My Mangled Gams

That is the photo from this morning at the bus stop. I waited over 25 minutes for the bus in 17 degree weather.

It didn't suck. Why? Because I am turning 31 today, at noon, and it feels alright. Turning 30 sucked. It was the entire year of 29 lead-up that really just felt like the arthritic and old balls shackles were being put around my ankles. The drama of being a woman and turning 30 is bad romantic comedies left and right. Anyhow, this birthday started right. My baby woke me up with kisses and tea. Then he proceeded to make me breakfast and gave me my gift. A shelf unit for my side of the bed. We have our bed against the wall, which means that when we drink tea in bed and watch movies I have no where to put my mug. It's like hell. Most importantly I can put my glasses on it too, which is good because I can feel my lucky streak about to end. 31 has been the shit already, and I technically haven't even turned 31 yet.

What did 30 teach me?
1. Loving a good man is like sleeping in a cashmere blanket.
2. I got issues when it comes to my dishes. Please stand by and watch me do them.
3. But then when you start yelling at "people" about not doing them right, remember, this is your issue. Let them eat cake instead.
4. Eating is so good but man, put on the brakes.
5. My body is seriously changing, kinda like being slowly put into neutral.
6. I think I might like tea more then coffee now.
7. I have a lot of love around me.
&
8. Who the fuck gets the Whooping Cough?

I am a smoker. I have been a smoker since I was 14 years old, which means I am a 16 year old idiot. I started when I was in middleschool, or at least, that is where I had my 1st cigarette. Some girl who I played blacktop basketball with had stolen them from her mother. It was a skinny Virginia Slims which is the lamest cigarette ever, at the time I still felt edgy puffing on that lollipop stick. I always thought smoking would be that exciting. Which is having 7 and 8 year olds stare up at you with big round eyes.

Freshman year of college, the moment my parents pulled out of the Graham-Greene dormitory parking lot I quickly hoofed it across the street to the Circle K. $3 dollars later, with a 40oz of Coca-Cola and a fresh pack of Camel Lights in hand I sat on a bench, across from my dorm, and smoked them all. It took over 4 hours and one mean headache. It was the most damaging thing I had ever done to myself up that point in my life. (I've done worse since then.) While puking up my guts in the ladies bathroom, I distinctly remember being overcome with awe. "I am in complete and total control." As that was true, it definitely does not mean I have always functioned with my best interests in hand.

College was where I probably became addicted. At my greatest carbon monoxide and ammonia inhalation I was smoking at least a pack and a half a day. That is 30 cigarettes a day, which is one and a third per hour a day for nearly 3 years. While everyone else was doing hard lines of cocaine and snorting crystal meth, I was silently drinking my iced coffees and smoking my life away. To be honest, it was fucking awesome. I loved smoking, every bit of the social interaction involved to the packing of the fresh pack in hand. The rituals I developed for the one lucky cigarette and the first burst of smoke in your lungs after a heavy meal. Man, I am already craving one like a mother fucker right now.

This shit kills, everyday!

The last 3 years tho' I have definitely slowed my roll. I started smoking less. I broke my morning coffee and cigarette habit, which is really just a jumping off point. The bars in Chicago became smoke free and the city decided to tax us hard, like $7-8 dollars hard per pack. My friends who had smoked with me were quitting, slowly, one by one. Suddenly there were less people to go share a cigarette with, less people to huddle together for warmth with, which was the only thing LESS about smoking any more in Chicago. Smoking began to lose it's luster. That essential BADASSED feeling gone, like 10 years ago and what was left was nothing but my own bitterness toward the city tax on cigarettes, the grumbling freezing smokers standing on sidewalks in negative 10 degree weather and the ever omnipresent fear of dying from cancer. It was time to quit.

But if only it was easy. Did I meantion how fucking awesome smoking feels? Like a smooth rush of warm water over your body and a loving blanket to wrap yourself in. It's comfort on the go. I have probably tried to quit at least 10 times in the last 2 years. The longest I have gone is a week and a half. Luckily I also only smoke one pack every week and a half. So I guess that makes it better? Pretty much I have just assumed that I would be a social smoker for the rest of my life. REST of my LIFE. But then I fell in love with this guy and now I want to settle down and have kids and the thought that I may have willingly signed onto the cancer bus just bums me the fuck out. I don't want to die from lung cancer and subject my family to my bullshit youth.

