Bad Breath Kisses

Bad breath kisses

Are often dismissed

First thing in the morning

A sorry to do

When all that is meant

Is dear “I love you

Even when you’re puffy

And crusty from passing out

After a long night of pool

And beers”

In Public

When people talk
and you want to know
just who are they
to say those things
so loudly, what in them
is so bold?
six beers each, at noon I think.

Maya Angelou

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...

enough

money within her control to move out

and rent a place of her own,

even if she never wants to or needs to...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...

something

perfect to wear if the employer,

or date of her dreams

wants to see her in an hour...

A WOMAN SHOULD

HAVE .

a youth she's content to leave behind....

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ..

a past juicy

enough that she's looking forward to

retelling it in her

old age....

WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ..

a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black lace bra...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .

one friend who

always makes her laugh.. and one who lets her cry...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...

a good piece

of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in her

family...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ..

eight

matching plates, wine glasses with stems,

and a recipe for

a meal,

that will make her guests feel honored...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .

a feeling of

control over her destiny..

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD

KNOW...

how to fall in love without losing herself..

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

how to quit

a job,

break up with a lover,

and confront a friend

without;

ruining the friendship...

EVERY WOMAN

SHOULD KNOW...

when to try harder... and WHEN TO WALK

AWAY...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

that she can't change the length of her calves,

the width of her hips, or the nature of her parents.

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

that her

childhood may not have been perfect...but it's over..

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

what she

would and wouldn't do for love or more...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW....

how to live

alone... even if she doesn't like it...

EVERY

WOMAN SHOULD KNOW.. .

whom she can trust,

whom she can't,

and why she shouldn't take it personally...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...

where to

go...

be it to her best friend's kitchen table..

or a

charming Inn in the woods....

when her soul needs

soothing...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW..

What she can and can't accomplish in a day...
a month...and a year...

Nothing can be sweeter on your thighs than the balmy night air, that's why riding a bicycle in your underwear is such a great idea.

changes

When you finally unlock one of life's mysteries after going your whole life trying to figure it out, you think when you wake up the next morning everything will be different. Surely everyone will see what is different in you, in the world as a whole.
You've figured it out! You have the answer!

What actually happens can only be a something of a let down. After such a high you realize they'll only know when they experience it themselves, if they do. And they don't know how much you know what you know. At least not for a while, till your rich or really obviously happier than everyone or something.

So just settle in, just write down what you've done and look at that every few weeks to remember. The human mind has a way of forgetting.

Mustachio Madness

Last Friday I went the the Monotonixs show and got clocked in the face and the singer fell on me several times and many people poured beer all over each others hair and faces and necks and we sweatsweatsweat and screamed, sang and laughed and the band and the crowd were in a frenzy from the first beat of the drum.

When you look at their myspace you'll first notice that the music is fun, it's upbeat anarchist smash rock that you can enjoy in the comfort of your own home. But why the hell would you listen to it at home when there's a concert just down the street.

Look at the pictures. Hairy, skinny mostly naked Israeli men with long full-bodied hair. One is hanging from the rafters with a microphone at his bare ass. The crowd below is screaming with smiling faces.

One is a drummer sitting on his drum kit and playing while crowd surfing. Later the drum kit is set on fire, while still being played. 

Look at the videos, Austin October 2008 at The Mohawk. I see my friend Devon in the front, punching the drums. I see the band carrying the whole thing out to the street and still sounding awesome as hell! At the last show I managed to catch sight of Devon climbing a tree with the singer and them holding each other, thrashing around wilding and singing. That was before the fist came and caught me in the nose, knocking off my glasses. It was after my room mate mistakenly slapped his friend in the frenzy after getting kicked in the back by someone else. All in joy, in crazy fun for the sake of being alive.

That's a Monotonixs show.

They'll be in Austin for SXSW, I can't recommend it enough.

Me: Walking down the street

Guy in Truck: Grinning, no sign of front teeth. "Damn girl why don't you hop in here with me?"

Me: Scowling. "Piss off."

Guy in Truck: Laughs, drives on.

What should have happened

Me: Walking down the street

Guy in Truck: Grinning, no sign of front teeth. "Damn girl why don't you hop in here with me?"

Me: Picks up rock, throws it. "How you like a rock in your window, ass?" 

Guy in Truck:  Visibly upset about the rock through his window

Indian Summer

Indian Summer - Dorothy Parker
==================
In youth, it was a way I had
To do my best to please,
And change, with every passing lad,
To suit his theories.

But now I know the things I know,
And do the things I do;
And if you do not like me so,
To hell, my love, with you!

Tuberculosis

What oh, what have I been up to lately? Aside from barely working, changing bike tubes and reading internet comics I have also been taking a drawing class once a week.
During my last class the project was self portraiture. The lighting wasn't great and I looked and felt tired. But a project is and so I did it.

The result is a fairly exact replica. I had noticed that I'd drawn myself kind of intensely but it's hard to draw a facial expression from a mirror so when I showed my friend and she began laughing I was confused. Apparently it's the look I give when I want a person or peoples to leave now. It was the look I had at 4AM after our 300+ Michael Jackson party and the only people left were strangers...it was the look I had when I'd been spending an entire weekend with a friend and had run out of things to do that took two people and it's the look you'll get if you interrupt me while I'm reading The Watchmen.


----------------------

"and I listened to that song so many times before I realized...he's not singing about a girl, he's singing about Tuberculosis"

My good friend Lydia sent me a link to this gallery of art pieces made with unusual materials as featured by Telegraph.co.uk

Pretty cool stuff

you get noogied

If you're out and about with someone and they call something which is considered bad "gay" is it appropriate to tell them you'll "noogie them till their brains bleed" if they say it again? Is that an overreaction? I feel like it isn't. Not totally...

The Inauguration of President Barack Obama

These are 48 photos of Inauguration Day as seen around the world. Pretty amazing stuff.

Låt den rätte komma in

After watching "Let the Right One In" on Friday I found myself feeling rather tense this early morning as I cycled in the dark to work. I couldn't stop worrying there might be something hungry in the trees, readying to drop on me.

