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...

stories i wrote in high school: a hitchhiker's hour

"The whole world looks different from the back seat of a convertible," she said as she slipped on her black studded sunglasses and shifted gears. Her words floated back to me. "Where are you headed, honey?" She lifted her hand just off of the steering wheel for a second to check her nails.

It was a huge old convertible. Canary yellow. The paint was chipping and the leather of the seats was cracked.

"San Francisco" was my reply.

She was old. Her face had wrinkled from years of tanning and dark roots peaked out from beneath her heavily bleached hair. It didn't look soft. Nothing about her looked soft- her hair, her face, her synthetic clothing... I leaned my elbow on my bag.

"Oh. Another aspiring actress, are ya? I see," she said, checking me out in her rear view mirror.

I didn't want to be an actress.

"Well, honey, honestly, you aren't even going to pull commercials with a nose like that." She waved around her hands when she talked. Her long plastic nails clicked together, her clunky gold rings twisted around her fingers.

I liked my nose.

"Well, one tip for ya- don't ever let them talk you into taking your clothes off! No matter how much they offer you. You'll never live it down. I know I haven't." She looked at me again. I could tell she wanted me to ask her what she had acted in and who had wanted her to take her clothes off. After a few seconds I humored her. "Is that so?" I said flatly.

"Oh yes doll. It'll follow you forever. You see, I played a stripper in a movie in the eighties. It was called Candlelight. I'm sure you've heard of it."

I had never heard of it. "Oh, yeah, of course," I said.

She let out a loud, short laugh. "You were probably a baby!" she snorted. "Well, let me tell you, people still ask me about it. I hear it still makes its rounds in the dorms. Just last week a young guy came up to me and said 'hey aren't you the stripper from Candlelight?' So I said 'yeah' and we had a few drinks..."

I could tell that was a lie but I smiled a little anyway. The dusty air was spinning past me and the sun was blaring down- I could feel it on the part in my hair.

"But you gotta be careful of people like that, honey. They think just because they've seen you naked in a movie once they can have you then and there! But that's men for ya... Gotta boyfriend, girlie?"

"No, no I don't," I said. I leaned my head back and let the sunshine bounce off of my cheeks.

"Oh.. Well... you aren't one of those... lesbian girls, are you?" She whispered the word lesbian as if it were a curse. "It is supposed to be hip these days, you know, to be like that. Doesn't make any sense to me. Crazy- these people are. Next thing you know they'll live right next door to you."

I just smiled. I was as much a lesbian as I was an actress.

"You running away, sweetie?" she then asked me, lowering her glasses with a fake expression of worry. "You look awfully young."

"I'm not running," I said. "Just taking a break."

"Who is it, honey? she asked. "Do your parents treat you bad? Hate your teachers? Bad break up?"

I just ran my hand over the weathered interior and sighed as she pulled over to the side of the road.

"I'll just let you off here, hun, but I'll tell you- I've run away before. Its no good. Just go find yourself a nice rich man, honey, someone who can take care of your pretty little face." She smiled a wide, toothy smile at me. I got out and stood next to the car. Her lips were an obnoxious shade of pink.

I pushed my windblown hair out of my face, and looked farther down the road into the distance. "Thank you very much," I said as I pushed the door closed.

tragic

WHY do I drink too much vodka
and spend the night
with a guy I couldn't care less about,
the night before a date
with a guy who
I really really like?

My self-sabotage knows no bounds.

new york/ paris/ berlin/ ect....

when I think of cities
I think of independence

you can never really be alone in the city-
that's the lovely thing about it, in the end.

that's why,
i think,
you should live in the city
and escape
to the country--

better to escape being overwhelmed,
than to seek fake companionship.

eulogy to a failed relationship

Perhaps you can only be upset with the ones who pray at inopportune times and then take advantage, because at the end of the day I know it was I who was in control.

Thanks for showing me New York and your heart.

I miss you sometimes.
I miss something sometimes.

haikus about men i have slept with, set 4

XIII.

It is funny how

We can share so much, quickly,

And then disappear.

XVII.

We were both lonely

And desperate for loving:

Guess you found too much?

IX.

In the hot morning

We kissed, went to the beach:

It was so easy.

