So there were Nazi's at my bar

I'm a townie, I'm not going to lie about it.
I've lived in the same place since I was a child.
Tonight there were a group of Nazis at my bar.
I was waiting in line at the bathroom which doesn't usually have a line.
waiting my turn when the guy at the table next to me starts asking the man in the line for the mens room if he's going to wank it because he's such a pussy and after all those big words he's just a wuss. And I look over and the back of his shirt says Norwegian Pride with a giant Iron Cross.

OMG

and the girls start gettin catty and the guys start picking fights. So my bestie and I leave.
there's only so much wrong a girl can take and there had been problems all night.
Nazi's being the worst of it.

But I'm sad and drunk and a little broken
when I thought we all were better than this.
I didn't think this was something I'd have to acknowledge.
I'm a brown haired, hazel eyed Swedish girl and there's nothing wrong with that.
but I'm not PROUD not one of those.
we'd never be bothered but we're not man enough to fight so we just leave.
and hope for the best.
Hope everyone made it home ok.
I am such a cop out.
we spent the night with the old folks and then brought a bottle of vodka home.
because we are not one of them.
and I don't know why they were in my bar.

pareidolia

So seeing faces in nonsense is a fault of the human condition.
One I have long been guilty of.
I have long asked for you to identify the fish in the chipping paint on the wall or the face in the fold of the tissue I hold.
These are things I mark time by.
Things no one else will notice.
I hope they have lives of their own.
I hope that they have karma and things to believe in.
They are just as real as you or I.
I believe in them.
I believe in alternate universes.
I believe every choice changes the world.
If only I believed I was as powerful.
If only I believed I could build something.
If only there were someone else who saw the smiley face on my chimney.
I believe in ghosts but I don't believe in God.
I don't think there is anything else for us.
we are all we are.
we have built all there is.
And my bathroom floor says FIN.
is my life over or just beginning?
The three that ended our friendship.
because I believed it meant the end.
Because I believed it meant all there was.
but if he's pretty it isn't rape
and I wish the best for you.
and I wish the best for you.

sweet thirty

I'm almost 27 which is nearly 30.
I'm working on the novel which will knock Kipling from his throne.
he was the youngest to win a Nobel for literature in case you're wondering.
i have to finish something which makes you tremble soon.
I need to  prove that what I've worked for is worth it.
I need to show that I can make a difference.
Afraid I'd get cancer long before i finish a novel.
It's NaNoWriMo and all I've managed to write is pathetic.
there was a whale and the butcher are waiting for me.
Saturday is waiting for my courage.
I can not be strong enough for the life I have planned.
All I manage to do is get drunk and watch TV
A millennial sweet thirty.

Two grilled cheeses and three episodes of SVU

Drinking room temperature wine straight out of the bottle.
finishing the latest Thomas Pynchon, wondering if he's made his narratives more linear out of choice or pressure from his publisher.
Missing the next Neil Gaiman and Takedown Twenty.
I read such random shit and drink too much.
I write things I don't want to repeat.

Tomorrow I will live the same life I've always lived.
Tonight I'll wallow in indecision and wine.
Hoping for another chance.
Making excuses for a day I'll never see.

Next week.
I'll finally finish a story.
I'll remember the time my mom brought me to dinner at Peete Seeger's house.
I'll finally figure out how to separate reality from my (day) dreams.
I'll finally know the right things to say.
I'll remember how to succeed.

Sunday

Nothing I plan works out.
I took the night off to watch Breaking Bad and my Boyfriend ended up in the ER and not because I'm so amazing in bed.
My vag gave him pink eye and neither of us have had it so we didn't know what was wrong.
I've drank more than I should. two bottles of wine and three shots of vodka.
I just bought the new Thomas Pynchon novel, and even though I love him I'm more concerned with my hipster cred.
I think my life might be over soon, even though my cab driver asked me if I was 19 the other day.
I still want to make something of myself.
even if it's impossible.
I still want to be remembered.
I still want to keep you up at night.
and make you wonder.
leave you quaking.the last vestiges of making a difference
will be stained like blackberries on the wall.

marry him...

