Chronicles of Madness

Me and my bank account are fighting.

I want it to give me more money and it's said no.

In order for it to give me money I have to give it money first.

Then it went on an on about this relationship being a two way street and in order to get more I would have to give more.

Well fuck! If I wanted relationship advice I would have called Dr. Phil!

fuck you Bank Account, I lied when I said I loved you, and frankly I've only been using you for the convenience and money.

I know, I know. We should break up right? Right.

But,

The thing is, I've realized that I'm in a co-dependent relationship. Sure, it's bad, but where would I go? What would I do? I can't survive without my bank account. I CAN'T!!

oh god.

i have to go.

Bank Account is yelling about early withdrawal and being in a 'balanced' relationship.

I was going to form the following paragraphs into SOS format, but then I realized I'm not patient enough to excercise a plan as intricate as that.

Also, maybe some of my readers are too dumb to pick up on something as subtle as

HELP.

Anyway, the trampoline is outside.

In front of my door.

I saw it this morning as I was getting ready to open my front door and go to work.

Through the glass window it stared me down with it's non-existant beady eyes.

I called my friends house but his line is dead.

DEAD.

I feel bad for him, and I would miss him, but... chances are that my time here on earth has run out.

A trampoline.

well who would've fucking guessed.

I bought a trampoline.

Wait.

Rephrase.

I bought the trampoline from hell.

At night I hear it whispering, "sell me your soul Terra."

Which is funny, because I traded my soul a couple years back for a chocolate bar.

hmm.

Apparently soul sucking trampoline didn't get the memo.

I would jump up and down on the trampoline to express my rage... but wouldn't that just be ironic?

also, I CAN'T jump up and down on the trampoline because I can't get the piece of mother fucking shit ball trampoline from lets-fuck-terra-without-warning/lube-hell together!

ARRR!

arrr? cool. apparently I'm an angry pirate now.

So this trampoline so far has

- tossed me across the room

- knocked me on my ass

- bit me

- hurt my foot

- and also knocked me on my head

I had to call in reinforcements, who also couldn't get the piece of shit to snap into place. Here's a direct quote:

"We have to be misreading the directions to put this thing together."

"We're not. I've read this thing back and forth, upside down even. We're not. I'm telling you, the people who made this are laughing their asses off at us right now."

"Whatever."

"No. Seriously. Right now they're laughing at their headquarters, 'OMG! What stupid people, that trampoline doesn't even work but people keep buying them! HA HA LOSERS!' They probably laugh at all the test subjects trying to put this thing together too."

"Terra, c'mon. Nothing is this hard to put together."

"Well obviously SOMETHING is, or we would'nt be sitting here trying to get this piece of shit together twenty minutes later."

"Hmm. umm. I'm going to take this home. I'll figure it out tomorrow."

"Fine. When you're done not putting it together bring it back to me so I can throw it at Walmarts front door."

See. I would return it, but I can't find the reciept, and also, I really do just want to throw the damn thing.


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


Tell me that you’re not thankful.

Or tell me that you are, but then tell me the madness behind the misery, thereby canceling out the thankfulness.

Run into the middle of the street, throw your arms out, your head back, turn pointless circles and scream:

THANKS! THANKS FOR NOTHING!

While I turn my back on you.

That last year, and the year before, and the year before that, I held you in my arms, wrapped my scarf around the two of us and said, "Hey, us against them," even though there was no them. Even though I thought your madness funny, your fight futile.

Who were you fighting? Who are you fighting now?

I’m so tired of you.

James called me up to report that he was saved. His heart fell, and like all the queens’ horses and all the kings’ men, none of us could ever put it back together again. Turns out a little girl ran away with the linch pin. He found her name, tracked her down, held her hand and now everything is the same.

In-between the happiness I found myself wondering about your salvation/imminent doom. There is nothing and no one that can ever save you.

Over the phone O states, unequivocally, if you hadn’t messed up we would be husband and wife today.
Husband and wife?

Oh. Yes. My heart remembers now. The scarf.

Us against them.


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

Note on thankfulness:

A couple months back my friend Tonie said that this has been a bad year... for everyone.

There was actually a lot of evidence to support this bad lunar year theory too. We, and numerous friends, had the following happen to us:

divorce

bankruptcy

robbed

victim of fraud

fired

fall out w/family

bad room mate (me, mos def me)

fall out w/friends

financial emergencies

death

health emergencies

and other things that don't quite fit into list format. The point is, bad year.

Except, this thanksgiving reminded me that, actually, it's been a pretty good year. Ok, so I had to live with the 'rents for a while. And, yeah, I had tons of unexpected financial emergencies that left me with a fifty dollar christmas budget this year... if I don't eat... or drive anywhere.

But...

I also moved back out on my own, tons of my friends/family got married this year. Lots of my friends got their lives back on track after years of bad decisions. The thing is, we all landed on our feet. And isn't that a better than good thing? Isn't that great? I mean, this year really showed what we were made of. And I'm thankful for that.

Hope you all had a great thanksgiving, except for you non-americans. Who should be thankful for nothing since you don't live on our bountiful shores.

