Flying lessons

It’s so funny how the universe works. I started talking to a former Air Force guy (because they are clearly the best), and I mentioned that if he could help me talk my way into getting a ride on a fighter jet, I would love him forever. His response was- so he claims- he’s trying to purchase a military surplus T-38 and he would be happy to take me up. How glorious, if it’s actually true.

I have it all planned out, I’ve talked to people who have done it, all I need is a day of fasting, a stock of Scopalamine patches, and a pilot who doesn’t mind me screaming. With excitement mostly, but I’m sure it’s scary as hell, and let’s face it; I’m totally, embarrassingly vocal in times of stress or…stimulation :)
And the T-38!!! The first supersonic trainer, tiny but agile and really, really fast. Certainly it would make my biplane ride looks like a bumper car in the park. It actually looks like a lawn dart but even if it crashes, they can pick up the pieces of my smeared, smoking carcass off the earth and see that I’d still be grinning with happiness. I won’t plan on a flight happening, but it would be sooooo awesome if it did. And I’ve heard that you tend to pass out when they pull some G’s and I picture flickering in and out of consciousness, just begging: “Faster! Harder!” Yeah, I know, the lack of sex is getting critical. I only have a few more months to go, I just need distractions!

I am still biking a ton, clothes are getting loose, my baby is in the shop getting doctored, I’m taking my vitamins and eating right, and the panic attacks are minimal right now. Hallelujiah, it’s a fucking Christmas miracle. Actually, it’s years of training, practice, and a whole lotta uncomfortable and difficult work. Depression and anxiety sound so innocuous, but they suck the life out of everything, and make even the activities of daily living into epic mental battles. It reminds me of my mantra for right now: “Do hard things”. Oooooo, I would love to do at least one hard thing: Flying upside down going super freakin fast!!! Then maybe some hot sex up against the aircraft. Since I’m dreaming anyway :) The fly-in this weekend will hopefully help take a little of the edge off…

Love to all

Learning To Fly- Pink Floyd
Fall At Your Feet- Crowded House
The High Road- Broken Bells
Stuttering- Ben’s Brother
Can’t Get It Out Of My Head- ELO
Let Me Down Easy- Chris Isaak
You Dropped A Bomb On Me- The Gap Band
Birdhouse In Your Soul- They Might Be Giants
Coast To Coast- Eliot Smith
It Would Be You- Gary Allen

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Emergency funk aid part II

Holy shit, it’s official: I work for a newspaper!!! I am still rather stunned that they hired me- I completely lucked out via networking. Between the brain stimulation of the new job (smart people doing community oriented and intelligent work!!!) and biking a zillion miles a week, things are starting to balance out, but damn I still need some time on a dance floor.
My new boss casually mentioned sending me to cover events by writing a story and taking pictures, which kind of blew me away. It’s funny how I was just asking the universe to point me in the direction where I could do photojournalism for a living. I would like to eventually be able to travel internationally with a camera and a pen. What the hell, I do have a LOT of freedom that I might as well use. I have wanderlust something fierce! In the meantime, I plan to learn some new things, practice my writing more, and send some happy magic energy out there.
Speaking of that, I still need to fit a Studebaker (1950s model would work, but 1930s would be better) with an electric engine, painted sparkly white like icing, with portable speakers and a roll out dance floor, and that could be the Emergency Funk Aid-Mobile. Perfect!
Shit’s broken down, I need to get laid, I’m broke as fuck, and yet…pretty damn happy just the same.
Love to all

My Heart- Dirty Radio
Stereo Love- Edward Maya

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There’s a song for that

I saw a policeman in the park today, as I was laboring up a steep section on my bike. It took me a minute to realize what, exactly, he was doing. It dawned on me that he and his friends were working on huge plastic tricycles that they were riding down the hill, and he was in costume. Damn I love it when people do wild, freaky, random things like that- it makes me feel kinda normal. The rear wheels were enormous on their trikes, they looked like adult sized Big Wheels, or something out of a cartoon. The hill is significant enough that I’d bet they got some good speed going- with deafening amounts of noise. It made me laugh, but I kept riding by without saying anything. Sometimes talking is just beyond me.

