Russian Tea

A gift for you.

My grandmother's birthday is today and in her honor, I'm sharing my favorite drink recipe of hers. This is a holiday staple at my house, even after the holidays were no longer welcome in my home...


2 cups sugar
2 cups Tang
1/2 tsp cloves
1/2 cup lemonade mix
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 cup instant tea

Mix together. Use 2 to 3 tsp per 8 oz hot water.

Yeah, a little red neck with the Tang but trust me, it's good.

Cake: the prefered food of celebration

I have nothing against cake.

In fact, I've enjoyed cake quite a bit. Birthdays, bat mitzvahs, even the occasional 'yay you broke up with that asshole' cake. But after a knock down, drag out fight with not one, but two people about cake, I'm ready to swear it off. Forever.

mmmm, cake?

Both my mother and my husband-to-be feel that cake is necessary for our wedding celebration. I, on the other hand, feel it's too traditional and I would prefer something more fun. Like chocolate bacon. Seriously, two of the best things together at last?! Who would turn their nose up to that? No one, that's who. Or ice cream. Or chocolate bars. Or anything besides traditional cake.

My mother is usually appalled at me in general. I curse, throw my opinions around and generally shock her but this idea of mine was apparently over the line. We were having cake. Period. It's traditional, people expect it and she likes that cake at a local bakery where her friend works.

Fine. Let them eat cake. I informed her that I would be slipping out of the reception with my best friend for about 20 minutes to walk down the street to get an ice cream cone. Because that's what I want. (Because I'm the bride and it's my day... dammit.) This is when her head exploded. I won't go into details but there was lots of talk about my needing to be a grown up and how to be a hostess. It was like being 13 again. So I left my parents house in a huff, much like a 13 year old.

Now, my fiance is usually embarrassed by me in general. I'm loud, dress inappropriately and generally doing the wrong thing but this fight with my mom was apparently over the line. He sided with my mom! (Rookie mistake, right?) He thinks cake would be great and that if I happened to disappear to get an ice cream cone (on MY OWN wedding day) that it would be inappropriate.

And so, dearest evil minions, I impart on you this knowledge.

aka - inappropriate

The cake is a lie. It is neither celebratory or fun. It is yelling at me and filled not with butter cream, but with shame.

Go, my pretties, and get some ice cream, don't share, and just be happy if you don't balloon up like Ricky Lake. Do it for me!  I'll be 60 stories up, looking down at you in my wedding dress and a plate with cake on it, dreaming of pistachio and waffle cones.

The Big Question

So there I was.

I was at a lower point in my life. No job, career shot, no home, depressed and even my sex drive was suffering. But even though I was a pathetic case if ever there was one, The Mad Scientist asked me to join him in Atlanta for a little get away. We would drive down to Savannah and enjoy a long weekend togetther.

I was nervous about being in Savannah again. I had gone there with my family as a child many times for vacation and I was afraid it would bring back those happy/sad memories of growing up with my brother. (There's nothing like crying in public to make me want to throw myself in a river...) I was doing surprisingly well. The weather was perfect, the leaves were just starting to change and I was loving being so close to the ocean.

Savannah is a beautiful town. Established in 1733, it was originally a progressive, multicultural hub, until the British fixed that by making it a colony and stripping rights from many of it's citizens. (the jews, spanish, etc) During the Civil War, instead of burning Savannah to the ground like he did Atlanta, Gen. Sherman sent President Lincoln a telegram, 'giving' him Savannah as a Christmas present. The town features 22 historic squares, which doesn't sound too exciting but I must insist you visit as many as you can. They are shaded, beautiful areas, usually quiet and if you find yourself alone, surrounded by looming trees, perhaps a statue or fountain, historic french-american architechture just beyond, you feel like you've stepped back in time. It was beautiful and I was feeling rather peaceful amoung the ghost and history.

After a quick bite on our first day, we went for a walk along the Savannah River. We were watching the people and cargo ships go by, when TMS decided to do something drastic.

He asked me if I would marry him.


At the one of the lower points in my life, playing the part of a pretty big loser, he still wanted me for his... it's a pretty amazing thing. That, and the fact that he's the most wonderful man I've ever known, I love him more than ice cream, movies, dance and disneyland combined (and then some), it was a no brainer.  I said yes. 



Mine looks different but you get the picture

So I'm engaged! We're getting married sometime next fall and then a continued life of bliss.

I'll try not to turn this blog into a giant wedding blog but I will talk about it. I don't apologize. Just shut up and enjoy the ride.

Because really, that's all that life is...

Toys

Any headstone that blows bubbles wins my approval

I've been thinking about the movie Toys a lot lately.

Not sure why. It wasn't that great of a movie. Kind of creepy and without focus.

Robin Williams, Joan Cusak and Michael Gambon aka the new Dumbledore or Baltus in Sleepy Hallow(side note: was Baltus the one who got the picket fence through his chest and pulled from the church to have his head cut off?). Don't forget LL Cool J and Jaime Fox and the lovely Robin Wright before the 'Penn' was added and will surely be removed again.

I think the bright and strange images, taken/inspired from Rene Magritte, make me feel comforted or something. And that even though it's whimsical (the movie and his paintings), tragedy still occurs. (Rene witnessed his mother's body being pulled from the river after her suicide when he was a boy; this might have influenced some of his later paintings.) I tend to like the paintings without the massive harsh shadows better but I dig all of them.

