stranger than fiction

life is at its best when you see the cogs turning.

when you can feel the hum of life, the ins and outs and ups and downs that made today, right now, what it is.

my mother always told me it took 14billion years to make me. Every evolutionary step that could have been to elsewhere. Every sperm down the line that was the one, bringing me here. As I am to this place and time and life instead of someone else.

and in the moments I feel its truth, this unending string of conincidence and luck and choice and reason that go back to the beginning of time whichhave made my life what it is today, is such a gift rather than the burden it sometimes seemed as a child.

Today, where I can lie in bed and run my fingers through his curls. Today, where I can have cookies for breakfast because we can't be bothered to go to the kitchen. Today, where I can see the shadow of my brother in the cinema. A year ago, a world away, but it's a hazy grayness of him that makes my heart skip a beat. Today, where I can fret over laundry and argue over dishes. Today, where I can feel ready for tomorrow.

It truly is remarkable I've been given this life. An odd one, a mad dash, a random collection of incidents, an unknown. But it's mine. And it's a wonderful thing.

so lots has happened, and yet i've still done nothing.


christmas eve with the cousins was cuteness and awkward and disgusting baby pangs at dinosaur hide and seek the almost 2 dominic. creepy.

then christmas day was tom's family birthday. rocky balboa and junk food. thst feel good kind of grossness.

then boxing day laziness with jennie (nicolas cage and crazy bread. ooh baby. american glory.), a visit from sonja, and one from anika and much festive preparations because kate and jimmy got home at last.

then today was christmas. highly festive and fun. dad subjected us to more kareoke and i introduced christmas crackers - the musical kind. i played sign language conductor. woohoo.

the presents were a bit on the random side, but still some jems. mom's gifting theory is a bit beyond me at this point, but what can you do? it's the season of giving and much happiness was exchanged, what else matters? we're all here. there is a plethora of indulgences, and only a couple of days until i am back home, an ocean away where i'll misremember and miss all of it all over again.

so happy grady christmas world. carpe diem.

Hello world.

Let's see if I have any news.

Well, after whirlwind leaving of home (before any of the festivities really even got underway), I came back and lost like 3 days to sleep and readjusting to the familial weirdness.

Then Tom and I went to Columbus for his 21st, where we dressed in three piece suits and drank martinis (siberian huskies thankyouverymuch) at the shady Little Bar and spent the next two days on the couch watching a voyager marathon interspliced with scrubs on dvd. a little pot, a lot of pizza, and we were back home a couple days later all the better for it. Well he wasn't, but then his ambition was a drink an hour for the 24 hours of his birthday. Shocker.

Then I had a huge icky day at the doctor with prodding and poking and a lot of "hmmm" because there is nothing wrong with me. at all. except the whole bleeding fainting unending pain thing. that is unexplained and hopefully new hormones will sort me out. and get this - the miracle feminine regulator is called Portia. I find that highly amusing, but then I am a nerd.

(addendum) Oh, and totally cool weird thing: I had to have an ultrasound - but no jelly on the belly, no crazy camera thing I always thought looked like a commerical address stamp - no, it was a newfangled internal ultrasound - which was essentially a sleek industrial dildo with sensors inside. Not only that, she had me insert it myself for comforts sake. Talk about awkward.

And then the annual cry and fight fest with mom this morning and now am christmas crafty goodness.

oh, and I totally got the job. I now run the biggest children's book festival in the world. how fucking amazing. merry christmas to me!

some things

so it's been a while.

i know. i got distracted.

and this morning i woke and instead of jumping into the fray of uncertainty, i refused to get out of bed until i'd actively thought through some shit and now i feel better. on this list, with no concern for importance are the following:

- i hate my job
- ergo, i will look for a new one
- i miss school
- therefore, i will pursue the long awaited return to academia. for real.
- (i can't wait)
- i am glad i revamped my fall wardrobe in california with pencil skirts and lace. It's a nice look with tweed.
- i miss home. in a big way. like maybe i won't stay here forever way.
- i kind of have begun a relationship which simultaneously freaks me out, makes me retarded and has the potential to take over my life (in the best and worst senses)
- i am coming to realize i adore him. (not only because he says he will move to boston with me to do my phd.)
- jane eyre part two is airing tonight. things like this make life worth living.
- cheese platters are a new found source of happiness. it's good i am growing out of my food phobias. i ate an olive this weekend, to an aghast liam who lauded my bravery. i ignored the condescention, but welcomed the congratulatory kiss.
- i am coming home for christmas even if it means quitting my job. i'd like to hope by chrismtas i wont be working there anyway.
- i miss my siblings more after i see them.
- i need hobbies. my sanity cant take the silent meaningless tranquility of retail
- i am ready to settle down. not like barefoot with babies or anything (though can it be far off?) but, like, get a job I want to have. for a long time. invest in real estate. buy china. have a life i made, not just floating around. and it really wouldn't hurt if that life had an upper middle class income with a partner, a brownstone, and possibly a volvo.

