fortune cookie part 2.

a lil somethin' about the pain in my neck.

I went to Dr. P today for my muscle sprain, and he says I have a "rather long neck." "Really?!," I ask. "Yes, you do. There are women out there who would kill for your neck," says Dr. P. (Really? WHO are these women?)

I see my neck as your typical squatty-and-buried-under-my-chin neck, but knowing it's long makes me wanna wear low-cut blouses and show it off. And reminds me of the swan in this fairy tale I was obsessed with as a little girl. It's a sad-but-hopeful story of a rejected "duck" who, through hardship and eventually running away, learns to appreciate his beauty.

Painting by Sunil Gangadharan

"the view" is so much better on vicodin.

funny stuff.

they're talking about sesame street on "the view" and
how adults are now concerned about the characters on
the show. cookie monster promotes obesity, oscar the
grouch is an asshole, and snuffalufukous hallucinates
...like he's on drugs. lol. i have no opinion on it, except
that I love sesame street. [and hate "the view."]

thanks for the title, S. xoxo.

saccharin dinner date.

mixed berries swimming in yogurt and honey.

granny smith apples with caramel dipping sauce.

hot cocoa topped with heavy whipped cream.

warm yellow-brown candle light on our faces.

talking to myself;

I do it everyday. I hold long conversations with myself in an attempt sort through my problems and anxieties and other bullshit that creeps into my life. Saying it out loud (or writing it here) can sometimes make sense of the nonsense my mind tends to create. So today, on my walk to work, the conversation went like this:

Maybe it's just me overthinking things. I do that a lot. Cuz really, why would he lie about that?

It's silly. I'm silly. Nevermind.

And you know, even if he did lie, it's was so long ago and I was nothing to him then. Maybe NOW it would matter, but not then really. I'll leave it alone.

Everyone lies.

I lie.

But I wonder WHY he lied. I feel like I need to know this, but what if it's nothing, and he didn't lie and I'm just getting carried away in my suspicions because I'm insecure and afraid?

I am afraid. I don't want to know. forget it.

What if it's something I cannot forgive? What if it hurts too badly and I can't trust him afterwards? What if there are multiple lies?

This hurts already...it reminds me of something. of SOMEONE else.

for Bea.

yesterday, i told Bea i skipped lunch to get my eyebrows waxed. She was worried I'd be hungry so she joined me in a break to get a Snickers from the deli across the street. As we're crossing the street, she says, "I've never had my eyebrows plucked. Do you think I should? Maybe I should. Yours look fantastic! And they're quite organized!"

cute. organized eyebrows. never ever heard them described that way. I don't really think that deeply about my eyebrows, but she's right I think. LOOK and LOOK. very organized.

that corner smelled like old piss.

And it was cold. But it unknowingly made for a cool grainy photo of some bushy-haired girl doing The Onion crossword, and some 19-year-old comic writing jokes in a notebook--in a bar on a Monday night.

the thing about smiles...

...is that they are usually false and easy to fake. (I said usually.) A smile doesn't show how you REALLY feel. It's a protective covering. An easy lie. A smile dims your hurt and crazy. And people are content with smiles and are unlikely to question your feelings or give you the "Oh what's wrong?" pity stare. I hate the pity stare even more than I hate the fake smile.

I once dated a very sweet, honest guy, and in the first month that I was getting to know him, I was afraid he'd think I was too crazy and fucked up for him. He was so "together" to me. Too together for me--and I didn't want to scare him away. I liked him. So I lied and told him I was going to celebrate the holidays with my big happy family...and made it sound like a wonderful tradition. (very untrue.) Then I flashed a big convincing smile. He smiled back and the lie was sealed. But now I was comfortable, and so was he. I just knew he couldn't handle the truth. "No. no plans, aside from laying in bed all day and pretending to be dead."

"last night I dreamed..."

"...i was in Urban Outfitters in the sales rack.
What a lovely dream! I bought you a hardcover
comic book on Spiderman. wow. I must really
love you if I'm buying nerdy crap like that for
you in MY sleep-induced shopping experience."

(AND in hardcover, no less.)

i love pr.

No, not puerto rico. not public relations. PROJECT RUNWAY!! (i realize how corny that sounds...oh well, i can't be expected to be cool all the time **wink**). The 4th season started last night and I'm all about it. Oh, and i'm on Team Christian. That black and tan bubble jacket-skirt ensemble was gorge' on his model--and a great effort for the first challenge. **tiny claps** And only 21 and all that bitchiness (and some weird Flock of Seagulls hair to boot). Love him!

