Just so you know

If you ever get tired of seeing the world

of living out of a bag

I have a place you might like to call home

It’s not glamorous

It’s right next door to some cheap take aways

But it has a certain charm

like on Sundays when all I do is watch cartoons

and let the couch engulf my body with my cup of coffee

On drunken Friday nights, it’s a sanctuary

It’s the room that keeps spinning

Monday through Friday, it’s a scheduled escape between work.

Always ready with lunch, always welcoming

There’s no bell service, nothing to sight see,

no chocolate on your pillow every night

But there’s this girl who’s crazy about you

who wants to quench your search for adventure

who wants to hear all about your travels,

who wants you to look her in the eyes and

say, “It feels so good to be back.”

The kiss I miss the most

I wanted to kiss you goodbye, but I didn’t. I wanted to jump out of the car and chase after you in the airport, the way they do in cheesy love films, but I didn’t. I wanted to scream, “Hey, you’re fucking amazing and I think I’m going to miss you more than I should!” but I didn’t. Last night, I wanted to fall asleep in your arms but I feared how sad and empty my bed would feel all the other nights I’d have to sleep alone, so I all but pushed you out of my room. I wanted you to stop doing everything right so that I wouldn’t find a reason to miss you. But you embraced my crazy obsession with hockey, you found my loud family amusing and they were just enchanted to meet you. You somehow survived my restless shopping. You closed your eyes when you kissed me and your touch made me melt.

So if the Tardis does exist, and I get my pick of any time and space, my heart is set on October 10, 2011—9:51AM—O’Hare Airport. Before I have the chance to convince myself out of it, I’ll slam the car door and run after you. I’ll panic a bit as I search for you among the other travelers, but you won’t have gone far. And I’ll find your tall frame perhaps fumbling with your luggage, or maybe you’re asking a worker for help. You’ll stop what you’re doing when you’ve realized I have followed you inside and you’ll give me that charming grin, the same one you give me whenever I make fun of your accent. You’ll start to say, “Wha-?” but I won’t let you finish because all I’ll want to do is stand on my tip toes, wrap my arms around you one last time, and feel your lips on mine…because I should have kissed you goodbye, but I didn’t.

Writing to this right now because it just feels good.

To do list

So I figured if I made this list public, maybe I’d have more pressure to actually get it accomplished.  If anyone has any tips on the best way to get to these, I’d appreciate it! By August 2012, I would like to do at least one of the following things:

-Go on tour with a band and be their merch girl and write about everything.

-Live somewhere in the UK and write about everything.

-Get my nephew to meet his idol, Patrick Kane.

-Self publish the book I have been working on for forever.

-Eat at Chuck Hughes’ restaurant and write about it.

It’s all about the word play

Here’s the thing. I never stopped writing about you, and it’s not because I miss you and need to keep you alive through words. It’s really not that magical at all…you knew what you were getting yourself into the minute you realized you loved a writer. And just to be sure, I reminded you that everything you said or did was fair game for me to use as I wanted. And as much as I try to mask some of the things we experienced through other characters and different story lines, I need everyone to know one thing: I love Jason Mraz. I fucking love Mr. A to Z. And you and me were a long running lazy catastrophe. I blame it on me instantly agreeing with you when you said that you hated him…because he reminded you too much of her, and I wanted you and me to happen so much that if there was something I could hate with you, I wanted apart of it. Now I’m left with four years of Jason Mraz goodness to dig up and discover. So if this was the clincher, the one thing that really sealed the deal for you—the fact that I hated Jason Mraz, I will make time travel happen and drive a Jason Mraz stake through my heart.

The breaking gets easier

Here’s a snippet from a short story, also just discovered in the many transferred documents. 

Characters:

Dulce: 22, makeup artist, working on an indie film, crushing on the lead actor, Jared.

Jared: Recent college theatre grad who cannot act for shit, cocky mofo.