Arrrgh

pirates are awesome.

a pirate musical extravaganza of participatory dinner theatre (with coconut monkey drunk holders) is heaven.

that is all.

the glory of the gradys

i am in LA.

i love my siblings.

i am drinking miller high life light with a screw top lid.

we are going to a pirate musical extravaganza not unlike medieval times.

i love it.

stories

my new friends (aka the ones who met me in a professional capacity and have not yet (or at least rarely) been exposed to my drunken lunacy, vixenish mania, or general idiotic frivolity outside the office) have begun remarking with regular frequency how all my stories are weird, ridiculous, and sometimes frightening.

fair enough, the hole in the picture of my brain i don't remember getting because my sister hit me on the head with a hammer is weird.

or the dog running away from the boy in the bodycast and the lady with no memory not knowing how to pick him up, so calling her high school best friend's mom (the only phone number she remembers) can be uncomfortable (but very funny).

the time andy got drunk and complained how drew got laid more than him is a good one too, but only when one explains the entire andy-andy height comedy value.

or when bridget and i smuggled greasy mozzerella sticks in to see the hours under my shirt and i burned my stomach. that's classy.

soon Cruella (her heavy make up runs when her eyes water. a lot.), the psycho flatmate who hates me for kicking her out (she took it kind of personally), and slept with all my friends, will be in regular rotation too, but not til she actually leaves.

even small everyday occurances like how the special ed kid proposed to me in the lunch line everyday for a year or i broke my arm playing gym class soccer and my teacher didnt believe me or even just the fact i used to be a butterfly swimmer gets a chuckle. these are now hilarious anecdotes well and truly out of the scope of these tame british people. i am like a sitcom without the studio audience.

i was mostly amused at my novelty act, that any awkward pub conversation or bad encounter can be salvaged by a sara-story is a handy weapon when one knows mostly tools.

i was getting used to idea that i was just a better storyteller than i used to be, and the fact that i laugh through most of the horrific and sometimes gory memories of my childhood and beyond i thought was a step forward from the cowering and crying that occupied my early years.

julie once said (i think i was in the midst of the broke-the-arm-falling-off-the-vaccuum-cleaner story) "don't you have any normal stories?".

i don't think i do, and i am totally okay with that. at first i thought maybe this was just my schtick, but turns out i was wrong.

jennie came last weekend. and she told the bat story and mentioned both the time i passed out and threw up jungle juice in our dorm and the time she puked on our kitchen floor. in fact we did a lot of reminiscing and at our picnic i missed my lady death strike nails a lot.

and it could have been julie again, but i don't remember, anyway someone said "god, don't your friends have any normal stories about you either?".

and then i got a letter from my brother. a real hand written ledgible letter (i know. i got all weepy happy) and the whole first page was a story about how mom was excited to see the strangers with candy movie and the only interview with amy sedaris was in playboy, so she bought it. not only bought it, bought it from the 7-11 at jolly and okemos so now the kid behind the counter (who tom went to school with) gives him the shifty eye all the time because he knows our mom buys porn.

and although this is a very funny story, especially if you know mom, it made me realize the storytelling isn't just my thing. it's how we all are. it's how everyone at home i know is and is possibly one of the things i miss most.

maybe it's my secret password, this ability to have ridiculous embarassing things happen and then laugh about it later. lord knows no one would survive with me very long if they couldn't laugh at kate's double broken feet or being cast as the lover of your arch-nemesis in the school play. (especially that time my skirt fell down in the school talent show). i break, ruin, or screw up a lot. and it's funny.

lordy, if jennie hadn't been amused or at least tolerant of my destroying the car, being convinced we were going to be raped in a cornfield, and positive obsession with fazolis within the first 24hours of our roadtrip, i don't think we'd be friends. but she did. and we are. and i am glad.

anyway, you may wonder (if you are still reading) why i am ranting on and on about stories and screw ups and silliness.

because, yet again, i have done it.

i am bedridden.

last night i helped liam move - from one 5th floor flat to another - and all the stairs and heavy boxes were too much for my knee. my patella tendon is so seized up i can't move my leg without grating pain not unlike the staples that used to hold it together. and i had to call into work because i could not stand up this morning. seriously. no good deed goes unpunished indeed.

