stop all the clocks and cut off the telephone

I don't care if I never smile ever again, you know? fuck that. who wants to be fucking happy? not me. besides, my brother is right; it's NOT about being happy. it's about going in and going by and leaving only the bad behind --and not too much of your blood or the blood of others, hopefully.
happiness is only something you'll think you remember when the hard days come. you will say, 'oh lo, I wish I was back when blah blah, then I was happy.'

well guess what, buddy; that happiness you thought you felt was a complete accident. a combination of pheromones, probably good food and more likely than not, sex. it wasn't real. you think you've ever felt close to someone? that wasn't there either; it's just what you wanted to feel. if you're really, really lucky, the other person wanted to feel the same way too.

people lie all the time, your friends are lying and so is your lover. you're a liar, too (and so am I). you know it isn't personal, I know it too, and so does everyone else, so let's just live with it, okay dokie? yes.

the worst part is that, even if life has always been like this and people were always complicated, we currently live in a fucking deadpan world that only produces lukewarm, wishy washy cunts who claim that now they're swingers, who think funerals are a chance to get under the spotlight, who hide behind smarmy comments and long skirts to avoid getting their hands bloody, cunts who are pathetic, in short;

gone are the times that saw men like my father and Colin White grow up, men who not only sailed through life, both literally and figuratively, without ever apologizing or explaining themselves to anyone, but they actually trekked this earth doing what they wanted, hiding behind no one, acting to the beat of their own hearts and stirring souls, egos, minds, revolutions, questions, and the occasional stew or omelette in their paths and trails, like real men should.



rest in peace, professor white, sir, thank you again for always, always believing in me, the dumb girl with the hat who always tried to hide from you. say hello to my Father and to Blake.



one last note: colin's pictures belong to my friend miranda, who also goes by the name of Irene Adler, unbelievable as that might seem, under this wonderful new concept writers and artists had NEVER used before: it's called a PSEUDONYM. dimwits.

así como el shófol de la ipodia, que se complace en enviarme justo el combo TheCure-DresdenDolls-NinaSimone-James-DamianRice que sin fallos termina por arrancarme lágrimas mientras troto por toda la ciudad bajo este infernal sol de invierno, con el resultado que ando por la calle con una cara de compungida que daría orgullo a magdalena,
igual que
alguien en eltrabajo dejó ayer por casualidad una taza de fucking chocolatito sobre la repisa, que yo me tiré toditita encima de los únicos pantalones limpios que no están rotos y de los Nikes más bonitos del mundo, que me compré justo ayer y que son lo único que me proporciona placer estos días. nuevos duraron... alrededor de cinco horas, y eso que yo venía hasta pisando con cuidado para que no se arrugaran,
igual que
hoy alguien volvió a dejar otra taza de chocolatito en el mismo lugar, que yo ME VOLVÍ A TIRAR ENCIMA encima de los otros Nike más bonitos del mundo, que acababa de lavar para que no se sintieran mal junto a los nuevos, y del único par limpio de pantalones rotos que me quedaba.
(ahora ya no sé qué me voy a poner mañana para el trabajo).
así como
cómo te atreves a decir que me gustan puras banduchas alternativas.... imbécil.
o
señora, sería tan amable de cerrar la puerta, porque me estoy bañando. verá cuando cuelgo la toalla en la puerta, cierro con seguro y abro la regadera, espero que se note que aquí hay un ser humano que espera un poco de privacía.
y NO, esos no son mordiscos, son moretones porque en el fondo soy una bruta salvaje y cuando me sale lo hooligan pretendo irme con sansón a las patadas, lo cual significa que mi hermano me dio tal paliza el sábado que creo que un metacarpio me está saliendo por el codo.
así, o más frustrante.

