Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Summer In The City




















Dear Baby,
Thanks for the video. The Redsox won. You get to keep Gary. You probably didn't really miss me. What odd timing, on your behalf, to send it my way.
Love Always,
M

Almost There

















Today I bought a fish
To ponder
That's all
He looks beautiful
And dangerous
Exotic
Sad

He lives in the
Same room
As
I do
Our zip code
11230

The only difference
Between
Us
The fish,
And me
(That is)
Is his bowl
He is in a
Bubble
Stagnant
A small cell
Which
He
Cannot escape
Whether it
be
Lack of ability
Or will

Moreover
No one will
Or can
For that matter
Enter the
Bubble
Well, maybe
If
a
Sincere effort
Was made

He's just
observed
For sport
Pleasure
Selfish motivation
His
beauty
Mystique
Uniqueness
Exciting
A treat

I do not
Think
Most people
expect
Fish to be
Very nice
Or
To
Live very
Long
Particularly The
pretty
Ones
Thus making
It seem
Hardly
Prudent
To form
Any
Attachment

Maybe we're not
That
Different
After all -
The fish
And me

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Dies Irae















you should have lovely
weather
to fly
as if that -
flying
is the only worthwhile
thing
you
have

i should have lovely
weather
to mourn
and mope
and
cry
as if the forecast
makes a damned
bit
of
difference

waking up
to sun
shining
in my face
is the worst
feeling
of
any
imaginable
when all i
want
is to curl
up
down
and hide my
face
from everyone
secretly desiring
that
you
might see it
somehow
and regret
all of the stupid
shit
shit
shit
that you
did

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Flaws

The Elijah Craig is next to the Wild Turkey. Fitting, suiting, all that jazz. The good times are always directly juxtaposed with the bad, the latter often holding more value, at least of the sentimental variety, than the good. Will I do a shot with you? Shot. Shot. Shot... potato chips, fucking in showers. There are few predicaments in life that go unsolved by 80 proof tits and 34" legs, how we managed to stumble upon one is beyond me.

One tier down, 3 bottles to the left, 700 miles west and 18 months over rests Old Crow. The death of a dream, a legend even before it's demise, a feathered light in a dusty pitch black sweltering death trap. You never inquired as to my concerns. The Rebel Yells egregiously over Heaven Hill and I retreat safely, demurely, a tier down, 6 bottles over to my old companion Don Julio. My delirium tremors as I plot my exile to Knob Creek with Evan Williams, a Fighting Cock, and the right mind to suggest out loud that you never loved me as you said. Do the good old boys still drink Whiskey and Rye? You're not much of a Rye guy, making the possibility seem more plausible, ya know? I hope that this'll be the day that you die, we probably both do. Postmortem phone calls be damned. Leave a message.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Dutch pink on a downtown train.

I wish that some day I'd learn how to stand up for myself... all the time. I tend to with family and people I'm close to. But with strangers, employers, significant others, etc... people who I guess I feel the need to impress more, I never do.

I'll let a boss treat me like shit despite how wrong I know they are. I'll let person after person cut in front of me in line at the bank/store/etc. In relationships, I'm always "there" for them, and am always thanked for being "so cool," and "so understanding," about everything.

All the time. Of course, none of these people: my bosses, people who cut in front of me at the bank, boys I date... none of them know that I sit around in my free time freaking out about these things. None of them seem to witness the anxiety attacks that I hate. None of them seem to notice the extended periods of time in which I quit breathing, of course, I don't seem to notice it either.

A while ago, I figured out how to push things under the surface. I learned to quit stressing, and quit caring. To some extent, I think that was helpful. But now, now I am bored. My brain feels like mush. I don't think about things. I don't care about things... and I'm getting so tired of it. I spend a large portion of my time dealing with people who are mentally inferior to those I used to surround myself with. NOT saying that they have to be that way, they've just all seemingly made resolutions similar to my own.

"I would like a place I could call my own..."

Saturday, June 20, 2009

And all that followed fell like mercury to hell

Revised list of 10 things I cannot live without in NYC

1. An umbrella. Swear to The Flying Spaghetti Monster it's rained everyday for the past 3 weeks, and doesn't appear to be letting up anytime soon. Fuck me. Rain boots could be on the list as well, but I kind of hate how my feet feel in them.

2. Iced coffee with just skim milk (no sugar). Nothing fancy. Certainly not starbucks... But it's kind of crucial. I guess I could add vitamin water to the list... Not sure why, I'm just really into the 10 calorie lemonade right now.

3. Cliff bars. Who the fuck has time to eat? Not me.

4. 7 day unlimited ride metro cards. $25 out the door, good times to be had by all. Not quite as scary as the monthly card, not as big of a deal if you lose it.... But it makes running around much less stressful cuz you're not counting dollars.

5. The Amelie soundtrack. Perfect for blocking out irritating people and children while reading on the train while not being too distracting.

6. My friends in Detroit. Somehow, despite being 12 hours away, they keep me grounded. Guess you could put my sister in that category.

