and its fun in the beginning
and so much in common
and common to the beats but who can't feel it any one brought up on the streets
so go
make it
fake it til you feel alright and freak out because we know.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
sh sh sh shattered
were all superstars in the movies of our lives,
"like, shouldn't i have my own reality tv show?"
he had no mercy in his eyes
and with one headlight or one window there he goes
just a painful reminder
but not so painful
only when i think of the others
Dean and
why must you hold places in my heart
is it because we never finished what we started?
am i getting old and finally hoping waiting for something better than this
"like, shouldn't i have my own reality tv show?"
he had no mercy in his eyes
and with one headlight or one window there he goes
just a painful reminder
but not so painful
only when i think of the others
Dean and
why must you hold places in my heart
is it because we never finished what we started?
am i getting old and finally hoping waiting for something better than this
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
ha ha ha high babe
i will one day (my simple to-do list)
hang out with the followill brothers and smoke and drink and watch the sunrise with them
smoke cigarettes and ride motorcycles or drive around or fuck in a tour bus with the guys (or perhaps one would be more appropriate)of brmc
sell my graphic on canvas work
create a tshirt company and get everyone in it
dance onstage with all famous djs
go to africa and help starving children
photo-document all i experience
create an electro one hit wonder
stylize photo shoots and get paid for it
plan amazing concert/party events for a career
ride a camel
ride an elephant
ride pete yorn
get in a magazine (somehow someway)
drink gin and juice with snoop dogg
create 70s inspired clothing line with cyn
ride into the sunset via horseback with a lover
top the pyramids
become an expert at bikram yoga
write songs on piano
hang out with the followill brothers and smoke and drink and watch the sunrise with them
smoke cigarettes and ride motorcycles or drive around or fuck in a tour bus with the guys (or perhaps one would be more appropriate)of brmc
sell my graphic on canvas work
create a tshirt company and get everyone in it
dance onstage with all famous djs
go to africa and help starving children
photo-document all i experience
create an electro one hit wonder
stylize photo shoots and get paid for it
plan amazing concert/party events for a career
ride a camel
ride an elephant
ride pete yorn
get in a magazine (somehow someway)
drink gin and juice with snoop dogg
create 70s inspired clothing line with cyn
ride into the sunset via horseback with a lover
top the pyramids
become an expert at bikram yoga
write songs on piano
Saturday, April 11, 2009
... that I was
Tiptoeing like an intruder I held my breath and wished I had worn quieter shoes. He led me to the intimate and charming room in which the mastermind creates, recieves inspiration, and finally rests. An old piano owned the wall which reflected his twin bed, covered in organic sheets and watched over by the Lizard King himself, an obvious idol to any man born to break on through and light their fires. His bedroom was inviting, hopeful and full of books, films and timeless pieces intended to inspire. I couldn't help but feel at home and feel privileged to be with this ONE that I had long ago dreamed and sketched and drawn up, but never imagined could truly exist. I was in awe. I tried not to be though. He was just another guy, one who had attempted to 'hook up' with Catherina and I both just two nights ago. Did he not realize she was my best friend, unknowingly since birth, and would tell me everything. Did he not realize I don't fall for guys, I've been hurt and scarred and am not trying to add to the collection?
But then I saw It, and knew right then and there I wouldn't be able to deny him no matter how hard I tried. The book that changed my life. The book I picked up at 16-years-old, for 99 cents, at a used bookstore (cuz my Santa Barbara deejay Uncle recommended it, saying 'I'd love it,' and I loved everything he told me I would) sat on his desk. On the Road, the leader of a generation and the leader of my burning and ever bubbling desire for adventure, stories, experience, and life, sat; read, studied and sanctified; existing.
His bed was 'too small and room too messy.' To his sister's bed and we lay and thanked the dependable California rain for its presence and assistance in framing our moment. It's sacred pitter patter prompted American Spirit to lean in and me to hold tighter. Finally our lips touched and candles burned and the smell was unforgettable and a shade of deep purple. His flawless chocolate hair brushed my olive face and I breathed it all in, well are and accepting that nothing good can last, nothing gold can stay.
He was different than the other boys I'd kissed and allowed to make me and those that I'd loved. He made me laugh a different laugh, he played a different song than those I was used to hearing or even used to liking. But I was willing and I was ready. After hours of endless and (finally) meaningful talks and 'wow, me too's' it was 3:00 a.m. He asked questions and opened up and for once I wasn't the lover prying for something deeper than skin and penetration, booze, smoke and all else in the 'all inclusive v.i.p. package.'
and it made me sad that i had given up on that dream, that hope of a love in which waiting actually meant something and fucking on the first wasn't so normal, and "well that was fun, umm, I guess call me... if you want," hadn't become a regular in my generations' dictionary. Thanks urban dictionary. Cable television, the list is an endless spiral leading to one big orgy of apathy. The times had changed and so had I.
But something in this actor-musician-writer made me remember who I had been before those times swept me up and tossed me back to what I told myself was better. Spirit sparked a remembrance of my passions. "I wish my life was recorded," I had admitted earlier that night. "Maybe someone is recording it," he responded. Well, I thought, even if no one's recording, it still leaves it up to me to do the duty. I'm a rolling stone, and I'll never stop tumbling and rising and someone better keep track of my trail. But that's the thing, no one can, and no one will, and no one has the ability but me to do that. It's in my hands, my fingertips and my toes. I store it all in my heart, my brain, my lips are the culprit that let it go and I've gotta start using my fingers. He reminded me to take those places in life that most find as ghetto little shitholes, and to love them, to visit them, to appreciate them and see the magic they will forever possess.
On our quest to the unknown, we passed by The Avalon, an off the highway motel, priced at $50 a night for obvious reasons. It was much too late for his sisters bed and "oh shit it's late, let's go to the Super 8!" He jingle jangled and there'd only been a few I'd come across with such talent and humor and confidence in his creativity to do so.
Fathers car played the vehicle in a situation he raised me to never be in, but the medium was not more important than the message, sorry McLuhan. Inside and we, both actors in life, the only difference is he gets paid for his work, put on a little show.
Me: "Walk in, helpless, alone. "Hi, um, room for one."
Little Indiand Woman Worker: "Okay, $72.59"
Me: "Oh, really? oh no well I only have.. uh let m-"
In walk American Spirit, casually tossing pistachios (that were my dad's, unopened)
in his mouth with his red pajama pants decorated with triangles or spaceships or something in that shape I could never make out.
AS: (in his deepest almost creepy voice of course)"You need a little help, pretty lady?" And with that he tosses down a hundred dollar bill, and strides out the door, leaving me no time to question but only to skeptically yet gratefully take the money and use it for my much needed room.
Me: (Suspicious and shocked) "Um, do you know that guy? Does he come around here a lot?
