6.29.2008

I'm Slipping Under



We'll talk more when I get back.
Lakricia's staying home this time.
--M

p.s.--Lakricia is my laptop.

6.28.2008

Post Sacramento Text-Messaging

Nick: Hey.

M: Hey.

N: Wanna have drinks and breakfast?

M: Wanna do my dishes?

N: No, but I'll bend you over your kitchen sink.

M: We can't fuck standing up, you're shorter than me.

N: So I'll take you on the couch and leaning out the window and on the floor.

M: That's probably a really bad idea especially considering I fly to Seattle on Sunday and my head is a mess and I'm transcribing this conversation onto my blog right now.

N: Ha, excellent. See you when you get back.

--M

p.s.--I went to Marysville, CA today and found the best bar ever. As soon as Erica and I walked in, some guy bought us a pitcher of Budweiser. When I bought the next one, it was, get this: $3.75. $3.75. xo--M

6.26.2008

Bacon and T-Shirts: Mmm.

Subject: T-shirt you must have...
From:
"L" L@gmail.com (Add as Preferred Sender)
Date: Thu, Jun 26, 2008 12:28 pm
To: "Miranda Moure" m@mmoure.com
You must get this T-shirt.











Sorry I didn't spend more time with you on Saturday. Scottie's girlfriend is gone for the summer and he just moved here from Berkeley. I think he was really lonely so I stayed.

Do you think you'll have any time in Seattle to stop at Archie McPhee's while you are in Seattle? I need 2 of these:





I hate that you won't be here for Pink Sat....

Lisa


L--
Finn MacCools? Dude, Jeremaiah used to work there. That's so funny.
Yes, I'm definitely putting Archie McPhee's on my list. I could use some new plastic crap, anyway.
That's not a joke, btw--I seriously love plastic crap. Almost as much as t-shirts and legwarmers, albeit not near as much as Cake.
I will be here for Pink Saturday though--but I have to pack that night and I open the next day so I can't really do anything. Not that I need another scar the size of a quarter adorning one of my knees, but I feel you. I'll never forget last year, haha.
--M

RE: Our Conversation

to: "Miranda Moure" [M@MMoure.com]
26.06.08 2:15:35
from: "Alan Stevenson" [AStevenson@sbcglobal.net]

Miranda,
Yes, yes. 7/2 rings beautifully with me.

But you know, between you and me, I think you'll always need your conscience. I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss me especially considering everything going on.

Not that you're seeking my advice, in fact you have expressed that you're not, but I can't help but warn you against losing that little spark in you that is so very ready to let things unfold as they may. I mean, it sounds like you might already be there--but I worry that you may be missing good things that may be planted right under your nose.

See you soon.
Best,
Alan

6.20.2008

The First Day of Summer: The M in KLM

Here is an e-mail chat I had with Lisa in the last couple days. I was going to save all of my new stories I have saved up for Lisa until Saturday, but I've reconsidered and decided that I need to spend my time tomorrow getting advice rather than relating all of this stuff. You'll find stuff I've added in brackets. Italiced lines are from the original e-mails.

For those of you who are not Lisa, you'll probably enjoy this too. Oh, and don't worry young readers. She'll see this. If not tonight, then tomorrow at work.

M + K--
It's high time KLM* reunite for hijinx! What are your plans this Sat. or Fri.?
--The L in KLM

L + K in KLM--
Ohhhh....Yes.
Hijinks.
Saturday.
I have so many stories like:

1. My trip to Seattle on the 29th which will entail:

a. Lunch with the best ex I never had, the illustrious Mark "Competant" Huntsman
[who just finished his novel. Or, as even I might say when I finish mine, it is "...finished...you know. For now. I'm a little close to it for the time being, so I'll sit on it for a bit 'till graduation, then dive back in." That is paraphrased, by the way. It's weird, you know? I always remember conversations I've had with people virtually word for word, but it never works with Mark. I have no idea why. We're meeting up right after I file my petition and right before I go back to the courthouse for my hearing. I'm so excited. This is totally what I need--to hear exactly why I'm unfit to date from someone who wouldn't and technically has never dated me, but has seen me quite naked and in various states of repose.].