So what's a girl whose been smoking for 16 years supposed to do? Have a friend who works for a magazine who are doing a story on stress relievers and alternative medicines and have them do a story on your issue: quitting smoking. Then let them pay for your treatment to send you to a Acupuncturist. It's not the best way to get the ball rolling but it's a way. So, here I am on day 1 of my treatment: Ear Seeding.

It's bananas, for real. The Acupunturist asked me to stick my tongue out, read my pulse and checked the skin on my shins and basically laid out some major ailments. All 110% correct, chilling me to the bone. She gave me ginger tea for it. By the end of the treatment, after the photoshoot and the phone interview, I was signing up for 3 more treatments. I am converted. Here are a few things being treated: My lungs, my liver, my digestive track, the pain in my neck and my uterus. Shit is nuts!

N-U-T-S!

So my boyfriend and I are going to move to the Southwest. We have given ourselves one year, but the way things are going, it could be a lot sooner. There is an organic farm/CSA/lavendar farm on the outskirts of ABQ, which have already expressed interest in him. There is a fantastic job opportunity at the local PBS station. Nothing is ready yet, but the draw gets stronger everyday. I am not sure I can wait a year. I am ready to go home.

I have lived off the reservation for 17 years. I am 30. It has been one of those wandering journeys that has made little sense most of the time, but then again, I wasn't ever really looking for a plan. I just moved from time to time from feeling exhilerated to bored.

Chicago has been different. I fell in love with the city and it's people. I love my friends and I love my neighborhood. Up until this past spring, I have imagined most of my life here in Chicago. Buying property, gutting out an old building and settling in for the long winters amongst friends and dinners. We had all talked about purchasing a beach home in Indiana, splitting up the mortgage. We were to spend our summers on the beaches of Indiana and our nights on the streets of Chicago.

A flip has switched. A switch I didn't know I had. I am ready to settle down. I have fallen in love. The deep, deep love in which the end of the rope is 50 years in our future. I am ready to be part of something that is bigger then me. It should be frightening, after all these years, but instead I feel content and ready. Sitting on the edge of a bed waiting for the alarm to go off, ready.

**This entry was started in September, I just never finished it. Everything remains the same except we are definitely waiting for another year, Fall 2009, Albuquerque, NM...how's it shaking?

http://www.pandora.com/?sc=sh31663954970829877

it reminds me of....

sitting in a friend's apartment, off of 6th Ave., listening to the souls of mischief and drinking bottles of grolsch that were stolen the night before. his walkway was lined with broken skateboards, like the Pied Piper, they led the drunk and stoned to his doorway.

sitting on my porch in armory park listening to de la's Stone Age watching the paint dry across the street at the laundromat.

biking along the hot summer streets of tucson on my '67 red schwinn cruiser with big head phones on. it was always time for goodie mob.

slices of pizza at brooklyn pizza and DJ Shadow.

thrifting at value village on 4th avenue bumping to del.

monday nights, hip hop night, at the place that used to have an underground bar. always, wu-tang.

late, late night tater tots at the grill and gang starr, No Shame In My Game.

Within 24 hours I have had 2 flats. I paid for one flat to be fixed by professionals and I have just fixed the last flat with a patch. This entire day has been spent thinking and wondering what was the best thing to do to fix my tire when not having the correct tools, and when finally gathering the correct tools to only be foiled by the fact that the bolts were screwed on so tightly that I spent 2 hours sweating and cursing my lack of upper body strength. I already had dinner plans with a friend and her beefy boyfriend so I walked my bike 2 and a half miles to their house. Had dinner, a few drinks and he loosened my bolts. I spent the next 15 minutes putting in the patched inner tube and bolting it back onto my bike. On the ride home I realized that the tire was rubbing tightly to the one of the break pads, which made the ride home like riding up one big giant fucking hill. Now that I am home, I flipped the bike over to readjust the wheel only to realize that my wheel needs to be trued again.

