Angst, etc.

This blog has been giving me angst lately.

Granted, as a full-blooded German Lutheran, I thrive on angst.

(Don't do that. No jokes. Or at least be funnier. )

See, I've been wanting to blog more lately. I don't know if it's a desire to write, a desire to express... who the hell am I kidding, it's because I just don't have anyone to talk to. I know that sounds sad and maybe it is sad - it sure as hell feels sad - but I'm not trying to elicit sympathy, just state a fact. I've never been especially popular and simply don't have many friends. And the ones I do have all have someone else. Not other friends. Boyfriends. Or husbands. Or wives. Some have children. And I don't. And I never have.

I mean, my God, the only person that I can completely count on is my shrink. Isn't that pathetic? That I have to pay someone to trust? And I can't exactly call him up whenever I need to hear a friendly voice. He has other patients and a life of his own. But where does that leave me?

I've been making more friends online lately, but none of them live anywhere near me and it just takes so long to break in someone new. The narcissism, the mood swings, the never-ending identity crises, the constant angst, the sarcasm, the insecurity - my God, the insecurity... I am not an easy pill to swallow and I constantly marvel at the tenacity of the people who put up with all my bullshit.

So why is my blog giving me angst - right. The point.

I had a different blog that I kept up pretty regularly for a couple of years. It started as a movie blog and as I became braver, it became more personal. I liked having the outlet. Only a few of my friends knew about it and it wasn't on a website known for blogging so I was able to maintain a modicum of anonymity. I'd kind of like to start that kind of blogging again and just sort of distance myself from it as the known contributor. But the url has been in my signature for ages - one of my initial goals for starting this blog was to develop some (undefined) stuff under my own name. And if I'm going to write very personally, I don't want people knowing who I am.

Because they judge you.

And because I want to write about people I know with the freedom of not worrying about hurting anyone's feelings.

And I'd like to add sex, which should be kept private anyway. (Not out of shame or prudence. It's just tacky.)

I probably shouldn't even post this, but what the hell. I've said all this to Paul already and I would say it to Annika and I'm pretty sure those are the only two reading.

I'm trying to throw a lyric in here. It just seems like it's needed. Usually when I'm all muddled like this, my unconscious develops its own soundtrack and starts throwing songs at me, but nothing's coming at the moment.

Fuck.

Between the One and Three There Is This YouTube Clip

Carol Channing.

Singing "That's How Young I Feel" from Mame.

On The Dean Martin Show.

With the cast if Seesaw.

Led by Tommy Tune.




God bless you, Otto Preminger.

Vitamin V

About a year or so ago, I started having tremendous headaches. (not migraines). I went to a doctor. he gave me Vicodin.

In February, I slipped and hit my head (I have no idea if I ever blogged about that) and my doctor gave me more Vicodin. I filled the prescription, but didn't really touch it, since I had some left over from before.

Yesterday and today the headaches have been back. I went to my stash and now I am off my ass.

Not much of an update, but who the fuck cares?

Showtunes of the Day:

Kurt Weill Revisted. (Just listened to Ann Miller sing and tap "Moon-Faced, Starry-Eyed")

Kurt Weill Revisited Vol. II.

(courtesy: Greg)

Now it can be told

A while ago (Tuesday, 3/25) I posted about how I had a lot of things on my mind, but couldn't really talk about them.

Now I can.

And will.

That Friday, I was supposed to find out whether or not I got a job. That Saturday morning, I had a writing workshop where I was presenting a completely new take on the script I've been writing. That Saturday night, I had a date with a guy I met online who I really, really wanted to fuck* liked.

It was stressful. It was exhilarating. It gave me stomach cramps.

I didn't find out about the job that Friday. Or the following Monday. Or Tuesday. As it happened, my HR contact was unexpectedly out of the office. It was nerve-wracking, but all worked out for the best. I started yesterday and I love it. I mean, okay, I'm not getting paid to write or have sex with any one of a number of movie stars, but as far as day-jobs go, it's a winner.

My script was very well received. I don't really want to go into any more detail.

As far as the date... There was this, which I could have overlooked as "he was nervous and didn't mean to drink that much," but I have discovered some more upsetting habits of his that I may or may not describe in more detail at another time.

*The only alternatives to "fuck" I could think of were either pointless substitutions or phrases that ended in a preposition. Also, I really, really wanted to fuck him. After we met, I really, really, really wanted to fuck him. Then he peed in the street and it was back to "really, really."

On the possibility of being hypnotized...

"I have an overwhelming urge to play solitaire and kill Angela Lansbury."