Tonight Megan and I made a mix CD to commemorate our love over the past few years - a follow-up to Girls' Weekend 2004 and the post-graduation I Love You mix, if you will:
We Fell In Love All Over Again! Christmas Eve 2006:
1) Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Cheated Hearts
2) The Cure - Love Song
3) Death Cab for Cutie - Soul Meets Body
4) The Doors - Love Her Madly
5) The Faint - Worked Up So Sexual
6) Fiona Apple - Get Him Back
7) Heart - Barracuda
8) The Clash - Rock the Casbah
9) Pete Townshend - Let My Love Open the Door
10) Muse - Starlight
11) Peter Gabriel - In Your Eyes
12) Pinback - Syracuse
13) The Postal Service - Such Great Heights
14) Queens of the Stone Age - Burn the Witch
15) Regina Spektor - Fidelity
16) The Smiths - Bigmouth Strikes Again
17) Tori Amos - The Waitress
18) U2 - She Moves in Mysterious Ways
19) David Gilmour - There's No Way Out of Here
Slob on My Nob was going to be a bonus track, but we decided that the lyrics were too heartwrenching to endure. But narrowing down the song list for this compilation was no easy task - "That was like giving away children!"
Tonight I laughed harder than I have in a long time. I'm not sure if I have Megan to blame or Gigli. Probably Gigli.
"God bless you, penis."
12.19.2006
Touched the mannequin, and then ran.
The most amazing video I have ever seen:
In today's news, I have a tendency to shake a lot.
In today's news, I have a tendency to shake a lot.
12.11.2006
On overindulgence
Thursday, December 7th, 2006
2:15 PM, 1465 Chester Avenue
Cleveland, Ohio – Greyhound Bus station
To Cincinnati to see my boy.
Couldn’t be more excited.
And Pops couldn’t be more apprehensive. He hesitantly leaves me after buying me a watered-down Diet Coke and encouraging me to stick around the security guards. I’m personally unafraid – the fact that I’m the racial minority doesn’t frighten me. Of course, the first person to approach me after I’m left unattended is white. Picture George Carlin, but a little more rough around the edges, with dirtier fingernails and less teeth, and sweatpants and big black sunglasses.
“Can I sit here?”
There are many open tables, but maybe his sunglasses have obscured his vision.
“Oh, sure.”
“It’s cold, huh? Real cold when you’re homeless like me, ya know?”
Because I can relate. “Oh, yeah.”
“You reading a book?”
No, I’m fixin’ on eatin’ it. “Mmhmm.”
I’m a bitch. Maybe he just wants someone to talk to. No harm in that, really.
“I’ve got a room. You want to come with me?”
I want to ask him how a homeless man has a room, but instead I chuckle uncomfortably and spit out something that sounds like “Ohoha, no, thank you, heh.”
Thank you? Since when do rules of etiquette apply to potential rapists? The man, who introduces himself as George, swindles a dollar out of me and disappears. I see him minutes later seated next to a coy blond teenager on a stairway, convincing her to surrender her bag of pretzels to him. Security hollers and sends him on his way, but he's a happy camper - proudly displaying his dollar and a bag of pretzels in tow.
3:30 PM - I call Scott to let him know that I'm on my way, and before I can insert my iPod earphones I hear "You goin' to see your honey, too?"
He's a nice kid, I find - Michael (or Matthew or something): 28, bearded, artistic, and annoyingly restless. He spends the next couple hours offering me food, telling his life story, showing me his photography and explaining his perspective on art. I really want to just read my book.
I’m a bitch. Maybe he just wants someone to talk to. No harm in that, really.
So I oblige his anxiety and listen to him rattle on about the things he sees in the clouds. The clouds are grey and the sky is peach at this point, highlighting all the God-fearing billboards I see on the way. "IF YOU DIE TODAY, WHERE WILL YOU SPEND ETERNITY?" Ohio has a lot of these, and a lot of oversized domineering crosses that sneer at you as you drive by.
There is a cute girl on the bus - 20, with wavy dark hair, purposely tattered jeans, pumps, and a tongue ring. Her voice is sulty, sophisticated - and she works at Hooters. I think I have a hetero-crush.
This fades the second I arrive in Cincinnati and set eyes upon my boy. It's hard to appropriately explain times like these with words alone, even in a poetic sense. It needs a soundtrack and it needs texture - and you need to feel how warm he is. I can't take my eyes or hands off of him for the next 48 hours, which are spent mostly in a hazy state of euphoric rapture. Athens, Ohio - I owe you somethin'.
I spin into slumber Friday night and roll into consciousness Saturday morning, suffering the painful consequences of overindulgence. Furthermore, I'm afraid I'm actually ill with some sort of virus or food poisoning. Saturday and Sunday are a struggle, and I try my best to act fully functional around his family and friends, but my attempts to ignore the agonizing pain in my stomach are futile - whoever said that stuff about mind over matter is full o' shits.
If I were funny I'd make a shit joke right here.
You are wonderful. There are times where I purposely distance myself from you, physically - by a couple of feet or so, so I can take all of you in - head to toe, every observable quality and quirk.
Saturday Night Live is no longer funny, even in the slightest, by the way. That's a shame.