b. The court hearing I have later on that day [to change my birth certificate. That's right, young Miranda Moure is finally taking the $120 plunge and leaving her other two last names on the shore. We will all rejoice in wishing farewell to both Ms. Myricks and Ms. Counts. Can you believe it? I'm only going to have one last name. One. Last. Name.].

c. The tattoo appointment I have even later on that day [to commemorate the occasion. I'm getting two M's tattooed on my right middle finger. I just paid a deposit today @ Slave so I can't back out now, haha. Why my right middle finger? The truth? Because I saw Ashlee Simpson flipping someone off in a magazine with a middle finger tattoo and I decided I had to have one. Why the M's? Well, I've been reconnecting with the part of me that is capable of loving very fucking hard and I've realized again my huge capacity for love. There are relatively very few people in this world I can't stand, but it is for them that I have to have it. One would have to do something pretty fucking terrible for me to stop loving them and from now on, I want them never to forget who they did it to--the girl who loved them more than most people are capable of loving. To them I offer a hearty "fuck you", and from the 30th on it will be made that much heartier with my initials on one of my pussy fingers, primed and ready to flip some ungrateful moron the bird.]

2. The 20 y/o I dragged from Thieves to Amber to my apartment and then screamed at him [with no pants on. Jesus christ, I'm so retarded. I really need to get this whole prude thing under control--I mean, I'm never going to get laid ever again if I keep screaming at every 20 y/o I bring over to my house. Speaking of boning 20 y/o's, we should call Phil.]

Other than that, I'm pretty boring, but it'll still be fun.
Amber? Napper? Thieves? Wait--no. No Thieves. Jesus, I can't even hang out in my neighborhood anymore.
--M in KLM

M in KLM--
Yay! What time? Depending on when you are available, we could eat dinner.
--L in KLM


Hmm. Well, I gotta get off work, come home, do a load of laundry, take a disco nap (because it's midnight now, and I have to work in 8 hours--I'll be exhausted tomorrow at 5) and groom myself properly. Maybe 10? Maybe in the Mission?

Maybe Phonebooth? Zeitgeist? Home? Thieves Tavern? No wait--no Thieves Tavern. I already ran into Drew once this week. Damn, I can't go anywhere. Fuck, this is really not my month, is it? With my luck, I'll run into Bike Josh at Zeitgeist. You know what? Let's just go to the Napper. Nice, safe, good ol' Napper Tandy.

Sweet.
--M

[*K=Keenan. L=Lisa. M=Who else? Me, of course. You know what? Make it two. Two M's never hurt anyone, unless you were getting flipped off. Haha. -MM]

6.19.2008

Call to arms.

to: "Alan Stevenson" [AStevenson@sbcglobal.net]
19.06.08 20:43:17
from: "Miranda Moure" [M@MMoure.com]

RE: Our Conversation

A-
Yeah, I've thought a lot about it too. Thanks, by the way, for kicking me in the ass a little bit because yes, it is everyday that I wonder whether this story is one that ends in me realizing what I've worked so hard for or walking [realatively] happily away from what I've built to start anew. Yes, I think the latter makes for a more litterarily promising conclusion, but the former has it's plusses too. Either way, you're right. Stories shouldn't be combat.

Look, I really appreciate you wanting to chat again, especially so soon, but I think we should hold off, just 'til I return. If you're up for it, Meet me around 11:30 the night I get back. The 2nd is a Wednesday. You don't have to be in the office too early that Thursday, do you?

C'mon, I'll make it worth your while.

You know, I remember saying that before. To Nicholas actually, and much like I think it was then you'll probably misinterpret that if I don't explain. I just mean that you'll get a couple beers and a good interview out of it, dig?

