eat eat eat live live live love love love. in sweatpants.
in fifth grade i dressed up as a punk rocker and wore my cool aunt Sue’s fishnet tights short jean skirt and black tank top with a blue lightning rod across the chest and wanted so badly to wear the black stiletto heels but i guess that was crossing a line so opted for some bullshit shoes instead feeling not fully dressed but happy to wear the blue strip of fake hair that dangled from a barrette. during lunch my classmate Jeannette Laciak because i always remember them by first and last turned around and told me that i looked like a hooker and i nodded enthusiastically in agreement with no clue as to what that meant and later in science class Mrs. Henry went around the room and asked the thirty students what they were dressed up as for Halloween and when it was my turn i loudly and proudly and sweetly stated that i was a hooker and her face went strange and a bit of a throat clear as she moved on to the vampire behind me. the same feeling went through me as it had when my aunts caught me masturbating years before on the couch at my Grandma’s like i couldn’t quite put my finger on it but i had done something not wrong but not right. i had this same feeling last year in India when we had all purchased saris for New Year’s Eve and walked in to the party with a room full of Indians in sophisticated black dresses and strappy heels not unlike the ones that my aunt had lent me. i don’t remember the rest of the hooker story aside from the fact that i ended up with six kit kat bars and nine peanut butter cups in my bag that year. major score.
i pissed on the couch i pissed on the floor
i drank till i pissed
he called me a whore
i clocked his face then followed him home
hated his guts but couldn’t be alone
5 in the morning
he called me a whore
a nod filled with defeat
i drank and pissed some more
on a floor made of oak
on a couch
i cry urine i piss pain
pussy eyeballs all the same
he mixes it up
calls me a slut
love bumps into walls
when it’s eyes are taped shut.
duct taped nice and tight
bourbon filled keg
dignity was a liquid
that i peed down my leg
i wasn’t a whore
knew no better did my best
had i known then
perhaps i would have drank and pissed less.
that decade was a white hot fucking mess.
i’m beginning to feel that monster power on top of the universe fuck all drive again. it starts at my tailbone working it’s way up my spine and wraps itself like a creeping vine sticking to my ribs and separates like the holy trinity licks the veins in both of my arms speeding to my fingers which makes all ten erect energy shooting from the tips and a fountain explosion in the back of my head and my brain fills with this thunderous scream from the mountaintops boom and i am instantaneously filled with an unstoppable force. it stays away from my heart which is a good thing because the two don’t play well together and i feel in complete control and filled with this lust for life energy and this may partially have to do with the Superfood plus herbal supplement powder that i have started drinking in the morning which tastes like liquid spirulina cardboard and makes me want to benchpress Vespas but no i think i’ll take the credit for this fuck all confidence that i have gratefully acquired again and at dinner last night in betwixt talk of urban textures and casual conversation over urinal stalls i fondly recalled my friend Toni’s huge tits and how we were both cocktails servers at a club in Chicago and at the end of the night when we were wrapping up she would pull all sorts of items out from between them like pens and a lighter and quarters and twenties and a tube of lipstick and sometimes even a pack of cigarettes would make it’s way out and when that happened i’d bum one and she’d light me with breast sweat all over her fingers and i always had an incredible urge to suck them dry.
Filip’s younger sister quit college and worked on a beet farm last year. the main objective was to make a geurilla style covert documentary on beet farm labor laws and the exploitation of it’s workers but she and her friends ended up having such a good time they nipped the idea and hung out all summer cropping beets or whatever it is that one does at that job. in Chicago at the engagement party a couple of nights ago, she told Filip that her and her boyfriend of two months just got married last week at city hall, that she couldn’t stand one more minute of not being his wife, and after a tardy bus ride they got to the clerk’s office moments before closing and she demanded that the judge put his robe back on and marry them. he did and they are now a permanent Precious Moments statue. she’s a feisty force of life and will probably go places, big places, during her stay here on Earth. i’m dying to photograph her. the party was a smash hit success and ended as it should, at four in the morning as friends in python pants high kicked into wine glasses and others used slices of pizza as their plates to hold french fries. classy as always. i didn’t take my sunglasses off until seven pm the next day.
