You Know, Not Listening

"Black Russian."

"Black Russian? Took a cab?"

"Oh please, that's like water to me now."

"Wow, things have changed."

"Well I quit smoking, everything, for Stephen, replaced it with alcohol, and when that ended after he penetrated that slut, I'm smoking again and an am now a full-blown alcoholic."

"As long as you're happy. That's really just bullshit, your life sucks."

"Don't they all."

"At least you get to have a divorce, some of us don't get past the shower fuck."

"How are things with the latest dick?"

"Fred, and it's shit. I hate the name Fred, and I hate red hair, and freckles."

"Why is it that when you hit 30 you can't choose your fucks, other than choosing between redheads, fat asses and god damned gay straight men?"

"Have you looked at the 20 year old sluts? I'm not so sure I wouldn't fuck them."

I stared into him, memorizing his square jawbone, all but falling into his green, lifeless eyes. I gently traced his slightly parted lips with my thumb. I leaned my head down, hovering over his. The tip of my nose brushed the tip of his as my hair fell down and brushed his cheeks. I imagined what he would look like without his long-past-five-o-clock shadow, which he would probably shave off when they found my body, if they found my body.

That's the scene from The Dreamers that I can't stop thinking about, for some reason. It's the most wonderful 30 seconds I've seen in a while.

The movie is one of those that's best to watch drunk and alone - perfect for alcoholics everywhere. It's NC-17, and for good reason. In the beginning, it made me want to visit France. By the end, I decided I don't really want to get anywhere near it.

There's a lot of sex, and some scenes are disturbing and uncomfortable. During the first one, I thought it was weird; during the second, really weird; and during the subsequent ones..."What the fuck" wasn't even good enough.

But I think that's the point. It's one of those movies that I can only imagine being shown in the independent theaters, the ones that serve wine, only take cash and constantly have causes they're trying to raise money for. I'm not sure if the movie was supposed to have subtitles or not. Some of it's in French, but my version didn't have any translations. I kind of liked it that way.

I wouldn't recommend it to everyone. But if you see it, try not to judge me for enjoying it.

"And do you know what my very first words were? New York Herald Tribune! New York Herald Tribune!"

I've gotten distracted by The Dreamers. I haven't got much written, hardly anything, to be honest. But I have another solitary night tomorrow - maybe I'll accomplish more. Until then:

She stood as two men in uniform entered the room, both taking off their National Guard caps and nodding grimly at the receptionist. One of them leaned down slightly, his tall, muscular body a half-body's length above the counter. He softly said two words, a name, and the wide-eyed receptionist reached for the phone.
Her phone beeped twice, and the receptionist quietly said her name. She didn't answer; she already knew they were there for her.
The man who spoke straightened and locked eyes with her as the receptionist hung up the phone, shaking her head, and asking him to sit and wait until she returned to her desk. He placed his cap onto the counter and began walking towards her, his partner in tow. They never broke eye contact as he maneuvered through the cubicles with two clenched fists.
She took a breath and tilted her head to the side. The man stopped in front of her but were both silent as he opened his right hand. Inside were two charred, disfigured metal pieces. She opened her palm and he gently dropped them into it, the dull sound of burnt metal clinking against burnt metal ripping through her heart. She gingerly ran her fingers over the nearly melted pieces, passing over the few letters of his last name and the last five digits of his social security number – the only legible markings left.
“Was it bad?” she asked, her voice sounding stronger than she thought it would.
The man looked down and to his left, licking his lips briefly and taking a short breath before looking back at her, silent. She nodded and closed her hand over her brother's remains.
“Thank you.”
He squinted his eyes and briefly glanced to his left again.
“I mean it,” she said. “Thank you.”

****

My sister's boyfriend is fucking around. And everyone knows it but her.

He lives 1,000ish miles away. He's 12 years older than her. He told her that he's getting tested for STDs, even though she's clean (or was) and they don't have unprotected sex, and they haven't seen each other since Julyish. Maybe he's being safe. But everyone (I included) is convinced he's fucking around - why wouldn't he?