I just don't think I can handle my conscience right now. Until I get back from this first trip, I need to be focused on what I want rather than what's good for me.

Here's to 7/2. See you then.
--M

6.15.2008

"I'm just looking for answers."

Okay, let's just do this.

1F--Other Nick the Writer via text message.
One relapse and he wont get off my jock in this respect. I don't even remember when this exact text message came because there are at least five or six in my inbox exactly like it. He has also taken to calling me at all hours of the day and, unfortunately, night.

2E--Lisa K. via email.
Lisa K., being the Lisa you know and love if you are an avid reader of ye olde blog, has, like me, been pondering how one can be deemed in the wrong solely by singing someones praises. I countered that at least she didn't have to buy a plane ticket because of it.

3A--Crystal via MySpace.
She sent this shortly after a phone conversation in which I was like: "Oh, you know I'm staying with you guys, right?"
Crystal just laughed out loud. "Yeah, dog! I wasn't gonna let you stay at Woody's again. Maybe we can make turkey legs."

4B--Lisa P via email.
This is another Lisa. This Lisa is Erica's husband's friend's girlfriend. She's a mystery writer and an honest to god hopeless romantic. True story. This is no joke--you should hear the story about how her and her boyfriend met each other. It's the stuff of legends.

5G--Erica via phone.
Oh yeah, so Nico broke up with his girlfriend and is moving here on July 8th. Now, I'm going to try and say this fast so you don't quite realize what's going on here and all of the synectics involved, okay? Okay. He's moving in with me for a month. To my credit though, I'll be gone half the time in some other state. That is not a metaphore.

6C--Woody via phone.
I think he knew the answer to this one before he asked it. Also in a strange twist of events, he told me when I was coming. Wait, let me elaborate--He illuded that he knew I was coming very soon. I asked him when I was coming, as in : "So when am I coming to town, Wood?" After some debate, he answered correctly. I told him I'd keep him updated on my flight details, and whathaveyou's, so here.

United 0506 Jul 29 Sunday
Depart: SFO 08:44 PM
Arrive: SEA 10:41 PM

29 Jun Sun 11:00 PM Renting Economy car in SEA
02 Jul Wed 08:00 PM Returning Economy car in SEA

SWA Jul 2 Wed Nonstop SEA-OAK 3168
Depart Seattle/Tacoma(SEA) at 8:05PM
Arrive in Oakland(OAK) at 10:10PM

I'm sure he'll get it if I leave it here. Oh, that brings me to:

7D--Amanda via MySpace.
Oh, yeah. Go back and read that one. See that part where I say that I'm coming on the 30th? Yeah. That's what I told them, but I just couldn't continue with the charade. I mean, I didn't outright lie to my two best girlfriends--I haven't called them since I actually bought my plane ticket--but I was planning to let them continue to think this. I figured I'd just stay the night somewhere else, have lunch with Hunts or something the next day, then put on my tracksuit and drive over to thier house like I just got off of a plane. Yeah. I am a cunt. I can't believe I had convinced myself that this was a plausible thing for one friend to do to another. I mean, this is an outright act of chicane bitchery and it's fucked that I even thought I might do that. But, to my credit, they will forgive me. They will forgive me because everyone understands what it is like to want to pretend for just one more night without dissaproving glances from people who not only know what's best for you, but know that you know what's best for you.

So, I hope I've cleared some things up.

May Cake help us all.
--M

6.12.2008

Mix-Mash-Match-Em-Up!

I know, I haven't posted in a few days.

But lo, on the south slope of Grace Cathedral Hill, young Mox shall not forget her readers. Fear not! For Mox will indeed, through perilous struggle, redeem herself with today's entry. Nary a post has ever been invented by man or beast quite as dignified as such.

Well, maybe it's not that good, but it'll be super fun!! The premise? Well, although I counsel myself against it, I've been pondering the idea about being not quite so forthright with all the bullshit going on in my head. Yeah, I know. It'll last all of a few days, maybe? A week?

