Monday, February 28, 2005

Damn, I'm sexy

My roommate and I were on our way to the movies. I was driving while she spoke on the phone with this guy she'd met a little while ago. I could hear him all the way over from where sat. So, I listened as he asked the age old questions: "Why are we here?" "What is Life?" "Is your roommate hot?"

To the latter my roomie graciously replied, "Damn skippy!" (or some variation thereof).

So, he wanted to talk to me (I suppose to answer at least one of three aforementioned ponderances). My roomie hands the phone over and I greet him in the most rediculous mockery of sexy voices.

Soon, the words, "You're turning me on," were uttered. And, not by me. Nor my roommate. My reply was some smart-ass insult. And, he loved it. He lapped it up. And, was doing so even as I threatened to hand him back to his friend (my roomie).

"But, we're friends, now," he cooed.

"Are we? Well, nice to get acquainted with you, friend."

"You've just got a big ol' kool aid smile on your face right now, don't you?" he smoozed.

"Yep," I agreed. "But, then, I always do," I amended, handing the phone over to my laughing housemate.

That part of the convo was funny considering that it was prefaced by me laughing at him to his face and being as sarcastic as I try not to be on a usual basis.

And, now, I'm a babe.

Yep. I'm slowly learning that the way to a guy's heart is not through the stomach, but through a swift kick in the ass.

As the old phrase goes: "Abuse makes their heart grow fonder."

Monday, February 21, 2005

If Bookstore's Sold Popcorn and Three Dollar Waters.

There was this old dance joint in a predominately white town. It was created by a group of black army men who’d been denied access to the base’s only hangout. Well, soon this black juke joint, with its live band and livelier clientele started attracting the white youth.

Cool. Right?

Not. ‘Cause one night that hoppin’ place was hot. Literally. Set on fire by a set of vindictive and soulless men who couldn’t stand the success nor the popularity of the upstartin’ juke joint.

The scene is so clear in my mind: the one man jamming on one of those big ol’ guitars (a bass?), while the other guy is behind him on drum and their on this platform with the rest of the band. The music is loud and the only thing louder is the crowd, on the floor, twirling, smiling, laughing, egging on the musicians and each other. Skirts fly in circles and wrap around the waists and thighs of brown skinned ladies and lighter toned women, with straight hair, frizzy hair, nappy hair that’s wet from sweat. Men in those loose pants, and those comfy brown vests, white shirts rolled up at the sleeves. Floppy hats that hang on for dear life on heads whose brows glisten with dew under cheap but effective overhead lights.

And, I see the other scene, fire, smoke, terror, screaming, crying, hysteria as people rush for doors that open inward, instead of out. Trapping them. People trying for windows. The flickering golden-red-orange glow. The roar of the fire. The flames. The man that didn’t make it. The woman, a walking cone of fire before she collapses in a heap. The memory of the old Negro gentleman retelling the story.

And then, as I try to recall if this is a scene in a movie that I can’t remember, I realize that it’s actually several pages in Stephen King’s “It.”

I love my imagination. Though, I honestly have to give much of the credit of the clarity of these images to the writer. This is the first and only S.K. book I’ve read. And it was, at times, arduous. But, I appreciate his attention to detail. His ability to bring you right there, into the place, the neighborhood, the sewer. Whereever.

Damn, he’s too good. If he didn’t cover every minute detail, making the book immeasurably long (and tedious as the end neared), I’d’ve picked up another of his novels immediately after. As it is, I’ve had “The Tommyknockers” on standby for the past year.

I’ll get to it, eventually; at least I know the experience will be memorable.

Friday, February 18, 2005

Gypsy's masks (working title)

I’m considering a bum’s life. No, that is not a cartoon or animated film. It’s a decision to live with minimal money, enjoying the small things that make you happy. Like knitting. I don’t knit. But, maybe I would like it.

I'll do so while sitting on my pile of suitcases on the side of some road, it’s a sunny day, maybe my umbrella is up to shield me from the rays. There’s a little breeze caressing my sleeveless arms and playfully pawing at the hem of my comfy, long, thin skirts.

It’d be nice to just do the things that make you a little happy. That bring you peace, at least for moments. Those moments making you feel good about the moments that follow.

I just got my IRS check. I’m supposed to pay them back some of that money because of a mistake I’d made. What if I didn’t? What if I ran and ran and knitted and read and collected music and met people and lived the life of a gypsy?

Let me believe that I’ll give in to this temptation.

Wednesday, February 16, 2005

I Grew Up to be a Ten Year Old Boy

That’s the best phrase ever. Yay for me, the phrase-maker. The “Term”-inator…(allowing myself a good chuckle) Okay, me stop now.

