The Coined Mouth

She swayed prettily in front of him as he stood in awe of her. His favorite shoes, the ones with the ankle strap. His favorite little shirt and skirt that now flowed with her body in tiny movements as the fabric brushed her legs the way his hands once did. He clung to the piece of paper, now moist with sweat from his palms. He stared at it transfixed, more lifeless than the girls body becoming more rigid with every passing minute.

She was beautiful, after all, swaying there. Her head slightly cocked to the side. Her long bangs tickling her eyelashes. She held her mouth in the same position as she did when he was inside of her. Her hair moving ever so slightly as to expose the part of her back she once loved having his perfectly shaped lips touch.

He didn't want her to stop moving. He pushed her leg with the palm of his hand. The wooden rafters creaked as the friction of the nylon rope scraped across them.

Thirty minutes...one hour...one and one half hours he sat swaying her body just to see the fabric of her skirt brush the back of her calves.

His phone rang...It was another girl. Vibrant, no doubt. And excellent lover, for sure. But she had something on her. For it is only in death that he expresses emotion other than fear and trepidation. Only in death can his empty, sallow soul feel the slightest twinge of love. He would never love the girl on the other end of the phone. The one he loved now swung lifeless from the wooden rafters in apartment 48B.

His phone rang again, and he answered.

He: Looks like I'm going to be in town this weekend.
Her: Oh really? Why?
He: Bad news (he said flippantly) a friend of mine just died. The service will probably be this weekend.
Her: What?!?! That's horrible. I'm so sorry, baby.
He: So, you have plans Friday?
Her: Actually, I'm in Chicago this weekend. I'm sorry to miss you.
He: Yeah.......me too.

He eulogized the the swaying girl nicely, using blatant Cathcer in the Rye references. Why had not he told her? It was and always will be, because she was still alive. Alive means fear for him. Trepidation for him. He would not allow it. Death, now...Death is liberation. He is now free to feel even more selfishly. That it is he with the immense pain. That he will have to live knowing that he loved her. He could have saved her. But he did not. He does not sacrifice. He lays down no offering.

He gazed down, alone, at her empty body encased in a meager wooden box. Her eyes were forever closed now. Her skin, waxy. Her hair, nestled under the back of her head, as she was far away meeting with Phlegyas.

I love you.

You selfish Fuck.

But, I do love you.

Only (she chuckles) because I'm gone.

No, goddammit, I LOVE YOU.

Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds

Or bends with the remover to remove.

Oh no, it is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempest and is never shaken.

He hated Shakespeare. Especially sonnets prolificated by movies. He hated many things, but even as she haunted him by thought, his selfish love flourished. He was free of her. And now, free to love only her, until the next one creates her own demise.

Things I Have to Keep Telling Myself…Revisted.

1. When someone tells you they are a douche bag the first time you meet them…believe them.

2. There is no need to eat Ramen Noodles at 3 in the morning no matter how many gin ‘n tonics you’ve had.

3. Sometimes taking a trip you can’t afford can be worth the debt.

4. Don’t believe boys. It’s just easier.

5. It’s a good idea to practices hexes and unforgivable curses just in case the person that introduced you to such things turns out to be a huge butthole.

6. Don’t buy into things like, “Just sing your favorite song from RENT and your asthma will go away.”

7. Pouting isn’t real when it comes from a boy, it’s just a way to get into your pants.

8. 1% of the worlds population is born without a conscience. Keep a list of the ones you know then practice this incantation “crucio”. Must be said with forcefulness.

9. Avada Kedavra Cho Chang

10. And whatever you do…Remember this last thought. Never…I repeat…NEVER get involved with people that live solely on blood money. In the end…they are all just like O.J.

The Martin Memoirs

“Why the fuck are you with Marty? Marty’s a huge douche bag. I mean…you seem like a really smart, really pretty girl. Why would you care if he moves away?”

I wanted to say, “But Joe…..he so freaking cute…I mean…look at that little ass in those tight Diesels.” But I didn’t.

“Well, I dunno…he’s not a douche bag to me. He’s actually really sweet and good to me.”

Joe’s face had this look that he knew something I didn’t, and I just wanted to slap it right off his scruffy East Austin face.

Right then Martin, as I call him…I loathe the whole ‘Marty’ thing, came back from his smoke break. He smokes Lucky Strikes…I imagine he thinks it’s more free thinking of him than to smoke Camels like normal indie kids…Marlboros are for preps. Ever since his dad died two years ago he’s been able to afford such luxuries…like fancy cigarettes. I didn’t know him then, but it would be my guess-timation that he didn’t wear such fancy pants & glasses either…part of my complete & utter fascination.

The Look…

Martin was perfect looking. Short fine hair. The same color as mine. Some might call it, dishwater blond or mouse brown…but it was beautiful with a little gray interspersed giving him the façade of wisdom/distinction. His face was never really clean shaven. Why would it be? A) we live in Austin. No one gives a damn if you shave unless you work at the top of Congress Street. B) he didn’t have a job to worry about, which made my admiration of him increase immensely upon discovery. He was always wearing some ratty t-shirt either found at Value Village, something he owned as a kid, or bought at American Apparel with those damn hot jeans. He would clip his keys to his belt loop with a karabiner. It’s the grown up nod to the chain that used to connect your wallet or keys to your belt loop when you were a skater in high school. He had this rather chiseled looking jaw, which if it wasn’t for his tall thin stature, it would have made him look quite football player-ish and disgustingly masculine. With him, it just added to his perfect appearance. The whole time we were together he wore two different pairs of shoes, high top black Converse or these fancy little old school athletic looking things. Whatever he wore it was always just right. Sometimes you see those schmucks out at bars that look like they’re trying to hard with their Urban Outfitter’s blazer, t-shirts and jeans which if Martin wore the exact same outfit, it wouldn’t look phony. It was always just right…a reflection of a lifestyle of values, not just the current fashion statement of the day. Kind of how you can see RENT over & over and not be distracted by out dated clothes as they just seem right even for 2006.

The Twinkle Lights…

“Hey why don’t you call me after you get off work?”

“No, you call me.”

“Ok…you know you never call me…”

“True, that’s the way I like it.”

This thought hadn’t really occurred to me before he said it. But he was totally right. I didn’t ever call him. I had no reason to…he always called me. It made me think of that stupid He’s Just Not That In To You book by that dude who now has a low rated talk show on the CW. Apparently, if a guy is in to you, he’ll call. And that’s the way it was with Martin and me. He always called.

Come 11:45a – 12:15p I would irritate my co-workers with my “Sexy Back” ringtone wailing loudly from my little pink RAZR I bought to fit in the back pocket of jeans as to avoid adding to the size of my ass when I when I went out. The ringtone almost made the ‘Dead to Me’ list of irritants kept by another assistant at the station. Every day he would call. Every day we would have lunch. Every day when that phone rang it was like twinkle lights, good jazz and recently exhaled cigarette smoke coming together to form this perfect little picture of contentedness. Sometimes we would sit at this taco stand on the East side…Martin reading the sports section of the Statesman…me reading the fashion page. There was comfort in the fact that I didn’t have to always be coming up with something to say…that he liked my company not just the funny/witty comments I would make about the gay couple across the way or the ‘too cool for school’ kids sitting at the next table.

His roommate, Drew, came home one evening to find Martin and me laughing about something ridiculous in his disheveled room.

“Hey, you guys, I’m gonna need to get your rent checks…Susan, you can just make yours out to me.”

“Shut up!!! I’m not here that much.”

“Right…when was the last time you slept at home?”

“Touche.”

And that’s the way it was…I was always with Martin and Drew. We would sit in the living room and watch bad movies like “Willow” and “Working Girl”. Martin and I would inevitably fall asleep on the couch, his head in my lap as I ran my fingers through his hair and scratched his head. Each stroke getting slower and slower as we fell faster and faster to sleep. One of us would wake up, direct the other to bed and I would assume my position on the left side using Super Turtle complete with safety pinned on red cape as a pillow. He would snuggle me but not too much. Just right…like sleeping in freaking baby bears bed or something.

He would randomly buy me things. When I told him I had never even cracked a Harry Potter book, the next time I came over books one, two and three were waiting for me. Martin, eager for me to finish, would ask me what part I was on and tell me I only had till the weekend to finish it, so we could watch the movie together. Or we would be out shopping…I found this adorable pin stripe vest that I just had to have, but had no money. The next thing I know I’m walking out of the store, my hot new vest in tow. I was happy…he seemed happy…this is how a real relationship was supposed to work, wasn’t it?

The ‘But’…

‘dirty babe, you see these shackles baby, I’m your slave. I’ll let…’

“Hello?”
“Hey”
“Hey, how’s Dallas, you on your way home?”
“Yeah, that’s actually why I’m calling…”
“Ok”
“I’m not coming home.”
“Ok”
“I’ve gotta move up to Arkansas to take care of my dad’s business, and my sister wants me there yesterday. Listen, I know things were moving in a different direction for us, but I have to do this. Are you mad?”

Time out. So, not only am I being left high and dry by the vision of perfection himself…I’m being broken up with…on the phone…at 26 years old?

And that’s where the story ends. We were good together, Martin and me. We really were. I’ve cried many times. I’ve been lonely more nights than not. I’ve felt stupid for thinking things were really good between us. I’ve felt stupid for allowing myself to like him so much. I’ve felt stupid for still being upset that I’m not with him and stupid, because if he came back tomorrow I would do it all over again. I really miss him and I don’t want him turning into another Phillip. I want to be over it completely.

So, as I reluctantly go to close the book as I’m done with the Martin and Me chapter, I’m coming up with some resistance yet. How long will my book be closed now? Another three years? It’s a book filled with hope…Hope opens and closes it. And maybe it’s ridiculous to think love it like twinkle lights, jazz, and cigarettes, but I hope it’s not that ridiculous.

the Curse of the Grey Paisley Shirt

goodbye love,
goodbye love,
came to say goodbye love goodbye,
just came to say goodbye love,
goodbye love goodbye love goodbye love,
hello disease.

There once was this super cute boy. He wore thick, black, Gucci glasses and tight Diesel jeans. His hair was short and looked super cute messy in the morning. Sometimes he would comb it to part. That was especially cute.

There once was this average girl. She also wore thick, plastic glasses…but her’s were PRADA. They have these little rhinestones one the side. She liked to wear her old skool red ‘No Name’ shoes, ironically bought at Nordstrom, with a tattered jean skirt when she knew she’d be hanging out with him.

