I Put the Past Into the Ground...

I saw the future as a cloud.

If there's still time to turn around,

I'm going to. 

It's just one day I fell asleep.

Now all day, all night, I dream.

I am the first one I deceive.

If I can make myself believe

the rest

is easy. 

Going back to the town I called Home feels like wearing a pair of too-tight sunglasses. Eventually the pressure behind my ears gets overwhelming. And I’m sick of wearing those same dark lenses. They never let me see the sky. Home rekindles old addictions. Makes me drink too much, think too much. Reminds me that I’m still broken along the same old fault lines. Reminds me the bones were only starting to set. The stitches still seep. I’m still trying to heal.

Silver cars still forcibly stop my heart. The truth is I wish you would have hit me.

Melodrama and angst aside, I had a really successful trip. I managed to see nearly everybody I intended to see. I was reminded of my reasons for leaving, and my reasons for crying while I left. That said, I don’t think I’ll be going back any time soon. I’m just not ready yet. Those four days in Missoula left me completely drained, and I’m still trying to pull myself out of the emotional abyss that opened up and swallowed me whole.

I am the horse I’m kicking. I am the lie I’m thinking. I am the drink I’m drinking. And I am the love I’m making.

I feel like these last few months have been a sort of prolonged suicide. I’ve been determined to break myself, because it seems somehow better than allowing myself to be broken.

You have given me fuel and I’m gonna burn this bridge we built. I don’t need it anymore.

Anyhow, it’s good to be home.

Driving into the sunset

Some things about my trip definitely deserve to be acknowledged! Friday night I went to a heavy metal show at the Dark Horse. Generally death rock isn’t my style (AT ALL). You guys might’ve not noticed, but I quote a hell of a lot of Bright Eyes lyrics, solidly settling me into “alternative emo geek” territory. This show was the trial-run for a good friend of mine auditioning to be the lead singer in a band. Leif, you absolutely brutalized that show! The energy level in that crowd blew the fuck up when you started singing. You are incredibly talented, and I can’t wait for the next show. You guys, even if it’s not your style you ought to be able to appreciate this man’s talent. Keep an eye out for Walking Corpse Syndrome.

[Note: the morning after this show I threw up weird, neongreenbloodymucus puke. I'ma blame that bad bad rock 'n roll.]

Saturday morning I drove out to Corvallis to watch my step-dad’s high school rugby teams play in a tournament. Congrats to both the boys’ and girls’ teams for sweeping wins! You guys are clearly benefitting from 18+ years of hooker experience. I got to see my little siblings for the first time in a month, and I swear you guys, my brothers have each grown at least 5 inches. They look like real little men now. Also, I don’t know if any of you have seen a junior high rugby game, but it is hilarious. 12-year old boys hitting each other at high speeds will never cease to amuse and amaze me. 

Saturday night was E’s birthday, and the reason I embarked on this knee-jerk road trip in the first place. We stayed in; she drank something reminiscent of an orange creamsicle (whipped cream vodka and orange Fanta. Ick.) and I let my sickly little bod recover from the thrashing it took Friday night. All in all, successful. I’m all for a good party, but honestly just laying low and watching movies felt so incredibly refreshing… so necessary. Thank you, E for sharing that with me. I’m getting tired in my old age. 

And last but not least, Sunday. Ohmygodyouguys. Sunday I took my mom to see The Hunger Games. I hope you all have overwhelming thoughts and feelings about this movie, and I hope you share them with me. Like now. Does anyone else wish Jennifer Lawrence would always have dark hair and a bow in her hands? Just in case none of you know what I’m talking about:

http://www.mirror.co.uk/incoming

Also, did you guys know my stepmom's name was Jennifer Lawrence? Although she is beautiful, this is not a picture of her.

So here we are. Next post I'll be talking about: Stone Soup, workplace drama and Chopsticks. Oh yeah, and probably all that angsty broken-hearted poetry bullshit I can't seem to get enough of. Thank you guys for bearing with me. Have I told you lately how wonderful you are? Because you're wonderful. 

I love you.

-b

[P.S. does this post seem like an 11-year old's journal entry to anyone else?]

Inordinate Enthusiasm Over Moderate Accomplishment... Yes Please.

You guys! Ok, this isn't a real post but I had to share something I'm inordinately proud of. I've been writing these vignettes into my personal life for about a month and a half now. You creeps have viewed my type-written heartandsoul over 500 times. 500! I know it's just a beautiful beginning, but after two PBR and two Cold Smoke tallboys, I felt an overwhelming compulsion to confirm how awesome you guys are. Also, E has to buy me a present now. Because she said she would. I hope it's good. I'll let you know when I do. Promise.

I love you all, and apparently you guys are kind of fond of me. Aaaah, we're going places together! 

Real post coming in 2-3 days.

-b

I'm Glad I Didn't Die Before I Met You.

