Friday, February 28, 2003
i watched a fighter pilot's video tape of that test they make them do where they have to withstand, like, 8 Gs without a suit on (like i know what that means). it was incredible. i immediately wanted to know if i could do it--you know, handle the force and whatever. in the video, his face became the grim reaper and then got normal again. he didn't barf or pass out. then the video was over and he went in the other room and started playing one of those kill-me-before-i-kill-you computer games with the host, the one with the giant graphic of the blond woman with an open mouth and big garbanzos.
yeah. i don't want to do that.
yeah. i don't want to do that.
Thursday, February 27, 2003
*circa february 10:
her: i'm sorry i'm so needy. i realize it isn't fair to ask you to cater to my rampant insecurity.
him: i really like you. do you just not believe me?
her: aaaaaaaaa. i promise it's the last time it comes up this weekend.
him: this sounds awful, but . . . it is getting a little old.
her: woah. gulp.
*circa february 26:
her: blah blah blah taxes and CPA blah blah blah wish you were here blah blah blah.
him: i'm sorry i keep fishing for compliments by giving you so many. you're going to get tired of it.
her: well, there's nothing wrong with being a little needy. remember when i was like that?
him: yeah. and i told you it was getting old.
(pause.)
her: wow. you did. good thing i'm nicer than you, huh?
* * *
growing up and knowing more about the world, loss of innocence, bladiblahdiblah . . . why kids are sweet and full of faith and magic and grown ups smoke too many cigarettes, yes? mostly, i've noticed i like knowing more about the world. it decreases my chronic agitation. except i was thinking yesterday about how experience teaches us to see even the sweetest, most intimate relationships as funny small powerplays. not like Enron or anything, but . . . it's tricky, to me, that how often i hear the word "love" has more to do with the happiness-to -sadness ratio of the other person than my actual worthiness. or any actual feeling, maybe. reassuring in that clearly the love part doesn't die off when Other Person is more quiet, but . . . no one likes thinking that the causal factor of the big L word is the self-image of the partner. i-love-yous per hour should not act as a reflection of investor self-confidence. except that they do, and that kind of makes it harder to ever not watch yourself from the sidelines.
in ten years, we'll know a lot more, and it'll be pretty useless.
i suppose it's good that that makes me want to giggle and not, you know, cry or anything.
her: i'm sorry i'm so needy. i realize it isn't fair to ask you to cater to my rampant insecurity.
him: i really like you. do you just not believe me?
her: aaaaaaaaa. i promise it's the last time it comes up this weekend.
him: this sounds awful, but . . . it is getting a little old.
her: woah. gulp.
*circa february 26:
her: blah blah blah taxes and CPA blah blah blah wish you were here blah blah blah.
him: i'm sorry i keep fishing for compliments by giving you so many. you're going to get tired of it.
her: well, there's nothing wrong with being a little needy. remember when i was like that?
him: yeah. and i told you it was getting old.
(pause.)
her: wow. you did. good thing i'm nicer than you, huh?
* * *
growing up and knowing more about the world, loss of innocence, bladiblahdiblah . . . why kids are sweet and full of faith and magic and grown ups smoke too many cigarettes, yes? mostly, i've noticed i like knowing more about the world. it decreases my chronic agitation. except i was thinking yesterday about how experience teaches us to see even the sweetest, most intimate relationships as funny small powerplays. not like Enron or anything, but . . . it's tricky, to me, that how often i hear the word "love" has more to do with the happiness-to -sadness ratio of the other person than my actual worthiness. or any actual feeling, maybe. reassuring in that clearly the love part doesn't die off when Other Person is more quiet, but . . . no one likes thinking that the causal factor of the big L word is the self-image of the partner. i-love-yous per hour should not act as a reflection of investor self-confidence. except that they do, and that kind of makes it harder to ever not watch yourself from the sidelines.
in ten years, we'll know a lot more, and it'll be pretty useless.
i suppose it's good that that makes me want to giggle and not, you know, cry or anything.
