deranged gem

enamoured

2010-08-23T04:39:00.000-07:00

On the second day, on that lucky Friday off, on her way to the market, she saw him through the window of the cafe on the water; she had known this was a possibility. Had it in her mind when she dressed that morning. Saw how that green tee with the rip on the left sleeve made her eyes pop. In this shirt, she appeared, interrupting the writing he had just sat down to do.

It thrilled her that he drove a motorcycle; they ripped around the ocean side, through the steep cliffs and dense forests that sandwiched the many houses. She could smell summer with more strength, perched behind him, hands lingering on his back longer than necessary as he leaned into corners. The gamut of richness. A mouth filled with dark chocolate. A snapping dog. An exhilarating yelp of relief as they got away, unscathed.

There was the reading of each other's work that day. An unexpected kiss on her back patio; the fierce desire with which he approached her when they stood in the cool shadows of his living room. She lured him to a river, under the pretense of watching the sunset, but instead her passion came through her words, shocking her even, as she realized that she was doing everything she wanted to do to thrive in life. And that she was; that she really was. And that no one had given her the patience, or the care, or the clean ears, or the open eyes to allow her to spell it all out to herself, to spill it all out to herself, to reach in to her chambers and pull out the immaculate rainbow of possibilities that are her opportunities in this world.

All he did was listen.

swimming shorts (i)

2007-06-17T01:28:00.000-07:00

12 y.o. girls
wear board shorts
at the public pool
to cover errant hairs
that don't appear
on the inner thighs
of the women on t.v.

let the self
consciousness begin.

the jaded optimist

2007-06-10T21:58:00.000-07:00

subscribed to blue skies
but that didn't work out

pouring over a glass of wine he writes love letters
that were never meant to be sent

patio philosophy

2007-06-01T13:41:00.000-07:00

a collaboration w/ dw & brahma on their day off

chairs and rules are meant to be broken
kissing and bedframes, superfluous.

bruschetta

2007-06-01T13:36:00.000-07:00

in a lineup w/ a
lover at the supermarket
we realize that
angry white men are tiresome
arguing over the price of
tomatoes--inflation his
only interaction of his day
he blows it
and she smiles at me
grips my hand real tight
pats my lower back and calls me her baby

the secret life of ms. prism

2007-05-25T00:41:00.000-07:00

you are drenched in it
commensurable beauty
a haunting, an apparition
each time you come by to tuck me in
i awake w/ the same
confusion empty empty sheets.

you must exist—the seats displaced
the resting place of cadaver bottles—
my confusion settles, you are not
a spirit but a true man
—an honourable man
amidst the confusion
but ‘what is good’ and what is bad
and how long will we ask
each other this—
knowing monogamy doesn’t really
exist, knowing that the
nice nice individuals we appreciate
(but could never be)
tuck their
gently laid perspectives
between comforters
at night.

thursday night brigade

2007-03-13T20:38:00.000-07:00

sun stretches longer now
begging to be kissed back

setting a little before 8
lingering in fine folds of skin

contact points draw further

melt into that not always stark box
neat square ‘single’

before leaving the house
personas’ are drawn
sorts that wear too short
skirts, alleviate boredom.

avoiding eye contact, fundamental.
fabricating his/story, fundamental.
laughing off compliments, delightfully fundamental.

peripheral listening and dry humour
float the evening further
when singles turn to doubles
nothing but the dance floor gets
attn

attn: straddling dirties in dark corners then purging in the bathroom is not recommended

if only someone had a megaphone or a business card to spread the warning. a place like this ought to communicate this prayer by osmosis.

incessant dance pyramids w/ beautiful women
laughing, touching, indifferent to gazes

tracks from three years ago, t.o., repeat. poorly mixed, just as the drinks. but who cares?
it’s 3 and there’s no going back. recycled convos circle
i’m cared out, a sack of potatoes
at least my feet won’t get snowy.

mornings culminate w/ cabbies that are never
remembered
who paid?

save the day light

2007-03-10T03:06:00.000-08:00

modern day tinkerbell

2007-02-20T01:26:00.000-08:00

she goes to bars
alone not looking
for anything if that’s possible

more than once ridiculous men
have told her she looks
like an elf fairy nymph (0)

she does wear a lot of green

she’s learnt to laugh about it no not laugh
but giggle she giggles
and envisions:

disneyland tinkerbell saving
her peter pan

a woman w/ that kinda power’s much easier
to swallow(?)
b/c she’s able to save
him from sticky situations
w/ other women

talk about a one way street of monogamy

she appeases these conversations hints that there will be
resolutions implies i’ll save
you. i’ll be
loyal, no matter
what/who you do.

