The End of a Long Semester

School's been stressful for me lately. Unfortunately my friends have had to hear me rant and cry about it. Lost a lot of machismo points for being so whiny. This post isn't about me whining but about things just working out. There is a lot of stuff I can talk about school for the last few weeks, but I'll try to keep short.

First of, there was one class that was really stressful. I got weirdly competitive at the beginning of it; hoping that MY script would be picked and I would direct. After my script didn't get picked, I had a lot of weird ideas in my head about art and film. Honestly, I've had a lot of weird ideas this last year. But I decided not to direct, because there was enough for me to deal with in life and other classes. I figured I would just take a back job, and have it easy. Instead I ended up being the Art Director for the entire movie, and it was a Zombie film about a Marathon and a Non-Profit. There was a lot of Art needing to be directed... Needless to say things didn't go easy for me. There was a lot of blood, sweat, and tears put into it.

As it got closer to the shoot I thought that everyone would feel that the movie was a failure and that it would be my fault. I was trying to make it as professional as I could, but I never really worked on a professional set, and I had to figure a lot of stuff out. People were helping me, and as it got closer to the shoot more and more people helped me out, people in class, and outside that just wanted to help out some students. Still, there was a lot of stuff, and my stress level was rising. One person that was helping me told me to remember to have fun, that it's all about having fun. The night before that finally set in, and when the shoot happened I had fun. Sure not everything went according to plan, but things worked out. The pinnacle for me was when my teacher thanked me personally, telling me that I did a good job. Some how in school you don't get told a lot that you did a good job, in the arts I feel like I don't get enough "good jobs." There is this constant weight, even by my own self, for perfection. So to finally be told that I did a good job was very reaffirming that I am where I needed to be. It made me super emotional to get thanked.

Another big thing has been trying to get classes that I want/need. I officially only need one more class to graduate, then there are several classes that I want for fun/technical skills. There was one directing class that I really wanted, and I was banking on getting it. It was a sure thing, at least I thought so, because I am a graduating senior and have taken other classes that would make me a shoe in. I didn't get in. I did get in to several other classes. I really wanted to get into Editing, Writing for Actors Class, and an Experimental Documentary class. I really wanted to take Experimental Doc, but figured if I got into Directing and the other two I wouldn't. Honestly I wanted it more than Directing. Even though I was hurt I didn't get into Directing, I am now counting my blessings that I got into the ones I did. Even more I feel like God got me what I wanted more than what I thought I wanted, because this is what I need. For myself, and my future film career. This semester has been tough, one of the toughest of my adult school career, but it is what I needed.

Nietzche and the Family Circus on Marriage

When marrying, ask yourself this question: Do you believe that you will be able to converse well with this person into your old age? Everything else in marriage is transitory.

Guy Fawkes, or the 2nd of November

So there we were, at a bon-fire on the beach. The sun had gone down, and it was cool enough without being too cool so we could enjoy the night. The moon wasn't full, but if you looked at it not right it looked full. We had gathered together as a small group to observe Guy Fawkes day three days early, because who wants to observe something on a Monday with work in the morning when you can do it on a Friday night with no consequences in the morning.

After the traditional lighting of an effigagy fireworks were handed out. A fun display of wanton reckless abandon that we do. To get a good shot I went underneath someone as they were using a firework, they asked me if I thought I would be safer else where. I replied "Im good." After the firework narrowly avoided my face I moved.

Then the police showed up. The officer asked everyone to settle down and listen to him. It was a big group, so I told everyone to be quiet while he spoke.

He said that the "illegal" bonfire and fireworks where enough to cite us all a hefty fine. He, however, would wave it all if we cleared out in 60 seconds and put the fire out.

Everyone went back to talking and chatting, standing in place. I looked at the cop, then I looked at the crowd, back at the cop, and so on for about 10 seconds.

"Hey, you guys need to get out of here or else this cop is going to give us all a $200 fine!" I yelled.

Then, and only then, in its simplicity did people catch on to what was happening and started to leave. I grabbed the trash of firework boxes and ran them to the trash as other people headed to the parking lot. We start grabbing sand and throwing it on the fire. The cop doesn't like that, he wants us to use water. Water, of course, comes from the ocean. For that someone went to get the bucket. More on that in a second.

I stand off the beach in the lot looking back at the fire. I can see its still burning and others are standing there talking to the cop. I decide to run back and check it out and make sure everything is ok.

As I am running back I see a girl, and she is flirting with some guy midway. I think to myself, thats weird-why not go back to the parking lot? Then I think nothing more of it till I get back to the fire.

"Where is the bucket?" I ask.

"(INSERT NAME) went to go get it." Someone responds.

"I passed her flirting with some guy on my way here."

"(INSERT NAME) GET OVER HERE!" They all yell.

The cop was nice enough, and patient with us. Probably because we were the only people on the beach who were not drunk. Anyway, she gets there with the bucket, somewhat exhausted, and states she will not be going to the ocean.

