Daily affirmations of a word mercenary
Journalish Category
I like to think of this blog as more than just a journal, but sometimes it’s not. Not at all. Sometimes it’s just all about ME ME ME and what I’ve been up to. Sort of like a journal…ish.
Goals 2003
31
Dec
2002
In: Journalish
Remember this? I’m going to do it again.
2002 GOALS:
1. Keep working on that debt (Well, I DID work on it…but moving threw a wrench in working on it very hard - I paid off a whopping $700.)
2. Submit at least one article or proposal a month to national magazines (Good: 10 pitches, 6 articles published. Bad: none national mags)
3. Move
4. Eat less refined sugar
5. Tell off deserving assholes
6. Apply for Fulbright (why was this even on here? It’s been on my goals list since ‘99 for no known reason)
7. Continue to work out 2+/week (I did through August…then not at all. Have just rejoined gym.)
8. Re-learn how to tap dance (What was I thinking?!)
9. Stop being irritated at your friends when bothered by yourself
10. Get invested and involved in more projects (Currently Content Manager for GoTT)
2003 GOALS
1. Keep working on that debt
2. Pitch one+ articles a month
3. Floss teeth daily
4. Eat well
5. Expose as many people as possible to writing
6. Build and cultivate international connections
7. Work out 3x/week
8. Keep track of receipts and expenses for 2003 taxes
9. [Private]
10. Get invested and involved in more projects. Take advantage of Los Angeles.
- 4 Comments
- Tags: goals
Reminder
29
Dec
2002
In: Journalish
This note was posted on a bookshelf in my bedroom, circa 1997:
“Ariel, do not drink alcohol. It makes you sick.”
I’m not sure where the note went, but it’s clear that I still need to have it posted somewhere. Here will have to do. I mean, yes: I realize I’m a lightweight, but two drinks?! Seriously: two drinks and I’m puking. Can’t a girl have any fucking fun around here? The upside is that I’m not hung over. I don’t think two drinks is enough to cause a headache. Even if one of them is a tequila shot.
(Photo reminders of why I don’t drink will be posted once the paparazzi get home and upload them.)
Snap of Clarity
28
Dec
2002
In: Journalish
Looking back, I can think of only two incredibly distinct moments when I had a snap of clarity and realized I was exactly where I needed to be. Moments of being in exactly the right place at exactly the right time. Moments of looking around and thinking, “Yes! This is it. This is my place in this world.”
This is not to say that there weren’t other times and places that felt just right. Being admitted to honors English classes in 7th grade gave me a sense of intellectual belonging I’d never experienced. Being in Greasepaint, my community’s high school theater training program, made me feel like I fit perfectly into my myopic view of the greather scheme of things. But these weren’t moments of clarity…rather, just gradual, “Ah yes. That’s it. Here I am.”
The two moments of clarity occurred on these days: November 30, 1994 and April 27, 1996.
The former was the night I drove down from Seattle to Olympia, WA for my first Phish concert. There was a moment during a song called “Reba” when the music’s tempo shifted, the lights went horizontal, and I thought to myself, “This is the time and place for me.” Did that mean I became a massive Phishead, spending summers on tour? Nope. I stayed in college, worked my crappy retail jobs, and didn’t leave Seattle much. But after years of desperately trying to fit my weird peg into a normal hole, my snap of clarity helped me abandon the fruitless task of trying to be someone I wasn’t. Life was better after that. I might be a very boring person if I hadn’t had that snap.
And April 27th, 1996? Don’t laugh, but it was my first rave. I stopped to share a cigarette with some nice unknown boy who asked me, “So, do you come to raves a lot?” I tried to focus on his face, and said simply, “No, but I think I’ll have to.” You can snicker all you want, but that snap of clarity changed my life in more ways than I count. Raving started my writing career. Raving introduced me to Andreas. That night in 1996 was the beginning of something quite big. I’ve spent more years as a part of rave culture than I spent in college. Sure, sure: I’m not much of a raver any more, but I’m still a part of the culture.
Snaps of clarity are rare and so incredibly important. Do you remember yours?
Unpacked
21
Dec
2002
In: Journalish
Dre and I finally unpacked the last box that had been sitting in the living room. We are finally moved in…almost four months after arrival.
Mishaps
20
Dec
2002
In: Journalish
I went to an appointment 20 minutes north only to realize that Andreas had not returned my cash card after last borrowing it. I had no alternative money-procuring methods. My truck was parked in a pay-lot, so cancelling my appointment and going home was not an option. I was trapped and cashless.
I called Andreas to beg him to come bring me my card and/or money. As I’m begging, my phone’s batteries poop out. My final words: “Maybe you can just meet me at La Belle at 1pm?”