Fuck.

I am so tired.

I will fix it tomorrow again.

Gawd I love my bike, yikes.

"Number 5 is ALIVE!"
Quoting Short Circuit is pretty foul, but it applies.
It's been busy these few months here in V$ville. Like shucking and jiving, except there is no actual corn shucking and the jive is mostly the crap that comes outta my mouth. Rocking and rolling, um, not especially, seeing as the last show I went to was in February with Eric. Worse, if I were to be "rocking and rolling", my first steps in the right direction would be to STOP typing out the entire word and go with the cooler version, "rockin' n' rollin". But, fuck that noise.

Finally, the winter has past and spring is nipping at our feet here in Chicago. Mind you, I am well aware that at any moment there could be snow, sleet, ice and rain within the next hour. I know the temperatures will vacillate between fucking gorgeous and fucking ridiculous. But my hopes are high as the frozen ennui in my soul melts, warming my insides. It’s SPRING bitches!

Re-CAP

January

The Chicago Short Film Brigade (www.filmbrigade.com) had our BEST OF show at the Gene Siskel Center on January 24th. It was awesome, Diana Sudyka made this bad mofo of a poster for us, and here it is on January 20th, looking sexy in the Reckless Records store window.

-iBurt the iPhone Photo

Belem and Andrea made our sashes for the BEST OF winners for the show, they were amazing. You will have to go to the website to check ‘em out, but I do have a pic of the making of.

-Lumix

It snowed a lot, like A LOT. Nothing else really happened for me during January. Mostly I went to my 9-5 job, drank coffee and wore my mukluks. Here is a photo of how dull and dreary that month really was.

- iBurt the iPhone Photo

-Lumix

I went to a bowling alley for a friend’s birthday. I refused to bowl because bowling is stupid and not fun, like pool. (FYI if you disagree, I DON’T CARE and you can’t change my mind with personal memories and diagrams) Here are photos of people I don’t know being excited about bowling.

-Lumix

-Lumix

-Lumix

February

I quit my 9-5 job. Thank you for your congrats! What did I do? I went on vakay with my boyfriend to Michigan!!! That’s right, I live large and in charge. What was in store for me? More mother fucking snow. What make this snow actually magical is that I no longer worked for a large real estate corporation doing bitch work and I was with my Mr. who looks good in the woods. Of course the car got stuck, we sorta froze in our cabin and I missed the internet. But that’s the breaks. No matter what I ended up doing, I would have missed the internet.

-iBurt

-iBurt

-iBurt

On our trek back to Chicago, home of the internet, we took these endearing photos. Awwwww!

-iBurt

-iBurt

My friend Eric Henry, from Tucson, circa 2000-2001. We worked at a sandwich joint together. Anyway, homefry was living up in Alaska for 4 years. Life happened and he needed a change from the regular. So, he came to stay with me for a month. Say Hi to Eric.

-iBurt

It was double fab to have him here, catch up on old times, get retarded and how. Lots of shit happened, and some of it was and was not documented.

-Lumix (Aay had an art show at Heaven, it ruled)

-iBurt (Jenn and Anne doing something, what?)

-Lumix (Snow drift, in the back ground is my fella, Blayne.)

-Lumix (Montrose Brown Line stop, it was easily 15 degrees out with it being 2 degrees with windchill. For those who are confused, you must live in the southwest-west coast.)

March

Well, I did take pictures but I just haven’t uploaded all of them. This is what I have.

-iBurt (Graham on the melting ice in Humboldt Park. He had just gotten back from Mexico, evs.)

-iBurt (Aaron with his bike. We were indoors for 4 hours and look what happened. Cold.)

-iBurt (Fatty yawning and wearing my scarf.)

-iBurt (Easter Sunday at Blayne’s familys house. That is their family dawg, whose name is evading me right now. Sweetest pup in town.)

Finally, my friends, these last 2 photos are from this past weekend. They are of nature and all of god’s creatures, in all of their forms.

