Tuesday, December 27, 2011

I feel like this year was the smallest, hugest year for me for writing.

However, I feel like 2012 will be a very important year for me, for writing.  I feel like it will be big huge instead of small huge.

I feel a parade coming on, complete with balloons and funnel cake.

Just you wait and see.

Monday, December 19, 2011

Painting is a sport for the young, lest anyone tell you differently.  Unless you have calves made of mindfreak and a back incapable of breaking, do not…I repeat…do not… attempt to paint.  I am talking about walls here, not canvases.  If you must paint walls, be smart, do it very slowly, in very small installments.  Take a full day to recover between walls.  Take a week.  If it takes a month to paint a bathroom, that’s great.  I don’t care that your house is in chaos or shambles or a combination of the two.  You will thank me later.  Your back will thank me.  Your calves will thank me.  Also, all of your other muscles will probably thank me too.  I wish someone would have given me this advice because right now my muscles are pretty effing pissed off.  They’ve thrown down their picket signs and just walked off the job entirely.  I have no useful muscles in my body.  All of the important ones are probably down at the local bar, smoking cigarettes, drinking PBR’s and talking crap about me.  I don’t blame them.  I created the worst job conditions possible and just expected them to take it.  I am a bad meat-vessel.  

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

So, some people do not think you should pretend to give gifts of squids.  Mumbles the Squid from the San Pedro Squid Rescue Foundation to be exact.  Mumbles the Squid, highly trained and extremely intelligent and a perfect imaginary gift for someone who has everything.  You should know he cannot be given as a pretend birthday present.  Feelings might get hurt, you know.  You can’t just give someone an imaginary trained squid and have them believing the squid is theirs for a few hours because that is cruel and unusual punishment.  That would be like telling a five year old you killed Santa Claus and then go, “Just kidding!”  Hahaha and laugh in that kid’s face.   People love getting smart squids for their birthdays.  You can’t just fakegift a squid to someone and expect them to come back from that unscathed.  You are dumb if you thought pretend gifting a squid for someone’s birthday was a funny thing to do.  What were you thinking?

All fake birthday squids have been returned to the fake squid rescue center.  None of them were named Mumbles and they were all imbeciles anyway.  I hope you are happy now. 

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Hi.  I think I’ve done everything I’ve supposed to have done this morning except fill up the car with gas.  I need to read a good book soon or I will die.  I picked up dog poo last night.  Little cigars. BIG cigars.  Also, I ate at CafĂ© Rio.  It sounds exotic.  Like ladies with feathers on their breasts and buttocks sing while they serve you but this is not the case although the staff behind the counter DID serenade me for a reason I have yet to figure out.  Something about a “sweet lady”  “We have a sweet, sweet lady…” something something.  It was embarrassing and weird.  The food was still good.

Prior to that we drove to B-Lo’s house and creepily did a drive by and then turned around and then parked and looked into his windows, which were all open btw, and we decided we were too creepy to ask him to come out and hug me.  And now that I’m typing that sentence I believe we made the correct decision.

“Creepy stealth mode”

Also, the exact cost of two double doubles and a small fry at mcdonalds drive thru was $3.28. I paid in exact change and got rid of 8 pennies like a flygirl. 

One day I will buy a real coat.  What day will that be?  I hope it will be soon. The weather is changing.

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Do not lie to me. I will know. I will bust you mid-sentence.  You will say she is upstairs but she isn’t because she just texted me she is all the way in another state.  Good thing you rectified it.  It made me stand straight up. 

Sunbeams.

I wish I could be super regimented.  I want to be an army man when it comes to my personal life.  Maybe I could hire R. Lee Ermey to yell at me every minute until I become a better human being.  I think that might be a good plan.

On a sidebar, don’t you hate when your dog’s ear fills with blood and you have to take it to the emergency vet office where they will charge you $327 dollars to slice open the ear, drain it, cauterize it, bandage it and sell you a plastic cone to put over the dog’s neck so they don’t rub/scratch off their bandages?  Don’t you hate that? Doesn’t that make you wish you never had dogs? 

I do.

They said she was such a good girl. A good, good girl.  I felt like I could’ve been that dog.  Maybe I am that dog.  I always am that dog.

Red lipstick isn’t for everyone. Christmas fast approaches. The toilet continuously plugs up.  The garbage disposal continues to be broken and I continue to not win the lottery.

The mornings are so black lately you have to call them night.

Saturday, October 22, 2011

The office mice like to fool us, disguising their turds as coffee grounds, putting them on our desks, the sides of lotion bottles, bottoms of our pencil drawers like they are just common detritus. We wipe them away keep wiping them away until the third day when we realize we don’t drink coffee and how do coffee grounds stick to lotion bottles anyway?

All food gets locked up like mental patients.

When we go to catch them we leave chocolate instead of cheese. Again, they like to fool us, preferring chocolate to cheese. Have you heard of such a thing? Black glue traps against sides of walls where we figure they like to run against, in the dark, when we are not there, when we are sleeping. Black glue traps glistening like still lakes. One is floating a blue M&M. I think of a painting I saw once. I think about monoliths. I wonder what would happen if I put my foot in one. I dream about it.

There is a day that dogs come. First a small one then a big one. I have no idea why. I pet the uglier dog. I want the cuter dog to see me. I want it to feel less than. I wonder how they feel about mice. Animal cruelty all around.

Nobody wants to touch the full glue trap when it happens. Everybody dances around. Hands and feet hands and feet. Dancing. You go. No you. A fight to take care of what we all wanted and now don’t. Everyone looks away from the mirror. I look away.

Friday, October 7, 2011

Tonight, I will go have the wine in a place with couches and soft chairs. Maybe there will be dim lighting.  I hear there is also a wine vending machine.  One sort of like a soft-serve yogurt machine but with wine.  Oh Ultimate Universal Being it is obvious you have listened to my prayers! 

I will swipe my card.

I will place my glass carefully below the spigot.

I will press the necessary buttons.

Oh hail the wine dispensing machine!

Technology will not end with Steve Jobs passing.  I swear this today.  Cross my heart, hope to wine.


