The Hipster Brigade
sweet on you since that first talk
it starts off as a twitch in my toe then slinks up my calf and into my knee. it hibernates. i shake uncontrollably. the nervous wakes up in my stomach and sets off the hunger pains. small growl. bigger growl. i grab the reciever. i look in the mirror, add lip gloss. this is not a video phone. he can't smell my lips through the reciever but it's the most i've cared about my appearance in months. it takes me ages to dial the number. i just stare at the phone. i burn the numbers into my fingers. i trace the outline of each number. a practice try. my voice quivers in my throat. i need water. i'm just distracting myself.
i like when he laughs and when he drops the R's in words. it's subtle. i feel like i'm talking to a friend. someone i always knew. i could type out all the cliches but you know them all. i really like the way he hoards all the phones in his bedroom like a garden of recievers. i keep saying, "i need to go to sleep" and never hanging up. i'm pretty sure these would just be the places i would smile a lot, but the phone can't deliver a hug, much in the same way it can't deliver quiet sentiments through eye contact. i keep worrying about wrinkles when i'm older. the tiny "crow's feet" from you making me too happy.
"i'm afraid some weirdo's got my soul and i don't know what they're doing to it."
sometimes i am jolted to life again. it's like i've been sleeping through each day, but then my eyes readjust to the light and i realize, "hey, i'm alive and a person." i am suddenly super aware of my surroundings. i'm seeing everything for the first time. i'm fresh from the woochata. i notice the scuff marks on the dashboard from my converse. the chocolate smudge on the seat belt from the hershey's payday i left in teh car too long. my white lip gloss that looks like i've just gotten back from filming "hot horny asians: cum shots #12." one...two...three...and the grocery cart hits the land rover across the parking lot. i don't even wince. a man smirks. it's not his car. i car pulls away and immediately another is there to replace it's vacancy. a tall black woman spills out and her boyfriend grabs her around the waist. her legs are sky high. thin ankles. strappy sandals. i want her pink dress. her boyfriend smiles when he looks at her.
i am merly observing. i am not actively participating in any events. i am not actively participating in life. i'm in the passenger side seat of a black volvo S70 Turbo with my industrial sized headphones and my 6 year old cd player. i stuck a sticker on the front, it reads, "hip?" across the joint that opens the player. it's fading and i can't decide what i might write over it.
i guess it makes sense that i don't know what's coming up next. i can barely feel my hands.
i think i found my sister
site. well, i really wish it was anyways.
girls give out the sweetest compliments
But I finally met Diana..
and she has the cutest voice, quite possibly ever.
And she was a real trooper and got in the creek, even with her skirt on.
amanda, one of the them from yesterday, is the cutest "blonde" ever.
every breath is a bomb
i take life too seriously. i should be having fun. i've always been hesitant about letting myself go and enjoying the moment. i'm the one on the outside. i stand on the outskirts looking in. i want to be invited and when i am, it still doesn't feel right.
tonight i am the scene of southern dallas county. i'm hanging out with 17 year olds, each with their own band and significant other. they drink. they do drugs. why the fuck am i here?
i can't say i'm lost because it does make sense to me. i'm almost 22 but i fit in with these kids. i can't call them kids because they already know so much more than i did at their age. i'm not sure what happened to youth but it's out of vogue. to be young is to be left behind. i'd rather be like them anyways. but i'm glad i'm my age and like this. i couldn't have handled this back then. it would have been too much pressure.
teenagers like to loiter. we hang out in two seperate parking lots. we hang out in three different people's houses. we drive around with no destination. we finally decide to go to the creek. 10 mile creek. it's by my house. i've walked by here a thousand times on my way to wal-greens. it's 10:30 at night and this is probably the only time i would have pulled my long skirt to the side and tied it like a pony tail to the side. we waded. and we saw the bugs skimming the water.
sometimes you just have to let go. sometimes you have to learn when not to say no. i think i might be making all my dumb mistakes as an adult.
they took me home because my better judgement told me it was the "right" thing to do. it's going to take a long time to knock that habit out of me. perhaps a punch in the ear.
i've gotten pretty close to that right eye. the one i said had hints of green flecked inbetween the brown. the one that looked less brown and more like a really neat rock my sister would bring home from the creek. eyes like rocks sound cooler in writing than in person. i'd hate for your "coal" eyes to disappear after winter was over. melting in general i liked to be reserved for snow cones and not boys i'm interested in.
i'm pretty sure if you stare at one picture enough it becomes alive, but it still can't hold you no matter how hard you ask.
sami is dying. your drinking is killing her. DAMMIT man, think about the tree. OUR tree.
love are you waiting underneath my bed and it you aren't i really hope Jesus isn't in there becuase i'm sure he would have some words for me and i would have to cover my ears and hum
today, i met a 17 year old girl who told me she couldn't read harry potter because it "contained magic" and her dad wouldn't let her read it. she told me that the only books she liked were Nancy Drew. probably the old skool nancy drew's too, not the new college edition. then she kept trying to show me up.
her: my dad knows the mayor. he works in a funeral home.
me: my dad works in germany.
her: i don't even look my age. i look tweleve.
