Nada Nada Limonada

After this blog was written, I started a different blog.

2011-02-25T17:43:00.000-08:00

This that you are reading, this is an old blog.
I have a newer blog.
Go HERE to read it.

...makes perfect?

2010-08-08T22:52:00.000-07:00

I'm all kinds of purified these days and the feeling is scheduled to increase. I also didn't realize that writing in this blog was preparing me to write my company's blog. Excuse me for my absence. I have been expressing a lot through notebook writing and letters lately. It feels tremendous and I can say with all honesty that I never expect a response back. Swimming is replacing laziness in my life, all kinds of nice little habits are forming and I feel quite happy.

Social Studies.

2010-06-17T09:30:00.000-07:00

Opps. Ignoring my blog lately.
Twitter and Facebook eating up all my time.

Thinking about the future taking up a lot of time too.

And all the rest divided up between a healthy set of guy friends.
Some reading out loud snuck in,
maybe a journal entry every few weeks.

Spread thin.
Pulled at from all sides in the best way.

Missing someone I don't even know.
Proud of someone I know pretty well.

A little sick
A little tired
A little grumpy

but on time!
and relevant!
and on task!

Hello.

2010-06-11T10:44:00.000-07:00

Dear Shannon Masayo Martinez,
I don't try to ignore you.
I'm just never sure what to say.
Positivity overwhelms me,
it's the darkness in people that fascinates.
I can't help it.
I am used to being the light one.
And so please accept my apology.
I look at your blog often.
Babies are too precious for words.
Much love,
Laura

Game Over.

2010-06-06T13:26:00.000-07:00

It's not as if one can just live waiting for people to get sick of them. Each time, I have this refreshed idea that if I am good to people in solid meaningful ways that they will stay, and each time I am again surprised at the bitter little cruelties that happen in the worst possible moments. I could cry out at the unfairness really, but the lack of willpower to fight for friendships might be my own lack of forgiveness showing through. I don't want you in my life if you will treat me so. Romantic interests take longer to get rid of, but friends drop like flies. And I wonder when I will learn my lesson, become selfish and vain, suck people into my orbit and then spit them out like I am my own sun instead of waiting around to be sucked in and spit out by other people as if I am some pleasant cosmic debris. There must be a way to keep the tension high, the game back and fourth, keep an air of respect about me. But I become too wide eyed and fascinated, willing to pay, willing to drive for miles, willing to be treated coldly then warmly then coldly again. I think the key is the refresh button, how badly I need to move every year, every couple of years. It's my roots I fear. And they are getting dry. I am too big for this pot. I have done all I can do for you, Salt Lake City. I gave you a sporting chance.

2 years old

2010-06-04T10:40:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I get this inner repulsion and rage that I have to spend my time doing what I have to do. I don't want to call/write/pay up. I don't want to grocery shop. I am not in the mood to apologize. Leave it all on the back burner. Let me go home and read or get held or sleep or something.

You are what you eat.

2010-06-01T09:22:00.000-07:00

"Diet coke? Are you there? Listen baby, I know we've been going strong for a while now, but I just can't do it any more. You've been my number one, ya know, for so long... as the sweet balance to my bites of salty food for years. We've been partners in crime you and me. We've enjoyed those hot summer days and those cold winter dinners. You've been the twinkle in my eye. I've rewarded myself with you, taken special trips to the grocery store for you, consumed you until you have almost consumed me, but it's over."

Gobbledygookgarbage.

2010-05-28T10:23:00.000-07:00

I WANT WHAT YOU HAVE.
I WANT IT>
I HAVE HAD IT
I WANT IT BACK BUT DIFFERENT
I CAN'T LIVE
WITHOUT IT
I I I
ME ME ME
GIMME GIMME

(I KNOW everything is different behind the curtain. I KNOW nothing is how it seems. I remain green.)

Isn't it?

2010-05-25T08:55:00.000-07:00

A post on happiness.

Today I am thankful for how easy it was to fall asleep last night
and how easy it was to wake up this morning
and how early I was to work for no reason at all.

I am thankful for Pablo Neruda,
and the card game Egyptian Rat Screw
and for otter pops.

I am thankful for silly pictures
and things that go clockwise,
and how prevalent my favorite number is in my life.

I am thankful for suspense,
and hilarious text messaging
and calls from my grandmother to warn me about my landlord.

I am thankful for Star Trek,
and mustaches,
and things I never thought I would be thankful for.

I am thankful for half off sushi,
and non-dates,
and for cheap high heels that look expensive.

I am thankful for my song coming on the radio
and the weather turning around today
and the Subaru running well.

I'm thankful that Amy's teeth are going to be ok,
and that my golden headphones are on my desk beside me
and that I might get to see this one someone tonight.

I am thankful for no lunch plans
and for french print shirts with peonies
and no-nylons weather.

The Jabberwoky has me in its jaws.

2010-05-20T09:31:00.000-07:00

I've been away too long
from the things I need most.
Flying about unbalanced.

Do I just use this blog to say things like this?
About how I am going to change
and become more true
to me?

Well give me a few days until my room is ready.
And I will begin to read and write.
This time I am
dead
serious.

Julio, Julio, Marcel, Ernest,
Take me back.
I will cement my feet to the floor
until I know you as well as I know my own hands.

This image has been following me around.

2010-05-14T13:29:00.000-07:00

Triangle.

2010-05-12T09:16:00.000-07:00

I like your house.
I like you in my house.
I love my new couch.
I like my fridge TURNED ON
and filled with things I LIKE.
I still need my room.
I still need some more simplicity.
I want to invite you over.
I want to inspire you.
I want to bike to your house
on a summer night.
I love my neighbors
who borrow DVDs and
fix my steps.
I want you as my neighbor,
shall we find you a place?
I want to send you postcards
no matter how close we live.
I want to bust out the art supplies
and spread them around on the floor.
We can trade off
listening to pandora stations.
I want to read to you.
I like the ways we joke
and your shining face.

