The Roof

a lapse of light

i don't always know where the darkness comes from
it comes on heavy and it comes on fast
i find myself drowning in its thickness and longing for the light
but up is no longer identifiable and i am lost

not so much universal greeting card

A card perfect for any occasion...or none at all. Available here.

more bird cages...

Roses

Flashback

Post Mortem Gallery & Victorian Bird Cages

enough...

Urbandictionary.com defines "friend" rather well by saying:

A person who would never intentionally hurt you, lie to you, deceive you, manipulate you, abuse you and who takes great care to be kind to you, honest with you, dependable and loyal. Someone who you trust without question because they have never given you any reason not to trust them. Someone you enjoy being around and look forward to seeing. Someone who would sacrifice themself for you.

I don't think that people are infallible. More specifically, I don't think that the people I consider my friends are infallible. And most importantly, I know that I am not. There is, however, a very distinct difference between having a bad day and judging a friend; making an err in judgement and being spiteful; having an argument with a friend and jealousy. 

I certainly make mistakes and can lose sight of what's most important, but never with the flagrant disregard of the fact that the person I am dealing with means a lot to me. I know that each day I try. I make an effort to be good to the people in my heart, even if they don't know it. Sometimes it's a matter of simple appreciation, that they may never be aware of, because all too often we don't say enough to each other. 

I've reached a point in my life where I truly appreciate the friends who are there for me and are honest with me. The friends I can be myself around, for better or worse. The friends who do not judge me, because they care about me as a person, and it doesn't matter if we are not operating at the same speed, or even on the same track. These are the people that on a daily basis make me want to be a better person, keep me going, and for whom I want to do whatever I can in return. For these people, I am eternally grateful. 

You know who you are. And if I don't say it enough—I love you.

Happy Birthday—From the Bugs

I took all the precautions. Well, no, not really—I took one precaution. I put on bug spray. I was at a Saturday evening party that would extend well into Sunday night. 'Burbs, backyard, grass—bug spray seemed like a good call. Who would have guessed that body armor would have been the better call?

Somewhere between horse balls (actually, ladder golf, but my name is WAY better) and the morning beer to cure the hangover, I began to notice I had a few bug bites. Sunday morning, there was another application of bug spray. By Sunday evening I was amazed at how many bug bites I had. My flip flops proved to be of no use, and to be fair, it probably didn't help walking around barefoot for eight hours. But, not once did I see a single bug on my legs. Clearly the bug spray was of no help, unless by bug spray the manufacturer didn't so much mean "repellant," but "this spray will attract the bugs to you like you were their mother."

By my Monday morning count, I was at 32 bug bites. I actually think it was more than that, but some bites teamed up to form a mega-bite. There is one under my ankle that, by no exaggeration, is about the circumference of a golf ball. By noon, I was losing my mind due to the uncontrollable itching and the seemingly uselessness of rubbing alcohol, vinegar, hydrocortisone cream, and bug itch relief cream. I was down to thinking the only viable option left was to set my legs on fire.

Beginning to consider that maybe something was wrong—West Nile virus, allergic reaction to a spider bite that was going to make my blood fully toxic at any given second, or some sort of crazy malicious ant venom—I called the doctor. He threw a prescription at me and didn't seem too concerned. So now, two hours later, I am waiting for the steroid cream to kick in. It has only so far made the bites ooze, which just doesn't seem ok.

So thank you bugs, for visiting me, so that on my birthday date I cannot wear a skirt. And although it will be over 100 degrees outside, I will be wearing pants, not because I fear you, but because you've made me look like a leper. And a special shout out to the bug spray manufacturer, thank YOU for making such a useful product.

A Return to the Met

It's Hard to be This Awesome

I don't know what happened. I moved to Hoboken and every ounce of my organized being went out the window. This is most apparent with the frequency of which I lock myself out of my apartment. It's ridiculous. The first time, I had to call my landlord. Then I got smart—I gave my friend a copy. The next two times I did it, he wasn't in town and had to come home. So I figured, "Hey let me leave the front door key at the bar—it's always open." Well, good call on that one. This morning when I got to work, I realized I never put my apartment key back on my keyring from the weekend. But, no worries, my front door key is at Duffy's. Done and done.

