overtime

text message exchange
10/31/06 10:05pm

JW: You at the parade? Of course you are.

Landry: actually I'm not. I'm home.

JW: you are missing extreme examples of faggotry

Landry: You mean... I have the night off.

I'm struggling with the heavy armor now...

A year of everything: of distrust (mostly in my own judgement - I hadn't even thought about trusting someone else until recently), of crying (my father has cleverly figured out when to just get me more coffee and not say a word), of drunken evenings (often) with Landry, of focus (on everything but myself), of control (of every thing around me that I possibly can), of restrictions (on my own path), of hurt (I still wince at remembering the rug being pulled out from under me and hitting the floor)...

And now, even though we approach winter? I'm wondering if there's a set of armor for summer. A lighter weight. I think I may not need as much. I want someone to tell me I'm going to be fine because I'm tired of saying it to myself. I want to be rescued for just a day to get some sleep - without the armor maybe. But I still have one eye out for the rug... which makes me sad. Hopeful though too... because now I'm looking out for it with only one eye... and I am easily distracted lately.

and it only cost me 3 dollars to park.

My jeans smell like the ocean, and my feet are roughed up from walking in sand and snakeskin all day. The shoes I bought my first week or so back in NYC. The ones that could feed three starving children somewhere in the world. The ones that made me realize when I bought them that my life and my decisions were again and unexpectedly my own in some funny shallow way have had sand in them all day. I would have thrown them in the dark water for 10 more minutes of standing there.

Walking through the airport I was nervous in a way I haven't been since I don't know... and smiled like I meant it from the top of the escalator. I remembered to breathe.

I haven't slept in days between the travel, the stress, and now the little and fucking huge distractions of paths both possible and impossible... and I keep taking deep breaths.

Landry, ever my devilangel, sits on my shoulder whispering in my ear.

leaning into it.

The wind we've had the last couple of days has whistled me to sleep each night. They've taken the edge off fitful dreams and drifting in and out. I think I remember storms from when I was younger. The bed in the corner had a window to the side and head of it... they were always open to let the cat in, and I slept in wind all Fall.

It's giving the pigeons a hard time. Countless have no doubt slammed into buildings given the shaky flight of a few I saw this morning over pizza. The analogy came too quickly and I felt tired of fighting wind myself.

race car driver

i feel like im getting the 'gotta go's" with blogging again.
like im trying to run away from something.
it might just be relief from the exhaustion that i have been feeling for close to a year now.
my brain is allowing itself a vacation.

they say that when you have a near death experience, you see your
'life flash before your eyes'
and i read somewhere, a theory that says that its your brain trying to solve a problem.
opening up all of what it considers relevant file drawers of similar experiences to find a way out of the predicament that death is proposing.

thats how i have felt this whole year.

racing around the problem trying to find the correct angle from which to look at it.
the angle changed from day to day as new facets were added or removed.
what was a flat plane with no texture suddenly became mountainous. Leaving me sometimes spinning to catch up.

re-look at this.
does it look the same today as it did yesterday?
what, if anything has changed?
where do i stand in this picture?
am i standing in the frame at all?
what makes sense/ what doesnt?
what info do i NOT have?

my head was full at all times.
the train, in bed, walking the dog, out with friends.
it didnt stop processing information for one second
like a super computer

i even had to stop reading the news for awhile.
the days when my head was occupied with finding a way out
there was no room for it.
news and people inspire a great deal of rage in me
i didnt have any vacancy
and no energy for anger
so my news intake was inversely proportionate to the amount of clicking and whirring that was going on upstairs

so now the clicking has stopped for a bit
the whirring?
eh...
maybe not.

it seems to me that Gormley's been doing a fine fine job of carrying my ass here.

spinning.

Tonight i am stressing about things before they happen and i can't figure out why. Landry talked me off my ledge with beer and promises of Tylenol PM. Stress and travel fatigue are wearing me out. Transition and a letter from the court in MA is most certainly contributing. I turn confidence and nerves on and off like a really fucked up toggle switch. I need more roots. A plan.

Find the edges first.

This post will sound like its about him, but it isn't. It's about the pieces left. How they fit. All of this is about what I'm left with now. The pieces... some gorgeous, some painful... all in little tiny stacks I've been trying to sort this last year without realizing it.

My carefully built and graceful path all reduced to a bit of rubble a year ago and ignored by me as I spun through selling the condo, moving, job 1, job 2... falling into successes as Fate's small, last gift to me. A little break.

And now I see these wavering little stacks. 'Trust' and 'loyalty' stacked near - but not touching - the stack of 'hurt' and 'betrayal'... which stands in the shadow of the stack of puzzle pieces labeled 'family', 'friends', 'safety', and 'home'.

