"my sister is a slut"

that has to be the most interesting google search query for my blog to date.

lately, i've been thinking of re-launching this blog back to it's original intention: to share with my friends the hodrum so that the reality of the distance that separated eachother wouldn't seem so real. a synthetic overpass, if you will. of course there is email, an onerous task if one has anything beyond sitting in front of the computer for hours at a time to do; and obviously there is the phone for communication desires, and again one has to take into account "day time minutes", and the acknowledgment not everyone can chat when you can and then vice versa. i have my inhibitions. i also have season 5 and 6 of lost to watch. i'm hooked.

i haven't forgotten, i've ignored; too much has happened since the last time, as usual, and now i'm at a lost as how to fast forward, pause or rewind my thoughts.

so here is something simple: an exercise if you will, to breathe life into the art of reminiscing.

i love...

~peanut butter toast with bananas and honey on it
~puppies
~cashmere socks
~being called "darling" by an old timer
~sharing a bottle of wine with a friend under a star light sky
~the sound of fall leaves benneth my feet
~the distant sound of jazz
~kissing
~my fathers messages
~carving pumpkins
~chocolate covered gummi bears
~cobblestone streets
~pictures of st.petersburg, russia
~the way cotton candy melts in the mouth
~laying in laundry right after it's gotten out of the dryer
~being pampered, including, but not limited to, a deep tissue massage
~wasting an sunday afternoon on a familiar patio
~making someone's day, in the good sense
~my sister, my boyfriend, my family, my friends, u2 and God

medford, oregon is...

~small
~pastoral
~temporary

;)

i am...

~tired
~craving something sweet and elusive
~missing 'home sweet home' and all that entails
~looking forward to my father's upcoming visit
~not too sure what i'm going to do for a halloween costume (track star? dorothy from 'the wizard of oz' would be wicked cool, but i don't quite have the time or resources for such a costume.)
~now, going to bed

there was candle light and we owned the place. i never expected so many to show up, especially after last monday's bowling bust of fun. but indeed, one by one they trickled in dressed up, and, some, totting gifts. josh introduced himself as "a glimpse as my past" and admitted regretting not baking me a chettoo cake as i did for him nine years ago, stephanie passed me a little jeweled bag with the blue bird of happiness inside-- it was holds more sentiment value to her than a creative memories convention holds to a thousand housewives-- i'm honored to have it on loan; luanna was my wife for the night, micheal shared with me a bottle of serious barbaresco vino, i adorned a paris hilton engagement ring rip off, my lovely parents were there, and my darling sister made it all happen.

i thought i'd be going out in a bang, but it's occurred to me, more than anything, i'll be going out with enough love to last for all eternity.

next, spa day with the girls at the four seasons...bitches!

it's official: i'm head over heels for brmc's new albumn. i gave my world the spree, and we danced; we sang along; we walked in silly elation. i was so overwhelmed with loving them that it was only natural to desire the same fulfilment for everyone i knew. and now 'howl' comes along and so has that familar feeling. as jon has already proclaimed, "it's gorgeous". good god, it's more than that: it's friggin brilliant, it's down right perfect. today is my birthday. buy yourself howl, as a gift to me.

at a posie show in september an april boy told me about a band i should have known about long junes ago. early this morning i found this song on an ipod. how lovely.

Big Star - September Gurls

September gurls do so much
I was your butch and you were touched
I loved you well never mind
I've been crying all the time
December boys got it bad.
September gurls I don't know why
how can I deny what's inside
even thought I keep away
maybe we'll love all our days.
When I get to bed late at night
that's the time she makes things right
ooh when she makes luv to me.

what a day! me and dandy are going out for fried chicken. how's that for a pre-celebration?!?

yes, this binge train is still going at full speed. the show last night was fantastic. a little bit of raspberry vodka and soda, a little bit of smiling faces, a little bit of bright lights, a little bit of musical bewitchment, and a lot of friggin fun.

and now it's raining!!! i love this day already.

binge mode

leaving the bar at 2:10am, going out after work, getting high in the middle of the day...these are things i'm not really known for; these are things i hardly ever indulge in, and yet, recently, i'm the poster child. it's 4am and i'm still awake. perhaps it has something to do with being temporarily displaced. but more than anything, it's mostly just pure social gluttony. i know this sort of behavior all to well. back in my dieting days this was my staple: no refined sugar, hydrogenated, or processed food for an entire month, and 45 minutes of cardio every day; this sort of self-totalitarianism was preceded by (and by preceded I mean till the second before resolution was to start) feasts of junk.

not that moving to oregon is some sort of form of resolution. revolution, perhaps. however, there is a thread of similarity and continuity between the two, and there is the 'desired compensation from sacrifice' element in the both. my main reason for moving to oregon is painstakingly natural: love. the other reasons are just as postive and beneficial. for instance, to projectile myself out of a rut. dallas is great, and blah,blah,blah...but, the fact remains- dallas has served no greater good for my once innocent and genuine ambitions, ardor, and dreams. i'm stifled here. not to mention, the overall state of well being that will be gleaned by moving to a part of the country that is extremely focused on a healthy and natural way of life. yes, i'm excited about living somewhere i don't have to drive 10 minutes away in order to recycle. in oregon i'll have the chance to step forward: school, the motivation(and time) to refine a skill, opportunity to do something besides waiting tables (if i should want), and someone for me to be there for and have there for me; someone to encourage and be an encouragement for; someone i love.

tomorrow night centromatic and deep blue something play at the granada, sunday night the spree are playing, sunday i'm having brunch with a friend in from the big A, monday night is my bowling b'day party, this coming up weeknd my parents are here, engagement party on sunday, leave wednesday.

i'm going out in bang folks.

here lies the challenge: the momentous task of catergorizing; of deciding; writing. really, when was the last time i wrote an entry of introspective and informative value? rhertorically, too long now to pick back up the allegorical torch and attempt a sprint around the track.

michelle is lying on the bed with my childhood cat, clover. we're in corpus christi visiting my parents. for me, this will be the last time i'll be down here till christmas. in 15 days the adventure begins. my belongings wait in a storage space, i've put in my two week notice, going away parties are being planned, and the thought of goodbye tears up my eyes.

still not too many people know about the move. just a few weeks ago i broke the news to my parents, just two weeks ago i tolled my boss and my co-workers, and just last night i wrote an email to an old friend about it all. in past plans it never panned out, and in the aftermaths i would feel like a talltale teller. first there was london. i was to transfer with the four seasons but after arranging everything with hr i realized how difficult it was to recieve a visa. then there was romania. i had issues corresponding with the lady who offered to host me. finally after numerous letters and emails i gave up. then there was austin. again with the four seasons. i can't remember what went awry with that effort but something in true anti-missie fashion did. colorado. bust. austin. i did it; i drove back every weekend to work because i couldn't find a job there. a few days after i broke my sublease and quit school, the four seasons and gingerman called me to tell me the finally had openings and, both, offered me a job. but it was a week to late to put in reverse the resolutions in motion. i had finally given up; i faced the cards life had delt me and had decided it wasn't that bad. dallas wasn't that bad.

now here we are- oregon bound. and this time around i have a traveling companion-jon. we have a plan, we have reasons, we have eachother.

my father is leaving for work and now michelle is asking me if i'll go to blockbuster with her. our time here has been well spent: body surfing notable gulf sized waves, bowling, my mothers deliciuos and healthy cooking, scrabble at the coffee shop, and, for myself, half of freakonomics read. but now, now, it's time to snuggle up on the sofa and let the night usher in the morning.

seven months ago when we moved in, tiff and i both aggreed our quasi-uptown apartment was both a. too nice, and, b. too big for we lakewood/little forrest hills post-residents. but with the end o' lease approaching and my life partner now claiming the down under home sweet home, i thought it to be a good idea to begin the de-clustering process. 9 winter coats. 3 of which are mine. 5 of which tiff left behind. 1 of which is taylors. how did that happen?!? where once i cringed at the nakedness of my solarium i know take pride in it's coziness: it's daisies on the table, it's picasso print on the wall.

times up, maybe next time.

