"Apparently, he was my very best friend. We spent wild summer days wishin' they would never end."

About a month ago I started working weekends at The House Cafe, an awesome cafe/venue I've mentioned numerous times in previous posts.  I've never worked in food service before, and the whole experience leaves me drained by the time my shift is over.  Despite that, I'm having a great time working there - serving coffee, food, and beer while I get to hear free music, poetry, and stand-up comedy.  Hellz yeah.

When I was working last Saturday night, I found out that one of my favorite singer-songwriters, Ted Leo, is going to be playing there on November 18th.  I'm so excited to hear him play and get the opportunity to meet him.  Ted Leo's song "Timorous Me" was on the first mix CD I ever received, and although that was 11 years ago, I still listen to that mix on a regular basis.  Aside from being the first mix CD I was ever gifted, it was also the best.  The two-disc set was entitled "160 Minutes of Good Shit" and the guy who gave it to me told me that single disc mixes were "for pussies."

The credit for that amazing mix (and the vulgar quote, which was funny only because we both new he was capable of phrasing things in far more eloquent terms) goes to MisterFlak.  He was the first person I met who was as obsessed with music as I was.  We both loved listening to music, and used it as a way to communicate a sincerity that our pleasantly loud social personae rarely afforded us.  Over the next 10 years we spent countless hours creating, writing, and laughing together.  As the story goes, life and love and the cowardliness they breed got in the way, and things are not the same as they used to be.  But it's okay, and so are we.



"There was an awkward pause, and something that should’ve began just passed us by."

Kids' Stuff

When I was 8 years old, these were my lifelong goals: have a "greatest hits" album and be a famous artist. At the time, I was listening to a lot of Frankie Valli (received from Santa, as requested) and Mary Cassatt was my favorite artist. I dreamed of living in France and Whitney Houston was teaching me to sing via her self-titled album.  I wrote my first song, "Baby Blue," and recorded it over and over again, labeling each tape "Nikki Rice's Greatest Hits."

A few years later, I discovered Dr. Demento and decided being a radio host wouldn't be so bad, nor would being an author. I was still into the fame game, but maturing, and I was already beginning to understand the difference between high art and low art. The low was much more appealing to me. I understood the concept of sex far too well, and I read a lot of Judy Blume. I recorded obscene radio shows with my closest friends and wondered why all the boys were calling them and not me. I was in love with writing on my typewriter, which I found to be much more sincere than writing on my computer.

From there I got into making radio shows, watching Beavis & Butthead, and cracking obscene jokes in the company of my closest friends... jokes no one but me fully understood.  I loved watching game shows and playing Gin with my grandma.  I discovered Alanis Morissette and Pearl Jam, but listened to Weird Al just as much.  When I was slightly older, I became obsessed with showing all of my friends my two favorite movies - it was like a rite of passage I inflicted upon all of them - Teen Witch and Welcome to the Dollhouse. If you got those movies, you got me.

And then I found Erykah Badu, and she changed my life. I started singing soul and wearing ankhs. I believed that if I was nice to others, good things would come to me. I asked for a Bible and a cross necklace for Christmas and I got them both. I wore the cross (made of real gold and diamonds) only once or twice, but read my Bible every night. I ended up skimming over a lot, and it just didn't make sense to me as anything more than a moral tale that was 100's of pages too long.

I wanted to live in Vegas. It was my favorite place in the whole world and I talked about it with anyone who would listen. I knew Fremont Street before it was an "experience" and I was so familiar with the city that my parents let me take a cab around town, unaccompanied, starting at the age of 12. I felt like that town "got me," and when I came home I was pompous and self-absorbed and insecure as fuuuuck. I was the last person I knew to get their first kiss, and I stopped competing for top grades because I knew I could never be the best (therefore, why be anything?). I tried out for a choir solo and got it. It was the greatest accomplishment of my life, up until that point in time.

Then I became depressed, went to therapy, went on medication, and met a boy. The rest is history.

