...but you always talk to me...

...when you're down. it's been the case for so long...even when it's my fault, you say it to me--either in-person, or in a drawn-out email. it's rare that you hold it in. I'M the one that holds it in--and you drag it out of me. i don't like to be pushy (okay....yes i do). talk to me...

i never get sick of marilyn.

And I particularly like the photos where she looks most vulnerable--and as if she didn't know the camera was there.
Photo taken in 1957 by Richard Avedon

girl/boy tuesday pm dirty talk.

girl: i was just thinking about your dimples. and how cute
they are. like I could put m&m's or skittles in them
and eat them out.

boy: I have one retarded dimple. not as lovely as yours. (of course i'm talking about your booty.)

monday am erykah.

monday am thought.

I don't want to have a big 30th birthday celebration. I was thinking, last night, and no offense to anyone who feels this is a momentous occasion, but why do I have to have a big bash? Why can't I just have a peaceful massage, facial, and dinner with the boyfriend? Thirty, schmirty. Not that I'm sad or suicidal re: it (more to come on this), but the big-dealness of it hasn't hit me...just slightly excited (woo hoo--no more 20s), and slightly blah (boo-hoo, no more 20s).

P.S. how cute is that kid tho?

Photo by View Images

today as i was brushing my teeth...

...I noticed your toothbrush there in the holder by the sink...and I was thinking back to when I bought it for you. Actually, I didn't buy it FOR YOU; I pulled it out of the brand new package of new toothbrushes I had under my bathroom sink, but still it was special that I opened the pack FOR YOU. I'd been saving them for overnight guests ;-)

So anyway, when I opened the pack, I put thought into which one you'd like to use--that's just how I am. They were all white, with a color combination on them...mine was white with green and orange, for example. I wanted to give you the one with blue, but it had pink, more like fuschia on it, and I didn't want you to feel too girlie while brushing your teefus. Then, I stopped myself "i'm totally putting too much thought into this," and I handed the blue and pink one to you...and on it, I'd glued a little rectangle of sticky white paper with your name written on it. I thought that was just a sweet thing to do...not having a clue how long, if at all, you'd be at my place brushing your teeth.

Something about waking up brushing my teeth and seeing your toothbrush there next to mine does something to me. Kinda warms me. (sappy sap)

Today, I thought "what am I gonna do with it now that I'm leaving?" I considered throwing it away, but quickly decided against it. I like the idea of keeping it, maybe putting it in my next toothbrush holder...or maybe I'll use it for brushing my eyebrows when I'm tweezing. kinda gross, but lovely, huh?

something not-so-funny happened to me.

"i just fell on my face...not figuratively either.
No one saw it, thank god...but I tripped over a cord
and fell all the way forward on my hands and knees.
I think I'm okay...no blood...maybe a bruise or two.
But, b/c I believe in karma, I can't help but believe
this is payback for something."

when i look at this...

...it's impossible for me to not smile. The colors are delicious--like candy--jellybeans to be exact (the gourmet kind). I wonder if people who live there walk by this wall and smile, or if they instead walk by and ignore it because it's there glaring at them everyday. Photo by Maggie

sorry. it's 4pm. and i got very bored.

66

P.S. This is what my bf would call a "Charming Bum" post.
There! I said it before he could.

local discovery.

Just as I'm gearing up and getting my head together to sort through, throw away, pack, store, and ship (whew!), I notice that the Capitol Hill Arts Workshop--TWO BLOCKS from my house--is offering an 8-week course called "Memoir Writing." Now, I know I can take a similar class in "the city," but still, it's right there!

And it would've been cool to take some night class taught by a grumpy-old coffee-and-whisky smellin, washed-up, angry-at-the-world writing professor. Or maybe it would have been Old Reading Lady (more to come on her.)

while you can almost be certain...

...you'll likely not ever wake up one morning and say "I think I want a dragon tattoo and a vanilla cappuccino"--isn't it absurdly satisfying to know that if you did, you could walk down the street and have it?
I'm returning to "the city" very soon, and this picture sorta sums up the one-zillionth quirky reason I love it so much.