-iBurt (This raccoon was scary. I think it did that, below!)




This pix may not be suitable for those of you who are squeamish or PETA enthusiasts…perhaps even parents. The single and non-squeamish are welcome, afterall, yer not really normal anyway.





-iBurt

And that concludes this long assed post.

Peace in the Middle East,
V

My twenties, my twenties, are going bye-bye.

It was the state in which the mail I received was stuffed in scattered plastic shopping bags throughout my space. Each one stuffed with forgotten bills and statements documenting the demise of my checking account, the surly grin of debt edging its way into my bed. I slept with poverty in comfort of prosperity. It was an unconscious thing to do.

I discovered that I was not going to become an editor.

I had this small studio apartment. It was located behind a huge old adobe house. There was a driveway entrance through the alleys that led directly to my door. Nobody knew where I lived. I had disappeared for nearly a year. I spent most of my days and nights alone, clacking away on my computer into the dark hours of night bleeding into the early morning dew. I bounced between cups of coffee and glasses of wine, ever ready to keep myself sedated but awake. The few who knew where I lived called it the Bat Cave. My own exile ended after the 13th or 20th time, I discovered a used condom lying next to my front window. I decided that being possibly spied upon or that because the prostitutes considered my bedside window perfect place to fuck-for-their-rent was just too much. I moved out.

I never thought too much about the consequence of my actions, I never did anything big. Until one day I did and everything changed. I learned how to admit I was wrong and how quickly the tide can change.

I met someone who changed my life. We wrote each other notes to be placed in secretive locations. Sometimes they would go missing, never to be discovered. A year ago, while going through an old journal, one of his notes fell out. It said,

"ill have fun, ill call it how i see it, my eyes will drop out just to be true. in my way of reliance and faith, i love you vanessa, one more day, lets go another day, and ill stay, ill stay, stay a day. whatever is promised is admitted to be lacking, lustered by words, and delivered by hands. good stuff & luck and let not my confusion cloud the heart and belly and head behind the screen."

We've just gotten back in touch this summer, how things are shed and bled. He is a window in my pocket.

I lived in a million different places, each one particular and magical, or until the magic ended, and the particulars became annoying. I feared setting down roots and calling something home. I have etched my name on numerous bus stops and window panes, a single flagship to a wondering raft.

I am proud to say, I have made my friendships the relationships most nurtured.

I crashed in love once, it was awful. He loves living in LA, 'nuff said.


Being ushered out of a club in Moscow by my friend Brev because after 2am the place turned into a no holds barred orgy. Meaning, if you were a woman in the bar after 2am, anything goes. We were having so much fun that by the time 2am rolled around, Brev and his friends had almost forgotten. His forceful and unapologetic way in which he picked me up and pulled me out of the club made me kick him in the groin. I ended up having to apologize a million times over afterward.


I was fearless and selfish. I am sorry for those I pushed my way through. I never met to muddy the carpets or break your dishes. I just hadn't figured out the humanity in my actions. I am more fearful and less selfish, the price to be paid has been weighty, but I am mostly satisfied.

Driving home from a middle of the night trip to San Diego, my best friend's car died. Sitting upon a hill in Alpine, CA we abandoned the car. Upon our return the car had been towed and thus began the beginning of our 4 day ordeal where lived on the streets and ate 7-11 food for sustenance as we hunted for the car and waited for parts to be delivered. I wore the ugliest orange dress and she wore cowboy boots and boxer shorts.

I am not where I thought I would be at thirty. But then again, I never imagined this either. I am finding the freedom in responsibility, something that seemed foreign.

People have always thought I was confident. They are right, I am.

This past year I have tried to make changes in myself that I have long since failed at. I have put myself out in the world again, pried open the depths of my heart and have let some sunlight shine on in. My hair has more white then it did one year ago, but I am beginning to finally like it. I love riding my bike. My sister lives upstairs, thankfully. My family is building a home in a place I hope to call home again too. I found someone I like being with, finally. My friends are carving notches in their belts, one success after another. I can't wait to go sledding. I love dinner at your houses. I love making you dinner at mine. I am going to be thirty on the 11th.