So, part of my social retardation stems from the fact that I—a 26 yr old woman who, usually, is pretty lady-like—possess the sense of humor of little kid. And, not just any kid: almost to the point of a prepubescent male.

Examples:

  • I tell someone that I’m going to the restroom (why? I don’t know). They reply in the humorous tone that has been set between the two of us up to that point, saying:

    “Hope everything comes out alright.”

    And, me (having not heard that crude little gem before) burst into laughter as I congratulate him on a well executed and appropriate come back.

  • I stick my tongue out at people I adore.

  • “Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo” is in my top three of fav. movies. The number of times I’ve watched it has reached the early teens. (I can’t find the DVD that—against my “only child” nature—I have shared with my other housemates. I refuse to panic or threaten with kitchen knives. Until tomorrow.)

  • Sometimes I giggle when the elevator's automated voice says, “Going down.”

  • I’m the funniest person I know…I keep myself in stitches. I once told a friend, “I seem to be the only one that recognizes that I’m hilarious!” Poor souls, you.

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

Red Bull, Red Bull, Red Bull...llub ber

Tired. No energy. Can. Barely. Type.

This could be because all I've eaten in the past two days is a few reese's peanut butter cups, candy, Ramen noodles and several filler cups of cocoa (and tea). I'm saving up for a move into my own apartment so I sacrifice the things I can do without. You know, like food.

The plus, I look thinner.

The minus, I'm lying.

No, kidding. I do lose some poundage, as well as much of my common sense. Seeing as how I don't have a lot of the latter to start with I guess I'm not missing out. Makes life funner, anyway. And, the hunger induced delusions are a bonus. A drunkard's pink elephants have got nothing on the War of the Worlds anarchy going on in my mind's eye.

Woo Hoo! Go Luke (Skywalker)!

So, I'm here killing time before class. I'll leave shortly and go to the store to get a little something to tease my tummy with. But, the real motivation for going is that I can withdrawel small amounts of cash without an ATM fee. And, sure, I have to purchase something, but I'd rather spend a little money on something I can use than let my money disappear into bank heaven.

I think I'll go now.

Monday, February 14, 2005

Vhat to Write, Vhat to Write…?

Hmmm, well, the obvious does not need to be stated. Let us avoid the elephant in the room like the series, “Desperate Housewives,” tells us is the strength of WASPS.

Of course, I never have been, never will be and am not one of those stinging creatures, but still some of their habits may not be so bad.

So, hmmm…yep…nice weather we’re having on this fine fourteenth day of February...yep...

Sooooo, I start up my nite classes, again. After that long-ass three day semester break I’m ready to get my feet and fingers dirty again. That was sarcasm. But, not a lot, just a little. Actually, I’m looking forward to my sculpture class (metals, and wood and plasics, OH MY!). Today will be the first day of my jewelry II class and I’ll admit I’m a little apprehensive, seeing as how I didn’t exactly finish the last two projects of the prior course.

Damn silver!!! It was against me from the start.

Of course, the fact that my designs were over-complicated and that I made like a million and a half ton mistakes probably is partly to blame.

But, still….damn silver!!!

Oh, hey, here’s a topic:

Religious person (though, I guess, part-time "religious") rents house with gay man. Ha! That’s me, alright. The whole story’s been covered in my written journal, but I guess I’d be remiss (lovely word, hm?) if I didn’t cover it here.

So, here’s the thing: I moved away from the house of horror into this nice little place that I share with two women. The backhouse, as I was told, would be lived in by the brother of the owner.

I met neither the other female nor the brother, but figured that they couldn’t be any less sane than where I’d come from. The day I moved in I met bro’. We didn’t hit it off at the beginning. He came at me like a whirlwind with a speech about his expectations and mountains of miscommunication between us. I’m saying to myself, “This ain’t gonna work. We are gonna clash,” as I purposely cross my arms, sending the “not open for this business” message. It was just after this that got the inkling that I could probably walk right out of the shower buck naked in front of this guy and be cool. Not that I would. Just sayin’.


So, here’s the “ish.” Me, I don’t go to church (which, I am ashamed at how proudly I say that, really). But, I believe in the bible, its edicts and will tell people…if they ask. I don’t witness or any of that, but won’t change my views when confronted. Which, in the past has lead to exchanges where I’m reminding myself to stay calm as I repeat what I’ve already said, and the person in front of me demeans my views and those that share them. Putting me down for feeling the way I feel and believing the way I believe. Pretty hypocritical, if you ask me.

Anywho, in order to avoid such confrontations I’ve avoided living situations where the environment seems in opposition to what are deemed archaic and rigid beliefs.