Photo from Farewell NYC

let her dream.

"Ugh. What's it gonna be this time? There's
always SOME-thing!"--my usual thoughts as I
hit the last step of the escalator.

I'm so impatient with her. Mostly because I'm
jealous she's able to live in this dream state, and
I have to go on trudging through real life. Her
"life" reminds me of and magnifies that.

She pulls out the baby clothes and shows
them to me. I force an insincere smile, bite my
lip to push away any chance of tears.

I know there will be no babies to fill those
tiny clothes, but I let her have her dream. It's
all she has, and all she has makes her happy.

She smiles back at me--chubby cheeks, missing
bottom row, warm pecan eyes. “Do you think this
will fit the babies?” She holds up a yellow onsie.

“Yes, I think so." I want to run away or change
the subject, but instead I ask, "Do you need
anything else for the babies?”

She shuffles through her cart of belongings and
paper bags inside her cart of belongings. “No. I
think I have everything I need. I can’t wait for
them to get here though. We’re all gonna be a
family again.” More of that smile.

Silence.

“Uh huh. Yea. You’re right. I can’t wait to meet
them,” I lie.

her sink, shower, and wish fountain.

Photo by chrisheuer

didn't want to go there...but here we go...

Last Saturday night, a dear friend and I were chattin, sippin, and semi-minglin (i was feeling anti-social. you'll see why in a sec) at a small arty-farty party, and an hour or so into it, a lying ex of hers showed up. My stomach was already weak from a touch of food-poisoning, and he successfully made it weaker. So I regretfully had to flee the lovely shindig to head home for some QT with the porcelain throne. TMI, I know. But as a sidenote: if you ever order french toast for breakfast and it's not all-the-way cooked, give it back immediately. Don't feel guilty about returning it and do not try to nibble at it...you'll pay dearly.

The next day when my friend told me that the pig had been chatting her up and standing by her side most of the night, I caught myself saying to her, "He's not your friend, you know. I've been there. I know how you feel, and you think there's some good in him, but he's NOT your friend." Ick! I wanted to take it all back right as it flew out of my mouth. It felt preachy. What's more, it felt judgemental and I despise judgemental remarks. The commentary came from a personal place though. It was something my ex used to say to me about an old dude I once called a "friend" who hurt me in college, and then after college, and then again years into my 20s, and then when I was just about in ruins, he re-surfaced to hurt me again about a year ago. For almost a decade, I didn't want to see it for what it was (fraud and bullshit), and saying it to my friend reminded me of my short-sightedness and anger.

I blurted out "he's not your friend" because I wanted to save my friend from the fucked-up-ness that comes from offering friendship to a man who doesn't deserve it. Woman-haters, I call them. When my ex gave me this bit of advice, I ignored it because I was caught up in some warped Anne-Frank belief that this asshole had good in him. I rationalized his flaws as "human." I mean, I am flawed, so who am I to write someone off for making a few mistakes? ya know? I mean, it was "human" for him to promise to show up at Port Authority for one of our weekend trysts, but then cancel the day before because he had to "catsit for his mom." right? It was "human" for him to not be able to make up his mind between me and door numbers one, two, and three--wasn't it? It was "human" for him to tell me he wasn't ready for what I was ready for, but then a month later gush to me about his "new girlfriend." And the very next month, cry to me about what a crazy bitch his "new girlfriend" had morphed into and how he hadn't seen it coming. But he said he couldn't help it. "I dunno...something's wrong with me," he'd say. He had issues, ya know. "human" issues.

(I went to some other place just now, and I hadn't meant to. I didn't know I still had something to say about it.)

In any case, even with all dude's lies, I still chose to see the good because of my good feelings toward him, and how could he be so bad, if I had good feelings toward him? I trusted my judge of character. But he was bad nevertheless, and he was not my friend. I kept in touch with him, let him into my life, and held onto college memories of fun little betrayals and fearless laughter.

