Movie Night Mix, Part I of III

Every year for Christmas, my family does a gift exchange where we draw one name from a hat and shop for that person (my family is HUGE so this system is a must). Last year, I got one of my brothers who is very difficult to shop for because he has everything. I racked my brain for an idea, then had a stroke of genius. A Movie Night Kit! I bought him Scott Pilgrim vs. The World and Inception, then added in popcorn and Raisinettes (the store was out of Red Vines, otherwise I would've added that in, too) and topped it all off with an epic mix CD of songs from a myriad of different movies. I scoured my favorite movies for more unorthodox music choices instead of just putting cliched movie songs like "My Heart Will Go On" on there. I love how this mix turned out, so I thought I'd share it. And if you're ever stumped about what to get someone, the movie night thing is a fun, low-stress idea. :)


KATY'S EPIC MOVIE MIX, PART I of III

Ready for Christmas

I remember my mother's collection of Christmas music boxes. My favorite was a ceramic house with a tiny ceramic Santa that would pop in and out of the chimney. I loved putting my finger on his little hat, hearing my Mom's voice saying lovingly but firmly, "Donnnnn't break it, Katy Callie!"

Christmas at the Callie house. For years, we invited the Finn and Kniaz families over to our house on Christmas Eve. Both of them were big families like ours, and the house was filled to the brim with people. Mom would make enough manicotti for an army. We all knew not to mess with her that day while she was cooking! I always felt so excited for this party; I loved dressing up and eating and hearing everyone talk. For years I felt too old to play with the little kids and too young to hobnob with the adults, so I just kind of floated around, listening in on conversations. I always wanted to join in, but never knew what to say. But that was okay. I've always enjoyed being along around large groups of people, listening intently to all their stories.

On Christmas Day, my family would gather around the nativity in the foyer while my Dad, a staunch Catholic, read bible verses aloud. Then we would spend hours opening gifts, drinking coffee, and enjoying each others company. We'd go to church, then open our stockings. We would play with our new toys. Then we would go over to the Finn's house for an early dinner.

Warm, sugar-coated days and nights spent with family and friends.

A Deep-Fried Korean Thanksgiving

I AM THANKFUL FOR...

1. MY KITTY! <3
2. Support from my parents.
3. My lovely little apartment.
4. My amazing friends near and far.
5. The School of Dance community at ASU. 6. My DUCK & COVER dancers.
7. My big famiglia.
8. Shows like Parks & Rec for keeping me smiling.
9. My doctors who have helped me out over the past couple of years.
10. Feeling like I have things to look forward to in the future--my transition project, graduating, moving to New York, etc.




Happy Thanksgiving!

Early Morning Updates

• I had the chance to talk with Claudia La Rocco just before her ASU residency ended. We met up on campus for a bit and I got to pick her brain. I think it went pretty well...she told me a lot about the goings-on of a journalist, and gave me some great advice, insight and ideas. I was really nervous, though, and feel like I came off as an awkward bumbling idiot. It's like I spend so much time alone that I forget how to talk to people. Or something. But I suppose feeling awkward but still getting good perspective is better than not contacting her at all.
  
• I participated in a fabulous Flash Mob recently, and it was a blast. It was so nice to see lovely people like Kathryn and Cat who I rarely get to meet up with. (That should change, because they're awesome.) It was also great to be there for everyone, even if I didn't personally know the woman who the flash mob was commemorating.
  
• I never really followed up on the hospitalization situation, mostly because it was a disaster. And a disaster that absolutely could have been prevented. Basically, without going into details since it's a private family thing, being hospitalized didn't happen. It should have, but didn't. And I wish I could go back in time and just NOT consider it as an option. It was hard enough to make that decision, and even harder to actually prepare for and to tell people it was going to happen. I told my teachers, withdrew from classes, stocked up on cat food and litter for Ragnar and was about to ask my roommate if he could take care of him while I was gone, and started packing. None of which was easy or pleasant, especially running on so little energy and an inescapable feeling of wanting to die. For things to play out the way that they did after all that, I'm just humiliated. Now, I'm back to struggling to make and get to doctors appointments, being put on different meds and blah blah blah. Same shit, different day. As mentioned in an earlier post, one of the medications I'm on is more or less an upper to keep me awake. And it has kept me awake, but hasn't changed my mood. So I still feel like shit, only now I can't sleep through it.
  
