February 1999
EMPATHY
By Jeffrey Lance, Ph.D.
What does it feel like to be misunderstood when you are upset? What is it like when you are trying to explain your feelings to your spouse etc., and they interrupt or become defensive and really don’t hear what you are saying? All of us can relate to experiences like these and the feeling of frustration, anger, and aloneness we may feel in these situations.

After many years of doing marital and couples therapy, it has become clear to me that couples and individuals have great difficulty with listening deeply or understanding the inner emotional world of their partner or spouse. This lack of empathy and listening skills often leads couples to feel uncared for and unloved, leading to bickering, arguing, withdrawing, and escalating into feeling detached and distant from each other. This in turn makes it very difficult to problem solve and come to loving compromises with each other because of the animosity that is engendered. This leads to much unnecessary suffering in our relationships.

But why do we find it so hard to listen and empathize with each other’s experience? Largely this is due to the way in which we were responded to by our caregivers in the early developmental years of our lives, and to the modeling they showed in their relationships to each other, and the empathy they showed toward each other’s feelings and needs.

We were all born into the world a bundle of needs. If these needs were adequately met, in a loving way, positive emotional states, and feelings about ourselves and the world became part of our inner world. When our needs weren’t met adequately, we expressed our concern and distress by expressing our feelings about this. Our parents empathic attunement to our clues of distress, and their appropriate and timely response, nurtured and comforted our distress, due to their ability to feel for us (empathy).

Unfortunately, for many of us, our parents didn’t respond empathically, appropriately or timely to our distress due to their own blocked pain, feelings and needs. They themselves were defensive or oblivious to our pain and needs, and responded with anger, rejection, withdrawal, or not at all. This left us in a state of unbearable distress and psychic pain. In response to this pain we began to numb out and repress and deny our own awareness of our feelings and needs, since their was no enlightened witness to help us work through these painful and frightening experiences.

From these experiences we lose touch with our own needs and feelings, and the ability for our own empathy is severely affected. Late in life we find ourselves unconsciously searching for a loving and empathic partner, but tend to unconsciously pick someone who reminds us of the caregivers from whom we didn’t receive what we emotionally needed. We will then struggle with this person to get them to be for us the way we wish our caregivers had been originally. To be empathic and responsive to our needs and feelings, and listen empathically to our inner world. However, Our spouse and partner are unconsciously numbed and shut down from their own inner experience, and the defenses they build to survive emotionally early in their life now interfere with their ability to be empathically attuned to themselves and to us. In this way the pattern of empathic failure reoccurs in one generation after the other.

To free ourselves from this empathic numbness, we must first free ourselves from our own repression, and numbing to our own deepest feelings and needs, that have been blocked and defended against since our own early years. Only by finding in ourselves, and feeling empathy and compassion for our own numbed and hurting self, can we open to a deeper empathy and perception of the cues of our own children’s needs and feelings, as well as those of our partners and spouses. In this way we can break the isolation, numbing, and empathic failure of generations, and give our children, and each other, an emotional treasure that cannot be taken away.

As Alice Miller has so eloquently stated:

Experience has taught us that we have only one
enduring weapon in our struggle against mental
illness: the emotional discovery of the truth about
the unique history of our childhood.

Quoted from: The Drama of the Gifted Child: The Search for the True Self.

Dr. Lance is a psychotherapist in practice in Glendale. He is a member of the Independent Psychotherapy Network.

There are times when you can sit around and wait for something that you really want and muster all the patience and discipline in the world, but what you don't really acknowledge, is that you actually gave up on it a long time ago but are just going through the motions so as to not have to deal with the ramifications of having moved on.

"We're cutting it pretty close, aren't we?"

The days just get easier and easier.

I remember when I was a kid, my parents would take me down to the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. There was this merry-go-round there, with this long dispenser holding gold rings that you could grab and then try to throw inside the mouth of this HUGE clown painted on the side of the wall. I would watch older kids grab 2 or 3 of them each time they went by the dispenser and toss them into the clown's mouth, and it looked like so much damn fun. I really wanted to grab some of those rings but I was scared to death--scared of falling off my horse, scared of hurting my hand when I made the grab, etc. I remember one trip, where the whole car ride over, I told myself that I was going to do it; I was going to face my fears and make a grab for the ring. I psyched myself up the whole ride there. I had visualized myself doing it and was so pumped up by the time I got on the ride, I couldn't see any possible way that I could fail. But the minute the merry-go-round started turning, that old fear ripped through my chest. I worried that my hands were so sweaty, that when I reached out, I would fall off my horse and be crushed by the mechanisms below. I was afraid that, should I manage to stay on, the ring would get jammed and I would end up badly cutting my hand. Each time I went around, each time I watched the dispenser approach and then pass me by, I would tell myself that the next time around, I was going to do it. But each time, I passed it--too paralyzed with anxiety to even peel my hands from the pole, just looking at the dispenser helplessly. Even the clown seemed to know that I was fooling myself with its cracked, frozen smile, eternally taunting, knowing that by telling myself, "the next time around," I was just delaying my inevitable defeat by cowardice. I told myself, "the next time around, I'll do it" on the last turn and moments later, with utter disappointment and shame, felt the ride slow down beneath me. I thought to myself with remorse, "If only I had more time, maybe even one more time around, I would have done it. I just needed more time to get ready." But deep down, I knew that I wouldn't have. Deep down, I had told myself, "next time" only to buy myself enough time until the risk of succeeding, the risk of failing had passed and I would inevitably resign myself to the company and self-label of failure, a victim of unfortunate circumstances.