They would sit in his living room and read Harry Potter books together... or sometimes work on brain teaser puzzles. She refused to race Sudoku with him after finding out his best score was 5 minutes on a ‘medium’ puzzle. She doesn’t much like to loose. Especially to idiot boys.

One Sunday, he gave up football to hang out with her after a quasi arguement. They went to Half Price...bought books…Luby’s…ate a late lunch…and Target to try on hats. It was the best day they had both had in a long while. She was satisfied.

He held her hand as they walked thru the parking lot and never missed an opportunity to tickle her vulnerable areas when they were unwittingly exposed.

He would say things to her like, “I knew the second I saw you that I was going to like you a lot”. And “It’s so cute the way you smell everything before you eat it or drink it”.

I think she even spotted a blue & white scarf laying on the floor of his untidy room he rented on the East Side. Of course he lived there. He was the embodiment of all things counter culture.

They would eat lunch together almost everyday. Sometimes he would just read the paper and she would think how happy she was that she didn’t have to be talking all the time or coming up with the next best witty thing to say to keep his interest. They would just sit there enjoying company.

But she has a curse. The curse of the Grey Paisley Shirt. She knew Target clothes shouldn’t be entirely trusted, but cursed blouses? She didn’t think it went that far. Maybe if she’d sprung for the Isaac Mizrahi blouse and left Xhiliration alone…this wouldn’t be happening.

But it did…This shirt she wore when he was in Dallas a few weeks ago…He called and said he wasn’t coming home…He was going to live in Dallas. A couple days later, the grey paisley shirt mashed safely in the bottom of the dresser, she convinced him to come home. He said, “We’re going to make this work”. And they tried. Life was good again…the stars aligned with the earth and everything was content. Until today. She decided to wear the damned cursed shirt again…Only to find her phone ringing at 8:15 this morning.

“Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Hey you coming home from the UT/OU game?”
“Actually, that’s why I’m calling you”
“OK”
“I’m not coming home—I’m moving to Arkansas and I’m not coming home until December probably…and that will just be to collect the rest of my things.”
::cricket:: :: cricket::

And that’s the story or counter culture boy, average girl and the curse of the Grey Paisley Shirt. Apparently, her tears don’t contain the magical components needed to heal hearts and disseminate evil Target curses. God, she wished they did.

In Memorium

So, I guess if I’m going to start this thing up again I should just be on with it. This weekend was a mess. Mother & father filled up the old Toyota for me to come home to create some terrible diversion from real life. Saturday morning I found out my favorite professor from college died last year. I had no idea as I pretty much hated all things Hardin-Simmons except the two professors who really believed in me. Dr. Fink (you guessed it…English) and Mr. Moritz (all things Marketing). Good ole Moritz had all sorts of cancer and was always in dreadful pain. He took a group of us business students to New York to show off his urban savvy I imagine. We had meetings at all these big deal places. One investment place especially sticks out in my mind. The CEO was giving us some speech about how sometimes it’s necessary to cut a few employees which I would be almost ok with if it wasn’t for that horrible smirk he had on his face the whole time. So, come question time I pretty much ripped him a new one…in the most pragmatic way some snot nosed 21 yr old can rip the CEO of an investment company in New York City a new one. God I wish I could remember what I said…but I was damn proud of my idealistic soliloquy. I was a tool and a phony what can I say.

Anyway, I had a letter from good ole HSU sitting at my place at the breakfast table along with a stack of over due bills that got forwarded to my parents house after my move from Houston to Austin. I figured it was another laughable letter about giving to Hardin-Simmons the college that gave you so much. More like the college that stripped me all things spiritual. Boo. I hate that place. But no…it was a letter asking for money for a scholarship in Mr. Moritz’s name. I sat there in front of my parents choking back tears…kind of like I’m doing right now. Contrary to what some people think of me…I hate crying in front of people…especially my parents. I’m the strong, hardened one who looks at life terribly realistically and sometimes, I’ll admit it, pessimistically.

Death is weird to me. I haven’t dealt with it much in my life…and I don’t think that’s a good thing…I’m 26 years old and I don’t know how to deal with it. So, I finished my breakfast, took my letter up stairs and bawled a little.

This one time I had to go up to his office during his incredibly short office hours to turn in something late. He made me sit there while he gave me some long winded speech about why my GPA was as low as it is.

Susan, you and I both know you’re a helluva lot smarter than this GPA reflects.

(People that weren’t afraid to use the word ‘helluva’ at HSU were always my favorite)

Yeah…You are right…I dunno…I need to work it. I’ll work on it I promise.

Old Tom was the type of guy that kept Christmas Coke in his fridge…in the middle of the summer. He likes to buy it on sale when they’re apparently trying to get rid of the Christmas cans and save it for the whole year. He was a real good man that Tom. Every year there would be this sale on Titlist golf balls at the one and only golf shop in Abilene, Texas. Mr. Moritz would clip the coupon for the balls…march right into the Super Walmart and insist they match the price. I mean that’s what they always advertised right? He knew he was the smartest man in Texas every year on that day…He wasn’t waiting in line at the Golf ‘n’ More store where you have to fight for every last box of balls.

I’m sad he’s not here anymore. I’m sad I’ll won’t get to go back to Abilene and show him how successful I’ve become (we’re obviously talking years from now). I’m sad I’ll never get to write the letter I’d been meaning to write…that he was my favorite…He was a real hard ass…but my favorite nonetheless and not to change anything no matter how ridiculous the students get. And most of all thanks for seeing through that stupid 2.96 number and realizing I still have a brain. So, this is my pathetic attempt to make things right in my head and in my heart. I love you, Tom.

Don't Ash on My Dash

Why can’t I blog anymore? What the hell is wrong with me. I knew it. I KNEW IT! My inspiration runs completely dry when I don’t feel terribly tormented by my demons, Shelley Mae and Trong Weeblehausen. Yes, I name my demons. I feel like it humanizes them and sometimes I can ask them to leave when I’m tired of their trying ways. Well, I didn’t mean forever guys! Come ON! Where are you?!?!?! Every good and wonderful artist whether of words or instrument or paint has some sort of inner turmoil that makes them so fascinating. Hemingway, terribly suicidal/overall insane. Parallel sentences and vivid, artful expression almost saved him. But not quite. Van Gogh…chopped off his ear. Crazy. Swirling textured paint not adored…Would adoration save him? I wish someone would adorate me. I just made up that word, ‘adorate’…It sounds less cheese filled than saying, “I wish someone would adore me.” That just sounds desperate. And we all know I would never admit to that. Dammit…I can’t think of a good musician that isn’t someone like Kurt Cobain to use as my musician example. Boo. Anywho, if someone would mind shipping my demons back to my…my blog and I could use them. Or maybe people’s suspicions are right. Shelley and Trong don’t want to leave Houston…because it really is hell on earth there. Interesting….

D7 is a cadavars name. It's also a long story.

So, I have this problem where I don’t get enough sleep and then I feel overly emotional. This is really weird to me. I can totally understand not getting enough sleep and being a little bit cranky or some such thing…But I get really emotional. For instance: D7 was in town for the past two days looking for jobs in glorious Austin. Now, I always fall for him when we’re together. But today…he’s leaving and I feel incredibly sad about this. I don’t want him to leave. I want to wake up tomorrow next to his stupid, bald head in the morning and hear the freight train coming out of his phlegm filled throat. ::pouting:: Whatever. I want to come home to his stuff strewn across my room. I even wouldn’t mind being woken up in the middle of the night again to throw the cat off the bed. He refuses to touch Frank claiming deadly allergies. And yes, he really woke me up in the middle of the night to throw Frank off the bed. It’s amazing what girls let boys get away with. I am being SO stupid. I mean….chances are he’ll be living here in one month anyways. One month. I never see him that often. Well, I’m just feeling dumb and wanted to share. I wish I was a guy and could separate someone rubbing my back till I fall asleep from liking them. If that even makes sense.

Well, anywho, last night was fun. D7 and I went to this shee shee little spot called Wink. Three glasses of wine a piece, salad, scallops, stakewing, and $101 later we were full and definitely ready to hit up downtown, Monday night nightlife in Austin. We head to Emo’s. D7’s friend of 27 years is a bartender there. We obviously drank some more…for free. Some chick the friend knows is talking to D7 about him moving in with her. I look at friend with that you better watch your girl over there before she gets slapped look. He tells me I have nothing to worry about and does that peace sign thing from his eyes to my eyes and back again. I do it from my eyes to her eyes with a horrible scowl on my face…but she didn’t see me. She was way to busy not flirting with D7. Yeah right. The three of us, D7, friend and myself venture outside for a little nic break. D7 mentions that the room she’s talking about sounds perfect and they have three cats. I of course shout out in the whiniest, most insecure voice ever, But…Uhhhhhh….You’re allergic to cats!!! All the while wondering if that ugo chick will take my place in throwing the cats off the bed. Friend looks at me and tells me to shut up. All of this flies right over D7’s bald head. But he flashes me his quite rare and almost forced looking teethy smile. So, I get over it. Again, girls are ridiculous. But we can’t help it.

Good Lord…I hate boys. I hate dating. I hate being a girl. I wish I could just wake up 10 years from now and have my life planned out by soccer games and mortgage payments. But no. Torture.

Yeah.....No.

"Work like you don't need money,
Love like you've never been hurt,
And..... dance like no one's watching."

Quote-courtesy of an inner office email I received today. At first glance some sap might find the above quote inspiration. But let us take a closer look.

"Work like you don't need money". Ok...If I was to work like I don't need money nothing would get done. I would surf the internet ALL day instead of half the day. I would say exactly what I was thinking to my bossES. I would leave at 3:30 everyday to ensure I caught every second of Oprah. I would wear pajamas and house shoes to work. I would...get fired.

"Love like you've never been hurt". If I was to do this...what kind of rational/validation could I give to past relationships? What use would they be? I do not believe anymore in the idea that every "next" boyfriend is a little bit better than the last one...Inching you closer to the proverbial Mr. Right. I do, however, believe every boyfriend (and I use this term loosely) should teach you something about relationships, boy behavior, and in general, life. If I was to truly love like I have never been hurt...It would be like saying I was going to act the same way in every relationship from here on out like I did with S.Aaron. I think everyone might agree that's a bad idea. I was 15/16 at the time. This is silly.

