A week ago we went Christmas tree shopping. First we went where we have been getting our tree for the last three or four Christmases, the Lowes parking lot. The tent was gone, they were out of Christmas trees. We then went to the tree tent we passed on the way to Lowes, which had a cardboard sign reading 'No Trees.' Strike two. Then we went to Home Depot, which we also passed, and they had some trees under their tent that were fenced off. Strange. My mom and I walked into the garden section and asked a guy about them. Apparently, those trees were quaranteened for bugs. and slugs. Hmm.
We went to Walmart. They were out of trees. I called another walmart, and then another one. I called the Publix supermarket by our house too. They had two trees left. A big one and little one. My mom sarcastically exclaimed that I should call the lady back and tell her to run outside and put a 'SOLD!' sign on the cheaper one. She scoffed at having a reject supermarket tree, and how we should go to the Italians. For safe measure, I called another supermarket, the one closer to us. And then three more...all of which were out of trees.
How can no one have any live christmas trees left?
("Yes, a real, LIVE tree.....Oh, okay, thank you for checking, Merry Christmas.")
Rejected, bugged, and slugged, we circled to the infamous Italians, our ultimate backup joke through our ongoing tree hunting saga. What I mean by that, what my mom meant by that, is the Italian American Society had a tree tent that my mom had seen trees at sometime before....and they did have trees! In fact, a clearly non-italian tree farmer told us that they had just gotten a fresh crop the day prior. My mom made small talk about how all the rain stopped us from buying a tree earlier. It rained for 20 minutes probably in the whole week, but it happened to be the only 20 minutes my mom, diego, and adri had piled into the car and tried to purchase the Christmas tree before.
But you must have a live tree. Why do so many people just settle for fake trees?
The woman proudly took us to the biggest tree, the only $90 tree left. The rest were a normal size, for around $75. Oh no!
We found one for $65 we liked, but the longer I held one of it's hundreds of hands, standing guard from the real Italians who were tree shopping along side of us, the longer my mom had to think about how even $65--for that tree--was a little steep. The Italians had the right idea, snatching up the little $35 5 1/2 foot neighbor.
So we found the other shorties and picked a plump, quaint, little $35, 5 1/2 foot tree ourselves. It fit in a big bag in the back of the car.
She was easy to bring in the house and set up. No latter was necessary to put our angel at the top, and half our ornaments stayed wrapped up in outdated newspapers.
The tree fulfilled the spirit of our humble Christmas this year. It's real cute.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
talking, rumiating, on Freddy.
I met Freddy walking in the middle of the night in Williamsburg. He was smoking a cigar. He's always smoking a cigar. Always, he balances the never ending cigar on some little ledge outside to chill out while he goes inside; he snags it on his way out and puff-puff. It starts again. In and out of Katz's Deli where he bought us famous pastrami sandwiches. In and out of Whole Foods where we got sushi. In and out of Hampton Chutney where we got dosa. In and out of The Taj where we got Thali. In and out of WooHop late night chinese.
Freddy talks a lot. He says the same things over and over, a lot. In between cigar puff puffs.
"Everyday party, everyday Christmas!
"Everyday party, everyday Christmas!"
And everything is "Cool. Cool. That's so cool!" My nude nail polish. My red lips. My hot eyes. My hot pants. My high boots. My hair down. My hair up. My attitude. The way I walk. I am a supermodel.
Freddy has stories where everyone always tells Freddy he is awesome in some way that always starts with, "Hey Freddy, man,..."
Freddy taught physics in central India. He was a professor. He did something in the stock market where he made a lot of money. He lost a lot of money and drives a taxi, every night of the week from 6pm to 7am.
He talks about karma, ying and yang, ups and downs. He was up up up for most of his life he says, so he knew this time would come where he's down down down. He confesses he was very depressed at one point. I think he still is. Why would everyday be a party and everyday be christmas otherwise?
In one story, he picked up this cool chick, took her home and she invited him in and bada boom bada bing Mr. Worldwide is in the house! It means what you think it would mean.
He talked about getting waffle street cart because everyone likes waffles and it's a good business. He talked about making a reality tv show called Fashion Cab, based on his cab and friends, like me and Robert.
He calls me to ask how my day went and where I am so he can pick me up. He wants to show me all these cool places, which I know are cool. The Kenmare, the this, the that in Williamsburg. Everyone in Williamsburg is cool says Freddy. So cool. In Manhattan, there are more assholes because everyone thinks they're somebody.
He knows probably everything there is to know about the astrological signs. And he has some incredible wisdom and remarkably clear, simple philosophies about people.
He doesn't have texting. But he started texting me two days ago:
"Hi !!!!!!! Baby doll .... My barbie. How is ur day......Freddy"
"Sabrina!!!!!!! Sabrina!!!!!!! My cocorina !!! What's happening !!!!! How was ur day!!!!!!"
He talks to me like this. He talks to everyone like this. If you're into yoga, you're his guru, his yogi.
It worries me a little, the fact he started texting me. Sometimes he crosses the line I think and it makes it strange. He wants me but we both know that would never, ever ever happen. That's true with so many relationships we all have, or other ones I know I have; it must be true. I want to bake him cookies to thank him for all the free rides, but I don't want to be the one to give them to him. I want to go to all the places he talks about, but not with him, with other friends instead.
But it isn't wholly one sided. My discomfort isn't only in exchange for free rides, my company out of pity. Because sometimes his company has been wonderful. And he is so interesting, an interesting person to have in my life, if that makes sense.
"Sabrina!!!!!!! Sabrina!!!!!!! My cocorina !!! What's happening !!!!! How was ur day!!!!!!"
He talks to me like this. He talks to everyone like this. If you're into yoga, you're his guru, his yogi.
It worries me a little, the fact he started texting me. Sometimes he crosses the line I think and it makes it strange. He wants me but we both know that would never, ever ever happen. That's true with so many relationships we all have, or other ones I know I have; it must be true. I want to bake him cookies to thank him for all the free rides, but I don't want to be the one to give them to him. I want to go to all the places he talks about, but not with him, with other friends instead.
But it isn't wholly one sided. My discomfort isn't only in exchange for free rides, my company out of pity. Because sometimes his company has been wonderful. And he is so interesting, an interesting person to have in my life, if that makes sense.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
V&B
Vicky, my dearest. It has been a while since we've spoken - physically or virtually - hello! I just read your post and if I may...would love to respond to it frankly.
Lovesickness is remedied by broken hearts. Broken hearts is remedied by love. You, my dear are in Chicago - one of the most alluring spots in the United States studying a graduate degree because you have been gifted by the literary gods with a fuel of dictionary genius. How many girls, plump fingers, and unused leads WISH they could be you. How many ridden with loss of words WISH they could be you. How many small envelopes WISH they could be in your position. Vicky, I do not know what loss of all close friends due to distance feels like nor do I know what Andrew's lack of voice feels like to your hungry ears, yet I do know that regardless of what sadness prevails in your day - there is an equal or greater amount of happiness that can be found. For melancholy loves to fog the eyes and mind with its eager desire to suppress our beams of joy that would shine so bright they would blind us with bliss. Basically, what I am saying is that it is you and you only that de-fogs and rises up above the smoke with a pride of life. For no one can rise you out of the blue waters of aching emotions other than you - the owner of the emotions. Be your own love to remedy a broken heart.
Sabrina, my sweet. Hello!
Weight. One of the most dangerous words in the land of insecure females. Oh, how this word fights fire and daggers the heart with a sense of self-hatred. Female weight issues is one of the most prevalent reasons of depression, insecurity, lack of confidence, submission, violent spouses - women who do not love their bodies lack a possession of self. You my attractive one - have dispelled yourself from any of the above because you have the "ideal body." So you can't eat what you want anymore, I do believe for the past years of your entire life you were that lucky soul who could eat whatever she pleases and never gain a pound. Many of us, including me, cannot eat whatever we want - for sugar slaps itself silly on my bust&butt. I know it must be hard for you maintaining a level of weight that many only see in two dimensions - however, when you complain about food like this it makes me feel somewhat inadequate. It makes me feel like I am fat - even though I know I am not even close to that word, but hearing you be so worried makes me look at myself in ways that I would rather not. You are beautiful and being thin is your job not a reason for you to guilt your metabolism into shame shits. Own the fact that being skinny is your job - give food a good bye kiss - Done Deal.
Men. Goodness how they posses our hearts! As for you my sweet Bri - I am afraid you are presenting your heart on a platter so any man can take it and eat it whole. I do remember your cooking skills being incredibly delicious and the heart is probably pumping with tenderness as they bite into it savouring that ungodly taste of a woman. Don't put your heart on a platter for anyone except for yourself! There is a difference between a heart platter and love - if I may be frank, I think you are serving your hearts more than you ever have as a side dish to your modeling. Whenever modeling is not going the way you expect or you are done with a good shoot for the week it is easy to think about boys - however, I want you to be the strongest woman alive who does a photo shoot for the sake of her profession. Sam might be inexplicably irresistable, yet he was your photographer and you his model - Done Deal. It sounds harsh, but it really isn't, I promise. It is simplethinking.
I think if you are able to focus much more on yourself rather than the boys - they will be the one presenting you with heart platters. And you with knowledge of this delicacy you will know not to devour it until you are completely sure. I love you Sabrina, do not let boys toy with that brilliant mind that I admired (and still do) for years in architecture school. You are stronger and smarter and have a will that those boys cannot even comprehend - you do not need anyone but your lovely long self. You are capable of an immense amount of love, so immense you probably don't know what to do with it half the time - so love yourself. For loving someone who loves themselves is a craving many ever satisfy.
Lovesickness is remedied by broken hearts. Broken hearts is remedied by love. You, my dear are in Chicago - one of the most alluring spots in the United States studying a graduate degree because you have been gifted by the literary gods with a fuel of dictionary genius. How many girls, plump fingers, and unused leads WISH they could be you. How many ridden with loss of words WISH they could be you. How many small envelopes WISH they could be in your position. Vicky, I do not know what loss of all close friends due to distance feels like nor do I know what Andrew's lack of voice feels like to your hungry ears, yet I do know that regardless of what sadness prevails in your day - there is an equal or greater amount of happiness that can be found. For melancholy loves to fog the eyes and mind with its eager desire to suppress our beams of joy that would shine so bright they would blind us with bliss. Basically, what I am saying is that it is you and you only that de-fogs and rises up above the smoke with a pride of life. For no one can rise you out of the blue waters of aching emotions other than you - the owner of the emotions. Be your own love to remedy a broken heart.
Sabrina, my sweet. Hello!
Weight. One of the most dangerous words in the land of insecure females. Oh, how this word fights fire and daggers the heart with a sense of self-hatred. Female weight issues is one of the most prevalent reasons of depression, insecurity, lack of confidence, submission, violent spouses - women who do not love their bodies lack a possession of self. You my attractive one - have dispelled yourself from any of the above because you have the "ideal body." So you can't eat what you want anymore, I do believe for the past years of your entire life you were that lucky soul who could eat whatever she pleases and never gain a pound. Many of us, including me, cannot eat whatever we want - for sugar slaps itself silly on my bust&butt. I know it must be hard for you maintaining a level of weight that many only see in two dimensions - however, when you complain about food like this it makes me feel somewhat inadequate. It makes me feel like I am fat - even though I know I am not even close to that word, but hearing you be so worried makes me look at myself in ways that I would rather not. You are beautiful and being thin is your job not a reason for you to guilt your metabolism into shame shits. Own the fact that being skinny is your job - give food a good bye kiss - Done Deal.
Men. Goodness how they posses our hearts! As for you my sweet Bri - I am afraid you are presenting your heart on a platter so any man can take it and eat it whole. I do remember your cooking skills being incredibly delicious and the heart is probably pumping with tenderness as they bite into it savouring that ungodly taste of a woman. Don't put your heart on a platter for anyone except for yourself! There is a difference between a heart platter and love - if I may be frank, I think you are serving your hearts more than you ever have as a side dish to your modeling. Whenever modeling is not going the way you expect or you are done with a good shoot for the week it is easy to think about boys - however, I want you to be the strongest woman alive who does a photo shoot for the sake of her profession. Sam might be inexplicably irresistable, yet he was your photographer and you his model - Done Deal. It sounds harsh, but it really isn't, I promise. It is simplethinking.
I think if you are able to focus much more on yourself rather than the boys - they will be the one presenting you with heart platters. And you with knowledge of this delicacy you will know not to devour it until you are completely sure. I love you Sabrina, do not let boys toy with that brilliant mind that I admired (and still do) for years in architecture school. You are stronger and smarter and have a will that those boys cannot even comprehend - you do not need anyone but your lovely long self. You are capable of an immense amount of love, so immense you probably don't know what to do with it half the time - so love yourself. For loving someone who loves themselves is a craving many ever satisfy.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
LIMINAL
i met with sam today. i fell for his stupid accent and charisma before and still am drawn to it, to him, but with an annoyed and amused distance. he seems well aware of it. and well practiced at using it to get what he wants. i don't like the feeling of being used, because, let's face it, i got great photos too. but fuck, i need what he has or i wish i made him feel some mixture of desire, jealousy, admiration, annoyance, submission...how i feel towards him. it's like i'm powerless in our relationship, whatever it is.
Dear Metabolism, thank you for guilty shit?
I ate a bunch yesterday, and then had dinner plans with a new friend yesternight. = more eating. So we got dumpling and a sesame pancake and a sticky bun in the lower east side. And then we went to a muffin place and got banana creme puddin and a spicy pumpkin muffin. Needless to say, I was feeling guilty about eating so much shit, somewhere in my mind. I'm always feeling guilty when it comes to food; but it's my job to stay skinny, so it goes hand in hand I'd say.
But this happened to me before in New York on a particularly guilty morning where I worried about my consumption. I woke up sick. With a tummy ache. And shit, a bunch. Cleared my insides. It's like my guilt manifests itself in my metabolism. From mentally fucking with my mind to physically fucking me.
But of coarse it is a sick pleasure. Because the physical sickness is guilt free. This get-out-of-jail free card for my eating because my body coordinates with my head so I don't have to burn off the food, I just have to queezily expell it.
Usually, my best days are when I'm low on the scale when I weigh myself. I've avoided the scale like the plague lately; convinced that I'll eat less or better that day and so it's best if I weigh tomorrow. I weighed today, after I shit, of coarse. And I'll weigh again, after I shit again, if I do. And it will make me feel good.
That is so retardedly fucked up. But that's my little world. I watch the foodnetwork, eat tons and say I have a fast metabolism to everyone and myself, balancing on a mushy foundation of guilty eating.
The thing is, I try to pretend that my paranoia isn't there. That my best days aren't 'down' days on the scale in the morning. But here I am, loving that my fucking stomach woke me up 4 hours after I went to sleep and keeps churning away, because, maybe...just maybe...I'll get to shit take 3 this morning, which leaves more room for more food&guilt to fill my belly.
But this happened to me before in New York on a particularly guilty morning where I worried about my consumption. I woke up sick. With a tummy ache. And shit, a bunch. Cleared my insides. It's like my guilt manifests itself in my metabolism. From mentally fucking with my mind to physically fucking me.
But of coarse it is a sick pleasure. Because the physical sickness is guilt free. This get-out-of-jail free card for my eating because my body coordinates with my head so I don't have to burn off the food, I just have to queezily expell it.
Usually, my best days are when I'm low on the scale when I weigh myself. I've avoided the scale like the plague lately; convinced that I'll eat less or better that day and so it's best if I weigh tomorrow. I weighed today, after I shit, of coarse. And I'll weigh again, after I shit again, if I do. And it will make me feel good.
