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Wallflowers and Wannabes

swirlMood: Sunday Night Blues
Drinking: Liquids Only

Boy and I were invited to a fabulous party last week. The invitation caught us in a good mood, so we RSVP-ed in the affirmative.

But the big night snuck up on us much too quickly and truth is, we’re rather out of practice at these things. We sat around eating chips and watching some TiVo-ed Dexter goodness and then suddenly realized we only had half an hour until show time.

That’s where all the flinging of clothing began, and not in a fun way. Boy was at his closet, tossing ties, and I was at mine rifling through dresses.

It took me four frocks, one broken zipper, and the sad realization that I am so over my once-beloved gothy platform boots (ah, the sticky club floors we’ve danced around) — until I finally fell back on the terribly unimaginative but ever faithful little black dress.

Boy, meanwhile, had settled on silver for his neckwear, and I shoved a matching silver doodad in my hair and off we went.

As parties go, this one was a success. I’ve been to a few shindigs in my day, from the raucous hootnanny with guests puking Goldschl├Ąger onto the front lawn to stuffy old-people affairs with unpronounceable wines and gropey senior partners. This one was somewhere in the middle.

Adults (mostly) behaved like adults, meaning there was no puking into potted palms and the butt grabs were kept to a minimum (I personally witnessed just one driveby cheek pinch). But the most interesting part was simply that I had a good time.

I tend to be a wallflower at these things. Content to clutch my little glass of whatever in the shadows and watch. Once in a great while I’ll put on a little show in the limelight, especially if the party invitation said something about being my birthday.

But at this particular party, I didn’t have to hide or perform.

Boy and I and a few of our friends found a little table somewhere in the middle of things and settled in for some drinking (Boy) and some people watching (moi) and some extremely entertaining conversation.

All in all, I guess we could have stayed home in our holey jeans with our feet dangling over the armchair and had pretty much the same conversation, but there’s something much more subversive about doing it all dressed up, surrounded by strangers. (Plus, I don’t have a shiny Photo Booth at my house.)

Sometimes I wonder when I’m going to start feeling like an adult. Or, more acurately, feeling the way I always imagined adults felt. Most likely my imagination is the one at fault here, not my feelings. But at the party, sipping my amaretto sour and jangling all that jewelry, looking for all the world like a real adult, I still just felt like me.

And in my head, I’m still too young for all of this.

But the party goes on, dragging the years down with it and someday I’ll probably be 83 and wondering if I’m a real adult yet.

-Lo, whose mother always said there comes a time when a baby face is good to have.

About Last Night

partygirls

Mood: Done!
Drinking: Celebratory Iced Tea

Party? Check!

Thanks to everybody who came out to The Secrets of Falling Book Release Party last night… you made it a roaring success. Thanks for buying books and prints and for helping Kathy and I celebrate in so much style!

If you missed it, we missed you, and you missed out on the party of the year. BUT! You can still get the book online, in person, or in bookstores soon.

I can’t thank everyone who was there, because there were too many of you (which is in and of itself a wonderful thing!). It really meant a lot to both Kathy and I that you came.

I do have to give special mention and big hugs to the following kick-ass people:
Kimberley – the amazing girl who helped us set up all day and made sure the gallery was sparkling
Sarah – for moral support, from dawn to dusk, and for extremely talented twinkle-light wrapping-upping
Bridget – for expert assistance in picture hanging and gallery design and end-of-the night pancakes
Johanna – for making strawberries look even sweeter than they are and wielding a wickedly-awesome serge stitch
Jason – for smooth wine-pouring skilz and protective police action
Michelle – for video camera documentation, unending smiles, and late-night cleanup help
Chris – for Bruce back-up, gallery appreciation, and heavy box lifting
Dave – for scandalously sexy moves on the dance floor
Lani – for being the best and hottest cash box lady there ever was
Melissa – for a smooth and suave print-selling operation
Carly – for coming and smiling and wearing a cute-ass skirt
Patti – for traveling all the way from Chicago and bringing her sharpie
Jocelyn – for the amazingly adorable party favors, and for wearing that hot Madonna outfit
and most of all,
Bruce – for being the best man, always and all the time. for being my back-up. for being so tech-savvy. for running the lights and the sound and the cinepoems and the show.
and
Kathy – because NONE of this would have happened without her.

-Lo, who will be sleeping for a few days now.

Tomorrow, Tomorrow

girls_forblogMood: Tired
Drinking: Tea

The time has come to party.

Tomorrow (Thursday), is the big shebang for The Secrets of Falling… Wine, women, song, possibly an interpretive dance from our friend Melissa. (But only if we spin some “Billy Jean”.)

Seriously, folks, it’s a big deal.

The fabulous miss Kathy Azada and I have been working on our book for over a year, and it feels like we’ve been planning our party for about that long, too, but that would be crazy.

We’re exhausted. We’re exuberant. We’re tired. We’re terribly excited. We’re both little bundles of sleep-deprived joy. (Perhaps that’s why I’m rambling so?)

Onward to the point! To all of my fellow San Franciscans and outlying Bay Areans, we’ll be so happy to see you tomorrow at Space 180 (from 6-9pm). We’ll be so thrilled to unveil our book. And show off all of Kathy’s artwork. And introduce you to all the other people who made this book happen.

For all our further-away internet friends, we promise that the book itself is almost as good as the party.

I’ve wanted to follow up Shedding the Angel Skin with a second book for years now, and Secrets is well worth the wait, even for me.

The theme of the book is the double-edged nature of hope. How impossible it is to live without hope, but how painful it is, how slippery it is, to hang on to hope. Secrets is built around a four-part poem titled “Spei Captiva Sum,” which means “I am a prisoner of hope.” (I have it tattooed on my right wrist as an ever-present reminder.)

Many of the 53 poems in Secrets were written for or about or around two of my very dear friends, who have both been on their own separate journeys to hell and back over the last three years.

I almost lost both of them, at different times. Watching them struggle and fall and climb back up and fall again — watching them, and struggling with them, and hoping against hope that they would get back up again — it inspired many of the words now printed on pages for others to read and maybe even take comfort in.

I think it matters, it makes a difference to know that in the midst of your bleakness, in the depths of your darkness, hope still flickers somewhere. Hope can be yours, once again.

I’ll be reading a few of my favorites from Secrets tomorrow, around 7 p.m. So be sure to stop by — new friends, old friends, internet friends and strangers. …It’s only a day away!

-Lo, who still knows all the words.