I never did get a ring. And I don't even know if that merry-go-round is there anymore.

Now, years later, supposedly wiser and worldlier, I still believe that I often tragically fool myself. There are things that I want in life, but am so afraid of not getting, that I tell myself, tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll try for it. Tomorrow I'll write that script. Tomorrow I'll ask that guy out. Tomorrow I'll tell the man who has unraveled my soul that I forgive him. And when tomorrow turns into today, I call upon a thousand more tomorrows to erase the hope, to put off the risk, until my life has passed me by and all I have left to show for it is a collection of safe, uneventful yesterdays, dull around the edges from the near-encounters with sheer magic.

There is nothing that shrivels a soul more than regret. So grab that ring, kids. Because at some point, the ride is going to stop and there is nothing more devastating than realizing that tomorrow will never bring back what you could have savored today.

Life sucks and then you die so poke that chisel in my eye.




You don't know me. You do not bleed. You have a heart that I would like to taste.




Today's mood: mellowly disturbed

(help)

I had a revelation today. It must take so much trust for a man to let a prostitute give him a blowjob. I mean, he's got the most delicate part of him between the teeth of someone who could very well be crazy enough to chomp down. God bless America.

i'm sitting at home on a saturday night with nothing to do, drinking ovaltine and eating rye crackers. i've turned into a jewish grandmother.

On the one-month anniversary of the birth of Club Manic (Celibacy), Brian and I have decided to draft our respective suicide notes.

Here's mine:

Dear World:

You have given me 25 years of shit. You stingy asshole. Couldn't even give me a lifetime's worth so I'll MAKE it a lifetimes worth.

First off, I just wanted to say thanks for nothing regarding my irregularly-shaped bottomless pit of a belly button. I think there are 12 miners down there who died of starvation back in the late 70s. It was fun to yell down there, "It puts the lotion back in the basket, or it gets the hose again" and listen to the subsequent resonating echo for all of five minutes, but now all I can do is look in the mirror and watch that ugly gaping hole stare back at me. No, not that one. No, not THAT one either. Still talking about the belly button.

Furthermore, thanks for not giving me enough ego stroking during my adolescence. Not only did I have to be fat, did you really have to give me a moustache, too? What am I, Mexican? Fuck you.

Now for personalized curses:

Mom: thanks for not telling me that the back of my skirt was tucked into my underwear that first day of 5th grade when you dropped me off. And thanks for picking out the tightie whities with the little green apples for that day’s outfit. The ensuing teasing did wonders for my self-esteem.

Dad: Thanks for not loving me enough. I have managed to find asshole boyfriend after asshole boyfriend and tried to psychologically/emotionally heal them in a misguided effort to connect with you.

9th Grade Spanish Teacher: You suck. You asked me if I was chewing gum in class and when I said no, you asked if I was chewing crud. Well, yes. But that’s none of your business.

Vijay: Yeah, you’re a boy and I beat you up in the 8th grade. In public. Sorry. I guess I had a crush on you and it was somewhat inappropriately expressed.

Anna: My downstairs neighbor. You got liposuction then went on a cruise and got fat again. That’s awesome.

Dr. Miller: You’re a fucking psychiatrist. And you made me feel bad about myself. Isn’t that ironic? Don’t you think?

Boy George: Fuck you for sharing my birthday.

To all the people I like, who have supported me through all these years, just wanted to let you know that I appreciate all you’ve ever done for me. Rie, we made a pact years ago that if anything ever happened to me, that you would get to my place first and hide my porn. So bring a big box. And you can keep whatever you want. I know you said that you want the boy-on-boy action videos.

Goodbye cruel world, and if I can manage it, I will be sure to come back and haunt those of you who were total dicks.

Love, Julia

Dis is what I gots to say about PORN.

Alright, so I've been depressed over my not-so-recent anymore break-up with a not-to-be-mentioned porn-aficionado. So in an effort to understand why I am not in his life but his porn still is, I downloaded the best that the internet has to offer in terms of coming to a better understanding of why porn is more engaging than I am.

Now, for the record, I have a reputation as being one highly sexed gal. But goddam, that shit was BORING! It was the same shit over and over, with these really slutty looking chicks and these really dumb looking guys. About 5 minutes in, I found myself continually checking email and being drawn to a riveting game of minesweeper. Trying to further concentrate on the task at hand (no pun intended), I watched several clips to "completion," and my most prevalent (as well as anxiety-riddled) thought was, for the love of God, don't get that stuff in your eye! That's how you get AIDS!

Needless to say, I don't fucking get it. I don't fucking get why guys would rather watch porn than be with a girl with whom he can make a porn.

A little poem by my mentor, m loncar to leave you with:

writing a poem about the girl should never be better
than the girl than being with the girl

don't write the poem about the girl
unless you'd rather be with the girl


Today's mood: tragically lonely

So this hooker Lauren* (names have not been changed to protect those who talk dirty to my baby brother) calls up my friend Brian. Brian, momentarily incapacitated by retardation, sees that it's Lauren and lets my brother answer his phone. The first thing out of Lauren's mouth is: You want me to jack you off?

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So later tonight, I was on the phone setting up an appointment with a student. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my brother come into my office, write something on a Post It and leave. A few minutes later, Brian comes in and says, "Look what your brother put up on the fridge." Apparently, he had replaced a Post-It I had written that said, "For July-No more bullshit" with "For August - No More Sex Life."

Lauren is a dead woman.

