I'm Banking on Baby Jesus......

It hurt me.

The day I came home from work and I see the faces of my sister and her boyfriend looking at me like I was a broken doll. A silly little broken doll.

What? I ask.

Well, I'm just going to tell you because its eating me up inside.

Ok. I say.

And she spills the contents of her brain or the contents of her heart, I'm not quite sure where the source was actually coming from because it does make a difference, but I'm not sure.

I don't believe it. I believe it. I'm blind-sided yet, I saw it coming at me with bright headlights.

I don't know what to think, so I confront him. I ask all the questions that were in my head. Yet there were no answers to fill up that space.

Empty. I was all out of ammo. And my gun was broken in the first place.

************************

Bring the Rain Clouds, Mr. Weatherman

When he filled me in with the news of what had happened, it was like reality had been infiltrated with some other version of reality. Harsher, grittier, like blood in your mouth. You try not to think about it but when you face it, you taste the wrought iron against your white teeth.

I had this helpless feeling of trying to do something that I had no experience doing. It was foreign to me which made me feel like I was doing everything so so so wrong. But what can one do in this situation? What can one say? This is what everyone told me when I told them of my short comings. I hated it because I wanted to do so much more. Grabbing at rain clouds.

Holding him in the darkness and feeling the trembling. Realizing it was my own body crying, not his.

*********

The funeral was on a hot day in July. The weatherman that morning reported that July was the #1 month for heat related deaths. Is that right, Mr. Weatherman?

All were not in black. All were not, not in black. The rosary was said and the pallbearers cracked their knuckles.

The tears of the widow washed over us all like an opera singer's solo. Mournful, painful. It twisted your insides to see someone in such a state...a state of something words cannot express.

The big dinosaur forklift lowered the wooden case into the ground, so far down. THen the bulldozer came to lay the blanket of gravel and dirt over the rest. It was a bit shocking to see these machines, forcing us to face what was happening. But there was a softness to it. The bulldozer scooping the dirt, smoothing it over like a baby at the beach building a sand castle, trying to create perfection before the tides pull it away.

I stood there afar in the background. Checking to see if he was ok. Trying so hard to not crumble. I wanted to hold him, hug his body, touch his hand. But all was not possible. But my insides were fighting and there were times when I felt like I couldn't breathe.

************

Europe, thus far

So in case you hadn't been informed, I am on vacation in Europe for three weeks. It was a whirlwind of a decision because I had just started my new restaurant manager position, packed up and moved things to a different house, and all the little other things I needed to tie up before trampsing off to another country. Three weeks. That's a long time, but by the end of my last day of work, I was craving to be on an airplane thousands of miles away.

First stop, Paris. Let me tell you, the French know their wine and cheese. I didn't go a daz without drinking a bottle of wine. I ate some escargot as well but it just tasted like butter because of the pesto sauce they drowned the shelled delicasies in. And the baguettes were a treat as well. I got a chance to do things other than eat and drink, mind you. There was a Louvre and the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triumph. (But the Arc visit was more so to find a restroom...) Anyhow, my impression of the town was that it was suave and sophisticated. The people were friendly too unlike what some people had told me.

After that great city, off to Amsterdam. If sin and sustenance were to have a child it would be sucking on the teet of this city and it's playground would be in the Red Light District. Attractive big bosomed blondes tapped on glass booths giving come hither eyes to passerbys. It was a strange feeling of curiosity and fright especiallz with all the strange loin-itching old men around. I dont think I stayed longer than 45 minutes before I was ready to call it a night and return to reality. I dont know what it is but something about Amsterdam or at least the parts that I saw of it, seemed like I was on an artifical movie set. The colorful and authentic architecture of the buildings, the rippling canals and loads of cyclers with scarves wafting in the wind as they rode down cobblestone pathways was like something out of a painting. We met a cool bartender at a place called Get Down to It with a menu of Mary Jane delights. His name was Pedro and introduced me to Wiekse Witte a white beer which I think now is probably not a popular choice among the locals after I got manz strange looks as I tried to order it at some other places. I tried mushrooms but was luckz enough onlz to feel its effects while i was sleeping. A parade of colorful butterflies and rhinos passed throuhg mz brain as if on a horizontal escalator like at airports. My arms tingled and I had trouble sleeping but that was ok. For the most part it was an interesting experience, but I donät know if I would do it again. I also got a chance to see mz two Dutch friends I met in Singapore. I met them up in Utrecht where on eof them was studzing and thez made me pasta for dinner and took me out for dinks. It was interesting seeing them. Asking them tot ake time out of their lives to show me some semblance of what thez called their dailz lives. It was nice and different at the same time. Where once these people wer ein mz life, my tight circle of friends, so quicklz vanished by distance and time to be reunited in this temporarz space. How one day you see them every day, but now you cant remember how the sound of their laughter is like.

