joaniepepperoni

I’m typing this on my iPod from the adductor machine at the gym. If you don’t know what that is, it’s this weight machine that you sit on and open and close your legs to tone your inner thighs or whatever. Anyway, it’s directly facing all the real manly equipment where the guys work out so I just here in front of them, opening and closing my legs. Kinda like a sweaty sharon stone.

I don’t want to get older and be one of those people who spends their whole lives waiting for Fridays. 

I bet Carmen Electra is sad. I bet she’s really sad. 

I forgot someone’s name that I went to high school with today, which is both exciting and worrisome. 

It’s exciting because obviously (most of) the people I went to high school with were the worst. But it bothers me because I have a pretty impeccable memory. I remember people’s name almost to a point of concern. Just the other night I saw someone on the street who rode the bus with me in elementary school, recognized him and remembered his name. 

As long as I don’t have early on-set Alzheimer’s, I’m hoping that I start to forget the names of (almost) everyone I went to high school with. I can’t wait to run into some bitch and say, “Sorry, what was your name again?”

I like to think (pretend) that I’m a pretty independent person, not financially, obviously (thanks Dad!) but in other ways, ya know. I can wipe my own ass, I know how to use those blue mail boxes on sidewalks. I can cook, I can clean (but not spills). When other girls I know turn to men for certain things, I figure them out myself. 

There’s one thing I can’t do though, and that’s bugs. I cannot kill a bug. I cannot pick up a dead bug. I can’t do it. I won’t do it! That’s the one thing I wish I had a man around for: execution and removal of bugs.

I put a paper bowl over the centipede in my kitchen. I have no plans of picking it up, same goes for the dead spider in my bedroom.

talkingfries:

I want to sit on your front steps,
brush my fingers against your bare arms,
their warmth the way sunned cement feels
on the back of our legs,
tell you that I’ve learned some things:

I’d say I am the captain of a large wooden boat
with a white sail under a grey sky
in a churning dark ocean
and the ocean rocks me
the way a crumpled piece of paper
falls from my desk to the ground

I know the past is a snapshot;
the future, only imagined
and the present, a movie,
created without edits,
which needs to mean something
when shown on the inner most
screens of our existences

And when I drank, I drank you forever;
I chugged that love and was never thirsty
but now, I only binge away
hangovers of other lovers—
Today, I wake up tired and thirsty

I also need to tell you I had monsters,
only the size of squirrels, which carried me away.
But I was small myself to let that happen.
Now I have these demons
eating peanuts out of the palm of my hand

I remember the hair standing up
on your arm I caressed
and how you were right, so right,
in what you gave me
I understand finally,
why things have moved on

so I appear here to say, thank-you,
and I miss you—
That you look beautiful
in the picture
I put in a frame,
and place on a hard marble mantel
over a burned out hearth

-Timothy Gager

I had a dream last night that I went to eat at a restaurant by myself…

No thanks, subconscious. I’ll stick to getting take out and eating it alone in my car.

Its weird that should is should and shoulder is shoulder. And shoulda isn’t shoulda.