all the evening through

we were supposed
to go see
the film at 
the big mall movie theater,
but your bed was so soft
and your
kisses so hard-
we stayed in your little studio apartment
all the evening through. 

impatience

I am waiting


for my life to begin


to meet my soulmate


for the ultimate inspiration


for that one phone call


for my heart to feel whole


for you to come and pick me up

are you on your way yet?

coming soon...

I have so many stories in my head and heart right now. I just need to write them. Thanks for being there for when I do :)

i miss this place

the personal is the political

My political career

starts 

now, 

shall I give or take? 

To be 28 and

made of modeling clay 

is a 

wonderful gift;

lets hope the 

hands are 

soft and kind. 

quiet

I would
like to
be very
quiet
 with someone. Very quiet.
To take
 a bath, to read
in bed, and to fall
 asleep
 wrapped together
 in a blanket
of quiet.

lessons learned

you can't

hurry

love

or 

risotto.

dress me up, dress me down

first we went to dinner and never stopped laughing.
i wore my blue sailor dress and red suede heels.

then we went to a picnic in the park, sipped champagne cocktails in the grass:
  i wore my blue plaid dress with my blue french kitten heels.

then we went to the movies and shared popcorn with our feet up, hedging bets on the plot;
I wore my white cotton dress and my nude pumps with embroidered flowers.

then we went bowling, how awful was I? and you said you like my hips and called me baby:
i wore my red polka dot skirt and black flats.

new series: faces and names

 Anyone who knows me knows that I love playing with identity. One of the ways I like to do this is by dressing up and playing with all my wigs. so I have decided I am going to write a little bio for each of my characters created from the various wigs in my collection. Little profiles for my multiple personalities. What do you think? Watch this space.


Ps I also added photo links to the various series I include in the blog, as well as the 2010 links for my favorite scribbles. Enjoy!

getting older

the days are

filled with

wedding dresses

and baby names, 

and yet

the cement at my feet

leaves me 

a worried observer. 

throw a gift at me: anything,

just make the world shake

a bit. 

i need a jackhammer

but will

settle for

a sewing needle, 

as long 

as my hands can move 

to free me. 

Everything to Everyone

To Whom It May Concern:

                I am interested in your open position for -------------------------------------. Early this year I left a position in a small international law firm in Paris; I have decided to move away from the legal field, as I believe something more policy-oriented suits me better. This job would allow me to channel all my -------------------------------- into something furthering an excellent organization. I hope you will consider me as a choice to join the ------------------------ team.

I love long hours of filing, extended coffee making, keeping up with inter office gossip, and chastising people for using the "reply all" button.  I am willing to move anywhere in the world, except maybe Kentucky or Russia. 

I feel like the work your organization is doing is of utmost importance in today's volatile world. I have always been passionate about -------------- and would love to make it a priority in my professional life. 

I am available any time for an interview. Seriously- any time. Call me, or text me, or we can skype. I'll meet you in Idaho if you want. Maybe not Kentucky though. I am willing to accept any level of pay.

Best Regards,

Lucie

new

a boy called and asked me on a date.
i will get a dress and
new gloves,
a little clutch with $5 and
lipstick from Max Factor.
Oh dear I hope my hair doesn't go flat
and the
begonias are not
wilted when he comes to pick me up.


my tummy tells me
that it will be fun

5 senses

he entered the house- immediately warm and cozy as soon as the scent of the rich, heavy sauce and dark red wine, breathing, hit his body

 she peeked her head around the doorway of the kitchen, and he could see a glimpse of gingerbread hair in big, soft curls brushing down to the nape of her neck and the straps of her satin red slip dress.

“hi” she said, her voice tonguing his ears. “be comfortable, it’s almost ready.”

ignoring-, he went into the kitchen and stood behind her, slowly kissing her-  salt and spice, all , starting at her neck down to the top of her hip,

where he ran one hand up her trembling thigh, the other hand tangled in her hair, pulling her to him,

where the only sense missing was good sense. 

only fools fall in love

The trouble with boys
 is that I go for the smart ones- 
and the smart ones
 tend to be the most socially stunted. 


