sense space stimulation

That time I was reading Shades of Gray on the Metro

SMALL CHILD: Can I sit here?

ME: Sure.

[Five minutes elapse.]

SMALL CHILD: What are you reading?

ME: Uh. It’s a book. By… a man… named Jeffrey Euginedes.

SMALL CHILD: If I’m quiet can I read over your shoulder?

ME: It’s… for older kids.

A snapshot, for you, of my Monday morning commute:

Driving behind a motorcycle + a side car attache as the saxaphone solo from Spandeau Ballet’s “True” happens upon the radio, the leaves have that anxious verdant glow about them, I’m tired but I have this numb/dumb happy sort of feeling lately.

bougie, derived from bourgeois

i often buy 2-1 shampoo/conditioner..really just soap. i started doing this in college, when i would often choose beer over other commodities. after graduation, i decided to grow up and use my new hard-earned money to buy store brand shampoo AND conditioner. a real, live, grown-up.

yesterday when my hockey-playing 6” 9′ hairdresser was washing my hair, he used a magical combination of moroccan hair oil and coco creme. i don’t even think he actually cut my hair. despite exposing my delicate new haircut to the fumes of the city, the sweat after a long run, and my less than forceful water pressure, my hair still seems like a disney princess’ would. i feel magical and radiant.

living beyond one’s means as expressed through hair products and craft beers. essence of your 20′s.

Word Portraits: Rooftop Bar

SCENE: At a bar for white people pretending it’s a bar for black people. The air is pulsating with the sweet tunes of Phil Collins. Fighting for some fresh air, our protagonist makes her way to the rooftop bar.

Ambiguously ethnic male: “Where’re you from, you’re Indian right”

Wishes she was more buzzed but is too poor: “I’m from NJ, actually”

Looks exasperated at response: “Nah, I mean, where’re you from”

Resigned to answering this question for the hundredth time tonight: “…”  Sigh. “India”

Guy who better buy her a drink at this point:  ”I knew it! You’re too white to be Sri Lankan and too dark to be Pakistani”

Girl then pretends that random strangers at the bar are calling her name and trieds to exit gracefully (Note. She didn’t)

FACT: Don’t talk to men with fake blue contacts.

Word Portraits: U street music hall

Hey you. You in the corner, trying to discreetly take a sip from your flask. I respect the fact you didn’t feel like paying for alcohol. Yea, I like this eye contact we’re making. I normally don’t go for guys with beards, but I’m starting to dig it. Hey, I don’t know this band playing, I’m just here on a extra ticket. What’s that, you can tell because I’m not singing along? Oh, don’t shake your head at me, YOU DON’T KNOW ME. 

Oh your little asian girlfriend is clawing my face with her eyes. GTG. 

Superbowl Fiesta 2K12

“All the events seemed disjointed, the people were caricatures, the sounds were all hollow and far-away sounding, and he saw himself as an ineffectual, affected, half-baked creature trapped in a particularly, pointless movie”

night time musings

every night, on my way home, i drive by a field. there is plastic, white lawn chair that inexplicably remains upturned on the side of the road. every night, i get startled by its presence.

roving headlights transform it into the fossilized bones of a small animal, limbs forever paralyzed stretched toward the sky.

trash

Lately THINGS have cast a sort of spell over me. I once tried to lead a basic lifestyle. My wardrobe consisted of jeans and $5.00 tee shirts. Mattress on the floor, books, celibacy, plant-based diet. In Seattle I belonged to the sidewalks but wore pearls.  When my health insurance expired, I realized how easy it would be to fall through the cracks. I passed a homeless man daily on the way to the gym. He had the apocalypse in his eyes. He paced unevenly up and down the same concrete strip holding a sign. His eyes were glassy and light blue and I don’t know if he recognized me. His mechanical perseverance was frightening. How does that happen to someone? But I had no job or connections, really, and the skin between me and them got thinner and thinner.  It would have been easy.

The only beggar that scares me now has a fully tattooed face and sits in front of Union Station like a breathing mountain of trash. I have a briefcase that I take to an office in Washington, D.C. In that briefcase is another room, and in the room is a person, who has business cards with her name printed on them, and she buys things that she does not need.

Ode to the Roll of Bondage Tape in My Car that a Divorced MBA Holder Named Susi Convinced Me to Buy while Emotionally Compromised

TO BE CONTINUED…