I didn't grow up in a physically violent home but there was an awful lot of yelling much of the time. But what else can you expect from a family of 4 girls with an off the boat father and mother who is more stubborn than a Christmas pageant mule?! I essentially moved out at 18 when I went to school though I was back the first 3 summers and for random, short periods of time over the years. When dad got real sick, I took over a good amount of the yelling at my mother... or one of my sisters did, there was never a lack of screaming matches. We were good at yelling at each other and good at being miserable much of the time. Our parents taught us that well.
Then I moved as far away as I could. Came back. Left again. Came back but to my own place in Philly. Things were good. The yelling at home was over... mostly. I moved and moved again. The fighting then returned to my home with some busted up drywall every now and again. I moved again. Things were good. I moved again. Things started out great and quickly deteriorated. I found myself in the all too familiar position of not wanting to go home. I moved far away.... again. Things were good. I ran out of money and came back to homelessness since the one place that offered me a permanent roof also offered me malicious back-stabbing pettiness. I don't need friends like that and didn't want to live like that. After bouncing around for a few years on couches, in my car, a few days a week here and there, I was exhausted and resigned myself to a "permanent" home. As permanent as I could allow something to be. And the fighting was back.... because that's what we grew up with. That's what we learned. We learned passive-aggressive manipulation and guilt. Once you've moved away from your family, you should never move back. Old habits die hard and yelling, whether I'm involved or not, gets in my head and I can't think or hear or talk or see or even breath after a while. I abhor raised voices.
Misery loves company. I slowly got sucked into the pettiness and skewed personal perceptions of what was happening. Entitlement flew like beads on Mardi Gras. Nothing out of malice but everything out of not knowing how to make things better. All my money was spent in travel to work over 35 miles away and my calm was buried in the back yard under the old outhouse.
I finally was able to move again.
It was a beautiful thing. A teeny studio apartment in the Port Richmond section of the city. Surrounded by mostly Polish families that had been there for generations. I figured it would be a lot like Fishtown and I LOVED my little apartment. Top floor, back of the building with lots of windows and a great view as the tallest building on the block. And alone. All alone! For the first time in my life I was alone and not lonely while surrounded by people. I found peace that I had only wished existed before. Happy, peace, contentment.
So, yeah, my neighbors smoke a lot of pot. A LOT of pot. eh, so the smell would wake me by creeping under my door at 7 am. I was still ok with that. Oh yeah, the dude that lived in the basement was dealing drugs enough to have the FBI snooping around and stopping me on the way to my car in the morning to ask questions. I kept to myself and had nothing to do with those people... it was ok. *sigh* and the boys downstairs would have crazy parties every other Friday night that were often loud enough to have neighbors down the street call the cops. Noisy, underage drunks.... eh, once every other week. I'd deal with that for a great little place on my own where I could wake up anytime I want each day and sit in my kitchen window with my morning coffee watching the morning rush on 95 in the distance as the sun came up over the Delaware.
Then the husband on the first floor, not the dealer, ended up in Graterford for walking into a bar with a hammer and bashing some dude's skull in. That unit moved out shortly thereafter and in came relatives of the boys on the second floor. They actually kept the noise of the parties down and stopped the fights when they started but suddenly the shouting through the hallways of the building increased all day, every day. Aaah, the yelling returns.
And then my next door neighbor moved out. YAY! No more pot smoke seeping under my door at all hours of the day! Oh but wait, more relatives moved in. This has now become a single family home of sorts with cousins, aunts, and uncles, girlfriends, children..... 19 members of a family and me, "the lady on the 3rd floor who keeps to herself and doesn't even have a tv."
The yelling increased. My new next door neighbors spend most of their time in the hall outside my door. I told them from the beginning that I hear everything that happens in the hall. They understand but the 2 yr old has a heart condition so they can't smoke in the apartment (plus it's a family of 4 in an efficiency and there's just not enough room). No one in this family knows how to speak. They yell. They yell and belittle each other constantly. All day and all night. A fight broke out one evening and the window on the one door in the foyer was busted out (or, as I found out 2 days later, an uncle pushed the 14 yr old through it for "gettin' in his face"). *sigh* a few weeks later of steady yelling and hearing things smash and break downstairs and then last Friday night happened.
I've learned over the past 2 winters that as long as I keep moving, I won't be so cold. Thus, the birth of the 24 hour dance party in my apartment. Sometimes with a glass of wine or a glass of whiskey to any music I may be in the mood for at the time. If I dance around until it's time to climb under my electric blanket I'm not paralyzed with cold. It's almost as good as having sufficient heat, iron, and blood pressure. I dance to the Smiths or Billie Holiday or Tori or Radiohead or Pink Floyd or Tool. It doesn't matter because there is no one else here. And I can do the dishes tomorrow everyday. I eat my own leftovers (though I'm nearly certain lentils and brown rice would be pretty safe from most any other person on the planet). I have bars and restaurants and Wawa in walking distance and the el is a quick trolley ride away. I love my home.
All the fighting is stressing me out. I regularly listen at my door for the rare few minute window that the neighbors are yelling at each other inside their apartment instead of at my front door. I don't like walking through a domestic dispute on my way out of my own home. It only makes things worse that the unsupervised boys downstairs have infested the building with roaches and I've now seen 3 in my apartment. Oh yeah, and of course there's the car repair bill every 4ish months from a mirror or window or the like being smashed out while parked. I am thankful that mine wasn't one of the six vehicles that had been set on fire and burned down to the frame this past summer.
Friday night was a going away party for the boys as the 19 yr old has joined the army and was leaving on Saturday. The DJ equipment went on at 10 am (typical). By 6 pm there were 60+ drunk teens downstairs (typical). By 8 pm the fights started (typical). By 1 am the cops had been here 3 times, the 17 yr old boy downstairs had been taken to the hospital, the railing between the first and second floor had been ripped out, the ceiling was busted where some kid got flipped and his foot went through, the wall in the stairwell between the first and second floor doesn't exist so much as it has more than a dozen holes from heads and bodies and fists. The glass on the second foyer door has been busted out. Both second floor windows to the outside are busted out from bricks getting thrown through them and no doors in that unit are in one piece or even hanging anymore. The wall on the second floor landing has a giant hole in it from a person getting thrown into it (likely the same one that got flipped down the stairs and smashed his foot through the ceiling).
I listened to this all from the safety of my apartment, shaking a little at the insanity that was happening around me. Saturday morning I left for work around 9:30 am trying to ignore the smell of stale beer and smashed beer bottles in the hallways and certainly pretending to not see the blood splattered through the halls. I politely stepped over the broken glass that was everywhere and quietly closed the doors to the building. Though, for the second time in my life I truly questioned how the hell I had gotten here.
My arrival back home after work found no more glass or blood and everyone in the building laughing about what had happened the night before. Laughing! Perhaps I'm a spoiled little girl from the suburbs but I'm pretty sure that this is not right or good or funny. Maybe my middle class upbringing is just causing culture shock right now. Whether it's my skewed perspective or their's, I'm not living like this. I've put the fighting behind me once, twice, .... eh many times. and I'm certainly doing it again. My new place is secured and undergoing some renovation before I can move in.
In the meantime, the boys downstairs are moving out! YAY! Being evicted actually. When they are gone the building will be bombed for bugs and the family of 4 next door will move into the 2 bed unit downstairs. But the yelling won't go away. I'm certain of that. I don't like the yelling in the least.
I've been sharply aware lately that I most definitely intensely fear anger. I will walk away instead of fight. I will hide instead of fight. I will stand up for myself when absolutely necessary though. I think that's the important part but I am too agreeable much of the time. I'm learning.... slowly, but I'm learning. With a better understanding of myself and why I behave the way I do, I'm ready to move forward. I am ready for things I've been avoiding for 8 years. There are possibilities in the air. They crept in with the autumn air and whether or not they are real is of no worry. Just breath. Things are constantly changing and getting better and everything is as it should be, just not in the right place quite yet.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Thursday, October 27, 2011
reconnecting
I'm out of milk again. This is a fairly regular occurrence in my kitchen. I’m used to drinking my coffee sweet and black. My shopping list is now: milk, something to eat that is more substantial than sunflower seeds. I realize there are easier ways to go about things but I like things this way. I don’t mind sitting here thinking of an old friend when I should be dressing and going to the market before work. In fact, I prefer sitting here thinking.
The details of that evening are not mine to share and even if they were, I’m not sure I’d want to share them with you. I’ve thought of her often. Especially a few years back while with him. He and I were playing out a 20 year old fantasy and the rest was just good fun. I now wonder who was actually the better friend and how the hell I ended up the one in the middle. Oh yes, I remember now.... we were 14 years old.
The 3 of us were "in a band" together. We had shitty instruments, no songs, and never played together but we were going to make it big! It was the 3 of us against the world. But this was the boy that all the girls loved, including us. The guitar playing boy that all the girls went nuts over. The boy who spent everyday after school and that summer at my house hanging out and playing music. He was so wonderful and I wasn't, there was no way he could ever like me, not when he could have any girl he wanted. I was naive. Naive even after he kissed me towards the end of that summer shortly before he moved away. It was too late though. I had already lost my best friend and had a horde of torch carrying girls out to kick my ass. All over this boy.
1000+ miles of I-95 between us, communication was spotty letters and occasional phone calls. We held on to a "someday" that we discussed in every conversation. We were young and thought we could do anything. I spent high school rebuilding my social life and working towards college. By the end of senior year we were all living in a different world. Feelings had healed, apologies were given and accepted, and life moved on and distances of all kinds increased despite random run-ins, letters and phone calls.
She was the last best girl friend I had. I never really trusted another girl after that. I thought of her often during his and my brief affair a few years ago. After getting back in touch after about 15 yrs of no communication we agreed that this life was not meant for us but that we weren't ready to call it over. It was the perfect affair, short, loving and provided closure at least for me.
It's absolutely impossible for me to separate these two friends. I think of one and see the other standing back and to the left. They have set the standard for all friendships since and that's not necessarily a good thing. But it's also not an entirely bad thing.
There was a strong instant hug when she walked up to me on Saturday. We are now grown women. We've walked our own paths, moved on to new lives but in that moment, during that hug, I felt that old bond still there and strong. Maybe it was just a wish.
The details of that evening are not mine to share and even if they were, I’m not sure I’d want to share them with you. I’ve thought of her often. Especially a few years back while with him. He and I were playing out a 20 year old fantasy and the rest was just good fun. I now wonder who was actually the better friend and how the hell I ended up the one in the middle. Oh yes, I remember now.... we were 14 years old.
The 3 of us were "in a band" together. We had shitty instruments, no songs, and never played together but we were going to make it big! It was the 3 of us against the world. But this was the boy that all the girls loved, including us. The guitar playing boy that all the girls went nuts over. The boy who spent everyday after school and that summer at my house hanging out and playing music. He was so wonderful and I wasn't, there was no way he could ever like me, not when he could have any girl he wanted. I was naive. Naive even after he kissed me towards the end of that summer shortly before he moved away. It was too late though. I had already lost my best friend and had a horde of torch carrying girls out to kick my ass. All over this boy.
1000+ miles of I-95 between us, communication was spotty letters and occasional phone calls. We held on to a "someday" that we discussed in every conversation. We were young and thought we could do anything. I spent high school rebuilding my social life and working towards college. By the end of senior year we were all living in a different world. Feelings had healed, apologies were given and accepted, and life moved on and distances of all kinds increased despite random run-ins, letters and phone calls.
She was the last best girl friend I had. I never really trusted another girl after that. I thought of her often during his and my brief affair a few years ago. After getting back in touch after about 15 yrs of no communication we agreed that this life was not meant for us but that we weren't ready to call it over. It was the perfect affair, short, loving and provided closure at least for me.
It's absolutely impossible for me to separate these two friends. I think of one and see the other standing back and to the left. They have set the standard for all friendships since and that's not necessarily a good thing. But it's also not an entirely bad thing.
There was a strong instant hug when she walked up to me on Saturday. We are now grown women. We've walked our own paths, moved on to new lives but in that moment, during that hug, I felt that old bond still there and strong. Maybe it was just a wish.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
9 days
The now familiar alarms... the phone at 6:30am... a pleasant woman's voice telling us "This is your wake up call." We didn't even have to put the receiver to our ear to hear it loud and clear. Then the cell phone alarm 15 or so minutes later. This time though, I also had to get out of bed. This morning I couldn't lay cozy in bed listening to his shower and sneaking peeks of him dressing and leaving for work. This morning however, he turned the heat on before he got in the shower to help make getting out of bed easier for me.
