this imploding heart

williamsburgh

In the last 24 hours, I've been sunkissed, windkissed, snowkissed and roast beef sandwich kissed. I have a new dress.

wont you take me to...

The Chinatown express from boston to ny really does pick up RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ON-RAMP. Just in case you were thinking that was totally absurd. Praise the name of that one guy who had taken it before and gave us the heads up. It turns out connecticut is actually a state, a state that looks like a giant suburb. (stacia, I'm looking at you.) Our driver at one point, laid down on the horn for 57 seconds straight. Nobody else seemed to think this odd. It was odd for me.

Patrickt started our visit off right by having his pants rolled up around mid calf. We went up the Empire State Building, and brave brave patrickt tore himself away from the inner wall long enough to help me get my skirt back around my ass as opposed to up around my hips. New York has officially seen my ass, I can just go home right now.
We visited the small press book fair and both fell in love at a reading. The associate editor of Paris Press had better watch out, because his sweet literary ass is mine. The small publishers at the fair, however, would not fucking leave me alone to look at their books, so I ran away.(Oh! You like that? I read that to my daughter, it's all about feelings and relating to adults, blah blah blah I'm an author blah blah blah.). Somebody asked me if I was a writer, and I said "If all these people are calling themselves writers, I might as well do it too, right?"
She didn't think that was as funny as I did.

-Hey, fat boys, email me your addresses, please-. logan, you too.

much love.

sonya

too long a story

Today was spent entirely in the Harvard infirmary.

I am having a good time.

day one.

Im in boston, cambridge more specifically. Okay now, maybe I called you a little drunk from the chicago airport. ha ha ha.

Okay now, It should be noted that the guy at the airport was the reason I had the extra beers. He was a protester during the vietnam period and we talked about how his peers were growing more and more conservative. He said that the cynicisim of my generation may be the only thing that saves us. We talked for a long time. I sat on the plane with a guy who was reading "Letters to a Young Conservative". I didn't press it.

more when available. heart.

sjet

Air traffic control? It's me.

Hello my melting popsicles,

I'll be back in the emerald city in tenish days. If you are in boston or NY, I may or may not be seeing you shortly. If you want to hang out at MDW tomorrow from around 1:00 to 4:00 chicago time, come on down. I'll be the girl in the pink hat, and I'll buy you one of those giant beers. Just don't be creepy, okay?

I'll miss you. You can borrow my clothes but stay out of my records.

Love,

sonya

And it fell right out of the sky

Agnese sent me a delightful email with some design added to some of my older posts (including my favorite of my own writing ever, can you guess which one it is?). Please view what she's created here.

tell me am I right to think that there could be nothing better

Hello sweet-teeth,

I slept for twenty hours and had a dream that I found a six hundred dollar bill. Even in the dream I realized it was bogus.

12 hours into the sleep the phone rang and it was Molly

"Hoods up, fat boy. You sleeping? Can I come by?"

"Whaaaat?"(you haven't met me asleep? you don't know about the madness.)

but then I had a new pink hat! Holy shit! Pink hat! I'm wearing it right now in secret.

Love you hate you

Hi babushkas,

I'm sick. I'm going on vacation in 2 days. No making out for me.

Being sick makes me wildly vulnerable. I pout and kind of scrunch up my head and shove my hands in my eyes and I want you to hold me and not touch me at the same time. Can you do that? Then you're hired. Also: tell me I'm pretty, but no-looking-at-me!

I'm getting a temp and going home in an hour or so. Any recommendations for movie rentals? VHS only, please.

here, but not here.

There is something so satisfying in wearing a dress I made myself, and something doubly satisfying in the fact that it makes my visible girl features look fantastic without being revealing. Ducklings are chaste.

I'm thinking about the millions of people's whos lives my taxes are paying to destroy, but not here. Here. and Here.

So get your education on elsewhere. If you've come here to escape, I'll write you a little something and direct you elsewhere. First, the elsewhere:

1: Joshy writes about war by not writing about war, and we get to hear a pleasant little story about socks in the meantime.

2: Oblivio humanizes things and also reminds us how much we like Girls Are Pretty

3: Girls are Pretty make us laugh and then feel bad for laughing and then laugh even harder.

4: The I Saw You's that we read and pretend its for funny but we really really secretly want to be authentically seen.

5: Sam fixes everything. And fish.

and now, some distraction from this imploding heart.

