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  1. Chicago, Je t’aime

    March 12, 2012 by Girl Number 2

    Well I did it. I resigned from my job, packed up a u-haul, sold A LOT of my stuff and moved to Chicago. It’s strange to think that not more than a month ago, I was planning to head out west to Los Angeles. As long as I never look up the weather in L.A., I’m confident I made the right decision. I’ve always loved Chicago and being back here has only increased my adoration. I mean, where else can you brunch at a cuban cafe while watching a homeless man throw up on himself across the street in front of “Mr. G’s Beef”?

    I can finally drive aggressively and not feel like an asshole (or at least as much of an asshole as I felt like in Springfield). My dog loves all the walks and new smells and people everywhere. My cat hates not being able to go outside anymore. He takes it out on me by climbing on my chest in the middle of the night and pawing my face.

    The move went remarkably well and I love my new place. The only thing I need now is a job. This is the final and most crucial element of this whole transition. I need a job so I can get kitchen chairs and not have to sit in a camping chair at the table. I need a job so I can paint my apartment and finally hang up art. I need a job so I can have more than my bike in my living room. I need a job so I can get a mattress that actually fits the bed frame I endured (and survived!) Ikea to get.

    I’ve applied for a bunch of jobs, but I’m pretty sure every online application I’ve filled out goes to some black hole never to be seen again. I signed on with a temp agency ’cause a girl’s gotta eat. It looks like I might start a two month temp job this week. I’m anxious to get into something permanent, though. I haven’t hit the point where I start to doubt everything about myself…but I can see it on the horizon.

    My apartment is a block from the blue line, which is wonderfully convenient. My street is permit parking. My permit is good for the two blocks that falls in zone 274. Outside of the two blocks, there are streets and streets of zone 100 and zone 95 parking. This is not as convenient. The mail runs slow and inconsistent. The police rarely show up for anything less than a homicide. Everything is expensive. My radiators turn on and off at the whim of the girl in 3W. I need a step stool to reach my kitchen cabinets. My phone gets nearly no reception in my house. My place has a burnt chemical paint smell to it.

    I love it. I love it all. I miss everyone in Springfield. I miss my favorite haunts. But I wake up everyday happy to be here. I love this city. (come visit me soon!).

    Walking Lola in the new neighborhood

    Lola making herself at home in our new kitchen

    One day there will be a couch and guests won't have to sit on the bike

    Flowers help distract from the insane asylum-style white walls

     

    Category general | Tags: | 3 Comments

  2. listerabellum ix: why tights are better than pants.

    January 26, 2012 by the tall one

    tights

    the listerabellum is the small but very active section of my brain that does nothing but make [mostly worthless] lists all day.  today’s topic from the listerabellum:  why tights are better than pants.  this is a pretty silly one, folks.  but i am asked about this aspect of my ensemble tendencies all the time.

    first off, some context:  i do not wear pants unless i absolutely have to.  for example, at my waitressing job, i wear pants because that is part of the uniform, but i had to literally go out and buy black pants when i was hired because i didn’t own any.  this non-pant-wearing started when i was much younger and much thinner for fairly practical reasons.  i’ve never lived in brazil, so from my experience, it is really hard to buy pants when you wear a size 0 and have a 34″ in-seam.  now that i am a more human size, i do not have that problem so much, but i’ve stuck with the non-pants wardrobe nonetheless.  here’s why:

    1.  tights fit well 97% of the time.  though i am no longer a human stick insect, it’s still sort of tricky to find pants that fit really well. and even when i find a good pair of pants, they are never as flattering as tights.  i am a big believer in showing off your strong assets and in the showcasing sexy stems category, pants lose to tights every time.

    2.  flexibility.  can you do an awesome high kick or the splits while wearing your favorite jeans?  no, you cannot.  can i do spontaneous high kicks and/or the splits whenever i please whilst clad in tights?  yes, [in theory] i can.  i also tend to be a “folder” or “lounger” rather than a sitter when in chairs and on couches.  by that i mean, i fold my legs up under myself or sort of sprawl about.  flexible leg wear is important to accommodate these practices.

