So here's my first short story kiddies, more personal CRAP to follow. Just a reminder, always looking for contributors, or at least some comments. Ash$ says's what up!
SEAT 17F
Her glasses were great. Big, bold, and black, and she never removed them on our entire three hour flight. Her hair was dark and wild, and poked out sporadically from her hood. It was hard to tell if her locks were brown or black without freaking the poor dear out by staring. She was sitting in her seat like there were flesh eating piranhas swimming below. She wasn't very big, but it was still somewhat amazing to see her fit her entire frame, feets and all, into an airline seat. At this point she began tearing pieces of the "free" magazine into tiny bits, oh so quietly, and discreetly. It was hard to tell if she was 17 or 27, but I could tell she was soft by the way she cleared her throat. Her toes were pink as if to match the bandana tied round her wrist. Seventeen you say, well you're probably correct, afterall her jacket was an army green eskimo style parka with the faux fur framing her masked identity with ease. She was a nervous wreck, or so it seemed. Maybe she's just full of energy, or she's totally spun, or perhaps horny as hell. "K<3R" was self tattooed with an erasable pen on the web between her left thumb and forefinger, which was why I thought she might be feeling the all too familiar pain of young despondent love. She had a tiny piece of string of which she incessantly wrapped and unwrapped round the digits of her lateral appendage until the little bit turned up as a large tangle of yarn which, perhaps, I just didn't notice before. She then began to wind the yarn into a brilliantly colored orb. Why was I fascinated with a ball of string? It's the not the string you say? Well, you may be on to something, I'll let you know.
I had not seen her in the airport, you know the type, it's like she crawled out of the overhead bin just before take off. Dark and sweet are things that make me think. Elusive in every way, and quite possibly the fact of the matter. This may be where I've gone awry in the past. I may have led myself to the bitch before when what I truly desired was the shy and quiet one who holds her secrets so tightly that even she has forgotten them herself. What are they and why do I care? Is it the game, the chase, or the girl? It seems strannge now that I didn't even notice the screaming child in the next row over because I was so captivated by the one I never met eyes with, and maybe that's just it. It's a mystery. You see, interesting types have always got my attention, but why? Was she really mysterious and interesting or were her clothes and body language helping her to play the role of a lifetime?
Is fantasy part of fantastic, or is that one of those things I shouldn't concern myself with? So maybe she's 27 because it appear's that she's turning those little "quiet" pieces of magazine into magic bindi's. Probably not, it's hard to tell. Got her! She's an artist, knew it all along. Right. She has musically transformed the bindi's into a collage of sorts and as far as art galleries at 30,00 feet go, I say her piece is good. It's hard to make ou,t but It must have something to do with that self impressed tattoo. I felt for her, for I had been there before, so punch drunk in some kind of love that nothing in the world would set my mind at ease. It has occurred to me now however, that I am most likely projecting who I want here to be.
Why do I want her to be this way? Is it to know that I am not the only one in the depths of my mind that is over analitical? I try to take a deep breath, but the faint scent of honey has my medulla fixated once again.
It's these awkward little bugs that tend to drive me wild. I want to say something to console her, to let her know that she is not alone in the universe, that there is someone in the seat right next to her that feels what she feels, that knows what it's like to to experience the pain. I try to think of a smalll gesture or sign I can giv e because I realize how I feel when some stranger speaks to me, especially on a plane.
And so I sit, not saying a word, At this point my thoughts turn to me and trying to get all of this fancy right out of my head. It's time to return my seat to the full upright position, and prepare for landing. I draw a correlation here. My life, my dreams, or flights of fancy, can be thought of as a three hour tour. I get up in the clouds and wonder, speculate, and worry. It's up in the cloudy reaches of my mind that I am able to dissipate these fears, but the longing remains. Upon touch down I am relaxed, and I feel as if I've grown a little. A little older, a touch wiser,a smidge softer, and the thing that puts me to rest is the realization that I am the girl in 17F. At least at 30,000 feet.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Friday, November 18, 2005
In an effort to get to the most recent writings of miss Huckleberry Tea I am posting the last three stories from the archives. Please read and comment with what you think. I'll have a short story that is basically CRAP up soon here after. Enjoy.
