the backstage epiphany

where reality is so subjective it's entirely optional

Monthly Archives: December 2007


“Thank God it’s all over.” – Professor Henry Higgins, My Fair Lady

Have just realized that the best part of this entire year was really only in the month of January, because the OPT started in February, and along with it came the initiation into the rat race, after which it all went downhill. And am now thinking of the coming year with a slightly lighter heart, because — aside from the fact that at least have some things worked out — compared to this year, 2008 really couldn’t be any worse, could it? There isn’t anywhere else to go but up.



How much longer can this go on for? How much further can it be dragged on before it digs its heels in and refuses to budge until conditions improve or it can see its way on? Why do we let ourselves run wild without thinking about where we’re actually going and how long we can run for before giving up?

It’s so unfair that in a world where so many things can come to an end, the crying is the one thing that just never stops. We cry for the things we’ve done, the things we couldn’t have, the people we care about, and the people we lost in the end. And we cry for the things we want but don’t know if we will ever have, because we don’t know if we can last until the finish line. When can I stop crying?

When I think about you I touch myself

“Ooh I like your sex hair!” – Jeremy
“I could have gone up there; I have the frog underwear going on tonight!”
– obviously Jeremy

One of the greatest injustices of life is that the only time my hair ever looks good is when I’ve just been to the salon; any attempts at duplicating that Look in the following days are futile. Was at Chez Ann Salon yesterday morning, and I was so tired of my hair being unmanageable that I told Ashley to cut it all off into a bob. And she flat out refused: “With hair like yours, you’ll regret cutting it all off!” Am constantly torn between the need to cut it all off and the desire to grow it back out (though not, obviously, down to the waist in memory of high school days). And then after getting maybe an inch taken off and finally some decent bangs, moved on to Genevieve for the monthly Brazilian, during which she asked, “Are you going to have to look for a place that does this when you go home?” and that promptly gave self a tiny panic attack, because of course have absolutely no idea.

Went downtown with Jeremy last night, first to the Chocolate Bar, which was more crowded than had ever seen it before, then on to Marcella. Have not been to Marcella in maybe a year, and last night proved to be hysterical, mostly due to an underwear contest held in place of a drag show. Watching girls flash their underwear and dancing to The Divinyls’ I Touch Myself (“Sandra, get up there! You’re like the poster child for Victoria’s Secret and you just got a Brazilian!”) is nothing compared to gay men in nothing but their underwear; it’s like being crippled by the inability to look away from a car crash — you’re completely mesmerized by it but at the same time you can’t bear to look.

In review

The year is coming to a close. It seems like no time at all since the Pitches and Chips were in Albany singing at the new Governor-Elect of New York State’s Inauguration on New Year’s Day almost a year ago. It seems like no time at all since had just gotten out of school, ready to start a new job and na├»vely harboring all the hopes and aspirations that disintegrated so quickly. It seems like no time at all since the dreams and ambitions that had been soaring so high and so fast are now soaring even faster in another direction.

Sometimes the speed and rate at which we learn and grow up is alarming, almost frightening. Suddenly we find ourselves doing things and wanting things that we would never have expected of ourselves before. Someone asked me today why I wanted to become a teacher after leaving Buffalo. Even though I had wanted to go into journalism or public relations, somewhere in the back of my mind I always wanted to be a teacher, which might have been why I took the student-teaching job at Bennett High as part of the Linguistics minor, and why I took the job at Baker Victory Services after graduation, even though it had nothing to do with my major. It seems as though in this fast-paced day and age, where everyone is rushing into the corporate world, the general concern is How much money can I make? How far can I go? How high can I rise? The strange this is that not very long ago, that used to be my concern too, but now it’s shifted to How can I help?

Back in high school — and even in college — I watched my friends agonize over their relationships and aspire to be in relationships. I watched them titter over text messages and stutter through phone calls, and then I watched them drown their sorrows in alcohol and spitefully defend their battered egos and wounded pride. And I’ve learned that where love and relationships are concerned, pride and egos don’t exist, and in their places are courage and honesty. It doesn’t matter what happens when we tell someone we love them, but that we had the courage to tell them in the first place. What used to be Oh, God, I can’t believe I just told him has now become Thank God I had the chance to tell him, so that the time won’t come when we could end up thinking Oh, God, I wish I’d taken that chance to tell him.

One phase of life is about to come to an end, and the next phase is so very close by. It may be in a place that we swore never to set foot in again, but in the end it’s what we make of it that means anything. All that matters is that we do what’s given us to do, and if we take a step back and look at the whole picture, eventually we’ll find that tiny little silver lining that will make everything worth it.

I might have found my silver lining.

Wake up

The past two weeks have been almost surreal. Maybe because did not really know what to do with self. Or maybe because did not really put much stock into the holiday hype. Or maybe because for the first time in months, was able to forget some of the problems that have been going on.

Today marks the fourth year in Buffalo. Am not quite sure where the past four years went, but at least am kind of sure where the next few months are going.

And yet the feeling that something is missing still refuses to go away.


There’s so much left to do, and so little time to do it. It’s a very quiet Christmas. My tattoos are itching because they’re healing, but they’re driving me nuts. The headaches have come back, and they’re not getting any better. Thank God I’m alone this Christmas. I can’t wait to get out of Buffalo. I can’t wait to go to Manhattan. I can’t wait to go to Boston. I can’t wait to go home. I don’t want to go home. I’ve cried enough, but I can’t stop crying. I want to keep everything the way it is, but I’m tired of everything being the way it is. The next four months will fly by, but they’re not moving fast enough. I have this feeling, and I love this feeling, but I hate this feeling, because I can’t do anything about it. I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to talk to anyone. But I want to talk to someone. Thank God it’s a quiet Christmas. I want it to be May, but I wish it were still April. I want to go back in time and change certain things, but I wouldn’t have things any other way. I can’t wait to pack up my life and move on. I’m terrified to pack up my life and move on. I want to sleep the next three days away and wake up in time to pick up where I left off. I’ve cried too much, but I’m still crying.

Snap out of it!

Guilty, but who cares?

No one is more aware of the frailty of the situation as I am. No one can get caught up in it more easily than I can.

But if this were a crime punishable by death, I would gladly face the execution over and over again.


Just got a call from Melinda, whom have not spoken to in months and called out of the blue because it is, after all, Christmas. After updating each other on work and life in general, she brought up the dreaded subject of relationships. The woman is, as ever, basking in the glow of an eight-month-running relationship — and of course, the Florida sun — then balked when she learned that am single. After explaining to her the multitude of reasons for being single right now — not the least of which have only about four and a half months left in this country — she laughed and said, “You’re such a hopeless romantic!”

Am not, though. Granted am cursed with the tendency to fall in love rather easily — though with good reason — and am compelled to bend (a little too far) over backwards for the man who matters, but am not really a hopeless romantic. Unlike other girls, am not really one for grand gestures or outsize floral arrangements or archaic pledges of eternal, undying love. Am more of a romantic realist, perhaps. The belief that ultimately there could be the right person has not been — but is close to being — entirely stamped out of system, but am also realistic enough to know that certain circumstances can’t be helped, and even when we think we might have found them, there’s always a chance that we could lose them.

As the conversation progressed and I was ardently disproving Melinda’s stand, she suddenly — and a bit huffily — said, in one of her very rare bursts of insight, “If you’re not a hopeless romantic, you wouldn’t have just told me that story.”