This is to many people.
This post is for you.

They never get dirty.

2010-05-04T14:22:00.000-07:00

Striped Socks.
That match my favorite sweater.
And sisterfeet.
We have connected brains.
And make the same decisions, independently.

Accepting No Cheap Imitations

2010-05-03T08:44:00.000-07:00

These made me think of another necklace that currently hangs against a gray wall on a nail.

Tell me all about good luck charms, and I will bring up how many I have lost. A Christmas spoon on a long silver chain, a golden wishbone on a red chord, a little collection of special charms that I wore during my time abroad that I only just remembered looking at old photos the other day, and finally my large green ring that has gone missing since a certain hand-washing at a steak house in LA.

Jewelry is less of a permanent thing, more of a little signature that gets stamped on a certain period of time. The only exception being my mother's diamond earrings that I almost never take off.

No use crying over spilled milk, or over borrowed things that shall soon go back to their rightful places.

Hot Dog Helpless

2010-04-30T09:10:00.000-07:00

After the normal Thursday night at Manhattan, Lillian would not stop talking about how badly she wanted a hot dog. There is a Maverick on the way to her house.

We joked at the counter about buying a hot dog on a credit card, then turned towards the doors and saw two people standing close to my car.

One was holding onto it for support, then began to fall down and was caught by the other in a half standing half crouching position. He looked like he was begging for forgiveness but his mouth wasn't moving, just open.

It was a man, 50+ with a baseball cap on and his pants falling down.

When I grabbed his arm to help, the woman who was already holding him said, Careful, he's drunk, and he has a shoulder injury. She sounded and smelled drunk too.

We tried, but couldn't get him to his feet, not even with both of us pulling upwards with all our might.

So in crouching position he stayed. (Not really being able to help, Lil stayed in the car, eating the hot dog. Helpless.)

The woman said, Hold on I'm going to call.....and I didn't hear what she said next, and she went over to the pay phone leaving me holding him up.

There I was in heels, one hand on his back, his right hand holding onto the first two fingers of my right hand (from my other two fingers hung my keys). He was shaking really badly and half of his butt was showing but he was in no place to pull up his pants, and he kept looking at me with confusion and fear.

He tried one last time to stand up, then landed hard on his butt, letting go of my hand. And it was raining, and the woman was talking loudly on the pay phone. There were three feet between him and my car. I looked at him and said out loud, I don't think there is much more I can do to help you.

So we drove away. And I felt all shaky too, kicked in the teeth by compassion and by his warm hand and by that "nothing else to be done" feeling. And by the cold. And all the self-pity I had been feeling melted away. And I held my dog for a long time when I got home. And I said a prayer that life wouldn't defeat me in the ways it defeats some people.

If You Feel Abstract, What is There to Say About it?

2010-04-29T12:31:00.000-07:00

Art by Cy Twombly

A Selection From The Wasteland

2010-04-29T09:30:00.000-07:00

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

Winter kept us warm, covering

Earth in forgetful snow, feeding

A little life with dried tubers.

Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee

With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,

And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,

And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.

...

'You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;	35
'They called me the hyacinth girl.'
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,	40
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.

-T.S. Eliot

Back to Reality

2010-04-28T10:12:00.000-07:00

Much deserved mini-vacation.

(Much needed shift in perspective.)

New business cards.

New energy in my house.

(Like a sleepover every night.)

Old ghosts roaming around MY city.

(Girl, I never want to see you again.)

Sentimental songs.

(I will over-listen the emotion out of you.)

Weightless shoulders.

And a big thanks to my boys for coming through.

Two pillars, and I am standing.

Grown up

2010-04-22T08:36:00.000-07:00

Because the sun comes up earlier

it is easier to wake up.

I think of my Grandma Mary when I make my morning coffee.

Except I drink my coffee black these days.

She likes Hazelnut Coffee Mate.

But likes to tell anyone who will listen

about the evils of salt.

She wants to go to Africa.

The next time I visit I will try to make her

finally go and take me.

I don't care how many shots I have to get.

Lately:

I arrive on time.

I'm liking new friends and new music.

Oh and new hair, which was needed.

Must:

Freedom Fries.

2010-04-19T12:35:00.000-07:00

Ok, Ok, I miss NY too.

After the last post I saw this and remembered.

"Oh Darling, I've Been So Miserable!"

2010-04-16T09:35:00.000-07:00

Something unfinished is gnawing at me.

Oh, and writing calls, and it's like an alarm that gets a little louder every day. I tried my darndest to move to France after graduation. Instead of finding a way come hell or high water I came home to the fetal position, to a little apartment full of books. Life could be worse. But while I am still young, mark my words. I will have a black bowler hat like Sabina, I will get into a cab and say the famous words of Lady Brett Ashley.

My Kingdom for a Sailboat

2010-04-14T09:33:00.000-07:00

I just wanted to be out directly under that orange light.

I really dig those mini sunsets when the islands

look like floating mountains in the Great Salt Lake.

Today is Wednesday, which mean lunch date day.

And Salsa day.

Tenuous.

2010-04-13T12:39:00.000-07:00

So many things I just want to

scream and rave about,

both good and bad,

want to talk and talk about

that I have to clamp my tongue

behind my teeth about.

examples:

The future.

Travel.

Feelings.

Secrets.

Friends.

YOU.

Work.

The future.

Nobody told me that the hardest thing

about being an adult is BALANCE.

Which requires PATIENCE.

And developing a sense of SUBTLETY.

You can't cook the meat right now,

you have to marinate it over night

while your hunger growls.

Delay gratification,

it's good for social maturity.

Don't ruin it.

Keep quiet.

Stay excited inside.

Dwelling

2010-04-12T09:44:00.000-07:00

I'd like to live here please.

The room in the turret,

and I shall open the window

so that the tree flower breeze

can come and go as it pleases.

Wishful thinking.

