Artists' statements and the sudden desire to barf

there is almost nothing as annoying as a pretentious artist's statement. these are the little "ideas" some artists have about their "work" that is posted somewhere near the "work" in order to give, what, commoners? some grand idea of their genius. i have read very few cool artist's statements in my lifetime. they are typically something like this one i just picked up at Axis Cafe, SF. read it and laugh.

"the mind creates, the body permeates..."
"Exploring the abstract scenery of women as motifs enables me to portray the idea of my essence. (oh please) My work investigates the nuances of vibrations through the use of textures..."(kill me now)
"I do not paint the way I observe the world, but how I sense it in my mind, (oh, you're so sensitive) and how i recall events..."
(and the real genius here:)
"THINGS are always much more than they seem." (really? please tell us more.)

it's just TOO MUCH. so funny and ridiculous. i can't imagine what this person must be like to talk to in real life. i think if i ever have a show, i'm going to have an ad lib artist's statement. fill in [pretentious word/bullshit] here...

Soul?

so, since the yeti died, i keep going back to the memory of the intense change in her body weight from when she was merely asleep to when she was dead. what happened there?
this is what the movie, "21 Grams" is about, supposedly. it's a bit arty, so it's kind of hard to tell and it's not addressed directly, disappointingly.

here's some snopes info on this phenomenon, this idea that the soul weighs 21 grams and that's what happened with the yeti and her drastic weight change:
link

I love boys

boys are the best people to hang out with. i have always loved hanging with the boys, which happens for me a lot because they are more likely to smoke cigarettes and smoke pot, two of my favorite activities. boys simply have more fun. on my most recent vigilante renegade camping trip, i was with three boys who brought with them the following fun:

bourbon shots in the morning



nakedness

lots of pot



and musical instruments, to name a few.


boys are rad.

finding the funny

in a relationship, it sure is funny to argue over who has to deal with the most dislikable aspects of the other's personality more...him or her? do she have more problems than him? does he have more problems than her? are they made in the ways they need to be made to deal with the other's personality? she can take drugs for things he doesn't like about her, can he take drugs for things she doesn't like about him? if he could, would he just because she doesn't like them? could certain characteristics be considered a sickness even if they're not in the PDR? would it be right for her to ask him to change those parts? is it right for him to ask her to change parts just because she can, or because she also doesn't like them? what if she did like the things about her that he doesn't like AND it's a sickness in the PDR AND she doesn't want to take drugs for them, does that mean she's not willing to be in a relationship, that she's not willing to work with the other? does it mean the ultimate thing that all these questions are about: that maybe they shouldn't be together?

are these legitimate questions concerning how much you should/could/would ask the person with whom you're in a relationship to change? or the questions of control freaks who think too much? or the questions of people who've had their hearts broken a few too many times?

one thing is for sure, i am finding the funny in these mini-high-drama conundrums.

Anti-depressant

alright, here it is, the thing that is going to change my mood today:

a website with art assignments on it, conceived by Miranda July, and some dude. Miranda is a great filmmaker, she made "Me and You and Everyone We know." i find these activities provide a sense of hope for the human race. can't explain it...

(rent the movie to find out the very special meaning behind the picture above)

File under "oh my god"

parasitic twins are just crazy! if you're ever having a bad day, just think about what it would be like to have an ass coming out of your chest!!

if you ever feel like you've been beat with the ugly stick, be thankful you only have two arms, or one.

today doesn't rule...

but i will continue to try to come up with something funny...

Rest in peace my baby

The elusive yeti died in my arms on saturday, may 27 at 3:40pm. i had to have her euthanized. she had lost the ability to walk for the most part, a new development since the night before. the vet said her heart wasn't pumping enough blood to reach her legs and that i had made the right choice for her by calling him. he administered a shot of ketamine and valium that made her fall asleep pretty quickly and guy and i held her and loved her, petting her and talking to her. the wracking sobs coming out of me grew strangely quiet and i felt somewhat calm when the vet gave her the final shot that stopped her heart. we felt her leave. her body lost all of it's weight when she left. she was just fur and bones then. guy held her during this time as i wrote a check and signed some papers. i couldn't look at her then...the doctor asked us if we wanted...we said, please take her, no ashes, please take her. we thanked him for being kind and he wrapped her in my bright kelly green towel and put her in a carrier and took her.