LIWW: "Never seen him, we'll give you a room close to the office." (Her husband had come out by this point.) Nervously she assured, "you'll be okay."
His arms wrapped mine and giggling and stealing kisses we entered into our first of many dirty old sacred corners we would make ours. And he was goofy. Goofy enough to fall off the bed, to wear a shower cap to make me smile, to tell me I was beautiful and mean it. "I want to make love to you so bad right now." 'Make love?' I thought. Who is this guy. I met him 3 days ago. Making love doesn't happen with me and three days, but yeah we've made and meant ( justified) but that doesn't mean you can fuck me and say its making love. But it was too perfect and although he pushed too hard it was still perfect and beautiful, so I let him kiss my shoulders and love my freckles and "what the fuck?" was his reaction to my inking. We ignored alarms and rose to the sun and that brilliant monday morning I became his gypsy.
But then I saw It, and knew right then and there I wouldn't be able to deny him no matter how hard I tried. The book that changed my life. The book I picked up at 16-years-old, for 99 cents, at a used bookstore (cuz my Santa Barbara deejay Uncle recommended it, saying 'I'd love it,' and I loved everything he told me I would) sat on his desk. On the Road, the leader of a generation and the leader of my burning and ever bubbling desire for adventure, stories, experience, and life, sat; read, studied and sanctified; existing.
His bed was 'too small and room too messy.' To his sister's bed and we lay and thanked the dependable California rain for its presence and assistance in framing our moment. It's sacred pitter patter prompted American Spirit to lean in and me to hold tighter. Finally our lips touched and candles burned and the smell was unforgettable and a shade of deep purple. His flawless chocolate hair brushed my olive face and I breathed it all in, well are and accepting that nothing good can last, nothing gold can stay.
He was different than the other boys I'd kissed and allowed to make me and those that I'd loved. He made me laugh a different laugh, he played a different song than those I was used to hearing or even used to liking. But I was willing and I was ready. After hours of endless and (finally) meaningful talks and 'wow, me too's' it was 3:00 a.m. He asked questions and opened up and for once I wasn't the lover prying for something deeper than skin and penetration, booze, smoke and all else in the 'all inclusive v.i.p. package.'
and it made me sad that i had given up on that dream, that hope of a love in which waiting actually meant something and fucking on the first wasn't so normal, and "well that was fun, umm, I guess call me... if you want," hadn't become a regular in my generations' dictionary. Thanks urban dictionary. Cable television, the list is an endless spiral leading to one big orgy of apathy. The times had changed and so had I.
But something in this actor-musician-writer made me remember who I had been before those times swept me up and tossed me back to what I told myself was better. Spirit sparked a remembrance of my passions. "I wish my life was recorded," I had admitted earlier that night. "Maybe someone is recording it," he responded. Well, I thought, even if no one's recording, it still leaves it up to me to do the duty. I'm a rolling stone, and I'll never stop tumbling and rising and someone better keep track of my trail. But that's the thing, no one can, and no one will, and no one has the ability but me to do that. It's in my hands, my fingertips and my toes. I store it all in my heart, my brain, my lips are the culprit that let it go and I've gotta start using my fingers. He reminded me to take those places in life that most find as ghetto little shitholes, and to love them, to visit them, to appreciate them and see the magic they will forever possess.
On our quest to the unknown, we passed by The Avalon, an off the highway motel, priced at $50 a night for obvious reasons. It was much too late for his sisters bed and "oh shit it's late, let's go to the Super 8!" He jingle jangled and there'd only been a few I'd come across with such talent and humor and confidence in his creativity to do so.
Fathers car played the vehicle in a situation he raised me to never be in, but the medium was not more important than the message, sorry McLuhan. Inside and we, both actors in life, the only difference is he gets paid for his work, put on a little show.
Me: "Walk in, helpless, alone. "Hi, um, room for one."
Little Indiand Woman Worker: "Okay, $72.59"
Me: "Oh, really? oh no well I only have.. uh let m-"
In walk American Spirit, casually tossing pistachios (that were my dad's, unopened)
in his mouth with his red pajama pants decorated with triangles or spaceships or something in that shape I could never make out.
AS: (in his deepest almost creepy voice of course)"You need a little help, pretty lady?" And with that he tosses down a hundred dollar bill, and strides out the door, leaving me no time to question but only to skeptically yet gratefully take the money and use it for my much needed room.
Me: (Suspicious and shocked) "Um, do you know that guy? Does he come around here a lot?
LIWW: "Never seen him, we'll give you a room close to the office." (Her husband had come out by this point.) Nervously she assured, "you'll be okay."
His arms wrapped mine and giggling and stealing kisses we entered into our first of many dirty old sacred corners we would make ours. And he was goofy. Goofy enough to fall off the bed, to wear a shower cap to make me smile, to tell me I was beautiful and mean it. "I want to make love to you so bad right now." 'Make love?' I thought. Who is this guy. I met him 3 days ago. Making love doesn't happen with me and three days, but yeah we've made and meant ( justified) but that doesn't mean you can fuck me and say its making love. But it was too perfect and although he pushed too hard it was still perfect and beautiful, so I let him kiss my shoulders and love my freckles and "what the fuck?" was his reaction to my inking. We ignored alarms and rose to the sun and that brilliant monday morning I became his gypsy.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
electrical discharge
I pulled into the dimly lit parking lot. The same parking lot Josephina and I used to lay low at, sitting, waiting, anticipating any sort of suburb(an end) excitement. Nothing as usual. So as innocent seventeens we blasted the heaven sent egotistical melodies that built and prided us..
Five years passed and my boots still fit the steps my poetry slammed and riot rammed all stars once filled. Central Park, and by this time i knew upon meeting American Spirit there would be no ice cream involved, none that involved dairy anyway. I anxiously wandered into the park, thinking he could pop out of nowhere, reveal himself, secretly hoping those noises I was hearing (or perhaps imagining) were his attempt of frightening me. Steel benches enclosing diamonds of their own warmly led my soles toward Him. "Guide Me!" I belted. Within seconds and through a puff of his self-rolled smokes emerged the shadow of He who I would Love. Sporting that same bandana i fell for and his style I hadn't yet known was his style but still assumed it was 'good style.' Laughter and language assuming attraction led us in circles and we had to find a way out of this beautiful sarcastic park. Through the Darklands we were sidewalking, and the glorious black sky of once glummed fluff and goo opened its perplexed web, flashing slight illuminations of navy, silver and midnite, it prompted us to go. willing and ready, we entered.
Poppy lent me the car if it was back by 7 a.m. "Of course Dad!"
