Published?

A few months ago I submitted something that I wrote to this literary review. It was just a short little piece of fiction, and I totally forgot that I'd even sent it.

So today my roommate texts me and tells me that an envelope with my own handwriting on it came in the mail. As soon as she said it, I remembered sitting at the desk in our living room, writing out a self-addressed stamped envelope and sending it out to (the publication that shall remain nameless).

"Oh shit..." is what I text back.

I was afraid, but I told her to open it....

And its contents turned out to be my very first formal letter of rejection.

The shitty part is this - I went to Barnes and Noble and thumbed through that magazine before I sent anything to their editors. And the writing in it was super stuffy sounding, weird, boring bullshit. And so that's why I thought they'd accept my submission. My logic was, "Wow, this stuff sucks, mine's better, send it in." I guess my stuff isn't better after all. ;)

And that's totally ok...

Because the good part is this - It feels pretty cool to get a written record of the fact that I actually tried. I have proof that I took a chance and I tried, ya know (even if it was only in the miniscule form of a literary review)? And that's a nice feeling that I think I'd like to invite back again soon. I'm pretty sure I can take it, and the mere attempt seems like sort of an accomplishment in itself.

Maybe if I never "make it," I can artfully design a book consisting solely of rejection letters. I could make it all hipster-y looking, and give it a "it's cool to fail as long as you try and have bangs" feel. Pages upon pages, put together to create a huge array of entertainingly sad denials from publications in every nation. Yea, I think I might have a new goal.

My Mom used to take a ceramics class where she'd paint garden gnomes, among other things. Here's a picture of one, who looked way cooler after this pink flowery bush blossomed around him (give him a name) -

If I had a few billion

...Aside from what I'd do for my loved ones, here's what I'd do for me (until I figured out what billionaires really do with their money) -

1. I'd buy a small place to live in Lisbon, Portugal. I'd spend 3 consecutive months of the year there, just doing whatever my hopeful heart desired. I'd drink bica and eat olives during the day, and at night I'd wander around underneath the moon trying to speak Portuguese to anyone who'd let me. And I can't remember if there are lightening bugs in Portugal, but it would be nice if they were there too.

2. I'd post weird ad's on craigslist and handsomely reward the most thoughtful respondents.

3. I'd pay a psychiatrist to answer me the following questions: a). Why, shrink, why, does my incessant over-thinking always get in the way of all that I could be doing? b). Mr. Freudylicious, if I had such a great Daddy, why am I always in love with some insensitive prick? and c). Dr. Crazypants, am I insanely delusional if, at 27, I still believe that dreams really do come true?

4. I'd get lasik eye surgery. I absolutely loathe getting up to take out my contacts at night.

5. I'd walk down Canal St. and purchase every cheap piece of shit that tickled my fancy. Not because I need them or even want them, but because my imagination seems to have more fun while its hands are sifting through fake gold and plastic. Little street treasures urge my thoughts to tiptoe to another place for a minute, and costume jewelry incites a more interesting story than most of the beautiful people I meet.

6. I'd give Paul McCartney a pretty penny to come over to my house and perform "Maybe I'm Amazed." And he'd sing...

Maybe I'm amazed at the way you love me all the time
Maybe I'm afraid of the way I love you
Maybe I'm amazed at the way you're with me all the time
Maybe I'm afraid of the way I leave you

Maybe I'm amazed at the way you help me sing my song
You right me when I'm wrong
Maybe I'm amazed at the way I really need you

7. I'd buy this car -




8. I'd hire a film crew to document my life for a year. I'd tell them to edit it however they saw fit, and then I'd sit down with some raisinets and watch the way my life had unfolded through someone else's eyes.

9. I'd find a huge apartment in New York City and lavishly furnish it with things from around the globe. Pretty things, strange things, inexpensive things, priceless things, things that serve no purpose, things that make you think, things that make you feel sexy. Then when people came over they could ponder all the possible back stories as to where I picked this and that piece up or who I met along the way. I would tell them if they asked, but I'd rather they made up their own scenarios..the same way I do on Canal St.

10. I'd buy an ice cream truck and change the music so it bumped dirty sounding house beats that make you shake your culo. And you would too. I'd drive it to the club and hand out free Choco-Tacos to drunk people. And maybe even give some of them a ride home.