That is so retardedly fucked up. But that's my little world. I watch the foodnetwork, eat tons and say I have a fast metabolism to everyone and myself, balancing on a mushy foundation of guilty eating.
The thing is, I try to pretend that my paranoia isn't there. That my best days aren't 'down' days on the scale in the morning. But here I am, loving that my fucking stomach woke me up 4 hours after I went to sleep and keeps churning away, because, maybe...just maybe...I'll get to shit take 3 this morning, which leaves more room for more food&guilt to fill my belly.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Cope cope mope
I've been running through a string of cliches in my attempt to move on.
When Dustin left, I went to Hole in the Wall every day, got drunk by 6, and grieved privately.
The night Andrew called, I was so stunned, I didn't even know what to do. Asking myself, am I supposed to cry now or what? I make tea and watch two romantically devastating films. And send an ill-advised e-mail to him after an hour or so of sleep. Since then I have generally subsisted on cigarettes, caffeinated beverages, and toast. Skipping class, embarking on lonely adventures. Bought drawing supplies (God I've missed charcoal), but couldn't focus for shit. Bought film, developed film-- and some of it was shot this summer when I visited him in DC. Went drinking with my roommates, saw a show with some people in my program. Social events are enjoyable, but temporary.
What is so generally shitty is that he has all his good friends in Austin, and it's life as normal for him. And here I am, in Chicago (and all of you are elsewhere), wondering what the fuck I'm doing, if this degree is worth it, and, pathetically, if staying meant we'd still be together. So many things don't make sense to me about what happened, and my questions have gone unanswered. But I can't make him respond, and I can't make him want to be with me. It'd be, I feel, stupid to try. And I feel so strange even thinking about calling him or texting him. Like I'm trespassing, somehow.
I've been having the most surreal, near terrifying dreams since that conversation, to the point where I dread sleep. And when I wake up, I have to remember and remind myself that we're not together anymore. It's the pinnacle of masochism.
If he told me he stopped loving me, that would be better than silence.
When Dustin left, I went to Hole in the Wall every day, got drunk by 6, and grieved privately.
The night Andrew called, I was so stunned, I didn't even know what to do. Asking myself, am I supposed to cry now or what? I make tea and watch two romantically devastating films. And send an ill-advised e-mail to him after an hour or so of sleep. Since then I have generally subsisted on cigarettes, caffeinated beverages, and toast. Skipping class, embarking on lonely adventures. Bought drawing supplies (God I've missed charcoal), but couldn't focus for shit. Bought film, developed film-- and some of it was shot this summer when I visited him in DC. Went drinking with my roommates, saw a show with some people in my program. Social events are enjoyable, but temporary.
What is so generally shitty is that he has all his good friends in Austin, and it's life as normal for him. And here I am, in Chicago (and all of you are elsewhere), wondering what the fuck I'm doing, if this degree is worth it, and, pathetically, if staying meant we'd still be together. So many things don't make sense to me about what happened, and my questions have gone unanswered. But I can't make him respond, and I can't make him want to be with me. It'd be, I feel, stupid to try. And I feel so strange even thinking about calling him or texting him. Like I'm trespassing, somehow.
I've been having the most surreal, near terrifying dreams since that conversation, to the point where I dread sleep. And when I wake up, I have to remember and remind myself that we're not together anymore. It's the pinnacle of masochism.
If he told me he stopped loving me, that would be better than silence.
Friday, October 22, 2010
self pity. eww.
that sucks vicky. and somehow i am so wrapped up in myself that what do i do? i write about myself.
i spend my time chasing boys. boys i don't want to replace boys i think i want to fill some void that i don't know why it exists or if it really exists. what the fuck. something like that. because somehow, after a financially and careerly successful day, i find myself at home balling: throwing myself down on my stupid little mattress pad of a bed crying my brains out, wrecked with bitter disappointment and ugly guilt.
fuck. how do i manage to pull this off? to bring myself into such a loathsome place for no reason? what am i really after with all this shit?
i spend my time chasing boys. boys i don't want to replace boys i think i want to fill some void that i don't know why it exists or if it really exists. what the fuck. something like that. because somehow, after a financially and careerly successful day, i find myself at home balling: throwing myself down on my stupid little mattress pad of a bed crying my brains out, wrecked with bitter disappointment and ugly guilt.
fuck. how do i manage to pull this off? to bring myself into such a loathsome place for no reason? what am i really after with all this shit?
Whoops
Ha. Never mind any mention of Andrew in previous posts. He broke up with me Wednesday night. More confused and somehow full of dread than anything else. Back to those halcyon days of whoremongering and solitary drunkenness.
Sex sober or with feeling is cheap and overrated. Let that be what I take away from my experience with the two guys I tried to date. Let that be my epitaph, for Christ's sake.
Between stale and pathetic, I don't even have scathing comments or a torrential outburst of words. Perhaps I have become passionless.
And I'm silly, stupid, childish, naive, for buying into that illusory kind of beauty.
How completely out of character.
Sex sober or with feeling is cheap and overrated. Let that be what I take away from my experience with the two guys I tried to date. Let that be my epitaph, for Christ's sake.
Between stale and pathetic, I don't even have scathing comments or a torrential outburst of words. Perhaps I have become passionless.
And I'm silly, stupid, childish, naive, for buying into that illusory kind of beauty.
How completely out of character.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
(mark michael = markael)
i'm not invincible when it comes to markael. the phone tormented me yesterday. i cried in my bed. in naples, i can't use the pretty model boy or change of scenery to occupy my attention. i crave him in my life in whatever capacity i can get and it's driving me insane every stupid minute i don't hear from him telling me he's sorry for taking so long to get back to me and of coarse he wants to immediately come over or me to go to starbucks or whatever. just to be friends. i won't let myself want more because i refuse to be in any sort of on and off relationship, and he flipped it off.
fuck me.
fuck me.
Monday, July 12, 2010
just the shit that happened today.
i woke up to a warning on my car that without a decal, they'd tow it and i need to immediately move it. i drove it to a nearby grocery store where i went shopping for breakfast stuff for the next few days since i'm occupying my friend Chessie's apartment in Kendall, which is in South Miami about 30 minutes from South Beach since my normal apartment fell through. I've been thankful for the escape and, although i haven't spent any money on food in the past 4 days since arriving to miami...i prefer my supermarket bargain shopping for once to an awesome free meal from an older male friend; i feel a little insecure about the dependency.
but my card was declined and i've been so fucking nervous about money anyway that that is why i've let myself be fed by my friends every meal since i got here. but i was just nervous about it, not out of it, i thought since i had put $500 in my account three days ago. i now know why it was gone and my account was $295.53 overdrafted, but this morning i didn't know what to do with myself. my mom and grandpa wired $800 into my account by now, but i'm still so freaked out about it i don't know quite what to do.
my agent called and said i'm doing a commercial tomorrow morning. cool.
i scheduled a coffee date with a reporter from the naples daily news because they want to write a special about me winning the naomi campbell thing / is it real or a scam?
i scheduled my fitting for the swim association show for this thursday.
i definitely didn't book the oscar de la renta runway show i went to the casting for today.
i scheduled a consultation about getting a breast augmentation to be a small B for friday.
chessie said her roommate didn't want me in their place anymore, so i texted my friend quinto (a 40 something photographer i crashed with my first night here) to stay at his place tonight, and rescheduled my fitting for friday after the other appointment---my plan was that after the commercial i'd drive back to naples til friday morning. i could put more money into my account, check on my dog, see Michael (Mark), and drop off my mom's car at the airport the night before she'd arrive so i don't have to get a friend to pick her up since i won't be there.
Michael dumped me over an email. it was good. it made me cry. i didn't want to go back to naples now.
i went to borders and read three cups of tea. i watched the bachelorette. i was formulating plans in my head about places to stay here til next sunday after my show but talked with chessie and she said screw her absentee roommate, she didn't like the girl anyway so she gives me permission to continue crashing and we'll if i run into her, we'll cross that bridge when we get there.
fuck. i have to pee. then i'll read a little more and wake up extra early tomorrow. my call time is at 6:30, but they serve breakfast at 6. i'm going at 6, obviously.
i don't know what i'll do with all my free time in miami and i don't want to be distracted by the shit it has to offer, like alcohol and parties. but maybe i'll see ivan again and let myself relax or something instead of like last night where i kept cheeking him. He is a hot, successful model i was vaguely dating before i met michael and who i never officially cut ties with. i think he's dorky, but miami is small. people know him, and they think otherwise.
i was crazy about michael and he wrote that AMAZING story about me and him and the Sea Turtle that i won't let myself read til i don't know when.
long day. tomorrow probably will be too. i now, more than ever, want to be in new york and start over.
but my card was declined and i've been so fucking nervous about money anyway that that is why i've let myself be fed by my friends every meal since i got here. but i was just nervous about it, not out of it, i thought since i had put $500 in my account three days ago. i now know why it was gone and my account was $295.53 overdrafted, but this morning i didn't know what to do with myself. my mom and grandpa wired $800 into my account by now, but i'm still so freaked out about it i don't know quite what to do.
my agent called and said i'm doing a commercial tomorrow morning. cool.
i scheduled a coffee date with a reporter from the naples daily news because they want to write a special about me winning the naomi campbell thing / is it real or a scam?
i scheduled my fitting for the swim association show for this thursday.
i definitely didn't book the oscar de la renta runway show i went to the casting for today.
i scheduled a consultation about getting a breast augmentation to be a small B for friday.
chessie said her roommate didn't want me in their place anymore, so i texted my friend quinto (a 40 something photographer i crashed with my first night here) to stay at his place tonight, and rescheduled my fitting for friday after the other appointment---my plan was that after the commercial i'd drive back to naples til friday morning. i could put more money into my account, check on my dog, see Michael (Mark), and drop off my mom's car at the airport the night before she'd arrive so i don't have to get a friend to pick her up since i won't be there.
Michael dumped me over an email. it was good. it made me cry. i didn't want to go back to naples now.
i went to borders and read three cups of tea. i watched the bachelorette. i was formulating plans in my head about places to stay here til next sunday after my show but talked with chessie and she said screw her absentee roommate, she didn't like the girl anyway so she gives me permission to continue crashing and we'll if i run into her, we'll cross that bridge when we get there.
fuck. i have to pee. then i'll read a little more and wake up extra early tomorrow. my call time is at 6:30, but they serve breakfast at 6. i'm going at 6, obviously.
i don't know what i'll do with all my free time in miami and i don't want to be distracted by the shit it has to offer, like alcohol and parties. but maybe i'll see ivan again and let myself relax or something instead of like last night where i kept cheeking him. He is a hot, successful model i was vaguely dating before i met michael and who i never officially cut ties with. i think he's dorky, but miami is small. people know him, and they think otherwise.
i was crazy about michael and he wrote that AMAZING story about me and him and the Sea Turtle that i won't let myself read til i don't know when.
long day. tomorrow probably will be too. i now, more than ever, want to be in new york and start over.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
To you, you son of a bitch
You call me out of nowhere and ambush me with your self-pitying questions. You emotionally manipulate me into sympathizing with you, feeling sorry for you. You call my words lies, you say that I cheated on you. The whole time, I have to choke back what I truly want to say to you because, still, I could never say the things you said to me to your face. Your words were designed to impact, to sting, to accuse, to confront. I still couldn't do that. You say I'm disgusting, despicable. You hate me. You regret being with me. I think you were the worst thing that had ever happened to me, romantically and psychologically. But I still can't say I regret being with you. I still can't say I never cared about you.
I know I promised not to talk about you here. But you called me, and texted me, with such venom that I feel others ought to know what you're like. What you're really like. Because you take the things I've told you in the past, the things that caused me the most anguish, and you twist them to suit your own intentions. I never felt worse about myself than when I was around you. And you know what? Nothing I could ever say would change your mind about what happened. Nothing I could ever say would make you understand that I didn't fucking cheat on you. Really, what do I have to gain by defending myself now? Nothing. Lying to you and saying I had cheated on you would just satisfy some sick part of your mind that wants to hear that and believe you were right all along. I didn't cheat on you. If I even knew Andrew had feelings for me back then, I would've stopped talking to him. Then you would've gotten what you asked for so many times. But that didn't happen, and all I wanted was to be his friend. Being your girlfriend made me the loneliest person in the world, even in your company, and I'd take whatever friends I could get.
And what right do you have to talk about Zach? He and I have spoken since you left, and we're still on good terms. Everything's gotten better since you left. Funny how that works.
I want to tell the world what you're like. I want every girl out there to know what it's like to be with you, and fuck help them if they ever decide they don't want to be with you anymore because you subject them to this bullshit. I want them to know that there's no kindness inside you, just the fear of social rejection that motivates every carefully calculated move. I want Erin, the waitress at Frank, to know how you would invite her to things that hadn't planned and then finally plan them-- and not invite me, your girlfriend. I want Sabrina to know you told me, specifically, that you would never feel about me the way you felt about her. I want your friends to know how you'd maneuver me into a guilt complex so I'd do what you wanted. Do they realize, really realize, what you are? I want all my friends to know how you said they liked you more when you were Sabrina's boyfriend. You started our relationship by saying you were going to break up with me when you leave, and you started our relationship by saying you've cheated before. I expected it the whole time. I still expect you to say you did, whether it's true or false, because last night showed me how angry and bitter you are.
Oh. And I'm going to marry Andrew. Whether it's in one year, five years, or 20. Getting down on one knee wouldn't even be a surprise, just a formality. We've already talked about it, and he makes me happier than you ever could. So fuck as many 19-year-olds with rowers' bodies as you want. I'm sure they're easy.
Still, I can't bring myself to say to you what I really want to say to you. Maybe I'm granting my words a certain self-importance in thinking they'd hurt you.
I'm sorry I said you have a huge vagina, that you are such a woman. That I couldn't wait for it to be over. The thing is, I didn't just say that to Andrew. I said that to everyone. Some part of me knew I'd be relieved when you left, because the other part of me-- the part that cared about you-- didn't want to leave you. So you were leaving me. But really, you're acting like the scorned woman you're trying to make me into. I loved you. I really loved you, but I never felt you loved me. I was just your emotional stomping ground.
But now, the noose around my neck that was our relationship is gone. Fuck you, you cunty motherfucker, because trying to make you understand any of this is futile. You're not worth the time it would take to communicate to you how unhappy you made me, and how I still NEVER GODDAMN CHEATED ON YOU.
You're sorry for ruining my night? Ha. You couldn't if you tried.
I know I promised not to talk about you here. But you called me, and texted me, with such venom that I feel others ought to know what you're like. What you're really like. Because you take the things I've told you in the past, the things that caused me the most anguish, and you twist them to suit your own intentions. I never felt worse about myself than when I was around you. And you know what? Nothing I could ever say would change your mind about what happened. Nothing I could ever say would make you understand that I didn't fucking cheat on you. Really, what do I have to gain by defending myself now? Nothing. Lying to you and saying I had cheated on you would just satisfy some sick part of your mind that wants to hear that and believe you were right all along. I didn't cheat on you. If I even knew Andrew had feelings for me back then, I would've stopped talking to him. Then you would've gotten what you asked for so many times. But that didn't happen, and all I wanted was to be his friend. Being your girlfriend made me the loneliest person in the world, even in your company, and I'd take whatever friends I could get.
And what right do you have to talk about Zach? He and I have spoken since you left, and we're still on good terms. Everything's gotten better since you left. Funny how that works.
