I'm a sensitive, sensitive lady. Everything today feels too hard and crushing to take. I don't think I can work at the club as planned this afternoon. I need two days minimum to detoxify my psyche of that environment. You can't think when you do that sort of work. You can't think deeply about what you're actually doing and the cause and effect. You do it because you need to be earning money. Survival has precedence. Not working today will not kill me. I had a goal of earning $700-800 this week. Ah. Whatever. $500 will be fine too. I get a little stressed this time of the year.... I'm waitressing at the restaurant tomorrow morning and going to dance that night. It will be the big money making weekend. What sort of gets under my skin is I know I'm intelligent and I *should* be able to find a practical solution with work, you know? I shouldn't be working as a stripper. This depresses me the most. Anyhow. I think I'll spend the afternoon applying for more jobs and taking care of ME. Tonight is a friend's birthday bash.

Insights.

I need to vent here. All of my friends have been supportive about the situation I'm in this winter, except for one, and ironically she is the one who used to be an exotic dancer. I've received negative slurs and put downs from her lately regarding being an exotic dancer, and it makes me feel upset and I've expressed that I would appreciate her support regardless of her attitude about this work. I have to support myself, sweetheart. I have no real viable choice at this moment and I find it to be such a double standard that she is putting me down. I do not need that, especially not from a former dancer. Last night the depressing side of reality sank in. I had trouble emotionally distancing myself from the work I'm engaging in. I did not want to be there. I was not in the mood to dance for men and play the role of "stripper" anymore. And I made the grave error of being on stage completely sober. Note to self: never dance without having a drink first. I could not get into the groove or lose myself in the music, which is a requirement. I felt depressed that this is the reality I'm confronting at present. I'm frustrated that I can't find a regular job. Life feels so fucked up and unfair. I deserve a good job with health benefits, don't I? The anger propelled me to seriously manipulate to the fullest. I have to remember to be positive. Life is going to get better than this. I will be in a better place this next year. For now, I've got bills that need to be paid and I've got a job that can pay for them. Last night I observed that you earn more money from men according to how much skin you show. Never mind adorable and beautiful costumes, what they want when they come into a strip club is to see a woman in a thong and nothing else. Business was slow so I had to kick it up a notch, as in taking off my baby doll set and thigh high tights. I was in the new hot pink lace panties with a thong underneath, a sheer bra, and had some necklaces on. That was it. I was a stripper. I had to spend time with a "professional cowboy" who after an hour had me give him one dance, but apparently he was so turned on that he had to ask me to stop. "You're the sexiest woman I've ever touched," he said, slipping a twenty into my garter belt. "I can't go any further than this." I was flattered and disappointed at the same time. Was it that he was short on cash, or was it that he seriously could not go through with a second dance? He left the club right away. The next man I sat with was the doctor. He comes back each week to see me. I was glad, so glad to see him, because I knew what to expect with him. He is only several years older than me, attractive, and he loves to be mentally and physically entertained. I sat down on his lap and he ordered me a beer- we both drink dos equis. Then he wants me to tell him stories. I concocted a few fictional stories to entertain him about my life. He digs the fact that I told him I have a boyfriend and I played the bisexual card (but I'm far more into men :) and he wanted to know the details about the threesome I had with an ex-boyfriend (which never happened in real life). He wants to hear about the sex I've had with men, probably deriving some pleasure from knowing I'm desired by other men, and I've had to come up with tall tales about what I like. Isn't that crazy?! After about an hour together, free drinks, and one private dance, whispering sweet nothings into his ears about the amazing sex we would have, he placed $120 into my thong and said he would return to see me. I'm an entertainer. I'm someone else for the night. "Jordan" is confident, wild, 25, still in school, likes dominating men, and has a boyfriend. There was a long patch of dead time after the doctor left where I was hanging out in the locker room because I could not find men who were interested. Many already had a lady at their side and others simply did not want the company. Approaching men still feels odd. The manager gave me a lecture on how to do it. Never ask a yes or no question at first. Ask "how is your night going?" and then compliment him. Tell him he's sexy or whatever comes to mind. Touch him and sit down. After about two hours of no business whatsoever, I removed my baby doll lingerie, got down to the panties and bra, and did exactly what the manager recommended with a man in his fifties or sixties. He had glasses on, looked like a business man, and he instantly warmed to my attention, revealing his British accent. Right away he offered to order wine and asked if I would give him some private dances. He told me that he is on a business trip from London. I asked more questions. He has a house with his wife and three children in Notting Hill, a flat in Paris, and said "I think you're coming to London this summer to see me." I danced for him and I could tell he liked it and thankfully did not want me to stop. In the back of my mind, I was thinking: car payment, insurance, utilities bill. Keep dancing! I found his British accent charming and appreciated that he was generous. Then he tried to persuade me to come back to his hotel room with him at this swanky hotel downtown to have champagne and have sex with him. If he wanted to pay $100,000 to fuck me for a night, then MAYBE we could talk, mister. I draw the line there. I had to tell him that it would be lovely, but can't do that as a dancer, and he got out his wallet, thick with money, and gave me five twenties. I think he thought I was like a CALL GIRL. I don't know how it is in Europe. He didn't know that he couldn't touch me in certain places like most men who frequent strip clubs are aware, and I had to take his hands and hold them down at his side while I danced for him. By that time it was 2 a.m. and time to leave. I had to pay the house fees to the managers, dressed into my street clothes, and drove home. Today, I don't think I can psychologically deal with that scene. I am opting to work tomorrow during the day instead and attend a friend's birthday bash that night. I need a day to forget and focus on other parts of living. Tonight: new lesbian bar outing.

"It could be much worse...." I remind myself of this every time I have to give another lap dance to another man I don't want to dance for. "It could be so much worse." You could be living with your parents. You could be paralyzed from the neck down. You could lose your eye sight. You could be dying from cancer. I place the situation into perspective// I go into work about 4 times a week, dress up in fancy lingerie, and strut out on stage with an audience of men that oohs and ahs over me and women in general, slipping money into my garter belt and telling me how cute and gorgeous they think I am, asking me for private lap dances later on. They order me cocktails or whisky or beer or champagne, whatever my heart desires. We talk over the course of songs at their table and I give them private dances on request. Sometimes I hold their hand. Sometimes I allow more touch with the ones I like better. Sometimes I like it. Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I feel that I have truly made someone's night and that makes this sort of work more worth it. The money is good, but I'm not rolling in it in the sense that society imagines it to be. The economy has even affected what strippers are earning and dancers complain about how terrible it has been this year. I take home around $200-250 on a good night. A bad night is around $150. Dancers are continually moving around between clubs in the city searching for the one club that has the most affluent crowd, but the reality is all of them are about the same. No one has the money they used to. I went to Victoria's S*cret this weekend and checked out the prices for lingerie sets I might want to buy in the future. I bought a tube of lipstick and several lace panties to perform in- one is hot pink! To think that this was a "work" outing. I still waitress over the weekend at the breakfast diner and get a chance to step out of my stripper costume. Every night when I come home from the club at 2:30 a.m., I instantly take a hot shower and scrub everything off with lots and lots of soap. Then I breathe.

A friend's 20-year old brother was in an accident a week ago and is now paralyzed from the waist down. She is hosting a benefit for him this weekend. That brought so much back into perspective. I will dance my pants off and take some of that money and donate it to him.

Thanksgiving Dinner was at L and T's place this year. I brought homemade whipped sweet potatoes and brussels sprouts heavy with butter, the southern way. We had a table full of food. Green bean casserole. Stuffing. Turkey. Tofurkey. Gravy. Roasted carrots, potatoes, onions. Mashed potatoes. Macaroni and cheese. Corn bread. My sweet potatoes and brussels sprouts. Deviled eggs. Crackers and cranberry goat cheese. Strawberry and rhubarb pie. Lemon meringue pie. Bottles of wine. Champagne. Cocktails. I was stuffed to the brim with food and drinks. There were about 12 people sitting around the table with a vase of roses in the center celebrating Thanksgiving. I felt gratitude for having so much food and so much laughter on this night. People gathered outside after dinner to smoke cigarettes. I wondered about next year, about where this path I'm on will lead me, and whether or not I might have someone special to bring to Thanksgiving Dinner in 2010. I hope that your Thanksgiving was a warm one.

I'm thankful for believing in myself, possessing emotional strength, daring to place myself out there, and continuing to pursue my dreams. I'm also thankful for my friends, my cat, my house.

Between now and next November I would like to write my novel. That is the most ambitious goal of the year. Time starts NOW.

Observations.

