You ever get that thing where your eyelid twitches like crazy for no freaking good reason? Well all day today, my lower lip has been doing that. The left side. Maybe I'm getting palsy or something. It's kind of awesome. I stared at it for like two minutes in my pocket mirror. Yep, there it goes.
You may be asking yourself: "THIS is how she comes back after like a month of no posts at all?" The answer is yes. So suck it.
Sent the following email to Michael Musto:
Many years ago, when I first moved to New York, I had never heard of the Village Voice or Michael Musto, and I had no knowledge of the concept of "blind items". I sent you an email begging you to reveal the super-secret-secretude behind some random item I had read in your column.And then in just a few hours, I got this:And you wrote me back.
You didn't reveal anything, of course, but you wrote me back! I didn't think much of it at the time, but later on, as I discovered how huge you are on the gossip circuit and New York scene, it always struck me as kind of marvelous that you took the time to respond to a random weirdo asking for more juice.
So I just wanted to say thanks. In an age where assholic pink-haired insult comics are making huge chunks of change exploiting "celebutards", you seem to be an actual down-to-earth normal(ish) human being. That's pretty cool.
Trish:I know I'm kinda odd, but I just thought that was neat.I will prove once again that I am normal(ish) by responding to you again. Thank you for your kind words. I am always delighted to answer nice comments from people who actually read my stuff or are aware of me in any form!
Thanks for staying in touch after all these years.
Best
Michael Musto
That's the problem with this house...my laptop to internet connection kinda blows.
You know what else kinda blows? The fact that I was stuck on the runway at JFK for almost eleven hours. Yeah, ya heard me. Joie and I were on one of those horrible JetBlue flights. JetBlows. Then we spent the night on the floor of the airport. Mmmm...JFK carpet. THEN we spent the next morning fighting through more lines (the lines the lines oh god so many lines). We gave up eventually and headed back to my place. Got some sleep thanks to Benadryl and then headed out in the cover of darkness for Maryland. Maryland! Because THAT WAS THE ONLY FLIGHT WE COULD GET. We went from Maryland to LAX. Fiasco is one word. Dumbass is another.
You've never lived until you've heard a pilot announce over the intercom:
Uh, folks? Our toilet tanks are at about 99% capacity right now. So, if you don't mind...anything less than "Number Two", PLEASE DON'T FLUSH.Dude.
But we made it. I think my bodyclock is still adjusting. It's not even jetlag. It got to a point where my entire sense of time and place was fucked. Time was just a number. (Age ain't nothin' but a number, man.)
But now we're in LA LA Land. Strange place, this. Strange stuff, this. Here I am helping my friend do what I don't want him to do. I don't want him to move. Not at all. I want him to stay in NY and be my friend and live happily ever after. But what am I going to do, throw roadblocks in his path? No. I want the people I love to be happy, even if their choice is not my choice. So I'm helping. It's a bit of a mindfuck, though.
We've done so much already and we've only been here two and a half days. And there's still so much to do. Plus now my own opportunities to explore. I'll be sittin' with swag at the Kodak theatre Thursday and Friday. And I'm more determined than ever to develop the next workshop. The standalone.
But there are multiple conundrums. Conundri? Priorities and timelines are kicking my ass a little bit. Then we get into the essence of it altogether: what the fuck is it, even? Because I don't know what I'm working towards and it sure as hell don't spark me. Sometimes it does. Little sparks. Glimpses of the sparkly possibilities. But just...not.
Time and time again I've said that I don't care
That I'm immune to gloom, that I'm hard through and through
But every time it matters all my words desert me
And anyone can hurt me
And they do
So what happens now?
So what happens now?
Where am I going to?
Where am I going to?
Call in three months' time and I'll be fine, I know
Well maybe not that fine, but I'll survive anyhow
I won't recall the names and faces of this sad occasion
But that's no consolation here and now
So what happens now?
So what happens now?
Where am I going to?
Where am I going to?
Okay, that's not exactly appropriate and it's not exactly the whole song, but there are a few lines in there that fit really fucking well. See if you can figure out which ones. You get a lollipop if you guess right.
Hi Trish,Wowzers, yeah?
Just wanted to say hello, and tell you I looked at your website, and woweee, young beautiful woman, you have done some major changes in your life.
What a challenge and struggle, I am sure.
I am very impressed with your website, and all you have done.
My sincere congratulations to you. It never ceases to amaze me the struggles people overcome and the brilliant work that follows.