I am going to stay where I live,

For longer than I planned,

For longer than my lease.

Give me month to month, and my sister.

Thee isn't much to do about the outside

of my humble apartment.

The step is missing a chunk of cement.

The door has an ordinary color.

The landlord doesn't mow the grass

nearly as often as he should.

But now that it will be Amy and me,

it is time to work on inner beauty,

a large laundry hamper,

a dog bed, and some strict rules

about dishes, and some painting,

redecorating, restructuring,

and a room move.

One car and one bike,

one dog and two girls,

two rooms and one coffee machine.

Simplification is what I hope for.

A working set of life systems.

A better quality,

and a room mate that I love

more than anyone ever.

White Noise

2010-04-09T09:01:00.000-07:00

This is an art exhibit I saw at the Pickle Factory, and a picture a friend sent me from NY. i thought they would look nice together, kind of like a before and after.

I miss how much art one "happens upon" in New York. But maybe I should be thankful for the things that happen in Salt Lake too, like having coffee and having people outside of the Tower Theatre bring out a couch, a helmet, and a sign that says "FREE COUCH RIDES" and commence to wheel people around.

After deciding yesterday to deal with my cough, I am on a strict bronchitis-be-gone schedule of antibiotics, strong cough meds, etc.

My Horoscope Says I feel Hostile.

2010-04-07T09:52:00.000-07:00

But How could I feel hostile

with so much love in my life?

With a boo, and a sister, and a hound,

and a fake girlfriend,

and people wanting me to come out come see them

get coffee come dance come eat come sit by me

and we will play music to each other

and be still together

come to a bbq

come get me from my house and take me with you

come draw with me

come watch that movie

the one that we have been wanting to watch together

here are some ballet tickets

and half-off pedicure coupons

here let me pay this time,

here let me touch your hair

my my is it soft today and getting so long

what is your address I have something to send you

man I should lend you this book

gosh I miss you, they say, let's go sing karaoke

can I draw on your feet?

and sometimes the sad text message chirps of,

"I'm so so mad at myself

for screwing things up with you"

but not very often does that happen

and more likely it is a text saying:

come out, come out, what are you doing?

O, Wilt Thou Leave Me so Unsatisfied?

2010-04-06T08:47:00.000-07:00

I want to watch this movie so badly.

It is lost in Lillian's room, in yesterday's power outage.

A rattling cough is ruining my life, shaking me.

Grumpifying me.

Beatiful things on the horizon.

Must drink my weight in unsweetened tea in order to get there in one piece.

And maybe even start working out, especially my arms.

I must get them ready for the sea.

Mom

2010-04-05T14:16:00.000-07:00

Thanks for the surprise purse zip-lock of jelly beans.

Thanks for letting me do my laundry.

Thanks for decorating the house in little ways for holidays

even though we are all grown up.

Sometimes one must be proud of oneself...

2010-04-05T14:05:00.000-07:00

I did a presentation on blogging at the Utah Hispanic Chamber of Commerce Annual Convention on Friday.

(specifically blogging for business)

It went well and people were responsive and interested.

...now I just need to take my own advice.

It's hard, because when you blog it feels like nobody is reading.

It's not all that interactive.

It feels like talking to yourself.

But if for nobody else, I shall blog for my mother

who tells me frequently that she wishes I would post more often.

You keep showing up!

2010-03-17T09:17:00.000-07:00

Admittedly,

I know very little

about Sean Lennon + Charlotte Kemp Muhl.

But

I see them everywhere,

in every magazine I pick up,

and just love the way they are photographed together.

And how she is taller than him

in heels

and he doesn't seems to mind.

These Late Work Nights

2010-03-09T14:47:00.000-08:00

…there is only the unattended
Moment, the moment in and out of time,
The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,
The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightening
Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music
While the music lasts.
—"The Dry Salvages" T.S. Eliot

When The Stars Go Blue

2010-02-22T14:23:00.000-08:00

The girls get wild,

re-group,

re-set,

cry a little,

laugh a lot,

and poke fun at ourselves

for putting ourselves

in heart-harm's way

and it amuses us

as the train rolls past

that we got off the tracks

and we wander off

into the night

with hound noses on

for the next adventure.

Two Photographs.

2010-02-16T14:30:00.000-08:00

This is a blog post consisting of the two photographs that were on my desktop.

One is from somewhere on facebook, if you know this girl then don't think I'm a creep- I love they layout, the colors, the body position. It's such a life-filled photo of a photo.

The second was sent to me separately by two different friends. It only worsens the desire I have to get another one and become a foster mom as well as a forever home.

Gato con botellas.

2010-01-20T13:28:00.001-08:00

JoJo the zombie cat.

Doing what he does best.

Peeking.

If you don't know, then I'm not telling you.

2010-01-19T09:14:00.000-08:00

Dear Dearest Undear,

Dear Undead,

Dear Alien.

Dear Temper Temper,

Dear Winter Skull,

Dear Stories Told,

Dear I Take it Back.

Dear Fields and Farms,

Dear Soldier,

Dear Floating Head,

Dear Mesmerizing,

Dear White Lips,

Dear Cold Shoulder,

Dear Le Scream,

Dear Le Sigh,

Dear VHS,

Dear This isn't What I Planned.

Dear This Has Nothing To Do With It.

Dear Pillar of Salt,

Dear Poetic Ridiculousness,

Dear Haircut,

Dear Holy,

Dear Freckles,

Dear Tuesday,

Dear Deer With Wide Eyes.

List Maker's Ball

2010-01-07T09:57:00.000-08:00

Listmania.

I have hung these in my office on my right

with blue tacks

that symbolize calm

and remind me of how much work I have already done

The unfinished lists hang to my left

growing and changing like weeds

hung with red tacks

that symbolize

"high priority"

Next Tuesday is a big day.

I'm going to over-over-prepare.

No luck involved.

ChristmasLoveHound!

