new years eve

today is my 21st birthday, im in miami, mischief and mayhem are about to abound, more on this later

i'm still alive

i have't posted in awhile and that last post was kinda scary and im sure that some of you may have thought i would have rushed upon some sword at how terribly sad i was. well it got a lot worse before it got better and now its about to get even stranger im sure. today i leave for miami for my birthday... i dont want to go but it will be good to get away probably. im going with my ex boy friend i broke up with a little over a month ago, we havent seen eachother since and only talked briefly about the trip. i dont know how much blogging will come of the trip as i dont know if the condo has internet or anything. and im leaving behind the previous ex who i have recently decided i really do love and all that comes with that, however hes dating someone else so i am leaving him and her to only become closer as i go to some place i dont even want to be. wish me luck, i'll make the best of this opportunity. and thanks for all the encouraging words.

the sound of silence

Sh listen, listen carefully, sh can you hear it? If your quiet enough just quiet enough you can hear the creaking, hear my heart breaking again ripping at the scars that are its seams. Apparently you can see it in my eyes too, sadness, that’s what he tells me, the breaker, said he could see the sorrow in my eyes. I’m doing my best not to chastise him and not to fall into told guilt trip habits that I used to give him as I did have one of those “if you love them let them go” revelations a couple days ago and just as I was warming up to the idea he dropped the bomb. I didn’t see it coming but I’m almost sure it had sought out my heat of comfortability and now I am blown to pieces, left to pull it together and not make a scene in the midst of it all, a scene I will not make for I have learned that guilt and scenes only ruin my on paths. And so I must trust that nothing will change and in the mean time hide that sorrow in my eyes with some kind of substance.

nothing

My stomach turns and I’m not sure if it’s at the thought of you, the thought of drugs or the thought of growing up. These mini anxiety attacks have taken over my day and my night, staying up looking into the glow of the screen trying to find myself, my future. I don’t think it’s hiding there, its like playing hide and go seek alone. An only child, playing multiple player games alone, chess, checkers, cats cradle and house. My thoughts are broken as is my mother’s heart. I didn’t wake up to answer the phone because I knew what she would say, if I was her I wouldn’t really have wanted to talk to anyone on the phone, we all knew that this call was on the horizon. I don’t know what to say. If its affected me its been sub-consciously and its given me stomach aches and nausea, but I don think it did.

“'I’m the kind of guy who laughs at a funeral can’t understand what I mean? Well, you soon will”

My thoughts are all over the place and I came upstairs to write the last paper of the semester an hour ago and I’ve done everything I can to stall, I even wrote a to do list of things I have to do tomorrow before I can go home. I may have gone crazy.

Here to live, here today, here to die.

won't you be my neighbor?

Sometimes if I’m quiet enough I can near him through the wall leaving voicemails. Its very intimate sharing a wall with someone you barely know. I can hear his music, sometimes techno sometimes reggae. My roommate told me that there is a parallel poster of Bob Marley on his side to my poster of Marilyn Monroe. It’s interesting to me to listen to him. There used to be this screeching noise that would come from his room and it took me weeks to figure out what it was until one day I finally realized it was the hangers in his closet screeching as he moved them about. The times I have seen him he seemed nice enough, asking me how my day was going? Inquiring if it was me he had seen earlier in the laundry room. It did seem as if he may have bit of a staring problem but I guess I am the one enthralled by every pencil drop I can overhear on the other side of the wall. I have built up this image of his room, it fairly clean buts that probably from the OCD because I would like things to be clean. I can imagine exactly where everything is, the layout, but I’m sure if I ever actually saw it I would be incredibly wrong, that’s why I never really want to see inside. He kind of looks like this girl from my high school that I greatly disliked for no real reason, guess I did that in high school, but it makes seeing him quite strange cause I probably just stare at his nose and how much it looks exactly like hers. I guess I’m the weird one but strangers are often intriguing.

Frank and Mary

My grandparents have been married for over 60 years, to me this is unfathomable I can barely begin to conceive the idea of living for 60 years much less living with someone else for 60 years. They have had an amazing life, my grandfather being in the Navy they moved all over the country, even Hawaii and had 5 beautiful children that amassed into the most fantastic extended family one could imagine. However their romance seems to be coming to a bump in the road, I say bump not end because theirs is a love that knows no restrictions.

My grandfather has Parkinson’s, which is a form of Alzheimer’s, so his mind comes and goes as well as half of his body shaking almost constantly. My grandma was diagnosed with dementia earlier this year. Their health has descended so quickly that it has become hard for me to visit them and see them in their current shells that were not so long ago jovial bodies. Each has been in and out of the hospital or a home at various times and everyday the “free” one would go and visit the other, every day. They so wanted to be together in their home but their conditions no longer warranted privacy or the romantic seclusion they yearned for. I often question how my grandfather put up with her. She was crazy and bossy and downright mean, especially to him, hitting him with her cane and often picking on him or making fun of him for peeing his pants, because he also has a bladder control problem. But he did he put up with her; he loved her through it all. I often chalked this up to the fact that for a good part of their marriage he was probably away on leave in the Navy but I can’t really be sure. When asked about his wife, Mary, Frank would say, “ It’s a great, great love.” My Grandfather as I know him is stoic and a man of little words and soft spoken. Those words that he did utter were always of great importance to me and I always took great care in what he had to say. I think he was this way because Mary never shut up, constantly talking especially to strangers about anything and everything, I guess maybe this was why they worked so well together. Was he quiet because she talked or did she talk because he was quiet?

On Friday night my grandmother had a stroke. That same night I dreamt of her, she was her usual self, ornery and naughty, with a hat on, she always wore hats. She had no unsolved mystery kind of message, she was just there talking to me, I woke up feeling something had happened to her and didn’t find out until later that day that she had the stroke. Yesterday I went with my parents to visit her. No one prepared me for the fact that she was incoherent and paralyzed on half her body and stuck in a twisted position or that she would be gurgling because she could barely swallow on her own. Her shell was hanging on, barely. I held her hand and talked to her and told her that I had done my hair the way she liked, she loved my hair a certain way and would often tell me when it was wrong. The doctors have told the family to make a plan and that she may pass by the end of the week. The five children are taking it hard, as this will be the first death of someone in our close-knit extended family. Personally I feel like she has lead an amazing life and that its just about her time.

They have taken my grandfather to see her everyday as is the usual accustomed and if they didn’t take him the day would be full of questions as to where his Mary was. At first he thought that the doctors would fix her, he didn’t understand the brevity of his love’s condition. My mother went with him today and said he stood and touched her face and wiped her brow as minutes passed and was silent, as my mother sobbed in the corner. After he looked up and asked, “ where is Mary?” when told this was Mary he chuckled to himself and said “oh right” came back to her and petted her more. Then came to my mother and stood close to her and said in three days something will happen. No doctor or nurse had told him, Mary had told him. In three days we will see if his oracle is correct and then we can only assume that he will be leaving to join Mary and their romance will only grow deeper. They are too close and too deeply in love to be in other worlds.

My Mother on my grandparents love:
“A certain mystery between the two of them that no man can figure out”

As I waited for my parents outside the hospital yesterday this song came on my ipod, it is their love, it is Frank singing to Mary.

