a flake and a phoney with a college degree (whoopie)

Here we go! Get ready!

Things that make me feel bad/sad/mad/not glad/uh... shoulder pad:

*Losing an entire group of friends due to a breakup.

*Losing a best friend due to a breakup.

*The fact that I may very well be the Worst Friend Ever.

*Feeling like a big time flake and phoney.

*Gettin' no recognition/ceremony for my graduation last year. Hey guys, I graduated. Remember? Remember how I graduated cum laude? Remember how I have no pictures, had no congrats grad from relatives, no cap 'n gown, no celebratory dinner? Remember how I worked really, really, really hard for 8 years and now my diploma is still sitting in the envelope on top of a shoebox? Remember how I kinda cry a little bit every time I think of these things? They may seem petty - and perhaps they are - but, I don't know, all of these things would have/do mean a lot to me. Oh well.

*Snow.

Goodnight.

and also

I guess when it comes down to it, I just don't believe I deserve good things. I don't inherently deserve them. I have to work really, really hard to earn anything - but even if I do work hard, I don't deserve any praise or recognition. I am suuuuch a hermit. Gooood 4 me. No, wait, terrible for me. I can be terrible.

armor

Dudes have been such duds lately. My wall has been up up up for the past few weeks and it feel good sitting here behind it, isolated. Now if only I could find a full suit of armor...

I know this is the opposite of the warrior I strive to be. I know this is the opposite of me opening up, full of compassion and a desire for understanding. I know I am not listening.

But I am at a loss for words. I don't know what to do except hastily post this drab entry and hope you read it and hope you understand that it is both about you and absolutely not about you. And I hope you know that you are multiple people - spies, perhaps, maybe savages, maybe royalty - and I hope you can just pass through without feeling the need to look behind this poorly constructed wall.

Because shhhhh - I am just trying to rest and forget and be forgotten.

tired/inspired

I am tired.

I am tired of the drivers in gas guzzling trucks who cut me off while they are texting the ever important "LOL" to a BFF. I am tired of being ignored by my neighbors because I am not a member. I am tired of the disapproving looks I get because of my tattoos. Hey, I don't hate you because of your CTR rings and garments, okay? I am tired of being interrupted. I am tired of the mute button not being utilized. I am tired of the mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, daughters, sons, friends, and lovers who come in second after the iPods, iTouches, iPads, and iPhones. I am tired of our lack of respect in nature and sacred spaces. I am tired of apathy.

But I am also inspired.

I am inspired by those who walk and notice. I am inspired by those studying in India and later joining the Peace Corps. I am inspired by those who get lost in music/books/art and subsequently find themselves. I am inspired by bravery in the face of conformity. I am inspired by those with broken hearts who let their hearts stay raw. I am inspired by a blank screen (or rather, no screen at all). I am inspired by those who stay nervous, aware, alert, awake. I am inspired by the soil. I am inspired by those who touch the earth and weep.

the highway is for gamblers better use your sense

Today a child I tutor told me I smell like her old school.

"Crying like a banana in the sun."

I have been watching rock documentaries these past few nights and it has almost decided for me that I don't want to end up a drug addled rock star. In other words, I'd rather end up rolling around in mud for the rest of my life with some flowers stuck in my dreads while tripping on the beauty that is the sky than passed out in some motel bathtub.

Tonight we were bandits, on a walk, sketching the sunset.

And here is me, in the future. (My future shall be the past, with more cats and a couple of good souled dogs.)

an elephant in the room, but not really

Okay, a list:

Because I can't think clearly:

So I will not post anything deep and meaningful:

But rather, a list:

1. Do I spend my refund money on yoga classes or a tattoo? Or both? Or neither? I have a feeling many of you will say NO NO NO on the tattoo. But some of you out there in Internet Land like tattoos, right?

2. My head, heart, and stomach all hurt. Like, I actually feel pain in them right now. This is probably not a great thing, considering my head, heart, and stomach are all pretty important parts of my body.

3. I'm a slob lately. No more getting out of bed for me! No more makeup for me! No more socializing for me! No more shaving, showering, or smelling good for me!

