lucky ducks

Does valium really work? Really really? I mean seriously. I need to know.

I fly somewhat frequently and every time: panic attacks. I become a shell of nerves and jagged postures until the plane safely lands which it always does but still. It's irrational. I know it's irrational. I tell myself it's irrational. And yet? If you saw me on a flight I'd look like a rubber band stretched to its very limit, just awful and sickening. As for never trying out sedatives for flights, I don't know. I always thought I could think my way out of this phobia. Controlled breathing, reminding myself about air pockets and how airplanes don't just fall to the earth if engines fail, bringing books and magazines to divert my energy but still.

I guess valium it is, then.

The one positive thing about this phobia is that when I land safely and start walking on solid ground the world seems unbelievably sublime and everyone is this endlessly interesting creature that deserves so much happiness and it's like double rainbow all the way but with every object and person I encounter. I become a walking Beatles record circa the release of Magical Mystery Tour but also circa Abbey Road because Here Comes the Sun is basically radiating off of my pores I could cry I'm so happy. It feels like how second chances feel like, so maybe that's why I don't take sedatives because it feels amazing to somehow get that rare, beautiful second chance feeling even when I don't deserve it. Hmm.

Anyway.

I flew back on the 4th of July which seems kinda nerve racking by itself without flying phobia added to the mix. The September 11th attacks were chosen on that day because of some historical date* so I figured July 4th might be sort of perfect for the t-word-ists to hijack a you know what and I can't even think about it too much even now because it worries me, thanks a lot media hyper-coverage of all things terrorist related :( Anyhow, when my mom was buying the ticket for me and I told her that I might be too superstitious to fly on the 4th of July she told me, "Look, terrorists have their own set of problems and they don't have time to bother you, ok? Do you want the early or late flight?" hahahahaha. Moms always say the exactly right thing to comfort you.

*I don't know if this is actually true and not willing to trudge through the wordy 9-11 wikipedia page to find out if it's true. ok? I heard it from someone who now works for the DOD and seemed somewhat reliable at the time (although as a side note even though he was reliable and responsible, fuck, he was also a jerk asshole but I gave him the benefit of the doubt and thought maybe he'd grow out of it. Turns out, jerk asshole in high school usually translates to jerk asshole in adulthood). READ ON, MAN!

Claire hosted game night in her parents' backyard which is now bananas insanely beautiful. A new deck and pots of pink bougainvillea and strings of sparkly lights. It's like sitting in the prom scenes from a high school movie except in place of implausibly mature dialogue for 30-something actors playing teens we have age-appropriate loud debates and mild insults, quickly whispered secrets and inside jokes that would take years to unravel.

The desert breeze in that neighborhood smells like juniper and hot asphalt and occasionally like that acrid tension of incoming thunderstorms, whatever that smells like, like anticipation of wet drops on dry sand and red dirt and sandstone? I guess it's more of a feeling. It is just a wonderful feeling that I've never felt anywhere else but New Mexico. It makes this atheist very, very happy.

I thought all boys knew this, but apparently not: boobs look way different from a girl's perspective than from a guy slash onlookers perspective. I kinda blew Marc's mind when I showed him that it looks way better from above your tits than from the front (that's not all I blew, omg gross sorry yikes). Although boobs just look good from any angle and I've never seen a rack that I didn't like and want to stare at. There, that's my love letter to boobs of all size and shape.

Too cute!

Sometimes I get blogger's block (like writer's block but without hope for a finished product) and didn't really know why it happened or how to fix it dot dot dot but I've sort of realized that it's because I'm pretty undirectional with this G la fille blog and there's no real M.O. or theme and sometimes it's a personal diary or documenting life like every movement and then sometimes it's talking directly to one person (Marc or a friend who reads it or Jay who never does) and sometimes it's a slobby mess of things that inspire me and I think blogs can't really exist without a theme. Anyway, bla bla bla right?

oven house

Did you grow up with air conditioning? Swamp cooler? Ceiling fans?

I didn't.

I assumed every kid out there wrapped icy washcloths around their neck during mid-afternoon. We'd spray our arms and legs with water from the hose and sit in front of an oscillating fan. Eat popsicles all day and freeze kool-aid to make a fruit slush. So when our swamp cooler broke earlier this year, I knew we could go most of the summer without it. I'd cover the windows from the sunlight in the morning and open up the house in the evening to empty the heat that would eventually get caught within the walls. The cats and I could sit under the lush spring tree blossoms when the house became an oven. Extra bonus, it would be good for the environment to not constantly run a cooler eco-friendly green bla ba. Annnnnnnnnnd......

This plan did not work. I used all of my old tricks. Drinking ice water all day. Keeping a bag of ice in the freezer to cool off my head. Wearing very light clothes. I setup a wet mat in the bathroom in case the kitties needed extreme cooling. Plus, the drunken and lame argument earlier this week about how people take too many showers made me extra stubborn about not taking a shower more than once a week and my sweat stink did not make for a pleasant environment. Although, it did remind me how stubborn I can be. Refreshing. The stubbornness of girls, I think, can make for excellent qualities in women leaders of politics, science, environmental rights, human rights, etc. Anything that requires pushiness despite it all :)

So my stubbornness to not use a cooler lost and we called the landlord to fix it right in time for 100 degree weather tomorrow. The cats thank me for sure.

P.S. I still haven't taken a shower despite my really incoherent argument of constantly repeating "water waste" yikes. Sorry. I may have to take one soon though. I realized I had been scratching at my greasy head for over five minutes yesterday. TMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!

P.P.S. I searched for "hot and sweaty" in image search and found these related/unrelated pics:

This picture was called "crotch calisthenics."

Ok, I feel like even if you are a musician then you should come to your work dressed correctly or look somewhat in control of your audience and even if your look is disgusting grunge trash heap, then you should at least be the most grungy and the most trashy and not look like the sweaty guy selling $10 water bottles. And maybe if your music is so wonderful, not likely, but if it is then maybe you can wear Everybody Loves Raymonds outfits on stage, but more than likely Johnny Depp is a mediocre musician so he can't. Probably. I like JD. I don't like copy cats. Also, I don't like when people make fashion rules. So fuck it. Whatever. Forget everything I wrote.

Still don't understand the appeal.

That computer has tuberculosis?!

This is roughly what my skin looks like after four days of no showers.

Did I ever tell you that some crazy lady berated me for wearing ripped tights one night at Burt's. As if the overall aroma of fecal matter and douche bag cologne required my most upstanding ballgown and pristine pantyhose. Weird... and boring. Sorry :(

THIS PICTURE CAME UP IN THE KID-SAFE SEARCH??! Le ew!

This pic came from a geocities webpage. THEY STILL EXIST.

If you do a "hot and sweaty" search yourself, I highly recommend to turn on the safe search controls. If you don't, the sheer amount of bleached ass hairs that come up may freak you out a little.

bright daze, ash nights

These snaps were most likely taken in May 2009.

It feels like several lifetimes since I last saw live music in Albuquerque.

(I'm going to make it a point to see a band tonight.)

Good times at the old apartment. My sweet little apartment. I could have fit the fridge in my back pocket.

That's what I call a................... SPARKS TONGUE!!!!!!

Sparks night. Great. These snaps should make absolute sense, then.

What song were we singing?

Thursday night dance party at Burt's?

Looking at party pics from several lifetimes ago feels like walking through a graveyard.

Heart breaker in tennis shoes.

this is clearly another night. which night? which month? which year?

Even though I love Lane's drawing the most, this one is the most accurate based on the rendering of his arthritic joints.

We should all be so lucky as to be made fun of loved by our friends this much.