this imploding heart

India, coca cola, chavez, etc.

Ways That I've Been Avoiding Writing my Research Paper Without Leaving My 15 Foot "Study Grounded" Area:

1: Exaggerated Coughing Fits

2: 5 minute whistleing breaks

3: Eating Apples

4: Sitting totally still with a horrified look on my face while I think about how I Have No Idea What The Fuck I'm Talking About. Oh Fuck.

5: Calling Cake and having the following conversation:
"Whatre yew dewing meester?"

"Sleeping, What're you doing?"

"Eyeem eexagereeting mye eeee's and writeeng my reeesearche papeer. Kind of."

"I'm supposed to be writing a paper that I have to present tomorrow at 10."

"HaHa! Sucker! Good luck buddy. Anyway, I'm supposed to have my composition ready by tomorrow and not only have I not thought of it, I don't have a keyboard....so I have no idea how I'm going to pull that kind of magic out my fruitloop."

"Ha! Sucker."

6: Weeblogeeeeng

captain smith and pocahontas had a very mad affair

I got a fever Friday night that kept me sweating, shaking and hallucinating through the weekend. I didn't miss any work, somehow, but each of my shifts passed like a merciful dream. A coffee-scented dream of pleasant social interaction and incessant hand-washing. When my father told me he wanted to leave Seattle at 3am to go to the baptism (which I insisted was only 3 hours away, certainly not the six he was claiming.), I replied: "You mean 3 HOURS AFTER I GET OFF OF WORK!?!? I WHAHAAANNAA TALK TO MOM! WHAAAAAAA!"

And oh, I cried like a baby until I heard dad say in the background: "Fine. We'll leave at Seven." I get weepy when I'm sick.

Poppa wrapped me up like a fever burrito and stashed me in the backseat. Bought me a gallon of orange juice and picked me fresh sage from the side of the road. (The trip took 3 hours and 15 minutes, thank you.) We went to church with my sister and then out to dinner in Ritzville, where the downtown houses look like dollhouses and sell for almost nothing. My oldest sister arrived to dinner late, but I still got the rare opportunity to look around a table at my immediate family of 15.

Fever or no, I felt better right away.

You know my name

miss me? I missed you too, honeypants. I've been the kind of busy I hate, where even if I'm not actually doing something, there's something I'm really supposed to be doing that is just itching to make me crazy later. Busy with guilt. Guilt for failng to see friends because of homework, guilt for missing homework to see friends, guilt for asking for time off to go to my lovey nephew's baptism, guilt for possibly missing the baptism.

But it's still a fuck of a lot better than being trapped in a 4x5 foot square in an ergonomically designed chair telepathically making people's hair fall out. (I used to spend a lot of time wishing baldness against people who made me crazy at my old science factory job. Now the only people who make me crazy at work go away promtly and when they come back, someone else usually has to deal with them.)

On a happy and personally exciting note, I'm overcoming one of my big personality faults! A few weeks ago, I decided to take Dayment's advice and start learning my customers' names.
I have a terrible memory for recognition. I've surely met the entire Seattle theatre scene 6 or 7 times over at a hundred parties by now, but I often fail to remember the names of people I've worked with, and forget entirely people I've had long conversations with. Sober. It's bad. For fuck's sake, it took me 3 months to assign the correct name to the correct Camp Vassar camper (of which there are 4), and a year to figure out that 3 out of the 4 Broadway boys were not ONE GUY. Who I called Derick. Instead of Dan, Dave or Issac, which are their actual names.

So after things at ToPoT calmed down a little and I got more comfortable with the actual work, I tried to get in the habit of remembering people's drinks so that I could anticipate what was coming down the line and manage my extra shots better. Then one afternoon I started talking to a customer about the whole Seattle Anonymity Problem, which is widely recognized by people around here. It's a general attitude of -Nice-, but not -Friendly-. "Pleasure to meet you, but I already have enough friends."
I started thinking a lot about the phenomenon, and -like zombies and paupau new guinea- as soon as I start thinking about it, it's everywhere. Within the next 2 weeks I had the same conversation initiated by 3 other customers. I also had 5 or 6 incidents where people came up to me before they left to tell me that I was nice, and how they were so impressed that I was nice. I like being nice!