I keep thinking about the scene at the beginning of the movie, where the children are burying their father. The rolling green fields and at the top of the hill, a beautiful stone elephant that blows bubbles. If I were to be buried, I would want that.

And the swan bed that his sister sleeps in is so something from a dream. Although, if they closed the top, I might have a bit of clausterphobia and claw my way out. "Oh GOD the walls are closing in on me! HELP! The giant swan is KILLING ME!"

Regardless, the movie was ok, the paints were great and I still like them both. So there.

What? Twinkies?

I don't eat them.

Well, not anymore. But as a child, my grandma would go to the Hostess store and buy several boxes of sweet treats for our arrival for summer. My brother and I would eat the chocolate covered hockey pucks wrapped in foil(Ding Dongs), plastic wrapped chocolate rolls(Ho-hos) and soft yellow cake logs. They remind me of happier times. I think if I had to eat one now, I may not be able to keep it down. Ug. But they're facinating never the less!

They were birthed in Illinos during the early years of The Great Depression. Originally filled with banana cream, Twinkies were hit by the WW2 when bananas were rationed. The switch to vanilla creme was so popular, they never switched back.

They are made from corn by products, emulsifiers, shortening, flavoring and a few other scientific ingredients before they are baked in the ovens. After a shot of filling, off they go to their respective homes. (Whether they be in a deep frier, random recipe or straight into your mouth)

President Clinton put one in a time capsule, people make wedding cakes from them and the American Society of Media Photographers used it as its main source in the Object Show. But they won't survive a nuclear blast or last for 25 years. (More like 25 days.)

500 million are eaten every year so odds are, you have had one yourself...  Now, don't you feel like you're part of something bigger than yourself?

Birthday thoughts

Getting old sucks.

I was never one of those kids that couldn't wait to grown up. I wanted to be little forever. And why not? Nap time, snack time, play time... And life was perfect when mom made mac and cheese for dinner and you could watch TGIF on ABC.

And getting older, even with the perks of driver's license and boyfriends and independence, isn't always fun. I have noticed that my body can't handle the stress it used to. When all I eat is chocolate and coffee, I get fatter. I can't stay up all night without DIRE consequences. I'm no longer flexible and my energy level is on the ground most of the time.

The older you get you have to look at your life and start to make decisions. I bought and sold my first house in 2 years. What now? Should I start over again? Should I get married? What about babies? (and I can't wait too much longer for children, to keep the risk low for healthy mom and baby...) I need to take better care of myself; it's not like when your younger and can skip those doctor appointments. Dentists, gynos, doctors ....plastic surgeons???

Mostly I hate turning one year older because this will be another year I get older than my brother. We were born 18 months apart. He's still 21 and get older every year. That is the true motherfucker of it all.

And I mean that.

From Park Ave to just the park

So this is what being homeless is like.

Worry not, gentle reader. I am not scruffy or unwashed as of yet. I always find a place to lay my head. I live out of my car, true, but I don't sleep there. I still eat 3 square meals a day and get a hot shower every day. Thank G-d for my friends and family. I spend much of my time trying to network up a job, scowering the internet and sitting in the park.

A truly homeless person came up to me while I was sitting in the park, reading. I held back the urge to scream, "Can't you tell I'm one of you?!" Instead, I hand her a dollar. Enjoy you're tall boy, ma'am. I'll be here, not regretting that decision later.

I have good days and bad days. Today is good. The weather is nice and I sold a bunch of my clothes and got a sweaty wad of cash for it so I'm celebrating with an ice cream cone.

I'm just going to sit here and watch my old life disappear.

Harry Potter is my best friend

As of late, I have had much trouble sleeping; the homelessness and uncertain future does that to you.

I lay awake for hours, mind racing, heart racing... pretty much every part of me racing around the room but my legs. (And even they twitch a little) So I sleep quite poorly, get up and disparage about my situation, then fall into a bed, where ever that may be, and stare at the ceiling some more. After about a week, things start to get weird.

I burst into tears for seemingly no reason. The shadows move. Lights are too bright, noises too loud and I sit in the middle of all of it and pray for a zombie apocalypse. And I'm a real bitch. Who wouldn't be after no sleep for a week? No one, that's who.

So last weekend, after a big fight with TMS, I find myself feeling like shit about myself and my situation, running on fumes, no sleep for 3 days and trying to fall asleep while fucking Seinfeld plays on the tv. Every time someone started doing that ever so charming 'whining-escalating-into-yelling' thing, I though my head was going to pop off my body.

I excused myself and tiptoed downstairs to have myself a bit of a cry. I sat on the floor and ate crackers and cried about the sorry state of me. If I had been an art piece, my title could have been, "Plathetic Mess, in C Minor". ("C Minor" lends it some credibility, don't you think?)

The sleep timer finally killed the tv and I ventured upstairs again, full of crackers and shame. I stared at the spots on the ceiling, thought about ice cream flavors I wanted to invent, trying not to collapse yet again into weepy sadness. That's when I roll over and spot my ipod on the bedside table.

I hope he's legal in the picture...