If you ever meet someone who could pass as your best friend but you still want to fuck them, marry them.
If you meet someone who can laugh at your every day neuroticisms but totally has patience with random things that make you crazy, marry them.
The one who understands the love you have for Sherlock Holmes and how Joseph Heller deserves to be known for more than just Catch 22.  But doesn't laugh when you watch an entire season of Dr. Who in one go even though you hate sci fi, because he knows you really want to love this show. marry him.
if he'll let you.
The one you somewhat voluntarily if grudgingly make grilled cheese sandwiches for at 2am.
the one who brings you surprise vodka and cheese burgers.
the one who listens to you whine about the stupid job you don't want.
The one who wishes he could give you your dreams even if he ignores your everyday requests.
marry him.

the only one you know who accepts that you don't want kids.
the only one whose never tried to change your mind.

even if he's lazy and unmotivated.
even if he refuses to admit he loves you more than once a month.
even if you sometimes think if you had never met your life would be better,
this is what it is now
marry him.

Whispers from the Library

Yea it's been a while, but that's what happens when your live in/unemployed boyfriend is always home with you.

First this week was My First Murder (The Maria Kallio Series #1) by Leena Lehtolainen
     First I want to say that this series is HUGE in Finland. It has been turned in to a TV series and is a best seller. I am of Finish heritage and was glad to be able to read this in English. I don't believe it is a fault of the translator that this story falls a bit flat. Though it is well written, it just isn't an American Crime story. I know that's awfully xenophobic of me, but as a girl raised on CSI, Sherlock Holmes and Agatha Christie I must say this story is pretty boring. The story is just TOO real. This is literally what I think cops do all day, and I certainly don't want to read about it in my free time. If you don't mind reading the same interviews over and over, by all means give it a shot. I however will pass on the rest.

Second this week was Flimsy Little Plastic Miracles by Ron Currie Jr.
       Each page is a short little essay. Some pages are no longer than a sentence or two. I loved the existential angle. It is literally about love and loss and what it means to be alive/human. Absolutely worth a read, even if it takes a little bit to get used to the format. If you don't love it by page 34 there is something broken inside you.

Third this week is Where There's a Will.....There's a Murder (Maggie Flaherty #1) by Julie Ramson.
      Another hapless female -this one a recently fired attorney-with a complete lack of common sense. Maggie's brother is a Homicide Detective and Maggie decides she should turn her attention toward investigation. It is an interesting story with a couple of continuity errors (disappearing dog)  the most grating thing is the terribly immature and unnatural dialogue. With!! So!! Many!!!!! Exclamation Points!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It is supposed to be a comedic mystery, but what I remember most is the love affair that feels more like a sexual assault.
The exposition is well written and I will try again. I really want to like this.
Very Janet Evanovitch without the talent.

Inertia.

In the last 10 years I've done nothing. Still living in my Grandmothers house, still working the same job (now with more hours), still fucking the same guy....I've finally realized how easy it is to let life, your only life, simply pass by. To live your life as a spectator and just simply let it happen to you instead of acting. I never intended this.
I was always the girl with the plan, the one who was going to make things happen and change the fucking world.
This obviously hasn't happened.

My question is why?
     Where did my fight go?
Did I choose to give up and just not realize it?
NO.
What happened was life
Life let me down.
the economy let me down.
My sense of duty let me down.
I allowed myself to be made into less because it was simpler than being more.
Because the things I thought were worth fighting for were not discerned as holding value.
The things I wanted were ephemeral and huge; all the while forgetting all the little shitty things that we modern humans are expected to be concerned about.
The bills and the romances and the family ties I refuse to cut.
They turned the wonder into the mundane and I hate them for it.

I'm dangerously close to thirty and I won't risk turning fifty without having something to show for it.

Vacation Truths

I can't decide who I want to be when I grow up. I get drunk alone because I think it's more fun that way. I hate the life I'm living, but don't care enough to change. Everything I want is so impossible I think I'll just lay here awhile and dream of better days.

Of all the days

My knees keep hurting. Pretty sure it's because I've gained weight faster than my body can keep up. It makes me feel nothing short of repulsive. My skin is dry and I'm as broke as ever. I wish the stories I told myself as I fall asleep were good enough to salvage a novel from. I wish my belief in myself was as strong as my belief in tomorrow. I wish I believed I was strong enough. There is nothing left in this world for me. And I wish there was so hard it hurts.
I want nothing more than to change the world. I will continue to try. It is all I have. All I am. All I was made to be.
Better than this.
Better than this life I'm living.
I was brought down at 2yrs old and left for dead.
I was told that there was nothing left for me.
I will prove you wrong.
Because proving you right will require admitting that there is nothing left of me.

Rebellion

I know it's strange that the only place I've ever really felt safe is the place other people go to get conned. I'd make friends everywhere we set up and then I'd be accused of cheating. I was always the one so easy to believe was giving away prizes. It was easier to call me a cheat than to accept that I might just be more. That one day I might make a difference. There were a few who saw it as a business,  as a retirement choice. No matter how many books I've read or how few of the people who lasted I learned to rely on. I thought I could learn to understand. I know how few had graduated from High School. I always felt at home. Well,with most of them. Some are the genuine dregs of the world. No matter how regular they might seem.

