to be resistant, the other night and the ones that followed, and dancing away the week

smoke smoke smoke

stomach turning.

ouchie.

i have a slightly desperate look in my eyes right now.

too much in my head. i can't get started.

who the fuck designed my duplex? who was the asshole who put the mirror in the bathroom just a tiny bit higher than normal so i have to be on my toes when im trying to get ready in light speed for work? makeup becomes a workout. all the outlets are sideways. the ceilings are too high goddamnit. theres no vent for the stove so the fire alarm goes off while im cooking and im left fanning the beeping thing and prying open painted windows. i stomp through the small space, befuddled, glancing at the parts of it that don't fit or make sense. it smells like grandma in there. [no one else has acknowledged this, maybe im imagining that part] no doors on the frames, i walk circles into the kitchen into the living room into the kitchen. theres wallpaper on one wall, four feet up, and thats it. ????? oh well. at least the lights work and the cats are happy to smell the strange blue carpet. harumph. what an odd place.
might just be perfect for me.
ive had a very real fear that maybe ill be trapped here. in this city. i see people i know, getting soft and settled. content? maybe resigned. a copper taste and i know im growing roots. here i shake my feet. ok, theyre still a metaphor. but how much longer do i have before the air becomes too thick and i cant breathe anymore just function and tread. shake it off shake it off shake it off.
for now i can handle this. maybe.
the other night i drove across town in rain and cold to get the voice ive been missing these past few years. deep and familiar. he gets in my car and i start to panic. what am i thinking... whats this..... i cant do this. but there we were. in the parking lot at work now. its been hours and the windshield holds rain and our coffee is cold and im not as nervous anymore. hes the same boy i used to know. adore, love, whatever. years ago we destroyed each other. the fall was incredible, epic and cruel. and yet.... its true .... i could never trust anyone like i trusted him. i could never let go. maybe i never did, just put on a good front. you still make me shake. and i want to be here. this isnt like before. welcome back.
sigh. but its terrifying.

everything is so damn terrifying.

last night i danced with people i adore. we watched a classy lady expose herself then we went back to singing bad rap and dancing like the east siders we are. drunk and smiling i hug and pull and move. it felt wonderful and i forgot that i had all this trash in my head for just long enough. her smile, his hand on my arm and the pulsing lights mingle with new faces and smoke. smile honey, this is what you need.

sigh.

what can i do to make a straight line? nothing.

powerless.

head rush.

done.

the criminal mindset, 19 in que, and me the bitch

aaah my first real work day in weeks it feels like. im fucking bushed people. the calls were rolling in, nothing interesting, nothing new, smoking or nonsmoking sir?, are you bringing shildren ma'am? and then keith merritt came into our world. this fucking guy. oy. amusement and a little sadness stirs into my feelings for this man. he calls each of us, i swear, telling us sob stories and wondering how could they NOT put me through? im a 7 stars member, service me whore of the reservations and get me my damn room! its a game of slap and tickle to this man, who doesnt spend nearly enough for us to take him seriously [and yes, we are those people, the money money if you dont got it you dont have a place to stay people]. finally i take pity and call a casino hostess. her tired voice is full of ive been taking bullshit all day tones and i cant tell her blond hair is pulled back away from her eyes and her mouth is still smelling of the bourbon in her desk. she picks up and says "let me guess. its keith isnt it, i fucking knew it. hes trouble i tell you. trouble. put him through". i do, and moments later the boy in front of me is saying "well mister merritt im sorry for the inconvenience we'll see what we can do for you, what? dont transfer you? ok, ill get you all set up......what the fuck is up with these people? i know work talk is boring, but funny to note, and fun for me to type about. hey, its the only fucking thing i had today, this man, and me trying to imagine him in his seedy apartment planning to come and rape our premises with his wiles and brunt speeches about being "one of the main points of financial aidings". sigh. ill stop now.

