Mr Perfect

Back when you were younger do you remember those “Little Miss” books?

Well, a little while back, when I was out and about with a friend in Westwood we stopped in a gift store called Aah’s!  Walking in, you essentially knew what you were getting into.  Everyone has been to those cheesy shops at some point in their lives.  Some, more so than others.  It was littered with silly gag gifts and other assorted randomness.

Most of the time you walk into shops like that just for the experience of them.  Rarely, if ever do you buy something or know someone that does.  At least, not unless they are in their teens or know someone who is about to hit 40.

That night though I did find something.  I found a couple of things actually.  One is indeed silly and I may have to return to get it to send to someone important.  The other?  A few buttons that I put on the messenger bag that I carry most everywhere.  This story is about one button in particular- one that had the image and name of one called “Mr. Perfect.”

Little did I know, that perhaps that was a magnet for the person I would soon find to be my Mr. Perfect- HOM.

After we met it seemed very odd that the button mysteriously fell off my bag.  I put it in my pocket and held it close.  It was as if fate was telling me something…

The button is still in my pocket.  I want not to draw in anyone else.  I firmly believe that I found what I was looking for, even if it may or may not be the right time for it to happen.

Muse for Hire trudges on… those cranes have not been finished yet.  I realize more and more that I know where pure inspiration comes from.  That perhaps I already knew.

Mr. Perfect is in my pocket.  The dream is still there.  I lived it and think about it…but I don’t think about it.  I know that even if it wasn’t him… then damn I came the closest that I’ve ever gotten to it yet.

In the aftermath of the nuclear blast (a story which I am still devoted to help him pen) there is a sole survivor.

I wonder if Mr. Perfect will return and grace the nights and days with that light again or if the light that burns twice as bright will burn out twice as fast yet again.

To you my dear, I would Walk Through Hell.

I really firmly believe that there was a reason why we encountered eachother.  That there was a bit of serendipity.  That it was about something more.  It was real.  It was tangible.  It was… a movie that I will never forget.

I care about you more than you know.

I’m sorry that things turned out the way they did that day.  We were supposed to be flying kites high above the sky… the week that we had made me feel like that inside.

There are things I want to show you.  Experiences that I still want to have with you.  Mr. Perfect… you are everything I always wanted and more.

If you’d only let me.

If only

If only

If only.

I miss you my dearest.  I am looking for that way home… as I said before, San Diego my heart is yours.  This time, more than ever do I know that to be true.

 

 

 

 

 

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I aspire to be a cat burgler minus the cat and the burgler-ing

In the silence, come the answers.

If you really want to get an idea of how someone’s life is, you can just go inside their home and let the stuff do the talking. They say that you can tell alot about a person by their home.  What they don’t tell you is that this is a pretty good gage at how their life really is.

You see, things contaminate our every existance.  The collection of ones “junk” and organizational systems show you more than you would ever imagine if you only pay attention.

For me, today marks a new direction of sorts.  You see, I didn’t end up in Los Angeles originally because I wanted to.  At least, it wasn’t my first choice.

After leaving San Diego and on to Bakersfield (the armpit divider between southern and northern california) I vowed that I would move back to the one place, despite having grown up in an entirely different state, that I was able to call “home.”  I even kept the same area code on my cell phone.  If you see the 858, that would be me.  I will always be an 858 girl.  Except now, I will also be a 310.

After my divorce, I struggled quite a bit.  I had been that “stay at home mother” working jobs that I could do from home and then when I hit the ground running, he just stayed in place.  It wasn’t a surprise to anyone that had met us or even see us together.  I was that wild horse and he was just… not the running type.

I remember the day it happened… or well, the “it’s time to realize that no one is going to give a crap about you but you” moment.  After I got let go from my game mod job due to being late because of spousal abuse, he hit me again.  This time, it was with an eviction notice.

You see, my ex husband fled to be with his new girlfriend that he’d met in a video game while I was away at a conference trying to find my next job.  I wish I was kidding.  Unfortunately, I am not.