4. Too tired and achy to finish this list. I have been drained of any and all creativity I used to have in the past. I am a good for nothin' loser. J/KKKKK. But really, I am kinda a dumby. Gumby. No, just a dumbie. Dumbey. Dumbo.

420

My poor body, my poor mind. I won't elaborate (yet), but just trust me on this one.

I remember buying a messenger bag at the House of Blues in Downtown Disney when I was 15 years old. The print on the bag was of the Tibetan Wheel of Life. Weird. I thought the bag was so "edgy" and felt rebellious each time I used it (I had no idea what it was/meant, mind you). Good Mormon girl with a bag that depicted something from some "exotic religion." Yeah. Right on. I wish I knew where that waaay overpriced bag was now.

I think I should have this printed on a picture of some stock photo of a rock climber scaling a rock face: "Decisions: You Make Some That Hurt Those You Love And You Make Some That Don't Hurt Those You Love And Sometimes You Can't Even Make Them." I would hang that poster up on my freaking wall and look at it all the freaking time because it is so freaking true.

I really can't please everyone and it tears me up inside.

So... Meg (me) moving to the Land of Ports (Portland). Your thoughts, please.

I want to write more, but something is stopping me. I don't know what it is. This writer's block needs to go away now.

unplugged and loopy

He told me to write something tonight.

So here it is.

I only write blog posts and tweets these days. Oh, and sometimes lyrics about bones and leather and matchbooks and Carl Sagan and cosmic waves. Hey, I just now, this very second, realized my lyrics are actually pretty cool. #prettycool

My vocabulary is lacking. I read quite a bit. I am a college grad (WITH A DEGREE IN ENGLISH). I am overall a smart cookie. But I have neglected words. I have forgotten how crisp and delicious language can be. I bought a book yesterday titled Rhyme Your Way to a Powerful Vocabulary. I don't even know what that means. I also bought some architecture books that I will undoubtedly end up giving as gifts to my many, uh, architect friends. (Note to Self: Find some architect friends.)

I performed in a show last night. And today. And by "performed" I mean "talked my way through some songs." I know I am the weakest link in the Glowing Heads. There used to be a show where that British woman with short red hair would say, "You are the weakest link. Goodbye." What the Boyd K. Fudgepacker was that called? Was it called Weakest Link? Who the Boyd K. Fudgeypantspacker even cares? Apparently I do. But not anymore.

I am currently abstaining from Facebook and Twitter. For the most part. It is difficult, but not TOO difficult. For the most part. I feel very out of the loop and I have hardly been gone for 24 hours. We live in a very plugged in world, people. I am so ready to go Gary Snyder on all y'all's asses.

Oh, language.

indeed

When I showed you the journals in which I was published, you didn't even hold them in your hands. You were allowed to hold them, you know. And guess what? You were even allowed to look through them and actually read my poems. Basically, you were given full allowance to be interested, but you weren't interested. You weren't even good at pretending you were interested. I could bring up more and more examples of your lack of interest, but now I am no longer interested in being upset or really caring. It feels good to not put in any effort. It feels good not to be your little marionette. But hey - no hard feelings, okay? I didn't really care, either. I cared about you as another human being, just not as a "life partner." I think we were both searching for something that was never there, a sort of blind, wild goose chase. But the chase has been called off! All geese are safe. And I know we are both happier because of it.

an ape walks into a bar and forgets about bananas and parties instead or: how i learned to stop worrying and start meditating

Today at Soulless Machine World (also known as Gold's Gym), I was reading Chögyam Trungpa's Smile at Fear: Awakening the True Heart of Bravery and had what I like to call an "I-think-this-can-genuinely-be-classified-as-a-sign" moment. It came when I read this particular passage:

"When you don't feel grounded or properly seated in your world, you cannot relate to your experience or to the rest of the world. So the problem begins in a very simple way. When body and mind are unsynchronized, you feel like a caricature of yourself, almost like a primordial idiot or clown. In that situation, it is very difficult to relate to the rest of the world.

