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hold the door

2008-07-14T00:03:00.002-04:00

parking2
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i've recently implemented a battery of new life policies in hope that things will start to work better for me. one of these policies dictates that i should not resist everything, which usually renders myself in a bad mood.

so when i could not find a wingwoman to accompany me to the jazz festival with a date/non-date, i decided that i just had to "go with the flow", and that i was just going to a concert with an old friend. and if he got handsy, that i would simply move his hands from my person and say, "no no no".

"i must have details!" called my friend after me as i set off on my bike.

we met on a crowded corner. he had brought a wingcouple of his own - an old friend from high school and his new wife.

as we walked along the crowded streets to the stage, my date/non-date would place one hand on my back and the other out in front - indicating that i could go first. a pleasant surprise from a few past dud dates who, seemingly impervious to my presence (perhaps too taken by themselves and their unremitting self-sales pitch), would cut right in front of me when turning corners. it was i who had to stop to let them go, while they yammered on.

we ended up at a blues concert. the music was amazing - a group from chicago.

"would you like something to drink? a beer?" he asked.

i didn’t. i was beered out. he went to the beer tent and returned with an iced tea in hand for me. i beamed. so simple, so thoughtful. i was parched. how did he know?

"stand here," he said as he grabbed my waist and moved me to higher ground. "you can see better." i could. and i could also lean up against a tree during my tired moments. he stood behind a tall person. but i happily took the better spot.

his wingcouple got lost in the crowd.

conversation flowed easily. i probed areas where i wanted more information (yoga retreats, martial arts, his custody battle) and he responded freely and candidly. in the middle of a conversation, i'd make a joke, and he'd actually get it, and even build on it. a rarity.

we moved on to a second show. we both liked it only for about 10 minutes. leaving the show we wrapped up our date/non-date with no tension; no lunging lips, and no sweaty, grapple-y hands.

i figure he is just naturally super friendly, affectionate, and mindful. even if it was a non-date, he made me feel like a special person, if just for one evening.

the last of the mojitos

2008-07-04T00:53:00.002-04:00

park2
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

recently, a project manager decided to call me up, yell at me, and then hang up.

"would you read the document before you start giving me a hard time!" he shouted.

he had never sent me said document.

it was a holiday. and a sunny one at that. his abuse, in addition to much else, resulted in my laying down and crying. my sinuses and my eyelids immediately swelled up.

habitually, i would have canceled my dinner plans for the evening, but i knew it would be okay, perhaps even encouraged, to show up in a swollen, red, and streaky state. the hostess was no stranger to similar meltdowns. i once counseled her in the arts of applying ice directly to the maxillofacial area so we could attend a taco dinner party.

"the gay men will make you feel better..." i cooed.

in contrast to making people cry, i've noticed that certain bits of miscellaneous information make them happy.

i love informing the neighborhood eccentric that i've gone drinking with a mutual friend. being almost permanently depressed, it brings a kind of wideness to his eyes never otherwise witnessed. he thinks she holes herself up.

"why did you tell C that we made all those homemade margaritas?" she was kinda mad.

"he just gets so happy..."

when catsitting, i decided to barbecue some sirloin burgers on the grill. the gas ran out.

"now they're gonna know you used their barbecue," said a friend.

"i feel it will make them happy."

when i went to give the keys back, i informed them that the cat only made appearances from day 2 forward and that i used all the gas in the grill.

"oh... i'm happy you used the barbecue," one said while the other smiled.

i loved telling my boyfriend that i was going for a run. he forgot everything else, if just for a moment.

"watch your knee. stay on the trails. here, have some gatorade. you lose too many electrolytes." he watched carefully as i tied up my shoes. "not too tight... remember last time."

my project manager called again today. he didn't yell. his tactic was to pretend it never happened. my tactic was to be professional and business-like. i've never been so cold.

schmap again

2008-06-23T15:29:00.001-04:00

parking3
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i just got word that my photo of an old speakeasy in new york is being used in the "schmap for the iphone" ad. cool. chekkit.

contain

2008-06-19T20:00:00.002-04:00

off the hook
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

"what size are your feet?"

i knew where this was going even before the words "seven and a half" came out of my mouth.

i was having dinner with one of my best friends and his good friend. this man had been at his sister’s apartment the whole day, packing up her stuff. she passed away a couple of weeks earlier of a brain tumor. she learned of this tumor only two months before that. her boyfriend was at the hospital every morning before she woke up.

"you're the same size. same style. she had skinny arms like that," his chopstick poked me in the shoulder.

i could only nod.

"she's got tons of shoes, clothes... CDs. boxes of stuff. i knew she loved shoes, but did she need a hundred pairs? i've got two pairs of shoes."

"i've got about twenty pairs," i looked over at my friend.

he nodded.

before getting in the car i asked what his sister would think of us going into her apartment, to riffle through her possessions, picking and rejecting. he walked over from the driver's side and leaned against the car. he told me that she wouldn't mind, that she wasn't one who had many secrets.

there were about four boxes of shoes in the hallway; her closets still full of her clothing, shelves still stacked with DVDs, her bathroom full of really great products.

he motioned to the boxes. "see what fits, what you like. the only rule is that if you're not going to use it, don't take it."

she had the exact same pair of shoes that i had just tripped on some new york cobblestones with. i had scuffed them and semi ruined them. i took those and a pair of sexy eff-me boots. i have a high pair, and a low pair. she supplied me with a nice medium length pair. with sexy pointy toes.

while my friend and i were going through some CDs, the brother came into the room with an armful of beads.

"she's got baskets and baskets of these. beads and necklaces and earrings. what is this?"

"a chandelier," i said.

"a chandelier?" he said. "i didn't even know she did this. the whole front room is full of beads. it's going to go to the women's shelter."

i wonder what i would think if I knew i was leaving my apartment for the last time.

charmed, i'm sure

2008-06-07T22:03:00.001-04:00

couple
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i was having beers in the afternoon sun with a friend, lamenting our relationship strike outs.

“i want something magical to happen to me, like in the movies,” i said.

“people aren’t fantasies, people are real,” he said. “we’re faulty. so far from perfect.”

“it’s true,” i nodded as i for some reason remembered how the creator of ren and stimpy said that anyone was gross if you looked at them up close.

when my sister and i were young, we lived in a tiny house on a military base. it looked like the kind of house kids draw. square. with a chimney on the roof. this chimney had a tiny door in the basement that i guess was to clean the soot or dead squirrels or something. this iron door was about 6 inches wide and 4 inches high. we were decorating the christmas tree when i wondered how santa could make his way through this tiny door.

i asked my parents.

my mom replied with something like, “santa’s magic. if he can visit every single house in the world in one night, he can squeeze through our chimney.”

i bought it.

but my dad replied with, “there’s no such thing as santa clause.”

i immediately felt very stupid. really foolish that i had been duped into believing in something that was not real. and then i realized that there must not be any easter bunny either.

my dad’s excuse was that he didn’t like lying to children.

in trying to regain the lost enchantment of my youth, i get choked up when reading or watching anything fantastical. “one hundred years of solitude” destroyed me. and i always get chocked up when watching people’s reactions to magic tricks. and you may remember that pulling a rabbit out of a box on the subway was one of the more memorable moments in my life.

i recently opted to go to a yoga class instead of joining a friend for a movie. while he waited, david blaine just happened to be shooting a video.

“what!?” i exclaimed. i was just blogging about him.*

“really? that’s so funny. well, he took my dollar and gave it back to me backwards. he also set half of it on fire. in a girl’s hand.”

i stared blankly. “i love david blaine, you know.”

“well, you missed him.”

i’m slowly and sadly realizing that i have to let go of my fantasy. we are not characters in the sex in the city movie. big is not going to show up and build me a closet. people are imperfect and are subject to moods. they also often have hair growing out of their ears.

trouble is, not matter how often i get spurned, i still cry when i watch david blaine turn a homeless man’s cup of coffee into money.

* i had been blogging about him, but changed it to the more generic “magic” so that you wouldn’t have to read “david blaine” 900 times.

... for your thoughts

2008-05-19T23:34:00.003-04:00

lady in pink
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i once joked with a friend about that macy's day parade and how it precedes the "biggest shopping day of the year".

"if it's the biggest shopping day of the year, how come i'm not shopping," i unfunnily said.

i've been spending some time back in new york, and today, upon ill advice, i went to century 21.

i begged two people's pardons as i tried to get past a handbag display. neither of the congesting parties heard me, so i gently placed my hand on the shoulder of one of them: the gay one. he was yelling across a counter to a friend; asking for advice on a special and unique item.

"sorry, can i get by?" i repeated.

he turned around. "don't push," he bitched. the little bitch.

"i didn't push. i'd just like to get by. there's like this much room." i fairly demonstrated with my hands how much room there was. had i tried to squeeze through this demonstrated space, he really would have been pushed.

"i'm talking with my friend. just wait."

i hated century 21 and promptly left, purchaseless. i sat in a coffeeshop on broadway to decompress and people watch. it was a rainy day, from beginning to end. a homeless, or an ex-homeless, man was collecting money for a homeless organization. he was draped in a rain poncho, but it was doing no good. i was watching him not collect a cent.

i noticed that the jug into which people were supposed to put money had a little white paper cup over the mouth of it, to protect the money from the rain.

i burst into tears.

three items of note that were shouted at me today

2008-05-09T00:19:00.001-04:00

cactus
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

item of note #1: "Hey green eyed lady... Or grey eyes. Can't tell."

item of note #2: "Nice nips!"

item of note #3: "I'd like to see your p*ssy!"

from the ground up

2008-05-05T17:51:00.003-04:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

two days before christmas, my boyfriend, after nine years, delivered some news that kept me up for weeks and kept me from eating nary a melba toast.

when you're holed up in your hairdresser's apartment, in the dead darkness of winter, starving and going mad due to insomnia, the true gems in your life start to show themselves. friends and family drove miles and miles to come see me, while a local friend threw her house keys at me, saying i didn't even have to call before i dropped in.

"i'm sad that as adults we've lost the art of the drop by", she said.

"dropping by makes me feel desperate," i replied.

"we need a paradigm shift and must not see it as desperate, but instead as footloose and fancy free."

she sat by me as i time-consumingly ate a slice of pizza.

my sister and her husband flew me out to their new home on the quiet island of prince edward island. in summer the place bustles, but in the dead of winter there wasn't much activity but a snowstorm every second day. it was perfect for me to lie in bed with a space heater aimed directly at my face.

"why won't auntie get out of bed?" my three-year old niece asked.

"uncle g hurt auntie's heart," replied my sister.

my niece placed her head into her hands.

as that old stinky cliche goes, time does heal. or something. i started sleeping. without narcotic aid. and i started eating. even if it was an entire bag of doritos.

severraal years ago, when my boyfriend and i were still together, gunshots rang out at 3am, right after the club across the street closed. it was the second shooting in two weeks; this one being the retaliation.

before the end of the five shots, and before i could finish screaming, "fuck! NOT again!", my boyfriend had thrown his entire body on top of mine, in some kind of movie-type protection.

as the drive-by car drove by, we slowly got up and peered out of the bottom of the window. we saw the body lying on the sidewalk.

"if you ever doubt g's love, remember how he charged at me and gary. he was gonna clock us," said a friend. i had been showing my apartment to his friend, for a potential sublet. my boyfriend had stopped by and heard male voices coming from inside. he charged down the hallway to defend my honor.

the dysfunctional club across the street closed shortly after the second shooting. i heard that the guy lying on the sidewalk lived.

i'll take it

2008-04-29T00:24:00.002-04:00

margarita & tat
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

several years ago, i mustered up the courage to ask a friend who was responsible for doing her hair. it was much nicer than mine.

"oh, it's "M", she was surprised that i didn't know.

"who? do i know her?"

"she does the hair for the cast of the french version of the office."

"oh..." she was out of my hair’s league. but i bravely asked for the number anyway.

M always seemed to run behind schedule for my appointments. the first few visits consisted of me waiting on her red velvet couch, having to listen to a 45 minute conversation between her and a metrosexual about the customization his fauxhawk. his high energy and her enthusiasm drained what little i had. when it came my turn to sit in the chair, a pale, pallid, exhausted, and ugly person stared back at me.

"you dyed your hair too dark," she gently counseled.

"yeah..." i sighed. the dark circles under my eyes seemed accentuated.

these awkward exchanges continued for months. until one day when i showed up with a little extra energy and she wasn't running behind schedule.

"you got a little sun. and your hair isn't as dark. you look good," she said.

"thanks," i said. "i really like the dark hair on you though. it works."

she proceeded to tell me how she saw felicity huffman during her recent trip to mexico. i feigned thrill. and noticed my smile lines.

and then she divulged a friend's sexual orientation temporary derailment.

"i heard you had a breakthrough with M," said my friend who gave me the number. "she had been waiting so long."

i gushed. "we talked about a momentary lapse of gayness..."

i catsat and moved into her apartment when she and her boyfriend returned to mexico for 6 weeks. and i even appreciated it when, after trying to coordinate a sunny afternoon beverage through a facebook thread, she barked "NOOO COFFEE" at us.

did she talk to the metrosexuals like that?

someone cared about split-endy me.

the embarra-crush

2008-04-05T16:09:00.002-04:00

alexe and sosi
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

not too long ago, i revealed to a friend that i had developed an unfortunate crush on leonardo dicraprio. it was due to the watching of blood diamond. and the reason was his perfectly awful south african accent.

in late winter i noticed that a "comedy writing workshop" was being offered by a man who i have been triflingly stalking for a couple of years. not for reasons of any accent, but for reasons of his writing.

i was too scared to join alone, so i forced a friend to sign up as well. during the first class, we all introduced ourselves. there was "sweater", who declared that graph paper was the only way to go when writing down email addresses. there was the "angry russian journalist" who could not understand the difference between kramer and jerry, and the "stand up comic" who responded to statements like, "that can be a pain in the ass…" with "... and so's a greek with a hard on!" and finally there was the guy who could not stop mentioning warren buffet.

comedy class.

"i don't want to read my story to these people. i don't want to share any part of myself with these people." stated my friend after one of the classes. i was debilitated with guilt.

"i'm sure we'll be laughing about this in a couple of days... hey - do you think we should maybe call the police? i'm sure those jokes about the arabs and the jews constitute hate literature."

"i think that guy has a goiter. that's not just a double chin."

on another occasion, my stalkee-teacher decided it would be a good idea to present audio clips of stand up comedians to give us an idea of what's considered funny. because it certainly wasn't our efforts. he played a five-minute bit on someone going on about hot pockets - that weird microwave thing. sweater, anger, and the closeted homosexual sat grim-faced while every time the comedian sang the "hot pocket" theme, i curled up in laughter. but because no one else found it funny, i suppressed my laughter, which only made tears flow.

while digging my friend's car out of the snow after class, i confessed how the singing of the hot pocket song made me break out into a sweat.

"i got really cold when it ended," she confided.

"my knees almost gave out."

"holding in my laughter made me pee."

"i don't see how anyone could find warren buffet funny."

later that week i emailed the teacher with my concerns about the anti-jewish/anti-arab sentiment from double-chin (the goiter is under investigation). he emailed back saying that "sometimes the attempt at comedy can be ugly."

he shall be stalked no more.

los cabos

2008-03-18T22:15:00.002-04:00

i'm heading somewhere warm. somewhere with tequila and sombreros and surf.

i'll be back soon to blog about leonardo dicraprio.

guest speaker, unbeknownst to him

2008-03-11T20:03:00.003-04:00

soho dogs
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i recently wrote about high roads versus low roads. and how i got very short-term satisfaction, yet long-term malaise, from giving in to unqualified temptation and taking the low road.

in spring cleaning my apartment and computer, i came across an email from an ex-boss. an email that i will soon copy and paste into this post, so that you can all learn how to act like decent human beings, and not sloppy, cheap spumante-swilling, be-breasted man lumps.

about ten years ago, i walked into an office for a job interview. when the suave, dark-haired, dark-eyed italian interviewee and i looked at each other, hardly able to muster the wherewithal to shake each others' hands, i knew i not only had the job, but that we just fell in love.

our favorite thing was to go take really long breaks and get gelato. he made me laugh. to the core.

but i didn't permit anything to happen. because he had a girlfriend of ten years.

his ten-year relationship was assy, as all ten-year relationships tend to be. but i told him that he would have to sort that out before anything could happen between us. i wasn't going to be *that* woman. essentially, i wanted to see if he could grow a pair.

he went on a "boys weekend" and he told me he would soul-search and come back with an answer. this is what he wrote:

"So....here I am in [undisclosed location]. Well the boys got together; the boys talked. Five mature men who seemed to spend a little too much time talking about oral sex, but we won't get into that sordid tale... I presented my conundrum, albeit in a hypothetical manner, and all these guys that always assumed that meeting another woman would just be a matter of feeling guilty about a brief but passionate sexual encounter were truly having difficulty wrapping their beer-soaked heads around the possibility of falling in love with another woman and thus having to make a decision. But to their credit they worked it through and came to the conclusion that the situation would indeed represent a pickle and that a monumental decision would have to be made.

Everyone agreed that it would be impossible and foolhardy to pursue both avenues simultaneously. In short, everyone agreed with everything you said. So I spent a lot of time gazing into the fire and staring across the lake and walking through the woods and looking thoughtfully at the stars, and... I just felt weary and sorta numb. So no decisions have been made, no action will be taken, no changes are afoot. Maybe I'll snap out of it and spring into action, or maybe I'll just plug along in this catatonic state indefinitely.... But at least I'm thinking about it and questioning things. I'm sorry that I have to be so thick and slow. I'm an emotional half-wit sitting around eating french-fried pertaters and fixing small engines and saying "uuuh-huuuh" to everything. I'm pretty disgusted with myself really. I'm not even feeling sorry for myself; I'm just disgusted with my brain and its pitiful thoughts. That's what came out of the weekend. I would have to, I think, go back even further than my current relationship to tear things down and rebuild. I would have to spend time alone for a while. I would have move away. I could not, I am beginning to understand, break up one relationship and start a new one immediately. So goodbye for now - I'm assuming that this will mark the end of your patience. Thanks for trying to change me. I'll let you know if/when it works. Ti voglio bene."

i accepted his letter of resignation. that's as high as it gets.

fogs

2008-02-27T12:56:00.004-05:00

i was delighted to find a copy of the new york times at my coffee shop this morning. as i settled in for a good long read, i discovered that it was from february 10th. i had to read about "super tuesday" and see valentine's day advertisements all over again.

i got to the birth and death notices and a photo of one particular woman with a beautiful smile stuck out. i read the notice. it was written by "your guy". it said something about the stars and his fog of pain.

someone at a neighboring table asked me a question. i turned to him with wellage in my eyes and he asked why i was reading the obit-s. i ignored his dumb question and just told him that she was too young to die.

"jeune et jolie," he added.

i turned away and he apologized for bothering me.

i returned home to a message from my mom that one of my uncles passed away in his sleep. found by his wife in the morning. instead of placing my clean laundry away, i found myself angrily and messily throwing it into the closet. he, too, was too young, having lived a healthy life of fishing and eating fish every day. we ate his cod when visiting last. it was the best fish i ever tasted.

and now my aunt is all alone.

oh(d) to the blind date

2008-02-18T12:39:00.001-05:00

a friend thought it might be a good idea to set me up on a blind date. with someone that he hasn't seen in over a year. a year during which this person got divorced.

we spoke on the phone. he seemed nice enough. smart enough. sushi was our destination. but somehow i got talked into parking my car at his place because “finding a place near the restaurant would be impossible".

i, not uncharacteristically, showed up late. and i noticed that a divorce can take a toll. or add to a toll. or make you - and others - simply lie about your "stature". looked like a turtle, he did.

apologizing for my tardiness, i declared that we should immediately head to the restaurant. he explained how he was unable to secure any reservations. well, nothing before 9:15 anyway.

"ugh..." i bemoaned. "well, there are dozens of restaurants out there."

"come in. take your boots off and relax. i ended up ordering in. i brought the sushi here."

my first reaction was one of thrill, as though my best friend had just ordered in and we were going to eat in front of the tv. but then reality set in: turtleman had bamboozled me into spending the evening in his home.

and this is where everyone says "that's when you should have left."

yes, that is when i should have left. because he changed our plans, and switched the power dynamic, all that stuff. but at times, i can be terribly unwise. especially when hungry.

he presented a bottle of - and i use the term loosely - champagne. i smirked and accepted it. we drank it on the couch while chatting - about him. he spilled most of it, and what he didn't spill, he coughed up on himself. i tossed aside his pamphlet of "fabulous things elton, tina, and mick and i did in the 80s" and got up to get some water. while in the kitchen, he came at me. lips poised and pursed, arms outstretched and outreached. in the international sign of "nuh uh" i pressed my hand into his soft and yielding chest.

"stop," i said.

then came the stream of uninspired "you're so this..." and "you're driving me so that."

the lips lurched again. i shook my head, incredulous that i was going to have to duck under his arm to get away from him, i ducked under his arm to get away from him.

i walked to my coat, boots, hats, mitts, and bag.

"that's an actual move, the duck and run," a friend informed me.

"how gross," i thought.

i promptly received hate-mail from he-who-ate-too-much-during-his-divorce. it stated how he spent much of the week looking forward to meeting me and how he spent precious time (and resources!) to host me a nice dinner. not only was i quite distant, but i left as quickly as i could - "exactly like one would at a restaurant!"

and that he could fairly say that he felt "used" after the events of the evening finally sunk in.

"don't do it!" advised a friend. "don't take the low road. just leave it... LEAVE IT!"

"no. i'm tired. i always take the high road. here is a perfect opportunity for me to go low. really, really low. i WANT to take the low road."

"please consider the high road," she implored.

"nope."

my email stated that i appreciated his time and resources (he meant money, right?), but i also provided a few tips. “thank someone when they clean up your spills. and try not to remove your shoes in the middle of a conversation. and if a woman doesn't want to kiss you, back off. unless she understands what you're paying for.”

he replied to that with a slew of joke-mails about how women use you for money, how all we can do is spend money, and how it takes us 3 hours and 26 minutes to buy a pair of pants at the gap, how we are fat, and how we have a bunch of knobs and dials while men are simply an "on/off" switch. he's 47.

i wanted to go lower.

"how old are you? 12?” my friend screamed.

"he had man boobs!" i screamed back.

"leave it. delete it and leave it."

