Saturday, December 31, 2011

Closing thoughts for 2011

Superstition dictates that wearing red should bring me luck for 2012. Red heels it is

Small gestures are sweet but its the grand ones that make the most impact and leave no room for words

If you think about where you thought you'd be this time last year and it's a little different than where you'd thought you'd be well then, it might not be a bad thing.

Roomies fo' life

Stepping stones are useful.

Beergarita te quiero or is it te amo? quien sabe! ;)

The friends you've had the longest are the ones that are most likely to keep sticking around. They've put up with you for this long haven't they?

If love is fickle then perhaps it wasn't really love, but all those other words we mistake for it. Lust, need, sex etc.

Moments are great, but great moments are better.

Just because you know the right decision doesn't mean you'll always make it. I continuously fail at this.

If new friends and those old friends get along well, you can be pretty sure that those new friends were simply lost and are glad to be found.

Hugs  and/or cuddling is not bad. Repeat. Hugs  and/or cuddling is not bad. Roboto ways shed.

Travel buddies need to be chosen carefully

Having little monkey arms wrapped around my neck to almost a painful point is still pretty sweet.

Comfort zone? What comfort zone? Oh, shit yeah that comfort zone...dang I thought I'd lost that.

Candle light is the best light

I want more mornings tangled with sheets and arms and legs and sunlight streaming into sleepy eyes

 Meals, ahh, well its been a great year for meals filled with laughter and more laughter.

Confucius said what?

Standing on your own is great, but having the strength to let someone stand with you is courage.

Once the admiration fades the cracks and creases become glaringly bright

London, Paris, I'll take London any day

When the liberty bell cracked they didn't deem it broken they still appreciated it for its awesomeness.
I too am awesome.







Friday, December 9, 2011

....

in between good-bye's and i love you's 
i don't want you's, but i can't let you go's 
there is the middle
where two hands hold 
with fingers intertwined 

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Scene 1. Act 2. Line 53.

I am told that I am good at writing dialogues. Perhaps that's the reason when it comes to interacting with people the words that I want to hear, the words I already have written in my head are ready, but when they don't come out I am often disappointed. What happened to that perfect phrase I had in my head? What happened? Why are they silent? Or, where did that come from? I find myself left with wanting more, or needing less, or simply being in a state of unfamiliarity. Why? You might ask? Because there are very few times when what I have written in my mind is translated well into real life. Real life is not scripted. Repeat. Real life is not scripted.


Recently I wrote about a true moment. A moment that I witnessed of a girl crying in her car. It happened. It was REAL. I didn't write anything but what I saw, and I was told in a workshop that the whole scene was cliche and needed to be cut. As a writer I saw what was meant. As a human I thought, "We can't cut this shit. This is real. This has happened to all of us." I rewrote the scene tried to make it better. Less cliche. Less sentimentality. I don't know if its good. Not everything I write will be good. In fact, most of it might be bad, but then someone who reads my blog regularly asked me if it really happened. When I answered, "Yes" I saw the face of someone who might have been there, who related for that instant that they read my words, the flurry of emotion in brown eyes, and I felt like I did something, like I had done something right.


Most of the time when I write a scene in my head it is one where I, the character, etc, have been put into a situation of vulnerability. (We don't write the comedies of our lives for Christ's sake!) And hell, sarcasm comes out of me so easily I don't think I could write fast enough.  I think about the scenes where people are waiting for an answer, having conversation with subtext, the stuff that makes us squirm a little you know? Stuff that makes all of us squirm I suppose. "Will you give me a raise?" "Did I get in?" "What are your plans for the future?" "Where do you want this to go?" "Do you love me?" Sometimes these conversations are even with ourselves and that's what makes them harder at times. What do we say to ourselves when we ask, "Do I love him/her?", and the answer is not the one we wanted...


Perhaps, I should stick to what I know. Writing scenes for my characters....


Scene 1


"So where should I take her?" he asked phone held with his shoulder as he looked at the shirts he held in each hand.


"Um, I'm not sure where did you go last time? Dinner right? But, where?" The T.V. changed from channel to channel as she listened.


"That new little bistro place on Commerce. You know they did a spread in the paper about it. She dug it,
but thinkin' I should go a little more low key. You know?"


She nodded even though he couldn't see.


"Then do low key. But don't over think it 'cause then you'll go in a circle. I mean, dude, if she's going on with you again then she digs something about you. Not sure what, but you know roll with it."


"Dick."




Scene 2




The lines of her body completely relaxed as she was captivated with the painting before her. She was so enthralled she never noticed the people standing behind her, nor the man who came behind her and whispered in her ear.
“This was my favorite as well.”
Her back stiffened slightly, but her gaze did not leave the object that seemed to inspire a blossoming of passion.
“It’s beautiful,” quickly she licked her lips, “I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve—well I’ve simply never.”
“Girl meets art,” he whispered. 




Scene 3
“Have you done the deed yet,?"


A stout keg of a man stared down at the pubescent kid in front of him, the five o’clock shadow a dark contrast to the smooth creamy skin of his fact.


Bruno shook his head and looked down, afraid it was the wrong answer.