Thus far in the trip, I have been having this aching for something back home. A lack of a piece of me that I left behind and canät wait to get back to. Isnät that funny, alwazs wanting vacation when zou donät have it but once zouäre on it and the load and frustration of being awaz eats at you, you canät wait to get back home. Its a life paradox, a cunundrum. But I do miss it, so much I can hardly stand it.

Real Things

I slept 11 hours last night. Woke up at noon. I needed to catch up on my sleep so don't judge. My head was achy and my throat was sore and I couldn't breathe through my left nostril. I was coming down with something. Or maybe it was allergies...but I don't recall having allergies.

And my hand, my right hand, was contorted into a hideous claw. All week during manager training, I had been wok cooking and those things give you arthritis injections like for real. Through blurry eyes I looked at my right appendage and thought, Is it worth it?

Tingling bolts of lightning shot through my fingers as I tried to flex it. It was going to be a long day. I literally slid out of bed like a snake. My muscles weren't cooperating and I lay on the carpet floor for about ten more minutes before my brain kicked in, Come on, newbie, welcome to the real world. You're an adult now.

Today was my day off though. Thank god. They time these days off perfectly because they know that by now your body is a pail of smush peas. My reflection in the bathroom mirror doesn't look like me. The eye cream isn't working. Fuck, since when do 23 year olds need eye cream? And there's a pimple on my nose. I smear some toothpaste on it and some on my toothbrush too.

The day was nice so I decided to read outside of my apartment. The breeze was gorgeous and the sun was creeping around the way and so I decided to tan my legs.

The hours droned on and 3 o'clock rolled around which brought about the local kids playing in the courtyard. They were too loud for me continuing to read so I went back inside. Kids would be scared of the crazy lady with bags under her eyes and a glob of toothpaste on her nose anyway.

Dinner with Nancy and Andy. Andy's uncle was in town and so we all ate at Rudy's BBQ which was fabulous and the counter boy gave me a free soda which made me feel good. His uncle had n accent since he was from Wisconsin and it makes you wonder how accents come about if we're all speaking English for the most part here in the States. It was funny.

I finished off the day watching Sideways on HBO with more toothpaste on my nose. Then I did some more reading because it opens me up. I've been reading a lot of Jewish novels lately. Not particularly about Judaism but characters related to that faith. And it got me thinking about life and love and the aspects where I am lacking in those categories and thought Some things just aren't real, and they never will be real and things do not become real simply because we want them to be so...

Call me Sniffles and call it a day....

I sneezed five times in a row today.

Not one of those polite girly sneezes. No, it was a eye-watering, snot-congested, head pounding sneeze exploding on my face. And I think something nasty flew out of my nose during one them, too. I wasn't winning any beauty contests today, I'll tell ya what.

I've been sick for these past few days and thinking about it now gives me a fever. I don't know technically if I really have a fever because who really owns a thermometer to tell. Not me, that's for sure. But I am hot...that chilly hot that you feel in the belly of your body. That can't be a good sign.

Adrian is sick too and he was a bit worse because he was actually vomiting liquids and didn't eat for 48 hours. That's crazy. He says I made him sick. Maybe, maybe...no more 'da me besos'.

My head hurts. It's the strangest thing, it always begins to hurt at 10 PM after I've watched too much tv. This never happened before I was sick but now that I am, it's like clockwork. But Tylenol is always there for me but now I'm worried what if its the Tylenol that makes it keep coming back? That doesn't make much sense, eh? Or maybe it makes too much sense....hahaha I'm freaking myself out. Sorry..it's how I entertain myself.

Speaking of which, I've been reading Capote's In Cold Blood. It's quite good. It started off a bit slow and it took awhile to get into the flow of things, but I'm at a good place now and it can only go up from here. I'm glad Phillip Seymour Hoffman got the Globe for Capote, he deserved it. Haunting.

My head's a bit lightheaded now but I think I'll pass on the Tylenol tonight, see how I feel in an hour or so. But I can feel an itch in the depths of my nasal passages..where are my tissues....ACHOOOO!!!