He sent her a package today with some running gear or something and she was all happy. I just hope she doesn't build her life around him like she was planning a bit ago, because I'm sure he's not doing the same.

I'm a bitch for saying this, but - karma.

I think I'll designate my night of independence my writing night.

To: IT 'Professional'

Thank you for ignoring me for the third consecutive week. I'm sure this ignorance will fix the computer issue that I have been asking about for six weeks, and I'm sure that you think you're correct when you say it's my fault and I need to restart my computer - again. Yes, I do have breasts, but don't think they make me stupid. I almost feel bad that your dick gives you a sense of entitlement.

I know you're not correct, and I understand how distracting my intelligence-sucking-breasts are, but if you focus, I can help you. It's pathetic that I know more about your job than you do. It's even more pathetic that you don't realize this, and that you don't take the time to learn how to do your job.

For the third consecutive week, I will send a letter to administration, who will send you a request, which you will ignore - for the third consecutive week. But until you get your arrogant ass off of your smug high horse, you'll keep getting requests and I'll keep calling and you'll keep staring at my breasts as you twirl your stupid pen in your hand and picture whatever the hell you want to in that vacant head of yours.

You'll tell me not to download anything, after I haven't downloaded anything, and I'll smile while telling you to fuck off in my mind. And you'll walk away, and I'll restart, and the computer will work long enough for me to send in another request.

Thank you.

Why Do You Want To Leave Me?

Sometimes, it's not about you.

Tonight is my night off from J. I kind of want to grab some ciggies and drive around. After 5, there's hardly anyone out here - all the work people go home to their suburbs, etc. It's actually quite nice, and I bet it would be nice to drive around with the windows down in this weather. Though I'd have to fill up on gas. Consumers around here panic easily, and stations are running out.

I want it to be in mid-October in my city.

My co-worker, CP, is interesting. Not really in the good way most of the time, but sometimes he's so ridiculous that you can't help but be amused. Most of the time it involves him either being late to work or leaving early to work - sometimes both.

Today's reason for leaving the office at 1:45 involves the apartment he's moving out of this weekend. He said the exterminator is coming this afternoon, but he doesn't know when, and he wants to make sure the guy doesn't steal anything. This is one of the more believable ones. I don't know much about apartments, so this could be totally normal, but do exterminators go inside? I have no idea. Actually, I think they do. So I'll make this a credible excuse.

For the past three weeks his reasons have revolved his wisdom teeth. The first week, he wasn't in because he was supposed to get his teeth pulled but didn't because he had an infection and had "massive" tooth pain. The second week it was because of his tooth pain (he spent most of the time "working from home"). Last week it was because he was actually going to get them pulled this time. He spent Monday through Wednesday at home, got his teeth pulled Thursday, and came in Friday completely fine, minus the bloody cloths (I vomited in my mouth a bit).

But my most favorite reason for him coming in two-and-a-half hours late was from a few months ago. He told me (from home, still not at work) that he was going to the post office located next to a RadioShack, and outside of the RadioShack there was this woman who was holding up a sign. As he approached the store, the woman told him to read this paper, which was all about how RadioShack forced her son to sell drugs, which caused her to lose her house (for some reason) and have a heart attack (for some reason) and that RadioShack physically beat her on three different occassions.

He wrote*:

"So I told her to chill out and be rational, and she started SCREAMING about how it's not fair what they did to her. So the dude in RadioShack saw and he came out and was like, 'Do you want me to call the police?' I said no because I was walking away anyway. The RadioShack guy walks out and she PUNCHES HIM IN THE FACE. So like, I grab her and throw her against the wall, and I'm like, 'Don't move,' and he runs inside and calls the police. And I had to give a statement, and had to come home to switch clothes because I sweated so much."
*Grammar and spelling corrected.

So yeah, that's pretty crazy, and I'm a skeptic. So I ask him which RadioShack it was and what the customers in RadioShack were doing, and he said they were just looking outside all scared and stuff.

Call me a bitch, but I called the RadioShack and they don't open until 10. I asked if there had been some woman going crazy there earlier, and he said no. Of course, it could be that he said no because it's bad publicity, or something.