me: i hate when i get asked, "are you looking forward to going back to school?" i always answer, "yes, i AM looking forward to going back to college in BOSTON."
her: (disgusted face) you go to school in boston? uck.
i hate this girl from the second i hear her laugh. this conversation is agony. she's one of them. she'll probably never listen to xiu xiu and talk about vaginas with her friends. this girl has potential to become an alcoholic in college.
i wasn't raised on church. i had an understanding -- a small one -- about God. i often prayed to him when my mom was late and i was home alone babysitting. sometimes it worked, othertimes not. these were the times i believed most. now, i believe in god as much as i do in love. i wouldn't say i'm skeptical, but i can't wrap my mind around Him. since childhood, i've been to services and youth groups and the only thing i learned to do was love rock and roll more and curse like a sailor. i think i like my version of Heaven better. we have buttered toast and it's connected to the animal heaven and i'm best friends with all the ducks. i really like ducks...that's for sure.
writing as aphrodisiac
is a smartass, but i'm pretty sure he may get better.
Diana Does (the) Dallas Warped Tour 2003 and a Sleepover Like She's Twelve
i have spent a lot of the summer complaning about being alone. it doesn't take much to realize i'm the reason it's this way. "Diana, will you do this with me?" "Diana, let's go to a bar together." Diana this and Diana that. no no no. then i pull the shell tighter over my head. maybe it was the people doing the asking or maybe i'm a recluse. i haven't decided yet.
so i changed and came out of hiding. we spent the night driving around dallas not doing anything. just driving. she groaned about my music. justin's music. whatever. there was no cordinated dance routines. just me singing along in the passenger seat, nodding my head. it was her idea to stop at the park. it was just getting dark and you could still make out the setting sun. oranges and reds blinding us temporarily.
we sat on the swings and caught up with current events. life's current events. boyfriends. unboyfriends. surprise birthday plans that made me ache with jealousy. college classes. i always feel pretty uncomfortable at these times of admittal. i never have the same stories to tell. nothing quite as good or as happy. just stories of "i really think this may work out" or "i have to wait till i get back to boston." we both talk about going home and living in limbo. college does that to you, we say.
i guess i never was as close to her as i thought. i was masked under insecurities -- will she still like me if... and it always went like that. i had a different life plan. i had a way things were going and she was always a bit skeptical. i was comfortable in the midst of chaos. this is how it always was and when it left, i felt a little lonely. i needed something to keep me a little shook up. shaken, not stirred. the life of a pirate is never predictable.
i haven't paid this much for a concert in a year. i didn't know many of the bands. i really didn't know why i was going for anything more than tradition. this was our fifth year. we never could agree on music. i had passed my ska phase and she was still stuck fast. i was over punks. she still thrived on defying authority. kitsch appeal didn't really appeal to her. i was there more as observer. she would never give anything i was "in love" with a chance. it hurt my feelings as she dismissed bands that i wanted to share with her. music was the one way i knew i could use to communicate with people. not everyone understands handwritten notes instead of stuttered sentences.
we wandered into some band with horns. the mad caddies. i was more interested in the lead singer of Darlington standing right in front of me. i'm sure i was the only person there that recognized him. the only person there i would call a punk. i was surrounded by ambercrombie and fitch rejects and the hot topic generation. i didn't feel at home. she didn't understand "the scene" or indie culture. it's not something i can explain to her. it's not something i understand myself. i just know it when i see it. i thrive off that pretension. at least i feel uncomfortably at home. at the warped tour, i felt like a senior citizen who ended up at a Kiss concert instead of the Boston symphony. it's funny how i can feel like a reject amongst the socially rejected. i used to understand what this was all about. i used to want to be what this was all about.
no one stuck out in my mind. i liked everything she hated. we danced to less than jake, who are still ska after all these years. we got dizzy. we went home. i kept missing all the bands i wanted to see. i wanted to be home. any home. there was no happy here. not this time.
i've lost another thing that used to be home.
as much as i enjoy technology, it hates me. so my comments have comments but they don't show up. i'm pretty sure this is a sign that my life will be sad and lonely and i'll be sitting in a rocking chair out on the porch in North Carolina holding a picture of Ryan Adams to my chest and muttering. well, at least i've still got the Maypole Mamas thing going for me.
remember when justin was a girl?
i liked when justin was my secret and now everyone is masturbating over him. once, he even let me sit his desk shift for him as a surprise. he's really nice like that.
inspired by adam's
eyelash on her cheek
sometimes just a small gesture
this is what i do when i should be shelving books at the library
i think i remember gold dust tears crumbling like crushed stars from the corners of your eyes. your hands collecting the crumbs and placing them in plastic sandwich bags. it was your only source of income, you said. i nodded because as you cried, i smiled a sharp grin of fine crystal -- razor sharp and gums bleeding. i dripped in jars bright red paint, thick enough that one jar could cover your entire living room. i knew like this we could become american legends.
it's all about the benjamins
if my mom threatens me with not going to emerson one more time, i'm quitting. so at least i can say it was my decision. then i'm going to become a guinea pig rancher. and if you had a car you could come pick me up and hide me in your basement, but fluffy, mittens, kittles, pumpkin II and all the rest will have to come too.
life goes on. so why am i still stuck here?
