Taking out the trash

I've been doing a bit of date night my last two weeks here. That means I sit on the little couch while George and Chris are on the big couch. It also means they collaboratively cook a tasty (and sometimes experimental) dinner while I'm groggy and possibly still sleeping. They get home from a long day's work, slap on some aprons, and head right into the kitchen. George has been very good about preparing her ingredients beforehand too. Defrost that chicken, buy some milk! Where they find the energy for all this I'll never know.

George has accumulated quite a few cooking devices since she's started date night. The one we're most excited about is the Slap Chop of course, and it's been used to nice effect recently. It really does work amazingly, just like the late night TV ads say. George also has a salad spinner (unused), a new chopping board and knife (unused), and a huge collection of spatulas, slotted pasta scoops, and big plastic spoons. Taking a quick head count, the number of stirring implements she owns rivals the number of shampoos and conditioners in her shower. Which is pretty strange since George doesn't cook much. Her kitchen had been fully stocked for awhile and just waiting for a cooking partner -- or a head chef -- I guess.

So since I'm neither, what exactly do I contribute to date night? Well, I have my whale ice cream spade (unused) and I'm good at verbal encouragement. When someone defined the term "third wheel," they totally had me in mind. Occasionally I do the dishes but not enough. I sometimes volunteer and then forget. Or George beats me to the punch. On Tuesday she came home from work and went straight to the kitchen.

"See I told you he didn't," she said to Chris, pointing at the sink. She was hoping I had done the dishes from the previous night. Nope. I did think about it though. Really hard.

I think part of George will be happy to be rid of me (the other part will be merely ecstatic). I'm not exactly a good domestic partner. I once thought I was, back in college, but I realized that was mainly because I was never home. My roommates never saw me so thus I was, by default, a good roommate.

I assumed that meant I was good at living with other people. Oh how wrong I was. After a few stints living with friends (and one girlfriend), I've found that I tend to repeat the same pattern over and over. I take up space on the couch, I run up the electricity bill with all night lights and computer usage, and I don't do any chores on a regular basis. Oh, and my clothes tend to be strewn all over the place. You know in Sex and the City when Charlotte has to (gently) tell Harry that he leaves teabags all over the house? I'm Harry, except my teabags can be anything from loose dollar bills to cigarettes to books and random papers to my set of smoking clothes. Of course I wear a different set of clothes outside to smoke, shouldn't everybody?

See, I'm neat and tidy but only in a certain chaotic dirty way. Like I always say, "I'm sanitary but not necessarily clean." My mom hates it. She hates the way my room is always filled with piles of stuff. She's a neat freak and can't stand messes. Especially mine. Luckily George hasn't inherited that trait, otherwise she would've kicked me out by now.

Luckily I compensate for all this by being good company. I require very little care and feeding as a person in the room. While my presence is constantly felt, it hardly ever requires attention. I entertain myself easily, I participate in television banter, and I'm either down to do something or quick to avoid doing anything. That's not an easy trait to have. I'm like a little barnacle that might be unpleasant to the eye but ultimately something just doesn't feel right when I'm not around. That's what I'd like to think anyway. Farewell Fillmore Street, farewell!

Update: And yes, I just did the dishes even though it's seven in the morning. I just guilted myself into it. You're welcome.

What's happening, Butterfly?

It's weird to have the next two months planned. I already know how September and October will shake out. Which is settling/unsettling I guess. I've gotten used to not having anything planned. For example, the rest of this month will be spent finishing the first draft for the semi-sequel. It's definitely cramming time. There's a lot I still want to do up here in the Bay but this is focus number one. Finish the draft, turn it in, and then I'm free and clear of writing for a bit. I'm also trying to set up some publicity things for the book and that'll be the next thing to turn my attention toward, but this draft must be done!

This volunteer thing I've been dedicating some time to, an Asian American arts festival, is kicking off this weekend. Our night is on Saturday and we've got eight poets and writers lined up. The overall experience has been a bit of a disappointment actually. Had I not taken the comedy class, I don't think I would have felt any sense of having met new people or interacting with fellow artists. Generally the meetings have been spotty and it's been difficult to get any sense of group cohesiveness. Most of the real work has been conducted via email. I really like the organization and the people involved but I don't think I've gotten too much out of it. Or maybe I haven't put myself out there enough. We'll see how the festival goes though. Sometimes these things don't shake out well until after the event is accomplished and a success.

