its really happening

it is really happening. 

i'm moving back to paris- Permanently- with one of my dream jobs.

September can't come soon enough!

my head is exploding with butterflies.

please excuse the absence

Sorry to say
I cannot make it to your
impeding nuptials. i
have some hair washing
to do and more
toe nails to be painted
maybe red this time.
i really would have loved to have made it
but i have plans
that day, plans with
someone very attractive and...
polish. he is polish.
perhaps i can make it
to your next wedding if
my schedule turns out to be
more open,
in the future,
if i am not in africa or baton rouge.
so please excuse the absence-
it appears you may have
forgotten to mail me an invitation--
but out of politeness i want you to know
that i wouldn't have been able
to make it,
anyway.

user instructions

when feeling crazy lost and impulsive:

drink wine, call meaningless boy (who you may or may not actively dislike), drink more wine while stripping and kissing in the yard,

lament lack of stars and inadequate kisses loudly (to make sure he knows you dislike him), roll around on a thin blanket over the grass, under the trees...

wake up in his bed at 2:00 with a throbbing head and many mosquito bites. 

dares and defies

july poem

a remainder is a future interest in a grantee that...

a remainder is a future interest in a grantee that is capable or becoming posessory possessssrie possessory 

a remainder is a future interest in a grantee that is capable of becoming possessory upon the expiration of a prior possessory estate created in the same conveyance....

sigh

a remainder is a future interest in a grantee that is capable of becoming possessory upon the expiration of a prior possessory estate created in the same conveyance in which the remainder is created.

time for tea.

where it all began

I received my first diary from my mother on Christmas Day, 1989. It was pastel and had a princess on the cover. The pages were scented with some sort of floral baby powder, and it was fitted by a small lock. To this day I think it is the best present I have ever gotten. I thought you might be tickled by my first entry:

A transcript:

DATE: 12251989 WEEK: Mon WEATHER: snow

Dear Diary my name is Brandy I am 6 years old. I love Jack. My favorite ant* is Jean and ant beth.

I love brian.My big brother is a pest. I go to kennesaw ELEMENTary school. My best friend is Amber. The best brbe** I have is holiday Brbe. From Brandy.

*-aunt

**barbie






{ps i specifically remember that diaries were for writing down the names of the boys you liked and was obsessed with my brother finding the book, breaking the lock and reading it with his friends (meaning I secretly really wanted it to happen...}

my feet are tender

-->

Today I stepped out onto the front yard, and a sharp pebble stuck my toe. I squeaked and jumped.

When I was a little girl, I played barefoot kickball in the cul-de-sac with the neighborhood boys. You had to run fast because of the steamy black asphalt.

There was no way to cross the creek in shoes. You had to remove them and grasp them in your hand, and cross keeping balance on the slippery river rocks.

Feet were used for kicking away branches as you made a path through the woods, for poking at the neighbor’s dog, for jumping high in the air over the lake, landing with a splash.

Later my feet were manipulated like crazy. Smashed into pointe shoes 3 times a week, and taps and bare feet slapping the wood floor to move modern. The pointe shoes bent my toes and twisted my ankles, I would wear them for days.

My feet have become soft: blistered from impossibly high heels, and polished with pink. They aren’t for barefoot playing anymore, they are used to tromp through airports, press the gas petal, run for the elevator. 

New motto: be barefoot as often as possible.

deep breath

Not far from this time 2 years ago I broke up with Paris. 

Now she wants me back. 

my head is spinning, rather

ridiculous- thinking of papers and housekeys and netgross

the bathtub gave me no answers-

my head and my heart are in a deadlock.

stories I wrote in high school: Skinny Dipping

[ed note: This is my favorite story I wrote in high school: not because it is amazingly written, or a wonderful short plot. I love it because when I was young my best friend was a military brat and moved to Mississippi when I was just 12 or 13. Thereafter I would go to see her every summer- by myself! When I think of being young in the summer, I think of Mississippi times. This story just brings everything back for me- I remember that night so vivdly- though most nights ended the same way. Hope you like it <3 ]

Click!

“Shhhh, they’ll hear you!”

“They are asleep. Its 3 AM.”

“But they’ll wake up!”

“From one little click?”

“Yes!!”

“Shhh you, they’ll definitely wake up if you want to get angry about it!”

She threw a pillow at me. I held it against my face to keep from giggling too loudly. It smelled like eucalyptus. Everything in the room smelled of faint eucalyptus and watermelon. It was a pleasant smell- a comforting smell.

The click had come from the window. It clicked each time it was slid open. The air from outside started penetrating the room: hot and sticky, but in a good way. There was a tiny breeze that would blow your hair just a little if you stood the right way, and it always felt amazing.