This is the last waltz of my twenties.

I am broke.

The satin lining of my vintage wool winter coat is fraying and the pockets have ripped open, spilling the contents of my right hand across the pavement: Cherry-On-Top lip gloss, a couple of pennies, my CTA pass and one earring. Staring down at the things in my pocket, splayed on the grey concrete, the items looked luminescent. A magic halo forming around each one, turning multiple shades of purple and pink holding some pop secret vestige of my youth. I have stood here too long, I think to myself as I gather my things, and stuff them into my front jean pockets.

Winding down the still neighborhood streets of Humboldt Park, I come across another dead pigeon. This is probably the third, or maybe the second, but I prefer things in threes. This one is a bluish-grey lump with dark red glue. I poke the thing with a stick, checking for the beak. The beaks always seem to go missing in squashed cases like these, hit and runs. So far there is no stench, I doubt there is enough time for it to decay, rats will be out soon. 4:25pm, I better keep walking, the light is running down and out, the colder the days get the darker they get. Seasonal depression is the lighter depression on the scale of depression? Which I just assume the worst being suicide, is located at the very end.

If the bank closes then I will be forced to the cash check place. I hate the cash check place. They make me feel like a bank robber, or worse, unemployed. There is nothing more frustrating then having to pay to have a check cashed or pay to pay your bills. I should imagine myself as more terrorist getting rid of taxation on food and increasing taxation on luxury items: waxing, tax the fuck out of that. I look up to see some bright green cob webs billowing in the tree tops. The merriment and glee I get from Halloween, now long since past, is replaced with disgust for such profuse items like: glow in the dark cob webs. Glow in the dark cob webs. I should really stop buying bottles of water.

I near the bank, 5:05pm. I have plenty of time before they close. My face is cold. I like it when my face gets cold, my cheeks get red and my skin pales to a strange light brown color that only happens in the cold. My freckles become prominent and I think I look like a drawing, in this weird place when my blood seeps deep into my body. I pull my scarf up farther. As I near the door I reach into the front pocket of my jeans: lip gloss, earring, CTA card and change. I think back, wallet. Standing with the door half open, the warm air whizzing out past me, needle pricking my face with heat, I realize that I forgot my wallet at home.

Motherfuck-fucker.

I am still broke.

There is another photo, of just colored glass wedged between the wood and thatch, each one sort of cascading pieces of colored light throughout the space. One over the other, each layering upon itself into a thin white streak.



Eli showed me where to stand still, our backs leaning against the other. His breathing slower then mine, we were out of tune with the other.



Doorways.

http://www.chicagofoodies.com/2007/08/budweiser-and-c.html

i used to work at a little grocery/butcher shop in the barrio of tucson, AZ, called Jerry's Le Ho. it was at Jerry's Le that i learned how to de-bone a entire chicken, cut whole sides of beef into tender sides of meat, take tougher meats and grind it into hamburger mash and turn the last bit of left overs into chorizo.

the first time someone came up to the register with one can of tecate and one can of clamato i paid it no mind. as the spring turned into summer and the temperatures rose into the low 100's, i began to notice the tecate and clamato combo purchases increasing. one 104 degree afternoon, before my shift was to end, i asked one of our regular corner squatters,

"Jesus, what's the deal with the beer and tomato juice?"

"beer?"

i nodded and pointed at the tecate in his hand. "yeah, and the clamato?"

he looked down, his eyes red rimmed and glazed over. (i will give it to jesus, no matter how much he drank, he never passed out. he just maintained a buzz all day, sitting around the side of the building. in the evenings, i would see him pack up his fold out chair, his radio and his red back pack and walk in the direction of downtown tucson. i never found out if he was homeless.)

