Absense

In france I was taking a leisurely jog along the canal and some juvenile delinquents probably arab threw a glass bottle which missed me by a second.
And; remember when I was running along the same canal and a group of youths- residents from the nearby welfare center started with the comments. First they were of a sexual nature. Perverse but what could you do. They progressed and by the time I gave them the finger the commentary escalated into a language I could not understand. However, I heard the words "horse" and "whore". A raging vehemence I could not understand. So much that by the time I passed a french resident working in his yard he gave me a look I also could not understand. The look was half-weary and horrified and said "Do you understand that?"

Because maybe I could not live with myself if I really understood.
My stride would not be so light.

it does and it doesn't.

N a t i v e l a n g u a g e
N a i v e l a n g u a g e
N n v
a A e
t T r
i I y
v V n a i v e
e E L A N G U A G E s P e a k
l a n g u a g e n_a_t_i_v_e__l-a-n-g-u-a-g-e

I speak my native language.

Every night I have the same dream where; you walk into a room with your black haired maven. Everyone cheers and applauds you and chants "Weiss-Reisman" Apparently a fusion of your two names. I feel such a sharp pain. And. I leave and we lock eyes and you know. The rest of the dream is me kicking the shit out of everything I see. And yelling. As if you couldn't hear me. It is a big scene. I become a monster. Every night of my life this little vulnerability is overtaking me.

...

My pretty blue prom dress from 12th grade has in recent years been:

1) stained with Rust
2) clawed by various cats (Thanks Precious)
3) pooped and peed on by the bird living in the garage.

Hallelulia, I'll never wear that piece of junk again.

Today in school we took a 30 second moment of silence for President Kennedy. Because the school is named after him. The Principal looked at his watch to make sure that 30 seconds had passed.

When I was in 7th grade, I read a book about the assassination of jfk. I felt like I was reading pornography. They showed stills from the famous reel. Blood on the Chanel suit. Brains on the Chanel suit. Jackie crawling on all fours. Brains on the leather seat.

Brains.

I drive around my parent's back roads through connecticut and our house... and I try to pretend I am a foreigner. It's my first time there. I know these parts so intimately.

The lady in front of you in line is upset because the sign said buy 6 greeting cards get one stupid doll bear wearing a xmas vest. but she bought six and the manager is called up to intervene. For some reason her gift doll was not showing up on the computer or whatever.

last night; bad dreams. Hiccups of self-effacing themes. variations on a theme. your sexual energy personified.

my friend mark told me that when he doesn't have a girlfriend he likes to sleep with a poland spring bottle filled with hot water. to take the place of a warm body. and when he had a girlfriend they went to therapy together. All those hot water bottles get to your head. all those nights spent clipping your nails and reading Glamour are making you loopy. After so many tax forms filled out declaring just 1 exemption [single; married; widow; mistress] - those are the choices they give you in france. Like, my lover can put me under his insurance, but don't tell his wife (roll eyes) (wink).

a guy 'stole' my seat even though my jacket was there. He looked at me and said "sorry". I wanted to say 'don't apologize' if youre going to not move your ass out of my seat. and give me that stupid indie boy smile. How come my vision is razor sharp these days; so unforgiving. I thought; the cumulative effect of this must be deadly by the time you are 30. You have a vendetta angainst no one. everyone has stole your seat in this world and you are not about to let it all go. You have bought 6 greeting cards and where the fuck is your teddy bear?

I woke up and I thought, "what did I cook last night?"

Because whatever it was, it was disgusting.

Ladies, I bombed big time in the kitchen last night.

Everything I touched turned INEDIBLE.

Here is why (some theories):
1) I got cocky. The last sweet potato pie I made was a yummy success. This one I was HARDLY PAYING ATTENTION and TALKING ON THE PHONE!
2) I was too lazy to mash the potatoes before mixing everything in. So lazy!
3) The final transgression is too embarassing to name.
4) I was on the phone.
5) I was really hungry (not thinking straight)
6) What I made while the pie was baking is even more embarassing. An amateur mix of who-knows-what-I-sauteed. Again on the phone.
7) I am surprised my roommates didn't come home to find my wrists slit with the food processor blade! It was that mortifying!

I almost threw it up but I didn't want to waste food.

Button is tricky
too much pressure
will wet wall
Finesse becomes best.

Out of paper? Maybe not

A really good phone call; a really bad phone call.

The joshes and dannies of the world.

