The hardest button to button

I chose a button up shirt to wear today and as I was walking down the street I realized it had come open; it's shiny white buttons had been no match for my heaving bosom. I was thankful to have had a camisol on underneath but, discouragingly, it was not the type of garment you'd wear if you felt like retaining modesty. I might as well have been wearing nothing.
Slightly abashed, I rebuttoned the shirt and kept myself aware of any sudden breezes. This happenstance reminded me of a smiliar situation which occurred about a year and a half ago while I was at my new job:
I was hosting at a very busy, very crowded sushi restaurant that I'd worked at for 2 days so far.
I was cleaning tables, seating customers, and generally keeping on my feet when I noticed some funny looks from the customers. The men looked amused and slightly entertained while the women looked embarassed and slightly entertained. Had I spilled something weird on my shirt? Was there rice in my hair? I looked down to find the source of amusment and saw that my shirt was wide open, black bra on display for the enjoyment of all! I ran to the bathroom, laughed at the mirror, rebuttoned and (with the help of a safety pin) went back to work.
No one said a thing about it, unlike the time, months later, that I spilled a tray of drinks down my front.

I guess what I'm getting at is, does anyone have a safety pin?

A memorable conversation

"Hey Hart, how're you doing?"
"Getting by," he said wistfully. "How 'bout you Madge?"
"Pretty good, I got a raise at work, been hanging out with (good female friend) alot . . . keeping busy."
"Oh wicked, I'm totally happy for you!" He paused. " But I've missed you."
"Oh?" I shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, me too . . . I mean, we used to see each other every day, so that's reasonable. But you know why I had to move out, right?"
"Oh, totally!"
"Because we talked about it for a long time, and--"
"It wasn't the right place for you," he said with understanding.
"Yeah! Exactly! I mean you and Steck like it, but I just felt weird having that guy who stole from you sleep in the closet and the strangers dropping by to smoke out at 3 a.m... I mean of course, most of them weren't strangers to you, it was just that I didn't know them . . . plus we couldn't stop fighting so . . . "
He grinned happily and I stopped talking, feeling confused. He said he got it.
"Do you want a drink?" I asked.
"I'd rather get a kiss from my baby" he said, grinning.
"I've got Fresca--what?" I stared at him, tense.
He hovered in on me, still grinning. "Can I get a kiss from my baby?"
"Remember the conversation we had five days ago!?" My voice became shrill. "You said you remembered!"
"Yeah," he said, missing the point. "You moved out, it's not like we broke up."
"We did break up! What are you talking about?"
He laughed. "But not really."
I screamed, aghast for two reasons:

(1) It had taken alot of agonizing and bad nights between us for me to leave him in the first place. I'd left a week before the actual breakup, saying I had to think about things, which I did. Once out of the dirty hole of an apartment, my thoughts became as clean as (close female friend)'s apartment, which I moved into temporarily. He was dragging me down and he was selfish!
(2) On the day of the break up, I'd talked so much without being heard that I was over the whole thing and found it easier to distance myself emotionally than he did.
I was rational and logical.
He was sobbing.
"You don't even caaaare!" he yelled, tears welling in his eyes. "You're killing me; you don't care how much your hurting me"
"You didn't care when I cried," I said, zipping up my suitcase.
He threw himself face first on the single mattress that lay on the floor (the bed we used to share) moaning.
"I told you I wanted to travel when we met, it's not my fault you spent all your money on weed," I said matter-of-factly.
"I thought you loved me!" he sobbed. "If you loved me you'd stayyyy!"
I laughed; this was the oldest trick in the book!
"I did love you," I said, feeling disgusted all the more because it was true. "If you loved me you would want me to travel."
I looked around the room. There was plenty still to pack but I didn't want to hang around any more.
"I'll get the rest later, when you're working." I sighed, throwing a bag over my shoulder. Then I tugged my suitcase to the living room and said goodbye to his friends who were sitting just outside the door, as usual.
I was triumphant and proud of myself for not losing my cool or getting angry. Which is why I was so pissed that he didn't even seem to remember it happening."We DID break up!" I yelled
His eyes welled up in a familiar way, and I showed him the door.

*Republished with edits by Christopher Zane

I was riding my bike around Austin's Hyde Park listening to Yo La Tengo and enjoying the effects of dusk on a pleasant evening when the strong smell of pot hit me.
Suprised, I turned sharply to see if I could spot the stoners but only succeeded in falling embarassingly off my bike. Tonight I learned there is such a thing as being too curious.

With friends like you who needs friends?

