best morning

i recognize that 2:43pm doesn't consitute "morning," but since i woke up at 12:30pm, it does for me.

i'm having the best morning. i turned off my phone and answering machine last night to make sure no one woke me up. i slept in nice and late, and now i'm making french toast (with cinnimon, nutmeg, vanilla, and a dash of pepper), eggs (with tomatoes, garlic, adobo, and cheese), and veggie sausages while listening to various records of classical music.

yea, this is good look.

valley "men," such as they are

my BFF, Va, sent me an email this morning about my previous blog. seeing as how she's lived here, she's painfully aware of what it means to date in a place like this, with "men" like this. i couldn't have said it better myself:

"All these so-called men are more girly than I am. And there is nothing sexy about feeling you're the man in the relationship. Unless there are issues. What women need is someone who knows intellectually that we're his equals, but still feels physically superior. Valley men aren't like that. Valley men feel intellectually superior and physically inferior, and they're only right about half of it. Valley men are like the dogs that roll over and pee as soon as they see you, so that you won't consider them a threat. To continue the analogy (such as it is), if we want guys to roll over, we don't want pee anywhere. And we don't always want guys to roll over. Sometimes we'd like a nice co-existing labrador, or even a vaguely protective german shepherd that keeps us safe from the world but loves us and wants its tummy rubbed."

exactly. i'm more of a german shepherd girl myself...of the non-bestiality variety, you sickos.

heh-row mojo

well, sleep won last night. i was knocked the fuck out by 11pm. i woke up this morning around 7, when Cuz woke up. i don't normally sleep with people, so i'm really sensitive when there's movement next to me. although, it was funny, i woke up in the middle of the night to Cuz hemming me up. yea, i haven't let someone stay over in a long time. the truth is the guys i've been with, especially my last boyfriend...just, no. i'm very particular about my bed. actually, most guys don't even make it to my room. aren't i fucked up? i won't let guys even lay on my bed. aside from my girls, only my brother and Vegas have ever been on my bed. there's something intimate and personal about my bed...as it should be.

when i first moved here, i hooked up with a friend of mine. well, he was the crew ho, and i guess it was my turn. the cool thing about him is that you could bang him and then chill out with him later that day. the first time we were together he tried to stay over. yea, i woke his ass up and took him home at, like 5 in the morning. that was a couple of years ago, when i had some serious intimacy issues. i was in a really fucked up head space then. maybe it was then i decided to not let guys in my bed. oh, we can have a field day in the living room, kitchen, you name it. bedroom? well, that's a different story. granted, i've given up my hoeish ways. so, the days of indiscriminant fucking are over, but there's a certain sanctity of the bed.

i was talking to Cuz about this man i lurve, and she was making fun of me for being shook. she looked at me and said, "Cuz, have you lost your mojo?" i laughed and exclaimed, "I know, right!" i used to have a serious harem of men. i would put dudes on pause and get back to them when i wanted to. i always had back up. now, not so much. i think a few things changed in me. first of all, i grew up and realized you can't have a healthy relationship with anyone with one foot out the door. secondly, i live on the Hellmouth. you'd think with all of those colleges and the sheer number of men around that there'd be options galore. the dudes i've met have been jokes...or into white girls. i'm a bit of a challenge. i'm not a causal fuck. most guys, i've found, aren't into clocking in the hours, so fuck that. i yield one hell of a return, but you have to put in the work. thirdly, many of the men i've met are severely lacking in character. not just personality, i'm taking about strength of character and conviction. they're a bunch of craven pussies. there can only be one pussy in my relationships. finally, i just refilled my emotional reservoir; i'm not going to deplete it slowly on fools. we'll call the last 5 years...emotionally anarchic. i finally feel centered. i finally feel efficacious. there's no way i'm going to blow that on random fools who, in the end, aren't worth...me. besides, i want to be with someone who will actually replenish it as they draw from it.

