fruit vs. vegetable

i don't know what politicians in new jersey were thinking when they decided to spend valuable legislative time mulling over the possibility of making the tomato their state vegetable, but i really must insist that the tomato is a fruit.

the argument is that a vegetable tariff passed in the late 19th century included tomatoes, therefore making it legally a vegetable. it is acknowledged, however, that it botanically remains a fruit. so let me ask this: if the tomato is botanically a fruit, but can be legally deemed a vegetable, who's to say that i'm not biologically human after the queen of england's dubbed me a monkey? i've been likened to a monkey several times in my life, so why the fuck not?

i'd also like to point out that the tomato is the state fruit AND state vegetable of arkansas. way to be decisive, as well as prolong the skepticism that intelligent people come from your state. okay, okay, i know. maya angelou and johnny cash are both from arkansas, but really.

the pull to mediocrity

i'm leaving this backwards town of trailer parks, southern drawls and ruby tuesdays. the pull to mediocrity is too strong. how easy it'd be to rent an apartment for a couple hundred dollars, buy a used car and let the days pass!

but who truly lives an extraordinary life? and what makes a life extraordinary?

these questions vex me. in ways that make me practically suicidal.

back to nyc tomorrow. i almost wish i could settle for this.

so i'm hooking up with this dude one night

so i’m hooking up with this dude (let’s call him GD) one night, and it is fucking great. i mean, i had imagined it was gonna be good, and it is even better than i ever thought it would be. and i know at this point, already, that fucking GD is going to be so good. the kind of good that makes you involuntarily close your eyes when you think about it. the kind of good that makes you go back again and again no matter who what when where boyfriend girlfriend. the kind of good that forces the blood and the ecstasy into your brain in waves.

but then he says he has to tell me something, and i can tell this is not going to be good. i say, "this isn't something i'm gonna wanna hear, is it?" he shakes his head, lights a cigarette, and tells me that he has...herpes.

!

well. i was very understanding (i hadn’t put myself at any risk at this point) and not to mention appreciative of his honesty. obviously, this wasn't going much further, but you can only imagine the disappointment.

no. it was utter devastation.

i hardly knew him when this happened, and it should have stayed that way, because over time, the fact that i could not fuck him would become complete torture.

water doesn't always taste like nothing

so i'm visiting family for the holidays in a very rural part of the country that clearly voted for the big DUB, as i like to call him, and that i'm sure wouldn't be able to remember the name of the guy who ran against him, even if i told them it rhymed with mary. let's just say i'm somewhere near kentucky and missouri. the nearest city is st. louis, if you can even call that a city, and favorite activities of the locals are a) hunting, b) fishing, and c) shopping at the super walmart.

the water here is disgusting.

and i don't like water in the first place. even if it comes from a babbling brook in the catskills, something about water just doesn't do it for me. i force myself to drink it while in nyc (mainly because if i don't, my lips get so chapped they start to fall off in sexy sexy chunks), but here, i just don't think i can do it. when you turn on the tap, there is a distinct odor that boiling and brita-filtering cannot seem to elimate. and that disturbs me.

the area surrounding the lake that this town gets its water from has received and continues to receive epa superfund cleanup money - because it has, or supposedly had, one of the most serious pcb (polychlorinated biphenyl) toxic waste problems in the country. in fact, this area was placed on the national priorities list (the list of sites eligible for superfund cleanup money) in 1987. cleanup was finished this year.

you remember that post about me being a feminist? well, i don't think we need to refer to our trusty friend, merriam-webster, to clarify the definition of "priority." now, i know there's a lot of bureaucracy involved in projects like these. i also know that there are currently over a thousand locations on the national priorities list, but 18 years seems to be an awfully long time to allow people, particularly in a town where those born here tend to live their entire lives here, to drink water that contains known carcinogens, or even just those pesky little chemicals that cause damage to one's nervous system.

the bro hug

it should have been my first red flag
when all my friends started giving me the bro hug
instead of the cheek kiss
or maybe when my guitarist said
"no offense, but you're not really girly"
or maybe when i started using the phrase
"tight as balls"

the thing is that
i do have (i think) a good number of very female qualities
i wear makeup
every day
when i have my period
it's like a stab wound between my legs
i talk to dogs
in a funny baby voice
i play with my hair
when i can't crack my knuckles anymore

so why did you all start giving me the bro hug?!

"why don't you return my phone calls?"

'cause you have a girlfriend, dumbass.

remind me later to write the post, "working for the (metrosexual) man." i have a lot to say about that.

i'd rather quote you.

some days i feel small. other days i want to hunt and kill men. and god knows i'm going to hunt and kill any man who runs from me more than once. i'm not very forgiving of pussy fucking behavior. i'm not very forgiving when i end up suffering due to someone else's "issues" or "confusion."

my favorite part is when they try to subtly blame you, when they say you were "misleading" or "hard to read," even "unreachable." when they say things like "i know that inside you're a good person" or convince themselves that something you do makes you "not girlfriend material."

"i want to understand you." well, now you do, and clearly, i never led you astray. all you had to do was read from right to left, and i am right here. you were just blinded by insecurity and fear. but not fear of me. fear of who i would show you you could be.

i have a weakness for a powdered donut

i have a weakness for a powdered donut
i have a weakness for dogs and alpha males
and anything relating to my mother
i have a weakness for certain chords played on certain pianos
and certain chord progressions played on certain guitars through certain amps
i have a weakness for icing and drugs
and this outfit i've worn for the last four days

i haven't had much to say lately
which is partly why i don't answer my phone anymore
i would be an empty space on the other end of the line
grunting in acknowledgement

i don't want to post on this
unless i have something worthwhile
to say

so i'm going to post this -
what was
at the time
an ode to RS
an ode to no sleep
an ode to excessive drug use
an ode to what would come after

i succumb to sleep
the way i succumb to you
heavily, whole-heartedly, and with
the deepest breath my body ever drew
i succumb to sleep
the way i succumb to you
willingly, hopeful, and with
the saddest eyes the world ever knew
i succumb to sleep
and i succumb to you
completely
and infinitely
as if this night were the last we'd ever go through

quasi-girlfriend

NBM was a control freak.

he was used to women wanting him and making it clear to him when they did. when i refused to be his girlfriend, he called me his quasi-girlfriend instead.

when i was his quasi-girlfriend, he wanted to know me. when he finally broke me, he knew me too well and said things like "i don't want a girlfriend who...."

the more he knew me the more he realized how UNcontrollable i was, and i was no longer "girlfriend material" to him. so he ran and came back and then ran and came back again.

this is essentially the story of the last four quasi-relationships i've had.

when they become boys who i thought were men in pieces on my apartment floor, all i can do is feel bad for them. all i can do is watch them rue anything and everything they did to hurt me. all i can do is watch them wait for me to say it's okay, but my pride never lets me.