The Prose-Poem Project "Last November"

A prose poem I wrote is now up in this lovely magazine. Print edition will come out in April sometime.

Hurrah!

So, Matt is thinking of leaving LA to travel in Hawaii and Chile. Which means that I would have to find a roommate and probably move to the west side. It just doesn't make sense to stay in my place if he's going to go travel. I think he feels LA is expensive, pretentious, and stupid. Parts of it are and parts of it aren't. I love, love, love our neighborhood, but the commute is slowly draining me of all life. I'm always tired and don't ever want to do anything on the weekends. When I do I crash afterwards, into an abyss of sleep. I've broken down my life to writing, exercise, day job work, Greek, and there's barely any time for Greek. I've been neglecting Matt, neglecting friends I want to see. Eating healthy is supposed to fit somewhere in that equation, too, but often that falls to the wayside.

I don't know if we'd stay together if he left LA for a year. A part of me wants to go with him, but I wouldn't be able to afford paying my current bills (car + student loans) and travel expenses. I guess I wouldn't have to worry about an apartment if I just took up and left. No rent! Whooo hoooo!

I just want to live somewhere that's close to hiking, pilates or some fitness studio/gym that's affordable. A grocery store. I want somewhere that has parking, or where parking isn't an issue. And I don't want to deal with pretentious people. Or sneering people. Or people that want to kill me.

I don't know if we'd stay together. Or if we'd try an open relationship. I don't know if I'd try online dating. I hope he's just thinking about it and doesn't do it, but then a part of me wants him to go travel. Go! See the world! If that's what he wants to do, why not? Stuff's picking up in la la land, and I want to see where that takes me.

But I would miss him terribly if he left.

Not to mention having a roommate again...uuuurrrrrrggghhhhhhhh.

"Quiet City" in Copper Nickel

My short story "Quiet City" is in the new issue of Copper Nickel.

It's a beautiful journal!

Here we go.

u and v. They are very similar.

Okay.

We are eye candy, aren't we?
You don't have to be.

The auto shop guys always say hi to me. I don't like it. I can't help but walk past the auto shop. There's no other way to get to my office. No other way. I can't tell if they are just being cheerful and happy and nice or if they want something from me. Isn't that sad? That when someone is nice I wonder what they want? Plus, I'm not a morning person. Knowing someone is going to say hi to me at a certain moment of time early in the morning weirdly stresses me out. I haven't had my coffee yet. I haven't really eaten.

Today at Starbucks I reached for the cup sleeve at the same time another woman did, and she retracted her hand, all bashful like. "I haven't had my coffee yet," she said. As if that explained everything, and it did. I understood. We stared at the cup sleeves for a bit and then I let her grab one and then I grabbed one and we both wished each other a glorious, wonderful, fan-fucking-tastic day, except no one said any of those worlds, more like a slight smile, "have a good one," and then we were off.

Okay. So, I guess what it comes down to is I can't be happy. No matter if someone says hello or doesn't say hello I wonder about the why/what/when/where's of it all.

I don't write the truth in this thing, not anymore. There are too many people who I know that read it, so it makes me write just the sort of truth, or not my deep dark secrets, because they can put a face to the name. Because they know. Me.

I will try harder next time. In the future.

Fuck.

I've said this before, but I don't understand flirting. What is it? How is it made? What does it consist of? I am nice to everyone just because I like human beings I guess, but then when I'm nice to guys, some guys, they think it's because I like them back. Like 'like, like' them. And the truth is I'm quite happy with Mr. Matt, so no - although I do, I do like everyone. I'm pretty easy peasy. But see, it always comes out - awkwardly, because I am awkward - that I have a boyfriend, and I hate how these random guys that I don't even know that well (so why does it even matter?) I hate how they will then look at me as if I have tricked them. As if I've seduced them or done it on purpose, when really, what's the alternative? To not talk to anyone ever on the off chance they'll like what they see? And what if you are just naturally kind and talkative and friendly towards others? What then?

Anyway, the whole thing. Life. Very confusing. I have a lot of guilt. I blame my Catholic upbringing. Which is another pitfall of being raised Catholic. Blaming others.

Kidding.

Though I think it all comes down to the fact that everyone likes to place the blame on someone else, and no one wants to accept responsibility.

Really.

I'm such a middle-class defeatist.

Okay. So.

I'm turning older this Saturday. Not that we're not always turning older. Since I'm not really in the festive spirit, I've decided to invite just a few people. Also. Also. We can just do what we can do. It will be low key. We will go somewhere. Then we will eat. Then we will drink. There will be music, or maybe there won't.

I'm actually taking off from work next Friday. It will be a relaxing day of relaxingness. Maybe I'll get my hair cut. Right now it sort of resembles a rat's nest. Last year I went to a curly hair specialist and she said combs are bad for curly hair, only finger combing is recommended. So, naturally, I went whooo hoooo! And threw my comb in the toilet. (Where it clogged up the drain.) Kidding. I would never throw things intentionally in the toilet bowl. They just end up there somehow. Lord knows.