A little bit different than your average Love tap

A little bit different than your "average" Love tap

He’d promised me a lot of things when first got together.  And I believed every single one of them.  Why?  Because I was an idiot.  Even after all was said and done he’d made me yet another promise-to pay the rent for the remainder of the lease.

Liar liar pants on fire.

I guess I should have saw that one coming.

I had so little money then.  I was but a broke artist, though when I was with him, I rarely was able to create.  But that’s another story.

I was a victim then because I allowed myself to be one.  While it is a part of my past, and thus, a part of my identity, I’ve come to peace with it.  There are so many stories that proceed this.  So many tales that I am forever thankful for being able to experience.  Even if it took a man hitting me for me to wake up, get started on the road to independence, and really live life again.

Dead eyes. Lost inside.

Dead eyes. Lost inside. Circa marriage 1.

When I moved to Bakersfield, it was rushed.  I never wanted to move back there.  I fought it as much as I could.  But it wasn’t time for me to be home yet.  And at the time, San Diego didn’t feel like home anyway.

I remember how much disarray my apartment was.  I moved from a 2 bedroom condo in a upper middle class area of San Diego (Tierrasanta to the locals) to a studio hole in the wall in Bakersfield. Why there? Nepotism.  My cousin was the landlord originally.

While I wasn’t completely unhappy in my time there, you could tell that inside I was miserable and my apartment showed it.

I looked for things to make myself happier.  The things that had the greatest effect were those of which were most childlike in nature. One of which, won me the nickname of “the mermaid” as this curtain hung over my bed (which ironically, is still over my bed to this day) because, well that was the only thing I could find to cover up the institution-like window.

These are a few of my favorite things

These are a few of my favorite things

I found it in a box one day somewhat randomly.  It had been something that my dad had given me for my first apartment years before I got married.  My husband and I thought it was too ridiculous to ever use.  I’ve come to realize that he was just a stick in the mud.

That curtain got me into trouble too.  I hung it in the window of my street facing apartment.  When the blinds were open or up, it was no mistaking which unit was mine.  In the mornings the sun would shine through it and the colors would pop.  Trudging along in Bakersfield, it would make me smile to come home to my one piece of sunshine.  My landlord didn’t agree.  She thought it was tacky.  She also dresses like shes ready for the nursing home and she’s not even 30.

While living in the apartment, I serendipitously met a wonderful pair of friends- Drew & Leah.  (Ironically, they lived across from my soon to be future bat from hell landlord.)  They helped to make that place somewhat bearable.  But unfortunately, they couldn’t make that place home for me.

beach balls are serious business

beach balls are serious business

Because only the raddest dare rock bling on their coffee mug

Because only the raddest dare rock bling on their coffee mug

My grandmother is a packrat.  She has amassed a great amount of wonderful junk.  So much so, that she has 2 houses full of it.  They say this behavior is generally inherited.  Hands raised for being a statistic.  I wonder if there are meetings like AA.

I later made  a brief stop in Claremont- suburbia upper middle class Los Angeles near the dreaded 909.  It was my dad’s compromise to not sending me back to San Diego, despite challenging me to find an apartment there in a few hours and well, I won that bet.

Claremont was… alright.  The village was a bit like a mini San Francisco.  Except San Francisco has a ton more and is a place I would actually consider living.

City of numerology

It hosts… the number 5.  Looking around you will see that it repeats numerous instances throughout the town.  There are 5 colleges.  There are 5 movie rooms at the theatre.

This is where I started to get a bit of OCD cleaning traits.  Part of me believes it may have been a positive after effect from my volatile relationship that I had with Big (the obsessive compulsive cleaning emotionally unavailable guy from San Diego).

I dumped quite a bit with the last move, and this one as well.  My roommate was also an artist (read: slob).  But here I found myself cleaning up after her.  Frankly the mess bothered me.  That, and she had animals.

And while I was happier there than I had been in Bakersfield, you could tell in my eyes if you were paying attention, that it still wasn’t quite right.

Porch sweeper, dream sleeper

As my lease came to a close I knew that I no longer wanted to be there.  I was working my ass off and reaping nothing in return.  I barely had time for me.  It was work work work.

“When you pay your own bills you can live wherever you want to.” dad told me.