guy and i couldn't stop crying after that. we just kept crying and crying. i called my mom and later we went to a friend's house for distraction and warm hugs and bong loads.

and that was it.

yeti came into my life as a feral, abandoned cat. it took a year of socializing for her to allow me to touch her but once we broke through that wall, she was extremely affectionate and seemed perpetually grateful, looking at me through cataract-laden eyes with all the love in the world. the yeti. very special. friends described her as " a little old lady" and "a ballerina." delicate and sweet and dearly dearly loved. bye bye my baby.

the "grandfather"

this weekend i will be taking guy to my step-father's family get together. we've never really mixed well, except for my uncle and me. he drinks a lot of beer, so that makes sense. my "grandfather" has drooling, repeating alzheimers and tends to say very inappropriate things to women, including his granddaughters. how sad it is that i don't care how sick he is. the fact that he has lived 92 years and my sweet grandaddy only got 90, is further proof that the universe sucks. step-grandfather was a real dick to the grandkids when we were little. condescending, he used to make jokes about how we didn't understand stuff as if we were retarded. he'd mock our innocence right in front of us. i am the oldest of the gkids and i knew what was up. neither of my step-grandparents acknowledged any of their grandkids' birthdays. this is a fact that has always blown my mind.

so it's the grandfather's birthday. i'm looking forward to seeing him open cans of mixed nuts and boxes of plaid flannel shirts. my mom, who also doesn't belong there, especially asked me to come, so she'll have someone normal to rest her eyes on. and she loves guy. she thinks he's "Darrrrrlin!" we're her kind of people.

guy and i will attend this get together for an hour or two, max. and once again leave there very very grateful that i have none of their blood flowing through my body. they make me grateful for my alcoholic, emphysema-ridden, bi-polar, once-homeless father's side of the family every time.

Car DVD Joke

Googlism

it's a poem-maker:

my boyfriend is my mixed tape
my boss is a patriot award nomination form
my mom is punk rock
my best friend is a vampire movie with robert sean leonard
the bus is pulling out and i'm grounded here
my favorite band is better when they keep it short
sleeping is hard amphetamine
choking is also called cafe coronary
goodbye is astonishingly realistic

ever wonder if there's an end in sight?

better than a fractal.

wanna take a ride?

since i started feeling better my body has been making some really crazy noises. fortunately they stay inside. rumbles and clicks and moans and something like a tiny little lady making snide comments. i'm reminded of MouseTrap. i'm a human mousetrap. Someone's taking a ride in there.

sick bed

none of the sheets or blankets match on our bed because my pores have exhausted enough sweat to soak through three sets.

SICK

yesterday i shot up heroin for the first time.

kind of.

been very very sick. had to go to ER. they gave me dilaudid in my IV. amazing, how the headache i'd had for five days disappeared immediately! as did the circle of hell that's been orbiting around my abdomen for the same amount of time. sun spots of pain have been shooting up and down my body from a torso epicenter causing violent shivering and shaking.

turns out i have a possible kidney something or other and an ovarian cyst. maybe it will be impossible for me to have kids and the pressure from my mom will permanently end.

just trying to see the silver lining.

so i've been out and away from the Jones for days. i think the dry spell is over. please keep reading, my friends.

xo

ps. always remember, when they ask you what the pain is on a scale of 1 to 10, ALWAYS say 8, especially if you're going to be lying around in a hospital bed doing nothing for hours and hours and hours. just remember, 8.

if you would, please

i realize i can be a little oversensitive sometimes to lame words (listed), lame music (Morningwood), lame behavior (bossiness), lame waiting (castro safeway in the evening), lame food (everything piled in the center of the sandwich) and lame hair (humidity), but i do feel it necessary to express the need for these words and phrases to disappear: 1. my bad 2. you're a rock star 3. you rock 4. blog 5. boobie 6. "bless you" after every sneeze 7. "y'all" if you're not from the southern states thank you.

the answer to your gifting problems

"Let your personality show through with these highly stylized pewter belt buckles made by Bergamot."