i want to enter into a relationship with all of the exuberance and fervor of a teenager. that kind of relationship that you pour yourself into without hesitation. i want to love like i've never been hurt before. i know i'll never be able to achieve exactly that, but my wounds don't have to be so oppressive and prominent.

for all of that, i'm willing to wait.

fickle fucking stomach

there was no ketchup in the car, so i had to go to the grocery store.

first of all, let me say this, living here's going to be a good look. i'll never be out of a date. sometimes, living on the Hellmouth, i forget that i'm cute. i don't know what it is. whenever i get out of town, i always get mad play. the suck thing is that i've become so unaccustomed to men hardcore checking me out, that i'm perpetually confused as to what they're looking at. i've been known to actually look behind me. i don't know what it is about that area. when i went to Boston last weekend, i was sitting outside on Nisey's stoop and, literally, three cars in a row had guys adjust their position to keep looking at me as they drove by. then tonight, i was leaving the grocery store and the security guard there was trying to talk to me. then, as i was turning onto the main street, this guy passing in his car was just staring me down. i remember when Nisey and i went to NYC for a friend of mine's birthday, we were walking down the street and this SUV full of guys were actually hollering out the car at me. i didn't know what they were doing and Nisey goes, "they were looking at you." i just stood there with this incredulous look on my face.

i mean, i spent 4 years not really looking at guys and the last 2 living on the Hellmouth. my perspective is all fucked up.

anyway, so i went to the grocery store to buy some ketchup. as luck would have it, my testy little tummy decided to be a jerk. now, i'm not hungry. i've had enough to tide me over, but not enough to be full. so i'm kind of hungry, but the smell of the burger is making me sick. all of that ketchup business for nothing. dammit. looks my dinner is going to consist of vanilla yogurt. the suck part is that i know i'm going to be starving at 3am and i'm going to wolf the rest of the burger down and be sick tomorrow.

damn you, tummy. da-a-a-a-amn you to hell.

condiment whore

i lurve condiments. you can make or break any meal with them.

i haven't hardly eaten all day. i was up, literally, all night last night and finally went to bed around 7am this morning. i slept until 1pm and then headed out to the Elm. on the way, i had a turkey sandwich and some gatorade. that's all i've had to eat today. so, when i got back at 8:30pm to Cuz's house, my ribs were touching.

i ordered a burger and fries and this ho has no ketchup in the house. who doesn't have ketchup? i tried to eat the fries with seafood cocktail sauce, but it's a bit too spicy and my stomach is just now calming down after a tumultuous week. plus, i'm sure in the fuck not going to douse my burger with it. so, i abandoned that. what am i supposed to do? eat a dry-ass hamburger? i can't. i took a few bites and i'm done. i'm not sure i'm desperate enough, but i'm certain i have packs of ketchup on the floor of my car somewhere. am i that desperate? i don't know. i still feel a headache coming on. shit. now i gotta go out looking like a crackhead digging around for loose packets in my car.

then again, i could just skip the burger and go straight for the chocolate cake. oh, the choices one must make.

to the car i go.

poetic liar

i'm a liar. this time it's not even in the sporty way. i'm the worst kind of liar: i lied to myself.

awhile ago, i posted a blog about a man i have a tremendous amount of affection for. i think i actually said i was "crazy about him." that hasn't changed. i tried to change it. i did. wait, see, there i go lying again. i really thought about ignoring my feelings for him. it's impossible. truth be told, i don't want to.

i don't want to be the emotional martyr and suffer in silence. i don't want to deny how profoundly he's touched me. my mom actually likes him. i always tell her that we're just friends and to get off of my back. one day she confessed, "the reason i like him is because i haven't heard you laugh this much in years." it's true. there's just something about him that has resuscitated my soul. the banter, the bickering, the jokes, seeing his face, hearing his voice, the whole essence of him makes me glow. how can you intentionally repress that?

