A warm gun

Steven is taking a nap. I was reading The Shining and am working on Monday's transit article (running out of ideas). He was watching a western, but I've since flipped it to I Love Lucy.

Last night, we had Mongolian BBQ in Pasadena, went to Disneyland, and played 20 Questions while waiting in line for Space Mountain.

This morning we had lox & cream cheese, and read the newspaper over breakfast.

I don't remember the exact date, but I remember that we met on the bridge of August and September, and he's the only one so far who hasn't thrown away my heart.

Our relationship is two years along.

(Happy Anniversary)

We're alive

It's so interesting the things you can realize as time passes on. Years, months, weeks, days, minutes, seconds. Seriously. Time is a gift in that - should the beholder be open enough - it allows perspective and knowledge and understanding to kick in. It allows change to occur, people to grow up, hands to be thrown up and feet to keep walking in the opposite direction. It's a gift to be fully appreciated, or so it has been in the last few years. No matter how raw emotion can still be after dead and gone past situations, I am thankful for time. By way of experience (work, relationships, education, family), I have gotten better with time. People in my life bearing closed personages have come and gone. This generation, space, and time have allowed me to be and remain open, so I can only assume I will get even better.

This weekend has been fulfilling. With it being work-free, I was able to relax, to sleep off pervading moods, to hydrate, energize, and be for a while. The best part so far has to have been - not my friends simulating how to use the exercise ball in our living room for better gravitational positioning, if you know what I mean, but - finally getting my nephew's occular attention, as he loves to take in everything visually. This evening he stared at me with his deep, dark brown eyes, wide and clear, expecting more funny faces and wriggling of my eyebrows. He smiled at me. Totally and fully.

His reaction has attributed to one of the best feelings in my world so far.

Bedroom banter

"Whatcha doin'?"
"Nothin'." [pause] "Are you naked?"
"No, I'm wearing boxers."
"Oh, okay." [pause] "You smell nice."
"Thanks."

Support

My brother[ and CO.]'s website is outstanding. Do yourself a service and check it out.

This weekend I don't have to be concerned with much in relation to writing, since the site is expanding and I just buckled down and got Friday's and Monday's posts in by last night. I love writing, don't get me wrong. It makes the nine-to-five bullshit obsolete and therefore life is rich. In fact I'll again be listening to Citizen Savant's EP and will be jotting some descriptive phrases tomorrow when I get home from the dentist, but being done with the scheduled bits is a good feeling. Everyone needs a weekend off.

I arranged to have next Thursday off from work. I'm so happy about that.

Friday will be a half-day, and during that long weekend, my undefined boyfriend and I will be together in celebration of our two-year anniversary. I think we'll stay in bed and watch television.

broken heartstrings

i want that life in the hills. the feeling that everything is a-ok. that there's silence and calm in the house. that there's love. i want to see the sun set from above franklin. i want to feel the cool of dark wood-paneled floors beneath the soles of my feet. i want to feel safe. i want to breathe and sigh, and feel alive.

that is for sure a creepy feeling. i felt it roll down to the tips of my toes.

maybe i'd better let up a little bit.

Musings

Tonight means leftover Chinese food, Fresca, and Stoli. Summer vacation is still upon us in the Valley, and I am thrilled. I'm currently on the waiting list for a statistics and history class this fall, and hopefully will get into an online political science class, which - when completed - will mean onward to university in the spring! I have worked so hard . . . I haven't realized how much until now. I won't realize just how hard I've worked until I get my bachelor's degree.

This weekend was unexpected. It has been such a questionable few weeks, where I've just wanted to stay in bed and not go anywhere. The overcast mornings just begged me to sleep in, to stay inside and write, but the way my funds have been stretched, I can't afford giving in to anything but punching the time clock. I suppose all emotional somersaults have been worth it because this weekend was what my ailing mood needed. Enough reality to jolt my senses, but enough good times to help me see that life with all its pushes, pulls, and fuckery is pretty damned good the way it is.

There was plenty of riding on the motorcycle with my undeclared boyfriend. When we were zooming down the 405 past the Getty Center Friday night, there was this eerie sort of fog that filled the space between the mountains, and the moon was pale and shining. I was so exhausted; I felt like I was drunk. Thankfully, I didn't fall off (I'll never intend to), but it was nice to be out there. It was nice to see Kevin, looking gorgeous. And it was nice to have the EP to listen to (and prep for review), and even better? It was awesome peeling off my jeans to fall into bed.

