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Archive February | MyAdultLand
Feb 27 2009

Drinking just got more dangerous than ever. If you have a blog.

Drunk photography mishap #1: capturing texture & shadow.

Drunk photography mishap #1: capturing texture & shadow.

I did something really stupid the other night. I blogged! UNDER THE INFLUENCE! Fortunately I don’t get so inebriated anymore, and had the wherewithal to hit “save” rather than “publish”. But I was far enough under the influence to actually think I had something to say at that moment that was worth reading. To others, yet. I just re-read it. It’s quite embarrassing in its banality. Here’s an excerpt:

It’s nearly 2am and I just got in after a long night of a meeting with my screenwriting coach, no food, an unnecessarily long wait at a BART station for a train, and walking home at an ungodly late hour because MUNI was nowhere to be seen. So I met my pal Rob for a drink. No, 3. We had a lot to catch up on and it ws fun watching the Mardi Gras hoo ha going on.

So now I’m home & hungry & of course there’s virtually no food. So mama gets creative. Did you know roasted soy nuts & shelled sunflower seeds are @ 1/10 the price of

Yup, that’s it. No secrets revealed. No solutions to world hunger. Just thoughts so lame they’re not even worth writing a complete sentence about or spellchecking. Even when drunk.

Drunk photography mishap #2: the badass facebook profile self-portrait.

Drunk photography mishap #2: the badass facebook profile self-portrait.

Drunk-blogging. It’s like drunk-dialing, only the call goes out to the entire goddamn world. Fortunately, most the world doesn’t answer my calls (or rather, read my blog); so I think it would have been okay. But for the lovely people who do read, I would have either tarnished forever my reputation as a writer, or a person with good judgment — or at the very least given them a good snicker at the expense of my dignity.

Other activities where performance is compromised (and judgement impaired) by the bottle:

Photography: Ah, the things you deem worthy of photographing. I’ve identified a few categories of drunk photography, evidence provided. Note: these are re-enactments. Yes, they are. And then there’s the quality of the photo. Trust me, my camera is a lot smarter than me after I’ve had a few. That auto / manual feature really fucks with my head.

XCU and lack of context. Wow.

Drunk photography mishap #3: XCU and lack of context. So creative.

Snacking: I think the problem here has more to do with the lack of groceries in my refrigerator. I tend to only shop when I cook for friends, about once a week. So there are usually leftovers for a day or so. After that, just the usual stash of fruits & vegetables (I’m a healthy girl), and an array of Greek stuff (fig jam, figs, olives, olive spread, feta, walnuts… you get the picture). We dazzling urbanites eat out a lot. Which sounds great. Until you come home hungry and drunk and really have a craving for a burrito. Or carrot cake. Or a vanilla malt. Or leftover Chinese. Or anything but what’s in my fridge. But that’s all you got. So… it’s homemade trail mix at 3am. I have… raisins and roasted soy nuts. mmmmmmm! Oh well, I guess the good news is at least I’m eating something healthful at 3am, even if it is for all the wrong reasons.

I think I’ll deliberately do a drunk blog draft — any sacrifice for my art. For one month, I’ll see what inane crap I write in the wee hours and actually save it (hidden bonus: this gives me a great excuse to not cut back on drinking!). But the real danger here is: I’LL BE DRUNK. This could be a costly mission I’ve set before myself, for I might easily hit the “publish” button, rather than “save”. And not realize it, because I’ll be drunk (this post breaks the world record for # of times the word “drunk” appears in a blog entry — just a non-drunk observation), I could forget I wrote the entire post in the first place. Wow, a blog blackout. A blogout.

Feet photos give navel-gazing a good name.

Drunk photography mishap #4: Feet photos give navel-gazing a good name. Especially when you barely get your feet in the shot.

I haven’t had an anything blackout since high school, and that was just the once. Who even remembers what the winning substance combination was on that night? (Though my money’s on Canadian Mist & Lowenbrau). Nevertheless, I woke up, alone and safe in my bed. In my pajamas. Everything where it should be. AND I HAD NO IDEA HOW I GOT THERE. At the time we were living in a condominium complex, with a shared parking lot. I had been driving the collective “kid’s” car the night before. Did the car make it home in one piece? I had no idea. So I walked to the parking lot. Looked around for a while… oh, there it is. The aging yet still sassy ’74 Mercury Comet. Looks okay from here. Then the slow walk-around, to make sure there was no major damage or roadkill in sight. All clear.

That’s my only blackout. Uh, that I know of. That’s why they’re called blackouts.

Feb 16 2009

update: Museum Of Broken Relations inspires a new tradition!

Just followoing up on the “Misery Loves” post a few weeks back.