-Men can tell looking into my eyes regardless of what I'm wearing or not wearing that I'm not a stripper. I can fool absolutely no one. I heard: "I want you to know that you're not a piece of meat, you're far more than that.... You look like the girl next door.... I can tell you're not a stripper. You don't have a hard look...." Some customers declined a private dance telling me I'm too pretty. It pains them to treat me like a stripper, which is interesting, since we are in a strip club and I am playing the role of 'stripper.' This is somewhat bad for my business, however, I know that the men I dance for are ones that have respect for me. I feel that there is an untouchable element about me that I can't shake off, and it might be good news for warding off the jerks.

-Men were literally throwing their money at me when I was on stage. I have learned some moves from watching the other dancers. I actually started to ENJOY myself this time, rolling around on stage like an exotic creature, reveling in the spot light. I really got into it, feeling more comfortable and confident. I still have much to learn. I still feel a bit ridiculous at times. I almost tripped over my high heels. "

-When I'm dancing, I'm imagining that I'm dancing for J, and then it feels exciting.

-I liked the night dancers more.

-I like being around women.

-Last night, I got to entertain two younger men in the VIP room. They acted like they had a crush on me, which was endearing. They ordered a bottle of champagne and appetizers, and paid me for several dances afterwards, slipping a $100 bill into my garter belt. I enjoyed spending an hour with them drinking champagne and eating food. I felt treated like a princess, sitting in the middle of these two in a candle lit booth, dressed up in my sexy lingerie. They know the real story about how I came to be working at this place.

-I gave a private dance to a teacher in his thirties, and I think he got off on the fact that I have a master's degree in English. I felt a bit scandalous getting into his lap.

-The poet could not afford a dance but wanted to give me a dance with his fingers. He traced circles on my hand with my eyes closed to an entire song. It was actually pretty hot, especially when he mixed in naughty words.

-I will be able to pay rent this month. I have a job and for that I'm grateful.

Bothered.

Today marks a year and a half since the falling out with J, one of my best friends. I loved loved loved her. Margaret Atwood has commented that female friendships are always shifting and changing. New alliances are continually being formed and old ones left behind. Your best friend today could be your enemy the next day. I wrote and published a poetry book to give to her as a gift this year, not that I expected us to suddenly become friends again overnight, but I wanted to do something entirely unique for her, something that no one else in the world would perhaps ever give her. It was my love in the form of a poetry book. To date, she has never acknowledged it and I have to wonder if she ever read it. It did break my heart into a few pieces this summer! I worked so hard on that collection. I poured my heart and soul into those pages. I had hoped that she would have some grand revelation about me and realize she does not want to lose me. Who was I fooling? I'm idealistic, sometimes too giving, and willing to get burned if I believe it is worth the pain. I told her exactly how I feel about her inside the cover of that book. I was symbolically telling myself to let go of that relationship through sending off the book across state lines. It just feels so hard to face that someone I used to be great friends with would actually never want to hear from me again. It's like, seriously? You really don't want to have me in your life? We cannot work out those issues? Wow. I must be such a bitch for writing a book of poetry and dedicating it to her. I feel that I've done relatively well with letting go, but memories of her have been resurfacing this week, and I admit that I have not totally let go. It has only been a year and a half. I might need another year to exorcise her from my life. I don't know if I can ever forget? I have an infinite memory that retains everything, every word, every moment, every emotion. I'm haunted for that reason. I remember how she made me feel. I remember our conversations. I remember holding hands. I remember how we would write each other almost every day at work. I remember that bouquet of flowers she sent to my office to surprise me. I remember her gorgeous smile that would always make me indescribably happy upon seeing it. I remember her amazing energy that I always wanted to be around and never leave. I remember the other gifts she gave me. I remember her telling me how much she loves me. I made some mistakes in that friendship and we had a falling out. But I feel that I was mentally fucked with for the year and a half we were friends. My therapist said we had an emotional affair, that our friendship was far beyond a platonic relationship, that we acted more like lesbian lovers than friends. I find it difficult to not give any thought to her when she is someone who lavished me with attention, gifts, and love for that length of time. I don't know what else to do but allow myself to feel whatever I feel and not resist it. I'm not over it yet. I'm simply not. I can't pretend that I am.

To work tonight or not to work? 'Tis the question. I feel like I need the day to mentally prepare for tomorrow. I'm planning on working four nights this week, which makes this work somewhat endurable. I strangely like the thought of getting back on stage and swinging around that pole with high heels. I'm sure it will be a passing desire. On my list is returning to that lingerie store down south. I need more costume pieces. Think: thigh high fishnets, lacey undergarments, and slips. I intend to make performance fun. I wish now I had never gotten rid of my old lingerie. I wonder if other people do the same after their breakups?

Some good news is I'm going to be waitressing every Saturday at a breakfast place to earn extra money. I was offered the weekend gig today. Whatever work I'm partaking in during the week in the coming months, I've got this stable waitressing job. Their buttermilk pancakes, I might add, looked heavenly, which brings me back to the subject of food. I've been eating left and right these past two days, sucking in everything in sight. I could spend the day eating....

For Thanksgiving this year I'm going to a friend's home and bringing a pumpkin risotto. I'm creating a whole family among my friends.

The Story

As a friend said to me "It's a job. Be grateful you have one." Today, I'm recovering. I'm not working. I'm resting and treated myself to an Indian feast. I feel mentally and physically exhausted.

So you want to know what happened yesterday? In the great state of Texas, I learned that it is illegal for a woman to enter a strip club without being escorted by a man. What year is this, 1956? It is also illegal to dance in underwear that has not been approved by the TABC. I had to buy a "legal thong" from a specialty lingerie store across from a Walmart. The costume I decided on for my first day was a "legal" black thong (translates to double lined), black demi bra, this sexy sheer black lace piece that acted as a mini dress over the thong, and my vintage black high heels. I was aiming for a Victoria's Secret Catalog look. I bought shiny pink lip gloss and decorated my eyes with black liner and mascara. I'm a classy stripper, you know....

I had to meet with the manager when I arrived dressed in regular street clothes. He is an older overweight man with silver hair and a faux diamond earring. He looks like he could be in the mafia. He had me get dressed into my "costume" first in the locker room and had me then come to his office to sign tax forms. His office was shady and creepy, behind the bar. I sat on the chair with legs crossed in a thong and demi bra, wondering how many women had been sitting in this chair in a thong and did they have STDs?, and he talked me through the business. There is almost always one woman pole dancing in the club and the other women have to look for men in the audience to approach. This is the main and most assured way you make money and some women earn as much as $500+ a night. What you do is approach a man and ask him if he would like some company? If he's interested in you, he will usually tell you to sit down next to him. He might ask you if you would like a drink or food, which he will order from the cocktail waitress. You have to make conversation with him and make him feel like he's the center of your attention. Flirt. Touch. Entice him into wanting a private strip tease from you. $20 per lap dance. Many men request several at a time. The manager said always make sure that he pays you after each dance, or else he might screw you over with money. There are laws regarding how close you can dance (about a foot away) and he is not allowed to touch you, aside from your hands. No breast or bottom fondling allowed. He can be thrown out for that. It is up to you in terms of how often you want to sit with men. You can take as many breaks as you please and talk to the other dancers, but you won't be making money unless you're hanging out with the customers.

Some of the women are cut-throat and hate many of the other dancers. They will compete hardcore for men and try to undercut you. I met some dancers I really liked and there was a sense of comraderie developing between us, but I met some mean women. I was more scared of the dancers than I was of the men. I think some of them have lived lives of hardship, pain, drugs, and poverty. I'm not sure yet what their stories are. You have to lock up all of your possessions in a locker because someone will surely steal from you. I kept the key around my necklace hanging between my breasts. The locker room was shabby and depressing and women eyed me up and down without saying a word. Right away I knew I would be perceived as a threat, particularly when one looked at me topless and said "You're fucking hot" and right away I tried to befriend the other women and ask for their help. Inside, I was feeling panicked and wished I could be far away from this place, wished for a regular job with a salary and benefits, a job where I could keep my pants on. I could not believe that I - we - were being paid to dance topless for men for a living. There was one dancer I personally found attractive and she stood beside me in the locker room unhooking her garter belt while giving me some tips. One woman was texting her boyfriend and asked me how to spell a few words. She did not know how to spell "obviously" and "intelligence." I found myself adding "Oh, I used to be an editor, and now, I'm a stripper." I realized then that I was putting us down a notch and tried to backtrack.