I think I'm starting to get a glimpse of it, of what life has in store, like my brother that day when I showed at the police station to pick him up, sitting there with an open cheekbone and a spit out or swallow struggle with a few loose teeth. I tried really hard to make it sound sweet when I hugged him and said "welcome to your twenties... everything gets very complicated, very fast." this was on the afternoon of his birthday, after a crash and a brawl and a police injunction propitiated by one of the countless assholes that populate this round blue earth.

well as someone put it last saturday at a pool party under the spinning monsoon, the main difference between being twenty and being thirty is... boredom. ssdd; same shit, different day. as I sat on a low wall, surrounded by fog, I took in the scene around me; there was talk about new mortgages; the right way to train the eight-month-old boxer such and such adopted with the girlfriend, cause you know, after umpteen years dating they've decided they can commit to at least that much; a roundtable on kundalini vs ayurveda on the right.

on my side, I mulled over my twelve month cigarette quit and realized that was boring, too. I'm so glad I've quit, I'm glad my dad saw me quit before his passing, quitting is good for you, the fucking peaches, personal growth, blah biddi blah,boring. I would have poked myself in the eye when I was twenty one, had I met myself. then gone on and read the rest of On The Road, and then, probably, go topple from the low wall to my death.
being as it were, I remained there and was bored and thought a lot, about would bes, has beens, ought to bes and should have beens...

top 5 new DVD on my gym's fancy new projection screen, or Scuse me While I Holler: "gay, NOT!!":
1. Great Divas of Pop (for a second I thought they had included an elton john video and almost applauded, but it turned out to actually be a video of Pink)
2. Madonna Confessions Tour
3. Beyoncé Live at Wembley
4. Gwen Stefani (yes, LIVE)
5. Metallica & San Francisco Symphonic Orchestra --for the hardcores

I keep thinking, I should write more and then I just don't. I guess I'm probably not the first wannabe who just collapses under the amount of time it takes to actually write things down, as opposed to just having an ongoing dictation in my head. my problem is that I am uncapable of short and sweet, which means that I get run over by my complex compound ideas, and I try to mash them over with badly overinflated runon sentences... which takes up a lot of time.

I've been feeling good these days, the lens shifted once again and I'm not seeing everything askew (or: shit) anymore, or at least not all the time. I've been trying to extend my social web, but so far it's mostly been an exercise of my imagination, that is, in my head I make plans and pretend I'm doing stuff, like going to see a friend's dance festival, or going to a party with friends, but when the time comes, I always end up saying something like 'meh. I think I'd rather stay home and work on some comparative history' (i.e., watch season 1 of Rome and ponder on just how tall and rough Titus is.)

this weekend though, it looks like interesting things might happen outside the scope of my hollow head; M and I might go out of town on sat for another edition of Boy's birthday.

last time I was there, donkey's years ago, we had a huge psychodelic brawl, I got thrown into the pool and one of my favorite watches was ruined, we danced on the counters, and did naughty stuff in tents, had a grand old time, surely; early next day, drama unfurled like a new rose; while everyone screamed and flapped their arms in efforts for conciliation, I took Jack Kerouac's On The Road from a shelf, sat on the shade with some beer and gatorade (to prevent from crumbling into a pile of hungover dust) and read about half before the drama was fully wrung out, explored, discussed, analyzed, and forecasted. oh and we found out we weren't too nauseous for lunch anymore.

that wasn't too bad, except for the drama part that still gallops into these days, as dramas are known to do. who knows, with a bit of luck maybe I'll finish reading On The Road at last this weekend.

adoro a mi ipod (favod). estas últimas semanas se ha convertido en casi apéndice, tanto que hasta escucho ruiditos cuando no traigo puestos los audífonos, escucho la música a todo lo que da, creo que un poco fuerte porque veo que los vidrios de las casas vibran a mi paso y al ritmo de mi canción, pero poco me importa. el alivio de poder levantar una muralla de sonido entre el mundo y yo, vale absolutamente todo, incluyendo el riesgo de que me aplaste una marquesina en llamas mientras yo ignoro los gritos de advertencia. de cualquier forma, estos días Me Vale Verga lo que me pase, así que lo único que realmente vendría a arruinarme el día es que me asaltaran y se llevaran mi ipod.... otra vez.

pero en fin en esta vida hay que correr riesgos, no.