I got home from work, retrieved my key and went home. I looked at my spare keys sitting on the kitchen table and thought, "I'll just put those back later. There's no way I'm locking myself out twice in one week." In the movies, this is what we call "foreshadowing." I went about my business—dinner, yoga, wandering aimelessly around the apartment. Then Brian came by. But he called at the same time he rang the door bell, so I went into spaz mode and didn't know what to do first. So I grabbed the phone and ran out the door. And then immediately realized not only have I just locked myself out again, but all of my spare keys are resting nicely on my kitchen table.

"Fuck! Fuck me!" I yelled, stamping my feet.

After letting Brian in and explaining the situation, then giving him ample time to wonder why he's dating such a retard, I knocked on my neighbor's door, who was definitely home, to see if I could climb through her bathroom window and up the fire escape. No answer. Nice. I'll remember that lady, if you ever need help. I tried my first floor neighbor, even though I am well aware he is never home. Today is no different. That leaves the garden apartment. I've never met this man, but I knew he was a quiet older gentleman. Lucky for me, he was home!

This is where I should mention my attire. I was still in my hot shorts and sports bra. That is all. What a fun way to meet the neighbor! If I wasn't so frustrated with myself, I probably would have been embarassed. But he was helpful and got the ladder from the back so I could climb the fire escape, not before noting, "Situations like these normally require a fist full of dollar bills."

Yup. Hey, at least I got in. Like Brian said, I should buy him something nice, because it's only a matter of time before I need his help again. Hopefully next time I will have a few more pieces of clothing on. But hey, whatever works. Maybe one day I will remember where I packed my brain. Maybe it's in with the dishes somewhere. I don't know.

Uncomfortable Situation

Sure Uncomfortable Situation was the name of our imaginary band in college, but it applies to so many things, including my latest brainstorm. A few friends and I were discussing the lack of cards for inappropriate family situations. Sure it's Mother's Day, but what if you don't have a good relationship with your mother, yet somehow still feel the need to get her a card? I/We think there is a market for these instances and "Uncomfortable Situation" could most definitely be a great greeting card "company" name for the venture, or maybe plural, Uncomfortable Situations.

Bald Guy Greetings exists and is amazing, they are actually my greeting card heroes, but I think our cards would take sarcasm to a whole new level with a smattering of verboten topics. Did your mother abandon you? Did Daddy leave for his new family? Did Mommy have a drinking problem? Well now you can celebrate your childhood traumas by sending passive aggressive greeting cards! Stay tuned...

April Showers

Lazy Sundays

bleed into Mondays

where the weekday

forgets me

Only to wait again

for the weekend

for the false hope

for you

Hollywood Has Destroyed Our Love Lives (a short rant)

After reading about it on another website, I read the John Mayer interview on Playboy.com. Despite all the backlash it received, I think it was a solid and honest interview. Plus it helps to support one of my latest rants - that Hollywood has distorted women's perception of what dating and love should be so much that there may be little hope for us.

John stated, "Internet pornography has absolutely changed my generation’s expectations. How could you be constantly synthesizing an orgasm based on dozens of shots? You’re looking for the one photo out of 100 you swear is going to be the one you finish to, and you still don’t finish. Twenty seconds ago you thought that photo was the hottest thing you ever saw, but you throw it back and continue your shot hunt and continue to make yourself late for work. How does that not affect the psychology of having a relationship with somebody? It’s got to." (Playboy.com)

The same kind of reality distortion goes for women, but with romantic comedies. We've become so influenced to think that these situations where the man is hard to get, emotionally unavailable or just plain disinterested, have some sort of happy endings. We think that it's going to make some grand romantic story that we will tell our kids one day. So we put up with it. We drive ourselves insane wondering why he isn't calling and why he hasn't gotten back to us. We wait for him to show up on our doorstep with flowers (preferably in the rain to complete the feature film imagery) and say they were wrong and they love us, that they can't live without us. But in reality, they likely haven't given us a second thought, because as Mayer so aptly described, there's always something better around the corner. There's always someone new who may be better than the one before.

So while we are sitting at home theorizing endlessly to our girlfriends for the thousandth time, they've already moved on; and so we will, but not before torturing ourselves over what they were thinking and where we went wrong. We've all been conditioned in one way or another. We need some shampoo.

Puerto Rico

Diablo

so many straws, so little time

Dakota in Vernon

Puppies

dart fail