writer's block.

in




i don't like a man in a white belt. 

oh, come one. you know what i'm talking about. 

there is a very specific man (or should i say...young gentleman) that wears a belt of white...cloth, is it? think hard. dig into the annals (or animals) of your memory. you know what i am talking about. 

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on some days people can only reasonably be held accountable for two things. getting out of bed. and showering. i have yet to do the latter. 

oh, and i do need to go the bank.

but i'm washing my black suit. that should count for something? yes, yes, ladies...i'm practically a businesswoman, i wear a suit to work. unfortunately, it's the same suit. everyday. and if they had any idea how often it it taken to the dry cleaners, or put in at the local laundromat...hmmm...hmm.mmmm.mm.

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i'm starting to think all potential boyfriends, lovers, people-i-care-to-call-my-friend should be pre-screened. i sit behind a closed circuit television, watching, as they interact in a restaurant setting.

husband-to-be,

i know you'll pass with flying colors, but just so you feel prepared here's the cliff notes:

1. semantics are important. these chips are stale is very different from, would it be possible to get a new bowl of chips, these seem a little stale.

2. when someone addresses you, acknowledge that. servers, hosts, busboys and the lot are not just part of the furniture, or props as you play out your meal. 

3. don't be a jerk. most people feel okay to do this in a restaurant. it's like all normal, civilized behavior goes out the window...don't fall into this trap.

love you lots, 

wifey-who-hates-being-treated-poorly-for-no-reason-at-all

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i'm thinking of buying a foldable bike.

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i'm thinking this writer's block is a holdover of mercury in retrograde. look it up. 

and so i've abandoned this blogspot lover of mine. even had a few fights with him. and i've stopped responding to you're unbelievably kind comments or commenting on you're unbelievably exciting blogs. but i'm coming round. i hope. rousing from this slumber.

thanks for not giving up on me.

............................................................................

off to shower.

............................................................................




photo by Henry Clarke

a trip to the store.

in , ,

i remember being little. i remember my brother and i visiting a friend's house. it was early. very early. and we were little. very little. and this friend had a son. an older son. an older son who was still asleep. my brother and i could not understand this. how could someone sleep when there was a day to be had? our friend explained that one day we too would like to sleep in. 

i remember standing there. 
and hearing that. 
and being unable to believe it.

i remember my next-door neighbor on danbury drive was older. she had a pig as a pet. it would run around her yard. and her house. i don't think my parents much cared for this pig. and i remember my next-door neighbor would take care of me. and teach me things. and tell me things. 
once i asked her what she got for christmas. 
she said, clothes. 

i felt sorry for her. 

now i can never get out of bed. 
or have enough new sweaters under the christmas tree.


i'm not sure when it exactly it happened. when i started finding men in suits really attractive. was it the man? or was it the suit? was it that, in the suit, he reminded me of my father? was it that the suit became the talisman of stability? 

i think it was just recently. 
soon. 
soon ago? no, that doesn't make sense. 
not so long ago. 
it was around the same time that clothes took a backseat to home goods. 

ahhh, home goods. 

today i entered the clothing store. today i looked for beautiful pieces in which to wrap this body i am learning to love. and today i abandoned all skirts and shirts and sweaters and pinafores for the plaintive call of the home goods. 

wine glasses. 
and bowls. 
and candle sticks and books. 
and bowls. 

and it is there in the store today--in these things, yes, things, that i see my future. these are the things that will traverse the island of manhattan with me. these are the things that i will bring to our first shared apartment. our first shared house. the things that i will pack and unpack. and pack again. and pray remain intact. 

fingering the glassware carefully, checking for cracks or chips i see his face. on one of our many moves he will screw it into a look of consternation meaning only one thing, really, you want to save those? he will hate them. he will hate the candlesticks i will buy today. this only makes me love them the more. 

and in the wine glasses i see the future dinner parties. and the first evening we clumsily make love, our fear numbed only slightly by the wine. yes, these are the wine glasses--the co-conspirators in our mutual seduction. i see the moment when the four glasses become three become two become one become gone. shattered one night after dinner. slipping through our child's growing fingers. 

i don't know the moment i began to plan for the future. when men in a tailored suits and glass platters became more important than gladiator sandals or a young would-be-actor boyfriend. 

perhaps this is the precursor to the inevitable tick-tick-tick of that biological clock. 

all i know is... that i'm looking forward to making the memories that will give this dowry a value that knows no numbers. 





but...
4 wine glasses 
4 glass cups
2 candlesticks

all for under $52
(including tax)
from Anthropologie

a dowry indeed