i wore a black sleeveless dress with suns and moons all over it. it was my grandmother's and i picked it that day. it was her beach dress. i wore a beach sundress to graduation. my high school didn't believe in caps and gowns. we moved away from the norm and decided to have it in a posh hotel with our own bar despite everyone being underage. it was a class of 12 that year, we had started with 17 but we lost some -- drugs, pregnancy scares, laziness. we sat down in a prearrangered order having nothing to do with the alphabet. in the front row was gunnar's girlfriend, lori. it's hard to forget a name like gunnar. he had a tattoo around his calf and was a professional wakeboarder. his girlfriend used to get shots instead of taking the pill. funny the things you remember about people you hardly knew.
everyone in my class got silly gifts from the administration. kim, front office secretary, told me that she had wanted to write billy corgan to come speak at the graduation or get me rare bootlegs, but instead they decided on a can of pumpkin pie filling with a ribbon and the cover of the mellon collie album glued to the front. i still have it.
i can't remember the speech i gave and i can't remember anyone else's either. my crush read a poem. afterwards, i told him "good job" and he said "thanks" and we never spoke again for the whole graduation. he sat at the bar and smoked cigarettes with his friend. my mom gave me this cow stuffed animal that everyone was supposed to sign. "hi, could you sign my cow?" it sounded like sexual innuendo. at least it took my mind off of shawn.
there was a dance at the graduation. my high school's sorry version of the prom. steven asked me to dance. rumor had it that he had held someone up at gunpoint while high on speed and stole their car. he drove a vintage mustang now and turned me down as a "prom" date. shawn was too busy chain smoking to remember that i had asked him.
my creative writing teacher bought me a present. she whispered in my ear, "you're the only student i got a present for." then it was my turn, "you're the only teacher i got a present for." we exchanged boxes. writing down the bones
was under the wrapping. i can't remember thinking of a more appropriate gift. the teachers were the best part of graduation. my old history teacher came back just to see me graduate. i hugged all my teachers goodbye and i remember brushing my lips against the neck of my math teacher. it was an accident but it almost seemed right. i could never look at him in the eyes after that. but i wouldn't have to.
i didn't grasp onto much at my graduation. i wasn't leaving friends, i was leaving texas and there was nothing i wanted more than that.
mr. rogers, i solute you
Good People Sometimes Do Bad Things
good people sometimes think bad things,
good people dream bad things, don't you?
good people even say bad things,
once in a while we do.
good people sometimes wish bad things,
good people try bad things, don't you?
good people even do bad things,
once in a while we do.
has anybody said you're good lately?
has anybody said you're nice?
and have you wondered how they could, lately,
wondered once or twice?
did you forget that
good people sometimes feel bad things?
good people want bad things, they do!
good people even do bad things
once in a while we do,
good people sometimes do.
i think if i could have chosen, i would have picked mr. rogers for my dad. something about his honesty and kindness towards children. i never failed to learn something from his show. also, daniel striped-tiger is the best, but what was up with his gold watch? i liked henrietta pussy cat, too. sometimes i wish i could live in the land of make believe or perhaps that's my problem.
sometimes good people do bad things
from a mix tape i never sent:
1. Sunrise, Sunset --- Bright Eyes
2. Strawberry --- Everclear
3. Stay Home --- Self
4. Friend or Foe --- Adam and the Ants
5. Tonight was a Disaster --- Casiotone for the Painfully Alone
6. Valentine's Day is Over --- Kind of Like Spitting
7. Accident Prone --- Jawbreaker
8. The Remainder --- Sleater-Kinney
9. Why I Cry --- All-Time Quarterback
10. Maybe Someday --- The Cure
11. Against All Odds --- The Postal Service
12. Nothing Compares 2 U --- Stereophonics
13. Somebody That I Used to Know --- Elliot Smith
14. Guess I'll Forget You --- The Black Heart Procession
15. Uno Song --- Self
16. Ape Dos Mil --- Glassjaw
17. Circus of the Stars --- Braid
18. Your Woman --- White Town
19. Why Do They Leave? --- Ryan Adams
20. Last Christmas --- Jimmy Eat World
21. Your Star --- The All-American Rejects
22. Valentine --- The Get Up Kids
actually, it's more just a playlist for a beginning of a mix tape. i actually made it all the way through and for some reason the tape didn't work. i took it as a sign not to send it. i thought it was a pity to waste it though.
i speak meowese
her scabs were in the sink again. her back oozing, her blood sticking to tufts of fur. it hurts too much for her to sit down, so she's taken to haunting the bathroom counter. just watching the dripping faucet. this is my cat, barbara. walking disaster. we've had her for at least ten years. in the mornings, i speak meowese with her. i don't know what i say but i think she appreciates the company. i'm not afraid of her crusty sores or the dried blood around her neck. i just don't want to see her this way.
i'm starting to think looking like a zombie is the only way to get some peace around this house.
it's leftovers again, kids: excerpts from the colorado files
i feel scattered here. i wish i didn't come. nervous confidence keeping me from belonging but comfortable enough to have allies.
