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

                         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

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

 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

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.

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.

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

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.

World, Hold On

I woke up this morning naked and sleepy in dirty sheets and cracker crumbs in all the wrong places. Had it been 1969 I would have been privileged to arise in this now shithole of a hotel. But I wasn't complaining.

My bohemian intrigue since childhood will forever grow and be fed in whichever way possible. If I had it my way I'd be making out of suburbia and into what I would find as my destiny. Set in my and only my distinct puss n boots outfit I'd be off, camera in hand, an endless supply of gum, lipgloss and cheap sunglasses. Fashion first: my jean shorts that have shared all walks of life with me since age 19, $2 d.i. brown leather boots (that had to be repaired for $75 after being trampled on during ACL 07- it's okay Pete Yorn was worth it), of course my peasant top, most likely that off the back of a Romanian gypsy, and my arms adorned with jewels and ties of all sizes, materials and symbols. Guided by my favorite guitar riffs through the deserts and finding myself on the streets of the big city runway, each step in tune with the synthetic beat we all unknowingly walk to. Living day to day, breath by breath, for the unknown. the excitement of who i would meet, what we would do, how i would learn.

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...