I did not see lines of coke being snorted as I had envisioned. Perhaps that went on outside on the enclosed patio. I did smell pot emanating from the patio. For a seven hours, from noon until 7 p.m., I was a prancing about in thong and heels speaking to strange men, holding their hands, listening to them tell me about their lives, and having them slip twenty dollar bills into my thong as I gave them private strip teases in front of everyone else in the club. It took me several hours actually to work up the nerve and the desire to approach customers so I only made money for about 4 hours. I had to pole dance and bend down for men to place more money into my thong, which felt so fucking degrading. But pole dancing is a definite way to attract interest. I tended to attract the interest of older men, men who could be my father's age, and I think I felt more at ease with these men. Like I had more power going for me as a young woman. I was the dominant one. I felt like I was the one in control. But being gay made this sort of work difficult. When I had to give a lap dance, I would close my eyes and think of dancing for my ex-girlfriend or A* this summer, and I could go through with the physical motions. Looking over at that one woman I thought was foxy could place me a little more into a sexual mood. I tried to be present with the men, tried to intuitively find out what it is that they needed from a woman during this fake exchange based on fantasy and acting, tried to give them their money's worth and persuade them to continue spending their money on me. Many of them want women to talk dirty to them and play around with them verbally (barf). I had a total of 4 men I privately sat with, and each one offered to buy me a drink. I had a beer, a cocktail, then switched to juice and diet coke, not wanting to get drunk in the middle of the day. I gravitated to one of the cocktail waitresses from the moment I stepped into the club. She was younger than me and had dark hair and striking eyes, and we clicked. She would bring the drinks while I sat with one of my "customers," usually topless. We were talking later on and I confessed that this sort of work is hard for me to do because I'm a lesbian. I came to find out that she is also a lesbian. Finally! I was among family. I did leave with a stack of cash, not as much as I had hoped to earn, but for my first day it was not bad. I'm going to dance a few nights a week, possibly even at a different club that seems to always be crowded. You can work as many or as little days a week as you wish and you can decide on working days or nights. Part of the trouble yesterday was that it was slow. We did not have enough men in the club. I want to be working somewhere that is going to be slammed.

I drove home feeling emotionally exhausted, a little disturbed, and in shock because it's a strange place to be immersed in for 7 hours. I wanted to get the hell away. I wanted to take a hot shower and wash my hands 3x in a row. I wanted to cleanse myself. I wanted to forget about that locker room and some of the shadier people. Hopefully, sooner than later I will be hired elsewhere. This is not forever. I pray that I will find an exit out soon. I don't know how much longer I can do it, you know? Such soul sucking work. It's a definite crappy job. The manager sits around all day eating his food and drinking while women dance around him making him money. I was nothing. I was a moving statue. And it ticked me off that women are so degraded in this environment. Take me out of this context: I'm an educated, feminist, lesbian writer who does other work like tutoring students and has her own business as a designer. I've gone undercover as a stripper and one fine day I'm going to have a novel out about this.

Employed.

I devoted the week to preparing myself physically, mentally, and spiritually for this work. I've been to yoga classes, reflecting on surrendering, meditating to candle light. I was lying on my back during a hatha class, and the instructor said she wanted to ask each of us to sacrifice something of ourselves through our hour together.

"What can you contribute to the world that is possibly painful for you give up?? It may be on a physical level or it may be a character trait."

I began to loosen up about offering my body to strangers for money so that I can survive during this horrible economic time. The yoga helped me break through the patterns of resistance. The instructor came along and pressed my shoulders deeper into the mat. I had no choice but to surrender physically and then emotionally. I left feeling like I can do this. I felt wonderful after moving in sync with other people.

I had a rehearsal run to a strip club yesterday. I put on blue jeans, a tight t-shirt, and high heels. I stuffed costume pieces into my bag in case. Then I got into my car. First I had to pick up a check from the college kid's mother for tutoring him. "How are you?" She asked, looking me up and down.

Practically starving.
Barely making it.
Worried.

Little did she know I was on my way to a strip club to apply for work and little did she know what I was wearing beneath the jeans and t-shirt. "Managing," I answered and thanked her for the money. Right away I deposited the check at the bank and got food because I have barely had enough to eat this week. I dream of sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes in butter, stuffing and turkey drowning in gravy, cranberry sauce, green beans, brussel sprouts, rich pie...

I drove north to the club and circled around for 30 minutes listening to music. Finally I entered the parking lot, my soul filling with sadness. I felt sad about many of the men who frequent this place, the lack of affection and love they might receive in their lives from a woman, and that they will pay tons of money to see women topless and have their attention. I felt sad about some of the women caught in this business; for me it is temporary; for some it is their career. It was such a seedy, awful place. I watched the men walking in. I wanted to hide. I drove away fast. I went to a yoga class that night and tried to accept this reality more.

Today, I knew I had to do it. I selected a different club, one that caters to more higher end clients, a club I feel more comfortable about working at. I walked in through the doors, spoke to a manager, and was hired to be a dancer on the spot, shoving aside my pride, my preconceived notions, my upbringing. More details on the inside workings of the club to come. My first day is tomorrow.

"But you're selling yourself." (Almost as much as a waitress is)
"But you're selling your goods." (Whatever that means)
"Don't you feel ashamed of dancing like that?" (For showing my body to strangers who want to look at me? No.)

I think that American society has some rather serious complexes surrounding sex and the body. I'm not a bad girl, a whore, a sell out, or somehow less as a person for being a topless dancer. I do have an issue with the system in that it is completely controlled by men and for men, and I do find some parts of it really degrading to women.

I consider myself a free spirit, a healer, a performance artist, and I certainly won't starve from here on out. Cheers to that.

I went to work one October morning in 2008 and most of the lights were switched off in the offices. People sat at their computers with somber expressions in the dark drinking coffee. Like someone had died. When my boss called me into the president’s office for a marketing meeting at 9:30, I had a sinking feeling that something bad was about to occur. She and the president were at a table with a grave melancholy in their eyes. I took a seat at the table in the room with expansive windows overlooking downtown and the state capitol building. The president held a black folder in his hands and waited for a moment to clear his voice. “As you know, the stock market is crashing this week on Wall Street. The economy is in trouble and so is this company. We are sorry to announce that we have to cut your position.” The buildings behind him outside swayed in my line of vision as I took in the words. I saw the buildings falling to the ground. I saw myself having no choice but to work as a stripper. I saw everything being in a state of ruin, our city, our nation, our world. The tears hit me. “We want you to know that this decision has no reflection on your work performance. Many people today will be learning that their positions are being cut. We cannot afford to have everyone.” My boss gave me a tissue and said that I had time to clear out my desk drawers, then she would escort me out. 2008 was the year I lost my good paying job, my best friend, my girlfriend, and my downtown apartment as I descended into financial ruin. 2008 was the year our nation had its major economic meltdown. Millions of people were suddenly out of work. Fast forward to 2009. We have a 10% national unemployment rate. I have a master’s degree in English. I’m an artist. I’m a writer. I’m a lesbian. I'm over educated and underemployed. And I have no choice at this point in time but to become an exotic dancer to survive.

***

Tomorrow, I'm jumping out of an airplane.
Metaphorically.
More to come on my dive into exotic dancing for a living.

life lessons '09

*letting go more
*not feeling the need to "fix" broken relationships and control
*learning to trust that i will be provided with everything and everyone i need at the right time
*listening to and respecting what other people are requesting

Ever since October of '08, right around the time I began this blog, I had lost my job, and the rest has been downhill from then on, financially speaking. You've listened to it all. The boring. The tedious. The depressing. My life has been on this crazy sinking ship, and I realize that everyone in our nation is experiencing the vibrations and repercussions of an economy in deep trouble. The city I live in is so competitive and hard for finding work in, and the economic collapse has trickled down to the bottom making it difficult to get hired at a restaurant even. I went through two interviews for a waitressing job about a week ago and am not being offered it. The company in Portland has not followed up with me. I have no other job leads here. I have submitted my resume to countless companies, restaurants, and other places every single day. What is a girl to do?? I've now resigned to looking for a truly crappy job. Like being a cashier at somewhere like... Target or Walmart. I cringe at the thought.

My parents live ten minutes away from me in this city and I've been at that point of discussing moving back in with them until I'm back on my feet. My father said, "We have our lives here and you can't expect to just walk back in. Don't you have friends you can live with? We really don't want you to move back here. What is appalling is that you're almost 30 and you can't even support yourself." That was the icing on the cake, dear readers. I think it is appalling that my parents are acting like this. I think it is appalling that my parents would not expect for me to stay with them. I think it is appalling to have a family like that. I think it is unacceptable. Memories from three decades flashed through me.

My father trying to hit me at age 15 and knocking down my furniture. My mother telling me to stop making up lies about him doing this to me. Her venomous words my whole life. My father calling me "pig!" Both of them mocking my weight gain in college. "Look at you - you're practically bursting out of your jeans. You think you're going to get a boyfriend looking like that?" Coming out to them in college. "We are so, so disappointed in you. It is unnatural. It is sick. You are obviously severely depressed and cannot take the rejection from men. You need psychological counseling. You think being a lesbian is so hip, huh? It's not. You'll never be able to hold down a job. We will never accept this. Never."