HUMBLY HUMAN
I am humbled by my capacity for anger. And I have never been the angry type. I have always been slow to anger and quick to let things go. But not this. This thing that happened has left this inexplicably persistent emotion that boils somewhere below the surface, just deep enough that I don’t see or feel it. The other day, without warning or provocation, it attacked, like a bird of prey. That is how I know its there. And I don’t like it.
I pride myself in being calm, rational and generally unaffected by things going on around me, or even things happening to me. And I have tried to deal with this issue in my usual peaceful and “everything happens for a reason” manner. I considered my words carefully and spoke with honesty and kindness, in as much as they could co-exist, to all who were involved. I had, I thought, succeeded in making the best of a difficult situation. But with a numbing of the senses and a casting off of inhibitions, the repressed feelings lurking below struck hard and fast. Like sharp arrows, the words shot out of my mouth and a physical rage surged through my body.
A sharp mind breeds a sharp tongue, without a doubt. But my words are almost always kept in check by a peaceful nature and a heart that knows better. I had no idea that this was inside of me.
And so I am reminded of my humanity. My actions that night hurt me worse than the person to whom they were directed. I was forced to face that fact that I cannot always face the world with a façade of emotional perfection. And I have to face the simple truth: I was hurt, I am hurt. Not hurt in a principled, self-righteous way; the explanation of which I have been trying to convince myself, but just plain hurt, in a vulnerable human way. And that is where this anger comes from.
I was betrayed and deceived and treated with far less respect than I deserved. My trust was taken advantage of. My friendship warranted much better behavior and complete forthrightness. That friendship, to which I was wholly devoted, was treated as disposable and insignificant. These things are certainly true and my principle driven argument on these facts can not be disputed nor can the behavior be justified. But anger does not come from principle. Anger comes from hurt. And I was hurt by someone that I care about. Hurt by someone that I love, by someone who knows my fallible human self. There is no way to avoid that truth, believe me, I have tried.
What happened was for the best, true. I am better off and much happier now, true. No part of this situation is my fault, true. I deserve much better, true. I am over the heartbreak and have been for some time, true. And I was hurt by someone that I care about. True.
The anger may be gone, I am not really sure. I don’t feel it and cannot really even conger any up if I try. Maybe it just took one unguarded moment to escape from my insides. Or maybe it will take time to slowly dissipate, working its way out through various outlets. Who knows how the heart works? I know for sure that I have tried and I cannot control mine. I have been humbled by my humanity.
IS BETRAYAL THE NEW BLACK?
I was informed last night that my recent brush with betrayal is actually a bit worse than I was previously led to believe. I’m not sure when the deceit stopped being hurtful and started being funny, but thankfully it happened some time ago, because the waterfall of truth pouring from Spring’s melting lies just keeps getting funnier.
While chatting with someone who did not know who my ex was, I said something that apparently clued him in, and I watched his eyes suddenly widen with epiphanic realization, “Oh, your that girl whose boyfriend was cheating on you with your friend. And everyone knew about it except you. And it started when you blew out your knee and had surgery?”
I laughed and answered with a smile, “Yeah, that’s me.”
Walking down the street with a friend the other day we contemplated and laughed about the casual relationship so many people seem to have with the truth these days. And moreover, we wondered why loving and lying so often go hand in hand. As we walked past some of Aspen’s more fashion forward clothiers, I glanced at a particularly bizarre ensemble and quipped, “Well maybe betrayal is the new black.”
One of my best friends, Ashley, told me yesterday not to fall in love for a while- so that I wouldn’t get hurt again anytime soon. I laughed and thanked her for the vote of confidence, but told her that I just don’t work that way. She said that she knew and loved me for it (but to try anyway). She called while celebrating the official termination of her marriage. The process of getting the divorce lasted longer than the marriage, and she has long since mourned the betrayal and broken dream that the freshly signed legal document represents.
On a less celebratory note, Aspen’s Heartbreak Hotel, a.k.a. my apartment, is occupied once again, by a dear friend at the opposite end of that road. The sadness of love lost and the remorse over promises broken is palpable.
