So very few of you know what I've been going through for the last 40-something days. For those who do, you have brought me this far, I can't tell you how much that means. People I thought would be closer, could not be- people who I was unsure about embraced me in the most positive ways. It's been a very life changing metamorphasis and I'm really humbled by many of you. Macie, you're more than I have words for...
More I'm learning...
Every decision I make, no matter how small, must be made from the mindset that I'm looking for long-term happiness. I'm in this for the long haul, when I refuse or ignore working hard for the things that will enable my long-term happiness, I will have failed.
Character matters. No matter how much you can get away with.
The right decisions, when made, yield an unbelievable reality.
Say what you mean, stop wasting my motherfucking time.
This is not a popularity contest.
People who you have confided in, will betray you for the sake of gossip. People who honor you will not betray you for the sake of anything. The identity of these people will surprise you.
If I live my whole life and the greatest compliment I receive is "you're pretty" I will feel like a failure. Beauty is luck and money. Everything worth having is worked for.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Impotent Cigarette
For those of you unfamiliar, Macie and I have a fake band named Impotent Cigarette. I will be posting the names of our albums and songs on here shortly. Off the top of my head I can tell you our first album is entitled "Dude, I love your mom too but can we order the pizza now?" and our second album is entitled "Because your mom breast fed you."
One of my favorite fake songs on the second album is "I don't think they party in Cairo, I think it's more like running from the religious police."
Anyway, again- full fake band info will be posted shortly... our only review comes from ourselves which outlines our music as such: "it's not rap, it's more like rhymic speaking..."
One of my favorite fake songs on the second album is "I don't think they party in Cairo, I think it's more like running from the religious police."
Anyway, again- full fake band info will be posted shortly... our only review comes from ourselves which outlines our music as such: "it's not rap, it's more like rhymic speaking..."
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Dear best friend,
I feel that you and I are kindred in so many ways. Often I muse that it is most probable that we were never meant to roam the earth without one another.
Today has been a hard day. It's been a good day, but it's been a hard day.
You haven't ask, and it really makes no difference, but here is what I wish for you:
Presence. Kindness. Thoughtfulness. Patience. Humor. Memory. Sensativity. Passion. Focus. Appreciation. Loyalty. Humanity. Generosity. Vision. Humility. Someone who is dynamic. A place that feels safe. The feeling of falling in step with someone and trusting it's taking you the right direction. Perseverence. Commitment. Good sense.
Hear my prayer.
Today has been a hard day. It's been a good day, but it's been a hard day.
You haven't ask, and it really makes no difference, but here is what I wish for you:
Presence. Kindness. Thoughtfulness. Patience. Humor. Memory. Sensativity. Passion. Focus. Appreciation. Loyalty. Humanity. Generosity. Vision. Humility. Someone who is dynamic. A place that feels safe. The feeling of falling in step with someone and trusting it's taking you the right direction. Perseverence. Commitment. Good sense.
Hear my prayer.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Beauty; it's birth.
We walked for what seemed like forty-five minutes. At four o’clock the sun was beginning to fade behind the dramatic green hills that rolled high above our town, Jaco, on the Central Pacific coast of Costa Rica. At one crest in the path we stopped at a vista which was laid out with two rows of cement benches painted and chipping white. The benches were opposite an arch at the end of the short aisle. Standing out beyond the arch and looking across the countless shades of green vegetation spiriting up through the rainforest and onto the ocean and beach which lay below us brought a whole new life. The group stopped to catch breath and enjoy the view. I was filthy, mud crusted over my overpriced hiking boots caked with the decay, vegetation and various aspects of life that lived or fell on the rainforest floor. I was sweating my ass off in cut-off men’s shorts; I took a deep breath and looked out on the Pacific Ocean below. My legs were so eaten by bugs that I had enough time between overwhelming vista views to scratch my legs until they bled. As I stood and stretched, the sunscreen slowly dripped down into the bites-- stinging as the sweat sunscreen mixture smelted over my open wounds, I paused and absorbed the moment. I stood sweating, smelly, blotched with red bites, and tired.
I am more beautiful in Costa Rica than in any other place in the world.
I am more beautiful in Costa Rica than in any other place in the world.