I want to tell the world what you're like. I want every girl out there to know what it's like to be with you, and fuck help them if they ever decide they don't want to be with you anymore because you subject them to this bullshit. I want them to know that there's no kindness inside you, just the fear of social rejection that motivates every carefully calculated move. I want Erin, the waitress at Frank, to know how you would invite her to things that hadn't planned and then finally plan them-- and not invite me, your girlfriend. I want Sabrina to know you told me, specifically, that you would never feel about me the way you felt about her. I want your friends to know how you'd maneuver me into a guilt complex so I'd do what you wanted. Do they realize, really realize, what you are? I want all my friends to know how you said they liked you more when you were Sabrina's boyfriend. You started our relationship by saying you were going to break up with me when you leave, and you started our relationship by saying you've cheated before. I expected it the whole time. I still expect you to say you did, whether it's true or false, because last night showed me how angry and bitter you are.
Oh. And I'm going to marry Andrew. Whether it's in one year, five years, or 20. Getting down on one knee wouldn't even be a surprise, just a formality. We've already talked about it, and he makes me happier than you ever could. So fuck as many 19-year-olds with rowers' bodies as you want. I'm sure they're easy.
Still, I can't bring myself to say to you what I really want to say to you. Maybe I'm granting my words a certain self-importance in thinking they'd hurt you.
I'm sorry I said you have a huge vagina, that you are such a woman. That I couldn't wait for it to be over. The thing is, I didn't just say that to Andrew. I said that to everyone. Some part of me knew I'd be relieved when you left, because the other part of me-- the part that cared about you-- didn't want to leave you. So you were leaving me. But really, you're acting like the scorned woman you're trying to make me into. I loved you. I really loved you, but I never felt you loved me. I was just your emotional stomping ground.
But now, the noose around my neck that was our relationship is gone. Fuck you, you cunty motherfucker, because trying to make you understand any of this is futile. You're not worth the time it would take to communicate to you how unhappy you made me, and how I still NEVER GODDAMN CHEATED ON YOU.
You're sorry for ruining my night? Ha. You couldn't if you tried.
Monday, June 7, 2010
American Spirits and Marlboros
it started a couple weeks ago, the stuff that lead up to my phone call yesterday afternoon. I answered, and the voice said:
"Hey, is this Adrienne? Oh wait, sorry, Sabrina?"
"Uh, great start, man. It's Sabrina..."
It was Mark, one of my boys from Starbucks. He had just gotten my number from Art's girlfriend, Adrienne. Art had insisted Mark call me to go to their house for dinner with them. The other night, Art had insisted Adrienne get my number for whatever reason. Before that, Art had pulled me outside to tell me he thought his friend and fellow Starbucks employee Mark would be the perfect guy for me. Strangely enough, that was about five minutes after I had texted Ajna that I had decided to break up with Brandon. I don't want to go from a 32 year old server to a 31 year old pot smoking barista; but Art planted a fucking seed in my head cause somehow I got this little crush on Mark after that. I can't help but think that Art talked to Mark too, because Mark was surprisingly nice and attentive the next time I saw him.
Anyway, that's the cute little side story on how I ended up on the porch. You can't really call it a porch, it was small, concrete and cracked, a tiny trellis on one side and the plywood front door, when open, almost took up the whole thing. Adrienne and Art were sitting out there, smoking. The entire street is super dark except for this little porch with the little light above their heads.
There was no dinner, they pulled up a couple chairs for us, we chatted a little.
This guy rode up out of the middle of the yard on a bicycle. He was old and fat. Art said he used to be one of his roommates before he got pregnant and pointed in the dark somewhere to indicate the place they had shared, on this street.
The old man defended his ghetto bike and weak legs by saying he wasn't as bad as pegleg who was wheeling over.
Two minutes later, in the pebble driveway, I saw the reflection of a wheelchair, someone was actually wheeling up to the front porch in a wheelchair, this kid. The wheelchair got kind of stuck where the pebbles me the grass and concrete, and the kid jumped up and kicked the wheelchair and repositioned it on the sidewalk, plopped himself back in, and rolled up the the porch. He hurt his knee at work and is collecting workers comp for it; he said they might be watching him, so he's staying in the wheelchair so they wouldn't get him for fraud.
Two more minutes later and a poor farmer from Huckleberry Finn strolls up, I mean, he's white and skinny and too tan and wearing these jeans (no straw hat or anything) but he comes up and just starts on talking too. Another one of Art's old roommates from another place on this street.
So fucking weird. This place cracked me the fuck up--or was it the crack house across the street that I was told not to go to cause they sold some bunk shit?
And then Art and Adrienne's actual roommate comes out of the house. He's topless and older and too tan and has a beer belly. Didn't say anything though, he just smoked and went back in. Art said he was like a dad to them.
So this was the cast of characters for the evening. Art, Adrienne, Mark, Old Roommate #1 (looks preggers), Old Roommate #2 (topless Huck Finn farmer), Pegleg (ghetto kid in wheelchair), and me (current roommate is negligible.)
Pegleg became a victim even more so. He didn't know how to defend himself and Adrienne was a harsh critic of all people, especially men. She made fun of him for not getting laid and being too awkward to get laid. She tells us about one time when they told him to make a move, so this girl he was hanging out with said she was getting in the shower. He asked to join her. Or another time, this same girl texted him she was in bed alone, and he said there was room in his for her. I quipped in that it was funny that Adrienne kept track of his sex life for him, or lack there of, and asked if she kept reports of his activity. Art then chimmed in that with this girl, Pegleg would need to be in a bedroom with her, shut the door, and just tell her to take her clothes off. Art said he knew this girl, she wanted to get laid but didn't want all the bullshit that came with it. His method was foolproof. Adrienne scoffed at her boyfriend and asked why he didn't do it himself before then. The conversation had moved on, and after a pause, he cuts back to it saying that it would have been weird since he found her kind of annoying and she lived across the street from him at the time, so that's why he hadn't done it. Pegleg was saying he was picturing it in his head, how it would go with him. I said I was too...that his wheelchair would get caught in the doorway or something like that. He didn't like that one bit and went off, with more detail, about how he was perfectly capable of walking or even doing cartwheels out in the field (he pointed) but didn't want to in case he was being watched.
After his smoke, current roommate went back inside to continue watching TrueTV. I said I wasn't familiar with it, and they said that it was shows with just facts, just true stuff, about murders and cereal killers and the court cases and shit like that. And anyone who watched it a lot would become crazy if they hadn't already. Art said that the mother of one of his ex-girlfriends used to watch it a lot and started talking to him about how she learned how she could kill her husband who was on an emphysema machine, and not get caught. Huck Finn then said it would be easy. He started going into detail about how you could do it and we said he was crazy. He said, no, that wasn't crazy. What's crazy is talking to a mobster's daughter for three hours and forty minutes about how to kill her enemy and telling her what was wrong with her plan and what she needed to do to cover it up so she wouldn't get caught. That's crazy, he said.
Pegleg wheeled off, well started wheeling and then got up and fucked it, pushing the wheelchair and carrying it to his place across the street. We wished him luck on getting laid and he said he knew he wasn't getting laid tonight so he didn't need the fucking luck. Poor pegleg wasn't too witty or quick, and I felt a little guilty about how defensive he had been about absolutely everything, taking it all so seriously. Huck Finn said not to feel bad because Pegleg was an idiot and a one-upper. He always wanted to one-up you. (I realized that Huck Fin was actually describing himself at this point.) When we talked about how ghetto the neighborhood was, he said Detroit had it beat. Detroit beat everywhere he had been, and he started naming ghetto places around the US like someplace in Atlanta and Memphis. He said since he had been in Detroit in the eighties, and nineties, and even some of the two-thousands, it had been the ghettoest..and it was too ghetto for him to stand it now. This street was nothing. They all asked me about Miami but I said it wasn't that bad, I mean, I couldn't really contribute to the conversation since I hadn't been too many ghetto places.
We started talking about books, and how I lost The Boxman. Art went inside and retrieved the G.E.B. and I called it before I even saw it which he was excited about asking if I had read it or how I knew about it. I said he told me about it the other day at starbucks. He started talking about the artist, I said I knew who he was talking about and he asked how, and again, I said we had looked him up, together, on my computer at starbucks. Adrienne reiterated for maybe the third or fourth time of the night how Art had the memory of a goldfish. Art started talking about how it talked about derivatives and theorems, and how that was in calculus, and how calculus was in a lot of physics, and how there was a lot of physics (quantum) in the book. Adrienne then told him he wasn't talking to a group of idiots, that we all knew what calculus was. Art started reading from the book about Achilles and the Tortoise. After a bit, Art paused, Mark and I gave each other the look we had been giving each other the whole night, the sort of shrug your shoulders/what the fuck is going on? look. I think he felt a little guilty or awkward at times for bringing me to the porch for all this. Huck Finn looked at Art and said that was all well and good, but where was the Hare in the story? Art didn't shut stop with the book, which somehow segued into Tool, the band, and their song "4 degrees." He went on to describe everything as sublimation. I said I didn't get it, I didn't know what sublimation meant. He talked about how it was a very precise chemical reaction / perfect state of gas and liquid, a perfect balance. Somehow it had changed purpose, because he was describing himself and Adrienne at this point. She said he was going crazy and off, I said it was so cute and touching, and then touched his leg with my finger. Mark occasionally would chime in. He always looks tired and seems to have dark circles under his eyes which you'd think would make him ugly since I notice it and think of it all the time. But I am so attracted to him.
When we talked about who we looked like or whatever, I lamented how Michael McNeal at UT said I looked exactly at Rachel Ray so everyone would reassure me I didn't. They did. Adrienne, I realize, didn't have a person per-se, she just would cite Rocky when people fucked up her name. Art apparently got Ben Afflick (which Mark backed up mildly and Adrienne denied adamantly since Art isn't exactly thin). Adrienne looked at Mark and was like, we all know he get's Johnny Depp, and that was as far as talking about Mark got, no discussion. It's like this fucking light bulb went off in my head after that--like oh! that's why I think Mark is so fucking hot and I might like him more for looking tired and smoking the fucking cigarettes or whatever. Hmm.
The whole time we were talking, they were refilling my Grumpy water mug and smoking cigarettes. Oh, and at one point, Art had just called American Spirits and put them on speakerphone while he was on hold. He wanted to try to win something.
Art works today at noon at starbucks. It's Mark's day off, but he said he thought he'd be stopping in anyway and maybe would catch me if I was working there. I wanted him to leave with me, I wanted him to fucking say we could meet up outside of starbucks since it was, after all, his day off. I don't know if I'll go to Starbucks and/or see Mark. But this was, hands down, one of the most fun and entertaining nights I've had in Naples, ever.
"Hey, is this Adrienne? Oh wait, sorry, Sabrina?"
"Uh, great start, man. It's Sabrina..."
It was Mark, one of my boys from Starbucks. He had just gotten my number from Art's girlfriend, Adrienne. Art had insisted Mark call me to go to their house for dinner with them. The other night, Art had insisted Adrienne get my number for whatever reason. Before that, Art had pulled me outside to tell me he thought his friend and fellow Starbucks employee Mark would be the perfect guy for me. Strangely enough, that was about five minutes after I had texted Ajna that I had decided to break up with Brandon. I don't want to go from a 32 year old server to a 31 year old pot smoking barista; but Art planted a fucking seed in my head cause somehow I got this little crush on Mark after that. I can't help but think that Art talked to Mark too, because Mark was surprisingly nice and attentive the next time I saw him.
Anyway, that's the cute little side story on how I ended up on the porch. You can't really call it a porch, it was small, concrete and cracked, a tiny trellis on one side and the plywood front door, when open, almost took up the whole thing. Adrienne and Art were sitting out there, smoking. The entire street is super dark except for this little porch with the little light above their heads.
There was no dinner, they pulled up a couple chairs for us, we chatted a little.
This guy rode up out of the middle of the yard on a bicycle. He was old and fat. Art said he used to be one of his roommates before he got pregnant and pointed in the dark somewhere to indicate the place they had shared, on this street.
The old man defended his ghetto bike and weak legs by saying he wasn't as bad as pegleg who was wheeling over.
Two minutes later, in the pebble driveway, I saw the reflection of a wheelchair, someone was actually wheeling up to the front porch in a wheelchair, this kid. The wheelchair got kind of stuck where the pebbles me the grass and concrete, and the kid jumped up and kicked the wheelchair and repositioned it on the sidewalk, plopped himself back in, and rolled up the the porch. He hurt his knee at work and is collecting workers comp for it; he said they might be watching him, so he's staying in the wheelchair so they wouldn't get him for fraud.
Two more minutes later and a poor farmer from Huckleberry Finn strolls up, I mean, he's white and skinny and too tan and wearing these jeans (no straw hat or anything) but he comes up and just starts on talking too. Another one of Art's old roommates from another place on this street.
So fucking weird. This place cracked me the fuck up--or was it the crack house across the street that I was told not to go to cause they sold some bunk shit?
And then Art and Adrienne's actual roommate comes out of the house. He's topless and older and too tan and has a beer belly. Didn't say anything though, he just smoked and went back in. Art said he was like a dad to them.
So this was the cast of characters for the evening. Art, Adrienne, Mark, Old Roommate #1 (looks preggers), Old Roommate #2 (topless Huck Finn farmer), Pegleg (ghetto kid in wheelchair), and me (current roommate is negligible.)
Pegleg became a victim even more so. He didn't know how to defend himself and Adrienne was a harsh critic of all people, especially men. She made fun of him for not getting laid and being too awkward to get laid. She tells us about one time when they told him to make a move, so this girl he was hanging out with said she was getting in the shower. He asked to join her. Or another time, this same girl texted him she was in bed alone, and he said there was room in his for her. I quipped in that it was funny that Adrienne kept track of his sex life for him, or lack there of, and asked if she kept reports of his activity. Art then chimmed in that with this girl, Pegleg would need to be in a bedroom with her, shut the door, and just tell her to take her clothes off. Art said he knew this girl, she wanted to get laid but didn't want all the bullshit that came with it. His method was foolproof. Adrienne scoffed at her boyfriend and asked why he didn't do it himself before then. The conversation had moved on, and after a pause, he cuts back to it saying that it would have been weird since he found her kind of annoying and she lived across the street from him at the time, so that's why he hadn't done it. Pegleg was saying he was picturing it in his head, how it would go with him. I said I was too...that his wheelchair would get caught in the doorway or something like that. He didn't like that one bit and went off, with more detail, about how he was perfectly capable of walking or even doing cartwheels out in the field (he pointed) but didn't want to in case he was being watched.
After his smoke, current roommate went back inside to continue watching TrueTV. I said I wasn't familiar with it, and they said that it was shows with just facts, just true stuff, about murders and cereal killers and the court cases and shit like that. And anyone who watched it a lot would become crazy if they hadn't already. Art said that the mother of one of his ex-girlfriends used to watch it a lot and started talking to him about how she learned how she could kill her husband who was on an emphysema machine, and not get caught. Huck Finn then said it would be easy. He started going into detail about how you could do it and we said he was crazy. He said, no, that wasn't crazy. What's crazy is talking to a mobster's daughter for three hours and forty minutes about how to kill her enemy and telling her what was wrong with her plan and what she needed to do to cover it up so she wouldn't get caught. That's crazy, he said.