Last night while brushing my teeth before bed I was overcome by a feeling of disorientation; I wondered if true, everlasting love was even possible any more. Was my entire life’s paradigm resting on a foundation of sand? Are people bound to betray, disappoint, fall short or simply lose interest and fall out of love?
Spit. Rinse.
I looked myself in the eyes; no way. I’m not buying that. Love may not always be easy, to find or to keep, but I know that it is possible. It has to be. The hope is buried too deep inside of me to be uprooted. I have too much, too much, too much. Too much love to give. Inside this body there is a partner, a lover, a mother, a friend, a companion, and a great many other things. And there is too much love to keep inside.
So I guess that means I will keep kissing frogs. I will give friendship and trust freely and I will love with out abandon. I will lavish those that I love with everything that I have to give. I will live without the fear of being hurt, because that is the only way that I know how to live. I will dive in head first and let you know how the water is, even if I do bump my head at the bottom.
So am I that girl? That girl who believes in soul mates, in love at first sight, in unconditional, till death do us part, make your heart skip a beat, happily ever after love?
Am I that girl?
You better fucking believe I am.
MY WHITE NIGHT
Revelers, dressed in all white, guzzled champagne, mingled and danced to the thumping beat of the bass and to the pounding of their own hearts. The majestic beauty of the mountains outside faded into a star filled black sky brilliant enough to outshine even the “beautiful” people inside, although I doubt that anyone thought to look up. So was the scene, high atop Red Mountain, a night so stunning, so bizarre, it was, as we decreed, the White Night.
The evening, which lasted well into the dawn, was one more exhibition, in an endless series, of Aspen’s fundamental dichotomy: nature’s raw splendor slamming into the contrived expressions of wealth it so conspicuously displays. Millionaires, billionaires, their sparkling trophies, and a sprinkling of jet setting cougars sipped martinis and noshed on lobster along side Aspen’s more beautiful personal trainers, bar backs and cocktail waitresses, while entrepreneurs, notable businessmen and local politicians casually talked business in the corner. A night like many others, in Aspen anyway. So on this night, of all nights, is it possible that I found my white knight?
I saw him walk in, in all white of course, and my whole body relaxed as he hugged me tight and I buried my face in his neck. For a few brief seconds the weight of my world and the weight of my body rested entirely on his. Without thinking I had given myself over, no hesitation, I trusted this person with, well, me. And at that moment I knew. I am in love.
It wasn’t love at first sight those many weeks ago; with my sight focused elsewhere, I wasn’t looking at anyone the night we met. But when I finally opened my eyes and saw him for the first time, I felt something. I didn’t know what it was, but it made my heart flutter and my cheeks blush. And it scared me just enough. The spark, the coy exchanges, the magnetic attraction and the something different quickly took an unexpected turn. Without warning, like a horse headed home, unbridled and driven by natural instinct, the feelings grew stronger, gained momentum and took off. And suddenly it seemed a lot like love.
But how can I know that that’s what this is? For this girl, who wants so badly to believe in the fairy tale, but who certainly knows better, I have to wonder: How do you know when it is truly love and not just your heart playing tricks on you?
Is love being swept off your feet and carried giddily off to bed or is it being lifted up off the ground because you don’t have the strength to stand on your own? Tears of joy are quickly and gingerly wiped away, but are the sad tears absorbed with such gentle understanding? Lip to lip or nose to nose? Body to body or hand in hand? Is it laughter from blissful happiness or laughing together through sorrow? Grand romantic gestures or daily thoughtfulness and generous affection? Wanting to take their breath away with your beauty or knowing that you are loved unconditionally? Love must be all of these things and so much more. It is a feeling and drive as complicated, dynamic and unpredictable and yet unchanging in spirit, simple and pure in its ideals, and inherently shaped by nature’s forces, as Aspen itself.
So how do you know? You don’t. I don’t anyway. But there is a moment when you simply let go, close your eyes, spread your arms wide open and say “love me.”
As the sun rose, once again revealing our town below and the valley beyond, my knight and I sat outside in the dawn’s still quiet, our head-to-toe whites still somehow spotless. We reveled in nature’s tranquil perfection, and in each other, hand in hand, to the sound of our own pounding hearts.
