Getting Freaky In Front Of Jesus...

It’s a quarter after noon and I’m doped up on caffeine and Klonopin. I’m freaking the fuck out because I feel like I’ve wasted my break. It’s only Thursday. I still have time. But, I feel like it has to all be done today. A chapter to read in Women’s Studies and a 2 pg journal about it to write, a chapter I don’t want to read for Biology, at least 5 journals and a reflective piece that I have no clue how to write for my journaling class. Fuck. Take another drink of coffee. Try to focus and write this damned entry. Try to make it worthwhile enough to be used for my journal. Write a little, swig the coffee.

I’ve got lyrics in my head that have nothing to do with anything but they run like a broken record in my brain. Maybe I should open the window to listen to the rushing cars as they zoom down College. It’s as close to nature as I get living in the city. Cars hurrying past and mimicking the sound of a river.

I turn on my mp3 player on the laptop, search for the song that won’t end, and play it. “Come on people now, smile on your brother. Try to love one another right now…” There. I can ease up a little. I stretch, reaching to the ceiling for a moment before slumping back over the keyboard.

A noise outside the door makes me turn my head. I catch a glimpse of D’s newly acquired Black Velvet Jesus Paint By Number…unpainted. In great condition, too. She’s excited to paint it and frame it. Where it’s going to go, I have not a clue. Hopefully not in the boudoir, I don’t want Jesus watching me get freaky.

A Big Dose of Vitamin "D"...

i live a pretty interesting life...but yesterday topped out pretty high on the interesting scale. d and i were doing our usual wednesday gig...lots of running around doing errands. we caught an eyeful (think drag queen and posse)...and an earful (thanks to the little gay boy at mc donald's) during our travels.

it started out with our diabetes education class in southport...we were late (as usual) because we weren't paying attention to the time. class starts promptly at 1:30...we rolled in about 10 mins til 2. (not a seat was left...no table...we had to sit in chairs in the back and write on our laps) oh well...at least the class "diabetic overachiever" (he always monopolizes the instructor's time after class is over and we never get the chance to ask questions) came in after us. he sports a goatee-type thing that runs all the way down his stomach. he binds it with little rubber bands to seperate it into sections...much like you'd see in the intestines with the sphincters that cause peristalsis. (at least that is what it looked like to me. i'm currently taking biology and our last chapter just dealt with the digestive system. what i don't get, though, is how i nearly failed my midterm, yet i know all about sphincters...how queer)

so, 3:30 comes around and we leave our class with a little more knowledge than we had originally. on our way home, we drive through homecroft. we spot a golf cart fully decked out with colts attire and two young guys waiting on a side street to pull out into traffic. we are mildly entertained at the sight and laugh about it in the car.

we are now homeward bound. just as we're pulling up to our apartment building on college ave, we...no lie...spot a modern day cowboy, on a white horse, galloping full-speed down college towards downtown. what. the. fuck. he was fully decked out in cowboy attire...ten-gallon hat, included. once again...what...the...fuck?!

after running by the house, we headed back out to do our weekly shopping. first, though, we drive-thru the mcd's on the corner of meridian and 16th. we are serviced by a friendly lil fagboy who informs us that although he has to be indoors all day, at least he is getting a good dose of vitamin d through the window...which, according to him..."vitamin "d" is the only vitamin i don't mind taking". wow...i really feel like i know a lil too much about you, dude.

next, we run by d's brother's apartment. upon leaving, we spot children out in droves. i literally mean between 40-50 of them just milling around the parking lot. it was like driving through a herd of sheep. d had to keep beeping the horn so they would part and let us through. this may not sound as exciting as the urban cowboy or vitamin d boy...but have you ever seen a herd of small children? it's scary. they are like clowns to us. *shudders*

so, after leaving joe's apartment, we are driving down lynhurst and lo and behold...there is another golf cart! this time, it's parked by the side of the road and two old men are drinking coffee and watching traffic go by. i really doubt they had any intention of pulling out onto the road. they were just enjoying the day...in a golf cart...on the side of the road.

finally, we've made it to wal-mart. i get my eyebrows threaded and then we have dinner at subway. if you don't know d, you don't know how much she enjoys people watching. our wal-mart always has interesting characters to watch. (i especially like titi the cashier-phonetically that is teetee-and the cashier who wears a wig) on this day...we were blessed with the presence of an over-the-top drag queen and her entourage of gayboys. she was wearing...what appeared to be...an argyle sock with the toe cut off on her right arm and a leather glove on her left hand. she was also wearing sunglasses, even though it was 8p.

sensory overload.

