I need a declaration. I need a big ass, eardrum blower, earthquake, metal-quivering declaration. I am not one of those flirty flowers with saucer eyes and mile long lashes who understand the flicker of a man’s wrist or a twitch of the hair in his nostrils. I can read hands, it’s true, but I am stumped in front of a leaning man (or woman) soulfully gazing into my eyes and talking about this and that, and licking their lips, and flipping their hair, and gazing at me with a hint of a smile on their lips, and bumping my knee accidentally while refilling their drink, and lightly bantering and then proffessing true friendship and then nothing. I need follow-up, I need action.
Pardon me if I am not warmer, but I know how this one goes. I meat your sweet/nothing speaking self, then I leave with a softly wrapped impression, infused with blue birds and roses. I keep that impression alive while waiting, and planning innocent phone calls, accidental meetings, hangouts, cherry picking, beach parties, and feeding my poor body one night stands and cardboard chocholate. Then time goes, and it goes, and it does not stop, and it separates. Then, mucho time later, afer I have beaten myself up a thousand times and ended a ton of one week relationships, at an innocent cafe you confess that yes, you had feelings at the time but was not sure about me. And that yes, you still feel something. And I am in dire need of a whip and a victim. Because I lost such a long time dreaming of this moment, and it is finally too late. Because frankly, well, to tell you the truth, my feelings have also gone dry.
So here is the deal:
SPELL IT OUT, either way! Don’t let the pink elephant dance madly about, don’t try to salvage my ego, don’t give me the timid speech, don’t let me dangle about in the rain and down as many vodkas as I can lay my hands on, don’t use me to inflate your ego. If you like so much the sight of my doe eyes, hungrily absorbing every little gesture you make, at least pay me. I understand money. It is clear, it is finite, it is crispy. I can exchange it for pretty trinkets and yoga lessons. You, I can do nothing with.
What happened to pathetic declarations and threats to suicide? What happened to tons of flowers, and rides on white horses, or rain soaked banners held in front of my window? I know you can do it. You have done it for plenty of pretty morons who broke your heart to smitherens and made you what you are today. So keep the cynism to yourself and show me the big L guns.
And yet, you still hesitate.
Darling, I cannot understand half lipped smiles and mumbled words. I will not consider weekly phone calls that sound like sales account management, or meaningful looks that say absolutely nothing. It is too late, and I am too old to shiver at the sound of your voice enough to forget what you are really saying. Don’t come around in another ten years and wonder what happened to our wonderful relationship and why we never ended up together. Don’t save me for sixty, when you could have me at twenty, twenty five, thirty and yet again at thirty three. I’m pretty sure i’ll be enough of a witch then to eat much younger meat than your cialis seasoned one.
You can read my lips can’t you?
Well then, I need a declaration!
July 27, 2008
I need a declaration
July 16, 2008
the color of my passion? hmmm
|
Your Passion is Yellow |
 You’re a total sexual shape shifter. You possess a complex sex drive and are very adaptable. Of all the colors, you are the most likely to be bisexual. While you the most passionate, you are very open minded. |
July 15, 2008
I got Newport on my mind
My back is aflame, my hair still looks like a big fiery bush, and I only got home today. Yet this weekend was the best in a really long time.
Our flickr/peshku crew got together again, this time in Newport. There were two extra new people (to me at least), both valuable additions to the team (May God never limit our friends and our idiots and I ain’t sayin’ which was which). But good times were had by all, a lot of laughter and chocolate was shared (God bless you G!), and we Od’d on pics. We had fun shooting nature, opulent mansions, lule bore, kites, scooters, dogs, sea and sky, each-other, even fish remnants, until there were no more picturese to be had. By Sunday even the sexiest camera was hanging limp in the tired hands of its owner.
Newport was very pretty and full of those strange animals called tourists. Young flesh was displayed in aboundance, as was old flesh (but less successfully of course). And the mansions were really big and ornate, and made me dream of single princes and silver gowns with glass slippers. It did not help that I was driven around like the little princess I was. A shoutout to Miss H by the way, a super-duper driver, what with with her sexy looks and nonchalant cigarette (If i were a man, I’d let all my dates drive before I chose who to shag. It is not the same for the me, although I do have a special place in my groin for confident drivers.)
We even managed to find a crew of good old Albo boys sunning themselves right next to us in Newport beach. Ah it is a small world. I am sure had I engaged in conversation, I’d have found about 5 cousins in about 5 minutes. Fortunately, our chevaliers were very interesting and kept us occupied for the whole time, not even once making room for any other people neccessary , except of course the occassional yummy lifeguard. I even forgot the sunscreen, turning my back into a true abstract masterpiece, possibly called Inferno.
July 14, 2008
Go Zana Go
Miss Kosovo’s moral victory
Mon, 07/14/2008 – 4:35pm
HOANG DINH NAM/AFP/Getty Images
The big geopolitical headline coming out of last night’s Miss Universe pageant is surely Miss USA tripping on the runway while Miss Venezuela cruised to victory.
While Hugo Chávez is no doubt enjoying this small victory against Yankee imperialism (in Vietnam, no less!), the Century Foundation’s Jonathan Kolieb was deeply moved by the performance of Kosovo’s first-time contestant Zana Krasniqi (right):
Miss Kosovo was an instant crowd favorite, and the judges agreed – putting her through to the Top 10 finalists – a fantastic feat for a first-time participating country and visibly nervous contestant. If further proof was required that Kosovo had indeed come out from behind Serbia’s shadow, Miss Kosovo easily trounced all her cross-Balkan rivals including Miss Serbia.
Ultimately, Miss Venezuela won the tiara, and Miss Kosovo did not. (A poor choice – but enough editorializing.) However, Kosovo found its first international ambassador – and in an over the top pink-and-frills gown and an itsy-bitsy bikini – she did a splendid job representing her new-born country.
Last night Kosovo took her place amongst the community of nations.
While part of me suspects that Kolieb needed a quick excuse for watching the entire Miss Universe pageant, it’s hard not to get caught up in his enthusiasm. But Krasniqi should be careful. Small, linguistically divided European nations can be hard on their bikini-clad ambassadors.
( filed under:
As emailed by Fadil Berisha’s Studio. Boy am I proud!
The big geopolitical headline coming out of last night’s Miss Universe pageant is surely Miss USA tripping on the runway while Miss Venezuela cruised to victory.
While Hugo Chávez is no doubt enjoying this small victory against Yankee imperialism (in Vietnam, no less!), the Century Foundation’s Jonathan Kolieb was deeply moved by the performance of Kosovo’s first-time contestant Zana Krasniqi (right):
Miss Kosovo was an instant crowd favorite, and the judges agreed – putting her through to the Top 10 finalists – a fantastic feat for a first-time participating country and visibly nervous contestant. If further proof was required that Kosovo had indeed come out from behind Serbia’s shadow, Miss Kosovo easily trounced all her cross-Balkan rivals including Miss Serbia.
Ultimately, Miss Venezuela won the tiara, and Miss Kosovo did not. (A poor choice – but enough editorializing.) However, Kosovo found its first international ambassador – and in an over the top pink-and-frills gown and an itsy-bitsy bikini – she did a splendid job representing her new-born country.
Last night Kosovo took her place amongst the community of nations.
While part of me suspects that Kolieb needed a quick excuse for watching the entire Miss Universe pageant, it’s hard not to get caught up in his enthusiasm. But Krasniqi should be careful. Small, linguistically divided European nations can be hard on their bikini-clad ambassadors.
As emailed by Fadil Berisha’s Studio. Boy am I proud!