More bad memories and terrible words that have been flung at me over the years. It has been a continual pattern year after year. I'm grateful that I'm escaping and that I have a whole network of caring and compassionate friends. I have decided to end the relationship with my parents. I'm not sure if I want to not have contact with them for several years or if that will be an indefinite reality. What I do know is that I am disappearing from their lives. Goodbye. Hasta la vista. Ta ta. I feel this great freedom mixed with tristesse. Severing ties with your parents is a serious life decision, and from here on out, my parents are no more. They are these people I used to know. Last night, I could not stop the tears. My friend J lifted my spirits by taking me to see Anais Mitchell perform at the Cactus Cafe. Watching her live was magical. Her positive energy, voice, and laughter healed me for awhile. I want to start playing music like Anais does. The unbelievable cool part about it was that J personally knows her and was able to introduce me to her. Music has a powerful effect on my spirit.

After the show, my GBF picked me up in his car and treated me to wine and hors d'heuvres at Justine's, a new French restaurant that is open until 1:30 a.m. We had glasses of red wine and shared a plate of white asparagus in garlic butter sauce. My GBF was so sweet. "To unemployment," he said, toasting his wine glass to mine, "and to better times." I submitted my resume in case there is an opening for a server. O. I would love to work at a restaurant like Justine's. He heard the whole story about my ass hole parents and was in disbelief. I'm strong, smart, and not a fragile little being in need of protection, however, I appreciate the understanding from friends. I wish that I were not in between a rock and a hard place. One day soon I'm gonna get out and have everyone over for punch.

Phone interview was this afternoon. I thought it went well, no, I would say better than almost any interview I've had in my life. I had smoked two cigarettes and drank two cups of strong coffee before the interview, part of my pre-interview ritual. I feel like my whole life is now hanging on what they decide. If these people extend a job offer, I would be moving to Portland NEXT MONTH. I would move there for this job in a heartbeat. Are you kidding me?! Alas, I have absolutely zero control over the situation from now on. I have already sent a thank you message. The rest is up to fate.

Am I meant to live in Portland or am I meant to stay in Austin? Ask the magic 8 ball. My friends are not happy about my possible exit [but happy for me], and I do not know a single soul in Portland. I do think that I need a serious change of landscape, new people, new coffee houses, new restaurants, new lady friends, a new community to explore, and a new horizon. Living in Portland would be a lovely change of pace and I have such a positive feeling about working for this company.

I hope for this change over my glass of pinot noir.

Two reasons to be excited...

1. Visiting with my friend R from out of town and meeting her darling baby for the first time.

2. Receiving a phone call for a job interview in PORTLAND, Oregon.

I never went out last night. My GBF was bound to his computer. He is working on his PhD in computer science. He is a computer nerd with the big glasses and crazy hair. "Being in the program is the worst decision of my life." He told me. "I wish we could go gay clubbing together like we used to." He has not been able to go to Ladies' Night with me since May because of the amount of schoolwork. I feel like I don't have a GBF anymore and I know he feels like school has taken over his life completely. A friend suggested that it might be time to find a second GBF. I did become friends with a darling gay boy over the summer who was extremely social, actually quite the partier, but he had to move out of state for graduate school and I was out of luck.

I brewed a pot of tea and drew out a business plan. Do you want to know more? I'm still playing around with the name of my company. I would like it to essentially be an art/design studio that provides landscape design, paintings for sale, and creative writing and art workshops for the community. I envision it being a real studio in a building someday. With a connected garden and coffee house! A website will have to suffice for the "studio" for the time being. The main draw will be the landscape design. I seriously need a website to advertise my services. Out of nowhere, a friend's boyfriend has offered to design the website for me. He said I can pay him something later on when I have more business. He used to whore himself out at corporations, and then he said fuck it, and became a musician who now works at a pizza place. He understands why I am doing what I'm doing. I went to this place to listen to him perform music. We split a slice of pizza and watched from a dark table under red lights.

It has been raining since this morning. The sky is gray and it is the perfect afternoon for drinking coffee and writing in a coffee house, which is precisely how I'm spending the afternoon. It feels a little scary to go out on a limb and START a business, but I can feel in my gut that it is the right choice. Inspiration for the name is coming from my favorite movie. But of course.

Saturday night. I'm at a coffee house, typing away with job applications in front of my computer. My GBF and I will probably be hitting some gay clubs later on, or it could be me going it alone if I feel brave enough. Often I feel like I'm swimming through a dark ocean in gay clubs, not knowing who and what I will stumble upon, always anticipating the need to swim in the opposite direction with what I find. Or I could swim right into someone lovely. You never know what you will come face to face with, and I think most people would agree by now that I'm selective, actually, very selective when it comes to women I'm interested in.

I'm still broke and looking for a stable income, but the good news is I completed the backyard design for client no. 1 and brought home with me a check for $370. Excited and thrilled that client no. 1 had a smile on her face, I went to the bookstore to purchase this month's issue of Bust Magazine, the one magazine I've been reading religiously since I was 24. The magazine always makes me feel energized and inspired by what other women are doing around the world; not like I need to change who I am after reading it. As I walked into the bookstore, there was A* in my line of vision. I instantly cut over to the magazine aisle. She showed up in a dream the other night and we were on wonderful terms in the dream. I remember not wanting to wake up from it because we were holding hands. I still reminisce on those real nights of clandestine makeout sessions behind the house in the dark and the memory of her lips and her hand running up my thigh.

That guy I fooled around with, we have known each other for 4 years. We are friends and he is living with my GBF in a house down the street from mine. I believe in retrospect that he did not believe that I am actually a lesbian, and I believe that I had something to prove to myself about that. Dating men may be a possibility for my ex-girlfriend. It is not for me. I have the image of myself almost throwing up. Furthermore, I never imagined I would have a pregnancy scare at this point in time. Two weeks ago, he needed me to come over to his house one afternoon because he was freaking out that he had gotten me accidentally pregnant. There was a small chance that he had, and when I found myself sitting at a cafe eating chocolate with olives to satisfy my intense food cravings this week and had the sorest breasts ever, I worried. Imagine: the pregnant lesbian.

"You would... have an abortion, right?" He asked. "Do you think we need to get the emergency morning after pill?" I rationalized that it was p.m.s. and that he had very little or nothing to worry about. I would have an abortion if he had gotten me pregnant and he would be helping me pay for it. 50/50. But I did not feel deep down that I was pregnant. Nothing had been created between us. I am so overjoyed now to have my period. Thank the goddesses.

Celebrations

october and my lady gaga costume.

Quote of the day

"You mean, you didn't want a roller coaster in your flower bed?"

Business.

This afternoon I had exactly $1.83 in my checking account when I received my first freelance writing check in the mail. I immediately rushed off to the bank and deposited it, smiling the whole drive. It is an amazing feeling to earn money completely by yourself, separate from "the man." I wanted to frame the check and hang it on my wall as a reminder. For the first time in my life, I'm paying for bills through MY OWN BUSINESS. CEO, creator, marketing director, and accountant rolled into one. The sweetness of bucking the corporate hierarchy of oppression feels oh so victorious. Rent will be paid this month through the earnings of my business.

Yesterday, a friend had invited me to a happy hour at someone's house, and picturing a happy hour with cocktails inside a house, I dressed up for the occasion. I had on high heels, fishnet stockings, and a short skirt, not understanding that the happy hour was at a working farm on the outskirts of the city. I felt like the quintessential city woman trekking through mud and green fields in high heels when the farmer led us on a full tour. Mosquitoes and darkness descending on us, we sat around a bonfire drinking beer and eating food. I hate mosquitoes and I was absolutely miserable in the fishnets and skirt, but I'm glad I experienced the farm. I realized how disconnected most people are from farms, from the food we buy at the grocery store. There are so many children who come of age not knowing what broccoli looks like in the ground or how it is grown. A travesty. The vegetables are harvested and then sold to local restaurants and stores like Whole Foods. They also sell free-range chicken and pork directly to families. We got a chance to see their enormous hogs and chicken.

Today, I slept until 1 in the afternoon and we carved pumpkins. It was about 75 degrees. I watched my housemate and her friend do the dirty work- I have a fear of sharp knives, you know. They took out the spaghetti-like insides and I harvested the seeds. Roasting them in the oven and adding salt makes for the perfect late night autumn snack. The seeds are soaking in a bowl of cold water near the sink right now.

Why Men Love Bitches.

