Do you like my hat? (No, I do not like that hat.)

These hats...what can I say? I work in the fashion industry and don't get me wrong I enjoy stretching the trends on occasion via fedoras or jumpsuit but these hats, they are out of this world! I have a hard time understanding how woman of such wealth and "high society" class as these can wear such tacky hats in public! Just a trend I'm never going to fully understand. RIDICULOUS!

Money, Money, Money

My dad told me that when he was little, he wanted to play the saxophone. My grandfather made him play the clarinet instead because it was cheaper. He uses this example, goes on to describe how his father dealt when he told him he wanted to be a writer.

                My father and his father are starkly opposite in their political views. They are also vastly similar in their financial matters. It is my understanding that many view the left wing/right wing battle as a finance management issue... riddle me that.

                Our family went through homelessness on two occasions because my father was not comfortable settling for a house which wasn’t the best possible deal. Some parents in said situations would settle when things got as rough on the children as they did but not my father. He’s at stubborn as my grandpa. I obtained a lot of emotional stress, which I can’t seem to rid myself of, since the homeless adventures. I found shame having to shower at friends houses or the gym and ask people for favors when I just simply didn't have any other option. I'm hyper sensitive to asking for help now, I feel like at that point we just weren't taking care of our own family and it was downright humiliating. I think that it was a trigger setting me off in a different direction completely than my parents.

                I plan to succeed. I came up with my slogan: I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m doing something!

                “Doing Something,” that’s a loaded statement, you see. I come from a town called Missoula, Montana. It is a college town and it’s a mix of granola and beef jerky, hippies and lone riders. Nothing ever seems to get done in any sort of a timely fashion. In fact, I started to realize that nothing was really getting done at all. People drive ten miles below the speed limit, and not just on Sundays. I talked to my mother on the phone one day this winter, she said, “There is about half a foot of snow so things have, you know, slowed down a little bit.” SLOWED DOWN A LITTLE BIT! I thanked my lucky stars at that moment for that one day when I’d really had enough and I (literally) got in my car and sped on out of there!

                The environment I am working in now, at Tart Collections, is very “high-end” and it is very California. My father uses the argument, “People in California live shitty apartments and drive fancy cars.” When I visited here on vacations, I thought the same thing, “how ridiculous these people are!” Now, I have a bit of a different approach: housing is expensive here! You get the car to move on up, to eventually fit in that high-end work world. Speaking of the work world, your work it your world since you have to work so much to pay for the high housing costs. Then you factor in a commute to work and you’ve got a recipe for a “fancy” car.

                Coming full circle now, I am having a disagreement with my father over how much to spend on a new car. He wants me to spend $2000-$5000, I’m ready to throw $12000 on a 2006 Honda Civic. In my eyes, I’m going to increase my efficiency immensely with this car. In his, I should just get something that will get me by for a little while then go on to the next one once that one’s done.

Dear dad, how often do you wondered what it would be like to play the saxophone? I might be a horrible musician, but give me a change to pick my own instrument and learn that for myself? Maybe even trust that I might have some talent hidden deep down, and hey- I might even end up making a decent living off of it!

Well, I got hit by a car

On one dark rainy Sunday, March 6th at 6:30 I got hit by a car. I was crossing a marked intersection and one young driver simply did not see me. I emphasize that word, simply, here. All in all, the events of that night were so intense and unexpected that my thoughts were 'simply' limited.

I have 2 distinct memories from the incident:

1. Glancing to the left, noticing car headlights turning towards me...noticing that the car is speeding up, not slowing down...realizing it's going to hit me. I think, "pause! let me remove myself from this situation- lets not let this happen!"

2. Laying on the hard, wet pavement; I can feel the rain hitting my face. I look around with only my eyeballs- I'm not sure if I can move my body. I think: "Am I alive? Can I move?"
...I see the light turn green and cars (headlights) start to drive around me. I am still frozen, I think, "why isn't anyone helping me?"

WELCOME TO CALIFORNIA!

I realized at this point that I was going to have to get myself up, no one was going to stop and help me. Hell, I worried that it'd be a hit and run at this point! I needed to stand up before the driver could make a getaway. Felt like I was squatting 200 lbs at least and I staggered towards the side of the road, motioning for the driver to pull over (obviously- you just HIT a person, what the hell are you doing SITTING there dude!). My shoes are in the other lane of traffic, passing cars are running them over, I'm trying to walk out and get them; I'm not so much concerned with the state of my $20 Target shoes as trying to get myself together.

TB Contd...

"I am standing over the ocean fifty fathoms deep, with nothing to stand on, and yet I believe that I will stand."

I heard this quote once in an Intro to Existentialism class I took my first semester at the University of Montana, I believe it's Kierkegaard or Nietzsche.

I think of it quite often actually, when I feel like everything I'm doing is speeding by and leaving me spinning in place- a dizzy frazzled mess, to the point where I literally jumble my words when speaking to people. I get home to my bare bones apartment, sit down alone, and wonder what I'm doing in this place where I once dreamed but lost, I wonder what I am working so hard for every day.

Well, I think I'm on to an answer. I've always loved love songs about love and poverty. e.g. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1WNmmF9MCQc and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W05cPXpUHGI

I have come to the conclusion that I must thrive off of self-induced stress. Stress is my go-to steroid in essence, my coffee in the morning, my drug of choice, almost like my cocaine. For example, why go to work without the deeply rooted fear of homelessness- a thought that runs through my head many mornings? And since I know that this stress is mostly self-induced: taking four different work shifts in one 12 hr. day...7 days a week, etc. I am lead to the conclusion that: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lAaFOJuu9D0

one day

Corina and I spent over two hours, yes you heard that right, in Starbucks downtown today. There were some interesting phrases on out coffee cups, one I particularly enjoyed: "'So-called 'global warming' is just a secret ploy by wacko tree-huggers to make America energy indepedent, clean our air and water, improve the fuel efficiency of our vehicles, kick-start 21st-century industries, and make our cities safter and more liveable. Don't let them get away with it!' -Chip Giller"

poem one

The Irish lady and the Mexican owned a bar

Between the opera house and the dirtiest strip club in town

The kids played with sombreros while dad took a trip next door on his way to "the car"

Once in a while, there was a wedding; Once in a while, someone resisted arrest

The little girl in the corner with the coloring books saw it all

In the attic, walls were lined with drying tie-dyed table cloths

An old guitar promised the man asleep on the muddy brown couch his destiny

Down the rickety stairs sat the a-little-too-frequents' in the dark

A mixture of cheers and hollers echo through the heavily smoky night air

The bartender talks more than most do

Heavy interest lies in his intense eyes, sponge ears

He's recording every last word in his head; to write it down later.

This place is a little pool of Catholic forgiveness

"We don't do background checks; we can feel the honesty in people"

I return to find the place burn down to the cement.