Resolutions for the New Year

Seven days until 30. Seven days until 30. Seven days until 30.

I'm both dreading my upcoming milestone birthday and happily anticipating it. As a rock star from way back, my last milestone birthday was my 27th, at which point I had a "Dead at 27" get-together to celebrate the fact that years of unrelenting partying had not yet killed me, and I promised myself that I would be nicer to my body and mind from there on out. For the most part, I've kept that promise. Let's just say there have been way more mornings-after hangovers than apologies since then. Phew.

"Dead at 27" Rockstar Party (2009)

My 25th birthday allowed me not only cheaper car insurance, but more opportunity for college financial aid. It took me a year to act on that before returning to school, but in the meantime I found a cognitive behavioral therapist and prepared myself to be a happier, more productive person. By the time I signed up for classes at my community college, I was ready to commit. And now I'm only two semesters away from getting a degree (in a subject I love, no less).

The point I'm getting to with these cheesy-hopeful anecdotes is that I generally think of birthdays as personal New Years, involving much reflection and major resolutions, and despite hiccups along the way, this association seems to work to my advantage. Allow me to indulge in a now-typical, upper-middle class American way of assessing my decades in terms of "self": 

On a road trip with my friend Nicki when I was 25 (2007)

My teens were about learning how society outside my family unit worked, and dealing with the conflicts that those first independent interpersonal relationships bring. They were about being the center of my own universe, and thinking that everything happening around me was happening to me. They were about setting impossible goals and dealing with the inevitable disappointment that comes when you learn that perfection is unattainable.

My early twenties were about giving up completely and losing control. They were about total self-indulgence and fighting to be someone who I was not. Luckily, they soon started being about exploring my self, my interests, my motivations, and my true sources of happiness. They were about learning to maintain good relationships and end bad ones. Most recently, they've been about self-awareness and commitment to living my own life to its fullest potential.

At a printmaking show I was in last fall, age 29 (2011)

And what do I expect my 30s to be about? What do I want to focus on?

Fighting self-doubt. Feeling good about who I am in the present, even as I seek to improve that person. Saying no when I mean it, rather than giving someone that cowardly "maybe" when I know that's not the truth. Living by example and practicing what I preach. Taking risks where they're most needed - in my art and in love and in support of my principles.

The way to reach these goals, of course, is to break them down into manageable mini-goals, which I already have in mind. I will, however, wait to elaborate on these in another post, as this has been a lengthy enough soapbox stand already. Cheers.

And now, a word against bitterness...

When I was a young lass, I asked one of my guy friends if he thought I was pretty. He said, "you'd be pretty if you lost some weight."

Sometime later that year, I wrote a love letter to another boy I was friends with, and delivered it to him in person. Then, we just continued hanging out, both pretending that he hadn't read it.

The next year, my boyfriend at the time was having a bad night at work, so I brought him what I thought was his favorite kind of ice cream. He looked at my surprise gift and said, "I like chocolate chip, not cookie dough."

During my senior year, I invited a boy I liked to a party. He showed up then made out with two of my best friends.

When I was a little older, I briefly dated a man who refused to be my boyfriend because he "didn't want to be in a relationship." A few days after I tried to get him to commit, he came to my band's show and introduced everyone to his new girlfriend. Needless to say, it was not me.

Then there were the times I actually fell in love with them, but never them with me. Those were the worst... like the one who told me he was attracted to me and that I was his best friend, but that he couldn't date me. Or the one who made me cry when I told him I wouldn't be kissing him again until he admitted he had feelings for me.  Or the one who told me that hanging around with me fulfilled him in the same way a girlfriend would, so now he would just have to find someone to have sex with.

But I'M NOT BITTER - and I'm so sick of meeting people who are! Get over it and allow yourself a little happiness. The walls you put up make you so boring - don't you know that? Share a little, love a little, and stop being a selfish, miserable prick who leaves a trail of pretty little crushed hearts everywhere you go. Life is about openness - to people, to experiences, to love.

