December 30, 2003

When it was cold : a story

When it was cold, we’d make out in his truck. For hours, we’d kiss and wish we had a better place to go. But instead, we had to settle for the seatbelt latch ramming into lower backs while the steering wheel punched out a staccato beat on the backs of heads. The anticipation of sex made the windows drip with steam and sweat. How many neighbors looked angrily out of their windows, staring at the two lovers in a pickup behind the multicultural center? Through their tsk-tsks and tut-tuts, they were staring at us with hope in their eyes, wanting to be the one pawing and clawing kissing their way to love.

When it was cold, we’d inhale our cigarettes quickly. When we’d exhale, the smoke mingled with the steam of our breaths, coming out in big wispy tendrils. It felt like clouds; clouds that surrounded us in a carcinogenic heaven, leaving nothing but mouths, fingers and beautiful cobwebs of smoke. Hunched together like two old friends, the electricity between us was a fire hazard. We’d stare at one another through cheshire lips and timid blue eyes wondering how long it’d take before our bodies caved into the craving of becoming one.

When it was cold, we’d drive around for hours talking about nothing but everything. We told stories of stores where winning lotto tickets were bought and houses where escaped maniac killers lived. There were no off limits. We were an open book of sex, music, laughs and tears. While he concentrated on the road, I concentrated on him. I memorized his mouth, the crinkles of laughter around his eyes, the way his hand curled around the stick shift, the drape of his coat, the motion of his legs changing from clutch to break to gas to clutch. I knew it all like a sweet body symphony. When I looked at him, I wanted to throw roses at his feet and scream Bravo!

When it was cold, we’d talk about our future. Our hands entwined like a nest of snakes, with no beginning and no end. We’d plan for children and our jack russell dog. We’d talk about the mistakes of the past and the rewards of the future together. For hours we’d talk, between stolen kisses and soft cheek touches. We were a mess of nothing but ideas and hopes and sex. Together, we could do whatever, live where ever, want for nothing and need for only each other. With arms fastened tightly about our waists, we’d smile and laugh and make our plans. Love crooned softly in our ears like doves.

When it was warm, we’d smile politely. We talked sporadically and went for drives occasionally. We cordially hugged goodbye and made only tentative plans for our next visit. We became two friends who no longer stared but glanced. Two friends who no longer smiled with eyes wrinkled but with mouth tense. We looked through each other searching for what was left behind. We promised and we pledged but we never followed through. Our hearts grew different and apart, leaving a muscle aching of loneliness. We’d make plans for tomorrow but tomorrow never came. Want to make God laugh? Make a plan.


When it was warm, we wished for it to be cold.

posted at 2:46 PM

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December 28, 2003

Happy Happy.

The holidays were fun and strange this year. I recieved a lot of unusual gifts, nothing from my list but that's okay too. I nearly have the entire series of Deep Space 9 now...which is exciting.
Then in february, my favorite, Voyager, comes out. EXCITING. After which, I will own all of the star treks on DVD. I am waiting for the original series to come out in series form. Blah blah.

I'm also going to be taking music lessons in January. Well, actually more like february. I need to brush up on my skills before I go to take classes. I know, it's a bit like cleaning your house before your housekeeper comes over but what the hell.

I've been having fever dreams and I'm not even sick ...people walking on stilts yelling CHINA MIEVILLE at me...and whispering PERDITO STREET STATION at me.
It was like cirque du soleil but with an angry am running around going 'SHUT UP YOU IDIOTS'

I dont' want to work tomorrow. I've got stuff to do at home.

I'm reading a book called Shutterbabe, based on a recommendation from my favorite person em and I cried when she described the state of romanian orphanages.
Just so you know.

I've got a lot to say, just no time in which to say it.
posted at 10:15 PM

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December 18, 2003

About 6 years ago, I was working late on a Friday night. It was a tight deadline for the Sunday edition of a newspaper I was working for. Things were tense and my fingers hurt from typing for hours on end.
When I finally rolled into my place about 9pm, J. and our roommate Aaron had developed a drunken plan: Lets go to the beach!!

Ordinarily, a drunken plan to go to the beach would be a fine plan on its own. Being that it was late August, they didn't want to go to a slightly chilly Michigan Beach. They wanted real beaches with real summer sun. Their demand for beach fun was not to be deterred. Lets go to the beach! Lets go to the beach! they shouted. They drunkedly made plans to find the sun. They plotted and mapped and planned their warm trip to the beach.

So when I walked in the door, tired moody and halfway annoyed, I agreed. I didn't even put two and two together until we were heading out to the car with an already packed suitcase.

Wrightsville Beach, Virginia, here we come.

About 30 minutes into the trip, I immediately fall asleep. This is nothing new, I can't seem to stay awake on long car rides, ever. Like Ever-ever. So hours pass and somewhere around Pennyslvania, I decided it would be a good idea to get stoned. We pulled off the expressway and smoked out of a pop can bong behind a Wendys. Idiots.

