And so it begins
The endless wait
At the heavily guarded
Airport gate
Maybe I should have
Brought a novel
Or a magazine
To thumb through
Silently, make believe
That I was actually
Interested in the
Black ink words
But like the man
Sitting next to me
With the fresh newspaper
Its only to pass appearances
And make it seem like he
isn't as bored as me
When it's worse, because
now he's $1.50 short
Because if it weren't for the sports pages
Diverting his eyes, he'd have to look into the air
At the strangers passing by
And no one likes eye contact
The painted faces
Blonde, cotton candy hair
Melonball handbags
And dry cleaned suits
A world I will never know
Or would want to
Why would I?
I am drowning in vintage
Or I just call my ripped jeans and
Peasant top that to make
Me feel
More cosmo retro
Who dresses up for the airport?
Not me? Why me? Whose me? Couldn't be.
This seat is uncomfortable
And this lady smells like french fries.
Waiting, waiting, only to see
Starbucks freaks, wireless geeks,
businessmen posers, suck up nosers,
rockstar glam, and fat, tourist hams.
And I hear the shiny group behind me
Reassure the newbie, "You'll love Austin
We see McConaughey and Bullock
All the time."
"And if it weren't for the college kids
It'd be the perfect town. --
Oh, and do you still watch Hollywood Squares?
My sister was on there and won
A bunch of washers and dryers...."
Friday, August 19, 2005
Monday, August 15, 2005
Dulce for the Monks
It's that time of year again. That time of year where you have to be extra careful of what you do, where you go, and who you see because the gates of the afterworld are opened and the spirits (good and trifling) are set loose upon us unsuspecting living souls. You know, right?
Well, I suppose if you're outside of the Buddhist religion, you might have overlooked that this month bad things are more prone to happen because of the dead souls that run rampant causing trouble on Earth. Anyhow, if you don't, just go get a Buddhist book about it and you'll be up to par.
As for now, at this point in the story, me and my family are about to go to temple to pray for our innocent souls and to plead to our ancestors to protect us from uncomely demon-folk who may get in our path.
This is the reason I could not go to my friends dinner party that he invited me to the other day which I had been looking forward to. But me, being the devout Buddhist (YEA RIGHT! haha) decided that staying up drinking and smoking with good people wouldn't be the best thing to do the night before you have to burn incense to your deceased grandmother.
And its also the reason I didn't go out with some other people who had invited me to an outing for my girlfriend's graduation. They were going clubbing or something or the other and I could have met my other friend's new boyfriend from Atlanta who is not of the Asian variety which makes things even funner, don't you think?
And since when do I get invited to so many places in such a short span of time. Since when did I develop a religious conscience and why did it sprout up just when this social circle magically formed around me when I wasn't looking?
But it doesn't matter because now I'm here in front of 20 lotus sitting Buddha statues basking in their revery. I bet my friends are all having delicious hangovers, laughing at their last-night indescretions, and thinking of the greasy breakfast they'll be having at 2 pm in the afternoon. Those bastards, how I envy them and their throbbing brains.
Dad and uncle were unloading the van because mom got the notion that the Buddhist monks were avid fans of ring pops and sour straws, so she gave them three cases of each kind. We have a convenience store so it would be foolish of us not to take advantage of our plentitude of candy disposition. Dad complained to my mother all the way to the temple in the car that monks don't eat candy and that we were being silly. But mom was unwavering in her stance. She said the monks would know what to do with it and she'd have an extra large lotus leaf to sit on in the afterlife because of her generosity. Where would dad be sitting then?
I was a bit embarassed too. But in the end my apathy won out. I imagined the monks actually wide eyed with big smiles on their faces reveling in the sugary treasures. Because up till then, they had only been feasting on stir fried mushrooms and dried ginger. They'd be running around the botanical gardens with oversized ring pops, one on each finger, licking uncontrollably. During prayer, the head monk would have to chastise some for taking licks of their rings during the meditation hours. And some would sneak a sour straw into their mouths while he wasn't looking. And just before they went to bed, they would all see who could stick the most sour straws to their bald heads, remembering the times...so long ago, when they had hair.
Well, I suppose if you're outside of the Buddhist religion, you might have overlooked that this month bad things are more prone to happen because of the dead souls that run rampant causing trouble on Earth. Anyhow, if you don't, just go get a Buddhist book about it and you'll be up to par.
As for now, at this point in the story, me and my family are about to go to temple to pray for our innocent souls and to plead to our ancestors to protect us from uncomely demon-folk who may get in our path.
This is the reason I could not go to my friends dinner party that he invited me to the other day which I had been looking forward to. But me, being the devout Buddhist (YEA RIGHT! haha) decided that staying up drinking and smoking with good people wouldn't be the best thing to do the night before you have to burn incense to your deceased grandmother.
And its also the reason I didn't go out with some other people who had invited me to an outing for my girlfriend's graduation. They were going clubbing or something or the other and I could have met my other friend's new boyfriend from Atlanta who is not of the Asian variety which makes things even funner, don't you think?
And since when do I get invited to so many places in such a short span of time. Since when did I develop a religious conscience and why did it sprout up just when this social circle magically formed around me when I wasn't looking?
But it doesn't matter because now I'm here in front of 20 lotus sitting Buddha statues basking in their revery. I bet my friends are all having delicious hangovers, laughing at their last-night indescretions, and thinking of the greasy breakfast they'll be having at 2 pm in the afternoon. Those bastards, how I envy them and their throbbing brains.
Dad and uncle were unloading the van because mom got the notion that the Buddhist monks were avid fans of ring pops and sour straws, so she gave them three cases of each kind. We have a convenience store so it would be foolish of us not to take advantage of our plentitude of candy disposition. Dad complained to my mother all the way to the temple in the car that monks don't eat candy and that we were being silly. But mom was unwavering in her stance. She said the monks would know what to do with it and she'd have an extra large lotus leaf to sit on in the afterlife because of her generosity. Where would dad be sitting then?
I was a bit embarassed too. But in the end my apathy won out. I imagined the monks actually wide eyed with big smiles on their faces reveling in the sugary treasures. Because up till then, they had only been feasting on stir fried mushrooms and dried ginger. They'd be running around the botanical gardens with oversized ring pops, one on each finger, licking uncontrollably. During prayer, the head monk would have to chastise some for taking licks of their rings during the meditation hours. And some would sneak a sour straw into their mouths while he wasn't looking. And just before they went to bed, they would all see who could stick the most sour straws to their bald heads, remembering the times...so long ago, when they had hair.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Kari's Wedding
"So are you going to be free on Saturday?"
I shifted my cell phone to the other ear and scanned the mental calendar in my head which was pointless because I knew I had nothing scheduled for that day or any other day before or after for that matter.
"I dunno. I guess not. Why?" I asked Maurice quite apathetically. I had had a long day and wasn't feeling social at the moment.
"Well, you remember Kari? Petite Kari from high school? She was a year ahead of us."
I sighed and scanned my brain. It had been about six years since high school but it was still fresh on my mind but I didn't want Maurice to know that.
"Come on, Annie. Cambodian chick. Big boobs."
I giggled. "Yea, I remember her. She getting hitched or something?"
"Yup. Snatched herself a cowboy. So you wana go with me to the wedding?"
"I dunno. I haven't seen any of those people in a while and you know how I get around them. Its sorta weird. Saying things you seem to be saying over and over again and people seem to buy it as real conversation."
"It's up to you. I don't care if you go or not."
"Well, that's nice, asshole. Maybe I shouldn't."
"You know what I mean. I'm sure people will ask about you if you don't go."
By the end of our conversation, I had accepted the invitation but sternly decided that it wasn't necessary to get her a gift since I wasn't directly invited. But I would make sure Maurice put my name on the card. That's just good ettiquette.
****************************************************************************
Is it just me or do we put ourselves in these awkard situations just to torture ourselves because we have nothing else better to do. Most of the guests that would be at the wedding would be distant friends from the past, ghosts that I hadn't seen in awhile. Some maybe last year...some I hadn't seen since high school graduation. And especially at this stage of our lives where we're supposed to be building up our grown-up lives, we all seem to be talking with static in the background. Not knowing exactly what we're trying to say but trying to fool the other person into thinking we are the masters of our lives and knows exactly where we're steering our ship when in reality our compasses are bouncing all around. I'm not an anti-social. I just don't know if these are the people that I can completely be myself around. In a way, they scare me but I guess everyone has that feeling when confronting social situations like this. Right? Or does the cheese stand alone? Who knows.
*********************************************************************************
The wedding wasn't till five so I had all day to lounge around and do nothing which was lovely as I had taken the entire day off from work. But it started worrying me when I saw the grey clouds roll in.
Maurice was late as he rolled into my driveway. I hurried into his car and he blamed me for living so far away and on the other side of the tracks literally. "The damn train took forever to go by. Then it stopped, rolled backwards and then took forever to finish. Dammit."
He had a way of making things my fault when I had no control over the situation whatsoever. He was an asshole that way and I knew there was nothing I could do about it other then harbor asshole opinions of him and he knew that so it was fine. I rolled my eyes at him and headed for the church when the storm burst all around us.
******************************************************************************
"Where the fuck are we supposed to go in at?"
The church was a huge ancient looking thing and so since I wasn't familiar with churches (being Buddhist and all) I assumed it was just at the front door.
But Maurice being the staunch Christian treated me like the ignorant pagan that I was. "No, this church is huge and they lock most of their doors. Dammit." He kept circling the church and I had no idea what we were supposed to do as the rain poured all round us. There was another car that we saw pull into the church parking and we watched. A black woman, quite elderly in a a royal purple dress stepped out with a black umbrella. We watched as she tried the three doors at the front of the church but they were all locked. I felt so bad for her as her dress, hair, and everything were getting wet. All of a sudden we saw a man open a door from the side and wave us all in.
