A cat's shadow in the night

A cat's shadow in the night-
huddled black form
against white closet doors-
arches and crouches
and stares at the houses
outside the window,
looking through the storm.

Goodnight

She puts him to sleep with her words
because he's too tired to actually listen
or just doesn't feel like it anymore.
He only hears the noise
but has no use for the content.
But she's waiting for the rain
to come tapping down and put her to sleep.
Maybe,
if she's lucky.

Sleepless nights of songs outside
sound like she's dreaming
in her mind
but she wakes up and realizes
she's already been awake
and not asleep at all this time.

Her words meant nothing
and those nights when
her teeth fall out
or there's a bad guy chasing her
or they're flying
or they're falling
(apart?
or maybe together?)
also mean nothing.
But maybe someday something.

When they're living without
a down or an up
a backward or a forward
a wrong or an almost acceptable or a no-one-will-find-out,
in a world
where nothing is definitive
and everything except the certainty of the bad dreams coming
is uncertain
they need things to put them to sleep
be it words
or rain.

And then it poured.

Looking on the bright side (for a change)...

I admit that I'm not the most positive person in the world. I'm a definite Complainer Face, as my friends like to say. Yes; I complain. I bitch and moan and whine like a little baby at times. I tend to like getting my way. When the TV is on, I get the remote. When I'm hungover, the world stops. (For real...no talking, no touching, no music, no lighting.) When I'm upset, people will know about. (Props to Eric for calling me out this weekend. No Eric, I'm not the only person who's ever gone through a breakup. That really made me think about the grand scheme of things.) These character flaws are no longer acceptable. I've decided that I'm going to try to be more positive, starting with this list of stuff I'm feeling happy about.

1) I was pleasantly surprised that I got all of my shit done at work today...without even having to stay late! Maybe I'm doing better than I give myself credit for. The e-marketing campaign I've been working on for weeks launches tomorrow!

2) Hanley is open again over 40 and it's been making my life SO much easier.

3) Through a combination of eating a tiny bit healthier and not being able to eat at all (I've been trying, really I have), I've lost 10 pounds over the past 3 weeks. While I deserve no credit for this and realize it's highly unhealthy, I must admit it's also been highly effective. My stomach is noticeably flatter.

4) My pile of laundry is also getting noticeably flatter. Not small by any means, but not necessarily a mountain range anymore.

5) This week I'm fortunate enough to have tickets to multiple Cardinal baseball games. (And a possible rendezvous with the Padre's bullpen on Washington Avenue afterwards, courtesy of Mr. Dan Clements.)

6) Dan Clements is coming! And so is the Koko Monkey and my madre.

7) Summer is concert season, and this summer has been full of awesome ones. Still in the line-up: Blink 182/Weezer and Farm Aid.

8) My intern leaves on Friday! This means no more wasted time answering ridiculous, inane questions about the copy machine (which he's managed to break multiple times), no more messy desk next to me, no more having to shout his name over the Dane Cook playing on his iPod that obviously takes precedence over him actually working.

9) I've picked up The Fountainhead again for the first time in a long time. I'm so determined to finish it, and very very curious about how things will end up. Sexxxxy-ass Howard Roark.

10) I just saw the footage of Claire McCaskill getting booed and laughed out loud. Don't freak out, Claire. People just don't like you.

Never again

I will never be that girl again

who tempts and tramples men's hearts,

to inflict physical pain on the ones they love,

to come between spouses,

to sneak off into dark corners of friends' houses

when it's late and we've called to say we've gone to sleep.

I will never intentionally make another girl weep.

Because now I know what it feels like

to only be able to picture

her oversized mouth gnawing at his lips

every time he leans in to kiss me,

to be broken inside

and physically ill

and too shaky to quietly drive away.

My recent weight gain and the boy I (unfairly) blame it on

Right now, I'm the fattest I've ever been in my life. Fatter than "that time of the month" bloating fat. Fatter than freshman-year fat. Fatter than the Curse of Columbia fat (that's when I go home and drink 3,000 calories every night and wake up at noon to cure my hangover only by going to breakfast and consuming multiple pounds of bacon. The kind of fat that adds chins. And now, I'm even fatter than that.) I am for real, for serious FAT.