       I dabbed the Rose Red blush on my hand and mixed in the Mocha Brown on top. Monty Python blared from the TV as I rubbed the two blushes together. What appeared was a burnt brown, the way a bad tan appears. I wrote this combination down and was about to mix other colors when my door buzzed. It was one AM, way past normal visiting hours. I cautiously walked to my intercom to hear who was at the other end.

       “Dulce!” the familiar male voice slurred.

       I immediately jumped away from the intercom, afraid that Jared could somehow see me. Fiercely, I began to pull my hair out of my messy bun and brushed my fingers throughout it, attempting to achieve the “wild and sexy without even trying” look. The door rang again, and this time, I buzzed him inside. I heard his loud steps all the way to my door, which he pounded on. Probably too quickly, I swung open the door and there he was, his hair a mess, a nice black button down shirt that appeared to have once been tucked in, and a fifth of already started Skyy.

       “Dulce,” he said, stumbling onto me for either a hug or an aid to his balance, I couldn’t tell. “Oh God, you’re so pretty,” he said, touching my hair.

       I leaned him against the counter and took a few steps away. “What are you doing here?” I asked. I could feel the rage building within me.

       He handed me the bottle of vodka before answering, “I really wanted to see you! You’re like my best friend. Drinks ended early with the group.”

       “Jared, you’re wasted,” I stated, with more sadness than I had intended. Most of me was disappointed because he didn’t randomly buzz my door when he was sober, the other part of me dreaded the following morning. College theatre had given me enough experience to know that a night full of drinking made for a much more difficult makeup application the next day. Jared’s naturally tan skin tone would be washed out, and I would have to apply a darker base to reach consistency.

       He ran his hand across his face, as if to gain some composure so that I would take him seriously. Then, as he slowly slid away from the counter, he asked, “Is it OK if I crash here?”

       So here it was, the moment I’d been dreaming about…only in my dreams, Jared declared his love for me sometime before asking to spend the night. Oh…and there’d be a boom box and a Peter Gabriel song somewhere in the mix as well. I sighed, disappointed in myself for actually being excited about this stupid situation. Nevertheless, it was still Jared, and though his eyes were glossy with the amount of alcohol he had consumed, they still tugged at my breath.

       “I’ll get some blankets,” I said, walking past him.

       He touched my hand, and gently pulled me back to where he was standing, bringing me dangerously close. My stomach flipped as he rested his arms around my waist and looked deep into my eyes. Sensually, he whispered, “Thanks, Dulce. I really appreciate this.”

       His warm breath on my face sent chills down my spine, and before my senses could memorize the moment, Jared’s lips pressed onto mine. Sure, the kiss was sloppy and tasted of booze, but it was a kiss nonetheless! He guided me towards the couch, and as his hand reached under my shirt, I remembered that he was drunk.

       Pushing myself away from him, I said, “We have an early day tomorrow. Let me grab those blankets.”

       He sighed and plunked onto the couch, disappointedly. Was he upset that I had stopped his drunken advances because he really cared about me, or because he just wanted some action? Was the morning going to be awkward? Would he remember anything? Would he try to establish his love for me in the morning when he was sober—apologize for his rude behavior, only to reveal that getting drunk was the only way he’d ever have the courage to show me how he really felt? The worst part of all this was that I would never forget the crappy kiss.

       I grabbed the extra blankets and pillows from the closet and walked back to the family room only to find Jared already passed out on the couch. Oh yeah, he was crazy for me. With a brand new tear in my heart, I turned off the TV and packed up my makeup kit. I covered Jared with a blanket and forced myself away from gawking.

Sappy Monolouge

So I recently was able to recover all of my documents and music from my old laptop.  Basically I got a little chunk of myself back and it’s always fun to just reflect on what the hell you were thinking!  I stumbled upon this little piece, just bare bones, not really developed but it made me chuckle. Enjoy.