Love of mine some day you will die
But I'll be close behind
I'll follow you into the dark

No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white
Just our hands clasped so tight
Waiting for the hint of a spark
If heaven and hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs

If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

You and me have seen everything to see
From Bangkok to Calgary
And the soles of your shoes are all worn down
The time for sleep is now
It's nothing to cry about
Cause we'll hold each other soon
The blackest of rooms

If heaven and hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs

If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark
Then I'll follow you into the dark

--- edited version of I will follow you into the dark
Death Cab for Cutie

a new horizon

It’s hard to look in the mirror and see you’re the one that broke your own heart. Its hard to listen to him tell the truth when you’ve been lying to yourself the whole time. The tears in my eyes have been hiding the truth and I found sanction there hiding from truth feeding myself lies to make my world beautiful when in fact I was living in this dungeon of deceit. You tell me that I break their hearts the same way every time, and then they question where did I learn this from who taught me to be so careless with significant feelings? Who taught me not to feel, so that my carelessness could not penetrate into my own charade of happiness, of beauty? I cant answer that and each time I am questioned that same question that comes at every end and every new beginning, I look around me, I scan my broken memory to find the one that broke my heart. And it would be easy, it would be so easy to lay blame somewhere other than on myself but now in reality I can see that starting here is the only way that I can begin to go forward. They will no longer fall in love with me from my own accord, it can’t be this easy to love them and never leave them and so the seed of truth must be planted here so that it may grow within and change the blackish fate I have set for myself. I broke my own heart, and my own tears full of lies were hiding the truth all along.

confessions

As a child I went to catholic school but I was raised in the greek orthodox religion, I was terrified by confession in both but I had this idea of blog confessing, it seems much more harmless.

I’ve never had a boy friend I didn’t cheat on at sometime, I miss them all except the one my mother wants me to miss
I pee in the shower
I rarely get away with anything
I think I’m fat but I can’t stop eating
I don’t like it when my mother tells me that god is the answer to all my problems-Jesus can never be my boyfriend
I feel bad when I wear multiple necklaces from different exes at the same time-but it looks so good
I have ringworm, its pretty much contained these days but I can feel it flaring up right now
I like the smell of cigarette smoke on boys

empty

My heart clenches and the lump in my throat chokes me. I can still feel the rings on my fingers like amputees can still feel their legs. Im choking with regret, one who never regrets but now, now I would lay down my jacket in a puddle for you to walk over I would lay down my soul for you to walk over so that my soul would touch your sole just so that a part of me could touch you. You’re disgusted by me and I am beginning to feel the same. My drive is gone, my drive to go on gone. I hear music I hear words I hear you but I feel nothing today I stopped feeling actually I don’t know if it was today or if I never had it. It seems like so long ago when everything was perfect, I’d take it all back if I could just so that you could feel good about me instead of weary instead of disgust. Theres no time machine but time heals all wounds, ive cut you deep and it stabs me to see you bleed. I’d lie with you in the tomb and die young. Don’t ask me if I miss him when you’re all that matters.


sorry f--ing roommate this is pretty mushy.

like a wish bone

I thought it would be easier. I had no elation, no hidden smile; I hadn’t been there when I talked to him in weeks. The initial shock was lost in the party I went to right after ending it. But my night was plagued with dreams of him. We fought over the phone about confusion between friends and then I went to his house to “hang out.” I already knew what I had to do. We went outside and stood in the cold of his beautiful ghetto. I no longer loved him the way I once had, when I silently cried in the backseat of his car or when I found myself surprised at how much I loved him. He complained that I never talked to him, this is the usual complaint, I’m not good at talking and as much as the therapist has worked on this it has barely changed. And then we came to Miami, we were supposed to go for my twenty first birthday in a little over a month, I felt like I couldn’t go, I told him, he was devastated. I don’t know how it really ended. We hugged for awhile and as we hugged I stared into the neighbors blinding porch light and thought about all our good memories, running together at his sisters wedding, going to Disneyland, visits back and forth. I felt it was better to end it on an up note for me. He said goodbye, I love you and something about I’ll call you on the way up the stairs I think. I went to the party and saw people I hadn’t seen in a long time, it made me forget that I was still shaking on the inside because I had just broken someone’s heart. Now I just want to lie in bed all day for thanksgiving, I doubt my mom will let me but it’s worth a try. And so waking up I realize that breaking hearts is not all its cracked up to be and that it may have even cracked my heart a little.

Thanksgiving Break

You can see the elation in him, the kind of elation that only comes to those in a long distance relationship right before a break. He’s going to see her and he about to jump out of his girl pants, but for now he does a presentation on video sound and talks about the Ramones, fitting? Absolutely. You can see a change in him, some kind of a new nervous excitement behind all that new facial hair, some kind of smile. I do not share that smile, that elation. The only holiday excitement coming from me would be for pumpkin pie. Do I feel bad about this? Of course I do, but everything changes, feelings change. We had a good run but eh…I’m getting tired.

metaphor

"it's like slutting myself is an island and if he even begins to talk to me i've already begun to swim out"

my one weakness is back in town, thats all i got for right now...

who am i kidding ONE weakness?

Remembering...tears included

Remember last Christmas break when I never got out of bed before 4pm and you bought me jackets for wiping snot on my face. Remember how perfect everyday was and how perfect I was to you. Why do I do this to myself? Why do I do this to you? I remember when we first started dating and I was so jealous of you, I wanted to be you. I think that’s where the infatuation began. You had this perfect house with a surface perfect family, while I knew that you all hated each other it still looked good from the outside and I wanted it. I wanted the two perfect golden retrievers and I wanted two younger sisters that were immaculately beautiful on the outside but ugly as sin on the inside. Maybe I wanted to be one of them and have you as my brother. A tall brother that was as beautiful as me but hated my guts. A tall brother that hated me but would stand up for me in any circumstance cause that’s what brothers do. I guess I’m still jealous of you even though the façade has come down around all of you, around all of us. I still remember the perfect first Christmas season we had together. You even came to see me as the sugar plum fairy, I was so proud to have to you there. I remember when we watched Blow in your room and it hit so close to home that I went into your bathroom in my underwear and was crying against the door. It was like a scene from a movie. Me in my underwear crying because my dad was Johnny Depp, you lying in bed none the wiser thinking about your next line. Remember when I did that strip tease for you to “all I want for Christmas is you” I was so nervous to do it. I’ve performed a million times but this was different, maybe it was the marabou trimmed red bra or maybe it was you. You still make me nervous even with my clothes on.

I haven’t looked at his pictures or listened to his voice in weeks, the pictures are there and his voice is there but I’m not there. Everyone can tell and they keep asking me what the hell I’m doing and my answer is, “ trying not to take things so seriously”

Stop searching forever, happiness is just next you.

my vacation

So I went down to San Diego. I was chasing a dream, an old dream and went down there just to see if my dream was still dreaming of me, I guess. Well I wouldn’t go so far as to say he was dreaming about me but he was hospitable and let me stay with him. At first I thought it was for the blowjobs but even that novelty quickly wore off for him. It broke my heart to be there. Not just because of him but to drive the lovely highways reminded me of how terribly lonely I was when I lived there. It’s a beautiful place and I was just bidding my time. Being there with the dream really made me contemplate the choices I had made, especially the one when I told him I couldn’t live there with him. After this weekend I wanted to stay there with him forever, did I make a mistake? Maybe…probably…I don’t know. School sucks I have a test today and a paper due I haven’t studied or started the paper, instead I’m writing a meaningless blog. Better notes on my trip: I got to see some old friends for pie and a spa treatment, this was wonderful but again made me want to stay, did I make a mistake moving? Maybe…probably…I don’t now. Funny story: I went to take a shower at the dream’s house and he got into the shower to remove something, I was very confused, thinking what could he be removing? And then he showed me “I better throw this away.” Smiling. I asked him what is it? He said a condom and walked out. Well I got in the shower and started freaking out cause he said he hadn’t had sex with anyone in his bed so who the hell did he have sex with in shower? I was freaking out the rest of the day and he kept asking what was wrong with me, when I finally brought it up. He said it was ours and he put it in there so when my friends came over it wouldn’t be on the top of the trash. Boy did I feel stupid. Anyway that’s my trip in a nutshell. Oh and I bought some red cowboy boots.

