Dear God, make me a bird. So I can fly far. Far far away

My mentor in life, work, and the feminist way is sick. Terminal. Painful. But for whatever reason I keep thinking she’s going to pull through. And I keep trying to convince her partner that she’s going to make it too. I mean, this is one of the founding members of NOW and the Feminist Majority Foundation. Is cancer really going to wipe her out when she is such a fighter? Maybe it’s my naïve youth that is making me the optimist. I thought I was right until I went to a feminist dinner tonight. People that have known her since the 60’s came up to her partner and I during the dinner and told us this is the worst she has ever looked. WHAT??? Why would you say that? What on God’s green earth would possess someone to be so…realistic? Is it maturity that makes someone more realistic? And is being that realistic a form of pessimism? I think so. With maturity comes having to deal with more of life’s trials and tribulations. I get that. I sooooo get that. But here is my question that I have been asking myself for the last year or so of working with her: is it better to know that the person is going to die well in advance, or is it better to be completely stunned and have no warning at all? Almost three years ago one of my best friends killed himself. Talk about no freaking warning! I had nothing but anger towards him for about 6 months to a year. I had to go to therapy because of it. But I got over it. Well, maybe not over it, but I got used to the idea that he wasn’t coming back. But with my mentor, I’ve know she’s been sick for 3 and a half years and it is NOT getting any easier. It’s put me in the foulest mood and I hate talking about it ‘cause it makes me overly emotional and instant salty discharge factory but not talking about it is giving me an ulcer. So I think that writing about it may be the closest to cathartic purging that I can muster up. Sorry to be all Debbie Downer and whatnot, but these are the things I think about when I have mindless work. My mind goes into overdrive and wont shut up because it doesn’t need to focus on anything. And on that note…ciao.

I'm never going to laugh again

Last night was my roommate’s birthday. And because of this we ended up walking to a bar. (Joe and I thought it was the funniest thing ever to speak Farsi half the way down. Poor Bodster) I started doing this really weird thing recently when I walk anywhere. I start thinking my eyes are a camera lens and my thoughts are the narrative and any sound we hear is the soundtrack. This has only started happening though when I am walking. I am officially the best cinematographer ever. I’d like to thank the academy.
Side note: I counted 52 moles on my right arm yesterday. Holy Moley! So, in lieu of playing pin-the-mole-on-Natasha, my roommate and I have decided to “give” every person who comes to our party a mole. And being that there are 52, which is the same amount of cards in a deck, we were thinking that instead of writing names on me, we can just write the card number/suit. Like having a star. (I always thought that that was in and of itself the cheesiest/most romantic thing ever, buying a star.) Then, at the end of the night, we can pull out the card that corresponds to the mole/person out of a hat and they win a new…ladle? Some stationary? A pen? We don’t know what to give yet.
Side side note: Bodhi has written B’s on all his groceries, so I decided to fill them in with “akody.” I also wrote all over the eggs and milk and nonsense that I’m Awesome. I think I was either bored or I figured out something that I thought would pass the time and he’ll laugh at later. Everyone else that has seen it has laughed. I think I should stop doing things just cause they make me laugh. See dad, maybe I am growing up.

give me my dolls

When I woke up today, two things happened: I was not in the mood for idiocy and I realized I was sick. I hate when the cabinet doors are left open, and as if by asshole fate, all of the freaking cabinets were open. Why? I don’t know. But, since I was sick, it seemed to have overweighed my need for perfection because all I did was grumble, look for my dolls (Valley of the Dolls line. When I saw the movie when I was 14, I haven’t been able to say pills. Dolls sound so much more 1950’s housewife. And therefore so much better.) And take them. I went back to bed not thinking that I was going to be knocked out for another 5 hours. I HATE being sick. Despise it! I feel so vulnerable and dumb. I say these things that don’t make sense and I want to be left alone and it’s just not a fun time and then I see open cabinets and…I can’t seem to stay focused one thing, either. One of my friends has decided to bring me soup and the friend that would normally bring me soup wants to cut off all her hair and I think I’m glad that she said she would let me rest because that means she wont cut her hair here and I wont have to clean up after her. One bonus of being sick and is the dreams. I get really weird dreams. Like last night I had this dream that I was constantly jumping out of the water Shamu style and tried to catch a plane that way. And when I couldn’t, I just decided to fly along next to it.

