looked you once over

i'm going home, & then to yours.



because this place, right here, sucks.


& there's no place like homes.

tues., july 26th, 2005:


4 days to raft trip.
4 days to dance party.
5 days to no wisdom teeth for k-lee. (you can't say i don't love you.)
6 days to jobless.
<10 days to the highways.


<10 days to tie all loose strings into little bows.
<10 days to write a couple letters, pay a couple debts.




ctrl+alt+delete

too drunk. have to get this all down, before it's gone forever.
(AHAHA... LOOK WHO'S ASHTON KUTCHER ALL BUTTERFLY EFFECT-LIKEXOXO)

fuck.

anyway. stupid gossip about alaskan semi-boyfriends i hear at work leads me to get pretty smashed before close, where upon i received a call at the store from eric & james who were at mulligans or grainey's or some damn shit, & wanted ivy to come to the bars with them, but sure they'd take me instead since she isn't working and you can't call her parents house past 10pm.

scootered under reasonable control down to one of the aforementioned bars, saw klein and stephanie and had an akward beer sitting next to them, alone. "what are you doing here?"
"thought hayes & james would be here."
"they're definitely not here." & "HAPPY 21St BIRTHDAY!!!" i drank that beer in two minutes, then went to that other bar that i mentioned before. weren't there, either, so i took a wrong turn down a one-way past the neurolux, my goal, and there's a six-striped grey & red sweater waving his arms and laughing like motherfucker; "thought you might have moved south, assholes."
i cuss when i'm drunk. bear with me, baby.

get comfy, for an hour, then meander down alleys to smoke POT and stretch by some dumpsters, and carry on a thriving conversation about glaciers all the while, which naturally led to alaska and brian, and a story to testify that his shitass friends deserve to be shot in the head; how B's made 2400 in a week in a half, miraculously; it all summed up to a disbelieving look from Eric containing sheer dissappointment-- "jaime, you know better than that."
exhale.
"why do you keep that company?" still. blank stare.

all i could say is "he's a good person-- he's straight now". silence. "that's all there is in alaska."
he blew up then, and spouted some giant list about all the things that AK brought to mind. salmon. glaciers, again. lights. "canneries." no canaries. and that was the end of that.

pretty pivotal to hear that tonight, of all nights, i think.

we walked out of the alley, where i left my keys on top of the dumpster to spend an hour looking for later, and walked around a few blocks, & come across a dark-skinned feller with a cane.

"that guy's so fucked up," he says, repeatedly, staring us in the eyes, pointing down the street with his cane, and the way he says it sounds like ---
"yeah, god's fucked up," says eric.
"no, that guy's so fucked up. the cops caught his ass. caught his ass on the curb."

eric gave him shit for a while, & james and i giggled a little, till the older man got fed up and said "Look here, i just got back from iraq, fuckers..", pulling up the leg of his grey sweatpants to show us the gauze & bandages on his knee and eric apologizes, said he thought he walked with a cane because he was a drunk, not a vet.
Mike Ebanks is barely lucid, a 10year veteran, grew up in Philly, where he enlisted, then was transferred to Mountain Home then Mexico then Iraq. he's on his way to Seattle now. for some reason, we find out he's catholic, & eric asks him what he thinks about the new pope.
Mr. Ebanks gets defensive, & repetitive; "you'd have to ask my mom about that."
"where's your mother live?"
"philly."

his bus from boise goes to Salt Lake -- cue 30 minute long discussion about Brigham Young and Joe Smith and Abel and Cain.

turned out, mummbly Mike Ebanks is a history major.

had more shit to say than the average person walking downtown.
(Pretty pivotal to hear that tonight, of all nights, i think.)

to dudes walked by while we were closing the mormon jaunt and i said "yeah, YOU TWO look like mormons." turns out both of them were raised so, and one of them happened to have weed on him and let it be known, so good old Mike Ebanks followed them instantly in the direction of the bus station.


i called brian, afterwards. 4:00 in the morning, sitting on the seat of my scooter and accusing him, and finding out then was the last time i'd really talk to him in a while--

some lumps are harder to swallow than others, i guess.


he promised he'd write me. i told him i didn't believe him. and are those always the last things to be said?

dear ,

i miss you enough to scream sometimes, or here and there throughout the day, but so far have smashed & compressed the noise down into a little sigh. and when i said i missed your smile, it wasn't just some cheesy gesture in a phrase, i was fucking serious, because that smile happened in slow bursts when your eyes fell upon my face, and that was all the reassurance i really needed from you.
but that's a lie,
because i needed every bit of you allatonce and i couldn't breathe when you told me about reaching out for me in the night, half-sleeping, then being very awake with the realization that no one was there,
because i get that feeling twenty times a day.
we'll call you lucky.