(barely) 6 feet under:

on the side of caution, all drunk/broken hearted/venting/vexxing/cheating/lying bloggers hope. hello little way back machine. ugh.

amazingly, so many of you are still here...well, at least that is so many of you are still out here. just half a hour ago jon and i talking about our bewilderment of magazines dedicated to online/interactive games; on how someone can get so immersed into something so seemingly unimportant. there are monthly magazines whose sole premise is birds, model airplanes, and automobiles. i've come to understand o.c.d is the "norm"; but in a society over-saturated with Ritalin, how is that plausible. it's safe to assume, for a self-diagnosis, that i might have a slight, and by slight i mean hopeless and detrimental to the happiness of my future, case of a.d.d. and as someone self-diagnosed with a.d.d i can't imagine ever reaching a point with one of my hobbies in which i assert such energy as to read monthly publications pertaining to it. my attention span begs me to instead: work-out, re-organize my cd collection, scrub the bathtub, read a few chapters in a book i'll never finish, plan the next days itinerary, calculate my monthly projected finances if i were to cease from eating out every single day, watch the news, watch seinfeld, watch trl, hate trl, this, and that. so it's a mystery, but i can't focus long enough on it to figure it out. and for the record, i hope one reading this does not come to ascertain that by coextending my amazement with the longevity of certain blogs to the conversation concerning generation o.a.c.d.a.d that i'm implying such bloggers are as paradoxical or overly fixated on that which is unimportant, because as any good *bleader knows, there is more substance out here than here.

after seven tired and hungry hours in jfk i thought i had learned my lesson. the plane was to depart at 7am. michelle was to pick me up at 6am. i was to wake up at 5:55am, just one hour prior had i closed my eyes. i had worked 14 something hours and was beat; i had written down days before what was to be packed, and in my sleep deprevation, packed it all. i was and i did do it all. at 5:55am i woke up and angrily rolled myself out of bed and to the bathroom--brushed my teeth then hissed at my reflection. michelle arrived in good spirits and with coffee. i hastily gathered the remaining items and we darted out the door into the gradual glowing morning.

tbc...

no, this isn't blogger burn out; and yes, i am writing without thinking about what i am writing--regardless of punctuation, substance, and style. i hardly have the time to read, anything. not blogs, not books, not the paper, not even the writing on the wall. which makes me feel crazy and empty, or maybe it's the emptiness makes me feel crazy, or, maybe it's the craziness that makes me feel empty. just functioning and playing all empty and crazy; knowing it's more serious than i take it, and blaming it on the fact i haven't touched a paperback in just as long as the last time i felt a hardback. everything is out of whack: priorities, goals, bills, my day planner, my closet, and the living room...total chaos. stretched so thin by expectations and "lifestyle". i'm ready for the northwest.

todays horoscope for we virgos:

Eclipse number two has arrived -- and with it, the urge to say exactly what's on your mind. Now, since you can expect rather odd and coincidental occurrences over the course of the day, it's a given that what you'll be saying will be a bit over the top -- at least to dear ones who aren't used to seeing you in this 'condition.' Don't even try to hold anything back, though. It's your turn to let go. Big time. They'll get over it.

and that's just the half of it...

i wasn't kidding:

tonight at nokia live

now, where to find a black wig and a pair of converse tennies?

having to pee. having to pee so badly i might not make it to the bathroom if i were to try. but this right here, this pussiant display of self vs self, this is self-control; and probably a sure fire way to develop a bladder infection as well. my roommate hurt her back, so i, the self-less, kind-hearted, and ambulatory roommate, has post-poned my daily itenary in order to drive my own little miss daisy to school for a very important meeting with the school's president. afterall, it was she and taylor who picked me up from the airport at 5am just a few days ago.

for the ride home

'Termite guts can save the planet,' says Nobel laureate:

"The way termite guts process food could teach scientists how to produce pollution-free energy and help solve the world's imminent energy crisis. Speaking at the Institute of Physics conference Physics 2005 in Warwick today, Nobel laureate Steven Chu urged scientists to turn their attention to finding an environmentally friendly form of fuel. In an impassioned plea to some of the world's brightest minds, he explained how he's leading by example, and encouraged others to join the effort which "may already be too late."
Chu, who shared the Nobel Prize for Physics in 1997, has begun studying termite guts – one place in nature where a key hurdle for carbon-neutral energy supply has already been solved. Termite guts take indigestible cellulose, which makes up the bulk of all plant material grown on earth, and convert it to ethanol, which even today is a versatile and popular fuel.
Chu described how he decided to leave the richly-funded precincts of Stanford University to become Director of the Lawrence Berkeley Labs to kick-start the effort. He has been cajoling his new colleagues, including 56 members of the prestigious National Academy of Sciences, to realise the gravity of the problem and shift the focus of their research. And, he says, it's beginning to work.
The US already subsidises farmers to grow corn to turn into ethanol, but $7bn in the past decade has been wasted because the process isn't carbon-neutral. "From the point of view of the environment," explains Chu, "it would be better if we just burnt oil."
"But carbon-neutral energy sources are achievable. A world population of 9 billion, the predicted peak in population, could be fed with less than one third of the planet's cultivable land area. Some of the rest could be dedicated to growing crops for energy. But the majority of all plant matter is cellulose – a solid, low-grade fuel about as futuristic as burning wood. If scientists can convert cellulose into liquid fuels like ethanol, the world's energy supply and storage problems could both be solved at a stroke."
This is where the termite guts come in. A billion years of evolution have produced a highly efficient factory for turning cellulose into ethanol, unlike anything which humans can yet design. By exploiting these tricks, says Chu, we can use biology as a solution to a pressing world problem.
Nuclear fission may be the holy grail, but in the 50 years since it was first proposed, the predicted time-to-market has grown ever more distant. Solar and wind power look appealing, but mankind has not yet discovered how to store electricity on a large scale. Ethanol – a chemical fuel which would release no more carbon than it took to produce, would be the solution.
Immense funding is made available to cure the "diseases of rich people" such as cancer and heart disease, says Chu. "If we can't cure cancer in 50 years," he says, "it will be tragic but life will go on. But if we can't develop carbon-neutral fuel sources, life will change for everyone."

wishing i was still there:

now we're rolling

man can not live on peanut butter alone-though i wish he/me could. during the course of a typical day, it is safe to assume, that i consume 5-7 tablespoons of it: for breakfast, for snacking, and late at night as a post-dinner meal. i leave lunch and dinner #1 open for other sources of nutrition- a smoothie if i think i might be getting ill, or i just need to feel extra healthy; one of those vegatarian enchilida microwavable contrapictions; a cheese burger and fries from Jakks; or, something just totally off the radar if i've over done it with the above mentioned. i'm a creature of repitition. but this morning, an errant spirit came over me, and i, while the coffee brewed and the waffles toasted, i got out the butter, honey, and mixed berries. crazy, i know. being still early and blonde to the root, the precaution in checking to see if the neglected butter was still good or not went right over my head. as i sat on the living room floor with tiff watching either the weather channel or cnn(i can't really recall. we watch both.) and enjoying my colorful breakfast, i realized that something was wrong. and that something was my waffle.

waiting to throw up,
missie rose

i'm sitting here at the mecca of yuppieville: the smu bookstore, and looking around i'm wondering-when did everyone, and i mean everyone, become so cool? so avant garde with fashion and poise? the dresses over jeans...just another staple of the urban outfitters sub-culture, the cuffed jeans with mary jeans...just another basic dressing essential of a soriety girl shopping in between classes, the over-sized sunglasses that years ago i was scoffed and teased for...now, "what's hot". for nearly three years i have kindly stood by and watched my aberrance of style become a costume of cool for post-abercrombie and doonie and burke kiddies. i thought this fad would pass-that soon enough i could go back to the way things were: the style i so deviously stole from the danes and my russian. but three years later, at a bookstore for spoiled squares, i see it's much more worse than i thought.

it wouldn't be so appalling if the taint of poser wasn't so overt in intention, and i probably wouldn't be ranting like some pious elitist of cool if i too could afford every fad-but then again, who knows-maybe i would.

i know i don't mind that the once underground world of blogging is now made into newspaper's columns of interest, or that the once pride in being involved in something new and cutting edege has been exploited by many of those in the media in hope to compensate for trailing so far behind.

i don't mind that zach braff made a quirky-not-really-indie-trying-too-hard-to-be-poignant film that spoon fed the masses bands such as the shins and postal service because i liked that cheesy ass film and witnessing publicity for bands that deserve to have mtv show case their crib over 50 cent's.

i don't mind shows like the OC who do the same week after week because, again, i like that show and i like the thought of sales rising for bands who deserve to be known by more than a handful of other artists, the guys in the record store, and the musically apt.

and with all that stated, the funny thing is that i really like ashlee simpson.

first attempt in writing: not so good.

