the ice cream antisocial

it's where the boss is out of town in sf saying he's going to meetings with our contract manufacturers. one of those "into the cause" all "on board" types decides we're having an "ice cream social". there were two quarts of ice cream, chocolate chips, hershey's syrup, sliced bananas, strawberries and five whipped creams. everyone's trying to be convivial but it's awkward and i packed a mug tight and full of chocolate ice cream and tucked two whipped creams under my arm and shut my office door with my elbow. i ate the ice cream between shots of nitrous. at one point i was kind of hiding behind my screen when my coworker sat in her office next to me (there's glass so she can see me [kind of] gripping a can) but can't hear me making the traditional noises) and facebook had her attention cornered so tight I could have shot a toe off and she would have been cooing over someone adding her.

once again together all by ourselves

the fire alarm blared long enough that people started taking it seriously and slowly pouring out of the downtown loft building and into the street. once we got there gripping passports, keychains, dogs, various musical instruments along with the neighbor toting a large bong (i couldn't tell if in his case this was irony, humor, or a stoner moment). we just looked at each other in our mix of disheveled pajamas and party clothes. and then looked away impatient to be in bed, going out, making dinner, love or music, once again together all by ourselves.

yeah, psycho

it was one of those unfortunate weeks where i was reluctant to leave the house. was it the air quality, the heat, the flies, too many snappy dogs on extendo-leashes? people with better hair than me? or the two young latino guys in the subaru that pulled up sharply next to me one nite near my house, leaned out of the window gripping a kombucha drink in one hand and frantically gesturing with the other while telling me they lived right up the street and they had stopped to warn me that there were cops everywhere (including the bushes and there was a pause as we all glanced around at the greenery for a long second) ‘cause there apparently was a psycho 16 year old racing around these hills looking to hit someone with his car. the driver chimed in yeah, psycho.

it's like the waves in kihei, it's unpredictable

i’m not sure exactly why i had consented to going basically straight from heaven-on-earth maui, where I had hooked up with carlos santana’s private surf instructor (you probably pick up girls visiting maui all the time i said passing him the joint he’d been kind enough to bring with him from lahina. you know, he slowly replied. it’s like the waves....in kihei....it’s unpredictable) and we had the hottest, most well-deserved hawaiin-tropic-(I keep the bottle in my bathroom just to uncork it every once in a while to remind me of that nite)scented-while-the-ceiling-fan-slowly-rotates-above-my-head sex, to a heavily attended euro-trash-and-tab-energy-drink-and-mate-fueled trance fest in eastern california where a guy i was dating was doing lighting. when I found myself in stanislaus county 24 hours later, alone in the mini van, freezing and nestled under the covers while he was off doing drugs and rigging lites, i caved and called him. what i wanted to say was “can i meet you in bali and have your blue-eyed surfer legacy children?” that’s where t. was headed anyways and i’ve never been to bali. but i was cordial in that come-see-me-next-time-jimmy-buffet-flies-you-to-sf kind of way.

being poor hasn't necessarily stopped me from shopping but being violently ill has taken its toll on me this morning.

i had planned on hitting a few of my favorite stores today but the mental image of me pausing, one slightly sweaty palm gripping the holy-grail-of-marked-down-yet-perfectly-ass-coddling pair of 7's, the other hand on my midsection while i violently retch in the middle of a nordstroms rack is keeping me in bed, sipping miso, my head swathed in a cool towel, hoping the miso sticks this time.

maybe it would be payback for my recent trip there where i felt a strange little tickling sensation on my knee that got stronger as i headed from the dressing room back to the lingerie. by the time i was perusing the bras i started shaking my pant leg and felt something crawl down my leg and i started screaming as a giant, shiny black indiana-jones-worthy beetle the size of my thumb made its way onto my foot. the woman standing next to me started screaming too and by the time it had scurried under the next rack we both were out of breath and laughing. did you see that? did you see that!

i glanced around to see if any of the neighbors were out and of course they weren’t.

they were busy clutching their lattes in suburus and sporty volvos suvs and all, heading to extreme places to do extreme sports wearing some sweat-wicking spandex that i’ll never be caught dead in. my outfit of the moment was pink underwear and a blue tshirt and instead of gripping a latte i was gently clutching a baby bird who was looking at me with big eyes and tightly gripping me back with sharper-than-expected claws. i had dashed out of my house to save it from the cat and was returning it to its nesty area in some willows next to the pond. caw-ing anxiously and diving and whirling above me were the parent birds, stopping to peck their beaks angrily on a branch as if to say this is what i’m gonna do to you for manhandling my baby! i’m trying to help i yelled back at them.

