pinkerton

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?

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.

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.

half battles

thank god I scored an attivan from my mother last week.

today I was supposed to make the move into the new place and when I arrived with the first truckload of my junk, including my mattress and bed frame, I was greeted by my new room with a surprise. my new room is still somebody's old room, and they have not started packing. ahhh ha. so, I schlepped half of my belongings over and they are all piled up in the living room, and I suppose the rest will go on tuesday after my predecessor has vacated the premises. it's not really that big of a problem, but it's a bit of an inconvenience not to have a bed for two nights, and using my room as a locker with a shower attached to it. I can't say I haven't dealt with tighter spots, namely my month and a half of couch surfing I did in 2006, but god damnit, I wish that things could be a little simpler to help me get through this already jarring experience of having to mourn a relationship and a household in the most sane fashion possible. (not to say that rational behavior is a characteristic I regularly exemplify, but, a girl can dream.)

there are parties all over the city today, zoe's new abode, sloshball in the park, adachi's barbeque, and then french miami tonight at the 'burgh. I just want to sleep until tuesday, and then sit in my new claw foot tub directly adjacent to a raging sage bonfire with aromatherapy bubbles up to my neck until I'm prunier than fucking yoda and there's not a bad vibe on the block.

hanging on, hanging in there, hanging out there... hanging.

let them eat cake.

I was hoping not to have to leave angry, but I've just had it. the tipping point is nigh. I lived with the cheating, I spent a summer where my own house was equated with panic attacks and misery, and I will NOT be the other woman to the original other woman. no thanks. go sell ginger somewhere else. I have developed an allergy to beta carotine and being treated like crap.

october holds:

-painting project. I am going to paint my new room! as of yet, the idea is pink with gold trim, a la coppola's marie antoinette.

-cooking. I just packed up two giant boxes of kitchen shit that I have hardly touched the entire time I've lived here. it can't be that hard to chop suey some vegetables and bake a scrumptious casserole, and I have been eating out at least once a day for a year. that is a LOT of moolah to be frivolously dropping on designer paninis, and I want to travel this winter and next spring.

-housewarming party. it will be mid-month after I'm done with the painting and am all settled in... cupcake dresses encouraged, champagne recommended, devil-may-care attitude required.

-trip to LA with lyds and the wyfe/bad ass photoshoot at the madonna inn. zing!

-revival of the cell phone project. my goal is to have knocked out two letters a week.

-mcsweeney's. I am ending the brief hiatus on my internship. ready to rumble with the creative weirdos, again!

-digital camera. I am on the market for one, if anyone is looking to sell. otherwise I'm going to shake down on craigslist and see what I can rustle up. less hulu, more art. less bullshit, more positive thoughts.

ps. fuck mercury. does that shit EVER go out of retrograde?

you fucked with the wrong taurus.

now, I'm pissed.

already gone

why is this the hardest part?

there are no Ps and Qs for such a situation.

I've never anticipated an october more. I'm saying when.