I was smoking with my friends Eric and Rie last night and I blurted out something that I realized was really close to my heart. I said... "Is it wrong that the thought of ugly people having sex is disgusting to me? Does that make me shallow?"

On that note, I've decided that if I were to run for Governor of California, my platform would be...Less ugly people having sex. Because it's disgusting.

There. I'm going to win.

The devil likes to play a drowning man. Don't give him a hand.

i dream in yellow
i dream of peace
i dream one day you
love all of me and promise to never leave
i dream of sunrises that swallow oceans
leaving puddles rippled by the gentle breeze
i dream i am afraid
they will someday swallow me

i've been running on dreams so long i never knew that i was running on nothing but fumes
this road been long and bumpy and its a long way to go to carry this body in the trunk
you never liked sitting there and i never knew how to drive
but we faked it just the same you and i
yeah we faked it just the same you and i
both so broke down inside heading down a freeway
built on nothing but hopes and wishes
washed out by all this fucking reality
of broken promises and fake kisses
lost in the desert air screaming by

I have survived the invasion of the family on my sanctuary. My mom changed the poem on my computer--a self portrait julia is an artist who cannot find the strength to put on pants--to julia is an artist who WILL find the strength to put on pants. Like she's trying to be all inspirational and shit like, "C'mon, Julia, I BELIEVE in you. You can put those pants on! One leg at a time!" It's kind of sweet but don't mess with my poetry!

I think I'm developing Tourette's. I almost blurted out, "MOTHAFUCKER!" while in a meeting with my boss (the girl with the supposed hairy ass) while she briefed me on a procedure. That would have been a very embarrassing situation. I don't think a cover of, "I'm sorry. I SWORE I saw a typo on page 5 but I was wrong" would have prevented my prompt firing.

Today's mood: Tentatively cheerful

I've been reading all these Psychology books and this one thing called the Approach-Avoidance Conflict really interested me. Pretty much, it happens when a person feels that a certain goal has both pros and cons. So the further one is from the goal, the more one focuses on the pros or the reasons to approach the goal. But the closer one is to the goal, the more one focuses on the cons or the reasons to avoid the goal.

Now doesn't that sound a lot like the way we deal with dating? We chase because we want we want WE WANT, and then when we almost have it, we're like RUN AWAY!! It'll never work! I TOLD YOU THAT BITCH WAS CRAZY!

Yeah. Lovely.

Roxie put it best when she said that a break up feels like dying. It's like your heart is suddenly filled with poison, and you can feel it spreading out through your chest, contaminating the rest of your body. Why we all search for love, I have no idea. It's all bullshit.

Okay, I'm seriously thinking about going to school for clinical psychology. It's been something I've wanted to do for a long time, but have been afraid to really talk about because I'm so scared people will say, "Julia, you're fucking crazy. What the hell do you think you're doing, leading the other nuts?" So all those who think I would be good at it, leave me some encouragement.

ssssssssss....oh god, here it comes.........ssssssssssssssss....i can't stop it...................sssssssssssss.....can't.....hold........back..............SIMMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAA DOOOOOOOOOOOOOWN NAAAAAAAAH! THAT'S RIGHT! SIMMA. DOWN. NA! (over and out)

Honey now if I'm honest
I still don't know what love is
Another mirage folds into the haze of time recalled
And now the foodgates cannot hold
All my sorrow all my rage
A tear that falls on every page

Maybe I oughtta mention
Was never my intention
To harm you or your kin
Are you so scared to look within
The ghosts are crawling on our skin
We may race and we may run
We'll not undo what has been done
Or change the moment when it's gone

Meet me on the other side...

(David Gray)

:(

You guys want to know a really funny activity that I've been doing that's a little bit messed up, but I can't stop?

I love going to match.com when I'm bored, typing in my hometown's zip code and the age range of my peer group and trying to see if I find anyone I know. Inevitably, I do and I gleefully revel in the fact that they're posting personal ads. Then I point and laugh at their grammatical errors. Then I cry for hours, curled up in a fetal position at the bottom of my shower because I live a sad, sad life.

FEARFUL THOUGHT OF THE MORNING: IS LOVE A FARCE?

I went to the chiropractor once and he explained to me the phenomenon of tickling. Being tickled is actually an extremely uncomfortable experience that raises anxiety in a human being, but the brain doesn't quite know how to classify the signals it creates. It recognizes that the signals it receives don't exactly fit into the "pain," category so it assigns a very ambivalent "pleasure" even though instinctually, when a person is tickled, her instinctual body responses are to get away from the stimuli.

I wonder if being in love is a similar phenomenon. Because, as I've realized, to truly love is to be selfless. You have no control when you're in love. You're just completely open and you'll give the other person anything. But is anyone really happy that way? Because that's what love is, and if you truly know what it means to love, then you will know what it means to give without necessarily receiving back. I think the people who are actually happy are those who love half-assed. They think they love, but really, they maintain some control and are monitoring what they receive back. They don't completely give of themselves, and therefore, they have everything to gain and not much to lose. I think we've all been led to believe that love is bliss, but love is actually somewhat uncomfortable. But we strive for it, and want it so badly when in truth, I don't think anyone who gives 100% is truly happy. They're just saints.

So in truth, maybe love is like being tickled. We attach it to feelings of joy when in fact, it doesn't exactly make us very comfortable or happy. Maybe we should all stick with infatuation and pretend love. It's a lot safer and a happier experience.