"oh m'ija, this, this here is what you call a Mexican bloody mary!"

suddenly very excited, he leaned into the counter and grabbed two empty plastic cup, "here have one!"

i watched jesus make us two mexican bloody mary's. quite methodically he very evenly filled both plastic cups. i watched as his hands shook ever slightly as he set the cans down. he picked up both cups, gave one to me and said,

"salud Banessa!"

we raised our cups and for his mighty gulp, i took a wussy sip. the flavor was instant. it sort of tasted like a bloody mary, but the fizz from the beer gave the clamato juice a refreshing kick and surprisingly the clam juice made it sorta salty. my next sip was a bigger gulp and for my bigger gulp, jesus had already finished his drink.

"ah, so good, right?" he looked at me and i nodded, "jesus, this is amazing!"

he smiled slightly and looked down at his empty cup. stupidly, i swirled the half full drink in my hand before i realized.

"hey, you bought me a drink, let me buy you one."

i walked around the counter and picked up a can of clamato and two cans of tecate and handed them over.

"ah, banessa, you treat me too good!" his hands, shaky, grabbed the cans and stuffed them in his front pockets. "thanks for the drink."

jesus smiled and pulled out one of the cans of clamato and cracked the tab open. he drank half of the can immediately. i watched as the red juice ran down the sides of his face and onto an already red stained spot on his shirt. i wondered how many of these he's already had today.

he turns back around, pounds his stomach and says,

"watch yerself banessa, the clams can throw you!"

and he is gone. i watch him wander back around the building, i begin the clean up. while sweeping, an overwhelming feeling of nausea hits me. i hold my stomach and the strong smell of clams and beer hit me.

a few days later, we found out that the entire shipment of clamato was bad and that poor jesus had been laid out himself, around the back, still drinking his tecate and clamato, except this time, he bought it from the shell gas station down the street.

not too long after, i left the store. the place was bio-hazard and the owners were running from the law in 2 countries. a couple years ago i inquired about the place, i heard it was shut down and boarded up, which is just too bad. jerry's le ho was one of the last places from the turn of the century in tucson that held onto that unique southwestern barrio feel. thick adobe walls, high vaulted ceilings, deep window panes and original umber saltillo tiles. <3 el barrio viejo.

Another crash, the same exact reason: pedestrians NOT looking where they are going. I am in the bike lane, riding my bike along with traffic, YOU are jay walking and your brains are filled with lard.

I hit the guy, hit the car sitting idle at the redlight, thank god, and fell underneath it. The front wheel is totalled, the fork is bent, and in combination with the last crash, the bike is done. It would cost more money than it is worth to have it fixed. I am surprisingly ok, I re-ripped my elbow scab open, I will probably be bruised tomorrow on my left side but for all things considered. I walked awaty fine.

Others might be too nervous to get back on and do it again so soon, but I am even more determined to continue biking. On Wedensday I return to Working Bikes to pick out a new one and return my dead baby. I loved that bike dearly.

Be careful out there and for fucksake, look where the fuck you are going.

He jaywalked. I swerved. We collided. I fell. He just stood there. I picked up my bike and walked away. I bled home. He's probably still standing there.

If it ain't the cars, it's the walkers and if it ain't them, it's other bikers being assholes on the street. I am glad I was wearing my helmut.

We went "camping" in Wisconsin for Aaron's 29th birthday, but we got rained out. Instead we stayed in very stale, 60's vintage hotel where we sat around in pools, saunas and spas. Ate ribs, joined the senior club for some swing dancing and cooked breakfast on small stoves and over a fire spit. These are a few of my favorite images.

About the summer?

My skin has darkened, it reminds me of summers in Tucson when the color of my skin would turn to a mocha color. The freckles along the bridge of my nose have tripled and my hair has lightened in spots turning it orange.

Sometimes in the summer you just become a diffrent person.

In the early mornings I will walk to the bathroom to go and as I stand afterward I look at my face. Who am I? The color, the angles, the eyes are new. Or maybe not, they are just not who I was supposed to be when I was young. My life has been a little disappointing or it has been exactly what it was meant to be. I can't tell these days. Life is merging all around me and I still feel like I am just standing by watching structures be built.