When we grow up, and we look back, and we see that the only thing standing between holding on and letting go are those memories, we should listen to our heads, and let go. A man who hurts you is not your friend. If he's lied to or cheated on you or both--or if he's cheated WITH YOU on one of his girlfriend's or just been a deceptive, manipulative asshole for his gain only--he is NOT your friend. He has not changed, he has not grown up, he is not different now. Yes, you are still beautiful, and you are his favorite, and he's always been able to talk to you about anything and everything. Through the years, you have been there. No other woman can compare. ever. yadda yadda yadda yadda. song-and-dance, song-and-dance, lies lies lies. He'll continue to hurt and disappoint you if you let him. But how come you can't see it when it's happening in front of you???

He will not "come around. eventually."

He'll tell you he's "not ready for a relationship right now," and while you sit and pine for him, he'll miraculously realize he's ready for marriage, WITH SOMEONE ELSE. Let him go! What's the point of keeping him around? Possibly he'll reel you in for a few moments of affection resulting in weeks of regret, and then he'll go missing. again. Until next time when he needs an ego boost.

In the words of my ex-boyfriend "Why are you still keeping in touch with him?" And I said, "Well, because we're friends." And then he says, "A friend wouldn't hurt you the way he did." I didn't listen. But mannnn, was he right.

i hate what i'm wearing today.

I know it's frivolous and shouldn’t matter since I work for a non-profit and no one here really cares. All they ever say anyway is "you're so stylish" and "you're so skinny"--both of which I abhor. But, today it's all wrong.

The black pants, which I refuse to let go of because I bought them in Canada and Hannah and I have the exact same pair (except mine are a 26 and hers are a 25--lucky duck), are a bit too "fitted" in the thigh-booty area. I'm going with the "they shrunk" argument rather than the "I grew" theory. And since there are too tight and I'm wearing my staple granny panties, the panty lines are squished and clearly fighting their way through my butt pockets.

I'm wearing a sleeveless Spring blouse (it's about 30 degrees outside btw) and (thankfully) a black cardigan--but it doesn't quite lay right over the Canadian black pants. Not to mention, the cardigan is a darker, cleaner, newer shade of black than the pants. Did I mention, the pants seem to spitefully collect every piece of lent, cat hair, and dust-bunny they come across? oy vey.

The new flat black boots are awesome, but not today. They don't go well with these pants. The pants deserve heels. But, I walked to work today, so flats were the wiser choice for the feetses.

All this wardrobe discombobulation is owed to my hasty packing-for-a-sleepover-at-the-lover's-apartment. so I blame him. :-P

But, on a rosier note, my makeup is smashing, daaa-ling! And all the corkscrews on my head are screwin' the they're supposed to screw **giggle**...which rarely happens. I don't know how I ever lived without this and this. And an honorable mention for the eye shadows and blush set I bought from Anthropologie last year that I probably should have thrown out by now for eye health reasons, but who cares, I love it!

p.s. I think I need my own fashion-like blog. more to come on that...

great writers say...

...to be a great writer you have to be honest. With yourself and with your audience. I'm still grappling with "can I?" I want to, but "am I willing?" This blog has been a start but Page One has not come easy. I'm terrified of it, in fact.

This was a random, out of nowhere, walking-down-the-hallway thought I had today. "Maybe fiction. Would that be cowardly of me?"

some words on gummy bears.

Back when I was in 5th grade, Sister Mary Keller was my homeroom teacher. She allowed us one single tiny gummy bear (no, not jumbo-sized) when we achieved something praise-worthy. An A+ on a spelling test = one gummy bear. Perfect attendance for the month = one gummy bear. General good behavior and manners = one gummy bear.