Don't call me on Wednesday nights or ask me "whatcha doing tonight"?, cuz I'll be busy--glued to the couch for the next 10 or so weeks. Even the anti-reality-show bf stole little peeps over the top of his book at Heidi and the runway show.

silly crazy good stuff.

I'm addicted chapstick. I can't live without it. I apply it all day, and ALL NIGHT. When I wake up in the middle of the night to pee, I put on a teeny bit before I go back to my zzzzz's. If I leave the house without a purse, I carry the essentials: phone, keys, debit card, chapstick. crazy huh?

This is my latest obsession. Well, let's call it a healthy obsession. I think it's healthy anyway. I googled it and couldn't find any evidence saying overuse can lead to fatigue, sexual side effects, diarrhea, muscle spasms, dry mouth, and/or death. But I AM convinced there are psychological side effects--I get irritable and nervous and dig through my purse like a mad woman if I can't find my lip gloss. Do I need help?

So, I did a little more googling for said "help," and found this LBA site whose stated purpose is to "stay free from lip balm and to help others achieve the same freedom." LOL. Come on!! I mean, really...is a little chapstick dependency such a bad thing? **hands shake, scratches nose, sniffs** It actually keeps me sane. **sniff scratch** We all need a vice...or two (or three). **shakes chills**
********
UPDATE: To the person (you know who you are) who questioned the mention of "sexual side effects" in this blog--there are NO sexual side effects caused by applying chapstick to one's lips. I repeat, NO SEXUAL SIDE EFFECTS. sheesh.

today reminded me.

on the day you hurt me, it rained cold and hard.

i cried all day at nothing and everything--and told those who asked "it's hay fever." for the next three months, i went mad and cursed you and me and love and everyone in love.

i thought i'd die.

i didn't.

the deluge became a drizzle. then a mist. and then one day...

...it stopped.

photo by Saanga

just for a minute...

...allow me to be my cynical, and slightly antagonistic, self.

Often I feel that good, deserving people always get the shit end of things, while the less-than-deserving seem to have the best of everything. There are books written about it. For i.e. a woman who works in my building received a day in her honor just because she talks about God all day long and sings and greets people in the morning by saying things like "welcome to work!" "Come on down the red carpet to work!" Come ONNNNN! But then, for i.e. there is a crazy woman with a brilliant mind and a good intentions who doesn't even have a roof over her head.

Not much of an example, but you get it. And you more than likely know how it feels to be passed up for something you know is rightly yours, but someone else gets it and you can't figure out why. It's possibly karmic forces, or timing. I have a friend who believes the things we do in our past lives affects us greatly in our present one. Like if we were a wealthy tyrant in a past life, we're getting it all back now by struggling to pay our bills. Hmmmm...not comforting, but maybe.

vendor guy part 2.

You know that Vendor Guy across the street that wipes down my Coke cans? I’ve noticed he's quite snazzy for a guy who sells hot dogs. I mean, not that he shouldn’t be, but most Vendor Guys in these parts wear your basic dirty khaki or dirty jeans and dirty t-shirt get-up. Not this Guy. My Vendor Guy wears a tweed newsboy cap, a tailored wool blazer with a button-down oxford, and sometimes a cardigan over it. (He probably has cool shoes too...I hope they're not penny loafers. Please don't let them be penny loafers! I'll check next time.) He's a handsome older guy, East Indian descent (I think. I could be wrong about that), with gray hair, a tailored jacket--and he's wiping down Coke cans and asking folks what they want on their dirty hot dog (I really wish these Guys sold Sabretts...yum!).

Maybe he actually LIKES his job. OR maybe he likes fashion. Either way, I like him. I gotta ask his name next time, so I can stop calling him Vendor Guy. I'm so hasty sometimes. I wonder if he wipes down everyone's can, or just mine.
******
UPDATE: Ran over for my afternoon Coke five minutes ago. His name is Aman.

uh oh...

...look at what I discovered tonight. This is sooo awesomely dangerous! I've been at it for three hours straight, my eyes and fingers are tired, I want a snack, I have to pee, but I can't stop. I'm going to quit at 11pm. really.

