this imploding heart.

2002-10-11T09:02:00.000-07:00

She Doesn't Live Here Anymore...

This Imploding Heart has moved. Please find us from now on at

www.noematic.org/implode

promt your friends and relatives to do the same. We don't want anyone left wandering around lost now, do we? No. I don't think we do. (and if anyone knows how to do that autoforward thing, they should let me know.)

2002-10-09T11:12:00.000-07:00

we have the facts

Thanks to Molly for this. And to J for the continual gentle political ass kicking. It's suprisingly easy to write an email that says "Hello, I oppose. Please think of me when you vote.". I just hope no one calls and wants to talk about how I feel, because I'll break down and start wailing "You're killing babies and moms and dads and carpenters and miners and shoe salesmen with money I gave you and now we're all going to go to hell! No killing people! Says God!"

Whew!

Okay now.

1: Big chunk of uncomfortable metal in my mouth until my new golden tooth is ready. Tastes funny and is painful.

2: Put a big check mark next to life goal number 761. Bailey Coy books puts the first line of a novel on their sandwich board every day, and if you guess the book, you get 20 percent off any one thing in the store. I have wanted to know the book of the day since I moved to this city, and on Saturday, I did. It was Running With Scissors ( I bought Brief Interviews With Hideous Men with my discount, and ended up getting The Danish Girl and J.D. Salinger's Nine Stories. I'm ripping through fiction these days.)

3: I accidently turned the brightness knob instead of the volume/power knob on my television, so I woke up to the sounds of Sesame Street this morning. It made my day.

2002-10-08T11:20:00.000-07:00

with your nuclear boots and your drip dry gloves

oh dentisto, make my mouth all full of gold.

as all the cotton veined numb wears off it starts give off hints that its going to hurt like a son of a bitch pretty soon. it also makes me sleepy and irritable and itchy legged. See Also: i hate everything.

So can I be in your wedding or what? I'll be that weird thing where you stand by the guestbook and badger people into writing down their names. It'll be great. Please? I'll buy you a George Foreman Mini Grill.

2002-10-07T10:11:00.000-07:00

It's the year to be hated

It happened like this.

I was in bed trying to finish the book I had suspected would be terrible, but was hoping would do something to convince me otherwise when I heard them.

"Faauuuuckkkkkk Maaan! Fauuuucckkkk!"

It's 1:30am. The parking lot under my first floor window is rented out to doctors and is frequently patrolled for unauthorized vehicles these days. It's unlikely that a late working MD is making this kind of noise. There is a huge car door slam and again with the...

"Faaauuuuaaauuuuaaaauuuuuuuucckkk!"

I pop out of bed and peek through the window. The fauck guy is blonde, short, greasy and pissed. He's beating the shit out of the cutlass cierra they arrived in. A guy I've decided to call Champ is trying to calm him down.

Guy number 3 is the most interesting. He's most certainly wearing a little leather skirt that's short enough to expose the bottoms of his ass cheeks, but he's not really in drag. He has long man hair and Mister T arms. Big Fucking Huge Arms. He's wearing a leather vest, unbuttoned with no shirt and he has something of a beer gut. He makes a grunting sound at random but doesnt say much else. Once Fauck stops beating up the car, they all retreat on foot onto the stairwell that leads between Terry Ave and lower Howell.

Things of this nature happen on a semi regular basis in my neighborhood. No big deal, but for some reason, these guys scared the living fuck out of me. I had run upstairs while Fauck was still beating up the Cutlass and tapped on my manager's door but there was no answer. I decided I was over-reacting and went back to bed.

Two hours later, I'm finishing up my uber disappointing book when I hear someone muttering in spanish in the parking lot. I turned out my light and moved to the window. It was Mister T, and he was saying 'Grando!' over and over again. I tried to peek through the curtains without being spotted by my leather skirted companion as he pulled a duffle bag out of the Cutlass and sat it on the trunk.

"Grando! Grando!" He unzipped the bag and pulled out:

The Biggest, Blackest, Rubber Cock I've Ever Seen In My Life.

Huge. Perhaps you are saying to yourself, 'Come on, Sonya. It was the middle of the night. It was dark. You were hallucinating.' and I will say to you, No. Remember how the lights never fucking go off in that parking lot, creating in my apartment a constant state of brightness? Mm Hm. Big Giant Black Rubber Cock. The thing was bigger around than my freaking forearm and just about as long. Tip of first finger to Elbow. It had some kind of loop on the end of it, so I wouldn't be suprised if it comes with some sort of tripod support system. Mister T picked it up like a rifle. I could see the skin ripples they put on them to make them more realistic, this was getting really fucking weird.

"Grando! Ha Ha! Grando!"

Mister T and Grando retreated to the stairwell and out of sight, ass cheeks bouncing all the way. Again, I don't know why, but this scared the hell out of me. I figure there's really nothing going on though, so I take down the plate numbers for good measure and go to bed.

6:30am. My first alarm has just gone off and I'm drifting back to sleep when I hear in the distance,

"Grando! Mucho Mucho Grando! HaHa!"

I roll out of bed yet again and look out the window. It's Mister T and his amazingly terrifying buddy Grando. He started up the Cutlass and drove off. I don't know what happened to the other guys.

the end.

2002-10-07T08:43:00.000-07:00

testing test test

2002-10-03T14:24:00.000-07:00

you can always be down or out

Here's the deal.

I will use your product for free, and you will get paid by marketing people to bombard me with advertisements. I expect this. This is reasonable. there is no free lunch.

However, if I pay for your service, I expect to be left alone. This, hotmail and yahoo, is why I will not be purchasing your fancyness. I will give you twenty dollars, you will continue to bombard me. I refuse.

(It looks like this imploding heart will be moving soon. Thank you, thank you, thank you to those who offered to be a foster parent. You're better than eating pancakes at three in the morning while sitting on the kitchen floor, and that's pretty damn good.)

2002-10-02T09:55:00.000-07:00

the skies are black, the light can ride you, like having a motorcycle stuck inside you

So now that I've commited myself to cutting my own hair nine times in a row before I decide that I suck at it, I find that it wants cutting all of the time. Anyway, Kate fixed this one after we played trivial pursuit, so it's much, much better than the cut I gave myself in the alley. Don't worry though, the hole is still alive and kicking. (speaking of kicking, the internet is kicking my ass at solitaire. It's a totally different game when you can't cheat.)

Now for the great confession. You know how I took a year off theater? Yeah? Remember that? Well I only made it six and a half months. More details about the tiny little project I've braided into my hair to follow. It was inevitable. Either take on a project or take on anti depressants. I apologize to everyone who asked me to manage for them and was brutally shot down(bret, carys, whathisface from that party with the beautiful seventeen year old, richter, random bathhouse email lady, laura...) with my false cries of "year off!". We all knew I'd crack under the pressure. bring on the mockery. I'll make out with your boyfriend and push your cat down the stairs.*

*or not. probably not, actually. Unless you're the bitch who almost ran me over in the crosswalk yesterday. If so, prepare to have a shoe indention on your pretty little face, baby.

2002-10-01T11:42:00.000-07:00

because sometimes we have nothing better to do than play online solitaire and take pictures of our knees.

My great new question is this. Why is it so freaking hard to get my hands on a cheap, sturdy, wooden CD rack? I'll tell you why... radio isotopes.

Radio Isotopes combined with my unwillingness to haul my ass down to the bus tunnel and take a metro out to the north end to trudge around a gigantic targetomartamania in search of aforementioned item. I did, however, walk down to the miniature fredmeyerama on broadway where I was once attacked by a woman buying cat food to purchase new bed sheets, a mattress pad and a new shower curtain. Watch my parents even TRY to call it 'artsy'.

In other news a woman just called my cell phone and in a kind of brooklyney accent started shouting "I kept getting calls! It was this! This number! the beeping, Oh, it was driving me crazy."

-sonya shifts down into customer service mode,even though this is a private line.-

"Ma'am, this is a cellular telephone number. There is no fax line attached to it, and no way whatsoever it would have been able to try and fax you yesterday evening. Do you understand?"

"Oh! the terrible beeping! Where is it coming from? are you doing this to me?"

I wanted to kill her, but I was extremely polite. It was just like the good ole days.

2002-09-30T09:44:00.000-07:00

Ah Ha! Thank you, mike for reminding me about the best thing that happened this weekend. I think patrick opie and I have finally named the damned band.

Have you been holding your breath? You can stop now, because I'm not letting that snakey poptart blow this one off like he did One American Haircut, which I thought was fantastic.

So we're standing in the kitchen and patrick is making these magic mashed potatos that are turning a pleasant shade of orange. He's explaining how sugar is the secret ingredient in everything 'and would-you-please-hand-me-that-giant-sugar-tub' when he turns on his heel to face me.

He points the wooden spoon in the air. "Oh yeah! How would you feel about being called 'Block that Kick'?"

I wiped a spot of mashed potato off my shoulder. "Margaret Hoolihan."

"What?"

"Block That Kick, (Margaret Hoolihan)."

And because this time the laughter wasn't mixed with "that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard", I'm going to hold on to it as long as I can. (See: 3 weeks, tops. )

Snide remarks about how it's stupid and way too long welcome. Nobody gonna break my stride. Nobody gonna hold me down.

2002-09-27T16:46:00.000-07:00

Rose and Valoree, screaming from the gallery

(So, do you want to help me move this to a real location and hold my hand while I learn how you buy a domain name and get hosting and all that? Skills=limited. Gratitude=abundant.)

and now, a short list of things I love:

1: flat front panel, pleats all the way around in back.

2: Overcast and windy but dry.

3: Big safety pins being there when you really really need them.

4: "Wanna take a cemetery tour?" 11:00pm.

5: lightbooths

6: orange and vanilla ice cream cups with those stupid little wooden spoons.

7: being stubborn about absurdities.

8: brick showing through where the asphalt has chipped away.

9: "They're tearing up streets again, they're building a new hotel..."

10: black shoes, straps and buckles.

2002-09-26T12:24:00.000-07:00

this is my congratulations, mixed with fingercrossing and eye winking in hopes for the best. I heart you lots, J. Also, best of luck to TS on her trip to the belly of the family. May evil aunts be filled with unexpected kindness or indigestion.

I had a dream last night that she (not TS, another she.) and I were running around a race track while each discussing how we felt about the situation. I explained my viewpoint. She explained hers. She was kind and I was forgiving but I still woke up with razor wire all under my collarbones. I feel like I've swallowed a headstone, a dozen roses, and a bathtub full of no.

In other news, the 'Real Way' of playing Trivial Pursuit is totally dumb, and everyone should convert to the better way, which just means when you get all the pies, you win. None of this go to the middle bullshit. Ben and I are winners.

2002-09-26T10:43:00.000-07:00

And she's not afraid of anything

Mom: "I have tests today."

sonya: "What kind?"

Mom: "I have to collect all my urine all day. I have a little hat I have to..."

sonya "You pee in a hat?!"

Mom: "That's what they call it!"

sonya: "Hat!"

mom: "It looks like a funny little pilgrim hat."

sonya: "what color is it?"

mom: "White. A little white pilgrim hat. I had to pee in them all the time when I had my transplant, but I didn't have to save it in the fridge."

sonya: "AAAUUGGH. Gross mom."

mom: "I know. Super gross. I've got it all wrapped up in extra plastic bags and I moved everything away from it."

sonya: "Still. Very gross."

2002-09-25T15:41:00.000-07:00

Part Two: Everyone loses something:

(The basement room. R is looking around, under covers, etc. G is tightening all the yarn ties on the quilt that covers the bed.)