That is a simplified version of what is known as the setting sun mentality: having completely lost track of the basic harmony of being human. The idea of the setting sun is that the sun is already setting in your world, and you cannot rise above the darkness. You feel that there is only misery, clouds, the dungeon, life in the gutter. To compensate for that, you might go to a very dark dungeon with bad lighting, where you get drunk. That is called a club. You dance like a drunken ape who has forgotten bananas and its home in the jungle a long time ago. So it feasts on cheap beer while wiggling its tail. There is nothing wrong with dancing per se, but in this case it is a form of escaping from or avoiding your fear. It's very sad. That is the setting sun. It's a dead end, a very dead end."

paul baby pie

MY LIFE ACCORDING TO PAUL SIMON

Are you a male or female:
"You Can Call Me Al" (perhaps "A Most Peculiar Man"?)

Describe yourself:
"Think Too Much"

How do you feel:
"Further To Fly"

Describe where you currently live:
"Homeless"

If you could go anywhere, where would you go:
tie - "Under African Skies" and "Graceland"

Your favorite form of transportation:
"Train In The Distance" (but "Stranded In A Limousine" would have been the funny answer)

Your best friend is:
"Beautiful"

You and your best friends are:
"At The Zoo"

What’s the weather like:
I wish it was "Satin Summer Nights," but it is still "A Hazy Shade Of Winter"

Favorite time of day:
"Sunday Afternoon"

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called:
"Paranoia Blues"

What is life to you:
"Learn How To Fall"

Your relationship:
"How The Heart Approaches What It Yearns"

Your fear:
"Slip Slidin' Away"

What is the best advice you have to give:
"Love Is An Eternal Sacred Light"

Thought for the Day:
"You Don't Know Where Your Interest Lies"

How you would like to die:
Can I use "Stranded In A Limousine" again?

Your soul’s present condition:
"Somewhere They Can't Find Me"

Your motto:
"Peace Like A River"

i ain't gonna complete you

I should preface this by saying that... Actually, I don't really have a preface. Here we go.

Frustrated. Frustrated that I can't seem to find the "right" words to explain what it is that I am feeling, what I have been feeling for some time now. I suppose I don't need to fancy things up and make this post eloquent and poetic - it's a blog, for crying out loud. A blog is a dumping ground of petty thoughts, self-absorbed ramblings, and quirky photos of kitties. Blogs aren't usually up for National Book (Blog?) Awards, so I should just relax and... dump. Oh god, that sounded wrong. Anyway, here is my dump!

People expect too much out of me. Correction: Males expect too much out of me. Not to be all Eternal-Sunshine on everyone's ass, but I am, more often than not, a concept to many. Whether it's "Pepsi Ginsberg" or "Orem Meg" (or whatever other persona I for some reason have), men think they know me and, yes, to some degree own me. Half of the time I don't even realize that I am slightly under their thumb. I find myself starting to feel guilty if I don't live up to whatever they expect of me, if I don't give them the time of day. I notice myself seeking their approval and validation. I catch myself caring more about what they want more than caring about what I want. Good gracious, girl - things must change.

I don't owe men anything. I don't owe them my body, my mind, my time, my sanity. I should not put up with any controlling behavior, I should not put up with any manipulative words, I should not put up with whiny bullshit.

For the love of Santa Buddha Jesus, it's time I grow a pair of metaphorical balls (what is the female version of this phrase? grow some ovaries?) and start putting myself first. I don't need to make excuses or feel guilty for, you know, taking care of myself from time to time. If I want to stay home all night long by myself and watch Gumby cartoons on YouTube while eating a couple of pudding cups, then by golly I will.

first thoughts

First thoughts to come to my mind RIGHT NOW:

I might move to Albuquerque. I am proud of myself for knowing how to spell "Albuquerque," by the way. BTW. FYI. LMAO. WTJDOLQT (What The Jesus Do Out Loud Cutie).

I have become pretty darn disillusioned with the "local scene." Everyone is so much younger than I and trying ever-so-hard. Oh, but I am also a person who indulges in hypocrisy. I should clarify, however, that many of the people I have met recently are so lovely and creative and inspiring and my disillusionment only comes from select individuals.