Cravings

Lately I’ve been craving the weirdest kinds of things. Not really food so much just things that I want or things that I want to do. I guess it kinda started with the what have I done here post. Craving him. Anyway I was craving turtlenecks, I was thinking just a plain white like I used to wear in my catholic school days with a red heart patch but then when I actually went to look for them I found a fabulous black rainbow striped one. I was also craving lace up van sneakers…tennis shoes… shoes… I don’t know what to call them so I ordered some online, navy ones and they were at my apartment today when I got home I wore them to class and they were so small they blistered my already torn feet, ,which is weird because they are the same size as my slip-on vans, anyway I cleaned them up and am going to try to exchange them. Last night I had the weirdest craving for a cigarette at the look out point in my hometown. I bought a pack, it was a disappointment for sure but the craving was apprehended, what a waste of like 5 dollars though. Anyway my mom broke her elbow so I went home this last weekend to be her nurse while my dad went to work. It was nice, I just lied around in my pajamas all day with her and watched tivo’d Operas and Joel Olstein, which was interesting. One errand I had to go buy her some Metamucil at Walgreen’s and they have those prayer candles with various bible celebrities on them and little prayers, being that I’m not usually that into religious paraphernalia but my mom loves it. I figured I better ask who could hang so I silently asked Jesus (hey Zeus), Mary Magdalene, and the heart of Mary who was up for a little fun, Zeus had a pretty sorrowful look as usual so I went with the un-perfumed heart of Mary, my mom loved the candle and I thought but it was a good conversation in Walgreen’s anyway. Now I’m back in San Francisco for a few days then I’m driving to San Diego for a long weekend. Another recent craving: San Diego I hope it turns out better then the shoes and the cigarettes and a lot more like the turtleneck. Oh I also highly recommend the BBC America show Mile High, there’s nudity and cussing, it’s fabulous.

halloween 2005

I should have seen all the signs of foreboding on the horizon when I wanted to run away to Santa Barbara before he even got here but I didn’t. I should have known when I broke the wine glass and hit my head on the corner of the cabinet door. But I didn’t think of it. You would think at least the diamonds would have tipped me off but alas there was no such tipping. I am almost certain that a whole slew of black cats could have crossed my path and all I would have thought was “kitty,” in fact some probably did. If I had paid attention to all these signs maybe I wouldn’t have gotten on the subway train choking with drunken sluts and malcontented students to go to gay central and wander the streets only to smile at the gender blind love that gays only gays find. And then maybe I wouldn’t have begun to resent my mirror image of myself boy friend for all the flaws we both have and then maybe just maybe I wouldn’t have had to walk 4 miles barefoot through unknown wetness on the streets of san Francisco. My own trail of tears as my blistered feet endured tiny rocks and uneven pavement. At one point I even prayed to god to help me, small miracles I guess because I looked up to find smooth asphalt ahead, that was it though no cab, no bus and no boy friend that wanted to help besides telling me that he likes me too much and that I act like a fag when I am upset. This was uncalled for I thought given the circumstances however I also had told him earlier that he was immature and this fell right into that category. Immature and ruining my second favorite holiday as far as I could tell.

what have i done here

I’m lost today. Why were you hunting me in my dreams? I found you waiting, stalking when I closed my eyes. I think about you daily and even now as I write this I am crying for you. I don’t know what I think though. Hasn’t it always been that way? I don’t know, if our relationship was a movie that would be the title or maybe, “I don’t know but I do.” I can’t tell if I miss you though, miss us I mean. Walking to class today I was thinking about areas where I would have future homes, san Diego came to mind first and as I begun to build my amazing beach house on the shores of la Jolla, you were there and my mind got ahead of me and suddenly we were married once I caught up with my thought process I wanted to cry, to turn around walk home and cry about you how much I’ve lost because I gave you up. I’m glad you got to be the one to really end it, but last night when I hung up the phone with him I thought now I would usually call my Chris-sy but no longer do I call you and you never call me either. Time will heal all wounds but I hope I see you in the bars during break and I hope I go home with you. I say that today and honestly I don’t where I will be when Christmas comes, but you are, always have been and always will be my Christmas business. And again I am at a place contemplating throwing it all away for someone else, for you. The Internet will be the ruin of me, its funny you always said that, I searched the w hotels today, there will be no W in my future, I googled you, there was nothing, then I saw your pictures on myspace and I cried right in the living room, I cried. And I know if I do see you at break it will go one of two ways and there are only two ways it can go: 1. I go home with you 2. You call me out as the bitch you may have come to think of me as. And as I write this it breaks my heart and lumps my throat. I do, I do miss you. Our song keeps coming up on my ipod and the freckles in our eyes still align.

And it's okay if you had to go away
Oh, just remember the telephone
well, they're workin it both ways
But if I never, ever hear them ring
If nothing else I'll think the bells inside
Finally found you someone else and that's okay
Cause I'll remember everything you sang

sleeping pills

I smiled for you during a Lunesta commercial. You never wrote back last time I said some media bullshit reminded me of you so I wont bother this time. I smiled because of the way the sleeping pills made you passive but at the same time the gloriousness of your bed, of the film, of the situation that engulfed us. I can still see myself there lying in your bed looking at pictures of your girlfriend. The cynic in me smiling knowing the brevity of our relationship and the unfathomable tolls it would take if anyone found out. Your smile, your sickening smile, how I gave you my playmate pickup look from across the room, and how it worked. The sleeping pills made you think I was a reptile, a purple reptile and I didn’t care I wanted to be held and touched by your recently shaven tattooed arms. Just to say I had been there in this infamous bed, the bed in which you have bedded many a girl just like myself who just wanted to be held by the ink that held you. I see your face sometimes burned into my retina, I think of how amazingly comfortable your bed is often and how I would jeopardize all that is good for me now for another completely wrong night with you in your comfortable bed and your sickening smile.

Laundry

Wouldn’t you love to make a coat of the sheets made of dryer lint, it would be extraordinarily soft and warm, but it would fall to pieces quickly and make quite a mess. My aunt bought some bright coral colored towels for her bed and breakfast place and after washing them the lint was bright coral, she saved it to show to me because she thought it was so pretty, it really was though. I love the feel of that lint, its just so incredibly soft. I’m a weirdo I know. I just finished my laundry, it was the longest task ever. I went to the main office of our apartments to put money on our laundry card, figuring that my roommate didn’t put any money on the card after he used it, well the office was locked so I had to come back and get my other card that will let you in the lobby when it is locked. Got the card and went back but my card wouln’t work so I coudn’t get in. I came back and went to the laundry room to see how much money was on the card, I should have done this in the first place, it would have saved me a lot of trouble because there was plenty. I had 5-7 minutes before a washer was available so I came back to the house and watched some of Philadelphia, I guess that opera breakdown scene of tom hank’s got me a little distracted because when I returned someone had gotten there before me, I had another 32-35 minutes to wait. This time when I returned a little early there were two people in there, this became very awkward because we just stood there them waiting for their clothes to be done me waiting to my clothes in, trying not to stare at one another. Finally their clothes are done and I put my clothes in. yada yada this goes on again with the dryer and I am kind enough to put all my clothes into one dryer so an asian woman who barely speaks English can dry her cotton candy pink blanket, shes very gracious and im happy to obligue. Now all the laundry is done and im watching Harold and Maude, oh that cat stevens. But what is going on with harold’s mother’s hair or those hats?

Flounder

I found myself floundering for you. The way we had watched my heart pendant fall off the chain and scuttle across the floor. I looked at you helplessly and you raised your eyebrows at me. I open my drawer to finally write something and am bombarded my remnants of your visit: golden tickets, Magnums and P.I.’s. Today is a Hawaiian shirt type of day and I am reminded of my often Hawaiian-shirt clad father. Sitting with him eating pizza watching rats scurry around in the bushes outside the pizza joint or of how I cry every time I hear “Delaney talks to Statues” because I have built up this future of him and me dancing to it at my wedding. Why is it that the thought of my daddy often brings me to tears? Is it how much he has grown and changed? Is it my skepticism and my resentment at my own skepticism? Is it the memories lost? Or is it the similarities and how I continue to mimic him and only hope his newfound goodness will change me, metamorphosize me the way it has him?

And I flounder because I am searching for answers, for cures, for memories.

Something old

I wrote the first paragraph of this probably in March, things were different then but i was reading it the other day and decided it could be one of the nices thigns i've written about current boyfriend. this is sad cause its not even that nice.

