I was confronted once with a photograph. A photograph that was very clearly of me (if you are going to do bad things and you are heavily tattooed do those things with long sleeves on and by all means with pants on for sure). When the photo was handed to me I adamantly denied that the scene in the photo was what it appeared to be.
Clearly it had been taken out of context. Clearly the photograph had not been taken when whoever took said it was taken. Clearly I was not guilty of all charges.
I would like to take a moment to reflect on the new I-phones which are clearly anti marriage. How awful to create something that takes away the ability to lie about where you are - what the hell happened to the area code rules, smoke breaks which are really phone breaks, "I was stuck in traffic" and of course the most awesome explanation ever, "of course I am alone"... in this hallway - stupid I -phone.
Once upon a time there was an awesome girl named Peaches. Peaches had the prettiest blond hair and the prettiest blue eyes the thinnest thighs in all of Hollywood.
Everyday Peaches caught the attention of people passing by. Everyone really liked her because on top of being very pretty Peaches was always very nice... well almost always.
One day when Peaches was at work at the very fancy department store where she sold perfume she found herself wishing for a new purse. Peaches' wandered down to the section of the store where purses were sold and she started to look around.
First Peaches found a Little Tiny Yellow purse. She slung it over her shoulder and said, "Oh my, this purse is too small".
Next Peaches found a Great Big Blue Purse. She slung it over her shoulder and said, "Oh my, this purse is too big".
Finally Peaches found a Very Nice Black Purse with little diamonds on it. She slung it over her shoulder and said, "Oh my, this purse is perfect - except the diamonds I don't really like those at all".
Peaches searched the purse for a price tag but she couldn't find one anywhere. She unzipped the bag and noticed that the purse was not 'new' at all. In fact the purse must have belonged to someone.
Peaches took the purse back to the perfume department and asked the girls if the purse belonged to any of them - actually there was only girl to ask, Mary Peach's best friend, and she said that the purse certainly wasn't hers.
A week went by and Peaches was really enjoying her new purse, especially since she had scraped all the stupid little diamonds off of it. All of a sudden Peaches heard a commotion coming from the escalator. A very angry girl walked up to Peach's and asked her where she had gotten her purse.
"I bought it" Peach's said.
"Are you sure", the angry (and inappropriately dressed) girl asked?
"Of course I am" Peaches said, and with that the girl left.
A week or two went by and rumors began to spin around the store that Peach's had stolen the angry girls purse. Peaches was very upset by these rumors and she told all of her friends that the girl was crazy - why would Peach's take her purse.
One day the angry girl came back up to the perfume section of the store. Peach's wasn't working that day but Mary was.
"Your friend stole my purse" the angry girl said to Mary.
"Your fat" Mary said to the angry girl, and with that the angry girl ran out of the perfume department crying.
"What a bitch" Mary said to no one in particular. Just then Peaches walked into the perfume department.
"Isn't today your day off" Mary asked?
"Yes but I had to go to the hardware department to get something so I thought I would come up here and say hi to you" Peaches said.
"What did you need at the hardware store" Mary asked?
"I have the most annoying Crickets in my yard, they are loud and fat and I wanted to get something to kill them with" Peaches replied.
"Cool" Mary said.
The end.
As for that picture that I was confronted with - I will say now what I said that very day. There is no way that was a picture of me - tons of people have Tom Waits song lyrics tattooed across the backs of their thighs.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Rapunzel, Runpunzel - Let Down Your Guard
When I was about four years old I had a favorite balloon - no time to explain, just accept the fact that I was an odd kid and go with it.
My parents, being the hippie souls that they are enjoyed taking drives, we never went "anywhere" but boy did my parents like the getting nowhere part. On one particular drive I brought my favorite balloon to keep me company (go with the odd thing) and as we traversed a mountain side somewhere in Central California my balloon went right out the window.
I demanded, as only a four year old can, that we stop the car and retrieve the balloon but my parents were having none of that - the balloon was gone and my mother told me that in time I wouldn't miss it so much.
She was completely wrong.
