Remembering Chris

I got the news today that an aquaintance of mine, Chris S., died. The story I heard was that he wrecked his car into a cross infront of a church right outside of our neighborhood. It was late Saturday night. He was such a good soul. I had a crush on him once. Chris sporadically hung out with a mutual circle of friends that we've both shared for many years. He was extremely smart and handsome, and worked in real estate and taught at a private school. Although Chris was very friendly and knew many, I got the impression he was also very lonely. He lived alone and enjoyed listening to music in his living room, where his stereo system took up much of the space. We had some good times together and I hope now his soul is at rest. He deserves it. And he deserves to be remembered.

Chris, I know this is strange, but I'm thinking of a man I met briefly while living in San Diego. I wrote a poem about him and feel like now's an appropriate time to share. Here's to you, Chris- and a beer or two at our favorite after-hours spot.


"Lookin' at the World Through Rose Colored Glasses"

He yells to me as he's walking my direction.
Just the other day he was directing traffic
With the flashing red hands
And the flashing white man
Hoping the crossing pedestrians would give him some money.
I remembered and it made me smile.
So I didn't get mad when he
Disrupted my peace
Disregarded my headphones
Invaded my space and
Blocked my sun on the bench by the road.
He spent a year and a day in jail
For shooting the man that molested his friend's daughter.
The man didn't die.
And his fourth and last wife
Killed herself.
She wore glasses so thick and her name was
Doris.
He tried to cry when he told me he missed her.
Said he's had HIV for fifteen years and the doctors don't know why
his skin's falling off
As we looked at his hands.
He says Jesus loves me and some other things
I can't remember 'cuz
My bus was coming.
So we hit our fists together as a goodbye.
He didn't ask for money.
He didn't intend to.
And he didn't scare me.
In fact,
He was the best thing that happened to me
All day.


-dmy 3/00

Where I'm Supposed to Be

Well, looking back on my last few posts I realized how unimportant they are. Was I speaking of myself when I said "dull, dull lives?" I think this may be closer to the truth. It doesn't matter that I have fantasies about my roommate or that my love life could use improvement. What does matter is that you know where you're supposed to be. I came to this conclusion this evening, while lying in bed next to my daughter as she slept. I can't help but marvel at the beautiful little creature before me, who so desperately needs me to accompany her while she falls into her much needed sleep, her little arm wrapped around my neck tightly as if to improve the difficulty of me trying to escape quietly out of the bed and into the living room for a quick read or a movie.
I thought back on the days of my youth, my early 20's that I more than took advantage of, and remembered times when at the end of my day I laid in bed awake wondering what I was supposed to do and where I was supposed to be. All the days spent partying, those wonderful, carefree days I spent drinking, living, laughing, drugging, loving. Yes, they, to me, were the good ol' days. But not always good nights. The nights weren't always so good. Those were the nights spent alone, usually coming down from a drug induced high and trying my best to fall asleep quickly before my uneasy thoughts consumed my mind, hitting me like a freight train. Why am I here? What am I supposed to be doing? Where am I supposed to be? When will I get it together?
Although some of those days I remember and consider a few of them the best days of my life, I wouldn't go back. They were fun, but hard. Looking back, they were pretty tough times. We were all so free and happy, and yet so scared and lonely. Like little birds having left the nest for the first time, saying good-bye to mommy and daddy. And there were so many of us, having left home, whether it be good or bad, and heading out in search of a better place- a place that resembled independence, happiness, and acceptance. That's when we really learned about life. We learned how to pay our own way, protect ourselves, interact with others, love and leave others. And what a beautiful thing how at that time in all of our lives, we found each other. I wonder where they all are now. What they are doing, if they have families, if any of them died. I only have a tiny picture of us I keep on my keychain, reminding me from time to time where I used to be. And my big smile was genuine.
Anyway, I am sorry if this all sounds confusing and out of place- I'm daydreaming, I guess. But back to my point. My point is that I still don't have my dream job, I take a few classes now and then to eventually get a degree, I'm not happy with what I'm doing or the city that I live in. But I do have a child- I did make that choice. It's done and I am here. We are here. There's no turning back now. And when I lay in bed next to her so she can hold me and fall asleep, I look at her perfect little face as she drifts and think to myself that this is where I'm supposed to be. It feels good and secure and makes a bad day a little better. It puts all the shitty, crazy things into perspective. And that's something. It's nice to have something. For now, this is just where I'm supposed to be.

Anyone for a drink?

Still Here.