entonces ahí voy, tratando de huirle al mundo, al mono en mi espalda y a los demonios y ánimas y otros bichos que se me andan pegando, camino todos los días de regreso del trabajo, para espabilarme, para despejarme, para (no) pensar, para (no) soñar, y entonces más bien camino como quien marcha por tierra de nadie, ignorando semáforos y viejitos y vendedores ambulantes,

y así es como ayer casi me voy, cuando vi un hueco en Patriotismo y me aventé para cruzar como si no hubiera un mañana, o más bien como a quien Le Vale Verga; y que los ocho condesitas que venían detrás de mí, todos como de doce años, pensaron que ésa era la señal para cruzar la calle y que se lanzan detrás de mí. por una vez mi burbuja de sonido se vio vulnerada, con el chirriar de frenos y claxons, me pasó rozando un Mercedes y bueno, casi a todos nos lleva la carambola, entonces así estuvimos de cumplir nuestros sueños, yo el de que si me atropellan, que por lo menos sea un buen auto; el de mi hermano, de llevarme varios Condechis The Next Generation como souvenir; y el de otras personas de dejarme embarrada por todo lo ancho de una gran arteria vial...

los tres principales que hoy me arrancaron profundos suspiros en el pastel de carne conocido como metrobus:

3. el shuffle de la ipodia ii, al cual yo le oraba por algo prendido, algo prendido porfa porfa porfa, sumergida en la mer de corps y sofocándome lento, muy lento, y me lanza 9 crimes de damian rice. otra vez.

2. la señora que me barrenó el metatarso en una clara violación de la ley de la impenetrabilidad.

1. el imbécil que intenté voltear a ver porque sentí que me torteaban, pero fui impedida por treinta articulaciones yuxtapuestas, entre codos y rodillas. al final resultó que no era tanto el torteo, sino que el tipo me sacó el teléfono de la bolsa.

ABSOLUT bananas

this week I'm a model of industriousness, even right now as I attempt to catch up on my correspondance --mostly with about.com--; spellcheck the last batch of the latest riveting issue in the Car Manual Saga, 207,000 pages of pure raw excitement; telepathically contact 1) my french boss, who's probably wondering what could possibly make me confuse 'i'll check in on tuesday' with 'I'll call on thursday. maybe." 2) my bank, so they'll crunch debit & credit to come up with rent money sufficient for the last month of my residence herein; puzzle out what to wear to work tonight, since after three days of ongoing event I have wrung out every possible use out of my very limited wardrobe, especially on the shoe area; conciliate the fact that my online radio station is playing damian rice AGAIN and thus now I have successfully managed to choke up at 10 am;

and I make my attempts from my bed because I'm utterly exhausted. intensity strikes down again with more relatives passing away, impending doom on the lovefront, with a lot of things that need to be done/said/dealt with on both of our parts, inminent homelessness and destituteness, plus I've newly rediscovered an old knack of mine, the amazing nausea in the morning... all that on top of having to run all week on heels and interpreting vodka tastings (which is excellent fun I promise, no complaints there except for yesterday night, when I had to apologize in the name of my country and humanity in general when some stupid pimply junior came to one of the most renowned cocktailers in the world, and who probably is worth more than him and his father combined, and ordered a vodka tonic. fortunately the mixologeer is so cool he politely told him to sit down and be quiet instead of cursing him in swedish, smashing a martini glass on the bar, and cutting Pimples a little, like he was entitled to).

oh and I just found out my cellphone is dead, cause in all this tedium I haven't found the time to go and pay the bill. yay.

also, I think I live in the twilight zone. ufos might still get me...

de vuelta del puerto de la vera cruz, cuatro días de pura regaladez y pocos actos de valor social. me encanta comprobar el candor que sigue exhalando este estado, con morenazos con panzas de berenjena que te preguntan sin el menor pundonor a dónde vas, de dónde vienes, si te gusta la dísco y bailar el bakalao. nunca, para comenzar, si deseas compañía o conversación mientras te encuentras en momentos de íntima comunión con las olas; una capitalina amargada no puede menos que voltear a verlos con cara de pocos amigos, o bien si te llegan a tocar el corazón, te giras para decir con tu mejor sonrisa, me no speak spanish, fuck off....