Everybody! I made it back to Portland in one piece. This is a) because of my exceptional driving skills and b) because a very large red-headed fella with about three teeth helped me put oil and transmission fluid in the Biscuit. I promise I’ll tell you about my trip. I’ve got plenty to say about it, but I need to do some processing before I word-vomit all over the internet. So tonight I’m going to answer a “reader request”. By calling it a “reader request” I’m implying I have readers (all of you fine people whom I adore) and admitting to the fact that you guys have a say in what you hear from me. Comments/questions/concerns? Feel free to e-mail.

[Note: Mom, you want to just skip this one…]

Tonight’s theme: a chronological poetic analysis of my first love affair. Before we get started, keep several things in the forefront of your mind. Let the record show I was seventeen, angsty and living in Smalltown Montana when I wrote these poems. Post high school I was working in a café in Smalltown (one of two cafés in a 30 mile radius), waiting for my first semester at University of Montana to hurry it’s ass up and start already. The first woman I ever loved was my co-worker. Let’s call her Lily so I can stop typing out “the first woman I ever loved”. It’s obnoxious. Also, though I had a boyfriend in high school [note: singular, and it lasted about 6 days my junior year], this was the first time I felt an insane connection to another living human being. Also, I hate to break it to you guys but things didn’t work out with me and my first love. She’s now happily married to one of the best men I’ve ever met in my entire life, and I’m obvs out here Growing Up in Portland. I still love her very much, and she’s one of my very dearest friends. Scene set? Good.

I’m pretty sure these first two poems refer to the same night. Lily and I had been working together for about a month. I’m pretty sure we had kissed already. Lil invited me to spend the 4^th of July with her and her then boyfriend. Oh, boyfriend? Yes. Damn.

7.04.06

      #1

100 lbs of Devil-may-care

Lose myself in the loose corners

of her kiss

A bottle of blackberry wine

washing away my tragedy.

Moonlight loves the line

of her jaw, hides beneath

            those cheekbones.

     #2

Maybe it’s the booze. Maybe it’s the holiday. Maybe it’s summer and seventeen and smoking cheap cigarettes on the neighbor’s porch. I’ll be reaching for the goddamn stars, even if I never catch them. Wandering lips/hands/hearts. Sloshing wet gravel beneath bare feet, the rain pouring down like fireworks, showering sparks, showering silver.

My backseat and your clean sheets. Nerves jangling louder than the change in the ashtray, louder than the phone a hundred years away. And I want to believe in love, and I want you to believe in me, because I sure as hell believe in the way your skin feels between my teeth.

Blinking at another neon 3 a.m., your hands on me, soaked but smiling. Cheap booze, cheap perfume, cheap lies, and it’s fucking beautiful the way you smile in the moonlight.

Following “our-summer-of-love”, little b scooted off to college completely infatuated. Unfortunately, this whole boyfriend thing was still going on and Lily (being a responsible adult), admirably ignored the majority of my advances. The day that inspired the next poem she drove into Missoula to visit me for the first time. We spent the afternoon downtown, browsing the Import Market and old bookstores, being all coy with each other.

[Note: ULOL let me drink some of her awesome hand-distilled vodka as a nightcap. I think it hit me approximately 1.5 pages ago.]

10.04.06

To hold beauty close to my body, feel

the music slide down

the curve of my ribcage, release

my voice let it dance.

Because all I want is all I want is

all I want is you

and me and this:

            a nothing that feels like something

            beautiful.

Like sneaking kisses between the rows

of musty books, making my breath

            startstopstart again

the way we startstopstart.

It shouldn’t be this hard.

Then there’s a big long gap in my poetic lovelife. I’m pretty sure my first semester of finals and maybe my one-and-only cocaine experience occurred somewhere in here. For her birthday, I invited Lil over to my parents’ house for a tea party with my little sister. Cute? I'm not sure. Kind of awkward looking back. Later in the afternoon, during naptime, the next poem happened.

1.21.07

Lazy winter sunlight

pools under the dirty window

while your breath

paints stories across my skin

and the day stretches out

beside our bodies intertwined

minutes melting into hours:

            squandering precious seconds

            hoping the smell of your hair

            lingers on my pillow.

And I love the way your thoughts

parade across your face,

love the dark of your hair against

the white of my sheets,

the dissonance

of our uneven breathing.

And last but not least. The letting go poem. I'm not convinced this is actually when I said goodbye to Lily, since I met my first girlfriend whilst crying about my broken little heart... but this was a good step towards Being Ok again. 

2.06.07

I’ll

            let you teach me how to sing

            again.

            Because I can’t stop staring   

                        at your rainstorm.

            The way your body moves,

            so fluid,

            with the rhythm of

            breaths:

            desperate needing me, kneading you

            My dirty little secret,

                        beautiful alien, enchanting.

            I’m missing you already

            when you’re kissing me goodbye.

