UZ

Pinto Pony

2008-10-26T10:12:00.001-06:00

Day 1 of the Gamwells

2008-10-21T21:37:00.002-06:00

SHB

2007-01-22T20:02:00.005-07:00

Tabs

2007-01-22T19:50:00.000-07:00

Coffee

2006-12-30T13:57:00.000-07:00

Dog Tags

2006-12-30T13:37:00.000-07:00

School's Cool Too

2006-09-16T13:36:00.000-06:00

School's Cool

2006-09-16T13:34:00.000-06:00

All the Light

2006-04-18T19:34:00.000-06:00

Pups

2006-04-10T22:13:00.000-06:00

Girl

2006-04-10T21:46:00.000-06:00

Wonderland

2006-04-10T19:22:00.000-06:00

Matthew

2006-02-15T22:44:00.000-07:00

Art Show

2005-12-12T23:25:00.000-07:00

Remember Sean's Art Party?

2005-12-12T07:31:00.000-07:00

Reader

2005-12-12T01:00:00.000-07:00

You view it as a weakness, she said. I said no, I’m more interested in what’s behind it. You view it as a weakness she said. I said no, I’m more interested in what’s behind it. I sat at my easel today, painting circles and listening to a woman sing my troubles. I read people like I read magazines. Not until the fourth or fifth time do I slow down to read anything substantial, not until the fourth or the fifth time do I notice the details, the construction of each page, the substance offered within. Times one and times two I will do nothing but scan, not seeing not pausing, I will only get the gist of you.
Lately, I’ve only been getting the gist of me. What more can I expect from a girl trying on too many hats?
Fuck that taco.
But…
We’ve lost touch. I hear it in your voice, I see it in your face. You said it to my face. You view it as a weakness.
I think maybe…
Maybe those days are gone.
That same weakness that once repulsed me now I’ve discovered to be part of me. Part of me. Part of us. Part of everything.
Sometimes maybe I repulse you.
I’m losing something here, though I’m not sure what, and I’m not sure why and I’m not sure if I want to even find you again. Do you think you’ve read every chapter?
One thing I’ve learned is that a person ha! Is not a magazine. Fucking people, that’s the problem they just can’t stay constant. Life pushes and pulls and throws all sorts of shit at us and we have to handle it when it comes, on the fly, no time to think, no time to consider and hey after all we’re only human, we can really only react SOMETIMES SOMETIMES when life gets too fast, we all do what we must do and we never say all there is to
Fucking
Say.
We could always say more.
But we don’t so I try to remember that the things you I do are never all you ME wanted to say.
You say, Carmen will talk about demons to you.
How many people talk demons to me?
Is it me talking, or is it?
Where in the fuck did I put that magazine?

I Went to Mexico

2005-11-18T21:26:00.000-07:00

I Should Be Doing Homework

2005-11-17T22:42:00.000-07:00

Missing Blue

2005-10-26T18:59:00.000-06:00

Palace of the Brine

2005-10-23T20:51:00.000-06:00

What..

2005-09-30T23:05:00.000-06:00

It's Coming

2005-09-29T23:54:00.000-06:00

Fowl Nude with Crockery

2005-09-28T21:53:00.000-06:00

Is she weird

2005-06-20T23:20:00.000-06:00

Snake Charmer

2005-05-25T23:00:00.000-06:00

Ramona

2005-05-19T18:49:00.000-06:00

American Gezza

2005-05-18T23:16:00.000-06:00

My First Painting

2005-05-13T12:00:00.000-06:00

Old Man at Easter

2005-05-11T22:07:00.000-06:00

My friend Robert

2005-05-11T22:06:00.000-06:00

Smile and Wave

2005-03-20T20:17:00.000-07:00

Unfinnish

2005-03-20T20:12:00.000-07:00

Show What

2005-02-21T21:14:00.000-07:00

Alotta Pinata Poo

2005-02-10T22:59:00.000-07:00

With Moonlight in Her Hair

2005-02-08T16:28:00.000-07:00

Don't Be Ugly

2005-02-06T22:55:00.000-07:00

Not Today Fokes

2005-01-25T21:26:00.000-07:00

I gots nothing today dear viewers and sometimes readers. Check out Natalie and Sam instead.