“I already do pay my own bills dad.  I’m going home.  I’m not happy here.”

He shoved a pennysaver in my hand.

“There’s apartments in your price range right here.  Do it.”

But I’d already met Steve (my roommate) then.  Another after effect from dating that same OCD douchebag many of you all know and sometimes love.  I’m only half joking of course.  He’s got a good heart when he choose to share it.

But enough about failed romances, back to my roommate!  Little did I know from that fateful night- the tweetup in LA hosted by Greg Barnett, that I was on the way home.

Why hi, nice to meet you soon to be roommate!

Why hi, nice to meet you soon to be roommate!

Yes, I said it.. home.

I’ve lived here a year and yet, you wouldn’t know it from my room.  There are still quite a few bins out.  Clothes strung everywhere.  My closet is full of hangers.  My dresser is near empty.

Today is the day that that changes.  Consider me booked with being boring for the interim.  I was due for a responsible day or 3.  Have to balance with the karma and all.  I secretly aspire to be more boring (but never really boring) anyway.

I didn’t want to move here when I first got here.  I wanted to be in San Diego.  It is the one place that I’ve been able to call home.  But I know now, that it will not likely be where I hang my… wigs.

Dear San Diego,

I must profess my undying love for you.  You are the lover I will always come back to.  But you are also the one where I won’t end up with until possibly the end of the movie when my ashes are sent among the city after I expire.

I have fallen capture to Los Angeles.  It’s “cesspool” of fun carried me away.  My childhood dreams and fantasies… never forgotten but evolved into things you just can’t give me.

I’m “unpacking” today finally.  It took me a long time to get here.  This is my home now.  You will always have… pieces of my heart, but I’m afraid you will have to share me.

Ours is a tale that will live on forever.  Written in granite amongst the waves and never to be washed away.

Yours Always,

Jennifer

***

Dear Los Angeles,

I just broke up with San Diego.  I let her down easily.  I think she bought it.  She doesn’t know I’ve just been toying with her.  She’s wonderful but it just wasn’t working out.  I’m a terrible person.  Comfort me?

By the way, I have something else to tell you:

You have yourself another lifer now.

Cheers,

Scandalous

It’s time to take more ownership of my stuff and not the other way around.  But hey, at least I’ll have plenty of junk to send my mother right?

Lasts.

“This is the last phone call I will make to you. I cannot do this anymore.  You are emotionally toxic to me and I do not like what you turn me into.  I think that it would be best if we did not talk to eachother.  I am very hurt and frustrated about the whole Comic Con mess.  You refuse to effectively communicate with me in a positive fashion. If we see eachother, I will smile and wave, but do not want to speak or otherwise interact with you. I do not feel that you respect me as a person- love interest or otherwise- because if you did, you wouldn’t do this.  It’s poor form and I won’t have it.  Goodbye.”

That was the voice mail I left the grip before heading down to Comic Con this week.  It felt overdue but needed to be done.  In the past I will admit: I wasn’t the perfect girlfriend to him.  I wasn’t good in many ways to him at all.  So many things that have transpired just in the last month, let alone prior that I just couldn’t handle it anymore.  Hense the pause to my blog and privatizing of my main twitter account.

This wasn’t the first conference fubar from him.  We talked about going to numerous cons together and none of them ever happened.

CES:

He was supposed to get the passes and make the travel and hotel arrangements.  I was working at EA at the time.  I requested the time off months in advance.  He assured me he would take care of it.  I was excited to go to my first real trip to Vegas with my then significant other.

A month before the event, I realized there was another major conference happening at the same time.  I asked him if he’d booked the hotel.  He assured me that he would take care of it, and that he’s waited to book before and never had an issue with it.

“It’s Vegas.  There’s always something.”

Two weeks pass.  I ask him again for another status update.  Did he get the passes as he said he was?  He still hadn’t booked the hotel. Passes still hadn’t arrived.

Days before the conference, the tickets still had not arrived.  He hadn’t booked the hotel.  I think you can see where this is going.  Vegas never happened.

E3:

This was one of two cons a year that is the most important for me to attend- from both a business and personal aspect.  We were going to go together.

