Vintage me!
I have these.
And these.
All the pictures are from blogs I follow (that I just got around to adding), various tumblrs, and my own collection. Except for the Iron Maiden tattoo, that's one of my best friends', Rob.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
The Beast Within Part 2
My sister got me this the other day and it got me thinking about metal and so, since it also inspires me, here's some heavy metal inspiration.
Vintage me!
I have these.
And these.
All the pictures are from blogs I follow (that I just got around to adding), various tumblrs, and my own collection. Except for the Iron Maiden tattoo, that's one of my best friends', Rob.
Vintage me!
I have these.
And these.
All the pictures are from blogs I follow (that I just got around to adding), various tumblrs, and my own collection. Except for the Iron Maiden tattoo, that's one of my best friends', Rob.
The Beast Within
I need to take a break from all the serious writing and the Madonna. Today I bought 5 Judas Priest albums for the price of well, not one, but one and a half/two so still pretty good. I have a lot of Judas Priest but it's either on vinyl or scattered downloads on my itunes along with the Metal Works collection. I want to have a nice, tidy collection that I want to get to on my ipod so to add to what I already have (and to complete the bits of what I already have), I am now the proud owner of:
I am a metal girl at heart after all.
I am a metal girl at heart after all.
What It Feels Like For A Girl...
...with OCD. I don't know if I believe in all these acronym conditions like OCD or ADD, I tend to think there's a part of every person that the individual can't control. Whether it exhibits itself as closing the door seventeen times a day or being unable to sit still for five minutes, it's out of your hands and it's just a part of you. It's a quirk to show that no one is perfect and ever really totally in control. I mean, I do think one can start to control or even completely get rid of these involuntarily placed systems within the body but it takes training, time, and sometimes even medication. And sometimes you're just stuck with them, they are a part of what makes you inherently you. I myself like things in even numbers, sorted out and paired. I also have a habit of obsessing about one thing until someone shakes the thought out of my head, either by comforting me or by yelling at me to get a grip. To better explain it, say I get a thought. Like my mom isn't completely happy with the tattoo she got a few years ago. In my head this will grow and grow and become a problem and make me think, but she has it forever I need to make sure this thing she's wanted for so long is perfect, I need to make her happy. And then the burden of it will start dragging me down and I'll go with how? How can I do this? Maybe she's okay with it. Maybe it doesn't matter. I'll keep asking her if she's sure or try to get a plan made until she snaps at me or I just go crazy and chew my nails until they bleed. Hypothetically speaking of course.
I'm not a doctor, heh, but I'd say that's a little OCD. To go along with that I also have this thing. It's kind of still a hush hush subject in some places but I've grown to accept it a little bit, and now I don't care who knows. I have depression. No, I don't sit in my room cutting myself and writing poetry about dead flowers and hating myself because Sartre stated that life has no meaning and that's the truth. For the record, yes it does. Every life is precious and Sartre can kiss my ass. Hell is other people Jean-Paul? No, hell is studying you for two years. In French. And reading and acting out Huis Clos. In French. And spending hours figuring out how to write about you in the correct tense. IN FRENCH. Okay, sometimes it was just spending hours inputting English sentences that Babel Fish would translate into French which we'd then type up without bothering to fix it, but still. Where was I? Oh yes, life is wonderful. It's a gift. If it didn't mean anything then we simply wouldn't exist. Which is one of the many reasons why death scares the living shit (bahaha living get it?) out of me, but that's another topic. Yes, I have depression. It apparently runs in the family. I got smacked with it for the first time, for real, the summer between my junior and senior years of college. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I was listless and bawling and it felt like this huge spiky rope was coiled in my stomach and was slowly killing me. I couldn't breathe because of it (it stretched all the way to my throat) and it always felt like my heart was beating too fast. I actually tried taking my pulse and counting the beats because I thought my heart had turned into a hummingbird and was about to flutter out of my chest.
I didn't know why I felt like this and I was so scared that it wouldn't ever go away and that I was not normal. My dad was also going through something similar (needless to say that summer was not a good one for our family, especially my mom and sister who had to deal with us and all our other family members and their crazies). No matter how much my mom said it would pass, I couldn't believe her. It scared me to go to the doctor because it made it seem so serious and it scared me even more to take pills, Paxil and Xanax, because I thought they would make me addicted and I'd have this problem for the rest of my life. Well, I've come to realize I will. But I won't always feel like that. The pills did make me feel better, they balanced my brain chemistry so that I could breathe and eat again. The Xanax was awful and made me fall asleep immediately and wake up half an hour later gasping and choking in the midst of a panic attack. But the Paxil helped and so did the Diazem when I had the really bad attacks. I remember the night I felt slowly like me again. I picked up, "Lamb," by Christopher Moore and managed to sit and calmly read and eat miniature Snickers bars, the first thing I ate after ten days. God bless chocolate. The whole thing seemed to last forever but it was only a couple weeks.