Beauty; action.
So I'm breaking up the beauty essay into sort of a series of short stories, or in the case, short reflections, each centering around different areas of my life where beauty has unmasked itself.
I'm going to post this section first even though it won't be the first in the set...
One of the most profound revelations I would come to was the broadening definition and insight that beauty would develop. This particular strand I learned through death. It is truly ironic the way life goes about handling itself, as if every lesson has to be painfully learned in the most beautiful of way.
And so it does.
My best friend’s mother was dying. I had sensed that she would from the moment I heard she had cancer. I had felt it in my soul, like when the situation was explained to me I thought, “this woman is going to die.” It was just as clear as day in my mind. And the guilt I felt right along with that made me sick. My own thoughts disgusted me in a way I could not swallow. I had no way of knowing that 3 years later I would be right, but I had an instinct, I felt the hesitation in my best friend’s voice and we both knew this was doom, even if we wouldn’t admit it or look each other in the eye when we would talk about it early on. Then as time went by we would refer to it, as something she had to take care of, something she was doing- a project she was working on-- taking care of her mother. It was easy for me to not dwell on it because we lived so far away and I did not know her mother particularly well. I could forget that she had put aside all of her own dreams, moved home after college and nursed her mother for years until her death. She and her brother, one of the most honorable men I have ever known, were the guardians, the nurses, the angels of their mother’s battle. It was not until things were literally on the edge of all create on that I truly began to realize the lesson I was being given. And I say given, because every single time we have an experience in our life that brings light, brings knowledge, into our world- it is truly a favor that life is doing for us. It was beauty again, becoming to rear its mighty head.
So we got the call while she was visiting me, I remember it was New Year’s Day. We had spent the weekend playing in the city and dancing every night, snorting as much shit up our nose as we could muster. It was a much needed break from reality. We had both just taken showers and were still each standing with our hair up and robes on, chatting about going shopping up in the City when she noticed she had a message. It was her aunt, who was caring for her mother while Jessica and I spent time together. Jessica called back. It was not good. It was bad; it was the worst we could have imagined. We stood in our towels and robes and cried at the dining room table of my shabby apartment. We cried and cried and I held her soggy towel-wrapped head against me. I had wanted to speak up and say a blessing- at that moment I felt moved to speak together with the Great Spirit and ask for something in unison. But I stopped myself. I thought it would make her uncomfortable. I knew that prayer would mean we were both admitting out loud that that’s all we had left. We both realized a little piece of the world was coming to an end. They gave her thirty days. Jessica went home early the next morning. Four days went by, the doctors and nurses said about a week. I called all of our friends and told them to pray for Jessica, pray for her brother, not to mention their mother.
Her mother lived for two more months. In her final days I was with them. Only when I could manage but that was nearly every weekend that I could hustle or borrow the money to drive or fly down and be there. Someone once said to me that the hardest thing to do in life is to just show up. For the first time in my life I showed up. I truly showed up. I had actually been visiting them for 4 days, helping support them when we knew the end was near, and hours after I left she passed. What’s interesting about those four days was the amount of life that the three of us lived, as we watched another slip effortlessly away right before our very eyes. We had important talks, we had more important cries, then we had more important talks than the previous important talk and then we cried harder than we cried before. We read to her and each other, we read alone. We shared books and watched musicals. We listened to the same cd for 4 days straight and I will probably never be able to hear it again without absolutely breaking down and losing myself in grief. But what became of three young adults in their twenties was something more powerful and breathtaking than I had ever known. It was then I learned how beautiful action is, how powerful the offensive are and how desperately painful the passive become.
It was a Monday when she died. It was early in the morning and I hate mornings. This made me hate them more.
I walked differently after that experience; held my head higher. I was beginning to understand more now. Beauty wasn’t just what I thought or how I thought of myself, it was how I handled myself, how I carried my light. I could share it, I could break down and give it away and I could walk on, erect and magnificent to share it with still others. I talked at length with a chosen few, maybe 3 or 4 about my experience. I felt it was private, very personal- and I didn’t want to touch it, didn’t want to get it wrinkled with trying to remember it too hard.
