Read This as You're Never Sleeping.

You say you're bound for New York
A promise that leaves me breathless
But I don't even know you.

Is it something in the lights?
Is it something in the smog
That keeps the artists flooding in

To “get by” in dank apartments
With smudges on their walls
And coffee rings on their tables?

Dear New York,

I know that we have yet to meet,
So please forgive me when I say,
I've got a bone to pick with you.

‘Cause your skyline could be better
And I'm sure it's not your weather

That beckons to the painters
And whisks away the actors
And promises the writers something more

It’s not that I don’t trust you,
It’s just that I don’t get you,
And why you tend to steal the ones I love

So if you really are a magic place
My only wish is this:
Oh New York, don’t break them.

P.S. I’ll see you soon.

Shear Spontaneity

The thing most people probably don't realize about a community bathroom is that it's a great place to socialize. Seriously. I've had some of the best conversations when I've just finished brushing my teeth, and the bathroom at my house has even seen a few dance parties in its day. (But you didn't hear that from me.)

On Friday, Carly decided she wanted to cut her hair. Andrea walks by the bright pink bathroom, and seeing Carly with scissors, decides to offer some moral support. A few minutes later, I come in to recycle my Fuze bottle and, seeing the pair and their scissors, decide to offer some unsolicited advice: a disposable razor hands down beats scissors when it comes to cutting hair.
(Credit for this discovery goes to Sarah Steadland).

Andrea was thrilled.



Carly proceeded to give herself some impeccable bangs and feathered layers in the front.



"I want my hair angled more."



We let Carly do the angling.



The counter was a big, hairy mess.



(Yes we cleaned it up).

I can't wait to live in a house where I have my own bathroom -- I can't remember the last time I had time to do homework.

conundrum

If "give" is the opposite of "take," then how come "caregiver" and "caretaker" mean the same thing?

7 hours later: Paris les jours un, deux, et trois

I'm in a time warp.

Lexi asked me today if I felt far away from the states, and I said no.

But then I changed my mind and said yes; but only in a time sense -- I never know what time it is, or what day it is, or how long I've been where, or how long ago I left home, or if it's time to eat or sleep, or if I've really been away from Lexi for an entire semester, or what will fill my days and nights tomorrow and forward, or what my family and friends could possibly be doing to fill the seven-hour gap beween us.

When I'm sleeping like a rock, exhausted from sensory overload and endlessly sore calves and feet, I can imagine they're all getting ready to go out or just winding down after an equally long day. When I'm waking up, I hope they're all safe asleep and dreaming in a swirling mash of colors and sounds. When I am eating a late lunch, I think of them snoozing their alarm buttons. And when the sun begins to set behind the Seine and carousels begin to illuminate, I know their days are still a little mysterious, just beginning.

But when I'm missing the last Metro ride for the night because Lexi and I have gotten caught up in the lights and the energy (and perhaps the champagne) of Paris, I find I cannot imagine at all. Because I am here, and the only time I can fathom is what surrounds me.

And now? It's 5:41 a.m., but my body swears it's not even midnight. And I know in the morning I'm going to feel like I've been run over my the Metro.

twice.

***

Lexi sleeps, and I am trying to translate the last three days. So I'm dividing into categories to hopefully save from rambling about every aspect of a day, which I might just do anyways. merde (Look it up -- I'm already learning tres classy French!)

The journey:
bad weather = delayed flight from MSP = my unfortunate absence on the plane from Detroit to Paris CDG = a few tears in the airport bathroom = a desperate, 1-hour-long rebooking attempt via telephone with an NWA agent = spending New Years Eve in the air = another desperate rebooking attempt with an NWA agent in person = last seat on a flight to Amsterdam = SUPRISE! Business class! complete with my own personal TV and remote, a salmon dinner, and one of those eye cover things that blocks out all light so you can sleep better... and a British sculptor as a seatmate = maybe I don't hate flying so much = irony: migrane and another hour delay on the tarmack = missed flight from Amsterdam to Paris = Luckily another left 90 minutes later = champagne on the flight :) = Finally at my destination = just to top it off, lost baggage.

Which didn't arrive until this afternoon, two days and two hours late.

Lexi:
We made a pact to never try and guess that we understand what anyone else is thinking or feeling or really means to say unless they actually say so. especially one another. because "f our lives" all we do is create for ourselves a million daily disasters. Instead we'll just talk for hours about everything and now my voice is hoarse.

French:
The word for tomorrow literally means something that's just out of reach, whereas the word for today means something like in/at hand. And a million other beautiful words I don't understand. But even more beautiful is finding how to have a conversation with someone here sans Lexi.

Twilight:
The movie premieres here Jan. 7th. And there are seriously huge billboard-size posters of Edward et Bella EVERYWHERE! especially the metro.

The Metro:
Metro = Paris. It connects every place, every person. fini. (sp?)

