"Let's fall in love and move to Montreal."

K + L--
Hey guys. Remember that show I was invited to a week or so ago? Funny story, 'cause on Saturday night, the lead singer of said band leaned across the table in the first hour of our first date and said to me the sentence that titles this post. The short version is, I said yes.

Okay, okay. It was a joke, yes. But 22 hours later when our first date was beginning to drag into infinity and he finally dropped me off at my house, it wasn't seeming like such a bad idea.

We went to the grocery store yesterday in anticipation of him cooking me dinner (don't even make fun of me right now) and as we're pulling into the parking lot, we had a brief but poignant conversation. Lisa, you especially will appreciate this. How many times have we spoke of the fact that there are many ways to arrive at the same conclusion? That, and I say this referring specifically to myself, that even though it may look like I'm incapable of allying myself to just one person, that I am. That I'm looking for that, I just don't want to find it the way most people do, and that's okay.

"Hey, Miranda?" He is sounding a bit tentative, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. A little.
"Yeah?" I returned the tentativeness.
"Hey, do you think--and I'm not really trying to infer anything by this, you know, about the two of us--but...I mean besides all of this interim fucking, I mean mine and yours and ours and everyones: are you the type of person that thinks that there's one person for you out there?"

And then I turned to face him and I smiled. And I was remembering that night in my elevator with Wood when I was pissed at myself for that one hard and definite "Yes" that escaped my lips, and I knew that I was excited rather than apprehensive to answer in the exact same manner this time.


There it was. A flat "Yes" with a period at the end, even. And I was glad to say it.

You were right Lis, they are out there.

Also, on a side note, he's spent a total of 10+ years on tour over the course of his life. What does that have to do with anything? Haha, just this--because besides the fact that I'm not supposed to be sleeping with musicians, I may have finally found my guy doppleganger. He's slept with almost twice as many people as me. Oh, and he's not in his twenties. You proud?

I am.

[p.s. to Angelica--DUDE: Chase, VIP and Dude are gonna be green with fucking envy when they find out who this guy is. Seriously, they are already jealous and don't even know it yet--and yes, by that I mean that they would go gay for this guy. Either that or they're just barely to young to be jealous. Either way, say hi to them for me. I miss them almost as much as I miss you.]


For KL of KLM

K + L--

You know, there are so many times a day that I miss you guys, but today had to be one of the worst.

So there I was, at work, and one of my customers and I start up a conversation. Turns out he's playing a show tonight, and I can just feel an invite on the tip of his tongue, you know? That's when I remembered what it's like--the perk of being a barista--all the parties and shows and the like you you will invariably get to attend due to an invite from a customer. Often for free, should there be a charge.

"Where's it at?" This is me assuring the invite.

"Oh, you know that record store in Ballard right next to The Tractor? Yeah, it starts at nine."

"Oh, that's cool."

"Yeah..." wait for it... "you should come."

Man, I mean, that's what I loved about Cafe International, you know? And between the show tonight, and breakfast in the morning with another customer who lives down the street from me (weather and hangovers permitting, haha), it only took me a glance over to the tip jar to make me love my morning job. It's super chill.

You guys should be here. At least for a visit. It would make rainy days like today more palatable.

And hey--to think, if I didn't make coffee, I might not even know you guys.

Wonder who else I'll meet here, haha.


p.s.--The neighbors played a show last Wednesday at The Comet. We got totally smashed and went to Seattle's only Dyke bar. You guys really should have been there, it was right up KLM's alley.


Post 405: For Angelica

I got my vest today--I'm so stoked! Now I just gotta find my favorite t-shirt, and I'm all set. Kind of.


Wood and I are...hmm. Let's put it this way--he's FURIOUS with me right now. Know that Craig's List post you [and everyone] laughed so hard at? Yeah, he, apparently, did not think it was so funny.

I just needed a break, you know? Moving is hard, and I just needed some time to settle and recover and whatnot. Clear my head. Not have him...fuck. This is the fucked up part. He's gonna read this.

That being said, I'm trying. I swear. I'm amazing and congenial when we run into each other at the bar and the like, and I try my best not to talk shit about him when he's not around. Well, okay. I do--I have. But I feel at least like I have both redeemed him and myself before the conversation's over. Fine. You got me. I'm rationalizing the situation to suit my own purposes.

My friend Skinny Mike's going away party was tonight. I got to The Duck, and my bartender Jeremiah was all like "Omigod, Miranda," and I was like "What?"