I cleaned my finals clock. I kicked my finals ass. I punched my final in the throat. I drop-kicked my final to bits. I alley jumped my final while it was holding 2 ice cream sandwiches. I think I got an A in the class overall, that is why I'm now the smartest one in the megaverse. Feel free to ask me everything, all of my answers are correct. All questions will be answered correctly on monday.

In the jealous games people play

Ladies, I want you to stand up, put your hands on your hips, jutt out your chin and repeat the following this imploding heart spring fashion mantra:

If you abide by these rules, my fancy-underpant-clad comrades, anything is possible.

Shoes: Remember how when you were little, your easter shoes were frequently pink, or white, or yellow patent leather and extremely painful? Yeah, Okay. I'm a big advocate of comfy shoes, but I'm also a big advocate of color, and this year I'm backing the traditional newborn colors. Pink, Light blue, and Yellow. However, the key is that the shoes make you feel like someone is just about to sweep you up and spin you around and your shoes are going to ensure that this will be the most adorable moment ever for any spectators. Additionally, don't be afraid to swipe some ruffle socks from the girls section of your local drugstore. Drugstores always have ruffle socks.

Hair: We all know how to do this.

1: Get some hot hot action.

2: Check out your hair immediately afterward or possibly during.

3: Get some product and emulate on a daily basis. (For the short hair girls, I'm a big fan of DiFi's D struct and Kiwi spray in wax. When I had long hair, I think I just twisted it around a pencil in a bun when I got out of the shower and let it go when it was almost dry. A little blow dryer action after that and good to go.)

And while we're on the topic, I fucking love the home haircut plan. I've had better cuts this year than ever. Thanks Trixie!

Underwear: Okay, have you guys seen these? Ho-ly Shit, make your butt feel cuter than it's ever been and they're totally invisible. You can buy the victoria's secret expensive ones, or you can check them out and then go buy the knockoffs at Fred Meyer for a third of the price.

Now, perhaps you're saying "But Sonya, this isn't really fashion, this is kind of old news, like those sex tips in Cosmopolitan that everybody already knows about!" and I say "Ah, young thriftshopper, This is just a basis for understanding." See, if you have cute shoes, hair, and underwear, you're going to feel better all over. You've got that neat "My feet are adorable, my hair says come hither, and my underpants are a wonderful secret that allow me to sashay all over this room. I'm the prettiest girl here!" And you are, baby. You are. These are the equivalent of boys black pair of pants and t shirt. Lets continue from here.

It's become apparent in the last few weeks that the best tops are found in the little boys department, and come emblazoned with dragons fighting tigers, monster trucks, tractors, street fighters, etc. They come right below the waistband of your kicky a-line skirt* and they add a spunky little bite to your flirty skirty hair and shoesy look.

Jewelry is all about found objects. Bread ties woven into rings, Keychain charms such as those little etch-a-sketches or giant plastic number 1's put on a chain and worn as a necklace. All wrapping ribbon removed and laced up the wrists like ballerina's lace their shoes up their legs.

Additionally, if for a moment you thought it was a good idea to show the top of your thong peeking over the waistline, it wasnt'. It isn't. Stop it now. See below for rules about belts.

You're the prettiest girl here!

*If you don't have a kicky a-line skirt yet, here's what to do. Go to value villiage and find any A-ish skirt in good color that looks good from waist to knee. Length is almost always the problem. Take that bad boy home and put it on. With a pencil, make a mark right below the length you want the skirt to be. Cut off everything below that. Staple a quarter inch of skirt under, fold and staple another quarter inch. Presto! New A-line, no sewing, perfect length.

doesnt matter what they say

I know you've been holding your breath for this one. It's the this imploding heart spring fashion commandments! And breathe.

Okay boys, lets start with you. Got twenty bucks? Lets go to Value Village.

The first thing you need is a belt. I'm tired of those pants kind of hanging off your non-existant ass. Belt, pronto. Put it on in the aisle there, you can pay for it when you get to the front. This is a matter that calls for drastic measures. Put on the belt. If you are now finding that the pants you were wearing that you thought were long enough for you are riding around mid calf, lets go look at pants.

I think you've finally learned to stay well enough away from those pleated pants, so the rules are open to interpretation, except for the following:

It is not 1985. If you rip the knees entirely out of your pants, you may not leave the excess fabric flapping in the wind. I'll fix that shit for you if you're really THAT attached to those pants. Otherwise, they are for car fixing and TV watching only, even if you're in a band. No, -especially- if you're in a band.

