"The Poet Laureate of Coney Island"

hf addendum

2009-01-04T15:33:00.001-07:00

faith in things is stronger when we struggle with our understanding of them. i can't really committ unless i work through the blaspehemy.

hi fidelity

2009-01-04T14:18:00.005-07:00

"It's what you like, not what you're like."

none of us stays the same.
who we are.
what we want.
how we act.

i have been insecure. i have been content. i have been outrageous. i have been angry. i have been happy. i have been distant. i have been cruel. i have been good. but i've never been all of them at the same time.

how i act, what i want from life, and how i navigate the world around me:
these things are always changing.

but i have always loved istening to music, reading a book in a day, eating great food, and being friends with people who are what they are.

my life will be with someone who likes what i like. not necessarily someone i always like.

rocky took a lover

2008-10-29T11:28:00.000-07:00

i did, too. and now i am impossibly mute.
lovely.

triple threat

2008-09-25T10:03:00.003-07:00

so today i engaged in email exchanges with 3 people who have the same name in 3 different email strands. all tied into similar subjects.

it got a little hairy for a while.
nothing sketchy, bumpy, or oozy.
but definitely hairy.

you are what you love

2008-09-23T14:39:00.006-07:00

her stomach hurt when she noticed the lightening bug. it blinked through the last yellow flower of summer. at first, she didn't know if it was anger or bobbie's dairy dip. both tended to make her want to hold her gut and rock in place. and sometimes she simply did.

but not on this greenway.
not near these train tracks.
and not with him, yet.

"really. what would you have done if she had told you how she was doing when you asked? i just don't get why people do that. it makes no sense," he said, five steps ahead.

"what?" she had quit listening when she saw the lightening bug glow.

she looked at his shoulders; they were tight and high. his hands were in the pockets of his grey pants. and he was still walking away toward the light post. that was as far as he would go tonight.

"huh? oh. i would have listened." she returned to the moment.

"really? that's stupid. why do people walk by and ask, 'how ya doin?' no one really cares."

"i would have listened," she replied and almost sat down. indian-style was best. she could always get her arms wrapped more tightly around her waist when she rocked like that. "people are interesting," she said to no one but herself.

she wanted to be held in his palm like a kid does a lightening bug.
she wanted to go back and get the burger instead of a hot dog.
she wanted to be anything but stupid in this last summer space.

instead, she pulled the yellow flower from its stalk, watched him slap the light post to return, and let go of everything she loved about summer.

all i ever need to know

2008-09-14T10:07:00.002-07:00

since middle school, i have loved robert fulghum. i am not into the inspirational, but i am into the personal essay. and he writes them well. in his book "maybe (maybe not)", he ends an essay with this question:

"how will you know if someone really loves you if they only meet your expectations and not your needs?"

i like this.
it asks me to consider my needs.
i can easily answer questions of expectation.
all of us can. turn on a television. ask a neighbor.
we all know what to expect of love.
but, what do we really need?

curtains!

2008-09-14T09:02:00.002-07:00

i'm heading back to the classroom in october. partly b/c i'm just sick in the head and partly because i have an unwavering faith in the power of human connection.

we can save ourselves. i have been both the life vest and the swell; i have created as much as i have destroyed, and choice is the determining factor. i again choose to be part of the solution. it's the only way i know how to be good to myself.

a kid i taught sent me this poem. most people read it and want to claw their eyes out. they only see the pain.

i see the names of people who lived exceptionally, yet hopelessly. and the understanding that being good to ourselves is the first choice to be made each morning.

Trouble
by Matthew Dickman
from the New Yorker: August 11, 2008

Marilyn Monroe took all her sleeping pills
to bed when she was thirty-six, and Marlon Brando’s daughter
hung in the Tahitian bedroom
of her mother’s house,
while Stanley Adams shot himself in the head. Sometimes
you can look at the clouds or the trees
and they look nothing like clouds or trees or the sky or the ground.
The performance artist Kathy Change
set herself on fire while Bing Crosby’s sons shot themselves
out of the music industry forever.
I sometimes wonder about the inner lives of polar bears. The French
philosopher Gilles Deleuze jumped
from an apartment window into the world
and then out of it. Peg Entwistle, an actress with no lead
roles, leaped off the “H” in the HOLLYWOOD sign
when everything looked black and white
and David O. Selznick was king, circa 1932. Ernest Hemingway
put a shotgun to his head in Ketchum, Idaho
while his granddaughter, a model and actress, climbed the family tree
and overdosed on phenobarbital. My brother opened
thirteen fentanyl patches and stuck them on his body
until it wasn’t his body anymore. I like
the way geese sound above the river. I like
the little soaps you find in hotel bathrooms because they’re beautiful.

Sarah Kane hanged herself, Harold Pinter
brought her roses when she was still alive,
and Louis Lingg, the German anarchist, lit a cap of dynamite
in his own mouth
though it took six hours for him
to die, 1887. Ludwig II of Bavaria drowned
and so did Hart Crane, John Berryman, and Virginia Woolf. If you are
travelling, you should always bring a book to read, especially
on a train. Andrew Martinez, the nude activist, died
in prison, naked, a bag
around his head, while in 1815 the Polish aristocrat and writer
Jan Potocki shot himself with a silver bullet.
Sara Teasdale swallowed a bottle of blues
after drawing a hot bath,
in which dozens of Roman senators opened their veins beneath the water.
Larry Walters became famous
for flying in a Sears patio chair and forty-five helium-filled
weather balloons. He reached an altitude of 16,000 feet
and then he landed. He was a man who flew.
He shot himself in the heart. In the morning I get out of bed, I brush
my teeth, I wash my face, I get dressed in the clothes I like best.
I want to be good to myself.

paranoid android

2008-08-27T10:53:00.009-07:00

at a fall astronomy lecture, i took some notes that i found in a drawer i throw old journals in. all my life on little scraps of paper in 2 drawers.
shit.

that day i learned about the life-span of stars, considered the origin of the universe, and understood the logistics of sending information through space. i had the normal feelings of insignificance. and at the same time, felt connected.
stars have a life span.
they are born, live, and die.
just like us.

the sun we revolve around is half way through its life cycle. the damn thing will be dead in a few billion years. and so will we.

what struck me next is that NASA continually sends messages to places light years away. some of the smartest people on the planet are trying to connect with little scraps of cosmic communication that will NEVER get to anyone while humans are on earth. we will all be so dead that sending it doesn't matter.

in those drawers, i also found the scraps of my last marriage counseling session. the therapist made us write down 10 things we loved about each other. our in-class assignment was touch the other person and read the list of 10.

i was so many light years away from him that i literally almost laughed when he read his to me. that was the last time i said i love you, and i said it from an out-of-body, outer space place.

tangled in the astronomy notes, i found his list of 10. like the brightest minds in science, he had written a hopeless message. and we were so dead that the sending has never mattered.

sharon rose

2008-08-20T17:06:00.000-07:00

my great-grandfather spent the 1930's collecting sharon rose depression glass. it's baby pink: rose patterned. duh.

when he would buy washing detergent or gasoline in the 30's, the reward for choosing brand "a" was this glassware.

i've spent my adult life collecting it.
even though i think it's the ugliest shit out there.

for years, grandpa wynn's glassware sat in boxes in my attic.
i was waiting for the right cabinet, the right room, the right moment.
i was waiting for some place in my home to be enough.
when i moved last summer, the moment came: in the form of necessity.
those were the only dishes i had that would fit into the make-shift cabinets i had constructed from bookshelves.

for a while i was worried that i would break one of them.

finally did.
it wouldn't glue back together, just a hot fucking mess.
and i had to let it go.

i look at some people in my life the way that i look at sharon rose. i have put them in boxes, wrapped them in a bubble-wrap fear, and stuck them in an attic. and i still can't seem to eat off the plate. i look at it, imagine the perfect chicken salad sandwich, but can't use what people long gone have given to me.

queen of the surface streets

2008-08-19T18:24:00.002-07:00

i never knew that heaven
a) would be in my kitchen
b) would have me baking chocolate chip cookies
c) would include a soundtrack by devotchka
d) would only serve local yazoo ale
e) would require a dress code of underwear and aprons
f) would have no air conditioning

white wedding

2008-08-19T11:51:00.001-07:00

this morning when i was walking from my parking lot to the garage, there was this white balloon floating about 2 feet from the ground. it was on a ribbon that someone had curled at the end, and it wasn't an egg shaped balloon. it was shaped like an orange.

it was beautiful against the asphalt and it made me think of the kind of wedding where people have crappy food and flowers, but they are in love. like really in love- to the point where they never once thought about her bouquet of white carnations.

i like white carnations.

sestina, baby part duex

2008-08-06T11:47:00.002-07:00

sestinas are fun. i've played with them before on here.

i wrote this one on the plane from chi to nash.
the words were given to me by my man, who was sitting next to a man. a very. big. man.

Hell hell hell orange gummy big Sestina. Hell.

Her Sestina for the Newlywed made swell
An in-flight urge to write my own. Well,
I unfurl your contribution and see hell, hell, hell.
Now I am unsure. And the glare of orange
Sun from the wings makes my gum
Turn my stomach as I notice how big

The man we would pass these six words over is. Bisecting
The aisle with a note, I feel embarrassed. Hell,
Kind of annoying. But I am so bored. My
Eyes cross over the part of him that he
Can’t keep from spilling into 27B, a swell
Of bad choices, covering your arm rest. He is foreign

And too must feel as though in hell.
Snicker of a drunk. Reach of your arm. How big
He is in this airspace. If he sat by the window, orange
Light reflecting from fuselage would not pass. Well,
Maybe I’m exaggerating. But his hell
Is as our hell is as her hell: kind of gummy.

Present, congealed, of our own creation. Yup. Gummy.
Like the worms I bought in the airport shop. Not candy shells
But soft and changing as we spit, worry, and chew. He
and his excess blocking the sun, big
with heat and sweat. I wonder if like fires in hell
the light he sees in the glare of memory is orange.