As a long time health care Registered Nurse in every walk of health care, I say, indeed it is a pleasure and welcome event to have you in the wellness arena.
Thanks for your solid and strong efforts toward change, for the many lives you have changed and the many more to come.
Yeah. That was pretty cool. Between that and the kudos I got form a client earlier today, my inspiration is ticking along nicely. It's easier to cope with a reduced client schedule and light workshop signup when the people I do reach appreciate my efforts like this.
It's easy to get swept up, isn't it? So easy to drown in the tasks of the day. It's so easy to think only about the problems that need solving, rather than celebrating what has already been accomplished.
Let that be a reminder to you. You aren't going to sprain your shoulder by patting yourself on the back once in a while. It's allowed and well deserved.
It's Gingerbread House time again.
If you'll remember...Lisa and I have a long-standing tradition of Gingerbread House-ery. It doesn't usually happen prior to Christmas, but as long as we tackle it before the New Year, it counts. Last year's effort was a "House of Debauchery". (Previous efforts included "Alien Crash-Landing" and "Santa in a Mack Truck"). This year was less subversive and more...pastel. Please remember, however, that the purpose of building the gingerbread creations is not great artwork...it's all about the sugar high.
Without further ado, I give you...
Again with the Lisa and the sexy things. Seriously, girl...control yourself! Sheesh...
Finally she gets down to work!
We've barely begun and we're already taking horrible self-portraits under the influence of Devil Sugar.
Top view of the Carousel in mid-construction. Those tiny pastel colored non-pariels were soooo good. They were white chocolate and minty with just a little bit of crunch from the little white sprinkly thingies.
Candy? What candy?
Rock on. Last year it was me with gummy coke bottles up my nose. I'm so proud of Lisa for carrying on this year with dual nostril candy cane poles plus the lipped arch. Nice.
And here's the pretty pretty carousel. The final product had candy cane poles with circus animal...well, animals...aaaand candy cane fence with a sugar wafer walkway and a big Santa at the carousel controls and a gummy sugar santa sitting on a bench watching and a mommy gingerbread lady looking on and a gummy sugar tree and another bench aaaaaaand...that was a kick-ass run-on.
Imagine you are a teeny tiny gingerbread kid walking up to board the ride. Fun, right?
Overhead shot.
Closeup near Santa at the controls.
Yes, Rocky Horror was playing while we constructed. That was only after we watched Disney's Sword in the Stone. Hockety-pockety.
Gratuitous anatomically correct gingerbread people in the rack shot! Yippee!
Gratuitous sugar gummy Chimney Santa in Lisa's rack shot! Sweet!
I'm kind of in awe.
Of myself.
Here's the thing: Even with all the physical, emotional, spiritual work I've done...there was a part (a big part) of me that thought I'd never get here. And even though one of my "specialties" with my clients is working with people with eating disorder and body image issues...I never thought I could love my body like I was trying to teach them to love theirs.
But something amazing happened. Sometime in the last few months, I learned to love my body. I think it even happened more rapidly than that. It's as if I finally got to the point where I was just sick and tired of hating my body.
It's so easy (and so subtle and insidious) to pick yourself apart. How many times have you looked in the mirror at yourself and narrowed your focus on to that one little part (or more than one little part) that you just can't stand. You poke it and prod it and look at it from all different angles, just sending hate-rays at your own flesh. I caught myself doing that about a month and a half ago...and I paused. I asked myself "what the hell are you doing?" It wasn't a mean or angry question. I asked it with an air of love, actually. So much the same way that I lifted myself from eating disorder by telling myself that I didn't have to believe that any more, I turned my body-hate around by changing the language I used with myself.
But that sounds so ridiculously simple! If I had heard that a year or two ago, I would have shrugged it off with a "yeah, I know I know". So what was the edge? What was the hinge? What was the button or the spark or the whatever whatever that suddenly made a difference? I wish I knew!
I think time was a huge factor. Timing and time. At the right time, and not rushed. I also think I finally hit my "what will it take" moment. I got to that point where I just wasn't willing to take it any more. All of me was ready for it.
I hope I can find a way to share this with my clients. But they have to be ready for it.
I hugged Krishna Das. I hugged Krishna Das. I hugged Krishna Das.
It was a big, heart hitting, firm-armed, squeezy, long, nourishing hug.