=)

Things I'm thankful for... (note, this video is a year old, and the very first video I took with the camera. hence the horrible blair witch project feel)


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To the young man I just rode in the elevator with,

As you get older you will realize that the amount of cologne you hose yourself down with in the morning does NOT equate to how much ass you get by the evening.

cough cough

T

PS

You're lucky I didn't throw up on you

TT= Blue

Mystery blogger = Red

--------------------------------------------------------------

O M G.

I've been working out every morning and there are parts of me sore that I didn't even know I had.

Like the air.

All three inches of it around me.

quit working out then.

I thought you were smarter than that.

who said I was smart?

smart, smart ass, whatever.

ha! I knew it. no one thinks I'm smart.

hey, lets have dinner one night up by my place. there's a restaurant I want to try. PLUS, you can pick me up and then you'll finally get to see my place.

maybe

or maybe I'll make you meet me on the corner. hehe

kind of fancy place at the top of the mountain?

yeah, F took me there on our first date. I think he was trying to imply that he owned the mountain. stupid frat guys.

Never mind!

I will NOT have you on a date with me thinking about F. I will become mad and call you derogatory names before declaring "put out or get out."

you do that now, what's the difference?

this time it won't be role playing/foreplay?

oh. so you mean all those other times I didn't really have to give in?

don't I feel foolish.

wait a minute.

don't turn this into you thinking you can say no occasionally. because you can't.

ever.

I really really want to post this conversation.

Won't that make our love less special?

shut up.

our love is dirty and evil and I'm ashamed of it already.

i thought that's what made our love special?

I especially like the dirty part... but evil's good too. shame's even better...

this is like a love poem. except without all the stupid parts

maybe you can throw some violence and a rape shower in there somewhere.

I thought that was implied? hmm. Let's add in, I hit you because I love you

because that's what love is. dedication

if love is measured in bruises then I'm the luckiest girl in the world.

hey. did you turn me down for dinner? skank

no, and in fact I was telling everyone that you asked me out on a date. people are jealous. and they all think I should put out.

these are good people.

Why? So you can live vicariously through me? So you can pick apart my life? Call me a dork? A drunk? A slut? You sick sick fuck.

I knew there was a reason I like you.

=)

Sorry, all escapades of past weekend are super top secret.

Because I'm a spy, and now that I've told you that I will have to kill you. Please leave your address and directions to your home in the comments below, that way I don't waste my precious time running around town looking for your worthless ass.

Time is money baby, time is money.

You know what else is money? You baby! You are so money, and you don't even know it.

hehe

I do have a small movie review for you though:

Chicken Little

I went to see this in 3-D (give me a break, my kid sis is 9), and it turned out to be pretty awesome! I mean, at first the 3-D effect did give me a bit of a headache, and although, unlike my sis, I wasn't enthused to be wearing glasses that look like the green ones Chicken Little sports, eventually I warmed up to the whole thing. And the movie was hilarious as well.

Basically the movie does a spin off of the original Chicken Little story, and in this case the sky actually IS falling. Alien invasion! Cue scary space ships and people screaming. But of course no one in town believes Chicken Little, who is now an embarrasment to his father.

What really made the movie for me though were the supporting characters. Chicken Little is friends with Runt of the Litter Pig, Ugly Duckling and Fish Out of Water.

Runt of the Litter Pig sings/quotes famous music throughout the movie, and at one point karaokes to Spice Girls.

Ugly Duckling is a therapist in training.

And Fish out of Water is at once, retarded, brilliant, and hilarious. He builds a skyscraper and climbs to the top re-enacting king kong's death.

Even if you don't have kids this is definately worth seeing.

Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

Ok, definitely a chick flick, and also something I rented for the sis not expecting to like. However, here's the thing, I ended up BAWLING!

Then, out of the blue Olivia calls me up bawling because SHE just watched it and now has to talk to me (since the movie is all about girl friendships).

So brief synopsis, four seventeen year old girls, friends since birth but all completely different, spend their first summer apart. The main part of this movie is that they find a pair of jeans that fit them all (even though they are all very differently shaped) so in true teenage fashion they dub them magical and decide to share them throughout the summer, sending them overnight to all of the different countries, states, that the girls will be in.

See now, I thought this premise cute, light, and fluffy. Basically, inconsequential. But really this is a movie about girls growing up and learning to stand on their own. All of their lives they've had each other and so in a way this is about girls learning to stand on their own, but still managing to come together.

This movie makes you think about the best girl friends you've ever had and all of those, "oh shit I'm growing up" moments. It was really suprisingly good (although I still think that girl from gilmore girls has a weird shaped head... like an alien or something).

I'm writing this as some sort of substitute therapy. Because I don't believe in therapy, or I am just too cheap to pay for it. I don't really know the true reason, the jury's still out on that one.

This weekend there were several things that hit home for me, one was, I need new scarves. I bought new scarves, problem solved. Two, there are several people not talking to me right now. Some of them have good reasons. Some of them don't.

Maybe I should apologize. After all, you don't leave anyone behind right? If they're in your troop then you make sure, you go back, you send rescue missions.

(X you were right, I can't not forgive.)

But what if I thought we were in the same troop and all along we weren't? Or we were, but so long ago that ancient history is now a forgotten memory. What if it's not them getting left behind but me?

I'm a bundle of pre-emptive strikes. Always have been.

So I gathered up my apologies and began preparing when I realized, I don't think there's anything left to save.

