Bullshitting, Bryan, and Rice Pudding

Eric's Living Room Floor
Music Swapping
Waco, Texas
2:42 pm
Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Bull Shitting, Bryan and Rice Pudding

Those not luck enough to have been born into Southern Culture and Heritage seem to lack an appropriate sense of awe, wonder, and astonishment for The Art of Bullshitting. There is a special grace, manner and appropriate demeanor needed to Bullshit correctly. Like most things of pure quality, I can't exactly define it but I know it when I see it. Standing around on the porch, drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, talking shit to the hurricane. Heckling each other, telling outrageous stories, all while being generally loud and disorderly. But there's more to it then that. It's indicative of a whole way of life, an ease and gayety coupled with a spirit of endurance, hardworking, loyalty. It's stopping by at a neighbors, chit-chatting, shoo ing the breeze, bullshitting, then you're on your way. Maybe drinking a beer, catching up about people you used to know, talking about the future. It's a pervasive characteristic of the South thatsubtlysubtley ingrained into all aspects of social discourse that I almost missed it. As Bryan puts it, I am good at communicating. Sure, I'll communicate with you. Why the fuck not?

When I made it to Texas, Texarkana to be exact, stopped at a gas station just to be in Texas for a moment. I stretched my legs, bought some cigarettes, and got a soda. I decided to buy Texas shot glass, and ended up having a pleasant conversation with the attendant while she wrapped my purchase carefully. No sense of hurriedness, no sense of unfamiliarity, distance, alienation from those around you. I like that.

And Bryan has proved to me, yet again, that he's the most amazing man I know, outside my father. As I told him, I'd like to get to know his parents because they did an fabulous job raising him. Damn, I'm thankful to have him in my life. Dad said he's my Betsy, and that makes my heart smile. He's coming to Chicago with me after Paris for New Years. We're going to catch a show, good bands with standing. Who's with me?

We met up with Sydney Friday night, and Bryan and I stayed up all night watching Rita. It was good times, let us catch up, listen to music, bull shit. After that lovely encounter with the existential, Bryan (complete with Phish beanie), Phillip (hung-over, fantastic roommate), and I (in my hippie dress, forgot my bra) go to Bennagin's to eat and drink Margaritas. Yes, Bryan and I are still a bit off, but it's all good. As we're eating our appetizer, I happen to over-hear this man at another table. Try as I might I can't help but listen, and trust me, it was the most boring story ever. His companions seemed inraptured by his telling of this supposedly amazing rice pudding he once had.

Jesus Christ. I told Bryan, and he listened. This guy just kept going on and on, leading us back to a conversation we'd had earlier that night/morning. We were talking about people that aren't interesting, who fail to add to conversation, provide pleasant company. Bryan said that he finds himself interesting, and that as long as he can say that, he figures he's coming out all right. I agreed. At Bennagin's that I've had some pretty dank rice pudding, but that's not the point. The point is, I have other more interesting things to talk about, be it bullshitting about the Goddamn Hurricane (my new catch phrase), or discussing plans for graduate school and financial planning.


I then realized I know some people who tell Rice Pudding stories, and I wonder, Do I Tell Them?

The question goes far beyond me merely not wanting to hear rambling about inconsequential, inane shit. I know these people, people I love and respect have more worthwhile topics for conversation. How do you say, Dude, I don't give a shit about [insert inane comment here]. Can we please talk about something worth engaging about? And for some people I know it makes me wonder why they fell the have to fill every second with something, no matter who trivial, which besides being annoying, makes me wonder: what are you afraid of? Why can't you be silent. Lord knows my head is loud, but I can be quiet. I can listen.

That's it for stunning, brilllent observations for this evening. More about Austin, etc later.

Technology Break

Bryan's Living Room
College Station, Texas
About to go Play Frisbee
Or Go to the Titty Bar
Rita's A'Comin'


I haven't been on the internet in almost a week. Egads! God Bless Bryan and his wifi. I've been writing over the vacation, so make sure to check those out. Therefore, I'll keep it brief.

Bryan realized that he couldn't get out of College Station without sitting in his car for 6,302 hours, so he stayed. I figured I'd come and keep him company. We're looking forward to it. Excited you could say.

They've declared the right to protect the streets in Houston and Galveston. What does that mean? Licensed gun owners have the right to protect their own property and that of their friends and neighbors. The police will not be there. God Bless Texas.

I'm seeing Adam on Sunday.

I'm pretty manic. Good times. Now to go play Frisbee!

