How To Become A Hipster

Last week, I went to strike for a show that I designed. The day before, I was running a 101 degree fever and had to spend the day in bed. Day of strike, I had spent the whole morning biking around town, taking care of various errands, and then went to work for approximately 9 hours, and then biked all the way to the theatre under the assumption that I would be up and down a ladder for a few hours. Keep in mind, I feel shitty as hell this whole day and was fairly certain I was going to faint.

I tend to NEVER dress appropriately for the weather. God knows that’s true. But when it comes to work-related attire, I know when it’s ok to be covered in paint, or when you should be wearing some pantyhose. Therefore, when I know that my day entails being horribly sweaty on a bike for any number of hours, I’m going to work toward dealing with that. Therefore I was serving yoga pants and sports bra/tank top fierceness, which I usually do when I bike anywhere, and I just bring a change of normal clothes with me.

When I arrived at the theatre, ready to work, I was met with a sea of actors throwing back some brews. Which I don’t mind. But I really would’ve preferred to be in bed. Sick and dying. Where I belonged.

I busted out the work I needed to finish, and right as I was leaving for the night, one of the actors in my show came up to me, cackling, and blurted out the following:

“So what’s your deal, are you like always on the way to the gym or what?”

Wow.

I obviously don’t feel like I need to explain myself to a sloppy drunk person who doesn’t know she’s being horribly rude. So I walked out.

This moment has sort of stuck with me the last few days. I would like to think I’m not that judgmental. (I probably am.) But I hope to be better than that, day to day. I also considered that I was taking that comment way personally, but what she said in front of a group of people made me feel immediately alienated. And sometimes it’s the other person’s fault. (And no, alcohol is no excuse for ANYTHING.)

Moments like that sort of channel into a personal reawakening for me. It reminds me that things we don’t understand don’t need to be scrutinized. If you’re genuinely curious about something, there is a classy approach to anything. And you always catch more bees with honey.

And if you’re gonna be a judgmental snatch to me, realize I’m going to blog about it. 

I am so fucking riled up right now.

It’s a long story, but basically my best friend and I just got into an argument about sexism. He is a gay man. I am a straight woman. And we disagree? What. The.

It started with me saying that I wouldn’t be comfortable with having a male gynecologist. He says this is sexist. 

I would not be comfortable having a male, who does not have the anatomical parts that I do, prodding around an area that, regardless of how much study, research, and medical science experience, he can never truly know or understand because HE DOES NOT HAVE A VAGINA. He will never know what it’s like to have your period, or uterine cramps, or have to fight half the population to have the rights to get birth control. HE CAN NOT KNOW THESE THINGS. 

This makes me sexist. 

I would feel, as dictated by basic human nature, uncomfortable with this arrangement, because I sleep with men. I would prefer a man’s interaction with my junk to be anything but medical. A casual interaction. An unflinching look at my crotch by a man who has somehow found a way to detach himself entirely from the carnal nature of this whole experience.

Oh, but I’m sexist.

That being said, I know lots of women who prefer male obgyns. Great. Great for them. 

I am a prude. (And also sexist.)

He went on to say that when he went to the men’s health clinic, he had a female doctor. Great. Great for him. He has never, and will probably never, have intercourse with a woman. Same here. So logically, we would both prefer female doctors? 

I think it also comes down to comfort level. I have an extremely private sex life. He sleeps with an astounding number of anonymous men. Therefore, I would think I would be more particular about these things. 

But again, I’m sexist.

Call me old fashioned, but I’m still pretty sure that, as a part of a white male dominated society, trying to dictate the preferences of a woman when it comes down to the most intimate details of her reproductive life could also be construed as… oh… what’s the word….

SEXIST.

In 2 minutes, it will officially be Valentine’s Day.

In the past, this would have never phased me, made me feel any lesser, because before this past year, I have never really known what those feelings entailed. I’d see a Kay commercial every 3 minutes on tv and think “that is the most unrealistic thing I’ve ever heard of.”

The shitty thing is, it’s not. It feels like that, and it felt so vital to living. For the first time, I didn’t have to be strong. I could be weak and vulnerable. I felt so complete. Which, in retrospect, was basically just an addiction.

This year, I thought I would finally have someone. I would have someone to kiss on New Years at midnight. I would have someone to spend Valentine’s Day with. I would have someone.