*************************************************************************
We walked in, late and wet. A woman at the door who was passing out the wedding programs shushed us as we shook off our wet clothes. she looked like a huge lilypad in this frilly green frock that made it look like she had no arms. She hurried us to our seats and our hearts broke as we realized that we had walked in right at the end of the ceremony.
The white haired minister spread his hands. "I now pronounce you husband and wife."
Maurice mumbled under his breath. "........fuckin train."
**************************************************************************
"Hey your sister is here. She was here on time. Why didn't we go with her?"
I pointed to Maurice's sister, Lynda. He shook his head. "Why would I want to come with them I don't even like them."
I went to say hi to Lynda and she grabbed my shoulder.
"Does this mean you and Maurice are back together?"
I laughed and shook my head. "No no no no no no, we just come to these things together. It makes him look good to have a date and I get free food. Everyone wins."
**************************************************************************
"So what are you doing now, Annie?"
"I'm helping my mom at our store. Just taking a break really."
"Annie, I haven't seen you in so long! What are you doing now?"
"Well, I'm trying to keep up with my writing. So I'm going back to school in the fall."
"Well, if it isn't Miss Annie. Do you have a corner office yet?"
"Not exactly. Gonna go back to school next month. Can't get enough of the classroom, I guess."
"Annie, I hear you're trying to be a writer? That's gonna be tough."
"Yea gonna take classes in the fall. I'm keeping my fingers crossed."
I got a change to hide in the bathroom for a few minutes. THe ceremoney, i was told, had only lasted fifteen minutes and we had walked in at the final two. Kari has told everyone to come early and that the ceremony would be quick. Maurice nor I had been given that notice. Now was that limbo stage where everyone waits for the reception which was a long two hours away. Some lucky souls slyly stepped out of the church and said their goodbyes until the reception. I was stuck since Maurice was taking this chance to catch up with old friends. I should be doing the same thing but my skin felt so uncomfortable. Maybe it was the rain...maybe it was something else.
I was starving and the reception was too far away. I popped a few peanut M&M's I had smuggled in my purse and fixed myself up. Be brave. These people won't bite.
After leaving the restroom I had a few more conversations with different faces yet the same questions. There were so many times when I wanted to answer someone who had asked what I was up to, "Yea, I've become a professional prostitute down on 6th and Cambria St. You know that corner? Yes, it gets really busy on Fridays. Oh my pimp lets me off on special occasions like this but I have to make it up with at least two times as many tricks tomorrow and that's gonna be hard on Sundays...you know people have church on their minds...but I have my tricks to take their minds off that sermon. AMEN!" If only...if only...
*****************************************************************************
The reception was at a nice fancy hotel but I was disappointed when I saw alcohol was served through a cash bar and I had only brought thirteen dollars. I started off with a Bacardi Coke with three cherries. Wait a minute. There's no alcohol content in cherries. What a waste of volume.
Maurice had chastised again in the car on the way to the reception that I was being anti-social and rude. I shot back that I shouldn't be here and these people freak me out and they make me feel like a shadow of myself. He said that I was being ridiculous and these people only want to talk to me and get to know me and that's all and that I was putting too much pressure on myself. I told him that it all felt fake and I didn't like the way I am around these people. There are just some people that bring out the best in you and shine because you can't help it because they see you for you. But then there are people like these people who make me feel as if I'm made of glass and that they see through me and it's polorizing. We drove in silence for the rest of the ride until the hotel banner hung above us.
***********************************************************************************
Dinner was chicken fried steak, mashed sweet potatoes, and green beans. True country fare. There was also line dancing so I spent most of my time in my chair. I had a good time sitting next to the five year old who was the son of the maid of honor. He told me how ketchup was made out of watermelons and that he had to dance with the bridesmaid who had braces.
************************************************************************************
It was nearing the end of the night and time to catch the bouquet. I sat in the shadows hoping no one would find me but of course the group of giggling girls I was sitting with dragged me to the floor. Thinking the bride would through the bouquet directly to the bridesmaids in the front, I lingered in the back waiting for the DJ to hurry up and count to three.
And then I watched this little petite Asian bride throw a first-down launch as if the bouquet of roses were a pigskin. The flowers were coming right towards me and my mind was already trying to decide---do I move out of the way...do I push this girl beside me in front of the projectile florels....or do I, me with the natural super-glue grip catch this prophetic symbol of matrimony? Of course my spastic self chooses the latter and I am left standing there...as the cheese usually does...alone with a handful of flowers. I am swarmed by giggling females ecstatic even though I don't know why.
A girl with a sweeping french twist and a huge smile gabs, "And see you didn't even want to get up there!! Now look! You're a bride!"
I gave a disingenuine smile and walked back to the table. Maurice knew I wasn't happy with the proceedings that had just taken place. We said our goodbyes, clapped for the line dance that had just finished and went home.
I shifted my cell phone to the other ear and scanned the mental calendar in my head which was pointless because I knew I had nothing scheduled for that day or any other day before or after for that matter.
"I dunno. I guess not. Why?" I asked Maurice quite apathetically. I had had a long day and wasn't feeling social at the moment.
"Well, you remember Kari? Petite Kari from high school? She was a year ahead of us."
I sighed and scanned my brain. It had been about six years since high school but it was still fresh on my mind but I didn't want Maurice to know that.
"Come on, Annie. Cambodian chick. Big boobs."
I giggled. "Yea, I remember her. She getting hitched or something?"
"Yup. Snatched herself a cowboy. So you wana go with me to the wedding?"
"I dunno. I haven't seen any of those people in a while and you know how I get around them. Its sorta weird. Saying things you seem to be saying over and over again and people seem to buy it as real conversation."
"It's up to you. I don't care if you go or not."
"Well, that's nice, asshole. Maybe I shouldn't."
"You know what I mean. I'm sure people will ask about you if you don't go."
By the end of our conversation, I had accepted the invitation but sternly decided that it wasn't necessary to get her a gift since I wasn't directly invited. But I would make sure Maurice put my name on the card. That's just good ettiquette.
****************************************************************************
Is it just me or do we put ourselves in these awkard situations just to torture ourselves because we have nothing else better to do. Most of the guests that would be at the wedding would be distant friends from the past, ghosts that I hadn't seen in awhile. Some maybe last year...some I hadn't seen since high school graduation. And especially at this stage of our lives where we're supposed to be building up our grown-up lives, we all seem to be talking with static in the background. Not knowing exactly what we're trying to say but trying to fool the other person into thinking we are the masters of our lives and knows exactly where we're steering our ship when in reality our compasses are bouncing all around. I'm not an anti-social. I just don't know if these are the people that I can completely be myself around. In a way, they scare me but I guess everyone has that feeling when confronting social situations like this. Right? Or does the cheese stand alone? Who knows.
*********************************************************************************
The wedding wasn't till five so I had all day to lounge around and do nothing which was lovely as I had taken the entire day off from work. But it started worrying me when I saw the grey clouds roll in.
Maurice was late as he rolled into my driveway. I hurried into his car and he blamed me for living so far away and on the other side of the tracks literally. "The damn train took forever to go by. Then it stopped, rolled backwards and then took forever to finish. Dammit."
He had a way of making things my fault when I had no control over the situation whatsoever. He was an asshole that way and I knew there was nothing I could do about it other then harbor asshole opinions of him and he knew that so it was fine. I rolled my eyes at him and headed for the church when the storm burst all around us.
******************************************************************************
"Where the fuck are we supposed to go in at?"
The church was a huge ancient looking thing and so since I wasn't familiar with churches (being Buddhist and all) I assumed it was just at the front door.
But Maurice being the staunch Christian treated me like the ignorant pagan that I was. "No, this church is huge and they lock most of their doors. Dammit." He kept circling the church and I had no idea what we were supposed to do as the rain poured all round us. There was another car that we saw pull into the church parking and we watched. A black woman, quite elderly in a a royal purple dress stepped out with a black umbrella. We watched as she tried the three doors at the front of the church but they were all locked. I felt so bad for her as her dress, hair, and everything were getting wet. All of a sudden we saw a man open a door from the side and wave us all in.
*************************************************************************
We walked in, late and wet. A woman at the door who was passing out the wedding programs shushed us as we shook off our wet clothes. she looked like a huge lilypad in this frilly green frock that made it look like she had no arms. She hurried us to our seats and our hearts broke as we realized that we had walked in right at the end of the ceremony.
The white haired minister spread his hands. "I now pronounce you husband and wife."
Maurice mumbled under his breath. "........fuckin train."
**************************************************************************
"Hey your sister is here. She was here on time. Why didn't we go with her?"
I pointed to Maurice's sister, Lynda. He shook his head. "Why would I want to come with them I don't even like them."
I went to say hi to Lynda and she grabbed my shoulder.
"Does this mean you and Maurice are back together?"
I laughed and shook my head. "No no no no no no, we just come to these things together. It makes him look good to have a date and I get free food. Everyone wins."
**************************************************************************
"So what are you doing now, Annie?"
"I'm helping my mom at our store. Just taking a break really."
"Annie, I haven't seen you in so long! What are you doing now?"
"Well, I'm trying to keep up with my writing. So I'm going back to school in the fall."
"Well, if it isn't Miss Annie. Do you have a corner office yet?"
"Not exactly. Gonna go back to school next month. Can't get enough of the classroom, I guess."
"Annie, I hear you're trying to be a writer? That's gonna be tough."
"Yea gonna take classes in the fall. I'm keeping my fingers crossed."
I got a change to hide in the bathroom for a few minutes. THe ceremoney, i was told, had only lasted fifteen minutes and we had walked in at the final two. Kari has told everyone to come early and that the ceremony would be quick. Maurice nor I had been given that notice. Now was that limbo stage where everyone waits for the reception which was a long two hours away. Some lucky souls slyly stepped out of the church and said their goodbyes until the reception. I was stuck since Maurice was taking this chance to catch up with old friends. I should be doing the same thing but my skin felt so uncomfortable. Maybe it was the rain...maybe it was something else.
