Tuesday, May 31, 2005
( 5:40 PM ) Rebecca
I had this nightmare last night that I was being terrorized, and ultimately, possessed, by Pee Wee Herman. (I like Pee Wee Herman and it was still a terrifying dream!)
I've been thinking about this dream all day and it finally hit me. It's a metaphor for how some of the anxieties that grip me are, in the end, ridiculous. They are no less terrifying for being ridiculous - for example, how many times have I known, without a doubt, that my plane was going to crash? - but still.
Or maybe it was just a mistake to watch Pee Wee's Big Adventure while on acid when I was 19.
E-mail Breakup Babe
Monday, May 30, 2005
( 1:01 PM ) Rebecca
Well you'll be glad to know I survived my adventure. The storms. The routefinding challenges. The pitting of oneself against nature in a remote, savage wilderness. The ill-fated decision to let my friend buy all the provisions, thus ending up with a food supply that contained no chocolate and no coffee.
Just kidding. All except for the last part. The most stressful and dangerous part of the trip involved getting out of Seattle alive, what with F. being three hours late to pick me up, and the roadways clogged with Seattleites spurred into SUV action by the startling confluence of sunshine and a holiday weekend. God save us!
Lucky for us, despite a seven-hour drive to the trailhead, where we arrived at a bright and early 8 p.m., the trail is one of the easiest and fastest in all of Washington State - 3 miles on a flat boardwalk to the beach, which we managed to reach before dark. This being the easiest trail in all of Washington State, the beach was, of course, filled with people and children. But that was OK. It was still nice to be outside, listening to the soothing roar of the ocean. Even if there was no chocolate.
Now I'm back in the less soothing environs of the city where my worries - unfounded and not - crowd around me again. I feel sleep-deprived, insecure, vulnerable. I'm going out on so many limbs right now - personally, artistically, careerwise, it seems impossible I won't fall.
Though I guess if I do, I just get right back up again and keep going, don't I? At least I have my author photos to keep me company. I have to say it was money well spent, because five out of those seventy photos are the most flattering pictures ever taken of me. Even if my book is the worst piece of trash ever written, at least the picture will be good. That's all that matters, right?
Yours in sleep-deprived pessimism,
E-mail Breakup Babe
Friday, May 27, 2005
( 2:57 PM ) Rebecca
Gee whiz. I have so much, yet so little, to say. My life is the usual whirlwind of writing and work and music wondering what dire thing might befall me now that everything seems to be going my way.
My birthday was, as most birthdays are, bittersweet. There was eating. There was drinking. There was dancing and more drinking. There was karaoke, and there was definitely a hangover. There was also tragedy - in the Celebrity's world - on the very night of my, as we were supposed to be celebrating the night away.
It put everything in perspective in a strange sort of way. How lucky I am to be here and how fragile everything is. Not really the kinds of thoughts you want to have on your birthday but the kind you (or I) have anyway. My father first got sick when he was 33 years old, so I'm ultra aware of how you can be skimming along in your prime when tragedy suddenly strikes you down.
It makes me both more anxious and more adventurous than your average soul. I'm always afraid of something horrible happening, yet I'm always out there trying to have as much damn fun as I can.
To that end, I'm off again for yet another birthday celebration with F., old pal and traditional birthday travel partner, to go backpacking here.
It's from my father I got my love of adventure, and my love, especially of the outdoors. After his first heart attack, he realized that he wanted to spend as much time in the mountains as possible. So, starting at age 8, I was strapped into a heavy backpack every summer, pushing my way up steep hills up to sparkling lakes and granite domes.
I complained as a kid, of course, but I also loved it. My mind was free in the mountains like it was nowhere else. I have a butterfly tattoo on my back to remember all the butterflies I chased in the vast Sierra meadows where we'd stop for lunch, where life the world turned into sun and streams and wildlflowers.
Now it's a gift I have with me always. These memories, and the sense of adventure that's taken me far and wide. The sense that life is short, but sweet if you live it the right way. Adventure can be dangerous, of course. But life is dangerous anyway.
So here I go. See you when I get back.