Confess

have you ever hit an animal with your car?

It's 1991 and my friend and i are driving drunk in santa cruz. she drives, i play the radio. we race around s-curves on a side road and suddenly see a puff of white, a tail, fur, a face in front of the car and we slam into it. we are instantly silent. we say nothing , we suck in our breath, we freeze in a singular moment, not moving, barely breathing, i can feel my heart pounding in the spaces between my skin and my muscles.

and we keep driving.

it's one of those things i let leak into my thoughts only a few minutes a year.

for those of you who like to drink pee.

this will make it easier to get it fresh.

(is there an emoticon for total bewilderment and hysterical teenage-style laughter?)

Fork in the Road

isn't it weird to be best friends with someone for 12 years and then there's one last fight and it's suddenly over? isn't it weird how it feels like a romantic relationship ending when that happens?

achy-painy, confusing and abrupt. with some relief.

if my ex-friend and i were in Down by Law, i'd want to be John Lurie, the elegant pimp. she can be Tom Waits, a DJ in need of a shower.

Hank

saw a very interesting documentary on Charles Bukowski this weekend. i feel i learned more about life from him in two hours than in many hours spent in social studies in high school. not that that's surprising.

something stuck with me especially: when he was a kid he was beaten severely three times a day, at the least, for about 6 years. he said, "that's a lot of beatings." the interviewer then asked him if he learned anything from that and he said, Yeah, how to be a good writer. and the interviewer asked how it made him a good writer and he said "when you've been beaten up that much, you tend to say exactly what you mean...you lose all pretense."

go rent this movie.

this is his poem titled Dinosauria, We

Born like this
Into this
As the chalk faces smile
As Mrs. Death laughs
As the elevators break
As political landscapes dissolve
As the supermarket bag boy holds a college degree
As the oily fish spit out their oily prey
As the sun is masked
We are
Born like this
Into this
Into these carefully mad wars
Into the sight of broken factory windows of emptiness
Into bars where people no longer speak to each other
Into fist fights that end as shootings and knifings
Born into this
Into hospitals which are so expensive that it's cheaper to die
Into lawyers who charge so much it's cheaper to plead guilty
Into a country where the jails are full and the madhouses closed
Into a place where the masses elevate fools into rich heroes
Born into this
Walking and living through this
Dying because of this
Muted because of this
Castrated
Debauched
Disinherited
Because of this
Fooled by this
Used by this
Pissed on by this
Made crazy and sick by this
Made violent
Made inhuman
By this
The heart is blackened
The fingers reach for the throat
The gun
The knife
The bomb
The fingers reach toward an unresponsive god
The fingers reach for the bottle
The pill
The powder
We are born into this sorrowful deadliness
We are born into a government 60 years in debt
That soon will be unable to even pay the interest on that debt
And the banks will burn
Money will be useless
There will be open and unpunished murder in the streets
It will be guns and roving mobs
Land will be useless
Food will become a diminishing return
Nuclear power will be taken over by the many
Explosions will continually shake the earth
Radiated robot men will stalk each other
The rich and the chosen will watch from space platforms
Dante's Inferno will be made to look like a children's playground
The sun will not be seen and it will always be night
Trees will die
All vegetation will die
Radiated men will eat the flesh of radiated men
The sea will be poisoned
The lakes and rivers will vanish
Rain will be the new gold
The rotting bodies of men and animals will stink in the dark wind
The last few survivors will be overtaken by new and hideous diseases
And the space platforms will be destroyed by attrition
The petering out of supplies
The natural effect of general decay
And there will be the most beautiful silence never heard
Born out of that.
The sun still hidden there
Awaiting the next chapter.

Notes on Cool

my boyfriend bought me a haircut. how cool is that? even cooler, he bought himself a haircut at the same place, at the same time.

note to guys who want to be a total freakin' golden lover extra special rockin' hero to their woman: Buy her and yourself haircuts at a bitchen salon. EVEN BETTER: if it's for no occassion at all.

xo

holy fantasy, batman! i wanna live here!