Hey. Just letting the loyal ones know I'm still here. I'm just taking a hiatus, be it I have no inspiration to write lately. Maybe it's the weather. But hey, just think- one day soon you'll have something REALLY interesting to read in the middle of your dull, dull lives.......

love always,
DYVACREEM

Bullshit.

Soooooo, I know there are thousands of readers out there who have been losing sleep over the thought of me seducing my roommate. Rest well, blog readers. The impulse is gone, swept out of me like a thief in the night- for now. I don't even really know how it happened. One minute I was shopping for organic milk at Kroger, and the next minute I was saying to myself "fuck this." This, as in "the act of pining over a man". And it was gone. Maybe it was because he told me it wasn't going to happen. Not sure. But I do feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders, leaving me free to go on with my uneventful life as it was. Yes, Rawboy and I had "the talk" about my secret desire to violate him. This talk was initiated by myself, of course, the morning after my last post, "Fuck". I mean, afterall, it is my house, and I won't be walking around feeling uncomfortable every time he decides to hack coconuts in a tank top. He must know. We must get it out in the open, clearing the thick fog of sexual tension in the air. So I sat down next to him on the couch as he read his copy of Raw Times and very simply said "You have a strong sexual energy and it makes me uncomfortable", give or take a few extra New Age words. And just as I suspected, he agreed. Oh, not about a mutual discomfort, but about his strong sexual energy. Almost as if to say "Why, yes! These ARE Bugle Boy jeans I am wearing. So deal with it, bitch." And I am. Dealing with it.

We went to lunch and discussed my delima further. There's something very sexy about a raw foodist breaking down and eating a burger. As a matter of fact, I, at this very moment, have realized the very first time a dirty thought about my roommate entered my mind. He stood in the kitchen once, slowly eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. What is it that is so incredibly masculine about a guy and a PBJ? Is it the "bacheloresque" simplicity of the sandwich? Or is it because this somewhat uptight, meticulous, food processing man in my house has for a minute surrendered to the lure of this particular All-American food? I'm not sure. But either way, it was at that moment that he came back to Earth. I finally viewed him as a human being, not an alien herbivore.

So, back to lunch. After we picked out all the gay waiters from the straight ones, and after Rawboy's rant about how ours didn't fully acknowlegde him, we touched on the subject of us. I told Rawboy everything I felt, wanted, and needed from him. And he listened, like a good gay boy should. And although he never said any of these feelings were mutual, he didn't say they weren't. He did say, though, what I needed to hear and THAT was that it would cause problems for the both of us. And he is right. I already knew this, but I am cursed with an impulsive heart, which does usually cause such problems. Maybe it's just been so long that I've forgotten all of that. In either case, now I can go about my day with a clear conscious, not caring that Rawboy knows what I'm thinking. I should be able to have an attractive roommate without falling victim to his charms. Or body. Right? Maybe we can just all get along.

We get into the car and before we drive off Rawboy gently wipes a piece of hair out of my face. My reaction was to look at him and laugh, as he said "We might as well have fun with it...." Great. Fuck YOU, Rawboy. That's fine. Let's do that. Now pull down your pants.


Stay tuned, my good people. In a few weeks I'll either be pregnant or dead. -DYVACREEM

Fuck.

"Whoomp! There it is." For those of you old folks that don't know- that is a phrase from a somewhat recent hip-hop song that I thought I'd prelude my FUCK statement with. Tonight I was staring at my computer for a long while before I thought of something worth saying. During this period of deep thought, the one word that repeatedly came to mind was "FUCK."
Staring at the computer...fuck. Stroking back my hair....fuck. God, I'm pretty tired....fuck. Damn, I'm really horny...fuck. Fuck, what do I write?...fuck. Sometimes I wonder how I'd get through life without the word. I need it to survive.

Sexual energy. It is undeniable. It is ever present. It is stronger than you think. It begs you to fall victim. I'm falling. God help me. Or Jesus. Or MotherFatherSonandSpirit. Or Allah. Whatever. Rawboy has cast his spell and I am vulnerable. Fuck.

I cannot have sex with my roommate. I need one of my high school teachers to pop out of my closet and make me write it on the board 100 times. I CANNOT HAVE SEX WITH MY ROOMMATE. If you ask someone why, they say "Bad. Just bad." And that's pretty bad.

I mean, I thought he was gay!! Massage therapist, raw foodist, take long in the shower, Ani DeFranco concert watchin' roommate! What is the world of men coming to? Can we really encounter a straight man who has a feminine side? One who might be able to really understand us?

I'm not going to get into all the reasons why I think this may be a possible union. I just know I called two of my girlfriends tonight in need of an intervention. It would be wrong. And I need to be nursed back to health. Thank Ghandi for girlfriends. Girls- really. What would we do without each other? I mean, who else would send you a text message at 2 A.M. that says "Don't do it!"?

