Anyone get the name of that truck?

Well, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed. of nails. Because my back is killing me.

I had a lot of really weird dreams last night. It was the perfect storm: I went to bed late, exhausted from 3 weeks of going full steam. My sleep cycle is slightly off-kilter too, mostly due to excessive revelry. It was a deep, befuddling slumber.

For starters, there was a lot of falling. I loathe falling dreams. Mostly because whenever I have a falling dream, it’s like my brain is a malfunctioning VCR. It keeps rewinding to my jump until right before I hit the ground. In this particular scenario, I was falling off of the Golden Gate Bridge, in a car. Towards black, black water. Incidentally, this is probably why I fate free falling rides.

Then, I dreamt that How I Met Your Mother‘s Marshall Erickson was my Sassy Gay Friend.

Then I was living in my deceased grandmother’s house (oddly enough, this is a recurring venue for me. Except in my dreams she always has this miraculously huge clawfoot tub, and I usually end up taking a bubble bath at some point). I received an unexpected visit from our neighbor, one of my ex’s mothers… She proceeded to tell me that she was in the process of organizing a dinner party to find him a mate, (to quote her as directly as I can) an “irreplacable bride”. I scoffed at her, and said that no one needs an “irreplacable bride”, but a WIFE. I launched into this philosophical rant about how ‘bride’ is a temporary status, it is fleeting. A wife, on the other hand, is a role that carries way more weight and emotional responsibility. And then I snapped a Z in her face. And then she smiled and confessed that, try as she might, she still liked me better than any of my ex’s girlfriends since.

And then my alarm went off. And I was caught briefly between reverie and reality. Although I was far from content, it was a brief hiatus from my lame job and the depression that comes from domestic restlessness. From living in your hometown and feeling financially tied down, despite your desperation to escape.

I grunted, rolled out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

Why I (mostly) love men.

I have a weird dichotomous relationship with the male gender. No, I don’t have   Daddy issues. I just… let me put it this way: I worked in an all-male kitchen for 6 years, from the age of 18 to 24. This environment was a boys club, a sexual harassment lawsuit on the verge of erupting.  While there was no physical assault (my ass was slapped all of once, by an idiot who quickly regretted it), my virgin ears were completely destroyed. These guys, my veritable brothers, had officially tainted (hehe, insert immature joke here) my perception of men. Consequently, I do not trust a one of them. They’re all scum!

Then again… god dammit they can be so ruggedly sexy. Por ejemplo:


Luke Wilson à la Royal Tenenbaums… once he cuts off all of his hair: notice the soulful eyes, strong jawline, and that beautiful curve between his biceps and forearms. NUM/#DROOL:

Loooook at those eyes/chin

Loook at those biceps


Maybe it’s just my pride. I hate to admit it, but sometimes I feel self-aware to a fault. The sardonic comments my previous workmates would make regarding real or (more likely?) imaginary exploits left a bitter taste in my mouth. I didn’t appreciate the way they objectified women: it was overtly sexual and demeaning. I didn’t want to feel, or be portrayed, as just another notch in someone’s bedpost. Even in a casual encounter, I wanted some sense of appreciation; ya know, a “hey, thanks for having sex with me” at least. And all this ‘time with the boys’ left that desire seeming silly and naive. But is it? And if so, why should it be? And is my perception, overall, an inaccurate picture of the male population? God DAMMIT I hope so.

Yet, I can’t deny that contradictory impulse either:  When I go out, I revel in that primal gaze of attraction when you project just the right amount of sexuality. It’s flattering…..verrry flattering…. Mmmm, Andrew Garfield….

please don't stop staring at me


….Doesn’t he look like a babay Wolverine? Maybe it’s the hair…



But then my inner feminist rolls her eyes, and I am immediately reminded of all those art history papers on the male gaze, the woman as an object of desire and nothing more substantial than that. I can’t help it, I demand respect. And that respect, although possibly there, is difficult to absorb in a crowded bar, 2 drinks deep.

…but then there’s that swagger… It’s soooo… intoxicating…



I first noticed it in accomplished athletes. Watching their seemingly effortless physicality was breathtaking. As a clumsy, awkward teen, I was amazed. They made it look so easy!

It evolved as I got older… I still appreciate athleticism, but I’m generally more moved by academic and artistic prowess. A quiet, coy kind of confidence, built with knowledge and experience. He knows his way around a kitchen, a camera, a movie set, a musical instrument… your vagina. Lol no, not necessarily that last one, although it’s always a bonus. He’s pensive, self-aware, and at ease with himself.

The second I’m thrown a nudge and a wink of that alluring aplomb I’m weak in the knees. It’s that tenacity when he knows he’s in his element. It’s that, you know he knows, he’s kind of a baller.

