Posts Tagged ‘life’
Indulgence, that look in your eye. A tone spoken with a guilty iris. Here’s to that contagious little half-smile making it’s way between your lips.
You stand up, try to. I’m here to help you, shaky legs. Balance. Steady. Outside is not far from us. Take me with you. Please, I cannot bear me alone with me. Combining fingerprints, we are the children of euphoric stimulation. Tenderness of molecules, each blossom of skin alive. Witness to mini-rainbows forming in the sprinkler mist of neighboring lawns. Making me giddy. I begin to dance across foreign grass. Soft, wet, green kissing my toes. I feel good, as do you. You tell me this and I laugh at you because you’re laughing at yourself. Squeezing me tighter via palms, I am wearing nothing but you.
You look at me with brand new eyes and I don’t know whether to run or stand rigidly in the light of vulnerability. I have spent months ignoring your gaze in fear that I will never know what it means. Don’t look at me. My face tells nothing of the world inside my head. Our pupils meet and I try to cross the ocean between our two bodies, but I drown long before I reach the shore. These words are tired and as my mouth forms the syllables they taste stale on my tongue.
I want my legs draped over your shoulders. My voice breath-filled and coy. My hands pulling you in closer. My body writhing with joy. Your face buried deep between my thighs. Holding you in place. Your nose filled with my sweet scent. Your tongue dancing with my taste.
Your hair. Your smile. Your voice. Your words. Your kisses. Your hands. Your heart. Your laugh. Your body. Your clothes. Your scent. Your jokes. Your hugs. You.
Almost missed the bus this morning. Drove the whole three blocks to the South Hill Park & Ride, got there, parked in the front row, and realized I was minus my Iphone. FAIL. Key player in these gas-is-three-fuckin’-fifty-a-gallon-so-let’s-hop-a-bus days. Sooo, I haul booty back to the apartment, grab the goods, and haul booty forward again. Luckily, I made it. But not without sprinting madly from the ass-end of the parking lot because apparently I was too slow for the front spot I had held less than two minutes ago.
Grrr. God, I hate doing that. I hate rushing my life. Waving my hands up in the air, stuff in both of ‘em, running abnormally because my damn sack pack distributes weight unevenly across my back. Knowing that every single person sitting on that bus is staring at the retard stumbling towards them. Haha! Okay, maybe that’s a bit drastic, but still, I’m a much bigger fan of taking my time as compared to rushing it. Obviously.
Last night, I hung out with one of my best friends growing up. Megon Witter. This girl is totally unique. Nothing you’d expect by simply looking at her. She’s one of those people born with a lisp. But instead of it being on her lips, it’s inside her head. But I mean that in the nicest possible way. Haha. Honestly tho. She doesn’t think about stuff the same as you or me. Like, the whole picture is there, but when you get down to the specifics, you gotta wonder what thought process led her to thinking what she just thought. It’s cool shit. Haha.
Anyways, it was fun. We didn’t really do much, just talked and caught up on shit. Which is awesome. I like the chill atmosphere that comes with that. No having to impress anybody, no having to defend yer opinions. Just straight…chillin’. Groovyness. Mmmhmm.
I love waking up with you by my side.
I love yer many facial expressions.
I love how yer such a dork sometimes.
I love the way you tease me.
I love how groomed and clean you keep yerself.
I love kissing you everywhere.
I love the little dimple in yer chin.
I love it when you call me ‘baby’ with that cute grin on yer face.
I love yer smell and how it lingers on my clothes.
I love how when yer around, everything’s fun.
I love that feeling of being secure when you wrap yer arms around me.
I love the little sunspot located on the bottom left of yer hip.
I love the fact that even when I’m all moody, you still manage to make me laugh.
I love eating dinner together on our couch.
I love how much youth you still have.
I love yer zest for life.
I love how material things mean zero to none in yer mind.
I love the fact that you are as much of a dreamer as I am, if not more.
I love the way you smile when you sleep.
I love when you let me give you a detailed description of how I spent my day, even when you don’t really wanna hear it.
I love road trips with you.
I love how you know just how to spoil me.
I love the way you keep yer cool when I do something stupid. Well, sometimes. Haha.
I love how beautiful you make me look in the pictures you take.
I love the fact that you refuse to ever completely grow up.
I love staying up all night with you.
I love waiting for you to get home from work.
I love yer small gestures that speak volumes about how much you care.
I love how, no matter what time of day, yer always on my mind.
I love the fact that you are the first and only person I’ve ever truly loved and the first person who’s ever truly loved me.
I love the way you caress my hand when yer holding it.
I love when you tell me I’m beautiful even when I think I’m not.
I love yer addiction to photography.
I love how yer idea of a big night out is just the two of us.