when i say something no one responds. blank stares. i feel naked. i feel if i expose much more -- the tears, the fear, the faults -- that no one will be there. i stand on a rock facing a cloud. i look in. i don't want to belong. soul left on the stove too long, trickles over weak shoulders. i am overcooked. i scratch at the page to try to make sense of it all. i feel it's been weeks not just a day. i sing. one day. eyes crying in reverse. salty tears filling my stomach drying me out. i wear a smile.
my apple stem lands on M. this makes me happy temporarily.
i know i'm not lonely, just misplaced. heart in sleeve not in chest. my checkerboard soul kinged with all black.
excuse me while i count the stars inside your eyes. i'd crumble for that pick-up line.
i'll warn the clouds that they have company
i'm going to warped tour
. tell me who to see. that link shows who is playing on the day i'm going. i'm pretty set on seeing mad caddies, less than jake and vendetta red. and sabrina
said i need to see thrice and poison the well. i'm pretty sure i should get full-sleeve tattoos before entering the stadium.
there's no need to push
: teleporter -- lightly used.
i feel the social glare, i feel the attitude
it was six months. it's been years since those six months. i think i could start from right here and be happy. right here in year number twenty-one. i don't need that past anymore. it's like filler. the pages of plot before the sex in a romance novel. the layer of cake before the whipped cream and strawberries. i'd rather leave it and start from the good stuff. start backwards but not go back.
i have a feeling that something good might be happening. i can't tell for sure because how can you be sure about these things. i forgot my life's cheat sheet at home. i can't see the answers for the future, so i'm just filling in the bubbles next to the answer i think is right. it's like the math portion of the SAT. a c b d d d a b. i just wanted out of that small classroom. i remember waiting on the bench for my mother to come pick me up and speaking to a mother waiting for her daughter. it was her daughter's second time. my first. her daughter's first try was already higher than my first but i wouldn't know that until weeks later. she's probably going to SMU or UT or Harvard and i'm going to emerson college. my first pick. i want a recount. stupid chads. but life is not like a presidential election.
i'm waiting for my mail order cutlass, so i can cut the ties to my past.
pirate's life for me
i imagined you were sitting right next to me and i kept stealing glances and it made it tolerable but not perfect unlike the movie which was the best movie EVER EVER EVER made. in fact, i decided on a new occupation...ahem...pirate.
life isn't fair
remember when you were in high school and that's what crossed your lips about twenty times a day. i had one of those moments today. it was perfect until now when it came crashing down around me. when fairy tale weddings don't really exist. when i know prince charming isn't waiting in the backyard.
my sister has a good friend, emily. but not good enough that they hang out enough. it's not fair really. emily's martha stewartesque surburban "perfect" mother doesn't seem to enjoy our family. she's uptight. my mother has told me she doesn't enjoy her company. she makes her uncomfortable. it doesn't make sense since i have the kind of mother that's sophisticated and could fit in with the Queen of England at a posh tea party. despite all this emily and sarah are still friends. pen paling across the metroplex. they stay in contact, if just barely.
so, out of nowhere sarah gets a call. emily's birthday party. they both have a shared interest of orlando bloom and a promise of "Pirates of the Caribbean" is in store as the entertainment for the party. sarah hasn't seen her in ages and she's excited to see the movie of my dreams. she breaks my heart going to see it with emily but i understand.
2:30pm: fast forward to now. a half an hour before they are going to leave to drive an hour to get to the party. my sister calls to okay directions again and boom. the party was yesterday. how does someone miss a party? well, if you tell someone a party is on saturday than it's fucking on saturday and not on friday. please send inventations. don't be a jerk.
emily has been giving me bad vibes all day. i woke up early from a 9:30pm bedtime and was awake to go to the mall with my mom this morning. some last minute shopping away in dallas. an hour away. exactly where we have to drive later in the day for the party. it just figures i was right.
i hate when idealism gets in the way of seeing how people really are. just shallow.
sometimes even i don't recognize myself
i used to look like this
, what happened?
cause anything worth doing is worth getting hurt for
inspired me awhile back. i just never got around to it.
i want someone to share ramen with, to read books with me on rainy days, to look for ducks on walks in the park, to share my japanese release only smashing pumpkins EPs, to share with me what makes them happy, to ramble in my ear about video games and to hold my hand when i get scared.
mostly, i want someone to road trip around North America with me and take pictures of things and i can write about them. i know it will happen but it's just not soon enough. even if it was happening tomorrow, it would be too far away.
destiny or slight delusion
i don't have to sleep on the couch anymore. now my sister sleeps there while my dad's at home. it's complicated but it works. i have my room back. it's not really in working order but it'll do. it's the same dark room with the same messy desk with the same overfilled bookcases and the same antique bed. just having my own room feels better. i'm never really alone but i can pretend. i don't even get to sleep without phone calls disturbing my dreams. i don't have a place where i'm truly alone. my room doesn't even have a lock.
in high school, i put a sheet up as a door between the two bookcases. a palace for even the most raciest harem girl. but it just didn't keep every one out. it was never just james pumpkin the guinea pig and me. it was sarah, mom, dad, dog, grandma, JP, and me all snuggled together like a camping trip where the only dry tent is mine. the sheet came down and i became a good listener instead. a converted game room right by the kitchen, good for late night snacking, was "my" room. the kitchen housed an alarm, some hippie beads over the main doorway. as soon as i heard them knock, i knew to be asleep or awake or productive. it was that easy. i would say about 3 times out of 5 if someone was going into the kitchen they were coming to see me. i'm just that popular around here.