R: Have you seen my keys?

G: What?

R: My keys. My car keys, have you seen them?

G: Your what?

R: KEYS. Have you seen my keys.

G sits quietly for a moment, mouthing ‘have you seen my keys’ to herself over and over. After a moment she looks up.

G: No. I haven’t seen them.

R: Let me know if you do, okay?

R exits and G does not respond.

G stands and faces the audience but is not necessarily addressing them. She sits crosslegged on the floor and continues to fidget as she speaks.

G: I’m developing this distinct feeling of loss. Like I had pants pockets full of grain and jewels and phone numbers and plastic cowboys and somebody came along and cut holes in the bottom of them. Jewels and numbers and cowboys and grain all falling out the bottoms of my pantlegs while I was trying to think of something witty to say at the party. Perhaps from now on, I’ll just pin little sayings into the sleeves of my cardigan and pull them out like fortune cookies whenever the mood strikes me. ‘Have you seen her baby? It’s absolutely beautiful, not like most babies, who are born ugly as sin. It’s not their fault, though. "
‘He bought the house during the boom and must have invested wisely, because he’s the only one I know who was able to keep it.’
No, I suppose those wont work. I’ll have to think of something more applicable. "I saw a sweater just like that one while I was rooting through cardboard boxes in the alley last night!’ they’re most certain to take that as an insult, as they’re unlikely to be aware of the riches that lie in cardboard boxes left unattended. That’s where kittens come from, and sometimes where kittens have to go, if you picked up the stray after it was too late. Many a childhood afternoon wrapped in a coat of dad’s in front of the grocery store offering little tiny lives to strangers passing by. Please, somebody, take this little life for free. Take it home and let it love you. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I’m sitting in a cardboard box with the words ‘free to good heart’ written on the side. Sitting in this box and hoping it doesn’t rain.

Q enters the room and grabs boots and a jacket out of the closet.

Q: It’s raining.

G: What?

2002-09-24T12:15:00.000-07:00

Ready? here we go.

1: You get your foot shot off in the warzone. Do you carry the bloody, saggy, severed foot across the battlefield or start thinking of colors for your prosthetic?

2: A team of you and all boys or of you and all girls?

3: Babies in tires VS Kittens in toilet paper barfight, who wins?

4: Death by Jellyfish or Death by wood chipper?

5: Doomed to a life of mullet or Doomed to a life of moustache? (forever.)

6: Ditch study hall and make out under the fire escape or ditch study hall and play Street Fighter 2 at Brian's because his mom works during the day?

7:"My cat's name is Mittens" or "The doctor said it would stop bleeding if I just kept my finger out of there."?

8: "You're so pretty when you're angry." or "I just woke up early to watch you sleep."

Go! Now!

2002-09-23T16:47:00.000-07:00

Additionally:

If, by chance, you were cruising around Seatown this weekend and you may have heard someone shouting,

"I want a baby! I want a kitten! I want an antique carousel horse! I want an arcade version of Pac Man! I want a sugar daddy, dammit! I'm so-ho-ho fu-huh-huh-huh-huhking mi-i-i-i-i-i-ser-a-ble!"

she was kidding about everything except the Pac Man, (and occasionally the misery.)

2002-09-23T13:38:00.000-07:00

(Patrickt. Please come home. Nobody gets it, and it's really, really funny.)

2002-09-23T09:00:00.000-07:00

It's here in the smallest bones

This becomes a story about changing clothes. I'm sorry.

I'm preoccupied because my fingers continue to smell slightly of garlic cloves, even after I took the lemon out of my drink and ran it over my fingernails and threw it away. The High Performance King thought this was gross, but he was being particularly obscene in German, so I wasn't going to think twice about it. That was during dress number one. (Aqua and silver, 3/4 sleeves, polyester. Wait, there's a picture of me wearing this dress and being very, very drunk here.-'Daddy, baby needs a fix.'- Do you care about dresses? Of course not.)

Dress number two is the dress equivalent of a pink birthday cake. Josh was walking around the party carrying that ridiculously heavy pack of his as tricia and I took a thousand accidental pictures of ben smoking a cigarette while trying to make the light meter on my camera work. We left around midnight, but I was discontent. Tricia and J and I got a ride to their house where I changed into aforementioned Schmezzle Schmagger shirt and coveralls. I still have really fancy hair and am wearing party shoes, but I'm a little bit soft around the edges already, so I assume no one will notice. We walked up to the Summit Public House and proceeded to play the "If I were to get in a barfight, which one of these guys do you think I could take?" game. We chose a particularly scrawny new wave fellow, but he was fully capable of kicking my ass royal. The summit was sporting a tough crowd, so we switched to the "Who's my new boyfriend?" game.

Josh: "What about that one?"

Tricia: "too old, and kind of slimy looking. What about that one?"

Sonya: "He looks like he'd be mean to kids and pigeons. What about mister hat over there?"

Josh: "I think you just answered your own question when you called him mister hat."

Tricia: "What are your feelings concerning punk rock?"

Sonya: "Would *I* have to go punk rock?"

Josh: "Not necessarily. The one in the corner?"

Tricia: "Yup."

Sonya: "Sassy. Okay, yeah. Punk rock is my new boyfriend."

This incited an hour of Josh:'Go ask him out!' Sonya: "No Way!" Josh:" Go! Go Now! Do you want me to do it for you?" Sonya: "NO!" The bartender enjoyed it.

We drank whiskey through last call and walked back to T and J's. I flopped down on the couch and J slid to the floor, proclaiming "I'm not laying on the floor because I'm drunk. I'm laying on the floor because this is my house."

2002-09-20T08:51:00.000-07:00

because talk like a pirate day lives on in my heart

I feel like several people at once. (Cast my demons into a herd of pigs that will throw themselves off a cliff. That was my favorite story.)

Stage Door Opening. Ho-ly-shit. It's fantastic. Go buy tickets right now. You love theatre. You do, you just might not know it because all you remember was your sister's school play from the Samuel French catalog that was a spinoff of the James Bond movies. Stupid farces are always the cheapest.

Alright see now, I was the only one wearing a cocktail dress for reasons I don't care to discuss. After lounging at The Dubliner and talking shop with an old school SM* and a new school SM (I'm just a school SM, by the way.) I invited benjamin to be my ready made night in shining helmet and walk me to my scooter on his way to his. This was only after I walked outside in said cocktail dress and an old scary fisherman with jagged fire shooting teeth bent down and made the "gimmie gimmie gonna eat em all up yeah" grabby hand motion. I was afriad. I will admit.
Ben walks me up the hill. I offered to let him carry me, being the damsel and all, but I realized that 1: that would be terrible for ben. and 2: this would probably incite more of the grabby hands motion on the parts of passersby, as it would have exposed a significant portion of my delicate laundry. He waits while I pull on the scooter pants** and jacket and goggles and helmet, kisses me on the cheek, I thank him for his kindness, cut out his heart and take it to the evil queen.***

So okay now. I'm at Denny and Westlake and an SUV of SWM pull up. The two in the front seat are talking to each other pleasantly, laughing and being pretty normal, when the back window unrolls and out comes a screeching

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEEE BABY! UNGH! YEAH!"

I look around, nobody else there, it was for me. I consider for under half a second and decide to feed him the fury... "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEE! YOU ARE ONE FINE PIECE OF MEAT BABY! YOW!"

The sober guys in front think this is totally hilarious. I, also, find it to be pretty fucking funny, because the guy in the back is kind of going nuts now. Meowing and the like. Sober and Sober seem relieved that I didn't get all sexual harrasment on their asses, the light changes, we all drive away. I relish in the fact that Drunko McDrunkerface didn't even know I was wearing a smashing cocktail dress and lovely party shoes. I got home and peeled off the scooter pants and jacket and felt very much like a secret agent.

the end.

*(SM stands for stage manager, you ass slapping leather wearing maniac.)

**(scooter pants=pants big enough to fit over skirts and shoes that can be easily removed upon arrival at location)

***(everything except the part about the heart cutting out really happened.)

2002-09-19T14:06:00.000-07:00

shamelessly stealing ideas from others, ahoy.

Take my Quiz. Take iiiitttt!

2002-09-19T13:06:00.000-07:00

What would you do if I sang out of tune

And now, The Wonderful Paul

Hi, Sonya!

I've written you a poem!

(I also sent it to "poetry on the busses.")

I Am Writing This to Destroy You

On the 23 day I found your radio tumors inside me.
Their voices mingle with the Mars Climate Orbiter.
For the past year, I've wanted to sew your picture into my jacket and leave it at the Salvation Army.
Instead, I'm using rumored disasters to silence you.
You are lost in a suspected Indian earthquake.
Bees! Bees! Bees! Bees! Bees! Bees!
I'll snap my fingers right in your face.
You just lost five minutes.
Sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

2002-09-19T09:37:00.000-07:00

Mom calls at 10:28

Mom: "I have to come over for x-rays and a biopsy and a blood count and something else, I can't remember. I hope it isnt that weird bile pill on a string thing. Remember that? Ugh. They're going to do the count first at Virginia Mason, and then move me over to the U dub for everything else. We'll be over on the fourth. Can we stay with you? We'll pull that mattress out from under your bed."

sidenote: there's a futon mattress being stored under the futon frame with the real mattress on top of it. It took me 2 hours to manipulate that fucking thing under there, and there's no way in hell I'm ever moving it out again except to throw it away, and I haven't brought myself to terms with that yet. Every single time my parents come over, my mother insists that we should pull out that damn mattress so I can sleep on it instead of sleeping on the floor, and every time, I explain that 1: there is no way dad is strong enough to lift the bed from one side and hold it while I drag it out. 2: It's a huge pain in the ass, and dragging it out will make my back hurt significantly worse than sleeping on the damn floor, which I did for several years in high school due to a theory concerning spiderbites and vertigo that I don't care to explain.

Sonya: "Mom, it's fine. I'll sleep on the floor. We've already had this discussion. I slept on the floor for 3 months after Tracy moved out, and you and dad didnt say a thing. Then I had the most comfortable bed in the world, and you took it to the dump and spent a hundred and fifty dollars on a bed that gave me leg spasms. I'm still really not over that."

Mom; "No we did not. Did we? I guess we did, but I'm sure we thought it was in your best interest."

Sonya: "You didn't even ask me if I was uncomfortable in the old one. If you hadn't thrown it out, I'd still be sleeping on it today. It was the best bed ever. Additionally, I was already 18 and moving out in 7 months. I go to school one day, I come home after my show that night, and theres a new fucking bed, old bed nowhere to be seen. I was furious. You spent 150 bucks. Everyone was unhappy. It didn't make any sense."

Mom: "Well you just wait till you have kids young lady. We thought we were doing the right thing."

Sonya: "but you'd done very few things like that in my life. As soon as I reported I was moving out, you started doing all kinds of weird shit. You threw away my bed and expected me to keep the shitty one. You stole my picture album, cut out all the pictures of my friends into weird shapes, pasted them into a Lisa Frank book with pink unicorns on it an put little captions over their heads. You started insisting that I eat dinner at the table, which we hadnt done since I was five. The only other time in my life you did anything like that was signing me up for girl scouts, and when I started crying, you yelled 'You're gonna go, and you're gonna like it!' and slammed my door."

Mom:"....I did not do that. Did I?"

Sonya:" Oh yes. Yes you did."

Mom: "Man, you hated girl scouts."

Sonya: "I got kicked out for slapping the leaders daughter, remember?"

Mom: "That I remember."