I climbed out of bed with arms of warm air starting to reach out across the cold room. I reached for my panties somewhere on the floor and pulled on my clothes from last night. I could have brought clean clothes but I knew it would be an early morning and I would wait to shower at home. The sun was just starting to rise... I could see the mauve and steely blues and hazy purples and the clear turquoise blue in the space between the clouds from the sliding glass door. It was only raining in the puddles on the low roof below, otherwise, it looked like a beautiful day. I could feel a crisp chill in the air through the glass and I stood there until the urge to close my eyes and drift back to sleep left me... He stepped out of the bathroom clean, smiling, and shirtless. What a week!
I pay for a little studio apartment 16 miles up the highway. It's small and cozy on the top floor of a building filled with trashy tenants in a questionable neighborhood. I pay my rent in cash and keep to myself. If I ever needed an egg or cup of sugar I'd be shit out of luck there. But I don't mind it being that way. I love my cozy sanctuary perched above most else on the block just a short drive from this hotel room. Yet every evening this week I've found myself here with him. And every morning I hear the hotel room door shut in the wee hours of the morning and smile. It reminds me of the business lady and her hotel room in Florham Park, NJ where I used to stay a few nights a week for a few months.
In that north Jersey hotel I remember the lingering smell of her tea tree oil lotion as she bent over and kissed my forehead goodbye. She knew I'd be gone when she got "home", just like he does. They were both so kind as to put the "do not disturb" sign up when leaving so that I could sleep a bit longer.
He also kissed me on the forehead before heading out each day. There's something I love about crashing in the bed in someone else's hotel room or lounging around in their house after they've left for work for the day. I find it so sweet when these wonderful people kiss me so gently before they leave. I wonder if they know I'm awake? That I've been awake since they've crawled out of bed, just lying there relaxing and soaking in all the things I wish didn't have to end. And when I finally get out of bed I look around at the remnants of the night before and smile leaving it for housekeeping or to make them think of me when they return to the empty room after work.
I can smell him on my skin as I have everyday that I've gone home to sit at my computer, drinking coffee before starting my day. The lingering smells floating around me make me turn my head to find him but it disappears only to sneak up a few minutes later on the other side. Like being haunted by a ghost only there is no ghost here... not yet at least. I've had the happiness knowing that I would be seeing him again each evening.
We spent the evenings laughing and talking and watching movies and drinking whiskey and eating take-out or delivery or something someone else has cooked for us. We had little adventures throughout the week.... pretty dresses, bridges, big ships, parties, tattoos.... but those are other stories for other days.
This morning we said our goodbyes in the room and again just outside the hotel entrance and went separate ways to our cars. It is still pre-rush hour on 95 North and the drive towards the Girard Point Bridge is peaceful as I watch the sun slowly come up over the Navy Yard. I hit pockets of rain showers as the sun shines bright through the hole it's burned through the clouds. I'm not used to being on this side of the sun rise.
He called me pretty this morning as I sat on the bed and he stood in front of me holding my face. I'm thinking of that as I drive through the city. Breakfast at the Port Richmond Diner for some coffee and breakfast seems to be in order to say goodbye to the last 9 days of fake life. An empty diner on Tuesday morning... I drink my coffee and watch the day open up. It's cozy and warm and comfortable in here. I know my apartment will be cold and lonely after all this. Pele will keep me company today. Pele and that smile that keeps sneaking across my face.
I climbed out of bed with arms of warm air starting to reach out across the cold room. I reached for my panties somewhere on the floor and pulled on my clothes from last night. I could have brought clean clothes but I knew it would be an early morning and I would wait to shower at home. The sun was just starting to rise... I could see the mauve and steely blues and hazy purples and the clear turquoise blue in the space between the clouds from the sliding glass door. It was only raining in the puddles on the low roof below, otherwise, it looked like a beautiful day. I could feel a crisp chill in the air through the glass and I stood there until the urge to close my eyes and drift back to sleep left me... He stepped out of the bathroom clean, smiling, and shirtless. What a week!
I pay for a little studio apartment 16 miles up the highway. It's small and cozy on the top floor of a building filled with trashy tenants in a questionable neighborhood. I pay my rent in cash and keep to myself. If I ever needed an egg or cup of sugar I'd be shit out of luck there. But I don't mind it being that way. I love my cozy sanctuary perched above most else on the block just a short drive from this hotel room. Yet every evening this week I've found myself here with him. And every morning I hear the hotel room door shut in the wee hours of the morning and smile. It reminds me of the business lady and her hotel room in Florham Park, NJ where I used to stay a few nights a week for a few months.
In that north Jersey hotel I remember the lingering smell of her tea tree oil lotion as she bent over and kissed my forehead goodbye. She knew I'd be gone when she got "home", just like he does. They were both so kind as to put the "do not disturb" sign up when leaving so that I could sleep a bit longer.
He also kissed me on the forehead before heading out each day. There's something I love about crashing in the bed in someone else's hotel room or lounging around in their house after they've left for work for the day. I find it so sweet when these wonderful people kiss me so gently before they leave. I wonder if they know I'm awake? That I've been awake since they've crawled out of bed, just lying there relaxing and soaking in all the things I wish didn't have to end. And when I finally get out of bed I look around at the remnants of the night before and smile leaving it for housekeeping or to make them think of me when they return to the empty room after work.
I can smell him on my skin as I have everyday that I've gone home to sit at my computer, drinking coffee before starting my day. The lingering smells floating around me make me turn my head to find him but it disappears only to sneak up a few minutes later on the other side. Like being haunted by a ghost only there is no ghost here... not yet at least. I've had the happiness knowing that I would be seeing him again each evening.
We spent the evenings laughing and talking and watching movies and drinking whiskey and eating take-out or delivery or something someone else has cooked for us. We had little adventures throughout the week.... pretty dresses, bridges, big ships, parties, tattoos.... but those are other stories for other days.
This morning we said our goodbyes in the room and again just outside the hotel entrance and went separate ways to our cars. It is still pre-rush hour on 95 North and the drive towards the Girard Point Bridge is peaceful as I watch the sun slowly come up over the Navy Yard. I hit pockets of rain showers as the sun shines bright through the hole it's burned through the clouds. I'm not used to being on this side of the sun rise.
He called me pretty this morning as I sat on the bed and he stood in front of me holding my face. I'm thinking of that as I drive through the city. Breakfast at the Port Richmond Diner for some coffee and breakfast seems to be in order to say goodbye to the last 9 days of fake life. An empty diner on Tuesday morning... I drink my coffee and watch the day open up. It's cozy and warm and comfortable in here. I know my apartment will be cold and lonely after all this. Pele will keep me company today. Pele and that smile that keeps sneaking across my face.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Wine, Pele, and a piano
Today was the first day of Pele weather and I still need a new leather. Like the red one I used to visit in the shop window in Forest Hills. That was forever ago when I was living with a girl in a hotel room in north Jersey.
I suppose it's really been quite a while since I opened a bottle of red wine and cozied up in my jammies and ignored human contact. It feels so nice and the wine tastes so comfortable.
The chilly air hit early this afternoon just after a short soaking rain. I had my pumpkin coffee in hand and headed into Room 104, my favorite 9 foot Steinway. I sat down and started playing and remembered 12 years ago, my piano in the living room... my big, beautiful, shiny black grand piano in the ugly room in the ugly house. Chopin Nocturnes while I could barely see straight from entirely too much self medication. One particular time, one especially drunk and down time, I remember my mother complimenting me the next morning, "You sounded really fantastic last night playing. The best I've heard in years!"
I don't have a piano anymore. I can only play at the school. And then I can't drink.
I used to love my second apartment in Nashville... 359 Mountain High Drive :) The wonderful apartment with 2 full bathrooms and a balcony and a cat and a piano. I loved it when I was home alone.. I'd open a bottle of Boone's Farm, because that's all I could afford aside from the whiskey and vodka, and I'd dance and play and drink for hours.
That piano got repossessed when I moved back to Philly. They should have never given it to me but I'm glad they did.
A colleague came in my room today as I was picking through a Chopin Etude. "Miss" Olga often eavesdrops while I'm playing I've learned. "There's just something special when you play classical music. Something special there that no one else I've ever heard has. Your touch.... I love it. I could listen to you all day and all night. So beautiful!"
She smiled and left me with the ghost of my Maynard sitting beside me on the bench.
I suppose it's really been quite a while since I opened a bottle of red wine and cozied up in my jammies and ignored human contact. It feels so nice and the wine tastes so comfortable.
The chilly air hit early this afternoon just after a short soaking rain. I had my pumpkin coffee in hand and headed into Room 104, my favorite 9 foot Steinway. I sat down and started playing and remembered 12 years ago, my piano in the living room... my big, beautiful, shiny black grand piano in the ugly room in the ugly house. Chopin Nocturnes while I could barely see straight from entirely too much self medication. One particular time, one especially drunk and down time, I remember my mother complimenting me the next morning, "You sounded really fantastic last night playing. The best I've heard in years!"
I don't have a piano anymore. I can only play at the school. And then I can't drink.
I used to love my second apartment in Nashville... 359 Mountain High Drive :) The wonderful apartment with 2 full bathrooms and a balcony and a cat and a piano. I loved it when I was home alone.. I'd open a bottle of Boone's Farm, because that's all I could afford aside from the whiskey and vodka, and I'd dance and play and drink for hours.
That piano got repossessed when I moved back to Philly. They should have never given it to me but I'm glad they did.
A colleague came in my room today as I was picking through a Chopin Etude. "Miss" Olga often eavesdrops while I'm playing I've learned. "There's just something special when you play classical music. Something special there that no one else I've ever heard has. Your touch.... I love it. I could listen to you all day and all night. So beautiful!"
She smiled and left me with the ghost of my Maynard sitting beside me on the bench.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Yellow
....It all depends on the definition of "my peeps" and "ok" and right now I'm struggling with both....
You know he's gone? He left six months ago but it feels just like this morning. I've been listening to The Beekeeper all day. He said he was worried about me but I told him I was fine and he should go. Then another said he was worried about me and I told him I was fine but I didn't tell him to go and he left anyway. For 2 months I've wished I was the seated woman with the parasol.
The kettle on the stove is beginning to whistle quietly. It won't get much past the hint of a whistle. It's been broken for years. Too many moves, too many apartments, too much time in and out of boxes. That poor grease stained kettle has to be at least 9 years old by now. Tonight I'm looking forward to a cup of green tea with lemongrass and mint.
It's been more than 12 years now of Mays turning into Junes and I have no thoughts about anything in any direction other than, what possessed me to buy a pack of cigarettes and smoke half of it before dinner? My chest is filled with a thousand razor blades and weighs a ton. But the taste in my mouth and the air around me is comforting and makes me smile and reminds me of more than a few great loves and adventures.
Tonight my mind keeps going to the back of the 15 foot Penske truck, half full and backed into the driveway on Moonflower Road. Those ridiculous white and yellow barrel back chairs from the early 70's were the last things I had put in and we sat around on the back of the truck drinking beers together one last time. Back in a time when going through 2 cases of beer and half a carton of Marlborough Lights after work was a daily occurrence for the four of us. I've never been a smoker but I've always fallen in love with them.
I still have those ugly barrel back chairs in a storage unit sitting still and lonely and being the only material objects I'm saving solely for the memories they hold. "Silly girl, a chair can't hold memories." This I know but I wish I was sitting in one right now as I smoke the cigarettes of the ghosts. I also wish I was drinking my Guinness out of the mugs he gave me that night in the back of the Penske truck. I hope they are safe in that storage unit as well and did not become a casualty of my fickleness and flight response like countless other whats and whos.
In a few hours I will drunkenly curl up with his poems and probably a few of hers and maybe a song or 2 until I pass out. I have no regrets but I some nights I swing from old wishes. Tonight is one of those nights.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
I am strawberry pudding.
Saturday morning....
Here it comes again. Like clockwork. There's a sigh of relief in my head as well as the longing for it to not end yet. I'm never ready for summer to end. The days have been cooler. Cooler than August should really be actually (at least I think so). And the evenings have been cool enough to wear jeans. Although I haven't yet broken out of my dresses-all-day-everyday yet. That's the part of me longing for summer to continue a few weeks longer than it will.
The air is damp and chilly right now as I sit here sipping my green tea and honey. That's another way I know the season is changing.... no coffee for me this morning. The house is still asleep. Today I will head home, open some windows and relax a few hours. I am seriously bummed that my original plans for this evening have fallen through but there's nothing you can do about other people. The universe will be whole again soon. I have faith in that. I'll take today as it comes. Same with tomorrow and the next day. Such is life and you have to enjoy as much of it as you can. Things change, people change, time pauses for no one.
The sun is almost breaking through the thick morning clouds. It will be warm and bright again soon. I am truly thankful to have had these past 2 peaceful mornings. My heart is beating slower. My thoughts are getting saner. My balance between want and have is slowing creeping back.
....
Monday evening thunder over my head and Tori in my ears. I love watching the rain. The lightening finally came by as well. I love me a nice natural light show. If you've ever been to my place you know I'm watching this all play out over the greened double-spired church across the way. It's the perfect view from my bed. As were the 4th of July fireworks and the hundred and seven rainbows I've seen in the past few months.