Nod to Lan for this interesting story:

EASTON, Pa. – A supermarket is defending itself for refusing to a write out 3-year-old Adolf Hitler Campbell's name on his birthday cake. Deborah Campbell, 25, of nearby Hunterdon County, N.J., said she phoned in her order last week to the Greenwich ShopRite. When she told the bakery department she wanted her son's name spelled out, she was told to talk to a supervisor, who denied the request.

Karen Meleta, a ShopRite spokeswoman, said the store denied similar requests from the Campbells the last two years, including a request for a swastika.

"We reserve the right not to print anything on the cake that we deem to be inappropriate," Meleta said. "We considered this inappropriate."

The Campbells ultimately got their cake decorated at a Wal-Mart in Pennsylvania, Deborah Campbell said Tuesday.

A Wal-Mart spokesman told The Associated Press on Wednesday that in light of the incident, the company would review its guidelines regarding cake decorations and other requests.

"It's clear that in serving this customer, some people were offended," spokesman Greg Rossiter said. "As a result, we're going to review our policies."

Heath Campbell said he named his son after Adolf Hitler because he liked the name and because "no one else in the world would have that name."

The Campbells' two other children are named JoyceLynn Aryan Nation Campbell, who turns 2 in a few months, and Honszlynn Hinler Jeannie Campbell, who will be 1 in April.

Campbell said he was raised not to avoid people of other races but not to mix with them socially or romantically. But he said he would try to raise his children differently.

"Say he grows up and hangs out with black people. That's fine, I don't really care," he said. "That's his choice."

He said about 12 people attended the birthday party Sunday, including several children of mixed race.

The Kavorka

I was standing in a hot shower today, drinking a whiskey on ice, letting my mind wander. Inevitably I ended up thinking about sex. Hmmmmseeexxxx. I know that most people enjoy it, hell I've known that for years! What I'd only recently considered was in what way people enjoy it. Why do you enjoy it? What part is the draw? Is it the power you can have over another person? The intimacy? Can you only enjoy it with someone you love or, alternatively, with someone you hate, or don't even know?

I thought about why I like it. I've had a diverse sex life in some ways. I like to try new things but am not yet into anything particularly kinky, I'm attracted to a wide variety of people and their many qualities, shapes,sexes, colors and sizes. I can enjoy sex with someone I love nearly as much as someone I don't know so well, albiet very differently. I really appreciate all the different aspects and options that can be had.  Quiet and loving, rough and crazy, in the dark or in a spotlight(hurrhurr). It's all with it's benefits.

But mostly I just love the texture of sex. I love skin and all the ways it can feel against my face or under my hands, how cold and clean in the winter. I like how it tastes on my tongue on a balmy night when all the windows are thrown open to tempt a breeze in.

The scent of said skin is also big. There's something about individual body scent and I don't mean perfumes or cologne. That rich, warm feeling you get in a quiet moment, when you bury your head in their neck, between nape and ear and you smell the life inside them, you can feel their heart against your chest and it's addicting.

I've always been pretty attracted to thick dark hair as well, I enjoyed Carlito's Way more because Al Pacino had such an amazing head of hair. You could lose your hand in it, it was so thick. I like having something to pull, something to tangle in my fist or smooth out with soft fingers.

I like the urgency, the connection, the deep soft kissing and the texture. I love the texture of it all. 

On a bicycle at night

The strange beauty of life comes to me as I ride my bike, half drunk with the stars over and around me and the moon and the earth and I feel that intense love of being. It swells my heart and I pedal harder, faster to relieve the almost painful feeling. To feel it is one thing, what to do with it is something else.

Harder and faster, my breath deepens as I attempt a tall hill. I smile at this friend I love to hate, I welcome its challenge. When I'm done I coast for a while, feeling the crisp air cool my sweaty skin, calm my panting, ruffle my hair. The bike begins to slow and I don't try for the pedals, just let it be until at last we are at a crawl, the bike and I, and together we fall sideways onto a lawn in a tangle and I just lie there, feeling the prickling grass on my back and neck below me, feeling the glow of the moon on my closed eyelids.

"Are you alright?"

There is a youngish woman standing over me, she also has a bicycle.

"I saw you fall off your bike...do you need help?"

I smile and shake my head. She considers this, then looks up at the sky. Then back to me. Another moment and without a word she's set her bike down, she's laying next to me and we stay that way on the grass, just being.

This strange beauty of life.

Snow in Texas

 Yesterday morning it was about 80 degrees and humid as all hell. I biked to work and arrived sweaty, pulling my jacket off down to the tanktop underneath. The rest of the day stayed that way, until around 4 when a gale came in with the cold and put our jackets back on our shoulders.

By 6 I was wondering if I would be able to ride my bike to meet a friend like I said I would, but they were coming from even further away and hadn't said anything about picking me up or cancelling, so out I went. 
It wasn't so bad, until I left the bike lane on Guadalupe and the wind came head first over me, nearly stopping my bike completely and making me swerve into traffic. 
I got off and walked some of the way, until I was out of the main tangle of traffic and then jumped back on and rode to Spider House.

3 hours later

It'd been raining and we'd waited it out for a while, but couldn't stay forever. I considered taking up residence at Spider House but for some reason my friend didn't think it made sense. We wiped down our seats and took off, ears freezing, backs soon pelted with hard rain, turning into sleet. We parted ways at 14th street, my friend insisting they would be ok to make it the rest of the 15-20 minutes home in this weather. As I said goodbye and turned down 14th street the wind became stronger and the sleet became hail, stinging, stinging, face tenderizing hail. I yelled and went faster. In times like these you have to put your head down and remember your one goal: get home.

6 minutes later I was there. 7 minutes later I was changed. 10 minutes later my friend called to say they'd made it in record time and were going to take a hot shower.
12 minutes later, cup of tea in hand, I hear my roommates exclaiming about the snow. I look out side and sure enough it's actual snow, big flakes in fact. The melt upon impact, the ground is not nearly cold enough to keep them, but look, it really is snowing in Austin!

Hello Buddies!