“Well, you’ve met Rosie and her five friends?” the man looked at him the caterpillar brow above his eye raised. Bruno watched as his uncle wiggled his thick fingers.


“Y-yes,” he replied eyes cast down, dark lashes casting a shadow.


“You know how you feel when you’re about to cum? That’s how I feel when I fuck someone up.”


Scene 4
"Do you know what you want?" Her eyes downcast afraid to meet his gaze, but as he looked away it gave her the courage to hold her head up. Chin jutted out slightly. 


"What do you mean? What do I want? From what? From this?" He motioned his hand between the two of them. 


She looked down at her shoes. The couch. The dirty biege carpet. Anywhere but his face, to avoid the way he couldn't say us. 


"I don't know what you want me to say. I'm not sure where..." he trailed off, "I'm not sure where... Can't we just talk about this later. Right now it's just you and me, you know?"

Sunday, November 27, 2011

possibility

there is a possibility that i will avoid my work all day. 
        a possibility that i will avoid texts and phone calls today
a possibility that i won't be able to hold out and end up at dinner, or a movie, or .....
   there is a possibility that i have writers block and that's why i'm avoiding my work
 it's possible that i am stir crazy and i will be found under a pile of clean laundry
there is a possibility that a conversation will never take place even though the words are ready to spill 
      it's possible that after next week i will be able to breath easy
there is a possibility that my dreams have a meaning but i'm too dense to see it
  its a definite possibility that i'm avoiding things by writing this blog
a possibility that i don' know what tomorrow will bring
           there is a possibility that plans fall through
       possibilities that all possibilities will shift and evolve...  

Monday, November 21, 2011

10 Reminders

1. holidays will never cause me as much stress as they used too

2. pride sometimes gets in the way

3. i need to use december to write new material...well after a few days off

4. sometimes you realize too late that you're in over your head

5. the best conversations are the ones you have while the sun is breaking through a dark sky

6. its hard to find people that love you no matter what

7. if you think you have things figured out, you don't

8. controlling the uncontrollable is just a way to drive yourself crazy. repeat.

9. there something about the smell of rain it seems to wash away all of life's messiness

10. friends, dinner, drinks, conversation

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

The Rantings of Insecurity

   The security of a moment should always be appreciated simply because that security can be fleeting.

    Se-cu-rity is defined as:

Definition of SECURITY

1
: the quality or state of being secure: asa : freedom from danger : safetyb : freedom from fear or anxiety

I believe an amendment should be made to the definition and to highlight the fact that security is in fact fleeting. There is nothing in our lives that is completely secure and the constant shifting, evolving, eroding, ensures that. The idea that life had a level of stability is a veiled attempt to put people at ease. An ease that lulls them into a state of comfort then into a state of shock when changes occurs. They have existential crises and ponder if everything that they done up to now is truly what they wanted  or ponder if the road they already on is the road they want to remain on. The cliche fork in the road. Terms such as those themselves are made up to make change seem good, acceptable, a part of life, just like security. 

Friday, November 4, 2011

Portrait of an Artist

The paint was thick and still damp. I didn't need to touch it to know this. All over the concrete floor were splashes of paint and dirty white clothes where wet canvases leaned against the walls of the open space. In the corner sheets were rumpled in a bed he lay sleeping on, tangled. Dark hair rumpled against his pale face, arm thrown over his eyes in an attempt to block out the light. I walked back carefully not to make noise and lay down next to him, covering myself with the corner of the dark sheet he'd left available. 

I reached out to move the tousled hair from his face only to feel the the grip of his hand as he pulled me closer. I was somewhere in a moment as I felt long fingers and firm calloused hands against naked skin.To love an artist is to be in a constant state of unknowing. unbeing, but still somewhere. Hands held firm against you, even when they themselves, the fingers, the lines along the palm aren't sure why they're there. Even when skin tingles and the moment makes you want to succumb to the way hands grip, you wait, pause, and stop from falling over an edge because you've been there before.  

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Sunsets in Sunset


The orange arms of the sunset embraced them from behind. They sat on the porch of a house on Prospect St., edge of the neighborhood, right before a brightly lit downtown. Their beers sat sweating on the round faux glass patio table where they both had their feet up. She wiggled her toes covering the Bank of America building with her big toe.  
“Do you remember that bit from SNL?”
“Which one?” he asked.
“Remember, they did that thing with their fingers and they’d crush someone’s head. They’d say “I crush you!”
She turned to him mashing her index and thumb finger together her voice deepening in an odd Slavic like accent giggling.
                “No, dork!” He laughed and shook his head. 
 He reached for his dewy Heineken. She watched his profile, the Adam at the center of his neck rolling up and down as he swallowed. It was almost the end of summer and much of their time had been spent on this porch. She reached for the rainbow colored glass pipe and lighter on the table, the sound of the lighter igniting and a deep inhale followed. She passed the pipe to him and he used it to point at the large two story house across the street.
                “How much do you think that house is?”
                “I don’t know. It depends on the house. Not cheap I’m sure ‘cause of where we are,” she said voice gritty with exhalation.
                “There’s this dude that lives there. I hardly ever see him, but he seems pretty friendly. He waves, doesn’t complain when that house gets a little,” he pointed to the one next to it, “crazy,” he paused as he took a hit, “I wish I could buy that house though.  That would be cool sit on the top balcony, rent the bottom floor. Just do up keep and shit. It’d be a cool little deal. You know?”
She was nodding when they heard a loud noise, not a bang or pop, but a thud that echoed from the very house they had just been talking about. They turned to look at each other.
                “What the fuck was that?”

