Image is nothing

What did I just say?  Yes and I meant it.  For this instance frankly is something I’m finding pretty disappointing.

As a little girl I had a completely different vision of what this place would be like.  Of all the glitz and glamor that is Hollywood and Los Angeles.  While I have many good things to say about my dear town of residence, I am also shaking my head.

I have not been to all these touristy places.  The Kodak Theatre.  The movie studios.  I know that when I do go, I will enjoy them.  And maybe perhaps then will I feel a little less ripped off than what I do now.

Last month was my first time on the infamous Hollywood Walk of Fame.  What’s funny is that I didn’t even realize it until after my friend Vieve mentioned to look down.  The area was not what I’d pictured.  There was no buildup.  There wasn’t any rush.  It was run down and just sort of there.

I know that I will likely have late night adventures with a camera on the streets of LA.  It is beautiful in its own urban way.  With my fixation on urban shooting, LA is actually a rather good match.

But in a city where “Image is Everything”… it sure doesn’t look like it.

I really want to take some time and help out to restore the area.  I wonder how many other people have had this image killed by coming here.  Is it like this in NYC?  I feel uncultured by having to ask.  It doesn’t look like that in other metro areas I’ve been to and lived in.

I guess what I’m trying to say is…

I love LA.  I hate LA.

I think I understand why Marilyn Monroe killed herself now.  This city of Angels.. of dreams… really isn’t all that it seems from the outside of the goldfish bowl.  I’ve only been here a few weeks and already can see right through.

Dear daddy,

You were right this time.

The direct approach

My posts on twitter can easily be misinterpretted.  This is most certainly not an accident.  In order to fully understand some of them you have to be there.  They may not be what you think they’re about.  But they’re all true.

Now because I know that my tweets are.. not always rated G, and some of the things that I write about even here, I get approached and invited on quite a bit of “scandalous” style adventures.  Do I partake in some?  Well, obviously I’d be lying if I didn’t say… it’s my business 😉

I met a cute guy at Mashup last week.  Very pretty eyes… had never been to one of the events.  I was pretty partied out at this point.  Nothing against anyone, but damn if that was a long week.  And I was a little bit disappointed about the dark horse returning home.

Still, I genuinely was interested in talking to this guy more.  He didn’t give off the usual douchebag vibe, and like I said, he was cute.  So we exchanged numbers. It wasn’t really a big deal, and I wasn’t going to call him.  When he couldn’t spell my name right, even when corrected, I had essentially written it off anyway.

The week that would never die continued.  I was approached by a few sleezeballs later, and in days following.  It’s part of the consequences of having my moniker, and writing about sex in any form.

Plus: there’s always options.

Minus: alot of them think they can just get it with little to no effort.

Thankfully I’m smart enough to know better.

So last night when I got a call about hanging out after 1130 on a Sunday night, it was a no brainer.  It wasn’t going to happen.  Not with a guy I just met at some business party.  That right is reserved for people I am friends with already, have history with.. or want to make some history with.

I know the fixation some people have with one night stands.  Of strings of booty calls and strippers.  I have plenty of friends that do that.  Hell, I don’t think I know anyone that hasn’t had a one night stand.

This isn’t the first time.  It won’t be the last time.

I wasn’t going to play dumb.  I figured that I would give him a few minutes grace before going straight to it.

“We could go to your place or mine… I don’t care.”

“Well I just moved in here and there are boxes everywhere still.”

We talked for about 5 minutes and then I cut to the chase.

“I know what you’re asking.  It’s not exactly prime time for a date, and I don’t do the booty call thing.  It’s Sunday night and I’ve been planning a trip to Portland to see someone… so I’m sure there’s a list of numbers you could be calling right now, and I’d reccomend doing that.”

“Actually, there aren’t..”

“Ah well that’s too bad.  I’m a bit old fashioned in that I don’t give that stuff away.  Many women do though so I’m sure it won’t be hard for you to find.”

Direct approach to a direct approach.  That’s a watered down version.  But he seemed pleasantly surprised by my demeanor, even though he was turned down.

Yes, a woman who is boistorous and confident in her sexuality can actually be classy, real, and honest.  I’m as real as it gets and a horrible liar.  And despite my poly lifestyle I still have standards.

I appreciated the honesty last night.  It says a lot about character.  There are too many douchebags that go about it holding a front its something else.  Let’s call the duck the duck and not play pretend here.  I don’t have time to waste on reindeer games.