I just joined the Hill Country Ride for AIDs. A few months ago I told Annie I wanted to sign up for it when registration opened. The other night she came in and reminded me, and though I was reluctant at this time, Annie did force me to do it anyway, and I thank her.
This means I'll start training for the race, which is in April, soon. I'll need teammates and I'll need sponsers.
If you live in Austin and you feel like getting fit on your bicycle for a good cause you can register at www.Hillcountryride.org
If you live anywhere at all and want to sponser me, my goal is 500 Dollars minimum. A dollar helps, 50 is even better :)
Here is my page: http://hcr.convio.net/site/TRC/HillCountryRideforAIDS/General?pg=peditor&fr_id=1080&px=1239741

I withdrew from my only class two weeks ago. The second I signed the yellow slip I felt better, lighter, happier. On my walk home I had 2 new ideas for an art project I'd failed to give enough focus to before.

It was a math class, a subject I've never been too successful with and at this stage struggle to care about. I want to take Art classes and computer classes to further my career interests, I want to take English and History for personal knowledge. But not math, not math at all.

Hm.

I recommend Lockpick Pornography by Joey Comeau, the whole thing has been put online and as usual, Joey Comeau has done a great job. If you haven't heard of him, check out www.Asofterworld. com for a gentle introduction before you voraciously seek out his other work.

Fortune cookie says:

Look to a friend when you are confused,
they are a great voice
when you can't hear your own.

Skim milk is just milk with water. It's disgusting.

A bicycle for Madge

After a month of obsessively checking craigslist and making fruitless bids on ebay I have finally secured myself a road bike. It's no Bianchi but a Vintage Panasonic Sport 1000 will do me well for now.

Freeeee

VP Debates

This might be a little edited to the left, but it's pretty accurate from what I saw live last week:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pXJ4Dk33cCQ

T.V. on the Internet

God, why do my housemates watch so many Bravo shows? It's everything I never wanted in life. It's like watching the Sex in the City movie over and over. I can't hear another story about a man who eats too much and how his poos smell, don't want to see into the life of Rachel Zoe, don't care about Project Runway or any other reality competition show. Maybe I just hate T.V. in general now.

This from someone who watched as much T.V. as I could possibly get away with as a child. Matlock, Days of Our lives, Sanford and Son, Simpsons, Ghost Writer, Batman, Cheers, any terrible Saturday afternoon movie, anything at all, even Power Rangers if I were in a spot. How had to be grounded from the T.V. specifically when I broke a rule, since it was the only thing that would really hurt me to be taken away.

And then I moved out of the suburbs, forgot my shows, got a life and never looked back. Now when I watch T.V. I can't relax, instead there's a nagging feeling I should be doing something else. Like sitting online writing blogs.

"Obama may be a bit professorial, but at least he is trying to unite the country to face the real issues rather than divide us over cultural differences." - THOMAS L. FRIEDMAN

Blacker the berry...

Damn Elijah Kelly, you are good looking.

Charlie The Magical Unicorn And Candy Mountain

Caaaannndy Mouuuntaaiinnn

Day's the same

What difference can it make to you
if I walk away
We never really knew each other
anyway
You pay me and I stay with you
and there's the little routine
we go through
Comin' in at 4 by 6 we scrape the floor
Sweep away the mess but by 10
Scums back for more
Eat apples, drink milk for lunch
Hope it's enough to keep
me strong until brunch
Scrape again and then it's one
And by them I'm hopin' to God we're done
Go home, take a shower
Draw some toons, go to bed and then
Beep Beep Beep it's that hour
Do it all again til'

American Things

It was nearing the end of lunch break. I took a half slice of bread from a bag, smeared peanut butter on it with a knife. As an afterthough, I took a little piece of lemon cake from a sample bowl and put it on top, for the sweetness. I turned away from the counter to sit back down. “AHHH!” screamed the 19-year old café manager “what are you doing, that’s yuck!” The others stood up to get a look, make faces, and generally be horrified. I shrugged. “That’s so weird” said a co-worker. “It’s no worse than fairy bread” I said. “Must be an American thing. Fairy bread is normal” the 19-year old mocked, looking to the others for a laugh. My face failed to hide distain, “Butter and sprinkles on white bread is normal?”

The topic was cars. My fellow bakers lamented the jobs lost in factories due to outsourcing in other countries and that there was no choice but to buy foreign. “What kind of car are you looking at, Wren?” asked our boss. “I’m not sure” she paused “but not American. I’d never buy American.” I didn’t look up from my task, since she was baiting me. “I’d NEVER buy American” she said again. No response. “Never American!” she shouted triumphantly.

As it was the end of the day, we each were cleaning up, ready to go home. I was busy scraping the floor while simultaneously chatting with Tina, a fellow baker. “That’s a strange way to scrape the floor” she commented “must be an American thing”. I looked up and saw her grin. She was joking but so what. “The next person that comments about America is getting their face scraped.” I held up the scraper, helpfully “It’s going to be like ‘Son of a Witch’”. Tina grinned wider “Son of a witch? What’s that?”. “It’s a book, based on the Wizard of Oz.” She frowned “Must be an American thing.”

Tiny Beads

He jabbed his finger at his wrist, pointing to a small beaded bracelet. "It's a fucking lie, isn't it?"
He pointed to the white bead "that's not me" then to a red "that's not you" then to a green one "and that's not Maine, and it never was." he laughed caustically "it's always been a lie"

I sat on the bed, cowed by how awfully close to the truth he was. Not that I'd tell him. Not that he'd really know. I hadn't wanted to mess things up like this. I'd known before that it was probably a bad idea to get deeper into a relationship with someone who clearly had a lot on his mind. His plate was full, but maybe I thought I could help clear it...maybe I really did, but more likely all I did was give second helpings with gravy. I thought I knew what I was doing, was never afraid or uncertain further than a shallow level. Not even when I thought I was pregnant.

That problem had weighed realistically in my heart in a way I'd never felt but at that age there wasn't a choice that seemed plausible. I knew what I'd do and I'd do it more or less as in a dream. Watching without really taking in that it was happening to me.
I wasn't pregnant, but after that things broke down worse than ever. We'd never had a future anyway, there was so much fighting. His jealousy, my selfishness. I knew what was needed when I needed it, acting out the part when I knew he needed me. I'd gotten used to dis-attaching from emotion-can't get in too deep with someone so emotional. Someone has to be the clear head, the calm one, the rational one. That kind of distance doesn't lend itself to deep love, and I did want to love him. All of them.