"nope," i said.

i emailed him and informed him of his moobs.

oh, he emailed back, thanking me and whatnot. but i'm now back on the highroad. it was just a minor detour. an unpleasant detour.

i, too, shall topple

2008-02-03T22:06:00.001-05:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

several years ago, shortly after returning from a 6-week stay in italy, i was jetlagged and tripped and fell off a curb.

i landed on all fours and knocked the breath out of me. i remained on the street for a few seconds while realizing what happened. when i stood up i saw that a large patch on my knee was completely white – all of the skin had come off. then the white patch turned red with blood pouring out of each and every capillary. hundreds of tiny little dots formed, which all joined together to cause blood to flow down my leg.

the jetlag, the jolt, and the bloodshed made me burst into tears. tears like a child cries. i limped to the theater where i was to meet my friend. i told him, in between sobs, that i fell and skinned my knee. and he looked confused.

five weeks ago i had to fly from new york through chicago to a tiny hellhole of a city in michigan for work. an ice storm had hit chicago, and as a result, i was rerouted three times. the three-hour flight took 14 hours. while i was rebooking one of my flights, i stood at a counter where the next flight, upon which i was not booked, would take me home. i contemplated foregoing the work trip to assmunch, michigan and simply returning home.

but something told me i would not like what i would find if i returned home that night. i continued on to shitballs, michigan.

when i did return home later that week, i was met with a reticent boyfriend. two weeks after that our nine-year relationship ended. because of that night i was rerouted: the night i didn't come home.

my appetite and ability to sleep promptly departed. i lost 10% of my body weight. my immune system was compromised. i fell ill with a kidney infection. writhing in pain, a doctor not only prescribed painkillers and antibiotics, but also atavan.

i returned home to news that the city would have to cut the water on my street for 36 hours. i purchased 8 liters of water and lay on my couch.

the pain abated and the water returned. and i had to fly to toronto for business, where i contracted strep throat. each time i swallowed, i wanted to cry out in pain. lying in bed at 4 am, i convinced myself that i had taken on too much. but i met my client at 8:30.

upon my return home i was prescribed imovane, dalmane, and paxil.

people tell me that i'm "a strong woman” and that i’ll “get through this." some even tell me to “hang in there.” after my own sister offered me the latter piece of advice, i told her she might as well send me an e-card with the image of a kitten hanging from a branch. the next day she did.

i’m taking care of my hairdresser’s cat. for five weeks. last week when i was leaving her apartment, i slipped and fell on the icy stairs. the pain of twisting my wrist made me cry out into the morning air. i sat down on the icy stairs and held my hand so that the winter air might have an impact on the impending swelling. i prayed it wasn’t broken so i wouldn't have to return to the hospital.

i sat on the stairs for about 15 minutes. i couldn't even shed a tear.

since i can't get anything else posted...

2008-01-27T13:36:00.001-05:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i was just thinking about this girl yesterday and, even though i've never met her, how fun it might be to hang out with her and have beverages.

and then she tagged me.

the rules:

* Link to the person that tagged you.
* Post the rules on your blog.
* Share 6 non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.
* Tag 6 random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
* Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.

1. i can drink my weight in vodka and/or tequila.

2. sex in the city makes me cry. unfailingly.

3. i have a weakness for gold teeth. and freckles. but not on the same person.

4. i don't sing in the shower. i sing in my living room.

5. i've never made a resolution. except last year, which was to not throw out any food. i stuck by it. and this year, which was to not say 'no' to anything. even if it imperils my life.

6. there is no sixth.

i tag anne c, lori joy, jodi, kell and that's it.

prick up your ears

2008-01-08T16:04:00.001-05:00

motel
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

my parents would always get negative reports from my elementary school teachers. they were concerned about my personal development because i never spoke. when this was relayed to me, in a we-fear-you-may-be-"special"-type tone, and i reassured my parents i would make an effort to, yes, speak more. but in my head i always wondered what the big deal was. i was learning everything, why did we all sit around and talk about it?

if you've ever talked to anybody who's talked to anybody, they'll tell you that anything that happened to you as a child affects you. so as i grew older, i made concerted, very concerted and self-conscious, efforts to speak more. what usually resulted was that i was spoken over, my joke fell flat or went over heads, or no one simply heard.

several years ago, i was working in new york and my boyfriend came to visit for the weekend. i was staying at a charming boutique hotel and he showed up at the door with a flower.

it rained the entire weekend. it rained like i have never seen rain. it was impossible to go out without getting drenched. i already was fighting off a cold, but somehow we managed to have a great time. and it remains one of the most memorable times i spent with him.

when the morning came for him to leave, i accompanied him to penn station. he told me to stay in to try to get better. i welcomed the opportunity to get out a bit; the rain, of course, was letting up.

we found his line and waited together.

"go," he said.

"no," i said.

we inched along, toward the guy who checks your documentation, the point after which non-travelers were not permitted. we kissed goodbye - i always missed him more after good times - and he passed into the security zone, on his way to another checkpoint.

i turned and walked away. off to buy some lozenges. but then thought that i had a few more seconds to see him. i turned back around and called out and waved to him. he didn't hear. a woman and her child with a balloon did.

i ran a little bit closer and tried again. all the criticism from school came flooding back: i wasn't loud enough.

i called out three times, each one louder than the last. none of them were ever heard. and i watched him walk down the platform with his luggage, without any knowledge of how much i didn’t want him to go, how much i loved him, and most of all, how much i wanted him to see me there smiling.

that day in penn station has plagued me since. i've spent years wondering what happened to my good byes that were sent out and that never reached their destination.

i learned this year, two days before christmas, that he would never have heard me, no matter how uncharacteristically loud i forced myself to be.

woobegone

2007-12-28T10:18:00.001-05:00

vij's rangoli
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

"my husband would call me up from work, practically crying from laughter, to tell me to read your blog.”

a couple of entries ago, a got a little ahead of myself in thinking that my life was somewhat coming together; that there was some company ready and willing to do anything to get *me* to come work for them, including rent a car! gee wilikers!

i left very excitedly to embark on a new chapter in my personal growth. it didn't get past the border, where i was detained for 2 hours due to an error on the behalf of the recruitment company hired to make things smoother for us.

after expressing my disenchantment to the company, i was thrilled to be returning home. due to two ice storms, it took two days to get here, and when I finally did, i received some news that kept me from getting a wink of sleep nor keeping an ounce of food in my stomach.

had i gotten too cocky? was my head too inflated and balloon-like?

i'm astounded by the generosity and utter concern that some people have shown. from a girlfriend handing over the keys to her home saying that if my four walls became too much to handle, to come right over. a call wasn't even necessary. to my cousin whose eyes welled with tears, causing mine to fill with tears. and then my soggy face to collapse on her shoulder. in starbucks.

and to the person who told me that i had a unique voice and way of telling a story.

if we don't tell each other things, we'll never know. so i thank everyone from the bottom of my heart for the things they have said.

and i won't kill my blog just yet. there's a few more things that i may just have to say.

happy 2008.

the throwing in of the towel

2007-12-18T23:00:00.001-05:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i've been considering resigning this blog for a while now. i just can't keep up. and i get anxious when i don't post. i met up with a friend in ny, and after we absconded an exploding manhole cover, i confessed this over the best mulligatawny i've ever tasted.

"yeah, people want more posts, more often," he said.

"i can't deliver. my head, she's vapid and empty."

this week on facebook, a friend's status declared that she was potentially available for coffee. in courting her, i mentioned that i had an issue i needed to discuss. an issue on censorship. i knew this would secure the meeting.

"i can meet you at 11," she said.

"oh. shit. just let me jump into the shower."

"don't worry. it'll be a soft 11."

"what kind of censorship? self censorship?" she queried knowingly.

"yes. what are your thoughts?"

she thought. "well, the thing about your blog is that you say what needs to be said."

"some people are upset. even someone who told me never to self-censor is upset."

"write your stuff. and look elsewhere to publish it. the back page of the life section, magazines..."

i nodded. sadly. but i nodded.

another blog that i read shut itself down due to self-editing. i may follow suit. i want to take time to make things come back into my head. and i need to take the time to write more publishable stuff, and to find the places to publish said rubbish.

that may mean another blog under a new name. one you will have trouble finding. unless you are that nice guy from san jose who sent me a lovely polaroid.

or maybe this could just be a soft throwing-in-of-the-towel.

between grove and barrow

2007-12-12T22:20:00.001-05:00

chumleys
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

schmap was delighted to let me know that my photo had been selected for inclusion in the newly released fourth edition of the schmap new york guide.

you can see it here.

the ones we love

2007-12-05T23:27:00.001-05:00

golden gate bridge
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i’m going on strike. against those who are making things all the more difficult for me. i've just had an incredibly stressful two weeks and it seems that i can't rely on those who are supposed to be there. in fact, they're making things all the more difficult.

from my best friend who's not happy until i feel smaller than he naturally does ("i especially liked how you told that entire story with chocolate on your teeth.") to family members who treat everything as a competition ("Where pray tell are you staying at the Manulife building?") to another friend, who, when offered my place to stay over the holidays, barks back that her Boyfriend cannot possibly be left alone for a "girls' night out”. i took her insolence as an indication that, no, she did, in fact, not need a place to stay, but thank-you for asking.

notice how i capitalized any references to Him, just like people do when they write about God.

i was speaking to a friend about my woes, my annoyances, and my inability to sometimes catch my breath.

"what if you told these people that you love them?” he suggested.

i took in a sharp breath in when i thought about all the love i have for them. i contemplated sending them love emails.

"i do love them..."

"uh huh," he said.

"... but it may be too soon."

just like in a relationship, it would be too soon. maybe i’ll drunk dial them once i get over feeling like the gangly, flat-chested, failure that they called me out on.

to let

2007-11-29T00:01:00.001-05:00

haight
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i became tired with myself not too long ago. which is nothing new. but this time i got disciplined, instead of mopey. i hopped on the internets and sent out 6492 resumes. and what ensued was interesting. tiring, but interesting.

working as a freelancer is great. everyone i know who does it, loves it. i recently got a panicky email from a friend who feared the company she consulted for was offering her a job.

"how do i not come away from this meeting with a full-time job?"

"talk about the benefits. convince them of the benefit of not paying you benefits."

so it looks like i landed myself a six-month contract with a company that i never, ever would have imagined myself working for. in my consternation, i asked friends for advice. one told me that having that company's name on my resume would be a hindrance; that no one would ever want to deal with me again. ever.

a colleague told me i should not list it at all.

“i can’t have a six-month gap. that’ll look like i was unhealthy, that i had to go away.”

she conceded, but said that the only way it should appear is if i were to create a new section, entitled "Case Studies", and list it there. if i ever wanted anyone to take me seriously again.

i had 4369 other interviews with seemingly upstanding companies that would look stellar on my resume. the trouble is, there was always something that didn't feel right. the tiniest little thing would irk me: no water was offered, an extra person sat on the panel, certain expenses would have to be fronted by me…

only a few months previous i declared that i wanted a job "with perks - you know, i want to be flown places, put up in hotels...". when i asked this company about accommodations - meaning short-term rentals that i would be responsible for - they said, "oh we'll take care of that. and we're working on getting you a car."

i don’t really want a car, but i was too overwhelmed to say so.

i'm being wooed. by an ultra-right, republican, cultish corporation.

it feels good.

i saw skies of blue

2007-11-16T00:12:00.001-05:00

twin towers
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i was in the dentist's chair the morning of september 11th. he had just finished with my mouth and handed me a tissue to clean up. i was wiping my face when he popped back in and told me that a plane had hit the world trade center.

i ran home and turned on the tv but it showed me that the pentagon had been hit. needing answers, i ran to my coffee shop. on the way, i ran into A and his brother. the day was sunny and they were smiling.

"a plane hit the world trade center."

"i bet it’s afghanistan," said his brother.

while at the counter at the coffee shop the first tower collapsed on the television. i remember the news people didn't know how to handle it. i met the eyes of who is now a good friend but at the time was a stranger. i then turned to A and said, "there weren't people in that building, were there?"

i watched some more tv and saw the second tower fall. i met my boyfriend back at home. he was heading out to pick up his best friend's daughter from daycare, because they had sent their employees home.

"why don't they look after their own kid?”

"because they're staying at work. why don’t you come with me?"

i held the phone up to him. "i have to call my friends." i was yelling.

i knew his phone would be down, so i started by calling my ex-boyfriend's mother in ohio. she had heard from him about 15 minutes before. he dodged the falling people as he left work.

i called another friend who lives in columbus circle. our running joke was he never ventured further than a 7-block radius of his apartment. and he never did. but that morning he had been called for jury duty, of all things. he got off the subway at chambers street, saw the buildings on fire and turned around to walk home. 70 blocks. on the way, he stopped at a starbucks.

"i walked in and nobody was there. i ordered a coffee and 'what a wonderful world" by louis armstrong was playing."

my sister eloped a few years ago. she made a slideshow and set the music to "what a wonderful world" by israel kamakawiwo'ole . my parents viewed the slideshow over and over on the computer and cried.

against their better judgment, my sister and husband had a post-elope wedding party in the remote hills of british columbia. i could not make it because i was working on a contract in new york. instead my boyfriend came to spend the weekend with me. we happened to be gaily shopping at j crew when they played "what a wonderful world" by israel kamakawiwo'ole. i hung up what i was looking at and ran downstairs (upstairs girls, downstairs boys) to find my boyfriend. on the way down, i started to cry.

my boyfriend charged out of a change room looking for me. "we gotta go call them. let's go call your sister." the sales guy handed me a kleenex.

tell me something...

2007-11-06T22:15:00.001-05:00

lochsa lounge
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i had dinner not too long ago with a very pregnant friend and her husband. we sat at the bar, as no tables were available.

“do you know the sex?” asked the woman behind the bar.

“no,” replied my friend. “it’s going to be a surprise.”

the woman motioned to the bartender. “his wife is pregnant too. due in three weeks. he knows the sex, she doesn’t.”

“yeah,” he turned around, glass in hand, and beamed at us. “it’s a girl!”

this past spring, a woman left her husband. she left him because he refused to leave the suburbs. the suburbs that were killing her so. she moved into my neighborhood, close to her gourmet chocolate shop.

this past spring my boyfriend got a job working for a man next to the chocolate shop. this man was denying his hair loss. he tied up his shoulder length stringy hair with a bandana.

this past spring some gossip was spread. this friend told me that his new neighbor – the recently de-suburbed chocolate lady - was having really loud sex. extraordinarily loud sex.

"sex that sounds like banging, or sex that sounds like furniture is moving?" i asked.

"sex that sounds like a dresser is being picked up and dropped onto the floor," he replied.

"wow. what could they possibly be doing?"

"i don't know. but they do it every tuesday and thursday afternoon."

i informed my boyfriend - G – of the neighborhood gossip. "the chocolate lady is having really loud sex."

his eyes bugged out. "the chocolate lady is dating my boss...! i didn't tell you? why do you think we get so many free chocolates?"

i clasped my hands over my mouth. this was huge.

i had to tell A. "the chocolate lady is having the loud sex with bandana boy!"

the news knocked the wind out of him. "G cannot tell bandana head that we hear their loud sex."

but no matter how hard i tried, i could not persuade my boyfriend not to tell bandana boy. "a rumor can't come full circle," i pleaded. “it’ll implode upon itself. it might as well have never happened...”

just as with his thinning locks, the bandana man would not believe that his feral lovemaking sessions were audible. "bullshit," he cried.

"oh yeah," said my boyfriend. "tuesday. and thursday. afternoons."

bandana head's eyes dilated.

the loud sex halted.

the house in the suburbs was sold. and the husband moved into the city.

i saw the chocolate lady and her husband one day with A.

"does he know?" i asked.

"i doubt it," he replied.

we watched them walk, hands holding, towards her store.

hang up

2007-10-28T23:48:00.001-04:00

motel
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

not too long after september 11th, when airport security had been stepped up, molly shannon gave a late night tv interview. instead of promoting her project, she went on, at great length, about how much she enjoyed it when a security agent went through her luggage, item by item, with his pristine gloved hand.

i was riveted as she described the pleasure she reaped from watching the newly-implemented security measure take place: the concurrence of the impersonal, formal act of sterile gloves examining each and every one of her personal items.

it was then that i realized our foibles and that we are all misshapen.

my “thing” is throwing something out.

out of my life forever. i think as i toss the vessel into the recycle bin. i love turning my back on something that’s been the object of my obsession. possessions make me anxious. they make me feel as though i’m weighed down; keeping me from accomplishing something else, keeping me from venturing yonder.

what doesn't help is that i'm often impelled to buy products because they have a neat label, are being sold two-for-one, or are particularly "gentle to the environment".

as a result, a lot of effort and planning goes into getting me to the point where i can be rid of something. of course, not a drop can remain. consumption is not without consequence.

so i consolidate.

all bottles are charily monitored so that when it gets to a level where the remainder can be safely transferred into another, it gets turned upside down.

once emptied, i’ll add water, shake, and use on a light-wash day.

the process of product consolidation, however, is a complex one. one substance cannot simply be added pell-mell to another. they must match in terms of consequence. some product adds hair sheen, while others create an alleged volume. only products that creates a like effect can be united.

some conditioner, no matter how nice it smells, turns out to be a dud. dud conditioners get added to hair before shampooing. does this help in adding gloss and body? i don't know, but it gives me great pleasure when it's time to combine two duds.

i once consolidated wines.

a friend called a few days ago. he inquired as to what i was doing.

"i'm consolidating body lotions."

"funny. that's something my dad would do."

patron saint

2007-10-20T00:10:00.001-04:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i only just learned last week that godparents are actually supposed give their godchildren gifts and such. possibly acknowledge birthdays. perhaps recognize that they’re alive - considering that, given the unfortunate event of the untimely death of both parents, the child will come and join the family as one of their own.

my parents bestowed upon me my mother’s best friend and her unimpressive husband as my godparents. they lived halfway across the country, but i still protested when forced to visit.

"you have to come and you have to like them because they will take you if dad and i die."

i felt, however, that norma et al. had enough kids. she and her husband had produced many, many progeny. they had adopted several others as well. which is, as an act, quite honorable.

in any case, they were not very charming or kind children. the older, teenage-like ones ran amuck. they drove irocs and parked them on the lawn. many girlfriends were always over. the younger bevy were always kind of soiled, somewhat forgotten.

on our last visit to norma's, a little over 20 years ago, we were unexpectedly permitted to enter the pantry and select a small, individual bottle of soda. this was a huge treat for my sister and me, as we were generally deprived of anything that had sugar. but this was not the case with the norma family. they had cases and cases of these stubby bottles from the “pop shoppe”, with flavors like black cherry, cherry, and lime ricky.

i chose cream soda, because not only was it was my absolute favorite, this one was clear, like 7-up. i had only seen pink cream soda before.

i looked up at my mom. "can i really have this?"

she nodded. but it seemed like she was only permitting it because she felt bad about the horrible time she was making us have.

we all sat down to dinner. i'm sure it consisted of something instant.

the norma husband lumbered in from outside and wandered into the panty to pick out his own unique bottle of soda. this was apparently routine suppertime practice.

he emerged from the panty enraged. and he proceeded to yell.

"which one of you rotten kids took my cream soda!!?" he was infuriated. "you KNOW you're not allowed drink MY CREAM SODA!! THOSE CREAM SODAS ARE MINE! AND THEY ARE FOR ME!"

we sat frozen, but i got side glances from all offspring at the table. they knew i was the culprit. i was terrified. i had never before been subject to such rage.

"there was ONE cream soda left and i was SAVING IT. WHO TOOK IT? WHO!?"

it was as though he hadn't even realized there were three extra people sitting at this table - guests in fact. guests who had been offered his cream soda.

one of his teenage sons accused him of drinking it the previous night, implying that he was too stupid to be able to keep count. i couldn't tell if he was trying to cover for me or taking that opportunity to disrespect his father.

"no! i know there was ONE LEFT. i was SAVING IT!! i guess i’ll have to have this then. he had grabbed an orange soda and slammed it on the table. he wolfed down his dinner.

once people started to stir, i drank the cream soda. i garnered no pleasure. i only drank it to hide the evidence.

there was never any returning to the house of norma, either as a guest or to join their brethren.

i think most of my godsiblings have moved out of the house, and the norma husband bought my grandmother’s 1972 camaro fastback and paid her about half of what it was worth.

when he pours, he reigns

2007-10-09T23:28:00.001-04:00

kelekis
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

a couple of nights ago, i went out for drinks with a friend. due to a recently implemented "new activity" policy, we decided to go to a place where neither of us had been.

we sidled up to the bar and ordered some drinks. i was looking out onto the street while she had a full view of the bartenders. it wasn't two minutes before i saw her wince.

and then she scowled. "they're doing tricks. the bartenders are doing little tricks."

i turned just in time to see a martini shaker roll up someone's arm. "oh jeese. they ARE doing tricks."

i saw a flash of orange reflect against her face and then my drink appeared.

"was this on fire?" i asked.

"yes it was." she avoided my gaze. she was mad.

"you know, i'm a simple girl. i didn't need this juggled at me. i don't want it anymore. i'm too embarrassed."

"well everyone's already seen you and your on-fire drink."

i took a sip. i wished all the alcohol had not been burned off. "look," i said. "i can understand you're annoyed. we can switch spots if you like. but i warn you, i've got a view of a wall of overweight, undersunned men. it ain't pretty." i turned around again. one bartender was slinging bottles like they were guns in the wild west.

"let’s just finish these," i pointed sheepishly to our drinks, "and we'll go."

"oh you can't leave just yet," said the bartender, gaëtan, when we asked for our bill. "we're about to do our spectacle. raspberry shooters for everyone!"

what can i tell you about the spectacle except that there was, among other things, spillage, a mild cascading of bottles, and one missed behind-the-back catch. it all ended, quite flaringly, with two bartenders spitting their raspberry shooters over a flaming pyramid of the same. the left side of my body burned.

"we're done here," said my friend as she downed her shooter. "and i can't WAIT to hear what your boyfriend is going to say.

"yeah, "flair" bartending," he told me the next day. "it's huge."

"well i've never seen it before. well, not since cocktail with your friend tom cruise."

"you know, it's really telling of these times. when everything lacks substance. you won't notice that what you bought sucks because you're being bedazzled."

"there were a lot of girls there. all girls. except one wall of greasy men."

"it's for girls. i don't know many men who'd be impressed by that."

"imagine if i was forced, say to save the universe or something, to date someone who loved - just loved - flair bartending."

he grimaced. "it doesn't impress me at all. in fact, it makes me quite uncomfortable."

my list

2007-09-29T23:19:00.001-04:00

smith's lane
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

the past few weeks i haven't been able to find the time to get anything done. once i think i'm done for the day, having sent off a final email at 2 am comprised of the client's 432nd round of changes, i'll crawl into bed and realize that i didn't pay my quarterly taxes.

"make lists," urges my boyfriend.

"no," i say. "that's stupid. i hate lists."

he shakes his head and pulls out his moleskin notebook. i see him write the word "bananas". right under "yogurt".

a friend of mine always points out how i allegedly hate everything. he mocked me this past week while having crantinis on his balcony.

"no it is," i defended. "the tiburon is a stupid car."

"uh huh. what else? what else is stupid?"

"you know what else? the pontiac vibe. that's stupid as well. vibe. stupid."

"you hate everything."

"no i don't. i don't hate licorice."

"uh huh," he crossed his arms. "what else?"

i rest my head against his brick wall. and i made my first list:

"i don't hate cobblestones."

"mm hm. that's good."

"i don't hate, um, shawn rosengarten."

"my co-worker?"

"um hm. i don’t hate him. he makes me laugh. i don't hate the cinema. i don't hate frogs. i also don't hate toads. i'll pick up a toad. i don't hate airplanes. i don't hate burritos. i don't hate los angeles… i don't hate cheap champagne. i don't hate flip flops. i don't hate eduardo."

"your car?"

"mm hm."

"that's a given."

"i don't hate colin farrell. i don't hate the internet. i don’t hate luigi’s backyard. i don’t hate crooked teeth. and i don’t hate that bird that found that pink boa and decorated your eaves trough with it.”