Pegleg wheeled off, well started wheeling and then got up and fucked it, pushing the wheelchair and carrying it to his place across the street. We wished him luck on getting laid and he said he knew he wasn't getting laid tonight so he didn't need the fucking luck. Poor pegleg wasn't too witty or quick, and I felt a little guilty about how defensive he had been about absolutely everything, taking it all so seriously. Huck Finn said not to feel bad because Pegleg was an idiot and a one-upper. He always wanted to one-up you. (I realized that Huck Fin was actually describing himself at this point.) When we talked about how ghetto the neighborhood was, he said Detroit had it beat. Detroit beat everywhere he had been, and he started naming ghetto places around the US like someplace in Atlanta and Memphis. He said since he had been in Detroit in the eighties, and nineties, and even some of the two-thousands, it had been the ghettoest..and it was too ghetto for him to stand it now. This street was nothing. They all asked me about Miami but I said it wasn't that bad, I mean, I couldn't really contribute to the conversation since I hadn't been too many ghetto places.
We started talking about books, and how I lost The Boxman. Art went inside and retrieved the G.E.B. and I called it before I even saw it which he was excited about asking if I had read it or how I knew about it. I said he told me about it the other day at starbucks. He started talking about the artist, I said I knew who he was talking about and he asked how, and again, I said we had looked him up, together, on my computer at starbucks. Adrienne reiterated for maybe the third or fourth time of the night how Art had the memory of a goldfish. Art started talking about how it talked about derivatives and theorems, and how that was in calculus, and how calculus was in a lot of physics, and how there was a lot of physics (quantum) in the book. Adrienne then told him he wasn't talking to a group of idiots, that we all knew what calculus was. Art started reading from the book about Achilles and the Tortoise. After a bit, Art paused, Mark and I gave each other the look we had been giving each other the whole night, the sort of shrug your shoulders/what the fuck is going on? look. I think he felt a little guilty or awkward at times for bringing me to the porch for all this. Huck Finn looked at Art and said that was all well and good, but where was the Hare in the story? Art didn't shut stop with the book, which somehow segued into Tool, the band, and their song "4 degrees." He went on to describe everything as sublimation. I said I didn't get it, I didn't know what sublimation meant. He talked about how it was a very precise chemical reaction / perfect state of gas and liquid, a perfect balance. Somehow it had changed purpose, because he was describing himself and Adrienne at this point. She said he was going crazy and off, I said it was so cute and touching, and then touched his leg with my finger. Mark occasionally would chime in. He always looks tired and seems to have dark circles under his eyes which you'd think would make him ugly since I notice it and think of it all the time. But I am so attracted to him.
When we talked about who we looked like or whatever, I lamented how Michael McNeal at UT said I looked exactly at Rachel Ray so everyone would reassure me I didn't. They did. Adrienne, I realize, didn't have a person per-se, she just would cite Rocky when people fucked up her name. Art apparently got Ben Afflick (which Mark backed up mildly and Adrienne denied adamantly since Art isn't exactly thin). Adrienne looked at Mark and was like, we all know he get's Johnny Depp, and that was as far as talking about Mark got, no discussion. It's like this fucking light bulb went off in my head after that--like oh! that's why I think Mark is so fucking hot and I might like him more for looking tired and smoking the fucking cigarettes or whatever. Hmm.
The whole time we were talking, they were refilling my Grumpy water mug and smoking cigarettes. Oh, and at one point, Art had just called American Spirits and put them on speakerphone while he was on hold. He wanted to try to win something.
Art works today at noon at starbucks. It's Mark's day off, but he said he thought he'd be stopping in anyway and maybe would catch me if I was working there. I wanted him to leave with me, I wanted him to fucking say we could meet up outside of starbucks since it was, after all, his day off. I don't know if I'll go to Starbucks and/or see Mark. But this was, hands down, one of the most fun and entertaining nights I've had in Naples, ever.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
excerpt from Mark Twain's "How to Tell A Story"
Mark Twain discusses the difference of a humourous story from comic or witty stories.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"[...] Let me set down an instance of the comic method, using an anecdote which has been popular all over the world for twelve or fifteen hundred years. The teller tells it in this way:
THE WOUNDED SOLDIER.
In the course of a certain battle a soldier whose leg had been shot off appealed to another soldier who was hurrying by to carry him to the rear, informing him at the same time of the loss which he had sustained; whereupon the generous son of Mars, shouldering the unfortunate, proceeded to carry out his desire. The bullets and cannon-balls were flying in all directions, and presently one of the latter took the wounded man's head off--without, however, his deliverer being aware of it. In no-long time he was hailed by an officer, who said:
"Where are you going with that carcass?"
"To the rear, sir--he's lost his leg!"
"His leg, forsooth?" responded the astonished officer; "you mean his head, you booby."
Whereupon the soldier dispossessed himself of his burden, and stood looking down upon it in great perplexity. At length he said:
"It is true, sir, just as you have said." Then after a pause he added, "But he TOLD me IT WAS HIS LEG! ! ! ! !"
Here the narrator bursts into explosion after explosion of thunderous horse-laughter, repeating that nub from time to time through his gaspings and shriekings and suffocatings.
It takes only a minute and a half to tell that in its comic-story form; and isn't worth the telling, after all. Put into the humorous-story form it takes ten minutes, and is about the funniest thing I have ever listened to--as James Whitcomb Riley tells it.
He tells it in the character of a dull-witted old farmer who has just heard it for the first time, thinks it is unspeakably funny, and is trying to repeat it to a neighbor. But he can't remember it; so he gets all mixed up and wanders helplessly round and round, putting in tedious details that don't belong in the tale and only retard it; taking them out conscientiously and putting in others that are just as useless; making minor mistakes now and then and stopping to correct them and explain how he came to make them; remembering things which he forgot to put in in their proper place and going back to put them in there; stopping his narrative a good while in order to try to recall the name of the soldier that was hurt, and finally remembering that the soldier's name was not mentioned, and remarking placidly that the name is of no real importance, anyway--better, of course, if one knew it, but not essential, after all-- and so on, and so on, and so on.
The teller is innocent and happy and pleased with himself, and has to stop every little while to hold himself in and keep from laughing outright; and does hold in, but his body quakes in a jelly-like way with interior chuckles; and at the end of the ten minutes the audience have laughed until they are exhausted, and the tears are running down their faces.
The simplicity and innocence and sincerity and unconsciousness of the old farmer are perfectly simulated, and the result is a performance which is thoroughly charming and delicious. This is art and fine and beautiful, and only a master can compass it; but a machine could tell the other story.
To string incongruities and absurdities together in a wandering and sometimes purposeless way, and seem innocently unaware that they are absurdities, is the basis of the American art, if my position is correct. Another feature is the slurring of the point. A third is the dropping of a studied remark apparently without knowing it, as if one were thinking aloud. The fourth and last is the pause."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
This one little excerpt makes me feel more 'American' than anything else I've known. I'm like a little ol' farmer.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"[...] Let me set down an instance of the comic method, using an anecdote which has been popular all over the world for twelve or fifteen hundred years. The teller tells it in this way:
THE WOUNDED SOLDIER.
In the course of a certain battle a soldier whose leg had been shot off appealed to another soldier who was hurrying by to carry him to the rear, informing him at the same time of the loss which he had sustained; whereupon the generous son of Mars, shouldering the unfortunate, proceeded to carry out his desire. The bullets and cannon-balls were flying in all directions, and presently one of the latter took the wounded man's head off--without, however, his deliverer being aware of it. In no-long time he was hailed by an officer, who said:
"Where are you going with that carcass?"
"To the rear, sir--he's lost his leg!"
"His leg, forsooth?" responded the astonished officer; "you mean his head, you booby."
Whereupon the soldier dispossessed himself of his burden, and stood looking down upon it in great perplexity. At length he said:
"It is true, sir, just as you have said." Then after a pause he added, "But he TOLD me IT WAS HIS LEG! ! ! ! !"
Here the narrator bursts into explosion after explosion of thunderous horse-laughter, repeating that nub from time to time through his gaspings and shriekings and suffocatings.
It takes only a minute and a half to tell that in its comic-story form; and isn't worth the telling, after all. Put into the humorous-story form it takes ten minutes, and is about the funniest thing I have ever listened to--as James Whitcomb Riley tells it.
He tells it in the character of a dull-witted old farmer who has just heard it for the first time, thinks it is unspeakably funny, and is trying to repeat it to a neighbor. But he can't remember it; so he gets all mixed up and wanders helplessly round and round, putting in tedious details that don't belong in the tale and only retard it; taking them out conscientiously and putting in others that are just as useless; making minor mistakes now and then and stopping to correct them and explain how he came to make them; remembering things which he forgot to put in in their proper place and going back to put them in there; stopping his narrative a good while in order to try to recall the name of the soldier that was hurt, and finally remembering that the soldier's name was not mentioned, and remarking placidly that the name is of no real importance, anyway--better, of course, if one knew it, but not essential, after all-- and so on, and so on, and so on.
The teller is innocent and happy and pleased with himself, and has to stop every little while to hold himself in and keep from laughing outright; and does hold in, but his body quakes in a jelly-like way with interior chuckles; and at the end of the ten minutes the audience have laughed until they are exhausted, and the tears are running down their faces.
The simplicity and innocence and sincerity and unconsciousness of the old farmer are perfectly simulated, and the result is a performance which is thoroughly charming and delicious. This is art and fine and beautiful, and only a master can compass it; but a machine could tell the other story.
To string incongruities and absurdities together in a wandering and sometimes purposeless way, and seem innocently unaware that they are absurdities, is the basis of the American art, if my position is correct. Another feature is the slurring of the point. A third is the dropping of a studied remark apparently without knowing it, as if one were thinking aloud. The fourth and last is the pause."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
This one little excerpt makes me feel more 'American' than anything else I've known. I'm like a little ol' farmer.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
a ghost
If I could only explain my awkwardness, I’m afraid it might make the skeleton within you jump out of your skin therefore leaving you lifeless due to my awkwardness. Goodness. I am simply unbearable. My physical body may be somewhere, but where the hell is my mind?
Oh do come back! I need you and I say stupid things without you! Ugh, I hate it when you play this game of hide and seek. I surrender!
I am just amazed at myself at times. Nothing awkward or bad happened to me today to be the catalyst of this post, yet a realization. A realization of how empty I feel at times, therefore weaving my own invisibility cloak.
I’m sitting with the nineteen year old’s friends who are really cool and really fun. Only I do not have a voice. I have a seat in the circle, but sometimes I wish for their sake I was not there and their circle could be perfectly tighter. Sometimes I wish the nineteen year old did not like me so that he could have a life of his own.
He likes me, he tells me. I tell him “shh.” I know he does not like me. He likes what I tell him and he likes how I make him feel, but were he to know me, I’m oh so sure he would not like me. A truth that I only wish I could make him swallow so he would leave me and return to his life. Yet, the selfish part of me is drawn to his sweetness.
His mind has strength that I admire and envy. A strength that only drugs and years of abuse and mental questioning can develop. It is crazy to think of how drugs and abuse have made him developed in a way that my tender mind craves.
I can’t get over how wrong I feel being in his life and how he cannot see it. Maybe he is seeing it and choosing not to, yet this part of me wants him to push me out. Wants him to tell me that you are not right for me. I can only know that this will not happen, but hanging out with his friends today, I felt like a ghost.
They were not mean or rude, they were only themselves. Which made me realize ever so much more, that I do not belong. Oh New York City, embrace me.
Oh do come back! I need you and I say stupid things without you! Ugh, I hate it when you play this game of hide and seek. I surrender!
I am just amazed at myself at times. Nothing awkward or bad happened to me today to be the catalyst of this post, yet a realization. A realization of how empty I feel at times, therefore weaving my own invisibility cloak.
I’m sitting with the nineteen year old’s friends who are really cool and really fun. Only I do not have a voice. I have a seat in the circle, but sometimes I wish for their sake I was not there and their circle could be perfectly tighter. Sometimes I wish the nineteen year old did not like me so that he could have a life of his own.
He likes me, he tells me. I tell him “shh.” I know he does not like me. He likes what I tell him and he likes how I make him feel, but were he to know me, I’m oh so sure he would not like me. A truth that I only wish I could make him swallow so he would leave me and return to his life. Yet, the selfish part of me is drawn to his sweetness.
His mind has strength that I admire and envy. A strength that only drugs and years of abuse and mental questioning can develop. It is crazy to think of how drugs and abuse have made him developed in a way that my tender mind craves.
I can’t get over how wrong I feel being in his life and how he cannot see it. Maybe he is seeing it and choosing not to, yet this part of me wants him to push me out. Wants him to tell me that you are not right for me. I can only know that this will not happen, but hanging out with his friends today, I felt like a ghost.
They were not mean or rude, they were only themselves. Which made me realize ever so much more, that I do not belong. Oh New York City, embrace me.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Miami Beach Blues
cheessszzzy title. yum!...it was titled and didn't save and then when i tried to publish, i discovered i was logged out and...and then, when i was writing, well...
i'm sitting at a different starbucks in miami beach, the one across from whole foods. i park my car in the whole foods lot so i can see it at a particular table from inside starbucks. i'm at that table. i keep glancing up at it to make sure it's not towed, awkwardly making eye contact with the people sitting immediately on the other side of the glass, between the car and me.
I actually originally posted this with no title because in a moment of panic at seeing a tow truck on the street between people sitting on other side of me and my car, I immediately clicked "post," shut my laptop, and ran to my car. the tow truck only drove by and i safely escaped...but when i told my friend she said i was lucky because the same thing happened to her except they had put the thing on her car nd charged her $60 to unhook it all...so she had made it ontime, but not ontime enough for it to be free. phew for me!)
and then i keep turning my head back (just did it!) looking around in starbucks, while i continue typing my thoughts. i've been feeling overwhelmed and hopeless and doubtful and lost this morning. i hate that i'm here and i feel trapped or stuck. ideally i want aj to walk through the door pack up my computer for me and take me home (either to my house in naples or her house in houston) and let me curl up and cry while she makes me feel better; i want to be a fat kid and eat chocolate chocolate chocolate with no consequences on model body. i want aaron to call me, explain his disappearance for the past six months, and come to me wherever that may be. but these things won't happen, so i keep looking around starbucks, looking back at everyone for some sort of fucking comraderie. someone i can spill my guts out to that will mop them up or something weirdly fantastic like that. but looking around there is no one i want to spill too. no one that can magically become any of you girls or aaron or brandon or my mom.
however, with that thought i've now talked to two people here.
one is a random guy that looked at me and said he remembers me sitting in the exact same spot in the exact same way two weeks ago. He went on to ask me if I was, by chance, at CoCo last tuesday. I looked down and did this kind of cringe/laugh/are you serious?miami is ridiculous kind of thing--whatever that means and whatever that was--and replied that, yeah, i was there. He said he offered my friends and I drinks and asked if he could get my number to hang out. I gave him this look and sort of nodded my head back and forth and said it's not a good time and he doesn't want to hang out with me. I broke up with my boyfriend the day before yesterday and am moving out of miami the day after tomorrrow. i said i'm boring and don't like going out or drinking, and that whole night i drank water. somehow we talked a little longer and he lamented that he wish he could get a hold of me sometime so i said if he wants to hang out as friends he can have it, sure, but it's nothing exciting. I'm boring. I made sure Omar knew that.
i texted elizabeth, a girl i immediately liked and admired and got along with who quickly trusted me into her crumbling existence and false facade because she realized we are both smart, broke, and beautiful--or something like that. I don't know, I just know that she really does like me to the point of kind of collecting me like a trophy or something...or someone she needs right now in her life. which i love but at the same time i wonder why i admired/wanted to be like her. maybe it was that facade, hmmm. anyway, i texted her about the omar thing and how small miami beach is and how this guy has now seen me three times and i don't think i could recognize him if i saw him, still.