I can't go on. I'll keep you posted. Have faith.

Yours truly,
DYVACREEM

Ode to Yesterday

I can't sleep. I'd like to touch on the subject of inspiration. I don't even know who the hell I'm talking to out there, but I like to imagine someone's listening. There are many sources of inspiration in the world- for example the ocean, a pretty sunset, a beautiful park. But have you ever been in love with someone that inspired you? I mean, someone that you thought of almost every second of every day. Someone that filled you with so much emotion that you had to put it on paper otherwise you'd burst? I don't know about you, the reader, but I find inspiration in beauty. But then you could say that there's so much beauty in things such as relationships, as opposed to physical beauty. A relationship that feels so natural it's almost like magic. Like there was no mistake that the universe caused your two paths to cross. When you think about the chances of it. When you think about how you met.

I've experienced it once or twice. It doesn't come around often, and we're lucky if it stays. Sometimes we take it for granted. Tonight, I'd like to post an ode to yesterday....
because I'm missing someone tonight, someone I haven't seen in a very long time, and the pain of missing him seems like yesterday.

Here's to inspiration.


The clouds have come and gone
The sun has risen and set a thousand times
The waves along the shore have not ceased to crash

Don't take you away from me
Don't take you away

I know we both have differences
And many more that don't hurt what we have

Don't forget about those.

I am at your mercy
And no one else's

No one else
Lures the love out of my heart
And into the one inside of me

Inside of me
You glide in me
You slide in me

And we collide in me
As if the moon and the sun met for the first time
And said to one another
I need you
To exist.

Oh, Love.

Let me be last on your list.
Let me be last
On your list.


-dmy 2000

SICK BITCH, PART 1

AAAAhhhhhhhh!!! I'm sick. Really fuckin' sick. I had been fighting a mild sore throat for about a week, then woke up the other day ready to die. My throat was swolen, my nose was stuffy, my body was weak, I had a headache and the chills. I tried calling into work but it didn't happen. I worked for 7 hours in a hot, smoke filled bar. On the bright side, I lost my voice and couldn't talk to those assholes. But when I got home, all hell broke loose. By the time I got in the door, I could barely stand or BREATHE for that matter. What is it with us that when we're sick, we regress back to babies and cry for our mommies or lovers or blow-up dolls? I called my raw foodist roommate (let's call him Rawboy) at work with the last bit of voice I could muster up. "Hey" I said when he answered the phone.

"Wow, you sound like shit".

That's all it took.
I wailed. "WWWAAAAAHHHBBLLLAAAAAGGRRRFFFFSHNF! I think I'm dying! You don't understand!" At home together, we barely speak. Now I needed him to save my life. Give me a carrot. Give me anything.

"Do you want me to bring you something?"

(crying) "I don't know what I need.... can you get me some of that apple juice? And if you're not afraid of the medicine isle, some Theraflu? Nighttime, not daytime."

"Ok. I'll be getting out of here soon."

"byeeeeee........waaaaahhhhhh......"

As I waited for him to get home, I laid on the couch and cried for someone to take care of me. I acted like a baby and I didn't care. As a matter of fact, Rawboy made a comment about me crying and I said "I don't fucking care!"

So Rawboy comes to my aide, with the goods and a movie. How sweet. How heroic. He even made my cup of Theraflu. We sat on the couch together watching a movie, blowing our noses all night. But there was something missing that I really needed. AFFECTION, GODDAMMIT! I really needed affection. A companion to hold my sick ass and rub my damn back. When our health is good, we don't need anyone. When we're sick, we can't stand to be alone. Or is it just me?

The next day Rawboy and I decided to stay in and watch movies with our Theraflu and organic hot tea- boiled, not microwaved, of course. He began his ritual of juicing everything in the kitchen he could possibly juice. He brings me a cup of green liquid and says "This is the healthiest thing you'll ever put in your body".

"Besides your penis?"

the end.

Stranger Things...

Soooo, I got a new alarm clock today that sets itself as soon as you plug it in. I've been going through a stage with my alarm clocks, that is, not being satisfied with any of them. This one is my third clock since Christmas, and I think it's a keeper. But I do find it very strange that all I do is plug it in and the big, digital numbers spaz out immediately and land on the correct time. The damn thing even knew what date it was. What in the hell is out there in the world that gives off a signal so strong that it reaches the little clock radio in my bedroom?? Weird. Scary. Weird and scary.

