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.