Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
things i love...
drinking first thing in the morning.
things i hate...
the only circumstance these days that allows me to do so. i am flying home today.
ok. here's the plan. i'll have her top off my drink with regular coffee. when i drink that i'll order the gin.
jesus. fucking. christ. tgi fridays, what is up with the non-dairy creamer? that's just foul. i may have to go to plan b. which is where i bankrupt myself at tgi fridays.
i should have come up with a better plan. now i have an hour to kill with no more drink moneys. just annoying children that i PRAY are seated no where near me.
and no. i will not be checking my modestly sized carry-on. i already checked one bag. one of these cheapskates can check theirs.
oh? what? i'm in zone 1?
Monday, June 28, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
i live in the desert. which fucks with my skin like constantly. sooooo... today i made an avocado face mask.
even in its newest hours.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Saturday, June 19, 2010
i'm glad i spent it with you.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Friday, June 11, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Symptom Recital by Dorothy Parker
I do not like my state of mind;
I’m bitter, querulous, unkind.
I hate my legs, I hate my hands,
I do not yearn for lovelier lands.
I dread the dawn’s recurrent light;
I hate to go to bed at night.
I snoot at simple, earnest folk.
I cannot take the gentlest joke.
I find no peace in paint or type.
My world is but a lot of tripe.
I’m disillusioned, empty-breasted.
For what I think, I’d be arrested.
I am not sick, I am not well.
My quondam dreams are shot to hell.
My soul is crushed, my spirit sore;
I do not like me any more.
I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse.
I ponder on the narrow house.
I shudder at the thought of men….
I’m due to fall in love again.
you could pick any number of her poems. the theme is the same. rationally, we...i...should generate certain probabilities when faced with love. these should structure my actions to err on the side of caution and not over invest (or invest at all) in emotional markets. they're just simply too volatile. predictably volatile.
time after time when faced with the chance that love will pay off, i generate probabilities that reflect only my own inflated sense of hope. not the actual probability that this time will be different.
like powerball or high stakes poker, the chance that this time someone will actually love me back and express that in a way that doesn't include [insert any number of undesirable actions] is enough to reformulate my expectations into the anticipation of a sure thing. to think that this person is different than the others. all the others. that all my experiences up until this point were bumps along the way. lessons i had to learn in order to know the real thing when i found it.
stuff and nonsense.
take the odds born of experience and don't risk it.