• I'm doing a blogger meetup thing today. I'm really nervous about it because I hate meeting new people, and the thought of having to socialize/make conversation for an entire day makes me anxious as all hell. I don't really know why I'm doing it. I guess to talk about blogging? See what various AZ bloggers are like in person? I don't know. We're doing a lot of poking around downtown Phoenix, though, and I've been wanting to familiarize myself with that area more. So that's good? I meant to get plenty of sleep tonight since I'm nervous about the meetup and need time to get ready for it in the morning, buuuut despite being tired, I've been too nervous to allow myself to sleep. Agh. We'll see how it goes.

Wow.

Family.....I don't even know. My parents think they understand what's going on with me and how to deal with it, and they don't. Just the opposite, in fact. So I need to find the courage to break through my ridiculous shame complexes and ask others for help, like my siblings and close friends. I wish I could elaborate a little more on what has been going on this week, but it doesn't feel right. I think a movie night involving black label Johnnie Walker and/or cupcakes may be in order when I get back to Mesa. Or maybe Johnnie Walker cupcakes. Do they make those?

Luke: Didn't that Tolstoy guy say something about families?
Lorelai: Probably.
Luke: It was some famous thing he said, something like 'All families are unhappy,' or happy on the surface, or unhappy in the same way.
Lorelai: Sounds a little incomplete.
Luke: Well, maybe he couldn't finish the thought because he was too busy dealing with his stinking family!
Lorelai: Do the Hallmark people know about you? Because you're a natural.
--Gilmore Girls #4.12: "A Family Matter"

Stalemate

I am so damned exhausted right now, physically and mentally, that I can only give headlines about this ridiculous week:

• The sleep study was a disaster. Mostly because...I couldn't fucking sleep. And I'm pretty sure it was 99% my fault. The other 1% having to do with the five million wires stuck to my face, neck, chest, legs, and fingers. Basically, it was an epic FAIL. Waste of my time, the clinic's time, and my parents' money. It'll take a week or so to get the results, but I doubt they gleaned anything from my 30 minutes of being half-asleep and 5 1/2 hours of trying in vain to fall asleep for real. (And I also hate the word "glean." The fact that I willingly used it in a sentence should say something about how sour I feel about all this.)
• I thought that making and accepting the decision to be hospitalized was going to be the difficult part. It's not. It turns out that the process of trying to find the right facility and be admitted has been the most frustrating, exhausting, and ridiculously taxing experience of my life. Mostly because my parents and I can't get on the same page about anything. And stupid family problems that we've been dealing with for years have decided to rear their ugly heads at the WORST possible time. I wish I could get into the specifics, but it really wouldn't be appropriate to blog that openly about these family issues. Basically, I feel like we're at a stalemate. Nothing is getting done. And I'm so frustrated that I feel like tearing my hear out.
• I just want to sleep. All the time.
• The ONE positive thing about this week is that my hair has finally decided not to be greasy and disgusting anymore. At least for the time being. I don't know what the deal was, but I'm glad that I don't look like a ragamuffin anymore.

Ugh, never again.
(Except I probably will have to get another stupid sleep study done soon. Especially if they suspect narcolepsy.) (Echhhhdlskgjaglkjmads.)