Its almost over. This is not the way it was supposed to happen, but I knew it would be like this. Now the sun is down. 2 more days. The storms have set off a few car alarms... it seems like chaos out there and I am safe inside. The thunder is wrapping me in stories tonight. It has my undivided attention until I drift to sleep.
....
Up, showered and dressed early, and in search of new surroundings. There's a coffee shop in Fishtown I've been wanting to try.... It smells of fresh coffee and has records decorating the walls. The rain looks like snow the way it's dripping from the shop's side awning. Heck, it all looks like snow the way it's blowing today. Small drops... spray almost, coming down nearly sideways with a fury. How many days now has it been raining? I've lost count. I've been rather enjoying it. Someone just opened the door and along with the damp August air was a rush of cigarette smoke. I think I'm in heaven. Honestly, I'd be a smoker if I wasn't too lazy to start. Maybe I'll give up not smoking this year. Though I doubt I'd love the fresh second-hand smoke and stale smoke in the clothes, hair and fingers of the smokers if I was a smoker myself.
And Bob Dylan comes over the coffee shop speakers. (smile) Tomorrow I will see him live at The Mann. I couldn't be more excited. It will be a fun relaxing night before a day I’m nervous about.... uncertainty is as nerve-wracking as it is exciting. The harmonica takes me back to a dog I fell in love with... I fall in love with dogs much easier than I do with people. I think I'll always love the dogs most of all.
Someone recently asked me if I've always lived in Philly and my instant reply was "yes." An easy, unintentional lie. Philly has never felt like home. No place ever has really. All the places I've ever spent more than a month in have been home to me. Boston 1994 - 1998. Nashville 1998 - 2000. NYC/Woodside, Queens 2006 - 2008. Ikaria, Greece the summer of 2001 (or 2002, I don‘t remember exactly). Indian Rocks Beach, FL the summer of 2009 (not really home but a much needed month and a half vacation while I was temporarily homeless up north). Philly and it's burbs before, in between, and since.
The sun peeks out on cue as the Beatles come on. (...and I say it's alright...) A silly little coincidence but enough to bring a big smile to my face. A short rain storm today, perhaps just one of many. And now I'm watching the mailman paint the mailbox on the corner of Girard and Columbia. Once upon a time I lived in a wonderful house 3 blocks up the street from here but that was long before this coffee shop existed.
I loved that house. I needed a place to live and my sister worked with a guy who knew a guy.... something like that. I remember first seeing the place. I walked in and fell in love. Coming from all sorts of shit and decent and nice apartments, I had never before thought of renting a house. 2 story, 2 bedroom, claw-foot tub, large eat-in-kitchen, dining room, living room complete with black marble mantel, crown molding in the whole house, beautiful light fixtures, full basement with washer and dryer and a big backyard, fenced in with trees and flowers and the most beautiful black irises. Perfect.
My friend, who was to be my roommate, showed up after I had seen the entire house. I couldn't contain my excitement as I took him around to see it. I was literally jumping up and down. We could afford the rent easily. Location was great. All I needed was for him to agree. It was the one time in my life I ever seriously used "pretty please" followed by an unknown number of solo "please"s. And of course, "I want to live here really badly!" Cue The Smiths... (....so please, please, please let met, let me, let me get what I want this time....). He agreed and we moved in at the end of that month.
That was the last time I ever begged the Universe for anything. Lesson learned. I let the chips fall where they may now. And I know I'm right in the middle of something now. Certain doors are wide open. Some doors are trying to close and some are fighting to keep open even just a crack. I'm lost when it comes to humanity. I have such a lack of faith and trust in the world around me. I don’t think I can live this way for long. I have places to go but without even an idea of where I want to end up how do I know what I should do? Make myself happy right? Have trust in my friends. Draw a clear line between friends and lovers. Follow the music where it takes me. Buy a chair for my apartment.
Direction and peace of mind just like that :p Now if the rain would stop I could walk home though there's a nice selection of eye candy here, maybe I shouldn't be in such a hurry to leave....
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Love and Friends
why would I stop loving you?
A single line tucked in the middle of an email reduced me to tears this morning. Honestly, I've had a difficult time with several things recently and tears have been keeping me company. It is not necessarily an entirely bad thing. It just is. Sometimes we all need a break from being (or pretending to be) strong and put together and need to allow ourselves some time to be selfish and human.
While I am being honest I would like to add that this dull aching throb in my chest is like none other I have felt before... it's bubbling. Not like a freshly opened soda but like a thick tar-like something at a fast boil on the stove. I awoke mid-night from a dream of events to come in the near future with the bubbly throb amplified and my left arm numb. I was certain in my hazy sleepiness that my heart was literally broken. Perhaps it is. It will scab over in time.
On Monday I took a walk to see a friend. A friend with whom I don't share much of anything verbally but I feel understands me better than most. We chatted a few minutes and set a date for me to come back for longer and I left, closing the door gently behind me. I walked most of the 2.5 miles home before finally giving in to hunger and heat and hopping the trolley to the bar.
Bonk's was surprisingly full for 3:30 on a Monday afternoon. I ordered a crabcake and onion rings and swallowed down a few lagers. When I was at the point of picking at my onion rings a man approached and burst into a story of how he and his friends were discussing the "damsel in distress" alone in the bar and how he should come up and talk with me but wanted to wait until I was finished eating. I thanked him for that and quietly resented the "damsel in distress" moniker. From that point I was introduced to and shook hands with all 18 people occupying the bar and the older gentleman (17 yrs my senior) next to me provided me with conversation for the rest of my time there. Following a polite amount of conversation after his awkward yet sweet attempt to ask me on a date and my decline, I paid my check and stumbled from the bar.
There is something I love immensely about a mid-day drunk. Bumbling my way through the city streets while people are just arriving home from work always brings a smile to my face. It reminds me that I do have a wonderful life. I hiccupped as I walked which made me laugh out loud and in turn talk to myself the whole way home. I passed a large bed of purple, fuchsia, and pink pansies and was overwhelmed by the smell of lilies. Even in my inebriation I knew that my eyes and nose were not agreeing on the current situation. I laughed and hiccupped and continued on my way glancing back periodically to make sure I wasn’t being followed.
Today all I hear in my head is Ms. Molli's voice easing my concerns over decisions I had made, "Extraordinary lives don't just fall into people's laps. You have to take risks and make stupid choices." Somewhere in the past 2 years I forgot that and am glad to have remembered it upon reawakening this morning with feeling having returned to my left arm. I love nothing more than seeing the people I love do crazy-ass things in an effort to find their own extraordinary life. Though today it means losing a great friend to the distance of a new life, hopefully a better life. And I know using the word "losing" here is going to touch a nerve but that is the truth in the sense that there will be no more hanging out, no more ridiculous electronic communication while sitting next to each other on the couch or waiting to play a gig, and I'm sure considerably less gmail chatting in the evenings as time will be otherwise occupied. But amid the selfish melancholy I am still more thrilled and excited at the new world that awaits and agree that perhaps it‘s time I do the same again. And just in case you ever find yourself lost in a fairy tale:
Remember your name.
Do not lose hope - what you seek will be found.
Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped
to help you in their turn.
Trust dreams,
Trust your heart, and trust your story.
When you come back, return the way you came.
Favors will be returned, debts will be repaid.
Do not forget your manners.
Do not look back.
Ride the wise eagle (you shall not fall).
Ride the silver fish (you will not drown).
Ride the grey wolf (hold tightly to his fur).
-Neil Gaiman excerpt "Instructions"
Do not lose hope - what you seek will be found.
Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped
to help you in their turn.
Trust dreams,
Trust your heart, and trust your story.
When you come back, return the way you came.
Favors will be returned, debts will be repaid.
Do not forget your manners.
Do not look back.
Ride the wise eagle (you shall not fall).
Ride the silver fish (you will not drown).
Ride the grey wolf (hold tightly to his fur).
-Neil Gaiman excerpt "Instructions"
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Lo
I met her 12 years ago or so. She appeared out of nowhere when I needed the kind of friend that forces life on you. She always swings by at (mostly) the right times and I love her for that. Last night around 7 pm I heard the raucous knock on my door and there she was... her long dark hair sticking in every direction, makeup smudged and smeared, her old cut t-shirt hanging off both boney shoulders with a big hole on the right side exposing half of her stomach. Her skin tight jeans were shredded at the heels, torn at the knees and down to threads across her ass and thighs. A cloud of whiskey hovered around her. There was a twinkle in her eye and a crooked smile on her face. I love this white hot mess.
With little more then a "hey" grunt, she crushed her cigarette out on the carpet in front of my door and burst into my apartment dropping her tattered oversized purse on my kitchen floor... junk spewed everywhere... lipstick, a bra, a half empty fifth of Jack, and a ton of random shit. Right to the fridge where she grabbed a beer off the top shelf and downed it in one breath. She grabbed another, popped it open and handed it to me with a smile, grabbed herself another and asked how I've been. "Fuckin ballz-ass shitty" I replied. She laughed at me, started stripping off her clothes, grabbed another beer and headed to the bathroom. I heard the water run for a bath. A few minutes later I hear her singing loudly and I settle back into bed with my beer and a smile on my face.
L.A. February 2006... I was on tour on the west coast and she happened to be out there the same time. I had several hours of rehearsals which caused me to miss both Grammy's parties she had invited me to. She was always getting invites to things like that. Lucky girl.
Late the following afternoon a silver 2 door convertible picked me up in front of my hotel. She "borrowed it" she told me and to "hop in." We grabbed a quick lunch and headed to the Hotel Cafe for my show that night. I don't remember much of the show other than it went well. There was a good crowd and it was the only night on tour we played as a trio instead of a duo and I got to play an acoustic piano.
After the show and a few drinks we drove around town in that great little convertible with the top down. February! It was shocking for a north-east coast girl like me. It seemed that everywhere we went, she ran into people she knew and before long there was a dozen or so people on the hunt for liquor before heading back to my hotel room on the Sunset Strip. By the time we got to my room we had collected 30 or so more people and a few bars worth of booze.
What a party! The first time security came, they told us to keep it down. The second time they came, they told us to clear out or get kicked out. The third (and fourth) time they came we shoved 30 some people out on the 10th floor balcony that was large enough for a small bistro set and closed the curtains. I woke up the following morning in a king sized bed with 2 beautiful women and a man I'd never seen before. Some quick showers, a few hugs, and I was back on the road en route to San Francisco for more shows.
She didn't stay in L.A. much longer. She doesn't really stay anywhere for long. I saw her briefly in NYC a few months later.
An hour after she disappeared into my bathroom she reappears with another beer for each of us and slides her warm naked body next to me. She looks thinner than she has since her days in L.A. but not a bit worse for wear. We cuddle up for "story" time and share adventure tales. Hers are always better than mine... her laughter is intoxicating along with the smell of lavender radiating from her soft skin. The cloud of whiskey has been replaced with a cloud of beer around us both. This is just what I needed.
With little more then a "hey" grunt, she crushed her cigarette out on the carpet in front of my door and burst into my apartment dropping her tattered oversized purse on my kitchen floor... junk spewed everywhere... lipstick, a bra, a half empty fifth of Jack, and a ton of random shit. Right to the fridge where she grabbed a beer off the top shelf and downed it in one breath. She grabbed another, popped it open and handed it to me with a smile, grabbed herself another and asked how I've been. "Fuckin ballz-ass shitty" I replied. She laughed at me, started stripping off her clothes, grabbed another beer and headed to the bathroom. I heard the water run for a bath. A few minutes later I hear her singing loudly and I settle back into bed with my beer and a smile on my face.
L.A. February 2006... I was on tour on the west coast and she happened to be out there the same time. I had several hours of rehearsals which caused me to miss both Grammy's parties she had invited me to. She was always getting invites to things like that. Lucky girl.
Late the following afternoon a silver 2 door convertible picked me up in front of my hotel. She "borrowed it" she told me and to "hop in." We grabbed a quick lunch and headed to the Hotel Cafe for my show that night. I don't remember much of the show other than it went well. There was a good crowd and it was the only night on tour we played as a trio instead of a duo and I got to play an acoustic piano.
After the show and a few drinks we drove around town in that great little convertible with the top down. February! It was shocking for a north-east coast girl like me. It seemed that everywhere we went, she ran into people she knew and before long there was a dozen or so people on the hunt for liquor before heading back to my hotel room on the Sunset Strip. By the time we got to my room we had collected 30 or so more people and a few bars worth of booze.
What a party! The first time security came, they told us to keep it down. The second time they came, they told us to clear out or get kicked out. The third (and fourth) time they came we shoved 30 some people out on the 10th floor balcony that was large enough for a small bistro set and closed the curtains. I woke up the following morning in a king sized bed with 2 beautiful women and a man I'd never seen before. Some quick showers, a few hugs, and I was back on the road en route to San Francisco for more shows.