The release of Why Men Love Bitches has me thinking more about this observation and wondering: Is the same to be said for women who love women? The book obviously invites some controversy. The author writes that she is not advocating that women become more abrasive to appeal to men, rather that women learn how to stand their ground and not become a doormat in relationships.

She found the women men most desire are independent, pursue their own goals and dreams separate from a man, and do not expect him to rescue them. Men like a woman who does not place him at the center of everything in her life. Who doesn't appreciate a woman like that? And how does embodying these characteristics make a woman "a bitch"?

Personally I don't have the energy to read yet another book that tells me that I need to change myself in order to snag a relationship or that there is something lacking in me because I've had relationships that haven't panned out. I think you should simply be who you are and the right person will want to have you in their life. Not all men and women love bitches. That women in our culture are feeling pressured to place on the bitch mask to have men falling after us is unfortunate. I have not read the full book. But my reaction is "fuck it!" and read Cunt by Inga Muscio, a far more enlightening and empowering piece of work.

Food. Gardening. Poetry.

Here is a glimpse of what I like to do in my free time.

Quesadilla plate.


Brown rice with glazed tofu, cashews, and fall vegetables.


Chicken and mushrooms in a rosemary cream sauce with warm goat cheese.



We have a pumpkin now gracing our front porch and I would like to create a dish next month with the toasted pumpkin seeds. Stay tuned. Inspiration comes from this ingenious blog. What I never could quite express about my thoughts on the power we have to heal ourselves through food, she says it beautifully. My hands long to sink into warm dough as much as breaking open the earth and inhaling the smell of evergreens. My free time is spent dreaming about food and cooking and gardens and the poetry that runs through it. My table is a collage of cookbooks, gardening books, and books on fiction writing, where I make creations to release to the outside world.

I've been making phone calls this week to find a secure place to teach the writing workshops. My housemate's non-profit organization, the one I applied to work for a week ago, has now laid off the entire division the job was in. Now I understand why I was never called to interview! Knowing my luck, I would have been hired only to be laid off from yet another temp position. I've been considering waitressing to earn a little extra at this one favorite restaurant of mine that told me they were hiring. When I met with the manager yesterday afternoon after filling out the application in detail, he informed me that they are no longer hiring. I almost felt like crying getting back into my car parked on the street. The crushing weight of survival is intense. This is exactly the reason behind "diversifying" and going into business for myself as a designer, a teacher, and a writer. The roots of survival must not be completely dependent on other businesses and corporate America.

Drops of rain were falling onto the windshield, running down the glass, pooling at the bottom and rolling onto the front, and I just sat inside the car without switching it on. The beginning of rush hour traffic whizzed by. A street bum wandered down the sidewalk next to women in business suits waiting to cross at the light. I looked up at the tall city buildings full of offices and computers, which symbolize the core system I'm striving to break free from one day. However, I'm not about to turn down a job that pays well within it right now as I find new and alternative ways to earn a living. A friend's phone call interrupted my reverie and she said, "Hey, would you be interested in working as a freelance copywriter for the company I work for? My boss is looking for someone like you." It often comes down to not what you know but who you know in this city. The sunshine of hope began to creep back in like the sound of jazz music breaking me from the blues.

I remember my life two years ago. I remember having enough. I had my own apartment downtown with a garden tub and balcony overlooking the city. Black granite counter tops in the kitchen and tall bookshelves in the living room. Minutes from The Blue Dahlia Bistro and Rio Rita. I could walk to work in twenty minutes in the mornings. I had my own desk that I decorated with favorite photographs and books. I was paid well to write. I was dating E* and I remember her coming over to see me and how I would dash down the three flights of stairs to open the door to let her in. She would kiss me on the lips in the doorway and I would lead her back into my apartment. I miss that life. But I was aware of the void I felt being caught working for a corporation. Something was out of place and back then I could not place my finger on it. I was conscious on a deep level that this was not what I was meant to do for long. It was as if at any moment the foundation would snap and everything would be gone...

It did, and the pieces have been rearranged, but I am still standing.

"You aries women are always so focused on your careers..."

I'm in the midst of designing for my first client. My kitchen table is a mess, covered in colored pencils, pens, ruler, drawing paper, plant books, garden plans, aloe vera plants, and I love it. Yesterday I visited their house on the outskirts of the city limits. We walked through the backyard together. She told me "We're not on a budget. Design whatever you like." It was like music to my ears. To have the luxury of designing what I *want* in someone's half acre backyard is a total dream. I'm envisioning tall oleander trees lining the fence, magnolias, an intricate vegetable garden with Provencal paths, and colorful southwestern flower beds (roses too) accented with sand and beveled glass. She added that she would like to have me design a container garden for their courtyard in the future, and that she would be happy to recommend me to the neighborhood because "people are always looking for a landscape designer." I felt like I hit the jack pot. To go out on a limb and pursue something you love feels terrifying and also gratifying. Self-doubt is usually lurking in the background. Am I going to fuck it up? Am I going to fail? Can I actually do this?? I know I can't expect perfection in the beginning, but I have a good feeling about working as a designer, like it comes naturally. My second client, I'm meeting her this weekend to discuss how to re-design her backyard. I'll feel more confident as soon as I have these initial designs under my belt. I think that working with the city to revitalize areas too down the road could be an interesting project to be involved with. In regards to following my heart more, I've decided that my creative writing workshop series is in the works. I would like to teach a fall class on poetry, the short story and novel, and maybe a creative workshop on art therapy techniques for social workers and therapists to use with their clients (creative writing is naturally part of that). I will have to write out a curriculum for each workshop and figure out where the hell I'm going to teach! It could be out of my home dining room at first. I feel like it is now or never. Follow what you *really* want to be doing with your life. Right now.

Sundays....

A rainy afternoon spent at the neighborhood coffee house applying for jobs and savoring a bottomless cup of coffee. Cross yer fingers and toes that someone calls soon. My housemate's non-profit organization is now hiring a quitline phone counselor to talk to people who are quitting smoking and she may be able to get me the interview. I actually used to work for this organization years ago.

Tonight will be cooking spicy spaghetti for dinner and a friend's going away art show complete with a poet from Chicago.

I love Sunday nights when the world slows down and time feels suspended in the air.

Because it is October and close to National Coming Out Day...

"But you're too feminine to be a lesbian..."


Tegan + Sara



Clementine Ford and her girlfriend.


The amazing Leisha Hailey.






I'm into shattering some stereotypes.

Rainy day...

Steady rain is in the forecast for the next several days and so I had to reschedule my sessions with the landscape design clients. I stayed home, lit vanilla candles, and made lunch for my housemate using what we had in the kitchen.

-cilantro
-garlic
-onions
-jalapenos

Here is what I decided on.

Quesadillas with Beans and Rice
I got out my cutting board and cut the above ingredients. I tossed the mixture into a pan sizzling with oil. The combination of the cooking cilantro, jalapenos, onions, and garlic was heavenly!

Then I took some corn tortillas and warmed them in another pan with oil. Tortillas are complete when lightly crisped and steaming hot.

I added grated Monterrey Jack cheese to the middle of a tortilla with the onion mixture, folded it in half, and flipped it over to heat each side like a pancake.

I arranged several quesadillas on a plate and filled the center of the plate with a cup of brown rice, red beans, a handful of cilantro, and a row of spicy pico de gallo. I sliced up part of a jalapeno and decorated the outside of the quesadillas to make the plate extra dazzling. I wish I had had an avocado because it would have been a nice touch to add around the edges of the plate with a sliced lime for flavoring the beans and rice.

She loved it, and this made me happy.
______________________________________________________________________________________

If only I were not on a budget, I would cook up a storm in the kitchen every day and have my friends over for dinner all the time. I'm a believer in buying locally, utilizing what is in season, and being mindful about how your food has been treated before it came into your hands. Cooking at home is one way you can be more connected to everything around you. Even though I'm almost broke, I can still cook.

October Horoscope.

From www.Astrologyzone.com.

Every once in a while planets play musical chairs and instantly, everything starts to look and feel different. This is one of those landmark months where you may be astonished to see that happen. After October is over, you will shift your priorities away from career concerns - which have consumed you lately - and toward fun, friends, and romance. Your career will not suffer from emphasizing your private life. Over past months you've given your career so much attention that it has been at the neglect of almost everything else. Let the ventures you've put in motion move forward now at their own pace while you turn your gaze in another direction.

The first two weeks will be excellent for making family, home, and other property decisions. Throughout September, Mercury was retrograde and not the time to commit to any long-term decisions. By now Mercury has moved direct, so it is safe for you to act. With your ruling planet Mars still brightening your home sector during October's first half, you can be twice as productive with home and family-related matters now. Aim to be finished by October 15.