*Editor's note - Post inspiration: my gemstone turban wearing partner in crime, eviltart (http://www.myspace.com/eviltart).

Sing a song

Here's a really shitty video of me, totally wasted.

It's funny how I actually stop to clear my throat. Hahaha.

So you think you're a grown up..

But actions speak louder than words. I'll try and tie a few things together with this one.

Over Memorial Day weekend I drove from Chicago to Detroit with a few friends to attend the Detroit Electronic Music Festival (which is really just like a big rave party, for those unfamiliar). Detroit is roughly a 5 hour drive from The City of Wind, but it wasn't all that bad. Here I am with one of my fellow road trippers, Tyrel (pic courtesy of Jack)...



That little dress I had on was pretty cute when you could see the whole thing. And ladies, Tyrel is all chill and Zen-like, but he's taken. There are a few other pictures from my adventure, but they're horrible drunken ones not suitable for showing off.

Anyway, I'd been to Detroit on a few occasions in the past, but only through work, so I'd never really gotten a chance to take a good look around. This time through I got a better feel for the city, and I wasn't all that impressed. But I guess I wasn't all that unimpressed either.

It definitely lived up to its ghetto reputation, as someone got shot on the corner right down the block from a club we were walking into. And there were thugs galore cruising around the same block over and over and over again in what was probably their pride and joy (rims, bass, and all). It was annoying, to say the least. But I do enjoy nitty gritty feeling bullshit like that, it makes me feel like I'm in a real place with real people...so it was tolerable for a bit. But after the rat-a-tat-tat that rang out down the street, I was just totally uneasy. But whatever, I was drunk, and when I'm drunk I tend to let things slide.

Despite the plethora of hoodrats out and about, I didn't see one real live rat anywhere. And that was just really odd to me. Rats are abundant in New York City, I see them scamper across the street all the time in Chicago, so why didn't one scurry past in Detroit? Just a thought.

I ran into some old friends later in the evening, and there's some type of discrepency being discussed. This guy I used to know starts yelling about, "That shit you sold me was fake!"..or something along those lines. And so I'm standing there listening to all of this bullshit, and watching as a fight almost breaks out, and I'm just really disappointed all of the sudden. I feel sorry for everyone in the room. Here's this guy I know, age 30 or so, picking a fight with some raver kid over being sold some fake ecstasy. What the fuck are you doing, man? Aren't we all supposed to be moving on to bigger and better things or something? Because we're ADULTS maybe? Apparently not, and now here you are, a grown ass man, screaming at some clueless 20 year old kid cuz you're not high. You're a fucking loser.

And I was pretty much just ready to go home after that. All day I'd walked around waiting for the good time. And the good time was right there, it turns out that I'm just not feelin' it anymore. I was surrounded by a bunch of disrespectful pieces of shit that couldn't let go of the past. No thanks. Am I still hip?

So then last Friday I'm hanging out with my cousin. He's 33, a junior high teacher, and he has a son named Logan. He totally has his life together, but he's still the coolest guy ever. And so I feel like it's good for me to be around him, like he's a positive influence. He makes me feel like you can be responsible and still be a lot of fucking fun.

He and I are alike in a lot of ways - We're both very stable-minded, logical thinkers, but we both still want a good time at least once a week. We both internalize shit because we'd rather figure it out in our own heads before we bring it to the table. And we're both really funny. We're also both Capricorns, which might explain the similarities if you're into that kind of thing. So whenever we're together, we just "get it," ya know? We get eachother, ever since we were little kids.

He's going through some shit right now and calls me up out of the blue. "You wanna come over?" I'm going through some shit right now too, for the better, but shit nonetheless..so yes, I do wanna come over...

When I get there he's watching a UFC fight. I don't know why, but I'm totally into that shit. So we drink, watch fights, eat Mexican food and talk. He tells me his problems, I tell him mine...and then our conversation takes a turn somewhere and we're talking about everyone else's lives. He brings up another cousin of ours who's 40 some odd years old, has a wife and two kids, and smokes weed like he might never see tomorrow. And again, I'm in Detroit, disappointed with people in general, and in myself as well.

