| Birthday |
[Oct. 12th, 2009|01:34 am] |
| [ | Mood |
| |  good | ] |
|
|
|
| Art |
[Jun. 15th, 2009|11:42 pm] |
|
|
|
|
| no biggie |
[May. 28th, 2009|10:20 pm] |
| [ | Mood |
| | not much | ] |
It's the view from the hot dog place. Even if you're afraid to try the wieners, the french fries are worth it. A hipster hideaway in what I consider a still un-reclaimed part of downtown. It's actually peaceful there on the weekends. Peaceful... desolate.... same same.
So... here we go... I had a booby consult today. I was there. I was already AT the doctor's. Turns out I don't actually want a boob job. Everything was too big. They said "everyone always regrets not going larger." I said, "No. Really. I don't LIKE big boobs."
"Are you sure you're from orange county."
"I live in Long beach."
I pretty much took off my top and said, "whad'da ya think?" There was something said about my boobs needing to be as big as my butt. Sure sure, my profile looked nice and proportioned with the implants slung into my bra, but I couldn't get over how matronly it seemed to make me look. It's so not stylish. So not stylish. When I'd lift up my top, they made my body look great; all super womanly and soft and sexy, but, sadly, I will not be living topless.
I miss the kids.
I bought a new car.
I'm into a book right now.
Spence got a dog. I'm calling it Pupply-Wupply until he at least names it.
My house looks great, save the back half of the studio.
and I get to see my mom all the time.
|
|
|
| (no subject) |
[May. 19th, 2009|12:50 am] |
| [ | Mood |
| | black sweatshirt | ] |
I was chilly, wandering around my apartment. I had been cleaning out some stuff and found I'd placed your black sweatshirt to the side, not knowing what precisely to do with it. So, chilly, threw it on myself. It no longer smells like you. I don't like that I can't recall your sent. I like it even less that it smells like something else. It's huge. I think of you filling it out, and I think that your heart is this big, and I think of how huge you love me. Maybe loved me. I think this sweatshirt makes me sad, but I think I'm going to sleep in it tonight. |
|
|
| Miss. You. Dude. |
[May. 13th, 2009|11:55 pm] |
| [ | Mood |
| | . | ] |
My damn house is too quiet, or empty, or still, or I'm just plain too alone. I know it's all a state of mind. I was so excited and relieved by this move. I had a wonderful time on my trip. I don't think I've come home yet. They're just walls that house me. |
|
|
| The Ponies. |
[May. 6th, 2009|02:26 am] |
Caught at a state in between. Some 36,000 feet from the ground. I'd prefer it if I could stay here. I always think to drink when at this height. Something about not being on the ground equaling not being in the world. And at that, I, for some reason, always feel 'in place' when in flight. Taxis, ticketing, and parking; all foreplay to getting off world.
I like that I travel for love. Sometimes less. And on rare occasion, a horse race. I am returning from the Kentucky Derby. Don't be fooled, there was a handsome man at the other end. A lover from my past. I have missed him so dearly. Time does cause things to fade, this just doesn't seem to be one of them. I've often wondered if the lack of understanding of our demise was the true cause of my torment. But really, i guess it doesn't matter.
The day of the races, I screamed for winners, learned to gamble, and laughed with this pain in my chest. My life is filled with adventure. Some of it occurs in my heart. Maybe all of it does. Pageantry, horses, hats. Roses, and bourbon, and a paddock full of people. We danced in the dark, as he sang me our songs. I always cry when he sings. I looked onto a face I thought I would never see again. It was the best birthday ever. |
|
|
| I've Always Loved Him best |
[Jan. 23rd, 2009|02:28 am] |
| [ | Mood |
| | happy | ] |
I gave Brother a Thomas Kinkade puzzle for Christmas last year. Thought it was great. The snow embellishments supposedly glows in the dark. Thought it suiting for the self-proclaimed Painter Of Light. Brother had the audacity to put it together, frame it, and returned it to me this Christmas.  |
 |
And this for good measure. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Jan. 6th, 2009|01:40 pm] |
New Years Day.
Portland.
NW 3rd. |
 |
I am awaiting boarding at PDX. The cold has been tough while I've been here this time, but I'm finding I am resistant to what now appears to be the oppressive sun of California. Funny that.
Cheers.
|
|
|
| Calling All Portlanders |
[Jan. 1st, 2009|07:27 pm] |
|
I am residing at the artist's collective over The Tube on NW 3rd, for the next week. Be it first thurday of the month, they are, Matt is, hosting an open mic, tonight. Doors open at 8:30. People start going on about 9:30, and continues until 1:30-2:30. They say they're putting me to work, but the hugs and tofu crowd doesn't commonly need a bouncer. Saturday night is the 7 bands 7 dollars thing.... but it's Sunday night that has "the" show: Lucky Dragons are preforming here. They do some super cool sort of audience participation, using electricity and human contact, for sounds, and make the music from that. Coffee and/or lunch and/or dinner with any and all of you folks, would be wonderful. I usually rely on Brother for my social scheduling while up here, but he's out of town, and, well, I'm on NW 3rd... eating Voodoo, drinking Stumptown, and tearing through books snuggled up to a window in a former bordello, for the dreary dim gray light that makes it way through the rain, to read by. I hope to hear from some of ya'll. It's beautiful here.
|
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Dec. 16th, 2008|11:46 pm] |
| [ | Mood |
| | loved | ] |
 |
Stumptown on 3rd.
