Thu, Mar. 4th, 2010, 08:59 pm
you know how when you let a wooden match burn out, how it eventually crumbles into dust? the smell of birthdays and sulpher that hang in the air like a heavy velvet curtain can't stop you from just watching it dissolve into a pile of ash. that wooden match is my marriage. roger and i are thisclose to becoming that cloud of dust. even though i am over the moon for our son, sometimes i wonder if felix was the last piece of newspaper hastily shoved under the flame, trying to reclaim that first piece of wonderment and excitement.
roger as a father is not the man i thought he would be, he seems angry and withdrawn for most of the time. jealous for the remainder. can you believe that? jealous of a ten week old that has now learned to giggle after he toots. my mom says this is normal, not the giggling after the expulsion of gas of course. roger seethes around the house in a pair of battered sweatpants that always manage to avoid the rinse cycle. glaring at the ever growing pile of unopened bills on the front table, and sneering at the mini mountain of untouched egg crusted dishes in the sink.
it really wasn't always like this. i'm sure you'll disagree, you never really liked him to begin with. i know he was rude to that waitress, i couldn't see it then. "he's a pretentious assfuck". did i remember that right? "he's going to propose to you any day now. if you say yes, i don't think i can be a part of your life." now, those words...those words have been branded into my psyche. i couldn't put this into words at the time, but i wanted stability over uncertainty. an uncertain future where maybe i never found anyone, sat at home on my afghan covered couch. smoking my brains out, screaming obscenities at the multiplying army of cats i would have taken in. when i would eventually choke on a piece of triscut, after the cats had picked and eaten every last piece of flesh off of my bones, the csi team would attempt to remove what was left of me and discover that i was fused to said afghan covered couch. actually, a couch would be too good for this life, it would be a thrift store futon.
so i lost you dear friend, and gained a life with a man i was so certain about. one who would pour my glass of orange juice before his own, and know what parts of the newspaper i wanted to read first. these little things made me think "i've done many things wrong, but not this".
when he found out i was pregnant he blew up an entire package of balloons. made us tri corner hats out of the new york times. we were giddy and drunk on the celebratory shirley temples.
when i craved disgusting things, they seemed to appear out of thin air. he was so good at this part. so good. i felt like i belonged in an episode of "the donna reed show", where everything was absolutely perfect, and always ended up peachy keen with some magical homemade dessert at the end.
felix entered our world. all we could do was just stare at him. it is the weirdest thing to look at someone that has part of you and part of the person you love. it really is indescribable, i should take weird back. we marvelled at the squealy piglet like noises he made, and how much he looked like marlon brando in "on the waterfront". when we brought him home, things fell to shit. burnt match city baby, population three.
the glaring, the muttering under his breath. lying under the covers, i can feel him tense when felix begins to cry so hard his tiny body begins to shake. i am always the one that comforts our son.
i saw a glimmer of hope though, that makes me think maybe things won't always be this way. last night i heard roger talking to the baby. he had felix in his lap, and was explaining where babies come from. he didn't see me right away, i listened to him tell our son about his conception. at that point i decided to make myself known, i sat on the end of the couch and listened to the story of the night we made felix. as felix was drifting off to sleep, roger half smiled and said "this way, when he starts asking about the birds and the bees, we can say we've already told him."
i really miss you. i hope you are well.
love, always love.
Thu, Sep. 17th, 2009, 11:43 pm
i am enamored with this show. ryan murphy is also the man behind popular and nip/tuck. i was really tempted not to reveal my love for this television program because usually when i rave about a show it gets cancelled (freaks and geeks, pushing daisies e'rything). i'm hoping it's safe to rave now because it's getting huge critical acclaim, but that happened with the others also. as an added bonus the songs are great to run to.
i love the song "photograph" by ringo starr. i've also been listening to a boatload of cat stevens, when i die i want "here comes my baby" played at my funeral.