Food memory: pain aux raisins. Yes, food is a series of so many obstacles.. I can't even swallow. think about it: milk that has gone bad. Soup you loveingly made and it goes bad a few days later. (because you refridgerated it in your car) Do you stuff it down your throat anyway? Some people do. I asked the woman at the herb store if they sold something to "stop my food cravings" but not supress my appetite. She was french and looked at my like I was half mad. She said, "couldn't you just reach for a little piece of bread instead?" In french this sounds ridiculous because it involves the phrase "un petit pain." Yeah, I guess so, and I walked out, but not before thanking her.

Thank you so much.

I have to tell you something.

1. I would have changed nothing. true or false? true.

Caviar is a cunt

I love it; You can't get over yourself.

I need to reconnect with my audience; no more making them feel stupid.

maxime numéro 316

You did it with grace.

How you did it was revealing.
How you did it was a revelation.

wow. you are wearing the coolest boots.

do you remember that wedding party. the ride there terrifying. where are they taking us. the couple hardly knew each other. remember how we were made prey. remember when you saw the twinkle in his eye. a dirty twinkle. I envisioned that my parents would get a call from the Embassy the next morning. we have found your daughter Butcher Name Here, in a ditch 28 kilometers from Lille on the Belgium border. My parents would say we don't know what a kilometer is. And neither does our daughter. Now please put her on the phone. In the front seat he held my hand, except to change gears. And you know what, I hated every minute of it. I thought: how much longer can I stand this. In the back seat. that guy was telling you "show me how English girls kiss." As though, the command itself would get him there. Because in his culture a man can beat the shit out of a woman. Because Allah said.

This is happening. The response to things is immediate. Not fake response. Response: I hate every minute of this. But what I am I gonna do. You can tear me up now. call me fatty or ugly all you want. In fact, when I leave the room discuss what the fuck is up with me. When we got back we laughed for a good 5 minutes; wouldn't it be funny if those guys cut us up and committed crimes with us. If they didn't answer to Allah. That day is over. This is better than: that era, which was so false, is over. the day is over. let's talk about tomorrow.

How do we ever make it home?

Have been talking to myself ever since I woke up, and up until I went to bed last night. I don't like it; at the same time I wouldn't like it if I were speaking to someone; I would also feel bad for them.

sucks to be you; sucks to be me

Oh such cruel distances. the distance across the state college's quad to the library. such a long walk for such an unimpressive building. Think about that; such long distances. that you notice when the weather is so cruel. the distances in syracuse; the distances in bard. to serve what purpose.

think of, at this moment, the number of people playing darts with your head. or a photo of your head.

coming tomorrow:
don't eat before you read my blog! Because...
I am going to in great detail talk about some culinary failures that I have accomplished recently. Dishes to be discussed include:

Butter omelette with cucumber

you know, and you feel sorry for yourself and eat it. I mean, you don't want to hurt your own feelings or waste food.

The ugly side.

"I don't like her at all; she is immature and mixed up"

This comment has indeed obsessed me for the last year. The choice of words. True hate is disconnecting with the human being in anyone. On purpose.

disconnect.

Shouldn't we look out for each other more?

Hello world,

My horoscope today said "avoid negative thoughts about people". as if it were reading my mind. I think the worst about people until we are introduced. Yesterday I half-held the door for someone, and when they said "thank you", and I thought they were being sarcastic. Now, only a true nutty would say "Thank you" to a stranger, laced with sarcasm!

My team really needed me last night and I was too worried about shaving my legs. So I half-shaved and showed up fashionably late. Later they thanked me for being their "savior," since they needed a woman to replace the "ghost" position. Isn't recreational volleyball a trip! That and a referee who last studied the manual in 1990 it seems.

him: I can't seem to stop eating sweets today...
me: Try brushing your teeth, that should help
him: latent hissing bitterness Didn't I give you that idea?

I am so glad you are out of my life; you didn't belong there and you don't belong there. From the bottom of my heart. Every piece of news makes me hate you more.

This is why: I don't reminisce. The past is broken for a reason. I deem this corrupt: thus I abandon it. This is why: sitting in the car recalling the good old days cannot happen. The bad old days. A strange energy overcomes me; back in the past. warning: objects in the past are more meaningless than they seem

p.s, "Thanks!"

Remember the old life we used to lead.

wednesday already and nothing to publish. out from 6-8, 9-10, 10:30-12:20, 12:30-4, 4:15-7pm. Please leave a message at the beep. I can't be bothered. Nothing I would rather be hearing than your strategic omissions of truth. Very apologetic voice. For something I could not care less about. If your world interested me at all; it does not. If that sounded like my idea of a good time. It sounds like my idea of a bad time. The ride there I hate, the arrival there I hate, the hours spent there I hate, the ride back I hate, the trips to the bathroom I hate. The drinks flirted for I hate. The drinks necessary to get through being around you I hate. The questions asked I hate. The outfit changes I hate.

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