She went to the nightstand and turned on the stereo very softly. She pushed ‘repeat’ and the CD was spinning.

Round here... We all look the same...

“What good will that do?” I asked.

“It’s... important.” She answered.

“Well are we going? You are letting all the mosquitoes into my room!”

“Fine, lets go. But be quiet!”

We climbed out the window, slowly and carefully. I gasped as my foot brushed a pine cone and she giggled. I took a hair band out of my pocket as she closed the window almost all of the way. I pulled my hair into a sloppy bun at the nape of my neck. It was tangled and dirty, but I just wiped it out of my face without a thought, brushing a mosquito off my shoulder.

“Is it secure?” I asked.

“All systems go,” she replied.

We ran around the side of the house. The sky was covered with a million silver stars and the moon was full, directly above us. The damp grass flirted with my feet as I dodged ant piles. As we walked past the driveway the motion detector lights went of. We squealed; she grabbed my hand and we ran across the yard. My bun slipped out of the elastic band and my hair bounced as we stumbled into the darkness.

We met the road. The rough asphalt was a harsh change from the soft, tickling grass. We continued running for a few strides but stopped when our bare feet began to sting. We then slowed to a nervous walk.

“It’s kinda chilly” I said.

“Not really.”

I tugged at my sagging, worn jeans and pulled my tiny camisole tank top over my tummy. “Do you have a hair band? Mine must have fallen out.”

“Nope, sorry, this is the only one I have,” she said, pointing to the mess of almost white-blond hair piled on her head.

Besides our quiet talking, it was almost silent. The bugs were screaming as usual. The mosquitoes were buzzing, like always. The streetlight we were almost under was emitting an annoying bizzzzzz every few seconds. I looked down at my shadow. It dances in front of my on the road. I lifted my hand just to see its bent equivalent.

We reached the end of the road and climbed the rusty gate. Now the road had turned to gravel and my toes creamed at me. “Why didn’t I bring sandals?” I asked aloud, to no one. The serenity was getting to me. I had too much energy to be encompassed with silence. She just laughed as we walked onward, until finally we reached the lake.

“Come sit on the pier,” she said. She motioned for me to join her by the water. It was very still, as if I could have stood still on the gentle waves. I sat down.

“Did you bring the oreos?” I asked.

“Yup! Here,” she handed me a few. “Ask a question.”

“You first,” I said, adjusting my legs under my body.

“Sure. Ok, if the cream is on the right side of the cookie then I am going to meet the man of my dreams in the next fifteen days. If it is on the left side I’ll be marrying that guy from McDonalds when I’m forty.” She twisted and discovered the cream filling on the left side.

I laughed. “I’ll still be your maid of honor,” I said.

“Come on, lets go swimming.”

“Are you sure its not cold?” I ate an oreo and dangled my fingers over the top of the water.

“Of course it isn’t cold, it was like 200 degrees today! Lets go!” she squeaked.

We stood up, slid off our clothes, and jumped in the water. A million bubbles floated around me as I swam to the surface. I looked around for her. “You’re right, it feels good,” I admitted. She splashed me with the murky water. “Hey! Don’t get my jeans wet on the pier,” I said.

“They’re going to get wet when you put them back on anyway, unless you plan on walking back without them.” She laughed and dipped under the water. I waved my arms to stay afloat and eyed my surroundings. The lake seemed so much larger once inside it. A house far across the water had a light on in an upstairs room and it glowed yellow through the glass. I could hear a few cars zooming by on the road just past the trees.

Everything felt, and smelled, like summer.

I climbed out of the lake, pulled on my tank top and underpants, and stretched out on the pier. “Getting out so soon?” she called out from the water.

“I’m going to take your clothes and run!” I mocked, as I gently lifted then set down the heap of fabric splayed next to me. “What day is it?” I asked.

“Ummmmm... Thursday.”

“Oh.”

“Well, technically it is Friday,” she said, swimming closer to me.

“Oh, yeah. What time is it?”

“I dunno, look at my watch.”

I shifted her pile of clothes and a watched fell onto the pier. 4.32. I called out to her: “Are you tired?”

“No! I could do anything right now!”

“Okay, lets go to Italy,” I suggested.

“No- Mexico,” she said as she climbed out of the water. “We can get cheap tequila there.”

“Eww I don’t even like tequila.” I squinted my nose.

“Yeah, well, you aren’t supposed to like it. If the frosting is on the right, we go to Italy. If it is on the left, then its Mexico.” She stuck an oreo in her mouth as she pulled on her Old Navy jeans and then twisted the cookie.

