the heck.

Public Libraries

Did you know you can check CDs out of the public library?? Well guess what peeps -- you can! In the last month, I have checked out CDs by Tracy Chapman, the Hold Steady, Jay Farrar, Ryan Adams, Van Morrison. The list goes on! And then you can rip them onto your computer. I mean, then you can BURN them into your memory forever and replay them whenever you wish! When did these public library things start up anyway?

(Wait, didn't I once meet one of my INCREDIBLY UNSTABLE boyfriends at a library eons ago? My memory must be going. [See Breakup Babe entry for August 2, 2004].)

(Photo of the Seattle Public Library cribbed from the New York Times)

Podcasts

So there's this...thing. It's called "podcasting." I know, I know, sounds kinda weird. I think only one or two people know about it, including me. But - get this - when you sign up for podcasts, you can get things (like music!) for free! Just the other day I signed up for the KEXP podcast (you have to be really super hip to listen to KEXP so, if you're like, not hip, don't even bother) and I've already gotten like 15 new songs! Of course, most of them are too hip for me! Still. At least I am no longer listening to the same two songs over and over on my (c'mon Apple, pay me a lot of money to mention the name of your ubiquitous portable music player here!)

Commitment Issues - Moi?

For those of you who think I might have "committment problems," I will have you know that in the last 24 hours, I went house-shopping with friend-that-is-a-boy and filled out a form for "Seattle Pug Rescue!" (picture courtesy of The Pug Blog).

As I filled out the "Pug Rescue" form , which came right on the heels of going to look at this house, I thought whoa - what the hell is happening to me, Miss-Freewheeling-Don't-Tie-Me-Down-I-Want-to-Be-Able-To-Travel-To-South-America-At-The-Drop-Of-A-Hat-or-Date-Any-Hot- but-Inappropriate-Boy-I-Want-Breakup Babe?

It's not like I feel totally ready to move in with the friend-that-is-a-boy or get a dog. It's more like I know I never will feel totally ready. Ergo I will just jump in, do it, and get ready.

Then again, maybe not. We Geminis can never make up our minds.

It was, I have to say, a very cute house (triplex, actually ) in trendy yet still mellow Ballard within walking distance of everything (restaurants, clubs, library, coffeehouses)...a spacious two bedroom with hardwood floors and a garage for 1400 bucks a month.

If we were going to move in together it would be perfect. But it would mean scrambling for me to rent out my condo toute de suite and charging a lot of rent for it to cover my a*s-- that is if I can even get approval from the almighty condo board to do so.

But it was fun to look anyway and get that feeling of promise that comes with projecting your life onto a brand new space. (Ahh, with hardwood floors, I will finally realize the full potential of my genius, etc etc).

Anyway. Moving on. Hotel Californiasoft is trying to get me to come back now that my 100-day furlough has been completed. Though I am struggling against the idea, I feel myself about to capitulate. After all, my meager savings is half gone. I have trips I want to do. Skis to pay for. And let's not forget the effing mortgage.

It doesn't mean that I am giving in. I think I will still be able to check out someday. Just not quite yet, alas.

(Cue music: strains of Hotel California play softly as heroine, head hung low, employee badge in hand, enters the vast maze of gothic-looking office buildings and the door shuts with a firm and menacing click behind her).

Pity the Poor White-Collar Professional!

This has not been an easy week for yours truly. After a month of freedom I now have to buckle back into the straitjacket every day at Geeksoft Corp.

Oh yes, pity me and my overinflated salary, please! While people toil in the mines or on the factory floor for a pittance, I sit in my ergonomic chair and stare at my glare-free computer screen swilling free soft drinks for a fortune!

However, this is my blog so I will whine anyway. In the last month of quasi-unemployment, my work life actually took on a shape I liked. I rose at a reasonable hour. Commuted to the nearby coffee shop where I worked on things I cared about - like planning the class I'm teaching, writing articles, or applying for writing residencies.

Afternoons I spent working out and doing more work - my own work - at another coffee shop or perhaps the library. Living in the self-contained urban oasis of lower Queen Anne, I hardly ever got in my car on a typical day, which added hours to my life that are now being cruelly snatched back by the Corporation and its gridlocked highway.

Of course, my sweet view condo in the urban oasis of lower Queen Anne doesn't come free. There is a mortgage (2!) attached to it and thus I am not free to simply write articles, apply for grants, teach classes, live a peaceful car-free existence, etc etc.

