truthful|fictions

Waiting to wait

2012-01-12T12:37:00.001-08:00

this restaurant life is going to kill me.

the staff of chinatown before their shift, East Village, NYC

dollhouse dreamer

2012-01-04T15:03:00.000-08:00

desires, over time, will always begin to fade and evolve. my fear of my uncertain future "career path" has become the excitement for new possibilities. i've finally accepted the fact that i'm insatiable, about almost everything. i want more than ever. i want self-control, a house, children, to be surrounded by art, a husband, a car, to travel, to see shows, to keep loving, to save money, to spend money, a cat, a dog, answers to questions i haven't asked yet, to see another shooting star (or five), to entertain guests, to be alone, to be great. i want to keep wanting.

it's nice to have someone to plan something with.

photo via apartment therapy

the sound of old people sneezing

2011-12-11T10:42:00.001-08:00

this is it for me, right here.

metal, brick and wood

2011-11-25T12:35:00.001-08:00

Forgive my absence, readers, for I've been living off of the internet radar for a bit. I've been crafting and decorating like crazy and soon enough I'll be posting pictures of my newest creations and getting an online store set up (fingers crossed). I've had a lot of emotional challenges with my work lately, and I'll be setting on a new path in that area of my life soon enough, as well.

Last night was Thanksgiving. I spent it as I would any other day off... except that terrible feeling of loneliness crept up on me eventually, being that my family celebrated the holiday in Vermont. This year I was thankful for love: my ability to give, receive, and recognize it. Sometimes it looms around you for months, years, without ever being detected.

My blood family may been away, but I still got to spend time with people I love: Jessica my closest friend, confidant, and the BEST roommate ever and James the best partner in crime I could've ever asked for. This year is coming to a close and a finally feel like I'm ready to start an adventure worth writing about.

Anyway, enough with the sap, I just wanted to say hello. I miss... this.

xx.

if you build it, they will come.

2011-10-16T11:55:00.000-07:00

but if i print the postcards i make, will you buy them?

woolgathering

2011-09-29T10:47:00.000-07:00

so i'll sleep,

until i have another nightmare

then i'll laugh,

until i cry

i'll run away,

until i get to nowhere

try to live,

until i die.

.xx.

beak, brine and dirt

what a harbinger of good fortune

you have come to be

opened my window,

and still, you've only sat upon my sill.

there was only time for one demonstrative caress

•

to cleanse the sore, she advised

to rinse, with warm water and salt

eyes gazing up at the ceiling

head thrown back, gargling,

i saw your face over mine

and i spit

•

playing in the front lawn

of this, i have no recollection

i was never a child

only a small woman

waiting to get big.

.xx.

I had a dream about being in a very brightly lit version, of a very dark bar I know in my neighborhood. I put my hand behind my back and a shady character I know in real life but a very large bag of cocaine into it and disappeared. I chased after him and gave it back. He came to me again, did the same thing, and said "It's on me." As I looked around the room I noticed every one looked so filthy, playing with these bags of white, crystalized, death. In the dream it actually sparkled. When I noticed my purse vanished, as the crowd emptied into this white hallway, I ran after the group to find a young black and white couple trying to dig through it on the low, I pulled the straps and sheepishly begged them to let go. I fell backwards tugging, my chest collapsed and I was in my bed again.

How does one get anxiety attacks in their sleep?

crumpled sheets / mounded blankets

2011-09-27T22:00:00.000-07:00

Clinging to the edges of the sink, Elisa stood, head hanging, eyes closed. After mustering up the strength to let go of the porcelain, she splashes water on her face. The few vague memories she has of last night aren't really clicking. Who the fuck is that in my bed? The thought alone should have conjured up feelings of panic- but Elisa just shlepped out of the bathroom, down the corridor, back to her room. She's no stranger to strangers.

"Hey," she whispered, to the indistinguishable figure. She walked towards the mound of blankets, and a little louder this time, says "Hey... Umm you're going to have to get going okay? I need to leave for work."

The body stirred and Elisa bent over to pick up the jeans on the floor beside the mattress. As the change emptied from the pockets onto the hardwood floors, the stranger sat up. Elisa turned away, partially because she wasn't expecting such a bold presentation of nudity, but mostly because she wasn't expecting to see a woman.

"Oh... hey," Carolina muttered, tussling her pixie cut as she walked towards Elisa. "Thanks for letting me crash here. I was really messed up when we left the party last night."

The jingling of her belt buckle was not helping Elisa concentrate. What party? At the beginning of the night she'd been at a bar in Midtown with her co-workers, drinking heavily because... well, she was at a bar in Midtown with her coworkers. After that there was a stop at Mullane's on 10th and now she was handing a woman her pants.

"I'm sorry, you'll have to forgive me. I don't quite remember your name..."
"Carolina. We met at Jake's place last night... Oh God. Were you really drunk last night? I wouldn't have come with you." The pace at which she dressed quickened and Elisa sat down.

"Uh, yeah, no it's fine. You're fine. I'm sorry. I just don't really remember any of this. Jake is a buddy of mine from college... I knew he was having something at his house last night but," she chuckled, "I don't quite recall actually going. Did we..?" The idea of it all was stinging her thoughts like ice water through her veins.

"NO. Not at all! You offered me a spot to crash because I was a train wreck. I'm not a lesbian or anything, just a lady in need."

Elisa breathed a sigh of relief. This wasn't the first time she'd woken up with an unrecognizable face in her bed. The last occurrence had not gone nearly as smoothly; she almost wanted to invite Carolina out to lunch. Ten minutes later when the door clicked, Elisa listened to Carolina's footsteps descend the stairs and arched her back with her arms pressed against the door. Her lower back and hamstrings were thankful, her pounding head and pulsating innards felt quite the contrary.

How long will I be like this?

"I have to go work."

Creative Writing prompt: freewrite for three minutes on the cliche "ice water in her veins"

intentions to ease

2011-09-21T17:12:00.000-07:00

"Birds are so free. They can be on land and up there." She's pointing to the sky with her cigarette and her eyes are barely focusing. This is not the first time I've seen her this way, and I know it won't be my last- but I recognize her point.

"That's why I keep feathers around me all the time; I envy their ability. I want to be that free." In that moment I was bound to the bar, my drunk friend sitting at it and the prospects of spending some time with the gentleman serving us.

Three of the six recessed lights of my room have shut themselves off and he asks if this is a normal thing. I explain that the prior tenant probably installed the lights from the original, singular light source- straining it's power source, causing this to happen. It's somewhere late in the night and he's watching me from my recliner. I pull my typewriter to my bed and begin to record a bit of our conversation onto a postcard. When I finish, I pin it to my wall. I can tell he's comfortable here and it almost feels like he's the first. I have no expectations; I feel really beautiful in front of him. Actually, I've just felt really beautiful in general lately, which is probably how I landed myself in this moment at all.

.xx.

she keeps passing you by

2011-09-15T04:44:00.000-07:00

There was a hatch, in the kitchen that lead to your room. When your parents decided to move to Pennsylvania, you had a going away party. About 40 of your friends showed up, 45 actually, I remember counting. They smoked weed and I left the room. You had a friend in a TOOL hat out front, and I sat with him. We poured salt on a snail and I listened to "Hooker with a Penis" for the first time. I felt guilty about the snail and I loved the song. Somehow watching a directly harmful action turn into a directly harmful result stuck with me. I realize this now, but I'm sure I realized it then. When I went back inside I learned what a contact high was. It was always strange to reemerge from the hatch- I never knew if your mom would be there, your younger brother, your sister. We were in a different realm.

Before THE party, there were parties. The thong pinned to your walls. You were the cool kid. You drove. No one in Brooklyn drove. Forgive me for remembering you as though you don't live, but I don't know you anymore... so you must expect me to consider the you I knew as gone. The only seventeen year old with a sex tape. You were a legend beyond your own years. When it finally happened, you looked right at me and said, "you're not even here, are you?" You were right.

.xx.

It was briefly after September 11th. I was in the shower and I lifted my ponytail in the shower and cut it off. My phone rang, the one with Snake on it- a Nokia. My best friend was calling to tell me that she loved me. "Warning" was playing and it was the first time she'd told me that, also the first time I'd heard it (from someone I wasn't related to). Not that I hear that song often, but I think about that moment in my mother's bathtub every time I hear it. I think of her often, as I don't let go easily. In the video, which I haven't seen since that year, there's a girl who screams in silence and shatters glass. Was it near September 11th? Or did she just call to tell me that she loved me? I remembered the important part nonetheless. The love.

Rewatching the video, she didn't shatter the glass at all. Memories are really over fantasized/falsified versions of reality after all. (But I loved the hell out of her too). I'm flying to California to touch a face I love. It's not the smartest move to make- but as I read the other day, tell someone you love them... to their face.

Remember life, can be, will be, is, good.

to resist is to piss in the wind

2011-09-15T03:56:00.000-07:00

The problem with my work is that there is no stability. I have an elongated story to tell. I see things, I absorb them, and I want to tell the story again. I make the most immediate, organic art that I can. I collect because I see beauty in items and then I hope that I can make others see the beauty in those things as well. Everything I do is unfinished, and I hope it remains that way. I hope that I produce art that should be touched. I want everything to decay the way we do- art is not immortal.

I’m listening to Incubus. I can remember that moment in high school when they became important to me. The only possibility of a straight boy in my school had their CD, along with Hole. It reduced my anxiety. I can remember putting my head onto my desk and just listening. I actually have a memory of waiting outside of their hotel, and Jared Leto coming out and asking who we were waiting for… Cameron Diaz came out soon after and I walked over to her and told her that the “cameras did her no justice.” I got dizzy when DJ Kilmore came down the street. This all happened. So did all of the safety pins, stalking, and floor sitting. Teenagers will sit anywhere.

The sun is beyond up. I’m not done. I’m never done. The glue is drying though. That’s a good thing. There’s a moment, in that room of The Olde that I remember him saying, “Incubus is good, but it sucks that his band is growing as instrumentalists as he is a stagnant song writer.” …in more words or less, this is certainly not a quote (yet, it’s true). But we are all growing at the rate of stagnation. Balance.

(this is a collage I constructed tonight. It's a D&G lookbook and a book entitled "How to be a Woman" published by Hallmark.)

(i stapled books to my floor. i'm an artist. it's inconvenient... being an artist and having books stapled to the MIDDLE of my floor.)

Time is passing. And I keep being reminded to breathe.

xx.

(of COURSE i'm embarrassed of my interest in Incubus).

i always cry at endings

2011-09-14T02:34:00.000-07:00

i bought her cigarettes before i knew what they were i watched the ball drop year after year this time, I closed my eyes and made no resolutions.

words i looked up today

2011-09-12T09:18:00.000-07:00

[ethereal] adj. extremely delicate and light in a way that seems to perfect for this world
[ephemera] pl. noun things that exist or are used or enjoyed for a short time

someone is always losing

2011-09-12T07:48:00.000-07:00

I dropped my bags on the floor of my bedroom when I waltzed in the door last night. I opened all (four) of my windows and pulled out my comforter. I haven't been able to sleep in days- either because I wasn't at home or because my blankets were too light. I forgot how much I love being completely wrapped up in weighted warmth. My mother has always teased me for my desire to be in hot heavy wool blankets, but there's a reason "security" prefaces blanket. I feel really good.

Here are some things I want your eyes to enjoy:

(laundry day)

(my tool shed and clothing rack)

(my mom the hottie as me before me)

Remember kids, life is good.

n c c

2011-09-08T03:02:00.001-07:00

if i said the clicking
was calming
and that i wasn't a creep
would you bother to believe in me?

sometimes i'm a hippy

2011-09-08T02:54:00.000-07:00

It feels good to let go. I went to a small school just north of the Bronx called Purchase. All of my best friends are from Purchase; the people I bump into on the street are from Purchase. Besides my family and the 4 people I know from high school, everyone I know, I met in college. It was pouring tonight, but I dragged myself out to Sugarland for a drag show, hosted by a queen I loved... from Purchase. I didn't want to go. I'd already ordered a steak and a glass of pinot noir and was considering settling in for the night but Margaret was listed as our personal guest of honor for the evening. When she didn't flake I applied my social Calamine lotion and decided I could not either. Seeing her alone was worth the umbrellas and cab rides alone. Then they mentioned the no-pants-free-drinks-rule. There is an element of nudity that I greatly miss about Purchase. There was a certain potentially-sexual-sexuality-free-freedom that existed in our young youth that was brilliant and can not be fabricated. There was such a thing as free love. Actually, I suppose it was $50,000 worth of free love but that's neither here nor there... But tonight when I held onto the banisters of the upstairs lounge in my skivvies and boots, I was happy. My friends were happy, the strangers were happy, and there was so my love in the air. the fan clicks and i am missing you/us now.

2011-09-01T10:31:00.000-07:00

This was the second one:

[click to enlarge]When I made it I thought of Sable, whose affection towards rabbits is beyond me. I don't really care for their misconstrued personalities (most of them are evil!) but I enjoyed making this nonetheless. xx.

2011-09-01T00:58:00.000-07:00

There is a moment before you swim where you remember to breathe
Or not to
But the air breaks,
and momentarily we make a decision.
I found that the other day when i opened up my computer. I typed it before I passed out. I wish I knew what I was referring to; I'm sure I was having thoughts of drowning again. I keep tying this knots in the noose around my life and telling myself I'll be fine. I need to pick a side. I've been itching for days. I wish this were a metaphor for having some strong desire to do something but alas, it is not. I've just been itching. The skin on my torso, from the center all the way around my right side has been inflamed and irritated. I laid restless and paranoid for three nights as a result and had to constantly ice myself in public. It made me shaky, and nervous- at some point I was laying awake thinking of what could've bit me... what could've been currently biting me at that moment. I realize now it was not nature but a change of detergent causing me all of this stress. I'm happy it's not the dreaded bed-bugs. I hear those are expensive to deal with and always make people think you're dirty. I woke up this morning and took some Benadryl before a coffee date. Upon my arrival, she asked me what was wrong and I told her I was delirious. That has been our greeting the last 4 times I've seen her. I'm working on ceasing this cycle of delirium but working all of these late nights that turn into early mornings is making it tough. How do I get out?

