On babies

My mom asked me the other day if I was "corrupting" a nineteen-year-old. I didn't know how to respond. Four years ago she was toying with the term to keep me from sleeping over at Randy's. Two years ago she was threatening with it to keep me from dating Revan. And last year she was lamenting it to keep me broken-up with Chris. Is that what it takes? Three relationships to turn me from object to agent in the act of "corruption." Or did something else solidify the end of her last daughter's relative innocence?

Feeling Perezosa

The last time I wrote a tome in Spanish, I was sitting at the bar of the Flying Pig Amsterdam, solo, with my ibook, in the land of bongs, bowls, and blunts. It was Christmas Eve Eve and I had successfully extended the deadline for my art history final paper. In Spain, all I had to do was ask. But then there I was in Amsterdam, on my own for the first time, getting a contact high, writing (appropriately) about Gaudí, wanting just to forget the paper, remembering the last four months. And now here I am, wishing I were maybe a little high, writing a paper (appropriately) about the effect of memory, stopping for a second to focus on my own.

When it Rains it Pours

My last vision of Saturday night is an Irish Car Bomb.
"You were so college last night," Will told me the next day. I was lying in Hailey's bed, going through my phonebook, trying to piece together the events that began with an old coworker at a bar and ended with a fresh pile of vomit at the foot of my bed. I groaned for a glass of water.
"Maybe don't let them buy you so many shots next time?" Hailey offered.

This morning started with a bang. The kind of steady, knock-myself-over-the-head bang of a jackhammer pounding outside my window. Instead, I waited patiently, then ran to the sink to turn on my faucet, thankful to find water finally flowing strong.

And it ended with a bang. Our friendly neighborhood firefighters only seem to know one way to enter the building. There they were, five men in suit, pounding on the door next to ours just as we were debating blue cheeseburgers or jalapeno cheeseburgers for dinner.
"You guys again..." I was ready to get my shoes, maybe my purse, a favorite dress or two, when they informed us it was only a leak. When we informed them there was no one living there to answer the door, they got excited.
"We're gonna have to break down this door then." Of course they were.
So we left for the grocery store as the breaking of the door commenced and the security alarm sounded and the guy downstairs opened his door to reveal a waterfall coming from his hall closet and flowing through his living room.
"What about tacos instead?" Hailey said.

Water Water Everywhere

I curse the modest river that runneth down 12th street outside my window and I wish its babble wouldn't put me to sleep at night and if I could I would make a little dam and bathe in it, right there for the United Dairy late-shift boys to see and then I would explain to anyone who should care to stop me that this bum brook, this inner-city stream, this fuckin fountain is for naught. It's a busted pipe spewing my sink's, my toilet's, my washing machine's, my dishwasher's, my shower's, yes my shower's, water straight into the gutter. The dead grass in its path is wet as a whistle, and I'm inside sleeping like a baby, dry as a bone.

Laptop Keys Just Don't Ring Like a Typewriter's

"Just write it all down. Just the truth. No rhymes. No embellishments. No adjectives."
-Atonement

A line not unlike the movie it came from- a little overdone, but really lovely- enough so that I'll buy it.

http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/cinema/2007/12/10/071210crci_cinema_lane
(Great review, better than I could put it)

Wanted.

There's a girl posing as me as someone else....
or something like that.
She was spotted...

One month ago. Running through the streets of Granada, España at 7 a.m., pretending to hotwire motos, one hand nestled in Alejandro's, the other swinging a clutch that held the crumpled notes for my 10:30 a.m. European Union final exam, singing "Alegría..."

Two days ago. Watching inches of my hair fall to the ground as her's took on the form of a choppy bob. Responding elaborately to the awkward repeated questions of a stylist who was too busy to make the drastic change a less-than-traumatic, let alone enjoyable experience. Calling my sister on the drive home to recount the tale. Laughing when she seemed concerned, "I'm not too worried, it's just hair, Lin."

Last night. Back in Ohio. Standing in the rain at the entrance to a campus bar, staring right through a large, burly man, smiling big, lying through my teeth, "5,6... I'm in heels... see? Aren't they cute? No, they're actually brown, but I'm wearing contacts. This is my friend Hailey. Her eyes are really green under those baby blues. Cool, right?"

Earlier today. Snuggling on the couch, still in my pajamas, watching Lucky Number Sleven, and Grandma's Boy, and only getting up to walk down the street and pay my rent.

An hour ago. Lying half-nude on my bed, legs kicking in the air, performing the "Look-how-I-can-no-longer-get-these-pants-zipped dance" for my wildly amused roommate, laughing as she bent way over to reveal my newly-gained version of a love handle, explaining to Hailey, or maybe to me, "I bought these jeans two months and ten pounds ago in Spain, and they're not the only thing that doesn't seem to fit anymore."

Guilty Pleasures

In the words of Miley Cyrus....

The last time I freaked out
I just kept lookin down
I st-st-stuttered when you asked me what I'm thinkin 'bout
Felt like I couldn't breathe
You asked what's wrong with me
My best friend Leslie said "Oh she's just bein Miley"
The next time we hang out
I will redeem myself
My heart can't rest til then
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
I, I can't wait to see you again.