Though I hate to do such shame to orange.
It’s a lovely hue. One of my
Heart. And anyway, I don’t believe in hell.
Couldn’t possibly. Have you been to Chicago? Hell.
A bed on Columbus Avenue with motor oil bisecting
The concrete palette of sleeping regret. That’s hell.

And in the smell of that street, my chest swells
With pangs of an eye twitch, a telling orange
Moment that that seems small in the big
Space of what we might create. If we don’t gum
It up by stoking the fire of what we know as hell.
The little pieces of them we carry. Real Hell.

Can you write about hell on an airplane? A shell
Of steel, not so big this far from Midway? Orange
Window-seat light at, well maybe, 30,000 feet. Oh Hell.

shouldn't be ashamed

2008-07-28T14:53:00.002-07:00

if you thought last week's library selections were frightening... you were wrong. i LOVED them both. this week's however, fall in the self-help category and therefore engender true embarassment. hopefully, the FBI isn't checking my records for homeland security b.s. cause then i'd have to admit i suck at relationships.

faithless, the wonder boy

2008-07-21T13:17:00.004-07:00

what i've checked out from the library this week.

Soon I will Be Invincible : Novel / Austin Grossman

The Astonishing X-men #1-25

someone needs to get me subscription to cosmo.
i used to be a girl.

don't change your plans

2008-07-17T18:01:00.002-07:00

i am not creative right now.
i'm too tired, but something that's been on my mind is the idea of placeholders in our lives. sitting in the vanderbilt cafeteria the other day, drinking really good coffee from fiesta ware, and talking to a mentor about what the future holds, i got chastised. hard core.

man said, "poet laureate of coney island, you can't put off going to grad school just because you MIGHT have children in the next five years."

seriously, i am a 32 year old woman who is afraid to go balls to the wall after grad school because i know that if i do, i will not do anything about making a family or a life with another human being. that will be it. i'll be crazy career lady.

instead, i am crazy placeholder lady.
or seat saver lady.
maybe, a million in the bank wearing kmart clothes lady.

and it's fucking stupid.
i'm holding a seat for something that is not even a shadow in my life,
i'm not married.
i don't live with anyone.
in fact, i stutter when i use the word boyfriend.

but i can say that i'll wait on what i want to do for something i'm not sure about just because to not do it would be more than the rest of the world can handle.

i officially suck.
working on it.

my boyfriend's back and your gonna get in trouble

2008-06-17T15:47:00.004-07:00

so i was just chatting with a co-worker about office politics and what not, and i noticed that she had this faux album cover of the pixies dolittle. one of my favorite records of all time.

i see the album cover and bust out, "a friend of mine has some of those by the same artist. wait, my boyfriend does."
she says, "freudian, much?"

conversation ensues to resolve that it's not freudian.
it's just gay to say boyfirend at the age of 32.
except it's not gay, because gay people got ALL the grown up words for boyfriend.
even though there are only 2.
partner and lover.

those are grown-up words.
what the hell?
when does the statute of limitations run out on the word boyfriend?

house of cards

2008-05-19T10:23:00.003-07:00

last summer a friend and i were telling stories about growing up in the pre-digital world. i explained summer months in a pin oak tree with a book or a journal, hiding from my brother. he spent his winter months on the living room floor building houses of cards.

i thought that this was super weird and challenged him on the story.
who really sits around doing nothing long enough to build a house of cards?

turns out he did. and was in the guinness book of world records for making one with the most cards, ever. with a 1979 article from the Omaha paper, my friend proved that people really do spend ridiculous amounts of time on meaningless constructs, and the world takes notice.

last night, someone else and i were also telling stories about growing up. i spoke of my pin oak, and he talked his neighborhood on the lake, the freedom of swimming pool baths and no underwear in july.

in this conversation, i added on to the house of cards that i have built. rooms of families and other relationships arranged with such delicate mortar, that they are hard to keep upright in an honest conversation. i made no mention of brazillian voices, hallway pacing, or the squirrel on a fence.

later on his couch, in the fold of a blue silk dress over green corduroy, i got tired of arranging hearts, diamonds and spades in a scaffold that keeps falling. i have wasted too much of what i've been dealt in the neighborhood of "right things to do". too much of these places are done in with one breath. one word. or one squirrel.

i'm quitting card games.
what comes next will be forged from pin oak.
maybe something with a roof to tell secrets on.
and for sure, there's gonna be a fence that i can see over.

i'm chasing that fucking squirrel back into his own yard.

communication breakdown

2008-05-14T06:58:00.005-07:00

when i taught creative writing, i was a hag for precision in language. never say tree, make it oak or ash. avoid the word angry, instead write blushing necks and the tightening of a shoulder. i was intent on the idea that words had to be exact to communicate what is felt, known, or believed. only in detailed language could we ever convey the truth in what we are.

last night destroyed that.
i sat at a bar with a man. and in our language, there was no miscommunication. everything we said was what we meant. politics. reading. family. city. all clearly defined.

but at the same time, we did not communicate.
the noise of the bar was a constant distraction.
the basketball fans on espn inexplicably wore yellow shirts.
the bartender tossed me the crown from a bottle of chambord, as though all women really want to be a princess. no matter how precise my words, the truth in that moment was that i not was even there.

and then.
on the way home.
i attempted to communicate with someone else. and the words would not come. stuttering lead to a change in breathing patterns and silences heavier than a house.

so i realized. that the truth in what i am is not in precise language, but in snapshot moments in my digital mind.
a text message at 10pm.
a cookie saved until 9.
the chatter of rain on a window.
and a door opening for one last good-bye.

this morning i stood in the street and watched May winds pull silver maples the way that sheets billow around a body; a buick travelling gallatin road, saying puddle spray, new muffler, and i'm late to work.

and the truth of what i was in that moment had no language but a quote in a book at 2am.

i'll leave you with this poem by Jack Gilbert

The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart

How astonishing it is that language can almost mean, and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say, God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write; and the words get it wrong. We say bread and it means according to which nation. French has no word for home, and we have no word for strict pleasure. A people in northern India is dying out because their ancient tongue has no words for endearment. I dream of lost vocabularies that might express some of what we no longer can. Maybe the Etruscan texts would finally explain why the couples on their tombs are smiling. And maybe not. When the thousands of mysterious Sumerian tablets were translated, they seemed to be business records. But what if they are poems or psalms? My joy is the same as twelve Ethiopian goats standing silent in the morning light. Oh Lord, thou art slabs of salt and ingots of copper, as grand as ripe barley lithe under the wind's labor. Her breasts are six white oxen loaded with bolts of long-fibered Egyptian cotton. My love is a hundred pitchers of honey. Shiploads of thuya are what my body wants to say to your body. Giraffes are this desire in the dark. Perhaps spiral Minoan script is not a language but a map. What we feel most has no name but amber, archers, cinnamon, horses and birds.

quote of the day

2008-05-12T10:12:00.004-07:00

"Art and love are the same thing: it's the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you. It's understanding the unreasonable."

Killing Yourself to Live
by Chuck Klosterman

this was offered up in an, "i've never shown this to anyone." moment from saturday night that i will keep in the queue of moments that i will never give back. this and 1920's bungalow windows to get on the roof, patterns of rust in the basement, the smell of his body after a horse race, losing a game of uno, the way he looked at me when i washed my face, and the moment i let go.

favor

2008-05-12T08:54:00.002-07:00

i needed to do myself one of these and not have said the first thing that flies out of my mouth. i did that wayyyy too many times at steeplechase.

all i know is that i had the most interesting conversation about love that i have ever been privy to with someone whom i share nothing and everything with.

that's kind of beautiful.
it's also kind of sad.

hm. that's life.

call it a day

2008-05-01T07:56:00.002-07:00

did you know that they make sardines in buffalo wing sauce?
yup.
and they're good.
at 2am.
with chili cheese fritos and hot and spicy chex mix.

my feet are salt swollen to a shrek like state of not-zen.
wagon? can you stop? i'm getting on for a week or two.

my mind is ramblin'

2008-04-29T11:32:00.008-07:00

growing up, relationship constructs and rules in accordance made sense.
my brother lived to torture me.
my parents lived to protect us.
and my friends lived to share twinkies with me.

my brother was allowed to trap me in the kitchen corner and force me to dance with the utility knife, but not the butcher knife. he could yell, "dance bitch, dance!" but was never to call me mother-fucker.

my parents would only leave me alone with said brother when every babysitter in a 167mile radius was booked. and if they had to leave me with him, they checked mileage on all cars and warned the neighbors next door to listen for screams.

concerning friends, i would give them unicorn pens, kaleidoscope pencils, and small change for bites of twinkies. if i happened to score a $5 bill, sometimes we negotiated the entire swiss cake roll. what? i was fat and my parents were health nuts.

childhood relationship were even.
fair.
understood by all parties involved.

that shit flew the coop in 8th grade. my brother hugged me for the first time in recorded history when he went to college. my parents quit pretending that they liked each other and no one was safe anymore. and exchanges between friends became ones of emotional collateral instead of refined sugar. and it's taken me 20 years to be glad that bird is long migrated.

sure. some of my relationships still follow the rules.
take work: i don't steal stamps and don't use my corporate card for personal expenses. take the irs: i file by april 15th and pay my taxes. god, do i pay my taxes. and my car. well- i sink hundreds of dollars into it and it looks like shit.

these are rules i am still okay with. but others... i'm done.

like my ex.
i refuse to follow the rule that says we should hate each other.
i refuse to follow the rule that says we should hook up after break up.
that man and i made vows. and while i'm not keeping them, i still respect that i once made them.

like my best friend.
i refuse to covet her beautiful children and fabulous husband.
i refuse to think that she owes me any more time than she can give.
this woman and i have made it through boyfriend trades, hallucinogenics and after-birth; i think it's okay if we don't talk on the phone for a month.

like men i like to kiss.
i refuse to demand that because you can't get away from me means that you should be with me.
i refuse to think you can only get what you need in boyfriend, girlfriend and fiancé.
some people and i are connected through time, music and really great tv. no one says it's gotta fit into a 30 minute time slot.

