Tue, May. 10th, 2005, 03:37 am
cory the kidd.
I tried to fill your void with a cowboy named Cory the Kidd.
The only light this late at night came from the burn of his cigarette.
We talked over ashtrays and pots of dead ivy. The ones I soaked in dirty water.
He told me wasn’t a texture guy himself.
He hated pulp and nuts in brownies.
“Crunchy or smooth?” I inquired. “When it comes to peanut butter.”
“Crunchy..” he said as smooth as black glass that’s been tossed in sands and salt and earth.
“Smooth..” I sighed, depressed. Defeated
I saw him swagger in on Wednesday. And Saturday he was sweet.
I curled inside a balmy blanket, that still smelled of you. I tried to take my mind of things. And change subjects like pentathlons.
“Tell me more,” I purred.
“I’ve always had a thing for cowboys..”
We retired inside after an angry man from the apartment building next door screamed shut-up.
At the time, I didn’t make out the words. I was far to wrapped up in trying to get myself wrapped up.
He’d be leaving in six days. And I only had five to make this into a whirlwind romance.
The sort where we’d write longwinded letters of what could have been. Where we used a lot of if only’s and talk about the one that got away. Where we’d discuss Dostoyevsky and Henry Miller and the importance of fictional non fiction. We’d talk about what it’s like being brought up religiously, the way people say the word “mElk”, and how sometimes, only sometimes, casual sex seems to be all that’s left.
Three hours into the night and one into the morning I gave up on trying to get to know him.
I gave him the one thing I couldn’t give you.
Cause it meant so much nothing.
I gave him chocolate and water and he smoked on the back porch. I crawled up inside of him and he felt silky as milk. He smelled like onyx ashes. He tasted like St. Louis.
So Cory the Kidd packed up and we got into my car. On the way to the hotel I saw a mangy looking animal in the street.
“Oh no.” I said, “Is that an animal?”
“No.” He said. “It’s just a plastic bag. Oh wait. That? Yeah.” and he removed his sunglasses. “It looks like a cocker spaniel.”
And then it started blowing away.
“It just some leaves,” he said, “brush, maybe, weeds.”
“Tumble…weed??” I giggled.
And he smiled and tipped his hat at me.
And with that he was off to the motor lodge.
And I was spared four days of keeping my mind off of you.
I’m just keepin’ it casual, baby.
That’s all that I can do.
And on a side note. He bought the hat last week.
Thu, Apr. 28th, 2005, 09:53 pm
guh..did he seriously just flake? like? seriously?
Thu, Apr. 28th, 2005, 09:47 pm
[Bad username: <img src=]
this week in pictures.( Read more...Collapse )
went hiking today with paige.
bought a mini screwdriver.
i talked to my dad while he was in the hospital and this is how the convo went:
me: i need a mini screwdriver
him: home depot
me: i gotta go. my mini pizza is done.
him: mini screwdrivers...mini pizzas...you're more hung up on minis than mickey.
me: hahahah i love you dad.
he gets out tomorrow. second stint in his heart. guuuh.
i went dancing tonight with jessica bertoni. i love this woman. she's all the girlfriend with none of the jealousy or sexual tension for that matter.
i tried to place my crush on someone else tonight. it didn't go exactly how i planned.
i also rolled down the window on the way to brite spot and almost got me and jess killed.
i'm keeping myself away.
Wed, Apr. 20th, 2005, 07:48 pm
what a beauty...hahahahah
i was reminiscing about 7th grade. and i got to thinking about the little things.
the first question one was asked after announcing that they got felt up was , "over or under the bra?!"
there used to be an option.
we also used to have make-out parties. play spin the bottle. and play 7 minutes in heaven.
and when we danced with our current crush we were always asked, " did you guys freak?!"
freak! ha! that was like a dance term we used! remember that!
this of course was before i gave a blowjob to my bf in 7th grade and had to start seeing the school psycholigist since said blowjob was the subject of a passed note that got intercepted.
ahhh. the good ol' days.
Wed, Apr. 20th, 2005, 03:46 am
please keep me away from him.
Mon, Apr. 18th, 2005, 10:33 pm
to be spoken with a southern sort of accent:
The man in the oversized red sweater kept breathing whisky in my ear as he asked me if I was taken.
“A girl like yous,” he said, “a girl like yous is always taken.”
I nodded and said I was, to avoid some sort of confrontation. He told me about drinking bottles of wine on the santa monica pier on summer nights. Smoking a joint, listening to jams. I knew he was the type to call them “jams” before he even called them that.
He asked me if twice if I was taken and you nodded and said I was. To avoid some sort of confrontation. And it was chilly and I was wearing a low cut shirt and I kept yelling at you for sneaking peeks. Even though I wanted you to.
“Tell him to fuck off,” you said. “Tell him you’ve got a boyfriend and he’s in a band.”
“But I don’t.” I said.
“What about that one guy?”
“Fictional. I made him up to make you mad.”
But I said it like “maaaad” and trailed off in a sexy sort of voice.
And I traced little hearts and spirals and shapes on the inside of your jeans that you bleached to match mine.
And I rested my little head on your big shoulder.
“I went to jet rag today.” you said.
“You were on la brea and you didn’t tell me?”
“Well I had to meet Mesa for dinner.”
“Mesa. My girlfriend.
We got back together.”
“Oh.. Yeah.” I said. And then decided to make the ,“yeah” a , “yeah?”
To make it sound like I was interested or something.
After a long awkward pause and the removal of my head from your shoulder I said,
“So um. I guess this is what I came to give you.
Songs to make - up to and songs to make - out to.”
I giggled. And I smiled. And I walked off. Strutting a bit more than I usually do. Knowing you was watching me.
I listened to sad songs on the way home.
I don’t know what I was thinking.
I got home and unpacked my duffel bag.
I told you, “Don’t you dare make out with someone else to my make-out cd.”
“Never.” was all you said.