I’ve had this theory that if you try to think of a certain memory to much it makes it more blurry, almost pushes it away out to sea so it’s hard to find in your mind. So I kept this very close to my heart, as I kept them.
The relationship I built with my best friend has also taught me significantly about beauty; has taught me to embrace mine. The balance and trust that we engage in is almost uncanny. It’s like we’re trained animals with one another- give and take; ebb and flow.” It’s a dance”, as my mother always said about family, “you can just never stop dancing.” When you hit a stride with someone in this way, as I’m sure it is with love (hopefully we’ll get to that someday) it’s the least work you’ll ever do. Its work you want to do and I think when you’re in the midst of participating in an action and relationship which you feel so naturally apt- it makes you beautiful. It’s the most bizarre thing in a lot of ways. How action becomes beauty. How trust becomes beauty. I find when we one has these things in life, you can just about see it on our face. It translates into how we look and how we react to our life; making a harmony of sorts.
It took nearly 10 years for me to understand that beauty had nearly nothing to do with what assets you already held and everything to do with the assets one worked to achieve. Grace, dignity, maturity, passion, skill, enthusiasm, legitimacy, sincerity-- these were not things you were born with, these were earned and awarded virtues based on the kind of person you were. I need to believe we are granted these traits by diligence and honesty. These are not things one slips into. One can never say, “So-and-so was accidentally passionate.” Passion is not accidental.
I'm going to post this section first even though it won't be the first in the set...
One of the most profound revelations I would come to was the broadening definition and insight that beauty would develop. This particular strand I learned through death. It is truly ironic the way life goes about handling itself, as if every lesson has to be painfully learned in the most beautiful of way.
And so it does.
My best friend’s mother was dying. I had sensed that she would from the moment I heard she had cancer. I had felt it in my soul, like when the situation was explained to me I thought, “this woman is going to die.” It was just as clear as day in my mind. And the guilt I felt right along with that made me sick. My own thoughts disgusted me in a way I could not swallow. I had no way of knowing that 3 years later I would be right, but I had an instinct, I felt the hesitation in my best friend’s voice and we both knew this was doom, even if we wouldn’t admit it or look each other in the eye when we would talk about it early on. Then as time went by we would refer to it, as something she had to take care of, something she was doing- a project she was working on-- taking care of her mother. It was easy for me to not dwell on it because we lived so far away and I did not know her mother particularly well. I could forget that she had put aside all of her own dreams, moved home after college and nursed her mother for years until her death. She and her brother, one of the most honorable men I have ever known, were the guardians, the nurses, the angels of their mother’s battle. It was not until things were literally on the edge of all create on that I truly began to realize the lesson I was being given. And I say given, because every single time we have an experience in our life that brings light, brings knowledge, into our world- it is truly a favor that life is doing for us. It was beauty again, becoming to rear its mighty head.
So we got the call while she was visiting me, I remember it was New Year’s Day. We had spent the weekend playing in the city and dancing every night, snorting as much shit up our nose as we could muster. It was a much needed break from reality. We had both just taken showers and were still each standing with our hair up and robes on, chatting about going shopping up in the City when she noticed she had a message. It was her aunt, who was caring for her mother while Jessica and I spent time together. Jessica called back. It was not good. It was bad; it was the worst we could have imagined. We stood in our towels and robes and cried at the dining room table of my shabby apartment. We cried and cried and I held her soggy towel-wrapped head against me. I had wanted to speak up and say a blessing- at that moment I felt moved to speak together with the Great Spirit and ask for something in unison. But I stopped myself. I thought it would make her uncomfortable. I knew that prayer would mean we were both admitting out loud that that’s all we had left. We both realized a little piece of the world was coming to an end. They gave her thirty days. Jessica went home early the next morning. Four days went by, the doctors and nurses said about a week. I called all of our friends and told them to pray for Jessica, pray for her brother, not to mention their mother.