[click to enlarge]
I collaged a few postcards tonight. This was the first- the hand written words repeatedly say "Isolation" with the definition of "isolated" in a box to the right. The typeface reads "You will need a killing bottle. Experienced [people] use cyanide, but this is a very dangerous poison. Beginners may use a jar in which a wad of cotton is dampened with carbon tetrachloride or ethyl acetate."
Science books from the 1950/60's are really my favorite things right now. This is from a chapter entitled "Collecting Things Outside" from The Book of Knowledge Book 18. I've watched 5 movies tonight (The War of the Roses, We Don't Live Here Anymore, XX/XY, She's the One and Reality Bites... only the first and the last were any good but isn't that always the case?) I pray something makes my eyelids heavy. Sleep. I miss you.

[it began with a dream]

2011-08-04T11:20:00.000-07:00

This is a synopsis of the dream I awoke from at 3:56 A.M. I proceeded to stay up writing things until almost 9 A.M. I haven't edited grammatical errors; this was typed on my iphone Notes application.

I just died in a dream I had. Gun shot to to head. The assailant- Chris Brown. I was on vacation with some people, one of them being Tobie. We were supposed to leave the night before but have extended our stay just one more night. We are leaving a party and I part ways with her to go to another one. I don't know how I get to this basketball court, but here I am, surrounded by chris brown and his cohorts. One shot to the head. I am immediately out of my body. He stands over me and shows me his privates, let's a blunt and says "you know what I'm smoke this shit and blow the smoke out ma ass" and puts his exposed ass over my face. Out of body I wonder why there is no blood. I pick up my duffle bag and begin to walk off. I'm (the ghost of me is) back at the party. But I see chris b leaving the basketball court and he says something about continuing his night and how its going to be full of cocaine. He asks me to do that hood thing to him (which is a move where I pull of hood down over his eyes while he does a line, something in the dream I recall doing for will smith but not while he's doing coke I have no idea why I do this for w smith). I see the gopaul twins from high school. They are talking about my body being removed and how the woman said "NOoo!!" in that crying way when she pulled the sheet up. I say "goodbye world" with a smile on my face grab my bags and get into a limo.
The driver is my mom. I tell her to take me home and mentally don't quite get why she's crying because I'm so happy to be dead. I assume home is 21st but it's probably heaven. As we pull off and she is crying I only worry that she's going to get into an accident because she's so distraught and I then kind of wish I weren't dead.

I wake up, feel uncomfortable in my empty house and wish I weren't alone.

"To dream that you die in your dream, symbolizes inner changes, transformation, self-discovery and positive development that is happening within you or your life. You are undergoing a transitional phase and are becoming more enlightened or spiritual. Although such a dream may bring about feelings of fear and anxiety, it is no cause for alarm as it is often considered a positive symbol. Dreams of experiencing your own death usually means that big changes are ahead for you. You are moving on to new beginnings and leaving the past behind. These changes does not necessarily imply a negative turn of events. Metaphorically, dying can be seen as an end or a termination to your old ways and habits. So, dying does not always mean a physical death, but an ending of something.

On a negative note, to dream that you die may represent involvement in deeply painful relationships or unhealthy, destructive behaviors. You may feeling depressed or feel strangled by a situation or person in your waking life. Perhaps your mind is preoccupied with someone who is terminally ill or dying. Alternatively, you may be trying to get out of some obligation, responsibility or other situation. You are desperately trying to escape from the demands of your daily life."
Dreammoods.com

the red-coat-ants are coming

2011-08-04T11:19:00.001-07:00

(An imaginative look at my future as an annoying housewife on my husband’s one night out. Read as a text message.)

To my Big Baby Bear,

I know you’re out with your friends, drinking beers and “shooting the shit,” but I already miss you. I’ve just had a nightmare and wish that you were home. When I got up to go to the bathroom, I put on a towel and realized that I probably should treat myself to one of those robes I’ve seen at Target. Maybe a silk one, as it is summer… but I suppose one of those plush terrycloth ones might be nice too. I always have enjoyed feeling cozy, not that I’m dropping any hints- I’ll get it myself. Well anyway, when I got into the bathroom I noticed an ant. It was not crawling into the trap near the candles. Disappointed I looked to the trap at my right and lo! They were running in and out as though it was the Blackout of 2011 and it was time to loot the Raid. When I say they were bringing home the proverbial bacon to unknowingly kill their entire families and friends, I mean it. I stooped down to watch but then I realized that it was gross and that I should probably report the news to you. I wondered what action might be happening in the kitchen traps, but decided not to look. In hindsight, I realized I should’ve looked when I got my water. Drats! I should check it out now. No-no, I’ll wait until you get home. It’s 3:53 A.M. Are you coming home soon? Maybe grab me a little ice cream, thanks. I’ll wait up- Maybe rum raisin tonight. Haagen-Daz.

Xoxo
Your little text machine
BabyCakes

the short story born of nothing

2011-08-04T11:19:00.000-07:00

lastly, i crafted this short story. none of the formatting is really the way it was in the Word Doc... but I have to get to work.

[you are a feminist / i am a misogynist]

It’s just before 4 A.M. and Taryn is lying awake again. She hasn’t listened to her mother. There is no bowl of water under her bed and she’s still having nightmares. What is that about anyway? Is that a part of Santaria? Like cracking an egg for bad spirits and negative energy, and placing it under the bed of the troubled and seeing it fried hard in the morning? Having recently seen it in a movie, she wondered.

Her hand wanders over to her phone, checking the usual sites as though someone has updated since she fell asleep at 1. This American Life is streaming an episode aptly titled “Break-Up,” which she reads as a command, and promptly hits play. Clips of Phil Collin’s “Against All Odds,” play in between the monologue of Starlee Kine telling the tale of her breakup. She’s lying on her back, but not staring at the ceiling. Taryn’s eyes dart around as her mind wanders off.

You’re the only one who knew me, at all…

Taryn didn’t cry for “them” when they broke up. She cried for her. It was about her, and she was okay with that. It was okay to be okay with that, right? She had explained to him, during one of the few times he laid on her bed, that she was on a pursuit of happiness. Through spending time with its other inhabitants, she’d discovered the “Chamber of Selfishness,” and it was where she needed to lay for a few moments. This is where she found herself now. Things needed to be about Taryn right now. But he knows that already, because everything was always about Taryn. When they were breaking up he made that very clear to her, as though it were news, but in fact it was just a reiteration of her previous statements.

She rolls onto her side and cradles her a pillow between her legs. It helps her back, but the pillowcases, though they’ve been washed several times, still irritate her skin. Ugh. He had such nice sheets. 4:36. “Do you ever think he’ll come back to me?” The contributor is on the line with Phil Collins. Taryn, jealous, chortles at the likelihood of her ever speaking to Phil Collins about a breakup. She thinks about the ‘Break-Up MEGAMIX” she made with her college roommate. “Against All Odds” was on it, but she can’t remember the other songs. Her roommate’s had been the more depressing half of the mix, as she had just been the dumpee. She remembered that too.

*********

I cried because I hoped that I wouldn’t be so unobservant of other people’s emotions in preservation of my own, forever. I hoped that I wouldn’t always be unstable and verbally unexpressive. I think all the time- I can’t shut the words off. But you know this already. I’m sure you think I’m full of shit, with the way you’re disregarding me with your eyes. In my silence, I haven’t turned them off, I swear I’ve only muted them.

There are 15 notebooks of Taryn’s muted thoughts on the shelf over her workstation. That one time, on her bed, he asked if he could look through the one she was showing him. “I’m only showing you this one page… you can’t see the rest.” It wasn’t just about the books. He was only going to see the surface; she’d never let him finish the chapter.

Well there was that one time, outside of work… I’d spent the entire day on the verge of tears because I thought he was upset with me. In fact, I knew he was upset with me. The way I screamed and cried, I never do that... That wasn’t me. Feliciano loved her. From the moment he saw her for the second time, he felt an emotion that was unsurpassed. He was absolutely enthralled when she walked into a room -never quite able to take his eyes off of her. She knew this though and she resented it. He bought her flowers when she was upset. He bought her flowers just because he was thinking about her. He thought about her a lot. Taryn, on the other hand, just thought a lot, about anything. Lately they were mostly about work, or creation, and sometimes about Feliciano. Nothing in particular held her attention, but she could find herself captivated with the most mundane of topics. Like pens. She picked one up.

The flowers were lovely, yes, thank you. I’d never had anyone do things like that. I never had anyone dote on me in that way. But I don’t really want that for myself, right now. I don’t want… to be made to feel special, I already feel special. I don’t want to be made to feel sexy, or pretty, or loved. I already feel those things. What I do want is to share myself with someone who is, yes, fascinated with me, but he himself, a fascination. I need to be inspired, not just an inspiration.

Or I suppose a healthy balance of both… but I’ve never known much about balance.

Maybe that should’ve been the dialogue? It hadn’t gone anything like that at all. She didn’t know how to be direct without being cold. She didn’t know how to ease into it, so she didn’t. She thought she might break his heart, but had tried it out anyway. She was sorry, but not quite sure of the reason. She thought he “loved” her too much, and when she was being completely honest, she’d tell him she didn’t know why he did. Was she sorry for that? He thought she had a really “fucked up” way of showing him that she loved him back. She understands the definitions of words well, but not their correlation to feelings. How can something as abstract as a feeling (love) have a definitive, correlating action? It’s wrong to expect people to display the same emotion in the same exact ways… or at least she thought. In her muted mind she knew that she would never be able to settle herself down with him, so she sat him down and set him free. In that time, that was her loving him. When she cried it was because she hoped he would someday see that.

Taryn lies in her Chamber of Selfishness, wondering about being IN love. It’s 6:12. She dozes off thinking. What ends first, being alone or the loneliness?

*********

She’s in her room hanging index cards of her newest favorite words, and as she gets to DEMONSTRATIVE, Feliciano is opening his mailbox. She hadn’t bothered writing her return address because there wouldn’t be anything else to say… and besides he would recognize her handwriting anyway. It read:

Me. Me. Me.

I’ve had this random quote in my head for months, “You know, the kind of person that starts every sentence with ‘I’?” I can vaguely recall it as being a part of a definition in an English class somewhere along the line. It was some sort of character flaw. I can’t seem to help myself. I’ve been trying, but if I’m working on self-expression, how else am I supposed to begin my statements?

Until I get this figured out:
Me. Me. Me.
I. I. I.
Maybe someday a You.
-and a few of Us.

I could tell you that you were never going to win, but you didn’t see it as a battle and I see Me as a war. Call me sad; I know you are but what am I.

tee hee. ha ha.

2011-08-03T19:32:00.000-07:00

it's funny,
they say,
the way one might lust over a man
the way he might divulge his feelings
only to follow it with "maybe someday"

isn't is funny.
a person may spend their entire life
producing words to fall on deafened ears
and upon death become the loudest of the heard

over time
truths, exposed in jest
an often occurrence
isn't very funny at all
and it seems your sense of humor
isn't so humane.

but isn't that funny?

inner outer monologues

2011-08-01T13:04:00.000-07:00

The only stream I’ve seen in months is the sewage water that flows through the subway. I wonder where it goes. I don’t stop pacing as I wait for the train because I fear the tiny mice I’ve spotted, crawling into my boots. I know I won’t be able to get that feeling out of my head, or off of my skin. I’d also feel the pain of my swollen left knee if I stop, so I don’t. The walk from my house to Williamsburg was a pleasant one, but it's wear is starting to show- especially with the rain. I’ve just attended a wonderful drag show and walked to Greenpoint. It’s 3:40 A.M. and the train is just arriving.

“Tell me about your life. What are your passions? And don’t tell me about your job, but when you get old and you’re on your death bed- what do you hope you’ve done?”

It rolls out my mouth the way it always does.

“I want to know that I’ve created a beautiful home, raised an amazing family and created as much shit as possible. I am a creator of things.”

“Well can I get an AMEN!” He held my hand when he said this. I had moved closer to him in the first place because I wanted to get a better look at him. I wanted to tell him that he was beautiful. I noticed him when he came in from smoking a cigarette, and here he stood smoking again. I touched his jaw-line as I told him that I wanted his face. I fingered his lips when he sang me praises. It would’ve been nice to kiss him on that red-lit patio. Just because.

It was easy to approach him. When the fear of rejection is removed from the equation, it’s easy to open a conversation to anyone about anything. Knowing… well assuming, his sexuality allowed me to expose my fleeting desire for him. The lack of sexual attraction released the crippling sexual tension and, simultaneously, an alluring sexual energy.

This is why I love being around gay men.

On a very basic level I feel very connected to gay men, when we’re all in a nightclub. (Stereo)typically, the men I’m with are all eyeing every other man with or without intentions for a pit stop in an alley way on the way home, and so am I. We all want to dance; we all want to be fierce and beautiful. The testosterone awakens the instinctual desire to pounce and it becomes okay to be more forceful, more direct, and honest. Leaving the club, I want to be more like a gay man. I think we- well I, could learn a thing or two from those queens.

Actually, gay or otherwise, those are all just stereotypical male bar/club/mating tendencies. Harumph.

P.S. I gave birth to Ms. Maturna T. Bear tonight. She might be amazing.

2011-07-13T11:26:00.000-07:00

I don't like to think that I live to make people's lives a nightmare, but this experience at Heartland Brewery in Union Sq. was awful. The manager there was terribly rude and did not give a shit about customer retention. Anyway here's the letter I wrote to their corporate office.

Hello,

I hope this message is directed to the proper person, as I received your email address from the website- I dined at your Union Square location yesterday and had a pretty terrible experience when dealing with the Manager, Drew (I believe that is his name, bald white male). We were seated at about 6:50 P.M. At 7:20 our drink order, along with water finally arrived. It was 90º F out that particular evening, I was really disappointed to not have had water by 10 minutes after sitting. Once food arrived I excused myself to talk to the manager. Upon approaching him I was greeted with "Back and on the right." Not a hello, but the bathroom directions. Awesome. I really just wanted to know why service was so slow. I also work in the service industry, so if they were understaffed that particular evening I understand- it's really not the server's fault, but management's for not doing the scheduling properly or other staff member's who called out. But I did expect some sort of compensation from the manager. Instead I received a confrontational attitude and remarks like, "We had a party of 100 up here. He was taking care of both sections" and "Well if you don't want me to get the server in trouble (which I didn't) what do you want me to do? Do you want something for free? (which I did)" I suggested a free round, or maybe to remove an appetizer from our check, which was over $400. He said he couldn't do that. So I walked away. Speaking to him was more infuriating than the service. What is the point of having a manager that is not backing their staff and not pleasant with customers? Why was ONE server taking care of a party of 100 upstairs and a section downstairs?