I’m tired I watch her juggle and I’m tired I’m jealous but I’m tired I’ve looked into the eyes of three boys in one night and none of them loved me they loved it they loved the thought of it and now I stare alone and cry alone but I’m jealous and I’m tired I couldn’t do it I couldn’t play hide and seek any more because I missed you when I hid and I missed you when I sought so there I was missing you but still kissing you wondering and suffocating in your backseat and what can you say for yourself you say, “I know cuddy ill see you tomorrow” well that’s not enough tomorrow is never enough so I sit and wait because I don’t want to play games any more I’m moving and your moving and I’m running and your running and I cant stop to wonder if we are running in the same direction or just in the same race because either ill lose you or ill lose the race.

I don’t know if I lost him or the race or if we’re still running. I think its turned into more like a marathon, we’re taking a leisurely walk. Or a quick drunken run out to the cliffs of the west coast, he in his tux and me in my puffy hand made dress on the day of his sisters wedding. This is my favorite memory of him. We were running and laughing so hard straight for the sunset.

Everything changes, everything changes. Progresses, digresses.

a telegram... of sorts

There’s a hot stoner that lives next door stop
I’m going to make him cookies stop
He also has a friend that makes fake ids stop
That is the reason for the cookies stop
He has girls over every night stop
Last night one was crying stop
Tonight he picked one up on his skateboard stop
He thinks I’m a dork stop
I am a dork stop

i got nothin'

well i've been trying to think of something to blog about, and nothing has come. however my roommate often tries to give me ideas. one was about how low flow toilets are stupid because you have to hold the handle down so long it defeats the whole low flow purpose. i agree with him on this. lets see what else? i got this art magazine, called Look Look its created by young people and it has all young people's art in it. drawings, paintings, photography and even writing. im thinking about entering some stuff, cause anyone between the ages of 14-30 can enter. my wigger boyfriend was really confused why i would bu this art magazine over cosmo or some crap, but that is what makes me me. also last night we went out to dinner with my parents. i get most of my humor from my dad. anyway he cracked some joke that only he really thought was funny and so hes laughing so hard he cant stop and i say to him isnt it the worst when only you think your own joke is really funny? this happens to me alot i'll make a joke that no one else would get but me and be laughing and laughing while everyone is staring, i guess this brings me back to the fact that i am my favorite person to hang out with. i'm carving a pumpkin for my parents house today. im pretty excited, getting all the stuff out is my favorite part, the carving is just ok. last year i did an amazing skull pirate with an eye patch, free hand. it was really good. i think im going to do some kind of witch this year. oh i also decided what i am goiing to be for halloween: an aviator i'll let ya know how it goes.

These are a few of my favorite things 10/3/05

Pumpkin pie-anything pumpkin really. Trader Joes has pumpkin butter, I highly recommend. I once ate a whole pumpkin pie in the backseat of a friends car with my (clean) fingers. oh yay! ‘tis the season

All 80s weekends on the radio- it feels like such a treat

Dinosaurs- I’ve been a long time advocate, I always question where they fit into the bible. What about the dinosaurs?

Sleeping naked with my boyfriend’s hot body (I can’t believe I just said that, any of it, i gross myself out)

Vince Vaughn I have a huge crush on him and just downloaded a whole bunch of pictures of him for my background


  

Sleeping on the couch in the living room at Christmas time with the Christmas tree lights on, they produce the best dreams

Drinking vodka and lemonade on the MUNI by myself (on the way to meet friends at a Giants game)


  


Singing disney songs, early 90's hits and oldies with my boyfriend as we go to sleep (i guess thats pretty gross too)

why i dont write about politics

or care about them much either. i know i know this is so stupid i should get involved with my country to make differences and get rid of our crazy ass of a president but i can't, because i was. at a young age i became inthralled with politics, by young age i mean 8 ish. i used to go visit my god-mother in Washington DC for at least two weeks every year and she would take me around Capitol Hill and talk up the page program and all this stuff. it seemed so glamorous and amazing. I mean really what 8 year old girl wouldnt want to be involved? well then i fell in love with President Bush senior, and i mean in love big time thrid grade kinda crush. my hippy parents thought i was crazy but cute, and they handled it by laughing at me and saying "well you'll figure this out later." well here comes later, I'm still summering in DC and getting all this Hill knowledge that most kids in California knew nothing about and i get to be "the youngest page ever" (13) for my local congressmen, so he tells me, but on the hill. i had to do stupid duties like pick up his cell pohne he left at home or go get muffins for the workers at first but after awhile they could see i was probably more capable then some of the people who were actually hired there. so i got this assignment, write a constituent letter and then we will stamp it with the congressmen's name, so write it like you're him. at first i was so excited, oh yeah role play sure i can get into this. but then i came home and grew up and started to think what a lying shack of shit the entire political system is, whether they are democratic, repulicans or thumb-up-their-asses. so i changed my mind, i no longer wanted to become the first women president or your local lying congresswoman no matter how glamorous it looked from the outside, these people had no souls, not that i do now, but they were making choices for some people who do, and bad unrealsitic choices at that. now i will admit i do have one last huge politcal crush on our first president, George Washington, this affair has been going on probably since the fifth grade when my class did a play called, "Let George Do It!" i have since done reports and even written a sonnet about him for a high school assignment. Oh G.W. you're just so powdery!

  


so thats why i dont like to talk about politics, it maybe stupid and juvenial but i hold grudges and i got a big one against our government.

rereading

i just read my first rio post and as i came to the last line where i thanked you for being here, tears stared to well up in my eyes. i dont know if was the honesty which is infrequent around my literal life or the fact that last night i had this dream in which i had no one, no one to talk to, no one to run to and i was crying in my sleep. while i was sleeping next to the boyfriend, the one that i had given up on, his love, our love because i thought he was moving away, and now hes not and im so lost, so caught up in our love. his sister got married on sunday, everyone looked to us as being next, it was very intense his cuban grandparets kept hinting a tit, the groom was expecting to be the best man. I just kept nervously laughing because i'm not getting married for like 8 or 10 years still. but then we were running in the wet grass towards the sunset and the cliffs at the edge of the ocean and laughing so hard, it was sureal, i'm sure the wine helped, there were these split seconds where my mind almost said ok we are next but then i shut down those thoughts as i am terribly afraid of any kind of actual commitment. but now two hours away from him and probably two weeks away from the next time i see him i am sad, i miss him, this him i can not commit to, this him that i contemplate as the one, this him that i have secretly cried about in his back seat while coming down from ecstacy hoping he would not hears my sobbing breaths, this him that i have grown to love and this him that i may have forsaken all others for. shit what has become of my bad ass self? obviously this him.

maps II

You see the answer has been here, writing here, typing here and I cry because I am here alone and I ought to go for a drive but to where? In four months I am afraid that drive will take me to drunk-land, bars and cars and boys and men that don’t know my name but there is the slightest chance they will hold me for one split second afterwards and that will make me smile, make me laugh at the absurdity of me and my wake of lifelessness I leave behind. The typing takes away the tears and the more i write, the more I write and yet I am afraid to write things with meaning things that affect me and yet I will not let them penetrate my psyche while I will allow penetration to my soul and else where by the evils that be those evils that I languish in. those evils that have taken me in and made me one of there own and i smile to them because I know I would rather be me, be myself then some sister, some nun who has none but some figment of religion that I cant bring myself to look at, to look into for fear I would fall into this unfathomable trap that has no light that has no end. I cant not see the truths in your beliefs but I am glad that they give you some sense of comfort I can not find in translated words, translated by those who were there to sell their ideas to us in the name of some kind of hierarchy. And stop please stop your slamming your questioning ideas and blank stare into the screen the held my attention for so long . I cry, no I don’t, I don’t cry, i lie much better then I cry and the majority of the crying I do do is in direct correlation with the lies. And so there I am splayed for you all to see. And thus my spirit is not so pure, not so white not so spirit.

maps?