....hours later

not to sure if things are looking better for round 2 either.

feeling: unsatisfied

the incessatiable me. the terminally hopeless bad speller. the girl with a smirk, with a doppey gaze, with a sparkle in her eyes, with a tear in her smile; the over dramatic, verbum sap!

i'm wanting, seriously debating, on delaying other tax return purchases for a digital camera. just thinking of all the fun that could be had. or all the fun that could be had in oregon, another purchase of debate. and yes, i debate. it's that feeling of being unsatisfied, maybe moreso and plainly put, a tad bit flummoxed with the end of scene.

i waited to hear, i wanted to hear, but nothing was said. strong and beautiful feelings over come with silence; years of emoutional silence, with eyes wide open. i struggle with the reality-with understanding, knowing but neverless, wanting. so very intensly, wanting to hear- needing to cease from assuming, one way or another, an audible tangability. if that's even a real word-if that even makes any sense or not.

so here, in the paranoi of the void, my mind begins to drift, and i cringe for safety and stability. even with these not real words, i am cringing-teeth grinding, "do i stay or do i go?". and if i stay, or if he follows, or if i go, can the unsaid now be natural? is inquiring in and of itself an ansewer in and of itself? or perhaps it is ensuring what is already assumed in optomism.

"so trivial", i tell myself, "i know."but being smart. what about being smart. moving across the country for the, merely, percieved plausible? i can not, or as the case will probably be, i should not move for that which is more hypothetical than it is substantial. and that i derive from the silence.

not without a fight!

verbum sap: enough said-used to indicate that something left unsaid may or should be inferred; word to the wise.

that one is most definately going on the fridge tomorrow for our word of the day. we thought that pills and cabernet would add something-or so, i thought i would medicate myself, open the bottle of red, set the mood, slip out of the room and into my bed, letting the gods of vino and sparklehorse work their magic in the living room. time will tell but i'm dying to know. wake up sleepy head, wake up!!!

being a morning person is such a curse.

a-ha, she's calling now.

enjoy sxsw, friends.

so much, so little. the story goes, around and around and around. i wonder if the sarcasm; the intentional over-dramatics is noticeable? in here. i wonder if that black skirt from old navy will still be there tomorrow? size 1's are always the first to go and the last to end up on sale. it's the only fashion woe we skinny people should ever bitch about. now, to be short-we shorties, have an abundant assortment of, understandably merited, complaints: jeans made only for amazon women, knee length skirts that make us look like pentecostal hobbits, and the annoying size 0 dress that places the boob slots on our tummy instead of, ahem, our boobs.

you should see my little sister, she's pratically a foot taller than me and painfully attractive. i've never been one easily prone to jealousy (zip it, mister.) but about jr. high, when the boys in my class would tease me-accusing me of needing a phone book to see over a car dashboard or placing text-books under my dangling mary jane adorned feet as i sat studiously in my desk, i often thought of my little bigger sister, and bitterly inquired the almighty if he had accidentally given the little bigger some of my birth right inches. when tenth grade rolled around, that hot pubescent august, not only had i finally cleared five feet, become a woman, but i also let my schtick over the height heist go; i finally had boobs, and after endless lonely summer days spent on the texas tornado and the conquistador whilst my friends whipped past me on speeding and flipping carts, i could alas ride the flashback too.

the boys had a new target anyways: a red headed pistol equipped with sticks and stones, and daddy's money to hide her pain in. she and me, somehow always ended up in saturday morning detention together. i remember my other girlfriends would come waltzing into bible class on monday morning; gloating quietly, the lucky gal would pass a note under the desk revealing in scribbled penmanship the three hours spent in detention flirting with hottie so and so. me on the other hand, i never once in my countless saturday morning hanging out in the school cafeteria, had the chance to hang out or play footsy with one of the cute boys. just with the problem child, footsy excluded.

it was problem child that first introduced me to the world of tongue rings and atheism. we would pass the early morning hours writting poetry and bouncing philosphical ponderings from the pop machine. she had a dark sense of humor and i loved edgar allen poe. i imagined one day she would dedicate her life to satan as prank and end up in hell for all eternity. instead, problem child ended up pretty normal-wearing designer jeans and showing up at every "it" show. one would find it hard to believe that once upon a christian highshool, she was such the problem child in saturady morning detention, every week.

earning saturday morning detention wasn't difficult, let the record show. three or more tardies and your ass was theirs. punctuality has never been one of my stronger attributes, but as the years have progressed, i've gotten much better. mrs.king would be proud, dare i say. but it all depends. i don't really think that with me, character traits such as punctuality or perservernace has anything, or much, to do with a lack of strength, but with my inability/disdain to prioritize between instances such as: a quick stop at starbucks for a much needed espresso versus getting to work on time. i've learned the hard way to know thyself; and with such inner insight, i know i'll stop for the espresso everytime, and thus, i know to organize my time in such a way that i am able to afford every insufferable whim of mine. i've heard, knowing and understanding your opponent is one of the key elements in winning strategic games such as chess. not suprisingly, i've found that i am my own worst enemy. classic plot for a tragedy, or a comedy.

i've gone on much longer than i anticipated: waiting, hoping that jon would call me back and help me fix a computer glitch so that the burning of all cds may begin. i've worked way too hard- clicking incessantly on "import", clicking repeatedly "get track names", then to "create new folder", and for the love of god: typing in the band and album names! most of the pirating was to be for him anyways. how can a man live without northern soul and grace? two of the best albums of our time! this is intervention, a requested intervention at that. and me, my diet is lacking some most neccesary iron and wine. though i'm pretty confident that some damien rice, neutral milk hotel, velvet underground, pilot drift( a little n.s with alot of o.s), and the likes will comfortably quell my appetite for the time being.

for no other reason, but another.

where did we all go?!? drifting off into space; into spaces of space, with our secrets, and longings-desperate for meaning and literal for substancial intention. like others. we take our grins, our double meanings, and create some sort of percieved verve; and, in the soft perplexity of chaffing engagements and clicking clocks, shall disappear into never never land.

the end.

from my older sister living in sri lanki: perspective

"Well, the mental picture you paint is all I need to hear - I'm glad your moving to a less stinky area :) The situation here is crazy. Remember how it was after 9/11? Everyone was flying flags, hugging the ones they love, being kind to strangers: that's the thing about tradgedies. People are touched by the realization of how short life is and how much love we feel towards each other. On this island you see men holding hands, girls walking arm in arm, children who leave their parents house only after their married and that's usually not until their 30's. It's like Mexican families - gramma, uncle and cousin are all immediate family members and usually reside within the same domocile. But these things aren't new here. They didn't start happening after the tsunami - it's always been like that here. Tragedy has always been at their doorsteps, walking their streets, lurking in their neighbors house. This country was already taking each day and cherishing it. These people already openly loved one another and were kind to strangers.

Some days here in the city it seems like nothing has changed. The destruction was to the south and north of Colombo but, miraculously, missed the 30 km of coastline of the city. The other day I was at the health club where we work out. It's actually a Hilton Resdience Hotel and it's where Brett lived from March until August when we moved into the house we're in. A man was wondering around the bar, talking to people. One of the waiters told us the man lost his wife in the tsunami. In my mind I wondered, why he was still here. Why doesn't he leave? Does he want to stay? Is he unable to find the magical 'closure' that's suppose to begin the healing? Or, like Brett, does he work here in Sri Lanka and lived in this Hotel with his wife, his wife who is now gone.

Other days you hear the impossible. A bus swept off the coast of Sri Lanka washed up on one of the islands of the Maldives. Another story of a girl in a hospital, around 7 or 8 years of age. She doesn't remember her name, who she was here with, she has complete amnesia. No one has called looking for her. Then you hear about miracles. People who left just one day early from vacationing, a couple driving along the coast who decided to go and look at a waterfall in the mountains and when they returned everthing was gone including the road they'd been on; a small factory that faced the ocean moved a mile inland just two weeks before the tsunami hit.

The city hasn't changed, the people really haven't changed much either there's just a new word in their language now - tsunami. It's the story's that have changed and its the foriegners arriving in the airport who have come to help the people who live here. And the ex-pats. I was grateful before this disaster to the people living here and the kindness they showed but now there is a gentleness in my gratitude. And there's something else I feel too, but I can't describe it. The word appreciative is probably closest to how I feel but it doesn't quite fit the feeling. I guess that's something I'll have to think on.