Anyway, here's my vain attempt to leave just a little bit of me to your imagination.

Try matching up the numbered items on the left [things people have texted, commented, told, or e-mailed to me in the last week or so] with it's corresponding lettered item on the right [my replies].

C'mon, it'll be fun.



Bonus points if you can name the people on the left.

C'mon, give it a try.
I'll post answers and context in a couple days.
--M










P.S.--Breaking News: "Aaron Gerking" has, this week, just narrowly edged out "Ian Strakal" as the #1 keyword googled to arrive at my blog by 2.37%. "Ian Strakal", however, still has a mighty 5.42% lead over "sex with jordan knight" and "Woody Lopez" who are currently tied at 39 hits. Paling in comparison and currently in 5th place, "Miranda Moure" remains optimistic as she still has a hearty 1.67% gain on stalwort 6th place contender, "Mark Huntsman". Rounding out the top ten in decending order are "jelly doughnut song", "vintage volvo", "Charles Firestone" and "Alexis Myricks". This publication offers its congratulations all around, as truly, there are no losers here.

6.07.2008

Quips, hits, lists, and mowing the air.

Remember that little five item list I gave y'all a few days ago? Let's revisit it.

1. Let's come back to this one. We'll give it some time.

2. What the fuck did I tell you? I was already planning to go to SEA and PHX in July, but guess who coming to her little shitstorm hometown on the 30th? That's right, me. Little fucking Moxie Moure Is coming for three days and nights at the end of June. This is complete bullshit, by the way. It was also not my idea.

3. Well, I regret a lot of things. I regret getting so completely hammered on Thursday that I barely remember what happened, and I regret putting myself in the mindset that I should want to get completely shit cocked in the first place. Yes, I regret taking the 22 y/o home with me, and I regret being so wasted that I couldn't even, as Crys would say, "operate my vagina properly". What happened? Well, I remember making out, I remember taking off my fishnets, heels, favorite jeanskirt and boyshorts--then I think I fell. Or something. Then I remember saying something to the effect of: "Fine! I don't even care! I'm never going to love you! Yeah, yeah! I'm fucked in the head! I'm not asking for you to fix me, just fuck me!"
This was all with no pants on.
We decided it was best that he leave, so yes. I do regret it, but fuck him I did not.

4. Although 3 and 4 were supposed to happen sequentially, I think I can count 4 even if it happed before 3.

5. Beer and Linoleum. Yes. There has been that. Flexi straws? Check.

So...I promised 3 of 5, and I've delivered 3 1/2. You proud?

Oh, and a quick shout out to all the new readers of which, from what I can tell, only a couple of you are flat out internet stalkers. But hey, it comes with the territory. Plus, I mean--2 of 100? That's not so bad. That leaves 98 of you a day who aren't reading just to gather some ammunition for god knows what. Have you no idea I'm capable of ruining perfectly good things on my own?

Haha.
--M

6.04.2008

I think it's time to talk.

Wow. It's been a while. You cut your hair.
Yup, sure did. You missed the mohawk, though. Now I have a short/long with this cool side-swept rat tail. I'm pretty into it. Actually, you missed three mohawks I had; they were each a little different.

Huh.
Huh? All I get is a huh?

It's been a really long time.
Yeah. It has. Over a year. How have you been?

That's completely unfair. I'm the journalist here, I should be asking the questions.
Don't you mean jour-in-al-ist?

Haha. I've missed you. I hear you're not jaded anymore.
Haha. Now that's funny. No. I s'pose not. Of course, when I actually think about it, I'm no more or less jaded than I ever was, I'm just more aware of what I'm capable of. Unfortunately, I'm capable of things that scare me. I'm also proud of myself for accomplishing scary things, though. Yeah. That makes sense, right?

No. That doesn't make much sense.
Okay. Fine. Look, what do you really want to know? C'mon, Alan. Where's that hardhitting jourinalist I once knew and loved?