she curbs it when
she’s coming when she’s
directed someone to let
her come
and repeats
the prayer, to herself:

i’ll save you. i’ll be
loyal, no matter what/who
you do.

to the odd woman inside me that wants to further pursue academia

2007-02-06T00:23:00.000-08:00

she is poised. perfect at the front of the lecture hall. got there w/ ease, elegance. stilted sound of heels w/ each step. everything has gone as planned for the day. the reality, if i were a professor, would be more alone the lines of:

leave the house 10 mins late, to put on pantyhose at stop lights. brush my hair quickly after parking. run into school to make it to my 1st class, only to realize that if i don't get some caffeine in me, i'll be sleeping w/ the students. when hurrying back i scold my chest, while wearing a white blouse w/ a huge coffee stain on my breasts. try to button a sweater too small, one i keep in my office in hope that my torso might shrink--it sits atop my mini-fridge stocked w/ bread and 4 kinds of cheese--it looks awkward, unkempt.

forget the notes for my lecture. let's coax them into talking about the text instead. i can tell no one's done the reading. they are waiting for plot summary. i bring up theorists and ask why it might be relevant to the larger themes of the text? for instance, in linking this passage from the novel to the handout last week... would someone be so kind as to lend me these things? thanks. ok.

as i read outloud there are several whispering students at the back of the class. i break off. you two! please! others are trying to focus.

getting back, so who can add analysis to this? a 1st year student who acts like she knows everything rambles on about the significance of the biblical allusions. it's a reach, tho i feign encouragement. well, what could be the implications of this?

i stare at a few dozen faces, most of whom are staring at blank pages, some are nodding off at the back. the whispering continues.

would someone like to choose a single passage from the beginning of the book that we might do a close reading of? it is as if i'm talking to myself. i cross my arms across my chest. lean on the podium. then, give a great grin. come on guys! it's my final plea. and half hearted at that. i keep smiling, hoping i might comfort someone into speaking. the same whispering students snicker. discouraged but not ready to quit, i read the 1st paragraph, only to be distracted by mummers.

that's it! clearly, there is somewhere else you'd like to be, and frankly i don't give a shit if that's where you are! you seem to have forgotten that you're paying to be here!

they leave. the final minutes are painful. a few students i know speak up to be kind. the rest who aren't sleeping, look scared. i wind up quickly, quietly. when i reach the bathroom in the hall, i cradle the sink, then look up at my sweaty face and give that ridiculous grin, only to see that a large piece of spinach is lodged between my two front teeth.

a season behind

2007-01-30T22:44:00.000-08:00

shoppers under 30

2007-01-29T02:44:00.001-08:00

the sides of my thighs are drying up and i’m reminded of the many creams the helpful worker at shoppers told me about. her commission was significantly lessoned as she said, well you’re not over thirty these can’t help you. but really i just want to be rid of these semi-permanant goosebumps on the sides of my thighs & they really have nothing to do w/ weight gain or laughing too much or, god forbide ageing. it’s not as tho, i’m an unmarketable audience. i was looking for face cream, under $20, which seems unrealistic to most ppl, but too me, all i could say was... i rarely get pimples. just need something to ease the bumps on my thighs and hopefully smooth the flakes of winter on my forehead... immediately after she showed me a jar the size of my big toe, for $40 only, to clear up this abomination. i opted for one half the price when she told me i wouldn’t have to worry about any of it till i was in the over thirty range/ over $60 for a container the size of my big toe, so that my laugh lines will be semi-reduced to wavering crevices along my face.

who has a foto of me in an apron?

2007-01-29T01:54:00.000-08:00

according to numerous sources on the meanings of names, carly means: "little and womanly" and stewart means: "caretaker." seems like i'm screwed.

i wish the folks that make up this shit could at least explain what womanly means.

january blizzards

2007-01-10T09:58:00.000-08:00

her life in the north is
comfort of an explorer
w/ all season tires
and no 4 X 4

taut

2007-01-08T01:53:00.000-08:00

and taut bellies recede into the
darkness producing nothing
but a shrunken skeleton
of memories.

the floor, an empty floor
directed
knows to be silent
in the face
of no/any/thing.

can’t find the body, the body.
the radio journalist reports.
he is homegrown northern
knows nothing of his effect
on the audience.

