I yearn for adventure. I want to live everywhere in the world someday. London, San Fran, L.A., NYC, any massive, exhilarating, cosmopolitan city! I would wither away in the country! Otherwise, my life would be so tedious. I wouldn't be able to handle the mundane redundancy of it all. I'd get twitchy with restlessness and would nearly implode.
That's why the second I graduate I am hopping on the next plane to San Fransisco, luggage in tow, and hopefully with a job and a rented apartment all there waiting for me. Either San Fran or West Hollywood. Probably the only two places in the world where I can find a significant other.
Anyway, I digress. I'm going to try to veer away from narcissistic anecdotes now.
I want to garner as many worldly, eccentric and asinine experiences as possible.
I want to do as much crazy shit as possible.
You know what I realized? So I was sitting in my school visit, bored out of my skull and I came to the conclusion that when I move to California I want to be a stripper in a lesbian bar for a year.
I will do this purely for the sake of art...for writing of course! Then I will write all about it.
It'll be my Diablo Cody approach to a memoir. So it won't be PURELY for shock value! There, that's number one on my bucket list now. Strip for a year. If I can pull it off. It will definitely have to be a lesbian bar, I would be scarred for life if men were all up on me groping me, shouting obscenities at me, and putting their hands down my g-string. Not okay.
On an entirely different note altogether, here is my dream funeral attire:
I'm going for something insanely European, classy and sophisticated. And very mod of course.
and these. . .(the sunglasses. Some Jackie Os!) to add a touch of mystique to this getup.
and these.
And viola! Impeccable elegance!
So I just stumbled across PART of a short story that I wrote last year that I submitted to the lit magazine last year (apparently no issue was even printed last year, mysteriously enough.) So I just thought I'd put this up here, because after all the only reason why I've submerged myself in this blogging craze and hopped on the bandwagon and whatnot is to help my creative juices get flowing more! They flow all right every day but I don't know, I still kind of have writer's block, I am clueless as to where I want to go next with my novella/novel/book and if this doesn't help then I don't know what will!
If that makes any sense at all!
So I just stumbled across PART of a short story that I wrote last year that I submitted to the lit magazine last year (apparently no issue was even printed last year, mysteriously enough.) So I just thought I'd put this up here, because after all the only reason why I've submerged myself in this blogging craze and hopped on the bandwagon and whatnot is to help my creative juices get flowing more! They flow all right every day but I don't know, I still kind of have writer's block, I am clueless as to where I want to go next with my novella/novel/book and if this doesn't help then I don't know what will!
If that makes any sense at all!
Perpetual Paradox (this title makes NO sense I've just realized. Well it could be because I never did finish this short story. My problem with this piece was that I was NOT writing what I "know". That's what you're supposed to do. I was trying way too hard to sound like an introspective, mature adult. Hells no. I mean, lesbians, British popular culture, Gaga, Chezza, rap music, books, Desperate Housewives, I can do. WTF was I thinking?!?! Oh well!)
Dr. Maureen Plato’s beady, black eyes penetrated into Mabel’s, which made her rather uneasy, forcing her to shift her gaze elsewhere.
At Him?
Certainly not.
She eyed the blood-spattered pigeon carcass perched on the windowsill, the blinding sunlight streaming in through the window, making Mabel dart her eyes to yet another area of the room.
“Something may have sparked…something within us on our honeymoon, I suppose,” Mabel answered grudgingly, folding her cold, clammy hands on her lap.
“The fate was clear from the very beginning…clearly,” River spat mordantly, running his large, leathery hands through his dark, luscious hair, accentuating the barely-there blonde streaks that were embedded in his locks from many years of sailing during summers spent in Maine.
“This was inevitable I suppose,” Mabel said softly, suddenly becoming abnormally engrossed in the light yellow flecks in the pale blue carpet.
“All right, then. I think we’re at long last getting somewhere. Now, Mabel, explain what happened on your honeymoon that made you upset. It is clear to me you are irked by something that happened at that point in time. And River, remain quiet and then you can give me your interpretation of what happened,” Dr. Plato explained, adjusting the enormous crimson-colored glasses that were resting on the bridge of her nose, causing her to startlingly resemble a librarian---in Mabel’s opinion.
“Um, okay. Let me think. We jetted to Europe for our honeymoon. The day we left, a week after our wedding in Nassau, was a beautiful, balmy day here in New York, if I remember correctly. Our first stop was in London, and on one sticky, sweltering morning we decided to grab some coffee at the Café Nero…I believe that was what it was called.”