maybe he just happened to coincide with my natural healing process. maybe i would've felt this alive if i'd never met him, but i'll never know. i don't much care. it's not like my emotional well-being in hinged solely on him. he just makes my world so much better by existing.

so, fuck homeboy status. if he doesn't want me, so be it. but i'm not going to censure myself on account of emotional self-preservation. i'm tired of being so goddamn cautious. i want to do things for him and make him smile. i don't expect anything in return. there is, however, a whole laundry list of things i'd like, but i digress. making him happy makes me happy. besides, i feel like i'm returning the favor.

just because i'm crazy about him doesn't mean we can't be friends...it just means i can't tell him.

wow.

apparently, i have almost no redeeming qualities.


The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Second Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Very Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Very High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Moderate
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	High
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Low
Level 7 (Violent)	High
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	High
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	High

Take the Dante Inferno Hell Test

1-800...

i should start off that i'm amazingly tired. i was up until 4am this morning working on a project for a friend of mine. what started as a cute idea has now morphed into this stimulating, though exhaustive, mental explosion of ideas. i thought of it Sunday, and have to have it ready by Wednesday night to deliver on Thursday; all the while working my normal schedule in between. so, i'm mentally spent. i'm actually taking the night off from it. i'm crammed in so much information in two days that i need a little time to process it.

tonight, i was talking to my dad and was making some point about living here and the lack of originality and mental dexterity. i regularly go on tangents. sometimes they meander and stray incredible far from the original topic, but i can always bring it back. tonight, however, i was struggling. i finally just gave up. i told my dad --who was tired from a long day, as well-- that, when i remembered, i'd just call him back. i figured i'd be in the middle of drying my hair and it would just come to me. oh, i should mention that we were talking at 10:45pm. so, i joked that i'd call him and he said:

"if you do, you'll get a recording that'll say to call '1-800-dry-your-hair-and-shut-up.'"

that made laugh. i called Andrea after getting off of the phone with dad and told her the story, to which she laughed and replied:

"your dad is the original asshole."

yes. yes, he is.

what's the debate?

perhaps i'm being obtuse, but i don't see what the debate is. i was listening to NPR this morning and they were talking about the sentencing phase of the Moussaoui trial. the prosecution has called for the death penalty, of course, and now the jury has to decide whether to execute him or give him life in prison.

now, i'm a staunch opponent of the death penalty. where as, i can certainly see how someone would be all for it-- and would never presume to tell a grieving...anyone...that they're bad people for wanting a person who killed someone they love to die-- but it's just not something i believe in. so much so, that i've had told my dad that i didn't care what condition my body was in, or what they did to me, i never wanted him to seek the death penalty on my behalf. i just don't see the logic of killing someone for killing another person.

now, i readily admit, that there are people who deserve to die, but that would be a little thing i like to call "personal vengeance." as an established penal action, it just doesn't set well with me. there are too many variables in too flawed of a system to leave something as permanent as government sanctioned death as an option.

all of that, actually, has almost nothing to do with my point. my point is that is doesn't matter if you sentence him to death row or life in prison, he'll be dead within a year. even if people don't know who he is, he may still very well die in prison. people, naturally, will know who he is and someone will kill him. you can put him in solitary confinement, he'll still die. put him in a little cell on death row and feed him through a slot in an iron door and let him breathe no fresh air for the remainder of his natural life, he'll still die. if the inmates don't get him, the guards will. anyone who says that a guard wouldn't is lying to themselves. it's not just that guards are notoriously undereducated, frustrated farm boys who's ranches have been bought out to build said prison on, and they needed a job. it's not even that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. it's that you'd be hard pressed to find anyone who would feel bad or guilty for having either committed or aided in the commission of the murder of someone involved in Sept. 11th.

it would be so easy. the right guard, the right inmate, who's going to cry? oh, there'd be an investigation, but either no one knows or no one's talking. there might be a lockdown, just for show. there might even be a fall guy who just so happens to have three life sentences to be served consecutively. it could be that easy.