a few weeks later, they find it.
the body, the body.
he saved the lives of his passengers
--in flight turbulence gone terribly terribly wrong--
before his boots weighed him
down.
all at the ripe age of 19.

eight years later, the poignancy
has faded for acquaintances
--dozens of teenage faces in pews can’t believe
they actually met a person, at a party, who died--
the fact, not a daily remainder.
his mother still wonders why.
prays to his photo over the
faucet as she does the dishes.

her. oh, her taut belly heaves, tightens just a bit more
as she makes love to yet another reincarnation
of her 1st/only.

the floor, an empty floor
breathes traces of water
as she slips into slumber,
his face, the only one
to tell her that disco’s shit
while ripping out her rhythms
and replacing them w/ beck.

taut belly manoevers to photo sessions
in nyc and limousines, then back to reality
where she marries a local dj
at the country station.
she imagines that his ownership of her body
is actually his swollen frame
pressing against
her taut belly.

i) bitter waitress

2007-01-07T21:15:00.000-08:00

he derived a sick sort of pleasure out of collecting lunch cards. so much so that he would often opt to purchase six companions steak lunches. he always went for the bbq ribs on fridays. a wide toothed grin spread across his sauce smeared face when i firmly placed stamp, stamp, stamp, stamp, stamp, stamp onto his card. for a $70 tab, he gets $8.5 off.

(h) bitter waitress

2007-01-07T21:14:00.000-08:00

i had a pretty fucked up day. the thing w/ training a new waitress is that you can't really be bitter. or at all. i gave fair warning tho. "you need to prepare yourself for... uncomfortable situations. and if someone touches you, and you don't want to be touched... you say something, like don't touch the waitress. and try not to cry, really, it won't help anything." she was terrified. they keep hiring girls w/ no serving experience, girls that are so fucking innocent and nice... i looked at this alix today and thot, my god you're gonna be broken. poor girl. most of the regulars were laughing at me, b/c i was finally forced to be nice and kinda accommodating... they all loved it. i guess i'm not the only person that sees myself as a bitter waitress. the funniest thing was after my little speech about what she had to prepare herself for, she asked me how long i've worked there... i told her. then -'you must have fun here, or else you wouldn't be here anymore' to which i replied, hesitantly, the moneys really great. then! i thot to myself, it really was one of those days, that i was so tempted to just quit. and the reality is, i'm sitting on a little money right now so i could totally do it and secure something else later. as if i will but it's so comforting. week 3 of full time is on the better side of grim. really. i must have fortitude! in any case i'll be cushioned for when i go postal.

f) bitter waitress

2007-01-07T21:13:00.000-08:00

her name’s adrian. she’s five foot even maybe 100 pounds. her hair is an perpetual coif, you know it i’m sure, frozen in the eighties, pouffed in the front in quasi-bangs. the style you usually see blowing in the wind behind the wheel of a trans-am complete w/ a t-roof. today she had the audacity to comment that if i spent a little more time on my do, then maybe i’d have a boyfriend. or several. “really girl” a voice that has been blessed with thirty plus years of smoking “we should do something about it.” granted, i again rolled out of bed, dragged myself into the shower then bundled my ass long locks into a bun on the top of my head. fine. i’m just being sensitive. the bartender laughs at me, saying “don’t take it too personally, i’m sure she just had too many bottles of chardonnay for breakfast.”

(g) bitter waittress

2007-01-01T22:43:00.000-08:00

had to serve busiest section a u.f.c fight tonight. i’ve no clue what that stands for, but it was some paid-per-view wrestling extravaganza that garnered too much rye, and too much testosterone. it was awkward, b/c in the throes of its most intimate moments—strangle holds and strutting—i basically had to duck down so that the fifty people watching the thing could still see/scream at the tv. it wasn’t mayhem. i’ve served worse. definitely interesting. from a purely passivist’s perspective, i prepared myself before hand, i ought to accept that w/o such an occasion, i wouldn’t be able to make loads of money. [spain here i come.] i had this realization tho, that took me beyond it.
having many, many men, screaming and pounding their fists on the table actually turned me on. we walk around in society as tho we aren’t apes, as tho primal behaviour is extinct. but herein lies the beauty of any wrestling match. stagey, fine. barbaric, definitely. but perhaps, it's the one occasion when men finally let their emotions go. well maybe that’s an over generalization. tho, i can’t deny, it makes me feel like this little woman when i witnessed it all. not belittled, or w/o power, but rather, accepting of this dominant emotional repression of men, and that they need to get it out in some form, which more often than not is concretated in some sporting event. i’ve never condoned fighting or have ever really wanted to see it, but i must admit, that when a fight did break out at the end of the night, i was soooo intrigued and half way in it, that my most rational thots were more directed in watching it. sure, it’s primal. uncivilized, awful. but goddamn. seeing men displaying such intense emotions and wanting to play them out. well that’s just hot.