He'll probably never know that listening to his voice those years ago was my first realization and desire for true spirituality. Not religion. Spiritual. Meaningful. Soul-feeding.
It had been a long time since I had last shed tears of joy. Walking home was like floating down the street.
Okay, seriously? This is lame, but I have to brag. Yes, brag. It is 11 pm on a Saturday night and I have spent the last six hours...working! For work. Like, on my computer. But not at a cafe, which is usually the case (I'm hopelessly distracted at home). I've been working! Yay me!
I know for most, this isn't such a humongous accomplishment. And, sure, I do plenty of work without the need to report it. But it's Saturday. And I hadn't planned or scheduled to work. Usually when I don't consciously set the time aside, it just don't happen.
So. Is this lame because I'm working on a Saturday night? Or is it lame because I'm so darned proud of it? Mmm...probably both. It's a little super-lame. I don't care.
Know what's not lame? I was interviewed to be written about in a book. A whole article plus a bio with contacts. That's not lame. Know what else isn't lame? I was contacted by a publishing editor to do some freelance writing for industry magazines. Also not lame.
My friends are excelling, too. I'm SO proud and happy for them. New jobs, new school, new opportunities, new ventures, new outlooks. So lovely...
Yay. This is what I do when I'm sick of working and want to take a break, but don't want to leave my computer for fear I won't get motivated to return and continue chugging along.
I promised updates. Updates updates... *sigh* It's been...full lately.
I've been leading the fall cleanse this week. It has been an amazingly rewarding experience (as always) but it's also a lot of pressure. And of course I want to do it "right" and "great" and whatever whatever. But in addition to supporting all the people going through the cleanse (who can't or won't limit their support needs to the email group and have been sending personal emails and needing phone calls and such), a couple friends are going through a lot right now too. A lot a lot. Big a lot. So, many hours have been spent there too. I'm glad to be able to be there for people, I truly am. But I'm feeling quite alone right now. A few of my support structure - for various and sundry reasons - are not available to me right now. Overloaded themselves or simply absent, I'm unable to call them with my needs. Coupled with my increasing distance from my family (much needed, of course)...well, let's just say I'm very well aware that I am on my own.
I decided I needed to get back on coffee after 5 days without it. Day two sans caffeine was a BITCH. But my lightheadedness and near-blackouts came back when I was off the java. I think that the caffeine was keeping my blood pressure elevated to *normal* levels. Yay for the drug in a mug!
Good things on the career front: So many people are interested in doing the cleanse that I'm running it again in November. Plus, it's New! and Improved! Yippee. AND I have a new niche market I want to pursue. Not sure how to pursue them yet, but I'm puttin' it out there in the universe: I want to be the holistic counselor and Reiki practitioner that rock musicians turn to. I want to be called out to tour buses and have tattooed and leather-clad dudes laying on my massage table. I want to rock out at the shows and help them collect healthier snacks for backstage. How freaking AWESOME would that be? I'm puttin' it out there puttin' it out there puttin' it out there....
The weather on Halloween is supposed to be nice. Yay! Wasn't looking forward to freezing my ta-tas off. Not before slice and dice, ya?
Found myself lingering at the gym the other day. Bleah. What the fuck is up with THAT? I must like picking my own wounds, huh? No surprise I guess. Sometimes I annoy myself.
I'm also putting out in the universe that I need to find a freaking apartment!!! People are now becoming very drawn to my abode, but I can't find one that fits me. Eep! I gotsta'.
Kay, I'm not interested in writing about myself anymore. Ciao kiddies.
Rani and I dance like freaks. We do. It's okay.
But at least we love each other...
Oh yes we do!
Like you needed more proof?
Sexy girlies! Me, Rani, and Rachel
That's more like it!
I swear to god I'm going to have T-shirts made that say "Mutual Admiration Society". It's ridonkulous.
So silly!
Kay, this is not as dirty as it looks. Oh, wait. Yes it is.
Yes, we are all laying on a bed. At "Bed". It's a New York thing. (More like a B&T thing, to tell the truth.)
Okay, this is as bad as it looks, too. Hee...
'Twas fun...
Countdown to slice and dice! December 5th is a mere 49 days away.
I realized I missed my own sixth month. October 11th was seven months.
Rockin.
Whoooo-eeeee!
Dayum, I done got a fire lit under my ass.