I went back to my table and got the check. The server asked if everything was okay with me and I told him no. Drew managed to figure out how to deduct 10% of the check which a nice gesture, and appreciated. His attitude towards me however, was not. He needs to learn how to turn on a smile, even if it's a fake one: Customer satisfaction is his job.

Thank you,

Atiya Jones

2011-07-10T00:13:00.000-07:00

i'm finally going to let myself cry about it.

22s 12s

2011-06-28T00:13:00.000-07:00

I finally took a leap and went to Ikea today. I had a 4 item list and was determined to stick to it. Unfortunately, when you venture to the ol' yeller 'n blue with friends whom are ill-prepared to waltz into the mecca, you tend to stray. I went for fabric to construct curtains, curtain rods, a vase and a drawer unit.

I left with a fabric in a print not of my intentional purchase, a hacksaw (which broke upon first stroke), S-hooks (i needed them for months), new sheets, shams (in more ways than one) pinking sheers and curtain rods that are tremendously too large. I have to go back tomorrow... or buy a new hacksaw at the HD and just forget about the $8. But all of this shopping made me realize how much I love the fact that I'm building a home-space. I finished one set of my curtains tonight and I can't wait to get home tomorrow to start sewing the other two panels. I love to create things, if only for the pleasure of knowing that I made something. There's something about being in my house alone that makes me realize all of it's/my potential. The more I wake up in my room, the more I can't wait to wake up in my room with new improvements.

I finally cleared my desk. I haven't sat at it, sewn at it, or typed at it since we moved in... That was January. Thank you for letting me borrow your chair Jess. I suppose now I officially need to buy/score (a high back vintage) one. I might be on a roll.

Earl Jones did his job by not doing his job at all.

2011-06-16T12:50:00.000-07:00

Like a turtle-heading-turd, I think I've taken my final literally dump in this Father's Day piece. For those of you reading that don't know me well, I haven't the best relationship with my father... or one at all really. I stopped talking to him when I was 10, 13, 16, and finally again last Christmas after he contacted me via Facebook. His contacting me was rather overwhelming; he'd been reading this blog and looking at my pictures of the ol' FB. He got the privilege to see who I've become, and even that small glimpse was too much (thus my profile is on the uber private business). If he doesn't catch this little ditty of a letter here, I've also sent it to him on the FB. Oh wait, I guess I deleted those messages... I guess this is my message in a bottle. I have got to get moving with my life, and there's nothing heavier than the weight of a Dead Beat Dad.

Dear Earl Jones

If I had something to say to you it would probably be this.
You owe me a lifetime of “sorry-s” that, quite frankly, I never want to hear.
Fly to New York, and bring some money,
You owe me a lifetime of that too.
Tell your mother I’m sorry she was too much of a coward
to continue a relationship with me
I never did forget about that herringbone necklace.
She promised me that.

I wonder about you often. Pains me to give you the pleasure to know.
In fact, your suffering is actually where this all stems from.
I never want you to know me. Ever. You actually have no right.
That, you brought down upon yourself far too long ago.
I on the other hand deserve some form of satisfaction.
The strands of your existence are strings I need cut
I fear I’ll never find the blade.

The effect of absence on those present lingers.
I don’t have normal relationships with men.
I don’t see a husband with my children, and me at my picket fence.
I’m a runner. And it’s you I thank for that.

I heard Father’s Day was coming around.
I wouldn’t know. But I’ll send my mother a card.
She’s done a wonderful job.

Now that’s most of that is off of my chest I’ll tell you this: I have a wonderful life. My mother, sisters, teachers, friends, and parents of my friends raised me well. I’ve never gone hungry. I’ve never been homeless. I don’t travel much, but I know that I will one day. I went to college. I lived in Los Angeles. I work in a restaurant, but I find my joys in writing, photography and consider myself an artist. I don’t miss you. Ever. I wonder about you, but I don’t miss you. I’m tired. I’m tired of feeling animosity towards you. I wonder why you didn’t fight harder when I sent you that letter as a ten year-old girl. I wonder why you let me push you away. You should’ve been a man. A father. Not a coward. For that I hated you, in my older age, I’m able to try to understand the overwhelming emotions that may have left you with. I’m happy that you didn’t die. I’m sure you’ve had sometime to wallow and think and the thought of that suffering brought me grave pleasures in the past. I’m done. I need to be happy. Unfortunately, as we are blood related, I believe you may need to also find some satisfaction in order for me to carry on. I hope you do. I want to be a better person in spite of the damage done.

I deserve that.

more.

2011-06-16T12:14:00.000-07:00

In my room I have four windows. Three lining one wall, a single one on the adjacent side (it's times when I get to use the word adjacent that I'm happy to have paid attention, sub-consciously, in math). The cross breeze effect caused by this is so calming. I need that right now. To be calm. To think. Alone. I've been listening to nothing but Gang Gang Dance today and I feel full. I always seem to feel full of something. When the wind stops blowing I feel stagnant and hot again. My mind becomes so clouded and I stop writing.

I keep thinking of all of these oxymorons. Temporary permanence keeps coming up. I can't stop writing it on things. Thinking about it. The mental trap of being a mature child. I'm having one of those days where I feel really trapped in my own mind, not that it's a bad thing... I just want to stay home and use my hands. I'd like to come home to a clean room. I'd like to come home. I'd like to look at my bank account and not want to cry, panic or laugh. I'm in one of those wishing moods. But to the contrary I'll work instead.

My room convinces me that it's about 10˚ cooler than it is outside. When I really think about how I feel, I become very frustrated and on the verge of tears. The tears that well up rush to my head and I get that feeling of drowning again. It disorients me a bit and I stop.

Here's a poem. Goodnight.

2011-05-26T00:06:00.000-07:00

The way the ants gather in my bathroom intrigues me
Staring, they blend into the black and white grid of tiles
Hunting for food that isn’t there
Their roaming seems so aimless,
But from what I understand of their nature
There is no such thing as misdirection.
I’m surprised to see them so lost
Happy to see them
Instead
Raid.
Thinking of the smell at all makes my stomach turn
And returns childhood memories.
Insects determining a family income
Just. Like. That.
Why is it so, that roaches come, where ants don’t go?

invisible.

2011-05-19T11:18:00.000-07:00

There's a lot going on out there tonight. I walk right past it all. No eye contact. No friendly smiles. I don't want the smoking bar patrons to know I'm jealous. They already know I'm uninvited, isn't that enough?

"I'm not smoking for a week," I tell myself. I know I'm lying, but I at least am not going to buy a pack until Tuesday. Make money to spend money. I keep walking. Heels. I am surrounded by heels.

It's Sunday and I'm sure all of these people are Industry folks. Music, photography, publishing... the only types out on a Sunday, partying like it's a Friday. Looking for something else to do at 1 A.M. "Industry" has such a connotation in this city. Reminds me of "actress" in L.A.

Staring at a drink-board, I take in the range of beverages: Coffees, teas, beers and liquors. Immediately, I consider the beers. I drink too much. But I can't live enough. I get tea. I keep walking.

if i could i would

2011-05-08T21:27:00.001-07:00

When I stand in the mirror and twirl my wet strands of hair into ringlets, I can’t help but think of you. Even when my sense of humor comes across as bizarre, I know that it’s just you. I see little girls fall, scrape their knees, and I think of you when I tell them that they’ll be all right, to stop crying and get up again. You taught me that. I can’t thank you enough. There isn’t enough biology to explain the way that you made me, really. I can’t really bring myself to celebrate Mother’s day because every moment of my life I appreciate you.
I think about you when I put on blush- I see myself playing with your make-up brushes and you telling me how nice it feels.
I tweeze my eyebrows and I see Jade, 16 sitting in the kitchen and you telling her that it doesn’t hurt… that you have to go against the growth of the strands.
I try on boots and I wish that my feet were just a little smaller- to have the intricate lace-ups you had when I was little (black school-teacher boots, I considered them to be).
Though he may stand 6’ 1” I like to think I got my long legs from you. Even at your height, you stand so tall.
I could go on.
I get it from you.
Everything.
I don’t really have the guts to acknowledge Mother’s Day just once because I need to spread it out.
My love for you is overwhelming.

Happy Belated Mother’s Day.

the wall.

2011-05-05T23:49:00.000-07:00

It's finally happened. I've reached the point at which I need to run. I've wondered for sometime now how people have lasted for long at my job. Years. Years, upon years.

I recalled a time when I felt pressured by my family to do great things, quickly. Someone was always forcing the idea of an early death on me (my mom); I felt as though I needed to succeed as soon as possible: Before time was up. I've managed to make time stop. I've at least managed to fool myself into believing in this theory. I have tomorrow. I have no rush.

I love my job.

I feel such genuine pleasure in hearing someone say that they can "tell that [I] love [my] job." Hospitality is a forte of mine; I've always wanted to be a housewife. Yet unfortunately I think/feel/know that I'm meant to be more than that. I actually have to DO something. People keep asking me what my dream job is. I never want to work again.

I want to be a professional hobbyist and mother.

But I suppose I owe the world one good trick in the meantime.

so many reasons I can't get a job.

2011-05-04T14:50:00.000-07:00

As I've done in the past, I've decided to post another cover letter. I actually am thinking about writing them just for fun, and for your eyes. This one was for VICE. I thought I was going to lose it last week and subsequently quit my job so I started a hunt. Unfortunately my flowery tactics sometimes override my sense of professionalism... but I can't/won't change that (unless there's a lot of money involved).

To Whom It May Concern:

My name is ___________ and I’m writing in regards to your open position for Office Assistant / Receptionist. I haven’t set foot in the VICE offices since the spring of 2008 when my college internship with Virtue Worldwide came to a close. I worked under Hosi S_______, Ciel H_______ and T_______ M_______ as a project assistant. During this time I gained experience in project development, brand research, building and dissecting press-kits, in addition to the odd jobs required of my position. At the time we were working with EDUN Live, RockBand, and MTV (to name a few). I was learning so much, meeting so many people, accomplishing team goals… And then it all stopped.

After my internship ended, I graduated college, moved to Clinton Hill and got a few jobs in retail and restaurants. I tried my luck in Los Angeles (and came right back). I’m currently working at Madiba Restaurant in Fort Greene, which seats a maximum of just over 150. Being personable, organized, meticulous, and level headed is how I make money five nights a week. I spent countless Virtue-intern hours printing shipping labels. The pleasure I get from keeping other people’s lives in order might baffle Freud. I take pride in everything I do, from photocopying to photography. I’m qualified to be your Office Assistant, but most importantly, I miss the energy and attitude of VICE.

I’m trying to keep this cover letter from delving into the realm of a romantic penning, but that’s kind of how I see my work-life: as a committed relationship. I know it’s been a while, but can we have some coffee and catch up?

Attached you’ll find a copy of my resume, which also includes my contact information. My current income is approximately $xxxxx a year, and I am interested in starting with-in the upcoming months.

Thank you for your time-

Freewrite #5

2011-05-02T10:52:00.000-07:00

I didn't want to have the keys to his place, nor do I think he was completely ready to make that commitment. When I locked up with his spare I walked into the bodega on the corner. I'm always so thirsty in the morning.

SmartWater.

In Brooklyn, there's a bodega on every other corner. You'll find yours. I prefer for mine to have a decent beer selection, with a late night walk-up window that I can see-thru and doesn't feel like a robbery waiting to happen. In time the deli clerk will know your sandwich. His 12 year old son at the register will know your smokes. They'll see your slippers and your heels. Bodega men watch girls become women, boys become men and certain people disappear.

"I'm sure this is going to seem really strange, but may I leave these with you? My... friend will be in to pick them up later..." The keys had imprinted my palms, as I'd clenched my fist on the walk over.

My friend? Are we friends? I mean of course we're friends but, "friends?" I looked back up and his hand was extended. I placed them on the counter next to his hand. My mind was somewhere else. Maybe with Him.

And so it began. The pick-up spot.

When I got off work late he dropped them off there for me. Tali never asked me any questions. Actually he never really said much to me anymore. Our relationship had become a series of six packs, smirks, smiles and SmartWater.

We still never talked about what we were doing with each other. I left my panties on the bathroom floor. My favorite juice was in fridge, soup in cupboards, and snacks in the pantry. I had stopped wearing socks in front of him. It was a big deal.

On my way home, well not home, but I guess it was starting to feel that way- I picked up some unwinding wine and headed to Tali's.

"They're not here," he said as soon as I walked in. He wasn't one for jest; I pulled out my phone. He said we needed to talk. I told Tali goodnight, but I didn't promise that I'd see him in the morning. I might only be seeing myself by that time.

His apartment was a fourth floor walk-up and when I approached the building, I found him with his legs-dangling off the fire escape. "I'll throw them down!" he called out to me. The rubber key-covers felt weird to my fingers. The keys were cheetah print; one cover was a black cat, the other a siamese. These were not the spares.

My palms had gotten clammy on the ascent. I exhaled and opened the front door. This artificial sea scent greeted me. I smiled because that meant he found my bath candles. I felt the tension roll off my shoulders as I extended my leg out of his bedroom window to meet him.

It had been over a year since our first casual friends-to-lovers greeting kisses began. Yet, somehow he captured that feeling in his lips and in the way he cradled the sides of my face, my neckline, every time we met. "What's all this about? There's no way you forgot to leave the keys at Tali's for me. And what on earth are you still doing up??"

"Hey Motormouth, pipedown." (He always knew how to be just rude enough to make me smile. I was talking to much. As usual.) "By the way, they're yours." Looking down, I realized that I had come straight to the fire escape and he was glancing at the rubber key kittens in my hand.

[fill]

In the morning we stopped to pick up my pulpy orange juice. Tali noted that it was first time he'd seen us at the same time. I guess some bodega men get to watch people fall in love, too.

excessbaggage

2011-04-20T09:13:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we waited in the rain for a friend to join us at Five Leaves. I'll rephrase, it wasn't raining, but more of a light drizzle (just enough to ruin your hair but not enough to shield yourself with an umbrella). "No I already have a smoke thanks. Can I use your light?" Exhaling the first drag I turned to him.