Then in October it's off to Michigan for another wedding, my last in Michigan, hopefully for the forseeable future. I love me some Jimmy John's but tickets to Detroit are a bitch. In good news though, I just bought my tickets to New York. It's rejuvenation time! I'm slated to be there for the last two weeks and maybe I'll extend it but right now that seems like the perfect length of time. It's a bit later in the year than I'd prefer to go but I hope the weather is warm enough to wander around the streets at night. I'm already lining up people and things to do and I'm super excited.

A friend wrote me the other day and had this to say:

"It worries me that you get restless and tire quickly and that you can't stay anywhere for more than a few months. I know you've definitely become accustomed to moving from place to place and job to job, but I agree with your comment about getting tired of yourself. It's not healthy, for anyone -- even if that's who you are. Honestly, I think that's what's getting you down -- not knowing what you want. I think it would be good for you to establish some stability and direction in your life -- stay in one place for awhile, work in one place for awhile."

I've been mulling that over. Not because it's not anything I haven't heard before, but because it came from someone whom I rarely see but honestly communicate with. If she can point out and sense my instability from afar, it must mean something. Anyway, after New York I think I'll be back in San Diego for awhile. Maybe find a job. Maybe take some classes. Maybe get that degree. Maybe find some new direction to go in. Real life's been on pause for two years or so now, even as it's slowly trucked along and taken me on multiple detours. Time to start living in reality again, right?

Or not, if I can avoid it.

And it hurts so good

(Movie spoilers ahead for Time Traveler's Wife, avoid if necessary. Actually, if you haven't read it, we probably shouldn't be friends anyway.)

It's not often that something can hit me emotionally for longer than five minutes. The last time I was conscious and cried? Probably something involving girls. Probably a break up or a fight or something. It was long enough ago I can't remember specifically. And it's ever rarer for me to cry in movies. I rarely emotionally connect with films to the level that I feel the urge to cry.

The number one movie I thought I was about to die from how much I wanted to cry? Whale Rider. Near the end, Paikea gets on stage to do a speech dedicated to her grandfather. He doesn't show up and she's trying to fight back tears as she does the piece. I haven't rewatched Whale Rider because I don't want to ruin the memory. I can't recall who I watched the movie with but I was literally bawling during the end. Shamelessly and uncontrollably. Before Whale Rider, I had no idea I could feel this way in movies.

After that, there's been a few movies that have hit me in similar ways but none that have actually absolutely slayed me. I think I got better at holding it in. Reach for the popcorn, take big sips of the Icee. For example, Finding Neverland was another top crying movie for me but I didn't actually cry, I was just like...teary. Weepy maybe. But inside I was the Great Lakes. After tonight, make some room and vault The Time Traveler's Wife up on the list. Hello Niagara!

I've pretty much narrowed down what makes me cry in movies. When a character is interacting with a parent who is either dead, dying, or about to die. Well, that's redundant. Dead or dying, I guess. But not just anything makes me turn on the waterworks. At the end of The Family Stone, there's sort of a sudden death but that didn't do anything for me. I wasn't emotionally attached to the movie in any way. Parental death alone doesn't do a thing. I need to be led up to it, like a horse to water.

So in Time Traveler's Wife the movie, when adult Henry is on the subway talking to his mother (who died in a car accident that coincided with the first time he time traveled), it was killer because it'd be percolating for awhile. I just sat there hoping the scene would end, but also hoping it wouldn't end. Like whoa.

The whole reason I love the story of Time Traveler's Wife so much is that it's about constant loss and longing. I can't decide if I feel more closely attuned to Clare or Henry's dilemma but the idea that two people are constantly trying to reach out for each other but can never hold on long enough, that's just terrible. And for Henry, he continually relives events. His mother's death. His death. Fights with Clare. Everything. He's a man on the move and mostly unwillingly.

But then, it might be worse for Clare. She never knows when Henry will be gone. He just *poof* disappears. And then she waits. For years at a time. And on top of that she really had no choice in deciding that this would be her life. Henry met her when she was only six. She had no chance to fall in love with anyone else. It was accidentally designed fate. She had free will to fall in love but also a heavy dose of predestination. Plus having Henry know everything that's going to happen in the future must be infuriating.

Sigh, it's so romantic, their longing and losing, their "You're the only one for me (even if you're never around)" commitment.