I used to spend hours and hours and days playing this game in college. Sophomore year. I think my roommate Tedra was a tad bit worried about me.....I would eat, then play, maybe shower, maybe not, play, eat again, play, and then fall asleep from exhaustion and sensory overload.

At some point, Tedra cared enough to demand that I "get off the computer, get out of the room, and get some contact with the rest of the world." I'd laugh and say "I'm ok. Seriously! This is my LAST game. Really!" Then she'd turn on the music and lip-sing to "All My Life" while holding her brush mic and gyrating/gesturing the way R-rated R&B singers did back then. I'd get distracted, lose my game, and crack up. That ALWAYS did it for me...her being out-of-character silly, and serenading me with that mushy R&B song. Come to think of it, I was the one that bought that CD for her! Ha! I wonder if she hears it and thinks of me, the way that I do of her. That corny KC and JoJo ballad will forever be "OUR SONG." I'm smiling too hard right now as I type this out. ugh. moving on...

We spent most of that year giggling, and me mostly being the silly, happy-go-lucky, naive girl drawing eyeliner mustaches and flowers on her face and knees while she slept (I'll try to dig up some old pics of this), and hiding her coveted beanie babies. Us reassuring eachother that things would be OK in our "love" lives. Me ironing her clothes because her wrinkles drove me nuts, and her rolling her eyes at me and my OCD's that drove her nuts. No drama though, and no judgements. None whatsoever. Just sweet (and embarrasing) memories of Tetris, R&B, Fourth Street, and a good friend.

sunday dreamin.

I was gonna post an entry about the changes that have taken place in my life over the past year, but I'm not ready for that.

This is one of my favorite songs, by the great Etta. (I don't know anything about this short film, but it seems to work with the song. probably because it's black and white. I dunno. I like it though.)

i love bulky oversized man sweaters.

And finally, i have an excuse to wear them.

I'm ending the week on a bundled-up, pleasant note...the headache is gone and it's Friday. Here are some random, semi-connected little notes that inspired me this week...and helped clear some fuzziness from my head. (fuzziness belongs on sweaters, not in heads.)

"I am sorry about your stomach. but babe. you REALLY
don't give a fuck on how you eat...your favorite foods include:
toaster stroodle, candy assortment, popeyes, pizza, coffee,
no breakfast, hotdogs, something dairy with a lot of sugar,
and on top of that you got that carbon water no wonder you
got gas love. your stomach hates you. yes lets go get some
fruit. fruit is good."
*****
"Or maybe it's just karma pulling you out of the hole of a
false relationship you were in with him...getting you out of
that dreadful situation, revealing to you that you deserve
better...you deserve the truth and someone who doesn't
make you question yourself."
*****
"We all deserve the truth, if nothing else, I think."
*****

more on WM.

I mentioned Walter Mosley earlier in the week...here's the continuation. I'm not gonna talk in length about him or the book he was reading from. If you care, it was Blonde Faith.

WM gave some candid, three dimensional answers to your generic-style booksigning questions...the kind I call "questions for the sake of asking questions." Aside from being a great storyteller, he's also a bit of a charmer; he reminds me of gray-haired gentlemen I've encountered in Harlem dressed in brown Sunday suits, talking old-fashioned dirty-sweet talk. "You sho make an ol' man smile." Well, he's not that old, and he wasn't that sweet, but still, he reminded me of those gentlemen. Maybe it's just because he wears a cool hat.

I sometimes look to successful, published authors for some kind of secret. An ANSWER. Perhaps a formula for writing a book and getting it published. Whatever it is, I was hoping WM would've let me in on it. He didn't. Not really.

He told us, with writing, it's either in you or it's not. It's not something that you call yourself because you wake up one day and want to quit your IT job and decide "Hey, I think I'll be a writer now." There's no magic to it, you can't fake it. Not very comforting...but sooo true. Oh, and he said something I really liked...I can't quote him but I'll try -- "Being a writer is about your relationship with books that you develop early in childhood, and the way you share that relationship with your audience." And one more. This is simple...but it speaks to the heart of my problem/ambition--"Writing the truth is difficult." As simple as his words were...I needed to hear them from an accomplished author. Without knowing it, he gave me a little "answer"...an affirmation.

This is out of context and all over the place. I just wanted to get this out before the week ended, and now I'm done.
******
Image from cover of Fortunate Son