Everywhere and nowhere to go leading the way I steered and screeched and scared the poor boy, there was a reason my license had been suspended twice and I probably had a few warrants out in our neighboring Western states. "You can only be a crazy driver if you're a good driver. I could be a 'good,' safe driver if I wanted, but where's the fun in that?" Buckled and belted he wrenched his side bar (of course I drove extra wild, that was the type of ride we were both looking for, right?) and attempted to spell out directions to an old Pointe we now cherish within our childhood memories. Ok so of course he was a typical man, pretended like he knew where he was going, and I actually think he really did think he knew where he was going, but after 45 minutes of fuel frittering i decided this had to stop. He led me to an on-ramp but "OH shit! this is wrong!" stop the car. back it up. I woulda risked it but it was too much too fast, not too furious. Finally we found our way and sat and listened to each other's stories and connected more than i had with any one of interest in a long time. The silent, vacant flats set an eerie setting, reminding us both of that opening scene in Zodiac (when the pair of lovers preparing to get down and dirty take a harsh beating of bulletts); my sick intrigue with serial killers constantly creeps, picking, creating scenarios in my susceptible little head. Better said than I could, 'we had a successions of bursts of recognition in each other, each one trumped by the next.' From the booze ban in high school replaced by positioning pranks on others, this connection was unreal. Funniest movies ever, he asked. "ok, Houseguest, White Chicks, right now ummm Superbad."
"ok ok, but have you seen Tropic Thunder?" -Because he is who he is, American Spirit, loves this. The satire, the wit, Fucking Robert Downey Jr. as an Australian black man. The war that defined us. Killed us. United and tied and supposedly untied the hate and segregation and racism but i say it just knotted it tighter- "No, and I didn't really care to. I have this weird obsession with Vietnam and I think those funny guys are laughing at my era and I don't appreciate it."
"It's hilarious you gotta see it."
Any excuse for more time spent and I called the movie store, pulling my usual over the phone flirt 'i get what i want and you're helping me get there' attitude. Stoned out of his mind employee answers and I demand he let me rent after hours, "I NEED TROPIC THUNDER!!" I yell, half desperate half cracked out sounding, "MY PARENTS KICKED ME OUT OF THE HOUSE AND I JUST NEED THIS TO SAVE MY LIFE!!! PLEEAAAASSEEE!!! whats your name? I'm on my way."
"Sorry girl, we're closed, you're just gonna have to put those pipe dreams down, My name's Jesse Fernandez."
So of course I go on for a half hour, lying and crying and truly praying he'll give in and give me get this excuse for bonding and cuddling and all other essentials in movie watching.
"LISTEN JESS! I NEED THIS FILM AND I'M COMIN DOWN THERE! Transforming to a sexier tone, "Which way would you like me, front or back door?"
Baffled, "Uhh, if you come right now, where you goin' watch it?"
"With you in the store, honey. I've already gotta key"
"No you don't, and youre not coming." He then went into something perverted and sounded a little high himself, and definitely had to snap outta something when Poppy's car slowly neared the glass wall that separated us. I got out while American Spirit (so Jesse wouldn't be jealous I had a hot dude in the car) played the dumb brother, making spastic hand gestures and quick kicks, while I slithered past the windows, yanked on the door and pulled out my bling bling pure gold necklace, with a skeleton key hanging from it. Still on the phone, "Jesse, it's me. Open up baby."
"Holy shit, you really came. Uh, uh, I can't... wait whose that guy in the car? We're closed!"
After another half hour of trying to convince J Dogg to give us what we needed, and failing but not failing each other, we went back to the quarters that bred Mr. Spirit himself.
Five years passed and my boots still fit the steps my poetry slammed and riot rammed all stars once filled. Central Park, and by this time i knew upon meeting American Spirit there would be no ice cream involved, none that involved dairy anyway. I anxiously wandered into the park, thinking he could pop out of nowhere, reveal himself, secretly hoping those noises I was hearing (or perhaps imagining) were his attempt of frightening me. Steel benches enclosing diamonds of their own warmly led my soles toward Him. "Guide Me!" I belted. Within seconds and through a puff of his self-rolled smokes emerged the shadow of He who I would Love. Sporting that same bandana i fell for and his style I hadn't yet known was his style but still assumed it was 'good style.' Laughter and language assuming attraction led us in circles and we had to find a way out of this beautiful sarcastic park. Through the Darklands we were sidewalking, and the glorious black sky of once glummed fluff and goo opened its perplexed web, flashing slight illuminations of navy, silver and midnite, it prompted us to go. willing and ready, we entered.
Poppy lent me the car if it was back by 7 a.m. "Of course Dad!"
Everywhere and nowhere to go leading the way I steered and screeched and scared the poor boy, there was a reason my license had been suspended twice and I probably had a few warrants out in our neighboring Western states. "You can only be a crazy driver if you're a good driver. I could be a 'good,' safe driver if I wanted, but where's the fun in that?" Buckled and belted he wrenched his side bar (of course I drove extra wild, that was the type of ride we were both looking for, right?) and attempted to spell out directions to an old Pointe we now cherish within our childhood memories. Ok so of course he was a typical man, pretended like he knew where he was going, and I actually think he really did think he knew where he was going, but after 45 minutes of fuel frittering i decided this had to stop. He led me to an on-ramp but "OH shit! this is wrong!" stop the car. back it up. I woulda risked it but it was too much too fast, not too furious. Finally we found our way and sat and listened to each other's stories and connected more than i had with any one of interest in a long time. The silent, vacant flats set an eerie setting, reminding us both of that opening scene in Zodiac (when the pair of lovers preparing to get down and dirty take a harsh beating of bulletts); my sick intrigue with serial killers constantly creeps, picking, creating scenarios in my susceptible little head. Better said than I could, 'we had a successions of bursts of recognition in each other, each one trumped by the next.' From the booze ban in high school replaced by positioning pranks on others, this connection was unreal. Funniest movies ever, he asked. "ok, Houseguest, White Chicks, right now ummm Superbad."
"ok ok, but have you seen Tropic Thunder?" -Because he is who he is, American Spirit, loves this. The satire, the wit, Fucking Robert Downey Jr. as an Australian black man. The war that defined us. Killed us. United and tied and supposedly untied the hate and segregation and racism but i say it just knotted it tighter- "No, and I didn't really care to. I have this weird obsession with Vietnam and I think those funny guys are laughing at my era and I don't appreciate it."
"It's hilarious you gotta see it."
Any excuse for more time spent and I called the movie store, pulling my usual over the phone flirt 'i get what i want and you're helping me get there' attitude. Stoned out of his mind employee answers and I demand he let me rent after hours, "I NEED TROPIC THUNDER!!" I yell, half desperate half cracked out sounding, "MY PARENTS KICKED ME OUT OF THE HOUSE AND I JUST NEED THIS TO SAVE MY LIFE!!! PLEEAAAASSEEE!!! whats your name? I'm on my way."