A woman in the park told me “Props for wearing a skirt on your mountain bike!” Lol, thank you! That was a really steep section, so it was extra satisfying to get style points. Personally, I feel like a skirt is brilliant for biking- it flutters and tickles beautifully, and it can be used for bandages or a tourniquet in a pinch, since I always wear shorts underneath. I carry a first aid kit too usually, because I have learned the value of being prepared for shit to go down hard and fast. Ambulance rides are expensive, but super glue, bandages, and gatorade are cheap and easy. Just sayin’.

My bike is too small for me (although I was told I should get a smaller frame for the technical stuff I used to bike on), and the front brake catches and drags a lot of the time. I figure that means I’m biking with some handicaps, and if/when I get the right gear, I will totally be able to kick ass. Maybe. I’ve been biking on the streets so much lately, I worry that I’m turning into a road weenie, but any biking is better than no biking. It’s phenomenal how much of a change it makes to my depression, thank goodness. I hate the waves of blue, but sometimes I can outrun them on my bicycle. If nothing else, the pain and exertion release the tension, the residual tears, and then the better chemicals that I need.

Love to all

You Look Like Rain- Morphine
Low Life- Roland Orzibal
You Should Be Mine- Jeffrey Osbourne
I Want To Break Free- Queen
Underneath The Radar- Underworld
Cash Machine- Hard-Fi
Lust For Life- Iggy Pop
Black Betty- Spiderbait

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Chemistry lessons

“Chemistry that makes the utterly inappropriate artistic [and sexy] as hell.” That’s my favorite quote right now- it’s from some random dude.

I wish I had something brilliant to say, words that could unlock the doors and open the way for wonderful things to happen. Worry is creeping in, that I will be unable to write anything even remotely witty, unless I can have some great sex soon. Sweaty, panting, maybe some icing involved, and super hot. It feels like I’m becoming one of those uptight beige suburban moms, with no edge or color at all. I’m sure that’s all in my head. I remind myself that I live right in the middle of a thriving city full of artists, and my immediate surroundings are exploding with beautiful colors, forms, creativity of all sorts. I’m increasing my artistic odds by living here, not getting married, not having kids, and going unmedicated. Theoretically, I have a better chance of producing some interesting art and/or writing. In reality, I feel totally, unequivocally stuck. Is this how men are, thinking about sex all the time? It’s completely distracting.

I really like my new friend’s brain, but I’m not attracted to his physical form quite yet. He’s made it very clear that he’s interested in sex. I admit to having a wicked little teasing laugh when I mentioned that I’m in the middle of a year without sex. I finally found the right excuse to keep the dudes away while I debate their merits, it’s perfect. I never quite got the hang of saying no, even when I really wanted to. It didn’t always matter if I did anyway. Now I talk about patience and abstinence and the dudes just melt away when they see they won’t get laid quickly. I know I emit super strong sexual signals, but it doesn’t mean I want to jump into bed with everyone. I do love sex, I think orgasms are fantastic between two or more consenting adults. I understand that not everyone sees it the same way, which is totally tragic. As an artist, I appreciate how great sex can unlock the muse, and all the happy chemicals do wonders for my depression/PTSD. Well, as long as the dude doesn’t trigger anything, which is a whole other story.

Crap, maybe I’ll see if my new friend just wants to play doctor. I would still technically be going without sex, but a little adult naughty play time is exactly what I need. A few big O’s might help things along. I keep hoping that if I push myself hard enough in healthy directions, beyond what I think I can do, perhaps I will finally have another positive mental breakthrough. They are way more fun than the negative ones, so I’m super driven and motivated to go for the +++.

