Monday, January 25, 2016

falling in love + redrafting history

I'm not thinking marriage - really, I'm not - but there will always be a parallel universe 
where this is my future.  There will always be a spinster cat lady within me.

Regular and perceptive readers have intuited that I've not only had bad luck with money.  I've also had atrocious luck with love.  Because I've spent the past decade as a single woman - and yes, it's been ten years since I've had real and deeply rooted affection for another person within a scenario where there was long term potential - I was coming to believe ... to put it better, I was becoming comfortably acclimated to the housebound existence of an eccentric spinster.  Possibly for eternity.

I know the 181 guises of a seasonal fling.  I can spot a wally before they open their mouths and begin vomiting obnoxious pick-up lines.  Deflecting - with grace yet lightning speed - bored spouses who'd play with my emotions (or more) for mere entertainment has sadly become one of my superpowers.

So I share this quiet but soul satisfying event that is happening in my life at a point when I was turning my back to that ideal called many things - romance, courtship, raised plasma nerve growth, etcs.  This is the event:  I'm falling in love with Super Handsome Man - slowly, cautiously, but most definitely completely.  From his silly singing, his spot-on impersonations of Javier Bardem, to his trooping out into a storm to buy me throat lozenges, I know who is going to make my 2016 special.

Regular and perceptive readers - if you look back at older posts - will intuit that I've removed some (not all) excerpts from the Broke Bridget blog, which refer to any previous flings.  Just out of respect for this new person who is a priority for me.  And that is the primary message of tonight's blog:  I have redrafted a few of my rants, revising them so that unimportant numbskulls have less of a presence in the chronicles of a poor girl named Broke Bridget. (happy meow)  BEAR HUG FOR YOU!

Sunday, January 10, 2016

applying for federal food stamps

AHOY from a rainy day here in the urbanized wilds of North Cambridge / West Somerville.  I love rainy days, esp rainy Sundays.  Everyone is home, hibernating in their private chambers - just to gratuitously use an antiquated term for bedroom.  It feels like that Bechdel image in Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic, my #1 favorite book by the way.  As I would chirp to my mum when I was a little chatty girl, none of the ants are leaving the anthill today!  Everyone is content within their most familiar four walls and, once more in my attic with my space heater churning, I've spent today working remotely on a company laptop whilst thinking about the sweet date I went on yesterday.

Years ago I wrote to Alison Bechdel and she actually responded to my short note.
That remains a special event in my teensy life - because her books have saved me.

...returning focus to projects that define my hours, last month I met a super handsome man.  We shall call him Super Handsome Man.  He's a private person.  He wouldn't appreciate being extensively rambled about.  I'll just say this is an ultra earthy connection that I am appreciating alot. He looks into my eyes, and corn begins popping in my belly.  Now zipping my lips!  Mumbles and gestures movie this week trying to smile underneath zipper with the super blushing handsome ooh gosh man golly.

Not much film news.  I moved toward securing music licenses and, to be honest, this part of production is tedious and boring.  Each song has two licenses that must be bought, and it hasn't been easy to locate the publisher of certain tunes or publishing houses for certain composers. But once I find this information, there is usually an online form and, after submitting this license application, I'll get a confirmation promising a response in a month.  One month, argh!?!  However, the helpful result of these license applications should be a list of music costs that I can put into the slowly evolving film business plan.  Painfully tedious because it's not my thing, I emit many sighs during these late night work sessions.  ...I also whisper to myself that, if I can secure rights to a Benjamin Britten composition or Beach House song, I will be more satisfied than I could ever begin to imagine.

Beach House, my favorite dreampop band
I guess the biggest news of tonight's blog is that I decided to apply for federal food stamps.  Heavens knows I should have done this years ago, when I was much much much worse off...  If I had started the blog then, uff!  I can never ever be poorer than I was from 2001 to 2005 - super duper dark days.  In fact, I did attempt to begin the food stamps app - around 2011 - but the process can be downright humiliating.  The woman I spoke to on the phone seemed heartless as she asked for every piece of my personal information, as if I didn't already feel exposed and mortified.  I hung up the phone quickly and just resigned myself to being hungry.  At this wizened point in my life (sarcasm), I suppose I've learned how to take care of myself - emotionally speaking - I suppose my loins are sufficiently girded, and recently I've been thinking alot about something my tough aunt Pattie once told me.  When I was a teenager, she said very seriously to me "BooBoo.  Never.  Never.  Apologize. Never."  It's been difficult for me to purchase as much food as I need.  I suspect that's one reason I got sick so often during 2014 and 2015.  But on Friday afternoon, Jan 22nd, I have an appointment with a community center in Cambridge, and this year I'm finally going to get food stamps.  Just like with my cell phone, I will glare at anybody who wants me to feel bad about my SNAP card.  Hellooo to more cold orange juice, boxes of teas, beautiful eggplants, packages of udon noodles, and kale!

Not surprisingly, because any regular reader knows how badly I yearn to speak French and how high I hold up French culture, so not surprisingly the Frenchies chose my most favorite illustration from Fun Home to be the cover of their translated edition.  I think I was 23 yrs old when I first read Alison's masterpiece.  It had not become SO SUPER WORLDWIDE OMG famous yet and, yes, I feel proud that I recognized Alison's quiet (socially anxious) genius before it became mainstream. That was when her home address could still be found on the internet and she'd respond to her fans' letters - I doubt this would happen now, since the MacArthur Foundation has officially coronated (and compensated) Ailson's genius and usually during an interview she'll mention how busy she's become. Anyway anyway, when I first read Fun Home, it was during a troubling spell of sadness and insomnia. I'd stay up late reading, and after Fun Home I cried.  I cuddled the book.  That night I fell in love with the book - because I understand Alison's childhood nostalgia.  I understand loving and equally missing the first clan of people who molded you as a young short person.  I understand things they told you becoming soundbites in your head that you live by and rely on during difficult times. And this is a whole 'nother blog, but I really understood Alison's urge to explore the genetic propagation of one's inherent sexuality ... like I said, a whole other blog, way beyond super handsome people ... 

Here is the point of that ramble:  In my adult years, apr├Ęs l'adolescence, no other aunt of mine - and I have many aunts - has hurt me as much as tough Auntie Pattie.  Yet it is because of the lesson she bore into my brain hard drive - NEVER. APOLOGIZE. - that I finally have gumption to say, Uncle Sam, I need those food stamps.  I no longer want to struggle to keep fresh and healthy food in my kitchen.

I end to chat with Super Handsome Man on the house's landline, while watching Dirty Dancing...

"Nobody puts Baby in the corner."  My housemate Ellen and I like to recite this classic line, haha.

I totally heart YOU, cupcake, and I am wishing you a supremely cozy evening.  Affectionately, B