Oversleeping By a Super Wide Margin, Diane Arbus, More Weird Dreams, Topless Mermaids, My Favorite Swap Meet and Flea Market, and the Tragic Accidental Death of a Sixth Grader at Paul Revere Middle School.
I made this a while ago but didn't like it very much so I don't think I ever posted it, then I saw it today and thought, oh what the heck. This is Triple B, one of the tiniest and sickest kittens from the second to the last batch. She crawled in to this paper bag so Irma picked it up and brought her in to my office to make me laugh. She ripped her way out of it and I took pics of her while she did it. It's amazing that she's survived. She was so small when we were taking care of her, her body was the size of a ping pong ball. Her eyes were so bad we thought she would be blind but now they're so much better, even better than in these pictures. She'll give you a kiss when you ask her to, but she'll whack you if you try to lick her or stick your tongue out at her. It's really funny to see. She has this spluttering growl that is kind of a cross between a purr and a menacing kitty warning noise that she'll make if you stick your tongue out.
Wow, I slept until two o'clock this afternoon and I couldn't believe what time it was! I feel so woozy and out of it. I must have been really tired and needed to catch up on sleep, but whenever this happens, which is inoften, I feel so guilty.
I didn't get any sleep Saturday night. I got up early yesterday morning to go to my favorite swap meet, the Santa Monica Airport Flea Market. Then last night when I put Beau to bed he asked me to cuddle with him, which of course I was thrilled to do, and I was so tired I fell asleep behind him and spent the night there.
I got up with him at six-thirty this morning and felt pretty good. I wondered if maybe I could just stay up and if this is what the rest of the early morning rising world feels like. I thought about Scott and what he might be doing. I read an article about Diane Arbus, (All these years of thinking about her, and I never knew her name was pronounced Dee-ann - Hunh, kind of reminds me of Diane Keaton in, was it Manhattan, pronouncing Van Gough, Van Goch. It's a great article, you guys should read it if you can find it on line), in the New York Times, ( I get it once a week on Sundays because it helps me feel a little bit more in touch with the New York life from all the way across the country here in LA). I read my fave collage altered book stamp magazine Somerset Studio and thought about what my next project should be. I made a couple of businessy calls. I cuddled with the little belly pumpkins and then I went to sleep for seven more hours!
I had such weird dreams. Here they are in italics so you can skip right past them if you like. In one of them I dreamt that I was friends with the Osbournes again. this is a pretty common and recurrent theme for me these days. Sharon was taping her show, but in a completely different setting, and she wasn't well, and I was trying to help her and tell people that they were working her too hard but no one would listen. They just picked her up and swept her away. She was so much thinner than she was when I saw her in person, but just as sweet and lovely.
Shortly after that Jack came up to me and was talking to me about music. I told him that I used to be good friends with Kyle Gass of Tenacious D and he was pretty excited about that and started making plans to play with them.
In another dream I was at this weird crummy apartment helping this couple negotiate for more space with the landlord and helping them get their sexuality back on track. I was one of their twins. It was cool and strange. The man had a dream twin and they were both gorgeous in a blonde Ken Doll sort of way, and his wife was brunette and pretty in a delicate and incapable of getting anything done sort of way. I was her twin and trying to help her to get her tiny apartment set up so that she could please her man in a very 50's sort of way.
There were scenes with cats and kittens getting out and my trying to round them up, the landlord not wanting to rent them any more rooms when they had way too little space, my trying to get my twin to set a table for her husband's dinner, and create a sweet nursery/room for her children. My twin tried to set up a bathroom but she created this maze of metal pipes over one of those beautiful old claw footed tubs that leaked at every elbow and water was spraying everywhere. I used my mental dream powers to persuade the creepy, cheap, and mean landlord to let them rent two adjacent apartments to give them the space they needed to create a real home.