Link

radio-o-o-o

when i arrived at Pirate Cat there was a girl at the controls, "you're listening to pirate cat radio, blah blah phone number on the dial at blah blah." she played caustic ear-bleed live music from her collection and had a very individual "indie" look she was playing up. nothing obvious or trendy. a tight bun in her obviously thick long hair and a short pleated skirt made of very sturdy material, short ankle boots, wide at the opening with no socks. i found her intriguing but never ever could have guessed that the 30-something woman in the room with her was her MOM. when my friend told me this i said, HOW is that woman her MOM?! Uh, she's 15, that's how.

WHAT?!

Yeah, didn't you see her school uniform?
i thought it was just fashion, i told him.

her DJ name is Evil something-or-other. when she was finishing up she was shushing me, i was laughing in my usual loud laugh and she was bantering with my 36-year-old guy friend. she seemed strong, in control and intimidating at first but when she was done and i saw her backpack, her flat chest and her diminutive mom's arm around her, i finally saw it. she's a GIRL. amazing. and she DJs on a pirate station in the evenings.

she's the coolest 15-year-old ever!! what are her friends like? is she an outcast? the mind spins. what an unusual creature.

then we were up. we played our songs, we bantered a bit, i made fun of my friend (G) for his music choices, just like i am prone to do to his close friend, my GUY. they are pop boys. i am the anti-pop noise lover. we had some laughs and a lot of fun though. he's technical, thank god because all the buttons and coordination were really scary. i had to throw out props to my friend's band and that made me nervous because it involved another button to do so. but it worked out. we drank ketel one and smoked pot and i could smoke cigarettes inside, which did a lot to alleviate my stress.

two hours went quickly. i could've done it for four.

maybe i'll be back.

if (G) isn't fired first!!
(for being so pop!)

the first person to ever take LSD

he must have been really freaked out.

Link

delicious

i am wearing guy's deodorant today and he smells delicious. every time i move and get a whiff, i'm like, YUMMY.

Smart

it's always smart to be nice to the IT guy. i know someone at work who the IT guy does not like. she was in tears today and one reason is her computer is so super screwed up and has been that screwed up for months.

be nice to the IT guy and you might get a new G5 LIKE I JUST GOT!! WHOO!

DJ Lou and that guy

i can't believe it, i'm so excited, i'm going to DJ on a pirate radio station tonight for two hours, between 8pm-10pm, with my friend. we will split the time. my songs will shred.

stats: 87.9 on the radio or listen through your computer at:

http://www.piratecatradio.com

ok, cool!!

it's a sonic youth year

last night i saw members of my favorite band of all time, Sonic Youth, on a television show, The Gilmore Girls. the Gordon-Moores did a little music sketch that included their daughter who is as tall as her mother, and maybe 11 or 12 years old. this little girl i actually observed in the arms of her father as an infant in 1996 backstage at the Tibetan Freedom Concert in golden gate park. to see her so tall, playing bass and looking so cool made me squeal with delight AND gave me pause.

i am watching my favorite musicians' children grow up and i am seeing them become adults. how old am i??

her parents, though categorized as "serious new york no-wave art rockers," are really just goofy and loose and funny and they jumped around like crazed monkeys while she stood stoic, poised and serious with her bass.

yeah, i squealed.

the song they played is from the new record and i just can't WAIT. oh MAN, their sound makes me happier than ANYTHING.


(picture above taken in 2000)

happy monkey

sad monkey

weekend monkey

weekday monkey

freakin' me out

this painting is by mateo
it's totally freakin' me out.

United 93...

...the movie.

saying this is a good movie feels weird. i can't do it. but i can say it is very well done. do you want to see it? probably not, it's very depressing because it is so well done and it does bring back that singular September 11 feeling. a feeling i certainly never felt at any other time or place in my life. do you need to see this movie? maybe. it did something for me. i saw the "enemy" in a new way. i saw them pray and look scared at the end of their lives, just like everyone else.

Seymour

last night i hung out with my ex-husband working on some art and talking about our relationships. he told me he and his new girlfriend are like enid and seymour from Ghost World. i don't know this new woman, so i had a lot of questions. i asked him, How old is she? When is her birthday? Where did she grow up? Does she have siblings? What is her romantic history? Does she appreciate you? Does she like to decorate?

he had answers for all of these and only one question for me.