She didn't stay in L.A. much longer. She doesn't really stay anywhere for long. I saw her briefly in NYC a few months later.
An hour after she disappeared into my bathroom she reappears with another beer for each of us and slides her warm naked body next to me. She looks thinner than she has since her days in L.A. but not a bit worse for wear. We cuddle up for "story" time and share adventure tales. Hers are always better than mine... her laughter is intoxicating along with the smell of lavender radiating from her soft skin. The cloud of whiskey has been replaced with a cloud of beer around us both. This is just what I needed.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Trains
Buckets of rain
Buckets of tears
Got all them buckets coming out of my ears
Buckets of moonbeams in my hand
You got all the love honey baby
I can stand
Buckets of tears
Got all them buckets coming out of my ears
Buckets of moonbeams in my hand
You got all the love honey baby
I can stand
The sky is somehow still bright and blue even though it's pouring rain. I didn't even realize it was raining until I turned from my book and looked out the train window while pushing my sunglasses to their normal resting place on top of my head. Its late Sunday afternoon and Jersey seems eerily still. My first thought was "everyone in Jersey must have been vaporized by aliens." Though I am quite sure this is not the case.
I been meek
And hard like an oak
I seen pretty people disappear like smoke
Friends will arrive friends will disappear
If you want me honey baby
I'll be here
And hard like an oak
I seen pretty people disappear like smoke
Friends will arrive friends will disappear
If you want me honey baby
I'll be here
I've been on this train too long to only be in Rahway. I think we're going backwards. To the right of the train is a sheer drop. I won't even guess how high it may be. I have no idea. These trains move much too slow as proven by the Acela which sneaks up behind us on the left and passes with such speed that I feel like an elephant is sitting on my head. I imagine the train I'm on tipping to the right from the Acela's force and tumbling to the ground. I can't help but smile as I picture myself mangled and bloodied, impaled by a giant piece of twisted train or broken window.
Everything about you is bringing me
Misery
Misery
I'm quickly losing patience with myself and the squeal of the train's wheels along the tracks isn't helping. I wish They would close the door but the air conditioning isn't working in this car and They feel the sound of an 8 penny nail hairbrush dancing across a chalkboard is better then the heat and humidity of a closed train car. Maybe They're right. Who am I to judge? Though I suppose the same goes for Them.
Little red wagon
Little red bike
I ain't no monkey but I know what I like
Little red bike
I ain't no monkey but I know what I like
A Greek, tattooed, atheist, musician goes to a party and is surrounded by pale, Jesus loving Irish folk. They were the most normal people I have ever met in my life. I felt like a fig tree in the middle of a corn field.
I like the way you love me strong and slow
I'm taking you with me honey baby
When I go
I'm taking you with me honey baby
When I go
The rain has stopped and started a few times by now. Currently its back to pouring. This time however the open car is filling with cool air. Still damp, but cool. Its refreshing while coupled with the sound and smell of buckets of rain.
Life is sad
Life is a bust
All ya can do is do what you must
Life is a bust
All ya can do is do what you must
The train is picking up speed. No doubt going forward as well. What can be seen of the sun is a fireball to the west burning a hole through the storm clouds which are now no more substantial then rice paper in that spot. To the east is the heavily clouded steel blue glowing sky that you only see with a summer storm. Today is almost over. Tonight I will curl up in my own bed for the night but for only one night before I'm off again.
Friday, July 8, 2011
thoughts from a beach chair
Bathing suit. Sun screen. Beach chair. Alone. :) I love to lay in the sun mostly naked and feel the sudden flush of heat as the water in my body seeps out of every pore. Today is going to be a good day.
The beach chair smells a little funky. It's probably been 2 summers since its been removed from the musty crawl space. It smells of dirt and rust and hot.
I hate to admit that I hate every person I know today... and every one I don't. I woke up cranky and need to learn to not log into facebook on those days. I have had 3 Libras in my head since. Its been difficult for me to find the space in between where I fit. Fit easily and securely and without question every time. Though I suppose there never is a place that is completely without question.
This will be my first summer in 4 without an adventure laid out in front of me. I wonder what will become of the road trips, the anticipation, the butterflies, the "cd of the summer" with the indelible impressions of great adventures. I guess I'll have to make my own and fly a little more spontaneously. With only a hint of sadness, the disappointment abounds and I realize my heart is still there, buried safe and scabby. But the sun is hot on my skin and I'm slowly relaxing one muscle and one thought at a time.
I remember our toilet flushing, light flickering ghost.
I remember the Providence Potato Heads.
I can still feel your warmth as you held me in the kitchen when I was unable to hold back the tears any longer.
I see our sundresses and floppy hats on our trip through Sonoma Valley while the east coast was digging out of a blizzard.
I remember the ease with which you handed me your car keys for me to drive myself back home 2 states away.
I remember our cinnamon snow falling in slow motion outside the old man bar.
And the energetic smile in your voice over the phone for our first conversation in 15 years and the taste of your cigarettes after our first visit in 20 years.
And I remember seven goodbyes.... all different and all taking their own little piece of me with them. I'm getting used to it all.
But mostly I like to remember that goodbyes don't always happen and sometimes aren't forever and even if they are there's always that look on your face that first time you saw me out on the sidewalk in my best sundress.
The beach chair smells a little funky. It's probably been 2 summers since its been removed from the musty crawl space. It smells of dirt and rust and hot.
I hate to admit that I hate every person I know today... and every one I don't. I woke up cranky and need to learn to not log into facebook on those days. I have had 3 Libras in my head since. Its been difficult for me to find the space in between where I fit. Fit easily and securely and without question every time. Though I suppose there never is a place that is completely without question.
This will be my first summer in 4 without an adventure laid out in front of me. I wonder what will become of the road trips, the anticipation, the butterflies, the "cd of the summer" with the indelible impressions of great adventures. I guess I'll have to make my own and fly a little more spontaneously. With only a hint of sadness, the disappointment abounds and I realize my heart is still there, buried safe and scabby. But the sun is hot on my skin and I'm slowly relaxing one muscle and one thought at a time.
I remember our toilet flushing, light flickering ghost.
I remember the Providence Potato Heads.
I can still feel your warmth as you held me in the kitchen when I was unable to hold back the tears any longer.
I see our sundresses and floppy hats on our trip through Sonoma Valley while the east coast was digging out of a blizzard.
I remember the ease with which you handed me your car keys for me to drive myself back home 2 states away.
I remember our cinnamon snow falling in slow motion outside the old man bar.
And the energetic smile in your voice over the phone for our first conversation in 15 years and the taste of your cigarettes after our first visit in 20 years.
And I remember seven goodbyes.... all different and all taking their own little piece of me with them. I'm getting used to it all.
But mostly I like to remember that goodbyes don't always happen and sometimes aren't forever and even if they are there's always that look on your face that first time you saw me out on the sidewalk in my best sundress.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
The wind and a little someday
The wind is blowing pretty strong through my north facing window. Chilly slightly damp air.... not at all what I think a late June evening in Philadelphia should feel like. It almost has a Jersey shore like skank to it. But maybe that's just my mood. I'm not drunk enough to not care. Plus, I think it's time to change my sheets.... or maybe shower. But my Guinness tastes like heaven and it's quiet right now. It's not often this building is quiet. Only the faint sound of cars traveling along I95 and a distant Ice Cream truck can be heard. So what is it I've been doing all week? Well, that's a loaded question.
I tucked my Guatemalan Worry people under my pillow 3 nights ago and forgot them there... I'm sure they don't mind, they end up there often. Do I really believe these little hemp "people" take away my worries in the night? Certainly not but it's something to do when crawling in bed alone worrying about people or things.
Yesterday I "woke up to the sound of pouring rain" as sung by Sebastian Bach. I'm not sure from where in the depths of my brain that one came from other than it was indeed pouring outside my still open window. I know there's a place way back there, buried behind 21 years of life that does also hold the words to "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" amongst others and all the guitar solos of that time but I would appreciate it if my brain left that all in the back of the closet there. Skid Row Ahaha! But it brings me to listen to another song from way back... the opening guitar notes instantly turn on the waterworks. That's not typical of me. I won't share the song or the story. It is one so personal that in 20 years I have never shared it with anyone. It is the one and the only thing that is truly just mine. I will share something related to my current thoughts and that is that the one thing I promised myself I would NEVER do, I did last night and I very well may never forgive myself for that particular mistake.
I now understand my fervent dislike of the word "someday" goes back not 3 years as I thought recently but indeed 20 years back to the single moment that changed the course of my life. I was 14.
Someday. Open ended. I feel it's used predominantly when someone has something better going on but wants to keep something on the back burner indefinitely. It doesn't leave the door of reality open it only leaves the fantasy world alive. Someday never comes. At least not usually. But it paints the picture of hope infinitely swirling in the back of your mind.
I have someone on my mind tonight. A ghost I suppose he should be called all these years later. There used to be a ton of somedays with him but now there are none. He's long dead but such a huge part of who I am. I love remembering. I hate feeling. Oh but these guitar solos make me laugh my friggin ass off! I can still sing most of every one.
*sigh*
As only my older sister might remember... I have a not so strange craving for fries, a fillet o' fish and a strawberry milkshake.
I tucked my Guatemalan Worry people under my pillow 3 nights ago and forgot them there... I'm sure they don't mind, they end up there often. Do I really believe these little hemp "people" take away my worries in the night? Certainly not but it's something to do when crawling in bed alone worrying about people or things.
Yesterday I "woke up to the sound of pouring rain" as sung by Sebastian Bach. I'm not sure from where in the depths of my brain that one came from other than it was indeed pouring outside my still open window. I know there's a place way back there, buried behind 21 years of life that does also hold the words to "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" amongst others and all the guitar solos of that time but I would appreciate it if my brain left that all in the back of the closet there. Skid Row Ahaha! But it brings me to listen to another song from way back... the opening guitar notes instantly turn on the waterworks. That's not typical of me. I won't share the song or the story. It is one so personal that in 20 years I have never shared it with anyone. It is the one and the only thing that is truly just mine. I will share something related to my current thoughts and that is that the one thing I promised myself I would NEVER do, I did last night and I very well may never forgive myself for that particular mistake.
I now understand my fervent dislike of the word "someday" goes back not 3 years as I thought recently but indeed 20 years back to the single moment that changed the course of my life. I was 14.
Someday. Open ended. I feel it's used predominantly when someone has something better going on but wants to keep something on the back burner indefinitely. It doesn't leave the door of reality open it only leaves the fantasy world alive. Someday never comes. At least not usually. But it paints the picture of hope infinitely swirling in the back of your mind.
I have someone on my mind tonight. A ghost I suppose he should be called all these years later. There used to be a ton of somedays with him but now there are none. He's long dead but such a huge part of who I am. I love remembering. I hate feeling. Oh but these guitar solos make me laugh my friggin ass off! I can still sing most of every one.
*sigh*
As only my older sister might remember... I have a not so strange craving for fries, a fillet o' fish and a strawberry milkshake.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
red lipstick
I realize on many days I live my life as if I'm a character in a story. Always having an adventure. Always being a little silly. I woke up from strange dreams feeling all out of sorts today. I haven't been eating enough and I know that's a big part of it. Its rainy and bleh outside and I haven't even begun to think about showering and leaving the house. My errands will have to wait for Monday though I really could've used that oil change before my trip to Dover tomorrow evening.
In an attempt to make something a little better? Different? Humorous? for today, I put on a lovely coat of red lipstick. I feel silly every time I pass a mirror and catch a glimpse of myself. Penguin jammie bottoms, black Breckenridge sweatshirt, hair in a bun, and bright red pinup girl lipstick....
Meanwhile, electronically, I'm hiding under a desk with a girl in her office. We have a loaf of fresh, warm banana bread and a bottle of wine and I am not Erica. In fact, she has never seen me before.
I feel all out of sorts.
The sudden urge to shower overtakes me... suddenly I feel I need to hide from the world and the shower now seems the perfect place. I strip and stand in front of the mirror looking at myself. My silly red lipstick..... The red doesn't hint at sexy or playful. All I can see is old. My face looks drawn and my eyes dark and sunken. Tired from years of drinking and partying and second hand smoking. and stress and hunger and trains. I miss my full plump face of youth and despise the deep paranthetic frame of my mouth and dried up river bed between my eyebrows and my now hollow cheeks. I used to be so pretty.
My showers are entirely too hot. It feels as if I'm trying to burn the flesh from my skeleton. I know its not good for the skin but it feels so good on my insides. And afterwards I look back in the now fogged up mirror. There is a little more life in my face... a nice rosy hue in my cheeks. The red lipstick has not come off or even faded in the slightest. I grab a piece of toilet paper and rub my lips raw. It's mostly off now but I will have a slight red hint in my lips for the rest of the day. Gone are the days of lipstick that never stays on. My niece will never get away with what I did as a little girl.... momma's lipstick won't come off and hide her little secret of exploring the adult world many years too soon.