"So there I was," J-ru was saying, "hanging out on my family's farm [in Yakima], and what do I find? this huge stack of wood cut out letters."

"Wait," I said, "was there an M?"

"Yeah, dude. It's like three feet high. My car was full, but next time I go, I'm bringing it back for you. You'll have to sand it and repaint it, but dude, it'll look killer with your M collection."

That's what I'm here for. Don't get me wrong, I love Wood to death, but I'm here for my boys and my girls and my studio that I'm at right now and all of my new jobs, and I'm here for all of the reasons that don't necessarily include him.
I'm here to build my long term friendships. To write more. To get more and more and more and even more M's.

I'm doing my best. Is it so bad that my best isn't good enough for him right now? I hope so.

I miss you and Chase. Especially every time I'm fucking the neighbor whose name is Chase.

That is true, by the way.


WANTED: Mothersnuggin' Craig's List Hilarity


I have got to quit smoking so much pot. That being said, here's a funny little something Crystal and I came up with this evening.

Seriously, check this out.

I'll post responses as we get them.

[p.s.--do us a solid, and flag this best of craig's list.]

9.13.08 edits: responses.

"Is the one on the left a monkey of some sort?"

"Damn it, where's my guy friend when I need him!!! I love the term steaknife...the mental graphic is hot :) Well ladies (with hills), there's just one of me. I won't say the obvious out of some tiny bit of gentlemen in me, but if your even thinking it, it would be soooooo much damn fun. Would that be like a double patty-steaknife :)"

"Are you chicks fer real???" to which we responded:

"No. It's just a joke. We were stoned and bored. We are fucking the neighbors, though. It's funny, you're the only one who realized. Haha!" --M and then he said back:

"Hahaha!! Fucking the neighbors…..how fucking easy is that!"

"Hi. I am just one guy with enough energy and imagination to completely satisfy both of you by myself. Best tongue action you will ever have pleasure of enjoying. And a nice thick cock for you both to suck on and ride till dawn if you like."

"Hi Ladies...nice ad!! I dont have a roommate..single guy..but 33/m and live in Ballard...interested in chatting?"

"Bummer, I am only one person ;) Other than that I fit what you are looking for."

"Hey my name is craig im a 27yr old construction worker and live in north seattle.As for looks im clean cut except for my sideburns,6ft tall,175lbs,athletic,tan,toned,dark features and definately not bad lookin.For fun i enjoy sports,music,the gym,a good movie,trying new resteraunts and goin out once in a while to name a few.If you want i can send pics just let me know."

"That sounds totally rad, but I don't have a male roommate... so maybe you can mix and match? haha

"I do live on the first hill area :) I'm an easy going 28 year old musician with a day job..... and I NEVER forget to go to the store before 2 :P"

"well there is 2 of us here..22 and 25 in west seattle so whats good? i have pics but craigslist says they are 2 large of files..but i do have yahoo and msn messenger so let me know something."

"Fuckin and drinkin are what I do best. did you get the pic i sent?"
[he is referring to a pic of a cock poised next to a Coors Lite]

"id like to steaknife with both of you..."

"One of the most amazing ads ever. Here's your cookie, you definitely earned it :D"

"So here it is. I too have a roommate and a friend that lives close by. We dont live in Georgetown . We live in Tacoma. We dont ride bicycle. We ride Harley-Davidson. We all have money and like to party too and drink. I personally drink Jameson ( im irish ) the other two drink whatever they feel. Im going to send what pics i can from my work pc if you respond ill get you more of all of us. Or fuck it and lets just meet get fucked up and have a great time. Might even have to get the boat out and party on it too. This reply to you isnt BS either."


That's it for now.


I've got the drop on you.

from: ["m moure" m@mmoure.com]
sent --- 13:08:10, 9.8.08
to: ["Alan Stevenson" astevenson@sbcglobal.net]

subject: RE: Grace Cathedral Hill just wont be the same

On April 3, 2005, My Niece whom you may know from IAJD as Little Alexis, turned 13 years old. Also on that day, I woke up in my 79 Volvo 242 GT just outside of Redding, California after a two hour nap. My cat, Maui, was sleeping on my lap, and everything I owned was either in the backseat or in the trunk. A few hours later I merged off the 505 and onto the 80, and then there was me, on the apex of the Bay Bridge with both hands up and through my sunroof, with Los Halos on my stereo.