“Guess I better get used to tequila,” was my defeated reply.

She tugged at her hair as I zipped up my jeans and then we began to walk back to the house. We took our time, to dry off as much as possible in the night air. For a few steps we both left faint footsteps on the road behind us.  By the time we reached the window we were both fighting a losing battle with drowsiness.

I yawned. “What do you want to do now?” I climbed over the windowsill. “Tired?”

“No, you?” she replied.

“Not at all. Lets play cards.”

The cards had already been sprawled out on the bed and we joined them. The blankets smelled like eucalyptus. We both slid asleep, with the CD player still spinning:

Round here.... something radiates...

honesty on Friday night

I’m staring at the cursor go blinkblinkblink.

It is Friday night. A Friday night like any other. Except I sit on my father’s torn up old couch, next to a lounging black cat. The air conditioning isn’t working and it is so muggy for this time of year. 

My father’s home is perpetually half-constructed. This is partly because he is in construction by trade, and partly because he is a hopeless dreamer who much prefers imagining, sketching, and hypothesizing to actually living in a reality. 

\

I haven’t said it too much, because I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I haven’t said it much, because it hurts when the words stop up my throat:

I hate it here.

I hate it here.

This is the last place I ever wanted to be after all the hard work I’ve done. Do you know...? I think this place tells me:

“This is where you came from.

How dare you think you could be

Anything

Else.”

Life here is Not Normal. And it is Not Healthy. And I’ve fallen into this despondency beyond all reasonableness. 

This past year has been difficult.  Very difficult. 

I’m staring at the cursor, because I need to type. I need to do things to prepare. I am going to Washington DC next week to be interviewed for a Really Big Thing. At least in my life, it is a Really Big Thing.

My mind is in the suburbs but my heart is in the sky. Honestly, darling, I don’t want self-sabotage but old habits die hard.

(Anything else? ...  whispers in my ear)

i'm not dead

and neither is my computer.

i've been to japan for a joyous family occasion.

now i have a sister!!


it was mind-boggling.

i hope someday i can find the right words to share it with you. i'm trying. word drought is in full-swing...

Dear lovelies,

My poor laptop is in critical condition. Please clap your hands if you believe in laptop resurrection! I was working on so many stories, and now it has been in laptop emergency for almost a month!

Thanks <3

27

27 is the atomic number of cobalt.

tomorrow i will be cobalt.

hang your hat on that, sugar. my life in blue.

cupid is getting older

for valentine's day i will
sip tequila
and try to remember what it felt like
to be kissed
for the first time
by my
brother's best friend
in the back yard
while my parents watched
TV inside....

true true true love. like fresh puffy snow on green grass.

metro boulot dodo

the french say
metro boulot dodo
and i understand that now...
but i promise that
even though i am a 3 on my scale of 10
and even though
I spend hours in a job I don't care about...
there is something exciting
(and international)
on the horizon


but i don't want
to
jinx
it.


cross your fingers for me, please!!

here's to a new year

sometimes i forget
and build a house
on quicksand,
feed peanuts and shellfish
to those with
weak immune systems,
swear in front of my grandmother
and sometimes
i move from cities
and countries
at inopportune times...
sometimes i ruin absolutely everything
and i can usually
admit when i am (disastrously) wrong...
it was wrong to paint
that room cantaloupe colored,
it was wrong to
sleep with that boy from
great britain,
it was wrong to wear black legwarmers
with green tights
in college that one time....
i should not have


i won't call old M any more.
i won't drink until my birthday-- okay, perhaps start that one tomorrow....

PS

My first post of the New Year was my 300th post of the blog. Thanks for all my new readers! My little piece of the internet means a lot to me, and I love sharing it with you.

haikus about men i have slept with, set 5

X

You were perfection

on paper, but in real life:

Frustration defined.

XVI

We kissed by the Seine,

But you were such a man-child

it was always doomed.

III

You kissed me so hard

that my lip was bruised; I thought

it was hot back then.

wish jar

When I was in college I stared a "wish jar." I guess I've always been a worrier, and sometimes I get so intensely into my own thoughts I could stay up all night racking my brain for solutions to my little hiccups in life. I painted an old pickle jar and started writing my wishes on little pieces of paper and sticking them inside... It was so cathartic. It did not put things completely out of my head but it did feel like a tiny weight was off of my shoulders. When I moved away from college in 2005 I read all the little papers, and they seemed so silly: "I wish he would call me back" "I wish I would get an A on this French test" "I wish I could fit into my blue dress"

I need to start the wish jar again,

but oh dear how the wishes have changed...