Derby Doll.

October 21, 2009 at 5:25 pm (Illinois, Sillyness.)

This past weekend I went out with my friend Jared to the thrift stores. While in one of them, I spotted a poster advertising for a new So. Ill Roller Derby team that had just started up. After contemplating it a day or so, I emailed the coach and expressed intrest.

“I’ll be honest, I haven’t skated in probably 15 years.”

“That’s ok.” she said. “Most of us hadn’t either until they started in June.”

So I read and watched youtubes about Roller Derby, then went to practice last night – assuming I was just going to watch. (I hadn’t skated in ages, surely the coach wouldn’t throw me to the sharks?) Oh no. No no no no no. I get there, and see not only a ton of the punk gals I used to hang out with ages ago at the local punk house – but they say “Throw on some skates and pads, meet us on the floor.”

Me, being the adventurous type that I am, complied and found that skating like bike riding, comes back to you after a few laps around the track. I’m certainly no professional, but I could manage to do one or two laps without falling on me bum.

Then the level 1’s (The ones who have passed the basic tests – ie, falling, stopping, skating backward, safety, balance, etc) went off to learn blocks and whips, while I and a few other gals went with the Ref to learn the “Fresh Meat” things. You see, they call us newbies Fresh Meat. I watched for a few, and realized I was a bit… overdressed. Most of the gals were in fishnets, short shorts, or skirts, one gal even had stockings painted on her legs, and not much else. I chilled in my jeans, thinking the more protection the better, right?

Oh, I was so wrong. When you wear those big knee pads, what you don’t initially realize is that if you wear pants (especially stiff ones like jeans) under them, they tend to bunch, shift, or otherwise cause discomfort. I have learned my lesson. I went out and bought tights and fishnets.

Anyway – We did drills – and let me take a moment to remind you all, that by this time, I had gotten on skates for the first time in 15 years only 10 minutes ago – we did drills of falls. Sure, this looks like fun, I thought to myself. It was. It was a LOT of fun. We learned how to fall correctly (because you WILL fall. Either by losing your balance, or by being knocked over, or tripped) we learned how to fall on one knee, then the other, and recover, we learned how to fall on both knees, how to do a slide, how to turn around while falling on your knees and sliding backward, we learned how to fall on your knees then slide down to your elbows, all the while going as fast as you can on skates.

Then we did drills of skating backward, turning, crossover steps, and eventually Hercules drills – where five people line up, and the back person pushes them all around the track, then switches and pulls them around the track. Pleasant, no? Painful? Yes.

I am sore today. I knew I would be. I am also very, very happy. I also have two large bruises on my knees, which I wear with pride.

IMG_0320I am officially a derby doll.

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Nom Nom

July 12, 2009 at 4:20 pm (Uncategorized)

Moon nom.php

I know, I haven’t  blogged in a while. They’re going to take away my blogger lisence.

I have really great news though! I sold my first cake!

Honestly, I wasn’t prepared. On a whim, I made a cake for rehersal for the play I’m producing. I brought it in, everyone loved it, and one of the actors asked me if I could make a cake for a baby shower. Turns out, the woman having a baby is a caterer, who doesn’t do baked goods. She’s interested in doing a partnership with me, and the friend who asked me to bake (who is a professional photographer)

Within a couple of weeks, I had the perfect recipes and some business cards made up – which means I picked a name for my bakery – Nom Nom.

In case you were wondering, here is a couple of pictures of the cake -

IMG_0272IMG_0271

I woke up that morning and started on it at 6am. I didn’t stop till I passed the cake off around 9pm.

It’s two ten inch round chocolate cakes on the bottom, topped with two eight inch rounds of chocolate cake on top. I layered it with creme de menthe milk chocolate ganache, and used that as the crumb coat. Then I covered the whole thing in dark chocolate valrona ganache. The truffles I made too, with the valrona chocolate and dusted them with luster dust in green and silver (the colors for the shower).

To top it all off, I dusted cocoa powder on it, and put some chocolate shavings. Man.. that must have been one rich and tasty cake.

Today I made a strawberries and cream cake (homemade whipped cream!) I’ll post pics later if I get around to it.