Love is weird. Do we truly love anything or anyone? What is the difference between infatuation and love? Love is selfless. Infatuation is selfish. That's a great definition. But it's all relative to how we each define it. How much you love and how you show it is a sign of your individuality. No one else will ever be the same. And if you expect the same form and level of expression, you're a narcissist and will never be happy with another human being.

Dating a narcissist is the most unfulfilling experience you can have. Because they don't have room in their hearts for anyone but themselves. And what they give you, is actually more about the fact that THEY are giving it to you, than an actual act of kindness, giving and selflessness (sacrifice). Someone once described the Narcissist's Dance to me. First they put you on a pedestal and worship you. And then when they find out that you don't fit their EXACT idea of PERFECTION, they knock you down, shatter you, and do an angry tantrum dance as they smash all your broken pieces. This describes what a narcissist once did to me. And I will hate him forever.

My advice for anyone I love would be: never be with someone who gives less than what you give. Because I will guarantee that you will never be happy.

I think good people who truly know what love means are always going to be unhappy because there just aren't enough people who understand what love truly means.

Words look funny if you look at them long enough. So do people. Have you ever stared into someone else's eyes for a really long time? It's interesting. I find that I'm always looking into people's eyes when I talk to them. And afterwards, I sometimes forget what they look like, or can't conjure up their entire face in my mind. It's more prevalent the closer I am to the person. Like I can never remember what the person that I like or am dating looks like. But I know what's in their eyes and behind them. It's a little bit disturbing. I should start taking drugs so I at least have an excuse for my weirdness.

Well, first I would say "come again." But then I would laugh because I said, "come."

(Peter, Family Guy)

Your Honor:

so i was sitting in a pink ford focus on the way to the happiest little gay bar in town with my peppy blonde ex-cheerleader not-really friend, kerri at the wheel. the speakers throbbed sugar ray track three on repeat as her mouth went on and on about how: everywhere she goes, hotties (aka "hot men") are always giving her the look (hungry) and asking her out and she just doesn't know what to do about it since *sigh* she's been dating nonstop since, like, forever and she just feels like she wants to take some time off and, you know, find herself. being that i'm going through a six-month (plus or minus two years) dry spell with the last recorded stir of sexual subactivity ending in the theft of my three favorite pairs of black nylons and a polite twelve-page letter detailing my physical flaws, i did what (at the time) the situation naturally seemed to call for.

i backhanded her.

What is it about being with you that makes me feel like I'm collapsing from the inside out?

How is it that I can feel lonelier when I'm around people, to the point that the only way that I can feel better is to go off and be alone?

I was in such a funk today. I woke up and felt so lonely. The world suddenly felt so big, and somehow, made me feel hollow and empty. Like I was raining on the inside. I'm wondering if I expect too much from the world and that no matter what, my existence will always involve disappointment. In a way, I feel like I'm emotionally high-maintenance but I don't know if there are people out there in the world who can give me all the affection and care that I need. I'm such a disgusting puppy. Sometimes I wonder if everyone feels this way but just doesn't admit it. Yes, I have cried myself to sleep in the past. There. I admitted it.

I sent out an email to Maryland Brian, the guy I was in love with in college but could not get it together for. A part of me has never let him go because he's such a good guy. He's married now. But I think I still hang on to it because I cared about him then completely went out of my way to destroy it. It doesn't matter whether there was anything there, if it would have worked, etc. I don't want anything romantic with him; I just have good associations with him because he's such an upstanding guy. The biggest thing is that I think I still feel horrified about what I will do to keep something from working. Something that might feel good to me. For someone who understands people so well objectively, I have some serious issues about relating to people.

I've realized that I can't deal with disappointment. I HATE it when people say they'll do something or go somewhere with me, and then I get my hopes up, but then they cancel for no good reason (ie they didn't feel like going anymore). I get so hurt and angry because it was stupid of me to get my hopes up and I feel like people really don't care about me. You have to realize that I don't talk about these things to anyone so most people probably don't realize what a big baby I am. But it hurts and I never tell people because I'm embarrassed about it and I think it's disgusting and needy. And then I don't want them to realize that these things can hurt me, or that I care. Then I decide that I don't want to be around people anymore because it only leads to disappointment. And I go about withdrawing like crazy. What the fuck is wrong with me.

I think I need to be alone for a little while. I know this is part of my reject-others-so-they'll-reject-you-and-you'll-never-get-hurt-again thing, but right now, I just need to be alone.

There are no words to describe how angry I am right now. None whatsoever.

I just got back from my cousin Albert's wedding. It was great...the whole thing was beautiful (and expensive!) but everyone had a blast. It was kind of scary though, since Al is only about 6 months older than me and now he's like, an adult and everything. I think I just like to pretend that I'm mature without any intention of actually ever becoming a "grown-up." "Grown-up" is synonymous to "Grown-old" for me. But for all my talk about being afraid of commitment and never wanting to get married, maybe it's all a smokescreen. L-Dogg once said that it's the people who speak the loudest about never wanting to get married who are the ones who want to get married the most. My dad, in a drunken state, declared to everyone that I'm next. I think he's trying to not so subtly kick me out of the nest.

Lauren is the funniest person I know. We were talking today about hypothetical ways that men can blunder their declarations of love.

Julia: What about, "I think I love you when I'm drunk?"

Lauren: Yeah, tell him to go ahead and write that in the vows.

So in tribute to spring love and the fact that both Lauren and I will be attending weddings tomorrow, here are my hypothetical wedding vows, if I were to marry a hypothetical man named...let's say, Toto.