Wow. Now see, I thought I might be wrong, but it seems you really are throwing that word around lately.
That was a figure of speech. I don't throw that word around. C'mon dude, it's me. Do you really think I just go around throwing L-bombs at every turn? Figure of speech Alan, figure of speech.

Hmm. Allright. Let's do this.
Sounds good. Are you going to ask me about him now?

No. I'm not. I want to talk about your career.
Wow. You sure didn't get any brighter in our time apart. What career? To date, I've sold three pieces. I hardly call that a career yet. I've barely made enough money writing for one night of drinking. Ever.

Well, that's kind of what I mean. In two and a half years, you'll be thirty. Do you honestly believe that now is the time to be falling in love with anyone but yourself?
I'm not following.

Sure you are. You know exactly what I'm saying. You see Miranda, You and I, we're kind of in the same boat here. I do these interveiws with you and many other young writers, and one day, I hope my foresight will pay off. A couple of you are bound to garner at least a modicum of fame, and I will surreptitiously be touted as the one who got in early. I'm still young, but I wont always be. And I'd like my actions now to further my career later.
So you're saying...

No. I'm asking. I'm asking how in the world you can act as if this seemingly spontaneous end that you spurned to this new and improved polyamoric tet-a-tet with someone you now love can attributed to anything but furthering your own interests.
No. It wasn't about that.

You yourself have spoken of actively creating stories. You have mentioned on more than one occasion that you have, in the moment, made a major decision based on judging which outcome will leave you with a better essay.
Yes, I have done that, but this wasn't one of those times. Okay, yes. I thought about it, and it scared the shit out of me. I mean, two more partners and I'll be a sexploit centigenarian. You think the prospect of missing it by two was an easy one for me to swallow? Of course not. And yes, I want that story. I really want that story and all of the other stories that I could and will now aquire in his absence, but it's kind of my consolation prize, you know? I mean, I was almost ready to wrap up this chapter and start writing about something else.

Almost?
Almost. I mean, I just figured that I'd fill in the gaps with some re-hashed stories, and when I ran out, I'd cross that bridge when I came to it.

So where are you now? Where will you be?
Where will I be.

Yes.
No it's just...he asked me that. 'Where will you be'. It's seemingly so simplistic, right? But he posed that question with all of this heady pregnant importance and...can we just turn that thing off now? We're getting a bit off topic. I don't want this recorded.

We're not off topic at all. This is fine, and we can return to you sacrificing a loved one for a string of words in a few.
I didn't do that. Okay, yes. I told you, I thought about it, I did. I wondered where I would end up if all of my stories were about the same person, but I figured I'd deal, you know? I mean, no. You gotta stop this. All of you, I mean, there is more to me than this me. There are all kinds of mes and yes, I am allowed to pick and chose which one I'd like to put on paper, and I can change it at will.

So where will you be?
Prolly right here. Some version of right here, anyway.

Is that what you told him when he asked you?
Basically. I said I'd be here, in San Francisco, and I'd be with my cat, and I'd be at work. I'd be making t-shirts and stories and painting my apartment over and over.

And?
[exhale]

That can't be all you said.
Fine. And I said I would be...delighting in my freedom. I think that's how I put it, and I said I would be harboring stories from all of that said delight.

That was fast.
That's what she said.

I'm serious. You do realize that you brought this up, this fact that he might hinder you making stories, in the same conversation where you asked where you two might go as you two?
Wait...how do you even know what that conversation was about? Or that it happened?

Think about it. Look around. We're in a coffee shop on the top of the hill. Over the crest on the other side is your apartment, and in your apartment is your closet and in your closet is your bed. Barring your cat, what's in your bed? Right now?
[exhale]

What, did you move it?
No, it's there. My laptop is in my bed. Likely right next to my cat.