Om nom nom nom nom.

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Who is in control?

June 2, 2009 at 6:28 pm (Meaning of life)

Lately I’ve had this obsession with the song Hallelujah, originally written by Leonard Cohen. He said about the song:

“I wanted to write something in the tradition of the hallelujah choruses but from a different point of view… It’s the notion that there is no perfection ~ that this is a broken world and we live with broken hearts and broken lives but still that is no alibi for anything. On the contrary, you have to stand up and say hallelujah under those circumstances.”

I guess I’m depressed. There really isn’t any other way to put it. I hate using that term, it’s been construed as only a mental illness instead of a state of being. It forces you to think “I have to fix this” instead of just feeling what you are feeling and going with it. It’s not that I want to be depressed, quite the opposite really. It’s just… I’m feeling this for a reason. It’s a symptom of a greater issue – like a sneeze is a symptom of a cold, or allergies. Treating the sneeze won’t cure the cold, and treating the depression won’t cure the ache that’s in me.

It is an ache. I keep trying to put it into terms. I keep saying or thinking that it’s because I’m back home, or because it’s the summertime, or because I feel like I don’t have direction. It could be all of those things – and that’s not the point. The point is, I am sad.

I am sad. Those three words look so stark and naked on the white background that I type this on. Already I’m trying to think of reasons why I’m so sad, but the reasons are secondary to the actual feeling. I have reasons. I have a thousand reasons to be sad. I also have a thousand reasons to be happy. It’s a choice you make every day, in every moment. A choice in which you decide if you are going to be happy, or sad. Sure, I’m going through the motions of life. I’m plotting my business plan for the bakery, I’m going out on dates, I’m hanging out with friends, I’m holding auditions this weekend for a play I’m going to help produce – I’m living.

And maybe that’s why I’m so sad. I’m living.

My great aunt died last weekend. I didn’t know her well, only from family reunions and the like. She was a great lady, always made me laugh.. but there it is again. Death. I wonder if anyone else thinks about it as much as I do. If “normal” people have the overwhelming awareness that our lives are short, and that death is hanging over our shoulders all the time. Maybe it’s because I’ve seen so much of it in my short life. I’ve seen murders, suicides, natural deaths and everything in between. Death has been as much of a part of my life, as living has. I’ve stared it in the face a few times myself.

Last night I couldn’t sleep at all. For whatever reason, I was afraid of the dark. I was in bed, staring at the ceiling, and felt so alone, so vulnerable.. I didn’t feel safe. It’s not like I had any reason to – I know I could defend myself, I know I could survive a lot of things. I just don’t think I can survive death anymore. Sure, I know everyone dies, that everyone on earth at some point will know someone else that dies. Someone they love, someone they hate, someone they met in passing – I’m not alone in that. I thought about how someday, I’m going to be madly in love with someone, and they will die. They will cease to be. Food will taste like ash in my mouth because they will never taste that food again. I will have known them, and they will just be.. gone. They’ll never take a shower, they’ll never see the stars, they’ll never brush their hair, they’ll never be sad again, or happy. They will just be gone.

Maybe this is why people believe in religion. To give them some comfort that this isn’t the end. That this isn’t all we are. That someday -

Here I am, going on about a reason when I said the point was the feeling. Hard to break old habits, eh?

My finger is hovering over the “publish” button. I’m scared to send this out. I’m scared that nobody will get it, or worse yet, someone will. I guess in the long run it doesn’t matter. I know I’m sad now, but I know it won’t last forever. I know I’ll be back with a happy blog.


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Migraines

May 23, 2009 at 7:12 pm (Uncategorized)

I am convinced there is no greater physical pain on earth than a migraine.

I started having them around Christmas of 2007. I thought they were just bad headaches, that I was stressed, that I needed a new eyeglass perscription. Then when February of 2008 rolled around and I was still having these headaches that brought me to tears almost every day, I went to the doctor.

He gave me some pills, which took away the headaches, but left the rest of my body hypersensative – it felt like I had the flu. Finally, about the time I moved out to California, they stopped. I haven’t had one since. Until my power came back on after the storm.

Since then, almost every day, I’ve been having the same headache on the same side of my head.

