living and cooking

it has been an eventful summer.
i received shocking and devastating news,
tallied one more year,
worked an extremely unsatisfying position in childcare for the first time in my ten years of experience
and gained some perspective on how solitary i really am.

Some call it autonomy, others loneliness. I mathed it out and started seeing a pattern:
I don't drink as much
I don't drive as much
I don't go out of my way as much.
My energies are channeled into work and mental stability. This has made this summer very different.

Two of my friends got arrested, one tried to be committed, a whole bunch of them moved and gas prices made it hard for me to drive to brooklyn, eat cheese and pay my electric bills ("energy saver star" really...really?)

I'm going back to H this fall but I'm considering options/ daydreaming of trees.
I love cooking with mushrooms and I love how many cardinals I've been seeing.

we will find out if i have shoulders for these bricks.

we will find out if my shoulders are bricks and if i can stand up straight as a wall of hardened connective tissue.

---------
finding disguises in this shirtdress.

am i unproductive or does this book just suck?

am i going to be better than i was before all of this happened?

am i protected by my skin or by my voice?

sending these into outer space...helping to cleanse my guts of waste.

stuffs

a hot, hot summer in hell.

costco air conditioner
spandex = i don't care get over it.
fai and i eating a number one and number five at mexican corner.
fantastic rotating taps at lazy boys. mammk ave is like carnival.
i drink my favorite fuze


alex and i "take target"
alex tells me: "if you can read this, the lady has departed" - i vow to screenprint this on a tshirt for him.
alex is leaving for school soon.

i make my mother salmon burgers with avocado. she delights in my cooking.


i dream i am in love with Kyle MacLachlan and we are part of an underground tv show which is paying me 28,000 to perform a script i wrote. there is a conspiracy to sacrifice me. kyle wasn't in on it, thank god.

demi's irish dance recital is on friday.
HUGE litmag expo in soho on sunday! no excuses.

i still suck at darts. i am still reading the fountainhead.

binx.

mmm triple melts of re-run plastic
a burned hair smell underneath fresh cut nails.

it has stopped raining long enough for the sun to set
and cars to screech at its sight,
a vision of light pollution crested over their visor.

i have decided to smirk the cut shorts and curly frimps
blading under my bands and prickling my forehead.

i wait and wait and wait and want to know why
my stomach smiles like it
knows a secret spelled in the threads
inside my shirt.

there will never be a "best of"

"would it make you feel better if i sent you a picture of my dick wearing a sombrero?"

yeah shouldnt have come back.
sick of it.

eh. the coffee is better. the soymilk is divine. there was a hearty tomato soup today and some minor research on blake. they changed the color of the metrocard logo to green. it's a statement that the loving and caring mta gives a shit about the environment. ok i'll roll with it. i saw a bentley on lex today crookedly parked with a scratch on the bumper. i snickered. fuck your bentley. fuck it! i'd put that bitch on diesel roller skates and have a ball bombing a hill in neutral.


you know. there's a reason i turned to blues. "you know you wrecked my life and you are the one to blame" sounds so much better coming out the speakz with a pianer rather than a blastbeat.

i had this dream about someone i'd rather not. you know what thats like? you try and get rid of someone and they seem so far away and it might actually be possible to escape their claws.. and then you wake up and they're just about in bed next to you. i had one dream a few years ago about hiding in a bathroom stall with someone and it seemed like the lengthiest dream. i couldn't shake it for days. look i'm talking about it now.
the dream last night involved matter of the heart. i did something bad and woke up GUILTY. i felt it in my heart. like when you taste your own blood and you don't see the wound - you just think...iron. im bleeding delicious iron.

I am flying back to New York tomorrow and I'd rather not.

mourning doves.

We used to leave our air conditioners in year-round but someone took mine out this winter. I forget who it was, probably my father when he came over to visit.
Last spring, some birds constructed a next underneath it. They would howl and screech and often I would turn the AC on to scare them because at five in the morning, it could get really, really annoying.

This spring they're back. Problem for them: my air conditioner is gone and they are VERY confused. They keep returning to my sill as if to say: "no no wait wait this WAS the spot I swear."

Then about a week ago, I noticed that they weren't just those twerpy little birdies that scuttle around so regularly in brush. They were mourning doves. Their cries led me to investigation and wikipedia informed me of some interesting info.
They build in urban places, are monogamous and return to the same places to nest.
Aw!

They were preening each other. I guess she's already knocked up and needs a nest to lay in.

I've been considering writing a blog about my auto immune disease. Not many people are diagnosed with what I have at such a young age. I've been battling this since I was seven and now, sick again, I can't seem to explain to people exactly what is WRONG with me. I have health insurance now, so I plan on going to my specialist v. soon. Developments have also arisen at school. I am a student for life.

rising MTA fares and the results in service:

20-Something Party News:

It was a long week last week. I should have had a nice comfortable weekend of reading Elizabeth Bishop. Yet, as is characteristic of people who take three hour tests on a Friday night, I found myself in a metal bar in Yonkers next to the motel where that one channel of porn is free [and awesome]. What's strange about the bar ["the haunt"] is that it was very obviously a run down expansive night club. Interior includes massive disco ball and huge iron doors to separate the club from the "front club." Despite said features, there is no gin at the FIRST bar and you are better off getting the two dollar bud light anyway [somehow]. That sentence lacked sense, but I continue...
When I first stepped in there was a band on from my hometown. They were awful. They were not very metal and the breakdowns did not make me want to start shit on the football sized dancefloor. The next band had a teensy asian man on electric violin whose shredding rivaled eddie van halen's pretty woman intro. Unfortunately the vocals were overwhelmingly styled after chris cornell's. Nothing fit.