my great aunt and uncle’s house still smelled faintly of tums and jean nate

it was nearly empty now and the bright yellow giant round ottoman that i had coveted since my childhood had been put aside for me in the corner. there were pictures of my cousin j, slender in a strapless two piece and large white-rimmed sunglasses, so chic to me then (i was the young and chubby one, smiling in a flowered one-piece). it seemed like we used to spend all summer long outside in their bright-blue pool, careening down the curved slide over and over and over. i would walk barefoot and with my bathing suit dripping on the hot, white cement and into the cool garage and take a lemon-lime soda with me through the house and into the bathroom, climbing up onto the ottoman to lay on my back and admire the cream colored marble countertops and the gold-toned bath accents and plants, that it my mind made it seem a little jungle-like.

a lovely spring dusk in the mission: flowers were blooming people were holding hands and smiling your door was open, and i was drunk.

i entered your house due to equal parts necessity
and curiousity and you didn't even see me walk
into up your staircase and into the bathroom.
finally, relief! and i noticed you recently painted.
those are some nice, subtle earth tones you choose,
particularly the fir-tree green in the potty.
is that a pearl or a matte?

heading into your kitchen it was clearly dessert
time. you offered me a chocolate chip cookie,
which i eagerly took, but declined the wine,
since i already had a nice vodka buzz going.

i made my way back out and back up guerrero
to my friend's house. thanks for the hospitality.

i caught the smallest slice of his profile, messy black hair pale skin, a deliberate and stocky figure passing through the doorway

passing the other way thru the doorway was the birthday girl.
erin. i leaned an arm out of the depths of the cotton-covered
butterfly chair to catch her hem as she swooped by.
do you have a friend named c?
uhmm no.
she paused and swayed just a touch, tipsy and hosting, a tray of
baby-sized hot dogs wrapped in croissants poised, aloft.
oh. yes if you mean william's pretentious author friend.
i knew and i loved that tone of voice.
william was the guy she was not-seeing. the one she slept with once a
week and once a week they get mani-pedis together. he was there big and drunk and apparently not too hot in the sack, but he liked to cuddle which was, of course a bonus. why they're called butterfly chairs is beyond me. i get the wings part but i don't know anyone that can look even slightly elegant sitting in one of them. and good luck climbing your way out particularly if you've got a drink in one hand then its all arms and legs and propping and stabilizing and there you are, a landlocked octopus at a cocktail party. unless of course someone takes your hand and smoothly pulls you up to standing, looking at your for a moment before he says anything. he commented that after twelve years, was it? i still had the same look in my eye (it was, of course the new, smoky eyeshadow but i didn't say so) i told him it was an evil glint. even better he said. and grinned.
wondertwin powers activate. form of charm. shape of adult conversation.

why not cocaine at the trade show was the question on my mind at 6 am in the cheap boston convention hotel.

i keep a tiny stash of it my makeup case for emergencies and as far as i’m concerned a trade show in the middle of the winter in boston qualifies, and after finishing up some bad room service i cut up some lines on the bathroom counter, carefully applied some more mascara and dusted off my nose with a fluffy makeup brush. ready to go!

someone asked me today about the most romantic thing i've ever done. it had to be the time i flew to nyc to have a cup of coffee.

instead of coffee he suggested dinner and after 5 years there he was, getting up from the sidewalk bench his lankly form unfolding and turning towards me. and we sat outside and the candle glowed amber between us and the awning hung low over us and we told stories and made each other laugh as our long legs kept touching lightly under the small table. he was as gorgeous and as funny as i had remembered

‘i will miss your heart so tender
and I will love this love forever.
this is why i am lying when i say
that i don't love you no more’

and i loved him as i walked away.

when the nurse turned away i took a few surreptitious bites of his breakfast. mashed vicodin in applesauce. delicious.

before we could go to the hospital lawrence needed to find a post office. we'd also need to pick up some of those garlands of chili peppers he saw a guy selling from a truck in front of a dusty lot. we got to the hospital and m. was on dialysis so we suited up in gowns, gloves and hairnets. for a moment the nurse turned away and lawrence was outside smoking so i took a few surreptitious bites of his breakfast. mashed vicodin in applesauce. delicious. i held his hand and he was by turns cranky and charming, delirious, demanding and totally clear. pretty much the same as ever. he recognized me only as we were leaving.

woke up this morning in an arizona condo freezing and huddled under a cheap comforter. upside: l. was cooking breakfast. downside: m. was dying.

every door and window was wide open and l. was cleaning the kitchen. he was writing his ex a letter. he had pulled all the glass mixing bowls out of the cabinet and was playing them like a xylophone. he had just gotten back from a hike a little earlier. he had broken up with his girlfriend of 13 years earlier this week and was coming undone the same weekend we were visiting our venerable teacher who was on his deathbed. again. all of this before 7:30 in the morning. the upside of it all was that he was cooking breakfast.