Musings on my bag (or a belated tag from Eni)

i never understand why my bag is heavy. i continuously find myself cleaning it or changing it to something lighter, but it becomes full of junk in a matter of hours. ATM and MTA receipts, pennies, make-up bag, a whole bunch of keys, toilettries bag, coin purse, two books, date book, wallet, my two cell phones, a charger that does not fit either one, my notebook, my marketing materials, printouts of stuff I want to read on the subway, subway maps. a past due rent notice, three pens, a card holder, sparkle from the wrap paper I bought last night, a plum and a banana. and that’s it. i think.

i dump everything on top of the workdesk, under the critical eye of my coworker. i cannot take this mess any longer. I have decided to cut it to the bare bones, possibly without the marrow. hmm, let me see what i can throw out this time.

Big Spender

This one really pops my cork. Enjoy!

just another blues song (in search of a tune)

this man never loved me

he tole’ me all tonight

this man never loved me

and he kicked me out all right

i could not believe it

but he did

oh baby is cold outside

and night is surely deep

oh baby is cold outside

but you don’t care where i’ll sleep

i cannot belive it

but you don’t

i’ll find another fire

to burn me high and hot

i’ll find another fire

just watch me if i don’t

even if you won’t believe it

and you won’t

Oh baby there’ll be the day

that you’ll be cold outside

oh baby, there’ll come this day

and no fire to warm you up

even if you can’t believe it

but you will

the luggage

both suitcases sit splayed on the carpet. we stand around, murmuring with each-other, one folding clothes, one fixing them, one taking them out and putting them in the other one. then we zip them up and we weight them.

this one is 59.

shoot. how about the other one?

this one is 62

what on earth do you have in here?

i don’t know. stuff. my things, the clothes I got at the mall, your gifts.

ok, let’s open them again.

we open them again.

see, i told you not to put the medicine in their boxes. take them out.

but I won’t remember what they are for.

come on, you got 20 boxes of Advil there. what do you think they are for.

people will think i am giving them used stuff.

yeah right. they have the seal inside, see. keep the receipts too.

ok

we zip them up and weigh them again. 60 and 58 lbs. oh poot.

we circle them. hmm.

Find the Author (and grade the translator)

haven’t done one of these in a while so i thought i’d give a shot to this one. read it, skewer it, and find the author if you can. if you do, you get a beer from me. 🙂 if you don’t, you get your own beer. in a wine glass.

I sit beneath the pines in this summer garden café

alone, a glass of wine in my hand. A waiter

silently serves the customers, still sparse

in this early dusk. The just-lit bulbs

inside half-broken globes scattered in the corners of the dancing platform

look half dead, like all lights do

just before the night settles in

Another one bites the dust

Dunno what made me go out with this one. I guess holiday blues. hmm.

like every sane person, i have a set of rules when it comes to accepting dates with people. and none of that feminist or new age bullcrap about how one has to open their mind, throw the rules out of the window, get out of their own selves and whatnot. dating is simply about finding people one likes and can stand to have around, who do not do to badly in bed, and who can pick the check at least once in a while. and who are not allergic to books.

my rules are simple:

Flickr

This is a test post from , a fancy photo sharing thing.

On a Sunday

She woke up early that morning,  fixed her bed, then went to wash her face and comb her hair. Her hair always gave her trouble, because it was thick and wavy and it never stayed long within the confines of the big black clips behind her ears. It was also strangely healthy for a woman her age. She was secretly proud of it although not vain. She had never been vain. The whole neighborhood could testify as to her modesty, moral and character. The ones that were still left anyway. Most had moved away with their children, or died. She could count the remaining ones with the fingers of one hand, still remembering when they moved in as brides, grooms, young parents full of worry, stress and little kids. The truth was, she barely recognised their faces today, mostly when they said hi on the street, or when they came to ask her for little favors that only good neighbors can provide. As much as the neighborhood changed, they still knew which door was still open for an extra cup of sugar, a saucer of yogurt, or a jug of water for when their own fancy faucets ran out.

Miscalculations

Not enough money to pay the landlord

not enough heat to kiss the boyfriend

not enough color to cover the grey

not enough will to exercise to a better me.

and yet

on paper I will always be rich, hot, young and famous.

the article is read.

finally, the first of my articles reached the hands of my family. unfortunately it was in albanian, making it quite easy for them to read. i was kind of hoping, kind of dreading their reaction. and i was right.

if it would have been in english, i would have touted it in front of mom, dad cousins and everybody i know. because they do not know english all that well, and the rest do not know me all that well. i can spin however i want it with them. but it was in albanian, and it was read first by cousins, then by aunts, then by parents.

since we have a very roundabout way of communicating in my family, things did not happen immediately. we never ask directly, but rather wait for each-other to approach subjects first. my own skill is to leave things around and wait for their “casual” glances and off-hand comments. i like to make them curious, so then they can investigate what is going on.