So, yesterday was my birthday.  Today is the party.  I awoke at 8:30 this morning, as I tend to do, I'm not sure why.  There is a knot of anxiety in my stomach - I hope it's fun, I hope people come.  It should be small, yet cute.

The anxiety is also due to stress about money, my former roommate is refusing to pay her share of the bills, so I have collections agencies calling me, and of course the student loan peeps.  My social security check is going to be late this month, and the motherfuckers at Wells Fargo won't let me advance any of it.  So I'm in the minus for however long, probably until the 14th.

This is what I hate - sanctimonious bank clerks who act as if it's my moral failing that I'm overdrawn.  You try living off of a disability check and see how well you fare.  For some reason the female ones tend to take a more bitchy-self-righteous attitude.  Did anyone see Drag Me to Hell?  A blonde self-righteous bank clerk wrongs the wrong gypsy.  It was soooo satisfying.

I even looked into monetizing the blog, but then - realized I wouldn't make any real money at that.

Someone, I believe it was Stephen's dad, said something about banks robbing the customers.

Anyway, rant over.

While I can't say how many people have died from excessive reading of Harry Potter, here is a list of people who have died from Lorazepam (Ativan).

• Michael Jackson
• Anna Nicole Smith
• DJ AM

Strangely I only know about famous peeps, as they don't release the lurid details of normal ODs to randoms like me.  But, of these three they each had a veritable pharmicopia of other things in their systems, not just this delicious white pill.

This revelation has led me to try and quit drinking, which is working out reasonably well.  Thanks, lamictal, for making my attempts at social drinking end up with me still sober and headachy, and everyone else loopy loos.

  However, today is my birthday - I'm 33, whee!  Jesus died at 33.  I certainly will not.  I'm feeling pretty good for a no-longer spring chicken.  I remember freaking out when I left my teens.  My thirtieth birthday was such fun, glossed over by calartiness, that I wasn't too upset.  However, today I'm facing adulthood full square in the face.  Yipes.

It's cool, though, really.  I'm enjoying where I'm at right now, if only I could kick the writer's block that steps in front of me, like a fierce Tyra Banks, and says, "what, you're thinking about writing?  how could you, you have nothing good to say!"  So then I blog about my personal life, and everything's ok until the next time I get the urge to write another novel, which I really want/need to do.

But the question, as ever, is what to write it about?  I could just do short pieces until something jells, I suppose?  I recently lost all the data in my external hard drive, I dropped the damn thing....urrrgh.  So unless I retype a bunch of shit, the old fragments I might have cannibalized are gone gone gone.  This makes it seem even weirder.  I looked back on the folder of stuff I'd printed out the last time I got all charged up, and so much of it was shite.

But in other news, I'm going to be reading in "A Day in LA: Washington Blvd Art Concert", on October 11th.  Katie and Omar and I just went driving through Culver City in search of the perfect spot(s) for our readings.  I found a great big blue-poles and glass building called, "Imperial & Wholesale Electric Supply."  It's right next to the river and the intersection of Washington Blvd and La Cienega.  I'll be there from 4:30 - 5:00 pm, with the reading starting at 4:45 pm.

I'm really excited about this.  I haven't read out in public since the Next Words reading when I graduated from CalArts, and that was at least a year ago.  Possibly two.  Time gets weird for me, y'know.

But Katie found an amazing spot, it's an old broken down church.  This spot is so cool that Katie has people asking to share it with her...I think the answer is no.  Katie Katie Katie my lovely girlfriend, yay for her, she's also started a blog, finally seduced by the blogger application.  It's called Vergangenheitsbewaltigung, which means the struggle to come to terms with the past.  That's also the name of her zine, which she will be handing out at this here church around 3:30 pm.

I'm sitting here waiting for darling K to come home from school, defrosting the birthday steaks, drinking coffee that is probably a bad idea.  Oh well, It's my birthday, dammit.

And how.