Things

GOOD:

• Spent a couple hours with my family in Tucson yesterday to celebrate my Adoption Day (which is actually the 15th, but I'll be out of town). Played Scrabble and my Mom sent me back with a pumpkin pie. Om nom nom. She also got me a Disney Princess greeting card that plays "A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes." 'Cause I'm five years old, for real.
• Went shopping at Old Navy today because I desperately needed some new jeans. Turns out they were still having massive clearance sales, and I ended up getting a quite few pairs of jeans at deliciously low prices. Including a pair of skinny jeans! And they all look really good on me, which rarely happens. Scorrrre.
• My Dad called earlier to ask me to send him some ASU tuition statements for tax stuff. The conversation wasn't all strained and awkward and felt a little more natural. I hope things will continue to get a little better between us.
• My doctors appointment the other day went pretty well. He took a billion vials of blood to run a bunch of different tests on and ordered a sleep study, which I'll probably do in the next few weeks. Anxiously awaiting results.
• Derek is coming to visit AZ tomorrow! I haven't seen him in at least a year so I'm excited to catch up.

CRAPPY:

• I'm exhausted and scary depressed ALL. THE. TIME. I was so tired the other night that I barely remember being at Marissa's epic Harry Potter birthday party. The one thing I do remember is being so tired that I had trouble talking to people because I couldn't think of the right words to use. Later in the evening, I went into my room to check something on my laptop, dozed off, and drifted awake at like 6 AM. My life.
• My hair is ridiculous. Every time I've washed it since getting it cut, it just turns out greasy and disgusting. I try to only use a tiny bit of shampoo/conditioner, but still can't wash all of it out. Or something. It's driving me insane. I'm also pulling large clumps out of it. Awesome.

NOT SURE HOW I FEEL:

• Going to New York on Thursday to visit Steve. I feel like I really need to see him to get some closure, so I can figure out how to be friends. But I guess I'm kind of dreading it at the same time. I really just have no idea how to do this.
• School starts next week, and I don't know if I can actually handle it. I'm scared. And don't feel at all rested or refreshed from Winter Break, just more exhausted.

The meek shall inherit the Earth!

One of the movies I've been looking forward to seeing this season is Morning Glory. I was worried that it wouldn't be as good as the trailer made it out to be, but OHMAGOD. I'm overjoyed to report that it was SO. DAMN. GOOD. It was hysterical and attention-grabbing and inspiring. I am officially obsessed with Rachel McAdams' character, Becky. She's my new hero. While she's ambitious and hard-working, she's also sort of meek and scattered and awkward. But manages to completely kick ass. She keeps people in line and commands respect, but not in a way that's expected...in that she's in charge but still meek and awkward at the same time. Which is pretty much exactly how I want to be. I honestly liked the movie so much that I almost saw it AGAIN after I got back to Mesa tonight. But ended up feeling pretty worn out from not sleeping well last night and dealing with complete a-holes on the freeway. Plus I desperately wanted to spend some quality time with my kitty. :) So maybe I'll see it again tomorrow instead! (Ooh, and as an added bonus, Patrick Wilson is only a tiny part of the movie. Which is delightful because I CAN'T STAND HIM.)

Being in Tucson for Thanksgiving was nice, but I'm really happy to be back here. It was so great to see my family, especially siblings I hadn't seen in awhile! (Even though I was stupidly antisocial and kind of felt like a deadbeat family member sometimes.) Ooh, and I went through my bookshelves and plucked out a whole bunch of books that I'd bought years ago but either never got around to reading or just gave up on them halfway through. I've been ravenously devouring books recently, and I'm excited to dive into all these. But despite all that, I'm so happy to be back in Mesa. I missed my big bed, the kitties, fast internet, midnight bowls of Cocoa Puffs, and...I don't know, just being HERE. With all my familiar things. And with FREEWAYS. I can't remember how I used to function without freeways. As much as I love Tucson, there's just no way I'd ever be able to move back. Even visits longer than two days feel like moving backward. And I really just want to move forward now.

Christine Triptych

(I wrote this earlier tonight. Eclipse was posted to give you some background if you need it.)