Mabel sipped her cappuccino daintily, smoothing out the creases in her skirt. River guzzled his cappuccino down as if there was a fire in the building and in order to get out, he had to finish consuming what was in front of him.
“Don’t burn yourself,” Mabel warned, eyeing the empty coffee mug in front of her husband.
“Relax, you know that I get my eating and drinking fast tendencies from my dad,” River snapped without glancing up from his newspaper.
“Oh God, don’t I know it! No wonder your poor mother is always bellowing to your father about his heartburn,” tittered Mabel.
River put his newspaper down on the table, gazed at Mabel incredulously, and took her hand.
“Not to worry, my dear, my dad has it all under control. He doesn’t need you cracking jokes about his health,” River said with a tinge of resentment in his voice.
Mabel swallowed hard and quickly moved her hands away to pretend to be looking for something in her purse, that was resting on her scrawny knees.
“Well, we’ve got a long day of sightseeing ahead of us,” she said, apprehensively checking her watch. “I want to get Big Ben in before we head to Dublin tomorrow.”
“Sounds fine to me, I’m game for anything. Just as long as you don’t make us stop at any more mom and pop shops so you can get yet another pastry. You’re getting a little pudgy, sweetheart.” River grinned broadly and leaned back into his chair, his interlocked hands cupped behind his head.
Mabel ignored the jab, ignored the inferno blazing through her veins, ignored the tears welling, scorching in her sockets.
She clenched her jaw, bit her tongue and closed her eyes to remain tranquil.
As the newlyweds waited for the waiter to come by so they could pay the bill, an extraordinarily colorful and gaudy woman at a table nearby shot up from her seat.
Her entire appearance made Mabel wince. The pixie cut, her locks the color of a violet, the preposterously low-cut tank top, the emerald-green cargo shorts, the jet-black ankle boots, the fuzzy, cherry-colored cashmere scarf draped around her neck.
But above all of this, Mabel was surprised by the dash of envy that flickered inside of her. The woman had the most beautiful skin she had ever seen, with the smallest, most delicate features, quite comparable to those of a newborn.
Her tiny button nose made Mabel want to dry heave.
But not River.
As the woman sashayed by their table, her glistening, olive-green eyes met River’s and a slight grin spread across her face, the intensity of her dazzling, ruby lipstick ricocheting off of the windows and into Mabel’s weary pupils.
It appeared to have happened in slow motion. River’s eyes widened, his jaw dropped slightly, as he uncomfortably adjusted himself in his seat. Then his eyes, daring as they were, dropped down to her breasts, that were so firm, exposed, and angular that they looked as if they were suffocating.
As the woman’s footsteps pitter-pattered into oblivion, Mabel averted her gaze to her purse. Again. River, clearly being entirely unaware of what had just occurred, let out a heavy, ragged sigh, wiped away the sweat that was accumulating at his temples, and returned to draining his newspaper dry of content with his fervent and fanatical eyes.
At Him?
Certainly not.
She eyed the blood-spattered pigeon carcass perched on the windowsill, the blinding sunlight streaming in through the window, making Mabel dart her eyes to yet another area of the room.
“Something may have sparked…something within us on our honeymoon, I suppose,” Mabel answered grudgingly, folding her cold, clammy hands on her lap.
“The fate was clear from the very beginning…clearly,” River spat mordantly, running his large, leathery hands through his dark, luscious hair, accentuating the barely-there blonde streaks that were embedded in his locks from many years of sailing during summers spent in Maine.
“This was inevitable I suppose,” Mabel said softly, suddenly becoming abnormally engrossed in the light yellow flecks in the pale blue carpet.
“All right, then. I think we’re at long last getting somewhere. Now, Mabel, explain what happened on your honeymoon that made you upset. It is clear to me you are irked by something that happened at that point in time. And River, remain quiet and then you can give me your interpretation of what happened,” Dr. Plato explained, adjusting the enormous crimson-colored glasses that were resting on the bridge of her nose, causing her to startlingly resemble a librarian---in Mabel’s opinion.
“Um, okay. Let me think. We jetted to Europe for our honeymoon. The day we left, a week after our wedding in Nassau, was a beautiful, balmy day here in New York, if I remember correctly. Our first stop was in London, and on one sticky, sweltering morning we decided to grab some coffee at the Café Nero…I believe that was what it was called.”