The Louvre:
To "do the Louvre" is to see the three ladies of the Louvre (the Mona Lisa, the winged triumph somethingorother, and some other famous statue of a woman) as fast as you can and then skedaddle. Apparently an American student holds the world record for fastest time. There's legitimately a Starbucks in the museum. (I cried a little inside). To see the place in its entirety would take 8 months. But considering a war painting covering an entire wall sparked an incredible convo with Lex, I'd say my two hours there were enough.

Falafel: It's heavenly in Paris. Simply heavenly.

The Eiffel Tower sparkling at midnight to ring in the new year. Even more dazzling than Edward Cullen. yeah I said it. and mean it. It was magical. breathtaking. Best welcome to 2009 ever.

The person who shares the apartment complex with Lexi's host family:

GREGORY COLBERT! omygosh I actually did a presentation on him for an art class. He's a filmmaker/photographer and his stuff is brilliant. Google him.

that sweet southern comfort

I spent last weekend split between Dallas and Waco, Texas,
and there’s nothing like a little family time to make you realize that finals aren’t really so bad.

But seriously,
words fail my family and how great they are,
and being back actually made me a little nostalgic for the south (crazy I know).

More than anything, this short southern soiree reminded me of where I've been and how far I've come. And that's what gives me strength to get through what will come.

Day 1:
Flight delayed, so the G-rents and I decided to pass the time with delicious bowls of clam chowder.







Day 2:
The whole family was reunited in the parking lot of some random Waco hotel. Epic.



My sister had her end-of-the-semester choral concert at Baylor that night.



But it looks like the getting ready process may have been more entertaining.











As was the after party.





The feeling in the air on a Texas night is something I will always long for.



'Cause Texas is like no place in the world.
I think this song says it best:

Texas

Oh girl, I’ve been told,
When I grow old, I’ll be alone
But I don’t mind if I’m Texas

Oh but it’s been said
When I am dead, I’ll be alone
But I don’t mind if I’m in Texas

- PlayRadioPlay!

"You are exactly my brand of heroin."

It kills me that I haven't written for almost a month.

So my head as of lately has been as such:

Twilight, Twilight, and more Twilight. Edward Cullen makes the best final paper topic.
Texas. Tuesday my weekend was only for finals. Then Wednesday brought cheap flights and a mother's whim to bring me home for Thanksgiving a week late. Be home Sunday.
Cold. Winter finally arrived in the cities. And the soles on my Rubber Duck boots are starting to come apart. damn.
Africa. The Poisonwood Bible calls to me every second I'm doing anything else except reading Barbara kingsolver's brilliant prose.
The economy. It was so much better when I was blissfully ignorant - and unaffected.
Finals. Will hopefully be done before I shoot myself.
Vanity Fair. I want to contribute to that magazine some day. Can I please be the next Annie Leibovitz or write stunning articles on Robert Pattinson?
Paris. omygosh Paris. If I dwell too much then I can't focus on anything else. I've been trying to master essential phrases. "Je voudre un verre de vin?" Wine please... I'm in need of an adventure ASAP.
Writing. Am I born to do it? These days it's all I want to do in life.
Familia. Seeing them tomorrow. And my puppy too!
Vegetarianism. Not a concept well understood by old people. Yes turkey counts as meat. No picking meat out of something does not make it vegetarian.
Red Bull. What a product.
JOUR 3006: Visual Communication. What a joke.
Australia. Want to see the movie again ASAP.
Winter Break. Rolly and Austin come home!
Airports. Not so bad really. Especially when you chat with a twenty-something man who's not ashamed to love Edward Cullen. There's my Twilight fixation coming out again..
Semi-Charmed Life. Still the best song ever.
U of M's Saint Paul Campus. Fabulous. Except for the d-bags on the bus who get up and move seats when you answer the phone call of your best friend from TX.
People dressed as toy soldiers in the art building. SO Minneapolis. SO epic.
ho-ho mint mochas at Caribou. Again, what a product.
Feed My Starving Children. here's to saving the world.
The Sartorialist Blog. If I weren't excited enough about going to Paris.. the Parisian fashion photos he posts every day make me want to drop out of school and spend my tuition money on an uber-chic wardrobe.
Space heaters. Almost as amazing as cuddling.
Britney. Should probably join the circus herself. I really want to see her when she stops in the cities on tour.
Crossword puzzles. Are the only thing that get me through JOUR 3006. One of my greatest aspirations is to follow my Grandpa's footsteps and complete a NY Times Sunday x-word all by myself.
Scrabble. It's best when you don't follow the rules.. haha.
Rough drafts. I write better if I don't do one.
The O.C. Miss it from my life.
Roomates. Neverending stories.
Writing on my palms. Will always be the absolute best way to remember anything. Until you wash your hands.

And my heart as of lately? Still beating.. No vampire venom for me.

crap.

dinner. fiesta.

I don't have photos of that epic evening. Even though I definitely had two of my cameras with me.. somewhere. I'm being programmed to see the world in strings of images - colors - light qualities - audio on occasion - like I'll miss something if I don't have a Holga or a Nikon attached to my fingers.