I)
One day when I was in elementary school, Christine took me out to buy a piñata for my upcoming birthday party. We went to Sonic for lunch. After we ordered, we waited and waited for nearly an hour but our food didn't come. I began to get silly and pushed the button, not thinking they could hear me. I jokingly said, "Look, BUSTER!! If you don't bring us our food right now, we're just gonna LEAVE!" Then we collapsed into laughter. Literally ten seconds later, a Sonic employee came running out the door to our car. He didn't say anything or apologize, just sheepishly handed us our burgers. I think about that every time I go to Sonic.

II)
Christine spoke Spanish. She taught me all the Spanish colors when I was really little. I could say them expertly. Rojo, azul, morado, blanco, naranja, negro, amarillo, rosa. I liked saying amarillo the most. She taught me other words, too. I speak six languages now.

III)
I remember spending the majority of my childhood driving around with Christine and Margie. I remember one time, I rolled down my window and smiled flirtatiously at high school boys in jeeps while the Gin Blossoms sang "Hey Jealousy" on the radio. I was obsessed with "Stay" by Lisa Loeb and "Brown Eyed Girl" by Van Morrison. I had dark brown eyes growing up and I thought he had written that song about me. My sisters had the songs on cassette tapes, and I would play them over and over again in the car. There was a button on the stereo of Christine's off-white 1991 Infiniti that would rewind the tape backward just one song. I would hit that button every time my songs ended. Loud music, laughter, a six year old fluttering her eyelashes at high school boys, my sisters asking "AGAIN?" in disbelief as I reached for the rewind button. Yes, again.

Eclipse

NOTE: This is a narrative I wrote in 2005 about my sister, Christine. I will occasionally reference her in my writing or entries, so here is background on who she is.

ECLIPSE

Usually reunions in the airport are a joyous event. There are hugs, laughs, stories of travel. But on one particular day, there was a family waiting for someone. They were all crying. The entrance of the person they were waiting for only brought on more tears. And they were not tears of happiness; they were tears of unexplainable grief.
* * * * * * * *
I was just a little girl, nine years old, playing marbles in my blue gingham-print dress at recess. I admired my fourth grade teacher because she always reminded me of Miss Honey from Matilda. I played on the playground; elaborations on the game of tag--giggling with my friends as each of us had a turn being “It.” Math lessons were a time for zoning out, for making elaborate designs with markers on the pages of my notebook. I realize now that there was nothing but happiness in the simplicity of my fourth grade life.

On the night of September 27th, 1996, there was a lunar eclipse. My older sister, Mary Beth, and I had spent most of the evening on the lawn outside of the planetarium. We looked up at the sky, feeling autumn in our hair. She dropped me back off at our house just in time to watch my favorite program at the time: The Tonight Show with Jay Leno. I put on my pajamas and flicked on the TV in my room; he was in the middle of his monologue. I sat down on the floor to watch, laughing with the audience whether I understood his jokes or not--doing so made me feel intellectual and adult like my six older siblings.

The phone rang.

I was used to these late night phone calls since my Dad is a pediatrician and almost always on call. I thought nothing of it.

I was highlighting things in the American Girl catalog for my Christmas list when my Dad came running down the hallway in a panic, wearing the same pinstripe pajamas that he’s worn for years. He woke up my mother, and I glanced out the open door, annoyed at the ruckus. I don’t remember exactly what he said to my Mom, but I know it ended with this, in a shaky tear-stained tone that I’d never heard out of him before:

“…Chrissy died…”

Chrissy. Christine. Christine Anne Callie. My second mother; my twenty-year-old sister. The only one who smoothed back my hair with her perfect fingernails, singing Tears in Heaven, Fields of Gold, or Under the Bridge off-key. The only one who would hold my hand at night when I awoke from a bad dream and was too scared to go back to sleep. She spoke nearly fluent Spanish and was spending her junior year at Colby College abroad in Salamanca, Spain. We found out later exactly what happened to her: she collapsed and died of cardiac arrhythmia. It didn’t make any sense--a healthy twenty-year-old’s lungs just randomly filling up with fluid--but that was the reality we had to face.

