2002
Tom Petty & the freeway
Driving through Bliss wasn't as nice as I'd hoped.
I think writing in paragraphs that are fully comprehensible is far more effective than using the "jotting down" system. And Idaho...
Sprinklers beneath a huge gray and cadet blue sky. The grounds are covered in amber grasses. White snow sets everything off. Great. And Kelly in the backseat, crying gently, undoubtedly writing something to me, either intending to give it or not. Why does he have to be so sad? I don't want him to be sad, just what am I supposed to do? I was thinking about how I used to see (on TV or in life) a man asking a woman to marry him, she freaks out, upset, and they break up. I used to wonder why they'd have to break up because of that. It's drastic. I think now very differently. I think you'd have to, it couldn't be any other way. It would just be too awkward.
2003
My $16 Magickingdom sunglasses appear to have psilocybin on them. I took mushrooms and they put things simply. I realized if I love Steve it's okay and he should sleep with she with whom he's in love. I realized that no one is or ever will be the center of my universe. I'm all I have. I don't care about drugs. I'm no sex thing. I'm beautiful, completely solitary and alone. It's hard to think this clearly now because I don't have Steve sitting in front of me. I don't want him to make me feel like I'm behaving awkwardly or that I'm trying too hard. That's how I'll fuck it. I'm very sad he's with her even though he's not and he won't be with me, though he is. And I won't see him until the end of january because what reason has he to return sooner. A month isn't long. I wish it didn't matter. Maybe it won't. These days of sobriety are exhausting me. My dreams are so strange and vivid. Music makes me sad. I didn't bring the polaroids or I lost them. I miss Steve & want to talk to him & am afraid I won't. I hate fucking Disneyworld. It's so crazy. I got some joy out of it yesterday for its craziness. At least I've a sense of humor. I talked to my mom a lot about it. I go in & out of these feelings: I'm really glad that Steve and I aren't going to have sex and I think we'll know one another forever. I love that. And the other part of me doesn't love it, but I need to find contentedness in the former. I have to, it's the only right thing about him.
2004
Here I am in the Las Vegas airport, awaiting my delivery to Tim & Britta. Imagine: Idaho in all its snowcapped mountainscapes.
Before today I slept between an extremely loud and big snoring Brittany, and a tiny, soft, warm little Erwin. We slept in the 8 degree cold (the gas turned up to a temperate 65), and awoke before sunrise to get me to Midway on time. Brittany and I listened to the Faint and smoked the rest of our delicious, suburban weed out of a one hitter, as earlier yesterday the pipe, begrudgingly known in its short life as Blue Fish, fell to its death upon impact with my tiled bathroom floor. It was a terrible moment. We smoked a camel filter donated by Alana, and I'm excited not to smoke for the next while.
I kissed Erwin goodbye and wrapped my arms around him, our nostrils freezing shut on Fullerton Avenue across from his house. I kissed his cheeks, still hinted with warmth and bloodflow, and thought briefly about missing him.
Has Trent been mentioned? (Allow brief overview of past here.)
Trent is a boy from ethics. Rides a skateboard, grunge era sweater, hair reminiscing Cobain. Blisteringly attractive.
Trent, while in ethics, draws or writes in his little moleskine. He writes lyrics to songs such as, Jesus Christ is a Baby Shark. For some reason I like the words Baby Shark.
His tattoos are okay. A face, with a box over it. Good use of arrows, rectangles, and dotted lines. I've always appreciated a geometric tattoo. It's just my inner mathematician, longing for some recognition. Very nice teeth. Almost too nice. Everytime I see them the consideration is they might be dentures. If he were 40 years older I'd not doubt it. Thin. Of medium height. Greenish eyes.
This scenario, the Las Vegas airport scenario, is funny to compare with scenarios of a past weekend, Carter & little CJ's party of beautiful people. The place was packed and included some of our old friends from Lithuania, Getty and Paul. Upon seeing me, the boys laughed, giggled, and pointed. All expected of the 17 year old.
