lettuce be kind

He may have gone to Middle School with us in 6th grade, but the first time I met him was in 7th grade. He was hard to miss, even in our class of about 350 students. 


I want to make it clear that I was no fashionista in 1995. I was completely unaware of how to dress my (quickly) budding curves. I do remember wearing my fair share of homemade vests, preciously curated by my mother that often helpfully reflected the season. This is the result of having a mother who worked part time at the local fabric store. My pants consisted mostly of hand-me-down Gloria Vanderbilt jeans from my various aunts, and I do recall that little backpacks and loafers had come into style as a result of Clueless. However, despite my hardcore look, to be fashionable in my little middle school at that time you had to rock Tommy Hilfiger tshirts with designer jeans or anything from Abercrombie and Fitch. These duds were paired with white Nike tennis shoes over long white athletic socks. Clearly our town was the center of southern American fashion. 


Regardless it didn't much matter what he wore. In fact, I don't remember at all what he wore. It was probably the same as all the other boys- oversized tshirts and jeans. His name was Jeffrey and he was the most awkward looking person I had ever come across. He wasn't particularly tall, but he was very thin; his thinness was accented by his pale white skin. As he sat in his plastic chair with attached old desk boney knees poked out from under mesh athletic shorts, and boney elbows rested on the vandalized wood of the desktop. I won't say his last name here, but believe me that it was rife with potential for torturous teasing. 


Jeffrey was a little blond boy with constantly ruffled hair. He probably had a cute face but it was covered more than 3/4 of the way by thick, plastic glasses that would slide down his nose. The only part of his face left visible were two thin lips, and when he smiled he revealed a massive set of buck teeth. 


Looking back now it was almost too perfect of a stereotype. I know plenty of nerdy guys today, many of whom rock thick rim glasses and are proud of their anti-fashion stance. But 12 and completely unaware of how the outside world really sees you is when true geeks are born. This poor boy didn't stand a chance against middle school. When he spoke his voice was high and squeaky. He twitched and moved in his chair, constantly uncomfortable. I can only imagine how the boys treated him. I didn't make fun of him, but then again I didn't not make fun of him. 


But the real kicker to this story is when, one day, I don't know how, someone discovered Jeffrey's kryptonite: This boy was afraid of lettuce. 


Got that? This boy was afraid of lettuce. 


It is a mystery to me how someone figured this out, but once it was out the rest of the year became a battle of Jeffrey vs the lettuce wielders. They would pocket the shredded iceberg from the cafeteria and leave it on his chair, sprinkle it in his hair, or tuck it into his backpack. Each time Jeffrey would jump, shriek  and squeal. Sometimes he would shake. We would all laugh and the teacher would yell. Then it would be over, the battle won once again by the iceberg mafia. 


I don't remember seeing Jeffrey at all after that year. He may have finished middle school with us in 8th grade but he wasn't in any of my classes. He didn't go on to the high school where the majority of us were funneled, either. I assumed he had been taken out and home schooled. 


I don't know what got me thinking about Jeffrey. Maybe because my little cousin is in middle school now and his lanky body and metal filled mouth make me giggle. Maybe it is this new campaign that makes bullying the biggest buzzword. Maybe it was my brother's 30th birthday party last weekend that brought me face to face with some people I knew at that time and haven't seen in 10 or more years. But I started thinking about him, and wondering where he had ended up. 


The media tells us what happened to poor Jeffrey. Just look at any teen movie or young adult novel. If popular culture is to be believed Jeffrey has ended up in one of two places:

Jeffrey of 2011 could be a master of technological innovation, rolling in the dough and laughing at the rest of us in this sad economy. Of course he would still be wearing something ridiculous like a leisure suit, but it would be with irony and a firm 'fuck you' to whomever doesn't like it.
On the other hand, Jeffrey of 2011 could have decided, once puberty hit, that he didn't have to live that way anymore. He may have channeled all his anger at 12 year old boys and dentists and lettuce into the gym, where he pumped enough weight to double in size. Of course, this physique would make him irresistible to the ladies. 

The power of the internet can reveal all mysteries. So I typed in his name and let google do the magic. 


The first thing that I found was a facebook page, revealing that Jeffrey still lives near where we went to school. He got a masters in Information Systems at the local college. His picture shows a man with thinning blond hair, and yes, thick glasses. But he looked positively average. He was neither super geek millionaire nor body builder with a chip on his shoulder. It was pretty anti-climactic. I clicked back to the google search to just give one more glance and that is where I found it: a youtube video of Jeffrey added three months ago. 


I opened it to see the inside of an Applebees. Jeffrey strolls up to a microphone connected to a small machine. He is as he was in his facebook picture but we can see his large black Ke$ha t-shirt. He speaks briefly and I immediately hear that old voice from all those years ago. It is so high and peculiar, so difficult to place. He now has no front teeth. His arms still skinny, though now he has a round beer belly above his jeans. He then dives into a passionate rendition of Ke$ha's song "blow" for the captive beer guzzling, mozzarella stick nibbling audience. 

Go, go, go, go insane 

Go insane

Throw some glitter

Make it rain on him

Let me see them Hanes

Let me, let me see them Hanes

I cringed. Who would put this video up online ? I felt immediately like I was again the girl three seats over, seeing all this mockery and keeping my mouth shut. However, it wasn't the same. This video was posted by Jeffrey himself, from an account proudly stating his full real name. 


So I guess that is all that matters, right? So he's still a weirdo. But he's embracing it; it seems like he is getting along just fine. And that is all any of us can really do, right? 

blocked

You know how some people say they can only write when they are sad?
I'm the opposite of that. When I am sad I get a writer's block the size of Wisconsin.
Everything I have written lately is awful. I'm more inspired by blue skies than rain.

Disappointment

saddening situation, letdown
	bitter pill  ; /success.

100 watts

polka dots
to enter the new game
and vegas slots::
whiskey shots with the huguenots;

we're all harlots
wearing apricot
dresses and hats like
a hipster mascot;

suppose i overshot the cosmonaut,
but the summer is over just the same.

repeat repeat

i have short fingers
i have short, bitten nails,


i have wide wide hips and a white, bumpy tummy too. 


my breasts are too large and my eyes are too small,


and my arms are reminiscent of sausages.


But I will paint these nails periwinkle, and use the short fingers to write and to touch, and to love --
i will use my whole body to love, 
and to get love in return. And when i see it with my 


too-small blue eyes, i and only 
i will remember the map tattooed on my skin....

Help Wanted

Seeking highly qualified motivated individual

to work 80-100 hours per week

in a dark cave without access to sunlight or other people,

after 1 month free training!

must be willing to do heavy lifting, some travel (by foot), and sometimes pick up dry cleaning. 

JD or Masters only! 

This is an unpaid internship- only those shortlisted will be contacted. Don't call us. Good luck. 

home is where your heart was

I would like to keep my home in that happy place in my memory- I would like to remember riding my bike to the local library, jumping on the trampoline, walking through the church at high school graduation. It was good here, I swear- I do not even remember the heat or the heartache. I remember just ballet recitals and birthday parties, bike rides and card games, first kisses and kickball.

It is hard to romanticize your home when you are forced back. I do not want those fancy dreams to be tainted by the loss and loneliness I feel here now. I want to keep loving my home forever,

so I better get out of here fast.

haikus about men i have slept with, set eight

XV.

American boys

Want to add a lass, but French

boys share with leur pote.

XXV.

When I needed you

In my heart you were there, and

The playhouse sheets too.  

XXVIII.

Face like a dreamboat

And tall slender build- what a

Let down in the end!

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