And now I'm left figuring out which pieces to throw out. There is shit I should keep. Puzzle pieces that are worth the scars it took to get them... and there is a small pile starting of shit to let fall off. Pitch down the hill. No space left for it.

And so I'm left piecing the bits left together in my head. Start with the straight edges of the puzzle first. Count on one hand the gifts this last year has given me and figure out the complex middle with colors and shapes that don't match up.

I see projects, paths, and plans all 3 dimensionally... but I hate puzzles that require math. Piece 1 fits where? how does 'trust' fit with 'unknown'? 'Spite' fit with 'family'? 'Friends' with a shaky 'strength'? How many pieces can I keep? I'm less worried about fitting things together than I once was... but I still worry I lost a piece under the fucking couch that I haven't bought yet.

James Lipton’s (aka Bernard Pivot's) Ten Questions

this is a total cop out for our 101st post.
however
This is my favorite part of Inside the Actors Studio.
the comments section would be a PERFECT place to answer.

1. What is your favorite word?
filthy

2. What is your least favorite word?
moist

3. What turns you on?
a girl with a good swagger

4. What turns you off?
the christian right

5. What is your favorite curse word?
twat

6. What sound or noise do you love?
the rain in the shaftway outside my bedroom

7. What sound or noise do you hate?
banging on walls

8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
educator

9. What profession would you not like to attempt?
math teacher

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
"cocktail?"

Dog devours girl.

Breakfast (pictured above) doesn't realize how large she is. She has however mastered a very clever (seemingly) plan to mask her brilliance (assumed) with the sort of dopey daft charm normally found in awkward-but-pretty teenage girls, or a really really stupid child.

She is breathtaking to watch run. She has as much gray hair as I do and easily a good 30 pounds on me. She does this funny thing where she leans into you... and I mean full-on 140 pounds of muscle and charm. She lets me pet her when shes sleeping (no mean feat), and never barks at the comings and goings of the house. Her bark, when Landry gets her to do it, is the sort of barrel-chested, sternum-shaking bark you would expect from her massive rib cage... and she often follows it up with a gruff 'harumph' just to let you know shes not finished being surly.

It made me sad for a long time that she didn't recognize me the way Moufa did. The way his eyes would light up when he recognized me in a crowd rounding the corner to meet him and Landry on a walk in Bklyn. The absolute glee was written on his face. Tonight? I think she just pretends not to recognize me. Because she ran at me like she meant it on our walk home. Just for a second.

mmmm, coffee.

I slept until 11 today... I think the cool air and my tired head combined forces. Had I not heard squealing children and someone's circular saw... I was good for another hour or two. Fabulously unlike me and my normal 7:30 rising.

When I went to get coffee I passed by the schoolyard with the aforementioned squealing children, and watched with amusement as very tiny boys kicked soccer balls at very tiny shrieking girls who were lined up against the wall like a brothel. I thought... "oh you poor little boys, you have no idea how much they're going to kick your ass in a year or two once they're done with pink and glitter..."

...and then for the first time ever I thought it might be fun to have a little girl someday. I'm guessing it will pass since I don't actually like little girls.

"We didn't do anything dirty ourselves, you know."

ugh.

I'm really sorry... but even if you get felt up by a priest as a 13 year old? It's still a little uncool to leer at 14 year old pretend employees.

In unrelated news. Landry and I are enjoying (still, at nearly 24 hours later) one of the most kickyourass hangovers I've had the pleasure of in awhile. whew.

an all time low high

gormley drunk dialed work for a conference call last night.
she ordered her beer. i ordered a glass of wine (apparently its like the HOV lane of drinking because you need 2 people in order to be able to partake in the "wine by consumption" thingy they do at our favoirite spot– I quickly got on the horn to LL to hurry it up)
Gormley was forced to put the phone on mute, she says because she couldnt have her boss hearing my little gems to the bartender such as,

"yeah hes a really great guy. I would just never wear a bathing suit around him"

all this caution from someone who once drunk text messaged her...
uh....never mind.

GORMLEY-ADDED ADDENDUM
To be fair, it is important to note that I still used 'big girl words' like 'brand analysis', 'deliverables', and of course 'multi-phased approach' while still able to give the faux attractive bartender who had a crush on Landry the all knowing 'bitch, I need another drink now'-eye...

claws out.

Landry and I untangled a bit of a core difference - of which there are few - between us last night over a late IM.

We are both fiercely loyal. Claws out, fuck everybody sort of loyal. To those close to us we are protectors, defenders, unwavering support. However our lines vary in their placement. People cross them at different perimeters. Trust is broken earlier or later depending on which one of us you find yourself on the wrong side of.

