Another January

Grass isn't growing under my feet; it is winter.

My days are easy, nothing changes. The sleepy office. The light pours through the glass walls all morning. Feed the fish. Answer phones. Sort the mail. Make the coffee. Clean the coffee pot at the end of each day.

Hours slouch by in lazy increments, measured in rounds of PopCap computer games. At 4 o'clock I walk 2 blocks home, aggressive evening filling my footprints.

He is at home; the apartment is warm because of him. And because our landlord pays for the oil. lift some weights. Hot running water. Cuddle on the couch, then wash dishes, then make dinner. When she comes home we eat together. Then shopping, then laundry. Doctor Appointments and Stopping By Mom's.The daily details of Our Life Together. TV shows and videos and video games, until we can't sleep, or else bedtime and nightmares, and ghosts from the past. old pain like brown stains in the hardwood. Under the rugs, you know they're still there.

It is those old marks on the heart still pulling on me. My feet itch. My thoughts buzz like a broken radio that keeps flipping stations.

Gypsy blood. The kind that ignites if kept still for too long.

The road as I am walking home pulls me; true north to a needle. I wish the frozen ponds were roaming oceans. The train whistle is a fish-hook in my heart. Names that I love are too thick across my tongue. They want homes and houses and feel safe inside the word “Stay.”

“Stay” is a noose getting tight around my neck. A Better Life is the hangman. The outlaw in me wants Dillinger days. A few more before I start swinging.

The sky outside threatens weather. A Winter Storm.

I want to walk home tonight in the snow. To look up at the white swirling down.

I want to turn my face to the black behind the white and fall up into it, away from the earth and everything.

Zugunruhe

I mixed cinnamon and honey

in my coffee this morning.

I wanted to hold

the desert in my mouth again.

I miss the hot wind

and the promise

of the lonely unexpected.

I miss a sky the color of

all the voices of God.

My cigarette does not taste enough

of the fires of California.

The Nor'Easter outside does not

contain the spices of

the Santa Anas.

I have been too long from the road.

Little Things

 

 

 

I love...

Traveling alone by train.
Long grass with purple edges, bending in the wind.
The hum of bees in purple clover in the middle of the afternoon.
Words with the sound "snick" in them.
Crooked smiles.
Reading inside listening to children's voices outside.
Boys in shiney shorts.
Leaving a hot party to go outside and feel cold snow fall on my face and neck.
Fresh baked croissants.
Listening to languages I don't understand.
Being kissed on the inside of the upper arm.
Cooking for people I love.
Little girls laughing.
Receiving a letter from a foreign country.
Listening to my lover sing or speak with my head pressed against his chest.
The yellow color of the clock on Independence Hall.
Drunkards singing in the street.
Scabby knees and elbows on kids.
Fireflies rising after a thunderstorm.
Discovering an echo.
Lying still, not speaking, only touching.
Sifting dry rice through my fingers.
Girls with dark curls.
Old men in belts AND suspenders.
Thick wet eyelashes.
Popsicles.
Music from a distance.
Coming home after being away and sleeping alone in your own bed.
Cold water causing condensation to form on a dark blue glass.
Hands with dirt or ink deep in the lines.
High tension wires.
Thinking the same thought at the same time.
Walking into a room and catching the smell of someone you love who has just been there and is now gone.
Painting a pretty girl's toenails.
Boys who put flowers in girls' hair.
Waitresses.
Making a stranger blush.
Brushing teeth.
The smell of men who have been cutting grass all day.
Shaved heads.
Smoke.

Oh I can't sleep.

