see me, feel me, blah blah blah

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.