I keep thinking about people hundreds of years ago that had these.. they must have thought they were going mad. I know I think I am half the time. Yesterday I called my mother and begged her to shoot me in the head, to put me out of my misery, something, anything, to get rid of this. It went away for a few hours, but yet again, I woke up with a dull ache.. and I know within a few more hours, I’m going to be curled up in a ball with the covers over my head, praying for death.

I read once that these types of headaches are called “suicide headaches” and I can believe it. It said – Imagine giving birth without any anestetic 3-4 times a day for a week, or a month. Then getting a few days rest, and it starts over again. That pretty well describes it.

Headaches aside, I’m settling into the country again.

It’s the little things I forgot about that are keeping me happy. A few nights ago, Nate showed up at my door at midnight and said we were going on a trip. We took the back roads, and ended up stopping while a train passed. We got out of the car and stared up at the sky. I don’t ever remember seeing so many stars.

We got to our destination – the spillway, which was overflowing. It’s the resevoir for Kincaid Lake, and when it spills over, goes in this stunning waterfall. We all swim out there over the summer, but I haven’t seen it this flooded in a while. The roar of the falls set the backdrop while we lay down in the grass and connected the dots of the stars. You just don’t get that in the city.

Tonight I’m headed over to Jen’s place. Sarah, Jen and I are going to sit down and make a plan for a new community theatre project we have been talking about for over a year now. I don’t know if it will ever amount to anything, but I’m excited at the prospect.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a lot of aspirin and lay in bed, maybe I can prevent this migraine before it happens.

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Hurricane!

May 14, 2009 at 7:14 pm (Illinois)

Even though we had no power for a week, some good things came of it. I finally met Jessie and her fiance Cory.. and….. I started dating someone. We were on our first date when this happened. Pretty cool first date, huh? Not everyone gets a kiss in the eye of a hurricane.

Things are getting back to normal, but I think a big part of me will miss the lack of power and distractions.

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Lonely Ghosts.

April 30, 2009 at 7:28 pm (Meaning of life)

The devil that you know.. is better than the one you don’t.

The day I came back to Illinois was the one year anniversary of my grandfather’s death. When I crossed the state line, I started to sob. I realized I wasn’t happy to be home. So much has happened here, it was like I was willingly walking into a fire again. I thought I had worked through all of this in California. I thought I was “better” – and now I think I’ve realized.. I was never “broken” in the first place.  There was never anything wrong with me.

I was and still am that same person. It’s just here.. here it’s shrouded, hidden, muted, squashed beneath a layer of ghosts.

I know that sounds silly, but it’s the best way to describe what’s going on with me. We, as humans, must adapt to our environment. The place we are in moulds who we must be. By adapting to this environment, by living here, I must be at least partially… the same person I was, when I thought I was “broken”

We stay because, we don’t know where else to go.

There is a comfort in falling into that old identity. It’s easier to be what you hate, than to be who you want to be. It’s easier to fall into those same patterns that you know you wish to change, than to try to take on the world and convince others to treat you differently.

People.. other people. That’s what it comes down to. Other people who have known me for years, will always see the pieces of me that are no longer relavant to who I am, and in a way, I will always see those pieces too. I was unpacking and putting away my clothes, and I saw Joe’s clothes in my drawers. I can’t get rid of them. I don’t want to. He is a piece of me that I want to carry with me. I’ve made peace with that, but others haven’t.

I went to the coffee shop and ran into old friends. Instead of talking about what I was doing with my life now the conversation turned toward Joe. They wanted to speak of him to me. Here, at least to some people, I will always be Joe’s widow. I will never be just me. I will always have that ghost in their eyes.

So why do I stay? Why do I stay where I am so unhappy, where I am at war with myself, where I cannot be who I know I am, and wish to be? Am I that much of a masochist? Am I enjoying the comfort of being depressed? Am I on some mission to prove to myself and others that I can be me in spite of the horrific things I have witnessed and endured over the years in this wretched hive of scum and villainy? Am I slipping into my same old patterns of feeling sorry for myself because it’s easy, known, and safe? Am I giving up?

Why stay..