2002-09-18T09:05:00.000-07:00

we are holding hands under the table. You are trying desperately hard to listen to my mother talk about something the dog did last week as I am tapping out 'be bop a lula she's my baby, be bop a lula I don' mean maybe, be bop a lula she-he-he's my baby love my baby love my baby love' on your shoe and pulling on your trousers at the knee to make the hem dance.
It's a family game. Dad loved to come up behind me and put his arm around my shoulder during conversations with old ladies at church. He'd pinch my arm with his thumb without tensing his fingers, so Mrs. Maglumphy wouldn't know I was in terrible pain and resisting the urge to scream "Dammit Dad, will you fucking stop that shit?" as she asked me about how school was going and do I have a college picked out and so on. I'd grit my teeth and smile at dad, and he'd laugh a little and give my arm an extra squeeze indicating 'Just you try it, kid. You've got no way to prove it and no one will believe you.' I'm telling you, my dad should have been in the mafia.
You've pressed my hand flat in your palm, and you're pressing my fingers like guitar strings. I can feel the calouses in your fingers. Cylindrical and rough from fat classical guitar strings. I'm proud of myself for being able to keep up. The first note, your fingers in an arch over my pinkie, middle and third fingers...D. Second note, first, middle, and pinkie....C. You're taking it easy on me. You press my hand into what might be an E, but might also be an A minor, I can never remember. Now dad's talking about his plan to buy a wood splitter and make a million dollars. (I'm mister plow, that's my name, that name again is mister plow) You're agreeing with enthusiasm and singing barely audibly under your breath with the notes you play 'lovely Rita, meter maid, nothing can come between us'

2002-09-17T16:55:00.000-07:00

PS

Paul's a genius.

2002-09-17T15:41:00.000-07:00

when you got that spiderbite on your hand

If you happened to be driving down Fremont yesterday night, and you happened to see a girl standing in the rain tearing her left shoe and sock off and searching through them like mad, sorry if I disturbed you. To those of you who insisted there was nothing in my shoe, I'll have you know that I woke up this morning with a bite the size of a small island nation on my ankle. It hurt like hell.

Happy birthday Bill,Brendan, and coffee delivery guy. Presents of various assortments for everyone.

2002-09-16T16:54:00.000-07:00

Sorry Charlies, 11:30pm Saturday. transcribed from notebook.

I am going to try to explain this to you.

There is a stuffed swordfish over the call window and miniature cereal boxes sitting atop the pie case. The tables in the restaurant side are classic greasy spoon booths, but 2 tables away you are in the piano bar.
An ancient man plays a baby grand like water flowing over rocks. A man in his sixties is singing opera in Italian. It's open mic. 2 tables over and the lights go dim, but on our side, the booth and restaurant side, it's diner bright.
There is a feeling like this is one of those dreams that starts out great and threatens to turn bad but never quite does. It just continues being a kind of correct only the dream can fabricate.
Now there's a girl singing a beautiful and jaunty version of That's Amore, and the old man pours out a life of experience over the keys.

I'm overwhelmed. I want to preserve this thing. "When I have a brand new hairdo..." I want a piece of my DNA to be left on a fragment of time. I want to be able to come back to this emotion, to this light, to that old man playing the piano and the girl in the corner smoking cigarettes and the guy with the date who's way way too young for him and they both know it and the waitress who's older than my mom and the juice you can only get out of the bar spicket. I want to come back to meticulously peeling this lable and tugging at my socks and borrowing this jacket that smells like my friend who has gone to find his pen. I want to grab hold of this moment and kiss it with my tounge. "Who enjoys being a guy, loving a giiiiiiirrrrrllllll like meeeeeee..."

On the wall, there are charcoal pictures of a fish wearing a sailor hat crying behind a rock where a mermaid brushes her hair.

2002-09-16T09:32:00.000-07:00

All I'm ever trying to do is draw you a picture.

Friday night, dusk. This is an evening composed of pressing pause before hitting stop. I'm surrounded by empty jewel cases, or cases with the wrong disc in them. I'm doing my best to not even look at the records, because I know they'll be totally impossible to hear. There are a few instances where I can't resist the urge.

The really sad thing is that I don't have the dedication to the idea that a mix tape means anything. I'm not saying I never did. I did. Very much so, just not anymore. If I want to tell you you're an asshole, I'm not going to make you a tape of Ween's 'Baby Bitch' or Fairy Tale of New York (but a tape with these songs and many others about what a terrible person I was has been given to me. Sure, I'll make you a copy.) I just want to take everything worth listening to and trying to orchestrate it pleasantly.

Alisha and I are supposed to go to a party at Patrick's around eleven. I've already taken a shower and put on my party shoes but I can't bring myself to get dressed. I continue to sit on the floor in a T-shirt with the words "Schmezzle Inn....Schmagger Out" printed on it, a black half slip, an apron with floral print (I was also doing the dishes. Sure don't wanna get dishwater on my schmezzle schmagger shirt.) and baby blue shoes. I'm astoundingly comfortable.

I finish the first tape. Great. Alright. I play the first song. Shit.

so the sound quality is terrible. Almost unlistenable. I remember that I had recorded over something else on this one, fast forward to the next. Bad, still, but better than the first. -I need to buy some decent stereo equipment, but am totally terrified of trying to do it alone, as I see all electronics salespeople as spokesmen for my personal financial disaster.-

The phone rings, I buzz Alisha in. I pull on a dress while she sifts through cases with the toe of her shoe.

"Makin a tape?"

"Five tapes. They sound terrible and I had to make up names for several of the songs because I couldnt find the cases."

"Yeah? Oh well. ...That's kind of great, actually."

2002-09-13T13:22:00.000-07:00

Things suddenly don't approve of:

Weblogs with the words Blog, Babble, Ramblings, or Musings in the title.

A Family Affair being recast and rewritten and put on the air. Think of something new, dammit!

Maple Vinagrette. It ruined my lunch.

The financial businesswomen who, while signing in, made mention of the sticker I was wearing like a badass tattoo and forgot to take off this morning.

2002-09-12T08:55:00.000-07:00

She looked at my palm and she made a magic sign

If you were wondering, the icicle turned out to be coated in neosporin,and consequently both eased my need to poke colleigate administrators in the eyes with their stay-put pens and turned my throwing shoes back into walking shoes.

2002-09-11T15:52:00.000-07:00

I just had the 3rd most traumatic experience of my life trying to register for classes. I sat outside and cried a lot. And now I'm sitting at the reception desk and pretending not to cry a lot. (I swear, I'm not this sensitive about everything. Some things are just really really scary for me.*)

*see: Banks, Buffets, Lines with no particular specification, Crowded street festivals where everyone walks really slow, Places where I have to do something important but no one will answer my questions.

2002-09-11T11:10:00.000-07:00

My love affair with the US postal service

If it was your birthday, or maybe you moved, would you rather I mailed you:

A: a snowglobe.
or
B: a mix tape
or
C: a decopage collage
or
D: Pictures of people you don't know with little captions written under them.
or
E: a deck of cards, a seashell, a bottle cap, and a list.

You really should pick. Particularly if I already have your address.

2002-09-10T15:22:00.000-07:00

(I can see you craning your neck)

I jabbed an antiseptic icicle in the wound of the year. Mother and springtime say all the hurt's gotta drain out sometime. All the ill turns into strong to get ready for the frost. I am knitting all the keys that used to open things into a suit of armor, held together entirely with bailing twine and unanswered telphone calls. I will wear it all the damn time. You will see me on the street, brass reflecting sunlight, skeleton keys over skeleton and you will think I am tough shit.

Sometimes I think another winter drowning in the bathtub, pages stained with cigarette smoke, chin touching the waterline as the record skips off the side B center ring would be better than a healthy hole in my throat.

(I bump my head against the windshield.)

2002-09-10T14:43:00.000-07:00

Say 'I like you very much'

* Walking around the lake. Natty and I run into a man on a bike walking a dog next to a woman. Natty sees: A man on a bike walking a dog next to a woman. I see: A woman making the 'You're too close to me and I'm kind of afraid' backing off motion. Man making the 'Let me get close to you. I'm going to get close to you.' motion. Dog: nervous dog motion. That is all about that.

* At the ice cream counter, a man in his sixties shovels out the pralines and cream and the reeses peanut butter double scoops. I feel terrible about this and I can't explain why. I want him to have a pipe and a bathrobe and not be here at all, but maybe this is what he wants to be doing. I feel sick.

* This morning, riding home from sleeping on the couch after watching steve martin as the monkey boy. The sun is just at the point where you are blinded at the creast of every hill, and there are a lot of hills here.

2002-09-09T16:30:00.000-07:00

Eyelash Code

I shut my eyes tight and placed my fingers over the dots that tell me where J and F are. asdf jkl; Ready? Go. I let go all the "Hey, listen, I know it's been a long time and all Hey, I hope you're doing well and I just thought I'd write and Hey, You can be such an asshole without even trying and Hey, do you wanna get some coffee sometime so we can talk about and Hey and Hey and Hey" and instead, I put out the simple plan.

"Hey you,

You wanna talk now?

From me."

And maybe You doesn't want to talk anymore. That's okay with me. It'll make several parties and weddings and other social occasions terribly awkward for both of us, but we've each made the effort at different times, and perhaps we both have failed.

2002-09-09T10:14:00.000-07:00

Five Reasons I've loved You: a dedication to the annonymous fancy

A
1: We were in the same grade, but you went to the alternative school.

2: You rode your BMX racer all over town, even in winter.

3: You wore a leather jacket with a Black Sabbath patch.

4: You hated smelling like cigarettes.

5: You may honestly have been made out of 13 year old magic.

B
1: You remember the first television you saw in a window at Sears downtown.

2: You never pretended to steal my nose or pull quarters out of my ears, but you swore you'd been alive for the extinction of the dinosaurs.

3: You put chewing tobacco on my beestings.

4: You'd turn the Flintstones on when dad and I came over, and no matter how much Dad protested that you should go on watching your own program, you would insist that you'd been watching the damn Flintstones all day.

5: After they amputated your leg, you hopped down the rocky riverbank of the Snake to go fishing, first day of season.

C
1: You're 24, and you think the word Poop is totally hilarious (but you never throw it down at an inappropraite time.)

2: You once leaned over and whispered to me, "I really want to sit in that cake. Seriously."

3: You worked on a farm in the middle of nowhere.

4: You dance like a rockstar.

5: You know the code word for "my boss is standing right here, so I have to pretend this is a business related call".

2002-09-06T16:09:00.000-07:00

The Cut

The Hole

The Horror. (Okay, It's not too horrible considering I did it in an alley, right?)

2002-09-06T08:29:00.000-07:00

Her bus comes at 8:30.

I like to call her Little Black Dress woman. I know I've seen her in other things, but my first thought about her was "I bet she is always looking for a better version of that dress."

She carries a big handbag. One of those bags you get as a special gift with any 45 dollar drakkar noir purchase. She holds the bag on her left side which leaves her right hand free to swing. Apparently, she has to really swing her arms to get any kind of speed, but since one arm has the bag and all, she swings the other arm for both of them. It looks like she's a fast pitch softball player warming up for that big underhanded circle they use to hurtle the ball at each other. She isn't really walking much faster than anyone else, but she's exerting twice the effort, and she looks ridiculous. I know it's unfair, but except for the part where she swings her arm, I think I kind of hate her, and I really can't explain why.

2002-09-05T09:30:00.000-07:00

I wrote it in half time just to say thanks

I called Josh from the drugstore.

"Hey, what are you doing right now?"

"Sitting around, staring at the cieling. What's up?"

"I want to cut my hair, but I don't want to do it inside. Will you help?"