This flight to Boise is full of Idahoans. Or Oregonians, & Washingtonians. Plain. Corduroy. Denim. GAP outlet. Keds. Nike. KoRn. Tool. Mustache. Butt chin. Double chins, varicose veins. Permanents. Receding hairlines. Acne scars. At Carter and CJ's, no one was overweight, and JonCates was slightly old. So he left early. I noticed him noticing the art, then I noticed him on the sofa in the loud smoky dancing hipster-filled room, his girlfriend next to him, her thigh beneath his hand, their heads nodding in unison to whatever. The guests had excellent hair, matching sweaters, some with eyeshadow matching their scarves. Mayo and turkey on white. They wore tight pants and beards and stubble, close to ideal physical fitness. I spotted Trent and ended up with him for a lot of the night, which resulted in his asking if he could have my number and offering a hug. No assumptions will be made, except for the fantasizing of our future relations. Mostly I realize I'm not in the market for a new someone to love. I don't see him. I could barely get his opinions, and he had little to say. He's a bad writer, careless, a bad grammarian. He's starting a band, writing songs, though he plays no instruments. I saw a skate deck on which he drew for a sculpture project, it looked terrible. Favorite song- can't remember the title, but it's by Iron Maiden or some sister or cousin of Iron Maiden. His attractive traits are shallow. He somehow fulfills my idealized skater boyfriend fantasy from he 8th grade. It's too bad my memory serves me so well. They simply put RITZ in a stick and somehow it's supposed to be better. I'm not imprest.
Moral: Trent is not impressive. Perhaps worthless as a friend, even. But you know me, even when content I'll take more.
On Friday, Brittany wore the Double Dipsea sweatshirt I stole from my mom, my old black shirt (from 1998), pearls, jeans, and blue converse. I looked significantly more classy in blue cashmere cardigan, vintage with gold leaf buttons, black goth whore dress (also from 1998, though it's remained unworn till recent years), diesel jeans, and black boots. Trent wore a gray and black striped hoodie with exposed seams, a red t-shirt, screenprinted with DUNCE (maybe he's more obvious than I thought), black levis with holes, and black skater shoes with velcro. All circa mid-'90s.
I think Carter may be as boring as Alex. He (Alex) called recently (actually, weekly) and left a long message. He probably said a total of ten words, but of course there was thirty seconds of awkward, timeconsuming, hairsplitting silence during the minute and a half expanse. I have no desire to call back. What do I say? Your message said it all, ex-love-of-my-life. How could I expect anything more?
I remember all of this being in love so many times? Of course. I appreciate that I haven't come across an everlasting love, that all promises are broken. It feels more real & I'm more satisfied. Certainly I was singing this same song last year, only now I'm not crying. I love my little erwin, but I will never wait. I can only compromise to an extent, and until then we can touch the soft flesh of one another with open mouths.
Everybody hurts somebody. I owe a lot to alex, and I'm glad that I met him and seemed to have fallen in love with him. I was able to see things unseen previously, and times were good with us. But I can't look at the pictures or the memories and feel anything save for a mildly perturbed & annoyed disgust. What was I thinking? I must have been a fool just because he gave me some love. I should have, once more, paid attention to inklings & first impressions. Like Trent? Don't be dissuaded by Cobain in an artschool skater who imagines to like philosophy. Ha. People are usually what they seem. But I, as a connoisseur, will constantly try for otherwise. I allow that they aren't always how they appear. But if they are: Trent won't show me anything new or hold my interest, Steve is a pretentious semiintellecual snob, Alex is a boring, predictable anybody, and Nate is "not all there" in a weird young male teenager way. In that case, "oh well Trent." Until you call me, that is.
Alex and I have been making mad music. We've been hanging with Andy, too, as he has many amazing instruments. So many bands. My organaire rules. Do you know anything about spelling? Children? What's the future like? Lines, clouds? Trent's third tattoo is on his chest, and it says something like, "fine lines and the coverage (courage) of clouds." It made me feel as though I was in a room lit only by fire, and there's Trent, warm and shirtless, appearing in a haze before me. This night I also admitted Liz's beauty to her, nervously, like one craving a date with the school's hottest girl. She was flattered and we'll not likely see one another again.