I was told I couldn’t get into the conference using the site that I write for as my press credentials.  (That turned out to be wrong.)   He told me he didn’t think he was going to be able to get in either.

And then I saw the bragging tweets…

I did go to E3 this year, but I did so on my own accord.  We did not see eachother during that time.  Instead we argued and the day that we’d planned to see eachother, he left without warning for an out of state roadtrip for two weeks.  I found out when I got home via a blog post.  Thank you for the consideration.

Comic Con:

When I saw that one of the show dates had been sold out I immediately filed for another way in.  There was not going to be anything that would stop me from attending.  I wasn’t going to take a chance that I might not get in press wise.  This one was in the city that has my heart.

Again he told me he would take care of the hotel and transpo.  While I have been doing a few freelance gigs, the market is slow right now.  I had a microscopic budget and I was relying on him to follow through.

The long story short of it is that he didn’t. On Wednesday night I received a text telling me that I should get a ride down so I could be there for the panels I was supposed to cover for the site I was representing.  I needed to be there and this was now getting in the way of my work.

I realized I could not allow this to continually happen.  I was giving him too much power to hurt me, and it wasn’t good for anyone. I was turning into this person that I didn’t want to be around, let alone want to be around other people.  I had escaped in myself and disappeared off the radar to most everyone.

“This is the last phone call I will make to you. I cannot do this anymore.  You are emotionally toxic to me and I do not like what you turn me into.  I think that it would be best if we did not talk to eachother.  I am very hurt and frustrated about the whole Comic Con mess.  You refuse to effectively communicate with me in a positive fashion. If we see eachother, I will smile and wave, but do not want to speak or otherwise interact with you. I do not feel that you respect me as a person- love interest or otherwise- because if you did, you wouldn’t do this.  It’s poor form and I won’t have it.  Goodbye.”

A weight was lifted off my shoulders this week.  Miraculously, I was not only to attend the con, but thanks to people in my life- I not only did, but it was life changing.  I took a stand for myself again.  I got up and walked away.

I was told when I was little that I was a hopeless case.  Since then, I rarely can give up on people despite how much they fail me.  It has lead to many problems with being taken advantage of: from my ex husband raping me, to a girl stealing money from me, etcetera etcetera.

I’m no ones puppet.  My friends look to me for strength and I let some dude piss all over me emotionally.  It was time I did something about it.

I am a fighter and a lover.  I don’t deal well with additional drama.  It was not needed at all.  In a town I love and call home you will not do that to me.  The first half of the first day I let him bother me, but it was smooth sailing after that.  And then I started to feel guilty about it.

I called to apologize for being so abrasive.  I told him he’d hurt me and I just did not think his actions were things that I would ever want someone to do to me, weather it was a friend, lover, or even an acquaintance.  I texted him.  I was testing him.  He passed and did not contact me the entire time I was gone.

When I got home my curiousity got the best of me.  I looked at his timeline to see if he had gone.  This is a person whom I used to share my love of comic books with that I care deeply about.  I was curious how his trip had gone & if he’d gone.

Sure enough, he had.  We had somehow missed eachother at parties.  Fate would not let us see eachother.  I think it was a mixed blessing.

I messaged him a hello.  We talked a bit about the con.  He let me make the step.  I remained firm.  I did not want this vicious cycle to continue any longer.  Who would have thought that after all that,  I think there may have been some small steps towards progress into a potential friendship again.  I guess I really am emotionally masochistic sometimes.  Here’s to a closing of an old chapter and a start of a new one.  Finally, its about time.

Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction..

I will always love him.

In my dreams, he’s the one who is there. Forever constant though the seasons change. He is the initials carved into the tree trunk.

It’s been nearly a year now. Around this time was when we started our courtship. It would be the breath of life and the last straw on the camels back. But I didn’t know it then. Or at least I didn’t want to admit that it might be. No one ever wants to believe that “it’s just too good to be true..”

Shame on me.

If there exists such a thing as destiny, it was..it is that relationship.

Flashback: Six years ago. Bassam’s cafe. Downtown San Diego. My frequent spot for coffee and smokes. Me- the girl with the red hair, fair skin, white London Fog, a notebook in the corner with my cloves. Him- sipping coffee and puffing away at Nat Shermans.