0.2 seconds later, i see her strolling by, out the window in the same peasanty beach dress she tried on yesterday in cool glasses with her ipod. We waved she came and ordered a triple shot of espresso on ice and added milk. she found it ironic, like me, that i just texted her about how small miami beach is. she said this is why she cares so much about her image and what people think about her. she works hard to be hard to get, aloof, single, a player, etc. She was on her way to Wilhelmina because Ford doesn't get her work.
Fuck starbucks and this internet connection...i finished and titled this post, and it didn't save (somehow!) and made me sign back in.
Basically, she asked if I wanted to go to the beach with her and I had offered yesterday to drive her up to the 50s (we're at 10th) to drop off a pair of shorts she borrowed from some girl. But I'm hungry, and vaguely make plans to go to lunch with this guy who just texted me, so I made the plan. I feel like her hangover and problems mixed with my own problems isn't what I need right now.
So the light purple highlighting is today (wednesday) the regular text was original, and the dark purple highlighting was sometime inbetween. this post was a pain in the ass..like broken or popcorn poop in shades of purple.
i'm sitting at a different starbucks in miami beach, the one across from whole foods. i park my car in the whole foods lot so i can see it at a particular table from inside starbucks. i'm at that table. i keep glancing up at it to make sure it's not towed, awkwardly making eye contact with the people sitting immediately on the other side of the glass, between the car and me.
I actually originally posted this with no title because in a moment of panic at seeing a tow truck on the street between people sitting on other side of me and my car, I immediately clicked "post," shut my laptop, and ran to my car. the tow truck only drove by and i safely escaped...but when i told my friend she said i was lucky because the same thing happened to her except they had put the thing on her car nd charged her $60 to unhook it all...so she had made it ontime, but not ontime enough for it to be free. phew for me!)
and then i keep turning my head back (just did it!) looking around in starbucks, while i continue typing my thoughts. i've been feeling overwhelmed and hopeless and doubtful and lost this morning. i hate that i'm here and i feel trapped or stuck. ideally i want aj to walk through the door pack up my computer for me and take me home (either to my house in naples or her house in houston) and let me curl up and cry while she makes me feel better; i want to be a fat kid and eat chocolate chocolate chocolate with no consequences on model body. i want aaron to call me, explain his disappearance for the past six months, and come to me wherever that may be. but these things won't happen, so i keep looking around starbucks, looking back at everyone for some sort of fucking comraderie. someone i can spill my guts out to that will mop them up or something weirdly fantastic like that. but looking around there is no one i want to spill too. no one that can magically become any of you girls or aaron or brandon or my mom.
however, with that thought i've now talked to two people here.
one is a random guy that looked at me and said he remembers me sitting in the exact same spot in the exact same way two weeks ago. He went on to ask me if I was, by chance, at CoCo last tuesday. I looked down and did this kind of cringe/laugh/are you serious?miami is ridiculous kind of thing--whatever that means and whatever that was--and replied that, yeah, i was there. He said he offered my friends and I drinks and asked if he could get my number to hang out. I gave him this look and sort of nodded my head back and forth and said it's not a good time and he doesn't want to hang out with me. I broke up with my boyfriend the day before yesterday and am moving out of miami the day after tomorrrow. i said i'm boring and don't like going out or drinking, and that whole night i drank water. somehow we talked a little longer and he lamented that he wish he could get a hold of me sometime so i said if he wants to hang out as friends he can have it, sure, but it's nothing exciting. I'm boring. I made sure Omar knew that.
i texted elizabeth, a girl i immediately liked and admired and got along with who quickly trusted me into her crumbling existence and false facade because she realized we are both smart, broke, and beautiful--or something like that. I don't know, I just know that she really does like me to the point of kind of collecting me like a trophy or something...or someone she needs right now in her life. which i love but at the same time i wonder why i admired/wanted to be like her. maybe it was that facade, hmmm. anyway, i texted her about the omar thing and how small miami beach is and how this guy has now seen me three times and i don't think i could recognize him if i saw him, still.
0.2 seconds later, i see her strolling by, out the window in the same peasanty beach dress she tried on yesterday in cool glasses with her ipod. We waved she came and ordered a triple shot of espresso on ice and added milk. she found it ironic, like me, that i just texted her about how small miami beach is. she said this is why she cares so much about her image and what people think about her. she works hard to be hard to get, aloof, single, a player, etc. She was on her way to Wilhelmina because Ford doesn't get her work.
Fuck starbucks and this internet connection...i finished and titled this post, and it didn't save (somehow!) and made me sign back in.
Basically, she asked if I wanted to go to the beach with her and I had offered yesterday to drive her up to the 50s (we're at 10th) to drop off a pair of shorts she borrowed from some girl. But I'm hungry, and vaguely make plans to go to lunch with this guy who just texted me, so I made the plan. I feel like her hangover and problems mixed with my own problems isn't what I need right now.
So the light purple highlighting is today (wednesday) the regular text was original, and the dark purple highlighting was sometime inbetween. this post was a pain in the ass..like broken or popcorn poop in shades of purple.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Cunty
At our friend's house last week, I told Andrew he was acting "cunty," and our friends laughed.
Through dinner, he barely looked at or talked to me.
Afterward, he was outside, sitting down by himself, looking at his phone. I went outside to apologize, and he said, "It's okay," in a way that meant it wasn't really okay. And I kept apologizing, and he kept only half-looking at me, and I couldn't stand it anymore. So I told him I was going for a walk and immediately lit a cigarette as I started to walk away.
I didn't want a cigarette. I didn't want four cigarettes. I felt sick to my stomach, and smoking just made it worse. Maybe that's what I wanted-- to feel worse. I couldn't remember the context of the conversation or why I said what I did, and of course, I didn't actually think he was acting cunty. I mean, Christ. "Cunty"? It's a joke of a word, meant in a joking way. But I felt ill, thinking that he believed I meant it.
As I made my way back to the house, I saw that he was walking toward me. We met halfway. It was awkward, quiet, painful. My eyes were leaking. My nose, too. And all I could say was, "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry," quietly, over and over again. I needed him, almost desperately, to see that I meant it. And he put his arms around me-- wrapped me up-- and I told him I didn't want to lose him over something stupid I said that I didn't mean and couldn't even remember.
We went back in the house through the side door so I could slip away into the bathroom to wash my splotchy face.
Later, he said that he just didn't know why I would say something like that, why I would embarrass him in front of everyone for no reason. I was awful all over again. The rest of the night was tense and strange, and even the next morning, until he held onto me and said he was sorry for getting so angry. I apologized for the leaking eyes and nose and acting like a girl. And then we went back to being our foolish, hopeless selves, confessing secret romantic things and conspiring like children to love each other as long as we could.
Everything-- not this, but everything-- with him happened so quickly. But for the first time, I think I want a future with someone, and that doesn't make me want to run away or cringe and cower. Dogs and an apartment and cooking and running and sleeping and sexing in perpetuity, with him. I want to plant my feet somewhere and wrap my spindly branches around this and make it happen. It's a gross sentiment, I know. And so... out of character, at least for me. But I want it. I don't know what else I could possibly want.
Through dinner, he barely looked at or talked to me.
Afterward, he was outside, sitting down by himself, looking at his phone. I went outside to apologize, and he said, "It's okay," in a way that meant it wasn't really okay. And I kept apologizing, and he kept only half-looking at me, and I couldn't stand it anymore. So I told him I was going for a walk and immediately lit a cigarette as I started to walk away.
I didn't want a cigarette. I didn't want four cigarettes. I felt sick to my stomach, and smoking just made it worse. Maybe that's what I wanted-- to feel worse. I couldn't remember the context of the conversation or why I said what I did, and of course, I didn't actually think he was acting cunty. I mean, Christ. "Cunty"? It's a joke of a word, meant in a joking way. But I felt ill, thinking that he believed I meant it.
As I made my way back to the house, I saw that he was walking toward me. We met halfway. It was awkward, quiet, painful. My eyes were leaking. My nose, too. And all I could say was, "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry," quietly, over and over again. I needed him, almost desperately, to see that I meant it. And he put his arms around me-- wrapped me up-- and I told him I didn't want to lose him over something stupid I said that I didn't mean and couldn't even remember.
We went back in the house through the side door so I could slip away into the bathroom to wash my splotchy face.
Later, he said that he just didn't know why I would say something like that, why I would embarrass him in front of everyone for no reason. I was awful all over again. The rest of the night was tense and strange, and even the next morning, until he held onto me and said he was sorry for getting so angry. I apologized for the leaking eyes and nose and acting like a girl. And then we went back to being our foolish, hopeless selves, confessing secret romantic things and conspiring like children to love each other as long as we could.
Everything-- not this, but everything-- with him happened so quickly. But for the first time, I think I want a future with someone, and that doesn't make me want to run away or cringe and cower. Dogs and an apartment and cooking and running and sleeping and sexing in perpetuity, with him. I want to plant my feet somewhere and wrap my spindly branches around this and make it happen. It's a gross sentiment, I know. And so... out of character, at least for me. But I want it. I don't know what else I could possibly want.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Right Thing
Dearest Melting Wheel of Cheese,
You did the right thing. You let go of a boy who you will never love as much as he loves you. You did the right thing. You let go of a boy who you will never love as much as he loves you.
Love,
Circle Girl
P.S. V you are making my day with your posts.
You did the right thing. You let go of a boy who you will never love as much as he loves you. You did the right thing. You let go of a boy who you will never love as much as he loves you.
Love,
Circle Girl
P.S. V you are making my day with your posts.
brandon grayson
I broke up with my boyfriend. And all the reasons to break up piled up and kept piling, but I couldn't say them and I can't think of them right now. I broke up after one of the best nights we've ever had followed by one of the most petty fights in the morning. But it made me cry, again. And now I've made myself cry. I've made myself sick, my head hurts. I really care about him and I feel like shit. I picture myself calling him or running back to him telling him I change my mind, it was stupid, I do want it all and can handle it--and I know that is what he is waiting for. The more time that goes by and I don't make a move...(I can't make it.)...the more real it is.
It's the right thing for me. Just right now, at this moment, it is the worst.
music of the moment:
Shark in the Water by VV Brown
It's the right thing for me. Just right now, at this moment, it is the worst.
music of the moment:
Shark in the Water by VV Brown
Monday, May 17, 2010
in starbucks #2 (at lincoln road and pennsylvania avenue)
I had told ajna about this day. I was walking along Lincoln Road, high off of going to a casting for a Milanese agency.( Now, my highest highs come from anything to do with modeling; I've remodeled my mind.)
While I was walking, this kid asked if he could take me to lunch. I didn't realize he was speaking to me. I was on my way to do some school work at Starbucks, but a free meal to celebrate for myself was welcomed enough. So I agreed, and we walked together, looking for a place to snag a bite. He asked what I wanted and I said sushi or ceviche seemed perfect; Lincoln Road is strewn with places that have both. He pulled out an envelope, looked at the twenty inside, looked at me, and suggested coffee.
This was awkward. I do eat more than a side salad. Whatever.
I conceed that starbucks sounded good, that's where I was headed anyway but this whole thing was becoming unnecessary and rather painful. What the fuck had I been thinking?...accepting a free meal from some seemingly poorer (and cheaper) than me.
I ordered an grande iced black tea, unsweetened. He asked for the same, proudly (!) informing the barista he'd be paying for mine as well. While we were standing there, he was talking about how he hangs out with friends on Lincoln Road. We turned around and, in fact, one of his friends was sitting right behind us. In a wheelchair. With colored pencil portraits laid out on the table in front of him. I was introduced. The kid asked his friend if he would draw me and the friend said he can only draw from pictures, so I was asked if I had any pictures of myself.
I do! I do! A whole 9x12 bookful, sticking out of the top of my purse. But I said I had no pictures and I said I did not want is friend to draw me.
We sat down and struggled through a conversation. I struggled to hold onto a conversation I was trying to let go of. He struggled, well, because he struggled. I said I wanted to go to Milan and after a while (five minutes later?) he said something like, "Milan is in asia? Right?"
No! I'm not talking about the fucking Disney movie with the asian cartoon, dumb fuck. I'm talking about the city. I didn't actually say that but it ran through my mind while I delicately corrected him.
He apologized for being a bad conversationalist. I said everyone has moments of feeling like they said or did the wrong thing. It happens. It got quiet and I said I needed to start working. He asked me if he could sit there (Starbucks has a booth with tables in front. He was nextto me in the booth, one table over.) I said sure, if he wanted to continue sitting there, he could do that. I put on my headphones and tried to start working but it didn't work so after a couple minutes I took them off, turned to him, and asked him to leave because I felt awkward and couldn't start writing a paper with him just watching me.
He went outside and joined his all too familiar group of weird street cat friends. I got up and asked a girl to watch my computer and stuff while I went to the restroom. When I came back, Ajna called, and I told her about the kid and how weird and painful and akward it all was. About how I thought he was a good person but definitely missing something. I don't know what I said.
A little bit later, an old man sitting on the other side of me turned to me and asked me where I was from and if I'd watch his computer while he went outside to smoke. He then told me that he thought I had a good feeling about _________(I forgot the kids name by now, obviously.) He nodded his head reassuringly, gave me a wink, and said that he's said enough. He got up and walked out.
What? When does this happen? It felt like a weird conspiracy.The girl on the other side of old man shrugged her shoulders and gave me a sympathetic look.
I could't work. The kid came back in and gave me a starbucks card for some reason. I tried to give it back to him but eventually, kept it, used it, and shipped it off in my portfolio to Steve Ross. (He doesn't know the story.)
--------------------------------------------------------
It's been maybe a month since that happened. I've seen the kid a couple times and pretended I didn't see him and he hasn't come up to me since.
Today when I walked into the same starbucks the old man saw me and gave me a wry wink and smile again. It took me a second to realize this was that old man. He looks strikingly like the portrait of Walt Whitman I had just looked up for English.
Oh god.
I'm cold, sick of this stupid story, I dragged it on too long for myself to still be amused by it.
While I was walking, this kid asked if he could take me to lunch. I didn't realize he was speaking to me. I was on my way to do some school work at Starbucks, but a free meal to celebrate for myself was welcomed enough. So I agreed, and we walked together, looking for a place to snag a bite. He asked what I wanted and I said sushi or ceviche seemed perfect; Lincoln Road is strewn with places that have both. He pulled out an envelope, looked at the twenty inside, looked at me, and suggested coffee.
This was awkward. I do eat more than a side salad. Whatever.
I conceed that starbucks sounded good, that's where I was headed anyway but this whole thing was becoming unnecessary and rather painful. What the fuck had I been thinking?...accepting a free meal from some seemingly poorer (and cheaper) than me.
I ordered an grande iced black tea, unsweetened. He asked for the same, proudly (!) informing the barista he'd be paying for mine as well. While we were standing there, he was talking about how he hangs out with friends on Lincoln Road. We turned around and, in fact, one of his friends was sitting right behind us. In a wheelchair. With colored pencil portraits laid out on the table in front of him. I was introduced. The kid asked his friend if he would draw me and the friend said he can only draw from pictures, so I was asked if I had any pictures of myself.
I do! I do! A whole 9x12 bookful, sticking out of the top of my purse. But I said I had no pictures and I said I did not want is friend to draw me.
We sat down and struggled through a conversation. I struggled to hold onto a conversation I was trying to let go of. He struggled, well, because he struggled. I said I wanted to go to Milan and after a while (five minutes later?) he said something like, "Milan is in asia? Right?"