2009-12-22T09:52:00.000-08:00

Heart Health

2009-12-16T21:54:00.000-08:00

Consider me more collected these days

when it comes to being sad about things that beat

that don't reside in my chest.

I'm doing better, much better.

Soon Audrey will be too.

I'm prepared for the struggle

that will be keeping my dog quiet

while her evil parasites die.

Lost and Found

2009-12-16T09:13:00.000-08:00

This is a post about

when you've been sticking emotions in a box for a while

without even realizing it.

This post is also about

when that box is unexpectedly opened by music.

This post is about

rings with green stones.

This post is about

the cluttered apartments of youth

with heaters that turn off when they please

and dust in the corner.

This post is about

waiting for things in the mail that you know are coming.

This post is about new.

This post is about warm.

This post is about

making sculptures with sushi dishes

and chopstick wrappers.

HeartStrings. DroolStrings. Hurt.

2009-12-11T10:32:00.000-08:00

I got home with heavy news from the vet.

She felt my emotions as soon as I walked in the door.

She went into comforting mode,

snuggling me

and staring at me

and being warm and sweet.

She didn't understand that I was sad

because she has worms in her heart

that I am going to pay to have killed.

I had my arms all the way around her

and I wanted to scream or blame something

and the only things I could blame were

within her, within my arms,

within her chest.

"And if I only could,
I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places"

-Kate Bush

Grow! Grow! Grow!

2009-12-09T11:25:00.000-08:00

After a year and a half of having my hair happily short

(no really, very happily....

even when I first chopped it all off I didn't have that sickening hair remorse.)

I have recently decided I want it long again.

Within the last few weeks actually.

And not just shoulder length, oh no.

Mermaid length.

Jenny Humphry long.

Lindsay Lohan Long.

-ignore that they have extensions-

Rapunzel's twin sister long.

We're at chin length right now.

(and kind of looking like a newscaster. humph.)

It's time to start taking my vitamins.....

Maybe that will help.

Can't I just sit here with you?

2009-12-09T11:22:00.001-08:00

I didn't take this picture and I don't know who did, but I know that it makes me feel like a rooftop I once knew in Brooklyn. It reminds me of one in Spain too, actually.

Pretty much done with: trying to figure out how to blog post on my iPhone. Annoying. Also, I think quizzes are a plague upon us all. The end.

2009-11-25T16:56:00.000-08:00

Say hi to... saying goodbye to Daul

2009-11-23T18:00:00.000-08:00

Dear twenty,

Dear Daulface,

Dear Korea, and B,

Dear emotional,

Dear Paris,

Dear introspection,

Dear Blog posts,

Dear salvation,

Dear Tolstoy,

Dear New York,

Dear Virgen of Guadalupe,

Dear sadness, reaching,

Dear monster,

Dear Blonde bleach,

Dear Dear heels,

Dearest of mine,

Dear fear,

Dear language,

Dear snow.

Say hi to:

Sorley yours, Laura

When the motion makes the pauses stand out.

2009-11-16T23:30:00.000-08:00

This is what we like to call a rhythm.

Non-stop interspersed with a good song in the car,

or a good laugh over cubicle walls.

I have no time to write, or write letters.

I am a survey machine, an early riser.

I make coffee by pouring boiling water through a filter

perched in the round mouth of a mason jar.

My room mate and I have seen one another for thirty seconds

in the last four days.

My bed is on the other side of my room signaling a fresh start.

I feel an intense forward motion,

and a thrilling energy all through me.

I feel like this is exactly what I have been waiting for.

Salsa is clicking into place.

Snow boots are coming out of boxes.

My new role is my old role done better.

My new life is my old life with better details,

a better frame, in focus, sharpened.

Thank you thank you world for mixing your magic,

making it all come together once again.

If she doesn't scare you, H1N1 will.

2009-11-01T14:29:00.000-08:00

Last night made up for the last two Halloweens combined.
People got it and were like, "Cruella!"
Mom and Audrey I answered the door for a while, and it's officially my hound dog's favorite holiday.
Her favorite moment was being petted by two girls in bunny costumes, and subsequently tried to stay in the doorway, hearing and smelling kids approaching the house.
How do you explain indoor heating to a dogface?
Also, lots of people commented on the pumpkin that I carved. It was the first thing that came to mind, and besides that damn scary.
*
Other highlights:
Lillian's Funions.
Heather being caught peeing behind a car-by a guy dressed as a Boy Scout.
The three house parties.
The dumb warehouse party that would have been amazing had there been a DJ and not a band.
Some guy with cotton glued to his shirt holding a bottle of gin. Get it? A cotton gin? Eli Whitney? High concept.
My mother dressed as Elizabeth Katy Stanton.
Taking photos of Lindsay and Ryan dressed respectively as Gwenyth Paltrow in Royal Tennenbaums and a pervert/used car salesman in a maroon leather jacket.

The foulest stench is in the air the funk of forty thousand years and grizzly ghouls from every tomb are closing in to seal your doom

2009-10-28T12:56:00.000-07:00

Zombocalypse!

Get Used to: Endless Hound Photos.

2009-10-27T16:05:00.000-07:00

I am
whitening my teeth.I will be
organizing a tobacco prevention convention.I am
sick.I am
excited to go home and take a nap
on the couch with hound dog on my torso,
breathing into my face.I have
to remember the library books that are due.I have
to study alcohol prices,
and stop picking at the skin around my fingernails,
which is dry from the sudden temperature change. I should
make myself stay home from salsa tonight,
but I won't.I have
my two weeks put in at the spa.I have
trouble seeing you, especially if it is by surprise and I am
already late.I like
all the changes happening in my life. I'm
shedding skins quickly, I need
new routines. I keep
getting stares. I shouldn't
wear this leopard coat in public.

Mailboxfull.

2009-10-26T13:29:00.000-07:00

Trent's wine label,
Kate's NY adventures,
and Miles to go before I sleep.