don't get me wrong.
when you see a stop sign- come to a complete.
wear clothes when you leave the house.
for god's sake, leave the room to fart.
but don't. just don't.
tell me
that he should
and she should
and we should
be anything other
than what we are.

my friend goo

2008-04-25T22:05:00.004-07:00

last night was a cluster fuck and i can't even work a metaphor around it.
i tried to play with the idea of all or nothing, but all i got was nothing.

so basically...
i went to see sonic youth. while i was standing in line to get in, a guy from work who wears the same bifocals his grandfather wore in 1983 (possibly his hairpiece too) spots me. i'm talking 43 years old. clint eastwood from the 80's hair. black jeans and doc martens.
seriously.
not.
reasonable.
to look at.

soooo, he leaves to sell his extra ticket and returns to suck the life force out of me. literally, the entire time he's talking to me DURING THE MUSIC i'm texting my friend and inching away. i mean i'm texting for a decade. inching away, and he still won't get away.

text transcription:
me: i've seen 2 work douches at this concert and am scared. people who work where i do are weird. now i'm getting work douche stalked.

bff: where the f are you? what concert?

me: sonic youth. punk. he found me and i am sharting myself. i hate being nice.

bff: who is it

me: he might be 46 and bought his glasses in 1983.and he has kept them since.

bff: lose him. who are you with?

me: alone. i keep inching away and he keeps getting closer. you know how bitchy i am.

bff: kick his ass seabass

me: i want to kill myself.

bff: buckling. i'm going to bed

me: and let me modify that. i want to kill myself with a toothpick.

bff: buckling

me: nite nite. if i turn up missing, fun bobby from work is wearing my skin

bff: oh god

me: just emptied the douche on the other work cat.

bff: ok good

now. if you couldn't already tell. this blog is really written by a 17 year old boy.
seriously. i may be one.

except for the fact that 3 seconds after i emptied the work douche, i met a really hot guy. we chatted. we were walking over to hang with his friends.

then.
my uterus erupted in my pants.
proving that i am not a 17 year old boy.
i'm a 32 year old woman.
who can't control her period.

maybe i should have hung out with the douche.
cause i walked out the door in shame either way.

sheep scratch fever

2008-04-24T09:20:00.003-07:00

so last night i made it out with one cat earing missing and my afro curls a-raging.
this morning i made it home with a bitemark on my hip and a scratch on my thigh.

good times were had by all. especially the sheep dog.

see how they run

2008-04-20T18:57:00.005-07:00

i am attracted to 2 kinds of people:
ones who are so involved in their own pain that it destroys them
and
ones who are so detached from their own pain that it destroys them

i can navigate the involved.
i can not navigate the detached.

i'm done with the detached. i can not even begin to understand not seeing the horror in who we are. it's the worst kind of blindness.

holy holy holy

2008-04-19T14:19:00.004-07:00

it's been a long standing policy of mine to not date guys from work. probably because they have all either been gay, married, or seriously not reasonable to look at. no one yet has tempted me to break from the philosophy of "don't shit where you eat".

recently though, a friend has considered shitting where she prays. she gave her digits to a man whose wife died a few months back. are we really there yet? i mean. divorce, i can handle. but i'm not ready for dead.

anyway, they went to lunch and made a dinner date that she backed out of. then he stalked her at service and whispered in her ear during liturgy. the other day, he texted her saying that playing hard to get was working. this did not go over well.

so now i'm wondering, how is she going to go to church without wondering where the pissed off widower is sitting?
he whispers.
he stalks.
he gets defensive.

this was not the holy trinity she was looking for...

You Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will

2008-04-18T07:38:00.007-07:00

be alone forever.
i will be single forever.

and this is not one of those, nobody wants me whines
(i don't do that and people want me).
and this is not one of those, i like being alone diatribes
(cause i am reasonably sociable).

this is the stark realization that i am too judgemental to accept people.
and i think that everyone but me and my friends are total dorks.

in the past 30 months, i have gone on at least as many first dates. i tried to recount them all this morning, but got distracted by "oh my god, i forgot about that guy" too many times to continue counting. and i got the willies/shivers from remembering guys who build mc donalds playgrounds.

case in point: coffee with the guy who e-mailed me from my claynation article:
took me somewhere local (+)
is smart and funny (+)
is reasonable to look at (+)
likes baseball (+)
takes initiative(+)
ran a 5K in under 19 minutes (+)
wears Adidas gazelles (+)

BUT (a big but, as in baby got back)
he wore a necklace and some rings (really madonna?)
he wore a leather jacket (easter was like 3 fucking weeks ago)
his eyes were a little wide open (abnormal psychology)
he lives in franklin (where amy grant eats at bread and company)
and he had a lisp (i am going to hell)

he's nice. he's funny. he likes me.
but he has no idea who stephen malkmus is.
he has no possession of sarcasm.

i want a man who...
is as irresponsible, yet responsible as myself
knows who yo le tengo is
laughs when people fall down, then feels bad (a little)
has all his teeth
is a smart ass
won't let me run all over him
has has sex appeal
doesn't sit on his ass all night
is at least 5 foot 6 and not fat
has dark hair (something yuck about pasty blonds)
knows that sports events are for drinking
and lives in my neighborhood (where robert plant goes for sushi)
that's right, people. led zeppelin.

i want to date myself.

oh. one more reason i will not get married:
i'm 32 and i use the phrase "total dork".

puffy muff

2008-04-07T11:09:00.006-07:00

my friends love eating at the puffy muffin. i don't love the congealed cranberry salad scene, but i go with them. because somehow, i always end up spewing chicken salad from my nose when we eat there. sometimes it's because we are sitting next to rascal flatts and they are wolfing jello salad. sometimes its the blue haired ladies who are sharing half a sandwich. sometimes it's sunday morning and i'm still drunk- whatever. i spew.

and spewing from orafices is a good thing.
unless you sit on said orafice.
which is what reminded me of the puffy muff.
i had surgery on my muff organs, and this made me puffy.

who knew that a human could gain 10 pounds in 48 hours? i entered the surgery center monday morning weighing 125 and weighed in on wednesday at 135.
this equates to 2 clothing sizes up (of which i don't own).
this equates to irrational crying (of which i don't do).
this equates to me trashing the percocet (of which constipates).

if someone had told me my ankles and face would swell like a pregnant lady, i may have kept the squirmy little cells that tried to turn my muff into a petri dish for st. jude's.

and i would have eaten more to earn it.

my league

2008-03-21T13:16:00.004-07:00

1.) Looks - 9 ( i need boobs)
2.) Humor - 10 (have you read my blog?)
3.) Cleanliness - 5 (have you been to my house?)
4.) Intelligence - 9 (check my GRE score)
5.) Income - 3 (i can't even talk about it)
6.) Manners - 6 (depends on the audience)
7.) Interests - 10 (i like to eat things i find on the side of the road)
8.) Experience - 7 (have you met my family?)
9.) Attentiveness - 2 (huh?)
10.) Chemistry\ Personality - 10 (again, have you read my blog?)

stolen from brian in minneapolis

2008-03-21T12:54:00.003-07:00

sometimes my friends read my blog.
sometimes brian from minnesota reads my blog.
sometimes i read his.
sometimes i wonder if brian and i know the same people,
if he was searching through blogger profiles bored as hell one day
and stumbled upon my rants,
if liking the same book brought us together,
or if he's the scary motherfucker married guy
who lives in my neighborhood
and he's faking with the entire cold state.
i just think about it sometimes, is all.

today i am stealing his blog and playing with it.
because i like it, alot.

HERE's HIS BLOG:

We have often heard people say, "Whoa she is way out of his league." Which usually means that one of the dating partners is much more attractive then the other. However, the reality is that there are 100's or 1000's of leagues and you are in several of them at the same time. For example you may be in the great looking league but also in the dumb as a box of rocks league and in the generous league. Are you with me so far?

This explanation assumes that you grant a few common terms.

1.) That there are multiple leagues that people belong to. Income League, Attractiveness League, Humor League etc.

2.) That there are varying levels of how much someone belongs to one of those leagues. For example you can fall somewhere on a scale of 1-10. I am a 7 in looks btw.

Now here is how it all works. This is a fun experiment to do with your friends at a bar. Write on a napkin these ten things. (Or pick 10 others that are important to you order does not matter)

1.) Looks
2.) Humor
3.) Cleanliness
4.) Intelligence
5.) Income
6.) Manners
7.) Interests (Hobbies or things that make you interesting)
8.) Experience (Amount of things you have had to overcome)
9.) Attentiveness (How well you pay attention)
10.) Chemistry\ Personality

Now rank your self 1-10 in each
Have your friends do the same.
Take all the totals...come on you haven't forgotten all those Stats lessons have you?

heart cooks brain

2008-03-19T12:43:00.003-07:00

i cried today. wtf?
i swear i need to just get my uterus removed.
or put it in a box.
i'm not using it or anything.

turn turn turn

2008-03-18T12:58:00.004-07:00

the snow has melted. the trace animal likes to flick me on the head: like i am his 12 year old sister.

and the sun is bright. so i've called in sick with the doctor to independently study a virus i've not been able to shake. maybe on a patio with maguaritas?

i'm ready for what comes next and it keeps getting tangled in with the effects of past storms. in this tangle i've discovered that dogs over 4 pounds sometimes wear barrettes.
and i think it's cute.
oh.
and i'm plotting the coupe of a local gov't office.

man hunter

2008-03-08T14:17:00.004-07:00

it snowed 5 inches last night... a serious anomaly for nashville night life.

normally, the only flakes nashville sees tend to fall from the gelled locks of the early 40's crowd that populates the trace (a bar which happened to close last week due to some tax issues). poor almost-old-men. now they will have to find somewhere else to hunt urban cougars with silicone boobs and impending appointments for their first eye lift.

