I know, I said it, now forget it

Cleaning can kill you. Literally. Come with me and I'll show you how.

I woke up this morning in a funk. Because my house is a disaster. The bathroom, the floors, the tv room, the sink, the kitchen. ALL DISGUSTING. Having the day off, I decided there was no reason not to clean. Get out of the Lysol bleach, the all-purpose kitchen cleaner, windex, the whole nine yards... I clean like hell. I mean things are sparkling. But I'm facing a battle with the bathtub. DAMN YOU SOAPSCUM, I scream, and start pouring chemicals on the hard-to-scrub parts... Finally,  tub is clean. 

I take a break to talk to my bff Janet. Mid-convo I start feeling really weird. Things are a bit blurry, my nose burns and all the sudden I overcome with feeling of the contents of my stomach pushing to get out through my throat. "I gotta go," I say as I rush off the phone to go puke into my freshly cleaned toilet. 

As the collection of what I can only describe as homicidal fumes envelopes me, I realize that I have probably inhaled enough bleach to constitute actually drinking cups of it. At this, I feel more sick. Oh, the power of suggestion. But I'm violently getting it all out of my system... Until I start to think that I might actually be dying. I scrabble to call my boyfriend at work. "PLEASE! HELP ME! I POISONED MYSELF!" He agrees to pick up some anti-vom and rush home.

After another half hour of 'sickness,' things start to subside. I get out on my fire escape to get some fresh air and drink a cup of water, both things recommended on the back of the bottles, you know after the call poison control part. And I did feel better, and I do feel better.

But i can still smell bleach in my nostrils and my hands simply reek of it. Disgusting.

I am not cleaning again next week. My roommates can have a coin-toss. Also, Seventh Generation products  exclusively used in this house from here on out.

Heed my warning... the road to death is paved with cleaning.

I dreamt last night that I was hit by a taxi while crossing the street on the way to the rest of my life. I was thrown 15 feet in the air and landed in the gutter, broken and bleeding. The cab driver drove off before I even landed.  Somehow I ended up in a hospital bed, healing. And then what must have been years later, after physical therapy and bankruptcy and all the other awful things that happen when your life is put on hold... not to mention the emotional scarring. But I spent all this time researching,,,, and somehow found out which cab was in that intersection at that moment in time years ago. I found out his address and I was going to go and confront him. I was going to get some sort of venegence, some sort of closure.... So I got in a cab, and read off the address... somewhere in Long Island... Slowly, we start to drive off. And he asks me timidly, "What brings you so far from the city today?"  "I have some unfinished business." He stays silent. And I kept waiting for the follow up question... 'what sort of business'  he was supposed to ask. So instead, I volunteer the information, "I was hit by a cab, my life went shambles after that moment, I just recovered and I want to find out why he left me there for dead. I want to burn his house down."  He stays silent, then suddenly he says somberly, "That address you read is my address. I hit you those many years ago..... I've thought about you every day since. There is nothing you can do to me to give me any more regret, any more pain.  I took up alcohol to deal with my guilt, I lost my wife, my parents, my daughter... You can take nothing more from me than my life. And I've stayed alive for you. I've stayed alive for this day: to apologize to you. You can not live with this pain in your heart. You can not stay in the place you are. You deserve so much more and I am here to tell you that you can let it go. All will be right when you can let me go. You will be fine." 
To that I woke up.