"I feel really full," I sighed, with that distant gaze I sometimes have. He thought I meant from brunch, and questioned what I'd had.

"No, no- I feel full. Mentally full, emotionally full, full of happiness. Full. I can't remember the last time I felt like that." We sat at our table and I continued. "For the first time in my life, I really feel like I have something to bring to the table. I'm happy, I love my house. I don't feel like a burden the way I used to. It was always something, money, emotions. I always felt like such a fucking burden."

I've never really understood how people go through their lives not feeling like a huge weight on the shoulder of their significant others, in the cases in which they actually are. Comfortable with your boyfriend/girlfriend paying for everything because you "can't find a job"? You, my friend, are a burden and should really start seeing that. Go home and work out that resume and wallet situation because supporting your broke-ass is not cute or fun, but more taxing and draining. I'm done with those people and I'm through with being that person. If your bed is a futon, AND your sheets feel like you've been sleeping in your shoes, I'm sorry I can't sleepover anymore.

But we can totally be friends.

bartalk

2011-03-22T11:47:00.000-07:00

When I saw your mother tonight, I couldn't help but remember being drunk on sushi in her backseat, falling asleep. I was sitting next to your future girlfriend and had spent the prior 4 weeks watching you fall into lust. I had enjoyed your tea dates, but wanted none of them. In retrospect, I shouldn't have had that third round of caterpillar rolls- but I assumed your family could afford them. I assumed a lot at the time. And if I knew then, what I know now, I'd still know nothing at all.

wait a second.

2011-03-19T17:36:00.000-07:00

I work 50 hours a week. When I'm not working, I really enjoying spending time in my bed. Of late, it's been rather empty. If I'm not mistaken, what you're telling me is that on my time off I'm supposed to get up and "get out there" to "find someone."

UGH.

I think I will continue on my cat lady path of oatmeal in bed at 8 PM and dreams of food I'll never cook during naps I take at 6:30 in the afternoon. It's not that I don't have time for romance. I don't have the energy.

oh the abuse.

2011-03-12T08:18:00.001-08:00

and i miss the bastard.

bear City

2011-03-02T00:01:00.000-08:00

i wear red lipstick around the house. just for shits and giggles, as my sister would say. sometimes it's to motivate me to get out of my room. sometimes, it's to make me feel better about staying in. most of the time it's about feeling like a lady, when i don't.

I was supposed to go to a wedding reception/party occasion thing tonight, but no matter the amount of red lipstick i applied, I couldn't find myself filled with the desire to "dress up." On my days off, i am most comfortable in jeans, a low-cut t-shirt, a hoody, my leather jacket and boots. END OF STORY. I've conditioned myself to think that "bad-ass" is "sexy" and i don't like to vary. Granted I love me a summer dress or 7, at the end of the day I'm cut-offs, not curtsies.

Instead of the burlesque-wedding-extravaganza, i landed myself on a couch (in my cut-offs and boots) with 2 and 1/2 gays and Meg Ryan all night. Long story short, the next graphic T you'll find me in is going to read "sorry boys, I only date Bears."

Okay fine, we watched Bear City too.

edit: that picture is way bigger than I thought it would be.

banditos

2011-02-26T18:28:00.000-08:00

All I want is to be in my bed. Right now. Not riding on a bus, with a relentless sinus headache. I want to be sitting on the new couch Jess and I stumbled upon (she spotted it, but hell if I didn't take her to the store). I need to get my feelings in order. I probably need to get some feelings. I know I'm a sympathetic person but I think I'm missing the ability to conjure up... Sexual sympathy? Empathy?

Here's something I wrote over brunch with myself the other day. Slightly personal, but what isn't?

My mind is completely racing and I don't have my journal so I can't write a thing down. Called my mom today- someone tried to break in. I'm worried and mad at her for not- I don't even know what I'm mad at her for. I just want so much better for her. She wont accept help but has no way to really provide for herself. Name. Name. Names. My "love life" is stagnant and circular. The lunch I'm getting is too expensive and won't satisfy me. Im cutting and dying my hair tomorrow morning. I have spring fever.

My lunch was actually delicious. Somewhere around the time it arrived I decided to start recording the room. The sounds are so cluttered- I feel very relaxed. I don't want to go to work today. I want to go visit people and wander the streets the way normal people do on Saturday's. Find a flea market; find a find (catch me a catch!). I don't want to be loveless again this summer. I want a companion- Yeah I miss him.

The loud church outside his bedroom window. The long talks about our lives, our futures, our present-days. I miss looking at his body and him seeing mine, without attraction or sexuality, but just comfort. I miss the comfort. That's what I most enjoyed about being with him. Though it's a characteristic not unique to him, he didn't try to figure me out or see through my thick skin bullshit. He just let me be, as I tried to do for him.

When people say his name there's always some sting to the statement or sharp taste to the tone, but whatever it is, it makes me smile.

Lunch is almost over. I have finish up this wine and walk back home. I'm going to keep thinking the entire way there. That full moon did a number on me. It always seems to have it's way with my heart.

Yeah.

24

2011-01-08T01:04:00.001-08:00

i saw a photo of an attractive man tonight. he had a few tattoos and for the first time ever, i wished to see someone with tattoos, without them.
i found them to be a bit distracting from his beauty.

this is getting older, isn't it?

it's go go go

2011-01-06T03:51:00.000-08:00

When I'm asked what I do, while I'm up all night I never quite know what to say. Sometimes I'm just fighting sleep, like a sleepy child in the backseat of a long drive. Often I doze off for a few hours but once my eyes open around 6:39 AM, my mind starts to race.
"I think he owes me $20."
"Did I leave that light on? Or did one of my roommates come home?"
"I should shoot some slide film."
"I want to donate to this American Life. Will I get a free tote? I should check."
"How much is a slide projector? ...Ooh a slide scanner. Maybe I should get one of those."
"Well since I'm up, should I look at apartments?"
"Am I BECOMING MY MOTHER? I should call her. I know she's up. She's probably moving about in my little, barely lit, quiet apartment."
"Should I even bother going back to sleep..?"

I imagine her combing her hair and looking at her in the mirror. I miss her. I miss being little. I'll always miss looking up at my family members. Being so big doesn't feel so right sometimes.

That last one is usually the kicker. Then I start giving up on sleep and losing the battle to my restless mind. I'm supposed to go see a Rauschenburg exhibit. Hopefully to find some inspiration, but at least to see something beautiful. I could use that. I have to move at the end of the month. I'm terrified... kind of. I'm excited to be forced to get it together. I need to.

It was while reading the description for This American Life episode #234 that my mind stopped sleeping and began to pace the room on its own.

...including Michael Bernard Loggins, who tried to battle his fears by listing them. He ended up with a list 183 items long."

1. I am afraid of starting this list.

for once.

2010-12-31T00:55:00.000-08:00

I love this picture of you.
My floral printed legs laying on your chest and my feet resting on your shoulders. You're looking drunk and sleepy. A polaroid. We've just argued over something assinane again, I'm sure, but as usual by now our white flags are tossed. The second man to call me "babe" and make me think of that pig movie. Thankfully, I like pigs and I like you. I'm a control freak and you're too laid back. I washed my sheets and where I used to love the scent of Tide, I'm left missing yours. Excuse me, I'm gushing.
Exhilarating as pressing my fingers into a bag of red clay: Cool to the touch. Limitless. Mine.
This is new.

like me, my purse is full of shit

2010-12-05T08:26:00.000-08:00

The bag is a Bonnie Cashin piece from the very early 60's before she launched Coach's women's accessories line, in 1962. It hung in my mother's closet unused until I reached high school.
It's leather granules from the bottom sank into my fingernails as I dug for my keys on the way to my door. It's now 30º F out and all I want was to find them before my doorstep, but naturally they're under a mountain of my garbage. The scenario made me think of doing surprise bag dumps when I worked at Anthropologie and how I was the worst person to do it to. Had one happened today, here's what would've been found:

- This week's Star magazine. (p.s. I do not believe that B. Spears is getting beat not one bit).
- My make up bag and some lotion.
- 2 miniature bottles of Moet that a friend bought for my birthday.
- Journal
- Wallet
- Handkerchief
- 3 Pens
- 4 Packets of this AMAZING instant honey ginger tea.
- 6 bracelets
- A belt
- A ring
- Headphones
- A paycheck
- Wine opener

oh and an Iphone car charger because even though I don't drive, you just don't know when your phone is going to die in the middle of an impromptu roadtrip to Maryland.

I'm really big on "just in case" accessory packing.

"it's the personality that really shines through"

2010-11-15T22:19:00.001-08:00

so maybe I'm thinking this over too much but within 60 seconds of this speech, one woman mentally excuses herself to have a smoke. All of guests legs are crossed (as a physical sign of disinterest). Someone off screen disputes his theory, which he rebuttals with an MIT-speech reference... yet somehow I've found myself mentioning him time and time again because I think the Mystery method works. At least in reverse-

Is he the only sober person in the room? Maybe. Is he with 3 women and speaking about pawning other women off like objects? Maybe. ARE HIS NAILS POLISHED BLACK? (yes).

this man is a millionaire.

i did however, clean my room.

2010-10-22T11:09:00.000-07:00

i almost prayed last night.

so i wonder what happens now-

that i decided against it.

tyler, you're the worst thing that's ever happened to me.

2010-10-19T19:27:00.000-07:00

i'm not in every self-portrait i take, but i am. i didn't socialize enough this summer, so fall friends get ready we're going to chill hard. and do your make-up, i have a photo wall to fill with your wonderful faces.

II.
i am a server in a local casual dining restaurant. my least favorite question is, "so what do you do?" when i'm clearly at my job. it's so looked-down upon to be a waitress; people always assume that you're just doing it to get by as something else. what do i do besides stand next to tables and pour wine? i stand around in limbo thinking of what to do next. i disappoint. i astound. sometimes, i do nothing.

III.
My sister spoke of going back to school post-college and I laughed at her. I told her I never wanted to go back to school. I may have been in junior high school at the time. Now that I'm struggling to find some sort of professional direction, all i want to do is go hole myself up in a darkroom with professors to teach me important things, internship fairs and CAREER DEVELOPMENT CENTERS. College students are idiots for the most part- which would explain why so many of my cohorts ended up bartenders or servers, and subsequently, constantly under the influence of something. Yes, that's a nice way to say it, right?

freewrite over.

pictures of girls i took for

2010-09-16T14:57:00.000-07:00

I witnessed the most incredible rain I've seen...

breathing into your shoulder
as you slept
i felt lucky to know your bones
well enough
to rest mine, weary, with them.

there was a moment, you took
to tell me
the words, now faint, are escaping me
but yes! me too!
agreeably, i always think so too.

i
always
think

so...

in 15 years
when we meet again,
i'll have found a chisel
promise me your hammer?

I usually don't leave work until I feel like everything is done. I don't know what made me stop by this table- they weren't mine. But once the tall, slender one added pepper, tobasco, and worchester sauce to her Corona, I took a seat and chatted for a while. I had her make me one. When I left the table, the flavors stung my lips and it made me think of her after each sip.

"I think 28 year-olds are the COMPLETELY compatible with 24 year-olds. It's perfect!"

I stopped to agree, told them of my age-ratio theory, and bought them a round of tequila shots. We prayed together on the second toast and talked of dry spells. Strangers. I entertained a group of girlfriends celebrating a birthday at a table close by. There was an energy about the room. We were all toasting and toasted, as we danced. I assisted the spiced Corona ladies in getting excitedly drunk and left work early. I didn't care as to whether or not anything was done.

It felt good to go.

My room smells of the cigar bar we went to. And leaving work without having landed in the bar down the street was beginning to feel impossible. Strangers- don't seem to stay that way long. Tonight was refreshing; something is coming to an end and I can't wait.

meow, bow wow.

2010-08-26T01:16:00.000-07:00

so. it's 4:16 and I'm bound to see a little daylight, again. I'm watching Catdog because I haven't watched it since I was 12, when it was not a syndicated delight. There's some sort of bass streaming from my neighbor's place, but Steph isn't home so I dare not bother them. I've become quite accustomed to my lifestyle of sleeping until the afternoon, going to work and seeing the sun come up. The time before 2 P.M. seems so useless and foreign to me.
I'm beginning to see the temporary career path that I would like to take. It's a burgeoning feeling for me, and I like it. Whether or not I stick to it doesn't matter to me; I'm just pumped to have a goal. Many of my friends are artists, and I envy them for that. Though pursuing artistic endeavors does not seem to be the most prosperous/promising venture, it is a career destination- A goal which I am usually lacking.
When I was younger (and still today), my mother always said that my ability to appreciate and achieve various gifts and goals (respectively) would be my gift and my curse. Maybe she used more words, or less, but that's how I interpreted them.
Catdog is a show about a creature that is a cat on one end, and a dog on the other. Opposing forces trapped in one being is a rather intense, philosophical theory to impose upon preteens. Thankfully we don't have to worry about that now, with the advent of Miley Cyrus... or wait, is she Hannah Montana?

And they wonder what's wrong with our generation.

no mother ever dreams

2010-08-10T11:53:00.000-07:00

This morning/afternoon, in my dream, it was Black Friday. I had thousands of dollars on me- at some point I was hiding it in my shoes. I walked out of a store and wrote with a teal green sharpie on the concrete, "There is more than recognition in a name." I don't know what my subconscious meant by it, but I like it. I was loaded. I liked that too.

2 P.M. seems to be my new wake up call. I sleep until I'm done. I sleep when I want to. There's a part of me that knows this stems back to childhood having my sleep regulated by someone else (mom/school). The other part of this comes from recklessness and seeing the sunrise 4 out of 7 nights in a week. But I figure I should live while I'm young- some day I will HAVE to sleep because no amount of caffeine will keep me standing and no amount of party juice will make me want to attend.

This summer has been excellence, but I'm ready for a little cool down. In temperature. In social climate. I love my new place, but I think I could've loved any new place. I come home and close my door. I constantly want to make things; it's pretty great. I leave my clothes on the floor. I hang my bras on the wall. I wake up and pay bills.

But I feel really free.

i.wish.i.wrote.this.

2010-08-07T03:17:00.000-07:00

I've drowned my conscience and cast another stone.
I took to preaching while dancing on the code.
I can't see where I've been and only god knows where I'll be.
But there must be a place for a wretch like me.