Scott sends me off on Sunday afternoon, back onto the Greyhound and back into the wintry grounds of Cleveland. The windows of this bus are so sullied that their stains match the post-Cincinnati sky, and I soon realize that it doesn't matter which I choose to focus on - both are equally dismal.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
6:45 PM, West Salem, Ohio
West Salem, Ohio has a population of less than 2,000 people and I am convinced it's the darkest town in Ohio. The cornfields I see are frighteningly vast; the gas stations I see are shut down; the signs I see warn of horse-and-buggy crossings.
And here we were, stuck in somebody's front yard, because our driver thought it was a good idea to turn around in somebody's dirt and gravel driveway. Beyond that, we're lost, I'm hungry, and I'm terrified. But there is rapport on this bus - there's nothing like fear to bring people together. We arrive in Cleveland three hours later than expected, and though I'm thoroughly annoyed, I've been laughing my ass off with these folks. But don't tell Greyhound that, because in an hour or so they're going to get a distressed phone call demanding a refund.
Home. Nothing worth mentioning here.
2:15 PM, 1465 Chester Avenue
Cleveland, Ohio – Greyhound Bus station
To Cincinnati to see my boy.
Couldn’t be more excited.
And Pops couldn’t be more apprehensive. He hesitantly leaves me after buying me a watered-down Diet Coke and encouraging me to stick around the security guards. I’m personally unafraid – the fact that I’m the racial minority doesn’t frighten me. Of course, the first person to approach me after I’m left unattended is white. Picture George Carlin, but a little more rough around the edges, with dirtier fingernails and less teeth, and sweatpants and big black sunglasses.
“Can I sit here?”
There are many open tables, but maybe his sunglasses have obscured his vision.
“Oh, sure.”
“It’s cold, huh? Real cold when you’re homeless like me, ya know?”
Because I can relate. “Oh, yeah.”
“You reading a book?”
No, I’m fixin’ on eatin’ it. “Mmhmm.”
I’m a bitch. Maybe he just wants someone to talk to. No harm in that, really.
“I’ve got a room. You want to come with me?”
I want to ask him how a homeless man has a room, but instead I chuckle uncomfortably and spit out something that sounds like “Ohoha, no, thank you, heh.”
Thank you? Since when do rules of etiquette apply to potential rapists? The man, who introduces himself as George, swindles a dollar out of me and disappears. I see him minutes later seated next to a coy blond teenager on a stairway, convincing her to surrender her bag of pretzels to him. Security hollers and sends him on his way, but he's a happy camper - proudly displaying his dollar and a bag of pretzels in tow.
3:30 PM - I call Scott to let him know that I'm on my way, and before I can insert my iPod earphones I hear "You goin' to see your honey, too?"
He's a nice kid, I find - Michael (or Matthew or something): 28, bearded, artistic, and annoyingly restless. He spends the next couple hours offering me food, telling his life story, showing me his photography and explaining his perspective on art. I really want to just read my book.
I’m a bitch. Maybe he just wants someone to talk to. No harm in that, really.
So I oblige his anxiety and listen to him rattle on about the things he sees in the clouds. The clouds are grey and the sky is peach at this point, highlighting all the God-fearing billboards I see on the way. "IF YOU DIE TODAY, WHERE WILL YOU SPEND ETERNITY?" Ohio has a lot of these, and a lot of oversized domineering crosses that sneer at you as you drive by.
There is a cute girl on the bus - 20, with wavy dark hair, purposely tattered jeans, pumps, and a tongue ring. Her voice is sulty, sophisticated - and she works at Hooters. I think I have a hetero-crush.
This fades the second I arrive in Cincinnati and set eyes upon my boy. It's hard to appropriately explain times like these with words alone, even in a poetic sense. It needs a soundtrack and it needs texture - and you need to feel how warm he is. I can't take my eyes or hands off of him for the next 48 hours, which are spent mostly in a hazy state of euphoric rapture. Athens, Ohio - I owe you somethin'.
I spin into slumber Friday night and roll into consciousness Saturday morning, suffering the painful consequences of overindulgence. Furthermore, I'm afraid I'm actually ill with some sort of virus or food poisoning. Saturday and Sunday are a struggle, and I try my best to act fully functional around his family and friends, but my attempts to ignore the agonizing pain in my stomach are futile - whoever said that stuff about mind over matter is full o' shits.
If I were funny I'd make a shit joke right here.
You are wonderful. There are times where I purposely distance myself from you, physically - by a couple of feet or so, so I can take all of you in - head to toe, every observable quality and quirk.
Saturday Night Live is no longer funny, even in the slightest, by the way. That's a shame.
Scott sends me off on Sunday afternoon, back onto the Greyhound and back into the wintry grounds of Cleveland. The windows of this bus are so sullied that their stains match the post-Cincinnati sky, and I soon realize that it doesn't matter which I choose to focus on - both are equally dismal.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
6:45 PM, West Salem, Ohio
West Salem, Ohio has a population of less than 2,000 people and I am convinced it's the darkest town in Ohio. The cornfields I see are frighteningly vast; the gas stations I see are shut down; the signs I see warn of horse-and-buggy crossings.
And here we were, stuck in somebody's front yard, because our driver thought it was a good idea to turn around in somebody's dirt and gravel driveway. Beyond that, we're lost, I'm hungry, and I'm terrified. But there is rapport on this bus - there's nothing like fear to bring people together. We arrive in Cleveland three hours later than expected, and though I'm thoroughly annoyed, I've been laughing my ass off with these folks. But don't tell Greyhound that, because in an hour or so they're going to get a distressed phone call demanding a refund.
Home. Nothing worth mentioning here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