I once had a boyfriend who accused me of cheating. His friend kicked me out of a party and I almost had to pay for a three hour taxi ride home before the guy finally agreed to drive me home. The thing is, I didn't cheat on him, or even attempt to, or even have duplicitous thoughts running through my mind that night. But it looked bad. I do admit that. In the car I formulated my response and then realized, it didn't matter. Anything I said would make me look guilty and so I sat in silence the whole ride. Eventually he asked, "so that's it. You have nothing to say?" and I responded, "Well, I didn't do it. So I can't apologize for something that didn't happen, and besides that; tell me what I could possible say to make this ok?" He thought for a moment, "Nothing. I saw it with my own eyes. I know what happened," and so I said the only thing I could think of, "Well, I could talk til I'm blue in the face, but what's the point? I'm sorry for what you thought I did, I hope you have better luck in the future."

I don't really believe in grovelling, unless there's something to save. I want to believe there's something salvageable in this situation but I'm not very optimistic. I want to say I stopped talking to them so we can pretend that it's not the other way around.

I said things in annoyance and out of context. That's me. Hyperbole. I overblow situations to make them funny, to put them in perspective, to get over them. I make annoyance into catostraphes, then I laugh out loud and forget about it.

In short, catch me on a wrong day and I'm a complete bitch. Most people can't take this. And that's okay. I try to keep this away from other people.

But sometimes I'm not too good at it.

When I had a bad day I used to call up one of my exes and bitch about how people were the dumbest biggest assholes on the planet. Bottom feeders. That boy, my cheerleader, would chime in, "YEAH! Fuck them! You know what, where do they live? Let's burn those fuckers house down!"

I know, it sounds extreme, but it used to make me laugh. It reminded me that those people were good people, just slightly annoying.

You see, I don't know how to say I'm sorry without saying, I was annoyed. I made some bad choices because you were annoying the fuck out of me that day. But you are still an awesome person. Nothing can take away from that. I don't know how to expect forgiveness when the thing is, I really did fuck up. But my fuck up was also a reaction to someone else's carelessness.

That maybe I deserved.

But I don't know, because no one's talking to me.

I'm so full of sharp edges that my softness is always busy apologizing. sorrysorrysorrysorry. I wish that softness had time for other things, like petting puppies and running in fields like those stupid vaginal commercials. Even though I'm not too fond of puppies... and I'm allergic to grass so the field would probably make me itch like hell. Oh well. Pipe dreams, throwing pennies in a well. How many times can you say, "I wish life had a rewind button?"

Black limousines form a line.

Shaded windows. Tinted miracles. The sky is gray.

Some say it’s to reflect our sorrow but I know it is no such thing. It is December. The sky is always gray.

I drive a different car, but with the same purple sticker on the front. ‘Funeral’. Lights on. Lights off. The policemen clear the streets for us because today we bury her.

We wear black and march up stone steps, through stained glass doors, a blonde girl sings Ave Maria, we form a procession while I look through her.

I don’t remember her voice, only that her mouth made a large O like carolers.

Later I told her it was lovely, but I lied, that day I heard nothing but a weird echoing inside. I remember the coffin floating down the center aisle and the priest spreading his arms wide like Jesus.

In the coffin’s silk lining, she wore her prom dress and slept with her stuffed white Eeyores with the big sad eyes. Did I throw out my own Eeyore later? I might have.

Deaths are long.

There’s the hospital, the mortuary, the church and then the grave. Everywhere you go people say words that you will never remember. What you keep are the visuals, the site of the hole in the ground, the hand of the person holding your arm, but not the person themself.

From the back of the hearst a line of men wearing white gloves and carnations placed their hands around steel rails.

Lifted her up.

Lowered her down.

I wore black heels that sunk into the green ground.

Later the world turned upside down and my aunts ran to catch me, called my mother, laid me in her bed to rest. She no longer lived there so the room was cold, antiseptic. But it didn’t stop me from rising up, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed, calling my boyfriend to come help me escape the imagined smell of her hair.

Alica, Lisa, Lees. You were born in November, gone in a December too soon, and I still wonder what your children would have looked like.

Happy birthday and good-bye again. The nineteen years we had you went by too fast. One day I was carrying you in my arms while the aunts eyed me suspiciously, holding your hand waiting for the bus, and then we are young women, gossiping about boys, making mistakes at every turn.

I was looking forward to watching you get everything right. That’s the kind of faith I had in you.

I’ve missed not seeing who you would’ve become, and Christmas, has never been the same. Not red and green, but gray like the sky and cold like the ground. I make my lists and forget to exclude your name. Suddenly commercialism bites at my skin and the seasonal decorations seem tinny.

Lees, I tell people I love them now. Out loud. I go out of my way with notes and cards, because I know that I am not a particularly expressive person. I have been accused of being careless with others hearts.

I have accused myself of being careless with yours.

But these things are not brakes for the inevitable, just cushioning for the fall.

Every November and December I remember to celebrate your life, but I take tylenol like candy and forget to call people back. My phone still rings, but it's on silent.

What I have learned is this.

January feels better. It always does.

I would throw rocks all day long.

It sounds like fun.

Remember when Arnold says, "I'll be back"? Yeah. I don't remember him ever following that up with, "I'm back!" Or even a nice jaunty, "I'm home!"

I fucking hate Arnold.