and i hope


that you aren't humoring me just because the smallest part of you cares about being the one to make me cry. again.
you aren't being let down slowly when you realize you're being set down slowly.
and i don't know if you doubt we'll ever see eachother again, because i thought i knew that we would, and here you are-- sitting on the fence between the chainlink of a paradox, and
i
hope so so so hard that you don't one day (again?) reduce this to "i was in love with being in love", because if that's all there is, mincing words that are already too fucking small to depict what they symbolize to act as a reset button .. what is there?


you just probably don't even know yourself if you're cutting me loose or keeping me close as you possibly can. it's ok, baby. 'cause i don't know either.


"it's like looking into a mirror, isn't it?" i love you.

we had guessed this at its worst going into it. she's a strange walk, destiny.


forever until
-jaime




love -is- a parrot, dennis.

download Rahzel's "if your girl only knew". it's super neat.

or rent "Sunset Story", if you'd prefer little old ladies to hiphop as your stimuli. me, i like to mix it up.


slowly, i'm rebuilding.
might go out for drinks tonight with 'Face..


gave my mother some mix cds for her birthday. i'm ready to devour some shortcake with blackberries
and strawberries
and raspberries
and blueberries that i will pick out and throw into the tomato bushes

and ice cream.

i'm excited for my going away (gothic) dance party. there's only so often you can wear a party dress, and dance a lot to New Order and the "Move THIS!" mix. pictures, pictures!


so, you think you're buddhist? i found the cutest darn built to spill shirt on ebay last night.

ohmygodimissmykittiessomuch that my stomach kind of hurts.

we're all trying very, very hard to disappear, to send-off. the balance hinged on my leaving was what kept our little relationship level, but now he's had the offer of a free ticket to Alaska, a place to stay, a job promising "o, ho.. $50G's the first month" (no matter all he's told me about this buddy is that he's a pathological liar), and a chance to leave before i do.


i think this makes things better, cutting the wait till September down to mere days.


spoke with his little sister, who's my age, for drunken minutes during the distance from The Pocket to bedtime. sarah said she overheard the funniest conversation between B & his friends a week ago, talking about when and where i was leaving. "I told you that you were gonna miss her too much, man. You should have backed out when you had the chance." she & i didn't think gents had these conversations.



i don't know who he is. i mean i know him all too well, more than he thinks, but i don't know who he is in relation to who i am. you know? i could look at him and say, sure, yep, that's brian and look at his funny little ears and that crooked painful smile and his limp and his cane and he's grinning with his slightly skewed eye and winking and i know half of what he's thinking. but who he is to me... time has stunted this... or shot us so far past the point we should sensibly be, emotionally, that we're just living through this with an execution date looming on the horizon and honestly nothing to lose but proximity and affection and the feeling of saying nothing to each other. i hate good-byes. and good boys. and could-have-beens.


and i'm dwelling on having to leave brian to avoid the notion that i'm going to have to part ways with every single motherfucker that i love in this city.


i'm afraid to be jobless, and lonely, and forgotten. but this is what it's all about.

huh:
for the first time in over a year in a half, i have my own little computer again.


it's almost frightening. more to follow.

i feel.

like my vocal cords have been pulled in painful shreds from my throat by a crow's claw while he pecked at the sleep in the corners of my eyes.


i feel.

like draining three days' supply of liquid codeine into that open wound and getting so. fucking. drunk. that i can't look at anything in retrospect, ever, ever again.



i wish b had left me with something to hate him for.

HEY! i love you!

"if it's nice, we should drop the top through the park, dear."


"grassy knoll" is every ounce as poetic as "cellar door".

ivy said the boy from the flower shop came in to work last night, finally, and was super plastered. he sat down right next to her at the bar, asked her how she was. when he found out she worked there, he asked if she knew me.

by then, she'd figured out who he was, and said simply "yeah, jaime ROCKS".


he spent the rest of the hour mindlessly confessing his fear of me, while simultaneously repeating "i have nothing to offer her", and trying to sell Courtney (who goes to the Boise Bible College) on the idea that Jesus Christ smoked a lot of herb.