I was starving and the reception was too far away. I popped a few peanut M&M's I had smuggled in my purse and fixed myself up. Be brave. These people won't bite.
After leaving the restroom I had a few more conversations with different faces yet the same questions. There were so many times when I wanted to answer someone who had asked what I was up to, "Yea, I've become a professional prostitute down on 6th and Cambria St. You know that corner? Yes, it gets really busy on Fridays. Oh my pimp lets me off on special occasions like this but I have to make it up with at least two times as many tricks tomorrow and that's gonna be hard on Sundays...you know people have church on their minds...but I have my tricks to take their minds off that sermon. AMEN!" If only...if only...
*****************************************************************************
The reception was at a nice fancy hotel but I was disappointed when I saw alcohol was served through a cash bar and I had only brought thirteen dollars. I started off with a Bacardi Coke with three cherries. Wait a minute. There's no alcohol content in cherries. What a waste of volume.
Maurice had chastised again in the car on the way to the reception that I was being anti-social and rude. I shot back that I shouldn't be here and these people freak me out and they make me feel like a shadow of myself. He said that I was being ridiculous and these people only want to talk to me and get to know me and that's all and that I was putting too much pressure on myself. I told him that it all felt fake and I didn't like the way I am around these people. There are just some people that bring out the best in you and shine because you can't help it because they see you for you. But then there are people like these people who make me feel as if I'm made of glass and that they see through me and it's polorizing. We drove in silence for the rest of the ride until the hotel banner hung above us.
***********************************************************************************
Dinner was chicken fried steak, mashed sweet potatoes, and green beans. True country fare. There was also line dancing so I spent most of my time in my chair. I had a good time sitting next to the five year old who was the son of the maid of honor. He told me how ketchup was made out of watermelons and that he had to dance with the bridesmaid who had braces.
************************************************************************************
It was nearing the end of the night and time to catch the bouquet. I sat in the shadows hoping no one would find me but of course the group of giggling girls I was sitting with dragged me to the floor. Thinking the bride would through the bouquet directly to the bridesmaids in the front, I lingered in the back waiting for the DJ to hurry up and count to three.
And then I watched this little petite Asian bride throw a first-down launch as if the bouquet of roses were a pigskin. The flowers were coming right towards me and my mind was already trying to decide---do I move out of the way...do I push this girl beside me in front of the projectile florels....or do I, me with the natural super-glue grip catch this prophetic symbol of matrimony? Of course my spastic self chooses the latter and I am left standing there...as the cheese usually does...alone with a handful of flowers. I am swarmed by giggling females ecstatic even though I don't know why.
A girl with a sweeping french twist and a huge smile gabs, "And see you didn't even want to get up there!! Now look! You're a bride!"
I gave a disingenuine smile and walked back to the table. Maurice knew I wasn't happy with the proceedings that had just taken place. We said our goodbyes, clapped for the line dance that had just finished and went home.
Friday, August 05, 2005
Stop and Shout
So the other day, I decided to go running. Well, it turned out to be more like 2/3 walking and 1/3 running. But it was really hot so you gotta give me credit for trying. Anyhow, today I woke up sore as a bruised banana. I musta been running incorrectly because my shins hurt real bad.
And now my neck is hurting and I keep rotating and rotating and rotating. I guess I should stop rotating.
But I wanted to write something new on here cause I haven't posted in awhile but I have many drafts in the background but nothing good enough for your attention. Hopefully in the next coming weeks.
I am gonna try this running thing though. Ok, maybe just walking. Around my living room. In front of the television. With at least ten minutes of jumping jacks in the corner. How's that? :)
And now my neck is hurting and I keep rotating and rotating and rotating. I guess I should stop rotating.
But I wanted to write something new on here cause I haven't posted in awhile but I have many drafts in the background but nothing good enough for your attention. Hopefully in the next coming weeks.
I am gonna try this running thing though. Ok, maybe just walking. Around my living room. In front of the television. With at least ten minutes of jumping jacks in the corner. How's that? :)
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Ivory String and Snare (note: W.I.P)
Rico's in the corner tapping the snare. His eyes are closed and the music is flowing from his fingers to the wooden sticks that make an explosion with each tap. It's his job to keep the pace. Always in the background, but a leader in the shadows. It feels like he's been doing this for years....different club, same ol' jazz.
Warren is the newbie who Rico picked up off the streets a few weeks ago. He was playin his bass for quarters on the corner of 8th and Dunbar. Warren had always wanted to be apart of a band but never really had any luck or a knack for opportunity. His parents kicked him out of the house when he turned 17 and ever since he was a floater. He had been playing this bass since he found it in the back of an abandoned music store...three years now it must be. He was self taught. Rico had passed by the kid one day and saw past the repetitive plucks and strings and saw potential.
Lois didn't quite like the looks of Warren. Maybe it was his dirty fingernails or his unkept hair but the kid reeked of big trouble in Chinatown. And she didn't like young pups sniffing their way into a pit bull scene. Maybe she was a snob...or maybe she was just too protective of Rico and didn't want Rico's idyllic fantasies of jazz band glory to cloud his judgement. But she'd let Rico have his apprentice....for now at least.
The trio were playing at Wylie's Banana Room tonight and the crowd was pulled paper thin. But it was a Tuesday night, so they couldn't expect any better.
Warren is the newbie who Rico picked up off the streets a few weeks ago. He was playin his bass for quarters on the corner of 8th and Dunbar. Warren had always wanted to be apart of a band but never really had any luck or a knack for opportunity. His parents kicked him out of the house when he turned 17 and ever since he was a floater. He had been playing this bass since he found it in the back of an abandoned music store...three years now it must be. He was self taught. Rico had passed by the kid one day and saw past the repetitive plucks and strings and saw potential.
Lois didn't quite like the looks of Warren. Maybe it was his dirty fingernails or his unkept hair but the kid reeked of big trouble in Chinatown. And she didn't like young pups sniffing their way into a pit bull scene. Maybe she was a snob...or maybe she was just too protective of Rico and didn't want Rico's idyllic fantasies of jazz band glory to cloud his judgement. But she'd let Rico have his apprentice....for now at least.
The trio were playing at Wylie's Banana Room tonight and the crowd was pulled paper thin. But it was a Tuesday night, so they couldn't expect any better.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
A dream I'd like to share....
Banana and Kuno and I were in Mexico because it was my birthday.
It was real rowdy like it was during the Carnavale festivities but I can't quite remember for sure. But wait a minute...Carnavale is in Fenruary and my birthday is in June....I suppose it could have been Saint John the Baptist Day...but that just doesn't sound as cool. Alright, public notice, my birthday has now changed to February. All I know is that there were a plethora of drunks and crazies congregating on the dirt streets and the air was filled with dust and insanity.
I don't even remember the events that led up to us deciding to come to Mexico. One moment I'm at home in Texas trying to get some reading done, the next I'm sitting at a raggedy old wooden bench with my two good friends being solicited by prostitutes and drenching ourselves in tequila. My fingers were sticky with lime.
We were drinking alot and I felt like I wasn't feeling any of the effects of it though. How sad...what's up with that. I was going to be upset if I made this trek all the way out here and I don't even get fucked up.
But Banana and Kuno were sure having a good time. They were laughing and conjoling like a bunch of crows in a corn field. Then some of our buddies arrived. Hey how'd they know we were gonna be here? That's a big coincidence.
Killer, Froggie and two other guys I hadn't met before (or had I?) arrived. I gave each one a big hug and a kiss on the cheek and since Killer was about 7'1 and weighed nearly 300 lbs, he hugged me, tossed me in the air and threw me over his shoulder until my head was spinning.
We settled down and Banana came up behind me, told me I was sexy and threw up all over me. But it was ok, I wasn't going to cry over projectile vomit. It would make a good story one day.
Then all of a sudden there were a group of parapalegics who over took the streets and wanted to sit at our wooden table (with one broken leg being propped up by a tequila bottle--how'd they do that--only in dreams I guess) And who's gonna say no to a parapalegic, eh? Maybe Hitler...or Martha Stewart, I guess.
But I was upset. A black guy with chocolate smooth skin had rolled his wheelchair up to our spot and was griping for a cerveza when I go up to him, lean over the table and say, "You think you're tough shit don't you....asshole."
I walk away not knowing why I did that but a little voice in the back of my head was calling me a cunt. Or maybe it was the black parapalegic calling me a cunt. It's alright, I can deal with that especially since I'm already a self proclaimed bitch. I think people can call themselves worse things--like a pharmacist, for example. Yeesh, gives me the heebie-jeebies.
It was real rowdy like it was during the Carnavale festivities but I can't quite remember for sure. But wait a minute...Carnavale is in Fenruary and my birthday is in June....I suppose it could have been Saint John the Baptist Day...but that just doesn't sound as cool. Alright, public notice, my birthday has now changed to February. All I know is that there were a plethora of drunks and crazies congregating on the dirt streets and the air was filled with dust and insanity.
I don't even remember the events that led up to us deciding to come to Mexico. One moment I'm at home in Texas trying to get some reading done, the next I'm sitting at a raggedy old wooden bench with my two good friends being solicited by prostitutes and drenching ourselves in tequila. My fingers were sticky with lime.
We were drinking alot and I felt like I wasn't feeling any of the effects of it though. How sad...what's up with that. I was going to be upset if I made this trek all the way out here and I don't even get fucked up.
But Banana and Kuno were sure having a good time. They were laughing and conjoling like a bunch of crows in a corn field. Then some of our buddies arrived. Hey how'd they know we were gonna be here? That's a big coincidence.
Killer, Froggie and two other guys I hadn't met before (or had I?) arrived. I gave each one a big hug and a kiss on the cheek and since Killer was about 7'1 and weighed nearly 300 lbs, he hugged me, tossed me in the air and threw me over his shoulder until my head was spinning.