Digital assumptions

I take a risk about putting my personal life here on the interweb, everytime I do it.  But there’s no secret to the statement- “I censor myself selectively.”  What I write here are facts.. and what I write tends to also involve other people.

Therefore when I say that I am not confirming nor denying anything- it is out of respect for all parties involved.  You may think that you know, but I can assure you that unless you are one of the other parties directly involved, you do not.  And as much as I appreciate the whistleblowing that has been going on- I’m a big girl here and am of full responsibility for my actions, weather it is a product of my own stupidity or of one that my heart is invested in.

I will admit, I have some fucked up relationships.  I have some fucked up non relationships.  But they’re mine, and I have every right to have them.

Now- some meta responses:

I got an email from someone who had commented on this blog… I was going to respond to it in private, I decided against it.. because I found it slightly funny that said person warned about someone saving them and a woman who needs to be saved but wrote “I wanted to reach out to you” in their email.

So to clarify:

a- I am not looking for anyone to save me.  Things may not be perfect, but I’m working on myself to make them better.  Which is what I believe every person needs to do.  I do not believe in imaginary heroes.   I believe in being your own hero first.

b- I am not looking to change anyone.  If something I say or do inspires someone to change on their own- then that’s their decision.  I do like to say and challenge people to be more.  I am on a quest to find answers and be a better person myself.  People can be however they want to be.

c- I’d like to think I know a little bit about what makes a great man, and what makes a great woman.  I know many great men and women in training.. but I also will say that I know and have dated ones that are closer to that mark then normal.  At least in my opinion.

d- My last post (not the meta response one) was semi related to the movie/comic book, as it was to other things that are literally intertwined with a story involving said caped crusader and a romeo who is aptly called the dark horse due to his connection with a particular comic book label… well technically 2 comic book labels actually.. but that’s heh, his story (literally again).

Now onto the next digital assumption:

I have gotten warnings from people about people I’ve dated/am dating/have history with.

I find them quite humorous.

Why?  Because I don’t do that to other people.

In fact, as far as womanhood is conserned, I abhore the whole concept of it.  Yet, I know there are sites devoted to just this purpose.

I base every relationship I have with person A on my own interactions with that person.  Which may be completely different than person B.

Have I ever been with a man with wandering eyes?  I have wandering eyes.  If there are eyes wandering on their part- its either a)understood, or b)ended.  If I’m not enough of a woman to keep their eyes focused on me in their presense, well then I wasn’t being enough of a woman or.. I wasn’t the woman for them.  At which point, I get over it, and move on.

If a man disrespects me, they get a piece of my mind and on extreme occasion a slap in the face if absolutely necessary.  I have no problem showing a man my displeasure for them.

I tend to have few women friends for a reason.. I don’t want drama.  However when a man comes into the picture, it seems to end up like that.

Now when you get in the middle of something that’s none of your business- though kind hearted or caring your intentions may be, please kindly back away.  If it’s a problem, I will deal with it.  With that person, in private.

And now that it’s noon, I really need to get some things done.  I wonder if the dark horse installed MSN or even is awake yet… and I want Chinese and Pac Man.

Evolving to the meta response

These days, if you don’t send it via text format, I most likely don’t know about it.  Sure I do online research on things that fascinate me.. and watch television and go outside.  But if you really want me to notice what you’re doing- send it meta, and you will get a faster response.

The most recent blog was a response to another blog.. not listed for my own reasons, and, once again to provide some anonomity.

I got a message on my myspace referencing a comment that was made to this blog.  I wanted to respond via email- however will be doing so in yet another blog.

I’m noticing that is actually very common.  Are we that busy that we don’t pick up the phone anymore?  That digital transmissions have nearly replaced other forms of direct communication?

Have a fight? Resolve it in instant messages.  Email back and forth.

Want to get out your frustrations?  Start a forum war.  Cause drama online.  Why even bother leaving the privacy of your own home?  Do it the safer, quicker way.

How many of you would go nuts without your cell phones? The ability to get online?  The ability to digitally transcribe “I was here” in the sand?

Some days I think most of us just need to walk away and unplug for a bit.  Here’s to dedicating a few more hours a day towards weaning off the crack.  I’m going on a Jenny Craig of the meta proportion.  If you need me, you know where to find me…  yes, that means this weekend I plan on being at the beach again.  Home. Zen.

One week later…

Ah sportfucking.  Was that what it was this week?  Sunday.. Monday..