“that bird lost all her babies.”

“i know. i think that’s why she went crazy and took that pink boa. i don’t hate wind. i don't hate portland. i don’t hate faux fur. and i don’t hate sea urchins."

tant pis

2007-09-24T16:41:00.001-04:00

piano
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i'll update when it rains...

died in the wool

2007-09-10T23:56:00.003-04:00

hot june
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i live in a 110-year old building. everything in it is remarkable: the claw foot tub, the oak moldings (that today would cost a mint), the wood beams in the ceiling, the stained glass, the shelves that are built into the structure...

but last year i did something "wise" - i went and bought a condo. i thought i should "invest", and perhaps "think of my future", and possibly "diversify". the condo was all new and funky: cement floors, brick wall, new kitchen, walk-in glass shower. a world of difference from the old place.

i held onto my apartment when i moved into the condo. having gotten in right before the housing explosion, my rent has remained really, really... really low. i'd be a fool to have let it go. and plus, if the condo was an investment, that meant i was going to sell it, right?

the owner of the old apartment building recently passed away. the five grandchildren who inherited the building all live in the suburbs and hate the building. they are of the ilk where "old is bad". everyone in the building started to fret, thinking that a prospector would buy the building and condo-ize it. thereby either slowly kicking everyone out or raising our rents to, ahem, market level.

fear, as they say, is a great motivator. it motivated a few tenants to mobilize and try to buy the building. somehow we could co-op the building and all would remain good and cheap.

i decided it would be a good time to move back into my apartment. i needed to quiet the rumor mill. because those who were not motivated were gossiping and stirring up shit.

these putzes did so little, except drag their feet, that the project fell through. seems that the idea of their rent going from, oh, let's say something ridiculous like $580 to $800 was too much for them to handle.

i secretly wished someone would swoop down and buy the place. only to see these people get kicked out of their homes and have to deal with the real world. and real rents.

but instead, another cockamamie plan was spawned. and for some reason, instead of being happy that i may be able to keep my oaky, character, cozy, cheap apartment, i became incredibly depressed. i realized that "getting into business" with these people was the last thing i wanted and goes against everything i believe in. fear grabbed me and i saw just how easy it could be to become just like them: entitled, complainy, and gossipy. not to mention pimply, bloated, pallid, and homosexually closeted.

i refused to participate in any co-op meetings. as a consequence, i got nasty looks from tenants on the street, happened up two of them talking about me in the lobby, and got grabbed and scolded in the fresh fruit market.

they all hate me and i loved it. the further i could separate myself from those oafs, the better.

this past saturday, the super of my building scooped up a pile of flyers off the stoop and threw it plum into the street. in the middle of picking it all up, he walked up to me. he was, for a change, drunk.

"you think you're so good. you think you're SOOO much better than everyone."

he stank of booze.

"you know what i'm going to do?” i shook the rubbish in his face. “put these fucking flyers into my recycling bin. does that make me better than you? yeah, it does. go buy your beer."

"you still look like lindsay wagner. you gotta get dressed up in those bionic woman track pants and run around in slow motion. get your boyfriend to dress up as lee majors." he acted out the million dollar man slo-mo run.

"yup." i'd heard this several times before.

he kept me there for 35 minutes. talking non-stop. turns out, in addition to being slurringly drunk, he was also high on speed. "all construction workers do it," he told me.

i returned home, beyond depressed. how could such a beautiful building be filled with such shits? i feel as though i could walk away and not even look back.

bitten once

2007-09-01T00:58:00.001-04:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i experience my fair share of bad moods. those who know me know them well. but over the years, i've learned that when i feel despair approaching, i will impose a self-sequestering so that i don't inflict my malevolence upon others.

or i will eat a coconut cream pie in a “quick fix” attempt to remedy the situation.

but of late, i've been on the receiving end of much grumpiness. and i do have to say that these people have been grossly negligent of their own self-castigation.

your declination of an invite to dinner by barking a "no!" at me was unwarranted. your inexcusable behavior necessitates a 10 dinner penalty punishment. i am counting. if i don’t see you before spring thaw, it’ll be too soon.

chocolate desert is delicious. chocolate desert in a fancy jar layered with caramel mousse, crunchy cookie, and fancy rock salt is to be revered and respected. it did not taste, contrary to your censure, like a "jello pudding pop". we’re sorry you’ve had “better elsewhere”, but we are here now, and my glass of champagne cost $19. i’ve had 40 ouncers of malt liquor that i’ve enjoyed more.

and, if you're going to float around on an air-mattress in a pool, i am going to come up to with a water-logged dog toy and throw it onto you buoyant belly. that's what summer is about. sorry that you were "trying to nap." and you ask why i got into the wine? it's because you and the entire weekend drove me to drink. yes, at 11 am.

so thanks to everyone. you managed to suck what tiny little bits of joy i ever managed to acquire right out. the consequence? invite me to dinner. i won’t say no.

gone going

2007-08-21T00:11:00.001-04:00

beach
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

someone stole my bike (not shown). i walked out my front door and it was gone. before I panicked, i sat down and went over what i had done with it last (i thought my bike had been stolen before. but it turned out i had just drunkily forgotten where i left it). i ran through the previous night's events: my bike was supposed to be locked out front.

i found my boyfriend.

"pinky's gone," i announced.

his mouth dropeed open.

i nodded in confirmation. "pinky's gone."

i had that bike for ten years. pinky came with me to new york, helped me survive three car hits, one person hit (HE walked off the curb), and one 2002 world cup misfortune.

"i'm so sorry...", he said.

i felt ill thinking that pinky was sitting in some crack den, some meth hut. she deserves better than that. sure, her gears didn't change and the pedals didn't necessarily remain attached. perhaps she wasn't "road worthy" or “safe”. but if she was going to be taken off the road, i wanted to be the one to make that choice. not some methed-out crackhead.

crackhead.

the next day i was reading at my boyfriend's house. he came racing in, throwing towels and gatorades into his knapsack.

"my brother and the baby are at the pool. c'mon! let's go meet them."

i stared at him. he stared back.

"how am i going to get there? bike. stolen."

"ooh. right. sorry. forgot.” there was an awkward pause. “see ya!”

i skulked around for a week. i sighed a lot. i tried to buy some off of craigslist, but i was always one person too late.

my boyfriend interrupted me while working one day. he grabbed the pen out of my hand. he never does that.

"take a break for a second."

i shrugged due to lack of understanding.

"cover your eyes..."

"what is it? did you bring me another inchworm?"

"come with me. stand up."

it hit me. he found my bike. i excitedly broke free from his hands which were covering my eyes and ran down my hallway. i did find a bike in my kitchen, but it was not my bike. it was another bike.

"do you like it?" he asked.

i did not. i did not like nor love that bike. it had 3-gears and a basket. the seat was huge - with those big springs underneath. the handlebars were high. this bike was built for comfort. i would never ride this bike.

but his gesture was so nice. it was the nicest thing anyone had done for me in a long, long time. he was beaming at me. i did not know how i was going to handle this situation. i knew it would end somewhat diastersesque.

i looked at him and shook my head.

"what? i saw that bike and saw you on it. it's perfect!"

perfect… for my mom. i thought.

"sit on it. you'll see how comfortable it is."

i sat. "it's really cute...” i looked pleadingly. “but i'll never ride this bike."

"all right.” he motioned for me to dismount. “i have to return it right away to get my money back."

“i’m so sorry.” i was a heal.

he left with me crying out apologies after him. i apologized more than i ever apologized in my life. but he was mad. and i felt like such a shit.

there’s a new bike now – “mossy”. we found him, together, in a bike shop. before we bought it, he suggested i take it for a spin. it was fine, it worked. but i was still solemn as i pulled up to the bike shop. and he was still mad at me, two days later.

“what’s the matter? you don’t like it?” he asked.

a light went off. “yeah, it’s fine. the gears change and all. but maybe you should double check. i’m not sure if the brakes are so good…”

he hopped on an performed several man-like tests: some grabbing, twisting, some kicking of tires. his mood improved. and i got a new bike.

so much trouble for about $20 worth of crack.

telltale

2007-07-25T23:14:00.001-04:00

smooth sheen
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

a friend of mine ran up to me on the street. "i want to talk to you about your hate mail..."

i have to admit that it affected me. this e-comment basically called me out on being a failure for not having published anything. i walked around slightly insecure for a couple of days. i felt that all eyes on me were critical, and mocking.

"i bet it was someone you know - who has a grudge, and saw an opportunity to take it out on you," she said.

"no, it was random. just someone fucking around at work and left a nasty comment," said her husband.

"she, or he, works at the national research council."

they gasped, but it meant nothing.

a few nights ago i was having dinner with my best friend and some of his clients. he sometimes brings me out for entertainment value. he also knows that i know which champagne to order.

i ordered the veuve cliquot. vintage.

we were onto our second bottle when someone noticed a spill of something on their leg. that, and the champagne, prompted me to tell a story of a business trip i had taken a few days previous:

as i entered the "check baggage" line, i was stopped by a man sitting on a stool. he was apparently manning the entrance to the ropey maze.

"where are you going today?" he asked.

i told him.

he paused. "at what time?"

"4:30."

he looked down at my bag. "are you checking that bag?"

"yes."

he rubbed his chin. "do you have yourrrrrrr... mmmmm... boarding pass?"

"no, i didn't have time to print it. i was hoping to do all that in this line."

he nodded slowly. "you can do that."

"may i?" i asked.

he looked around the terminal. but he was looking really high, like where pigeons would fly. "there's no one in line today."

he was just making general comments at this point. i wondered if this was a new security measure.

he motioned for me to finally pass. "have a safe flight."

after i had checked my bags and passed through security, i went to the bathroom. i looked in the mirror and gasped. in my hair was an opaque and viscous substance. i gasped and threw my head under the sink. it rinsed out easily. it was water soluble.

as i was drying my matted hair, i noticed yet another patch of the substance. this time on my skirt.

gawd damn it... i muttered as i hiked up the skirt and threw it into the sink. i realized the man perched on the stool had kept me there with his questions so that he could laugh at the jizz-like substance in my hair.

back at the champagne table i was met with interest and wide eyes.

i shrugged, "…so i dunno what it was. but it was in my hair and on my skirt." i popped a jumbo shrimp in my mouth.

"was it jizz? did someone jizz on you?" asked my best friend.

"no..." i replied still baffled. "nobody jizzed on me that day."

my best friend and his clients at the table leaned in. my champagne glass was refilled.

they too were stymied about the substance in question. concerned, they propounded various emulsions and suspensions at me all evening long.

"had you considered that it was suntan lotion? were you in the sun earlier that day?"

"perhaps a bird got you? it was only last week that a bird shat plum on my shoulder."

i even got a call the next day from their boss's house in the country. in the middle of his yearly brunch.

"i was just telling sean about your jizz-o-gram and he thinks maybe you had just used an abundance of hair products. had you used that new stuff i brought you back from london?"

gawd bless them.

loserdom. it's all in the eye of the beholder.

lest they perish

2007-07-08T23:42:00.001-04:00

42nd street station
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i was recently discussing cleaning products with a girlfriend. i explained the great pleasure i get from swiffing. when i throw the befouled swiffer cloth (dry or wet) into the garbage and close the lid on it forever, i'm almost driven to rapture.

"i don't agree with swiffing," she stated.

"this is something i don't understand," i replied.

"i'm against the whole disposability thing."

"you think we need to have more of a connect with our filth?"

"i think convenience keeps us from dealing with consequence."

someone in my sister's building died 2 weeks ago. and although she didn't have the energy to tell me about it, i pressed her for the details. it was a sad story about a schizophrenic man who died alone only to be discovered three days later because 10 liters of his body fluids leaked into the apartment beneath him.

i'm puzzled by death. i think this stems from the suicide of my ex-boyfriend. i was unable to find anyone who could help me through that period. anytime i brought up the subject, it was changed.

"the story of the dead guy in my sister's building has affected me," i said to my boyfriend over lunch.

"please. we're eating."

"no. not the fluids..."

"i really don't want to talk about this over lunch."

i started to cry.

he put down his fork. "what is it that's bothering you?"

"we turn so gross so fast. i guess we're all soul." i pointed to random parts of my body. "all of this is meaningless. why do people worry so much about boob jobs, nose jobs, stupid lip injections?"

"we need the visible - our bodies - so that the invisible can do the extraordinary things that are meant to be done. at least that's what kazantzakis says."

my ex-boyfriend was also found three days after he hung himself. the cleaning lady discovered him.

we aren't meant to die alone. someone has to get us back into the earth as soon as possible. because you can't swiff that shit up.

no exit

2007-07-02T19:59:00.001-04:00

wall, south dakota
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

many years ago, i got hired to take the photographs for a stage production of jean-paul sartre’s "huis clos". i suggested we take the photos in a small crawl space, to give the impression of confinement and being trapped. they loved the idea. four of us spent hours in this sweaty cramped space. the ceiling wasn’t even high enough for us to stand up - we had to walk around hunched over. at one point the woman playing estelle fittingly became claustrophobic and had to leave for a period of reprieve.

"you should totally put that on your blog: movie reviews in a minute. you know, what you just said about "shooter".... shooter in a minute."

"ohmygod, it sucked."

his eyes widened. "i BET it did. but you gotta get that on your blog - the whole thing with 'how'd you find me man? i'm off the grid, man.' hey - how DID they find him?"

"undercover smartnesses. and then danny glover is all, "here's my card in case you change your mind." of course he changed his mind.

"i'm still gonna see it."

we were sitting at dairy queen. i go there once a day. but i only have one evening per week with my boyfriend. we were sharing a sundae because i'm not permitted to have an entire one to myself. i get irascible or snappish or something.

we had finished our ice cream when i noticed a strange smile on my boyfriend's face.

"what? what is it? did you see that injured squirrel again?"

a friend of his - let's call this one parmigianino - stood above us. he was holding his tennis racket and a peanut buster parfait.

after initial salutations, i was assaulted with a series of stats on how good his tennis game is. he was some kind of junior champion, on his way to implausable things. that is, until he discovered "weed and girls."

the boys laughed. this was amusing for them.

i forced a smile. "that's really funny..."

i shifted. i moved my purse. i needed to depart.

parmigianino continued to talk, at great length, about regional building codes, commutes, and how some french guys, from france, showed up at his doorstep.

voices in my head screamed. my jaw clenched. my hands clasped. if only i could hold out long enough for him to eat his humungous ice cream. then he would be on his way to his silly tennis game. the game that only cost $8. because by now, i knew many, many useless facts about this man's life.

but he didn't eat his ice cream. he talked. and talked. and no one else talked. and his ice cream melted. and it dripped on the ground and on his shoes. and then it dripped on his shirt. and instead of taking this subtle hint and eating the ice cream really fast so that i could leave, he sought out napkins. several napkins. and he placed these napkins on his shirt and tucked them into his pants. and into the folds in his belly.

i, imaginarily, knocked the benign ice cream out of his hand. the melted portions got tangled into his long, mullety locks. the plastic container hit him on the face, making him wince with pain. imaginarily, again, i kicked the now empty container in his general direction. my kick was rhonaldihno perfect, bouncing off his shins, rendering them sugary and sticky. ants would be attracted to them.

i grabbed my bag. "i must go to the bank."

my boyfriend looked surprised. "the bank? it's almost 10. what do you need at the bank?"

"money. i have to go get some money."

"wait, i'll go with you..."

"no, no. don't worry about it. BYE!" i was already halfway across the parking lot.

l'enfer. c'est les autres.

just desserts

2007-06-23T23:46:00.001-04:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

many years ago i went to new york with a girlfriend. i remember, as we were packing up, she found three rolls of film under the bed. "oh, HERE'S my film... i thought you had taken it."

i was affronted. "you thought i stole your film?"

"well, you're studying photography and all. but you didn't - look." she held up three rolls of black and white film. "let's go eat."

but i couldn't shake the fact that for a period of time, who knows how long, she had lived with the thought that i had stolen from her. those hours or days of distrust existed. and i couldn't believe that the universe would wipe clean her feelings once she found the film she had misplaced.

on this recent road trip, my travel partner (different one) and i embarked on what she refers to as the "death march". but when a local pulls out a guitar, sings to us at breakfast, and then suggests we visit some natural hot springs, i look at it like it's something i can't pass up.

"there are two hot springs. the one that's further down the road is a shorter, but more challenging hike. it's worth it. it’s beautiful – the water’s around 98 degrees…" he looked forlorn and his guitar fell off to the side. "shit, i wish i could go with you guys."

he was high.

our hike did not start off well. within the first 7 minutes, my hiking partner got stuck on a log. i walked back to see if i could help.

"i'm afraid of heights." tears were welling in her eyes. "i gotta do this on my own." she waved me off with her hand that held her gucci bag. a hermés scarf that reminded her of her fiancé was perma-attached to its handle.

“give me your bag,” i was trying to speak in a pleasant tone. “give me the bag and get yourself off that log.”

“no. the bag has sentimental value. you KNOW it reminds me of PHIL.”

“give. it. to. me.”

"go!" the tears were in full flow and beads of sweat had formed on her forehead.

i turned and walked away. i understood that she had to tackle her fears on her own. but i also understood that she may return to the car.

about five minutes later i sat by the river's edge to see if she would come. i had crossed two guys who were leaving the hot springs. they informed me that it was “only a few minutes further”.

not long after she showed up, walking stick in hand.

"good!" i exclaimed. i was happy to see her. i told her that, due to the path ending, i wasn’t 100% sure where to go.

"maybe we need to cross the river? there's a path over there."

there was a path, but it was not the right thing to do. we managed to turn a 15-minute hike into a 2-hour "white water struggle". i won't get into too much detail, but i will mention that there was a moment when we had to empty our bags (gucci and otherwise) to take a personal inventory of what food might sustain us through the night (2 mints, 4 crackers, and less than 500ml of water). the river was also re-traversed, we held onto logs so that the current didn't take us away. we clambered over snowbanks, portions of pants were lost, one head was knocked on mossy rock, and there was a minor urination in one’s pants (or portion thereof).

later that evening, once settled into our log cabin with our bottles of champagne and vodka, my travel partner confessed to me that there was a moment where i annoyed her, when she quite possibly could have hated me: as i "floated oh-so-easily" along the path. she mocked me, called me “nature-girl” and whatnot.

i knew the damage was done. once someone becomes incensed by you, or thinks you’ve stolen from them, the constitution of that relationship is changed.

i looked over at her gucci bag. it was covered in mud.

her feelings were warranted.

silent partner

2007-06-12T14:40:00.001-04:00

3 muses
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

my boyfriend recently got a new job at a fancy restaurant. every time we go anywhere, for a walk, out to dinner, people ask a multitude of questions about it. i'm subjected to sit quietly through another 25-minute discussion group on the fancy new greek downtown restaurant. due to the fact that i work on a contractual basis, i get a new job every couple of months. no one ever seems to ask about that, and i think i've landed some pretty interesting clients over the past decade: exxon mobil, glaxosmithkline (or whoever they've recently merged with), IBM, de beers....

"write about something controversial," my sister counseled when i was griping about the dearth of comments on my blog. "that’ll get comments. my friend wrote about breastfeeding and got a million comments."

"yeah, but that's a babyblog," i sighed. "comments run amuk in babyblogs."

"yeah," she shrugged. "they do."

so i was particularly at sea when i blogged about emerging relatively unscathed from an abusive relationship and the comments still revolved around my boyfriend (current, non-abusive).

several years ago i took a creative writing course. one student wrote about how she felt like a princess surrounded by a moat filled with alligators. the class went wild with commentary. i read my short story and they sat silent. i hated this class vehemently.

"does anyone have anything to say? anything?" prompted the teacher.

they still sat silent. i looked at them pleadingly. what did i spend this fucking three hundred dollars for?

after the teacher deliberately made us sit in silence for an uncomfortable 45 seconds, i dismissively shut my notebook.

"you can't quit," encouraged my boyfriend. "there's a reason you took the course. you'll get something out of it, i promise."

"i HATE it. HATE" i was livid. "they all sit there and say nothing."

my boyfriend thought for a moment. "hold on a second." he headed off into the closet and started digging through boxes. boxes that he never goes into. fuck. where would i have put them…?” he muttered.

ten minutes later he emerged, dusty and disheveled, but wide-eyed and holding some yellowed papers. they were type-written. they’d been run through a ditto machine.

"i took a creative writing course in university..."

"in the late 70s!?" i exclaimed.

"early 80s. and there was this guy in the class. i saved his stories."

"those are them?" i was astonished. my boyfriend, like me, saves nothing. "lemme see!" i grabbed for them.

"these are them!" even he was surprised, but he held them out of my reach. "there will be one waiting for you at breakfast tomorrow. and one the next day. and the third one the day after that."

i danced with excitement. "gimme gimme gimme..."

"i saved these stories, do you know why?"

"why did you save these stories, sir throw-out-a-lot?"

"because i knew this guy was a writer. after he read these stories, the class was silent. they were perfect."

i paused. “did he seem frustrated?"

"oh yeah. after long uncomfortable silences, the teacher would maybe advise him to switch one sentence with another, or something like that. there was really nothing to say."

i read the stories over the next three mornings. i continued to go to my writing class.

not too long after, i randomly met this author through a friend at a coffee shop. he's published three books and teaches at one of the universities. i sat there like an idiot and didn't say anything to him.

i swear the next time i see him, i’m telling him this story. i swear.

bird on car grill

2007-06-09T11:48:00.001-04:00

Bird on Car Grill - 4:04pm
Originally uploaded by Chris Seufert.

why you don't need to drive like a douche in a douchy SUV.

photo by chris seufert.

fowl

2007-06-07T01:36:00.001-04:00

clay
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

"welcome to the airport express," announced the bus driver. "now sit back and enjoy 80's television."

it was the first time i had television on a bus. 80s indeed: back-to-back "knight rider" episodes. i hadn't remembered that they were so packed full of adventure. sadly, however, the only thing i could think of as i watched michael’s girlfriends get shot and roll down hills was the video david hasselhoff's daughter shot of him to try to get him to stop drinking.

years ago, the man i was dating returned home late and pulled the chicken i had cooked for dinner out of the fridge.

i sat at the table to keep him a bit of company while he ate. the boyfriend was drunk, which was nothing out of the ordinary. as i watched him, part of me left myself. in a quasi out-of-body experience, i watched him eat with his fingers, getting chicken fat all over his face and fingers. i focused on his greasy face as he spoke words to me, i looked back to the decimated chicken. he moved in slow motion; the colors were vivid, the grease in high contrast. i wasn't hearing a word he said. i watched myself and this man with fascination.

this chicken eating, i'm sure, must sound completely unappealing to the average sensible human being. but i was not sane at this point in time. being in my early 20s and stupidly in love, i had allowed myself to be grabbed by my shirt and thrown against a wall, i made up lies about black eyes and sprained wrists, and i waited up until 6am for him to come home, only to have to leave for work at 7.

but it was the chicken that made my love stop.

a few weeks later when he placed the keys on the counter and left for good, a scene would normally evoke much drama and pain, i clutched them so hard that it hurt. i knew he didn't have the wherewithal to have made copies.

i suppressed a smile and waited until his mom's car turned the corner. i called my best friend.

