the crime comes last of all

an exercise in blurring the truth.

Friday, April 14, 2006

take you to the backseat, run it like a track meet.

Girls are stupid. Girls are just as stupid as boys, which is disappointing and frustrating. What kind of girl invites a girl over, acts friendly and chummy while her guest basically throws herself at her, and then later sends an instant message that she "totally would have kissed her." With no but! A stupid girl, that's who.

There is always a but. There must have been a but, because if she would have kissed her, but didn't, there must have been a reason. And. . .it's frustrating mostly because when she goes over to a girl's house, a girl she's kissed in the recent past, she has certain expectations. Such as kissing, maybe with tongue. Possibly groping.

So. Girls are definitely stupid, and her roommate being passive-aggressive about the cleanliness of the kitchen because he decided to invite his girl-crush over for supper and is embarrassed about the mess despite the fact that really, it's always messy? Totally not helping.

Friday, March 10, 2006

yeah, yeah, yeah. no, no, no.

There are times when it's so easy. When everything just falls out in a companionable discourse, and helps her remember why they were ever friends. Those times are in groups, those times are what helps her rein herself in when they're alone together. When it's awkward, and touchy, and she feels threatened and vulnerable because the conversation makes her feel trapped. She feels like a certain manner of speaking is being forced upon her: a specific, cold-logic way of carefully laying down each thought in a meticulously articulated fashion instead of just talking dammit, and hoping there'll be an understanding because they're friends and they've done nothing but talk to each other for two years.

In her mind there is a clear, black, Sharpie-thick line between the prepared reasoning of a debate, and a jovial argument between friends. One is torturous, one is knock-down drag-out harping over specific words and turns of phrase. The other is light, relaxing, talking about issues that demand impassioned speech but letting little fallacies and syllogisms slide because it's all for the fun of being able to toss points back and forth. There isn't a need for reasoned arguments, because the argument is being crystallized and solidified as one speaks.

She can't seem to convey the idea that one's an activity she hates that one performs in a structured setting, and the other is a way to unwind.

The Vanity Project - Wilted Rose

Monday, January 30, 2006

we hear he is a whiz of a wiz, if ever a wiz there was.

She does not consider herself a fearful person. She's not scared of many things, in the typical sense. Snakes are kind of cool, she's totally okay with the sqashing and removal of any species of non-poisonous insect, and she's never seen what the fuss was about with mice or rats. Still, there is a fairly broad list that encompasses Hobbies That She Finds Vaguely Unsettling. Perhaps a more apt title would be, Hobbies That Are Okay Under Most Circumstances, But Provide Room For Enough Disturbing Speculation That She'd Just Rather Not, Please, And She'll Wait Here Until You're Done If That's Alright.

One of these hobbies is boating.

Sunday, January 08, 2006

i want, i want charles in charge of me.

She is at least proud of herself for her admirably restrained conduct this weekend. I wish I could quit you, with your pretty Metis eyes. (Oh, good grief.) If there were a kiss, it would be electric, from the sheer force of the waiting and the hours logged and times she's imagined that stomach, the curve of those breasts.

There's a postsecret, with writing that could be yours and drawings that mimic your hand. You know what? She wishes you were a lesbian, too.

Thursday, January 05, 2006

in vienna in a fugue state working on a thing

Asking questions to which you already know the answers, to prolong the conversation. To interact that five minutes more. To lean over in the theatre and whisper a joke to one another, to hear the quiet laugh in the darkness.

Rhett Miller - Our Love