A Thanksgiving Story

The year I spent on La Réunion was the third Thanksgiving I spent internationally, and the first where I tried to make a real Thanksgiving dinner abroad.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I like that it is unique to America (pay no mind to the Canadian Thanksgiving, the designer imposter Thanksgiving). I like that there are certain foods that you eat at every Thanksgiving, making the tastes and smells unique to the experience. I like that there are no presents involved, just good food and wine and conversation. It is a pretty day, at least in the south, where the leaves have changed but the sky is still autumn-blue before shifting to winter-grey. And I like that it’s a day, when taken separately from its rather gruesome historic past, about evaluating life and being thankful for whatever blessings you have.

So naturally, even though I was on a little foreign island, I was excited about the 3rd Thursday in November. Of course, the turkey was the first obstacle. We had only two options for “la dinde”: we could go to the market and buy a turkey—a whole turkey, alive, or buy turkey cutlets in the grocery store. Carrying on the American tradition of choosing to completely ignore where my food comes from before it is shrink wrapped in my local chain grocery freezer case, we could not possibly buy a live turkey. But the cutlets also seemed so sad. So we went to the local Géant and bought the only bird that was intact for roasting: a rooster. A large frozen rooster.

My roommate and I were actually enthusiastic about this idea, since the island roosters had been terrorizing us by crowing at odd hours throughout the night. In keeping with the culture of the island, they had absolutely no sense of time. So we took a twisted pleasure in roasting one for our dinner.

We got as much Thanksgiving goodness as we could fit in our hands and our bags and hiked back up to our apartment, Le Chateau. It is not easy to haul a Thanksgiving feast up those island hills in the island heat, but we were determined. We invited all our friends: the Spanish teacher, the German teacher, my French boyfriend, and of course myself, my roommate and two others - the English teachers.

The day before Thanksgiving, tragedy struck. You see, we had in our little kitchen what I like to call our Easy Bake Over, a miniature stove with a gas bottle attached. Unfortunately, shortly before Thanksgiving I had chosen to make boiled peanuts for all my friends. As any good southern girl knows, boiled peanuts take many hours to cook. So many hours, in fact, that I depleted our gas supply in the process. Because hunting down our landlord’s maintenance man (who could restock our gas can) was a mere impossible task, prospects looked gloomy for the big day.

I was shattered! Not Thanksgiving! How can you have Thanksgiving without a stove and oven? I cried.

I didn’t have much time to lament the oven issue, because I had to work on the big day. I was excited because I got to share my favorite holiday with the kids at the university in their English class that day. It started well, with my first class. I laughed that when I asked them about Thanksgiving they immediately thought of the episode of Friends when Joey ate a whole turkey.

But, unfortunately, my third class was not in the mood to speak in English that day. And instead they decided to snicker and whisper for the whole class. Finally they broke out laughing about I-don’t-even-remember-what, and I lost it. My eyes watered up, and I stood silent in front of the class. The boys looked at me, still smirking. “Get out!” I said. “If I were home today I would be eating Turkey with my family and not working! I would be baking pumpkin pie and not staring at a frozen rooster!!” Of course, based on the blank stares I was getting I could tell that the slackers did not understand my English out-burst, so I just said “Sortez!” and shot daggers out of my eyes until they all left the room.

I walked home in the humidity and cursed all the stupid palm trees and stupid sunshine and stupid salty air and stupid hills. By the time I got to the apartment I was sad and homesick and ready to dissolve into the mattress on the floor that I called my bed.

But no! I opened the door, and all my friends were there. The table was set! They had made a raw Thanksgiving- with salad, and fruit, and nuts and packaged cookies and pretzel sticks. Of course we had lots of red wine and rum. We ate and drank and talked all evening, and everyone said ‘thank you’ in their native language.

Danke

Merci

Gracias

Thank you

And we drank wine in front of Star Academy until we all passed out exhausted, and it was a wonderful Thanksgiving after all.

haikus about men i have slept with, set 3

XII.

Oh dear, law school boys

Are nothing but such trouble:

Booty call contracts.

XI.

You were my reward-

Your skin and long eyelashes,

Too pretty to last.

II.

I closed my eyes and

Pretended to sleep, hoping

That you would still stay.

future--what?