    3.  tear-ability vs. durability.  this is an argument i hear a lot:  “but, don’t your tights rip or tear all the time?  that isn’t a problem with pants.”  first off, no one has ever split their tights when bending over or squatting and one cannot say the same about pants.  second, a run or cigarette burn in tights does not mean they are out of the wardrobe, it just means they have switched categories.  they now belong in the “rock show/whiskey bar outing” section rather than the “board meetings and classy dinner party” section.  so really, they simply evolve rather than becoming permanently out of commission like your khakis that you fell asleep in while smoking that one time.  and third, tear-ability isn’t always a bad thing.  tights are great for emergency fornication situations. it’s way harder to rip off a girl’s jeans. i don’t care how buff your lover is, he/she can’t tear through your applebottoms with his/her teeth.

    4.  color.  i am huge proponent of color in one’s wardrobe.  tights come in every color and pattern you can think of.  even if you can’t find the exact color or pattern, you can paint, draw and dye them with ease.  wild colors of pants are much harder to come by and often expensive.

    5. pricing.  while there are some expensive tights, leggings and hose out there [see american apparel], by and large tights are much cheaper than pants.  so instead of one pair of jeans, you can have a barrage of tights in an array of colors for the same cost.

    in conclusion, tights are sexy, flexy, adaptable, fun and practical.  i win.

     

    Category general, Listerabellum Entries by the tall one | Tags: ,, | 2 Comments

  3. post-it note show, fall 2011

    December 3, 2011 by the tall one

    a post-it note is a piece of paper with a re-adherable strip of adhesive on the back, designed for temporarily attaching notes to other surfaces. although now available in a wide range of colors, shapes, and sizes, post-it notes are most commonly canary yellow, 3-inch squares.

    in 1968, dr. spencer silver, a chemist at 3M [which has a plant right here in springfield, missouri], developed a “low-tack”, reusable, pressure-sensitive adhesive.

    in 1974, a colleague of his, art fry [what a great name, right?], who had attended one of silver’s seminars, came up with the idea of using the adhesive to anchor his bookmark in his hymnbook.

    in 1997, the title characters in romy and michelle’s high school reunion pretended to have been the inventors of post-it notes to impress their fellow alumni.  it didn’t work, because a fellow alumnus, portrayed by janeane garofalo, went to business school and actually knew about the real inventors of the post-it note mentioned above.

    in the spring of 2011, LemonDrop hosted its first post-it note art show with great success and fanfare.  it was fun for those who participated both in the creation of the work for the show and the frantic grabbing and buying of awesome, tiny artwork.  due to popular demand, we lemondroppers decided to host another in the fall of the same year.

    why post-it note art?  because it creates an interesting creative challenge for our participating artists by limiting the scale and, in part, the media with which they may work, it allows us to present a wide variety of art for your consideration and, most of all, it makes art accessible to all at a low price and unintimidating scale. in this one show you are able to start a collection of work from some of springfield’s finest artists and it won’t break the bank or take up too much space.  neat, right?  we think so.

    to those of you that contributed to the show by either making art, working during the event or attending the event, thank you for your participation in and contribution to the developing history of the post-it note.

     

     

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  4. listerabellum viii: the best places to waste time/be entertained on the internet

    November 19, 2011 by the tall one

    the listerabellum is the small but very active section of my brain that does nothing but make (mostly worthless) lists all day. today’s topic: the best [or at least, my favorite] internet time wasters/entertainment sources.  you probably know all of these already, because in terms of internet-knowing-of-things i am at “helpless baby gazelle” level… but here it goes anyway.

    1.  stumble upon.  stumble upon is the computer generated version of that friend you have that spends all his or her time online and is always asking you if you’ve “seen this thing yet”… but much less annoying. caution:  this can consume literal days of your life.

    2.  xckd. this is one of the best internet comics out there… especially if you are a huge nerd like me. it has also been around forever, so i’m sure your annoying internet friend [mine is rolling his eyes at me even listing it because it's so known] has already shown it to you like a million times.  [what's awesome about this post is now all my nerdy guy friends are trying to figure out which one of them is the annoying internet friend.  it's all of you... it's... all of you].

    3. hyperbole and a half. this is the best thing on the internet.  the best.  i want to be her when i [never] grow up.

    4. the oatmeal. stop rolling your eyes at me, nerdy guy friends!  the oatmeal is pretty hilarious most of the time.  the comic about printers being from hell is one of my favorite things ever… also the one about cooking at home.  funny stuff.

    5. vice magazine’s dos and don’ts.  vice magazine is fantastic in general.  i would love to write for them someday [so would everyone with a worthless art-centric graduate degree in their late twenties, so who am i kidding].  the dos and don’ts section, however, is the best waster of time portion of their site. they are funny …and really, really mean. they take photos of actual people and brutally criticize or adoringly praise their attire and general appearance. it’s great.