Once upon a time in a small apartment in a large city called New York there lived a girl named Rapunzel. Now would be the time to wonder about the odd name bequeathed to our young heroine and there is indeed an explanation for it.
Rapunzel's mamma was fifteen when her little blond baby was born, just a kid herself her wealth of worldly knowledge stemmed mainly from the story books she had been read when she was a little girl. Storybooks read to her by the various boyfriends her own mother, also a young mamma, would bring home night after night.
Rapunzel capitalized on her unique name however, not only was it a great way to start conversations she often imagined that her tiny apartment was actually the tower of imprisonment resided in by her fairy-tale namesake. At twenty-three years old the paycheck of a store clerk in New York City did not provide a young lady a castle by any means, and so, Rapunzel settled for a lower East Side Walk up and dreamed of the day she would move to Long Island and buy a house on the water. Until then she would dream about her prince scaling the moldy stairwell to whisk her away from the world she knew.
Rapunzel was a very good girl. Scared celibate by the stories of her mother and grandmother's teen pregnancy's Rapunzel proudly wore her band of chastity promising herself that even if she did not wait for sex until marriage that she would no doubt wait until she was in truly, truly in love (I know how you must feel reading that, it made me gag a little bit just to write it).
Time passed and Rapunzel grew older, she worked harder and she stayed motivated. Many young men (and really creepy older ones) took her out on dates but none of them really sparked her heart. At the end of each date the men would say, "Come on Rapunzel; Let down your hair, have a little fun". Rapunzel was true to her promise though and she never let her guard down and so her ring of celibacy and her panties always stayed firmly in place - although she often noticed on her way home that certain parts of her had really wanted to stay....
After ten years of hard work Rapunzel had moved from clerk, to salesperson, to manager to supervisor. She had a good salary and her tiny apartment and been traded for a larger one and then one just a little bigger until one day she was applying for a mortgage. It was not a house on the water, but it was in Long Island and it was a house... if only there was a prince (and preferable not one that had been blinded by a crazy thorn bush).
One evening as Rapunzel sat in a bar just outside of Brooklyn nursing a Side Car after work (her mother's favorite poison) when a very handsome man approached her. He had brilliant chestnut eyes and curly black hair and even without the liqueur Rapunzel was positive she was smitten.
One drink turned into two and then three and the next thing she knew the two of them were in the back of a cab lips locked hands wandering. Now just because she had never had sex, presidential or the regular kind, it did not mean that she didn't know what to do and besides she had fooled around all those other times, even if she had never really let down her hair.
The problem Rapunzel had run into as she got older and older still retaining the badge of virgin was that men got less and less interested in being the one to unpin the badge until finally it wasn't even Rapunzel deciding not to go all the way -- it was the men hitting the brakes. So Rapunzel decided she wasn't going to tell this guy what her ring meant - in fact she wasn't even sure if she was going to tell him her name, how about that for letting one's hair down?
When the handsome man placed his hand inside her sweater she did not stop him. When he placed his tongue deeper inside her mouth she simply spread her lips wider. When he took her hand and placed it on the throbbing bulge in his pants she did not slap his hand away - no sir - she slid down the zipper of his jeans to see what was really going on, all while still in the back of the cab.
Once in his apartment Rapunzel went for broke and then she went again, and again, and again and again. When it was all over she lay on his bed naked twisted up in his sheets waiting to feel guilty, waiting to feel like she had let herself down waiting to feel bad in some tiny way that she waited so long and then thrown it all away in the back of a cab, a cab going to BROOKLYN no less!
It turned out that Rapunzel did feel bad. She felt bad that she had waited so God Damn long to find out what the big deal was about sex. She had loved the feeling of him inside her, the taste of her own sweat running down her cheeks. She had loved the places he had asked her to touch and the places he had touched her.
Jesus Christ no wonder her mamma had gotten knocked up at 15.
In the morning Rapunzel did the walk of shame to the subway station - but she was not ashamed about her evening of debauchery, she was ashamed that she had not done it sooner.