"Dance like no one's watching". Please, for dignity's sake...don't do this. Chances are...you probably look like a moron. Now...I do believe in getting crunk, dancing and having fun...but if you always do this...chances are...you will never get laid again. Take my advice....Sometimes when you're out at da club...It's better to think people are watching.

There's my cynical advice for Thursday. Now remember it tonight when you're out at 80's night at Pub Fiction...or sipping wine at the Hotel San Jose.

Does anyone else find it ironic that I just shot out work, love, and dancing advice? Good...me too.

Be Cool

"Yolanda, I thought you were gonna be cool. When you yell at me, it makes me nervous. When I get nervous, I get scared. And when motherfuckers get scared, that's when motherfuckers get accidentally shot."

So, I’ve found recently there are really only two ways to “be cool” in Austin.

A) You have to be writing/producing/filming/casting a ‘film’. Not a movie. OH NO! Movies are those things Hollywood puts out. Hollywood is a bad word. If you don’t do it like Kevin Smith did Clerks…you aren’t making a cool enough movie. However, it seems that local bloggers and other cool seekers are obsessed with the fact that Quentin Tarantino/Robert Rodriguez are shooting a "Grindhouse" flick here in beautiful Austin.

B) You must be in some sort of band. Either play by yourself on the street corner with a hat full of tarnished dimes, or have a weekly gig at the Lucky Lounge every Tuesday night at 11. You obviously don’t care enough about your music if you don’t wake up in a puddle of cum just thinking about playing at Waterloo Records. Also, the only act you don’t know all the words to that’s playing ACL this year is the Palm Elementary School choir.

So, I’ve resigned myself to un-coolness. Unless of course some film/band is in need of a classically trained flautist. ;)

if the wound is not mine

Recently, I received the following MySpace email….

Hey, so I’m sorry I haven’t called or returned your text the other night. I realize I’m a weiner for doing this on myspace, but here it is. That Saturday we went out, I had gone on a date Friday night, anyways I’ve been kind of seeing that girl ever since.

So, just thought I’d explain. Maybe we can still hang and be friends, I’m not sure, you might hate me or you might not even care. Females are still a complete mystery to me.

Aaron

The name…not changed to protect the innocent…because…well…he’s not innocent. This is the same dork boy that was mentioned in the blow blog. I found this email only disturbing due to my ego that does not enjoy bruising of any kind. My ego card…declined. Life does not take Ego credit. However, this is still priceless. I’ve been in advertising far too long.

I know I’m going to catch so my slack for my next comment…but I care not. I wish he had just stopped calling/returning messages. The oxidizing scorn felt traversing the 200 miles from Houston to Austin.

Now allow me to explain. I went out on one date…one date with the above yahoo. Does this really deserve a break up email of sorts? No. This got me to thinking. Why the hell would anyone write such an email after having one date with the person?

My theory:

This boy really was a huge dork in high school. Now time has been good to him. He did come out of his shell and join the legions in the social world. He did grow into his then awkward looks and even shot up a few inches. However, I noticed the time we were sitting in the heavy heat of an Austin summer on the deck at Opal Divines throwing back a few smooth, amber, foreign beers, that he would NOT stop saying things like: you know…we were a bunch of frat boys. And you know I lived with a bunch of frat boys. And the only time I got arrested I was with all the frat boys. I dismissed it then…but I think there is more to this. He’s reassuring himself that he is in fact cool now. He also talked about all these hot girls he’s dated since high school…another indicator of insecurities. Of course, I retaliate with some swanky charity event I went to in Dallas with J and a couple of ridiculous Reality Television “Stars” and how they were all in love with me, but I was good and went home to my boyfriend…who just so happens to own two wine bars in Dallas now. Ok…So, I’m insecure and immature too. Whatever.

More on his personality. He’s never been one to be overly considerate. So, why now would he be so nice as to “explain” why he wasn’t calling anymore? Why I wondered. I wondered and wondered. Not because I care that much. You know I would tell you if I did. It’s pretty much like this. I didn’t have much to do Saturday afternoon but sit around with Frank and his fresh feline friends. This boredom birthed my theory. Maybe…just maybe he felt compelled to write me this email as one last ego boost for him. The response I think he might have been seeking was something like this: ah well that’s just too bad. I had such a nice time with you. Yes, we should stay in touch and most definitely be friends. Or maybe something along these lines: Who the hell do you think you are? Why would a cool girl like me give two shits about a dork boy like you? Both, quite satisfying to the ego. Example A) I’m a sweet girl with a nice temperament that really liked him and wanted to see what would happen and is quite sad about the fact that HE rejected me. Example B) I was SO upset by the email that I lashed out, uncharacteristically, and am still quite sad about the fact the HE rejected me. Both responses caressed and massaged his still healing wounds of former dorkdom.

The following is a true testament of how I responed:

I guess I have to stop planning our wedding now. I kid I kid. Totally cool.
Lemme know whenever you wanna kick it.

Quite unsatisfying to the ego. I took it like a champ. Rose above the occasion and thrust the joke back on him. Needless to say…there has been absolutely no response from him…nor any attempt to contact me as ‘common and indifferent acquaintances’. In the words of a modern day Robert Frost, “I don’t wanna be the bandage if the wound is not mine”.

So, boys. This is what you’ve all been waiting for! Just stop calling. I’m not gonna rub you haired and matted underbelly of an ego. I’m not. Well, not if you stop rubbing mine. No one likes an insecure buggar.

fear.realized

Years of proselytizing. Years of condescention. Years of fear. The fear of what it might do to me. Yes, friends. The dreaded cable abled television. Last night I watched...super glued to the boob tube...Project Runway. Not only did I watch it...oh no. I made myself stay awake to watch it. We all know I can go to bed at 7:30 any given night...but not last night. I was captivated. Would poor Vincent who cashed out his 401K to restart his murky fashion career get the boot? Would it be rock star designer, Jeffrey, in desperate need of a Pantene scrub? Or, "I'm such an idiot, I don't even know how to sew with a machine", Stacey? Thank God it was idiot Stacey.

So, I say all that to say this. I've been Anakin'ed...waiting for Luke to release me from my black prison.

Keep Austin Kissing...

I miss you guys. Isn't it crazy that I feel connected to people by typing this stupid blog? I mean...that's kinda dumb, but whatever.

I feel like so much has happened...and yet...nothing has really happened that's much different. Well, I had plans every night after work this week! How fun is that? So, all the money I intend to "save" by getting a roommate will probably be wasted on booze and bar food. I shouldn't say wasted. Thursday night was probably my favorite. I sat around this very Austin-y tappas place with Blondie. It's amazing how your religio-political views come out so much more clearly after a couple three glasses of wine! Didn't Mr Ward say "a couple three"? Isn't that a Ward-ism? Yikes. Kick Step Heel-Up Halt!

I'm still pretty much homeless and staying with Serial Dater. I swear...Hugh Hefner doesn't have as many dates as she does!!! She's like a machine!

Lucky Lounge has lived up to its name once again. Now, before you start shaking your heads Gauc Boy & Brown Sug...I have not slept with anyone yet. However, I did run into a former dork boy from high school. I love it when dork boys grow up to be...well...not dorky anymore. But my favorite is when they profess their love to me. Yes...it's an ego trip ok. Who doesn't like a good ego trip now and then? It's the only real vacation I can afford.

After a night of boozing in Austin
Susan...you know...you were my dream girl in high school

[trying to looked shocked, bc it was terribly obvious back then]
Really?!?! Awwww that's really cute.

Yeah...I remember that you would always share your book with me in Dr Rogers' class. You were really nice...too nice. But you were always dating that guy that wore the tight retro shirts from Value Village. Stephen Aaron.

[wow...you remember his name still...I know for a fact you guys weren't friends-if I wasn't so loopy I probably would have thought that was creepy]

Making out ensues.

I've wanted to do that for ten years.

Well, thank God you're good at it...or we probably both would have been dissapointed.

It most definitely was above average kissing. I love kissing...It's my favorite. The rest of the details bore me...So, I'm not going to waste time by telling you. I'll probably never hear from him again...you know...bc that's how my life works. But it was a nice little 'welcome to town' package!

My break from blogging

I'm sitting at my desk today with toilet tissue stuck up both nostrils. It's really attractive. I'm allergic to this freaking building. One stupid, new AE here, that no one likes, is running around talking about purchasing penises and how they come (hee hee) in many different shapes and sizes. I loathe her.

Anywho, on my break from blogging...I got a new job. Decided to take it and by extension move to Austin. Quit smoking. Resumed smoking. Emailed random lesbians to see if I could live with them in Austin. Had a nightmare that I woke up crying from. And made out with a Jewish boy.

And now you are all caught up.

I am not stronger than this

I'm tired of being strong when all I feel is completely weak.
Of being happy when all I feel is pitiable.
Of laughing when I really want to drown in tears.
Of chewing gum instead of smoking.

I've heard people say that any time you say something negative about your life or about yourself, you should say 7 positive things. Let's give it a shot.

Yeah...I changed my mind...that would take forever. And let's be honest here...I don't have that much happiness right now.

It's time.............

First Rule of Book Club...Read the GD Book!

So, I needed to spend some quality time with the cat last night as he's been feeling a bit neglected recently. In doing so, I came across this ridiculous show...The Tuesday Night Book Club. This is the most unsettling show I think I've EVER seen. First of all, these idiot people ( and I'm sorry if I'm stepping on any of my Scottsdale friends toes...hopefully, you guys don't know these yahoos ) did not read ANY of the book. Is this how Scottsdale really is? Who the HELL goes to book club and doesn't read the book? Ok...to be fair...one lady got to page 20. Page 20. Come on now. And it was even some goofy 'Whoo, I'm going to be so much better in bed after reading this' book. Chick Lit. Which I loathe the name Chick Lit. I'm going to start calling ridiculous guy books Dick Lit and and see if that catches on. Ok...I can hear my IST "friends" now...calling me a snob. So be it. Yes...People should get their heads out of their bum holes and try reading once and a while.

Anywho, did you know...Arizona has the highest rate of divorce of any state in the nation? The things you learn on network TV. I somehow doubt it has much to do with the people in Tucson...but that's just an assumption.

Yet I remain fascinated. First rule of "Book" Club...no one talks about book club. Thank God for Ed Norton. Except Fight Club was actually cool...he got all his furniture from IKEA. Just like someone I know in Scottsdale...that's funny. I love it when my stories unwittingly turn full circle....sort of.