E-mail Breakup Babe
Saturday, May 21, 2005
( 1:38 PM ) Rebecca
Ah yes, the day of my birth approaches. In two days, I will be 83 years old! And I have to say, people, I look pretty damn good for my age.
Not only that, my first novel will be published by the time I'm 84! Yes I know it's taken me a long time to get here, but it just goes to show: persistence pays off. It's going to be the Worst Book Ever Published, but hell, I'll probably be senile before the first reviews come out so who cares.
Meanwhile, thanks to my youthful good looks, I also have a hot young Friend-that-is-a-Boy who is 48 years younger than me. And whoo man, lemme tell you, that youngster has some stamina. When you're used to dating octegenarians, things get a little out of shape, if you know what I mean!
So let's hope I don't plunge into depression like I usually do this time of year. Even without my panopoly of pharmaceuticals, I got stuff to keep me happy despite my advancing age.
Let's not forget about tequila either. Which I plan on consuming tonight! In a slinky dress! At a party chez moi! 'Cause I might be old but I still know how to party when the occasion demands it.
E-mail Breakup Babe
Monday, May 16, 2005
( 4:58 PM ) Rebecca
There are certain times, especially when one has had a bad bout of insomnia, that one feels particularly out of control of one's life.
Or say, when one has reorganized one's closet. Even though the end result will be - hopefully - a closet that is a model of efficiency and order - meanwhile, clothes and shoes and random musical instruments are strewn hither and thither about one's bedroom.
At the same time, one might be trying to finish a novel, and instead of ending with a bang, as a funny, whip-smart novel should, it's insisting on ending with a whimper. The authoress herself should most defintely not feel bored while writing. Now that is a bad sign! If she feels bored, how are you - her dear readers who are going to shell out $22 for the hard-cover copy going to feel? (At least the author photo will be good - or it better be, because she shelled out far more than $22 for it!)
Meanwhile, as one is wondering what the hell happened to one's comedic writing skills, one is, perhaps also feeling out of control because of things that are happening in real-life romance.
For example, perhaps one is starting to really like a certain someone, and yet one - literally having (almost) written the book on relationships gone south - remembers, quite vividly now, how terrifying it is to develop those feelings towards someone because all of a sudden one is not one's own self-sufficient unit anymore. One is not as lonely, but one is not as safe. And that is because one finds oneself wanting to hand one's heart over on a platter, but just as one starts to do that, one recalls how last time, it got sliced up and served it for brunch.
So what does one do? One tries to hand it over s-l-o-w-l-y, though such a thing is hard, and one tries to accept - as one often has to do, that one is usually not in control of one's life anyway. But that one will definitely feel better when one catches up on one's sleep and puts everything back in one's *ultra-efficient* new closet, and finishes one's novel.
E-mail Breakup Babe
Saturday, May 14, 2005
( 8:07 AM ) Rebecca
Today is the day I've been dreaming of since I was ten years old - I'm getting my author photo taken!
Now, since I am doomed to die a spinster, think of this as my Big Day. I've got a hair stylist onboard. A makeup artiste. And, of course, a professional photographer who is getting paid big bucks not to make me look a like a chinless blob. Unfortunately, I have failed mightily in accomplishing the major task for my Big Day: I don't have a thing to wear!
Even though I spent my life savings at Banana Republic last week, buying four items of clothing at full-price, I still don't have the right thing to wear. And even though I've been on an extended shopping spree for the last three years; it's just that no items of clothing I own conveys just the right look: the casual glamour, sexy intellingence, brainy beauty. It's either too pink or too boring or too trampy or just not...bestselling author enough.
Oh, if only I had a stylist! But alas I do not, and so I've decided the best thing to do is this: rather than wear the wrong thing - something that conveys an impression of oh, jaded urbaninte, or aging sex kitten, or technical editor with literary aspirations, anything other than bestselling author - I've decided to wear nothing.
So if you're bored, come on down to Seattle's lovely and historic Pioneer Square where this afternoon, I wil be posing in my birthday suit. And how appropriate, since my 3xth birthday is fast approaching - Good Lord! Might as well flaunt my svelte body before it all goes to hell, right?