Are you happy?




(yes)

My birthday is September 4

this is what i want for my birthday. THANKS!!

(oh, i totally forgot to tell you what to put in it. as a general rule, i'm a downers girl. i like all the "als," tuninal, seconal etc. also, klonopin is good and maybe some dexedrine just for fun. some valium and some vicodin , some oxycontin - i mean sure, why not, and maybe some blues blacks greens and purples as well. ok, KILLER!)

pirate radio (YARR!)

last night guy answers the phone and this is what i hear: "really? you are? ok, hold on." and then i hear some keyboard punching and then he says to me, Hey, come here! Someone on the phone wants to talk to you. and i get on and it's our friend (G) and i don't know what's going so i say HI, (G)!! and he says, SHHH! SHHHH! and he sounds all echo-y and he says, this is illegal, don't say my name!! then i realize he's doing pirate radio. and we're on the air. and he says, Hey! I thought you might want to come DJ next thursday because I think your musical taste would fit in great here!

(LITTLE LIGHTS WENT OFF ALL OVER MY BRAIN. IT WOULD HAVE MADE A VERY COOL (pirate) CAT SCAN)

uh, YEAH!!!

SO, next thursday, may 11, i hope to be on the air or on the internet, whatever comes through clean for you! i'll repost this next week, but this is it: between 8pm-10pm. i'll get call numbers together by then as well.

http://www.piratecatradio.com

Day 9: Phoenix to SF, the FINAL frontier

Wake up, guy's dad makes us omelets with sliced ham and american cheese, delicious. We drink the second pot of coffee made, this one is caffeinated. Put on bathing suits, go to pool, briefly get in way-too-hot hot tub, swim in pool. Guy puts his head underneath swimming pool decorative arizona waterfall, yelling out, "Can you see me?!!" guy's dad says, "I"m pretending not to know you." Guy is having fun, doesn't care what it looks like, I get out of hot tub to join him. Go back to condo, pack up for the last time, head to cousin's house for BBQ, meet cousin and cousin's husband and son and proceed to get sloshed on beer. I bring Sapporo, I've had it with cheap beer, get tour of large, suburban, Peoria house, the living room is the size of our whole apartment, cousin is very nice to me, asks me where I'm from, if I'm willing to leave there, is there anything keeping me in California. Only my whole family, I tell her, but I'm still willing to live: elsewhere, wherever, anywhere, beyond. Have many laughs, take numerous pictures, guy gets drunk, somehow takes pictures of family dog upside down, have slideshow of our trip, laugh, laugh, hug, fun, nice, we leave for airport. Get to airport, check in, guy doesn't remember this, he's so drunk, but friendly, in his beautiful friendly way alerts airport personnel to his drunkeness, get to gate, it's right across from bar, we have more drinks, bartender is very sweet lady with lots of plastic surgery, guy talks to her about God, and to neighbor man about travelling, tells neighbor guy that we took MAGIC MUSHROOMS in Utah, woman at bar next to me laughs in a knowing way, plane comes finally to take us home, sweet bartender lady says, "God bless you" as we leave, guy says, "God bless you too." It's so genuine and earthy, I laugh nervously but feel right and as we approach door to plane, guy is taking pictures with camera above his head, to the side, back, front and around and we get to our seats, sit down, I order bloody mary, guy falls asleep. I read one article in entire Vanity Fair all the way back home, guy wakes up when we land, we get cab and take it straight to El Cerrito, pretty damn far away in the East Bay where we are to pick up GUY'S BRAND NEW CAR. Well, brand new to us, it's the Subaru, the Subaru Forester I've been seeing everywhere, EVERYWHERE for two weeks, we get in car with multiple baggage and Safeway bags filled with small random items from trip. We get in car and all is alive. All is very excitable and loud, this is our new car, this is our Freedom, this is the beginning of a new part of life for us and we drive over the bay bridge, we drive home and we're at home. We're at home and the cats are there and it stinks really bad. It stinks of litter box and having to return to normal. Guy gets upset at litter stink/coming home. We get in bed, oh my god, bed, it feels incredible, it's the best bed of the whole trip, we touch thighs and we are...once again...asleep in minutes.