The Eye of the Storm

Jaynie’s House
About to go eat Lunch
Thursday, September 22, 2005
11:25 am

The Eye of the Storm

The original plan was for me to go to College Station this weekend to Bling with Bryan, then Austin, then Waco, then Dallas, then Paris.

But Rita thinks differently.

Instead of beginning my Wirlhwind Texas Tour, I’m going back to Tyler. Bryan and Eric will be there, but it’s still Tyler.

So, I’ve decided to let Kelsey’s mom do my new tattoo, and I’m going to call Andrew, who I ran into at the Laughing Dog the other day and see if he wants to go out. Yes, I may ask a young gentleman out, even being the Southern Bell that I am. I know, it’s intense, but I blame the southern heat going to my head. And the mind-numbing horribleness that is Tyler. Plus, he’s legal and I need someone to go drink with. Alii would be so proud. Maybe I can call her and she’ll ask him out for me.

I met Andrew at Church when I was in sixth grade. He was my boyfriend, and we used to have our parents pick us up later then choir practice actually finished so we could explore the catacomb of tunnels under the church and make out. Once I started going to Lee, he was a friend – we said hello when we ran into each other, small idle talk. He also helped me procure certain, needed things from time to time, if you get my drift. I have a picture with him from prom – where he sported patchwork corderoy pants and a Grateful Dead shirt. He still has tons of curly blond hair, dimples, broad shoulders and height. Tasty.

In truth, Bryan and I really want to go to College Station and ride the storm out. Just imagine: we’re all huddled up in the bathroom with the windows boarded up, smoking bowls, yelling at the hurricane, singing Phish songs.

I know that it’s a insane idea, but in truth I don’t care. When else am I going to have the chance to challenge Mother Nature? Shout at the wind, emerge as a shining example of humanity triumphing over disaster, chaos and rain.

But no.

They think it’ll be a category 2 when it hits College Station – three hours away from the coast.
Bryan’s roof is shit, and will probably come off.
They’re expecting many, many tornados.
Bryan’s parents have demanded he come home.

So, to Tyler I go.

Get Over Yourself Already

Dad’s Couch
Watching “West Wing”
(I’m not that lame – it comes on Bravo all the damn time.)
5:48 pm
Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Get Over Yourself Already

So, I was talking to my dad this morning, and he shared a very interesting story with me. It’s going to take a bit of back story, but trust me when I say it’s worth it.

For those of you who don’t know, I’m from a small town, deep in the heart of Texas. Tyler, population 80,000 with the “metropolitian area” reaching 120,000. But, let me put those numbers in perspective.

*Side note: I just had to go get my hoodie. It’s a 100 out there. God Bless Central Air.

Back to Perspective: Tyler is the closest thing in 90 miles that even begins to qualify as a city, which I claim is a stretch. There are many inhabited places, tiny clusters of humanity, large enough to merit a gas station, a grocery store and the most beautiful country on earth. The entire time I was in high school we had one mall, and one movie theater. We jokingly (jokingly?) say that there was nothing to do in Tyler except drugs.

Sociologically, it’s a strange anomaly – very characteristic of a tiny backwoods town, only large and with money. It’s segregated too. The north side is poor and mostly African American or Hispanic with the south side. Two high school with a strong, passionahttp://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gifte rivalry that I stood on both sides of. Churches at every corner ranging from Primitive Baptist to the lone Unitarian, with the scary ass, huge monstrosity of indoctrination I personally attended, affectionately referred to as the Baptadome. (They STILL SEND ME DONATION EVALOPES. IT WAS TEN YEARS AGO AND I DIDN’T GIVE YOU MONEY THEN.) As Tyler is the only thing in The Piney Woods of Beautiful East Texas all roads lead there. I used to live on the Azeala Trail

As I was driving into Tyler, the closer I got, the more billboards advertising Virginity I saw. “Life is about Choices” and “Everyone deserves a Second Chance.”

It was out Old Jacksonville Highway, FM 2419 that I had my first and longest held job: hostessing, waitressing, and bartending from ages 15 – 20. I now live right off Old Jacksonville, minutes from the bar. In fact, my dad and I are meeting friends there later this evening. It’s $2.50 drink night!

It was in Tyler that I feel in love with Sean, and it was here that it was ended. That is a story for a different time. The relevant point being that I got him a job as a cook at the Dog. I also encouraged him escape the Curse of Tyler (leaving, then coming back and getting stuck. Here. For. Ever. ), which he tragically succumbed to.

Tyler is absurd in the fact that despite the size, Tyler remains a small town. Everyone knows everyone else, and their business. The order of get-to-know you questions is What’s your name? Where does your daddy work? What church do you go to?