But if I'm honest - really, truly honest - I need to be inside it all. Let it soak me all up and settle in the caverns of my chest where it'll live and grow and one day explode into letters and words and sentences and paragraphs inked on a page or blinked on a screen to be read in 2-D, in Times New Roman, in black and white.

My heart's not in the images but the stories.

And the story of dinner. fiesta. goes a little something like this:

The countertops couldn't hold another bag of chips or bucket of Margarita or slice of lime or shotglass of tequila or bottle of tequila or container of salt or forgotten cup-plate-knife-spoon or bowl of salsa or of guac. Twenty-something twenty-somethings filled the Fox Lodge to overwhelming capacity of smiles and hugs and kisses and teases and insiders from Freshman year on the oh-so-spectacular 8th floor of Middlebrook. Our aim: to be us again. Whatever that means. And quite possibly to "drink ourselves under the table" in a delightfully sickening tribute to the year that brought us all together and then spit us back out again into a world we hadn't really prepared ourselves for amidst the nirvana we'd created in our nesting grounds on the beloved West Bank.

Gatherings of all of us were all but uncommon back then (two years ago). Now they're just a happy novelty. And now they welcome not just us but those who love us. The ones who see us now, post-dormitory days, but still very much a product of those days. They didn't ask for it - but by default they are now a part of our whole. And the spaces between us all exists the Lexis and the Austins and the Lelas whom we'd swear were here just yesterday but we know won't be tomorrow. So we live through them as they live in us.

And though we've spent our days flirting and fighting and flailing and flying and falling in love - with or without one another - sometimes we'll find ourselves in a place where those things aren't about what we've done or said or felt but who we are and what we've learned. For me, dinner. fiesta. was such a place.

At one point during the night, Sarah came up to me and told me how spectacular our night was and how she thought everyone was there not because they felt they had to be but because they wanted to be. And that she was so glad we had this idea because she hadn't been happy like this for so long.

So it was for me as well. Cause the happiness I get from being in the presences of those who have loved me in a way I'll never really understand, who took that little girl from Texas and let her in and showed her that the whole world doesn't have to hurt like it did in junior high and high school and fuck anyone who tries to tell you any differently. It was they who gave me whatever that thing is that changes everything. That changes you.

And then there was what Sarah said later.

"Let's have an epic moment."

And we did. It was like having her read me New Moon and chat for hours about Edward or hogwarts or Lost and defend me after Padre and be my date to that nautical date party and dance with me in the rain sans t-shirts and drive me to anywhere when it's raining or cold and bring me Red Bull before we go out and fall asleep in my bed some nights and spend way too much money on good food and talk me out of - ahem - hallucinations and drink wine and listen to Amy Grant and sing every word to "Semi-Charmed Life" and Metro Station and go to every emo show we can and write the most epic and whimsical poems of our hearts and souls and lives.

And then Daniel reads that poem by hafiz and says "Thank you. That means a lot." And I can't look at him during "F&*% the Dealer" because we'll read eachother's minds and we don't talk about Rolly because it kills us both and we say everything through gazes and waves of energy and now we have all the time we lost when Summer swallowed us whole.

And I humiliate my cousin. Not on purpose. And then he humiliates himself by being that Freshman who drinks too much and throws up and passes out on the couch before midnight - that same Freshman who came out every weekend in each and every one of us on the 8th floor (save Kris and Shana) and who appeared once again to tell me to let Charlie go. Let him have that epic Freshman year that we had and loved and then lost when we shut our doors for the last time and went home for the Summer - only to come back to a different house in a different part of campus and oh so much more "grown up."

And "the man of the night?" - Was loved by all. Long after the beer pong table was pulled out from behind Granthony's famous - infamous? - couch and the lights had been turned out and the music had been turned up and the tequila had drenched our insides and made us blissfully hazy and so much more aware of the surreality of the evening, I stood in the kitchen with Daniel and Sarah and from across the room I saw him walk over to my cousin and check to see if he was indeed still breathing (he was).

That he did so meant everything.

My heart is too full for any more words.

so
here's
to
being.

epic.

our epic something

For Sarah:

Can we just waste away the day –
This day
Like we did when it was summer
And we were
Consumed
By long hazy nights
On the back porch at Granthony’s
Holding tight to the railing and laughing at wherever tomorrow would take us?

With Gin Ginger Ale and Djarums
(And Tequila and Dos and limes)
And sleepovers
Just the three of us
not
kissing
in my bed
hours scrambling into whole days like the pieces in our games of Scrabble

Our lives were semi-charmed
You remember?
We'd sing every word we could
And on that last
Fabulousandamazing
Evening
When we still had Austin
And things made sense
Metro Station sang the words we couldn’t and dresses and jeans hid nothing

Let’s waste our days again
Like that
Where the words we write mean everything
And the boys we read are perfect
Cause now you and me
Just spend our days
Looking for that epic something
We’re missing – that one great whimsical story of our precious young and wild lives