all my old posters are still on the walls. there's the giantThe Talented Mr. Ripley
one from blockbuster and orangey Smashing Pumpkins one and a Jude Law calander from the year 2001 and the Tonight, Tonight one. i never bothered to take those down before i went to college. there's still the collage on my bullentin board of things that were important to me three years ago. it's all changed now. there's no ryan adams or white stripes or bright eyes or some other indie band out of Magnet. i grew up without my room. there's no reflection of how i am. i'm the only piece that doesn't belong anymore.
strange man that hates vegetarians: "so what? you aren't going to be working at the desoto library in twenty years."
me: "i don't know. i will always have a home at the library."
then i saw it like a messed up preview: i'm library manager, i've gained weight, my hair is long and i hate men. this is not the way it's supposed to be. i'm supposed to be "still figuring it out in some slum neighborhood listening to music that's competing with the rap next door and driving a vespa, finally." or maybe, if i have to be a librarian, i'll at least be in boston. i think i could tolerate that.
it's so up in the air. i wish i could get the syllabus a bit early.
today the clouds were wearing grey elephant's pajamas. i really wish you could have seen it.
i've started walking two miles a day. not just randomly around the neighborhood but at the track at the rec center. i had to join the rec center. get an id with a smudged digital photo. it wasn't my idea. i don't need the exercise -- the anorexia and all -- but my favorite employer at the library asked me to walk with her. she's not someone you can turn down. we have a special bond, the daughter she doesn't have.
i was hoping she wouldn't bring up religion but she did. i wish i could be comfortable with this subject. it's just not something i feel i can argue about and sound competent. i'm not. i know i don't know about it. and i want it to stay that way. i can appreciate it but i want to stay on the outside.
we talked about boston and colorado and switching colleges. a lot can be said in two miles of a looped inside track. around around around. i caught almost every word she said but the basketplayers in the gym cut out some key words and i think i answered questions she didn't ask.
i wish i hadn't signed up. it makes me exhausted.
email to a boy i once knew or i thought i knew (edited for length and content)
A lot of people prefer the Waffle House to Denny's, something about those famous hash browns. I don't know there's something a little unsettling about the yellow small houses for which they are located. My mom keeps wanting to drag me into one and I once knew two math nerds that spend the night studying for a Pre Calculus test in there. I am intrigued but I still refuse to step in one. My heart is at Denny's. I remember Denny's as a little girl and we used to go there and I think I would get pancakes. I can't really remember. I've always been a big breakfast fan. Doesn't make a lot sense considering that I don't like waking up in the mornings. I love mornings, I just don't like waking up. I love the calm of mornings in the dorm. It's so quiet and it's the best time to think in THIS room. Anyways, I digress...I remember when my mom was leaving to go to Pennsylvania (roadtrip style) one summer and she took my sister and I to a Denny's for a last meal at like 11 pm. We had to drive a half an hour to the good Denny's since my mom refuses to step foot into the closer one. Something about the ghetto town for which it is located. I take Denny's wherever it is. That night I will always remember. I didn't eat my fatty bacon but I gobbled down those eggs like no tomorrow. I knew mom was going and I knew I would miss her and it was nice to just sit in one of those round booths with her in the middle.
Denny's also happened again as a late night 3 am outing for my last supper with friends (Geerah, Skyler, Johanna, James, and I'm sure others I
shouldn't have forgotten) right before I left for Emerson. They had taken me to a club/restaurant where we were the youngest ones there. We danced and it was hilarious. Zak (Geerah's Dad) got so drunk that Geerah had to drive us without an actual license or her driver's permit on hand. *breaking the law, breaking the law...or however that song goes* We got there safely and Johanna, Skyler, and Zak promptly started throwing spit balls at each other with the excess of straws the overly nice waitress tossed on our table just for this reason. Geerah and I acted like we didn't know them. It was funny though. I ordered coffee and the waitress gave everyone huge helpings of dessert. She came back and chit chatted with us. It was a fun night at Denny's and we didn't get back in until 4:30am that morning.
I've always been one to embrace the night. I really mean it when I wish I didn't have to sleep. I once had a conversation about how I wish that when we read books that somehow that was sleeping but consciously. That somehow rested our bodies. I hate sleeping because it wastes time. I used to not go to movies because I hated to know that I just spent two hours not doing anything. Now, I love the feelings of movies. I feel a bit dangerous now. Movies are a treat and I think that's why I'm so picky about what I see. I really have to be dragged to be social sometimes. I like to keep to myself. I've always done better with small groups and with one close friend. I like to lend myself out to one person and I like to know that that one person will be there when I need to share or if they need to let it all out one night. I miss staying up all night and just talking and dreaming and letting myself out to one person. I don't have those sleep overs anymore. I wish I did. I miss them and I need them.