New words for the day, really.

• fraudster
• frugalista

The level of not okay...

It's all about the kitten.  Little Nevada came to live with Katie and I a few days ago, and, golly, she is adorable.  I have some trepidation about letting the rats out to play with her, she's kind of in a pouncy phase.

But her and the bunny seem to be getting along decently.  Lil Rhody knows he is, "one step up from grass" on the food chain, and so he scampers, he hops, and she quickly loses interest.

It's amazing how the internet has widened the cute cat picture phenomenon.  Understatement of century in 3, 2, 1...okay.  U cannot haz cheezbarger, Nevada.

I have been lulled into a peaceful domesticity.  Between kitten, bunny, rats, housework, and lovely girlfriend, there is a certain rose-colored dreaminess.  Of course, a retinue of pills keeps this functional.

I have been thinking about different types of blogging, while briefly thinking of joining twitter.  Honestly, I don't think I have that much to say in terms of tweets, I'm much more interested in following (admitted retardedness, here) Lindsey Lohan's twitter and Samantha Ronson's hi-jinx.

But blogging as storytelling - Stephen Van Dyck's hysterical accounts of adventures and shenanigans.  I do enjoy these.

Or blogging as mundane updates - looky-there, the gardener plucked out Katie's arugula plant.  Dammit, I wanted to eat that.  Is it facebook status plus?

So many times I just want to say - itty bitty kitty did something adorable, there, that's it.

Is it a desire to be noticed, to make a mark on the internet to say "I am alive!"?  I spend a lot of time indoors with the computer, procrastinating on the new book, because I don't quite know where to start.  I've been reading a lot of random articles, news and the like, this one about how to manage writers in the workplace was quite funny.

There was a blog I used to read obsessively called Behind the Neon, which was about strippers.  It satisfied this certain lurid voyeurism I have, in addition to just being funny.  One day it was deleted from the server, gone forever.  How do you mourn a blog that disappears into the ether...whether because the author had to get a non-sex-industry job, or... I'll never know.

This book, The Peep Diaries, is on my wishlist right now.  In terms of the realms of overshare, surveillance, the potential of the current technologies, etc...I'm curious.   When does overshare become legitimate announcement, or stray into self-promotion? How many of us are just shouting into the void, and how much of that is a reaction from a society that discourages face-to-face communication.

I'm all for facebook, in the way it brings people together.  It is a little creepy sometimes when I think of where all that information is/could be going.  Who is watching?  Does anyone have the time to monitor this hivemind?

It's Sunday evening, and I'm watching the bunny get introduced to the new kitten.  Adorable.


Lorazepam and the Valley of Skin / 730910-2155 is going to the printers, and should be out mid-November.

I am trying to get myself to write new material, while the kitten naps and katie does her homework.

Amazing, no?  Link courtesy of ama birch via fb.

For all that it's kind of one big ad for American Apparel, I found this article on the process cult pretty interesting.

And, entirely on the other end of the spectrum, this wall of fluff as well.

Today has certainly been a day.

First up: therapy. all seems well.

Then I went home and found that the air conditioner was broken, and it was 90 degrees in the dear little back house.  The rats were lying there panting out their little ratty lives, and it was a panicky inferno.

Walked to the end of the block...considered buying a bottle.  Walked back and worked in the front house.

Then...I discovered that my external hard drive, with all of my information, since I recently switched computers, was broken.   All my pictures, all my music, the novel drafts, the bits and pieces for the new one...gone.

At this point vodka seemed inevitable, and it was.

Now it's three in the morning and I'm watching the occasional cockroach, the moths and the ants, by golly, there is so much nature here.  Those cockroaches are incredibly fast.  The rats, luckily, survived the heat wave.

I am considering the possibility that my monitor and/or waffle maker brought the cockroaches from my old apartment.  I'm about to spray a circle of Raid around myself and keep typing.