Because actions do speak louder than words. And what do I really have to speak of? Let's move on, I'm ready.

You and me, give and take

I'll start out lighthearted here, this being my first post and all...

Here are some things that you, as a man, should and shouldn't do for/to me, and some things that I, as a woman, will and won't do for/to you in return...

You should never talk shit about my family. Leave that to me, I'll do enough of it for the both of us. I'll follow this rule as well, of course.

When we go out, you should know what I drink. And you should order it for me. And I shouldn't have to say a word. And then you should keep them coming until I tell you I've had enough. In return, I will make absolutely sure that there is at least a 6 pack of your favorite beer in the refrigerator at all times.

You should be supportive of my keen fashion sense. Seriously. I'm sure a little of what brought me to your attention in the first place was my wicked personal style, so don't make fun of me when I read Vogue or watch coverage of fashion week on public access. So what if I have too many accessories, don't make me feel stupid for being awesome. Your recompense: I will never do "typical girl" shit, like ask you a million questions as soon as you walk in the door, complain when it takes you 45 minutes to take a shit, or point out the fact that I'd rather be watching something other than football/baseball/basketball/hockey. I'm good at being quiet.

Say thank you when I do nice things for you. Don't kiss my ass like a little bitch, just man up and say thank you. For this, I will continue to think of thoughtful little ways to make you feel special. I'm really good at that.

You should be nice to my friends. Some of them might be snotty. Some of them might not be so bright. Some of them might have fucked your brother. Whatever the case, they're my friends, and since I love them, I expect you to act like a nice guy unless you have a really good reason not to. In exchange for this, I won't file sexual harassment charges against your raunchy best friend when he gets drunk and smacks my ass at a Christmas party in front of all your co-workers.

You will never ever tell me I'm fat or fatter than I used to be. If you need to lie, then do it. I'll know you're lying, and I'll be so grateful that you don't wanna risk hurting my feelings. If I've gained a few, you should say the following, "No, I hadn't noticed. But you were way too skinny to begin with. I love you." That's it. On the other hand, if I'm shopping and those jeans really do make my ass look big, you should tell me not to waste my money. To repay you for this confusion, I will still have sex with you when your penis is playing hide and seek with your old man beer gut. I'll probably even think it's kinda cute.

You should buy me things sometimes. Not big things, just little ones. Like a coffee on your way to my house, or my favorite kind of gum at the gas station. If you don't remember things like my favorite kind of gum, that's ok, I won't hold it against you. Just pick one. In return, I'll put all your favorite songs on my ipod. So then if you ever forget yours, we can share and you'll still have something to listen to.

You shouldn't get pissed if I take too long to get ready. After all, your friends wouldn't think I'm this cute if I looked like I just rolled out of bed. Just wait it out, and tomorrow I'll clean all your pee off the rim of the toilet. I bet I'll even smile while I'm doing it. I'll smile just thinking about you, standing there peeing on that very spot. For real.

Don't ever let me walk home alone late at night or get in my car if I'm drunk. I usually don't do either of those things, but if I attempt to, just don't let me. If you care about me, you should be thinking of my safety, so step in and take control of the situation or get off your lazy ass and walk me to the train. As a token of my appreciation, I'll scratch your head while we watch movies on the couch. And then I'll cook you beef stew, or something else you like to eat.

Don't dry hump me, grab my boobs, or lift up my skirt in public or in front of your friends. You are not Homer Simpson, Al Bundy, or the Dad in Family Guy. This is real life and not only is this behavior completely unacceptable, but it's abnormal and it makes me look bad. And since we're a team, when I look bad you look bad. Make sense? To compensate your restraint in this area, you can play with my boobs and hump me all you want when we get home. Not only will I let you, but I will like it.

Open the damn door for me. All the time, and even when we're old. Of course I can do it myself, but I shouldn't have to. Act right and I will take care of your babies for the rest of our lives, even the ones that aren't mine. Cuz that's just how I do.

Do not cheat on me. If your penis does happen to spontaneously fall upon another woman, do not try to win back my affection with expensive gifts. It will make me feel like a cheap piece of property, which I most certainly am not. And to tell you the truth, I don't even really like fancy shit..so save your loot. In exchange for this kind gesture, I will have your back to the fullest effect until the end of time.