It's Lime Backwards

My grandfather taught me the importance of being able to build and fix things yourself. He taught me that catching a fish is not the only reason to go fishing. He taught me that living simply can be relaxing and rewarding. He was so often joyful. He loved his big family, he loved having kids around, he loved serious conversation and light chatting and silly joking. He made the best of everything he was given.

And he died today. Easter Sunday, the day Christians celebrate the resurrection of Jesus. A day meant for sunshine and daffodils and sweet treats and children playing and celebrating with loved ones. I can't think of a more appropriate day for him to go.

Unfortunate but true.

No matter how smart or creative or funny I am, it will never be as good as being thin and pretty. Even now, at my thinnest ever, I still feel the sting of this particular fact of life. I can't wait to go to work tomorrow and watch the thin and pretty girls get things handed to them. Yay.

kyle the girl
(on iPhone)

Cardiac Arrest

It seems like I'm always losing things...keys, papers, money, friends...I've put in place rather efficient systems for keeping keys and papers and money in their proper places where I can find them, but friends aren't that easy. You can't keep a friend in the same pocket and expect it to be there every time you reach in. Friends are people, with lives and issues and obligations to third parties. And it hurts worse when you lose your friends than it does when you lose your keys.

To avoid the hurting I've put in place an efficient system; when friends suddenly aren't in the place I've made up for them in my life I give up. I sew up the pocket so that it doesn't seem so empty. I pretend to be blithely irked, or slightly disinterested, or in cases of great hurt I may even grow haughtily angry. But really I'm just clutching the pocket closed with all my might, as if all the warm happy friendliness I have will spill out onto the sidewalk, never to be recovered. The clutching gives me a similar false sense of security to the one I experience when friends do stay in the right pocket.

I don't know what to do when things change suddenly. I usually freeze, unable to move, terrified and quite positive that I am about to experience another loss. So many friends have come and gone...but it's still hard every time. I mean, it's hard for me when I lose a t-shirt at the cleaner's, so of course I hold my friends dear and clutch desperately for their hands in the dark.

What if one day they're not there anymore?

Not so mighty hunter

A few moments ago my cat caught a black bug about as big as my pinky fingernail. Then she let it go and it leapt across the floor at an impossible speed. Then she caught it again. Then she let it go again. You know how it is with cats and their prey.

I freaked out. My heart started racing, I was kind of terrified. I snatched up a shoe with a wooden sole and held it out in front of me defensively. The moment it lay out in the open I shooed Penny away and smashed the thing as hard as I could on the carpeted floor. I was terrified this would not kill it. I was in panic mode as I removed the shoe and jumped back. I whimpered nervously as I approached it to ensure it had died. It wasn't moving so I looked closely at it - it was a fly. It had been scampering because she'd managed to remove its wings somehow. Disgusting, but harmless! I'm not afraid of a common housefly!

If you want to idolize me for any reason, please stop reading now.

I scare pretty easily. My entomophobia aside, I just have two bad habits that line up for the perfect storm: I overthink things and I care very very much about my relationships with my friends. When those relationships are threatened I become upset, terrified of losing someone. Unfortunately a Dr. Scholl's sandal is not an effective defense mechanism for this fear .

Thinky Face has become a good friend of mine. She's a really amazing person, really interesting and funny and sweet and caring and smart--I could go on and on with complimentary adjectives. I think the world of her and love her very dearly. About a month ago we were out at that tiki bar we hang out at and she met some dude. She's been seeing him, even though she yaks on and on about not wanting a boyfriend. Now she's spending time with him and I'm afraid that's going to leave me all lonely and sad. Ouch, my heart hurts. I'm scared!

He's a really nice guy, and I have absolutely no cause to dislike him. He's really sweet, he does nothing but nice things for her, he even does nice things for me. He very clearly wants me to like him. I do like him. But I've gotten pre-emptively angry about losing Thinky to him - and it hasn't even happened. And I really have nothing to lose in the first place! It's not like I have any claim to her or her time.

This is stupid, right?