And I sat there staring at my steaming muffin wondering was this it? As I often do, as I often do. Was this it? And what was the alternative? Drinking myself to sickness or selling myself for drugs that in turn took me, drove me, farther away from you as you stay here, sit here, walk here, talk here, telling me, “ if that’s what makes her happy, that’s what she should do to be happy.” Shit, happy this and happy that. What is happy? Where is happy? Is there a map to get there? No, no there’s no map and I know, we all know this. There is no formula or set of logical directions that will take us there… it is merely the second star to the right, the glass slipper and poison apples that take us to our dreams so that we may sleep. And I wonder would a bath solve my problems? Would the confusion between steam and fog through the window make me smile enough to say that I am happy? No and no bottom of a bottle would either. Not this muffin, not puking up this muffin or erasing this muffin entirely would make me happy either. No slamming doors will bring back fathers and no sorrowful faces with take away the last three years of depression. And so I snicker at the absurdity of my muffin and myself. Where does it end? Where did it begin? And no, there is no map.

a can of worms

Somewhere there is a tally that lives within my brain the kind of tally that varies upon whom you’re talking to. To share this tally would be like opening a can of worms. Have you ever really thought about that? Opening a can of worms. Do you think the original person who said it was speaking of those spring-loaded worms or actual worms? I like I imagine actual worms and you open this can, now that’s with an can opener, and inside there are all these long worms writhing and squirming and the can is full so they can barely move but the entire can is a body of wormy mess, not to mention those worms that got cut in the process of opening the can. Dear me, you could see how this maybe a problem and a good metaphor for a problem indeed. I miss looking at the stars, my mom recently sent me one of those survey emails about yourself and one of the questions was do you wish on stars. I do, but my mother doesn’t. That was kind of sad to me. My mother who taught me about everything magical doesn’t wish on stars, and suddenly everything comes into perspective.

true sounds

My heart was hurting, where had I gone? I was hiding from you, hiding from me. I never had a boyfriend I didn’t cheat on and I never had a boyfriend that I didn’t fall in love with. This is some kind of sick pattern im sure. Sometimes I couldn’t believe myself sometimes I hate myself but mostly I wish there was another one of me so we could hangout and and ruin our lives together and laugh and spin all day. I like to listen to the sounds of our house, here, I sometimes whisper inside my head so that I can be quiet enough to hear everything. Sometimes im the sounds of our house and then I don’t listen and my voice inside my head screams so theres no possible way I can hear me. Right now I can hear a plane it sounds like the earth is roaring. I would roar if I was the earth but then again if I was the earth I probably would have given up on us a long time ago. A friend and I were discussing how my roommates girl friend is rather weary of me and then my friend said “well I wouldn’t want you living with my boyfriend,” I realized I agree, im pretty much evil and a boy friend stealer in my own right. The pictures of him were beautiful anyway hopefully so is he, so is he.

the perfection of pencils

I love pencils, I prefer them over pens and have begun to collect various different ones. All those that can be sharpened of course, none of this mechanical bullshit, although they do have a nice tip. I have a black round one and triangular shaped yellow ones, one with a black eraser that says “Xtreme rollerbladin” and one the says “happy birthday” as that is one of my favorite phrases. I made a list in class the other day of the reasons I love pencils. This list included but is not limited to the following ideas. The vulnerability of being erased. The old fashioned-ness of writing on paper, rather then typing. The organic sense of using parts of our breathing system (trees) to communicate, to me writing is like another sense of breathing. Not having the messiness of ink. If you write on the back of a piece of paper you already wrote on it goes through to the next page of your note book. Its like an imprint that you were there and you were writing. How the dullness can be so easily rejuvenated which a quick sharpen. I like to bite them and the wood is so impressionable, almost naïve. The loss as you sharpen and how your good friend begins to dwindle. At the same time however the comfortable of a short pencil that has written many things and withheld the test of time versus a new pencil with length and perfection. The phallic-ness of it all (of course this could be the sole reason) it reminds me of writing old letters and the kind of people that wrote them. The satisfaction of a perfectly sharpened point, I always have at least two perfectly sharpened pencils in my back pack for school, I sharpen them the night before. The way that the wear down of the lead affects your penmanship whether good or bad. I guess I have become some kind of pencil romantic but I really recommend breaking out a good old No. 2 and giving the fellow a try, you wont be disappointed, ok I guess I wouldnt be disappointed.

remix

Back at school back at school. I look in the mirror and know I’m the fool. Got my head mixed up and my heart stabbed through. I just can’t get over you. A fool for love. May god grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference, who will buy my strawberries? Red strawberries red. I just wanna love you baby, you dream in color my night comes in black and blue. I’ll send you postcards, oh how I wish I were with you. Leaving on a jet plane, don’t know when ill be back again. Cause girl you know I got to go and lord I wish it wasn’t so. So take this wine and drink with me, lets delay our misery. Who knows what tomorrow will bring. I hope you in a big red box. Why did you act that way? Why did you say its ok? You make me so happy I want to cry; you make me so hurt I want to die. She’s a good girl, crazy bout Elvis; she loves horses and her boyfriend too. But are you thinking of me when you touch her?

i wrote this about 3 years ago but just found it and thought it was interesting.

Graphic nature: please be warned

So I do this thing whenever I start school, its kind of unintentional but it seems to happen anyway. The first day of class I decide who in my class I would fuck, and work on it from there on in. I also makeup these scenarios of who I would be friends with but that’s another blog. So back to the sex business, it rarely actually works out because I’m rather shy but my freshman year in college first semester I had picked this one guy. He was dark and handsome kinda beefy but jovial as far as I could tell. My admiration grew as each day we had class, however as I am extremely shy and never got up the nerve to talk to him, besides I had nothing to say on the subject of logical reasoning which was our class. There was one day where my admiration floundered and I stared at another young man who I would later find out was his brother. Anyway so about three or four weeks in to the semester I got this idea, this awful idea that I would write him a note. The note said: “I think you’re totally hot” and then included my name and number. As class was dismissed I left it on his desk and walked out. Never even looking back. I often regret not leaving it on his brother’s desk, the very next desk over, as his brother was rather intriguing and had his tongue pierced. Anyway he called the next night and we talked for a long time on the phone as I paced about my dorm room with my roommate silently laughing hysterically at me. We arranged for a date the next evening. This was to be my first real grown up date, as previous ones were in groups or otherwise not dateish. So he picked me up, we went to dinner, I had steak, and then he proceeded to take me on a tour of the fine city I had recently moved to. We had amazing conversation on beaches and look out points, I found out he had recently lost like 50 pounds, which I’ll have to admit is quite a feat in itself. Eventually we had sex in the back seat of his car and then I did my sole appearance in the world of walks of shame into my dorm building with my shirt completely stretched out and various stains on my skirt I’m sure. The next class meeting he introduced me to his brother, like we were dating or something and then walked me to my dorm after class. He wanted to explain he didn’t usually do those kinds of things. Anyone who says that is totally lying, I know I am anyway. Well then he tried to kiss me goodbye, I gave a quick turn of the head so he got my ear. I about puked. I was over it, it was a one night stand kinda thing, I understood it, he was quite a bit older then me, but I don’t think he got it. He really liked me, these kinds of things happen, but he had been talking about his friends having kids and being married, this completely freaked me out, I had decided he was a weirdo, which probably wasn’t true at all. I was awful to him stopped talking to him, stopped taking his phone calls and stopped going to class. I would catch an earlier class, sit on the other side of the room or not go at all, it seemed he was doing to he same. I was awful to him. I still feel bad about it and often think I should look him up and apologize, but it didn’t really mean anything, it was a backseat tryst and lasted less then a week. So long story short after this awful trial run of my first day infatuations I’ve been wary to actually repeat such an act. However there is this one guy, I picked him first day and we actually have two classes together, cold piece is though he kind of looks like that first guy. I don’t know I hope for myself nothing happens but I’ve been giving him the eye, the playmate eye I learned from some former “Playmate on Sex” and I can’t help it, it’s completely unintentional… no I swear it really is.

