Spooky

Wish list recap:

1. Hold Samantha in my arms. For reals, not while asleep.
I woke up on the morning of the 30th, hungover and dissalusioned. I bought a plane ticket. I leave tomarrow. I will be holding Samantha in my arms by 6pm on Tuesday the first.
2. Anderson will never come back from Hawaii to make fun of my relationship with my wife.
Well, I definitely get at least another week away from him, as I'll be in Seattle, and I doubt he'll ever try me again on that front. He's way to scared.
3. That saturday will herald a new era of wellbeing for all, but especially me. Like in SK's 2010.
I will be well very soon, as I am very, very sick. So, when I get better, it will technically be a new era of wellbeing. Specifically for me.
4. Cake.
Found a box in a cab yesterday containing exactly three slices of cake. It also happened to be the cab drivers birthday. We ate the cake (YES!).

Happy Halloween.
--M
(p.s.--should anyone like to know, although I got every item on my wish list, my b-day was terrible. Oh well. Next year I'll ask for better things, like for my friends to love me instead.)

Aaawwwww! I need a site tracker!

So, I just now realized that the venerable Kristin Nienhuis has me blogrolled. Omigod! I should have blogrolled her on my own volition, as her blog is unrivaled, but alas, I seem only to be able to perform such simple tasks when prodded (I'm lame).

And so...

(drumroll please...DON'T FUCK AROUND WITH ME THIS TIME! JUST PLAY THE GODDAMN DRUM!)

I bring to you Accomplice to the Blog, Kristin's personal site.

I will also note that I did not make out with Kristen in front of her friends house one time.

Also, my birthday is tomorrow. Here is my wishlist, as commented on RCU's blog.

Wish list:
1. Hold Samantha in my arms. For reals, not while asleep.
2. Anderson will never come back from Hawaii to make fun of my relationship with my wife.
3. That saturday wil herald a new era of wellbeing for all, but especially me. Like in SK's 2010.
4. Cake.
--M

I am both a jelly doughnut and very, very pissed off. [worth the read--will make your day, promise]

I am so pissed off.

The reasons are two fold.

1) Talked to Anderson Yesterday. He was all like "how've you been?" and I was like "Not good. Kinda rough--my best friend has a cyst and she's scared and I'm scared and all I want in the world is to be with her and I don't know if I can" to which he replies "Oh. Well remember that conference I was going to? Well, it went REALLY well and I did REALLY good and I'm so goddamned happy..." etc. What the hell? No, wait. WHAT THE HELL? Not even as much as an "I'm sorry" or even an "oh that sucks". Nothing. What a fucking asshole. I hung up on him. NOBODY IGNORES MY FUCKING WIFE. NOBODY.

2) Ordered some take out from an Italian place down the street from my house yesterday too. When it finally came 10 min. late, the driver was at the wrong apartment. He called, I offered to meet him outside. He was nowhere. I call him, and he starts screaming at me asking me where I am. What the hell? Where do you think I am? I'm waiting for my goddamned take out. The short version is, he finally showed up, called me rude, to which I retorted that he was retarded if he believed that. Then he got mad that I called him an idiot. I was all like "I didn't call you an idiot, I called you retarded." Whatever. I paid him, and shut the door.
I got my food inside, and again...WHAT THE HELL? Everything was wet. I mean SOAKING WET. By this I mean that I could pick up a piece of garlic bread and something is dripping off of it. So, I call the place. After three tries, someone finally answers. So I'm like "Dude, I can't eat this, what is all over this food?" and the guy starts screaming something in Arabic or something. Whatever. They wont fix my order or give me a refund but instead told me that "I'm being too picky" and "Why don't you just cook for yourself?" WHAT THE HELL?

The only option I had left was to get my revenge.
Anderson...whatever. He's already suffering. I don't need to do anything on that front. But Ramiro's Pizza...