eso sin contar los encantos importados, como los autobuses provenientes de la adyacente entidad repletos de familias multiplex --pues al nivel de necesitar autobuses chárter-- armados con sillitas, baldes con palitas, neveras, termos, chelas, sángüiches, juguitos, balones, escuincles de todos tamaños, pero ni un solo traje de baño, ya sea para los bebés (en pañal), los niños (en chones), las matronas o los señores (camiseta y shorts) o los viejitos (esos sí a veces llevan traje, lo cual en última instancia es peor).

por último está el candor político, que manda a hacer un monumento a la laptop para interrumpir la perfecta fuga de perspectiva que nos proporcionaba la escollera. en protesta a este tipo de candor, al igual que el importado, me evité tomarle una foto, pero créanme está allí.

sin embargo, es bueno saber que no todo es encanto jarocho; hay algunos que resienten el calor, los portales, los turistas, los meseros; quien tamborilea de mal humor sobre tu silla y te avienta el menú; vaya quien te recuerda que Veracruz se disfruta por lo bello, no por lo social.....

he pasado el día entero apretujando mis carnes con toda la banda (que no olía precisamente a lavanda) en el metrobús, una experiencia que por lo visto me gusta tanto que la repetí unas ocho veces hoy. de mi casa al banco, quedé encajada entre un señor muy alto y muy peludo que me miraba muy fijamente, y un chico con el que quedé de cucharas, se veían como tipos decentes y estoy segura que no era la intención de ninguno de los dos imponérseme a esos extremos, pero es difícil conservar la intimidad cuando vas nariz con nariz, nalga con nalga, codo con codo, con diez mil desconocidos, en fin que la campechanez llegó a tanto que el chico detrás mío ya muy gentilmente me tomaba por los hombros y me ayudaba a comprimirme contra él para que la puerta no me machucara demasiado en cada estación. cuando me bajé ya de plano tuvimos que rodar los dos juntos, fue una vuelta elegante, vaya que hasta cuando me bajé me sentí mal, dije... hemos compartido tanto, estuvimos tan cerca, y no supe ni su nombre.

y como dije gracias a la eficiencia de nuestro contador, debí aventarme ésta unas cuantas veces.... en un día de partido. de tanto en tanto miraba hacia el espejo, arriba, y veía un mar de cabezas, una profusión de camisetas del américa y del cruz azul, ondas de calor y espíritu humano irradiando en todas direcciones, y mi propio rostro perdido e intenso.... no me veía demasiado infeliz, gracias al hecho de venir roqueando fuerte, pero definitivamente sin la ipod no lo hubiera logrado sin algunos desmayos.

¿qué, será tan difícil poner unas pocas unidades más a trabajar en elcorredor Insurgentes maldita sea? ¿es necesario que me tengan que tatuar en los muslos la anatomía de todos los que vienen a mi alrededor? ¿tengo realmente que verle la oreja TAN de cerca a esta señora?

again I'm sitting on the curb, wondering why hell, how fuck did I get here, what the deuce am I doing here, I finally found another internet coffee that everyone assured me was impossibly far away, but turned out to be at the end of a twelve minute walk, orange juice stop included, no kidding, townies are such fucking distance snobs...

(parenthesis: this town hates me; everytime the sun comes out from behind the clouds I remove my sweater; it immediatly clouds over and back on goes the garment; there just isn't any way I can keep my style.)

I managed some hours of work, which makes me harbor perverse thoughts. should I stay over? I've worked, so why not stay the night with him instead of going back home?

well, here I am lost in tollukannation again. it seems internet shops here aren't quite 'in' yet, and the only one in 15 miles around --or so natives will tell you-- won't open until the right alignement of dust, fog, and goats happen; so here I sit trying to look tough under a cold merciless sun, entirely attired in black, furiously squibbling on the sidewalk while listening to the ceaseless baaaaaah! beeeeh! of eight hundred sheep who look just as indignant as I am ....
on top of that, a guy just walked past me with a pair of vans just like mine. damn him!