While discussing possible root causes for my rampant liberalism, as my dad will be driving the SSUV (Subversive SUV), my dad informed me that he and my mother purposely tried to not indoctrinate me. Which left me in a, shall we say, ackward position in fifth grade when I had no answer to the latter inquiry. I claim it’s Tyler’s smallness in combination with the ultra right wing Christianity being shoved down my throat causing me to run screaming in the other dirction, but I digress.

My dad and I spent the day together and we were talking of the mutual people we know and he was telling me about people who are still in Tyler. I asked about if he’d seen Sean. He said, yes he had, but not spoken to him. I’m glad to know he’s alive, and wouldn’t mind looking him in the face, but no driving desire to talk to him. I’m done with that. This is my train of thought when Dad bursts out,

“Damn, Sean’s mom’s a bitch. I may have to kick her ass.”

Hehehe. Now, yes. It’s true, she is a big fat bitch, but she’s also an amazing lady whom I respect but deeply dislike. I always wanted her to like me, but she never did, even before I dated Sean. Yes, I was rather horrific for while there, but I grew up. Long, long ago, I stopped looking for Pam’s approval, before Sean and I tore each other’s soul out and stomped on them for a while.

But the interesting thing is she was just randomly bitching about how much I suck and how her Darling Son’s “downfall” is MY FAULT. She shot her mouth off to someone who just happens to know my dad and I.

OVER A YEAR LATER SHE STILL HASN’T GOTTEN OVER IT – NOT THAT I DID ANYTHING TO HER IN THE GODDAMN FIRST PLACE. HER PRECIOUS SON SLEPT WITH HIS ROOMATE, THEREFORE CHEATING ON ME HIS FUCKING FIANCEE.

Obviously your life is rather sad if this thing that happened in your son’s life long ago is all you have to ramble drunkenly about to some random chick at the bar.– Yes, it was transforming, and soul-sucking, and beautiful and twisted, and tragic but FOR SEAN.

So, please, for fucks sack Pam, get over yourself.

I really do hate Tyler where, so it seems, people are still talking shit about me. I’m going to go chain smoke.

Now, I'm Just Too Cool for Tyler

My Dad’s House
God Bless Texas
Watching West Wing
Chillin’ with Spartacus
8:12 pm
Monday, September 19, 2005

Now, I'm Just Too Cool for Tyler

It’s always starting how some things are unitarily constant while others refuse to take on a solid form, the only constant being the change itself.

Oh Tyler, you still make me chain smoke.

My heart still thrills just by entering the Piney Woods. The way the sun peeks through the pastures, horse farms scattered in amongst the faded towns, produce stands, slow speech patterns, soft fragrant breezes and my zooming through the dips and slow curves of state highways.

I left Evansville at the ungodly hour of 6:30 am, took a nap at a rest stop in Arkansas, pulling into Smith county at 5:00 pm, perfect for catching dusk for the last 30 minutes of my drive.

Dad had a date, but will return soon with BBQ. Fantastic.

Hello Good Bye

Ayse's House
About to go to a Hippie Commune
11:48 am
Sunday, August 18, 2005

Hello Good Bye

My epic journey has begun. After my amazing transcendental experience Tuesday, then a party on Friday, I am on my way.

I drove to Evansville last night, and am currently at Ayse's. Damn, I love her. Yes, she's got issues, but don't we all? Never have I met someone with such a big heart, so much fire, determination.

I feel we understand each other in a way that goes beyond words and deeds. Sometimes she punches walls, when I throw myself into them. But in the end, we'll cry, rub each others back with flat palms, and fix ourselves drinks as a reward for facing one more day. Having someone else who understands the sheer difficulty in everday activities sometimes, and who doesn't require an explaination -- that's a blessing.

I told her about Alii and I's plan to retreat into the woods once a year to go off our meds and drink a lot. She's totally there.

I arrive in Texas tomorrow, so let the good times begin. Looks like I'm going to College Station next weekend, with Austin and Waco thrown in there somewhere. Woot!

I'm going to continue posting here, mostly about what's happening in my head. But for up-to-the-minute info about my exploits in Paris check out . . . And Then I Found Five Euros.

The Score: Full Cycle 1, Mia 2

The Reg
About to Paint my Ceiling
Sleepy!
12:34 pm
Tuesday, August 13, 2005

The Score

Full Cycle 1
Mia 2

This weekend was rough. I was down and out Friday and Saturday, only to rally in the 8th round Sunday, capped off by crashing last night. Full Cycle in one single weekend! I win!