Thursday, October 20, 2011

A.M.

where do i begin and where does it all end
the places faces that encompass my world
they wait
they see
for the next thing that waits to defy me, surprise me, 
ultimately crush me
the love the heart that thing that follows

we wait and we watch
as we check mate ourselves
into this auto feeling oblivion
a place where we all dance, we talk, we walk 
into an unknown something new

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

the s p a c e s we create

                                                   

                                                   

                     we create the space around us       



that keeps                                              strangers                                       

                                                                                                              from invading our space.


the space around us that keeps    peoplethatcouldmatter    
                                                              from invading our space.



                     there is the space that we create after thatcloseness has already happened and we                                                  


b                             a                              c                              k


                    away into our corner.
becauseweareuncomfortablewithbeingclosewithsomeonethatknowshowtohurtus.



there is the                                                   space 
                                
 that we share with the peoplewelove and we don't pullaway from their touch


there is the simple space.              my space.                 that i choose  to                                                               
                                     share      or         n o t. 


                        in the end it is the  s p a c e  we each create

Monday, October 3, 2011

blurb

the soft palm of his hand against my face, long thin fingers reaching into the edge of my hair, as i look down. the shadow of my eyelashes hiding the expression that i don't want him to see. the expression that says that this wasn't me anymore. that perhaps the fire from earlier had simmered only to a few burning embers. a look that said i was ready to go...


Friday, September 23, 2011

Week in Phrases

"Hello"
              "Boo!"                                                   "Two's company. Three's a crowd." 
                                                                  "Isn't it Prozac?"
"What are you doing?"                                                 "Definitely awesome!"
                         "Fucking stress!!!! I hate UTEP HR!!
 "It's like a box you know? I can't be put in a box."                                                                                                                                            "Did you get some rest?"                                                            "I think maybe I just need to stop."
                               "Your presence is requested this Friday."
"Lol! I think you should do that anyhow!"                 "Totes see you in a few"
         "Werd!"                       "What are you doing?"                "I have some observations..."

                           "Ugh I don't feel good."                    "What do you have going on tomorrow?"
"Are you hungry?"                                          "He's about to blow up. I didn't even know what to say."
                              "Wait, like she's already here?"
                                                                                 "My experience will be called lesbian down."
                                              "Better?"
"Nice thought you were doing that annoying non answer thing."
                                                              "Yeah, his girlfriend is being a bitch and doesn't want to come get him.  See you in bit."
                                                                "I'm going to have to cancel today's festivities."
"If you're going to write him as a douche bag give us some reason to like him, I mean even if he is a douche bag."
                                                                           "Will you be back next week?"
                           "You know I just want to be friends. We can be friends right?"
"I give myself a time limit and by that time I have to be over it."
                                                                           "I kept looking at his hands as he typed."
                                     "You know I care about you right?"              
"There is a coupon for a jazz cafe on the east side."            "You have a beautiful eye."
                                                        "You really need to proofread."
"This is my favorite because it has a punch in the gut, you know?"                                      "Be safe."
                "I created this hot mess for myself."                            "Really?"
          
                                                                      "Can you bring me some soup and toast?"
                   "Man! Put those  away!"                                                     "I think I'm just projecting, you know?"
"I'm gonna take a shower."                                           "Don't throw this in my face later, ok?"
               "I wanted to look over and I couldn't."                     "So, who's your friend?"
"What did you guys think about this poem?"      
                                             "Just ask for Chaps."                      
                                                            because i have a good vibe about today, think i'm gonna love today...

Friday, September 16, 2011

day in snapshots

Today as I drove I found myself being privy to images.

As I sat in my car on the access road, sun streaming in through the windshield, making me squint even with sunglasses on I stared as a small man walked from car to car begging for change. Usually I am not struck by this, and I always turn my face when they walk past my car. But today, I watched as this old emaciated man shuffled from a sapphire blue truck to a white beat up Buick, with one handing holding his faded black jeans up. His bony body swam in the pants and they came up far above his waist. What amazed me was that he still had his washed out polo tucked into the pants. The last shred of dignity perhaps that he could control? He looked like an old little boy with hollowed out eyes that life had taken. When he walked to my window I couldn't turn away this time. Instead I held out the only money I had, a handful of quarters, dimes, pennies. His hand smaller and more withered than mine struggled to hold what had fit just fine in mine, and his hand touched mine for a moment. It was warm. I looked at his face, wrinkled and sunken into its mouth center, and I saw resignation. He nodded and stared at the change in his hand before walking on still holding onto his pants. The light turned green and I drove off looking in the rear view mirror at the curved arch of his back shuffling back towards the sidewalk.