Back to the crazies. Lady in Red. I don't remember her name. She was a very attractive lady. Red hair...perfect smile...Was wearing FUR. Fur in Arizona. So, I already think she's a dumb ass. Her husband won't sleep with her. HELLO LADY!?!?!? HE'S CHEATING ON YOUR SKINNY 30 SOMETHING ASS! You can tell she knows it subconsciously, but is too scared to bring it to the forefront of her mind. What did you sign a freaking prenup and would be sad to return to normalacy if you guys split? Is it all that terrifying to NOT be able to afford everything you want at Kierland Commons? Reality is Relative I suppose...and I should be more understanding. However, I was happy to see this one lady...who definitely looks like the "poor one"...was wearing a Target shirt! I know, bc I have it in two colors. It's a great shirt. I'm wearing the black one today...and I wore the black one in Arizona! HA! More circuitity!

So, are you really all like this? Or is this like that one guy at dinner that was astonished that I didn't have a Texas accent? Is this just a stereo-type? Or are the majority of women driven by money so much that they would stay in unhappy marriages to maintain their fancy lifestyle?

To the guy at the bar of the Ocean Club that gave me a light...I was wearing TARGET shoes! Run fast! I've never had a facial! Book it! My top was like 5 seasons ago from....are you ready for this...Urban Outfitters and I got it 40% off bc I was an employee! Blech. An employee? Had you known all that I'm sure you wouldn't have flirted with me while I was on my way back to my table. I think I was wearing my glasses too. I bet that's what threw him...they're PRADA.

Chompers and the Scorpion

Arf Arf!!! Aunt Susan Aunt Susan! Arf Arf!!!

Look at the little fluffy doggie!!! Ahhhh...little Chompers is so sweet!
Why do you have a string in your mouth? Are you really a cat?

Chompers quickly spits out the "string"!

Eeeee Gad! It's a scropion Batman!

I hurriedly command the dog away....grab a glass off the counter and capture the horrid beast!

I spend the next 45 minutes staring at the scorpion...wondering if there is any way it can escape its glassy prison.

At last my salvation descends from the very heavens...or thru the garage door. Blondies husband! He non-chalantly lifts the glass and ends the life of our poisonous friend with one fell stomp of his foot!

CCRRRRRUUUUUUNNNNNNNCCCCCCCCHHHHHHH!

And our friend is now in scorpion heaven where no dogs chew on them and there's a plethora of unsuspecting humans to sting! But not me you dirty Arthropod!...not me.

Calling All Behavioralists

So, riddle me this blog-fans. Why would a guy leave his card for you at your job, and then never call you back. Some background. We (meaning Creative and News) are working on this big rebranding thing to maybe actually get ratings in news. We hired some outside help to make it look better than we could make it look with our lame ass equipment. So, I notice this one dude on the hired crew staring at me all day. Guys do this a lot when you carry 10 lbs of lipids on your chest. So, I'm used to it. Anywho, I go out to smoke and dumb ass decides it's time for him to smoke too. Fine. Come flirt with me...it will make the day a little better. Naturally, he did. I was making some ridiculous joke about wanting to be a court jester as a profession...I would actually be really good at that. Blah blah blah. Later that day...I'm walking down the hall with a bag of popcorn and run into dumb ass again. He asks me my name...shakes my hand...goes back to work. In I walk the next day only to have someone from Creative hand me his card and inform me that he really like prunes. Ok. Well, I'm down with new stuff. I can handle a good prune. I wait a couple days and call him. To make a boring story shorter...Why did he never ask me out? This is weird to me. You flirt with me at my job...leave your card for me with someone I know...and NEVER ask me out. Are you married? Do you have a terminal illness and now are dead? Or do you just like behaving oddly? I was confused. Oh well.

Scenario number two. I'm out at Latin night with SV, her insurance guy (don't ask) and one of IG's friends. We're dancing having a decent time and I'm flirting with Mr. Mexico. I'll be honest...we made out a little...that's all. It was fun. This was the night before Arizona. Hooker! Whatever. I have needs. So, anyways. He hands me his card and asks me to call him tonight.

Ummmm...excuse me...but I'm not that kind of girl! (bold face lie)
No No No! I just want to have your number so I can call tomorrow.
Oh...Ok...Hee hee.

I do as he requests and leave a goofy little message. He does as he says and calls the next day. I didn't answer, but I call back. He calls me back and I answered this time. He tells me he can't wait to kiss my suculent lips again...He really enjoyed kissing me. Well, duh. I have great kissing lips...Like...everyone says so. I tell him that I'll be out of town this weekend, but call me Sunday or Monday or whenever.

Did dumb ass number 2 ever call? You guessed it! NO!

I feel like I followed all the rules with these two. So, even when I follow all rules...I can't seem to do it right. I'm not...nor willl I ever be a game player. I will not wait 'three days' to call back. I will not lie and say I have plans when you ask me out the first time just to sound popular. Think about how freaking retarded all that shit is. You know...if that is what you have to do to land a guy. Fuck that. I'll stick with Frank the cat. He purrs everytime I come home and loves it when I give him a lot of affection. So, there you idiot dumb asses. Suck it...and by it I mean some gay dudes HIV ridden dick.

Steve Nash is my hero...Well, when Dirk isn't winning!

I'm really not in the mood to write like I usually do. But this story made me laugh. Dad and I were goofing off while both my sisters, one of their boyfriends and my mother were feverishly trying to get stuff done of this summer class thing for the less fortunate kids at Mom's mission. It REALLY irritates Mom when Dad and I act this way. Subconsciously, I think we both do it on purpose. So, while C & J build a faux log cabin, and S is putting the finishing touches on a mural that spans three walls, and Mom is supervising...Dad and I decide to throw around a ball of tightly compacted butcher paper. We are SO helpful, Dad and I. Well, I decide to Steve Nash it and bump it off my knee. I used to be really good at this as a kid. Not so much now. It's like the time I thought I could still throw a round off back handspring back flip in college after years of dormant gymnastics, and I fell on my head an cracked a couple vertabrae. Anywho. So, Dad goes into this story about how at one of my soccers games (Go Lightenings!!!) I tackled this one kid...got up off the ground...turned my head to my dad standing patiently on the sidelines...flashed that beautiful, buck tooth smile and gave him a huge thumbs up. He said he pretended not to see me. When it was HIM that was ALWAYS telling me to be more aggressive in my Left Wing position while I sucked on the orange slices someones mom brought for us. Well, we probably lost anyways. Kid stories are funny.

Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia

Happy day of the devil everybody.

Happy Birthday Month to C & a C!!!

Believe it or not, you have all been fascinated by the life of Susan for one year now! Well, starting tomorrow, the month long celebration of Condoms & a Cosmo begins. With this re-birth comes a whole new look. I'm already missing the meloncholy charcoal black. I thought I'd start off a day early with some birthday/mid-year resolutions.

1. Change color of blog...black is depressing. And while your life is pretty damn depressing...at least your blog template doesn't have to be.

2. Stop thinking/writing about BDI. You don't like him remember?

3. Start writing about more things that matter instead of how sad you are everyone is getting engaged and you sleep with a cat every night.

4. Think positive thoughts like, Whooo...turquoise really is your color, Susan! and Of course he likes you back...I mean you did wait 48 hours to sleep with him. That's a long time!

5. Make new friends. If for no other reason than they will give you something more to blog about.

6. Get a roommate. Roommates ALWAYS make for excellent blogging. Example-Bitch used my deodorant again...You would think that dirty cunt would at least try and make it look like she wasn't rubbing my Degree on her hairy, pimply pits and put it back in the cabinet!

7. Get on board with some socio/politcal group. It's really fun to make people feel worse about themselves when you fill your blog with topics like how you saved the brothel born babies in Romania over your vacation time. Way better blog material than, Oh we spent a couple weeks in our timeshare in the Hamptons. It was smashing darling.

8. Scam more free dinners off old men at Sullivan's. Who knows...if you're lucky...one might croak on you and you can check his pockets for loose bills & change before the EMS gets there.

9. Save a little money to go on a real vacation with your girlfriends. That just sounds FABULOUS.

10. Allow yourself to love and be loved. Stop blocking people off at the first sign of irritation. Let people get to know you. Stop being so damn scared of intimacy or lack of intimacy. Just be...and be happy being. One day it will work. You will love and be loved. You will.

Feeling low.

Feeling very very low.

These Are My Confessions

"Just when I thought I said all I can say my chick on the side says she's got one on the way." - Usher

No...I'm not pregnant. Even though that would be a GREAT scandal and MySpace would be blowing up with the news that Susan from high school, you remember ther real religious one, got knocked up! HA! It would almost be worth the buzz...I'm sure Rupert Murdoch would thank me.

Seriously, my stint of playing house had odd repercussions. And please don't take this as my wanting to be with BDI forever...even though it doesn't sound half bad...it's more than that.

For the first time in my life I was fantisizing about getting married...having kids...and living in the God forsaken suburbs. My stomach is churning just thinking about that. But, I feel like I need to talk about it. Someone stage an intervention...PLEASE!!! In my adult life, I have never really fantasized about children, but something flicked on in Arizona. I guess it had something to do with feeling taken care of and safe. But while BDI was out Saturday morning...all I could think about was little ole me sitting on the couch with a big fat belly eating organic ice cream and french fries. Let me reiterate...this is NOT about BDI...It's not. Could I want kids? Could I be happy living outside the proverbial 'loop'? Could my clock have starting ticking? Oh God. I'm nervous now. Where's my fucking XANAX!

Anywho, I've got pretty good genes...My dad is a certifiable genius. My mother is amazing. Apparently, these things skip a generation (me)...So, if you're reading this and feel like getting married and procreating...leave me a comment.

Reality is Relative III

Sudoku Sunday

Damn Tylenol PM! Not working as well as it used to dammit. I'm up an hour before BDI. I take the responsibility of feeding Ebb & Flo, and resume my spot on the couch with the blanket and May's edition of The Sun. In walks this adorable boy complete with dishelveled hair and worn boxers.

Just sitting here reading?
Yup.
Want some coffee
[I nod a couple times quirkily ]
What do you want to do today? Lay out...go to the mountains...see more of Scottsdale?
[whining] I don't want to make decisions
Ok...just sit...read...relax...I'll bring you your coffee.
[I smile]

He joins me on the couch after his desperate search on iTunes for that "try 'n' catch me ridin' dirty" song. He reads the Arizona Republic and clips coupons. I love how super rich people do things like clip coupons. My dad would approve of this behavior. I can't stop staring at his legs. They remind me so much of Dad. He and dad have so many physical characteristics. Red hair...pale freckly skin...and that sincere yet smirky smile.