Him-in town for a conference. Me-2hrs unloaded boxes into my apartment.  A beautiful hotel.  Serendipity.

Dinner. Movie.  Just vegging out and talking.

Because silly me, I had a good time.  And it seemed as if he did.  But now…

Flashback.. just a week ago.

We were leaving the movie theatre after little had happened.  Mostly just conversation.  He asked me to go back to the hotel.  I explained that I was having a good time, and that I didn’t want to ruin it.  Deep down, I really am a romantic.  It’s completely different when you go in knowing its just for the sport of it.  But when your heart gets a little fluttered, you get stupid.

Logic kicks in.  I explained to him that I didn’t want it to be about sport.  He seemed to agree.  But if that really is all just charm and not real… which at this posting has not been fully verified, then perhaps a major time out is in order.  Or an exclusive dedication to my love affair with the sea.

If you are what you eat, then logically, you are who you fuck.

A little part of me is left with each failed romance.  I’ve gotten better at guarding myself.. and even pickier with suitors and bed partners than one would even imagine.

“Love is a battlefield.  You don’t need to retreat, but you need to keep your shield up.”

But damnit if my eyes glimmered a little at the thought of someone genuinely appreciating me like I want to believe that he did.. that maybe he does.. but doesn’t know how to face.

I date some great men.. in training.  It’s probably part of the reason why release from the textbox world is so surreal.

I read the letters sent to my ex husbands lover (yes while we were still married.. yes somewhere floating online).  I’d like to think that I helped him.  That me coming into his life, and the string of lovers I have has made them better for the next girl.  I’m really a humanitarian, you see.

In the cab on the way to the hotel.. and throughout the days we spent together… when I interviewed the dark horse, I feel perhaps it may have made him really evaluate some things.  Which, as I read, he may be affirming he has a problem.  At least he acknowledges it.  A step in the right direction I suppose.

It’s granted that I would attract screwed up individuals.  I’d be lieing if I said I wasn’t screwed up too.

White knights and dark horses.  More and more true on so many levels.. but I can’t go into all of the details while protecting their anonomity.  It’s not my place to.  Names are unnecessary.  Faces are unnecessary.  Besides this is not a complete look see.  And I think, to some degree, you prefer it that way.

Verses of songs echo in my head.  Of whimsy and heart.  Of the hopeless romantic.  Two words that do not coincidently go together.

Of the girl with sidewalk chalk playing hopscotch in the urban jungle.  Of blowing bubbles in traffic and dancing on the beach.  Waiting for her romeo with robots and wit. (To maybe wise up?)

I sent him a text.  I want to know it’s all alright.  I want to think I fall into the “most” catagory.  I had a good time and I don’t regret my actions.  I learned from them, and I’m far from innocent here.

Every girl- even if just in the back of their head- is looking for that certain someone to ride off into the sunset with them.  They want someone to save them.  They want that white knight, who’s also that dark horse.

Maybe these men aren’t here to save me after all…

Maybe, just maybe…

I’m supposed to help save them.

I wonder what my therapist would have to say about that one.  Taking bets that we both chuckle.  Oh wait, I don’t have a therapist.  Damnit.  I guess I’m just fucked… but not literally for once.

A dark horse and a dark knight

Today was another day of virtual unplugging.  Three nights of partying.  Two major social media events, and one friend’s birthday party.

I really didn’t want to drink much yesterday.  I sipped on Bailey’s and Lambic.  Smoked cigarettes and was not my normal socialite self.  I did talk, but it wasn’t the same.  And although a handful of people at last nights party were friends, many were plastic.  It just wasn’t my scene.

I messaged the dark horse and Big.  Big’s response was silent.. as normal.  He had sent a response at the last party- agreeing with me.  But nothing last night.

The dark horse was my escape.  We exchanged texts for a few minutes before he passed out.  He really is.. genuine.

My best friend called while at the party.  She’d gotten into a car accident.  The police, after looking at the wreckage of her Camry, said she should have died.  A tear ran down my cheek.  I was ready to go home.

There was a burlesque dancer and the party was raging.  I wished that I could have enjoyed it more.  But my mind was far away.. on a million other things.

Dan sobered up and we left the party.  I insisted that the beach be on the agenda before a planned trip with friends to see Batman at the IMAX.

The beach is a cleansing experience for me.  In a spiritual sense.. in a physical sense.  It is my zen.  And it was overdue.

I took all digital means and parked them.   I didn’t care that it was a bit overcast.