Moments later I was sitting in a diner with my sister. Talking, laughing, about our week. The people around us all doing the same. Smiles on their faces and cokes being drank. The clatter of forks and knives cutting into freshly prepared lunches. I laughed as she showed me pictures of my niece Mica dressed for her western day at school this week. Her little face squished together so tightly from her smile her eyes were closed. She laughed as I told her about a dream where I seemed to be losing control of everything while everyone in it seemed to be enjoying themselves. In the dream I kept cleaning. Today I came home to clean...

As I drove home, the pleasant feeling of having shared a meal with someone I love, I saw another image. As I turned, I'm not sure how I caught it, but a black car sat in the opposite turning lane. I saw a girl. A girl with a crumpled face of pain and hurt and fear who had tears streaming freely down her face. Who felt all these things so strongly she sat in her car, still trying to drive, but not able to control the overflow. And for that moment my heart broke for her. Because we have all been there, we have all felt that hurt or loss from someone that's made us lose ourselves in the depth of something raw and ugly and painful. It was no longer than two seconds that I saw her, but as I drove I looked back again, to try to see her car, to say a mental, "it will pass", even if she couldn't hear me. I saw the blinker on her tail light and the outline of her head before she fell out my sight. I blinked away the tears of sympathy that had sprouted and kept driving.

Monday, August 29, 2011

Cherry Chap Stick


The kisses were sticky and tasted like cherry Chap Stick and mint. His lips were wet and the kissing noises sounded loud in her ears, but she kept kissing back, his moist tongue darting in and out of her mouth.  In the living room she could hear her friends watching MTV, the volume loud and muffling the giggles she knew were being giggled. She would have to face them after. 
She felt the hard pressure of his center being pressed against hers and his hand grabbing her right breast through her Radiohead t-shirt. In Utero was playing in the background, but it sounded distant as if it were also in another room. She kept thinking about anything other than the boy between her legs and his heavy breathing as he pushed against her. She didn’t quite get it, him pushing against her crotch didn’t feel good, but each time he breathed a little heavier and made little noises that sounded foreign to her, so she breathed a little harder too.

Earlier that day she had spoken to him on the phone while she twisted the coiled cord around her finger binding her to him further.
“Yeah, then take a left. My house will be on the corner. No, she won’t be home. She’s working. Yeah she usually works a lot so she’s hardly home. My dad? No, I don’t have one,” she laughed, “No, you don’t have to worry about any dad trying to kill you, he’s not around.”
She looked at the picture on her dresser it was of the family. Her mom and dad sat each side of her on the old brown couch while her seven year old self opened a Christmas present. She was smiling. That had been six years ago.
“Ok, I’ll see you in a bit.”

She snapped back to the moment when she felt his clammy palm against her naked skin, as his hand crept up and underneath her shirt, her bra. He moaned again against her lips, so she moaned back as he pinched her nipple painfully. He shifted his weight and for a second she thought that they were done, but then he simply reached underneath her to unclasp her bra. He fumbled awkwardly until she mumbled, “I’ll do it,” against his lips. As soon as it was unsnapped he rolled her back onto her back and this time grabbed at her more freely. She could feel a warmth beginning between her legs and thought that perhaps this is what he felt. Her fingers had stayed on his hips up until now. She pushed his t-shirt up slightly and felt her fingertips touch his hot skin. When she did he stopped kissing her long enough to leave a moist trail down her neck, skipped down to her stomach, where he pushed her shirt up and over her chest. She felt the coolness of the air conditioned air before his hot mouth clamped down on her nipple and he sucked. The heat between her legs increased and she lifted her pelvis against him. He stopped and sat back on his haunches and looked down at her. She cast her eyes downward. He took off his shirt and she looked back up at him as he tugged at hers.
“You know I love you, right?”
She simply looked at him and nodded. She saw his fingers move toward the button fly on her jeans. She looked back up at him and saw the bulge in his jeans. As he began to slide her jeans off she grabbed his hand and stopped him. He looked up surprised but then simply began to kiss her again. This time he laid on his side next to her, his hand now cradling her face.  She closed her eyes and kissed his wet kisses back.
He grabbed her hand and put it down his pants. He was hot and moist there as well. His hand was against her and her jeans were pushed, now crumpled into the base of the twin bed. She felt his fingers probing into her and the heat increased. Before she had time to think she pulled him on top of her again. This time she could feel his nakedness against her stomach and more of the urgency as the only barrier was her cotton bikinis. She needed to feel something, anything. His kisses were rougher more hurried. She kept her hands to her sides until he sat back again. This time she turned her head to the side and closed her eyes as she heard a snap, then felt the heat of his body against hers again.
“Hey, look at me.”
His hand was on her jaw now as he turned her face toward his. She opened her eyes and looked into his sleepy brown ones.
“It’ll be okay.”
He said kissing her again. She felt his other hand between them as he moved her underwear to the side, and the pressure of him pushing against her. He loved her, is what she thought. He was loving her. His face was buried in her neck now, and his breathing was heavy as she arched against him and moaned. He mistook it and pushed quickly into her and she whimpered. His breathing was haggard as he lifted and drove into her quickly.
“You feel so good baby.”
She bit her lip and stayed quiet as he moved. Nirvana was still playing and she turned her face again, saw her dresser, and closed her eyes. Seconds later he made a noise deep in his throat and stopped moving and lay still.     
“Are you okay baby? Did it feel good? It’ll feel better the more we do it. Do you love me? Tell me you love me.”
“I love you.”
“I love you baby. I’ll love you forever,” he said kissing her one more time.
He moved to the edge of the bed, and she heard another snap. She laid there for a few seconds before he got up. She felt a dull ache her crotch sticky. She looked down and realized she was naked, embarrassed, she grabbed for her t-shirt, and jeans. As she was getting dressed she saw him go toward her dresser.
“Is this you?” he asked laughing.
“Yeah.”
She reached for the frame in his hand, but he lifted it so she couldn’t reach.
“Give it,” she said suddenly close to tears.
He laughed again as he lifted the frame one more time.
“You were cute as kid,” he said looking at the picture.
She looked down at it and the photo blurred a little, she blinked, and grabbed it from his hand.
“You saying I’m not cute now?” she asked as she pressed her chapped lips against his.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