It was intense.

Yea, so I'm on drugs for the purpose of making the swings less sever, less out of control. That hasn't really happened yet. The Dr. said I have to give it a month.
But until then, damn this was kinda fun.

Except for the part where I couldn't get out of bed for fear of failure. That was lame.

Having the bartender get Alii, Katherine and I drunk was pretty entertaining though, as was blinging too hard for my crappy psychologist to handle.


How to Tell if Someone is Manic:
(And by someone I mean me)

chain smoking
drinking A LOT
rapid speech
rocking back and forth
lack of sleep
wide eyed, eyebrows raised look
irrationality
back problems
putting my face in my hands
fucked up WILD hair
pulling my hair
impulsiveness
inability to concentrate
increased sexual promiscuity
doing absolutely absurd, ridiculous shit

At some points, I think it feels like the end of a two day coke binge, only it won't go away.

At some points I think it's the most amazing thing in the world, and I'm the most amazing thing therein. Radiating intensity, energy, fully capable of anything.

Oh this head of mine.

I warn you gentle reader: I'm going to talk about what's going in there rather frequently for the next few weeks. I need to document this. It's been the Summer of My Head, and there are still things I need to work out. Also, it something the vast majority of people don't want to talk or thing about, surruptiously avoiding in conversation.

I think it should be talked about, understood and examined. And that's what I intend to do.

Twice the Fun

Merit!
Volunteers are good lovers.
3:33 pm
Wednesday, September 8, 2005

Twice the Fun

They/we/I/the doctor decided to double my medication dosage. Good times? As far as my Disappearing Libido, he thinks that's a manifestation of the depressive side of my chemical goop of a brain. Maybe, but either way it sucks a lot.

Can we all hear God laughing at me? I can. As Alii says, I go from no one, to everyone, purely because God finds my life entertaining. Hey, I do what I can.

I'm going out twice tonight, that's how cool I am. I'm meeting Vincent for drinks at the top of the Hancock tower, then dinner with Jesse. Then Alyssa's 21st Birthday Cocktail party. Goodness!

Vincent's pretty awesome. He organized Musical Chairs for Tsunami Relief, which is how we know each other: I restructured the rules for them. (What they originally had was crap.) Then, earlier this summer I had lunch with alums, and he was there, so we chit chatted, said we should hang out. And now we are. I win.

I wish I could pause my life sometimes. Just press the pause button and calm everything down for a few minutes. Silence, peace. Things to do, people to see, places to go. And sometimes I feel like I can't take a breath, or take the proper time to stop and appreciate where I am, or correctly absorb all that I'm a part of it. It's frustrating. I'm tempted to cancel my dates and go home. Alone time is needed. As Jesse reminded me last night, I'm committed to spending time (specifically, with him only. He's selfish, so he claims.), going here, doing that.

Sometimes I don't care. Just don't care.

This new dosage scares me, but at the same time makes sense. But am I really ready to give up panic attacks and the manic swings? Maybe. We'll see. Or I'll be like most mental patients and go off the meds on occassion. I'm betting my money with option 2, but secretly hoping I'm strong enough for option 1. There's already a little part of me that feels like a big failure for even stepping foot into the SCRC, whcih constantly wars with that other little part of me that's so damn proud of me for getting help.

I wish they'd both shut the fuck up. Oh, wait, they're giving me drugs for that.

World: Accomplished

The Sunroom
Happy 4:20!
Kittens are the cutest.

World: Accomplished

Today, I accomplished many things. I burst forth (at 1:00 pm) to conquor the campus, preparing for my near departure. Financial Aid Office: check. Bursar's Office: check. Citibank: check. Hummus in the grass with Lauren: check.

I also went to the University Community Service Center and talked to Wallace. They are looking at restructuring their office, and I may be a part of that. Talking to Wallace reminded me what a huge impact the SCC has had on my life. David Hayes helped me make a resume, send out a cover later, choose a job. Serving on the Community Service Finance Committee, and now Summer Links. SO much of what I am, what I believe in, the kind of person I attempt to be everyday are tied up there, or are embodied by people who work there. I am inspired by the entire staff there.

I told Wallace about wanting to own my secret desire to own my own 503(c). He says I could do it by 25. I think he's right. Probably means I'll be staying in Chicago for a bit? City living somwehere, that's for damn sure. Austin, Portland, St. Paul, Palo Alto. Who knows.