Good Will Hunting

There is a certain allure to it, the hunt, the search, that makes the effort worth the time. Maybe its the cheap prices (a whole dinnerware set for $5!!)...no scratch that, it is the cheap prices primarily that draws me to the thrift stores and the GoodWill stores. Its also that indie feel you get, I suppose, that time warp you sort of drop into because you're surrounded by other people's past possessions and that seeps into the air and you're taking part of their residual energy from their tokens. It's quite existential, really.

I searching in the knick knack aisles because there usually isn't anything for me in the clothing section because even though I am not above wearing someone else's garbs, I wasn't in the mood for the hangar skiiing that it entailed. Knick Knacks are easier. I found two picture frames in which would come in handy because I had just figured out that my printer can also print photos!! And that the manufacturer had even actually included some photo paper in the boz! Now that's something to make you feel great (or stupid because you should have realized this earlier, dOAH!!) But anyhow that was a good find.

In the dishware and pantry section, there were many bozes of stone dinnerware sets that looked appealing and prices ranged from $5 to $20. There was one nice one with a blue color scheme and so I opened the boz (even though it was taped shut) only to find that two of the plates had been broken.

All of a sudden I hear a crashing of a glass in the next aisle. Must be kids. They are always getting their hands into things. I hear a rush of footsteps and some GoodWill workers in their blue polyester vests. One of them stops in my aisle.

"Umm..ma'am do you need some help?" In a very stern voice, I might add.

I shake my head. "No thanks, I was just looking."

She walks closer to me and her eyes narrow. "You know, you're not supposed to open those boxes. The picture in the front shows the design clear as daylight."

I nod. "I just wanted a closer look." I close the top flap of the box.

The unusually, power-hungry staff person, takes a step closer and my hand fingers my mace keychain.

"The boxes are taped because we don't want you to oepn that. Isn't that clear--?" She stops in midsentence.

As I tried to put the box back on the shelf you could hear the slightest jangle of broken stonewear within the box.

"You broke that set! You're going to have to pay for that."

"It was already broken."

"Oh yea? You were the last one to open that box."

"It was already broken. I'm not paying for something that I didn't break." ANd with that I walked off. I bet she was just some volunteer who was unhappy with her life. That made me feel bad for her and so I didn't want to waste perfectly good mace who woudln't even appreciate what a good story that would have been to have someone spray you with mace. Good Will stores really do make you think.

With my two picture frames tucked under my arm, I walked to the other side of the store where the books resided. There were always interesting things there including dated issues of National Geographic and dusty records with pictures of ghost rock stars with mustaches and long hair.

To be continued,..

Self-Help

I was having one of those bittersweet moments you have in life when you feel utterly to yourself or as society deems it--lonely. But I don't have a problem with that because whenever I am faced with this situation, it makes me more motivated to do something productive. So I decided to go the the bookstore.

There I was surrounded by literature. A woman in the cafe was playing her guitar and singing for Friday night's entertainment. Her name was something or the other. Nothing I heard was too great to warrant me meandering around her stage trying to find out her name. I wondered if the other people at the cafe were bothered by her high pitches and uneven tones as they sat behind their wide screened laptops and amped their ipods on the highest volume setting.

I grabbed five books in no particular order including Truman Capote's In Cold Blood, Lorrie Moore's Self-Help, and a writer's guide for how to write. How ironic. There were no more seats at the cafe and there were no more plush chairs in the reading area so I was resigned to sit at the small wooden stools of the children's section. People don't bring their kids to bookstores anymore so the area was deserted which made things even better for me.

I opened up the Self-Help book and read the first short story which was entitled, "How to be the Other Woman." And I thought to myself, would that situation ever happen to me. Would a married man try to approach me? I talked to my friend about it and she laughed. "Hon, you're too sweet to be the other woman. You're the woman that gets cheated on."

I made a note to not talk to that friend for a while.

I was getting along quite well when a woman sits across from me in another one of the small wooden stools for children. We exchanged polite smiles because that's what polite strangers do. My mind eased in the thought of another person, a brethren, also looking for a place in this environment to rest their laurels and happened upon this sanctuary. I'm not the only one thinking out of the cake box!

But then, that girl, that deviant, that hussy began incessantly text messaging her friend, her mother, her mistress, her pimp, whoever. Each number punch resounded witha loud beep and after she clamped her phone closed it would resound with a twinkle twinkle melody indicating a reply message. This went on for about ten minutes before she picked up her phone and dialed.