“You don’t have to go in you know..”

“Yes I do.”

I walked straight into the waves.  The water was cold but it felt… this is what I’ve been waiting for.

The tide was high and surfers were out.

“I need to get a surfboard and kill that phobia of mine.”

One of these days.  And I began to compile a list of things to buy.  Bodyboard.  Wetsuit.  Yoga mat.  Surfboard.  Bottoms that don’t get pulled off my bottom with each wave.  A few new tops. Rollerblades.  Etcetera.

The tide got worse and all the swimmers got out of the water.  I laid down on the blanket freezing.  Ah, beach.  Siesta.

And my roommate and I just laid and chat a bit.

“What else do we have to do after this?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?!”

“Well besides Batman and nom.  Yeah the whole day is open for whatever.  Doesn’t that feel great?”

The workaholic in me wanted to say no.  The workaholic in me did say no.  But as I laid there with the smell of the ocean and soft beach below me… nothing else mattered.  Zen.  Sweet zen.

“I really hope one of these days one of your boyfriends will bring you to the beach so they can see that smile of yours.. well and how cute you look in a swimsuit.”

I blushed a bit.

“Bah I need to work out a bit.”

We had Indian for lunch.  It was either that or sushi.  We were going to flip the douchebag business card for the decision again.  After days at the beach, I crave seafood.  It’s part of the whole experience.

We arrived at the Imax in the promenade shortly after a few more texts with the dark horse.  I have a date in Portland with a hooker.  I’ll save a bit and visit as soon as I can.

The birthday girl and her boyfriend both were hungover.  The party last night had gone on for a few hours after we’d left.  (Oh, I have tenative plans with the dj this week.)

I could go on and on about the movie itself.  I grew up on it.  But what hit me the most about it was that this was the first Batman movie I had not seen with my dad.  The whole time I watched it, I thought of my dad… some of the quotes that he taught life lessons were from this imaginary hero.

A few months ago I had a conversation with a friend about the difference between Batman and Superman.  Superman was a this golden boy who had the good life all handed to him.  Batman, while also having a bit of a silver spoon, was more defined.  He’s a man of many layers.. of a dark past and even darker present.  Superman was not a super man.  Batman however, was.  In the literal and figurative sense.. because he made himself out to be.

I think it’s probably for these reasons that my dad- who to this day still buys comic books once a week, favored Batman and Spiderman over the overhyped blue caped god.  In essence, he wanted to emulate him.

For once, I was not the ten year old girl with pigtails in that theatre.  Sure I had pigtails on.. I was at the beach earlier.  But part of me was amiss.

My dad… his legacy.

And I held back some tears.

I knew my friends would understand if they knew, but I needed those moments…

I swallowed some air and held onto my phone.

This is a whole new life that’s starting.  It’s… and… and… I just wish he would approve of it.

I called when the movie was over to try to talk to him.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring… answering machine.

Maybe my dad is the real imaginary hero of the story after all.  Silly me in believing otherwise.  I wish he would grow up and see that his daughter is a grown woman who is going to sometimes do things he may not agree with, but that make her very happy.

And now, if you will excuse me, I have to dig out a Batman launcher out of this box of Cocoa Puffs and then maybe hit the Pac Man machine down the street…

Social stalking.. now with geotagging!

If you were wondering why I haven’t BriteKite’d about the big events lately- there’s a bit of a new reason. I had a conversation with someone about how he’d used the service to meet someone in a social network without their heads up.

Please, do NOT show up to anywhere I am not inviting you to/isn’t a huge event and try to approach me like it’s no big deal. It would not be cool at all.

Now I’m admittedly an open book to an extent. Much of my basic information is public knowledge. I’ve considered going private many times just thinking about these crazies. Like many women, I take a chance at leaving these doors open.

But hearing about this true story of one man who did this to someone I know got to me a little.  It’s now an awkward.. wait, now that they’re in my social network are they going to do that to me?

I explained to the person that what they did to the girl was not kosher.  He said he got it, but I don’t think he really understands the extremity of it.  I want to quietly step away.. but am stuck.

The last thing that I want when out with a group of my friends is some random stranger coming up to me saying they found out where I was via a social geotagger.  If you’re going to be in the area and want to meet me- fine.  Dm me.  Text me.  Ask if it’s alright.  Otherwise, assume it’s not, unless you are already a friend in real life.

I have only one thing left to say.

I don’t just wear heels because they’re pretty…