On last night's episode of Dexter, the Showtime series about a serial killer with a heart of gold starring Michael C. Hall, we finally got to the bottom of an on-going saga. Only to learn, yet again, that women can not be viable means of solidarity for eachother. In fact, we are taught that the lengths women  will go for greed, selfishness, and manipulation are deep, dark, and dangerous, err disgusting.
Now, to make a long story short, these characters/people, what-have-you, work in the Miami Police Department. Head of homicide, until this season, has been Maria Laguerta, a strong Latina woman who despite her walls as become rather loveable and human this season. But because of her cut-throat nature, among a few other things, she was replaced by Ismae Pascal, a decorated Black woman who has made her way up the ranks but is new to the department and is having some real issues with her fiancee. There is a breif discussion of the way in which sexism played a role into Laguerta's removal from office, but is hushed quickly by acknowledgment of her replacement by another woman. Anyway, as the season unfolds, Pascal's issues with her fiancee begin to enter into the office: her fiancee shows up for heated arguments, she is making calls to him on company time, she can't concentrate on her work.... Laguerta has a few heart-to-hearts with her and suddenly the woman who she resented for taking her job becomes her friend. Laguerta starts picking up the slack where Pascal drops it. Two weeks ago, the big all-governing man boss comes in to talk to Laguerta about how Pascal is doing as a boss, since he has heard rumors she is acting 'erractic.' Laguerta, without hesitation, says that Pascal is doing fine and proceeds to say (I am summarizing, this is not necessarily a direct quote, but as close as memory allows..) "You know what erratic means? It means 'not-male' and it's the same sexist bull shit I had to deal with when I was in her position and I'm not feeding into it, and I'm not giving you fuel for your misogynistic fire." It was awesome. For the firsttime in my lifetime, while watching television I actually thought my heart grew. I was so impressed, relieved... for lack of better adjective, I just felt a mountain of pride for the writers of the show, and for what a statement it was. It showed that it is possible for women to work together, to acknowledge a larger system working against them and still stand up for each other. It was the kind of power and strength in women's alliance that I haven't seen on television, or almost anywhere else in mainstream media, ever. More importantly, the writer's placed this scene within the confines of the police force, a macho system of the state in which women hardly ever get the upper hand. So the whole thing just fell together beautifully and I really started moving the show up on ranks on my favorite show list. But that bubble burst last night.
Toward the end of the episode, Pascal freaks out when company resources couldn't identify the source of the scent on her fiancee's shirt. The scent, she was sure, was "another woman." She is in the middle of the bull pen screaming and crying about it. (Quite a blow to women as is, considering the commentary about the way in which women in powerful positions can be taken down to the emotional size of a little girl when their relationship, with a man, goes sour. As if she isnt strong enough or smart enough to hold back in the office, like any serious manager would. Whatever, anyway.) Big all-governing man boss comes back and asks Laguerta again if she is confident about Pascal's abilites. Laguerta again answers, that Pascal   is doing fine. But big man boss has already made his decision, despite Laguerta's answer.  Laguerta is head of homicide again; Pascal is out. He leaves by saying, "Pascal has set women in the force back 20 years, you better make that up."  (An interesting statement, which makes me wonder if the writers were touching on the way women are judged as a whole instead of as individuals, as unjust.) So still, I'm feeling ok about show, not quite what I would have wanted but was nonetheless fairly realistic, considering the circumstances.
So here's the blow. But the last scene opens up onto Laguerta in a nightgown in bed. She turns of the TV and says 'this is the last time.' She rolls over and PASCAL'S FIANCEE IS IN BED WITH HER! Laguerta is the other woman! And she breaks up with him.... She got her job back and breaks up with him!

 I wanted to vommit all over the television.

Suddenly, all that solidarity falls to the wayside. What are we left to believe? That it was all a hoax? a rouse? for what? to get her job back? to backstab the woman who took her job????
There was never any solidarity to begin with. What we are told in this 20 seconds, is "Women, you don't stand a chance. Don't trust eachother, don't work together. Other women are only out to get you." So what are we to believe? All that solidarity was simply an elaborate hoax? a rouse? for what? to get her job back?? to backstab the woman who took her job? 
The point in showing that solidarity? Only to tear it down.

We, women, are taught to be so competitive with eachother that we will never work together like that-- like the dream world of friendship and support between Laguerta and Pascal for the two episodes that it existed. It was beautiful and inspiring, and made me believe it was possible, if  only for a minute.
But they spit on that quick. They blew out that fire. Taught us all a lesson in how things really work. It's sick and twisted and so blantantly American television.

More to come.

When my boyfriend, Chris, came home from work around 9 o’clock last night, I was sitting on the couch folding our laundry. It’d been a rough day and I was already in my pajamas. “Honey, I’m home! Dan is on his way over,” he said to me. Under any other circumstance this would have fine but I was in pajamas and clocked out for the night. Without thinking my only response was to roll my eyes and in a provoking and sarcastic tone say, “Awesome. Thanks for asking.” As the words were coming out of my mouth, I had no idea where they were coming from.  When I saw the look on his face that was when it hit me.