Now I ask all of you: Who doesn't want an 800sf studio in the Castro for $695? Jesus! That's a steal! I mean, if you saw that on Craigs list and lived in SF, you're fucking head would explode. You would see this posting and be all like "Omigod!! That sounds amazing! 800sf? Hardwood floors? 1914 Edwardian? OMIGOD!! $695? Even I can afford that! Oh cool, there's some contact info...okay...got it...contact Ramiro @ 415.885.3334 or 415.756.4118. I'm gonna call right now!!! Oh wait, what's this: WHAT THE HELL!! NO BLACKS OR GAYS PLEASE? WHAT THE HELL!! I'M GONNA CALL THIS GUY RIGHT NOW AND CALL HIM A FUCKING ASSHOLE!"

Ramiro's Pizza can officially lick my fucking balls. Half the fucking city is going to be calling them outraged in the next 7 days.

Cheers.
--M
[p.s.--please don't ever piss me off. Tee-hee. Also, feel free to use your free nights and weekends to call these guys and tell them you hate them. Go ahead, it's fun. Order three pizzas to a fake address, just whatever you do, don't ever, EVER eat there.]

Sad Voltron!!

Thao, you better love me for this. This might be the end of my comic strip career.
--M

Window Washing

I wonder how the world seems
through your vision,
once sans those rose colored glasses
I lent you without thought
to their return.
This now, with all of these
harsh lined edges fragments remaining
my will has not willed you
a world in which you can
freely move,
my absence not proved to
change much
but my window
feels so small.
Your voice sometimes sounds foreign,
your cheek and brow
in my mind seem flat and plain,
my memory not serving to
place the perfect curves
of your jaw or which arm
bears my marks, or which way
we should go now.

[I love you beyond compare. I'ts been hard for me lately to try and explain this to people--almost like you're not real. Remember when RCU was merely this seemingly fictitious person that only Jen had met? Kind of like that; like I say the word 'love', and people assume I mean it merely as they would. I miss you. --M]

Sad Wordsmith [for Thao]

LIsts, Goals, Stuff, Touch, Feel, Lose.

Awwww.....FUCK!! I am FUCKED!

1. Finally broke up with Anderson last night citing irreconcilable differences (read: he's always high, and I don't like it). That conversation was fucked. He was all like: "we should talk about this" and I was like "no".

2. I now completely remember the constant phone tag which is dating Quinn. Sometimes I swear he's gay, or much cooler than he lets on. Don't get me wrong--he's cool--but in this dorky "I'm a well read filmaker" sort of way. I mean, it's not like everyone is aware of how large his penis is, so who is monopolizing all of his time? Whoever it is, I am way better in bed than her (him?).

3. Just found out my friend Johannna's boyfriend is a freeloader and a heroin addict. Oh, okay. Yeah--check and check.

4. My Halloween costume is in a million pieces in a plastic bag at Sarah's house due to a broken sewing machine. Damnit. I only have a week until my birthday.

5. Oh, did I mention that Anderson fucking hates me? Yeah, I feel really awesome right now.

6. Oh, did I mention that I haven't gotten laid since Monday? Oh, yeah, that too. That's why it was really awesome that a friend of mine called me while getting a blowjob. Damn, It's that kind of thing that can make a girl re-lapse on her little brother's roomate a block away. That's all purely hypothetical, by the way.

[more later]
--M

The Amazing Actual Break-up

"Hey. What's goin' on?"

"Um..just wondering if you're still in the mission? I'll come meet you on my way home."

"Yeah, I'm still here with Violet."

"Cool. I'll meet you. You're on 19th and Valencia?"

"Yeah...uh...I don't think that's such a great idea."

"Um...okay, fair enough. Why?"

"Well, Cliff, I mean...well, you're high."

"Yes. That's true."

"No, I mean--you're always high. Always."

"That's not fair."

"Maybe not, but I still don't want to be around it, and I don't want it around me and my girlfriends. I mean, come on Cliff, they don't really like you--you never really talk to them; you can't carry on a conversation with them. You're not fun."