I put on book 4, curled up, and forgot the rest of the world. I escaped into a world of purpose, fantasy and safety. As I listened to the brilliant Jim Dale, I drifted off.  Finally.

 So because he's a roll model for kids, he's entertaining escapism and he finally got me to sleep, I declare Harry Potter is my best friend.

Besides, who doesn't want a friend who looks like this? No one, that's who. 

Mandatory Sex Party

I'm not all that funny.

Other people are much better at that than I am. I'm just here in my world, writing about whatever the hell I want. Sometimes it's humorous, other times, not so much.

Allie is fucking funny. Not just normal, "haha I'm going to forward this to my great aunt who enjoys a clever post with pictures of cats" kind of funny. FUCKING funny.

I fully encourage you to stop reading this dreck and go to http://www.hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/ right now and read her posts until you laugh so hard you pee yourself, like I've been doing all this week. I'd be mad at her for making me pee in public constantly but she is just too funny. I can't stay mad.

I literally got shushed by a little old lady in the library today because the latest post threw me into a giggle fit that I could not escape. I promptly flipped her off and lit her computer on fire. Just kidding Nanna, I would never...

And because she's makes me pee, I'm joining the grassroots movement of the mandatory sex party. Oh, you don't know what that is? Let me help you.

Definition:

"A party where once you walk in the door, you are obligated to have sex. I would think that these parties often disguise themselves as costume parties or birthday parties or baby showers but THEN as soon as they entice people in the door, they are all "guess what this actually is? It's a mandatory sex party, bitch!"

You're welcome.

PS-Sorry for being so late to join the fun Allie.
PSS - There are no good pictures to put in this post. I am not a porno site and googling anything with the word sex in it for good pictures doesn't yield anything worth posting. So here's a picture of a chipmunk spider.

I'm cute and scary!

That's the trouble with love...

...sometimes pets don't last long enough and sometimes people last too long...

Perhaps I'll run away and join the circus...

I could be a trapeze artist. Or not.
If you read this blog, you know I have love for my fellow circus freaks. But it's not so much about the circus I'm focusing on, but the running away part.

When I feel down and I can't think of any way to make myself snap out of it, I daydream about running away. I want to run off to a small southern town where no body knows me. Some place quiet and slow where I can pretend I'm someone else. I could be Aubry Little of Arkansas. My whole family died in a horrible cow-related accident and I came to their faire town to begin again. Then after winning the local beauty pagent, establishinga dog and cat reserve program and whan all he men had fallen in love with me, I would pack up and leave in teh middle of the night. I would leave a note saying that I was sad to go but I had to leave and I would come back some day.

And maybe I would.

Paul and The Open Relationship

I must be a sadist.

I must just love to torture myself and make myself feel all icky and awful inside. Why, you ask, my dear readers?

I ran into a high school aquintence last week. Normally I cringe at seeing people from my old salt mine but this particular person was kind and sweet person that I had known off and on during my youth so no crinding was had. We chatted for a few moments and she asked me if I still talked to Paul, my first boyfriend. At that comment, I did cringe. And shutter. And I felt a little bit like throwing up. She told me she ran into him working some meanial job in a coffee shop and he looked stoned, like he had been up all night. She friended him on facebook and said she was a little shocked to find him posted as "In an Open Relationship".

(I have to note she told me he was listed as both interested in "Men and Women". I never knew him to be 'interested' in men. But that was some time ago. I guess that's a whole other blog...)

Let me also note, this guy messed me up. Hardcore. The mind games, lies, the disappointments, the times he left me all alone on a street corner or at a party, the times he forgot me, the other girls... so many girls. I was played and everyone knew and didn't tell me. I was the fool, the joke of everyone. He was/is a true sociopath. And for those that think I'm illiterating, not this time. He literally had a "pervasive pattern of disregard for, and violation of, the rights of others..." (taken from the APA) It basically means, in his case, a lack of empathy, irresponsibility, disregard for social norms and rules, lacking a feeling of guilt for wrong doing, and blaming others for their situations. Throw in some massive maniplations and charisma and that is Paul. There is no treatment that has been found effective yet. His parents had sent him to a shrink some years ago but it didn't take.

Never in my life have I been more humiliated, hurt and angry about a relationship. I heard he had been working at a sandwhich shop I had visited a few months ago and the idea that we could have been in the same building make me have a small yet alarming panic attack. It's a pain that I have yet to work through.

But I digress. My high school friend and I begain to discuss the idea of an open relationship. She thought them to be a total farce, a lie girls would tell themselves or was told to them by the boyfriends/husbands that can't keep it in their pants. I countered that it isn't always the case. There are some people that really feel that they can love more than one. I think there are some who can pull that off. I don't think it ends well most of the time though.

I told her thought that it seems obvious that in Paul's case, the idea of an open relationship is mearly a ploy some poor girl was talked into so that he could have free reign of any of the girls he wanted without losing this one girl. That's what he did to me. I hope for this girl's sake, I'm wrong and she wants this open relationship as much as he does.

Even a one time only extra partner, even one agreed upon by both people, rarely ends well. I know I'm not one of those people that can have my husband, boyfriend, whomever, sleeping with someone else for any reason and be 'ok' with it... But that's me.