One or both of your parents may have been on your mind too, and if so, you will feel better about that situation after Mars moves off your fourth house - October 16. I cannot see everything in your natal chart from where I sit, so if you have had an argument with a parent (hope not, but if so) it may be that Mars was in harsh angle to other natal planets in your chart. Again, after October 15 things will be better. Mars is your ruler, so while everyone will feel a shift, the move of Mars to another place will have a much greater effect on you.

Mars will move into your house of new love/true love, not for the typical 7-week stay, but for nearly 8 months - from October 16, 2009, until June 7, 2010. While Mars will be moving at a much quicker speed this coming spring (for those readers living "down under," in your winter), you will still have an excellent chance to enjoy romance now through early December. If you are not dating, you may have a fateful meeting soon and have even more chances to socialize and find a perfect romantic partner for you in the New Year. Attached? You'll enjoy quality time with your partner and doing so will help you reignite your relationship in an exceptional warm and wonderful way.

You apparently are serious about shaping your private life to the way you had always hoped it to be, for Saturn, the planet of maturity, will move into your marriage sector on October 29 for a three-year stay. In that time, you won't be as willing to date only for fun, but you will also want to see that your romantic partner has long-term potential for a commitment. If you feel this person does not, you'll quickly move on to another. Under this trend, you'll have to be sure the partner is as presented. Proceed slowly before you get involved. If you undertake marriage between now and October 2012, you will enter into it with great seriousness and awareness, a good sign, for that attitude will increase your chances of success.

If you are already wed, Saturn's move into this house indicates a change is about to take place, and you will be challenged to renew your commitment. You will need to reinvent your relationship, and Saturn will give you several clues about how to do that.

In all, you have an exciting journey ahead, one that will leave you with a private life that truly nurtures you.

Always applying for contract writing and editing projects, part-time office work, copywriting and editing positions in and outside of the city. Getting almost nowhere this week. I almost had a meltdown when my dad said to me "I think you should apply to get on welfare."

You want to believe that your family will be able to support you in harder financial times. You want to believe that there is someone to catch you when you fall. They can afford to give me some money here and there for groceries, but I cannot expect much more than that. I have the sporadic income from the freelance writing gig and the students I'm tutoring. I also have a landscape design client I'm designing for this weekend, which I'm excited about. But if I do not make enough money in the coming weeks, my car is at risk of being re-possessed. I'm at risk of having to file for bankruptcy because I can't afford my student loan payments. Convenient that my sister is a bankruptcy attorney. I'm almost at risk, if I don't earn enough money, to move back in with my parents and force my housemate to live with a stranger. I feel horrible that my financial situation is affecting her.

The whole situation makes me sick. I have a college degree, a master's degree, years of work experience. I'm an intelligent, creative, and hard working person; I rationalize that I should be able to support myself. Part of the reason I was so upset when I learned that my position was being cut at the company was exactly this reality. I envisioned it long before it came down to this and shifted the picture to a positive and happy ending in my mind, seeing myself as a successful freelancer working from my home office or perhaps at a company again as their copywriter. I envision the possibilities, the potential, the richness.

Submitting an application for welfare assistance and food stamps royally depressed me last night. Such a radical extreme from sending those cover letters for cushy editorial jobs I had worked on earlier in the day. I never thought I would have to be on welfare. I never thought my family would allow me to reach that point. My dad even lectured me on selling my honda civic, only 2 1/2 years away from being completely mine. I refuse to give up just yet. It has only been a little over 3 weeks since I've been out of work. I'm choosing to be optimistic. This rough patch is only temporary. I just wish I could find a great job, be o.k., and get on with life. Why must it be so f*cking difficult?

I'm leery of people who say that your outer reality is a reflection of your inner thoughts. As if I wanted this to happen to me? As if I'm not doing everything in my power to survive? How can they say that I brought this situation about? It really ticks me off when hard times are chalked up to the person consciously or unconsciously attracting them into their life. There are millions of people living in poverty around the world. Don't tell me that it's all their fault. Same with those who are caught living in war zones. The world is a combination of goodness and injustice.

Am I doing enough??

I ask myself this question from time to time.

I think: I could be volunteering one day a week at Meals-on-Wheels...mentoring a student from a poor neighborhood...cooking dinners for friends who need a little TLC...maybe offering to be a grant writer for free at a non-profit organization.

I want my work to be about helping people and it is along those lines, however, I wind up feeling like I fall short on my humanitarian endeavors and then I feel overwhelmed.

Morning text conversation with P.

me: Seeing E* with that guy made me wonder if I should consider dating men again. I slept with one this weekend and soon remembered why I stopped. It is just not my cup of tea, darling... er, package.

P: Duh. LoL.

me: Curiosity satisfied.
_____________________________________________________________________________________

Evening events included:

*Listening to Matthew Shephard's mother talk at Book People marking 11 years after his death.
*Central market grocery shopping.
*Cooking a late dinner feasting on shiitake mushrooms, beautiful eggplant, broccoli, spinach, carrots, and tomatoes.
*Reading while listening to the rainstorm outside the house.

i heart the twins.

Dear Universe,

I revisited the land of men this weekend. We partied hard together. Like old times. Tangueray & tonics, wine, whiskey, cigarettes. My gay boyfriend was passed out in the next room and his straight friend told me then that he thinks I'm smoking hot and that he wanted to sleep with me. I thought, why not? I wanted to have a little fun. He made me feel worshiped. I appreciated his Leondardo di Caprio-esque physique and tried to relax crossing over into the side I had left years ago. It was interesting. I felt like I was in some other reality because, as you know, it had been 3 1/2 years since I was with a man. I closed my eyes during moments and imagined myself with A* and with my ex-girlfriend. Sex with him was affirmation that I cannot be with a man, not in an ongoing relationship. You know this.

My gay boyfriend, my poor gay boyfriend, woke up in the middle of it and must have been so confused. We were lying in bed for a long time afterwards and the sun rose. He said "You deserve beautiful women to date."

So. Please, I'm placing a request that you send me a wonderful lady soon. I will be forever grateful.

Love,
M

There's more....

Phone call with the landlord resulted in her telling me that her boyfriend, the electrician, had been over to the house BEHIND our house making repairs on the roof. Hmmm.

Me: "I saw him in our backyard working on our lights."

Landlord: "Oh no... he was fixing the roof on the house behind YOURS."

Some silence.

Landlord: "Why, does he makes you feel uncomfortable?"

(Even if I had said no, she would have sided with him).

"We don't care who is working on our house. What we would like is for you to give us some advance notice that you need to come over, or preferably, that we be home at the time."

I'm not saying that HE is the window watcher. The bottom line is he should not be working on or in our house without notifying us. It seems so fishy.

Today marks the Fall Equinox. The vivid colors and energies of autumn are meant to come out in full force. I've experienced moments of intense optimism. I dream of next year's garden filled with purple eggplants, spinach, rows of lettuce, yellow and butternut squash, big pumpkins to cut open and carve. Going to Wheatsville Co-op reminds me to celebrate the harvest, to eat what is in season, and to remember that the Earth grows different foods at certain times.

My roommate and I are going to get pumpkins soon to carve into jack-o-lanterns. I have a phobia of sharp knives so guess who won't be carving. I'll be in the kitchen washing the seeds, spreading them out on a pan, adding salt, and sticking the whole pan in the oven to roast. Homemade salted pumpkin seeds with a beer is a treat I look forward to year after year. Yum. The perfect beer on my list right now is Live Oak Hefeweissen with a slice of lemon. I had a frothy pint with a friend at The Spiderhouse late last night with the lemon floating in the center and reminisced on "the good old days" when I would come all the time with friends. R? Are you reading? You remember those nights. Now I rarely ever go to The Spiderhouse. It is out of my neighborhood and I feel like it is no longer quite my scene.

Downtown at a theater, I partook in a monthly queer film series. This month's feature was the movie "Bound," a long time favorite. But first we had to sit through a horrible and raunchy burlesque skit performed by drag queens, sure to illicit some nightmares for lesbians in the audience. I'm just sayin'.

D: How are you today, sweetpea?
Me: Feeling a little under the weather.
D: How come?
Me: Had a late night. Have work this afternoon. Not only is my butch ex-girlfriend femmed out in dresses, but I learned last night that she is dating a man.
D: Whoa. Surreal! I thought you said she was a lesbian.
Me: She is. She was. Bisexual now. I guess. She has never seriously dated men before in her life. I know deep down that it does not matter what she is wearing and the gender of the person she is involved with. She loves to play around with the illusion of gender, and I appreciated that about her. It just- is like- witnessing Ellen D. deciding to wear a mini skirt every day now and walking down the street with a boyfriend instead of Portia.
D: Yea.
Me: She has had some grand epiphany about her identity and I wish that epiphany were to include me. That is what this is really about. I wish she wanted to get back together with me or I wish we were still friends.