st. anger

I am proud to announce that in the wee hours of yestermorning, my lily gave birth to yet another three calicos like herself. potential names have been:

strawberry, vanilla, & chocolate
lucy, sky, and diamonds
bubblegum, buttercup, & blossom
strawberry, fields, forever

these are magic kitties people; apt for thinking people, witches, wizards, and people who are willing to give them a challenging life. adopt yours today.

yesterday was also my father's birthday, and while I terribly ached to stay with my litter, it was made very clear to me in many different ways that it definitely was NOT cool to miss papa's birthday, newborns, protests, thunderstorms, traffic, and muggers nonewithstanding.

oh yes, my brother and I were mugged at gunpoint on the bus on the third hour of travel between the teahouse & my parents'. it all happened very fast and no one got hurt, and that's excellent of course --like I need that kind of drama--, but I lost my wallet and my cellphone, plus about 80 dollars, which is a PAIN IN THE ARSE since it's still the only money I owned on this side of the atlantic. and my money in europe well, I can't very well swim there now, can I?


so pardon me if I still think that both my parents' birthdays hold a curse for the whole family. to fill on my father's side, last year he almost gave up the ghost on his birthday, and the year before that I was leaping into a plane to ohio, which in retrospect was not a very good move at all. the year before that... oh well, I don't need to find more evidence... you know I'm telling the truth.

I've been very cranky and that worries me; I really DON'T want to get depressed.
it's just... a lot of silly little unfortunate things have happened. and I'm starting to feel powerless about everything again; I can't afford to not have my computer fixed, but I can't fix it until I get my money, and in the meantime the days march by and it's almost end of the month again and I've been falling more and more behind at work.

crap.


three songs about cities without the names on the title
la ciudad de la furia -- soda stereo
under the bridge -- red hot chilli peppers
moon over bourbon street -- sting

discombobulated

I just saw the whole troupe of the boys climbing to the roof, including a slightly height-panicked alex, all of them armed with seemingly tons and tons of raw hamburger, charcoal, and beer. they've been watching the championship league all morning and I guess it's time for feeding the beast.

I foresee a whole day and night of drunkenness and debauchery. I'm not in the mood for it yet, so I'm here potting around in my little yard, blogging, and smoking the mandatory bowl. I finally got the hoops to hang my sunthirsty plants from the walls so I started hanging them today, upwards and along the spiral staircase.

I would have done a much better job, however, if I had some nails for concrete, and if I had the expertise to nail them. I did such a poor job last time --knocked half the wall on me and still the thing would not be stable-- that I think I'll pass for the time being. I managed to hang my biggest baby cannabis, and now she gets all the sun she can need, and I'm quite satisfied with that.

what a boring saturday post. I could be sunbathing with a beer and a hamburger, and I'd rather be here talking about my plants. and wondering where in hell the stupid usb cable for my camera can be. not to mention the lid of the sugar bowl. and blockbuster's dvd, that'd be nice if it turned up, wouldn't it.

top nothin
1. tear you apart -- she wants revenge
2. spanish bombs -- the clash
3. ipanema girl -- the bossa nova go gos (just made that up)

and the beat goes on

I meant to go to work earlier today, but I got sucked down a black hole and now I think I want to write a little, maybe. so all the tea in china can wait. literally.

T opened his own blog --dunno if he wants me to link him-- and he's been writing a whole lot like the very industrious blogger he is. it's kind of funny to read about stuff you think you know so intimately, told from the point of view of the other.
sometimes it's scary, but sometimes it's good to remember that some things did happen the way you remember them, and that all's well, you're not insane, that's the truth. it's reassuring to know for a fact I haven't spent these last three years daydreaming myself into oblivion.

this week has been such a whirl, in every possible way. marianne is still not talking to me, and I still don't know why. I even amuse myself trying to figure out what exactly can it be this time. is it that she's tired of closing the wardrobe door after me? maybe I'm wearing her shoes too often again. yesterday I sent her an email along the lines of whazzup, what are you so angry about? word, etc etc. still got nothin, nor in my inbox nor at home. we just glide by each other in perfect courtesy and make very little noise.

ahwell, such is life. off to the teahouse now.

top 3 allman brothers songs today
1. ramblin' man
2. statesborough blues
3. jessica

shaky limbs

now that the clutch has kicked in and my brain is sort of working again... what the hell happened last night?