the St. Albert the Great parish carnival was the place to be in the summer. it came around the end of July, or maybe it was August, and at that point Burbank Illinois was usually the temperature of hot balls. the anticipation began around June and i started to plan my outfits in a timely fashion like how many socks i would slouch onto each foot, a turquoise one and a sea foam green one and a purple one and which color would i match my scrunchy to. i liked a side ponytail with a scrunchy and wore it well, aside from the fact i thought my nose was too big to wear my hair up but i went with it anyway and simply ignored any reflections i came across. the first evening was the most magical, everyone from the neighborhood was there. it was held in the church parking lot with a beer garden on one end and the zipper on the other. i wasn’t a big fan of the ride but was always fascinated with the drunk parents spilling their plastic cups of beer all over each other. the pizza they sold tasted miserable but the elephant ears were divine and it was always a thing amongst the boys to see who could scarf down the most then puke it up on the salt and pepper shaker ride. they also liked to have strange competitions like who could endure rubbing an eraser on their forearms the longest. a bunch of weirdo Catholic boys and i loved them. we would all stand together but in a segregated fashion, girls on one half of the circle boys on the other talking but not to one another. there was a tree right next to the convent that couples could make out behind, feeling the elastic band of each other’s underwear and then calling it a day. i was jealous when my best friend Roberta did that with Ralph, who i loved but pretended to hate in a way that i still do with men from time to time. i should unlearn that. the night was lit with warm amber bulbs stapled and dangling from the roofs on the row of trailers that held Tweety Bird stuffed animals and buckets filled with water and plastic ducks. it looked like a summer night, if that makes any sense. one year i won a mirror with a Spuds Mckenzie decal stuck to the front of it. i displayed it proudly holding it under my armpit, art side out. i never won anything, once in second grade at another carnival in another parish parking lot. it was a My Little Pony, a pegasus, and i thought it was destiny. i used to believe in destiny i even had it tattooed to my shoulder, but not so much anymore and that’s a different conversation altogether and that night a carny who worked the ferris wheel flirted with me but i didn’t know what that was at the time and fidgeted with my prize trying not to make eye contact with him or my reflection in the mirror.
my father co-ran a booth called Ham and Eggs, at least i think that was the name but it was most likely something more clever. they would raffle off whole hams and packs of bacon and cartons of eggs. it was a popular booth and i liked to check in every so often to watch my dad and his friends act like adults not just parents. i never did understand the logic behind hot weather and pounds of meat. their booth was close to the beer garden and they sipped on warm Miller products all day while handing out pig legs and by the time evening came we could run free through the premises with barely a watchful gaze on us which was awesome and made me excited for the independence that was to come. by weekend’s end the grass and even the tar smelled like cigarettes and beer and fire crackers and satisfaction.
tonight in my backyard we discussed Tetris and Angry Bird, which apparently is sweeping the nation. the game seems unbelievably lame. but who am i to judge.
my dad was just talking about the cottonwood trees in his neighborhood and how it is now snowing cotton. i remember how that looked and went back to a nice golden day that was warm and there were white puffs floating everywhere. it was magical. one of my father’s other favorite times of day is summer dusk. when indigo blue carpets the atmosphere and the fireflies are out and glowing in it and the sound of crickets is at it’s most intense. the tree leaves turn a really funky shade like green with a blue filter over them. i may have told this story before, i like that time of day too.