            Loving me loving you

                        and the idea of love.

I hope this post doesn’t sound too flippant. Seriously, you guys. These experiences played a vital role in shaping who I am today. The idea of “first love” sounds corny and over-played, but everybody has a first. If you’re lucky like me, they stick around despite all the drama and bullshit and you get to benefit from a long, incredibly fulfilling friendship. She changed my life, and I thank  the powers that be, she could see we were meant to be long-term friends not short-term lovers. 

The funny thing about re-reading all of these old poems is that I can still feel the emotions so resoundingly. They’re little vignettes into my past, and I love them for their honesty. Lil, I hope this is what you were looking for.

Stay posted, I’ll be talking about my love affair with Missoula soon.

I love you all. All the days.

-b 

Somewhere Someone Puts All of their Faith in a Fast Car

This weekend I inexplicably had four days off, all in a row. So naturally I downloaded 100 new songs, gassed up the Biscuit and drove to Missoula. Something strange happens to me when I’m alone for too long, and 10 hours definitely qualifies as too long. I started talking to myself, and I’m pretty sure I hallucinated driving through several tunnels. I consumed one coffee, two Rockstars and an entire can of Pringles. I have never been in so much pain as when I had all that grease and caffeine rolling around in my stomach. I literally considered going somewhere to have my stomach pumped when I started to feel like the unfortunate host of an evil alien spawn clawing its way out of my body. But I made it! Now I’m sitting at The Break, sipping an americano and attempting to catch you guys up on my recent comings and goings.

First of all, did I tell you guys I got a job? Because I got a job. I’m now a fulltime receptionist for a local veterinary hospital. This means I get to spend 8 hours a day, 5 days a week in close proximity to at least one other human being. When we’re busy things aren’t so bad, but trying to sustain conversation for that long is definitely not my strong suit. The people I work with are really fascinating though. Legitimately, there should be some sort of behind-the-scenes dramatic reality show. I’ve only glimpsed the surface tensions, but I’ma wager there’s a lot of hidden turmoil and I can’t wait to be fully exposed to it.

Also, Lo came and visited me. This pretty effectively sums up the week. Unfortunately, her trip coincided with my first full work week. I’m afraid I was a terrible host, mostly because I was either asleep or talking about how much I wanted to sleep 90% of the time she was here. However, we did discover The Delta, a restaurant which specializes in Southern and Cajun comfort food. At The Delta you can order a 40 oz. PBR and they serve it to you in a bucket of ice, like fucking champagne. What could be more comforting than that? Friend and Lo also found a gem called the Yamhill Pub. They have a sticker toilet, and the entire building smells like stale piss. Their bar food is all microwavable, including the lasagna.

[Note: this information courtesy of Lo and Friend, since I was still at work…]

Lo: Can I get some mini corndogs?

Sullen Bartender: Yeah, but it’ll take a minute. I have to warm up the oven.

      *Then they watched him pop a plate of mini corndogs into the microwave….

Lo, I know your visit wasn’t exactly what either of us expected, but I don’t regret a single minute. Take care of yourself, kitten.

My trip home was entirely fortuitous luck. Despite the fact that it snowed all week, I woke up Thursday morning to blue skies and sunshine. The office was unnaturally slow so my co-workers didn't have a problem letting me leave early. Even the traffic cooperated with me. Travelling is still a strange concept to me. The Biscuit is the first reliable car I've ever owned, and the idea that I can drive anywhere, leave everything in a different time zone, is still novel. There’s something thrilling about touching the ground in four different states in one day.

I was shocked to see the mistakes of each generation will just fade like a radio station when you drive, you’ve just gotta drive, out of range…

There are at least a hundred complicated and conflicting reasons for me to be in Missoula this weekend, but primarily I’m here for E. I didn’t tell her I was coming. I showed up on her doorstep at 2:30 in the morning. I swear to god, the look on her face when I opened the front door was enough to stop your heart. It was beautiful and pure and fleeting.

Nobody deserves a funeral birthday party. I hope me being here has made things a little bit easier. Happy birthday, honey.

There’s something unsettling about coming back to a place that used to be home. I’ve caught myself aching lonely for Portland already. I miss the green and the daffodils and the rain. I miss my noisy heater, and my roommates, and our house with the red walls. I wonder when things shifted, when my new city became home. It was all as natural as taking a deep breath.

And everything is easier than I had guessed that everything would be, even remembering the way who looked at whom first, anyhow dancing.

Last night I had dinner and drinks with E, The Velvet Fog (TVF) and J-Bot. I laughed until my stomach ached and my cheeks were sore. There’s so much history, we’ve shared so many drinks, stories and cigarettes. We’ve laughed/danced/cried together, discussed pasts and futures, politics and religion, dreams and nightmares. Sorry this all sounds so cliché, but you are my very dearest friends, and I wouldn’t be who I am without our shared history.