As much as I think he should work the amount of hours that he claims on his paysheet, I'm glad he's not here, and I'm glad that he comes up with these stories. Pulling a faux private investigator gives me something to do, at least.

"My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes."

[Sadness]

I'll Come Up Hot On A Piss Test

Today is LR's birthday. He's in Iraq with second and third degree burns after something; he's not "permitted" to give details.

LR is my brother, not by blood, but by choice. We met two years ago in a creative writing class. I thought it odd that a soldier was in a class like that, but after reading his stuff, I realized why it was a good fit.

He was the first soldier I ever met, outside of family friends MJ (who is still in Iraq; this is his fourth tour) and DM (on his sixth tour), and I was infatuated with his fatigues and with his really, really fast car. I was chain smoking again, fresh out of a relationship and at that stage where I didn't realize the good in the breakup.

As part of our class, we were required to attend a poetry reading on campus, but we were the only ones from our class there; everyone else was either a professor or an elderly person, all coming to see the equally elderly, monotonous man read about clocks, or something.

The thing with where I live, storms pretty much come out of nowhere, do their stuff, and leave - sometimes within the span of 10 or 15 minutes. One of these storms came through right as the poetry reading was ending, and I was all but dead after 45 minutes of this old guy and clocks and no cigarettes.

So I stood under the baby of an overhang and just inhaled continuously as rain splashed everywhere but onto my cigarette, which I was covering religiously with my other hand. LR came out and made fun, then asked where I was headed.

"Sullivan, other side of campus," I said.

"Are you walking?" he asked. I nodded. "I could give you a ride, I'm parked at the gym." (The gym was about halfway across campus, he was lucky enough to have gotten a parking place there right after the Parking Ticket Nazis got off duty).

"Can I smoke?" I asked. My world revolved around the nicotine. I could easily smoke half a pack on the walk to my dorm.

"Sure, sure," he nodded. "Come on."

About half-an-hour and 5ish cigarettes later, we were still walking. The rain storm had stopped, and I regretted jumping in the puddles like a dumbass, the bottom of my bell bottoms weighing about three times what they should.

"I usually park right here," he said, his hands on his waist, "but I remember that this lot was full..." He trailed off.

"I could just walk home, it's not a big deal," I said, thinking that I could have been at home with roommate LA by now.

"No, no..." He sighed. "Let's try one more place." We walked into the parking deck where the athletes park, up three levels, and finally found his car, the only one left on the level.

He grinned. I rolled my eyes.

We got into his insanely spotless car and drove off.

"You like fast cars?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Never been in one fast enough to tell."

He nodded. "Part of the reason I'm in the military is because I got into trouble down in Florida for hot wiring cars and then racing them."

"Mmm," I said skeptically.

"You don't believe me?" he smiled.

I shook my head as I lit another cigarette and rolled down the window.

"Okay, sometime then," he said.

"Sometime what?"I asked.

"I'll show you what a fast car is like."

I exhaled through my smile, thinking he was full of shit.

He dropped me off at my apartment several minutes later, after I gave him my number. I was trying hard to play it cool, the ciggies helped, but inside I was ecstatic. Something about a man in uniform, I guessed...


J is here. More later. Maybe.

Serene Sunday

TRIPLE COUPON DAY at Harris Teeter!!!

I Signed You Up

I'm looking at this program in my city, where you basically pay a tuition and go to maybe a class or whatever and they hook you up with internships all over the city. It's something to think about, and I can afford the tuition and everything if I work at it, but the problem is the rent. My city is a special city, and it would cost $1,030 a month to live there. And that's not even the best part, it's the only part where you won't get shot - at least, that's what I can tell from the map.

So, yeah, that's a little less than twice what I'm paying now. And I can probably expect to make less doing an internship. I should win the lottery, that'll fix everything.

My sister's in my city for a wedding this weekend, and I'm very jealous, especially because it's turning Fall-y and getting cooler. But I'm planning on going next month when the leaves change, that'll make it so super pretty. And my uncle will be back in town after his safari.