The rest of the car ride was spent with Aaron (the only sober one at this point) getting really really pissed at me and J. for playing Peter Murphy's "Cuts you up" over and over again on the cd player.

I remember that I thought the song was so profound and if you listened hard enough you could hear the xylophone in background and holy shit man, I've never heard that before, that's insane I love music and pot dudes!

And again I fell asleep.

The rest of the trip until we got to Virginia is a blur due to sleeping pretty much consistently and smoking a lot of pot on the way down. I know it only took us like 13 hours or some shit. Very quick.

We got to the beach and found a place to stay down the road.

Because I hate to swim, I didn't bring a bathing suit or anything. I hate the water, mostly, and do not know how to swim. I like to wade. I like to look at it. I don't like to submerge myself in it.

The most interesting thing about Wrightsville beach, I found, were the houses that lived on stilts. RightOnTopOfEachOther. I love the sea side and the smell and the sand and the sand grasses but I could not tolerate people just wandering around my house trying to find a path to the beach or opening a window and staring into my neighbor's living room. Ugh.

At home the temperature hovered around or below 60. In Virginia, it was about 85. Sitting on the beach, under the hot sun, it felt like 100. A nice humid hot 100. J. and Aaron spent all day in the ocean. I whined and hid under a towel for shade on the beach. Looking back, I was probably behaving like an idiot. I think I would have tried to enjoy myself a bit more, rather than just lounging on the beach being hot, but you know, hindsight and all that. You can bet that now, I would have left their asses in the ocean while I wandered around taking pictures or exploring the town.

At any rate, after about 9 hours at the beach, we wound up going back to the hotel that night, sunburnt, hungry and tired.
We ate pizza and tv told us poor Princess Diana was dead as a result of a car crash.

It was so surreal. One of those type of instances where you'll always remember where you've been "when...".

I was home sick watching the challenger explode on tv.
I was sitting in my dorm room, crazy mad, when I found out OJ was "innocent".
I was in a small hotel room eating pizza when Princess Diana was found dead.
I was sitting on my couch, crying, when I watched the two towers fall.

I wish I could remember where I was when the berlin wall fell or when I first heard about cherynobl but...hey, what are you gonna do.

So we all went to bed, feeling strangely from the sun and the effects of a dead princess.

We started our long drive home that next day. Pretty much the same as on the way back.

I slept.

Somewhere along the way, J. got sick after eating too many string cheeses and tried to throw up out of the window but wound up throwing up on the car door. Aaron was so pissed that I thought he was going to just leave us stranded at the rest stop.

There's nothing like driving home on a cold night with the smell of soiled cheese in the air.

It took us longer to drive there than we actually spent enjoying the area.
That's how we were back then. Spur of the moment.

Sometimes I miss it.

posted at 3:06 PM

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December 08, 2003

I found two things that make it close to better.

1. Clive Barker is terribly afraid of zombies! (JUST LIKE ME!)

2. Clive Barker is writing and directing a new movie for the Tortured Souls series. (PEE!)

Slightly better. Slightly better.
posted at 3:27 PM

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I've been uneasy for several days now. It's the worst feeling in the world. Being on edge for one reason or another but nothing specific. I can't pinpoint it on anything. I just feel antsy and slightly irritated. I'm not comfortable nor am I uncomfortable. I'm not happy but I'm not really angry. I'm just icky.

I've been far too introspective again after a big nice hiatus from the self analysis. I hate it when I get like this but it's like the snooze button on your alarm, before you know it you've hit the button and have 7 more minutes of comfort. I just fall into the habit of poking myself inside. Poke Poke. Over think and over analyze is the name of my game. It causes so many problems.

The funny thing is is I can't think of one thing that would make it all better. I want this and I want that but would they really solve the problem that is me?

I'm tired and I can't get happy.
posted at 2:52 PM

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December 06, 2003

Well. It's been almost a week in the new house. Half the stuff is unpacked. The rest is sitting around mocking me.
I've been too sick this week to try to do much else.

I just hate the fact that unpacking is so much easier than packing.


Why do I feel like I'm a bad stand up comic. "PACKING! Man! Boy, that sucks doesn't it folks! HEY!"

It's been mostly emotional too. I left a place that had some memories, good and bad, behind me. I've had a lot of time to think about things and I figured out that the reason why this house feels so out of place is beacuse it's not comfortable. The apartment was comfortable. I knew where everything was, even though we were crammed in there too tight. I knew every noise every sound every single thing about that apartment. THis place, every noise wakes me up, every little ding, beep or squeak makes me uncomfortable. I feel like I'm house sitting a very messy place. And I don't like change that's all it narrows down to.

I hate change. Even if it's for the better.

Why and when did I start hating change?

In other news: I got my 10 year class reunion book in the mail the other day. I was totally right. Everyone else put in these big huge paragraphs about how they went to college, got a degree, worked here, blah blah got married and now they have 3 kids. I swear to god, every girl in the book had at least one 4-year-old child.
christ.
Then there's my picture and my "paragraph":

I am a business woman. I invented the post-it

Haha.

Take that you bastards.



posted at 2:23 PM

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