supposedly we weren't doing anything, but seemingly at some point just walked out for a quick beer and wham, this morning I woke up to a series of disconnected and bizarre images, a couple of notions that just could NOT be true in a sane world, and an incoherent blog entry I can't remember writing.

disconnected images, in no particular order of course:

I'm introduced to big birthday scotsman, who says I'm a genius and wants to lick my toes

ouch, did we just bump heads?

sexy drunk paki (aka Luxury Accessory) tries to stick tongue in my ear, I fling him over with a perfectly calculated judo movement, and make him land flat on his back in the middle of his own pub. ha!

marianne disappeared with whom? you gotta be shittin me.

a bottle of champagne turns up and everything from then on is seen through the thin fizz of bubbles.

what am I doing talking to you? you're a bonehead.

birthday scotsman licks champagne from my toes

what am I doing dancing? I don't dance.

did I really just ask this guy if there were more sheep than people in his hamlet in new zealand?

insanity:

no, oh no, spandex no, and never with lace. no no NO no NO. the sight of you offends me BEGONE.

did I just attempt to have a serious conversation with my neighbor? a drunk mexican and a drunk scotsman trying to have a serious conversation. then the guitars kick in.

is it evil that I don't bother to correct stupid people who think I'm a foreigner because it amuses me to see them hang themselves with their rusty english? to be fair, I've never said or pretended I'm not a national; they just assume and I stick to nodding when they talk to me.

even though I was cascaded in male flattery all night, I didn't feel that hot when the guy I'd been pondering the most seriously left with Spandex Slut.

I really really don't want to sound like an abnormal insular freak, but would you mind stopping the efforts to shove your tongue down my throat? it's only a question of space. and oral hygiene; I don't even know half of these people.

you're going home with whom? you gotta be shittin me.

top 3 of hugh's 41st birthday:
1. sympathy for the devil -- the rolling stones
2. new york, new york -- frank sinatra
3. whiskey in a jar -- thin lizzy

hit me with something blunt, hard

hey. I'm just back from the pub, back from the drinking, to tell how much I think life sucks.

thanks for the standing ovation, thanks, thanks, seat yourself now.

I really don't want to go into details, but MAN. really. does a guy really need to hook up with an ugly chick only to prove something? either to himself or someone else?

tonight, when I got to the "´I'd rather go home and read" point, I hitched a ride and I fled home. I could see where everything was going, and though I cared not, I wasn't even mildly interested to stay and watch/take a part of. I just wanted to go.


a pretty decent-looking guy came to introduce himself (we've seen each other several times before at the pub) and to ask if I'd be coming in tomorrow, to which I said probably. I din't mean it at all when I said it, but hey, being my life as it is WHERE am I bound to end up tomorrow night?

there's only two places that are completely out of the question; everything else is open. too open, I'd say. imagination wanders.



top 3 of I've become such a huge pain in the ass (and I do believe I'm drunk)

1. suidal blonde -- inxs
2. money -- cabaret, joel grey 1972 version
3. tijuana makes me happy -- nortec collective

please some dj save my life

isn't it annoying that when I manage to land a really cool job, I can't talk about it? for the whole day I've been looking for some dj-enlightened person for technical coaching, something I didn't think would be too hard considering how many musician buddies I have --well tough luck so far. and it pisses me off that bel hasn't answered my email for help on this matter. it also pisses me off that I like musicians so damned much.

oops, freudian slip. I'm just not in a good mood, what a surprise!

as usual, my huge upcoming pay --oh you've got so much WORK, that's so GOOD for you-- had to be broken up into insignificant amounts I could do practically nothing with, except trying to patch holes. I just got a very stern call from the school, reminding me that I owe my two last payments and that the course ends on friday--a true joy that doesn't do much good to me now since I don't have the money.

and speaking of why I do not, yesterday I had to lay coins all the way to polanco --that is, take a taxi to the publisher's-- only to learn that according to the flippin memo that someone should have been sent to me but didn't, as of March 2006 --and yesterday being still flippin february of course-- the days for payment are to change from tuesdays to fridays, so no check. did that make sense to you?

that all doesn't only mean I didn't get the check I was counting on to make peace with my traitor albion school; it doesn't only mean that I won't have it on time for tomorrow, the last day of payment; at the moment it also meant I had to throw money again from a cab window on my way to school, because I had to be there by six for observation.