I have these really big windows next to my cubicle, so I set my camera up and videotaped these pretty clouds, and I wanted to upload them and speed them up, you know how it looks all cool in the movies and stuff, but it takes a long time for a 87 minute film clip to upload. But this is a clip. And it's not going as fast as I want. But at least it's pretty!



Also, I've been going through all the videos I've taken since I got my camera at Christmas, and I think I'm going to make all these little videos of the videos I took. If that makes sense. I'm glad I video tape so much.

Wordless Wednesday

"I'm kind of a novelty, and I'm kind of a big deal."

I'm not big on fashion. Really. I bought my first pair of knee-high boots freshman year in college, then returned them, only to start to appreciate them when I bought some again a year later. I love heels, but I'm not sure what size heels go with which outfit. And I'm too afraid to cut my hair in a "new style" because...it's my hair. I love it.

But kill me for knowing (and caring) that my friend went to NYC for a job interview and saw Christian Siriano. Yes. Him. But apparently my friend, WF, didn't really care, and didn't speak with him. But he's got a really interesting sense of humor and I want to remember his conversation, so I'm putting it here (deal with it):

WF: Yeah, well I didn't realize until I got there that I would be interviewing in the city during Fashion Week..

WF: All these hip, colorfully dressed folks living it up in a realm to which I did not have the key

WF: But I was hanging out with my friend Tim, former DTHer who's done some freelancing with fashion photog...

WF: He's got contacts with these promoters who give him free shit, and they sent us an invite to

WF: The address, though, just leads us to what I swear is or very recently used to be a meat locker

WF: No sign, no windows, no nothing

WF: Just a steel door near Times Square with a burly gentlemen out front

WF: We give him our names, he checks the list, and we're sent on a trek down this long, winding hallway with minimal light

WF: And I swear, there were even meat hooks dangling from the ceiling

WF: Designed to hold those who wore white after Labor Day, I imagine

WF: But eventually we reached this elevator and the operator just nodded to us and we zoomed up 20 floors or so

WF: The doors open, and we emerge into this swinging party on the roof, overlooking Manhattan

WF: Models, designers, yuppie businessmen types

WF: All wearing outfits whose number of colors apparently represent status in the way that rings on a tree represent age

WF: Against the really loud hip hop music, they're all trying to prove their supreme importance to people who are simultaneously trying to prove theirs

WF: And here I was, in a sweater vest my mom bought me

WF: A pilgrim in an unholy land

WF: Friggin miserable

WF: I couldn't even appreciate it when it was pointed out that this winner from Project Runway was there

WF: Christian something-or-other

E: No...way...Christian Siriano? *hates you*

WF: Yeah, see, I never even would have noticed him

WF: Anyway, my plan was the same as it was with funerals, failed exams, and bar mitzvahs - drink the boredom away

WF: But that quickly stopped when they charged me 20 friggin bucks for a martini

WF: So now I had to face these people dead on sober

WF: But I was able to turn it into a game which I greatly enjoyed

WF: Just try to piss as many of them off as possible

WF: Tried to convince one model why a good career move would be to become the face of Sears...

WF: Detailed to some designer guy my ideas for a new line of headwear:

WF: "It's just hats...on top of other hats"

WF: "Like, a totem pole of hats!"

WF: "Held together with possibly caramel"

WF: "i haven't figured that part out yet"

WF: When you take these people's careers anything less than stone-faced serious, they become visibly annoyed

WF: It was awesome

WF: So I feel that I left with their grudging respect under my belt

WF: One step further inward the NYC social scene


And then, he gave the best quote ever:

"No one ever layed on their deathbed thankful they always flew coach."

That's Too Bad, Kinda Been Savin' Up

So I just looked at my credit card, and the awesome movie-bowling combination I had planned for today is shot. At least until I pay a few hundred tomorrow. So I'm watching TV and probably should be cleaning. But "Brothers Grimm" comes on in a few hours! YAY!

J is staying over for the new few days. He's got some research conference at a hotel near my place for the next few days, so instead of paying he's going to be staying with me. Which means we'll be spending almost every night together this week....I'm both excited and not. I do like my alone time.

Okay. I'm going to go hunt for my broom.