This might be the truth.

I've been lying for so long I don't know what the truth is. I've expected so much, disappointment is my natural state. I've been waiting for more for so long I don't know how to make it. I thought it would be better by now. I don't understand how it could possibly be me. And yet, this is my life, and I'm the one who hasn't made it more. I order pants online so the shop keepers don't have to look at me. I claim to be a writer who hasn't set pen to paper in months.
I thought I could inspire you but all I've done is dissuade.
My reflection is a stranger. I wish nothing was true so hard I'm no longer sure what is.
If only I could believe I was real and that all of this still mattered.
If only I thought it could make a difference.
If only I believed.
If only the few good people I knew would stop dropping dead.
it's been a harder day than usual for me.
and I don't know what that means.
because I don't know who I'm supposed to be.

I'm 26 and I've been told it's impossible to be a failure before 35.
I'm still not sure if that's true.
I'm waiting for something amazing to happen.
It's never occurred to me to make it so.

November Girl.

People always ask why I love winter so much.
There are three reasons.
The first being, I hate any expectation that I might go outside.
I always end up stuck in conversations like 'what did you do yesterday? Wasn't it beautiful out?'
and then I respond 'IDK I was sleeping, then I drank beer and watched CSI' and then I get yelled at for choosing to be useless. It's like staying in when other people would have gone out makes me less somehow. As if I fail as a person because I don't find outside enjoyable. I hate it when people treat me as less when it's actually for something I've failed at, why should I accept it for something I have no control over? How is it my fault that yesterday was nice and why does that mean I am somehow socially obligated to go out and enjoy it? Why do people assume I'll enjoy it just because they would have or did.

Second all bugs find me delicious. Mosquitoes, spiders, fleas etc.... If it can bite, it will bite me. It won't be pretty. I swell and turn bright red and it will itch for weeks. FUCK THAT. Fuck Spring.

Third. Snow Is Fucking Gorgeous  If it's too fucking cold maybe you shouldn't live in New York. Maybe you should move to Florida or Arizona or some shit. It is one of the few times you get to wake up and look out the window and see the world as perfect and new. I would rather curl up in bed with hot chocolate, uno and a case of beer in the dark than go to the beach in 102 degree weather. If there ever comes a time when I wake up on my birthday and there isn't so much as some frost on the window, I'll know that it's time to die.

Whispers from the Library

I feel like ever since I've thought of starting this weekly thing I've been reading even less. The other reason is that I've had family in the hospital.

So First this week was Sacre Bleu by Christopher Moore. It's about color and artists and love. You might be confused that in a book about artists and color all the illustrations are in black and white, but I'm pretty sure that's Meta (or ya know, color prints cost a lot) It's a funny book. Still much more serous than Moore's earlier works, and not AS funny as say Dirty Job, but penis makes me laugh (even if it does scare the maids). It is a beautiful history of the impressionist period in Paris, particularly Montmartre in the 1890's. It took me longer than most books this size to finish but it is absolutely worth your time.

Second this week was Dark Places by Gillian Flynn. Just as good as her first novel. Libby isn't automatically lovable, but don't let that stop you. 25 years ago her brother killed her entire family and Libby has never gotten over that night. Even if Ben might be innocent. Part In Cold Blood Part West Memphis Three, it is a mesmerizing tale of the miscarriage of justice and a woman's ability to change the world.

Third this week was On what grounds by Cleo Coyle (which is not her real name)
I have read all these books in reverse order. So I will say that if you like coffee and you like crime dramas this is a very amusing novel. Claire comes back to Manhattan to manage the Village Blend. On the day she is supposed to move into the upstairs duplex, she finds the shop still locked at 9am and a corpse at the bottom of the basement stairs.  Her ex, her daughter and her mother-in-law make for an interesting investigative team. It is a good series, though not all of the books are fantastic. The first in the series introduces Claire, Madame, Matteo,  Esther Best and Det. Quinn all of whom you're going to want to know. This isn't the BEST in the series, but it is quite good. Not heavy reading but if you're looking for a fun little mystery to pass the time it should totally be on your list.