My tarot readings lately have been all about dramatic transformation and I think this is my wish: I want a hemp farm. Not even weed, just hemp. I could write from there, paint, do everything I need, and my soul would have the solace of being out of the city and back in the rural countryside that I miss. The great thing about a farm- and I have it all planned out- there are always a ton of projects and physical labor to keep you busy. And the city is never that far away, plus the internet puts so much of life at your fingertips anyway. I also decided that I should never be isolated, so I would bring people with me, and create a fun community of family and visitors. Artist retreats, cooking weekends, there’s so many possibilities. It gives me a long term goal, the idea of owning a hobby farm someday. I never really had a long term life goal before. I guess there’s something to be said for bottoming out- you have to start everything from the beginning.

I’ve said it before, but here it is again: Reality is not always as fabulous as I expect it to be, dammit anyway, but here’s to the power of love and art for healing. May the positive things we do, change the chemicals in our brain, and change our world for the better.

Do What You Want- Lady Gaga
I Can Dream About You- Dan Hartman
Missing- Everything But The Girl
Oh Lonesome Me- Kentucky Headhunters
Against All Odds- Phil Collins
The Chemicals Between Us- Bush
Mutual Surrender- Bourgeois Tagg
Come And Talk To Me- Jodeci
Use Me Up- Bill Withers

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Too tired for the blues

That scream you heard- that was my shriek of frustration. No cigarettes, no acupuncture, no car, no sex, no sleep, and too many annoying people. Plus I’m furious that I can’t go look at airplanes this weekend, and I have to stay in the boiling hot city trying to make a living instead. How do I bribe the universe into sending me some good news, or just one great lover for a while??? That might help take the edge off.

On a completely unrelated topic, my tarot readings have been weird lately. I consider them to be a beautiful meditation tool, and sometimes quite accurate in their reflection of what’s going on in my life. That being said, I keep getting indications that someone from my past is going to reappear with news. I suppose that everyone is technically from my past, but it does make me curious. I also keep getting the Patience card- my least favorite.

I finally got new lights and a lock for my bike- now I can tear up the trails after dark, and do practical things around the city- wahoooo. Since my wonderful panic attacks are back up to 11, about all I can do is walk and bike and try to find my zen calm center. Fucking hyperactivity or mania, or whatever you want to call it- it’s bloody difficult to manage. If I weren’t so exhausted, I would be bouncing off the freaking walls. Totally touch deprived, but I think I might shatter if anyone even touches me right now.

Never Say Never- Romeo Void
Ain’t No Cure For Love- Leonard Cohen
Shotgun Rider- Delbert McClinton
Trying To Get Over You- Vince Gill
See You Again- Carrie Underwood
Can’t Even Get The Blues- Reba McEntire
and Everything ever played/sung by Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald

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Sewing a new reality

I woke up from a long Sunday nap, feeling like a superhero. Is this what people feel like when they sleep normally??? No wonder people are so damn perky all the time. If I got sleep like that at night, it would be life changing. I’m so exhausted all the time, and so used to going without sleep, or with only crappy sleep, that I forget it’s not the same way for everyone.

I biked over ten miles yesterday, and enjoyed it completely. I even biked around at midnight in the light of the supermoon, with the warm winds caressing me in the dark. Note to self: Bring headlamp or a flashlight next time. Exercise helps to go burn off all the excess energy. I’m having to push it pretty hard physically in order to manage my emotions, and I can still feel the waves of sadness and despair lapping at the edges of my consciousness.

I think the solution is to sew myself a superhero costume. Something pink and ivory and chocolate brown- practical but fabulous. Maybe it would help give me strength, and the power to defeat the bloodthirsty wolves of depression. I know logically why summer and fall are my hardest times of year, but it doesn’t make it suck any less. It’s a jumble of homesickness, missing, and a sense of grief and loss that takes my breath away. Thank god/goddess/whatever for art, exercise, and midnight bike rides.

Sweet dreams to all.