Aw, just kidding. I did find a semi-sophisticated, only sort-of-slutty shirt to wear; the problem is it requires a strapless bra. Which I do own, however, it is The Worst Strapless Bra Ever (TM). Meaning, it constantly slips down to reveal that which it should not reveal. So if you're lucky you might a glimpse of my naughties anyway!
In other news, I have become rather enamored of The Celebrity. He is smart and funny as well as hot and sexy. But, since I'm not allowed to talk about him and my Big Day is about to start, that's all I'll say about THAT.
E-mail Breakup Babe
Sunday, May 08, 2005
( 8:44 PM ) Rebecca
Last week, Breakup Babe experienced the fastest, most unemotional breakup of her breakup-laden life. It took all of thirty seconds and went something like this:
The Cute Personals Ad Stoner Guy with Whom She Had, Alas, No F*cking Emotional Connection Whatsoever (CPASGWWSHANFECW) calls her and says: “Hey, how’s it going?”
BB: “Oh, OK. You?” (BB has already decided she will not break up with him over the phone but will wait until she sees him that night, 'cause she's a classy kind of gal.)
CPASGWWSHANFECW: “Oh, fine.”
BB: (Oh my God, we always have the most boring conversations). “So, what’s up for tonight?” (No doubt he'll try to get me to have have sex with him again even though we have no f*cking connection whatsoever. The only reason I did it that other time was because he had such a big c*ck.).
CPASGWWSHANFECW: “Well (hesitates), I don’t think this is going anywhere, so I’m going to bail on tonight.”
BB: (Vastly relieved yet also annoyed, because she should have been the one to do it first!) “Oh really? That’s SO interesting, because I was going to say the SAME thing!" (I mean, you have a large c*ck and sexy eyes and have been perfectly pleasant up til now, but – guess what - we have have no f*cking emotional connection whatsoever! )
BB: “OK, well have a good life.”
CPAGWWSHANFECW: “Yeah, you too.”
So that was THAT. Quick and easy! And thank God, because I have much bigger fish to fry.
However, lest this racy post with its return to old form get your hopes up, don't get your hopes up. Because, while I am dating someone else with whom I actually *can* have a good conversation (and oh so much more) I'm not *!$ing allowed to write about him. Believe me, I would have plenty of racy stuff to say too. I mean, about feelings and stuff. Mmm, feelings. At the risk of getting the boot, however, I will give him a pseudonym: The Celebrity.
And no it's not Brad Pitt. We only went one ONE beach getaway together, and the whole time all he could talk about was: Do I get a part in the movie, do I, do I? Brad - Jesus - if you could act - maybe! I am giving him a bit part, however, because he did do me some "favors," and besides, he has a large - oh, never mind. I'll say this much - Angelina can have him, OK?
In other news, nice weather we've been having lately, dontchya think? And how about those Mariners?!
Yeah, I'm boring, I KNOW. But I must keep my word. Must. keep. my. word.
E-mail Breakup Babe
Monday, May 02, 2005
( 12:51 PM ) Rebecca
Not that you'd know it from how little I post these days, but things are never boring around here. That's because the minute I get bored I cook up some drama!
Oh - dating life a little slow? Refresh your personal ad and meet TWO hot guys at once! (Not to mention that long-distance hottie who recently rocked your boat). Make things even more complicated by liking them both!
Feeling a bit too healthy? Rush to the doctor and ensnare yourself in a two-month ordeal of waiting to see if that little lump is harmless or evil. Find out, at last that it is harmless.
(Oh no, what will you stress about now??)
Well there's always global warming! Or you could go on a PLANE RIDE! I'm sure if you look harder, you can find another suspicious lump!
Or- how about this - worry (with no evidence whatsoever) that you're going to get kicked out of your band you now love so much because, you were a nerdy Beethoven-playing child and while you can read music like a mo' fo', improvising still comes slowly to you (though you can sure do it better than you did a year ago).
The book is going too well? Your editor likes it a little too much? Cook up some writer's block! Sit in coffeehouses and write drivel - day in and day out. Worry about how you're going to disappoint all your fans because your book is not going to be nearly as well-written as your blog!
Because God forbid, you could just take it easy for once without agitating like a washing machine to make things happen. But what would there be to write about then??
E-mail Breakup Babe