It all started when I began seeing THIS----->

boy. This boy is by no means fat...but he does love to eat (and drink), just like myself. Between drinking red wine like it's water, consecutive nights of Fourthmeal, and all the yummy food he brings us home from work, we've both gained some extra "love fat." 

The idea of love fat is legit. I've been reassured by other couples I know. Basically all we do is eat, drink, and be merry. We lay around watching our HBO shows while feeding each other cheesecake. That's about as gluttonous as it gets. Two problems with the love fat excuse: 1) I've been using it as a reason for my laziness, and 2) His new poundage doesn't really show, while mine takes the form of hideous blubber.

Some recent happenings that led up to me rebelling against my love fat:

• I looked in a full-length mirror and didn't recognize the reflection. Like, I gasped. It scared me.
• My butt doesn't fit in my pants.
• My guy friends from high school asked if I got a boob job.
• I now have calf cellulite.
• I made the mistake of weighing myself tonight.

So, after much consideration, I'm determined to lose at least some of my love fat. (While keeping the love, of course.) I'm putting it in writing so I'll feel guilty if I don't stick to it. But I'm not kidding myself. I'm not going to make some hardcore list like "Go to the gym every day. Eat only vegetables. Have uncomfortable, unenjoyable workout sex." I'm going to start with a few simple things:

• No more fast food. Obviously it's bad for you. We all saw "Supersize Me." That shit was gross.
• Smaller portions. And by smaller portions I don't mean mini plates of greens. I mean NOT ordering two appetizers and finishing them all by myself.
• WAY less alcohol consumption. This one is self-explanatory. And this one I do blame completely on the boy. (Love you, honey. Kisses. Don't be mad.)
• Low-impact physical activity. This does NOT mean exercise. This does not mean running miles. This does not mean going to the gym. This means if I walk around my block or do leg lifts one night while watching Bravo, I'm going to pat myself on the back.

Obviously I have ridiculously low standards. At least I'm being honest. If I stick to these small restrictions, hopefully I'll be able to move on to something more advanced. And I'm hoping my Love will support me with these very small changes so we can both be skinny again.

My four jobs

So I went from having one, part-time job at the gallery to having basically four jobs. (That explains my absence from blogging. My poor, sweet, lonely blog.)

I finally have a real, legit job. I started a few weeks ago doing newsletters and marketing stuff for a CPA/consulting firm. I hadn't been creative in a corporate environment since last September when my internship at Fleishman ended, so it's been interesting to be in that position again. For some reason I'm not at my creative best when I'm billing time to multiple clients in increments of .25 hours. Weird, huh?

I'm also still working at the gallery on weekends and still (trying) to keep up with my Examiner articles. I was reprimanded for not publishing enough the other day. That sucked. After this I think I'll write a really wonderful, intriguing, amazing article about thrift store do's and don'ts. (No research required. Painless.)

My fourth job is interesting...I'm doing some freelance writing/editing for this cool lady on the side. (Basically any nights I can squeeze it in.) It's actually been very educational and I enjoy it because I know she really appreciates it. Eventually I'll be listing artwork online, as well, and hopefully securing some commission.

That's my life, in a nutshell. Definitely haven't had a lot of time to be social. Actually no time. (I don't include driving over to my boyfriend's place at midnight to escape the bugs at my dad's house as "social.")

A collection of random thoughts on summertime approaching

1. Friend weddings. I'm getting old and it's getting warm when there are friend weddings.

2. Conan's coming back and it's about damn time. WHY did you leave us for so long with nothing but the comic failures of Jimmy Fallon?

3. Please don't ask me again if I'm "ready for swimsuit season." Does eating a whole bag of cheese puffs while I watch 4 consecutive hours of Bravo look like I'm ready for swimsuit season? I have new cellulite in places I didn't even know it was possible to have cellulite and haven't been tanning in months. Time to buy a one-piece. Or mom-skirt.

4. Innsbrook! Yay!

5. Little broseph's baseball games. It's about time we mold him into a fine young athlete in hopes that he gets a college scholarship for baseball (because he def won't be getting one for anything else.)