therefore, i don't see what the big decision is about. hell, i guess if you want to be fiscally responsible, give a life sentence and save money. he'll be dead before the first bill comes in.

apropos

seems fitting, considering my latest trip. You scored as Buddhism. Your beliefs most closely resemble those of Buddhism. Do more research on Buddhism and possibly consider becoming Buddhist, if you are not already. In Buddhism, there are Four Noble Truths: (1) Life is suffering. (2) All suffering is caused by ignorance of the nature of reality and the craving, attachment, and grasping that result from such ignorance. (3) Suffering can be ended by overcoming ignorance and attachment. (4) The path to the suppression of suffering is the Noble Eightfold Path, which consists of right views, right intention, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right-mindedness, and right contemplation. These eight are usually divided into three categories that base the Buddhist faith: morality, wisdom, and samadhi, or concentration. In Buddhism, there is no hierarchy, nor caste system; the Buddha taught that one's spiritual worth is not based on birth. Buddhism 96% Islam 67% agnosticism 67% Judaism 63% Paganism 58% Christianity 58% Satanism 29% Hinduism 25% atheism 13% Which religion is the right one for you? (new version) created with QuizFarm.com

de-lish

i think, easily, my favorite dish is chicken and broccoli alfredo over thick spaghetti. i do like fettuccini, but it's a pain in the ass to cook, because the noodles are so flat that like to stick together. thick spaghetti is my favorite standard noodle. my favorite noodle is Campanelle. it's really versatile and adorable with its flowery ridges. it makes your dish feel all pretty-like.

i'm making it for dinner tonight and it's gonna be delicious. i'm going to saute fresh broccoli with lots of fucking butter and garlic. i was going to try to make my own alfredo sauce, but i'm tired and too hungry to be fucking around. i do want to learn how to make it, though.

there are a lot of things i want to learn. i was thinking today about reviving my plan of a year ago. i want to be fluent in, at least, three foreign languages. i have the basics for Russian and Spanish, so i want to build on that. i want to refresh my Latin, but that doesn't really count, since it's a dead language, but i want to learn one more. i haven't decided, yet. i'm petrified of character languages, and have almost no fascination with the orient, so, yea, me. it's a toss up between French and Italian. i'm leaning toward Italian... not just for love of their food and men...mainly because i could see myself going back.

when i was there for my 21st birthday, i really liked it and always wanted to return, but with someone else. traveling alone is fun, because you can do whatever you want and that was fine for Greece. i found that with Italy there was so much to see and the land was so amazingly beautiful, that the next time i came back it would be with someone else. it's the only place i've been to that i won't go back to alone. it just seems wasted on my eyes alone.

i remember taking the slow train from Rome to Pisa. it, literally, stopped in every town along the way and took, like, 5 hours. i have pictures of the water and remember how deep the blue was. when i developed my pictures, Kodak did it absolutely no justice. the sun was bouncing off of the water which, in real life, was a scene of shimmery loveliness, but, on film, was white-washed. i realized then that there are just some things that can't be captured...not even by a camera. i remember looking out on the countryside, it was like having black and white eyes and finding technicolor glasses. i was awestruck.

when i went there, i was on a two week plane-hopping, backpack trip all over the Mediterranean. i was only there for about 4 days. on the one hand, it sucked balls, because what can you see in that time? plus, i was sick when i got there. these people from South Africa i roomed with in the hostel in Rome had to get me my ticket, because i had completely lost my voice. on the other hand, it was good, because i didn't see so much of Italy. it would've been worse, i think, to have skimmed over the whole country. i'd go back and would have, technically, seen everything, but wouldn't have had the time to really appreciate it. so, this way, when i go back, i'll be experiencing so many things for the first time and get to share it with someone.

so, yea, i think it'll be Italian. ooh, speaking of Italian, it's time to cook up some buttery garlic broccoli.

de-lish.

breaks up 2 make ups

Pepper and i made up today. i woke up around 10:30am and found him laying outside of my door. this is significant because Nisey and Terry were already up and Pepper loves company. so, for him to be laying outside of my door, when there were people in the other room, shows he was trying to come at me on the humble. i made him sweat it out for a minute, but after awhile i pet him and let him gives me kisses. it's cool, he's had a hard life and we're all a little bit damaged. besides, those fries were-- in fact-- delicious.

i respect his gangsta.

one more thing before i go...

