Thursday, October 30, 2008

dead sexy? or just like, regular dead?

did halloween sneak up and goose anyone else this year? was october on fast-forward?

I went to a spirit superstore to get some accoutrements for my sexy zombie george washington costume, and had a distinctly hard time getting the clerk to understand me. I explained to her that I needed a wig in a colonial styling, and she began trying to hard-sell me a bo peep wig.

"no, I need something in a colonial fashion, like george washington." I motioned with my hands around my head to illustrate a bouffant with rows of curls on the sides.

"oh..." she trailed off, twirling one pippi longstocking. "so, like a men's costume."

"yes, exactly." I smiled, strenuously pulling from my recently low reserves of affability. the woman held the bo peep wig out and pointed to the picture on the front of the package.

"it's sort of like a colonial wig." she said.

"sort of, but it's a woman's wig, and I'd like a men's hairstyle."

"is it for a boy?"

"no, it's for me, I'm dressing up as a boy."

the woman halfheartedly acquiesced and led me down the next aisle. she stopped and pointed to a long, white judge's wig and I shook my head, disappointed.

"it's just that it has to be washington hair. I'm thinking dollar-dollar bill, y'all, not order in the court."

she held up bo peep again and smiled quizzically.

I'm going on a mission today to find that hair, and I'll not rest until I'm a dead prez.

and now for... last 5 text messages.

-woke up at 9, couldn't deal, took two melatonins, just got up, feel like shit. hate life. you?
-ass raping poncho. I cut little pieces off and cram them down my manties.
-hollandaise sauce
-it's justin. monica's phone is dead. is her weed on the table? she can't find it.

Sunday, October 26, 2008


sunday: satin marilyn robe and a pulpy mimosa. also pictured? party pinky.

I've slowed my blogging roll this week, and I'm fairly sure it's because I am pulling an ostrich. in past years, whenever I know I'm up to no good but derisively ne'er-do-welling nonetheless, I tend to stealthily avoid documentation. it's not as if it didn't happen, but it's sure as hell easier to pretend that it hasn't if it's not in writing.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

what comes is better

my floor is littered with pea green bus transfers, broken glass (damn cat), and unemployment paperwork, and I'm trying to stockpile serotonin for when the rains set in.

here's my top five for indian summer 2k8.

1. switch hitting blogs- wholphin vs. playboybacon

2. new britney

the bitch is back, and she's gotcho crazy.

3. coinstar machines. my inner bag lady rejoices.

4. happy hour at bean bag. fuck it. happy hour everywhere.

5. leotards. I want one in every color.

and now: mactards.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

a is for amiability

april - 510

when april and I ran around in the same crowd, she and I were constantly being mistaken for each other due to our only 2 shared traits: being tall with blonde hair. this may have been fine if it weren't for the fact that april had a hard time behaving herself. I couldn't help but feel slightly resentful, having to defend my own antics and then set several records straight about my doppleganger's never ending series of unfortunate events.

I dyed my hair red shortly after I was stopped on the street by a friend who had heard I'd been arrested in front of arrow bar the night before.

asian erin- 206

"asian erin" who programmed herself into my phone as such, insisted that everyone knew too many aarons and erins to begin with. I met her at a hoe-down themed bike race nestled in the recesses of golden gate park, and I noticed just behind her right ear she had a tattoo in swirling script that simply said, 'meh'. I asked her about it and she explained that it was her philosophy for life, a sort of self-designed MO.

"for instance," she said, gesturing to a bearded young man nearby, "I just up and moved here from portland for this guy that I've known for 3 weeks."