"emancipation... he's gone!" i really felt emancipated. i was screaming into the phone.

"really? we need to celebrate. come by for a drink."

i woke up the next morning with the same tattoo as sporty spice. it was temporary. came with a pack of bubble gum.

les wasn't more

2007-05-31T00:09:00.001-04:00

les
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i'm nul and void. i'm empty on the inside.

i'm leaving tomorrow to find some more freaks for my freakbook.

please demonstrate patience.

if i say "gun it!", will you know what to do?

2007-05-21T23:22:00.001-04:00

dysfunction
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

"and what do you say to the airline people to make them yell at you?"

"nothing," i defended. "i'd ask them 'when is this plane going to board?', or something like that."

"see. you just carry about you a natural state of derision towards people."

i figure you just don't have to talk to the drunk guy who sidles up next to you at a bar. i consider it perfectly appropriate to roll your eyes instead. this way the bartender is at least aware of your plight and mouths the words "do you want him out?" to you while thumbing towards the door.

his 10-minute monologue on what he does for a living, which was punctuated with a "sexy, isn't it?", just didn't do it for me. am i to blame for responding with a "actually, no, it's not," when i simply wanted a night out with my girlfriend.

so she's the friendly one. which is why he leaned over me to speak to her. or rather, to look at her huge and prominent breasts, which were fairly well hoisted into one of her many revealing tank tops.

i tended to agree with the bouncer anyway. i also thought jay, the drunk guy, was, in fact, a "douche".

we were stopped by a construction worker while driving through the idaho mountains. we were the only ones on that road. us and him. we'd been driving for half an hour and hadn't seen anyone. i rolled down my window.

"hi," i smiled. i do smile.

"it'll just be a few minutes. one of my guys will be by to help you through."

we chatted about our search for the hot springs and the beautiful sunny weather, which was oddly peppered with snow squalls ("microclimates!"). when we got onto the topic of their construction work, he informed us that all of the men were on a "work release program". my eyes bugged out.

"… as am i," he asserted.

my driving partner was the type of person who would immediately lock the car door as soon as i hopped out to use burger king's facilities. i'd turn around and roll my eyes at her, but she'd indicate some 12-year olds crossing the parking lot and hold up her cell phone, which was poised for dialing 9-1-1.

upon hearing that we were surrounded by no one but freed convicts, i feared how she would react.

don't do anything. do not run this man over. let me find out what he did... i thought.

"there's about 15 of us working out here, for about 2 weeks," he explained.

"and this is all organized by the... prison?" i asked.

"yes. they selected a handful of us for this job. two nights ago was the first time i'd seen stars in over 10 years. i sat outside my tent and watched them for hours."

i chastised myself for taking anything for granted. ever.

there was a pause. i think he noticed our questioning eyes.

"i come from a family where you don't hit a woman. and i took a man's life for doing so. and it cost me 15 years."

another pause.

"it's okay. it's my fault."

i shook my head, "no..."

it was then that our accompanying ride showed up.

"he'll get you to the other side."

we started the car and began to follow the truck. but that conversation is bereft. i wanted to open the car door and jump out. i wanted to ask about regrets, about impetuses, about compunction and circumstances. and possibly let him know that the world might be a better place without the man that he killed.

but the automatic doors locked as we started to move. all we did was wave goodbye.

big timber

2007-05-11T12:32:00.001-04:00

big timber
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

"do you think you guys are still going to be friends by the time your trip's over?"

that was the question that was asked of me so many times before i embarked on a 2-week drive across the united states with a girlfriend.

i answered by shrugging one shoulder. "maybe not..."

"truth be known?"

"mm hmm," i replied. this had become one of our road games. random blurtings-out of deep, dark secrets. it is, by far, my favorite game.

"i was pretty sure this trip was going to be the end of our friendship," she confessed.

i smiled knowingly and continued to stir the hot tub with the paddle. it was my job to get the temperature down from 125 degrees, considering i was the one who had added all the logs to the fire.

my driving partner made random guesses at where we should end up by day's end. it didn't matter if there was anything of note in that town; if it appeared on a map, she'd point at it and repeat its name throughout the day.

"if i hear you utter missoula one more time, i swear, i'll drive this car into a ditch. it'll roll and kill us both. i swear i'll do this. and plus, isn't today "no speak day"?"

"yes."

"no speaking please."

billings, montana was one of her imaginary destinations. when we arrived, an ire rose up in me that i had never felt before. it is a city that rivals athens, greece in hideousness. a stench permeated the air. smokestacks lined the sky.

"fuck it stinks," she said.

"the last thing in the world i want is to stop here. but i have to pee."

"big surprise."

"can we stop at this burger king please?"

"buy a drink this time. you can't keep going into places and using their bathrooms without buying anything."

"yes i can. they're roadstops. they understand."

"they are NOT. here, follow this guy going in now. pretend you're with him."

"the convict? sure. wait here."

i returned from the bathroom to find her pointing at another destination. "look, there's a place called "park city" about 30 miles from here. that sounds cute, doesn't it? park city?"

"can we just get out of here? this town has rendered me angry."

"i think park city is the place for us."

park city consisted of a trailer park populated along railroad tracks. two guys working on a motorcycle watched us slowly and silently drive by.

"if we stay here, we will die. there will be a single screen door keeping anal rapists from our bedside."

"keep going?" she asked.

back at the hot tub, i grabbed my glass of champagne. "look!" i said with pride, "i can get my feet in! i bet it's down to about 115 degrees."

"i'm going to get that last bag of ice."

"no! we need that for the margaritas..."

adieu redux

2007-05-06T12:42:00.001-04:00

paxismoo
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

returning home last tuesday, i noticed a letter, among the consistent pile of rubbish i receive ever since i procured a mortgage, from the university of guelph, pet trust fund division.

someone, who shall remain nameless because i don't know who it is, made a monetary donation to their animal health clinic in paxis' name, in her memory. this money "develops new diagnostic and treatment techniques and examines the human-animal bond".

i often relive the last few days of my cancer-ridden kitty. of how she couldn't keep her balance while walking, how her back legs slid out from underneath her on my stupid polished cement floor, and how i had to wrap her in a towel to bring her to meet her death before the vet's lunch break (such are the perils of falling ill on labor day weekend).

without even a moment for tiny goodbyes, the vet's assistant had poured alcohol over one of her legs to prepare for the injection.

"ready?" asked the vet, walking into the room.

i nodded. i knew he needed to get to lunch.

"it's a mixture of bla and whatevs. it'll stop her heart. it'll be totally painless."

i nodded again. this time through tears.

the needle went in. i draped myself over my cat. she'd be gone in a few seconds. if there was anything to say, i'd have to say it now.

"bye baby..."

i heard my boyfriend burst into tears. and then i heard a sharp intake of breath from paxis. she was gone. the subsequent release of breath was simply reflexive on her body's part. but it sounded like a peaceful sigh.

i'd like to thank whomever made this donation. it was an incredibly touching and thoughtful way to honor her and how much she meant to me.

my boyfriend and i browsed the trust fund’s online pet gallery - all sorts of dogs and cats who have had money donated in their names. there's mooch, and marmalade, and jeffrey, and fred. there's mooch the second and cody and rupp. and a really cute cat drinking from a drink box.

he closed the window. both of us tearing up.

"can't do this right now..."

Without Prejudice

2007-05-01T22:38:00.001-04:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

From the offices of D.B. Malone, Charles Pantalones, and Tim Calhoun

Dear South Dakota:

Please see enclosed all receipts for expenses incurred while traversing your potentially beautiful, yet entirely unwelcoming, state.

In addition to the receipts for one (1) tank of fuel ($61), one (1) night of lodging at the Drake Motor Inn, and two (2) orders of flapjacks plus coffee from the IHOP ($12), we are adding a mild disgruntlement surcharge in the amount of $250 for damages sustained for having to endure Wall Drug billboards for over 500 miles, without reprieve.

In the spirit of largesse, please be advised that all monies reimbursed will be applied to Idaho's "Adopt a Lewis and Clark Highway" Program.

Thank you for the time and effort you have put into your state. Please accept my best wishes for your future.

Lawsuit pending

i did it once before...

2007-04-13T11:38:00.001-04:00

self portrait with eduardo!
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

... and i'm gonna do it again.

i'm leaving today to drive across the US with a girlfriend. we don't really have much by way of "destination", per se. she just has to be in calgary by may.

i think i've definitely convinced her to go to portland, but i'm going to try to aim more south. perhaps by mid-dakota she'll be aching to see san francisco...

"so which one are you?" asked my boyfriend. "thelma or louise?"

i shook my head, thinking about the movie. harking back to a certain young lad in a cowboy hat...

"louise." he said, answering his own question.

louise, wow! i was impressed.

"nah, thelma."

"thelma's boyfriend was a douchebag."

"louise."

i'm traveling with a friend who once, after closing a bar, literally picked me up and threw me into a cab. as i felt my feet leave the ground i thought that it was really neat that i was actually airborne and moving through the frame of a car door. the only other time i'd been picked up was when some drunk dude tried to bench press me in a bar.

i landed in the back seat of the cab cheek first.

"make sure she goes home. she's threatening to walk!" instructed my friend to the cab driver.

"it's not that cold..." i said, scootching over to the door i had ascended through.

but she slammed it in my face and pointed north, towards my home.

i liked it.

i guess she's louise.

i'll keep you posted on my travels. if you have any suggestions, please post them.

non-prophet

2007-04-09T22:42:00.001-04:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i ran into a friend and asked about a mutual friend - someone who neither one of us had seen in a while.

"i've had my heart broken by people i shouldn't have wasted my breath on. everyone's saying she could have done better than him, but, she's still hurting."

i know we're all attempted to console our friends during a breakup with this phrase.

desist.

it insults. we made a choice to be with a certain person; to have sex with them, to introduce them to family members, to pay for their trips to vegas...

this statement never made me feel better. quite contrary. it made me feel as though i was thought to have been really weak, or stupid, for that specified period of time. and that everyone was taking pity on me.

people shake their heads in a condescending, "it's a good thing that's over" way, as they advance to hug you.

i was once in a bar when a guy approached me. he told me that i could do much better than the person i was with. how is that supposed to work? a stranger informing me that i'm incapable of making one of life’s most basic and instinctual choices?

and this person in question was my first true love. i would not be where i am today had he not wasted his breath on me.

i got wind that one of my current boyfriend’s friends didn’t think i was good enough for him. and by “got wind”, i mean my boyfriend told me. during a fight. this was years ago. i’ve never forgotten, and i’ve never been able to look at this person in a forgiving light.

be careful when you console. there's someone out there who you're not good enough for.

but we aim to maim, don’t we?

cosa nostra - epilogue

2007-04-04T10:47:00.001-04:00

joe pesci
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

for those of you concerned, my kitten, sicily, is doing much better. one morning, her bloody nose scab fell off. and even though she was still bleeding from the mouth, i knew she was going to be better.

i think she looks like joe pesci.

don't you think she looks like joe pesci?

my boyfriend doesn't see it.

but i think she and joe pesci are identical.

misery loves validation

2007-04-02T01:08:00.001-04:00

ice in new york
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i was at a dinner a long time ago. the hostess was talking about her day at work.

"i spent the afternoon browsing for cards. i bought about $30 worth of cards and really nice envelopes." she paused and gazed upon the horizon. "that's why i really love my job."

i was incredulous. "you love your job because you can buy envelopes?"

"from the petty cash." but she looked at me like i was the one who didn't understand.

we have a really crappy, crappy newspaper here in montreal. the only good thing about it is the celebrity gossip column. my favorite part is "oh, shut up", where a celebrity is quoted saying something really dumb. it usually includes something from matthew mcconaughey talking about how he hasn't worn deodorant since he was 14 because "all the women in my life, including my mom, tell me that i have a special scent - my scent. a manly scent."

there isn't enough shutting up going on these days. we are more often than not subjected to people's telephone calls. and most of these calls consist of one's location or very important matters of business, which need to be stated just loud enough for everyone within radius to know how important they are.

"i think i should give alan a call. we don't want him to be blindsided."

a friend, who travels a lot, threatened that the next time she heard a *businessman's* conversation she was going to pick up a stapler and start talking loudly into it.

i told her that she should also click the stapler, saying that she was trying to conference in alan.

in addition to jobs, some people's lives are also fantastic. another friend goes on at great lengths about how incredible and implausible his life is. what is one to say? "mine too!" is he expecting a conversation comparing and contrasting the fantasticness of each of our lives?

instead i stare blankly. because, i am, quite frankly, left empty and void.

"it's true. i'm very, very happy," he persists, trying to convince "me".

if you were really happy, wouldn't i be able to tell from your eyes, your smile, your tone? the amount of rounds you buy for me?

wouldn't you shut up about it?

another couple, at every opportunity, tell me ad infinitum about their exponentially expanding love for one other. they tell me in each other's presence, they tell me while they are a momentarily single unit. they have each other well trained.

save your loud breath, i don't believe a word you're saying.

care schmare

2007-03-22T16:01:00.001-04:00

greek flower
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i caught up with a friend not too long ago.

"how are you?" i asked.

after the regular prattle and blather, she punctuated her sentence with, "and i'm still depressed. i think i may be bi-polar. but who gives a cack."

i emailed back: "bi-polar, huh? i give a cack. let's get you on some drugs!"

she answered. "i don't think drugs are the answer to my problems."

"i know, i was being facetious. i thought i was being funny. i know that drugs are the last thing you need."

"i saw your facetiousness, but i also think that you feel i really need drugs."

"i do."

"i don't."

"i know, honey. i know you don’t. so what's wrong?"

she mentioned some things. but intimated that she really can't stand where she’s living - in a very conservative, red-neckish community.

"people are dumb," i sighed.

"they sure are," she concurred. "but don't worry, i annoy me too."

about a month ago, i went to a seminar on global warming. the lineup was around the block. we waited out in the cold by the hundreds. as we approached the entrance, we also passed by his huge tour bus, which was idling, i guess to keep all the important global-warming people warm.

once inside, someone tried to hand us a form.

"no thanks. trying to save the environment." i said, waving my hand to indicate where we were. i smiled. he didn't.

"you need this to vote," said the hander-outer.

i refused the hail of leaflets, brochures, and newletters on the way in, but found a stack of others on my chair once inside. i picked them up; they were all printed on heavy-duty, bleached paper.

“what’s up with this?” i asked, waving the cardboard sheets.

“what?” everyone around me blinked; not an iota of concern.

once the conference ended, i tried to make my way out to find he-who-tried-to-make-me-vote. strewn all over the floor were the multiple pieces of paper - discarded, disregarded. everyone stood around chatting, mingling, hobnobbing. i was appalled, and i seemed to be the only one. it was also an affair to which i didn’t realize i was to wear sequins.

i found one of the vote receptacles. i asked the young gentleman manning the station what the deal with the heavy-duty, super-bleached paper was.

“oh, i don’t know. but you’re the second person who’s said something about it…”

two out of 900.

i gave him my best nonplussed look.

i found my friend. “can we go please? can we go get a drink?”

“yeah, just a sec. i need to find the guy with the video camera. i want to talk to him about light bulbs.”

who knew global warming was simply a place to be seen?

cosa nostra

2007-03-07T22:27:00.000-05:00

hide
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

for those of you who follow this blog (all 1.5 of you), you may remember that the namesake of this url died in september from two monstrous cancer tumors that took over her belly.

i took me two months before i came trumpeting home with a new kitten. i found her on my birthday. and it took me two months to find her a name.

last friday, sicily got spayed. i had a bad feeling about doing it. she seemed too small. i didn't want her personality to change. something just didn't seem right.

on sunday, two days after her operation, she curled up on the bed and didn't move. i noticed a small grey spot on her nose. by evening's end, it has spread and turned from grey to red. and then started to bleed. and then she started to bleed from her mouth. i collapsed over top of her and wept. i called my boyfriend, who was snowboarding, and left an unintelligible message about her imminent death.

she's been to the vet and back three times since. they have no idea what it is. periphigus? eosinophilic granulomatosis? lupus like anna nicole?

and anna nicole is dead, i might remind you.

today i had to truck her back to the vet because, well, she's bleeding from the face. on the way back home, as i passed by st. viateur bagel, a pigeon flew out of the sky and landed right on the shoulder of one of two men standing out front.

i was flabbergasted. pigeons don’t land on people. unless it's piazza san marco.

i walked up to the man/pigeon. the man tried to shoo him off, but the bird just flapped his wings angrily and settled back in.

"do you know this bird? is he your pet?" i asked. it was the first time i smiled in days. i know it seems like a really dumb question, but if you had seen them together....

the old man shook his head. "he's eating my bagel."

his friend's eyes widened. "show him the cat!", he said, pointing at my cage. "the cat will make him go away."

i looked at them blankly. "cat?"

i had temporarily forgotten that cats eat birds.

"right! my CAT!"

both men got excited. "show the bird the cat!" they chimed.

i brought the cage up to the bird's level. the men saw the bleeding cat, but politely didn't say anything. they winced though. or maybe the pigeon had pecked or clawed.

"sicily! look at the bird!" i beamed. "look!"

she approached the front of her cage, intrigued by this bird that matched her in size.

the pigeon flew off, and, in doing so, flew straight into the face of another passer-by. the person swatted wildly.

as i walked away, i turned and waved to the two men. bagels in hand, they waved back.

freak magnet

2007-02-24T12:45:00.000-05:00

elvez
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

recent google searches that have brought you to me:

daschund with man's face
holy cannoli auditions
teenagers wearing diapers
airborne poo
labia majora gallery
a crack of buttocks

i need to find out where these holy cannoli auditions are taking place.

be my bitch

2007-02-15T15:42:00.000-05:00

dog
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

several years ago i took a road trip across the states. while in new orleans, we somehow locked all sets of car keys in the trunk. we looked up a locksmith and got towed off to a sketchy part of town.

while my boyfriend negotiated some kind of trunk-opening deal, a relatively-insane passerby tried to pick me up.

"no thanks. we're on our way out of town. leaving," i politely declined.

he approached, with hands outstretched. "c'mon baby," he motioned with his head. "come with me. i'll show you what's what."

"no, thanks. thanks though."

psssss he hissed while turning on his heal. "you be on your way. i don't need no psycho biiiiiiitch!"

i looked at my then boyfriend and, while pointing to myself and nodding, mouthed the words psycho bitch...

i currently own a small condo which i rent out. the tenants, all female so far, have been incredibly easy-going and considerate.

i was contacted last december by a “new york filmmaker”. he visited my place with his team of producers. they stated a long list of prerequisites necessary for the living requirements. somehow i met that list because they called that night, wanting to seal the deal.

i let roman (real name) move in because he threw scads of money at me.

the day he moved in he informed me that his backers weren't happy that i didn't prorate the first two days of december. "it's the third you know."

i sensed were off to a bad start.

a week or so into roman’s stay, i got a call at 7:30 one evening. he was screaming that a window had come off its hinges, and that he was freezing to death.

"you are going to find me dead on your floor. frozen! buy me a hotel room!"

"don't be dramatic," i replied.

"what! i'm freezing right now. i will be dead in a few hours."

"it's 8 at night. what do you want me to do? call the fire department? do you want them to rescue you like a kitten in a tree? i'll be over in 15 minutes to fix it."

"you (he meant a woman) cannot fix this. it's very broken."

when i showed up to fix the window, he continued to gripe about the purchasing of hotel rooms. i tinkered with the mechanism, and closed the window.

"roman, when you put the handle in the upward position, the window opens from the top. when you put it in the other position, it will open from the side."

"do not speak to me like i'm a child."

"i'm not. i'm showing you how things work, so you don't break them," i motioned to the wall where picture frames used to hang.

"you think i'm a fool."

"how's the heat? is it too hot?" this was another one of his issues.

"i don't know. i don't understand the temperature." he replied.

"i changed it to celsius for you last time. so you could understand."

"i don't understand."

"well, how do you feel? do you feel too warm?" my patience waned.

"i feel abandoned."

i grabbed my jacket and waved goodbye as i walked out the door.

there were several other similar incidents regarding the washing machine, the internet, the telephone, and how to make the water hot in the shower.

around christmas, roman informed me that he was going out of town and that i would have to be available from 9-5 to meet the internet guy. "the backers aren't happy that i lost money on the market. i have to go to new york to speak to them."

he returned a few weeks later.

"i have to give you notice, krista. the backers want me back in new york. they're not going to fund my documentary."

the image is funny to me - a burly, oafish 50-year old man answering to the purse stings of a team of whiny, skinny control freaks.

i gladly accepted his short notice.

i guess we're all somebody's bitch. it just depends how psycho we’re going to be about it.

mind the gap

2007-02-01T23:16:00.000-05:00

low tide thames
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

about a month ago, i took my best friend to dinner and basically got dared into going to london with him.

"if you don't have a good time, i'll reimburse half your airfare."

"i'm sure i'll have a good time," i replied.

by desert it was all planned out.

but then i woke up the next morning and realized that my soon-to-be-expired passport would not be ready in time.

my friend was uncharacteristically quiet on the phone. "i'm a little disappointed in you," he said.

i ran around for the next three days expediting my passport. once i got it, i booked my ticket for the next day.

i hadn't been to london since the late 80s. i was looking forward to seeing how it had changed. usually on my first night overseas, when i'm jetlagged, i'll allow myself to be shown around. it's a great way to see things - being all tuckered out. but it's not long before i start asking for beers.

"let's just hop into this pub for a sec. some clients might be here," said my friend.

"sure," i replied, because i was jetlagged and agreeable.

his friends were there. we mingled. soon enough, he was catching up with a cute blonde “colleague” and i was left speaking to a guy named petey. petey had a very british way about him. i could not tell if he was having fun with me or straight out being rude.

"what's your deal, petey? why are you so cheeky?"

"i’m going to stand up…" he started, "…move to the other side of the room and go talk to my friends."

i looked at him and nodded. he, indeed, stood up, moved to the other side of the room, and started talking to his friends.

i sat alone for a while, tired and out of place, until my friend caught my eye. you okay? is what i could tell he was asking.

i rolled my eyes towards the door. he knew i wanted out.

i told him what binky, or whatever his name was, said.

"geese... maybe you misinterpreted him? british thing?"

we went to another bar where he had an altercation with the bartender over the pronunciation of "glass".

after two days, my friend went home while i stayed on for a bit. i spent the majority of my time walking around and visiting museums.

on my last night, i went out for dinner and drinks with a girlfriend and her friends at a local pub. an acquaintance of hers walked in and sat at the next table.

"mike, this is my friend krista. she's leaving tomorrow."

he turned to look at me. "she looks like the type who needs something longer."

"forget him," said my friend.

i shook my head. "let's have some champagne."

we ate our chili pockets and drank our champagne. and before we knew it, mike had joined our table and drank the rest of my friend's red wine.

he rambled on and on about his upbringing in zimbabwe and south africa while not once asking anything about anyone else. and then when the bill came, he insisted on paying.

"you're not going to pay for our drinks. our dinners!" we argued.

"please. please. it would be my pleasure."

he finally won the right to pay our bill once we got tired of arguing.

"i gotta pee," i said, standing up.

while in the bathroom, i heard the front door open and close. something didn't feel right.

i opened the door to the stall and there stood mike.