Tonight, I will also drive to a radio station to claim my prize.  It is not monetary, but it is definitely worth driving the wrong way through Los Angeles Friday rush hour traffic to get my dirty paws on.  Plus, it is free and it is a prize and I won it, so, suck it traffic!

Also, E.L.O. has some songs that make me go YES!!  So, suck it cool!

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Bluestem Magazine nominated "Demonstration of Gravity" for Best of the Net!!

Between this and it being on Wigleaf's Top 50, I am getting a ton of mileage out of this one!

YAY STORIES!!!

Friday, September 23, 2011

I watched Weird Science last night.  I hadn’t seen that movie in YEARS.  In high school I worked in a mom n pop video store.  This was back before they really had widespread chain video rental stores.  My boss would burn me any movies I wanted so I had a little collection.  Weird Science was one in my collection. 
I remember wanting to have a body like Kelly LeBrock.  The outfits in my teenage daydreams where all the boys wanted me were all the ones she sported in the movie.  That scene where she is revealed to Gary and Wyatt, where the camera pans up her body starting with her legs, oh man.  That’s what I wanted my body to be.  Too bad that’s what it never became.
So, I watched it and loved it.  It’s so 80’s.  I love that about it.  Of course, back then, it was just…um…normal, but now, watching it, it’s almost like a time capsule of 80’s hairstyles, fashion and music. 
I forgot Robert Downey Jr. is in the movie…although; he is just referred to as Robert Downey in the credits.  His teeth look a little fucked up.  It’s adorable.
Bill Paxton is in there too.  I think this was his first major role.  His teeth look weird too. They are huge.  I have to see how his teeth look now. If he got them fixed or maybe he might’ve just grown into them.  He plays a stand out role of Wyatt’s big brother, Chet, who is fond of brutalizing Wyatt for pretty much his own amusement and monetary and proprietary benefits.  He also is the epitome of my older brother as a teenager.  This is not just my own opinion.  Others that knew him then have stated this as well.  So, if you want a taste of the sort of brotherly love I had to endure during my childhood, go watch this movie, and remember, I wasn’t a younger brother, I was a younger sister.
Good times.
(he’s better now)
At one point, there’s a scene where Kelly LeBrock (Lisa, the girl the boys created) begins to make out with Wyatt.  (there was also a scene where the boys are showering with her—she’s naked, they’re not)  Watching it now, it made me super uncomfortable.  Wyatt is 15 years old and she is supposedly 23, but in actuality Kelly LeBrock was 25 at the time, but she looks 35.  It was disturbing.  And I guess, back in 1985 this wasn’t such a big deal because I don’t remember any media flack over this scene.  Maybe it was because she was an older woman seducing a young boy and not an older man seducing a young girl?  Maybe we just didn’t have any problems with this type of thing back then?  I have no idea. I just know that watching this last night I was all, “Hey! You’re an old lady and he’s 15!  Gross!”   It just seemed interesting how times have changed.
Whatever. I still liked it.  Can’t go wrong with John Hughes.


So, I’m stuck.  I’m stuck on my novel.  I just finished writing this huge section and now I don’t know where to go next.  I’ve been letting my subconscious spit shit out in a sort of free-form, singular brainstorm and I’ve been writing down all of those ideas and need to sort of organize them and see if they take me anywhere or make any sense.  I don’t know.  I just feel lost and scared about it all.  My gut tells me to just pick a direction and keep writing.  And I probably will.  It’s just this in-between place that’s killing me right now. 
I’ve also been waiting and waiting and waiting infinity to hear back on a bunch of submissions I sent out—what seems like—months and months ago, and some of them were. 
I just want some good news. 
My mom won $2500 bucks on a penny slot in Vegas recently.  I want something like that. 

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Why does everything have to be recorded nowadays? I mean, you have a few glasses of wine and start slow dancing with a friend and you use your hands in such a way to cause a comedic effect and suddenly you look up from the female neck you are nuzzling and there are a sea of phone cameras pointed at you and man, not cool. I mean, yeah, I’d probably do the same thing, but still. Can I just have a moment of stupidity that can stay in context once in a while?

I’m no lesbian.

I just made two batches of this artichoke dip I make all the time. Every time I have to make this dip I am unsure of the ingredients but yet there are only four ingredients and I have made this dip a billionty times so you think I’d be very sure of the ingredients but I play like I’m not. I sit at the grocery store like, “I’m pretty sure it has mayonnaise. And, I know for SURE it has artichoke hearts because the name of it is ‘artichoke dip’ but, man, do I get the artichoke HEARTS or the artichoke BOTTOMS? Why are there so many choices for artichoke related products? I think there’s parmesan cheese too. Also, chilis. Man, how much mayo do I need to buy? HOW MANY CANS OF ARTICHOKE THINGS?!?! WHY IS MAKING THIS DIP I’VE MADE A MILLION TIMES SO STRESSFUL?!?!”

I always come home with exactly the correct ingredients.

Sunday, September 4, 2011

i was wearing the same green tank top as this college girl.  i was like, that's weird.  we have the same tank top.  then i said, i got this tank top for my birthday and its the first time i am wearing it.  then i said, isnt it weird that the first time i wear my birthday tank top, you are also wearing the same tank top?  she agreed that is was weird.

tank top
tank top
tank top

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

An ambulance came for the neighbor today.  Before they arrived it was only street chaos as everyone filtered to their lawns, some of the closer ones walking over to help.  Lots of hands on hips.  Lots of little groups merging into bigger ones.  People not caring about their indoor clothes out there wrong in the front yard.  Everyone wrapped in polite worry.
 It reminded how sometimes it takes bad things happening to bring people together.
I remember meeting all of my neighbors the day of the big 6.9 earthquake in ’89 in SF.  All of us sitting on the steps outside of our flats, candles up and down the edges, drinking beers brought down from numerous fridges that were without power because why let them get warm?  Everyone eager to talk about their story.  Everyone asking questions you could tell they had been holding back on asking for a long time-the time spent seeing the day to day, week to week comings and goings only previously acknowledged with maybe a head nod or a smile wave.  Casual neighbor stuff devoid of substance.  I remember how dark the street was and how you could smell the smoke coming up from the Marina.  Portable radios.  News noise.
Yeah.
It was a great night.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Houses need paper towels. My house does not have paper towels right now. It feels “off.” “out of balance” A broken sidewalk. There is a reliability in having paper towels available. Like having a good mom around. I don’t know. Maybe I am the only one who feels this way. I am going to buy paper towels today and then I will feel better. Probably. At least I wont have to keep being confronted by the empty paper towel holder. It keeps looking at me like, you fail at keeping a reliable household.