The dumb ones are fun
 and you can take them 
anywhere.
 They adore you and love you and want to live in bed.


 I hope one day 
I meet a man 
who does not 
have to choose
 between intelligence and passion. 
A capacity for love can be as big as an intellect, and loving does not make you a fool. 

Then It Happened Even Worse.

So I was doing my spring cleaning and came across this letter randomly. It was written in 1997, when I was a freshman in high school.  I just had to share it. Incriminating names are stealthily hidden.


 A bit of background: Colin was my brother's best friend and was the first guy I ever kissed when I was 13. Z was my first boyfriend when I was 14. And, just to add, both of them barely got to first base. After the jump is the rest of the letter and I have rewritten it for you with some corrections. Enjoy! 

28

they say your soul
is reborn
every 7 years,
now so I have my fourth try.
I'll put
27 in an old
shoe box, and
stash it away in the closet...
Hello 28.
Hello soul.

My friend Mata

I had Mata Hari over for dinner-- that crazy Mata, who knows what she is going to say?

I said "Mata? What should I do next, huh?"

She replied, "If you wear too many rhinestones, they will kill you prompt. Pass the peas."

Oh that crazy Mata.

things i found in my closet

Marie Antoinette wig


empty vodka bottle


law school diploma


hookah


box of ballet shoes


prom dress

haikus about men i have slept with, set seven

XXIX.

In bed you were prime

But real life? Oh Lord please help;

At least you love you.

V.

I don’t regret much,

But taking your body was

way over the line.

XXIV.

You broke my heart

But I would do it over

To kiss you again. 

for more of this series, click here.

valentine

velvet bag
with
golden 
heart shaped
nipple tassels
and
assortment of
googly eyes. 

say nothing at all

Betsy met Nigel on the bay on the last day of the year. When she looked into his sea foam eyes she felt like a blanket was wrapped around her tight, trapping in the warmth, fuzzy sweet sanctuary. Nigel could not speak, and Betsy comforted him with hugs and apple pies. Her favorite times were the mornings, when Nigel’s hair was furiously frumpled, and his eyes heavy with sleep. She would kiss his face, his cheeks, his back, the curve of his shoulder, the base of his neck. “I adore you” she would say, and he would stay quiet. “If he could speak,” she thought to herself, “he would say the same.”

The bay started to go too dark, and Bets could not stay any longer. “I have to go back to Beaumont, Texas,” she thought. “But I will miss my Nigel with the sea foam eyes.” She found him and asked him to go to the bay with her for one last night before her escape away.

“No,” he said. “I don’t want to.”

Betsy went to the bay alone, and cried. And he never came to comfort her. She had not realized that he only uses his voice to hurt, and the pierce in her heart stung for years. 

the leaving dance

I am folding each
skirt,
each ribbon-
trying to make them fit
in a too-small bag.
Maybe packing should be something you do alone?


I've been having
nightmares-
always the same.
I am in school and about to graduate, but I did not do all that I was meant to do.
I am afraid I won't graduate. The whole dream is my fear of messing it up.
Sometimes in the dream I realize that I already finished school- several times-
but it doesn't take away the fear.


I walked down the river the other day
and the air was piercing cold on my bare arms. I did not wear a coat. I did not finish the class. I cannot fit the dresses and hats.


I'm trying to fold myself into a too-small world.


I hope this is the last time. I want every time to be the last time.


I'll miss you-- no lover has ever broken my heart so much as Paris.

it is decided

I will have a girl
named Babette
and a boy 
named Friday 
and I will make
roasted chicken
every 
week. 

truth

I am so 
unbelievably 
lucky,
because no matter
where I am 
in the
world, 
I meet the most
amazing 
people
to share love with. 


just a reminder. 

Belleville

Belleville is the Brooklyn of Paris,
and you can see how the air moves around people there. 
As I walked I only felt
the slightest brush of wind on my face-
as if to say
if you weren't here, no one would notice.


Everyone is a stranger in Belleville. 
The streets drag on like improv jazz-
sharp words and low dips
and swirls of mini tornados. 