There was even a sexy shower scene where after having imagined and then created a nice bathroom for them -- very thirties in feel, pink and black tile, mixed with modern glass and chrome fixtures -- I got them to get in the shower, naked of course, and got in with them to help her be more sexual with her hot Ken Doll man.
I began to kiss and touch her, then go down on her, (I told you guyz, my dream self is much wilder than my real life self), and was really excited about getting into this three way and getting her to open up more to her partner, but she freaked and said she wasn't a lesbian and didn't like anyone touching her vagina. Her partner, his equally hot twin, (who had also joined us in the shower), and I were trying to persuade her to just let go and go with it -- that guys liked to watch women be sexual together. The guys were really giving it their all, standing back and talking all at once, "Oh no honey, it's fine, go with it, we loooove this, blah blah blah...", trying to convince her this was a good thing and that they would really dig it. It was just so comical, the way the men were acting, and with all of us squeezed into this small free standing clear glass shower -- but she wouldn't go for it. So I decided I was going to have to take more drastic measures and take her to some sex club on the first floor of their apartment building, make her a slave and dominate her. You know sometimes I wonder why I even write this stuff in my journal, it's all so weird and it worries me that the nuns might stumble onto it -- oral sex between women and dominating sex slaves -- oh well, I don't make up the world, I just dream about it ; )
Later there was a whole other series of stressful dreams about this apartment and remodeling it and trying to get money from my mother to pay for it. I had lost all of my credit cards and was searching everywhere for them. Some guy who I knew from somewhere snuck into my Mother's checkbook and wrote a check for forty-five thousand dollars to himself, and this was going to get me in huge trouble and then I somehow worked it out by having him say, "Happy April Fool's Day," then my old therapist came in and tried to get my Mom to pay her bills by performing Santorian like witchcraft for her -- generally not a good plan if you're trying to persuade my Mother to pay a bill, skulls and blood, incantations and whatnot.
Still later this same group of people, and of course Tom Hanks, (God knows why I dream what I dream, I don't even have the time or energy to run it through my little dream analysis program and it's pretty good usually), are getting suited up to fly into outer space on a rocket. I am filling my pockets with little plastic replica rockets so I can bring them back and hawk them as souvenirs, and then just at the last minute, as we are about to blast off, Joe Pantoliano, Joey Pants, comes up with a big Swiss Mountain dog in a space suit, and wants to join our crew. Something about taking dog food into space, and there's this scene where I have to show him where to put his penis in this slot in his spacesuit and then some doctor scientist woman telling him he's going to have to put some tube up his ass and he freaks out.
I'm sure the twin stuff came off of the Diane Arbus article in the New York Sunday Times, money issues, lost credit cards, stress and my Mother is nothing new, Tom Hanks is a natural for a dream about outer space, but Joey Pants and a butt hose? I don't have a clue about that, or maybe I do and don't want to get into it here. Hmmm...
As usual, and for the second month in a row, I spent way more than I can afford to spend by postdating checks at the swap meet. God help me but it's really obvious I'm transferring my addictive food behavior to spending, compensating for the inability to do as much of one by increasing what I do with the other. Damn, not good.
I have got to get my butt to a Debtors Anonymous meeting and Overeaters Anonymous. Of course I say this, and then I don't do anything about it. Same with exercising. But it's clear to me I'm going to need some psychological help dealing with all of these changes, even my very conservative MD knew these kinds of issues were likely to come up and really pushed me to seek help ASAP in the first weeks after my operation, but did I? No. I just bought some Valium on the Internet and went shopping, lovely, louche behavior, not smart behavior, dangerous and stressful, a seriously bad plan.
Even though I wasn't feeling well, I did have fun yesterday, (Well, who wouldn't have fun dressing up and throwing their money around on wildly unnecessary vintage toys?), and bought some terrific things. My favorite being a big plaster statue of a topless mermaid with super nice breasts and a gorgeous green fishy tail. I'm going to buy her twin sister next month because they left her at home. I can't really put her in my front yard because frankly, what would the neighbors say, and as the good girl block captain I can't really go, "Oh screw it, let's stop being such uptight Puritans and love our breasts." I tried that once in the eighties when I had just come home from Nice and went to the market wearing an extremely see through string net top. When a mother pulled her young son aside to avert his eyes from the shock of seeing a, all but for the bits of white criss crossed string, topless woman in the vegetable aisle of their local market, I kind of work up and realized where I was, living in America and not in Europe, bummer.