Things ended with Paul quietly. I was moving to New York and decided it was a good time to break away since I couldn't seem to find a way to do it while still living so close to him. He fought to keep me but only a little. After he stopped calling, he sent me an email saying he was dating someone with my same name.

I'm going to be truthful and say the thing you're not supposed to say: I used to wish him harm. I used to have fantasies that he would be hit by a car and while lying in the hospital, his brains rescrambled, rewired to feel empathy, guilt, love, finally realized what he had done to all the people in his life he had screwed over. His parents, whom he had stolen, lied and scammed over and over. His friends whom he manipulated into doing the things he wanted. And all the girls that he lied to, hurt, said that they were the only ones. All without a shred of guilt or empathy for those he hurt. Or sometimes I would just fantasize about him just getting hit by a car.

Even though those thought sometimes creep into my head when his name is brought up, I mostly pity him now. Pity that he will never know true love. Pity that no one with any self respect can love him. Pity that he will forever be search for that something missing within him, a kind a fullfillment that will never come. And as I understand it he spends his time searching through drugs, young girls and escape on trips with his father's money.

I'll hang on to my empathy and monogomy, thanks.

My love affair with the burrito

I'm in love.

With no man or beast (minds out of the gutter please...) but with an inanimate object. An edible object of maximum and overwhelming deliciousity. I am, of course, speaking of Chipotle.

I want to be clear: this is not an advertisement. Not that I would turn down any money Chipotle wanted to give me being that I'm homeless now... I don't wear logo shirts or carry Louis Vuitton bags for the same reason. If I'm not being paid, why would I advertise for you? But for this, I gladly debase myself for the pure pleasure that is The Burrito.

My order is a chicken burrito with mild and hot tomato salsa, pinto beans, lettuce, cheese, guacamole and a side of chips to which I then eat like taco salad. It's love wrapped in a warm, soft tortilla. It's total perfection. It's lunch and dinner because I'm so damn full I couldn't eat anything else.

Sure, it's about a 1000 calories of tasty variety of joyous flavors but you gotta take a hit to get that glorious yumminess in you tummy. I skip breakfast, no snacks, go for a run or all of the above just to get my hands on my one true love. (That's burrito love... I still love you most, TMS! Don't be so jealous.)

For the longest time, our love was secret. I didn't tell any of my friends about our afternoon rendezvous. They would ask, "Why aren't you hungry? Have some of my goulash..." or "You're never hungry; do you hate my goulash?" I couldn't tell them that I wolfed down any entire burrito by myself just moments before. (Or that their goulash sucks.) This dainty chick who scoffs at fast food was in love with a food that was delivered quite fast. I would sneak the brown bag with my stash into my room, bolt the door and just bask in the glow of my perfectly made burrito. But now, everything is different. I'm coming out.

I'm here to say, no, shout it to the heavens!

I love Chipotle and I don't care who knows!

Me.

This is me.

I'm not an idealized version of myself or a plastic doll. I'm not faking it to manipulate you to get what I want. It's not a game.

I am an intelligent, beautiful woman. I thank G-d for my many blessing. I have a wonderful home, great family, the best friends. I also forget to brush my teeth some nights and I don't wash my hair everyday. I laugh at dick jokes. I swear to make a sailor blush. Sometimes, I buy a moonpie and eat it while I sit on the hood of my car. I have muffin top.

I love the theater. Opera, musical, avaunt garde. I frequent many gallery openings. I've had season tickets to the symphony, donated to my city's arts council and attended my share of charity events. I also go to the state fair and eat corn dogs, ride the roller coasters until I'm dizzy. I like to watch cartoons and eat cereal in my pajamas, the ones with flamingos and beach balls. And I think Totino's pizza is the best drunken snack food ever.

My library is full of classics, new and old. I have 1st editions, volumed sets. I also have Vanity Fair photo books, true crime books and beach reads. I read the New York Times and fashion blogs. I love comics.

I can talk your ear off about WW2 history, the American circus, art, film and almost everything about animals. I can also tell you about James Dean's last meal before he crashed his Porche Spyder or who 'Brangelina' is. I can make you a light and crispy croquette. Or a white trash casserole. I'd be happy with either one.

I spent money at the nicest places in the world: Hermes, The Wynn, haute coutor in Paris and ridiculous extravagance all over. I also buy toilet paper at Target.

I do my yoga almost everyday and watch what I eat. I love my healthy body. But sometimes I smoke and drink hard liquor, stay out too late.

It's called contradiction. Enigma. It's not logical and sensible. I don't care.

I'm well read, educated and thoughtful. And sometimes the things that come out of my mouth are plain stupid. I get drunk and say things I shouldn't. I mispronounce words and sometimes I stutter. I've been rude, crude and embarrassing at times. I get overwhelmed, depressed and angry sometimes. I make mistakes. Because I'm human and I'm not perfect.

I'm not apologizing and I'm not afraid.

It's just who I am. I love me. And I love you too, with all your quarks and flaws. I won't pick and choose which ones I want to keep and which ones to toss. You can keep them all and I'll love you no matter what.

We are perfect.

10 things to be happy about

Time for some positive vibes up in this bitch...

1. Recipes
Sure I'm flat broke but I'm making these freakin' recipes. One for some kind of insane jalapeno popper DIP (liquid poppers?! yes please.) and oatmeal served in a pumpkin!! I like food that's served in another food.