Some advice for all you bitter bastards out there:

• Learn to take a compliment
• When you see someone you know, say hi to them
• Smile, for fuck's sake
• If you get someone's number, call them
• At least pretend to like yourself
• Learn to trust, and share
• Accept a little blame, then move on
• Or go become a stand-up comedian and put your self-hatred to good use

Happy Thanksgiving! If I love you, you know it, and you may consider this blog entry a toast to the immense amount of joy you contribute to this world. Cheers!

Things That Make Me Happy

I had a damn good weekend. I spent lots of time with good friends, new friends, old friends, family... and after my stressful week of mid-terms, this was just what I needed. I was going to blog all about this weekend's events, as they were all pretty fantastic, but instead I'm going to share something I found the other day (and just in the nick of time, I might add). I found a list I made on February 8, 2010, of 33 things that make me happy.

I wrote it one day at Alexandra's house, after a rough couple months of boy problems and depression. At that time, I felt like I had been overlooking all the good things in life; I needed to remind myself that there were plenty of reasons to smile. It hung on my fridge at my old house, and now it's hanging on the fridge at my new house, right where it belongs. Here it is, uncensored:

1. music
2. coffee
3. sunshine
4. stretching
5. exercise
6. breakfast
7. Weight Watchers
8. bike riding
9. reading
10. cleaning
11. clean clothes
12. Sunday phone calls/emails
13. doing my hair & make-up
14. matching underwear
15. sex
16. parties (especially theme parties)
17. dressing up
18. drawing
19. singing
20. practicing instruments
21. watching movies
22. dinner with friends
23. museums
24. swimming
25. painting nails/toenails
26. going to the movies
27. Chicago
28. crafting
29. kids
30. car coffee
31. massages
32. painting
33. dancing
34. showering
35. going out for coffee
36. poetry

What makes you happy?

Facebook Killed the Class Reunion

I read a great blog post yesterday at The Good Badger about the ways that social media if effecting our face-to-face social circles. I found it most interesting because I recently experienced an in-person event that was TOTALLY effected by Facebook - my 10-year high school reunion. I posted a comment on the entry and decided to share it here, as well:

"Last weekend I attended my 10-year high school reunion, and the experience was completely different for me than it was for my brother, who had his 10-year reunion back in 1997-ish. Why? Because his occurred pre-Facebook.

"Thanks to Facebook, I already know what most of my classmates are doing, where they are living, and if they are married/have children - even the ones I haven’t seen since the day we graduated. Apparently, so did everyone else, because only about 25% of our class showed up, and our small talk seemed dishearteningly redundant. Social media has practically eliminated the need for a class reunion. This might seem like an insignificant change, but it’s representative of something much larger.

"Don’t you love being part of a generation who has experienced life on both sides of the internet invent? I truly do."

My reason for re-posting is that I am totally fascinated by technology, and I get a rise out of seeing the change it creates, especially when it's played out in real time, right before my eyes. Granted, there is nothing comparable to seeing a friend in person, and I had a wonderful time catching up with old friends at the reunion - Cindy, Staci, Christine, Steve, Jake, Allison, Lindsey, it was wonderful to chat with you all after so many years. But things definitely would have been different without Facebook in our lives. All but one of the aforementioned people is on my "Friends" list, and we could communicate on a daily basis if we were so inclined. Just a few years ago, that would not have been possible.

My family got hooked up to the World Wide Web when I was 12, I think, in about 1994. It was slow, clunky, restricted, and absolutely magical. eWorld was where it was at! I know me and my online boyfriend certainly thought so. ;)

How has your life changed since the invent of the internet? What was the first service you used? How has the connectivity of social networking sites effected your real-life interactions?

One more tech-related note before I go... did you know that cars can drive themselves these days? So cool. 

First! Episode 2

More firsts of 2010! Some recently recalled, some recently happened...