It’s inexplicable. And kind of  infuriating. I can’t help it, I’m kind of a control freak.


Such a fucking sexy tragedy… isn’t it Joseph Gordon Levitt?




Current Jam: “Do What You Do” -Chuck Ragan

Oh Em Gee

So I visited my sister this past weekend in Jax. On the way back, I needed some tunes. Something I hadn’t heard in a while. I sifted through a mountain of oooold mixed and burned CDs and found the holy grail: A mix I made for my 19th Birthday (for perspective, I am now 26; 19 feels worlds away). It was titled “Got the rainy day blues? Nothin’ a grilled cheese and a Yoohoo won’t fix!” (Yes I ‘name’ my CD’s with poinant quotes). This particular one was a reference to the 2004 Hurricane season.

Here is the track list, a mixture of poppy punk and reggae stoner music, with some randoms thrown in:

1. “Damn it Feels Good to be a Gangsta” – Geto Boys

2. “No Tomorrow” – The Blackouts (aka now The Living Blue)

3. “Hey jealousy” – Gin Blossoms

4. “Little Sister” – Queens of the Stone Age

5. “Bonzo goes to Bitburg” – The Ramones

6. “Paint it Black” – The Stones

7. “We be Burnin'” – Sean Paul (that’s right.)

8. “I’ll be here awhile” – 311

9. “I get around” – Beach Boys

10. “No woman no cry” – Bob Marley and the Whalers

11. “How” – The Cranberries

12. “Nothin from somethin” – The Offspring (my obsession in highschool)

13. “Bad Moon Rising” – CCR

14. “I Slept With Someone In Fall Out Boy And All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me” – Fall Out Boy (again, THAT’S RIGHT.)

15. “Lemon” – Katy Rose

16. “Do you miss me?” – Lucky Boys Confusion (had a huge chick boner for this singer)

17. “No cigar” – Millencolin

18. “Dirty Magic” – The Offspring

19. “Turn a square” – The Shins

20. “Bad Fish” – Sublime

21. “Werewolves of London” – Warren Zevon


Oh memories.

A Little Reminder

I’m sure you’re all very familiar with this poem; I think most people have at least heard of it. But I came across a copy of it at my sister’s house (I’m visiting her in Jax this weekend. Shenanigans to follow), and it was like discovering a long lost photo or beloved souvenir. Given my current state of emotional instability, it gave me a sense of profound calm. If you’re having a bad day, week, month or year, take a minute. And then strive to be happy:


Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be critical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.

Be careful.

Strive to be happy.

© Max Ehrmann 1927


Don’t you hate writer’s block? Gaaawwwwwd.

Fuck it. Random compilation time:

Pretty much love this entire house.

Me: “Did you know lobsters are only like a few chromosomes away from spiders?” Dad: “Yeah I’ve seen those lobster webs.”

This stuff is like CRACK. Thanks Dad!

Finally watched Exit Through the Gift Shop. Very fucking cool. My favorite part was when Banksy managed to hang one of his own pieces in an effing museum. The trench coat and hat were just so Watchmen.

I can honestly say that I’ve never truly blacked out before. Even in the most drunken stupor, I can usually piece together some kind of timeline from the night before. NOT Saturday night. I remember my good friend Ed driving my car back to his apartment after bar close so I could crash on his couch. The next morning I felt like this:

And then Ed told me about the remainder of our evening. I was loud drunky as per usual, and demanded that we immediately take shots out of my flask. We then ate chips, hummus and queso. I said the hummus tasted like shit and wanted more queso, so Ed tried to add some garlic and spices to make it better. We then downed some wine and sat down to watch the Tonight Show. We were just getting into the latest crap gossip about Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes when I passed the eff out.

 Speaking of   Katie Holmes…. ever notice how most actors do 1 of  2 things then they’re having an emotional moment, staring into a lover’s eyes? They either pick one point on the person’s face and just stare at it. Or their eyes bounce back and forth from 1 eye to the next. Guess which one Katie Holmes does? Hint: check out some old school episodes of Dawson’s Creek (more like Dawson’s Crap!)

I f**king LOVE Perry Bible Fellowship comics. Just in case your Monday sucked:

This… truly is, brain barf…..

Current Jam: “Once More, With Feeling” soundtrack from that episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. That’s right, eat me.

Fuck Earth.


This has been my week. My brain is a-fuzz, and I cannot concentrate. On practically anything, aside from my cocktails and my gym schedule to combat the numerous cocktails. I could tell you the underlying issues, but this is not my private journal. It is my public one.

Let me put it this way: on the way to work, “Just the two of us” by Will Smith played on my XM radio, and I started to cry. No, I’m not pregnant, but it still felt relevant.