I love the way yer eyes light up when you laugh.
I love how dedicated you are to yer job.
I love when we cuddle.
I love you because even if you weren’t so handsome, you still would be because of who you are.
I love you because you would rather have an open road adventure than a membership at a gym.
I love you because yer never boring.
I love you because you’ve taught me the meaning of love.
I love you because you put up with me even at the worst of times.
I love you because yer confident, strong, and always real.
I love you because yer love gives me the feeling that the best is still ahead.
I love you because you love me.
I love you, Michael O’Brien.
55 now. Hugging pavement. Between all the lines. .
Remains of your reflection loitering in my rear-view. My eyes begin to leak with curiosity. A fragile sensation.
Pupils go numb. So stuck on staring at yours. Through yours. The answers caught beneath the irises. Such pretty irises. So perfect. So neat.
Yet who am I to be the judge of that? I suppose I will never know; I cannot see from the inside-out. So I remain silent. Sometimes not being in control is the most beautiful thing in the world.
Mind over matter, fucking with these filthy feelings. But feeling fucks back. .
A witch with a massive, black book of ugly, mean spells. Cast upon unsuspecting souls. 360′s on the spinal cord. A spiral staircase of white.
There is no escape. There is no end.
- static in the speakers.
- jogging with dry mouth and wet shoes.
- stepping on ABC gum barefoot.
- roller coaster cars that reek of puke and dirty children.
- the failed 4th and 1.
- people without patience.
- a dying black Sharpie.
- too much chlorine in the pool.
- Oprah in skinny jeans.
- getting the red light because the truck in front of you took up all the yellow.
- dropped interceptions.
- people who have no manners.
- an automated British phone line.
- being voted the DD for the night.
- the evil pine needles lurking at the bottom of soft leaf piles.
- a drunk bum begging for change, 10′oclock on a Sunday morning.
- cold burgers and flat soda.
- people who can’t pronounce my name right.
- loud music that isn’t my own.
- movies that look good on TV, but when you fork out the ten bucks to go, they suck balls.
- non-sticky tape.
- sleeping 10+ hours and still being exhausted.
- receiving “I Love Jesus” stickers instead of candy for Halloween.
- sunburnt shoulders in the shower.
- a dead battery with no jumper cables.
- snow in April.
- false advertising that works.
- hair on the soap.
- losing the count when counting sheep.
- electricity shortages in the elevator.
- the undiscovered cut after applying hand sanitizer.
- the lost mosquito inside yer tent.
- overplayed radio songs.
- sugar-free chocolate.
- a waitress with dirty fingernails.
- couches that smell like pets.
- stepping in dog shit on a hot summer day.
- frostbite while sledding.
- rings that make yer finger green.
- guys with no sense of humor.
- dull crayons.
- Ziploc brand knock-offs.
- fun ruined by time.
¡NO TIME! to initiate a thought process.
∞(.I see you.)∞
I suppose I am happy here. I suppose I belong. Bright moments contracting dull.
Life is art and I am the artist. Crouched behind that big wooden easel.
…with so many colors.
So much FrEeDoM.
Mind racing (racing) with opportunity; fingers can’t keep up.
Perspiration via motivation. The cologne of accomplishment.
The paper softens as I progress. Happy mistakes litter the page now.
Along-with-hundreds-of-inches-of-leeway. Ahhh, leeway.
My brain seems…bruised…with numb surprise.
Cleverly disguised in white, I suggest, ‘Perhaps, a different wardrobe?’
Everything just sort of connects/blends/combines.
I’m left to smile at these results.
Today, I cannot STOP smiling.
All this awesomeness is making my face hurt.
=] ♣ [=
Wow. Today my blog has reached the 1,000 views milestone. This, is pretty fucking awesome considering I write about only once a month. And when I do it’s usually nonsense. Like that last sentence. And this one. And this one as well. Haha.
Hmmm, what’s new in my life? Absolutely nothing. Haha, just kidding. About a month ago I purchased my very first car. A red 1995 Chrysler LeBaron convertible. 118,500 miles. $2,300 cash.
I LOVE IT.
On the 20th of August, my two best friends and I took a road trip down to Oregon to visit a friend of ours who’s gonna be a freshman this year at Portland State University. Was the funniest trip EVER.
Saturday morning, we rode the MAX down to the street markets taking place in the heart of downtown Portland. It’s rather strange how the bigger the city gets, the meaner the people become. Everybody is always in everybody else’s way. All the time. And then you got SO many different personalities. The artists, the pessimists, the shy people, the confident. It’s incredible.
