Say what?
So it goes like this: I moved to San Francisco, lost one of my closest confidants to shitty circumstance, got a promotion complete with an actual office to go to, went home with a stranger, slept with a friend, herbed with my personal guidance counselor and, most recently, was forced to evaluate my life on the fly when Jesus Christ popped up on my caller ID. I’m not exactly sure how I’m still standing.
The move was fairly sudden. In December my good friend Bern hit me up on chat to say that her roommate was probably going to move out and was I interested? Hot damn! I couldn’t respond because I was too busy packing.
By February I was waking up to the sound of gulls, traffic and pissed off crack heads. It was glorious. On the not so glorious side, a rent bill. But just as I was mentally preparing to revisit the ramen section for the first time since my metabolism left me high and dry my boss was all, Hey, I just moved to San Francisco from Paris so it would be great if you could find us an office and then work in it with me for more money than you make now. Hot damn! I couldn’t respond because I was too busy consulting Craigslist.
Things have been falling into place like that for the majority of this year, which simultaneously makes me happy and freaks me the fuck out. I so desperately want to to lean on 2011 like an old friend, exhale, and say something to the effect of, I'm so glad you're finally here! But a tiny bastard of a voice named EVERY EXPERIENCE I'VE EVER HAD tells me that as soon as I do that, a storm will come.
***
I wish I could say that the accumulation of all this good stuff is the reason I haven't been writing much, but no, the accumulation of all this good stuff is why I'm becoming increasingly paranoid. I wish I could say living above a pub is the reason I haven't been writing much, but no, living within stumbling distance of a beer fountain is the reason I need to seriously look into getting some health insurance.
The reason I haven't written is because Life didn't forget about my steaming side of WTF, and this year's model is so deviating, so marvelous, that thinking about it exhausts me almost to the point of illness.
Things took a turn for the strange when I went home with a dude I met at a bar immediately after epically losing to him at Street Fighter. I want to say I don't know why I did it, but I know the reason and it is sick and twisted. The hat, the face moles, the delicious self-deprecating humor -- it all reminded me so much of another life. In the end it worked against him because I couldn't bring myself to sleep with someone who was already somehow so tragically familiar, and our weird month-long fling ended with a slap on the ass and a couple's kiss on 4th and Market.
I mentally tore the situation apart, wondering over and over again which fucked up part of my mind it was that made it impossible to undress for someone who was so very much like someone I desperately missed, and stitched it all back together so I could relay it to my most trusted friends for their own evaluations. But before I could say a single word, I was officially ditched by one of said confidants and the world became an even sadder, more confusing place.
And then the Universe said, Hey Chelsi, I'd like to make up for the sudden departure of someone you never thought would leave with the return of someone you never thought would have the balls to come back.
***
When my homie Jesus called me I was in a crosswalk on the way to my new office. I saw his name and immediately fell apart, reformed, and fell apart again. What would he say if I answered? Would I be tested? Had I been living my life right? Would I feel ashamed relaying it? I didn't have any of the answers so I just let the phone ring. Later, a voicemail full of telltale signs of ass-dialing was all I had left.
Distraction came in the form of sleeping with someone I really, really enjoy -- both in the bedroom and out -- but we put an end to it the following week for oh, about 192873918273 good reasons. This is significant because it's one of the only times I've really looked a situation like this in the face without fear of what I'd find. The relief I felt afterward was almost tangible, and changed the way I handled what came next.
Of course Jesus didn't really call me, but the emotions I felt when I saw that the aforementioned ex had were so intense that I can't think of a better comparison. After all, this man was practically my religion and I hadn't heard a peep from him in years.
The accidental voicemail lead to a text, which lead to a reply, which lead to a phone call, which lead to many phone calls, which lead to an in-person visit, which lead to a realization, a confession, yet another rejection, and then a letter that was so heartfelt, so deserved and so relieving that I still can't read it without crying.
The next few weeks in this storyline lead up to today, and there is no way I can do them justice in this medium. But I will say that I'm living out some kind of strange sequel, and that even though it's nowhere near as exciting as the first version, I can feel that long lost urge to hug someone/something to near death because I'm so grateful starting to creep up. For that, I am happy.
***
If anything in recent times suggests that I've finally crossed some invisible threshold into adulthood, it's the way I'm dealing with life's surprises. That and the moment my old teacher/current friend/favorite person in the world passed me a suspicious looking cigarette at a small Funk show here in the city.