One day I will find the man
for whom the wind dances,
and his heart will be swollen with sincerity. 
He will be generous with his love, his time, and his experiences...
and will convince the air to move for me. 

an apology

So I dreamt I crawled inside of her ear and sat there in the mushy mush, until I found what I had destroyed and twisted it all around, back to the way it used to be. I looked at my clipboard and put a check mark next to “shattered” and “damaged” and “ruined” and “spoiled”. It was bad. Bad news. Not an easy job.

Skipped over some things and went back to the good stuff, the really really good stuff. (I fluffed it up a little). I put-- I’m sorry-- band-aids all around and kissed it all better. It was good to be close to her.

And when I crawled out she hugged me and told me she loves me again. 

leave quickly and come home late

leave quickly and
come home late.
if you see Josephine let her know that her man was downtown with Clara Lee...
just sayin'
if it is on your way
can you pick up some kisses for me? 
assorted. sordid. sure did. 
now leave quickly 
and come home late
and call me if Josephine starts to cry. 

16

baby, my parents are out of town,
and my older sister bought us some wine coolers. 
i put on my finest strawberry lipstick and 
non-cotton undies for you...
come over and look at me awkwardly 
while i smile because i know what is 
going to happen--
and you do too, but you are
too shy to start...
we will kiss and pretend 
we are older than ourselves....
as if older people would
kiss violently over
fuzzy navel wine coolers on a cider porch. 

Tully Tuesday

Little Tully Tuesday 
was the silliest girl in town.
She stopped to slip her slippers on 
and take her body down
to the other side of the tracks where
she could see her dressing gown-
sewn by the sister of her paramour,
Mr. Wednesday Brown.

10 years too late

i'm really sorry i wasn't wise enough to learn how to fight with you 10 years ago

i couldn't appreciate you for who you are

or communicate with you properly

it feels like coming up for underwater, learning about yourself and life

i really think we should have a romantic trip to china the way it should have been, to see how it feels

i can only imagine us liking each other more than ever now

let's go this summer

let me take you

and treat you like a queen

bises

his kisses
are 
like
soul sushi--


and my whole
body
shivers at his
touch. 


if i had my way
i would build the
biggest blanket fort in the world-


and press
against him
forever. 

when you come:

1, rue hautefeuille
sonnez bonavito
code porte 3985
tout en haut- 6ieme etage
au bout
avec la carte postale. 

resolutions

wear more red lipstick.


breathe more. 


and stop biting my nails. 

a Christmas present to my readers

It is that time of year again. And, although I know my readership is limited, I want to thank each and every one of you for stopping by my blog to see my little scribbles. 


I am a huge fan of The Moth and This American Life, and they inspired me to record a story for you all, as a little token of my appreciation.  I want to start experimenting more with reading my pieces out loud. I would love any feedback you could offer. And sorry for the bad quality- my first time!


This is the story of the Johnson family: Ma, Pa, Emily, Clancy and Clyde. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you are feeling the love of the holiday season. 


PS I'll type up the written story tomorrow maybe- so you can read to your children all snug in their beds.

Le Cardinal Cafe

I was just wandering the streets, clearing my mind in the brisk, sharp air. The sky was the color of apathy and the people were all bundled up in scarves and hats. I had already stopped for a coffee near my place- where I sat warm and at ease writing a million letters to a million people. I stopped by the post office and mailed all the little thoughts out across the ocean.

Regretting wearing only my little black ballerina slippers instead of my cushy winter boots, I wrapped myself up tight and started walking. I crossed by Notre Dame- how it was almost camouflaged against the grey sky!- and continued down the Seine towards wherever.

I passed Shakespeare and Company, the cello maker, and two Italian tourists shouting at each other in the road. Before I knew it my watch said it was near 3 and my tummy growled- empty except the coffee and cream. I passed a brasserie, same as any other, and ducked inside from the cold.

