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i heart millions
if i could live in only one outfit forever, it would be this one. my grey skirt, green veggie heaven t-shirt, flip-flops and cowboy hat. sometimes i'll wear my aviators. then i feel super hot. seriously, this my power outfit... dude, i should remember this! this should be more than my bum-around-the-house-and-smoke-weed outfit, it should be my interview outfit, or my gala outfit, or my wedding dress! why not? wouldn't it be better to represent myself in what makes me most powerful? …dude. that's it! i found my power outfit! now the juice is gonna start to flow.
well, i am glad that you’re on the farm. even though i'd prefer you live here and make the trio complete, it is important that you be there to learn farming skills. when we build our treehouse compound in nicaragua, we'll need to know all sorts of survival skills. you master farming, i'll take care of construction, and kelley can do logistics. for money, we will rent out our hostel cabins. then spend our days luxuriating! and while you and kelley have your lovers finalized, i’ll hop from traveler to traveler, one lucious lover at a time! oh the lovers!
the scientology building is really ugly. still, it’s only creepy when i think it’s creepy. otherwise it seems pretty appropriate.
as a side note, the things you’re walking through these days that feel like spider webs are not. those are bag worms hanging from cocoons not yet raveled. cool huh?
brian was so boring last night i could hardly believe i was still hanging out there. maybe the scientology meeting freaked him out. who knows… he wasn’t talking. i read lafcadio (or most of it) and rode my bike home.
what a beautiful bikeride. this city is so fucking kick-ass.
it dawns on me now that maybe, maaaaaaaybe, he’s not trying to be antagonistic.
i dunno. i mean… jesus!
it’s like hanging out with yoda the grumpy buddhist!
his lilting voice his long silences his blank stares his “okay-i’m-leaving-now”s… they sure seem like antagonistic gestures.
but maybe that's just how i interpret it. maybe he’s actually thinking nice thoughts when he’s being a dick.
maybe he just is a dick. who is also always stoned. yeah, yoda the grumpy stoned buddhist dick.
whatevs. either way, he annoys the crap out of me and i'm tired of seeing him so much.
blues traveler is a good band. they're worth listening to when you want to remember the 90s.
my job rocks. i make bank learning super useful shit like how to install a hardwood floor, or put in a window, or bend sheetrock.
brian is a bore but i don't know how to let him go. we might still be learning from each other. we might not. maybe i'm just hanging on because it’s such a goddamn awesome story. probably.
i sigh and think "weak" every time we say goodbye.
at least i get to go to my badass job tomorrow.
i love chubbs. i absolutely love him.
if everyone in the world had a friend like this, war would not exist.
quiet, understated, and loyal. he's kind of my exact opposite.
he transformed his dresser into a grow cabinet. it’s an investment.
who knows why the universe threw us together. but now we get to veg-out to old movies and hunt for treasures on our way to houston and make art with cardboard and start the six o'clock social sports club. (which is going to fucking rock.)
he has no idea how rad he is.
he is my texas rose.
a few months ago, while riding my bike to work, i stopped at a stoplight and waited beside a little old lady at the curb. she wore layers and layers of clothes. i think she even had leg-warmers on. her back was to me and i didn't want to startle her, so i stayed quiet. just before the light turned green, i noticed she was looking at me. she smiled with her eyes. "you are a good girl. you’re doing a good job. ...an excellent role model. keep up the good work."
“thank you!” i said.
it made my day.
he tells me to close my eyes.
i close them.
he asks to me to recall a time when i can remember my eyes itching as if they were covered in poison oak.
i can't really. not the itching.
i start to talk. i like talking. tears leak from beneath closed lids. he hands me a tissue and tells me to keep sharing. i go back through childhood to infancy to my birthday to one past life then to another. there, that's it. now i'm laughing.
i don't want to disappoint him. but i'm not convinced it wasn't my imagination.
"...so i guess i'm going to call the mechanic tomorrow and just pay him to fix it. i wish i didn’t have to, but oh well.”
"what? was that so boring?"
"soooooooo boring. you could’ve just said 'i'm calling a mechanic to fix joone tomorrow' without all the justification."
i lie there with my head in his lap, cheek pressed against his corduroys, and think of an old joke: "have you heard about the new corduroy pillowcases?"
"they're making head-lines." i giggle uncontrollably.
he laughs. "very funny."