"Sorry girl, we're closed, you're just gonna have to put those pipe dreams down, My name's Jesse Fernandez."
So of course I go on for a half hour, lying and crying and truly praying he'll give in and give me get this excuse for bonding and cuddling and all other essentials in movie watching.
"LISTEN JESS! I NEED THIS FILM AND I'M COMIN DOWN THERE! Transforming to a sexier tone, "Which way would you like me, front or back door?"
Baffled, "Uhh, if you come right now, where you goin' watch it?"
"With you in the store, honey. I've already gotta key"
"No you don't, and youre not coming." He then went into something perverted and sounded a little high himself, and definitely had to snap outta something when Poppy's car slowly neared the glass wall that separated us. I got out while American Spirit (so Jesse wouldn't be jealous I had a hot dude in the car) played the dumb brother, making spastic hand gestures and quick kicks, while I slithered past the windows, yanked on the door and pulled out my bling bling pure gold necklace, with a skeleton key hanging from it. Still on the phone, "Jesse, it's me. Open up baby."
"Holy shit, you really came. Uh, uh, I can't... wait whose that guy in the car? We're closed!"
After another half hour of trying to convince J Dogg to give us what we needed, and failing but not failing each other, we went back to the quarters that bred Mr. Spirit himself.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
byrd
When you're feeling so alone, tell me where is it you go?
If I'm sittin in my boots I'll grab the jingle jangles
and take a trip to the Sun
In hopes of finding Mr. Tambourine Man,
or somethin' close to him
Flip through channels and airwaves
and every wave that I've ridden I'll remember how I crashed
why is the water so salty? The taste is on my tongue and I
can't shake this feeling,
it's been hangin out too long.
Pirates come and go and steal my heart every time
I guess the treasure in my chest was too easy to find
They all say I love you but is any of it even real?
words and words and words and words and
how do they leave us to feel?
you deny your path was the righteous one,
but baby look how many followers you got..
How can you turn away, I promise don't be afraid,
this is your last chance with me, your last and final shot..
To my head I'm gone dead you killed me with you're golden bow and arrow
when I saw how narrow
you are.
You aren't mine anymore, you always knew I was a whore
Cowboys and Indians I don't think you know who you wanna be
So just run, run away
never put your gun away
and keep goin and keep on makin all the pretty girls smile
It's what you do best so keep developing your talents
I got no hate or even malice for you
but I'm Alive
and I won't cry
anymore. No no no more no, more
lets fly
lets dance
lets take a chance and make for change
maybe make a few bucks while we're at it
we'll be cats in other lives
but we're byrd in this one
if you gotta broken wing
i'll patch it right up, if you let me.
But baby tell where you go, when you're empty, so alone.
So I can find you
and you can save me...
lets fly
If I'm sittin in my boots I'll grab the jingle jangles
and take a trip to the Sun
In hopes of finding Mr. Tambourine Man,
or somethin' close to him
Flip through channels and airwaves
and every wave that I've ridden I'll remember how I crashed
why is the water so salty? The taste is on my tongue and I
can't shake this feeling,
it's been hangin out too long.
Pirates come and go and steal my heart every time
I guess the treasure in my chest was too easy to find
They all say I love you but is any of it even real?
words and words and words and words and
how do they leave us to feel?
you deny your path was the righteous one,
but baby look how many followers you got..
How can you turn away, I promise don't be afraid,
this is your last chance with me, your last and final shot..
To my head I'm gone dead you killed me with you're golden bow and arrow
when I saw how narrow
you are.
You aren't mine anymore, you always knew I was a whore
Cowboys and Indians I don't think you know who you wanna be
So just run, run away
never put your gun away
and keep goin and keep on makin all the pretty girls smile
It's what you do best so keep developing your talents
I got no hate or even malice for you
but I'm Alive
and I won't cry
anymore. No no no more no, more
lets fly
lets dance
lets take a chance and make for change
maybe make a few bucks while we're at it
we'll be cats in other lives
but we're byrd in this one
if you gotta broken wing
i'll patch it right up, if you let me.
But baby tell where you go, when you're empty, so alone.
So I can find you
and you can save me...
lets fly
Sunday, March 1, 2009
let us be lovers
He had been texting me all night
Said we were gonna go get ice cream, talk, get to know each other.
I didn't even know this guy, but that sounded way too normal, too normal for him anyway.
I was always doubtful of America. Always. It had nothing to do with American Spirit, it was the history of my whole life in the States that formed my fear, my hesitance of "falling for that." i've been there. i've been That girl. the sad, broken hooded girl with the tears, the mascara streaks, with HIS footprints still present on her skin, HE couldn't catch her teardrops, wish upon her stars, love her the way she needed. Neither of us could walk a straight line, nonetheless walk it together. So, like we all do, I went through the cycle a time too many. And now I was dizzy. I was not to be played a fool. I was not to be hurt. So I became the player, the ball in my court and I did what I pleased and became in charge. Quick enough I was numb; if someone had to get hurt, like the rules implied, it wouldn't be me.
so i set out on that rainy December California night, wipers full in motion and my guards up. i searched through the drizzle for the hitchhiker, that American Spirit (I had no idea what it would taste of} that would catch my drift and unexpectedly feed his soul to me.
Said we were gonna go get ice cream, talk, get to know each other.
I didn't even know this guy, but that sounded way too normal, too normal for him anyway.
I was always doubtful of America. Always. It had nothing to do with American Spirit, it was the history of my whole life in the States that formed my fear, my hesitance of "falling for that." i've been there. i've been That girl. the sad, broken hooded girl with the tears, the mascara streaks, with HIS footprints still present on her skin, HE couldn't catch her teardrops, wish upon her stars, love her the way she needed. Neither of us could walk a straight line, nonetheless walk it together. So, like we all do, I went through the cycle a time too many. And now I was dizzy. I was not to be played a fool. I was not to be hurt. So I became the player, the ball in my court and I did what I pleased and became in charge. Quick enough I was numb; if someone had to get hurt, like the rules implied, it wouldn't be me.
so i set out on that rainy December California night, wipers full in motion and my guards up. i searched through the drizzle for the hitchhiker, that American Spirit (I had no idea what it would taste of} that would catch my drift and unexpectedly feed his soul to me.
Monday, February 23, 2009
something in the air
stop eating sugar late at night
cuz maybe that's why i'm not sleeping..
and its been a while since i have
without the help of the Rx and the overpriced drinks
and the sound of him sleeping
it gave me no sound of silence
just a sound of a wish
and that's all i was to you
and that's all i'll ever be
until you fix what MAY be, maybe.
and my roommates got another guy
and to the bathroom he goes
and i hear their every move ment mo' ment
mo' or less
never enough
not enough
we've partaken an exchange
you're the girl I used to be
so I won't judge and never do...
but did i really do that?
