June 2006

I have to go meet the Wrangler and Bad Idea at the bar in a minute (keep your fingers crossed that I have an interesting night. “Interesting” is about all I’m striving for right now), but I had to go ahead and do this: it’s my 500th post! Whooohoo!

Is it actually possible that I’ve had 500 things to tell you? Amazing.

I’m also going to make a little list–just so I can find it again–of pending photo requests from the Totally Self-Absorbed Meme. I hope to get these done tomorrow, but if not I might have to wait until I get back from our trip…

So–photos I need to do:

  • skycat’s rooftop (skycat: a photo I have now? Or a photo I’ll take in August?) and “something rock-n-roll (t-shirt preferred over album cover).”
  • my finest bottle opener, for jesse
  • my favorite place in my house, for New Kid
  • a door (front, back, bedroom, closet, etc) for wolfa

Have I mentioned how much I love this meme? (Any other requests?)


Did I tell you that GB and I are taking a road trip on Sunday? We’re driving to my hometown–not San Francisco, though I try to claim that as my hometown too. I mean my actual hometown–the one where I grew up, went to college, learned to drink, learned all about rock & roll, developed my identity as the Surliest Hippie.

I’m excited about this trip. We’ll be gone all week–a day to drive there and a day back, and three days hanging out there. All my college friends are still there, and there are two great 4th of July-related parties happening, and–best of all–we’re staying with crse!

I love my hometown, and I’m ridiculously proud of being from there in a goofy way that only people who’ve spent time there can understand. And I don’t think I can tell you where it is, because I’d rather if people couldn’t Google it and find me, but I can show you what was–at least until recently–its most distinguishing landmark:

I went “back home” every year that I lived in San Francisco, and GB started going back with me the second summer we were together (and was quickly dubbed an honorary native, since he just fit in there *way* too well). It’s been four years, now, since we’ve been there–the longest time between visits ever. Our goddess-daughter, who was eight the last time we saw her, is now twelve (and is one of my friends on Myspace, which is so weird I can’t even tell you), and there are four kids of friends of ours that we haven’t even met. My friends that come from there, and that live there now, are hard-assed and sweet and sarcastic and honest (and hot), pretty much to a person. And they know me, and tell me the truth about myself, in ways that very few other people can. (Or do. Or dare to.) Maybe that’s what makes it “home,” huh?

Anyway–I’m excited about the road trip with GB (which is always fun, and overdue), and seeing everyone, and spending a couple days with people who knew me Way Back When, and still like me anyway.

The liquor stash around here is not what it used to be…because, believe it or not, we don’t drink quite like we used to. But since Weezy and crse both asked, here’s the home liquor stash–most of it, anyway. There’s a half a bottle of Sauza in the basement (of course), and a bunch of beer in the fridge. Oh, and I think there might be beer in one of the coolers on the back porch. But here’s where most of the options are:

Okay, I should go do some slightly more productive things. Pending requests, for now, include my finest bottle opener and my favorite place in my home…coming up later today!

(Have I mentioned lately how much I a) love this meme, and b) love my blogfriends?)

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Trying to go somewhat in order with the photo requestsDr. Brazen Hussy’s is next. Here are the dangerous basement stairs…kind of like looking right into the Hellmouth, isn’t it? You’d never know that at the bottom of those stairs waits a paradise of bumper pool, red light bulbs, tequila, and a record player cranking out all the Meatloaf and Billy Squier you can take. A paradise so wonderful that sometimes I can’t wait, and I have to get down there as fast as possible.

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So, it turns out that maybe MaggieMay’s request wasn’t as complicated as I thought. I don’t do it nearly often enough,* but I feel pretty hot when I wear these boots.

(If you missed the post where you get to request photos from me, it’s here, and getting quickly buried as I have way too much fun trying to comply…)

*I have this (one. Yeah, just one) totally bizarre characteristic…I *love* shoes. Shoes, boots, sandals…I love ’em and I buy them compulsively (though always on sale. Is that even weirder?). But I really only wear about two different pairs of shoes in any season. I just have this closet stuffed with awesome shoes I never wear. Posted by Picasa

I’m kind of honored to know that Google considers this blog the third highest source of information about hungover squirrels.

MaggieMay, I’m not ignoring you! It’s just…that request is a lot harder to fulfill than it should be. (I was going to say this in a comment, and then I figured, what the hell, I’m closing in on 500 posts…might as well let this help me get there.)

A lot of people have been posting about body issues and weight lately. I’ve held back from joining in these conversations–not out of disinterest, because I’m desperately, painfully interested in this topic–but because it’s something that’s really, incredibly difficult for me to talk about. And I’m not going to talk about it much–not in anything close to the detail I feel like I could. Let’s just say this, for background: I come from a family where eating disorders are pretty much genetic. My mom, my sisters and I all have different varieties and different manifestations, but we all share a complete and utter hatred for our bodies, whatever size they might be. I’ve felt awful about my body for, literally, as long as I can remember.

I’ve fought it really hard. Hanging out in feminist/queer/generally-rock-star circles has helped–a lot, sometimes–but it’s always still a problem.

Long story short: karma kicked me. About two years ago I was diagnosed with Hashimoto’s disease (which causes hypothyroidism), and I gained 20+ pounds in about three months.
Then I quit smoking, and discovered that quitting smoking in your 30s does, in fact, also wreak havoc with your metabolism. And–despite all these people going, oh, walking is such great exercise, I also learned that walking 5 miles a day does not make the tiniest dent in your weight if your metabolism doesn’t cooperate.

So why am I telling you all this? Is it just so I can wake up in the middle of the night and think OH DEAR GOD WHY DID I TELL THEM THAT?

Nope. It’s because I used to have all these clothes that made me feel sexy and powerful and rockstar-ish. And now none of them fit, and the few things I have that do fit are kind of boring, and I don’t feel especially good in them anyway, and I wonder if I’ll ever feel powerful or sexy again.

I mean, sometimes I feel that way in my head. But will I ever feel that way in my body?

So what I’m saying, I guess, is that I’ll work on fulfilling MaggieMay’s request, but I’m going to have to think about it. And I feel like I might have said too much about all this, because I’m pretty sure I just chipped my cool facade. Whatever. The fact that it feels like I’m telling you a secret probably means it’s a good thing for me to talk about.

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