I guess it was an experiment. A wait-and-see. Maybe I would fall in love this time, probably I wouldn't. The rush was there and it was real. Didn't last.
So he finally figured it out and from the look in his eyes I'd say he's angry but not that surprised.
"This is bullshit" he yells. I formulate a rebound argument, one that'll shut him up, make him at fault. It's a good one: calm, rational and there's nothing he can argue against. I still sit on the bed, arms wrapped around my legs, mouth shut now that that word of right is out. He stands watching me for a beat, then he yanks at the bracelet, which breaks easily and tiny beads spray around the floor. He catches my eye and I recognize this as a good time to shut up. There's nothing real to say anyway. He's right and I won't admit to anything. He'll leave and I'll move out having never seen the red or white or green beads again. Not that I'd looked.

"Hey, it looks like it's a girls-only day."
"Ohhh now we can talk about girly stuff!"
"Ah yeah, what's your boyfriend like in the sack?"
"What color are your nipples?"
"Do you wear a bra? I wear a bra."

Oh you!

I just read this:

Rachel, confronted me with a problem concerning her boyfriend Michael.. "I find it really disturbing when guys don't shave after the 3rd day and I keep telling Michael to shave but he doesn't bother.. I want him to dress up nicely for special occasions, but he wouldn't on my birthday.. I'm just going to wait to see if he surprises me on our one year anniversary" He sounds like a slob to me who needs coaching on how to romance a lady. I'm sure that if a guy liked a girl enough, he would do anything to make her happy. Perhaps Michael is just a guy who'd prefer a casual relationship and Rachel needs a bf who is a bit more cliche.

On this blog: www.memoirsofagirlfriend.com

Maybe I shouldn't be reading any bit of a blog that uses Sex in the City as a reference point for an actual relationship since it'll only confuse and rile me up, but it happened anyway. It was an accident.
But...
Why is an unshaven face disturbing? Maybe it's uncomfortable to kiss, that could be a good reason but disturbing? Does it make you bleed? Does it talk to you while you're sleeping? Does it grow at many vastly different lengths?

And I've heard this "if a guy liked a girl enough, he would do anything to make her happy" too much. Who are you, girls-who-think-this-way? Are you celebrities? Are you very rich and this man is your butler? Does he give you a diamond every time you cry and wipe your bum? What are you doing to make him happy, aside from nagging about his beard. Bitches ain't gonna change just because you told them to.Accept it or move on.

Lastly, what is a cliche boyfriend? Did she mean something else by this? I couldn't guess it.

Perhaps

If you really love me, say yes
but if you don't, dear please confess
you only answer

Perhaps
Perhaps
Perhaps

But the truth is, quite often, that people want perhaps.
They want hope over "no". Say maybe instead of "no",
then we'll have a few more precious hours or days or months
or even years...
just hang on in the between until we can't stand it anymore.

Aren't white North Americans stupid and predictable for liking certain things and doing things a certain way?
http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.wordpress.com/

The quiet stillness in the room, the sound of the green bristled broom brushing quick strokes over the cold ceramic tiled floor. It was somehow comforting, like the sound of home.
I loved when the maid came because it was a time when I slept best. I'd sit on my bed reading but not reading, silence broken by the sound of the faucet turning, water running warmly into the red plastic bucket, soap mixing and building up foamy suds. Her shoes as she clip clopped over the tiles. She always wore heels to clean. The splash of the water as she squeezed excess till it was just right, not too sloppy, not too dry. Swish of the mop and my book closed, dropped to the floor as my eyes shut, drowsiness pervading my body. She left quietly, taking the money set out on the coffee table. 3 times a week she came. No one needs a floor that clean.

My mouth hurts

I'll be in and around about Asia for a month and week so probably won't update. Later doods!

Stubborn Love by me

Yes We Can - Barack Obama Music Video

Remember when we were trying to choose between the lesser of two evils?

Try this at home

• Raw Spinach-one bunch
• feta-200gm
• tomatoes-3 or 4
• pumpkin- 1 kg(or potatoes if you live in the US)
  
• garlic-2 or 3 cloves
• Fresh basil

Method:

Rinse the spinach, tear the spinach in half, put that spinach in a big salad bowl.
Take that feta, cut it up, crumble it into big ol' chunks.
Put those tomatoes on a cutting board, cut them in half and put them face up on a baking tray. Sliver up that garlic and put those slivers alllll over the tomato halves.
Douse it all in olive oil, put it in the oven for 10 minutes at 150 celsius, till it's kinda baked but not too mushy.
Cut up the pumpkin, bite sized, douse it in oil, put it in the oven, bake bake bake for 30 minutes or until golden and soft, like a good pumpkin should be.
Tear up some basil. Throw everything into that salad bowl so it joins the spinach, mix it all around.

Everyone loves you, it only cost 10 bucks. the end.

A man walks up to a bar. At the bar is a cute brunette drinking a cocktail, her friends stand nearby chatting. The man smiles warmly at her "Hey, you come here often? Hah, just kidding, old line. My name's _____, what's yours?" She seems to ponder him for a minute, then says "I know you." He continues to smile but looks somewhat confused. The girls friends are now listening, as is the bartender. Now the girl smiles, not with malice but not with any warmth either. She leans in very slightly to him and says something in a low voice so that only the man can here. His mouth drops slightly, he looks somewhat shocked, demeaned, found out. She turns back to the bar as he leaves, coughing as if to cover an embarassing noise. The bartender waits for the rest of the customers to go back to their conversations, then quietly asks if she knew that man, what had she said. The girl shrugged matter-of-factly " I just said he was the kind of guy who really liked his balls crushed by a stiletto heel. I only wear flats."

Spanish knobskin sues victims family for damages to his car

From OverQualified

This is one of my favorite essays from Over Qualified:

Once, a girl and I were in bed together, masturbating. She was on her back, naked, touching herself, and I was above her, mostly naked, doing the same. I was eighteen or nineteen years old, and all I could think about was coming on her breasts. You know, like on the Internet. I think, probably, I was saying something to that effect. I wasn't mentioning the Internet, of course, but I was saying I'm going to come on you, I'm going to come on you. I'm classy like that. I don't remember how she felt about the whole coming-on-her idea, actually, but I can tell you that I was very excited about it. I was almost lying on top of her. I was leaned forward so far. So when I felt my orgasm coming, I looked down between us to watch for, "the come shot."