I guess we never get too old to play dress up.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
It's about time
"I'm on a train and listening to florence and the machine and I love you"
The text came a few minutes before 10 yesterday morning.
We are still friends on trains. It's the only place you exist to me and the only place where I can still love you.
Daydreams take some away to an alternate reality. Some people have movies or books or music. I have trains. On them I sense no passage of time, no stress, no worries or to-dos, no family or friends, no responsibility, no mistakes. Just me. Any me I want to be. Occupying space. Alone with my thoughts and adventures and surrounded by visions and the sounds of people, imaginary inconsequential people. Some days there are a lot of these people. Sometimes they talk to me whilst dressed in business suits, drinking beer out of a brown paper bag, and explaining how their wife won't be happy about their impromptu after work excursion with the boys.
The best part of fantasy worlds is not the control we have over things but the beauty of tempo rubato. The musical term derived from Italian meaning "stolen time." Rhythmic manipulation and nuance. Stealing time from one thing and giving it to another. The bending and shaping of time.
My pocketful of hours in the day always runs out before I'm ready for it to.
I don't see it as a cruel fact of life. Today I see it as Debussy performed by someone not ready to play it. Looking out of Starbuck's window at the intersection of Grant & Academy, I see it all sonically and time is bending all wrong. It's not being manipulated but it is manipulating us.
I did much better when I was living on trains and in their stations. I was at peace with time. We were friends even.
I was happier.
And more relaxed.
And felt more alive.
Now I have a home, which I do love. And a job, which I enjoy. And stability, which, well, because I simply cannot afford to live the life of trains.
The text came a few minutes before 10 yesterday morning.
We are still friends on trains. It's the only place you exist to me and the only place where I can still love you.
Daydreams take some away to an alternate reality. Some people have movies or books or music. I have trains. On them I sense no passage of time, no stress, no worries or to-dos, no family or friends, no responsibility, no mistakes. Just me. Any me I want to be. Occupying space. Alone with my thoughts and adventures and surrounded by visions and the sounds of people, imaginary inconsequential people. Some days there are a lot of these people. Sometimes they talk to me whilst dressed in business suits, drinking beer out of a brown paper bag, and explaining how their wife won't be happy about their impromptu after work excursion with the boys.
The best part of fantasy worlds is not the control we have over things but the beauty of tempo rubato. The musical term derived from Italian meaning "stolen time." Rhythmic manipulation and nuance. Stealing time from one thing and giving it to another. The bending and shaping of time.
My pocketful of hours in the day always runs out before I'm ready for it to.
I don't see it as a cruel fact of life. Today I see it as Debussy performed by someone not ready to play it. Looking out of Starbuck's window at the intersection of Grant & Academy, I see it all sonically and time is bending all wrong. It's not being manipulated but it is manipulating us.
I did much better when I was living on trains and in their stations. I was at peace with time. We were friends even.
I was happier.
And more relaxed.
And felt more alive.
Now I have a home, which I do love. And a job, which I enjoy. And stability, which, well, because I simply cannot afford to live the life of trains.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Meet Jim Hogan
This morning I thought I'd try the kitty and doggy way and sit in a sunbeam and drink my coffee. Cross-legged in the middle of my kitchen floor... the warm sun, my hot coffee. I think I found heaven. Sadly, it was late in the morning and the sun quickly ran away from me. I feel like I’m warm enough on the outside and that its my insides that need to be warmed. My blood is too cold... I do what I can to warm up my insides. Nothing seems to work.
Then this morning I found this:
“Coldest Star Found - No Hotter Than Fresh Coffee” ~National Geographic 3/28/11
Perhaps they’ve found my heart.
....75 light-years away... called "an oddball object" or "failed star". Yes indeed I think they've found my heart!
I've been back in touch with an old boyfriend who has since become a treasured friend. The contact is always spotty but I do enjoy waking up and seeing that name in my inbox. Last time we saw each other was... ..... 7ish years ago. We met up at a Waffle House a handful of miles up Stewart's Ferry Pike from our old apartment, I think. :) 231 Trails Circle. I LOVED that place. Small, beautiful, fully loaded 1 bed apartment. Living in Nashville is something I will always look back on and smile about. It wasn't all flowers and butterflies. Nothing ever is but it's a great part of who I am and what I've done.
We communicate via email with my return address under a different name. We talk things through, mostly music, sometimes life. He sends me his latest bit of songwriting to listen to and comment on. I anonymously follow his blog, and he mine. This morning he says, "I'm jealous of your vast numbers of followers." :) I have 7.
We met at Berklee in fall 1994. It was both of our first semesters. I saw him constantly.... in The Caf, freezing our butts off at the 2 am fire alarms, the computer lab, library, Supreme's pizza (Oh! The BEST chicken culet sandwiches with pickles!).... I don't remember how we actually met... when we actually began talking. Perhaps one of my faked asthma attacks when the dorm elevators were out, as they often were, and I had to walk the 5 flights to my room. 5 flights causing an asthma attack! Hahahaha I don't even have asthma. It's ridiculous but apparently, it worked.
Our third year at Berklee, we got an "off-campus" apartment, a shit-hole tucked on the side street between the 2 main Berklee buildings. No WAIT!!!! That was MY apartment, with Adron! He had a single in the dorms still!! :) Some details temporarily hide until I take a moment to think back. He didn't spend every night at my place. That's actually why I think we worked as long as we did. Our 4th year, we moved in together, by Fenway Park. We could see and hear the ball games from our apartment. If we had enough cash, we'd take a walk on game days and grab hotdogs for dinner.
I have so many wonderful memories of Boston. We walked everywhere. To Cambridge on nice days, through the Fens on rainy days, and the Commons and Gardens on snowy days. We only took the T if we had too. There was the best little bakery half a block from our apartment. I remember winter of that year, sitting in the bakery in the mornings talking over fresh coffee and hot out of the oven croissants while I waited for the bus to go to work. That place never had anyone in it and was always toasty warm and smelled like heaven.
That April, Marathon Monday to be exact, is when our apartment burnt down. We were having an awful fight. It was "our anniversary" and I offered to take a co-workers shift. I didn't pay attention to things like anniversaries. I still don't really. I don't feel that they are important. Its the everyday you have together that should be celebrated. Anyway, while we fought, we ignored the smoke alarms for a good 2 minutes. They didn't stop. "We better see what's going on." He opened the front door just a little, feeling first for heat as we've all learned since we were little kids. The thickest, darkest smoke poured through the few inch crack. My heart stopped. It's one of those rare moments of pure fear when the Earth stands still.
In an instant I was on my feet hustling up my cat. Ziggy, the older than dirt life-force stealing kitty :) and the 3 of us went out to our fire balcony and waited. We saw helicopters, heard sirens, and saw so many people in the Star Market parking lot below shouting and pointing and covering their faces. Thankfully, we couldn't see the flames shooting out of the building to our right.
Our poor Japanese neighbor, a Berklee trumpet player who could barely speak English, was in such a state of confusion and panic.... I waited on the balcony while he went over to help and bring our neighbor over to us. He was gone what seemed an eternity but then again, when there are suddenly rivers of black smoke pouring through your closet, a few seconds can seem like hours.
The firemen got the 4 people off the 5th floor balcony above us. Then we let our petrified neighbor go. Then he went at which point another fire truck and ladder had come around the back of the building and a huge black fireman was standing on my bed, hand reached out for me saying, "Come out this way, it'll be faster." They took the cat carrier out of my hands and kitty was out of the building and safe.
My memory of going down that ladder included, "this ladder is f'ing HUGE and the rungs are so far apart!" I felt like a miniature doll on a real life ladder, unable to reach the step below. There was a firefighter coming down in front of me facing me and one behind me, with his hand on my bum to which I remember a brief moment of, "heehee, his hand is on my butt" before the feeling of falling came back and I was thankful he was behind me supporting me and talking to me on the way down.
We all stood in the Star Market parking lot watching and waiting and wondering.... an hour, maybe 2. Heck, maybe 3. We made arrangements to stay with our good friend Brian on his futon for a few days. We thankfully had finished our senior recitals the week before and had nothing to worry about but graduation in 2 weeks. Once the building got the all clear, the residents were allowed in to pick up a few belongings but not to stay.
We walked up 4 flights of charred, stinky, dark halls and stairwells. It was devastating. I felt like my heart was going to explode, my legs were shaking, and no one spoke more than gasps and coughs of "Oh my God"s. I got to our door and hesitated before turning the knob. When I pushed the door open it was a sight I'll never forget. It was late afternoon. The sun was low in the spring sky and soft golden light was pouring through the open windows. The cream colored curtains were billowing and dancing. It was like a secret place... a beautiful, sweet smelling and clean hiding place behind those awful hallways. No water damage, minimal smoke damage. The hole in my closet where the smoke was pouring in was small and just a little smoke came through. I breathed a huge sigh of relief, still shaking uncontrollably, collected some clothes and personal effects and locked the door on our way to Brian's.
If you have the urge to know what a burned out building smells like go to the market and look for Lapsang Souchong tea. It smells exactly like what our building smelled like that day after the fire was out.
The fire was started by our downstairs neighbor one door over. She fell asleep with a candle lit on her kitchen table. The only thing left of her apartment was a now black bathtub, toilet, and sink.
We were in 3 newspapers over the next few days. I still have the clippings along with a left-over invitation to my senior recital with a giant black boot print on it.
The song he sent me this morning took me back to Boston for a moment. That's what good songwriting does. It hits you somewhere, even if for just a moment and draws you in. And for just a moment my insides were a little warmer as a smile crossed my face.
Then this morning I found this:
“Coldest Star Found - No Hotter Than Fresh Coffee” ~National Geographic 3/28/11
Perhaps they’ve found my heart.
....75 light-years away... called "an oddball object" or "failed star". Yes indeed I think they've found my heart!
I've been back in touch with an old boyfriend who has since become a treasured friend. The contact is always spotty but I do enjoy waking up and seeing that name in my inbox. Last time we saw each other was... ..... 7ish years ago. We met up at a Waffle House a handful of miles up Stewart's Ferry Pike from our old apartment, I think. :) 231 Trails Circle. I LOVED that place. Small, beautiful, fully loaded 1 bed apartment. Living in Nashville is something I will always look back on and smile about. It wasn't all flowers and butterflies. Nothing ever is but it's a great part of who I am and what I've done.
We communicate via email with my return address under a different name. We talk things through, mostly music, sometimes life. He sends me his latest bit of songwriting to listen to and comment on. I anonymously follow his blog, and he mine. This morning he says, "I'm jealous of your vast numbers of followers." :) I have 7.
We met at Berklee in fall 1994. It was both of our first semesters. I saw him constantly.... in The Caf, freezing our butts off at the 2 am fire alarms, the computer lab, library, Supreme's pizza (Oh! The BEST chicken culet sandwiches with pickles!).... I don't remember how we actually met... when we actually began talking. Perhaps one of my faked asthma attacks when the dorm elevators were out, as they often were, and I had to walk the 5 flights to my room. 5 flights causing an asthma attack! Hahahaha I don't even have asthma. It's ridiculous but apparently, it worked.
Our third year at Berklee, we got an "off-campus" apartment, a shit-hole tucked on the side street between the 2 main Berklee buildings. No WAIT!!!! That was MY apartment, with Adron! He had a single in the dorms still!! :) Some details temporarily hide until I take a moment to think back. He didn't spend every night at my place. That's actually why I think we worked as long as we did. Our 4th year, we moved in together, by Fenway Park. We could see and hear the ball games from our apartment. If we had enough cash, we'd take a walk on game days and grab hotdogs for dinner.
I have so many wonderful memories of Boston. We walked everywhere. To Cambridge on nice days, through the Fens on rainy days, and the Commons and Gardens on snowy days. We only took the T if we had too. There was the best little bakery half a block from our apartment. I remember winter of that year, sitting in the bakery in the mornings talking over fresh coffee and hot out of the oven croissants while I waited for the bus to go to work. That place never had anyone in it and was always toasty warm and smelled like heaven.
That April, Marathon Monday to be exact, is when our apartment burnt down. We were having an awful fight. It was "our anniversary" and I offered to take a co-workers shift. I didn't pay attention to things like anniversaries. I still don't really. I don't feel that they are important. Its the everyday you have together that should be celebrated. Anyway, while we fought, we ignored the smoke alarms for a good 2 minutes. They didn't stop. "We better see what's going on." He opened the front door just a little, feeling first for heat as we've all learned since we were little kids. The thickest, darkest smoke poured through the few inch crack. My heart stopped. It's one of those rare moments of pure fear when the Earth stands still.