toddlers and tiaras is on tv and it's making the bile rise and rise and rise. one mother from texas is entering her two week old son in a pagent. another mother is pitting her two daughters against each other. how these people find someone to procreate with just blows my mind. there is another show called dancing tweens about baby ballroom dancers. oh yeah tlc? well when i have kids they'll be well trained in krav maga, they'll smash every plate in your house when you babysit for them then make you a lovely ceramic bathroom mirror, and once i fall asleep they'll order useless crap from television informercials and build me things like a brick wall and entertain me by slicing open a pop can filled with cement. (google the bricky and the magic blade on youtube)
"' We drive down the road in complete silence for a few miles listening to 50 Cent. As soon as he tells us that he's into having sex, he ain't into making love, Casey turns the volume down and begins telling me the following information: " I love you so much. We're going to have the best life together. I can't wait." Every word she says makes me feel a little more like faking a stroke and pretending to lose all memory of who I was, but it's not until she looks me in the eye and says in all seriousness, "You're my soul mate," that I realize I am not going to marry her.'
today i started the new chad kultgen book, the quote above is from the average american male, i read it over the holidays and my brother was surprised that i read it. another recent great book was "sheila levine is dead, and living in new york city".
tomorrow is linda's birthday, friday is the anniversary of her son's death. sunday is the memorial golf tournament, which i am looking forward to. sitting with my brothers and neighbourhood brothers remembering and drinking and jeffy posing like he's a cardboard cutout. every year he gives a speech about chris that makes my throat burn and close up. tears are everywhere, my sinuses explode desprately trying not to cry. it's not pretty when i cry, i hide it away and suffocate it with sweatpants a dark room and a disgustingly sad movie, so if i was to be caught it wouldn't look all that bad. one of my worst moments that will continue to haunt me until i'm a little old lady is the time i got terrifically drunk one night in college and started weeping about something so insignificant. even at the time i knew how stupid it was but i couldn't stop it. visions of the crying drunk girl character from "can't hardly wait" danced in my head like sugarplums.
hi adam, told you i've been writing more.
once upon a time there was a young woman who wanted to go to sleep at a reasonable hour, but she was too upset by creepy tlc programming. sounds like the beginning of a complaint letter, one day her old feller will write complaint letters to everyone including skip the paperboy with a tragically droopy left eye. she will proofread and if the said letters are too harsh she will sneak a gingersnap cookie beside the letter. that is far in the future and is another story entirely. for another time. right now she can't sleep.
chauncey leopardi aka squints palladoras from the sandlot has a twitter and uses the word fag as an insult. my twelve year old self is off in a corner weeping. wendy peffercorn would be pissed.
Thu, Jul. 9th, 2009, 12:28 am
so if you want a large catholic family to take over toronto all you have to do is write a play. they will come in droves. each performance will feature a supporting role by someone you never remember seeing, but when they see you, their eyes will bug out of their head and they will run to you and hug you and plant a sloppy kiss on your cheek. they are kind and funny and they have familiar features. you ask them several times how exactly are we related? because so much is removed. they remember your mom and gush about how you bear her resemblance. they ask if you remember that joke you told at the cottage when you were five? you know the one? the entire table laughed till they cried. you answer i really wish i remembered, i could use that material now. they they buy drinks for everyone, apricot beer mostly. the irish background is on the foreground. most last names start with the letter m. so familiar and wonderful, people you hardly know that share childhoods and histories with the ones you've known your entire life.
this is the reason i am having by adam's estimate, forty children. forty children which of course would lead to a vagina that has been reduced to a smoking pile of ash.
Mon, Jul. 28th, 2008, 11:28 pm
i am using dev-bot's computa. i am happy and slightly tipsy, there is also chocolate and a tiny half japanese girl involved. a half mexican man will join us shortly. we are now listening to the ra-ra-rasputin song. lover of a russian queen you know. PACKING IS COMPLETE. this time tomorrow i will be incredibly tired and most likely grouchy as tonight has featured sips and nips of wine, gin, and orange strawberry banana and coconut rum.
i just wrote a very long involved rant about the homeless people in the downtown core. and then deleted it.
Sun, May. 6th, 2007, 02:33 am
BOIL THEM MASH THEM STICK THEM IN A STEW. PO-TATOES.