Speaking of indulging, I sure have been indulging in food lately. Some might blame the occasional happy brownie, others might blame the whole "I eat my emotions" dilemma. I, frankly, don't think there should be any blame or guilt at all. It is what it is. But seriously, no more Dee's at two in the morning.

I like my alter-ego. I wish I was more like Pepsi.

I miss Laura. I am quite happy she and I have started writing letters again. We are beautiful together.

Wired 'n Tired. My autobiography.

you keep on dancin' and the room gets hot

I just accidentally drank a whole Rockdouche - excuse me - Rockstar energy drink and now, for some humorous reason, I have "Rock and Roll All Nite" by Kiss stuck in my head.

You keep on shoutin', you keep on shoutin'
I wanna rock and roll all nite and party every day
I wanna rock and roll all nite and party every day
I wanna rock and roll all nite and party every day
I wanna rock and roll all nite and party every day
I wanna rock and roll all nite and party every day
I wanna rock and roll all nite and party every day
I wanna rock and roll all nite and party every day
I wanna rock and roll all nite and party every day
I wanna rock and roll!

That song is clinically insane. (Seriously. It went to an undisclosed clinic and was diagnosed as insane.)

Oh Pema. RIGHT ON, sista.

"We’d be wise to question why we hold a grudge as if it were going to make us happy and ease our pain." -Pema Chödrön

Best Friendz 4ever with myself?! Whaaa...t?

Yesterday I tweeted (yes, that word can now be said with a serious face and no worry of confusion) that I am a bad friend. I was not fishin' 'round (apostrophes!) for any responses such as, "Oh no! You are a WOOONDERFUL friend!", which is good because I didn't get any kind of a response. Don't get me wrong - I am not really worried about getting no response/reassurance, but it has made me think a little bit... Am I a bad friend?

Let's just say that I am a forgetful friend at times. Send me a message/email, I will most likely not remember to respond for at least a few days. Shoot me a fax/text after I have eaten a delicious brownie, I will definitely have no memory of said fax/text. Catch me on one of my "Lord-the-world-is-terrifying" days and I will find any excuse to stay holed up in my cocoon room/womb. And I sincerely apologize for all of this behavior. I fear I don't show it as often as I should, but you lovely people are very dear to me. I am serious. Even if I don't know you incredibly well, I am still fascinated by you. I have probably Facebook stalked you. I have probably sat and observed you at one time or another, completely enamoured. You probably aren't even aware of the kind of influence you have had on my life.

So what do I do? I suppose the first step is to now befriend myself. I need to remind myself that it is okay to be a hermit every now and again. It is okay to take time for myself. It is okay to put myself first. I have long neglected my own needs, which in turn causes me to neglect the needs of others. There is a direct link between my satisfaction and being able to satisfy others. I believe my relationships will vastly improve once I improve the relationship I have with myself.

And I love you.

drain

It is draining, for both of us. I can keep repeating myself (turning the "buzz words" I keep using into super buzz words), but I don't know how much longer I can do that. Like I said, it's draining. I'm tired. If you don't want to hear what I have to say, you're not going to hear it. It's up to you to make yourself happy, and only you. No one else can do it for you.

We are all the mayors of Rock City. There are multiple mayors. It's a weird system, I know. Rock 'n ROLLLLLL!

Oh yeah, I'm in a band. Three, actually. But for today, on this our holy day of General Conference, I will highlight (fun fact: I first typed "high life" on accident instead of "highlight") 90s Television. And by "highlight" I mean post a bunch of pictures. Enjoy! That is a demand! I demand you to enjoy! (I am trying to track down the person who took these pictures, so once I figure it out, I will give them credit. Yo.)

Pepsi Ginsberg (aka ME) playing the keys with ease.

Ginger Brown (aka Josh), the big man in town.

Wait, is that Ginger again? Okay, cool. We get it. Lead singer.

Bourbonly (aka Clayton Godby), bringing some jungle fever to 90s.

Ramsey (aka Victor/Vector)! Not much rhymes with Ramsey except Lambsey.

Ah nice! Doc Hollywood (aka Joe No No), straight outta da hood.