We meet at Josh's and move into the alley across the street. There's a ledge with deep gutter on one side and the uneven brick alley on the other. Josh props the mirror up on his crossed legs and I straddle the ledge across from him. I wrap an old beach towell around my neck like an aviators scarf and wipe off the scissors on the corner.

We talk about the mexican man who's english vocabulary was entirely devoted to being sexy. We talk about the things 13 year old boys love to throw out the window. We talk about synapse development in teens and how fat content is affecting childhood. He adjusts the mirror on request and doesnt even flinch when I grab a significant handfull of hair and liberate it from my head. I let it fall like confetti over the grate.

"That was a big chunk. I don't think you should try to match it on the other side."

"Yeah? Lemme see. ............... Y-e-a-h. Alright. Oh well."

This is one of my favorite things about Josh. He's immensely calming in situations where others would cause catastrophic freak outs. He is "Hey Sjet? You shouldn't hold the knife like that because if you slip you'll.........okay. Just like that, yeah. Alright. Hang on, I'll get some gauze.", but he is also the one who tells me to push all my hair through the grate in order to protect myself from VooDoo.

2002-09-04T16:47:00.000-07:00

Um, yes. Just this. Kids are big on punctuality these days.

2002-09-04T16:04:00.000-07:00

I like it when it's new to someone else. And it is pretty sweet, except when you really really have to pee, and you still have to be polite.

2002-09-04T15:36:00.000-07:00

So here's the thing. I hesitate to tell people about much of my childhood because I have a deep personal fear that they'll think I'm a self-obsessed hypochondriac. I don't think I was, but what if I might have been? (I'm still fucking paranoid.) So I'm going to tell you something and you can pretend like I'm making it all up as a bit of fiction, even though every bit of it happened. I will also be building an all foam and bubble bath suit for my delicate ego.

Ahem.

When I was in Junior High, I fell down all the time. It would go a little something like this. Watching Nickelodeon, 'You Can't Do That On Television' would come on, and I would jump up to turn down the volume, because for some reason, I wasn't supposed to watch Alanis Morrisette get slimed with green goop when she said "I don't know". Anyhow, I would stand up, and all the muscles in my legs would relax, and I would face plant into the gold shag carpet. Alanis would get slimed. Mom would come in and say "I told you, I don't like that program. What are you doing on the floor? Have you seen my keys? " and then walk out of the room. Eventually, she noticed that I was on the floor a lot, and we went to the doctor. He said I had a mild case of catelepsy, which is a relative of narcolepsy, and take this bottle of pills and be damned careful when you stand up. Now give me a million dollars because I'm a specialist.

So I took the pills and tried not to think about it and tried to use it to get out of gym but failed. Puberty came and went, the synapses in my brain became incased in synapsey fat, things were going okay. Or so we think. About 2 years later, middle of my junior year of high school, I was taking notes in AP history about Vietnam. I was writing something about hookers on mopeds bombing soldiers in bicycles when BAM! my face hit the desk. The history teacher/football coach (arent they all?) stopped his lecture, the gum chewing hair twirler stopped in mid twirl, the guy who spent every period drawing battlefields looked up from his missile diagram. Everything stopped. I had fallen asleep in mid blink.

I know that everyone falls asleep in school. Fine. I thought I must just be exhausted, considering that I had a job, was assistant directing a show for the local theater, went to school full time and spent any spare time driving out of state to visit my psycotic hippie boyfriend. Exhaustion. Sure. I mean, I don't really *feel* tired, but...hmm.

It progressively got worse.

If you're in the advanced class in an Idaho high school, you go to all of your classes with the same people, since there is only one 'advanced' schedule. So I discussed it with my colleagues and it was decided that someone I knew would sit behind me and grab on to the back of my sweater if I started to go under. This worked for about 2 weeks. The school called my parents. Mom sent me to school with a bag of carrots and some No-doz. She figured I couldnt go to sleep hopped up on caffeine pills and crunching. She figured wrong. I was phenomenal! It was amazing! I was named the nap champ.

I rode out most of high school that way. Any time I was confronted with a quiet situation, I would fall asleep. There was significant forehead bruising. I still graduated, and did reasonably well, considering.

So I moved to the land of barista's and coffee grounds and became an addict like the rest of this sickening city. 1 cup of coffee with milk and sugar, prior to 1pm, every day, every week, all year round. It's a good plan. I haven't fallen asleep at this job more than twice, and I take half as many naps as I did last winter. Everyone named Patrick is proud of me.

Until I went to the middle of fucking nowhere to be trapped in a house where everything is made of Jell-O or Cream-of-(insert chicken, mushroom, beef, carrot, whatever)-soup. It's my first day there, I feel fine, 2pm rolls around, mom and I are discussing dress patterns when I nod off and smack my eye on the edge of the table.

Mom screams, I scream, Lynn yells "What in God's Almighty Kingdom is going on in there?". Mom grabs my head to inspect my eye, "Honey! What happened?"

"I don't know. I just fell asleep."

"Does this happen all the time? Are you alright? Are you on drugs?"

"For goodness sakes, mother. No. I'm fine. I don't know why....wait. Wait. Thaaaaat's right. Can you ask lynn to drive me to town? I need to get a cup of coffee."

"Oh sonya. You know that's not good for you."

"neither is hitting my head on the table."

2002-09-04T10:46:00.000-07:00

when I decide to stay here

Southern Idaho is a contradiction. It's a valley of plenty, with heavy fruit dropping off the trees as you drive by at 15 miles per hour (the speed limit is 20 all over town, no one goes over 17.), it's a city park with an old swimming pool across the street from the drugstore with the hard candy still in jars along one wall, and the druggist in his white smock and small spectacles. It's also a desert wasteland of unemployment, small minds, meth labs in decrepit houses surrounded by malnourished angry dogs.
Small planes fly over small towns and all the residents go inside for the air raid of DDT. The spray has been known to cause birth defects, but the livestock will die within a week from the mosquito bites if something isnt done.

The sunsets are amazing. They are shredded bridesmaid dresses thrown into the canal. They are Jell-o of every flavor mixed with whipcream covering the table at the potluck. They are packaging peanuts and melted crayons on a tremendous cake platter. The sunsets are magnificent because of the great plumes of smoke being released by the constant wildfires. There are no trees on the surrounding hills, so the sun sets on all sides. The mosquitos could have sucked all the blood out of my body in the time it took me to take it all in. I went inside and covered the bumps with toothpaste

Mom and I are staying at my aunt lynn and uncle hurcamurs house. We used to come every summer for two or three weeks at a time until I was old enough to get a job. Every detail of the house is familiar and stagnant. The brown ceramic owls perched on the driftwood have always been there. The velvet painting of the watermill over the gold floral couch has always been there. The house feels like a captured moment of my youth. Lynn puts her short gray hair up in curlers twice a week. Hurcamur smells like stetson and motor oil, and says "Well Hello!" when he hears the front door open. Mom sleeps in the blue room, I sleep in the end room in the bed with the light and the afghan bedspread that my toes get stuck in. Hurcamur snores and it sounds like frogs on the windowsill.

2002-09-03T14:53:00.000-07:00

All I wanna do is to thank you...

Yesterday I was rescued from my rainy trot in a soggy cotton sweater when a nicey-pants named Cynthia honked, pulled over, and gave me a ride. I'm not endorsing this behavior: I've certainly never taken any other rides offered by strangers. You might think my ability to shun such rides is due to smarts, but I think it really comes from riding around with my Uncle Newel when I was a child. Uncle Newel used to enjoy pulling up to hitchhikers and asking them "Tired of walking?" When they said "yes" he'd say "Try running!" and pull away in a bitchin' Camaro screech of wheels.

This is, mind you, the same uncle who has scars on his belly from the schrapnel of the exploded PVC pipe gun he made as a child.

Faux Sonya

*All right, all right: my Uncle Newel did not actually own a Camaro, bitchin' or otherwise. He was, however, an entomology professor at Eastern New Mexico University and the first time I ate tacos was at his house.

2002-08-30T13:46:00.000-07:00

Crack Commando
Are you one?

2002-08-30T08:43:00.000-07:00

The Mansion in Lake Forest Park

No, no, the one near Chicago. Because that's where Mr. T lives.

I learned this when I was in college. My roommates and I had concocted a plan to throw an apartment-warming party and invite local celebrities just to see who would show up. I have a dim recollection that this plan began because one or more of us had a crush on one or more members of an indie-garage-punk band and we wanted them to think their invitation was general and not one of please-come-put-your-tongue-in-my-mouth. We put our party planning minds to work. Because we were at a snooty school and trained to follow thoughts to their logical end, the plan grew into the glorified Celebrity Invite '91. Because we were at a snooty school and trained that "logical end" meant discussion sans execution, Celebrity Invite '91 became a late-night legend revered. Celebrities were identified but never invited, we developed crushes on a new set of dissidents, and I left school in a pissy exhaustion.

I moved to Seattle.

Three years later and in a fresher, more highly-stylized pissy exhaustion, I returned to the land of snoot and NBA rioting, this time with the perspective of the World Beyond, a drinking savvy, and a boyfriend who liked to see me naked but hated Chicago so much that he lost twenty pounds and began to look like a comic book recluse of age 12.

But Mr. T was still mighty. He had survived Rocky Balboa, defunct Saturday morning cartoons, and pulled-from-the-shelf novelty breakfast cereals. He still lived in Lake Forest Park and I had a party to attend. We drove along wintery tree-lined streets and there it was: The Home of Mr. T, barren of trees. I held my breath as we neared his driveway, but we drove on: my invitation was for a party at a different Lake Forest Park mansion, one with marble countertops and sorority sisters who would confuse my unrushed indie ears with Theta gossip. Throughout the evening I drank my wine slowly in hopes that Mr. T would arrive in the A-Team van and rescue me. He never came and the wine made me tired.

I returned to Seattle.

Thoughts of Mr. T shifted into memory and subconscious, rummaging about until they reappeared in a startling A-Team dream in which I was featured as Face. We were trying to stop the evil stadium development that was taking over the real estate of the Lower Queen Anne Ladro, a site featuring baristas who harken the dissident crushes of years past. Face (me) was onto something big, really huge, a piece of information that could stop the whole organization, but Face (me) had also just been caught and thrown into a pit dug into the stadium floor. Face (me) was barely conscious and about to be covered with Astroturf. Who could help? Who would come to the rescue? This time, the bullet-riddled van did arrive. B.A. Baracus stepped out in the form of...my sister. Yes, the mighty Mr. T was now a redheaded pixie of a girl. And she kicked ass.

I woke dismayed yet elated. Dismayed that I had been cast as the most ridiculous member of the A-Team (why couldn't I have been Murdock?), but elated that the decade-old secrets of Mr. T and Celebrity Invite '91had finally been revealed: no party is complete without B.A. Erin Jorgensen.

Faux Sonya

2002-08-29T09:17:00.000-07:00

Decide now! The people are waiting and your life is more interesting than theirs! for A.A

1: Would you rather be a crystal chakra, hippie woo woo, thinly-sliced-hazlenuts-over-tofu, salt-is-of-the-devil freak, or a Dominoes pizza and a hamburger for dinner, sleeping on a top mattress without box springs or sheets on the floor, WWF-believing-in freak? Explain.

2: Minimum security prison or Involuntary Mental Hospital? (please note, the prison is pink.)

3: Insane roomates with cool pets or cool roomates with evil pets? (including ferrets.)

