This week heavily compensated me for the rude bitch it was last week. My one year anniversary in New York was on the 10th. Woop. Whimsy is my biggest strength and New York is my best example. I basically slipped on a banana peel and ended up in NYC. So, that’s cute.
Also this week I cracked into a brand new journal, Volume 60. The big 6-0. My journals can retire in a few short volumes (they won’t though, cause they love working and wouldn’t know what to do with all the free time). Stellar news, my pal Yancy’s surgery went well and the tumor isn’t cancerous. Double woop! Lastly, it’s pretty legit to say now that Jeff Bryson, the friend who helped me with the outline of the Damsel story, has agreed to do the art! Brb, updating my fb status to “In a Relationship.”
Last episode I mentioned how Tiny Jac was upset at herself for talking about her friends in a bible study. So, in an attempt to ease her sweet, innocent little mind I decided to not talk negatively about people for one week. Turns out I’m much more of a shit talker than I thought I was. I caught myself taking my frustrations out by complaining about the people I believed to be causing my frustrations. Let’s just all get this straight; I’m only ever frustrated at myself, I just have a tendency to make it seem like it’s because of someone else. Sure, sometimes living, working or existing with people is hard. But also sometimes a casual solution is communication.
For Tiny Jac’s case, she thought she was gossiping because she was saying personal things about her friends to people who were in a better place than said friends. In that case, is it gossip or is it the act of putting forth positive energy against other peoples’ seemingly negative situations? Is it fair to be the one standing above someone saying their situation is negative simply because I deem it? Was it gossip because Tiny Me left feeling guilty?
I will say, being aware of how you behave is never a negative and because of this I’m going to keep chipping away at this project. I even prefaced gossip this week (“ok, so you know how I’m not supposed to be shit talking, well I’m hella going to shit talk right now.” – me, verbatim all week long).
This also leads to prayer, which I think I’m going to back burner for now. I only say that because I spent this week continuing my vapid genie wish list of all the things I wish I did better. Then I talked to my parents, who are both Christians, about prayer and how hard it was for me. My dad talked about how it was about a relationship with God but I think what really struck me was that before I got off the phone with them, my mom said “You know, Honey, we pray for you every day.” (Which I 100% need every day, my life is a nightmare). And that’s when I kinda realized prayer isn’t about wishing. It’s about acknowledgment. It’s about bringing people to your mind, holding them there and hoping good for them.
So, I think I got it. And it turned the second half of my week around. But I also know that it’s going to come back up in later journals (I get heavy into Christianity through Volume 7). It may find me at a time where it feels like less pressure to pull my whole universe together to find the things I care about other than myself. I’m really, very selfish. Taking pointers for how to get out of my own ass.
The go, do, have fun of the week led me to dancing. I went to the cute queer party called Hot Rabbit. I casually got sick from the food I ate before I went out, but I started to feel it right after I pretend ate an imaginary ball as a dance move. Still, Hot Rabbit was worth dropping by. I spend a lot of time in male dominant settings so it was really refreshing to be around a bunch of queers. I haven’t mentioned this much, but I tell people I’m a lesbian because it’s easier than begging them to follow me on the whimsical tour of my identity. The truth is I’m queer. I have no identity other than that, I have no idea what I want or who I am. It’s not new, according to Volume One:
“I am one girl who doesn’t know what she wants.”
Hi, hello. Fast forward thirteen years and I have the same haircut. It’s me.
I deal more in just living how I want until something catches me. It’s not an efficient way to live, but it is a way to live. So being in a space full of people who identify and express themselves in ways I’ve never even considered makes me feel like maybe I haven’t found myself because I haven’t been to all the places I might hang out. I’m crazy for queers who don’t identify, for body hair, for feminine men for masculine women. I’m crazy for people who look and feel and act like everything all mixed up into one and aren’t asking for permission. And sometimes, existing in the straight world makes me forget. So thanks Hot Rabbit. A dance party and a vehicle for self reflection.
I finally hit up Albertine, the French Bookstore I mentioned a while back. So worth it. What I didn’t know was that it was inside of a restored mansion. Seriously, it’s called the Payne Whitney House and it’s amazing. You walk into a gorgeous, empty, marble covered entrance adorned with busts and full body statues. One gated off viewing room is the favorite and preserved room of the late Helen Hay Whitney and is gold with a harp and beautiful furniture. Then you walk back to a French bookstore. Mostly in French but a few English language, French origin books. They have quite the variety and when you go upstairs you see what makes the store famous. Actually pretty reminiscent of the mosaic at the Museum at Eldridge, this ceiling was painted a swirl of blue and yellow with planets, stars and constellations. It’s very magical.
The adventures of this week may lead me to find a variety of temporary tattoos. I have a fantasy that all the creative, artistic friends (which I’ve only a few of at the moment) come to my house (in my fantasy it’s the Payne Whitney House) and we have a party where everyone puts temp tattoos on each other. You’re invited.
I’m also going back to the music scene of 2006. The same Audrey Jordan mentioned Neon Blonde, which I want to say was more popular than Test Icicles and was considered in the realm of a band we listened to called The Blood Brothers. One of their songs is called Princess Skullface Sings. So it could really go both ways. Or lend a creepy name to the book. If you’ve listened to their only album or saw them live or have an anecdote I can use hit me up.
When does music you loved as a kid (2006 Jac like Sugarcult) become the music you’re embarrased of? Or, when and why do you grow out of it? Cause I’m 100% not still listening to My Chemical Romance (though Umbrella Academy was dope, so I’m still on the Gerard train).
Wish me me luck and listen to Neon Blonde.