Unsurprisingly, I'm a bit harsher than she is.

Maybe its been the last year, the surprise and subtle betrayal. Now, I trust more cautiously than I ever have... and I've always been a more than a little hedgy. Landry weighs things. Finds the balance. History, Friendship, Empathy. I see the weight of those things as more of a kick in the chest if trust is broken in the face of that history and friendship.

Which is not to say that I have never betrayed someone... which suggests I should be softer... allow for others to make my same mistakes. And while I never forget people who help me, I never forgive the surprise of being hurt... and the unfortunate bit for me and for most is that the betrayal outweighs the history, hands down. I trust few people in the world, but those that I do I am so careful with, so protective of, that I dare you to try and hurt them with me around.

I suspect Landry is a better person than I am. Or that I'm getting worse at hiding my rough edges.

i want to be in a boy sandwich with these two

my word...

did you know they still make hair crimpers and shittily disguised attempts at making money? HIS GHOST IS IN THE SHOW!
talking to his daughter
who perhaps doesn't know he's dead yet.

I'm being cast aside.

Landry: what time are you meeting jenny?
Gormley: 7
L: i need a drink. meet me before
G: ha. not sure if i can
L: ug. i need new friends. ones that drink. and can meet me for drinks. when i cant go to the gym
G: ha. woman... the rest of the week is yours. dinner tomorrow?
L: I NEED A DRINK TONIGHT!!! i cant worry about tomorrow. you are going to force me to drink alone
G: it was only a matter of time
L: thats no friend. and?!?!?!. holy fuck its only 3. im a wreck.
also and eff J!
with her no beer drinking, teetotalling ass
G: you need a new job, more alcohol, and a vacation
L: and a real friend. im ordering beer from the deli. for lunch
G: nice.
L: im going to tell them to put it in a soup container. so there is no televised intervention at work.

ouch.

For the second time in three weeks, my hands again look like I kicked someones ass. Not a bad look when you can carry it off.

I can feel every single one of what must be 50 small muscles in each arm.

This morning when I woke up it hurt to hold my coffee mug, but only if I held it in my left hand.

Using a pitch fork, the four of us ripped the shingles off the roof of the new house this weekend until we couldn't stand up or move without whimpering.

To see Melissa smiling like that - I'd do it again tomorrow, if I could make my hands hold a hammer. The weather was perfect, the beer was cold, my father made us laugh like no one on earth can. And it was good to get it done. I'm home, and getting ready for dinner. Silk dress and heels... the contrast of my looks for the day is not unnoticed by me.

reelin in the years...

this has been a rough one.
In some ways it still is, but i think the universe sees fit to let us settle a bit.
Maybe not quite rest, but at least be able to see past our noses.

Gormley has been vocal about her trials this year.
me?
not so much.
at least not here.

My tumultuous year is also coming to an end.
the turmoil is still whirling but not quite so fast.

I put the old one to sleep this year.


and the big boy would have been 9 years old in september
i still miss him.

my baby sister will be having a baby boy in January

im getting my head around how quickly things change
and then change again.
i'm keeping my promise of not forgetting how lucky i am.
and remembering how easy it is to fuck up.
im not so angry anymore.
and i feel humbled.

Transition.

With the completion of the divorce extravaganza in Boston recently, I came home feeling like kicking everythings ass. Tied up some work stuff, cleared the decks, made some lists. Eff everything. All felt very productive. The largest of those decisions came from the following self-examination... why wasn't I unpacked (it's been since March)?, why is there still no couch?

I've been procrastinating. Never something that would be listed under my normal traits before this year. And I don't mind saying I was pissed when I realized it. Really pissed. So I'm leaving the apartment. There's the core of the missing couch, the lack of curtains, the absence of dinner parties.

This apartment has always felt temporary to me. I miss parts of my old life still. Granite countertops, matching fucking bathroom tiles, and straight walls. This apartment feels like college, and it feels like I failed somehow and returned to NYC with my tail between my legs. Eff that.

So now the boxes that were sort of unpacked are being repacked. I ignore the screaming children in the schoolyard below and no longer want to plow grenades into the yard while brushing my teeth.

The search begins, planning ensues. There are lists.

hmm, questionable at best.

Beer and Cheerios for dinner. Always a bad sign. Landry, where are your saucy weekend stories? Also, I think Rothman got wind of me stealing his shitty connection. I need to either get smarter, or get someone to come fix my router in exchange for a gorgeous dinner and my undying affection.

Takers?

people. for fucks sake. part II.

poor weapon choice...

Surely one of her four other children weighed more.

guccisexual

John: Je suis SO TIRED
i want to go home and have a nice cozy fall nap under a cashmere throw on the sofa
with some nice socks
with a chai
and tom ford spooning me

me: hahaha
tom ford spooning you!