Hope that helps paint a picture for you of what I am seeing here. No major physical damage where I am but emotional trauma.

Love ya bunches - give Michelle a hug for me then have her hug you for me :)
Shannon"

not by any means of intention is this blogging thing coming to an end. i feel it to be more of an natural elimination; the shuffling of commitments; a sooner than later, later. but who knows. i tried skateboarding tonight...what a riot. i was holding a cig with one hand, a beer with the other, while breezing through a warehouse on 'my board'. no, not my board, literally; just trying to hip to the lingo. it was fun and i think i could be good. make that golden. i think i could be golden. yes, golden. that's nice. i've always had this premination that there are some things, if ambition and preserverance applied, i would be awesome at. like ice-skating and gymnastics, sculpting and somethingology. i'm a vault of potential, what can i say...the salty dogs are, definitely, wearing off.

like most things in life, finishing my new york saga is more effort than it's worth. but i'm in a mood tonight. an awfully dangerous mood. the type that involves me frozen in my car at 1am, listening to sinatra, and watching the neighbors sprinkler make a puddle in the street. not reflective, not pre-occupied, not enamored with this or with that, not trapped in some thought process, simply, mentally, lethargic. a tad bit tipsy too, perhaps. there has been a lot to take in today, but as i sat in my car just a few minutes ago, i can honestly say that i was blank as a blank and it felt nice. after sinatra, i let the silence in, even though i hate that silence: the silence so silent it in itself is loud, is obnoxious, makes your ears want to bleed and your heart beat a little faster, unsteady in perfection. i use to make myself sit in my car till i absolutely couldn't take it a second longer. like holding your breath under water, just 30 seconds longer, 10 seconds longer, breathe. i did it till this one night when the silence was so loud that i crumbled into tears. just pushing the limit, my weirdness, a limit of, in an audible and contradicting (non-)sense, the invisible nihilism. or an ear infection....i'm not sure. going to rock shows can do that. in fact, thanks to radiant, my ears are buzzing as i write. and being past 2am, my bed looks down right tasty. on that note,

sweet dreams.

part 2...

exactly on schedule, the plane hits the run way. it was as smooth of a flight as i have ever been on. i contemplated praising the pilot on my out but shortly came to the conclusion that i, knowing nothing about flying, might come across as someone trying to be a know-it-all by complimenting on something i knew nothing but the comfort about.

walking through the terminal to the baggage claim, i thought about 'the terminal', the movie. i remember someone telling me that it was based off of a true story-and while watching the movie weeks ago, how the thought of it being an actual account versus a fictionalized script, affected me deeply; on how cruel everyone was to this helpless and victimized man. and although the terminal was filmed in and about jfk, how incredibly similar la guardia mirrored the appearance of jfk. but it was the cruelty tom hanks character received that i found to be puzzling. this was because on my last trip to the city, i experienced nothing but kindness and helpfulness from new yorkers: a girl in a bar offering me a cigarette, an old man on some street in china town, after looking at me looking dumbfounded at a map then back up to the street sign, asking me, with the gruffiest new york accent imaginable, if i needed some help with directions, the couple in the subway suggesting places i should visit, and the friends of erik who enthusiatically cheered for me each time i got up to bowl.

as i stood on the corner outside the airport, sweetly waving my hand for a cab like they do in the movies, a cab driver pointed at the sign behind me, which read, "taxis ->". i must have looked like a total goof but the people behind me didn't chuckle, they just kept on moving. as did i, but with rosy cheeks.

after waiting in line for over half a hour for a taxi, i'm finally in one and on my way to the lower east side apartment jackie(rachels sister) found for us on craigs list. the cab driver is telling me about when he was young. his accent is strong and i have a vexxing time at understanding everything he's telling me, but being conscious of the moment at hand; of feeling the coolness of the pleather seat become warmer each second i'm slumped over it, of the reflection of me-of the tassels of my hair that had mysteriously fallen from my pony tail and the cream wool scarf swallowing my face, staring back at me from the night lit maze of senescent apartments and dodgy streets outside the window, of this conversation between two people from two different worlds--i doubt my previous suspensions of this trip being a mistake could be true, even despite the yearning in my heart to be on the opposite coast in another type of automobile with a man i can verbally understand.

to be continued...

real world: nyc

to my right was the hov lane. it stretched out ahead of me gleaming and sparkling with the possibility of uninhibited speed. in less than forty-five minutes, flight 412 would be taking off to la guardia with or without me. and at that moment in time, painfully snailing through traffic on 635's pre-5 o'clock rush hour rush hour , i was afraid it would be without me. the stress levels were at their highest, i could feel the anxiety welling up into tight knots within my chest and adding heat to my face-i still had to drop off jons parents mini van to the park and fly, catch the shuttle to the airport, check in my bags, and haul ass to my gate. i took a deep breathe and closed my eyes for some buddha reflection: "you should not fight what you can not control". i repeated it silently over and over and decided i would stay in the traffic trapped lane despite the need for speed; that i would do my very very best at making my flight, and if i could not, then i could not. sure i had worked my ass off for over a month to do this trip. sure i had spent over a month pinching my pennies, nickels, and dimes. sure i had decided to follow through on my word of going to new york with the girls over a later request to spend the holiday weekend with the devilishly good looking, jon. sure i would be missing out on, what i assumed would be, a week full of priceless memories. sure.

to my right, is a barren field. the blades of grass are dull with color. out in the distance bleakers, or something of that nature, paints the horizon with sci-fi imagery. closer in view, is the wing of flight 412's plane. i'm sitting, still trying to catch my breath from the sprint in, astonished that i made it and curious if perhaps i shouldn't have; questioning the possibilities at why it seemed everything was against me making it on this plane. of course, being prone to epic stricken curiosities, i speculate that the plane will probably crash, and such that i will die, or that it was just a busy day and i wasn't as prepared as i should have been.

to be continued.

skit-skat

this may be the longest break from blogging in my two and a half year stint doing this thing. you wouldn't believe how, literally, in demand me and my time are. we might be hotter than lindsey lohan or scarlett johansberg. might, i re-iterate, humbly. and humbly because, unlike my similaties fast and glamorous lives, i have had time to sit in front of my computer, in my pjs two nights since my last post, and, write two, very, rough drafts; in addition to the fact that my life isn't in the least a tad bit glamorous. but that's on the dl. as to the posts in waiting- one was about christmas shopping on christmas eve and the other about the tsunami in asia. both have left me a little contemplative, a little distraught, and alot drained. at this very moment in time, i'm sitting at the end of the bar here at my work. so, obviously, i'm also a little distracted. just wanted to leave something before i go to new york tomorrow.

one of the best phrases i 've heard lately was in an interview on npr about christmas music, highlighting the segment was a review of the oc's christmas cd, "have a very merry chrismukkah". the critic referred to the show, oc, as having an element of, "profound superficialism". this he went onto to conclude aided in the landscape of the albumn. but it was the phrase, not the songs or the final word of the review that stuck to me. like glue.

just earlier this afternoon as i connected the dots from one store to another, in haste to finish my christmas shopping before the stores finished their christmas eve work day, my mind, without warning or instigation, went there-back to that phrase. and i couldn't help but notice- in marketing attempts, in my fellow shoppers, in myself, at how we're all obsessed with it, with profound superficialism. it's not something i would ever want to admit: being a ridiculous by-product of pop dichotomy, but it's worth noting for the sake of honesty, that i do. every period in time is given an age: the age of reason, the age of enlightenment, the dark age, the age of imperialism, and now, the age of profound superficialism.

kate and i, sitting on the floor in target, stared lustily at the fondue kit marked down to $25 from $40. neither of us had ever, up until this moment, thought of owning our very own we admitted. hours before, we were enjoying the remarkable december weather on a patio just blocks away and somehow, without being aware of it, our day had progressed to christmas shopping.

the fondue kit was like nothing i had ever seen; it was shiny and sheek and i thought about the late night snacks i could make for jon and i with it, and how rad that would be. then i contradicted the radness with practicality, and thought about how rad it would be to have a tv, or let's say pots and pans first.

hands down, the best (blog)compliment to date:

"your words are serious and steeped in conviction. your pictures are silly and smothered with slapstick. you seem like an appropriate blend of frowns and grins. like a spork."

i don't know which is worse: vomiting out whatever seems to come up the fastest, or, not vomiting at all.

and by vomiting, i'm meaning: writing, relating, revealing, and sharing.

