Obsessin'

One last feelings check to go:

So, the autism spectrum disorder that I have, non-verbal learning disorder, (it's like the charming cousin of asperger's), makes me get obsessions sometimes. It actually becomes difficult to think about other things. I had my first one starting in the 4th grade, revolving around The Beatles. That was probably the longest lasting one, at about 2 1/2 years. They usually last like maybe an average of six to nine months.
Here is a list of all the things I've been obsessed with over the years. Warning: this list is quite dorky. Remember that this has been going on for like 15 years so a lot of it is things that sound very stupid now, because I was obsessin' on 'em when I was like 14 or something. And even then, this isn't like a list of my favorite things ever. That's not how the obsessions work. It could be just a mild fascination and all of a sudden become overpowering. It seems to strike nearly at random sometimes. Anyway, here's the list:


The Beatles

Leonardo Dicaprio

The Spice Girls

That 70s Show

Hole/Courtney Love

Nirvana/Kurt Cobain

Moulin Rouge

This one group of 3 punk boys I knew in high school, as a unit.
uh... I don't have a picture of them. They were young and cute and out of control and punk and also not very nice. Here is an approximation of what they looked like

The garage rock invasion of 2002

ha! that guy in front is from The Vines! do you even remember the Vines? I do, because I was loco about 'em. All these dudes.

The Mod Movement

Kimya Dawson

The Monkees

and, right now...
Noel Fielding/The Mighty Boosh


Don't judge! I realize that a lot of these things are utter shit!
These are just the ones that got really bad (none that lasted for less than a month, those come and go daily). And it doesn't even count crushes, which sometimes become EXTREMELY obsessive for me and so overwhelming that I get anxiety attacks.
Now, when I say "obsession" I am being very, very, medical-definition-y literal. Liking one thing to the point of almost total exclusion of everything else. I isolate and consume. I talk different. I move different. I blow through tons of money on records, dvds, books, clothes, trinkets. During my Kurt Cobain period I bought nearly every record he ever recommended. Kurt Cobain was a record-recommendin' fool!
But right now, I am deep in the weeds of Noel Fielding, again. This one has reoccurred, (not that unusual), I had a bad case of it a little over a year ago. And now it's back and trying to kill me.
Don't know who Noel Fielding is? He's the pretty one on "The Mighty Boosh". Never seen "The Mighty Boosh"? Well you'd better get on that, you silly bitch. It's amazing.
Anyway, Noel Fielding is one of the stars and creators of The Boosh. He's, like, a psychedelic comedian. He's very very famous in England and a huge tabloid figure, on account of being a foolishly dressed, slutty, druggy, ultra-hipster from the future. I mean, that isn't even that cool of a description of a person. HE ISN'T EVEN THAT COOL! So why do I all of a sudden have the absolute need to marry him? Mysteries of science.
I spend my days watching Mighty Boosh, as well as his guest appearances on various British sitcoms, talk shows, stand-up shows, and quiz shows. He's got a regular hosting gig on this rock & roll quiz show now, called "Never Mind The Buzzcocks" so I have to watch all of that, too. And then of course I have to browse the internet and look at all his stupid, stupid outfits and think of ways I might copy them (my desire for silver Chelsea boots is becoming so strong it's making me sick). Oh, and I look for Boosh memorabilia, too. Thank god I haven't got any money.
Well, maybe it doesn't sound that bad to you, but it's actually quite scary because I am totally NOT in control of this shit. My mind is barely functioning. And these obsessions all branch out wildly, too. UK indie music, British candy (sweets!), and a very serious thoughts of moving to London abound. Can you imagine that? Moving to a foreign country just because you like one of their TV shows?
I need this shit to end. It's so unproductive and it makes me feel desperate and hopeless. And it's so trying to have to sit while your brain is telling you something that just clearly isn't true. I don't want to marry some pointy-faced, partied-out, social climber from Camden! Oh, but now I feel guilty for even having written that.
Alright, so, after today I am cutting myself off. No more high-concept comedy for you, young lady! I don't need to be all zonked out on Anglophilia when I get home (which is a tiny bit less than a week from right now, motha fuckaz!) I want to be with my friends! Not some dude who might as well be imaginary!