In the pond

2005-01-20T22:32:00.000-07:00

Go Fish

2005-01-20T22:26:00.000-07:00

Vegas was horrible. horrible horrible. Except I got to drive a big Uhaul truck through the desert whilst smoking cigarettes and hauling another truck behind me. Started at 330 in the morning and gave it up 10 hours later. The stuff road trips are made of.
Road trips. Or just trips. Journeys. I've been on an even bigger one these past many months. And like all journeys, there is always a recovery period after.
Rest up. Reflect. Good times, bad times. Life goes on and on and on.
Where the hell does it stop and where the hell do I get off? I've been traveling my whole life with this crazy circus on one crazy track. This ring master's gone mad. I hear more than one clackety clack in this dazzling day, and I want the track that's good to my body and good to my soul. The one that pauses at the dark depots of the night, forgiving me the toxins I pour into my heart and my mind as we travel on into the next day's sunrise.
The next day's sunrise. It warms the cold gray ass of the east into a purple fury, beautiful reds and pinks and yellows and orange, my orange, hailing new thoughts, new deeds, new experience, new people. New people in this little pond. All swimming together, the same luggage, the same bags, and I must wonder does mine match theirs? I thought perhaps I had learnt to travel a little lighter, but knowing only my own burden, who's to say if my load is more, or the same, or much much less? I feel like I've picked up an item or two, but perhaps I lost something else along the way. Lost or gained. It's all in the eye of the beholder.
It's all in the eye of the beholder. Behold this new day, this new perspective, this new pain, this new gain. Behold. Behold. I need to be fuckin held.
Held. Hold on a minute. Hold me tight while I melt into your arms. I'm travel weary and my bones are butter soft beneath my skin. I'll melt into something that used to resemble me, and the world rushes in, the liquid of my soul unable to resist. My walls are battered down. I'll soak it all up. I have become a sponge. I've become turgid with these new aquisitions. For awhile I will soak. I will lay, not moving, not doing. My body is heavy. My being is infested. infiltrated. infused. A day shall pass, or three, or six. Six days, or six weeks. Time will not weaken me. Time is everything and time is nothing. It takes on the shape I give to it, and in return it will slowly give back to me my old shape, but never will it give me back my old self. That is the nature of things. My being is now fused with new particles. There is no way to separate the old from the new. Twist as I might, it is an impossibilty. It looks like the same old sponge, but who knows what the hell might be in there? I must be redefined.
I must be redefined. Remember to pack light. We're going on another fucking journey. Pond it may be, but if I ever make it to the ocean, I have a feeling it's going to be just as wet.

And she thought giving it was the hard part.

2005-01-19T23:22:00.000-07:00

Winsome, Loosome

2005-01-13T09:33:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, it really does smell like roses

2005-01-12T08:40:00.000-07:00

elggurtS

2005-01-10T15:37:00.000-07:00

Not Really

2005-01-07T09:12:00.000-07:00

RutaMaya Grafitti

2005-01-06T10:35:00.000-07:00

Under Mine or Under Yours?

2005-01-03T09:17:00.000-07:00

Time Waits for No One

2004-12-31T01:11:00.000-07:00

Jitterbug Perfume

2004-12-21T09:09:00.000-07:00

Lookin'

2004-12-20T09:25:00.000-07:00

Sovereign-nicity

2004-12-01T13:27:00.000-07:00

More 'Corn

2004-11-30T11:11:00.000-07:00

Brownies

2004-11-29T10:28:00.000-07:00

Jumpin' Gezza Juh-who-sa-fats

2004-11-18T11:59:00.000-07:00

No Nothin, Goddammit

2004-11-17T16:00:00.000-07:00

Freakin' Holiday Parties

2004-11-15T17:12:00.000-07:00

Okay for reals, need some thoughts on this as an invitation to a holiday party. Por favor, mucho gusto and all that crap.

I Think They Would Fill Up Equally As Fast

2004-11-12T17:18:00.000-07:00

Unicorn, Can't You See?

2004-11-11T17:50:00.000-07:00

Daylight Savings

2004-11-10T12:11:00.000-07:00

Huh?