(e) bitter waitress

2006-12-05T01:09:00.000-08:00

sunday dinner bore. after i wowed them all w/ wit/charm, stephenwolf’s magic carpet ride came on when i was cleaning up my last table. was lifting an empty plate at the time when those first rifts played. it stood frozen in my hand. i imagined breaking out into an uncontrollable dance sequence. flailed my arms, legs--rocked out to that oldie. i couldn’t help but go to the other end of the pub, sarah’s section. grabbed someone’s wrist just as they were about to put fork to mouth. his perogy flying, i sang into his hand w/ all the passion i could muster. dropped it, and continued to perform for my sparse audience, mainly couples. wait wait wait i said to myself. dancing wildy on a slow sunday night is no recompense for this pathetic place. the lyrics finally broke in:

I like to dream yes, yes, right between my sound machine On a cloud of sound I drift in the night Any place it goes is right Goes far, flies near, to the stars away from here.

My inward dancer flicked the glass plate onto the ground. I picked up the left over sides of salad dressing and whipped the congealed liquid all over the place. I grabbed the ketchup bottle, sang into that as a mic, walked towards sarah’s section, swung the bottle to move to the music, and finally, triumphantly, threw it to the ground. the regular smash and burn of that fucking thing had no effect on me–there’s really nothing more irritating than cleaning up a broken ketchup bottle—till i went up to a random couple, with their one glass of wine each, swilled two in one go, stood up on the last table, and let my hips go wild. then walked outta that fucking place. i looked thro the window of the door, half filled with regret, as sarah stood clapping.

there was a fetus once

2006-11-22T03:30:00.000-08:00

but that was taken care of

blushing bride
night before night before
marriage

she burnt her journals

before rose petals
escaped from her
wrists

(d) bitter waitress

2006-11-16T11:52:00.000-08:00

was thinkin today in the aft. how lovely it is to just serve men. the day’s so different from the night. most tend to have this unwritten rule for a three beer maximum. many sit alone at a table. some order lunch. almost all stare blankly at a television. but there are no complaints. minimum requirements and maximum tips. i’ve had an ungodly slew of horrible women lately. lookin round at the dozen tables solely occupied by men, i wish i were back in the day when women weren’t allowed in pubs. no stupid questions. no wondering about a cocktail menu, no enquiries about impossible maritinis. “this one tastes too boozy.” no fish & chips w/ an overdressed ceaser salad and a diet coke. like the diet cola’s gonna even out the calories of the deep fried dish. all these no's equal many complaints. so as i'm smiling and probably over appreciating these men—i realize. if i were in the old school times, i’d be a ‘fallen’ woman, slingin' beers. a blasphemy. a whore. and if i didn't work here, i surely wouldn't be allowed in. i rethink the whole serving men only thing cuz i’m a woman w/ few complaints that enjoys having a plain old beer, not a martini, at a pub.

to do

2006-11-14T13:08:00.000-08:00

the party ends when the music stops
and i remind myself to remind myself of writing
by leaving notes on the fridge

2006-11-13T19:23:00.000-08:00

you hooked
a black dove

while

insipid yellow
wallpaper
grew over
my wings

---if i were a victorian lady, i would do nothing.

2006-10-24T23:36:00.000-07:00

seems as though november squirrel brains arrived prematurely this year. i find myself procrastinating procrastinating. this usually entails doing work that’s due way later than the rest. or, doing the least painful assignment in order to avoid the most painful one. of course it’s the dread that’s the worst. and the thing about dread is it’s all in your head.

was drifting in and out of florence nightengale’s cassandra this morning/afternoon. kept considering how i really just want to do nothing. day dream. read trifles. learn snippets of a new language, as a conversation piece. zero intellectual expectations.

wait a minute. what an ungrateful wench i am. i could have been that victorian lady. caged by my dress. unable to freely entertain imagination. would have no time of my own. anyone could interrupt at any moment to call on me. the call would include a glorious 15 minute conversation about nothing. i could sew. i could embroider. read aloud sometimes. that could be my life. all this entails being of the victorian upper crust, would that be the case?

if last names mean anything...

stewart: 1. a. An official who controls the domestic affairs of a household, supervising the service of his master's table, directing the domestics, and regulating household expenditure; a major-domo. Obs. exc. Hist.

