Archive for November, 2007

The Castle

Posted in adventure, family, life, relationships, thanksgiving, Uncategorized on November 23, 2007 by staticity

The place where the lights went out.  Deep into the fresh air with electric stars and fields of night time adventure.

I arrived in town at my grandmother’s house on Thanksgiving. Greeted by the heavy-New York accent my uncle defines.  The skinniest girl (being his daughter) was pointed out fairly early into the conversation. New York Accent included.

Tradition is very important in our family. Not in a traditional sense though. A few good qualities passed along include:

 Snorting when we laugh.

Not being able to carry a tune.  

Talking with our hands. 

Perhaps the most shamed upon would be smoking. Every woman in the family excepting the most pure, smoked cigarettes. And no one wanted to be that pure except one person. Our Princess. Queen is what really fits her, but Mom already called that title.

The Princess is the one we all look at with hope for ourselves. A healthy dose of jealousy. A huge amount of respect. And a giant feeling of awe. Everyone has one in their family, our’s is my younger cousin, Sarah.

When I arrived at my Aunts house Tuesday morning, she immediately informed of the news. Thankfully the tumor was ”normal” and sarah was not going to die.  Then, the religious part.

Sarah had found a church group.

Religion is not a big ‘to-do’ in my family. In fact, it’s more of an opposite tradition, (a threat some might go so far to say)  so when Sarah joined the church group, she was definitely the first we had heard of. One of us? Going to one of those? Don’t be silly. We’re too strong for that stuff. Give us a pack of cigarettes and let’s call it a night.

As the week progressed, I met a friend of hers from the church group. Intrigued, I stayed to watch this turn of events. Anyone that could be involved with the church had to be at least watched for a little bit. (just to make sure nothing strange was going on here.) I curiously gawked as a small boy of probably sixteen, pulled out a collective bout of James Bond knowledge. (Accompanied by a video)

Though the conversation seemed a bit forced (mostly from my end) he was so tame, I couldn’t find a thing wrong with him.  Fun? Camping on a retreat. I wouldn’t even have the heart to ask him if he had used drugs.  Not to say I didn’t try.

I caught myself wondering if this was real. Could someone really be that generally nice? Then I looked over at Sarah who was laughing hysterically at the side comments to James Bond.  Oh yeah. I guess he could be.

I decided to lay low after invading her movie time with a boy. A boy. She shouldn’t be seeing Boy’s alone.  Maybe I shouldn’t have intruded in the first place, but you never can be too sure with the strong opinionated type.

 As we sat down to Thanksgiving dinner, Sarah and I faced the skinny-model looking cousin, but were too side tracked with Aunt Deborah’s snorting laugh and Uncle Mark’s flamboiant hand gestures to really notice. 

“Should we tell her about our excitement?” Deborah asked Sarah. Sarah didn’t seem to know what excitement had happened.

“Well…. Sarah was just napping there during lunch at school when all of the sudden someone tried to wake her up and she just wouldn’t come to. So they called the principal, he couldn’t wake her. They called the police. They couldn’t wake her…”

I look toward Sarah, to see if she’s at all nervous about the conversation, but like some sort of strange miracle, she is laughing.

“I named it Teddy the Tumor.”

Oh my dear God.

I couldn’t help snorting when I heard it. I wanted to laugh harder, but I was trying so hard to keep it in.  Why should I keep it in? It struck me why I didn’t like the religious idea. No way would I want to lose Sarah to anything that could be stronger than our family. That wasn’t going to happen. Teddy and I were going to be just fine.  

At the risk of sounding cheezy, I knew I wasn’t in the dark anymore.


The Hide Out

Posted in adventure, distant, flowers, insanity, interactions, life, philly, relationships, shower with tags , , , , , , , on November 15, 2007 by staticity

nine p.m.

Stripped. Into the shower with the fluffy white tissue sponge that reminds me of a flower.  Organic soap.  Baby shampoo- not used. I turned one of the knobs in the wrong direction and couldn’t figure out which knob was the hot and which one made it colder. Low spray until someone flushed a toilet.  Is fifteen minutes too long for a shower? I thought about twenty, I tried about ten.