Anyhow, on the good news end of things, Jet Set Desolate is now available on Amazon.  I'm tremendously happy about that.  The new Lamictal seems to be helping with my depression, and has an intense sedating effect that is rather convenient.  I have trouble sleeping.

Now to the endless to do list.

I'm dying my hair right now, the scalp stinging.  Black, of course.

Every few weeks I go on a frenetic mind-blast of paranoia.  Late nights hearing voices yammering about what I may and may have not done or seen or be or become.  The knawing cruelty of unpaid student loan debt.  The general tizzy.

I suppose today is the anniversary of 9-11.  Well.  Enough has been said on this topic.

More exciting anniversaries to come - October 3rd is me and Katie's anniversary.    October is the release date of the book.  October is Halloween, for which I am going to be Ashley, and Katie is going to be Farrah, from Rock of Love Bus/Charm School.

October is also my 33rd birthday - jumping jesus on a pogo stick.

Really, though, the level of potential surveillance through facebook - blogs - internet - support group websites - the mind boggles.  How little privacy we really have, or do you really want.  My therapy records could be subpoenaed if necessary...nothing very interesting, though. I suppose it all could be written off to the submergent purrings of potential schizophrenia.

This card is one I am considering for a tattoo.
There are so many to choose from, though, and I am so broke, that the likelihood of this happening is slim.

There is a bunny rabbit hopping around my feet, Katie is rousing in the other room, the ants are amassing on last night's dinner dishes, and all seems well for the morning.

I finished the riot grrl essay and am planning to send it out soon.  I must reread it.

The bunny is football-sized.

Today we played on the slip and slide. Here is a picture of me and my love.  We went to the beach in formal wear and ran helter skelter through the water.  It was fabulous fun until the Malibu sheriff came by and gave us citations for drinking on the beach.  I'm trying to drink less, we'll see.

It was hardly a criminal moment, though, and I think they felt a bit sheepish..

Either way, the beach in costumes is something else.

Bitterness aside, I am quite interested in other reconstitutions of the San Francisco experience. Jason Madary seems to be working on one, check Prim and Unproper for details.

At the moment I am working on an essay about Riot Grrl, and trying to get ideas together for a new book. Last night, dreaming under the mosquito netting beside my ladylove, I awoke from a dream about how this new book could shape together. It began with short pieces, molded into longer. Plot comes later, impressions and anecdotes come first. I am trying to cast myself back into the previous situations in which I began from scratch - began from turmoil, really, from messy personal situations. But there was always a short story or two that became the keys to the larger piece.

It's August, now, and I've spent the last month moving to a compound in Silverlake. We call it Waco. Intermittent internet access and many glorious changes: a slip n'slide in the grass, grass overrun into orange flowers and a lemon tree. I am very happy.

The problem of writing, the problem of writing again. I am going to try to use this blog to get myself to write again. Right before I moved...and it was a very sudden sort of "text message in the middle of the night about amazing property available" sort of thing. Right before this process began I was formulating an outline and thinking about a new project...another book, based on my paranoid delusions.

This might work, then again, it might be abandoned like so many other projects. Now that the major work of settling in is over, it might be worth a try.

Well, there is to be a wee delay. Lorazepam and the Valley of Skin / 730910-2155 is going to be released in Summer 2009 from valeveil.

I am terribly excited, they have done a wonderful job with it.

Lists! Lists! Insufferably compulsive lists!

