11.10.2006

A look back.

It is November, and it is about this time every year when I start reviewing the last ten months.

My blog archives are a tremendous resource for this, and I thought I might remind all of you of some great shit that happened in 2006.

1. From 5.1.06 Cake,

--Basically, I think most of that crap is bullshit—the spirit and the scrooginess, all of the good will and commercialism, the religious hoo-ha, gift cards, and all of that woe-is-me-pity-party holiday suicide crap and I guess that’s why I don’t really celebrate Christmas anymore. I do admit though, that I miss the smell of pine in the living room, miss the idea that people are forced to spend time with me and smile.
Even in my non-celebratory state, I usually receive a few gifts around Christmas. These are usually the result of some secret Santa co-worker or a close friend that couldn’t resist some ridiculous gag gift that will customarily make us laugh; these gifts always remind me of a store bought cupcake adorned with one skinny pastel candle you might give an aquaintance on their birthday—something you might get and have rather received nothing at all than to admit that all these years, all of this holy stoic silent reverence comes down to one crooked candle, some amount of buttercream frosting; some haphazardly purchased gift wrapped in last weeks discarded funny papers bearing a name, maybe your name. My name.


2. From 2.21.06 Young, Dumb and Full of Cum

Right. So who do you consider your inspiration?
Didn’t we go over this? All the dudes I bang.

I meant more like your contemporaries. Other writers.
Yeah, some of them were writers.


3. From 3.26.06 Let them eat...um...me.

But I’m not really a heartbreaker. It wasn’t like that, it’s just that Jonathan was cake. He was that kind so rich and forbidden, the kind you can’t help but order after an expensive meal at a restaurant you wore high heels to. He is that kind that is deceivingly bitter-sweet and doused in liqueur and served with some crimson fruity compote dressed across the top. He is the kind so thick with imported chocolate, so perfect on your tongue; the kind that isn’t completely savored until you’ve lit a cigarette when it’s over. What I mean is that he was worth it. He is still worth it. Everything’s cool, you know? Friendly; but not casual. We are intensely close friends. Even now. Even before that. Maybe forever. I had to have it.

[update on my goddamn $5--Ron agrees with me that there is no pass without expressed intent of deal sealing, although, this one may very well go to Counts who is quick to point out that a pass is defined in the eyes of the pass-er, not the pass-ee. So, in the end, Mathisen will have to decide. According to the rules, that is.]


4. From 4.2.06 Wine and Beer.

Some notes on today:

1. Major wine consumption=I don't remember who it was that called me @ 6:42 this morning.
2. My call log tells me that I promptly returned your call this morning @ 6:43.
3. Where is area code 312?
4. Cake. Delicious rich chocolate espresso cake @ Rye last night. Dope.
5. Pant is the #1 coolest person ever.
6. The Mission looks so much different in the rain.
7. Sleepovers kick ass.
8. My wife will be here in three days.
9. I'm beginning to wonder whether it's good or bad top have my entire life carefully categorized, recorded, and written down.
10. No day but today.


5. From 5.21.06 Revenge is a beer best served cold.

Oh, kittens. Do I have a story for you.
Yesterday I worked a twelve hour day and then cruised up to North Beach with Erica for drinks with Mathisen. Then I got an hour and a half of sleep before my ten hour day today because NICHOLAS MATHISEN WAS FUCKING ME SIX WAYS FROM SUNDAY UNTIL SOMETIME EARLY THIS MORNING. No, I mean really. I mean I only got to stop at home this morning for about two and a half minutes before meeting Erica to walk to work and even now I can literally still smell him on me. I had the longest day, and it was soooo worth it. I am gonna rock the hardest cleanly when I finally go home.
The point? Well, there are many. Time for a list, kiddos.


6. From 6.2.06 An Open Letter to the Number Three, Which Is a Magic Number

Now? Are we "better than all of that"? Well, let me ask you this--do you have a pair of my panties? Yeah, so probably not. Watch--just watch. I will be forced by propriety to clip my tongue around you, to censor what I do and say as to assure we're not going down the same path again, and eventually I will be forced to forget the last few months of drinking Makers Mark and giggling and traipsing over to your apartment in my PJ's just to hang out with you for a while before I went to sleep. Why? Because as much as promises can be made, as much as deals are done and as many times as I can ask you if "we're okay now", it will come down to the proverbial "you have a pair of my panties."


7. From 7.18.06 Cherry Poppin' Mamas

"And lo, Lower Haight proved not enough action for young Miranda, and so at Erica's request she traipsed down yonder to Rye and was lucky to behold young Australian Lads. But fear not my friends! You had better freakin' believe that this young lass did not leave the bar without hot Australian in tow, oh no. And so, in time, it was revealed that said young man had in fact never previously partaken in such pleasures of the flesh, and was not, in fact even 21 years old."


8. From 8.3.06 Top Eight

1. Chainsmoking and drinking Guinness and writing in the middle of the night.
2. Taking a nap under an open window.
3. Skinny dipping.
4. Getting off an airplane.
5. Wearing PJ's with my girlfriends.
6. Drinking a draft Oly sitting on my stool @ the Duck.
7. Walking through Chinatown in the very early morning.
8. Finishing an essay.


9. From 9.17.06 A response, in repose.

I hate it. I hate it because there are those times when it becomes like combat--right there, in the moment, when you are quite sure there is a story happening. You can feel it because you can remember this one time in Olympia when the sheets are off the bed and we are so desperatly trying to make a life. You can feel it because you've said goodbye so many times before, but this one will be on your terms because you will be the one not calling: because you are the one who crept down the hall and out the front door while he and his roomates slept. And all of those times when you are on the kitchen linoleum crying about some boy or some bitch or some twins or some story that didn't go as you had planned, most of all of those tears are for what that story could have been. How it could have sounded. How that Cake could have tasted. How many quarters I could have had.


10. From 10.29.06, other wise known as My Birthday,



--M

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