Thankfully, Andreas’ boss loans him his car, Dre remembered where La Belle is located, and he rescued me with money so that I could get the truck out of the lot.
As a reward for the chaos, I buy myself some yummy french fries to eat on the drive home. The fries come with extra yummy Thai BBQ sauce, which I pour over the top of the crispy golden goodness. The fries rest in my lap, and I munch all the way home.
I arrived home to realize that 3/4 of the warm sauce had dribbled through the bottom of the fries’ packaging into pool between my legs. Ever had the crotch of your pants AND your skivvies saturated with Thai BBQ sauce? Not pleasant. And the seat of the truck now has a suspicious looking stain. Add that to the broken window from yesterday. I feel like a walking disaster area.
Lucid Poop
3
Dec
2002
In: Journalish
Hank is truly a rock star. I’ve decided an album must be released detailing his adventures as a hard rockin’ newborn who sleeps, messes himself, and sucks boob all day long. I mean really: does it get much more punk rock than that?
Hard rockin’ album tracks would include:
“Human Pacifyer Woman,” “Yes, You Heard Me: I Farted,” “Fist In My Mouth,” “Lucid Poop,” “Titties,” “Kiss My Very Soft Ass,” “White Vomit,” and top-10 hit waiting to happen, “Boob Latch.”
…Hee hee. Babies are cool.
Dooceattle
27
Nov
2002
In: Journalish
Dooce’s post made me laugh uncontrollably and miss Seattle. Both!
One word: Xanadu. What a wacky movie! I admit that I totally loved it, in all its roller-disco, scenes-in-Venice, and Gene Kelly being much better than everyone else glory! I’m such a sucker for epic cheezy rock musicals with over-the-top period costuming. I recommend it.
Andreas made it to Iowa for Thanksgiving, despite almost duplicating our debacle four years ago. 1998 debacle involved us driving 30 minutes to the airport, him not having his ID, us turning around to go home and get it, then getting back to the airport and realizing that his backpack had fallen out of the back of the truck. At that point, he had to run for his plane, while I drove back home and back to the airport a THIRD time to see if I could find the backpack. I didn’t. This morning’s debacle just included him not being able to find his ID until we’d circled the airport once. That’s not bad at all, but this is why we call him “Space Boy,” and mean it.
I purchased two books for my long and cheap flight to Seattle. (I got a massive deal, but the price I paid is that what could have been a 2.5 hour direct flight is now a six hour, 2-leg trip.) Books included: A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius (I’ve never read it!), and Patricia Cornwell’s Southern Cross (guilty pleasure). Should make the time fly. I leave Friday morning.
La Whineur
24
Nov
2002
In: Journalish
I have decided that I am a total whiner and need to be gently reminded to shut up when I start complaining about where I live.
What prompted this shift in attitude? Or at least, what prompted this self-derision that ought to result in a shift in attitude but probably won’t because the first step of “admitting you have a problem” is really the easiest to make?
Last night I woke up at 4:45 am. I’m not sure what woke me up, but it wasn’t just a half-awake moment. I was fully awake. As I lay there in bed, I heard a sound. A far-off roaring.
When my mother was visiting, she told me that one night she woke up and could hear the ocean. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was probably just cars or a freeway somewhere.
Last night I realized that I was being a cynical turd to have doubted my mother. The nearest freeway is 3 miles away. The ocean is less than a mile.
And so, last night as I lay in bed, I realized that I could hear the surf pounding from my bedroom. There were absolutely no cars going by, and there in the distance was a moderately noisy rumble of waves crashing. I could hear particularly big waves when they hit the sand.
This, dear readers, has forced me to shut my cake hole about where I live. Yes I miss Seattle. Yes I miss my family. Yes I miss my gigs for both The Paper and The Weekly. Yes I miss knowing that everyone’s breasts are real. Yes I miss walking to the grocery store and anything else I might need. But no, I really can’t whine anymore. I can hear the beach from my bed, I can see dolphins playing in the water, I have enough work to pay my bills this month, I have great friends, I have my health, I have an amazing magical boyfriend who likes cooking and doing dirty things. Really, I need to shut up with the whiney thing.
Depilation
22
Nov
2002
In: Journalish
Let’s talk about body hair. I am a fastidious leg waxer. This has often caused confusion for people around me, especially when I had dreadlocks. Weren’t dreads supposed to mean that I was politically opposed to the systematic oppression of women via leg hair?
Sadly, no. The dreads just meant that I wanted hair I could tie in knots and dangle things from. I don’t like the way leg hair feels. One winter, I let it grow out for three months. I got out of the shower one morning, walked across the room, and felt the wind whistling through the leg bristles. The madness had to stop.