"What? I think I get along with them really well. I mean, I get along with Violet and Sarah, and Mindy seems cool, and..."

"Yeah, that's not going as well as you think it is."

"Okay, well, fair enough."

"I'm worried about you Clifford. I'm not looking to change you when you're not interested in changing. I don't want to try and change you but..."

"And I wouldn't let you."

"Fine. Whatever. I'm just saying that you're drug use is clearly a problem for you."

"But it's not, it's not a problem."

"Well, you just lost your girlfriend over it."

"What? I think we should talk about this."

"No, I don't think that's neccesary."

[I've always had a talent for hanging up on people.]
--M

Family Dinner

Family dinner is tonight.

Sarah, Violet, Mindie, and I (plus other associates) will eat and drink and work on Halloween costumes. Yay. I've been looking forward to this all week.

Today is the day for many things. Lets see now:

1. I have got to get in touch with Anderson. This is getting rediculous. He wont call me, and I don't have the guts to call myself. It's terrible.
2. I have to call Quinn. I've had a few giggly days where I don't have to think about where things will go from now, but I can't do this forever. I have to make things actually happen from now. Damnit. That's always the part I'm not good at.
3. I have to spend some serious girl time with...who else? THE GIRLS. Now I know Thanksgiving is still a ways away, but I thank god for them every day.

If you're in the SF area, COME TO FAMILY DINNER. PBR's will pour from the heavens.
--M

The Amazing Metaphorical Break-Up

"Hey, glad you could be here. Do you want anything to drink? Coffee? Beer?"

"No, I'm fine. My stomach hurts. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, for the most part. You? I mean--your stomach..."

"Yeah, I'm cool. You look beautiful."

"Uh...thanks. Yeah."

"Yeah, my co-workers are all still talking about how hot you looked at my birthday party. They're all like, 'nice work Anderson!'"

"Yeah, uh...tell Eric hi for me. Anyway, I mean...you did get my message, right?"

"Yeah. No, I mean, it's fine. I love you. We can work this out. Miranda, look at me--it's me. How much time do you need? Wait, what are you doing?"

"What are you doing? Do you understand at all?"

"Understand what?"

"Clifford, listen. Me--and my girlfriends. My girlfriends and I...we're like..."

"..."

"I'm sorry."

"What do they have to do with me? You're making excuses."

"No!! I'm not--this is serious. Listen, were like...puzzle pieces. They and I; they're important to me. Very important to me, and when one of us is seeing someone it's important that they fit. With all of us. You know?"

"So you're saying I've been dating not only you, but your girlfriends? That's fucking stupid. I can't beleive I'm hearing this. Miranda, I expected..."

"What, you expected some kind of perfect fucking girlfriend? Well, in case you didn't realize before: I'M NOT FUCKING PERFECT. I never pretended to be--in fact I flat out warned you. I FLAT OUT WARNED YOU! I didn't know what I was doing, and I told you that! And how did you respond? By telling me you loved me! LOVED ME. And now? What--you just want take-backs on love? THERE ARE NO TAKE-BACKS ON LOVE! I don't not love you, but I can't be like this with you--all of this kissy kissy PDA sensitive bullshit social what have you crap. It's not for me. Not my steez."

"Fine. Whatever. I can do that. Come on, MIranda..."

"...and I can't sleep with you anymore. Ever. Ever."

"Wait, then you're just breaking up with me? Just like that?"

"Clifford, you and I are fantastic. Were like strands...of a rope. You know? We can be so strong together, but our ends are beginning to fray. The knot is coming untied. Can't you feel it? You can't be happy like this. Look at us. I mean, I'm not happy, anyway. I want my puzzle piece--you know? I want what's right, what's fair."

