this imploding heart

A small walking tour of the 3 blocks surrounding my work.

sidways trees.

What's up, Seattle.

the girls in their kneesocks, they've all got it made

Ooooh, baby fall do I love you. Yes.

I want to flip my hair over one eye and flirt with you at the bus stop. i want to put my hand in your coat pocket and rustle around in the debris. I want to chat with you in the round back metal chairs outside my coffee shop on the corner of P_ _ E and BEL_ONT where the paint was stronger on some letters than others. I want to listen to you whisper as I walk through you. I want to smell you all around when I wake up and I want it to be too cold to get out of bed in the morning. I want to hide from you in the bathtub while I read about Boo Boo and Lionel and the tiller of the little sailboat. Tap on my windows at night and leave notes etched in morning fog.

calling you an angel, calling you the nicest things

We're going to have to throw this down semi-list style.

Friday:

Went to the closing weekend of Hothouse Rose at LIVE GIRLS! theater. Saw Daniel Christensen be so creepy greasy man that Dina actually squealed "ewwwwww! thats not daniel!" under her breath in the very small audience.

Wandered down to Marcus' Martini Heaven, where it was decided that we weren't dressed in black enough or remotely super hip enough and it was way too crowded, so we went back upstairs. I think i offended the Club Monaco Spokes Person guy when I left G the message "Oh lord, we're going to the Trattoria next door because it's SOOO painfully hip and SOOO heartbreakingly crowded downstairs.

AND THEN: 2 girls in perfectly matching togas and golden tie on shoes walked by, and an entire sidewalk of chatter stopped dead in its tracks to stare in horror. (freaking pioneer square.)

Other things that happened.

1: I pushed through a fire door to chase a guy wearing chaps. He went into Marcus'

2: Daniel found mysterious bird poop on his waterglass.

3: "And I want a Cocktail! and some french fries! And a pony! and another Cocktail!"

4: Old men making Kissy Face through the window. Daniel making Kissy Face back.

5: (on her cell)"So where is it? Oh wait. I can see you. We're driving past right now."

Saturday:

Jackie Onasis and The Incredible Hulk went to 3 different halloween parties. PatrickOpie refused to go because he couldn't find a costume he liked. The Incredible Hulk and Jackie O flirted with Everyone. We heart the Amish, the Undercover Cop, and the Ghost.

1: "Oooh. I don't like this. I think this is your beer now."

2: "Hulk, you wanna little of this?" from a rocketship, marilyn monroe, and a giant piece of bacon. Thanks guys!

Sunday:

Hulk no like Daylight Savings! Daylight Savings make Panic for hulk!

"Intact"

Ummmm. yeah, so....

How to be The Incredible Hulk in 20 minutes:

1: Totally forget that all the parties where you will want to be dressed up are on
Saturday night, which is tomorrow, you numnuts.

2: Suddenly remember that all the parties where you will want to be dressed up are on Saturday night, which is tomorrow, you numnuts.

3: During your lunch hour, go to Bartells. Keep an eye out for your favorite bike messenger, because he gave you the eye when he picked up those duplicate keys today. (He totally likes you! Jump up and down while no one is looking.)

4: Upon arrival at Bartells, visit the stockings aisle. Add to your little red basket two (2) pairs of off white tights.

5: Since the stockings are right next to the lipstick, wander briefly through the dark reds and see if there's anything you like.

6: Focus, damn you! Head over to the 'Seasonal' aisle. here is where you pick up the 2 cans of green hairspray, one of gold, green makeup markers, and some fake silver eyelashes just because you want them.

7: Didn't you need some of that apricot scrub? Yep. You did. And some saline spray. And some gel because you want sticky uppey hair for the costume. and a toothbrush. and one of those scrubby fingernail pads. and maybe a rain hat. yeah.

8: Um, don't you have to go back to work? Start walking.

9: On the way back, you see bike messenger coming off of 5th ave. 'Smile at him! No! Pretend you don't see him! No, stupid! smile! No, fake to the left and run! '

10: Stupid, stupid you. Has that Dealership song taught you nothing?

11: Upon arrival back at work, reaffix your headset and (I just spoke with the sweetest elderly Japanese man wearing a hat with the word 'Winsome' printed on it in white letters. Awww! Winsome!) listen to When Your Heartstrings Break as you try to inconspicuously paint the tights with the green hairspray.