"wow..." I trailed, off, unsure of what to say next.

erin pointed to her neck and said, "meh."

aubrey - 310

aubrey and I met in 5th grade, and became immediately inseparable. we were both undeniably trouble makers, but she always seemed to be the seeker, fearlessly plowing ahead like the alexander the great of 10 year old girls. aubrey took no prisoners, abided by no rules, and seemed to get away with murder with her whipsmart intellect, persuasive reasoning, and strikingly beautiful looks. she saved me from no uncertain fate of social ridicule when I entered my awkward phase (which I'm not entirely sure I ever left) and no one dared say a disparaging word about my prized wet seal feathered glitter pencils. we remained friends after my move to sonoma in 8th grade, but the best friend hierarchy had shifted. nina b. took my place as her right hand woman, and by the end of sophomore year she and aubrey had gotten matching tribal BFF tattoos on the back of their hips with the number 96 worked into the design to commemorate the year they met. when I asked her how she was going to hide it from her parents she just shrugged and said that she was already planning her goldfish backpiece.

one afternoon aubrey, nina and rachel decided to ditch school and come pick me up from class in napa in a yellow land rover with the top down. I remember seeing them blocks off, screaming like lolita banshees in tube tops, blasting papa roaches' laughably bad hit song "last resort" as loud as the speakers would play. I jumped in the back, aware that everyone in the quad was slack jawed and staring, and rachel burned rubber that left marks on the asphalt that lasted for years. we got three blocks away and I realized I that in my excitement had forgotten my backpack on a bench. rumors circulated that I was friends with britney spears' backup dancers.

throughout high school we stayed close although had vastly different experiences. she had boyfriends and experimented with drugs and I rode the bus to catholic school in the back with the nerds, save for my one land rover joyride. around the time she spent the night in jail for her second DUI, I was having my third surgery for cancer treatment. she wasn't allowed to walk with her class at graduation, and I had gotten my GED. she and nina moved to san diego and had a falling out that was never really resolved over a mountain of petty grievances, and I moved to san francisco to embark on my excellent scene adventure. we share nothing in common anymore except for a decade and a half of history, and I will love that girl forever.

audcock - 415

chad (dj name audrock) and I used to spin records together at arrow bar, and he asked me out on a heavily referenced "coffee and caramels" date that never actually came to be.

Saturday, October 18, 2008

a is for alexis bledel

andrew lux- 415

I met andrew when he came to my apartment to be interviewed for an available room. right before he arrived, my quirky german roommate gruffly disclosed through a mouthful of half masticated ramen noodles that his reputation may have preceded him.

"oh?" I asked, "how?"

"he is roof jumper guy." she replied. I waited for further explanation but she just continued shoveling the soup into her face.

"why is he the roof jumper guy?"

"last year, he was wasted at a party and he fell off the roof." she said matter of factly, and stared up at me from under her eyelids that were heavy with black warpaint. "four stories."

"jesus, jona, is he in a wheelchair?"

"nope. he walks."

the doorbell rang and we brought him up for the grand tour, all the while I was fruitlessly trying to discern any visible deformities or noticeable limps. I was asking him the usual standard roommate questions, and after he finished telling me about his employment at ameoba, he added, "oh, and you've probably heard of me before. I'm that guy who fell off the roof." jona clapped her hands and grinned like a maniac.

"I was there!" she pointed out. andrew shrugged. I ignored her.

"are you alright, now?" I said, placing my hand gingerly on his shoulder as if I was afraid he might break.

"yeah, I'm alright. I've got a lot of good pills." jona's eyes lit up and I shot her a look that could dry up oktoberfest. he continued, "I've also got 6 seasons of gilmore girls."

"sign me up, dude. it's marathon time."

I borrowed this from his myspace:

do right

my eyes are puffy but I have not been crying, and last night is a blur of murky whiskey scenes, from bar to bed. my decisions are in question, but I feel too delicate to dissect them. familiarity is both a comfort and a burden, and the walk home was with leaden feet and a head full of bad habits. I perpetually surround myself with friends and roommates and potential lovers, and I still feel solitary. I can't say that I am sorry to anyone for what I've done.