how do you exist when you're living in a dreamworld

My roommate is gone, and in his absents he has missed the following:
Me in the worst mood ever
My friend and I painting the kitchen cabinets
Alice in Wonderland
Jumbos
Good Luck bar, where I went undefeated at thumb wrestling. No joke. I was on a roll.
Across the Universe and my constant bashing of it.
Go-go dancing
Me meeting a Boris and flipping out
My new list-writing obsession and the lame stuff I write because it’s cathartic
Watching TV with the sound off and the music on.
Enchanted
Attack of the detergent monster than will eventually kill us in our sleep.
The fight that doesn’t exist anywhere but in my head and online and which I think is one of the funniest things I have ever done.
E.T. in Spanish

These have all become inside jokes now. Within four days! My roommate was gone for four days and now any time we mention anything like this, we will have to do a back story, which is never as funny as just the catchphrase. And I bet he doesn’t know that Hogan is now getting a divorce. Poor little guy.

Update:: Le sigh

Fun things to do at a goth club

My friend worked at a goth club and being the great friend I am, I went.
WOW-WOW-WOW
When I was in high school I was gothy. The reason I was gothy and not just simply goth was because I was Natasha. My high school boyfriend took me to a Peter Murphy concert and when I went I was told to stop smiling. Yeah, by him. That made me laugh harder…it was an awkward time. His loss.
Before we left to the club we had to figure out what I was supposed to wear. She was better at it than me. I ended up wearing diamond earrings and a pearl necklace. I ‘m like a Banana Republic goth. So we go and I’m immediately telling jokes and trying to blow out the dark goth candles. Then the game I started was trying to figure out what these people did as day jobs. As she is working, I am sitting in a corner of the club. Yes ma’am, this fun tidbit is coming directly from a goth club. I am writing in a corner and singing along. So they’re playing older stuff. I know my music. What can I say?
I told my friend I felt like Lydia from Beetlejuice (Betelgeuse) grew up and wanted to relieve her youth and has realized she's way better off now. Then I laughed too loud and got weird looks, at which I just proceeded to laugh louder.

Other fun things to do at a goth club:
While said friend is working, make silly dance moves. When she responds, gesture wildly. Mind you, this will take place across a large room and goth boys will run for cover when they can’t see who you’re playing around with and automatically assume you and said friend suffer from multiple personality disorder.

It feels like a Griffin and Sabine entry but in the best way possible.

Pretend you own the place and people will treat you as such.

There is nothing sadder than a fat goth girl.

Singing the White Stripes in your head and wanting nothing more than hearing any of their songs does not work in the least and you will feel like an idiot.

Ether moment: go to the bar adjacent to goth bar that shares a patio and they play the White Stripes. WTF. I am now in control of the universe! Let’s see what else I can conjure up.

I go through all this before you wake up

I either have been way too clumsy for my own good, or someone made a voodoo doll of me and is going to town. Yesterday, for some odd reason, I thought it would be rad to cut my freaking finger off. But common sense got the best of me and I didn’t quite go all the way through. Ew, I just made myself nausage. (It’s a hybrid of nauseous and sausage and I came up with a while ago and I still enjoy it.) My friend was with me and I was so ‘meh’ that I didn’t flip out…too much. I hate blood. Especially mine. It needs to stay in me. This vacation that it sometimes thinks it needs to take is not appreciated by moi. Stay in one place and enjoy it, Mr. Hemoglobin. Then last night I totally ran into the doorframe. So hard in fact that my roommate shot me a look because it made him look up from the TV. I looked at him and asked, “When the hell did we put that there?” It’s going to leave a bruise. I’m going to start naming my bruises. THEN…this morning, in my car, on the way to work…wait for it…wait for it…I got stung by a baby bee! While driving! On the one-oh-one! Are you joking me??? Where the hell is the camera? Am I getting punked? And because of this stupid encounter, I haven’t been able to get that “I’m taking home my baby bumblebee” song out of my head all day! Wow, re-reading this, I am on punctuation overload. Cereal. Serial. Syria. All I wanted to do tonight was have an escape from daily life and my new injuries and go to the observatory to walk around. But with the way that things are going one of two things are most likely going to happen. Either A: The Autobots will be holding their meeting and as they “roll out” I’m going to be run over by Bumblebee, or B: There will be some kind of cosmic breakdown and a black hole will appear over the observatory and I will be sucked out of this realm and placed in another. Wait, that sounds kinda amazing. Ok, observatory back on!
Side note: It's Bjork's birthday.