I used to get nervous that I was relationship drama junkie. Every relationship I had seemed to follow a ‘made for tv’ plot. First, I was standing beside my man who was dying of cancer. Then there was the tortured soul who’s abusive childhood was channeled toward me via his words or sometimes his fists. Of course, I could talk about the sarcastic single child who couldn’t put anyone else before himself. With all of them, the fights were as numerous as they were intense. They always ended in blow-outs, broken vases, and broken hearts. If it was jealous fight then there were stake-outs in the front yard, waiting to catch some incriminating evidence. If it was fight about being late, then one of us just wouldn’t show up at all for the next date.

But now here I am, almost a year into the most stable and happy relationship I’ve ever had (hell, that I have even ever heard of.) And every morning I wake up still surprised that this is real, that I’m still here, that he is still here. This doesn’t compute properly with my relationship programming. I keep wondering, “Where is all the drama?? All the unfair fights? The storming out?  Calling my best friend at 3am swearing ‘this simply can’t go on any longer’? And where are the ‘make-up’ flowers? The joke that eases the tension? The reminder that going through this all will only make us stronger?” Worse yet is nights like last night where I forget where I am and catch myself unconsciously trying ways to the pick the fights and bring back the drama.

To my relief, I realize that perhaps that’s not necessary anymore.  I may actually be content and entertained enough without needing to add the waterworks, the fireworks, the endless soap opera that I somehow feel should accompany the intensity that is love. I love him and when he is around, instead of the high anxiety and crazy whirlwind of emotions I expect, I am serene and calm and centered. I feel more like myself with him than I do when I’m alone sometimes.

So as I notice the look on Chris’ face as he registers my sarcastic response, I realize that this isn’t a relationship where I need to invoke the drama. This is in fact just the well-deserved opposite. When I sit back and think about it, I realize that if I hadn’t gone through the drama, I wouldn’t have realized that the drama I see in every relationship around me, fictional or real, doesn’t make for a the ‘real’ relationship or even a better relationship.  It just gets you the attention you crave and reassures you that you are in a relationship. Don’t get me wrong, Chris and I have our fights, but they are our exception to the rule. And maybe that sounds boring but if that’s why I needed the drama in my past, well, I’m glad it’s gone.

So summer has finally made its appearance and, of course, in its well-planned lesson to me, it has waited until the very last acceptable moment to really show itself: Memorial Day Weekend. Now let me just say that this maybe the first summer I will ever really have. Being that I've lived on the California coast my whole life, I can see how that statement makes me sound absurd. I'll admit that it would sound absurd coming from anyone who has lived anywhere but on either pole of the earth. So let me explain. I say that this is my first summer because this may be the first summer I have ever actually been aware. The only way I ever knew it was summer was being let out of school for 'summer vacation' but when I went surfing in June it was the same as it had been in November.  Seasons were things that happened to other people. Not me. Not my neighborhood. But I moved to New York in March 2006, assuming those 'snow storms' were all for dramatic effect. Little did I know I was about to enter a hell I had never dreamt. Mid-winter, when it was somewhere in the single digits temperature-wise, in an S.A.D. induced frenzy, I threw every item of clothing I owned that wasn't wool of somehow weather-repellent into a bag and donated it at my local charity, convinced I would never again feel the atmos at a temperature I could tolerate sans thermal. But then, I realized this was no friendly game. Along came a random 70 degree day in January, then few more random pleasantries of 50 to 60 degree days, clearly sent to taunt and torture me. These warm days were like a ray of light reaching me at the bottom of the dark well I've been living in since I fell some months ago and will never escape. 
But honestly, waiting for summer has been like watching a burlesque show: agonizing over the drawn out tease and then the peek of a little leg but she had a well-honed craft and modesty so nothing ever came off.... until now. It's here, completely uncloaked, and it's glorious. Outside, the sun is shining, and birds chirping, and the sweat dripping down my back and off my face has never felt more welcomed. So fine, weather has taught me it's lesson. I took it for granted for far too long and it held out on me. For far too long. But I still win. Despite the fact that I am forced to pair the few new dresses and shirts I've bought (to replenish the stash I threw away) with my heavy pants and insulated peacoats, I've never looked forward to the summer the way I am right now. I feel like a small child on Christmas morning, in the Saharan desert.
And to celebrate, I am going to the Astoria Beer Garden tonight.