So when DoubleTallSoyMintMocha came in, I asked him his name. He told me he had 2 names, so I said he should tell me the one he thinks of when he thinks of himself. "NaOhKaHa, but that's why I go by Dan."

"NaOhKaHa. NaOhKaHa." I wrote it down on a post it and stuck it to my register."So you're Hawaiian?"

"Nice. Most people think Japanese when they hear it."

"Dude, you don't look or sound Japanese, and that's a pretty Hawaiian name. So are you freezing all the time here, or what?"

And that's how it got started. The Derby threw a birthday party for Souxie a week ago, and I met, learned and retained at least 4 new names and matching faces! Even after 3 cups of punch. THREE FUCKING CUPS OF KNOCKOUT PUNCH! (only a select few of you will know exactly what this means. oi.)

I'm making much better progress than I thought I'd be able to, and I'm really proud of myself. This has been embarrassing me for years, and I think I'm finally pushing through the block. Seattle, I'm learning your name. Prepare for friendship. (however spotty it may be)

why try, no I don't understand it

Some guy, in the course of trying to make some moves, just asked me why I ask Why so much. "Why ask? I thought you were attractive so I talked to you! Somebody crashed into the world trade towers and a bunch of people died! Why? Who knows! They're dead! Why ask why?"

"Dude, I can tell you right now that you and I aren't going to get along so well.

.......I can't believe you don't think it's valueable to ask Why the trade towers were blown up."

There are certain threads of commonality that I see among my close friends.
1: Inquisitiveness
and
2: Enthusiasm

Basically, wonder and excitement in response to the world around them. I feel particularly lucky to be so completely surrounded by people who want to know why and are excited about the answer. People who are willing to do anything on the slim chance that it might turn out awesome or informative.

What do you do with all that brain if you don't ask why?

go by

I went dancing with AA and POW last night at ye olde tranny bar on Broadway. I was slightly altered in order to best enjoy my dancing-and-not-giving-a-fuck experience when who comes along but Mister Buzzkill.

"Hey Girl! Hey! Will you dance with me?"

"Um...I'm cooling off." This was 100% true, but I was also feeling completely incapable of verbalizing a polite rejection OR paying attention to someone else while I danced. I hate being touched while dancing unless we're waltzing or something. Get your business out of my business!

"I can wait untill you cool off."

I know the appropriate answer was "No Thanks", but I couldn't seem to get that particular phrase together. Instead we get: "I...dude, I can't talk right now."

"I didn't ask you to talk, I asked you to dance."

"DUDE...I'm really sorry, I'm just not..."

"Not what?"

"I'm sorry, Dude, okay?"

"You don't need to be sorry. I'm not here to talk, I'm here to DANCE."

and it goes on and on and ON until I'm extremely paranoid and feeling terrible.

He somehow finally goes away and I go back to my friends. Only now instead of feeling like a dancefloor badass I'm just feeling bad about myself and the dude is standing 3 feet away staring at me. Tommy notices that I've shut down and reverted into Overactive Brain Status, so he swoops me up and waltzes me around to '99 red baloons'. By the time the song is over, dude has (thankfully) moved.

I get over it and dance my fool ass off to a super 80's gay dance medley. About an hour later, here's dude again.

"You know, I just wanted to let you know that we're cool..."

I try to cut him off at the pass. "Great! I'm glad to hear it."

"But if you didn't want to dance, you should just say No thanks. A lot of girls don't say what they mean and I wanted to let you know that we're cool."

and he goes on and on and on like that. 'We're cool but you should say....' And in my head I'm thinking 'as soon as a girl expresses disinterest in your offer, allow her to say no politely -however she can get it out- and let it go. Don't come up and make her feel uncomfortable twice, asswad. I'll never get my groove back now.'

and I didn't. Buzzkill!

Good day, sunshine

Because I know that most of you will think this is totally stupid but 2 of you will think this is awesome:

Lovelies and Gentlepants, I'm thrilled to present...PICTURES OF MY PLANTS!