A woman I bought a gorgeous green eiderdown comforter from suggested I overpaint my mermaid in more pastel colors, (I think she's perfect the way she is, pale peach, fleshy and green, with pretty and realistic looking nipples), but the best idea she had was to make her a rhinestone bra a la Victoria's Secret multi million dollar diamond one. I wouldn't cover up her nipples but it would be fun to see her in sequins, rhinestones and glitter. Maybe I'll do that with one of them, do something fabulous for the one mermaid I'll keep indoors and leave the other one, the one that will live in my garden, alone.
Aside from the spending, the swap meet is always good for me, good for my self esteem, gets me out of the house, up early, outside visiting and socializing with like minded, wacky, antique-loving people, and walking. I wore my new hat, which I'll show you a picture of in a second, and I swear I have never had so many compliments in one place in my life, seriously, it made me uncomfortable.
You've been asking me for some more before and afters and this is really hard to do but here are a couple. I took this one of myself when we were leaving Burning Man 2000. I was driving our motor home around taking pictures of everyone packing up. This is what you look like after a week without really showering and getting covered in the ever present playa dust. I think my bangs were hard and crunchy by this point. I was naked too and didn't put my clothes back on until we drove off the Black Rock desert. I gained even more weight after this point.
This is one of the worst pictures I've ever taken of myself. I hated it so much I put it beside my bed thinking it would somehow motivate or torture me into losing the weight I had been unable to lose for so many years.
This was taken in my bedroom at our vacation house in Palm Springs. I don't remember when exactly but I was so shocked and sad when I saw it that I never showed it to anyone, not even Beau.
I took this one the other day in the hat I wore to the swap meet. I bought it on line. I have a lot of these kinds of hats. So far all I've had the courage to show you are shots from the neck up. I've been taking full length pictures to document my progress, but I'm just not ready to share them yet. I'll work up the courage to share more soon, this is hard enough for now.
I used to crave attention, maybe I still do, but I'm unused to it, and it's been a weird experience getting so much of it so suddenly with my weight loss and the intense interest people seem to have in it, and then yesterday I just dressed in what I considered to be fun and appropriate swap meetey attire, short jean coveralls with a tiny peach tee-shirt, a big picture hat to keep the sun off my ever freckling face, and lots of vintage jewelry. I've done this dozens of times before -- maybe people are just getting too blase to dress up any more, so when someone puts forth a little effort I guess she sticks out just that much more, I honestly don't know. Hats always seem to get attention and I love them, anything straw with lots of leaves and big bunches of flowers.
I wish I had the time to stay and chat more. I have so much more I want to share with you, news about the garage redo, news abut Rosa pressuring me to get my Mom to write a check for her cell phone bill in Hawaii, and the gossip circle that sprouted up around it among the housekeepers, finally wending it's way back to Mother who exploded about it, my eyes that are getting weak and fuzzy, and having to face my age and see the eye doctor, my beloved Jake and his weight loss, my big time fear about money, my desire to hop on this website project, the things I have to list on eBay, Scott and his Daddy, but I have to go, I am so far behind.
Here is a shot of Beau trying on this year's Halloween costume. He actually wants to big a big bunny for Halloween -- quite a change from the usual bleeding scream masks and axes. He saw some people dressing up as bunnies and acting outrageous on some English comedy prank show, I can't remember the name right now but it's really funny, so he wants to be a naughty bunny. The funny thing is he is having to be a nice bunny whenever he puts it on and goes outside because all of the neighbor kids come over and talk to him like he's real.