so here i am, stuck in bed, writing an email to my boss since i cant reach the phone, and all i can think is, she will so not appreciate the hilarity here within.

i've still got sand in my shoes

i have not written because i don't know what to say.

the last week and a half have been overwhelming. three vacations in a row will do that to you, even if they aren't as loaded as mine. they've been amazing. but hard.

first i had 3 days completely alone in the highlands. a freeing solitude which rekindled my love for scotland and even brushed with "finding myself in the wilderness" cliches. it was amazing and good for me. and i found a new favourite place at cawdor castle.

then i had a weeks road trip through gorgeous country with one of my favourite people. beautiful and fun. i was relaxed and at home being silly in the mountains and basking on waterfalls. i liked being together every minute of everyday and not needing the guards and shields the city and other people inspire in me. being alone together.

so much so coming back was a bit of a shock. and disappointment. i told us we could stay that simple and content here, but i know the pressures of town and life wont let us. i am trying not to miss him though we see each other everyday. (ps, no it was completely platonic despite our past transgressions. and it was really good for us to be normal again)

but it was a short lived doubt as the next morning i picked up dad for a whirlwind weekend of touring and adventure and entertainment. he is so easy and yet so taxing. so wonderfully there for me and knows me and wants me it was incredibly perfect, and yet the second he left now i miss him and everyone else i have that closeness with even more. its like he reminded me what i am missing and it hurts.

it was great. i did love it. i am so glad he came. but now i miss him.

and so for a week now almost i have been back. and feel tainted. outside. disallusioned and alone. it is still the same silly job and the same pretty flowers and the same cute shoes. and it doesnt feel like it is enough anymore.

i am not enough. i am not who i was free in the mountains. and i dont like it.

perhaps it will pass. the romance of a holiday will wear thin. real life will regain meaning.

but i think more than anything i am sick of the hollowness. i want to be inspired.

i need a break from holidays

i hate planning vacations.

i love reading up and thinking of my endless options and imagining life without the daily mundane. but the whole choosing and handling is so bloody boring.

granted, i learned my lesson with the VWbug-in-a-corn-field-due-to-jet-ski-show-cost-me-$1000-in-damages-fucking-black-ice scenario in college, reservations are worth the pain. carpe diem isn't for everything. but still.

i'm trying to cram three seperate trips into under a week and the logistics are making all dreams of road trip journals and seascapes flee my sore head.


so, maybe i didn't tell you - my dad is coming...but on a golf tour with all his middle aged dentist friends (he is nothing if not stereotypical).

so, i am taking this weekend to meet up with them at their fancy hotel in the highlands for a weekend of wandering days followed by pampered nights where people with six digit salaries foot the bill.

but, since i was up there anyway, and dad said he'd rent a car for me, i figured i'd strike out into the wilderness for a few days on my own. which has now turned into me and liam on a yet to be determined holiday. i am glad we'll have some time and space but slightly anxious at what if any questions will be answered along the way. it should be fabulous. and another brilliant chapter in my memoirs of ridiculous impossible things i let happen to me.

but then, i really want to see dad. so after his friends leave the following weekend he and i are going to the isle of arran. which means i need to be back, ditch the car, get down south again, find him, and get us to an island with a population of 1100 (i hear there are more bottles of whisky than people there), then get us back here in under two days so he can fly home all tuckered out.

i know it will be good. i am dying to get away.

but i am just now realizing exactly how much i took on with this. (now being 3 hours into reservations, phone calls, and general madness with my nose in a lonely planet)

i know my tendency to plan, mother, and over analyze gets me into trouble. i can deal with that. but just once i'd like it to not interfere with my social life.
there should so be an off button for that kind of thing.

news of the day

1 - i got up off the couch
1a - and did laundry
1b - and bought ice cream and cranberry juice just in case i induced a relapse by going to the shop
1b(1) - when i left the house, i was still wearing slippers. am delirious with fever. went straight back to bed (after ice cream)

2 - my dad is coming to visit
2a - on a golf tour with a bunch of dentists
2a(1)who may or may not have time to fit me in between rounds
2a(2) - could they be more cliche?
2b - despite this, i am excited
2b(1) - and may hijack him and go to dublin

3 - i, of my own free will, called someone today.
3a - on the phone.
3a(1) - on my mobile where i had to pay
3b - i thought he was deathly ill and i had given it to him.
3b(1) - it is not fatal, but it is my fault.
3b(2) - this does not detract from the importance of the gesture.

familial freedoms

i love my family.