• first time at the Atlantic Ocean, and Myrtle Beach (March 2010)
• first show with Wienerslav (April 8, 2010)
• first time intentionally eating seafood (Friday, the 13th of August, 2010)

The Last Time I Had A Valentine

It's been 10 years since I've had a Valentine, and on this lonely anniversary I'd like to share the story of the last time I celebrated the holiday. It's time for the internet to own this shitty memory, not me...

It was the year 2000; I was 17 and a senior in high school. For about a year, I had been in an on-again-off-again relationship with my first boyfriend, Ryan. When Valentine's Day rolled around, we were in an "off" phase, but still seeing each other every weekend, and I was positive that we would soon be an official couple again. Despite all the drama and manipulation that he injected into my life, my pathetically low self-esteem made me go back to him time and again, believing that no one else would ever want me. I saw myself as ugly and replaceable, a fat girl getting by on her sense of humor and generous nature, and felt that I was lucky to have anybody who wanted me. It's very hard to admit that these were my regular thought patterns, considering the strong person I have become over time, but they were; my thoughts were that of someone who felt she had no worth outside of that which others assigned to her.

My best friend Nicki was dating Ryan's best friend Justin. Through the grapevine, I heard that Ryan and Justin had been at the local flower shop during the week of Valentine's Day, buying roses which they intended to send to their sweethearts at school. On the morning of the fateful holiday, Nicki was called down to the office during our government class, and came back with a giant bouquet of flowers. She told me that she had seen an identical bouquet right next to it on the counter, surely from Ryan to me. My heart swelled with excitement through my next few classes, as I anxiously awaited this romantic gift.

Finally, after waiting hours that seemed like days, I was called to the office. The secretary handed me a single rose with a note attached, then wished me a happy Valentine's Day and sent me on my way. Outside the office, I read the card and my heart dropped into my stomach - the rose was from my friend Katie, a lovely platonic gesture that I found nearly impossible to appreciate at that moment.

At the end of the day, I confessed to Nicki that Ryan had not sent me flowers. She promptly found her boyfriend, who admitted that yes, Ryan had bought a dozen-rose bouquet when they went to the florist's shop, but that, sadly, it had not been for me. It was for Justin's ex-girlfriend, Rachel, who Ryan had recently met and developed a crush on.
 

I was embarrassed, incredibly hurt, and totally confused. I immediately began making excuses for Ryan's behavior, justifying his total lack of respect for me. I didn't confront him about the way he hurt me; I ignored it. We had plans that evening for a double date with Nicki and Justin, and I was terrified of canceling. I knew that if I wasn't there, he would simply find someone else, and that thought was enough to make me go to Hell and back to keep him.

That night, I arrived at Ryan's house to meet up with everyone, wearing my "I swear I'm okay" face. Although no one brought up what had happened earlier in the day, Ryan was clearly pissed off at me for some unknown reason, and acted completely indifferent to my presence. When it was time to leave for dinner, he kept checking his phone and stalling, making us all wait around but refusing to tell us why. Our questions were answered when a car pulled into the driveway - he had invited Rachel.

I was dumbfounded and mortified, for the second time in one day. As Rachel approached the house, Ryan looked at me, ready to fight over any reaction I might give his mean-spirited stunt. Nicki and Justin were as appalled as I was, and uncomfortable to boot. I asked Ryan if I should leave (yes, I ASKED him, rather than just high-tailing it out of there) and he replied that he didn't care; I could go or stay, and it was all the same to him. At this point my stubbornness kicked in, and I told Nicki and Justin that I would ride to the restaurant with them, since Rachel would be riding with Ryan.

And I did. I made it through the most horrific dinner of my life with a little bit of wit and a lot of repressed feelings. I held back the tears until I got home that night, and by the time they came my anger for him had become hatred for myself. A couple months later, I began dating Ryan again, and the shame cycle continued. Luckily, though, his behavior on Valentine's Day had desensitized me enough that when I saw the words "FAT FUCK" written across my face in his yearbook, I barely even blinked an eye. It was just another day in Love, after all.