Wednesday, February 26, 2003
it's just a cloud. it's a small space where the grass seed didn't take. it's you being yourself in the presence of an imperfect birthday cake. you know what this is about, tootsie. don't even. sheathe it. how could anything flourish on tinned rations and less than twenty minutes a day?
you can't tell this story anywhere because i already stole it, and it's going into the writing (and if you're the best one, you were there when philip told it the first time):
when he was young and in catholic school, there were rice bowls. (for the uninitiated, rice bowls are given you during lent to put donations in, which i think go to unicef to help african children, world without end, amen.) but in this school, i guess the money didn't go to unicef, because instead of feeding children, the money went to pay for their en masse baptism. and that isn't even the questionable part of this story. there was also a class competition to see who could bring in the most rice bowl money, and if your class won, you got to name a pagan baby. when the baby was baptized.
does this still happen at that school? no. but not because they realized it was insulting to god and humanity. because philip's class won and voted to name the pagan baby Fonzi.
you can't tell this story anywhere because i already stole it, and it's going into the writing (and if you're the best one, you were there when philip told it the first time):
when he was young and in catholic school, there were rice bowls. (for the uninitiated, rice bowls are given you during lent to put donations in, which i think go to unicef to help african children, world without end, amen.) but in this school, i guess the money didn't go to unicef, because instead of feeding children, the money went to pay for their en masse baptism. and that isn't even the questionable part of this story. there was also a class competition to see who could bring in the most rice bowl money, and if your class won, you got to name a pagan baby. when the baby was baptized.
does this still happen at that school? no. but not because they realized it was insulting to god and humanity. because philip's class won and voted to name the pagan baby Fonzi.
Tuesday, February 25, 2003
the monkey saw a Very Artsy Show in manhattan, and now he's come up with a new genre: Wooster Poop.
the photographs for class are the usual heartening, human mix of fuck up and surprise-nice. i ran into twitchy casting director outside my house, at the bus stop, again yesterday. monkey's theory is that he is human in new york and scrabble-bag-of-nerves outside. this may be true, because he was only hours away from the city and while he still paced and checked for the bus every second he was talking to me (which, in reality--it's so rude, it's amusing. i can't describe it), he actually smiled and seemed engaged.
i just listened to two men with the same name play a song just for me, live on new york radio. who knew there'd be anything so good as running out of things to say? i'm going there, and everyone will be my friend.
is it really just a gradual process of reducing worry? is that the . . . thing?
so. gradual.
the photographs for class are the usual heartening, human mix of fuck up and surprise-nice. i ran into twitchy casting director outside my house, at the bus stop, again yesterday. monkey's theory is that he is human in new york and scrabble-bag-of-nerves outside. this may be true, because he was only hours away from the city and while he still paced and checked for the bus every second he was talking to me (which, in reality--it's so rude, it's amusing. i can't describe it), he actually smiled and seemed engaged.
i just listened to two men with the same name play a song just for me, live on new york radio. who knew there'd be anything so good as running out of things to say? i'm going there, and everyone will be my friend.
is it really just a gradual process of reducing worry? is that the . . . thing?
so. gradual.
Monday, February 24, 2003
one of my friends has, in one week (or maybe a month; we haven't talked in a while and time ellides in catch-up phone stories), found a new church that reaffirms his faith in humanity and started buying lunches for homeless people.
good thing i'm so worried about my retirement savings. that's really helping everybody out.
good thing i'm so worried about my retirement savings. that's really helping everybody out.
cold. so cold. man, would i like to be warm.
the phone has become an ear-appendage. it's growing off me like some kind of post-hensile tail. its delight is waning. i am not good at distance.
i woke up at four a.m. sure that i was to artist as dog food is to butterfly. then i fell asleep and had a sex dream about allison janney.
i'm worried about money, against all reason. how can i be behind, when i've done so much correctly? this isn't right. all over my demographic there are people less prepared than i am who are far less worried.
i talked to z. on the phone. he made the city sound like a giant party i could come by anytime. i was impatient. it's a long party, he said. also reminded me that i am almost perfectly situated, on almost all fronts. perhaps the abyss is as close to being my oyster as any reasonable middle class girl could honestly expect.
i suppose it's unusual . . . how many junctures, anymore, give you the impression that life could be anything? so perhaps now is precious. three years from now, if i'm selling shoes, there will be plenty of time for bitterness and frozen cake.
for now, hot drink inside me. pronto.
the phone has become an ear-appendage. it's growing off me like some kind of post-hensile tail. its delight is waning. i am not good at distance.
i woke up at four a.m. sure that i was to artist as dog food is to butterfly. then i fell asleep and had a sex dream about allison janney.
i'm worried about money, against all reason. how can i be behind, when i've done so much correctly? this isn't right. all over my demographic there are people less prepared than i am who are far less worried.
i talked to z. on the phone. he made the city sound like a giant party i could come by anytime. i was impatient. it's a long party, he said. also reminded me that i am almost perfectly situated, on almost all fronts. perhaps the abyss is as close to being my oyster as any reasonable middle class girl could honestly expect.
i suppose it's unusual . . . how many junctures, anymore, give you the impression that life could be anything? so perhaps now is precious. three years from now, if i'm selling shoes, there will be plenty of time for bitterness and frozen cake.
for now, hot drink inside me. pronto.