Mabel sipped her cappuccino daintily, smoothing out the creases in her skirt. River guzzled his cappuccino down as if there was a fire in the building and in order to get out, he had to finish consuming what was in front of him.
“Don’t burn yourself,” Mabel warned, eyeing the empty coffee mug in front of her husband.
“Relax, you know that I get my eating and drinking fast tendencies from my dad,” River snapped without glancing up from his newspaper.
“Oh God, don’t I know it! No wonder your poor mother is always bellowing to your father about his heartburn,” tittered Mabel.
River put his newspaper down on the table, gazed at Mabel incredulously, and took her hand.
“Not to worry, my dear, my dad has it all under control. He doesn’t need you cracking jokes about his health,” River said with a tinge of resentment in his voice.
Mabel swallowed hard and quickly moved her hands away to pretend to be looking for something in her purse, that was resting on her scrawny knees.
“Well, we’ve got a long day of sightseeing ahead of us,” she said, apprehensively checking her watch. “I want to get Big Ben in before we head to Dublin tomorrow.”
“Sounds fine to me, I’m game for anything. Just as long as you don’t make us stop at any more mom and pop shops so you can get yet another pastry. You’re getting a little pudgy, sweetheart.” River grinned broadly and leaned back into his chair, his interlocked hands cupped behind his head.
Mabel ignored the jab, ignored the inferno blazing through her veins, ignored the tears welling, scorching in her sockets.
She clenched her jaw, bit her tongue and closed her eyes to remain tranquil.
As the newlyweds waited for the waiter to come by so they could pay the bill, an extraordinarily colorful and gaudy woman at a table nearby shot up from her seat.
Her entire appearance made Mabel wince. The pixie cut, her locks the color of a violet, the preposterously low-cut tank top, the emerald-green cargo shorts, the jet-black ankle boots, the fuzzy, cherry-colored cashmere scarf draped around her neck.
But above all of this, Mabel was surprised by the dash of envy that flickered inside of her. The woman had the most beautiful skin she had ever seen, with the smallest, most delicate features, quite comparable to those of a newborn.
Her tiny button nose made Mabel want to dry heave.
But not River.
As the woman sashayed by their table, her glistening, olive-green eyes met River’s and a slight grin spread across her face, the intensity of her dazzling, ruby lipstick ricocheting off of the windows and into Mabel’s weary pupils.
It appeared to have happened in slow motion. River’s eyes widened, his jaw dropped slightly, as he uncomfortably adjusted himself in his seat. Then his eyes, daring as they were, dropped down to her breasts, that were so firm, exposed, and angular that they looked as if they were suffocating.
As the woman’s footsteps pitter-pattered into oblivion, Mabel averted her gaze to her purse. Again. River, clearly being entirely unaware of what had just occurred, let out a heavy, ragged sigh, wiped away the sweat that was accumulating at his temples, and returned to draining his newspaper dry of content with his fervent and fanatical eyes.
“Well, this is it,” River said flippantly, almost cheerily, while firing up a square. He rested his right hand on Mabel’s right shoulder.
“I guess this is goodbye.”
He took a drag from his cigarette, pulled it down next to his hip and flicked it into a nearby flowerbed that was teeming with vibrant, stunning sunflowers, chrysanthemums, and daisies sprouting up in a way that made Mabel believe that they could reach the heavens someday.
Mabel gazed into River’s lucid, cobalt eyes for what she was sure to be the last time. A searing tear crashed upon her cheek like a wave upon a shore as she forced a weak smile in lieu of a goodbye.
“Ta, ta,” River drawled acerbically.
And he was gone. Leaving Mabel plunked upon the coarse and jagged walkway, the blooming flowers encircling her like a great beam of light towering, reaching, toward the luminous, glistening atmosphere.
“I guess this is goodbye.”
He took a drag from his cigarette, pulled it down next to his hip and flicked it into a nearby flowerbed that was teeming with vibrant, stunning sunflowers, chrysanthemums, and daisies sprouting up in a way that made Mabel believe that they could reach the heavens someday.
Mabel gazed into River’s lucid, cobalt eyes for what she was sure to be the last time. A searing tear crashed upon her cheek like a wave upon a shore as she forced a weak smile in lieu of a goodbye.
“Ta, ta,” River drawled acerbically.
And he was gone. Leaving Mabel plunked upon the coarse and jagged walkway, the blooming flowers encircling her like a great beam of light towering, reaching, toward the luminous, glistening atmosphere.
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