If you're having a hard time navigating through all the shit life is throwing at you, I recommend getting lifted with a group of people you previously thought knew everything there was to know about the world. It won't give you any solid answers, but there's something about knowing you're in the same boat to crazy-ville as a handful of really awesome people that's more comforting than anything else.
I got your back and all sides of you
As we wind down 2010 and begin to prepare for another year of madness, I have one piece of advice: Make sure you don't end up sobbing violently into your smartphone. If you must cry and you are on a smartphone -- specifically a Droid 2 -- just put that baby on speaker and keep it as far away from your head as you can. Otherwise you run the risk of filling the earpiece with tears and if that happens, a horrible witch-melting-y sound will start emanating from the phone almost immediately. The screen will stop responding to touch minutes later and eventually black out completely.
If I had to pick a second piece of advice it would be: try not to invest in the wrong people. This includes fair-weather friends, name callers, cheating boyfriends and convicted felons.
Sometimes a person you're invested in turns crazy awful after a long period of being super awesome, or sometimes you just drift apart. When this happens, the simplest thing to do is sell your stock and take the loss. But if you can't bear the thought of letting go, if you'd rather forge through the shit storms like a champ/idiot/masochist/naive woman-child and hold on to whatever glimmer of hope you've managed to salvage, then welcome to my world! It's good to have you.
I love so intensely it hurts. The smallest hint of friction sets me on fire. When I see my friends I see everything good in the world, and everything good about being alive here and now. It's that serious.
This is why it is so important to me, so crucial, to maintain these relationships. Why not spend the only time in all of eternity that you get to be here, heart pounding and blood flowing, surrounded by the people you want to get down to the nitty gritty of existence with? Why not feel that strongly, and why not behave accordingly? Why not tell them that that's what they are to you?
(I will always come back to what an old teacher said about me: "I have seen that young woman struggle against a world in which the soul is so often left out. When I speak to her I see a woman who sees things differently, and in many ways better, than the rest of us.")
I don't think many people see this part of life in the same way, and that's why it doesn't surprise me when I get labeled "drama queen" for taking things so seriously, or wanting to talk in great detail about obstacles. But if 2010 has taught me anything, it's that not only am I okay with being this way, I'm proud of it. In fact, you may want to brace yourself if we're friends in real life, because I'm going to love the shit out of you and it will drive you crazy. You may have to change your phone number.
At the end of the day, all I want is to know that if something like death gets in the way of life, you'll know, without a doubt, that you were everything to me.
Also! Smartphones are replaceable. (My new Droid doesn't arrive until Tuesday, please hold your calls and texts until then.)
This is why you want longterm friends
Chelsi: MY ASSISTANT IS AN IDIOT
: Oh wait, that's your line.
Arwen: MY PHEROMONES ARE OUT OF FUCKING CONTROL.
: Oh. WAIT.
: SUCKA B
C: We should just be each other for Halloween
: I would draw squiggles all over my leg*
A: How would we do this? Would I have to be on a skateboard, on my knees?
C: ASSHOLE
: YOU ARE NOT TWO FEET TALLER THAN ME
A: OR, I could just glue a computer to my face
C: I would stick bobby pins in random places in my wig, and make sure they fell out everywhere I went
: and there would be a giant pepper grinder sticking out of my too-small purse**
A: I HATE YOU
C: You could stuff your ass and carry around a 6-pack of root beer?***
A: I'll get a bunch of different Ken dolls...
: and make little leashes? And just fling them over my shoulder
C: Fine
: I'd also wear a Borders lanyard
: and on it my name would read
: "fuck you"
A: HA
: I could wear a CP lanyard
: "do not fucking speak to me"****
C: I would also carry around an empty box
: and cry to everyone about how my candies were stolen by hooligans*****
A: GOD DAMN YOU
: I'll just wander around waving a crumpled airplane ticket around and screaming "WHYYYYYYYYY"******
--
*Arwen has peacock feathers tattooed on her leg but they're not filled in yet, so people often mistake them for really long thigh hairs/weird veins
**During college, one of our ongoing jokes was about how Arwen cooked with nothing but pepper and more pepper (she also had a really tiny purse)
***Once Arwen drew a caricature of me, and this is what it looked like:
****We were so good at our retail jobs.
*****Last week Arwen had to set up a booth on a college campus and ask students to participate in a survey. A group of "stupid boys with big pants" stole her box of incentives.