Helicopter came down for the weekend and she watched my bitter, grumbly, and completely unpleasant behavior. She knew exactly what was happening because A)she's my best friend and of course I told her how much I like Thinky and B)she's watched me do it before--more than once, I am ashamed to admit. Thankfully she has the patience of a saint and talked it out with me today with an admonishment that was far gentler than I deserved. I was a Bitch to that poor guy, with a capital B. Someone really should punch me in the face. Really. I'd feel better.

I think I have identified my biggest flaw. I'm determined now to overcome it.

I like all my friends very much, but because I place so much importance on having those friends my behavior can get possessive and desperate and panicky, and I can't imagine that's very fun to be around. I don't need to worry that people will stop loving me. I don't need to assume someone doesn't like me anymore if I don't hear from him for a few days. I don't need to be so afraid of being alone. Alone is okay. Alone is good and necessary, even! Today I've used my alone time to check Facebook, to text message with some people, to e-mail Aunt J, to call Mom, to blog, knowing other people will read the blog...see a pattern? The alone time is spent seeking out other people to keep me company.

Thinky is very dear to me, but so what if she stops hanging out with me? I don't think she will, but the worst-case scenario is that she does. That's not the dude's fault--she could stop spending time with me anyway. She probably will too, if I keep acting like a spoiled child whose toy has been taken away.

So in the worst-case scenario I start going to the tiki bar by myself. I start having lunch after dance class by myself. I go have antics by myself, I goof around by myself, I take in the sights by myself and probably meet some new people along the way. And if I never hear from those people again I don't panic and worry I'm not cool enough or smart enough or funny enough, I breathe and relax and go do something else by myself. And if I'm lonely it's okay. Nobody can fault me for that, not even me.

I have plenty of friends and they're all really wonderful people; something tells me that they won't let me get too lonely. I like myself a lot, but I think there's definitely some room to improve that particular relationship. I think if I start allowing myself more real alone time I'll get to know me better and get comfortable being with myself and nobody else. And if I start to miss people they'll still be there. No need to panic.

Stumble stumble fall

I ran today in the park. I fell. I haven't fallen in over a year!

Someone was riding her horse on the running path instead of the bridle path, which made me cut to the side kind of fast to avoid the horse. I startled the horse and it sidestepped, which startled me, and somewhere in the mix my toe caught on a tree root and I stumbled forward about ten feet before losing my balance and tumbling to the ground. I did a tuck-and-roll, like in the movies, which seems to work pretty well for me. I used to fall a lot.

I used to fall often because my knees weren't strong, so I didn't pick up my feet high enough. Combined with the gnarled root systems of the live oak trees in Audubon Park, I got pretty good at falling. Work with the gravity, not against it. Brace with the arm farthest from the ground and curl the other one into your body. Try and distribute the surface area of your body along the ground to better absorb the impact. Roll onto your back. Check for breaks, blood and bruising. If none, refuse help. "Nothing damaged but my pride!" became my cheerful mantra in response to concerns of passers-by.

Never have I been seriously hurt by a fall, other than a minor fracture of the pinky finger during high school (knock on wood). I always get up, dust myself off, laugh a bit and keep running with a big grin on my face. People always seem to be amazed by this, but really what's a few scrapes and bumps? When you're three (or four, or six...) miles away from where you're going you may as well get there as fast as you can anyway, right? Why let a little tumble take the fun out of my workout?

I have a secret.

There is always a delayed reaction.

Today I got up, dusted off, laughed and grinned, then dashed forward. About a mile later I burst into tears. This is totally normal, and it's what I expect when I fall. I couldn't breathe. I had to stop, wheezing and sobbing. I was embarrassed about falling. I was angry at the horse's stupid rider for riding on the wrong trail. I was full of adrenaline, covered in dirt, pigtails all messed up, blinded by tears, unable to breathe and then all the stupid no-good horrible emotions I've been having recently surged up through it all like a shot out of a cannon. I crouched down on the grass, hugging my knees and gasping for air and squeezing my eyes shut, trying desperately to calm down, to get the rhythm of my breathing back to normal. I was far enough off the trail that nobody stopped to bother me. It would have made it worse anyway.