that thing, you know that thing...

this week i have a writing assignment, to write about a character who wants something, but in reality really wants something else. we've all been in this situation; unconsciously, consciously. it all comes down to that thing, you know that thing that we really want, but can't seem to get it, or once we do it's not really that great. that thing that we pined after, dreamt about, coveted, really isn't that great at all...we've all had this lesson at one time or another. i recently experienced it...but, what keeps our eyes on that one prize? what happens to our peripheral vision?

Sunday, August 21, 2011

as it comes to a close....

this summer has been filled to the brim with new experiences, new people, and lessons that i might not have learned otherwise....so without further ado... this is my summer in a recap in no particular order...


when new friendships are forged in a matter of minutes compared to others don't question it just go with it. it must be in the cards....


grand gestures are for movies only, and if you wait around for them, you might be waiting awhile


i need to travel want to travel more need to travel more


late night chats with friends keep your sanity


the guilt is not worth the fun


amores de lejos amores de pendejos


london stole my heart but i can forget paris


inadvertently i create crazyness around me...as explained to me recently, i can no longer state "it's not me!"


sometimes the best evenings are spent on a porch with a glass of wine, good company, and conversation 


dresses in the el paso summer are a must


i look like a halloween costume version of myself with long hair


tattoos don't hurt as much as i thought they would (i know it depends on the place)


being able to say whatever you want to the person you're involved with, without having to sensor is a must


this pains me a little... but i don't know as much music as i thought i did...ouch....


i miss my friend family....yes, that is all of you in my old home of dallas....


surrounding myself with the right people, and taking away all the negative nancys makes a world of difference


fate fate fate fate....i don't care what anyone says i have too many examples of trying to fight the things that fate has in store for you.... just go with it....it makes life simpler easier and more enjoyable...


over analyzing everything takes the fun out of it (i still have to catch myself) but going with the flow seems to be the way to go


having people believe in what you do...wow


meals that cost an arm but taste like heaven are much needed and best when shared with friends


i am not a waitress...but the good ones have all my respect in the world even more so now... i'm a retail girl


having someone spoil you when you aren't used to it... is strange and wonderful all at once...


green hotels are confusing...


i have a great sense of direction....that is no longer a secret


i have been told i am a good cook...shhhhh.....


its okay for people to see through the cracks sometimes...


and last but not least.....


when the craziness of this academic year is upon me and i am bogged down with things i can't even imagine right now, its this list and the people included here that will remind me not to lose my summer knowledge...



Wednesday, August 17, 2011

the simplicity of words

Words fall from lips 
         bounce off my deaf ears 
                   and onto the floor 
                         They repeat and create 
                                  smalls steps of 
                                            excuses from 
                                                        your mouth 
                                                               Which help 
                                                                       carry you 
                                                                            out the                                         
                                                                                  door
                                                                                       .
                                                                                        .
                                                                                         .

Monday, August 8, 2011

So There's This Band...

Humid air against my skin as more and more people trickle through the entrance. I stare at the door guy with envy as a continuous cool breeze musses his hair. I want to be his hair. I look out the tall windows of The Percolator, and I feel like a fish in a fishbowl of sticky people and perfume mingled with the sweet scent of sweat. Outside I see a group of people smoking, talking, watching, as a slew of instruments and sound equipment makes way between the guy with Buddy Holly glasses and giggling girls in ballet flats.  


Although I'm at the very back we talk, my friends and I, that we have secured the best location. There is an invisible line between the seated and the standing, our tall stools keep us at the same height of the standies, but much more comfortable and not sardined against the other moist people inside. I listen to the chatter as people walk by. 


"Is this seat taken?"         "I think its Johnny Costello then Mexicans at Night, then Jim Ward, I think..."
                        "Thanks for coming"                      "I'm gonna go smoke."     
                                                                                        "You know this thing doesn't start till 10 right?"
"Where yo man at?"                                         "Do you need anything?"
                                  "Do you need another beer?"                                                "Who was that again?"
   "It's so hot in here!"                    "I"m gonna get more wine."      "He's got a good voice right?
"Who is that again?"