"what are you doing?" i asked, a tad bit stunned.

he grabbed my shoulders and pushed me up against the wall.

"um, this isn't going to happen," i informed him.

"i can be very tenacious," he said.

"well, i'm headed upstairs. this isn't happening,” i shook my finger at him. “you're in the ladies room!"

"what a dirtbag!" exclaimed my friend.

"i will NOT be whored out for a friggin' taco." i downed the rest of my champagne.

i got an email a few days after i got home. apparently, mike skipped out on the bill. i mailed my friend a whack of cash to cover the meal and the booze.

does this merit half my airfare back?

skeletons

2007-01-18T23:48:00.000-05:00

shower
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

some of you may remember that i had a slightly less-than-legal "massage" not too long ago. the hardest part of that whole debacle was not that the man decided to touch my external labial folds, it was that it had actually taken me 8 years to find a masseuse that i really liked. someone who actually listened, who worked hard and went deep, and always gave me an extra 15 or 20 minutes.

"i bought some new oils, krista."

"that's some pungent lavender, eddy." i'd reply, anticipating his stalwart man hands.

i booked my first non-eddy massage a couple of weeks ago. christmas present to self. i specified to the receptionist that i liked deep, strong massages.

"i have the perfect masseuse. vladislav will do you."

but i lay on vladislav's table, receiving his assembly line, superficial strokes, becoming angrier and angrier. thinking only of eddy.

"you can go stronger," i instructed vladislav.

but vladislav didn't understand.

it also took me a decade to find the perfect yoga instructor. and in early 2007, i discovered that she raised her prices. heartbroken, i'm giving some other instructors a try, in hope that studying with the perfect teacher has "opened my mind".

i attended a class at the local Y.

the yoga instructor was a white dude with dreadlocks. i pressed on. he made me "embrace the world". i soldiered on. while in a lunge, he made us feel the weight of our core, allowing it to pull us lower.

"i can sink low because i have very heavy balls," he informed the class.

i rolled up my mat and left.

at a dinner party last weekend, i drank too much champagne and disclosed to the table that i was considering returning to eddy. some heads shook. some heads looked down at their plates.

"i could do it and not tell any one of you guys," i upheld.

"oh, we won't judge you," one friend beamed. "i've been wanting to ask you for his number, but felt it was wrong - with him sullying you and all."

i'll pass on the number.

he comes highly recommended.

now i know why there's no "i" in team

2007-01-12T23:48:00.000-05:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i often take on too much. try to do everything on my own. too independent. and only recently i realized that i'm mad at myself for having done everything, and continuing to do, everything on my own. sometimes i find that i need help, that i would like someone else to take care of things.

"we're a team, don't forget that," said my boyfriend during one of my overwhelmed bouts. "okay?" he had grabbed both of my elbows and shook me a bit.

"okay..." i replied. it was the best feeling in the world.

last sunday i went to visit a friend who had just had a baby.

as we walked through the front doors of the hospital, a couple and their newborn walked out.

"nice work," lauded my friend matthew.

they kind of smiled, kind of smirked and walked on by.

when we found our friend's room, matthew grabbed her and pressed his face into hers, repeating over and over, "caroline, you did it. you did it."

i stood by them and fought back my tears.

once they broke apart, she replied, "i know. i can't believe i get to bring him home with me."

caroline had the baby on her own. she had no one with her in the delivery room but her mom - who she sent out on occasion.

after we all simmered down a bit and spoke of tiny miracles, the baby started to cry.

"he's hungry," matthew and i concluded.

"he just ate before you got here," caroline said.

we shrugged. "he's hungry."

"okay, let's try." she arranged him near her boob.

i watched them as he fed. she beamed and he was just beautiful. as hokey or cheesy as it sounds, i saw a little team. once they walked out the front doors in a few days, it was just going to be the two of them, against the world. and it was fabulous.

keeping it moist

2006-12-31T17:05:00.000-05:00

coney
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

this past summer i went to dairy queen with a friend. i ordered my favorite - the chocolate-dipped cone.

gimme gimme gimme gimme... my outstretched fingers grappled for the cone.

"what is up?" my friend asked.

i looked at him like he was nuts. "you gotta eat the top part while the chocolate is still... moist."

"moist?" he laughed with his dumb dilly bar.

it wasn't the most correctest choice of words, but i received my ice cream cone before it hardened - while it was, indeed, still moist.

this past christmas, while visiting with some friends, we discovered that our predetermined meeting place was closed.

"let's just go to starbucks," one of us conceded.

"there's never any room. there won't be any room," said one of us.

but there never is anywhere else to go. we went to starbucks.

upon arrival, all four of us peered in the window.

"no room. see," said the same naysayer.

"how about that middle table that doubles as a chess board?" i suggested.

but then we all noticed that the prime real estate chairs, the "fancy" chairs by the window, were available.

"krista! go get them. go save those fancy chairs!" my friend instructed.

i took off after those chairs like a dog after a stick.

as i strewed my personal belongings across the chairs to indicate their occupancy, i noticed that one of them had a newspaper on it, which, when removed, revealed a dark spot.

concerned for the person who was to sit there, and without any forethought, i inserted my finger into the middle of the stain to verify if it was fresh.

moist it was.

it also dawned on me what the origin of this stain could be.

my friend approached.

"um, this chair has something on it,” i indicated while my index finger hung limply.

"oh, no. someone relieved himself on the chair. we're not staying."

"i stuck my finger in it," i disclosed as we walked to our third destination.

"krista, why did you touch a urine-soaked chair?"

"i wanted to see if it was moist," my sullied finger dangled in the winter air.

"you know," my friend postulated, "any situation that prompts you to ask 'is it moist?' cannot be good."

“where's your antibacterial gel?” i asked, deflated.

the first rule (of fight club)...

2006-12-18T10:30:00.000-05:00

kids
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

kids in canada have to wear snowpants during winter. they protect you from the cold, permitting you to play outside without succumbing to the elements.

i remember, as a kid, one of the first spring days. it had warmed up considerably and one of my friends called on me to play. despite the warm weather, my mom made me put on my snowpants. we ran around the small woods we had in our backyard, sweltering. we stopped by the stream, which was flowing freely with all the melting snow. i wanted nothing more than to jump in. for no good reason other than it looked like it would be so much fun. but i knew the repercussions would be drastic.

but i jumped in, snowpants and all. i emerged, heavy and laughing.

my friend and i jumped in several times. sodden, we knew we had to go home and face the facts. we went our separate ways, waving with our smiles disappearing. our boots were full of mud and our snowpants probably absorbed 39 liters of water.

"what happened to you?" asked my mom.

"i jumped in the stream," i winced, preparing for the onslaught.

but there wasn't any.

i recently moved in with my boyfriend. i only lived 6 blocks over and we decided to move in together because "change is good" and "for financial matters".

within the first week i was provided with the roster of rules.

"there aren't many, but they must be adhered to."

"yes, go on."

"none of your stuff can come into my home."

i glared at him.

"okay, well minimal stuff. we have no storage."

i continued to glare. "what is your next rule?"

"all dishes must be done when i come home at night. i can't stand to see dishes in the sink."

"i'll see what i can do."

"krista, this must be done every night. i'll seriously freak out."

"no promises."

dishes, to me, should not be a chore. they should be left until the spirit moves you. one of my greatest vacuuming experiences involved a few glasses of sake and dylan’s "blood on the tracks".

soon enough, the tiny rules and regulations took their toll. "where is the fun?" i snapped. "there's NO fun!"

i wiped away my tears and put on my jogging shoes. i tied the house keys into my shoelaces and went for a run.

about three blocks away i noticed that my right shoe felt loose. i looked down and saw that my shoelace had come undone. and sure enough, the key was gone. "fuck!" i came to a screeching halt.

"shit, shit, shit..." i backtracked, looking for my key. it had a green marker and should have been easy enough to find. i couldn't go home without a key - i was bound to get yet another sermon.

after ten minutes of searching i realized the key was gone, i started to laugh. i'd fucked up yet again: i didn't do the dishes in a timely fashion, my showers are too long in addition to too hot, one sock is here while the other is there, my vacuuming techniques are lackluster, i don't wake up in such a manner so as to allow myself the correct amount of leisure time in the morning, and i don't possess the proper windshield wipers.

i realized that fucking up is engrained in me. you know, i'll miss the odd plane and splash water on the floor when i wash my face. yet all it took was for those wet snowpants to be thrown into the washing machine.

it was time for them to be put away for the season anyway.

on the house

2006-12-06T23:23:00.000-05:00

crab
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

"oh no, that's an onion. our kitchen is clean."

its legs hung limply, soggily from being steamed.

my appetite departed.

"no, this is a cockroach. onions are white."

"that is a fried onion. they become brown when fried," the owner argued.

i've found many, many things in restaurant food. and unless it's a pube, i'll generally remove it and continue eating. i'm not prissy. and i understand that due to the random workings of the globe, the odd thing is bound to make its way into my soup.

but i pushed the bowl with the cockroach/onion away from me.

"when we go out, we like to have a refined experience," said the girlfriend of an acquaintance.

my boyfriend and i looked at each other. "well, have we got a story for you..."

there's a portuguese restaurant in montreal that you go to for the meat: lamb chops, pork chops, steaks with eggs fried on them. meat.

it's delicious. which is why you tolerate the rude waiters and the 30-minute wait for your reserved table. on our last visit there, my boyfriend and i sidled up to the bar to make the best of the long wait.

we sat next to a portuguese man and woman. they weren't a couple - she was in her mid 30s with a baseball cap, and he in his late 50s. they looked as though they had done some hard living. and here they were, drinking cheap red wine.

a raucous conversation took place between this man and woman. it took place in portuguese, so we didn't understand. but it looked like she was egging him on.

seems like she's challenging him... i whispered to my boyfriend.

and then a carafe of wine was placed in front of him. an entire liter of red wine. chances were pretty high that it was homemade.

he grabbed it by the neck.

oh gawd... i thought.

he lifted the carafe and commenced drinking.

"he's going to barf," i said to my boyfriend. i looked around in an attempt to move, but the place was packed.

i grabbed my boyfriend's arm. "he's going to BARF!" my voice had become shrill.

the woman in the baseball cap cheered him on. no one else did. no one else seemed to notice.

he was halfway through the liter of wine. my mind flooded with memories of horrible things that happen when cheap red wine is consumed: my friend knocked out her front teeth on a bus due to red wine. she also had to graft skin from her ass onto her leg due to a red wine/tobogganing incident. but, of course, we were 16. this man was 59.

"this guy's gonna vomit." said my boyfriend.

the man slammed the empty liter of wine on the bar. he was swaying.

the woman with the baseball cap forked over $20 to the man. she then ordered 2 beers.

i shook my head.

when my boyfriend and i decided to turn our attention back to each other, i noticed that the man had placed his hand over his mouth.

"oh SHIT!" i jumped off my barstool and grabbed pulled my boyfriend's arm, trying to drag him away.

the force of the hand over his mouth increased the pressure of the already projectile vomit. he barfed all over himself, the bar, and my boyfriend's arm.

"jee-SUS!" my boyfriend exclaimed. i looked at the frothy red wine vomit on his arm. i hate vomit. it makes me want to vomit.

i pointed to the bathroom. "WASH YOUR ARM! GO WASH YOUR ARM!"

my boyfriend accepted the towel from the unapologetic bartender, hopped off the stool, and strode to the bathroom.

the old man stood up and slowly made his way to the front door. she left three minutes later, once she finished her beer.

everything had been cleaned up by the time my boyfriend returned.

"you okay?" i asked.

"yeah, yeah. it was just wine."

"mm. wine and bile. there were bubbles."

"no bubbles krista. just wine. it was only in his stomach for a minute."

"bile resides in our stomach."

"whatever. are we staying?"

"you're the one who just got vomited on. are you okay to stay?"

"yeah, it's fine. i feel sorry for the guy. where'd he go?"

the bartender informed us that the drinks we had ordered were on the house.

"wow," i said, picking up my glass and making my way to our table.

"i think i'll have the steak," said my boyfriend.

on bestsellers

2006-11-26T23:25:00.000-05:00

notes
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i know i have to update my links. i know i need new, fresh, vibrant material.

trouble is, when i go exploring, i rarely find any thing that does it for me. i don't need to know what you're wearing, how wonderful your mother-in-law is, or if you hate your hair.

give me your troubled, your flawed, and your malcontent.

the other day, before going to work, i was waiting in line at the coffee place. i overheard this conversation:

Man: It's a little chilly this morning.
Woman: Yes. I took the dog for a walk this morning and froze!
M: I wanted to eat lunch outside today but...
W: Oh, I think it'll warm up by noon.
M: [leaning in] Can I hold you to that?
W & M: [chuckle flirtatiously].

i roll my eyes.

the woman catches me mid-roll and checks out my outfit.

i feel grossly out of place.

i've beat myself up for so long for finding the majority of people just so damn boring. i've wondered what was wrong with me - why so much disdain? why so many eye rolls?

what do you expect me to do with the person whose life is just perfect? they love their job and the perks it affords them and elucidate this at every opportunity possible. how interesting is it, really, to hear just how safe someone’s automobile is?

i know a couple. on one occasion the male component said to me: "i love my wife more today than on the day we met."

i forced a smile, "that's really great."

then, on a separate occasion, the wife repeated the exact same phrase to me: "i love my husband more today than on the day we met."

i cocked my head and squinted an eye.

"how cute," i said.

i can't put my finger on why, but i found those statements to be creepily disturbing. why the need to inform/convince others of this exponentially growing love for one another?

i know a second couple. during a dinner party, three of us ganged up on the male constituent, because of his straight laced nature. after a healthy number of drinks, we were questioning him on his passions in life.

and he just couldn't reply. he had no answer for us.

"my priority is to my girlfriend and my daughter, " he stated in a mechanical like manner.

"what are you SAYING?" i pressed.

"my priority is to my girlfriend and my daughter," he repeated. he was incapable of offering anything more.

i looked to his girlfriend.

"i can't believe he’s my boyfriend," she said shaking her head.

i was having drinks with a woman i used to work with and have since befriended. she divulged the reason as to why she hired me.

"i got a pile of resumes and when i got to yours, i felt like i had to meet you. so i hired you. you weren't exactly qualified, but i knew i had to meet the hippie girl."

i was touched.

on the first day of that job, i had shown up close to 3 hours late. i had to drive to another city - in a sleet storm.

"i'm here to see shawna practicone (not real name), " i announced at the front desk, soaked and exasperated.

"she'll be up in a second," informed the security guard.

i turned around and this woman with the warmest smile and friendliest eyes bounded through the door.

"krista?" she asked, thrusting her hand forward.

"yeah," i replied, smiling for the first time that day. i like this girl. i thought.

aristotle in his poetics postulates that a central character's fortunes must not change from misery to happiness, but, on the contrary, from happiness to misery.

please let your stories, your blogs, your emails, your conduct, your dinner parties demonstrate your vulnerability and defectiveness. it keeps my interest. it makes you inimitable.

you'll have another?

2006-11-14T10:53:00.000-05:00

champagne
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i've been fighting infections for what seems to be going on 5 weeks now. i took several weeks off work and schlepped around in stretchy pants; a paunch developing due to lack of mobility. i lay on the couch and coughed and grimaced and had dvds inserted into the machine for me. i wanted to learn how to sign because it hurt too much to speak. i know how to sign "thank you" because i looked it up once, but my boyfriend didn't know what i was doing.

so imagine my excitement when i deemed myself well enough to attend a housewarming brunch this past sunday. my greetings were enthusiastic and genuine considering i haven't had external contact since late september. i sidled up to the food table and predominantly hovered over the smoked salmon. and then i spotted several bottles of champagne. and a thingy of orange juice.

i turned to the people in my immediate midst, "mimosa?"

not too many declined, and i found myself mixing up a batch of breakfast champagne.

and then a second batch.

and then i misplaced my food.

"more?" asked someone, endorsing a bottle of champagne in one hand and the thingy of tropicana in the other.

"mmm..." i replied, holding out my glass. but i quickly withdrew it when he went to pour the juice. he looked puzzled.

"too acidic," i alerted.

not much longer after, it got to a point where people were beginning to refuse my offers of straight champagne. my instincts kicked in. where's the other ukrainian? and where's the irish girl? i found them both with empty glasses and wide eyes. i believe we polished off the bottle, commanded someone to chill another in the freezer, and discovered someone's housewarming gift of 150 proof homemade grappa.

i had made my way over and sat down next to another friend. when i get tipsy, i tend to blurt out odd, miscellaneous, and potentially mundane facts.

"turns out i ate three-quarters of a lemon meringue pie last night."

"what?"

i explained how my boyfriend brought a defective pie home from work. he instructed me to “try some”, it was “runny but delicious”. the next night, i sat down in front of the tv with one piece and gobbled it right up. i helped myself to another - i didn’t see any harm. the third slice was a little slimmer, as i was becoming a bit concerned that the sugar and lard might make me sick.

it didn't.

i was just so content being home alone, watching some crap movie, and eating so many, many slices of this lemon meringue pie. there was no way that any aspect of it could be *bad*. and it was only the next morning that i was made aware of the pie inventory and of exactly how much i had consumed.

my friend was bemused yet concerned. "yes, well, there's a fine line between compulsive overeating and living in the moment. believe me."

i hearkened back to the key lime pie that she got us as a gift for looking after her cat. she ate the majority of it before giving it to us.

compulsive... i harrumphed. "where'd i put my champagne?"

ooh baby, you're the one II

2006-11-05T22:28:00.000-05:00

new kitten
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

it was my birthday a few days ago. i instructed my boyfriend to not get me a new cat as a present. i wanted to pick my next cat.

"no more cats are coming into this apartment!" he ordered.

i recently moved in with him and his two cats. trouble is, they don't like me. they don't sleep on me, cuddle with me, permit me to vacuum them, or balance on my head.

"i need my OWN cat."

"no more cats."

i took my birthday off work, and after breakfast out (bacon and eggs), we went for a brisk autumn walk. we passed a new pet store. my boyfriend wanted to check for cat litter.

"yeah, let's see if they have any kittens!'

as soon as i approached the kitten cage, one of the two kitten jumped up and bounded towards me. she reached her paw out through the bars.

"cute! she's puffy."

her sister was not so puffy.

the pet store owner informed us that the cat i was interested in was "magnificent", and so much cuter than her sister.

"noooo, they're both adorable," i said i picked up the fluffy cat. she clung to my coat.

"play with her sister." i told my boyfriend.

"nah."

"c'mon! don't let her feel neglected!"

we put the kittens back in the cage when we were done. i walked out feeling kind of relieved. i wasn't sure if i was ready for another cat.

"what did you think of the furry one? did you love her?" i asked.

"she was cute. she not 'the one' though."

this statement puzzled me. when we're all so full of full of errors and moods and complications, how do we really know when someone is "the one"? shouldn’t we put ourselves into situations first and then deal with the repercussions afterwards? maybe my boyfriend stating that she wasn't "the one" actually confirmed that she was, in fact, the one.

the next day my heart ached for the furry kitty. i returned to the store. i played with her some more. she purred and she was fluffy. i was this [] close to bringing her home. but i just didn't have the heart to break up her and her sister. i couldn't be that selfish.

i told myself that, on the off chance, if someone gets the less fluffy kitten and busts up the sisters, i'd get the one that i toppled in love with.

i emailed a fellow animal lover about my quandary. i didn't see the point. i knew she'd just tell me to get them both.

"get them both!" she instructed.

i headed back again the next day. there was only one cat left in the cage. i looked around the store for the other. was she running free? getting a flea bath?

the owner recognized me.

"a man came in this morning with his two sons." he told me. "the cat ran to the boys and started playing with them. the father said that was a sign - that was the cat for them."

i nodded and opened the cage.

i picked up the remaining cat. "i'm going to take this one."

“she’s the more beautiful of the two,” he said.

“no...” i replied, smiling.

i got a little scared. another 17 years of responsibility. more heart break at the end of those 17 years.

i inserted her into my coat. her head poked out. we walked home.

la la love him

2006-10-29T19:05:00.000-05:00

portland
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i got back from a short trip out west for a bit of work and, more importantly, to see my niece and sister (and brother-in-law). it was really great spending some time with them - i don't get to see them enough. unfortunately, i brought my niece’s cold back with me.

this cold traveled from my tonsils to my sinuses and ultimately set up shop in my eyes. that's right. conjunctivitis. pink eye, to all you south park fans.

i've never had conjunctivitis before but i figured that if it was in one eye, my immune system would have set up some kind of white blood cell force shield to protect the other. not so much. the second eye was far worse than the first - likening me to a sea elephant. i'm hideous. i'm oozy, sniffly, greasy, and full of grime. i'm repugnant. look away.

so missing a week of work was sad and all, but nothing was going to keep me away from seeing frank black on wednesday night.

frank who?, you ask.

see, i'm aware that there are two types of people in this world: those who love the pixies, and those who don't know who they are. frank black - black francis - was the lead singer of the pixies. and after tuesday night, i'm convinced he was the soul reason they had the success they did.

i attended the concert with one of my oldest friends. let's call him little steve, because that’s what I call him. little steve is quite possibly even more of a pixie's fan than i am. possibly. when we get together, we often talk about pixie hooks, pixies chord changes (that grab you by the gut), and frank's atypical time signatures. anyone not knowing the pixies would be bored to tears.

when the pixies announced in 2003 that they were getting back together for a reunion tour – 11 years after they broke up - i almost passed out.

"you're coming!" i screamed at my boyfriend.

"i don't know their stuff..." he said.

i traipsed off and compiled a "pixies conversion" cd for him.

"now, don't become alarmed", i primed. "it may seem angry or noisy.” i airquoted. "and i do believe it is... but it's a beautiful, palatable noise - i'll understand if you don't like it."

i secretly wanted him to not like it. i wanted the pixies to be all mine. all mine and little steve's.

but he loved it. and he came to the reunion concert, which was filled with mostly fans and some "just came alongers". the guy in front of me looked at the floor the whole time, with his hands in his pockets, and danced as though he was at a happy mondays, concert. it took all my strength not to yell at him to get out.

i stood on top of the hockey boards, so i could see everyone. at the end of the concert, they came upstage to bow. both of my hands shot up in the air - the distance between me and frank (and kim...) shrank. i fought back tears. when the lights came up, i looked around and saw several guys with tears streaming down their faces. little steve spotted me and he ran up to me, with tears streaming down his face.

little steve and i attended frank black's much smaller concert this week. he opened with an acoustic set of 6 or 7 pixie's songs. our jaws hit the ground.

finally his band came out. frank still has his pipes. there were times when he'd scream at the top of his lungs. without taking our eyes off of him, little steve and i would reach out and grab each other’s arms.

frank black is inexplicable. either you get him or you don't. he's one of those people who are born and die (at some point), and in between those dates, they do some incredible, unforgettable, and inexplicable work. i can't even look into the how it happens.

at the end of the fb concert, i stood leaning against a post while little steve raved. he raved and then ran around looking for a set list. and then he raved some more. i didn't say a word. was it my cold? the tonsillitis? a fever? i started to get a little paranoid, thinking that maybe little steve thought i was little underwhelmed with the evening. i had to disclaim myself.

"steve?”

“yes?”

