What is your fatal flaw?

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I drove 45 minutes to the mall yesterday and treated myself to new black Levi’s, black tights, that chambray shirt with a lacy back, a lacy mint dress, two lacy shirts, a new bra, and black shoes…all mostly for work. I have to be presentable, you see.

That drive was the longest amount of time I was in the car since I drove 12+ hours to move here in February. It helps me clear my mind and keep perspective. There’s something about moving and singing along really terribly to music so loud your rear view mirror trembles.

I finally know my way around the city.

Everything I’m writing now (on my iPhone, like a fool) is nonsense.

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This is Too Honest and Humiliating but Right Now I Don’t Care

  1. I missed you when you were far away from me
  2. and I miss you now, with your back facing my front
  3. you don’t want me to touch you
  4. that is all I ever want to do
  5. I destroy everything that I love
  6. I wish someone would fight for my shitty self
  7. I don’t know how to care without caring too much
  8. I don’t know how to want someone and not need them
  9. I want to figure out these things
  10. I cry at times that never make sense
  11. I keep people around who don’t treat me very well
  12. I don’t act in a way that I should be treated very well
  13. When I’m sad, I drink too much, then feel worse
  14. I don’t know what I am doing
  15. I had two cats but now I don’t anymore
  16. I miss them and wish I could hang out with them still
  17. They would hold me when you refuse to
  18. I could fall asleep to the white noise of their purring
  19. It felt so nice to be needed
  20. I wish that you needed me like I want you

So, You Didn’t Get What You Wanted / Happy Birthday, Jack Kerouac

Since it’s Jackie K’s big ol’ b-day, here are a few of his tips from Belief and Technique for Modern Prose:

19. Accept loss forever

28. Composing wild, undisciplined, pure, coming in from under, crazier the better

and

29. You’re a Genius all the time

I heard back about my play last night. I am not one of the four finalists that are invited to the Kennedy Center to have their plays read and participate in workshops, etc. I said I wouldn’t get my hopes up, but I kind of did… obviously, it was an exciting event to think about. It definitely stings.

I take rejections from online publications with names that I like (I tend to submit places that have funny names, so judge me) with a bit more grace than this, perhaps. The fact is: I really like that ten-minute play. It’s one of the few things I’ve written that I’m really proud of, and the subject material hits so close to home. Baby edit: I was one of sixteen in the country, so that still feels pretty good.

I have to go to work and answer telephones (hopefully randomly speak to a celebrity from my childhood like I did my last shift) and smile for four hours until my face hurts. Did you know that you can hear a smile over the phone? It’s true.

Now that going to the Kennedy Center isn’t in my plans, I have to figure out something new. I will probably submit my play to a theater and hope it gets performed. I’m still waiting to hear back on a few internship possibilities.

In happier news 3 more of my poems found a home somewhere. I’ll provide the link as soon  as they go up.

Here are some photos from frolicking around Baltimore:

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Sippin’ & bitin’ with my dude. Look, it’s my face on my blog for the first time!

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Spring is coming!

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Aaand I’ve been stealing my boyfriend’s t-shirts because I hate everything I own?

END OF MOPE-SESH.

Hope you all have a sunny day and talk to celebrities on the telephone. xx

Hi / I’m here / I’m alive / Sorry don’t hate me

I received a paycheck and finished training since my last post. You are reading a working woman’s blog. I am now a front of house guest liason slash host slash receptionist.

THE SCENE: me (little, blonde, pale) in a navy blue shirt dress that drapes off of my fragile bones, black flats, and grey striped tights. All around me: swankier types, all much taller than I. I greet them in the hallway as they hang up their coats. I squeak, “Hello! Welcome! How are you! May I check you in! Reservations tonight?” in my pseudo-assertive voice. I do so. I guide them to their table, giggling along the way. I ask them about sparkling water. I smile all night until my face hurts. I drink a glass of champagne and then, I go home.

It’s been wonderful getting out of the house and talking to strangers. It makes me want to write more and it makes me cherish my alone time (which, as I said, in a house of 10 people… is few and far between).

Though I haven’t been furiously writing this last week, I am currently in the middle of Everything is Illuminated… and I dig it. I’ve been taking my time reading it because of this fact. I am a notoriously fast reader. I saw the film years ago, but a re-viewing will take place once I complete it.

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Which brings me to my next topic of Guys Who Talk to Me in Coffee-shops When, Like, I’d Rather They Didn’t

THE SCENE: I’m wearing that same damn dress with those same damn tights. I’m sitting at a tall, skinny table that seats 8 people. In order to not appear incredibly awkward (or creepy) I stare straight down (through?) the pages of my book or at my perfectly crafted latte, but the man who sits down in the empty seat next to mine still for whatever god-awful reason asks, “How’s the book going?”

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This is friendly. I understand. I’m not a complete wench. I oftentimes ask strangers what they’re reading just because I’m an English nerd and I sincerely wonder, but… how… is it going? I wanted to say, “Er. Well, I’m reading it,” but instead I made some sort of tiny talk about how Jonathan Safran Foer is, allegedly, an asshole. This comment  prompts an older gentlemen to look straight into my eyes from above his silver Macbook Pro and we talk about Ernest Hemingway for a bit, since Ernest Hemingway is everyone’s #1 asshole author response. I then discuss how I can appreciate the genius of an artist who is an asshole, that I regularly expect it, but I just like it when authors are good people. Like Harper Lee.

I never delved into the fact that this sentimentality is based upon my creative writing degree and if I ever do anything that is worth a damn, that is published on paper, I would want people to say, “Oh, she was hilarious! Charming! Warm! And, if I may be so brazen, damn attractive!”

In closing:

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I’m working!

The Fat City Review, How to Make Roses Give Up Their Thorns

The Fat City Review, How to Make Roses Give Up Their Thorns

Another poem on the Interwebs!

The training process at my new job has been intense, so far I have shadowed pastry chefs, expeditors, and servers. This morning I went to a coffee cupping! These are all things I will write about in excruciating detail, mostly for Courtney and Tyler whom reminded me to keep this thingie going.

Tonight I will be training on phones from 4:30-9:30pm.

I have to say things like, “fully committed” instead of “fully booked.”
This is the big time, guys.

(Im)patiently Waiting

To hear back about:

  • My play
  • Poems submitted to online/print publications
  • Two internships

Sometimes I wish the Internet didn’t exist. I have Gmail on my iPhone and yet… I still check for emails 30759283957832957295723 times a day!

Oh, how romantic the days of running outside to the mailbox/to greet the mailman must have been.

You knew if you had mail, you knew if you didn’t. I could get information about any of these things at any time of day! It’s exhausting.

This, aside from training at my new schmoozy restaurant gig, is what has been occupying my time as of late. Also, making mediocre dinners until I can drag myself to the grocery store. Also, also hearing my boyfriend and his brother holler at the TV while they play Super Smash Bros. on N64.

It’s a glamorous life I lead.