writing things

the wine has gone to my head it has surrounded me like the bath the night before. i blew bubbles in the bath, i thought of drowning but knew he was coming over. Tonight my ring is ruby red much like my newly self re-peirced ear which is beating red like my ring, like the bittersweetness of tonight. I had thought being the last night i should try to change things, bet it all or pull out completely. we watched baseball and drank cheap wine, nothing had changed, i loved him. we often lied in bed, him watching tv or sleeping and me staring at him thinking "this could be it." hes coming opps! oh, the baseball has once again distracted him. im hiding in my parents room writing, i find pecils to be romantic especially black ones, my mother loves them as well, that must be where i got it from. Charles Rossi wine and ESPN are another kind of romantic, a summer romance. i used to sleep with sports center on and dream of the boys of summer. he found me writing here and asked "what are you doing" i quickly wrapped up my sentence and said "writing" and giggled. he said " writing? writing what?" i said "things" and he said "writing things?" i responded "yes" and quickly hid my notebook away for later typing. this was my last night of summer and also the best night of summer. he had found me there writing, writing things, writings things about him, about romance, about him.

first times

today is my first day at my new college. last night was my first night in my new apartment. im nervous and excited. its been hard becuase the boyfriend is leaving and now im two hours away. we had a couple good nights there before the end. i prewrote a blog about it but i left it at home so i'll have to let you in on that later. my blogging has been hit and miss so once school gets going ill be more available to get back to my very amazing writing instead of whatever i think that this is. anyway thanks for reading.

the last nights

I wanted him to pick me up by the arm from where I sat in the middle of the street. I wanted him to look at me like I was crazy with a fury in his eyes while I stared back blankly taking in every aspect of his face. I wanted him to tell me how dangerous sitting here was and how it may be quiet but high gang bangers come soaring down this street and they would hit me so quick and never stop to check me after. I was screaming for attention. Maybe it was true, maybe I was looking for a father figure. I didn’t go sit on the cold asphalt Indian style in the outskirts of his beautiful ghetto, instead I waited in the car listening to my Paul Simon and making modeling faces in the rear view mirror. My non-smile is too sad, I may not have the eyes for this as Paul says, “ he can’t leave his fears behind…phantom figures in the dust.” I start to recall my own fears and land on how fear is really my biggest fear. Stupid. As I write fear overcomes me and my mind wonders to bigger eerie fears… he’s here and i'm not on the street.

these are a few of my favorite things 8/15/05

Riding in the middle seat of a car- front or back

corn dogs& hot dogs, but not real dogs – the exception of Reno, a Rottweiler mix we once dog sat , he spoke French or took French commands I couldn’t resist him.




Wooden hangers- they are a must says Carson Kressley of Queer Eye and I absolutely agree

Silver and gold mixed jewelry, supposedly it’s a big no no but I prefer both together

High Heels

Finding my keys (with non-duplicatable new apartment key) and my Tiffany necklace that I thought I lost about three days ago

Marabou (as in feathers)

Marilyn Monroe- I have posters, books and pictures, I have the white dress outfit made to fit me and a wig I played her in two plays.

Conception

Recently this week I spent some time with my mother riding in the car. Through all my endeavors this summer I have seen really little of my parents which after spending this time with my mother I realized how cool she really is and how I probably should have hung out with her this whole time because it would have saved me a lot of the trouble I got in. however I did nothing since to make this change, I guess in the back of my mind I figure my parents will always be there and my friends from college and various boyfriends wont. I’m probably wrong about this and should be spending more time with my mother …anyway I’m kind of getting away from the idea of my post here.

So my mother and I are talking and she likes to listen to my music when i'm in the car with her and I have kind of weird taste in music for someone my age and we were listening to “Girls just wanna have fun” she starts laughing and says, “You know you were probably conceived to this song.” A little stunned I said “ on April fool’s day?” because this is something she told me a long time ago before I knew what conception was. And then I said, “ so I’m a big joke that just wants to have fun?” after the words escaped my mouth I found that is the most apt description of myself I’ve heard in a long time.

Sad day

Tears well up in my eyes and I am surrounded by heat the phrase “sad day” keeping repeating itself in my head. I allow myself one of these everyone in awhile where I don’t do anything and let the sadness surround me the same way that the heat is. There nothing specific but all of it, all of the changes and the loss. Mostly it’s the loss of him and me and him. We’re all going separate directions and as hard as I try Ito hold it all together there will be an explosion and each component will be flung as far as the night wind will take them. And there will be sad days wherever I go. Days where I don’t want to do a thing and just lie here and sweat and cry or just sit waiting for a call I don’t even want to answer but I need because I may not make it through the night with out talking to someone, anyone even if I cant stand them. The days are ticking by so slowly with a quickest of pace. The change is on the horizon and I cant face it I want to put my sunglasses back on and hide from the dawn that is change.

I contemplate going to the movies alone but I’ve already made promises I am not allowed to break and I cant go to the movies, I cant do what I want, I cant do who I want because down that road there is another loss. Stay within the lane, its like bowling and I’m terrible at bowling. I don’t stay in the lanes I don’t knock out all the pins. I have sad days and I do what I want. Or I did, I had this fatal stint with doing what I wanted and whom I wanted and almost lost it all, I had bet it all and practically lost it in an awful game of 10 pins. I hate bowling and I hate sad days, but really I languish in them, both.

a meme of sorts

i myspace and there are always these weird bulletins about different things wear you copy and paste you own thing at the bottom like what would you say if you woke up in bed next to the person above you or click this website what is your stripper name. i usually never do them, its not really my thing but one came across my virtual bulletin board and i couldnt resist, probably because its all about me and i can be selfcentered- i chalk this up to being an only child. anyway the directions are: Type "(your name) is" with the quotes, into a Google search then pick out your favorite 5 respons.


so Rio is:
Rio is aimed at europe
Rio is not for the faint hearted
Rio is stunningly beautiful
Rio is in trouble again
Rio is a bit off the strip

oh and i did my real name for the myspace version. between the two results you can really get a grip of who i am or who google thinks i am or something. it was fun anyway right? try it i highly recommend, im interested to read yours anyway.

(my real name) is:

-tired fo broken promises
-eating and Fredric and Tommy are still in the love tub outside
-on medication, she no longer cringes and cries when she swallows
-refreshingly detailed
-dating Jamie Kennedy

i know lucky right?
so try it out on your own site or comment with your results or dont whatever you want.

These are a few of my favorite things 8/4/05*

Watching the service bars on my cell phone go down with each ring when I try to call people from my bed.

Hanging out in my underwear.

Kleenex with lotion in them.

Rhinestones, rhinos with rhinestones. i used to wear a rhinestone by my right eye everyday for over a year, everyday…

Lying on my back with my legs sticking straight up to the ceiling, especially with shoes on, maybe uggs maybe heels.

Boys, especially ones that don’t call me.


*this is a new thing i think i may get into frequently, it may happen daily, weekly or not at all i'm not sure yet, but it seems promising when i have nothing else to blog about.

a poem about young love

Disastrous love on the wings of a pelican, Swimming, diving, jumping, kissing, caressing, pumping what is it about my dreams that leaves me here dreaming? Scheming, leaning towards you and you lip balm, rice and handsome palm. I’ve seen you at the baseball games, danced with you, didn’t know your name. But now things have changed, names are known feelings shown but thrown away or hidden underneath the hot cold beat of Summertime. Continue the rhyme just to fill the space I look at your face feelings more known then shown, ask you for things I don’t need, take the lead or not please don’t take off your shirt its too hot.

Today on A Girl Named Rio

today i have the wonderful opportunity to be a guest blogger on one of my most favorite sites, Waking Ambrose , i read it daily. The owner of this site has become a very good internet friend and helped me through my blogging traumas, gave me some good advice i should have heeded a lot earlier. anyway his site is a working dictionary with definitions from Ambrose Bierce's Devil's Dictionary as well as Dougs own definitions. its cynical and i adore it. upon telling my non-blogging friends about my gig as a guest blogger they look at me inquisitively and giggle just to say, " i dont think i get it." In a ll reality i'm not positive i get it either but im really excited to participate. Welcome everyone that is stopping by i hope you will come back and most of all thank you Doug. ( ew...i know i'm gushing a bit but this is what happens when i get excited)

how things change

I got my first boyfriend when I was 14 years old and he was 17. I was young and he was naïve, we waited for over a year to have sex. We were very much in love and thought that we would be together forever. I recently was going through some old journals trying to find a poem I had written to put on my blog; instead I found some stuff that he had written in one of my journals. I’m going to put it on here, I don’t know if this is legal but I highly doubt his rambling story was copy written or that he will ever find out. I found the story to be so ironic because we are now nothing alike but at one time all the things he wrote were what I wanted. Dear god what was I thinking?