7. Trailer Park Boys... Gotta keep in touch with my all-too-Canadian upbringing.

8. Tanqueray.

9. Quiet, personal, alone time. NEVER underestimate the importance of being absolutely fucking alone when you're surrounded by millions of smelly people all the time. Words cannot express how much I enjoy knowing that I am all alone, in a room, by myself. No music, no blackberry.

10. This really delicious boy who makes me smile when I think I can't... Makes me look forward to another day when in reality I probably shouldn't be... Makes me feel like I live in a real place with real people and real feelings when I clearly do not.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Si Tu N'Etais Pas La

A friend in high school once explained this theory he has on life... he says there's a triangle of perfection... He held out his fingers in the shape of a triangle, Job, Girlfriend, Car. Those were the three most important things to him at the moment. He said to me that it seemed nearly impossible to actually acquire all three of those items simultaneously. I've kind of noticed that over the years. My triangle is different, especially these days. I think right now I'd have to say Job/Boyfriend/Family-Friends. As soon as I get one under control, the rest of it goes haywire. Currently, I spend nearly every moment I'm at work fighting the urge to just walk out the door and never look back. Ugh.

Why does it feel like it's impossible for people to just be respectful toward each other? Why does it seem like everyone wants to fight all the time? Why are people so adamant about being inconsiderate when it'd be just as easy to please someone? If there's one thing I am left with in my new "more rexlaxed" mindset (see last entry) it's about a million questions.

I've been getting more and more into the city lately and that's fun. There's so much to take in, and I really didn't know how to do it at first. But I'm really becoming more and more familiar with things, understanding where I am a little better, etc. Turns out, it's a freakishly small area, and I was always making things more complicated than they really are.

When I'm happy, I have a difficult time listening to music. Sometimes, I just want to listen to a sad song and be little sad with it... But I really don't have many reasons to be sad right now. Maybe I'm just hiding from them. Either way, it seems to be working out. Guess I'll gladly trade sad songs for smiles. Goodbye Lucero, hello yummy boys who'll iron my sister's shirt for work at 6 am, when we haven't gone to bed yet.

Tonight I'm going to meet up with a lovely girl from work who's just had her heart stomped on by a stupid boy. Well, I think he's stupid, I don't know the entire story, but I'd say it's safe to assume he's probably stupid because she's wonderful. As much as I miss home, and I miss certain things, feelings, and people... I'm slowly beginning to feel that I belong here. It's the little things, camping out behind a bar making a play list, giving someone correct directions, being needed...needing someone .... Given enough time, I think anyone can make it anywhere.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

What kind of fuckery is this?


Prepare for a random spewing and spattering of thoughts. I haven't written lately and I think it's because I've been going through a period of gross introspection. Often times when I go through a phase like that, I try to document it, I try to keep track of what I'm thinking and feeling in some attempt to make sense of it. This time, I just let it take it's natural path, and now that I'm on the other side, I've found clarity and resolution on issues seemingly impossible before.

I have so much stupid shit going on in my life, and I'm not really stressed about any of it. Bottom line is simply this: All I really need in a day is to wake up, hear a song I love at some point, see a face I love at some point, eat once or twice, have a beer, and sleep again. The rest of the details filling in the day are just that... details. Then, as luck would have it, I wake up again the next day. Sometimes I find myself sitting on the train, or walking down the street thinking "What if this train exploded right now?" or "What if I was hit by a bus?" ... and my general consensus is that I don't care. I have no expectations, I realize each day could be my last... I'm not overly attached to the idea of life, but I don't dislike it either.

Ok... that probably sounds really crazy... haha. What I'm getting at is this: The motor of whatever internal device it was that was causing me stress has finally burned itself out. I just don't care anymore. It's kind of beautiful really.

So other than becoming a nihilistic alcoholic, what've I been up to... hmmmm...

First off, life at work has gotten really busy. Now that it's warm (relatively speaking) people are coming out of the woodwork. It's nice, the money's nice, and being busy at work certainly helps pass the time.

I've taken up darts. I'm really awful at it. But at this point, 2 of my 3 darts usually hit the board. I feel this is a vast improvement over where I started. Vodka makes me better at darts than beer does. Explain that...

Hmmm... OH! I met my friend Sean Wheeler. Sean and I have been 'internet friends' for like... 8 years. He was in town a couple weeks ago, and we met uptown for a few drinks. It was really awesome. Awwww... I think we're cute :)

What else... I've been reading like crazy. Initially, my ipod was enough to keep me entertained on the train. I've since gotten over that. I now require a book. Given my hour commute to and from work, I go through a lot of books. I've had to take a Bukowski break, given my sudden unexplainable urges to become a salty old man, bet on horses, comment on the tits and asses of women passing me on the street, and work for the postal service. I've switched to Oscar Wilde. Thus far, I find him to be much less entertaining than Bukowski, but equally interesting... that really doesn't make sense, does it?