Not yet anyway. I'm getting closer but not yet.

Meanwhile let's get just a little bit personal.

Now that I am in a uh, uh, (will not say the word happy, will not say it, because as soon as I say it everything will become unhappy), working relationship - one that is more real than any I've been in since Mr. Loser himself (of whom there has been no glimpse or peep since the book came out and maybe he really HAS been too ashamed to leave his house!) I dream constantly about being cheated on.

I MEAN HELLO HAVE I NOT WORKED THIS OUT OF MY SYSTEM BY WRITING A NOVEL ABOUT IT!?

I dream constantly that I put all my trust in someone only to have them tell me, suddenly, that they don't love me anymore, and oh, by the way, they're running off with their barista/ex-girlfriend/coworker/someone who is not you.

My current boyfriend is devoted as can be which might be part of the problem because Loser was too. And, naive little 30-something that I was, I trusted him! I never suspected he would do what he did! I got really, truly thrown for a loop and my whole world view was thrown out of whack.

Lo these past five years I've specialized in dating men who were dashing and unavailable. It was much easier. I could pine away, all daydreamy in CrushLand, knowing, deep down, that the damn thing would never go anywhere and that I would never truly get hurt. I had plenty of fun in CrushLand(as you know). But I think I've grown up a bit. I hope I've grown up a bit. I read old entries from Breakup Babe and cringe. Not because they aren't well-written, oh but they are, but because I was like a f*cking 13-year old with all that boy-chasing I was doing! (Only when I was 13 I was far too nerdy for any boys to like me so I was making up for lost time).

It's hard growing up. It's hard having a mortgage. It's hard knowing you could get dumped, that you're gonna die, that no matter how glum you might feel, there are people far worse off than you. That's why I like to write. It's an escape from all this stuff. You escape to your fictional world and it's almost like being a kid in your pretend fort again.

Which is why I must really start writing another novel soon. I feel it gestating. Ideas come and go and slip-slide around. One will be here soon, I know it.

Meanwile I've already written about three topics on this blog and made it far too long and it's broken all the rules I've told my poor blogging students about so GOODBYE.

r

Blogger Overcomes Blogging Addiction

Hello long-lost darlings,
I seem to have overcome my addiction to blogging as you can see, sadly, from my lack of posts. I've no doubt I'll resurface in some other bloggy way but since I stopped blogging about my love life I have lost my OOMPH.

Coincidentally or not, once I stopped blogging about it, my love life became far less melodramatic. Which is all I will say about it for now lest I rekindle my addiction.

In other news, life has gotten a bit more to my liking lately since I am now doing less of sitting in a sterile office filled with bored officmeates and more of doing things like tracking wild river otters and riding on remote and splendidly empty bike trails to report about these experiences to a gullible public.




Alas, there is the wee problem of supporting myself, since, as is my wont, I am still dating men who are "following their passions" instead of getting their asses rich so they can support me. Of course the royalties from Breakup Babe are just flowing in but I already used them to purchase a cup of coffee the other day.

Oh well.

xo
Rebecca

The Love Boat Soon Will Be Making Another Run

My life seems so unrecorded these days. No real blogging. Hardly any writing-in-my-journal. No pouring out my soul into a juicy roman-a-clef, or into GalPal #1's willing ear, since our rushed conversations now take place only when she is on the bus shuttling between work and daycare to pick up her eight-month old daughter (which means lots of ambient nose, lots of shouted "WHAT?"s, and inadvertent hang-ups.)

Not that I am complaining, mind you. My best galpals - married with children all of them - are as emotionally availalble as they can be given their wailing bundles of joy. Although I wouldn't mind having a nice galpal without kids so that that they have LOTS of uninterrupted time to listen to me prattle on about my single and fancy-free life or to go out on the town for girly drinks. I will complain about the fact that it does seem awfully hard to make new galpals at this stage in life, and believe me I have been trying. That is because GalPal #2 is moving AND I DESPERATELY NEED SOMEONE TO REPLACE HER. Apply within! Low pay but great benefits!

Meanwhile, unrecorded as it may be, life steams forward anyway. The "L" word has been making a few guest appearances in my life lately. This is rather frightening. The "L" word has been nothing but trouble in the past. Yet there it is, gunning for a recurring role. "I swear, this time I won't eff everything up! This time, it's all gonna end up being sunsets and roses and a lovely wedding on Orcas Island, two beautiful children, and a long life together full of sex that never gets boring! None of that pesky drama that launched your literary career!"

