hurry, hurry, here comes my stop

The Replacements are on. Bar band crack. It makes me want a beer. Makes me want to have my ears ring. Makes me want to smell like smoke and deep fried food. Makes me wish I was here and 21 during their Minneapolis heyday. Kiss Me On The Bus is playing. “Your tongue, your transfer, your hand, your answer.” I’ll kiss you, Paul. I’ll kiss you.

I glitter painted! Here are the results.

This one isn’t done yet – I have to get a marker to draw in some cute bunny faces! So until then, please pretend there are cute drawn in bunny faces where there are just empty circles in hoods right now!

Bunnies In Spaaaaaaaaace!, 2005, acrylic, glue, glitter and (coming soon) marker on itty bitty canvas board.


6th Grade Saturday Night, 2005, acrylic, glue and, of course, glitter!


That one is my new favorite. I have much pride inside me when I look upon it.

This one, however, kinda sucks!

Hummingbird, 2005, you know the drill.


Glitter paintings don't fotograph so good! SADNESS!

I figured out that to make the $20,000 we need to straighten out this mess, I need to make 1,333 glitter paintings – AND – I need to sell them ALL. Suuuuure. This’ll work. YET, I keep doing it so that I feel like I’m doing something.

SIGH!

And even though I just said I don't think it will work, a part of me thinks it WILL work!

Have I gone MAD?

Maybe Marlo Thomas or Isaac Brock will offer to buy just one glitter painting for $20,000. The roller skate one, of course! Then I could get on the horn and call all the people we owe money to and gleefully inform them that the check is, indeed, in the mail and this time I’m not lying! I would cease walking and only skip from that day forward. I would be entrenched in perma-smile. I would spend the rest of the afternoon doing good deeds and rescuing kittens. It would be a fine fine day.

I talked to M’s sister last night. She is sad and disappointed in M. Doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know what to say. Me neither. It’s such a mess. I’m so in the middle of it. It seems dream like. Disbelief. Doubt. Disdain. Disclaimers. Broken doors. Dirty dishes. Dank apple green rooms. Dust. Drunk. Disco. Don’t do this. Do that. Deaf. Distant. Dischord. Done. I throw my hands up.

What I just overheard some guy say: “you can’t tell the mouse.”

What I now think he does for a living: spy.

Before I heard him say that: mortgage consultant.

blop blop bloop

my night

hazy day dreams go
with his coke bottle glasses
blushing, knees touch

fourteen year old me
handing him a gift I made
when I was thirty three

my head

Bee. Be. Bea. Bursting bubbles clear. See through nightingale, heart beating, blood pumping, see how it works. Window boxes, clothes lines. Running through rows of sheets hung out to dry. Tiny pink percale clusters of flowers floating in a white white sky. Did you ever look at me and know all this? When I was 5 and running by. What was inside. I feel the hands of you on my back. I feel the Thursday bruise on my arm. I feel the hangover of my today sliding through my body. There is glitter on those chairs now. It’ll be there forever. A sparkle. A fleck. A piece stuck to his cheek. His eyes were big behind his glasses. His smile wide. He liked my painting. Matches a rug. Matches a wall. Matches his corneas. More beer than I could drink. More than I could spend. Who has my ankles? Who has my wrists? Have I even struggled against this? I forget that I don’t see the world like everyone else. Specialness gives way to none until someone says they’ve never seen anyone eat a donut like me. Reminded! Poked! There is just this one me. Safe. Slop soothe sanctuary scream so far so good. Scolded. Sink swim swoosh by. Sunday best. Isn’t best at all. Hover horse hang hop hop hopped up on goofballs. "Wanna see me disco? Wanna see me DISC-GO!!" Tongue sticking out. Bright eyes. Breathtaking breathless breathe deep. In and out. In and out. Close my eyes and remember the dream of glittery moons passing by. In the end I know where I land. Trees tall thoughtful tink tink tinkerbell! Thumbelina size of a button. Toss taste topsy turvy. Thank you for the trick. Run. Ran. Romper room. Rancid rain water ring ring ring the telephone rings. Doorbell. Church bells. Hand me my baton. Twirling. Practice. Again and again. Hits the driveway with a metal clang. Bouncing on it’s white capped ends. Punk rock paper airplanes paper beats rock. Scissors beats paper. He always let me win. Playful he knew. He use to know. Crisscrossed over. Water. Bridge. Brigade. Bounce. Rebound. Reborn. Redo. Redone. Reverb. Resonate. Release.

so pretty

Last night was greasy bar food and quiet weird instrumental music curtsey the Tin Hat Trio, who just happen to be four strong. I much enjoy band names such as theirs. The food stuffs were had at the Triple Rock. I opted for a plain old grilled cheese and no kidding, it was the best fucking grilled cheese I’ve ever had in my whole entire life! (Sorry, Mom!) They work magic there with the bread and the cheese!