Yeah I Know, I Did That Two Minutes Ago

I've been sick. And I just got back from a two-day work retreat. So I haven't posted (obviously) but I figure those are good excuses.

The work retreat was okay. I didn't know many people, there were only about 40 from the firm there, but during dinner the owner and big shot put down his credit card at the bar and everyone got free drinks. Maybe it was because I was intoxicated, but I really got to meet some cool people. Of course, this morning at breakfast, everyone went back to their cliques, and some people pretended they didn't know me. Lawyers.

Tomorrow I'm going bowling with my new bowling ball. I named it Humpty Beastmaster. Long story. But after that I'm probably just going to relax a bit. I know I should deep clean my apartment, but I'll put it off until next weekend. Maybe I'll get some writing in.

But I do think I'm going to watch Friends and then go upstairs and fall asleep to Bambi or something...maybe Aladdin.

"You need to have a little guts and live life. And not be a scared little bunny forever.

Little bunny E."

He's Getting Pretty Interesting

I'm over a J's. We watched "The Sarah Conner Chronicles" with him and his roommates and one of his roommate's former love interest, and I'll admit it wasn't a terrible show. Much better than I thought it would be, but that's not saying much.

Afterwards his roommate, B, went to his late-night soccer game, and his other roommate, A, and his not-girl, C (I can't remember her name, that's a fake initial), started talking with J about stuff. What stuff? Good question.

Anyone who knows me knows I'm borderline ADD - I can't sit through a meeting at work without staring out the window or zoning out or biting the hell out of my pen top while tapping my leg. I just hate it. Also, anyone who knows me know that I never really grasped the whole science and math subjects. So when these guys start talking about electrons and Descartes (his mathematical contributions, not his philosophical) and these other things that I really don't know much about, I don't really do much other than sit there and zone out, occasionally offering a delayed, empty laugh when everyone else laughs.

Eventually I said goodnight and carried my book upstairs - my new book - and I think J and A weren't quite happy about it. I wasn't mean about it, just said I was going upstairs and for them to have a good night, even through in a little sing-song tone, and left. But there is a guest here, and I do feel bad for leaving her down there, but she's one of those smart-dorks like they are (and I don't mean that in a bad way).

I'm lucky. I know I'm lucky, everyone tells me I'm lucky, to be with J. He's way, way too good for me, and I know it, I just don't know if he knows it quite yet. Sometimes I think he does know it, but just has me around as a screw that he loves, but in a "I'm-not-quite-sure-I-wouldn't-leave-you-if-someone-smarter-and-more-mathy-came-along" way. That's terrible of me to think.

Okay. This is turning into a rant. Another one. About J again. I don't really care right now though. Three things:

1. My first screws were with an engaged then married man. Outsiders thought he was the nicest person, which he was, to them, but he was unfaithful.

2. The secretary at the law office just married a big-shot attorney. She's made it pretty clear that her goal in life is to move up - she started as a rock bottom slave, essentially, from Mexico, so really anywhere was up, but this is a big up - and I have no idea how happy these guys are, if they are. I don't really ever see them smile, and they bicker a lot.

3. As I was leaving home this weekend, my dad gave me a big hug and said, "I can't believe you're leaving me here with your mother." He's joked about this before, sure, but it was something about the way he said it that really has been tearing at me.

I don't know if I believe in the true happy love that I used to. What if the best love you can get is the tolerant love, the kind that you just deal with, the kind that doesn't make you so amazingly happy that you're just that - happy - all the time? What if I have found the only kind of love there is? If I have, I'm disappointed.

Not in J. He's a great guy who's who he is, and he shouldn't change. So then, I guess the problem is me.

I'm going to stop here. I've got a new murder mystery.

I Made Plans To Be With You

Back at work. I'm having a hard time concentrating.

I did notice that I have these a little blister on two of my fingers. They're not painful or anything, and I don't know how I would have gotten them. So I looked stuff up and fibromyalgia came up and I meet some of the symptoms, though I don't know how many other things have the same symptoms, and so now I'm freaking out and have to set up a doctor's appointment. This is why it's bad to work in a law office - you get paranoid about everything.