Also: needing to get some new stuff
off to Matt and Kyle.
OOh, and to Yuli and Glori.

I'm getting sick, but fighting it every day
by drinking my weight in tea.

Tambien quiero bailar salsa todo el tiempo.

What else?
New Jobs!

What else?
Black Hair!

Everything is coming together nicely.

An evening of Fashion.

2009-10-08T19:04:00.000-07:00

Portrait of a Shiny Hound dog, Napping.

2009-10-03T18:08:00.000-07:00

We like them naps. Yes we do.
Aud-pod is settling in well.
I know this because she does a happy dance
back and fourth, back and fourth
when I get home,
(And sometimes when I just go out to the car to get something).
"You came back!" she says.

She also makes faces now, using her ears.
Lifting them, like Blue from Blue's Clues.
The emotions come to the surface these days.
They are almost all happy ones.

Nobody, just a friend of the professor.

2009-09-30T17:25:00.000-07:00

After talking about it for so long I should probably write something.

On a Saturday in September

2009-09-30T17:21:00.000-07:00

Love is patient; love is kind;
love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude.
It does not insist on its own way;
it is not irritable or resentful;
it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth.
It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

I am so proud of you, Fishlet.
You adult you.

New Life with Hound Dog.

2009-08-26T11:53:00.000-07:00

Audrey, Audrey.
My mom calls her the Hepburn Hound.
She's got ears like drapes and temperament like a lamb.
She follows me around.
I have waited patiently for this,
and it is as sweet as I knew it would be.

yadnuS-Sunday

2009-08-16T15:19:00.000-07:00

I had to get out of my house because I could hear the weird father-son room mates who live below me arguing. They are normally quiet and friendly.

Wrote in my journal for the first time in a month today while sitting in NoBrow Coffee.

The art that is up, by Wren Ross, complimented my mood and made me get that "jealous I'm not a serious visual artist" feeling. There were drips. And pieces of poems. And watercolor. And words written backwards. And light pencil marks. And no frames. And different pieces of paper with connecting themes. Stuff I like.

I want to see the art again before it is taken down, but next time I won't put soymilk in my coffee. It gets all cloudy, but not in a uniform way. Happens all the time but I never learn my lesson.

And maybe next time I will get there earlier, because I want to sit at that tall stool table near the back hallway with a stay cup.

By the time I arrived all the stay cups were dirty and there was already a cute girl sitting there with a stay cup in my spot I had been picturing, reading a book where I wanted to read a book.

The bathroom art gets an A+ in that place too. It reminds me of Brooklyn.

Purple

2009-08-08T20:58:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the world, baby Violet.
Also, Happy 80th birthday to my Grandma Gail.

Wanted:

2009-07-30T22:43:00.000-07:00

Hardboiled. Sunlit.

2009-07-27T18:43:00.000-07:00

Yes: Airconditioning.
No: Guilt.
Yes: Fires and Grillery.
No: Sunburn.
Yes: 2 Jobs.
No: Career Opprotunities.
Yes: Slaughterhouse Five.
No: Scams.
Yes: New.
No: Broken Hearts.

Moon Landing

2009-07-14T20:16:00.000-07:00

These pictures represent two of the places I spend time lately:
The D.I.
Home Depot

The new apartment is uncharted territory.
It was pretty dirty and with ugly paint.
But now it has my full bed in it
and all my books
and a Lindsay!
And Diet Coke in the fridge.

We still need practical things like forks,
and wastebaskets.
But since it is the summertime
we can leave the living room unfurnished
and have PBRs on the front porch.

Thank goodness for ceiling fans.
And the sterilizing power of the sun.
And for friendly neighbors.
And even for unwelcome, yet friendly, neighbor cats.

Houston, we have a place to hang our hats.

So put a little bit of bitter in your pink lemonade.

2009-06-28T12:20:00.000-07:00

This is a music video for the band The Harlem Shakes
by my buddies over at Supermarche.
(Click HERE to check out their website. They make film stuff.)

My cameo is at 3:22.

Also, I'm including some of the lyrics of the song
they seem oddly resonant in my life at this moment,
especially in a blog named after lemonade:

If life gives you lemons, then thus god bade.
So put a little bit of bitter in your pink lemonade

I'm sick of thee sheep, I'm sick of thou shepherd
Sick of dressing like a human when I'm feeling like a leopard
I'm sick of slow rock, I'm sick of quick quips
Sick of holding on to nothing when I just want to hold your hips

This will be a better year
This will be a better year

Make a little money, take a lot of shit
Feel real bad, then get over it

This will be a better year

Oh I keep pushing boulders
I stay game till sun'll shake my shoulders
Oh I keep feeling older
I stay game, stay game, stay game

[Nah, nah, nah...}

Funfair of Pretend Supermodel-dom!

2009-06-25T19:06:00.000-07:00

Heather is a grand photographer.
You should look at her website HERE.
And her blog HERE.
(more sister pics are up.)
You should pay her to take your portrait.
Especially if you are a we, as in "we are getting married".

These are from a shoot the other day,
and not only were there rides involved,
but when we thought we were getting yelled at by firefighters
we were actually being let in to the fire station
to take pictures on the truck.
!

The World According to Laura

2009-06-23T19:32:00.000-07:00

My sister took these pictures of me at a wacky sushi restaurant in Paris.
Until this year I was never certain of how to spell restaurant.
I always thought it was better spelled, rest-a-raunt.
Now I know better,
and I can't remember the situation,
but someone asked me how to spell it the other day,
and I told them, calmly,
like I had always known,
and it gave me
satisfaction.

I'm learning all about microdermabrasion, and mud wraps at work.
Pores. Types of skin and hair.
Lots of talk about moisturizing goes on.
Facials, pedicures, and waxing.
Until now have I been an incomplete woman?
I rarely wear sunscreen.
Yulianna and Glorimar are rolling their eyes at me from PR.