As I stripped off all my outer layers and ordered a mulled wine, I realized I had just walked into a 1960’s Goddard film. The bar was long and plated in metal, smudged with the fingerprints of lunch guests. A few men sat there, mid 40s, with glasses full of rosé, discussing something serious in hushed tones, close to each other. Behind the bar was a man with a flop of dark hair and a striped shirt, wiping down the espresso machine and turning the glass jar of Madeleines.  The chef stood at the door of the kitchen, bored now that lunch was finished for the say; he surveyed the old men sitting to my right.

They sat, chatting, and one could tell that they hadn’t moved all day. Every time a man with silver hair and a long umbrella would walk in the door with a fresh blast of winter they would say “Hello young man!” and drag him in to conversation for a spell. One snacked on a crème caramel while the other refilled their glasses with wine from a small carafe. A tall, younger man entered and the table shouted “Bonjour Olivier!” but Olivier managed to avoid their grasp, taking a quick coffee at the bar before disappearing back into the latin quarter. A man in shocking red pants and a Burberry scarf joined them at their small table and they cried “Hey bartender! This guy needs a glass of wine! Hurry!”

To my left sat an older couple, resembling each other as many years of marriage will do. She drank a perrier and he had a coca cola, and at their feet was the largest, fluffiest black dog I have ever seen- dozing away happily on the cold tile. “Is he nice?” I asked, then scratched his head, feeling only handfuls of fur.

Beside the cooler displaying chocolate mousse in sundae cups, small crème caramels, a cherry clafouti, a large white bûche de noel, and bottles of Cotes de Provence and Sancerre, a man in small glasses, the owner I presume, sat quietly. He had a large calculator to one side, a large rubber stamp on the other, and a stack of papers in front. He held his face close to the papers as he read, lifting only to sip from his tiny espresso cup.

A Christmas tree blinked in the corner and the speakers buzzed with a quiet jazz piano. The light snow flurries turned to freezing drops of rain and the old men cried “another!” at the man in the striped shirt. 

A True Story of Unshakable Naivety

It was less than a month ago when I first called him. I'm not sure quite why. I wasn't very lonely- I had been seeing some other guys casually. I guess it was curiosity? Maybe I really did miss him, somehow? I do know that I was still angry. It was only two years ago, the last time I saw him, that he had pushed my heart through a meat grinder. 


I remember so well when it happened- a hot, humid July day. We had already been on the rocks- his obsessive jealously was so overwhelming at times I would just scream and scream with no release. When he started going through my phone and peeking in my journal, I knew it had gone too far. And I was generally at a really bad place in my life- in the middle of law school, leaving Paris again, questioning my future with him and Paris and life in general. And then came the knowledge, like a shotgun to the chest: he was seeing someone else. And I cried, and cried. I wondered when I had ever decided to let my guard down with a French man anyhow, as I have never known one to be faithful. My rule was easy- I can play the game. Everyone has fun and no one gets hurt. But he told me he loved me, and my tummy needed to feel it so badly that I believed him. 


But that was two years ago. 


So I called him. I think I wanted an apology, finally. Or at least some satisfaction. And expecting anything from him was the second mistake. I heard his voice and my heart died all over again. I cried, I asked why, I yelled. I hung up the phone, the release unsatisfactory. He called again and again. "I want to see you" he said. "I want to say I am sorry and I missed you" he said. A few weeks later, in a moment of weakness, I gave in. 


It was late and cold, too many clouds to see any stars. He arrived and I poured us both a strong glass of whiskey. It started with more yelling. I tried to be cold to him but I could not control it. So much anger, like a rolling ball of fuzz and dust, smashed into my stomach, not budging. And then I cried. And he held me. And then hours later I was still crying, but now not because of him, but because of myself and my uncertainties and my own little demons. And he was still holding me. And when we kissed it was like two years ago, before everything went bad, when he could still make me blush and giggle. 


In the morning we went for coffee like we always did- he his espresso with plenty of cigarettes, and me with my cafe creme, leafing through the paper. It was cozy and comfortable and I felt my body relax as it hadn't in a while. When he left I tried to analyze the situation but it was much easier to push it out of my mind. We started talking on the phone, meeting for a glass of champagne, and sweet text messages late at night. 