After that, we headed up the street for the show. My day of adrenaline induced bruising and 12 hours of work left me thinking sleep would be a really really good idea about the same time as the opening band left the stage. Half way through the Tin Hat Trio my head was on A’s shoulder and I was dozing off to strange eerie violin notes scratched out softly by a girl who could have been me and a melody of guitar, clarinet and harp filling in the gaps. The best part of dozing off and maybe even the whole evening (better listen up, what I’m about to say beats out the grilled cheese!) were these dreamlike images of notes and floweres and confetti and streamers circling around me and lifting me up. I was floating along in a world that looked painted by Chagall. There were stars and thick smudges of paint that wouldn’t dry and glittery moons making everything pretty. I had a sleepy smile on my face and watched my dream unfold like it was a movie.

How I later characterized my grilled cheese sammich when asked: triple rockin’.

What the Cedar Riverside Cultural Center always smells like: curry.

If I think that’s a good or bad thing: can’t decide.

I think the earliest layer of dust has settled. The first of many things are sinking in. The funny thing is that it’s what I’ve known all along. I would say it to myself in my clearest moments and yell it out loud in my most unclear. This wasn’t really about M. It was about me not wanting to give up on big things. Not big things like houses and coffee shops, but big things like life being fair and people being good. So many of my more practical friends say that I just have to accept those as true.

Life. Isn’t. Fair.

All. People. Aren’t. Good.

I think I’m going to respectfully disagree. This is fair. Not that I deserved this hurt, but I deserved growth. And I’m getting it. Growth always kinda sucks. Learning is hard. Learning life stuff is really really hard. But you are always better for it. And M. He isn’t a bad person. I wasn’t wrong about the boy I thought he was. He is still him. All that good and unique is still in there. But his role in this was the catalyst. If it was for both of us or just me, only time will tell. I know that inspite of some of my choices, I’m getting off this roller coaster a better person than when I got on. That’s what this really is about, isn’t it? It’s not who gets the boy or who gets the girl. It’s who gets themselves. And since that really is only up to you, isn’t it fair?

Donut time!

downside up

HOLY SHIT.

M and I just beat each other up. A low point to say the least. I started it. Things have been broken by me being thrown into them. M’s jacket is ripped. I kept holding onto his pocket. He was in a rage. Tossing me around, I kept holding on.

HOLY SHIT.

We have been dragged down by each other. We are no good right now. There is anger and hurt and rage flying all over. Hitting the walls. Sticking to the ceiling. I am embarrassed by my behavior. By his.

Apparently, this is my breaking point. My nerves are gone from the last 8 months of my choices. My common sense has been beaten down by my raging emotions. Us being trapped here together has done harm to each of us.

God willing we’ll both be ok. I don’t know much right now, but I know that this morning wasn’t us.

shaken

I asked M to move out. He refused. SIGH. Said that as long as he was at the store, he wanted to live at the house.

So I said, you need to do better. He said he needed to go.

4 years comes down to this.

I feel kinda better. Surprisingly. Amazingly. Astonishingly. It’s nice to have things in my control. To not be subject to his whims anymore. To not have to see him crying and saying that he is afraid to loose me but then do things that make it impossible to not lose me. To not have to hear him say how little she meant to him and that this new him is really him and then watch the new him be no better. The confusion of all this has made me feel like I live in a snow globe. Just when the glitter starts to sink to the bottom and cover the little scene in it’s pretty -- the giant hand reaches for the glass and with a quick shake sends it all up into the sky again. It’s not the snow globe that needs to go, it’s the giant hand.

What I’m wondering right now: could I get away with wearing roller skates ALL THE TIME like Tootie?

With all the whirlwind cyclone upside down trouble that surrounds us, I don’t trust these decisions. What I think is right for me changes with the clock. I don’t trust he knows what he wants. I don’t trust that I do. He doesn’t trust that he knows what he wants either. He surely doesn’t trust that I do. Again, Isaac Brock can sum it all up and put a bow on it: “I’ve changed my mind so much I can’t even trust it. My mind’s changed me so much I can’t even trust myself.” That’s from a Modest Mouse song called Talking Shit About a Pretty Sunset. I love it when what you hear can help you see.

What I know right now: I feel a weight has been lifted. About 160 pounds.

My brand spankin’ new friend P is coming to my rescue! He has kindly agreed to make the Crafting Out Of Debt website. THANK GOD. I possess no website skillz. No form making skilz. No setting up a Paypal store skilz. But he gots all those and more too boot! So, let’s hear it for P! Three cheers to you, my friend! I owe you a beer or 200!

What kind of beer P drinks: Summit.

What kind I do: Newcastle.

Wow. On ward. Buck up. Brilliant. Boing boing. Boy. Beats me. Bus stops. Bang boip. Brummel bristle. Back away.

