the moment it was over

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.