What About Love- Heart
No One Is To Blame- Howard Jones
Love Will Conquer All- Lionel Ritchie
I’ll Be Over You- Toto

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The tuck and roll

When my date finished pontificating and swearing about the volume of the comedian onstage competing with him, he asked “You wanna get out of here?”, I guess he expected me to want to jump in his gaudy car and worship him and his horrible art or something. I said enthusiastically “Why yes I do! It was nice to meet you.” And walked right out the door. The tuck and roll, it’s my favorite maneuver even though it’s terrible manners and not my preferred MO. Dating is warfare, and the rules aren’t even as polite as on a battleground. It’s a rough place to be a romantic idealist.

Speaking of that, here’s pictures from the wedding cake assembly yesterday. I’m glad there are some people who are finding love and happiness, it gives me hope to see it around me, in whatever form it appears.

Tired Of Being Sorry- Ringside
Super Trooper- ABBA
Love Is A Battlefield- Pat Benatar





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Sugar paste

I don’t make wedding cakes anymore if I can possibly avoid it. Unless it’s someone I know and love, or someone pays me a ton of money, I happily pass that duty on to others. However. Once in a great while I get coerced into delivering a wedding cake- which is even worse than making it. The driving, the horrible roads, carrying the heavy, unwieldy beast into the venue, and having to construct it onsite- not my favorite. My insane boss couldn’t find anyone else who was stupid enough to do this one particular delivery, and she decided I should go with her. She was relentless and eventually I gave in just to get her to stop bugging me about it. Then yesterday I finally saw the cake. All I’d heard was that the customer was high maintenance, and the cake was a “nightmare”. Yup. Totally accurate.

I understand that it’s about appearance on the wedding cake, no matter how delicious the cake itself is (ours is the best, just sayin’). I also realize that a whole lot of people have seen cake shows on tv, and think they have some great ideas. Curse this particular groom, who decided that they needed a design with about 50 pounds of hand rolled fondant/gum paste flowers (they taste terrible) around the outside of the bottom tier. That’s three delicate tiers that I have to stack on top of the fragile beast- after safely transporting it an hour away. Not looking forward to it, especially since my boss is easily and frequently hysterical. At least her crazy makes my illness look like a summer cold. Fuck, fingers crossed.

Love to all

I Knew The Bride (When She Used to Rock ‘n Roll)- Nick Lowe

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Bad Ideas

Oh man, there’s an aircraft open house on base next weekend, and I’m guessing that I shouldn’t go. As much as I love airplanes, I suppose the pilots are the types to hold grudges, and I’d hate to run into any of them after my letter caused such a ruckus. I have really bad luck and terrible timing that way. The one asshole Prowler pilot made such a point of saying how they were all laughing at me and watching me, I’m sure I couldn’t pass through undetected.
The manic, unmedicated bitch part of me wants to wear a red dress and get all up in their face. I hate confrontations, and they were so vicious and rude, I’m sure it wouldn’t go well, even if they let me in. I have a few more pithy things to say about their attitudes towards women, but I tend to forget everything I know when I’m anxious or panicking. I’m sure the misogynist dudes would be really evil if they saw me, and it would freak me out. Such a bummer. I still miss my hometown, despite the ignorance and small minded people, and I really miss the airplanes. I just want to go flirt with some aircraft, but stay far away from the awful pilots. The worst part is that so much about them is irresistibly sexy: the intelligence, the confidence, the sleek physical forms, the flying skills- it’s pretty hot. They know this and exploit it all the time I’m sure. It would suck even worse to end up in bed with some asshole just because the planes got me all hot, and I’m guessing that since I was super sexual up there, they’ve all branded me as some easy slut and would either try and slut shame me, or try to fuck me to prove their point. LMFAO. Nope. I just love sex and need a regular lover. BECAUSE I’M HUMAN!!! It’s pretty hilarious though, that the crazy chic was the one to get them all called on the carpet. That’s what happens when you act like immoral douchebags to a pissed off woman with writing skills. I’m sure they all got off anyway, but damn I hope someone teaches those voyeuristic assholes to be the better men they are supposed to be- that they claim to be.