I wish you would have put yourself in my suitcase

Instead of painting my door, I do believe I have a better idea and a crazy new obsession. Instant photographs. Not just Polaroid’s, but the pictures that you take at bars and arcades and stuff. This was recently triggered when I was going through some things and found a fun quad pic of a friend and myself during my “I’m going to wear dresses every day” phase. All it made me want to do was rummage some more and find all that we made last summer. We would go into the booths with stories that we NEEDED to tell. Then we would come out and pound on the booth until our picture came out. As for the Polaroid’s, I do have a camera and actually bought a crap load of the film for an art project, but alas, I have yet to find them. Packing and moving crap sucks. I put up the one quad pic (patent pending) on my newly made dresser (my hand is so sore, you would not believe!) and just looking at it makes me feel better. Better? Hmmm, it makes me feel like I need to take more pictures and find my camera. Not in that order, obviously. The video is from Coconut Records and is called West Coast. It's probably not the best thing to listen to whilst rummaging through old things, but damn, it's freaking great and it makes me want to skateboard. (Side note, in one of my directing classes, I used the word "whilst" in one of my schematics and the teacher accused me of plagiarism. It's an awesome feeling when you're accused of being better than what you thought you were. After I proved that it was indeed I who wrote it, my teacher told me I need to hone my craft, because there was no reason a 25 year old female born and raised in Los Angeles should even know how to use the word "whilst." Damn, I should have taken a Polaroid pic of her to put on my wall.)

I'll take the physical challenge, Mark!

I am super competitive. Like disgusting. I am not a good loser. I love to play games and love even more to beat your ass. My roommate is now understanding this. Which is why he sent me a notification to be on a game show!!!! This is my new obsession. I HAVE to go on a game show. And if him and I go on it together, he can do the math and the…boy stuff, and I can do everything else. I think we can do this. I KNOW we can do this. The notification stated that they needed energetic, (Check!) charismatic (Check!!) people with a sense of humor (Check!!!) So far the only thing they didn’t say was, Natasha, we are waiting for your call. It’s all based on trivia questions, pop culture references, and physical challenges. It sounds like Double Dare for adults. I would so go through a nose to get a flag while being covered in slime. Oh my God, maybe Mark Summers will host it! Truth be told, I was on a game show in high school. I don’t remember what it was called, but I do remember winning. And that was during my Morrissey/ I hate everything phase. Ah, memories. And for the record, I could have SOOO beat these guys and won everything.

Once upon a time...

Last night all I wanted to do was go to sleep. I came home, had a friend over from school, (‘cause I’m five years old? That sounds so lame) we ate and I asked him what was the haps with his life. He gave me some pretty heart crushing news and we ended up talking for about an hour outside. I told him he is now the equivalency of a remote control that you insist on still using and try to make it work by pushing the buttons harder. Not admitting that you need to recharge the batteries or get new ones or whatever you crazy kids do now a days with you and your batteries. He got it and said, “Natasha, that is exactly how I feel! Damn, you are good!” I know. It’s a gift. Random analogies are my contribution to the world at large. Anyway, when I came back inside, I was a little worse for the wear and all I wanted to do was sleep. My dim sum and then some friend insisted on reading me a story. I don’t know why, I don’t get it, I don’t know what spawned this. But, I said fine. She ended up starting to read me the saddest bastard story I had ever come across. What the hell is that? I turned to her and said, “This isn’t going to work. I want a happy book. Let me choose a book.” She got more than a little irritated. As I’m looking, she says she wants to read some book about starfish. I tell her no. Then I start talking to her and I tell her a story about when I was in high school and she had the audacity to tell me to stop talking, she wants to read to me. At this point, I sit up in bed and tell her, “I didn’t want to be read to, I just wanted to talk to you!” She noticed that she was acting more than a little Mommy Dearest and said, “I’m going to the living room to finish my beer.” I am 26. My friend is 27. And yet I still somehow managed to have the worst night of my childhood with someone who wasn’t even present in my childhood. I hope she gets me a toy today to make up for it. Oh my God, that would SO make up for it! I need to go plant the seed of toy in her brain. Toys are so much better than flowers and chocolate.