4: A videotape of a very drunken you singing and dancing along with N*Sync on MTV, and knowing all the dance moves, or the terrible song lyrics you wrote for him or her that include the lines "I need you, babe. What can I do? I must have you, I'm stuck like glue. Please say you do/ Want me back too/ like an old shoe/Oh I'm so blue" and a heartfelt letter declaring your everlasting love to survive him or her dating that skank and totally scratching your favorite Led Zepplin album?

5: Whiskey neat or on the rocks?

6: Would you rather eat a quart of Sugar Free Chocolate Vanilla swirl Jell-o Pudding every night for the rest of your life, or have your ears always smell slightly of cheese?

7: Friday Flip Up Day or Wednesday Wet Willie Day?

8: Your date is: Pretty, Dense, and Loud, or Plain, Smart, and Painfully Shy?

9: Riding around on one of those tough chopper motorcycles with the really tall handlebars in gym shorts, white socks pulled up to mid calf and orthopeodic tennis shoes, or driving a geo metro in black leather pants, leather X style chest and back straps instead of a shirt, wristbands and a buzz cut?

10: The Rolling Stones start a barfight with the Partridge Family and Mister T. Who wins?

2002-08-29T08:45:00.000-07:00

I've seen the girl who will pick up where I leave off

and her name is gillian. Tomorrow and Tuesday. I'm going to a suburb of Boise to take a zillion pictures of my grandmother with my new camera. (Remind me sometime later to explain my whole 'preservation of the unverifiable years of my youth' theory. it's fantastic.)

So I think today is going to be an either/or would-you-rather kind of day. But First: I think I got my financial aid thing back saying they processed it, but I can't find anything that says if they're giving me any money or not. Can you help? Stupid financial aid.

Get your choosing hat on.

2002-08-28T13:38:00.000-07:00

sometimes something you can dance to is the last thing that you need

I'm fairly certain it was in the green plastic chairs on the sunken part of the porch. We had kissed earlier that evening. It was a prize. I made up a question and you understood the obscure answer and the prize was a kiss. You answered the same question again, and we kissed a second time. It was inconsequential at the time. I wrote my name on the inside of your elbow for good luck. You complimented my shoes. I put a cupcake in your pocket. You weren't upset.

But it was well after the dishrag caught fire on the birthday candles and all the boys named Tim in the room had written the song about being Tim that you found me. Sitting with knees crossed under a borrowed overcoat in the green plastic chair. Sipping a Dr Pepper in a can through a bendy straw. I love straws.
You lifted my hand to look at the twist-tie around my ring finger. You asked if I was married to the baker or the produce manager. We thumb-wrestled. You won. We were holding hands.

2002-08-28T08:44:00.000-07:00

It's ideas like this that make me pine with envy that they weren't my idea first. Click the picture to see more mowhawk glory than you can shake your sweet ass at.

2002-08-27T13:59:00.000-07:00

on the phone with momma. 11:00pm.

"Hey mom, are you ready to go on Thursday?"

"Friday, you mean."

No. Thursday. Do you have your itinerary? You have to have it."

"Sonya. Aren't we leaving on Friday? I could have sworn you said Friday."

"Thursday, momma. It's really important that you remember, Thursday, not Friday."

"Okay, okay. Thursday. Measure your waist for me. Is that the only reason you called? To remind me that we leave this week?"

"Yup."

"Measure your hips while you're at it. I'm making you a dress."

2002-08-27T09:40:00.000-07:00

Fred Meyer, 10:30pm

"This one?"

"No. I hate that one. Why cant they just sell the potting soil in the size of the pot? I'm going to destroy all of these ceramics with my bare teeth."

"What about this one?"

"Too much. Too much potting soil! My mom used to make these little soldiers out of ceramic pots and paint them like nutcrackers for christmas. She tried to make a santa once but the weight distribution was weird around the fat belly part and he cracked. My only plant ever is going to die. I feel like I've betrayed it."

"Why don't you get this wild violet mix? It looks fancy. It's only 2 dollars. Lets go look at power tools."

"......yeah.....alright."

"It's just dirt, you know. Do you need anything else while we're here? This toilet seat with embroidery on it, perhaps? Oh shit! the seat itself is squishy! Padded! You could sit here all afternoon!"

"AAUGH! Germ Infestation! No way to sterilize the padding! All I really need is this light pull and some of these free range eggs."

"I need these sheets. Fancy places don't make sheets for boys. Fancy places also don't make sheets for five dollars. This is sweet. "

"All I need in the world is this potting soil, this pot and plate, this lamp pull, these eggs, and this skeine of pink yarn."

"Are you still knitting? I guess knitting is more of a winter activity."

"so is drinking in the bathtub."

"yeah?"

"Yeah."

2002-08-27T08:34:00.000-07:00

heavy planetary rotation

Things that may or may not be lost:

The black shirt with the collar that gets left at the theater through all of a productions run. smells like sawdust and paint chips and going dancing at the Jade Pagoda.

Wristbands, one pink snap, one white buckle. The pink one is with the salmon receptionist dress, I think. welcome home, sugarsnap pea.

1 frisbee. Blue, with the words 'Spokane Carousel' printed on it and 4 names written in thick sharpie script on the back. I left it at a bar after a day at the park. I called them as soon as I got home and asked them to set it aside, as I'd be back tomorrow to pick it up. They said they would, but they lied.

2002-08-26T09:06:00.000-07:00

thought I saw you on the road last night

There was a silly symphony about these hats in a window front. They were in love, and then they were purchased seperately, and they would catch glimpses of each other on their owners heads around town and would cry out for each other in passing. It ends up with them both being hats for twin horses on a marriage carriage, and everyone lives happily ever after. I know it's a cartoon love story about hats and everything, but I kind of miss her like that when she leaves. I know there isnt much to be done about it, and I have a pretty good feeling we will be hats for horses some day. I will be an aviators leather helmet, she will be an pharoahs headress, and we will still look ridiculous walking down the street together.

2002-08-23T14:34:00.000-07:00

she's a shooting star. Hot and fast and rarely seen.

my favorite trumpetful of high heeled shoes and bad punnery is in town for the weekend. Last night we went to a knitting party and ate home made pizza, walked across town to a rooftop condo screaming-anorexic-girls-and-boys-who-smell-like-nordstrom(but were actually pretty nice) party before going to Neighbors and dancing like it was the day before they cut our legs off. Really. Now my whole body hurts and I have a sneaking suspicion she is out of the country, and will be back sometime around ten.

(a guy just walked by wearing a shirt that said 'boobs taste like skin'.)

2002-08-23T08:32:00.000-07:00

Not like every single one of you doesn't read it already, but I thought this was wonderful.

2002-08-22T15:48:00.000-07:00

Because I'm the Star of Everything! (when 'everything' excludes Math, Cooking, Depth Perception, and Tenderness.)

I started feeling it around 10am. I need a washington state drivers license. I need to take the placement exam. I need to pick up my prescription. I'd like to find a new place to live. My apartment smells weird for no reason at inopportune times and there seems to be little I can do about it. My fortune cookie yesterday said "Be a little more cautious this month" which obviously means I'm going to lose a limb in the next thirty days. It's full moon tonight and suddenly, I'm having a major freak out.

This is the funny thing about being at work. If I were at home and it was after 5pm and I started having this freak out, I would have put the following freak out plan in action, in this order:

1: "These clothes are all disgusting! Yargh! Get em off! get em off! get em off!"

2:"Oh No! No clothes on! House about to be invaded by scary neighbors! Put em on! Put em on! Put em on!" But do I put on the clothes I just took off? No. That would make way too much sense, and those clothes are still body warm, which is obviously unacceptable. By the end of the redressing, I'm usually in a rhinestone studded cocktail dress, addidas shell toe tennis shoes and an orange apron. and possibly a cape, or a little pillbox hat. You say to yourself: "People don't have capes just draped around the house. She's lying." and you may be right, but you're probably not.

3: Clean the kitchen. Starting with the dishes, then the counters, then use the dishwater to scrub the floors, then wipe over everything with some vinegar water. In most cases, this step outlasts the panic, and we can stop at this point. If, however, I've convinced myself beyond my regular capacities that the world is about to end for no particular reason at all, I continue with the rest of the home-freakout-plan, I'm not going to make you suffer through the rest of the list.

and now, I don't feel like telling the rest of this story, because chloe will be here in a few minutes, and I need to drink the rest of this glass of water. In the meantime, some lyrics from our good friend the hidden cd player.

come lay on the couch with me
nature's too wild and free
come lay on the couch
we dont have to work on our tans.

Okay, long story short. I took the placement exam and scored a 100 in reading, 100 in english, and a whopping 39 in math. Oh yes, I'll be going to college and taking Pre Algebra. My new Washington state drivers license verifies that I'm an organ donor, and I only missed 3 hours of my work day to do it. so there.

2002-08-21T08:37:00.000-07:00

I've developed a problem.

I blame it mostly on mix tapes and other peoples cars. And patrickt.

See, Patrickt and I had developed a system of guilt and ridicule to control my album buying habits. It went a little something like this*:

cell phone rings, I duck into a corner of the record store to quietly answer

"Hello?"

"Hey, What's up?"

"Um, Hey patrickt. Um. Why...nothing's up. Nothing at all. nope."

"Why are you talking like that? Are you buying records?"

"Um....No?"

"You Are! You're buying records! Where are you? Fallout? Sonic Boom? TELL ME!"

"AAAUUUGGHH!!"

"Shh. Sonya. It's gonna be alright. Put the records down."

"I can't. I love them. They need me."

"Put em down. .......Atta girl."

But then he up and went to grad school. For this, he will never be fully forgiven, for I immediately went out and bought a dress, a new camera and 2 new albums. He called from a town in Ohio that consisted of a McDonalds, a Dennys, a feild, and across the feild, a bowling alley.

But this is not the point. I went to the zulaufsanders extravaganza house last night because Zach invited me over for dinner. I wasn't hungry and he wasnt feeling anti depressed so we sat on the couch for a while before he turned to me and said

"Hey, crack addict. You just got paid. You wanna go to your crack dealers house and buy all the crack you want?" *2

My eyes lit up and my mouth started to water and I sprinted down the stairs and leaped into the car and buckled the seatbelt and screamed "LETS GO LETS GO LETS GO NOW!"

So we went to the new big Sonic Boom in Ballard. Zach bought The Weakerthans left and leaving, and Neutral Milk Hotel in the aeroplane over the sea. I picked up and carried around the new Flaming Lips, Pretty Girls Make Graves, Clem Snide, Yo La Tengo, Kind of Like Spitting and The Revolutionary Hydra. I put most of them back down when I realized how much it was going to cost.

Zach was listening to one of the headsets when I calmly explained that I was going to buy 2 albums and back slowly out of the store, so as not to startle myself. ( I bought clem snide and yo la tengo. they're both great.)

*none of this is actually quoting patrick. patrick is much more interesting than I will ever have the capacity to portray him. I'm taking artistic liscense and giving you the gist of our conversations. Also, he sucks for moving.

*2Translated from it's original "Hey, you wanna go to the record store? I want to buy that album you let me borrow and that other one you mentioned. Do you mind if we go?"

2002-08-20T16:24:00.000-07:00

There's only 2 ways out of here, through my window or through my door

I've have a need to write heartless letters to people I once loved.

Don't get me wrong, though. By heartless, I don't mean mean. I mean informational and rambling, but not deeply felt. For example:

"Dear You,

Do you remember that time we planned on going hiking, but by the time we got out of bed it was apparent that we were going to spend the entire day making cake and polenta dishes and telling fart jokes? I broke 2 of the tall glasses in a half an hour and you got glass in your foot. I had to hold you down and pour peroxide on the wound because I was convinced that my kitchen floor was crawling with germs. It is. I'm sure of it. I realize now that we never could have made it to the mountains anyway because neither of us had a car or any money, so I don't know what we were thinking in the first place.