No Pleather. No exceptions. you can wrap your ass in burnt velvet if you like, but no pleather. You are not a seat at dairy queen.

Okay, did you pick out some new pants? lets see em. Okay. 3 pairs. Lets do the test. Take the first pair and grab on to the inseam of each leg. Pull gently apart. Now pull a bit harder, similar to the pull your pants will endure if you squat dow to pet a dog or test the soil on your new farm. Are they ripping? No? Good. Repeat with the other pants. If all three pairs survive and you were smart enough to look in your size, we don't even need to try those bad boys on.

Now that we've got the real basics out of the way and can pretty safely ensure that I wont be seeing you walking down the street in sweats in the next few weeks, lets actually talk about fashion.

This spring, I want to see you in more black undershirts that fit. It's okay if you're skinny as fuck or you've got kind of a belly, the black t is kicking the shit out of the white one this year, which is good news because you can't really tell if you just spilled salsa on it. less laundry, conserve water and soap. Top that black T with a long sleeved cowboy shirt maybe with some roses embroidered on the shoulders and those fancy snaps, paired with those black pants I told you to buy last year, maybe a wristband, and you're ready to go out and make sustained eye contact with ladies and do nothing more than that, because apparently, girls are scary. (Seriously guys, if you're looking to make a move, this is the season to do it. If you talk to the prettiest girl in the bar, you're a hundred percent more likely to be waking up her neighbors at three in the morning than all those guys who are just staring at her. This is my most important fashion tip.)

Ladies, I'll be looking at you tomorrow. Stay tuned.

PS

In news that makes me not want to die:

1: I accidently got to ride the bus with Ben yesterday, when I thought I was going to have to sit next to shirtless guy with a bull horn tip tied around his neck! I enjoy being in motor vehicles with ben.

2: After I got off the bus in the U-dist a bunch of people were standing at the stop waiting for their busses as per usual, except that there were 2 mallard ducks hanging out at the bus stop as well. Ducks wait for busses!

where we find a short glimpse in to the world view of t.i.h.

The alarm in my building started sounding at nine thirty last night, and no one, including the guy who owns the building, knew the code to shut it off. We had to wait until 11:00 when the night security guy showed up for his rounds.

I've been wearing my night guard (teeth, not security.) but clenching my teeth hard in spite of it. I don't want people to die. I don't know how to actually stop it. Not just say "No, I don't like this, I don't approve, I'm burning a candle, I'm yelling at you, I'm giving my life, I'm taking a stand" because apparently, even giving your life doesn't matter. A million people marching and yelling made no difference. A zillion candles burned to the ground and the world is just one big birthday cake. Have the people ever been able to stop their dictator? I seem to recall some beheadings once upon a time, but there we are killing people again. I'm going to snap my ears off like gingerbread ears.

(Yeah, I'm thinking about it. I'm thinking about it more than I'll tell you. Later today, when I write that thing about how to be fabulous for under twenty bucks? Still thinking about it. I'm sorry if my being something of an escapist makes you want to hit me. All I have are these pleas and these prayers and this pencil.)

pancakes for one are always depressing.

The first floor bathrooms dont have a counter. Sinks along one wall, a mirror along the other, which is weird because the stalls have shelves over the toilets so you dont get your bag stolen out from under the edge. I'm washing my hands with my hips pushed up against the edge of the sink and my books wedged between them. They're still getting wet. I'd set them on the floor but the floor is uber disgusting. Downstairs bathroom in the Market disgusting. I finish up my intricate wash-between-each-finger scrubbing motion and turn the handle off with my elbow. Now for how to get to the paper towells without getting water from my hands all over my books, or dropping the books on the floor and having to wash my hands again. Fuck it. I put the books in the sink and pump out a length of towell. When I toss it in the trash I notice that my hands are bleeding. Blood all over my knuckles. I can't remember cutting my hands. The cuts are tiny and flat, like the time I accidently grated too far on the cheese and grated a bit of my hand.

I fell asleep in class for a while but snapped awake when i realized that the people who write math books are no good with grammar, and when being mathy, one should be precise. That comma counts, buddy. I skipped all the way home with my bloody knuckles and wet books and I made a cake with the buttermilk I accidently purchased last week. There will be baked goods galore until it's all gone. I feel sorry for it.