"that's to make up for my long-windedness."
i left work at 3:00. brian picked me up and we went to the river. i kept worrying that my boss would spot me on the freeway with my feet dangling out the window.
the river was amazing. beautiful like a vacation. cold water, warm rocks, green and blue and bright. basking in the sun, cuddling and drying off and making fun of eyelashes. apparently, it’s a big inside joke.
"that is the funniest thing i have ever heard! i have never laughed so hard in my life!"
"no it's not and yes you have. your hyperbole is killing me!"
"don't ever say my name like that again."
"you sound like a robot. it's creepy."
"nope. that's not it."
"phew. you can't reproduce it."
he jumps on top of me and slams his body on top of mine over and over, shouting: "you can't reproduce it!"
i laugh and laugh.
he looks out the sliding doors over the balcony and beyond. it is dark.
"imagine if someone saw me humping you like that and yelling 'you can't reproduce it!'"
"hahaha! yeah, our life would make a hilarious movie if it were edited just right."
it wasn't my plan to fall in love with justin timberlake. i'm not into fame at all. or younger guys, for that matter. but he won me over with his carefree attitude and charming wit. that guy is always playing. everything is a joke to him. he can make any ordinary situation fun. like the time i said i was sick of paparazzi and gawkers, so we dressed up like link and zelda (i was link) and threw a football across 3rd ave. people joined in, totally unaware of who he was. just another fool dressed up like a princess...
we met on a dock in guatemala. i came twirling down the wooden planks in my bikini and ipod and own magical world. when i opened my eyes, he was there: dancing with me in his tiny orange speedo. we smiled and i tossed my sarong over him, pulling him close to dance belly to belly. he took a headphone and sang along.
when the song was over, i said, "your miniature bathing-suit is ridiculous."
he took it off and stood like peter pan.
i laughed and did the same.
we swam like mermaids and stayed naked the whole day.
saturday is a good day for a birthday party.
the invitation was a text message: meet at the creek bring your own toxins.
when you think “creek” what do you see?
probably not the scene that exists at this creek.
it's a meat market. half-naked, half-drunk boys and girls and hippies and rednecks and loners and stoners all checking each other out. at least a hundred of them huddled together like chatty penguins on a beautiful stage.
great venue for a party.
unfortunately, texas hasn't figured out how to stay above 60 yet. fucking global warming, ruining my party plans.
"happy birthday my love!"
"thanks girl! i'm 30!"
"wow! 30! look at you!"
"yep! hotter than ever, eh?!" and with that i jab a finger into my hip and make a sizzling sound.
she giggles and hugs me, "yup. hotter than ever! let's go celebrate!"
we head for the creek, stopping for a live music show, a four-pack of fancy beers, and girly accouterment from anthropologie. then we commit two misdemeanors and a felony, just to remind ourselves of our youthful invincibility.
“looking good!” says a handsome man.
“feeling good,” i say, bare breasts bouncing beneath a thin white shirt.
100 words exactly. boom. here there are. i'll make them short, almost monosyllabic, so you can read through them painlessly.
when mozart wrote music, it needed no correction. it flowed through him like a stream of consciousness, every note predetermined before it was even transcribed. that is crazy shit. super amazing fucking crazy shit.
in the manuscript museum you can see the pages: clean as a whistle.
and he could hear quarter tones, i just learned. when he was eight years old he stopped a court violinist to tell him he was a quarter note off.
are you paying attention?
ur dishonest and unreliable stop pretending to be my friend it hurts my feelings
i'm sorry about chubbs. don't know why he got his feelings so hurt. could be brian... i don't think chubbs ever had a crush on me, but maybe a form thereof. (i did.) and when i had had it with brian, i would call up chubbs and talk girl-talk with him. we’d discuss our problems and chat like school-girls. but something just changed. he's mad at me and won't tell me why. now it's like we're breaking up.
i guess even a texas rose gets wilty.
i'm sorry i said those things about brian. not sorry i felt them, or even wrote them, but sorry i published them. i do this: i say things i often regret. they come out of my brain and are permanently recorded in others’ long past their intended lifespan. sometimes i even hear that inner voice warning me: don’t say that, you’ll regret it. and i do it anyway. that's when i think i might be crazy. purposely fucking myself over.
too bad i did all that shit-talking. brian and i are loving on each other like peas and carrots now.
the moon is not mine. she belongs to no one.
hard to believe. i really felt like she and i had something going. something private. like maybe she was put there just to thrill me with her beauty and control my bodily cycle and listen to me sing and chat and moan. she’s been my muse and my boss and my therapist for so long. i thought she was my girl.