On the news today they were talking about how San Francisco citizens are supposed to be handing in their handguns today.

Have you heard about this?

San Francisco just passed an ordinance, or law, or.. whatever! All I know is that unless you are a police officer you are no longer allowed to own or carry a gun within city limits.

That's great. That's just FUCKING great.

So today all the good law abiding citizens that have guns registered in their names need to go down and turn them in.

Hey, you know what? I bet all the criminals woke up today and turned THEIR guns in too!

This is how I imagine it went, "Yo, Stick, where's my motherfuckin piece? Why? Don't fuckin ask me questions! Just do what I say! Shit. Motherfucker acts like he don't know we got to turn in our guns today. Sheet. I oughta slap him upside his head." Then he walked down and turned in his unregistered gun that he bought illegally last week in exchange for drugs.

Oh. And those guys? That hold up the taxi cabs and liquor stores? Yeah. I'm sure they turned in their guns too.

Feel safe fair citizens that live in shit ass neighborhoods and run gas stations/liquor stores because the criminals DON'T have guns anymore. Oh, wait. Nevermind. That's you. YOU don't have guns anymore. Oh and that silly little clause in the constitution, "the right to bear arms" you know how that was put in their so that you would have the right to have a weapon and be able to protect yourself against others? Yeah, well that just doesn't apply here anymore. So the next time some ski masked freak walks into your store, pistol whips your wife, and yells at you to give him the money, well you go ahead and do it because what the fuck else are you gonna do? Pull out your nonexistant rifle and say get the fuck out of my store? Oh. And let's say you DON'T turn in your gun, or GASP, buy one illegally and then use it in such a manner, well, I'm sure your ass is going to jail.

SWEET.

WHAT A GREAT FUCKING LAW.

I want to know what STUPID PEACE LOVING HIPPIE DUMB ASSHOLE came up with this law and then I want to personally kick the ass of EVERY SINGLE DUMB ASS PERSON that voted for this half baked idea of a law. They were probably all criminals, sitting around getting high, "hehe. I know, let's take away all the law abiding citizens guns!"

Look. I know guys that used to rob houses. One of the things that always sketched them out was whether or not anyone was home, and whether or not they might have a gun. They wanted easy money, they didn't want to die, and they also didn't want to hurt anyone.

But what about the ones that do?

Now when a San Francisco citizen yells out, "I have a gun" those guys are just going to laugh in their stupid faces. Laugh and laugh and laugh. I don't have a gun, if I lived in San Francisco I probably still wouldn't own one, but either way, I'd be moving the fuck out of their right now.

This is the same stupid fucked up town that outlawed SMOKING within the city limits. Some other nutjob was trying to tax every shopper for every plastic bag they recieved at the grocery store to teach them a lesson about RECYCLING. Whatever. FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING HIPPIES. And the, no peeing in public, ban? Yeah, that's sure going well. Every homeless person owes the city a million bucks. Good luck on collecting that. Assholes.

Anyway, back to the original topic, I'm back!

Some people have asked me, "Why were you gone?"

"Were you busy, tired, uninspired?"

Nah. The truth is two things. I've just been all happy and content lately. Life is seriously good. It's hard to write when you're happy because writing sometimes feels like you're missing out. I didn't want to sit in front of the key board all 'taptaptap'. So I didn't. It was nice. Besides, my seratonin's gone awol with November. It lowers my brains speed. Normally I'm racing along and lately I've been at a car jerking first gear speed.

So there you have it. I was gone, but now I'm back. Don't worry though, I'm not gonna come through your door with an axe screaming "red rum red rum!"

Not today anyway... I seem to have misplaced my axe.

All these years I’ve been trying to settle down
Breathe slower
Grow up
And I’ve been running from love
Thinking I wasn’t good enough
Thinking that love had to be
Perfect
Just perfect
But now I think it’s time I realize
That love is not
Working every day from 8 to 5
Making sure dinner’s ready by seven
Kids in bed at nine
Love doesn’t mean you wear a suit and tie
And we have 2.3 kids
That we raise just right
In our picket fenced neighborhood
Where no one ever fights

I was afraid we’d waste our lives
Walking the dog
Letting our dreams pass by

I thought love meant letting go of who I was
I thought my heart would beat slower
And my dreams would be quieter
Allowing me to wear tan slacks with flats
Push a stroller
Drive a sedan
But now I see
Love is a part of me
A part of my hopes
A part of my dreams
And it’s as loud as I want it to be
And every single bit as crazy
Because love doesn’t have to be
Perfect
Just perfect


We were driving the other day
And you turned to me and said
I always wanted to marry you but I never asked
Because I thought love had to be
Perfect
Just perfect
But you were always laughing just a little too loud
Talking too much
Driving too fast
And I couldn’t imagine being married to you
Always wondering what crazy new thing you’d do

I had this image of a woman in my mind
Who stayed home with the kids
Cooked dinner at five
And all my shirts were always pressed
My socks kept oh so white
By this grown up woman
In this grown up life


But I knew you were the kind of girl
Who would take the kids to the beach on a whim
Without towels
Without a change of clothes
Without regret
Letting them play in the ocean in November
Teaching them that happiness is not a sin

You’re the kind of woman who would
Cover the walls with pictures of us naked
Holding our newborn babies
Calling it memories in sepia
Taking pride in the sight of our skin aging

You leave
Keys in the door
Towels on the floor
Write inspirational messages
On the mirrors in red lipstick
There’s nothing in your refrigerator
You’re always on the phone
And when I complained you just smiled
Saying, “These are the things that make a house a home.”