Her mother lived for two more months. In her final days I was with them. Only when I could manage but that was nearly every weekend that I could hustle or borrow the money to drive or fly down and be there. Someone once said to me that the hardest thing to do in life is to just show up. For the first time in my life I showed up. I truly showed up. I had actually been visiting them for 4 days, helping support them when we knew the end was near, and hours after I left she passed. What’s interesting about those four days was the amount of life that the three of us lived, as we watched another slip effortlessly away right before our very eyes. We had important talks, we had more important cries, then we had more important talks than the previous important talk and then we cried harder than we cried before. We read to her and each other, we read alone. We shared books and watched musicals. We listened to the same cd for 4 days straight and I will probably never be able to hear it again without absolutely breaking down and losing myself in grief. But what became of three young adults in their twenties was something more powerful and breathtaking than I had ever known. It was then I learned how beautiful action is, how powerful the offensive are and how desperately painful the passive become.
It was a Monday when she died. It was early in the morning and I hate mornings. This made me hate them more.
I walked differently after that experience; held my head higher. I was beginning to understand more now. Beauty wasn’t just what I thought or how I thought of myself, it was how I handled myself, how I carried my light. I could share it, I could break down and give it away and I could walk on, erect and magnificent to share it with still others. I talked at length with a chosen few, maybe 3 or 4 about my experience. I felt it was private, very personal- and I didn’t want to touch it, didn’t want to get it wrinkled with trying to remember it too hard.
I’ve had this theory that if you try to think of a certain memory to much it makes it more blurry, almost pushes it away out to sea so it’s hard to find in your mind. So I kept this very close to my heart, as I kept them.
The relationship I built with my best friend has also taught me significantly about beauty; has taught me to embrace mine. The balance and trust that we engage in is almost uncanny. It’s like we’re trained animals with one another- give and take; ebb and flow.” It’s a dance”, as my mother always said about family, “you can just never stop dancing.” When you hit a stride with someone in this way, as I’m sure it is with love (hopefully we’ll get to that someday) it’s the least work you’ll ever do. Its work you want to do and I think when you’re in the midst of participating in an action and relationship which you feel so naturally apt- it makes you beautiful. It’s the most bizarre thing in a lot of ways. How action becomes beauty. How trust becomes beauty. I find when we one has these things in life, you can just about see it on our face. It translates into how we look and how we react to our life; making a harmony of sorts.
It took nearly 10 years for me to understand that beauty had nearly nothing to do with what assets you already held and everything to do with the assets one worked to achieve. Grace, dignity, maturity, passion, skill, enthusiasm, legitimacy, sincerity-- these were not things you were born with, these were earned and awarded virtues based on the kind of person you were. I need to believe we are granted these traits by diligence and honesty. These are not things one slips into. One can never say, “So-and-so was accidentally passionate.” Passion is not accidental.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Day 25
I don’t know where or how.
Somewhere along the line—
In these 25 days,
And on this busted road…
Perseverence.
So I began to look
For other things
But I kept picking up
Ones that were broken.
Because it’s hard to let go of your old self.
Somewhere along the line—
In these 25 days,
And on this busted road…
Perseverence.
So I began to look
For other things
But I kept picking up
Ones that were broken.
Because it’s hard to let go of your old self.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
24 days.
Today I got 24 days and most of you don't know what that means for me, but all of you are proud of me.
And when I'm ready I'll share. And I hope you'll be there to listen.
And when I'm ready I'll share. And I hope you'll be there to listen.
some time ago
So people have been bugging me about whether I’ve been writing. I realize people who want to see me create stay on my ass.
The truth is, I haven’t been writing.
Things have been good, some things have been great. Life just keeps handing me things to learn from and I keep gobbling them up like they are the last thing I might ever devour. I think I haven’t been writing because it means a lot to me. I’ve been reading some of my own stuff and laughing so hard I’ve cried and crying so hard I had to laugh. I deal with pain in a bad way when it’s my own. Not always in a self destructive way, but always in a way that hides it from people, or so I think… Anyway, the writing… I haven’t been doing it because I’ve been reading the old stuff- and it’s made me miss the old stuff. And now I have these days, these moments, that I’m spending with my mom and they mean so much to me… they suffocate me with the weight of their intensity… the idea that my mother and I get to share this amazing life together- and we laugh together and we just spend time together. I have people so close to me who only dream and scream about this- they want it so badly, some of them don’t even know it, some of them are drowning in its loss. And I feel that. I feel that in my soul and when I’m with her, my mom, I just know how much these moments mean- and if I talk about them- if I share them, then the severity of their influence in my life can’t be lost when she’s gone, and right now… somehow… that seems like an easier thing to do than miss her as much as I know I will. And that’s stupid. And I know that. But being stupid is not enough for me to get passed it. But here I go. Tonight. In this condition, under these circumstances. I will just try to be honest again, and do it out loud so that you can all digest it, and feel like you know me- feel like you’re touching me, which really… is all anyone who ever loved anything ever really wanted.