I notice nowadays that I don’t talk about the future anymore,
When it used to be all that was discussed- when we get out of here, when we really start our lives, when we are free and open and done and loving and moving and working and feeling...
Now when asked about the future
I shrug, usually, look around everywhere but eyes and noses,
I wish I could say it’s because
I’m living in the present,
But instead it feels more like time standing still.

Jumanji- /2002/

I sat in front of

The class

In the muggy south of china

Little baby Chinese children

Smiling wide

And not

Realizing that it

Is so unfair

To be in school in the summertime

Jumanji was on

The rolling TV set and

I asked them to

Name the animals

In english

As they

Came up on the screen,

Like the elephants

And giraffes

But none as cute

As all the little faces

Screaming

“Monnnkeeeeeeyyyysss!”

In the afternoon heat.

the substitute

Lulu was not feeling well at all. Her cheeks were not rosy- in fact they were pale. Her lips had formed a strange twisted look that was certainly not a smile. She decided to go see Dr. McLeen immediately.

"What is it, Dr?" she asked. "Is it swine flu?"

"No, it is not" replied the doctor. "It is an advance case of malaise and angst. It may be contagious. You had better get a substitute." The doctor wrote out a note and handed it to Lulu.

"For how long?" asked Lulu. The doctor advised a day or two.

Lulu sat on her quilt at home, sipped her bloody mary (another recommendation at the clinic) and glanced at her cell phone. Perhaps the physician was right: a substitute was needed. She arranged for one the following day, and left her white plastic notebook marked substitute assignments on the coffee table.

In the morning the substitute arrived. As per the instructions in the notebook, she ate a small healthy breakfast and put on a cotton dress. After cleaning the kitchen and starting the laundry, she left for lunch with Lulu's best friend, Matilda.

Matilda looked surprised. "I'm the substitute" said the substitute. "Lulu isn't feeling well. The doctor says her misery may be catching." Matilda nodded in agreement and the two chatted about their weeks, their love lives, and their families. They argued over the check for a minute or two before settling up. "See you next week?" asked the substitute.

"Eerr, I guess?" said Matilda. She kissed her cheek and tottered off to her car.

The substitute consulted the notebook. Oh, dear. She picked up Lulu's cell phone and carefully scrolled through the address book.

Ring, ring... The substitute turned on the car and drove towards the coffee shop.

"Hello?" said the phone. "Lulu? Are you there?"

"Hello," said the substitute. "I am the substitute. Lulu is suffering from turmoil."

"Umm, is she ok?" asked the voice.

"She will be ok." said the substitute. "Listen, this is going to be hard, but I can't do this anymore."

"What do you mean?" said the voice. "I'm confused."

"I can't be with you anymore. Its just too hard." said the substitute.

"Umm, do you mean 'you' as in the substitute, or 'you' as in Lulu?" he asked.

"Me as in Lulu" said the substitute. "I am the substitute. The substitute for Lulu. I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry. You are a really nice guy but I need some space. I will return your things within the week to you..." the substitute glanced down at the notebook, "to your brother."

The substitute hung up the phone. It had gone easier than she had predicted. She did a little grocery shopping, sent out some resumes, and wrote up some detailed summaries of Lulu's favorite television programs.

At the end of the day, the substitute laid the notebook down on the coffee table and went to her home. Lulu sat up in bed and sighed- she felt rested and invigorated. Her consternation was noticeably diminished. She sipped her bloody mary and sat back with her television summaries.

Lulu breathed deeply and relaxed her face muscles. If only the substitutes weren't so expensive, she thought.

maybe

a dress

a song

a little blue blanket...

I will find my happiness

in places like these,

I just need

to try harder.

sip the coffee and breathe the fall air.

let myself tumble and

spin with the leaves.

cool air and a cool head-

up up up up.

escapism

sometimes
i miss paris so much
that my heart
literally
hurts.

(like tonight)

haikus about men i have slept with, set 2

I.
Oh, young love is sweet.
Happily ever after?
Not in freshman year.

XXI.
We had cheap champagne
And one night of twisted sheets;
Kissing therapy.

XIII.
The parties were fun.
You were never very smart,
We called you meathead.

haikus about men i have slept with, set 1

VI.

your poems: lovely,

the lies: pathological,

relationship: brief.

XIV.

Bonjour mon cheri,

then vespa rides in Paris,

Tears at a strip club.

XX.

Glowing computer

leads to naughty rendez vous—

suckers fall in love.