I stopped the Paxil a few months later but until now I had two more bouts of the scary Leyla mood as I think of it. My leg tattoos set one episode off. Ugh. Luckily, I'm over it and I have 3 pretty peacock feathers on my right leg which I jokingly say represent my mom, my sister, and my dad. I currently take Paxil and I do have a doctor (who I have not seen since September though, whoops) but other than the occasional and normal "sad" day I'm fine, I'm me. That's what made me feel such relief when the "episode" passed. The drugs didn't make me a zombie and I didn't turn into a facsimilie of a happy version of me. I'm Leyla. The reason I still take them is because the doctor recommended it because I'm in a, "transition stage of my life." And since the episodes still happen, I'd rather keep them at bay with some help rather than succumbing to them. I will stop taking Paxil eventually though and maybe I'll have to start again in the future. I sure as hell hope I don't but I know what to expect and what I can do to combat it now. I also know that there are others like me, a close friend for one, and that talking with them and being there for them is just as helpful when you feel like you're the only crazy in the world.
Ah transitions. Better known as change. Even better known as my greatest enemy. I don't like change. I like things the way they are and to stay the way they are. My biggest worries during the episodes were along the lines of, oh God what is going to happen to me after college, where will I work, where will my friends be, why are they not staying with me, why do I have to be so far away from my family, why is it ending so soon, why can't I just be a kid again? I fervently wished to be a kid and happy and safe in my home with my healthy grandparents and parents. My grandparents have been going through a lot of health scares in recent years and all that just makes me think about our mortality and then I get panic attacks because honestly, I'm lost without my family. I truly am. We are all so tight-knit and loving, I don't think I could've turned out the way I did if not for them. I still get those worries but I'm learning to calm them.
Change makes me anxious-making and I don't like it. It always makes the fluttery stomach spiky rope thing come back and consumes me with worry. You can always tell when I'm worried because my nails become non-existent.
Lately though, I've become better at it. About looking change in the eye and taking a deep breath. But sometimes it still beats me. It makes me cry and even when I'm not crying it still makes me leak out of my face orifices uncontrollably. It makes my stomach flip flop in a bad way and convinces me I'm about to throw up. I don't know what sets it off. Sometimes it's just the fear of the unknown and I hate not knowing. I had to leave L.A. because this happened and it's just an all-consuming, get me out of here this instant, snakes choking my insides, call my mom constantly for reassurance, sob for no reason feeling that takes over me and destroys all rationality. I get smaller episodes too that aren't that big a deal but make me ashamed. Like I left LA previously on a visit to my friend because I had this feeling. And now I get it when I'm away from home, like spending the night somewhere. I make excuses, valid ones actually, and try to get myself out of the situation and then I feel horrible because I'm usually changing plans with somebody to do it. I feel so guilty and then try to convince myself it's ok and I'll make it up and it's just lousy but then I'm home and my stomach calms down. I know my cousins reads this and I was supposed to spend the night at her house which I'm totally fine with, I love hanging out with her. But I was worrying about a book I have to cover for my internship (by tomorrow. And they still haven't sent the book), and this meeting I have tomorrow and I thought it might make me bad company for the night. But what I don't understand is, they are all easy fixes. The internship said if I couldn't do it by tomorrow it would be fine but I want them to think I'm Superwoman and then be open for future job possibiliies but I know I'm not Superwoman so why force it? And the meeting? It's closer to my cousin's house than my own and I could just go from there in the morning but I just get this need to be home and handle it from there and nothing can quiet my insides until I'm "safe."
This is why I have unhealthy relationships with my phone and computer when I'm not home, they are the lifelines connecting me to where I feel safe. But safe? I'm safe where I am that's not home too. I need to get rid of this second-guessing and self-sabotage because it's slowly eating at me. My calm-down music is now the live versions of Madonna's, "Like a Prayer," followed by, "Jump," followed by the album version of, "Ray of Light." They helped during the ride home but I don't know if that was because I knew was going home or because they are good soothing songs. So I hope people, especially my dear cousin who I love with all my heart, understand when I do these spastic things that make sense in my brain and that I force to make sense in real life. Then punish myself for wanting it that way.
I don't quite know how to explain how change, depression, weird panic get-me-out-of-here moments, are all related but to me they are. I want them to go away. I want the Like A Muse project to help me get going with my life both in the physical sense (getting in shape, writing) and the emotional/metaphysicial (my mind-set and my habits that I don't like). But if they are a part of me, a permanent part that contributes to making me who I am, I want to be okay with them because I feel guilty and I hate that feeling. I spend way too much time feeling guilty and trying to rationalize it and it's really tiring. It hurts my brain. So I'm going to stop. And go work out and read the stupid book if my internship boss lady ever sends it.
Oh, on the way home the dolmus (mini-bus) driver got in a fight with one of the passengers We were all on his side though and finally had to yell at the idiot man to get out of the car. Ah Istanbul.