We settled down and Banana came up behind me, told me I was sexy and threw up all over me. But it was ok, I wasn't going to cry over projectile vomit. It would make a good story one day.
Then all of a sudden there were a group of parapalegics who over took the streets and wanted to sit at our wooden table (with one broken leg being propped up by a tequila bottle--how'd they do that--only in dreams I guess) And who's gonna say no to a parapalegic, eh? Maybe Hitler...or Martha Stewart, I guess.
But I was upset. A black guy with chocolate smooth skin had rolled his wheelchair up to our spot and was griping for a cerveza when I go up to him, lean over the table and say, "You think you're tough shit don't you....asshole."
I walk away not knowing why I did that but a little voice in the back of my head was calling me a cunt. Or maybe it was the black parapalegic calling me a cunt. It's alright, I can deal with that especially since I'm already a self proclaimed bitch. I think people can call themselves worse things--like a pharmacist, for example. Yeesh, gives me the heebie-jeebies.
Saturday, June 25, 2005
I apologize in advance...
The pen breaks underneath my uninspired fingers and the ink flows in the cracks of my hands like a river rupturing through a damn.
Crap. Now I have to go to Walmart for more pens. And its way too hot outside. Fuckin Texas summers. And I hate Walmart. And yet I find myself going there almost everyday. Go figure. When my mother gave birth to me here in America she didn't know that they inject capitalism into your veins right after they cut the umbilical cord. And she wonders why my bank account is always in the red. You shoulda had me in Luxenbourg, ma. Yeesh.
I get up to go to the restroom to wash the blue from my palms. How am I going to turn on the faucet without getting ink all over the nozzles? I could put soap on first but then the bar would get blue smears all over as well.
This is what us in the literary world would call a 'conundrum'? I don't even know if I spelled that right but I never won any spelling bees. That's what I get for trying to sound smart. Ok, I won't try to do it amymore..cross my heart and hope to have writer's block. Or in my case 'writers-Great-Wall-of-China".
Ok, my little brother and sister wanted to play LIFE. Board games are good for their social development, I guess so I agree. It actually ends up being pretty fun. Especially when we discover the trick to winning is buying all the stocks and the best occupation is a police officer. All in all, its a good game. What other game can you marry a lesbian without question (except the glances my bro and sis were giving eachother--what's wrong with two pink people in a orange car anyhow?) who can have a set of twin boys with the roll of the dice and get $25 grand for adopting a dog.
There's these mosquito bites all over me because with Texas sized summers come Texas sized mosquitoes. I look like I have chicken pox-squared. Gross, huh? haha But kinda funny too.
Alright. Sit back down. Start all over again.
Crap. Now I have to go to Walmart for more pens. And its way too hot outside. Fuckin Texas summers. And I hate Walmart. And yet I find myself going there almost everyday. Go figure. When my mother gave birth to me here in America she didn't know that they inject capitalism into your veins right after they cut the umbilical cord. And she wonders why my bank account is always in the red. You shoulda had me in Luxenbourg, ma. Yeesh.
I get up to go to the restroom to wash the blue from my palms. How am I going to turn on the faucet without getting ink all over the nozzles? I could put soap on first but then the bar would get blue smears all over as well.
This is what us in the literary world would call a 'conundrum'? I don't even know if I spelled that right but I never won any spelling bees. That's what I get for trying to sound smart. Ok, I won't try to do it amymore..cross my heart and hope to have writer's block. Or in my case 'writers-Great-Wall-of-China".
Ok, my little brother and sister wanted to play LIFE. Board games are good for their social development, I guess so I agree. It actually ends up being pretty fun. Especially when we discover the trick to winning is buying all the stocks and the best occupation is a police officer. All in all, its a good game. What other game can you marry a lesbian without question (except the glances my bro and sis were giving eachother--what's wrong with two pink people in a orange car anyhow?) who can have a set of twin boys with the roll of the dice and get $25 grand for adopting a dog.
There's these mosquito bites all over me because with Texas sized summers come Texas sized mosquitoes. I look like I have chicken pox-squared. Gross, huh? haha But kinda funny too.
Alright. Sit back down. Start all over again.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Rabbit's Milk
"Where am I?"
I look around me and I see walls of glass. Yet beyond the glass is nothingness-white. It scares me and chills me to the bone. I'm afraid to move. The icy fingers of fear frostbiting my toes, slowing my breath.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Nothing but my echoes and the madness of my mind.
"You know, you might want to try scaling the wall."
I spin around. Who said that? And I see straight in front of me, a white rabbit. Pink eyes, long ears, and strong hind legs ready to pounce.
His pink eyes look up. "See. There's a hole up there."
I gawk as the realization of a talking rabbit soaks into my brain but I am not troubled by him for some reason. The presence of another...anything..was comforting. I look up and then back down. Yes, there was a hole up there. The glass walls....the funneling of the room to the top hole in the ceiling. I was in a bottle. A glass bottle.
"Who are you? Where am I?" Was I really talking to a rabbit?
The rabbit bounces around which causes its thumbing to echo throughout the bottle. "This is a milk bottle. And I am a rabbit named......Maurice." He smiles at the made-up name. "But those aren't the questions that are important now because you already knew that." He smiles and his teeth are sharp.
This sight frightens me and I cross my arms, puff out my chest in a futile attempt to seem in control. "I can't scale the walls. The walls are too smooth. Its glass." I palm my way up but my toes don't leave the ground. "If I were you, I would try to hop out, I suppose."
"But you assume that I am here to escape. But I am not. " He smiles again, the sharp teeth are still there.
I smile back. More of a timid grimace. I think. I think hard. What was I doing last. Where was I before I woke up here?
Mother.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I spin around because it wasn't me nor the rabbit who knocked on the glass wall. I see my mother. But she's on the other side of the wall, outside of the bottle. She's trying to tell me something. I run up to where she is and wish to hug her, hold her, feel her safety.
I cannot hear her. I cannot make out her silent wailings. She keeps knocking and it echoes throughout the bottle. It makes my head hurt.
"STOP, MOM. I CAN'T HEAR YOU. STOP IT" But she continues until I close my eyes hard and wish her to stop. I open my eyes again and she's gone. The silent screams gone. The knocking gone.
"Where'd she go?" I turn toward the rabbit who is licking his paw.
He's startled as if he didn't realize it was his turn to speak in a school play. He listens to the empty space as if someone from off stage feeding him his lines.
"Are you sure that was your mother? Or is that just what you wanted to see?" He continues licking his paw.
My mind races. My eyes burn with salty tears of fear and frustration.
"GET ME OUT OF HERE!!!!"
I grab the rabbit by its foot and swing it around around around around around until my steps feel heavy and my head it light with dizziness. I hurl the rabbit against the glass wall over over over over over over. Until there's blood on his white fur. Cracked skull against the clear walls.
Finally one last crash of his head against the wall brings the whole bottle crashing down around me and I'm left with, blood in my hair, shards in my skin and a rabbit foot in my hand.
I look around me and I see walls of glass. Yet beyond the glass is nothingness-white. It scares me and chills me to the bone. I'm afraid to move. The icy fingers of fear frostbiting my toes, slowing my breath.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Nothing but my echoes and the madness of my mind.
"You know, you might want to try scaling the wall."
I spin around. Who said that? And I see straight in front of me, a white rabbit. Pink eyes, long ears, and strong hind legs ready to pounce.
His pink eyes look up. "See. There's a hole up there."
I gawk as the realization of a talking rabbit soaks into my brain but I am not troubled by him for some reason. The presence of another...anything..was comforting. I look up and then back down. Yes, there was a hole up there. The glass walls....the funneling of the room to the top hole in the ceiling. I was in a bottle. A glass bottle.
"Who are you? Where am I?" Was I really talking to a rabbit?
The rabbit bounces around which causes its thumbing to echo throughout the bottle. "This is a milk bottle. And I am a rabbit named......Maurice." He smiles at the made-up name. "But those aren't the questions that are important now because you already knew that." He smiles and his teeth are sharp.
This sight frightens me and I cross my arms, puff out my chest in a futile attempt to seem in control. "I can't scale the walls. The walls are too smooth. Its glass." I palm my way up but my toes don't leave the ground. "If I were you, I would try to hop out, I suppose."
"But you assume that I am here to escape. But I am not. " He smiles again, the sharp teeth are still there.
I smile back. More of a timid grimace. I think. I think hard. What was I doing last. Where was I before I woke up here?
Mother.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I spin around because it wasn't me nor the rabbit who knocked on the glass wall. I see my mother. But she's on the other side of the wall, outside of the bottle. She's trying to tell me something. I run up to where she is and wish to hug her, hold her, feel her safety.
I cannot hear her. I cannot make out her silent wailings. She keeps knocking and it echoes throughout the bottle. It makes my head hurt.
"STOP, MOM. I CAN'T HEAR YOU. STOP IT" But she continues until I close my eyes hard and wish her to stop. I open my eyes again and she's gone. The silent screams gone. The knocking gone.
"Where'd she go?" I turn toward the rabbit who is licking his paw.
He's startled as if he didn't realize it was his turn to speak in a school play. He listens to the empty space as if someone from off stage feeding him his lines.
"Are you sure that was your mother? Or is that just what you wanted to see?" He continues licking his paw.
My mind races. My eyes burn with salty tears of fear and frustration.
"GET ME OUT OF HERE!!!!"
I grab the rabbit by its foot and swing it around around around around around until my steps feel heavy and my head it light with dizziness. I hurl the rabbit against the glass wall over over over over over over. Until there's blood on his white fur. Cracked skull against the clear walls.
Finally one last crash of his head against the wall brings the whole bottle crashing down around me and I'm left with, blood in my hair, shards in my skin and a rabbit foot in my hand.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Mr. Goodbar
Maggie looked at her eyes and winced at her reflection. There were puffy bags under them and she didn't like that tired look on her face. It made her look 10 years older and the guy at the counter hadn't even asked her for her ID when she was buying her morning pack of cigarettes earlier. What an asshole. But, now, as she looked at her eyes, she forgave him.