HUMBLY HUMAN
I am humbled by my capacity for anger. And I have never been the angry type. I have always been slow to anger and quick to let things go. But not this. This thing that happened has left this inexplicably persistent emotion that boils somewhere below the surface, just deep enough that I don’t see or feel it. The other day, without warning or provocation, it attacked, like a bird of prey. That is how I know its there. And I don’t like it.
I pride myself in being calm, rational and generally unaffected by things going on around me, or even things happening to me. And I have tried to deal with this issue in my usual peaceful and “everything happens for a reason” manner. I considered my words carefully and spoke with honesty and kindness, in as much as they could co-exist, to all who were involved. I had, I thought, succeeded in making the best of a difficult situation. But with a numbing of the senses and a casting off of inhibitions, the repressed feelings lurking below struck hard and fast. Like sharp arrows, the words shot out of my mouth and a physical rage surged through my body.
A sharp mind breeds a sharp tongue, without a doubt. But my words are almost always kept in check by a peaceful nature and a heart that knows better. I had no idea that this was inside of me.
And so I am reminded of my humanity. My actions that night hurt me worse than the person to whom they were directed. I was forced to face that fact that I cannot always face the world with a façade of emotional perfection. And I have to face the simple truth: I was hurt, I am hurt. Not hurt in a principled, self-righteous way; the explanation of which I have been trying to convince myself, but just plain hurt, in a vulnerable human way. And that is where this anger comes from.
I was betrayed and deceived and treated with far less respect than I deserved. My trust was taken advantage of. My friendship warranted much better behavior and complete forthrightness. That friendship, to which I was wholly devoted, was treated as disposable and insignificant. These things are certainly true and my principle driven argument on these facts can not be disputed nor can the behavior be justified. But anger does not come from principle. Anger comes from hurt. And I was hurt by someone that I care about. Hurt by someone that I love, by someone who knows my fallible human self. There is no way to avoid that truth, believe me, I have tried.
What happened was for the best, true. I am better off and much happier now, true. No part of this situation is my fault, true. I deserve much better, true. I am over the heartbreak and have been for some time, true. And I was hurt by someone that I care about. True.
The anger may be gone, I am not really sure. I don’t feel it and cannot really even conger any up if I try. Maybe it just took one unguarded moment to escape from my insides. Or maybe it will take time to slowly dissipate, working its way out through various outlets. Who knows how the heart works? I know for sure that I have tried and I cannot control mine. I have been humbled by my humanity.
IS BETRAYAL THE NEW BLACK?
I was informed last night that my recent brush with betrayal is actually a bit worse than I was previously led to believe. I’m not sure when the deceit stopped being hurtful and started being funny, but thankfully it happened some time ago, because the waterfall of truth pouring from Spring’s melting lies just keeps getting funnier.
While chatting with someone who did not know who my ex was, I said something that apparently clued him in, and I watched his eyes suddenly widen with epiphanic realization, “Oh, your that girl whose boyfriend was cheating on you with your friend. And everyone knew about it except you. And it started when you blew out your knee and had surgery?”
I laughed and answered with a smile, “Yeah, that’s me.”
Walking down the street with a friend the other day we contemplated and laughed about the casual relationship so many people seem to have with the truth these days. And moreover, we wondered why loving and lying so often go hand in hand. As we walked past some of Aspen’s more fashion forward clothiers, I glanced at a particularly bizarre ensemble and quipped, “Well maybe betrayal is the new black.”
One of my best friends, Ashley, told me yesterday not to fall in love for a while- so that I wouldn’t get hurt again anytime soon. I laughed and thanked her for the vote of confidence, but told her that I just don’t work that way. She said that she knew and loved me for it (but to try anyway). She called while celebrating the official termination of her marriage. The process of getting the divorce lasted longer than the marriage, and she has long since mourned the betrayal and broken dream that the freshly signed legal document represents.
On a less celebratory note, Aspen’s Heartbreak Hotel, a.k.a. my apartment, is occupied once again, by a dear friend at the opposite end of that road. The sadness of love lost and the remorse over promises broken is palpable.