...it's a good thing we were all too gassy and tired tonight to go out clubbing. i would've been pissed to drive from the vacant, wasteland of fun i call the Hellmouth...or, you know, Amherst...to here to party and have it ruined by a damn dog.

fuck that.

i feel like Vera, except it's not my pinky toe.

silence

after an hour locked up, Pepper has caved.

silence: the sound of surrender.

fuck The Bean

i hate boston. everytime i come here, the worst things happen to me. well, maybe that's an exaggeration. perhaps not the worst things, but some seriously bogus shit goes down everytime i'm in town (i didn't mean to make that rhyme).

i'm here visiting my girl, Nisey. up until 5 mins. ago, i was having a good time. i did a little shopping. i met her new man --who's cool as shit-- watched a little Dodgeball, and just chilled the fuck out. then, Pepper happened.

Pepper is Nisey's dog...who gets coddled worse than a Hilton. admittedly, she got Pepper from the pound and --seeing as how he was there-- he hasn't had the best go of things. because of that, she feels really bad about discipling him...so she doesn't. he pisses on the floor, she cleans it up. he scratches the doors and whines, she lets him in. she has to trick him before she can leave so his "separation anxiety" isn't too bad. he's even commandeered the futon in one of the rooms as his own bed. that, of course, isn't counting the bed in his room, the pillow for him in her room, and his blanket at the foot of the bed.

i love pets. i especially love dogs. never that. so, he's grown accustomed to getting away with bloody murder. all of that shit stopped tonight.

i got some take out from this joint down the street. i had a cheeseburger and some fries. i ate the burger, but was way too stuffed to eat the fries. so, i got up to go into the livingroom to ask Nisey and Terry if they wanted them. Terry did, so when i went into the kitchen, and found Pepper eating the fries he had knocked to the floor. i tried to get him away from the food, so i started by trying to back him away with my foot. it was at that point that proceeded to bite the shit out of the big toe on my right foot. so, now my toe is bleeding and it's soaking through the sock. to get him off of my toe, i push his head away, at which point he decided to bite my hand...a couple of times. so, now my toe is throbbing and bleeding and my hand is swollen with bite marks.

hearing the growling and me yelling at the dog, Nisey and Terry come into the kitchen. once we sorted out the chain of events, she grabs the broom to try to get him into the gated pantry; his official room. however, because she feels so sorry for him, she doesn't want to hurt him. i, however, have no problems hurting him. well, that's not true. i wasn't mad. yes, both extremities on the right side of my body were wounded, but he's a dog and i was coming between him and his food. i also understand that he was dealt a raw deal. that, however, does not excuse him from his transgression, and this is the most obvious time to start teaching him lessons. besides, he wasn't too delicate to bite the shit out of me. there's not a whole lot of damage the bristles on a broom will cause him. so, i get Nisey out of the kitchen and have her block the door so Pepper can't run out. we tussle for about 5 mins. he bites some bristles out of the broom and barks a lot, but eventually he calms down. that's when i get him laying on the ground and Nisey comes in and carts him off and locks the gate.

by this point, the blood has adhered the sock to my foot and we go to the bathroom to clean it off, which was funny because it hurt and tickled at the same time. anyway, we get everything cleaned and bandaged up. she feels bad, but it's cool. then she asks how long he has to stay locked up in the dark. i told her all night. she incredulously said, "all night?" that's when i held up my foot and hand and said, "oh, i'm sorry, you're concerned about your dog's feelings?" she was appropriately shamed.