John: wouldn't that just be heaven?

me: you might be the biggest homo ever

John: please. i ain't talking about babs or wearing snakeskin or feathers
there are far more homo-ish homos out there
i'm just a butch queen with a flair for good fashion and a sensitive side

me: and a fantasy life that includes tom ford.

hmmm, damaged vs. wounded

Had dinner with the Landry and J. My foundation. Damaged, vs. wounded... still a toss up. One implies permanance. The other implies the possibility of returning to normal with just a scar or two. Scars are cool and all... but I wonder if it's wishful thinking to assume I will come out with just that - or less. I think its deeper. The girls disagree.

Main Entry: damage
Function: transitive verb
Inflected Form(s): dam·aged; dam·ag·ing
to cause damage to (don't damage the furniture) (returning soldiers damaged by war)
synonym see INJURE
- dam·age·abil·i·ty /"da-mi-j&-'bi-l&-tE/ noun
- dam·ag·er noun

Main Entry: wound
Function: verb
transitive verb: to cause a wound to or in
intransitive verb: to inflict a wound

still waters run deep...er something

i've been unusually quiet, i know.
my favorite harasser reminded me that its been a long time.
here and the other one
i am doing some processing of my own.
and fighting off the mosquitos (im sure i have west nile).
when i figure out which end is up i will advise.
thank you for your continued patience.

stingrays, urchins, and summer rolls

Edits out of a 2 hour ongoing TM with Landry as I waited for dinner (really notsogood takeout) and she watched TV (The search for Noah's Ark on The History Channel) from opposite sides of the river...

AIM IM: 7:25 PM
Gormley: i forget, does two beers count as dinner?

Landry: hahahahahahahahahah

G: i cant remember where they are in the food pyramid

L: WELL OF COURSE its noahs ark - its under the water - sunk - it MUST be - people are so stupid and gullible - and should die

G: i bet the crocodile hunters ghost is hanging out on it - cursing god - AND stingrays

L: hahahahahahahhahah - yes - and his own idiocy

G: and his wifes HS bangs

L: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH - we NEED pop up video - please. his kids have better style - Flav is on in 45 min

G: thats because they are 2 yrs old and rich - with khakis

L: hahahahahahahahahahaha - they will die of stingray bites too

G: I miss Flav - but I feel smarter - HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA - they will die of Jacques Cousteau bites - did you hear him talking trash?

L: no - is he still alive? - i thought he was dead

G: all about how Steve was too aggressive - and that a true naturalist observes nature - and then Jacques said

L: and doesn't try to feed his kids to it

G: "thats why I'm still alive."

L: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA - could have fooled me - i had no idea - that he WAS still alive

G: okay please explain - WHO PUTS ROASTED RED PEPPERS IN A FUCKING THAI SUMMER ROLL?

L: HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

G: i hate everyone

L: they are still convinced that they have the ark

G: these summer rolls are fucking lettuce and roasted peppers - i could have made them out of the shit in the bottom of my fridge... the WILTED shit

L: if it carried every animal in the world - you would THINK that you wouldnt have to look so hard for it

G: HAHAHAHAHAHA

L: sorry baby - get rid of that menu - this show is killing me - the ark should be the size of spain - and it shouldnt be so hard to find - except - THAT IT DOESNT FUCKING EXIST - oh now they are talking about how big the boat would have to be

G: shhhh, god will hear you

L: HAHAHAHA - they will die of stingray bites too

G: christ - i dont even know what the yellow things in these rolls are - really - HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAH - god is just laughing waiting for Flav to come on

L: i NEED ICE CREAM - god damn it

G: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA - yell out the window - one of the urchins will get it - and you can give them a shilling

L: HAHAHAHAHAHA - omg

G: the ark? they found it?

L: no the urchins - all the funnier because i thought - hmm thats a good idea

G: HAHAHAHHAHA

L: i would hope that if they actually found the ark? - they would tell me so i could quick 'find god'

G: HAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA

L: listen. if they find an ark that was big enough to hold 7 million animals? i will start preying - i mean... praying

I refuse to let go.

The divorce cactus is trying to die again. Only this time it rots from the base up instead of sideways. Like he's really trying. Landry suggested the other night (over our classy dinner of Hamburger Helper and Presidente - note that the only reason we didn't have guacamole as an appetizer was because the avocados were questionable at best...) that perhaps it was only supposed to get me through the divorce. I have my doubts.

He sits - a little yellow - while I begin to make lists again. Planning, moving, upward, forward. Perhaps the familiarity of my lists and cardboard boxes will set him right. And back to green and spiteful.