A loud cacophony of voices intermingling into one another. The first band, Johnny Costello, has already played and like any intermission people brace themselves for the glide towards the line for another cold one to quench their thirst. People talk about their set and his voice. I hear the words soulful and bluesy used. I think of a warm blanket even in this heat. I see the Mexicans setting up, until a tall guy with a ponytail stands in front of me and blocks my view. So much for invisible lines. The music starts and I look at my friends to see them nodding their heads in unison. I look at the crowd and see tops of their heads and bodies shimming to beat of the song. Moist silhouettes dancing and moving to notes being strummed and drummed. 


"They're really good," my friend yells in my ear and I nod a yes, my head still moving with the beat. 


We stand on the rungs of our chairs to see over the crowd of bobbing people. The more people dance the hotter it gets in the room. The slicker my skin feels. The slicker the people around me look, but I still move,  they still move, and step and yell out "Otra! Orta!" when they play their last song. 


"Do you think they'll play another?"


I shrug my shoulders and try to see over the crowd. I see the drummer not just the top of his head now, but his face, as he talks to the bassist and gestures with the drumstick in his hand, the masked singer holding a pink guitar starts to move off stage. I look back over and shake my head. 


"Maybe next time."








   

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

forgetful hands...

What is it about human contact? The brush of a hand across your back... or the long arms of someone folding you in them as they pull you into their chest for a firm hug. It makes all the difference in the world and somehow you don't notice it until there isn't the touch or the brush of hands....sometimes without it you forget.

Monday, August 1, 2011

The End of Summer

Heat waves danced like snakes being charmed from the curvy sidewalk ahead of us. We walked along, two kids following a long chain link fence that kept us away from the shortcut to our left of our school’s crab grass soccer field. The cuffs of our jeans dragged on the pavement, as we talked about nothing in that painful awkward way that only happened when you were sixteen and everything you said was life or death cool.
“Let’s cut through the field,” he suddenly said.
“I can’t jump the fence,” I said as I looked down and tugged at the ends of hair curled around my ear.
“You can go under.”
We walked to a break in the fence and I stared at it for a moment, looked back at the 7-11 we had just come from and looked down to the tall building nestled in the nook of the Franklin mountains where I was supposed to be at summer school. I crouched down and shimmied under, trying hard not to get too dirty. He waited till I was almost on the other side, then hopped the fence with little effort, and held out his hand to help me up. I dusted off the dirt as nonchalantly as possible and continued to walk. We talked about summer school and he complained about having to be there. I lied and agreed knowing it wouldn’t be cool of he knew I was there to get ahead. Each word seemed vitally important and I second guessed them as they came out of my mouth.
Mid-way through the field the sprinklers turned on attempting to quench life into dehydrated desert crab grass. We laughed and started to run, and as we ran he shoved me towards a sprinkler. I pulled at his shirt and tugged him along with me. Instead of running away we ran back and forth scissoring through the sprinklers laughing and screaming as they sprayed us. We shoved and pushed at each other as kaleidoscopes of light danced along with us in the shower of the sprinklers, and watery rainbows haloed in the sunlight. By the end of it we were soaked and my new Vans were muddy, but I didn’t care. My jeans hung heavily like wet clothes hanging on the clothing line of my hips as we tried to walk to safety. I walked ahead of him towards the school when he grabbed my hand and pulled me to a halt.
As I turned the laughter died in my throat. His head blocked the sunlight and I stopped breathing as a darkened silhouette leaned down to me. His lips met mine. I felt his wet hair against my check and his hand on my neck as we stood still for a moment. The surge of shock and anticipation hit me in the stomach. What I wanted I didn’t know, but I didn’t want the watery kiss to end. As abruptly as it happened it ended. Water dripped from my hair into my eyes. I smiled at him held onto his hand, and pulled him towards the building.
“Come on!” I laughed.

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Fate said Ink

This weekend I got my first tattoo. A small ouroboros behind my left ear. Right now it's black, the skin behind my ear tight and scabbed. I've forgotten its there and accidentally touched it. Shocked, I moved my hand away from the raised skin surprised. Then I remember "Oh yeah..." and I smile a smile for myself.

"Why the ear, man?" 

Because its for me. A small reminder. Since my birthday I've waited to get it. In London, I wanted to get it. And, Friday I left it up to fate. I'll go I thought, and if he can do it, its meant to be. I walked in and fate said ink. Buzz of the needle in surround sound against my ear. I lay staring at the industrial sized Saran Wrap they had on the shelf in front of me. Listening to the buzz.

"Okay, all done." 


Wednesday, July 13, 2011

The Act of Summer

Heat and sticky skin. Gazing up at the sky, but there are no clouds of relief. So we wait, wait until the sun sets and outside the people move around a little easier. A little less sticky. A lot more cool.  At night the cool breeze of the desert gives us some relief. So we can sit on porches and feel the cool breeze kiss our face, our hands, our legs. We can feel the heat that made our day long dissipate, and we can enjoy summer. We can enjoy the kind of summer we remember when we were kids and it meant excitement of what might happen next. Enjoy it even if its just at night, when most things can fall by the wayside, to worry about tomorrow when the sun rises. The act of summer is something sweet, fleeting perhaps, but while it's there you can enjoy it, bask in it, and know that at least for a little while you can let the light feeling from your youth be remembered.