Also, we experienced this together. On the couch, eyes closed, holding hands together. I wept like a child.

So here I am, in a town that doesn’t feel like home, with friends who feel like family and a chest that feels like it’s full of rocks and broken glass. In two days I’ll get back in the Biscuit and leave this town. I’ll keep my hands on the wheel, my eyes on the road, my thoughts in my head and marbles in my throat.

Lucy, thank you for your moment of weakness.

-b

We Are Nowhere, and It's Now.

Another week has passed. I hope you guys missed me as much as I missed you… as much as I miss sleep, my friends, my family. As much as I miss snow falling silently in the dirty glow of streetlights. As much as I miss purple.

I’ve been sleeping so strange at night. Side effects they don’t advertise. I’ve been sleeping so strange, with a head full of pesticides…

My dreams have never been so strange as this last week. They’ve been so vivid I feel them painfully, if not physically. They seem to trail behind me throughout the day, like a kite string, or my breath in the cold mornings. I can’t quite shake them; they sit in the back corner of my mind gathering dust and suspicions. I’m going to share them in an attempt to exorcise them.

I dreamt about a man sitting beside me, holding a giant hunting knife. He asked if I was a realist or an idealist. I said I wasn’t sure. He swung the knife at my chest, and I somehow deflected it. He told me I must be a realist; an idealist never would have believed he’d strike.

I dreamt about my best friends from high school. You guys remember Florida? I miss you all the time. I hope your futures are sliding into focus.   

I dreamt about sitting in the backseat of a car with TR driving. We were trying to get to church because she’d left her keys there the night before. Lucy was leaving when we pulled up, wearing a purple bandana. She saw me and I felt like a ghost, or the idea of a ghost. Perhaps a dream. Something not quite real, or not quite human, I’m not sure which. Lucy, I still keep the idea of love on a chain around my neck.

I dreamt about flying a plane full of strangers. We crash landed on a yellow brick road that was mortared with the blood of children. These children staggered around with glazed eyes begging for us to hold their hands, while a ragged militia threatened us with rusty bayonets.

Why are you scared to dream of god, when it’s salvation that you want?

[Note: One time I wrote a poem to embody my dreamscape]

Children of desire                                                       your mouths are empty skulls

                                                                        droning wordless songs

Children of tomorrow                                                 you tear your clothes while

                                                                        the world laughs, laughingly

Children of revolution,                                               your voices dig wells

                                                                        for the thirsty to drown in

mother, your cold fingers tremble

brother, your breath stirs ashes in a stone hearth

father, your mind scavenges rotten ideas

sister, the bones rattle in your fist

while the sickle moon

     dances

          dances

Children of desire,                                                      your eyes are hollow sockets

                                                                        leaking sticky smoke

Children of tomorrow,                                                your future hangs bloated

                                                                        in the gallows of yesterday

Children of revolution,                                               your honeyed lips drizzle

                                                                        poison into hungry mouths

mother, your smile is on backwards

brother, your future swells like a black balloon

father, your life is a silver dagger

sister, your mind swallows infinity

still the sickle moon

     dances

          dances

Sorry guys, I promise my next post will be more informative. I really do have a whole heap of hilarious anecdotes and progress reports from this past week. Check back soon for my sense of humor, I'm sure I only momentarily misplaced it. 

So rest eludes me, now I’m back where I’ve already been. Waiting for the rain to start, looking at the sky.

I love you. 

-b

I'm Like the Rain in a Downpour...

[Note: I did not in any way edit this stream-of-consciousness post...]

You guys, the past 48 hours or so have been significant, so I’ma subject you to more of my ramblings ahead of schedule. Also, Lo is coming to visit! Starting tomorrow! So this will probably be the last you hear from me between now and Sunday. Do you think you can make it that long? I’m not sure I can. Seriously guys, this has been the best outlet I’ve ever had. Thank you for enabling me, I couldn’t do it without you. Ok, yes I could. But it would be significantly less fulfilling.

It’s been drawn to my attention that I was a little nonchalant in my discussion of the weather yesterday. I know I mentioned a little bit of a storm… Let me elaborate. Yesterday being my final day of funemployment, I proclaimed: “Come hell or high water I’m going to see the coast tomorrow”. Apparently I shouldn’t have chosen a phrase that could be interpreted so literally. The beach I was headed to is about an hour and a half away from home base. I figured I would wake up, grab a coffee on my way out of town and be watching the waves roll in by noon or so. Was I dissuaded when I woke up to torrential rains? Yes. But clearly not enough to call off the mission. I had downloaded 90 new songs for the trip, and weather be damned I was going to see the ocean!