12: this is going to be totally great.

Some Guys conmments about Growing Pains on IMDB

Date: 13 August 2002
Summary: Not up to par with other family shows.

Growing Pains came right into the same time frame as Family Ties, but this show is definatly inferior to Family Ties, and to the later family shows that followed. Although Growing Pains gets a 2 year head start on Full House, and a 4 year head start on Family Matters, its still not as good as either of those shows. Plus I don't find what is so good about this show. I don't find the characters interesting or funny at all, and I find the whole thing to be a waste of time. However once the 90's started this show was starting to look old and eventually just collapsed in 1992. I just don't think the characters had the diversity of Roseanne, or Steve Urkel, or Will Smith. Mike was just Mike and he was no big deal. But in 1985 TV was very light and since the other shows like Roseanne, Full House, Family Matters, so forth didn't come until years later it had no real competition. But once these other shows came out people realized that Growing Pains had nothing going and I'm glad they cancelled it when they did.

So...are you saying you didn't like it?

are you eating meat again or is it still tofu and crickets?

Dear Rat Cat Hogan and Revolutionary Hydra and girl named Andrea who opened the show even though she was really sick.

It was great to feel like we were all in someone's basement and you were playing to people you knew and liked. (an audience of 20, including bands, sound guy, and waitress) And it was fun to figure out Where I Know You From with people who turn out to be mutual acquaintances, and it's neat when I write 'I heart zombies' on a napkin and the girl I was just introduced to in the red pants says "I love zombies too."

and I like how you like to play, and the number one hydra fan just got married, and you all made him a hat.

and I'm leaning on this broken fence between past and present tense

Last night was the first official rehearsal-rehearsal for Tank Plays. We're using 33 Fainting Spells rehearsal space in the old Oddfellows Hall. I'd like to note the extreme oddness of the oddfellows hall, which points a finger at the oddness of the oddfellows. Clubs like that used to be everywhere, and the buildings to house them were mindblowingly large. What happened? Don't old men want to initiate each other by hitting each other in the balls on a specially designed bench while wearing strange hats and eating spaghetti anymore? What gives?

Rehearsal struck a certain chord of fear in my heart. I realized that all the sudden, when I try to write or read or sew, the words 'showshowshowshowshowshowshowshowshowshowshowshow' start running like a electronic readerboard at the bank through my mind. Nothing productive about the show, really. Just the words. showshowshow. Additionally, if you want to do something in the next few weeks, it's going to have to be after 11pm. So feel free to call. After 11. and expect me to answer the phone like this "Showshow? Yes, show is Sonya. Show, I'd love to come get a show at Linda's with you. 15 minutes? Show you there!"

In other news, I've decided to go for the glory and write a novel in a month. See the NaNoWriMo link for more information. I'm writing a superhero supersaga, If you want to be in it, send me a character description and a catch phrase. Feel free to make yourself bigger and better than you ever hope to be. I know I am. (Few will enter, so most will win.)

My novel will suck, and it will suck gloriously.

Daymaker (thanks, sam.)

It seems the truth (yeah) is all a lie

Welcome to my mouth, new golden tooth. I hope you are never captured by robbers and will promptly decide to get over your hot/cold sensitivity. I hope you and your brother directly opposite you in my mouth help balance my chi. I hope I never decide it's a good idea to get a diamond planted in you for fashions sake. I hope you match all of my ensembles. I hope my many secret boyfriends find you charming once they realize they've been in love with me all this time. I hope the dentist doesn't make me pay for you, and if he does, that I will suddenly discover the money in the bottom of my sock drawer. I hope I can take out loans against you. I hope you like candy corn, seeing as how it's october. I hope you want to dress up as The Incredible Hulk for halloween, cause that's what we're doing anyway.

It feels like years since it's been clear.

Hey look, the newly proposed postering regulations are out and they look reasonable. Anybody want to cut out of work and go to a city council meeting with me?

I know you said you thought you'd be here

I honestly can't remember how we got started.