Hey, everyone, can we take a collective deep breath and hope that my evil plan of crafting out of debt works. Hope that I can run the store alone. Hope that handing over my lemons to the kindness of strangers will result in a tall refreshing glass of lemonade. Hope that in the end, the good guy wins. Hope that in the end, I’m the good guy.

lifetime money back guarantee

Today, I’m asking M to move out.

SIGH. Or UG.

It’s been another drama drenched week.

It’s his usual modus operendi. He’s confused, he says. Doesn’t know what he wants, he says. Covers me in the maybe of us, then does the same to her. Then says he wants to move to Chicago and be alone for a while. The back and forth, up and down, in and out of this has changed me. I’ll suddenly and sometimes realize that this isn’t me at all. I’m not a yeller. I’m not insecure. Or mean. I know this isn’t worth losing myself in. Things have to change so I can preserve what’s left of me in a nice little Tupperware container. A pale green one. Hey, if you listen real hard this afternoon, you just might be able to hear the burp.

The crafting out of debt continues. Forward ho! I finished two glitter paintings last night and they turned out way cool. Need proof? Feast your eyeballs on these babies:

Twiggy, 2005, Acrylic and glue and glitter on wee canvas board.


My 3rd Grade Feet, 2005, made from the same stuff as the other one.


I want to make one of aliens. And roller skates. Maybe aliens on roller skates!

:A: went to a bird conference this past week and there was a man who kidnapped penguins. Did you catch that - - he KIDNAPS PENGUINS! Something about blindfolding them and placing ‘em 200 meters away from their nests – then watching to see if they can find their way back. They can! But it takes a while. Cute! Next time you’re feeling blue try imagining a disoriented penguin who has just been kidnapped. That should cheer you up.

What I’m thinking about right now: a disoriented penguin who has just been kidnapped!

much much burp slurp! me no hurt you little girl.

I had never thunk myself as a girl in search of attention. I would have checked off the “wall-flower” box without much thought, but all of a sudden I want this read. Yes. This right here. My pollyblog. Read by people. Real live people! So I emailed my friend who has patented Advertising Access and told her to go ahead and advertise this little puppy and she said ok. It was that simple. Done. Fini. 10-4, good buddy.

In preparation for The Advertising, I’ve gone through and reread almost of all I’ve wrote. Changed a few things. Hid others away for rainy days or posterity or maybe never to be seen again. There are lengthy posts that I have no recollection of writing. There are crazy rants and goo drentched paragraphs of angst and woe is me. I’m not proud of it all. Some things kinda make me cringe but are still living on the information super highway for all to see. I guess they serve to make this real.. or realer. Like watching a dissection. My insides laid out for anyone who wants a peek.

What I have to restrain myself from writing every time I pen the word PEEK: a-boo!

Last time I played peek-a-boo: Thursday.

I went to a fondue party. I had never fondued before! It started out innocently enough. An asparagus spear here, a chunk of bread there and before you know it I seriously think I consumed a POUND OF CHEESE. No good! It really sneaks up on you. I think I’ll invent a pedometer type device (a fonduometer!) to attach to the pokey fondue forks that will tally the number of times it’s dipped into the cheese. Sure to make your jaw drop at the end of the evening! I wonder what else you could stick to the poker and dip into stuff. Donut holes into coffee. Cock doggies into warmed ketchup. Lima beans into peanut butter. Fun size Snickers into bubbling tarter sauce. The possibilities are endless!

I can’t really hold a grudge. So while I should be hopping mad at M again, I’m just sorta whatever about it all. Apparently, I can’t deny a teary eyed boy a hug! I’m a sucker for trying to get to the smooooove. To the no stress. To the calm. To the smile. It’s my whole heart thing messing with me again. You know, the fact that I have one. Ha! Insert rim shot here, please.

Watched Freaks and Geeks last night. What a great show! They somehow figured out how to do the whole “feel-good” thing without throwing in a buncha sappy. There were dance scenes that made my stomach all googly with vivid memories of my own high school dances and first kisses and parties gone out of control when my parents were asleep upstairs. I think I woulda been more of a freak than a geek. Teen aged Wisconsin punk rock girl. Messy hair, punk t-shirts, tattered old cardigans, hand stamps from shows. I had band stickers all over my notebooks and published a fanzine called Scream with my friends. The only fanzine put out by girls in the whole city! GIRL POWER! I almost cried when I got to meet Ian McKay. I cut class and lied to my parents. Listened to poppy punk rock beats at top volume in my headphones. Never missed a show. Was kinda afraid of the Misfits. I remember taking the long way around to the door so I could avoid Glen Danzig, completely convinced that he’d eat me if I got too close. That seems like a whole lifetime ago.

I’ll end this with the wee little thought that’s been running through my head the entire time I’ve been typing away about fondue and big hearts and punk rock: I met a boy.