You know how sometimes you get an idea in your head and you stubbornly cling to it despite every indication that it will cause you trouble? Hmmm…

The first time I considered turning around was when I realized the rain had subtly shifted into a weird misty sleet/snow and the roads may or may not be icy. I was hesitant to test them because the Biscuit is shady even in good weather, and we’d already enjoyed a couple of good hydroplanes. The second time was when a semi passed me, spraying a sheet of rainwater over the entire front end of my car and making it impossible to see a goddamn thing. The third was when the bridge I needed to take was washed out. But did I turn around? No. Because I’m stubborn, and stupid, and in Montana tsunamis are as realistic as unicorns and the Truth Fairy.

By the time I rolled into Seaside my stomach was literally digesting itself. I decided to stop into a coffee shop, have some lunch and do some homework before heading down to the beach. This is where my previous post found us. What I forgot to mention is this: whilst sitting in the coffee shop I overheard these old men talking about the police barricades preventing beach access and a legitimate tsunami warning. People weren’t being allowed anywhere near the ocean because it could literally swallow them whole. At this point I realized several things: it had been raining for a lot of hours, it was going to be getting dark soon and I was a long, long way from home. So really, it’s a miracle I survived my adventure yesterday, and all I got out of it was a delicious turkey sandwich and the opportunity to listen to approximately 90 new songs. And a chance to talk to you guys about all the feelings I’ve been having lately.

I should also state that after all that Buffy hype, and the hours spent pouring over episodes and the wikipedia, Friend and I skipped trivia yesterday. Friend’s awesome big sister had tickets to a Saul Williams show and wanted us to get tickets too so we could be concert-goers together. I had personally never heard of Saul Williams. If you’re in the same boat as I was, watch him on Def Poetry. Having watched this video with Friend about 30 minutes before the concert, I was expecting something in this same vein.

He wasn’t at all what I expected. Standing in that crowded basement room I felt Music the way I’ve never felt it before. Music that cancelled out your heartbeat. Music that wanted to crack your ribs, cause your body to implode, leave a supernova in the space your breath used to occupy. You guys, it was Poetry. Also, Saul Williams is a total rock star.

On a completely unrelated note, today was my first day at New Job. I observed! I absorbed! I attempted to retain any single bit of information. You guys, I like to think that I’m pretty seasoned in all things dog. But today I watched a rescue greyhound get neutered. Apparently it takes a better person than me to “manscape” a dog’s penis and not be absolutely disgusted with yourself and your lot in life. It also takes a much stranger person than me to be able to eat a hardboiled egg whilst watching someone else manscape a dog’s penis. I expected myself to feel a little queasy in the operating room, because let’s face it, I almost pass out when I nick my leg shaving. All things considered, I handled myself pretty well. I watched a surgery, helped splint a cat’s broken toe and played with a golden retriever puppy. For the other 7.5 hours I mostly stared at a wall and thought about how much my feet hurt. I’ma chalk it off as a win.

Tomorrow is another big day! So I had best get myself to sleep. 

I love you guys. Seriously. 

-b

P.S. For the record, since I have been quoting a lot of really incredible people in these posts: anything in italics is not my original work. It is some snippet of inspirational something that I borrowed to reinforce whatever thing I was saying. If you want to know what something is from you're more than welcome to e-mail me your request, or leave me a comment. 

Down by the Water, Down by the Old Main Drag

Alone on a train, aimless in wonder, an outdated map crumbled in my pocket.

I didn’t care where I was going ‘cause they’re all different names for the same place…

I’ve been thinking a lot of big thoughts lately, and I don’t quite have the words for them yet. Attempting to clear my head I braved the weather (rain, sleet, snow and hail all in one hour) to gain new perspective. I’m sitting in a coffee shop in Seaside, Oregon watching the rain through the foggy window and trying to find something to tell you.

Today is my last day of unadulterated freedom. Tomorrow I start my new job and consequently my new future. I know I should be excited, revel in the security of a steady paycheck, but I’ve been enjoying unemployment. I’ve taken long walks with nowhere to go and no time to be there. I’ve spent entire days reading next to a mug of hot tea, listening to the rain and the wind in the trees. I know a job is a necessary evil, especially if your spending habits run as rampart as mine, but I wish I could have lived like a bohemian a little bit longer.

The coast disappeared when the sea drowned the sun
and I knew no words to share with anyone.
The boundaries of language I quietly cursed 
and all the different names for the same thing.

My brain feels thick today; the words won’t fall into place the way they’re supposed to. Even in a new town I’m still me, and today that is less than exceptional.

I’ve been thinking about growing up, growing old. I wonder if someday I’ll look back at these words and laugh or cry for this innocent self. I was talking to my mom the other day. She said the funny thing about getting older is that you will always still be you. Your mind never perceptibly changes. There’s no earth-shattering Moment of Realization when the fact of adulthood suddenly becomes real to you. Suddenly becomes you. The secret is that there is no secret. It’s disheartening to think that in twenty years I will most likely be saddled with the same insecurities, the same fears and flaws and disappointments that shadow me now. How much do we really change over the course of a lifetime?