Friday, February 21, 2003
him: i forgot to set the alarm. i didn't get up early, and i missed it.
her: oh, honey.
him: you know what my therapist would say about that?
her: you think it's evidence of a deep-seated fear of failure?
him: actually, i have a deep fear of seat-failure.
* * *
where is our vaclav havel? that man is the eighth wonder of the world. an intelligent dissident artist who can lead and drink pilsner at the same time. i would vote for that.
actually, i would probably disrobe and do a flat back sugar dance with that. yeow.
her: oh, honey.
him: you know what my therapist would say about that?
her: you think it's evidence of a deep-seated fear of failure?
him: actually, i have a deep fear of seat-failure.
* * *
where is our vaclav havel? that man is the eighth wonder of the world. an intelligent dissident artist who can lead and drink pilsner at the same time. i would vote for that.
actually, i would probably disrobe and do a flat back sugar dance with that. yeow.
Thursday, February 20, 2003
do you think you'll still know me, when the apart is as long as the together was? will you still put into words the thanksgiving green beans and bacon? will you think i'm too far away, across a tiny table over grilled pears and fish at the french place? will it be different when there's snow?
somehow i think the physical containers are more than only containers (and yours more than most--i could sing a song cycle about things i'd like to do to it), but in the larger sense, you're right.
somehow i think the physical containers are more than only containers (and yours more than most--i could sing a song cycle about things i'd like to do to it), but in the larger sense, you're right.
Wednesday, February 19, 2003
i just remembered. i had a dream last night that i was in a weird movie directed by a local theatre critic, and my mom was there, and also a talking cat.
and i've started sleepwalking again. something's up.
and i've started sleepwalking again. something's up.
i has occured to me that perhaps all this fatigue is a result of anemia. so last night, i had a cheeseburger at ten p.m. such a lady.
the monkey has text messaging on his phone, and it's turning me in to someone who uses the letters U and R to stand for the words they sound like. sheesh. don't tell the pulitzer people.
it's in the night when i really want to talk to someone. it's when it's too late to call--it's because it's too late to call. when it's too late to use the phone, people joined to other people snuggle and take baths or fight about the laundry, and people like me read the new yorker. i get chat hunger.
life is not too bad today.
the monkey has text messaging on his phone, and it's turning me in to someone who uses the letters U and R to stand for the words they sound like. sheesh. don't tell the pulitzer people.
it's in the night when i really want to talk to someone. it's when it's too late to call--it's because it's too late to call. when it's too late to use the phone, people joined to other people snuggle and take baths or fight about the laundry, and people like me read the new yorker. i get chat hunger.
life is not too bad today.
Tuesday, February 18, 2003
one wonders why the body gives up on her suddenly. long weekend full of multiple late nights (am i a nancy? is 1:30 a late night?) leaves this one couch bound for a day. i did, however, bleach the tub.
Friday, February 14, 2003
hmm. i'm a little hungover.
i look pretty greasy, too. but who's gonna give a shit?
i did gooood last night. i like people. there are people out there i like. and the applause is nice, too.
the monkey is sitting in his own apartment, all own, including polyurethane fumes and tile dust (also marble counter, he announced tauntingly). the bed seems smaller outside of the store, he says, which was funny because when i got my own mattress of the same size home, i was floored by how it dwarfed my previously-considered-large bedroom. i told him i don't take up much room. sigh.
maybe today wasn't the day to eat M&Ms for breakfast. but then, they shouldn't have put them in the fucking elevator.
i look pretty greasy, too. but who's gonna give a shit?
i did gooood last night. i like people. there are people out there i like. and the applause is nice, too.
the monkey is sitting in his own apartment, all own, including polyurethane fumes and tile dust (also marble counter, he announced tauntingly). the bed seems smaller outside of the store, he says, which was funny because when i got my own mattress of the same size home, i was floored by how it dwarfed my previously-considered-large bedroom. i told him i don't take up much room. sigh.
maybe today wasn't the day to eat M&Ms for breakfast. but then, they shouldn't have put them in the fucking elevator.
Thursday, February 13, 2003
i just completely walked into the men's room
you can give the girl whatever giant windfall you like, the world on a stick, but you can't teach her to walk into the right shitter.
jaysus.
you can give the girl whatever giant windfall you like, the world on a stick, but you can't teach her to walk into the right shitter.
jaysus.
was i saying that plans get fucked up? apparently, the universe has not noticed that i was behaving like a big ungrateful loser yesterday. i just practically won the lottery. what is going on, and will i have to pay this all back someday? all this good stuff at once?
my head is spinning.
my head is spinning.