Last night while brushing my teeth before bed I was overcome by a feeling of disorientation; I wondered if true, everlasting love was even possible any more. Was my entire life’s paradigm resting on a foundation of sand? Are people bound to betray, disappoint, fall short or simply lose interest and fall out of love?
Spit. Rinse.
I looked myself in the eyes; no way. I’m not buying that. Love may not always be easy, to find or to keep, but I know that it is possible. It has to be. The hope is buried too deep inside of me to be uprooted. I have too much, too much, too much. Too much love to give. Inside this body there is a partner, a lover, a mother, a friend, a companion, and a great many other things. And there is too much love to keep inside.
So I guess that means I will keep kissing frogs. I will give friendship and trust freely and I will love with out abandon. I will lavish those that I love with everything that I have to give. I will live without the fear of being hurt, because that is the only way that I know how to live. I will dive in head first and let you know how the water is, even if I do bump my head at the bottom.
So am I that girl? That girl who believes in soul mates, in love at first sight, in unconditional, till death do us part, make your heart skip a beat, happily ever after love?
Am I that girl?
You better fucking believe I am.
MY WHITE NIGHT
Revelers, dressed in all white, guzzled champagne, mingled and danced to the thumping beat of the bass and to the pounding of their own hearts. The majestic beauty of the mountains outside faded into a star filled black sky brilliant enough to outshine even the “beautiful” people inside, although I doubt that anyone thought to look up. So was the scene, high atop Red Mountain, a night so stunning, so bizarre, it was, as we decreed, the White Night.
The evening, which lasted well into the dawn, was one more exhibition, in an endless series, of Aspen’s fundamental dichotomy: nature’s raw splendor slamming into the contrived expressions of wealth it so conspicuously displays. Millionaires, billionaires, their sparkling trophies, and a sprinkling of jet setting cougars sipped martinis and noshed on lobster along side Aspen’s more beautiful personal trainers, bar backs and cocktail waitresses, while entrepreneurs, notable businessmen and local politicians casually talked business in the corner. A night like many others, in Aspen anyway. So on this night, of all nights, is it possible that I found my white knight?
I saw him walk in, in all white of course, and my whole body relaxed as he hugged me tight and I buried my face in his neck. For a few brief seconds the weight of my world and the weight of my body rested entirely on his. Without thinking I had given myself over, no hesitation, I trusted this person with, well, me. And at that moment I knew. I am in love.
It wasn’t love at first sight those many weeks ago; with my sight focused elsewhere, I wasn’t looking at anyone the night we met. But when I finally opened my eyes and saw him for the first time, I felt something. I didn’t know what it was, but it made my heart flutter and my cheeks blush. And it scared me just enough. The spark, the coy exchanges, the magnetic attraction and the something different quickly took an unexpected turn. Without warning, like a horse headed home, unbridled and driven by natural instinct, the feelings grew stronger, gained momentum and took off. And suddenly it seemed a lot like love.
But how can I know that that’s what this is? For this girl, who wants so badly to believe in the fairy tale, but who certainly knows better, I have to wonder: How do you know when it is truly love and not just your heart playing tricks on you?
Is love being swept off your feet and carried giddily off to bed or is it being lifted up off the ground because you don’t have the strength to stand on your own? Tears of joy are quickly and gingerly wiped away, but are the sad tears absorbed with such gentle understanding? Lip to lip or nose to nose? Body to body or hand in hand? Is it laughter from blissful happiness or laughing together through sorrow? Grand romantic gestures or daily thoughtfulness and generous affection? Wanting to take their breath away with your beauty or knowing that you are loved unconditionally? Love must be all of these things and so much more. It is a feeling and drive as complicated, dynamic and unpredictable and yet unchanging in spirit, simple and pure in its ideals, and inherently shaped by nature’s forces, as Aspen itself.
So how do you know? You don’t. I don’t anyway. But there is a moment when you simply let go, close your eyes, spread your arms wide open and say “love me.”
As the sun rose, once again revealing our town below and the valley beyond, my knight and I sat outside in the dawn’s still quiet, our head-to-toe whites still somehow spotless. We reveled in nature’s tranquil perfection, and in each other, hand in hand, to the sound of our own pounding hearts.