I recently joined the Austin Unitarian Young Adult group, also known as YARN, which meets every Wednesday. I've only been to a few meetings but am not nessesarily new to the group since I was raised Unitarian and was quite involved in my high school youth group(YRUU). Many of the people from YRUU now attend YARN meetings and I know them all pretty well. Thats how I was able to identify Selma, a new person who showed up this week.

I also identified her as a sort of hippy nerdly type by her fairly "unique" sense of style;
Perhaps it was the black beret tilted at a jaunty angle, the blue tie dyed shirt topped with a vest, or perhaps the large necklace that identified her as pagan. Of course this didn't mean I didn't like her. God no, people should dress as they please. It was her voice and permanant look of worry on her face that made me wary.

She explained that she'd moved here 6 months ago and was having trouble making friends.
As she spoke I'd decided that while seemed to have nice intentions she tended to go on a bit about her problems and the problems of the world, soon holding the group hostage with her tales of woe.
Eventually side conversations started but I stayed with my face pointed in her direction, possibly trying to give unity to Kay, who had made eye contact with Selma and could not break away. Finally she stopped and other, more interesting people took her place, laughter and joyful tones enlivened once more.

Possibly the saddest part of the night was the end, when we were all washing the potluck dishes and getting ready to leave.
"What is everyone doing now?" Selma asked, "do you guys want to do something else?"
"I have to go home!" I said in alarm and I excused myself by way of Dan, who would be getting off work soon and would have to be let into the apartment since he didn't have a key.
While the others mumbled about heading home as well, I jumped on my bike and pedaled away, cheerfully listening to The Beatles.

It's not that I don't sympathise with Selma. It can be very difficult to make friends in a town where you have no one, something I learned from personal experience. After a while your willing to be friends with anyone, you're not in a position to be choosey and unfortunately they are. My advice to Selma is to use this extra time to become more interesting.

Based on a Dream

We were drunk and playing around, just having fun, taking pictures.
Then he brought out a camera with film in it, that he said showed the real you.
It sounded strange, but we were drunk, so we said yes, though the happy way our voices echoed made them sound hollow.
From then on, nothing we did was really us.
We were like people trapped in a nightmare of uncomfortable feelings and actions.
We were not joyfully drunk, but we couldn't stop acting and just be what we were. Scared and sober.

He shot the whole roll, and the next day took it to be developed and I agreed to pick them up, since I owed him a favor.
We all agreed not to look at them without each other.
But that was hard for me. I would casually knock the envelope open, and look without touching. I didn't see much, just something dark and a little unfamiliar. My curiosity rose, so I quickly flipped the envelope shut, cutting off our interest, and put it in my bag.

To take my mind off of the pictures, I went to the mall, to try on a dress I'd seen the other day.
While I was there I met a man who would not stop chatting me up. He was too friendly, with a perpetual smiling face which blackened my mood considerably. His cheerful voice and my mood reminded me of what I glimpsed on those pictures. I pushed it out of my mind and instead went to try on an armful of clothes. The man continued talking to me, even when I shut the door for privacy; He was incorrigible.
" So, you trying on clothes? I love clothes! Some people call me a clotheshorse even! Cause I have so many different kinds you see! Haha! Imagine a man loving clothes so much! All those clothes you got, you must be a clotheshorse too, huh? Seems like we have a lot in common, oh hey, what’s this! You dropped some photo here, nothing too racy I hope! Haha! Hope you don't mind if I take a peek?" I hesitated as I heard the envelope open. I should stop him.
"They aren't things you should look at,” I warned, but it was too late. I heard him gasp, the envelope of photos came shooting under my dressing room door and he was gone. Feeling maliciously satisfied I put them in my bag and left the store.

This worried me.