"Hiyou'rehome?Imissyou.NoImatthebookstore.Nojusthangingout.Mystomachstillhurts.Whatsthattea thatyou reccomended.Green?Jasmine?..."

How rude. Why would you sit next to a person who obviously is reading and needs a bubble of silence around them and start being a cell phone whore?

I got up immediatly and decided to go see a movie.

The movie was based on a book I had read previously called Shopgirl (the movie is of the same title). It was about a girl and her struggles with life and her love triangle. It didn't really capture the depth of the characters like the book did but that's why books are books and movies are movies.

I still had a good cry because there were moments when it just hits you. It's right there in front of you and you're like yea yea, I know that feeling. But you realize that doesn't really matter. Movies are movies and reality is reality. It's just nice to be reminded sometimes, to have your insides jarred before you let them settle down again.

George and the Flying Things

Even though the manager’s knocking outside the door was loud, George ignored it. He lay limp on the hot, sticky bed of the small motel room and chewed on a piece of gum. He’d had it in his mouth for so long, it was like chewing band-aids now. But he didn’t mind the aching in his jaw. George put his hand on his left cheek and stroked his stubble. He was a mess.

“Sir, we’ll call the authorities if we have to….!”

Out of the corner of his eye, George saw a brown thing scuttle across the bathroom floor. He’d always gotten along better with bugs than people.

The cockroach stopped and shook its head, “Suck it up, pansy, stop being a wuss, and talk to FEMA for some free cash. Yea, free cash.” Cockroaches have survived for thousands of years so maybe it knew what it was talking about. But, it sounded too much like advice his mother would give him and George stopped listening to his mom ages ago.

A spider on the window blinds whispered to him in a raspy voice and chuckled after it finished its proposition. George looked confused, “How would I find a gallon of yogurt, two pot bellied pigs, and a giant ball of yarn anyhow?” Arachnids were never dependable much like his father.

“You’ve left us no choice!” the manager incessantly kept knocking on the door which made George’s head hurt. “I’m calling the cops……damn hippies.”

A flying thing scouring the ceiling offered to sell him some weed but George figured he should use his last few bucks on breakfast but getting high again sure sounded tempting.

No money, no friends, no family, no home. He had gotten himself into a deep shit-hole, but he felt like this wasn’t the first time he’d had this feeling. That comforted his 27-year old mind.

The ceiling fan above him rotated slowly, hypnotizing him. “Why the hell am I here?!” he shouted to the spider, the cockroach, the flying insect, the fan, the air….no one…everyone.

New Orleans had gotten under his skin. He needed a change of scenery, new faces, sweeter air.

The spider leapt from the window blinds onto the bed sheets and tottered over to George’s ear. “In retrospect, you should be thankful that you avoided that damn hurricane. You could have been killed and what good would you be dead?”

Outside the door, the cops had arrived. “Sir, are you in there? It’s the police. Open up!”

“Well, it sure looks like he’s no good alive either. Pansy,” the cockroach was now on George’s shoulder. “Go to the Red Cross. They’ll hook ya up with plenty of goodies.”

“But you aren’t an evacuee. You’re a…a…a.. tourist, really.” The spider taunted. It started spinning a web in George’s ear.

The policemens’ voices sounded close yet far away at the same time. “On the count of three, we’re busting through this door!!”

The flying thing interjected, “New Orleans made you feel like a weirdo and what better location to move than to a city that places weirdness on a pedestal. You’ve always depended on yourself; there ain’t no point in stopping now. You don’t need no stinkin’ FEMA or nobody.”

This made the most sense to George.

As he picked up his things and quietly crawled out the bathroom window, the flying thing buzzed past his ear and whispered, “Hey, hey, dude, wana score…?”

Interview with a Vampire

So how did you two meet?

Thalia giggles and continues, "Oh I was a waitress at the cocktail bar down on 17th street. I had been working there for shit tips and hangovers so I wasn't happy at all. My life sucked."

George interrupts,"But then I swept her off her toes one night. Remember that night, you were such a cunt to me."

"Oh, really, hahaha," Thalia punches him in the arm. "If I remember correctly you were the one who tried to get a free drink, didn't tip enough, and tried to grab my ass all fuckin night. That's not what I call sweeping me off my feet. But for some reason I put up with your nonsense. You were different from all the other bozos. Go figure."