Stop it Susan...Just Stop. I keep repeating this over & over in my head. Stop it! You don't like him...You DO NOT like him.

BDI tears a Sudoku puzzle out of the paper for me. I try to finish is, but all I had was a pen and I screwed it up.

Hey, you wanna have a Sudoku race?!?!
[giggling] Yeah! Ha! Let's do it.
I'm gonna beat you...I'm really good at Sudoku.

I grab my book...rip out a couple puzzles and the race ensues. I freak a little bc he completed one whole line in the time it took me to get one number. I call a time out to check his answers thus far to make sure he's doing it right. Damn it! It's perfect. I don't give up. HA HA! He gets stuck and I race ahead. I almost got my puzzle right...but so did he. I have less wrong answers than he does! So, I win. The winning puzzle is then hung on the fridge with "BDI is a loser" scribbled across the bottom.

I reluctantly pack my stuff and we head to lunch. In the car, we play this game where I have to guess the band that's playing on his iPod. He keeps saying things like, "you probably weren't even born when this song came out." I turn the tables and plug in myPod. Broadway. I sing "I'll Cover You" at the top of my lungs. So, he definitely thinks I a weirdo now.

Waiting for our lunch he makes me whip out the Sudoku book again! He's obsessed. We complete a couple puzzles instead of eat. You don't like him Susan. Surely, there's another geeky guy out there who would do Sudoku with you at lunch while people stare and laugh! You DO NOT like him. Rinse Lather Repeat. You DO NOT like him.

He drops me off at the airport...puts my bag on the curb for me and kisses me goodbye a couple times. I walk off...I turn my head to see him one last time...and he's still standing there watching me leave. I throw him a slightly embarrassed smile...he caught me looking back.

I sit in my chair at the terminal that's been changed twice now....put my sunglasses on and cry. I really didn't want to leave. I didn't want to come home. I didn't even care about the stupid cat. I just wanted to run back to Scottsdale and continue playing house. I enjoyed being spoiled...more than I thought I would. I loved sitting in his stupid car thinking...I look hot and he's adorable...I loved the flirting at George Carlin when he kept pushing my arm off the arm rest and kicking my leg. I loved discussing stuff that matters with his friends. I loved that I spent $31 the whole weekend and that was just parking my car at the airport! I loved sitting outside by the pool with my suglasses on and the heat warming my skin. I felt my spirit soften for a couple days. I wasn't peeved or upset of pensive. I just was. I could feel the sweetness in my soul radiating like it used to...before I became so cynical...and I didn't want to let it go.

Reality is Relative II

Sleepy Saturday

BDI has this rich people charity thing to go to Saturday morning. They're voting officers for this year. It starts at 7:30AM. Good God. Who does that? Anywho. I slept on and off till 10:30 or so.

I had just done my hair...put on clothes...and fixed the makeup when the door bell rings.
Now...what is a girl that's been snooping around BDI's house a little bit do when the doorbell rings? Do you answer it? I mean...it's not your fucking house...You're not the girlfriend. You sure as hell don't live there. I felt like I shouldn't answer the door...like it was answering someones cell phone. What if some other chick he's dating decided to pop in & I open the door? My lugage, panties, a bathroom stuff strewn across the bedroom floor. I would feel a little bad about that...only bc I would hate for it to happen to me!

My curiosity got the best of me...I opened it.

OMG! Hiiieeeeeeeeeeee! I'm Lauren. Is B here?
Nope...no...not here...I know he told me where he was, but I forgot.
OMG! I'm from Texas too!
Wh--Oh...Wow...Uh...me too!? [how the fuck did you know I was from Texas?]
Well, my mom just wanted to say goodbye to B...She's going back to Austin today. You know I used to live here?
Really, well, why don't you guys come in for a minute

Time Out
So, now I'm that girl who's inviting strange women into BDI's house while he's off philanthroping.

They stay for 30 minutes or so...we make small talk about Texas. I can't stop staring at L's enormous jugs! Hot damn. They were freakin HUGE!!! Realize...this is ME saying this. E-fuckin-normous.

BDI calls to say he's on his way home. I tell him Lauren came by. He asked if I gave them the tour.

Uhhhh...yeah...since I live here now.

WHAT?!?! Bizarre.

In my ever conspiring mind I think she stops by to check me out since she wasn't on the list of people going to George Carlin that night.

Fast Forward to dinner with 4 of his friends. They're pretty cool. They look skeptical of me. Later GiGi likes me...I smoke with her...smokers like fellow smokers. GiGi's boyfriend and I talk about carbon sequestration, global warming and suicide. I like this guy. He likes to throw around his wine knowledge, recent travel experiences and pointless trivia...but so would I if I was him. He told me my martini wasn't cold enough. I said, "Who are you, James fucking Bond? I haven't the discriminating palate I suppose."

I sleep on the car ride back to Scottsdale from Pheonix. I'm such a good date.

Reality it Relative

Flying Friday

I'm in the silver BMW on the North Side. Can't wait to see you!
Yea! My bag is about to be here...I'll find you.

Anxiety and anticipation took over my stomach. I see him...talking to me on his blackberry in the far left lane. A timid smile and wave. He swerves across three lanes of traffic like any spoiled kid who doesn't have to worry about messing up their car. He jumps out...kisses me on the cheek and gives me a big hug. I haven't seen him in three months. God he smelled good. Hugo Boss? I don't care. It was intoxicating.

I jump in and off the weekend goes.

We drive around Scottsdale. Definitely the playground for the well-to-do. I didn't see a Target anywhere.

Cocktails before dinner at the house. It's that brownish/tanish stucco...like every other house in Arizona...and two stories. We came in thru the garage, where the golf cart is happily humming plugged into the electrical socket. Inside is total bachelor. Not much furniture, but a huge ass plasma TV hanging on the wall. We stop to say hello to Ebb & Flo. Ebb's the baby frog. Flo's a Beta. Ebb likes to hide in this hollow rock thing while Flo patrols the waters. They make a good team. Upstairs is the guest bedroom number one. We joke about me staying in up there. HA! Hell no! Not when there's a Temputpedic downstairs calling my knot ridden back!!!

He pours me half a shot of some stuff that smells like amaretto in the bottle. He picked it up in Lithuania or Istonia or some weird country. I smell it again and insist I can take a whole shot! It came out my nose all over his kitchen. He just laughed...I was embarrased. Apparently, he has done this to many of his friends since being back from the Russia trip. Same outcome every time.

Dinner 10:30pm Mountain Time. 12:30am CST. We hop in the golf cart and ride down the side walk to dinner. He claims he's being 'eco friendly'. I think he's just a geek. But I love that. Seafood, Salad, Steak...a bottle of wine. I SO wanted a peak of the check. I told him I would throw my card in and pay half...but I doubt it would go thru! We both chuckled. He doesn't know the extent of my brokeness. I get the feeling he thinks I'm joking. During dinner he leans over and kisses me on the lips a couple times. I love it when guys kiss you in public. Especially when the place is crawling with beautiful people. I felt very spoiled. And I liked it.

Sat & Sun to follow.

Once Upon a Midnight Shower

So, BDI and I pretty much have nothing in common. He openly admits to having expunged some riff raff (Let's do the time warp again) from an apartment complex he bought and resold. I fully intend to picket with my Save Montrose signs when my house gets sold by the capitalist and to the capitalists.

BDI has many a fancy thing...like the sassy computer I'm typing this on while he naps naked on his remote controlled Temurpedic bed, complete with vibrating action and all. I think about the rabbit ears on my 19" television set from the early nineties.

He's active in some organization that he just today was elected VP of social activities. My phone hasn't rung in the last 4 hours.

We drive around Scottsdale in his two door BMW. I think about the irritating piece of tinting that's coming off the window of me killer 'rig'. He's got horrible road rage. Oh wait...so do I. Nix that one.

We lead enormously different lives. There are many sexy things about his grand life. But sometimes I wonder what would happen if he sat outside, on the deck one night and was just with himself and a cigar. Would the introspection prove too much? Would loneliness and isolation grab hold of him and shake him like a rag doll? Would the pangs of reality be overwhleming? It's easier to push them to the back of your mind when you have money and vast popularity.

What happens when he's 50? Will he still be flying random girls out to his house for a weekend of pretending to be boyfriend/grilfriend?

Past all that. He's so much fun. He's actually got a great sense of humor that occasionally goes places it shouldn't. Ok. So, maybe we have a couple things in common.

What the hell does "My hips don't lie" mean?

And where can I get a pair that DO lie?!?!? While I have no real beef (or chorizo) with Shakira...this song is so lame, lyrics wise. And yet, when it's being XM'd into SV's car and can't help but whip out my best goat like, quivering voice and sing along.

Music is an amazingly manipulative tool. Just ask the people that cry every Sunday bc there are some killer power chords in another lame-oh song. I realize there is an element of conviction and spiritual canoodling with the Big Man, and people cry bc of that too...So, there's my disclaimer.

I'm gonna go to my parents church next weekend after I come back from a weekend of shacking in Scottsdale, grab the mic and belt out Aish Tamid...just to see what happens! My dad would love it. He's probably to oldest gentile that listens to Matis, but that's what I love about that man.

Another song with ridiculous lyrics that I love...Smells Like Teen Spirit. "A mullato, an albino, a mosquito, my libido...Yeah". WTF. This is a band that defined a generation and gave guys everywhere an excuse not to bath or cut their hair!!! And all with ridiculous lyrics. However, any time I'm flipping radio stations and I hear it....I stay on that song and sing along at the top of my lungs. Humans are weird.

PS-I got reemed for not saying thank you to GB for his latest installment of photoshopped masterpieces...So, here are the pics that I've titled, "Every action has a reaction". Thanks GB.

Oatmeal & Green Tea

Ya know...I used to think it was cool that I had a bowl of women's health oatmeal every morning accompanied by a green tea. And now...I just think its pathetic. I've eaten the same exact thing for breakfast for months now. Months. I'm turning into my father. He has eaten PB&J, a yogurt cup and a piece of chocolate for lunch for the past 25 years. That's circa 6,250 lunches that are exactly the same (if you factor in 2 weeks vacay). And...it gets worse. Come 11am, dear ole Dad realizes mom forgot his hershey kiss, and goes a little nuts.

