for the love of science

i've decided to conduct an experiment to see if i really can kill a man with kindness.

my grandfather has always told me to "never pray for patience".

and 5. 4. 3 . . .

there are some people that are just plain self-destructive.

these 'some people' can be broken down further into subgroups of social failures.

there are the 'some people' that take no responsibility for creating their world of anguish and point their crooked finger in the air. since these folks refuse to believe that they are their very own catalyst to their very own demise- not a damn thing will change and they will continue their shortened life in promised torment. this sub-population deserve a tinge of sympathy due to their unprecedented ignorance, but eventually, energy cannot continue to be given by others because it would surely drain their expenditure in a remarkably lickety-split like fashion .

then there are the 'some people' that chose their own path to the land of ache; they foresee pain and seem to trample towards it. this group truly intrigues me because their only sense of pleasure is based on their very lack of. this group of people are masochistic and are only content when in true misery. since these folks refuse social norms purely because they are fans of true neglect- not a damn thing will change. this group of walking disdain is not worthy of sympathy, yet they will receive it. spectators see  a chance for recovery, but it is only an illusion. these people refuse change and the prospect of joy.

and, in the end- these "some people" will naturally explode.

my dearest darling,

i still dream of you daily.

somewhere along the way i became a true romantic; at a very young age i told my mother that "if i don't fall in love straight away- with just a glance- i don't want it".

some people have all the fun.

i melt every time you call me 'babygirl'.

cut&dry

we made a deal: we would date for one month and, if it worked out, then we would renew for another. we sealed it verbally and with a firm handshake. i thought that i was definitely onto something and that this was, no doubt, the most responsible thing that i had ever done in the world of 'love'. 

the one month mark arrived and we happily agreed that another month was in order. verbal contract. handshake.

another 30 days passed and i was under the assumption that we were going to write a new contract that would include a 6 month lease. not the case. 

2 months to the day of our initial contract, he sent me the following [in writing]: i won't be needing your services any longer; i do not have a need to extend our contract any further. thank you. 

mr. micklewrited me good

i talked my tour guide into taking me out on his day off. it would be his choice- i figure leave it to the professional, right?

he called me at 630am and let me know he'd be at my front door in 30 minutes and to please be ready with bikini in hand and hunger in my belly.

in the rainforest of oz you know better than to apply makeup to an already sweat drenched face- i was sitting on the porch of my australian share house by 645.

sure enough, not a minute late, my hunky personal tour guide made his noisy entrance by pulling up in his very-used vw bus. he met me on the passenger side to open my door with everyone's favorite salutation, "g'day".

he had a whole day planned, but kept it secret. all he told me was that he was taking me to a world only known to the aboriginals and a few locals. this treasured place was sacred ground. i knew that i had struck gold.

we drove for 3 hours before stopping at a fruit stand where we loaded up for a picnic to be had in the jungle (don't tell him i called it that).

we drove for a few more hours. we talked and talked about the beauties of australia, about the adventures he's had and the adventures i long for. we stole many smiles and gazes. he was a handsome man with sun drenched skin and calloused feet (this was a man that never wore a shirt or shoes and woke up every morning just to go outside). one of my many dream men...

alas, we reach daintree- the oldest rainforest in the world. he turns off the highway and onto a dirt "road". i begin to become a touch scared- this is exactly what my mama told me never to do; there wasn't another soul on earth that knew my plans for the day and for all i knew i'd be served as dinner to a tribe of cannibalistic abos where any remains would be thrown to the crocs. he sees i'm nervous and grazes my leg with his hand of assurance.

another 20 minutes of driving on a trail not meant for us white folk and he parks the car under a canopy of green trees. the rainforest is a very difficult place to explain because even when you are there you cannot decipher where one tree ends and the other begins, every tree and vine is entangled with the touch of God and kissed by years of never being touched. in these parts it is easy to wonder if you are the first person to ever step in that exact spot.

he tells me to take my shoes off to be at one with the earth and to make for sure steps. he leads the way in a very quick and confident fashion (speed in the unknown is an experience all it's own)- jumping over logs, crawling under logs, and pulling the drapes of vines to the side for me to get through. my jungle gentleman.

about another 30 minutes into my presumed path of death and we reach it. we reach the 'blue hole'. without any thought on his part he runs up an uprooted tree- jumps to a vine- and swings out over the bluest water i have ever seen. he lets go and falls deep into the dream. before he comes up for air i take suit and rip off my clothes and run up the same path he just set (minus the vine swinging). i dove in and swam with all of my might in an attempt to reach the bottom- but i couldn't, it was too deep.

we swam all day, only taking beer breaks and sweet walks up a few of the streams that fueled the hole. he kissed me and told me that i was his favorite american. and i told him that this was my favorite day.

as the sun began falling, he told me that we had to leave- the dream wasn't ours to be had there come sundown.

on the ride home we needed to make a pit stop and then hell, one pot of beer wouldn't hurt. well, one pot of beer doesn't exist in port douglas- we ended up "out on the piss". lucky for us we were driving in a hotel.

we found a spot on the beach to park and took the van's bedding and convenient candles sea side. we skinny dipped in the warm ocean to the light of the full moon and just floated, dreaming of ways to make our world never end.

how i fell in love for the 127th time

i was running late to a childhood friend's wedding. i took the last available seat which happened to be in front of a very attractive gay couple, i mean one of the guys had a pink shirt on- dead give away, right? 

it was an interesting ceremony, let's leave it at that.

the reception carried on the theme of the wedding. 

it didn't take long to realize that i was the only single girl(also the only under 30 gal, and also the only non-unattractive dame), so, needless to say, i was asked to dance a few times. the guys there were mediocre-- but hell, i'm never one to turn down some good disco.