I'm reading a book by John Irving
who graduated from the Iowa Writer's Workshop.
I'm reading this book because I was dared to.
It is kind of a contest.
We'll see what the winner gets.

i give up i give up i give up

2009-06-21T13:39:00.000-07:00

Cortázar

This is an official stance:

I have had such a hard time getting people to read this book
that I am no longer recommending it.
It was my final time, last night,
when I wrote down the title for Conor Oberst
in a dive bar.
My dear friends you can all feel safe again.
I won't try to cram it down your throats.
Instead I will read it
-all 500+ pages-
once for every time I feel like telling anyone else to read it.
I will bite my tongue before the words slip out,
and I will sit on my hands so I don't lend my copies out any more.
Which means Kit, I gave you six months
and you seem smug when you tell me you haven't even started
every time I see you.
I want it back.

I will only discuss Hopscotch if someone else brings it up first.
Which, incidentally, never happens.
I also refuse to discuss Roberto Bolaño.
It's not fair that suddenly everyone knows him and ignores Cortázar.
I wish more people read Proust.
It occurs to me that I miss academia.

Tomorrow I begin my new job as a salon receptionist.
I am looking forward to it,
and also to the future
when they say,
as a 22 year old young woman
before she was a novelist she was a salon receptionist.

SudokuExistance.

2009-06-20T13:40:00.000-07:00

For certain things to fall in place
other things must first be in place
but those things depend on other factors
and those factors
rest upon decisions
that rest upon money and happiness
upon snow and the french language
upon a room with a desk
upon a working typewriter
and an ability to take care of myself
record my finances
eat spinach

I think in circles
but
every day it gets more clear.

P.s. I keep getting news that makes me physically sick. Ok, just two pieces of news. One was a rejection from a job. (I won one, I lost one. Fifty/Fifty) Another was a mistake someone else is planning to make. Oh well. Sick to my stomach. Ick.

Locked and Loaded

2009-06-19T07:53:00.000-07:00

Apartment Hunting.
Job Hunting.
I've been wading around in the swamps in camo.
I'm pretty much exhausted.
Now I wait.
I wait for the woman who lives there
to get out of the apartment that Lindsay and I covet
so we can fill out applications.
I wait for the two jobs I have interviewed for
to call me back with good/bad news.
(Do I really want to work at either place?)
(Can I afford to be picky?)
I wait for things to put themselves into place.
And it is possible they won't
so I prepare myself to start all over again.
Print more resumes,
call more realtors,
waste more gas and time.
Welcome to Adulthood.

See you later, Graduator....

2009-05-23T10:48:00.000-07:00

Enough with the Magnolias Already.

2009-05-01T13:52:00.000-07:00

Down. Under.

2009-05-01T13:49:00.000-07:00

Cleaning Out the Art Studio

2009-05-01T13:31:00.000-07:00

(A symbolic before and after.)

We took the art off the walls, took out all the push pins and nails, cleaned out our personal locked spaces and our flat files, then swept.

When it was all empty and the trash bags taken out I took a good look around and I felt good and devastated.

I have that queasy "moving out of a house" feeling, like college life is a comfortable shell I'm almost too big for, but the vulnerability lies in the space between shedding the shell and attempting to slip into the new bigger one.

Also on the list of things that aren't making this transition to adulthood any easier:

The swine flu being called a "Pandemic" in an email from my college.
The knowledge that a girl with the flu was at my little sister's school a few days ago.
The Stafford loan exit interview that suddenly opened my eyes to how petrified I am of debt.
Nightmares.

Magnolias only last for about a week, maybe two.

2009-04-30T08:41:00.000-07:00

So I had to get all up in there.

There's No Place Like Home There's No Place Like Home

2009-04-28T13:42:00.000-07:00

Get me out of here. I'm over it.

Because I like to have a picture at the top of my blog.

2009-04-26T15:57:00.000-07:00

Magnolia buds.

It is opportunities like these that make me want to stay in New York.

2009-04-26T13:43:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I saw C.K. Williams and Mark Doty read poetry, and today Jorie Graham. Tomorrow I have every intention of going to see Billy Collins read in the city (I wish I could bring my mother and grandmother). On Tuesday, filling in the only day left open without an event having to do with literature, I am scheduled to attend the play, "The Philanderer" By George Bernard Shaw, starring my friend Ryan Garbayo. Wednesday through Saturday are filled with at least one event a day from the Pen World Voices Festival, most of them in someway involving Eduardo Lago.

Mark Doty is such a delight. From his delivery and smile you just know that the things he sees tickle him. I saw him read two years ago, a particular poem about painting a room. At the reception a friend and I were curious what color the room was really being painted. I think I remember him telling us it was a salmon color, I can't be sure, but he did admit to us that the poem was probably written high on paint fumes. He is the type of person who takes young poets seriously. He has a facebook. He loves a good response from his audience.

This time he read a poem about kissing a small goat, and the indifference of the goat to the idea of "kiss". He read a poem about Chet Baker in Amsterdam where he died, and I knew exactly what he meant about Baker's singing voice and reappropriation of familiar lyrics into new line breaks. If I wasn't so busy and hadn't needed to continue to the art studio right after the reading I might have waded the crowd just to make sure he had heard the song, "I fall in love too easily". Another poem was set on the George Washington Bridge with him and his lover talking of death and God and fear, which hit too close to home. All in all, his talk between poems and his readings flow into one another and are enjoyable, well-timed, well-executed, balanced, and hilarious. In his brilliance is a lightheartedness and a social intelligence that makes him one of my favorite poets to watch.

Jorie Graham and C.K. Williams, on the other hand, are of another breed. Part of being a writer is knowing what effect you wish to produce in your reader. Poetry with a purpose is still poetry, (if it is good poetry) and the violence and the political nature of these authors is striking. Both are authors of significant rank and respectability, Graham teaches at Harvard, Williams at Princeton, and both take their time introducing poems by introducing issues that the poem revolves around. The argument can be made, if you have to tell us what a poem is about, then is the poem necessary?