Luckily for Rapunzel she had aged well and New York City was full to the brim with men of loose morals and low character; hopefully she would have time to find quite a few of them.
The End.
The truth is when I look back at the day in the car all I can think about is what I could have done to keep the balloon grasped more tightly in my hand. My mom was wrong in regards to getting over it, as I said I never did - I think I could have had a lot of fun with that balloon had it not flown away. It did teach me an incredibly important lesson however. I do everything I get the chance to do every time I get the chance to do it - you never know when someone may roll the window down just far enough for opportunity to fly right out of it.
My parents, being the hippie souls that they are enjoyed taking drives, we never went "anywhere" but boy did my parents like the getting nowhere part. On one particular drive I brought my favorite balloon to keep me company (go with the odd thing) and as we traversed a mountain side somewhere in Central California my balloon went right out the window.
I demanded, as only a four year old can, that we stop the car and retrieve the balloon but my parents were having none of that - the balloon was gone and my mother told me that in time I wouldn't miss it so much.
She was completely wrong.
Once upon a time in a small apartment in a large city called New York there lived a girl named Rapunzel. Now would be the time to wonder about the odd name bequeathed to our young heroine and there is indeed an explanation for it.
Rapunzel's mamma was fifteen when her little blond baby was born, just a kid herself her wealth of worldly knowledge stemmed mainly from the story books she had been read when she was a little girl. Storybooks read to her by the various boyfriends her own mother, also a young mamma, would bring home night after night.
Rapunzel capitalized on her unique name however, not only was it a great way to start conversations she often imagined that her tiny apartment was actually the tower of imprisonment resided in by her fairy-tale namesake. At twenty-three years old the paycheck of a store clerk in New York City did not provide a young lady a castle by any means, and so, Rapunzel settled for a lower East Side Walk up and dreamed of the day she would move to Long Island and buy a house on the water. Until then she would dream about her prince scaling the moldy stairwell to whisk her away from the world she knew.
Rapunzel was a very good girl. Scared celibate by the stories of her mother and grandmother's teen pregnancy's Rapunzel proudly wore her band of chastity promising herself that even if she did not wait for sex until marriage that she would no doubt wait until she was in truly, truly in love (I know how you must feel reading that, it made me gag a little bit just to write it).
Time passed and Rapunzel grew older, she worked harder and she stayed motivated. Many young men (and really creepy older ones) took her out on dates but none of them really sparked her heart. At the end of each date the men would say, "Come on Rapunzel; Let down your hair, have a little fun". Rapunzel was true to her promise though and she never let her guard down and so her ring of celibacy and her panties always stayed firmly in place - although she often noticed on her way home that certain parts of her had really wanted to stay....
After ten years of hard work Rapunzel had moved from clerk, to salesperson, to manager to supervisor. She had a good salary and her tiny apartment and been traded for a larger one and then one just a little bigger until one day she was applying for a mortgage. It was not a house on the water, but it was in Long Island and it was a house... if only there was a prince (and preferable not one that had been blinded by a crazy thorn bush).
One evening as Rapunzel sat in a bar just outside of Brooklyn nursing a Side Car after work (her mother's favorite poison) when a very handsome man approached her. He had brilliant chestnut eyes and curly black hair and even without the liqueur Rapunzel was positive she was smitten.
One drink turned into two and then three and the next thing she knew the two of them were in the back of a cab lips locked hands wandering. Now just because she had never had sex, presidential or the regular kind, it did not mean that she didn't know what to do and besides she had fooled around all those other times, even if she had never really let down her hair.
The problem Rapunzel had run into as she got older and older still retaining the badge of virgin was that men got less and less interested in being the one to unpin the badge until finally it wasn't even Rapunzel deciding not to go all the way -- it was the men hitting the brakes. So Rapunzel decided she wasn't going to tell this guy what her ring meant - in fact she wasn't even sure if she was going to tell him her name, how about that for letting one's hair down?
When the handsome man placed his hand inside her sweater she did not stop him. When he placed his tongue deeper inside her mouth she simply spread her lips wider. When he took her hand and placed it on the throbbing bulge in his pants she did not slap his hand away - no sir - she slid down the zipper of his jeans to see what was really going on, all while still in the back of the cab.