Saturday's party was in an area I'd been before a while ago, with someone I've been missing a lot, thinking about a lot, somewhat craving a lot. It's funny how time and space does that. An evil tease it is, the cruel reality that such a blissful existence is no more. But now it's filled by people and situations that wouldn't have existed if I didn't grow a hell of a lot. So. The party. Fabulous. Thrown by Kev and his lover in a cute little space that lets in a lot of light. Cute little yard. Thanks to raised endorphins and a couple of beers I was able to let go and be Lindsey for a while. It felt so good, and hell was it ever a trip to run into a somebody I'd watched for years as a kid witness of Jehovah growing up. I had the hugest crush on him as a youngster, but I wanted a piece of everyone then. Particularly the wide-eyed, perfect-coiffed boy with an in-between build that suggested a soft hasrhness that could only attract a to-be fag hag (aka me). It was fun, though. It's interesting to see where life takes you and those you know, if you let time work and you don't rule out any possibilities. So. As the would-be harvest moon started to rise and the torches burned on, we went home. I worked. Then we slept.

And then I woke up, torn as to whether I should do the elliptical trainer, or ride the bicycle, or go for a walk. I walked a good five miles, by the busway, through the park, by the lake, and to the farmers market. Plums, white peaches, yellow nectarines for $2 a pound. "Apriums" (bespeckled plum/apricot hybrids) for free, for being inquisitive. Reddened sunflowers for N's birthday. A quick shower in lemon-infused suds, and lunch lunch LUNCH at Greenblatt's. Love. An intense feeling-up, making-out, to-the-brink session with Hollywood. Then back home, for a nap in a pool of sun shining through red shades, drawn.

Writing. Dinner. Loving past midnight. Waking up at 5:00 to his arms around me. Listening to him shower as I drifted in and out of consciousness. This morning he stood above me in his dress shirt, and for a moment I pictured pulling him down by the tie and back into bed with me, but I had to get up to go to work. He left. I worked. I'm home.

And I'm drinking my Fresca.

I'm the virus

So apparently the cure for a hangover involves more than coffee and water. Today's cure involved

dark-tinted rose-colored sunglasses
not listening to the iPod during the morning commute
a breakfast burrito (hashbrowns, eggs tomatoes, sour cream, etc.)
a liter of water
and leaning far, far back in the office chair with my slip-ons off

I drank that liter this morning and have yet to use the facilities. My liver must want out, but I'm feeling worlds better than when I woke up this morning. Now I can go back to being torn between seeing Pineapple Express or going to the grocery store after I escape from work at 1:00 pm.

Thank Buddha the weekend is almost here. We'll be seeing Citizen Savant at The Mint tonight. I wish that Fred 62 was on the way. Perhaps with a little prodding, I can make it so. . .

Socks knocked off

Being quoted at part of the media is probably one of the craziest feelings in the world.

International Dance Academy Hollywood's MySpace
Aug 1 2008 10:31 AM

QUOTES FROM THE ARTICLE REGARDING THE SUCCESS OF THE GRAND OPENING PARTY PUBLISHED ON WWW. LA. CITYZINE. COM

July 29th, 2008 Written by: Lindsey
“…between Highland and McCadden Place, it is conveniently accessible to those looking for it.”
“If Heaven were a dance studio, this would be the place.”
“…it is easily a place that any burgeoning talent could call home.”
“…IDA has been established for dance students from all walks, encouraging positivity and diversity within the dance community.”
“Classes at IDA currently range from hip-hop and jazz to ballet and samba, taught by a staff mainly of professional choreographers, many who have worked with some of the hottest modern acts around.”
“…dance is a celebration of life. International Dance Academy has been built upon such a foundation…”
“Entertaining and to the brim with feel-goodness and camaraderie, it certainly was a party no one - and I mean no one - wanted to quit.”
“…, the International Dance Academy prides itself in being a company for and by the dancers.
“Truly the best quality about it is its human quality, from the president and the instructors’ right down to the students …”
www. la. cityzine. com
http://www. la. cityzine. com/2008/07/29/grand-opening-international-dance-academy-hollywood/#more-9860

That's totally what I get for dorking around close to midnight on a Thursday, because I can't sleep and I'm finishing up a post for Friday.

It's only been three months, though. A very generous start. I hope to be writing (and to keep improving) until there are no more BIC pens left.

(happy dance)

Preoccupied

I usually check my work messages every morning, but I guess I haven't checked my cell messages in a while, which is probably why there were sixteen messages waiting for me to listen to. Sixteen. I hate voicemail, really. And I've not been wanting to take calls, but it's probably best that I learn to like it.