The window facing the shower was steamed up so no one could see (or at least I hoped it that way.)  As usual, just as I finish hooking my bra, someone barges in. I scream. It’s Stephanie.

oh’s okay,I didn’t know it was you.

Lipstick is pressed onto my face. I should really remove my makeup at night. Acne never felt so painful.

She giggles, says it’s fine and closes the door on her way out.

wait.come back.I miss you and I didn’t even know you.

I can hear her loud laughter and playful screaming at Eric from the next room. “You would PUNCH your girlfriend?” The way she says it makes it seem like ‘gurrlfriend’ instead. I smile hearing them laugh as the wall is bounced against.  I knock anyway. My excuse is to let Stephanie know I’m out of the shower. No answer.

The flowers I bought Nic didn’t last too long. There was a show in the basement and one rose fell out of the vase and seemed limply on it’s way into death. I hung it upside down to dry on Niccolo’s ceiling pipe. Today it was on the ground. The greenery was still hung on the pipe, the rose had fallen plump to the floor.  I picked the petals off and scattered them over his carpet.  I feel a little like Mrs. Bridge today.  Desperately trying in insignificant ways and knowingly putting myself in ignorable situations.

I didn’t knock loud enough when I was locked out of the house this morning. Maybe I should have knocked louder on eric’s door.  onemayneverknow hiding out in the basement garden.

into the fog of 5 a.m.

Posted in adventure, grunge, life, philly, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on November 15, 2007 by staticity

So I had the great idea (one of many) to walk into the fog of five in the morning and mosey my way down to 5th and Washington. I could buy some doughnuts, Joe could let me in the front door and maybe my boyfriend would be happy about the doughnuts and forget about the time.

I left the row house just as the sun was starting to come up.

“Don’t go out in the fog! You’ll get mugged!” My much concerned roommate could be heard from her bedroom, but alas… I was too cool for safety.

Past Dickinson and several half streets I can make out the bus stops along the way but not much more than a block ahead of me can I see past morning. Several un-charmed large ghetto-looking women sat on their benches and stared as I stuck out like a ghost. I can only imagine what they think as some skinny white girl clunks along in her boots, hopelessly smiling because ‘hey…. everyone should be polite, right?’

Up to the main street I slink into a corner store and drop all of my 89cents onto the counter. Two ”tastykake” doughnuts. Success.

The woman behind the counter looks at me funny. She turns and says something to the two guys behind the deli stand, apparently they agree. Catching a glimpse of my reflection in the window, I notice my hair is slightly damp from the fog and my once gothic-applied eyeliner has smeared heavy into the mascara. Why haven’t I gone to bed yet? The question still lingers.

I’m waiting patiently (meaning grabbing my coat collar every few seconds and checking the electronic clock bill board with the other few seconds) when a group of boys in dirty jeans and faint mustaches riding in the back of a pick up truck, turn and start shouting. I can’t really hear what they are saying, a lot of whisteling. I nervously dig through my pocketbook in hopes of a distraction. No such luck. Unfortunately the hooker appearance is roaring it’s ugly head.

I finally get on the 47. Safe. Now I only have roughly ten blocks on a city bus until I am in the clear. (so to speak) For five thirty in the morning I have never seen a more packed bus. Sequined pollyester rubbing against fake jewels and afro’s with ‘phillies’ baseball caps smooshing the look. They were all pressed up against everyone standing, grabbing, poking, holding on to whatever possible as the insane Septa Bus driver sped through the empty streets.

Lurch. I’d fall forward. Poor grade school kids with their backpacks are trying not to fall out of the sliding door.

Lurch. I’d fall backward. Sleezy guy in back could be felt poking below.

Lurch. I’d grab on to the rail. And then suck in as grandmothers with their matching suit jackets would scramble off on 15th street.

The whole thing was rather exciting and deathly frightening. I clung onto my pocket book the whole time until it started to clear a little and I could get a seat.

Through out the ride, no one seemed to pay much attention to the crowd except one man who got on when the road started to narrow. We were all sitting down when he got on, said hello to the driver, tipped his brown top hat and said in the nicest,most upstanding way possible,

“Good Morning Folks. Sure is a nice Wednesday morning out there, ain’t it?”