I know it isn't even quite one, but I can tell by the buzz under my skin, the hum in my head, its not going to happen.
Between 3 and 6 am I hate hotels. In a building full of people, you're completely alone. In the dark and the quiet, the room becomes an island. Nothing exists outside, and if that was comforting before, when I first got here, its awful now, with my head full of nightmares and no one familiar breathing deeply on the couch, or turning over upstairs, or snoring faintly through the floorboards.
I miss my boys.
I miss lying in my little bed under the stairs, drifting in the smoke between asleep and dreams. Hearing Stephen's key in the lock, the shudder of the front door closing behind him. He comes over and sits down, sometimes with his coat still on, and tells me about his day, or a funny thing he heard, or the last thing he was thinking of before the bar got rushed. Sometimes he sings a snatch of a song that is stuck in his brain and asks me to identify it.
Whatever happens after that, weather he goes upstairs to bed, or settles on the couch to watch a few episodes of M.A.S.H., weather I get up with him and we smoke and talk, or he goes out again to meet someone, weather I stay up the rest of the night, or fall into a fitful sleep, hearing those sounds, his key in the lock, his low voice in the dark, it make me think everyone everywhere that I love is for the moment safe and sleepy, and my chest doesn't feel so pressed and heavy.

I miss Robbie in the mornings. I am always awake when he wakes up, but I lay under the covers with my head in the pillow and pretend I could slip back to sleep just any second. He comes downstairs trying to be so so quiet. He thinks I am asleep as he tries to tiptoe past and not crash into anything, and I smile to myself. He makes a quiet racket setting up the coffee machine and then he goes back upstairs.
When he comes down again I say, "Hi baby," in my smiley sleepy voice, and he gives me a quick hug and grabs coffee and goes to work, or else he crawls in bed and cuddles for 5 seconds before he makes me get up and play with him.
Robbie the sun, and Stephen the moon. In this way I divide my days.
Except now I live in hotels, and when I go back to home, I have my own apartment, and a big bed, and a room with a door and everything.
But I miss them.

Everything and the Kitchen Sink!

It's been a ridiculous month. Even moreso than the usual ridiculous. Living with my boys is kinda the best ever, when I am actually living here. They don't even make me sleep on the couch! I have a for-real bed, well, mattress. Under the stairs. Between the basement and the bookcase. It's a Molli Potter sort of affair. But still! Not a couch. So when I am actually here I work a handful of days landscaping or an hour or two massaging. The rest of the time I am split between riveting social engagements and domestic goddessary. Laugh if you must. But it is very true. Between bouts of drinking I keep a clean house, cook fabulous dinners, and occasionally sew and cut hair. When it gets winter I'm so going to take up knitting, you just watch me!
So maybe that all sounds so boring, and you're so bored, and you're thinking, I'm going to give up on reading this blog forever!
I don't think you should do that. You haven't even heard about the orgasmic Muse concert I went to, or the Tuesday afternoon S&M session I had in New York. Or the Dyke bar in Boston.
I told you, between riveting social engagements. Duh. Pay attention.

So. Since I last talked to you, I moved in with some boys. Robbie and Stephen J., Drunk at our local bar

We get drunk a lot and throw fancy dinner parties when they are not working 10 hours a day, 7 days a week.
What is it like to be a kept woman, you ask me? Freakin' awesome. If I can rock this indefinitely, I totally win.

When Robbie and Steve are working forever and I get really bored, I play with Sam and Emily and Simone and Lucky Penny, Blondie, Justin and Abby, Lauren Rose, Chris Butler, Peppers, Kriebel, Midget, and Heather and her family. That is a nice mix of couples, siblings, single girls, working girls, homos, and children. Occasionally I even see my own family. I like to have a lot of options.
Like a China Buffet of friends. Sometimes Joey Haughton comes up, and things get really spicy.
Even with all that going on though, sometimes you just need some fresh blood. So when Peppers called me up and said "Come to New York this weekend," I said, "No." Because I hate New York. It is my nemesis city that is trying to kill me.
But then she said, "I have a ticket to see Muse at MSG....!" in her "I'm taunting you into the best worstideaever ever," voice. So then I said, "I'll see you tomorrow!" took the train up, had the "best burger in New York" at some Irish Pub (it really was freakin' delicious. Quite possibly they were not even lying) got drunk on her rooftop and yeah.