Monday, October 13, 2008

auntie nancy

yolanda is the classic typecast absentmindedly hyper crazy aunt, only the urban equivalent that includes a wardrobe that heavily features leather and studs, and some questionable botox. she's introduced herself to me on several (15+) occasions and when I casually mention that we've met, she just waves her hand about dismissively and either spills her drink or does a little dance move. yesterday when we met, (again), she stuck her arm out to touch my shoulder in a casual, scrappy manner, and asked, "hey sugar, what do you think about this?"

"think about what?" I asked.

"the anxious bloodsuckers!" she exclaimed.


"you know," she continued, "as a potential name for my band?"

"ahh. well, I don't know, it doesn't particularly--" yolanda cut me off.

"roll off the tongue. you're right. when you're right, you're right, catherine."


"right, christina, whatever." she lit a cigarette and leaned in, the glowing tip bobbing up and down, precariously held between her lips as she talked. "a band name should be something short and memorable." and she paused for effect, "just like my ex-boyfriend's penis."

I mimed a drummer's rim shot for her joke and she slapped me on the back and added, "you know what I like about you, sugar? you've got some killer timing." and then she strutted off to the dancefloor in her combat boots.

warning: sappy bullshit may be closer than it appears

alternating between chasing my tail and diligently sniffing around parlous territory begging for trouble, it seems to go without saying that I'm one mixed up bitch.

insomnia plagues some nights and others seem fine, and sharing a bed with someone now seems foreign... I am starved for affection but the price doesn't seem worth the trouble. my earliest single lifestyle was conducted differently from a perspective of inexperience, keeping loneliness at bay by never staying someplace too long, never kissing the same person twice, spending the night with someone just for the sake of not sleeping alone. as it turns out, sharing one bed with one person was even more dangerous than I'd ever imagined. what I began to like so much about it was the genuine comfort, rather than a false, fleeting sense of togetherness with a marionette that has no strings attached. now with my newfound freedom, I find myself nitpicking about the potential minor calamities... what if I snore, what if they're lousy at spooning, what if they have bad morning breath, what if I fart in my sleep? what if someone develops feelings? worse still, what if no one does?

I spoke to jon yesterday for the first time since my last uhaul box was picked up two weeks ago through an hour long string of of ping-ponged texts that he started up. he'd messaged, "I see you." when I was standing in a crowded dive bar in potrero at l.t.'s show, and my heart dropped like it had just crested on a rollercoaster while I started looking around frantically for tall, skinny redheads, cognizant of my failure to play it cool. right when I was about to make a break for the door, I got another text that said, "just kidding." my response was that it would've been way cooler/creepier if I'd received that message in the bathtub or on the pot.

the rest of the night we SMS warred and I eventually got sick of the impersonal medium and called, and we talked for a few minutes. we both had quiet admissions of the voids in our lives that used to be filled with each other. when I asked how his girlfriend was doing, he said he was not comfortable talking about it, and I added that it would probably be better to at least get that part out of the way over the phone. we had agreed to soon meet up in a nonthreatening public environment for coffee or a burrito, and I couldn't help but find the proposal ironic and disheartening. we can't guarantee that a private meeting won't start with fighting and end with fucking (or vice versa), so we conjured up a coffee shop date like strangers who met in an s&m chat room that need solid verification that the other party is not completely psycho. we lived together for almost a year. he knows I am not a 46 year old obese child molester with a closet full of severed heads who lives in his parent's basement in toledo. but, one thing I'll say of jon and I. we're really into emotional s&m. getting off the phone with him I'd told him I was going to watch a movie with my roommates, and I received 5 or 6 texts bearing hints of flirtation from him after that until two am, just like he'd used to do. we'd feud, we'd go to our separate corners/bedrooms, and the texts would start up until I gave in and went upstairs. only, this time, the only people who live upstairs from me are members of a burning man commune who hold bavarian dance troupe performances every sunday that make it sound as if there's a herd of mastodons doing potato sack races on my roof. and also this time, I didn't write back.