anyway, last night i didn't get to see the start of the storm. i was at the yazoo brewery pub with my red-haired friend and two guys who were scouting new habitats since the closing of the trace. i don't think they'll make yazoo theirs: too much patagonia and patchouli. however, i am seriously considering making a temporary nest there. the guy to girl ration was about 25:1. and i do like a hiker type.

oddly, i can tolerate this flake from the trace. although he was camouflaged in an early 1990's pelt of light washed jeans and plaid ralph lauren, he was intelligent for his species. community minded. funny. and reasonable to look at, in a 90210 kind of way.

maybe it was the snow; maybe it was the beer; maybe it was the fact that love is not even in the forecast for an epoch(an early winter cold front killed all spring buds on this hydrangea). whatever it is, the snow is melting and i'm loading my gun.

it's not been 24 hours and he's foraging education articles from the tennessean to present to me.
oooh.
he just texted.
wow.
this species is destined for extinction.

the bachelorette

2008-03-05T17:01:00.006-07:00

lined up in the queue for this week's episode of the bachelorette are...

an MD who is the obsessive true love crush of a best friend. he likes to talk about "blacks".

an art lover who sat on the porch drinking tea and reading the hollywood issue of vanity fair last sunday. um, he also wants to take me to see the full monty next friday. at the local JCC.

a 41 year old insurance sales manager who played high school football with my brother.

can i hurt a friend and kiss a racist?
can i ignore a full monty?
can i be the trophy wife of a germantown high school football player?

tune in next week for the next episode of the bachelorette.
hey, ABC started it.

wilco part 2

2008-03-03T15:28:00.003-07:00

icanteventalkaboutit.

FYI- describing this concert is like describing love; impossible. Like you can never explain it to someone else. I am still to overwhelmed to make much articulate commentary about Wilco at the Ryman, but here goes...

I have had some good times in life.
I have seen some great shows.
I've seen Wilco before and loved it.
But Wilco at the Ryman was the best it may ever get.
And I'm okay with that.

Jeffy Tweedy wore a Manuel (or manuel inspired) white suit with cardinals and roses sequined upon it. He looked perfect- not like some ass who wants to dress up to be in Nashville; he was Nashville. His voice was spot on, completely clear in a way I hadn't noticed it could be. The Ryman is Tweedy's (and Wilco's) venue, most clearly shown when he came out for the first encore and sang acoustic.He can also carry a melody through a jam like nobody's business- which is a little hard to notice on records.

Nels Cline is a fucking guitarist. The man is the shit blend of jam rock, wa wa pedal fabulousness, and rock star. He's the perfect addition to the band and his style violates the ears in only the best ways. I love him with Wilco, in a way I hadn't (cause I'm not the biggest Sky Blue Sky Fan and I blamed that on him). No more blame.

And John Stirratt was rockin. I wore lipstick for him, but he didn't see it from the stage. I'll have to stalk later. Oh yeah- he's talented, too.

Anyway... until the first encore (and there were 2), most of the balcony sat in the pews. Not in the way that showed they weren't into it, but in the way that showed every person was LISTENING. The encore brought the house to their feet and the crowd became part of Wilco; like sang with them as a chorus. beautiful.

As well, they were filming the performance, so we really got the best of Wilco. I will own this footage at some point. Wilco played from every album and made a case for their excellence by proving that in their breadth of style, the depth lies in their consistent creativity and excellence.

My concert mate was new to Wilco and liked them enough before. He's been around the concert bush a few times and called it the best concert he has ever seen in his life. It was definitely the best concert the Ryman has ever seen.

Done.
For now.

wilco at the ryman 03.02.2008

2008-03-03T14:27:00.001-07:00

Via Chicago
Blood of the Lamb
Pieholden Suite
California Stars
Company in my Back
You Are My Face
Side with the Seeds
Pot Kettle Black
Shot in the Arm
She's a Jar
Handshake Drugs
Impossible Germany
It's Just That Simple
Pick Up the Change
Too Far Apart
Nothingsevergonnastandinmywayagain
Jesus etc.
Hate It Here
Walken
I'm the Man Who Loves You
--------encore 1--------
Someone Else's Song (Tweedy w/o amplification)
Misunderstood (amazing)
The Thanks I Get
Red Eyed and Blue -> I Got You
Monday
--------encore 2---------
The Late Greats

happy valentines day

2008-02-15T15:49:00.002-07:00

so for valentine's i went out for vodka, video trivia, and fried pickles.
i love my body. my body does not love me right now.

as i was driving home, i tried to wrap my mind around love. this is always a good idea after three drinks. in a review of the people i have loved (like loved with a capital L) i came to two. these two are buffered on two men i have obsessed over.

like an obsession/love/love/obsession appetizer.
literally.

high school obsession.
college love.
adult love.
adult obsession.

it's kind of like a fried pickle. i mean the greasy outer layer is in no way good for me, but it's so damn enticing. i chase it around the plastic basket, suck it off the pickle and ruin my tongue on how
way
too
hot
it is.

inevitably, the freaky batter screws my stomach up and kills my taste for pickles- which really is the part that i love the most. i mean, i love dill pickles. like a jar at a time love.

and, i love these men. but the obsessions before and after are fucking up my gut.

my last 24 hours

2008-02-12T11:00:00.001-07:00

my downstairs neighbor came up at midnight to talk about her faltering relationship.(kind of knew from the noise)

my clutch went out in the middle of 7:45am downtown traffic.

the tow truck guy witnessed to me during the entire car ride to firestone.

my gynocologist called to say i had an abnormal pap smear, and she has to look at my wassa with a microscope.

can i just go back to sleep?

first line i'm working with

2008-02-06T09:03:00.000-07:00

i used to think that my father ruined our lives; later i realized we did that just fine on our own.

epiphany 2007

2008-02-04T09:00:00.000-07:00

it took a little while.
found it sunday morning during mile 2 on porter road, 37206.

in giving up hope, i gain everything.

that's it.
that's what i learned in 2007.

what a good boy

2008-02-01T16:11:00.000-07:00

this first time i heard the term hair shirt, the barenaked ladies were crooning through the speakers of my 1989 diesel suburban. we were in a parking lot in west nashville near our favorite restaurant, stir fry cafe (AKA spicy noods). we worshipped spicy noods and the ensuing gastrointestinal discord.

anyway, a hair shirt was originally a garment or undergarment made of coarse cloth or animal hair (a hair shirt). the word has come to mean an object that can be worn to induce some degree of discomfort or pain.

last night, hair shirt became revised...

email to a friend:
my date last night had his $238 shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest. what am i going to do?

her response:
what? I got your text about the debate (I was at an event). Who is the guy and why can he not dress? Is it the hoodie guy?
Because a big fat I told you so may be coming your way.

email to a friend:
hoodie guy. super virago type. too designer jeans, a scarf, and a pearl buttoned patterned cowboyish shirt with embroidery. and 7 stark chest hairs peeking from the unbuttoned abyss.

her response:
I am speechless. Actually, I am in disbelief that 1) this species is still in existence and 2) wandered out of his habitat to 37206

men are my hair shirts.
i know before i put them on, it's gonna be itchy and uncomfortable.

irony to the third power

2008-01-30T10:39:00.000-07:00

how can the son of an english teacher/school board commissioner not be able to spell, at all?

why do the things that make the least sense, feel most right?
(and the chuck taylor of that)

why is it the guy who is perfect for a friend chasing me around the mulberry bush? i hope that i can get his bird circling her bush before he tries to pick a berry from mine. it's gonna be sooooo awkward.

want to

2008-01-27T15:46:00.000-07:00

so the guy who bought our bottle of wine at the bar last night has the song "want to" by sugarland, on his MYSPACE page.

get ready to be entertained.

yin and yang

2008-01-25T18:22:00.000-07:00

i have come to a clear handle on this concept in one respect:

attachment is the expansive to the contractive uncreative.
detachment is the contractive to the expansive creative.

i like being attached.
i like being creative.
i have never brought the two together.

ho hum. what comes to us is not to be understood, but merely accepted.

not that my g.i. tract is paying any attention to my belief system.
my body is a stupid little vehicle. in its pheromonic and recently discordant symphony, it has neglected to note the harmony in my brain.

virginia woolf

2008-01-23T20:41:00.001-07:00

she had been promised a soft pretzel when she was 8. he had made the promise of refined grain and rock salt in an attempt to shut her up on the way to the smithsonian. this ran her mind as she lit the cigarette in the parking lot of the drug store.

as she drove down the pike, she thought of that lie and the others she had been told. barbie trucks, mocking birds, nicotine. all of these promises worked in her like the buckwheat that was not digesting from dinner.

she promised her stomach that the feeling would go away, that all things came and went. and in the doubling over, in the roll of her gut, she saw the pretzel. it was twisted like the promises that she had made to herself: the lies that are the most truth within us.

see me, feel me, blah blah blah

2008-01-22T11:27:00.000-07:00

on the drive into work this morning, i noticed that the row of shops in my neighborhood was recently repainted... vibrant punches of color in the mids of my urban hood. and, there are white lights on the trees that stand on the riverfront when i pass into downtown. they were beautiful and probably there since thanksgiving. and the street lights go off right after 7am. who knew?

wonder what the hell else i haven't been seeing lately... besides the mice that have taken over my kitchen.

animal fat

2008-01-21T19:38:00.000-07:00

breathing is salvation. the idea that no matter what, involuntarily air moves through me regardless of any burden, thought, or drop in the stomach.

i just moves.
through.
in and out.
it's nice in a way.

the only time it causes me anxiety is when i'm in yoga and realize how aware of it i can become in a moment and how easily i forget it when i leave a certain space.

like most things in life.
how our understanding of something is ever present, but not oft noticed.

tonight i noticed.
and what my breath brought was animal fat and the belief that as long as i love what i can, say what i feel, and appreciate my moments.
nothing.
else.
matters.

gurl shake dat laffy taffy

2007-12-22T13:14:00.000-07:00

this morning i spilled hot wax all over my bathroom sink and cabinet. like a tub of bikini wax that is cherry laffy taffy in all ways but flavor (even that is easily debatable).