Back at home I put the package on the coffee table, and sat on the couch, thinking. He came to watch it as well. And so we waited for the others to get home.
``````````````````````````
Then I woke up.

Flat White guy

Not long ago I began a job at a just-opened restaurant/bar/cafe called HOA. According to the owner the idea of blending a coffee bar, restaurant and booze bar was revolutionary. "You can come in, have a few drinks from a full bar, have a nice big dinner and relax with a coffee after word" he would say, eye brow raised towards me, as if sharing a special secret. "Revolutionary".

After a few months we began getting regulars, especially for coffee. We were the only place in town that served a brand called Havana, which had a very distinct and strong flavor. Perhaps it was highly addictive as well, because many of the coffee regulars would come in 2 or 3 times a day for double or triple shot flat whites, lattes, cappucinos...etc. For those of you who do not know what a flat white is, it's a double shot of espresso with little foam and about half the milk of a latte. It's a strong milky coffee basically.
At some point a tall, nervous man who looked to be a house painter started coming in. At first it was 2-3 times a day, but very quickly we began seeing him 4,5,6 times a day. Always a flat white, sometimes with an extra shot. Flat White guy spoke quickly, drank quickly and smiled a twitchy smile as he sprinted in and out of the bar. We never discovered his name and one day just stopped coming in, just like that. Maybe he moved, maybe he had a massive heart attack, we'll probably never know. But what we can certainly be sure of is his pee reeked incredibly of espresso.

Today while we were at a local pita restaurant waiting for the owner to show up so that we could ask for jobs at the local pita restaurant D and I saw a homeless man in a wheel chair. He was struggling up a driveway and his task looked difficult, tugging ever so awkwardly at our heartstrings. Having beaten the drive the man then wheeled over to a Catholic church, let his legs down from their resting place and stood up. "Hey, he can walk" D said, eyebrows raised. "Seems like it would have been easier for him to push the wheel chair up that drive way instead of using his arms to push the wheels the regular way". "Maybe he's got Arthritis, working out,hiding the fact that he's not crippled... or something" I said, reaching. We watched the man walk over to the front of the church,shuffle behind a bush, pull down his pants and pee against the wall. Now my eyebrows were raised, "thats a church!" I exclaimed. Dan laughed "isn't that a mortal sin? Thou shalt not pee on a place of worship?"

Whose towel is this?

I was finishing up a shower when I realized I didn't have a towel to dry off with. I didn't want to run around wet and shivering to look for one and luckily I didn't have to; my boyfriend, D, was in the next room. I yelled me towel problem to him and he obliged.
"what a nice guy" I though" to pause in his reading and look for a clean towel when for me. What a thoughful, considerate ki...wait a second, this towel smells like sweat, like body odor, like D after he's been running!" I ran into the other room holding the towel in front of me as evidence. "is this the towel you use to wipe off sweat after you've been running?!"
He looked up from his book distractedly to squint at the towel which I was holding in front of his face. He looked as if he were not sure if this, a pink and blue towel was the towel he used to wipe sweat off or if it were, perhaps a different towel. Maybe yellow and red?
"Hmmm, maybe?"
"Smell it"
"Hmmm yeah, probably" he smiled "why do you ask?"
I looked at him, not sure if he was serious or if he'd given me the towel on purpose.
"what?" he asked, still grinning.
I gave up deciding and opted for dropping the towel on the floor, getting a clean one from the closet and taking another shower to wash off his old sweat. He stood in the doorway watching me
"what?"

Plan C might be more effective

I went to a party last night and didn't leave til fairly late at night. Knowing the other occupants of the house would be asleep I decided to call my boyfriend, thus waking up only one person by calling than the whole house by knocking. My plan was diverted though, when I called his phone I was directed to an automatic messaging service that informed me that he had no money on his phone and therefore was not recieving calls at this time.
I changed lanes and went to plan b; a simple and surely effective plan which involved throwing gravel at our bedroom window. I'd seen this trick work in many movies and t.v. shows, and since it worked for television characters I was sure it would go well for me.
I pulled up to the house, got out of the vehicle and immediately began searching for some gravel. What struck me first was the obvious lack of gravel or anything hard in our front yard, and second was that it was dark and hard to see any gravel, if it were there, or pinecones, which were there. After 5 minutes of running my hand through wet grass and pine needles, I found a pine cone and went to the window to throw it. My first attempt did not reach it's target but flew uselessly into the air and then back, hitting me on the shoulder and then into the thick bush where I left it. Feeling desperate I began throwing mulch at the window which hit, and then showered back into my eyes and hair. I saw no response and I gave up, went to the door and began knocking lightly, the dogs barked but no one came.