And you really think there would be room for some boy in and among your sheets when there's already you, your cat, and your laptop?
I've been asked this before, and my answer is still the same. I can make that concession if need be. I mean, I've changed. I only sleep with my laptop three to five times a week anymore, anyway.

You are aware that most people don't sleep with thier laptops. At all. Ever.
Yes, but are you aware that most people don't fuck with thier watch on?

This isn't about me.
Oh, but I think it is. I think you're projecting. I'm not near as worried about losing a career that I never really had as I am about losing a boy I really love, so what is it you're grappling with?

No really, this isn't about me.
Really, why are you so fixated on this?

That's what she said.
That's my line, number one. Number two, you're fucking projecting. And you know? This is exactly what I told him. Don't put your baggage on me. Oh, I get it now. No, I totally get it. These here--these little interviews that you sort through and edit and add your own commentary and publish--they're supposed to be more than in the moment, there supposed to build contacts for you, writers that you can still hold under your thumb when everyone finally knows thier names. And you're worried...

I'm not worried.
No, you are worried. You're worried that you might be teetering too far on either side of the line--either you're going too easy on them and so sacrificing your story to get them to like you or you're being too hard on them and so alienating them. Tell me Alan, who have you lost lately? Who is it you fear not returning for a little rendezvous with your tape recorder?

I thought you didn't speak French.
Touche.

--M

6.03.2008

Don't Cross the Shit Line Part 2: Girl Talk Et Al

scene: Market and Powell, 8am.

"Hey Mirans."

"Hey Rach. I'm fucking exhausted. Shit, where are my fucking keys? Hey, you don't see any water in there...do you?"

"Looks clear, girl."

"Sweet. Lemme get the door."

Mirans, who has found her keys, unlocks the door and the two girls enter a storefront on Market street. They get themselves settled, put some things away in thier lockers, and let the cleaning crew in the side door who have come to clean up from last nights devastation. The store has been flooding every day for five days now, but today, they are optimistic. In the back, Mirans opens the safe and retrieves a small change bank and two bank bags. She will count them in front while Rach walks the floor. She grabs her coffee on the way out, too.

"Rach, I slept an hour last night."

"Damn, girl! Did you go out?"

"Nope. I got in an argument with Seattle last night."

"Oh shit. What happened?"

"Girl, lemme fuckin' tell you, kay? No--let me fuckin' tell you. This is so not fucking fair, you know? Fuck this shit! Like, do you know what he said to me? No, Do you know what he said to me? He said...wait, what did he say? Shit girl I'm so tired."

"Hahaha! Girl, Whatever he said, it don't sound to good. You guys were on the phone all night?"

"No. Just 'til one, but then I couldn't sleep. I finally dozed off around five, and girl, I was still pissed when I woke up at six."

"Hahaha!"

"No really though, it was fucked--like, all I was asking of him was like...you know. Like either fucking own up, or back down. One or the other. 'Cause come on, would you just let some guy that you were like...completely crazy for just continue to fucking fuck you while he actively looked for someone better than you because he's already pretty sure that person is not you? C'mon, would you?"

"Fuck no. No fucking way."

"Exactly, dude. That's all I was saying. I wasn't even really mad, I mean, you know. All things. Considered."

"Well, then what the fuck happened girl?"

"Then he kept feeding me some line about how very fucking dearly he loves me and crap and how he doesn't want to let me go and all this fucking bullshit...and you know what, Rach? Fuck all this shit. You know what we need? No, really. Do you know what we need?"

"What?"

"We need to get laid. I'm serious. We need to be all like, fuck those fucking raggely-ass niggas, and fuck them and the fucked up ways they chose to fucking 'love' us. Fuck them always doing just enough to get the gine and never anything fucking else. Fuck it. And you know what, Rach? It's not even about the actual lay, dig? It's about the pursuit of the lay. It's about putting on some heels and your favorite panties, and it's about propping yourself on a barstool and reminding ourselves how fucking easy it is to get free beers and men's clothes off with but the choreography of our eyelashes and the artfull movement of the tips of our tongues on our bottom lips. That's what we need, Rachel, a fucking reminder. A reminder that these fuckin' trifling-ass-indecisive-children do have some fucking competition. A reminder that whether or not we want that shit, we don't fucking need that shit."