Doin' lots of stuff, gettin' lots done. It pisses me off that the ass lit the fire, but at least the fire is lit. Then again, it's debatable whether that was the spark. I do tend to go in cycles, and most of this was set up prior to his involvement. And I do not approve of Machiavellian methods. Not in the least.
My clients are awesome. We've been having some really amazing sessions.
And now I do Reiki!!! My cooooool massage table just arrived yesterday, too. I am SO looking forward to client sessions. I think that's going to be another very satisfying venture.
I'm gonna' keep truckin', keep chuggin', keep on keepin' on.
So of course that was attractive to him. He found it alluring and interesting. He was drawn to it like a (god forgive the trite cliche) moth to a flame. He was in awe of it, actually. Was in wonderment.
So of course he had to do everything in his power to destroy it.
So of course I let him.
Wait. I let him? I let him? I LET him?
How did that happen?
I'm taking it back. I'm taking it ALL back. Taking back my power. Taking back my energy. Taking back my glory glory glory. It is a sad sad human being who needs to destroy others to feel better about himself. He doesn't think he's cruel? Oh my god that is a laugh and a half. He's so unhappy...so fundamentally unhappy...so blind to that...so blind to his own inadequacies...so blind to himself. He claims he's driven to be a mirror for others, to hold up an honest look to others, but he's unable to see into the mirror and witness his own face.
Please remind me to let that poison be. Please remind me not to take that drug. Please remind me that I am better, so much better, than that.
The weekend was a soaring roaring success. Not healed, but healing. Not fixed, but on the road the path the route the track.
But oh my oh my are charismatic men hard to resist. I still find myself eyeing him across the room. And talking on the phone for three hours? What's that about? Do I need a cosmic slap across the face? Snap out of it!
The problem I think is that while everyone else (the people who are prescient) know (they know) that it isn't one of those "meant to be" and is in fact "meant to be WRONG"...I don't buy it. I don't! I don't believe it. I don't feel that. Maybe I do a little. Teeny tiny bit. But is it the hope I'm still clinging to or the fantasy?
On another note... My poor little lost friend. If you ever read this (which you don't) I truly truly hope you find the peace and stillness and strength and joy and sanity you seek. I wish I could help you, but I can't. And I won't. It's not fair to anyone if I do. Where did you go? Where are you headed? Are you going to fade away or self-destruct?
Love you.
Love me again, too. So that's cool.
Do I have to not love him? I do, don't I? Fuck.
At least it's right-sized now. No longer is it bearing the burden of my childhood wounds and ancient primal damages. It's just about a guy. He's just a guy.
Now on to more important things, yes?
He like likes me.
(Insert girlish "tee hee" here.)
Goofily grinning.
I'm in smit.
Smote. Smitted. Smited.
When was the last time I spent almost 20 hours with someone?
Primary food like keerazy. It's amazing how little sleep/food/water/anything you need when you're smitten.
Please please please please please karmic nutjobs don't screw me. Every time I get smit I get shit. Wish me fuckity luckity.
Today was BLOODY FANTASTIC.
I finally found the right combination of how to make my school weekends work. Especially the Sundays, which are loooooong. I went to bed at the right time, got enough sleep, had the right kind of breakfast, sat in a great area, and surrounded myself with positive, motivated people.
I even danced at the stretchy break.
I took some risks and they PAID OFF.
I made myself visible and connected with some amazing people.
So, yeah. Good day.
Hee.
Okay, so any year that Lisa and I are together over the holidays, we make a Gingerbread House. But this, she is no ordinary Gingerbread House! No no. One year we had an alien crash landing in the back yard. Another year we made a big MAC truck and had Santa driving it. This year...it is the HOUSE OF SIN! THE DEN OF INIQUITY! THE...THE... It's lotsa vices thrown together with some candy is what it is.
So here we go...
A close-up and overhead view of the front yard reveals our homeowner passed out naked on the front lawn. We also had a Gingerbread naked lady with a vagina made from black icing and a piece of licorice, but I broke her from making the Gingerbread people have too much sex and then I bit her legs off.
An angled view of the front and side reveal our despondent Mr. Snowman, who sadly hung himself from the chimney. Ah, we barely knew ye.
In homage of the dearly departed, we offer this close-up image of his final moments.
I apologize for the joke about the candy cigarettes on the roof. I'm just not very funny.
Poor Santa. Some nasty drug dealer came over to swipe some of the pot plant growing out back and Santa got in the way of the action. Dude cut Santa up with that broken beer bottle. That's just what you get when you roll wit us.