And all at one I knew

So while I was drinking every last one them under the table the other night, it was decided that in retalliation to freedom fries, I'm going to call everything french. I ate a french bagel with french cream cheese and a commie commie pinko apple this morning.

in other news, daniel, I Am So Fucking Sorry For Punching You In Your Broken Shoulder. Please feel free to knock out my teeth with a block of dry ice.

heart,

sonya

Things that I remembered that made me laugh out loud on my way back from lunch:

1: An earlier posts of Bill's in which the appearance of the word 'numbnuts' made me laugh so hard I fell out of my chair. (april 24, 2002)

2: Alicia calling Nate an Asshat last week. Asshat!

3: Discovering the pictures Ben took of Paul making out with all of my furniture and appliances while I was in the bathroom.

Girls are better.

I don't have anything nice to say yet, so I'm not going to say anything. Not out loud, anyway.

heart,

sonya

(I guess the heart was kind of nice. I'm so annoyed.)

beat beat, beat your heart out

For a long time, I thought the whole spring thing was a farce. Not the season itself, obviously, but the part where everyone wants to take their pants off all the time.

My tune, she is a-changin'. For the following reasons:

1: Attractive Tattooed Drunk Math Guy, after collaborating on our respective assignments, walked with me out the back entrance. When the fire door closed behind us, he reached up and removed his entire tuxedo wth one tugging motion and a long stemmed rose appeared between his teeth! and he said "I want to spend the rest of my life making you sandwiches and telling you how pretty you are and dressing in clothes that disappear with a single pulling motion." I love those ripaway tuxedos.*

2:Lets Get Ready To Look So Good! last night with molls and j-wil at the deluxe, we're leaving after totally slaughtering some hamburgers and marguaritas. The liberty spikes at the end of the bar totally stands up and holds out a sign that says "Sonya Walker, Bite all the Buttons Off My Pants Forever!"**

3: While walking past the tattoo parlor yesterday, I looked in the window a little like I always do, to smile at the guys who tattoo. Instead of smiling back as usual, they both started dancing on the poles by the windows and taking their shirts off.***

In general, I'm totally against this kind of thing, but as the situation just seems to be getting worse and worse, I'm declaring it open season on taking your pants off. Enjoy!

*All of that happened except for the tuxedo part, and the rose part, and the part about the pretty and sandwiches. We talked about math, which is similar.

***That's really true.

all in all

I've been trying to call you for a week.

"Um, she's in north carolina, or something. I don't know. Call later."

and I do, and your roomates are getting annoyed. You know I can't help but call and call and call until I either
A: get what I want or
B: am firmly told that I can't have it. Even if I don't want it that much.
The other night I woke up from a dream about what's trapped underneath the ice in antarctica and I remembered that time I said I was a better driver than you. I just realized that I hadn't driven with you since we were 18, and that you'd been driving the shuttle for a couple years now with no complaint while I've been walking and almost getting killed every day. I want to apologize, and it's driving me crazy. Please call.

snow

It only snowed once that year and I called you.
For a minute I thought the white petals falling off the trees were flakes of snow instead of apples being born and I wondered if you think about me still. I know it's selfish, but I want to be the apple you ate once that is now your elbow. You can never take it back and you can never take it out because it's part of you now.

I'm storing you in my rib for later and I can see you clearly when I arch my back. I'm going to plant a tree on the 4128 hours we spent together and when the things I remember drop heavy from it's branches I'm going to make a pie. When it's baking it will smell like the time we climbed up to the roof and drank too much to climb down and had to stay up there for hours, and the time I cut my palms on the circuit board and spent the entire day trying to convince you I had stigmata, and the time we got all those ant bites and sand in our pants and you couldn't stop sneezing. I'll garnish it with flowers and every fight we ever had, then set it on the windowsill to be covered in snow.

Can't buy me love

So, you think the receptionist has a thing for you, huh? Did she smile softly when you entered the room? Did she linger on the phone for a moment when announcing your call? Did she hold your gaze when you came to tell her you can't find your office keys for the 7th time this month?

The receptionist doesn't have a thing for you. The receptionist is paid to be nice to everybody, and just happens to still be a little drunk, that's all.

our lips are sealed

There's this portion of me, at twenty-two, who is terribly depressed by the fact that I'll never see a lion in a special open-cage train car entering town via the downtown tracks. I'll probably never hookie-bob because it just sounds too scary and there arent enough dirt roads anymore and I take better care of my shoes than that. I'll never see the Go-Go's live.

I think they were waiting

I think they were waiting for me to leave so they could avoid the part where I kicked them in the throat.

Upon arrival at the La Roy last night I noticed a sign propped up against the front steps.