So you two met at a bar and what was yall's first date?

"We went to the movies." Thalia says with confidence.

George has a look of confusion not the first time present since the beginning of this interview. "No we didn't; we went to the Shangri-la. That snazzy joint uptown. They have killer lobster ravioli."

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head disapprovingly, "He doesn't know what he's talking about. It was the movies. The Shangri-la was after that."

George, "Really?"

"Yes. Trust me. We went to the movies, saw that dip-shit Clooney flick, and ended up meeting that other couple."

George slaps his cheek reminicsingly, "Shit, that's right, babe. You have such a good memory. She takes Ginko Biloba. But vitamins like that scare the shit out of me. Heebie-geebies!"

Who's this other couple?

"Oh it was this young newlywed couple that were really cute. He wore black socks and she wore a beret. Black socks! That's genius!" George looks up at some imaginary screen above his head and is lost in his thoughts.

Where were they from? What did yall do?

The two look at eachother.

"That's when we both found out we were vampires and ever since we've been soulmates." Thalia grins a toothy smile and reveals her long canines.

"Oh babe, you said we're soulmates, " he leans in for a kiss. "I need that validation sometimes."

"He's such a pussy." Thalia gives him another kiss and George blushes.

So did yall end up killing that other couple?

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, we're vampires. Not murderers. Please. All we're doing is eating, feeding, energizing ourselves. Shit, its not like we're killing everything with a pulse. Me and George try to eat as much fruit as we can as long as its red. But for dinner, we have to have at least a body over 125 pounds or we're shot to shit the next morning. It's like a person who has to eat beef. Killing those cows are much more worse than what we do to our prey." Thalia sighs and calms down.

Sorry, I didn't know it was such a touchy term.

George smiles to reassure me Thalia won't get out of hand again, "Everyone's so PC these days. You're cool, dude."

Thanks. Anyhow, how are you guys coping with leading this lifestyle in this day and age?

"It has its rough days. There's so much shit going around these days, you really have to be careful about who you pierce. If you bite someone with thalasemmia or sickle cell, you can have diarrhea for days. There was this one old dude who---"

Thalia interrupts George, "You don't want to hear that story, trust me. Geez, you're such a dork, George."

Not Another Love Song

This isn't love. This is just the beginning of something. Something bigger than either of us know anything about. You'll see. When you experience love, you don't have to ask, it's just already there, defined in your heart and you can't believe that it's actually there, just sitting crossed-legged in your heart like it was effortless.

But this isn't love. You'll see. That's so sad, though, the saddest thing to say to yourself or to another person for that matter "NOT LOVE". Because that's what everyone really wants right-- love.

I'm doing you a favor, though, in the long run. You'll look back and say, Gee she sure was right. I'm sure I didn't waste my time. And I'll smile because I know that you're thinking that and it'll make me smile smile smile.

All I can say is don't give up, ok? If it doesn't happen, today, tomorrow, or the next day, it's because it wasn't supposed to happen today, tomorrow, or the next day. And when you finally give up, fed up with the smothered candle light dinners and hippie talk, you'll feel it crossed legged in your heart wondering, What took you so long?

Dirty Lady, that's just not right...

She was a normal looking lady. Like any other customer that would come into our store. At least nothing to make me take a second glance at her.

She came up to the register and said she wanted to ring up her food order from the kitchen and I said sure, of course. That's when it happened.

She handed me the stinky bills.

At first, I didn't even know where that odor was coming from. It just hit me like a sack of potatoes and I almost burst out saying, "Holy shit, do you smell that shit? What the fuck? What is that? Where is that coming from?" But after batting the empty air and looking down at the bills she had handed me, I realized...it was the stinky bills.

And it's not like I could give the money back. Because the money was real...it just was stinky...but not just stinky...it was STANKY. STANK STANKY. Dirty lady, that just ain't right. But I couldn't say anything to her because it probably would have just embarassed her and made me look like an asshole. And her order was already being cooked. So I had to finish up and give her the change. Once that was done and she had her back turned I hurriedly put the bills in a plastic bag and tied it up as to not have any odor leak out.

But the smell was on my hands now!

It was like the worst smell ever. Even worse than walking behind a garbage truck. Even worse than having a newborn's diaper taped to your nose. Even worse than some hobo in the street who hasn't washed in years and reeks of alcohol and than vomits on you and tries to wash the vomit off with his piss. A mixture of manure, urine, dirt, sweat, fish guts, rancid meat.....those things don't even give the smell justice. This was some prize-winning shit.