But I've told that story before. Here's a new one.

On August 16, 2008, I dropped my dear friend Keenan off at his house in a 12' long orange Penske truck, and after getting a little lost due to some construction, I was finally pulling onto the 80. Yael Naim came on the radio, and it was foggy as it likely should be when one is moving from San Francisco, and the lanes are so narrow and my truck was so big that I feared looking back for one last glance--but I did. And as I did I swerved in traffic, but I saw the fog thick over downtown and all of the spires peeking from the clouds. It was just a peek, but as I looked back at the road ahead, and corrected back into the lane, I knew that I would write this down. Somehow. Someday.

I guess that day is today.

Yeah, you're right. I can never escape knowing that I very well might write any waking moment down on paper, but fuck, Alan. How am I enjoying living in the end of my book? I don't know, because I'm not--because even by your rationale, the end of my book ended right there--New Soul blaring loud in the cab, my cat sleeping under the drivers seat, me looking back for one last glance and saying goodbye to the last three and a half years. Audibly. True story--I said goodbye out loud to no one in particular as I started to cry.

Don't assume this has been easy for me, because it hasn't. Would it be easy for you so sit in a truck for 19 hours going over and over saying goodbye to your best friend on a street corner just outside of the Castro while she cries and gets in a cab?

I'm sorry. This is stupid. Let me redeem myself.

On Labor Day, 2003, I sat way up high in Memorial Stadium with Kyle, and half way through R.E.M.'s set, I burst into tears after hearing the first six unmistakable notes of Night Swimming. Five years later and a week ago today, Kyle and I were laying around in Oxbow Park with the roomies and neighbors and some friends drinking mismatched beers and trying to recuperate from the night before. I have been friends with Kyle for pushing ten years now, and through all the shit that's gone on and all of both of our numerous indiscretions, we're still both just trying to figure out how to be us. That day, after barely dodging getting arrested, we found out that naked slide-riding is probably not the best way. Oops.

The point is that I'm not making stories, I'm trying to make a life, and as much as it may seem that I'm trying to re-hash the past way up here in my home town, I'm looking for what is here that is new with a bunch of people that are not. There are the old haunts, yes. But there are new ones too, and besides debating the age of my soul or the weight of my character or even statisfying any amount of years with essays and paper and all of these strings of words, I will tell you exactly why I moved here.

I want to show myself how to live.

And even though I once used this as the reason I wanted to stay in SF--

No, I'm not ready to die just yet.



RE: Grace Cathedral Hill just wont be the same.

from: ["Alan Stevenson" astevenson@sbcglobal.net]
sent --- 20:32:11, 9.4.08
to: ["m moure" m@mmoure.com]

Or should I say Moxie? Milkshake? Who are you these days? And yeah, I am confused because I thought, nay--you led me to believe--that I knew at least somewhat who you were. Now you're skipping town without a goodbye and living two states away doing god only knows what. Are you writing? You're fucking, yes, I can see that. And what exactly are you garnering from it?

Mirans, I'm not "that guy". I'm not pissed in the traditional respect, but fuck. Fuck I mean, even Mark hasn't seen you, I know, I called. And I know a guy who knows that Nick kid--you haven't seen him in weeks either. Nor all of your mutual friends from back east that live on the same block as you. Or used to, I suppose. The grapevine, as it wil, has proved fruitful for me, but the only thing it hasn't materialized is you.

And the worst part is that you're going to post this, I'm sure I'll read it shortly on the fucking internet because you either A) enjoy using certain parties as your playthings or you B) don't want to appear both to me, and the rest of the world like anyone can make you not post this because C) you clearly--at least somewhat--devalue your own fucking conscience.

Hmm. You're both right. That is a nice device. I think I'll use it myself.

But device aside, wait. I'm sorry, that's not entirely fair. You have a...cultivated moralistic nature, yes. And yes, it's valuable, and it is honest. But those of us on the slight outside tend to be on the side of your morays that leans toward your being indifferent because you assume that we are capable of living without you. I didn't mean it like that, I mean, I can physically live without you, but why are you so quick to assume that we--meaning me, and Nick and Pant and Kristen and god knows who else you've left before all over the country--are wanting to live without you?

No wait, what do you plan to do about it? Huh? What's you're fucking plan now?