Peppers drunk on her rooftop

The show... I dunno how to even tell you about the show. It was even better than I had dreamed it the 2 nights prior. How do three people make so much noise? How does MSG get such pure resonance? How can I not have fallen in love with the 65 year old man in front of me, rocking out all by himself to 'Apocalypse Please'? How does Peppers stay so beautiful with her eyes all squinched up and her mouth all shouty and the sweat from all day dampening her curls? How does the cheesiness of people replacing lighters with a thousand illuminated cellphones make you feel like you are in the swirling bottom of a jar full of fireflies. I have been to hundreds of shows. I have heard crowds far larger than the one at MSG, but I have never felt the volume of sound physically topple onto me like a drunken wave when a crowd chants for an encore. Holy sweet Jesus. The perfect concert-going experience. The kind of show that lifts you right out of your body and into a pure stream of sound for 2 hours. A natural high better than any drink or drug I've ever tried, better than most sex I've ever had.
And people wonder why I obsess over musicians.

Peppers and me, in love with Musicians

We came out of MSG into a New York night that was as wet and smelly and hot as a garlic-spaghetti kiss, and I didn't eve care because for the first time in my whole life, New York had done right by me. We went home and I went to bed as soon as I could, to make the feeling last.
The next day, my new NY buddy Kit came over,

Kit, gazing optimistically into the future

I made awesome fajitas, and we all watched a movie and played around with leather belts. An unexpected and throughly amusing end to a fabulous visit. Molli Rocket 10000, NY, nothin'.

I had a wonderful time and a welt across my ass for a week to remember it by. Life is good.

After that, a week of house-sitting for the Cunningham's back in the Philly area. Pool, hot tub, big kitchen, central air and digital cable. Need I say more? I pretended to be a silly fancy lady all week. We through a dinner party pretty much every night and Heather brought the kids over

Nolan and Veronica. Yes, Veronica is in a kangaroo suit

to play in the pool and all in all, it was a totally fun, totally wholesome week. See? I keep balance by alternating between 2 extremes. It's the see-saw approach to Zen.

I left the Cunningham's to head up to Boston for a week with Andrea. That also was a whirlwind of activity. She picked me up in Providence on Saturday, and on Sunday we made the drive up to Burlington for this kid Nick's birthday. Burlington is a weird place. It is a lot like San Fransisco, excepting that it is in Vermont. So you feel weird. Still, that started out alright, we were in this fly Irish pub... lately, I've been spending a lot of time in Irish pubs... anyways, things were going pretty alright until people started showing up for the birthday party. When I overheard a dude say (in reference to me and my girl) "I don't really care which one of them I end up with, I mean, they're both pretty cute. I just wanna get laid..." yeah, I was pretty much off that crowd. I mean, none of those dudes were even cute. I was like, in a party of about 12 dudes, and I didn't make out with anybody. Now that's saying something.
So Vermont was kinda icky, and I am re-thinking going up there to investigate the Vermont secession from the Union, cause, I don't really want to be surrounded by a bunch of pseudo-San Fransisco jerkoffs.

From there, Andrea dropped me off in Greenfield, which is a crazy little town in western Mass. I liked the giant sign outside the local bar that said, "Smoke Free. By FORCE!" It made me smile real big. So I went from there to an even smaller and more remote town to see miss Melody and her little ones. That was kinda awesome, and a lot like being at summer camp. I jumped on a giant trampolene and shot a bow and arrow and ate hippy food, and man, it was awesome. I wished I coulda stayed longer, but their house is under construction and I had to get back to Bean Town to get some work done. Andrea and I are working on a very exciting project. You don't know what it is, but you are excited anyways, I promise.
So we did our work and I met some cool horses and dogs, and a cat. And I went horseback riding! You're having a hard time picturing it, aren't you? Well, my tongue is sticking out in your direction because Andrea says I'm kinda a natural with horses, so there! I can be rustic. I'm not silly and fancy all the time.
So then we went down to Jamaica Plain for some awesome dinner at my Aunt and Uncles' and then we were off to meet Holly and Nebraska for some Karaoke. Except we got lost. When we finally got found, we were walking to the bar and Andrea says, "Are there a lot of girl couples out here?" And there were. So then we walked in the bar, and it was nothing but girl couples. Turns out Karaoke is actually, in this case, Queeroke (which i don't think really works as a clever play on words. Try and say it. It's pretty awful. But alls I could come up with to replace it was kargayoke, and that's even worse).
Well Andrea was kinda thrilled to be in this gay bar and she wanted to play around and pretend that we were a couple, which I would have been down for except that it totally interfered with my goal to get pretty girls to buy me drinks. Andrea is a pretty girl, but the bar only took cash and she had none. I had to buy my own beer.
Can you even believe that?
In a lesbian bar.
Nothing like a good friend to fuck up your free drink groove. So yeah. I don't have any scandalous stories either. If you are upset about this, take it up with Andrea. It is entirely her fault.

