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.