i’d be of a working class family.

which means i’d probably be spending my days cleaning out chamber pots, or trying to get industrial grit off the cobblestone driveway.

better get back to my reading.

fading in/out

2006-10-09T14:20:00.000-07:00

little things
smell of chlorine

sad men
looking to chat

a swirl in the hot tub

strong current
pulls me
in circles

i remember from the last time

we went round together
gasping for breathe b/c of laughter
i clutch the railing

her black hair
drags in the water
mouth wide
she giggles
the way she did when we were little
blue eyes bright and blinking

now

i slip gingerly in
swirling
round/round
vortex
melting
line
dancing

he warns that i ought to hold onto something

i know damn straight

down stairs
clutch
medal

brace
so
i don’t
spin

hit him
hard

mid tub

drain

wouldn’t that teach ‘em

so quiet here, he says
yes. not at all like the aquadic centre, i say
i stare at the slide
dirty beige old garbage bags

angeling towards a jet
hand on rail
i try to soothe my lower back

legs uncurl
hold themselves
horizontal
my grip lessens
whirl
toward the stranger
(acquaintance?)
in the middle of the tank

where’s my camera

look to your left
there’s a handsome man
wrapped in your duvet
he’s reading a book
something about the big bang to black holes
whatta bore

eyes mirror
cobalt
walls
sharp contour of his side
profile his nose

silence breaks

did you know:

a piece of the sun
this big by this big,
would be two tonnes

you put down the poetry

on the left
there’s a long white leg
lying by his cheek

nails arched upwards
hidden by harry hairiness

following these contours
you see the small body
stretch out between
shared warmth

powder torso

the dictionary rests
on my belly
there’s only one way to learn
what poets
actually
mean

white whiskers
stretch out across
words
he too strives to retain
something

(c) bitter waitress

2006-08-02T19:46:00.000-07:00

crazy came in today. some of the girls are calling her beast. at my previous job, on my last day, i so eloquently told her exacatly where to go. we’d had several altercations before that fateful day. i was tactful, lowering my voice on the patio when she informed me in a husky yet magnified voice i’d make more money if i smiled more. that lead to her telling me i must fuck guys in the bush. i’m a total wilderness easy. again, lowered voice, i cut into her vacant personality. totally beneath me and i let her know it. needless to say i was threatened in front of a packed patio by a woman at least dbl my size. the bartender had to intervene and she was kicked out against the owners’ wishes, swearing that she’d be waiting for me after my shift to crush my head on the parking lot pavement. my confidence fell to the pit of my stomach when i spotted her today. i refused to serve her, & being the only waitress it caused conflict--her being again on a patio. another one of her sap filled friends, forced her to apologize. also a well meaning but altogether nosy regular. teeth set heavily against each other she just barely squeezed out, ‘i’m sorry.’ i hardly looked into her beady eyes and nodded. ‘ok.’ her friend: ‘that’s it? she apologized!’ again. i nodded. ‘ok.’ crazy threw back her black frayed hair. sweat bead on her upper lip extenuated the heavy powder of chalk white makeup caked on her face. ‘a thank you would be nice’ she growled, sneering. ‘i appreciate that you know how to apologize’ i said as i walked out of the gazebo, down the ramp, half expecting her to pounce on me from behind.

rambling

2006-07-27T16:39:00.000-07:00

so i know i've got bitter waitress cdefg etc. in me as i'm working ridiculous hours at the moment. but! an aside. first thanks so much to the friendly blogging community outta p.g. and north. has lessened my doubt significantly. i'm sorry i haven't commented on many pieces but i assure you i am, have been for quite some time, reading your work.

now on to an entirely unrelated topic. grocery store etiquette. in my mind there is such a thing. i know i'm only one person, shopping for one so my needs may look a lot less magnificient, but honestly! must those with enormous carts be so rude? i'm sure there are plenty of nice, curteous families that really do let others pass in the very spacious aisles, so where they hell are they when i'm at superstore? a five item stop in turned into a 20 minute process b/c of poor form when it comes not consuming the whole freaking store. my little bro just started working at saveon which IS grossly overpriced but i must admit i am a fan of being able to ask any one of 20 employees milling about where i can find... say, cheese clothe? no, no. i've given up on that endeavour. nevertheless it still makes me laugh.

more to come... especially for b.w.
cheers.