I had forty five minutes of pleasurable observation with a kind teacher of indefinable accents, who made great emphasis on sePArable and insePArable phrasals, and invited the students to make crafts while he roamed about. then lizzie and I could not take it anymore and we threw ourselves out of the window.

and thus I lost all my afternoon, roughly three and a half hours I could have spent working on this cool new job that of COURSE is NOT urgent, because we understand you have other things to do, but it's due for release on MARCH! 1st !, so yeah, no hurry at all, but now that you have them, can you have them ready for tomorrow, eh?

but now I'll have to leave it because I have to go to my superstupid class. that I can't pay for.

top 3 of I'm so annoyed
1. sam hall -- johnny cash
2. break stuff -- limp bizkit
3. caught out there -- kellis

the silly things

early morning today:

mila sits on my doorway, friendly and attentive.
lily sits on my armchair, weary but as always, curious.
they look into each other's eyes, only a couple of meters apart.
mila is black and white, a blend of butcher shop mutt, setter, and freckles.
lily is so solidly spotted that it can be safely said that she consists of three solid spots of white, black, and tawny.
they are so very different; but right now they both sit so still, like on a classic stamp. and they look and look at each other.
I look at them both and wonder what goes through whatever passes for their minds. they have been sitting still for minutes now, and neither of them are the kind to stand still; something is obviously going on in here, and I'd
really like to understand it.

yesterday night was a bloop, to be honest. everyone says I should go out more, but nearly every time we do so it ends up being the same, and at some point of the party I find myself in the stairwell, in the balcony, or maybe my elbows on the bar and looking at the scene at my back through the mirrors, wondering what I'm doing there when I could be home reading. maybe I should consider it a step in the right direction, that I'm not having these moments of pondering in the bathroom anymore, so let's look at the bright side, YAY. it's good that I ponder about my poor abandoned books, and not about how oh god I'll never do it again I swear but MAKE IT STOP NOW or LET ME DIE soon.

I once told this guy about it, one of marianne's forever yours, and now everytime we meet at a party he asks me on updates:
"what's up, are you wishing you were home reading about the killer cellphone zombies?"
"they weren't zombies; they were republicans. anyway, I'm done with that one, but I'm reading a really good one about chess, and I left off at a rather engaging twist of the plot."
"so what, are you calling for a taxi soon?"
"not quite, but I'm almost getting there."

what I still don't know is if he's figured out that I really really mean it.


top 3 lines of what a way to waste a saturday night
1. folsom prison blues -- johnny cash (I hung my head and cried)
2. only -- nin (less concerned about fitting into the world; your world, that is)

3. rock n roll suicide -- bowie at the beeb (you're too old to lose it, too young to choose it)

you do it to yourself

dude? see, now I just typed a bunch of bollocks and then erased it. it was booooooring. more boring than the following can possibly be, believe me.

my class went great, we got all of the props out in motion and no one was crushed to death behind the scenes. we got a solid 80% and got praised for the material. whatevah.

I wore the most wonderful dress today, red and white, and the most wonderful shoes as well; in my humble opinion I looked lovely, but I got mixed results, to be honest. it might have something to do with the fact that I work with a 90% gay population (but for some reason now I've become obsessed with getting used to the notion that it's because I'm not young anymore. which is absolute BOLLOCKS, right people? right?).
I got praised on the attire, which I suppose is as high as I can aspire to under such circumstances. I didn't appreciate it much when I had to trot all over the neighborhood chasing payments from two of my notorious archi-nemesis' closest relatives. talk about irony! but I digress; which is to say, I had to gallop for blocks and blocks in my smartass shoes whose straps wouldn't stay tied.