after spilling it on the sink and cabinets, i cursed the fates for stealing the 20 minutes it was gonna take to clean it up with the little bit of isopropyl alcohol i had left. some of it dripped on my toes, too.

in the midst of my cursing, i dropped the whole fucking thing on the bathroom floor.
then, there was crying.

i give up.
seriously.
it's gonna take 3 hours and a gallon of rubbing alcohol to clean it off my floor, the $85 wax pot, and my $200 hair straightener.

i wish i were rich. i'd fucking throw the appliances away and get new floors.
instead, i get to cover the entire pink mess in saran wrap and look at it for at least a month. because that's how long it takes for me to clean anything up.

auld lang syne

2007-12-19T20:01:00.000-07:00

we all are miserable.
talking to a friend over turkey rachel's the other day, i determined that whatever misery we have, we create. but create it, we do.

either you doing what you love and can't pay the bills or working so hard to pay the bills you never see anyone you love. or you are paying the bills doing what you love, but you no longer love it because it's your job.

misery.
it's fucking beautiful

what misery do i create?
i think that my blog pretty clearly explains that.
merry christmas.
go make some misery.

with or without you

2007-12-17T09:57:00.000-07:00

at the annual girls christmas dinner the other night, we talked about what we could not live without. i came to tweezers.

but in the bathroom at the bar car later that week, what i really came to is that there is not a thing in this world that i can not live without.

except
the cruelty of hope and the comfort of indecision
and it is tangible in driving him home at 1am,
walking through the obed national park,
the freckled bridge of his nose,
the temporary tag on a windshield,
and the same lunch date
almost one year later
with the same half-eaten sandwich,
the same pathetic snow,
the same lack of eye contact
and the same damn pair of shoes.

conception

2007-12-13T09:44:00.000-07:00

Your finger traces the pulse in my neck
From the shelf of my jaw line mandible
To the soft ridges of my breast bone sternum.
Fascination moves your palm and I see
Your eyes expand and contract
As you discover and lose my pulse.
You talk chemical reactions that start life,
The beating of the ventricles,
And how time wears a muscle to its end.
I consider the scent of your shoulder clavicle
The tightening of my chest thoracic
And the minute my pulse might stop.

And in this morning bed I wonder
About the technical names of things,
The difference between substance and longevity,
And the conflict in our belief and my desire:
These chemical reactions in our decisions
Small moments when life begins.

spanish club music

2007-11-20T10:54:00.000-07:00

as if my happiness depends solely on my sex life.

jesus.
what am i? a man?

did you know that men transfer testosterone in salivary exchange so that women get randy from a kiss.
evolution is a beautiful thing.

anywhoooo- i should get funny again this weekend.
my parents are coming to stay with me over the holiday.
holy xanax.

asian club music

2007-11-20T10:49:00.000-07:00

let's explore the direct coorelation between my happiness and my humor.

happiness > humor > anger

if i am happy, i can not be funny. i think it's because most of my humor subsists on deprecation and disrespect. throw a monkey into the wrench who is intelligent and challenging, and i got nothing.

nothing but sappy poetry about running long hunter state park.

damn it.
i knew there were other reasons i stayed single.

how it ends

2007-11-05T12:00:00.000-07:00

she threw the band in the cumberland because she knew that if she kept it, there'd be days that she'd consider pulling it from a drawer and fingering it in her left hand. the temptation of a regret that did not exist was too much to stash in a drawer. she decided to hide some other expectation in her mother's secretary.

she'd also wanted to know what it felt like to stop her jeep in the middle of a six lane bridge, abandon fear of traffic, and see her marriage drop to the river like november sweetgum leaves. not direct in descent, but moved by the temperament of wind.

it was january, and the platinum band fell fast while new year's traffic honked at her in her grey sweatpants on the side of a bridge. so far was the fall and so small was the ring, that she did not see it enter the water. for a moment she wondered if she should have pawned it and taken the money to buy something as frivolous as that promise.

the moment passed, and the wind pushed her toward the center lane, a driver's side door, and the knowing that she had other promises to keep.

the way i am

2007-11-03T12:00:00.000-07:00

five miles on a saturday morning at 7:30 am. this is not when runners expect to be confronted by what we have no longer want. and 14th street is not the sanctuary where we ask the universe why it converges during our morning run.

or. why does god make the man i have wanted and the man i do want drive past me on the same morning run. wtf??? further proof that god hates me.

these ideas in our head like red hots in our mouths burn with a sick, metallic. and the taste doesn't leave the mouth. at a time when all normal people are sleeping, i am running. and the universe is driving.

i run from the anticipation of camping,
the inevitability of gala,
and the irony of my wedding dress.

yup.
it's makin a comeback.
thank god.
it's a beautiful bitch.
that needs to be seen.
when solitude is not an option.

fidelity

2007-10-31T07:29:00.000-07:00

the room was blue. even thought the paint can had read rootbeer, laying in that bed, the room looked blue. maybe it was the august glare reflecting off the blue quilt. maybe it was a fraction of the prism in that morning sky.

no matter. it was blue. and she wanted him dead. not anytime soon, but in time for there to be more than this blue room, and these brown walls, and that damn squirrel on the fence.

Tennessee Code Annotated #2

2007-10-25T13:28:00.000-07:00

Title 68.5

(1) The board shall establish criteria for determining the sentence when a person violates work place environmental conditions by speaking to colleagues while depositing waste in disposal areas. Entry order, grunt decibal readings, and cube-land proximity shall all be taken into consideration when determining sentence. The board shall also prepare a list of comminication methods that are hazardous in order to aid in determining the generators of hazardous waste in creating a safe lavaratory environment. However, such list shall not limit the regulatory authority over the board to whip somebody's ass if they create substances or conversations which meet established criteria for a hazardous waste area environmental violation.

(b) (1) The commissioner shall notify the register of institutional mango spray candidates in each stall in which a disposal facility or site is located and currently being used for depositing of hazardous waste. Such notice shall include the following:

1. Identification
2. Violation
3. Sentence

for example:

1. Identification: Richard R. Richarson
2. Violation: Inquiries into weekend activities while engaged in noxious waste disposal of a TCA#2 nature.
3. Sentence: Relegated to the library parking garage to dispose of waste with vagrants who will talk to anybody.

The general assembly declares that it is the policy of this state to ensure that no hazardous waste, as regulated under this title, is disposed of in conjunction with small talk. Therefore, subject to the appropriation of funds in the general appropriations act for such purposes, the department shall develop an inspection program for all permitted facilities that provides for frequent, thorough and regular inspections of the uninvited conversations in bathroom stalls. Further, subject to the appropriation of funds in the general appropriations act for such purposes, the department shall inspect meeting rooms, break areas and parking lots to prevent the introduction of hazardous conversation into any OFFICE SPACE.

license to ill

2007-10-24T07:17:00.000-07:00

somebody call the short bus.
i need a ride.

now, this is not because i am that girl in the white jeep who plucks her eyebrows while travelling down the interstate in morning rush hour. nor, does it have anything to do with the fact that i have been known to drive my stick-shift SUV while drinking a yazoo pale ale, talking on my cell phone, and smoking a cigarette.

what is does relate to is the fact that i could not find my way out of a new year's eve vodka bottle if i pooped on myself in it. don't ask.

it took me 30 minutes this morning to get from my house in east nash to my cleaners on belmont boulevard. it should have taken 10. this had nothing to do with traffic and everything to do with the fact that i am retarded.

please call riverdale elementary and chastise them relentlessly them for putting me in the gifted program. they gave me the impression that i am smart. i have spent subsequent years proving them wrong.

this morning, in my continuing effort of proof, i did, however, get an education. i learned that you can go back and forth under the interstate 3 times on your way from 5 points to belmont boulevard. as well, the homeless man at 4th and douglas is definitely related to the one at harding place and franklin road. and who knew nashville had a motor speedyway?

a freaking race track in the middle of town.

after passing the speedway, i lost all will to navigate and pluck my eyebrows. instead, i got my mascara out, continued my mating dance with blindness, and realized my dry cleaners was on 12th avenue and not belmont.

does the short bus have a drink holder?

cat vs. whale

2007-10-22T18:42:00.000-07:00

some nights i drink cocktails.
and by cocktails, i mean cocktailssssssssssssss.

and some mornings i wake up with a cat in my eye.
and by cat in my eye, i mean some dried out, ass red eyeballs that scare people on the streets. no whites in my eyes. it's nasty. it hurts. and i am so dehydrated from the night before, i can't make tears to remedy this.

yes, i've tried drops.
they don't work.
yazoo pale ale gives me ferris bueller dry eyes.

on these mornings, i walk around the office and co-workers stop me in the hallway to ask me, "what is wrong with your eyes?" when i open my mouth to tell them, they know the answer before i speak. pale ale has some serious staying power. and because everyone knows that i'm hung over from the reek factor, i just wander around muttering. "there's a cat in my eye. i hate cats. fucking cats."

people think i'm crazy.
might be- pale ale is the only thing in my life with staying power.
i know my memory has none.

after 5 years of working downtown, i am well aware of the air vents that blow like whale holes on 7th avenue. i mean this is something i KNOW. countless hours of entertainment have come from watching tourists get accosted by these ginormous blow holes. i thought they were intrinsic to my world view of downtown.

so, i'm walking into work after getting out of my boss's car.
it's rush hour.
i'm wearing a skirt.
and no panties.
and it's not bikini season.
yup.
commuters got an eyeful of cat.

it made me laugh so hard, i peed.
all down my legs.
in the middle of church street.
i fucking hate cats.

a nervous tic motion of the head to the left

2007-10-21T10:55:00.000-07:00

when most people find out i'm single, they look at me a little shocked.
i am reasonable to look at.
smarter than a box of rocks.
and sometimes funny.
by cultural definition, i should be getting laid.

most times, i tell people i am single because i haven't met anyone interesting enough. most people in the world are boring and watch too much tv.

or i say that i like to do what i like to do, and not many men like to read the new yorker, watch buffy the vampire slayer on DVD, and shop for antiques. well, not any straight men.

i play it off like it's my choice.
and it is.
my choice.
to be an idiot.

so, last night... i go to a favorite bar to see a band whose lead singer is grimey's boy. now, grimey's boy has been an inspiration of mine for a couple of years. i go and buy vinyl, and we talk music. when we do this, i am sober and not retarded. my heart beats like a fucking white stripes album, but i am cool, calculated, and appropriately hot when i go into grimey's. because i like this guy. he's interesting. and smart. and reasonable to look at.

broke that glass last night.
some of the highlights of and alternatives to our conversation..