Toto...since I met you, I've seen more colors in the universe than I previously thought existed. And I'm not just talking about the crazy colors in my morning phlegm, which as Dr. Grendal told me are just leftovers of the pixie sticks I used to snort in high school. And neither am I talking about the variety of pigments in my urine. Who knew the clap could be so tenacious? No, Toto, I'm talking about the the shades of sunset over the gentle ocean horizon, the oranges, golds and reds of leaves swirling in the fall, and the exploding stars before my eyes that time you slammed me in the head with our brand new fondue pot when I flipped your mother the bird for saying that my tube top made me look like a whore (good thing the pot was still in the Target bag...otherwise I suspect it might have left a nasty scar). Yes, that tube top did make me look like a whore, but your mother is honestly a fucking cunt (sorry, Mrs. G). Anyway, as I was saying, dearest Toto, I can not imagine my life without you, your sweet caresses and your tender declarations of "Get me my fuckin' Pabst Blue Ribbon outta the cooler bitch and don't let me catch you outta the fuckin' kitchen again. Don't make me use my belt!"

[Note to Self: Self, do a dramatic pause here, as you are bound to be overwhelmed by your love and too choked up to speak for up to three minutes].

After our first date, I knew that you were the kind of person that I wanted to be with forever. Maybe it was because you bought me dinner at the Sizzler before doing me in the back of your El Camino. Maybe it was because you slowed to a considerate 12 miles per hour when you nudged me out of your car in front of my house. Maybe it's because you always stand up for me in front of your friends. That day when you told Davey Boy after he caught us banging in the bathroom at the bowling alley, "Yeah, she's a ho, but she's my ho," I would have cried tears of joy if I hadn't just accidentally flushed my thong down the toilet.

Toto, you are my everything--my sun, my moon, and my retarded baby's daddy. I love you and hope you'll stick around even after the baby's born.

That Garbage song, "Queer" makes me feel soooo diiiiiiiiiiiiiiirty...

I've realized that I have a speech impediment. I don't seem to enunciate the tail end of my words very well sometimes. I normally don't care because, hey, my first language was broken English. But it's become a problem with the word, "Peanuts."

For example:

I was on a road trip with two friends. We were in a gas station convenience store and out of sheer boredom, I pointed to a bag of circus peanuts and say, "Hey! Circus peanuts!" They both turn around like, "WHAT???" Like I had just said, "Corey Feldman is my Lord and Savior. And by the way, I too, suck dick for crack." And I'm like, "circus peanuts." Apparently, they and every one else in the vicinity had thought I said circus penis. Given that statement, I wonder what the hell they thought I was pointing at (hey look! A circus penis! It's doing all kinds of jumps and tumbles in that guy's pants!)

A few nights ago, I was telling Muskrat about what it means to have an allergy to peanuts and she thought I said, allergy to penis. Of course, several softball/lesbian jokes emerged and wackiness ensued. But seriously. There's no way around that word because I can't say it right.

Today I talked to my friend Sarah (Muskrat) from back in the day. We go all the way back to junior high when we used to play softball together. She asked me, Remember when we used to put on short shorts and get all dirty? No Sarah, I don't. I have to go now. I think I hear people screaming, "Lesbo!" and throwing rocks at my window.

But seriously, I love Muskrat. I have always had a touch of Muskrat Love. But she moved all the way to Florida and she's still there. She's one of those people who always laughs at my jokes and I really appreciate that. And she calls me Shih Shih which means "pee pee" in Chinese and you can't beat that.

This was a transcript of an IM session that gave birth to a movie idea. The topic beforehand was about a sexy guy.

Me: will there be imminent lovemaking?
LaurenAHooch: how could he resist my charms..
Me: that's what i'm talkin bout
LaurenAHooch: imminent..i like that...sounds like some sort of plague or something
Me: the Black Imminent Lovemaking Plague of 2003
Me: oooh...how so many succumbed!!
LaurenAHooch: you are making me crack up here
Me: we should write a script about it
Me: it would actually make a great porn movie
Me: the country shuts down as people are self-quarantined in their bedrooms with the black imminent lovemaking plague
LaurenAHooch: sign me up for service
Me: it opens with a woman, her clothes in tatters as she just barely escapes a frenzied mob of men showing symptoms of the plague, screaming into the camera, what about the children?!?!
LaurenAHooch: im ready to be all that i can be
Me: and then someone points to a writhing pile of flesh and appendages and says, they're in there!
Me: it's sick but true
Me: it's a work of non-fiction
LaurenAHooch: is this still a porn? needs to be more sex
Me: it is more sex!
Me: it's one big orgy that spills out into the streets!
Me: they keep bringing in the national guard but they too succumb to the plague
LaurenAHooch: ohhhhhhh......im liking the sound of this one
Me: mmmm...men in uniforms
LaurenAHooch: who would play the lead...
Me: why we would co-lead, of course!
LaurenAHooch: that's what im talkin about
Me: we'll be the people who are originally infected with the plague on a trip to amsterdam after getting free tickets to a suspicious yet deliciously raunchy show in the backroom of some seedy hostel
LaurenAHooch: more...more
Me: another aspect of the plague is that people turn homosexual when exposed to water (like in gremlins) and autoerotic when they eat after midnight

I'm feeling very moody today. I'm not sure how to untangle this so I'll try to lay it all out here in hopes of getting out of this funk.