I'm not a doctor, heh, but I'd say that's a little OCD. To go along with that I also have this thing. It's kind of still a hush hush subject in some places but I've grown to accept it a little bit, and now I don't care who knows. I have depression. No, I don't sit in my room cutting myself and writing poetry about dead flowers and hating myself because Sartre stated that life has no meaning and that's the truth. For the record, yes it does. Every life is precious and Sartre can kiss my ass. Hell is other people Jean-Paul? No, hell is studying you for two years. In French. And reading and acting out Huis Clos. In French. And spending hours figuring out how to write about you in the correct tense. IN FRENCH. Okay, sometimes it was just spending hours inputting English sentences that Babel Fish would translate into French which we'd then type up without bothering to fix it, but still. Where was I? Oh yes, life is wonderful. It's a gift. If it didn't mean anything then we simply wouldn't exist. Which is one of the many reasons why death scares the living shit (bahaha living get it?) out of me, but that's another topic. Yes, I have depression. It apparently runs in the family. I got smacked with it for the first time, for real, the summer between my junior and senior years of college. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I was listless and bawling and it felt like this huge spiky rope was coiled in my stomach and was slowly killing me. I couldn't breathe because of it (it stretched all the way to my throat) and it always felt like my heart was beating too fast. I actually tried taking my pulse and counting the beats because I thought my heart had turned into a hummingbird and was about to flutter out of my chest.
I didn't know why I felt like this and I was so scared that it wouldn't ever go away and that I was not normal. My dad was also going through something similar (needless to say that summer was not a good one for our family, especially my mom and sister who had to deal with us and all our other family members and their crazies). No matter how much my mom said it would pass, I couldn't believe her. It scared me to go to the doctor because it made it seem so serious and it scared me even more to take pills, Paxil and Xanax, because I thought they would make me addicted and I'd have this problem for the rest of my life. Well, I've come to realize I will. But I won't always feel like that. The pills did make me feel better, they balanced my brain chemistry so that I could breathe and eat again. The Xanax was awful and made me fall asleep immediately and wake up half an hour later gasping and choking in the midst of a panic attack. But the Paxil helped and so did the Diazem when I had the really bad attacks. I remember the night I felt slowly like me again. I picked up, "Lamb," by Christopher Moore and managed to sit and calmly read and eat miniature Snickers bars, the first thing I ate after ten days. God bless chocolate. The whole thing seemed to last forever but it was only a couple weeks.
I stopped the Paxil a few months later but until now I had two more bouts of the scary Leyla mood as I think of it. My leg tattoos set one episode off. Ugh. Luckily, I'm over it and I have 3 pretty peacock feathers on my right leg which I jokingly say represent my mom, my sister, and my dad. I currently take Paxil and I do have a doctor (who I have not seen since September though, whoops) but other than the occasional and normal "sad" day I'm fine, I'm me. That's what made me feel such relief when the "episode" passed. The drugs didn't make me a zombie and I didn't turn into a facsimilie of a happy version of me. I'm Leyla. The reason I still take them is because the doctor recommended it because I'm in a, "transition stage of my life." And since the episodes still happen, I'd rather keep them at bay with some help rather than succumbing to them. I will stop taking Paxil eventually though and maybe I'll have to start again in the future. I sure as hell hope I don't but I know what to expect and what I can do to combat it now. I also know that there are others like me, a close friend for one, and that talking with them and being there for them is just as helpful when you feel like you're the only crazy in the world.
Ah transitions. Better known as change. Even better known as my greatest enemy. I don't like change. I like things the way they are and to stay the way they are. My biggest worries during the episodes were along the lines of, oh God what is going to happen to me after college, where will I work, where will my friends be, why are they not staying with me, why do I have to be so far away from my family, why is it ending so soon, why can't I just be a kid again? I fervently wished to be a kid and happy and safe in my home with my healthy grandparents and parents. My grandparents have been going through a lot of health scares in recent years and all that just makes me think about our mortality and then I get panic attacks because honestly, I'm lost without my family. I truly am. We are all so tight-knit and loving, I don't think I could've turned out the way I did if not for them. I still get those worries but I'm learning to calm them.
Change makes me anxious-making and I don't like it. It always makes the fluttery stomach spiky rope thing come back and consumes me with worry. You can always tell when I'm worried because my nails become non-existent.
Lately though, I've become better at it. About looking change in the eye and taking a deep breath. But sometimes it still beats me. It makes me cry and even when I'm not crying it still makes me leak out of my face orifices uncontrollably. It makes my stomach flip flop in a bad way and convinces me I'm about to throw up. I don't know what sets it off. Sometimes it's just the fear of the unknown and I hate not knowing. I had to leave L.A. because this happened and it's just an all-consuming, get me out of here this instant, snakes choking my insides, call my mom constantly for reassurance, sob for no reason feeling that takes over me and destroys all rationality. I get smaller episodes too that aren't that big a deal but make me ashamed. Like I left LA previously on a visit to my friend because I had this feeling. And now I get it when I'm away from home, like spending the night somewhere. I make excuses, valid ones actually, and try to get myself out of the situation and then I feel horrible because I'm usually changing plans with somebody to do it. I feel so guilty and then try to convince myself it's ok and I'll make it up and it's just lousy but then I'm home and my stomach calms down. I know my cousins reads this and I was supposed to spend the night at her house which I'm totally fine with, I love hanging out with her. But I was worrying about a book I have to cover for my internship (by tomorrow. And they still haven't sent the book), and this meeting I have tomorrow and I thought it might make me bad company for the night. But what I don't understand is, they are all easy fixes. The internship said if I couldn't do it by tomorrow it would be fine but I want them to think I'm Superwoman and then be open for future job possibiliies but I know I'm not Superwoman so why force it? And the meeting? It's closer to my cousin's house than my own and I could just go from there in the morning but I just get this need to be home and handle it from there and nothing can quiet my insides until I'm "safe."