So, no one ever told me, nor was it in the ad that bro’ was gay. Which is still important, even in this day of modern thinking and mayhem. Otherwise they wouldn’t ask those questions on the little search thingies that they have for the roommate sites. You want harmony, so you try to avoid chords that don’t match, you know?

That’s the gist, really. It’s been a few weeks, and the topic has yet to come up, really. But, I’m sure it will, and I’m not looking forward to the “discussion” that I’m sure will ensue.

Blah. Anywho, me and the bro’ seem to be connecting better. He’s sweet (no pun intended). He’s almost forty but for some reason he reminds me of a little brother. Not that I would know much about little brothers…though my six year old lil’ sis is a bit of a tom-boy.

Till then, I’m sure I will tearfully tell you all about it.

Sunday, February 13, 2005

Music

My Auditory Preciousessss

Me Wants:

John Legend: "Get Lifted"
Jill Scott: "Beautifully Human" feat. the songs, "Golden" and "Whatever, Whatever"
Joe Jackson: "Best of..." feat. the song "Steppin' Out"
French Kiss sdtrk
Pheonix: "Alphabetical" feat. the song "Run, Run, Run"
Muddy Waters: "at Newport"
Anthony Hamilton
Badly Drawn Boy: "The Hour of Bewilderbeast" feat. the song "Shining"
Layla Hathaway's version of "Forever, For Always, For Love"
Res: "How I Do"
Anthony David: "Three Chords and the Truth"


Me Must Check Out:

Breaking Benjamin: "We Are Not Alone"


Me Haves and Me Likey:

Ron Sexsmith: "Retriever" –the CD that would happen if Van Morrison, Bill Withers and the Beatles had an unpretentious baby boy
Van Hunt: "Van Hunt"—when Prince meets Stevie (Wonder) in one of those smokey, low-lit, groovy, cafes with couches. “What Can I Say”
Jeff Buckley: "Grace"– haunting beauty, strength and hope busting through a sense of frustration and confusion. Gulp down “Lilac Wine” and let “Corpus Christi Carol” send you drifting.

Friday, February 11, 2005

You know how things come out better than you expect? That didn't happen for me yesterday; the premiere was even more painful than I’d anticipated.

I’d shown up with my friend. I’ll admit I was a little nervous to see everyone. There’s this stigma in the entertainment world towards people who were once a part of the world and are now no longer members of that little (well, big) society. And, maybe I was projecting that feeling of not wanting to be thought of as one of the many people who gave up because they couldn’t make it. The hack.

(shrug) Either way, the reception I got from my crew members was lukewarm, at best. Very different from the last time we’d all gotten together for the film’s wrap party.

I felt a bit shunned, unwelcomed and, well “awkward” basically sums it up. Maybe I was projecting. But, even my friend commented on it in a round-a-bout way.

But, at least the shorts that premiered with the one I’d worked on were good. They were all well done. The last one, “The Tao of Pong” was my favorite…and it wasn’t even the one I worked on.

Sounds bitter. But, it’s true. The one I’d worked on was spectacular with the story, special effects (remember that is a student film!) and it was a musical on top of that. But, "the Tao" was funny, engaging, well-acted and relied more on the story, peformance and script than on the visuals. I thought it very sophisticated.

Okay, so maybe I’m a little bitter.

But, maybe not over last nights experience.

There’s so much going on and I don’t know what I want. It’s like I’ve been wasting time for years. And, right after we left the theatre there was this sense of having settled old business (my first night course at the city college ended yesterday, as well) and to be on the verge of the next phase of my life. Problem is I have no idea what that phase will entail. I feel just as confused. Too uncertain to take advantage of this new start.

I don’t know. I don’t know anything.

Thursday, February 10, 2005

Singles Awareness Day

Okay, why did I just see that that spells “SAD?”

Thanks Ryan Seacrest.

I still love ya’, though.

Anyway, Valentine’s Day is coming up. What brought that to mind is the fact that tonight I will be attending the premiere of a short student film. About a year ago I’d worked on the project for two weeks as a PA (production assistant: think grunt…for FREE! Please. I know. But, my insanity is another topic.)

So, I’m just a little…hmm…embarrassed to be showing up with my one good friend in LA as a date. Don’t get me wrong. I wuv the girl. But, I’d wuv her a little more if she were a striking guy that I could rub in the faces of all the other striking (and not so striking) fellows that will be in attendance.

Why? I don’t want to say. Okay, I’ll say, because if anyone is reading this, you don’t know me. And, I'm sure that fact haunts your every waking moment.


