Halloween

Halloween has always been my favorite holiday. I'm fond of Christmas, too, but in more of a consumerist, product-of-pop-culture-society sort of way because who doesn't love presents, the Charlie Brown Christmas Special and 31 days of unbridled gluttony? (I'd go on a tangent here, but I'll save it for December) Christmas, I am not entirely ashamed to say, is not a holiday I celebrate for its significance. Given my typical reaction on the atypical occasions that my mom has suggested, "We should go to midnight mass" -- shrinking back in mock horror and scoffing, distastefully, "Church?!" -- it's no surprise that Halloween is my favorite holiday.

The truth is, it's mostly thanks to commercialization and the omnipresent church that Halloween is perceived as being at the opposite end of the holiday spectrum. In some narrow minds it's referred to as the Devil's holiday because it "celebrates" and "flaunts" Satanic themes. (I actually heard this at a Sunday youth group service I attended in high school, right after... "God, doesn't care if you get bad grades.") Basically, if you look back at the history of Halloween, the Christian church tried to exert its power early on and now is bitter because it obviously failed.

Okay, here's a Reader's Digest version:

Halloween was originally a Celtic Pagan holiday that often was referred to as Celtic New Year. It started as a festival called Samhain which celebrated the end of the harvest season (the Light Half of the Year) and the beginning of winter (the Dark Half of the Year). Because it was "between" seasons, it was considered a magical day when the veil between the worlds was lifted and the dead walked among the living. This was a time when the dead were honored as living spirits of loved ancestors and guardians of wisdom. The Druids (Celtic priests) would attempt to make contact with the spirits of the departed because they were considered sources of guidance and inspiration, rather than as sources of dread. Then when Christianity spread, the church was unable to get the people to stop celebrating this holiday. So, in order to make the celebration "church sanctioned," two pope dudes decided to move their celebration of good, dead people -- the Christian Feast of "All Saint's Day" -- from May 13th to November 1st. Back in that time days were measured as starting at sunset, thus Samhain became All Hallow's Even (hallowed = holy = saint) and soon "Halloween."

In some ways, Halloween is not so different from Christmas (besides the whole birth of a savior bit, Christmas is another Christian holiday all tangled up with Pagan tradition, by the way). It's got the unbridled gluttony and its own Charlie Brown special (The Great Pumpkin, if you've been living under a rock). No presents, but I think Halloween offers a much more worthwhile gift: the opportunity to be whoever I choose for a day. I'm obviously not the only one that loves Halloween for this reason. It's become an annual excuse for all us sexually repressed females to get in touch with our inner trash-tastic whore. Other than 8th grade -- when Natalie and I eschewed the norm of using "slutty" as an adjective to a generic profession and literally went as SLUTS (despite our best efforts we looked less like hookers and more like Fly Girls) -- I've always been into more ethereally pretty mythical/magical personas. Fairy, witch, Greek goddess, vampire...

Which brings me to the main reason why I love Halloween: I believe in magic.

And, literally, magic is in my blood. My family has a moderate history of experience with phenomena. Things like some great-great-great-great etc uncle being able to stop horses in their tracks (yeah, that far back) or make them charge off using his mind. And another ancestor on her deathbed seeing a black cat that no one else could see right before she passed. And my grandmother's prophetic dreams of a litter of kittens that they actually found hidden in a shed in the backyard and of a plane crash that was announced on the news the next day. And my grandfather, whose best friend appeared to him at his mechanic shop at the exact moment he was pronounced dead in a hospital across town. Given that my grandparents are two of the most staid, traditional survived-the-depression Germans you'll ever meet, the fact that they tell these stories with amused reverence and believe in their significance is pretty cool.

As for me, I've always had a strong affinity for the occult, the idea of a supernatural world beyond our own. I believe in reincarnation, psychic abilities, and obviously, inexplicable phenomena... That's why I've never been a fan of horror movies. Slasher flicks, eh, I just think they're stupid and unnecessary. Movies like Poltergeist, The Shining, The Exorcist... they scare the crap out of me, because I believe in their possibility. By the same token, I believe that Halloween is a day for celebrating the possibility of another world existing alongside our own. There's never been a Halloween morning when I haven't stepped outside with a feeling of giddy anticipation. It sounds crazy, but I always can feel a stirring in the air and it puts a swagger in my step. It's like, I finally feel that I'm part of something bigger, something beyond and my part is just as important as everyone else's. It feels like a celebration day for MY people. Magical people. People who believe that anything is possible.

