Thanks for Nothing, 2K9

Some images of my day, 11/27/09. Got a bad phone call the next day. Lots of thinking, but ultimately, I am happy with my life.





and I love my dude.

Today

I'm in a weird space right now.
I like everything as it is coming,
but to think of everything all at once
and the future and everything connected
to it is too much.
I'm feeling overwhelmed.

Time for school.

Spoke too soon.

Damn. Danielle and I got our cars broken into this morning. Her ipod and my wallet were stolen. Damn.

Life kind of rules a little bit.

I don't want to speak too soon, but life kind of rules right now. Finished painting my helmet yesterday and here is what it looks like:



I rode around in figure eights in a parking lot by my house:





And 4 out of 5 people in my house did an Aztec Healing Clay mask before going to see the Accused at Satyricon on Saturday, which was totally fucking rad.




Successful pseudo-date the other night, but I don't know if it's going to go anywhere, especially now with Cole back in town...I know things would be different if I was in a different circumstance, but oh well. Everything else has been going relatively well, that I don't want to speak too soon about anything.

And I got to hang out with Cole tonight for the first time in over a year! What was weird about the whole thing is that it felt like no time had passed between us really at all. He got to meet Piper and Piper loved Cole!
Anyway, it's late and I have to be up relatively early to hang out with Cole and get ready for class tomorrow.

Good past few days!

I've had a great last few days! I got to see one of my idols, David Cross at the Newmark Theater last night:

In addition, I got to buy his new book and hear him speak about it at Powell's this afternoon. Eric and I went 2 hours early to avoid the crowds. Front row seats, mind you:
Anyway, I was ridiculously nervous, but did get to tell him that he was awesome (to which he sarcastically quipped, "Long time fan, I can tell" or something, making a jab at my youth?) and ask the question, "Out of all the movies and TV series you've done, what is your favorite character that you've played?" He answered that oddly enough, it was kind of a background character in a Mr. Show skit that only had like one line...I know what skit he was alluding to, but I don't know if he was being serious or not. His second answer was Ronnie Dobbs and launched into the background of creating that character.
He also read a chapter about scrapbooking from his new book called, I Drink For a Reason.
When it came time for book signing, I was right at the front and showed him my Mr. Show tattoo and said, "I actually am a long time listener" and that he was responsible for most of my sense of humor. He was stoked to see my tattoo (it actually got a double-take) and hear the nice things I had to say. I also got the back of one of my comedy CDs signed. Then, I got in a picture with him:


I look very sweaty and too stoked. I wish I could have had my heart stop pounding and avoid the unnecessary shaking. Oh well. It was a great experience.

In other news, I have a pseudo-date tonight? I don't exactly know what to think of it, but I'm excited nonetheless. I actually forgot I made other plans with Lloyd, so we will all go to the movies in St. John's together I guess...which will be nice. That takes a little pressure off me anyhow.

The day is still beautiful, so I am going to take Piper on a walk to the park.

Slowly but surely...

I am getting ready to rule the road. Still want to paint my motorcycle, paint my helmet...oh and learn how to ride.

Start of a short work week.

It's the start of a short work week and all I can think about is the future ahead.
I have decided that I have two major goals this school year (I can hardly think of this actual year ending and goals being met before then, so I'll set them for June):
1. Re-read J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye, Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar, T.S. Eliot's The Wasteland, and other pertinent high school texts. When I go back to mainstream day school, I'm really going to want to have these under my belt.
2. Get on my way to getting published. I have a collection of short stories and some crappy poetry and I really want to have someone look over it. I don't care if all I ever end up making is just a zine...or possibly even something on Microcosm? Oh, and since I am doing NaNoWriMo again this November, I'll have the chance to shove in some writing and really start to get serious about this goal.

In other news, I feel like I'm in high school again--I mean, aside from teaching it. I've resorted back to having an old crush that I've been talking and writing to quite frequently. It's entirely innocent, but I feel like a fucking 14 year old. I remember back to the days of high school when I would see him at lunch and hope that he saw me too. I was (and really still am for the most part) constantly listening to all of his bands and going to his shows. I thought he was the greatest musician I had ever seen. My first real punk rock show on my own was going to see one of his bands play when I was 13 at the Paseo Camarillo Theater. He revealed that he had a crush on me as well back then, which I think is mostly convenient talk for here and now. But, I will accept it and live in my imagination (which is better than acting on it--keeps out the drama).
What's weird too is that I have a friend back in my hometown! One of the reasons why I don't go back to Camarillo all that much is that I don't have a lot of friends to go and visit. But, getting back in touch with him has opened that channel a bit. We'll see where it goes.
I've been really into this long distance thing lately--Denver dude and high school dude are far, far away. Cole (I just go ahead and use his name...the others will stay anonymous for now, just in case) is back to Portland in a week and I've been talking to him a lot as well. I don't know what's going to happen. I keep anticipating what it's going to be like and how my life will change/stay the same, but I can't do it. Everyone keeps telling me to wait and I'll "just know" when I see him, but what if I don't? Ah.