I got this one from Miss K, who is sleeping angelically in the other room

A - Age: 32
B - Bed size: double extra-creaky, belonging to my dearly departed grandmother.
C - Chore you hate: cockroach slaying and dead cockroach picker-upping
D - Dog's name: no dog, only rats
E - Essential start your day item: pills!
F - Favorite color(s): black and red
G - Gold or Silver: Gold
H - Height: 5'4"
I - Instruments you play: keyboards now, formerly guitar, drums, piano, flute
J - Job title: writer, shiftless layabout, self-indulgent alcoholic, disabled veteran of the MFA riots of '08
K - Kid(s): not responsible enough to deal. Between rabies, scabies, or babies, I pick the second.
L - Living arrangements: two-bedroom in NoHo Arts District with awesome roommate
M - Mom's name: Ellen
N - Nicknames: Angie, Bunny, Wuzh
O - Overnight hospital stay other than birth: psych ward 2x
P - Pet Peeves: Costco, ativan withdrawals, having a PC from 2000 that can't do all the fun tricks, poverty, eggnog vomit
Q - Quote from a movie: "I kicked pills, booze, and the funny farm, I don't need anybody or anything." Patty Duke, Valley of the Dolls
R - Right or left handed: right
S - Siblings: sister in Portland, brother/cousin in Manhattan
T - Time you wake up: Anywhere from 5 to 9 am. I like writing in the early morning when it's quiet and there are no distractions. Distractions like list memes, which I suppose are up there with those facebook 25 things things in pointless narcissism.
"My narcissism is like an igloo, it warms me from the inside," Sarah Scott.
U - Underwear: On the floor at the moment.
V - Vegetable you dislike: rhubarb
W - Workout style: nonexistent
X - X-rays you've had: teeth, feet
Y - Yesterday's best moment: Christine Wertheim's reading
Z - Zoo favorite: oranguatangs

Several things, this morning. I'm waiting to go to the REDCAT MFA Writer's Showcase, followed by Mommy Mommy. Possibly between that we'll stop by Tucker Neel's art opening, or possibly Hot Dogs and Hats by Karaoke Fever.

It will all depend on how much can be done in a day, a day dominated by public transit.

But at the moment, drinking coffee and picking a blemish on my face, my dominant thought is - is 32 too old to wear a romper?

I have also been obsessed with sandals that come down like little spats.

I recently had the pleasure of attending Stephen van Dyck's thesis reading.

"A book-length conceptual writing project called "People I Met from the Internet," a detraumatizing, horizontalizing, decriticalizing of memories, spaces and otherness to sameness/"homoness."

In anecdotal footnotes, Stephen presented a coming out story similar to Joe Brainard's I Remember. The emergent list format, as popularized by the 25 Things, is a style whose parallel structures grants a certain equality to each phrase. The teen tryst in a New Mexico cave is aligned with each encounter thereafter, each with a story, each with the same detached yet ironic delivery.

I was intrigued by the way the text bloomed when read aloud. Having encountered the text in a previous draft, the horizontal legal paper and tiny font was a bit daunting. However, when read selections, the room exploded.

The introduction was by Matias Viegener, recently featured in Vice for Fallen Fruit.

There is this strange thing. This Ativan thing. Ativan and Lorazepam are the same thing, the latter is the generic name for it. Last summer's text, Lorazepam and the Valley of Skin, was dedicated I suppose to dating whores and benzodiazepines.

It will be a year now that I have been on and off this one. Prescribed to me, yes, by a psychiatrist who seems not to realize that the withdrawals can be fatal. Every month I have withdrawals, every month I go back on again.

But on a more cheerful note, I recently found out that Britney Spears is on Ativan. D-listed had this to say about her conservator double-dosing her to keep her sedated.

Somehow this is funny to me.

Into some blank time.
I want to remember the day.

The fan whirs, the ac flutters.
My nails grow long and sharp.

I'm up early revising a poem. problem at hand: translation. Does what seemed clever in Spanish and French work in plain bold English. Then to Swedish.

Cold water: the dark of morning

Two websites that have caught my eye recently are shrink rap and crazy meds. Both deal with the wide fun world of psychiatry: the former from the perspective of the professional, the latter from the consumer. Shrink rap has at times made me so angry I almost had a seizure at the computer. "How dare they! So this is what that bastard thinks when he ignores me and throws prescriptions." Crazy meds, while a bit web-design challenged (let he who is without sin, yes, true) has been quite helpful.