The Museum Of Broken Relationships had its opening on Valentine’s Day here in San Francisco. It was pissing rain that night and the opening was PACKED. Apparently a lot of people thought this was the perfect way to spend a romantic holiday. They were right.

The exhibit is INCREDIBLE – and I’m not just saying that because I’ve got a piece on display. The objects themselves were interesting, but the stories – THE STORIES – behind all those objects! I live for stories, and I want to meet each and every person behind those stories behind those objects, so I can hear the long version. They were heartbreaking and hilarious and innocent and cruel, but all painfully honest. I’m going again (when the place isn’t packed wall to wall) so I can read all the stories and weep without witnesses. I’m honored to have my own story be included in this collection.

The collection is up in SF until February 28 at Root Division; from there it goes to Stockholm, Sweden. From there, I guess it’s going home to Croatia. I wish it was doing a US tour, because so many people I know would love this exhibit.

But, I have an idea: Because mama loves a good ceremony, I’m going to start a new tradition: from now on, every Valentine’s Day I’m going to host a Party of Broken Relationships! Bring a bottle of champagne and an object — preferably one whose clutches you need to break free of (darts, lighter fluid, and carving utensils optional) — along with the story behind it. We’ll come up with a nice exorcising ritual for each. God, I can’t wait.

Feb 14 2009

Status: Not Complicated

I am not a co' ho'.

I am not a co’ ho’.

Raise your hand if you’re tired of people old enough to know a thing or two by now (and I’m talking to you, my fellow aging Gen Xers) complaining, lamenting, wondering: “how did I get here?” Not just in terms of their relationship, but their life: career, income, self-fulfillment. I used to do the same. But at some point, increasingly I’d ask that question of myself (rather than of a friend, rhetorically, over my second double macchiato, as was my way in the past). And when I asked it of myself, I actually required of myself an answer. And it hit me:  Because that’s what I’ve chosen. Wealth and a relationship and self-worth cannot be had if the price is feeling trapped. Compromise? Of course. Frustration? A given. But trapped: never, ever again. Not in a job, not in a relationship, nowhere. Let freedom reign.

I’m smart. So why am I not Wealthy? Married? Satisfied? Sometimes I need to remind myself, to be quite honest.

Why am I not wealthy?
Because I chose to walk away from a lucrative corporate gig a long time ago. It paid well but I was miserable. I felt trapped. The good definitely did not outweigh the bad – no amount of money is worth feeling trapped, not to me. So I walked. I could quite easily have more money. There are lots of ways right outside my door I could easily earn a great income with lots of benefits. Perhaps I’ll find one that fits well and doesn’t feel come with that “trapped” feeling. In the meantime, I know exactly how I want to live my life, what I want to do with it: and it can pay off. It’s a longshot, I know. And that’s okay. I’m doing okay. It’s 100% worth the tradeoff. I’m loving every minute spent trying. This is an adventure.

Why am I not married? Again, I chose to not remain married. I loved being married. I loved him, he loved me; we still love each other. But Dave Mason said it best: “There ain’t no good guys. There ain’t no bad guys. There’s only you and me and we just disagree.” And if you spend your life together in disagreement, it’s not good for either party. It felt like another trap: one I’d built around myself. Some people stay with the wrong person for fear of ending up alone, or for the kids, or because they loathe the confrontation/battle of divorce, so they take the lifelong path of least resistance. It’s up to you: risk being alone for the right reasons or with someone for the wrong ones. And that is for no one to decide or judge but you.

Climb Me.

Climb Me.

Why am I not satisfied? I choose — no in this case, I’ll always need — to ameliorate. Because I like the act of striving, pushing myself, wanting to accomplish more, improving myself. I’ve been satisfied many times, and to great degrees. I just don’t remain satisfied for very long. Show me a mountain and I have to climb it. And there’s always a mountain to climb. I like the climb as much as the view from the top. And I mean that literally, not metaphorically. But you can do what you want with that mountain and that metaphor.

Self pity, tear down this wall!

I wonder if he's satisfied.

I wonder if he’s satisfied.

But let’s talk about you now, my fellow aging Gen Xers, who are still stuck on the “why me?” loop. Most of you are fiercely smart. Too smart for your own good. It was great currency in your 20s, when having a low-paying job with cool cred was hot. Or you were working a McJob until your big break, when your indie-alt-grunge band “Carpet Picnic” (or whatever genius name it was then) was discovered, signed to Sub Pop, and changed the face of rock forever. Or you were working to Save The Children (or The World, or The Peppered Moth) in a non-profit organization — which made you a good person. Fine and dandy.