On our way back from Which Wich there was another condom on the ground. Really? This time by the doggie daycare. You people are crazy. Silly kids. Who do you think you are?

Okay. So. I kind of don't get The United States of Tara. Is that a real thing? DID. I guess it is. Whoa.

Thank God for Wikipedia. I knew it was before that though.

I don't want the internet to go away. I'd be so sad.

So very, very sad.

Oh!

I almost forgot the most important thing though, which is that today we moved one step closer towards working on a project that I am truly and absolutely passionate about at work. If all of these projects hit then I will be one happy girl - one is about an LA phone psychic's tale of life and love, the other is about a holiday home invasion, and the last is a classic low-budget horror tale which I know could be made really inexpensively and come out amazingly creepy.

Also, my good friend Jackie is reading my Snowman Killer book (mwa ha ha), and even if she hates it, the feedback should help me with revisions, which is bringing me one step closer to completing the project.

So, you know, I will just deal with having the plague for today.

Because this weekend is my birthday, and I'm planning trips to Hawaii and Mexico, and there's just a lot out there to see, you know?

So this is me. Signing off. So I can see it.

So, my company doesn't have sick days (well, they give us some personal days and say that they are sick days, too - yippee for sharing?). What this basically means then is that even if I have the plague I come to work and cough plague juice on my computer and pens and post-its, because there is no way in heck I'm giving up my precious vacation time to spend it curled up in bed watching bad instant netflix TV and feeling miserable.

I don't know if it's a LA office thing, or if it's a wide-world company thing. The other health insurance and what not seems pretty decent. It's just the sick time.

Anyway, so I'm getting sick. I can feel it in my bones. And though my commute on a healthy day is just 'meh,' on a sick day it is pretty unbearable. Still, I am braving the commute so I can spread my sickness to others.

You're welcome.

Neat Bar was a success. Quite fun and laid back and there was a Patty Wagon truck outside. Patty Wagon rosemary and garlic fries may be the best fries I've ever had. Well, they were unique anyway.

This weekend I'm going to the beach to hang out with a friend that I really should see more of but I am also in my cocoon of no driving long distances so usually I stay in the neighborhood. Which I know is totally lame.

A new brewery is opening its patio this weekend. Officially. Golden Road. We may go there on Sunday night, though who knows, it may be packed. Probably. Why wouldn't it be?

I'm still eating deli meats.

Today is Friday the 13th, but I remain foolishly optimistic that good things are on the horizon. My horoscope says so too. Though who knows what to believe. Whether it's true or not, I like hearing about the alignment of the planets and how close or far away we are to different gravitational fields, forces, and foolery. The universe, man. Have you ever just thought about it? We're just this little speck - a little speck of nothing. I mean, who knows what's out there? No one. No one knows.

WHAT THE HELL WE ARE SO INSIGNIFICANT OH MY LORD.

Okay, deep breathe.

Reel it in, Eva. Reel it in.

Still...

Crazy.

What I'm Excited About This Morning.

I've got it down now. I hope. Waking up at 5:30, going to pilates or the gym or yoga and then getting ready for work, going to work, writing on my break, writing at night. Wake up. Repeat. Wake up. Repeat.

Karen said, she said, well, they didn't take any care to get rid of the widows, and then I looked at the book in a new light. She was right, of course. Always. But they don't tell you that. Don't tell you how to fix widows, no one had a widow release party. Or gives you a second chance with font or spacing. It was just wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am. It's just, here, here, finish, finish it will you?

This is all my fault.

I'm okay with it though. It's not over yet. None of this is.

Today, secretly, no, I asked. I had a piece of pizza left in the fridge. It was from Dan. It was from my co-worker, he stayed late and then had pizza and there were some leftover slices and I ate one cold, the pepperoni fat congealing on the slice. It wasn't even ten in the morning.

My mom said not to eat nitrates, so deli meats are out. I thought about it, sometimes, always, I was making sandwiches for lunch. Tofurkey and provolone, then genoa salami.

I think the salami gives me heart burn, not sure.

I've signed up for a class at UCLA, it starts the last week in January. We get a reimbursement through work, so I figure I should take advantage of it, don't you? Don't you now? Yes.

Rewriting. Getting better. Need to put things away for awhile. Always have a desire to work on new stuff, new uncomplicated stuff. But I guess that doesn't make it exciting, does it?

Today when I was walking to work there was a used condom on the ground, swirling on the sidewalk, stuck. Sticky. Well, I didn't pick it up, don't worry about it. Okay?

I need more tea. I've been eating poorly. I just had some stupid caramel chocolate from a stupid chocolate box.

My friend ditched me last night, but I made a bet that she would and got fifty bucks for it. I actually don't mind actually, because last night was really fun, and money, that's always fun too. Good to see old friends.

Always.

Old and new.

I've been obsessed with boots lately. I feel like if I buy one more pair I'll be happy, but then I do and I say, you know what would make this even better? Another pair of boots.

When did I turn into such a girl? A different shoe for a different mood. But no, not shoes, just boots.

Glorious, glorious buggaboots.