Who knows, maybe I was a Druid in a past life?

Just for fun...

So clearly I have issues with writing this blog in an easy, off-the-cuff, DAILY manner. As you can see, I seem to approach my entries more like little projects... like an essay with a beginning, middle and end that has to convey every side of an argument. I've come to the conclusion this is because I just don't write enough. I'm not a steadily recycling fountain. I'm a backed up faucet. So when I do write, I end up spewing these long-winded epic explorations that must end with a tidy, morally insightful bow. Not to mention it takes me all day. Because I'm constantly editing my words as I type them. No wonder I give up before I even start! It's exhausting. I exhaust myself. Blogs are supposed to be commentaries on life or streams of consciousness or some such fusion of interesting, glib "this is what happened today" diary entries. I'm apparently not grasping the concept. Even something as simple as this my mind turns into something complicated.

What I have noticed is that I'm quite good with pithy one liners on Facebook... Passing observation like that is something I can easily commit to. Why can't status/comment/wall writing be a profession? I'd be a millionaire! And you remember those ABOUT ME surveys that people would email to 10 other people and ask for them to send back and to 10 more and then when Myspace and Facebook were born would post them on their profiles? Those, too, only require short, encapsulated bits of genius. I have always LOVED filling them out. Y'know... that much I can handle.

Funny coincidence... both Jax and DaVida have recently blogged lists of their own. Naturally, I'm enticed to follow suit. (I just noticed... I'm writing as if my audience is more than just 3 people...) I'll start with the one that (hopefully) won't take me all day...

SOME THINGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY

lazy, hazy summer days by the pool
warm pubs on cold nights
cloudy weather
airports
Galaxy Quest
PG Tips & soy milk
walking in New York City
DANCING... anytime, anywhere
singing passionately at the top of my lungs
driving Mulholland
sunroofs
the first feel of crisp Fall air
a clean home
getting all dolled up
While You Were Sleeping
kitties
when my eye for talent is proven
the Metro / the Subway
sidewalk cafes
big, yummy salads
French romantic comedies
NUTELLA
black & white photography
afternoon movie & lunch dates with Mom
Halloween
TV that makes me laugh, cry, identify
good friends, good food, good wine
toddlers
climbing into bed with freshly washed sheets
Love Actually at 6am on Christmas morning
British accents
realizing i was one step ahead of a trend
the patio at Dominick's
toasted almonds
getting stoned and going to see stoner comedies
live audience sitcom tape nights
Sunday lunches with my grandparents
getting lost in a good young adult fantasy novel
Dlisted.com
bitchy queen humor
the word "cunt"
finding out at the register that something costs even less than its sale price
discovering new music
Starbucks
high heels & jeans
sarcasm
when things work out perfectly
reconnecting with old friends
"Flight attendants, prepare for take-off..."
staring out windows
moments of anticipation
experiencing synchronicity
creating pretty things
imagining the future
liking what i see in the mirror
feeling validated
feeling connected
feeling inspired
feeling like a badass
feeling like THE PRIZE.

Something I'll Never Understand...

but have always been fascinated with: MOTIVATION.

Why do people do the things they do?

I like to think I have an innate perception, or intuition, for sussing out people's motivations. Y'know, all the little bits and pieces I learn about a person -- where they grew up, what their parents are like, ex-boyfriends, past jobs, tragedies and triumphs -- get catalogued into my brain and form a sort of open ended equation until one day I go, "Oh, I get it. That's why..." Kind of like the way Sylar on HEROES can look at the innards of a watch and understand what makes it tick. Except, the screws and dials of a person aren't tangible things you can actually see. Though based on facts, they only ever add up to a theoretical conclusion. And the conclusion is always a very personal thing. So, for instance, you can insist that you know the exact reasons why a guy won't commit but he'll never admit that you're right. Trust me, it's no fun being a know-it-all without the hard proof to back yourself up.