    6. booooooom. i go to several artsy sites regularly, and i won’t list them all because some of them could possibly be construed as boring to non-pretentious art snob types… but this one, this one is enjoyable for all [probably].

    7. texts from last night.  yea, yea.  you’ve heard of it.  but what other site can make you feel more okay with where you are in life by comparison?

    8.  drunk history. that’s right, we’ve moved to awesome youtube stuff.  drunk history is brilliant.  all of them are great, but i’ve linked directly to my favorite one [i think... baby gazelle over here... so if the link fails, the one with danny mcbride is my fave].

    9. my drunk kitchen. her channel is called MyHarto, but specifically, the “my drunk kitchen” episodes are the best.  i have [hopefully] linked directly to the brunch one, which is awesome sauce 5000.

    10. marcel the shell. this one is weird.  that is all.

    11. postsecret. i initially forgot to add this one to the list!  post secret is extremely voyeuristic in the best possible way.  they update it every sunday.

    i also waste time online doing things like looking at all the beautiful drawer pulls in the hardware section of anthropologie’s website… and ogling the fabulous array of tights available from american apparel… but i decided not to add things like that to this list.  you’re welcome.

    there are more things, but honestly, stumbleupon will find them for you eventually anyway… so this should be good for now.  here’s a picture of me looking like someone who spends a lot of time on the internet [note glasses and cat and blinding paleness].

     

     

    Category general, Listerabellum Entries by the tall one | Tags: ,,,,,,,,,,,, | 1 Comment

  5. listerabellum vii: fashion don’ts from a non-fashionista

    November 17, 2011 by the tall one

    the listerabellum is the small but very active section of my brain that does nothing but make (mostly worthless) lists all day. today’s topic:  fashion don’ts. i in no way claim to be a fashionista, but i can recognize truly tragic fashion choices as well as any sane, twenty-something with functioning eyes.

    look at this, eh?  two posts in one week.  we’re totally back.

    1.  scrunchies.  do not wear scrunchies.  ever.  here is why:  a.  it isn’t 1992 and b.  they are trashy looking and awful.  when i wear my hair in a classy side pony tail, i use a super thin hair tie and wrap a strand of hair around the hair tie to cover it up.  you see, ladies, you want it to look like your hair is held in place by magic. you do not want to draw attention away from your hair and direct it to an unsightly blob of fabric.

    2.  uggs.  ugg boots are hideous.  they are especially obnoxious when paired with short shorts and/or miniskirts.  do you want to look like a clydesdale?  shall we find a cart full of cheap beer for you to pull behind you to complete the outfit?  no?  okay then, ditch your furry feet-enlargers.

    3.  speaking of unsightly footwear, let us talk about crocs.  crocs are the safety scissors of the fashion world.  you see someone with them and you are automatically sad and a little cautious because they probably have a severe mental disorder.  back away from the “shoes” that look like some sort of dog chew toy gone wrong. people defend crocs by claiming they are “sooooo comfy”… first of all, i doubt they are *that* comfortable.  they have no discernible padding.  second, nothing is “comfy” enough to justify walking around with tupperware on your feet.

    4.  sweatpants.  okay, if you are doing yoga or painting your living room or something, it is okay to wear tracksuit type sweatpants.  it is never okay to wear the kind of sweatpants that have the tight elastic at the bottom around the ankles.  man, woman or child, i don’t care, do not wear those icky things ever.  if you own a pair of these, get up and throw them away right now.  wearing those sort of sweatpants means you have completely given up on life.  you might as well get fat and become a hermit.

    5.  hoop lip rings.  you look like a caught fish.  end of story.

    6.  pants and shorts with writing on the ass.  this implies that your ass could be a stand-in for a billboard.  is that the message you want to send?  if you want people to stare at your ass, start doing squats and then invest in a killer miniskirt and a good pair of stilettos.  totally works for me and girl #2.

    7.  those weird body suit things and pants with the low crotch that gather above the ankle that urban outfitters keeps trying to make cool.  stop it, guys.  i am normally on your side, but those are crazy.  it’s like a room full of people sat down with the goal to invent an item of clothing that looks horrible on everyone.  you succeeded.  zooey deschanel and uma thurman’s love child couldn’t make those look hot.

    as per normal, i will probably add to this in the future as more things occur to me.  also, i think girl #2 is going to write an accompanying list of fashion dos.  so, you have that to look forward to with bated breath and avid anticipation.