"Oh, fuck. You know where we should go?"

"Yup, sure do. Rich Black Guy Bar. That's us. This Friday. Seriously. And you know what?"

"Oh shit. What the fuck now, Miranda?"

"This isn't just about us. This shit is bigger than just us, Rach. This is for every girl that has been misjudged, marginalized and taken for granted. This is for every girl who fought for what she wanted and lost, and for every fucking girl who just needs to get back on the fucking saddle, visit thier own proverbial Rich Black Guy Bar, and ride fucking something all night long. Fuck yeah. Rich. Black. Guy. Bar."

"What's that place even called, anyway?"

"What, Rich Black Guy Bar?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, girl. I have no fucking idea."

fin.
--M

p.s.--I just got my sheets out of the dryer. They smell of dryer sheets and laundry detergent, and that is all. You proud?

6.02.2008

Don't Cross the Shit Line: Shit Pool at Sewer Couture

"They started off as tiny little shit larvae. And then they grew into shitapillars. A pandemic of shitapillars. Everywhere you look, shitapillars. They almost drove me over the goddamn edge, boy. I tried to exterminate 'em, I tried to put an end to the shitapillars' life cycle, but I failed. And now? Shit Moths. Every. Fucking. One of them. Shit Moths." *

Here's the brief rundown.

My store flooded three times in the last week so I'm exhausted and have seventeen hours of overtime racked up since I went back to work last Monday. Don't get me wrong, I could use the OT, but the insult to this injury?

Last night I was laying in bed enjoying one of my favorite new pasttimes--laying around in the dark staring at a wall. Anyway, my phone rang. It was Erica, and our store had flooded. Again. Whatever homes, no big. I mean, I live like...eight blocks from work. Of course I can throw on some jeans and run down there. No prob.

When we arrived around 11:30, we saw a shitpool of such a magnitude that no previously recorded shitstorm or shitblizzard had ever produced that much shit-devastation. One of the shitspoils? Three pairs of my favorite flats that I keep under my locker including...

My god, I can barely bring myself to write it down.

My favorite flats. There they were, sitting in a shit pile of water and sewage and grease. Right where I left them. Under my locker.

These were no ordinary flats, mind you. Much like Mary's famed Black nappa leather Reppetto flats that where stolen by a fucking shit whore who shall remain nameless, these were my favorite shoes. My black and white canvas pointy-toe Mia flats were a part of me--I bought them over a year ago and I wore them with everything. I loved them.
Unfortunately, they are now covered in toxic sewage water, never again to be worn.

Before you say anything, I already checked. Even eBay. They are discontinued, and I will never again have a pair.

But hey, as they say: If you love something, let it go.

Conveniently, my company is re-imbursing me for all three pairs plus my Chuck Taylors tahat I waded through three inches of standing sewage in, so letting them go is easier than it could be. I replaced them today with a matte-grey leather cut-inset pointy toe flats that will suffice. I also got a black pair and a pair of black patent round-toe flats to replace my favorite silver ones. And I got a gangsta-clean new pair of Chucks. Cool. I can deal, no big.

But seriously, my favorite shoes are already gone--and I just can't let go of anything else.

Say what you will and call me anything you like, but I just can't live in a world where I lose any chance I might have had of ever sleeping, four pounds, my favorite flats, and the best sex I've ever had all in the span of a week.

My flats are gone for good, but I have no other choice but to be optimistic that my phone will ring any minute.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to sleep now. And no, I haven't changed my sheets yet.

Tomorrow, when I have slept, and the shitnami has subsided, I'll change them. I promise.
--M

*thanks to my favorite Canadians and their constant shitnanigans for this quote.