A friend of mine is filming a movie. He keeps putting pictures up on facebook of the filming of this movie. I haven’t talked to this friend in maybe three years. Before that, maybe three more. Before that we were good friends. Work friends. I want to ask him why he is making a movie. I want to know when the eff did he become ‘a movie maker.’ When I knew him he didn’t do that. I want to know if this is his new job or if this is just a hobby thing. The pictures make it look like it is a new job thing. A new job thing where he is the boss of filming a movie. It’s all very mysterious. I commented on one of the photos implying ‘wtf with you are making movies’ but he did not respond. It makes me think that we, as human beans, are not relegated to continue being what we have always been. That we can stop mid-stream and change course. We can do things we want to do if we want to do them. Even if we are old. So, that felt good.

A funny thing happened at Chili’s last night but it’s too hard to explain so I won’t. Let’s just say it was like living an SNL skit.

Friday, July 22, 2011

Fear. Let’s not talk about fear. Fear is creeping up on me and creeping up on me and creeping up on me. It’s my quicksand. I sometimes can’t even make certain phone calls. I have to turn off different thought switches in my brain or I will completely shut down with paralysis. I am beginning to understand why some people can’t leave their house. How people can’t do anything but sit in a chair or lie on a bed. I feel like I am on the verge of overwhelming myself. Okay, maybe not on the verge, exactly, but definitely on the path to being on the verge. It’s like one of those movies where someone is developing special powers. Gradual glimpses of powers or abilities that are shaken off at first; uncomfortable, strange, scary. But then by the end of the movie, the powers are full and developed because that is how movies go.

Maybe I should use a better analogy, like something with a physical transformation like The Fly or something similar where a person changes a little bit at a time until it becomes something it wasn’t ever supposed to be.

Whatever which way, I hope I can get a handle on it soon so I don’t end up alone, in a chair, in a room with no windows and no phone and no television and no computer and no life because if there are no outside forces pressing down upon me I cannot be afraid.

A large part of me wants to live in a treehouse that sits on the very top branches of a very beautiful tree that grows on a very beautiful island with warm tropical weather but only light rainfall. That tree would have the best wireless reception, a surprisingly civilized almost fancy plumbing system and the island would have a gourmet pizza delivery service that gives me all of my pizza for free because every time they are done giving me my pizza they love to ride the ‘exit slide’ that twists and turns through the branches and leaves of my tree on its way down to the ground, back to their delivery car. Like, the employees fight over who gets to deliver me my pizza, it's so much fun on that friggin' slide. Sometimes they will bring me free six packs of beer. Also, the tree has 8 “platforms” of living space made up of bedrooms, entertainment areas and lounging areas and a library. I will have lots of visitors or no visitors. I will do anything I want. I will fly around the island because I will also have a pet bird that loves me and takes me to all the best swimming spots that nobody can get to and I am naked and beautiful and not afraid of anything because nothing can touch me there. The end.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Now I’m addicted to a stupid little iPhone game called, Tiny Tower. Like most all iPhone games, it’s dumb. You are supposed to build floors on a tower that you own. Each floor gets more expensive to build. You can build residential floors or floors for entertainment or retail. So far I have three residential floors and a sushi restaurant floor and a night club floor because every tower needs those things.

The towers are populated and visited by the residents of the city I am building the tower in and they are called “Bitizens.” This is the cutest name ever for tiny people who live in a tiny city who live in tiny towers. They enter the tower through the lobby and you have to operate the elevator to take them to the floors they are requesting. Sometimes a VIP enters the building and if you deliver him to your sushi bar he will buy lots of sushi and make you richer.

The Bitizens move into your building and pay you rent and you give them jobs there so they are happy. The challenge of the game is to keep your service floors adequately stocked with supplies so you can keep the customers happy and keep making more money to build more floors on your tower.

While I was writing this I made enough money to add another floor. I added a photo studio. Bomb!

I hope I can build umpteen floors. I want to build enough floors to reach heaven. I want to get the Bitizens to touch God. I hope the creators of this game wrote that into the program.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

I bet you didn’t know that tomorrow is National Fried Chicken Day.  The reason this holiday exists is probably so I won’t be able to stop thinking about fried chicken because ever since KFC told me, via email coupon, that July 6th is NFCD, all I can think about is HOW I NEED TO EAT FRIED CHICKEN!  But I want to eat it today.  I don’t want to wait until tomorrow.  It’s not even necessary to wait until tomorrow because, unlike holidays that have rules like Christmas and 4th of July, NFCD can happen on any day, really. I mean, come on.  It’s just food.  I can make NFCD be EVERY day if I really wanted to.  There are probably some people who live this holiday on a daily basis and don’t even know it. 

Any which way I really want to just go to a fried chicken place, or actually, MULTIPLE fried chicken places, and buy like 10 bucks of fried chicken at each place and then bring it all home in my car WHILE THE DELICIOUS SMELL TORTURES ME LIKE A LOVER and then eat it while sitting in front of the television in my pajamas; the delectable fried goodness covering my coffee table like a one item Hoarders buffet.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

I have a fun new toy called an iPad. Thank you my www friend! This weekend I discovered a fishing game app. I don’t know why, but I love fishing games. One of my favorite nickel slots in Vegas is a fishing themed game. When I was little I loved going fishing. I probably would love fishing if I went fishing now. Especially, if it involved beer and a book.  Man, why don’t I ever go fishing?!?! Doesn't that sound like heaven?  I think I will put that on my summer to do list.

Anyway, I played the eff out of this fishing game all weekend and ever since. And, to be honest, it’s not even that good of a game. But there is a certain challenge to it that hits my sweet spot.

It’s really dumb how much I like this fishing game.