She had already had two cigarettes from her way back from the corner store and now she had to take a shit. Because that what cigarettes, along with many other things make you do sometimes--have to take a shit.
She sighed and splashed water on her face.
*************
The day was hot and the sun beat down hard. Maggie wondered where all her neighbors were. She lived on the second floor of a dingy apartment complex and still considered it a temporary abode even though she'd been there 5 years already. She leaned over the railing and exhaled. The cigarette shone in the glare of the sun.
Maggie looked left.
#213 usually left their door open and whenever she'd pass she'd see a 300 pound (in reality, probably 400 pound but who was weighing?) woman seated on the floor watching Jerry Springer with a banana in one hand and a candy bar (usually a Mr. Goodbar) in the other. But the door was closed today and you couldn't hear any wailings from the television.
Maggie looked right.
Benson and his current gay lover, Morad, was not to be seen either. Benson was from El Salvador and was teaching Maggie some Spanish. But since Morad had come into the picture, the lessons had become fewer and far between. One afternon Maggie had seen Morad knocking on Benson's door.
She'd said, "Que paso, hombre?" trying to be polite.
But Morad rolled his eyes and spitted, "Don't talk that broken Spanish with me, sister. You don't even know me." Benson opened the door, looked Maggie up and down and didn't say a word. He pulled Morad inside by the collar and Maggie listened to their sexual escapades through the thin walls for the rest of the night. How could she sleep with all that wall banging anyhow. Benson was probably coked up which reminded Maggie to ask him for another hit next time around.
******************
Maggie sat on the spinny bar stool and sipped her beer. Three guys had tried to hit on her.
#1: Hey beautiful. Want another drink cause I can't wait to see you hammered.
Maggie gave a polite smile and moved to the other side of the bar.
#2: Are you here alone...cause um..I'm here alone too. And since we're both alone why should two alone people be alone...
He continued on like this for another five minutes and he was just so pathetic Maggie couldn't cut him off in mid-depression. For a moment she thought he would break into sobs. She smiled and excused herself to the bathroom and found a booth in the corner.
#3: Wana dance? You look like a dancer? Do you play sports cause you have the biggest thighs I've ever seen.
Maggie decided to call it a night after that. When she got home she did an hour worth of squats and vowed to go on a diet.
**********************
It was a Sunday morning and Maggie was outside smoking. #213 had her door open and Maggie could see a big fat foot with five big fat digits wiggling whenever Jerry Springer introduced the next transvestite.
Maggie contemplated having another cig when she saw Mr. Goodbar wrappers being thrown from #213.
She heard a deep throaty androgynous voice. "Hey."
Three more wrappers tumbled through the threshold followed by more yelps.
Maggie walked closer and peered in. She waved at the mass on the floor and thought that #213 would make a killer Java the Hut for Halloween.
The mass spoke to her. "Hey I need more Mr. Goodbars, but my sister hasn't got back yet. Can you go buy me some from the corner store. I'll pay you."
Maggie contemplated and thought what a sad existence to live for Mr. Goodbars and talkshows. How could she say no. She nodded. #213 pointed to a jar of nickels on the television.
#213: Take that. It should buy you alot of them.
Maggie walked down the steps slowly with the heavy glass jar of nickels. People that passed her probably thought she was crazy. How embarassing.
******************
It was a big decision looking down at the box of Mr. Goodbars and wondering how many she should get. For one, she wanted to do a good job since #213 had put her trust in her to go on this independent mission. But on the other hand, she wondered how many more candy bars it was going to take for #213's heart to stop. Maybe she should just buy her some peanuts. That's like a Mr. Goodbar...but without the "good", she supposed. If she were a bad person, Maggie would have bought one candy bar and spent the rest of the money on cigarettes and lottery tickets. But she decided on 5 Mr. Goodbars, a lighter, and one $2 lottery ticket instead.
******************
She got back and #213 had dozed off but when Maggie set the half empty (or half-full) jar of nickels back ontop of the tv, the mass awoke.
"Thanks." She wiped her eye crusties away and proceeded to devour two candy bars at once.
Maggie handed her the scratch-off. "Here I bought you this too. Maybe you'll have some luck." She turned to leave.
"Thanks. Wait. Lemme scratch it and we can split it if I win." She dug her chocolaty nails into the ticket playing area. "Hey, I won $2 bucks. That's three Mr. Goodbars."
Maggie smiled. "Yea, hey keep it."
#213 smiled. "Come by whenever you want."
"Ok." Maggie decided to have another cigarette. She sat on the threshold of #213's door and listened to the chomping of candy and television, strangely taking comfort in the sound.
She had already had two cigarettes from her way back from the corner store and now she had to take a shit. Because that what cigarettes, along with many other things make you do sometimes--have to take a shit.
She sighed and splashed water on her face.
*************
The day was hot and the sun beat down hard. Maggie wondered where all her neighbors were. She lived on the second floor of a dingy apartment complex and still considered it a temporary abode even though she'd been there 5 years already. She leaned over the railing and exhaled. The cigarette shone in the glare of the sun.
Maggie looked left.
#213 usually left their door open and whenever she'd pass she'd see a 300 pound (in reality, probably 400 pound but who was weighing?) woman seated on the floor watching Jerry Springer with a banana in one hand and a candy bar (usually a Mr. Goodbar) in the other. But the door was closed today and you couldn't hear any wailings from the television.
Maggie looked right.
Benson and his current gay lover, Morad, was not to be seen either. Benson was from El Salvador and was teaching Maggie some Spanish. But since Morad had come into the picture, the lessons had become fewer and far between. One afternon Maggie had seen Morad knocking on Benson's door.
She'd said, "Que paso, hombre?" trying to be polite.
But Morad rolled his eyes and spitted, "Don't talk that broken Spanish with me, sister. You don't even know me." Benson opened the door, looked Maggie up and down and didn't say a word. He pulled Morad inside by the collar and Maggie listened to their sexual escapades through the thin walls for the rest of the night. How could she sleep with all that wall banging anyhow. Benson was probably coked up which reminded Maggie to ask him for another hit next time around.
******************
Maggie sat on the spinny bar stool and sipped her beer. Three guys had tried to hit on her.
#1: Hey beautiful. Want another drink cause I can't wait to see you hammered.
Maggie gave a polite smile and moved to the other side of the bar.
#2: Are you here alone...cause um..I'm here alone too. And since we're both alone why should two alone people be alone...
He continued on like this for another five minutes and he was just so pathetic Maggie couldn't cut him off in mid-depression. For a moment she thought he would break into sobs. She smiled and excused herself to the bathroom and found a booth in the corner.
#3: Wana dance? You look like a dancer? Do you play sports cause you have the biggest thighs I've ever seen.
Maggie decided to call it a night after that. When she got home she did an hour worth of squats and vowed to go on a diet.
**********************
It was a Sunday morning and Maggie was outside smoking. #213 had her door open and Maggie could see a big fat foot with five big fat digits wiggling whenever Jerry Springer introduced the next transvestite.
Maggie contemplated having another cig when she saw Mr. Goodbar wrappers being thrown from #213.
She heard a deep throaty androgynous voice. "Hey."
Three more wrappers tumbled through the threshold followed by more yelps.
Maggie walked closer and peered in. She waved at the mass on the floor and thought that #213 would make a killer Java the Hut for Halloween.
The mass spoke to her. "Hey I need more Mr. Goodbars, but my sister hasn't got back yet. Can you go buy me some from the corner store. I'll pay you."
Maggie contemplated and thought what a sad existence to live for Mr. Goodbars and talkshows. How could she say no. She nodded. #213 pointed to a jar of nickels on the television.
#213: Take that. It should buy you alot of them.
Maggie walked down the steps slowly with the heavy glass jar of nickels. People that passed her probably thought she was crazy. How embarassing.
******************
It was a big decision looking down at the box of Mr. Goodbars and wondering how many she should get. For one, she wanted to do a good job since #213 had put her trust in her to go on this independent mission. But on the other hand, she wondered how many more candy bars it was going to take for #213's heart to stop. Maybe she should just buy her some peanuts. That's like a Mr. Goodbar...but without the "good", she supposed. If she were a bad person, Maggie would have bought one candy bar and spent the rest of the money on cigarettes and lottery tickets. But she decided on 5 Mr. Goodbars, a lighter, and one $2 lottery ticket instead.
******************
She got back and #213 had dozed off but when Maggie set the half empty (or half-full) jar of nickels back ontop of the tv, the mass awoke.
"Thanks." She wiped her eye crusties away and proceeded to devour two candy bars at once.
Maggie handed her the scratch-off. "Here I bought you this too. Maybe you'll have some luck." She turned to leave.
"Thanks. Wait. Lemme scratch it and we can split it if I win." She dug her chocolaty nails into the ticket playing area. "Hey, I won $2 bucks. That's three Mr. Goodbars."
Maggie smiled. "Yea, hey keep it."
#213 smiled. "Come by whenever you want."
"Ok." Maggie decided to have another cigarette. She sat on the threshold of #213's door and listened to the chomping of candy and television, strangely taking comfort in the sound.
Monday, May 23, 2005
Another Casual Thought
I sit atop my pedestal as I read another novel;
And listen as red and blue sirens pass the storefront.
An ambulance going to pick up a victim,
Or perform CPR,
Or rescue a cat from a tree.
And I wonder about whether the next door
Funeral home director is sitting in her chair,
Her gelatinous proportions too large for the
Mere man-made chair she's squeezed into.
Listening to those sirens;
An orgasmic chill runs down her plotting spine
And evily taps her fingers
And looks up at the ceiling and gives a
Slow smile.
And listen as red and blue sirens pass the storefront.