The next night was initially spent waiting for the L train. BUT IT NEVER CAME. A drunk man was loose on the tracks and they cut the power to the L and JMZ. I kept doing laps around Union Square unable to come up with an alternative plan to the otherside of the river. In a roundabout way I wound up walking to and waiting outside the U.N. Suddenly sweating swearing and soldiering because some guy with a crowbar was trying to WAKE NYC UP. I kept wishing to be somewhere else, convinced I was going to die in a grisly Law and Order style. Someone's dog was going to pee on my leg at 9am and they would call the police after saying "whats that underneath the cardboard boxes Fido, is that Gazpacho?" Luckily I was picked up and crew stockholm played stip-scrabble.


The morning after the night before, I went bowling with Little Wheeler and Axl Rose and fixed things the veganhardcore way by drinking some olde e and eating a cheeseburger not cooked to order. I even carried a small tree branch over my shoulder to gain perspective on the nature of Williamsburg. Axl picked up where I left off.
Now I'm back in the grind.

Briefly: Today was one of the hardest most patience testing days of work a young turk could hope to handle.

remix

i have friends that were born with wide
shoulders and small breasts like
dime bags of peanut butter.
they have wide hips with
rawring tummy and i've seen them
punch men on the street or
piss on the fawned tumbled cement
while guarded with wool coats.
some of these friends are nice for the sake of
being nice
and some just want whatever jam
my tongue is making
so they do not have to speak
for once.

i have friends with wide breasts
born in shoulders
dimed hips
drinking punch on the street.
woolly fawns for the sake of tongues.

Semi-Regular Event!

Burning that candle:
I made an embarassing mistake the other day. I'm not going to give you full details for fear of being arrested or simply avoided like the human plague I can sometimes be...
Let's just say that instead of taking one medication I took another. One with multiple side effects. During the day. Effects lasting from the tail end of work throughout the school eve.
I only late at night realized my mistake because as is common in my life, my body is unpredictable. Therefore things like lapses in memory, slight visual hallucinations, a mumble-stumble, etc. ARE COMPLETELY POSSIBLE. They are also things I know how to deal with, being treated like a guinea pig in my formative years for a delightful AID that sometimes made me unconcious. The joy!
This will never happen again, as I have now taken it upon my duties to personally make the labels quite discernable from one another.

Other news:
Swingin titties. Every time I'm at the YMCA I want the other ladies v. small a cup titties. I will have to learn how to be in a better mood about my own jugs. GOALS. I HAVE THEM.

20-Something Party news:
This weekend was spent at a few hotspots. I re-met some guy I had conversed with the previous week at Duff's. I saw Manson Family Picnic at Pete's Candy Store [many of my friends showed up and MFP were really bangin for a second show]. I saw David DePoris get his grove on in front of an absolutely abnoxious crowd of NYU students. They were all miserably drunk and the ratio of one dude to hot asian chick was great. Great for them. I was looking for some brothers, or at least people that looked like they hadn't fallen out of their parents wallet in spandex and cocaine covered smocks. Oh, right. I met some lovely ladies. They were on the powder tip and I was on the just got kicked out by security tip. It was fun but I'm off the crazy glitter and I needed a snooze anyhow. This GinCat likes the soft pillows these days. I'm surprised I didn't stay in all the week-end trying to re-watch twin peaks.

Hope I don't feel differently tomorrow.

The human body. Created for all of the struggle that can be felt by the gifts we were blessed with!

For a while now I have had a terrible attitude about money. I grew up on the disadvantaged side of the spectrum because of a whole lot of bad decisions my parents made. Staying together, over-estimating people skills. You get the idea. I've known work from a very young age which has it's drawbacks.
For one, you grow up resenting those with no work ethic. I may be lazy when it comes to buckling down and concentrating on details, but I've been beating up the big picture pussy with a dick the size of a bayonet [I'm very old-fashioned].
Excuse the terrible reference and slight to women. Where I'm from it becomes a part of your everyday language. Instead of erasing that, I'd thought I'd give you a peep into what commuting on the NYC Subway is like. Day in and day out.

Of course I'm aching and dying step by step and I reach my front door and the elevator is going to be out for two months and I turn the key and sigh and walk up the flights with the ole "I didn't die on the last landing, I ain't gonna die on this one" attitude.

