So the wind...

Did I mention the wind. A surge of temporal butter that swept over the all of us and there goes another umbrella and again someone stumbles over a fallen branch.

The wind that day.

She brought in secrets and rough blankets to cover over yesterday. Things that once were became rearranged to be here again. She though of clever tricks too. Shoelaces of razors and candy that dissolves to powder before the sugar can hit your tongue.

The wind poured heartbeats into people's mouths so we all spoke in pounding and one man couldn't help but go around town singing songs that he'd never heard.

I sat, tucked behind the ears of a beautiful moment, and I watched with eyes on my elbows the majesty of the today wind and tomorrow maybe someday.

hottt chocolate

with whiskey. Is soooo fiiiiine. Especially this hott chocolate and this whiskey. Delicious. Fanks Gilly.
Cock.

first batch

So. For some reason I was reminded this morning of my friend Becca. Becca worked at Espresso Royal in Ann Arbor on Main Street. One night, just as she was getting ready to close up, a bandit came in and held her up for the money in her drawer. Gun in the pocket and everything. Now, most people would very willingly give up the contents of their cash register. Becca, however, because she's a super hero, said she couldn't give him the money in the till, but she'd happily give to him the contents of the tip jar.

What a bad-ass...or a complete idiot. I go back and forth depending on the day.

Last night was fantastic. Everyone should listen to and love The Blow and Mirah. Granted Mirah didn't put on the bestest show in the world, but I still have a large place in my heart reserved for just her. The Blow kicked it up to 11 for sure though.

I slept in too late today. But it was very delicious. On my walk to work I saw a very tall, thin woman walking with her son. And it was crazy because she looked just like my friend Jan (aka Fattie) and the thought of Jen walking her son to school made me realize that shit goes down and soon enough she could have kids. And hey, maybe I will too. Apanda might as well. The future is crazy that way.

Puff Pastry Petites

Are the devil. I would like to here and now apologize to my wonderful friends who brought me to Dosa to eat delicious food and on whom I totally bailed because of those damn frozen treats. I was just so hungry! And I couldn't stop eating them. And then all that Indian food. Oh god...I had a stomach ache all frikken night. Goddamn puff pastry petites. I think they gave me nightmares. Anyway- this morning I feel fine. But the thought of how many of those things I ate still makes me feel a bit queasy.

Anyway. That's all from me.

It is 10:35

and I am excited about having a little bit of time to set my life straight. Yay for the openings of plays that thereby free up your Saturday afternoons.

On the bus today I sat across from two guys with the suits and the backpacks and the name tags and the bibles. It made me wonder, as a loud high school girl talked loudly about sex and drugs a few seats away from us, what do those people think about in large groups? Do they pray for us? Do they feel pity? Hatred? Or are they simply wondering whether or not they remembered to put their wash in the dryer? Another thing I always wondered about is the whole sex thing. Like, if they saw someone they found attractive, do you think they would purposely avoid them or would they use the whole Jesus thing to try to get some digits? The whole thing confuses me- there are just so many layers.

Plus, in addition to, furthermore and consecutively; It was my birthday yesterday and I have found that as I get older, the ages I reach seem to be younger than I had always thought them to be. For example. At 16, 18 seemed so much older, more mature, together, sexier, adult, etc. At 18 I still felt like I was 15 except the government could pretend to count my vote. Now that I am the ripe young age of 23 I still feel like...well, like I'm 15 except with additional things that I should have accomplished and life goals I should have already figured out. Sometimes I don't even really feel like I've left home. I still have this expectation of "growing up" even though all the evidence I have gathered seems to indicate that it's one of the bigger lies we've ever been told. Which is actually kind of a nice thing (that growing up is a lie, I mean) because still feeling like a 15 year old is pretty fun. And if I actually lived the way I expected a 23-year-old to live, I don't think I'd be nearly as happy as I am right now. And I'm pretty fucking happy.

Well, that's enough from me. Goodnight moon.

The thing about myspace...

...is that once you delete your account, all record of you vanishes. So, before my account was successfully deleted, I got three messages from a old friend and only one of them was I able to read because soon after the messages were sent, the profile was deleted and the other two messages were lost forever. Now I have no account either (happy day!). Is it true that you have to have one in order to comment on my page? Please respond.

To the past, with love...

...I saw you once in Cleveland. You were getting out of your car and I was getting on my bike. We looked at each other and I rode away. Trying to pretend that I didn't recognize you and failing. I felt rude afterwards and remembered evenings of discovering Nick Drake and Iron and Wine and that painting that you had by your bed and every so often I look at my arms and remember that "legs are too utilitarian" but arms - arms are beautiful. You once told me that you wanted me to end like "Lost in Translation" and so, I suppose that means all that we'll ever get of memory is that little pinprick that won't let us forget. A stumbled-upon blog here, a false myspace account there. Poetic, to the extent the cyber-world can be...poetic and intimidatingly frustrating. Then again, maybe the frustrating part would be running out of things to say. I still remember you with wings. And a mother whom you loved.

Thank you for wishing me well. I hope that you are too.

things i want

eric satie music, yoga mat, yoga class, mattress, excellent travel coffee mug that i can put in my bag and that won't spill, more sea shanties and union songs, a theater company, a big art studio and lots and lots of canvas, to sleep in.

And so it was...

...that I left behind the world of Myspace. Boldly shouting out behind me that "I believe online social networks make us lazy in our friendships and I believe they only function as a method of procrastination and I'd like to waste my time more constructively." Or something to that effect. I took a cab home tonight (after being simply horrified by the neon "57 min" that flashed at me from the MUNI stop) and the cabby started singing along to Stairway to Heaven. And I should have started singing along too because then it could've been a glorious symphony of awkward social moment.

I have been finding recently that I desperately want to watch such movies as "French Kiss," "Circle of Friends," and the like. I am tired for sleep.

It is now 2008

There is a mattress on the couch in my living room. Flower is passed out. The Christmas Tree lights are a-twinkling. And I'm not sure whether or not I want to watch a movie. Back in Cleveland the bad ideas of 2007 were sent to their final resting place with Rabbis and Puppets and snow storms and here I'm not sure if the bad ideas are to end, or if maybe they're just beginning. Hopefully a little of both and the bad ideas that are to come will bring me entertaining stories. I'd very much appreciate a positive change in president. I'd very much appreciate if all religious fanatics decided to return back to their holes in the ground and leave the rest of us to enjoy the lives that we have been able to put together for ourselves. I'd appreciate travel. And love. And friends. And creativity. Art. Music. Picnics. Bike rides. Adventures. Etc. Etc. Etc. "And let me tell you that motherfucker's dangerous."

I have tricks up my sleeve. and I am smiling mischievously.