2. Bread
I'm not allowed to have bread. It's carby and delicious and I can't stop eating it. But today, I ate warm-from-the-oven, fresh, handmade bread that TMS made and I don't feel bad at all. Fuck you carbs! I'm eating pure home made love...

3. Chipotle
See my previous post about this one. The Chipotle Post

4. http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/
Hot damn, that girl is F-U-N-N-Y. So funny, she makes me spell. I sit there and giggle to myself and when The Mad Scientist asks me what's so damn funny, I read out loud about raping Orks and show him the stick drawings while I laugh so hard I actually drool on myself.

5.The Compliment
TMS told me that I'm beautiful when I smile and I should smile more. Perhaps I should.

6. Arts and Crafts
Yes, I am making a holiday wreath out of toilet paper rolls and spray paint! Thanks for noticing! ...it is beautiful, isn't it?

7. My best friends
I didn't have real friends as a non-child until I was 21. I was pretty much friendless from 13 on. That's a long time when you're a kid. That's why I have so much love and appreciation for my friends now. They have done things for me that no one else has ever done. They constantly go above and beyond the call and for that, I love them always.

8.Reading Time
Now that I find myself unemployed, I have a lot of time on my hands. Regardless, I am grateful for my extra reading time. You know how you always say to yourself, "If I had more time, there are so many things I want to read..." Well sometimes that comes true in the worst way. But that doesn't make the reading any worse. "Something Wicked This Way Comes" is so wonderful to read with the weather turning cold and the leaves changing.

9.Ice Cream
I find it a bit disturbing that 3 out of the 10 things are food. No wonder I feel like a load. But I digress. Gelato, frozen yogurt, it's all ice cream to me. It's cold, sugary and on a cone and I don't give a good damn if it's 12 degrees out. Gimme!

10. Sex
It's biological... it just makes you feel good. As long as it's not the  dreaded 'bad sex', which is pretty rare as long as you're careful, you can't help but feel better about things.


So fuck you negitivity. Happy. Take that.

Out on a limb, on fire, over a shark pool

I am not a child.

I'm not sure if I've divulged my age... I don't intend to but if you have figured it out, you know I'm old enough to drink, rent a car, do almost all things except maybe apply for my AARP card.

I have been taking care of myself for many years and now I find myself in a unique and upsetting situation. I'm selling my home. I've run out of viable options, my liquid funds are depleted and I will not borrow from friends or family. It's time to cut my loses. I've started packing up my belongings, selling most of it, donating some. My entire life will be in storage in 30 days.

I've been taking care of myself for a while and now I'm without a home and faced with daunting options... move in with my friends, my boyfriend, or my parents. I've regressed quite a bit and I don't like it.

It's hard to get up some mornings. It's even harder to fall asleep. I cry so easily and my sense of humor has gone down the tubes. I'm not fun to be with anymore.

I had this wonderful life, independent and free. I did as I wanted, shared my happiness with the world. Was my hubris at fault? Was I just too happy that the gods had to reign down over me? My world is crumbling ruins and the rest of the world laughs and moves on without me.

This must bring something better. This must be a trial before something greater and more interesting. So I'll sleep at Nico's villa for a few nights. Then a few nights with the Mad Scientist. Then maybe a few with my parents. But sooner or later, something wonderful is going to happen.

It has to.

70 years

Today, Paris fell.

Well, 70 years ago today. But think of it…

The Germans marched into the city. Can you imagine what that would be like? You are sitting there, having a cup of coffee in your kitchen, reading a book and you look up to see armed men in jeeps coming down the street. Sure, you had heard the fighting was close and people were nervous but here they are, in the flesh, in your hometown. Some people cheered, other cried, many fled.

German tanks rumbled past the Arc de Triumph. Shops are closed, preparing for the worst. Some windows are boarded up along the streets. Some attempted to continue to fight but yesterday an agreement was reached between Petain and the Germans to cease hostilities. Petain thought he was saving his people from more violence but he will be later tried for treason due to his ‘cavorting’ with the enemy. (Although sentenced to death, De Gaulle commuted his sentence to life in prison, which is where the WW1 hero would die.) Others who ‘cavorted’ with the Germans had to pay the price in the end too. Girls who had Nazi ‘boyfriends’ had their heads shaved and were paraded into the streets. Businesses who worked with the Germans had their windows broken and were looted. But this won’t happen for another 5 years or so.

By now, the Louvre has been closed, the art all packed up and shipped to different corners of the country, even the world, for safe keeping. “Winged Victory” pulled from the top of the staircase she presided over and sent away. The Mona Lisa was sent by ambulance to its new hiding place in the countryside. All that is left is empty frames leaning up against the bare walls.

In a few weeks the Battle of Britain begins. St. Paul’s Cathedral will be a hair’s breath away from burning down into a pile of rubble. Thousands of citizens will die by bombing/fire, traffic and household accidents from the blackout and the nations failing health from years of stress and rations.

America won’t enter the war for another year and a half.

Makes me thankful for my warm lunch sitting in front of me (ironically a bento of Japanese rice, pickles and chicken kabobs with green tea). Thankful for a good nights sleep. To live without the fear of my family being killed in a bombing during the night or living in an occupied nation. I don’t have to worry about my next meal. It’s also a reminder that life it too short.