I stay, because I don’t know where else to go.

This is home.

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Road Trip

April 26, 2009 at 2:29 am (Sillyness.)

Finally here, finally “home” – Carmine was wonderful through the whole trip and barely complained. He’s a super road cat!

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And so it ends.

April 20, 2009 at 1:25 am (Amazing Oakland)

I have been meaning to write this blog for a while. Amazingly enough.. it’s really hard for me to do. The time has come for me to move on. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be loading up a car and driving back east to Illinois.

When I first moved out to Oakland and the Bay area, it was for many reasons. First and foremost – to live with my then fiance, Jason. He was going to school here, and flying back and forth was draining both our money and our energy. It only made sense for me to pack up a few belongings and head to sunny California. Secondly, I moved here for me.

When I was a child, I moved a lot. A whole lot. Both my parents were in the military, so through the years I never stayed in one spot for very long. It became natural to me to pick up and go, to start over. Once my parents divorced, I found I missed that. I missed new places, new friends, new experiences and a new life around every corner.

Life threw me a few curveballs. Life always does. In an attempt to cope with the bad things in the world, I became a hermit. I closed myself off, didn’t leave the house unless I had to, stopped talking to friends.. I slowly but surely became agoraphobic. I would literally have panic attacks every time I went into public. I didn’t even know what was happening to me. I remember my mother taking me to a dentist appointment once, and I flipped. I couldn’t stop crying or shaking. She didn’t know what was going on either.

Then Christmas of 2007 rolled around. My mother came over and was helping me decorate my house. I was sad, I cried to her and told her how I was lonely. I was tired of being alone. She said to keep the faith.. that god had plans for us all.

I don’t know that I believe in god, but true enough.. a few days later Jason walked back into my life. He was back in Illinois for a visit and came over to my house for my New Year’s party. Things progressed.. and I ended up in California.. where he dumped me.

When Jason left me, I was confused. Here I was, in a new life, a new place, a new job, a new relationship, and all of a sudden the rug was pulled out from under me. I didn’t have anyone out here. I couldn’t just leave though. I had promised myself that moving to California wasn’t just for him, that it was for me too. So I had to prove it, to put my money where my mouth was. I got a new place, moved in, and spent four wonderful months by myself in Oakland.

I learned a lot of things while I lived here. I learned that city life isn’t as glamourous as everyone thinks it is, that promises of forever are always lies, that you can walk down the street full of people and feel invisible, that street kids aren’t as needy and down on their luck as they pretend to be, that all the stereotypes about California are true.. especially about Berkeley, that living in a fantasy doesn’t fill the empty hole inside of you.

I also learned, that people are far nicer than I will ever give them credit for. I learned that I am pretty. Not just girl next door pretty like I used to think.. but here in the city, I realized I am absolutely beautiful and desireable. I learned I am a lot stronger than I give myself credit for, and that being happy doesn’t mean I am forgetting about the bad things in the world. Here, I gave myself permission to be happy, to be loved, to be desired, to live my life for me.

A piece of my heart will always reside in Oakland. The community here is one I have never experienced in my life. Oddly enough in general.. people are nicer here than anywhere else I’ve ever been. I will wonder if Yacine from Mali, the piano player who came into the cafe just to play music will think of me, or Lee, the lady who did my eyebrows and owned the nail shop down the corner. She remembered my name and waved at me every single time I walked past. Or Omar, the owner of the 99cent store. I’ll miss his smile and his happy phrase “How are you my friend! I am glad to see you!” because I know he honestly was.  I’ll miss the homeless guy who crocheted hats and sold them at the bart station, I will miss the nice latino family whose patriarch was murdered down the street from me a month ago. I’ll miss Ruth and her insanity, I’ll miss the warm sunshine, the flowers that smell sweeter than I could have ever imagined, the dirt, the bay, the ocean, the bridge, the city, the lights, the sparkle, the shine, the feeling of being part of something big, and yet so small in the sea of faces.

But.. it’s time to go home. It’s time for me to prove that I can still be me, wherever I am.

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The Bitch I so Adore

March 20, 2009 at 5:11 am (Meaning of life)

My friend Jennifer just sent this to me -

It’s a poem that Joe wrote a few years before he died. The first line is the title (lulz). She’s going to give me the original sometime.