The Sum of My Parts...

I struggle to find words to describe me. I have thoughts and opinions that I express with words far too big for my mouth, but when it comes down to me…I have nothing to say. What do I want? I want to find a peace and sense of self worth. I crave a higher being. I crave spirituality. I crave prayer that I feel gets heard. Who am I, and why is it so hard to answer that question? I am. Is it enough to just be?

Who do you think I am? As much as I would love to say that I ignore what others think of me…in truth, it makes up who I am. What others say or think of me validates who I am. Perhaps it even makes up the sum of me. If I could ignore what others thought or said, would I even exist? Would I become a shell of me? So, instead of me telling you who I am…tell me who you think I am. Tell me what you think of me…and that is who I will become.

Taco Salad Night...

Rain patters on the windowsill. I peek out the blinds just in time to catch a glimpse of a bright streak of lightening across the dark sky. I clinch my teeth and duck my head as the loud clap of thunder follows the lightening strike. I feel foolish for having this knee-jerk reaction. So silly. It’s just a spring storm. It popped up suddenly and I’m sure it will end just as quickly. The droplets of water make little puddles in the craters of the asphalt. I watch intently as the oversized drops plop against the ground. “I hate mud,” I grumble softly to myself. What a silly statement. How can you hate something so commonplace as mud? I do, though.

The rain begins tapering off just as quickly as it began. The sound of thunder has been replaced by the clatter of pots and pans. I rise from my spot on the couch and wander into the kitchen to find my partner beginning dinner. Taco salad night. I move to her side silently and she turns her face to offer her cheek to me. I lean in and kiss it lightly; brushing my lips against her soft skin. “Storm’s over,” I mumble around the piece of tomato I’ve just popped into my mouth.

“That was quick.” She continues fussing with the meat, stirring it to break it into crumbles. I survey the kitchen. The counter is covered in little piles of vegetables; tomatoes, lettuce, onions, bell peppers. I smile to myself. Her organization always amuses me. A place for everything and everything in its place. Even the vegetables aren’t immune to her need to arrange things so they are aesthetically pleasing to the eye.

My ears prick up at the sound of a distant rumble. The storm has moved on but it’s left the thunder trailing behind. “Can I help?” I reach for a pepper this time and her hand darts out quickly. She lightly bats me away from the perfect little piles she’s worked so hard on. I pout and draw my hand back, pretending to be hurt by her playful admonishment.

“You can help by leaving the veggies be and getting down some plates. The meat is almost ready.” I’ve knocked one of the peppers out of place. She’s rearranging the pepper pile as the words fall out of her pretty mouth. I can’t help but laugh a little. It bubbles up and comes out as a short “Ha!” She gives me “the look” and I bite back my laughter. I hide my smile behind the open cabinet door while I’m reaching for the plates.

I set them down carefully on the counter. She’s so picky about the dishes. They were her great aunt’s. I wonder, sometimes, if she loves me as much as those dishes. “Dinner looks great, babe.” My stomach rumbles hungrily while I watch her begin making our plates. Careful piles of lettuce topped with meat, cheese, veggies. Her graceful hands work quickly and before I know it, the salads are ready. I drizzle just a little taco sauce over mine and hand the bottle to her. Our fingers brush.

I feel the electricity between us. Ever present, even after all these years together. I glance up at her. She’s watching me. I smile broadly and give her a wink. She blushes and giggles girlishly. That giggle. I call her Betty Rubble sometimes. She pretends not to like it, but I know better. It’s just another part of our dance.