Monday, July 4, 2011

Boy meets Girl that has Girl... Wait What?

Social norms have taught us that relationships are supposed to work in a certain way. Boy meets girl. Boy girl either fall in love or they kick one another to the curb and repeat with different people. Lately though, there has been an influx of unique situations that I've stumbled across. I'm sure the title is a hint of one of them. But, also I've heard about general ones that aren't as unique. Girl loves boy but boy doesn't reciprocate. Neither boy or girl love one another but they're in it, for what reason I'm not sure, and both stay although complaining about the other to confidants. Girl wants to love someone but like shoes can't find the right fit, so she branches out to expand the possible matches. The list of things I've encountered recently can actually go on and on, but I'll stick to these.


I'm not sure if I'll simply loop myself into some sort of pretzel, but this has been rolling around in my head for a bit, and even discussing it with my close confidant didn't seem to suffice. I'm sure that we have all made reference to how simple things were when we were kids, "Do you like me? Circle yes or no", and really I'm starting to think that we had it right. Now things get bogged down with expectations and the realization of how  our actions have an effect on the person we once thought we loved. No one (unless you're a dick) likes to hurt someone else, but does stringing them along work any better?


In my boy meets girl with girl scenario it seems like a guys dream come true right? Wrong, there still is the same jealousy, and the same insecurities that come with being with someone that has someone else. There was no joining on the hot lesbian fun, (well at least not yet), and so far the only thing that has surfaced is the feelings of being under appreciated, and left wondering what the hell? Take this and add in a sprinkle of "I just want to be happy with someone syndrome" and you end up with something we have all felt at one time. I want you, but I'm not sure you want me so I'm going to see where this goes. (adult version of circle yes or no, but somehow we just stopped asking, oh and, people started lying). 


The other two situations kind of go hand in hand. Girl loves boy but boy doesn't love girl, and we're in this and we've been at it for so long, but I stopped being in love with you somewhere between We Don't Talk Ln. and  I'm Bored With Our Lives Ave. Some of the streets crossed along this journey are All We Do Is Argue Blvd. and I Have Been Thinking About Cheating Expwy. I'm not sure what's worse on either of these branches. Girl who stays with someone who doesn't love her in that way any more puts up with things she shouldn't. In hopes of...what I'm not sure. Then the couple that stays together out of obligation maybe? Being in something for years, living together, being all that one another knows, is hard to walk away from, but still. What happened to being happy? When did that fall by the wayside?


Maybe I'm just spinning my circles here. These aren't new questions or problems, but there has just been a flow of them lately, and the only thing that I've seen that is the common denominator in them are the terms obligation, not hurting the other person, and fear. I always thought that being happy should be first? Perhaps that is naive of me, but if so I'll take it. I overheard someone say that they had never been in a relationship that hadn't included one other person. Either they had been cheated on or they were the cheater, and I pondered that, and tried to imagine if that were always the situation I, myself, was in. If I was that guy with the hot lesbian (questionable lesbianism there) that kept me on the side. Would hot lesbian suffice? 


Beginnings are scary, endings are often sad, but it's the middle that counts. When there is no middle in sight, or you've past the middle but aren't willing to admit the end, where do you go? There are 50 million books on the dynamics of relationships, hell, eharmony and match wouldn't be around if they weren't making money, but when did it get so complicated? I want to whisper in these peoples ears and tell them to just pass a note. I mean I'd be lying if I said I didn't wish someone would just do that with me. Yes, a no would sting, but it's like a band aid, quick and easy. If yes, well then, maybe there's a little something here. Before you can start a new chapter you have to finish the last, so I think I should remember this next time someone talks to me about  lesbian girlfriends, and un-reciprocated loves, and unhappy couples, because then it just turns into a hot mess that no one wants a part of....

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Excerpt from "The Pink Shoes"

This weekend I read a portion of this short story at the Border Senses release party. Thanks to the people that came out and Eurydice for the great photo...