Matthew glares at me from outside the window. It's wet. We have bearded man with both coffee and recent events, and bicycles. Portland. |
|
|
|
| Lucky Number 13 |
[Oct. 13th, 2008|04:28 am] |
| [ | Mood |
| | hopeful | ] |
I had a good day today. I think it's been a while since I've had one of those. Rose late. Made coffee, and returned to bed with it. Eventually I wandered my way down to the new age shop in town to get a psychic reading, to then find they'd moved, which sent me on a hike up the hill. As a result, I wound up meandering my way home alone Cliff Drive, which of course dropped me on the sand, and then led me to the boardwalk. My thoughts trailed to the time I've spent here. Looking at the planks below my feet, thinking, or feeling, I know every one of them. My time in Laguna is about to come to a close. One closet, half the studio, the bookcase, and the kitchen, are all packed. In the next two days, it will all be done.
Yesterday was my clean date. That means I have 13 years of continued abstinence from drugs and alcohol. I want to drink, and I want to smoke, all the time. I find no interest in moderation, of really any type. It is seeing this in myself, that probably stops me from returning. The drugs no longer interest me, at least not recreationally. I've become a grown woman. We slow down with age. We really really do.
So, Belmont Shore is my next location. It's a burrow of Long Beach. This means I will be in LA County. This means I will be OUT of Orange County. I tickle and marvel at the thought. The real world. I will be rejoining... the real world. I feel like I'm being birthed out of Laguna. I feel like I'm getting a whole new life, almost as thought I'm starting my recovery all over again.
|
|
|
| Dear Diary, |
[Sep. 15th, 2008|02:42 am] |
| [ | Mood |
| | I. Feel. Crazy. | ] |
All my friends have girlfriends right now. Boring!
I hope this mood passes as a result of premenstrual stuff, if not, I think I need to die. If my tits weren't a little sore, I would think about starting to get high again.
MAN I hate, no, not hate, let me rethink this.... MAN it bugs me I can't tie one on.
I had a few tough clients this week. Two days in a row. Touch. Not a lot of money either. My clients are hard. I need to learn to push back. People make me out to be forthcoming. I do have a leaky facet between my brain and my tongue, but there are all sorts of things I should'a would'a could'a.
Tonight I actually DID sit down to read, but then DIDN'T like the lighting options. I started to poke and prod at my floor lamp. Within a few minutes it was ripped to nuts and bolts across the floor. Lamp cord like entrails. It hovers nicely, with two pull cords, over the corner of my couch. Random cords drive me NUTS, so the dining room light was ripped from the ceiling as well. Power source. All the better, it has a dimmer switch.
I think my head is going to explode. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Aug. 18th, 2008|03:09 am] |
| [ | Mood |
| | . | ] |
| [ | Music |
| | Grace Cathedral Hill (Castaways And Cutouts) by The Decemberists | ] |
Preston told me to go back on Match. "But I've already met everyone." I demanded.
"Well go on, and see what the Divorce Fairy has brought you."
It's taken a year for our rapport to build into this friendly banter. The sort of back and forth of old friends. We have that rhythm now, especially when I get nuts. I'm not sure if anyone communicates with me, as well as he does, when I'm up in arms. Absolutely still and calm. He can't always bring me back down, nor does he really try to, but he holds steady. I hadn't previously realized he was the rock I'd tethered myself to. I miss him so much. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Jul. 11th, 2008|02:54 am] |
| [ | Mood |
| | okay | ] |
| [ | Music |
| | Melatonin (Carnavas) by Silversun Pickups
| ] |
I'm working on court reports. They have to be in my supervisors mail box at the beginning of the work day. I sound so legal when I talk like this. I don't want to go to school in the morning. Everything hurts. My body. I've been busy at work. Still healing from that tirade of cosmetic surgery I had a month ago. Someone tried upsetting me tonight by accusing me of noting being so important to me as looks and money. I told him I was busy. Hell, someone's gotta pay for me to look like this.
It's 3AM, and I'm doing court reports. they take forever because they're so damn hard to do. They're so damned hard to do, because my one thousand opinions, and two hundred judgments, have to be boiled down to a calm and logical argument. I have to do it without talking with my hands. And did I tell you I'm missing Nanda. It's probably the music. I need to feel something else then my distaste for the lives of two very young men I love.
I've been reading. Books. I've been caught up in the meaningless dribble of the Twilight series. A saga they call it. Teenage vampire love stories. It's wonderful. Nothing of great importance, but I will go ahead and admit, I cried when the werewolf didn't get the girl. CRIED. One hand on the book, the other on my mouth..... cried. The fourth and final book to the "saga" comes out in a few weeks. I'm reading anything else the author has put out, in the meantime, just holding myself together, waiting, for that book. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Jun. 30th, 2008|02:19 am] |
|
Sometimes after we haven't gotten along for a moment, Little Midget and I, I'll reach my hand to the back seat and either poke at him or grab his hand. I'll shake it around for some recognition of affection. I will ask him if he's still my friend. He will always answer, "No." Me: Uncertain. Always surprised. Every last time, "NO?" Him: With a face like he's still unhappy with me, he will say, "No. I'm not yur friend." ..... pause ...... "I'm yur brothur." Little fucker makes my heart melt. |
|
|
| . |
[Jun. 3rd, 2008|02:30 am] |
| [ | Mood |
| | wronery | ] |
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
the1withtheeyes's journal