An ambulance going to pick up a victim,
Or perform CPR,
Or rescue a cat from a tree.
And I wonder about whether the next door
Funeral home director is sitting in her chair,
Her gelatinous proportions too large for the
Mere man-made chair she's squeezed into.
Listening to those sirens;
An orgasmic chill runs down her plotting spine
And evily taps her fingers
And looks up at the ceiling and gives a
Slow smile.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Mouth
What's the matter with
Solitary coffeeshop visits and
Reading books in the corner?
Is it taboo to take a few seconds
To gaze a little longer or
Smile a little brighter?
What's wrong with loving
and then leaving
and loving back again?
Why can't you feel the person's
presence, but not say a word
Afraid you'll scare them away?
We all have those days, where
we had no idea, our foot could
fit so perfectly in our mouth.
Solitary coffeeshop visits and
Reading books in the corner?
Is it taboo to take a few seconds
To gaze a little longer or
Smile a little brighter?
What's wrong with loving
and then leaving
and loving back again?
Why can't you feel the person's
presence, but not say a word
Afraid you'll scare them away?
We all have those days, where
we had no idea, our foot could
fit so perfectly in our mouth.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Being the Rhinoceros
I woke up today with a scratchy throat. And watery eyes. What is this? This is weird.
While taking a shower, I sneezed. Three times consecutively which on any other occasion would be a novelty to me because I still believe the superstition that that indicates someone is thinking about me. But I was overcome with lightheadedness and the sheer force of the triplet sneezes made my nose a bit red and swollen, I couldn't even take pleasure in the thought of it. I couldn't even finish washing the conditioner out of my hair because I began getting the chills, I had to step out of the shower immediately. Great, I thought, now I'll have flat hair all day. Geez.
While pulling on my jeans and Rolling Stones t-shirt, I pondered my predicament. It's the middle of spring. I suppose allergies could be the culprit--but, I don't get allergies, stupid. Is it normal to just get it all of a sudden? And does it really make you have a sore throat and chills (and paranoia to the point of me talking nonstop in my head)? Questionable.
While searching the web for various sites on the topic, and spending a good thirty minutes reading related articles on WebMD, I diagnosed myself as having allergic rhinitis or more commonly coined as hay fever. But I prefer the more formal name--it makes me sorta think that I am a rhinoceros. Hay fever just makes me feel like I got hay stuck up my nose which is not as fascinating. For a second I thought I had the West Nile Fever stuff that's been freaking everyone out ever since allergy season started. But I rationalized I wasn't fortunate enough to get something that drastic.
So anyhow, I muster up the courage to go to work. It ends up being a normal day other than the incessant sneezing and coughing. I feel guilty everytime I have to hand people their change wondering how many diseases I've transferred to them. I'm a big ball of germs. I play with the idea of maybe wearing latex gloves but I don't like how my fingers feel floury in them. Or maybe wearing a sign around my neck that says "DON'T TOUCH ME." Or using tongs to give them their change back and tweezers for the smaller coins. Would that be too weird? Think about it for a second and imagine how much cleaner us humans would be if we did that...come on...admit that you sorta like the idea.
Half of the day is almost over and I'm enjoying a cup of tea when a frazzled looking customer walks through the plexi-glass doors. I can tell he's not going to buy anything. He's about middle-aged, white with dusty blonde hair that hasn't been washed in days. I wondered what bridge he must have slept under last night.
"I'm sorry to bother you but my car is stalled out there and I need some gas, can you spare any money?"
I hated these types. Losers who think just because you work at a store you have a bronze pot of money under your seat that says "In case of losers who need gas money."
I looked out the door and saw no car. And he had no keys on him.
I stared at him blankly and twitched my nose. If I had hidden witch powers, this would be a great time for them to be realized. I would like to turn this bum into a cockaroach or maybe a dust bunny.
"Sorry, I can't do that." I take a sip of my tea and wait for his reply.
"Come on, just a couple of bucks. I have to get home to my wife and kids. They're waiting on me. I really need your help."
I grimaced at the statement of him having a family. This guy had no wedding ring. And if he really was a father, I felt sorry for the bad fortune of having such a loser as a father. If he had said, "Come on, I need money to get hopped up on heroine and then crash out on a matress covered with empty beer bottles..." I would have beleived that and maybe have given him a quarter. But then again, it was hard beleiving anything coming out of his mouth because of his dirty cut-off shorts, long ape-ish leg hairs contrasting against his pasty calves, and his pungent stench of slim jims.
I got off of my stool irritated and tired. This conversationw as draining me. I looked at him face to face and said, "Sir, I--I--I--ACHOOOO"
And there it was.
My sneeze all over his face.
It was quite disgusting but so entertaining. I watched his face contort into a twisted ball of shock. As the realization seeped into him, he shivered and slowly began to walk away. I watched as he walked out the door, paused, wiped his face on his already dirty shirt and walk off into the distance.
Well, that took care of that.
Having allergic rhinitis sure comes in handy when you need it to, I tell ya what.
While taking a shower, I sneezed. Three times consecutively which on any other occasion would be a novelty to me because I still believe the superstition that that indicates someone is thinking about me. But I was overcome with lightheadedness and the sheer force of the triplet sneezes made my nose a bit red and swollen, I couldn't even take pleasure in the thought of it. I couldn't even finish washing the conditioner out of my hair because I began getting the chills, I had to step out of the shower immediately. Great, I thought, now I'll have flat hair all day. Geez.
While pulling on my jeans and Rolling Stones t-shirt, I pondered my predicament. It's the middle of spring. I suppose allergies could be the culprit--but, I don't get allergies, stupid. Is it normal to just get it all of a sudden? And does it really make you have a sore throat and chills (and paranoia to the point of me talking nonstop in my head)? Questionable.
While searching the web for various sites on the topic, and spending a good thirty minutes reading related articles on WebMD, I diagnosed myself as having allergic rhinitis or more commonly coined as hay fever. But I prefer the more formal name--it makes me sorta think that I am a rhinoceros. Hay fever just makes me feel like I got hay stuck up my nose which is not as fascinating. For a second I thought I had the West Nile Fever stuff that's been freaking everyone out ever since allergy season started. But I rationalized I wasn't fortunate enough to get something that drastic.
So anyhow, I muster up the courage to go to work. It ends up being a normal day other than the incessant sneezing and coughing. I feel guilty everytime I have to hand people their change wondering how many diseases I've transferred to them. I'm a big ball of germs. I play with the idea of maybe wearing latex gloves but I don't like how my fingers feel floury in them. Or maybe wearing a sign around my neck that says "DON'T TOUCH ME." Or using tongs to give them their change back and tweezers for the smaller coins. Would that be too weird? Think about it for a second and imagine how much cleaner us humans would be if we did that...come on...admit that you sorta like the idea.
Half of the day is almost over and I'm enjoying a cup of tea when a frazzled looking customer walks through the plexi-glass doors. I can tell he's not going to buy anything. He's about middle-aged, white with dusty blonde hair that hasn't been washed in days. I wondered what bridge he must have slept under last night.
"I'm sorry to bother you but my car is stalled out there and I need some gas, can you spare any money?"
I hated these types. Losers who think just because you work at a store you have a bronze pot of money under your seat that says "In case of losers who need gas money."
I looked out the door and saw no car. And he had no keys on him.
I stared at him blankly and twitched my nose. If I had hidden witch powers, this would be a great time for them to be realized. I would like to turn this bum into a cockaroach or maybe a dust bunny.
"Sorry, I can't do that." I take a sip of my tea and wait for his reply.
"Come on, just a couple of bucks. I have to get home to my wife and kids. They're waiting on me. I really need your help."
I grimaced at the statement of him having a family. This guy had no wedding ring. And if he really was a father, I felt sorry for the bad fortune of having such a loser as a father. If he had said, "Come on, I need money to get hopped up on heroine and then crash out on a matress covered with empty beer bottles..." I would have beleived that and maybe have given him a quarter. But then again, it was hard beleiving anything coming out of his mouth because of his dirty cut-off shorts, long ape-ish leg hairs contrasting against his pasty calves, and his pungent stench of slim jims.
I got off of my stool irritated and tired. This conversationw as draining me. I looked at him face to face and said, "Sir, I--I--I--ACHOOOO"
And there it was.
My sneeze all over his face.
It was quite disgusting but so entertaining. I watched his face contort into a twisted ball of shock. As the realization seeped into him, he shivered and slowly began to walk away. I watched as he walked out the door, paused, wiped his face on his already dirty shirt and walk off into the distance.
Well, that took care of that.
Having allergic rhinitis sure comes in handy when you need it to, I tell ya what.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Daddy's Little Girl
My father thinks that I'm a lesbian....but I can't be quite sure.
I'm not though. I'm not, though? (Raised eyebrow...) Confused, I guess...no..no Questionable...curious....but anyhow...
We haven't talked about it face to face. Just little hints and vibes I get from him. Like curious sideways glances as if trying to probe my psyche or quick headshakes of frustration...
The thought of it sorta makes me laugh and want to help the charade along by maybe buying more guy shirts and cutting my hair shorter than it already is. Or maybe putting K.D. Lang's picture as my desktop. (Genius!) But then I don't want him to have a heart attack...or a broken one at that.
It started when I began working at our family store. My days were perfectly scheduled to make time go by faster and just be more efficient. Get in at 10:30 A.M. Restock the scratch-off tickets, put out the latest results, change the lotto jackpot sign. 11:00A.M. stock the soda machines and chip racks. 12:00-1:30 p.m. take care of the lunch rush and Pick 3 rush. 1:30 p.m.-3 p.m. miscellaneous dusting and stocking.
And then the time of day when the sun seems to shine a bit brighter....3 p.M. watch the Ellen Degeneres Show. She's funny and it makes me smile. My dad noticed my little afternoon pick-me-up and even began watching it with me. He thinks she's amusing in a weird androgynous sorta way, i guess. Whenever the signal would fade on and off for that channel, he'd hurry to the roof to correct the fuzziness. He's a sweetheart and it was good doing something we both could share and enjoy.
