August 31, 2011

lal lalgon  lal reh lefi ouy ese
seh stuj wadent ot od reh wno tghin
rghti bisede lal fo oyu

August 29, 2011

while I traveled laughing,
I cried waterfalls dancing-
embracing uncharted restlessness
prototype propellers loose,
they  propel me loose-
and spin me spiraling forward!
good nights, good summer!
good night, good summer.
it's jump off the cliff time and a next great adventure.
may I never forget
how much I never wanted to forget

August 23, 2011

honesty would you honestly
be inclined to believe them freed
of this travesty
in your absence see
no amnesty for the bereaved

my mom used to do this super-cute thing when Cary, Mike and I were little kids where she would pretend like her hand was a little cockroach (tips of fingers are its little feet) and it would crawl on our arms or legs and try to tickle us. she’d be like, ‘oooooo it’s cocka-roachie. say hi to cocka-roachie!’ and we would be squeamish with delight. it was real precious moments’ shit. yup, everyone loved cocka-roachie and there were definitely fights over who was getting the most face time with the illustrious cocka-roachie.

anyways, I guess playing the cocka-roachie game must have imprinted in my mind as one of the only true ways to show affection towards someone you love (although i’m also in the habit of buying expensive meals for people i love after i have wronged them…..learned that one from daddy) b/c fast forward twenty years and guess who’s gettin a taste of cocka-roachie love’n: ole Seanie B.

that’s right. pretty much whenever Sean was going for a real-life intimate moment, cocka-roachie would show up (unannounced and uninvited) and foil his plans.

picture it: Sean having showered. maybe trimmed up the beard a bit, ready to make some moves..and as soon as I register his gestures on my ole affection-o-meter it’s like BAMMMMM

cocka-roachie time:

‘boooobs, guess who wants to say hi?!  surprise! it’s cocka-roachie!’

and the fingers on my right hand would become five legs and start crawling up Sean’s arm and straight for his face, tickling him along the way.

yup, turns out cocka-roachie was also quite the cocka-blockey..

then, once cocka-roachie was firmly established over Sean’s eyeball, I’d start pumping my hand up and down over sean’s face, slowly first and then much harder and faster…exclaiming aloud cocka-roachie was now demonstrating his undying love by vigorously dry-humping Sean’s face. Sean beared with it. in fact, he usually stayed motionless throughout the duration of the sex crime act itself. he would wince occasionally, however. sometimes even try to whimper out a plea to reason.

‘Mary…oh god, Mary, c’mon…cocka-roachie is molesting my eye…’

‘say hi to cocka-roachie.’

‘I don’t wa..”

sayyyy hiiiiii to cocka-roachie!’

‘ughhhhhhh….hi, cocka-roachie.’

‘see, he loves you. he wants to love on you! isn’t this great?!’

‘ughhh… .yeah. this is awesome. it feels like my skull is getting raped, marebear. cocka-roachie is raping my fucking eyeball.’

this would go on for minutes, on several different occasions, over the course of several years…

moral of the story:

-you will show love to others the way your parents showed love to you.


-the most amazing, patient, awesome, and inspiring guy a girl could ever have the (incredibly good) fortune of having entered her life will likely let her get away with pretending her hand is an insect-vermon vigorously violating his face when he is trying his darndest to create just one serious romantic moment between the two of them.

i love you, boobs.     this one is for you.

August 19, 2011

calibrated catastrophe destroying deliberately
increasing entropy
falling face first guarded girl
to happy hollow hindrances
to menacing muse mustering mania
negating nervous and novel neurosis
posit possible paradox:
 paralyzing potentiality
riot revolving revolutionaries
scandalous suspects swindling synergy
not wandering wonderland wastefully
explode through the ceiling dreamers
see there is no sealing dreamer


August 19, 2011

singing and dancing
and clearly not attached
to any of this scene
just like me
and i want to tell you:
that song and your voice and my hands at the wheel
be any thing and beside of  you
that is what beautiful is to me

I have always had pretty good luck when it comes to finding awesome roommates (edit: minus Babylon).