Wednesday, February 12, 2003
well. the best laid plans of mice and men get fucked up, and one can only hope that they get fucked by great opportunity and not anything truly adverse.
i just don't want to make anything bad. none of the good things i have. i want none of them to go bad. not option A or option B, nor do i want to put one above the other only to find out in five years that i made the wrong call. oh, the spectre of wrongness. my kingdom for a can of Flit that will make you disperse.
i just don't want to make anything bad. none of the good things i have. i want none of them to go bad. not option A or option B, nor do i want to put one above the other only to find out in five years that i made the wrong call. oh, the spectre of wrongness. my kingdom for a can of Flit that will make you disperse.
Tuesday, February 11, 2003
if anyone has a vitamin or a synthetic drug or a mantra or a facial masque that can keep me from thinking every important thing to death, he or she would be doing me a great service by leaving it on my doorstep. common sense tells us that it's no fun having nice things if you're constantly worried you might lose them, but common sense is sometimes to my brain pan as string theory is to jack russell terriers.
i remember mishearing a song lyric once as, "it takes a lot of love to keep this heart from freaking out," and thinking, that's it. that's perfect. there just isn't enough love in the world to keep me from freaking out.
oh, you pretty freak. maybe it's the road to change.
i remember mishearing a song lyric once as, "it takes a lot of love to keep this heart from freaking out," and thinking, that's it. that's perfect. there just isn't enough love in the world to keep me from freaking out.
oh, you pretty freak. maybe it's the road to change.
Monday, February 10, 2003
i went to a birthday party for a pregnant friend, and every single person there had a baby. one of them asked me if if i was pregnant. i shot the monkey a startled look and said, "NO." she smiled. mommy voice: "be careful! it's catching!"
the monkey leaned over and said, "please wash your hands before we leave."
we took a bazillion pictures and played scrabble at the laundromat and even though i am defective and can probably turn buttercream frosting into pig shit with the power of my negative thoughts, everything remains. the french film we made up in the living room has three scenes: us in the living room after bath, him still naked and doing very sculptural stretches while i lounge on the couch; us in the bath tub cracking up after i use the magic of illusion to take a full pint glass of water out of my head; and . . . i forget the third, but i think it also had to do with laughing.
in a moment of surprising clarity, i told him in a parking garage that i knew the weekend hadn't been effortless but that i was glad he was here. he knew, and we proceeded to have a cocktail and eat leftovers and be our old selves. how lovely that this is too good even for me to ruin.
the monkey leaned over and said, "please wash your hands before we leave."
we took a bazillion pictures and played scrabble at the laundromat and even though i am defective and can probably turn buttercream frosting into pig shit with the power of my negative thoughts, everything remains. the french film we made up in the living room has three scenes: us in the living room after bath, him still naked and doing very sculptural stretches while i lounge on the couch; us in the bath tub cracking up after i use the magic of illusion to take a full pint glass of water out of my head; and . . . i forget the third, but i think it also had to do with laughing.
in a moment of surprising clarity, i told him in a parking garage that i knew the weekend hadn't been effortless but that i was glad he was here. he knew, and we proceeded to have a cocktail and eat leftovers and be our old selves. how lovely that this is too good even for me to ruin.
Thursday, February 06, 2003
you know he's a keeper when you're reunited after a long absence and the way your heart knows it's him is that your two bodies still make those particular tupperware fart sounds whenever you rub up together.
oh, goodness gracious. i'm done for.
oh, goodness gracious. i'm done for.
Wednesday, February 05, 2003
this was email was just sent to my entire dayjobland department:
From: Roger W*****r
Sent: Wednesday, February 05, 2003 12:59 PM
Subject: brown bag bridge?
Anyone interested in getting a foursome together for a regular game of bridge during lunch? Daily? Weekly? Whatev.
Roger W.
****
dear roger,
truly, i would rather stab myself in the eyeball.
sincerely,
louella b.
From: Roger W*****r
Sent: Wednesday, February 05, 2003 12:59 PM
Subject: brown bag bridge?
Anyone interested in getting a foursome together for a regular game of bridge during lunch? Daily? Weekly? Whatev.
Roger W.
****
dear roger,
truly, i would rather stab myself in the eyeball.
sincerely,
louella b.
tonight tonight tonight! tonight tonight tonight!