"J, where is my chocolate!"
"Well, we were all out this morning."
"But, I ALWAYS have chocolate....This is a bad day."

Funny how drama and dependence on my mother seems to run in the family.

So, I see myself falling into this sad pattern. Drive to work. Check my websites. Make my tea first so it has time to steep. Make oatmeal. Eat it fast. Cold oatmeal tastes like shit. Drink tea and now the day can begin.

Thank God for Arizona, hot tubs, an expensive champagne, or I might have wanted to rip my beating heart out of my chest and die in my nasty, dirty apartment this morning.

"Oh My God...You're the Blonde" the Tony Hawk/Jet Lee Reprise

Ok...this is EXACTLY what I get for thinking I am brave enough now to have strangers read my blog!

So, back in January, which btw I thought this was SO much longer ago, I was probably a little drunk and decided to profess my love to some guys hair. It's hot. I'm not backing down from that!!! Well, he had these friends...who are all adorable...and I'm not just saying that bc you crazies found my post about you guys that I thought was safely buried in archives! So, the friends show up at, where else, Pub Fiction. I almost immediately know them as Tony Hawk and Jet Lee. I'm not inebriated enough to talk to them; a little time passes.

This douche of an Irish guy comes up to me and starts mumbling something in a terribly thick accent. I just nodded...asked for a cigarette and pretended I had to go to the bathroom. Well, Stripper V and I come out & of course crazy Irish boy is waiting. He says, "I lit your cig, but you lit my fire"!!!!!!!! HA! Props to my man from the mother-land. That was the most ridiculous thing a guy has ever told me. Oh wait...no it isn't. The most ridiculous was in Abilene, TX. This old dude asked me to dance some country song with him. I mean old...65 minimum. So, I think...this sweet grandpa type wants to dance...isn't that cute. He tells me in one of those ignorant sounding Texas accents, "I saw you and your friend shakin' your hips over there, and I knew I had to ask you to dance." He draws me closer to his pearl snap shirt that he probably castrated cattle in earlier that day and proceeds. "I said to myself 'strap a saddle on that thing and I'd ride ya for eight seconds'." What the fuck?!?!?! I was 18 at the time!!! SICK!

Ok...so, I've had a few GnT's. And I'm asking Stripper V if I should go bump into Tony & Jet. Of course she says yes. So, I nestle myself in an open spot at the bar...Look at Jet and say, "I know you." He, in a quasi-condescending tone, replies, "yeah we were just here".

"No, I saw you guys here before. You were with the tall guy with the gray hair."
"Oh my God! You're the BLONDE!"
"Uhhhhh...OK."

Shortly thereafter, it comes out that my little post about Anderson Cooper, Tony Hawk & Jet Lee may or may not have circulated through some channels to ALL of the aforementioned people! Humiliation ensued.

"This is really not how I envisioned talking to you to go down."

I felt like Elizabeth Bennett when she's touring the grounds of Pemberly and Mr. Darcy walks up...unbeknownst to her. Humiliated. But I was drunk so it didn't really hit me till later.

Then they told me they thought I was snobby! Ouch. My mother is the only person that's ever called me a snob. So, that one kind of hurt. I'm sorry to anyone that I've ever told they should read more...I don't want to be that snob girl who reads. I have enough geeky titles and am not in want of another.

One thing leads to another, and I'm now on the phone with Anderson. I have no idea what I said...probably nothing.

We chat for a little while longer...and it finally hits me. These people aren't laughing with me...they're laughing at me. Ouch again. So, SV comes back...and we leave. Me feeling a little less confident...ok maybe a lot...and wishing Al Gore and his stupid internet invention never made it big! =)

Do you think I'm just jealous?

So, I'm looking thru this magazine, 002Houston, or some such debauchery. Paul freaking Wall was on the front a couple months ago...sparkling 'grill' and all. Ouch. And I notice a tiny ad at the bottom of one page. It's for a brand spanking new condo for rich people! Besides the fact that Houston does NOT need another huge condo building for rich people...this one is going up less than one block from my house!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! For those of you who don't know...I live in North Montrose. It's pretty much just one 1930's sytle house after the next. Many have been turned to apartments. Some, young families buy and fix up. So, basically, they're going to have to tear down all these beautiful houses full of character and history to erect some monstrosity of red brick....for rich people! GO BACK TO SUBURBIA YOU STUPID RICH PEOPLE! Alright...I don't mean it. But seriously. I'm concerned. My artsy neighborhood is going to become overrun by these phony urbanites that probably always pay their rent on time! You know the ones...that walk around in $300 jeans and high heels on Saturday morning...perfect makeup and all. I smile peacefully as I walk by in my black gauchos...dity Converse...and glasses thinking secretly, "I wish you'd get out of my neighborhood you Crusaders for Capitolism!" Isn't that sweet and open minded of me? Eventually, they will take over all my spots. Lite Nite Pie has already felt the effect. They're skrimping on the goat cheese on my favorite pizza, the Boss Man, and they fired all they substanse-a-ly challenged employees that were always condescending and famously rude while serving you, but somehow I loved them. The infamous Midtown crew took over Friday night karaoke at the Proletriat...what's next? I can only imgine the hell these newly urbanized members of Montrose will raise while driving down the road and they see the sign for Gay.com. It just looks like a Tommy Hillfiger ad anyways. So, I prepare myself for yet another masacre on the "under privledged" in society, but this time it's really close to home...a couple of houses down. And I'm sure I'm next.

**Disclaimer**
I like to be dramatic and actually have less a problem with capitolism than this post would lead one to believe. Nor do I hate rich people. I've lived with them the majority of my life...I just wish they would not mess with my little neighborhood.

***Art work-compliments of Guacamole Boy and his mad skills***

To lezzies, faggots, dykes, cross-dressers too!

I heart lesbians and new friends.

So, Stripper V and I did something rather odd this weekend. We actually met up with a guy from the internet that neither one of us had any intention of sleeping with. Wowsers! This is a break thru. Anywho, how we met him is a long story...but we ended up at the St Arnold's Brewery tour for his sisters girlfriends 30th birthday party. Very odd.

The Pretty One-Wearing these fantastic wedge shoes...stylish jeans and a pullover linen top with a little bling lining the shallow 'v' neck. Short, bob haircut with perfect makeup. Very purdy...you'd never be able to tell she likes to suck the fish taco.

The Dykey One-Wearing fit to waist jeans with no shape to them. Can't remember the top...the hair was straight to the shoulders with no movement or volume. She wasn't extremely dykey...but you get it.

The Brother-Wearing a green terry-cloth polo style shirt and shorts. Enormous tattoo on the back of his right leg...and the real killer...a tongue ring. Now...I've never been with a guy with a tongue ring...but it sounds sort of fantastic.

Warning to Guacamole BoyBrown Sugah...stop reading now...you won't approve of the following:

This got me to thinking. I'm REALLY tired of boys. I mean. I love getting 'cocked' if you will...but oral sex does hardly anything for me. (Sorry to anyone who reads this and might have performed that act on me...not my favorite and I was probably faking the noises bc it's expected.) So, ultimately, I can't be a lesbian. I mean my girlfriend would ALWAYS have to strap it on. However, wouldn't dating your best friend be ideal? I mean...Stripper V and I would totally be each others bitches. Not only would we be the hottest lesbians in Houston, we would have a great relationship. She and I would do fashionably gay things like become members of the MFA. We'd march the annual Pride Parade and get front row tickets to RENT every time it's in town. We'd fight over who got to be Maureen, and SV would always win bc she's more fabulous than I am. The living situation would almost kill our relationship...SV's pretty damn neat. And anyone who's been to my place knows I don't mind leaving a dead roach carcass out for a while. It serves as a reminder to the others...I feel. SV would walk out of the main room for a minute after railing me for being so messy, and I would make that 'you're such a meanie' face behind her back as I am the most passive person in the world. But ultimately, I know what hurts her feelings...SO I WOULD NEVER DO THAT STUFF ON PURPOSE!!! I know what makes her happy (shoe shopping) and what makes her smile...WHY CAN'T GUYS TREAT GIRLS LIKE THAT?!?!? I would always listen and be attentive. I would call her just to say hi & let her know I was thinking of her....I would be a great girlfriend....This is a really creepy post. I'm going back to being boy crazy.

Mad Pilates & Materialism

I almost hate myself for this. But ever since that stupid boyman from Scottsdale...Baron de Intercontinental if you will...bought me that stupid plane ticket...I've been waking up every morning and doing pilates out the wazoo.

It's odd to me that a booty call boyman is whipping my butt (abs, thighs & arms also) into shape more than any other type of external motivation. I mean...what?!?! Who cares. It's not like I was firm and healthy looking when first we hooked up in Austin. Geez.

Moreover, in case you haven't heard, the bastard is loaded. I'm also hating myself bc I find myself uncharacteristically attracted to things like, Marc by Marc Jacobs tops, fake sun tans, and Charles David wedges. Excuse me, Susan, but you're supposed to be this free thinking, independent, quasi liberal twenty something that if she could afford to live the organic lifestyle...she would! What's wrong with you?!?!?! Life is NOT about BMW's and Tiffany's rings! (Stripper V...stop rejoicing!)

But, God, I wanted those $115 sandals...They would look so nice in the Scottsdale sun...walking next to my loaded booty call boyman.

I don't even know who you are anymore.

=)

Things I Have to Keep Telling Myself

#1 Just because a guy buys you a plane ticket to come see him...it DOES NOT mean he likes you. It means he's loaded and has more money than sense [cents] .

#2 Your puns are ALWAYS funny.

#3 Quitting smoking is a ridiculous idea that you wish you never came up with.

#4 If the guy you're seeing/talking to/dating/f-ing doesn't call...it means he doesn't want to talk to you.

#5 Hooking up with peoples' cousins isn't always as hilarious and awesome as you first thought.

#6 Admitting you have a ficitional boyfriend named Mark Cohen on MySpace...not your smartest move.

#7 Look in the mirror fatty and put DOWN the left over Easter candy!

#8 You really might never have a boyfriend again because you're weird. Weird and Fat. Bad combination.

#9 Both your younger sisters will be married before you even get another boyfriend. Maybe you shouldn't use condoms in AZ?

#10 Life is not as bad as you think it is. So knock it off. You have great friends. A great family. And would only do one thing differently in life. That's pretty damn good.