And ironically, today I feel like I can finally say FUCK THAT. I don’t need it. I’ve never had it, and I don’t know how I could’ve ever deluded myself into making it such a priority. At the time it felt like the most important thing in the world. The corniest advice I get always ends up ringing the most true. As RuPaul says so eloquently: “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else?”

I finally feel like I’m in a place where I love myself again. Any shortcomings in my previous relationship WERE NOT MINE. I know that now. And it is through no oversight or blame. After weeks of self-loathing, I can attest that much.

I’ve been spending my days biking all over town, and loving my new active life. I’m working a full-time job, finally getting a grip on my financial problems, and I’ve booked TWO lighting gigs. The only thing I’m missing is a man that makes me feel like I’m a priority in HIS world. Not the other way around. This is a two-way street, bitch.

After all the tears and the hurt, I know now that he was right. I DO deserve someone who will love me as much as I love him. It is just truly a disappointment that I was in it 100%. I saw the good in him, overlooked the flaws, and made the effort…. and he’s apparently incapable of that. Sad.

I may have gotten my heart broken, but the outpouring of support and love from my friends, combined with the much more important issues in my family, have finally helped me to get over the bump.

I don’t know that I’ll be jumping right back on board (since joining a dating site on Valentines Day seems like a TERRIBLE idea) but we’ll see where we land. I have a lot of myself to focus on for the time being. 

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

One step closer to extreme hipsterdom: Yesterday… I got a motherfuckin BIKE.

Today I went to a shop to get all the gadgets: helmet, U-lock, hexkey multitool, LED lights, and of course, a bell.

(You know I’m gonna do it RIGHT.)

Now… I need rain gear. Because it’s supposed to be MISERABLE weather for the next 2 weeks and I don’t own anything waterproof. So it’s a good thing I got this train a-rollin when I did! I’m great at seasons!*

No, I haven’t named it yet, because I haven’t even taken it out for a proper ride as I just got a helmet TODAY. So cool it, Julio. 

(Maybe Julio?)

This will hopefully accomplish the following things:

1) Get my ass moving. I sit at a desk for 8 hours a day, then sit on a bus for 1-2 hours a day and then come home and sit on my bed for enough hours until I have to then lay down which is like the lazier cousin of sitting down. So it’s time to get FIT.

2) Cost me less in the longrun. Bus passes ain’t cheap. The theory is that this thing will “pay for itself!” Which I know will not ending up to be true because life is HARD.

3) Result in more pleasant transportation experiences. I’m pretty much over waiting in the rain for a bus to show up in 4 minutes only to stand there for an hour. And then when the bus finally arrives, being greeted by the overwhelming STANK of homeless people. I am prepared to instead cross the Broadway bridge at my own leisure with the wind at my back and some sweet jams in my ears. (Not real jam.)

4) Give me PDX hipster street cred.

Things I am scared of:

1) Ass pain. It has already started. I need a new bike seat (the cool kids call it a “saddle”) because the one on my bike is for a man. And I have much more posterior than anterior… if ya know what I mean. 

2) Physical failure. I feel like if I watch enough Biggest Loser I can deal with this, though.

3) Getting hit by a car/bus/person/bird/dog/plane/sandwich. I am not “good” by any means at riding a bike or anticipating danger yet. If I have to dodge anything in the near future… you can just go ahead and RSVP to my funeral.

4) Being unprepared. I didn’t get an emergency kit (IDIOT) so if I get a flat or something, I’m boned. I need to get one. (The Boy Scouts would probably back me up on this.)

5) Gettin jacked. If some dickwad steals my bike… I will literally lose my fucking mind. Part of me wanted to get 2 different U-locks to use at all times so any potential thieves would look at my over-the-top security system and be like, “Oh Jesus, screw that.”

6) Sucking at this.

*note: sarcasm

Happy New Year, bitches.

2012 was a fucking rollercoaster.

I left the safety and promise of theatrical work in Kentucky. I moved on a whim and a prayer to Portland because I wanted to. I couch surfed for 3 months. I got an apartment with my best friend. I fell in love.

Cut to 3 weeks ago, my best friend gets in a terrifying bike accident, my sister tells me she has cancer, and then my heart gets broken.

As if the holidays weren’t already too hard to handle, my grandfather passed away on Christmas Eve.

So yeah, I guess you could say I’ve been ready for a new start.

I’ve been doing yoga again. I’ve been planning to get a bike and start the super Portlandy trend of biking everywhere.