I think that's what I love about the UCSC. Every time I have interaction with them, I come out re-examining my life, looking at my priorities, rearranging them. What do I believe in? Where is my life going? What am I going to do with this life, with the amazing possibilities that are before me? How am I going to help? How am I going to positively impact life? And a place that can do that, people that can do that over and over again, and keep me coming back for more. To work there, be a part of that would be amazing.

And now, "My Summer" lays before me. This summer has been an amazing experience, but not blissful and full of nothing. I haven't played enough guitar on the porch, taken enough naps, or had no plans. That's what the next few weeks are all about.

Then Paris bound.
Days till Texas: 9?

Your Mom Goes to the State Fair

Lauren's Hizzy
About to Wine and Dine Alii's Mom
Sleepy!
7:54 pm
Tuesday, August 6 2005

Your Mom Goes to the Fair

Lauren, Jesse and I spent the past weekend in the beautiful Twin Cities. It was fantastic. I lack the time or capacity to go into full detail at the moment, but it will come.

We went to the State Fair, accidentally got drunk, sang in public, stayed with Joan, hung out with Elissa (who is super cool, by the way), went to the Mall of America to ride a rollar coster, hung out in Madison and helped the Beer Market. Good times.

More later me amigos.
Days till Texas: 10?

Tidbits of Thought

This post was/is being written while I call 75,603 kids asking them why we haven't received their returning TfC applications. Hence the randomness.

Giving away pianos is a fantastic experience. People who love what they do are better at it. If I could teach musical theater to kids for the rest of my life, I would. In a heart beat. But the there's the possibility that I turn in to Ms. Ryan. Ouch.

The people of Louisianna are in my thoughts and prayers. As are the people who have to suffer under oppression and tyranny despite the weather. It always erks me when after a national tragedy, there's an major out pouring of support. Yes, fine. Good. New Orleans needs all the aid it can get, both physically, spiritually, and monetarily. But before the flooding, what were all these hundreds of thousands of donors doing to make the world better in general? I feel like people forget that there is profound suffering going on everyday, and it's up to me,(and the 29 other Summer Linkers), it's up to us, to save the world. The people of Darfur and the Sudan can't catch a bus to the Astro Dome.


I'm cleaning out my desk, right? There are, not shitting you:
1 yellow to-go coffee cup with a screw on lid (Alii's)
1 purple to-go coffee cup with a screw on lid (Mine)
1 MAB to-go coffee mug, huge
1 ceramic coffee mug with sail boats on it
1 small thermos, silver with red
1 large thermos, silver with handle
1 1.5 liter water bottle
1 pink water cup
1 nalgeen
1 bag of pistachios
1 half eated jar of peanut butter
2 pouches of microwave popcorn
64 kinds of tea
7 scarves (none of which I wore)
5 pens (that I brough from home)
720 packets of sweeten low
1 red blanket
1 black cardagin
1 picture of my daddy and me

Not bad for 10 weeks. I'm impressed by the display of coffee holding aparatus that I seem to own, acquire and generally keep around myself. Too bad all of those containers hold coffee at the moment, and are going to have to be washed before they make their pilgramage home.

Meter parking in the West Loop: the best place is on Sangamon street. The secret is: they're not really two hour parking meters. THEY'RE SIX HOURS. Damn you Mayor Daley with you shift meter signs. Just keep putting quarters it, it'll work. I just went to feed the meter and there was an abandoned, sad, lonely, unopened snack pack on the sidewalk. It made me sad thinking of the person somewhere out there who's really missing that pudding delight.

When is it that guys think, "Damn, that girls hot. If I slow down a bit a hollar at her out of the window my truck, she's sure to like me." Trust me, it doesn't work,and I'm not even sure it's flattering. For some reason, I guess the 30-year old-with-kids look is working for me today. (That's what Alii calls my unofficial uniform -- moderatly stretchy pant, cuffed into capris with a button down tailor shirt, sleeves rolled up, comfy flats)

This weekend, I'm going to the Minnesota State Fair. Whoopee! Hello Road Trip with Jesse, Lauren S. and one of Jesse's roomates. It should be good times. Supposedly, there's a Butter Queen, and they carve a bust of her out of butter. Yea, I almost creamed my pants as I typed that.

I will also get to see Elissa while I'm in the big MN. She goes to Macalester. Oh damn did we do sweet group projects together in middle school and high school. I'm glad that she continues to be a part of my life

And now I'm donw with my last task at Merit. Maybe I get to go home early on my last day. This has been a great job, but I'm ready for two weeks of vacation here, then bling in Texas. Then Paris. Geez, life is great.