I think the whole leg hair thing is also very confusing to those around me because, as much as I care about my legs, I simply don’t care about my armpits. I thought maybe moving to Los Angeles would change this — that maybe the scorn would be too much for me. I imagined this conversation taking place behind my back:
Queen1: Oh my god! Did you see her pits?
Queen2: [looks, gasps] Maybe she’s a sloppy trannie?
Queen1: Oh no, girl, if that was a trannie, you know she’d shave that shit.
Sadly, even this paranoia has not been able to incite enthusiasm for depilitating my under-arms. Let ‘em talk. At least I don’t have blooming pit rashes.
Goals 2003
31 Dec 2002 In: JournalishRemember this? I’m going to do it again.
2002 GOALS:
1. Keep working on that debt (Well, I DID work on it…but moving threw a wrench in working on it very hard - I paid off a whopping $700.)
2. Submit at least one article or proposal a month to national magazines (Good: 10 pitches, 6 articles published. Bad: none national mags)
3. Move
4. Eat less refined sugar
5. Tell off deserving assholes
6. Apply for Fulbright (why was this even on here? It’s been on my goals list since ‘99 for no known reason)
7. Continue to work out 2+/week (I did through August…then not at all. Have just rejoined gym.)
8. Re-learn how to tap dance (What was I thinking?!)
9. Stop being irritated at your friends when bothered by yourself
10. Get invested and involved in more projects (Currently Content Manager for GoTT)
2003 GOALS
1. Keep working on that debt
2. Pitch one+ articles a month
3. Floss teeth daily
4. Eat well
5. Expose as many people as possible to writing
6. Build and cultivate international connections
7. Work out 3x/week
8. Keep track of receipts and expenses for 2003 taxes
9. [Private]
10. Get invested and involved in more projects. Take advantage of Los Angeles.
- 4 Comments
- Tags: goals
Reminder
29 Dec 2002 In: JournalishThis note was posted on a bookshelf in my bedroom, circa 1997:
“Ariel, do not drink alcohol. It makes you sick.”
I’m not sure where the note went, but it’s clear that I still need to have it posted somewhere. Here will have to do. I mean, yes: I realize I’m a lightweight, but two drinks?! Seriously: two drinks and I’m puking. Can’t a girl have any fucking fun around here? The upside is that I’m not hung over. I don’t think two drinks is enough to cause a headache. Even if one of them is a tequila shot.
(Photo reminders of why I don’t drink will be posted once the paparazzi get home and upload them.)
Snap of Clarity
28 Dec 2002 In: JournalishLooking back, I can think of only two incredibly distinct moments when I had a snap of clarity and realized I was exactly where I needed to be. Moments of being in exactly the right place at exactly the right time. Moments of looking around and thinking, “Yes! This is it. This is my place in this world.”
This is not to say that there weren’t other times and places that felt just right. Being admitted to honors English classes in 7th grade gave me a sense of intellectual belonging I’d never experienced. Being in Greasepaint, my community’s high school theater training program, made me feel like I fit perfectly into my myopic view of the greather scheme of things. But these weren’t moments of clarity…rather, just gradual, “Ah yes. That’s it. Here I am.”
The two moments of clarity occurred on these days: November 30, 1994 and April 27, 1996.
The former was the night I drove down from Seattle to Olympia, WA for my first Phish concert. There was a moment during a song called “Reba” when the music’s tempo shifted, the lights went horizontal, and I thought to myself, “This is the time and place for me.” Did that mean I became a massive Phishead, spending summers on tour? Nope. I stayed in college, worked my crappy retail jobs, and didn’t leave Seattle much. But after years of desperately trying to fit my weird peg into a normal hole, my snap of clarity helped me abandon the fruitless task of trying to be someone I wasn’t. Life was better after that. I might be a very boring person if I hadn’t had that snap.
And April 27th, 1996? Don’t laugh, but it was my first rave. I stopped to share a cigarette with some nice unknown boy who asked me, “So, do you come to raves a lot?” I tried to focus on his face, and said simply, “No, but I think I’ll have to.” You can snicker all you want, but that snap of clarity changed my life in more ways than I count. Raving started my writing career. Raving introduced me to Andreas. That night in 1996 was the beginning of something quite big. I’ve spent more years as a part of rave culture than I spent in college. Sure, sure: I’m not much of a raver any more, but I’m still a part of the culture.
Snaps of clarity are rare and so incredibly important. Do you remember yours?
Unpacked
21 Dec 2002 In: JournalishDre and I finally unpacked the last box that had been sitting in the living room. We are finally moved in…almost four months after arrival.