    Category general, Listerabellum Entries by the tall one | Tags: | 6 Comments

  6. listerabellum vi: things your mother should have told you but probably didn’t

    November 15, 2011 by the tall one

    the listerabellum is the small but very active section of my brain that does nothing but make (mostly worthless) lists all day.  today’s topic:  things your mother should have told you but probably didn’t.  i would like to preface this by saying that i have the absolute best mom in the world, and she, in fact, did tell me several of these things.  the others i just figured out over the years.  sorry, male readers, this advice is mostly girl-oriented because… well, because i’m a girl.

    1.  makeup brushes.  put on makeup with makeup brushes not the little q-tip-ish things that come with cheap eyeshadow.  go to sephora.  buy a brush set.  it will make a huge difference.  you need the big fluffy kind for blush and powder.  for cream eyeliners and cream shadows there are various sizes with various levels of pointiness and angles.  the same applies for pressed powder eyeshadow.  i am serious.  do this. you will look better and your makeup with last longer.

    2.  skincare.  everybody has different skin, but this advice applies for most people.  a.  exfoliate once or twice a week; b. moisturize everyday; c. wash your face twice a day and d.  do not overuse things like face masques.  you would be surprised how many people do not know these things.

    3.  do not wait until you are married to have sex.  this is terrible fucking advice [pun intended].  the physical part of a relationship is important.  figure out if that component works before you legally bind yourself to someone.  you know, don’t be a whore or anything and be safe about it and all that, but for the love of god, have sex before you get married.

    4.  masturbate.  ok, i know, girls aren’t suppose to talk about this, but seriously [also, girls should talk about this], you need to know [literally] what gets you off.  it’s part of your sexual identity and will help you enjoy being intimate with others.  experiment.  play around.  figure stuff out.  then, go buy a vibrator.  this is a good rainy day investment.  i bought one for girl #2 for her birthday one year… so if you are too embarrassed to buy one for yourself, chances are you have a friend that will either go with you to buy one or buy one for you.  (not that girl #2 was embarrassed… i am just an awesome gift giver)

    5.  do not buy or wear cheap perfume [my mother actually did tell me this].  even if it smells good, the smell will fade quickly and you will be left with a very unappealing, yucky sick smell all over you.  and gentlemen readers, the same rule applies for cologne.

    6.  waxing.  eyebrows and bikini lines should always be waxed not shaved or plucked… plucking is okay for cleanup work but not for the whole thing.  sensitive areas [like the aforementioned face and hooha] react better to quick hair removal… shaving is a likely to leave yucky red bumps and cause in-grown hairs and stuff.  avoid that.  wax.  waxing does not hurt [too much] if you have a good waxer.  ask a friend or your hairdresser for a recommendation.

    7.  lingerie.  all women should own lingerie.  if you don’t have at least one garter belt in your panty drawer, stop reading this and go buy one right now!  lingerie is awesome because it makes you feel sexy.  if i am having a bad day, i put on a little sexy something and it perks me up.  even if it is just for yourself and you have no sexy plans for the evening, wearing a garter belt and baking yourself cookies will make you feel foxy, happy and a little naughty.

    8.  speaking of lingerie, go get fitted for a bra by a pro.  you think you know your bra size, but you may not.  honestly, i did not have a bra that was correctly sized until this month.  wearing the right bra will make you look and feel better.  it improves your posture and makes clothes fit better.  if you live in springfield, go to the lingerie boutique on glenstone [you can stop by there after picking up your new vibrator at patricia's].  they will fit you and help you out.  they also have garter belts.  *wink*

    i am sure there are many more things.  i will probably add to this later.

    Category general, Listerabellum Entries by the tall one | Tags: ,,,,, | No Comments

  7. Venice Beach Boardwalk Down Memory Lane

    September 9, 2011 by Girl Number 2

    It’s been around four years since I last walked around Venice Beach, California. I was on vacation that trip. I did a lot of exploring on my own, earbuds in, ipod turned up. I wore my chuck taylor’s with skirts and smoked an occasional cigarette. I drank gin and realized I actually liked it. I was finishing up graduate school. maybe I had one more year left. I forget. All I know is that it wasn’t time to figure my life out quite yet. Not like now.