Once there was a little girl who had beautiful curly hair. She was the best ballerina in the whole entire world. One day she fell in love with a boy named Teddy. After that day she was very happy because Teddy loved her and she loved Teddy. As they got older the ballerina and Teddy got married. They lived together in a house on Carmel Valley Road. The ballerina was in plays and ballets in San Francisco and blew glass on the weekends. Teddy turned out to be one of the smartest businessmen in California. Not only were they some of the wealthiest people in the world but they were definitely the happiest. Happiness is the most important thing to them and even though they can have anything in the world that they want they still have the most important thing in the world, love. The thing that binds two together for eternity not the weak bond of lust. He would send her flowers every one-year anniversary. Everyday he would make her laugh and love life to the fullest. She would make his heart warm every time that he would see her or hear her voice. Even in her old age she would make him feel like the most fortunate man in the world. Even today if you listen hard in her moms house you can hear her laughing with joy and love from him tickling her or just because they were in true love. Now both of them are together with no separation. They are like two unicorns that are running on the clouds of heaven with each step they fall higher into love. Everyday they tell each other how much they love each other and they are lucky that they met each other.


I guess it is a nice story; the writing is interesting which would explain why he is into bodybuilding, cars, frats, and business and not art. We broke up because he had been away at college for a year and two months into his second year he thought he would want to be with other people, to experience other people. That was about four years ago and he went out with one girl for a short amount of time and is just recently seeing a girl who his mother says looks just like me. I think it’s obvious I took this other people thing serious and really got into the game. Anyway I guess there will be no unicorns flying through the clouds of heaven for us anymore. Actually I think he might be gay.

Still no answers

I left my house with a new accomplishment in mind; once again thinking this is another boy that just must be taken care of. Now this certain boy holds a little bit of work but we have the tension that needs to be popped, and quickly as far as I was concerned. He is a former roommate from Australia, and this was his going home party. He’s beautiful and probably my best friend to date, we tell each other everything so he knows how crazy I can be and he can match my craziness and probably raise me 20 or so. I however had left out the fact that he would be my conquest for the night until the next morning. Once it came to game time I positioned myself between him and any other possibly considered pretty girl and he pulled me into the bathroom, of course, my game plans rarely go unsuccessful. We kissed with much giggling and shhhhh’s we embraced, this embrace that had been on the verge of our lips, our bodies. Knocks came looking for us both and we smiled and silently laughed to each other and then the worst part came; he was kissing me and I could see it in the reflection of the mirror, now under any other circumstance this would be extremely hot and even upon retelling this part of the story many friends have considered it to be hot, I however was disgusted. Not by him I mean it was hot, he was hot I however was disgusted by watching myself be kissed. I have this fascination with looking at myself in the mirror when I am drunk or otherwise altered and saying to myself “ what the hell are you doing Rio? What are you thinking?” and this is what I found myself doing asking myself what I imagined I was going to find with this aussie? I found a lot of fun, I guess but its just getting old all these mirrors and boys. We ended up in his bed with him murmuring through the night, “ why didn’t we do this earlier? We should have been doing this the whole time you lived here.” While I agreed with these ideas I found myself thinking: another bed and still no answers.

Ties that bind

From the sparkle of her earring to the gleaming polish of her toes she couldn’t help but close her eyes and wish that his voice would stop the glory of it all would end, but there was the poetry that he wouldn’t quit. The poetry of them together was too much to bare, it was better then any Whitman, Frost or Longfellow. It was real poetry, with no bounds and no author, but the music that they made together. The eloquence of the words that danced around them; laughter, forgiveness, loves, peace, blue and water. There was so much more to the book, their book of days to end all days and together they would find what they had been looking for. Or maybe just maybe they will fly away, fly away together to make a new home away from judgment, away from ties that bind.


And so they fall in to it, into their pattern of looks and unknown outcomes for they can not say what the future will hold because they are those ties that bind they are everything and nothing as they lie there together finding themselves finding each other. Their love as fleeting as the dusty wings of a moth meant to take them away, while those wings can take flight with such ease they are so quickly ruined with the slightest touch of a human, a mortal in every sense of the word.

Sad Kisses

Today through the blur of my sleepless hang over I started thinking on the subject of kissing, as I often do. I started thinking about me and my pseudo boyfriend and how our kisses have turned from passionate and uncontainable to sad, very sad. There is a new softness between our lips that wasn’t there before, it’s as if we are trying to hold everything together with our kisses and nothing is working. The clock is ticking so quickly, ever so quickly and I can’t hold him here with my sad kisses.

Upon kissing someone else I begun to compare how these new kisses were so happy and so tight while my other kisses were falling apart a the seams. Maybe it was technique, maybe it was experience maybe it was the passion of a three year build up. I’m not even sure it was worth it even though I often refer to this new kisser as the love of my life. This love, this young love and his perfect tongue, shed so much light on the aspects of other relationships I am attempting to hold on to with sad kisses and lies. I hate that those fresh kisses made me sad instead of excited for future rendezvous. I did however tell my mother and she said she was very happy for me. Apparently I was wrong, they do want to know about your conquests and they think they are good things, probably in moderation. I’m getting too old for this shit. Sad kisses and happy tongues, drunken madness and Usher- a night that I wish I could return to and tweak to perfection.



On side note: Professor Paul are you still reading?

“Run the scenario”: summer

The taste of alcohol exploded into my brain, my blood. I concentrated on sucking all the liquid from the slush of ice. In the hot sun we melted, me and my fruity drink. And I pondered me and my fruity drink. Was this it? Was this all there was? Sun and hiding. Could I possibly be once again crushing myself into another once a week viewing of my admiration. The coolness of the pool called to my frying legs, the ideals of total succumb through the eyes of a fish. And there she lays just a few chairs over, the object of my admiration. Shit. Summer.

Lying at the pool surrounded by dirty feet and towels, cups with BUD LIGHT printed on them containing drinks I don’t know the name of but desire to experience each. And I stare at everyone so scantily clad. Eyes closed, eyes open. Little girls with soda, grown men with fries, me with pencil and paper. It was much too much in reality. Mostly I stared at her, the perfection of her tan, her tan thighs, the way sea horses danced across her bathing suit, it was too much. And yet I had chosen to sit by her to get a better view, to get the courage to talk to her.

Three woodpeckers pecked away at the swaying palms, so cliché, so oxymoronic. Woodpeckers and palm trees and yet they swayed together against the backdrop of blue. Each palm a different height, each woodpecker climbing higher and higher against a backdrop of Dave Mathews. And I sucked the toxic liquid from my ice haven to escape this heaven. Where I found myself questioning every aspect of my life. “Solace comes to those who drink.” – a proverb in the making. And summer, summer at its finest moment.