"last night" me: you're not drunk? huh?(nose curls) why not?
"a world where i am not single" me: can i get you a drink?

"last night" me: so, those were all new songs, huh?
(nose still may have been curled)
"a world where i am not single" me: i really like your new stuff. when are you guys putting out your next album?

"last night" me: you know what's fucked up? you were hotter to me when you were just the guy who worked in a record store. when i found out that you were in a band you got less hot. is that weird?
"a world where i am not single" me: great shirt. i love the design.

"last night" me: thanks for the bees, uk. you know the album you recommended to me in april.
(what the fuck? it's october. i'm psycho, and he has a blank look)
"a world where i am not single" me: so what was the best new release this week? you've got such great taste in music.

i could go on and on.
i did last night.

why can't i just black out when I am loaded, like everybody else?
why do i have to remember this shit?
why didn't someone diagnose my ketel-one-tourette's when i was in college?

in the midst of all of these questions, there's one thing i do know.
why i'm single.

chillout tent

2007-10-19T07:34:00.000-07:00

this morning, i am sitting on my couch in my kitchen.

the couch smells like pot and has for 4 years.
i bought it with returned wedding gifts.
sorry if you bought me the waffle iron.
that it smells like pot is absolute karma.
i shouldn't return presents that people give me.
especially when i have asked for them with the intention of returning them to buy something else.
it's deceitful.
and selfish.

luckily, i am divorced and aunt marie will never know that her waffle iron went straight back to goldsmiths, and she really bought me 9 square inches of a leather couch.
that smells like pot.

actually, marie may like that. she smoked a lot of pot in her day. it explains why she licks her fingers after she eats and before she shakes your hand.

an
e
way
the kitchen is full of all of the things that i had to move so that the carpet installers could do their job. i think they just broke a hole in the floor.

new carpet rocks.
i don't have to wear shower shoes inside my house any more.
yes, i did.

oh... another hole.
I bet my downstairs neighbors do not have a plaster ceiling any more.
but i have carpet which brings me one step closer to getting laid.

trust me.
it all makes sense.

hoobastank

2007-10-18T10:29:00.000-07:00

how many farts does it take in a cube before the entire office reeks?
this feels like question for the tootsie pop owl.
wonder where that cat is these days.
he soooooo needed an eyebrow wax.

jesus loves me

2007-10-06T17:11:00.000-07:00

so last night i trolled though blogger profiles in the nashville area while watching a movie alone. exactly the kind of behavior i like to ridicule.

anyways, if i had to guess, i would estimate that 29.9856% of nashville bloggers are blogging for christ. i had no idea that proselytizing had gone digital. what ever happened to putting on a tie and walking through neighborhoods on summer days? whatever happened to stopping on the edge of consummation to radically disappoint a lover? whatever happened to standing on a milk crate on the street corner?

one could also ask, what ever happened to looking for interesting people out in public, instead of on your computer?

touche. i'm going to drink coffee on a patio.

the moment it was over

2007-09-08T13:58:00.001-07:00

wanting to be a squirrel on a fence
lyle lovett at the symphony
ceramic chickens for christmas
sitting in their jacuzzi
driving him to the smokies
inviting me on a reversal
four minutes after the last swallow of a pint of vodka

most things end in a single moment.
sometimes we stick around, telling ourselves that moment wasn't the end.
but it was.

what i like(d) about you

2007-09-08T13:42:00.000-07:00

i used to worry that i was obsessive.

it would bother me that i found distinct comfort in the familiar unreal of arranging the "wrapping presents" basket so that each sharpie, ribbon, and calling card had its place in the longaberger.

i thought it odd that an unclean corner on a christmas gift was a sin worse than stealing.

and if i have an eyebrow more than .00000365 centimeters long, i feel like the hairiest (wo)man beast on the planet. tweezing is a sacrament.

it just doesn't bother me anymore.
well, the eyebrow bothers me, but that it bothers me, doesn't bother me. there's comfort in knowing that we work a certain way, and even though you have control of what you do, you don't. even though you do.

ultimately losing control to being controlled by the part of you that lives in darwinian fear is what we are.

and with that in mind, i can not even begin to control what i liked about you.

1. reading comic books in the car before work and leaving them in the back seat because you were embarrassed to take them inside.
2. knowing that carrying a prada purse was not worshiping it.
3. making fun of everything to avoid seeing it.
4. taking 30 days of sobriety as a catapult into cyclone.
5. ruining my favorite song from 8th grade.
6. understanding the power of mean and using it.
7. reading the new yorker in order from front to back, using the subscription insert to hold your place.
8. understanding all of this.

adventures in solitude

2007-09-01T06:59:00.000-07:00

i didn't make it to church a couple of weeks ago.
forget why.
gonna try again this weekend- Holly Street Methodist.

also gonna make a home.
it's only been 2 years since i've had one.
painting and extermination are key to this venture.
a little stink removal, too.
who the fuck invented carpet?
tar and feather, baby, tar and feather.

i'm getting emotional.
i really have not had a place that felt like home in 2 years.
i haven't lived by myself in 6 years.
i'm about to start my period.
and i'm missing my best friend's baby's birthday.
waterworks.

there really is no god

2007-08-26T22:13:00.000-07:00

so my new apt does not have a dishwasher.
which is really sad.

what it does have is 2 block access to bars where open marriage 41 year olds nervously laugh and espouse the rhetoric of popular psychologists.

wow.
all really need is a dishwasher.
and, maybe, a stove.

holy holy holy

2007-08-18T15:19:00.000-07:00

so i'm planning on going to church tomorrow. i need some forgiveness. i can't decide if i'm gonna head to the episcopal church or the methodist church. i think that the methodist church in my neighborhood has funky music.

ain't
no
way.

i can't do drums, guitars or flutes at church.
i'll let you know.

girls just wanna have fun

2007-08-10T13:37:00.000-07:00

i am employed again.
i've had 3 dates in a week.
i like a boy... or two hundred.

however,
the sewer lines in my new place have been severed.
the bathroom is a cluster fuck.
i haven't pulled up the carpet yet and have to paint for a week.

bipolarity is a running theme in my life.
yeah!
boo!

economics

2007-07-31T19:43:00.000-07:00

i am a big fan of the law of diminising returns.
especially in application to food, men, and birthdays.

think about it.
a scoop of ice cream- not enough.
a pint of mint chocolate chip... pretty bad ass. almost eupohric.
a quart of ice cream- shitting your pants in the morning.

men follow the same trajectory...
meeting when you are out and flirting... ultimate hopeful tease.
first date at a local restaurant- you're in love.
looking at his man-hair on the bathroom floor after you've been shacking for 3 months- disgusting.

however, neither of these is as pronounced as the law in its application to age.

1- you can walk
2- you can talk
3- you can use the toilet
4- you learn to share
5- you write your name
13- you're a teenager, but you get your period
16- you can drive, but you can kill someone in your car
18- you can buy cigarettes and cocktails in new orleans, but you go to big boy jail
21- beer.
25- car insurance goes down, you can rent a car. but you also find your first wrinkle.
30 isn't dirty, but it is the peak of a downward slope.
now that i've cusped 30 what is there to look forward to?
40- decreased libido
45- crows feet become ostrich claws.
49- are you fucking kidding me. half a century only looks good on a classic car.
75- if i were art deco furniture this would be a good year.

when can i join the AARP?

almost always never

2007-07-26T20:12:00.000-07:00

my life has become a series of 3 drag cigarettes, missed connections, and the feeling that i have got to get out of here.

so. what else is new?
at least i'm not masking it with prada and marriage... just tom ford and celibacy.

what i got

2007-07-25T20:45:00.000-07:00

let's see.
i got a singular desire to kiss my hairstylist (who was born in the 80's mind you) wow. that desire about ended. hadn't conceptualized it in terms of decades until this point.

i got a double fist of mocha ice cream and teddy grahams. oink.

i got a triple threat of an eastern block, string bikinis, and a beach trip next week.

i got four reasons that i am washing dishes by hand:
1. my new apt does not have a dishwasher
2. i like to over-hydrate
3. three different meds for three different things.
4. some things can only be wiped away by the touch of a hand

i've had better.

protecting the innocent

2007-07-16T20:55:00.000-07:00

so tonight i went for a drink after yoga with a friend (paradox in action, baby). said friend's sibling who is our bartender says, "there is this guy at the bar, alone, who is so nice. he comes in all of the time... is in the same profession... come meet him."

we make sibling tell friend to come to us.

alone guy (who's not alone anymore) has his friend do a walk by.
(we could feel his check-out 8 bar stools away)
to check out our yogafied ugliness
(i am wearing spandex hot shorts and am 5lbs over the weight limit)
the stroller then tells the bar guy not to make the venture.
(did i mention that i am working my stellar afro tonight)

so we make the effort on the way out the door.
turns out she knows the same profession bar guy.
turns out she heard him telling the story of his divorce and vasectomy via speaker phone at her office about 3 years ago unbeknownst to him.
turns out i don't even have a witty quip for this entire experience.

carry that weight

2007-07-15T20:08:00.000-07:00

last night i fully realized that things that come in pint size quantities do not constitute single servings.

not ice cream
not peanuts
not vodka

wish i could have figured it out in a different way, but then it probably wouldn't carry the same weight.

hellodrama

2007-07-15T08:20:00.000-07:00

plan 9 from outer space was fabulous.
i love sci-fi.
i love moon pies.
i love stove top pop corn.

faith is making a comeback.

the jeopardy of contentment

2007-07-11T13:22:00.001-07:00

i have been obsessed with cragslist since i found both my new apartment and myself on it. i mean, i sit here for hours reading want ads, furniture sales, and missed connections, absolutely content to read about what nashville wants to buy, sell, and be.

i'm thinking of writing a book about it... maybe picking 23 random ads and then turning them into vignettes- along the vein of paris je t'aime (my new favorite movie).

yeah- i can add that to my list of things to do that includes
find a job
fix my car
find some furniture
re-hab my new apartment
pack to move
sell some cds
get a life

poetry when my hair is curly

2007-07-10T13:54:00.000-07:00

Mid-Century

Tonight, we stand in front of a theatre,
Built in the era we tried to become.
And neither of us can remember
The name of the movie Forbidden Planet.
In this space, I know why we call
Each other by our full names.