This week has been full of ups and downs, like I’m riding a roller coaster but forgot to pull down the safety bar. I’m fighting gravity with every plunge. But that’s not quite right either. I’m already falling and I don’t know when I’ll stop. I’ve been taking long walks. I’ve been walking until my feet hurt more than the traitor in my chest. You guys, this city is absolutely beautiful right now! I’ve seen tulips insisting it’s spring, their yellow bulbs hanging heavy with rain. I’ve seen children playing behind picket fences like pictures in a flip book, their cartwheels and somersaults alarmingly fractured. I’ve seen the clouds roll in slow and silent, blanketing us almost tenderly. I’ve stood on the street corner, traffic grumbling; wheels on pavement like the city’s heartbeat.  

I’ve been thinking about love, but those thoughts aren’t ready to be expressed yet. They still hurt too much. Lucy, I’m recording our history now on the bedroom wall.

Take it from me, I’ve been there a thousand times You hate your pulse because it thinks you’re still alive, and everything’s wrong. It just gets so hard sometimes. Be calm.

I’ve got to get back over the pass before the roads are washed out! I love you all, and I’m thinking about you.


-b

The Dog Days Are... Probably Just Beginning.

[Note: this post is brought to you by cheap wine, clear skies and the letter b…]

Monday night Friend, U.L.O.L. and I traipsed over to North Bar for trivia. Turns out we were whizzes (pardon the pun) at Toilet and Beekeeping trivia. Unfortunately, our general knowledge, and definitely our current events were a little weak. But you guys! North Bar is the sort of establishment that celebrates mediocrity! Since we were “rounding out the scoreboard” at last place all night, the Trivia Master let us pick a category for next week. Obviously, my knee jerk reaction was to choose Buffy the Vampire Slayer, not taking into account the fact that U.L.O.L and Friend have never in their whole lives seen a single episode.

Buffy is incredulous

Whoops. Clearly the only remedy will be to watch every single episode of all seven seasons in one week. If you don’t hear from me, it’s because I've been sucked into the Hellmouth.

Between episodes I have managed to do semi-productive adult things. These include laundry, feeding and bathing myself… oh yeah, and applying for jobs. Wednesday I got callbacks for not one, but two interviews! After scheduling both, it occurred to me that everything in my closet looks like it survived the zombie apocalypse. Barely. The weather was beautiful and I had planned on squandering another blissful day of funemployment wandering aimlessly (AKA “getting acclimated”). When faced with Grown-Up Responsibility, I’ve found you have several options:

1. Ignore it until it goes away

2. Suck it up and do what you need to do, grudgingly

3. Concoct a freakish, hybrid itinerary which includes simultaneously shirking and embracing said Responsibility.  

Obviously, as a perpetual over-committer, the latter was my only option. So I resolutely tightened my Chacos and set out for the nearest department store (about two miles away). I figured I could save myself time by walking instead of going to the gym, get my daily dose of Vitamin-D and still have plenty of time to purchase interview-worthy duds.  

On an unrelated note: does anybody remember Vitamin C? Whatever happened to her?

So much for that whole put-a-smile-on-your-face gambit

Several obvious flaws to this Frankenstein plan: trusting myself to voluntarily enter a department store after experiencing a glorious spring afternoon, relying on only one store to assemble an entire professional wardrobe and believing whole-heartedly that I had any idea of how to combine “professional” and “fashionable”. I encountered the first glitch when I got “lost”. Seriously, this store is right next to my gym so it’s the only route I’ve driven daily since moving to this city. I could have driven to this store with my eyes closed. But somehow my mutinous feet dragged me down side streets and alleys before I even knew what had happened. After a stern talking-to, they got us back on track. Serious uphill battle.

I made it to my destination before encountering the second glitch: every pair of dress pants in the store fit my body strangely. To be fair, most of the dress pants were more of a faux-professional slip-on type deal by “Flirtatious” brand. Obviously I am not a 13-year old anymore, and these were not designed for me [Note: they probably wouldn’t have fit me when I was 13 either, but I would have worn them shamelessly]. Furthermore, my 24-inch inseam makes buying pants in the best of times a trying ordeal. These freakishly short legs are my blessing and my curse. They’re excellent for the running/jumping/sprinting, and they afford me a considerably low center of gravity on the pitch. But let’s face it; they weren’t designed for office wear. By some miracle, after about an hour of frantically pawing through the racks, I found a pair of pants that fit well and were only about 3 inches too long. At this point, sweaty and starting to mumble to myself, I probably would have settled for anything.

Third disappointing and predictable glitch: there was not a single vest in the entire store. By this point in the day I was thoroughly convinced that the only possible way I could get hired would be whilst wearing a stylish vest layered over whatever other boring clothes I found. I was literally distraught about the absence of vests. I trudged home dejectedly. I didn’t even enjoy the sunshine. Luckily, when I got home there was a care package from Lo! She baked me a batch of what she called muffins and I determined to be cleverly disguised cupcakes. Let’s split the difference and call them muff-cakes. When I went to bed last night there was a single muff-cake left… it never saw the light of day. Lo, roomies and I are eternally grateful. Also, I am currently drinking wine out of my commemorative glass. 