But we didn’t know each other then. Though we were both regulars to that establishment. Constant passerbys in a laid back metropolis. Faces in the crowd. No one particular.

But then history repeats itself.

Months have gone by.. 6 months passed since we’d seen eachother beyond pixels. It was like nothing had ever happened. To be continued… story of my life. It has been an epic tale of hardship and pain. But one of justification and need not for justification.

Watching Madmen this week solidified it. Everytime I’ve been with someone else, I’ve been looking for you. Why?

I reminsced about those days. Of the honeymoon period where everything was magical. Because it was. And you were. But was it really just a dream within a dream?

Those moments weren’t all magical.

So why do I crave them so badly?

***

Edit:

I think it’s mostly the wonder of “what if” that’s the draw. I can’t believe it’s been this long. Over a year of messaging and what not. And then the timing that seemed so perfect. But if it really was so perfect, why didn’t that move go so smoothly? He’d wanted it to happen. So did I… so badly.

Instead, it was one for the books. Everything fell apart just as quickly as it came together. Perhaps there’s a reason and it’s not just a coincidence. I don’t believe in coincidence anyway.

It’s not the same. It’s probably for the best. Even if you were some of the best sex I’ve ever had. I’m not sure if it was really you or it was just how tumultuous that relationship was. Emotionally masochistic that I am.

You’re gone. I’m happier. No sense living in the past anymore. I just wish you wouldn’t keep popping up everywhere. I just wish that you would fade into that background that you always wanted to be in.. but couldn’t be while you were with me, so you said.

It really is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Thank you for reminding me how strong I am. For believing in me. And for saying goodbye.

A hardened heart… but I did all I could. I’m putting you back into that fantasy and letting you exist only there. It’s better this way. I wish you all the best and am genuinely happy for you and your fair lady.

I got a message when I first met you. Do you remember?

It said: He will break your heart and you will never be the same… but he’s worth it.

How true that seems to have turned out.  If I had to do it all over.. I wouldn’t change a thing.

project organization: step 2, rediscovering… found exerpts

I have a lot of notebooks. There’s something about hand written letters and prose that’s.. it’s an artful experience in the process itself. Expression. The feel of a pen. The paper underneath your palm. The motions of scrawling away.. fast.. slow.. constant.. etcetera.

While working away at a project this weekend, I found a few of them. I will be posting more here and there periodically as I find them.

It’s interesting to explore and see how much things have changed.. and yet somehow also remained the same in many ways- as you will notice as I post. The only way a person will fully understand themselves is if they recognize where they failed and do something to correct their lifestyle.

Here are some excerpts from a journal that I started while in San Diego- when I was dating a local artist/photographer:

***

“Not Just Yet”

Today I went out with Aaron for a bit. I bought him a Morrissey cd- his favorite it turned out. How would I know that? It was a mere guess? Maybe my subconscious was talking to me.

Pappa and I had a major ruckus. We’re going to go our separate ways again.. I have lost most all respect for him.

Aaron and I just talked…he said “If I were to get into an exclusive short term or long relationship, I know it would be with you.. You’re the one I want to be with in the end.”

But alas! Not yet…

All I’ve ever wanted was for someone to hold me and tell me “everything is going to be alright.”

***

“The Day After”

Here it is the day after my romp with my beloved Aaron… how right I was in my realization. Yes.. all men have their cycles. His is 5 days. Well I don’t know. I could be wrong.

I got to his apartment yesterday to take care of my ill stricken gent. We visited a friend of his, Kenneth, came by and we became sociable. The two gentleman conversed about their art forms. I was privileged enough to be able to add my commentary.

***

“Bassam’s Cafe”

We went on a photo shoot instead of print week. I was dressed all Brit… Aaron surprised me by pulling out his camera.. him having said “Did I tell you how lovely you look today?” earlier at a Vietnamese doughnut and coffee shop.

I blushed.

He has a way of making me blush.

Walking the streets downtown on the way to print week he took photos. He made me laugh.

We stopped at this cozy little spot called “Bassam’s Cafe.”