But then word got out about her homosexuality somehow. The cat was out of the bag. I dunno...maybe he was watching news or something and a blip about her new mistress bubbled up to the headlines. Or one day while standing in the grocery line he saw a tabloid headline...something about how Ellen prefers smaller chested women with blonde hair over a slim waist and big feet...those darn tabloids..! Or the article about how curiously similar Ellen and Owen Wilson look...that darn Owen Wilson...god bless 'em. Anyhow, Dad was talking to my little sister and my little sister reported back to me, "Annie, Dad says Ellen is nasty because she likes girls."
He never joined me in watching Ellen's show ever again.
Which was fine. I could be a solitary spectator. But I had to admit--I missed him.
But then there was the night I was online and I just so happened to be in the market for some new undergarments and was perusing through the Victoria Secret website (which is a horribly, non-user friendly site) and I didn't notice my father behind me watching television while simultaneously glancing in my direction with a confused look on his face wondering why his daughter was so staunchly concentrated at looking at the skimpily clad models on my screen.
That night I heard my father's exasperated voice question to my mother, "Do lesbians run on your side of the family?"
I'm not though. I'm not, though? (Raised eyebrow...) Confused, I guess...no..no Questionable...curious....but anyhow...
We haven't talked about it face to face. Just little hints and vibes I get from him. Like curious sideways glances as if trying to probe my psyche or quick headshakes of frustration...
The thought of it sorta makes me laugh and want to help the charade along by maybe buying more guy shirts and cutting my hair shorter than it already is. Or maybe putting K.D. Lang's picture as my desktop. (Genius!) But then I don't want him to have a heart attack...or a broken one at that.
It started when I began working at our family store. My days were perfectly scheduled to make time go by faster and just be more efficient. Get in at 10:30 A.M. Restock the scratch-off tickets, put out the latest results, change the lotto jackpot sign. 11:00A.M. stock the soda machines and chip racks. 12:00-1:30 p.m. take care of the lunch rush and Pick 3 rush. 1:30 p.m.-3 p.m. miscellaneous dusting and stocking.
And then the time of day when the sun seems to shine a bit brighter....3 p.M. watch the Ellen Degeneres Show. She's funny and it makes me smile. My dad noticed my little afternoon pick-me-up and even began watching it with me. He thinks she's amusing in a weird androgynous sorta way, i guess. Whenever the signal would fade on and off for that channel, he'd hurry to the roof to correct the fuzziness. He's a sweetheart and it was good doing something we both could share and enjoy.
But then word got out about her homosexuality somehow. The cat was out of the bag. I dunno...maybe he was watching news or something and a blip about her new mistress bubbled up to the headlines. Or one day while standing in the grocery line he saw a tabloid headline...something about how Ellen prefers smaller chested women with blonde hair over a slim waist and big feet...those darn tabloids..! Or the article about how curiously similar Ellen and Owen Wilson look...that darn Owen Wilson...god bless 'em. Anyhow, Dad was talking to my little sister and my little sister reported back to me, "Annie, Dad says Ellen is nasty because she likes girls."
He never joined me in watching Ellen's show ever again.
Which was fine. I could be a solitary spectator. But I had to admit--I missed him.
But then there was the night I was online and I just so happened to be in the market for some new undergarments and was perusing through the Victoria Secret website (which is a horribly, non-user friendly site) and I didn't notice my father behind me watching television while simultaneously glancing in my direction with a confused look on his face wondering why his daughter was so staunchly concentrated at looking at the skimpily clad models on my screen.
That night I heard my father's exasperated voice question to my mother, "Do lesbians run on your side of the family?"
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Chocolate Eyeballs
Another day behind the cash register and I was bored. Usually I would be hungrily stocking the shelves trying to make every single label perfectly perpendicular to the flat surface shelf so each would be beaming its bright label at the next unsuspecting customer. Buy me! Buy me! That's what people are unknowingly bombarded with as they walk through the aisles with perfectly aligned products--subconscience verbal abuse by inanimate objects. It's a science, really. But today, all the shelves were fully stocked, every label face-out, every object dusted to perfection.
I could reorganize the lottery tickets. As fun as that would be, it would confuse people too much because they'd already gotten used to this schema that I'd put in place a week ago. All containers were full and each ticket name shone brightly through the plexiglass cubicles. I spent extra careful time to cut bright, fluorescent labels to show what the new tickets were and their costs. It was a beautiful sight. I pondered where the new tickets that would be coming out next week would be placed. Maybe above the $1 Money Jars, or the $5 Gold Mines, or the $3 Cashword, or the $2 Pure Gold or the coveted spot above the best selling $5 ticket--Break the Bank. If the tickets were personified they would all be in a flutter and discussing who deserved to be above the Break the Bank ticket.
$1 Money Jar: Well, I should be placed there because people love $1 tickets and I should obviously be above the best selling ticket overall. And come on...my name alone..."Money Jar" implies my associated nature with "banks" and the eminent "breaking" of them. People break their money jars all the time...
$2 Pure Gold: Come on. I'm pure gold. Ya put that in banks. Yadayadayada. I deserve to be above there. Someone...anyone...throw me a gold nugget...please!
I was snapped out of my lottery ticket daydream by the ding of the opening door. I saw a little boy run inside followed by his father--Edward.
Edward had been coming into the store for who knows how long and we had never really gotten past the conventional "How ya doing?'s" and stuff like that which was disappointing. He was gorgeous and so sweet and nice. Sometimes I just wanted to pounce on him--eat him up--show him things he never thought possible...
A few months ago, it was revealed to me that he had two children but he had no wedding ring on so that was a sign right? Or was he getting it cleaned for some reason?? Maybe he was recently separated? No matter, we had casually developed this air of flirtation and the tension between us was suffocating. There was an obvious attraction there. It was as if we were characters in a sitcom and we were the two that belonged together and everyone knew it except for the two characters and they just seemed so oblivious and----
"Hey, how's it going?" Edward coyly asked me. He leaned against the counter and it gave a squeak. He had these amazing chocolate brown eyes that held their gaze on me and it was intoxicating.
"Hey, Edward. Nothin much. Just the same ol' stuff."
"That's cool. Hurry up, Josh. We gotta go." His son scurried left and then right overwhelmed by our wide selection of candies and sweets.
"So...uh...do you go to the movies and stuff?" Ed asked very nervously and uncomfortably. This was a guy with two children. Surely, he had smoother lines than this.
I smiled. "Yea, I go the movies all the time. How about you?"
"Yea, yea, I like a good movie here and there. What was the last movie you just saw?"
"Hmm...I saw that new kung-fu movie that came out last weekend. It was surprisingly good."
"Oh, yea, you saw that already? Man, I wana go see that." There was a pause as we locked gazes and then we both turned away at the exact moment. "Hurry, up Josh. They got ice cream too. Here look vanilla."
"Vanilla is the best." I say. Geezus, I'm such a dork. Vanilla retard. Vanilla groupie. Vanilla whore.
"So did you go see that movie with your boyfriend?"
I paused. He was trying to dig for info and it was so cute and endearing. I looked into his creamy chocholate eyes and was lost in them. "Nope. Just went with a friend."
There was a nod and a smile. I couldn't take my eyes away from his eyes. I wanted to fall deeply into them. Swim in the pool of his irises. Sleep in the folds of his eyelids. Run through the fields of his eyelashes.
There was a crash as a jar of lollipops fell to the floor. Suddenly Josh was running around in a hyper, 5-year old frenzy.
"JOSH! STOP THAT!"
But all I could do was look at Edward's eyes (though wrought with frustration with this son).
"JOSH! HURRY UP!"
His delicious chocolate eyes....
"DON'T DO THAT!"
His gorgeous chocolate eyes...
"YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE!."
His completely edible, made-for me, creamy, dark, come-hither and be my love-slave, chocolate eyes.....
"Sorry, he gets hyper like this all the time. JOSH!"
I smiled. "It's ok. I want to eat your eyeballs."
My body froze and I felt like I was paralyzed. No way. Did I really say what I think I just said...OUT LOUD???
There was a mind-numbing silence. Josh had tired down and was sitting on the floor now, his hand on his father's leg. Edward looked down at his son and then back at me and now his eyes questioned whether he heard what he thought he heard.
"Gumballs! We have gumballs. Did he want some gumballs?" I motioned to our colorful gum section and gave a sigh of relief when Edward merely shook his head and let the strange (Twilight-esque) moment melt away behind us. Thank the heavens for gumballs.
Finally, they decided on a pack of green apple gumballs and a pint of vanilla ice cream.
There was a pause as I gave him his change.
A question in his eyes and a patient reply waiting on my lips.
But then he began to walk away. I wanted to scream COME BACK COME BACK ASK ME ASK ME ANYTHING AND I'LL DO IT!!!
He looked back at me and I looked at him and we both smiled. I watched as the glass door shut behind him. He started up his car and drove away.
I couldn't wait till the next time he came into the store.
I could reorganize the lottery tickets. As fun as that would be, it would confuse people too much because they'd already gotten used to this schema that I'd put in place a week ago. All containers were full and each ticket name shone brightly through the plexiglass cubicles. I spent extra careful time to cut bright, fluorescent labels to show what the new tickets were and their costs. It was a beautiful sight. I pondered where the new tickets that would be coming out next week would be placed. Maybe above the $1 Money Jars, or the $5 Gold Mines, or the $3 Cashword, or the $2 Pure Gold or the coveted spot above the best selling $5 ticket--Break the Bank. If the tickets were personified they would all be in a flutter and discussing who deserved to be above the Break the Bank ticket.
$1 Money Jar: Well, I should be placed there because people love $1 tickets and I should obviously be above the best selling ticket overall. And come on...my name alone..."Money Jar" implies my associated nature with "banks" and the eminent "breaking" of them. People break their money jars all the time...