Today I got a phone call from my father telling me that my creditors are coming after me for unpaid bills. So I have to consolidate my bills. Which everyone tells me is a terrible plan, but I have no alternative. 

It’s hard to get a new start when YOU CANT GET GOING. Sigh. It’s hard to stay positive when things are so damn hard. Time heals all wounds? Let’s freaking hope so.

I got 3 hours of sleep last night. I spent the entire time struggling to fall asleep… then thinking about how the pillows smell like his hair, and then be immediately upset because that was the case, and then burst into tears, and once calmed down, then try to fall asleep again.

I guess you could say I feel blindsided. And the shittiest part about all of this is that he was nice and honest about it. If he was a dick, I could be pissed off about it. But because he said things like, “I feel bad,” I want to hold him and tell him that I love him EVEN MORE.

Goddamnit.

I don’t know what I did or didn’t do. I was completely myself. I made sure to always be honest. And as usual, I poured my heart into it. Which I guess could be pinned as “my mistake.” But I’m a very invested person. If I get into something, I jump in, feet first. I’m passionate. Which is a problem, I guess.

Everyone says it’ll be ok and I deserve better. I don’t feel that way. I feel like he was the best I could’ve ever dreamed to be blessed with. Which is why I feel so terrible about myself. He says he cares about me. But how can you care about someone without love being a factor? I don’t understand.

So… now I’m alone for Christmas. 

In Portland.

How much more hipster can you get?

It’s the most overly-used, dramatic, bullshit term… but goddamn if it isn’t right on target.

I can’t sleep right now because my heart hurts. Literally. All of me aches. 

I can’t stop crying.

I don’t know how to handle this. I’m new to this whole relationship thing.

I guess I didn’t ever consider that it was going to end.

In 4 days I will have lived in Portland for 6 whole months. In that time, I’ve couch surfed, had 2 jobs, got an apartment with my best friend, gone vegan, and fallen in love.

I have a lot to be thankful for today.

Thanksgiving is just the beginning to a season of joyful spirits. Soon, everything will be red and green, blue and silver, flecked with christmas lights and tinsel. Soup and tea will be the obvious choice of meal at every opportunity. Everything is pumpkin flavored, and your morning Starbucks will have a little snowman etched on the cup. Boots piled by the door, fireplaces blazing. Blankets are tossed casually on couches, because you’re obviously going to need it later when you curl up and watch Breaking Bad with your boyfriend. Phone calls to extended family members are speckled with fond memories and awkward pauses. Stories of travel are on everyone’s lips, and luggage hopefully won’t get lost in transit. Everything seems possible.

People still ask why I moved here. I wish I could just say “So I could have all… this.”

If you were to look at an astrological calendar, it would be simple enough to ascertain that, being born on Oct 4th, I am indeed a Libra. I take personal pride in being the only sign that is an inanimate object, along with being considered the most love-centric of all signs. I may not believe in the majority of the “spiritual sciences” but I think this is fairly accurate:

“You’re a social dynamo with a grand expression of love, warmth and vitality, wherever you go. In your social and love life you may find it just a little difficult at times to find partners that can keep up with your lively nature. As well, you have a most erratic and spontaneous tendency.”

Crazy in love? Preach.

(This is not the first time I’ve been told that I’m out of my mind.)

Lately, I’ve been finding it much easier to just accept the madness of day-to-day adventures, whereas in the arts, it’s actually kind of opposite. It’s a very regimented and industrious environment. Portland is not that way. I’m loving it. I love that every day there’s something silly and stupid to do with a group of people who are down to experience whatever same silly fun. Keep Portland Weird.

My biggest struggle as of late is that there’s not enough hours in the day to do such. I just got back from being gone for a week and a half, where I traveled to CO for my ladyfriend’s wedding (in which I caught the bouquet… holler!) and then to Vegas for my last(?) LDI. This is the first year of LDI where as much fun as I was having, I was truly homesick. And it wasn’t for Colorado. I think I’ve fallen in love with Portland. 

While I was gone, I missed the 1 month anniversary of my first date with my boyfriend. According to Twitter, today is the 1 month of being bf/gf. I feel incredibly lucky, but also terrible for being absent for half of our relationship. You know what BNL says, though: We all know absence makes the heart grow fungus. 

Today, I deleted my OK Cupid account. Because I found someone. And he makes me sublimely happy.

I am sublimely happy.

Thanks, Portland.

:)