Also, have you noticed that in movies or shows that are centered around “apocalyptic” themes, like end of world, machines have taken over, alien invasion, zombie invasion, nuclear wastelanded type of things that nobody is wearing bright clothes? Everyone is wearing grays, blacks, browns, tans, dark greens, dark blues, maroons, etc. The brightest the clothing gets is maybe a plum. I understand that in these movie scenarios maybe washing machine access are at an all time low, but still, you think you’d see someone with a yellow t-shirt that is dinged down with dirt and grime to a muddy mustard, right? Do all orange, red and white and turquoise clothing burn up when humanity goes under? What is the story with this?

All I know is that if I ever survive the Zombie-pocolypse, I am going to wear rainbow overalls every day. I don’t even care if that makes me an easy target. I will have an automatic crossbow, a sawed off shotgun and a hand held flame thrower so being easily seen by zombies won’t even be a factor. Plus, I will have all of those overall pockets to fill with like, extra clips and arrows and whatnot.  Rainbow overalls: bringing smiles to Zombie-pocolypse survivors everywhere.

Monday, June 20, 2011

Every day I brush my teeth and every day I spit red. Something is wrong. It’s bright red. Like I am brushing fluid blood from my teeth instead of plaque, washing them from red to white. No pain, just crimson. I spit blood. In the white bowl of the sink it looks like sickness. Like something closer to death than I hope I am. I wait for a clink of a tooth, like I am falling apart mouth first. I imagine pinching a cuspid and snapping it loose, like a dry cob of corn from a crisped stalk. I shudder to think about that really happening but torture myself with it anyway.

Teeth just falling out of my jaw makes me want to turn and run.

My tongue has just found a place in between my tooth and gum that feels full of something. A hard sliver of food that wedged. I have picked at it so vigorously with my longest fingernail and sliced it with a free string, in lieu of floss I don’t have, that it has become swollen. I am not good at self-surgery. Blood is literally leaking into my mouth from this wound I have created and I am tasting it and it is extra warm and sweet and I sort of like it.

I bet there is nothing there.

Sometimes we pick at wounds that don’t exist. Maybe it makes us feel like we are doing something to fix something that's wrong with us.

Monday, June 13, 2011

I did lots of laundry yesterday. So much laundry it felt like Hoarders. 

Around the house, a gas motor hum that built up fell down built up fell down, making it a Sunday.  Green white noise.  I walked through a sunbeam of cut grass smell.  It felt like my face in a handful of blades; cold and damp.  Nothing can bottle that up.  It is just a mind picture that happens when summer brings it back around making you feel six again, a hose in your hand, topless in your 1970's backyard.

Later on, a little voice ventriloquisted at me and I laughed so so hard.  Then I stopped laughing. then I started again.  My breath coming back to me inside the sheets thinking, "I am so happy with him, right now"  and then, "I am so lucky."

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

This Happens For 100 Years

The love puppy goes, bark! bark! The love puppy belongs to me. The love puppy bites my fingers and ankles. Little teeth marks. Little puppy breaths. The love puppy licks me licks me licks me. I love the love puppy and the love puppy loves me. The love puppy in my bicycle basket. The love puppy in my car. The love puppy on summer vacations and the love puppy at night breathing heavy. I get mad at the love puppy, the love puppy gets mad at me. 5,000 feedings for the love puppy, 5,000 baths. The love puppy grows into his paws. I walk the love puppy 13,000 miles. When I run away, he chases me. When he runs away I put up flyers. The flyers are written in Mandarin, Spanish, Tagalog and French. The flyers say, REWARD! A MILLION DOLLHAIRS FOR THE LOVE PUPPY’S SAFE RETURN! PLEASE! PLEASE! HELP SAVE ME! and a phone number. The bed has only one warm spot for many days, many nights. My routine is broken. I hobble around on one leg turning in circles. I sit in the darkness smelling his smells until he returns, says sorry, nestles close until our warmth clings together like before. The love puppy sits on the doorstep, always on the doorstep, and I always am coming home.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Monday, May 30, 2011

I am sunburned and my face looks like a craggy outcropping.

I put my eyes on and I feel better.

Mama always cooks breakfast. I asked, “Is there rice?” and before I finished it I already knew the answer and told her I shouldn’t have asked and she agrees.

Sounds of race cars.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Last night I made food on a stick and that means I cooked it over an open flame and it was raw on a stick and then I turned and turned and turned it until it got cooked. Some people said, “Watch your tip! Your tip is burning!” Some people said, “Lean it like this! Turn it like this!” Some people said, “It is done! Yours is done now!” Every time some people said those things I would listen because I was a ‘first timer” and “inexperienced.”

The food was gooey when I put it on the stick. I smoothed it down the stick like a wet, gloppy condom. When the food was placed on like this, some people snickered and made, “You sure are good at this!” jokes. I made those jokes too.

The food took a short but sort of medium time to cook. It was hard to tell when the food was ready. It was a hard to balance sort of food where the outside could burn easily and yet leave the inside raw and unready. That is why I listened to what everyone had to tell me. “This ain’t no roasted marshmallow, Tracy!” That’s what some people said to me.

I decided when I thought mine was done and some people agreed. When I tried to take it off the stick it burned my fingers and I yelled made up swears. Cartoon swears. Then I “manned up” and pulled it off like a band-aid. My fingertips were burning with it and I juggled it from hand to hand. Some people said, “I told you so!” I just wanted to eat already.

I took the squeeze bottle from one person who was finished and said, “How do I do this?” Some people said, “Like this” or “Squeeze until it’s filled up.” So, I did. And Then I took the small spoon from the tub and said, “Do I put this now?” and some people said, “Yes.” And I was glad because I knew it was going to be my favorite part.

Everything started melting and I went to take small bite of my creation and some people said, “Not like that! You have to pop it all in your mouth!” and I said, “No.” and I ate it in little bites and it was better that way, I think. Even though I was a beginner, I already knew how I was going to enjoy it.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Tonight my plan is to invent some sort of dinner involving cocktail meatballs and teriyaki sauce.


White rice is the poor man’s sidewalk gum.

I've had popcorn for lunch the past three days.

This is what happens when you try to go a week without grocery shopping.