Once in his apartment Rapunzel went for broke and then she went again, and again, and again and again. When it was all over she lay on his bed naked twisted up in his sheets waiting to feel guilty, waiting to feel like she had let herself down waiting to feel bad in some tiny way that she waited so long and then thrown it all away in the back of a cab, a cab going to BROOKLYN no less!
It turned out that Rapunzel did feel bad. She felt bad that she had waited so God Damn long to find out what the big deal was about sex. She had loved the feeling of him inside her, the taste of her own sweat running down her cheeks. She had loved the places he had asked her to touch and the places he had touched her.
Jesus Christ no wonder her mamma had gotten knocked up at 15.
In the morning Rapunzel did the walk of shame to the subway station - but she was not ashamed about her evening of debauchery, she was ashamed that she had not done it sooner.
Luckily for Rapunzel she had aged well and New York City was full to the brim with men of loose morals and low character; hopefully she would have time to find quite a few of them.
The End.
The truth is when I look back at the day in the car all I can think about is what I could have done to keep the balloon grasped more tightly in my hand. My mom was wrong in regards to getting over it, as I said I never did - I think I could have had a lot of fun with that balloon had it not flown away. It did teach me an incredibly important lesson however. I do everything I get the chance to do every time I get the chance to do it - you never know when someone may roll the window down just far enough for opportunity to fly right out of it.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Waxing Nostalgic (or the formerly ugly ducking)
Shall I digress from my usual bittersweet indignation. Shall I simply take the time to remember the things that got me where I am today. Shall I go back and appreciate everything that went wrong making me nothing but stronger - not a chance!
I have a tattoo across my neck that says "I would not change a single moment". The tattoo is 100% the truth - I would not change anything about my life because I love where I am today. That does not mean, however, that I have to wax nostalgic over the roadmap of scars I see in the mirror every morning. Scars that make me who I am but whose story's remain locked away in my head (where they belong). Stories that are only to be told late at night in cheap motels to strangers who I have no intention of ever calling again.
Once upon a time there was a very awkward little boy with a gap in his teeth and the palest of pale skin. In fact this boy's skin was so white that he was called a ghost by the other kids at school. Boys and Girls alike would push him down in the sandbox and when he would try to hit them back they would run away faster then he could run on his skinny spindly legs.
There is no need to go into too much detail about this little boy's time in grade school, or middle school or high school because it would be a waste of time - his time in those places was not very good.
The boy lived in a small home with his father but the boy did not like the things that his father liked and because of this his father did not have many kind things to say to the boy. There is no need to go into too much detail about this little boy's time at home because it would be a waste of time - his time at home was not very good.
The boy had a job when he was in high school and at his job he had a boss. His boss said very nice things to the boy but he said them in a way that made the boy feel funny. When it was time to lock the store at night the boy's boss would have the boy stay late. There is no need to go into too much detail about this little boy's time at his job because it would be a waste of time - his time after work was not very good.
When the boy was eighteen years old and he held high school diploma tightly in his hands he bought a ticket on an airplane and he left the town where he grew up and all of the kids he had grown up with, he left his father and he left his job and he left his boss.
The boy went to college and while he was there he found other boys who he had fun with. Day by day the boy became a man and as time passed he found a group of men who thought the boy, who was now a man, was a very wonderful person. He found a job where he was praised for his skill and in time he found a very special man who told him that he was perfect and that he loved him very much.
At night our boy, who was now a man, would crawl into bed very happy. He would look over at the figure lying next to him and the sweetest rush of pleasure would wash across his soul. As he drifted off to sleep he would say a silent prayer that in the morning when he woke up that the next day of his life would be as just as good as the day he was saying goodbye to as he slept.
By the time the next night rolled around and the boy, who was now a man, was crawling into bed again his wish had always come true. From that time on every day he lived was just a little better then the day before had been.
And the boy, who was now a man, lived happily ever after.