Oh you might cook seven course meals
Hold lavish dinner parties
But you will never cook every night
We’ll eat cheese and crackers on the living room floor
While you read poetry out loud
Wondering what life’s about
And I think how every other woman is such a bore

No.
You were always too vibrant.
Too flighty
Too…
Too much.
And so I let you go
I let go of us
Thinking I would find that woman
Who was absolutely perfect
And fall completely in love
Never imagining that I would grow sick of
Manicured nails paired with
Manicured spirits
Subdued laughter punctuated by PC comments
I don’t want to live in a house that looks like the one next door
Arriving every day by six
To a wife who has everything picked up by four
Constantly reminding me to:
Lower my voice
Shut the front door
I want a wife who’s afraid she’ll never grow up
Dreams out loud
Lives too much
And always leaves more doors open
Than she shuts

It took me 32 years to learn this lesson
About following my heart
And I hope it’s not too late to share with you
Love doesn’t have to be
Perfect
Just perfect
To be a work of art
It just has to be
Love

It is night and we are whispering in the dark. I would reach for your hand but I’m afraid that instead I would clumsily touch your leg, your thigh. I have the feeling, that instinctively, I should know where your hand is at all times. But I don’t. And I don’t want to point out my own inadequacies. Not tonight.

"A secret?"

"Yeah, make one up if you have to."

What secret to tell? That I saw you first, that I liked you first, that I let you think you were chasing me when really I was stalking you? That I lost interest years ago? That I am only laying here out of obligation and no matter how many wrenches I throw in our life, to "spice" things up, to rekindle the flame, nothing works? Secrets are secrets for a reason my dear.

Instead I slide over, cup your back with my chest, admire the way my body falls into your curves, breathe in your hair and sigh, "I have no secrets. I’m an open book."

I want to, open you up like a watermelon, and watch your seeds fall to the floor. You are summer, sticky and sweet, and when I am with you I am lost in fantasies of the future and memories of the past all at the same time.

You are the sound of hearts beating and the warmth of blood flowing. If I told you how I felt I would be left standing naked in the field, this feeling is too much and I would be bare without it.

Exposed.

Today is Tuesday and we are under the covers. I cover your ears and say, shush. There is no alarm clock in this room, there is no time. I forbid work to intrude, rip the phone out of the wall, lock the dog out of the room. You are me and I am you and for right now, for this moment, I want you to forget where your limbs end and mine begin. I want to teach you the meaning of becoming one. I want you to look at me, through me, and see you.

Stop.

Thinking.

I want I want I want. I say you are my prisoner when it is obvious the truth is the exact opposite. I extend my wrists to you and you kiss them gently. Ignoring the faint lines, the scars of time, you find the faint blue of my veins and trace them with your tongue while I inhale sharply.

It is raining in June and we are late.

(Angie)

Gina’s been my best friend since we were in the third grade and she traded me her peanut butter and jelly sandwich for my home made, from scratch, lasagna. Her mother did too little, mine too much, and out of jealousy our friendship grew.

“Hey yo Angie!” Gina talks like this, we grew up in Brooklyn where she still lives, but still. I don’t know. Sometimes I want to say, “Ey, yo, Gina, just cuz we’re Italian don’t mean shit,” but you know how it is. You love who you love and you take them as they are, funny quirks and all.

I used to imagine Gina and me living in an apartment on the beach together, going to college, dating blond suntanned surfers with long hair and washboard abs. Up until two months before our graduation I figured that dream was coming true, but then Gina got knocked up, pregnant and married. I went off to California alone, realized the truth of rent money, took a crappy room, and dated a dark haired boy with acne and a permanent slouch.

About the time I was losing my old neighborhood accent Gina was teaching little Paulie to walk and so I tend to mark my progress by the pictures that were once mailed to me in dirty white envelopes and now make my mail alert button crazy on my computer.

I got another email today. Little Paulie is fifteen, he has braces but has been blessed with clear skin. I live in San Francisco now, own my own condo, and… and.

Well.

I guess not much else has changed. My fingers feel restless. I stretch them, unstretch them, and then I take a walk. My place is too small for days like this.

“Ey, yo Angie. So when are you coming up? If you were gonna wait until our high school reunion then you’re about six months too late. PS, everyone’s fat. Call me, I love you.”

That’s Gina on my answering machine. Calling me home with her Brooklyn accent that makes something on my insides cringe. I pick up the phone and put it down. I know why they want me home and the reason hasn’t changed for five years. I’ve never seen her youngest baby, Alyssa, and I haven’t held my Godson, Paulie’s, hand in ages. For crying out loud, what kind of friend am I? This message is a week old. That’s the kind of friend I am.

Tomorrow I turn thirty-three and inherit the rest of my parent’s legacy. I have to go home to collect it and I haven’t made flight arrangements or even returned my brother’s calls. I think about the money and I just don’t want it.

***********************************
(Gina)

You see the thing about Angie is, well she’s just got a way of recollecting things all wrong. I should know, I’m her best friend and I’ve seen her rewrite history more times than I’ve put band-aids on my kids after they got the crap kicked out of them for talking trash.