I think that our window watcher was back last night. The trouble we had with him before was at a height in June and July. I became a paranoid mess. Shadows at night began to look like a person hiding in the bushes. The sound of the pipes creaking sounded like someone breaking in. I would shake from fear whenever the motion detecting light would switch on outside my bedroom window. I would scream the times I saw him standing outside my window and call the police. Most window watchers or peeping toms are harmless. The danger lies in what it can escalate into. I invested in heavy shades to cover the blinds, and since then, my windows have been covered like a chastity belt most of the time. We had the landlord clear out the brush on one side of the house, and lights were installed around the exterior of the house. What idiot would dare to window watch when he could be so easily recognized?

I have not had any incidents since July. Last night I guess I forgot to draw the shades over the blinds on one of my windows. I went to bed around 1 in the morning, and after the lights had been switched off and I was in bed, the motion detector light went on right outside the window. Three times. What alarmed me more was that the cats acted like there was someone outside. Izzy was scratching to see through the blinds and Mischa was beside me looking at the window with an alert expression. Maybe, maybe it was a possum or a stray dog wandering through the back yard that set off the light several times, but given the context, I had a sick feeling that the window watcher was there, and if so, it indicates it has to be someone who lives nearby who would notice that my shades were not drawn over the window, offering an invitation for him to watch the house. I have no clue who it might be. But I reach this point where I begin to suspect almost all strange men around me.

Yesterday afternoon, I got back to the house around 3:30 and noticed that the landlord's boyfriend, an electrician by trade, was in our backyard tinkering with what looked like the motion sensing lights. I thought it was odd and even more peculiar that he acted like he did not see me, even though I parked the car right behind him and we were about 10 feet apart. I got the impression he did not expect for me to be home at this hour. He avoided conversation with me in regards to explaining what he was doing to our house. I unlocked the front door and right away I detected a scent, his scent, in our living room. Like he had been inside our house earlier. "Do you think he is the window watcher?" My roommate texted me this morning from work. "That would be so twisted. I don't know what to believe...." I said. When you're feeling victimized, your mind can come up with some interesting ideas. What if the landlord's boyfriend has installed tiny surveillance cameras in our house? What if he was trying to tweak the motion detecting lights so that they would stop switching on at night? What if he has a spooky habit of coming into our house while we're at work? I didn't notice that anything had been moved. But I will say that I had the eerie feeling that he had been inside. His musty scent hung low in the air.

The deal is we rarely ever have men over at our house. We have cats, not a dog. Lesbians and bi women not living with men become easier targets. I've heard more incidents about lesbians in this city being targeted by window watchers and break-ins, interestingly. I'm placing a phone call to my landlord sometime soon to casually inquire about the lights. She might not even be aware that he had been over to the house yesterday.

I've luckily been able to find a part-time job as a freelance writer for a real estate company, which is going to save me. I'll probably work at a coffee house with a bottomless cup of coffee every afternoon, laptop computer in tow. I'd like to have internet at the house so that I can work from my "home studio," but I have a hunch that I would spend too much time fooling around in my pj's. When you work for yourself, I think it's essential to know where to draw the lines and how to balance home and work spaces, otherwise, work will invade every part of your life. I love being self-employed because it offers a greater sense of control over what I create. You can negotiate your rates. You can turn a project down. You can choose not to work on a Monday morning if you so desire and sleep in (like I did this morning). You have so many more liberties. Between writing, tutoring several students, and designing gardens here and there, I think I will be o.k.

I've got my soul back.

The lesson I'm learning is that you should go after what you want out of this world. Follow your dreams. Do what you love. The universe will shift for you in places you never expected, cracking open hot springs and carving out paths. Make a list of what you desire. Imagine how you want your life to look.

Last night was partying at a professor's house with a crowd of grungie, middle-aged scholars and their vast liquor collection. Conversation was so intensely cerebral that at one point I thought my brain might explode from excessive information. I've been out of the academic environment for two years, and on one hand being intellectually stimulated was refreshing, and on the other, I found the conversations aggravating. They exist within their own elitist world and expect everyone else around them to comprehend their pretentious euphemisms and symbolic references. Who the fuck cares. It was like they were trying to outdo each other with their knowledge and memorized quotes from famous dead people. I imagined the professor with flash cards each night memorizing these quotes so he could impress people.

I sat in a chair across from my new friend, J, a filmmaker and artist, and we exchanged glances. The professor stopped conversation and says to me in a lowered voice, "So did you two like... smoke out before you came here?" He thought I was stoned. I almost let him believe it. I soon recognized this boy who used to work at the neighborhood coffee bar I would write at. He is seriously the most perfect guy for me if I wanted to be with one. He is beautiful, like a work of art, with these gorgeous blue eyes and thick, long eyelashes, dark curls that frame his face. He's kind and charming and smart and a little goofy with his sense of humor and attentive. We clicked the first time we ever met, and I am aware of a chemistry and attraction that flows between us. "Would you be the sperm donor for me and my future girlfriend?" I thought. He's a man I would procreate with. As much as I like him and admire his beauty, I just cannot quite wrap my head around sleeping with him. O- how weird that would be after 3 1/2 years. But I think that there is an attraction and also a repulsion I experience for physically being with men. He knows I date women.

We wandered down the street around 3 in the morning, leaving some of the people, to explore a secret park in the neighborhood that the professor wanted to show us. It felt like the most out-of-reality night I've had in years, probably since my days living as an exchange student in Germany. There was a high moon tower and some of the boys tried climbing it in the darkness. I was worried that one would miss a step and fall to their death. It could have happened since they were drunk. I got home and it was almost 4 in the morning. Today I feel absolutely out of it and exhausted. Those were my nightly adventures...

I'm going to be breaking up soon with my therapist. I feel like she does not understand me at all after a year of our conversations. She told me that my main problem is that I "need" a relationship too much and this scares people away. Someone who knows me well would probably say that my intensity in a relationship can sometimes be off putting to certain people who prefer lightness. I've been solo for a long time and not afraid to be single. When I was seeing A. this summer, I never mentioned that I was looking for a relationship, nor did I act frighteningly serious about being together. I was going with the flow, letting whatever evolve into whatever it was meant to be, enjoying the time together, filling it with fun and laughter. When A. did what she did in the manner that she did it, I found her to be.. a jerk. Instead of offering consolation or framing the experience into a more positive and enlightening light, which is what I needed from a counseling session, my therapist said, "Do you want to know what I think your problem is?" I leaned forward in my chair to listen, disappointed in the end with her assessment of me. I don't think that A. stopped seeing me because of my "great need" for a relationship. I don't believe that that was it. Whatever happened to the belief that dating sometimes involves being with people who aren't a match? Is that not what dating is about? You discover more about yourself and other people. You discover that perhaps you are not suited for each other. I think A. is narrow minded and a bit of a jerk to people! There. I said it. And she is not the right woman for me. I belong with someone who is far more open minded, caring, and not afraid of new experiences. A. is so fixed in her ways that I believe we would have spent 50 percent of our time fighting. She was adorable and sexy and all that and I think that had she been more bending, it could have possibly been a romantic match. But... alas. It ended.

I'm taking my therapist's observation into account, but I've decided that this "therapy" is no longer that valuable to me anymore. I feel worse after my sessions. She made me feel like it's my fault that my relationships have not panned out- relationships are so complex and there are always two sides to every relationship. I'm an intense person who will find someone who likes my intensity and passion. E. loved my intensity. Why seek to alter who I am? I believe in embracing who you are. Eff that. If A. was indeed frightened that I was interested in a relationship with her, then I think she has some issues to deal with around intimacy. Therapy to me now is working with plants and cooking. Food is healing. Volunteering my time places is healing. Having my hair cut at a cool salon is healing. Creating art is healing. I would seek out a more holistic counselor in the future if I decide to have one again, a counselor who is more nurturing and empowering. She isn't a bad therapist. She is simply no longer what I need from counseling sessions.

I went to "The Big Gay Musical," part of the Austin Gay and Lesbian International Film Fest, with my gay boyfriend and his friend. I sat between them and munched on food at the Alamo Drafthouse. I had this gut wrenching inkling that I would see my ex-girlfriend, and minutes after that thought, I saw her coming into the theater. I almost fell out of my chair when I saw that she was wearing a dress. My soft butch ex was femmed out! She was in a darling retro black 1950s dress, one that I would love to wear. Her hair is longer and no longer dyed blond. It was surreal. I'm almost certain she spotted me because we were the few lesbians in the theater of gay men, and gay it was for the next 2 hours. My gay boyfriend commented on how the musical was "so very gay."