**


Then he showed up one afternoon, with take out and coca cola and all smiles. We snacked and talked and cuddled, then stayed in bed all afternoon. We made love and kissed each other and talked about our lives for the last two years and life in general. We listened to music and he flicked cigarette ash out my window. An endless stream of dressing and undressing. I remembered every centimeter of his chocolate eyes. He kissed my nose and called me old pet names. The window turned from bright to dark as the day turned into a grey evening. "I should go" he said. 


"Lets go out and have a cocktail," I suggested. "I haven't left the apartment all day and it is apero hour." 


"Just one," he said, and we took the tiniest elevator in Paris down to the street and then out to the square and down the street to a pub. Typical pub, all dark wood and smelling of Guinness and fried foods. We sat at the bar and chatted and ordered, a beer for him, a gin and tonic for me- extra limes. When he left to smoke outside the door an English guy next to me struck up a conversation. At his return, I felt his mood change immediately. "I'm just talking," I said. "Do you want to go soon?"


"I want to go" he said, "but I can see you want to stay." I had no intention of staying without him but regardless he ordered more drinks and stood by me like a bulldog. But every time we would finish a round, and he would go out to smoke, a new guy would start talking to me, and his jealously would compel him to stay at the pub with me and make himself angry anew each time he walked back through those doors, smelling of smoke and hops. When we finally left, much later, after several rounds and an order of french fries, he walked me  back up to my apartment, both of us full of kisses and spirits and nostalgia. 


"Can I come in?" he asked. 


"You can," I said. "But if you come in you have to stay the night."


"I can't do that," he said. "I can't stay here."


"Why?" I asked, twirling my fingers in his hair and looking at him with teasing eyes.


"I can't stay" he repeated. His face had now changed.


 "I have to go home. 


I have to go home because I live with my girlfriend."

things that are cold: 
winter


things that are warm:
tongues
bodies
breath
lust

the perks of European pre-paid phones

When you have
exhausted
every breath in your body
trying to explain that he is
mean 
and awful
and selfish...
it clicks off.


and you cannot redial
because the minutes
have expired. 

met my match

I answered the phone with a short "I'm about to go out."


He said "Can I come stay with you tonight?"


I said "Well you've called me so late, you are taking the chance that I might find someone else to take home."


He said "If you find someone better than me, go ahead."




It isn't love but it sure is fun. 

karma

I'm stacking up
my karma
in barrels-


I am 
ready to 
trade it in. 

today

is the 

worst

day. 

when I am in love again

When I am in love again


I will take him to the Pont des Arts
and place a lock, marked with a heart and
with a kiss, we'll reminisce, 


and toss the key in the Seine.

when an ex boyfriend calls

Message reçu: le 11 novembre à 23h14

hi blue.

i was just calling to say...

...

...

...

whatever.

click

2 years ago, from email

Situation this afternoon: 
I am opening the door to the hallway and I see someone coming down the stairs and so I close the door really quickly to hide because I look like hell. So its my upstairs neighbor, he comes up to the room- door still jarred and says "Is someone there?" which is embarrassing because he obviously saw me avoiding him.

So, I am thinking he is about to kill me for all the noise in the apartment last night. So I sheepishly open the door and say "Oh hi! How are you? You know, I'm really sorry about all that noise last night. I was having a dinner party that didn't really start until 11 and we had some wine and anyway I'm sorry. I hope I didn't keep you up."

He's like "Oh, I just wanted to ask if I could crawl out your window to get something that fell on the roof."
 
So I say ok and I'm standing there, in my sweats, yesterdays makeup,hair a tangled mess, with my fucking SHEETS in my hands about to go to the washer, after randomly confessing to inviting people over last night,


 and thinking this is the first time in history someone took a walk of shame in their own apartment. 

failing

i told him
i failed
and in a
short, sweet moment
amidst my
naked 
vulnerability,
he was 


kind.

Wanted

Young
clean
responsible 
American girl 
and one orange cat


seek
small studio or one bedroom flat,
central Paris,
with internet, 
oven, 
and bathtub.