turns out she's been around for a very long time, much longer than i can even understand, and we've all been in love with her for all those years.
san rafael is where i wanted to live but tim said no.
hanging out on germaine's deck and wishing i didn't have to go to vegas to see my three brothers for a group birthday celebration. these are my favorite people on the planet and i'd rather stay here. not bad. life is good.
benny benny benny. tiny little guy. leg stretched out behind him. where is the other one? benny, where is your leg? oh no! what happened to your leg? he looks at us like we're idiots. we are. but we're all having fun.
luke turns 13 today. hahaha! the little poop-fart is a teenager!
i remember when mom announced she was pregnant. i was at thacher, hanging out with tim and dj between classes. we checked our mail and i had gotten a letter from home. as i opened it, a small piece of paper fell out and tim picked it up. at the end of the letter, mom had written, "here is a picture of the newest member of the family." tim handed me the picture. i had no idea what it was. a constellation? "it's an ultrasound," tim said. "she's pregnant."
on abortion day, the waiting rooms at planned parenthood clinics are filled with young women. some of them have already taken a valium and are looking visibly drugged. most of them are nervous wrecks. all of them look like they are about to puke. a few are puking. morning sickness. or nervousness. or both.
none of the patients looks at each other. they talk to their others: friends, lovers, parents. sometimes quietly, sometimes loudly in exaggerated nonchalance.
the people behind the desk are just doing their jobs. they ask you how you'll be paying today.
it’s a funny question.
bison are big animals. they are an american symbol. of what exactly, i don't know. freedom, i think. but really it's more like near eradication of a native american species. not an uncommon theme in american history.
timothy speed levitch said that the world trade center should be replaced not with another set of skyscrapers, but a field of bison. you know, like the song: “…where the buffalo roam”… ah yes, in america. the beautiful. where we’re free. free as bison.
in golden gate park there are eleven of them in a field. big and strong and far from free.
i am finding that 40 hours a week is too much work for me. that sounds funny, but the truth is, i am not devoting as much time to my personal projects as i need to be. can you hire me for 30 hours of work a week? i can handle living on less and it would work much better for my life right now, but i want to make sure it does not leave you in a lurch. let me know what works for you.
see you tomorrow!
p.s. we got the sod in by 7:00.
went to work for three hours today, one of which was spent cleaning out my car and waiting around for porter to show. when he didn't, i left, feeling like a naughty little kid. i don't want porter to dislike me. but it's impossible to work when the weather is this good. plus, i feel freer since sending that email last night.
so is this okay? am i allowed to ditch work and play in the creek for the rest of the day?
i’ve never really been an independent contractor before. the freedom is still a bit uncomfortable. for now.
around 4:00, brian caught up with me and benny at the creek and drove us to another spot. the plan was to hike from the new spot to the old spot and drive back to retrieve his truck. good plan. big plan. but we were up for it. we were stoned and underdressed and in flip flops. we badly miscalculated how long it would take. when the sun went down, we kept on in the dark, tripping and stubbing toes all along the way. we got back to my car at 11:15. hungry, exhausted, and delighted with our epic adventure.
i don’t know if i have ever had so much fun in my own town. i mean, on vacation this kind of fun is understandable. but at home? where i work and maintain friendships and pay bills?
i had no idea life could be this good.
yesterday brian and i did nothing but play. i ditched work all day. guiltily answering my phone, fearing it would be some authority figure to get me in trouble, until brian told me to just leave it behind. then it was off to the creek, where there's nothing to fear but rope-swings and beer.
play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play play
the guilt finally caught up with me. so i only played until 1:30 or so. then brian went off to work and i biked home.
i had to do something productive.
so i worked on my pmi course for a couple hours. it still feels like a joke. but i do it for two reasons: 1. it might actually be useful and 2. my mother wants me to. ha! how long will my mother have remote control?
now it's time to rework joone. my agent is really excited about it. this might be the real deal.
the weather kicks ass.
when lightning cracks right above you, the thunder is simultaneous and louder than anything else on earth.
one exploded right over me during a storm in nicaragua and sent me into hysterics: whoa! jesuschrist! hahaha! you trying to kill me? nice try sucka! (immediately after that, i broke my kneecap with a coconut and it abscessed terribly, forcing me to have knee surgery without anesthesia in a cockroach-ridden hospital four weeks later.)
today benny and i got one while eating lunch in the car. he jumped into my lap, wide-eyed and shaking, and i doubted his ability to protect me.
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