After several muff-cakes and a sandwich I was ready for my vest quest. You didn’t think I would give up that easily, did you? After some legit sleuthing, I determined Maurice’s was the only store in this town that could guarantee me stylish vests. I’ma spare you the details of how lost I got, how many children I nearly mowed down trying to read street signs, so on and so forth… Suffice it to say I eventually made it to my destination. Maurice’s was like a vest utopia. I swept in there, a force to be reckoned with, scooped up all of the medium sized vests in the whole store and disappeared into a dressing room before they could say “20% Off”.

Let’s get real for minute, guys. There are very few things I get legitimately excited about, especially in the fashion realm. To-date I have fallen deeply in love with Chacos, bandanas and rugby jerseys. You guys. Trying on those vests was like babies discovering the existence of their own toes. I was enchanted! I was unstoppable! I had to buy one in every color!  

Me: I just compulsively spent $75 on stylish vests…

Friend: I’d say that’s a good inVESTment!

I spent a whole hour getting ready for my interview this morning. Keep in mind this is the longest I’ve taken to get ready any morning in the past… 1,825 days. Give or take. Slet.

[Note: “slet” is an inside joke I would like to invite you all into, but it really wouldn’t be funny if I tried to type it out here with no context. Suffice it to say after approximately 10 hours of drinking at the Silvertip Casino, J-bot coined a term. Imagine if you smooshed the phrase “She’s let herself go” into a single word and then extracted the “s’let” portion and verbified it. To slet is to become generally disinterested with the basics of being socially acceptable (ex. bathing, exercising and brushing one’s teeth). 

I ended up looking like this...

My thoughts from 10:40am: I’m sitting in the parking lot of my Potential Job, about 20 minutes early for my interview. I’m sweaty, I haven’t had any coffee (although I did swill down two mugs of green tea, attempting to preemptively kick an oncoming cold) and I can feel my heartbeat somewhere deep behind my eyes. I. Am. Ready.

I’m not going to bore you guys with the rambling details of how I potentially charmed my way into a kick-ass job. About 7 hours later I was finally headed home. Last obstacle is tomorrow’s drug test, and a background check. I’m 99.9% sure I’ll be ok on both of those fronts. Side note, not a single mirror in this house is conducive to taking pictures of oneself. This is U.L.O.L.'s mirror. She is a tiny human being.  

Anyhow, this post got considerably longer than I expected it to. I hope I didn’t bore you guys too terribly. Wish me luck; I may soon be gainfully employed.

Lucy, I had a dream that you’ve been touring Australia and Europe. You called as soon as you were back stateside. It may have been a dream, but it was damn good to hear your voice.

As always, I love and miss you all.

-b

Little Darling, It's Been a Long Cold Lonely Winter

You guys! We’ve made it two weeks! And hopefully at least some of you are still with me...  

Today is an incredibly lovely day. The sun is shining, the wind is quiet and the temperature screams “Spring! It’s spring bitches!”. It’s the sort of day that makes me want to longboard, or run barefoot through mud, or nap on the steps to the Jeanette Rankin building. Days like this remind me of frisbee on the Oval with TR and Bub, long walks by the river with Lucy, clutching lukewarm coffees because otherwise our fingers might fall off. Pretending the cold doesn’t bother us, ignoring runny noses and goosebumps. Winterskin desperate for sun. Basketball shorts and chacos, despite the snow. I can picture the remnants of snow back home, heaped in the shadows and gullies like deflated blimps after the parade. There’s something sad about springtime snow. The novelty is gone. It’s dirty and tired and ready to sleep it off, like a hungover prom queen (or something comparably cliché).

[Note: when I was eighteen I had a lot of feelings and I wrote things like this poem…]

March 9, 2007

Pale spring sun on paler winter

shoulders. Barefoot gliding through

green space, kicking up gravel. Dust. Trouble.

Losing myself in that

chigga-chug rhythm, the

squelch of cold mud between bare toes,

the ring of unfamiliar laughter.

Some days restless is appeased by

the smell of wet grass or a stranger’s

handshake. Some days I just miss

the birds.

Open my body, let the sunshine bounce

off pale ribs, fill me up until there’s no

room for stupid head tricks.

Take each second as I can, losing

myself in the open corners of your kiss, the

warmth I’ve found curled up in your arms.

Is forever always, or no time at all?

[Note: It’s like baby emo b took the words right out of my mouth and injected them with a little extra dash of angst!]