I have no pictures of that entire trip, because I forgot to put a memory card in my camera. You'll have to use your imagination, oh dear!

So then we drove back to Philly. My girl drives like a maniac and I was afraid for my life the whole time, but we made it without arrest or collision, so, I suppose all is well. I spent the weekend getting drunk with Stephen J., and teased and abused by both boys cause "We're in that stage of missing you where it is necessary to be mean." On Saturday night we went to see Blondie in a Barry Kriebel production of "Dog Sees God." The script was horrible but the acting was amazing, and I have to grudgingly say it is the best BK production I have seen since "The Crucible."
After the play we found ourselves at yet another Irish pub, getting drunk, and yeah, I've pretty much been drunk since Saturday, with Monday being the day of most ridiculousness, due to the appearances of, in this order, Joey Haughton, Chris Butler, and Peppers throughout the day. Meem showing up for dinner was the icing on the cake. I almost died when she built a pyramid out of Robbie's French fries, and then put them all back on his plate. This is the lady that gave birth to me. And you wonder how I turned out this way.
When Peppers and I finally went to bed at 5 am, I felt happier than I've been in a really long time, which is saying a lot since I've been pretty consistently happy lately.
If you're still with me at this point in the post, bless you but you need to get out more.
And if you are wondering about the book, it's supposed to be going to print this week. But I still haven't been given a release date or pre-order information. I'm about to write them an email right now, just as soon as I make me another martini.
I hope that keeps you satisfied for now, because, it is becoming more and more obvious I suck at posting. I still love you though. If you came over, I'd have Robbie make you pancakes.

The Kitchen Sink

Invalids, Drunks, Hobos, Dogs and Beans

Wellity, wellity, wellity.

What's been going on?

Thuglife is making a slow but steady recovery. We had some difficult days together, but things get slowly better. My sister informs me that after this weekend, my services will no longer be necessary, and I am free to go. This is fairly excellent for everyone involved.

Everybody is beginning to piece their old live back together, which leaves me free to get started on my new life.

I have some ideas about that, but most of them are half-baked at best. I'm waiting on some input from some key players, before I finalize any decisions.

However, I DO know for sure that I will be spending a few weeks in the vicinity of the couch of Robbie and Steve, before bouncing up to the Boston area to spend some time on the couches of Andrea and then Miss Melody: http://littlehomeblessings.blogspot.com/ (yeah, I'm not so savvy at the link making). Who has a little boy I have yet to meet.

Also also also! Guess who is giving a reading of her new book at St. Andrews on Thursday, September the 27th? Yeah man, I think it's me!! Anybody got a couch?

The book production is going very well. Thanks to the mad editing skillz of Noelle H., I get to skip the editing phase of production and jump right to format and cover design, which speeds up the release date by another few weeks and also allows me to keep all my made-up words and creative grammar. How much do I love Publish America this afternoon?

Still no definite release date, but I will keep you posted.

In adventuring news, I've managed to have a few, for all that I don't get out much.