I lost my housekeys last saturday, did I mention that? put that on the 'way to go' points for eleanor. yep. I lost them and even though I might have a faint notion of where they might've ended up (maybe), there's no way I can hold a hope of ever getting them back. and the point of this piece of news is --that has consequences. today after my class --which was a yawning success-- I got home and of course, marianne was out picking up f at the airport. I rang on the boys' place and got no answer either.

so there I was with my pretty dress and smart shoes and my dumb flowers from class in hand, and I was readying myself to sit on the curb until someone came home, short dress or not, because I was wiped out. but right then a cab came with carter (neighbor scotsman #1) inside it. so I barged in their house with him, went up to the roof, and after a brief interlude with the secluded valentian, I peeled off the shoes, threw them over the fence that divides our rooftops --the very fence we keep swearing to take down every time we have to do this, and then we forget--, handed the carnations over to carter and told him that should anything happen, he was to call the ambulance first and marianne second, in that order, and then hoisted myself up on the fence and tiptoed on the wall around the rooftop and the fence. my purse was a pain because I couldn't sling it over as well, it had my cellphone and a flowervase in it --stop asking why. the strap got caught in the wirefence while I was still clinging there on the side of our houses like spider woman. thug, thug, snag snag, it came free, I jumped on the gas tank, hopped to the roof, and made a graceful V. I was safe. carter threw the carnations on my head and thus was my olympic fantasy complete.

and that was yay for what a great day for wearing a dress.

F, the third wheel within this perfect engine, came back from London tonight. I really can't express how glad I am that he's home; I wouldn't say we're really 'intimate', except on the fact that we're used to finding each other in our underwear and talking to ourselves; it's not like we really delve into each other's feelings or share every single detail of our lives; it's just nice to have his very own calm balancing share of khef back in the equation, and he's definitely a needed presence in this house populated by raging females --and a spawn of satan, sandokan.

so the class deal is over for now, but I'm still hung up on about 60 pages of work. the thing is that it keeps getting bigger as I work on it. which should be a good thing and isn't, on so many levels.

and now I'm going to bed, because I'm fading. I'm sure the world won't collapse if we let the transaxles rest for another day. I'm having breakfast with The Boy early tomorrow and I'll be damned if I won't get some sleep.

top 3 of I don't care much about nothin
1. wonder woman theme
2. all I can say -- blind melon
3. dancin in the streets -- martha and the vandellas

pass the grey poupon, please

yesterday, saturday of football.

there were a fair amount of girls at the field, but they were all girlfriends, you know? all of them were like hi, nice to meet you, which of the boys is yours?

and we answer, oh, none of them is ours, we're just here for the sport.
because definetely, for what other reason would we want to see 22 very white englishmen cavorting in shorts around a field? although, beers are another good addition.

I was just happy to be outside on such a fine day. the weather lately has been almost as shitty as my health, and yesterday was the first day I went out since I got sick more than a week ago. so sitting barefoot on the grass under a fine sun and a cool breeze, drinking my sixth drink and smoking my second bowl, I was a happy cat and I gladly cheered the guys on. and there was a small part of me that wouldn't stop pretending we were at a polo game in the early twentieth century, because that's how it felt like. only except of mimosas we were drinking beer. ohwell, details.

I was severely scolded for accepting the sunshades from a guy of the opposite team --that, I learn now, is a breach of accepted loyalty. there was a small weiner dog named lolita running around, that looked tastier and tastier to the hungry and ever-so-slightly-drunk concurrence; an angelical four year old tried very seriously to enucleate one of the Luxury Accesory's droopy olive eyes; beer flew gently from the taps; I lay on the grass and looked at the treetops and marveled at how irritatingly daft men seem to me lately.

so I'm thinking perhaps that's my problem. guys don't even bother with hitting on me anymore, because they'd had to be blind and deaf not to notice that I can't possibly take them seriously, not even when in the depths of toxicity. a man loves feeling that his girls think he's The Shit, so I concede it might be a turnoff to sense that the girl in case --that is, Gorgeous Me-- might be smiling but deep down, she thinks you're a total spazzo.

but they are! argh.

top 5 sunday morning (ahem)
1. ellegantly wasted -- inxs
2. honky tonk women -- rolling stones
3. history repeating -- propeller heads