Also, there will be artichokes. I forgot about those. Who the heck figured out an artichoke would be a good food? Without Googling I will say that aren’t artichokes like some sort of flower thing? Like, who looks at an artichoke OR A CLAM and decides, “Food!”? There must have been a lot of adventurous people back in the olden times. I’ve seen some weird nature stuff over the years and have never thought to take anything home and attempt multiple ways to make them into an edibility option.


I think I like to feel safe inside the things that others have tried and succeeded in.  I am not one to blaze trails and that's okay with me.

Friday, May 13, 2011

Someone should invent portable pockets.  Pockets that can be attached to pocketless things for an ‘Instant pocket whenever you want it!” That could be their tagline. 
Nevermind. I will invent it. Please don’t steal my idea.  I need to become a millionaire. Thanks.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

OMG I MADE THE WIGLEAF TOP 50!! 

This sort of blows me right the fuck away because of the sheer volume of online stories published every month, then multiply that by a YEAR and to take them all and whittle them down to just 50 (plus the awesome long list, of course) and the fact that ONE OF MY STORIES MADE THE TOP 50 just makes me feel that what I am doing, all the time I'm spending, all the being alone with a keyboard is maybe not for nothing.  That things I write maybe make a difference and maybe I am okay at writing. 

It's a brownie point and I am going to wear it with pride even if a 'point' is not wearable.

Thank you Wigleaf. 

Sunday, May 1, 2011

My dog ate three foil-wrapped Dodger dogs yesterday. The black rug looked like one of those mylar-looking weather balloons exploded all over it. She looked back at me, over her shoulder, smacking her dog lips. Now I have to make sure she poos, I guess. The poo is sure to look dirty disco ball fantastic. I also thought maybe she will finally die because of this. I’m not sure how much foil she actually ingested. But dogs eat a lot of bad stuff and still live, right? I mean my last dog ate a paper towel once. I only know this because I pulled it, completely intact, out of his butthole. The smelliest magic trick ever.

Last night I drank wine, vodka, rum, tequila and gin. I don’t know why I did that. Just so you know, when you drink that mixed bouquet of booze you end up getting sexy with the Electric Slide and don’t even care when you miss getting cake.

Friday, April 29, 2011

I would like to push a grocery cart through a bookstore, filling up the cart with giant sweeps of my arms, clearing shelves like a lawn mower.  I would like to hear the books fall onto the floor even though the sounds would hurt the place under my skin, under the bone and muscle.  I would like to fill up the cart until it can hardly be moved.  Then I would like the bookstore person to tell me, "Go on, just take them.  I know they will be well cared for."  They will watch me with their arms folded, nodding, before turning to go clean up my mess.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Feel like I am eating ‘big things.’ Picture a chocolate chip cookie the size of a Frisbee. Picture a lollipop the size of a truck tire. Picture a bowl of cereal the size of a manhole cover. A chicken leg the size of a pizza guy. A saltine cracker you can surf on. A tub of margarine you can sit in. Put these things and more on a table and place me in front of them with a napkin tucked into my collar and a knife and fork duct taped in each of my hands. Tell me to pound the heels of those utensils into the wood of the table while yelling, “Eat! Eat! Eat!” Pretend, even though I have a regular sized mouth and stomach, that I am eating those things. Pretend that it’s something one should be excited about. That’s how I feel.

Actually, that’s probably not really how I feel. It’s a bad analogy. I just like the thought of very large sized food. Maybe what I really want out of life is to be very small.

Either which way, I feel like I am approaching a crossroad (crossroads?) in my life. I feel like I am approaching it VERY slowly. Sort of like, the crossroad is very far ahead, but I can just barely see it, and I am in a car that is having mechanical problems and I am praying the car can continue creeping down the road (which is in the middle of nowhere) long enough to make it to the crossroad(s) because maybe there is a phone there, or a guy is there who HAS a phone or maybe there is a new car there, waiting for me and if only I can make it to the crossroad(s?) Everything will be okay.

Actually, that is a bad analogy too. Man, I’m having a difficult time trying to explain my feelings today, aren’t I?

Nevermind. I’m feeling things that are big and important and I am feeling a shift in the force. It is happening slow like a three legged turtle walking through mud. How’s that?

Friday, April 15, 2011

Hello Nobody!

I wrote something that has the word, "boner" in it a lot.  Society dictates I should not be proud of such a thing, but too bad society! I am proud of my excessive use of the word boner!  BONER! BONER! BONER!

Just kidding.  The word boner should only be used in moderation unless you are a professional LIKE ME who can write a story for Smokelong about naked men penis fighting and then follow it up with a prose piece for PANK that happens to throw the word 'boner' around a lot. (There's also swear words...gasp!)

Sorry, Mom.  I know you're proud of me anyway.

Thank you, Roxane Gay for saying nice things about it, too.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

My neighbor’s house is termite tented. The birds that nest in the Bougainvillea don’t know where to go. They are lost and confused. They fight the stripes with their wings.

The extra large eggs I bought have the smallest yolks. Each time I break one open I am disappointed. They are like tiny penises on huge men.

Remember the box of lemons I had? There are 12 left. Twelve completely shriveled, shrunken and useless lemons. I wonder when they’ll ever be gone.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

There is a green popsicle that has been in my work’s freezer for almost a year now.  It’s bright green.  It’s in a clear plastic wrapper.  Every day I see the popsicle and every day I have the urge to throw it away but every day I don’t because I feel like it needs a chance or that it has its own right to survive.  I always have the urge to write about the popsicle and I never do, until today.  I know the popsicle does not have a consciousness.  Sometimes I humanize things so sue me.

I am wearing last night’s hair and makeup.  I look a little like Rod Stewart.  I’m tired.  I am typing the word, “esophagus.”

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

I don’t know why but something in my right eyeball exploded. Maybe I got punched in the eye while I was sleeping. But I didn’t see it first thing in the morning when I put my make up on and that involves a lot of looking at my own eyeballs. Maybe I stuck a pen in my eye by accident and didn’t notice or react or feel intense pain at all when I stabbed my eyeball with a pen because, I don’t know, maybe my hair was on fire at the time so I wasn’t paying attention. I don’t know. All I know is at some point in the early morning when finally looking at myself in the bathroom mirror at work, I noticed a large portion of my eyeball was bloody.