It was a simple small reward--and far more delicious than the over-rated gold star. Still, we complained, as children do. We weren't greedy necessarily. We just thought our hard work merited more than one gummy bear. So, we'd implore, "Sister Mary Keller! Can we have more than one. Pleeeease! One is so small. And we eat it too quickly." Sister MK would reply "No, only one. Savour it." And "savour it" we did. We wouldn't just gobble and swallow the gummy bear quickly...we'd suck on it. Take it out of our mouths, and examine it, comment on it, and then suck on it more until it dissolved. Or we'd bite off the arms, the legs, and the head one by one, until we were left with nothing but a green or red-stained tongue.

That phrase has stuck with me for all these years -- "savour it." It was Sister MK's way of teaching us that no blessing is too small...no reward is beneath us...and that we should take them as they come and be grateful, even it it meant sucking on it slowly and taking small bites, so as to not waste it's goodness too quickly. I know that's what she meant, even if she was just talking about gummy bears.

exciting hump-day mid-day news.

Aman is back! And so the love affair endures. And he's wearing his signature tweed cap! In honor of his return, I will break my abstinence and buy a Coke! **singing "The Very Thought of You" (Etta version)**

p.s. To those who care--he was away on vacation in his country--Afghanistan. He says he's back for good now. :-D

hot pink chairs.

"I absolutely love the contrast in this pic! It's like strawberries and cotton candy and pink bubble gum versus slate gray, cold cement and marble."

NOTE: The photgrapher has created a bit of a pink theme on this blog--HERE and HERE.

Photo by Hannah Choi

three things i liked about today.

#1: Today we had Spring--without the pollen. Really! It was around 70 degrees--IN JANUARY!! I walked home slowly, taking note of everything around me.

#2: On the walk home, I spied a burly elderly white man pushing a tiny, wheelchaired black woman into Mr. Henry's, likely for the early bird dinner special. She was dressed in a red wool hat and coat, and seemed snippy and fragile. I didn't notice his dress at all--just that he seemed concerned and handled her gently.

#3: When I got home, I saw that there are only four pages left in the first Moleskine you bought me in that East Village paper supplies store.

i learned this yesterday.

de-Baathification (noun): The process of removing former members of the ruling Baath party of Iraq from the military and civil office following the ousting of Saddam Hussein.

annie part 2.

I like that her photos are so messily posed, and that women have stretch marks, lopsided breasts, and veiny legs. And I looove those green socks. Click here for more.

Photo from A Photographer's Life: 1990-2005

going to see annie.

When I was living in DC post-college--the year before I moved to NYC--I was very broke. I mean BROKE. And so I had a pretty dull social life, and my weekend activities were limited to laundry, window-shopping, occasional movies, walks in the park--literally. Art museums were my one cultural joy back then. Every week I'd scour the Washington City Paper for FREE new exhibits and gallery openings. I'd fill my summer weekends with the Smithsonians, and when I could swing 14 bucks, I'd treat myself to the lovely Corcoran.

Since I've been back in DC, I haven't been to any art museums. I've been to a gallery or two, but not one museum in a whole year! I've been too busy with my life otherwise--alas I've been feeling really really culture-starved. So, for what might be my last visit in a long stretch to a DC museum, I'm going to the Corcoran this weekend to honor a pasttime, and the glorious, provocative works of Annie Leibovitz. The museum is showcasing some of her more recent works...so unfortunately, this one below will not be featured.

I think the circumstances surrounding when a photo was taken, is just as, if not more momentous than the model posing for it. And Annie has a way of capturing those situations and stories in her work. Like in this famous photo here of John and Yoko--which to the naked eye exudes John oozing passion for Yoko. But, dig deeper, and there's a narrative of love, sadness, tragedy, and peace.

Taken in December 1980, this Rolling Stone cover photo was taken by Annie on the morning of the day John was murdered. Annie said of the two during the shoot, "What is interesting is she [Yoko] said she'd take her top off and I said, 'Leave everything on' -- not really preconceiving the picture at all. Then he curled up next to her and it was very, very strong. You couldn't help but feel that she was cold and he looked like he was clinging on to her. I think it was amazing to look at the first Polaroid and they were both very excited."

something new.

I killed a defunct blog and finally made my little profile "public." Chubbs has come out!! whew...feels good.