I spent the weekend at home with my family for my sister's birthday. I found out that she wants to move out of her city, and one of the three places she's narrowed her move down to is my city - my city. I've wanted this city forever, and if she moves there (just to get over a screw she thinks is love) then everyone's going to think that I did it to be like my big sister *massive eye roll*. It's frustrating. I know it's stupid to be possessive of a city. But it's mine.

Ugh. Back to work.

Love Me Cancerously

Odd how whenever I go out of town, he has friends to go out with, but when I'm in town, he has to study/save money/whatever. He always gets worried about the wrong things at the wrong time, but when he should be worried, he's oblivious/indifferent. I'm liking the slashes (/'s) tonight.

I want him to go out and be himself with friends. I also want to go out with him - alone or with friends. Too much to ask? Again?

We found a loophole with my dream city. I told him I want to move there. He said he doesn't. But, once he finishes his PhD, he said he wouldn't mind being a professor at a college, and there's one very, very near my city. I want my city. It's one of the few things I'll not compromise. Let's see where this goes.

In the meantime, I'll enjoy my tissues and soup.

I am...what's the word...alive.

After work I played as a substitute on the company softball team and it was really awesome. On the way to the place I noticed this weird little noise coming from my car, but figured I would just get it checked out when I get my oil changed tomorrow.

About halfway home, on the Interstate, in the dark, my tire blew out. was only driving about 60 mph at the time, instead of my usual 80, and was in the middle lane. The car swerved a bit to the right, and I almost sideswiped the tractor trailer next to me, but managed to pull it back and slow down enough to get to the side without killing myself or anyone else. Cue panic attack.

I finally got my wits about me and called J, who said he was on his way, then called AAA, who said they would be there in 45 minutes - this was after about 20 minutes of them asking me to repeat where I am, confirming I had a spare tire and other bullshit they had me doing while standing on the shoulder.

A car pulled up, coming from the opposite direction, driving on the shoulder, and this guy steps out. I know, I know, I'm paranoid, but the only things I could think about were the horror stories of girls who DIE in situations like this. So he starts walking over, I'm wishing I had my gun, and J pulls up. He and the guy talk and J says we're fine, and the guy drives away. Phew. So J changes my tire and I'm on a donut right now.

I think it's a sign, because when the tire blew out I was thinking about how to end things with J, or at least start the conversation about ending things with J, and how I loved him, etc. And then it blew out, and I escape death and destruction. Then he shows up right as this potential rapist/murderer (probably not, I know). I believe in signs, so I'll consider this as one.

Big sigh. Now I have to get a new tire and be late to work tomorrow, which means I'll work late. But I'm breathing and all my extremities are in tact, so I'll consider it a good day.

Okay, well, I'm done. I've done all I can really do on it right now. There's only about 2 hours left in my 3 days, so I'm just going to drop it and not read it anymore and just live with it. For now. :)

I've got 50 pages and 13,946 words. Though, to be fair, I did that whole page break thing before a new chapter starts, so it's not really 50 pages.

But I'm done. And my finger hurts.

So, I hate to admit it. But I'm totally procrastinating. I woke up not really wanting to finish the story, and I didn't know why. But I sat down and thought about it (over coffee from Hawaii- best evar...) and I think it's because I'm the most pathetic person on the planet. I love my characters, even if they're not credible or suck to other people, and I don't want to miss themmmmmm. YES. I SAID IT.

Sigh.

Update (1:14 PM): So I've added stuff. Progress is being made (I just used passive voice). The story will be rushed in the end, mainly just because I want to make the connections between points a, b, c and d. Stories could always use filler, etc. in between the connections, but, yeah, rough draft. I do love Pandora.

Update (2:17 PM): I'm up to 11,847 words. I'm slightly sad because it's really more of a novella than a novel, and it's not good because now I'm worried I didn't get enough character development, etc. But I still have a few scenes left, which I could probably get up to 20,000 words, which is still short. But at least I'll have some kind of start. And I already know how I can make it longer, I just have to do research and stuff. I just won't have time this go around. But that's okay. I have the main plot points down.