It’s time to do something about that.

MM&MC forever

I'm in love with this.

I don't know why. I love every single second of this photo. Every detail is perfect.

The perfect moment.

Daydream believer

I catch myself daydreaming more and more lately.

I think I need a vacation.

Time for a change kiddies. Much like the shell shocked British circa 1944, I'm doing the Holiday at Home.

Nothing but cocktails and roses come Friday. Because if I don't, I may collapse in on myself like a dying star.

Keep calm and carry on!

Francesca Lia Block

Dear Francesca,

I was alone. Dropped into another new school, another new place that I was scared and without a familiar face. I wandered the library instead of eating lunch. I couldn't stand everyone watching me eat.

They say, never judge a book by it's cover. But I do. I saw a book's spine, lime green and purple. And the cover of a beautiful girl with big eyes and dark hair. Thus began my first love affair, at the tender age of 13.

The books followed my life, or maybe I followed the books. But no matter my age or experience, I knew these books were my home.

When you wrote about River in "Primavera", the images you wrote stuck in my head. Tiny fluffy little feathers growing from his head. I don't know why it was burned into my 14 year old brain. I didn't know, until my grandmother got sick. The cancer had spread to her brain and she had lost her hair again. She took off her scarf and it was then I understood. That image, burned into my psyche, was right in front of me. It had prepared me. My tiny Granny, with tiny feathery fuzz on her tiny skull.

When you wrote about the great friendship in the opposites in "Violet and Claire", I longed for a friend. Someone to talk to and drag on adventures with me and be a girly girl with. My 15 year old self could not image it ever happening. (Because at 15, you think that life will always suck like this...) But my first year of college, I saw a beautiful girl with black hair reading "Girl Goddess 9". (I was reading "I Was A Teenage Fairy") And I had found a best friend.

I have found myself at parties and clubs, places that I knew I shouldn't be. Needles and sex too young and sad sad girls. I thought back to Claire and Laurel. I always left before it got bad. I knew what was gonna happen. Then I read Baby Bebop and I knew that I would never be able to hate someone because they loved the same sex. I would campaign for gay rights and try never to judge someone with hate in my heart. The insightful 16 year old.

I chased my own bass playing, long haired Angel Juan, until I too realized I had to let him go. Mine never came back but now that I'm older, I know I am so much better off. I was stronger without him. I was 18.

And when my brother died, and I felt like I had died too, I packed my bags. I had to leave and didn't have time to think. I just started grabbing things. I packed 5 shirts, 1 pair of jeans, no underwear. But right before I left for my parents house, I ran back into my living room and grabbed a handful on your books. Weetzie and Laurel and Barbie and Echo and everyone else kept me company. (Weetzie actually came with me to the funeral, in my purse next to my eulogy.) Everyone one of them had been through pain and made it through beautiful and whole again at the end. It gave me hope.

Now that I'm much older, I fill my house with flowers and tea and love, as much as I can. I make and bake and work hard. And I have a feeling that I wouldn't be who I am without you! And when I'm sad, when I feel there is no more magic left in the world, I sit out on my porch, drink an Orangina, watch the birds play and read one of your books.

One day, I will be in California and will attend one of your classes or book readings or signings. And instead of telling you all this in person(because it would be too weird and complicated) I will just smile and thank you and I hope you will know that you changed my life.

love love love and glitter,
CD

My Brain sings...

I'm just dancin' and singin'....
I'm singing in the rain
Just singing in the rain
What a glorious feeeeeelin'
I'm happy again!
I'm laughing at clouds
So dark up above
The sun's in my heart
And I'm ready for loooooove

Let the stormy clouds chase
Everyone from the place
Come on with the rain
I've a smile on my face
I walk down the lane
With a happy refrain
I'm dancin', and
Singin' in the raaaaain

*Hands umbrella to older gentleman walking by and continues to dance down the lane*

Love and Marriage

Johnny Johnny Johnny... I'm so disappointed.

We argued in the middle of a Taco Bell about marriage, engagement and social rolls in America. Now ignore the fact that I'm actually IN a Taco Bell and just be secure in the knowledge that I did NOT eat anything from said establishment. (I would rather die... and I might have.)

On a Sunday afternoon, John got a hankering for a beef and cheddar heart attack so I reluctantly joined him to simply remain in his company. I innocently asked how things with his girlfriend, Sylvia, were going. He said things were great and he was thinking about maybe getting married. "That's amazing! Have you bought a ring yet?!" I exclaimed, in pure joy for my friend finding someone to whom he was willing to make a lifelong commitment. Instead of a smiling back, his face dropped into a perplexing somber affair.

"An engagement ring?", he asked with pure loathing in his voice.

He went on a 10 minute long rant about how the idea of an engagment ring is sexist and insulting to any woman he would marry. It hints at ownership. (I argued so does a wedding ring) Why does the woman only get a ring? Can't a man have an engagement ring too? (I said yes, if that's important to you) And why not a engagement tiara or engagement stilettos? (because an engagement tiara probably couldn't be worn at all times like a ring.)