No. Wait. Dinner. I remember that.
In a yellow demilitarized army barracks in the middle of nowhere on Friday night.
I was drinking my fourth lowsugar hot chocolate with a healthy serving of peppermint schnapps and trying to think of a word that would make my team say 'Delaware'. We only had 10 seconds left, and I couldn't remember a damn thing about Delaware. I think I said 'Liberty Bell' as a long shot, and it was a long shot in entirely the wrong direction. Ed was looking smug. gilly was blowing her nose and wearing a hat. Josh was drinking a bottle of Jack like a beer. The strange part was that no matter how much we continued to pour back, no one but Krebs was getting drunk. Krebs, however, was getting very very drunk.

Cut to the second part of this scene. There were middle school kids from the camp across the road running around the giant black feild with glowsticks chasing an alien who was actually a guy in his graduation gown with a box over his head. His name was Jason. I wanted to kiss him for just under 7 seconds. I didnt. He probably would have been uncomfortable, and I never would have heard the end of kissing the silver spraypaint alien in the middle of the feild.
Hands clutching glowsticks would swing in that uncomfortably graceful middle school run, making the pitch blackness of it all dotted with green lights floating on the backs of ducks.
It got later, but it couldnt get any darker. All the ducks had gone to bed.

"Swing me!"

I jumped and threw my arms around his neck while J grabbed me around my ribs and swung my legs out from under me.* This is level 10 on the tireswing. Clutching the chains for dear life as momentum falls in love with you.

we all lay down in the grass and tricia explains to krebs the party a few years ago where she and Josh met and josh broke his hand trying to weild justice on a first class asshole and someone got sick on someone else.

Tricia "That party would have been tonight. Two years ago tonight.'

and then I remembered. "So if we were still in love, tonight would have been my anniversary."

Josh: "That's right. Same party."

Molly and I ran off into the bushes to expose the goods to the wildlife after Josh and krebs started discussing God. Big naked circles dressed only in darkness and molly almost broke her tiny naked ankle.

A few hours later, Josh shined his flashlight on a tree and motioned to Tricia and I.

"Are you in or out?"

and I'm pretty sure we were both in.

*Please Note: This is how I got that scrape by my eye. Josh's stubble caught my cheek when I was jumping up. He did not bite me, as several people suspected. Nor did he drop me while hanging me upside down by my feet. Which is what he suspected.

don't let him take me honey, don't let him handle me.

Hey, remember this? What started as a phonetic sensory email from work has turned into quite the serial, and Matthew's updated it lately. Read from top to bottom. C'mon. You've got nothing better to do. (and I bet you'd be welcome to submit if you wanted to write an episode.)

As we go up, we go down

It's worth mentioning that if you typically have dinners that consist of asparagus, rice, soybeans and toast, and then one night you decide to have pop tarts, bar-b-q potato chips, coco with baileys, and candy corn for dinner, your body is going to have an uprising against you the next day. Consider yourself warned.

The thing is, when i was a kid I always imagined that being an adult would be better because you can do whatever you want on your own terms. I was right. Comparatively, being an adult is freaking fantastic. It's been several years, but there are still days when I wake up on someones couch somewhere across the city and the first thing that comes to mind is "Oh shit, what am I going to tell my mom?" and the next thing that comes to mind is "I don't have to tell her anything. Yay!" I can never go to bed, or I can sleep all day. I can leave all the cupboards open and throw away all the mail. I was talking with my neices and nephews when I was in Idaho last, and they asked me if I liked living alone. I explained my above theory and closed it off with "and you can eat candy for dinner every night, and there's no one there to tell you no. "

My oldest neice said, "yeah, but you probably don't want to do that, because you'll get sick, or fat."

"True. But all the same, the options of getting sick and fat are all yours."

Because camping means you can eat whatever you want and it doesn't count against you.

Dear Sonya. Look in your bag. Do you have:

Camera’s
Film
Liquor of the whiskey persuasion
Play shoes
Trivial Pursuit
Baseball mitt
Coffee
French press
Sugar (steal packets from office kitchen)
Cream
Pajamas (because you always forget)
Hairbrush (the other thing you always forget)
The other thing you almost forget every day.
Earplugs
Fireworks
Beans cheese rice tortillas vegetables
lowsugar swiss miss and creamy delicious baileys.
Soap
Moisturizer
Frank Sintatra’s greatest hits
Delicate laundry.
Charlton the guitarlton, (check his case for picks and strap.)
Towel
3 skirts 3tops 2 sweaters, Schmezzle Scmagger, dad pants
hairdryer, product, mascara, toothbrush, flouride, floss
Dr. Roberts, DDS’s phone number (in case the stupid temporary falls out)
Braeburn apples, mineola oranges, brussel sprouts, asparagus, annies mac and cheese, peanut butter, soup mix, generic honeycomb in the bag, yogurt, cheese, sixtyninecentwhitebread, butter. Tomatoes. Potatoes, boullion, flour, milk
Flashlight.
Sleeping bag
Pillow
Lots and lots of candy
?