Oh, lord knows I'm tired,
But I, I, I won't rest my head until I'm home.
And if my hands find themselves another body, well,
You can't blame them for trying to keep warm.

Morals are simply a matter of time,
And where you lay your head's a question of pride.
But when it's said and done you'll find in the light,
That privilege and wit make me misfortune's child.

Can't tell collapse that it needs to slow down.
Can't tell death that it shouldn't come around.
And when they take my head and put it on a stake,
I know that guilt and disgrace keep the dead man awake.
Bartering your figure for a paralyzing love,
What have you done?
What have you done?

I tipped the scaffold and laughed until I fell.
Girl if you need me, grab another from the well.
I can't imagine what hell has in store,
But I know if I'm there I won't wander anymore.

Oh, lord knows I'm tired,
But I, I, I won't rest my head until I'm home.
And if my hands find themselves another body, well
You can't blame them for trying to keep warm.

Oh, lord knows I'm weak,
But I, I, I can't clear my head if I'm asleep.

Morals are simply a matter of tide,
And where you lay your head's a question of pride.
But when it's said and done you'll find in the light
That privilege and wit make me misfortune's child

Can't tell collapse that it needs to slow down.
Can't tell death that it shouldn't come around.
And when they take my head and put it on a stake,
I know that guilt and disgrace keep the dead man awake.

We've lived under this dark cloud forever.
Waited for the bad light to break.

Just let me tell that one again,
With a little more feeling.
We slept at the crossroads together,
Tried to make an honest mistake.
Just let me tell that one more time,
Without a smile on my face.

And now the road is empty.
As every promise is.
If life is pointless then point taken, say amen.
So light another candle and point my body out to sea,
Because your heart is no place for a wretch like me.

Another stranger passing.
A common dissonance.
If life is pointless then point taken, say amen.
So light another candle and point my body out to sea,
Because your side is no place for a wretch like me.

When they unearth these passages,
Will I appear to be proud?
Not if you're listening close enough.
Not if you're sounding it out

brenda returns to general hospital.

2010-08-04T13:12:00.000-07:00

I've been writing in a journal since 4th grade. My first, which was a Slyvester and Tweety lockable hardcover, began with a tale of a young boy named Quincy. He was my (imaginary) lover at the time and treated me like a princess. I could share my opinion as to why an 8 year old me made up a boyfriend (named after Quincy Jones, nonetheless) but I'd rather leave that to you.

This book was the first of many. I've been chronicling my life ever since, but I rarely go back and look at the images/words. The ones I made in high school were very well collaged and full of grief and angst (surprise. surprise.). Oh and a very strong desire to be loved and to feel beautiful.

To avoid re-reading things that would continuously make me upset, I began writing in patterns. It worked for as long as I needed it to, and then out of no where it just ended. I didn't need to be as cryptic anymore... but it looked something like this:

I enjoy ending my journals, sometimes before I reach the last page, on a high note. The last page of this particular journal preserves a phone message from my arch-nemesis-turned-friend and reads as follows:

yo.. it's D. I had this whole speech prepared. I totally forgot it right now, just now. I'll just wing it. I had an awesome time yesterday. You totally rocked dude, we should've done that before. But I guess we didn't. But hey, we have years ahead of us. So we should reschedule. Also in case I don't see you in school today, it was insanely cool that you shared your journal thingy with me. I felt very special and cared for. It was a very cool bonding experience. I love the fact that I turned into a stupid asshole after 3 glasses of wine and I totally hope you erase that from your mind because my tolerance is a lot higher. I don't even know what happened. I loved that you walked me to the train and talked down the whole Pete thing, that was cool. I'm sad I'm pathetic but umm yeah. I just wanted to make sure I told you that. Ok I have to go shower and shit for school and if I see you I see you, if I don't, I don't. OH and if you're wondering how I got your number, I remembered that it was in my yearbook. But yeah alright man. Bye.

I ended this chapter by saying, "I hope I can bring people full circle for the rest of my life. People tell me that it's always fun to hang out with me.. I hope I stay some what the same.. I've learned something about myself- that was worth every dropped tear and lonely night. Let's remember the past and look to the future. It's just me and you."

And that is how I started writing a book when I was 8.
xX.

girl you look so sharp.

2010-07-30T03:07:00.000-07:00

there is literally nothing better than pulling out your journal(s) from high school.

let it be me.

2010-07-28T23:19:00.001-07:00

I've been wearing feathers in my hair a lot lately. When I lived in L.A. I found so many beautiful (pigeon) feathers all over the place and never really passed up the opportunity to pick them up. Once the wind began to hit them, placed firmly in my curls, I began to feel connected to the elements around me. As they have become my daily follicle accoutrement, I often am allowed to experience the feeling of the wind in my "wings" as I cruise on my bike to work.

I wonder what it's like to fly.

I believe that birds are amongst the luckiest creatures because they know. They travel freely, sing each other love songs, hunt, die, and create. And people still wonder why I love them so?

xx.

eat shit and live

2010-07-25T00:19:00.001-07:00

the other night i fell over in a swimming pool the size suitable for 10 year olds after a friend of mine pulled my arm the wrong way. i twisted my knee. the next day made my hip, on the same leg, sore as though i'd fallen through a subway grate. today i fell off of my bike making a u-turn too catch a friend.
my other knee is throbbing; i am happy.

i think i think i think

2010-07-09T09:50:00.000-07:00

I thought I was getting married. I can't help but think about him, and that, from time to time. I think about the 9 decks we dreamed up (and often about the fact that I still want them). I've been thinking about how unrealistic our commitment to each other was- We were lovers, friends and we grew quite a bit together. I like to believe we were wholeheartedly in love with the idea of being in love, but not with each other really... As much as I enjoyed our time together, and felt like we were evolving as a couple, I know we were enabling each other. Four months ago I envisioned 8 years from now I would be getting married to the boy I was dating.

And now it's July. I'm 23 and single in New York City and I can't help but wonder what the hell I was thinking. Love is a disillusioning monster. I moving tomorrow, and all I can't wait to do is close my bedroom door. I think people are about to see the shut-in side of me and I'm thrilled. I have really learned to appreciate privacy these days...

Ha.

they're actually a fruit

2010-07-01T00:13:00.000-07:00

as usual, i woke up and my blank walls drove me out of bed, in an attempt to do something /anything about their drab appearance. somewhere between the shower and getting dressed, i decided to take myself on a date. manicure. pedicure. a few rounds at a beautiful wine and cheese bar. toiletry shopping. home.

late in the night
i get these cravings.

i'm creeping through photos of a friend of a friend that one of my friend's was hooking up with (get all that?). she's beautiful. her hair hits her waistline and her bangs are never frizzy. she seems perpetually happy. she appreciates the atlantic ocean, in all of it's hypodermic glory. she's foreign. at some point i looked at her and thought that i wanted that- those things, those attributes, the recipe for a beautiful woman. then i saw them.

her heirloom tomatoes. forget all the nonsense about femininity and charm and beauty! one look at those tomatoes and it was all over. they looked so healthy, satisfying, unusual and delicious. just there, along side her eggs. their beauty an overshadowed, understatement on the plate; but i knew. the versatility! i thought of sauces and salads- i thought about salting one and just biting in... i want to be as beautiful as those heirloom tomatoes.

comme ce, comme ca.

2010-06-22T10:08:00.000-07:00

People keep asking me how I'm doing. It seems like it's coming up more often than usual lately. I'm doing lots of things! Feeling great. Feeling not so great. Paying bills, blowing some of them off. Going rafting. Weekending in towns I love with people I love and turning off my cellphone. I've been missing people. I've been wondering if I made the right decision(s). I've been running and standing still.

I've been enjoying myself.
That's how I've been.

2010-06-21T08:29:00.000-07:00

Everyone complimented my flowers as I pranced home last night. I always turned around and replied "Oh why thank you! They're for my mother for Fathers Day!" I don't think she was expecting anything, but I just enjoy doing things for her when I can. I can't imagine what raising me must have been/is like but I'm sure I'm a bit of a stress inducing nightmare.

things were perfect.

2010-05-24T18:33:00.000-07:00

in my city
in the mountains
the hills run high
and the reservoirs
will sink you deep.
it was there that i found you
once
alone
with your sow and your seed.
should've pulled you up to me
because now i need you
to meet me
in the city by the stream.

we'll rebuild the mountains
rehatch the eggs
relive the lives
of the yet unborn
we shall make anew
of all that was never done

slip into the valleys
to swim in the sea
in a steady forward moving motion
reclaiming what is
and what will not be.

now you ask
"who are we?"
Oh my love, for we
are the queen and king
of the city in the mountains
i once built in my sleep.

2010-05-13T18:19:00.000-07:00

there's an old Carol King song, which Hole covered during their Unplugged set, called "He Hit Me." It's a straining ballad about domestic abuse and, through her eyes, it's disorienting beauty. The lyrics are as follows:
He hit me and it felt like a kiss
He hit me but it didn't hurt me
He couldn't stand to hear me say
That I'd been with someone new
And when I told him I had been untrue
He hit me and it felt like a kiss
He hit me and I knew he loved me
Cause if he didn't care for me
I could have never made him mad
He hit me and I was glad
Baby won't you stay...
He hit me and it felt like a kiss
He hit me and I knew I loved him
Cause when he took me in his arms
With all the tenderness there is
He hit me and he made me feel
Baby won't you stay...

I can't say I relate to it. But there's something about it that I just get.

a general statement.

2010-05-05T20:40:00.000-07:00

let's get serious here.

I woke up this morning to find that my boyfriend was newly listed as "single" on facebook. news. to. me. the reasoning behind this separation is a long story that i'm not going to divulge on this here blog, but in hindsight this is hilarious. I got broken up with on the internet!

i am completely unreliable. i think that might be the honest truth. i'm telling you this because i'll never tell you in real life. i'm the only person that can count on me; and even then, i let me down. but i'm not often disappointed in me; i know that i do things the way i should. i am the only one that can make the best decisions for me.

maybe i meant unpredictable.

i will not apologize to you, unless it is prompted.
i do not seek revenge.
i will not let you make me cry.
(unless you read my journal)
keep up with me.
i ~~want to~~ go out to to dinner 2-3 times a week.

to cure my moody blues, i got a new tattoo. i walked in a mascara-tear-blurred, bike-chain-grease-mess and left feeling like me again. it says "home" and maybe i'll tell you what it means when i feel like i've found mine.

until i fix me
i will consume

speaking of consumption, hello:

fuck it. we're young. let's spend money.

run on

2010-05-01T19:20:00.000-07:00

[stop being crazy] I was just thinking, and, I'm really sorry for all the times i didn't call to tell you happy birthday sometimes it's on purpose because i think it doesn't matter sometimes it's because i actually forgot i do that every once in a while i forget i'm a machine but i am human i need space and alone time and i get sad / when i get really angry i don't talk about it right away i'll probably wait five days and then maybe you'll ask me what's wrong and even then maybe i'll tell you but no promises i will study my feelings over and over again until i think i know exactly what they are by that time it's always too late but some how i think that everything happens as it should when it should it is not predetermined but it is not a mistake those don't exist simply unexpected changes.

2010-04-22T14:46:00.000-07:00

i can't/don't/won't write anymore. The one thing I seem to have avoided over-analyzing is on the chopping block these days and when I pick up the pen, I get mean. I keep having this recurring daydream of living alone (or if I HAVE to, a two bedroom) with a kitty. There is minimal furniture and no television. Everything is where it should be, dishes in the sink, underwear on the bathroom floor- because who cares, it's all my mess. If and when I clean it up, I'll be cleaning up after myself.

So many things about other people piss me off.

I'm happiest when I'm at work. Wherever work may be and even when I hate the job. I am happiest when I am doing. When I'm not active, I prefer to be asleep. I suppose the trend here is my desire to not think about my outside life as often as possible. I will work and sleep it away. Unfortunately, like that fucking cat I made the mistake of feeding that one time, it will be waiting at my door step again and again when I return.

So I never go home.

There will be a day, when my white walled studio apartment and black cat named after a romantic comedy will be waiting and I will be satisfied. Until then I'll just keep working. I left my job on Friday, had a new one by Wednesday. I was built a fine machine.

[)

2010-04-13T11:03:00.000-07:00

the next time I see you, i'll probably talk about a lot of things that I won't actually do. I'll probably be really really happy and think about how many people actually know who I am and get quiet. I do that sometimes; I'm sorry. None of the people who have any idea of who I am share DNA with me. Isn't that weird? Or is it just sad? I don't know anymore. my mother thinks i've gone crazy. my sister's don't know me and everyone from work thinks i tried to kill myself.

and i think i'm happier than ever.

analogiessmanalogies.

2010-04-09T19:19:00.000-07:00

This whole love thing- it’s sort of like riding a bicycle. Hear me out. Bicycles are alluring. Everyone wants to have one -to own it –to ride it. Then finally, you find the one. And it’s intimidating. Slowly, you figure it out; it stops being scary and you get used to the motion. But that’s just it- that is where the problem lays, in getting used to the motions.

Like your first bicycle, you out grow it. If you’re anything like me, there might be a span of years between your first bike and the next. The next ride approaches, and frozen, you realize that you must’ve have forgotten how to ride- yet, you get back on. You’re wobbly; the propelling of motion tenses your muscles. But again you get used to the motions. Love, is like riding a bicycle. It’s liberating. You fall, you get back up and
you never forget how to do it.

lately.

2010-04-04T15:13:00.000-07:00

even if this doesn't work out
i think (hope) we're going to be better people because we've met

publish post

2010-03-31T13:08:00.000-07:00

Here we go fingers it's your turn.

I desperately want to go to the Great Lawn at Purchase in July, and climb that tree with the ditch around it again. I want to lay in and not think, but think too much. When I was little, my mother never let me wear red nail polish. She said it was for grown women. This weekend, I bought myself a bottle. My hands are those of a woman. I suppose.

I'm on this wave of elated emotions. But I'm due for a good cry. I think we're all overdue for a good cry every once in a while. I'm going home tonight to have mine. Or maybe not. Maybe I'm going home to be solemn. All I can think about is a night sky, a field and me in it. The kids are talking about having a fire tonight; I want to see it and nothing else.

my daddy raised me a runner, 'cause he didn't raise me at all.

i think, therefore.