so, Pepper's still in there whimpering. it's not quite so persistent now. i think of him like a punished toddler. yes, they're mad. yes, they want to get up, and yes, i do feel bad about them hollering. however, eventually, they will just cry themselves to sleep. there's no way that dog's getting out before sunrise. now, i'm not totally cruel and i do recognize that he doesn't like being left alone. that's why i'm leaving the radio on all night. at least it's not complete darkness and silence. i'm not a complete monster, but that fucker will remember this and, hopefully, learn.

fucking Boston, man.

avoidance mode

i am engaging in some serious avoidance activities. i'm sitting here in my towel, with my wet hair wrapped up, and i refuse to do anything. i bought everything to clean my place, and i desperately need to wash my clothes, but all i want to do after my hot shower is sleep.

my place has been wrecked since i got back from Nepal. i've been really busy and haven't even had the time, nor will, to unpack. i've been living out of my suitcase in my own apartment. how sad is that? i'm tired of this fucking path i've dug out from my bed to the door and i have this cooped up smell going on. i imagine it's from 3 weeks of dirty laundry, which is just nasty. the things i need to do aren't hard. i need to hang up some clothes and was the others. it's the dusting and drying of the hair i'm avoiding.

i love my curly hair, i do, but that shit becomes the craziest explosion of hair in a matter of days. i also love my hair long and straight. the suck part of that is that it takes 2 1/2 hours to get it there. it's such a process. here's the debate. i'm going to Boston tomorrow and will probably go to a club on Sat. if i took the time and dried my hair, i'll more than likely sweat it out in two days and that would suck. if i wear it curly, it'll be so unruly. i think laziness is going to win tonight. i just don't give a shit enough right now to fuss. i'm not a high maintenance girl...well, emotionally i am...but my hair is the most high maintenanced thing on me. i only recently got into arching my eyebrows. i really only do that because, on a whim, i let Nisey do it and it hurt so fucking bad that i never wanted to start from scratch again. the upkeep is pretty painless, but i fear i'll let them grow out, forget about it, give in to Nisey again, and cry all over again. plus, i kind like it.

so, looks like the hair is staying curly and now i should unpack and clean my apt. part of the reason i'm doing this now is that i'm taking Nisey's presents from Nepal to her. i was sort of annoyed with myself for being so disorganized that i couldn't find a gift for a friend of mine. i gave him most of them, but there was one more thing i'd gotten especially for him-- not some standard statue or t-shirt or something-- and i couldn't find it in time to not be late. i guess it'll be an Easter gift. so, i don't want the same thing to happen with Nisey. primarily because i hate Boston and rarely go there. if i forget her present, there's no telling when she'll get it. i'm always going, and more willing to go, to The Elm, so forgetting his thing is not that big of a deal.

alright, i'm rambling on some pretty uninteresting shit, just to avoid housework. it's time to embrace my inner domestic goddess and work it out. to think, i frequently toy with the idea of being a housewife. i think i'd care more if i lived with someone, the mess would shame me. as for myself, i just think of it as obstacle courses to keep me spry.

why?

why don't men have curtains? they always have blinds. i guess they come with the place, but i don't think i've ever seen a guy's place that has curtains. does it just not matter?

remy

she's not an amazing rapper, but she does have a cool flow. it's not that she's good so much as she's hilarious... and she's real gritty. it's been a long time since a female rapper made me laugh out loud. the first time i heard her was with Fat Joe (she's part of the Terror Squad clique) in "Lean Back." she had the line:

Said he liked my necklace/
Started relaxing/
Now that's what the fuck i call/
A chain reaction.

i actually think that line comes from somewhere else, but the way she delivered it was dope. what sealed her in my head was the night i was driving back from NYC and heard he wildin' out on Hot 97. the best part of it was when she kept saying that she knew she had a tight flow and the she was "dead nice." she was going off, talking about how Fat Joe wasn't supporting her or helping her promote her album like the dudes on the label and shit. she was blowin' spots up. saying that Fat Joe and them always talking about being hard, killing people and shit, but never went after the guy who raped and beat her up. she was killin' em. she was so unapologetic, but you could tell that she wasn't mad, she was hurt. she just felt dissed and she was real raw...and on the mic. it was so intense and she wasn't playing around.