Dear Anonymous,

Sometimes I miss you, and hate myself for missing you. I wish things could have turned out differently, but they didn't. No one will ever come close to understanding me the way you did. This is both a good and a bad thing, and it also drives me absolutely crazy with frustration and confusion. Please let this suffice as a response for now.

Thoughts on the Season 5 Lost Finale

1. That was a very impressive, large statue.

2. Ok, so we still don't know who the eff Jacob is?

3. John Locke (or imposter John Locke, whatever that was about?) has gross man boobs.

4. How sexy were Jack and Sawyer when they were beating the shit out of each other?

5. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry when Juliet was letting go of Sawyer's hand. Oh, but then I knew to laugh when she survived that fall and detonated the bomb.

6. Good thing next season is the last. (I hate to say it, but they should've let it go after season 2 or 3 while it was still in its prime.). But maybe we'll finally find out what the black monster smoke is or why the polar bears were so overgrown?

Bad Dream

I had a horrible dream about you last night.
Your fat body was crushing me 

and I couldn't get away from your old-man aftershave/sweat smell.

It made me feel sick inside 

and even more sick when I woke up 

because it was one of those dreams where you suspect it might've been real 

but talk yourself into believing that it wasn't.
I don't have to talk myself into believing the regret I feel, though.

That's very real. 

And if you knew you were still haunting me,

your happiness surrounding the situation would be even more real

and equally as sick

as I feel.

When I don't talk to you

Sometimes I want to talk to you but don't.
I feel like you'll think I'm dumb maybe.
I don't talk to you because you're busy or I'm pretending to be busy.
Sometimes I just think you don't feel like listening.
And I also don't talk to you because you still haven't paid your phone bill.

Sometimes I want to talk to you but don't have to.
I feel like I can read your mind maybe.
I don't have to even see your mouth to know when you're smiling;
sometimes I just see it in your big blue eyes.
And I also don't have to talk to you because my words would only be superfluous in the moments we share.

I'm getting paid to write about something I like! Yay!

I've started writing for Examiner.com as a Budget Fashion Examiner. I'm really excited about it!

Please visit my page frequently (I'll be publishing at least 3-4 articles each week) and let me know what you think. I'd love comments, suggestions, and feedback.

Here's the link to my page: http://www.examiner.com/x-8602-StLouis-Budget-Fashion-Examiner.

What is the most effective way to deal with a crazy person?

Up until recently, I had not had the unfortunate opportunity of dealing with a crazy person. Some refer to this person as a "weirdo," and "psychopath", and even "stalker." (Stalker really scares me, so I choose not to use it.) I am not a psychiatrist, and mean no disrespect by using these terms. I am simply trying to illustrate the type of crazy I'm dealing with.

Maybe a few examples would help. While at work today, my phone froze because of the incessant texts and facebook messages this person was sending. In the past, I've had 4-7 voicemails from this person in one hour, going on and on about how in love they are with me, and that's after I have asked them to never contact me again. In the same day, this person will call me crying, begging for my help and friendship, then do a complete 180 and say the most disgusting, horrific things. (They're too vulgar to include...my stomach hurts when I think about it.)

If you recall, this is the same crazy person that contributed to ruining my day (Yesterday=A Good Day Turned Bad) a while ago. I'm trying not to let this person ruin any more days; I've even been convincing myself that all I can do is feel sorry for them. But it's gotten to the point where it's a little scary, and not too funny. Many have suggested that I get a restraining order, but what good would that do? Most of the harassing is done via phone, text, and e-mail. I really don't want to have to change my phone number, but it might come down to that. I'm so grateful that this person thinks I'm a horrible writer and wouldn't dare to read this blog.

Really, what's a girl to do? I need help!

Marvin

Marvin is a short black man with a rough face and rough hands. He always wears the same early 90's navy and black windbreaker that looks like it should be accompanied by matching pants. Small children seem unsure of him when they walk by.

