The Color Of Hunger

Posts Tagged ‘people

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.


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.

{I will miss this so very much.}
Smiles glisten in distorted reflections of table silverware.
Wavy faces trapped under reddish diner lights.
Curvy at the base. Spiraled at the ends.
Getting lost in casual till conversations; savoring them as they unfold.
Kissing ass, but keeping pride.
These lips have standards.
Concocting milkshakes, decaf on that coffee, green light – GO.
Lipstick remains on empty Coke glasses.
Pouring water just because.
No rebound this time, better luck next.
Feet cast beneath spells of increasing tempo and movement.
Toes loaded with wave after wave of momentum.
The flow of….energy.
Quick….moving….then quick again.
Looking forward to work.
Grease stains mark accomplishment.
Dirty aprons not to be frowned upon.
Feeding off invisible heat from the fryer.
And the grill.
And….the people.
You get what you give.
So give good.
Good morning, Mr. Sunday, how lovely you are today.
The door now becomes the alarm clock.
Stuck at a constant – in, out, out, in.
The good kind though, the purest form.
The sound of….happy.
The feeling of….alive.
{I am was content here.}

I’m about as comfortable with myself as I will ever be. I like the way I look, the way I talk, the way I think, the way I live my life. I’m comfortable in my own skin. However, I can always be better. I can ALWAYS be better. Although, I never wanna pull off perfection. I wanna be the passionate one who fights to get somewhere, but I never wanna get there. I cherish the struggle. I want the impossible dream so that I never become like a majority of society and settle for average. I’d rather try super hard to reach an unachievable goal. Enjoying life in the meanwhile as it happens in the present. The great stuff is right now, not twenty years down the line.

I feel compelled to follow my conscience and my heart wherever it leads me, even if that means pain. I’m not scared of pain. These days I embrace the pain. Pain exists so that when pleasure comes, it seems that much more intense. Certain things must exist in this world in order for other things to coexist. I don’t need the unexplainable explained to me to feel good about life. I just feel good about life not knowing everything there is to know. If we never went without, we’d never appreciate what we have. I get nostalgic for the good ol’ days, but look forward for the ones to come. I don’t live in the past; I just visit on occasion. I like not knowing. I like not having everything explained to me. I like having to learn more. I like questioning things. I like pondering life. I’m prolly a bit excessive sometimes, but that’s just me. That’s just who I am.

I love unconditionally. I forgive people like you wouldn’t believe (some of them I probably shouldn’t forgive) and never forget. But I can move past. I don’t judge based on who you were, I judge based on who you are. I never lose interest in people. Mi casa es su casa; what’s mine is yours. I’m a giver like that. If you don’t feel love in yer life, it’s cuz you don’t let it in. I figure sharing is what makes a difference. Never sharing yerself, yer life, yer shit? Well, that just closes you off in a closet somewhere, huddled in the dark cold all by yerself. My life is way too precious not to share it with others, not to truly love and laugh and enjoy all it has to offer. I can’t NOT tell you how it really is, I can’t censor what I’m really feeling.

I believe everything I do every single day is my own fault. Everything that happens to me is cuz I did something that caused it to happen. If someone feels too much drama in their life, it’s cuz they like that drama or they’re not ready to let it go on some level. Life is all about choices. I don’t understand how anyone can hate anyone else. Hate is an emotional response. It’s not based in reason and logic. If someone hurts me, of course I wanna hurt them back. Duh. But I do that by moving on and becoming better than they could ever hope to be. Don’t waste yer time and energy on people and their problems. I try my best, but I’m sure as hell not perfect. I just learn from my mistakes really well.

I love emotion, feeling, words, music, colors, freedom, sex, beauty. Anything that tantalizes and makes me take a second look. I want the body, the mind, and all the in-betweens. I’m a very sexual human being. I imagine everybody naked all the time. Sometimes I wish I could shut off the x-ray vision (it’s not always a pretty sight). My favorite thing about sex is that part right before. The nervous part. The not knowing part. It’s almost more naked than actually BEING naked. It’s the mystery behind the clothes that radiates sexuality for me. There’s just so many combinations, so many sensations. The shallow part of him pulling me in, the deeper part of him pushing me away, the way I want so badly to feel him around me, all around me, every bit of him, to be lost inside of him. It’s acquisition without the burden of possessions. That’s the magic of sex. No matter how lost you get in the moment, storage is never an issue.

However, I will never, EVER give up on love. Love exists and I know it’s out there somewhere. Even if it hurts more than anything in the world. It’s such a subjective thing, such a submissive part of life. But when it’s there, you just know. I also know that love can exist outside of sex and vice-versa. Almost all the time, you tell yerself yer loving somebody when yer just using them to fill some need. This only looks like love. Love takes, but it has to give as well. I know the difference and have gotten considerably better at separating the two.