"Oh really. And what makes you think this perfect guy wants you? You're some slutty headcase with an apparently very short attention span. Wake up Miranda--nobody wants that. You can't just do whatever you want--running through your life walking all over people, using people at your own will. Nobody who would 'fit' into your psycho-girl puzzle would want you. It'll never happen. You just lost a beautiful thing in me. I never hurt you, I never judged you..."

"Fuck you."

"...I never--what? Did you just say 'Fuck you'?"

"FUCK YOU!! That not fucking true! I've already..."

"..."

"...I mean, I just..."

"Oh fuck. There's somebody else. And when did this happen? Some guy you picked up at some bar? You don't even know him, do you? And what makes you think he feels the same way? You're such a silly fucking girl. You're acting ridiculous. Why don't you just take some time and then call me..."

"That's not true; it's different this time! Fuck you! FUCK YOU! I know--I know. I'm sure 'cause..."

"Oh really? How do you fucking know Miranda?"

"BECAUSE HE TOLD ME LAST NIGHT. LAST NIGHT CLIFFORD, IN HIS BED. IN HIS BED."

"..."

"No, you're wrong. We're getting back together, and it's going to be better. Much better."

"Huh. You're stupider than I thought if you believe that. He doesn't love you."

"No Anderson. He doesn't. He hasn't had the opportunity to find out if he could or not. I don't need Quinn to love me."

"Did you just call me Anderson?"

--M

Happy Nuptuals

Yesterday was Casey and Georgina's wedding day. Yay. I always get emotional at weddings, but especially when there's whiskey involved, and especially when said whiskey is drank at two in the afternoon. By four, I was half-crying-half-breaking-up with-Cliff-via-voicemail. By five, I was eating Vietnamese food. By eight we were pounding Spaten at the High Tide. By Ten, I was calling Quinn from the cab on the way back to Sesame Street. By eleven, I was drinking a Guinness in Quinn's bed drunkenly trying to explain to him that I missed him, that this time would be different, that I didn't care how much he works--that I can work around it. By one, I had no idea why I ever stopped seeing him. Yes I know, I'm the worst person--but I'm happy. Really truly in all my giggling girly-girl glory post coital glow happy (in case it's not clear, I'm really happy).
My girlfriends are extatic. They fucking love Quinn. I had much time to discuss it with them over eggs and bagels.
More later today.
--M

Gifts, Presents, etc.

As the leaves begin to fall, we are reminded that it is officially time for:
(drumroll, please. PLEASE. PLEASE!! GODDAMNIT!!! Ah fuck, dude, just forget it.)

EVERYONES BIRTHDAY!!
I will now distribute your gifts.

David Hodson (Oct 13)
I love you more than you know, I think. Know that I wanted to call, but was to drunk to operate a cell phone. I'm going to a house party tonight at the famed Page and Webster house, and I will not only toast to you, but will also consider it your west-coast birthday party. Oh, I will also drink alchohol and beers.
On a side note, I have been wrapped up in a "relationship" of sorts lately. Okay, for a month. Dating a poet is, I think, not my steez--my writing is suffering and I feel like I'm always competing with him in the wordsmith circuit. There is also a filmaker that has resurfaced. I was thinking that sometimes whispers need to remain whispers. This poets unfortunately did not, which is why this is even more trying; it's like: okay. So now I know this thing about you and your character, and how you feel about me, and what do I plan on doing with this information? LEAVE YOU. Yeah, that's right--everyone look at me. I'm such a bitch.
The point of this is, I think I finally know what this means. Maybe.
Only by a handful of people has the I.L.Y. been said to me in bed and this one, I think, has been the most jarring. I think the one you gave me (however platonically) was the best. Playing couple was meant for us, not for me and some poet who has naievely thought it was real.
Oh right!! Your gift:

For one week, I will be your girlfriend, and we can pine over each other and the tragedy of our distance via cell phones and e-mails. It'll be awesome. I can casually slip into conversation things like "Oh, yeah. My boyfriend in Manhattan would like that" and "..sorry, my boyfriend's on the other line, I gotta go." Then you can go into a bar by yourself and walk up to some beautiful woman and be like all "Yeah, it's really hard. My girlfriend lives in San Francisco, and, you know, it's just so far, and sometimes I just feel like we just need a clean break, you know? God, I don't know, I just need someone to hold me." Then said beautiful woman will hold you. Works every time. Happy birthday.