There was this artist on one of the corners who drew all of her pictures with numbers. Millions of different sizes of numbers. All blended together to create one huge image. It reminded me of pixels on a TV. I can only imagine how patient/dedicated/passionate you’d hafta be to finish just ONE of her pieces. The creativity behind ‘em was very inspiring.
Sunday afternoon, we headed out to Cannon Beach. I cannot describe in words how fucking awesome it is to drive the 101 in a convertible. The weather couldn’t have been better either. When we got to the beach it was low 80′s with no wind and clear skies as far as the eye could see. The sun made the humidity almost unnoticeable. The ocean was still hella cold tho. HELLA cold. But that didn’t stop us from getting in. Of course not, duh.
Halibut was dinner, salt water taffy was dessert. After the sun disappeared, we grabbed sleeping bags from the trunk and slept right on the sand. Under hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of shiny white stars. T’was amazing. You know those moments in life where time is no longer a factor and nothing troublesome exists anymore, nothing bad can happen anywhere remotely close to where you are? Hakuna matata? Well, that night was my moment. Replay it a thousand times and it STILL would be just as exciting as the first.
However, all good things must come to an end. Mr. Reality must return sometime, right? Haha. So we took a final stroll down the beach and headed home. Eastbound Spokane, 350 miles. Amen.
It’s hot. Even with the windows open, it’s gotta be 80 somethin’ degrees in here. Eleven o’clock at night and I’m lying in bed with my Gonzaga boxers and a gray sports bra. And I’m sweating. Not the oh-it’s-rather-warm-in-here-sweaty. More like droplets-of-bodily-fluids-are-forming-kiddie-pools-in-the-crack-of-my-ass-sweaty. It’s yucky. Sticky nights being one of the ugliers of summer livin’. I’m in desperate need of a fan at this point, but too lazy and hot to get up and go get one. I wish my little space heater was capable of spitting out warm air and cold. And included a mini-mister inside of it. So not only would I be cool, but also misty. And unsweaty. Thad be nice.
Sis and I went to the air show at Fairchild AFB today. Skyfest 2010. It was awesome. Always is. The Thunderbirds never fail to amaze me. Flying that close to each other’s planes in perfect formation more than a thousand feet up in the air is mind-blowing. (It was incredibly hot out on the tarmac though. I believe the high of the day was 95 degrees. I’m burnt all down my shoulders and across my forehead. Suppose I don’t really mind much, so long as I’m getting some kind of color besides white.) All the flyboys look so damn attractive in their uniforms. All tan and clean and tall and fit. And tan. I mean, to be wearing a faded green jumpsuit with one long zipper on the front of it, and still be able to pull off sexy? God bless the military.
I’m always shocked at how many fat people show up to things like Skyfest. I guess they’re everywhere, but public events make it painfully obvious as to how overweight America really is. Obesity is almost a disease. Everywhere you look, there’s pregnant men. I had to restrain myself from asking a younger dude who was inhaling the massive burger he’d just ordered if it was a boy or a girl. This guy was prolly just shy of 30 and at least 400 pounds. At least. He had this tight black wife beater on with a pair of even tighter jean shorts. Way too tight for a figure like his. Apparently, appearance didn’t seem like too high of a priority for him. That, along with health.
When yer that big, sympathy can only get you so far in my book. I may not know the reason behind yer present health condition or what type of diabetes you currently have or how stressful yer personal living is. But I sure as shit know that ordering the largest burger on the menu with the largest basket of fries and a 32 oz. Coke isn’t listed on the “Steps To A Better Life” checklist. Especially when that food is gone in under five minutes flat.
Seriously, have you ever watched a fat person eat? It’s like witnessing a lion having its first meal after three days of not having one. (Maybe lion is too flattering here. Boar, or maybe, walrus might be more in the ballpark.) Lift, bite, swallow, repeat. Chewing is overrated when hunger strikes this hard. It’s disgusting. And quite sad. And half the time, I don’t think they realize how poor they’re eating habits are. A Grand Slam here, pretzel at noon, two hot dogs for lunch, a couple leftover doughnuts from breakfast for dessert, buffet time an hour later, a bag of Doritos before bed. And so on and so forth. (That may be a bit of an exaggerated example, but it’s for the sake of making a point.) Eventually that shit’s gonna catch up. And when it does, it’s gonna be a lot harder to get off than it was to put on. And a lot less fun too.
Well, enough with the fat people topic. I am now officially a hostess for a fine dining restaurant at a casino/hotel. Masselow’s inside the Northern Quest Casino And Resort. I like it. It’s good. I’m considered an ‘ununiformed team member’, meaning I get to come to work in my own clothes with the only requirement being black shoes. Which is pretty sweet. The people I work with are awesome, along with all the happy customers that come in. On an average night (4pm-10), twenty to thirty people usually walk in. Include the reservations (if any), and yer up to thirty to forty. However, I’ve noticed we’re very inconsistent with this customer count number. Last Monday was miserable with a grand total of sixteen people, while Thursday was almost fifty plus without a single reservation.