Marvin is a handyman, janitor, and basically a servant. He answers with "yes sirs" and "yes ma'ams" and refers to me as "Miss Rachel." He is constantly running somewhere or doing something for someone else. He used to hum the Superman theme song whenever he was not talking, and when he was talking he was talking 1,000 words/minute.

Marvin was very curious about my BlackBerry. He doesn't own a computer or DVD player. He told me if he had access to the internet he would download games and look up the reason why some sump pumps don't clog. He's always wondered about that. He had been wanting to watch Forrest Gump for for 15 years and finally did a few weeks ago because he caught it on TV.

Marvin is in the hospital. He has a huge cancerous tumor in his throat and they removed his entire voicebox. He'll never be able to speak again, and I feel sad that I never appreciated his voice until now, when I'm left without it.

I wrote something about you

I wrote something about you when I was drunk and on vacation
and I texted it to myself so I would remember it.
But then my Blackberry got all jacked up
and it got lost,
along with all of my other saved messages.

It was basically about

how we like each other's eyes
and make each other laugh
and agree that if we made babies they'd turn out to be sexy-looking adults.

"God will make more bunnies."

Early this morning, my car crushed a baby bunny. I was driving it. Annnnnd then my day got progressively worse.

But this guy Robert just told me, "It's okay, God will make more bunnies." I don't know Robert well, but well enough to know that he's awesome. He's a talented artist and it's incredibly easy for me to talk to him. He just has a good vibe going. And what he said made me feel WAY better for some reason.

God will make more bunnies. And more boys. And more friends. And more people in general. Soon God will even make the weather warm without these intermittent 25-degree days. I've been forgetting about God lately and worrying too much about the temporal. The selfish people and crappy situations we experience in this life aren't all that's out there. I'm finished dwelling on the unimportant. I can hold myself accountable, but I can't change the ways of others. 

Bug War II

The bugs are back in full effect. Effffffff.

If you recall, the First Bug War took place in the late summer of '08, when the roaches started messing with me and the spider crawled on me in my sleep. (Some might argue that the bat in the shower was actually an allied force of the bugs. The truth remains to be revealed.) The turning point of BWI happened when I snuck this really toxic bugspray chemical over here that my grandma gave me. It was in her basement. The packaging screamed mid to late '80s. I thought I'd take my chances. I informed her of the situation and she plotted with me to spray the house while my dad was at work. My dad, who believes bugs are our friends and all insect repellants cause cancer, caught me with the spray container redhanded as he walked through the door early. But it was too late; the house had already been sprayed and the damage had been done. Thus, BWI turned in my favor. No bugs were seen for months.

Three incidents occurred recently that lead to BWII, and I've outlined them below:

1. The Drunken Mystery Bug: The case of the drunken mystery bug occurred late one night as I was tiptoeing up the steps from a night of mischeif. Actually, I was sprinting into the bathroom. Once I plopped myself down on the toilet, I noticed a squirming grayish dot out of the corner of my eye. As I was close to being blackout, naturally my vision was blurry and I could not fully make out what it was. However, it was most definitely an insect. I know this because, after running around haphazardly, it darted into a tiny hole in the corner of the bathroom where the base boards meet. At the time, I did not think much of this confused drunken little bug, being that I was pretty drunk myself. I suspect that it was a silverfish or beetle of some kind.

2. The Scurrying Ceiling Spider: The scurrying ceiling spider hit very close to home and is not to be taken lightly. Upon returning from a brisk run through the park, I immediately ventured up to my room to rip off my sweaty garments. As I walked over to place them nicely in my clothes hamper - ok, yeah right, I threw them on the floor in a huge pile of dirty clothes - I spied above me a quarter-sized crazy-looking spider. It was ready to leap down on my head and attack. My experience with various types of bugs over the years has taught me one thing about ceiling spiders: you must act immediately. There's no time for second guessing and no time for scared baby quitters. Right after I thought this, the spider started crawling all around, proving my point. I darted to my shoe rack and grabbed a sturdy flip-flop. One that I kind of hate anyway. I flopped the flip-flop hard and quick, crushing the scurrying spider, spreading its guts in a line across my ceiling. The fact that these imposters have made their way into my room means it's getting pretty damn serious.