I love Angie, she’s one of the best girls you’ll ever meet. Not for nothin but, she’s gotta come home. Not just to sign the inheritance paperwork, shoot if she really wanted she could get some lawyer to make it so she never has to leave San Francisco, no. She has to come home cuz she has to stop running. I used to think she’d get it out of her system soon enough, but now? I don’t know. My kids are growing up faster than her.

********************************
(Angie)

In the end it’s my brother that gets me to come home. He buys the plane ticket and sends it to me in the mail along with a note that simply says, “I love you.” His handwriting looks like dads and so for a moment I am shaken.

Hey dad, how ya been?

I’m on the plane, gripping the handles, when the man next to me says “I dreamt last night that I died on this flight.”

The stewardess won’t let me switch seats no matter how much I plead, “Sorry ma’am. This flight is full,” and even though the man apologizes I am irate. My parents died on an airplane, one of those crappy little charter things. I hate flying and if this flight weren’t so damn long I would kick the man next to me.

Kick kick kick. I might just do it anyway. I am crying when a passenger suddenly offers to switch seats with me. Everyone’s red, including me, and I wonder what in the hell I’m paying so much money for therapy for. Shouldn’t it be curing these moments of social awkwardness?

I dreamt that my parents died the night before their flight too. I woke up in the middle of the night and almost called to tell them, “Don’t do it. Don’t come to see me,” but I didn’t. I hung up the phone and lay in the darkness thinking that dreams were just dreams. They mean nothing. Except of course, when they do.

When I get to my new seat I close my eyes, try to feign sleep and pray that that man dies in the parking lot from a fatal robbery. I will shoot that man myself when we land if only everyone else here arrives safely.

****************************
(Gina)

Angie cries a lot lately. Which drives me nuts because she was voted girl with the best smile back in high school. She was always smiling, always laughing, then that damn plane crashed, her good for nothin scumbag fiancé left her, and well. We grew up good Catholic girls, and no one, least of all Angie, expected her to still be single.

I HATE CHRISTMAS!

Not that I'm mad that Jesus was born... but I HATE the malls! HATE HATE HATE! It's not that I'm wondering when Christmas became so commercialized, it's that I'm wondering when I became against it.

Stupid gift exchange.

Let me explain. This year I have done the majority of my shopping online. Thank you Amazon, thank you Overstock! I hardly ever go to the mall anymore. Mostly I research whatever I want online, decide what the best product is, and then and only then, if a nearby retail chain has the best price will I venture anywhere near a shopping center. Lot's of people in tiny spaces make me go postal. This is why I can't have a pistol... my aim is too good.

So I go to Westgate Shopping Center last night to pick up a gift for todays gift exchange. It's a shopping CENTER. This is less terrifying to me. An hour into shopping I decide to cross everyone off my list. Screw this, they get squat. They'll probably like it better than whatever crappy bath set I decide is the least horrifying anyway. Seriously, everything I saw was crap. I would be better off rolling down my car window and throwing my wallet out. So I went to Burlington and bought shoes. This only made me feel slightly better. Mostly because Burlington had run out of shopping carts so I was only able to carry two pairs of boots up to the counter... I wanted three. Stupid Burlington.

THEN I had to walk all the way over to Hallmark to buy a gift bag. At the cash register the clerk asked me if I was interested in any "special" items. I told her unless these "special" items transported me through space and time so that not only could I be home but Christmas could be over, I was not interested. Some lady behind me started laughing so hard she almost choked. I wish I had choked. Then I could be in the hospital and have a really good excuse for not buying anything. Lucky bitch.

What's wierd is that I usually love Christmas, and this year living with Tracie it's really not lonely anymore. I have someone to decorate the tree with! YAY for me! But I'm so damn busy. I have three papers to write for school, yada yada yada, (insert misc. boring crap here). F*CK! And it's not like I don't work full time.

So... I'm busy.

I'm tired.

And yesterday I started hallucinating while trying to do my homework. You know, when you're just about to fall asleep you start to sort of half dream, half hallucinate. Well I was sitting up, and trying to write a paper. Not good.

I think that what I'm going to do this year is tell everyone what expensive gifts I got for them (so that they get me good stuff), and then get them all really big boxes wrapped beautifully and filled with... sand. Hah Hah! I'll make out like a bandit. I'll probably get screwed next year, but that gives me a whole twelve months to pick up a new circle of friends that don't know what I did to the old set.

Perfect.

Things that are pissing me off today: People who talk the fuck over you.

SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU MORON BEFORE I PUT MY BOOTS ON AND STOMP ALL OVER YOUR BLOODY CARCASS!

Heh.

Ok. I just need to breathe, and remind myself that I am a good Christian.

Good Christians don’t leave bloody boot prints on the ground.

Also I’m not one of those hypocritical born agains that you just want to punch in the mouth until your fist is broken.

Good Christian, good Christian.

Maybe if I repeat it enough times it will suddenly come true.

Here’s what I mean about talking over you, you know those people who when you explain something put there own spin on it, and it always makes you look like a retarded asshole? I fuckin hate those people. I say, “oh shoot, my girl friend stayed the night at my house and we must have switched shoes” and later I hear them telling people, she’s such a fucking drunk she can’t even find her shoes.