No! I'm not talking about the fucking Disney movie with the asian cartoon, dumb fuck. I'm talking about the city. I didn't actually say that but it ran through my mind while I delicately corrected him.
He apologized for being a bad conversationalist. I said everyone has moments of feeling like they said or did the wrong thing. It happens. It got quiet and I said I needed to start working. He asked me if he could sit there (Starbucks has a booth with tables in front. He was nextto me in the booth, one table over.) I said sure, if he wanted to continue sitting there, he could do that. I put on my headphones and tried to start working but it didn't work so after a couple minutes I took them off, turned to him, and asked him to leave because I felt awkward and couldn't start writing a paper with him just watching me.
He went outside and joined his all too familiar group of weird street cat friends. I got up and asked a girl to watch my computer and stuff while I went to the restroom. When I came back, Ajna called, and I told her about the kid and how weird and painful and akward it all was. About how I thought he was a good person but definitely missing something. I don't know what I said.
A little bit later, an old man sitting on the other side of me turned to me and asked me where I was from and if I'd watch his computer while he went outside to smoke. He then told me that he thought I had a good feeling about _________(I forgot the kids name by now, obviously.) He nodded his head reassuringly, gave me a wink, and said that he's said enough. He got up and walked out.
What? When does this happen? It felt like a weird conspiracy.The girl on the other side of old man shrugged her shoulders and gave me a sympathetic look.
I could't work. The kid came back in and gave me a starbucks card for some reason. I tried to give it back to him but eventually, kept it, used it, and shipped it off in my portfolio to Steve Ross. (He doesn't know the story.)
--------------------------------------------------------
It's been maybe a month since that happened. I've seen the kid a couple times and pretended I didn't see him and he hasn't come up to me since.
Today when I walked into the same starbucks the old man saw me and gave me a wry wink and smile again. It took me a second to realize this was that old man. He looks strikingly like the portrait of Walt Whitman I had just looked up for English.
I'm cold, sick of this stupid story, I dragged it on too long for myself to still be amused by it.
It started raining and I biked here. I just called my roommate Carlos; he's coming to pick me up. My hero!
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Adios, always
I was working on re-designing our company logo on Thursday night at Andrew's when I received a Facebook chat from someone I never expected to hear from again. And I can't sum up what this person used to mean to me in a brief way. Yes, he was one of my best friends, we slept together one night, and I never heard from him again. But that doesn't really capture what went on. There was always this weird thing between us, somewhere between mutual respect and mutual attraction, but we never acted on it until that night we slept together. We used to drunk dial each other all the time; I got to know about his friends and he learned about mine through our vicarious experiences. And after we slept together, there was nothing. No texts, no e-mails, no phone calls. I drunk dialed him from Dallas one OU weekend because I ran into his ex-girlfriend, who I'm pretty sure hated me. I told him everything I ever wanted to say to him, and when I looked at my phone, we had been disconnected. Maybe he hung up, I'm not sure. But that was the end of it for me.
It might seem like I've been thinking about this guy constantly, but I haven't. Really. I think about a year and a half ago, after I wrote something to chronicle the evolution of our friendship, I just let go of all my hangups related to this guy.
I don't know if the concept of always can exist anymore-- for me, at least. Because I used to believe I would always feel like I had just been punched in the stomach if I thought of him, that I'd always have feelings for him. Not just him, but with others, too. And on Thursday, as we had a conversation that came two and a half years too late, I realized that I wasn't this tangled mess of a person. Talking to him didn't undo me. We were just two people who used to know each other, once. And with any other guys I thought I would care about forever, eventually, we'll one day be strangers, wondering what we ever had in common. Forgetting the inside jokes and shared experiences that made us so crazy about each other.
And so, with one Facebook conversation, I gave up my belief in always.
It might seem like I've been thinking about this guy constantly, but I haven't. Really. I think about a year and a half ago, after I wrote something to chronicle the evolution of our friendship, I just let go of all my hangups related to this guy.
I don't know if the concept of always can exist anymore-- for me, at least. Because I used to believe I would always feel like I had just been punched in the stomach if I thought of him, that I'd always have feelings for him. Not just him, but with others, too. And on Thursday, as we had a conversation that came two and a half years too late, I realized that I wasn't this tangled mess of a person. Talking to him didn't undo me. We were just two people who used to know each other, once. And with any other guys I thought I would care about forever, eventually, we'll one day be strangers, wondering what we ever had in common. Forgetting the inside jokes and shared experiences that made us so crazy about each other.
And so, with one Facebook conversation, I gave up my belief in always.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
A Letter in the Mail
[The following is a letter my mom got in the mail today on Mother's day. We also received a package for Adriana. Neither had a return address, but were postmarked from Oregon.]
5 May 2010
Dear Kristi,
Cindy and I are writing to you as Adriana's friends to apologize for not introducing ourselves to you. I am a little concerned that it might be making you uncomfortable for Adriana to be receiving gifts from two people who you have never met. I hope to eliminate any possible concern.
There is so much that I would love to tell you about how we came to know Adriana, and about how she helps me with my spiritual work. The matter is all entwined with some quite unconventional reality. It has been an amazing and lovely process for Cindy and myself. While we have never met Adriana in her physical body, we feel like we know her quite well, and our introduction started when I was guided to your book.
We are not intentionally being remote, or mysterious. I have asked Adriana twice, in the last two years, if I might send you a letter to explain a little about who we are, about the healing work that we do, and about our connection to Adriana. So far, Adriana is apparently still 'thinking about it.' I have the sense that she might still have a preference to keep her 'two lives' separate, and I feel that I must respect her preference.
Adriana is one of the greatest joys of my life. She speaks very lovingly of you. It is our great blessing to know her. I look forward to that possible day when we can all meet as dear friends.
In the meantime, I hope you will not mind too much if I send er a small gift once in a while.
Kindest regards,
John
5 May 2010
Dear Kristi,
Cindy and I are writing to you as Adriana's friends to apologize for not introducing ourselves to you. I am a little concerned that it might be making you uncomfortable for Adriana to be receiving gifts from two people who you have never met. I hope to eliminate any possible concern.
There is so much that I would love to tell you about how we came to know Adriana, and about how she helps me with my spiritual work. The matter is all entwined with some quite unconventional reality. It has been an amazing and lovely process for Cindy and myself. While we have never met Adriana in her physical body, we feel like we know her quite well, and our introduction started when I was guided to your book.
We are not intentionally being remote, or mysterious. I have asked Adriana twice, in the last two years, if I might send you a letter to explain a little about who we are, about the healing work that we do, and about our connection to Adriana. So far, Adriana is apparently still 'thinking about it.' I have the sense that she might still have a preference to keep her 'two lives' separate, and I feel that I must respect her preference.
Adriana is one of the greatest joys of my life. She speaks very lovingly of you. It is our great blessing to know her. I look forward to that possible day when we can all meet as dear friends.
In the meantime, I hope you will not mind too much if I send er a small gift once in a while.
Kindest regards,
John
Saturday, May 8, 2010
a bill
I watch Susan Boyle's audition on Britain's Got Talent over and over so I can cry.
I love it. The feeling I get from watching this frumpy old woman sing in such a way that I finally understand why standing ovations have been defined is simply sublime. Her face, her body, her everything is so awkward until she gives herself the permission to bellow. A permission that I am still shaking hands with.
I think I like this sweet nineteen year old hippie. He is beautiful. He is fun. And of course I can't look him in the eyes. Every time I even try I dart my eyes so far away I'm scared they are going to get stuck behind my eyeballs. Goodness, I feel like the nineteen year old. We have hung out the past two nights and tonight I could not tell if he was hinting to hang out or not, but I needed a night on my own...
He read to me last night as I fell asleep in his bed. That is as far as we got. I am the ultimate sex freak turned ultimate prude. I love it. It's amazing how much my mood can change my character. I would feel bad for anyone who does not understand that about me, but at the same time I hope it at least entertains them.
My mom told the waiters they could not drink at Indika anymore because they have the sloppy tendency to booze themselves up silly! Of course, they were angry. My mom said that any alcoholic beverage that goes out means a ticket must be printed. Of course, they were even angrier. - Not to mention, that any of them even has the respect to think about who actually pays for their silly habits. - I order a glass of wine. And voila - I got a bill at my own restaurant.
I got a bill at my own restaurant.
The shock of seeing a bill in front of me took twelve hours to truly sink in. I feel like i finally understand what shock truly means.I finally get it.
I love it. The feeling I get from watching this frumpy old woman sing in such a way that I finally understand why standing ovations have been defined is simply sublime. Her face, her body, her everything is so awkward until she gives herself the permission to bellow. A permission that I am still shaking hands with.
I think I like this sweet nineteen year old hippie. He is beautiful. He is fun. And of course I can't look him in the eyes. Every time I even try I dart my eyes so far away I'm scared they are going to get stuck behind my eyeballs. Goodness, I feel like the nineteen year old. We have hung out the past two nights and tonight I could not tell if he was hinting to hang out or not, but I needed a night on my own...
He read to me last night as I fell asleep in his bed. That is as far as we got. I am the ultimate sex freak turned ultimate prude. I love it. It's amazing how much my mood can change my character. I would feel bad for anyone who does not understand that about me, but at the same time I hope it at least entertains them.
My mom told the waiters they could not drink at Indika anymore because they have the sloppy tendency to booze themselves up silly! Of course, they were angry. My mom said that any alcoholic beverage that goes out means a ticket must be printed. Of course, they were even angrier. - Not to mention, that any of them even has the respect to think about who actually pays for their silly habits. - I order a glass of wine. And voila - I got a bill at my own restaurant.
I got a bill at my own restaurant.
The shock of seeing a bill in front of me took twelve hours to truly sink in. I feel like i finally understand what shock truly means.I finally get it.
Friday, May 7, 2010
I can't remember...
...the last time I was this happy.
I'm heading to grad school in September at the University of Chicago-- equal parts terror and thrill. This summer will be devoted to work (2x) and the Paramount's summer classic film series, a wonder in itself. I've started dating this one kid, Andrew, who makes me incomprehensibly joyful. And he makes me feel so good about myself, something I haven't experienced in a long time. We're going to keep it going for as long as we can, even after he leaves for a summer internship in DC and I leave for Chicago; I really don't want to let this go.
And fuck, I'm about a month behind in my classes and STILL haven't ordered my graduation announcements or cap and gown. But fuck it all, to hell with it. I'm a motherfucker with a shit-eating grin on my face, and it's an attainable perfection.
I've wondered what you guys have been up to-- it seems like I've just been here in this state of other-worldly bliss and contentment, waiting to share it with all of you.
I'm heading to grad school in September at the University of Chicago-- equal parts terror and thrill. This summer will be devoted to work (2x) and the Paramount's summer classic film series, a wonder in itself. I've started dating this one kid, Andrew, who makes me incomprehensibly joyful. And he makes me feel so good about myself, something I haven't experienced in a long time. We're going to keep it going for as long as we can, even after he leaves for a summer internship in DC and I leave for Chicago; I really don't want to let this go.
And fuck, I'm about a month behind in my classes and STILL haven't ordered my graduation announcements or cap and gown. But fuck it all, to hell with it. I'm a motherfucker with a shit-eating grin on my face, and it's an attainable perfection.
I've wondered what you guys have been up to-- it seems like I've just been here in this state of other-worldly bliss and contentment, waiting to share it with all of you.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
a few QUOTES!!!!!! from "Self-Reliance" by Ralph Waldo Emerson
" In every work of genius we recongize our own rejected throughts: they come back to us with certain alienated majesty."
"A man is relieved and gay when he has put his heart into his work and done his best; but what he has said or done otherwise, shall give him no peace. It is a deliverance which does not deliver."
"Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind. Absolve you to yourself, and you shall have the suffrage of the world."
"A man is to carry himself in the presence of all opposition as if everything were titular and ephermeral but he."
"[...] truth is handsomer than the affection of love."
"With consistency a great soul has smply nothing to do. [...] To be great is to be misunderstood."
"We lie in the lap of immense intelligence, which makes us receivers of its truth and organs of its activity."
"Every man discriminates between the voluntary acts of his mind and his involuntary perceptions, and knows that to his involuntary perceptions a perfect faith is due. He may err in the expression of them, but he knows that these things are so, like day and night, not to be disputed."
"Whenever a mind is simple, and recieves a divine wisdom, old things pass away,--means, teachers, texts, temples fall; it lives now and absorbs past and future into the present hour."
"But your isolation must not be mechanical, but spiritual, that is, must be elevation. A times the whole world seems to be in conspiracy to importune you with emphatic trifles. Friends, client, child, sickness, fear, want, charity, all knock at once at thy closet door and say,--"Come out unto us." But keep thy state; come not into their confusion."
"We are afraidof truth, afraid of fortune, afraid of death, and afraid of each other."
"Our minds travel when our bodies are forced to stay at home.We imitate; and what is imitation but the travelling of the mind?"
"Nothing can bring you peace but yourself."
"A man is relieved and gay when he has put his heart into his work and done his best; but what he has said or done otherwise, shall give him no peace. It is a deliverance which does not deliver."
"Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind. Absolve you to yourself, and you shall have the suffrage of the world."
"A man is to carry himself in the presence of all opposition as if everything were titular and ephermeral but he."
"[...] truth is handsomer than the affection of love."
"With consistency a great soul has smply nothing to do. [...] To be great is to be misunderstood."
"We lie in the lap of immense intelligence, which makes us receivers of its truth and organs of its activity."
"Every man discriminates between the voluntary acts of his mind and his involuntary perceptions, and knows that to his involuntary perceptions a perfect faith is due. He may err in the expression of them, but he knows that these things are so, like day and night, not to be disputed."
"Whenever a mind is simple, and recieves a divine wisdom, old things pass away,--means, teachers, texts, temples fall; it lives now and absorbs past and future into the present hour."
"But your isolation must not be mechanical, but spiritual, that is, must be elevation. A times the whole world seems to be in conspiracy to importune you with emphatic trifles. Friends, client, child, sickness, fear, want, charity, all knock at once at thy closet door and say,--"Come out unto us." But keep thy state; come not into their confusion."
"We are afraidof truth, afraid of fortune, afraid of death, and afraid of each other."
"Our minds travel when our bodies are forced to stay at home.We imitate; and what is imitation but the travelling of the mind?"
"Nothing can bring you peace but yourself."
Thursday, April 22, 2010
English Essay on Self Reliance
I definitely have my own thoughts, but they aren’t particularly new or unique. It’s as if all the thought’s I can’t seem to articulate, someone has already eloquently, poetically, or succinctly expressed. Ralph Waldo Emerson is one of those people. Coincidentally, after completing this first paragraph, I rediscovered the following quote in “Self Reliance:”
“Else, to-morrow a stranger will say with masterly good sense precisely what we have thought and felt all the time […]” (McQuade 538).
Emerson’s writing sometimes invokes thoughts that are completely new to me, while at other times, (like now,) he says exactly what I’ve already been thinking about but struggle to complete. What’s phenomenal though, is that I relate to what he is saying so much; it’s as if I’ve joined some exclusive “thought-club” that transcends time or space. Emerson, of coarse, already knew this too.
“We lie in the lap of immense intelligence, which makes us receivers of its truth and organs of its activity.” (McQuade 545).
Here, he is acknowledging this idea that we, as people, are all a part of something much greater, this “immense intelligence,” which supplies us with everything we need to do our part. This larger thing could also be a nation, such as this one, that Americans were just beginning to understand after the Revolutionary War in the mid-nineteenth century.
