wish you were here

There really isn’t all that much to talk about, Natalie was in town this weekend and we braved the mall Friday. I wanted to kill. I still want to kill. In fact, I hope I don’t go near a mall again anytime soon.

Dyed my hair back burgandy today. I haven’t had dye in my hair for almost two years. I don’t know how much good it’s going to do me, however. I only feel somewhat better. I’m really tired right now so there’s not much else to that.

And cheap shoes. Thank the Goddess for good, cheap shoes.

Favorite song right now: Camper Van Beethoven, “Take the Skinheads Bowling.”

Thanksgiving was chill. It was nice to be with the family. That was about all of it. Got 2 pies and a tub of whipped cream out of it all, so that’s good.

Just can’t wait for all the girls to get here.

I know you want me to say something, but I’m not going to.

Overheard in a dream last night: “Your P’s and Q’s. You wear them when you are sad.”

Strangely enough, it was Tori who said it, and it seems like a Tori thing to say.

My brother’s family and I went to my Aunt Kathy’s house for dinner last night. Kathy is my mother’s older sister, and is pretty much the only link to that side of the family.

The thing that’s cool about my Aunt Kathy is that she’s a lot like my mom: they’re both really spunky, blunt, sharp, independent women (throw yo hands up at me-eh-eh). She’s recently divorced, and is in the process of moving back to Vegas after attempting retirement with her husband. Every time I see her now I just get this feeling that she just doesn’t give a fuck about what the rest of the world thinks and just does her thing.

She cooked us an awesome spaghetti dinner last night and her and Brett and I sat around the table talking afterwards, and it was really nice. We discussed mothers, school, stereotypes (my aunt has the same problem that I have, that because we have degrees that somehow turns us into FemiNazis– and she’s got two of them, bless her).

Of course, Sean was off playing with the boys and wasn’t involved with the conversation, even though he needed to be talking more than Brett and I did. I think he was trying to avoid it altogether, call me suspicious.

We’re going over to her house for Thanksgiving, and it’s going to be a good time. It’ll be our first one without Dad physically here and to have any family around will be a good thing. Last year for Thanksgiving, we ate over at my house and Dad was hooked up to a G-tube in the bedroom while we went down to the bar to bring back food to eat. It was terrible.

The interesting thing this year should be sharing Thanksgiving with my cousin-in-law Mark, married to my cousin Debbie, who I haven’t seen since I went to Seattle a few years ago. Back then, because I was so out of the broom closet, I felt the need to wear my pentegram all the time. Little did I know Mark was very Christian. Nobody else said anything about it the whole time, but Mark would try and throw subtle hints that I was going to hell, to which I had to explain my Religious Studies minor and if he’d like to have a Bible study to let me know because I’m always down for that. I don’t wear the pentegram now, because I don’t feel the need to advertise my spirituality anymore. But I am wearing my key to Hell, and trying to explain that it’s from a comic book is going to be fun.

But shouldn’t your favorite author be God? I mean, he wrote the Bible, Mark would probably say. Sure, I’d say. But I’m not allowed to hug God before signings.

Watching me play Chrono Cross isn’t exactly an exciting evening.

For some reason I have the sudden urge to listen to “Don’t Call Me Baby” by Madison Avenue. I think it might have to do with hanging out with the gang a couple of weeks ago and meeting one of Brandon’s many bowling friends, Marc.

Marc would have himself believe he’s the shit. Marc would also have himself believe that all girls put up with said shit, of which 1) I am not a “girl” and 2) will not take crap from boys who think they’re the bee’s knees. It’s one thing to be intellectual and arrogant, it’s quite another to be stupid and egocentric. The former I usually ignore when they’re trying to make me feel inferior, and the latter I just lay thick with sarcasm dressed as coolness.

So after mocking him incessantly for an entire evening– multiplied many-fold by the monthly womanly insides-melting-away– I seem to have become this kind of chick that he has to hang out with again. No, he doesn’t have a crush on me, and no I have absolutely no interest in him, so that’s settled. The only problem is that I don’t want to hang out with him again, and neither do most of the people I hang with on a regular basis. Which, in my book, is absolutely fine.

Meanwhile, boys I do want to hang out with have dropped off the face of the planet.

In other news, I need to eat. And ever since college, I’ve been a conniseur of fast food. Back then, considering a bulk of my non-tuition money was going towards absurdly-priced food plans, I ate on campus– until my sophomore year, when I got food poisoning: a pepperoni and mushroom pizza that makes its return with the mushrooms still intact is pretty hardcore. And so was the next day when my headache was so bad I was hallucinating.

So the rest of my high priced lunch money went to other people on my floor who needed to eat and had either lost their card or ran out of money for food. The university tried to get me in trouble for it, and when I explained that their policy of non-refunds even though I was never going to eat there again and exactly why I wasn’t going to eat there made them back off, and quietly for the rest of the year my food money was well spent, while I went off-campus for food, usually involving cruising the fast food establishments and take away restaurants in town.

Not much has changed now that I’m living completely by myself. I can cook a little, but going to the store gets overwhelming when you’re out of everything. So for quick dinners I have a plethora of choices: Taco Bell, McDonald’s, Arby’s, Wendy’s, Tempura Teriyaki, La Posta, Baja Fresh, Pizza Hut.

I think in a way I still see my kitchen as the campus. Going to buy food involves a lot of shitty red tape that I’d rather not deal with, even though I could learn a lot from the kitchen and usually feel pretty comfortable there.

And at some point I’m going to have to learn how to cook turkey. I don’t know if I should be looking forward to it or not.

I think this is going to be part of a haiku cycle called Love Letters.

please understand that
despite my hand on your hand,
i like to set traps.

I could have had a lot to drink tonight. But I didn’t. Chicken curry buffeted it a little.

I stopped over to Jitter’s for poetry before bowling, and I think a couple of people were actually a little shocked that I was there. I didn’t read because I have the phone-sex-sickie voice, but just came to support everybody which is always nice. I did get a couple of c’mon, read something stares but just drank my mocha and listened for once. I’ve been getting in (maybe) a hundred words a week on various things, which would be a start for some people but I feel completely lazy.

Ever take one of those naps when you’re sick that just seem to last all day and you feel like little workers went into your throat and put band aids all over? I had to. Normally I would probably write something self-deprecating about it, but I’ve been wretched the past couple of days.

Now that it’s getting toward the end of the year, it’s time to start taking stock of some things, I suppose. Been thinking about a lot of different people. Been comparing this time this year to this time last year, who’s here and who’s not around anymore. Some I miss, and others I hope I never hear from ever again, despite the good memories.

This year took a lot of work, but it’s been a good year. It was a fucking godsdammed productive year. (That doesn’t mean that I’m still afraid of my muse taking her ill-timed vacation in the Bahamas, by the way. She’s fickle.)

I suddenly have a twitch in my tongue. Take that one however you want to.

Let’s try some freestyle.

last night i couldn’t
sleep. needlessly,
i was curious
about how you’d be
next to me;
i wandered the halls
in my head,
carpeted and lined
with battered outfits of armor.
i never wore those, you know,
though i can’t see my face
anymore and i don’t know
how they ever got
there. i don’t want
to be rid of them,
though i don’t know
why i keep them;
pack rats always have treasures.
the torches are burning,
i turn over, restless,
and hope the door at the end
isn’t locked.