And then, like nothing ever happened, we get up for work in the morning.

i fake smile for free food

and i kind of hate myself for it.

for those of you who always wanted to eat the play-doh

Play-doh cologne and other deliciousness

an angel named steve

this morning i got news that my angelic landlord, steve just lost his partner of 43 years to liver cancer. tim was only diagnosed two months ago. steve is a man who allowed me to continue living in his house without paying rent for three months when i was unemployed. he attends my halloween parties dressed as a landlady. he is a one-of-a-kind, hilarious and special man. he once sang and danced on Broadway in a production of Damn Yankees. he told me a great story of the show producers having to bring in a real baseball player to teach him how to swing a bat. steve is tall and handsome and was a model in the 50s? or 60s? he is gracious and graceful. i love steve. he's the best. i know he'll be ok, but i really can't imagine the feeling of this loss.

43 years together. i want that.

Today's 3 minute tiki drawing: a self-portrait

this is me at home.



"where's my drink? where did i put my drink?! kitties!! where did i put it?!!!"

pray for whitney

my new friend is 70+ years old. i befriended her at work because she's very different from everyone else. she's the only african american as well as the only septuagenarian and she just seemed really sweet, she calls me "sister" and "honey" and i'm partial to terms of endearment.

i might regret this now. i'm getting a red flag.

we have gone to lunch a few times and no matter how much i try to steer the conversation away from work bitching, she steers it right back and it doesn't really go anywhere. she doesn't trust anyone in the upper sphere, and this could be right, i don't know. she repeats herself a lot, repeats not just words, but concepts. she calls certain women at work "bitch" without knowing me very well, or if they're my friends. she sends me emails that are forwards that say things like "pray for whitney" and how whitney houston wouldn't be getting so much press for her drug problems if she were a "white actress." she is also a practicing christian, not a bad thing, but something i'm not very interested in, i have some religious damage, i get tense when "jesus" is thrown around a lot.

i think maybe my new friend is a racist and a severe misanthropist. this isn't new for me. i tend to make friends with nutcases/the needy/the friendless and realize it too late and then i'm in too deep and i have to fake a friendship with them from there on out until i move or quit and it's exhausting. but what else am i going to do?

my lips were moving while i typed that last paragraph.

two faced

serious face, scrunched forehead = working hard
this is the face i use to make it look like i'm working hard.

angry face, scrunched forehead = insane
this is the face i use when walking through the tenderloin so as not to be bothered. no one wants to mess with an angry, crazy person.

funny how similar working face and insane face are.

top 5 toilet paper backups

i am completely incapable of remembering to buy toilet paper.

top 5 toilet paper backups

1. coffee filters
2. paper towels
3. toilet paper in the wastebasket next to the toilet that's been used for nose-blowing
4. newspaper
5. tissue paper from the gift wrapping shelf in the art cabinet



one must be very resourceful when one's mind has been fed marijuana in heavy doses daily for 15 years.

Day 8: Flagstaff to Phoenix

My mood is tilting downward, I don't want to go home. I try to keep the frustration at bay and mostly succeed but get hit by sporadic waves of consciousness over the course of the morning. I hate my job, I think it's stupid to spend a life in this manner, I hate that that's the way it has to be. I try to forget how futile the hating is. I try to be funny but my audience, guy, is also a little edged and my lame jokes fall flat.

We pack up the car and head to Burger King and then McDonald's for a quick breakfast made of crap. It's only 10:30am and neither place is still serving breakfast. What the FUCK?! I yell. It's still MORNING!! That's FUCKING BULLSHIT!! I tell guy, who, fortunately, laughs at my hyperexcited vocal display. We decide to get burgers and head out on the highway for our next scheduled destination: Arcosanti.



Arcosanti is an "urban experiment" expressing the philosophy of Paolo Soleri, an Italian architect. He believes all homes, offices, stores, schools, shopping centers, etc should be contained in one giant enclosure, several stories tall. We are intrigued by internet descriptions of what we perceive to be a revolutionary and futuristic idea. We expect a well-executed, slick, modern collection of buildings but instead are greeted by what feels to be some lazy, new age, hippie, creepy, Soleri-reverent commune. There is literature galore about "workshops" and "succeeding in your workshop" so you can live there and "be chosen to work" in your "field of interest" which involves only a few categories including "maintenance." Ew. Ew. EW!