But we’re 15, 20 years on, guys. You didn’t go into it for the money then. And you stuck with it. So why, oh why are you whining that there’s no money now? “How did I get here?” “How did this happen?” Answer: Because it’s what you chose. You could change it any second. Get a broker’s degree. Go into pharmaceutical sales. Not into selling out? Write the next blockbuster movie franchise that elevates the genre into the category of  “art”. Just do something, anything, different. Differently. Or own it, take pride, be the best you can be at it. Or… choose to stop complaining. It’s only your life we’re talking about after all. Just how much of it do you want to spend complaining, regretting, lamenting – and annoying everyone around you in the process (while you still have their attention, that is)?

Sure, there are some circumstances we definitely do not choose. Death of loved ones, layoffs at work, and other’s behavior all come to mind. But whether we stay vs. go? Choice. To listen vs. ignore? Choice. Accept vs. change? Choice. Path of least resistance (and often, least reward) vs. challenge? Big choice. Big choice. Choose wisely.

Feb 12 2009

Job Opening: Mancub

It saddens me, but I knew the day would come. My mancub has left captivity to explore the jungle. I’m happy for him. No, I’m downright proud of him. He’s practically a full grown man now, and I like to think I played some small roll in making him the man he almost is today.

But it leaves a huge gaping void in my life. One that’s going to be so much fun to fill!

So I’m recruiting a new mancub.

Job Responsiblilites: be available for last minute repair calls, road-trip calls, whatever calls. Must be keenly intelligent; must clean-up well.

DESIRED EXPERIENCE: restraint; some general contractor knowledge and application;

DEMONSTRATED SKILLS: intuitive neck rubs; mounting heavy objects on cheap old shotgun apartment walls; stuntdriving; comedic timing; flirting

JOB REQUIREMENTS: must own car and valid driver’s license, must have respectable toolbox, toolbelt preferred; able to life heavy objects; cell phone with lots of minutes on monthly plan; take direction well; know when to give direction well; politically incorrect and not easily offended; must have good old-fashioned manners; can-do attitude.

Submissions accepted until position is filled.

Please leave contact details and feeding requirements in the comment section.

Feb 6 2009

February: Mojo? Check.

So many past projects that I was fortunate to have worked on are getting their due this month, and it’s exciting!

1.“What does a photograph mean if the image is a lie?” STEPHANIE’S IMAGE is an official selection of NewFilmmakers Los Angeles and will have its LA premiere at Sunset Gower Studios in Hollywood on Wednesday, February 25. This the latest feature from Coffee and Language Productions, and stars (as Stephanie) Academy Award Nominee (for Best Lead Actress) Melissa Leo. Congrats Melissa, and to the filmmakers,  J.P. Allen and Janis DeLuca-Allen.

2. In addition to the 2 screenings (February 8 & 15) at San Francisco Independent Film Festival, BACK ISSUES is also screening this Saturday at Los Angeles’ Show Off Your Shorts Festival.

3. What better way to spent St. Valentine’s Day than at the SF opening reception for Croatia’s Museum of Broken Relationships at Root Division Gallery? Especially since yours truly will have an installation making its premiere there. I want all of you to come out and be my date!

4. The Independent Feature Film THE SNAKE maked its premiere at SXSW this March! The filmmakers, Eric Kutner & Adam Goldstein, were so amazing to audition for that I was flattered when they asked me to be Ugly Town Woman #1 (I’m in the same scene as Margaret Cho!). Check out the trailer at

Feb 4 2009

Born Free

How cute are we together.

Good times on the road.

Well, I did it. I released the mancub from captivity. It hurt a little. But it was time. And it was a fun — and mother of God was it long — drive. But that’s what you get when you borrow a nearly 20 year-old car that feels like it’s going to explode if you go above 65. With no CD player or satellite radio. Oh, and no AC, which is normally not a problem in February. But this is the Soutwest, and these are times of global warming… I’m sorry, I meant to say Climate Change. And even though I was in the best of company, I WAS DYING. We were both dying. It was the longest motherfucking drive ever. Ever.

But an important journey it was. For the thought of him running free in his natural habitat, the impossibly beautiful desert of the southwest, fills my heart and my head with indescribable joy. And titillation. There goes one tough act to follow.

Mainly because I love the desert of the southwest so much. It’s also where I grew up (though in a neighboring state). No place feels more holy to me that the desert.

Nonetheless, this gives me an excellent excuse to visit the desert more often, and a cozy place to stay while I’m there. I’m liking this new arrangement already.

Eagerly filling my tank. I don't even have to ask him to pump.

Filling my tank.

I should really aim to find a new mancub with roots somewhere really exotic, someplace I’ve always wanted to visit. A destination location. So that next time I set him free… well, you get the picture. Venice. Barcelona. Hawaii (been there, but I’ll go again).

Door close, window open. Door close, window open.