So we're steamrolling along in that department, either to bliss or oblivion, it's yet to be seen. Meanwhile, my career and writing life are in a strange sort of liquid susension. Things are moving, slowly. And I am trying to be OK with that slow thing.

What I've realized is that for the last ten years, I was driving towards the publication of my first book. I had no idea what would happen after that. Frankly, I never even really believed I would publish a book. I hoped that if I did, of course, this book would make a meteoric rise to the top of the charts and that all I would have to do was be a Writer for the rest of my life.

Ha.

I knew intellectually that that wasn't true of course. But it's different to know something in theory and experience it in real life. So, armed with a new understanding of what it means to be a published novelist, my life, like a big ocean liner, is making a slow turn on the high seas. It's heading away from the life of a corporate wage slave who writes on the side, striving to publish her first book and wait for the royalties to roll in. Been there, done that (except for the royalties part). Now we're pointing towards a more creative working life and new types of writing projects, but they are still hazy and obscured in distant clouds.

Good god, enough of that metaphor.

On a final note, I'd like to say that I do plan soon to add a blogroll soon and to link to all you kind people who are linking to me (if there are any of you still out there). I know I've never been the most community-minded blogger but I do appreciate your support, even if I've disappeared into the ether lately.

Ciao,
Rebecca

Ready to Rock

Hello darlings, long time, no see.

Life has been eventful as usual. I am getting nowhere on the book but other areas of my life are scooting along.

I have a new piano teacher who is helping me in my quest to rock, and this one, unlike my teachers of the recent past, is 1)not insane 2)has social skills and 3)doesn't light up a spliff as soon as I arrive.

There is also a rather cute and adoring boy in the picture. Someone I have known for a while and whom, up until recently, did not consider boyfriend material. When we first met, I had a big crush on him which then faded into the background as I dated someone else, and calculated the weight of his emotional baggage. But we became friends, and we got closer, and...after he confessed having all sorts of feelings for me, I opened my heart up to him.

After all, a girl is susceptible to being told she is the most amazing, beautiful person in the world.

That in itself is a lovely but frightening thing. Why it was Loser himself who used to tell me repeatedly I was the most beautiful woman he'd ever met; who put me on a pedestal and kowtowed to me because he had no backbone, and then ended up resenting me and treating me like dirt. I've experienced men who are infatuated with me, their eyes all a-sparkle, whose infatuation disappears as soon as the feelings are reciprocated and an actual relationship threatens to develop.

I have plenty of baggage myself.

But my heart is open and my head too -- I am open-minded to a fault. I look past the external and practical -- which, at my age, I should probably be focused on -- to the way a person makes me feel. To the way they look inside. I've gotten myself involved with a very loving, kind, open, super-sensitive sweetheart who is imbued with much (too much?) soul. If we truly hit it off, I can look past all the stuff that might scare other women away. If we don't, well, it's all gonna be a big, huge mess in many ways.

In other words, it's either going to be great or a total f*cking disaster. My seatbelt is firmly fastened, my seat is in its upright position, and all my electronic devices are put away.

Flight attendants, please be seated for takeoff.

I Heart Being Alone

I am rather sad about ending my beloved blog, Breakup Babe. But life goes on, does it not? Besides, now that I’ve rid myself of the name, I’m sure that I will find true love INSTANTLY, like the second I walk out the door of this coffee house onto the icy cold street.

Except I wouldn’t know true love if it whacked me in the head with a ski pole. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been “in love?” Longer than most of you have been alive. I hear it’s horribly overrated. That is chews you up and spits you out, leaving you older and more scarred than ever before, with a new piece of hideous baggage that has dirty underwear sticking out of it.

Strangely, however, the protagonist of my next novel is going to be “in love.” Some of you people might need to remind me what it’s like to be “in love.” My ancient memories are dim. But I thought it might be a lark to write about a “good” relationship for once, since I will probably never again be in one in my whole damn life. (I'm not asking for anyone's pity! I heart being alone! Hear me? HEART it!)

In other news, I’m off to the hills this weekend to exercise some of my fledgling backcountry ski skills and hopefully not get caught in any avalanches. It’s going to be a nice, toasty 15-degrees, with temperatures plunging at night. Luckily there will three of us (me plus two cute boys!) crammed into a two-person cabin so I plan to stay plenty warm.

Have a good holiday weekend.
Xo
Rebecca