CHARACTERS

DOM: late-twenties

ANITA: early twenties

      SCENE

Outside a corner bar in a small town. Just after sunset, the glow of the sun can still be seen over the rooftops. The bar is an old brick building from the turn of the century, situated on a triangular corner. There is a sign hanging over the door advertising Miller beer, but it is not yet lit. A dog barks in the background. It is a cool summer evening. Dom waits on the stoop outside the bar. Inside, the bar appears to be nearly empty. Dom is dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. He holds a beer in one hand. Anita appears around the corner and starts into the bar. Dom stops her before she can enter.

                                                                  DOM

      (Stands in Anita’s way before she can open the door to the bar.)

Look, I know I told you I’d leave you alone. I know what I said, but I can’t. I’ve been here since dawn just waiting for you to open up the bar. No I’m not drunk- ok I’m a little drunk, but that has nothing to do with this.

      (Pulls out engagement ring from his back pocket.)

I want you to take this back- put it back on your finger.

      (Stops ANITA from passing.)

No I’m serious. How long are you going to be like this? I don’t care if you canceled the church and banquet hall. Let’s fly to Vegas right now. Do you want Elvis to marry us? Do you want a Star Trek wedding? Anything you want- I’ll do it.

      (ANITA shakes her head and is getting irritated.)

I don’t care if it’s been three months. Just tell me what to do. Do you want me to stop listening to Air Supply? Do you want me to stop cooking bacon for dinner? We can watch something else instead of the home shopping network- I’m sorry if I like to get the best deals. Whatever you want, you got it.

      (Pause.)

You still want to be with me right? You haven’t moved on right? It’s only been three months. Is there someone else? Is it that guy at the video store who punches your movie card? Is it the dude who comes in here every night and only drinks jack and coke? Is it that douche who hailed the cab for you that one night? It’s him, isn’t it? The night you called off the engagement and ran out- you fell in love with him because he got you that taxi right away! You’re unbelievable!

      (ANITA starts to walk away, but DOM pulls on her arm.)

I’m sorry- gosh I’m so sorry. I’m crazy! Seriously, I’m just crazy. You don’t have to leave- this is your bar. Please don’t call the cops again. I’m just trying to get my life back together. I can’t understand how you’re not in love with me anymore. I thought we were going to buy that condo and get a dog.

      (ANITA pulls out her cell phone and dials some numbers.)

Oh God, are you calling your brothers? Not necessary. Not necessary! Look, I’m leaving!

      (Allows ANITA to open the door.)

Why don’t you call me when you’re ready.

Back to Apples, Acne, and Axe.

Ok, so my last post was pretty bitter.  Ironically, I was offered a job the next day. So while I maintain a mindless job during the day and make some money, I can continue trying to get my foot in the door as a writer.  What is this grand new job? I’m a secretary at a junior high. YUP a germ filled, snot dripping kid infested junior high school. The pay is pretty good and it comes with sweet benefits so it’s kind of a good deal.  While many may be fretting that my writing will grow stale due to my environment, it’s actually surprising the material I have come up with.

For one thing, I have officially stopped living my life as a college student who went to sleep at 4am and still managed to get to a noon class with naps. Now that I have to get up at 7AM, if I’m not in bed by 11PM, I’m screwed and will pay for it gravely the next day at work.  This especially sucks when my loud inconsiderate neighbors decide to start their weird cow-sex moaning at 11pm.  Tonight it actually sounded like cows were dying and I was genuinely concerned until I remembered they are ass holes.

Another interesting thing: middle school lunch rooms will always smell the same. Guess what? They’re still serving that shitty cardboard pizza and those questionable burgers.

Even more interesting: Parents.are.crazy.and.we.have.you.on.our.list. When you come in and demand that we yank out your kid from class right this second for an appointment he/she wasn’t aware of, you make our list. When you give your daughter a knife to cut her apple at lunch and then complain about how it was confiscated and insist we give it back to you right away so your husband can make dinner, you make our list. When you call us and have a question that only administrators can answer and then laugh at us for telling you that only administrators can answer that question, you make our list. When you don’t call your kid in sick and we have to call you to verify that your kid is home, and you don’t even say sorry for not calling your kid in, your make our list. When you shove a folder in our face and demand that we call little Johnny out of class right away because he needs it, you make our list.