I knocked louder, with the sharp of my knuckles, but ended in banging with my fists. Eventually I saw my mom come down the stairs so I reached for the handle to give it a rattle as show that it was locked and I could not get in. Instead of rattling, the handle turned and the door gave way.
My mom pulled at her nightgown in alarm, and then saw it was only me and wondered aloud why I was knocking if the door was open. I explained that I didn't have my key and that I'd thought it was locked.
She went back to bed and I opened the door to my room. Light from the hall fell across my boyfriends sleeping face and over his ears, which had headphones on them.

Madge DoRightly

DoRightly is a very rare last name.
Very few last names in the US are DoRightly.
Be proud of your unique last name!
source

Childrens Poem

My Pet

When I am grown up
When I am older than now
I think I will have a pet.
Maybe a puppy or maybe a cow
It can’t be much better than that.
Unless…

Unless I had a turtle,
If I did I’d name him Boswell
He’d eat lettuce and run races
In his brown and green checked shell.
Indeed, Boswell would be lovely
A real easy kind of pet
Of course I prefer a challenge…
Well, we needn’t decide yet.

Now I’m thinking, something bigger
Like a dog…or better yet!
Something different, more exotic
Like a gator that, when wet,
Will play games like tag or water sports
And when its mouth is open wide
Will impress my friends immensely with his gleaming set of knives!
What that? Oh, yes perhaps what you are saying could be true.
Being eaten by a gator very simply would not do.

Well perhaps I went to far,
Let my imagination run
I’ll rethink this, just a moment.
Perhaps something that likes sun?
Something furry, something purring
With a kittenish type charm…
Yes, that’s it! Now I’ve got it!
I’ve always wanted an ant farm.

New Years Eve Past

Dead Christmas trees run down the street.
Footprints crease the ice and sleet.
Laughter sounds out to the night.
Mouths wide open, eyes shine bright.
Pine needles cling to hair-bleached white,
And a wild mane, dark as night.
Midnight gone and long forgotten.
When glasses clinked and coats were brought in.
To a moment one cannot forget,
A time when you felt infinite.

Something to Ponder

A sense of duty is useful in work
but offensive in personal relations.

Bertrand Russel (1872-1970)

From night to sunlight I think of all the things I’m supposed to do
and should have done and will do
and won't have done, when the time comes
to cash in my chips and gather the clips of time that I wasted
and try to undo all I never did.Lie awake on my pillow
fret for lack of money or strength
wrinkles form while worries wait
tired eyes look for a wayI am eighteen going on eighty-eight.

What the pillow saw

The pillow saw a girl lay down
against the sheets she wore a frown.
The pillow watched her as she lay
sensing certain misery
the girl's hands moved about her slowly
here and there, explored her lowly
till they came to home at last
the pillow felt her body relax
they slid into her lacy shorts
and (this is what the pillow reports)
at once began to squirm and twist about
to open her mouth and scream and shout
the pillow felt her urgency
but could not help in the emergency
at last she stiffened quietly
and lay down with some piety
and fell asleep and began a dream...
the pillow never was the same.

someday

He calls me a dreamer, Says I won't get nothin' done.
That I just sit here on my bed
looking vacant with my pants undone.
He doesn't know what’s going on inside my busy head.
It might look as though I’m drooling
that I'm lacking any pluck
but I’m deciding on the things I’ll do with the money I’ve saved up.
Go to college
Buy a car
Get an apartment in Cashmere
I could save enough to buy a plane to fly away from here.
But I haven't got that money now
and without it I am nothing
so I'll lie here dreaming of the day I get around to doing something

Rapex

This will leave your mouth hanging open and your vagina clamped.

Another perfect day

She flicked the ashes off the end of her cigarette, caught by a sudden breeze,
the grey dust flew into her coffee, making it undrinkable.
"Oh great" she thought, taking another drag from her cigarette, it's cherry burning to match her face.

The day had turned out to be something of a disaster; She was already late for her interview that morning when her cat scampered outside as she'd been struggling to get her portfolio through the door. As it passed underneath her feet, she felt its soft fur brush against her leg and worried that it would be for the last time.
When she finally got the portfolio into her car, there was no time to search for the cat so she crossed her fingers and hoped it would decide to come back. Then she shut her pant leg in the door and nearly backed into the mailbox in her haste.

By the time she got to the studio, it was 13 minutes past her appointment, so she skittered past the secretary, hand out stretched for the knob to the office and promptly ran into a tall, pale man in a black suit who’d suddenly replaced the door.
He looked down at her through white eyelashes with a bored stare and she stared back.

"Linda Beets, I assume" he stated, gesturing to his office.
"Yes sir" she whispered, obediently following his sweeping arm.

"You are late, Linda Beets." He said, seating himself behind a rather imposing desk.
"I'm sorry sir, I was..."
"Not necessary. Please?"
He held out his hand.
She shook it.
"Your portfolio..."
"Oh...uh, yes" she concentrated on steadying her hand.

She had been extremely nervous before she'd even left the house; now she was positively insane, incessantly thinking that this man could make or break her career in the next 5 seconds.