******1. The Japan fiasco. 2. The volcano. 3. My first AND second attempt to fly home from France was so traumatizing I haven't even been able to think about it without falling to the floor in a pile of tears.
Word is bond
Gene: Hey. So one day...
: can you post an awesome picture of you and me on your website
: and make a post about how awesome we are?
: so when you get famous...
: I can be like, HEY I WAS ON THAT SHIT
Chelsi: Sure, I can do that
G: Thanks
The words she knows, the tune she hums
Angela and I fought on Gchat yesterday. The argument went back and forth long enough to reach out and touch the desperate territory you fall into when part of your mind sadly and quietly wonders how you'll survive without this person, while the rest of it freaks the fuck out and makes you scream.
It was put on hold then, and when we finally came back around to talking she had purchased me a rose and I had written her a love letter. She came home with kisses, and we spent the rest of the evening working side by side on our laptops. At some point we got the pee chills within a minute of each other. Gaël arrived shortly after wearing an African mask from the Ivory Coast that smelled of smoked fish. He danced a little jig and we all laughed.
I love re-realizing that I can't live without her. Not ever.
Meanwhile, I've gotten over the mysterious flash-flooding. Not going out because of bad weather would mean missing things like the country club we went to over the weekend to watch Gaël and his friends play tennis. He brought his cousin Saruja, who is like a glowing ball of magic love and happiness, and afterwards the owners held a cozy dinner party for us in one of the unoccupied rooms. The plates of food seemed endless, and at some point, after we'd drunk many glasses of wine and discussed the fundamental differences between team vampire and team werewolf, someone brought in a tray of vanilla pudding cups and a tray of chocolate pudding cups.
I was worried that I was the only one lame enough to make the connection, but a few seconds later a photographer named Julien pointed to the desserts and asked which monster I was. I picked vanilla. Also, he later told Gaël that I'm beautiful, and that's a really cool thing to hear coming from a photographer, so, you know. He gets all the points. Ever.
Presently it's 3:30am. Normally I'd be worried about how I'm going to manage waking up for work tomorrow, but all I can seem to think about is how it suddenly feels like there just isn't enough time to soak up everything Paris has to offer.
Wanderlust, part deux
Been in Paris for almost two weeks now, holed up on Angela's couch. I've tried macarons and Mariage Frères tea, there are twelve empty bottles of wine resting neatly on a table near me, and I have tons of photos of my trinket from Japan with French monuments:
I traveled here with a friend who left for the States today, which means my time in Paris as a tourist has come to an end. Also, I don't have a return ticket yet, but I intend to bum it for at least another month and a half.
Friends and family back at home continue to hit me up on Facebook, asking for photos, souvenirs or lavish stories about the city of lights and love, or how it was to see Angela for the first time in a year. These are normal requests, but the truth is I don't have much to say about either.
Paris is just the way I remembered it -- like San Francisco, except full of French people -- and every time I see Angela, no matter how long it's been, it feels like no time has gone by at all.
She returned from a work thing a week after I arrived, and when she walked into the apartment with Gael (her dude), I'd just woken up from an afternoon nap. I heard her voice first, then saw her face peer into the living room from the hallway. I met her smile with a smile, and that was it. No squeals, no giant hugs, no tears. Just big smiles. I like this about our friendship.
Outside the Eiffel tower lights up every 15 minutes, men walk by with accordions playing sad little tunes, and I can hear wine-filled laughter coming from the bar on the corner almost every night. But I'm happiest spending my evenings the way we're spending tonight---tapping away on our laptops, sometimes in separate rooms, sometimes together.
So. How's Paris? It's good. It's very, very good.
“We are lucky”
Tomoyo, my old roommate, occasional savior, and most importantly my friend, took me out for a weekend of sightseeing during the Japan sojourn. First we traveled by bullet train to her hometown of Nagahama where we stayed with her family for a night. Their house is traditional; full of dark wood, tatami mats and doors that slide rather than swing. The heavy humid weather forced house cats Chloe and Cha-Cha to seek constant refuge on kitchen tiles or in the dense garden out back. Tomoyo’s father and sister took turns napping on the floor in the spare room, bodies sprawled over mats, comic books draped over stomachs.
Being there after two hectic months in Tokyo (or 25 hectic years in California) was like slowly sinking into a hot bath. I felt calm, relaxed and sleepy. And even though our to-do list following the hometown visit was jam-packed — 1 night’s stay at a legit bathhouse; cliffs overlooking a violent sea; bike rides around Biwa Lake; hokey tourist attractions — the general feeling of peace stayed with me.