This is why I have unhealthy relationships with my phone and computer when I'm not home, they are the lifelines connecting me to where I feel safe. But safe? I'm safe where I am that's not home too. I need to get rid of this second-guessing and self-sabotage because it's slowly eating at me. My calm-down music is now the live versions of Madonna's, "Like a Prayer," followed by, "Jump," followed by the album version of, "Ray of Light." They helped during the ride home but I don't know if that was because I knew was going home or because they are good soothing songs. So I hope people, especially my dear cousin who I love with all my heart, understand when I do these spastic things that make sense in my brain and that I force to make sense in real life. Then punish myself for wanting it that way.
I don't quite know how to explain how change, depression, weird panic get-me-out-of-here moments, are all related but to me they are. I want them to go away. I want the Like A Muse project to help me get going with my life both in the physical sense (getting in shape, writing) and the emotional/metaphysicial (my mind-set and my habits that I don't like). But if they are a part of me, a permanent part that contributes to making me who I am, I want to be okay with them because I feel guilty and I hate that feeling. I spend way too much time feeling guilty and trying to rationalize it and it's really tiring. It hurts my brain. So I'm going to stop. And go work out and read the stupid book if my internship boss lady ever sends it.
Oh, on the way home the dolmus (mini-bus) driver got in a fight with one of the passengers We were all on his side though and finally had to yell at the idiot man to get out of the car. Ah Istanbul.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Task 22: Open Your Heart
On Friday, as I walked to my grandparents' house to see if my grandmother had any more sequins and stones for me to put on my shirt to really make it dazzling (and by dazzling I mean holy tacky shirt of excellence batman), I was thinking about this very task. Getting involved, helping others, charity work. I was originally going to donate to Haiti relief; my contribution as well as funds my boyfriend transferred to my account to give on his behalf. Not to sound crass and uncaring but I think Haiti has enough right now. Millions have been donated and pending their government doesn't screw it up, I think they're, for the time being, set. I wanted to donate to maybe St. Jude's, a charity that helps kids with leukemia and other types of cancer. I'm not a big kid person, I mean, I'm more likely to say gross when I see a baby than awww cute but I don't like them to be sick, it makes my heart hurt. The other thing I thought I could do is volunteer at the animal shelter. I love animals in a way that makes Lenny from Of Mice and Men and Elmyra from Tiny Toons seem calm and restrained. I mean, I don't squeeze them to death but I do need to touch them and hug them and love them. Okay sometimes I squeeze but it's funny, she starts growling and then swatting. I will pet any animal that comes my way, I will always go play with the hundreds of stray cats we have in Istanbul and I will never shy away from holding any animal. I've love cats since I was a little girl and taught my grandparent's neighbors kittens to come wheneer I leaned over the fence and went psss pss pss. I squeal at the sight of hamsters and guinea pigs and would love to tickle a chinchilla. I've spent whole hours staring at the lizards and snakes and iguanas at the Petco in Boston where I get my own kitty's food. I adopted Egg from Elliot's mom when they couldn't keep her and she is the epitome of a Leyla cat. She hugs me, I hug her back. I kiss her probably 40 times a day. She kisses me back. I put my head on her side and kiss her paws and her kitty cheeks and she purrs and licks my nose and eyelids. I yell at her and tell her off and she answers me back. Yes I talk to my cat but she understand me perfectly I know, she's smart when she wants to be. We fall asleep together and whenever I'm sitting down writing or reading or just curled up watching TV, she will come and squash herself against me, push her butt against me and start purring, wanting me to rub her as she relaxes too.
Except, sometimes I care too much.
When I was walking back from browsing my grandmother's drawers (no sequins but she later sent me a big packet of beads), I saw this little kitten just standing on the sidewalk. She was a typical Turkish stray cat, yellow and white, with big amber eyes but she also had a flea collar. And she was little. Not tiny, but only about 4 months or so. I picked her up, she let me willingly, and stroked her and she was all purrs and clambering all over me. I rang the doorbell of the house I found her in front of but she wasn't theirs. I left her in the garden of the apartment next door where it was safer than the road she was wandering on(what else could I do?), and started walking. But something didn't sit right with me and I walked back and found her back on the street, jumping at every loud noise, and attempting to dash straight for the construction trucks. So I picked her up and headed home. After holding her and looking lost and confused for about 10 minutes in the middle of the street.