It really only took a minute or two, but after that I was fine. It's just the extra adrenaline that pushes me over the edge, I think. I got back up, dusted off again, wiped the tears from my face and pushed on for another two miles. By the time I dashed through the gate in front of my building I was cheerfully humming to myself. I felt better. Cleansed.

Taking a little tumble isn't really so bad. It reminds me that I'm not invincible and that there's really no point in pretending that I am. It reminds me that difficult things happen as a matter of fact, and that I'm tough enough to come out of it okay. The uncontrollable tears remind me that it's important to deal with the resulting emotions so that I can move on.

So, today's lessons: Tuck and roll - take the bad in stride with the good. Pick myself up and keep going. Sort through my negative feelings before they catch up with me and make things worse. Don't expect horseback riders to use their own goddamn path. Track cinders and sunscreen do not taste good together.

No, actually, I'm not okay.

People keep asking. I keep saying I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm disappointed about the DGA thing, but it's fine. I'll pick myself up like I always do and I'll find a better way to get what I want out of my life.

But that's not really true. I'm not okay. I'm angry. I'm disappointed with myself. I'm depressed about it. I really need someone to talk to, but I feel like there's nobody.

It's not just not making it through the interview process, it's more than that.

I don't even really know where to begin.

Subway Guy

I'm standing on the downtown bound 1 platform under the 13th street staircase, directly below the place where it happened a little over a year ago. I think of him more often than I thought I would. Over time, as the shock wore off, I've become pretty well convinced that he died. It's hard not to be angry at the people who walked over his body without a care or concern as he lay there groaning like a cow being slaughtered. Every time I am on this platform I remember how trapped I felt in my body, immobilized by the sight of the blood. I cried for him a few times, and felt sorry that I didn't do more than call the station office and wait until help arrived.

That same night I went on my first date in New York, with a guy I met in a bookstore. He was nice enough, but as the evening unfolded I realized he was trying to get me drunk enough that I'd go back to his apartment. As lonely and fragile as I was back then, and with the aftermath of emotion from having watched a man lose a ton of blood from his head, I'm surprised I didn't just do it in spite of my persistent sobriety. Regardless, I made my way home by myself that night, never spoke to him again, and have never regretted it. The guy was a douchebag.

kyle the girl
(on iPhone)

The donut, the club, the boys, the work, the ouch.

A couple weeks ago I met up with this guy Tim, who won the free donut. He was really nice and cool. It felt a little like a therapy session, since I know nothing about him, he knows a lot about me, and we talked mostly about how I can improve my life.

He's in Thailand right now, I think.

Hopefully this won't be the last I see of Tim, who is nice and cool. He should come to the brunch club.

Speaking of the brunch club, the Sound Scientist, one of our charter members, has not been in a really long time. It makes me a little sad, since we were such good close friends for a while and I had hope that for once a good, close friendship that I developed would not dissolve into the distant, see-you-once-in-a-blue-moon kind of thing that is all too common here in NYC. However, some of the gals I know through dance have been coming, which is nice. And of course my sidekicks, The Starlet and The Heartwarmer, who I love. And our Pet Nineteen-Year-Old, who The Starlet adopted last summer while waiting in line for Shakespeare in the Park...she comes quite a bit. But it's a total chickfest, which sometimes gets on my nerves. I like having guy friends around.

Speaking of guy friends, there are two of them that suddenly seem to be jumping up and down trying to get my attention. Since I've been unemployed, I've had the time to indulge this a bit, but they are both testing my impatience as I wait to see a little assertiveness. Asking me to go out is fine, but it's no fun if I have to be the one making all the decisions. I hate making decisions, and I have to do it plenty enough on my own. Please tell me where to be, when to be there, and what sort of attire is expected. Dating is, like, the one time I do not want to be in control.