So. I had the teensiest little crush on this one guy. And, so I ended up with the teensiest bit of egg on my face (eeww, dirty thought. It was “egg” people. Egg, as in humble pie and humiliation. Thank you.)

It’d be nice to roll up in there with my arm held closely within that of a beautimous de-lovely. Proving that I am not a social retard, and ooooh, weren’t you wrong for thinking/saying things that would indicate otherwise?

As you can see I refuse to go into detail.

Any “de-lovelies” in the house?

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

A Little something something

I saw two bike-cops bust a would be theif in the alleyway near where I work.

That about covers the excitement factor for my week.

Tuesday, February 08, 2005

Say Something Eloquent

“Something eloquent.”

Monday, February 07, 2005

Reason for Anonymity

I mentioned this blog to a friend. Une amie. Un amiga. Compadrie. Comrade...yeah. So, she asked for the link to this little site and I said, "no" and my reasoning was given is such a fumbling manner, I'm sure it came out horribly.

Basically, this is my place to spout off, to say whatever without repercussions in the world outside of cyberspace. When I started this little journey I thought I'd be saying all manner of crude and foul things. Things that pop up in my head and that make me smile wickedly but that rarely make it past my lips.

But, the things that make it onto this page aren't nearly as condemning as I would have suspected. So, really, there's no reason not to share my blog with a few others who will, of course, become loyal fans. But, then, I'm beginning to think that sometimes it's good to have a little world of your own. A little piece of something that is not connected to the everyday of your life.

It's a theory that I'm working on. I'll alert the media once I'm done.

p.s. if you'd like to see my previous attempts at foul and crude,
be my guest. It's all bullshit, though. Bravado, that is. Knaamean?!

Actually, I just reread that post. And,I like it. Had me laughing. From this point on (Feb 10th), it's all about the bravado, baby! I'm kicking a#$ and taking n#$meS.

Social commentary, witty observations, a devil-may-care (also known as "cavalier") attitude... That will be the order of the day, my friends.

Be on guard. Be aware. Bravado. Brash.

Damn, that's just too much pressure.

Fuggedaboudit.

Friday, February 04, 2005

You Down With C.O.D.?

Did I mention my car breaking down?

Well, Hallelujah and Praise the Lord (not said in an ironic tone)! But, I’m picking up my car today, baby. Oooh, yeah. I’ll be rattling down the road and side streets in a matter of hours.

It’s been ready since this past Saturday (derisive laughter inserted here). But, I had to wait for my paycheck today, Friday. The really humorous part? I’ve been taking the bus this whole week. And, my stop is situated right in front of the auto repair building that my little functional vehicle sits in. Hah! Tell me that’s not the making of a great scene in a sitcom. All it needs is for the auto place’s staff to have put the car out in the lot for me to gaze at longingly as I board and roll away on my public wheels.

Sure, it’d piss me off. But, oddly enough, I think I’d look back and appreciate the humor. Or maybe not. I’m happy enough not to find out.

Anywhoosier, ahem- Yay! Picking up car! Having nothing to do with it, but at least if something spectacular should occur, like some glam part-ay or something, I can say, “Damn Skippy, I’m with it!” (because I say that, like, ALL the time), without the additional phrase I’ve loathed to become accustomed to: “But, I’m gonna need a ride.” Imagine me picking my nose as I say that…because that’s about as retarded as I feel then.

Johnny D-Light

I was reading an article of an interview of Johnny Depp. The beautiful, eternally lick-worthy man. And, the phrase that stuck out during the first few paragraphs is one that’s familiar to most. His two-second therapy mantra: “Fuck it.”

Love it.
Live it…?

Hmmm, maybe not. But, something about the remainder of the article (or at least that which I read before I had to return from my thirty minute lunch) struck a chord. He purposely rebels. I mean by living a life meant to piss people off or to “Rage against the Machine,” so to speak, he’s letting the industry manipulate his actions anyway. Or, maybe that’s the wrong word. I’m known to do that.

Affecting?—no. The industry is still INFLUENCING (!) his career choices. Guess it doesn’t matter. He’s still rich and looks to be on a pretty happy path.

Whatever.

Fuck it.

But, that whole bit wasn’t my original point. Part of the point was that maybe it takes getting to the point where you not only say, “Okay, whatever happens, happens. I’m just gonna live and try my best to be happy and not hurt anyone else in the process.” To not only say that but to also believe it to the point of letting it affect your view of things and thus your reactions to these…things.

Hm.

My other point is that the article started including paragraphs of random personal facts about mr. Johnny D. and, dammit, how could a girl like him even more? ~sigh~

He’s so beeeyooouuu-T-full. Paradis didn’t understand him buying an island. But, I do, Johnny. I swear I do.