It's so weird having all of these thoughts floating around in my head. Two of my students just got married (it's fucking crazy) last weekend and here I am acting like a 14 year old. Don't get me wrong--I don't ever want to get married. It's just funny that some people have no problem taking the plunge and here I am, back at 14.

Nonetheless, I am turning in early tonight after reading some Sylvia Plath and staring at the wall:

Sunday nights make me nervous for a new week.

Just got home from the Boneyard--Danielle and I went to go see Gehenna, a hardcore band from Reno...not the black metal band from Norway, which would have also been rad to see. I ended up buying a shirt I did not need, but had to have because it had an awesome picture of GG Allin on the front.
I wasn't going to go to the show, because I actually have some bullshit work that I need to do for teaching...but I'm really going to try and go to bed early and do it in the morning. I swear, Netflix Watch Instantly is ruining my life. It's too easy to watch movies and TV shows now. Before, I never watched anything on my computer because I was so deathly afraid of getting a virus on my computer/having the internet police come and take me away (which actually did happen at the dorms at UCSB).
I want to post a slew of my favorite Summer 2009 photos, but I'm too tired to weed through them all right now. So, for now, here is one of Tony (my Denver dude) and me, being very stoked at Lloyd's bday party sometime in late July.

Photo update

I am trying to learn to ride my new motorcycle. As a result, I am scared and keep "dumping" my bike...which is not a good thing. On one such occasion, I got this rad burn on my leg because I was not wearing proper attire and my leggings melted to to skin. So, that was a lesson learned.

Also, I have been helping out being a part of a radio show call "Heavy Metal Vomit Party" every other Wednesday on KBOO, 90.7 fm in Portland or anywhere on www.Kboo.fm. Mike One and Two are primarily the ones in charge, but I'm slowly learning the trade. I used to have a radio show on KJUC in Santa Barbara, but it's been years. Here's some pictures from the last show:
That's Mike One cuing up the CD.
Here's Mike Two getting ready to throw on another record:

Anyway, I am going to see Knelt Rote play at Laughing Horse tonight, so my photo update blog will end with this bus I saw at the gas station yesterday. Oh, and all of these are from my phone, which is why the resolution is not so great.


More later, and HOPEFULLY I'll get a shot of me ACTUALLY riding the motorcycle.

This is my new baby.

Another stab at journaling?

I have a deadline tomorrow that I have been putting off for weeks now. So, at 1:13 on Monday morning, I find myself sitting in the kitchen and anxiously waiting for creativity to take over my ADHD.

Maybe what I need to do is reflect and write down everything that has been happening so I don't have to think about it anymore.

So, Scott and I broke up kind of a while ago (technically early June?), of my own accord. The thing is, things got all fucked by the end because of the need for labels, barriers and rules. It became this stupid obsession on both of our parts and rather than try and work it out and make things okay, he fucked someone else and became a huge dick about it to me. Believe you me, I was no sunny day either.
Now being removed from the situation for quite a while, I feel very strange about that whole relationship. It's as if it never even happened. I feel nothing. I don't feel nostalgia, heartache, love, hate, nothing. I just don't feel anything about it at all. Even after him posting new pictures of his lady friend, I don't even feel a connection to the man in the pictures. It's strange. It's as if we never met.

I know that going on tour really helped me this summer. The timing could not have been better. But, of course...I did meet someone. I am so the hopeless romantic and I don't even mean to be. Problem is he's 1400 miles away and broke (not that I care about money or anything, but how the fuck else is he supposed to get here?). It was fun while it lasted--the last week of tour and an extra bonus week in Portland. But, after sending him home last Wednesday, I feel empty and spent and miss him like crazy. Fuck, I'm such a relationship whore, but DATING in Portland is out of the question--it's too small and incestuous, especially if I want to date a metal/punk dude. Man, I had to import from Denver. So, instead of dating, I get stuck in these long-winded relationships. I've been hardly single the last 5 or so years. I keep thinking I want to give it a shot, but then I think about all the guessing, mind games, etc., that it all seems way too unappealing, so I just shack up with the first person I can tolerate and stay out of the dating scene. Well, it's not like I've done that A LOT, but I just know that's how I am. I'm better in relationships? Fuck, I don't think that I'm codependent or anything, I just don't want to play games and be a fucking filthy whore. Relationships keep me out of trouble I suppose.

So, Denver dude is acting weird though...there's a plane ticket waiting for him, born out of my crazy, spontaneous burst of "Why the fuck not?" at 2 am after talking to Jen for hours about wanting to be random and fun.