The next hour my sister and I stared perpelexedly at the friendliest kitten in the world as she explored all the tiny hiding places in our bedrooms. Egg of course got all mad and jealous and I had to give her some canned food and make her stay away because she is a spoiled little princess who expects love and respect in the form of vast amounts of food. I named the kitten Die Hard because she was so prone to jumping into on-coming traffic and because my friend Mike had jokingly christened my old roommate's cat Die Hard with a Vengeance once and well, it's funny and fitting.
I fell in love with her. There are probably thousands of cats just like her, not just in our neighborhood but all over Turkey, but she was different. She pulled at my heartstrings and I've just never met a friendlier, more loving cat. Mina and I tried to leave her in our backyard just to see if she'd be all right. My aunt has sort of set up a cat hotel with clubhouses and pillows and we have a gang of cats that just live and hang out in our garden but I couldn't leave Die Hard. She was too little and all the other cats were already surrounding us. Egg and my mom objected to her being in the house so I called the vet and arranged to come drop her off. She settled comfortably in my arms and rested her head on my hand in the car to the vet. Didn't even flinch or jump when the car went over potholes or speeded up.
At the vet there was a call from someone looking for a cat and my heart jumped and I got so hopeful, but it wasn't for my little kitten. I paid for her care and a week's food and stay at the vet and when I was leaving, I had to put her in a cage and she was so quiet and confused and tired looking. Amongst all the other yells and growls of grown up cats she was just a little innocent baby and even the vet said she'd be in danger outside. She'd get raped or beat up by the male cats. Typical. It's always the male of the species that has to ruin everything. Pshht, boys. God.
Anyway, I came home and I don't know if it was hormones or just the fact that I'm a pathetic cat lady but I burst into tears. All I wanted was a hug from my boyfriend because he's even more of a bleeding heart than I am about animals (I at least grew up in Turkey, strays are something we get used to, he didn't). But of course he's in stupid Iraq so I had to describe what happened to Die Hard (yes, I name cats creatively. Better than Pamuk or Midnight or whatever lame cat names are de rigeur in Turkey and America) over skype as I sniffled and bawled. He of course understood perfectly and said all the things that I needed to hear.
Yes, as I keep writing, there are millions of cats (notice how the number goes up every time) that are exactly like Die Hard but I believe there was a reason I found her, there was a reason I walked a block back to check on her, and there was a reason why she came to me. If people can believe in love at first sight or soulmates, which I personally don't, then I can believe there's a connection between me and something as simple as a stray cat. I truly believe there was something about her that connected her to me. She made me feel a little tug in my heart that none of the other cats ever do. Besides my Egglet. I know it, I play with them in the yard and at the park and on Istiklal street everyday. I can calmly say bye bye after I pet them and hold them a bit and not cry like a pansy over the fact that they'll be falling asleep on the street in a few hours. You get a tougher skin when you see stuff everyday. Even if it's just animals and not like limbless kids begging on the street. But things can break the exterior and everyone has their soft spot and animals are mine.
I've been trying to find Die Hard a home. I put up fliers around my neighborhood today on the off chance she did actually belong to someone. After all, she did have a flea collar when I found her, someone had to have put it on her. The looks I got from some people. Sheesh, it's a piece of paper and I only hung up 10 by the main roads and around the area I found her! You'd think by their expressions I was spray- painting in big, bold, black letters, I will eat your delicious babies. On a Mosque. On Ramazan.
I'm going to check up on her sometime this week and maybe pay for another two weeks of board because at least she's safe and warm at the vet. It;s 15 lira a day but I have the money and I can afford it, I think it's worth it. I hope she gets adopted. There really is no cat like her despite what people might say. She's sweet and friendly, and timid and brave at the same time. She's trusting. What cat do you know is just ready to put her life in the hands of some human that picked her off the street? Not many, believe me. With all the playing with cats comes all the chasing them and trying to get them to come closer too.
This is what I care about. Politics, wars, starving children, whatever. Everyone has their passion and so what if mine is animals? No I'm not a vet or a zookeeper but there's nothing wrong with caring so much that your heart aches. That's what makes you human.
Except, sometimes I care too much.
When I was walking back from browsing my grandmother's drawers (no sequins but she later sent me a big packet of beads), I saw this little kitten just standing on the sidewalk. She was a typical Turkish stray cat, yellow and white, with big amber eyes but she also had a flea collar. And she was little. Not tiny, but only about 4 months or so. I picked her up, she let me willingly, and stroked her and she was all purrs and clambering all over me. I rang the doorbell of the house I found her in front of but she wasn't theirs. I left her in the garden of the apartment next door where it was safer than the road she was wandering on(what else could I do?), and started walking. But something didn't sit right with me and I walked back and found her back on the street, jumping at every loud noise, and attempting to dash straight for the construction trucks. So I picked her up and headed home. After holding her and looking lost and confused for about 10 minutes in the middle of the street.