Maybe we just don't see ourselves
cuz maybe that's why i'm not sleeping..
and its been a while since i have
without the help of the Rx and the overpriced drinks
and the sound of him sleeping
it gave me no sound of silence
just a sound of a wish
and that's all i was to you
and that's all i'll ever be
until you fix what MAY be, maybe.
and my roommates got another guy
and to the bathroom he goes
and i hear their every move ment mo' ment
mo' or less
never enough
not enough
we've partaken an exchange
you're the girl I used to be
so I won't judge and never do...
but did i really do that?
Maybe we just don't see ourselves
the way we really are.and if you were watching you're ever MOVE ment, every MO ment...
would you want to move?
would it make you shake
meant or mean WHAT did it mean?
what DOES it mean?
all i know is we can change it if we want
you're granted the chance in THIS life
would it make you shake
meant or mean WHAT did it mean?
what DOES it mean?
all i know is we can change it if we want
you're granted the chance in THIS life
every passing minute is a another chance to turn it all around.
so take a CHANCE + CHANGE. it's just one letter holding you back
almost famous
hide outs and dug outs and shelter me from the world
and i'll wear big glasses and pretend it's all okay
sissy when is the day that you'll come and play?
tangerine and beauty queens
and zeppelin will never die in these dreams
does your hair still fall
the way that it did?
and you've hit your head but baby, you AINT dead
lie and commercialize
and she's just what you wanted
but i'm sorry sir I can't be that no more
baby said she's hiding is wisdom but I say she's hiding in youth
Youth Young Manhood and am I California Waiting
...while my life goes by, under that Talihina Sky me and Ash used to dream of
and dream on/dream off
friendships fallen out of love
every
time
was it Me or was it Them?
so I'll just part it in the middle, wear flowers in my hair
im coming Home, someday i'll wish upon a star
someday we'll walk Haight and forget about their hate
and hows it gonna be?
remember troubled teens and 'oh she got knocked up?'
loves and lovers and we lied through perfect teeth,
high school fantasy who knew would come true
"they're just jealous cuz we're young and in love"
sing it play it write it jesse and we'll follow the road you pave
for us
and forgot
but i swear its not our fault
so we layed on the fields we never ran
"best friends forever" she still is to this day
and no, you'll never be replaced.
and I think it's time we go back home lover,
find me waiting at bart
live in a musical because we CAN'T stop listening
the sound is still speaking
let us find that within us again... and find ourselves singing and "oh lover, this is the time of our lives." i need you + i love you + i miss you
and i'll wear big glasses and pretend it's all okay
sissy when is the day that you'll come and play?
tangerine and beauty queens
and zeppelin will never die in these dreams
does your hair still fall
the way that it did?
and you've hit your head but baby, you AINT dead
lie and commercialize
and she's just what you wanted
but i'm sorry sir I can't be that no more
baby said she's hiding is wisdom but I say she's hiding in youth
Youth Young Manhood and am I California Waiting
...while my life goes by, under that Talihina Sky me and Ash used to dream of
and dream on/dream off
friendships fallen out of love
every
time
was it Me or was it Them?
so I'll just part it in the middle, wear flowers in my hair
im coming Home, someday i'll wish upon a star
someday we'll walk Haight and forget about their hate
and hows it gonna be?
remember troubled teens and 'oh she got knocked up?'
loves and lovers and we lied through perfect teeth,
high school fantasy who knew would come true
"they're just jealous cuz we're young and in love"
sing it play it write it jesse and we'll follow the road you pave
for us
and forgot
but i swear its not our fault
so we layed on the fields we never ran
"best friends forever" she still is to this day
and no, you'll never be replaced.
and I think it's time we go back home lover,
find me waiting at bart
live in a musical because we CAN'T stop listening
the sound is still speaking
I mean, they don't even know what it is to be a fan.
You know, to truly love some silly little piece of music, or some band...
let us find that within us again... and find ourselves singing and "oh lover, this is the time of our lives." i need you + i love you + i miss you
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
it was all I hoped it would be
Monday, Monday and I was California Dreamin'.
Julius and I went to eat that night. 1940's grace and all-American, he was so classic, so perfect. He took me to a chain restaurant, somewhere typical, I could have guessed. Yes, Julius COULD be a romantic, but my kind of romantic, we'll see. I wanted to be swept off my boots and twirled in my dress and taken somewhere I'd never seen, never heard of, somewhere hidden that only He and I would know about it.
We went to BJ's.
I had this thing against largely owned chain restaurants ever since I got fired from T.G.I.Fridays (THANK GOD is right. It "wasn't my fault my phone didn't get service at the beach", and "oh yeah sorry Maria, I forgot to tell you I'm moving to Fullerton and am there now looking for apartments. My bad."). There is such a difference between the restaurants you see advertised in the yellows and those praiseworthy hole in the walls. Give me a place where I can meet the founder, or at least learn his story. Let me share your childhood and taste that ice cream that for a while only you and your cousins knew. Grandma's secret recipe and pass down that tradition. I don't want this company that was bought out, and "yes we serve this same dessert around the country for the same damned price and it's recipe and yes, in fact was created by the same guys who granted you the McFlurry."
I still enjoyed a margherita pizza, don't worry Janice, it was all I ate that day, and the company of Julius. We sat and chatted for hours, and I actually started to like this fella.
Eyes traced our every move so closely as we were led to our table it was as if we were walking for Mr. Marc Jacobs himself down that lit up runway. We were more than aware of the gazes, we basked in it for a minute and just gleamed back. Finally seated and Julius asked me why girls always stare each other down. "Because we're always competing," I shortly stated. This was a subject my girlfriends and I studied for years. I hated to admit it, but it was true. Constantly wondering what Her life's like, comparing it to our own. Boyfriend? Girlfriend? What did she eat today? Is she prettier, better or more interesting than me? It's a disgusting part of those of us vaginally blessed that we all deal with. Some hide it better than others, but we all must face, come to terms with and get over it. No one knows exactly what that girl, person, whatever is going through, or has gone through, as will no one ever fully know that about you. So why judge? Why compare? I find it best to just accept and listen to what Paul sang and, Let It Be.
Julius and I were big on people watching. We laughed at fatties eating and drinking, skinnies being fatties, pretties eating their ugliness and uglies well, just being ugly. He was funny. I laughed at his strange comments, (okay and maybe at him too for trying a tad too hard) that were so absurd. I was genuinely entertained. He had stories and I had stories, maybe we could create a story. Maybe.
Julius dropped me off in his dirt covered Wrangler and he let me listen to whatever I wanted. Dials and broadbands didn't matter right now. I had other stations streaming through my mind, and as quality as my time was with this gent, American Spirit was on hold and waiting in the rain.
