shorties: 12/4/2012

I Don't Like to Call it a Boy Problem...
when he unscrews his scalp,
i'm going to flick a paperclip into his brain,
and make his love go everywhere.

he's talking about a girl,
taller than a bookshelf.
how he wound his arms
around her legs.

his hair slithers away,
as i reach out to touch it.

i think i'm building myself to last.
but we'll see.
i got cranky,
stood on the fire escape.

my brother sounded worried,
but he said
getting sick would be good for me in the long run.

i'm mad at you because
i made a fool of myself.
and i would never let you make a fool of yourself.

How's it going...
nothing's happened for awhile.
except a couple of dead leaves flew at my ankles,
while i was trying to buy a mop.
today,
all i have to do,
is unslash my bike tires.

Weekends...
out for a walk,
my welfare seems tilted.
i don't like the puppy or the women in the racetrack bar.
slugging, melting evening traffic.
on foot, i am winged against it,
waiting for the pinch of an angel.

You're out?

I giggled, and against all odds, I was really in a pretty good mood.
Who knows? Maybe the yoga thing really does work.

And I was hungry, thinking about falafel, weighing whether or not brussel sprouts deserved a second chance, when bam.

Sharon Smith.
No kidding.
"Did you start smoking again when your dad died, Caitlin?"

Jesus God.
She really said that, you know.

"No, Sharon. I started smoking again when I woke up and wanted a cigarette."

"Time will only really help you feel better, Caitlin."
"I hate you, Sharon."

"Sorry, Caitlin. I don't usually drink."
"You really shouldn't drink, Sharon."

I don't give a R.I.P.

August 13, 2012.

One time, when she was six, Maggie's mom and her new Cuban boyfriend left her at the Miami Zoo.
Told her they'd be back in a few hours, only they didn't come back.
So it got dark and her toes had blisters, and Maggie asked a zoo vendor selling cotton candy if she could call her gram.
It was really a big deal.
"Lost Kid", rent-a-cops, and golf cart rides, you know.

But her gram came, and Maggie was sitting on a bench, under a tall light with lots of bugs, pretending that she could read the zoo map pamphlet.
She crooked her head from side to side, raising her eyebrows, saying the words she definitely knew out loud.

The Lions. Lion. Lion. Lion.
Because the lions were Maggie's favorite.

Then, like a hiss, a baggie with exactly three Oreos in it was dangling in front of her face.
The free arm wrapped around her head, palm on her forehead.
The perfume, familiar.

"C'mon, Mouse. Sunburned, time for home". A smooch on top of a sweaty kid's bobbed haircut.

Nobody remembers the name of the Cuban boyfriend.
Only that he slept in his van and showered at the public beach.

"Hey, Mags. Remember that one time when we got drunk? Ate hot dogs on top of that cable box?"

"That wasn't me, Mom".

yes, already.

herculean effort

moving to japan feb. 1st. who wants my chicago lady gaga tix (2) for feb. 14th (valentine's)?

This morning...

...I used my oven to warm my jeans. Am I turning into Liz Lemon?

Also, just so we can all make fair assessments of Javier Bardem (outside of his spooky Skyfall garb), please consider the second photo a part of your cinematic education.

WWF(a)C Fastwrite: November 14, 2012

Dear Dog Upstairs Who Always Smells Like Fritos,

As far as dogs go, you're really not cute. But, you're one of my favorites, and I've known you since middle school. That is to say, I knew you before I had real problems. Suicides and cancers, plane crashes and fires. That is to say, I knew you before I was preoccupied with the notion of carefully choosing my friends.
You treat me the same as you did in middle school, and outside of my siblings, you're one of the only ones.
Accordingly, most of my relationships exist in a post-event warp, my daily aquaintances and small friendships consisting mostly of people who know me, post-something. Everybody "pre" gets wiped out, mostly by me.
I've gotten to a point where I'm tired of lost relationships, though. Tired of fearing a trip to Montgomery Krogers. Tired of always looking for other locations for my favorite stores. I'm tired of being scared to run into people who know me, pre-whatever.
So, with Japan. I'm not scared of going---I'm thrilled to go. I'm scared of leaving. Will I lose more? Will I have a post-Japan life, too? Will you remember me in 2014?

Will you still be alive in 2014?
Generally, I enjoy that the dog smells like Fritos.