And then I came in my own eye. It came right at me, like a 3D movie gone terribly wrong, and it stung. I started clawing at my face. She laughed and laughed while I tried frantically to wipe my eye clean. She was curled up naked on the bed, laughing so hard there were tears. I started laughing too. I couldn't help it. We both laughed until it hurt, until the muscles in our cheeks were sore from smiling, and then we looked up at her ceiling, on our backs, exhausted. For the rest of that afternoon, every once in a while one of us would start laughing again and then so would the other. It is one of my favourite memories.
-Joey Comeu

A bucket list

I haven't watched the movie "The Bucket List", probably because I'm not a middle aged man. But I have written a bucket list before, and accomplished most of the things on it. It's a sort of birthday tradition to do at least one thing on that list, or to at least do something memorable that I haven't done before. Scheduling a sky dive, bungee jump, seeing a kiwi bird takes the pressure off what to do on a birthday and still makes it a celebration. Writing the list usually happens around the new year, to take the pressure off whether or not to make resolutions. It's a chance to face a myriad of the ridiculous fears left over from child hood or the angst of the teens. This years list has been a little more difficult to compile, not because there aren't enough things for me to do, but because the more easy to accomplish have been done. The new list is shorter but will take more work than laying down for a tattoo. Here is most of it:

• Go back to school, stay there until a degree is given. Be smarter.
  
• Purchase or otherwise attain a keyboard, practice every day for a year from the day.
  
• Continue trapeze and acrobat work, get good, get strong, get discipline.
• See more of the world. I have a month-long trip around Asia planned from the end of Feb.
• Take more chances, say yes to your destiny.
• Don't be dirt poor. Get a better job or ask for a raise if you need/deserve it.
  
• Be as honest as possible, especially in close relationships ie: friends, family, romantic. This just means be as honest about feelings, wishes, hide less, cut through unnecessary man made shit.
• Fire a real gun (in a safe place at a target)
  

Accomplishing these things is going to be good.They will happen.

Sensitive

As we entered the carnival I saw to my left a huge moonwalk covered with kids running up the airfilled steps and sliding down the sides. The moonwalk was shaped like a sinking boat. "Is that supposed to be the Titanic?" I asked, turning to the elderly man standing next to me. He nodded, then cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted "Too soon!" and turned away in a angrily.

Nelson to Wellington

I printed my boarding pass online which meant that I did not go to the counter and so forgot to check my bag. It wasn't until I was on the runway actually looking at the door when I realized "this bag isn't going to fit in there! Why am I carrying it?" luckily as this came over me I turned to see the baggage handler watching me with a smile. I laughed and rolled my eyes to the sky as if to say "how foolish! I have forgotten to check my bag!" He laughed in response and took the bag from me, for which I was glad.

Who would you rather be?:

• Tim
• Dawn
• David
• Gareth
  

The Fortune

This one says “people count up the faults of those who keep them waiting”

“What does that one mean?” I asked. “If you show people one fault, and let it linger then they’ll start noticing your other faults.” He answered.

Hmmmm, ok. “What about this one: ‘Honesty is the best policy, but while there is truth in humour there is no humour in truth.” I frowned “that isn’t true…” He agreed “Yeah, what about that saying ‘fact is stranger than fiction.’”

Some of them weren’t fortunes in the slightest. She read aloud “One should feel freedom of the mind.” Someone pushed a filled wineglass to her, which she cheerfully accepted.

I held up the one I’d gotten last night “A fall in a ditch will make you wiser.”

Well. Surely they could have used a better metaphor. Something like, if you play with fire you’re likely to get burned. “A game of sticks can end with one eye out.” I suggested.

Someone down the far end held up theirs “Mine isn’t so true, I’m too far at the end of the table.” “What’s it say?” his neighbour turned quickly to look, knocking over a wine glass which splashed all over the fortune holders front. There was a moment of silence as happens in unexpected accidents. Then they laughed with a surprising ferocity, unable to speak they handed the fortune to the clumsy neighbour who read aloud “You are the centre of every groups attention.”

The Meaning

“Now, I just have to see this tattoo of yours, what does it say?” he paused to take it in and then, aloud read “Can’t believe how strange it is to be anything at all” and smiled thoughtfully. I hadn’t come up with a good sound bite for why I had it and what it meant but for the most part it hadn’t mattered. Most people didn’t attempt a meaning. “So…is that like that feeling you get every now and then, when you can’t believe that you’re a being alive on this little spinning rock in a massive universe and you’re heart feels so big yet you realize that you’re so small and it’s all so amazing and overwhelming?” he asked.

I blinked, totally bewildered at his description. “Yes. Yes it is. I…can’t believe how accurate you just were.” He grinned “Life really puts the blinders on, doesn’t it? Thank god for that feeling”

The reason that there are vegetarian foods shaped like meat foods is that we live in a meat eating society. If you are invited to a barbecue and are vegetarian, what will you eat? What can you bring to the table that will fit on those hamburger buns, those hot dog buns, what will go with that mustard or ketchup?
If you are vegetarian and American and you find yourself on Thanksgiving AKA Turkey Day, what is going to be your central dish? Are you satisfied with a bevy of side dish types?
You like chicken but you don't like the politics of meat. You love bacon. You like hot dogs. But you aren't one for creative cooking, you don't know where to begin. What are you going to eat? The Ficken, the facon, the Tofurky...those are just replacements. And they don't taste like meat, anyway.

One mans trash...

"Alright give us your arm" he instructed. I put my arm into a strong man pose obligingly and watched as he placed the sticky stencil carefully on the inside of my bicep. "Is this lyrics from Tool or somethin'? he asked. Oh God, Tool? "No, it's from a band called Neutral Milk Hotel." I said, paused for a moment but he showed no recognition so I continued, settling onto my back "They're very good." He smiled, then leaned over to begin work. I noticed a flaming Chinese symbol tattooed on the center of his head. He nodded his head over to a man with huge arm muscles and comically tiny head "When I was getting it formatted a ol' Barry wondered why anyone would want to get this on 'em". I took another look at Barry "Is that the guy with the Superman symbol tattooed on his chest?" I asked. "Yeah, that's him." I relaxed back again, contemplating his words. I sighed, "Well, everyone has their own interpretation of life, I guess."
He nodded again. The needle buzzed away on my arm. No going back now, anyway/

I understand that you are not just the person that I knew when I met you. You are the layers of experiences over a lifetime. Who you are is a growing concept that should not be boxed in to one experience. I'll not box you in, I'll just let you be you instead.

