bethofalltrades

Today is a roller coaster.

I have four blogs trying to claw their way to the surface but it is six AM and I am tired and my pinky finger is starting to spasm. It's because of the way I hold it when I blackberry.

It is too late to be coherent.

I told a friend tonight that, no, we cannot continue our discourse on sexuality because my brain cannot take it. We can, however, talk about the Indigo Girls.

My brain gets used up. I joke that my memory gets full and jettisons things I don't need. My close friends know that they can tell me a story two or three times and I'll laugh every time like it's the first. Friends who are less close get annoyed when I don't remember stories they've told me, or experiences we've had together.

An assistant with a bad memory. Hilarious.

Except I have systems, tons of them, and when something is VERY important I make it imprint or I cheat with blackberry alarms and napkin notes.

And then there are things that imprint with no work and never go away.

Almost all of these things involve women.

Occasionally these things involve kissing women.

Frequently these things involve wanting to kiss women.

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Tonight I read a line in one of my own blogs that I (of course) do not remember writing:
"I am about as slick as a t-rex in a shopping mall.
"

I love that line.

It's true.

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Another line I love, from an almost-poem:

"I grabbed madly for the girl with the almost key
Instead of the one with the lock."

It's obviously about the pain two bottoms feel when they find themselves alone together, and naked. It's that sort of, "Well, fuck, what do we do now?"

The answer, I have found, is usually "watch tv."

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I have a folder in my email program called "God and All The Angels." You should ask me about it some time. It's a good story. No, not right now. Now it's six a.m. and I'm a better storyteller before the sun comes up.

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In the course of a year, I send and receive more than 36,000 emails. This is totally insane. NOTHING is that important.

But I love communicating.

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I love my life, actually.

The sun is up.

It's April.

Love,
Beth

My mother says, why don't you post, you had such an interesting weekend. I blinked into the darkness of my room and asked, "Why do you say that? What did I do?"

I honestly could not remember what I did four days ago.

I saw Margaret Cho in New Jersey with Amanda's manager Emily and her interns Kristan and Katrina (yes, the same Katrina who accompanies me on bagel adventures.) That was good. Em rented the car and I drove and on the way we talked mostly about work. Said hello to Margaret afterward, and met Ian Harvie and Selene Luna, both of whom are hilarious and friendly. Wore a vest and a jacket and jeans and looked the gayest I've ever looked. Wore my glasses and looked like my mother.

The night before that I met Olga at the airport, where she had a seven hour layover after having been refused entry to the UK. She'd been traveling for more than 30 hours. I took her to a diner and we talked about life.

A few hours before that I saw the umbrella girl. She sat on my couch and we ate chinese food and I was not the least bit breathless.

Two days after I saw the umbrella girl I hung around Books of Wonder to hug Neil Gaiman. His father had just died and he signed for seven hours anyway. I met his assistant Kat who is pretty much who I want to be in ((insert inoffensive number of years.)) We compared key tattoos. She has fantastic style. So I hung about and ran into Nathen and chatted and eventually everyone left and I hugged Neil and then I left.

KT and I went to a bar where you get free pizza with every beer and I had three after little sleep and got confessional, like I do, and inquisitive, like I do. She paid for the cab ride home and most of the beer. We hugged a lot.

I live in the same house with her and yet sometimes the distance is broad. I am so caught up in my work that I forget that there is life beyond it. And then Neil Gaiman's father dies and I hover around the edges of a book signing and I remember: oh. Humans. Be human.

I talked to Dakota about my lack of crushes. I bemoaned it. I told her that I am not FEELING and I want to be FEELING and God bless her she did not remind me that the last time I was FEELING I nearly destroyed my career by drinking too much and being dramatic.

Tomorrow I am going with Katrina on an adventure--- she is getting a tattoo from Joy, who did my nemo perit and touched up my key. Friday I'll be in Boston. Saturday I'm back in New York for a celebration of David's birthday. Sunday we're celebrating KT's. Monday I get on a plane to Austin, TX.

I am still struggling with balance.

I tried to do a handstand tonight and could only get one foot off the ground at a time. I think there's a metaphor there. Fear is the lead weight in my heels.

I keep dreaming about fire. In one dream, I burned papers down to my hands until they blistered. In another I crashed a car and it went up in flames, then ran into a nearby building that caught fire spontaneously too. My companion in the dream pleaded with me to make things okay and I held up my hands-- both completely engulfed. Last night it was a plane on fire.

I have been doing truly shitful tarot readings recently. I counted the cards and there were only 77. The eight of cups is AWOL. I'll replace the deck tomorrow. It's good to have a reason for repeatedly missing the mark.

Life is strange. Beautiful too, but strange.

It's worth mentioning that a good woman died three nights ago. Her name was Jennifer and I didn't know her very well, but she was an important member of the Dolls/AFP community. She encouraged young artists. She provided support and feedback and love. There are a lot of people missing her now.

Love,
Beth

Hodgepodge.

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My dear friend indecisean is trying to Do Good for animals. I love animals, especially Cinderella, who is a rescue. Sean has a rescue dog and wants to help the shelter who brought them together win money to help MOAR ANIMLS!

Go here and vote (pls?):
Click for Kitties (and Puppies)

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I had a fever so high the other night that when I went to the kitchen to get a drink of water I couldn't walk back. Not that I was weak. I actually was trying to walk and kept staggering and flailing about. Anyone in their right mind would have woken someone else up, but I did the opposite because--- and this is the one clear thought I had--- if I woke someone up they would make me go to the hospital. And this seemed like a bad thing. So I took another try and ended up sitting at the foot of my bed and eventually crawled up onto it and fell asleep.

I imagine that I looked very much like what the rabid raccoon I saw once looked like. It would try to go in one direction and then would lurch and fall in another. Watching it made me very sad.

Scariest illness ever. But I'm feeling better now.

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Moogie is here. She has been helping me clean cleaning my room since she arrived two weeks ago. My goal is to hang some art on the walls before she leaves.

This is terrifying. Hanging things on the walls makes it seem like I intend to stay. Nevermind that I've lived in this house for almost three years and this room for nine months. Permanance is terrifying.

Yes the thing that EVERY PERSON who comes in here says is, "But why is there nothing on the walls?"

I own the art. I really do! It's in stacks and piles and drawers and on shelves and in cabinets.

I haven't hung art on the walls since I lived at 210 N. Dithridge in college.

I have a fear of commitment to a location.

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I am giving myself until January 17th to do my "2008 was" (tm Katrina) post. 1/17/09 is the THREE YEAR anniversary of my move to NYC. Holy shit.

Love,
Beth