I was like, wtf, and I leaned in and pulled my lower lid down and it was totally ew.

I let my lid pop back up and I turned my head this way and that and sort of checked out my new bloody eye in the mirror.

It looked pretty Fight Club and therefore, slightly bad ass. But what it really needed in order to have the full bad assness was some purple-black bruising. Some cheekbone swelling. Maybe a fresh slice crisping maroon along its thin raised ridge. Now THAT would’ve been something to give that mirror my FULL attention. Not just a partially bloody eyeball.

People ask me what happened and I’m like, about what? And they’re like, your bloody eyeball. And I’m like, oh. Yeah, I have no idea.

Oh well. It is and will remain a mystery.


In the meantime, I will continue listening to this Chemical Brothers song that has horses neighing throughout it. Yet another wtf.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

I’m watching the LA Marathon from a comfortable chair in my living room. It’s pouring rain outside. Some of the runners are cloaked in see-through plastic sheets. The rest are just getting wet. I am in pajamas. I have socks on. My feet are up and I am under a blanket. I am intermittently sipping from a warm cup of coffee.

I feel guilty somehow.

The two dudes leading the race are running like 4 minute something miles.

I run twelve minute miles.

I am like a grandma runner.

Yesterday I ran my strongest five miles thus far in my ongoing training for the San Francisco Bay to Breakers that I’ll run in May. I felt like an awesome.

It blows my mind that these runners are running 26 miles and crap.

It blows my mind that I’m thinking of doing the same thing come December.

Some of the runners are wearing garbage bags like shirts.

I just saw a little kid run by.

And a grandpa.

And a grandma

And a chunky person.

Now I feel super guilty.

That’s why I want to run a marathon. Because little kids can run marathons. And old people. And overweight people.

So why can’t I?

I would like to go into 2012, and the rest of my life, with the ability to say, “I ran a marathon.” That would be something I will be able to whip out for the rest of my life that basically says, “I’m better than you.” and I need all of those that I can get cuz I really don't have any so far.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

I have a purse that has petals. Black leather petals. When I swing the purse, the petals fan out like a flapper’s dress. The purse is falling apart. The petals are falling off. People find them. They find them in the car. They find them on the floor. They find them on the table, in the driveway, under the couch.

Every time they find one, they hold it up, a black circle, and ask, “What is this?” They hold it up high. They move it in an arc so everyone can see it so everyone can evaluate the black circle so they can try to identify it. To me, they look like a teacher at the front of a classroom, holding up a story book or a plastic skull and I feel like a student who knows the answer and who will raise their hand and who is anxious to shout the answer before being called upon.

In this case, the answer is always the same so I do not know why they keep asking it. I am tired of explaining it is a petal from my purse and then holding up the purse and showing it to them much the same way they showed me the petal. They always say, “Oh,” and nod and hand me the petal. I always wonder how they don’t know where the petal came from because I’ve had this purse for months now. It is a purse covered in black petals, therefore it is not usual. It is unusual. It is supposed to be noticed and therefore, remembered. If my purse was a wife it would be upset that its husband didn’t notice its new dress every goddamn day.

I always take the petals and I don’t know what to do with them. I can’t sew and if I pinned them on they’d eventually fall back off or I’d be stabbed. The petals stack up inside my purse. The outside of my purse is molting while the inside of my purse is choking with its feathers.

It seems ironic.

I feel like I am just going to keep using this purse until it can’t fly anymore and then I will throw it away. So cruel and hard-hearted, I think. But then I think, It’s just a purse, stupid and I feel better. I have to remember not to have emotional attachments to inanimate objects. I have a favorite coffee cup. I should use it less, just in case.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

I bloodied my big toe toenail.  The bead was glossy and red.  The prettiest red. 

Blood is so pretty under the right circumstances.

My gums bleed a lot these days.  I am blaming it on my new toothbrush. I pretend the bristles are made of wire.  I pretend I am in a Saw movie.  When I spit, it's spectacular.

Red.

Friday, March 4, 2011

i did the thing where i get ready for bed.  I put on the same pajamas as the night before, all crumpled and shoved into the third drawer down.  There are socks in there too.  The bottom of the socks are always brownish and i'm like, to myself, 'these aren't socks, they are how i clean my hardwood floors' and then i was like, 'it's awesome and gross how i am wearing these clothes for the fourth night in a row or something'.  then i put them on.  i love my own filth.

i bought a man a pack of sour patch kids tonight. I felt 'big pimpin'.  i was like, HERE IS YOUR BOX OF SOUR PATCH KIDS, I HOPE I WILL GET LUCKY LATER BECAUSE OF THIS PURCHASE. 

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

I made lemon chicken.  I haven't made lemon chicken in a long time.  I made the lemon chicken because i forgot i had FIFTY MILLION LEMONS IN A CARDBOARD BOX YES A CARDBOARD BOX that a kindly neighbor gave to me. 

How does one forget about a GIANT CARDBOARD BOX FULL OF LEMONS THAT HAS BEEN SITTING IN THEIR KITCHEN ON A TABLE FOR A FEW WEEKS?  My guess is that the GIANT CARDBOARD BOX starts to become part of the scenery like a toaster oven or a coffee maker.  That is how I am explaining it to myself so I feel less retarded.

The box is not small. It's not a shoebox size.  The box is the size of a 1982 microwave.  It was half full of lemons when i got it.  I was like, thanks for the lemons and in my head, I was like, I am never going to use all of these effing lemons.  But I am not one to hurt feelings so I put the lemons on my kitchen table and just felt threatened by them for a while.

The first thing i did was bring some to work.  For some reason, people at my work love dirty, stem and leave attached lemons.  Go them.  I dont know what they used them for. Maybe they put it in their tea or some crap.  I didn't care.  My goal was just GET RID OF THE LEMONS.

Oh, i'd use them every so often, when I'd remember.  My most popular use was, "take one out and throw it in the garbage can when nobody was looking."  I felt a special sort of satisfaction whenever I'd throw one away, like, i was one sour citrus fruit closer to NOT HAVING A GIANT CARDBOARD BOX FULL OF LEMONS ON MY KITCHEN TABLE. 