3. The Floating Breakfast Roach: Today, the floating breakfast roach officially began the Second Bug War. A questionable bathroom silverfish and a quick ceiling spider are causes for alarm, but an inch-long, upsidown cockroach floating in a cereal bowl in the sink is strike three. NOT a breakfast of champions. I ran the water in the bowl in hopes of flooding the roach out of the bowl and down into the drain. It was floating, so it was obviously dead...or so I thought. As the water level rose, its sick stringy legs started clingy to the side of the bowl. "Quit resisting!!!" I thought (in a large, male State Trooperesque voice). Eventually it drowned and slipped away into the abyss. I ran the garbage disposal to chop its disgusting, dispicaple body up into little pieces.

And so, today marks a day of infamy. It's on now, bugs. BRING IT. I'll be dropping bombs on you shortly.

Yesterday=A good day turned bad

Yesterday in a nutshell:

9:00 a.m. Wake up. Take shower. Put on cute dress because it's warm out.

10:00 a.m.   Go to work. Boss is in a good mood. Gives me keys to the back door and security code, plus informs me of my raise.

5:00 p.m.   Get off work. Change into comfy clothes. 2-mile run inspired by Tech N9ne. Big accomplishment for me.

6:00 p.m.  Get home. Take shoes off. Ready to relax.

6:30 p.m.  (Note: This is when my day starts to suck ass.) Crazy, possessive friend calls. Angry with life. Takes it out on me. Says "Why would I listen to a spoiled 22-year-old bitch who still lives with her parents?" I'm 23. Threatens to ruin my life. Proceeds to insult me to the point of tears.

7:45 p.m.  Crazy person still sending me ridiculous text messages.

8:00 p.m.  Mom calls. Aunt has to go to hospital because she thinks she's having a heart attack. I have to speed over to Illinois to stay with my little cousins.

8:05 p.m.   Speeding over to Illinois. Still crying because of crazy person. Trying not to crash my car.

8:30 p.m.   Try to keep my little cousins occupied and happy. Read books. Help them get ready for bed.

9:30 p.m.  Little cousins asleep. Sit down and turn on TV. Still worried about my aunt.

9:35 p.m.  Ex-boyfriend calls. Chat about school, Lost, etc. Conversation takes a turn for the worse when I tell him I'm seeing someone he does not approve of. So much for being honest. Fight ensues. Brings up me cheating on him. Says I mistreated him the whole time we were together. Insulted to the point of tears again. Crying for about the 4th time today. Say I can't deal with this and hang up.

1:00 a.m. Still can't sleep because of my horrible day. And horrible, uncomfortable early-90s couch.

The River

I remember the place by the river 

where Uncle Dan taught me how to shoot guns 

and Grandma helped me name the tadpoles 

and we'd float downstream in black rubber inner-tubes

and I'd always come home to the city with my fingers smelling like dirt and worms. 

We'd chase after butterflies for what seemed like hours 

and upon crushing their wings and killing them 

we'd look their pictures up in the nature book and discover they were actually moths, 

but we'd put them in jars anyway 

and pretend like they had a chance of surviving. 

We'd burn large crackling fires in deep pits 

and throw styrofoam plates and cups into them 

and roast marshmallows and hot dogs in the poisonous fumes. 

We'd make torches on the end of sticks 

and dance around like it was Lord of the Flies or something. 

And those were the best times of our lives.

Texting Etiquette 101

Do not text me, "Guess what?!" and still not tell me what hours later.

Do not say "LOLZ" or end any word with an unecessary Z.

Do not send me a booty text. Any text after the hour of 1 a.m. that says "I want you" will be automatically ignored.

Do not type a sentence and end it like this!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! One or two exclamation points will suffice.

Do not initiate a text conversation in which we are vigorously and instantaneously texting back and forth and end it without a reason. I will think you crashed your car.

Do not text if you're a grandma or a grandpa. Really, just don't. It's unecessary.

Do not text a sentence like this this sentence sucks this sentence has no punctuation stupid sentence I hate it blah horrible sentence where does one phrase end and the other begin

Do not solely text this: "???" Or this: "!!!" Or this: "!?" or any variation of the three.