No One Likes a Quitter

I haven't been smoking but for a couple years. And it's only been recently that I've been a full-time smoker with benefits. I know I picked a piss poor time to stop with work the way it is and wanting to drop the lbs's. But nevertheless, being quasi asthmatic and having allergies is not so condusive to inhaling 1,000's of carcinigens on a 3-4 hour basis. But God, I love it.

A couple weekends ago when the weather was beautiful, I took my 20 year old wooden dining room table chair outside to the deck behind my house. I sat there for hours. Drinking Blue Moon, smoking Marlboros and reading the April edition of the Sun Magazine. It was so peaceful and inspiring. I wrote some half drunk thing about Iranian women and how they are more liberated than American women in their shrouds and inconspicuous clothing. I haven't brought myself to read back through it since I was kind of drunk when I wrote it. That makes me really nervous for some reason. I know...I need Xanax.

I'll miss the late night smokes after work when it's lightly raining and you can hear the hustle and bustle from the busy street in front of my aging house. I shut the screen door so Frank can pretend he's an outside cat for a couple of minutes. He loves it. I don't play music. I don't read. I don't talk on the phone. I just sit there and let the brain go where it wants to go. I find myself smiling and laughing one minute and tearing up the next. I think about my little life and how my thoughts are almost always of a selfish nature. I've come to the conclusion that life was good when you were a kid, because everything was just one emotion. You got ice cream...VERY HAPPY! You got sent to your room three times in the same day (yeah...I was a hand full as a kid)...VERY unhappy. Your mom tells you the kittens left on your front door got shipped to a kitten park...BAWLING unhappy. Now nothing seems to be just happy or just sad.

So, I say all that to say this: I'll miss you smokey nights, alone on the deck...I'll miss you. See! proves my point. Sad about the smokey nights...Happy to be done with nicotine. Life.

Death by Sake Bomb

I walk into this nice retaraunt and head straight for the bar. My stomach is doing that same thing it does after bad Mexican food. I need a cigarette. Damn! Smoked the last of them at my party last night.

He's sitting there waiting for me. Black pearl snap shirt, Lucky jeans with a patch on the knee. Weathered brown boots with that metal loop on the side. And that shiny bald head.

A reasonably short but heartfelt embrace, at least on my part. A Shiner for me and we head home.

I open my present. Sake bombs. Great present! Meaningful, so I thought. Representative of times past, we shared together. I wish he would have bought me a fucking pre-packaged gift basket from Bath & Body works. Something really cheesy like Sun Ripened Rasberry.

So, tell me. Why wouldn't you stay with me last night? Why?

Why do you make me think you like me?

Why the fucking sake bombs?

Why anything at all?

I sort of feel like kicking all your teeth out of your head.

Fuck. Leave me & my emotions alone!

Don't write. Don't call. And for God's sake. If you must give me a present for my birthday DO NOT comemorate a date we had a month ago with it! DON'T!

You emotional bounty hunter.
"Hello, my name is Domino Harvey."
"Hello, my name is SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

I don't want to hear about your documentaries.
I don't want to hear about your tool father.

You manipulator of me
You manifestation of contradiction
You manicured piece of shit

Sake...Sake...Sake BOMB!

The short tower of hope, demolished.

I threw the ceramic carafe and four sake cups over the balcony. I gathered the chards, took my bottle of sake and one Sippora downstairs. I brought the chop sticks with me...oh and the little bag covered in Asian cloth too. I burnt it all. Emotions turned to ash. Feeling disappeared like difusing smoke. All that was left was a pile of black nothingness.

Yet, somewhere underneath all of the nihilism emerges some need, some drive, some inner strength to not give up.

***I didn't really burn my present, but I thought about it***

It must be a full moon...

I don't exactly know how I ended up the Bezonia State Facility. It just...happened. I was 24. One year away from being 98% out of danger for mental illness. 365 days.

Evidently, I told one too many people of my conversations with Jane. Jane & I used to have tea together. I always took mine white with two lumps of sugar. I loved that Jane took hers staight. We'd chat about things, but only important things. Jane was not a woman to be trifled with. I wanted to be just like her. Strong, stimulating, and British. The Lakes? Why yes! She was from the the lakes! She abhorred London. I was quite diverted when she scolded me for admitting my fascination with it.

Once we had this little chat about what right & wrong really meant and how we learned it.

"What if you lived for one day believing the exact opposite of what peopletell you is right? Or, what if you do the exact opposite of what you do now. Don't read...write. Believe?...Don't believe. Don't love...feel indiffernce. Don't wake up...stay in bed."

Yes, Jane was the reason I am at BSF. Little, lovely Jane with her crazy ideas and compelling rants.

So, I stayed in bed. I took four sleeping tablets. I slept for 16 hours together. I woke to 10 messages on my phone. Boss-where are you? Friend-are you ok? Mother-still coming to dinner tonight? etc. "Answer your call...don't answer your calls". I watched the phone float down the bayou. Beautiful.

That night I went to dinner alone. I choose to reject the "Eat?...don't eat" part of Jane's conversation. I ordered a $100 bottle of wine and a $50 steak. I drank and ate the whole thing. I pretended I was going to the restroom but skipped out on my tab through an employee door used mostly for smoke breaks.

Tonight I'll take five tablets and see what that does. Wait, they give me medicine here. Medicine that makes it impossible to think. One of the younger attendents still asks me about Jane. I tell him she comes and visits sometimes, but you know the rules, she can't stay too long. He says, "funny, I checked the visitor list...no one seems to visit you." That's impossible. She and I sit in that room once a month and chat. He injects more fluid into the raw spot on my neck. "I don't belong here.....I don't...."


"Wake up...wake up!"
"J-Jane! What, how'd you..."
"Shhhh...why are you telling people about me?"
"Well..."
"We're not friends."
"We're not?"
"No."
"But you and I ... we ..."
"I know. There is no more 'we'. And now it's time to go."
"Go where"
"Just go"

She covered my face with one of the scratchy pillows from the bed next to mine. She tore out my I.V. and began tearing open my wrist. I screamed. Then I thought. Flashes of pain from before this place. Boyfriends...no boyfriends. Friends...no friends. Listening...no listening. Love...No Love.

A flash of my mom. Oh, I'd miss her.
My old friends. That was a great party!
My cat. He was the best.
None of it was enough though.
None of it was enough.

My Pod

My iPod has become a staple in everyday living. It's kinda like the internet or cell phones...can't really remember how you lived without them. Like, how did people find places without MapQuest? Weird. So, I've oficially become that girl that listens to her iPod while shopping. Target...iPod...Kroger...iPod...Galleria...iPod. I kind of think those people are typically tools. And as much as I bitch on this thing about isolation in life, one would think I'd refrain from removing myself even further from human contact. Truth is, when you're walking down the condiment aisle at the local Kroger, nothing sounds more appetizing than spicing up your humdrum life with a soundtrack. Ya know? I become Maggie Gyllenhaal in this months latest indie flick now playing at the River Oaks Theatre. I get that insecure, yet strong look in my eyes while the Strokes are jamming "Is This It?" in the backkground. I'm a reality escaper...BIG TIME. You power down the Pod for a minute and I return to my little place on the earth...the slighty plump chick who can't resist the Cadbury Egg. The girl who selfishly longs for something better, but does hardly anything to bring that about. The girl who if she died today wouldn't have much to say to God at the Pearly Gates, "Hey...I've got that one song about you downloaded on my iPod!" "I'm a huge Matisyahu fan...does that count?". Let's be honest here. What have I to show for this humdrum life? What? I don't even have riches to fall back on. Ahhhhhhh...well. I feel inspired talking about it...but won't that feeling soon pass? Won't I revert back to selfish Susan who blocks out the pain of reality with MP3s and cigarettes? Probably. Anyone want to move to Africa and take up a clean water project? I kind of do. But I'm too afraid. So, I'll remain with a my little white headphones drowning out the pain of ideas and convictions. Thinking Sucks.

"My name is Domino Harvey"

" 'k' 59 turns into 84 east? to LA 5 to 171 north? Hummmm" Funny I didn't see ANY signs that said Shreveport. Three people told me to 'follow the signs'. I finally made it to his house. The neighborhood is quaint & quirky, just like mine. It's what I like to refer to as a mish mash of people and ideas, morality and immortality, appearance vs reality. The paint in his bedroom matches mine in the dining & living room. "Do you still believe in coincidences?" Well, yes...yes I do.

Imagine you've just walked into a creative space. Creativity without pretension without obstruction without overwhelmedness. I sat on the bed and realized the pain in my shoulder was gone; my back didn't hurt anymore. I'd only had one glass of wine and one cigarette...nothing to an Irish girl. We sat together on the porch and smoked again...me in his bathrobe and he in his jeans. The rain is just a trickle, but it feels so good tickling your cheeks. Even your senses can be deceitful in times such as these. Did you think it was only emotions that are deceitful? Oh no...OH NO! I don't feel things...well, I try not to. And what was this? Contaminated rain water was calming my frayed nerves. Those deceitful, DECEITFUL senses. Sight. Smell. Sound. Taste. Touch...especially touch. They are evil...the whole lot of them.

We flip on a DVD. "Fucking 90210" "That's Choco, he's always fancied me." I fell into a diphenhydramine HCl induced sleep. It was beautiful.
No sun at 10:30 the next morning. More contaminated rain. The diet coke and Mexican food tasted so good. That calm cautious feeling was present sitting at one of the tall tables in the covered patio. Not much conversation, but that's the way I like it. I'm only chatty when I drink too much. He's too cool to be chatty. I felt comfort. Was it the sight of the boy next to me? The familiar smell of the food? The typical sound in the restaraunt? The terrible touch of his hand?

"It's ok, Jesus drank wine." The spoon-fed intelligence of a young girl is validating my warm sake consumption. She was...cute. She called me ma'am. It was all horrorfyingly sweet. A friend of the family, from their church came up to them, hand out stretched like any political church goer. I leaned over to make it known my biggest fear in life is turning into that. The perfect family, the perfect faith, the perfect facade.

It was inevitable I suppose. If not then, definitely down the line. The talk. The "I like you but not enough to commit" talk. Let's be fair. He lives far from me. He works weekends. It would be difficult. It's fine, really. But, damn the sex was good. The understated connection was nice too. Oh well. I don't fight for boys. Shouldn't boys be doing the fighting? One day there will be one to fight for me...or maybe there won't. It's fine. Really.