i mean, granted, waking up and feeling like a just ran 10 miles because of my fucking restless leg syndrome sucks. and the degenerative spine. and the fear of psychological damage. and all the other insanity i inherited that would have got my lynched a hundred years ago.

but sometimes i am so glad to have people who express me in ways i didn't know i needed. to feel understood and not alone even through the tiniest gesture is an amazing thing.

this morning, only a little worse for wear and emotionally complicated, i found my inbox flooded with family mass emails. uncle tom is compiling a Reid Code to distinguish prime numbers greater than 100. uncle john sent a naval observatory spreadsheet of compiled moon rise times and uncle bill debates the merits of getting a home server to network the family PCs.

so insignificant. trivial even. like the trinonym game. but something so wholly ours.

i may hate them. i may gripe. but it is really something to belong.

for fucks sake. you fucking mother fucking cunt. i hate you and hope you die a bloody horrible death. involving rabies and lacerations.

i have officially lost everything i have ever written on diary-x. 5 years of every honest confession and tiny dream and things i would never say outloud but needed to vent. its all my memories stored up since i couldnt hold them in my head. it is my first scotland. it was my seetha. it was my parent-proof daydreams and first dirty lesbian confessions. it was me.

i feel amputated.

i miss my sister more now because i cant hear her in monochromatic pinks at the click of a button anymore.

i miss my first forays into html.

i miss my most raw voice.

i miss me.

i am le tired.

no, not just regular type. french apocalyptic type.






i love that in my world (namely that which my brother has forced upon me until i consider it normal) internet-cartoon references are a legitimate mode of dialog.

new year, same v

it's an hour until new year.

all day i have been considering what this means and for the first time asking myself if i care.

and i have come to the conclusion, no i really really don't.

the last week i spent with the family and rejuvinating my soul (as only slurpees, fallow farmland, and tivo can) and last night was a college reunion of mass proportions (tequila, pool, and over priced bottles of miller light - and there's nothing like cheetos at the travelodge to round out an evening).

i don't need anymore nostalgia or reminding me what is good and what matters. if you're doing it right, that's everyday, not an end of year celebration.

so i've been watching a marathon dvd session on shelly duvall's faerie tale theatre, a formative piece of my childhood, and glad to not be out in the quiet desperation and forced revelry this day usually entails.

probably other people really enjoy it. i hope so. i can't imagine bothering every year unless it actually was a grand night out. but when 2 of the last three years ended in massive tears and a hangover, i'd rather just take my dog for a walk, thanks just the same.

and no, this isn't sour grapes. i figure i'm lucky things are so good i can appreciate it all without a holiday excuse. i don't need new year to celebrate.

so tonight being ice cream and xbox golf with my dad is okay by me. better than okay. i can't think of a better way to ring in the new year.

...well, unless of course i was getting hot dirty sex, but i've got the rest of the year for that. today can be for the simpler pleasures.

so happy new year. enjoy it anyway you see fit.

i am running on empty.

i have done 0 hours of family reconn, small talk and general "oh yes i care about you and your boring life" for about two years (one lunch with my grandma on the last visit home barely counts since i did all the talking) for years and i didnt miss it.

and i am out.

i just want to sleep for days and be left alone.

actually, i want to lay on the couch and not have the phone ring or people come over or anyone expect me to do or be or say or go anything or anywhere.

i wish i was my brother.

i should be better than this. i hope it is just pms and i can blame my body and stop thinking i am a horrible person.

the various unbelievable things: the unrated edition

for the pg version see my link on the right.

for the additions see below:

1- that fucker stole my wallet. i hate london. punk ass cunts stealing my shit from right underneath me! no amount of elgin marbles and king tut can fix that fact it is a dirty city of fuck-face conmen and wenches.
2 - of course it could have been worse. my one of a kind lulu guiness bag was recovered. and give me a break for name dropping - mom showed up to my office in a full length mink and pearls for fucks sake. my parents live on another planet. still, i really miss my phone. and my movie card. and my drivers licence. and my free drinks card for the pub. and the 200 pounds mom owed me. so in total: london sucks major ass no matter how fucking brilliant an empire it used to control.
3 - i know i am swearing a lot. i may have survived my mother finding my condoms, being open about dad's new hormone stuff (trust me, really you dont want to know), but somehow i still find it difficult to swear in front of the bitch.
4 - mom is lovely but more than a fornight in the same bedroom is driving me up the wall. its not the mess or the noise, but the libido (if you are surpirsed you do not deserve to read further). i wondered what the deal was until under the pretense of a "nap" yesterday i went back to the hotel and relieved myself of various forms of stress in the tried and true method. nothing is better than a couple of orgasms, a pint, and a long walk in the countryside.