Monday Monday, so good to me...
and about to get so much better.
Julius and I went to eat that night. 1940's grace and all-American, he was so classic, so perfect. He took me to a chain restaurant, somewhere typical, I could have guessed. Yes, Julius COULD be a romantic, but my kind of romantic, we'll see. I wanted to be swept off my boots and twirled in my dress and taken somewhere I'd never seen, never heard of, somewhere hidden that only He and I would know about it.
We went to BJ's.
I had this thing against largely owned chain restaurants ever since I got fired from T.G.I.Fridays (THANK GOD is right. It "wasn't my fault my phone didn't get service at the beach", and "oh yeah sorry Maria, I forgot to tell you I'm moving to Fullerton and am there now looking for apartments. My bad."). There is such a difference between the restaurants you see advertised in the yellows and those praiseworthy hole in the walls. Give me a place where I can meet the founder, or at least learn his story. Let me share your childhood and taste that ice cream that for a while only you and your cousins knew. Grandma's secret recipe and pass down that tradition. I don't want this company that was bought out, and "yes we serve this same dessert around the country for the same damned price and it's recipe and yes, in fact was created by the same guys who granted you the McFlurry."
I still enjoyed a margherita pizza, don't worry Janice, it was all I ate that day, and the company of Julius. We sat and chatted for hours, and I actually started to like this fella.
Eyes traced our every move so closely as we were led to our table it was as if we were walking for Mr. Marc Jacobs himself down that lit up runway. We were more than aware of the gazes, we basked in it for a minute and just gleamed back. Finally seated and Julius asked me why girls always stare each other down. "Because we're always competing," I shortly stated. This was a subject my girlfriends and I studied for years. I hated to admit it, but it was true. Constantly wondering what Her life's like, comparing it to our own. Boyfriend? Girlfriend? What did she eat today? Is she prettier, better or more interesting than me? It's a disgusting part of those of us vaginally blessed that we all deal with. Some hide it better than others, but we all must face, come to terms with and get over it. No one knows exactly what that girl, person, whatever is going through, or has gone through, as will no one ever fully know that about you. So why judge? Why compare? I find it best to just accept and listen to what Paul sang and, Let It Be.
Julius and I were big on people watching. We laughed at fatties eating and drinking, skinnies being fatties, pretties eating their ugliness and uglies well, just being ugly. He was funny. I laughed at his strange comments, (okay and maybe at him too for trying a tad too hard) that were so absurd. I was genuinely entertained. He had stories and I had stories, maybe we could create a story. Maybe.
Julius dropped me off in his dirt covered Wrangler and he let me listen to whatever I wanted. Dials and broadbands didn't matter right now. I had other stations streaming through my mind, and as quality as my time was with this gent, American Spirit was on hold and waiting in the rain.
Monday Monday, so good to me...
and about to get so much better.
carry-a-key and you're there
later that rainy (no) sun-day,
I got a text from a random number, it was him, American Spirit. "See, told you I'd get your digits." Indeed he did, although it shouldn't have been too hard, knowing the curly haired kid in the backseat next to him had them. He invited me to Abre Mis Ojos, drink vino and kiss the sunrise (some drinks had gotten to me by this point and I thought he said kiss til sunrise, so I was a little more than taken back, who does he think he is? and how does he know I love cheesy lines like that?) I knew code for get down, and I wasn't about to fall for a classic movie make out line, especially in a home, his home. Home was a place I forgot existed. I lived in a house, with people. We were not a family this time, not necessarily friends. They were simply there. I was there. We co-existed. Home was a place I had distanced myself from for awhile and wasn't sure how to handle.
So Catherina and I discussed the previous night.
Whenever we were together the world seemed to kneel. But we were nice girls. We took advantage but we never took for granted. Our moms were friends while they were pregnant with us. Her carrier's work involved fluffing the likes of Minnie, Mickey and Donald. Mine shopped till she dropped (literally she did one day) and racked up my father's credit cards. Daddy was half way around the world anyway so what was she to do with all that time and money? Loretta and April bonded quickly, the first time to be mothers were due near the same time, shared a love for Mr. W.D. and believed in similar family values. They would be excellent mothers. Strict and a little naive at times, but raised em well. Would they be happy 23 years down the road? Who knows, but they were then, and that's what mattered.
Cath and I went for sushi and headed out to a shitty local bar we all held a love/hate relationship towards. Sunday was karaoke night and a superstar named Dwayne, that I 'had to see,' was a regular showstopper. We sat and laughed at the sad singers, secretly hoping to not be one of them in our next 23 years, well okay maybe, but only if we were together as sad singers, when out walked Jane Claremont, one of my old best friends from high school. I hadn't seen her since summa summatime. I was too busy or she was too high. I always loved that girl but the forces of time and management were against us. *Look to the right and who's that guy, I swear I've seen him before, past life perhaps?*
"Nat, you remember Julius," giving me the nudge. Of course I remember Julius. He was the little ape looking kid with stick out ears who was a year younger than us and always awkwardly stared towards the senior girls. I always thought his shyness was cute. I was weirder and definitely more awkward then he ever could have been, I'm sure, so it was all good.
Julius was all grown up now and his ears fit. Well dressed, well trained, well worked out (and it showed). He drifted over, confidently- he was no longer that timid little junior, he was a man. He was a fighter, no really. He had street cred. And he did all that cage fighting shit. And, apparently he still had it for me. He bought us all drinks, and MADE me perform a duet onstage with him. I didn't even have to wait 23 years to become a sad singer. We lived on a prayer and sang about summer dreams he and I had yet to share. Dwayne (who'd granted a passionate/molester type kiss to Cath's face) even came to sit with us, after many standing ovation deserved and recieved performances, and offered his wallet. Julius of course stole the bill and paid for us all. He was the perfect gent.
We ditched our dive bar display and the group exchanged our numbers and hugs and goodbyes.
Wet Bandits, as we called ourselves, never end the night when everyone else does. Hit the 92 and off to Them. A whole season of 24 wouldn't have even been over since the time we'd last seen them. But there was something addictive, exciting, who were these new creatures from the night before? Could they possibly be as dangerous and engaged every night? Mr. Gatsby is that you?
No. We stopped by someone's 'crib', fully stocked with a Latina maid fixing the drain at 3:30 am (what?), a bunch of fools sitting around faded or stoned out of their minds, and apparently my American Spirit was upstairs, drunk and passed out. Right.
But that didn't matter right now- what mattered was: In the past four months I'd shared beds with too many I didn't know, didn't love, and could never love again. Had I been bored? Horny? Afraid to sleep alone?
Something was new here.