I stared at my pink walls for most of the night, tossing and turning. in the morning I said to him that the only thing that had changed between him and I was geography, and when he asked how so, I replied that he'll only miss me until I get there. he leapt to his own defense, saying that I had the choice whether I spoke to him or not, that it was impossible to miss someone who was there all the time. my point had been lost... he wants me when he can't have me, and I am still balking after pulling from all of my strength to get gone. and of course, I miss some things. those things that allow for me to detrimentally recall what attracted me in the first place, and kept me for a while, before his name became synonymous with infidelity and betrayal. there's just too must history, too many raw nerve endings exposed to get too close...

our To Catch a Predator coffee date has been postponed, at his suggestion. my foot is still an easier target than a fish a barrel.

Friday, October 10, 2008

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

idle hands

infinite free time + no money = ?

it's time to get creative, and I'm feeling way too lazy to do so. the new york trip I've been planning can't be cancelled. it just can't. I've been trying to go for over a year. if the powers that be have led me into this painted corner, I beseech them to clue me in to the trapdoor. I've got to make it work. I want to stand on the subway platform with closed eyes, I want to finally kiss an old flame that never really went out, I want to walk across the brooklyn bridge with my chin up. I want new york to know that I'm halfway there to her, with one foot in the grave, two years after our second tryst.

it's funny, before I was always so anxious about all the things I had to do, and now I have anxiety about my complete lack of things to get done.

these days, I miss a lot of things. esoteric, maybe, but true.

Monday, October 6, 2008

canned goods

yesterday was exceedingly low key and spent solely accompanied by rufus, who watched me touch up my pretty pretty princess walls with feline wonderment. later on I fast forwarded through someone's tivo-d mr. and mrs. smith to the sex scene while manging on some ramen, and then I planned to walk to see my favorite man, trader joe, to acquire some of his culinary wares. on the way, I stopped into cafe abir to get a jasmine tea for the road and also to write down my schedule. on sunday nights the sushi restaurant is eerily dark and deserted, and on this particular one, extra creepy due to the black tarps everywhere from the evident construction that had gone on earlier. in the back next to the miso heaters, I stood and scanned the new schedule for my name. it wasn't there. no shifts for two weeks, all of mine mysteriously replaced by this alleged "karyn" character. I blinked, started walking away, and then went back again to double check. "karyn?!" I shrieked to the unsympathetic miso heaters, as the familiar feeling of impending doom closed it's fingers around my neck.

is it even legal to fire someone that way?

the walls lurched in and I had to get out. I punched the swinging kitchen door open and rushed back through the gate without bothering to shut it, blindly plowing through customers at the cafe. just before I reached the door, the other host (not to be confused with fucking KARYN) jumped in my path. kelly is a cartoonish girl of about 20, boasting small stature and an unbelievable white girl afro, always outfitted in some burlap sack shaped goodwill find with perpetually smeared eyeliner. easily excitable, endlessly chatty, and with a naively sweet, poodle-esque disposition, it goes without saying that I could never particularly stand to be around her for longer than a few moments without activating my brain's built in white noise machine.

she waved her arms dramatically in front of me to stop me from bolting out.

"hey! hey christina! christina!" she yelled, even though at that point our faces were mere inches apart.

"yes, kelly." I growled, unable to disguise my begrudging tone, but at the same time knowing that she would not notice.

"did you see the schedule? because, because you're not on it! did you quit?!" she babbled some more of the same information although differently worded and then stared at me expectant and wide eyed, and I noted that the right side of her face had a large clump of mascara trailing down her cheek.

"yes, I saw. no, I did not quit."

"but I wonder what's going on! I mean, it's so weird, you're like, the head hostess and that karyn girl's only been working here two days! do you think you're fired?"

I blinked at her some more.

"I don't know, kelly. excuse me." I said calmly as I stepped around her to get to the door. "but let me know if you hear anything."