Thao Nguyen (Oct 14)
Oh my dear Thao. You have given us all so much in the form of witty humor and rediculous links, what does little old me have to offer you? Well, e-mail me your address, and you shall soon find out. Well, as soon as a small package can be sent from California to Melbourne. Tee-Hee. Happy birthday, kiddo.

and finally...
Clifford Wayne Anderson (Oct 15)
You are a beautiful poet. Happy birthday, I'm breaking up with you.

[suddenly realizing I am worse than Satan, Hitler, and Bush combined. the only defense I have planned is: "I warned you", which I did. but what choice do i have if i'm unhappy, right? well if you don't, my boyfriend in manhattan agrees. note to readers: this is not actually a break up by blog.]
--M

Takes All Kinds

Okay, so I was just watching a Jack in the Box commercial in which Jack is yelling at some french fries (???). Anyway, when a maid overhears this, she whispers to her coworker:

"I think Mr. Box needs a vacation."

Hunts, I'm looking at you.
--M

Good Point

Davey Brought this to my attention:

"What's up with your phone, grrl? It's like, every time I want to holla atcha, I ain't getting through. Like, yo, sure your blog is pimped out with espresso machines and rims and all that, but if I can't holla atcha 2-way, what's the point, yo?"

Yeah, no shit. Somebody tell Cingular that. On the upside, if you call like, 5-7 times, you will eventually get through. The downside is, that sucks.
--M

"I think because I said I like whiskey..."

Got the Memo

1. Delve into your blog archive.
2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to).
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.

"I hoped for a finality and some sort of stability out of this move, although with all of thier shiny eyes and thier arms around me with thier names on the tip of my tounge and in the deepest recesses of me I feared that this, like all the others, would but leave me wishing to be with them, just to be with them one more time."
--M

Sweetness

About six weeks or so ago, I was in the kitchen of 525 crying on the phone with Huntsman. Various topics were discussed, all pointing toward my general feeling of lameness. It was then that I dropped the bomb.

"Last October, I wrote a piece about you and never told you."

Oops. In the words of Jack Black: "No more secret songs!!!"
Sorry to those not familiar with New Years CD--this piece doesn't make much sense without the chronology of other associate stories/essays. The tone as well may seem wierd, but know that it is intended to be sentimental (the point of NYCD is to make people with vaginas cry. Sorry Sam, I had to say it). It is here that I must desperately apologize for using the phrase "fervent merger". My girlfriends fucking love it though.
I promised I'd let him read it, and have finally gotten around to it.
From NYCD 2005, I bring you:
Sweetness
(read them clockwise, from bottom left. --M)

Pimp My Blog

Yo, Son!! This blog is tricked out as fuck! We got a hot-ass turquoise background set on 39" diamond and moon-rock encrusted spinners like BAM!!! Yo, yo--this shit is hotter than a four year old boy on the Neverland Ranch!! We pimped this shit with 17 screens! Snoop don't even got 17 screens! This bitch got an espresso machine and a fish tank! Ba-BAM!! CSS can kiss my smooth black ass! This shit has 35 grillion watt speakers and an amp that could warp space time! Dizzam! This subwoofer could stop yo' muthafuckin' heart! BAM! This blog got more BLING than ANTWERP! Yeah dog, I said ANTWERP! Y'all ever been there? Shit yeah they got hella bling! Why would I lie homie? YEAH! I FUCKIN' SAW IT! What nigga? That's it, I'm gonna FUCK YOU UP. Call me a liar, niggaz gonna get killed. Throw your mutha fuckin' guns in the air, 'cause I put gangsta rap on the map.
--M