I think about my past a lot. I look towards what happened for some explanation. I think I may have been wrong in my pursuit. I should stop looking so hard for answers in things that were inexplicabale. Tonight, I had a long conversation with an ex-pro skater from the late-90s. he talked about the reverence for skateboarding. the reason he got involved and the belief that what we were doing was different and important. but then we talked about our friends who did make it pro and the kids making it pro now...it is all lost. we sat talking about what was great...and then realized that might be all we had. tragic. I guess we are just old. and we are talking about stories about "walking 10 miles in the snow to go to school." we are already an old generation.

thank god, i am old. i am not new. or something like that.

I feel so great and so terrible all at the same whirlwind time. I go up, I go down, and then I just sit down and laugh, inconsolably. It's the sort of laughter that sends pains into your stomach and tears to your eyes. You want it to stop but then you are afraid that when it does, it will be another long stretch of time before you laugh like that again. Twist me, pull me and tether me to a pole. I can't believe I don't speak Spanish.

I live across the street from Humboldt Park. There are few hills to sled upon, but geograpically lucky, I live right across the way from this one. The kids have been working this hill for the last week. Today finally reached about 30 degrees, the snow began to melt a bit, becoming mushy. I was afraid that I had waited too long. But, on my way to Wick's place I saw a horde of people on the hill still working it.

Valentine's Day is for the letter "V".
Vis for ValVe. ValVe is a faVorite word I neVer get to use unless speaking of the heart and tires. I'd be nice to say, "Inherently, DaVid Mitchell's noVel, Cloud Atlas really acts like ValVe, controlling the flow of linearity in such a way, one feels the collapse of the space time continuum. Great Scotts!"
V stands for Victory. I am my own General, and in this war of life, I am winning one battle at time. What I mean is that I'Ve totally stopped watching Friends in syndicate and stopped crank calling GCI, 107.5 and demanding they play Sexy Back. Sorry Chicago, all those thousands of times you heard that song was probably due to me.
V is the formation geese take when flying South. V is also the formation I take when trying to waVe down a cab driVer at 2 in the morning.
V is for VulVa, Vernacular and Vulnerable. I don't know why they sound similar. Call it a Vunderous VolVo!
V is for Vodka, specifically Ketel One. Hmmm, too bad I don't drink Vodka anymore.
Finally, V is for Vanessa and V$.

To the letter V.

Finish the sentence...

1. I've come to realize that my last kiss...
was a girl in a bar called, Heathers.

2. I am listening to...
broadcast "Tears in the Typing Pool".

3. I talk...
too much, I am like a machine uttering all sorts of things. I never use to be this way, part job and part desperation I think.

4. I love...
inside out bunnies, pistachio icecream, black boots & pink lipstick.

5. My best friend(s)...
are out of sight, they are truly a gifted lot.

6. My first real kiss...
was profoundly mind altering. I don't know if I was any good, but he sure was.

8. I hate it when people ask...
me what my ethnicity is and then proceed to tell me about their tiny Cherokee iota they have.

9. Love is...
pretty sticky, sickly and completely worth it.

10. Marriage is...
what other people do.

11. Somewhere, someone is thinking...
one hour and 15 minutes til the end of the day.

12. I'll always...
make you dinner if you're feeling blue.

13. I have a secret crush...
on this guy I met once, I see him everywhere but am too shy to approach him. Lame.

14. The last time I cried was because...
my sister was feeling sad, so we felt sad together.

15. My cell phone is...
in my pocket, on vibrate.

16. When I wake up in the morning...
i crave coffee, immediately.

17. Before I go to bed...
i check the doors to see if they are locked and i make sure my bedroom door is open for my cats.

18. Right now I am thinking about...
love, life and dinner.

19. Babies are...
very tiny.

20. I get on myspace...
when I get messages etc.

21. Today I...
I woke up late, raced to work, made it on time and have worked.

22. Tonight I will...
possibly go to dave's show at Schuba's, maybe rent a movie, possibly order in some Thai food.

23. Tomorrow I will be...
at work again, but afterward going last minute xmas shopping with sister where we will then use a $100 gift card on some very nice and extravagent meal.

24. I really want to be...
finished as person, more whole, more mature.