Oh well. It's gray. Almost to Idaho, where I'll find my longhaired friends and their open-armed greetings. Tim will pull my rolling suitcase. The West. Flat expanses and bumpy blue mountains. The rocket's red glare. The bombs bursting in the air. Woman with faux-Adidas track jacket and Dr. Pepper reads Cool Parent 101. One day. One day people will read real books and become embarrassed at what they wish they knew. How can I give birth and let my little boys and girls see me this way?
Alas.
2006
6th & Bannock, 3:33 pm
Yes, it’s true. God, know what else is true?! Fucking Tim! That’s right. No, no, not that, not fucking tim but tim has manipulated me… and I let him, but no, I didn’t go all the way. I quit. Or he quit… somehow it all stopped.
This morning around 4 Tim comes into the bedroom… it’s after a long night where I somehow get more and more drunk, even though I’d stopped drinking hours before. Went to Stacie’s house? Saw TJ? W-hat?! So I say to Tim, “You can either sleep with me, watch me sleep, or leave.” And he says he’ll watch me sleep. He comes in, I make him read the poem for a long life. I’m wearing red spandex pants, tanktop with sixth grade bra. He gets under the covers with me. He reaches for me, attempting to caress the soft folds of my ever-glistening vagina! Oh, I hate tim. Because as I’m laying there, I know we’re playing a game of chicken, and I’m not going to lose. He’s the loser… but he acts like he’s winning… he keeps saying, am I there? what do I do now, which way do I go now?! And I have to say again and again, all the way! as far as you can go! keep going! South! Towards the penguins! It’s a strange country! Watch out for icicles! Fucking christ. He gives up, eventually, though he concedes that if I would just help him out a little, that way it would be harder for him to say no to such temperate weather… but I’m not going to fucking touch tim, does he think I’m craxe? Right! Totally craxe! Ew! barf…
He says need and desire are two different things… And I didn’t know that already, so that was fun to think about. And then he quit, and he wrapped his arm around me and laid his head, breathing on my shoulder. Really tightly. But it was my brother breathing on my shoulder, my unattractive, younger nerdy brother… Jesus, I have no morals, it’s true. I jest don’t give a Fuck, man. So he wants to cheat on her? What? Why. The way he hugged me was so sad. It seemed like he just needed someone to put arms around him. Which I couldn’t bring myself to do. I couldn’t ask him to leave, and I didn’t want my tears to fall on him. I didn’t want his breath or his body. I stopped caring and slept and was happy to find him gone when I awoke. Gross. What a creep. Fucking shit!!!! I won’t forget him in a hurry…
Otherwise… slightly tired today. Drinking coffee for hours now without much effect… though I sort of like the idea of staying here forever, drinking coffee, listening to music, writing bullshit… I’m in an aggressive mood. life is such fucking shit!!!
Cold coffee (long lines.) And what to do about it: Word of the day? Anyone? derogate: to deviate from what is expected. to disparage or belittle; to denigrate.
It’s getting darker; I’ve been here for a longlong time. I spoke to Kelly. He wants to hang out… lives way the fuck up over in crapville… I can’t ride my bike there. Is it worth anything? Maybe getting stoned out of my mind? Smoking cigarettes? Watching television? Sure, all that’s worth something then, isn’t it? No. Worthless. God, trying to imagine sex… penises… Oh I can’t wait for celibacy! But you can’t dry hump forever… I can’t believe I allowed Tim to violate me in such a way… Terrifying… I need to stay out of bed with others… be by myself, and for good. Imagine! Then one day I’ll really want sex. And it will be nice! No, not any time soon. I think I should take a few months off. Kissing… kissing sounds nice, kind of.
I think Herb might be afraid of me. He might think I’m a predator. Because I took his virginity, and now I want More. He won’t give me his telephone number… I wrote a casual/semi joke of a letter to him where I told him I didn’t want to have only an awkward drink… that I wanted something Deep and Meaningful and Important. But… he wrote back that he wants to have an awkward drink… Taylor told me he has a girlfriend. Good for him. I ain’t no predator…but so far all my prospects have already been excavated!! I am a goddamn predator! Ha!