“it may look like i'm not impressed or something," i motioned to my general lackluster demeanor, "but the thing is that i don't even know how to react to this..." i frowngrimacedshrugged.

"oh, i know", he said, squirrelling about. "it's gonna take me a while too."

i leaned back against my pillar and didn't say a word. this was one regret i was not going to have.

okay. now i'm angry.

2006-10-16T23:42:00.000-04:00

metropolitan museum of art
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

the tipping point, i guess.

a friend of mine's brother went scuba diving on saturday and never came home. according to his partners, he went missing for one minute and they found him one minute after that, floating on the surface.

he was 39 and loved his sister immensely. he was athletic and healthy and young and his gear did not malfunction. now she has no one to look after her. i listened to her going through waves of utter grief, rationalizing, and disbelief. and saying how it's not fair. that he's supposed to be there for her on her birthday weekend.

i was up for a good part of the night thinking about my friend and what she's going through. how she doesn’t deserve it.

and now i'm mad.

and i started to think about people who make me mad.

one in particular came to mind.

years ago, i was consulting at a pharmaceutical company - it was a good job. i enjoyed the content matter for once. and things were going well, until i ran into the brother of my ex-boyfriend. we gave each other icy stares - it had only been a few months before that i had been in court with his brother.

and after that, things got a little chilly in the office. my contract seemed to dwindle before its due date. i knew that he, as a staff member, had said some things that were going to get me ousted. the woman i worked for never thanked me for my work. she spoke to me like i was dirt. like it wasn't worth her time. and it is with her that i am angry.

years later, the brother left his card on my bicycle. my bike is pink and is clearly unmistakable for anyone else's.

"if this is you, krista, call me."

i waited weeks, nay months, before i called him. he had hurt me beyond explication. the kind of hurt that can never be undone: he forbade me to come to his brother's memorial service.

we didn't talk about his brother. i wanted to. i wanted answers. but he didn't go there. i figured we could maybe talk about it "next" time.

but i did bring up the job.

"what did you say to [name withheld]?"

"i told her to get rid of you because you brought my brother to court on bogus charges."

there was silence.

"uh huh," i said, realizing that there may be the possibility that he still believed the charge were bogus.

even though his brother, the ex-boyfriend, pleaded guilty to all charges of breaking and entering, damage to property, confinement or whatever, and sexual assault.

so i've been holding onto all this anger towards this woman who only heard one side of a story and decided to fire me on top of everything else. a woman - woman - who on the basis of gender alone is supposed to take my side.

i fantasize about running into her one day. and simply saying that if she were to ever, ever find herself in her own home being confined by her wrists that she would never have to hear that people believed her account was bogus.

but even more importantly, what i have also not forgotten are all the people who offered to accompany me to court. many of whom i hadn't even known that long. because that is what we are supposed to do for others. listen and support even if we don't know the story. or the charges. or the cause of death.

fair game

2006-10-11T00:02:00.000-04:00

gerbera
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

if i were to make a powerpoint presentation, or at least a bulleted list, of the happiest moments of my life, the better part of them would be moments that were not planned. the greatest moments came out of nowhere, and effected results that i was not prepared for.

was the most memorable moment of your wedding the first dance to the song that you so punctiliously chose? or was it when your father whispered sweet somethings-only-for-you in your ear? was the favorite part of your vacation the hike you took? or was it when you stumbled upon the blueberry bush where you spent 30 minutes feasting?

one of my fondest memories is of riding the subway in new york with my then-boyfriend. a new york character (read: nutjob) got on with a box and a magic wand. he sashayed hither and thither, garnering the attention required for his show. some looked, most ignored. the bulk were annoyed.

the magician took a seat next to me. the blood rushed to my cheeks as the eyes of the riders moved from him to me due to his wielding of his wand. i spurn attention. i hoped the magician would realize his error in judgment and move along to find someone with a little more *panache*.

instead, he tapped the handle of his box, motioning for me to open it.

i was apprehensive. i feared that springy snakes would burst asunder, causing the C train to titter at my misfortune.

"open the box," my boyfriend coaxed.

with trepidation i grabbed the handle. the magician nodded.

i pulled the drawer out of the box. it was empty. i leaned in and inspected closer.

i nodded excitedly. "empty!"

he motioned for me to inspect the sides, top, and bottom. i did, and indicated my approval.

the magician closed his eyes and waved his magic wand. he opened his eyes to look at me.

he, once again, tapped the handle with his wand.

"open..." my boyfriend cajoled.

i grabbed the handle and pulled. it was a bit heavier this time. i pulled a small, white bunny out of the box. his nose and whiskers moving in that bunnyish way.

i gasped and looked at the magician; my eyes as wide as the rabbit’s.

"yay! a bunny!" exclaimed my boyfriend.

i pet the rabbit's ears, just to confirm he was real.

just last week i was reprimanded for being too naive. the person stood above me saying things like, "you're not a child anymore, you know better," and "how can you possibly be so naive?"

i stared back up at him, with a certain amount of disdain.

"no?" he asked dryly, certain that his idea could not be implausible.

"no." replied my favorite voice in my head.

sure i could be less naive. i'd probably make wiser business decisions and have more urbane people in my midst.

but i can guarantee the first place you'd notice this conscious dismissal of my "naiveté" would be here – my conduit of creativity.

and i’d rather not lose my appreciation for the seemingly unimportant, the absurd, and the slightly dangerous.

ooh baby, you're the one

2006-10-03T00:29:00.000-04:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i work as a consultant. as a result, i have to care about a company very intensely, for a short period of time.

as soon as that period of time is over, the subject matter is promptly purged from my memory. this happens for two reasons: 1) my tiny pea brain has to make room for the everyday things like turning off the oven and 2) the content is usually painfully boring.

and i'm generally made to sign pieces of paper to never, ever speak of such boring things. pity.

in the past ten years, the only interesting things i've learned is how a plane flies (wow) and the inner workings of the pharmaceutical industry (whoa).

and while doing training for the pharmaceutical companies, i learned how we breathe. the thing we take so much for granted.

did you know that we breathe as a result of our chest cavity expanding? this expansion lowers the pressure in the chest cavity which causes air to rush into lungs.

not the other way around - meaning our chest doesn't expand as a result of us breathing air into our lungs.

when i learned this, i realized not everything is as it appears. and that i knew i had to be wary of what i thought i knew...

this last trip to new york, i was scheduled to stay at the apartment i rented out last year - the yoga hut.

because the yoga hut is unique and temperamental, the owners deemed me a 'preferred client' due to tender manner in which i tended to it.

"krista, because you're low maintenance and we need responsible people in here, we'd rather have you than anyone else."

that is, until someone offered them more money.

they reneged and hoped i understood. and i slept on a libidinous friend’s couch as a last resort.

earlier this spring, i found myself making a difficult decision about whether or not to accept a job offer and move to the other side of the country. the decision was a lot harder than i would have ever thought, and it is for that reason that i accepted the job and then woke up the next morning in a start and rescinded my acceptance.

part of what made the decision so difficult was i would be moving to where my sister and niece live. if i didn't move, we'd remain 5000 miles apart.

before i had a chance to inform my sister that i was actually not going to be coming, she told me that an apartment in her building was opening up. the owner, her friend, let's call him botticelli, was traveling for a year. the rent was something ridiculous. low.

i felt as though i had made a grave error.

"i'll tell botticelli you decided not to come..." she dolefully said to me. "he has a friend who's interested..."

i was silent. i was scheming. "no... let me ask the company if i can change my mind again. this apartment changes everything. let me know if his friend takes the place."

i got a week extension from the company. they knew it was a big decision and were very accepting of my vacillating nature.

botticelli emailed my sister. he said he didn't feel comfortable with anyone else staying at his place and that he was waiting for me. he felt that i was the one who was meant to be there. he envisioned my niece sleeping over while he was traveling in india. it was "the right thing". it was too good not to be true.

until he placed an ad on craigslist and started to get offers way over his asking price. i was no longer "the one". he hated being 'heartless', he said, but that extra money would go a long way in india.

botticelli told me he met so many great people in the posting that he was going to invite them all to a cocktail party.

he also said he was looking forward to meeting me during one of my visits when upon his return.

i informed him that we had met on at least three different occasions.

nice to know i can be your discount "one".

curb your insanity

2006-09-21T23:16:00.000-04:00

apple store
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i had to move out of my apartment on the day that my cat died. so as soon as i got my computer set up in my new digs, i booked a ticket to new york, so that i could abscond.

i decided to take my old friend, let's call him cimabue, up on an offer to stay at his place. it's very central, convenient, and i could come and go as i please. i stayed there before, on his couch, with great success. i've known cimabue for about 12 years. we got along great, despite the age difference.

i arrived at his place at 11am.

"krista. i'm glad i was here. i thought you meant 11pm. i'm headed out. do you want to nap?"

"i didn't sleep at all last night..."

"take a nap! i just got a new duvet cover. it's flannel. you can sleep in my bed while i'm gone."

i took a nap while he was out. and then met a friend for drinks after work. i got back to cimabue's around 10pm. he brought me some sheets for the couch.

"krista," he cooed as we put the sheets on the couch, "you know you can sleep with me."

i looked at him.

"i won't touch you, i promise," he continued.

"i think i'd be more comfortable on the couch..."

"sleep in my bed."

"um, cimabue, i'd really be more comfortable sleeping on the couch."

"why?"

"i tend to toss and turn."

"won't bother me. you'll love the new flannel duvet cover."

"i know, but cimabue, i'd really be more comfortable if i had my own space - a bit of privacy."

"oh yes. i understand." and with that he walked away.

only to return three minutes later. this time he had pouty, sad-man face.

"kristaaa... why won't you sleep with me?"

i sighed. not my idea of a vacation.

the next morning i got the silent treatment. AND it seemed i did everything wrong. i steamed up the bathroom too much, i fed the fish too much, i used too much time on the internet, and asked to use the phone when i clearly shouldn't have.

i returned that evening to him letting me in and him going straight to bed. the silent treatment deluxe.

the next morning, however, he was in fine form. so was i as i packed up. i was staying with a girlfriend that night.

"krista, look at my new shirt."

"krista, do you want to feed the fish?"

"krista, look at this letter from my lawyer."

"krista, don't stay at a hotel. that costs you money. you can come back here after tonight."

to which i replied, "nice", "sure", "look at the grammatical error", and "no thanks."

"well, how about working for me at the shoot on saturday? take some stills. i'll buy you dinner."

"i don't know, cimabue. i'm checking into the hotel on saturday and i really just kinda want to chill. you know, relax."

"you don't want to work for me because you're at a hotel."

"i'll let you know. how's that? i'll call you tomorrow."

the pouty face reared again. "so it's not a 'no'?"

"that's right. it's a 'maybe'."

"you're NOT working for him tomorrow," said my girlfriend after i recounted the story.

"no, i'm not." and we went back to watching dave chapelle.

the next morning i received an email with the subject field "my computer screen" from cimabue. this is what it read:

"Krista:

I have to tell you I am very angry. After you left, I went to my computer and noticed what appears to be a deep fingernail indentation in my new flat screen display. This was NOT there the evening before your arrival.

I did notice you point to the screen a number of times in my presence [ed. note: when i pointed out his ass of a lawyer's grammatical error] but I was not looking over your shoulder every second that you used my computer for your emails.

The curve of the arc of he indentation is clearly that of a nail. Please do not ask to stay with me in the future.

[name withheld]."

"are you fucking kidding me!?" asked my friend. "how LONG did he search his apartment for something to blame you for?"

"he's mad that i didn't want to work for him..."

"he's mad that you didn't want to SLEEP with him."

because i'm prone to the second guessing of myself, which is weird considering i didn't even touch his monitor, the next time i was at the apple store, i scratched my nail along the bottom corner of the new 24" imac.

nothing.

nothing on the monitor. nothing left of the friendship.

www.paxiswasfat.com

2006-09-11T01:32:00.000-04:00

the princess (sophia) and the pea
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

it was christmas eve a couple of years ago and i was checking my messages from my boyfriend's place.

"oh no..." i exclaimed. i looked at my boyfriend as tears welled in my eyes.

"what? what is it?"

"oh no..." i repeated. i hung up the phone and placed my face in my hands.

"who died?"

i looked at my boyfriend. "ch... ch... "i was stuttering and stammering. "i can't even say it..."

"who died?" he repeated.

i realized i was worrying him. "charlie," i replied.

"charlie..." he repeated.

charlie was a mutual friend's wire-haired daschund. he had a little human's soul in him though. he was partially responsible for the assembling of me and my boyfriend: our first date was comprised of us walking him.

6 weeks ago my 17-year old kitten got fussy about her food. 5 weeks after that the vet discovered 2 tumors in her belly and intestine. this past tuesday, the vet put my paxis to sleep. she died in my arms, i heard her last tiny breath. it was not peaceful. not like everyone says. it was not violent or aggressive, but it was just not peaceful.

the vet gave her a month max. she made it to a week. paxis used to weigh close to 15 pounds - i used to do bicep curls with her. when she was dying, she was only 5 lbs. and about 2 of those pounds were tumors.

she was a birthday present. from my first boyfriend, my first love. he left me, and he left her behind.

she had nicknames ("misses kisses") and she had slogans ("paxis, complete with paws!"), her favorite group was basement jaxx, she could balance on my head, i could vacuum her, and she often joined me in the shower. she understood "up!", "lie down", and "do you want a treat?"

she was the most stable thing in my life, myself included. she moved with me to all my different apartments (12 times), she's seen every single one of my boyfriends come and go. she told me who sucked and who didn't. she was the one who went to bed with me every night, and greeted me when i stirred in the morning.

she liked soft-spoken people; had a great distaste for insufferable people. she had a proclivity for girls. and gay men. the gayer the better, in fact. during my housewarming party she sought refuge in a closet. towards the end of the night when i didn't find her there, i looked around the rest of the apartment. who did i see rolling around on the bed with a transvestite friend who showed up in drag? little miss thing.

for three days after she died, i walked around willing to do anything to bring her back. i now understand how people can make deals with the devil.

she collapsed on the floor the day she was to die. i lay on my side looking into her eyes. i watched one of them dialate completely, while the other remained a cat-eye slit. i knew this meant she was pretty much gone - the vet later informed me it was because her brain was hemorrhaging - but she still able to move her tail when i said her name.

she was an angel. in a furry disguise.

book-ish

2006-09-04T17:54:00.000-04:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i have my favorite bookstores that i visit when i travel - the strand in new york, the book warehouse in vancouver, powells in portland... i can spend hours browsing the surplus bins, amassing books that i promise i'll read.

i just finished reading the better of mcsweeney's, which i picked up in vancouver. one of the short stories blew all the others out of the water. so i did what i do with everything i become obsessed with (john wayne gacy jr. anyone?) - i googled the author for 3 days straight.

i learned that amada davis had written two books before dying an untimely death at the age of 32.

i wondered if it was suicide. but the little that i knew of her from her short story didn't really speak to me of suicide. but i could be surprised; i've been surprised before.

it had to be cancer, i surmised.

wrong. her and her parents were killed in a plane crash. the three of them were flying a small cessna to all of the locations on her book tour. i was oddly affected. i searched for her books on ebay and and made a mental note to ship the books to my friend's the next time i visited new york.

on a spontaneous trip to new york this past weekend, i found myself at strand books. it was at this juncture that i realized that had i forgotten to order and ship the books. in addition to that unimpressiveness, i was also realizing that i was not remembering her name - thereby hindering me from purchasing the books then and there.

i asked the strand people if they had the mcsweeny’s book she was compiled in.

"our literature is at the end of this aisle. it's not organized in any particular order," replied the unfriendly, unhelpful sales person.

"what would this book be filed under?" i had very little desire to sift through 18 miles of books.

"our literature is at the end of this aisle. it's not organized in any particular order." repeated the unfriendly, unhelpful sales person.

i was mouthing the words, “wha?” when a slightly more friendly salesperson informed me that i had to walk beyond the poetry section to find the literature.

i walked past poetry and found nothing. and then the store announced that it was closing in 15 minutes.

i found my boyfriend. he asked me what was wrong after he saw my mopey face.

"i'm mad at myself for forgetting her name. i asked that asshole back there, but he was no help."

"yeah, that guy's an asshole."

"why are people such asses? i hate that guy."

"me too. ask her. she looks nice." he pointed to a girl at a computer.

i explained my situation to the nice-seeming girl.

"she wrote for mcsweenys and she died a tragic death in a plane. can you find her?"

"what should i google?" she asked me.

"um, mcsweenys, plane, crash?" i suggested.

she googled.

"nope. nothing. we're closing."

"fuck. how frustrating…" i said as i got onto the street. i moped for at least 20 blocks. this woman had written such a beautiful short story, crashed into a mountain with her parents, and left two siblings behind and i didn't even have the wherewithal to purchase her books.

we delayed our etd the next day, forfeited a trip to a gallery to see avedon, and returned to the strand.

"i'm looking for an author by the name of amada davis” (i had been on a recognizance mission), i said to the woman who had replaced the woman from the night before.

her eyes widened and she actually hopped in excitement. "yeah... she has book called i wonder when you'll miss me." she said not missing a beat.

my heart sped up. "yes! she also has..."

"oh my gawd! she also has a collection of short stories. i didn't know she had another..."

"you read her novel?" i asked, thrown at what a difference a day makes.

"yes, it's amazing - amazing."

her eyes returned to the monitor. "they're both in stock."

she excitedly pointed me in the right direction. "there should be three copies of each. go!"

i took off like a shot.

the "davis"es were on the bottom shelf. i was on my hands and knees when i found her two books. there was one copy of each.

one of them quoted jane siberry: "Pour me a drink now. Let's have a toast to who we really are."

i loved this woman. she and i were meant to be together.

"you found them?" asked my boyfriend as i approached, one book in each hand.

"they were the last two copies..."

suddenly it all became too much. i thought of the poor dead woman and of the two amazing - and finite - pieces of work that i held. i thought of all the bad news i had received over the past month. i burst into tears, in the middle of the strand. i wanted more for and from her.

from what i've learned during my 3-day stalking bender, she seemed like an amazing person - a teacher - who is greatly missed. she was funny, self-effacing, essential, and vital.

the quote in the second book, which she dedicated to her parents, reads: "And I was yet aware that this was only a moment, that the world waited outside, as hungry as a tiger, and that trouble stretched above us, longer than the sky." - James Baldwin

you can read fat ladies floated in the sky like balloons here.

so it works that way, does it?

2006-08-24T23:49:00.000-04:00

elvis shoes
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

a homeless man was sitting on the ground, begging for change outside of a liquor store. another homeless man walked out of the store with a bottle of hooch. the homeless guy on the ground held out his hand for money, and the homeless guy with the hooch stopped and handed over a small handful of change. this money was obviously what was leftover from the bottle of booze.

i dunno. don't you think it would just make more sense to keep the change to get a headstart on tomorrow's bottle of booze?

in unrelated news, i heard a newscaster (probably on fox news) actually say, "hellooo? newsflash..." in response to something that, i guess, she thought was dumb.

ode

2006-08-15T23:44:00.000-04:00

newfoundland
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i often sit around with my best friend - who's a guy - and talk about all the dumb mistakes he's made, namely the wonderful women that he's dated and subsequently pushed out of his life.

"i really liked robin..." i lamented.

"i know. she was fun." he concurred.

"i have this feeling that i'll meet up with her one day. and we'll go out for drinks..."

"drinking with robin was fun."

"... and we'd get TOTALLY wasted and call you up and tell you how much of an asshole you are."

"i can see that happening."

"she was fun."

"you'd probably make out with her as well."

"yeah, probably."

so he turned the tables on me the other day, examining my roster of ex-boyfriends.

"what was it about dude #6 that you liked?" he inquired.

i looked at him like he was crazy. "are you kidding? he was so unpredictable - anything could happen. it was great!"

i once drove from coast to coast with dude #6. he called me while i was vacationing in vancouver and told me to meet him in san francisco. after i somehow made the 3-day trek in a converted hippie bus called the green tortoise, i met him at the bus station in SF. our trip started as such:

Me: "hey cool! where'd you get the car?" (it was a 1970-something fiat spider, convertible).

Him: "some guy just sold it to me. $600. c'mon, we gotta get outta here..."

we tended to have a pretty late ETD on our cross-country road trip. this lead to us arriving in cities and looking for a place to sleep in the middle of the night. this also could have been a contributing factor as to how we accidentally checked into a prostitute motel in dallas...

and no, the bulletproof glass at the reception did not seem out of the ordinary...

on another occasion we found ourselves at the very end of our trip, at around midnight, with nowhere to sleep.

"my grandmother lives about an hour or so from here," he said.

"oh yeah. can we sleep there?"

"no, we shouldn't wake her. but we can camp out on her lawn."

his grandmother didn't really have a backyard - it was more of a sideyard, right off of a busy street. it was once a sleepy connecticut town, but now also serves as new york city suburb. what, being only 2 hours away and all.

we pitched our tent in her sideyard at 2 in the morning.

her motion-sensitive light woke her up. she came to the front door in her housecoat, holding a frying pan.*

"mom-mom, it's me - micky. don't be scared," (real name and real name).

she noticed the pitched tent in her yard and saw a grizzly mountain man tippie-toeing out of the shadows.

she screamed.

"no, mom-mom. it's me. and krista. we're going to sleep in your yard."

"oh HUN, it's you. oh, look at that tent. all right then, goodnight."

it was around noon when we rolled out of our fermenty, overheated tent. i stood and scratched my belly and wondered at the commuters who were stuck in traffic a mere few feet away.

"c'mon. let's see if there are any pancakes…" suggested dude #6.

*frying pan may or may not have been present.

that is no trinket you carry...

2006-08-06T23:43:00.000-04:00

my mother told me as i was growing up that the only person i can rely on is myself - that i shouldn't learn to trust anybody. so needless to say, i have trust issues.

i recently came out a maddening depression. i remember my boyfriend one night sitting on the bed next to me, asking, "what IS it? what IS wrong?" there was no way to explain what was going on, so i cried instead. for about three weeks.

when you're lost, you tend to look in the oddest places for answers.

one of my favorite stories comes from a friend who lives and works in new york as an actress. during a production of "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat", she tripped on an errant cable and fell down a small flight of stairs right before she was to go back on stage.

although she was able to aim the fleshy, meaty parts of her body to take the blow of the fall, it still hurt like hell - the kind of pain that immediately brings tears to your eyes. she lay on the ground, stunned and breathless, while the music played on - signifying the beginning of the second act.

at that point there was no turning back without stopping the show completely. her mind raceed while trying to figure out what to do. if she couldn't get up, her understudy would have to go on ("but she had no costume and couldn't sing it - and she wasn't memorized at all").

she closed her eyes and that's when aragorn appeared in her mind. he was also lying face down but was outside in a muddy pool of water. he raised his face out of the water, dripping, and said, "you know what you have to do. and you don't want to miss me tonight, do you?"

my friend, being the movie nerd that she is, had 10:30 tickets for the opening of "return of the king".

my friend thought about everything aragorn had done up until then - and not just for frodo and the fellowship, but for the people of rohan as well. and she knew there were many more sacrifices that he was willing to make for the greater good.

after a cursory examination of her body parts, she realized nothing was broken or sprained. she thought about what she had do physically in the second act. except for a series of conga lines and some ponying, which was going to be a little painful, it was nothing like what aragorn put himself thru at helm's deep.

she limped to center stage, the curtains opened, she smiled brightly, and began to sing...

because i look very, very highly upon people who live hand to mouth, audition 10 times a week, and SING in front of people, i found myself reanimating that story in my mind one day when i was feeling a tad overwhelmed.

however, the voice in my head wasn't my friend's - it was aragorn's. he had one again found the strength to selflessly channel himself to transmit his message of self-reliance: that we all know what it is we have to do.

