this imploding heart

where do they all belong

The man who looks like Kenny Rogers (who I'm never sure isn't secretly angry at me, despite his sweet disposition) total always comes to two dollars and twenty cents. His smile extends down from his upper lip in the center, instead of originating at the temples and pulling up like mine. He wants short coffee and a cake donut with frosting.

The man who looks most Asian has the thickest english accent. He always has questions and tips in quarters. He wants camomille tea.

I am a bit character in the French-American couple's life movie. She is french to the point of black and white striped tops, and it's obvious how lucky he feels to be married to her. She always takes special care to straighten all the chairs before they leave, because they come in just before closing, and she likes to help. He wants decaf coffee, she wants tea with soy milk and a rasberry glazed donut.

She wants a double tall nonfat. She comes in every day and every day pays with her credit card, which reads "See ID" instead of a signature. For a while, I checked it every day. Now, I tell her that I know her name, but I'll be happy to check her ID if she'd like. She never tips me, and she doesn't hang up her phone when she's ordering.

you wasted life, why wouldnt you waste the afterlife?

I know I'm supposed to be working hard on something, but it's been so damn beautiful that all I can do is find a place with maximum sun exposure and bask until it's time to get ready for work.
I feel like a plant all over. My arms and legs and neck are getting longer with every extra second I delay, lolling around with my books in the yard.

I'm going to sprout flowers from my fingers and toes this summer.

turn around to find her

Seattle is entering that time of year where you feel guilty for ever wanting to leave it because it's so fucking beautiful. I took a 5 hour walk last night, with hopes to come away with pictures of seattle's beautifulness, but instead ended up kind of forgetting my goal and taking pictures at random. What results is a nice picture of the flowering trees that would be running local government if they could walk around, the buildings from over the freeway, pictures of how well I match the Greyhound bathroom, the neon bus station, and sadness.

watch out boys, she'll chew you up

One of our neighbors just had a baby. I can tell it's a new one because at the end of it's cries it still lets out that new-born baby scream that goes away once they're a little older. Being born must be terrifying. Poor niblet.

One of Roxy's customers asked her to find a 'sexy top'. Rox and one of her co-workers and I had a long conversation yesterday about what our definition of 'sexy' is, and how weird it is to try to dress 'sexy'.
sexy sexy sexy (the kind of word I could forget the meaning of if I said it enough times)

I don't think any of my clothes are sexy clothes, but I think I look damn good in most of what I wear. Does that make it sexy? Sexy for me, but probably not for anyone else.

We talked about what had been specifically called sexy on us by boyfriends past and present. Rox insisted that -despite all her fantastic wardrobe efforts- her current and ex's all found her sexy in jeans and a t-shirt (which she never wears). Co-worker agreed that what she wore all the time didn't get sexy comments, but things less revealing but different in style got called sexical.
Conclusion? Boys who see you all the time think about you differently when you change it up, and that different thinking makes for sexiness.

Agree? Disagree? Do you have specifically sexy clothes or find not particularly sexy clothes sexy? (not underthings, clothes for wearing.)

In other news, the new name for vagina is barbados and the new name for testicles is cumberbund.
The Derby is all about renaming the parts with uncomforable names.

she'll fill you up and put you down

Apparently, it's a fantastically fabulous year to be my ex-boyfriend if you're looking to get married. ESPECIALLY if you're looking to get married to someone other than me.

Another past love announced his engagement recently. I wish him every blessing, but there's a certain part of me that screams "HEY! That was MY sandwich! I might have wanted that for later!" every time an old love makes it official with some other girl.

Of course, I realize how unreasonable that kind of thinking is. If the sandwich were mine I'd be eating it, right? Of course.

So we're 4 down and 2 to go for the
Sonya'sExBFMarriageSpree04/05stravaganza.
Reserve your seats for the final rounds.

come on and show me how you work

Fat cats get dirty after every bath.