My mom doesn't really like me very much right now. I picked a strange time to assert myself and more or less kicked her and my brother out of my place yesterday. She thinks it's just because I wanted to spend time with the guy I'm dating, but it's all about principle to me. It probably wasn't right, but I just got tired of how she always places my brother first and how my personality now is shaped in a way that always puts other people's needs and desires before my own. Hell, it's gotten to the point where I don't even recognize what I want anymore because I figure it's not important. I'm so repressed in that way. I got so sick of how she can't see my point of view or even acknowledge it, and how it's always been that when it's convenient for her or the family, I should be obedient and "mature/responsible," but then out in the world she doesn't understand why I don't assert myself and says, "Just go do it" in the most disgusted, condescending way. Fuck you!! I can't just go do it because my self-assertion and self-esteem were beaten out of me. I had no fucking childhood because I was so busy being a third parent for my brother and making sure that I didn't give my parents anything else to worry about. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck you. Fuck you for ignoring me and expecting me to be able to grow up on my own. Fuck you for expecting me to become the person that you thought I should become and punishing me for being who I am. Fuck you for seeing me as an extension of yourself. Fuck you for loving my brother more than me when it was about your guilt that's not even my fault. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. I know you hate that word but this is my own fucking space and if I wanna say DAMMIT JESUS CHRIST MOTHERFUCKER in public, I sure as hell am going to say DAMMIT JESUS CHRIST MOTHERFUCKER WITH A CHERRY ON TOP in public.

Fuckin' A I'm pissed. I could really use a hug today.

I just wanted to tell all y'all fools out there that Jesus is MY homeboy. And not yours. Just wanted to throw that out there.

Well, I just signed on and saw that I'm visitor #69 (yeeeeahh!). Of course, all the other 68 visitors were also me, so this is not really anything to be proud of. Okay, I've decided that no one in the world reads this so I should be able to write very revealing things without worries, right? But I'm afraid to take that plunge. I just know that the minute I write something about blowjobs, or sixty year-old boyfriends or taping my penis between my thighs as I parade around in white spandex while attending Disney on Ice, my 2nd grade teacher will accidentally stumble onto this site while looking for a low-fat recipe for lemon biscotti and somehow recognize the author as me, a member of her Top 20 Best Students Ever list, and proclaim, "I thought I knew her!" as she clutches her chest and dies of a massive coronary. Or should I say, disappointment? The doctors will never know.

But again, there's the logical reasoning of...no one cares.

I just got back from a trip to the Grand Canyon. Three Words. Fucking Awe Some.

I realized that my personality type is that of a Loner. Who gets lonely. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? God are you there? It's me, Julia. And I have a gun.

I also found out that my mother does not appreciate the phrase, "Dammit Jesus Christ Muthafucker." Not one bit.

I have a lot of emotions but I don't express them. Is that true? Have I been walking around giving my love out when in reality, no one even realizes it? I wonder if I come off totally unemotional. I know, I shouldn't care so much how I come off or how people perceive me. But it is a little bit disturbing. That maybe my intentions aren't being carried out by my self. Sometimes I don't think people hear me. Sometimes I think that people don't take me seriously, or don't realize that I'm being vulnerable and they accidentally say the wrong thing that ends up hurting. Sometimes I think I'm a big pussy. And not in a good sense (but then again, is there really a good sense?). Mike asked me the other day if I feel like I'm on a different level than other people. I don't know about levels, but sometimes I feel like I'm on a different plane, and that it's all coming from my subjective perspective, but that I just have trouble relating in the same way other people do. I don't think I intellectualize my perception of the universe and it's form as a way to avoid dealing with emotions. But I do think I don't always share how I feel or the things that make me vulnerable because I don't trust people to treat me with sensitivity and kindness. I just don't want to get hurt anymore. There. I said something honest.

Here's a favorite quote from the past...

You mean this opera involves handcuffs? (I lay defeated)

God, that brings back old memories. Mostly of me handcuffed to a lawnchair and unable to get out.

Well. We're at war. I see that everyone is commenting on it. I really don't have much to say. It doesn't change the facts and I think for once, I'll stop expounding in little circles until my tongue is lolling out of the side of my mouth like a dumb lap dog.

I talked to Michelle today. She gave me a great quote:

Friendship between women is often nothing more than temporary suspension of hostility.

I have a feeling that people sometimes think I dislike members of my own gender. It's not true. I actually have a little too much love for everyone. But I have a hard time respecting some of the negative shadow aspects of the anima, mostly embodied in catty, passive-aggressive, underminingly hostile behavior. Men succombing to the anima can also exhibit these qualities. I just hate it. It's not a fair fight. I'd rather get punched in the face than betrayed while I sleep. I'm just cautious about getting too near that crap because I'm hanging high on idealism, which is one skip away from utter cynicism.

I watched parts of K-Pax today. I know a lot of people don't like that movie but I actually liked it. Kevin Spacey, as always, is amazing and the psychological elements were very interesting. I'm still wondering why Linda told me that she thought of me when she saw it and thought that I would really enjoy it. Mental note: Ask her. The capabilities of the human mind (spirit?) never cease to amaze me.

Oh yeah. I talked to my aunt and she told me that I have to get a formal dress for my cousin Albert's wedding next month. I asked her what she meant by "formal" and she said, "Poofy." "Like a prom dress?" I asked. "Something like that," she said. That's horrible. I thought that form of monkey torture was behind me. And I just know that with it being spring, the only kinds of "poofy" department store dresses available will be in pastel colors.

I went to bed early last night and was actually willfully up before 8am. I love the smell of mornings. This would be a good morning to head out to the beach...I haven't done that in years. Probably because I haven't been getting up super early without having to go to work for years. I'm thinking about going to New York. I haven't seen Rie since my birthday two years ago.