About five years ago I got a phone call from the area code where I grew up. I did not recognize the voice on the other end of the line and so she told me who she was. It was a girl whom I had gone to school with, a girl who had never missed the opportunity to make me feel like shit.
She babbled at me over the phone line for a while and then she finally cut to the chase. She wanted me to know that she was very sorry for everything she had done to me when we were younger - she hoped that I could find it in my heart to forgive her because she was now a mother and she understood that the way she had acted all those years ago was wrong.
I thought about everything she was saying and I looked around my kitchen at all my things and thought about how nice my life had turned out.
I smiled and I told her to go and fuck herself. I told her that I really didn't care what kind of twelve step program she had tripped over and fell in but that I did not for one, single, solitary moment forgive her for the torture she had put me through in school. Then I hung up the phone and called my own mother and kindly asked her not to ever give out my phone number to ANYONE from high school ever again.
I have a tattoo across my neck that says "I would not change a single moment". The tattoo is 100% the truth - I would not change anything about my life because I love where I am today. That does not mean, however, that I have to wax nostalgic over the roadmap of scars I see in the mirror every morning. Scars that make me who I am but whose story's remain locked away in my head (where they belong). Stories that are only to be told late at night in cheap motels to strangers who I have no intention of ever calling again.
Once upon a time there was a very awkward little boy with a gap in his teeth and the palest of pale skin. In fact this boy's skin was so white that he was called a ghost by the other kids at school. Boys and Girls alike would push him down in the sandbox and when he would try to hit them back they would run away faster then he could run on his skinny spindly legs.
There is no need to go into too much detail about this little boy's time in grade school, or middle school or high school because it would be a waste of time - his time in those places was not very good.
The boy lived in a small home with his father but the boy did not like the things that his father liked and because of this his father did not have many kind things to say to the boy. There is no need to go into too much detail about this little boy's time at home because it would be a waste of time - his time at home was not very good.
The boy had a job when he was in high school and at his job he had a boss. His boss said very nice things to the boy but he said them in a way that made the boy feel funny. When it was time to lock the store at night the boy's boss would have the boy stay late. There is no need to go into too much detail about this little boy's time at his job because it would be a waste of time - his time after work was not very good.
When the boy was eighteen years old and he held high school diploma tightly in his hands he bought a ticket on an airplane and he left the town where he grew up and all of the kids he had grown up with, he left his father and he left his job and he left his boss.
The boy went to college and while he was there he found other boys who he had fun with. Day by day the boy became a man and as time passed he found a group of men who thought the boy, who was now a man, was a very wonderful person. He found a job where he was praised for his skill and in time he found a very special man who told him that he was perfect and that he loved him very much.
At night our boy, who was now a man, would crawl into bed very happy. He would look over at the figure lying next to him and the sweetest rush of pleasure would wash across his soul. As he drifted off to sleep he would say a silent prayer that in the morning when he woke up that the next day of his life would be as just as good as the day he was saying goodbye to as he slept.
By the time the next night rolled around and the boy, who was now a man, was crawling into bed again his wish had always come true. From that time on every day he lived was just a little better then the day before had been.
And the boy, who was now a man, lived happily ever after.
About five years ago I got a phone call from the area code where I grew up. I did not recognize the voice on the other end of the line and so she told me who she was. It was a girl whom I had gone to school with, a girl who had never missed the opportunity to make me feel like shit.
She babbled at me over the phone line for a while and then she finally cut to the chase. She wanted me to know that she was very sorry for everything she had done to me when we were younger - she hoped that I could find it in my heart to forgive her because she was now a mother and she understood that the way she had acted all those years ago was wrong.
I thought about everything she was saying and I looked around my kitchen at all my things and thought about how nice my life had turned out.
I smiled and I told her to go and fuck herself. I told her that I really didn't care what kind of twelve step program she had tripped over and fell in but that I did not for one, single, solitary moment forgive her for the torture she had put me through in school. Then I hung up the phone and called my own mother and kindly asked her not to ever give out my phone number to ANYONE from high school ever again.
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