Awhile ago, I was talking to someone about losing a parent and if he said that he looked forward to dreaming so that he could see them again. I told him that's exactly how I felt. I unconsciously wake up crying sometimes and I won't even remember what happened but I've figured out that it's because in my dreams I've seen my dad and somewhere in there, I realized it wasn't real. So that's how I feel emotionally connected to Henry watching his past. Like he gets to go around and see things again, and you would think that's comforting, but at the same time, there's no future in it, you know?

I can't even articulate exactly what makes this book/movie affect me like this. I wish I could, and I think I'll have to try again sometime. But for now it's just interesting for me to get so emotionally wrecked post-watching/reading it. I don't feel this way often and I almost want to wallow in it and extend it.

But you know, the Real Housewives of Atlanta is on in the background. So that kind of kills the mood. Back to non-emotion land!

Truth Is Real

I took an informal poll of some of my guy friends and asked them if they share with other guy friends when they have a crush or am interested in somebody. So far my responses back are one "yes" and one "no." So entirely inconclusive. I know girls talk to girls about people they like, even in it's in the early "I saw this guy at the coffee shop!" stage. And I know that guys talk to girls about it. But do guy friends typically broach the subject to their guy friends? I dunno.

Awhile back, I was engaged in a conversation with a friend about how we're not necessarily as close emotionally as we could be because I don't tell him about girls. But to me, there's no reason to unless something's happening, it's happened, or you're caught. I don't typically turn to other people unless I'm in need of advice or venting, and I pretty much have those people already on speed dial. Everyone else just has to ask I guess, but I'm more of the don't tell unless asked camp.

Does this create an artificial barrier between friends though? Like if a friend is crushing on someone, would it better to know? I did have a friend who told me the other day that he thought someone we met was cute, and I guess that was his way of announcing his like to the world. (Because of course he knew I would then redistribute that information accordingly. I mean, I hope he knew.)

Then again, I love to know these itty bitty bits of gossip so I ask people all the time. So if you want to know, just ask I say. Then again, sometimes you ask and get a non-answer. Then you have to use your other sources and get the real truth out. That's the best. I know what you think I don't know.

We had a birthday dinner and party this weekend. It was excellent. George and I received Twitter mugs from Dann and they are fantastic. George has become an old lady in her dotage and can barely stay up till 3am anymore. I guess that's what happens when you pass thirty. Early nights in the Marina coming right up!

Day 366

Originally I'd been numbering these posts by days I'd been thirty. So the day after last year's birthday was Day 1 and so on. Somehow I've managed to get up to 366 and there's still a few days to go until I turn thirty-one. Which means somewhere along the way I couldn't count right. Which sort of sums up the way the year's gone I suppose. Someone asked me if I didn't feel like celebrating this year because it felt like a lost year. I said that wasn't the reason. I'm not big into birthdays anyway. Last year was big, because we were entering another decade, but after that, eh.

And it would be unfair to say this has been a lost year. It's been really good. Trips to North Carolina, DC, and Seattle. Living in San Francisco for a few months. Paying rent (that wasn't so hot). My first bachelorette party. Attending five really important weddings, with another one still to come. We had a great Tahoe trip in February. My book released in May. I've met some new friends and one in particular that has been indispensable, even if we haven't been able to talk as much recently. Most of the year has been drama free and all of it has been job free. So yeah, it's been good.

But I feel a sense of having not accomplished much. After giving it some thought, what it came down to is that I feel pretty much exactly the same as I did last year. I'm only jokingly naive enough to think that turning thirty magically signifies some change but in my mind I thought I would use the opportunity to advance myself. To grow, to alter, to bloom. So far, no dice. It's not a New Year so unmet resolutions could still happen but if I'm measuring based on another flip of my personal calendar, then I feel really unfulfilled.

It's a feeling I'm not very familiar with or comfortable with. Like I'm antsy, but only in spare moments. I guess usually I'm very happy being somewhere in-between half empty and half full. But this year has been different. I feel malaise. I feel wasteful. I feel...different.

I also feel extremely fortunate to have been able to hang out in San Francisco for so long, with no muss and no fuss, and to kind of know the city -- as long as it's somewhere in a direct line between the Mission and the Marina. But I've not fallen in love with it and there's no sense of attachment aside from the friend family here. I guess the past two years I've had New York in the summer to catapult me into the rest of the year. This year I've not gone to New York yet so anything could still happen. However, it's safe to say that location isn't necessarily the solution.

The problem is within. As are the answers I guess. I kind of feel like I flipped my house but the furniture is all still the same. Or maybe it's the other way around. Anyway, happy thirty-first.