Okay. Yeah, I'm a little biased because of all the words, the tape recorders and years and dirty sheets and morning eggs and bagels and coffee. Yeah, I got it. I'm not supposed to be fucking my subjects--and further more you told me that. You warned me in the exact same manner that I've warned you so many times, and over the years I watched your manner go from irreverent and callous to vulnerable and flighty and a lot of that was my fault. At least--it was my fault that what came from your mouth changed--and yeah. I reduced the you that is on paper that you yourself don't manipulate to a sniveling inconsistent little girl. Fine. You were right. You were right about us fucking and you were right that I do fear navigating that line between friend and lover and subject and where they all cross my career.

But I was right too.

You don't have to tell me or anyone, because I know exactly why you're there. I thought you gave up "stories as combat", so what made you decide you had to have one more?

I saw you. You were writing and re-writing and stagnant. It wasn't ending, so you made one. Remember all those years ago when you left Alistair sleeping in his bed while you quietly dressed, clicked his door behind you, and padded down the long hall of his flat only to put your Chuck's back on on his front porch? Making stories. How many have you made since that very first active one? That first one that was conscious and premeditated only to later look so very fucking shocking on paper? I ask you Miranda...

...are you enjoying living in the end to your novel?



D: All of the above.

from: ["m moure" m@mmoure.com]
sent --- 23:34:29, 9.3.08
to: ["Alan Stevenson" astevenson@sbcglobal.net]

subject: RE: Grace Cathedral Hill just wont be the same


I'm sorry. It's not like I didn't want to say anything until now. I did. I should have done many things different, but I haven't. The truth is, I want a lot of things to have happened differently, but I still can't wrap my head around how they might have been able to. I'm sorry.

I know you might have wanted to have one last torrid hurrah, but wasn't it you yourself who said, and I quote: "[I'm] setting my own trap, making [my] own bed"? Why would you want that for me when you know how damaging it could have been? And the worst part is that it has already been damaging, because in my conscious and obsessive fear not to repeat the past, I think I've hurt a lot of feelings. Both in SF and here. Here in Seattle. Right here in Georgetown. I needed some kind of plan, and so far it's worked. Kind of.

But then I hear from you, and truthfully I don't even remember my drunken promise to see you one last time before I left, but I do know that in my haste there were a lot of people I neglected to see before I began that long drive from the 80 to the 505 and that long 700 miles up the 5, straight through the middle of northern California, over the Siskiyous, the sunset nap in Salem, and that last terrifying 4 hours and change when I was alternating between hallucinations and debilitating sleep deprivation staved off only lighly by the caffeine poisioning. And yeah, I know that you wish you could have had those last hours with me, between three and six in the morning before I rose in California and ended my night in Washington---but think about it. Really--before you get all kindsa accusatory with me again--think about it. Trust me, I know how swiftly those dark hours pass when it's the one night you wish them to remain still. I know. And that's what I meant when I said I was so scared of that Sunday when the race just to get there was over and I'd have to actually begin a life.

What I really wanted to change, about those hours I mean, is how much stock I put in them.

Thanks to you, I have.

I'm sorry you're the one who is so conflicted now.

I miss you. Let's chat soon. Really.

[p.s. to Hunts: I was glancing at your book again today, and I came across this, and finally understood it. It's from guess what chapter:

Etta seems to have a rule by which she's allowed to A) tell Hal he's awesome, or B) touch him, but C) not both in a given day.

Three things strike me about this line, being 1) that I have done that to so many boys and never heard it put so succinctly, and 2) I never knew that boys even noticed that we, meaning girls, were actively doing that because 3) we don't do it because we don't care, and we honestly believed you guys only saw the care, not this kind of glass-is-always-only-half-full scenario that you interpret as some sort of calculated indifference. we don't mean to "cut [your] heart[s] and paste [them] back together twice an hour", but I am now sure that there are many boys that I know that would agree with you, not me, on this matter. We're sorry.

I'm sorry. I'm also sorry that now that I have about wrapped up this post script, that I'm not absolutely sure that it's solely for you. xoxo --M]


Thanks for the advice, Crystal.

Re: I went to work today

If you were wondering where I am, it's work. that is where i am today.

If you were wondering if I got fucked for six hours last night, then yes, I did. That's where I was last night.

Perfect! Sounds like I was correct in writing you down as a "winner" for yesterday.

He just came by though, to get his guitars.
I think I'm in a lot of trouble. He likes me.

What are you going to do about that? Do you even like him or just lust his penis? You aren't supposed to have boys get crushes on you...you're in trouble.