Not even a McCarthian sense of self
Can make us forget that we are cracked
Like the McCoy on grandmother's floor.
Aware that if we had only paid
Attention when placing it on the shelf,
We wouldn't be picking up pieces.

you f*#ked the suburbs out of me

2007-07-10T11:31:00.000-07:00

i can not stand going south of old hickory boulevard.
i can not stand going north of trinity lane.
i can not stand going east of briley parkway.
i can not stand going west of briley parkway.
yeah.
think about that.

last week, the parentals made their annual pilgrimage through town. i picked them up from the trailer park east of briley parkway and drove them past my new digs. they loved east nash, but my mom began a lamentation about why her kids don't love the suburbs that lasted the entire way to mafiaoza's.

she can just not understand why we don't love wal*mart, strip malls, and stucco housing.

i can not understand why halfway through dinner she bowed up against my dad to prove that her childhood was shittier than his. i had to stop the madness and explain that if we were going to argue about whose childhood sucked the most, they may not want to have me as a contender.

no more pinot grigio for her.

anyway. i am leaving the suburbs (again).
moving to the 5 points area.
buying mid-century furniture.
quelling my anxiety.
riding my bike to work.
walking to the grocery store.

i just realized where this brown spot on my under-wrist has come from.
computer mouse callous.
no kidding, it's where my hand rests on the desk.
i am a tool.

a tool who just booked her flight to austin, tx.
austin city limits music fest.
sunday only
24 hours in Austin.
yo la tengo.
wilco.
nice.

the reasoning is that i sold my pitchfork ticket and canceled my chicago flight so that i could reasonably afford to move out of the suburbs. i thought i'd only be in b-wood for 6 months... but that slowly turned into 21 months.

so i thought, pitchfork or freedom?
freedom.

now i just have to find a place to stay in austin for one night...
should i risk a festival hook up??
i know.
i won't do it.
i like my body parts where they are.

sometimes i don't get you

2007-07-07T23:16:00.000-07:00

i have spent 31 years trying to understand so many things.

i tried to understand my parents.
she cried in the 76 oldsmobile station wagon if she didn't eat by the next damn mile marker.
he told her that she couldn't have dessert on her 45th birthday because she didn't need it.

i tried to understand myself.
my tenuous line between crying and cruelty.

and tonight, after a movie at the belcourt, one last drink at jacksons, and another series of sevens, i determined that i will no longer try to understand. instead i'm just gonna listen.

to the voice that told her to shut up- she wouldn't starve.
to the voice that told him to go fuck himself- it was her birthday.
to the voice that told me to move to gartland avenue- i'm gonna make it.

tempurpedic mattress boy

2007-07-07T11:09:00.000-07:00

so mattress boy/man posted this on missing connections on craigslist.
is this really my life?

Katie the high school teacher/Hot Chicken Festival
Reply to: pers-366717751@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-07-04, 9:14PM CDT

Stood in front of you and your friend today (4th.) at the Hot Chicken Festival....enjoyed "entertaining" you....lol. Was the musician whose lived here 10yrs. Must of been the heat but should've asked if you were single and if so, if you'd care to grab a cup of coffee.............????

* Location: East Nash.
* it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 366717751

golden slumbers

2007-07-06T18:12:00.000-07:00

the hot chicken was just that.
and fabulous.

the rommie and i waited in line for eva' to eat some prince's and bolton's while we moaned that we could have just gone to the damn restaurants. but then we wouldn't have met the guy who asked me if i had a posturpedic/memory foam/ no wait... tempurpedic mattress in the middle of our scintillating conversation about mayoral candidates.

just like out of the blue, he asks me about mattresses.
that alone was worth the wait for the hot chicken.
then we went to beyond the edge and played video bar games while i drank too much.
the roomie took us back to the wood.
brentwood that it.
where i won't be living after this month.
i'll be walking home from beyond the edge to my new little bungalow.
2 blocks away.
i am happy.

ennui

2007-07-03T09:17:00.000-07:00

i did not send the following e-mail to a man i have never seen before in my life.
but i wrote it.
i have not yet lost my fucking mind.

Subject: referral from XXXX-YYY-ZZZZ

And fortunately for me, not the professional kind.

Bob-

Your e-mail address has been in my purse for about a month now. XXXX-YYY-ZZZZ gave it to me at a dinner party, after she talked about setting me up with "the sweetest young man."

The "sweetest young man" got vetoed, and she then recommended you. She made it clear that she meant no disparagement; she thinks you're fabulous, but not "sweet". That- coupled with the fact that she mentioned you were a runner??- made this little pink piece of paper with your e-mail on it hard to chunk.
But I'm pitching it.
After I send this e-mail.

Bob- If you're feeling a little spontaneous when you wake up this Sunday, I'll be at insert coffee shop on insert street around 11am, before I catch the noon film at the insert theatre. You could walk by, determine if you find me reasonable to look at, and buy me my second cup of coffee.

Milk.
No sugar.
-insert me

minnesota man claims monkey bowled perfect game

2007-07-01T07:19:00.000-07:00

that's pretty much about how much sense it makes that i just spent an hour on sunday morning reading about nashville hot chicken.

ritalin anyone?

hot chicken # 7/4

2007-07-01T06:40:00.000-07:00

heaven has come to east park in east nash.
that's right, folks. hot chicken on the fourth of july.
they don't even make words to describe the joy i get when my nose runs down my chin after eating 1/2 a jar of jalepenos. to think that mayor purcell would love me enough (i was his daughter's IS teacher) to schedule this little slice o heaven on the fourth of july... i am speechless.
consider a 1/4 chicken, skillet-fried, on some white bread, SLATHERED with hot sauce.
i'm drooling.

if you can handle the heat... take your pick

Prince's Hot Chicken Shack

Location: 123 Ewing Drive, 226-9442

Hours: Noon-10pm Tue-Thu, noon-4am Fri-Sat

Payment: Cash only

Bolton's Spicy Chicken & Fish

Location: 624 Main St., 254-8015

Hours: 11am-9pm Tue-Thu, 11am-12:30am Fri-Sat

Payment: Cash only

the basement tapes

2007-06-22T08:38:00.000-07:00

last night, my date asked me to tell him about the most shocking date i had ever been on. didn't have the nerve to tell him that it was the one i was sitting in.

who takes off their shoes at a baseball game and puts their nekkid feet on the chair of the person in front of them?

"the most shocking date ever"

who picks the dirt/dead skin/god knows what from their toes on a date?

"the most shocking date ever"

because i am a quasi nice person, i will not divulge the OH SO PERSONAL SECRETS that i was told by "the most shocking date ever". you don't even tell people that kind of shit when you've been dating six months, let alone six days.

so i ditched him and went to the tin roof with some kickball buddies. i never go to the tin roof- maybe 2-3 times a year. last night reminded me why. i just can not handle it.

so i went to the basement by myself, where i made friends with everyone in the bar with my stories about "the most shocking date ever". the basement saved my life. it is my betty ford clinic.

i will love that venue forever. and ever. and ever.

two random observations:
you are sooooo nashville if you wear pearls to a sounds game.
there is nothing more amazing than people doing what they love in a great pair of shoes.

every step i take

2007-06-21T11:57:00.000-07:00

my day started with a bad cup of coffee and a trip to the greenhills YMCA.

as much as meat markets and unlimited cardio classes titillate me, i broke up with the Y. it was only a matter of time before the love affair was over.
3 weeks to be exact.
(pretty much the usual for me)

sure, we'll meet for drinks a few more times before i quit returning phone calls. but it's definitely over. the Y is a sloppy eater and spikes his hair a little too decidedly for this cat.

seriously, i got on 3 cardio machines for a combined total of 4.5 minutes before i decided to go running. now, i haven't run in 5 weeks because this I.T. band crap has kept me off of belmont boulevard. so, i went for a run. it was kind of like seeing your lover after he's been touring europe for over a month.
it hurt a bit, but it was good.

while i ran, i came to this: men can ruin a song faster than lemons ruin dairy.

so here's a list of songs that will never be the same because their associations with the Y (chromosome that is) are indelible.

INXS "never tear us apart"
queen "under pressure"
better than ezra "this time of year"
the smiths "please please please let me get what i want"
broken social scene "anthems for a 17 year old"

now i can live without INXS.
but the smiths hurt.
not the good kind of hurt that comes with 40 minutes of solid pounding (shoes on the road that is). but hurt like a muscular tissue that twitches with every move i make.

good things

2007-06-21T06:53:00.000-07:00

an epiphany in spin class led me to this.

i need a purpose- more than just listening to music and stalking on the internet, which i love. god! there is nothing more fun than researching people. i love finding out who ran the memphis marathon 4 years ago, or who has offices downtown. i even like to know that someone does not exist at all in cyberspace. how is that even possible???

focus. focus.
anyway, i need to make some good things out of my life.
i'm a little darwinsitic to be a martyr/saint, but i'm working on a few ideas.

on a different note- a dear friend of mine gave me the best going away present i've ever gotten.