$2 Pure Gold: Come on. I'm pure gold. Ya put that in banks. Yadayadayada. I deserve to be above there. Someone...anyone...throw me a gold nugget...please!
I was snapped out of my lottery ticket daydream by the ding of the opening door. I saw a little boy run inside followed by his father--Edward.
Edward had been coming into the store for who knows how long and we had never really gotten past the conventional "How ya doing?'s" and stuff like that which was disappointing. He was gorgeous and so sweet and nice. Sometimes I just wanted to pounce on him--eat him up--show him things he never thought possible...
A few months ago, it was revealed to me that he had two children but he had no wedding ring on so that was a sign right? Or was he getting it cleaned for some reason?? Maybe he was recently separated? No matter, we had casually developed this air of flirtation and the tension between us was suffocating. There was an obvious attraction there. It was as if we were characters in a sitcom and we were the two that belonged together and everyone knew it except for the two characters and they just seemed so oblivious and----
"Hey, how's it going?" Edward coyly asked me. He leaned against the counter and it gave a squeak. He had these amazing chocolate brown eyes that held their gaze on me and it was intoxicating.
"Hey, Edward. Nothin much. Just the same ol' stuff."
"That's cool. Hurry up, Josh. We gotta go." His son scurried left and then right overwhelmed by our wide selection of candies and sweets.
"So...uh...do you go to the movies and stuff?" Ed asked very nervously and uncomfortably. This was a guy with two children. Surely, he had smoother lines than this.
I smiled. "Yea, I go the movies all the time. How about you?"
"Yea, yea, I like a good movie here and there. What was the last movie you just saw?"
"Hmm...I saw that new kung-fu movie that came out last weekend. It was surprisingly good."
"Oh, yea, you saw that already? Man, I wana go see that." There was a pause as we locked gazes and then we both turned away at the exact moment. "Hurry, up Josh. They got ice cream too. Here look vanilla."
"Vanilla is the best." I say. Geezus, I'm such a dork. Vanilla retard. Vanilla groupie. Vanilla whore.
"So did you go see that movie with your boyfriend?"
I paused. He was trying to dig for info and it was so cute and endearing. I looked into his creamy chocholate eyes and was lost in them. "Nope. Just went with a friend."
There was a nod and a smile. I couldn't take my eyes away from his eyes. I wanted to fall deeply into them. Swim in the pool of his irises. Sleep in the folds of his eyelids. Run through the fields of his eyelashes.
There was a crash as a jar of lollipops fell to the floor. Suddenly Josh was running around in a hyper, 5-year old frenzy.
"JOSH! STOP THAT!"
But all I could do was look at Edward's eyes (though wrought with frustration with this son).
"JOSH! HURRY UP!"
His delicious chocolate eyes....
"DON'T DO THAT!"
His gorgeous chocolate eyes...
"YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE!."
His completely edible, made-for me, creamy, dark, come-hither and be my love-slave, chocolate eyes.....
"Sorry, he gets hyper like this all the time. JOSH!"
I smiled. "It's ok. I want to eat your eyeballs."
My body froze and I felt like I was paralyzed. No way. Did I really say what I think I just said...OUT LOUD???
There was a mind-numbing silence. Josh had tired down and was sitting on the floor now, his hand on his father's leg. Edward looked down at his son and then back at me and now his eyes questioned whether he heard what he thought he heard.
"Gumballs! We have gumballs. Did he want some gumballs?" I motioned to our colorful gum section and gave a sigh of relief when Edward merely shook his head and let the strange (Twilight-esque) moment melt away behind us. Thank the heavens for gumballs.
Finally, they decided on a pack of green apple gumballs and a pint of vanilla ice cream.
There was a pause as I gave him his change.
A question in his eyes and a patient reply waiting on my lips.
But then he began to walk away. I wanted to scream COME BACK COME BACK ASK ME ASK ME ANYTHING AND I'LL DO IT!!!
He looked back at me and I looked at him and we both smiled. I watched as the glass door shut behind him. He started up his car and drove away.
I couldn't wait till the next time he came into the store.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Wednesday Afternoon at New Amsterdam Coffeehaus
"So have you gotten to the point where you can't stand the stink of money yet?"
"Hmm...I don't think so. There are times when there are people who bring in really smelly money. And that's gross. But right now, I'm happy with the fact that I've been able to hold so much money in my own hands."
"Haha. Man, yea, I can't stand it though when people come into the store and they're looking for their money and finally they realize it's in their sock. And I'm watching in horror as they unlace their shoes and hand me a filthy bill smelling like goddamn feet."
"Geezus."
"And the women who put money in their bras? What's up with that?"
"So you think fat people stink because they can't reach everywhere cause their so fat?"
"That's my theory. They shower or whatever but there ain't no way they can scrub under every single fold of fat, right? That's why they smell. And its a common smell among fat people. I know, I've got my share of obese people who come through the store. It's all the same. I'm not makin fun...I'm tellin the facts."
"Yea, there are some stinky people who come into the bank and there's this one guy who just smells so bad, I just wana hurry up and count the money. He can't walk away fast enough for me."
"Hahaha, that's funny."
"Tell me about it.....hey, since when do you smoke cigars?"
"I dunno. Just when you said you wanted to smoke cigars. I have to say I've smoked more cigars then cigarettes lately. I guess that's a good way to stop smoking cigarettes. haha."
"We definitely need to go get some better cigars. These things just ain't cuttin' it."
"Yea. We need to find a good cigar shop. Did you know the cigs in the vending machine here are five bucks. That's bullshit."
"One time, me, **********, and *********** bought a cigar down in ********** and we all three were puffin at it for like an hour and we still weren't through with it before we couldn't take no more. That's a real cigar."
"That's cool. Hmm...I sure could go for some onion rings right about now."
"Hmm...I don't think so. There are times when there are people who bring in really smelly money. And that's gross. But right now, I'm happy with the fact that I've been able to hold so much money in my own hands."
"Haha. Man, yea, I can't stand it though when people come into the store and they're looking for their money and finally they realize it's in their sock. And I'm watching in horror as they unlace their shoes and hand me a filthy bill smelling like goddamn feet."
"Geezus."
"And the women who put money in their bras? What's up with that?"
"So you think fat people stink because they can't reach everywhere cause their so fat?"
"That's my theory. They shower or whatever but there ain't no way they can scrub under every single fold of fat, right? That's why they smell. And its a common smell among fat people. I know, I've got my share of obese people who come through the store. It's all the same. I'm not makin fun...I'm tellin the facts."
"Yea, there are some stinky people who come into the bank and there's this one guy who just smells so bad, I just wana hurry up and count the money. He can't walk away fast enough for me."
"Hahaha, that's funny."
"Tell me about it.....hey, since when do you smoke cigars?"
"I dunno. Just when you said you wanted to smoke cigars. I have to say I've smoked more cigars then cigarettes lately. I guess that's a good way to stop smoking cigarettes. haha."
"We definitely need to go get some better cigars. These things just ain't cuttin' it."
"Yea. We need to find a good cigar shop. Did you know the cigs in the vending machine here are five bucks. That's bullshit."
"One time, me, **********, and *********** bought a cigar down in ********** and we all three were puffin at it for like an hour and we still weren't through with it before we couldn't take no more. That's a real cigar."
"That's cool. Hmm...I sure could go for some onion rings right about now."
Naked and Bleeding
Peel off my shirt
Unbuckle your belt
Kick off our shoes
Keep your socks on.
Nothing to lose
Don't worry
We'll clean up later.
Pull me away.
Hold me close.
Fast forward...then rewind.
Lost and tangled
Suffocating (...breathe...)
Falling apart(...stay close...)
Keep your head on.
Now all I feel are
Your finger prints on me.
Don't worry...all bruises fade.
Are you there yet?
Let it wash over you.
And let me watch.
Keep the lights on.
Then you ask about my scars.
Don't if you can't take
The bleeding.
For now I'm sitting on
Your shoulder...
With white wings and red tail.
Existing somwhere between
a temporary fascination..
and a long-term complication.
Unbuckle your belt
Kick off our shoes
Keep your socks on.
Nothing to lose
Don't worry
We'll clean up later.
Pull me away.
Hold me close.
Fast forward...then rewind.
Lost and tangled
Suffocating (...breathe...)
Falling apart(...stay close...)
Keep your head on.
Now all I feel are
Your finger prints on me.
Don't worry...all bruises fade.
Are you there yet?
Let it wash over you.
And let me watch.
Keep the lights on.
Then you ask about my scars.
Don't if you can't take
The bleeding.
For now I'm sitting on
Your shoulder...
With white wings and red tail.
Existing somwhere between
a temporary fascination..
and a long-term complication.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
Two lesbians walk in....
Two lesbians walk into the store in a very nonchalant manner. I recognize them immediately.
I could refer to them as many things--"The two chicks who buy lots of fruity chews and candy" or the "The shrimp fried rice with extra shrimp chick and the pepper steak chick"...you get the drift. But the "two lesbians" seems so much more appropriate as I watch them walk right past me with interlocked pinkies to the back of the store to order some food.
One of them is on the hefty side with tiny braids crisscrossing her scalp. The other is slimmer with sleek black hair and long, hanging "Mother of Africa" tits. They were gorgeous, really, in their own right (the two individuals as well as the tits).
I could refer to them as many things--"The two chicks who buy lots of fruity chews and candy" or the "The shrimp fried rice with extra shrimp chick and the pepper steak chick"...you get the drift. But the "two lesbians" seems so much more appropriate as I watch them walk right past me with interlocked pinkies to the back of the store to order some food.
One of them is on the hefty side with tiny braids crisscrossing her scalp. The other is slimmer with sleek black hair and long, hanging "Mother of Africa" tits. They were gorgeous, really, in their own right (the two individuals as well as the tits).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