time is more popular than ever these days; and i, myself, am barely able to allocate ten minuetes for myself, let alone reflect on anything past the peripheral of the obsolete. like right now, it's 4:10am. i've worked 15hours. i'm beat.

perhaps soon, i'll find the time to ruminate and marinate in the days events; in the changing seasons; in my, dare i admit above a whisper of vulnerability, inamorato; in the music blasting at my chest, and the masterpiece of all that which it accompanies and embodies.

until then, i have my vices in place: a bottle of spanish red wine, a box of chocolates, and richard ashcrofts voice-that right there isn't a bad place to start and end.

blessed house slippers

during the course of my day many a things i set to accomplish. one of which is laundry. i think it's been over a week since i put my lights into the washer, and in the washer they have stayed. luckily for me, work requires i wear black. however, not luckily for me, i'm fresh out of socks and my floors are hardwood; hardwood that feels like a frozen pond during this time of the year. but i have house slippers, little balernia house slippers with beads. their my very first pair and after their rescue this evening, i'm pretty sure, a lifelong neccesatity. either that or socks that grow on a tree...like my money one.

winter comes, winter goes but jean jackets last forever.

this is dallas not detriot and definately not moscow-i've skated through every chilly winter since the days of my parents buying me clothes, without one... apart from the peroidical jean jacket and over sized scarf (if that even counts). mostly because (a.)i didn't want to spend x amount of my paycheck on one, partially because (b.)i'm so damn practical and knew living in the dirty south that there is no real need, and alot because (c.) knowing myself and the amount i would be able to spend, i knew i wouldn't be able to afford the type of jacket i would want.

this year however things have a new spin; a big apple spin. yep, me and the honnies( belle, sj, rach, and jackie) will be boarding jet planes at the end of this month to spend new years eve in new york city. and from what weather.com tells me, a brrrrrr new york, new york.

i'm planning on packing more jeans and trousers than i will skirts, and that's a first. and the skirt i am packing, because i plan things this far ahead, it's true, when worn, will be worn with stockings underneath. green stockings at that (the homolicious sales guy at club monaco revealed to me that if he was a girl he would live in colored stockings. how could any girl resist such a pitch, huh?). in my planning mode i also succembed to the fact that i need to get a real deal winter coat for the new york nights ice-skating in rockerfeller center or the afternoon walk around central park looking for the modern or the strolls back to our place in soho after nightcaps at a restaurant. and i'm trying. i'm trying so damn hard to find one i like. i've even taken the lid of my piggy bank and decided to let my heart yearn after whatever it feels like yearning after. which has entailed thus far: club monaco, a/x, regular priced gap, jcrew, banana republic, and marc jacobs online; and after weeks of this sort of unleashed girl gone wild flights of fancy and mall scavenging, i've yet to find a jacket. i've bought two. returned two. have none.

anyone with suggestions will be worshiped and praised. i'm looking for something well fitted, warm, and that doesn't have a V cut to it. i'm willing to entertain the idea of faux fur lining, as that seems to be"all the rage", but i prefer to keep it simple, cute, and sophisicated. black is ideal. leather is not. it's 4am. i give this as a disclaimer if this post is horribly incoherent and lame. the spelling and grammar blunders, everyone knows, have nothing to do my sharpness, but merely, my private school edimaction. *wink-wink*

sweet dreams.

concerning mankind: things i can't stand

-the use of um's and uh's in one's speech.
-over chatty women.
-men who walk like their on steroids.
-people who say they're ready to order then breeze the menu while you stand there, as if your not busy and the world revolves around them.
-people who try to seem intelligent. subtle intelligence(and ignorance) is a lost art if you ask me.
-hipsters.
-unwarranted opinions and power trips.
-people not turning right in the right hand lane at a red light.
-people having conversations on their cell phones while hanging out with friends or in the car with someone else. my mother never allowed us to talk on the phone with another friend if we had a friend over and i think if more people would have had a mother as set on being proper and courtesies as mine, the world would be a better place.
-people with a basket over pouring with groceries in the 10 items or less lane.
-people with a basket over pouring with groceries in the 10 items or less lane who don't offer to let you, the person behind them with a pint of ice-cream and laundry detergent, go ahead of them.
-people who assume more than they don't; and people who make judgements about you, or who you are, without really knowing anything about you. geezes, i wish it was acceptable to stick my tongue out at such people.
-gossipers
-people who gossip as if they're not really gossiping.
-shady mechanics. i'm sick of men thinking they can prey on my wallet just because i'm a little girl,who in reality, doesn't really now that much about engines and brakes. but still, fcck you shady mechanic!
-liter bugs. ewhhhhhhhh, this subterranean species of mankind irks me the most. how hard is it to wait till your at the gas station to throw away the sack from arby's?!? come on now!
-loud people.
-children at nice restaurants.
-the mind set that: what the minority wills should over-power what the majority wills.

and on that i'll wink and wince.

"big city missie"...?!?


for years i ate, drank, and slept the idea of moving somewhere else. dallas was mundane and i was over it, so i thought. but the day came, without warning, and i began to love-to understand, all this fine city had to offer; i began to feel like i belonged to a scene that wouldn't be the same without me--but mostly, i created some absolutely incredible "once in a lifetime" friendships.

i've never really understood the appeal of the suburbs, not for the life of me. while dallas may not be a mecca of the metropolitan lifestyle, it neverless has a certain mystical air of 'the city' to it. for example: we take cabs to bars, we eat at restaurants with sous chefs, we shop at boutiques specializing in euro fashion, we walk our dogs on sunny days, we spend sunday mornings listening to live jazz while we enjoy brunch, we know good music and good wine, we read the new york times and love our starbucks, and we frequent touring art exhibitions. damnit, we are city-hear us roar!

and so, the thought of leaving all this behind is really difficult to fathom...but as it thought of living without jon.

sigh.

i have have some seriuos thinking to do, obviously.

it's 2:30am and i'm up...making penut n'butter toast, reading(well, was reading) the others blogs, and listening to parachutes. this whole, "burning the midnight oil" thing is purely accidental. so is listening to parachutes. now, the pb toast on the other hand, for that i would wake up in the middle of the night for, intentionally and purposefully. i would even, dare i lie, scale the great wall of china for just one delicious bite. add honey and bananas, and i'd even go back to highschool...for a day.

could you put a heart on your rubber first, please. (this post is brought to you by being awake really late and a distant, but relatable, subject from candied ginger concerning coffee, the overwhelming and, in this case, unsuccessful disfranchisement of personal predilection from "lifeless homogeny" activists, and christmas.)

across the globe, on december 1st, aids awareness and human rights groups rally for the attention of the world. their message: a.)"HIV is an issue for everyone", and b.) "the only way we can stop it spreading is by creating a more AIDS Aware society in which everyone takes action".

and so, the powers that be, from here in the united states to south africa, implement various campaigns and channel millions, if not billions, of dollars in the effort that these various campaigns will be, hopefully, successful.

in china, after years of the chinese government denying that AIDS was a growing epidemic, president hu jintao went to an AIDS hospital and shook patients hands. other asian countries, such as thailand, have committed to raise awareness that woman and children are at high risk to be infected due to gender inequalities that force woman in marriages with husbands that frequent infected prostitutes. in germany, they measured the size of their penises. no shit. in south africa, where a quarter of the population carries the HIV virus, government officials renewed their vows to promote prevention, tackle stigma and discrimination and speed up distribution of antiretroviral drugs which keep the virus at bay. here in the states, we to renewed our vows to work with a wide array of partners to support and sustain HIV/AIDS prevention, treatment, and care strategies; that political leaders and opinion makers at all levels will speak out on the grave dangers of the disease and against stigma and discrimination and help to disseminate accurate, life-saving information.

this vow goes beyond our borders and to the door of botswana, of cote d’ivoire, of ethiopia, of kenya, of mozambique, of namibia, of nigeria, of rwanda, of south africa, of tanzania, of uganda, of zambia, of haiti, and of guyana--where this vow takes the shape of fifteen million dollars. here at these green piles of millions of dollars non-governmental organizations, including faith- and community- based groups; private corporations; donor and developing governments; and international organizations such as the joint united nations program on HIV/AIDS, the world health organization, and the global fund all contest for more funding.