We opt out of the "tour" and leave in a slightly perturbed state of mind.



Onward to Phoenix. I take pictures of cacti out of the speeding car window. They make me feel funny. I laugh at their upright-ness. So blatant and unaffected, like an idiot savant. I feel like apologizing to them.



We turn the rental sedan in to the airport at 2:30pm and wait for guy's dad and stepmom to arrive to pick us up. We are going to spend 18 hours with them at their timeshare and another 6 at guy's cousin's house in Peoria. We sit silently in the Rental Car Building. I am feeling the sting of soon having to return to San Francisco and a seemingly pointless existence. There are no lounges in the Rental Car Building at the airport. I ask guy if he's excited, nervous or anxious about seeing his dad soon. He says, "No. I'm sort of neutral. I really just want to drink."

So do I.
Bored.
Yawning.
Writing, and not very well, I'm afraid. My inspiration is waning. Guy is tuned out, reading. I attempt more jokes and get nowhere. I hate waiting. It drives me totally cuckoo, frantic, hair-picking, leg-crossing, number-counting, chest-sighingly insane. Sometimes it even makes me cry. I lean my head back on uncomfortable Rental Car Building seating and it hurts. I ignore the pain momentarily and see pretty lines moving behind my eyelids. I look up, look around. Guy looks up, looks around. I tell him he should call his dad so we can know where they are. He says no, I don't want to. GRRRR. The waiting grinds. It's been an hour. GRRR. Maybe I should just get cranked on Coca-Cola.



2.5 hours later, guy's dad and stepmom show up. I am never mad when people who I am waiting for show up, it's such a blessed sight. We get a new rental car, the four of us, and we head straight to a store for liquor and snacks. Fortunately, we all have the same agenda. We get to the condo and chill with vodka mixers. They take us out to dinner. Afterwards, I smoke on the patio and later join guy on the pull-out bed in the palatial timeshare. We touch thighs and fall sound asleep.

fake, the follow-up

my friend (P) really did hurt himself on purpose for a successful follow-up story to his "hit and run car accident." turns out he scraped staples up and down his arm to create a wound.

that's so fucking crazy, it's cool. well done (P).

butts are ugly

i've come to realize that butts aren't that attractive. i'm seeing a lot of butts lately at the gym. butts are actually kind of gross. i don't know why i thought i liked them. i guess because guy has a great butt. i started wondering if everyone's butt is cute when they're little or if the butt you have as an adult is exactly like the one you had when you were little, just bigger. like some women's butts, even though they're toned, have an awful shape, sort of pinched at the bottom and balloon-y at the top. ew. did they have that butt when they were a kid? was my butt cute when i was little? it's not now, but that's because it's got cellulite and it's twice it's normal size. i know that i had cute calves when i was little, i mean, i really liked them. i had pride in their shapeliness and how they looked in knee socks. i hope i can have a cute butt when i get all the fat off of it. but really, there aren't many out there that are attractive.

tangent: my mom used to ground me for saying "butt." she had the right intentions, she's a southern belle with excellent manners. i do enjoy saying it now though: BUTT BUTT BUTT BUTT hi mom, BUTT!!

love

guy bought me a song. he bought me a song off the itunes store and put it on my ipod for me to listen to today on my way to work. it's the modern equivalent of having a song dedicated to you on the radio. he really made my day. it's so 21st century romantic.