(b) bitter waitress

2006-07-10T20:58:00.000-07:00

tonight a pat on the arm turns into a crushing embrace i cannot escape.
fine fine... until i catch him pantless on the patio. pathetic whisky dick deflated w/ a pair of prunes for balls in the st(r)eam of rain. virtually impossible to get him out when his tab consists of several rounds for the entire pub.

2006-06-15T16:31:00.000-07:00

reassuring slumber breath
on an
exfoliated face
comforting yes
but it won’t
stop
the chatter of birds
a 4am sky
or
incessant thoughts

to the odd woman inside me that wants to get married

2006-06-12T22:41:00.000-07:00

March 10th 2006

-and i know that she’s there which makes it most awful when i’m making solitary dinners so delicious i comment to myself about them. she likes to make things fun by imagining what it would be like to make espresso for two knowing that chit chat and some laughter will accompany buzz buzz buzz- of not falling asleep after a satisfying meal. there is a difference here in this woman. softer, with a cart at a leisurely pace down the aisle instead of the rip roar round the store and up to the counter, ready set--- out to the car, throw the meat you packed in with the broccoli in the back seat, quick quick, home and put them away and try to make something w/o disturbing the carefully balanced dirty dishes that have been perched on the counter for days.

this terrible woman comes to me at the strangest times and i try to brush her off the way i do the fruit flies that hover over top of my bread. she is walking through a party, with his hand on the small of her back, drinking mineral water and insists he does to- if she cannot—he slips into the bathroom w/ a hidden scotch. the bulge grows and is not unwanted, and there is that hue that radiates from her cheeks. when he finds her holding hands with a friend, he cannot but gulp for air with a pang of guilt. knowing damn well she’d rather be w/ glass of wine in hand, tilting back her head in laughter and stirring the dullest into their wits, for no party could be the same without that girl. she keeps finding me, she keeps smiling at me the way the woman on the sidewalk do to her. hands on hips, toes between sweet blades of grass, she paces at the park, head bent immersed while reading poetry to a man lying patiently on a blanket, waiting for her to tire and sit down. she finally does, sprawls on her back, lets a heavy head fall into his lap, and listens when he takes off where she left off.

she slips into the cereal i don’t eat for breakfast, and growls at me for not doing the laundry for three whole weeks. must cup a dry hand over her mouth the next time she visits and tell her to shut the fuck up.

(a) bitter waitress

2006-05-03T15:22:00.000-07:00

second night shift at new serving job. amazingly different compared to what i flailed into yesterday at 11am. rolled out of bed at 10 w/ a mean hang over, attired myself in the mandatory garbs—partially what i wore out last night- gotta take advantage of new pants on an evergrowing visa bill. smoked a cig by the front door in the atrocious blinding blue sky- sat on mandy’s frayed hairdressing chair under paul’s weathered umbrella—why the fuck did i move in w/ these ppl—watching the cars on15th pulse to wherever they happened to be going. took a cab eventhough i couldn’t afford it- b/c i had planned to take the bus, but ended up drinking w/ my new coworkers/new bfs for seven hours last night. there go my tips from yesterday. at any rate… any any rate- i made good money tonight b/c was received w/ leering eyes and finally- the kicker- the selling point to the place- my refined dbl Johnny walker red drinker- )after 12( ‘you must be fucking tight’)theres no euphemizing that one. for a 50 tucked so gingerly into my vneck on an 60$ bill- whats to complain about.

the downstairs door

2006-04-29T03:35:00.000-07:00

i live in a condo where i have had few positive experiences w/ my neighbours, mainly due to a single party (k maaaaaaybe 10 ppl) where there was some guitar playing and singing until 1am. nevertheless i'm pretty skeptical about the ppl that live here--no one came by to ask me to silence the noise, hey- i'm a reasonable person all you have to do is ask--and my roommate and i decided to write them all off as just being jealous of our oh so attractiv lives. so, the downstairs door. baffling i'm telling you. if someone losses a button in the hall, it sits on the ledge of the windows that compliment the door for at least a week before it's thrown out. i noticed it before, but realized it's poignancy when i noted that a postit i must have carried out on a shoe- pink- walder- it says in my scrawl-fuck shoulda been a dr- has been sitting on the ledge for what must be now three days. such a nice gesture. a semblance that we are all caring human beings. i can't help but giggle- an article i didn't want to read, and definitely didn't want to understand )tho my exam grades say otherwise( is just perched there ready for me to pick it up at any time as tho i'm meant to find it by some fleeting slight of serendipity and say omg-i've been looking everywhere for this, i'm so glad someone saved it for me.