In an instant I was on my feet hustling up my cat. Ziggy, the older than dirt life-force stealing kitty :) and the 3 of us went out to our fire balcony and waited. We saw helicopters, heard sirens, and saw so many people in the Star Market parking lot below shouting and pointing and covering their faces. Thankfully, we couldn't see the flames shooting out of the building to our right.
Our poor Japanese neighbor, a Berklee trumpet player who could barely speak English, was in such a state of confusion and panic.... I waited on the balcony while he went over to help and bring our neighbor over to us. He was gone what seemed an eternity but then again, when there are suddenly rivers of black smoke pouring through your closet, a few seconds can seem like hours.
The firemen got the 4 people off the 5th floor balcony above us. Then we let our petrified neighbor go. Then he went at which point another fire truck and ladder had come around the back of the building and a huge black fireman was standing on my bed, hand reached out for me saying, "Come out this way, it'll be faster." They took the cat carrier out of my hands and kitty was out of the building and safe.
My memory of going down that ladder included, "this ladder is f'ing HUGE and the rungs are so far apart!" I felt like a miniature doll on a real life ladder, unable to reach the step below. There was a firefighter coming down in front of me facing me and one behind me, with his hand on my bum to which I remember a brief moment of, "heehee, his hand is on my butt" before the feeling of falling came back and I was thankful he was behind me supporting me and talking to me on the way down.
We all stood in the Star Market parking lot watching and waiting and wondering.... an hour, maybe 2. Heck, maybe 3. We made arrangements to stay with our good friend Brian on his futon for a few days. We thankfully had finished our senior recitals the week before and had nothing to worry about but graduation in 2 weeks. Once the building got the all clear, the residents were allowed in to pick up a few belongings but not to stay.
We walked up 4 flights of charred, stinky, dark halls and stairwells. It was devastating. I felt like my heart was going to explode, my legs were shaking, and no one spoke more than gasps and coughs of "Oh my God"s. I got to our door and hesitated before turning the knob. When I pushed the door open it was a sight I'll never forget. It was late afternoon. The sun was low in the spring sky and soft golden light was pouring through the open windows. The cream colored curtains were billowing and dancing. It was like a secret place... a beautiful, sweet smelling and clean hiding place behind those awful hallways. No water damage, minimal smoke damage. The hole in my closet where the smoke was pouring in was small and just a little smoke came through. I breathed a huge sigh of relief, still shaking uncontrollably, collected some clothes and personal effects and locked the door on our way to Brian's.
If you have the urge to know what a burned out building smells like go to the market and look for Lapsang Souchong tea. It smells exactly like what our building smelled like that day after the fire was out.
The fire was started by our downstairs neighbor one door over. She fell asleep with a candle lit on her kitchen table. The only thing left of her apartment was a now black bathtub, toilet, and sink.
We were in 3 newspapers over the next few days. I still have the clippings along with a left-over invitation to my senior recital with a giant black boot print on it.
The song he sent me this morning took me back to Boston for a moment. That's what good songwriting does. It hits you somewhere, even if for just a moment and draws you in. And for just a moment my insides were a little warmer as a smile crossed my face.
Friday, March 25, 2011
just silly.....
Sometimes you just have to mop the ceiling. (really, take a look at your bathroom ceiling. I did today....)
And sometimes you need to eat chocolate chips for breakfast.
And sometimes things pop into your head randomly that you just have to laugh at.... or off.
This afternoon while stripping for a shower I remembered the words of a not so wise lead singer. More of a douche than a musician or a friend but there are always a few of those around. It was reminiscent of ways I had been spoken to in the past. It reminded me of how far I’ve come.
“You’re really beautiful but not skinny enough to play music in public with an sort of success. I mean, I need to get in shape too but you’re a female, you really need to lose a lot of weight.”
Mind you, this was said to me less than a year after I dropped a whopping 65 lbs and was a size below the national average. I still am by the way, down the 65 lbs and a size below what is considered the national average pant size. I’m not skinny. I will never be a “skinny” girl. I have shape. Pretty great shape I think and I know how to dress it.
So I’m going to sit here and eat my chocolate chips for breakfast.... well, lunch and drink my coffee with a little too much sugar and give a big middle finger shout out to any asshole that ever tells a girl she’s not skinny enough.
And this concludes my girly shout out of the month.
Ahahaha!
And sometimes you need to eat chocolate chips for breakfast.
And sometimes things pop into your head randomly that you just have to laugh at.... or off.
This afternoon while stripping for a shower I remembered the words of a not so wise lead singer. More of a douche than a musician or a friend but there are always a few of those around. It was reminiscent of ways I had been spoken to in the past. It reminded me of how far I’ve come.
“You’re really beautiful but not skinny enough to play music in public with an sort of success. I mean, I need to get in shape too but you’re a female, you really need to lose a lot of weight.”
Mind you, this was said to me less than a year after I dropped a whopping 65 lbs and was a size below the national average. I still am by the way, down the 65 lbs and a size below what is considered the national average pant size. I’m not skinny. I will never be a “skinny” girl. I have shape. Pretty great shape I think and I know how to dress it.
So I’m going to sit here and eat my chocolate chips for breakfast.... well, lunch and drink my coffee with a little too much sugar and give a big middle finger shout out to any asshole that ever tells a girl she’s not skinny enough.
And this concludes my girly shout out of the month.
Ahahaha!
Monday, March 21, 2011
When I grow up I wanna be a rockstar!
It was barely warm enough for me to sleep that night so I curled up as close as possible to him hoping not to wake him or crowd him too much or get elbowed in the head like last time. This makes me feel a little like Lamia in Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere... stealing heat from a warm blooded man. I like being here. I like this particular company. This is not my warmth to have for more than a few hours but I'll enjoy it while I can. I put the blanket over my head and it was good enough to put me out.
Once he left the bed was way too cold to sleep. I cranked the heat as high as I could and snuggled under the covers until the room felt like a summer day in Faros. Hot and dry, the rocky beach with the clearest water and no waves... on a clear day you can see Turkey from here. Fourni, visible on even the haziest of days, is directly ahead and has the BIGGEST, most delicious lobsters (my grandfather would tell me this while using his hands to roughly measure 2 1/2 feet and my grandmother would shake her head and walk away). :) I fell into a deep sleep for the next hour and a half.
I slept better last night, not because I was home but because I had the heat of the electric blanket over me.
And what a great weekend!
*boop
whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrpsssssssssssshwhirrrrrrrrrchunkwhirr
*blink.blink.blink.blink.blink.blink.blink.blink...........
*boop
kksssssssssssssssssssssssssssshhh chunk chunk whirr whiiiiiiiiiiirrr
drip.drip.dripdrippooooooooour.dripdrip.drip. drip whiiiiiirrrrrrrr psssssss hrrrrrrhrrrrhrrrr whoop
Those are the sounds of my fully automatic espresso machine when I press the "on" button and then "play." These sounds bring me pleasure everyday, sometimes (ok, always) multiple times. Yes, I am a coffee addict.
Its a dreary Monday.... grey. cold and rainy. Welcome spring : p I feel like a different person than last week... I feel like myself again.... icicle toes and nose and frosty fingers.... its cold as balls in here. Always, always so cold.
Looking back, I wonder if becoming a musician was really my choice. Occasionally I've felt like I was pushed into it because I was good, really good. "Conservatory" good. Haha boy am I glad I at least put my foot down there. Could you imagine me in a conservatory? I'da flunked my ass out in the first semester I think. I never wanted to be a classical pianist. To be perfectly honest, I can't sit and listen to classical music, it either puts me to sleep or irritates me. I really don't care for it, unless I'm playing it. Its been years since I've had the patience to sit and learn an entire piece but I'm feeling the desire right now.
Usually I feel like I'm just not good enough. Some days I know I'm not good enough. Most definitely my chops aren't what they used to be. I can say though that my general improv has improved and my ears are still pretty kickin'. I love to play. Days and nights and all the times. :) I feel at home behind the keyboard and can safely hide there any time and recharge or slow down or fall in love or out of it.
I never wanted to be a teacher. Never really had the desire to be a player either. But I was good and had ignored my academics enough to not have enough math or science credits to go into anything else. What would my other choice have been? A deep love of biology and chemistry and genetics and I easily got the grades in those classes. Had my father been a bigger presence and influence in my life, and my mother not so defiant and pigheaded (stubbornness and pigheadedness and defiance runs deep through both my parents), I may have gone to a University and gotten a "well- rounded" education and chosen a different path....... and kicked myself for it for the rest of my life.
I didn't choose to be a musician. I didn't choose to not go to a university. I didn't choose to be a strange girl with the penchant for being alone, having silly-crazy adventures, and being misunderstood most of the time. Ha! I had no choice. I was born this way.
This is not a revelation. I'm just thinking through the things in my head. It seems I have finally found a musician that I feel at home with. It just seems to work.... and seems to get better every time. I'm having so much fun and am motivated and always inspired. I'm very happy and excited and looking forward to continuing and improving our current path.
\m/
Once he left the bed was way too cold to sleep. I cranked the heat as high as I could and snuggled under the covers until the room felt like a summer day in Faros. Hot and dry, the rocky beach with the clearest water and no waves... on a clear day you can see Turkey from here. Fourni, visible on even the haziest of days, is directly ahead and has the BIGGEST, most delicious lobsters (my grandfather would tell me this while using his hands to roughly measure 2 1/2 feet and my grandmother would shake her head and walk away). :) I fell into a deep sleep for the next hour and a half.
I slept better last night, not because I was home but because I had the heat of the electric blanket over me.
And what a great weekend!
*boop
whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrpsssssssssssshwhirrrrrrrrrchunkwhirr
*blink.blink.blink.blink.blink.blink.blink.blink...........
*boop
kksssssssssssssssssssssssssssshhh chunk chunk whirr whiiiiiiiiiiirrr
drip.drip.dripdrippooooooooour.dripdrip.drip. drip whiiiiiirrrrrrrr psssssss hrrrrrrhrrrrhrrrr whoop
Those are the sounds of my fully automatic espresso machine when I press the "on" button and then "play." These sounds bring me pleasure everyday, sometimes (ok, always) multiple times. Yes, I am a coffee addict.
Its a dreary Monday.... grey. cold and rainy. Welcome spring : p I feel like a different person than last week... I feel like myself again.... icicle toes and nose and frosty fingers.... its cold as balls in here. Always, always so cold.
Looking back, I wonder if becoming a musician was really my choice. Occasionally I've felt like I was pushed into it because I was good, really good. "Conservatory" good. Haha boy am I glad I at least put my foot down there. Could you imagine me in a conservatory? I'da flunked my ass out in the first semester I think. I never wanted to be a classical pianist. To be perfectly honest, I can't sit and listen to classical music, it either puts me to sleep or irritates me. I really don't care for it, unless I'm playing it. Its been years since I've had the patience to sit and learn an entire piece but I'm feeling the desire right now.
Usually I feel like I'm just not good enough. Some days I know I'm not good enough. Most definitely my chops aren't what they used to be. I can say though that my general improv has improved and my ears are still pretty kickin'. I love to play. Days and nights and all the times. :) I feel at home behind the keyboard and can safely hide there any time and recharge or slow down or fall in love or out of it.
I never wanted to be a teacher. Never really had the desire to be a player either. But I was good and had ignored my academics enough to not have enough math or science credits to go into anything else. What would my other choice have been? A deep love of biology and chemistry and genetics and I easily got the grades in those classes. Had my father been a bigger presence and influence in my life, and my mother not so defiant and pigheaded (stubbornness and pigheadedness and defiance runs deep through both my parents), I may have gone to a University and gotten a "well- rounded" education and chosen a different path....... and kicked myself for it for the rest of my life.
I didn't choose to be a musician. I didn't choose to not go to a university. I didn't choose to be a strange girl with the penchant for being alone, having silly-crazy adventures, and being misunderstood most of the time. Ha! I had no choice. I was born this way.
This is not a revelation. I'm just thinking through the things in my head. It seems I have finally found a musician that I feel at home with. It just seems to work.... and seems to get better every time. I'm having so much fun and am motivated and always inspired. I'm very happy and excited and looking forward to continuing and improving our current path.
\m/
Friday, March 18, 2011
Its not often I function at all before coffee...
There's such a great calm in this morning. I'm out of bed a little earlier and everything is quiet. The Yarn Mill must not be very busy today. No semis blocking the street or forklifts honking and running around. The boys downstairs must be gone for the day. And the traffic on 95 sounds light and distant. I hear the birds a little out there, enjoying this slightly overcast but warm, gorgeous morning.
I haven't even made coffee yet. Or checked my email or facebook. Or turned on the radio. It seems like I am the only person alive right now and its the most beautiful feeling ever. I do love being alone. I love the way the sun comes into my bathroom through the clematis. Bright blues and greens and oranges. The sun pushes through it all and makes it so perfect.