Okay, this obsession with wandering around my place and taking off my shirt is becoming a problem. I am finding shirts in the strangest of places. When I find one in the fridge one of these days, I want y'all out there who don't read this blogger to demand that I get help. I just found a shirt that I thought my washing machine had eaten last year in my brother's closet. Not like hung up or anything, but like I took it off, threw it in there, and then forgot about it. But I was notorious for stripping and running out to greet the mailman when I was younger (like 4 years old, as opposed to last week) so I guess I can argue that I'm getting better.

My thought of the day:

If you deny your own vulnerability, you deny the very attribute which makes you human. If you deny yourself compassion, you deny yourself access to the full potential of your soul.

I just got up and running on friendster.com which is a pretty cool site because you realize how small the world is.

Now, I want to ask all you out there in rhetoric land a question:

I know we live in a society where both sexes complain about miscommunication, dishonesty with feelings and fears of intimacy and commitment. Monogamy reigns supreme and that is what we all "strive" for. But then everyone knows that everyone checks everyone else out, regardless. Perhaps this is the most basic of our instincts at work.

I'm all about monogamy when I commit to being in a relationship, and I take it very seriously. But when I'm not in a relationship, I feel guilty about exploring my options simultaneously. I worry about having an open dialogue with a bunch of guys; I'm inevitably going to end up exploring things with the guy who can gain the most ground the quickest as far as establishing that "something," but then what do you say to the other guys? Sorry, but you moved too slowly? Maybe I think too much. But most likely it's because I've been watching the Bachelorette. But she's kind of lucky in a way. All the guys understand that she's going to explore her options. And they're too scared to play their macho possessive bullshit because they know they'll lose the girl and there aren't any other girls around to buffer their egos from bruising. There's just such a weird thin line between being perceived as a slut or player and just someone who wants to see everything that life has to offer. I don't sleep around. Hell, I barely even date because it's so much less complicated when you keep things platonic. But I do like to meet a lot of new people and for once I'd like to do it without feeling guilty about it.

I have decided today that I might start writing fake journal entries from someone else's point of view just for creative practice. It'll be like military exercises, except less exciting and no Canadians get hurt.

There's this family that I'm friends with that happens to have built the building that I currently live in. While they were building it, the matriarch of the family passed away from cancer. It was a sad affair, especially considering what a wonderful family they are. Well, my neighbor downstairs is a total bitch. She's a pathological liar and martyrs herself to get attention. She makes up complaints and all her complaints end with something like this: "blah blah blah I'm a wench I'm a wench I'm a wench...and then I was so upset, I cried for hours." Yeah. Totally. Psycho. She used to complain if I made any noise, such as my 240 lb. lil' brother walking across our living room. Well, I was at a homeowners meeting last week where she was complaining to everyone about how back in the day, the guy who had built the building had "called me a pig. I have lived in America for many years and I have never witnessed such behavior! I was so upset that I cried for hours."

Now, I have heard both sides of this story and I happen to know that he didn't call her a pig and that she was pulling this story out of her ass and making up her own details to fit into the landscape of Warped Crazy Lady Land. Everyone was "ooh"ing, sympathizing with her and it made me sick at the possibility that intelligent people could fall for this self-pitying (and pathological!) crap. But then she continues and says, "They're horrible people. I bet they gave her the cancer!" I snapped back, "Who?" Just because I couldn't believe what I was hearing. She said, "That poor woman! I bet they gave it to her because they're such terrible people. I bet if I had to live with them, I would get cancer, too." I had been trying to ignore her but at this point I had to say something so I said, "I don't think that's a fair thing to say." And by "fair thing," I meant "non-crazy bitchy HUMANE thing, you crazy liposuctioned motherfucker." So she continues, saying, "I would get something like, colon cancer, if I had to live with them." Huh??? Is your anus particularly sensitive to insult? Does its immune capabilities weaken in the face of imagined name calling? And Stupid Lady...are you telling me that even hearing those words coming out of your mouth doesn't shock your frozen heart into a jumpstart? I'll give you colon cancer. In the form of my foot up your ass. Just give me a second while I put on some heavy boots.

I give you this anecdote as a character sketch because...

TODAY

I had written a letter and given it to each unit in this building about how the homeowners association should now require formal written proposals and budgets for all spending. Lately, they have been spending money at whim on the most random things, like a $300 plant, and hell, that's my friggin' money too! Well, she called today to complain that I was being too noisy on my little mini step machine (the portable ones with just the steps). We had "words" and she, being the martyring little snot that she is, tries to tell me when I can and can't exercise. I, being the sarcastic little snot that I am, tell her to write out her schedule so I can make sure to work my exercise schedule around it. So she's going off on her bitching, and out of the blue, says, "And furthermore, don't you dare write me letters and try to intimidate me with your big words." I had to supress giggles. Apparently, she doesn't understand multi-syllabic words. And furthermore, it's not freakin' about her! I had the strong urge to retort, "The universe is heliocentric, Anna. It doesn't revolve around you." But I realized it was a lost battle because she wouldn't have understood what "heliocentric" meant.

So it ended when I called her pathological (which Webster Dictionary defines as: 1. pertaining to or caused by disease; 2. Unhealthy or compulsive behavior, ie pathological liar ), which I'm sure she didn't understand because I said it twice and she glossed over what was clearly a huge insult. Then I chuckled while she was in mid-sentence then told her, "I'm busy. I'm watching TV," then hung up on her. And went back to watching Celebrity Mole.