Maximum 700€ per month-


including big, bright windows,
endless closet space,
kitchen to accommodate dinners for up to 12, 
quiet, private courtyard.


willing to negotiate higher rent
to include
cute french boy making breakfast,
chandeliers,
a king sized comfy bed with floral linens.


please contact
and mention
whether the housekeeper does laundry,
if the wine shop makes deliveries,
and if the closet comes complete with Chanel. 


I look forward to your response. 

before dinner

The sky was the strangest shade of purplish grey. They sat at a café table, enjoying one of the last days of the year warm enough to sit outside. As the sun snuck into hiding over the horizon a breeze, like tiny fingers, nipped at ears and bare ankles. 


"I'm trying to live in the moment" she said to him. She immediately put her hand to her lips, as if she wanted to push the cliché back into her throat. "Well, you know, I mean..."


Her name was Lita and her hair was a short crop, decorated by a tiny white bow on the right side. She was pretty, though her face had become rounder in the past few months. When she wasn't speaking she was peeling the polish from her fingernails or toying with a stray yarn on her multicolored, thick scarf. She wore no makeup other than mascara and magenta lipstick, which transferred itself slowly from her lips to her wine glass every time she raised it for a sip.


"I just want to feel like what I am doing is worthwhile. I want to be proud of something. I want to be in love with someone who makes me a better person, not a distorted version of myself. I want to start sculpting again, and watercolor." She looked up at Paul to see how he was reacting to her confessions. 


Paul had green eyes and thick black eyelashes. He sat slouched in his café chair, one leg outstretched into the sidewalk, the other slightly bouncing under the table. His apparent apathy gave him a youthful aura, though he was older than Lita. 


The waitress passed by and the two ordered another carafe of wine. The waitress gave them a quick glance, acknowledging the request, then disappeared inside. She probably thought they were a couple. They seemed to be. Lita, fidgeting and wide-eyed, seemed a good match for Paul's laid back vibe. But they weren't a couple. In fact, they were hardly even friends. They had met by chance at the park two weeks ago, when Paul's friends had forgotten to bring a corkscrew, so they requested one from nearby Lita and company. The two picnics then converged and Lita and Paul found that they lived in the same neighborhood.


The first time they had seen each other after that day was when they ran into each other at the weekend market, and sat down for a cup of coffee afterwards. Lita thought Paul was a bit of a bore, in a way that she couldn't quite explain. Paul found Lita amusing in a condescending fashion. Yet they found themselves together again, drinking red wine on the banks of the Seine, filling their bellies with Bordeaux and fresh air. 


The waitress returned with the carafe and set it down sloppily on the small, worn; wooden table. "Voila" she said. 


"Well?" implored Lita. "What do you think? What makes you feel like what you are doing is worthwhile?"


"To tell you the truth, I don't really think too much about that kind of thing," said Paul. "I mean, I work, I make money, I find pretty girls to kiss... That all seems worthwhile to me. I'm pretty alright happy."


"Pretty alright happy?" asked Lita. "Don't you want to be really happy?"


"Of course I do. It happens in moments, not large spaces of time." 


Lita paused, looked down at the newly refilled glass of wine marked by magenta smudges, and sighed. She ran her finger over the rough tabletop, noting its dips and curves. She saw the light from the inside of the café bounce off of the rounded sides of the carafe. The air smelled like leaves, and tobacco, and river water. The sun was now completely hidden and small groups of people were huddling around the posted menu of the café, pondering dinner. 


Her mind felt still, her body relaxed. She turned toward the city and the ornate stone buildings lining the streets.  The trees were gradually dropping their now yellow leaves, creating piles of crunchy fragile stepping stones down the sidewalk. 


If time could be stopped, she thought, this time would be wonderful. She took the dusk, wrapped it carefully in fallen leaves, placed it in her skirt pocket. 


She looked towards Paul who was following a woman in a purple pea coat with his eyes. 


"I guess I'll take what I can get," Lita said, discovering a new stray yarn on her over-picked scarf. And the clock kept ticking, and the metros kept running, and the waitress stepped outside to smoke. 

her name was Dot

My little Parisian pied-a-terre used to belong to a woman named Dot. In fact, I think it still does. Dot is not on Earth anymore, technically, but I think she has yet to leave her little home. 