    Now I drink mostly whiskey, though I still like gin. My occasional cigarette is fewer and far between. I’m back in Venice Beach, but I didn’t bring my chuck’s with me. I haven’t put my earbuds in since my plane landed. I still haven’t finished up graduate school, but it’s time to figure my life out. I could really use a whiskey, but I’d take gin if that’s what you’ve got.

    This trip is not a vacation. It’s full of sunsets and friends. Drinks and laughs. But everyday starts and ends with the same two questions: “who am I and what do I want to do now.” I fill each day exploring for the answers. I toss and turn each night I don’t find them.

    I had this brief moment on the Venice Beach boardwalk – as I passed by Harry Perry, still rolling around playing his bullseye guitar – where I just really missed that person I was when I took in Venice for the first time. I think it’s mostly that I miss that time in my life when I wasn’t trying to figure out what my career goals were – or if I even have any.

    So, as an ode to my former self, I decided to repost my first take on Venice Beach from years ago, stolen from my old LiveJournal account:

    “Walking down Venice Beach listening to your ipod is like walking through a music video. As if every person you pass is scripted to be there in costumes designed by industry pros to look like what we think Venice Beach should look like. You pass this guy, bronzed, lanky, dreadlocked holding a sign “best henna tattoos –>” and pointing to the kiosk in rhythm with your music. Boys in wetsuits undone and hanging at their waist skateboard by carrying their surfboards passing the beach shower where the grey-haired man rinses off his board. Next to blanket after blanket of local art, cheap jewelry and tarot cards, a man drums on his djembe to the beat of your song. Everything is in time. If you stop, pause…say, for a cigarette, Harry Perry will roll over to you on cue with his wheeled tennis shoes, his white robes and turban a mixture between an Arab and a Hare Krishna. He’ll play you his song on his worn out bull’s-eye guitar, amp hooked to his belt. If you don’t see him there, if he doesn’t play for you, you can see him on a mural or on t-shirts on people walking by. Production merchandise. Keep walking. Press play again on your ipod. Walk by muscle beach. Engines pumping and thumping in time. Skaters crash onto the cement after a failed ollie kickflip stunt as if Meg White willed it so. Families, tourists, joggers, strollers, dogs, skaters, surfers, rappers, fortune tellers. The grey bearded wizard mumbling incantations, the limbless black man belly flat on his skateboard rolling by. You. All part of this Venice beach menagerie set to music.”

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  8. that’s what she said

    May 19, 2011 by the tall one

    this is a brand new, super short story (like, micro-mini) that i wrote.  just now.  i borrowed two old characters that i used a lot in college.  they may pop up occasionally in future things.

     

    “Woolf and Wallace killed themselves.”

    “Woolf and Wallace?”

    “The two greatest writers of the 20th Century committed suicide.”

    “Ah.  Virginia and DFW.”

    “Yea.  What does that say about life?”

    “DFW died in 2008.”

    “So?”

    “So, he died in the 21st Century.”

    “I don’t see how that is relevant.  Two of the, arguably, greatest minds of the 20th Century killed themselves.  That doesn’t tell you anything about the value of life? Or about the plight of our generation?”

    “First, it is relevant that he died in the 21st not the 20th century because of your prior description of him as a 20th century author and subsequently, 20th century mind.  Technically, he was a 21st century guy as well and will most likely be reflectively categorized as a turn of the century or ‘new-millennium’ author. Second, we’re 28,” Lenn lit a Djarum Black, inhaled deeply and blew a billow of smoke out through his nostrils.

    “You’re not supposed to inhale those.  And why does it matter that we’re 28?  I know we’re 28.”

    “Woolf would be around a hundred and thirty now.  I don’t think we get to count her as a part of our generation.” He was still inhaling aggressively; there was already nearly half an inch of ash.  “And really… DFW would be, what fifty? Forty-nine?  I actually don’t think we get to claim him either.  I think you’re stuck with Jonathan Safran Foer.  He hasn’t killed himself yet, but here’s hoping.” He saluted with his dwindling clove and then ashed into a pot of pink geraniums.

    “You’re hilarious.  But really, don’t you think it says… something?  That the most gifted and intelligent among us choose death over life?” Savannah was a little drunk and getting somewhat exasperated.

    “Hemingway is the most overrated author of the 20th century.”

    “Ok? And?”