Three months before my American Girl reverie was interrupted with news of an unthinkable loss, I saw her for the last time, boarding her flight back to Spain at Tucson International Airport. I was the last person she touched before getting on the plane. After the flight attendants closed the heavy doors and the plane took off, I cried uncontrollably and couldn’t stop. When my Mom asked me what was wrong, I told the truth.

“She’s never coming back,” I sobbed.
“What are you talking about? Of course she’s coming back, don’t be silly.” My Mom told me. I wasn’t convinced. “Before you know it, she’ll be home for Christmas,” she continued.

Unfortunately, Chrissy never made it home for Christmas. And the calm voice of reason that tried to comfort me at the airport that day was now replaced with a painful sob that only a mother whose child has died could make.

One by one, the rest of our family showed up at our house. Albert, Trina, Mary Beth, John and his girlfriend Violette. Margie was beginning her freshman year at Holy Cross College in Massachusetts. She would fly home a few days later. That night is a blur of ad nauseam hugs, tears, frowns, cries of disbelief, horrible sobs whose sound I’ve repressed over the years. John didn’t want to believe it, and kept asking for an autopsy report. Violette held me as I stopped crying but entered a daze of grief and disbelief. My little brother, James, was only three at the time--he didn’t understand. The only thing that I remember vividly is my Mom’s futile attempts to talk to Chrissy’s host family, but the language barrier only created confusion. She would hysterically repeat broken atrocious mixtures of Spanish and English until she gave up. No one knew what was going to happen. All we knew was that our family had lost one member, and grief began to ravenously and mercilessly consume us whole.

The night of the funeral, Margie came and picked me up early from Girl Scouts. We were in the middle of a game, so I was angry to have to leave. Upon returning home, there was a flurry of activity--everyone was rushing, putting in earrings, drying their hair. I was told to put on a nice dress and comb my hair, and my Mom clasped a gold crucifix around my neck. I had no idea what was going on because no one told me that we were getting ready to attend Chrissy’s funeral. When they finally told me, I went downstairs by myself and danced to Sarah McLachlan’s Angel until it was time to go.

My heart nearly stopped upon entering the church--I don’t remember anyone ever explaining to me what a “viewing” was; that my sister would be in the room with us in an open casket made of bronze and surrounded by bouquets of flowers. I got more and more nervous as we approached her casket, and I barely recognized her. Her nose was crooked from when she collapsed on it, and her skin was deathly pale. I reached out, shaking, to touch the hand that once held mine, but I abruptly gasped and yanked it back when I felt her cold, waxy, stiff skin. Our family sat in the first few pews; I sat in my Mom’s lap. A single tear fell off my face and onto her hand. The evening was a slow haze of eulogizers and tacky songs, and the murmur of the ten Hail Mary’s--a Catholic funeral tradition.


Hail Mary, full of grace,
The Lord is with thee,
Blessed art thou among women
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb,
Jesus.
Holy Mary, mother of God,
Pray for us sinners,
Now and at the hour of our death.
Amen. 
I can honestly say that my family was never the same after Chrissy died. She’s not even “Chrissy” to me anymore, she’s “Christine.” Her room is thick with haunted silence, and I don’t like to go in there. Sure, we got over the grief eventually, but it was never the same. Oddly enough, this loss only strengthened my parents’ faith in God and Catholicism. I, on the other hand, wanted to sever all ties with the higher power that had taken my sister away. My faith in God has recovered a little since then, but not much. My Dad has never really recovered. He still cries at the mere sound of her name. I became, and still am, extremely bitter about it. I don’t like to reminisce, and I inwardly roll my eyes at his tears.

I’m pretty close with my siblings, but I’ve never shared a bond with any of them that was as close and deep as the bond between Christine and I. That’s probably why I’m so bitter about the whole thing--no one ever smoothed back my hair or sang to me like she did. That void has never truly been filled. Our family, I’ve grown to realize, is not defined by religion or customs or holiday traditions--we’re defined by Christine’s death, by that late night phone call from seven years ago.

I still flinch when the phone rings at night.