I'm sad to say the point of this rant is not alarm clocks. It is about Vicks vapor rub. MAN, that stuff is strong. Seriously, though- it is about change. REAL, hard-core, no-turning-back change. Like a sex change operation or motherhood. Since my scheduled sex change operation isn't until March, let's focus on the topic of motherhood. HOLY SHIT. That's all I have to say... I need to get this off my hairy chest because it's a heavy flood of thoughts- mostly downer, stressful, I want to kill myself now thoughts that consume my entire being on a daily basis. I want to know- Does anyone know what they're getting into?? I've been asked a hundred times by friends and not friends "If you could go back in time and do things differently, would you?" I assume most people would expect my answer to be "NO. Are you kidding? I love my daughter and I wouldn't change a thing blablablajfhejfhwjfpqipedhk!" But deep down, WAY deep down in the darkest abyss of me, I say "YES. Yes, I love my daughter, but....." but I miss my old life. I do. Alot. And the guilt of it is overwhelming at times, but I think about my old life everyday. Old life as in "before I got pregnant" life. My good friends hear me bitch about it constantly, and they deserve a big THANK YOU for putting up with me for so long. Especially since none of them have any children of their own, because God is merciful and knew that they'd all be shitty parents. It's true. They'd admit it. But why me?

I know why. It was Halloween, year 2000, and I was wearing my "naughty nurse" costume. I was also bartending in downtown San Diego and had a little too much vodka. Looking back, I think I could have sued one or the other. There is no label on a sexy Halloween costume or a bottle of vodka that says "Could cause pregnancy- could cloud judgement and CAUSE PREGNANCY". I always said, if a woman can sue a McDonald's for a hot coffee burn, then I could sue Absolut for my pregnancy. I should be a millionaire.

Oh, back to alarm clocks. So now that my daughter has lived to see elementary school, I am awakened daily by my fucking alarm clock at 6:30AM. The school bus comes at 7:15, so I must wake up before the damn Waffle House is even open to see her off to school. I used to sleep until 11 or 12, waking up naturally and peacefully from a nice dream about Brad Pitt. Now I dream about over-sleeping, forgetting my daughter at Target, and evil bill collectors beating me with their headsets. Debt. Another joyful attribute to parenthood. How did I ever get into so much damn debt?? The house, the dog, the toys and clothes and happy meals and movies and private pre-school.....the list goes on and on. All the things you think they need to have a perfect, happy childhood- and you sacrifice your own wants, your own needs, and all of your "spare" money-for this stuff. An endless sea of needs and items, and endless days of work ahead. My weekend in New York was a rare treat to myself, and now I'm back in the grind of catching up. Will this all end upon my community college graduation?

I looked someone up on MySpace recently. A guy I used to see in San Diego. We were close and had a good relationship for a while. We were happy with each other. The chemistry was unusual and we were rarely apart. But we were the type of people who shyed away from commitments, and monogamy was never discussed. So I strayed, on several occasions, with the same man. And he was the one I was with on Halloween. Damn. Life comes at you fast. (Wasn't that from a car insurance commercial?) So I looked him up on MySpace and there he was, in many pictures, looking good and happy in them all, and there was a girl. Of course, there was a girl. It's been 6 years! 6 years and it was still hard to see him with someone else. Is it because she has my life? Would it have been me if I could go back? Is it because the pregnancy ended our relationship and not something else? Pathetic, you may think, I know. But what people don't understand is that time stopped for me then. The moment of my big change, time stopped. It went on for everyone else. In my mind, I'm still lying on the beach, still sleeping with his arms wrapped tightly around me. Physically, we move on. We have no choice. But mentally, the memories never fade. The "what if's" never stop. I have a beautiful, healthy, smart little girl. Life is as good as it can be for me, considering my circumstances. I am grateful. I should be happy.

So as I type, I glance at a picture of me taken in Miami. I'm standing next to a bum in a wheelchair. He is wearing a tye-died t-shirt that reads "PEACE" and a paper hat covered in cut-outs of bikini clad women. My arm is around him and I have the biggest smile ever. He does too. What a great picture. I was 21. The picture is next to a rock I took from a beach in San Diego. I took the rock to remind me of that night.

So. How do I conclude this story. I still don't know. My life now? It couldn't be more different. I went from no responsibility to all the responsibilty in the world. My youth is slowly slipping away and it's hard to let go. But as for the days ahead, I'm hoping for another picture like the one in front of me. I'm waiting. As for me now, I don't feel complete unless my daughter is here, next to me, asleep in my bed. That's something. That's what I have now and all is good. I do, however, forsee a mid-life crisis at 40.