I understand. I get it. Society says we must buy a ring; why should we yield? I could say the exact same thing about that flat screen in your living room. Do you really need 72 inches of TV when you don't even have cable? Why do you paint your walls or coordinate your furniture? Why buy anything from a mall? Why do you reluctantly recycle when you don't really believe it does anything for the environment? Why do you wear pants but never a skirt? Because it's in your head since you were born, that's the way it should be. Perhaps society does tell us we must do these things but we do them because we want to, really.

If he really doesn't want to buy an engagement ring, he doesn't have to. I told him Sylvia will be disappointed, perhaps only a little, but disappointed no less.

It is a symbol, regardless of what society says. A symbol of love, that he treasures me above all other. Whether is be a diamond, sapphire, or hunk of safety glass from a broken windshield, I'll know he chose that something special for me, to signify his love and commitment. To celebrate our new life together.

We get to pick and choose what tradition we want and that fit our lifestyles. It's like how I don't celebrate Christmas, even though society seems to demand that I do. How my lesbian friends live together as a married couple with their children even though that is not how it's traditionally done. And Johnny, if you want to not do the engagement ring, that's up to you. But I just want you to think about this: is this situation really about you and your ideals, or is it about making her beam and glow with happiness, not only when you get down on one knee, but every time she looks down and sees it on her hand? Would you deny her that if she really wants that?

But really, none of that matters, because for a girl like me (and Sylvia), it all come down to this... I want my moment. I want that moment where it's just like the movies. As little girls, we dream about many things. Driving our own car, getting a career we love, getting married. And not too many little girls imagine that the proposition to marriage comes with an empty velvet box and a "Let's get married" thrown commonly over one's shoulder. I WANT romance. I WANT a little dramatic flare during one of the most romantic times in my entire life. I WANT something special that is only for me, something that I will wear for the rest of my life. Something that will remind me again and again of that perfect moment, the romance and happiness. When the entire world melted away and it was just the two of us.

Nothing was resolved that day, as is typical. I'm not sure anything has ever been resolved at Taco Bell. But he said he would think about it. I think he heard me.

Things I learned in Paris

It was like a dream.

Monday I decided that I needed Paris, or it needed me and by Friday I was on a flight. Now on the eve of another trip, I recall my first visit and what I gleened from my experience.

-One must SLOW DOWN to enjoy certain things. Way down.
-(some) French men are hot, but wasted because of the poor attitude...
-Walking is good. Great. Fabulous. Something that makes you feel alive when you walk out and breath in a little Paris smog, french bread and coffee.
-Maybe it was because I was only there for a short time, but the French: not so evil!
-I don't miss the days when you could smoke anywhere in America...
-I found that my art appreciation class actually came in handy and that I yearn to know more about the art that shapes our lives.
-Modern art can be annoying.
-Graveyards can be great!
-French kissing in public... not so hot.

But mostly, I am just nobody; a small fish in a big pond. I should get what I can out of this life and ENJOY IT! Because when you're not looking, life will pass you by.

Quick poem from a desparate girl

Just a little reassurance.
A little kiss.
A love rant, tug at me and make me clear of mind.
Just pin me up, push me into the wall, make me.

Can't you feel me?

Holy Mother Church

The Catholic Church makes me want to die.

So much for "holy mother church"...mother left to go get more liquor and left junior with Chester the child molester. Oh, but Chester didn't mean to be bad, so let's pay off mommy and get him a job at a FRIGGIN DAYCARE CENTER!

It's beyond comprehension that people can get away with this kind of behavior simply because they are fake 'men of G-d'. I run a red light, I get a ticket. I don't pay my taxes, the feds come and get me. I mess around with children, you bet your Aunt Betty I'm in prison faster than you can say, "Don't drop the soap".

I don't know what the answer is. I do know though that the answer involves some kind of justice for the victims. What kind of justice, you ask? Anything these survivors want. Let your imagination run wild.

Fufu Bunny and the Almost Dead Girl

There's a girl speeding down I-69 She's smoking a cigarette and thinking about the state of our welfare system and how we all lie and how she wanted strawberry shampoo. Her topless Spyder zipped passed a speed limit sign, going much faster than was legal. It was dirty and tired, just like her. But she was beautiful and hard to catch and leaving the world in her dust. Just her and Dean Martin on the radio and Fufu Bunny buckled up in the seat next to her. She'd been alone on the empty stretch for a hundred miles, slightly curving to the left, to the right but always flat. She put her foot down and the car shot across the landscape. The cacti and prairie dogs became quick flashes, then just fuzzy blurs. A car materialized on the horizon, she slowed, but only for a moment, before she gunned the motor again. "He has to see me" she said of the other driver...

A toad hopped by the smoking wreckage. He paused, but only for a moment, before he continued on his path. Her car was on it's top and the other car was crumpled, it's left turn signal still blinking. . . . .

She awoke in vibrant colors and with a strawberry lollipop in her mouth. She spit it onto the dirt only to have the birds and bees take it up to the nests that they shared. Fufu Bunny laid beside her, somehow staring at her was malcontent through button eyes. Slipping past carrot trees and walls made from jars of marmalade stacked up like bricks, she thought to herself, then said to Fufu Bunny "Candyland, this is not." The sun rose three times and was a cotton ball soaked in gatorade. Then the moon came out, only to reveal it was ball of medical waste. She was lost among madness with nothing but her torn clothes, a carrot plucked from a tree with a jar of marmalade for dipping and Fufu Bunny; too much like Alice to comprehend. But Alice wasn't alone. She had help.