So, I quit my telemarketing job. Did I already tell you that? They wanted to to switch me to all commission! Hell naw! I need a steady paycheck. Plus I'm kind of lazy. Commission does not gel! And then it took me a little while to find a new job. Like, three weeks. I almost became an air filtration system saleswoman. But,instead, I'm working for a shady-seeming non-profit that supposedly helps fraud victims. I'm on the bus to my second day as I write this. Sort of. You see, the first day when I got there, they had been evicted. No joke. First day. But, I still got paid! Hooray! And they promise that they will be un-evicted today! Hooray?
It takes me over an hour to get here by bus. Ugh, I hate the bus. The other day a homeless man came up and hugged me and whispered in my ear " Don't let anyone tell you you ain't attractive, just because you big." Uh, thanks dude. That totally makes me feel better right now? Also, don't even worry about my personal space. No, it's cool, I totally love being tenderly held by smelly strangers.
The thing is, I'll still be bussing about when I get back to California (which is in 1 1/2 merciful weeks!). But the light rail is better, right? At least it's faster? I don't even know. My public transportation skills totally suck. I'm always late and lost and without exact change. I need to save up for a car. Also a tummy tuck (Oh shut it. I lost 55 punds, I've got like 50 to go, and I'm looking rather...saggy. Get up out my bidness!). Also, I want to go on a vacation so, yeah. I'm sure it will take me no time at all to save up, what, ten thousand dollars? No problemo. Please send me money.
Anyway, my main focus continues to be getting my LA face/Oakland booty the hell back to Cali (Cali, Cali...). Rap songs! Like I said, 1 1/2 weeks. And look at these lovely boys who've been added to the roommate roster!

It's Adrian and Stevie! Wow! I love those guys! (Also, that picture is my most favorited picture on flickr ever, with an unprecedented 89 favorites as of this afternoon. Hail Satan! I think it's so popular because it brings in the hipster contingent as well as the bear contingent. Basically my favorite folks).

See you soon, Sac homies!

faux toe explosion

look over here! picturez!

May 23rd is 27 days away!

Oh blog. Oh my sweet bloggy-poo. I didn't mean to ignore you, blog! It's not that I don't love you anymore! Blog, I've been busy.
What am I busy with? Well, work. Stupid ass telemarketing takes up a big chunk of my damn time and, although I hate it so, I need the money. BECAUSE I AM COMING HOME ON MAY 23RD! That's right, ladies and blogs. Less than a month and I will be back in the sweet sweet arms of the city of trees herself, Sacramento.

This is Alexa and Joe! They are some of my total BFFs and I'm gonna be living with them in like 3 and a half weeks!


With craigslist to guide us, we will soon be living in the fiercest house or apartment in all of midtown.

My bike! My cat! My food stamps! How I miss you all! But soon I will be back!

So you see, blog, my crazed excitement over coming home, and the rather dull actions that must take place in order to get there, are taking up nearly all of my precious time. I will be back with a closure post and updates on my exciting and glamorous new life in California. Ta ta for now. Don't stop bloggin', bloggy.

Nature!!!!

We went to the beach about a week ago, and the beach was really wonderful! Happiness is seeing a teenager digging a really huge hole in the sand, and then seeing his five-year-old brother run up and say "Is that for your butt?" I had never swam in the Atlantic ocean before. I hadn't even swam in the ocean at all in like 10 years. And let me tell you, it's amazing. Waves, you guys! I'm probably not telling you anything you don't already know, but please indulge my child-like sense of wonderment! Waves! Sand! Whoah!
One friend and I were the only ones who even had the desire to go into the water (babies and morons, all of them). But we stayed out until our lips got all puckered and salty and we were so happy! At one point our merry gang was joined by two red-headed little girls who were really excited to tell us about their newly accuired skill of swimming! Their dad had just taught them and they were just wriggling with joy. They were out there diving into the waves with the best of us. After the kids left another member joined, a portly, smiling man who only spoke Spanish. Good thing I speak it. But really all he wanted to say was how beautiful the day was, were we having fun?, and holler an occasional "oh shit!" when a really big wave was coming.
Then, yesterday, a storm came. It wasn't a hurricane, not even one of those "tropical storms" that are not as bad that hurricanes always seem to be turning in to. But I don't see how that is possible. More rain than I have ever seen, going totally sideways some of the time. It was all the news could talk about. I was out riding in cars (isn't it weird that I haven't driven since early November?) through some of the worst of it and there were big ol' tree branches just falling down right in front of us.
The very most exciting part was during morning group, lightening struck our power transformer! (i think that's the right word). TWICE! There were blue explosions with smoke and sparks! Ohhh maaaaan! People say that talking about the weather is boring or somehow shallow but people are so wrong. Weather is one of the worlds great endless fascinating mysteries. We don't know exactly how it works or how to predict it, and even though it's always happened, there's still and inexplicable pull just to get outside and LOOK at it. It's just so BIG. And the OCEAN! It's so big! And they are so pwerful and beautiful! Nature, you guys!