    “And he also killed himself and not gracefully by drowning or hanging like your examples, he blew off his head with a fucking shotgun.  Do you know what a pain in the ass that must have been to clean up?”

    “Ok?”

    “So, he is overrated.  He wasn’t a great writer or genius like your W’s and he too killed himself.  Mediocre people also kill themselves.  People die all the time and a good chunk of those deaths are self-inflicted.  Is there some cosmic message about the value of life that Wallace and Woolf figured out that led them to off themselves?  Probably not.  Is there a somewhat higher incidence of mental illness and depression in highly intelligent and creative people?  Possibly. You’re reading too much into this.”

    “Why do I relate so much to these authors?    Why do they resonate with me more than people I actually know?  And Sylvia Plath.  I love Sylvia Plath.”

    “All artsy girls in their twenties love Sylvia Plath.  Get over it.  Woolf and Wallace resonate with you because you’re not stupid and they are good writers.  Good writers evoke emotional and intellectual reactions from their readers.  You’re drunk.”

    Savannah was leaning against the corner support column of Lenn’s front porch, absent-mindedly stripping the peeling white paint off the underside of the banister she was perched on.  She looked at the chipped, orange toe nail polish of her dangling, bare feet.  “I’m not that drunk.  And I would still say this even if I wasn’t drinking.”

    Lenn smiled at her and raised his left eyebrow.

    “I wish I could do that.  Do you think if I had one side botoxed it would look like I was raising one eyebrow?”  Savannah raised her eyebrows and then pushed the right one down with her hand. “My face muscles are too synchronized.”

    “Sychronized Face Muscles.  That would be a good name for an electronica band.”  He brushed the tip of his clove back and forth between two bricks against the already ash-blackened grout and stood up out of the rusted, teal lawn chair.  “Do you want to go back inside?”

    She looked up at him.  He was so tall, she had to actually tilt her head back slightly to look him in the eye.  He had almond-shaped, blue eyes that were noticeably larger than average. They were really blue.  He was the type of person who made an uncomfortably intense amount of eye contact during conversation.  Piercing.  In a romance novel, he would be described as having piercing blue eyes.  “I don’t know.  If we go back inside, I really will get drunk.  Which is fine… but let’s do something.  Let’s get drunk and do something rather than just getting drunk and lounging around like we do every night.”

    He cocked his head to one side and looked down at her sprawled position on the banister. “I like lounging. You’re an excellent lounger.  What do you want to do instead?”

    “Let’s make a fire.”

    “A fire?”

    “Yes.  A summertime bonfire.”

    “So we have something to lounge in vicinity of and are outside rather than our typical indoor lounging?”

    “Yes.  This is better.  It’ll be fun.”

    “Discussing-suicidal-authors fun?” He raised both eyebrows this time.

    “I can’t promise that, but I’ll try.  Do you have wood?”

    Lenn’s eyes went wide for a second, then he laughed and walked down the porch steps and away toward the shed on the far side of the house.

    Savannah was somewhat perplexed by his reaction.  She remained slouching against the porch column, twisting and untwisting a strand of Hi-C orange hair around her little finger trying to figure out what was funny.

    “Oh.  Yea.  That’s what she said.”

     

    [end]

     

     

     

     

    Category Fiction and Other Creative Endeavors | Tags: ,,,,,,,,,, | 3 Comments

  9. drinking games

    May 15, 2011 by the tall one

    this is a story i wrote as an undergraduate for a postmodern lit and film class circa 2005.  i re-edited it a year or so later and condensed some of the characters (there were originally A LOT of completely unnecessary characters) and cleaned it up a little.  it examines several postmodern literary techniques and the italicized passages mimic the writing styles of the authors that appear in the story as characters.  the entire thing is meant to have a postmodern tone.  the authors themselves are portrayed more like they tended to portray characters than as they actually are (were, in acker’s case) in life, i.e., yes i know ellis is actually gay.  the bolded sections are the drink recipes that, along with the drinking games themselves, break up the story.  it is weird and crass.  enjoy!