My mood has been pinched. I've been feeling bleh about things like karma, other people, and the future. I suppose everyone feels that way. I've got more important things to think about, like writing, keeping in contact with people, networking, or re-filling my birth control for the year. . . which I might want to do today, actually.

Summertime isn't a particularly pleasurable time for me, unless parts of it are spent by the shore. On the other hand, summertime means that autumn is approaching, autumn always being absolute heaven. Three months of splendor. I saw ads posted for the Halloween Fright Fair that my college has every year - hella expensive, but the pumpkin patch and corn field is nice to ride by on the bicycle. Being in New York last year for the Halloween parade was a scream, the air and the color, and innumerable jack o'lanterns on stoops and in windows was so damned nice. I feel alive when the prospect of dead things scampering around presents itself each year. That's the kind of childish fantasy I can contend with.

So looking forward to that makes things okay for now. It's still summertime, but I think we're all anticipating the autumn nights, a harvest moon; an 11:30pm viewing of The Nightmare Before Christmas on Hollywood Blvd. . . baking pumpkin pies all season. Orange candles, candy corn, and a flight to New York in November.

Summertime can totally take a flying leap off of my calendar.

Morning

I walked out onto the balcony at about 8:30, looked to my left, and saw the ocean. Bright blue beneath the sky. Temperature was perfect.

I will be out from under this roof in a bit.

I am not to ever get tired of the Pacific, under penalty of disenchantment.

No kidding

On the bus ride in to work I found myself looking forward to the weekend. Tomorrow at a little after 5:00 pm, I'll be south-bound on a Pacific Surfliner to spend said weekend with my boyfriend, who will soon be moving from the shore to the foothills to be closer to work. Until then, waking up to a misty marine layer on Saturday and Sunday mornings is more than enough prize to behold at the end of the week.

We all need a little something. Daily somethings, for instance: sunlight picking up the green in a new leaf; the sound of nothing; a hot shower; an apropos text message. Good sushi for lunch, mango milk chews after 2:00 pm, green tea boba on the weekends. Et cetera.

The best things in life are free, yes. I truly believe there are plenty of delights that money can't buy. Still, it won't kill me to have a twenty in the event that I'm wrong.

Those summer nights

Today: not all the coffee in the world was able to cut through the fact I was not to think my own thoughts for eight hours (other than "Oh God, please make it stop"), at all.

This evening: I had made advance plans to have the rear wheel of my road bike repaired by my younger brother and his fixie friend , but my mood was in a sucky place. Nothing sounded better than ordering in orange chicken & steamed rice, and catching up on Swingtown. When I got home, though, I readied self for company -and as a result, the rear wheel is fixed. As payment I took brother and friend out to dinner and gave them bus fare for the ride home, despite personal, predicted bi-monthly dwindling of funds.

Having my bicycle fixed is the best thing to have happened lately, as riding it every day tends to be as beneficial to my mood as sex. With both now functioning and operational, the rest of the day doesn't really stand a chance.

Introduction?

Hi, my name is Lindsey. I've been blogging on and off for about six years, via this module, and most recently MySpace.

I am currently writing somewhat regularly for the public, which is what I've been encouraged to do for a long time. I'm still honing my talent, but I'm at least knowledgable of that talent - and you know what they say about knowledge and power. It's a great feeling to have my writing skimmed over, if not yet read in full.

So, upon realization of said supposed talent, I figured that I might want to start using upper-cased letters. I love lower-cased letters, though. Lower-cased is more casual and allows room for more interpretation, but I can understand how it can make one think that the author is lesser than their years. So here we are trying something a little bit different.

Life as of late is as follows: I work and go to school full-time, which takes up most of my time and energy. I am a sister, an aunt, a lover, and a friend. 2008 has been an okay year so far. I have met interesting people, and at the same time have cultivated and maintained rich friendships. I spend my free time daydreaming or thinking of things to write. I prefer to have some sort of napkin or Post-It in my purse at all times. I prefer a thesaurus to a dictionary. I love words; because of this, I have a burning desire to travel to each of our earth's continents, to smell its air, delve in the cultures, to fall in love with some city I'll never want to leave. I'm sure it will make an interesting screenplay.

If in dire need of something to read, please head to this blog, or back from whence you came. Rest assured that there's enough meat laid out for the vultures to pick at. After which, please allow enough time to pass, to allow room for more verbage, and for my digital camera to arrive - after which I truly believe that things will flourish more seamlessly with the aid of much color.