Carnie Brat

This is the time of year I used to love most. The time of year when mystery used to begin again. See I grew up on a Carnival. It started again each year on Good Friday Weekend. The place I kept returning to was the place so many dreamed of running away to. I used to believe the ever changing faces were a source of security, that even if they didn't know who I was they would keep me safe.
I believed in them.
It was the one place I ever felt I belonged.
Old before my years: they'd ask me for advice, expect me to have the answers.
Whether it was midnight drug runs or day time health scares. It all meant the world to me.
My Mom used to work the pony rides, then the fried dough. Later my Aunt retired and my mom started working in the cotton candy trailer for my Aunts business partners (rivals). My mother talked trash about them for years up until they had a job she wanted.
My perilous youth taught me not to get too attached. My perilous youth made me so much more trusting than your average girl. I'd met the dregs of society, and they'd always been kind to me.
My rebellion was getting an education.
My rebellion was starting a family of my own.
My rebellion was refusing to be ashamed.
But I miss looking forward to all the new people.
I miss knowing that each year would be completely different.
Even if I was always embarrassed that no one would recognize me.
That they would all have to learn again that I expected them to take care of me.
Then the day came when they started to ask if I wanted in on their midnight drug runs.
They started explaining how little I had to lose.
and I saw that they were right.

and I never went back.
because I couldn't become that.
Even if it did seem like decent money ($250/wk was a lot to me, it might still be)
I couldn't give up all I could be.
I may have been born into a life that so many run away to.
Running away for me, was running to.
Carnie Brat is what they called me, what I wish I still was. I loved the life but not the life style.
I'm afraid I'll always be caught somewhere in between.

Missed Connection

So there's a pay phone at my job that rings once every morning at 5:20. Every. Morning.
And I'm sure there's a simple explanation, but.... I can't help but wonder if there's a spy waiting for a signal or a time traveler waiting for a way back home. I want there to be a real story attached to this. I want there to be some mystery in my life. I want to know Harry and Hermionie are waiting for the all clear. I want to know that our nation is safe once again. But I can't, because NO ONE EVER ANSWERS IT!!!! No one is ever in the store or next to the phone when this happens. There has never been a person who hangs out by the phone and then strolls out with hood up all nonchalant like, and I really want there to be. I want someone to pick up the phone and be sucked down the wire. I want someone I notice to disappear as soon as it happens. Seeing as how it keeps ringing, I'm of the opinion that whatever is supposed to happen, hasn't happened yet.
So if there is anyone who can tell me a better way to catch this spy/wizard/time traveler please tell me because I am not as imaginative as I pretend.

Fat Girl Shopping

So I went to the mall with my friend to get clothes for his girl, so that when she gets out of her program she doesn't have to be naked.  NEWS FLASH I'm fat. Really Fat. I didn't realize this until I went to the mall. I felt disgusting in those stores. I still wasn't all that helpful when it came to picking out clothes to fit someone I haven't seen in over a year. I'm sorry, but when you NEED leopard print shoes and a differently printed top, there's only so much I can help with. There's only so much to do. Not to mention the fact that if she's gained as much weight as I've been told, none of this shit is gonna fit her anyhow. I dunno, I felt gross and I think it may have been a waste of time. I thought I would have time to get myself a few things while I was there and I didn't. It was totally like sprinting through the mall and after two hours of literally running around all we got was the leopard flats and a pair of jeans and a tank top. That's it. Nothing else. I wish I felt like I'd helped, then I'd have known it was worth it.

Whispers from the Library

Hopefully a weekly thing where I tell you about all the books I've read this week. The books I read won't necessarily be new releases, nor will they necessarily be classics. These are literally whatever struck my fancy this week.

First this week was Going Bovine written by Libba Bray

          I read this almost a week ago and I'm still not sure if I liked it. It was an interesting novel, and well written.Who am I to argue with the awards shes won?  Basic Summary: Cameron is a 16 year old slacker who finds out he's dying of Mad Cow Disease and goes on an adventure to save the world before he dies. Sounds great. However I found it predicable, particularly with the foreshadowing like a knife to the throat. There is also a complete lack of in depth female characters. I realize the fact that the novel is written from the perspective of a 16 year old boy precludes the whole strong, deep, modern woman ideal, but I was still disappointed  The novels saving grace in my opinion is a Norse God brought low and a goth Angel who's enigmatic responses are always humorous. Though the social commentary is worth noting, on par with White Noise, truly. Essentially it IS a Young Adult novel and this is one of the few instances where I wholly agree. Anyone over 16 could skip it and just watch WristCutters: A Love Story which is mostly the same with a MUCH better sound track. 