From, Sonya."

And I want to have a heartless letter come back:

"Dear Sonya,

I tried to buy a new bike tire today, but I couldn't get anyone at the bike shoppe to pay attention to me. I stood there for a fucking half hour before I had to physically grab one of the guys by the shoulder and go "Hey, I want to buy this!". It was insane. I got the tire, but since I couldn't get anyone to answer any questions I had, I got home and it turned out I had the wrong one. I think I'm just going to see if I can mail it back and have them credit my account when it arrives, because if I have to go back in there, I'm going to strangle one of them with an innertube.

From, Me."

I don't miss the love part of things. I miss the conversation part. I miss the part where I can call at 10:30 because my favorite episode of M*A*S*H is on and I want to hum the theme song over the phone. I miss the part where you stopped by work to tell me that you got to see a parade downtown of all the daycare kids from the market in their halloween costumes holding on the rope and you counted 4 little girls dressed as Brittany Spears but one who you thought was dressed as Charlie Chaplin, so you're feeling pretty good about the whole thing.

2002-08-20T11:14:00.000-07:00

"You might be the pretty one, and You might be the smart one, but I'm always going to be their favorite!"

mom sent pictures of the family today. I'm taller than my sisters. Take That, smart and pretty! I'm tall!

2002-08-20T08:39:00.000-07:00

J Norton. Kicking your literary ass once again.

2002-08-19T08:26:00.000-07:00

they never know it, 'cause you never show it, you always get your way

I enjoy being the girl whos name you will not remember tomorrow.

There is a certain decadence in sitting on a foriegn back porch in a neighborhood where I have no idea how to get home and knowing that I'll never see most of these people again.

"Wait, what was your name again?"

"Brian."

"You look more like an Adam. Mind if I call you Adam?"

So Adam and his friends named Justin with a hat and Justin without laugh and drink and smile and gilly and molly and I sit and drink and smile and enjoy the kind of conversation composed of witty banter and absolute statements flung around the room like a school uniform after a humid walk home.

The Third Guy Named Tim sings a song about not leaving the house without a sweater and we discuss what fruits are not considered summer fruits.

I throw my head back and kick my feet up and almost knock over my plastic lounge chair. Adam corrects my tip before it's too late. I catch a glimpse of orions belt and wonder if people look like shooting stars when they die.

2002-08-16T14:45:00.000-07:00

Oh, this is the land of pain and suffering! What are you doing right now? Why aren't you bringing me a candy bar? Is that too much to ask? For candy to send my sugar levels racing and contribute to the ever expandingness of my ass? Is it? Bring me candy!

2002-08-16T11:35:00.000-07:00

Look! It's happening again due to lack of information not related to personal affairs or binge drinking!

1: Noah or Moses?

2: Owner of a Lonely Heart or Total Eclipse of the Heart?

3: red and cream bowling shoes with pom pom socks or leg warmers with low-top rollerskates?

4: filthy filthy ferret or filthy filthy parrot?

5: Weak rhyming or clapping on 1 and 3?

6: Shot Put or Pole Vault?

7: The Naked-in-School dream or the Teeth Falling Out Dream?

8: I dream of Genie Head Bob or Bewitched nose twinkle?

9: Gunfight at dawn with hats and boots and holster or swordfight that involves chandellier swinging and a cape? (Please note, the cape is pink.)

10: "Did it hurt? Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" or "Do you have a quarter? My mom told me to call her when I met the girl of my dreams."?

Now! Now! Now!

2002-08-15T08:32:00.000-07:00

No asking questions! Choose now!

1: Elvis Presley Rhinestone Jumpsuit or Neil Diamond Rhinestone Jumpsuit?

2: Pink Taffeta Party Dress or Blue Velour Smoking Jacket?

3: L.A. vs Detroit?

4: Kung-fu barfight or Catfight Barfight?

5: the accidental kiss by the pool scene or the coreographed dance prom scene?

6: Jackie O or Elanor Roosevelt?

7: Manual Typewriter or Portable Record Player?

8: Sneaking into movies or Riding in the shopping cart?

9: 'It's not you, it's me' or 'I just think we need some space'?

10: Hot Dogs or Sausages?

GO! GO! GO!

2002-08-14T13:47:00.000-07:00

we're too smart to watch TV, but we're too dumb to make believe.

I make up for calling in 'killer migraine' late by wearing pink dresses and blue shoes with orange chrysanthemums in my hair. Squinting my eyes almost shut against the 10am sun and eating blackberries from the bush over the freeway on my way down the hill. I plug one ear with fingers stained dark berry purple as the ambulance wails by. I cross the fingers on the other hand, a prayer of habit. (A superstition held over from nursery school based on my belief that every ambulance or firetruck going by was retrieving my dead mother. Started so instead of hand wringing or nail biting or fit throwing, cross my fingers "everything's just fine." The mantra has since changed in order to apply to everyone: "live in health or die in comfort")

Traffic resumes, the wind comes up and pushes the air around in a much needed jaunt. I think about the cup of coffee I will be making in under 2 minutes and practice saying "He or She is no longer with our company" instead of "He or She is no longer with us", which implies that they died.

2002-08-13T08:34:00.000-07:00

nailed in the grill with a soccer ball

the above statement should be sung to the klondike bar jingle. I'd like to be the first one to note that while my nose was running and my eyes were watering, I was not crying. If, at any point, I told you to "get the fuck off me" it was only because a comforting arm would have released the totally unnecessary and highly embarrassing sobs of pain hiding right behind the surface. Thank you for your concern.

2002-08-12T14:48:00.000-07:00

mm hmm. exactly. Happy Birthday, Mollyfranceinyourpants

2002-08-12T12:14:00.000-07:00

it would help a lot if you told me about your day.

in minutia.

How was the birthday party? How was the bar-b-que? How was the show? How was the audition? How was stupid fucking work? How was the big breakup? How was the first flirtation? How was the beach with the brother? How was the Bill Hicks marathon? Seriously now, how was it?

2002-08-12T09:32:00.000-07:00

first time I saw you, I knew it would never last.

I feel like I'm cheating on you.

After a torrid weekend away, I come home to your lightening quick coffee service and your traffic blockage, I-5 northbound, and I try not to think about it. I know you're better for me. I know you'll help me achieve my artistic and educational goals, but theres still that thing.

I catch myself longing for the cool, clean water of the river; for the lazy 4 way stop sign slide-through-at-your-own-damn-pace-no-one-honks-their-horns-here-stupid. Aching for the 'lets see if I can break your hand' game and the 'drive off the road and scare the shit out of your mother' game and the 'hide your shoes and act like you came in to town barefoot' game and every other thing that used to mean home.

I know I know I know. I know. I was miserable. I was stifled. I was prone to unlikely and random fits of insomnia. I'd be a totally worthless lump-o-failure if I went back for good, but that doesnt stop my urge to jump out of the hall closet and scream "GIMMIE ALL YOUR MONEY!" when my mom tries to put the vaccuum away.

2002-08-10T17:38:00.000-07:00

I know they recognize me when they hold their hands about 3 feet off the ground and I can see their mouths forming the words,"since she was THIS BIG!". Yes, family I have little to no reccolection of, I have grown several feet and can feed and dress myself now. And no, family who knows nothing about my life, this isnt my child, it's my sisters. no, I don't have a boyfriend. Yes, I live alone. No,I'm not scared. (usually not, but I need to appear fearless lest they attempt to convince me to carry a gun or 'call-my-friend-gary-in-seattle--he'll-protect-you-you-poor-little-thing.') I recognize 3 faces right off the bat. Marion, who is the older sister of my deceased from kidney failure grandmother, and Maxine (who we call Max or Maxy.). While I have met Marion and Max very few times in my adult life, they are the first people that come to mind when I think 'extended family'. They've lived in Kellog Idaho as long as anyone cares to remember, well after the mining industry collapsed, and they are my vision of being old. Smoking, because you always smoked, or not, because you never did. Calling your 50 year old nephew 'little kenny' out of habit, (and who the hell's going to try to stop you?). Leaning back in your chair and laughing to yourself when the 80 year old sister of your sister's husband calls her daughter a flaming bitch, throws a stack of paper plates out of the gazebo, and storms off.

I sat in lawn chairs with max and marion, and we talked about what habits you inherit from your mother when you move out, and why grace is crazy, and who-the-hell-does-that-kid-belong-to. I asked them if they could remember the start of the cold war, what the local media was focusing on. Marion took a shaky handed drag off her Misty Light and thought for a moment.

"You know, it's funny. I know i should remember things like that. Important things that happened in our lives. But I find that I can only remember bits and pieces of things in our own homes. People getting sick, babies being born, things like that. I must be getting old."

Maxine leaned over. "Your momma looks healthier and happier than she ever did. Praise the lord."

and I did.

2002-08-09T21:58:00.000-07:00

So I'm in Idaho. More appropriately, I'm near Idaho...in spokane. I'll tell you all about my feelings for spokane when I get home. More importantly, my parents. My parents are lovely and soft and kind, and they love me way more than my sisters. Okay, that wasnt nice and probably isnt true, but who cares? not you.

2002-08-09T09:17:00.000-07:00

A dingo saved my baby!

2002-08-08T13:39:00.000-07:00

take me to the airport and put me on a plane

Going to Idaho tonight through Sunday to spend some time with Immediate family, their children, and my father's extended family. Dad's side of the family is made up of loggers and truck drivers and miners with a streak of cancer a mile wide. Everybody's had cancer. Dad had it when he was 21. Both his parents died in their sixties from it. It's weird. I'm going to try and take advantage of the trip as a research tool. These people were born in the depression and devoted their lives to jobs that were designed to kill them. They feared and fought the communists, they lived in houses without plumbing or electricity, they watched the rise of a whole new form of communication, and now they live in little houses in northern Idaho. Playing bingo and cards, smoking cigarettes, being republican.

So anyhow. Molly is going to be Faux Sonya tomorrow. I'm lending her a dress and a pink wristband. Tell her she's pretty.

2002-08-07T15:30:00.000-07:00

(THE 80'S JUST ATE YOU ALIVE!)

2002-08-07T11:43:00.000-07:00

dont you take this away, Im still wanting my face on your cheek.

You've got this terrible way about you. A terrible way that makes me want to press the heels of my hands under your collarbones while you are asleep. A terrible way that makes me want to call you 'smallest-fork-made-of-tin' and 'belated-arbor-day-gift'. A terrible way that makes me plant tiny kiss seeds on your solar plexus that will eventually grow into a garden of imaginary kiss forget-me-nots all of my own design.

I want to put peas in your nostrils. Not deep. I don't want to hurt you, but I do want to put a perfect little green pea in your nose for a second after dinner, and I want to you to continue talking as if I hadn't just put a pea in your nose. I'm still listening, I swear, it's just that the only thing that could make the moment perfectly flawed is a pea gently protruding from your right nostril. My lord, that's adorable.

2002-08-05T16:49:00.000-07:00

(Hello Sugarpants of Seattle and Surrounding Areas: Can somebody pick me up from SeaTac at 10:50pm on Sunday? I'll buy you a jar of pickles, or maybe dinner.)

2002-08-05T14:24:00.000-07:00

"we're not in right now so please leave your name and number after the beep, have a nice day! Thanks for calling! Remember to leave your number! Okay now! Enjoy the sunshine! Bye!"

beeeeeeeeeep

"hey mom and dad, it's sonya. I had some questions about the governmental atmosphere at the beginning of the cold war, how the whole red scare was represented in the media and things like that and I just wanted to..."