Hopes and dreams

Rivers and streams

Boats slowly sailing

Come in between the real world and me

Got to forget to remember to play it naturally

Come out of your shell, what’s that you’re protecting underneath

Consider please, a little less dignity

If playing it safe means keeping it boring

Hopes and dreams

Rivers and streams

Boats, are always sailing through coming

In between the real world and me

I never was as good at jumping right in

Making all new strangers into ten new friends

But that doesn’t mean I don’t want ‘em

again and again

It’s like “I notice you don’t have too many friends”

I’m just deep that’s all, just deep into myself,

Reading all the books on the library shelf (so deep)

Working on the newest project that nobody can see but me

Hopes and dreams

Still, deep rivers and streams

Boats sailing, just passing through

Coming in between the real world and me (and I let ‘em)

The sons gotta shine
yeah he's gonna need time
to figure out a few rhymes
and...work is just a distraction
a forced life time of bizarre interactions
with people you'd never think to call friends but
in the end it builds character.

The Burn

Today at work I had to cut onions. They stung my eyes and made me cry in front of everyone. I looked like a terrible fool. I hate onions!

What a beautiful face
I have found in this place
that is circling all round the sun
and when we meet on a cloud
I’ll be laughing out loud
I’ll be laughing with everybody I see
can’t believe how strange it is to be anything at all

It's hard being a girlfriend these days. First things are great - you get to have sex with a new person, you're feeling liberated and ready to have new adventures in the bedroom. Then you realize how common putting it in the butt is, and you aren't so sure that's for you. But everyone is doing it, it's the new oral. Speaking of oral, don't forget to swallow or it means you don't care/are stunted sexually. You think you want a threesome but actually you're suddenly too shy and too afraid to find someone and if you did try they'd have to be just right so there'd be no regrets. What about the poop, girls? That shit on his wee man doesn't fuck with your head? Man...

There's also no such thing as "environmentally-friendly." The environment doesn't need friends, because it is the environment. And even if the environment wanted friends, do you really think it would want to be friends with you? I mean, come on, look at you.-Jeff Rowling

Dear Daughter-of-mine,

I finally realized the (evil) genius of that dog of yours this morning. All this time I excused him thinking his wee pee brain just couldn't learn anything ! As I put him out (like every morning) he did his pretense of peeing in the yard, then came in the house to crap on the den floor like usual. Standing off in the corner to enjoy watching my reaction. I enjoyed fantasies like shipping him off to Michael Vic or beating him with the roll of paper towels in my hand. I did notice the large lake of pee he put in the kitchen sometime during the night, but only now realize it was placed there to give me false security as I walked into the dining room.

As I slipped, almost falling for the 19th time, I finally put it all together. He is subtle: the amount of pee was small enough in the dining room for me not to see it, and the clever placement in the grout made it all the more invisable. I know now he IS out to kill or mame me, that he does plan to take over once I'm out of the way.

If I'm found on the floor with a broken neck, DO NOT pass it off as a common household accident! Closer inspection will reveal Reggie Mantle, the adopted pet, the pet we raised as one of our own, is indeed the murderer.
I'm leaving it to you to see justice is done: I want him to go to the gas chamber (I assume they still have these somewhere, I know he wouldn't fit in the electric chair). Do not bring him into your home, once he has killed, he will only kill again! Never underestimate the cunning wile of this monster!

Have a nice day,

Dad

I leaned in close to his face. "Com'on" I breathed "Why don't you act like ya love me?"
He smiled like a sweet little boy "I can't let anyone know!"
I laughed and smushed my face on him, kissing his cheek. His face was warm. I wanted to hug it- hug his whole head nice and hard.
I kissed his mouth and then felt the urge, the hugging urge, again. "Gimmie another" I said childishly.
"Owch! It burns!"he squirmed from my kisses, which were all over his face.
"Just one." I pleaded. "No way!" He said

I stomped "I never liked you anyway." and turned to leave.
He sat up quickly, sweet blue eyes filled with hope.
"Give us a kiss?"

Aguilara get the flu

We sat by the windows, reading the newspaper. The radio blared in the background. “Last night Christina Aguilara cancelled her Wellington concert a mere 2 hours before kickoff. Many fans were infuriated”. The station cut to a medley of interviews with the fans who hadn’t known of the cancellation and had turned up ready to rock.

”I can’t bloody believe this! We’ve been drinking all day to prepare!”

"I'll never buy another of her albums, that's for sure"

"If she's a genie in a bottle then that starlet is not doing her job very well"

"She can make it up to everyone by saying sorry to New Zealand at the next Grammy Awards ... Otherwise she can get stuffed and no one should ever buy another one of her albums."

“Look at this, it’s all over the newspaper as well” he pointed to a large article with the head line “Christina @#!!#*@ Aguilera!”. It was placed directly to the left of a photo of an enraged middle aged woman in leopard print lycra.

“People weren’t this upset when Mob Deep cancelled!”

Now in the West the slender moon lies low,
And now Orion glimmers through the trees,
Clearing the earth with even pace and slow,
And now the stately-moving Pleiades,
In that soft infinite darkness overhead
Hang jewel-wise upon a silver thread.

And all the lonelier stars that have their place,
Calm lamps within the distant southern sky,
And planet-dust upon the edge of space,
Look down upon the fretful world, and I
Look up to outer vastness unafraid
And see the stars which sang when earth was made.

Marjorie Pickthall

LambMan

It was nearing the end of work today and everyone was busy at a task. Dylan was cutting pieces of lamb from a roast for sandwich meat, Wren was cleaning the floor and I was scraping the burnt, baked on shit from a huge stack of baking trays. Dylan turned to wash his hands and felt something gross and smelly being placed on his shoulder. He looked over and saw Wren, grinning as she moved her hand quickly away from the huge piece of lambskin that was now on his shoulder. "Oh yuck!" He exclaimed "I thought I felt something disgusting on me!".
"Hey" I interrupted "people pay a lot of money for lambskin. You should be thinking about what you'll do with it." I paused with my work "and maybe thank Wren, while you're at it." I went back to scraping a tray, "Ungrateful!"