Amazingly enough… when I got the email of it, I was scared. I thought “Oh shit. I’m going to cry” – and you know what? I didn’t. I think for the first time, when faced with something Joe had written… I smiled.

Anyway, he wrote this about me. I had heard the title before, but he never let me read it. I guess he was afraid I’d be pissed (LOL)

For the bitch I so adore….

It’s the thing with coffee jazz and blown fans.

I’m ignoring Elizabeth now.
I’ve left her on porches
Weeping
where I never returned.
and this chick waited for hours.
and get this: I’m necking with Sandy Marlo
in a junior high school auditorium
while that baffled cunt
begs God for my maroon Dodge.

it’s the thing about vodka and saliva
the lost August midnight,
burying my virginity,
shovel and pall,
and she cried her damn self…
what about this I’VE lost?
and you sob for your abortion.

it’s the thing about that cop raping her.
before E. Coli jokes beneath best friend sheets
before sophomore football scrimmage
and sweaty-underwear heat
with a black Doors T-shirt.
that night playing footsie
underneath afgans.
in her step-father’s trailer
as her sister spies with her X-rays.

it’s the thing with orange Starburst wrapper-rings,
sparring tongues,
high school lockers,
and premature poetry,odes,
vows against rabbit cages,
drive in ejaculations,
under ghastly moons
with weird Tony Bennett AM radio,
my beautiful seventeen-year-old cock,
her beautiful fifteen-year-old breasts
and these stars billions of ages old.
sublime overtures of murmurs
and moans.

it’s the thing with spillways, lake shore drives, pine circles
and docks,
where our tennis shoes still dangle.
dry-humpings on tomato couches,
board games on sawdust picnic tables,
purple drives down Jungle Road past her drive-way
as her mother shakes her head in the porch darkness.

it’s the thing about New Years oaths failed, forgotten
like absurd coast dreams we gave all faith to,
and then like a lost glance in the hustle of Capital
with suits and dresses.
dumping aside Sandy Marlo
for a familiar hand in the gloom
and to share a bed
on a silly Tuesday.
to dive reckless into grass,
truant
deranged with youth
on outdoor patios,
swigging Schnapps,
making out in musty basements,
chatting with wondrous queers,
watching opium-inspired home movies and being frightened by them
while at the same time wishing I were there.

it’s the thing with surrendering yourself
to this hopeless mania again …
she was Audrey Hepburn for one moment
in my gangly arms.
I felt muscled-up and masculine
even as I wept.

Joseph D. Johnson
Sept. 10, 2002
Carbondale, IL.

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Of Cabbages and Kings.

March 10, 2009 at 8:51 am (Uncategorized)

I’m lonely.

There. I said it. I hate that I said it, but it’s out there now – cruising the interwebs, hanging out with the mudkips and rick rolls of the world. I really do hate saying it though. I hate most of all, being perceived as weak.

Ouch. Damn you blog! I hadn’t put that together in my head till it flew out of my fingertips and onto this page. Crap. Now that’s out there too. Blog.. you and I are going to have a little talk later about keeping secrets.

So here is the deal. This is what is running through Susie’s head at the moment. I’m lonely.

I hate.. hate… hate.. that all I want right now is someone to hold me. Someone to put all their attention on me, even if it’s just for a day, and be there just for me.

I went on a date recently with a pretty nice guy. It didn’t work out, but he said something that hit me pretty hard. We were talking about how we had rough lives, and how for whatever reason, that made both of us into people who always take care of others. I was talking about how I take care of my friend Amanda (Who is still missing.) and such and he said… “But Susan, who takes care of you?”

Me. I take care of me. It’s a full time job, lemme tell ya.

This isn’t about wanting a relationship, or wanting some all consuming firey love affair (although that would be nice!) it’s about someone.. anyone.. reaching out and holding me. I’ve hit that point in my life, that I come to occasionally, where I just want to melt. Just to let go, and let someone else bear the weight. Not forever, but long enough to let me breathe, and wake up from it feeling alive again.

Am I silly?

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