At this time, the people had just achieved political independence, but were still, on many levels, culturally and intellectually dependent on Europe. This discrepancy between being recognized as a nation and actually being a nation caused Americans to have a profound and heightened desire for identity. Transcendentalism emerged from this desire for identity and in protest to the social and religious climate (Reuben). In a letter to President Martin Van Buren on the removal of Cherokee Indians, Ralph Waldo Emerson sought to appeal to the president through this lack of national identity. Emerson argued that if Van Buren sanctified Cherokee removal, “ […] the name of this nation, hitherto the sweet omen of religion and liberty, will stink to the world.” At such a critical time in the nation’s history, this decision of Cherokee removal would have a much greater magnitude beyond this group of people and their parcel of land; it had the potential to create a (shameful) national identity.
Similarly, one of the main themes within Transcendentalism dealt with the scale and plurality of an idea; that what is true for an individual is true for multiple individuals or a group of them.
“To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in your private heart, is true for all men, —that is genius.” (McQuade 538).
Applying this concept of plurality, Ralph Waldo Emerson’s essay “Self Reliance” speaks about an individual’s ”self-reliance” and that of a nation’s. So with this idea, on the larger scale of the United States, Emerson was saying that the country had everything (“immense intelligence”) –land, resources, labor, will power, and ability—to build a self-reliant nation.
………………………………………………………………
It’s difficult to describe the sheer level of optimism and energy inherent in “Self Reliance.” Each sentence is like a seed, packed with this magnificent potential, far exceeding its parts or even the sum of its parts. Likewise, this idea of potential applies to “Self Reliance” in its entirety. When you read the words, a garden explodes to life in your head. Plants take root subconsciously and flowers open up before you, fruits ripen when you’re hungry. And when you explore, see, smell, and feel this garden, you awaken your sense of Self. Your spirit and ego dance.
“Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind. Absolve you to yourself, and you shall have the suffrage of the world.” (McQuade 540).
The world will support you when you trust yourself. Not in the sense that it will be there when you fall or stumble or need it, but in a much greater sense. Things will come together and start happening externally that will not merely justify—but amplify—your initial trust in your own prerogatives.
“Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string.” (McQuade 539).
“Else, to-morrow a stranger will say with masterly good sense precisely what we have thought and felt all the time […]” (McQuade 538).
Emerson’s writing sometimes invokes thoughts that are completely new to me, while at other times, (like now,) he says exactly what I’ve already been thinking about but struggle to complete. What’s phenomenal though, is that I relate to what he is saying so much; it’s as if I’ve joined some exclusive “thought-club” that transcends time or space. Emerson, of coarse, already knew this too.
“We lie in the lap of immense intelligence, which makes us receivers of its truth and organs of its activity.” (McQuade 545).
Here, he is acknowledging this idea that we, as people, are all a part of something much greater, this “immense intelligence,” which supplies us with everything we need to do our part. This larger thing could also be a nation, such as this one, that Americans were just beginning to understand after the Revolutionary War in the mid-nineteenth century.
At this time, the people had just achieved political independence, but were still, on many levels, culturally and intellectually dependent on Europe. This discrepancy between being recognized as a nation and actually being a nation caused Americans to have a profound and heightened desire for identity. Transcendentalism emerged from this desire for identity and in protest to the social and religious climate (Reuben). In a letter to President Martin Van Buren on the removal of Cherokee Indians, Ralph Waldo Emerson sought to appeal to the president through this lack of national identity. Emerson argued that if Van Buren sanctified Cherokee removal, “ […] the name of this nation, hitherto the sweet omen of religion and liberty, will stink to the world.” At such a critical time in the nation’s history, this decision of Cherokee removal would have a much greater magnitude beyond this group of people and their parcel of land; it had the potential to create a (shameful) national identity.
Similarly, one of the main themes within Transcendentalism dealt with the scale and plurality of an idea; that what is true for an individual is true for multiple individuals or a group of them.
“To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in your private heart, is true for all men, —that is genius.” (McQuade 538).
Applying this concept of plurality, Ralph Waldo Emerson’s essay “Self Reliance” speaks about an individual’s ”self-reliance” and that of a nation’s. So with this idea, on the larger scale of the United States, Emerson was saying that the country had everything (“immense intelligence”) –land, resources, labor, will power, and ability—to build a self-reliant nation.
………………………………………………………………
It’s difficult to describe the sheer level of optimism and energy inherent in “Self Reliance.” Each sentence is like a seed, packed with this magnificent potential, far exceeding its parts or even the sum of its parts. Likewise, this idea of potential applies to “Self Reliance” in its entirety. When you read the words, a garden explodes to life in your head. Plants take root subconsciously and flowers open up before you, fruits ripen when you’re hungry. And when you explore, see, smell, and feel this garden, you awaken your sense of Self. Your spirit and ego dance.
“Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind. Absolve you to yourself, and you shall have the suffrage of the world.” (McQuade 540).
The world will support you when you trust yourself. Not in the sense that it will be there when you fall or stumble or need it, but in a much greater sense. Things will come together and start happening externally that will not merely justify—but amplify—your initial trust in your own prerogatives.
“Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string.” (McQuade 539).
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
typing talk
Sweetheart sweet sweet heart. I do hope that today was your day and every following day is your day. I can say for a fact I am sure you fell in piss with grace! As for me, I would have plopped (head first) in the piss and given birth to a tantrum the size of a three year-old.
I’ve been getting cheekier and cheekier with customers – I have figured out the fact that I work for Mom&Pop – they ain’t gonna fire unless I do something real crazy like strip and streak. Which, I most definitely thought of – however, I think it is funnier in my mind than in real life. Anyways, this one lady finished her meal and went outside to the valet. She came back in and sat down in the lovely hand carved seating area. She looked at me and said, “I have to wait.” I smiled and said, “Ok.” She then said “If I have to wait for your valet that means your valet is not good.” I said, “I am sure they are doing their best.” She said “Well I don’t think their best is good enough, I have to wait.” I said, “Well you have the whole waiting space to yourself since you are the only one who has to wait.” Then – this is the thriller – for some odd odd odd reason I decided to give a creepy dead smile. It felt so awesome. I even creeped myself out. She looked at me and said “I think I can wait outside.” And I kept smiling.
Why thank you dear acting classes. I can now accomplish the creepster in a movie.
Sometimes I wonder about why we are alive. I keep thinking what is the ultimate point. I know, I know it is the journey. Yet, I can’t seem to comprehend it. I keep feeling and thinking like my life is leading up to something and I shall be ready for it! But, then I am like no you fool – your life is right now – the moment. Is it supposed to be that confusing. What I also wonder is why doesn’t anyone talk about this? Everyone seems to have accepted life and I understand why and their reasonings – but in the back of their mind, don’t they wonder why their life matters? You’re going to die anyways. I’m not depressed or anything – actually far from it – way on the other side contemplating the reason for life.
If you are going to die – why be so worried about life? I am a walking and talking hypocrite of all of this, but my hands have a mind of their own. It is like when I start writing they start speaking of all the moments in my head that never voiced out of my mouth. Oh lovely ten fingers – how I do love you and your minds!
I talk to myself a lot. And I mean a lot. I find some comfort in it. I don’t even care if it is crazy – it is fun. I do my monologues for myself. I have figured that if I can’t perform first for myself then I can’t truthfully perform for anyone else. The love of my performance must conceive within me.
I’ve been getting cheekier and cheekier with customers – I have figured out the fact that I work for Mom&Pop – they ain’t gonna fire unless I do something real crazy like strip and streak. Which, I most definitely thought of – however, I think it is funnier in my mind than in real life. Anyways, this one lady finished her meal and went outside to the valet. She came back in and sat down in the lovely hand carved seating area. She looked at me and said, “I have to wait.” I smiled and said, “Ok.” She then said “If I have to wait for your valet that means your valet is not good.” I said, “I am sure they are doing their best.” She said “Well I don’t think their best is good enough, I have to wait.” I said, “Well you have the whole waiting space to yourself since you are the only one who has to wait.” Then – this is the thriller – for some odd odd odd reason I decided to give a creepy dead smile. It felt so awesome. I even creeped myself out. She looked at me and said “I think I can wait outside.” And I kept smiling.
Why thank you dear acting classes. I can now accomplish the creepster in a movie.
Sometimes I wonder about why we are alive. I keep thinking what is the ultimate point. I know, I know it is the journey. Yet, I can’t seem to comprehend it. I keep feeling and thinking like my life is leading up to something and I shall be ready for it! But, then I am like no you fool – your life is right now – the moment. Is it supposed to be that confusing. What I also wonder is why doesn’t anyone talk about this? Everyone seems to have accepted life and I understand why and their reasonings – but in the back of their mind, don’t they wonder why their life matters? You’re going to die anyways. I’m not depressed or anything – actually far from it – way on the other side contemplating the reason for life.
If you are going to die – why be so worried about life? I am a walking and talking hypocrite of all of this, but my hands have a mind of their own. It is like when I start writing they start speaking of all the moments in my head that never voiced out of my mouth. Oh lovely ten fingers – how I do love you and your minds!
I talk to myself a lot. And I mean a lot. I find some comfort in it. I don’t even care if it is crazy – it is fun. I do my monologues for myself. I have figured that if I can’t perform first for myself then I can’t truthfully perform for anyone else. The love of my performance must conceive within me.
Friday, March 26, 2010
today isn't my day.
all these little things keep going wrong and i'm past the annoyed part and angry part and on to the self-pity, 'i give up!' stage. my arms are too tired to throw them up in the air with the exclamation. it's nothing really big, well something huge looming in the background, but that's not the foreground. the foreground is what is making me just want to curl up and be hugged by anyone or anything.
I drove to the library to rent a movie they didn't have, and since I got there 5 minutes before they closed, I didn't have time to peruse for a new selection. Then I decided I'd knock my english out today at Barnes and Noble, so I'd stop by home and snag my computer. On my way out, I was reading a text, walking down the stairs and boom! I slipped and fell--hard--on our wood floor. Salad had peed (within the past 10 minutes of the crash) a fucking giant lake, so I, like a cartoon or one of those tv moments, totally slipped and fell. Except it wasn't one those moments. I laid there on the floor in shock and aching, cursing. Luckily I have a good case for my netbook, since that was in my paws when I fell too. The floor was full of Salad hair. I'm wearing black. I therefore managed a whole new fur coat over my pants and sweater and computer case, in addition to pee all over my feet and ankles (I fell forward, not totally in the piss). I don't get why she pees in the house, we take her out more than ever and it's like she's getting untrained. Diego had walked her less than an hour earlier.
When I was informally modeling earlier, I had two little bruises on my leg and looked at them wondering how I managed to do that and hoped that I wouldn't get anymore while they went away, so my legs would look good for modeling. Not the case, it's 45 minutes later and my knee still aches. I don't think I'll escape the evidence of my fall. Sorry legs, sorry modeling....you are beaten.
The background today is that today is the day, four years ago, my dad had a heart attack.
I'm at B&N, starting to tear up now that I let those words and thought out of me. It's like it didn't hit me til I keep reading them an staring at 'heart attack' on the page. I forgot my English book. In the flurry of the fall, I forgot what I was on my way to do. And I forgot my mouse, an essential comfort whenever I'm on my computer.
I just....
i don't know. need to breath, go home and hug my mom. and do some english. and architectural theory too.
I drove to the library to rent a movie they didn't have, and since I got there 5 minutes before they closed, I didn't have time to peruse for a new selection. Then I decided I'd knock my english out today at Barnes and Noble, so I'd stop by home and snag my computer. On my way out, I was reading a text, walking down the stairs and boom! I slipped and fell--hard--on our wood floor. Salad had peed (within the past 10 minutes of the crash) a fucking giant lake, so I, like a cartoon or one of those tv moments, totally slipped and fell. Except it wasn't one those moments. I laid there on the floor in shock and aching, cursing. Luckily I have a good case for my netbook, since that was in my paws when I fell too. The floor was full of Salad hair. I'm wearing black. I therefore managed a whole new fur coat over my pants and sweater and computer case, in addition to pee all over my feet and ankles (I fell forward, not totally in the piss). I don't get why she pees in the house, we take her out more than ever and it's like she's getting untrained. Diego had walked her less than an hour earlier.
When I was informally modeling earlier, I had two little bruises on my leg and looked at them wondering how I managed to do that and hoped that I wouldn't get anymore while they went away, so my legs would look good for modeling. Not the case, it's 45 minutes later and my knee still aches. I don't think I'll escape the evidence of my fall. Sorry legs, sorry modeling....you are beaten.
The background today is that today is the day, four years ago, my dad had a heart attack.
I'm at B&N, starting to tear up now that I let those words and thought out of me. It's like it didn't hit me til I keep reading them an staring at 'heart attack' on the page. I forgot my English book. In the flurry of the fall, I forgot what I was on my way to do. And I forgot my mouse, an essential comfort whenever I'm on my computer.
I just....
i don't know. need to breath, go home and hug my mom. and do some english. and architectural theory too.
Monday, March 15, 2010
walk the walk like a pussy
I wrote this while waiting 2 hours to walk for 20 seconds:
Relax. Think of chocolate. Keep your chin down and let everyone know that you have a secret and if they pick you, maybe, just maybe, you’ll divulge. This means have a small flirty smile, twinkle in the eye. HHMmmmm…goat cheese, chocolate and coconut gelato, chai tea, indika. Keep your chin down, you’re not above them or looking up. Roll your shoulders up and back, it should feel like something: a little soar but upright and relaxed. Keep your arms relaxed. This is the way your body was made to stand, this is the way you were built to look. Walk forward, lead with your hips. It’s a little weird, right? That’s what it should be. You’re going forward, you have purpose, and your feet are carrying you and the million dollar gown you got on. And it looks INCREDIBLE ON YOU! It fit’s you like a glove. You are meant to for it; the dress was made for you. Your steps aren’t too slow but not too fast. Your hips sway back and forth back and forth. This feels slightly awkward too, like overkill. But it’s not. It looks good and it looks right. You are displaying movement and fluidity. Your face is intelligent and flirty. You are crazy confident because this isn’t an audition, there is no question that you should be or will be cast. You are just doing what you were meant to do. Always do. And it always works! Just be confident. Pretend you are the only model in the room and you know what to do.
'Sad Sad City' blasted in my mind, I was pumped, but not pumped enough. Something was missing, I didn't get cast, again. Brittney, this girl, was in the show with me and cast for both castings. I need to be like Brittney. It takes time, energy, and there is a learning curve. I'm curving away. Hmm. Tomorrow, 2 more chances to walk the walk like a pussy.
Relax. Think of chocolate. Keep your chin down and let everyone know that you have a secret and if they pick you, maybe, just maybe, you’ll divulge. This means have a small flirty smile, twinkle in the eye. HHMmmmm…goat cheese, chocolate and coconut gelato, chai tea, indika. Keep your chin down, you’re not above them or looking up. Roll your shoulders up and back, it should feel like something: a little soar but upright and relaxed. Keep your arms relaxed. This is the way your body was made to stand, this is the way you were built to look. Walk forward, lead with your hips. It’s a little weird, right? That’s what it should be. You’re going forward, you have purpose, and your feet are carrying you and the million dollar gown you got on. And it looks INCREDIBLE ON YOU! It fit’s you like a glove. You are meant to for it; the dress was made for you. Your steps aren’t too slow but not too fast. Your hips sway back and forth back and forth. This feels slightly awkward too, like overkill. But it’s not. It looks good and it looks right. You are displaying movement and fluidity. Your face is intelligent and flirty. You are crazy confident because this isn’t an audition, there is no question that you should be or will be cast. You are just doing what you were meant to do. Always do. And it always works! Just be confident. Pretend you are the only model in the room and you know what to do.