(in the background, earsplitting.)"IIIIIIIIIII GOT IT! (to me) Hello?"

"Mom?"

"No, It's Valoree. Hi Sonie. Mom's painting the new bathroom. (to her child) No...stop it please. Yes, go make yourself a sandwich. She did what? You're kidding.(to me) Shelby says mom just got paint on her dentures."

"Um. Should I call back?"

Naw. It'll be fine. Here she comes now. "

2002-08-02T11:16:00.000-07:00

Dear Orions Belt,

I've decided to write you personally to apologize for this long overdue debt. When I opened my account with you back in 1986 on the tailgate of my father's chevrolet, I had no idea what a fabulous service you had to offer, and how much I would come to depend on you. With careful palms lay flat behind me (leather gloves on to prevent slivers of the wood and cable variety) and head kicked up to the sky, I came to realize that you may be the 3 defining points of eternity. A perfectly straight line continuous in both directions, easy to locate, and mystical in your simplicity. You are the Saturday barstools of the Holy Trinity. You are the the 'Twinkle Twinkle' of the 3 Tenors. You are the Cookie-Cream Filling-Cookie combination of the cosmos, and I am in great debt to you.

Enclosed as payment, you will find:

1 green marble (chipped from the time I hit Wesleys steely and a piece flew into his eye.)

4 packets of Pop Rocks

1 slap bracelette imprinted with the word 'Radical' (pop phrase, not political statement.)

2 pennies squished flat on the railroad tracks behind our house.

1 steel washer, wedding ring sized.

I feel that this should begin to cover the costs I have incurred. As per the stipulations in my payment plan, a similar envelope will be left under the blackberry bushes in the alley behind Corwell after each pair of worn out shoes.

Best Regards,

Sonya Walker

(on a note that only I will find related, PatrickOpie, Erin, and I are playing at Spin the Bottle tonight. Oddfellows hall, 11pm.)

2002-08-01T09:37:00.000-07:00

"Hello?"

"Hey Sonya."

"Hey, whats up?"

"Um. I'm outside K-Mart on Aurora. They have days of the week underpants, but only up until little girl size 8."

"HA! Are you serious? You're at K-Mart? You're my favorite."

"Thanks. They had some with, like, tweety birds on them in a 14, but not days of the week."

"Those assholes! What about the fat girls who don't know what day it is and need to check in their pants?"

" I kept feeling like I was going to get arrested for standing in the little girls underwear secton."

2002-07-31T08:31:00.000-07:00

Judy is a Punk

I bought a (nother) Ramones album yesterday. It's a compilation of promotional recordings and early versions and b-sides, so nothing that necessarily should have gone together in the first place, but I like that kind of thing. I like the casarolle quality of records put together after the fact.
I've decided that pop can only aspire to be bad punk.

In other news, the bad-funk upstairs neighbor who answers the door in a short short bathrobe has moved to the apartment next door to his old apartment, the newspaper reporter who used to live next door and then moved down the hall has moved back in next door, the super nice pakistani familiy of 500 moved out and the psyco grocery store deli clerk moved into their place. 68 percent of the people who's names I actually know moved this week, too. Something should be done.

2002-07-30T15:35:00.000-07:00

(and also... I completed my FAFSA and applied to Central today. By myself and for the first time. Be a little proud of me, k?)

2002-07-30T14:08:00.000-07:00

I saw her today, I saw her face

Dear Secret Waiter Boyfriend,

Listen. I know you love me.

Perhaps it was you who willed Patrickt into grad school, forcing me to dine alone so you could swoop in and make your move over my biscuits and gravy with coffee and tall glass of skim milk. I've spent several months spelling out my love for you in melon rinds and parsley snippings, and I take notice every time you make an extra stop and place your fingers on the edge of the table. I'm fairly certain you draw hearts around my name when I sign my credit card slip and that you collect my used sugar packets in a shrine behind the ketchup refill machine. This love is foolhardy and perfect, because I will never tell you I love you. You will do me the same honor. You will never scold me for burning the pans, I will never hear you bitch about your mother. You will never see me freak out after losing my watch, I will never watch you make an ass of yourself in front of my family. You will never say the dreaded P-word just to see me cringe, I will never demand that you shave before leaving the house. We are a love all composed of flirty smiles and consistent service and good tips. We are the american dream.

2002-07-29T15:34:00.000-07:00

The great book of Odes about Yesterday

My Ode to the Girl at the Thai Place;

Honey honey honey.
We are confused by your accent not being what we expected and your skirt is so short
I'm pretty certain we could have had a glimpse of the swimming rama
but my boys are too nice to look obvious.

My Ode to the Aloha Motel (for zach.)

You are a crackhole and you
are the place where one could get killed and nothing much would be said
But you represent another time and place.
You represent a city built on ashes and abandon bricks from the bottom of a boat
and every lonely sailor with an extra 10 dollars in his pocket.

My Ode to The Journey of Natty Gann:

Dammit! John Cusak! You were beautiful from the start, and poor meredith
Poor Poor Meredith is somewhere talking on the phone to her agent
discussing toothpaste commercials and how things used to be.
"Remember that hat I used to wear Johnny?"
Johnny remembers to call her Natty on days like this.

2002-07-26T09:27:00.000-07:00

donate it to the national trust

We're friends. You've seen me like this.

The guys in the van knew. they knew about my slow slow metabolism as they sat there with their paintbrushes and 7:58 in the morning looks. they knew about it an d they thought it was funny. I think it's pretty funny.

There are people waiting in the outer lobby when I arrive. Can't get in without me. Not employees, just other people. People who have probably been the paintbrush guys to some other girl. I'd kill a man for a plate of hashbrowns.

2002-07-25T09:07:00.000-07:00

and I bump my head against the windshield

I refuse to explain the bowling excursion I went on instead of going to see Hey Mercedes and Piebald with Others at Graceland. I refuse to talk about my score diminishing significantly every time I set an empty bowling-pin-shaped bottle on the sparkly brunswick counter. I refuse to talk about all the missing shoes. I refuse. I will, however, talk about what happened after my sorry ass got home (thanks for the ride, Zachypants!

As per longstanding bedtime home arrival tradtition, I rolled in the main door of my building and started taking off my jewelery and cardigan, once inside apartment proper, off come shoes socks slip skirt, etc. Get directly in bed, curse the world, go to sleep.

About 45 minutes roll by. I'm dreaming about swimming, when suddenly there are car chase noises all over the lake I'm swimming in. Wait. Car chase noises, car chase noise, CRASH.

I wrap up in a blanket and look out the window. A honey-mustard brown tremendous boat car of the seventies has just backed violently into my building managers pickup truck. They begin the peeling out again. My sleep delusion mind remembers to scream "Sonya Lorelle! License Plate Number!" as they are pulling away, but I get it anyway. I watch them roar down the street and almost hit another car, start down the dead end, peel out backwards, and drive away.

I stumble into the hallway with my blanket wrapped around me like a toga. Marty The Manager is already on the phone with the cops. He sees me roll out and asks them to hold,

"Hey sugar, (notices my toga) you don't need to come out. Did you get the..."

"A L K 6 2 2. Washington plates."

"Good Girl. Go write that down and go back to bed sweetheart."

2002-07-24T09:17:00.000-07:00

somewhere someone says I'm sorry, someones making plans to stay.

I can see the two inch expanse of offense through the mighty powers of double reflection. I snap up the layer above and pin it up on to itself. I comb out the remaining strands and snatch the scissors.

I am poised like a knife thrower about to hurl a machete over his back at his beautiful new girlfriend who isn't totally sure she wants to do this. Mirror outstretched in left hand, sharp implement at the ready in right, cheesecloth towell for a cape and underpants that say 'Tuesday' as my glamorous sparkly leotard.
I hesitate and turn the mirror to look at the picture of Bruce Springstein Natty Gann gave me for Christmas.

"Hey Bruce. You ready?"

the boss has unwavering faith in me...and a mean hate for the mullet I'm beginning to sport.

I can't hold the small mirror and hold on to the hair and be able to see anything, obviously, so I survey my grounds one last time before tossing the compact on the counter.

It's hard to get the legs of the scissors one on each side of the hair. I end up cutting the air or poking myself in the neck a lot. I make my cuts as steady and straight across as possible. Pick up the mirror and check, not bad, but still too long. Repeat. Stab self in neck. Survey.

After about 10 minutes of this, its looking pretty good and I'm wondering why I haven't been doing this all along. I've paid for haircuts worse than this one and sported them until they were spent. I have a brief daydream about living in a boxcar and being stabbed to death with scissors after cutting my schitzophrenic nephew's hair.

2002-07-23T15:19:00.000-07:00

To support my opinion that kids should eat things off the floor.

2002-07-23T13:42:00.000-07:00

Like I was saying, dead cat, haircut.

So patrickt gives me his house keys and instructs me to act like the housesitter. I agree to pick up the mail and not blow up the television watching the cartoon network. (stupid complicated television.) He reminds me of the rules, (no dating over 30, no going to septieme with anyone else. alone is okay.) and I head over to patrickopies. The following things happen.

1: I find out that patricks house has a guy who comes to clean. He looks just like all the other boys who live in that house, so it's like they have one really responsible roomate. I also discover that 4 tracks are evil and one of the roomates wrote 2 books.

2: Katie the Greatie came over and announced her idea for a food diorama potluck. All contributions must be presented in diorama form.

3:Katie revealed that she cuts her own hair.

After I left, the internal conversation went something like this.
"Sure. You can do it. Why not? Just a little......cliiippp. Okay. Not bad."

and I cut my own damned hair in the bathroom at one in the morning. It got a little out of hand, but I was able to stop myself before I started thinking I could do a great job on the back. Is it a great haircut? No. No it's not, but it's just karma for the time I shaved brendan's head in the backyard on memorial day weekend. Ohhhhh. that was unhappy.

And now for the question and answer portion of our show. I'll question, you answer.

1: Do you think calling 911 for the cat was dumb?

2: Do you think cat blood is any grosser than human blood?

3: Isn't it weird how Patrickt just showed up at the scene of the dead cat when he had no real reason to be on Minor in the first place?

4: What would you make your diorama of? (both the food and the scene)

5: Do you think I should finish the haircut? Shear off the back tonight?

go speedracer! go!

2002-07-23T08:27:00.000-07:00

The story of the dead cat, OR, why little girls should not cut their own hair.

a small timeline of what was required with the reminder that I'm insane about punctuality.

7:15pm, pick up Patrickt's keys before he leaves for NY.

7:40pm, go to Patrick Opie's house to record.

So I leave my house on the scooter at 6:30. I've needed a haircut for quite some time, as I keep almost poking my eyes out with my bangs and I'm getting the wings on the sides.

Swing by Rudy's to make sure there isnt an insane line, ride up to harvard and come back down on Minor. There's a woman standing in the middle of the street looking at a black lump on the ground. As I approach, I see that someone has hit a cat and left it in the middle of the road. I pull over and ask the woman if she wants to use my cell phone.

"I don't know the number for Animal Control. I just found it here. "

I tell her we should call 911 and they'll put us through to the vet. She's skeptical, but after the time I found the bike in the bushes and called the regular cops, and they told me to call 911, I don't feel too bad about it. So she talks to the Animal Hospital and I try to comfort the cat. It has blood spilling out of it's mouth and it's breathing in struggled gasps. It's obviously going to die, but it looks like it's going to die from blood in the lungs, which will hurt and take hours to be over. I never wanted a gun as much as I did right then. I wanted to break it's neck or something, but I knew I'd screw it up and cause it more pain. She gets off the phone and goes up the block to get her car. I wrap the cat up in a towell from my scooter and pray for it to die easily. She rounds the corner and I prop it up in her seat so it can breathe. Patrickt rolls up from nowhere. The woman drives away.