You do? Good girl. Go on retreat. Give yourself permission to leave the meeting when your hear your brain singing 'I don't care' over and over again to the tune of The Jackson Five's 'ABC'.

a lens polisher, a pocket knife, a watch

I can hear him playing as I run down the stairs. I tap on his bedroom door before letting myself in.

"look!"

he sets down his guitar. "You got it all by yourself? I told you it wouldn't be scary. Lets see it."

It's soft and dark leather brown, lined with wool around the wrist to keep from rubbing against the skin. A hole at the first knuckle so you can pull your finger through the back if you like.

"How much?"

"thirty five. Is it okay?"

"Very good, I'm proud of you. Lets go to the park."

Watching Patrick throw a baseball is like watching water ripple. A series of perfectly orchestrated events that look so natural, you wonder why every human body can't do it just like that. Just that easy.

It's 9:30 and there's a soccer game going on at the park, so the lights are on. I throw to patrick and mirror his arm with my own when he throws it back.

"Are you mocking me?"

I toss it back. "Nope. Just trying to get better."

"You are getting better. You're exerting half as much effort and getting the ball farther every time. Less elbow, more fingers."

I like to jump a little when I catch the ball no matter how low the throw is. Patrick finds no end to the hilarity in this. We talk about when we still believed that new shoes made you run faster and the cartoon on your lunchbox lid was really an important part of your life. After about an hour, we sit on short bleachers to watch the rest of the soccer game. We are the only spectators.

Patrick bends over the side to pick up a stray baseball.

"I totally could have pushed you face first in the mud right then."

"I would have dragged you by the feet through every puddle here, and then I would have put you head first into that garbage can."

"I know."

We're quiet for a minute, and without looking at me, he smiles and says "But you would have laughed the whole time I was doing it."

"yep."

let them leave you up in the air

Lets say I had a company that produced vintage style aprons and hair clips and possibly cowboy print pajama bottoms with matching pillow cases. what would it be called?

I try so hard not to care what you think of me

My secret double life is about to be revealed.

I still go dance to house music sometimes.

Which is why I was there in the first place.
I'm at the baltic room with some guys I know and I'm wearing the dad pants because they seem to ward off the boys in button up shirts and dress shoes who define dancing as trying to get their business all up in my business when I'm just trying to shake my ass in peace. Right. Like I was saying.

Dancing at the baltic room, drinking a beer, sharply elbowing the guy who just saw fit to put his hand on my stomach from behind (2 offenses. 1: way too close to my bellybutton. 2: Don't touch me, fuckwad.) . Most of the people here are people who probably still go to raves now and again, and who probably go dancing to this kind of music on a regular basis. For some reason, there's a table of kids I see at local rock shows all the time upstairs, and they're obviously not here for the music. They each take turns coming downstairs, looking bored, looking up at the table, walking out on the dance floor, openly mocking whoever's nearest to them, looking back up at the table, continuing to look bored, leaving the dance floor. Look tigers. If you don't like it, that's fine. I not totally wild for it myself. What I don't understand is, why'd you pay seven bucks to sit around and make fun of people while listening to music you don't like? There are plenty of places you can go to make fun of people for free. fuckwads.

Back to the boomtat. There's this guy near me wearing giant goggles and a shirt that reads 'Hustler'. He looks a lot like the roomate who had cats and mixed breakfast cereal, and I keep trying to see if it's actually him. It's not, but he comes up to me later and says "You have really nice continuation...you know...when you dance."

"Um. Thanks."

While it was a nice compliment and at no time did he attempt to touch bathing suit area, I have no idea what it means.

The end.

Because Oh Shit.

1: Okay. If I accidentally thought your marimba concert was at 8 instead of 7 and missed it entirely, would you rather make me eat beet and sweet potato soup that looks like menstrum or give myself one of those totally stupid cheek piercings? (sorry erin. I super suck.)