Breakfast at 1:00pm CST. I asked if he thought I was negative. "No more than I am" was his perfect response. "A little cynical maybe, but people who aren't don't get it." It's awfully unfortunate we had to end on that note, because, I never heard something more true. Of course I was smitten when I drove four hours to see the boy, but that threw me over. That one statement made me want to come back for more and never leave.

The world is full of statements. Mine is "Cynical : People who aren't don't get it". Oh, and "It's ok, Jesus drank wine". www.matisyahu.org

Tired

I'm tired of meeting people and it not working out.
I'm tired of getting txt msgs from peoples signifigant others in the middle of the night informing to stop talking about them after I've lied at least 5x's to cover their ass.
I'm tired of being that girl that is really fun for the weekend...but that's about it.
I'm tired of every time I'm feeling really low, stupid Pinot Nior has to leave a message on my phone.
I'm just tired of this lame ass life.
I am, however, taking suggestions on how to change that. So, email me....I like suggestions.

Cousin is a beautiful word...

and I don't just mean for those fortunate enough to live in Kentucky.
Send me your cousins...
And they will come
I would take dozens...
Then narrow it to one
That's it...a little Monday morning rhyme. I do like cousins..

Moved Envy

I had forgotten how good college music really is. I'm not talking Rice Radio crap. I mean music majors and the like. Last night made me miss one of my favorite parts of college, band. I'm the hugest geek ever, but I don't even care. Sisero's chior sang at my families church last night. They were so good. Sis conducted one song & I'll be honest here...I teared up a little bit bc I'm so freaking proud of her. She has more talent in one little pinky than I could ever muster. I watched her boyfriend as she was conducting & her as he was singing his solo. It was so sweet. I was also crying, bc it's quite possible that she and I will never live in the same state again. Just when we really started to understand each other. I hate it when crap like that happens. But that's life, huh? Anywho, I walked away thinking this was just one of those perfect moments in time even though I'm a little sad and a little envious. You know, we always say that we love each other, me & Sisero, but this time I really knew it was true. I most heartfeltedly hope she feels the same way too.

"Will I loose my dignity? Will someone care?"

So, last night at Pub Fiction, I almost got in my very first bar fight. There are these two older-ish guys sitting next to us. The Oscars are roling on a couple giant screens in front of us. Lord, Jake Gyllenhaal is dreamy. The Brokeback Mountain conversation is inevitable. I say something about how I loved the film. I was trying to explain the archetypal gist of the plot...which no one was really listening to. Apparently, you aren't allowed to talk about books or anything that matters at all in bars. In fact, you probably should steer away from talking about things like that period. If your conversation is solely based on what position the Rockets are in for the playoffs or who's playing at the Rodeo this week, you're fine. Try to explain the Emerging Conversation to someone in a bar & you get ostersized. Fuck life. Will someone ever fucking care? Well, the answer is no. The problem is me. I'm weird...I care...and I can't help it. Anyways, this dude told me that all gay people are pedophiles. Well, gay men are pedophiles...gay women aren't. So, I got pissed. I suppose I'm a little emotional when it comes to utter ignorance. I told him I was going to punch his teeth out of his head if he didn't get the fuck out of MY G-- D--- bar. He he...Oops. Probably a little over the top. Then I told him I didn't like him. Then he had to talk bad about the Penguin movie. He HAD to talk bad about the Penguin movie. I told him that was it. I couldn't stand him...and he continued to ask me out...over & over like I was teasing about not liking him. He told me about some famous couple that were complete opposites & they had a great relationship. I turned to him and said, "what part of I don't like you did you not hear?" He said, "Ok...I'm sorry" and left. Moral of the story...you can have your our opinions as long as they aren't ignorant. Bye.

The Night Not Envisioned

Hope is the fools crutch and isolation is life.

Imagine.

Mark and I are sitting on a park bench along the bayou connecting over our insatiable need to visit the Lakes & the Peaks so often written about in the Romantic period. How Tolkein & Lewis critiqued each others work over a pint at the local pub. Neither of them liked the others work too much. He tells me some fantastical story about the time he ran into JD Salinger in Connecticut. Mark says JD is unassumingly indifferent. Neither of us really knows what that means, but we love the phrase regardless.

We visit Mom & Dad in the 'burbs. They both think we're flaming liberals, even though neither of us have ever voted a straight Democratic ballot. Dad doesn't mind. He's excited about the Shiraz we picked up at Spec's for $23.17 as discount card holders. Mom's pretty much just happy that I finally have someone that can appreciate my idiosyncratic quirks. Better known as my geekiness and irritating disposition. Dad's worried that we spend too much money. Neither of us like 401K talk, even though we both know much better.

We spend the weekends in our run down Heights house that we both love. The floors are in horrible shape. Mark gets a little perturbed when I've been on the phone too long with Jules and he's still on hands & knees sanding 1500 sq ft of 70 yr old floors. It's nothing one of my famous donut smiles can't fix. I spend too much money on vintage cloth I found at High Fashions. It will be perfect for the music room. We sit in a cool corner of the living space, backs towards one another and drink a beer. Nothing fancy. A Shiner. We sit and drink beer for hours...not saying too much, but living peacefully in the connectedness that is.


Imagination is the devils workshop.

So Saturday nights guy...

Looks really cute in his "I'm in one indie movie" IMDb profile.

http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0116450/

Too bad he kisses with WAY too much tongue.

And yes, if I was in an indie movie I would submit my photo to IMDb...I'm just jealous or something...

Keeping Austin Weird - Take 2

So, Saturday day rolls around. We have what is turning out to be a completely normal Saturday. Meet Blondie for lunch at Hula Hut...all three of us waiting like a Pavlovian dog for the questions about last night. Blondie bites...and the laughter begins as a muffled chuckle...it mounts to a moderately funny SNL skit laugh...continues on to a "more cowbell" hardy, everyone in the restaurant is looking at us laugh.

Blondie makes the very true statement:

"You know, if someone told me in high school that I would be sitting at this table hearing this story from the three of you...I would call them a huge liar!"

My how times and people change.

Anywho, after a 3 or 4 hour nap we all decide it's time to start the party up one more time. We meet up with some people at this Texas-y bar called Lavaca St...I think. It wasn't much longer before we head back to the now infamous Lucky Lounge. I'm texting Baron de Intercontinental...trying to convince him to come see me. Like any lonely 30 something on business in a foreign city, he comes...like a bug towards the zapping light! Instantly, we start mugging. Next thing I know...I'm on my way to the Intercontinental Hotel...the MOST freezing hotel room on the planet. We start bumping fuzzies & everyones happy.

Stipper V has made her second appearance at Cutie J's house...and Busta is with dating boy number II.

Come to find out the next morning...Busta has chipped two teeth & is almost immobilized by the ginormous bruise on her knee. Hence the name...Busta...short for Busta Teeth. I see this being inspiration for a new H-ton rapper song.

"Tearin up in Austin/the reason for my grill/Fell out the door of brothers truck/and chipped my teeth fo real"

Now Stripper V is showing off her battle bruises...She kept all her teeth...but lost something on the way...oh wait...scratch that. I lost something on the way & I think the cat ate it Friday night with Cous. Hummmmmmm...

Anywho, needless to say...I LOVE AUSTIN. And I'm pretty good at laying down some killer lyrics. I think I have a career there.

Busta, Stripper V and Me Keep Austin Weird

"This is the WORST night ever! I want to go back to Houston right now! I'm crying & you're bleeding! I hate Austin!"

This is the story of why Susan LOVES Austin...

It all started with a gin martini at this mod, yet not pretensious, bar called the Foundation. Stripper V & Busta's cousin was in town on business...in tow, his 80 yr old boss. A dirty billionaire that smokes SUPER long cigarettes. Love that. We're drinking along thinking how friendly people are in Austin. Enter Saturday's conquest, Baron de Intercontinental. We all three chat with him for a while, but decide it's time to move on...to Lucky Lounge. Ahhhh...Lucky Lounge. If there is one bar that lives up to its name...it's this one. I spy these two normal looking boys (ok...so pathetic looking to the sober eye, but normal after 3 drinks). I decide to make out with the one that is the spitting image of Jim Carey from Dumb & Dumber plus an uber think Texas accent. You know, the kind that makes you sound ignorant...not the kind that makes you sound sexy...like Matthew McConahey (I know...I just spelled it phonetically). So, apparently, I'm LOVING the kissing with Dumb & Dumber, and SV & Busta keep trying to save me from making a fool of myself. I wasn't trying to hear that. I just kept on suckin face with tard muff. So, it's about to turn 2. I have NO idea how I ended up in the parking garage with the Cous, but I did. Then I started swaping spit with cute Cousin boy! Man...We somehow all meet up at Katz's Never Kloses & that's when things get sloppy...

I'm trying to convince Cous to locate some coke. I have NO idea why. I don't do that crap AT ALL. Never have...don't imagine I ever will. He's too drunk...he's just worried that I will make it a night with Dumb & Dumber. Thank all the goodness in the world that didn't happen. Eeesh. We end up with Busta's key & directions to her place for the cabbie. Cous has to make a suspicious stop at the convenience store on our way. Somewhere between the hot & heavy muggin' & the & all the heavy groping the cabbie dropped us off...at the WRONG complex! Turns out we are two miles from where we should be. I HATE THAT CABBIE! Cous & I decide we can hike it to Busta's. I'm FREEZING & in heels so Cous decides it would be a great idea for one over served person to give another over served person at piggy back ride. So, I hop on. That same instant...we both topple to the ground. It was more like a piece of ply wood falling from an upright position. I hop up & laugh a little until I notice Cous isn't getting up. He's laying prostrate in the middle of the street. He finally stands up & blood is dripping from his split lip & nose. I'm drunk so I'm whiping blood from his face & he's yelling at me, "When you piggyback ride you don't lean forward. LEAN BACK!" I told him to stop blaming it on me...So, he did.

About another half mile down the road I say, "So, do you have Busta's key?"
"No, I gave it to you!"
"No you didn't! You had it when we were holding hands!"

Neither of us could find the key. This is where I sit on the curb & BAWL. Cous is bleeding...I'm bawling. We eventually sort of pull it together & find a mail room in some random apt complex to get us out of the cold. We sit down, Cous still bleeds & Susan still cry and we wait. Busta wakes up her very good friend to get the spare key...drops the real Dumb & Dumber off at her apt...Drops Stripper V off at Cutie J's house & she heads to one of her Boy Toy's houses.

What a mess. So, That was Friday night from about 10:15 to about 4:45a. Damn.

To be continued...