Oh shit, just seeing that press release triggered an immense wave of blue. This time, I just want to dive into and underneath it, and let it wash me out to sea once and for all. I barely slept, panic attacks are back, and it’s overwhelming and I just want to give up.

Shadow of the Day- Linkin Park
Into The Ocean- Blue October

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Love song for a car

I know there aren’t any problems, only challenges. I knew my situation wasn’t sustainable, and I’ve been slowly working on changing it. I guess I didn’t go fast enough, or conserve my resources well enough, because I’ve come to the time of letting go, and I’m not ready at all. It’s not wise to get attached to material things, and I know I’m ridiculously blessed to have had her as long as I have. I just feel the most intense sense of grief. I love my car so much- she’s much more than just a vehicle. She’s my freedom, my safety, and my back up home if my depression derails my life again. I don’t want to let her go.
Since I can’t do anything to change it right now, and even looking at her makes me start crying, this is my love letter for my car:

Dear A,

Thank you for all your years of hard work and devotion. I loved each and every one of the times we went camping, kayaking, hiking in the Gorge, and running out to the nude beaches. You were always reliable and I knew I could depend on you when nothing else in my life was constant. When I had terrible panic attacks or depression, you always took me to a safe place, whether to the woods or to people who could help.
I had a wonderful time on our cross country road trip, and I appreciated that we both sang the whole way and my singing never got on your nerves. It was glorious how you took my bike, kayak, and all my gear without a word of complaint. It was heavenly traveling with you, and even sleeping with you a few times. Oh the times we’ve toured around, just driving with the windows down and the music up. The stereo I finally installed that made you rock a little harder. Speaking of that, thank you for hosting the doctor and I when I decided I needed to christen you to purge the energy of my yuppie ex-fiance. Thank you for never telling anyone about some of the other naughty stories. Thank you for never passing judgment on some of the idiot guys I kissed around you. I’m so glad you never got jealous about all the other cars I drooled over, or how I got your seat wet whenever we went by the classic auto dealership.
I love your sexy little manual transmission, and how fun you look with the extra antenna (We’re both glad I took the CB one off, it was too much). I love that you are practical but sporty, and completely ubiquitous here since there are a zillion almost exactly like you in the area. None as cool though.
I love that you are nice enough to go anywhere, but messy enough to never get harassed or broken into. I am so sorry that it took me so long to figure out the hubcap issue, but damn they look beautiful on you now. I hope I can find you a happy home where they will adore you as much as I did. With some love, I know you can keep going for quite a while longer.
It’s been 121,000 miles we’ve been together, and I wanted it to be forever. I know you’re tired- you have 211,000 on you, and that’s a lot. It’s not fair for me to ask you to keep going when I can’t take care of you properly. I love you so much that I just don’t want to go on without you, and I can’t imagine a future without you in it. No one will ever be able to replace you. I suppose I can figure out what to do now, but life without you is going to be much…more challenging. I’m so sad to lose you, and honestly, I just want to give up. I know I can’t beg you to stay, we’d both end up only feeling worse. I’ll keep trying to figure out a solution, and in the meantime sweetheart, take a rest for a while. I found you a shady spot where you can relax and not feel pressured to do anything. I’ll come check on you to make sure you’re ok, and fingers crossed for the future. Sweet dreams.

Loss is part of life. Lots of people manage with much less, and I’ve been lucky to have a car at all. Damn though. I wish fairy godmothers really did exist. I don’t need the dress, the ball, or the social vindication. I just would like the carriage. And maybe a pumpkin or two to cook with. Ok, ok, I would love the dress too, as long as it’s practical and not that foofy.

You Might Think- The Cars
I Will Always Love You- Whitney Houston

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