FUCK YOU YOU FINGER LICKING CUNT!

Or, how about people who twist everything you say to mean that you are JUST like THEM. GAR! What’s the point of having a fucking conversation with these fucking people when they’re just going to make up whatever they want to hear anyway? Shit I don’t even need to be in the room for this fuck you fest.

If there’s a God I hope they go to hell, where I get to torture them by ripping out their tongues, unhinging their jaws and shoving communication manuals down their throats.

Good Christian, good Christian.

You know, sometimes this whole, turn the other cheek thing kinda rubs raw. I am fucking INFAMOUS for second chances. Ask any one of my friends, my name is synonymous with, “door mat. ”

Why? That’s an interesting question considering my numerous anger management issues and my tendency to acerbically point out people’s stupidity at the drop of a hat. But, unbelievably, that’s exactly why I forgive people.

I fuck up all the time, not because I’m mean and I enjoy seeing you cry after I tell you what a twat you are, although seriously, use your fucking brain, but because I’m human. I FEEL bad when I make people cry, I don’t intend to forget birthdays, I would like to show up to everything I’m invited to but sometimes I’m just overbooked, plain fucking tired, or, well, sick of you right now.

Oh, and hey that day I chewed you out? I might have been PMSing, or pissed that I was being required to conversate… and may have been making a list of all the reasons I don’t like you in my head. Fuck, sometimes I’m just a bitch for no reason other than I feel like it.

Ok?

So fuck off.

I realize that if I’m asking you to forgive my shortcomings then I am required to forgive you yours. Yelled at me? Ok, maybe you had a bad day. I have bad days too. Just say you’re sorry later and we’re cool. But forgiving people for the same thing over and over? It gets old.

I forgive people, but if I have to make a habit of it? Well then I need to rethink why I allow them in my atmosphere.

I close doors though, and never look back.

That’s the other thing I’m infamous for. Closing doors on peoples necks, while kicking them in the ass with my boots.

I’ve thought a lot about killing people… and how to get away with it.

Don’t fuck with me.

Or words that I wish I could say today.

I'm taking a week off of blogging. That said, there will still be posts, everyday, but I'm pulling them from my drafts and the other blog I used to write on, Stream of Consciousness.

I say used to because I just can't keep up with writing on multiple blogs. I have terminall ADD and shit just doesn't keep my attention for very long. I would take my name off of the list of contributers but I have no idea how to do this.

I am stoopid.

But I also have tons of good/semi-good/crappy shit that's never been posted here. So be forewarned, none of this shit is current.

You might have even read it before.

If you're a blog whore.

Yeah, we know you, you blog whore. We even, kinda like you. You whorey whore.

=)

Come back tomorrow though! And the next day! And the day after that! There will be shit here! I promise! Maybe even potentially good shit!

holy fuck. I just realized that I'm doing reruns during my offseason.

"The blog originated ... as a catch basin for mental detritus, for the kind of stuff not good enough for print, but too good to waste on casual conversation." (Joel Achenbach, The Washington Post, August 21, 2005)

So my mother called to bitch about her bad day. She was all, "Blah blah blah my life sucks".

And frankly, it did.

It sucked so bad that it started to bring me down too! At which point I started getting pissed. I mean, how dare she fuck up my day?

Who the fuck does she think she is? And more importantly, who in the fuck did she think she was talking to? Look lady, the only thing I want to know about your day is whether or not you have any money and whether or not you intend to give me some (or all, I'm not picky).

If any of the answers to those questions are "no" then buzz off.

In an attempt to lighten the mood I finally said, "Well, I'd tell you my good news!

But...

I don't have any".

And here's what happened. Sorta. I'm not going to tell you everything about Saturday night... mostly because I hardly remember Saturday night. But I do remember the beginning. I picked up Grace from the hotel.

Boom chicka bow

She's all hot and stuff. But she wouldn't take me to her hotel room. Something about having to pay first. Whatever! Fuckin tease. So then I took her around town, tired her ass out, then it was back to my place. I was all "Grace, do you like the view?"

boom chicka bow

And she was all "Why yes I do, mind if I get naked in your living room?" AND THEN SHE DID! But it was just to change into her halloween costume. FUCKING TEASE! hehe

Whoa, then Larry showed up and he was all, "Mind if I get naked in your apartment?"

Boom chicka bow

Then he got into a MAIDS OUTFIT! It was SOOOO friggin sweet.

Except...

He wouldn't do the dishes! Fuckin tease.

I almost threw them both out the window. Except Grace distracted me by pulling out a camera and saying, "You're a tiger! You're a tiger!" I then had to pose. Because that's what you do when someone calls you a tiger while pointing a camera at you. You pose. It's just the rules people.

Oh. And I put on my school girls outfit.

Boom chicka bow.

WAIT! Dude. Am I allowed to think dirty thoughts about myself? Oh. Hehe. HELL YEAH!

Boom chicka bow

Anyway, pissed at the teases I told everyone it was time to get the hell out of my place and go to Cindys. There was booze there and so I figured, logically, sluts.

SLUTS!

YES!

I love sluts. They're so... slutty.

From there my memory gets a little hazy. I remember I had a beer, then another, then a shot, then J, alcoholic by all accounts, made me a drink and tried to drink trash. Seriously the boy tried to drink trash, I was like, "what the fuck are you doing J? There's trash in there!" and he was all "oh, it's s'alright".