"I will, totally!" she called after me, waving vigorously as if swatting imaginary flies, "I'll text you!"

seconds later I was halfway down the block to broderick already. my mind raced, I pulled out my cell and started making frantic phone calls, lydia t., my three managers, my boss, trying to leave voicemails that didn't sound completely crazed. the only person who answered was lydia, and she knew nothing about it. I put in my one functioning earbud and turned my music all the way up and I started aimlessly walking, staving off the inevitable panic attack when I stopped at a light on divis caught a glimpse of the treehouse in the distance and realized that it doesn't matter. I had already thrown in the towel on my old "new life", anyway. I hated the management and worked my objectified ass off for shitty pay, and subsequently spent 68% of my time smelling very strongly of tempura fried shrimp, which is fine, if you want to attract domesticated mammals, hungry asian people, or flies. you can't fire me, you fascist fucks! I thought, I quit!

pressing on I made it down through the lower haight and into the mission, and I met up with zoe along the way. we did a three legged bar crawl ending at my favorite dive, the lone palm, after running out of whiskey funds. she asked, shaking her head, "does it ever end, with you?"

this morning when I woke up I still hadn't received any phonecalls back from my higher ups, and I waited until almost eleven to walk over. the construction on the dining room was in full swing, workers swarming like a shaken up ant colony, weilding two by fours and paintbrushes dripping with varnish. it still smelled like fish. I climbed the stairs to the office deliberately and when I reached the top I heard my russian manager, mikaela, bade me to come in and shut the door, although her voice sounded muffled and distorted. when I lifted my head to look at her, I saw that she was wearing a full on biological warfare gas mask.

I gawked at her in disbelief and she threw her arms up exclaiming something in her previously endearing bad english about her extreme sensitivity to dust, and then immediately started making awkward small talk that I interrupted.

"so, I think we both know why I'm here."

her beady eyes blinked from above the apparatus strapped to her face, and she nodded, but didn't speak.

I continued, "I'm here to talk about the schedule, specifically why I'm not on it."

"ahh yes." she sighed. "the schedule." and then pointed to the mask and asked, "do you mind if I leave this on?"

a helpless chuckle slipped out on my behalf when I answered, "actually, in spite of preferring to address a faceless firing squad, I do."

"very well." she said, removing it with great care as if her lungs would collapse immediately, and then coughed for effect. she went on, "you are no longer on the schedule because we can no longer employ you. as the economy is so bad, you see, we were forced to evaluate all employees and the collective decision has been made that you are the first to go." she folded her hands in her lap and coughed again.

I tried to remain emotionless but failed, my voice started to break and I went off like a spun top, ranting about the unprofessional, ill executed, and rather cruel way that I found out. I reminded her that I worked 6 days a week for them for months without complaint, that I hadn't called in sick one time over a year, and the constant grievances from the servers about the other hosts' incompetence compared to my performance in the workplace. I stood up, snatching my iced coffee and said, "this is fucked. you're right. the company is like a family. completely fucking dysfunctional. thanks a lot." and slammed her office door, blinded by my hot tears. I tore out of the cafe, this time uninterrupted, and coughed and wheezed back to my house, passing one of my new roommates in the hall who asked me how I was doing and I only managed to sputter some unintelligible gibberish.

it's real. everything is officially in flux.

right at that moment, my aunt peggy called to tell me she was outside, waiting to give me a ride back to sonoma for a dental appointment. back in the dentist's chair I closed my eyes tight and tried to think of anything other than the needle in my gums or the stinging burn of rejection from a place that I considered to be my home away from home for 14 months. the fact that it was both a thorn in my side and an important part of my identity made it even more of a home conundrum. the tragedies stewed in my mind, my divorce from the tsunami family, the treehouse circuit, and everything I felt was stable before having been ripped out from underneath me and the wild freefall when I'd rather be sitting pretty and getting my bearings. I was jarred back from my regretful reverie into the glaring fluorescent light overhead when my dentist brought up watching appallingly graphic sex scenes on TV.

I peered into her goggles and lolled my tongue around in my propped open mouth cavity to acknowledge my interest being piqued.

"wha shaw?" I said, drooling on myself. she wiped my cheek before answering.