This guy was too fucked up to come to Santa's aid. Naked, passed out in his own vomit next to a pile of dog poo. That's classy.
I gotta say, though, that Gingerbread Guy was hot. I simply couldn't help myself.
This photo should never be looked at ever again.
Lisa looks pretty hot herself, what with ALL THE LEFTOVER GUMBALLS IN HER MOUTH AT ONCE! That's just gotta make you jealous of her lucky husband. I mean, look how far she can open that mouth of hers. Dayum!
But then she just spooges it all out.
This last pic is the worst of the bunch. This is what happens when a girl who never eats sugar...eats sugar! She gets totally high on that white devil and starts snorting things up her nose. Things that should never GO in a nose. Things like gummy bottles. That's just sick. And wrong. Why am I posting this picture again?
We are sick puppies and silly monkeys. But damn that was fun.
So Saturday started out with a "meh". Gloominess both inside and outside my head. If it hadn't been for lovely people in from out of town and my desire to be with them, I wouldn't have braved the weather or my mood for that cold New Years' Night. And like so many others before me, I had the brilliant idea that "Alcohol will make it better!"
Yeah.
Okay, it did. Not that I EVER like turning to something like that to lift me out of a mood. Usually that's when I refuse to drink. I only want to drink if it is fully my celebratory choice, not if I feel like I *have* to in order to feel more comfortable/fun/relaxed/whatever. But I did. And I did end up having fun. I danced until every single part of me was sweaty. I danced until the DJ started sucking. I danced until my sister had to feel me up in order to get the butch (but attractive) lesbian to stop humping my leg. She was sweet and all, but I just don't swing that way chickie.
Despite a wee bit of a hangover, we made it to brunch the next day. Well. Is it still brunch if it's dark out before you even start eating? It was a freaking bizzaro blast. Some tidbits:
These are good things.
This is me doing something completely out of character.
It's amazing what men with tattoos and lip rings can convince me to do. One even convinced me to volunteer Saturday with Creative Arts Workshops, which brings visual and performing arts to kids in East Harlem. Yup. I spent a Saturday working with inner city youths.
Anyone that knows me will find that surprising. Cuz kids? Not. My. Thing.
Here's the deal: It's not that I don't like kids. I do, to a certain extent. And it's not like I don't know how to relate to them or deal with them or that I'm scared of them or whatever whatever whatever. I'm juuuuuust not enamored. I like them, generally, in small doses. Small doses where I can have brief, fun little interactions and then HAND THEM BACK TO THEIR PARENTS very quickly...before they get cranky. And that's just with well-adjusted suburbanite children. Throw in the underlying issues inherent in a group of "at risk" kids? The vying for attention? The behavioral issues? The sheer cultural divide? Um. YIKES.
And I don't get that glowing, joyous feeling from kidlets, either. You know those people. They're the folks that just LOVE children and find them adorable and precious and God's gift and blahdy blah. The ones who squeal at babies in strollers and squat down to talk to toddlers before addressing the parents. I am not one of those.
I'm not sure from whence the disdain sprang. I think it coincided with when my mother started pressuring me to have babies. She wants to be a grandma so bad she fucking OOZES it. Last Christmas, she said to me (in all seriousness!!):
Honey, if you get to be 35 and you still aren't married and you don't have any children yet...will you PLEASE consider freezing some of your eggs?I told her to get the hell out of my ovaries. You see this abdomen? It's got a biiiig red circle with a LINE through it.
But back to volunteering...
It was definitely an interesting day. I really was fascinated by the behavior of the kids, even if I didn't exactly like it. I found myself very curious to know where some of their behavior was rooted. Why did one little girl insist repeatedly that she was a boy? Why did one little boy suddenly go from laughing and hanging all over me to crying and refusing to make eye contact? Why did another older boy act out so badly to drive me away, and then once he succeeded, try to draw me back in by showing off his artwork?
I was so impressed that the guy who convinced me to do this actually DOES this all the time. On a regular basis. All year 'round. And LOVES it. It takes a very special person to find this kind of frustrating, demanding, exhausting work rewarding.
And as much as I kept and keep saying "this isn't ME"... Well, earlier I was recounting my experience to a friend and I found myself actually getting excited by the retelling. So I guess that means I was a *little* into it. Oy.
But, mom--this still doesn't mean grandbabies are coming ANYTIME soon.