so, last night i was out and i heard her new song on the radio called "I'm Conceited." by far the best line was:

Now who's that peaking in my window/
Nobody cus I live in a penthouse.

and the chorus is:

See I look to good to be fuckin you/
And I look to good to be loving you/
You know I look way to good to stuck with you/
I'm conceited I got a reason.

i can just see a summer of busted girls reppin' that song. true, i'll be bumpin' it, but ironically. plus the beat is crazy. it just makes you feel like the shit. it's the kinda beat that makes you want to "move your body like a snake"...yea, i had to...but you have to wind or something. you can't really do a two step to this. even if that's not how you are, the song is so bold, you sing along like you'd actually say it in the course of a regular conversation.

i downloaded this short 1:12 min. song that has this line that made me bust out laughing. it's called "Remy's theme" and the line goes:

If your girl get outta line/
Guarantee i'mma smack'er/
Straighten that ass out quick/
Like a fucking relaxer.

that's some funny shit.

cuttin' up

i feel like causing trouble. i feel like shamelessly cuttin' up.

i'm in the best mood. i don't know what it is. it's definitely partial high from Thurs., but there something else in the air. i know some it has to do with my ex moving. we definitely left on good terms and we still chat and stuff, but there something liberating about not seeing him all the damn time.

i'm really excited about the summer: swimming, clubbing, and my girls. plus, there's someone that i'm dying to incorporate into my crew...if i could ever get him out of the house. he's cool as shit and so much fun. i think he'd mesh really well with my girls. i mean, it's a gem of a man who can cluck with you. oh, man, hot summer nights in NYC, drunk, dancing and laughing with him and my girls. i'm all about getting him out clowning with us. i can't think of a better way spend the summer. i'm certain he'll say no most of the time, but i can't wait until that first time he says yes. the best thing is that he lives in the same city as one of my girls, so it'll be so fucking sweet. Nisey drives over from The Bean; we drive down, swoop them up and keep it movin' to Brooklyn.

i'm also really excited about Marco. she's, by far, my favorite person. we were talking today about all of the shenanigans we want to get into this summer; crashing UMass parties, night swimming parties, the works. it's so nice having someone around here to chill with. she certainly encourages my silliness, and i respect that. being with her is freeing. i don't feel scrutinized or judged. i can stutter or trip or make a complete ass out of myself and she's right there laughing with me. i dig it.

i don't know. i can't stop smiling. i resolved to be a nicer person a few weeks ago, and that's fine. i also just want to be rid of all unnecessary baggage. i'm tired of being ruled by the past and being too afraid of what my friends or family will think. i'm sick of it. i want liberation. i want to go on dates. i want to drive down 91 with my windows down, radio blasting, hair blowing, and singing at the top of my lungs. i want to dance barefoot in the grass to no music; pick wildflowers for my hair.

fuck disappointment. fuck sorrow. fuck demons nipping at my heels.

i want mimosas and strawberries for breakfast; sunbathing and smoothies for lunch; good friends and Roomba for dinner; and laughter and love for every moment in between.

ask...

and i shall receive.

wow.

the first paragraph of this Kerry article made me laugh outloud. the last quote deserves a resounding, "oooohhh sch-nap!" however, by far, my favorite line of the article is:

"He echoed recent comments of a potential presidential rival, Democratic Sen.
Hillary Rodham Clinton of New York, who said last month that the bill would penalize "even Jesus himself."

hey, Democrats, that's big (and hilarious) talk, but how about doing something *cough*impeachment*cough* about it. You know, being the major opposition party in the country. THEN you might win the votes, because you would've won the respect. Right now, you're standing on the sidelines --in your black and white striped jerseys-- yelling, "Foul!"