A few Saturdays ago I was looking gorgeous and eating delicious gazpacho at a swanky party for Peter, Philly photographer and all around super-awesome guy, and Sunday last I was looking even more fabulous at Sam and Em's house-warming, which was the fliest party I've been to since the Mojo Conference. I don't remember it too well, but I know there was a heck of a lot of gin and tonics, pina coladas, chocolate martinis (Sam makes the BEST chocolate martinis) and a bottle of Maison Louis Jadot Beaujolais; singing of hymns as if they were drinking songs while passing around said bottle of Beaujolais (I'm serious. 6 drunkards singing Amazing Grace in a Mt. Airy apartment kitchen at 11:30 on a Sunday night. That's my kind of spirituality!); and a lot of making out with my best friend's roommate, brother, and girlfriend. Yeah, I was that girl. But don't worry, the vibe on that score was much more I Love Lucy than, you know, 90210 or whatever the popular nighttime drama is these days. (90210. Could I be more behind the times?) (But in my defense, who has time for T.V. what with all the drinking and kissing that goes on?) So yeah, you want to hit up Sam and Em's next party.

In more sober adventuring, the day after the night of drunken debauchery, Mojo and I found a Hobo camp in Jappy's back yard. I am so not even kidding. Next to Jappy's house is this crazy scary abandoned house. It's pretty much the scariest thing since Muffin's Murder House in NC.

And behind that is this thicket of briers and trees and whatnot.

And I dunno if you can see it, I couldn't see it, but Mojo found this path through there. And he did that dog thing where he went a little ways, and came back, and then went a little ways, saying, "Follow me!" So I did. And look what we found:

So cool!! Now, some nay-sayers, when spoken to on the phone (Stephen J.) tried to convince me that I had not found a Hobo camp at all, but rather a "Q-town teen aged delinquent make-out sight." But I beg the differ.

Note the single solitary chair, flimsily constructed to hold, at maximum, one average-sized Hobo. Note also the relics of bean and tuna-fish cans amid the discarded beer cans. What making-out teenagers eat tuna-fish and beans? And if that's Steve's idea of a good make-out time, I caution you ladies! Lastly, stacks of tires and a broken down truck. I rest my case.

After leaving the hobo camp, Mojo and I discovered a beautiful bean field, where Mojo frolicked and, undoubtedly, the luckless hobo found a days work, and perhaps a glimpse of the purdy bean-farmers daughter, hanging out the laundry, her breasts swelling above her calico dress, her beautiful neck glistening with July sweat.

As a final thought, I will leave you with a picture of my toes, from last weeks relaxo-time, and my favorite picture of the worlds best dog in a field of beans.

Summer is good, and getting better. God bless!

Pin in the Map

The couch I am currently residing on is my sisters, in the Q-town, PA.

It's a black leather affair, very stylish.

So once again my life is a tad bit... dishevelled.
I'm bouncing around a lot again and probably will be hard to pin down for the next 6 or so months.
I reckon on being here for at lease a little while. Jappy's man was in a pretty bad wreck and needs some looking after for a bit. I have the great fortune to be jobless at the current moment, so I'm the perfect person for that position. 2 days after the crash I was on a plane with a one-way ticket, a lap-top, and a week's worth of clothes.
The cool thing about being a shiftless gypsy is the flexibility.
I will be here for a bit, until Thuglife's back on his feet. My job description mainly consists of making eggs, blending milkshakes, sweeping up after Mojo, and playing video games. Not to shabby. And I get Sundays to play with Blondie, Lauren and my boys, so that's alright too.
Can I work in some hot hot adventures on the east coast? If I can, you'll hear about it. If I can't, I'll make something up, and you'll hear about that. Either way, you win.

And once my buddy has made a full recovery, oh man! The fun times will not stop! Where will I go next? There is no way to predict this. I could be in Chicago in 2 months. I could be in Oxford. You don't know. I could join the crazy kids in Vermont trying to secede from the union. My whims change on a daily basis. I could go to Las Vegas and get married tomorrow.

Except that I make better eggs than Jappy, and that's all Thuglife can eat right now.
So I'll kick it around here for a bit longer, and I'll be posting to keep you posted on major developments.

Speaking of major developments, my publisher says my book will be available in 6-8 weeks.
6-8 weeks son! God damn that's quick.
So excited.

That's all for now. Kisses!