I wonder, often, why I got this set of circumstances. It doesn’t seem fair, and it certainly doesn’t justify the rebellion I so desperately pursued for so long. I guess everyone who ever went through that looks back and asks themselves the same question. But seriously, I feel like I won the birth lottery- I hope a lot of people feel that way, but all I hear about is people who don’t—so I feel like I need to talk about my gratitude—like if I wasn’t grateful all my blessings would be a curse I would carry.
The truth is, I haven’t been writing.
Things have been good, some things have been great. Life just keeps handing me things to learn from and I keep gobbling them up like they are the last thing I might ever devour. I think I haven’t been writing because it means a lot to me. I’ve been reading some of my own stuff and laughing so hard I’ve cried and crying so hard I had to laugh. I deal with pain in a bad way when it’s my own. Not always in a self destructive way, but always in a way that hides it from people, or so I think… Anyway, the writing… I haven’t been doing it because I’ve been reading the old stuff- and it’s made me miss the old stuff. And now I have these days, these moments, that I’m spending with my mom and they mean so much to me… they suffocate me with the weight of their intensity… the idea that my mother and I get to share this amazing life together- and we laugh together and we just spend time together. I have people so close to me who only dream and scream about this- they want it so badly, some of them don’t even know it, some of them are drowning in its loss. And I feel that. I feel that in my soul and when I’m with her, my mom, I just know how much these moments mean- and if I talk about them- if I share them, then the severity of their influence in my life can’t be lost when she’s gone, and right now… somehow… that seems like an easier thing to do than miss her as much as I know I will. And that’s stupid. And I know that. But being stupid is not enough for me to get passed it. But here I go. Tonight. In this condition, under these circumstances. I will just try to be honest again, and do it out loud so that you can all digest it, and feel like you know me- feel like you’re touching me, which really… is all anyone who ever loved anything ever really wanted.
I wonder, often, why I got this set of circumstances. It doesn’t seem fair, and it certainly doesn’t justify the rebellion I so desperately pursued for so long. I guess everyone who ever went through that looks back and asks themselves the same question. But seriously, I feel like I won the birth lottery- I hope a lot of people feel that way, but all I hear about is people who don’t—so I feel like I need to talk about my gratitude—like if I wasn’t grateful all my blessings would be a curse I would carry.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Oh! One more thing...
For those of you bothering me about when I'm going to put up some of my "real writing."
I've started again, and I'll post it. But you've been warned: it's pretty heavy.
I'll try to come up with something funny sooner, rather than later.
Also, "Beauty; a meditation," will be back, but it will be broken into smaller entries, rather than kept as one long, rambling, long-winded post, as I felt it was before.
Ok, that's all.
I've started again, and I'll post it. But you've been warned: it's pretty heavy.
I'll try to come up with something funny sooner, rather than later.
Also, "Beauty; a meditation," will be back, but it will be broken into smaller entries, rather than kept as one long, rambling, long-winded post, as I felt it was before.
Ok, that's all.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Back, by popular demand!
There is a natural phenomena that takes place in the mind of every single shopper (aside from yours truly) that steps inside a grocery store. Man, woman, child- old and young, no one (except me) is apparently exempt from this fate.
You step inside the supermarket- those smudged glass doors opening on the command of your delicate foot's pressure.
BAM! You're in.
Suddenly, you OWN the fucking supermarket. You've been here once before, you've walked these aisles, and doing such is as good as pissing a circle around the entire building. This is your domain. You own it. You want it. You need it. It's yours.
There are close to one hundred other shoppers throughout this conglomerate market. They do not exist in your world.
You will stop where you please. You will not heed the call of other shopper's to step aside. You want to stop in the middle of the lane, well damnit it's your right! This is your kingdom- the empire of your tummy. You will not be commanded.