I'm supposed to be looking for work right now. I'm supposed to be going to a yoga class. I'm supposed to be in other places. Time to sign off.

Roommate is out of town for Labor Day weekend, and I have the house to myself with the two cats. I need to clean from top to bottom and wash the mountain of laundry. Boring details I won't bother you with. FALL is around the corner, even though it is still 98 degrees outside. I'm asking a friend (Liz?) to come over soon to advise me on planting a fall vegetable garden behind the house. There is already a sizable raised plot of soil near the drive way. I'm thinking about planting cucumbers, carrots, lettuce, spinach, pumpkins, squash, and eggplants. I'm set to get dirty. Yesterday was the last day of work at The Company, my last day of ever working for Corporate America in an office. I'm officially a FREELANCE WRITER, occasional ENGLISH TUTOR, and laying down the roots for a LANDSCAPE DESIGN business, which is what I would like to be doing mostly full time in the future. I'm scared, self-doubting, yet glowing with happiness about this major transition. I celebrated with sangria and a plate of French bread and cheese with D. at the East Side Show Room. Then I read my September horoscope, and now I'm more terrified. It said that my career sector is going to be tough until January when the planet Saturn, ruler of discipline, exits that part of my chart. I wanted to read that September marks a point of good fortune and that I will have smooth sailing from here on out. I should edit my horoscope...

the funeral was formal and long, beautiful and tragic, but good. on tuesday afternoon, i was at a funeral home in chicago with family for the wake. it was like a great family reunion. i was able to see aunts and uncles, great uncles and great aunts, second cousins, first cousins and their children. we have a large extended family. some of them had not seen me since i was fifteen. my grandmother's body was in an open casket at the altar. candles were burning beside her. rosary beads were woven through her fingers, the nails polished mauve by the embalmers. for as long as i knew my grandmother, she never polished her nails. her face was calm. she looked like she was napping and at moments i expected her to open her eyes. "surprise, dear. i'm not really dead." i remember her laugh, a warm and joking laugh. family convened in the room for 7 ridiculous hours, passing in and out of the lounge. there was no alcohol in sight. what irish-catholic wake has no alcohol? i had to wonder. two bus loads of old people - mostly women because we all know men tend to die before us - came to say farewell. i shook many old hands and looked into eyes of women who lived through the 1920s and world war II.

we created a montage of photos taken over her 80-some years, which people could look at to remind them of her life. my favorites were from her wedding day in 1948. she was gorgeous, young, thin, so happy getting married to my grandfather. her bride's maid and life long best friend, mrs. thomas, stood beside her. i would have never recognized the woman with white hair being escorted in by a young man as the mrs. thomas had we not been introduced. it was the mrs. thomas 50 years after the wedding photos. she had an oxygen tank and looked somewhat disoriented. i cannot imagine what that day must have been like for her.

my feet were killing me by the time we left the funeral home. now i understand the meaning of a "wake." you have to stay awake because it lasts so damn long. i was feeling emotionally exhausted from watching family break down in front of her casket. i felt like i had already mourned her loss. i had already said goodbye. her soul was not there. the following morning, we returned after breakfast to the funeral home for a ceremony given by a priest. i watched almost all the men fall apart emotionally, which i never expected, and my aunts and mother started breaking down as they had to say goodbye to her for the last time. we got into cars and followed the hearse to the church for an elaborate catholic mass and funeral ceremony. my grandmother had a full choir and everything. after that we drove in the funeral procession out to the gravesite chapel for yet another ceremony, then visited the actual gravesite. it was peaceful, and she would be buried beside my grandfather and his family. as we returned to the car, the gray sky began to rain, echoing the tristesse. we feasted at a nearby restaurant in a private dining hall where uncles and aunts told stories about my grandmother. i loved being surrounded by family and wished that we did not live so far apart. my grandmother was the one who brought us together and got me out of texas. rest in peace, grandma.

it seems like a travesty that i live in one of the most vibrant music cities on the planet and rarely do i partake in going out to see bands anymore. what happened? did i become immune to the abundance of sound? when i was in my early twenties, i used to go out to shows almost every week and perhaps i watched too many hipster boys in tight black pants with their electric guitars. i've decided to change that pattern around this fall and absorb as much music and sound as i am willing to afford. starting with a sister 7 reunion show this weekend and then the raveonettes. bon iver is coming in october.

my gay boyfriend is back in town from a summer spent in san francisco. he arrived today. we are already making plans to go out places together. his first words: a drink is in order! he is coming with me to the gay clubs on the weekends, and we could cross paths with linsday lo. who is in town filming a movie. if she wants to meet ladies, there are only several places to select from here.

i think i have relatively healed from the summer happenings with the last fling. we, as in my gay boyfriend and i, will no doubt be standing in the same club opposite her and her gay boyfriend next month. it is a shame that we could not have double dated...

tomorrow morning i am leaving for chicago. my grandmother died peacefully in her sleep on saturday morning before sun rise. the funeral is tomorrow. i will return on wednesday evening.

s-t-r-e-s-s

i got my hair cut at a salon downtown and walked out a changed lady. it is a 1920ish inverted bob. with bangs. photo coming soon. it is amazing how a hair cut can entirely alter your world view. my "hair therapist" washed my hair with apple cider vinegar, a natural treatment to remove build-up, leaving my hair clean and shiny. she then gave me a head and neck massage. it was the best experience. we talked about art and how she considers herself a sculptress. i've been working in the writing sector for some time. it has not panned out and now i'm changing. what am i going to do? i would like to tutor more students and design gardens. no more corporate america. the move to tutoring full time feels a little frightening, but i'm now forced into this position. i don't have much time.

as for chicago, there is no telling when we will be going up there now. my grandmother was moved into hospice yesterday. she is probably going to die before i'm set to visit her. i've been pretty upset, tearing up left and right at random moments. i have had to face that i will never see her again alive, and that conversation on her birthday was probably the last time. she might completely surprise us and be living next weekend. but my aunts who are with say otherwise. she is fading out of this world fast.

changes.

the universe is suddenly shaking up my world and forcing me into action.

the news came about my grandmother, my mother's mother, who lives in chicago. she was having stomach pains and after testing the doctor discovered it is because she has cancer, pancreatic cancer that has spread to most other organs in her body. we knew she was probably not going to be alive for that much longer, but facing her impending death is difficult to process. i called her on saturday to wish her a happy 87th birthday, knowing full well it will be her last birthday ever, the last time i can ever say "happy birthday, grandma." my other grandma died several years ago, also from cancer. i told her that i will coming to see her in two weeks, and that seemed to cheer her up a little. she is drugged on morphine and was in the hospital on sunday for a sudden blood clot in her leg. the doctor says she has a couple of months left to live, if even. death is closing in and there is little to do to stop it.

but she still has her mind and her wits about her. dying from pancreatic cancer, a quickly fatal cancer, is the best way to go, i think. she will not be losing her memory or battling a long debilitating illness. the doctors are making her as comfortable as possible in these last months. she has lived a long life, and not that many people die surrounded by children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren.

on the phone, she sounded sick but tried to crack some jokes. she began recounting the story about when i was younger and she would take me out for dessert. she used to split a rich chocolate dessert with me at this one restaurant, and when i turned four, i told her that she would have to order herself one because i could eat the whole brownie myself. from then on, she always had to order two desserts. "you always have had such a sweet tooth, dear..." she said over the phone. this is what my grandmother will remember about me. my sweet tooth.

at work i learned that the company is going to be cutting my position soon, but miraculously, i convinced the head of the dept. to allow me to stay on for some time until i can find a new position. he sat me down in his office and closed the door.

"you have this amazing energy," he said, staring straight into my soul. "you're a creative thinker and you belong in very creative work. from the moment i met you i sensed that there is something specific you are meant to do with your life. this is not it. when i hired you i knew that you simply needed a job, that you would not be sticking around for long. i can feel every day in your aura that you HATE being here, and i want to help you. tell me. what is it you really want to do?"

i felt like i was under an x-ray sitting across from him, like he was reading my inner thoughts. it is rare to find a manager who actually gives a damn. most managers would say "see ya and good luck." who really cares about people these days?

i sat in his office for the next hour listening and answering questions. he said that the worst event (such as losing your job) can actually be the best opportunity, and i completely agree. i just feel like most employers tune into the fact that i'm a creative person, despite my efforts to downplay that during interviews for less creative work, and i feel like this is always held against me. over and over. don't they want someone who is creative? i was not hired to be an editor for the university because the editor pointed out "i can tell you're creative and you belong in creative work." thanks, but that does not mean i'm not capable of doing the work.

so what next?

the bargain i made with my manager is that i will meet with him each week to fill him in and meanwhile i can continue working there. maybe this is precisely what i have needed to happen.