Now, I have been to these beach bonfires before and keep learning  circular lessons which cancel each other out. Don't wear nice clothes because sand wears them out, the ocean gets them wet, and they smell like bonfire for weeks. Then if I wear "grungy" clothes I look like a serial killer. I guess I don't have moderate clothing. That day I decided to wear my best jeans, my best shirt, and my favorite shoes-a pair of New Balance running shoes that are black, grey, and orange. I also had my expensive camera with me in its bag.

"I'll do!" I declare without a thought.

I grab the bucket and run out toward the water. After running for awhile I realize that its low tide, meaning I have to go far out there to get to where its deep enough to fill up the bucket. I stop to take off my shoes, roll up my pants, and then I tie the laces and fling them around my neck like a scarf or a necklace. I go out into the water hoping my pants stay dry. 

I throw the bucket down as the tide goes out, the exiting water begins to fill the bucket and the strong tide forces me to keep a hand on it. As I wait I see a spot of orange in the water. Then I think, that spot of orange looks familiar, and its in the shape of an N. An N like a New Balance logo. And as the N bobs up and down in the water I realize its attached to a shoe, my shoe. My shoe fell in the water.

With the hand not on the bucket I make my way for the shoe. Suddenly I feel my camera bag slide its way across my back. It dangles over the water, barely missing the top. I panic. I twist. The current gets stronger, and its pulling the bucket away from me. The tide grabs my shoe, and pulls it away from me. I can't lose either, so I twist and grab my shoe and pull myself up with the bucket.

I run all the way back to the fire. I see the cop, and without thinking, standing up wind, I through the water on to the fire. I feel hot steam blow out of the fire and across my upper torso, my flesh burning. My reward.

Guy Fawkes, I now get why they burn you every year you stinking jerk. Yes I will remember, remember, the fifth of November, as it was on the  observed on the second. 

Names and specifics have been left out for peoples privacy and safety. Also there is some slight exaggeration in the story, and by not using names people cannot call me out as easily.

David Bowie and Me.

"Turn back Sarah, before it's too late!"

A couple weeks ago I was feeling a little down. School has been rough this semester. My dating life has died. My social life has pretty much died. I was getting amped for Halloween, but was wanting to watch it financially. I've never made/gotten a big costume before, and I have always wanted one. I always thought that it would be fun to have an elaborate costume for Halloween, making me the talking sensation of the night.

So as I went through the usual suspects of costumes -(i.e. Groucho Marx, Charlie Chaplin, Abe Lincoln,) costumes that don't require a lot of stuff I do not already have- I came to a realization. I'm single and I don't really answer to anyone- except my teachers- why not just make an elaborate and crazy costume? So I did some online research; late at night of course.

So around one in the morning I realized that I was never going to commit during the day, and I should just order the pieces then while I was not in a right frame of mind as I was sleep deprived. As I woke up that morning I realized what I had done- I spent my rice money on a David Bowie costume. Meaning that I would have nothing to eat for three weeks, and there was the possibility of the tights revealing too much of my bod. I logged on and cancelled the orders and waited for their response; all cancelled except for the two most expensive items.

I was locked in, and there was no turning back. I was to be Jarreth from Labyrinth. My number one Halloween costume choice for the past ten years. I was going to accomplish one of my dreams and bucket list items, "What what."(Imagine me raising the roof in a geeky Tina Fey style.)

One of the only items I did not order was the tights. They are actually hard to find for under $30 online, and I did not want to pay that much for them. By a stroke of luck I found some at Ross. I walked passed the Women's dept. 3 times before I summoned the courage to actually go in. Whenever a heterosexual male enters into Women's or a Child's dept. he is afraid of being accused of being some kinda weirdo and pervert, even if we are not. True Story. I found some tights, clumped them together and then walked back into the Men's dept. to regain my Machismo. Then I went back to where I left them, rolled them into a men's shirt, and walked to the dressing rooms.

Trying to suck my cheeks in to look more like Bowie.

I showed the attendant the hangers- "I got four clothes."

She said "Give them to me."

"Why?"

"I need to check them," she stated annoyed with me.

At this point I thought of running for it.

"Must you?" I deplored.

"Yes." She said in her robotic tone, as dept. store clerkary for 20 years had stolen her soul.

I gave her the clothes. She patted them down. "Oh good," I thought, "That's all she needed to do, to check them for stolen goods."

Then in front of everyone else waiting to get in, she hangs them up on a bar for everyone to see. Black and grey women's tights dangling as she frisks them like kids at a rock concert. A sticky little child behind me cried out laughing at me. Teenagers giggled. A woman fainted.

"You can go in," said the clerk, unaware of the riot and embarrassment she had caused me. She even passed me a judgemental eye that glared "Here's another pervert" at me.

I didn't give her a tip.

Tights- running the risk of forever being mocked for saying this- are the most comfortable things I have ever worn. Sure they ride around weird, and show a lot, but they feel really good. I get David Duchovny's character in Twin Peaks. I wouldn't want to go as far as he, but a little rock star like cross dressing has a certain fit. Not that I would do it everyday, just halloween, and bed. I wore a lot of layers under there though... If you're not sure why, then ask your parents.