"pretty much anything on HBO."

"wha bouw shawtime?"

"oh, showtime's not as racy."

"nuh uhhh!" I protested. "ca-fornicashun!"

"never seen it. but I swear, these days they'll just put porn on tv and it puts me to sleep."

I had to draw the line and I pulled her instruments away from my obstructed tongue and replied succinctly, "you're watching the wrong kind of porn if it puts you to sleep."

"about the time you're fifty, it just dries up you know, after your periods stop coming. there's something for you to look forward to. even great porn puts me to sleep." she stuffed more wads of cotton in my gums, and I closed my eyes again in protest.

"you know what, jenelle?" she said, adressing the dental tech. "at my funeral I want you to make sure that when they roll the casket out that everyone showers it with cotton rolls and floss. could you do that for me?"

jenelle agreed obligingly and suddenly everything was drowned out by the whine of the drill.

Sunday, October 5, 2008


before: butterscotch poop

after: royal cupcake

now, that's better.

off topic, but still relevant

why is sam rockwell so blazing hot? is it the receding hairline, the questionable teeth, the inevitable abandonment of pruning tools for facial hair between roles, perhaps the fact that in real life he's likely no taller than a my-size barbie? maybe it's the voice. either way, I've got a serious celebutard boner for that man.

could you hit it with this guy?

alright, what about this guy?

PSYCH. they're the same guy.

see what I mean? who is the real sam rockwell? is he some crazy bag man that I would likely see in the back of a muni bus at 3am, casting peanut shells about like 7-11 runes while singing pussycat dolls karaoke, or is he madly debonaire hollywood who's who who looks quite good with his top off? I want to know this man's inner workings, such as his cereal of choice, whether he prefers chocolate to vanilla, and also find out if he always dressed to the left or if that is something that evolves over time, whether lefties are made and not born. I want this man to be on my christmas card list. fuck the duchie, please pass the sexy old guy?

Thursday, October 2, 2008

tears in the typing pool

my words won't suffice, but a song always does.

succumb to the line
the finishing time
the long distance runner
has stopped on the corner
but i won't give up
although i've stopped too

before the end of me and you
the patchwork explains
the land is unchanged

interpret the rooms
my tears in the typing pool
the letters are sighing
the ink is still drying
I told you the truth
and now i sigh too

the page turns on me and you
across that white plain
the land is unchanged

it's quiet. I'm wet from my first hot bath in over a year at a place I call home, tangled blonde hairs plastered to my forehead and swaddled in down comforter's comfort. the candles are extinguished and I'm surrounded by brown boxes whose contents seem to mean less and less. the places I've been have molded me into who I am, but they do not belong to me, nor do they hold me down. I have photographs and movie ticket stubs and stories scrawled across cocktail napkins from dive bars across the continental US, and I have memories that shine so brightly they have no choice but to burn out into ephemera. I've got bruises and scars and war stories. I've also got every reason not to take everything for granted.

alone again, I am feeling as if I've woken up from a yearlong dream. defeat gave way for release.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

lawd have mercy, free at last

the cat seems more comfortable here than I do, already. I know it's only that I am the finicky, suspicious one of the two of us, but it's going to take me a couple of days to get settled. (this plan entails several bubble baths in my fabulous new claw foot tub.) I woke up at 4am because of the absence of familiar street noise, and then at 6 when the sun began rising I padded around the house in a t-shirt and my underwear in the grey light, investigating my new amenities. all that's left of my belongings at treehouse are my wallstuffs which I plan on retrieving later, and then I'll be gone for good. gone for good to 5 blocks away, but gone nonetheless. it's a charming prospect that the likelihood of ever running into constance in my kitchen has been nearly obliterated (though I am not ignorant to the ways of the small world), and that I will hopefully soon regain knowledge of what it's like to sleep 8 hours, bathe, and go about my business in a productive manner. jon is toxic, and elvis has left the wasteland.

my first treehouse photo, morning after the housewarming

and the last... RIP treehouse.