Monday, November 07, 2005
PLEASE BLEED.
Yeah, that's the dealio yo. I don't know why so stop asking. I 'll try to explain however. This is just how I've been feeling today, like I need to bleed. No it's not some morbid sick and twisted thought, it's just a feeling, so don't freak out. You know in the old days when someone was sick, or diseased they cut them and let them bleed out the bad spirits. Sounds crazy, right? Perhaps they were on to something. What if you could just bleed out the pain, sure it might hurt a bit and you might feel light headed, but don't I feel that way already? Hmmm... well I don't think it would actually work or I may have tried it by now. Tis like however a conversation that I had just recently with lil vin. It was much like tearing apart the sutchers from a nasty and infected wound that has scabbed over but not really healed the way it is supposed to. Supposed to, what an effing concept! What a load of CRAP. Who says what I am supposed to do, or what I am supposed to feel? That's right-ME. So I suppose, supposed to is whatever the hell I want, and since everything I do is my decision, supposed to do is what I want to do in my own life. So that nasty wound that hasn't healed the way it's supposed hasn't healed because it's not supposed to be healed yet. I don't want it to heal yet. I'll keep tearing it apart and bleeding it all night with lil vin for as long as it takes until I get to the point where I feel the wound is healing nicely, or at least nice enough for me. I would like to give it up however to my compatriate for pointing out the fact that my wound is not healing properly, for only a true friend will help you pull out the sutures so you can bleed. Thank you. I'll talk to you soon.
Yeah, that's the dealio yo. I don't know why so stop asking. I 'll try to explain however. This is just how I've been feeling today, like I need to bleed. No it's not some morbid sick and twisted thought, it's just a feeling, so don't freak out. You know in the old days when someone was sick, or diseased they cut them and let them bleed out the bad spirits. Sounds crazy, right? Perhaps they were on to something. What if you could just bleed out the pain, sure it might hurt a bit and you might feel light headed, but don't I feel that way already? Hmmm... well I don't think it would actually work or I may have tried it by now. Tis like however a conversation that I had just recently with lil vin. It was much like tearing apart the sutchers from a nasty and infected wound that has scabbed over but not really healed the way it is supposed to. Supposed to, what an effing concept! What a load of CRAP. Who says what I am supposed to do, or what I am supposed to feel? That's right-ME. So I suppose, supposed to is whatever the hell I want, and since everything I do is my decision, supposed to do is what I want to do in my own life. So that nasty wound that hasn't healed the way it's supposed hasn't healed because it's not supposed to be healed yet. I don't want it to heal yet. I'll keep tearing it apart and bleeding it all night with lil vin for as long as it takes until I get to the point where I feel the wound is healing nicely, or at least nice enough for me. I would like to give it up however to my compatriate for pointing out the fact that my wound is not healing properly, for only a true friend will help you pull out the sutures so you can bleed. Thank you. I'll talk to you soon.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Where do I start? Where does it end?
A lot of shiite has happened recently like I got fired (YAY!) and just a lot of stupid crap like that. Too much to mention everything, so you'll just have to take my word for it. Ahhh yes, Summer 05 will not be soon forgotten. So I am sitting here packing for my trip to Cali, to see the rents, the sis, and the friends. I am really looking forward to it, seeing as I have been in the valley since April. The mountains are great, but shit, they do get a bit closter (sp?) phobic when you are trapped in them for too long. I would like to take this opportunity to give a shout out to the fine folks at the unemployment office, who are still "processing" my claim. Yes, I'm sure it takes 6 weeks to figure out that my rent really is due! Go gov! You guys rock!!! Well, despite the mire of off season the Aspen Saphire did manage to throw a kickin Halloween party. The funny thing about Halloween parties is that you can never tell who anyone is, so I apologize if I grabbed your udder by mistake, I thought I knew that udder! Seriuosly, there was no udder grabbing, proving my point that in the history of Halloween, no guy has ever hooked up while dressed like a girl, unless he brought a girl with him. So needless to say, my fat ass was pregnant Britney for the shebang. It was quite fun, until the drama started, you know who you are, and it was still fun when the drama was over. Puh-leez peeps, enough drama alreads, ko? Good! So let's see here is the partial list of halloween costume accessories that I have found since the party: Britney's baby (not mine, the other Britney), K-Feds Hat, someone's back pack, Stewey Griffin's Head, A sceptor, a cow teat, Dr Phil Good's stethascope, a cereal box that had been stabbed, the phantoms mask, the zombies gloves, Bub's fro, and I am sure there was some other CRAP I forgot to mention. Not a bad collection all in all however. I was offered a job, yesterday at the prestigious Shadow Mountain Lounge at the St. regis, depending on the outcome of the "processing" of my stream, we'll see if I get the job afterall.