"It is said to be the age of the first person singular." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

my boyfriend's boyfriend

2006-07-22T23:25:00.000-04:00

vermont diner
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

my boyfriend's hot.

no, it's not a good thing. it means i have to deal with omnipresent women giving me the once-over ("hmph", they think). i have to endure eyelash-batting girls who twirl locks of hair and sidle up to him. i have to tolerate the laugh/head toss.

i've had to meet a pageant of ex-girlfriends. each one more displeased with me than the last. a succession of models and actresses who opportunely require my boyfriend to "run lines with" or provide "accent coaching".

"do you remember tintoretto? (not real name)" he asked one day. "he used to live in your building."

"yeah, of course. the bald guy. he's hot."

"yeah him. well, i ran into him yesterday and he invited me to go running."

"oh that's nice."

tintoretto is gay.

soon enough, my boyfriend and tintoretto were having afternoon tea, proofreading each other's documents, tearing up each other's linoleum tiles, and swapping scallop recipes. i'd have to listen to sentences like: "well, tintoretto likes my hair this way" and "tintoretto hated 'lost in translation' - it brought bile to his mouth."

enough became enough and i started to aver that tintoretto had to make an effort to get to know me as well. a few dinners were had. all went well; i didn't pick up any jealousy. i had him over for new years and we were up until 4 am talking; i didn't sense any resentment.

then one night i was watching jon stewart and the phone rang. my boyfriend had gone to bed and i didn't want it to wake him.

"hello?" i quietly answered.

i heard a click. and then i heard a dial tone.

*69.

it was tintoretto.

how many times does he have to be reminded that i am, actually, in the picture?

have i mentioned that he is 49 years old?

not too long ago i needed a drill. my boyfriend borrowed tintoretto's, because, despite being gay, he does know how to use powertools (hence his hotness).

it was up to me to return said powertool as my boyfriend had to go to greece to bury his grandmother. i left tintoretto a message one morning (it picked up after he first ring - he WAS home) saying that i was going for a run and i could drop it off, seeing that the running path is right by his house.

he never called back.

when my boyfriend returned from greece, a few weeks later, there were several messages asking for the drill back. my boyfriend came by my place, picked it up, and returned it. "he needed it, you know!"

"i left him a message!" i defended. "i wasn't proposing to have tea with him! i wasn't going to present my vagina to him!"

"i know krista. maybe whoever borrows the drill has to return the drill. maybe that's one of his rules."

over the years that we’ve been together, i've noticed many, many changes in my man. the latest are a surge of gray hairs and an emergent, and i do believe permanent, spare tire. i welcome these transmogrifications with open, flabby arms. hopefully they’ll help keep the nuisances at bay.

untitled (bocca della verità)

2006-07-18T23:53:00.000-04:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i had the great advantage of living in rome during my last two years of high school. there i not only had the privilege of experiencing the most magical city in the world, but i also met some incredible people who i never would have crossed paths with had i not crossed the ocean: my first love, my second love, and a whole whack of international students who found themselves in an international school for a variety of reasons. parents were stationed in saudi arabia where it wasn't safe for their kids. parents were living in new delhi and wanted their kids to get a better education. rich americans sent their kids abroad; rich italians wanted their kids to learn english... and then there were the army and diplomatic brats like me.

i met sophie when i was 17. we were both broody and moody. she and her sister came to our school late in the year because their family was threatened during their south american posting. they are half vietnamese, half french and arrestingly beautiful.

sophie and i bonded through our deep thoughts, gelato, and drinking in trastevere. during my final year of high school, we had a falling out of sorts - i can't remember over what, but it certainly wasn't over a guy - but we there was a reconciliation right before the yearbook came out.

we've kept in touch over the years. it's never frequent, but i hope it's consistent. she came to montreal to visit a boyfriend, i visited her in aix-en-provence.

i got an email a few years back that she had gotten married.

i got an email not too long after that that she and her husband were in lebanon working with an international organization, doing good things in that part of the world. and that they were looking to move on to africa. she told me she reads my blog. i beamed.

i told her senegal was beautiful and that she should go there.

i'm not sure if sophie and bob had time to make their move to another part of the world before this latest crisis erupted in lebanon. she's been in my thoughts for the past week.

soph, i know you don't email often, and you never leave comments, but when you get at a computer, could you please let me know where you are.

going fishing, or how i learned to take one to know one

2006-07-12T16:17:00.000-04:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

there are blogs out there that get a gagillion hits a day and ones where people vie to leave the first comment . it gives me blog envy, or blenvy.

i, on the other hand, check my sites 239 times a day to see who has commented. i do have readers - i see the numbers. but the better part of them – you – lurk. you lurk in, you lurk out, without leaving any evidence of your visit.

i don't know why this comes as any surprise. i'm a wallflower (“a shy or retiring person who remains unnoticed at social events, especially a woman without a dance partner.”). so it should be commonsensical that i attract that type of reader. birds of a feather lurk together.

i'm the one who'll be conversing with a charming young man at a party when someone else will step right in front of me to greet this person. i used to walk away, but now i often just stick around, a mere two inches behind said impertinence until they inevitably step on me.

"oh," they'll say looking over their shoulder, surprised to see someone.

they'll receive an explanation from the person to whom i was once speaking.

"oh, this is your girlfriend?" they'll say, reluctantly extending their hand to me.

i've also been at perfunctorily horrible weddings when the perfunctorily horrible "get-up-on-the-dance-floor" song plays.

"woo!" i'll exclaim, raising-the-roof.

and as "mambo #5" plays on, the ever-enthusiastic "dance circle" will form, and consequently close, sealing all breaches and leaving me on its periphery.

lou bega and i will tough it out, with my "internal dialogue" telling me that i don't need to rely on being part of this kinship assemblage.

and then someone will step on me.

that circle member will turn around, curious as to what they could have possible stepped on (does anything exist outside of a dance circle?), wave in attempted apology, and then take his or her place in the center of the circle. it's time for their solo.

and with no further delay, my inner dialogue tells me that i'm actually not the "independent girl who doesn't need to be part of the dance circle", but instead "that loser who's dancing alone".

i retreat.

just the other day i was sitting with someone at a cafe when an acquaintance walked by.

"sit for a second," i offered. "pull up a chair."

they grabbed a chair from another table and promptly placed it on my foot.

"ow…" i mumbled, rubbing my toe.

"oh, sorry. didn't see you there..."

i'm extra careful when getting out of the back seat of 2-door cars due to an unfortunate door-slamming-on-leg incident during a visit to see my ("oh, she was on my side?") sister.

i'm invisible at parties, i'm unheard at dinners, and i'm stepped on during gatherings.

keep it up, commenters!

congratulazioni azzuri miei!

2006-07-09T21:35:00.000-04:00

forza
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

wish i could be there isa...

on perineal censorship

2006-07-04T11:39:00.000-04:00

"you EDITED!" she accusatorily hurled at me, a glass of champagne in one hand, a whiskey in the other. "you removed 'labia majora'."

"but i left ‘perineum’!" i defended.

"a ‘perineum’ is not enough! put the ‘labia’ back!"

my retract had been discovered. and i was getting in trouble. and it was merited.

in a related conversation a few days previous, i was speaking to a friend who was having censorship issues. i told her that whenever i came to that roadblock, the roadblock of whether or not to type "rectum" or "anal cavity", i realized that was the tipping point between creating something interesting or simply (e-)publishing some more white-washed drivel.

"your blog is great krista - just remember to keep it clean!" wrote one of my uncles several months ago. he signed it "your puritanical uncle".

"how am i supposed to deal with this?" i asked my sister.

"don't censor yourself! that's the worst thing you can do!" advised the woman who'll blog about how much her daughter is on a mission to make her lose her mind. “if he can’t handle it, he doesn’t have to read it. there are far worse things on the internet.”

there certainly are. the worst thing i’ve blogged about is someone taking an aqua-dump in a lake and throwing it at someone else’s chin.

so it was with great remorse and against my better judgment that i removed the 'labia majora’ from my previous blog. people were becoming too upset. i was advised to alert the authorities. i heard that another woman lost a night's sleep. i write these things to amuse, not to upset. it wasn't as though there had been actual contact with my labia majora or perineum; it was more as though his sights were set and there was great intention, aim, and aspiration. and a tiny slip of the lavender-lubricated hand would have realized those targets. all under the guise of "oopsies. well, isn't this quite the fervent massage..."

"i like 'perineum', but i like 'labia majora' more. put it back!" she barked.

the table next to us looked over with disdain.

"oops," she said. "i guess we should keep it down."

unhappy endings

2006-06-27T08:55:00.000-04:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i love massages. i usually ache. i ache everywhere. i ache inside, i ache outside. my soul aches. i've been on a perpetual search for an effective massage therapist; someone who can ease those aches, get entrenched enough to mend what ails me.

i found him. and despite a skirmish over an expired gift certificate, we developed a professional rapport. i saw him a couple of times a year - all that i could afford since i don't have a health plan.

i got a call two weeks ago.

"i had a fight with the administration. i've left the club."

"oh no."

"they’re spreading nasty rumors about me. they told the gays that i don't like them."

"you don't like the gays?"

"no, i like the gays. they tip very well."

yes, they do.

"so I’m looking for a new space, but in the meantime i'm offering massages at people's homes. since you've been such a good client, i'll come to your place and give you a free massage."

"should i set up my table, or do you want me to massage you on your bed?" was his first question.

the heat, humidity, and strong hands were lulling me into a rare state of relaxation. and then i noticed his hands were venturing into uncharted territory.

my eyes shot open while my face remained in that round head holder. he had de-stroked and was down by my calf. i decided to second-guess myself and wait for the next venture to see if what i thought was really happening was really happening, if it is was a simple slip of the lavender body lube. confirmed: he was aiming for the nether regions.

how do i handle this, how do i handle this?" my mind raced. was i relaxed? no, i was no longer relaxed.

"is this too much for you?" he whispered in my ear, in what i guess was an attempt at sexy seductionness.

i looked at him. sweat was pouring down his face.

i sat up, holding on to my towel, which had *curiously* become loose. "you look like you need some water." the disdain was evident in my voice.

"no thanks." he wiped his brow and then continued to massage my neck. "you're so tense..." he clichéd.

his smelly, sweaty man thumbs grabbed a large amount of skin on my back, and under the guise of a massage, pulled it up. the release of said skin, which was adhered to the towel due to the humidity, pulled down on the towel.

he attempted the sexy talk again, "is this towel going to stay on forever?"

"yeah, it is." i hopped off the table and gave him my “get-out-of-my-house” stare. it’s a look i’ve perfected over the years.

"okay, your turn." he tossed his massage lotion belt at me.

"no." i flicked it aside.

"krista," he sighed and patted his massage table, "sit."

gawwd. i rolled my eyes, tugged my towel tight and asked him what his deal was.

"even though i am a professional, i have trouble separating my work from what my heart feels. my eyes see, krista. and my eyes don't lie."

"i'm putting some clothes on." i stomped into my bathroom and came out and read him the riot act.

"i'm not looking for marriage, you know," he pursued.

"that doesn't give you the right to touch my perineum."

he's so fired.

"can i come back next week?" were his parting words.

word of mouth is the best advertisement. does anyone want his number?

untitled

2006-06-22T19:09:00.000-04:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

the phone rang at 4 am - and only on the last ring did i wake up enough to realize that it could have been him.

"shit!", i said jumping out of bed, grabbing the phone only to hear the dial tone.

i crawled back into bed, looking at the crazy incoming phone number. "crap. i missed him."

twenty minutes later the phone rang again.

"helluh", i grogged.

"what're you doing napping in the afternoon?"

"it's four in the morning."

"it's four in the afternoon..." he erroneously corrected me.

"no. europe is ahead. think of the fashion - ahead."

"oh, i'm so sorry. i'll let you go back to bed."

"no, i'm up now. i'm awake. oh, look at that - the sun is up."

my boyfriend flew to greece to bury his grandmother. her body was flown over on another flight. something happened on that flight. something not so appealing. something that made her body, according to my boyfriend, thaw.

"people kept showing me pictures. i didn't want to see the pictures, but they kept showing me." he said.

"oh lord," i replied, becoming traumatized. i could hardly bear the sight of her at the funeral parlor. i didn't like her thin, grey lips. it was haunting to see her not talking. she was supposed to be talking. it made me cry.

"and how did the exhumation of your grandfather go?"

greeks, in their inexplicable need for extracurricular drama, dig up their dead every four years, or when someone else dies, or when they need to share a plot... i'm not 100% sure. i think it's a little odd.

"it went well. i put on gloves and washed his bones with red wine."

"mm hm. so there was no... um... skin left?"

"no. only bones."

"wow. so they were all, um, detached and stuff. like loose?"

"yep. we had to kind of pull out his rib bones from his suit. they were stuck. we pulled them out one by one."

"lord." i started to feel woozy.

"his pacemaker was still there."

what a image. a sunken suit full of bones, and within the ribcage is a metal thing just clunking around. no more heart left for it to pace.

"we put the bones in a bag and laid them at yaya's feet."

perfect positioning.

"krista, it was the best thing i've ever done."

gun registries

2006-06-19T10:33:00.000-04:00

park avenue
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i finally watched "chappelle's show" this weekend. charlie murphy's "true hollywood stories" - especially his chronicles of him and his brother beating rick james's legs because he kicked mud all over his couch - cracked me the f- up.

i searched the annals of my tiny mind for my own "true not-so-hollywood" stories.

someone shot at me once.

some friends and i had finished dinner at a thai restaurant and afterwards were perusing a magazine shop. a car drove by and shot at the window. the bullet penetrated the window, about a foot away from where i stood reading a magazine.

"what was that?" my agile and squirrel-like friend asked.

"a gunshot. check out the hole." my boyfriend-at-the-time responded.

"fuck," said my squirrel-like friend. he then ran out the front door and down the street.

my sister raced up to the front of the store. "what was that noise? where'd steve go?"

"someone shot at the store. steve ran away."

"what the fuck?" my sister said, pointing at the hole. "do we call the cops?"

"let's? get? out of here?" i proposed.

"you think they'll come back? like, circle around?" asked my sister's boyfriend.

"i think it was random. i don't think anyone wants me dead. no?" i looked around for reassurance.

we walked out of the magazine shop and headed up a smaller street. my sister's boyfriend returned to the shop a few days later. the magazine shop people had found the bullet when vacuuming. it tumbled along the carpet and had lodged itself near the cash register.

the internets

2006-06-15T23:10:00.000-04:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

two people came across my blog today by googling "i see my sister ass" and "embarrassed about going for a poo near my boyfriend". since these are things that used to be factors in my life, they are, sadly, no longer germane.

so i can only assume that i blog about asses, poops, my sister, and my boyfriend a lot.

keywords, my friends. keywords.

two notes...

2006-06-08T20:11:00.000-04:00

first off, my hat is off, way off, to my imaginary boyfriend, for last night he roused me out of a lackadaisical slumber into fully-seated, hand-on-chest, jaw-dropped awe:

Stewart: So why not encourage gay people to join in in that family arrangement if that is what provides stability to a society?

Bennett:. Well I think if gay... gay people are already members of families...

Stewart: What?!

Bennett: They're sons and they're daughters…

Stewart: So that's where the buck stops, that's the gay ceiling.

Bennett: Look, it's a debate about whether you think marriage is between a man and a woman.

Stewart: I disagree, I think it's a debate about whether you think gay people are part of the human condition or just a random fetish.

second off, my real boyfriend's yaya (grandmother) passed away yesterday afternoon. while she had been ailing for years, her death did come somewhat suddenly, simply due to the tenacity that she demonstrated over those years.

"wow." was the first thing i could vocalize, realizing that i would never hear yaya again. yaya was a very loud woman. i would say that she yelled, but i was always corrected by the greeks and was told that it was simply "loud talking".

yaya would loud talk about everything: a cat in her midst, an undercooked steak, the wheel of fortune... and this was always in greek. despite living in canada for 50 odd years, she never learned english or french.

she'd also bellow and squawk at any given moment. when her husband was dying four years ago, she got so mad at him for allegedly abandoning her that she wailed and beat him with a stick.

when i went with her and my boyfriend to greece, i suffered the worst case of jetlag i've ever had. she'd shuffle into my room several times every morning and screech and squawk at me. seeing that i simply fell back asleep, she tried again every half hour until i got up.

so no more “loud talking”. and she has her husband back. she now has her peace.

her presence is greatly missed.

stalk worthy

2006-06-03T22:13:00.000-04:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i recently discovered that someone in my neighborhood resembles jon stewart. although he lacked the dashing good looks and was a tad on the plumpier side, he did employ the hairstyle (grey hair included!) and the shortness. i decided i would stalk him. for the summer months.

not too long ago i was outside reading and i thought i saw rotund jon stewart half a block away. he was locking his bike and went into a pet store. as this was my potential stalkee, i'd alternate my gaze between my book and the locked bike. eventually he came out of the store and starting to bike towards me. i clearly identified him as my simulacrum. but it was also at this time that i got a good look at his bike. my imitation jon stewart was riding a girl bike. his bike was, some might say, gay.

the stalking plan was abandoned.

whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer...

2006-05-31T17:44:00.000-04:00

i'm miserable. i'm disconsolate. i'm languid and forlorn. i'm insolvent and impecunious. i'm crying. i'm headachy. i'm tempestuous and temperamental.

i'm sullen.

i heard a thud, a clunk, and a crash. my ten-year-old aloe jumped to his death.

clay pot broken. mud asunder. cat inquisitive.

he couldn't stand me any more.

on subletting and marriage

2006-05-27T18:28:00.000-04:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

"hey, you. come have some gelato."

and that, my friends, is how i came to be unwelcomely fondled by a brawny italian in the back room of a gelateria in brindisi.

i tend to take the road that looks the most interesting, with little regard or foresight for my general welfare. this is also why i hopped into a van teaming with drunk russians while stranded in the snow instead of waiting for the cab that i called 30 minutes previous.

so was it the crazy parade that i was expecting to come through my apartment when i placed an ad to sublet it for two months? most likely.

"what's the real rent?", "what's my share of the rent?", and "can i take over your lease?" were questions that got one's candidacy immediately withdrawn. sadly, my screening policy, as you have briefly seen, is not the most rigid.

my first prospect came by to see my apartment and, after taking a quick look around, declared that he would take it.

"well, i'm interviewing several people..."

"my word is not good enough for you? what do you need? a check?"

"no, i have many appointments. i'll be checking references..."

"well, this apartment is really nice. this room is particularly nice."

he was motioning to the bedroom.

"yes," i said, ambling into the living room. "the whole apartment is nice actually. it dates back to the turn of..."

"so in march, when you come back, are we going to be okay?"

"what?"

"are we going to be okay together?"

i realized that he thought i was to be his bride. i pressed my fingers together and brought them to my lips. "this apartment is mine. when i come back, i take the apartment back. you will leave."

"oh yes, i understand." he looked me up and down. "why are you so skinny?"

"i was made that way. so i will call you to let you know..."

"i like it. i will take it. can i try it out this weekend? this weekend i will come and live here. i want to try it out."

his face was expressionless and he was looking directly into my tank top.

"no you cannot."

"i like you. i want to meet you for a coffee. this weekend, we will meet for a coffee."

"no."

"what's your problem? are you married?"

"um, yes. yes." new life sprang into me as i told this lie.

"oh, i see. it's very smart to be married."

"yes it is smart. my fiancé (i choked on the word 'husband') lives upstairs."

he nodded. "this weekend we will meet. i want to be your friend." he stepped toward me and attempted to give me a hug.

i put my hand out in the "stop" position. my palm pressed firmly into his paunch, leaving imprints, indentations, and dimples. it was at this point that i had to question why i was standing in my own living room, keeping a strange, large, unknown man at bay by pressing my tiny hand into his belly.

"you're going to have to leave or i'm going to call..." who was i going to call? the police? my imaginary fiancé?

"you're not so nice anymore. you're scared of me." he did a mock lunge, like he thought that i thought he was going to kill me. i flinched and he laughed.

another potentially life-threatening gambol. i showed horny mcpretend-to-sublet to the door, which i locked behind him. this is the same door i locked behind me when i left for two months. there were no more interviews. there was no sublet. no thanks mary jane girls - not in my house.

breaking up is whatevs to do ☹

2006-05-21T14:56:00.000-04:00

playland
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

everyone has their tales of heartbreak and pain and mine are no more noteworthy than the next.

someone once threw his house keys at me in an act of rabble-rousing. that little stunt rendered him homeless. his parents - PARENTS - showed up a few days later to pick up his things.

i also had someone break up with me over the phone, while i was at work. this happened on a wednesday. on the friday he called me up to see if i wanted to do something.

"you can't really do this." i kindly informed him.

"yeah? well maybe i'll call chris to see what he's up to."

recently, at my best friend's (with whom i usually incur spice girl tattoos after a breakup) family's dinner table, we were teasing his 13-year old niece on her impending boyfriends.

"i hope your first boyfriend looks like 50 cent." i said, truly hoping that her first boyfriend does, indeed, look like 50 cent.

"no thanks! i don't like furs."

"c'mon christina, he'll take you to the candyshop."

"ew! anyway, i already had to break up with my brother's girlfriend for him and that wasn't fun."

"what?"

"he didn't want to do it, so he made me pretend to be him. i typed "i had a really good time, but i don't see this going anywhere." ohmigod, she was sooooo sad! she seemed so nice."

"you did this by email or msn?"

"msn."

"did she use the little sad-face emoticon?"

"yes! she even put the one with the tears." she made the gesture of tears rolling down her face.

we felt her pain. there were minimal LOLs.

you decorated my life

2006-05-18T23:22:00.000-04:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

my boyfriend was recently telling me about his boss's girlfriend.

"she sat at the bar and made pursey lips and moony eyes at everyone. i couldn't STAND her."

"ew. what is WRONG with people?"

"well, not everyone has the self confidence that you have, krista."

i spat out my prosecco.

in my eyes, i'm still the girl who chris dolan punched in the stomach while i was balancing atop the bicycle rack.

i gangled through my youth. so much that my parents would sing the "bony maroni, she's as skinny as a piece of macaroni" song to me. i guess to be fair they sang the "i don't want her, you can have her. she's too fat for me" song to my sister. i think there was some kind of coddling and "oh, it's not true" conversation after, but i can't be too sure of that.

not that we were a very musical family, but i also remember my grandfather singing "won't you make my brown eyes blue" to me. i felt slightly inconsequential when the grandfather that i only got to see four times in my life deemed my sister a better granddaughter on the basis of her eye color. in the middle of the serenade i looked over and saw her blue eyes beaming. i figured it was least i could do considering the corollaries of the "you're too fat" song.

not too long ago i was drinking margaritas by the pitcher with someone who hadn't had tequila since he got drunk, and consequently ill, on it at 18.