Sticking with the alcoholic food theme, Friend and I soaked gummy bears in vodka for 5 days… They swell to about three times their original size and burn the roof of your mouth. Really it was easier to just swallow them whole, because then they burn in your stomach instead. I ended up feeling a lot like this:

Hogan wasn't actually drunk, just sleepy

 Never again. Next on the agenda (if I ever fully recover from the last experiment): vodka skittles. I’m hesitant to tackle any more fruit-flavored candies, but I’ve heard good things about this one.

“Hello, it’s me again, it’s three days now you’ve been in my dreams…”

Lucy, you’ve been on my mind a lot lately. I hope you’re happy. I’m glad to hear the butterflies are back. I wish you would call… No other bookend feels quite right. I still crumble at your name.

“I know I’m to blame, but it kills me that I made you hate me. Like you’ve erased me and now, I know what they say, they say that you’ll be happier. Better off without me.”

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about control (mostly because I feel like I have very little of it). Is it arguably as courageous to forfeit all sense of control as to maintain it perfectly? Throwing ourselves to the wind, committing whole-heartedly to the unknown… There is some degree of bravery in every gamble we make; tumbling down the rabbit hole without stopping to consider how deep it goes.

Sorry guys, my adventuring has been limited the past few days so I don’t have much to tell you. Not to mention the weather is driving me to distraction. So! I’m going to leave you with this poem about spring…

“Spring is like a perhaps hand

(which comes carefully

out of Nowhere)arranging

a window,into which people look(while

people stare

arranging and changing placing

carefully there a strange

thing and a known thing here)and

changing everything carefully

spring is like a perhaps

Hand in a window

(carefully to

and fro moving New and

Old thing,while

people stare carefully

moving a perhaps

fraction of flower here placing

an inch of air there)and

without breaking anything”

             -e.e. cummings

E, 26 more days! I hope you’re excited (and yes, of course I’m counting too…)

Update: This afternoon after “studying” (code for drinking a lot of coffee and working on my blog posts whilst reading Autostraddle) I decided to walk home. But as I mentioned, the weather was absolutely beautiful. So I found myself traipsing around town instead. I think I ended up walking about 7 miles. I stumbled upon an Art Walk over on Hawthorne. A short list of the things I saw:

1.      A man dressed as a pirate buying yellow flowers from a street vendor

2.      A girl chalking a neon hummingbird onto the sidewalk. She may have been high on something (or multiple things), but it was really beautiful

3.      Darth Vader. Riding a unicycle. Playing the Star Wars theme song on bagpipes. Seriously, I couldn’t make this shit up.

Sometimes this city is like glimpsing a familiar feature in a stranger’s face, making alone seem less lonely.

Until next time, I love you all.

-b

Falling is Like This.

"It feels like reckless driving when we're talking. It's fun while it lasts, and it's faster than walking. But no one's gonna sympathize when we crash..."

The problem with throwing yourself headfirst into everything (literally and figuratively) is that you never know where you’ll land. Sometimes you’ll fall. Sometimes you will hurt/break/bleed. But in those ephemeral moments before the crash, you’re as close to flying as you’ll ever be. I want to land solidly with both feet in this new reality. I want to open my veins to this city, let it seep into my bloodstream. I want to swallow it whole, feel it pulsing and alive under my skin. Glowing hot and heavy inside my ribcage. Because the alternative means existing neither here nor there. Because I can’t walk forward, looking backward, without tripping over my own clumsy ambitions.

“Well, one of these days is gonna be right soon, you’ll find your legs and go and stay gone.”

I keep expecting to wake up and be immersed in somewhere truly other. Instead I repeatedly encounter the realization that this is a new place, but still a place. I still have to eat and sleep and pay my bills on time. I still have to drag myself out of bed when the big heavies come crashing in. The big heavies still come crashing in. I’ll fall onto my bed, clothed in the sunlight that bleeds through my dirty window, feeling lost, my body curved like an open-ended parenthesis around nothing.

“Sometimes you are winter sunlight,

chasing away the shadows but leaving me

so damn cold”

The best cure I’ve found for the big heavies is walking. Hauling myself out of bed and forcing myself out into the rain/wind/sleet. Feeling the world in this most primitive sense, trying to become part of the texture that keeps rubbing me raw. Because eventually the rain stops. The sun splits the clouds, illuminates all the suspended drops caught in bare, wintertree branches. It lights them up like Christmas morning. Sometimes I wish I were a camera, because my eyes can perceive beauty but my words are incapable of fully embodying it. I can’t explain to you how green everything is here, how the moss grows like a thick, soft carpet, or like a blanket inviting you to stop and rest awhile. How it spills down the steps to my front door like a welcome mat.  I can’t capture the exact shades and tones of sunset when I feel purple heavy in my dreams. I can’t, with any aptitude, explain why a stone garden wall stopped me in my path. It took my breath away.

“And language just happened it was never planned, and it’s inadequate to describe where I am in the room of my house, where the lights never bend. Waiting for this day to end…”