This is all the crap Tiny and I planted last year for the windows at Ye Olde Summit Apartemente. I totally thought that all the outdoor plants were dead, but they've been making a tremendous comeback! Many of them are plants that weren't there before! Magic plants! Click 'more' for more.

Featured Below: The mystery plant. It's growing dark red and light violet flowers and is very bushy at the base. Do you know what it is?


The triumphant but secretive return of the purple alyssum.


I really, really thought that the mint was dead. I cleared out all the ropey roots, and low and behold, new invasive mint. One word. Mojito.


This is the fickle little indoor shade plant that -from the day we brought it home- Cake has inspected closely, taken out to the window or the porch for closer inspection and a cigarette, and brought back in shaking his head. "I don't think this guy is gonna make it, Sonie." For a long time I thought he was right, but I think we've finally found the perfect spot for him and he's sprouting new bits all over. He makes me think of Tiny.


My aloe is going to break into your house and steal your playstation.

Additionally, today there was a pigeon in the coffee shop who, despite my fervent insistence, wouldn't fucking leave.

Here Rests In God, Beloved Son, Adored Daughter

My dreams have been getting at me.

This morning before I was actually awake yet already moving, Roxy came into my room and put her arms around me. I hadn't realized that I'd been crying in the shower, crying while I dried my hair, crying naked down the hallway fetching my clothes. I knew I felt sad, but the me who feels and the me who's nose runs and lips get trembly are disjointed entities a lot of the time.

In my dreams I consider outcomes. All night long I think about every action I could possibly take and all the ways those choices could turn out. I could, instead of going to school, maliciously attack a stranger and go to jail.
All night long, I consider every terrible, boring, desperate and outlandish thing. I could catch a 2am bus to SanFran and call Tiny from the bus station. I'll get a job at a hot dog stand and not tell anyone where I went. Tiny will let me hide under the bed for as long as I want and she'll feed me french fries with ranch dressing.
But the outlandish and terrible are never the things that make me cry. I suspect that what's got me upset are my ACTUAL life options. I suspect that considering every possible outcome in my near future has got me feeling a little trapped between a barbed wire fence and bramble of poison ivy. I can see beyond all the choices to what they get me, but I damned well don't want a rash OR to get cut all to hell.

Roxy was also feeling a little melancholy this morning. After I got home from school and did my homework, Rox suggested that we do something to brighten our spirits.

I suggested that we go to the cemetery to take rubbings of beautiful headstones.

I like cemeteries. They're filled with good sentiments and gestures of tremendous love. gone but not forgotten. They mark out lifetimes from start date to end date. here lies a kind hearted woodsman They collect entire families together and hold space for those who've not passed yet. farewell dear, but not forever.

I took a rubbing of Margaret's flowers. Alfred's dove. Howard's Grieve Thee Not...I Sing.
Roxy made poetry, and took a rubbing of an entire stone, mother and daughter side by side. She said that she'd felt freaked out by walking on the dead before, but felt okay today.
I think that acknowledging the dead and taking note of what their families have to say about them in such a permanent way helps me to remember that life isn't about much more than the people you love and the people who love you. Poison and barbed wire notwithstanding.

even if you cannot hear my voice

It's May Day. Two years ago today Molly and I were terrorizing seattle with flowers, and I left one particular blossom at the door of the boy I had a crush on. The boy who's since become my best-friend Boyfriend, Tasty Poison Cake.

I never thought we'd be going out for this long. We've had some near misses, but we always spring back. Cake and I have been no good at breaking up in the past because we simply enjoy the hell out of each other. His tenderness and enthusiasm always make up for drinking and flakiness. My curiosity and dirty mouth hopefully make up for my oppressive organizational nature. We both think we're the funniest damn things to cross the road.

How the hell am I expected to break up with my baby-in-a-jar joke buddy? Who's going to read the paper to me over the phone? Who will I force to watch nature programming and woodworking shows?

Sometimes I think we should get it over with so that we can get to work on getting over it and being friends, but how do leave someone you love AND like?

You don't. Not yet.