2010-03-17T21:36:00.000-07:00

There you are, miniature breakdown. I've been waiting for you; it's been a few months. Oh no, I'm just at work- don't worry about it, come on over. So what do you want to talk about? Ahh the "What the fuck am I doing with my life" conversation again?

my brain is a candle still lit, and it's burning at both ends.

my barely nimble fingers are too tired to type, but the Against Me! i'm blasting is helping me fade in and out of the consciousness necessary to talk to you. I'm laying on the couch of a boy I like writing a movie that might be something great. I wish I had that focus and determination. I could be happy. That might be a definitive emotion. I try not to think about it, but the thought is steady looming. My journal is filling itself quickly. When I started this one, I said that it would be the one about Me. It would be the one, unlike the others, that is full of pages of me- not these tales of boys. But when it comes down to it I buy my pens for them. Relationships with other people are all I have; relationships with boys are the ones I write about.

I've hit my 3 months mark. It's like clockwork- whenever I get cozy with something, someone, somewhere- I want out. But this time, I don't want to run away again. I just want newness. My life seems to change with the seasons. Like the shrubbery, flowers and weeds I want to grow, infest, irritate and beautify. I want to make it beautiful... just have to figure out what it is. Is it strange that all I want to do right now is organize people's closets to make finding clothing and coordinating as simple as possible? My entire existence might revolves around clothes. I'm not upset about that at all.

I should sleep. I have to be at work in 5.5 hours. I sleep for either 3 hours or 12-15. I'm an extremist at heart. (Sometimes) I would rather stay up all night on someone else's couch, than sleep on mine. Speaking of which, my bed is arriving on Saturday- this could change everything in my life.

I miss Fairfax Ave. and walking up the Melrose strip. Ha. Jamie <3.

Made: A Mellow Mix

2010-02-25T21:03:00.000-08:00

~~It seems~~ I am going through this phase were anything I do that is remotely reminiscent of my past strikes me as pure nostalgia and prevokes the dormant emotions I once associated with the people, places or things I re-experience.

Before college ended, he made me these mix cds. I titled them in my itunes as
Name Made: _________, filling in the blank with the appropriate theme of the disc. I'd asked for them before I broke up with him, and asked him to follow through with the mixes once I did. I wanted to know what the thought of me, through music, while we were dating. Music was the only way I ever knew what he thought. He wasn't a creator; he was a listener. He was passionate about what he could not do. I saw myself in him this way.

It was months before I ever listened to any of them. I'm sure I was being cruel- abusing his time on purpose... but I can't really say what was going through my mind at the time. He loved me too much, too soon and I didn't know what to do with it. I certainly didn't know how to enjoy it. I never copied the summer mix to my computer; I lost it somewhere in my travels. I gave the hip-hop mix a few gos, but never quite stuck... but once a month the mellow mix creeps in.

He never gave me the playlist information, so I listen to these songs blindly- confident that every song will flow into the next as it's maker intended them to. I'm convinced he's telling me a story through every one's words but his own. I don't listen to them until Track 4.

night creature...
night creature...
when will you come home?

it coos to me. he speaks to me. It's been two years and every time I get the craving to hear that song, I have to look up the lyrics. When I see the band name, I remember who made the cds for me. I realize that, contrary to how naturally the cd flows, it has been masterfully crafted for my ears.

Track 06
My little woman causes me a lot of trouble sometimes
she worries me so bad i dont know what to do.
I take a walk, figured the rolling of my feet would come to ease my mind.
I just go away and wont know where I'm goin

i won't know where that i am goin to
cause she bugger me, she bugger me
man she'd bugger you

I'm with you in the morning baby
till the break of day
I know you won't take my heart
you tryin to make me go away

Track 20

make me laugh, you make me shiver
Isn’t that a fabulous scene?

this is when I start to hear him again.

I saw you in a daydream
Now I'm a jealous guy with aches babe
I lied to mom about that
You're dealing with a boy girl
And I'm stepping forward in pain
Come home now, freak me out

You make me laugh, you make me shiver
Isn’t that a fabulous scene?
Don’t be here now don’t be here anytime
I’m much wiser now, that’s how we walk

It ends this way.
I miss everything, late at night, when I'm alone.

whatever, anne yao

2010-02-12T14:38:00.001-08:00

I met her in the dark, crowded space of CBGB's in 2001. I didn't know anyone else who loved the Distillers the way that I did, so I had opted to go to the show alone. I spotted another black punk and wandered over to ask if she knew my sister. She looked like she knew my sister.

Hang on. I can't write in this silence.
That's better.

Turns out this woman knew my sister. As we were talking about our linking acquaintance, She leaned over to interrupt us. "Can I just say.. I love black punks." I'll never forget hearing that sentence. It's on my list of the most honest/random/organic things a person has ever said to me. We didn't stand near each other for the show, but I never lost sight of her. After the set, I looked for her and offered to walk with her to 14th Street. She was taking the L. Like the Distillers show, I needed someone to accompany me to the Warped tour. None of my then current friends were trying to venture to Randall's Island with me. She agreed to join me, and gave me her number.

A few weeks later, I bumped into her just in between Bang Bang and the 8th Street Lab, on 8th Street in the West Village. She seemed embarrassed. Apparently she was on her way to work, at Bang Bang, and if you've ever been there, you know why she was embarrassed by me spotting her. She thought that we'd never see each other again, and that I wouldn't have ever called her.

She was a Chinese girl, who claimed to love black punks. Why and how could I say no? A dynamite dynamic duo such as this should never be denied.

I think I've spent more time on the phone with Anne Yao than anyone else I've ever met. We talked almost every night for all of H.S. I grew up during those conversations. She picked me up from Fashion; I met her in the overpass at Hunter. We went to every Warped Tour 3 years straight. There was one year that it sold out so we got drunk on Malibu instead. We rode the ferry just for kicks, relaxation and to go to our secret spot. I was her only friend who'd met all of boyfriends; she was my only friend that had met my mom more than twice. We had photoshoots everywhere we landed.

her first trip to Purchase

Our first trip back to CBGB's for our 2nd Anniversary (we saw Kimya Dawson that time).

College passed. I moved back to Brooklyn. I moved to LA. She dated a *edit*. She edited *edit*. We talked whenever we could get a hold of each other. I stopped meeting her boyfriends. The last time I talked to her was the week before Christmas, which had been the first time since I was waiting for a bus in LA. We decided to go to Macy's to meet Santa and take pictures on his lap- a fitting reunion for the two of us. But the plans fell through.

I call her like a hopeful, creepy ex-boyfriend, sometimes just to leave her long winded messages remeniscent of our phone calls about nothing and somehow about everything. Today I googled, "Anne Yao, film" to see what, if anything would arise.

I miss that laugh more than I can really say. If you see her, tell her I said "Yello?" "Yurple" and "HowDoYouDOthatTHINGYOUSOWELL?!"

she'll know what they mean.

memorie boxes.

2010-02-08T16:00:00.000-08:00

I keep absolutely everything that touches my spirit. Tidbits that people give me, wrist bands, free mix cds from Scion...

I've been going through my memory boxes/crates/bags and I just found this list. It was aptly titled:

Things That Make My Happy
1. Food
2. Friends
3. Music
4. My journal
5. Yurple and $350 fines
6. Honesty
7. Beaches
8. Stars
9. Desire, Passion, & Serenades
10. Red eye shadow, and good hairdays
11. Passenger Seats

I remember making this list and hanging it on the wall as a reminder of sorts. 5 years later, and not too much has changed. I think I shall remount this beauty.

pitter patter goes my heart

2010-02-06T18:09:00.000-08:00

The one thing I've learned about women over the years is how to shut up. The things they imagine you are thinking are far better than anything you could come up with on your own. -Earnest Hemingway (via Vice V10/N3)

I couldn't remember why I'd stopped reading VICE magazine, when I did a brief stint interning for their marketing company my senior year of college. I picked up an issue and it seemed about right: snarky/sarcastic/elitist humor, politics, fashion and music... it was all still there. But after a provocation led by Street Carnage's' Twitter- I decided to pick up a few of my "archived" copies (in search of these photo's of Lil Kim before she was famous with horrible razor burns on her bikini line, shot by Terry Richardson).

What VICE is missing these days is the beloved (by me) VICE A-Z Guide To: ______. This issue's list was for "Being Totally Crushed Out." Highlights include:

B: Borrowing

Borrow a book or a movie just so you have the excuse to see him again, or even conveniently leave something like a sweatshirt at his house. This is a no-fail plan, because if he sees your sweatshirt lying around, he’ll have to think about you and be reminded of your charm (plus you left pheromones in it). Forced thinking is good, even though it’s commonly known as “mind rape.” Of course, the plan backfires if you decide you don’t like him. Then you have the annoying burden of meeting up. You could then decide in a Zenlike way that it’s “just a sweatshirt” and leave it as a relic for him to pine over forevermore.

M: Mix Tape Alert!

Do not make a mix tape for someone you have not fooled around with yet (said in an “emergency, emergency” robot voice). If she has a boyfriend and you are just courting her, she will put on the tape and they will lie in bed listening to “Ne Me Quittez Pas” and laughing their fucking asses off. You know that Grant Hart song “All of My Senses”? Imagine her and her boyfriend toking a one-hit and killing themselves when he goes, “Without you I’m abuuuuuusing, all of my sensee-eees.” You might as well have a hidden camera in your toilet that broadcasts to Times Square.

and last but not least-

R: Recognize

This is the doozy. The whole article could be about this, but Lesley always wants to do the A–Z thing so we have to stick it here.

Getting seen and seeing your crush is 99 percent of the game. Stopping by his place of work looking hot and casual like you didn’t know you’d end up there. Talking on your cell phone and pretending not to see him. Walking around in his ’hood is exciting and a lot more fun than jonesing for him sitting at home. It multiplies your chances of “accidentally” bumping into him (“Oh hey, what’s up?”). You just happen to be freshly scrubbed, with subtle makeup and the perfect cute outfit that is way hard to put together (usually involves Chuck Taylors and tight pants that make your ass look juicy and pert).

Of course, if you go to a bar where he’s supposed to be and he’s not there, it is a fucking bum-out. You wasted your cute look and you can’t use it again.

Boys are funny when they have a crush and she shows up at the bar. He’s not paying attention to any conversations because he’s looking at the door and then he goes, “She’s here!” when she walks in, like his friends are commandos and they’re going to start getting into position to help maximize his chances. What does he think they’re going to do, flank her? They don’t give a shit, you boob.

oh wait!! T: Telling Everyone in the World

This is fucking stupid but you do it anyway. Sometimes the obsession is too out-of-control, and once you’ve told one person you’re not really great friends with, you may as well tell them all. This might work because he likes you too and how would he have known if people hadn’t told him? It also may blow up in your face, because (and I know this is weird) sometimes a crush is best from afar and you don’t want it to be true. Like catching a lightning bug in a jar. Wait a minute, lightning bugs are cool to look at in a jar.

That one is really my favorite. I can't get my lips shut about anything and I'm okay with that. Secrets are damn near useless.

I've definitely been listening to Good Charlotte for hours. Reading these copies of VICE that I acquired in high school, and subsequently finding photos of myself from high school wedged in between the pages has me in a state of nostalgia. Sweet Saturday.

the full VICE article can be found Here.

16=7//13=4

2010-02-05T22:13:00.000-08:00

I've always had a strong desire to communicate my thoughts with other people. The cramps in my fingers tell me that this still holds true. Twitter lets me "talk" for the sake of talking, regardless of whether or not anyone is listening. I refresh in hopes of a response. I've been experiencing shooting pains in my left arm and tension in my right wrist; I'm talking through my fingertips too much and I need to shut up.

The song I was just listening to, by Panda Bear was called Taking Pills and sounded like water. I miss the ocean. I'm "loving" all of the songs on Devendra Banhart radio on my Last.fm My job used the wrong account number on my direct deposit, so I was not paid. Somewhere between anger and tears my co-workers managed to cheer me up just by being in the room. I really love the people I work with. We went out to a far overdue Holiday Party-funded dinner at Naple's 45 tonight. It was an order-what-you'd like dinner and it was delectable.

I really wish they hadn't screwed up my check; I was going to buy myself a bed.

I recently broke up with (I'm using the term loosely, as we were never an actual "together" to really "break-up") someone that made me dizzy in the brain and weak in the knees. I've known him for sometime; we briefly dated last winter, around the same time we rekindled this winter. Although I love a good swoon as much as the next girl, I could no longer ignore the core of all of "our" (read: my) problems: He's in his me-zone right now. However, I could not be more thankful for meeting someone so... interested in their personal success. Not to say that he was/is self centered in the least- this is certainly not the case. He was just at the top of his list. After a secondary attempt to gain the number one position on his prioritized agenda- I realized the problem:

I need to be number one on MY list. Only when I am number one to myself, will I be worthy of the position on anyone else's list. When he played a show last week, I did not attend, as I had work at 7:30 A.M. the following day. I stepped into his shoes. If the tables were turned, he would've apologized for his absence and went to bed on time. You should learn from every dating endeavor you pursue. This, the me-zone, was my lesson.

I want to be disconnected for a while. I want my fingers to feel limber again. It's time to settle into these bones once and for all. They don't seem to be going anywhere. I need to be able to answer the question, "What's new?" with an anecdote that doesn't involve 3 dudes, disappointment and my job.

xx.

windows 93

2010-02-04T20:06:00.000-08:00

When I get to the point of having more than ten tabs open in one window, I like to do a small inventory of what they are.

Ikea Bookcases
Third and Delaware A Roseanne based fashion blog.
Facebook (which is always opened, grr.)
Last.fm User: ohjoneses if you want to know what I'm listening to
Sex Avec Dulce A blog written by Aileen Awesome who also writes for Street Carnage's Blog on occasion.
Sorry Mom (I bang the worst dudes). -A blog about just that.
Un-Legit somehow, I became "close" with this lassy on twitter. she's from LA and sometimes I even miss her. She recently updated with some photos that I really love.
OkCupid Quickmatch I'm really unsure of what the obsession people my age/social grouping have with this site. All of the dudes are busted and really... there is no need to meet people online. BUT the questions and tests are über funzone. This started out as a joke...
Eyeglass Boy I'm helping a chap find some new frames and I'm thinking about stealing his idea to buy these, for myself. My current reading specs are way out of style.