Mishaps
20 Dec 2002 In: JournalishI went to an appointment 20 minutes north only to realize that Andreas had not returned my cash card after last borrowing it. I had no alternative money-procuring methods. My truck was parked in a pay-lot, so cancelling my appointment and going home was not an option. I was trapped and cashless.
I called Andreas to beg him to come bring me my card and/or money. As I’m begging, my phone’s batteries poop out. My final words: “Maybe you can just meet me at La Belle at 1pm?”
Thankfully, Andreas’ boss loans him his car, Dre remembered where La Belle is located, and he rescued me with money so that I could get the truck out of the lot.
As a reward for the chaos, I buy myself some yummy french fries to eat on the drive home. The fries come with extra yummy Thai BBQ sauce, which I pour over the top of the crispy golden goodness. The fries rest in my lap, and I munch all the way home.
I arrived home to realize that 3/4 of the warm sauce had dribbled through the bottom of the fries’ packaging into pool between my legs. Ever had the crotch of your pants AND your skivvies saturated with Thai BBQ sauce? Not pleasant. And the seat of the truck now has a suspicious looking stain. Add that to the broken window from yesterday. I feel like a walking disaster area.
Lucid Poop
3 Dec 2002 In: JournalishHank is truly a rock star. I’ve decided an album must be released detailing his adventures as a hard rockin’ newborn who sleeps, messes himself, and sucks boob all day long. I mean really: does it get much more punk rock than that?
Hard rockin’ album tracks would include:
“Human Pacifyer Woman,” “Yes, You Heard Me: I Farted,” “Fist In My Mouth,” “Lucid Poop,” “Titties,” “Kiss My Very Soft Ass,” “White Vomit,” and top-10 hit waiting to happen, “Boob Latch.”
…Hee hee. Babies are cool.
Dooceattle
27 Nov 2002 In: JournalishDooce’s post made me laugh uncontrollably and miss Seattle. Both!
La Whineur
24 Nov 2002 In: JournalishI have decided that I am a total whiner and need to be gently reminded to shut up when I start complaining about where I live.
What prompted this shift in attitude? Or at least, what prompted this self-derision that ought to result in a shift in attitude but probably won’t because the first step of “admitting you have a problem” is really the easiest to make?
Last night I woke up at 4:45 am. I’m not sure what woke me up, but it wasn’t just a half-awake moment. I was fully awake. As I lay there in bed, I heard a sound. A far-off roaring.
When my mother was visiting, she told me that one night she woke up and could hear the ocean. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was probably just cars or a freeway somewhere.
Last night I realized that I was being a cynical turd to have doubted my mother. The nearest freeway is 3 miles away. The ocean is less than a mile.
And so, last night as I lay in bed, I realized that I could hear the surf pounding from my bedroom. There were absolutely no cars going by, and there in the distance was a moderately noisy rumble of waves crashing. I could hear particularly big waves when they hit the sand.
This, dear readers, has forced me to shut my cake hole about where I live. Yes I miss Seattle. Yes I miss my family. Yes I miss my gigs for both The Paper and The Weekly. Yes I miss knowing that everyone’s breasts are real. Yes I miss walking to the grocery store and anything else I might need. But no, I really can’t whine anymore. I can hear the beach from my bed, I can see dolphins playing in the water, I have enough work to pay my bills this month, I have great friends, I have my health, I have an amazing magical boyfriend who likes cooking and doing dirty things. Really, I need to shut up with the whiney thing.
Depilation
22 Nov 2002 In: JournalishLet’s talk about body hair. I am a fastidious leg waxer. This has often caused confusion for people around me, especially when I had dreadlocks. Weren’t dreads supposed to mean that I was politically opposed to the systematic oppression of women via leg hair?
Sadly, no. The dreads just meant that I wanted hair I could tie in knots and dangle things from. I don’t like the way leg hair feels. One winter, I let it grow out for three months. I got out of the shower one morning, walked across the room, and felt the wind whistling through the leg bristles. The madness had to stop.
I think the whole leg hair thing is also very confusing to those around me because, as much as I care about my legs, I simply don’t care about my armpits. I thought maybe moving to Los Angeles would change this — that maybe the scorn would be too much for me. I imagined this conversation taking place behind my back:
Queen1: Oh my god! Did you see her pits?
Queen2: [looks, gasps] Maybe she’s a sloppy trannie?
Queen1: Oh no, girl, if that was a trannie, you know she’d shave that shit.
Sadly, even this paranoia has not been able to incite enthusiasm for depilitating my under-arms. Let ‘em talk. At least I don’t have blooming pit rashes.
Hey there. I'm Ariel Meadow Stallings, a native Seattleite who's written my way up and down the Left Coast. Electrolicious is where I post daily randomata, but I also write for a living. My first book, Offbeat Bride, was published last year.
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