*eyebrow*


god DAMN. i don't know how i end up here.


i guess he leaves in a couple weeks. embarrassment has a shelf life that drags on and on and on.

everyone rushes back at once. everyone apologizes in the same hour. and i am a very hungry caterpillar.


i work too much, yet want a second job?
i reward myself with compulsive purchases of chronic & soft clothes.
i need to see more good shows. until then, we be rockin' hos.

the other night i stepped outside for a smoke and the second the front door shut, justin rattled off a freestyle about him & 'passout' (his own name for Jackie O.) getting reparations, for a good two minutes at least. that's when he's most impressive. it will be so strange not to see him every single day, once i make the move to washington. to put it simply, he's like a brother.

taylor, i really want you & jussie to do a little battle at my birthday party. he doesn't think you've got it in you.


kayleigh. answer your damn phone.
Orion does a really funny impression of Sleater Kinney. his voice hits the same pitches, even.


oh, and put another tally down for "you look like that chick that won America's Next Top Model." LLame.

i need to go home. i have to be back in this building in 9 hours.

let the sunshine in.
let. the sun shine in. the sun. shine. in.
(baby slow down, just take your time, you & me gonnabe here for awhile, okay)

yup. still here. still the same old g.

reading the satanic verses.

sitting with my hands in my lap until 5 am, making a list and checking it twice, trying not to forget to curse you and you for flower shop boys. "fuck, girl. you need to learn how to knit."

fucking sister fuckers. it's funny what pops up.


i'm getting old.


tonight, i fold.

OH. BUT.

everything will be woolly in the world once Kayleigh comes home.

ten days.



words can not express. seriously k-luv, i've missed you SO. sososomuch. i missed you in too many places, too many times. and no more will i have to resort to using justin as a girlfriend for bitching about the fellows and hos to. in ten days, it's all you.

one day, the female planets will be aligned, the cadets in service and all together again, and we'll... do fun things some more. fuck yeah.

she said she wants to be a dancer.
..... // can anybody tell me?


i have the angry half of my heart set on the cottage on Dot St.

the angry half, because it stands unperturbed and fiery and stubborn, burns all the night and pays the electric bill.

the angry half, because that's the bigger half, dontyouknow.


i mean, come on. Jaime & Justin on Dot St., literally right next door to the train depot. it apparently has pretty landscaping, so we won't be tempted to leave broken armchairs displayed in the front lawn.

or maybe. (shoutout to "Maybe", R.I.P. <3)


i just don't know what to do anymore. i can't get past "return movies" on the list, because Blockbuster doesn't have late fees any longer so what's the use?

i got a digital camera for christmas. and a pretty little printer robot to develop them in the comfort and privacy of. my. own. home. no more Albertson's taking secret duplicates of all the pictures of me naked with my bong and unregistered weaponry.


sunday's on the phone to monday..

hmmm.. ramble, ramble, ramble, & ramble ON. i think heidi's coming back tonight, but i probably won't see her for two weeks anyway, because she has a beast of a (country bumpkin) boyfriend who, if he doesn't have her locked in his castle on Linda Vista, whisks her away to fucking Pheonix for no good reason. butt-HURT. har, har -- only kidding, kiddo.


let me introduce you to the white widow.

there's no telling what she'll do next. // & "ain't no telling what he's after."


no new year's eve shindigs. here i am, babysitting. relaxing on a leather sofa, playing with another kitten, eating all the wheat thins and fruit snacks i can find.

|and there's a new years bowl in the basement|.


i'm hoping for only the best, whatever the hell that is.


countdown.


i wish i could wake sage up.

another merry-day -- not so much to say.
i know, i know. i really just wanted to post with this beautiful new icon.
ladies, he's single. & independently wealthy.

kayleigh, you're jealous.

like the jealous sound is jealous of interPOOL.


i wish people would stop sending me christmas cards that blatantly say they won't be expecting one in return. whatever happened to the element of surprise?

and whatever happened to Gilbert Grape?

"sweet nothings, sweet nothings" indeed.


i miss the grandfather i never knew.

mother FUCKER.


oh, man. i've probably lost AT LEAST 16 fl. oz. of blood out my left forefinger.

i was minding my own business, doing my own damn job, dicing some cute though slightly too green tomatoes and BAM! no more finger pad. & you fucking bet i spent the remaining four hours of my shift bitching mercilessly.


now i know one tenth of what Kevin Spacey's character in Se7en felt, psychosis & all.

"do you need stitches?"
"UHM WHY DON'T I rip all five of these bloody bandaids off my finger, & you could show me where exactly you'd put stitches, if you were a doctor. oh, where? that's right. get me a goddamn maxi pad, & some electrical tape."


WOO.

i'd like to raise a glass to all the Dodge Omni's in our fine democracy. & i'd like you to join me.

& i'll raise another glass to the hope that someday, some small but endowed, timid yet wealthy man will make me his blushing bride. <3 & i'll have the first ever wedding cake that doesn't taste like germicidal bleach.