2: a lawn full of dogs or a lawn full of ducks?

3: We're playing 'Who's Your New Boyfriend/Girlfriend' at the Rocksport. Your options are:

A:the smirnoff representative girl in the ya-ya exposing shorts tickleing the chin of the balding accounts payable guy in the pleated khakis because it's her job and she likes it.

B: Sensitive Ponytail guy drinking a cranberry juice and soda and coughing loudly every time someone with a cigarette walks by Because He's Tryyyyyiiing To Appreeeeciate The Muuuusic.

C: The bass player for the band named Black Smack Heart Attack, who is constantly flaring his nostrils and tipping his head back, or turning his back to the audience and giving you a full view of his greasy man hair.

D: White Girl Dreadlocks in the Dave Matthews T-shirt, hemp pants and sandals smelling like patchouli and doing that weird hippie-swoopy dance to the very hard rock of Black Smack Heart Attack.

4: (lets try this one more time to see if you've all changed your fool minds.) Fight to the death vs Zombies or Fight to the death vs Pirates?

5: Revenge of the Nerds or Animal House?

6: Okay, now we're playing Who's Your New Girlfriend/Boyfriend but you have to date a band. (not the members of the band, the entire idea of the band.) Who's your new Bandfriend?

7: Cigarettes in the Bathtub or Burbon on the Fire Escape.

8: Does Canada Have An Army?

9: Now you're a superhero. Please state your superhero name, superhero power, and mild-mannered daytime cover-up occupation.

10: Monster Truck Rally or Foxy Boxing?

I'll sing a song, and you can hum along

Thursday:

Patrick Opie bought the biggest motherfucking pumpkin I've ever seen. It was too heavy to weigh on the scales at the store, so they estimated it was 25 pounds. He paid 4.75 for it. This proved to me that my parents were lying all those years when I wanted the big pumpkin and they said it was too expensive. It's a squash! C'mon! I'm totally calling my mom out on this one.

Friday:

J thinks this bar should be in Montana, or Alaska, because it's big and wooden. You might think the same if you had never been to montana or alaska, but all the bars I've seen in Montana are about the size of double wide trailers and I would assume Alaska is the same. (These are the states my father wants to live in, by the way. He loves to fish.)
After the show, J heads home and I return to the bar with the booth girls. Alicia smoked cigarettes while G flipped through Cosmopolitan. "They have all these sex tips but it's never anything everybody doesnt know."

I was quiet for a while and tried to put my finger on the thing that was bothering me. My teeth hurt horribly, but that wasnt it. I turned to gilly.
"I don't like it here. I think I'm gonna go home."

Saturday

I wake up and realize that there's a whole bunch of money in a yellow manilla envelope in my satchel. I try to reach the phone without getting out of bed which causes me to fall kind of slowly and at a bad angle, so my face kind of skids across the rug. The blankets are coming with me, though, so I don't really care. It is store-the-milk-on-the-back-porch-and-turn-off-the-fridge cold and my legs hurt from my random attempts to create new high impact excercises. I call Ben. We meet for coffee and it takes me a half an hour to walk up the stairs because my ass and thighs fall in to a burning ring of fire every time I take a step. (they go down down down and the flames, they go higher, and it burns burns burns, the ring of fire, the ring of fire.)

Ben"My sister just had a baby a few days ago. You wanna go look at it?"

You bet your ring of fire I do.

Insert here: clouds and hearts and tiny tiny babyness and Target with the seventeen year old stock boy who was playing it oh so cool, and steven hando's battle with going uphill and the fact that Ben and I and hopefully Paul will be going to see GWAR this month. Dashboard Confessional is playing the same venue the next night. This, my friends, is rock and roll.

Later:

I went with Alisha and POW to see The Bella Fayes at the Rocksport in West Seattle.
Now, the rocksport is just that. A sports bar with the occasional rock band. Weird scene. Lots of loose fitting leather pants and the smirnoff representative girls in laserbeam shirts and the tiniest shorts I've seen in my life. I couldnt help but stare. The BF's and Alisha A. and Patrick and I went across the street to a chinese bar that was called either New Luck Toy or Toy Luck Club or something like that. The drunks from accounting were singing a duet of Endless Love when we walked in. The whole thing was short lived.

Everyone was spending the night at Alisha's. It just kept getting weirder.