I bought some spinach last week and used a lemon or two when i sauteed the spinach.  I think I used the lemons for some other food reason once before that, but i can't remember it now.  Mostly the lemons just sit in the box, like Jews in a closet during the Holocaust. 

Last night I decided to defrost some chicken thighs, although I wasn't sure why.  It seemed like a good thing to do if I wanted to feed the people I usually feed.  I didn't know what i would make with the chicken...like, I can't just throw some raw chicken on a plate and expect people to like it.  I figured that i would figure out something later even though I knew my cupboard was bare.   BUT THEN MY BOSS TOLD ME SHE WAS THINKING ABOUT MAKING LEMON CHICKEN AND I WAS LIKE, HOLY CRAP, LEMON CHICKEN!  HOW DID I NOT THINK OF THIS ON MY OWN!  I AM FAIL AT LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So, when i got home, I lemon chickened the HECK out of those thighs!  I used like a total of 6 lemons.  Two of them just for the rind!  AND I DIDNT EVEN JUICE THEM! I JUST GRATED THEIR SKIN AND THREW THEM AWAY LIKE A BADASS LEMON WASTER!

And the lemon chicken was delicious and the box of lemons is still on my kitchen table and i am still feeling threatened by them.  I sort of want to throw them all over my lawn so they are like a yellow easter egg art piece in February or just toss them into the street and watch them all die under car tires.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

"We were on this car trip,

And I was looking at these rows and rows of trees all along the highway.

I don't know what kind of trees, apples or something.

There were just like thousands and thousands of rows of a thousand trees each.

And I picked one tree that I could see about eight trees back in this one row in the middle.

Just one in a billion.

And that's how I felt"


 
Eels, Apple Tree

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

There should be a show called Car Hoarders. I know you’ve seen them. Heck, I saw two just yesterday. People whose cars are so full of crap there is only enough space for them to sit in the driver’s seat. It’s amazing. It’s like the opposite of those cars that have all the decorative crap glued all over them. It’s decoration in reverse no it’s filling a car like filling a stomach that never shits.

One of the car hoarders I saw yesterday drove by me and it was like he was crashed in a river; the car half-submerged, his shoulders and head just above the waterline. Except instead of water, it was…stuff. They drove past me and their wake felt heavy, thick, sunken. I wanted to tell him to put his neck up, breathe in the air pocket. Hold on until help could come but that was a fast thought. Involuntary. And then the logic came and it was that he was a mere hoarder. There was no opportunity for rescue or saving. He was holding himself under. A sort of suicide.

Monday, January 31, 2011

The first five minutes of Buried with Ryan Reynolds is grunting. Grunting and darkness. Normally, I am all for movies with grunting and Ryan Reynolds and some darkness, but when the lights finally came on nobody was naked. And it wasn’t even a light insomuch as it was a lighter. When you are stuck in a coffin where oxygen is limited, continuously having your butane lighter on is probably not the smartest survival idea. I mean, sure, have an initial look around. Survey your surroundings. Four walls, check. No means of escape, check. Lighter off. Now, go ahead and pound away on the wood like being buried under whatevermany feet of sand pressure is going to make it easy for the walls of the coffin to just sort of break so you can escape. Actually, keep trying to break the wood cuz, yeah, SAND STARTS TO FALL IN. And you are tired of all that free space and oxygen and would rather become trapped inside a human hour glass. Grunt some more, Ryan Reynolds. Turn on your lighter some more. Look around. Nothing’s changed. Continue pounding and grunting. Make some phone calls. Die. This movie was retarded. I was glad he spoiler alert died. Him and his stupid lighter.

I have a hematoma on the side of my thigh that is the shape of Australia, the size of small mango and the color of a blueberry. The surface of it is sort of raised, like a baby’s head emerging from the birth canal. When I went running today, it hurt as my thigh jiggled with each stride. It hurts when I pull my jeans up. It hurts when I push my jeans down. The color has changed since yesterday when it was a sort of magenta color. It’s a morphing. I’m too old to play one-on-one basketball. I will stick to shooting free throws and knitting with my slippers on.

Friday, January 28, 2011

42 minus 25 is seventeen. I did that calculation on my calculator. Seventeen is one hundred years ago.  It's barely there.  Unfolded.

Sometimes words made out of just music is perfect. A scratchy voice hyperventilating down its own throat while choking on birthday cake made out of rats and raisins swimming between guitar chords and drum solos can pick you up and lay you down better than the best mother could ever do.

Sometimes.

What I mean to say is, when you are looking for something to make you feel better it can come from an unexpected place. Turn shit over. Even small shit. Tea cups, crumpled panty hose, shoe boxes. Take whatever you find there as long as it is surrounded in God’s white light. Eat that shit. Swallow it up. Let it fill you and feeeeel.

The above, equal sign, very strong coffee.

For the past three months, not so much lately, there was a story they’d report on all the time. I’d have the ayem radio on and the news person would always start the story the same way. The way they’d present the story would make me sad. I mean, they are probably presenting the story the way the facts made themselves available, but the facts, themselves, were sad. The way the story started was always like this, “A five-year-old boy was shot in the head while showing off his Spiderman costume to his family in his backyard.” It always started this way. Always.

It was the ‘showing off’ part that always got me. That is the part that crushes. I always see him. A tiny Spiderman. A tiny blue and red boy. Did he have them gather round? Was he doing his best Spiderman moves? Were they clapping and laughing and praising? Taking pictures?  He was so excited about his Halloween costume he was ‘showing off’ his costume in his backyard. He wasn’t playing in his backyard. He wasn’t writing in chalk or bouncing a ball or playing with trucks. This boy was showing off his costume. He was making sure his family saw him. How great he was at being Spiderman. He was flexing his Spiderman muscles. His biggest care was probably how much candy he could carry home. And then he got shot in the head. He was five.

It’s been a while now. I don’t hear the story anymore.  But it's still there.  I mean, here.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Hello. I have a story about naked fighting at Smokelong.



I AM EFFING STOKED THAT I HAVE A STORY IN SMOKELONG! OMG! HOT CHOCOLATES FOR EVERYBODY!