Squid is in town. That's pretty exciting. I had forgotten how important my Detroit people are to me. I was kind of in a state of disbelief when I first saw him. Squid, real squid, right in front of me.

I'm going home June 18-25. It's going to fucking rock and roll. My list of things to do includes, but is not limited to: Drinking a miller high life and smoking a cigarette, simultaneously INDOORS. Laura Gregory Monday, and Karaoke Wednesday at Belmont. Happy hour at hardluck with Squid. Sy Thai in St Clare Shores. Seeing Daniel. Watching about 30 hours of Trailer Park Boys while eating nachos, drinking high life, and getting a contact buzz with Ryan Pouliot my best friend on the planet. Troy Gregory's solo set at Cork Town. Pear Goose martinis at Delux. Finishing the top half of my arm with Ben. Driving a car. Seeing my family. $1 PBR. I want to go to a Tiger's game. Belle Isle.

OH! I have a new favorite boy. We like to listen to mastodon, drink beer, and put sunglasses on produce (Ok, the last one might be just me...). He makes my heart feel tingly and my head spin a little bit. It's just right. He took me to a bar that serves miller high life last week. It was the first high life I've had in a bar since I've been here. He tells me sweet things, makes cute noises when I kiss his neck, and buys me breakfast sandwiches. I kind of have a fatty crush on him... don't tell anyone.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Are Asian girls allowed to wear less than filled apple bottoms?

Is there some sort of unspoken (or possibly spoken?) rule dictating the transition between winter and summer clothing? It's 90 degrees today, so I busted out a sundress and have seen a handful of other women who have done the same. But for the most part, I see women in tank tops, jeans, and sandals... And I'm getting funny looks. Am I rushing things? All I have to say is that it's 90 fucking degrees with full sun... Fuck jeans.

It is odd though, this sundress thing. There's a small flap of fabric between my ass and the rest of the world. One little gust of wind and it's show time. I was so used to this game by the end of last summer, but unlike riding a bicycle, that competence doesn't seem to transfer from one season to the next. For any interested parties, I'll be walking down fulton street in approximately 20 minutes. Hahaha

Now, we gotta see what I can do about getting laid. A cute dress, high heeled sandals, and shaved legs call for 'celebration' in my book. Hahaha. Greasy.

Oh parental goodness. They were only here part of a day, stayed last night and are left this morning. I took them for dinner, they took me for pinkberry (or rather, I took them and made them pay for it) we had a couple of drinks at the end of pier 17... It was a beautiful night. Now, it's back to regular real life aka working non stop. When you hit overtime by the middle of the week, I'd say that an obvious sign that you're working far too many hours.

I love when I meet other people from Michigan, often times metro Detroit, and they'll tell me they lived "in Detroit" I say "No kidding, I was in Mexican town for a few years, and then Hamtramck. Where did you live?" They always say something like "I'm from Rochester." And the conversation sorta ends there. Guess they're not used to having their street cred trumped here... Hahaha... Go 248/586/734 your ass somewhere else.

Happy Sunday. What a perfect day for a hamtramck bar crawl.

xo
M

Friday, April 24, 2009

gonna sue jack daniels for hittin me with the trunk of a big old live oak tree

Today is my 11th straight day of work, and unfortunately, there's no end in sight. Guess I can't complain about the money, but what I wouldn't give for a day to sleep in, do laundry, go to sephora (yes I'm wearing lipstick everyday cuz I'm out of chapstick and lipgloss), eat lunch somewhere, write, etc.... Ugh. My parents are coming out this weekend which is awesome (right...) So my few non-working hours will be spent trying to explain to them why the only things I have to show for my 3 months in NYC are new humbuckers, a gigantor scar on my left shin, and a pile of Charles Bukowski books. Oops. I'll figure something out, I'm pretty resourceful.

I'm totally late for work right now which is the first day that's happened this week. I don't care. I almost feel entitled to fuck up at this point.

Yesterday I had to take my NY alcohol control board certification. I decided that the best way to do this was to go to the bar down the street and have a few shots and a couple of beers first... If the liver can process 1.5 80 proof shots, or 1 12 oz domestic beer in an hour, according to my calculations I was nearly sober by the end of the class/examination. See? I pay attention.

I've been having the most intense dreams lately. It's never anything odd, scary, or overtly fictional... They're all incredibly real-life based and irritating. I dream that I run out of bacardi at work, that my jeans shrink in the dryer, that our stupid pug is unadopted and comes back to live with us. I dream about stressing over boys I don't want anything to do with, helping my roommate shop for dresses for his drag performances, and that my ipod batteries die on a busy train with an evangelist screaming at me.... Just, annoying. I wake up as tired as I go to bed.

It's supposed to hit 80 this weekend. I'm so thrilled to be working the entire time. At least my parents will have good weather for their visit... Maybe I'll enjoy the 10 minutes between the 4-5 and my work by wearing a sundress and in turn blinding half of lower Manhattan with my ghostly white appendages.

Have a lovely weekend.
xo
M