As he browsed through her best work, he made little noises, the kind a therapist makes when you tell him you think you’re getting better.

He stood up, her folder still in his white hands.
"Thank you for coming, we'll be in touch"
She looked at him unsteadily, he hadn’t said anything to her, hadn’t asked her any questions, hadn’t acted slightly interested; she stood, waiting for him to hand her back her so called art.
What had she been thinking, she wasn't good at anything! My God, how could she even assume to be anything better than a waitress for the rest of her wretched life? Her mother would be frolicking in the I-Told-you-not-to-get-your-hope-up's, she'd never live down the time she tried to be more than she was raised to be.

He'd looked at her a minute longer, the bored stare seemed to be studying the twitches on her face. Then he handed back the portfolio, and waved her to the door.

When she'd gotten to her car, she'd noticed a big scratch in the red paint that hadn't been there before. Screaming inside and out, she threw open the door, heat whooshed out at her and perspiration dampened her upper lip immediately.
Still screaming, she threw her things in the car, and slammed herself down in the hot seat.

Feeling defeated she’d driven home, dropped her things on the floor and lit up a cigarette in an attempt to forget everything that’d happened that day.
She felt the smoke in her lungs, and watched it pour thickly from her lips, then dissolve in the air.
She looked down at the ash which was floating around in her once fresh, coffee and felt depressed.

The phone rang urgently, and she slowly stood up to get it.
It was wailing loudly, practically jumping off the table, which annoyed her.
"Shut up!"
She walked faster, tossing the coffee into the sink as she passed.
"Hello?"

Linda listened intently, a smile slowly spreading across her face.
"We would like you to come back for a second interview, you work shows promise".
"Yes sir"
"And Linda?"
"Yes?"
"Be on time"
"Yes sir!" she said grinning.
Oh, how could she have doubted herself, doubted her skills?! Her lovely mother would be so proud, she just knew she would be accepted!
As she hung up the phone she heard a noise behind her.

She turned slowly, in her head relief turned to confusion and possible fright.
No one was there...

"Meow?"

Observations from the stairs

A night bathed in pale orange light.
A boy sitting on a broken chair, he's asleep and I am watching him.
I am watching him from my perch, the cement steps of an old building.
On the outside, the building is purple, which is hard to tell because of the orange light, but I know for sure, because I held a lighter against to it to check.
A large portion of the wall has several rectangular windows, which have been painted several colors, and have writing on them with words like "Aupic luv's Pequino" and "Va te faire enculler sallope".
Inside the building a very loud punk show bursts through the cracks in the wall trying to get out.
Sound and fury leak through tiny spaces into the stale humid night, and the sound travels far, bouncing off the cement of the surrounding buildings and road.

Realizing that the music will only get louder and more awful I go outside to take a break and come across something more captivating than indescernable punk.
As I'm watching the boy shifts in his chair but to my amazement, as there are no armrests and the chair is at a tilt, does not fall off.He looks very peaceful, asleep and dreaming.
He is short for a boy of his girth, although taller than me, and he wears glasses, a dark polo shirt and dress pants, although he does not look dressed up.He stirs a little and I quickly look down to study the cracks in the sidewalk. Tiny grass shoots were finding their ways around the hard cement.
I look up and find him still in the chair, eyes still shut, his breathing steady.
"So sweet" I think, quietly in my mind.
Watching him makes me feel like I'm not there, like I'm just witnessing someone else’s dream, which gives me a strange sensation. “To this boy, I don’t exist although I am right across from him, I am invisible, indestructible, unattainable…nothing can sense me." I
think “ I am the ghost that haunts his dreams, the shadow in the corner of his eye…I am there, because he can sense my presence, but he cannot see me because he is lost in his thoughts, eyes closed to block out…” to block out what? Reality? Life? “The loud-as-hell punk band playing inside, obviously.” Says a voice in my head. That thought pops me out of my sedated state.
I’m not a ghost, or a dream or anything but a person staring at an unconscious, probably passed out, teenager who took too many prescription drugs not written to his name, and laid, wasted, on the first thing he saw that wasn’t the sidewalk.
"Broken boy, broken chair" I think “broken illusions”
"Thank ya'll very much tonight” someone from the band screams, "Y'all been great!",
"Thank you very much,” I think, watching him with lingering interest.Then I stand up, and walk away, down the cracked sidewalk bathed in orange,the last notes of the evening sending me drifting in the direction of home.

When do we sleep?

The time for sleep is 9p.m. exactly. Anytime you are awake after
that is time wasted. Time you could be using to be rested,
readied for the next morning when you will be needed as a
productive citizen of this country.
More over, if you are found out of bed I will feel very betrayed
and disrespected as your actions mean that my feelings mean nothing to you.