Hearts are Trump by Trio

I wake up in the morning find myself again alone
and then and then
I fix myself my breakfast in my kitchen on my own
and then and then
I take the coffee with me and start waiting by the phone
and then and then
And then you call
and I feel like I am floating
I feel my batteries reloading
Hearts are trump
And then you call
and I feeling like I'm a hero
I feel lifted up from zero
Hearts are trump
hearts are trump
hearts are trump
I like to look at furniture in windows in the stores
and then and then
I think a lot of cars that I know I can't afford
and then and then
I make it home quite early because I hope you'll call once more
and then and then
And you don't call
far from feeling like a hero
I remain at level zero
Hearts are trump
hearts are trump
hearts are trump
I dream a lot of love-books and of sex and all that stuff
and then and then
I dream so much about it cause I don't have it enough
and then and then
and I don't sleep so well that's why I drink so much
and then and then
And then you call
and I feel like I am floating
I feel my batteries reloading
Hearts are trump
And then you call
and I feeling like I'm a hero
I feel lifted up from zero
Hearts are trump
hearts are trump
hearts are trump

what?!

this has to be a first. in Illustrator CS2 there is a new symbol palette called "tiki" that appears to be shag art. how? love it, but how? or is it FAKE? there are 20 pieces to play with. this is my concoction. the guy is watching something boring like the president speak and the woman is like, hey, get this monkey off the television!

yawn

the names of some of my projects at work:

1. Packaging Summit
2. Retail Systems
3. StorageDecisions

you can see how the opportunities for creatively expressing myself are staggering. actually, it's so boring, it's funny.

oh lordy.

songs that make me cry:

1. sleepy california by her space holiday

"...And then I woke up to a phone call
Right On Christmas day
It said, "Your grandmother is dying
In a painful way
Her lungs are filling up with fluid
Even as we speak
The doctor said that if she's lucky
She'll make it 'til next week"
I had one last chance to see her
Right before I moved
But I didn't end up going
I used some lame excuse

I hope that shes not scared
Lying there alone
I hope she hears her husbands voice
Telling her she's coming home."

Day 7: Lake Powell to Flagstaff

Get up, take long walk in canyon inside canyon, pack up camp, look longingly at our perfect spot, don't want to leave (don't want to go home), leave, get breakfast in Page, Arizona. Guy calls friend (P), (P) says, Where are you? Guy says, In Page, Arizona. (P) says OOOOH, that's so excellent, with (your girl)? Yeah, says guy, she's sitting right here next to me, (P) says Awesome. I think of where he is, where we are and how lucky we are to be here and not there (don't want to go home). Get on highway, drive and drive and drive Hwy 89, stop and see dinosaur tracks with tour led by stinky drunk navajo indian man, sun beats on us, between emanating stewed body liquor smell and sun slathering my sunburn, I have hard time finding interest in dinosaur tracks, although there they are: dinosaur tracks... ...leave dino tracks, stop innumerable times at dry desert barely standing stall indian trading posts along road looking for turquoise ring for me, guy is so patient with this, finally find one, it's too expensive. Arrive in Flagstaff where we plan to stay the night, looking for hotels, guy and I get in Another Sudden Terrible Fight about me NOT READING THE MAP RIGHT. FUCK! Why does this happen!! Shit! Fuck! We end up in super crappy borderline serial killer scary Motel 6 on the wrong side of the tracks, take time alone, find a way back to each other, make up, guy says I'm taking us out to a delicious dinner. Head downtown, it's so cute, Flagstaff, all brick and small streets and quaint and old. We pick the best possible restaurant: "International" food, brick walls, fairy lights, live classical guitar, so romantic and nice. We hold hands and talk about real estate. After, we head to cocktail lounge down the street, order Ketel Ones and observe the crazy diverse white people crowd. No one of color, no gays, but there are cowboys, stoners, death rockers, big hair 40-yr-old women, college girls, messy gray-haired crippled drunks and us. Guy puts a dollar in the 80s music-churning environment and picks 5 songs. Only 3 get out including the Pixies and Morphine, before the bartender just plain turns it off. I'm outside smoking during all this and when I return, guy tells me of the ruckus he caused playing 90s tunes. Hilarious and annoying! Just as I'm launching into a story my friend (W) recently told me about a junior high fashion incident and her fear of being laughed at, an obviously wasted girl with a giant pointed face butts in and says to me, No one will laugh at you! How could anyone laugh at you?! Certainly this is a suprising turn of events, but somehow not offensive. We end up talking music and Flagstaff with her two 25-yr-old girlfriends for a good half hour. We'd had 2 or 3 Ketel Ones at this point and were easily amused. Finally the clock hit 10pm, a crappy surf rock band came on and we bailed to our little love hut on the serial killer side of the tracks.