Look how great nature is:

Bad Job

I thought I was going to get this good job? But then I didn't get it? And I need to get home, which involves having a job? So now, I am doing it. I am taking... the bad job.
Telemarketing.
I am actually sitting here right now, supposed to be taking notes on these dudes' sales pitches. I'll set the scene a little bit. Often offices are described as "dingy" but all those people who are describing offices as "dingy" better shut the fuck up right now because ain't no office dingy like this office is dingy. If people don't CURRENTLY smoke in the building, they must have in the recent past. The only other people in the room are two middle-aged men who appear to be blatant steroid users. There are motivational posters hung dead seriously around the room and, even more insanely, in fact totally, unbelievably, insanely, one of the guys has this poster on his cubicle wall of a junkie about to shoot up, but JESUS is standing behind him, and Jesus is thrusting his arm out and his face is all like "aaauuggghhh!" and he is taking the evil drug for the junkie and saving one of his lambs! Oh my god that is crazy. That is a crazy thing for crazy people. Holy shit I found it online! LOOOK! I need you to understand that he is NOT MAKING A JOKE WITH THIS! HE IS 4 REALZ!
So, I'm listening to the pitches and one thing I am learning is yes, telemarketers are flat-out lying to you all the time. But for some reason, they aren't big lies. They aren't lies about how much something costs (advertising space, in this case), or when you have to pay, or what they are going to do with your information. No, they lie about other, seemingly less important things, to get you to trust them. First of all, we don't say the office is in Orlando, we say it's in Boca Raton, which is where we're calling. By the way, Boca Raton is supposed to be all fancy or whatever? But the name means "rat's mouth". Yuck. Anyway, back on topic. Lies. Telling potential buyers that they have been "referred" to us rather than "we found your name in the newspaper", which is the truth. I heard one guy say that the advertising booklet was "like Vogue magazine" which I'm sure made Anna Wintour roll over in the hyperbaric coffin she most likely sleeps in.
OK, keep your eyes on the prize, girl! The prize being $8 an hour and a flight back home! It's all I need in the world.
Now I'm in another room. It's not as dingy (how could it be?), but it's still only dudes and the motivational posters are still in place. This room seems to be more for the junior staff or something. The guys are definitely not as slick. Also, I heard someone fart.
As far as FUCKING INSANE cubicle decor goes, there is nothing quite like heroin Jesus (is there anything like heroin Jesus?). But one guy does just have a full page print out of a snap shot of himself. Who does that? Oh my god he just farted again. I hope you guys understand the EXTREME SACRIFICE I am making here! I am about to sign on and get paid to do the devil's work!
I've caught people checking facebook several times. And they're finding people to call off of craigslist. So you know what that means. Talking to friends and looking for better jobs while getting paid!
No, but seriously, folks. I plan to do pretty good at this job. I'm at talker, it's in my nature.
(Hold on, STOP FARTING, YOU FREAK! DO YOU THINK NO ONE IS NOTICING?)
OK, back to what I was saying. I am both communicative and unscrupulous, making me an ideal telemarketer. Oh no, what if I'm like, REALLY good at this? What if it's like my CALLING? (Hey! That was a pun! haaaaaa)
That would be pretty depressing. Alright, need not get ahead of ourselves. For now I am sitting in a smelly, muscle-filled office, sneakily writing snarky bloggage, keeping strict records of all farting activity, and preparing for a job I will most likely hate but still gladly do because I am a grown-up. A grown-up who misses her friends and needs some motha fuckin' ca$$$$h.

Self as Harmonica

This is a "poem" that I wrote during a group, in ten minutes. We had to grab an object out of a bag and write about it in relation to ourselves. And I grabbed a white harmonica.

Oh I was born a ramblin' man.
Dylan as Rimbaud, Lennon as Lewis Carrol.
It may be hollow but it's full of noise. It may be white but it's got soul, brother.
Music coming from the empty. Music as sound and noise, a caucophony until the word "music" has lost all it's meaning.
A hobo, that king of hobos, getting off his boxcar in Ames, Iowa and carving a picture of a cat or my grandfather's fence. A song for a nickle.
A penny for your thoughts?
Just a little handfull of old cliches, sung with a twang.
What was once the Jew's harp becomes the mouth organ. What was once a hole in your face, finally filled by what you always dreaded: Clumsy sounds and the taste of metal.
Stuff it in and blow it out, baby,
Because you've got a harmony in your head.