2 tiny plastic champagne glasses
2 beautiful mod handkerchiefs (i love handkerchiefs)
a plastic man in red hotshorts, who fits conveniently in the console of my car.
a reading light
a hardback copy of babbit in that 60's crazy book cover decor
lavender sachet
vase of flowers from her garden

this is by far one of the best gifts i have ever gotten in my life.
the only thing that she could have added would have been a crawler of yazoo dos perros.

the hour grows late

2007-06-13T19:26:00.000-07:00

i have got to quit talking.
i learned that without a doubt, tonite.
some guy just talked to me on the phone for an hour.
lucky for me, i am not a phone talker.
BECAUSE I DIDN'T GET A WORD IN.
jesus.

on a good note.
my future husband was really cute today.
he used the word slacks.
too bad i just learned his name
and can't remember how to spell it
to tattoo it on my ass.

listening man

2007-06-12T20:08:00.000-07:00

as i am pulling into my neighborhood restaurant to drink beer with my walking buddy, i turn on "outtheother" for the first time on WRVU. this is a great weblogger/local dj who has her finger on the pulse of indie music.

make that her fist.

normally, i listen to my ipod in the car.
like i NEVER listen to the radio in my car.

but tonight i do.
of course.
and the guest dj is the dishwasher.

what are the chances?
i have offended the gods.
i must do something about this.

what if i try to be nice to the next guy i go on a date with?

if i should fall behind

2007-06-01T07:58:00.001-07:00

i know that i have many things to do today.
i need to grocery shop.
i need to clean out my classroom.
i need to buy a baby shower gift.
i need to get a hostess gift.
i needed to go to yoga 34 minutes ago.

instead, i'm listening to bruce springsteen and calculating my realage on the internet.
apparently i'm really 26 years old.
will someone please tell the rest of the world?

break up the family

2007-05-30T18:01:00.000-07:00

i'm working on a new theory.
mostly cause i'm bored.

i am convinced that there is a difference between men who grew up with sisters and men who grew up with brothers... i think that boys with sisters can be a little weird and bitchy. they also tend to dress better than i.
hold on.
i'm checking this on google (soooooo reliable)

apparently it's called birth constellation.
but they don't discuss the "bitchy" trait in the experimental control groups.

i'm gonna do my own data analysis.
let's do a rundown on all the men i've smooched, been attracted to, etc...
or at least the ones i can remember.

add-only child (bitchy)
abb-1 bro 1 sis (bitchy)
abbb-2 brothers (bitchy)
acf- only child (bitchy)
alw- 2 bro 2 sis (bitchy)
ajb-2 sisters
artb- only child
wap- only child (bitchy)
aab- 2 brothers
ajv-only child (bitchy)
kaa- only child (bitchy)
aeh- 2 sisters
rak- 1 brother (bitchy)
amd- 2 brothers (bitchy)
dea- 1 brother (bitchy)
dwa- 2 sisters
we- 1 sister 1 brother
maw- 1 brother (bitchy)(bitchy)(bitchy)

i see no discernible pattern.
except the one where i date a lot.
and the one where i am attracted to bitchy men.

the gay guys at work have a theory on this.
the theory includes a free pass night with me.

well mom-
the only thing that i learned from this scientific experiment was published in a related article that i found on google. it supposed that mates categorize each other in the folliwing 3 paradigms of attractiveness:

#1 warmth/trustworthiness
(oh well... i can't win them all)
#2 attractiveness/vitality
(oooh! i'm making a comeback)
#3 status/resources
(maybe he won't look at my check book while i'm in the ladies room)

fuck.
my friends are right.
i gotta quit being such a bitch and get a job.

lost time

2007-05-30T15:12:00.000-07:00

so my blog will be a year old in less than 48 hours.
it's the longest relationship i've had in the last 2 years.

there goes my gun

2007-05-15T20:14:00.000-07:00

i bought a book that analyzes the psychology of happiness.
as if i didn't already know that my happiness lies in this moment,
in front of this computer,
in the quiet space that holds all i can not control
and hopes for not much more than the next breath.

sometimes i look at my deltoids to make me happy, too.
don't judge.

clean getaway

2007-05-15T19:34:00.000-07:00

i have had a myspace account since ?last year? sometime because if you don't have a login, you can't look at other people's pictures that they post on their sites. you may not think this important, but you can learn a lot about a man by his pictures. so much... cats, small hands, ugly family- you get the drift.

well today- i checked my inbox (after stalking a date from last week. i needed to verify my judgement. this guys has a semi-loaded page that he checked last week. at least he's not checking it daily. pro was some seriously hot footage of him at the beach. who says women aren't visual?)

anyway-i had six pages of e-mails in my account inviting me to join some singles group- who knew i could have skipped all of this dating and spent even more time in front of the computer not having sex?

fuck myspace.

on a new note...
exciting things from the last 2 weeks:
bought a new wax kit
met my best friend's new baby and played with her old one :-)
went to mc cartys pottery in marigold, ms
had a facial
played kickball and helped to win the game
went to a bachelorette party
felt chemistry again
found my happiness in a denim skirt and white t-shirt
rolled in the clover

the girl racer

2007-05-04T19:57:00.000-07:00

last weekend i ran the country music half marathon.
i woke up at 5 am to run 13.1 miles.
what the hell was i thinking?

mile 1
spectacular adrenaline rush

miles 2-4
painful.
the body is not interested in warming up.
things still hurt at this point.
i decided to bag it and focus on finishing.
i cursed the 3 pounds i've earned from patio drinking
and looked around for cute boys.

mile 5
good again.
things stopped hurting at this point.
endorphins are lovely.

mile 7
i got hot and threw my sports top on the sidewalk.
at this point i quit looking for cute boys because i didn't want to see any in my state of toplessness.
i want the sports top back, but someone on belmont boulevard now owns it.

mile 8
trucked along at what i believed to be a tortoise's pace.
apparently a really hot guy gave me some accelerade.
i didn't notice, but he did.
he told me this at the shell station wed night, but hasn't called yet.

mile 9
fuck, my hip muscles and feet hurt.
i promised to never run a half again.
i decided to stick to a 15K max.
i have holes in my feet right now, as i type this.
hot. super hot.

mile 10
i realized i am actually going to finish in under 2 hours as long as i don't walk.
got a permagrin because i'm faster than i think.
i thought it would take me at least 2:10 this year.

mile 12
the cheerleaders at my school screamed at me with joy as i cussed under my breath.
well, maybe not so under my breath- that hill was the worst thing ever.
seriously.
ever.

and i finished.
proceeded to a mexican restaurant.
took 2 hydrocodones.
ate monster quesadillas.
drank a margarita.
ate a pint of ice cream and a nutty buddy.
took a nap.
went to a wedding.
ate TONS of wedding food (2 pieces of cake in there somewhere)
drank 9 vodka sodas.
ate at waffle house.
went to bed at 2am.

my training regimen for this half marathon put me at a 8 min 50 sec mile.
my training regimen was to run 16-20 miles a week.
and consume copious amounts of alcohol as a rite of spring.
that's it.
i've decided that i'm done.
being a weak-ass that is.
it's on.

im committing.
the memphis is going down in 1:40 instead of 1:56.
i'm going to the track.
i'm doing fartleks.
sleeping with some ugly track guy for training advice.
whatever.
if i'm going to be blogging on friday nights, i at least need to be fast.

you can have it all

2007-04-29T21:00:00.000-07:00

today i hung with a friend who did not find it weird that i am going to chicago by myself in july. god bless her for that and for never looking at my like i am a retard when i talk about why i am divorced.

and because it is the one year anniversary this month,
i'm gonna talk about the big D.

cons:
1. i hate that i made choices that hurt good people.
2. i hate that some people will never trust my judgement again.
3. i hate that i forgot me.

pros:
1. i love that i never have to wonder if i am lovable enough to marry.
2. i love that i had my perfect wedding. (and fuck you for thinking i'm shallow. every girl dreams about that shit- no matter how down to earth and cool she is.)
3. i love the possibilities are infinite.

i just need to figure out what the hell i possibly want.

the way the lazy do

2007-04-28T09:45:00.000-07:00

ran the nashville half marathon today. it was nice.
i didn't have a panic attack at mile 11, and i finished in under 2 hours.
not much else i could hope for.

well... maybe i could not have some weird ass misshapen toe from liking tight shoes.
that's about it.

going to lunch with girlfriends.
i need marguaritas.
ta ta.

don't say a word (hot chicken #31)

2007-04-20T21:14:00.002-07:00

the other morning, i woke up in bed with a wrench, a hazelnut, and my vibrator.
there's not a whole lot else to say.

dashboard

2007-04-19T19:49:00.000-07:00

my washer fluid light is always on.
always.
it makes some people nervous when they drive my car because it is this peppy yellow text that peeps from the side of the steering wheel. that may be where i fell in love... text. i feel sure that if it were a symbol or just a little flasher-lite i would hate it, but it's words. pretty, pretty words.

at least that's why i thought that the light didn't bother me. but today, "washer fluid" brought other lettered-friends to the light show. and these kids are not cool.

they drink too much hunch punch and puke on the carpet.
they chew glow lights in their mouths.
they steal your mother's rolex.

they read check engine.

turns out that i was only okay with the annoying little light when it was shiny and benign. now that it means something, it scares the shit out of me.

if you really want to know...

2007-04-16T22:43:00.000-07:00

the only two things that frighten me are birds and special people.
i can absolutely handle snakes and corpses... no problem.

but, special people rank high because i have had diaper duty with one student familiar with puberty and have had duty with another whom had a FIRM understanding of self gratification far beyond anything that could kill a werewolf.

did you know there is educational protocol for such things???...
SEND YOUR CHILDREN TO PRIVATE SCHOOL.
i can not even talk about it.

birds scare me because
1. they are super twitchy
2. they try to confiscate building materials from my ball o' dark brown hair.

special people scare me because
1. i've cleaned pubes off my work keyboard
2. god will punish me come embryo time

but andrew bird is beautiful.
and i still have faith because i have a last name.
figure that one out.