He laughed, holding up the skin "Maybe I could make a suit."

"I think you'll only get a thong out of that"

He shrugged, "I'll collect so much that I'll have a whole outfit. I could be LambMan" He skewered a piece of meat and held it up to me
"forgo your vegetarian ways, they are useless against the LambMan!"

"Will you make a mask as well?" I asked, swatting away the meat.

"I'm not Hannibol Lector" He frowned

I was in the ladies room of a music venue, waiting for a stall to open. A dark haired woman of about 22 was washing her hands. I was very tired from staying out late the night before and then walking all over the city and it’s suburbs for most of the day. Before we came to the show it’d seemed like every bar and pub was standing room only. It made sense though, the All Blacks had just finished winning against the Aussies and after the game the people poured out of the pub and into the street, crowding into the bars to induce a celebratory hang over for the next morning. When we arrived at 10:00 for the show meant to start at 9:30, we stood again in a crowd with no where to lean or place one’s bum. All this meant that my legs ached and I was looking forward to being able to have a nice sit-down when my chance for a toilet came. The dark-haired woman turned to me suddenly and stood close. I managed a vague smile.

“Do you remember The Exponents?” she said strongly.

“Er, yep.” I flustered, confused by the unexpected twist the trip to the toilet had taken.

“Name some of their songs then” She demanded, crossing her arms.

Was this a test? What was going on? What are some Exponents songs?!

“Victoriaaa, what do you want from him, waaant from him” I sang.

“Yeah ok, and what else?” she said, her intensity bizarrely out of place. I trucked on, not wanted to fail, not when it came to music quizzes.

“What Ever Happened to Tracy?”

“Yeah, yeah” Unimpressed, she moved her hands in the international “move it along” rotation.

“Fly awayyy into the blue skies.” I sang again, privately thanking my father for a singing voice.

“And?”

“Um, yeah I can’t think of anything else.”

“Ok.” She nodded, as if committing my answers to memory. Then she left.

I stood there for a moment. I still couldn’t think of any other Exponents songs.

A stall opened and I looked at the eyes of the girl who came out, to see if she’d over heard. She looked back impassively, then washed her hands. She hadn’t.

“huh” I Thought as I went into the stall “I’m definitely telling the guys about this.”

Words that mean the same thing

• Vomit
• Barf
• Puke
• Regurgitate
• Reverse
• Toss your cookies
• Purge
• Hurl
• Sick
• Throw up
• Upchuck
• Use the big white telephone
• Worship the porcelain God
• Check on lunch
  

Ugh. Hungover at work. Peeling the ride from 35 lemons, squeezing out the juices. Repetitive. My hands hurt. The little cuts from the little knives, my hands are cracked and dry from over-washing. Workers hands. hmph. Thinking and over thinking everything-king.King. Ugh. So repetitive this work, this life. No it isn't. Yes it is. Cyclical, typical, is that what you want to be? Iis that what you want? Melt into boredom and just give up on anything? Is that what you're doing? Boss says that my saying that giving up (temporarily) my education isn't very feminist is a strong statement. I suppose to some the word feminist is a strong statement. These people are nice and sometimes hilarious, but far too straight for my liking. They still think interracial relationships are "wow" worthy. They still mull over the "how" and"why" someone "chooses" to be gay. I keep my mouth closed at these mullings because it seems possible that where I am is not where they are and that maybe where I am is "far out". I am "hung over" good Gooood. Lemons. Lemon cakes need lemon juice needs sugar. Needs...760 grams? I don't want to ask again, she'll know I've forgotten and possibly, therefore, don't care how many grams of sugar this juice needs, even though I've done it every day for 2 weeks. Who cares? Do I really want to be good at baking anyway? Some people aren't good at some things. Then again...if I were crap at something I'd gotten into, like sword fighting, even if I didn't really like it I'd do everything to not be the worst and possibly be the best. And if I were shit I'd crack jokes to distract from my shitty sword work.
People who are into swords are often weird. I don't know anyone that does, anymore. Greg is getting married. He's the first ex of mine to get married, weird. No, that's not true, Jed is getting married and I knew that over a month ago. I guess I'm truly over Jed but not enough over Greg to not be affected by his getting married. It's not like I want to marry him though. I guess I'm less connected with his life. It's more of a suprise. Marriage. How do people decide when it's right? To me traditional marriage feels like a sham. I couldn't do it without feeling like a liar. I'm more freaked out by the idea that I'm of an age where it's normal for people to get married. It's so far and away. I get the idea of a long-term relationship. I don't get the idea of monogamy for years and years. I get trust, I don't get suffocating. Ungh, why so many wines with the girls, the night before work? I can't get out of my head and...eh fuckit.

Mary Oliver

A Visitor by Mary Oliver

My father, for example,
who was young once
and blue-eyed,
returns
on the darkest of nights
to the porch and knocks
wildly at the door,
and if I answer
I must be prepared
for his waxy face,
for his lower lip
swollen with bitterness.
And so, for a long time,
I did not answer,
but slept fitfully
between his hours of rapping.
But finally there came the night
when I rose out of my sheets
and stumbled down the hall.
The door fell open

and I knew I was saved
and could bear him,
pathetic and hollow,
with even the least of his dreams
frozen inside him,
and the meanness gone.
And I greeted him and asked him
into the house,
and lit the lamp,
and looked into his blank eyes
in which at last
I saw what a child must love,
I saw what love might have done
had we loved in time.

In Malcolm Gladwell's book "The Tipping Point" he talks about the roles people play socially. One of these roles is as a connector-someone who introduces people to each other as well as to new situations, new music, new places. They are the information bringers, the social butterflies. They know everyone and your social circle is actually their social circle, you just happen to be in it.
He said one way of figuring out who the connector in your life is, is to write down the names of all the people in your social circle, and how you came to know each one. I did this and had a somewhat disappointing/curious result. Most of the people I've known in my life, I met myself either through work or school. I'm not a connector though, I don't think, and it didn't seem like I fit into the other 2 categories either. My theory for this is that, because I move around so much I don't truly have a social circle anymore. The people I know best right now are scattered all over the world and the friends I have in this city are scattered as well- I've met them either at parties or from work. When I first got to Wellington I went to every party I was invited to and picked up other people for friendship the way people go about finding a date. That worked out alright and I'm cultivating small friendships everywhere so maybe in a year I'll have a connector to pin point. Actually, I think my friend, Lee is one, but we haven't known each other long enough for me to be really certain. In any case, it's an interesting project to try, watching your life's direction unfold through the help of a friend.