He gripped his walker with a reassuring ease as he sunk down in a seat near me. His suit was entirely made out of nice brown linen and it looked like it had been ironed. He turned to the woman who was now smiling sitting next to him, and asked her how her kids were doing.

I got off at the next stop, but it made me wonder just where they were going further and further down the narrow foggy road to nowhere. Another adventure. Another morning.washingtonave.jpg

By six I reached my destination but my savior in the living room, Joe, did not answer my calls. I called several times. I called from the window. I banged on the door. I rang the doorbell 8 times in a row. After twenty minute incriments I would do the whole routiene over again. At eight thirty I was let in by another roommate who had a salary job at 9 a.m.

Thank God for people who have it together.

a little reception

Posted in Uncategorized with tags on November 14, 2007 by staticity

I’m looking at an add that has jumped across the screen with purple, yellow, and red cartooned people that says ”lose fat for idiots!” you can’t tell what the ad is for right away, especially since it has been removed from my site. What is life coming to? the annoying question bothers in an almost nagging teenaged tone. adolescence is not my gig.

 Today sitting in the java co. on south street, I found myself pulling down the lace in the black skirt I have been wearing for four and a 1/2(?) days. Long black coat drenched around me like rain with pockets pissing. holes jabbed at frayed edges and where were those jeans again?

Slouched into the booth seat with the curve of plastic that holds you in. 

Plain bagel and orange soda for $3.43 (including cream cheese)

The old man that has been staring for a few grimy minutes walks over in his leather chain jacket and silver chain buttons.

“Hi, have I met you before?” His hands are shaking due to the fact he could be 65.

I’m not sure. Probably not. I don’t get out much.

“Oh well, you looked real familiar and I’m a photographer so I thought I might have seen you. you know.”

no. not really.

‘yeah, well it was nice to meet you.’

“Yeah, I’m doing a model shoot. You know, something real artsy.” His hands wave around theatrically shaking still. “Can I sit down?”

oh jesus. no get away, with the propoganda.


“Well yeah, I’m doing this shoot, right?” He pauses. “I love bagels too. It’s with seven really pretty girls, oh by the way,” a sleezy smile. “you Are over 18 right?”

No. i’m actually fifteen. maybe fourteen. actually, I want to go home and ask mom right now.


The leather on his hands match his jacket. I can’t help, but wonder if this is how it always started.

“well, you know, I’m doing this shoot about seven girls who have exceptionally nice legs and its going to be all the way up, but you know, modest and really neat- like a magazine style. Of course we pay the models and any trade-for-portfolio pictures that you might want to you know, show other companies you have had experience.”

ok. well, i’m going to finish my bagel and i’ll get back to you on that.

‘do you have a number?”

The man scribbles down a ten digit telephone number onto a slip of paper. First three numbers are jotted with great hesitance for rememberance.

“Oh gosh, after the first car crash my hands were okay, but when the third one hit in ’99 I got the shakes.”

a smile.

“well, here, can you read it back to me?” The leather jacket passes me the slip scribbled as he holds his cell phone up to the paper.

Looking at the screen.

‘yup.  I got it.’

I scarfed down the remaining bagel and bolted. Out of annoyance perhaps. Or maybe the fact that just because I look self conscious and ‘not-from-around-here, are you?’ tips people off. Maybe because the slip of paper felt nice inside ripped expensive coats.

No ‘Escape’

Posted in Uncategorized on November 3, 2007 by staticity

Dear glitz in the gutter,  

Much to my annoyances, I found myself locked. Barracaded. NO- not litterally…even worse… (physically). With the throws of PMS. I was wallowing in my heating pad when I noticed… there was nothing to read. No, not anything. Stuck in bed and NOTHING to even scan. My sixty four dollar tomato book was just that. Cooking books (Reluctantly tossed aside under the kitchen counter) My Sixty nine cent vintage porno book? Not holding captivity. And the only piles of books that were stacked were ones of only old notebook paper.
Then it came to me. A small red plastic covered book with the words enthusiastically painted on the front ”the most beautiful woman in town.”
(Engrossed by the thought) I quickly snatched it up and read the first chapter. hey—not bad.

The jacket cover was flipped. Defeated! Charles Bukowski had won.

After a few more stories/chapters I am hooked.

tastefully yours,
in two hours