            For my grandma’s third fifty-fourth birthday her ex-husband Réno took us out to celebrate. My grandma and he had been separated as long as I could remember but they remained friends. In fact, my grandma had remained friends with some of the other men she had been married to. I imagined that she was a bright light that they couldn’t stay far away from, but like any other light she sometimes shined too brightly.
            She took extra care getting ready that day, and paired a beautiful pink angora sweater with black pants and small black wedges.  I was very excited as we got ready and left the house. For the celebration we were being taken to dinner at a well-known seafood restaurant, Villa Del Mar, which my grandma loved. We drove down to the Bridge of the Americas and parked her big Buick. We walked over to Juarez and met Réno in front of the restaurant.
            Réno had been my grandma’s fourth husband, and at the time, I hadn’t known why they had gotten a divorce. He had black hair he always combed into a pompadour. He stood waiting for us wearing black pants and a black jacket with a white button down and wayfarer sunglasses. My grandma waved as we got close, and he walked over to us with a big smile on his face, as he began to tell us that he wanted to take my grandma to the store next door first.
            Downtown Juarez is an interesting place that is unexpectedly urban with retail stores next to nice restaurants, next to dive taquerias, and next to a bar that plays mariachi music so loud you can hear it on the street. My grandma didn’t want to at first but gave in because he looked so happy, and we had been excited all day about going too. As we walked over and caught our first glance at the window, I realized why he wanted to take my grandma there. My grandma was so busy talking that she almost didn’t notice, but when she saw them she let out a tiny gasp.
            There they were, pink sling back marabou heels, sitting on a metal display pedestal waiting for her. Réno threw his head back, let out a big laugh, and clapped his hands together.
            “¿Que te dije mamita?”
            We walked in and walked out with the shoes in my grandma’s tiny size five. The shoes made the day even better. When we got to the restaurant we laughed and Réno told jokes that had us laughing even louder. We started with calamari appetizers and salads. Each time the waiter came back Réno ordered another drink. When it was time for us to order our food he insisted that we order the most expensive things and I looked to my grandma to make sure it was ok. She ordered for me instead even though Réno protested gesturing with the drink in his hand. By the time our food came I was so caught up in the laughter I hadn’t realized that my grandma wasn’t laughing as loudly. The next time the waiter came by Réno asked for a drink.



Friday, June 17, 2011

Planes, Trains, and Taxi Cabs

               i landed in a wonderland of places, faces, and public transportation.
      my mind is filled with a kaleidoscope of images i wish the world could see
                        voices overlapping, aching feet, and tasty beers
                                                  people all around me, snake dancing, stolen kisses, and spouting Shakespeare at the end of the night
                                                                             jack the ripper tour guide you were so wonderful
            the cool sprinkle of the rain on my face then
                      heat induced slumber upon that Paris bus, but i saw Notre Dame
                                                                                            and smelled everything the heat brought with it...
this bus terminates at Cockfosters
                          and don't forget to mind the gap please
                                                                          fish and chips and chinatown
         coconut ice cream and salsa music
                                                                                           my feet keep wigging to the beat beat beat
 abbey road and i all i needed was love pa ta ra ra ra...
                                                     dr. who who who and how did we end up in the suburbs?
  sangria tapas and the stones that loom in front of me i'd give anything to touch
                                        "a stella please, oh a code for the internet"
but all's well that ends well though...
         the plane boss!
                                         
                                                                     welcome home
                                                                                                     
           


Sunday, May 22, 2011

a rose is a rose is a rose

Yesterday as I was dusting I smiled as I came across two glass bottles, one green, one translucent, that have been with me since I was fifteen. They have moved with me from place to place, carefully wrapped in numerous pages of newspaper, so they wouldn't break. Each time I unpacked them I looked at them and smiled because they are filled with memories. I forget about them from time to time, but when I remember them for more than just a decoration, I remember petal by petal what sits inside of them, and why I've kept them for so long.

Their story began as a simple one. Two empty bottles that were given to me and at the time I had no clue what to do with them. I was fifteen after all. At that age I remember a friend of mine that seemed to be in constant dance with a new boyfriend, each that was ever so generous to buy dozens of roses for her. I had never received a dozen roses at that age, and I was always surprised by them. She was that girl though. The girl you give flowers to. I on the other hand wore a chain wallet and Airwalks, not so much the flowery kind of girl. But, still they seemed sweet and nice and I would take a sniff whenever she showed them to me. 

Sometime after this, I can't remember when, I got my first dozen roses. They were beautiful and seemed even more delicate coming from the guy I was dating because just like I was not that flowery girl, he was not that gallant type of guy. When they started to wither I didn't know what to do. It seemed sad to throw them away and a little to Poeish to leave dead flowers in a vase. This is where my friend came in with her expertise and told me, "Hang them upside down so they dry right, then you can use the petals for anything. Decoration, put one in a book, etc." I did as she explained and when they were dry I was still at a loss, then I noticed the empty bottles that sat on my window sill. So, I took each rose and put it in the bottle. Some I had to break apart, some had dried small enough that they fit in perfectly. And so began the tradition of roses in the bottles.

Now, both are full. I still try to squeeze in each one when I get roses. But, what's interesting about these two bottles is that when I look at them I get a wave of memories of how I received each one. The simple rose bought from the street vendor, "vendiendo rosas", or the dozen sent to me just because. They also remind me how I evolved into a hybrid of myself and my friend. She always gushed when she received roses, while I never knew quite what to say and more than once accepted them rather awkwardly. Thank god for practice, because even when I didn't know what to say, I loved them. Loved each time they were handed to me or delivered. Loved their sweet smell and their silky petals. Loved the sweet gesture because even though it can be viewed as a little cliche or cheesy, everyone needs a little cheese. A gesture, a token.

So, these two bottles go with me wherever I go. Filled to their cork brim with roses from people that made me smile, people who loved me, people who I loved in whatever form it was at the time (puppy loves a little sketchy), but they are there. Two bottles filled with good memories waiting to be remembered, smiles to smile, and stories to tell.