Equally frustrating is knowing, logically, the roots of your OWN motivations and still not understanding them. Exhibit A: ME. I don't get myself. Most of the time I think I get myself, but sometimes I'll turn around and, in hindsight, realize I had pulled the wool over my eyes once again. Hindsight, as they say, is 20/20. This is so true. It's not until after the fact that I can objectively see why I've done the things that I've done. I understand my past self perfectly. And I try to apply the same equation of adding the bits and pieces of my history to conclude who I am in this moment... I'm getting better at it. The gap between "Now" and "What the fuck was I thinking?" is shortening. But a clear understanding of my mercurial present self is ever elusive. I suppose it's a lifelong equation, then.

So, instead of writing about Something I Wrote or Did That I No Longer Understand (numero 3 on the memoir assignment list)... here are a few things that -- while I wish I had done differently -- I fully understand:

1. I ate a diet consisting 95% of Jelly Beans, Sweet Tarts and McDonald's ice cream cones for 75% of my senior year in high school. WHY?

This one at first seemed obvious. Walking down 3rd St. Promenade with my friend Natalie, I noticed 2 cute boys headed in our direction and checking us out. As they came into earshot, I heard one of them say, "Not her, the skinny one." By no means was I "the fat one." And it's possible he'd just said something mean about "the skinny one." But this moment was the catalyst. Years later, I realized it was more than that. One common denominator with anorexics is the need to have control over something in their life. Around that time, I was slammed by two events that I had absolutely no control over: My mom and I lost our house and had to move in with my grandparents. Then, five weeks into the semester, I was transferred out of my Algebra class -- in which I had the highest grade ever in my life for math -- into a class with a teacher who was notorious for failing students AND in the ensuing parent-counselor-principal meeting, I was basically told point blank by the principal that he couldn't give 2 shits about me. SO... I decided to control what seemed to be the only thing that I could -- the food that did or didn't go into my mouth.

2. I chose not to "walk" at my high school graduation. WHY?

See above. There was no way in hell I would've been able to shake the principal's hand and not spit on his shoes.

3. I dated a future Death Row convict who had Fidel tattooed in vato font on his arm. Yeah, seriously. WHY?

He was the sales manager at LA Fitness. He wore Hugo Boss to work. He was a charmer. I was 19. He was older and seemed sophisticated (he wasn't). I'd just had a string of boyfriends and I guess I felt like I needed to keep it up. This was the guy that ruined me for all future relationships. I'd like to say I learned my lesson... but my bad choices in men are a recurring theme. And could've been the main subject of this entry!

So, okay, I'm going to be lazy and make that the subject. Because there are a few others that I've looked back and thought: Really, Bianca? Really? The main ones being:

4. Chad aka The Gay. WHY? He looked like Hayden Christensen. He was kinda funny. And I hadn't had a boyfriend and/or sex for 2 1/2 years. Turned out he had weird preoccupations with Muppets and Disney movies and Hedwig & the Angry Inch and celebrities and compulsive lying. Everyone that met him thought he was gay. Hence the name.

5. Craig aka The Nottie aka The Loser. My most recent loss of sense. He was 34. And still an assistant with no real ambition. He was also: not cute, not funny, not interesting, borderline alcoholic, a heavy breather and had a little peen with saggy balls. Pretty much the only thing he had going for him was a black BMW. After dating a guy with no car, that was a plus. Look, I'll be honest, I was NOT attracted to him. But he seemed nice (at first). It was obvious he liked me. I figured... a guy like him would WORSHIP a girl like me. I needed that. I ignored all the red flags in pursuit of just being wanted and brainwashed myself into believing that I actually wanted to be with him.

Being wanted. I've done some things (okay, slept with some guys) that I've looked back on and wondered WHY? I'm certain it's some unresolved daddy issue. I am not a slut. That's not me. But I like to feel wanted. I want to feel loved. Yet I'm always flabbergasted when I realize I've tricked myself into caring about someone totally unworthy. I'll never understand how it happens. But at least I understand why. Now the matter of being able to recognize it before it happens again...