self depreciation is not code-four

I am totally aware the self-depreciation is not an attractive trait. I do not advise or practice it.

But if you do constantly cut yourself down, tear yourself up, rip yourself apart, stop it. People will not know how to give you a pat on the back if you say that your back is hideous.

birthdays, shmirthdays

Lost my umbrella and was soaked when the late bus coasted up my hill. Missed my transfer. Twenty minutes in downpour, bus transfer, late arrival to the movie. Sad film, bawled and shivered in the darkness. Another hour in the rain for a transfer.

By the time I got home I wanted to punch someone.

star struck

Today I got to interview children’s book author, James Rumford:

http://www.amazon.com/s?ie=UTF8&search-type=ss&index=books&field-author=James%20Rumford&page=1

He did two stints in the Peace Corps, speaks many different languages, and illustrates his own books! This makes me a total literary nerd, but I’m star struck. Now I get to write an article for our newsletter about him. Yes, I love my job.

writer's block

I finally have a job that requires me to write articles and stories and I can’t think of a damn thing. I miss the world of creative writing workshops. As much as I complained, it was good to be surrounded by creative, stimulating assignments. And group feedback. These days my writing self is quite blah.

I live vicariously by discussing the lives of others

“What I think,” I said to my friend—we were sitting in front of Safeway munching on pita chips and hummus—“is that they’re either getting married or breaking up.”

“Really?” she replied “Don’t you think you’re being drastic?”

That night they coyly showed me the ring.

Note to self: always go with gut feelings.

The things we do for self confidence

I was blow drying my hair and making all the faces that I make at my reflection when I’m alone. I flatten my nose, bulge my eyes and angle my face. The final mirror reflection that I see before I leave for work is the image of me I will carry around all day long.

Inspired by this photo

Nervous, uncomfortable, overbearing, penis-nose, dominant-submissive, passive, aggressive, confused, longing, Sesame Street, background, foreground, foreplay… sweat

Mascara, shag rug, dew rag, hair accessories, minnie mouse

Muppet, puppet, snuffleupagus, animatronics,

PBS, sunny days, chasing clouds away, on my way, to where…

The air is clean?

Tusks, wooly mammoth, cave, ice age, global warming, health insurance, absentee ballot.

supporting characters

I tried writing a story about the supporting character. The BFF. The bridesmaid. The comedy relief. She’s there to build dimension into the protagonist before she hovers into the shadows of somebody else's happy ending. But I realized a story about the supporting character is essentially a death sentence to her reason for existence.

21st Century Narcissism

The tragedy between beautiful and interesting is a crooked nose, a lopsided smile, a droopy eyelid. Cute isn’t beautiful but it’s symmetrical—visually adequate. Pretty’s runner-up to beautiful, but lacks something striking. A pretty face in a crowd—crowd, the operative word. No, the tragedy lays in interesting; one can witness what almost might’ve been.

To be lonely is a habit/Like smoking or taking drugs

I am not sincerely generous. I’m currently behind a closed door wishing that my friend would go home. Nevermind that I extended the invitation to stay. But shouldn’t all invitations include an end time? The white noise of the television through the wall is just enough for me to know that I am not alone.

riding in strange cars with strange people

Since arriving in Hawaii, I’ve ridden with many strangers. Some strangers are legitimate—coworkers, roommate’s boyfriends—but others are... from craigslist strange.

Example: over phone, a landlord exclaims, “I’m in the area—I’ll drive you to the place!” Two minutes later a shabby car jumps curb. What do I do?

I get in the car.

heavy sigh

Dear cat,

You’re a cat without a name. If you weren’t so hyper, you’d be an inanimate object to me. Providing you with food in the morning doesn’t mean that I want to be your caregiver.. or life partner.

Sincerely,

not your owner

P.S. I didn’t appreciate the dead cockroach you presented at my doorway.

Today I am happy and nostalgic.

With many writers and editors, I helped compile the Raising Readers blueprint for the Dolly Parton Library. Then I bussed downtown to a 25th floor meeting. Board member’s office. Massive windows, spectacular view. But the blinds were closed. I squinted through slits at the sunset-splashed Pacific. Man, someday I want not to be a peon.

until I am able to make up the missing word count...

Tonight, after several paragraph of unfit rambles (online dating, attractiveness, Religulous), I will leave you with a haiku. The haiku itself will not make fifty-five, but because it is quantity and not quality (or the other way around? I’m wiped!), I will yawn and post:

What I need tonight:
Alcohol, laughter, love; and,
Please: inspiration.