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Hello. I am writing to you from the trauma center of my brain that is still freshly scarred by the freakishly long black pubic hair I found in the ladies restroom toilet today at work AFTER I SAW A DUDE WALK OUT OF IT!
OMG.
First of all, WHY IS THERE A RANDOM DUDE USING THE WOMEN’S RESTROOM?!?!  Even if he was unable to read, there is the universal symbol for VAGINAS ONLY on a big sign on the door.  Second of all, I FOUND IT IMPOSSIBLE TO USE THE BATHROOM AFTER I SAW HIM WALK OUT OF IT AND ALMOST PEED MYSELF BECAUSE OF IT.  I figured that he had to take a dump and I wanted no part of whatever was floating around in there immediately after he used it.  My imagination ran wild. Gross!
So, when I couldn’t take it any longer, I cautiously went inside hoping some women had already used it..and maybe they had…but I HAVE NEVER FOUND A FOUR INCH BLACK PUBE IN THE LADIES ROOM BEFORE TODAY so I am thinking it was the dude’s pube.

“dude’s pube”

Gross.

Who let’s their pubes grow so long anyway?  Trim it back or SOMETHING!  Won’t it get caught in your zipper or whatnot?  Freakusingtheladiesroomwierdoguy.



Friday, January 14, 2011

Color Me Once” by Violent Femmes is good.

Making dip is good.

Eating dip is good. It doesn’t matter what race you are. Eating dip is good.

Cold white wine in a rounded bottom glass while sitting on a brown couch is good.

Socks are good. It doesn’t matter what race you are. Socks are good.

Hot showers are good.

Shaving part of your body is good. Having smooth body parts is something we can all 'gather round.'

Eating candy is good.

Running at the beach is good.

Petting dogs is good.

Lying down to go to sleep is good.

Bruce Springsteen is good.

Singing in your car is good.

Winning a contest is good.

Watching movies is good. It doesn’t matter what race you are. Watching movies is good.

Reading books is good.

Eating cereal is good.

Wearing jeans is good.

Coffee is good. But not tea. Tea is dumb. It doesn’t matter what race you are. Tea is dumb.

Going to the bathroom is good. It doesn’t matter what race you are. Going to the bathroom is good.

Rainbows are good. But not because they are rainbows. They are good because they are awesome in the sky.

Finding a dollar is good.

Finding twenty dollars is gooder.

Hugs are good.

Video games are good.

People that love you are good.

Pizza is good.

There is a lot of good if you just stop and think about it. It doesn’t matter what race you are. There is a lot of good if you just stop and think about it.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

I am writing this because it is easier than writing. I look forward all day to writing, like, I get ideas, I get phrases, I get excited. I want to lunge for my keyboard. And then life gets in the way and then I finally can sit down to make my dreams come true and the excitement is nowhere to be found and my fingers are dead like fish, dead like red-winged blackbirds and dead like nine year old girls who went to watch a congresswoman speak. (too soon, i'm sorry)  I dig deep, trying to find the spark again. And I can’t find it even though I know it’s there. I hate this. I will walk away now. I will do other things like make brussell sprouts or fold laundry or lament the greasy state of my windows and maybe find the spark within those things. (Sometimes I can find it there.) But in the meantime, I’m wasting time on writing what is easy—this—instead of what is hard: that. I want to drink red wine right now. I want to pull a blanket over my head and sleep for a while. In a hot room. In the daytime. Okay, bye.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

It’s not fair I have to drink this coffee so fast. Morning coffee is not Yagermeister. And it sucks that the cup I just made is so unbelievably good. SIPPING good.  And i can't leisurely enjoy it.  But, noooooo... because of certain schedule constraints, I have to drink this coffee and leave the house in 20 effing minutes so I can do a 78 minute workout and come back in time to get ready and leave the house on time. I am not happy about this because I am not a morning person. So, it already sucks that I have to work out in the morning but now my morning slothliness (made up word) that I love to luxuriate in; laptop on lap, writing, listening to Iron & Wine, sipping coffee, has been taken away from me. IT’S A SATURDAY! Fml.

Plus, coffee makes you have to pee or poo and I really shouldn’t be drinking it before I go exercise because that just exacerbates the entire situation and I really don’t want to pull off the road while running in order to evacuate my innards.

Ugh. Unhappy. SUPER unhappy.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

I have the prettiest dentist in America.  It's true. I forget, but then I go see her and she comes over me while I'm lying in the chair and I'm like, "You are so pretty." But I do not say this aloud because that is weird.

Anyway.  My teeth are mostly good.  She says I grind my teeth because the edges are all flat.  She basically told my my canines are not pointy anymore and it made me feel like a failure at being a carnivore.  Like, now, if i try to hunt and kill prey, I will have to ask them nicely to lie down while i gum them to death or something. 

No cavities!

Then she had the old lady hygenist come over and do the cleaning and she starts off by flossing my teeth.  Now, I have a problem with this.  First of all, it makes me feel like I am a toddler.  Secondly, shouldn't we have some social foreplay first, before you just start putting your hands and string into my mouth?  Like, it just seems like someone just walked up to me and went right to third base or something.  It was super odd and uncomfortable. I sat there and took it.   What else could i do?  I mean, it wasn't 'rape shower' bad, but it was maybe two steps up from that. 

They are referring me to someone for my wisdom tooth that is in the process of escaping from my gums.  I hope they tell me he can stay there. 

Next up...VAGINA DOCTOR!

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Anybody else besides me fascinated/freaked out with all this ‘thousands of birds falling dead out of the sky’ stuff going on lately? Dead fish, dead birds, dead birds and fish. It reminds me of end times stuff and it reminds me of Stephen King novel stuff and it reminds me of government cover up and X-files stuff. More reported today but in other countries so I’m not sure how well this theory holds up. Either which way, it was nice knowing you and also, red winged black birds are really pretty.

In non-apocalypse related news, I have to go to the dentist today. I am afeared for they will tell me they have to rip one of my wisdom teefs out. I can feel it poking out from my gums. I feel like a first grader.

Well, If they have to rip the tooth out of my head I am going to ask to keep it because a) I need to hold on to as much wisdom as I can and b) the Tooth Fairy is bound to reward me greatly for such a wise tooth!

And, oh, happy new year.