"mm. check out that ass." he was not referring to mine.

i checked. "nice... kinda lumpy. kinda misshapen."

"doesn't matter. nice. guys like 'em. big. small... we don't care."

"the same go for boobs?"

"yup."

"then why do all these women get all this plastic surgery?"

"because you feel like you have to compete among each other."

it was the wisest thing i'd heard in about three days.

so the moony eyes and pouty lips - it's bound to make some women more insecure, some wish they had your "self confidence", and others just roll their eyes. i'm convinced you just need to trot off for another collagen injection.

by the way, have you seen kenny rogers lately?

Chapter III: The Dream as Wish-Fulfilment

2006-05-12T23:44:00.000-04:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i had a dream last night that jon stewart and i were best buddies. we hung out every day before his show, goofing off and giggling. we also saw movies and got absorbed in conversation.

he was a great listener. he thought what i had to say was valid. he looked at me intensely with his green eyes (the pupils had a darker ring around them). we sat by open windows with the sun streaming in.

and then i woke up. i was in a wretched mood the whole day.

"i know dreams like that," a friend said. "true happiness until you wake up."

stupidity is only arm's length deep

2006-05-11T14:07:00.000-04:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

my old apartment building has a tiny garden in front of it. no one had tended to it for years and it had become overrun by weeds. it was unkempt and unsightly.

my first spring, i trotted in there and pulled up what i could and then planted a whole whack of sunflower seeds. i also germinated some seedlings in my apartment and transferred them when they were big enough. i planted them underneath my window, away from the street.

birds swooped down and plucked the seedlings from the ground. i cheered when they became too big to pull out. hail storms occurred and knocked my plantlets over. i propped them up with stones.

the most fit and/or fortunate survived. they flourished all through august and september. they grew up to my window, close to 7 or 8 feet tall. the birds came again and pecked at the seeds. they dropped enough onto the ground so that the sunflowers came back the next year without me planting any.

the next year my neighbor also took to tending the garden. when i saw him out there with a hoe, i ran out screaming.

“watch my tiny saplings!”

"i know, i saw them," he consoled. "but justin (our superintendent) stepped on a few."

i fumed. "twit!"

that year his flowers along with my flourishing sunflowers were our pride and joy. we'd meet in the evenings to admire our work. he'd give me beers.

"your morning glories are spectacular," i praised.

"thank you. your dwarf sunspots are captivating."

we'd beam.

soon enough, nature had taken over and the birds had scattered the seeds all over the garden. sunflowers were sprouting willy nilly, not just underneath my window as i had originally structured. they were growing close to the street, close to the hoi polloi, my personal nemeses.

because sunflowers are big and conspicuous, they attract a lot of attention, not unlike bright, shiny metal objects. every morning i'd find another one of my sunflowers destroyed. people would grab and twist the sunflower heads until they came off, leaving behind a raw and sinewy stalk that would wither and die.

one night i returned home and saw a couple of guys kicking one of my sunflower heads down the street. i watched them lose interest at the intersection.

another morning i found one wedged between two parking meters right in front of the garden.

i retrieved both and placed them in bowls of water on my coffee table.

people won't overextend themselves to be stupid - all the sunflowers within a 4-foot range from street were destroyed. a forest of grey stalks remained.

it's lilac season. keep your eyes peeled for people reaching up and twisting off the lilacs - which are actually branches of the tree - leaving behind more sinewy branches.

i guess we're lucky that stupid is also lazy. there's a bit of hope for that of which we won’t overextend ourselves.

touch and go

2006-05-07T13:21:00.000-04:00

tulip
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

it had been weeks, alas, months since i'd heard from her.

2006 has had a rough giddy-up-go: a health scare, the royal fuck-over from a client, and menacing bank threatening foreclosure. friends are supposed to stick by friends during tough times, no? and where was she? off sipping cristal champagne and attending dinners that her "team members" threw in her honor, that's where.

so i was mentally drafting my proverbial "throwing-in-of-the-towel" letter when i saw her name appear in my inbox.

"holy graces of the high heavens!", i exclaimed.

i opened the email.

how's this? it read.

she was gracing me with a favor that i had requested of her 7 months earlier.

good, i replied. (it was good.) how shocked i am to see your name in my inbox.

she then called.

"my work hours are crazy."

"uh huh."

"i wake up at 3 am and i'm at work at 3:30."

"mm."

"i show up in my pajamas."

"that's nutty."

"on top of my 100-hour work week, i've been volunteering my web development services for cancer research."

"um hmm."

"i'm saving the world, krista. i'm saving the world!"

"that's fabulous."

"it truly, truly is. now listen, i have to jet. the man whom i love and the man who loves me is taking me out to dinner to celebrate my fantasticness."

she's got an extension on her dismissal. people can score very easy points with token "keep-in-touches". i’m a sucker that way.

plus she doesn't take herself too seriously. i need as much of that as possible.

holy cannoli

2006-04-27T18:28:00.000-04:00

i used to live in new york, and i miss it tons. i still have a few friends there that i try to meet up whenever i'm in town. this last time when i was packing, i got a small pang of melancholy because i thought of one friend whom i would not be meeting up with anymore. this is due to a fight over a USB wireless adaptor.

obviously it's more complicated than that. but i stopped packing and asked my boyfriend if it was okay to feel sad.

"of course it is. maybe you can try to patch things up."

"no…" i said thinking of all the eggshell walking and backpedaling i had to do with him. "…his last email told me to 'fuck off'."

several years ago, i stayed with this friend for a few days. he informed me of a famous nearby italian pastry shop where the cannoli were so good that coppola was known to order them for his film crew. we trotted over and sampled a few. they were, of course, to die for.

i think.

i'm not the biggest cannoli fan. i have trouble with sweet cheese.

in any case, on my last day there, he went out and bought a box of these reputable cannoli and silently placed them on the kitchen counter.

"mmm..." i said, and continued doing what i was doing.

a few days later i got a scathing email from my friend who was incredulous at my rudeness of leaving behind the cannoli gift basket. "i went out and bought that especially for you! i CAN'T eat that stuff. don't you know that i don't eat white sugar? they ALL went in the garbage!"

of course i felt like a heel. i stayed at his place and left behind a baker's dozen of world-famous brooklyn cannoli. why, those could have fed at least two grips on a coppola shoot.

it just would have been so much more simple had he told me that they were for me.

we have people in our lives for a myriad of reasons. not much can explain the chemistry between people. but when a cannoli keeps you from speaking for close to a year, things should be reevaluated.

sadly, the cannoli didn't get its message across. it had to be the wireless adaptor:

"I am asking you kindly now to send me back the wireless adapter with the cord. I went out of my way to bring it to you and have been nothing but a friend to you. I helped with that apartment, set up the internet for you and you are being a total bitch to me. I will make your life hell if you don’t send it to me."

so no, it's not worth patching up.

what i've learned...

2006-04-24T17:59:00.000-04:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

people like blogs about poop and magical testes.

let's take a look at a question from an adoring fan:

"So if John Stewart offered you his one of his testicles (to be removed from his body, mounted and hardened so it would last forever), which would you prefer? Left or right?"

well, adoring fan, i do believe i would chose the left, because it's the one that's closer to his heart.

faking it

2006-04-21T00:49:00.000-04:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

so i was in new york again, because i got tickets to see my boyfriend, jon stewart. i didn't overhype the whole situation, because i know how let down i become once i allow myself to become excited. in fact, after two hours in line, i had completely lost my mojo.

"i'm hungry. i want to go to bed." i said to my daily show partner.

"maybe they'll give us some kool aid once we're inside."

but there was no kool aid or cookie (what i truly desired) inside. instead, there was tony-the-warm-up guy.

he said oh-such-funny-things as "hey who's this loud guinea?” (in reference to himself), and "hey lady, you look like you wanna be at 'oprah'".

and when someone asked him where he went to university, he lay down in front of the questionee and placed his genitalia in her face. "hey! check these out! what da ya think of this schooling?"

apparently, he went to law school.

we were then forced to stand up and cheer and laugh. we had to laugh and cheer as loudly as possible because the space is big. and our enthusiasm can get lost in this large space. we were miked and were told to be spontaneous.

by the third practice cheer, i was ready to pass out. i just can't fake it. i stood with my arms crossed and leaned against the railing. when tony-the-warm-up guy looked over my way, i made an "O" shape with my mouth, to give the illusion that i was in mid-whoop.

later, over beers, mojitos, and a taco platter, my daily show partner remarked how happy he was that tony-the-warm-up-guy didn't head over our way with his probing, and slightly disrespectful, questions.

"imagine? i've never been one for enthusiasm."

"not only would we have ruined the show for ourselves, but we would have ruined it for all of humanity."

"mm", i concurred, finishing off the chicken wings.

after tony-the-warm-up-guy sufficiently depressed us, my boyfriend jon stewart came out to answer a few questions. people asked things like "who do you dream of interviewing?", and "what did you really think of your last interview with senator mccain?" he answered each question with patience and humor. he sometimes stroked his chin and said, "VERY interesting question..."

and then the inevitable happened. what appeared to be a vegetesbian stood up and asked, "so jon, is it boxers or briefs?"

"neither. i'm free-balling it. next question."

and it was then and there that i blanked out. i had imagined those fantastic testes, a mere 9 feet from my receiving mouth, knocking around in those pants.

so i have no recollection of the show. something was said about laura bush, samantha bee said something about "begaying" something or other, and stephen colbert said that he had a baby eagle.

and there was mention of “sphincter”.

h-h-h-h-hot.

The Daily (No) Show

2006-04-13T13:59:00.001-04:00

The Girly Show
New York Daily News - Tues April 19, 6:50pm

NEW YORK - Following in the steps of Drew Barrymore, comedian Jon Stewart realized he was near sighted this afternoon after a drug-crazed fan (it was later deemed that she had a taken a small dose of horse tranquilizer) flashed him.

Jon's wife Tracey retrieved him after the show and they headed off to select a modest pair of glasses.

"He'll get contacts next week. i hear you can now wear them for a week without changing them," stated Stewart's again-pregnant wife.

"Those were some tiny ta-tas," said Stewart as they drove off in a Toyota Prius.

The Canadian malfeasant was being treated for hypothermia when she escaped the hospital stating that, "Tequila warms the soul."

navel gazing

2006-04-06T15:16:00.000-04:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i'm at the age where a lot of friends and siblings are having kids. inevitably, at around the age of 1, they start learning where their bellybutton is.

"where's your bellybutton?"

"da!"

and once we discover where that is, we rarely look elsewhere.

i recently flew to the other side of the country for a job interview and if i took the job, i would have to move all the way over there. it also would involve shutting down my tiny little consulting business that i've taken a tiny bit of pride in over the past 7 years. i'd then return to the 9-5, fluorescently-lit office environment.

it felt like a prison sentence. i needed advice. i called my boyfriend.

"so what do you think i should do?"

"well, i've been thinking about it and if you took the job, i'd be able to audition for parts over there."

"yeah, there's tons of acting work over here. tons."

"right. so i could fly back and forth, auditioning for parts both here and there."

"great. thanks."

"hey, anytime krista. anytime."

i called another friend. one who lived in the city of the new job.

"i've talked it over with my sister and we both think you should take it. i mean, they have an on-site gym!"

"i'll never put on a pair of track pants in front of co-workers."

"oh, but gawd, it would be so cool if you moved here."

"how much is your freedom worth to you?" inquired another friend.

"i do get a lot done between 1 and 3 in the morning..." i mulled.

"do you really need that dental plan?"

"i've never had a cavity in my life."

"i've never had a job in my life."

i didn't take the job. if i've learned one thing in my life, it's to trust my instincts.

but i feel like i've let a lot of people down.

overheard yesterday in the sun

2006-03-30T12:44:00.000-05:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

me: i'm flying out west tomorrow to interview for a company. i don't really think i want the job.
other person: they're flying you out?
me: yes. is that incorrect?
other person: well, grammatically it's not.

crack

2006-03-28T20:00:00.000-05:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

when i was touring around with "bring in 'da noise...", a friend and i became addicted to crack. how could we not? it was omnipresent - every bar, down every street, everywhere we turned.

it was the early 2000s, and low, low, low cut jeans were in. barely rising above your hip bones, scarcely covering supple buttocks, and, yes, exposing oh-so-many cracks.

why? what did you think i was talking about?

all this ass-crack was a novelty for us. every time we'd spot it, we'd smile and point right into it.

"crack" we'd say, matter-of-factly.

we couldn't get enough.

during the winters i tend to eat a lot and not move so much. my buttocks expand. i recently tried to put them into a pair of already tight-fitting jeans. it was a struggle.

i was at a client site and was putting on my winter boots. i felt a draft, a chill, a slight breeze and looked to my stern to see what was afoot.

i gasped.

my ass!

oh the crack that i was forcing unto credulous governmental eyes!

my best friend's niece, who is about 4 years old, already speaks french and greek. when i saw her this past weekend, she had picked up english as well. it really is amazing to see how these young little minds can learn so much - in two weeks.

she was looking a little frustrated at one point and i asked what was wrong.

"my BALL! it's under the couch."

i commanded her 14 year-old sister to find it. i was watching COPS. i couldn't get up.

"all right," she said. "just don't look at my crack."

she crouched by the couch and searched for the ball.

"i can't find it!"

"reach deeper," i coached.

her 4 year-old sister with her newfound language skills walked over and pointed down the back of her sister's pants, into the gaping chasm.

"ASS CRACK! ASS CRACK!"

awesome. that's the kind of family i want.

whenever minutes

2006-03-24T14:46:00.000-05:00

cassette stuck in pavement
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

people get mad at me for not having a cell phone. they actually get mad.

i recently sublet an apartment from a yoga couple. the woman pulled out her cell phone, and primed to program, she asked me for my number. she looked stunned and then a bit mad when i told her that i didn't have one.

these are yoga people, i thought. she's can't get mad. she's not allowed to be judgmental.

we had a bit of a stare down until she realized that she was a yoga person.

"oh, that's okay. it's not your fault," she said.

whatever THAT meant.

i HATE talking on the phone. even if i did have a cell phone, you wouldn't be able to get me on it. i'd never answer it.

listen to people on their cell phones. no one is ever saying anything of any import. i wanted to compile a list of lame snippets that i caught, but everyone's conversations bored me so much, that i forgot. you can figure it out: girls complaining about guys, gay guys talking about clothing ("i'm wearing my green hoodie" - okay, that one was too gay to forget), lame office gossip, business people with something to prove with prattle that turns my stomach, and people just stating where they are ("twelfth aisle from the back - can't you see me waving", "third and 21st", "hi - i'm at h&m. where are you?").

i was consignment shopping when another girl in the shop had a full blown fight on her cell.

"what do you mean john's not going? i spoke to him this morning and we decided that he was the one to do it."

[pause]

"you've got to be kidding me. i'm on the upper east side - i'll never get there in time."

[pause]

"FINE! i'm leaving right now. you realize how late i'm going to be? this makes us ALL look like idiots!"

she angrily snapped her phone shut and stormed out. there were about 6 other shoppers in the small store. we cleared our throats, coughed, and clinked the hangers on the rack to ease our discomfort induced by her loutish spectacle.

a friend of mine recently decided to become mad at me because we didn't spend enough time together when i was in new york. oddly enough, i was simultaneously wondering why he never invited me to do anything, especially since our last correspondence consisted of me saying, "let me know if you want to get together."

he only called me when i emailed, once again, and informed him that i had landed myself in the hospital and had to get a piece of computer equipment back to him.

he proceeded to re-anger himself when we couldn't arrange the time to meet up. he with a dental appointment and me with a complete new york stranger who was posing as a photographer so that he could bamboozle young ‘uns into exposing their bosom.

actually it was for work, but judging by my (ex) friend's reaction, i may as well have been killing tiny puppies.

i received a message upon my return to the yoga hut renouncing our friendship.

"hey krista. you know what? you can keep that fucking computer adapter, i'm ending this friendship. it's based on nothing but selfishness, and you're completely selfish. so good luck with your life."

he made this call from the street. i could hear him walking and the street noise in the background.

my only hope is that several people got to hear his conversation. with any luck, it could have supplied them with a good laugh, eye roll, or fodder for a blog of their own.

how often do you get to hear a 40 year-old man relinquish a friendship?

probably, nowadays, more often than we'd ever like.

props

2006-03-18T17:45:00.001-05:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

no sooner did i defame my boyfriend's character than did he totally save my life.

and i'm not even exaggerating.

imagine being woken up at 4am by someone who is fighting for air.

in one of my short, wheezy exhales i managed to get out the words, "i can't breathe."

i didn't want to make him panic, but i felt i had to keep him abreast of my situation: i thought i was going to turn blue, pass out, and perish. and then i would turn gray.

we sat in the loft bed, struggling through nasty coughing fits, trying to find some means to breathe. he poured a bottle of water on my leg.

once i found the shallowest of breaths, i made my way to the couch. "i don't know what this is..." i gasped.

"i'm calling 911."

the emergency guys showed up with two cops (standard practice in hell's kitchen? crack den potential?) and the cops showed up with their trite bravado.

"what is this? a walk-in closet?" chided one.

"did you just walk up those stairs?" said another in reference to the 5-flight walk-up.

hey - nypd. this is new york. you ain't never seen a walk-up before?

i'm GLAD one of them twisted his ankle on the way down.

you know, there are PLENTY of good cops in this city. why must a couple of ass-monkeys try to ruin the reputation of the whole lot?

"what's the problem?" asked the ambulance guy.

"can't breathe. bad flu. asthma attack."

"how do you know?"

"this happened before. the doctor told me it could happen again."

"you don't have asthma unless you're genetically predispositioned to it or if you've been diagnosed with it."

"what is it about 'the doctor told me so' that is not 'diagnosed'?"

"what you have is bronchitis."

i left the hospital after being treated for asthma, and with a prescription for an asthma inhaler.

but before any of that happened, i had to be seen by the triage nurse, who kept falling asleep in between each of her screening questions. and who wouldn't look up to see me nod or shake my head in response to her questions. she just kept asking them over. and over. what is it about "she can't breathe, she can't speak" that a nurse or paramedic cannot understand?

so props to the man who was up from 4am until noon with me at the hospital, waiting for the pharmacy to open and filling my prescriptions at two duanne reades (because the first one didn't have the inhaler...), sustaining a substantially worse attack ONE HOUR after i got back from the hospital, sleeping ON THE FLOOR beside me because i had to be propped up on the futon, and cooking for me for 3 days.

and for pouring water on my leg.

xox

speak easy

2006-03-15T22:05:00.000-05:00

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

remember sean penn at last year's borecademy awards? when chris rock made a joke about jude law and how he's in a million and three movies all at once and then asked who the hell is this guy anyway. and then sean "buzzkill" penn came out to present an award, but premabled with, "for those of you who aren't aware, jude law is one of the greatest actors of our time... bla bla bla."

i attribute the ability to laugh at oneself with humility. and humility is a characteristic that i find most fascinating in people.

my boyfriend defends sean "yawn" penn's words:

"they're both serious actors, and he just didn't like someone making fun of his craft."

'serious' being the operative word. nothing irks me more than someone who takes him/herself too seriously.

last weekend, my boyfriend and i were having beverages in an old speakeasy in the west village. it was really cute. and after two martinis, my boyfriend says, "why don't you blog about me?"

"because you freak out every time i do."

"i will not. look!"

and he started to write on the paper tablecloth.

i don't care what krista writes about. he scribbled.

"that's so mean!"

"i didn't mean it that way!"

"well, usually when you give someone permission in writing to do something, it begins with i hereby...

he then wrote out the note that you see. (if you can make out the second paragraph, please let me know).

so now that i have permission, here goes!

my boyfriend is a tad on the cocky side. that is, he is a bit "sean-pennish" when it comes to laughing at himself.

i remember a horrible rainy day this past winter. the temperature dropped drastically in the evening, causing everything to freeze over. someone had kicked my boyfriend's recycling box over to the other side of the street. as he stepped onto the road to retrieve it, his fine italian footwear lost its grip and he fell flat on his ass: his two legs sticking straight into the air.

i folded over in laughter - i knew he didn't hurt himself. he didn't have far to fall, he's not that tall.

i tried to stop laughing, but the fact that he was taking it so seriously killed me even more. i laughed as he picked himself up ("geesUS"), as we walked upstairs, and as we lay in bed, well into the night.

when i got up to get a drink from the fridge with tears streaming down my face, i looked over and finally saw a smile cross his face.

i bet it felt so much better.

get a grip

2006-03-09T13:21:00.000-05:00

inner city, senegal
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

my first experience with whole foods was somewhere near houston, texas. i was touring with the tony award-winning broadway show "bring in 'da noise, bring in 'da funk".

in what capacity, you ask. you didn't know that i was a tap dancer, did you? i've got quite the pair of fancy feet.

actually, i was working as a nanny for my friend's 13-month old son. i took the job because i was, once again, "in between contracts". i also wanted to travel around the states and stay in hotels.

one morning my employer, myself, the baby, and the gps system set out to find some groceries. we were driving around the urban sprawl that is houston looking for the store that his gps had set its sights on. after about 45 minutes, i asked, "is this the closest grocery store to us?"

"no, but it's the closest "whole foods'".

my friend was a tad gps-happy and enjoyed embarking on voyages within cities that he didn't know to find birkenstock dispensaries and organic food outlets.

"whole what?"

keep in mind this was about 4 years ago, right before their huge global anti-globalization conquest.

imagine my consternation when four oranges and box of granola bars came out to $49.

on the ride back to the hotel, i was relentlessly given a homily on the merits of organic kale.

sure. but what about the three-hour trek it took to get out there. in this huge SUV? how does that fare with your "save the earth" senses?

i've got a free-range bone to pick with whole foods. they purport this organic state of being, which can be good and all, but why not take it all the way?

whole foods has these ugly-ass cupcakes that you can buy singularly. that is ONE ugly ass cupcake. they come encased in a clear plastic case. ONE cupcake in an environmentally-destroying, wasteful, and expensive plastic case. it's the dumbest looking thing in the world. and whoever buys these stupid-ass cupcakes is even dumber.

"but it's recyclable!" someone would inevitably whine.

sure, but WHO in new york recycles? me. that's who. no one else does. every morning i go and dig out the water bottles and pizza boxes out of the garbage and transfer them to the blue can - the one for recycling.

if you buy a piece of fish at whole foods, it also goes into the plastic case. then when you take your basket of plastic cases to the checkout, the cashier will take 8 minutes - no joke - to preciously place each of your items into a plastic bag. each of these items in the plastic bag then goes into a more durable plastic bag - for the carrying home. these durable plastic bags are then double bagged, just in case something decides to implode. and off you go - $37 for a muffin and catfish filet. and 18 pounds of plastic.

i'll work equally as hard as the cashier, removing and consolidating items as she continues to preciously triple wrap. i leave a fluffy pile of bag detritus in my wake. she'll gather them with both her arms, all 319 of them, and place them in the garbage.

whole foods. organic wonders saving the earth.

i bought a quart of milk at the deli the other night. as he was placing it in a bag, i told him that i didn't need it. i lived just 3 feet away.

"take," he thrust the bag at me.

"i have a hundred bags at home. i don't need."

"now you have a hundred and one."