the legislation responsible for creating and implementing the emergency plan for AIDS relief plan also emphasizes the use of the 'abc' model (abstain, be faithful, use crubbers) ,which has been (albeit my their own claims) proven effective in uganda, where the adult prevalence rate of about 5% - one of the lowest in sub-saharan africa - represents a reduction of more than 50%. this though has funding dependent organizations with a thing against christainity/bush panties all up in a knot. mary crewe, director of the centre for the study of AIDS at the university of pretoria, revolted with this statement against the 'abc' model,

"ABC is a middle-class, middle-aged response to an epidemic, all overlaid with a kind of morality that doesn't hold any more."
she said that on these grounds,

"In countries where there are very high levels of sexual activity around, with social dislocation, family breakdowns, sugar daddies, with young people bored and with nothing to do, to suddenly come in and say you should stop having sex is absolutely ludicrous."
while that statement sounds as ludicrous as her supposing encouraging abstinence from horny kids vulnerable to a cureless killer virus is ludicrous, the remainder of what she told an afp reporter is worth considering: that women who faced coercive sex from a husband who had been infected by a prostitute and young girls pressured into marriage or coaxed into intercourse with an older, infected man; that in these situations, the problem was not abstinence, fidelity or even condoms, but rights, legal protection, female empowerment, education and poverty.

so...i ask myself,

"if we're encouraging the use of condoms, but it won't help-and if we're encouraging abstinence, but it can't help either, than what-what in the hell are all these groups bitching about the 'abc' model not working as well as the encouragement of rubbers would?!?"
the fact is, the 'abc' model sure does encourage men to pull that rubber hose up and over mr.happy- but with the recent statistics released, the most prevalent concern should no longer be about the education and availability of condoms but on what are we going to do about poverty in these countries; what are we going to do to empower these woman to have a choice in what jobs they can have, what man they will marry and divorce if his wanker ventures to a whore and more importantly, when and with whom they will or will not have sex with. that is what these groups should be crying bloody murder over. the fact that they are not and instead crying boohoo over a model that emphatizes (in addition to the rubbers don't forget) a moral that resembles a christian moral that bush so happened to implement, makes me wonder,

"what are these groups in it really for?!?"

i swear i just heard gun shots- and now i'm aware of all the different sorts of noises right outside my window, like june bugs hitting against the glass and rain drops falling through the chilly winter air tap dancing on the autumn leaves below; everything, collectively, faint and eerie. i'm reaching for yo la tengo. something familiar, for warmth and melancholy. a cup of hot cocoa sounds nice, too.

head on revised

with coffee and a cranberry orange muffin in hand, i arrived early saturday morning at the restaurant ready to start pulling out the white fairy lights and fluffing reaf after reaf. i may not be the biggest fan of christmas, but i'm definately a, decorating for any occasion, guru. a few years ago i was hired to do some freelance decorating work at the anatole hotel for the infamous crystal ball. we spent three non-stop days transformimg a conference room into a winter wonderland. i was industrious and energetic throughout the entire process- and by the end of that third day, a christamas decorating professional.

this time around however i was sluggish and worse than that: i was the furthest thing away from being creative. my mind was somewhere else and my stomach was twisted up in knots. i had come head on with the realization that i had been a complete ass wipe to someone dear to me. the flood gates had been opened; the revelation of my recent behavior in light of said dear one's recent behavior was hitting me in tidal waves, one right after another and i was mortified by it.

after what little decorating i had accomplished, i raced home, and not wanting to be a pain in the ass by bothering dear ones movie day, i typed away painfully and sincerely into an email.

the past few days i've been realizing alot about myself-and none of it is good. for example: i make up reasons for, not only my intentions, but the causes as well. instead of being honest about what my intentions and the causes truely are. not because i want to be deceptive or anything like that, but because, i'm deathly afraid of the vulnerability that is found in admitting and stating the truth, so much that half the time i don't even realize i'm doing it until i'm basking in the aftermath from it. it's true: i'm a decoy addict.

first time for, almost, everything

traveling abroad does more than broaden your world view and outlook on life: it forces you to eat things that, typically, you would never fathom as enjoyable let alone edible. or at least, for me. since my adventures across the big blue sea and border patrol, i've cultivated the "don't knock it till you try it" mentality when it comes to not only food but also to music and film and art and hypothetical musings. so many likes and interests have come from this cliche that when something new blows my way, unless it's hard core narcotics, sexual perversion, or just plain ol' absurdity, i'm typically the first one eager and willing to sink my teeth into it. but tonight at work as the hot asian chic gravitated towards me with her lips nearly brushing mine, i had no desire to taste and see what kissing another girl might be like. and it was the perfect scenario too...of course, had i decided to try it before i knocked it. she was indeed very beautiful, a complete stranger who had given me a drag of her clove cigarette back at the table; but now we were in the bathroom, alone. i was pulling my curls back into a pin. she, i assumed, was waiting to wash her hands but after she pulled in the first time, i then re-assumed, she was wanting to smell my aveda scented hair. the second time however she asked. and after the third time she finally gave up. it was the kind of moment that secrets are suppose to be made of, if only you have the desire to make such a secret. i, on the other hand, did not. as she turned to walk away, she told me "too bad". i hate to admit it but, i don't agree.

her face was suprisngly warm with kindness. my arm reached out to hand her the owed five dollars and fourty cents, it was thanksgiving day. a day most people spend with their families; with their loved ones, basting a turkey, eating handfuls of olives while sitting togather in the living room watching football. this year however, i was sitting in my car at a jack n' the box drive through window listening to the oldies; feeling lonely, missing my family and our traditions; wishing for something so far out of my grasp. i was wanting to apologize. i was wanting to explain myself to her: on why people like me were having to make her work on such a holiday but she didn't seem to mind in the least, and so i smiled with tears in my eyes, and with my other hand, grabbed the paper bag. no exchanging of holiday cheer just business as usual.

my cheating heart

we met on a bright and sunny summer afternoon. i didn't know what to expect; i had heard so many wonderful things about him that i was both nervous and excited in the same breath. see, the one before him was always late for our appointments and when we did meet i don't think we understood eachother at all. but with alex, it was different. it was magic. he knew what i wanted but moreso, what i needed: warm blonde highlites with a chocolate color underneath and a claire danes-esque hair cut.

after our very first time together i knew i had found what i had been looking for in all those other salons with all those other hair dressers and that was someone who knew what in the fcck they were doing not trying to do. instead of emulating his style or trying to give me a cut and color that is percieved to be hip, alex had given me a do based on understanding that i liked things to be kept simple, practical, while still being unique and cute.

the only, and i mean only, bad thing about alex are his prices. don't get me wrong, he's totally worth every last penny of it...that is, if you have every last penny of it....which, i don't. but even if not being able to afford alex means living with split ends for two more months, i'd happily do it. it's just the thing is-is that there's this guy i work with. he's nearly through with hair school and is dying to "do anything to that mess"....and god, it's true. tony being eccentricly homosexual and with a heart made of gold has even offered to do it for zilch.

a girls got to do what a girls got to do.

right?!?

this weekends check list

-over all, be un-impressed with modern art.
-drink a pitcher of strawberry ritas at joe t's with rachel.
-make blueberry muffins from scratch while slightly stoned.
-stand up to the prick in line at the grocery store.
-receive note and rose on windshield from total stranger.
-see the bridget jones diary sequel with two of my best friends.
-save disoriented squirrel from immanent death.

the M stands for Meek, bitch.

for years i've accounted the void of my personal success to lacking perserverance. but tonight, as i was watching the other cocktail waitress, michelle, make all my money, it hit me: i'm just not aggressive.

michelle and i have an agreement: whomever takes the lounge the first night takes the tables the next night because the tables is where the money is at and the lounge is where people who just want water while they wait for their reservation; or where people who tell you they don't want a drink then walk straight up to the bar and get four martinis which they will inevitably take back to the lounge and leave the glasses when their done, sit.

on friday night i typically take the tables because i'm the first one to get there, however, this past friday i took the lounge seeing as how i had already a few patrons in the lounge area by the time michelle got to work and keeping the tables in addition to what i already had would have resulted in michelle watching me make all the bens. it wasn't ideal for me but i did it; i did it even though i knew big fat tab mike madono was going to be sitting in the table section; i did it because michelle agreed that the tables would be mine the next night. i was cool.