Lenny and the Apple

I discovered over Super Bowl weekend that I can't live in New York. I went there for a weekend visit to see my gay friend, Ray, (yes, I always refer to him as 'my gay friend, Ray') although I have many gay friends. What people don't realize is that I think it's cool to be gay, and letting you know I have a gay friend is like boasting... anyway, my gay friend, Ray, bought us tickets to see Lenny Kravitz at a small venue in Manhattan on Friday, the night I arrived. But let me back up.

When I got to the Richmond airport, I ran into a friend of mine, a wine rep, who happened to be on my flight to New York. (For those of you who don't know, a wine rep is a person who sells wine to stores and restaurants.) Coincidentally, as I was DRIVING to the airport, I pulled up next to ANOTHER wine rep friend of mine on the highway. We waved to each other and gave each other that "OH MY GOD- WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" look. 2 wine reps on the way to Manhattan. The message was clear- God was trying to tell me to drink lots of wine in New York.

When I got off the plane in Queens, my wine rep friend had the bright idea to share a cab to Manhattan. I have NO friggin' idea how far this is from us, and how big this city actually is. So we're IN the cab, with a disgruntled cabbie who just got screamed at by another cabbie for tailgaiting, and discovered on the way that our 2 destinations were on opposite sides of the city. I told the cabbie we were sharing the ride, and he threw a New York fit, saying that I would have to pay from the airport, not my friend's stop. So I got out and took another damn cab. It was pouring down rain and I had a huge, heavy suitcase. Fuck him.

I headed to Ray's job, where I was to pick up his apartment keys, then head to his place and wait for him to get home. But for some reason, NY cabbies don't like multiple destinations so he didn't wait. I ran in and got the keys, but not before I got stuck in the revolving door with my suitcase. A local woman yelled through the glass and pointed to the handicapped door next to me, as if to say "Hey, asshole- wrong door!" Boy, was THAT embarrassing... I just got there, and am no longer disguised as a cool New Yorker. I took another cab to Ray's place in the lower east side. He makes good money and lives on a trendy street with lots of really cool people on it, thank God! I was hungry, so I lugged my 45lb suitcase up 5 flights of stairs to Ray's place (he said I'd hate it, but it was good for my ass) and got settled before I ventured back out and stumbled upon a hot dog joint across the street. The word "fucked" was on the menu, and it made me happy. I thought I had died and gone to heaven. I needed to live in a place where the word "fuck"was used freely, like the word "the" or "a". I knew I belonged somewhere, and now I found it. Until Sunday. I was ready to come home by Sunday.

Raining and waiting in line for Lenny Kravitz would have been fine, if I hadn't straightened my hair. I hate the fucking rain, only because it ruins my hair. Anyway, Ray and I head straight to the bar, where vodka was surprisingly cheap and the drinks were strong. So two vodka-crans into the opening act, Lenny comes out with a thundering bang that wakes us all up and reminds us why we're all there in the first place. Except for Ray, who wanted to see him shirtless. Lenny's shirt stayed on, but for me his performance was not only amazing, but necessary. Since having my daughter and landing in the world of single-parenthood, I don't get to venture out much. It had been years since I spent any time in a big city and had forgotten how much my soul needed that energy- the energy of masses of free spirited, crazy, happy people running around in a transcient, crazy-skitzo city bliss. I used to live in that mess, and although at times I was sad, I also discovered a beauty and love for life I never had before. And inspiration! Inspiration for days..... So Lenny comes out in Rock Star style, all leathered up, with the lights and guitars and drums and a sound system that no treble or bass in any Circuit City could compare to, and the tears start streaming down my face. I couldn't control them. It was as if the vibrations from the speakers were going through me from my feet to my head, forcing all emotion from the last 7 years out through my eyes. New York. Lenny Kravitz. A bunch of happy, crazy people. GOD, I need this. I need this. I am found. The pre-mommy girl is still in here, looking for an out. Gay men know just what I need. Period. Thank you, Ray.

The rest of my trip was spent at ATM machines, restaurants, and stores. I ran into several people I knew from Richmond, which served as a reminder of just how small this world can be. I had a long, overdue converstaion with a childhood friend about her father's passing, and some more much needed tears were shed. I spent time talking with store owners and bartenders about everyday things and got a pretty good taste of the city. I ventured out on my own in search of my balls. All in all, it was a good, productive trip. But after 2 days, I missed my daughter and my bathroom. For some reason, I'd like to say I could live in New York. But I can't. I'm just too spoiled. I need my car, a house, a dog, a big bathroom, and the ocean. I need California. Fuck the rain. And small apartments with stairs. And $25 credit card minimums. And tiny bathrooms. And cabs.