Beau's teacher called and apparently he and some other boys "accidentally" got really wet with a hose while gardening at school so she's sending him home. I have to run over there with some dry clothes. See you soon.
Love you all,
Your Pal Jac
PS: Oh God I just got the worst news from little Rosa, Irma's daughter. I think you guys know that I have Irma's four kids here with us most days, and Esther's two kids are often here on the days when she works. We love them all so much and they are like family to us. There is no housekeeper/employer dividing line for us, we treat everyone who has ever worked for us as family and friends.
A little boy in the sixth grade at Paul Revere middle school, Carlos Macario, who is in all of Rosa's classes, and is her friend, died on Friday. He was hit by a car as he was rushing to cross Sunset against a red light to catch his bus. Rosa just brought the note from school to me so I could read it. I can't explain why, because I never knew him, but I am crying so hard right now. I'm thinking of his Mother, who Rosa knows because she was kind to her and lent her money for the bus once, his older sister who goes to Paul Revere as well, his classmates and friends, whose teacher rushed to the scene to try to help and who went home in tears and hasn't been able to return to school, and all the kids who wait at that dangerous bus stop on Allenford and Sunset where children have been killed before. It's just so damned sad.
Rosa would have been there and seen the whole thing but Irma happened to be picking her up and told her to wait in front of the school. Rosa saw one of her friends come running from the bus stop screaming for help. The bus driver naturally stopped and tried to help little Carlos but he died almost immediately even though the school nurse and teachers and the police and paramedics were all there within minutes.
This note from the school is just heartbreaking. I can't even begin to imagine the grief his family and all of these people involved must be feeling. We're going to go now to get some flowers and take them to the site of the accident because the kids think this will help Carlos and Rosa.
I know that this is too soon and too horrible to say right now but this bus corner has always been dangerous, there was another death there two years ago, and because of this, the bus system has now promised to pull into Allenford and off of Sunset to pick up the children, something they should have been doing all along. Who knows how many more lives will be spared by the tragic loss of this child. I doubt if I would take comfort in this if I were his Mother but I mention this because of the debate we had here the other day about God being present in tragedy.
I'll post information about their family, if they put a donation fund together for the funeral expenses, in case you might be able to help, because I'm fairly sure that the family is financially challenged.
PPS: I haven't had a chance to post this until now. We went and bought a beautiful arrangement of white roses and sweet blue wildflowers because Rosa said that blue was his favorite color. Six white roses because he was in the sixth grade. Then we wrote a little card and signed it, and then drove to the site of the accident and left it there for him. It was getting dark and I was worried that we were taking the kids across this dangerous busy street, right where this little boy had been killed, so we all held hands and rushed across. Then we had to kind of hike along the side of the road because walking on Sunset would be too dangerous, there was a hill and no sidewalk. It amazed me how fast the cars were whizzing by. It made me angry.
We all held hands and said a prayer in Spanish and then I said one in English. There were some other flowers, a little pile of stones, a couple of cards and a little Mickey Mouse toy with a crucifix around his neck. So damned sad. We all cried and cried. Then we walked back across the street and looked at the shrine on the other side of the road, the one that has been there for two years now, ever since another young man was killed on his way home from his graduation. It's pretty moving to see the flowers and the tributes still being placed there after all this time. His favorite CD, a Bob Marley one, is leaning up against the base of the tree. How many more children will die there before they move the bus benches, or do something, add speed bumps, force all the cars to stop sooner?
I was so aware of the cars and how they were speeding by without any sense of the tragedy that had just occurred right there. Don't these people know they are driving through a school zone? Didn't any of these assholes take their drivers tests? This little shrine of flowers there by the side of the dusty dirty road, so small and unnoticed as the cars sped by at twice the posted limit, honked and swerved around each other. And this little boy hit the windshield of the car so hard that it shattered the glass and threw his body twenty feet in the air.
May God bless little Carlos and his hurting family tonight and always. I'm so sorry : (