then tonight, as i went to greet my first table, michelle informed that our manager wanted her to have the tables and that was i was going to be in the lounge again. nearing the end of the month when rent is due and approaching is a nye's trip to new york city, i was too finicially strapped to take it in stride; plus, my feelings were hurt. i found our manager and asked why i had been put in the lounge after i had already been there once that weekend. she was clueless as to what in hell i was talking about. it seemed to be that michelle had lied. after interogation, i found out the truth. the truth: because michelle got there first she felt justified in claiming the tables, hoping i wouldn't second guess the evenings orders. it was an aggresive move. it was a move that resulted in her making probably about $150 more than me.

opposite from the night before when i helped her out by bussing, tonight i watched leisurely and vindictively as she couldn't handle the tables and bitched and huffed like the little uptown-gold-digging -princess she is.

another manager noticing i wasn't my usual self, that my smile had been turned upside down, took me aside to find out what was up. i explained it all and he replied, as if it was normal, "that's just the type of world we live in." and to that i responded, "not in my world".

and that's the thing, i don't care enough about success or wealth or, for that matter, money in general, to abide by the "survival of the fittest" rules. our existence is so short-i don't understand these people who waste it being so concerned with materialism and status (be it finicial, intellectual, social, or spiritual.) that they fail to ever be genuinely happy and content; that they fail to live and let live; that they fail to be nice and respectful of others. often when driving in my car, gazing out at buildings or sitting in traffic, i'm reminded how small my and the rest of civilizations signifance is in the scheme of life. not of life as we imagine it-but life in it's infinite sense. it's humbling really.

there is nothing i can say that can't be said: the beatles had it right all along.

"a roll of film?!?"

i'm known to be one, from time to time, to misplace my keys, lock my keys in my car, leave my asthma inhaler at a bar, lose my drivers license, and my head. a few years ago the night before my trip to romania, i went to the cheesecake factory for an 'all american' farewell dinner and martini. the next morning as i collected the neccesary objects to go in my carry on i realized i had no idea where my passport was. paniced and growing grey hair by the second, i called everywhere i had been the day before. which meant, the day before a big trip, there were many a places to call. after numerous failed inquiries, i finally found it at the cheesecake factory, and raced as fast my little suv would go to pick it up. after that incident, i thought i would never misplace something so valueable ever ever again.

yesterday was jon's birthday. he turned 28 years old. for the past three weeks i have been tirelessly putting togather his present. a week before i knew i needed to send it for it to get there in time, i also knew, i had a few more knicks to smooth out before i could begin to complete it. what i didn't realize, was that the two weeks prior work, was lost; and this i realized today.

i've searched high and low. i've re-cleaned my spotless room in hope that, somehow in the heat of yesterdays battle, i overlooked seeing it. i've sunk to levels of unchartered dementia- visioning a legion of fleas with red bandanas around their head, triumphantly carrying it away, like the cartoon of the ants at a picnic totting a ham and cheese sandwhich on their back, but in this scenerio, the devil fleas are bringing it to a p.o.w camp and later have plans to burn it at the stake. i've driven here and i've driven there. i've dug threw the trash out in the dumpster just in case, for some god only knows reason, i accidentally threw it away. i've called every place of business i can recall being at in the last two weeks, begging them to look in their lost and found. and now, now i'm on the verge of tears. i wanted so badly to give jon the best damn birthday gift in the world; i wanted to show him just how special he is to me, how special he is to so many people. he really deserves it and i really blew it.

the battle for my sanity

last night as i laid on my bed, folding laundry, and talking to jon on the phone i felt something bite my thigh. instinctively and instantly i lifted up dress and took a swat at where the sting was coming from. after the deed was done, i lifted my hand to see exactly what had been feasting on my thigh, it was a flea and it was not dead, oh no-it jumped from my thigh and onto my bed. not wanting to tell jon that i might be sleeping with fleas, for obvious self-pride reasons, i tried to find the little bastard while still carrying on in conversation; but the little bastard wasn't alone, and, hiding my disgust could only last for so long.

as i lifted up pieces of laundry, relocated my pillows to my floor, and gazed with violation down at my covers i began to notice the little bastard wasn't living in solitude; that there was a frekkin flea fiesta in my bed; that all of his amigos and familia were hanging out right there with me. the mortification that followed was so intense that internalization and discreetness had become utterly impossible.

after a gallant attempt at alienating the enemy, i waved a white flag and jumped from my bed to my computer desk, shaking and disclothing as quickly as possible; crying out in horror and shock. jon acted as my informative, clueing me in to the 'ways of the flea'. he had seen some documentary (i love this about him-he's seen a documentary about almost everything and anything. he's like a really good looking version of ask jeeves.) about fleas and tolled me that they could live for years, going into dormancy for months at a time, fooling one that they had alleviated the pest. he also said that calling in a fumigator is seemingly pointless and so is giving patti's mangy mutes a flea dip because the fleas just aren't in the carpet or on the dogs anymore, there probably deep within furniture as well. to jon this was apparent because i have hard wood floors while the rest of the house is carpeted; plus, only once did sunshine come in my room and that was months ago when she got all freaked out because of a storm, and so for fleas to be in my bed only means the problem is just that advanced.

advanced or minute, there was no way in gods green earth that i was going to get back in my bed, let alone, sleep in it. after the conversation with jon, i gave my sister a call and set out in the middle of the night with only the clothes on my back to ross avenue.

before i got there, i decided to console myself with curly fries and the spicy chicken crispy sanwhich from jack n' the box. it indeed was comforting, so was sleeping, flea free, on belles couch. though not as comforting as declaring a full on war with the army of fleas in my bedroom would be later the next day.

i commenced the battle with stripping all bedding, including the bed skirt, and putting it in the washer. which it went through, thrice. then onto the laundry. then taking everything, and i mean everything, out of my room and sweeping the entire floor, not an inch left behind. this though meant moving my bed and that which had found residency underneath it. so of course, this lead me to finding new homes for all that shit, some of which, i found permanent accommodation for in the trash can. with the bed and furniture out of my way i decided to capitalize such an opportunity and pledge the wood paneling that goes around the bottom of the wall near the floor. this opened my eyes to the dire state of the window sills. and thus, the windows themselves. before i knew it, my room was bare. i had even pulled down my linen curtains for a ride in the washer. all said and done: i'm happy to report, i haven't seen one flea since i went ape with cleaning.

sure they might have only fled underground for a few months, but tonight, tonight i'll be sleeping with only the invited company: my sheets, my covers, my duval, my pillows, and a few erotic dreams.

i've lost that loving feeling

i could lie, i could claim that the reason behind my absence from blogging is because i've been just SO over-whelmingly busy; or, because i was having computer problems, a virus or something like that. neither are true, but i could pretend...err, i could lie-i could avoid admitting blogger burn out.

it's happened to us all, right?!? but does blogger burn out transpire with others out there as much and often as it seems to do with me? i ask knowing; i know it doesn't. it's just, i just deleted everything i just wrote after this.

awesome.

honestly

i honestly don't think i can honestly write anymore. it's all become filtered, watered down versions of the truth if not the truth being omitted altogether. perhaps that is best; this is best, keeping these things to myself, miserably watching sincerity bang itself at the four corners of release. anyways, it's so unclear, a mystery even unto me, it's creator.

i noticed the other day down at the lake this enormous pile of driftwood tittering on the cusp of the spill way. i wondered how long it would take for the conditions of the water level to push them over the edge- for them to then float down the waterfall and onto the bank below. i wondered if the driftwood would prefer the titter to possible abandonment, anyways.

oh, fffccckkk it all.

today is my mothers birthday. that is if today is still the 14th. otherwise, it's rachels. the happiest for the best i hope.

i'm listening to i am kloot. hey, it was there and i'm tired if not a tad bit drunk. my bed is covered with crap: a jacket, wrapping paper, a pen, a present, the phone, a pair of slacks, and leg warmers. i'm too tired to put any of it up and i'm too tired to take out my contacts.

this morning i went to a birthday brunch at terrillis. "h" was there. it had been so long, and so brief, since we had seen each other that he took the first ten minuets gawking over me without my glasses. sigh. i know this is the way it should be- but damn if i didn't wish we could be friends like we once were. life changes, things change, and that's cool. just sometimes, just some mornings when your enjoying that other person's company, remembering how much fun it was when the both of you would hang out together, well, it sucks and you wish with all your heart for that idealistic world that you despise other people for believing and acting in.