My tiny voice is beside you. You are maneuvering a 3'x2' cart, I, having only a small basket, call out- "excuse me" in only a whimper.
You stand your guard. You're thinking... "the chunky tomato soup or the creamy?" You think more, you grew up on creamy, you love the creamy. But the animal inside you urges- you're a grown up Priscilla, buy the chunky! Live on the edge. You know the tikes won't eat it, it will scare them like the dentist florid gurgle." You stand mute.
I repeat myself a touch louder, "um, pardon me."
You're thinking, "that bitch can wait, my kids are my life, I was born to serve them- they won't eat the chunky but I know my husband Ed wants to try new things- maybe this is the beginning."
I stammer, "UHEM. Mam? Excuse me? I'm trying..." I motion to the opposite side of the aisle, thinking in my mind- I'll show her I won't even be in her way, I just want to step aside. I look hopefully at the side of her head which has quickly turned away from me.
She does not move. Priscilla owns aisle 12 and there ain't no white bitch in San Jose's gonna tell her to scoot.
I notice she's got a box of Capri Sun drinks- she could bash me over the head with that shit and it's over.
I want to yell, I want to scream- "Now damnit I want some fucking ranch dressing you middle aged wench. Step aside and let me get the bottle. LET ME GET THE FUCKING BOTTLE."
I say nothing. I pause. I wait. I know she heard me. She's freezing me out. What the fuck?
But it's too late. I try to squeeze around the side of her cart. I lift my measly basket high in the air. I suck in. I'm trying to jam my size 8 ass past her enormous cart, I push up against the cart and it moves a 1/4 of an inch to the left. She stops. She turns to me and with eyes like Satan himself stares me down. I've touched her chariot. I have dared to move the vehicle of her empire. I stop wedging myself. I freeze. I look at the Capri Sun box. I look at Priscilla. She takes a breath and before she can let it out I pop past her cart and grab the ranch dressing.
Light? Sonofabitch. I want the regular dressing, but it's too late to turn back now. I'm running down the aisle in full throttle, that nasty lady has got half a mind to kick my ass.
Phew. I made it out of there. I'll have to dodge the tomato soup nazi the rest of my trip, but just like a gunner in Ho Chi Min City I can survive. I just need some chicken, that's in a long case- it should be quick in and out mission.
I walk briskly to the frozen meats. This is the Iceland of the market. My nipples get hard, my heart it beating hard, I clench my fist, rub my arms and prepare for battle.
Already I am defeated.
The senior center has brought a van load of the oldest and most decrepit of it's residence. They too need frozen meat. They each wield armored carts which have about as much a chance of me getting passed as I do getting the soup wench to give me a night with Ed.
I turn around dejected. There will be no chicken tonight. I just don't have the strength. My legs are weak from fear and the sprint from aisle 12. I hobble lamely to the register, I absent mindedly skip the Express Checkout. I will now wait in line for 21 minutes to buy my ranch dressing which I will squeeze onto pasta from a Mac & Cheese box and eat alone in my apartment.
Tomorrow I will get chicken and I will prevail.
(To be continued...)
You step inside the supermarket- those smudged glass doors opening on the command of your delicate foot's pressure.
BAM! You're in.
Suddenly, you OWN the fucking supermarket. You've been here once before, you've walked these aisles, and doing such is as good as pissing a circle around the entire building. This is your domain. You own it. You want it. You need it. It's yours.
There are close to one hundred other shoppers throughout this conglomerate market. They do not exist in your world.
You will stop where you please. You will not heed the call of other shopper's to step aside. You want to stop in the middle of the lane, well damnit it's your right! This is your kingdom- the empire of your tummy. You will not be commanded.
My tiny voice is beside you. You are maneuvering a 3'x2' cart, I, having only a small basket, call out- "excuse me" in only a whimper.
You stand your guard. You're thinking... "the chunky tomato soup or the creamy?" You think more, you grew up on creamy, you love the creamy. But the animal inside you urges- you're a grown up Priscilla, buy the chunky! Live on the edge. You know the tikes won't eat it, it will scare them like the dentist florid gurgle." You stand mute.