this is the hottest album cover i have ever seen. right after highschool i had this job for a company where we would go around and take inventory in retail venues such as Kohl’s and Kmart and Handy Andy hardware stores and the latter was the worst because we would have to count bucket after bucket of little screws and knobs and rust colored odd shaped objects like hundreds or thousands of these things and it was endless and we had these little calculator like machines we would strap around our powder blue smocks to take count we would be there for hours on our knees on ladders on our tippie toes to reach the merchandise counting away. i was doing a lot of acid and raving back then and jobs would often be early Sunday morning so i would show up in uniform with pupils the size of space crafts and remnants of glitter on my face burping up whatever the LSD had been cut with all day. i was young, the bounce back was easy. my favorite stores to inventory were CD shops which were usually in the mall. we started work after the shop closed and were never there more than two hours because counting flat square objects was a breeze and i was really entertained by the CD covers and this is when i came across Type O Negative’s Bloody Kisses image and i was probably stoned which has always been an aphrodisiac and i got so turned on by it i hid the CD in its big plastic security case under my smock and took it with me to the bathroom so i could rub one out really quick which i could do quite easily like i mentioned before i have this technique and then return it to it’s home and i never bought the CD i never heard the music it wasn’t important to me i just loved that image two women face to face close up looking like they’re about to cum or really into whatever the fuck was going on down below and i wanted that to be grinding of some sort and i really really really wished i was not counting headphones at a music store in the mall and instead doing what they were doing that i could jump into that scene and be one of them in their state of heat and hunger and live that moment and be that uninhibited and last night i did.
i was just at the corner bodega buying a Sunday sort of pack of cigarettes and the woman in front of me who had just purchased a sandwich and a toothbrush added a lottery ticket on to her purchases at the last minute. she yelled out numbers, i think they were 854 and 50 and 50. the way she said it went “854, 50/50″ or at least that’s the way i visualized it in my head. i never play the lottery and was mystified by this process. was this a type of ticket? was this her number pick? did these numbers hold any relevance in her life? like she was born at 8:54 in the morning and did she like the soda 50/50? isn’t there a soda named 50/50? i kept thinking about this as the clerk who had clearly done this before and knew what to do with that information went to the lotto machine and he asked, “850?” and she replied “no no 854…or wait, did you say 850? yeah go with 850. 850. go with that.” she muttered something about it maybe being a good luck charm like it was meant to be that he made the mistake and maybe it was God or fate or some higher being trying to tell her something. the clerk wished her good luck as he handed her the ticket. i thought that was pretty cool and wondered if she was going to win. i was watching TV a few years back and a guy i used to date in my early twenties was an actor on one of those lucky lotto commercials, the one with the cartoon like character that has a big head. he was really sweet and had once bought us tickets to go to the opera and the night of i didn’t pull it together on time and was an hour late to pick him up. we missed the opera and ended up drinking Rolling Rocks and dosing on Robotussin in his apartment all night long. no one has taken me to the opera since.
it’s interesting, nowadays i feel that i have the most fun when i am writing this blog.
when i was a teenager my mother told me that life didn’t really start until her 30s. how much wiser she felt how much less she cared about the petty shit. how amazing it will be, when i am in my 30s. at the time i could barely wrap my brain around this, 30 years old seemed so old so far away. but i liked what she said, it gave me yet another thing to look forward to. it made me feel safe and secure, knowing that life would be amazing one day. because at the time it wasn’t so great and i needed that hope. and then all of a sudden i was in my 20s. and it was a hard ten years filled with a ton of mistakes and a lot of fun. reckless fun. i dated the wrong men and i blew off the right ones. i drank a lot and did a great deal of drugs including a summer of heroin. i dropped my compulsive masturbatory habit and picked up a compulsive spending one. and then i picked back up the compulsive masturbating. i had a ten thousand dollar credit card debt by the time i was twenty three. i dropped out of art school. i suffered i cried and i liked to chain smoke until my lungs and teeth hurt i enjoyed that pain. my 20s were filled with pain, most of it self inflicted. and always in the back of my mind sat what my mom had said, and my 30s didn’t seem so far away anymore and i looked forward to them. because i believed her. i believed it would get better. and believing it made me take action. and here i am, now thirty five. here i am in New York. and it did get better and it was a lot of work and it was blood sweat and tears. and i am wiser and i am having the time of my life. today is my mom’s birthday, she is sixty three years old. we were just on the phone and i asked if her 30s were still her best years. and without hesitation or pause she said “oh god no, it was my 40s. or 50s. no no, my 60s”. another something to look forward to. happy birthday Maw Maw.