Graham's answer to this is yes. Screaming in the streets is one vein of activism, poetry and art can be another. It all has to do with how you reach people. The imagination as a way to connect with compassion, maybe the only way we have left. She calls out to authors to use their art forms as a way to try and reach the general population, much in the same way that the Catholic church hired artists who made some of the most powerful images in history, religious or not, to explain to the illiterate the story of Christ. Her main cause is global warming, and she is hardly subtle when introducing it. Arriving at the podium and setting down her tea she remarks that we don't get spring anymore. The seasons have become erratic. They will continue to do so until we are hit with a black and white ice age where the temperatures will swing from freezing to boiling. A few days ago the rain was freezing and I got drenched in my coat walking home. Today I am wearing a sundress and am sweating buckets. Summer did come like lightning. I see her point.

Graham then underlines her statements with heartfelt poems that rage and ebb with a sensitivity that is truly compelling. She is the kind of writer who can still use the word, "sinew" without sounding overly dramatic, and the multiple times I have seen her read she is always wearing an open, hanging black sweater, and has shoulder length heavy hair that she plays with, sweeping it from side to side. She has already given us a frame, a lens through which we are to see her poems. There is a difference between hearing someone calling you to lessen your carbon footprint and seeing blossoms on trees in autumn- hauntingly out of season because the very seasons themselves are out of step, complete with a migratory bird that accidentally stayed around, disoriented. It depends on what type of person you are which will really break through to you.

Apparently Graham's hard-hitting approach is not for everyone. During her lengthy introductions to the poems the girl sitting beside me in the reading wiggled her legs and cracked her back and made hand gestures and exasperated faces, as if to say, "Get ON with it!" She looked over at me more than once as if to gather support from me until, in frustration, I turned to her and whispered, "If you aren't enjoying her reading, you don't have to stay." After Graham's first poem, she left. It is a painful experience to really imagine what is happening to our world, to the the species and plant life, or even worse to imagine the future, our offspring, the end of humanity. I found it interesting to feel so connected with what this poet was saying, in both ways she was saying it, and to have the very example of someone who chooses not to care, lets impatience and a desire for beauty and happiness in poetry dictate what she was and wasn't open to, sit beside me.

If we see mark Doty as a well-made movie, and Jorie Graham as a devastatingly powerful documentary, then C.K. Williams has the postscript, "based on a true story".

Williams has a very powerful voice, and is visibly older than the other writers, bending and gripping the podium, and has an elegant control over his language that is breathtaking. His subject matter is also different. If Jorie tackles the giant of global warming, then he decides to take another big one, death. He spins out a poem detailing many phases of becoming a writer, separating out into lists the activities and authors he feels will last and that were worthy of his time, and then lightly criticising himself and the time he spent on things that didn't matter nearly so much. But how is one to know what is worthwhile at the time? He asks. We rarely do. He crumbles the city we all live in, leaving the great poets, and himself after his death, standing above the dust.

Not content with this feat, Williams continues on to address two other topics that many shy away from, tackling both the objectification of women by society, and how Roe V. Wade eliminated shady coat hanger abortions and the emotional and physical repercussions that came with them. Both of these subjects are touched upon using his own lens of personal experience, taking his audience with him when he was a young boy to a magic show where a gorgeous magician's assistant is miraculously cut in half, linking the fake exciting violence with her radiant skin and asking, "Is this where we are taught to mistreat women?" Then later he has us alongside him as he talks about a lover who he was very close to, but the whole time he knew her was too afraid to tell him she was sterile because of a pregnancy she terminated illegally when she was eighteen. We feel in his personal hurt, a world of honesty opened up to us, and a tangible example of how the imagination can be the most important teacher of all.

Monkey, The Portrait Series.

2009-04-25T08:54:00.001-07:00

These pictures were taken in Mexico, Portugal, New York, Romania, Spain, and Puerto Rico. They include some of my best friends, and the time when monkey lost an eye.

Madeleine Cookies Dipped in Tea

2009-04-25T08:50:00.000-07:00

“And suddenly the memory returns. The taste was that of the little crumb of madeleine which on Sunday mornings, when I went to say good day to her in her bedroom, my aunt Léonie used to give me, dipping it first in her own cup of real or of lime-flower tea…And as soon as I had recognized the taste of the piece of madeleine soaked in the decoction of lime-blossom which my aunt used to give me, immediately the old grey house upon the street, where her room was, rose up like a stage set…and with the house the town….the streets along which I used to run errands, the country roads we took when it was fine…the whole of Combray and its surroundings, taking shape and solidity, sprang into being, town and gardens alike, from my cup of tea.”

(Adapted from Swann’s Way, In Search of Lost Time, Marcel Proust)

Artstufffffff.

2009-04-25T08:45:00.000-07:00

Added Without Explanation.

2009-04-13T09:55:00.000-07:00

Limonada means Lemonade.

2009-04-13T08:26:00.000-07:00

I figured out how to change the controls on this blog back to English from Spanish. Now anyone can comment, not just los hispanohablantes and not just gmail users. So go crazy.
P.s. I have, in fact, been writing fiction.
As of last night.

4,347 pages later, I am now accepting book recommendations

2009-04-07T00:29:00.000-07:00

Bandit with Pink Fingernails

2009-04-06T22:51:00.001-07:00

Stole some visual pollution from the train
to send to a sight for sore eyes.

Suddenly the idea of going back seems like such a good one.

2009-04-04T17:13:00.000-07:00

" ...in some shadowed part of my being an unknown seamstress refused to abandon the discarded threads, but collected and rearranged them, without any thought of pleasing me or of toiling for my happiness"

(Proust, Volume I, Swann's Way, p. 583)

Colorful/Cartooney

2009-04-02T10:12:00.000-07:00

I like these less every time I look at them. But my mom likes to see my art, even if it's bad she would put it on the fridge. xoxo

Anger turned into Ambivalence.