I hate to say that sometimes I let stuff stay in but sometimes I do. I love talking it all out until it just doesn't make sense anymore and all I can say is "I don't know" over and over again. I analyze the situation so much that things don't make sense anymore or I start believing the exact opposite of what's really going on. I have a hard time talking things out unless someone is there to really give me good advice. I know I have a lot of faults and I really hate admitting to them. Actually, my mom is the only one brave enough to point them out and I thank her for that. I'm really glad that you aren't afraid to hold back what you are thinking like the rest of everyone else. Yeah, I admit to be taken aback and to being upset but who wants to have faults pointed out to them. I am someone that wants to know how to change myself to tweak out the damaged bits. Fuck, I want to know what's making me so unhappy.
New subject: Mix tapes. I love to make them. I think they are a really important part of life. I have so much music I want to share with everyone. I put a lot of love in a mix tape and I put a bit of myself in each one. I have strange ways of flirting and I definitely do it through music. When I like someone (which really isn't the case here as you mean so much more to me than anyone else I've ever met before) I go all out. I spend a lot of time on them because they make me happy. I like to share myself with them. I want to give presents and little things to show that I care - making mix tapes is definitely one of them. I make things. I write things. I think things. That's just what I do.
So, about this AIM theory...you've only met me once as well and you only know me as much as I know you. You keep bringing that up but it's
the same for you. How is it different for me? Isn't it the same for you? Actually, you probably see through me a lot easier. I know sometimes it seems like I'm trying and sometimes that's true but I only agree if I do believe it's true. It's just weird that we like the same things. I've come to terms that I will not know everything you know and I haven't seen all the movies or read all the books or played all the games. I want to know and I like listening. If something makes you happy I want to know aobut it. I want you to share with me because how else will learn about it. That's all I really wanted was someone to share with me what they like and we can share. It sounds sappy but sometimes it's hard to tell a person that you use to watch Mighty Morphin Power Rangers and still watch Mr. Rogers. I never felt comfortable with Derek and would purposely lay out things in order to gain his approval. I know that's a shame and I shouldn't have done that but I was looking for some approval that I was cool. Sometimes you just need to be taken in by some sort of clique. I always wanted to belong and I miss having the prestige I had as leader of the pack back in 8th grade. Sometimes it makes me sick how much I miss it. I'm a lot better this year as I've found myself saying "no" more than "yes" and I know that I'm making decisions based on what's right for me and no one else.
I get so lost in these emails. I probably contradict myself so many times because I discover myself best through this sort of writing. I think that's why I want to be a writer. I want to write for myself and if someone else likes it, well than that's good. It's probably not a good way to look at writing. I don't care though.
It scares me that your mom knew about me. I thought it was cute and she sounded nice and I just can't stop talking about it. No one's made me talk to their mother before.
I hate getting off the phone with you and I wish we could talk forever because I find you that interesting and I wish you were here and or I was there so we didn't have to leave so quickly. I wish I could look into your eyes and tell you what I think. Facial expressions tell so much about a person. That way you would know I was still there and that I wasn't crying and if I was pissed or not. I don't think you're rude. I'm just scared sometimes that you will find out that I'm dumb and boring and you won't want to talk to me anymore. I'm still waiting for you to realize that. *phew* I finally said it. Things sound so terrible when you write them and when you say them and then someone else reads them and they aren't that bad.
I think I spent 30 minutes writing this email, probably longer and I'm all off schedule. I'm really keen on this tattoo idea but I'm pretty sure if you want custom tattoos that you have to make reservations ahead of time. We'll talk about it some more. It's funny how much sense this makes to me.
P.S. I'm still hungry for burritos and it's all your fault and all I had for dinner was some lousy potato chips and applesauce. And people wonder why I'm so skinny. I think I probably should eat healthier. I'll work on that.
kill me, i thought this
if i'd known it was going to be so noticable i would have asked for it on my shoulder, not that i had a choice
this morning i wake up with a hickie. i kissed a ghost. or it's an allergic reaction.
i feel like the narrator
i am jack's wasted life. i drag my feet -- one long stroll -- and i feel like a slow motion mick jagger because my sister is making clucking noises behind my back and i know i'm a chicken but it's for more than my walk. each face through the smudged windows is enlarged. big hair. big eyes. big teeth. big ears. i'm waiting for the Big Bad Wolf but instead i realize i'm in texas. i don't really fit in here. i am average. i am not bigger than thou. i am the small town cineplex not the megaplex at grapevine mills. i'm one acre of land, not sixty eight. i can fit into the space between your bed and wall. i am the forgotten toy you find under your dirty clothes in the closet. you didn't mean to really forget about me, you just now remembered how great i was. you smile -- you need that new crest whitening toothpaste -- and place me on your bed for next time. at night, i end up on the floor...again.
it gets under my skin. like the pimple you can feel developing on your chin but it's not there yet but it will be in the morning. i wave my arms. i do my best moves. i smile, just a small one. i type my biggest and smartest sounding words. i talk about your favorite bands. your favorite poets. books. songs. foods. i suddenly like chocolate, The Swamp Thing, Frost and Limp Bizkit. your taste isn't that bad but i can't help feeling not quite at home. i feel like the cheerleader i never wanted to be. i am not blonde. i don't have blue eyes. and the rhinoplasty was too expensive.