sheer magnificent poetry

"We pierced the side of the idol
With the sharpened neck of an electric guitar
Bottled the water from the wound
Holy relic- the essence of star
But what does she care, it's just another blank stare
To a world that loves and hates you on a dare
Where the orphans ask the widows the meaning of 'fair'
So let this be a drink to quench this uncontrollable thirst
Tie the belt a notch tighter around anxious hearts set to burst
And when this once at least gilded cage has been
Stripped bare of flesh cold and numb
What have you done, Mark David Chapman?
Let all the desperate hours of boredom
Lead you to some meaning of truth
Bumps and bruises and notebooks for heaven's jury as proof
The emotions were shrink wrapped, sold as scraps
Choose any scene from the vending machine
Somewhere lost in the night, a satellite transmitted dream
Industrial revolutions of the soul interchangeable hearts it's manufacturing
If we wear out each other it's o.k., just go buy another
So let this be a drink to calm the shaking hands that you've found
Let this be release, forever unwound."

pre-occupied with life: things are moving a little bit faster; there is much to do, and people to do them with.

i finally bought the diary of anais nin and would be lying if i said it had not casted itself in my dreams every night since i picked it up.

i've gotten half way through the movie about sylvia plath, twice.

after a lengthy "where are you at in life" discourse with my boss i've finally started to make head way on my "urban bound" project. three interviews tommorrow alone.

tuesday afternoon taylor, his new girlfriend, and i walked to the arborretum for a picnic. it was lovely. the weather was perfect. the grassy nole we sat on was soft. there was a cool breeze; there was ample conversation, laughter, and organic food.

at the last minute sj had to fly out to detroit for the rockettes, but not before an evening full of bellinis and plans to spend this nye in time square was had.

i saw the delgados play monday night at trees. the mix was horrendous but the pizza afterwards was frekkin delicous.

i just got back from grocery shopping. i bought:

blue corn chips
black bean dip
2 crispy apples
wid mushroom ravoli
olives
organic blueberry waffles
a cream cheese and raspberry danish from the pastry case
bottle of bonnie doon syrah
cup of coffee
block of pryrene cheese

i now need to mail my mum a birthday card, finish working on her and jons gift, buy rachel's birthday gift and some face wash. then this evening i have to work and afterwards i'm going to see trail of the dead at the gypsy tea room.

no time for spell check or trying to seem bright.

rated D for disturbing

"I've been, uh, I've been screwing my sister. And, uh, we've been doing this for five or six years now. And, uh, um, she wants us to live together. And I don't want to do that 'cause our mother's still alive. And I don't wanna really screw up my mother. But my sister, you know, she's really, you know...she's really neat. She's really, she's really good.... She's got...she's beautiful. And, uh, you know she's like, you know, the best fuck I've ever had. And, uh, I just...you know I...I really...you know, she's really nice. But, uh, ...She wants us to live together. And, uh, ...uh, you know, and she thinks we can slip it by our mother. But, uh, I don't know what to do about it right now. So, um, I'll call you when I find out."

it's not so much the content alone i found to be so disturbing, it was also hearing the voices: muffled, raw, nervous, outlined with relief and in the very same emoution, remorse; years of crippling shame making creaks through the dialect but not so much that they sounded estranged, or even afraid. to the contrary, for some it seemed to be only mere admittance, devoid of almost any regret.

i was on my way over to rachels when i heard this apology themed program on 'this american life' earlier in the afternoon. it caught me completely off guard. hours later i'm still not quite able to articulate my thoughts or feelings that the audio clippings left me with.

some things are better left unheard.

"editorial"

i woke up wednesday morning seized with giddy anticipation and fear. the night before i had decided to forgo the dreary task of watching the election slowly unravel for drinks and fellowship with friends instead. every so often throughout the day i would turn my radio knob over to either npr or sean hannity/rush limbaugh to kinda get a clue on the projection of which way the popular and electoral vote was going ; and every so often at ships that night, i would glance up at the muted television to read the score. but it wasn't till the next morning, sitting at my computer, that i felt comfortable being both extremely happy and relieved.

when i made the congratulation phone call rounds, one of the receivers, upon hearing my admittance of relief as well as joy, asked if i had been afraid that kerry was going to win. now, i might be in the heart of the bible belt and gw's home state, but the neighborhood i live in is a completely different political geographic; and the subculture i find myself in, very similar. so, yes, i was worried- all i saw were kerry stickers on aging volvos and his signs on the lawns throughout my neighborhood; and all i heard was anti-bush gabber from every plastic framed four eyes that came my way.

i had come to doubt america's ability to think with her head and not just with her heart, to see the bigger picture and not just what our petty understanding can wrap itself around at this moment, to come to a conclusion based on tangible facts and not spurious attacks and/or lofty idealism, to stand on the side that stands for what is right and not what we want to be right in so that we can call ourselves tolerable, accepting, and/or...progressive.

i genuinely feel sorry for my fellow citizens and friends who had such grand hopes that their candidate (who embodied their ideas and opinions) would be president; and while i don't necessarily agree with whom they so fervently desired to be president, i did find their idealism and passion to be a beautiful thing, and truly, as the phrase is coined, american. however, it is disheartening that some of those who supported kerry( mostly referring to international and domestic press) would now chalk the winning republican vote up as "religious based", "ignorant", "stupid", "blue-collar class", "inclined to machoism", "bush talks like them", and "not suppressed". yet still, i understand those who would be so pious as to discredit the intellect of the gop party are those who will help another republican candidate become president because of the sting such ignorant accusations us hill billy dunbfcks have felt and will remember ( unless off course were not to0 enthralled in ariostle's ethics, volunteering with a environmental group, and working our forty hour weeks to support ourselves bible thumping the pagans, cutting out star of davids for our iraqi friends, studying phonics, fueling up our xxl suvs on the way to little billy's soccer game, and ripping up democrats voter registrations- to give a shit what some british paper, the sore losers, and a few bitter npr journalists has deemed to be the culprit of a bush victory).

all in all, this past election was as ugly and as dirty as they come- and now that it's over, perhaps, we can all get back to being civilized; to being part of a bigger scheme, called life and not political parties.

cheers to four year presidential terms and pulling thumbs out of our asses.

ps-happy halloween.

the young boys

setting it up: on the other side of the window screen, the rain is pouring down in sheets; i'm wrapped up in a blanket, sitting in the living room talking to kate on the phone. she's telling me a story about how she ended up at a swingers bar the night before due to absolute naivete. little did i know then, but days later i would find myself on the other side of the phone, making a girlfriend or two laugh hysterically at my, ahem, absolute naivete.

friday night any bar/restaurant in dallas is insanely busy-so when i got a message from the hostess that a guy named "brian" called, i blew it off not out of only hast and being dumbfounded at who would call me at work, but as well, out of fear that it might be an old geezer that i had waited on and shot down on numerous occasions before. the next night, "brian" called again and this time around, i was free as a bird to decipher the mystery caller. as it turned out, his name wasn't brian, but ryan. the ryan i had met a week or two ago at the dwide when his band, which i went to see because a: my boss manages them, and b: i had made friends with the bass player at a party and had promised him i was going to come "check them out" next time; now, this ryan, is not only the said bassists younger brother, but also, is seventeen years old, in highschool, is a scorpio, hasn't yet quite decided if he'll go to prom or not, likes bukowski and red flag, and is cuter than a button. i know all this because, after their show that night back at the dwide, i found myself sitting next to the younger, and, being in a chatty little mood, spent most of the evening, excuse the repetitiousness, chatting away.

but the phone conversation at work was short and to the point:

"hanging out at dwide, if your not doing anything after work, you should come on up".

which i decided sounded like not too bad of an idea.

and so, i strolled on into the bar looking for 'the group', to my surprise, what i found instead was a quiet and adorable seventeen year old boy sitting at the bar sipping on his beverage in the non-alcoholic water cup...alone.

realizing at that moment it was going to, possibly, be just the two of us, i decided not to allow the awkwardness and embarrassment toil my 'off early' saturday night, and to the contrary, make the most of my under age date while still undoubtedly laying the foundation of "pals" as quicky as possible.

the remainder of the night went as follows:

beer and sunflower seeds
jack in the box
getting high in his car while listening to brian jonestown massacre
leaving with a side hug and a high five

whether or not my seventeen year old meant anything romantic by it, i'll never surely know. regardless, ryan was, hands down, one of my most enjoyable dates to date. maybe because he didn't try to 'get fresh' with me, maybe because it was like two new friends with loads in common pushing past the age gap and enjoying each others company; or, maybe because it seemed innocent and sweet; like absolute naivete should be.