The air coming through the open window is reminiscent of a very early, late summer morning. Though the air is a little chilly. Its almost like there's a hint of fall in the air instead of it being winter air with the hint of spring. And yes, there is a difference and if you don't know that, you don't really pay attention.
There's a layer of dust on the screen of my silly purple tv. I didn't think it had been that long since I rented a movie..... its not awful bad though, I can still see the reflection of my snow penguins in it. I'll be putting them away soon. and my red crocheted winter hat and Scottish wool scarf. Spring is nearly here. I don't want to listen to the radio yet or look on the internet and see that this is a fluke of a day and that the 50 degree days will be back. I'm sure they will, sooner rather than later, but this is too nice to fuck up with reality just yet.
Today will take me on a short trip to my hometown (insert Bruce) to pick up another patch cable for my B3 module. It is closest to my afternoon lessons. I rarely go there anymore. I have no reason to. Nor any urge to. I always had the idea in my head that growing up and staying in or going back to the place you grew up was a sign of failure. Its ok to visit but not to live. I still actually feel that way a little. Living in the city of those suburbs is only slightly better in my mind. Still not enough success for being as old as my driver's license claims me to be. My idea of success hasn't changed really though I understand what I have done and am doing in my current career path is indeed considered successful. I have done well for myself and get to boast working a 22 hour work week and have enough money to get by. Really though, I spend too much of my time freaking out about money.... its all in which details you choose to tell.
Perhaps its time for that coffee. And maybe some music. I'm not sure what I want to hear right now. Radiohead? Pink Floyd? Foo Fighters maybe? .....
Well, I'm certainly avoiding my morning washing the dishes routine. Coffee first then maybe an early start back "home" and to my day. Uggh, typing that maybe my stomach turn. Coffee first. Eyes closed, Foo Fighters and coffee the rest of the day will happen soon enough.
I haven't even made coffee yet. Or checked my email or facebook. Or turned on the radio. It seems like I am the only person alive right now and its the most beautiful feeling ever. I do love being alone. I love the way the sun comes into my bathroom through the clematis. Bright blues and greens and oranges. The sun pushes through it all and makes it so perfect.
The air coming through the open window is reminiscent of a very early, late summer morning. Though the air is a little chilly. Its almost like there's a hint of fall in the air instead of it being winter air with the hint of spring. And yes, there is a difference and if you don't know that, you don't really pay attention.
There's a layer of dust on the screen of my silly purple tv. I didn't think it had been that long since I rented a movie..... its not awful bad though, I can still see the reflection of my snow penguins in it. I'll be putting them away soon. and my red crocheted winter hat and Scottish wool scarf. Spring is nearly here. I don't want to listen to the radio yet or look on the internet and see that this is a fluke of a day and that the 50 degree days will be back. I'm sure they will, sooner rather than later, but this is too nice to fuck up with reality just yet.
Today will take me on a short trip to my hometown (insert Bruce) to pick up another patch cable for my B3 module. It is closest to my afternoon lessons. I rarely go there anymore. I have no reason to. Nor any urge to. I always had the idea in my head that growing up and staying in or going back to the place you grew up was a sign of failure. Its ok to visit but not to live. I still actually feel that way a little. Living in the city of those suburbs is only slightly better in my mind. Still not enough success for being as old as my driver's license claims me to be. My idea of success hasn't changed really though I understand what I have done and am doing in my current career path is indeed considered successful. I have done well for myself and get to boast working a 22 hour work week and have enough money to get by. Really though, I spend too much of my time freaking out about money.... its all in which details you choose to tell.
Perhaps its time for that coffee. And maybe some music. I'm not sure what I want to hear right now. Radiohead? Pink Floyd? Foo Fighters maybe? .....
Well, I'm certainly avoiding my morning washing the dishes routine. Coffee first then maybe an early start back "home" and to my day. Uggh, typing that maybe my stomach turn. Coffee first. Eyes closed, Foo Fighters and coffee the rest of the day will happen soon enough.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Home
There's a small sliver of light somehow sneaking through my 4 layers of curtains. It woke me up and won't let me sleep anymore. I peek at my phone.... 7:49 *grunt* that's just not going to work for me. I roll over and pull the covers over my head hoping it'll block out the razor blade thick beam of sun.
i just.
want.
to sleep.
I snuggle deeper into the covers and relax as much as I can. I try to clear my head but it doesn't work. The dog from the first floor starts barking and its shithead owners just let it bark. Assholes. They don't deserve a dog. poor thing just gets thrown outside all day, everyday, regardless of the weather. and they never walk him.
I take a peek at my phone again. 8:34...
suddenly I have to pee. I hobble to the bathroom through the excessively bright kitchen and back again. I realize the blade of sun is no longer in my bedroom. I look at my phone. 10:51. huh.
:)
There is nothing greater in this world than my apartment. My quiet, still, lonely, dark, cozy, beautiful, wonderful, just the way I want it apartment.
:)
First thing I do each day is turn on the radio... a 15 year old silver radio/cd/cassette player. Usually tuned to KYW 1060 AM. (Yes, I listen to news radio everyday. It reminds me there is indeed a world out there even if I don't feel like opening my curtains and seeing the daylight.) I must have hit the button and changed it to FM today and an awful song poured into my room. I couldn't change it back fast enough.
Bathroom, contacts, dishes, coffee, computer. For being so anti-routine, I definitely find comfort in starting my day this way. Stupid song... piece of crap yuck shit. Of all songs to hear first in the day, I just happened to be *lucky* enough to hear one I despise not only because its a shitty bit of songwriting but it digs up some shit-ass memories.
My skin still crawls when I think of him.
It ended 6 years ago. I had known his parents for 7 months before meeting him. They were certain that when he moved back home we were going to want to go out on a date. Sure enough a few weeks after he arrived home we had our first date. He planned it based on our conversations. When the night began I really thought he was messing with me. Certainly he did not plan an entire evening around something I was very vocal about disliking but it turned out, he not only did just that but was excited about how much I'd enjoy it. I should’ve run right then but I didn't. I was tired of being alone and was depressed and lost. He fell hard for me and I supposed he was nice enough. By the second date we were a couple.
Six months later we were living together. My friends and family loved him! Thought he was the bee’s knees, the cat’s pajamas and any other ridiculous expression you can think of. I knew within 3 months of living with him that I had made the biggest mistake of my life and it was too late. I was too scared to leave and too scared to stay and had no one to talk to about it. I forced smiles and nodded every time someone said how great he was. At one point I had everything justified in my head that this was the way everything was supposed to be regardless of the fact that I had to pick up another bucket of spackle from Home Depot. This must be where I belong. Everyone thinks so... and he’s never hit me.... just the wall next to me....
The bigger the holes in the wall got, the more I drank to hide the voices in my head so I could listen to my family and friends.... of course they had no idea of what things were like at home but "they love me and they’re smart, and I can’t seem to think straight these days. I'm sure they're right and I'm wrong. I’ll trust them."
I worked 3 jobs so I wouldn’t be home much and would stay up on the computer to avoid sleeping in the same bed as him ever since I woke that one night with his hands in places they should never have been while I was asleep. His alarm would go off at 4:20 every morning and he hit snooze once every day. I would stay up until 3 minutes after he hit snooze and then gently crawl into bed before the alarm rang again.
I was tired all the time. Sometimes I would fall asleep at work or in my car in parking lots between jobs. He was out one Sunday... playing his stupid army man game at the game store in the Franklin Mills Mall. I never could understand how he could love a game so much that was played primarily by 12-14 yr old boys. He got so excited one day that he played an “awesome game” even though he lost.... to an 8 yr old. While he was out playing, I crawled into bed.... I just needed a few hours sleep. I just needed to close my eyes and rest. I must have fallen into a super deep sleep. I must have needed the sleep so badly. I didn’t mean to sleep so long or so heavily. I wish I had gone to my mother’s or had just never taken a nap that afternoon. I didn’t hear him come home or into the bedroom and didn’t even feel him climb into bed until I was pinned down.
Everything I hate about the song that brought this all up is everything I love about music. That was a trip down memory lane I could've done without but looking at where I am now, it's ok. I'm good. Better than good, I'm happy and content and alive.
i just.
want.
to sleep.
I snuggle deeper into the covers and relax as much as I can. I try to clear my head but it doesn't work. The dog from the first floor starts barking and its shithead owners just let it bark. Assholes. They don't deserve a dog. poor thing just gets thrown outside all day, everyday, regardless of the weather. and they never walk him.
I take a peek at my phone again. 8:34...
suddenly I have to pee. I hobble to the bathroom through the excessively bright kitchen and back again. I realize the blade of sun is no longer in my bedroom. I look at my phone. 10:51. huh.
:)
There is nothing greater in this world than my apartment. My quiet, still, lonely, dark, cozy, beautiful, wonderful, just the way I want it apartment.
:)
First thing I do each day is turn on the radio... a 15 year old silver radio/cd/cassette player. Usually tuned to KYW 1060 AM. (Yes, I listen to news radio everyday. It reminds me there is indeed a world out there even if I don't feel like opening my curtains and seeing the daylight.) I must have hit the button and changed it to FM today and an awful song poured into my room. I couldn't change it back fast enough.
Bathroom, contacts, dishes, coffee, computer. For being so anti-routine, I definitely find comfort in starting my day this way. Stupid song... piece of crap yuck shit. Of all songs to hear first in the day, I just happened to be *lucky* enough to hear one I despise not only because its a shitty bit of songwriting but it digs up some shit-ass memories.
My skin still crawls when I think of him.
It ended 6 years ago. I had known his parents for 7 months before meeting him. They were certain that when he moved back home we were going to want to go out on a date. Sure enough a few weeks after he arrived home we had our first date. He planned it based on our conversations. When the night began I really thought he was messing with me. Certainly he did not plan an entire evening around something I was very vocal about disliking but it turned out, he not only did just that but was excited about how much I'd enjoy it. I should’ve run right then but I didn't. I was tired of being alone and was depressed and lost. He fell hard for me and I supposed he was nice enough. By the second date we were a couple.
Six months later we were living together. My friends and family loved him! Thought he was the bee’s knees, the cat’s pajamas and any other ridiculous expression you can think of. I knew within 3 months of living with him that I had made the biggest mistake of my life and it was too late. I was too scared to leave and too scared to stay and had no one to talk to about it. I forced smiles and nodded every time someone said how great he was. At one point I had everything justified in my head that this was the way everything was supposed to be regardless of the fact that I had to pick up another bucket of spackle from Home Depot. This must be where I belong. Everyone thinks so... and he’s never hit me.... just the wall next to me....
The bigger the holes in the wall got, the more I drank to hide the voices in my head so I could listen to my family and friends.... of course they had no idea of what things were like at home but "they love me and they’re smart, and I can’t seem to think straight these days. I'm sure they're right and I'm wrong. I’ll trust them."
I worked 3 jobs so I wouldn’t be home much and would stay up on the computer to avoid sleeping in the same bed as him ever since I woke that one night with his hands in places they should never have been while I was asleep. His alarm would go off at 4:20 every morning and he hit snooze once every day. I would stay up until 3 minutes after he hit snooze and then gently crawl into bed before the alarm rang again.
I was tired all the time. Sometimes I would fall asleep at work or in my car in parking lots between jobs. He was out one Sunday... playing his stupid army man game at the game store in the Franklin Mills Mall. I never could understand how he could love a game so much that was played primarily by 12-14 yr old boys. He got so excited one day that he played an “awesome game” even though he lost.... to an 8 yr old. While he was out playing, I crawled into bed.... I just needed a few hours sleep. I just needed to close my eyes and rest. I must have fallen into a super deep sleep. I must have needed the sleep so badly. I didn’t mean to sleep so long or so heavily. I wish I had gone to my mother’s or had just never taken a nap that afternoon. I didn’t hear him come home or into the bedroom and didn’t even feel him climb into bed until I was pinned down.
Everything I hate about the song that brought this all up is everything I love about music. That was a trip down memory lane I could've done without but looking at where I am now, it's ok. I'm good. Better than good, I'm happy and content and alive.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
another bottle of wine please
She's following the sun spot across the kitchen floor... just like she did with the moon last night. My stomach is growling and I'm starting to feel a little woozy. just a little. Nothing I haven't dealt with before. The city food smells seem to travel better in the cooler air and fill my house with deliciousness. Am I really going to spend the few bucks I have on a bottle of wine? Probably yes. Something to occupy myself while I wait.
On Wednesday, at 11:09 pm apparently, autumn will officially begin. I'm excited for fall this year. Even though I'm already feeling the chill and sitting in my kitchen in long sleeves and a sweater. There's something about sitting at my table feeling the cool air pour through the window while I drink my coffee. the fresh ground beans smell cleaner and warmer than usual and my steaming mug of coffee tastes like everything is going to be ok.