They sat next to us, these two old guys. She’s beautiful so I understand why. She was rubbing oil on herself as he lay down his towel smiling under his dark glasses. I wanted to protect her, put some force field around her so he couldn’t watch her. It wasn’t enough. As he sat I overheard him mutter things but there was one phrase that stuck out. “ Run the scenario, run the scenario,” he said to his friend. They muttered something about high heels then the talked turned to Japan and business. “ Run the scenario… fucking Samurai. I didn’t get it all and again retreated to my bloody mary. His Texan accent threw me. Oh and he kept talking about celebrities in Hollywood and “ wait till I through this Hollywood actor in the mix.” It was like he knew the lady in the high heels would notice and suddenly want to do his fat, hairy, ugly, white self. I think not and stop staring at my pseudo girl friend and her amazing lips…

drunk dialing...your parents

recently i found a trend among my friends that are soon to be legal drinking agen and those have just become legal; when thye get drunk they often call their parents. i have even done it and i've called my parents when on e once too. its weird, i guess we are at this place where they are about to become more of our friend and not our guardian and for me i have just realized how cool they are and really, what drunk person doesnt want to talk to someone they think is cool? so i realized all this yesterday. i was attending a wedding where my mother was the officiant and my father was one the groomsmen. about half of those attneding are in A.A. i guess you can only imagine what the other half were, anyway i was in the other half and so was my date (the Ex) and we were making up for everyone who couldnt drink. he tried to convince me to hook up with him in the bathroom but i wasnt drunk enough, it was the middle of the day and my parents were there. anyway as we were going to leave i kept saying how i needed to go talk to my parents, even after three glasses of wine and one of champagne. i did, it was awkward and so we left and upon arriving at his house he went to talk to his parents, as i took off my dress anf flopped into his bed i began thinking how weird it was that he wanted to talk to his parents when he was drunk and that i had as well, and then i thought how the night before my friend had drunk dialed her mother to check in, and that we had called another friends mom to buy us alochol and see if she wanted to hang out cause we arent quite 21 yet. ( she hooked it up with the alcohol but wasnt down to hang out). so with all this evidence i began mind blogging and then i realized im drunk i'll never remember this to i wrapped myself in a blanket and went to find some paper to write down my thoughts of course at this time, once i had situated myself at the Ex's desk with a pad of paper searching for a pen, did he walk in and to his surprise found me half naked ready to write a novel. he said "what are you doing" i said "i needed to write something down cause im too drunk and ill forget." but saying this made me realize its possible i'll remember. he wondered why i needed to write something down. well i couldnt tell him for my blog because he's the reason i had to start all over because he found my previous explicit blog. oops. anyway good times all around but keep that phone at bay when hitting the bottle, im alomst positive most parents dont want to know which guy your planning on hooking up with tonight especially if hes your first boyfriend's step brother and your doing it because you think its the chance of a life time, they wont think its legendary or cool.

sitting in showers; feeling a waste

I was just sitting in the shower in fact I’m still naked and dripping wet because I was afraid that I would forget what I was mind blogging in there- my memory is so shot from too much illegal fun I cant remember things easily lately. Anyway I was sitting in the shower and the honesty started flowing quickly, my eyes sting at the rate of the honesty that looked back at me in the mirror. Sitting in the shower I was thinking about how awful everything is, my lack of funds and the weekly bank reminders of my overdrawn account, my lack of employment and employmentability for that matter, I have no skills, I’m getting fat again, its all the fast food and no drugs, damn it damn it. So sitting in the shower I thought about what would happen if I don’t get into school, what if my conditional acceptance becomes unaccepted because i didn’t check my credits carefully or my transcript doesn’t come in time. I have no motivation and so much to do. The waters hitting my face like a heavy rain and I wish I was drowning because all this noise would go away but I just turn up the heat and continue to sit its getting dark out its getting dark in. I think my blogging ability is returning, a little depression goes a long way but honesty takes you right back to square one.

beer and irons

oh wow. well since i quit my job at the boy scout camp i've been getting these weird odd jobs from my family. like cleaning out my cousin's cabinets or washing her windows. anyway i'm not really making any money which has done terrible things to my bank account like overdrawn it. so today i had nothing to do and my mother signed me up to iron pillow cases at my aunts bed and breakfast rentable mansion-ish type place. she does most of the cleaning herself. so all afternoon thats what i did. we played music and she told me about the woes of her daughter's feautureless relationship with her boyfriend. is was fun. then we went swimming in the pool and cleaned out the leaves because apparently the german business men staying there now told her, " we love your pool but can you take out the bugs." (think german accent) we did our best to get the bugs out. and then we split a beer and some tortilla chips and went back to ironing. mind you i dont think i've ever really ironed before, im not very domestic or helpful around the house for that matter, definately not wife-ish, not that i should be i'm 20 but anyway i got to iron my way today: to the dirty dancing soundtrack and with a glass of beer. ah this summer is looking up or maybe i'm just about to pass out. i would tell you more about my summer but i dont quite have the courage to delve back into my fast times since the incident. more later when i've had some more beer or when i get the guts to throw caution to the wind.

in love?

I fell in love and its too late. It was the last thing I ever wanted to do but it was a literal fall. I wasn’t looking and didn’t want it but it happened like being washed down a drain during a storm, there was nothing for me to grab on to and no way for me to shake him loose. Hes sweet but hes moving and that’s the reality, I have to finish school, and I don’t find myself thinking hes the one and hes worth waiting for but… hes funny, and I always laugh when I am with him, mostly at him. We’ve gotten there,, I just said I love you to him over the phone it was freaky and so time warranted. It feels as if because he is moving we know that not exactly real, because it has to be over the day he steps on that plane, that caution can be thrown down that same drain and we may as well do it all while there is still time. There is however the other side of the coin where I expect that he is constantly cheating on me and I am cheating on him to get back at him. We are too much alike to be honest with each other but when we are together the rest of the world no longer exists. The cell phones are turned off (for fear of other mates calling), if out in public we are fairly oblivious to other strangers except the frequent good looking stranger that we both will weigh in as an option or a threat. I miss him and hes still here for another month. In this month so much will change, so much will be over and so much will begin. He wont be here but we will still have the memories. And yes I do talk of the pseudo boyfriend what has become of his pseudo-ness? I know not but he went to my family event yesterday, it was ……well interesting luckily I think they were drunkish and will hopefully forget the fact that hes a wigger? Probably not oh and yes I love a wigger.

brittney spears

today, or maybe it was yesterday this whole week really blurs together, anyway i caught the end of one those shows on mtv or VH1 something about brittney spears and kevin and their life, i think it was some kind of federline family marathon cause i saw there was another similar show on after. they were talking about that letter that she wrote that supposedly changed her life, ive heard other tidbits about this letter but dont know the complete story, so one of those medicore comedians that they have hired to be experts on famous people for some reason starts saying how bad the letter was and what a terrible writer brittney is (yes we are and first name basis) so that got me thinknig about my writing and since i have started blogging how much i have been commended for the quality as well as entertainment value that my writing has. maybe brittney should start a blog, not that she has time but it cold help her writing cause we all know that is a big concern of hers. forget your abs brit we want some shakepeare shit about you and the fed. ew gross i can tbelieve i just blogged about brittney spears and her husband, im so not that kinda girl. not that anyone besides doug is reading this for the time being, thanks doug im working on my following.

brown sugar

and no this has nothing to do with a rap video or hip hop dancers, although that could be another blog as i do love hip hop dancers anyway. today i was transfering some brown sugar from a box to a jar, this is my job i organize cabinet and shelves for the time being, and as i got a wiff of the stuff i couldnt help but soak in everything that brown sugar is. i've come to the conclusion that i happen to love the scent, while it is so sickeningly sweet it alomost smells sour or rank at the same time, reminds of myself. anyway my favorite part is the granules how sharp yet grainy they are and alhtough the texture is rough they melt so easily in the wetness of your mouth. as tacky as they are i love those wedding cakes made to look like sand castles where they use brown sugar as the sand, im so silly my second blog about brown sugar but this is my day, brown sugar? eh? i'm thinking i get some brown sugar scented perfume, just smelling the stuff made me want to do me so that has to be good. oh i never got to the tase oh wow thats like the best part, i love it because its not as refined as white sugar, much more random and misshappen, more real. and here i go more about brown sugar, i promise i'll think of something better soon. i'll be eating it while i think of something else to tell you'all about.

my heart

it feels as if my heart has been ripped from my chest and therein lies an empty hole where flowers may grow or open coals will burn. rio~like a river every flowing ever changing making new and cleansing itself cleansing from the inside out, so i will sit and cleanse as a river as a rio and dance upon the sand dance to my non-existing heart's content spin until there is no one watching and i can finally sit and rest from my running from my spinning thank you for being here thank you for letting me go.