My new roommates, Annalise and Travis, are both incredibly smart, super-friendly, and all-around-awesome individuals.

Some fun facts that prove my point:

-Annalise is a psychology major and she works at a cupcake shop, which means she can bring home the leftover bounty every day (including the latest in talk-of-the-town vegan cupcake creations).

-Travis is a philosophy/religious studies major, and he boasts a (totally brag-able) collection of non-traditional board games (which helps fuel our slightly-less-brag-able obsession with playing them).

However, no home situation is ever 100% perfect. And here again, I find history repeats itself.

You see, just like my manipulative little Babylon attempted to throw a dark doggy wrench between Sean-Tamica-and-I in the planning stages of our forging a domestic utopia (refer to May 2009 posts), it seems there’s a new house pet in town adamant on challenging my latest domestic love triad:

her name, Moose. her game, playing inexplicably and unjustifiably hard to get.

Moose is Annalise’s cat. Like most cats I have crossed paths with in my quarter-century-wanderings, her general disposition can be described as follows: fearfully squeamish, overly reserved, and ostensibly unimpressed by all those who surround her (all this despite our best efforts to reach out our hands to her paws  in domestic fellowship).

Travis has already resigned himself to not caring one way or another whether (or how much) Moose loathes, resents, fears (or plots against) him in secretive kitty silence.

I, however, will be employing a more proactive approach.

See, I have seen her type before, so I play coy. Leave my door open and let her wander around. Glance at her every now and then, but with NO HINT of affection or admiration. NAY, because that mushy shit will not win  over the heart of a feline (so save it for a dog…or any other soul-bounded creature). You intentionally treat a feline with feigned indifference. Drastically minimize (w/out eliminating entirely ) attempts to reach out or offer acknowledgment.

My strategy: Intentionally treat Moose as if she wasn’t there indifferently circumventing me as if I wasn’t there.

I trust you see how this mysterious, non-verbal, cat-and-mouse dance is all part of a super-complex-super-complicated web I am weaving that will indubitably win the respect of this fretful feline; a web that (once all has been executed according to plan) will invariably result in Moose and I coddling together in the silky-safety-net I have created– mutually acknowledging each other’s existence once and for all.

Is it starting to work? yeah. duh.

It’s been all of three days and Moosey-pants is already starting to warm up. She comes in my room regularly now to see what I’m up to, and doesn’t zip into darkness the second I catch her checking me out.  I can tell this cat digs my style.  And y’know what: I dig that she digs my style. She sits on the headboard of my bed from time to time, and yesterday morning she circled me twice while I was organizing paperwork in my room. All the while, I just went about my business like she didn’t exist.

And one day very soon ( I give it two weeks-tops) Moosey-pants will be eating right out of my hand.

Moose will love me the way kitties love scratching-and-clawing out of their cat-nip-binging, warped minds.

It’s just a matter of time. I know this because I’m super-aware of what little Moosey-pants here is only-maybe-minutely-aware of: the utility of generosity in social reciprocity (b/c winning doesn’t feel the same when no one is willing to acknowledge you as ‘being’ in the ‘game’).

Day 3: Costa Rica y Panama

August 15, 2011

July 7, 2011

San Jose to Sarchi to Alajuela


In the morning, before we left San Jose, Dan and I stopped in for our first of several cathedral visits during the trip. Conversation shared while sitting in a church pew that day included philosophical issues concerning agent causation. Dan explained to me the contrasting accounts some philosophers (including Malebranche and Berkeley) offer in addressing them.