I guess things are mostly good, you know take the good with the bad, and all that crap. Thank the lord there is music, for with out it I would explode, implode, or decode. All of which are not my idea of fun. Here's some tunes that have gotten me through the past few. Let me know if you would like to schedule a private listening. I'll be on tour in Cali til the 15th. So if you come across some fabulous Aspen crap, you'll have to e-mail me and let me know. See you on the road...
Death Cab for Cutie-Plans
Depeche Mode-Precious
Kanye West- Late Registration (Thanks Free Spirit!!!)
Bloc Party-Silent Alarm Remixed
Nada Surf-The weight is a gift
Metric-Live it out
Ladytron-Witching Hour
Thievery Corporation-Richest Man in Babylon
Arctic Monkeys-I bet you look good on the dance floor
A lot of shiite has happened recently like I got fired (YAY!) and just a lot of stupid crap like that. Too much to mention everything, so you'll just have to take my word for it. Ahhh yes, Summer 05 will not be soon forgotten. So I am sitting here packing for my trip to Cali, to see the rents, the sis, and the friends. I am really looking forward to it, seeing as I have been in the valley since April. The mountains are great, but shit, they do get a bit closter (sp?) phobic when you are trapped in them for too long. I would like to take this opportunity to give a shout out to the fine folks at the unemployment office, who are still "processing" my claim. Yes, I'm sure it takes 6 weeks to figure out that my rent really is due! Go gov! You guys rock!!! Well, despite the mire of off season the Aspen Saphire did manage to throw a kickin Halloween party. The funny thing about Halloween parties is that you can never tell who anyone is, so I apologize if I grabbed your udder by mistake, I thought I knew that udder! Seriuosly, there was no udder grabbing, proving my point that in the history of Halloween, no guy has ever hooked up while dressed like a girl, unless he brought a girl with him. So needless to say, my fat ass was pregnant Britney for the shebang. It was quite fun, until the drama started, you know who you are, and it was still fun when the drama was over. Puh-leez peeps, enough drama alreads, ko? Good! So let's see here is the partial list of halloween costume accessories that I have found since the party: Britney's baby (not mine, the other Britney), K-Feds Hat, someone's back pack, Stewey Griffin's Head, A sceptor, a cow teat, Dr Phil Good's stethascope, a cereal box that had been stabbed, the phantoms mask, the zombies gloves, Bub's fro, and I am sure there was some other CRAP I forgot to mention. Not a bad collection all in all however. I was offered a job, yesterday at the prestigious Shadow Mountain Lounge at the St. regis, depending on the outcome of the "processing" of my stream, we'll see if I get the job afterall.
I guess things are mostly good, you know take the good with the bad, and all that crap. Thank the lord there is music, for with out it I would explode, implode, or decode. All of which are not my idea of fun. Here's some tunes that have gotten me through the past few. Let me know if you would like to schedule a private listening. I'll be on tour in Cali til the 15th. So if you come across some fabulous Aspen crap, you'll have to e-mail me and let me know. See you on the road...
Death Cab for Cutie-Plans
Depeche Mode-Precious
Kanye West- Late Registration (Thanks Free Spirit!!!)
Bloc Party-Silent Alarm Remixed
Nada Surf-The weight is a gift
Metric-Live it out
Ladytron-Witching Hour
Thievery Corporation-Richest Man in Babylon
Arctic Monkeys-I bet you look good on the dance floor
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