2009-04-02T10:06:00.000-07:00

This was going to be a painting of a mountain range in Asia with a man dangling above it, held up only by balloons that either resembled lucky charms or heavy things, like tools. Then I got over that idea.

Which one of us just turned 18?

2009-03-31T11:38:00.000-07:00

Your guess is as good as mine.

More Art.

2009-03-30T08:03:00.000-07:00

Click on this last one. It is large.

Less Introspection.

2009-03-30T08:02:00.000-07:00

Less Long Drawn Out Thoughts.

2009-03-30T08:01:00.000-07:00

Charmed Life

2009-03-28T17:28:00.000-07:00

I am back in New York after a long hiatus in which I enjoyed the sun of Puerto Rico and the snow of Salt Lake City. With my girls, my personality snapped back into synch with theirs in a way that was natural and familiar even though it had literally been years. I had to look up the word sync, because blogger was telling me it was spelled wrong above, but it isn't. It is short for synchronisation, which is a signal used in video systems to coordinate the timings of lines, fields and frames. So, if my life is a series of movies, like the ones I used to make when we got back from trips to Barcelona, or a reel of us being nonchalant and sticking our tongues out, or a movie that is still on my camera of us singing reggaeton and dancing in the car on the first day of this very spring break, there is very little editing to be done. The harmony, the chemistry of the actors is all in line. There is no awkwardness, just silence or naps or daydreaming.

That being said, it is only vacation.
I am used to being a skipping stone. I travel around clipping off pieces of my heart and cutting my hair, and aquiring hats from wonderful places. My life is a sort of consistant vacation, I get to leave before it really hurts. The work that needs to be done to maintain a life in one place is a muscle I do not often flex. "What is the use?", I tell myself, and give myself a 'get out of confrontation free" pass.

This tendency within myself was put into sharp contrast as I journeyed back to Salt Lake this past week. I found it hard visiting a place I used to work as an intern, even though I left a good impression. I found it hard visiting an artist friend of mine to whom I owe a thank you letter and a whole bundle of other letters dating way back past christmas. . . I avoided discussing another situation with an old friend of mine for fear of being yelled at, even though the falut was mine for not communicating. I had to pick the perfect night to return to the Paris in order to avoid all the wrong people and run into all the right ones. My thought process was, "If I can just avoid this, why do it?".

I graduate in late May. I have not made plans to go to graduate school. Many places, people, lifestyles, languages, versions of myself, climates, and careers are calling to me. I am a mess. Now that there is not a set schedule to when I must leave or where I must go, I wonder what excuses I will make for myself. I wonder at my own productivity, and my own happiness. I wonder at my own capacity to be an adult. I wonder, in the arena of human relationships, if I can lay down serious roots. Does it hurt more to leave or to stay?

In Salt Lake I have the luck to be accepted, when I am home, into a group of a long-standing very tight knit group of friends. I met them at the tail end of last summer, and I like to play along like I am a part of them, but I barely scratch the surface of the history between these people. They make me feel like a baby when it comes to overcoming the changes people go through, or seeing very clearly the faults of another and pretending with an actor's skill, that they do not exist. Just as I can't see into their past, the reader doesn't get to know the back story for why I feel this way, but it is safe to say that I underestimated the value of these people in my life. I suppose this is my open letter of apology for not being upfront at the upfront.

My mother tells me that I live a charmed life.
I think the amount of luck, the amount of people I am able to know and love is staggering.
I have fallen off the pen-pal wagon in the past little while and I know that's one of the ways I always used to let the people I love know that I wish we were together, wish we were living side by side every day until we got sick of each other and had a huge fight over something stupid and made up with home cooking and tears.
Charmed busy traveling life. Imminent diploma. Now, what I ask for is the power of longevity, of humility, of synchronisation. I ask for taking responsibility for my actions to become a reflex, (to eliminate the defense mechanisms inbetween). I ask for the relatonships I have to grow deeper and closer and more bullet-proof.
I would like to stay.

Haven't done this for a while. I'm in the mood for some good luck

2008-12-16T14:07:00.000-08:00

Le Culte De L'Encre

2008-10-26T15:25:00.000-07:00

This is Proust, and this is his handwriting.

Look Dad, similar photo/theme.

2008-10-20T19:24:00.000-07:00

Mana-tee from McKenna.

2008-10-20T19:13:00.001-07:00

Self Portrait in a Customized Sea-Cow Tee.
I love getting mail.
From Eddie.
And Kyle.
And Trent.
All within a few days.

Works in Progress.

2008-10-20T18:53:00.000-07:00

From One Island to Another, Bringing Tropical Wind.

2008-10-13T10:05:00.000-07:00

Te Quiero, Loka.

Dirty Laundry.

2008-10-07T15:17:00.000-07:00

Sometimes there is this pressure
to go back and delete all old blog entries,

or to un-tag all unflattering pictures on facebook.

-to make the past a white space-

I just want to streamline, take away the extra things, and the weight of choosing, and spending, and counting, and expecting.
Simplify.

Tomorrow is Wednesday, and I can't wait until evening.
The day after that is Thursday, and I couldn't be more stoked to play non-stop with Glori, like her few days in New York are our last days on earth.

Better pictures.

2008-10-06T07:33:00.000-07:00

Personal Pictures, unclear, experiential.

2008-10-05T14:40:00.000-07:00

Neither of these are great pictures, but that's because they were taken with my camera phone~ so less visually appealing, but straight from my own eye level, straight from my own experience of them. It's an epic day when you get to see your first Frida in real life, and stumble across a huge Banksy too. Charles is in town and we are having a heck of a time, like always.

Printmaking, Second Try.

2008-10-05T14:34:00.000-07:00

Printmaking, First try.

2008-10-01T19:53:00.000-07:00

Grass.

2008-09-22T17:03:00.000-07:00