Thursday, July 20, 2006

this girl I know...

She loves to cook, often experimenting with exotic dishes. She paints her apartment bi-yearly in bright shades of tan and red and re-arranges her furniture every month on the dot. She loves court TV and documentaries about Tsunami’s. In fact, she’s convinced a killer wave will take her life some day, or even more far-fetched, one took it previously… thus the utter fascination I would think. She loves all animals except roaches and spiders, which she claims are evil. Sometimes she’ll wake up at night screaming like a banshee, swearing a gigantic arachnid is clinging to the ceiling. She owns a spoiled, black cat with yellow eyes, his name is Dorian Gray. He looks like the cat from the Théophile-Alexandre Steinlen painting. She says they’re probably related. She’s addicted to cigarettes, gossip mags, and ‘Sex in the City.’ She loves cocktails, salsa dancing, and drama. She never drives at night, insisting she suffers from ‘night blindness.’ Or it’s probably the two previous DUI’s and she’s being really cautious… or possibly it’s the fuzzy navels tucked away in her pocket. She’s quick-witted, creative, and well-read. Her comedic timing is impeccable, always dead on, and she’s caustically blunt. She always says the right things at the wrong time and truly doesn’t give a fuck. She has a gay best friend named Nathan and they constantly bicker about fashion. And I always tell her she needs to stop stealing my oversized Willy Wonka sunglasses. She’s the most brilliant writer I’ve ever red, yet she’s unable to add basic fractions in her head or follow simple driving directions. She’s always late, her bed is never made, and at night she sits on the sink and picks at her face. She claims she suffers from ADD, OCD as well as a multitude of other abnormalities, if you ask me she’s a classic hypochondriac. She’s a tiny girl with beautiful features. She has the most amazing, fitness-model body but somehow puts away more meals than I do. She throws hysterical fits if I slurp my food. She claims she hates all "mouth noises" great and small. She’s a ditz, drives like shit, and nitpicks the way I do dishes. She gets really annoyed at my two-hour bowel movements.

However… despite our differences, similarities, bickering, and infighting... despite our mutual adulation, adoration, and her host of bizarre eccentricities... we both could not, nor would not, picture life without the other. We go together like ‘peas and carrots,' 'Peanut butter and jelly,' 'Batman and Robin,' or 'Tom and Jerry.'

Thursday, July 13, 2006

raison une

“ All right, let’s do this again. So… why do you write?”

“ I don’t. I haven’t, no, not for awhile now.”

“ Why not?”

“ Well… how can I explain this… uh, well, o.k you know that television commercial where the guy is sitting at his computer? He’s sitting there surfing along and all of a sudden he gets an error message saying he’s reached the end of the internet? Well that’s me. I’ve reached the end of my memories. The end of imagination…”

“ That’s absurd.”

“ Is it? Is it too difficult to believe there’s nothing left?"

" Yes."

" Or, let’s put it this way: there’s been a hostile takeover in my head, and the right side of my brain has assumed control. I've completely lost all of my creativity.”

“ What about all of this bullshit you used to spout about blogging being the ‘new new?’ About how you loved to interact with other writers and anonymously and instantly exchange ideas/compliments/mutual dick sucking? What happened to all of that?”

“ It’s got old. Fuck, I don’t know. I’ve got so much other shit to worry about these days."

" Yeah, I check your website everyday for updates and everyday I find nothing."

" Let me ask you something... what happens when you overtap a maple tree? It fucking dies. Thats what happens. I don't want to force it.”

" Bullshit. According to you, when you actually do write anything nowadays, you're already dead. Give me a better reason."

" Boredom? Laziness? Lack of time? There's three. Who was it that said, 'it is what it is?' Well... it is what it is. There you have it."

“ Yeah... whatever. Hey, congrats on your new promotion by the way… You're playing in the big leagues now kid.”

“ Thanks. It's my time.”

" It is what it is."