I don't even know if this is making sense anymore. My life was so much easier when I was with my mediocre blur of an ex boyfriend that seemed to never exist. Fuck, I hope he doesn't read this.
Oh, and I've been talking to Cole a lot more. He'll be back in a month. So crazy. I need to get back to work. FUCK.

I don't know what to do.

My days have been reduced to crying, being distracted and not getting work done.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes...

Lots of changes underway.
It's late and I need not write about them right now, but I just wanted to say that I am really excited to be going on tour in a week with Superbad, Noisear and Roskopp!

That's Mike, the lead singer, who is one of my best friends.

What the fuck am I doing? I'm going to bed. More later.

Most nights...

I stay up until ridiculous hours pondering existentialism to teach and have it make sense and wonder how you can translate the Oregon State Standards for Language Arts into a usable form.

I feel crazy. God is dead.

Entartete Kunts and Punk rock.

I went to Dennis Dread's (legendary Portland artist) art exhibition that featured very important punk and metal artists from around the world, such as: Rob Miller (Amebix), Nick Blinko (Rudimentary Peni), Kristian Wahlin (Emperor, At the Gates) and himself (Darkthrone, Engorged).
Check out his blog and website at: www.dennisdread.com

Weird mood.

I know why people get married. It's for selfish reasons, but I get it. Friends can be unpredictable assholes. They flake on you. They randomly call you out on shit. They don't always call you back. They can be masters of passive aggression. The fact is, they aren't legally bound to you. No one takes any oaths or declares their undying friendship to you in front of witnesses.
When you're married, there is a lot of obligation that goes with that, both emotionally and legally. Oaths and promises are recorded in front of witnesses. It's a legal-binding document.
All I have now is friends. I have a dog and 2 ferrets that need me and they fill a lot of my voids. My family lives far away and my friends have been unpredictable assholes.
Things were looking up for a while, but I wasn't ready to take any types of plunges into life-long obligations. Maybe it was because it was too easy. Maybe it was because it was too soon. Maybe it's because I am too young. I feel old. Maybe it was because, I don't know. In the end, all you really have is yourself.
I have Piper and the ferrets, but unfortunately, I will outlive them and they will be gone.

My lack of posts, end of year, etc.

This year has been crazy. I will write more soon, but here is a short story that I have been working on/worked on this past year and a bit before that. I remember back to November when I shared it with my students and principal and almost cried. It was hard to read.

Since I am pretty sure that only Jeevan and Julia follow my journal, I hope you like the story. Miss you both.

...

"Okasan"