The next hour my sister and I stared perpelexedly at the friendliest kitten in the world as she explored all the tiny hiding places in our bedrooms. Egg of course got all mad and jealous and I had to give her some canned food and make her stay away because she is a spoiled little princess who expects love and respect in the form of vast amounts of food. I named the kitten Die Hard because she was so prone to jumping into on-coming traffic and because my friend Mike had jokingly christened my old roommate's cat Die Hard with a Vengeance once and well, it's funny and fitting.
I fell in love with her. There are probably thousands of cats just like her, not just in our neighborhood but all over Turkey, but she was different. She pulled at my heartstrings and I've just never met a friendlier, more loving cat. Mina and I tried to leave her in our backyard just to see if she'd be all right. My aunt has sort of set up a cat hotel with clubhouses and pillows and we have a gang of cats that just live and hang out in our garden but I couldn't leave Die Hard. She was too little and all the other cats were already surrounding us. Egg and my mom objected to her being in the house so I called the vet and arranged to come drop her off. She settled comfortably in my arms and rested her head on my hand in the car to the vet. Didn't even flinch or jump when the car went over potholes or speeded up.
At the vet there was a call from someone looking for a cat and my heart jumped and I got so hopeful, but it wasn't for my little kitten. I paid for her care and a week's food and stay at the vet and when I was leaving, I had to put her in a cage and she was so quiet and confused and tired looking. Amongst all the other yells and growls of grown up cats she was just a little innocent baby and even the vet said she'd be in danger outside. She'd get raped or beat up by the male cats. Typical. It's always the male of the species that has to ruin everything. Pshht, boys. God.
Anyway, I came home and I don't know if it was hormones or just the fact that I'm a pathetic cat lady but I burst into tears. All I wanted was a hug from my boyfriend because he's even more of a bleeding heart than I am about animals (I at least grew up in Turkey, strays are something we get used to, he didn't). But of course he's in stupid Iraq so I had to describe what happened to Die Hard (yes, I name cats creatively. Better than Pamuk or Midnight or whatever lame cat names are de rigeur in Turkey and America) over skype as I sniffled and bawled. He of course understood perfectly and said all the things that I needed to hear.
Yes, as I keep writing, there are millions of cats (notice how the number goes up every time) that are exactly like Die Hard but I believe there was a reason I found her, there was a reason I walked a block back to check on her, and there was a reason why she came to me. If people can believe in love at first sight or soulmates, which I personally don't, then I can believe there's a connection between me and something as simple as a stray cat. I truly believe there was something about her that connected her to me. She made me feel a little tug in my heart that none of the other cats ever do. Besides my Egglet. I know it, I play with them in the yard and at the park and on Istiklal street everyday. I can calmly say bye bye after I pet them and hold them a bit and not cry like a pansy over the fact that they'll be falling asleep on the street in a few hours. You get a tougher skin when you see stuff everyday. Even if it's just animals and not like limbless kids begging on the street. But things can break the exterior and everyone has their soft spot and animals are mine.
I've been trying to find Die Hard a home. I put up fliers around my neighborhood today on the off chance she did actually belong to someone. After all, she did have a flea collar when I found her, someone had to have put it on her. The looks I got from some people. Sheesh, it's a piece of paper and I only hung up 10 by the main roads and around the area I found her! You'd think by their expressions I was spray- painting in big, bold, black letters, I will eat your delicious babies. On a Mosque. On Ramazan.
I'm going to check up on her sometime this week and maybe pay for another two weeks of board because at least she's safe and warm at the vet. It;s 15 lira a day but I have the money and I can afford it, I think it's worth it. I hope she gets adopted. There really is no cat like her despite what people might say. She's sweet and friendly, and timid and brave at the same time. She's trusting. What cat do you know is just ready to put her life in the hands of some human that picked her off the street? Not many, believe me. With all the playing with cats comes all the chasing them and trying to get them to come closer too.
This is what I care about. Politics, wars, starving children, whatever. Everyone has their passion and so what if mine is animals? No I'm not a vet or a zookeeper but there's nothing wrong with caring so much that your heart aches. That's what makes you human.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Task 29: Vogue
I started this task whilst watching An Education. I loved it. It's all about a sixteen year old English girl in the '60s learning about how there's more to life and learning than school. It made Paris look so lush and romantic that I actually wanted to be there, all dressed up like a mod, gallivanting with a cute fella while Edith Piaf croons about not regretting anything. I'm not one for girlish fantasies, especially about Paris where I've heard men are none too subtle about the ass-grabbery and the city smells of urine, but I absolutely would've traded places with the main girl, Jenny, in an instant. Plus she had Peter Sarsgaard, "educating," her. Oh the Swedes. How can I resist your big-toothed, silly-accented, Scandinavian ways?
But then I saw the end and that fantasy ended pretty dangin' fast.