And as she waited for the order to finish, she kept buying things which made me have to touch her bills even more.

A candy bar....
...Then a pack of gum.....
.......Then a soda....
..............Then another candy bar.....

Goddammit, stop buying stuff with your stinky money! I was trying so hard to be strong but my mind MY MIND was just repulsed by this lady and her stinky money and for God knows what reason it was that way. I really couldn't think of a feasible reason. Geezus lady, did you wipe your ass with these bills or something??

Finally she left and I thoroughly sanitized my hands with soap, alcohol, bleach...battery acid. Anything I could get my hands on.

The day passed and I was ready to forget until my mom came to count all the money for the day when all of a sudden I hear her shout, "OH my god, did some one step in goose poo-poo??!!

About those children...umm..maybe not.

So after having a training day as a substitute teacher, I decided it's not right for me. The position calls for a completely different person...not me. Yea, I like kids but then there's the part of disciplining them. I can't do that. Especially with someone else's kid. If it were up to me I would let the kids run wild naked in the forest. But I don't think that's what their parents paid for. And the other teachers there weren't as nice and friendly as I wanted. Maybe I'm asking for too much but these ladies were all about reprimanding.."No, mister...I don't think so young lady." Yeesh, all the kids want to do is play. Teachers are supposed to be fun, right?

But to bigger and better things, I also got a job as a cashier for a Chinese restaurant. Now that's more my style right? Half-off of Kung-pao..now that's what I'm talkin bout. ;)

And I also have another job interview at Marble Slab Creamery. Wish me luck. Yup, I'm just trying to get as many jobs as possible. I need a spectrum of experiences for my writing, don't you think?

Won't anyone think about the children!

So, it's official. I have a job as a substitute teacher for toddlers at a Daycare/Academy here in Austin. I am also starting my writing classes next week as well. Wish me luck! Those kids won't know what hit them (and by that I mean, my mega-watt smile and giraffe puppet,Bubba, on my left hand...not corporal punishment or anything...yeesh..hahaha)

Earwax

Like an outer body
Experience,
I watch myself
watch and listen
watch and listen
watch and listen
To the words that
Fall from my lips
Like bricks
Onto my lap.
I pause for the next
Question.
Wondering if the interviewer
notices the shitload of
Bricks on my lap.

But he nods and rephrases the
Question.
Seeing what he wants to see
Hearing what he wants to hear
Molding my answers into
Correct ones.
And I watch and listen
As he jams those bricks
One by one
Into his ears.

My own personal concundrum

I decided to not wear a bra to work today to see what reaction I would get from customers.

It's not like I wore a tight tank top to accentuate my mammary mosquito bites though. I wore a plain t-shirt so I suppose you couldn't really tell, but still..you could sorta tell.

Anyhow, there's been scientific proof that wearing bras causes a greater chance for breast cancer because of the constricted blood vessels or something or the other. So, in the greater scheme of things, I was just trying to protect my health.

So as it goes, 10 grown men blatantly ogled my breasts as I handed them their change. That was sorta gross but I forgave them because that's just what grown men do when they come into contact with a 23 year old.

27 people (both men and women) had the yo-yo effect of looking at my face, darting their eyes to my chest, and then darting back up to my eyes. It was quite entertaining though having them think that I didn't notice that 3 second reaction.
The men I didn't care for, but the women who did this I wanted to just shout out, "Yeah, that's right, lady. No establishment shackles on these beauties. Jealous, much?"


There were plenty of other customers who didn't have a reaction at all. Maybe they were just respectful and knew me too well.

Maybe the others thought I was a 16-year old boy.

Carnivale

Taking a cue from
The Ringmaster,
I tip my hat and
Smile, oh so big

And the crowds cheer
A mesh of chocolate faces:
Popcorn pimps and
Cotton candy whores

I do my best to entertain
Keep them happy
As my cheeks burn
My smile melts into pain

Then I wonder about
These freaks who
Tie me up
Bound and gagged

You do what you
Can for them
But you have to
Keep the applause

Rodeo punks
Flying diseased acrobats
Twist and turn
For your fancy

I left my soul there
Up on the high wire
And it fell with a
Thump, Splat, Squish

When all along
I was the clown
In the thick makeup
And big Shoes

Smiling, oh so big

Black Ink Words

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...."

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.

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.

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"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.

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? :)