Open Letter to MC Hammer:

Hey man, I know you were mad at me when I didn't give you a tip today. But like I told you after you got done washing my windshield, 1. You left it all streaky; 2. You didn't finish before the light turned green like you said you would; and 3. You were all twitchy and shit and it kind of freaked me out.

My chiropractor touches me.

Okay, so Hot Big Black Guy* called and I can't decide if I should call him back.

*name withheld because if I start naming boys, I'm start thinking about them as people and pretty soon they're gonna be walking around like they own me, pissing in the corners of my house and wanting to talk about feelings and the future and sales at Pottery Barn and shit.

I mean, the guy threatened to bitch out a waitress and was spearing food off my plate on our first date. On the other hand, he's pretty freakin' hot. Hmmm...this decision really shouldn't be this hard... (it's not)

On the other hand, Brian's New Year's resolution of becoming an alcoholic is working out. He came home after 4 drinks at Robert's bar last night and teetered around for a bit. I felt like lighting a match would have set off our place ala Backdraft. It's actually quite comforting. With me aiming to be a shallow drug addict in 2004 and Brian aiming to be a self-centered alkie, I think in 2005, we can safely transition into crack whores. Blaxploitation crack whores. Who love their mamas.

Here's a story about the honor killings in India which are on the rise:

http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/oneworld/20040112/wl_oneworld/4591765421073907305

Some sick shit.

Today's mood: Comically bloated

Why do we talk so much shit about the ones we love? There's a direct correlation between the amount of love you feel for someone and the amount of shit you talk about him or her (with probably an inverse proportionality between these and the amount of personal/emotional maturity the individual possesses thrown in to complete the equation). It's the sign of a dysfunctional mind--it's easier for this person to talk shit about someone behind his back, than to turn around and show him how much this person cares. And when I say this person, I am talking about myself. Yes, mom, I talk a lot of shit about you. But that's because I love you.

On a different note...WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

If insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, then why the hell bother getting up every morning expecting/hoping that life gets better? Why not just be content with what you have and just let the good things that come unexpectedly be frosting on the cake? Things I am thankful for:

1. My brother and everything I learn from him about love and trust
2. My family
3. My friends
4. Being fucking hot
5. Being fucking smart
6. Being fucking arrogant
7. Knowing a little bit about everything and everything about nothing
8. That no matter how many times I've been kicked down, life helps me stand back up and grow
9. That I count my blessings and try to see the beauty in everything.
10. Having the clarity to understand and to have faith in my Journey.

My 2004 resolutions:

1. Finish Bleeding Blue (my book of poetry)
2. Finish my horror film
3. Make out with a Taurus, Sagittarius, Virgo and Pisces to complete my tour of the zodiac.
4. Be well on my way to my 2005 goal of being a millionaire by the time I'm 27
5. To say what I think and think what I feel
6. To not take bullshit from people
7. To not give people the benefit of the doubt who don't deserve it.
8. To never stop loving and raising my awareness and spiritual vibration.
9. To be happy.
10. To not feel guilty when I am content and others are not.

Hope everyone has a wonderful, prosperous and elevating 2004!

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.