2004-11-05T16:27:00.000-07:00

Okay. I'm at the water fountain, getting a glass of water and this dude that's always giving me hellos and what not when I pass him in the hall stops and says, 'so were you happy with the election?'
i say, 'no' and tell him about all the psychobabble Bush is spewing now that he feels the American people have given him 'permission'. (he actually has said that)

anyway, then this dude tells me that what he thinks is actually going to happen is that Bush is going to say screw you to the Christian rights people and start swinging to the left a bit more, because he won't want to leave a legacy of a divided people. Especially since he has done such a good job of uniting the people in his own home state. Especially since he has done such a good job of uniting the people in his own home state.

I typed it twice cause I must not have fucking HEARD him right.

Posties

2004-11-05T12:41:00.000-07:00

So. It's come to my attention that my two readers like my new picture posts. I mentioned that truly, my inspiration came from another blog. Sean said I should give her props and I thought, I should have thought of that myself. Natalie Dee is awesome. I give her props. Her link is over there. On the right, towards the bottom. Goodbye.

Awesome Breakfast

2004-11-05T12:38:00.000-07:00

Bad Kitty

2004-11-04T10:34:00.000-07:00

It's that time again

2004-11-02T12:28:00.000-07:00

Call it respect?

2004-10-29T17:37:00.000-06:00

So about three weeks ago now Craig and I are at Ruta Maya, having a late breakfast and a chat. Craig is good for chats. He listens, and he doesn’t ever tell you what you want to hear. He tells you what he thinks. Sometimes it’s what you want to hear, sometimes it’s not, but it’s almost always worth some serious consideration.
The topic on the table this morning is when it is appropriate, if ever, to share your past with your partner.
Generally, we both agree that it’s none of the significant other’s business where your past bedded down. It’s in the past. But what if some of that past is still hanging around, in friend form, or roommate form, or favorite-bar-bartender form?
In other words, when the object of your current affections will be in direct contact with a object of your past affections, how much information do you share?
And it’s this little piece of naked truth that’s got me thinking.
If I do decide to tell, how do I bring it up without making it seem like I’m calling up the green eyed monster for a drama-fest? Will my significant other appreciate this extra information I attempt to arm him with to fend off the savage beast?
If I don’t tell, and inevitably the secret is spilled from some other’s lips, the things I left unsaid could become very questionable indeed. And the more contact with that past object, the more questionable said unsaid things become.
Given my choice, I choose to be in the know. I know I’m grown up enough to handle my little brain. If I’m going to be sharing the same air as my partner’s past on a regular basis, I kinda want to know what else they’ve shared. Call it respect. I would do the same and feel better for it.

Birthday

2004-10-13T10:37:00.000-06:00

Fuggit. Casino will see me Christmas Eve and having a birthday get-together is just too much of a commitment.

Babu wants a Birthday

2004-10-11T17:01:00.000-06:00

Nothing big, but I guess since I'm gonna be 28 and all, it'd be cool to feel popular. Especially since in two short years I'll be a shriveled old hag not suitable for showing my face in a bar. I say DeVille or Casino. Those of you who read this shit, post a comment, and help me make up my mind! I can't decide between Friday night or Saturday night, either.
Useless. I'm absolutely useless. How did you guys put up with me for so long?