Mornings at the Bodhi-Bakody-Abodie

Sometimes people do things that I REALLY don’t understand. I mean, just completely bizarre crap. For example, this morning I saw that my friend put up a menu for a veggie dim sum place on our refrigerator. The only reason I noticed was because I needed the magnet to put up a picture of a mermaid throwing up seashells. (I love that freaking picture!) When I asked her why she insisted on putting up the menu, she said it was because if we ever need dim sum, she was going to need the address and menu and number. Okay, fair enough. Until I saw that the menu was from a place in New York. We don’t live in New York. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to New York any time in the near future. And I’m fairly certain she is not going anytime soon either. I am also fairly certain this was not a joke. I ended up walking out of the kitchen, looking at her, opened my mouth to say something but thought better of it, walked back into the kitchen and poured myself another cup of coffee. Side note, this is my new favorite commercial. My roommate said it seems like something I would make. He’s also getting me an Alumni Cal Tech license plate holder because I think it would be funny considering my complete lack of math skills. At least he’s starting to get me.

Take me home daddy!

We got the band back together. We put the fort back up. We are going on one last reunion tour. I’ve been racking my brain about a funny story that happened when I was little, but everything that I have been thinking of has been sub par. Then I find out I have already been comped to go to the Feminist Majority Foundation 20th anniversary dinner. That’s not a childhood anecdote. But it made me have an Ether moment, as my roommate calls it. See, I found out that one of the main performers that was going to be there was Miss Cindy Freaking Lauper! She bowed out, but I feel that it’s for the best, since I would have been a blubbering idiot and would have told her the story of when I was two. Yeah, that story. The crazy embarrassing story. Wait, you don’t know the Cindy Lauper story? Do you want to know the story? Are you sitting down? Sit down. No, that’s fine, just sit down. I’m not going to tell you if you don’t freaking sit down, dude! Ok, when I was round about two and no taller than a grasshopper, I loved the song Girls Just Want To Have Fun. I mean, as much love as a two year old could have, which is a ton, actually. My mother was giving me a bath, and I heard the song. Oh man, I’m turning beet red, maybe I shouldn’t go on. I’ll tell with my eyes closed so I don’t see your reaction. Tjaksnd thsksla hskksdd gtnslkd hflskdsff tjsll!!! Sslksdjkf dfjkd, sfksm, fkfks. Hmmmmm, that didn’t work so well. (Right now, btw, I am totally making myself laugh. I am so my own best audience!)
Enough with the delays: SPIT IT OUT!
Ok, so I hear the song, and before my mom can do anything, I run outside, naked as a jay bird, and proceed to dance and sing. All the neighbors saw me and started laughing and pointing and I thought they loved it, so I danced harder. I was encouraged. My mother, when she realized I had become a baby stripper, ran outside, put a towel around me and carried me back inside. I tried to reason with her that it was Cindy Lauper, but she wouldn’t let me dance until I had clothes on. By the time I was ready to cut a rug the song was over. I actually remember doing this and the faces of the neighbors and my utter disappointment. Sometimes, the rhythm is gonna get ya! Now that I think about it, I am totally Baloo from The Jungle Book.

please, a moment of silence

Our fort fell. And with it, so did my ability to love. This is the saddest day in the history of really sad times. November 11. Never forget. I have to get rid of SO much cardboard now. Because just looking at it is a painful reminder of what could have been. What should have been. Always the optimist though, now I can Scooba the living room. I don’t think I can ever bounce back from this. That fort was my last high. But like they say, tis better to have built a fort and have it break than to never have had a fort at all. I knew it would have never lasted though, it was too perfect. Our fort was too bright for this world. Wow, is it hot in here? My eyes are sweating. Here's a picture of our fort during better times. When we didn't see the end in sight.

I am so happy Bodhi is building me a fort!

I used the Scooba! I made a night out of it. I am retarded. But that means so is my roommate and friend, cause they totally indulged me. Last night, I went to dinner with my parents and my mom gave me a bag of a million pomegranates and a thousand persimmons. So when I came home, the first thing I did was cut open a pomegranate. I apparently was rusty and dropped a couple of seeds, which I then referred to as Scooba food. After clearing out the kitchen of the chairs and mats and shiz, I prepared the Scooba with the Scooba juice (cleaning solution) We all started talking about Scooba like it was a person. We also named the Scooba. Jacques Cousteau. That was my idea, cause I’m a nerd. Bodhi wanted Captain Jacques Cousteau because we have a pirate welcome mat and therefore, according to Dr. Bodster, we live in a pirate house.) (Side note: Bodhi just got a weird spurt of energy and is now attempting to build a fort. Around me. Bodhi’s fun) Anywho, back to Scooba. After I gave Scooba the juice, I placed it in the middle of the dinning room, pressed the on button, and took a step back. Scooba sang a little beep beep beep song and started moving around. This inadvertently made me jump up and down and dance and squeal. I didn’t know I was doing it until I turned to look at my roommate and friend and they were laughing…with me. Right? I am so not used to constantly having an audience. At all freaking times. To make it an all water theme, we were also watching The Little Mermaid. It was the first time I had seen it in a while and I ended up saying all the lines and singing all the songs, much to their dismay. But back to Scooba… I don’t know if I like it. I’m giving Scooba one more chance. In my living room.