Uh huh. Ok. dude. trash.

Then he got all pissy when I tried to remove it. Like he WANTED that trash in there! He's all (grabbing his drink) "looky here... I... lIkE that StuFF".

Whatever.

I threw his drink out. I have serious problems with watching people drink trash. He was pissed and wandered off weaving through the crowd. Which was kinda funny.

J and his brother DJ were dressed up like the Beastie Boys cops. So DJ kept trying to frisk me. I'm just lucky I got away before he came up with the line, "Is that a gun in my pocket or am I just happy to see you?". Hehe. If I was a cop I would say that to people ALL THE TIME!

I might also pistol whip them.

So I go to drink the drink J just made me and almost fall over from the smell.

"Hey T. Smell this."

T's walking by and I just SHOVE the glass up to his face. (I might be buzzing already)

"What the fuck is that?"

"J made it"

He shoves it away, "Yeah. I don't need to taste that. If J made that it's going to fuck you up".

But... you know how when you're already buzzed you'll drink just about anything? I mean, J almost just drank from a cup filled with TRASH. Ok. I'm trying to justify this and it's not working. As near as I can figure J made me a drink that was ten percent non alcoholic and 90 percent something that kicked my ass. From there I go a little blank.

Ok. I may have also had some jello shots.

That just came back to me now. But in my defense I'd NEVER had jello shots before! It was required of me!

So here is some of what I remember I may have told Grace she had, ahem, AWESOME BOOBS!

holy shit.

hmm. fuck... my memory's really gone!

I told Lar that I loved his makeup job. Oh, didn't I tell you? Boy was wearing Blue eyeshadow and lipstick on his teeth.

Damn, ok, I'm missing a large gap of time here.

Next thing I remember finding J in bushes about to pass out. Which pissed me off! because because I wanted to pass out too. Seriously the room was spinning and I was trying not to let on to that little fact. Serious circles dude.

Then, something something and now I'm inside and found CL passing out! Which totally pissed me off! Hey! I wanted to go to bed too motherfucker! So I tucked her into bed and read her a storybook. After she fell asleep I may have thought about molesting her... but her husband walked in so no can do.

DAMN HIM!!! hehe

Walked back out and realized, hmm, where the fuck is my camera? DJ helped me look for it, but also PUSHED me down! So we both fell all over the place! Then he's all, "OH LOOK AT YOU ALL DRUNK!" Which was so not fair. Fucker MADE me fall! Damn him.

Then I basically wandered around, NOT falling, because DJ made me fall, not liquor, until I ended up with a room at Cindy's.

Apparently if you wander around drunk in a school girl outfit someone finally offers to take you to bed.

Who knew? hehe

So here's a pic of me and Grace from that night. She's so hot. And I'm so sober.

Cold front porch, knees together, studying the curve your ankle makes from the height of your heel. Black shoes, black tights, there is something decidedly feminine about you from this angle. Lean head forward, tilt to side, rest cheek on knees and sigh. You know that feeling inside? That scary one that makes your stomach drop at the thought of the future?

What? He’s sitting beside you, staring at stars, and maybe he’s thinking about you. But most likely he’s not. Most likely he’s slightly irritated by your presence, calculating the things he could be doing, but isn’t. Time with you wasted.

It’s like, your whole life you’re waiting for the big bad future to appear. People say ‘Do this’, they egg you on, say you’re good enough, and part of you agrees. But the other part is busy fucking everything up, because you have no idea what you want, or who you are, all you have is other people telling you what to do echoing in your head. And what if, what if you’re not good enough? What if you fail? So you fail before you even get out the door. Always stalling, looking for the exit sign, the emergency hatch. But you’re afraid that if you say, ‘I don’t want the life you mapped out for me’ people will see all your weaknesses. All your failures. And… and what if you let go of their dreams and find you have none of your own? What then? Sit up. Sigh. Put your hands behind your back and look up at the sky. Try to see what he sees.

But he’s looking at you now, studying your face, the curve of your nose. What are you trying to say?

You forgot. Women map out the problem but men solve. Your deluge of words are jumping on his nerves, making a circus out of his patience. All my life the future has scared me and now. Look down, think, streamline your words to his rhythm. I think I finally know what I want.

He lights a cigarette, inhales, exhales slowly. Maybe he’s contemplating the folly of continuing this conversation, maybe he’s just guessing at the time, you don’t know, but you wish you did. So what do you want?

Lay down until your back touches the cool damp porch, let the cement steal your heat through the thin cotton of your shirt, and feel how your whole heart has opened up until it’s as big as the sky. It’s a miracle that your body isn’t shaking; that your mind is at ease. You are not a person that finds rest calming. You want to tell him about this, spread your feeling of certainty, but would he understand it? Does he see the million miracles occurring in front of him everyday? Years from now, will he remember this? You want to reach up and open his eyes to joy but you don’t know if you can so all you say is Everything. And it scares you, this word, ‘everything’. Because you want it to infect him. You want him to see the future as limitless, his hopes as possible. You want for his dreams to come true and his smiles to come easy. So you ask for a cigarette, announce it’s time to go home, drive down unlit backroads, and when you get home you kill the engine and turn the radio up too loud. Who knew happiness was this hard?