I repeat myself a touch louder, "um, pardon me."
You're thinking, "that bitch can wait, my kids are my life, I was born to serve them- they won't eat the chunky but I know my husband Ed wants to try new things- maybe this is the beginning."
I stammer, "UHEM. Mam? Excuse me? I'm trying..." I motion to the opposite side of the aisle, thinking in my mind- I'll show her I won't even be in her way, I just want to step aside. I look hopefully at the side of her head which has quickly turned away from me.
She does not move. Priscilla owns aisle 12 and there ain't no white bitch in San Jose's gonna tell her to scoot.
I notice she's got a box of Capri Sun drinks- she could bash me over the head with that shit and it's over.
I want to yell, I want to scream- "Now damnit I want some fucking ranch dressing you middle aged wench. Step aside and let me get the bottle. LET ME GET THE FUCKING BOTTLE."
I say nothing. I pause. I wait. I know she heard me. She's freezing me out. What the fuck?
But it's too late. I try to squeeze around the side of her cart. I lift my measly basket high in the air. I suck in. I'm trying to jam my size 8 ass past her enormous cart, I push up against the cart and it moves a 1/4 of an inch to the left. She stops. She turns to me and with eyes like Satan himself stares me down. I've touched her chariot. I have dared to move the vehicle of her empire. I stop wedging myself. I freeze. I look at the Capri Sun box. I look at Priscilla. She takes a breath and before she can let it out I pop past her cart and grab the ranch dressing.
Light? Sonofabitch. I want the regular dressing, but it's too late to turn back now. I'm running down the aisle in full throttle, that nasty lady has got half a mind to kick my ass.
Phew. I made it out of there. I'll have to dodge the tomato soup nazi the rest of my trip, but just like a gunner in Ho Chi Min City I can survive. I just need some chicken, that's in a long case- it should be quick in and out mission.
I walk briskly to the frozen meats. This is the Iceland of the market. My nipples get hard, my heart it beating hard, I clench my fist, rub my arms and prepare for battle.
Already I am defeated.
The senior center has brought a van load of the oldest and most decrepit of it's residence. They too need frozen meat. They each wield armored carts which have about as much a chance of me getting passed as I do getting the soup wench to give me a night with Ed.
I turn around dejected. There will be no chicken tonight. I just don't have the strength. My legs are weak from fear and the sprint from aisle 12. I hobble lamely to the register, I absent mindedly skip the Express Checkout. I will now wait in line for 21 minutes to buy my ranch dressing which I will squeeze onto pasta from a Mac & Cheese box and eat alone in my apartment.
Tomorrow I will get chicken and I will prevail.
(To be continued...)
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
August 2007 half yearly review.
2007
I've learned you have to be careful what you wish for.
I've found that having patience will change your life.
I've learned you can't live anyone else's life for them; they're going to fuck up their own life and in someway you will fuck up yours, but in the end you will both learn. On your own, independently, they way God intended it.
I've learned that there will be hills and valleys of happiness, sometimes just instances. I've learned I'm lucky if I have anything and to shut the fuck up when I'm frustrated I don't have more. There's never enough.
I've learned what it means to have a genuine, honest relationship with one's family.
I've found that people you keep close to your heart will lie to you, to save themselves the embarrassment of having to tell the truth. I've learned this isn't about me. This is about them.
I've learned that as soon as you get settled, something will inspire you to sell it all and run away. This is never a good idea.
I've learned not to want anything too much. In the end, everything goes away.
I've been taught that two people can connect in a single endless night, in a way that some people can't even do in a relationship lasting years.
I've learned you have to let friends go, they're not gone, but they have to go- just like at one point, I did too.
I've learned life is way more expensive than what I would have agreed to upon signing the "you're a grown up now" manual and contract sheet.
I've learned I may need to lift my ban on sunscreen.
I've learned that if you buy a ridiculously expensive rug, your cat is going to puke on it no matter what. He/she does not have any concept of money or carpeting.
I've found that if you find your boss' kids on myspace, you should save on your personal computer those pics they posted of themselves half naked in Cabo. Those will come in handy.
I've learned that a wedding is as much about the people paying for it, as the one's in it.