I think today sums it up: woke up, hung out on the internet and caught up with the world for a few hours, showered, had some cereal, woke bf up, took the train out to brighton beach/coney island, walked around the beach, cringed in my delight of all too many elderly, bald-headed, haired-bodied, shiny, orange, russian men walking around in socks, sneakers, and speedos, split some fries and coke, went to an amazing fresh produce stand (where we only spent $14 for: 5 beefsteak tomatoes, 5 red bell peppers, 2 boxes of blackberries, a bunch of bananas, a sack of cashews, 3 heads of broccoli, and a huge avocado!), headed home when we intercepted a huge subway fight resulting the attempted pull of the emergency break cord, stopped into barnes&nobles to grab some magazines, headed home, made an amazing general tso's stirfry with tofu, and all the fresh produce we'd just bought (short of the avocado, blackberries, and bananas. there is truly nothing better than a stirfry made with fresh tomatoes. the bf, chris, won me over on the 3rd date with a home-made stirfry chock full of juicy tomato....i get chills just remembering...  and then of course, how could i forget the cashews for that matter.... as chris said, the combo tomato and cashew is "like heaven exploded in my mouth", but off of this tangent...) after dinner, we went to read in the park, came home just in time to bake some cupcakes, watch the first half of the american idol finale (voted for jordin), wathced the premiere of On The Lot (thumbs down, more on that later), cleaned a little, and now here we are... i'm on the couch at midnight, writing. i swear its 120 degrees outside right now. all in all, couldnt have been a better day. i think i'll get in bed now and prepare for my adventure into the world of group boxing class. until tomorrow...

so i came to this coffee shop on the corner of my block because they
have free internet and cheap chai tea and my house has neither. so sat
down around 12:30 and it is now a little after 5pm. i have done
nothing all day but research grad programs, gre tests, americorps,
teach for america, nyc teaching fellows, and other assorted
educational and personal enrichment programs. i do these things
because i want to but most because i need to. because like omg,
competition is rough. according to my research, i need to have founded
the students for justice club at my middle school, petitioned congress
to declassify information so i could write my senior dissertation in
high school, and then obviously recieved a gpa of  4.5 from a better
school than santa cruz, have worked full time at some at-risk youth
center, and been the captain of my college varsity sports team. it
would also help if maybe you or mom were ailing from some disease and
i could also be taking care of you while doing all this. also, i
invented gold and new uses for polyester synthetics which may actually
prevent global warming. and got a perfect score on my gre and lsats.
so now that thats all out of the way, i am going to begin the year
long process of applying to all these programs and recieving
reccomendation letters from professors who probably wont remember me.
this process will heretofor be referred to as 'the daily reminder of
my comparative but profound lack of amazing accomplishments in the
face of adversity.'  so anyway, did you hear that the gre costs $130?
true story. this whole spend money to make money stuff aint no joke.
hahaha. and my how to get into the top law school book says that
instead of going to law school, i could spend 3 years and $150,000 (or
much less) on touring the world, living in cent america learning
spanish, taking a traditional cooking course in italy, being a
tourguide on a bike tour in the french country side, and enrolling at
a prestigious business and politics school in london. and still have
time and money left to spare. hahahah. so im tempted. also, i have
literally been sitting in this same spot for just about 5 hours. and
while i know i need to do a lot more work, i think i am getting up and
going to go to target/walmart and buy a dresser and a wool sweater.
hopefully on the way i can save an eldery person's life and
subsequently discover that the key to world peace is not the U.N. but
rather corn muffins, fried chicken, and pecan pie ala mode, not
because it makes you happy and content but that it makes you too
lethargic to do anything (which is why this poor old woman was ailing
on the side of the road, she was just too full and too complacent to
do anything about it.) so ok, i guess im off now. i hope yr first day
at monk was FANTASTIC!!! dont develop ocd by proxy. call and tell me
all about it.
and i love you!