I drink sometimes. I’ll smoke the occasional cigar/’special’ cigar. I don’t mind being sober or chemically imbalanced. I like to party just as much as the next girl, but’ll strip down and run around naked for no reason at all if the mood strikes. I don’t think I’m a nut. I just stopped caring what people think about me. I love to laugh and have a great sense of humor. I’m fun and compassionate and can enjoy myself anywhere. I don’t hafta leave the house to have fun. I don’t hafta stay at home to have fun. I’m spontaneous, confident, outgoing, and full of life. I’m certainly not stupid, but on the same note, I’m not afraid to be a fool. I don’t hide behind a mask of insecurity. I always intellectualize, but that never stops me from jumping out of a plane or doing something that could potentially kill me.

I love pleasure. I love pain. I’m selfish yet modest, shy yet extroverted. I have intense mental concentration. I zone out and go places inside my head where no one can find me. I dance to music sometimes and nobody understands why I’m dancing. I love to express myself with movement and love music of all varieties. I’m not afraid to cry or share my feelings in a way that leaves me vulnerable. If you can’t tell already, I love to write and learn and imagine. I wanna influence minds and spark thoughts. I take away information instead of just images from a screen; the occasional memorization of the spoken word replaced with real genuine thought process. I can walk around a book store for hours and never get bored. I could prolly do that for days even.

To me, words are like life. Words mean everything. They express the inexpressible, they help me understand myself and the world around me. They express what I’m feeling in ways much like an artist with paint would express himself or herself or itself or whatever. I write to move people, to move myself, to see where I’ve been, where I’m going, to observe and learn, to experience the joy and pain again and again, to experience how relentless life can be, how bittersweet and full of fury it really is. I need for people to understand, to WANT to understand, to WANT to know me, whether or not they’ll like what they get.

I dream cuz I’m a dreamer. I think of how much I rely on my sense of touch, how much a feeling stimulates me and the feelings of things around me. The way the skin feels, running fingers through hair, a soft pair of lips, the curve of an ear, a neck, a back, etc. I find the experience of losing it all very exhilarating. To lose my senses, to lose my beliefs, to lose my life, to lose myself totally; a great beginning to something else. A freedom from a world of unattainable desires.

I think of streams and rivers, tall trees, mossy nooks, greens and browns, the branches high above me as I stand in the middle of a forest lost and confused. I find myself looking with other people’s eyes all the time. Looking through someone else’s pupils, encountering their lives as they do, living loosely through a series of past experiences seen in the present. Think of a movie, think of love scenes, think of watching yerself fuck, think of seeing yerself through yer own eyes, except not. Sometimes I find stuff I’m not even looking for. Sometimes I find nothing. Sometimes I just do what I do.

I ramble a lot. But I’m simply stirred, not shaken. My life is blasted all over this page cuz I can’t help but be me. I HAVE to share myself. I HAVE to be me. I’ll look at an object and I see a million things you don’t see. You see a couch. I see it being made, who sat on it, who fucked on it, what animal died to make it. I’m not full of myself but I know I got what a lot of people want. I don’t generalize often and don’t judge books by covers, but without covers, why would I even buy the book to begin with? Everything is like that. First glance means EVERYTHING. Most of you see my pictures and they draw you in. Yes, those pictures are one hundred percent me. Or at least the outside visual me. Most people don’t seem to care about what’s on the inside anymore. I hope you do. Shit, I’d like to think if you’ve read this far, you must care at least a LITTLE more than the next guy. Either way, I’ve still got yer attention.

Laying flat on the bed, my muscles feel sore. The thermostat reads 77 degrees and it’s hot even with the window open. Something is distracting me, something leads me to something else, so I sit and write and try to make sense of it. Right now I feel like a shooting star that no one knows is falling. Like a tree in the woods that makes lots of sound and ruckus, but no one is there to witness it even if it never falls. I have to obey certain, yu know, laws of the universe, but I never know where I’m gonna end up. I just fall and fall and go boom and smack! Then I hit the earth.

Sometimes writing is all I have. Everything else is just doing stuff for the sake of doing stuff. I’ll get to points where I do things for no reason. Losing logic and reason based on adrenaline and hormones. Some days I wake up with desires unquenched. There are so many things I want, but only so much I can do in a day. Urges seem to come up inside of me out of nowhere. I’m a bit of a compulsive person. Spontaneous even. I like spontaneity. I like doing what feels good. About matters of sex and life and activity and friends and food and just everything. I have no destination, it’s not a journey. I’m just enjoying the trip.

The getting of life is hard. It makes no difference how things get started. What matters is how they end up. In someplace, somewhere, with someone, calling out to be saved. Lost, but never wavering. Take the search for love and the meaning of life for example. How does something or someone I can’t touch or see or define make me so miserably wonderful? Why do I look at thoughts and get mesmerized for hours? I honestly don’t know. I love the way I think, though. I do. I’ll see the words in my mind before I actually say them out loud. I’ll play with each letter before it even touches my lips to be used and abused. I contemplate things before they happen, before I make a move. Weigh my actions on imaginary scales that only exist in so much that I MAKE them exist. I don’t deny myself, I just ignore myself sometimes. I redirect my feelings towards other things.