Alisha's roomate came home and started dancing in the window, so the boys in the house next door who never grew out of frat came over and wouldnt leave. We locked the door, they knocked on the window. They tried to start conversations with "So...you all Cougs fans?". Lael explained that we were all going to bed, and they said "Whatever man, you don't have to pretend to be going to bed for our sakes, you can just tell us..." so lael jus shut the door. They brought over a pumpkin and a half rack at 4am. Lord, it was awkward.

When I awoke I was on the highway

Hello sweet-teeth. welcome to this new imploding heart. Since our plans of living together in a nice house with hardwood floors for tricia and a kitchen that wasn't attached to my bedroom for me and a good bathtub for him in real time were thwarted, I'm electronically living with Josh now.

"It's like seeing a rotweiller and his pet duckling walk down the street." -Molly

we have the facts

Wednesday, October 09, 2002

Thanks to Molly for this. And to J for the continual gentle political ass kicking. It's suprisingly easy to write an email that says "Hello, I oppose. Please think of me when you vote.". I just hope no one calls and wants to talk about how I feel, because I'll break down and start wailing "You're killing babies and moms and dads and carpenters and miners and shoe salesmen with money I gave you and now we're all going to go to hell! No killing people! Says God!"

Whew!

Okay now.

1: Big chunk of uncomfortable metal in my mouth until my new golden tooth is ready. Tastes funny and is painful.

2: Put a big check mark next to life goal number 761. Bailey Coy books puts the first line of a novel on their sandwich board every day, and if you guess the book, you get 20 percent off any one thing in the store. I have wanted to know the book of the day since I moved to this city, and on Saturday, I did. It was Running With Scissors ( I bought Brief Interviews With Hideous Men with my discount, and ended up getting The Danish Girl and J.D. Salinger's Nine Stories. I'm ripping through fiction these days.)

3: I accidently turned the brightness knob instead of the volume/power knob on my television, so I woke up to the sounds of Sesame Street this morning. It made my day.

with your nuclear boots and your drip dry gloves

Tuesday, October 08, 2002

oh dentisto, make my mouth all full of gold.

as all the cotton veined numb wears off it starts give off hints that its going to hurt like a son of a bitch pretty soon. it also makes me sleepy and irritable and itchy legged. See Also: i hate everything.

So can I be in your wedding or what? I'll be that weird thing where you stand by the guestbook and badger people into writing down their names. It'll be great. Please? I'll buy you a George Foreman Mini Grill.

Monday, October 07, 2002

Monday, October 07, 2002

It's the year to be hated

It happened like this.

I was in bed trying to finish the book I had suspected would be terrible, but was hoping would do something to convince me otherwise when I heard them.

"Faauuuuckkkkkk Maaan! Fauuuucckkkk!"

It's 1:30am. The parking lot under my first floor window is rented out to doctors and is frequently patrolled for unauthorized vehicles these days. It's unlikely that a late working MD is making this kind of noise. There is a huge car door slam and again with the...

"Faaauuuuaaauuuuaaaauuuuuuuucckkk!"

I pop out of bed and peek through the window. The fauck guy is blonde, short, greasy and pissed. He's beating the shit out of the cutlass cierra they arrived in. A guy I've decided to call Champ is trying to calm him down.

Guy number 3 is the most interesting. He's most certainly wearing a little leather skirt that's short enough to expose the bottoms of his ass cheeks, but he's not really in drag. He has long man hair and Mister T arms. Big Fucking Huge Arms. He's wearing a leather vest, unbuttoned with no shirt and he has something of a beer gut. He makes a grunting sound at random but doesnt say much else. Once Fauck stops beating up the car, they all retreat on foot onto the stairwell that leads between Terry Ave and lower Howell.

Things of this nature happen on a semi regular basis in my neighborhood. No big deal, but for some reason, these guys scared the living fuck out of me. I had run upstairs while Fauck was still beating up the Cutlass and tapped on my manager's door but there was no answer. I decided I was over-reacting and went back to bed.

Two hours later, I'm finishing up my uber disappointing book when I hear someone muttering in spanish in the parking lot. I turned out my light and moved to the window. It was Mister T, and he was saying 'Grando!' over and over again. I tried to peek through the curtains without being spotted by my leather skirted companion as he pulled a duffle bag out of the Cutlass and sat it on the trunk.