its been 5 years strong. thats much too long for me. [if you dont have a stephanie de-coder just stop thinking on it]


vonnegut died. i just really found out today. warren ellis' blog and the daily show clips. im a little down about this. our amazing minds are slowly drifting succumbing to the to new ones still alive and copying the ones lost. this mixed with the blaring cnn reports about the 33 dead kids in VA have me worried about the impending doom of our world. im sorry you guys, that your dead. im sorry that fucking asshole chained the doors closed. but have no fear, thousands of kids will always remember you as the reason for one of the my chemical romance songs at the concert tonight, apparently they sang it for you. sigh. [sometimes i should just shut the fuck up.] but in all seriousness i hope that asian fucktard is pleased in whatever hell he had waiting for him when he blew himself away. sigh. this day was full of death. watching the people in that city with the cold nothing in their eyes and the "i cant believe it... not here... not in this town" cuts makes me a little sick. and he probably thought he was doing everyone a favor. [the bitter laughter comes to me here]

oh and i give damn good fucking advice.

just wanted to make that known.

there is so much more i have to say. but id rather make duane take me to get cigarettes.

i need the yellow fingertips and the light head to get to sleep.

early release, miss wanda franklin, and hot dog skin

i typed furiously and i may have fucked up. i dont care.
theres no easy way to start any type of writing.
[topic bingo and whatnot]
[b3?]
whatever. i got this call today. yes i get many calls, and yes i feel the absurd urge to talk about them. fuck you if you dont want to hear about my boring telephone work. anyway. shes rifling through her purse, this 80 year old woman, cursing like a sailor trying to find her "cunt" of a credit card. i sat there, drawing, waiting for her to finally come back on and say "ok honey, you there, heres the fucking card number" as i finished up her reservation she went into this story of her younger years, and the casinos and the pot and the men. she told me that men are basically "retarded dicks" and never find a "nigga that holds you down for money". she then went into full detail her exploits and runs against the young men of her time. how she would sashay and dupe, get the money and run without so much as a fuck to sate the desires the boys thought they were paying for. i just listened, my labor efficiency forgotten my troubles forgotten. miss wanda franklin had my full attention. she told me that life is too short to do anything but fuck live or die. she told me not to be without money. "go out and get yourself that goddamn money" she told me to be happy. and to excuse her language. her mother didnt bring up no fool and she didnt teach her any manners either. and as i told that beautiful southern accent goodbye i almost felt a sense of loss. in the whole thirty minute of the call, i was so in it. so lost in the imagery. and wishing to be one hell of an old broad like that. good stuff. day to day is nothing if you have the tiny strands of malevolent stranger memory sessions in between.
have you ever notice that hot dogs can be peeled? just sayin.
[sweet transition stephanie]
we had a client in today at work. i was made an example of. i walk in and sit down, only to be immediatly asked "for a moment of my time, please log into 1764". word of cigarette talks outside and my poor sense of female dress code were brought up. i stared at the woman wearing the lime fucking green skirt suit walking by and in my head i was puking all over it, while at the same time trying to stabilize my dizzy eyes. [that part was embellished to create interest in the subject matter] i almost laughed, but seeing how i need this money i just looked shameful instead. told them i was sorry and yes im sure it is offensive to wear a guiness shirt to work when people wear whatver the fuck they want to all the fucking time around here. and yes i should respect myself more than to wear an alchohol shirt. ok sign this? ok im out. fuck fuck fuck FUCK. i was pissed. but thats ok. im no snitch. [thats not how i roll, mutha] i can deal with the oocasional corporate ball licking. neah.
other than the weird mixed emotions im getting from the newest additions to the ball o' life that is me. im pretty on top of it. friday is payday. steph day. money box is my god day. sushi day. coffee day. and many people will be in my house [hopefully] for me to charm and walk amongst. maybe a little buffy too.
what else could a girl ask for but some crucial answers to questions that are better unasked?

who knows.