My mother was born and raised in Japan, and although she has been here for nearly 30 years, you wouldn’t know it. She surrounds herself with Japanese grocery stores, Japanese-speaking friends, Japanese language news, a Japanese garden chock-full of persimmons, Asian pears, ume plums (small Japanese plums she makes her own type of Japanese “moonshine” out of), and an array of Japanese herbs and vegetables.
My sister and I most times referred to her as the “angry, crazy Asian lady” that we lived with more so than we referred to her as our biological mother. Other than the cesarean scars, she resembled little of what mothers usually resemble. Her prime concerns are: education, money, keeping up appearances and keeping her Japanese heritage rather than integrating with her white family. Of course, things have changed since I last lived with my mother 6 years ago. She has grown to be less of a yelling fuehrer and has returned more to the absent-minded and sweet foreigner that she was years before my sister and I were born.
Despite her efforts to remain as Japanese as she could, she did fall in love with some American things (besides my father, once upon a time ago), such as capitalism, the network television show “Friends” (although she always hated Chandler’s sarcastic humor, and being a literal thinker, this hatred carried into anything the actor ever touched even after “Friends” had long made their last episode. She would scoff and say underneath her breath, “Ugh, Totemo Baka Chandler” which roughly translates to “Ugh, very stupid Chandler.”), McDonald’s coffee and buffet/all-you-can-eat restaurants.
Naturally, my mother was beside herself (although never showed it) when I got the job at the local Sizzler by her house while I was still in high school—it combined two of her favorite things: free/cheap stuff and buffet restaurants. The only way my family would get a discount is if either my sister or I were working, so they would only come in while one or the other was serving or hostessing. Family dinners at the restaurant either meant 3 of us sitting while the other was serving the table, slipping extra salad bar plates to mom and dad, the forbidden to-go boxes for the salad bar, napkins, plastic utensils, fountain drinks, and bread rolls, or it meant that my sister and I would be buzzing around the restaurant while our parents enjoyed a nearly free meal, comped by Jerry or “overlooked” by one of the cashiers. On nights that my parents did not come in, I was instructed to grab as many free things at the end of the night that could fit into a couple of to-go boxes.
On my birthday or my sister’s birthday, my sister and I would beg my parents to go somewhere else other than Sizzler for a meal.
“Do you get a discount somewhere else?”
“No, mom,” we said simultaneously.
“Then we go Shizzlu-lah.”
One time, my mom suggested going to another type of family-restaurant in another strip mall across town. Excited that it wasn’t Sizzler, my family loaded up in the car and drove to it. As we walked in, my heart sank as I saw the long, depressing line of salad toppings, fried chicken, and soup—she had deceived us. This was just another buffet and low and behold, as we went to pay for our dinner, my mother presented the cashier with 4 coupons that had come in Camarillo’s Sunday paper.
She was just like that—wanting the most at the cheapest price. My sister was the first to truly go against her philosophy when she decided to go to an expensive, private university instead of opting out for the cheaper public institution.
When I started secretly working for the Sizzler in Goleta, I was caught in my attempt to keep it a secret. I gave my parents’ number as my only contact number and when another server called it to see if I could cover their shift that week, my parents caught wind of what I had been doing for the past month and forgave me when I came to them with straight A’s on my first term of college.
Realizing that I could no longer be punished because I was living off of financial aid and the money I had saved up from working 7 days a week in high school, I never returned home for longer than two days at a time and did whatever I wanted. There was no Japanese dorm mom to keep me from getting tattoos, piercings, staying out late, and hanging out with what she perceived as "yakuza"-type friends.
Maybe that’s why I overdid it so much my first year or two in college—it was the classic scenario of a caged bird that is let free; the bird will fly further away than they ever would if they had not been caged so long in the first place. By the time I was 20, my left arm and back were slowly being taken over by tattoos of whatever was appealing and free to me (including skulls, and an M-16 gun across my back) because I was dating a much older tattoo artist that my mother has conveniently, to this day, not known.
My face alone could make any metal detector go off from a mile away—I had 3 nose piercings, stretched ears, 3 neck piercings, tongue, lip and ear piercings. I would take them all out or hide them very well whenever I went to work or would see my parents. Despite my mother’s utter disgust at my appearance, she and my father would still make it out at least once a month to come for a free dinner at the Goleta Sizzler.
While other students’ parents were busy taking their kids to Costco or Trader Joe’s for food and much-needed supplies for school, my parents were getting a free meal from their waitress-daughter and leaving a very impressive $5 tip that, of course, my mother would always call up about later to make sure I grabbed it off my table and counted that, in fact, all 5 of the ones made it into my hands. She didn’t trust the busboys, or really anyone in that regard.
I spent almost every single holiday at Sizzler for almost 5 years, because it is one of the only restaurants that I know of that has a hard and fast rule to be open 365 days a year, and even 366 every leap year. There was no shutting down. Two Christmas Eves in a row I spent serving my parents, who would then wait for me outside to grab extra food for my sister, clock out and then we would drive back to Camarillo where we could all celebrate Christmas quickly, so I could make it back up to Goleta to make it for the dinner rush on Christmas night, where often times, my parents would enjoy another free meal. Mike would waltz in and dazzle them with compliments about me that I had never heard come from his mouth before.
For some reason, it never really occurred to me that other kids my age were having entirely different experiences in their first couple years in college. I just learned to live with it and I think I was deep-down, trying to prove my independence and rebellious nature to the rest of the world, which at that time, was purely my mother. My father was just as strict, but in that fatherly way. My mother never struck me as motherly.

She grew up in the late 40’s and 50’s in a Japan that was torn apart by war. I only met my grandmother once, right before she died. My mother, sister and I went to Japan for 3 months when I was just 5 years old. I remember very little of what my “Obasan” (Japanese for grandmother) was like, other than wrinkled, bitter and dying. When I think back to the small apartment in Kobe, I can smell the death that plagued the place. I remember not liking my grandmother very much and the language barrier made it so that I could never know her the way any American child could get to know their sweet American grandmother. But, again, even at that age, I didn’t realize that other kids were having completely different experiences than I was. I didn’t think I was anything special.
Obasan showed little to no love to my mother at all. After we came back to the states after our 3 month vacation, I don’t recall any long or intimate telephone conversations between my mother and Obasan. But again, I didn’t think it was out of the ordinary to be so cordial and distant with your immediate family. When Obasan died, my mother did not cry, but rather stood there like an impervious golden pavilion, guarded by a difficult and forgotten past. She made Mabadofu and rice that night for dinner, as my mother ate in silence with us, her white family.
I have looked back onto that day a million times in my head and I still wondered what she could have been thinking. Sometimes, I wonder how I will react when my own mother dies. Will I think of only her crazy obsessions with coupons and buffets, or will I remember her unconquerable nature and her gift of a refusal to completely assimilate into America?