Bed Times, Car Accidents, and Aunt Patty the Lesbian-(Where the Wild Things Are)

As an adult you read to me like a child. I didn't understand the language. I didn't understand the culture of rebellion: Why on Earth would a young boy run away from a hot meal? Why would he surround himself with monsters? Most importantly why would you always read this to me before we slept together? I do not consider literature--even children's literature--as a proper aphrodisiac, so why this book? Why even this movie?

Le Turd

Smile. You're a complete fraud and everyone knows it. I've heard you speaking Spanish to the busboys and the girls at the register--you don't fool me.

You're not toned enough, you're not poor enough. Give up the ghost.

Mars

It's snowing outside. Let's build a snowman together.

Bear

It may be true that we share this life, but I never expected to share each other's nightmares too. Somewhere in the middle of the night, I'd pass my fears of failure to you while you were asleep. I wonder if it was the way we slept? Perhaps our brains were too close to one another, perhaps we were too involved with one another to realize that we were not entirely fit to be adults. We were playing house--acting as if we were fit to play the role of a grown-up; throwing keys, and spending money on things we couldn't afford.

There was some sort of fabric that kept us together, but I can't exactly call it love, maybe it's called dependency. It held long enough for us to realize that just because our bodies were designed for each other, perhaps our minds were not the ones fit for living this kind of life.

Laura Loves Rocky

The girl across from me is eating from a bag of sunflower seeds. The way she eats them creates this rhythm: the sound of her hand entering the plastic bag; then the sound her lips make as she separates the shell from the nut. There's also the occasional crack from when her teeth break apart the shell, and of course, the sound her larynx makes as she swallows it.

It all sounds long and laborious, but it happens very quick and very succinctly, as if she were a symphony.

Ruffled Feathers

Please say those magic words to me,

I wish you were never inside me.

Say them again and with some sting this time.

I regret the day you entered me. I regret our time together.

One more time so that I know that I'm alive.

I'm learning to forget you all over again.

Round Eyes

There is something wrong with the way Timmy folds pizza boxes at work. For some reason every box that he folds falls apart. Also when he puts wax paper in, it's always on the wrong side, which makes it a bit more cumbersome when dealing with customers. I don't mind all that much because I know Timmy has some problems . I don't know the prognosis, I'm not a doctor. I don't know anything about how the mind works or how many bones there are in an ear, but I'm pretty certain there's something wrong with Timmy. In an eight-hour day, he says almost nothing. You could say hello to him--Hello Timmy--and he almost always disregards it. In fact he's so good at not responding it's like you're not even there. You don't even exist to Timmy. And when he incorrectly folds those boxes it's as if he's not even there.

I wish I had a iota of Timmy's social grace: not having to answer questions and spending my day staring listlessly at nothing. I wonder what he thinks about. Maybe he thinks that those boxes are perfect. That everything around him doesn't really exist and that common conversation is meaningless. Words like hello and goodbye never enter his thoughts or perhaps he's just confused. I would at some point like for him to explain this all for me, but I know that he won't. I've tried.

Toro!

If he doesn't call me by Christmas, then I'll know he doesn't love me. I can't call him. I won't. Even if I did want to I couldn't--I deleted his number the day he left. I'm lying about that. I have his number stored in my brain. In fact just yesterday I tried to scramble each digit in my head, but it was anything but a success.

I need to get serious about this; I have to resist the urge to call him. It's just hard seeing every cherub faced girl in town in the arms of some guy. When I go shopping for face soap at the mall, everyone has someone. I have this dog who just drools everywhere. I don't want a drooler. I want a lover. Someone who'll put his hands up my shirt when we're in bed. Or someone who'll insist that we have sex on the train home from the city. Not a sloppy dog who leaves his hair everywhere--no thank you.

The grocery store is by far the worse. Either every girl in the store is on the phone with their guy, asking whether they'd like a rotisserie chicken or a pizza, or they're playing the part of the doting couple and picking up detergent and other boring household items. I wonder what these couples do when they get home. Do they drop their bags at the door and have at it in the hallway or are they taking turns cooking dinner? Do they play scrabble or purr at one another when they're close? I don't know anything about these people's domestic lives. All I know is that I can't call and it's killing me like cancer.

What to Do at Twenty Three/ Do I smell a new Career?

What to Do at Twenty Three While Living at Home.

I have no idea what to do with myself. There's only so much media and pornography one can take

in at one sitting.

(I'd say about five to ten minutes given my track record.)
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Do I smell a new career?

I've decided to stop calling myself an artist, a skateboarder, and an entrepreneur, as well as all of the other things I refer to myself as, that way I can make some space for my newest title:

Re-Furbished Vaccuum Repairsmen Specialist.

It's been a passion of mine for some years now and I figured now's my time to shine.

Point being:

-No one has any cash on hand for a shady latina maid with

sticky fingers.

-Some vaccuums have lifetime warranties.

-Due to recent advances in technology, top of the line

vaccuums can also get into hard to reach areas that other

cleaning supplies can't.

-I live above a vaccuum repair shop( No transportation to work required).

- I only have a G.E.D and 1/2 of an associates from a community college.

- I can wear practically whatever I want to work.

- If David Oreck's been in business for one hundred years, why can't I get wet too?

As far as I can see, it's a win, win situation.