Here’s what’s awesome: There is always food around. We get the hook up. It’s always someone’s birthday, someone’s wife is always pregnant and needs a baby shower, there’s always some sort of pizza party, there is food everywhere.

Also awesome: the ladies I work with know I’m a writer and are aware that whatever they say/do can be used against them in my writing.  They have embraced this notion and have even given me the names they want to have in my book.

What are your Rules?

So one day in my creative non-fiction class, my TA told us to start writing some rules we have for living.  I personally think she didn’t have a lesson plan for that day (another day we spent the entire class time listing our favourite candies and why…yyyyeah) but nevertheless, I got to think about things that I live by.  I encourage everyone to do this, try to figure out the absolute guidelines that your influence your life decisions.  These our mine, in no particular order:

-Never date anyone who is less interesting than you, you will be bored.

-Always travel with some advil and immodium, it sucks being sick in public.

-Don’t bother trying to understand how people can be so ignorant and/or stupid, you will never get it.

-Read, read, read! You can learn a lot from the perspectives and experiences of others.  If you don’t have the money to travel around the world, read and live as though you are there.

-Be happy.  This sounds simple enough but to some it’s not.  We are so caught up with what we want and what we do not have and how we would be so much happier if we just had ____.  Stop.  Look around and find something you’re happy about.  I do not have my dream job right now and will be moving back home with the rents in a few days, but I get to write :)

-Do not stress. There is no point to worrying about the inevitable, if it’s coming, it’s coming, you can face it when it gets there. Think of the worst case scenario and find a way to get comfy with it so that you can stop worrying.

I’m certain there are more I’ll add to these but I feel I’ve got a good bunch here.  Your turn. :)

Sometimes I get the itch to go out for a drink thinking I might miss meeting the woman of my dreams, but then I realize the woman of my dreams isn’t at a bar at 12:36 on a Wednesday morning. No, the woman of my dreams is asleep in bed with her lame boyfriend she’s only now beginning to see is lame. Nice enough guy, but no passion or curiosity. It was cute when he called her babe at first but now it’s just lazy and distant sounding. The woman of my dreams just twitched in her sleep because I mentioned her. The woman of my dreams is not usually twitchy. The woman of my dreams likes Family Guy but doesn’t LOVE Family Guy. The woman of my dreams will engage in conversations that don’t necessarily cater to her in exchange for my moving quickly through the shop talk. The woman of my dreams has to be up at 7am. Maybe the woman of my dreams is at the gym, not the bar. I better get to bed.

I will allow time for every girl on the face of this planet to stop and think about how this truly applies to her current relationship, and be absolutely convinced that she is destined to be with John Mayer FOR SURE. (…. ….. ….. …….. ….. ….. …….. ….. ….. …….. ….. ….. …….. ….. ….. …….. ….. ….. …….. ….. ….. …….. ….. ….. …….. ….. ….. …….. ….. ….. …….. ….. ….. …….. ….. ….. …….. ….. ….. …….. ….. ….. …….. ….. ….. …….. ….. ….. …….. ….. ….. ….)  Are we good now?

Did you like how I pretended to not be one of those girls haha.  Here’s what I admire about this particular blog: it’s to the point authentic.  Despite all the crap John Mayer “goes through” or “does to himself” as far as what we can tell from the media, I still believe there’s an ‘Inside wants Out’ guy in there somewhere who still craves to be comfortable with someone.  Sure fame and money are there, but sometimes a little bit of familiarity peeks through in what he says, and hit songs aside, I find that he puts words to something that I didn’t even know I felt until I read them.  One of those “Oh my God, yes I know exactly what you mean!” moments.  And yes, I’m the one with the creative writing degree so I should be able to just pin point these things easily but damn, sometimes this guy is just good.