i try again. because i realize i'm throwing myself at you and i feel like a fool. i'm not sure how to take it back. i just can't win you over. i should be happy with that. dating is not a game. boys aren't tools.
musing, i know all of this is true. and i feel bad about wanting to make out with him and you and everyone else. i know that's not me. it's not quite like regret but it's not quite not regretting. it's a soft mist of longing that makes my skin break out into a rash.
parts of the day
part 1: the library
i work behind the scenes. i am the hidden gear that keeps the book train moving at the library. i sort the books in the back, shelve them, then put them out for public use. there are four steps dividing the general public from returned books. it's a complicated process. check in, scraping, sorting and shelving. without one part of the train it all falls apart.
internal monalogue is my lone friend out there in the stacks. how many hours till i can go home? is that a cute guy? no, that's definitely not a cute guy. nora roberts will never be my kind of novel. sigh. ten minutes till break. ten minutes till i die. is that patron dead?
there are few things that make my job a little easier. volunteers and cookies. volunteers do my job for me. cookies make my job easier.
His name is Ian. His job is volunteer. He is my new friend. A bored 17 year old looking for something to do while he gets turned down from countless jobs. We talk about Smashing Pumpkins, colleges and Fight Club. (Loves them, wants to be an engineer, hasn't seen it.) I tell him about my dream job -- record store owner -- he says, "You look like someone who would work in a record store." I smile. He understands. He's the best volunteer I have ever met.
part 2: eating disorders
i would say it's extraordinary how we met. she was sleeping on the table and her skin made me crawl. her ankles small enough for me to get two fingers around, i didn't try, i assumed. when she woke up, i relieved that she had a whole face and not one part of it was blown off and eaten by the birds. i wanted to her she was beautiful right away because i had a feeling that no one had told her that her whole life. she certainly had potential.
she recognizes me from the other day. "hi there, how are you? where can i leave these books, i'm coming back. do you know you guys don't have any books on eating disorders." right here it registers. she has an eating disorder. "i've had an eating disorder for twenty years. and where do i work, in a restaurant. if you don't eat, well you go to a place where you can get your food for free. no one suspects a thing. A THING. i'll see you later." she says this like it's no big deal. i don't understand how she can be so self aware, but still have an eating disorder. she leaves. i like her moxie.
part 3: animals are our friends
fish have feelings and i'm much too compassionate to take part in Pixar or Disney movies anymore. making animals talk destroys me and my tender feelings.
part 4: XXX
______________there is no time like the present to get a job at a strip club. i pass about five with NEON signs screaming, "ALL NUDE." we pass like we don't see anything. no one says a word. i stare because i want to be inside. i want to find out what it's like for these women. i think instead of turning our heads we should find out what these places bring to people. i want to interview the women, the business men, the owners. i think it's been done with porn stars in some book i can't remember the title too but it was featured in rolling stone back in the day.
i just don't want to be famous for interviewing strippers.
part 5: the writer
last year, it wasn't very well hidden, i was a suicidal mess. i was a wreck and i hated myself. i'm not sure what brought it out. but after, when i looked back i could see what i had done. what was left "still a mess." i couldn't fix it all. i was just glad i was fixed.
now, i recognize it in him. the writer. how one week he was laughing and we made jokes about Rambo. and then the next week after i come back from colorado, something seems missing. if i could i would play depression relocation because i honestly think that some people need to know what it feels like and he doesn't deserve it now. who else will entertain me with their vile humor?
although, even she was disgusted.
Hester Prynne is kind of quiet. i think we could get along well living out there shunned by society. her with the A and me with a C+. actually, if you think about it, even Hester was able to get an A. the closest i've gotten was an A -.
i was just waiting for the right moment to say, "thank you" to sabrina
. i am not egocentric enough to say that i am prettier than amelie but i knew she would do it for me. now the whole journaling world can rejoice in a readable Hipster Brigade minus blinding green background.
i'd just like to let you know
sometimes i feel like stopping mid-sentence and screaming into your ear, "I AM AWESOME." i wish someone thought so. it feels so alone in my head.
i'm looking for a disaster to set me in the mood
i've already hit rock bottom.
today, i was talking about Spiderman: The Movie and how i thought Mary Jane was portrayed as a ditz. then one of my co-workers who overheard spoke up, "look who's talking about ditzes." pffft.
i'm looking for a challenge or something new to wake me up. after i got back from colorado my heart felt empty for my new found friends. it's hard to go from being completely surrounded by people to being pretty much isolated. i like being alone but it's lonely and no one is hear to listen to me ramble about my childhood and my favorite colors and my new chuck taylors. i'm not saying i need much but i need something. but i can't really tell what's missing because it doesn't seem like i'm missing a piece from myself, just a piece from my future.
everyone else seems the same. why don't i?
i started this a long time ago and thought i would share. it's a lot better than what i remembered.
I like the ends of things. When I walk by a group of people and hear them talking about a movie. I always stop and listen to hear the end than I run immediately to the theater so I can judge the whole movie based on it’s ending and I complain outloud at the end about how predictable the movie was. Everyone gets irritated. On dates, I always start at the ending. The first thing I ask at those fancy restaurants is what do they think of marriage and children and do they think they can love me. The dates always end with awkward smiles and handshakes. No hugs. No kisses. Never. I live at home with my mother and I’m waiting for the end of that. I always read the ends of magazines first. Those last few essays at the end are always the best anyways. I like to spare myself from surprise and heartbreak. I figure it hurts less in the long run.