'Sad Sad City' blasted in my mind, I was pumped, but not pumped enough. Something was missing, I didn't get cast, again. Brittney, this girl, was in the show with me and cast for both castings. I need to be like Brittney. It takes time, energy, and there is a learning curve. I'm curving away. Hmm. Tomorrow, 2 more chances to walk the walk like a pussy.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
SHASHASHA ----- RUNWAYS ----- SHASHASHA!!!!!
So ladies,
Last night I was in my first runway show: Custo Barcelona. It was the final show at 9pm in the Miami Fashion Week tent. I had 2 looks. It was super cool, I felt super cool, everything went smoothly. Well, my face was burried in a 12 foot hot pink fur scarf while my ass was hanging out of the ultra ultra black mini skirt, but I don't give a fuck.
I went to another casting today and didn't get it. I didn't own the runway in the casting though, so I'm not shocked. Tomorrow's castings, I will kick butt though because being on the runway is super fun. super fun!
AMNT's casting director contacted me via facebook and via model mayhem asking me to audition for cycle 15. I don't think that is going to happen because she sent me a list of private auditions and the closest one is tuscaloosa, so i don't think i'm going to hop on a plane or take a drive this time around. There's one in Dallas on April 16th...so I'll look at that in the small chance that the flights are super cheap, but I don't think it's going to happen. Hm. I'm flattered though!
Last night I was in my first runway show: Custo Barcelona. It was the final show at 9pm in the Miami Fashion Week tent. I had 2 looks. It was super cool, I felt super cool, everything went smoothly. Well, my face was burried in a 12 foot hot pink fur scarf while my ass was hanging out of the ultra ultra black mini skirt, but I don't give a fuck.
I went to another casting today and didn't get it. I didn't own the runway in the casting though, so I'm not shocked. Tomorrow's castings, I will kick butt though because being on the runway is super fun. super fun!
AMNT's casting director contacted me via facebook and via model mayhem asking me to audition for cycle 15. I don't think that is going to happen because she sent me a list of private auditions and the closest one is tuscaloosa, so i don't think i'm going to hop on a plane or take a drive this time around. There's one in Dallas on April 16th...so I'll look at that in the small chance that the flights are super cheap, but I don't think it's going to happen. Hm. I'm flattered though!
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Projectile my Intestines into a Toilet Bowl Please.
Speaking of fake I.D.'s (in reference to my last post) I proved that I actually deserve one rather than a real one. I puked in my best friend's brothers house - on the floor.
There are a couple of things I do not understand about myself. First one is why the hell do I NEVER throw up in a toilet? (Except for that one time I fell in love with you Sabrina) Also, why did I drink myself silly? And then why did I wake up on her brother's couch with a note from her saying that I looked too peaceful to wake up? She probably didn't want to deal with Miss Puke on Her Face and I wouldn't either! I feel awful for welcoming her to spring break with projectile vomittng the lovely meal her parents cooked for me and then having her clean it up! Ewwwwwwwww.
I have now thrown up on: Sarah's bothers wood floors, Vicky's sink with dishes in it, all over, under, around the Waterford toilet, some rando toilet in a club on 6th street, in an airport trash can (with style, I chose the trash can with the most people around it), in India either in the toilet or the car I can't remember, on Seneca Room number 10's wooden floors. Ewwwwwwwwwwww.
EW. EW. Ewwwww Ajna.
You know you can't go on throw-upping every where you go! I feel like a dog who has to piss on everything to mark his territory, only difference is I have a vagina and I "think" I am as tall as my flippers for feet deceive me - therefore thinking I can hold back a couple of 'em shots. I can't hold back anything. Seriously.
Haha. 24 hours later. I think I am still drunk.
Is that possible?
Might be for a lightweight.
There are a couple of things I do not understand about myself. First one is why the hell do I NEVER throw up in a toilet? (Except for that one time I fell in love with you Sabrina) Also, why did I drink myself silly? And then why did I wake up on her brother's couch with a note from her saying that I looked too peaceful to wake up? She probably didn't want to deal with Miss Puke on Her Face and I wouldn't either! I feel awful for welcoming her to spring break with projectile vomittng the lovely meal her parents cooked for me and then having her clean it up! Ewwwwwwwww.
I have now thrown up on: Sarah's bothers wood floors, Vicky's sink with dishes in it, all over, under, around the Waterford toilet, some rando toilet in a club on 6th street, in an airport trash can (with style, I chose the trash can with the most people around it), in India either in the toilet or the car I can't remember, on Seneca Room number 10's wooden floors. Ewwwwwwwwwwww.
EW. EW. Ewwwww Ajna.
You know you can't go on throw-upping every where you go! I feel like a dog who has to piss on everything to mark his territory, only difference is I have a vagina and I "think" I am as tall as my flippers for feet deceive me - therefore thinking I can hold back a couple of 'em shots. I can't hold back anything. Seriously.
Haha. 24 hours later. I think I am still drunk.
Is that possible?
Might be for a lightweight.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
circle - spin me right round
I feel like it has been ages since I have sat down and written something on the blog.
It might have to do with my mind, which is currently running circles - a bigger circle every time. Sometimes I feel like my body tries to outrun my mind in the circle race and then my mouth feels left out and joins in too oh and then my tongue really gets freaked out that the mouth ran off so it decides circles are the way to go. So while my oh so divine third eye stays in place and points and laughs "SUCKAS" - the rest of me is running like madwoman's.
As much as I can scold myself and reprimand my unhealthy syndrome of circle running - I can only sympathize with myself and make the circles beautiful. I want to act. I want to dance. I want to perform. I want to train. I want I want I want I want oh my! It is quite the job keeping up with myself! I can't even imagine how I lived in Austin. It is like my body and mind are tasting freedom and are like 16 year olds with a fake I.D. Really Mature.
Sometimes they get a little excited about the I.D. and just feel the need to use it ALL the time - and of course, they cannot hold their alcohol. We've had a couple nights with a toilet seat pillow - and a couple days of hanging over each other.
Other than that, my mind and body are doing well. Accepting and turning neutrally numb and dumb every time I walk into HCC - some kid asked me my name and I had no idea what was going on - Oh I'm supposed to open my mouth and talk in school? Shit. Sorry man, I am turned off for the moment. Kid stared at me - I stared at him - he left. I still did not know what was going on. Splendid Ajna. Just Splendid -You are now officially Socially Inept.
I went to a spinning class today and the teacher asked me my name and spent the entire fifty minutes screaming on his little microphone - "GO ASHNA. GO ASHNA. 5 4 3 2 1. YOU CAN DO IT ASHNA. OH GOOD JOB ASHNA. COMMON ASHNA. OHH COMMON ASHNA. FASTER. FASTER. FASTER. OHHH. FASTER. FASTER. FASTER. OHHH ASHNA." Then he winked. That is probably the most action I have gotten here in Houston - it is like we had Spinning Verbal Sex while everyone was in the room - how scandalous! I feel so good - I feel like I got a rush with all the sound effects - only BETTER. I don't have to wake up to anyone and I can have the bed to myself. Ah.
I might need to get out some more.
It might have to do with my mind, which is currently running circles - a bigger circle every time. Sometimes I feel like my body tries to outrun my mind in the circle race and then my mouth feels left out and joins in too oh and then my tongue really gets freaked out that the mouth ran off so it decides circles are the way to go. So while my oh so divine third eye stays in place and points and laughs "SUCKAS" - the rest of me is running like madwoman's.
As much as I can scold myself and reprimand my unhealthy syndrome of circle running - I can only sympathize with myself and make the circles beautiful. I want to act. I want to dance. I want to perform. I want to train. I want I want I want I want oh my! It is quite the job keeping up with myself! I can't even imagine how I lived in Austin. It is like my body and mind are tasting freedom and are like 16 year olds with a fake I.D. Really Mature.
Sometimes they get a little excited about the I.D. and just feel the need to use it ALL the time - and of course, they cannot hold their alcohol. We've had a couple nights with a toilet seat pillow - and a couple days of hanging over each other.
Other than that, my mind and body are doing well. Accepting and turning neutrally numb and dumb every time I walk into HCC - some kid asked me my name and I had no idea what was going on - Oh I'm supposed to open my mouth and talk in school? Shit. Sorry man, I am turned off for the moment. Kid stared at me - I stared at him - he left. I still did not know what was going on. Splendid Ajna. Just Splendid -You are now officially Socially Inept.
I went to a spinning class today and the teacher asked me my name and spent the entire fifty minutes screaming on his little microphone - "GO ASHNA. GO ASHNA. 5 4 3 2 1. YOU CAN DO IT ASHNA. OH GOOD JOB ASHNA. COMMON ASHNA. OHH COMMON ASHNA. FASTER. FASTER. FASTER. OHHH. FASTER. FASTER. FASTER. OHHH ASHNA." Then he winked. That is probably the most action I have gotten here in Houston - it is like we had Spinning Verbal Sex while everyone was in the room - how scandalous! I feel so good - I feel like I got a rush with all the sound effects - only BETTER. I don't have to wake up to anyone and I can have the bed to myself. Ah.
I might need to get out some more.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
A Moment in Time
I had a photoshoot today, then a filmmakers mixer, and a small fashion show in an hour. I have a model competition on for an agency opening at a club down town miami beach saturday night and then a casting to be a new mom for Babies'r'us Sunday morning. I got a new netbook and am sharing a studio apartment with a kid named Carlos in Miami Beach. Everyone in my building I've met so far does not speak English (except Carlos).
Anastasia talks about hover technology and the stupidity in the destruction-based technocratic society humans have created on Earth. She discusses the ideas of raising children and love and plants and energy. She talks about learning every language, her parents dying from energy beams emitted from ringing cedar trees, and about realistic ways to curb air pollution in urban cities.
Outside Lies Magic talks about power lines and systems that criss-cross America. Things we have trained ourselves to not see anymore, what are the clues that lead one to discover what they actually are.
WiFi Miami Beach along Lincoln Avenue blocks access to blogspot.com and all related sites. I couldn't blog there.
I still have not completed one english assignment.
The Jolly Cricket added more hours to my schedule this week. I quit two weeks ago.
Alexander and I are head over heels for each other but I don't trust him and neither do the people I care about and love.
Inca's Kitchen is God's Kitchen. Food from the heavens.
Anastasia talks about hover technology and the stupidity in the destruction-based technocratic society humans have created on Earth. She discusses the ideas of raising children and love and plants and energy. She talks about learning every language, her parents dying from energy beams emitted from ringing cedar trees, and about realistic ways to curb air pollution in urban cities.
Outside Lies Magic talks about power lines and systems that criss-cross America. Things we have trained ourselves to not see anymore, what are the clues that lead one to discover what they actually are.
WiFi Miami Beach along Lincoln Avenue blocks access to blogspot.com and all related sites. I couldn't blog there.
I still have not completed one english assignment.
The Jolly Cricket added more hours to my schedule this week. I quit two weeks ago.
Alexander and I are head over heels for each other but I don't trust him and neither do the people I care about and love.
Inca's Kitchen is God's Kitchen. Food from the heavens.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
New Voices.
Rachel I know I have only met you once - however, I am SO glad you are on the blog with us! Accounting/business is not my thing either, it boils down to the fact that I do not care, that is when I realized I need to find something that I care about, something that I could even think about more than myself.
Sabrina - AHHHHHHHH Miami that sounds awesome!! Send me pictures I want to see the place!
I just came back from Austin today and am feeling wonderful. I did a mini film with Kevin and it was so much fun! I loved it. We had to do so many takes and at each take we got better - it was just lots of fun. Will write more later.
Sabrina - AHHHHHHHH Miami that sounds awesome!! Send me pictures I want to see the place!
I just came back from Austin today and am feeling wonderful. I did a mini film with Kevin and it was so much fun! I loved it. We had to do so many takes and at each take we got better - it was just lots of fun. Will write more later.
I'M IN MIAMI, BITCH!
well, not quite, not this moment.
But soon, really soon.
I've been going to one or 2 castings almost everyday in miami for the past 2 weeks. So i went on craigslist and awww....my future miami home was waiting for me. I am going to move in with Carlos. He is smaller than me and gay, it should be wonderful. It's a tiny studio apartment, 2 blocks from the beach, 12 blocks from lincoln rd. I was excited, then started to think about it and get a little scared/nervous/sad (it didn't help that i walked 2 hours to find it and it was a cold, gray day), but am getting back to excited again. so much to do and all these little things dangling over my head. I told my manager at the Jolly Cricket i intended to move to Miami a week ago, this weeks schedule she gave me more hours. it's frustrating because i'm working so hard and stressing about not working, giving up my hours. it's annoying. at the same time i was going to start working at Cafe Lucrat, so I'm supposed to start training on friday but I have to call their manager too and tell them I can't because I'm moving to Miami. I'm buying a netbook (hello internet and writing freedom! no more raping alexander's computer!) and I'm getting a bike for over there. I also got a fucking speeding ticket for about the same amount as the computer i want to buy, so I'm going to attempt to contest that to at least reduce it down.
Today, I'm writing this, looking up where my casting is, getting ready, going to best buy, going to work for 2 hours, driving to miami and hitting the casting, finding out if i have to go back tomorrow and maybe stopping in my place, and coming home again. it's the story of my life here. back and forth. back and forth.
Xander is going to help me make up a resume and train my ass to get a nighttime serving job there so i can at least make some money since this week and next week is going to be a lot of spending and it's stressing me out and paying back my loans for school is still not quite worked out yet.
got to run!
oh, and 2 days ago i had, maybe, the best meal of my life. Peruvian. it was a dream, it deserves a novel on this blog, soon.
But soon, really soon.
I've been going to one or 2 castings almost everyday in miami for the past 2 weeks. So i went on craigslist and awww....my future miami home was waiting for me. I am going to move in with Carlos. He is smaller than me and gay, it should be wonderful. It's a tiny studio apartment, 2 blocks from the beach, 12 blocks from lincoln rd. I was excited, then started to think about it and get a little scared/nervous/sad (it didn't help that i walked 2 hours to find it and it was a cold, gray day), but am getting back to excited again. so much to do and all these little things dangling over my head. I told my manager at the Jolly Cricket i intended to move to Miami a week ago, this weeks schedule she gave me more hours. it's frustrating because i'm working so hard and stressing about not working, giving up my hours. it's annoying. at the same time i was going to start working at Cafe Lucrat, so I'm supposed to start training on friday but I have to call their manager too and tell them I can't because I'm moving to Miami. I'm buying a netbook (hello internet and writing freedom! no more raping alexander's computer!) and I'm getting a bike for over there. I also got a fucking speeding ticket for about the same amount as the computer i want to buy, so I'm going to attempt to contest that to at least reduce it down.
Today, I'm writing this, looking up where my casting is, getting ready, going to best buy, going to work for 2 hours, driving to miami and hitting the casting, finding out if i have to go back tomorrow and maybe stopping in my place, and coming home again. it's the story of my life here. back and forth. back and forth.
Xander is going to help me make up a resume and train my ass to get a nighttime serving job there so i can at least make some money since this week and next week is going to be a lot of spending and it's stressing me out and paying back my loans for school is still not quite worked out yet.
got to run!
oh, and 2 days ago i had, maybe, the best meal of my life. Peruvian. it was a dream, it deserves a novel on this blog, soon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)