Jaded road led to a hot air balloon, ruby slippers and a floating bubble but she refused to go near them. Carrot trees were about as weird as she was going today. She curled up under a tree that didn't talk and went to sleep with Fufu Bunny.

After the second rising of the sun, she awoke with Fufu Bunny sitting on her chest, his head leaning slightly to the left. She stood up and continued to the right, down the jaded road. She finally hit a wall made of jars of ink and couldn't knock it down. She took a feather off the ground and used the ink to write all over the trees that didnt talk and the jaded road. "Life is moments turned to hours." "He will make you cry, no doubt." "Death to the Czar" "Laugh it up, fuzzball!" "Fufu Bunny was here." When she was satisfied, she stood back to admire her work only to see it all crumble before her eyes.

She was going to turn around and go back; at least there she had marmalade and carrots. But she didn't. She went past the threshold and didn't look back because she knew it wouldn't be there if she did. She walked up to her car, broken and sad, just like her. She laid down next to her car and her head started to bleed. Her legs broke and her jaw cracked in six places. Fufu bunny was nestled under her dislocated arm. She could hear a faint song in the wind, humming to keep her company as she waited for someone to come.

The C word

I've been reluctant to write about this.

Maybe because that would make it real or because it's just too damn scary. I have low grade, beginning stages of cervical cancer. I was free and clear for the last year and in the last month it's reared it's ugly little head again.

I'm not scared of leaving this body. I fear the hurt it would bring the people I love but I have no fear for myself. But I don't think that's really an option for me with this. It's early and highly monitored. I do fear of falling so far into debt that I can't crawl out. That I won't be able to buy my next house. That I couldn't get a loan for my next business. That if I get married, I would hurt my husbands credit.

I am still on COBRA but only until September then I'm on my own. It's so expensive that I've been selling some clothes and other household items to collect enough for the monthly payment. It's at these moments when I'm writing out the checks to my old boss, that prick, that I consider crazy thing.

Like when I drive past the local strip joint, I do consider it for half a moment. Making a thousand dollars on a Saturday night... that would pay off my medical lab bills and then some... I know why desperate women get married. I know why they sell their hair and blood. But that's not me. Not yet at least.

But it does make me think about people and the choices they make. The girl sucking on the stripper pole, whores on the corner, pushers, the desperate people out there. Maybe they didn't have a choice. Work at McDonalds for 7.50 an hour and still can't make rent or hit the street and feed yourself and pay rent and heat your place.

It's all a lesson in being less judgmental on my part. It's a lesson I needed to learn. And here I am, humble, broke and a better person. And happier.

A little V-day poem...

This boy, so faint in his intention, has black toes and bloody heart soaked in fed fire, hidden love.
He bothers to pluck his strings.

Fluorescent and incandescent, tearful and beautiful, fluttering bodies fill his lines, cleft between the head and his soul, trembling with what she said but no time to tell her.

And bated breath, turn sigh, non-truth to lie, he could keep riding and learn to get by. Electric eyes and a silver mind and tongue, neon bright.

This boy, his intention clearer, has black toes and bloody heart. He's filled with fire but spilling love, plucking her strings boldly. Standing up and facing right, they all feel it radiating, the light, the heat , the touch and the release.

Followed home, laying it down, all in one, the one is all and everything.

A Decision

There's a single lamppost lit outside on the street below my window.

He's been asleep for about an hour. He didn't hear me get up. Things are so uncertain now. I feel that at any moment that room may turn upside down or perhaps the floor may start to crumble or swivel around, like in my nightmares. But I remain right side up and on solid ground for now.

Last month, I was sick with a terrible fever. Alone, 10 stories above the so-called solid ground, the walls moved, the rugs swam around the floor and the sheets dripped onto the floor, I walked around my home, only to open my eyes to realize I was still in bed, all things stationary. I heard my grandmother call my name in the dark. In that second, jerked back to the present, lying in bed sweating and barely breathing, I was gripped by paralyzing fear. Not that my Granny was speaking to me across the gauze of another plane, but that I was truly alone up there.

Tonight, the lamp and the sleeping man, the one who I feel so much for, keeps the alone away. Though things may crumble beneath my feet, I know he will try to catch me and the single street lamp will light my way. And in this moment, where I stand naked in front of this window, soft breathing behind me, this blue room that I helped paint, I turn to him. My silhouette will keep him company as he dreams of blue skies he won't remember tomorrow. I know with more resolution than I have ever felt in my limited years that though I am followed, tracked by uncertainty and uneven ground, I am sure of this man. I am sure he is a good man, honest to a fault and that his love for me is true and layered. His love, his heart is something no other man has ever given me. No other man has meant more to me, loved me like he does and for this, I have given him my whole heart, my trust, my everything. He is it for me. Of this, I am certain.

I lay down next to him as the clock downstairs chimes 3am.

I fear that it will all be taken away from me so I drink in every happy moment, like this one. But then I relax, hold him close and allow the fear to siphon away, for now, and drift off to sleep, where I can dream of blue skies and us and wake up with those memories.