So it's 7 now. No time for a haircut. Patrickt and I go to his house, where he proceeds to pack (a half hour before he's supposed to leave. i was appalled. ) and I wash the cat blood off my hands.

To be continued...

2002-07-22T13:43:00.000-07:00

I dreamed we kissed the other day.

We were sitting on the end of my bed and I was thinking about how it was and how it is while we talked about nothing important. The curtains billowed in and then out the window. The pink lamp flickered like it always does and suddenly we were kissing.

the dream me thought to herself, "This is very bad", and the real life me thought "this had better be a dream" and the secret mix of real and dream thought, "This is really nice."

and the dream me thought "We should stop this." while the real me thought "If this isnt a dream, tomorrow is going to be unfortunate." and the secret me continued to kiss you.

and the secret held your hand for the last time, touched the nape of your neck, let her heart turn inside out just a little bit one last time while real and dream weighed the consequences of this one last allowance.

And I sit back from you and the secret walks away smiling. Dream and Reality agree that this hasn't really happened, but the secret doesn't hear. She is back at her table with her sewing machine, patching old holes in tender hearts.

2002-07-22T11:18:00.000-07:00

of you, when you were four, and can't remember

"No, seriously now. If you had to, would you rather fight a Zombie or a Pirate to the death?"

Apparently, I am the only one who has any sense, since Zombie is obviously the best answer. (Pirates have swords and are agile! Zombies are slow and undead!)

We are many in number and poor in posture. Slathered about Zach's parents rec room, discussing the time Stephen got shot, or why board games are more fun when they make you furious. I made potato salad for the first time in my life that morning, we devoured most of costco, and the house was spotted with red plastic cups of muddled lime remainders and mint corpses.

"BAT!"

We turn and look out the window to see our leathery bug eater swooping through the air. Zach and I and someone else who I can't remember go outside to throw rocks up and watch him come after them.

"he's blind you know."

"As far as he's concerned, we're blind. We can't see with our ears."

2002-07-19T10:55:00.000-07:00

I will now explain to you how to play studio wiffle ball.

After you arrive home from playing music, and after you realize you left the stove on, take all your clothes off and get in bed because you're a grown up who lives alone and you can. When the phone rings, make the tremendous effort to stand up and answer it.

"HELLO"

"hey. James and I are going to Flowers because they have 2 dollar sours, we're going to be there for a couple hours. you wanna go?"

Well of course you do!

Step 2: After the sours at flowers with the waitress who's ass should have been slapped for a buck but was not, After the part where everyone except you eats at burger hut, and after the part where you realize that Tim will not take you to the hospital once James knocks your sorry ass out, you go in search of wiffle ball, which is in previously mentioned apartment. Upon arrival, you find that it is too dificult to leave the apartment, so the pitcher stands between the bed and the recently plundered kitchen table, and the batter stands by the green chair and the heater.

FAQ:

Q: Does the hitter take it a little easy since you're inside a pretty small space and all?

A: NO! The hitter swings as hard as he or she possibly can. Preferably at the pitcher.

Q: What does the third person do while it's their turn to do nothing?

A: Holds the guitar, but does not play.

Q:Do you think we could knock James' teeth out with the yellow wiffle bat?

A: No. We decided we probably couldn't

Enjoy!

2002-07-18T16:31:00.000-07:00

Perhaps you would like to know how I was almost killed while eating chicken fried steak last night. You should ask Alicia

Again.

2002-07-18T16:25:00.000-07:00

Perhaps you would like to know how I was almost killed while eating chicken fried steak last night. You should ask

2002-07-17T09:59:00.000-07:00

Dear Amelia,

There have been rumors circulating, and I thought you should know what the people are saying.

They think you're most certainly dead, my dear. I hate to tell you, but George has lost all hope, and your mother blames him for letting you go off with Mr. Noonan. They're naming parks after you, and the nintey-nines praise your name over tea. There's talk among the girls that you were spying on the Japanese, but I know the truth. I know the truth about you.

You were in love with the blue.

With each stop you were more and more aware of the feeling that you were letting out a great spindle of packaging twine behind you. They were using you to wrap the sky up nicely in a brown box. And that would never do. Go home again to tie the world in a great knot? Not you, Amelia, not you. You dove under the ocean and came up on the other side to start a new life as a stringless kite builder, as a folder of paper boats, as a flyer of cotton candy airplanes on a small island where you can drink coconut milk all day and admire the sky. I know the truth about you.

2002-07-16T14:53:00.000-07:00

So I'm thinking to myself, 'Self, you should buy a helicopter!'. You would think that in this day and age you would be able to go online and get a rough idea of how much a helicopter costs, but NO! You can't. Is that so much to ask? Is a helicopter too much?

2002-07-16T09:29:00.000-07:00

You don't have to be rich to be my girl, you don't have to be cool

It's Listmania!

Reasons I've cited for my extreme freakedoutedness over the last 4 days

1: "I'm wasting my youth! I will never be this young again!"

2: "I could crack my head open and die in my apartment and no one would find me until my carcass started to smell!"

3: "I know we dated, and yet I can't remember a single thing we did!"

4: "I paid my taxes over the phone, what if it was all a big scam?"

5: "Suddenly, nothing matches!"

Names assigned people that aren't their actual names, but make storytelling and lamenting much easier

1: Cute barista girl

2: lunchtime waiter boyfriend

3: The Most Boring Boy In The World

4: Cute Stupid dumfat Rocker

5: masseuse girl

6: Heart shaped secret Bills girlfriend

breakthroughs my parents have made in the last 2 years

1: Respecting and aknowledging homosexual relationships

2: Drinking water instead of soda (mom)

3: Eating wheat bread (dad)

4: Calling at least a few hours before coming over

5: cutting back on sending ceramic knick knacks that drive me over the edge

Reasons you haven't called

1: You're in Iceland.

2: I saw you yesterday.

3: You were river rafting all weekend and now your parents are coming to town.

4: You're secretly in love with me and you don't know how to tell me.

5: You're really, really not, and you don't know how to tell me.

6: You didn't know that we're trying to start a kickball league and would love it if you and yours wanted to play. We are. We would.

2002-07-15T15:34:00.000-07:00

you wore your halo out, showing it off and passing it around

"Dammit Sonya! I did not come over here to take over your bed! I'll sleep on the floor!"

"You wanna race for it? I'll race ya. Loser sleeps on the bed."

"You think I can't beat you? I'm not that old."

"Dad. Your leg is swollen to the size of a narrow watermelon. You have to get up in 5 hours. I'll be fine."

So mom and dad go to sleep and I read on the floor with a flashlight. (Flashback to being 15 and sleeping in the bed of the pickup while on logging excursions. Vivid dreams of being attacked by bears. Yes. Logging excursions, better known as 'gettin wood')

My father's overnight bag is sitting on top of his folded clothes near my head. They smell like sawdust and groom n clean and oil and lumber processing chemicals. This is a smell too saturated in memory to pick out a single one. This is a smell that means safety and knowledge and bad temper in Carhart coveralls with a pocket protector.

"Sonya Lorelle"

"yeah dad?"

"I've got a plan to make us a million bucks, and all you have to do is learn Japanese. Here's how it works......"

2002-07-15T09:06:00.000-07:00

Try and find a way

Pick up, 8-2-9-5-5-1-7, wait. "Hi, you've reached..." hang up.

Pick up, 5-5-2-6-7-1-9, wait. "Heeeeeyyyyy, this is..." hang up.

"You've reached..."

"I'm not available to answer..."

The message I would have left.. "Hi. I'm using my Get out of Jail Free card to offset the effects of some horrible ominous half message. Wanna go dancing?"

I'm dressed. I'm rested. I'm anxious. Sit down at the typewriter.

'You have been given the precious gift of youth and it is leaking out sleeping fingers tossed over the side of your bed. It is leaking out closed eyes and idle moments and too many overly rational decisions.

I am trying to explain to you that you are losing something you may never have again, OR, you are trapped in something you will never be able to get out of. Breathe, child. You're going to pass out.'

gasping like drowning coughing and sinking into the wool weave handiwork of some Turkish woman and wondering if this is just an exaggerated boredom.

On the phone and trying to explain "I'm losing my shit. " and feeling stupid because of every starving child, because of every family dealing with a schitzophrenic child, because of every premature crack addled birth and I really don't have anything to complain about.

"Buck up young camper."

"Don't call me a camper. I'm freaked out. "

"come over and watch a movie"

"THIS IS THE PROBLEM."

and then I am standing outside your window and you are letting me in the downstairs door

"I'm losing my shit."

"So you said."

and I calm, and I sleep, and I wake, and it's back.

Halfway through the day and I keep thinking my hair is falling out and I've missed nearly everything that could ever be scheduled, the clouds open up, God smiles, and the phone rings.

"Hello?"

"We're on the road! -blake, will you roll up the window? i cant hear anything. AAAGH! no pinching!- HI HONEY!"

"Momma?"

"AAAGH! Your father's pinching! We're at the Gorge, can we come over?"

"I'd love it. Couldn't have picked a better time. "

2002-07-11T10:12:00.000-07:00

You know how you can buy those little tiny bottles of booze? I've got one that I've had forever, but I cant bear to drink it because it looks like a bottle of old lady perfume. I'm overwhelmingly affraid of the smell it might emit if I open it.

At the Phoenix airport, all the women were unbearably smelly.

(Hurts so good. Come on baby, make it hurt so good. sometimes love don't feel like it should, make it -clap clap- hurt so good.)

I'm virtually certain that at 2:17 am this morning, 3 men rolled up in a big loud truck and all took a piss in the blackberry bushes. That is all.

2002-07-10T14:43:00.000-07:00

searching for the crime

(Benlau, I'd forgotten about giving you that, but I'm so pleased you still have it.)

The view from my apartment is as follows. Cement parking lot bordered on one side by my building, one side a really steep hill overgrown with blackberries that the doctors from the nearby hospital sometimes pee in on their way to work, I don't know why. The crackhole Terri Ann apartments balconies directly opposite my building, and the street off to the right. Okay now.

So there are some new tennants in the crackhole Terri Ann. Boys, early twenties, number of which is yet to be determined. I became aware of their existance in the following fashion.

Monday night, first night home from vacation. Windows and curtains open to let the air move through...there's never been a problem with this before. I'm laying on my back watching PBS and talking with my mom on the phone. I like to curl my knees to my chest and hold on to the back of my legs when I'm laying down, it's feotal and a good stretch. So, I'm watching the telly, talking to mom, stretching my legs, enjoying the weather, looking out the window...
dammitdammitshitfuck. 6 boys in baseball caps turned backwards, mesh shorts too long, white sneakers with no socks, standing on the balcony. Internal monologue says 'maybe they dont see you. maybe they're just smoking.' I see one of them turn toward the apartment, "Yo, JJ, come check this shit out."

shitdammitfuckobitch. The problem has nothing to do with being body conscious. the problem is that now, they know I live here. I live here alone, and they're the types who aren't discreet about watching their neighbors. Everybody watches people, but there's a right and a wrong way to do it. I think my first post was about this.

Anyway. Not really a big deal, except that it made me a little paranoid. It made me scared to leave my windows open for the first time ever. It made me nervous about practicing my music for the first time ever. I woke up several times in the middle of the night to make sure my scooter was still under my window. And I don't know why, but maybe you should sleep over tonight, okay?