She had many properties- maybe Paris was her favorite? I read some letters from her friends and they were often reassuring: "Its ok, Dot. You are moving on to new things." and "You have excellent taste in art and friends- you have collected a great deal of both." 

She was a traveler and an artist. She was one of our clients, so I looked up her file...

In the inventory for her other Paris home, her belongings read like poetry. And "under the bed" is the best random listing of luxuries I could imagine.

Under the bed:

2 suitcases

3 good long dresses
1 sari

long gloves

various silk stoles

2 old sari dresses

red hotelplan bag with winter mittens, earmuffs, and hiking stockings

gloves: white beige, black satin, purple, summer

beaver fur coat

And my favorite listing from her closet:

scarves- dozens. 

She's not a bad flatmate at all. Who wants to drink coffee alone anyway?

grow up

crying at work count: 1

home:alone

Open the door and go inside. It is tiny and warm, stuffy but clean.

See those windows with the balcony up there? I ask. I live above those.

Throw yourself on the ancient bed, small as a mouse and creaky. Pour a glass of cheap wine into a jelly jar and kick your shoes off into the corner.

It is quiet, no? And still. Except for the humm of the groups down below in the square, chattering at the cafes and gossiping at bars.

No matter how many times you close your eyes it is still there.

Nothing,

not even candle flame,

can be as sweet as this.

thoughts in the summer before law school

March 3, 2006

I miss my bicycle. I've been thinking, if I don't get accepted to any law schools, I want to find a city to live and work in-- a new city, where I can ride my bicycle and live within limited economic means with lots of ethnic restaurants and weather where I can grow daisy bushes and maybe some water nearby? I could wait tables until I get some sort of 'real' job and I could volunteer at the woman's shelter and take up some adult ballet classes. And maybe get my ESL license?

I have no plan/I have no future/I am free and oh-so trapped.

PS Tomorrow is my birthday. Yay for 23!

first love

I've only ever really been in love once, when I was with my first college boyfriend. While packing I came across this journal entry I wrote shortly after meeting him:

September 14, 2001

I am so fucking smitten. Last night was absolutely wonderful. I met Armon just two days ago, but I feel like I've known him forever. 

He came over to study. When I first saw him I stopped a little- he was so hot in the middle of the lobby of the dorm. I was thinking "I really hope he thinks I am pretty" because I was feeling awfully self-conscious, but I got comfortable with him so quickly and his vibes were just so good. Everything about him was good. 

We went downtown and walked around, stopping by Junkman's Daughter and Smoothie King  and Blue Sky for coffee. I knew that even if he didn't like me we were going to be great friends because we just went so well together. 

We went to his dorm to get his books and I saw his pretty guitar, then we went back to my dorm room to start studying. We met his friend Bob there, and let me tell you- Bob is an awesome guy. I really hope we become good friends. He lives in the same dorm building as I do. 

So we started studying kind of, but kept talking about music and other things. It was fun and silly and how I had imagined college to be: sitting around, studying and listening to music and laughing....

After Bob left I talked to Armon for a long time. I was pulling super heavy flirting mode with him. I guess it worked because we kissed and it was soft and sweet and delicious. It was getting late, around 2 i think, so I told him he had to go. We went into the hall and I couldn't stop thinking about his lips. 

We were absolutely going at each other like crazy. We kissed together perfectly, we meshed. We took the stairs the 6 flights down and kissed on every landing. It felt so nice and I wanted to write about it so badly. 

something nice

hmm? what's that?
really?
oh well,
thanks. 
thanks very much..... beam

subdued

in old hollywood
they would put lens filters on the cameras


to shoot the starlets
 close-up


i drink vodka before I see my mother
for 
the same reason.


everyone looks better in a fuzzy light.

love

i'm ready to be 

in love

with 

a lot of

things.

feast

one cannot

live

 on kisses      alone,

but i would

be 

willing 

to give it

a try.

go

turn around three times and touch your toes-

comb your hair and pretend you are never ever hungry.

if the voodoo doesn't work//

just let it go, dear,

keep calm and carry on: waiting is a waste of time.