I wish I got tipped though. Every other hostess in all eight restaurants of the casino has a dip in the tip pool. I’m not sure why Masselow’s doesn’t include themselves in this, but they don’t. It sucks because I know for a fact my servers are walkin’ out of there with 100+ bucks in their pocket. If not more. I haven’t figured out yet if making $8.89 without any extra incentive (besides the free meal) is worth sticking around for.
Boredom without the ability to sit down is what absolutely kills me. I’ll stand at my little podium for eight hours straight (minus a half hour lunch break) and by the time I get done, my heels are almost unbearable to walk on. It sucks. I even bought some of those gel sole thingys, the nice ones too, the Dr. Scholl’s kind. (My feet still bug me, but it does help considerably.) Usually I’ll doodle or read or surrender to newspaper sudoku. That shit’s addicting and does a damn good job of making the time go by fast. Plus, it keeps my mind off my feet.
I think the worst part of my job, worse than the boredom, worse than the sore feet, worse than not getting tipped, is the amount of ass I hafta kiss. All the big wigs come in with all their big wig buddies and look at me like I’m retarded when I put their napkins on their laps. It’s part of my job; it’s what I’m required to do. Usually the guys will do it themselves. And sometimes they don’t.
I had a businessman the other morning; all dressed up in a nice pinstriped suit and polished shoes. He pulled out his chair and set his napkin down before I had a chance to do either. “Yer doin’ my job for me, I like it!” I said this is in the friendliest way possible. I really did. He shifts his weight to the side and gives me a pity laugh before rudely saying “I wouldn’t want YER job.” It made me smile as I walked back up to the podium. Because I’m thinkin’ to myself in all honesty….likewise buddy, likewise.
I hate these days where I wanna write so bad, but have no idea what I should write about. I’ll bounce possible topics around inside my head trying to at least get a genre going. Maybe I’ll go funny this time, maybe serious. Perhaps fiction, perhaps non. Happy? Sad? Both? But nothing seems to satisfy. Or if it does, it makes no sense once it gets to the paper.
It’s like my brain is a giant microwave with a faulty door. And there’s this fresh bag of yummy popcorn inside of it. Of course, in order to achieve that ‘yummy’ factor, my popcorn can only be left in the microwave a certain number of minutes. But sometimes the door gets jammed and rescue is impossible. So my popcorn burns and blackens and eventually has to be thrown away. And all I can do is watch.
I suppose I’ll just write about what’s on my mind today. (Take a journalistic route this morning instead of my regular creative one.) It’s Saturday. I’m currently sitting on a bench outside the plaza waiting for the Cheney bus. Zone 9. The sun’s actually out, which makes me happy. The past couple of days have been pretty ugly weather-wise and it’s nice to be in the 60′s for a change. Haha, I just said ‘pretty ugly’ and you didn’t even notice.
People watching is always incredibly entertaining to me when at the plaza. Although I’m leaning more towards people staring at this point. There’s always this group of socially awkward individuals who sit together on the green benches in front of the City Perk. (The City Perk is the little coffee shop inside the plaza.) I honestly think they consider this their hang-out spot. I never see any of ‘em catch a bus and as the day progresses, their group seems to expand by like twenty people every hour. By the time the sun goes down, clusters of retards are swarming the place. It’s a freak fest and apparently everyone in Spokane County is invited. Haha. Shit, if we’re this bad, I can only imagine what the bigger cities entail. Seattle, Los Angeles, Chicago? Yikes.
The City Perk has these awesome drinks I tried for the first time about a month ago. They’re called Red Bull sodas. Everything about them is delicious. Red Bull+your choice of Italian soda flavoring+whip cream+some sort of sweetening cream. It’s so simple, yet so full of awesomeness. Plus, it’s only $3.25 for a 32 oz.
Went to my best friend, Bree’s, graduation last night at EWU. Cheney High School – Class Of 2010. Wasn’t as bad as I thought it was gonna be. Usually I hate going to events where everybody and their mom knows who I am. It always leads to questions having to do with my future and that’s never good cuz not even I know the answers to those questions. You in college? Why not? Are you gonna be? When? Ugh.
Yes, at some point in my life I am going to enroll in school. May not be this fall, or the next one, or the one after that, but mark my words, it will happen. The only thing stopping me at this point is the money. I guess I wanna be able to pay for my tuition up front without having to take out a loan or rely on grants and scholarship money. If I had a million bucks, I’d register for classes within the hour. But I don’t, so I’m not. Haha.