Second this week was Sharp Objects written by Gillian Flynn

          I loved this book. Basic plot: a mediocre journalist fresh from the psych ward goes back to her home town to report on the murder/abduction of two young girls. Sounds trite and predicable; like any other crime drama you can pick off the shelf. It Isn't. First the mystery is exciting and lasts until the last pages and more than makes up for the slow start. Most of all the thing I wanted to say about Sharp Objects is that it has the most accurate and honest depiction of Self Injury I have ever read in print. It explores the power of family, and what it means to be family. Primarily though, it's about the ability of words to build, preserve and destroy. That words can mean more than actions and how the results of each are irreparable. I liked it so much I already bought another of her books  Dark Places.  

Third this week was The City of Dreaming Books  written by Walter Moers

          Walter Moers books always move slowly. Do not think this means that they aren't worth reading, he just takes his time setting it up. This is the third of the Zamonia series, but feel free to read them in any order (except his newest book which is a direct sequel to this one) because most of them are just random stories all taking place in the same universe. Think of it kind of like Discworld in that regard, feel free to start wherever you want, just read them. This novel is about Books, in a world where books are equivalent to both wealth and civilization. It echoes Borges without feeling redundant. It's a lovely world where anyone who doesn't mind the fact that you have to be 1/3 through the novel before the action really picks up will be greatly enriched by the experience. With the intrigue of Ecco's  Name of the Rose,  and the playfulness of Pratchett you really can't go wrong.

I'm not really one for Religion, but...

This is just going to have to be quick because I'm on my way to work.
To all my Catholic friends, I'm Sorry.
I'm sorry you have to choose between your conscience and your God.
I'm sorry that new Pope Francis believes Gay's are the devils work and that Gays adopting children is nothing but child abuse.

I can't imagine how difficult it is for a devout social progressive to come to terms with the fact that God's 'voice on Earth' is in such extreme dissonance with the way they view the world. To accept the fact that though they/you/I see love between two consenting adults as being a thing of beauty, the Church that means so much to so many is telling the world that it's evil.

I wish each and everyone of you to know that your conscience is worth more than that. Love is worth more than that. What you know to be true in your heart is more powerful than the words of an outdated institution. I hope you can find peace with this sick dichotomy.

Accidental Mitzvah

So my friends girlfriend will be getting out of rehab at the end of the month. I saw him last night and he asked me if I would go shopping with him so that she can ya know not be naked when she gets home, at least not all the time. Normally this is something I would say no to. If you had seen his sad puppy face you would have said yes too.
See the thing is I like doing things for people. I like being known as someone people can count on. Really spending the day at the mall with a guy I used to work with buying clothes for his girlfriend is not a big deal, it's not even difficult. At most it is a mildly inconvenient thing I have to do for someone who really needs me.
That said I am terribly lazy. I haven't even gone shopping for myself in a proper store in over a year. I prefer ordering things online and then getting mad when they don't fit. And so my reticence has a name and it is sloth.
Alas and Alack dear internet stalkers I believe it may be time for me to play archaeologist, dig deep, and un-bury my inner fashionista (assuming I have one).

Retrospective

So my 10 Year High School Reunion is coming up. I graduated a year early so really all my friends are class of 2004. When we speak of all the people who won't be there I keep wanting to mention people who weren't in our class. Like the girl I ate lunch with, and the guy who taught me how to Ollie who actually ended up killing her. They were starting a family and instead of making a family made an orphan.
Like the family who were murdered down the street from my old manager. She didn't believe me when I told her that the mother used to be my babysitter. That the father came to see me at work the day before he died asking if I could loan him three grand or knew where he could get drugs. This does not make me think less of them. If anything it reminds me of how strong the people I've known have been. It reminds me of how much they had to overcome and how so few have managed to do it.
It takes so much to, not just walk away, but to never look back. When it comes down to it we are all Lot's Wife, we all want nothing more than the opportunity to look over our shoulders and see what has happened to those we've left behind. Looking back does not condemn us to inaction. It merely requires that we acknowledge where we've come from.

Intro.

This is midnight (7:30am) drunk inspiration. I have nothing new to offer any of you, but I'm going to try this anyway. I'm not sure if we can all do better, or when you should admit your efforts have been thus far wasted, but it's all we have and all we are.

I drink too much and love crime dramas and police procedural's. I have a job that incites me with rage and apathy alternately in equal measure. I'm proud of the fact that I read more in a year than most people do in a lifetime, even though the books I read aren't particularly enlightening or literary. I am 26 and I still believe I can change the world. I may be foolish. I may be selfish. I am at times absurdly stupid for a college educated working class female.

I can't hate you if you don't let me.