MarysBigTeeth (12:15:53 AM): i never wanted to like cut off my lips and hide them before
my words get me into trouble.
there are a few places i love to spend money. one is a record store, the other is the bookstore. half-price books is what made our mini library at home. smudged text and dogears fill the store. i am at home around books. but what made this trip different was that everywhere i turned, i found a treasure laid out for me. just for me.
first stop, periodicals. November 16, 1996 Rolling Stone Magazine. for seven years i have been looking for this issue and there under a stack of magazines it was there. at first, it was too real to be real. nope, i have this, right? right? i found two and i left with two. SEVEN years, fate don't tempt me.
next, it was a J.G. Ballard novel and then the soundtrack to Empire of the Sun on vinyl and Pecker misplaced in the Ws. it was all there. all there for me. sometimes you wonder who is watching over you. in fact, i read about an angel that watches over writers and book enthusiasts. she was watching me last night.
brand new awakening
mountain air does something to you. when you get back to lower elevations, you realize how deep your breaths become. you realize how much easier it is to do work with full lung capacity. how much faster you can get things done. how your head isn't floating. when i was there at 7500 feet altitude, i never thought once i had shallow breaths or that anything was wrong with me, but today at the library i could feel a change. i just felt awake. i was shaken out of a daze. a social slump. in otherwords, i was on. i didn't feel like i was floating out of my body and watching myself manuever around the familiar angles and corners and shelves. things seemed new. i was there in my mind.
for a long time, the library wasn't a place i was looking forward to visiting in the morning. i was tired of the predicatability. i was waiting for something to happen. coworkers could tell something was wrong, always commenting, "you look tired, go take a nap, no sleeping on the job." it wasn't that i was tired, it was that i was bored. i started playing games with them and it felt wrong. it made me feel bad to be mean to these people. not mean on the exterior but in the interior i knew i was not being honest. i was taking this job for granted. i just wanted for the days to be over. 2pm, bye bye.
my mom points out to me how boston has given me an ego. that i think i'm high and mighty because i go to an out-of-state college. she's right. i have boughts of elitism in my blood. i can be snotty. the world should bow down to me. i can't help it. being in colorado with other students showed that i'm not that different than other students. that an expensive New England college doesn't make me a better person. it doesn't even make me a more interesting person or a smarter one. it just makes me go on planes six times a year.
roughing it is best for the writer. it gives you raw material and a new way to look at things. this new outlook was what i was looking for in the empty shelves at the library. i needed to wake up. i'll be the first to tell you that i take what i have for granted. i never visited the school of hard knocks. colorado whispered in my ears something i've been longing to hear since i've come home. that what i have is okay, too. that no one is your enemy and only you can decide what to do.
i got out of the corner.
i've developed a nervous twitch. it's an old one i used to have in high school. it's come back for a visit. an unwelcome house guest residing in my leg. i "shake shake shake shake shake shake" and i can't stop. i noticed my leg going off in colorado, "punishment in higher places." a friend once said that it was sexual frustration building up. i'm not sure if i agree. i just want control of my leg again.
it really is a small world
he was a just a boy in a hat. hatboy, we called him. i didn't really care to know him better but he was nice to look at. he worked at the library for as long as i could remember and when i started to volunteer there (on my way to 60 community service hours, a high school requirement), i would see him in the back room and try to think of something to say. something to get him to smile back. mostly, i just sweated and got too nervous to introduce myself. i stared on.
if there is one thing that desoto doesn't lack, it's grocery stores. the local tom thumb must have been the place to score the drugs because that's where the teenagers would congregate after hours. a hatboy without a hat used to work there. david, read his name tag. i felt accomplished knowing his name. although, i couldn't really think of a way to use it without seeming like a stalker.
it was my senior year and chris cornel's solo album had just come out. i liked "can't change me" and i had the cd on lease from a friend. hatboy was wearing a soundgarden t-shirt that day at work and i felt my oppurtunity was finally here, but before i could muster up the courage to say, "i like your shirt. do you like chris cornell's solo stuff, too?" another employee walked by and said hello to david but she said, "hello, danny." huh...danny? who was that? surely, this woman was senile. this boy's name was david, i had proof. i decided to carry on with the plan and he said back to me, "thanks. yeah, i do...david has the album." david? you mean david isn't you? i wanted to say. after work i went to the tom thumb across the street. there were two hatboys. a david and daniel hat. two hats were better than one.
david was in a band. he had a mole on his neck, so i could always tell the difference. i saw him play a couple of times at the local pool. he was good. he had a girlfriend. i already knew i was no one's type. i did find things to talk about with him. he was a writer. he was in a band. the words came easy. he thought he knew me from somewhere. he did. i was the familiar girl that ran into him at concerts and around the City since he started to work there too. now when i see him, he's more than a hatless boy, he's a boy in a band going to graduate school in boston. i'm crossing my fingers, at least. it's funny how things work out.