And last but not least:
The Wiki page for author, Philip K. Dick's bibliography. He penned such sci-fi classics as A Scanner Darkly, and Counter-Clock World and wrote short stories that would go on to inspire the Hollywood hit Minority Report. (nerd alert!)

Now you're up to date on how I choose to spend my time on the internet. I hope that one of these things changes your opinion of me.

where is my adult/child support?

2010-01-26T18:35:00.000-08:00

I moved back home just about three months ago. I spent the first month and a half dealing with Christmas stuff, catching up with some bills, and hanging with my family. Now that I've completely settled back into life in New York, it's time to face the music. I have an unfurnished bedroom and I need to do something about it. I've been window shopping on Ikea and Sleepy's, in an attempt to find my "perfect mattress match." In a matter of days (or weeks) I will lay down on a bed in public, for the first time, and make a subsequent purchase.

Things I would do with money if i had it right now:

Buy a bed.
Buy shelves.
Buy a full length mirror.
Buy a bookcase to store my boxes of journals on.
Buy my mom a new wardrobe. She's been wearing a scrunchie in public and I can not let her slip down the mom-ward spiral this way.
Go camping.
Learn to ski.
Buy skiing attire, be a snow bunny in the cabin and not ski at all.
Buy a lot of film. A LOT of film.
Buy new sneakers.
Buy a pair of TOMS so that a child could also benefit from my over consumption of clothing and apparel.

I don't have very much money, but I did just buy a new pair of sexy time boots:

And when I get paid next week, I'm buying a ticket to Miami for a weekend getaway because not paying rent is a sweet sweet existence.

I said it once today, and I'll say it once again: Call someone you love, and tell them so. I finally know how to and it's fantastic. I urge you to try it out.

say it if you mean it.

what are you looking at?

2010-01-16T17:36:00.001-08:00

*
I explained to him that the reason I have a mirror placed on the wall directly behind my computer is because I enjoy looking at myself. Though it comes off as completely conceited and shallow, my intentions were otherwise. I am on a constant quest to understand what I look like, as I've always been frustrated with the inability to see oneself the way anyone else does. So, that's what I look like is the only reaction I ever seem to have as I stare back at myself in photographs. It's as though I have no idea who I am. These are the revelations I have at work.

I think I might look completely different if I didn't have a freckle in my right eye.

**
Today's big life question:
What's lonelier? Being partially single, or completely alone?

2010-01-10T19:55:00.000-08:00

wear jeans. oh and that white t-shirt.
make sure your jeans are the dark ones-
I like them the most.
Don't shave! (you promised).
and when we kiss, don't forget
that time is just another man made myth.

I have plans tomorrow, but I just got the urge to take myself on a date tomorrow. Maybe to go see "Youth in Revolt," as it seems like something I might enjoy seeing alone. Tomorrow I'd like to walk slowly.

twitchy itchy fingers

2010-01-09T21:21:00.001-08:00

It's really cold. My knees ache, and my fingers feel stiff. 19º F with a wind chill factor that makes it feel like 8º. My wrist is cracking. Yet, for whatever reason I feel like I can't get to sleep without writing a brief note. I'm thinking about Dan Connor again. Actually, I'm watching Dan Connor again. He makes me swoon. Fills me with smiles little girls should have for their dads and then for their husbands. I like Dan Connor.

Generally speaking, I think women like men that are like their fathers. This is typically the case for women that have had men who positively influenced their lives. In my story, which mostly lacks a positive male character (save for my Granddaddy*). I've realized that I substituted my family's men with Dan Connor, Tim the Tool Man Taylor, and other white men in flannel shirts, work boots and tool belts. They go to work, they come home and eat dinner, joke, romance, build things and love their wives. This happy family exists and one day, like a coveted Barbie convertible, I would like to have one.

I don't want to sleep. There are always one or two nights a week where I can't seem to get my eyes to shut. I watch Roseanne and sulk about romance; I watch the Golden Girls and yearn for the future. At night, I can't wrap my head around the "right now" -I can't turn off. And then I sleep. When I wake, it's as though none of yesterday ever happened. In the morning I feel like a machine.

Here's another tidbit of information: When no one's looking, I drink straight from the carton.

I believe her:

*The foundation of my love for beards, button-downs and chest hair.

2010-01-01T12:19:00.000-08:00

I almost just fell over on to my mom. THERE you are equilibrium-disorienting-hangover.

I've woken up everyday for the last 5 days singing "And so this is Christmas..." The holidays are over and for once in a really long time, I'm very happy that they happened. David pulled out the old video-camera last night and asked everyone what their most memorable part of 2009 was and what they are looking forward to in 2010. My response was as follows: The most memorable part of 2009 was moving to California and MOVING BACK. What I look forward to in 2010 is... getting my shit together.

It's the truth.

Here is something I want every prospective love interest/slumber party host to know about me:

If you decide to wake up and make my breakfast, I like my eggs scrambled together. Please I beg of you, do not bring a plate of over easy/runny eggs. I will pretend to be pleased, but you will know the truth. You will be disappointed in yourself for failing to make me happy and breakfast will be a failure. Omelets are the key to my heart. Omelets with a lot of things in them (spinach, mushrooms/olives, feta cheese and sundried tomatoes a.k.a. the Mediterranean being the ultimate) are the best.

Oh and before you go milking up my coffee, ask me how I want it. My preferences changes with my mood. Everything changes with my mood.

"nicolas cage movies" is in my search bar.

2009-12-26T22:27:00.000-08:00

My internet cut out when I originally wrote this post, in the wee hours of this morning.

I.
His speech was rehearsed, or at least he was used to saying it... repeatedly. His voice cracked and the words sort of groaned out of his mouth. He barely projected, but everyone on the train heard him. It was somewhere around the third time that he asked if anyone had any food, then stated that he was not ashamed to accept it- that I began to dig around for the pile of change I'd placed in my sweater pocket before leaving for the evening. I wished that I had had a slice of sweet potato pie to give to him when I heard the coins hit the cup. He asked God to bless me and moved on.

II.
Just before the train doors opened I saw him and couldn't help but let out a little chortle. An older white man dressed in his summer sailing whites, complete with the cap and shorts. When I boarded the car and looked at the swollen ankles of the seemingly cold passenger, I got that feeling I've had since moving back to NY: I'm so happy that I have somewhere to live. I may pass out from exhaustion on the train every-single-day, and there were those few times that spent all night sleeping on the L train and woke up in Canarsie, BUT I do not sleep there because I have to. And that's what matters most.

This year I was able to buy gifts for everyone for the first time in years. It's nice having a job and not having rent to pay. This money is definitely not disposable income, but it's the closest I've been to it in a long time.

It's 2:22 and all I ever wish for is love.

Josh and Juan came to Christmas. I was so thrilled to have to ability to welcome friends to a family event, knowing that they would be completely comfortable. Well, entertained- at the least (Mom, naturally takes care of this). My mother is the center of all gatherings- Me being an apple only overshadowed by her tree. I drank. I ate. I proved that I have poor hand-eye coordination and a flat voice during a really fun Rockband session. Wii/Xbox360 are making us a family that plays together. I hear that those stay together.

xX.

you have no right, actually.

2009-12-21T12:44:00.000-08:00

Benjamin needs a pheasant for Orphan Christmas dinner (my friends living in NYC from various states get together and do this every year. I hear that it is full of debauchery and cheer, but alas I have a family in the local region so I have never participated). Albeit the request sounded like a joke, but I got on the phone lines regardless. After a few smile through your voice calls, I had one specially ordered courtesy of Garden of Eden UWS, available for pick up tomorrow.

Point is, I tend to make things happen. I'll keep the details to myself for now.

xX.

preparation H (it's in the bag).

2009-12-17T18:51:00.000-08:00

This was originally penned, on actual paper on 12.15.2009 I'm never in front of my computer anymore these days.

As I prepare to spontaneously spend another night, on yet another friend's couch, I am gracious of my where-with-all to always be prepared for a slumber party... Well at least what I consider mildly prepared with this in mind I took a peak into my "party purse" (a freshly formed nickname).

Hygiene
The first item I spied is a pack of false eyelashes -individuals, not the strips. These are for my natural-everyday look. I save the strips for my weekend tranny extravaganzas. Second, I began to notice my plethora of hair products, my favorite of which being Wen's cleansing conditioner. This three-in-one is a life saver. As someone with hair is rather different from most of my friends' I am oft disappointed in foreign showers laden with Garnier products, only to leave the tub to find my strands' worst enemy, the blow-dryer as my only option. Having my cleansing conditioner, which also triples as a leave-in, is a must. Most recently, I also nabbed the matching volumizing finishing spray from my mother's private stock.
*other purse hair products include a container of bobby pins, aveda control paste, and mega must, shea butter smoothing serum.

The next, most important, never leave home without it item is my toothbrush. I keep one in my makeup bag, one in my purse and one at whatever house I predict I will be returning to next. (This time it is my mother's. In the past is has mainly been Jessica's.)

Entertainment

I don't know when the next time I might be locked out of somewhere may be, but I certainly do know that I do spend anywhere upwards of 2 hours a day on the subway, bus or walking. In that time (approx. 220 hrs a year, at an average of 5 days a week.) I must be thoroughly entertained. Besides my (dying) ipod, which is only playing in one headphone these days (unless i jiggle the wire), I have been toting around Chelsea Handler's My Horizontal Life as well as the latest copy of Antenna magazine. The latter, and well the former also, have proven to be chocked full of useful knowledge. I highly recommend both.

Usually, I have some sort of spare shirt and underwear, but as I look at my skevies drying on a doorknob, I encourage you to learn how to hand-wash your clothes, embrace Febreze, pack light and sleep tight.

Xx.

I've since added some Tom's Apricot deodorant. That shit is scrumptious.

mia's big foot-popping kiss.

2009-11-28T23:41:00.000-08:00

I've been trying to figure out what I'm supposed to write about for weeks now.

But here are a few things:

- My least favorite question, so far, has been "So. How does it feel to be back?"
- My family is amazing. I just never tell them so. The word have always felt too weak.
- After convincing my nephew that her name was not "Jeffrey," Jess hung out with me for a bit at my sister's house. She told me that she'd finally invested in an air mattress... So that I can come and stay at her house whenever I need to. That's love. That's why I came home.
- Taking the train is so great. I really took it for granted.
- My nephew Brandon is my new favorite person. I now understand the appeal of children and dogs. They are still in the same category, though. That's the second step I guess... separating the two.

This happened to me:

I got warm, dizzy, and felt completely euphoric. That's also an accurate description of being on drugs. Now I have a cold. THAT's what I get for believing in crushes.

xx.

i was never convinced when i told you where i lived

2009-11-07T23:46:00.000-08:00

I have never really experienced the type of headache one receives as a result of sobbing for, literally, an entire day. Until today. The moment I walked into my future apartment, that sunken chest short-breath feeling arose from my inner gallows. The first round of crying was dedicated to running. Running away from problems, running to them, wanting to actually go for a run... Future roommate James and I went for a walk. I talked about my aches for NY, how I didn't want to quit trying but how tired I was of making my life really hard. Because that's really what I've been doing to myself- making my life as difficult as possible. Constantly testing what I'm capable of.

I walked down to the canals and called my mom for a chat. I haven't felt so honest and relieved in a really really long time. What I enjoy most about life is sharing it with other people. When I sit on the water's edge and smell the salt of the sea on a cool November night, I want to you know those pleasures too. Here, I've no one really truly special to experience these things with. I want my mother to know what this is like. Living in LA, albeit lovely, has felt mostly like living alone in a castle. I want you to see this too.

I thought about the holidays. Thanksgiving, my birthday, Christmas, Mommy's bday / New Years... I cried about the idea of being alone for them. I am not that person. I am not going any further by myself. When I called my sister, I told her that I needed to come home. I can go no longer without a hand to hold on this journey. I like to imagine this as the part of the circus act where the trapeze artist tumbles on to her faithful net. Though it saddens me to fall, it's pretty amazing to have a family to catch me. I guess they did promise me that when I left.

After college, I skipped the part where I was miserable, living at home, saving up money for a place. I decided I couldn't go back there, I couldn't separate from my friends, who had really become my family. I didn't want to stop partying. I didn't want supervision. I certainly did not want help. Today felt like what I imagine Born Again Christians feel when they rediscover God and ask to be welcomed back into His... arms? Except it wasn't God, it was my mom, my sisters, friends, and NY.

LA, I'm done here (just in time for winter, ugh). No regrets.

P.S. While talking to my mom I said, "excuse my French" before saying, "my life out here is complete shit."

scary scary boo.

2009-10-31T14:16:00.000-07:00

It's Halloween. Old Hallows Eve. And boy do I not care. I honestly don't think I've been excited since that one Halloween that I was Jasmine and my sister had to hem my costume pants (that was the only year I ever got a store bought costume, too). It's never really tickled my fancy because I'm not made of money to buy chain-mail so that I can be this:

But even when you're rich and you try to recreate that look it fails. See exhibit A:

I really just want today to continue looking like this:

p.s. what cauldron did the abundance of "sexy" themed costumes bubble up from this year? great, now I want to watch Double Bubble Boil and Trouble (Which is actually titled, Double Double Toil and Trouble) starring the Olsen Twins.

Rule #1

2009-10-25T13:55:00.000-07:00

Chances are, if and when I decide to leave my toothbrush at your house, our "relationship" is about to end.

Maybe it's because I've begun to spend enough time with you / sleep at your house enough to say, "fuck it, I'm just going to pop this in the medicine cabinet... for tomorrow." Or maybe it's because when you see it, you're so freaked out by my (sometimes rapidly) increased comfort level you decide to stop answering my texts and calls. Or maybe I'm just making all of this up. Either way it happens, and it's happening. This occurrence has left me singing The Mighty Mighty Bosstones' "Where Did You Go?" for the last two days. Great.

I'm moving to Atwater Village soon, which is this quaint little neighborhood near Los Feliz and Glendale. It's half a block away from where I work, which will cut traveling expenses and increase sleeping time. It's going to be really nice to have my own space again, as I've been sharing since the glory days of Alumni Village. I can't wait to come home, close my door and play my music.

People have told me that it takes about 6 months to become acclimated to living in Los Angeles. It took one month for the excitement to wear off; two more months for the homesickness to bottom out; one month of counting down to a trip home and one week in NY to make me realize that memories are fantasies. I move into my new place, officially, on my six month anniversary- which, coincidentally, is my birthday.

consume.