There’s this ride I really like at Disney's California Adventure called Soarin’ Over California (I promise this will relate to my trip in a second). It’s basically a flight simulator, so you start off by sitting in what looks like a giant ski lift. Once you’re strapped in and ready the lights go out, your car is lifted high above the ground, a lovely orchestral score starts playing, a “breeze” picks up, and suddenly you’re facing a giant screen displaying California as it would be seen from an extreme hang glider’s point of view. As you pass over orange groves, mini overhead vents release a citrus scent, and when you reach the mountains it smells like evergreen. It might sound a little cheesy but let me tell you, after walking around a giant park filled with screaming children, it's a delicious break. I like it so much I rode it twice during my last Disneyland trip in November.
Exploring Japan gave me the same serene feeling as Soarin’, except it was real. After dinner at the bathhouse Tomoyo and I walked awkwardly in our nemaki and geta (pajama robes and wooden slippers provided by the hotel) through the sticky heat in search of ice cream. We told silly jokes on the way, tripped over decorative cobblestones like uncoordinated little girls and our laughs echoed down the streets. The next day at Eihei-ji Temple we raced barefoot up hardwood stairs scrubbed everyday by inhabiting monks, poked our heads into prayer rooms and stared wonderingly at ceilings covered in painted birds. The whole temple smelled of fresh peaches.
Finally, as if Japan somehow knew what it would do to me, a musician started playing power ballads on a keyboard when we stopped at the famous Tōjinbō cliffs to watch the sunset.
Seriously, who needs Disneyland when you have Japan?
I’ve been home and back to the usual grind for about the same amount of time that I was gone, but life has yet to let up its explosion of new things. When I started this post earlier today I was afraid that so much had happened since my return I wouldn’t be able to remember the way it felt to be surrounded by Tomoyo’s family, or Japan’s lush and welcoming countryside. As it turns out the problem is trying to find the right words to describe how much I remember. The right words to express how much I loved it. How much I felt like a part of the family. How much gratitude I have. How much I can’t wait to go back.
Recently, after guzzling buckets of wine, my friend Arwen and I started reflecting on our lives (the way you usually do after guzzling buckets of wine) when suddenly she said, “We are lucky. There are people in the world who literally have no real friends, or not even fake friends.”
I've been thinking about this statement a lot, especially now that the year is ending. It’s been a particularly textured one, which is just a fancy way of saying that tons of unexpected things happened in the last twelve months and my emotional responses have been all over the board. I guess that’s actually pretty normal, but I feel good for having navigated through it. After all, I spent the couple of years prior feeling half dead and worn out because of the same bullshit, like my entire life was a broken record. 2009 has been both a knock to the head and a breath of fresh air.
I’m beyond grateful for my amazing friends (Tomoyo is just one example of what I'm workin' with here). They've all taken time out of their schedules to stand by me, to buttress the struggle of relearning how to function properly. I couldn’t possibly want more from them.
To top it off, the end of this year has been filled with sweet things: fingers entwined, shoulder kisses and love songs. I’m hesitant, but the outlook is good. In fact, rather than wanting to start fresh in January like I usually do I’m hoping 2010 will be made from 2009 concentrate. Because yeah, I am lucky, and life is really something.
If you read this and feel like I’m talking directly to you, it’s probably because I am
Homo sentimentalist cannot be defined as a man with feelings (for we all have feelings), but as a man who has raised feelings to a category of value. As soon as feelings are seen as a value, everyone wants to feel; and because we all like to pride ourselves on our values, we have a tendency to show off our feelings.
- Milan Kundera, Immortality
In my mind, when all is said and done and we are stripped of all our earthly possessions and jobs and schools and futures, when all we have is the way we think, feel and react in the present moment, when we are nothing but insignificant specks in the universe and our slates are clear of all sin, of all... I am still just as grateful to have you as a friend as I am when all of that garb is included. I don't judge you because of what you've done or what I know/think you will do. You don't have my respect because of what you've accomplished and/or what you're aiming for.
You are my friend because you just are. I respect you because of what you are without the world and I don't judge you for your actions because I know who you are without them. It'll never be something you have to worry about or question. It's solid like a rock. It's automatic.
Thank you for giving me the opportunity to feel this way.