Your Net Work

In Malcolm Gladwell's book "The Tipping Point" he talks about the roles people play socially. One of these roles is as a connector-someone who introduces people to each other as well as to new situations, new music, new places. They are the information bringers, the social butterflies. They know everyone and your social circle is actually their social circle, you just happen to be in it.
He said one way of figuring out who the connector in your life is, is to write down the names of all the people in your social circle, and how you came to know each one. I did this and had a somewhat disappointing/curious result. Most of the people I've known in my life, I met through introducing myself, first contact being either through work, a party or school. But I'm not a connector, I don't think, and it didn't seem like I fit into the other 2 categories either. My theory for this is that, because I move around so much I don't truly have a social circle anymore. The people I know best right now are scattered all over the world and the friends I have in this city are scattered as well- I've met them either at parties or from work. When I first got to Wellington I went to every party I was invited to and picked up other people for friendship the way people go about finding a date. That worked out alright and I'm cultivating small friendships everywhere so maybe in a year I'll have a connector to pin point. Actually, I think my friend Lydia is one, but we haven't known each other long enough for me to be really certain. In any case, it's an interesting project to try, watching your life's direction unfold through the help of a friend.

my shitty exflatmate broke into the house (aka, let himself in since he refuses to give back the key...) while I was home alone. I heard foot steps creaking quietly in the next room. In the middle of the day the chances of them belonging to any of the guys(flatmates) is pretty slim so I decided to check, to be sure. Sure, it wasn't them at all, it was fucking Matthew J. Goggin, standing in the effing kitchen. I ahemed. He ignored me and rifled through the mail. I stood by the door as he walked toward and then by me. I asked him what he was doing. "What are you doing" I said. He smiled smugly, thin hair trailing behind his ugly head .
"I'm getting my mail. Until you give me my deposit I have right of entry." smug smug smug bug. I laughed, disbelieving. "What a crock of fucking shit! what a bunch of made up shit! What shit! " I thought and should have said. Then he left.
We kicked him out over a month ago! He keeps emailing Dan condescening emails and setting deadlines for us he can't back up! He's threatened to take us to small claims tribunal over 80 dollars! He broke the oven door then refused to pick up the glass! He eats babies!
I wish the property managment company would give us an estimate already, so he'd fuck off.
I hope his stringy hair catches fire from a shitty oregano-filled blunt.

Some kind of guy

Cam was about a year older than me and my height, which is 5'4 most of the time, 5'5 on a tall day.Within the first few minutes I met him I wondered if he was the sort of guy who'd lie about his height. Would he meet my gaze, eyes level to each other, and declare himself 5'8? No matter how short a guy was, there was a certain kind of guy who'd lie so obviously. They dare you to challenge them. They defy height charts and doctor's exam reports. Because 5'8 is the minimum height men are allowed to be if they are truely men and if God did not touch upon your legs and make them grow then the best you can do is lie about it. I'd met guys like that before.
Was he one of the over-compensators? I was to be his trainee for the day at my new baking job. If ever there were a time to assert his smidgen power, this would be it. "Hey! You must be Madge" he smiled openly, I found myself smiling back, bathing in his cheer "just throw your stuff over there" he pointed to an open locker "and let skip on down to the chiller so I can show you where we keep everything." I did as I was told, then followed behind him as he skipped to the chiller.
He was some kind of man, but he was definitely not that kind of man.

Google Image Search: Mother

Happy Mothers Day!

I was watching a recording of Nirvanas rehearsal for Saturday Night Live when I noticed the drummer. "Jesus, Dave Grohl looks completely different in this video. And he's really throwing his head into the drums." This made me want to look at other pictures of Dave Grohl, to see the progression from a skinny long-haired lad playing drums to a dude with a stylish haircut and permanent goatee, fronting his own band. This led me to a website about one woman and her secret love with Dave Grohl. Enjoy Dave Grohl's best-kept secret

Work solutions

“God, I hate work. I just want to leave.” Sighed the dishwasher.

“Do you think if I shat my pants I would be able to go home?”

I looked up at him skeptically.

“I wonder if you shat your pants, would you be allowed back? Or” I said laughing,

“if you did come back, would anyone be able to look you in the eye?”

Pointing towards trouble

It was around 6 AM, I was alone at work, chopping spring onions hastily and obviously not paying much attention. I glanced down just as the knife nicked my finger. I was using a new, sharper knife that day and had underestimated it's finer points.
"Ah, shit." I said, unworried. Then I actually looked at my finger and noticed a sizeable piece missing.
I wheezed in surprise, a few thoughts went through my head in rapid succession as I tried to figure out what I should do:

• Oh shit, I've never cut my finger, this is the first real cut I've ever had.
• It's not bad enough to warrant a freaking out or calling anyone.
• It is bleeding rather profusely though, more than a bandaid could handle
• It really fucking stings!
• I should do something and not just stand here.
• I'll hold it over my head and get a napkin to stop it from running everywhere.
• and cut off the circulation.

So I did. It took a while and I ended up taping a fat napkin over my finger while it insistantly bled. Later, though, I realized that was a bad idea. The napkin had dried to my wound and peeling it off felt like a slow, zinging burn. "AHHHH" I said.

Later my flatmates and I sat around in the kitchen and shared stories of people we knew losing pieces of fingers.

Wooing

It was shortly after midnight and already the street was littered with drunk people who were just getting started. I was sober as a new born babe and walking home from a late movie. I’d just reached the homestretch, just a few more flights of stairs and I would be home.

“Oi, girly what’s your star sign?” Shouted a drunk scottishman behind me. I didn’t bother to turn around, just a few more flights to go.

“Baby, don’t ignore meeee” he whined.

I considered throwing my water bottle at him, or perhaps telling him to piss off, but nothing you do to a drunk person ever has good results.

“White shirt! Oi, white shirt don’t walk away! Come here!”

And then, when nothing came of that:

“Stupid whore!”

I laughed loudly, surprised and yet quite unsurprised. What a sweetheart.