a place for everything...

and everything in its place.

there are certain things that aren't sad or irritating or anything other than a shame. that's what this guy is to me...a shame. he's perfect. he's beautiful and brilliant. he's wonderfully difficult and sarcastic, coupled with moments of genuine sincerity and kindness. he's essentially everything that i look and want in a man and i'm completely crazy about him. of course, as Fate would have it, he doesn't like me back. so, here's a man who's perfect for me, but i'm not perfect for him. balls.

i'm not all weepy about it, though it's sad. i'm not pissed off, though it's disappointing. we get on famously and i can't remember a time when i've been more simultaneously petrified and excited to be with someone. i doubt he feels a fraction for me as i feel for him, but i know that he cares for me. so, now, i have to figure out what to do. on the one hand, i have enough male friends and i want him to be with me. on the other, he's had such an impact on me, how could i think of letting him go? it's an impossibility. so, i have to find a place to put him.

homeboy status is the obvious answer. i sort of figured he didn't like me, but there were things that he'd say or do that would throw me. plus, once a woman puts a man in homeboy status, it's like climbing up an iceberg in vaseline-coated ballet shoes to get out of it. naturally, being a girl and hoping against hope and reason that he might have some affection for me, i hesitated. now, it's time to grow up and face reality.

it's not all bad. i mean, we definitely have a connection. we fight like an old married couple, but that's actually a good thing. he's not afraid to hurt my feelings and i not afraid to tell him that he's being a jerk. yet, i tell him things that even my girls might not know. to achieve that brand of honesty and respect with anyone is so rare...and especially so relatively quickly. he and i have a whole lot of incredibly profound things in common that sort of put us in the same mental space and makes it easy to relate.

i just haven't felt...well, anything like this in a long time. it's nice. even now, knowing and realizing what i do, it's still really nice to be so excited to see someone i want to Stan-eskly vomit, yet once in his company feel at ease. then again, some of the edginess might come from the sheer amount of arguing we do. it's like a crap shoot. sometimes you roll the dice and we're having the best time, laughing and joking around. next roll: irritated silence and frustration. i have a great appreciation for that kinds of moodiness (his and mine). it's so unapologetically honest.

maybe two complicated people can't be together. i mean, aside from personal aspects of me he probably finds grating to the nerves, maybe there has to be a balance. i don't know. i sort of hope not. i just dig him. he's wonderfully complicated...even when he's pissing me off...and i think he's a simply magnificent creature. i guess the trick is to find someone who finds me the same. i'm fucked up and i've had some crazy and complete bullshit things happen to me, but i try not to be defined by them. obviously, they've affected me and changed me, it hasn't all been bad and i'm working on the rest. more than that, all of the events in my life and choices i've made have made knowing him possible. how could i regret that? i wouldn't give up one second with him for anything in the world. i need someone who not only thinks i'm beautiful, but can appreciate my silliness and feistiness in equal measure. i want someone who thinks the world of me and can give in or silence my tantrums with the same delicate heart.

i want him...but he's not an option. so, to homeboy status he goes. such a shame.

wow. after all of that, i'm glad he doesn't have this site address. i suppose if he did, he'd just sigh a breath of relief.

monkees

did anyone know that the Monkees put out an album in 1986?

i was making a road trip CD for a friend of mine and i wanted to put some fun, random songs on there, so i thought i'd put some Monkees on there. they had a studio album called "Pool It!" in 1986. before i saw the release date, i clicked on one of the songs and heard the distinct sound of a synthesizer. according to the cover, Mike Nesmith knew when to bale and bounced. grown ass men in a pool with inner tubes. i loved the Monkees and watched the show on MTV religiously, but even this is a bit much. admittedly, i haven't listened to the album, and --for all of my Davy Jones button wearing-- i'm not exactly tempted to.

yea. wow.

oh, and i just realized it was April Fool's Day, but i'm dead serious. i'm not that funny.