Could this be possible? Two guys. Two nights. INNOCENT at that, and all of the sudden I'm overwhelmed with new emotion and a flame of excitement sparked that none of these past flings in my home away from home were able to light. Maybe it was because, finally, I was back. I was digging down to my roots. I was surrounded by people who actually had the same area code!
I crept into that brown house on St. Thomas lane, passed by April's open door as she muttered some sleepy form of goodnight. I rested my head upon the pulled back bed, and finally.. i was Home.
I got a text from a random number, it was him, American Spirit. "See, told you I'd get your digits." Indeed he did, although it shouldn't have been too hard, knowing the curly haired kid in the backseat next to him had them. He invited me to Abre Mis Ojos, drink vino and kiss the sunrise (some drinks had gotten to me by this point and I thought he said kiss til sunrise, so I was a little more than taken back, who does he think he is? and how does he know I love cheesy lines like that?) I knew code for get down, and I wasn't about to fall for a classic movie make out line, especially in a home, his home. Home was a place I forgot existed. I lived in a house, with people. We were not a family this time, not necessarily friends. They were simply there. I was there. We co-existed. Home was a place I had distanced myself from for awhile and wasn't sure how to handle.
So Catherina and I discussed the previous night.
Whenever we were together the world seemed to kneel. But we were nice girls. We took advantage but we never took for granted. Our moms were friends while they were pregnant with us. Her carrier's work involved fluffing the likes of Minnie, Mickey and Donald. Mine shopped till she dropped (literally she did one day) and racked up my father's credit cards. Daddy was half way around the world anyway so what was she to do with all that time and money? Loretta and April bonded quickly, the first time to be mothers were due near the same time, shared a love for Mr. W.D. and believed in similar family values. They would be excellent mothers. Strict and a little naive at times, but raised em well. Would they be happy 23 years down the road? Who knows, but they were then, and that's what mattered.
Cath and I went for sushi and headed out to a shitty local bar we all held a love/hate relationship towards. Sunday was karaoke night and a superstar named Dwayne, that I 'had to see,' was a regular showstopper. We sat and laughed at the sad singers, secretly hoping to not be one of them in our next 23 years, well okay maybe, but only if we were together as sad singers, when out walked Jane Claremont, one of my old best friends from high school. I hadn't seen her since summa summatime. I was too busy or she was too high. I always loved that girl but the forces of time and management were against us. *Look to the right and who's that guy, I swear I've seen him before, past life perhaps?*
"Nat, you remember Julius," giving me the nudge. Of course I remember Julius. He was the little ape looking kid with stick out ears who was a year younger than us and always awkwardly stared towards the senior girls. I always thought his shyness was cute. I was weirder and definitely more awkward then he ever could have been, I'm sure, so it was all good.
Julius was all grown up now and his ears fit. Well dressed, well trained, well worked out (and it showed). He drifted over, confidently- he was no longer that timid little junior, he was a man. He was a fighter, no really. He had street cred. And he did all that cage fighting shit. And, apparently he still had it for me. He bought us all drinks, and MADE me perform a duet onstage with him. I didn't even have to wait 23 years to become a sad singer. We lived on a prayer and sang about summer dreams he and I had yet to share. Dwayne (who'd granted a passionate/molester type kiss to Cath's face) even came to sit with us, after many standing ovation deserved and recieved performances, and offered his wallet. Julius of course stole the bill and paid for us all. He was the perfect gent.
We ditched our dive bar display and the group exchanged our numbers and hugs and goodbyes.
Wet Bandits, as we called ourselves, never end the night when everyone else does. Hit the 92 and off to Them. A whole season of 24 wouldn't have even been over since the time we'd last seen them. But there was something addictive, exciting, who were these new creatures from the night before? Could they possibly be as dangerous and engaged every night? Mr. Gatsby is that you?
No. We stopped by someone's 'crib', fully stocked with a Latina maid fixing the drain at 3:30 am (what?), a bunch of fools sitting around faded or stoned out of their minds, and apparently my American Spirit was upstairs, drunk and passed out. Right.
But that didn't matter right now- what mattered was: In the past four months I'd shared beds with too many I didn't know, didn't love, and could never love again. Had I been bored? Horny? Afraid to sleep alone?
Something was new here.
Could this be possible? Two guys. Two nights. INNOCENT at that, and all of the sudden I'm overwhelmed with new emotion and a flame of excitement sparked that none of these past flings in my home away from home were able to light. Maybe it was because, finally, I was back. I was digging down to my roots. I was surrounded by people who actually had the same area code!
I crept into that brown house on St. Thomas lane, passed by April's open door as she muttered some sleepy form of goodnight. I rested my head upon the pulled back bed, and finally.. i was Home.
Friday, February 6, 2009
repeat
The absence of God will bring you comfort, baby
And planning's for the poor so let's pretend that we're rich
And I'm not my body or how I choose to destroy it
Folk singers sing songs for the working, baby
We're just recreation for all those doctors and lawyers
There's no relief for the bleeding heart
'Cause they'll be losing bodies tonight
And he says you love, love, love and then you die
I've watched him while sleeping and seen him crying with closed eyes
And you're not happy but you're funny and I'm tripping over my joy
But I just keep on getting up again
We could be daytime drunks if we wanted
We'd never get anything done that way baby
And we'd still be ruled by our dueling perspectives
And I'm not my perspective
Or the lies I'll tell you every time
And Phoebe says, maybe love won't let you down
All of your failures are training grounds
And just as your back's turned you'll be surprised she says
As your solitude subsides
And Mik(al) I'll teach you how to swim
If you turn the bad in me into good again
And I say there's trouble
When everything is fine
The need to destroy things
Creeps up on me every time
Just as love's silhouette appears
I close my eyes and disappear tonight
And something's got to change
'Cause our love's the slowest moving train
the absence of god
rilo kiley
And planning's for the poor so let's pretend that we're rich
And I'm not my body or how I choose to destroy it
Folk singers sing songs for the working, baby
We're just recreation for all those doctors and lawyers
There's no relief for the bleeding heart
'Cause they'll be losing bodies tonight
And he says you love, love, love and then you die
I've watched him while sleeping and seen him crying with closed eyes
And you're not happy but you're funny and I'm tripping over my joy
But I just keep on getting up again
We could be daytime drunks if we wanted
We'd never get anything done that way baby
And we'd still be ruled by our dueling perspectives
And I'm not my perspective
Or the lies I'll tell you every time
And Phoebe says, maybe love won't let you down
All of your failures are training grounds
And just as your back's turned you'll be surprised she says
As your solitude subsides
And Mik(al) I'll teach you how to swim
If you turn the bad in me into good again
And I say there's trouble
When everything is fine
The need to destroy things
Creeps up on me every time
Just as love's silhouette appears
I close my eyes and disappear tonight
And something's got to change
'Cause our love's the slowest moving train
the absence of god
rilo kiley
Thursday, February 5, 2009
the World still on hold
still tipsy and I stumbled in through the front door of my childhood home. I hadn't even been drinking bubbly the night before but I sure was. Smiling and giddy, as embarrassing and cheesy as it is, I felt like I had just experienced my first kiss all over again. No..It wasn't the same feeling of that kiss I got when I was 16 (legal age to date when you're raised Mormon) stranded with a 'cute Orange County boy' in the rain, Taking Back Sunday and finding comfort in his black F-150 and the celebration of de-virginizing my lips. It was a little better than that. Maybe I experienced the first kiss that, for the first time in a long time, I actually felt something. What it was that I felt, I didn't know yet, and trust me, I have kissed enough beautiful frogs and felt many a "something" enough lately to know that this, this random unexpected and unwanted yet necessarily welcome butterflies in my stomach (oh my gosh I haven't felt this since senior year of high school) "what the hell was that?" feeling, was different.