The Best One knows of an apartment that might be coming open at about the right time, and because i'm ridiculous i looked it up on every map i have and dreamt about it and got excited.
i don't really know where you go to pick someone up at the airport, now. since you can't go to the gate anymore. security and all, yes, but i'd never quite considered the impact on young lovers . . . somehow, the tearful reunion--i was picturing the jump-and-hug that makes everyone else envious, right at the gate in front of other people's camcorders--doesn't seem so appropriate outside the security thingy. and how do you know when he's coming out? jeez.
goofy sue published her story about The Carpet Foam Thanksgiving. i love that i heard it first. but you should read it, too.
i want to go somewhere with a girl and wear matching dresses. maybe matching dressed from the fifties. maybe pink. takers?
The Best One knows of an apartment that might be coming open at about the right time, and because i'm ridiculous i looked it up on every map i have and dreamt about it and got excited.
i don't really know where you go to pick someone up at the airport, now. since you can't go to the gate anymore. security and all, yes, but i'd never quite considered the impact on young lovers . . . somehow, the tearful reunion--i was picturing the jump-and-hug that makes everyone else envious, right at the gate in front of other people's camcorders--doesn't seem so appropriate outside the security thingy. and how do you know when he's coming out? jeez.
goofy sue published her story about The Carpet Foam Thanksgiving. i love that i heard it first. but you should read it, too.
i want to go somewhere with a girl and wear matching dresses. maybe matching dressed from the fifties. maybe pink. takers?
Tuesday, February 04, 2003
there is simply nothing lovelier than the monkey when he's excited. he's hooting all over manhattan now, flush with rush. it does every part of my body good to hear him go.
the multi-media cart going by (wheels on carpet) sounds a little like the panting of a big, friendly black lab.
boy, was *that* a let-down.
boy, was *that* a let-down.
tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow!
the monkey just reminded me that in new york, you can get hard copy of The Onion on street corners. as if i needed more reasons. also, he sent me a postcard with a kitten on it, proving he is made out of perfect.
ask me how much. THIS much. more. oh, swoon.
my friend who is least afraid of things in the whole world is trying something new. she is the only person i know who could do it and i wouldn't think she was faking or silly to try. instead, my jaw is kind of hanging open at how intrepid she really is.
time to choose image to turn in for class: large calla lily with chicken egg sticking out? or small calla lily with chicken egg sticking out? or, egg tucked into waist band of low rider jeans in front of naked tummy while sucking in really hard?
the monkey just reminded me that in new york, you can get hard copy of The Onion on street corners. as if i needed more reasons. also, he sent me a postcard with a kitten on it, proving he is made out of perfect.
ask me how much. THIS much. more. oh, swoon.
my friend who is least afraid of things in the whole world is trying something new. she is the only person i know who could do it and i wouldn't think she was faking or silly to try. instead, my jaw is kind of hanging open at how intrepid she really is.
time to choose image to turn in for class: large calla lily with chicken egg sticking out? or small calla lily with chicken egg sticking out? or, egg tucked into waist band of low rider jeans in front of naked tummy while sucking in really hard?
Monday, February 03, 2003
the monkey found an apartment in queens, and i couldn't be prouder. it's not every day you get to watch someone begin his dream. and, i told him a story about a little girl who carries a puppy in her pocket, and he was suitably impressed.
get ready, long island. i will hit you like a hurricane.
get ready, long island. i will hit you like a hurricane.
yeah, but you never think you can do things until you do them.
maybe the dayjob isn't so bad. maybe i feel a tiny bit lucky. maybe i should incubate this feeling, since lots of people would like to have this job, and if i leave it as i'm contemplating, i may not find another one and will end up looking back on these days as The Time When I Could Afford To Live. i hate it when life is about parking and cellphone plans and not having health insurance.
also, why does my mother buy things i don't want when she comes to visit? if you come to someone's house, and there is no SoftScrub (tm) cleanser under the sink, wouldn't you think that the person who lives there does not want to own any SoftScrub (tm) cleanser? ditto large trash bags, herb salad mix and calcium-enriched bread?
maybe the dayjob isn't so bad. maybe i feel a tiny bit lucky. maybe i should incubate this feeling, since lots of people would like to have this job, and if i leave it as i'm contemplating, i may not find another one and will end up looking back on these days as The Time When I Could Afford To Live. i hate it when life is about parking and cellphone plans and not having health insurance.
also, why does my mother buy things i don't want when she comes to visit? if you come to someone's house, and there is no SoftScrub (tm) cleanser under the sink, wouldn't you think that the person who lives there does not want to own any SoftScrub (tm) cleanser? ditto large trash bags, herb salad mix and calcium-enriched bread?