I had two gorgeous ladies help me out with the make-up. I was a hit at the party I went to. I don't know if I will do it again for actual Halloween, but it was fun. Many people had their pictures taken with me that I had never met. I stole three babies to turn them into Goblins. Although I didn't get a date with Jennifer Connely, whom I did this all for, I think that it was a success.

You remind me of the Babe.

Random Thoughts while waiting for school Applications to go through. (Originally published in 2011)

I have five different applications for five different schools out. I put out the ones for the CSU system late October, and some in November. People I know that have had lower GPA's have already been accepted, although they applied much earlier than I have. I am always kind of neurotic about applying, and filling out papers. I have this fear that a minuscule error will result in the absolute rejection of what I have done. I go back and forth and cross all the t's and dot the lower case j's. But I know due to my own uniqueness I still err quite often. This lack of communication between the schools and myself only feeds my worries, and my neuroses.

I had to wait more than three months when I applied for my mission. It was a long wait. Most of my friends at the time received their mission calls within weeks of submitting it. Not me, for I had to wait it out. I suppose that God was trying my patience, which he did. So perhaps this is a trial of my own patience. So I recall that period of my life.

Every application I put out I applied toward a different program that I am qualified for. Typically I like to control my own destiny, but I prayed and felt I should put a little more faith into God and let him decide. So one of the reasons I am growing impatient is because I want to know what path I am going to take for the rest of my life.

Then whenever I really start to stress out about the whole thing I start to think of the worst case scenario- I don't get accepted and have to do it again. As much as I hate filling out applications its not all that bad. Plus if I do it again, it gives me time to get more classes letting me into better programs, and I can apply to some of the schools that I really want to. I have learned over time that facing up to our fears and allowing our worlds fall apart around us sometimes is the best thing. We lose that fear, and its fear that holds us back, creating unrealistic boundaries, keeping us from happiness. That's what I really want is to be happy. That is why I went back to school, to progress in a way that will make me happy. I don't really care about a degree any more, or an awesome career, but about how I live my life. I want to live up to my standards, and my God's. As Ghandi said "happiness is when we align what we think with what we do." I wanted to gain intelligence so I went back to school, and I did. I will attempt to get a degree as a sign that I have gained intelligence, and allow me to get better paid, but its only a sign to the world, I don't need it to prove anything to myself.

BED

Why is it so hard to get out of bed in the morning? Niezche used this fact to counter John Stuart Mill's and other Utilitarian philosophers in their idea that life is about seeking pain. Nietzche felt life was more about pain, and the fact that we stay in bed so often is our way of avoiding it. The doll drum of daily toil and work becomes monotonous and painful, yet we bear with it. So often we wish that we could stay in our dream lands just like Leonardo DiCaprio in Inception.

Fear of facing those horrible unfinished tasks from the day before. When I laid my head down I was so eager to get back to them, and now I feel as though they are a weight and burden I would rather avoid. Often I feel that I am extrovert seeking other people at night. And then that I am an introvert in the morning, wishing to avoid all others. Like a child I often prolong going back to bed knowing full well that when I wake up I will not have the enthusiasm for a project that I had before.

I also feel like a different person in the morning. My emotions are different completely sometimes. I can go to bed feeling like "I'm single! I answer to no one." Then I will wake up and be like "Mwah, I'm single. I have no one to answer to, or think of me." It's a rather stunning and bizarre phenomena. Don't get me wrong, I love sleeping, but c'mon body and mind. 

Back to where I started...

I'm restarting this blog up. I haven't made any posts in quite sometime. About a year ago I even went so far as to retire it, hiding it completely. Mostly because when I moved out of the East Bay and into the West I wanted to start a new life-Tabula Rasa-hiding myself, and the person I had been in favor of a new life. A very Romantic idea. On the show Lost many of the characters tried to do the same thing on the island in which they were trapped. Unfortunetaly for them they found out that you can't escape the past because you carry it around with you. That's what happened with me in many ways. I tried to escape myself, only to have it show up as emotional baggage; which is worse. Then in an effort to hide myself I didn't open myself up to people, killing off a few relationships before they started.

So why the blog? How is this me opening up? I suppose its another outlet to open myself up to, though I don't know who is going to read this. It is as likely some stranger in Germany will stumble upon this as it is a friend, or a potential future GF.

I think it was important for me to reopen this blog. I deleted a few old posts, but all of them are amateurish and embarrassing. I can't figure out why I was as open as I was, or why I thought the way I did. But here it is, in all its glory. I needed to open this up to, in a sense, help open myself up.

I retook the "5 Love Language" test thingy. I like touch, but in truth I only like touch when its from someone I like. That's not really my love language. When I lived in Oakland people knew I didn't like touching, then I moved to SF and I became more touchy feely. I'm not going to say why, but I have moderated. Touch is not my love language, its Quality time, and words of affirmation. In Quality time you want someone to pay attention to you, and you to them. Just focus, no tv, cell phone, etc. The two of you just talk. When I was all touchy, I lost that, and again denied a part of me. So I think I am trying to blog again as another way to connect. Words of affirmation are appreciated.