He just called. We might go to see “Fur” which I’ve wanted to see for some time now. Man… I want to get stoned pretty badly. Dates make me nervous. Hopefully Herb won’t be too nervous. Can I, is it possible to hang out with Kelly & get stoned, then go see a movie with Herb? Yeah. It really is. But I really have to finish this goddamn coffee. I’ve made the commitment.
AH! The rottenness of it all! Will I be able to make it? Screw them all. I’ve got to get a hobby. Predator, parasite, predator, parasite… so close… but I realize I’ve outdone myself in the coffee department. I need to eat… Or do I? No I don’t, I need to eat.
-Oh, just remembered something. So Trip Allen committed suicide recently. Last night at the bar, Stacie said, “Did you hear about Trip Allen? I’m not too sad about it, are you?” Unfortunately, the subject was changed before I had a chance to say, what the FUCK?! You horrible little bitch!!!! Stacie … Stacie is still blonde (with dark lo-lites) and now she is more doughy than before. Thick and doughy. With a hoodie that could be from TJ Maxx, says, “I love Soccer.” Which is appropriate, because Derek, her awesome boyfriend also loves soccer. He wants to go to France because he loves soccer so much. And That’s okay. He should go.
God, fucking Tim! I’ve got a bone to pick with him, and it’s not his! Ha! In you’re most erotic fantasies of cheating on the Love of your Life. Fuckhead. That’s all.
(barbito lamma dad;
Current mood: satisfied;
Category: School, College, Greek)
Dear Diary,
Reality; nay, what is reality? Naught but creamy cloudlike characatures of filthy, semen infested crumpets of minutia. Minutia? Beautiful minutia, yea. I've never hated something more than physics. Physics? More like "meta" physics (emphasize "meta") compartmentalizing me into a narrow, narrow, narrow space. But enough talk; have (at) you!
New Paragraph: Predators and Parasites are simple creatures, intent upon their metaphoric prey (yea, Pray, let us all Prey, now, then, all time is but an illusion). To a lickable icecream cone such as myself, I've never played the Wii, but I still can sing a song of sorrow. And it goes a little something...like THIS:
"O, swerve softly brightest birdie,
Conical screams of the wild herd(y),
This, ay, this, oh, my me & how indeed"
(no mustaches here...
Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes)
Dear Diary,
Since moving back to Boise, my life has changed *a Lot*
First of all, I got a new tattoo! Isn't it so cute? And right on the wristbone, too. The photo doesn't quite do it justice, but there's glitter...
Also, I began listening once again to my old favorite band, 4 non blondes. Do you remember that group, diary? They really kick ass, still even though it's been nearly 15 years since their hit single became one of my alltime favorite songs ever.
Since I'm at home with my parents again, I've had to get used to a few things... for instance, dad gets mad when I smoke cigarettes in the cadillac deville, but I sort of just do it without thinking. (Did I do that?!) Daddy needs the caddy, and usually I get to do with it what I will when I'm in town. (So I'm riding a bike! which is fun... I always liked riding bikes!!!) Also, everytime a parent comes home I'm smoking a European Cigarette out on the back deck in darkness beneath stars with the wire-haired pointer, listening to A Lily. And then... someone's home and I remember that I can't just live freely as usual...
Dad also wants me to clean my room, douche it out, expunge it... but the Artifacts! The priceless state... everything frozen in time since 2001. How can I possibly? The good news is that I've found plenty of accessories and clothing... gold chains, khaki shorts, a beaded bracelet with shells on it my grandparents brought me from Kenya, a forest green silk shirt, GREEN JNCO JEANS, a purple and black yarn hat with the ball on the end that I made in the third grade. So much plastic!!!!!!
Anyway... long story short...
I miss chicago, but you know, sometimes it's time to grow up and Move On. So, I'm going to try to get a job at the boise towne square mall at dillards and I'll probably spend a lot of time at the hawaiian bar...