Had I been kissing all the wrong people? no. Had I been kissing all the right people? no. Every set of lips I locked, every caress I gave and received, every before during and after I participated in was perfect in that moment, at that time. Necessary? Hell no. Kissing contest stemmed from self-challenge, interest and even boredom? You got it sister. It was in the moment, it was easy it was sleazy, breezy AND beautiful.. Had I become a Covergirl for Western Civilization? perhaps.
Perhaps it was because of the constant ingraining of 'me being like them.' Perhaps the 'oh my god, you totally remind me of Paris and Nicole' got to me and I believed and ACTUALLY BOUGHT IT, not to mention the consumption of greens, silvers and golds gathered guzzled and gone before you could say That's Hot. Perhaps this all derived from never ending comparisons of each facet of my outer shell to them. From the confidence I exuded to the styles I showed on and showed off, even the lining of my eyes trickled down to the way I enunciated my words received a commonality comment. Ages 17-19, I basked in it. Team Hilton Richie were the idols of (m)any I Wish They All Could Be California Girls lives, especially mine. No I didn't admire them just because they were rich and famous and sun-worshipped shopped and smoked their lives away. My mom taught me to do all that years before those bitches even got fake ids. It was that one day in physics class senior year when Jules asked "Have you ever watched the Simple Life? The ridiculous things you do and pranks you pull totally reminds me of that show." Someone like me? Especially bratty fake party girl socialites? No way. I had to watch. Disgust and intrigue met their medium. So yes, I saw myself in them, in the jokes, the witty attitude and undeniable charm, their scripted reality television selves did show some resemblance.
So, like any 19 year old- when told she reminds someone of that hot (mess) topic celebrity- would do, I followed them. I knew the updates, I knew what brands they loved, where they dropped their bills, who they canoodled. I wasn't obsessed, surprisingly, but really. I just glanced, scanned and remembered. Perez helped. Their ways became my generations ways. Blonde and Blonder were our new icons. Everyone was doing it. So we stopped eating we wore the heels and the boots and the dresses and the braids. We smoked it we drank it and we fucked the pain away.
Fast forward three years and why am I still receiving these comparisons? Because yes, I was molded into what the books, the mags and the coolest of films had turned me into. I was still in there, somewhere, it just took that moment where I actually felt something to remind me.
Sunday was beautiful and drizzled all day while I laid under the clouds on my lounge chair in the backyard, giving detail of my anxiously excited fluster to Sadie, that favorite jew of mine.
And it came to pass, it rained and it poured. The world was being cleansed and so was I.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
World, Hold On
I wasn't alone in the smoke stained 'made for a queen' bed.. I was gently awakened by Mm's and Ooh's humming in my ear. I had been back on college break for four days and five nights and spent three of those nights turning lonely hotel rooms into majestic quarters (usually) for parties of two.
My first night back to a town I once despised and dreamt of leaving and now call my home was full of reunions with people I never let myself love. The grass was always greener on the other side during middle school and high school. As I traveled to places i wasn't welcome and literally kicked out of, I found commonalities in those I once hated. We were raised with the same teachers, principled and directed with similar morals and trains of thought, then split to the hot and cold, the sun or snow, and expected to find our own.
It was the birthday party at a new club in palo alto of some old friends from middle school, one being a jew I hadn't seen for 8 years. With the help of shots all around and his jewish blood, I knew it would be fine though. (I have a strange love for jewish people. One of my closest friends and her family are jewish; they curse like drunken sailors, talk openly about everything- from their crazy past to current sex lives all while faking a Russian accent.) The wet bandits made their way into the club, no cover charge for these girls as usual. Seconds within entrance a short man claiming he worked for disney bought us shots. Vodka tonight please. No mixing until later. In bathroom stalls and too much liquor in our systems, we reconciled with familiar faces from my elementary yearbooks. Hugs and phone numbers and "we've gotta do lunch"es were exchanged.
As I stood there in my festive red and black plaid dress, negro stockings and heels to match, a bypasser in attire made for him kicked out of this club caught my attention. He complimented my dress and I'm sure I returned the gesture. He told me they were leaving. Intrigued by his casual confidence that I usually only find in mirrors, I grabbed my partner Catherina and we followed. Outside we formally (intoxication at its best) met those we thought we knew from past lives. Not knowing where to go or what to do, only knowing I wanted to know where this man may take me, I foolishly offered to drive him and these newfound friends.
On the 101 and past the .08 we pushed 85. Dividers, Bob Sinclair and a cheap drive through safely led us to what Catherina and I thought was one of the boys apartments. The friend, already head over heels for my beautiful blonde other, impressed us by drunkenly climbing the wall and letting us all in to this unknown tower. We reached the roof, smoked, drank and had no idea where to go next. At this point, and of course due to some much needed drunk driving bonding time, teasing and affection, I knew the bypasser was more than passing by. His American Spirit was much more than anything I'd planned on or even hoped for.
American Sprit's friends offered to buy a hotel for the night, it was much too early and we were all much too antsy to return to our respected homes. Off to heiress' home, we made our way to the room. Two wine bottles later we had killed the skyy and were spinning our remains and kissing what it landed on. My man of the night and I were the only ones openly enjoying the game. Pillowfights and fallen feathers laid softened our sleep. I've been told I'm a snorer, it was confirmed by the 3 others sleeping in that bed made for kings.
10:30 am came quick, I woke up believing I was still dreaming. I was convinced Catherina and my hopeful had messed around while I was sleeping, and I became a skeptic of this stimulating potential. Rain made way for a clear conscious. The wet bandits, still in unbelief but reminded of our power when joined, dropped the boys at the train.
My American Spirit kissed me off, promising he'd find a way to me.
Catherina left and I drove happy, still slightly drunk, excited but mainly nervous for what I may be getting myself into...
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