Cherokee Crack

2004-10-06T14:47:00.000-06:00

Fucking car blowed up again. I noticed it heating up on my way back to work from lunch, but it’s a short drive and I figured I’d fill up the water reservoir on my way home. That proved to work out none too well. I stopped at two different gas stations and neither of them had a water hose. So, by the time I got home, there is steam rising from beneath the hood. Fuckety-fuck I think to myself, ignoring the stares of the viejos next door and hoping they won’t come over to help.
I pop the hood and a jet of steam is spraying a fine mist of overheated water all over my engine. There is green fluid on both sides of the radiator and a hole in the radiator hose. Needless to say, I’m about to lose it. With all the other crap going on this week, including my cat running away, this is the last thing I need. I leave the hissing hunk of scrap metal with its money eating jaws open and trudge inside.
Only there is no escape and no solution in there. I can see the jeep gaping as I stand at the window, and I don’t even have a couch to flop on in a state of agony and distress. I found one last week, but they tagged the wrong effing couch and sold mine out from under me.
I flop on the stairs instead, and effectively begin to lose it. For about five minutes. Gezza is scratching at the back door, and I know she is probably hungry, so I suck it up and let her in. She’s a fucking loud little hippo when she eats, but a soothing little hippo nonetheless. I start running through my options. Don’t want to call Dad. He’ll know something is wrong right away. Dad’s sympathy makes me cry more. I could call the auto parts store and see if there is a patch for the fucking hole in my radiator hose, but even if they do have one, I still have to take the thing to the shop. So. Who do I know that knows a thing about cars? Thank stars for good friends and thank stars for Craig.
What a hero. Ava is a lucky girl. He's there in ten minutes with a six pack of beers. Good Craig. He gives me a hug, hands over the beer, and gets to surveying the damage. The diagnosis ain’t so good. Three radiators in two years means oh shit, what the fuck is wrong with the cooling system in this mother puking car? The verdict sucks. The car will be towed. Again. Craig will pick me up and take me to work… at least we live near each other and work in even closer proximity.
And so Mike my mechanic is digging into my Cherokee’s guts even as I slack off from work. I called him once already, and they’ve discovered a leak. They have yet to discover the source. I’m sure wherever it is, and whatever it is, it will cost a lot of money. That’s good though. It’s really the incentive I needed to cut back on my crack habit. It’s really been keeping me from being productive at work.

My Cute Puppy Dog

2004-10-06T14:06:00.000-06:00

Anyone who knows me knows my puppy Gezza. Anyone who knows me also knows before Gezza, I was an avid dog denouncer. Sloppy, shedding beasts with wet snuffly noses and muddy paws. Not to mention a serious dependency problem. Nope, I can’t say dogs were too high on my list.
But prior to February 2004, a certain set of circumstance managed to set upon my mind in such a way that my doggy-don’t began to soften and sag and morph right into the little monster I now sleep with every night. It’s hard to imagine how life would be without her.
I suppose I wouldn’t sweep as much and I wouldn’t rush home after to work to let her out in the yard and give her some loves. She wouldn’t hog my bed and drip water all over my floor after noisily slaking her sloppy puppy thirst. I wouldn’t have to worry about her bully appetite for other dogs and strange cats, and small children wouldn’t make me nervous with their innocent toddling approach. She does tend to keep me up at night with her snores, or her flatulence, or what Craig refers to as “chewing on her chonch.” And there was the time I happened to be commando in a particular slip on skirt, and Gezza picked that particular day to jump on me, pulling the skirt down with her as she slid back down to the ground. Thank goodness there was no one around.
She’s a lot of work, that dog. I tell everybody so. She chomps down her dinner making as much noise as a jackhammer, and then comes to me grinning, little dog food bits still in her teeth. I’ll reach down to slap her sides and she falls over to show me her belly, all freckled from birth and scratched from brambles. She grins while I rub her. I never knew a dog could grin. The corners of her little alligator mouth turn up into what is decidedly the most content grin I’ve seen.
She jumps to her feet when I take a step, glancing up at me, her eyes shining with excitement. Sometimes she puts her head down and gazes up at me with her carob colored eyes. I think she knows how cute she is when she does it. She’s like my biggest fan club ever. She’s only been mad at me once, and that was when I went to NZ for a month. She was pretty hot over that one. I had imagined a joyous bouncing reunion. She took one look at me and growled. “Traitor!” she said. It took her awhile, and she moped for about four days, making sure I didn’t forget she was mad at me. She slept with me, but always with her back to me, as if to say, “I’m only on this bed with you because it’s better than the floor.” She didn’t let me leave her sight for a second.
We’re back on good terms these days, and when I leave the house, she stands just inside the door with a very earnest look on her face. “Will you be back soon to play? I’ll be waiting right here.”

