(no subject)
why can't a lesbian diet and wear makeup at the same time? cause it's hard to eat jenny craig with mary kay on your face.
last night the hotel lobby was filled with 50 or 60 mary kay consultants, and sittin right out in front of the hotel was a pink fucking CADDY. they were having a meeting, and they were all dressed right up and made right up and SOAKED in perfume. at first i was thinkin "sweet, this ain't half bad", cause i've always had a thing for super-prissy older chicks, and a chunk of em were pretty ok to look at. but 60 makeup-obsessed, freakishly enthusiastic housewives packed into a hotel lobby make a fucking HELL of a lot of noise, and by the time they were done i wanted to fucking OFF myself. as they were leaving, the leader of the group (who was WAY too perky for her own good. if she'da smiled any bigger i think her face woulda split open) came up to me and said "if you're working next tuesday, you should come join us!!!! we're doing EYES next week!!!! and with a little mascara we could make YOURS just POP!!!!!!!" i almost died.
yesterday the thermometers were climbin up toward 50. gardiner smelled like wet pavement, mud, the dirty fucking kennebec river, and a winter's worth of dog shit, cat shit, and pigeon shit thawing out with the layers of ice. ain't sayin i'm a huge fan of the smell of old thawed-out shit, but this time of year it smells like spring.
tomorrow's payday and i think i'm gonna buy myself a brand new fishing pole. i'm probably jumpin the gun considering it's only fucking march. but fuck. i had a dream the other night about fishing off the cobboseeconte bridge, bare legs danglin toward the water and a beer in my hand. in the dream the sun was beating down and i had a bathing suit on and i was thinkin pretty damn hard about jumping into the water. i woke up curled around matt, 8 o' clock in the morning, and the sun was flooding in through the window all hot and bright and yellow.
when i was just a little thing i used to be outta the house and into the woods as soon as spring hit. the woods behind our house in litchfield had old stone walls and streams you could follow for miles, bottle dumps you could dig in forever and still be able to pull out shit like old tins and toy cars and leather shoes. barefoot, with lunch packed, i'd take off in the morning and come home at nightfall covered in mud, scraped and scratched and bruised right up with mosquito bites that wouldn't go away for days. and i'd come home with buckets full of old bottles and sardine cans and dishes and rusted out model trains, bird nests and rocks and sometimes a couple frogs or snakes or salamanders just for kicks.
i wanted to be tom sawyer or daniel fuckin boone or some shit.
maybe i still do.
last night the hotel lobby was filled with 50 or 60 mary kay consultants, and sittin right out in front of the hotel was a pink fucking CADDY. they were having a meeting, and they were all dressed right up and made right up and SOAKED in perfume. at first i was thinkin "sweet, this ain't half bad", cause i've always had a thing for super-prissy older chicks, and a chunk of em were pretty ok to look at. but 60 makeup-obsessed, freakishly enthusiastic housewives packed into a hotel lobby make a fucking HELL of a lot of noise, and by the time they were done i wanted to fucking OFF myself. as they were leaving, the leader of the group (who was WAY too perky for her own good. if she'da smiled any bigger i think her face woulda split open) came up to me and said "if you're working next tuesday, you should come join us!!!! we're doing EYES next week!!!! and with a little mascara we could make YOURS just POP!!!!!!!" i almost died.
yesterday the thermometers were climbin up toward 50. gardiner smelled like wet pavement, mud, the dirty fucking kennebec river, and a winter's worth of dog shit, cat shit, and pigeon shit thawing out with the layers of ice. ain't sayin i'm a huge fan of the smell of old thawed-out shit, but this time of year it smells like spring.
tomorrow's payday and i think i'm gonna buy myself a brand new fishing pole. i'm probably jumpin the gun considering it's only fucking march. but fuck. i had a dream the other night about fishing off the cobboseeconte bridge, bare legs danglin toward the water and a beer in my hand. in the dream the sun was beating down and i had a bathing suit on and i was thinkin pretty damn hard about jumping into the water. i woke up curled around matt, 8 o' clock in the morning, and the sun was flooding in through the window all hot and bright and yellow.
when i was just a little thing i used to be outta the house and into the woods as soon as spring hit. the woods behind our house in litchfield had old stone walls and streams you could follow for miles, bottle dumps you could dig in forever and still be able to pull out shit like old tins and toy cars and leather shoes. barefoot, with lunch packed, i'd take off in the morning and come home at nightfall covered in mud, scraped and scratched and bruised right up with mosquito bites that wouldn't go away for days. and i'd come home with buckets full of old bottles and sardine cans and dishes and rusted out model trains, bird nests and rocks and sometimes a couple frogs or snakes or salamanders just for kicks.
i wanted to be tom sawyer or daniel fuckin boone or some shit.
maybe i still do.