There are ancient pianos in the belly of the arts building that one can play anytime. I spent years in elementary, junior high and high school band never knowing what the notes were called but being able to play them by sight, because I couldn't see where all that memorization was going to help me out. Music is slowly turning into a magical code that runs in fingers and circles and waves. Fat Cats Get Dirty...G gets F. D gets F and C. The C stands alone. Hi Ho the Dairy-O the C stands alone.

At work I experiment with what music makes the people do. The people love to sing along -out loud- with Squeeze. The people will sit through Bowie, U2 and Tom Petty together, but when you drop any of those into a set of pop-punk, the tables clear. People ask about the following every single time: The Weakerthans, April March, Mates of State. 1959 R&B singles somehow make for bad tips. Some of my friends bands are good enough for the shop, and some seemed good enough at home, but their weaknesses are terribly apparent in combination with the din of the grinder and steam wand.

School, sickness, snot.

I have the kind of cold that makes me feel like I'm constantly floating. Uncomfortably.
But I can hit most of S.Merrit's low notes, so I'm taking full advantage of my temporary vocal range and singing all the man songs I love.

Lets talk noseblowing:

I think handkerchiefs are getting an unnecessary bad reputation. Along with everything else that isnt disposable, people think that blowing your nose into something more than once is disgusting. The way I look at it, I'm going to have to choose between clearing my schnoz into 7 yards of half-ply school TP I shoved in my pocket, or a substantial piece of cloth that will cleanly fold over on itself. So what if there's snot in my pocket! There's going to be snot in my pocket either way! Re-useable! Eco-friendly! Other things with-dashes!

Going to each class for an hour every day seems like a waste of my time when compared to going twice a week for 2.5 hours. I feel like I come away every day with questions and discussions that have to wait until tomorrow, and not very much new information. Also, daytime school is full of children. Bazillions of children with no opinions to contribute or sense of which side of the stairwell to walk on. Good thing I'm floating right over the top of them. Uncomfortably.

Dont let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy

You know what I think the next most important technological step should be? Better batteries. Doesn't it seem like if they can make a computer this tiny, they should be able to make a battery that lasts at least overnight?

Things are finally starting to settle down. I've got a more regular schedule set out in front of me, and even though it's a little taxing (no actual days off of both work and school), it's nice to finally know where I'm going to be and when.

I signed up for 3 five credit classes this quarter, which is the largest school-load I've taken yet. I'm taking Contemporary World Literature from 9-9:50, International Relations from 10-10:50, and Music Theory 107 from 11-11:50, all monday thru friday.

I'm a little worried that this is going to be too much work, so I'm going to go for 2 days and see how I feel. If I hate it, I'm dropping Music and taking beginning body conditioning for 2 credits. What the hell is body conditioning? I don't know, but a gym class sounds pretty fun now that I'm not 15 and totally physically awkward. (instead, I'm 24 and totally physically awkward, but generally pretty comfortable with my awkwardness. Maybe we'll play pickleball!)

Top Pot is going to be all closing shifts, tuesday and all 3 weekend nights. This puts something of a damper on my show-attendance, but it means I won't have to work those hellish saturday and sunday morning or afternoon shifts anymore. I'll miss being with the other people at the shop, but I won't miss working my ass off with a line of people out the door and then having to split tips 3 ways.

Mom and dad brought me out to their house for Easter Dinner last night. (Ham, mashed potatoes, gravy, deviled eggs, can peas, fruit salad, Jell-o.) Mom has finished putting together the remaining bits of the first uniform dress, and it's looking pretty freakin sweet. They've gone down to Longview, WA this afternoon to see if the town is liveable, because my dad doesn't want to update his resume. He knows a guy in longview who might get him a job, and 'knowsaguy' is an extremely powerful phrase in Walker family jargon. Mom is still hoping to stay in Seattle and move somewhere liveable for me. I'm not pinning my hopes on it, but it'd be great if it worked out.

My dad informed me last night that when he was in Jr. High, his cousins convinced him to get dressed in drag and ask their friend to a sadie hawkins dance. This conversation began after a makeup commercial with the words: "Hey! I had my eyelashes curled once!"