Back to money though. It's when I'm at my most tired that I really do NOT care. Heading into this gloomy recession has hit me hard. I'm really poor in every sense of the word. At least in the sense that I can not take you out to dinner and I steal rolls from the cafeteria and I will make you a Valentine's Day card with stale markers and you will think I'm creative but really wouldn't we all like chocolates and don't you think I need a haircut and health insurance? Seriously though. I honestly think of my father coming to this country and only having a radio to occupy his home time. Or, of course, interaction with family. OR just hanging out on the corner with people before the days of invasive ring tones and clothing for dogs.

The thing is, I can fall just as deep into the gold filled rabbit hole. I like to spend money because it's such a stupid thing. I'll give you this if you give me that. In reality I don't need what you have unless it is knowledge you are imparting or the ride it takes to get me there. I have a nice watch I don't need and my ex-boyfriend actually buys me stockings and feeds me when I don't have food in my house. I can not put a price on good company or a good show versus an ankle sweller and skull crusher [I'm a fragile boned lady, ask my PediR]. I can not put a price on sidling up to someone with a cheap beer and feeling them out. If someone kicks a trash can and startles a Goddamn CAT I can not recreate the moment of 4:30 am deserted Brooklyn streets. This is my version of "money can't buy you love" or "I will not contemplate slaughtering that woman who is wearing a full length fur in april, for she is radiant in ignorance and rich in a nose broken on purpose to smell the richness of her own shit." vampires of zanzibar. sensory overload!

I always think if I can't live anymore or I lose my house or shelter, if I lose my family, if I ruin everything, I'll just go back to the dirt and make january nights smell like the butter of bare damp trees. yum.

You tend to write uplifting things at the craziest of times. fuckit.

working title.

or "return to the big screen", "post-partum woes", "beached icicles: beast tricycles"
:
"everybody hurts"

I went to my car tonight and was surprised not by the sight of it, but by what was inside. Gee wiz, it was a whole bunch of feelings!
Let me explain:

Today was one of those days that everyone has. It wasn't exactly "fuck the world." It was more of a day that turns into conflict and leaves you a little bit breathless. In my case, it meant a bit of sniffling as I took out my keys to my car with readiness to go home.
I shoved my things into the passengers seat and started her up. As soon as I did I was flooded by Q104.3's (self-proclaimed "classic rock" station) sweet melodies. I changed to power105 without registering what was on and then switched back in a powerplay that involved NOT hearing duffle-bag boy song. Truly, my subconscious was on high alert, as R.E.M's "everybody hurts" was at the crux of it's sweet gnashing. This is the way my life is. I laughed a little at the situation and then returned to my sniveling briefly. The song ended and another came on. Before I knew it I was cursing in traffic and salt stained on my dry cheekbones.
This is what happens. It's not a sign, it's just the way things are. (Insert bro statement if applicable).

The breaking point has been set high lately. I've been taking things in stride, trying to do my best, all of that inspirational shit.
It's just that when things go wrong the problems swell until the emotions are saturated. In dealing with people you have a connection with, it's often hard to be persistent with communications of unhappiness or displeasure. In my experience, whiners suck and are a helpless breed. Yes, I've got some things that I won't share with anyone, immediate family aside. I feel I shouldn't have to take on the worlds problems. One problem at a time towards the solution. Heath Ledger died dude. Amy Winehouse is hitting the crackpipe. The world is upset and I'm trying to find out the forecast for tomorrow.

But, in the event that I void myself of the truly pertinent material that does, indeed, fabricate the mysterious bridge of laced fingers or phone conversations over five minutes, I like to have a retainer and not a barrier. Bluntly: I can be blunt. Some call it a flaw, others don't even call me on it. I realize it. When emotions leak and the pipes burst and doves cry, I'm greeted [nameless] in a manner I would never think to inflict on anyone. Sometimes I have to remind or simply state that: I am not a robot. I may not show all of the inner brew ALL of the time. FINE. But then I was told,
have more spine.
That really ticks me off. Makes me tingle. Makes me cringe. Makes me turn from a "sad" tear to a tiny laugh of disbelief and disgust. Some people go to any lengths to justify their black holes and common noticeable flaws. Some even go to other "states" to realize that they can't escape the reality that claims itself in one's roots. You have to let people go and figure things out for themselves. They'll either quell that demon or wind up in the same spot and in a similar situation. Motivation. rah-rah!
It's not always about leaving or wishing to leave, or leaving your old self, OR leaving the world with the aid of socializing, booze, or crutches. We all do similar things with our ideals and notions of reality.
"This is MY club, this is MY party, MY life, the way I am."
Yeah. I can get down with that to an extent.
It's the growing up comedown. Not getting older, but shedding some skin, seeing documented metamorphisis. It's THE life. "I joined your/the party and it's been A ride". If we can't get into OUR reality, dig ourselves out of OUR joint problem or even YOUR problem and MY problem butting heads... the least we can do is recognize it and accept it. We can use it to help us in our reality and bring it into the party. [Growing up is hard to do. There are fantastic double-standards, but high living with someone else blowing wind in patchy sails leaves one in Bermuda Triangle territory. I realize I'm taking the example too far. Party boat. There I'm done].

I guess clearing out the damage isn't permanent medicine. It's our dose of reality in a generous measurement.
Chronic.les.