Notice of Proposed Land Use Action

It should be noted that those words always make me cringe. No matter what. And this time, they're on My House. In front of My Door. I've lived in this building as long as I've lived in Seattle and I'm pretty attached to it. I know I'm moving when Chlo gets here, but it still makes me sad to think that it will be torn down. They're building a high rise. I'm going to need help removing the mantlepiece and all the doorknobs.

I'll miss you, la roy.

drip dry gloves

Oh shit man, I totally forgot to tell you. the guys from the Green C. totally fucking love me. I ran into one of them while he was getting ready to go on with his band in w. Seattle and he's all "Hey! It's you!" which of course, sent me into panic mode "Uummmm, hiii..." but then he said "No, I asked you how your food was and you said 'I'm great, how are you?'"

so I cant hear much. This is no news to any of you. He totally put the moves on. And then the blonded one did the same in his dorky and thus infinately more charming way. I'm totally gonna get some free salad.

In other news, I'm wearing stockings instead of socks today and the tattoo parlor guy who I didn't think would recognize me passed me on the street and said, "No socks today?" and then turned all the way around and winked. And then cute drunk college guy rode by on his bike.

Last night I told my dad I was all the way through with boys so if he wanted to pick me out a husband go ahead, I don't care. Apparently, those are the magic words. Just spreadin the love. I've gotta work at the mall now.

and probably drinking a pepsi.

Im piling my books on top of the garbage can lid at the bottom of the stairs by the south entrance and my phone is propped up to my ear with my shoulder. On the other end, my father sits. Probably in the brown chair. Probably in levis shrink to fits with one leg stretched taut by his swollen calf, a flannel shirt with 2 pockets, not 1, never 1. The left shirt pocket contains his wire test in it's case, 2 pencils, One black, one red, a small spiral bound notebook and a roll of electrical tape. His right shirt pocket contains his glasses in their case and a pen along with various receipts and drawings. "How are you, poppa?"

"Sick."

"What kind of sick?"

"Whelp, gotta cold 'tsbeen going around the mill."

"Kissin' millwrights again, huh?"

"yeah."

"That'll do it."

"'Think I'm sick now, you should've seen how sick I got when I had to kiss 'em!"

"you don't have time for catching colds."

"Exactly. I need this time for catching fish. You know, I think the dog thinks she's taking me fishing when we go. -away from the phone- dont you, dog? eh? You think you're in charge you mangey mutt? Ah ha. So how're you?"

"Are you talking to me or your dog?"

"You! The dog can't answer questions!"

Now that's love.

The best kind of friends are the ones willing to go up to a guy at a show all the way across the continent and kick him because he stood you up over a year ago. Or a member of his band did, they're hard to tell apart.

"It's the perfect revenge, there's no way it'll ever get back to you and we'll both feel better."

pocket

On a street outside birdseed sits waiting to be eaten. I want to take the seed
and put it in my pockets; a walking birdfeeder in a whirlpool of birds,
swirling around as I lick my lips and taste the exhaust from the cars scraping
asphalt, draining everything down.

Your chest is wrapped tight with ribbons and bows, and I swallow the smoke
around you whole and it burns all the way.Youre stupid for not being able to
listen to anything without it reminding you of everything in your childhood,
and how it all pre-dates any current existence. nothing from today ever matters
until it's yesterday, from the day it died, the taste never leaves your mouth,
iron and salt, it smells like earth wrapped in skin.

Youre like old black and white movies, waiting to extinguish the sun with the
backyard hose, running it through the streams like a hand through sand. I fall
through holes in your pocket and slip between the cracks on the sidewalk.You
remember while you cash it all in for a squirtgun and a plastic beetle that
skee-ball is for wimps, so I fold you like paper into my pocket and cough all
the way home.

Hot topic is the way that we rhyme

The really terrible thing is that having Fallout Records close has actually been more traumatic than the end of several past serious relationships. Certainly not all, mind you, but a few.
It's comperable for several reasons.

1: I frequently get the forgetful "Oh, I'll just go over to....wait. right. can't do that anymore." thing.

2: and the "I'm sad and I feel stupid for feeling sad. Also, there's nothing I can do about it."

3: No in-stores = one less reason to get out of bed at all on Saturdays.

I'm certainly not thinking about it all the time, and it's less traumatic than the orange skirt massacre, but I'm still seriously distraught. Maybe buying a new turntable will be the salve for my wound. (Anybody wanna drive up to roosevelt this week? I'll buy you dinner. )