All right, so I realized my metal shirts are way to precious for me to attempt any sort of creativity on them, ahem some are vintage concert shirts that cost me a pretty penny, so I decided to try stuff out on my Metal Sludge shirt. Metal Sludge was probably my favorite website when I was in high school. It was all anonymously written content about '80s metal and the commentary was so bitchy and nasty at times but not just for the hell of it. The writers were actually making serious points about the musicians and the music and they just had their own humor that I completely got. It's just basically a metal music site now and the writers are all gone and the owner 'fessed up to who he was (Stevie Rachelle, lead singer of Tuff, he called me once! It was one of the best days of my life. It was about how they didn't have my size in stock but he'd send me another shirt and a bunch of free stuff) but I still wear the shirts. Except this one. It's huge and unflattering.
So I chopped off the sleeves and some of the collar and have started with the sequins. There's going to be so much more added. I would've gotten more done today but well, I had to rescue a cat. More on that later.
But then I saw the end and that fantasy ended pretty dangin' fast.
All right, so I realized my metal shirts are way to precious for me to attempt any sort of creativity on them, ahem some are vintage concert shirts that cost me a pretty penny, so I decided to try stuff out on my Metal Sludge shirt. Metal Sludge was probably my favorite website when I was in high school. It was all anonymously written content about '80s metal and the commentary was so bitchy and nasty at times but not just for the hell of it. The writers were actually making serious points about the musicians and the music and they just had their own humor that I completely got. It's just basically a metal music site now and the writers are all gone and the owner 'fessed up to who he was (Stevie Rachelle, lead singer of Tuff, he called me once! It was one of the best days of my life. It was about how they didn't have my size in stock but he'd send me another shirt and a bunch of free stuff) but I still wear the shirts. Except this one. It's huge and unflattering.
So I chopped off the sleeves and some of the collar and have started with the sequins. There's going to be so much more added. I would've gotten more done today but well, I had to rescue a cat. More on that later.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Bad Girl
Screw the schedule. I do things when I want to and when the guilt becomes too much to handle. I worked out this morning and now I will bake cookies. Coming soon; my thoughts on sex and religion woooooo!
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Task 30: Drowned World/I'm Going to Tell You a Secret/Confessions
I sat down to watch the Drowned World Tour from 2001 and it was just breathtaking to see. Madonna had no eyebrows which usually creeps me out because it gives the impression of an albino alien but she pretty much carried it off with her punk Scottish girl outfit and guitar with fuck off written on the strap. It was sparkly. It was a pretty creepy tour to watch as it had weird contortionists and glowing men but then it also had Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon segments with samurais and swords and swooshing humans in the air. This tour definitely focused more on the performance-art than hyperactive dancing. The songs were mostly slow and calming (even if the action wasn't, I mean scenes from the anime Perfect Blue? I really never need to watch animated rape) and the entire show had this ethereal feeling. Ray of Light is pretty much my entire family's favorite Madonna album, which is why I've always wanted to sit and give this film my complete attention as it's from the tail end of that era. I'm glad I watched it at home though, I don't think I would've been able to see much if I'd attended.
Not content to just leave it at that, I then decided to work my way through two other concert DVDs. My sister and mom sat down to watch them with me too. Jonas Akerlund directed the documentary I'm Going To Tell You A Secret which was a behind-the-scenes look at the Reinvention Tour. I loved it. It showed Madonna being so sweet to her young dancers and then being the sassy lady she is to the camera (the first night of the tour, right before she went on, she kept talking about how nervous she was and how she "couldn't stop shitting!" Come on, how can you not lover her?). Guy Ritchie was in it too and sheesh. He really is a redneck British yokel. I liked him before he married Madonna because he had good movies and I never had to hear him but ugh. Good riddance, she can do better. Plus, now that he's not with her, his movies should be getting better. No offense to Ms. Ciccone but holy crap Swept Away was so, so bad. It made me want to tear my eyeballs out so I could have something to throw at the screen. And also then I wouldn't have to watch it anymore. Sherlock Holmes however was pretty good. Nice, fun mystery with good British wit.
I also liked how Akerlund focused on the prayer circle she held every night with the crew before going on-stage. She'd always say different things but one of the best speeches she gave urged those around her to strive to be better versions of themselves and inspire others to do the same. Well knock me over, isn't that what these quests are supposed to do for me?! See, we're that connected.
Seeing her clowning around and then getting down to business and lecturing her dancers and being the hot-headed liberal she is made one thing is clear. She's the type of person you admire from afar. I have many people I'd like to meet but I don't think I could handle meeting her. I'd be too scared and intimidated and I'd rather not be just another fan cooing over her. She doesn't exactly exude warmth and that's why she is who she is. I like knowing she exists and that she will inspire and move me and that's all I really need, nothing more.
"I need to change, and how can I change? Knowing is the beginning."
The thing that stood out to me most about The Confessions Tour was how well it flowed. The thing with Madonna concerts is that she remixes and re-records every song so that it works as a performance not just a concert. This show had a horse theme, I'm assuming it's because she fell off one, and the whole tour was about conquering your fears and "confessing." I've never been a huge fan of the song, "Like A Virgin," but it was done so well. She even had her straddling-a-saddle-humping-a-pole bit that was just so delightful(I was actually supposed to go have horse time with my dad right when I was watching it but plans fell through). I love this version of the song and then it just smoothly segued into, "Jump," and the whole show just had this electric energy. I would've loved to have seen it but the show I did see, The Sticky and Sweet Tour, is the best. It had my favorite song, "Like A Prayer," and the best version of "La Isla Bonita," done with a Romanian gypsy feel. It comes out on CD and DVD March 30th and you know I'm pre-ordering it.