Speaking of things that are beyond my control, the reason I haven't written in a long time is that I've been a little depressed. Economically depressed as well as too-much-time-on-my-hands depressed. But here's the good news, President offered me a job yesterday! Praise Jesus! She might not know it (well maybe she does), but she has rescued me from certain financial ruin, or at least from the emotional devastation of having to ask my family for (more) help. I was beginning to worry that I was on the cusp of losing my grasp on this whole New York movie-making freelancer endeavor...and while the financial part would be hard, the idea of failing myself is much much harder.

Speaking of things that are hard for me to confront, I had to reign in my running a little bit, which is driving me crazy, since mentally I'm ready for an 8 miler. I have developed a mild case of Plantar fasciitis. If you can imagine having your heel sliced off with a meat slicer you can begin to understand what it feels like. Long story short, I was grossly inflating my weekly mileage, switched to a new pair of running shoes without enough arch support, all the while romping through New York for miles and miles each day wearing flat-soled Chuck Taylors with no insoles. Boom. Plantar fascitis, or as I like to call it, Chuck Taylor Syndrome. Just goes to show you should listen to Dr. Scholl and put arch supports in all your shoes. With a little Rest, Ice, Compression and Elevation and a LOT more stretching I should be able to overcome the daggers in my heels pretty soon, then I'm going to own the hell out of that 8-miler. It's going to take me across the Brooklyn Bridge and back.

Economic Downturn

I got turned down for a staff job on a big shot movie, which is a little disheartening in my current state of financial crisis. And no, I'm not referring to the fiscal state of the Union; I'm referring to my own problems.

I'm in the midst of a battle: me vs. the evil temp agency, with the NY Department of Labor as mediator and judge. Long story short, this is all a mistake, but in the meantime I'm S.O.L. if I don't get at minimum five more days of work this month. I'm looking into alternatives, including craigslist, disposable odd jobs and other temp agencies, but I'm afraid to take on anything too long, or I'm going to have to bail like I did on my last temp assignment. I have to be available for production work. If I'm serious about changing departments I need all the days and experience I can get, which showed on my first day on a stage, this last Monday. Ouch. There were some serious oops moments.

But, like everyone always says, ya gotta start somewhere. And at least the office experience will make me a rock star someday when they finally let me do paperwork.

Anyway, my test for the DGATP is coming up a week from Saturday, and if I can bring it to the test and the interviews, this job won't matter anyway. And I did get a personal phone call with their decision to pass. And I did volunteer to help them when they need extra staff. And I did take the news well. So there's that.

But I can't help feeling like I want a consolation prize. Like maybe they could refer me to someone with a smaller job? I think I'll call and ask tomorrow. :)


kyle the girl
(on iPhone)

Superhero: A video just for you.

Sadly, Superhero is not quite as exciting as its name makes it out to be, but please enjoy it nonetheless.


Superhero from kyle the girl on Vimeo.


Here's the link to that guest post at Schmult. Also, as I promise in the video, I give to thee the after and after pictures of my haircut. The first one is after the girl at the salon did it. The second one is after I did it. Seriously, why would I ever want to look like this:



When I could look like this?

Mugged. I got mugged.

These two little shits...kids. Maybe 17 or 18. Maybe younger. I was responding to a text and the one kid walked up and grabbed my iPhone out of my hands. At first I didn't believe it. I turned around and started screaming and chasing him. Screaming so loud, hoping that someone would be there, that someone would hear and stop him.

Then the other one came up from behind me and grabbed my purse. I knew it was wrong, but I fought him for it. He didn't expect me to fight either. He hit me over the head with the heel of his hand. He told me to let go, to give it up. I screamed louder and louder, "NO! No, I will give you the wallet just let me have the rest! This is all I have!" I just wanted my house keys so I could go home.

I was kicking him, pulling at my purse and aiming at his genitals. I missed and missed again and then suddenly I was on the ground, clutching for dear life at my bag. I bought that purse in France. It was cheap but I loved it. I didn't want to lose it. Then he said he had a gun. I didn't believe him and kicked at him some more, but then it registered in my brain that it was a bad idea to assume he did not have a gun. I let go. He ran off and I chased them, West on Sterling, South on Classon, then turned left to go East on St. John. Screaming my head off.