i was surprised when that aforementioned clearly gay guy in a pink shirt asked me to dance- he actually cut in. wait, he never asked, he just slid in. and, well, i didn't mind. turns out he wasn't gay, turns out he thought i was pretty. the more drinks that got in me the more i was willing to look him in his eyes. we danced well into the night- the other guests had left and we had the dance floor all too our drunken selves. the dj played some hideous music and we just giggled as he spun me in circles and dipped me deep.

he asked me to continue our drinking out on the town. i accepted, under 1 condition: we would not kiss. i was stern on this; i knew one kiss and i'd fall in love with this man and i didn't feel like getting my heart broken anytime soon. he agreed to my rule and we made our way to my car. not one single minute passed before he leaned over and tried to kiss me. HA! "no", i said, and playfully pushed him back into his seat. 

we partied a bit in that god forsaken town. it wasn't long before he invited me back to the hotel room that he and his non-gay friend were sharing. me, being the common vagabond that i am, accepted the invitation and reminded him of my stipulation.

after a few drinks we had reached our limit and headed to bed. 

we held each other all night. his arms were so tight around me, i had never felt so safe in my life. his arms were perfectly defined. our bodies fit just right and cradled against one another's. 

i never slept that night, instead i just breathed him in and caressed his hair; i didn't want to waste the precious moments that i had with this dream. and i knew that's all he was. i knew that my heart was in trouble. dear lord this man became more and more beautiful. why aren't all creatures exactly like him? his skin was so soft and his lips were begging to be kissed. i broke my rule and pressed my lips to his forehead countless times, with every bit of sincerity.

i left before they awoke. i snuck out as quietly as i could. i never saw him again.

i dodged that bullet. he's no doubt breaking hearts at this very moment. 

sigh.

let's call him "you"

you told me that you loved me on 4 separate occasions. each time you whispered these words so sweet and soft that i felt them against my ear more than actually heard them. i'll forever be curious as to why you would say such a thing. i wonder if in the darkness that perhaps you mistook my scent for another's. maybe you were attempting to appease me and in hopes that i'd forget by morning's sobriety. in either case, you actually meaning those words, was never an option.

you asked me to marry you the first day that we hung out together. i said 'yes'. you were kidding, i wasn't. i fell in love with you faster than a heartbeat. damn you.

excerpt #26 from, 

"everyone's

favorite underdog"

my parents moved me to the middle of 'god-awful nowhere', just before my 4th grade year [i'm positive this uprooting and reasoning for it will be heard in the future]. anyway, i moved to a very small community during the height of my ignorance. i soon found out about the annual local beauty pageant and begged my parents into allowing me to compete. my parents were not into this type of thing, but they have always gotten weak in the knees for their little girl and for some reason were under the false pretense that i was the most beautiful thing in the world.

pretty quick i realized i was with some serious professionals- the girls had 'stay at home moms' that lived to age their little girls with spray tans, choreographers, weekly piano lessons and the whole lot. the moms took turns taking the judges to lunch, well, all moms except my full-time working mom.
i had to step it up a notch; i worked out my own routine to paula abdul's 'forever your girl'- i practiced before school and after my homework until i went to bed. mom took me down the hill to the swap meet for my pick of the frilliest wardrobe imaginable- my 'formal' was pink on pink, lace on lace- i mean, my dress was eaten by pink lace. and my outfit for my routine could have been donned by any one of those flygirls, easily.
anyway, this pageant was a big deal. HUGE deal- this was my coming out to all the new kids. hell, i never thought i'd have a chance at 'queen', but "best eyes"??- surely!
those girls competed with all of their little hearts...and man, i brought that shit!!- i would've done paula so proud!! and talk about the most perfect curled head of hair in your life!! (thanks mom, aerosol hairspray and rat combs)... and every single girl deserved some kind of award- and this turned out to be the idea: there were enough awards for EVERY girl to be awarded at least one- so that everyone was a winner and everyone was far from a loser. cause, you know, losing f*ing sucks at any age, but especially those first awkward years...
i remember the awarding like yesterday. one by one a girl got rewarded for something lame- and they'd stand in a nice and neat little row- wearing their sash so proudly. jeez, 11 of the 12 girls were standing and some of them started getting 2 awards, some of them 3, but i was still sitting. 'holy shit, i'm going to be crowned queen of this thing', i thought (maybe not exactly those words).. i mean, saving the best for last, right? wrong.
i was the only one, THEE ONLY little girl to not get a damn thing. the only thing i went home with were the flowers my mommy and daddy gave me and a vow to never compete again.

moral of the story?

when i was 15 or so, me and my then boyfriend went to LA for a sonic youth show. we decided to scope out the joint hours ahead of time; driving past the good ol' el rey theatre, we see a small sign, "sonic youth show moved to---", the oh so important information couldn't be deciphered. we devised a plan: we'd flip a 'u', at the light that would most likely be red- i'd jump out of the car, run up to the sign, read it, and jump back into the car at the next light that would most likely be red [ridiculously brilliant scheme]. so, just as planned- i jump out of his '76 nova and sprint down wilshire to my destination: quickest indie kid i ever did know! these sidewalks are amazing- about 7 foot wide and littered with glitter. i see a business man approaching: black suit- complete with a tie, top hat, and briefcase. i get closer and quickly realize this man has dumpster dove for his garb and has a finger up his nose. i attempt to glide to the opposite side of the walkway as to not invade his space. but he has a plan himself: without taking his finger out of his nose, he calmly steps into my path and with one swoop of his leg- trips me. i fall to the ground, skinning my pale knees. he never looked back at me, and, to the best of my knowledge, he is still picking his nose.