1-14-01

You have to wonder if a non-ceasing evaluation of your life takes the oomph out of it. Like you spend so much time thinking about it and assessing it's every bland nuance that you really do forget to smell the freaking roses. But, I've decided that since A) my life lacks a little in the hysterical excitement department and B)everyone can stand a little self couch-examination every here and now, hell, long rambling monologues might be my walk in the park.

Speaking of monologues, I miss my acting classes passionately. I did two years of improv acting with the Seattle Children's Theatre, and met a lot of superb people that way. I want to get back in the game...perhaps this is the summer. I have so many (ridiculous?) plans for the summer...get a job with a professional photographer, (since Brunhilda the Big-Bootied Bitch sabotaged my blossoming barista career), learn to sew my own clothing, go swing dancing, take more pictures, and of course, rehabilitate the relationship with Caoimhin.

Things are going well on the www front...just got accepted as a journalist/reporter/articlist for girlie in the city, which is an as-yet-unfinished webzine for...you guessed it...girls. Of the young variety. I have faith that this won't turn out to be some boyband-lovin’-makeup-slinging cheesefest...the site editor seems grounded and directional, so my worries are probably unfounded. Besides, no one is forcing me to write. And I'm actually excited about the opportunity.

(I'm writing this during church service...more hours in the purgatory to be sure...anyways, the worlds' coolest guy is wailing away on his harmonica and thundering on his drum til’ kingdom come and crash down around his feet…he harbors quite a talent.  Even though our church, being Japanese and psuedo-stoic in nature, is not very lively, he ended his set to unusually uproarious applause.)

Yesterday was the West Seattle Varsity Wrestling Invitational.  Bluorchid pretty much dominated. We had ten guys make it to the final rounds (that is, battling for first or second place), and out of those ten guys, three matches were Bluorchid vs. Bluorchid. Also out of those ten, there were seven first place awards and three second place awards. Pretty sweet.  And guess what? I took fucking second place!! It was the defining moment of my life, I felt like snogging everyone in sight.  Except for the bastards from Lincoln High School.  Stupid Catholic Elitist We-Refuse-To-Wrestle-Girl-Wrestlers who forfeit their match to me. Well, huh, their loss.  Guess they wanted to make sure I didn’t make them look stupid.  As if the fact that I took second, and the dumb bitch didn’t even place made them look real good.  Post-forfeit, I kicked the shit out of the Pinewood kid. (Pent-up anger, you know.) Made him bleed. (Not on purpose.)

“That was bad-ass, Ra,” Alex Cameron remarked, post-match, grinning in his spaghetti-loving heterosexual male republican way.  “Truly, bad-ass.”

Higher praise has never been received. Alex has been wrestling for about nine years, and since our kiddie-wrestling days together back at Tazmanian Middle School, I’ve always looked up to him.  He knew more than the coach, for god’s sake. (The coach was, however, a huge flaming drunk at that point.)

Anyways.  Alex C. is incredibly sexy in a curiously strange way.  I’m powerfully attracted to the way he dances.  Powerfully.  This, of course, induces weird pangs of sheepishness on my part.  There’s something charming in his perpetual Tommy Bahama-sporting persona, you know, the kind of guy who thinks the white man is being oppressed as much as any first-generation immigrant from Uganda.  But back to his sexiness.  Yeah. That boy can really shake it down.  I was really surprised.

I discovered this at our “big bad mamma-jamba-rama” pajama jam two nights ago.  One may ask: Hey. You crazy cracked out psycho; what the hell are you talking about?  A pajama jam (ouch) is a high school dance that requires all participants to get blind stinking drunk prior to the event and dress up in pajamas.  Some kids mix it up by getting stoned and dressing like prostitutes (boys included.)  But I’m all about sexual/chemical liberation and all that good shtuff…I just don’t believe those experiences should be shared with the terminally brainless.

However, I hadn’t gotten down in a while, so I welcomed the chance to shake my groove thang.  And I actually had a good deal of fun; Moonhuck and Novabean lost themselves after an hour or so, so I hung out with Lucretia and danced until my special massaging-Australian-nodule sandals started to leave tracks of rubber on the floor.

Recently, Caoimhin and I haven’t been doing so steadily, if you know what I mean, and this embedded in me a strong urge to do something rather out of character for me; get out of the house and interact with people. So I went after Alex, and made him dance with me.  And let me tell you, I was impressed.  The boy knows how to get down.  Confession: I usually end up leading.  75-25% of the time.  Badly, too. But Alex took the lead, which was really nice because he has rhythm.  And in all honesty, I’m surprised.  I always figured that he would be stiff and awkward on the dance floor, (a la Joshua Jefferson; a style which, in itself, is extremely cute,) but he dances like his mirror has been giving him lessons way longer than mine has.