SHE SUCKS.

If I were a superhero, I would want to be one who never had to urinate. Because I imagine, it's pretty hard to quickly get out of those spandex one pieces when you've really gotta go.

New additions to my line of designer greeting cards:

I'm sorry I ran your car off the road. It's just that I thought you were your mother.

and

I'm sorry that I beat you. It's just that I love you more than anyone else does.

A Romantic Poem -- by Ryan of The Bachelorette

My name is Ryan, I put out fires
I like dogs and football, I dislike liars
I went on TV to find a wife, because I am
cute
My mom told me that and...she plays the flute.

I'm going to win this game because I make Trista cry
With my beautiful poetry about love and blue skies
And dolphins and sunsets and things that rhyme with Cat
Like Fat and Hat and Iguana
And Beer Can and Bat

I may not be smart or witty
Or do anything but write bad poetry
I look like a caveman
Without a vocabulary
But I'm a whore on TV
Because ABC needs the ratings.
I hope that Trista picks me
Because my family doesn't know I'm gay.

The following is an open letter to Rick Fox of the Los Angeles Lakers.

Dear Mr. Dick Fox:

It has come to my attention, via a bombardment of fawning media, that you fancy yourself the best looking man alive. Perhaps this is the result of too many post-game groupies cooing at you out of naivete because you remind them of their fathers. Perhaps this is the result of too many yes men complimenting the size of your gat. Perhaps this is because your unnaturally white teeth blinded a beautiful woman out of her good senses and she consented to marry you, thus raising your goodlookingness stock by misguided association. I have taken it upon myself to inform you that not only are you an aesthetic boiling blister on the collective face of malekind, but I am also requesting you to stop fancying yourself an actor, and please remove your narcissistic smarmy image off my TV set.

In a petition of sorts, I have made a list of all things better looking than you (in no particular order):

1. Every NBA player outside of Sam Cassell and Popeye Jones
2. Every US Senate Member, both living and deceased
3. Jared from Subway
4. The stain on the ceiling in Room 206 of the Las Vegas Howard Johnson
5. My Ass

It is my sincere hope that you take this letter to heart and reconsider your national compaign to stroke your ego. Any future endorsement obligations requiring media representations should be forfeited to Mr. Taye Diggs or Tiki and Ronde Barber.

Thank you for your cooperation.

Warmest Regards,

3am Wanderer

I was thinking that if anyone knows who I am, I would hope that they would tell me so that I would stop posting these quite naked things about my life. Like the obsession with porn, you say? Yeah, specifically that. But y'all know, I'm just kidding. I don't have an obsession with porn. I really don't know where that mysterious charge on my credit card bill every month comes from...But seriously. I don't have a problem with porn.

So I'm contemplating whether or not to use this for my journal, or if I should create a seperate one. I'm not sure. All I know is that there is no reason for me to still be up at almost 3am. But I sure do like the sound of myself typing.

I was crying earlier today because of what my mom told me about my uncle saying. That it's obvious that I don't have a lot of confidence and don't sell myself. That just totally freaked me out. I wonder why. I just hate this industry. It's so bullshit. And then John called and I didn't want to talk to him because it was obvious that I had just been crying. Maybe I just need to get out of this town. It makes me unhappy. But then again, I probably have the ability to be unhappy anywhere.

I'm so pissed off that my Tivo cut off the last few minutes of Alias. And I missed the KISS! I'm so pissed off. I don't know whether to be more angry at my TiVo, the Super Bowl, or at the fact that my life is this deeply influenced by TV.

And you wonder why I don't have a boyfriend? What's that? You don't? Oh.

Yo yo yo! So I'm new. I hope this is the website that Lauren was telling me about. Otherwise, I may have just accidentally joined some weird porn ring and now my name and email is on some FBI list of weirdos to track. But then again, I should have made that list years ago (hi, guy down in the Joe's Plumbing van sitting outside my building! Yeah, you know who I'm talking bout. No, not you ugly bald guy in the bad suit...the agent sitting next to you).

We've got Chinese New Year coming up and I'm contemplating going up north to celebrate. They say that the upcoming year (Goat) is good for people born in the year of the horse. I sure hope so. And plus, Saturn is finally out of Gemini in a few months. And have I been working hard? Hardly working, I would say. This obsession with basketball is getting the best of me. I find myself blaring rap music and leering at hot black guys. I guess the saying goes, "Once you go black, you never go back...until your parents threaten you." What do you expect from conservative Chinese parents? I'll bring home whoever the heck I want. Even if it means I'm sleeping in the backyard because the German Olympic Porn Team is unacceptable company to bring to Sunday dinner. Now I bet people think I'm obsessed with porn. I guess I've said it twice now. (think about kittens, think about kittens...)

Today was a good day. I hate my neighbors. Tutored then thought about going to some Super Bowl parties but then started feeling antisocial (aka FAT). So I went to the gym and watched some of the game from there. But frankly, I really didn't give a damn. I should probably start back up writing soon. I've been pretty damn lazy as of late.

For the record, I think Kathy Griffin is the Mole. And the kid from Dinotopia looks like a girl. And Joe Millionaire is an idiot. And Russ on the Bacholorette is the devil. He's a scary possessive freak! And lastly, I am watching way too much reality TV.

FUN FACT: Last week I had dinner with Elizabeth Berkley from Saved by the Bell (or Showgirls, if you're a pervert).

Seriously. It was surreal. Hey, does anyone have a boyfriend I can borrow? Just...you know...sometimes I get lonely...