2009-10-17T18:09:00.000-07:00

I bought myself a present today.

a marc jacobs delight

I went to the DC store yesterday and hung out with the dudes for like a half hour. The manager gave me his card and is now going to allow me to use his discount. That means I'm going back for these:

The high-tops on the right; those see-thru soles make me want to never wear them. The collection came out in early July but went under my radar, since I normally don't care about DCs.

For a hows-my-life note:
I started working at a bakery in Atwater Village. Their specialty is bread, so I get to carbo-load as much as I want to; I now know how to make coffee drinks and am a master of foaming milk.

I have one friend and honestly, she's more awesome than 10 people combined. "Quality vs. quantity."

xx.

IV.

2009-10-02T01:34:00.000-07:00

As of this upcoming Sunday, I can say that I've lived in Los Angeles for four months. Roughly 120 days have passed since I've seen most of my closest friends and my family. I'll be home in 4 days, riding the subway (and my bike!!) again, and though I'm pumped about it- I'm really happy that it's just a vacation.

You see, turns out that blind date I went on has got this little ball in my head rolling. It was pleasurable night out, but don't get me wrong, Prince Charming is not the reason I already can't get back to LA... Actually, I finally feel motivated. Moments ago, I went over the reasons why any budding relationship wouldn't work out. To be honest, my life is really unimpressive. I live with my best-friend's parents, for free. You know what else starts with free? Freeloader. Frankly, all I have under my belt is that I moved across the country on a whim. Big whoop. If you had no sense, you'd do it too.

But it just happened. I just had the big daydream: I have to get my own place. I need to pay rent again. I need to go grocery shopping (with my own money) again. A queen size bed. Beer in my fridge. Walls to fill with art. A cluttered sink, all of my own. I've never been good at needing anybody else. Dependence is depressing.

NY see you soon, but after that, this vacation is over. Los Angeles, I think I live here now. Just the thought put me in a good mood.

xx.

i guess this is part of being an intern

2009-09-28T02:18:00.000-07:00

It's not that I can't sleep. It's that I won't get into my bed. I'm anxious.
I'm going on some sort of "blind" date tomorrow. I use quotations because the internet has allowed me to see what this person looks like. My friend Alexi, over at IMBOYCRAZY set this up. She told him not to take me out for Indian food because that's not sexy; she suggested Italian instead. I'm always up for a risk (ie. possible stomach pangs and diarrhea) and told him that we should in fact get Indian, being how I like it so much and all. I've been thinking about all of those date questions and how I'm going to answer them. Which has lead to me thinking about myself (yet again), how I see myself, my goals and how I would like others to perceive me.

Lately when people ask what I do, I tell them that I am a Muse. It's the only truthful answer I can give these days. I hope to inspire the cycle of creativity with every outfit I wear, through the conversations I have, and for everyone I meet- because it is art and artists that inspire me the most. I can't think of what I love anymore. I don't know what I am passionate about. I hear that this is what most people go through in their early 20s, but I beg to differ, in addition to having a strong desire to not be apart of a group called "most people." I'm envious of my cohorts in pursuit of their dreams. Though there paths may change later in life, they are walking on one nonetheless and this is something I am not.

Or at least I don't view myself on a moving path. To the contrary: I feel so stagnant.

I'm excited about the date. I think it's always nice to go out in an outfit you've thought too much about, to ride in a car to a restaurant and sit down for a meal paired with good conversation. I have no expectations, which is the best part. Well I guess I expect for it to be enjoyable, or disastrously humorous. Or humorously disastrous. I feel like they have different connotations.

If I could be anywhere in the world right now, it would be a darkroom.

xx.

it ends with bart simpson.

2009-09-23T18:54:00.000-07:00

i'm not feeling much for words right now.
But at the beginning I looked (and felt) like this.

ended up here (this is where I wish i could make that Scott-biting-his-forefinger- "Ghllll" sound).

saw some concept art from "Where the Wild Things Are"

then i met matt groening. THE END.

freewrite #5

2009-09-16T01:34:00.000-07:00

spilling water over the edges of crates
seeped through the slots and i don't regret it
it fell my from grip, as it was made to
can't hold your graces for too long,
fore we'll all fall from that soon enough too.

things may appear closer than they actually are.
a warning to be heeded. you can't touch those stars.
you hate it when i do this, when i go off on these tangents.
but i can't help but tell the truth at all costs
he left me to be raised a liar. a failure from all sides.

who is that strapping young lad strapping her down?
he must've brought those shackles in with him
haven't sold those in years. i can't stop him.
this sounds like a metronome or a heartbeat
synonyms to those i admire.

sleep with me. i want to know what you think
through your dreams i'll know your thoughts of me.
was it strange? full of fantasies?
i better make this quick.

postage marks

2009-09-15T21:08:00.000-07:00

Le Sigh.
I let today slip right through my fingers.

A few things occurred to me as I walked the dogs today. I really don't understand how young people have children. Getting up in the morning solely to take care of something else, that will otherwise shit/pee all over the floor, is not my idea of a good time. Cleaning said poop up off of a neighbor's lawn is not attractive. (Today I saw a charming guy and just as I bent over to pick up a pile of steaming shit, he said "Eyy Brah" into his bluetooth- thankfully. We had mutually murdered our chances for each other anyway.) Babies are also like dogs when you're trying to teach them their name- I guess when you say the same thing over and over to a creature it'll figure out that you're talking specifically to it at some point.

Urth cafe was blasting "Jump In The Line," just as I was thinking about how much life out here looks like that graveyard scene from Beetlejuice. I took this as a sign that I was right.

I keep thinking about home. I'm really excited to go visit. I don't want it to be a visit, but I don't want to give up on my mission of making a life somewhere else. I'll be back I promise. I just have to know that I can do this. I absolutely have to.

The other night was really wonderful. I wasn't at a super awesome party/club/bar. I was on a porch with 15 kids drinking beers and talking. The lighting came courtesy of a low-lit lamp and some flooding light from inside the house. I could barely see some of the kids, but it somehow didn't matter. I could hear them, and I knew that they were there.

That's all I ever want really: To know that someone is there.

xx.

you pro ba bly should n't

2009-09-14T13:33:00.000-07:00

hey boy... why you didn't call me? i waited for days. i can't believe you didn't call.

Oh boys. men. gentlemen. hunks. bros. plaids. Hotties. What is it about these creatures that turn me into a maniac? Is it because of Cher Horowitz's tactics of getting attention at all costs? Ty's obsessive concern over why Elton didn't call her back? Should I have stayed away from Popeye's Olive Oyl who showed me the perils of loving two men at once? Oh, and how hard it is to leave an abusive relationship / how easy it is to date a sucker who will fight for you no matter what / how hard it is to respect someone like that?

This entry was going to be about something entirely different, but now I just want to look up Olive Oyl and Popeye things.

This sums up her loyalty pretty well:

I thought that this was very sweet and if she had any interest in really pursuing being in love with Popeye, she would see how amazing this is:

Instead like most ungrateful, disinterested girls, she's just pissed on Valentine's day for not getting what she wanted. Sometimes it IS in fact the thought that counts. Maybe he wanted you to eat the spinach and punch Bluto in the face yourself for shooting at your ankles and telling you to dance.

Finally Popeye, you've found a woman you can connect with. Who loves you for you and is a boxer too! Will Olive Oyl do something about it??

The part where she turns into a rabid cat and kicks this girls ass is the best part.

So what was the point of this? I'm not sure any more but I've been thinking a lot lately and well, women are crazy. Have you ever noticed that when guys do the things that girls do that make them "crazy girls," they are considered "creepy dudes." Thank goodness, because I rather be crazy. Crazy often denotes a positive connotation, see "Crazy-delicious" and "That shit was crrrrrazy." But creeps are always creepy and nobody likes them.

Girls stop googling people's names after you meet them. Even if it is their fault that there is so much information about their lives on the internet. I need a job. Working decreases my creep factor significantly. I meant crazy, my Crazy Factor.

windows to my soul

2009-09-10T16:42:00.001-07:00

I tend to have at least ten tabs open at any given time. Currently they are:

- 4 Craig's List job listings that I will probably never get around to applying for.
- Wooster Collective
- Maui & Sons
- Street Carnage Boners
- Gunshow Comics
- Dickbutt
- Brian Setzer Orchestra's Tour dates
- YouTube for the "Good Hair" trailer

I was going to move back to NY then my friend asked me to help him with costumes for his short film. I'm also going to intern for IMBOYCRAZY.com Living the dream.

UGH it is so hot.

cold cement.

2009-09-08T12:36:00.000-07:00

when we did this show, we (the "models") were told that cameras were not going to be allowed on the premises. Then where did this picture come from huh? HUH?? In this digital age no one gives a shit about rules anymore and aims to bend/break/work around them on a consistent basis. Even if it means exposing someone else naked body on the internet.
Not that I care or anything.

look mom i'm famous.

2009-09-04T18:43:00.000-07:00

I'm totally in both of these videos. Watch closely for my cameo.

p.s. I'm lying about one of them.

i may not know what day it is

2009-08-30T22:15:00.000-07:00

but I know the week very well.
it's the week where all i listen to is metal. when the words "destroy" "dismember" and "disembody" pop into my mental vocabulary on a daily basis. I find that I just like to say them all quietly to myself. It's the week where everyone constantly asks me "what's wrong?" because my face is all expression-less and telling all of my secrets. It's the week where I only want cheese covered carbs, sit in a sweaty Domino's for 15 minutes to find the much more delicious Two Boots was already on my kitchen table.
This is hell week. and it's not even the one that involves my uterus.

So I realized a small part of why I hate my job so much. The uniform. I've never had to wear a uniform before. I've been asked to look like every other person in the room- each outfit more ill-fitting than the last. There is a very strong correlation between how I feel about my appearance and my attitude. In order for my 'tude to be on positive end of the Sassa-frass to Sarcasti-frass scale, I must be pleased with my appearance.

Unfortunately, wearing an all black suit that doesn't fit properly, accompanied a t-shirt with a neckline so high even a nun would laugh and all black sneakers is so unfashionable it's a mystery people buy clothing from me. But I digress.

I just ate a medium Domino's pizza and a slice of Two Boots. I'm going to work on this Pacifico Clara and take a phone call. Excuse me, life.

big fish eats the little one.

2009-08-28T01:55:00.000-07:00

Starts off around seven a.m.
You haul to work after spending an hour getting your hair right and order coffee at Starbucks. You hate the woman in front of your for ordering a feta cheese wrap at 9 A.M.- you hate the barista more for not taking your order while she waits. It's a regular tall pike place. It would've been fast.
Work bores you and you almost fall asleep standing. You drink coffee on the floor just to see how much shit you can get away with for $11 dollars an hour. On the 60 minutes you get to yourself, you read in the sunlight and combine it with Radiohead. It reminds you of sunbathing on the rooftop in Brooklyn. Pleasure. Time passes and suddenly you're being held over late and miss a book release party in Santa Monica.
On your way home, you decide that "Night Flight," playing at Cinefamily might be a good idea. You buy a ticket. Wendy O. Williams does some talking and you remember why you love women in the punk scene. The Tacate is free and you hold 12 oz of pee for over an hour.
After the movie, your companion reminds you that you're both listed for a Matt and Kim show at El Ray. You enjoy your first cab ride in Los Angeles and laugh about how tourists must feel in NY.
At the show, you feel proud of the friends you never really made that are on the stage. In some strange way you've watched them grow (not-so-much musically, but definitely in popularity), and you are happy for them. They are doing what they want to, living their dream and making money doing so. Your tolerance for vodka is too high and the $20 dollars wasted on drinks should've gone to new shoes. Your toes hurt.
The walk home is three miles. You share some story about being called a racist at work that makes your friend rest her a brick walk in laughter. In reflective tones you both speak of stealing commercial property in youthful drunken adventures. Somehow in six years, you've grown enough to look back on the time as though it were decades ago.
After arriving home to a restless dog, you take her out for a spin. She leads the way, and you fantasize about writing yourself to sleep.
It happens. It all happened.

freewrite #4

2009-08-20T01:09:00.000-07:00

night-time. let's lie for a moment, under the porch lights.
inflamed irises, cornfields, you see:
"everything from where we stand,
to the cliffs over yonder, will be yours"
Did you hear? Did you hear?
The arthritic bones of kings past are cracking
whips and loading their guns! Running to reclaim!
What is theirs? What is there?

I heard the weasels come first. Sneaky bastards.
A warning unheeded, instead i asked you to rest with me for a moment.
You seemed so weary; i wanted the calls of crickets
to guide me to visions of cities in flames
Through the yellowing glow of the porch lamps
Everything is burning.

The snakes finally came to carry us under
i never did claim that territory
fore it was never mine. it was that moment
that belonged to me. the brittle bones
barged through like breached births-
Proclaiming Wars on surrendered soldiers
it must be turned around.

they can have it back- leave me here
with the glow, the warmth, the insects...
swallowed by the embers.

freewrite #3

2009-08-15T01:25:00.000-07:00

"Fuck."
That is it. Everything else they tell you, about the final thoughts a person has before their brain splatters, before their hearts give in and their inner-most bowels escape their physical being, comes down to four letters. Those memories of the first time you held your eldest child, or the way your father pulled your ear as he kissed your cheeks before school in the morning...
Gone.
Fuck. You really wanted to believe that they, those nuances of your mother, sisters, best friends- would be yours. Forever. Unfortunately, when you choked on that cherry pit, watching Pretty in Pink, alone- again, you had to learn that finite nature of "forever." Much shorter than you presumed.
Remember being a door monitor in 6th grade so that you could escape the trenches of Ms. Somer's English class a bit earlier than the other students? Standing the hall just before the bell and watching your peers flood into the corridor... Knowing that their backpacks had found lumbar lodgings long before the bell had sounded?
Remember it now, because you won't then.
There was a night after a field trip to Philadelphia, when you stared at the phone for hours before finally calling. At 12 you may not have understood the duties of the term, but you really wanted one. When he said that he would be your boyfriend you shreaked. When you kissed, you realized the difference between 5'5" and his 5'1", you fled. Not knowing that it would be years before it happened again- four, to be exact.
But that one has vanished now, too.

All you know now is this... fuck