The power of night turns me on, more so than the day. When the sun no longer shines and the moon rules my mind, my feelings begin to blur and dissolve leaving me stranded on an island of lost love and reinvigorated desire. The tenderness I feel for him is overwhelming, the times I think he’s out there feeling the same way. I stress the word think. I don’t know as much as I may believe cuz I really just don’t know. If that makes any sense at all. I can hope and believe and have faith all day long, but placing trust in something or someone I don’t entirely understand, have never really met, always feels like a risk. And maybe that’s part of the high of being with them or not. The not knowing, the gamble, the fact that I’ll never gain anything until I lose everything.

I would lose it all for some people, but I don’t think they’d lose much of anything for me. I would jump off a cliff for those select few. Whereas they might buy me an orange juice with some booze in it only to be angry about the price and end up keeping the receipt to hold over my head years from now. It’s a crazy sort of feeling that I just don’t know how to quit. Some people say and believe they’re positive people. And sometimes they are. But a lot of the time they’re nothing but doom and gloom disguised beneath fake smiles and tainted kindness.

Days stretching into weeks. All the night clubs and bars I passed tonight downtown, full to capacity on a Thursday night. People searching for sex, searching to become numb, searching for a way not to feel, not to experience. Searching and not even knowing they’re searching. What about tomorrow? The day after? Is it all about just making money so you can spend the money you made? Yup, I’m just rambling now. Fuck. Nothing good could ever come of this.

People don’t care if yer an artist. They don’t care if you create things. They don’t care if you appreciate the simple things in life. They just wanna know what restaurants you eat at, what kind of car you drive, who yer married to, and so on and so forth. Status symbols as meaning, pop culture as religion. That’s why payphones rarely exist anymore. Even homeless people have cell phones. Crackheads have diamond watches. I mean, what’s the point in thinking life is a competition of worthless accumulation? You could die in yer sleep and it’s just more junk left behind for others to fight over. No use being the richest cunt in the cemetery, yu know?

The major reason we, as a country, fight against things that don’t exist, is because we’re a nation of people who BELIEVE in things that don’t exist. We need meaning behind everything; we need to understand what cannot be understood. Same reason there are more liquor stores than churches. Same reason there are more prisons than schools. Same reason you have more underwear than you do pants. Same reason more than fifteen percent of people in the United States are without health insurance. Same reason people who are married stop having as much sex. We thrive on applying logic when there is none.

Our world uses and destroys, demolishing thousands upon millions of acres of jungle, forest, and farmland. And for what? To build more homes, to give more loans, to have more teenage pregnancies, to overpopulate the world, to run out of food, to kill innocent children, to send young men and women off to die in foreign lands in the name of democracy that no longer even exists in the US. For a president who refuses to put his hand over his heart and say the pledge of allegiance? Sure, I admire people who sign off their lives to the government and say I don’t give a flyin’ FUCK if I die tomorrow. I love those people. I just don’t believe the government loves ‘em back.

We either confront our fears or we run away. I see very few people in this world who choose to walk right up to that in which they fear, whether it’s relationships, commitment, life, just anything, and actually confront it. Instead, we run away from things. We take the easy way out. People want the easy money, they want the easy things in life, they want things to fall in their laps, wanna win the relationship lottery and marry the next model millionaire who comes along. Why is that? I suppose we all just wanna get off some way or another. It’s just too bad we don’t have the patience for foreplay.

We never change our ways. Living in a water world of fake promise and faded future. Trapped here. And the people who can’t handle it are swimming in it. Searching for dry spots, but this pool has no steps or fancy rails. No shallow end. And no drain. So it fills up. And eventually seeps over the sides. Floods are constant. Damage is inevitable.

But the people are reaching out this time. They don’t want this. Stray water is uncomfortable.


I just get lost in it. With it. Above and below it. I sink and then I float. All the memories get tangled in filters. Spiderwebs of youth form inside them. Only a few remain. And I’m the outsider looking in. I grab for a piece dangling to my left. All I come back with is sticky. Drowning, but not from fear – curiosity is a tricky fellow.

I’m so tired of it now though.

I head for the ladder, right over left. Repeat. Right over left. Repeat. But these rungs are too slippery. And I am far too heavy.

Confused, my feet leave me at the ankles. I fall backwards, plunging below the surface yet again. Cold, wet, numb. I know this water all too well. But why is it so hard to get up? There’s got to be a reason for it all. But why can’t I find it?

Frustration sets in. Tears on fire. Slicing their way across sharp cheekbones, erasing hope as they greet the chin. A plastic surgeon with a butter knife. The flame is always cold once it reaches the lips. I’m left to taste the embers. Darkness falls, the people are crying out. And I’m right there with them.

Spokane, WA. 26 years young. Aquarius, of course. I am a very optimistic individual driven by passion and creativity. Music is my inspiration to everything. I dig the nightlife. I enjoy discovering new craft beers and breweries. I like animals more than humans. The ocean is amazing. I have no idea what I wanna do with my life and prolly never will. But I'm going to succeed because I'm crazy enough to think I can.
August 2020

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