I lost sight of them. A nice man heard my cries for help and stopped me. He reminded me it was a bad idea to follow someone who kicked me to the ground, hit me over the head and threatened me. I saw them up the block. I was so livid that I started to go, but he stopped me again. I started crying. He called 911 but standing there, all defeated and rained on and without a phone or a house key I just wanted something familiar.

I went to the Sound Scientist's house. I knew he would be home and he was. He let me in, let me breathe, let me sit down, called the police. He gave me a beer and I drank half of it in two sips. I was filthy from the street. I was all scraped up on my hip and my knee and my elbow and my head hurt where the little shit had hit me.

The police came. They were great. They cruised me around to look for the kids but of course we didn't find them. They brought me to the precinct, where I learned that two boys fitting my description had just mugged someone else on Vanderbilt Avenue, not far from where it had happened to me. The detectives were awesome, and while they processed my report they let me have full access to a computer so I could change all my passwords, shut off my phone, shut down my credit and debit cards, access phone numbers in my emails (thank goodness I save everything). I called my mom. I called Aunt J. I called my roommate a million times (she didn't pick up until waaaay later after the other roommate received an email from me and called her). Everyone rallied for me.

Roommate wouldn't be home until far later, so I went back to the Sound Scientist's house. We drank beer. We rehashed. We ran out of beer, then Roommate called so we went home. I changed, dressed my wounds and freshened up, then we got more beer and a pack of cigarettes. We went back to his house and got drunk and watched Shaun of the Dead. Then he walked me home.

All I gotta say is that if it weren't for him I'd be going crazy right now. He didn't have to do much to take care of me, but just being there with me and not leaving me alone... Well it was enough. He's such a good friend, a good person.

I'm okay, for now. Tomorrow... we'll see.

Like a great hand descending from the clouds, a deus ex machina ending

Today was a normal day in the production office. I ordered supplies, we paid bills, we made scripts... and then suddenly the executive producer called us all to the art department.

He told us the production was shutting down.

So that's it...a couple more weeks and Ms. big fancy production secretary will be unemployed again.

Unless my favorite Irish accountant finds us all a job...

Withdrawal (a rant)

I've always had a hard time accepting that I am not the center of the universe. That could be because of my childhood, but I'm tired of blaming my past for who I am today. Nonetheless, I am coming to understand that I have got to stop expecting so much from other people. I'm just setting myself up for disappointment.

I'm more than disappointed too. I'm hurt. I know this is New York and everyone is busy. I know that people have other obligations...to work, to family, whatever...but dammit, why do I feel like I have to pretend I have nothing better to do if I want to hang out with someone? Bullshit! It's such bullshit! I DON'T have anything better to do!! I cannot think of anything that is better done alone than with someone else (save the obvious personal moments, of course).

I make the effort, I make the time... Why doesn't anyone else? Why can't this just be...you know...easy? Why can't people just say they're busy or that they can't talk or that they don't really want to hang out with you instead of not answering emails? Why can't--JUST ONCE--2.0 just say "sure, let's you and me and some other folks hang out" instead of "I need to ask my wife." Why can't The Sweetest Gal in Brooklyn ever call ME first instead of playing stupid fucking Facebook tag? Why am I the only one who doesn't seem to want to go home and be lazy? This is fucking New York, people! Get off your couches!

(Oh yeah, I've TOTALLY been blown off by the Producer, which spawned this rant--although it's not solely about him--because after we cleared up the misunderstanding, after he rescued me and was really sweet, now he's just ignoring me, which makes me feel extra great about the whole possibly being drugged thing...since, you know, he was the only person who seems to care. Oh yeah, that night I blacked out? I STILL don't totally know what happened; he's the only person who does, and he seems to believe pretty strongly that I was drugged.)

God dammit. I shouldn't even care.

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Blogged (on the subway) on my iPhone