"Grando! Grando!" He unzipped the bag and pulled out:

The Biggest, Blackest, Rubber Cock I've Ever Seen In My Life.

Huge. Perhaps you are saying to yourself, 'Come on, Sonya. It was the middle of the night. It was dark. You were hallucinating.' and I will say to you, No. Remember how the lights never fucking go off in that parking lot, creating in my apartment a constant state of brightness? Mm Hm. Big Giant Black Rubber Cock. The thing was bigger around than my freaking forearm and just about as long. Tip of first finger to Elbow. It had some kind of loop on the end of it, so I wouldn't be suprised if it comes with some sort of tripod support system. Mister T picked it up like a rifle. I could see the skin ripples they put on them to make them more realistic, this was getting really fucking weird.

"Grando! Ha Ha! Grando!"

Mister T and Grando retreated to the stairwell and out of sight, ass cheeks bouncing all the way. Again, I don't know why, but this scared the hell out of me. I figure there's really nothing going on though, so I take down the plate numbers for good measure and go to bed.

6:30am. My first alarm has just gone off and I'm drifting back to sleep when I hear in the distance,

"Grando! Mucho Mucho Grando! HaHa!"

I roll out of bed yet again and look out the window. It's Mister T and his amazingly terrifying buddy Grando. He started up the Cutlass and drove off. I don't know what happened to the other guys.

the end.

you can always be down

you can always be down or out

Here's the deal.

I will use your product for free, and you will get paid by marketing people to bombard me with advertisements. I expect this. This is reasonable. there is no free lunch.

However, if I pay for your service, I expect to be left alone. This, hotmail and yahoo, is why I will not be purchasing your fancyness. I will give you twenty dollars, you will continue to bombard me. I refuse.

(It looks like this imploding heart will be moving soon. Thank you, thank you, thank you to those who offered to be a foster parent. You're better than eating pancakes at three in the morning while sitting on the kitchen floor, and that's pretty damn good.)

the skies are black, the

the skies are black, the light can ride you, like having a motorcycle stuck inside you

So now that I've commited myself to cutting my own hair nine times in a row before I decide that I suck at it, I find that it wants cutting all of the time. Anyway, Kate fixed this one after we played trivial pursuit, so it's much, much better than the cut I gave myself in the alley. Don't worry though, the hole is still alive and kicking. (speaking of kicking, the internet is kicking my ass at solitaire. It's a totally different game when you can't cheat.)

Now for the great confession. You know how I took a year off theater? Yeah? Remember that? Well I only made it six and a half months. More details about the tiny little project I've braided into my hair to follow. It was inevitable. Either take on a project or take on anti depressants. I apologize to everyone who asked me to manage for them and was brutally shot down(bret, carys, whathisface from that party with the beautiful seventeen year old, richter, random bathhouse email lady, laura...) with my false cries of "year off!". We all knew I'd crack under the pressure. bring on the mockery. I'll make out with your boyfriend and push your cat down the stairs.*

*or not. probably not, actually. Unless you're the bitch who almost ran me over in the crosswalk yesterday. If so, prepare to have a shoe indention on your pretty little face, baby.

because sometimes we have nothing

because sometimes we have nothing better to do than play online solitaire and take pictures of our knees.

My great new question is this. Why is it so freaking hard to get my hands on a cheap, sturdy, wooden CD rack? I'll tell you why... radio isotopes.

Radio Isotopes combined with my unwillingness to haul my ass down to the bus tunnel and take a metro out to the north end to trudge around a gigantic targetomartamania in search of aforementioned item. I did, however, walk down to the miniature fredmeyerama on broadway where I was once attacked by a woman buying cat food to purchase new bed sheets, a mattress pad and a new shower curtain. Watch my parents even TRY to call it 'artsy'.

In other news a woman just called my cell phone and in a kind of brooklyney accent started shouting "I kept getting calls! It was this! This number! the beeping, Oh, it was driving me crazy."

-sonya shifts down into customer service mode,even though this is a private line.-

"Ma'am, this is a cellular telephone number. There is no fax line attached to it, and no way whatsoever it would have been able to try and fax you yesterday evening. Do you understand?"

"Oh! the terrible beeping! Where is it coming from? are you doing this to me?"

I wanted to kill her, but I was extremely polite. It was just like the good ole days.