And totally unrelated to this but the other night I went to an art exhibit opening our company held and sponsored. On the way back, I was sitting in the front seat and there was a huge snowstorm whirling outside as we drove home. I listened to the live version of,"Like A Prayer," as we sped along and while the song echoed in my brain head, I looked out straight towards the snow and it seemed like we were flying. It was a pretty epic moment.
Not content to just leave it at that, I then decided to work my way through two other concert DVDs. My sister and mom sat down to watch them with me too. Jonas Akerlund directed the documentary I'm Going To Tell You A Secret which was a behind-the-scenes look at the Reinvention Tour. I loved it. It showed Madonna being so sweet to her young dancers and then being the sassy lady she is to the camera (the first night of the tour, right before she went on, she kept talking about how nervous she was and how she "couldn't stop shitting!" Come on, how can you not lover her?). Guy Ritchie was in it too and sheesh. He really is a redneck British yokel. I liked him before he married Madonna because he had good movies and I never had to hear him but ugh. Good riddance, she can do better. Plus, now that he's not with her, his movies should be getting better. No offense to Ms. Ciccone but holy crap Swept Away was so, so bad. It made me want to tear my eyeballs out so I could have something to throw at the screen. And also then I wouldn't have to watch it anymore. Sherlock Holmes however was pretty good. Nice, fun mystery with good British wit.
I also liked how Akerlund focused on the prayer circle she held every night with the crew before going on-stage. She'd always say different things but one of the best speeches she gave urged those around her to strive to be better versions of themselves and inspire others to do the same. Well knock me over, isn't that what these quests are supposed to do for me?! See, we're that connected.
Seeing her clowning around and then getting down to business and lecturing her dancers and being the hot-headed liberal she is made one thing is clear. She's the type of person you admire from afar. I have many people I'd like to meet but I don't think I could handle meeting her. I'd be too scared and intimidated and I'd rather not be just another fan cooing over her. She doesn't exactly exude warmth and that's why she is who she is. I like knowing she exists and that she will inspire and move me and that's all I really need, nothing more.
"I need to change, and how can I change? Knowing is the beginning."
The thing that stood out to me most about The Confessions Tour was how well it flowed. The thing with Madonna concerts is that she remixes and re-records every song so that it works as a performance not just a concert. This show had a horse theme, I'm assuming it's because she fell off one, and the whole tour was about conquering your fears and "confessing." I've never been a huge fan of the song, "Like A Virgin," but it was done so well. She even had her straddling-a-saddle-humping-a-pole bit that was just so delightful(I was actually supposed to go have horse time with my dad right when I was watching it but plans fell through). I love this version of the song and then it just smoothly segued into, "Jump," and the whole show just had this electric energy. I would've loved to have seen it but the show I did see, The Sticky and Sweet Tour, is the best. It had my favorite song, "Like A Prayer," and the best version of "La Isla Bonita," done with a Romanian gypsy feel. It comes out on CD and DVD March 30th and you know I'm pre-ordering it.
And totally unrelated to this but the other night I went to an art exhibit opening our company held and sponsored. On the way back, I was sitting in the front seat and there was a huge snowstorm whirling outside as we drove home. I listened to the live version of,"Like A Prayer," as we sped along and while the song echoed in my brain head, I looked out straight towards the snow and it seemed like we were flying. It was a pretty epic moment.
4 Minutes
I need a schedule or I'll never get anything done while I'm home. So here it is tentatively.
Free mornings.
12-1: Pilates/working out
Clean up/lunch.
2-4: Writing/editing
4-5: Hindi
5-7: Whatever task that seems doable then. Including more writing if needed.
Weekends will either be free or for making up any weekdays I miss if I go down to the city or out somewhere. Or for doing stuff that can only be done then. Of course, it might be hard to adhere to this every day so I'll take each day as best I can. I just don't want to waste time.
Sounds good yes? Watching the Drowned World Tour 2001 now. It is so different from the Sticky and Sweet Tour my sister, mom, and I managed to catch live last year. And still just pure Madonna performance/musical art.
Free mornings.
12-1: Pilates/working out
Clean up/lunch.
2-4: Writing/editing
4-5: Hindi
5-7: Whatever task that seems doable then. Including more writing if needed.
Weekends will either be free or for making up any weekdays I miss if I go down to the city or out somewhere. Or for doing stuff that can only be done then. Of course, it might be hard to adhere to this every day so I'll take each day as best I can. I just don't want to waste time.
Sounds good yes? Watching the Drowned World Tour 2001 now. It is so different from the Sticky and Sweet Tour my sister, mom, and I managed to catch live last year. And still just pure Madonna performance/musical art.
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