I would be jealous too

Being that I have now adopted borderline OCD in regards to cleanliness, I decided that I needed a vacuum. And not just any vacuum. I decided I needed a Hello Kitty vacuum. So I go to the Sanrio store in the mall (which I HATE HATE HATE) and after not being able to find a vacuum there, decide to go to the Little Tokyo mall on Saturday. In the mean time, I will browse the mall. I go into Restoration and have to leave after I seriously contemplated purchasing a 40-dollar Christmas ornament. (I hate Christmas, but am determined to attempt to enjoy it this year.) After peeling myself away from there, I headed to the Disney store, only to talk myself out of purchasing a Nightmare Before Christmas black feather wreath. I’m still on the fence about whether or not I did the right thing. I leave, convince myself I don’t need a giant princess tent and head to Brookstone. I peruse the bizarre gadgets and get to the home area. That’s where I found it. A robot vacuum! The Roomba. But it wasn’t just any Roomba, oh no, it was the Scuba!!! Meaning it actually washes the floors instead of just sucking. Then I see the Scuba is on sale!!!! Then, after talking to my friendly neighborhood Brookstone employee, Chet (Holy Chet!) he gave me an employee discount as well!!! My robot vacuum that should have cost four hundred gorgonzola’s only ended up costing me one hundred and fifty buckaroos! I walked out of the store and literally had to mentally remind myself not to skip in the mall. I hate the mall. With the saved money, I went to Wacko’s and ended up getting salt and pepper shakers, naked lady shot glasses, a pirate welcome mat, and a new purse. And that was after I talked myself out of getting an exact replica leg lamp from A Christmas Story. I am determined to get into the Christmas spirit this year. Oh holy night!

Somedays last longer than others

Things I have still yet to do…
Put up curtains (The neighbors love me. I’m the most popular girl on the block)
Put together my dresser (Had more important things to attend to, like entertaining at 4am)
Build cardboard fort (Which may now be a rocket, which I am totally okay with too)
Figure out if I should participate in No Shave November (I’m thinking nay)
Prepare for party that Bodhi wants to be the bouncer to (click click)
Clean…everything (I’m on a cleaning spree. I got off work early to clean the bathroom)
On a side note…I’m bored!!!
I’m usually very good by myself, but I don’t like being alone here. Unless it’s in the morning. Then I’m cool. I mean, I’m cool regardless, but in the sense that I'm cool being alone in the morning. And my friend gets out of work at 10. And I still need to fix my stuff…ok, I’m getting off my whaaaambulance now. Listening to Rilo Kiley and PJ Harvey isn’t helping. I need a hobby. Besides waiting for friends. Hey, wanna come over?

Things I need to do...

Put up curtains (seeing as how I already gave the neighbors a bit of a show)
Fix dresser (seeing as how I need a dresser and a place to put my computer)
Get my computer (seeing as how I will have fixed my dresser)
Figure out if we have hard water (seeing as how my hair isn’t gleaming today)
Figure out how to get rid of hard water (seeing as how I like my hair to gleam)
Make cardboard fort (seeing as how we now have more cardboard than sense)
Figure out how to make cardboard fort (seeing as how I want one)

Dream a little dream of me

I had a dream that in order for gymnasts to learn how to get from the top bar to the bottom bar on the uneven bars, they need penguin fur. ( it was a dream, I don’t get it) but as they put this poor penguin through what can only be described as a clipper machine, the closer they got the skin of the penguin, the redder the hair got. And then, when they removed the fact feather/ hair of the penguin, it turns out they don’t have a beak and instead have huge ol’ Angelina Jolie lips, huge, made up eyes, and a little button nose. They looked like teeny tiny trannies. This marks the last time that I eat a 12 inch sub and sleepy time tea. I gotta call my mom and see what the hell penguin trannies mean. I hope it means promotion!