Heartbreak and Heartache

2004-10-05T10:20:00.000-06:00

But anyone that’s ever gone through this knows perfectly well the heart keeps ticking, whether you like it or not. The evil little thing keeps pumping life giving blood and oxygen to the two things in my body that are the true sufferers. My brain and my stomach. If I could just get the brain under control I think the stomach would take its cue and follow.
The friends are happy enough to help out with this control taking. They all tell me I’m better off and in a short while I’ll be good as new. And as long as I’m talking to them about it, they’re absolutely right. Saying aloud the things I want to believe makes them a lot more believable.
Books are good, too. I actually went to the bookstore last night and purchased not one, but TWO books. For $25 bucks, my brain gets a break without setting foot in a bar. Bars aren’t good for the stomach anyway, and that’s the other part of me inflicted with this so called disease of the heart.
It has a seemingly endless pity for my afflicted brain. I find this pity to be hellish to live with, the nausea on its own is bad enough, and this no eating part is getting old. It’s become a mechanical process. Feed the face so that the body does not suffer. Eat slowly so as not to alarm the stomach. It’s apparently gone on strike until my brain gets better.
It’s just a matter of time. The shine of love will be lifted from the facts and my sense of loss and rejection will harden into something a lot easier on the body. And the mind.

Stranger Than Melting Popcorn

2004-09-12T20:27:00.000-06:00

We watched Jim Jarmusch’s Stranger Than Paradise the other night. D made popcorn on the stove and we opened the bottle of Perfect 10 he had bought. (White Texas wine. Not bad.) The film was a visual treat for anyone who appreciates art/photography/ etc. We have the same sense of humor on a lot of things and laughing together is always good. Watching D pop little bits of puffed corn into his mouth one after the other, pausing every now and again to recover strays from his abdomen, is even funnier. I prefer to eat them one at a time, sometimes biting off the protrusions and letting them disintegrate before consumption. D was not interested in this sensation of melting popcorn or in my mouse-like nibbling of popcorn puffs.
What was interesting is how differently we perceived certain characters and actions in this movie. The first. Ava, who is Willie’s cousin, has just arrived from Budapest. She and Willie have never met, but she stays with him out of necessity for 10 days before moving on to Cleveland.
D says to me,
Something really bad must have happened to her. They never really say, but I just kind of assume it had to do with her family or something.
Which weren’t my thoughts exactly. I had just kinda figured young intelligent girl living in Eastern Europe. Grows tired of a traditional life in Hungary so travels to the United States for a new life and opportunity. Since she has family in NY and Cleveland, this is easily facilitated.

The other one I remember: Ava has moved to Cleveland, forsaking the emotionally isolated Cousin Willie for the elderly and maternal Aunt Lottie. A year later, Willie and friend Eddie arrive unannounced to pay a visit. During one evening of their stay, the boys are playing cards with Lottie. (We know from an earlier scene that they are sharks, and cheat to win money). However, Aunt Lottie keeps winning.
D: I thought they were letting her win.
Me: Really? I thought she was a spry old lady.

The youngsters leave eventually, to leave the sausage-like Lottie in her armchair, kneading the armrests like a cat.

A whine on the Opine

2004-08-26T08:24:00.000-06:00

Boyfriend's roommate Nina went to see Control Room last night. Intense she said. Made her not trust the government, etc, etc. She was decompressing on the couch with a beer and a soap opera when I left her to go to bed. As I lay there, I thought about what she said and my reasons for not wanting to see the movie myself. I imagined explaining myself and my explanations being challenged. So then I imagined defending myself and my position and decided the whole thing wasn't worth it. I would remain quiet in this imaginary conversation and instead be perceived as a Listener, keeping my opinions to myself and listening to what others had to say. This made me snicker to myself as I lay there in the dark. Yes. Let them think a wise man listens while the truth of it is I am really just too lazy to defend my position on a subject that I find exhausting. I will trick them all!
Now, in reality, I realize I am not fooling anybody. But more and more I feel like offering my opinion is like saying hey, anyone wanna see my asshole? It's just like yours, but still just a little different! Let's talk about it and compare! It will be fun!
The great thing is, with that attitude, I really get to know people, and they get a real good feel for who I am too. Which brings me back to the snicker. The whole thing is just so goddamned pessimistic I couldn't help but laugh.

Thank you craig

2004-08-20T15:02:00.000-06:00

I now have a blog just like all you guys. The little sister has signed up. Inspired by jewels like Drink Story #1 Dog Shit, how could I resist? Laughing quietly through my nose until my sides hurt is so much better than doing real work. Now, I may never have to do real work again. Thank you Craig!