I ran away to Florida 2 years ago, and you came for a long weekend. And no matter the stress of your quickly disintegrating marriage, you slept on the couch. You remembered out loud all those other times when I made you stay on the couch in years past and thanked me. I dragged you to the beach one night after dinner and we found a few chairs and sat and watched the sunset, talking a little at first, then silence for what seemed like an eternity. You never took your eyes from the setting sun. not once. "I have never before been in direct line of where the sun sinks into the ocean. Wow." and that was it for another eternity. That had been my same thought every night for the past 4 weeks.
I drove you to the airport on Sunday.... sent you back to Philly where you hopped a train and bee-lined for the Jersey Shore. You had a renewed sense of making it work and surprised her with a visit and "the best time we've had in a really long time." and we smiled through the phone as you rehashed the day with your wife and daughter.
A month and a half later, you moved out.... on your anniversary.
After 10 years, we'd been through it all. We buried our fathers, lost friends, moved, changed jobs, got and gave broken hearts, abusive relationships, marriage, children, and now divorce. There we were, sitting on the couch you "won" in the divorce in front of your giant tv which we rarely turned on, listening to music and drinking vodka cranberries and talking. movies, music, poetry, art, dance, politics, becoming the people we were always meant to be, doing the things we love with the people who matter. You brought out the pictures one night and looked through trying so hard to figure how you got where you were. I reminded you of the time 9 years before as I dropped you off at your Robbins St apartment when you told me, "Sometimes you just have to settle for good enough." You looked at me quizzically for a second then turned back to the box of pictures and said, "It's a good thing you didn't listen to me, I shouldn't have listened to myself. That's a bunch of bullshit."
Monday night dinners, Wednesday night drinks, and Fridays and/or Saturdays any combination of movies and events around the city. I don't remember when the friendship turned again... when sleeping together became a normal thing that friends do. There was no more "in love" for us for each other. Just love and understanding and respect and comfort and safety. We knew each other inside out. Its no small joke that the ex-wife used to call me the female version of her husband. It was common knowledge that we think the same.
We spent Thanksgiving together, neither of us willing to deal with our family but more than happy to watch someone else's dysfunction for the day. Good memories, good new friends, good times and a whole lotta good food :) I felt just fine to be where I was. We were on a roll, on fire even. Happy with where our lives were and where things were headed and constantly in awe of having, truly having, a best friend which "nothing could ever change."
In late winter and early spring things got better for both of us. Our conversations had the added element of having new people in our lives. Over white pizza with bacon and a bottle of wine, you told me stories of her and asked me all sorts of things about him. We talked about all the things that we weren't ready to talk about with anyone else. I didn't have to tell you my best secret, you saw it in my eyes and said it first. I still refuse to acknowledge that one... and I know its safe with you. We worked things through together and made sure both of us were staying in that good place.
I was in a bar in Dover when I got the first text,
"im actually having a good time at this bbq. her friends are pretty cool. hope youre too busy having great sex to read this ;)"
"haha at a gig now chillin' and watching the drunk college girls..."
there were a few more back and forth texts of nothing in particular then,
"shit. don't respond back. she just asked about our history... i have to do some damage control. we'll talk soon."
A few days passed.
One email and one reply.
Then the voicemail, "Call me when you get a chance."
I suppose I should have found it odd to get the phone call in the middle of the work day but I didn't. I assumed he was trying to set up plans for the UFC fight the coming Saturday.
blah blah blah... he said words. the best I could get out of my mouth was, "ok. Bye." and I hung up.
The leaves are beginning to change and fall already... scattered across the Port Richmond rooftops. there's a bonus to living on the top floor of the tallest home on the block.... a vantage point like no other. A chilly dampness is filling my apartment..... its been raining off and on for days now. I've watched it all from my kitchen table while I wait.
On Wednesday, at 11:09 pm apparently, autumn will officially begin. I'm excited for fall this year. Even though I'm already feeling the chill and sitting in my kitchen in long sleeves and a sweater. There's something about sitting at my table feeling the cool air pour through the window while I drink my coffee. the fresh ground beans smell cleaner and warmer than usual and my steaming mug of coffee tastes like everything is going to be ok.
I ran away to Florida 2 years ago, and you came for a long weekend. And no matter the stress of your quickly disintegrating marriage, you slept on the couch. You remembered out loud all those other times when I made you stay on the couch in years past and thanked me. I dragged you to the beach one night after dinner and we found a few chairs and sat and watched the sunset, talking a little at first, then silence for what seemed like an eternity. You never took your eyes from the setting sun. not once. "I have never before been in direct line of where the sun sinks into the ocean. Wow." and that was it for another eternity. That had been my same thought every night for the past 4 weeks.
I drove you to the airport on Sunday.... sent you back to Philly where you hopped a train and bee-lined for the Jersey Shore. You had a renewed sense of making it work and surprised her with a visit and "the best time we've had in a really long time." and we smiled through the phone as you rehashed the day with your wife and daughter.
A month and a half later, you moved out.... on your anniversary.
After 10 years, we'd been through it all. We buried our fathers, lost friends, moved, changed jobs, got and gave broken hearts, abusive relationships, marriage, children, and now divorce. There we were, sitting on the couch you "won" in the divorce in front of your giant tv which we rarely turned on, listening to music and drinking vodka cranberries and talking. movies, music, poetry, art, dance, politics, becoming the people we were always meant to be, doing the things we love with the people who matter. You brought out the pictures one night and looked through trying so hard to figure how you got where you were. I reminded you of the time 9 years before as I dropped you off at your Robbins St apartment when you told me, "Sometimes you just have to settle for good enough." You looked at me quizzically for a second then turned back to the box of pictures and said, "It's a good thing you didn't listen to me, I shouldn't have listened to myself. That's a bunch of bullshit."
Monday night dinners, Wednesday night drinks, and Fridays and/or Saturdays any combination of movies and events around the city. I don't remember when the friendship turned again... when sleeping together became a normal thing that friends do. There was no more "in love" for us for each other. Just love and understanding and respect and comfort and safety. We knew each other inside out. Its no small joke that the ex-wife used to call me the female version of her husband. It was common knowledge that we think the same.
We spent Thanksgiving together, neither of us willing to deal with our family but more than happy to watch someone else's dysfunction for the day. Good memories, good new friends, good times and a whole lotta good food :) I felt just fine to be where I was. We were on a roll, on fire even. Happy with where our lives were and where things were headed and constantly in awe of having, truly having, a best friend which "nothing could ever change."
In late winter and early spring things got better for both of us. Our conversations had the added element of having new people in our lives. Over white pizza with bacon and a bottle of wine, you told me stories of her and asked me all sorts of things about him. We talked about all the things that we weren't ready to talk about with anyone else. I didn't have to tell you my best secret, you saw it in my eyes and said it first. I still refuse to acknowledge that one... and I know its safe with you. We worked things through together and made sure both of us were staying in that good place.
I was in a bar in Dover when I got the first text,
"im actually having a good time at this bbq. her friends are pretty cool. hope youre too busy having great sex to read this ;)"
"haha at a gig now chillin' and watching the drunk college girls..."
there were a few more back and forth texts of nothing in particular then,
"shit. don't respond back. she just asked about our history... i have to do some damage control. we'll talk soon."
A few days passed.
One email and one reply.
Then the voicemail, "Call me when you get a chance."
I suppose I should have found it odd to get the phone call in the middle of the work day but I didn't. I assumed he was trying to set up plans for the UFC fight the coming Saturday.
blah blah blah... he said words. the best I could get out of my mouth was, "ok. Bye." and I hung up.
The leaves are beginning to change and fall already... scattered across the Port Richmond rooftops. there's a bonus to living on the top floor of the tallest home on the block.... a vantage point like no other. A chilly dampness is filling my apartment..... its been raining off and on for days now. I've watched it all from my kitchen table while I wait.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
tattoo convention adventures
i love the smell of ink, blood, and sweat. sweet and tangy. exhilarating. the talent was incredible. local, and not so local, artists doing what they love. creepy beautiful. beautifully thought provoking.
i have never been to the tattoo convention before.... so many beautiful people in one place. so much nudity too.... girls in bras and panties and fishnets walking around as if it was normal to do so in public. one girl went as far as to don only electrical tape over her nipples, a pair of black panties and high heels. it was Shampoo all over again but with the sounds of tattoo guns instead of music. i felt small and not good enough in any way.
the convention took up 2 floors. one mostly vendors. clothing, jewelry, artwork. the other mostly tattoo stations. i looked for you. i knew you wouldn’t be there, but it didn’t stop me from looking. there were certainly a ton of large, bald, tatted out men there :) Had I found you I’m not sure what I would have done. likely stood there and stared and waited for you to say something. and i’d definitely have a new tat right now and probably a black eye.
you weren’t there. its better this way.
eventually the sea of people became irritating and the heat overwhelming and we headed out to her favorite bar. First bar I’ve been to in a long time that had male bartenders. sexy male bartenders. i felt old. and plain. and sad.
this is where we met Steve Buscemi.
i had had enough of the convention's $3 pbr’s and was drinking vodka tonics by this point. the beautiful bartenders kept them coming. and this place had some killer chicken tacos! so there we were, chicken tacos, beers and vodka, and Steve Buscemi. It was a good night.
but there were trains to catch... and once it was time to go we decided instead to cab it back to my place. We finished one last round and headed up the street for some pizza, grabbed a cab back to my place, and hit the Corner Bar for a round. i suppose it was close to closing time by the looks on the faces of the 5 people in that place. we didn't care. we had a beer and walked up the street to my warm bed where we had another beer before turning in. (I’m beginning to realize why this story is heading where it is heading).
She slept on my side and I on “yours” well she actually slept in the divot in the middle pushing me to the edge.... typical. we cozied up and fell asleep only to be woken way too early by blackberry's alarm. damn church.... damn niece's and nephew’s and baptisms and birthdays. i drove her to the el and left her with a token and instructions to get to her train and off to her sunday.
i climbed back in bed. i felt like shit. first time in 17 years i had a hangover. 2 days later and i still don’t feel quite right. mostly i’m angry with myself. its been only recently where i’m finding myself insanely drunk by the end of the night. i used to be so good at gauging and checking and controlling. when did i lose myself?
the smell of sweat is still lingering in the air. not the good kind like at the convention. not sexy. not exhilarating. gross, sickly body odor. i need to take a shower. i need to wash off this monster clinging to my flesh. i need to regain control.
and i need to find my deodorant....
i have never been to the tattoo convention before.... so many beautiful people in one place. so much nudity too.... girls in bras and panties and fishnets walking around as if it was normal to do so in public. one girl went as far as to don only electrical tape over her nipples, a pair of black panties and high heels. it was Shampoo all over again but with the sounds of tattoo guns instead of music. i felt small and not good enough in any way.
the convention took up 2 floors. one mostly vendors. clothing, jewelry, artwork. the other mostly tattoo stations. i looked for you. i knew you wouldn’t be there, but it didn’t stop me from looking. there were certainly a ton of large, bald, tatted out men there :) Had I found you I’m not sure what I would have done. likely stood there and stared and waited for you to say something. and i’d definitely have a new tat right now and probably a black eye.
you weren’t there. its better this way.
eventually the sea of people became irritating and the heat overwhelming and we headed out to her favorite bar. First bar I’ve been to in a long time that had male bartenders. sexy male bartenders. i felt old. and plain. and sad.
this is where we met Steve Buscemi.
i had had enough of the convention's $3 pbr’s and was drinking vodka tonics by this point. the beautiful bartenders kept them coming. and this place had some killer chicken tacos! so there we were, chicken tacos, beers and vodka, and Steve Buscemi. It was a good night.
but there were trains to catch... and once it was time to go we decided instead to cab it back to my place. We finished one last round and headed up the street for some pizza, grabbed a cab back to my place, and hit the Corner Bar for a round. i suppose it was close to closing time by the looks on the faces of the 5 people in that place. we didn't care. we had a beer and walked up the street to my warm bed where we had another beer before turning in. (I’m beginning to realize why this story is heading where it is heading).
She slept on my side and I on “yours” well she actually slept in the divot in the middle pushing me to the edge.... typical. we cozied up and fell asleep only to be woken way too early by blackberry's alarm. damn church.... damn niece's and nephew’s and baptisms and birthdays. i drove her to the el and left her with a token and instructions to get to her train and off to her sunday.
i climbed back in bed. i felt like shit. first time in 17 years i had a hangover. 2 days later and i still don’t feel quite right. mostly i’m angry with myself. its been only recently where i’m finding myself insanely drunk by the end of the night. i used to be so good at gauging and checking and controlling. when did i lose myself?
the smell of sweat is still lingering in the air. not the good kind like at the convention. not sexy. not exhilarating. gross, sickly body odor. i need to take a shower. i need to wash off this monster clinging to my flesh. i need to regain control.
and i need to find my deodorant....
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