We then rode the bus to visit the small town of Sarchi, Costa Rica. Sarchi is (allegedly) famous for its large selection of locally hand-crafted souvenirs. We walked up and down steep, mountainside streets for hours in search of this promised land of local artistry (ahem. tourist trap). We ended up finding like two standard issue souvenir shops and were getting pretty P.O’d. Dan, however, was set on finding a souvenir for his mother (and not just any old souvenir, but one that would put all his past souvenirs to shame), and I was invested in this man’s mission (and inspired by his determination). Pressed for time, Dan scouted ahead (while I took a much needed breather) and finally did happen up a local artisan (a soft-spoken, elderly man with his own small woodcraft shop somewhat near the center of town). In his shop we found a beautifully hand-crafted wooden hummingbird that balanced by its nose on a little wooden platform. Hummingbirds are prevalent in Costa Rica and we were immediately sold on the delicate beauty of this little wooden statue. Deal! Oh, the sweet taste of success in Sarchi- and it was ours!

To add even more icing to this sweet-ass cake of a day, we saw the world’s largest oxcart (that’s right, world! You have a ‘largest oxcart’! Edit: Well, Sarchi has your ‘largest oxcart’. But trust, sweet world, it is being maintained and displayed with inexplicable pride). It was located smack dab in the center of town, in front of their colorful church. By the by, the world’s largest oxcart is super-pretty, and intricately painted in eclectic design.

In largely unrelated news (but I made a note of it in my notepad), Dan spotted a pretty large iguana crossing a stream that day. Pretty bad ass.

We had time to check out one more souvenir shop before we had to catch the bus to Alajuela. As we checked out some of the more ridiculous (as in, in-no-way-even-related-to-Costa-Rica, mass-produced souvenir options, I asked Dan who would even think to purchase some of these goods. He turned to me and smiled, nostalgically reminiscing on the wise words of his beloved grandfather:

‘Y’know what my grandpa always used to tell me? He’d say, Dan– there’s a sucker born every day.’

The delivery of this line was impeccable (maybe you had to be there. I don’t know. I don’t care). I cracked up instantly.It was comic gold.

Finally, we loaded the bus to Alajuela and Dan and I are seated across from a dude with some music player machine and accompanying headsets. Dude is playing the music… noticeably loud…but not bothering to use his headsets. Dan, in a Larry David fashion, nudges my shoulder, muttering under his breath:

‘Can you believe this guy?  ::swaying his head in the direction  of Dude::  Really? …c’mon. I mean,  he’s got the earphones right there.’

Dan was noticeably perturbed. It was pretty cute to witness. He went on to make a few more just-audible-enough-for-Dude-to-hear petty jabs. I giggled–loudly. Dude continued to play his music–loudly. Onward we all went.

That evening, we checked into the Maleku Hostel in Alajuela. Cozy, practical, and reasonably priced. We enjoyed a delicious dinner that evening at a local grocery market chain called Max por Menos (I think that’s what its called, anyways). We come back with some purchased dranks and while Dan is showering, the hotel clerk and I caught a televised soccer match (Costa Rica’s team was playing). Hotel clerk was super into the game  and was freaking out whenever a goal was made—which was cool, I was all about it. In fact, I freaked out a few times too, just for the hell of it.

Dan and I decided to chill out and play it low key in the hostel living room for the evening, sharing our booze and some laughs with a fellow hostel guest (Dave, a pretty chill American dude who had made the balls-to-the-wall decision to sell all his things back home and make a new life for himself in Costa Rica). We ended up watching the most random T.V. line up that would greet us during the course of this trip (compliments of Animal Planet). It included: ‘The Dog Whisperer’ (Dan fun fact: Dan can tell you what season an episode from ‘The Dog Whisperer’ is from), some show about ‘really short people’ whose relationship to any animals whatsoever remains a complete and total mystery to me, and a super-sad doggy-rescue documentary that went on for way too long.  Being the super-classy lady that I am, I eventually passed out drunk with Dan’s lap serving as my head cushion (and subsequent drool cushion) somewhere in the midst of the super-sad dog-rescue documentary.

All in all, this went down as another successful day of venture in my book!

August 15, 2011

View from our Hostel in Monteverde, Costa Rica (July 2011)