I've found that if you buy a house, and that house has overhead fans controlled by remote- YOU SHOULD LEAVE THEM THERE WHEN YOU MOVE OUT! Why screw a sista over?
I've found that the best foreplay is intense and passionate conversation between two people that push each other to be better than the things they already know.
I've learned you have to be careful what you wish for.
I've found that having patience will change your life.
I've learned you can't live anyone else's life for them; they're going to fuck up their own life and in someway you will fuck up yours, but in the end you will both learn. On your own, independently, they way God intended it.
I've learned that there will be hills and valleys of happiness, sometimes just instances. I've learned I'm lucky if I have anything and to shut the fuck up when I'm frustrated I don't have more. There's never enough.
I've learned what it means to have a genuine, honest relationship with one's family.
I've found that people you keep close to your heart will lie to you, to save themselves the embarrassment of having to tell the truth. I've learned this isn't about me. This is about them.
I've learned that as soon as you get settled, something will inspire you to sell it all and run away. This is never a good idea.
I've learned not to want anything too much. In the end, everything goes away.
I've been taught that two people can connect in a single endless night, in a way that some people can't even do in a relationship lasting years.
I've learned you have to let friends go, they're not gone, but they have to go- just like at one point, I did too.
I've learned life is way more expensive than what I would have agreed to upon signing the "you're a grown up now" manual and contract sheet.
I've learned I may need to lift my ban on sunscreen.
I've learned that if you buy a ridiculously expensive rug, your cat is going to puke on it no matter what. He/she does not have any concept of money or carpeting.
I've found that if you find your boss' kids on myspace, you should save on your personal computer those pics they posted of themselves half naked in Cabo. Those will come in handy.
I've learned that a wedding is as much about the people paying for it, as the one's in it.
I've found that if you buy a house, and that house has overhead fans controlled by remote- YOU SHOULD LEAVE THEM THERE WHEN YOU MOVE OUT! Why screw a sista over?
I've found that the best foreplay is intense and passionate conversation between two people that push each other to be better than the things they already know.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
a single thought
When you can no longer contribute in making your life, or your existence better, I think many parts of youe begin to die.
I was looking at this picture of Afghanistan today (seen right) and it dawned on me that this image could have been taken yesterday, when it fact it was taken in 1933. I think that's a sign of societal deterioration, rather than the preservation of tradition.
But I could be wrong... it's happened before.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
The day my brother was born. (true story)
Three weeks later her mother would die, but my mom didn't know that at the time.
She knew a couple of things: #1 she was going to give birth to her first child momentarily; #2 her husband had been checked into the hospital at the same time she was with a serious flu that led to dangerous dehydration.
She wasn't concerned about her husband. She was concerned about herself. There was nobody with her. No encouraging words, no support- so she lay in her hospital bed and let her self cry. She was going to do this alone.
The door opened.
Her father walked in and came to her side. She had not called him, no one had. He had driven from his home 2 hours away. He had called the hospital when he got to her house and she was not there.
All she could manage was, "what are you doing here?"
"I just knew you needed me."
She knew a couple of things: #1 she was going to give birth to her first child momentarily; #2 her husband had been checked into the hospital at the same time she was with a serious flu that led to dangerous dehydration.
She wasn't concerned about her husband. She was concerned about herself. There was nobody with her. No encouraging words, no support- so she lay in her hospital bed and let her self cry. She was going to do this alone.
The door opened.
Her father walked in and came to her side. She had not called him, no one had. He had driven from his home 2 hours away. He had called the hospital when he got to her house and she was not there.
All she could manage was, "what are you doing here?"
"I just knew you needed me."
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Post Secret
I did a jazz dance to the song "Barbie & the Rockers" at Great America in elementary school (picture coming soon) and got booed while on stage. It was the lowest point of my dancing career.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Hi, I'm new here.
This is my first official blog.
Can you sense the excitement?
There's some electricity in the air...
A "buzz" if you will... it's terribly exciting, right?
Maybe you peed a little when you saw I had a blog. But your undies absorbed it so by the time you actually go take a pee you won't even feel bad or remember that it happened.
That's the kind of buzz I'm hoping you get out this experience.
This is Hil...
this is my blog.
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