     

    “Drinking Games”

     

    RANDOM FACT 193.  Grovschpol looks like shit but tastes like a root beer float. Drink it with a straw to avoid the clumps. Midori, which Savannah kept referring to as “jolly rancher“, sinks but Baileys rides the surface. When you add the coke, the Baileys fuses with the foam—thus the shit-look and clumps—but it tastes great.  Don’t try to shoot it. The Seagram’s 7 sinks too.  Don’t stir it. The stirring just causes more foam.  That’ll get your more adventuresome pussies to drink.  It’s like ugly candy.  For those who want their drink to taste virgin (“tasty shots”, as Ava calls them)  mix jolly rancher–the Midori again–with club soda and a drizzle of grenadine.  Too cheap for unusual Japanese liqueurs? Fine.  Instant Kool-Aid and Southern Comfort.  She won’t even remember her name.


    Kathy Acker and Bret Easton Ellis had come together with a few unsuspecting students from the local community college who had been tempted by extra credit to attend the postmodern workshop earlier in the evening.  Acker walked in while Ava was explaining to Savannah that even after her recent adventures in Mexico she still couldn’t stand the taste of beer.  Savannah already knew this.  She and Mona knew all about Ava and her love of bitch beer—Mike’s Hard Lemonade, the red cranberry kind in particular.  Acker slipped her hand just inside the waistband of Mona’s skirt and started relating stories of young girls and their adventures in Mexico.

     

    Ava had a dream about her childhood. Ava’s dad left her alone in the desert one day when she was eight years old.  He did it for himself and Ava knew that and was grateful.  She grew up in Missouri believing her parents were dead and the world was open to her.  She knew only one word in Spanish: leguerro.  Leguerro meant small in reference to the alcohol content of drinks.  Tasty shots. Leguerro.  She retained her innocence as long as she could as a defense against men.  Her dad told her men were evil and she believed him because he was evil.  She liked Mexico.  She returned her senior year of high school and remembered the word.  After endless nights of leguerro and running from fierce Mexican boys she collapsed on the beach.  She felt down through herself and into the void of warmth and light.  The water ran up inside her thighs and made her wish boys weren’t evil. She woke up naked on the beach in the middle of the night.  She was still in the dream.  She wrote “Hi Savy “ on the beach with her foot and took a picture of it so she could send it to Savannah and she would know if it was true or not.  She kept fantasizing about sex.  This wasn’t like her.  She knew she was only in a dream.  She went back to the bar and had pornographic intercourse with the first boy she met.  She knew it was a dream.  Then her dad came back from the dead and told her to stop fucking because men were evil.  She flew back to Missouri and woke up on the beach.


    Kimberly was a freshman at Ozarks Technical Community College (over the counter college as Mona liked to call it).  She didn’t like drinking and had only come because she wanted to look smart showing up with authors.  She was supposed to meet Matt at the party anyway.  She was already feeling sleepy from the Oxycontin and Xanax but knew that someone would sell her some Adderall.

     

    It was the Jones brothers’ house but Savannah had invited everyone over that night for drinking games.  Not that it mattered.  A drunken gathering at Jon and Lenn’s was perpetual.  Savannah would occasionally get pissed and kick everyone out for Jon–he’s just too fucking nice—but not frequently.

     

    The original Singapore Sling:  Gin, cherry brandy, pineapple juice, lime juice, Cointreau, Benedictine, grenadine and a splash of Angostura Bitters.  Originally thought up by a clever bartender who knew what lady’s wanted; fruity pink, loaded with a cherry on top.  Has helped thousands of Asian men get laid since the late 1800s when he supposedly invented it.  Savannah’s version: gin, brandy, Grenadine, pineapple syrup from canned pineapples and a lime wedge.  She prided herself on trivial knowledge of drinks but usually had to adapt a budget version.  Mona likes Mudslingers: SoCo, orange juice and Pepsi.  Acker and Savannah argue about the ingredients of the original Singapore sling.  Ava Googles it and discovers there are at least five different variations.  Then Singapore Sling herself arrives; in the flesh and not much more.


    (Read entire entry…)

    Category Fiction and Other Creative Endeavors | Tags: ,,,,,,,,,,, | 4 Comments

  10. listerabellum v: my defective selves

    May 13, 2011 by the tall one

    the listerabellum is the small but very active section of my brain that does nothing but make (mostly worthless) lists all day.  today’s topic from the listerabellum is inspired by an entry from my friend dulouz’s blog . you should check it out.  the topic is my defective selves.

    my life as a defective wife:

    1.  i’m not domestic.  at all.  yes, it is 2011 and i’m a feminist and so is my husband, but still, wives (okay, spouses) are supposed to have a few semi-domestic qualities, right?  perhaps equal domesticity shared between spouses, but domesticity nonetheless.  ha.  poor kelly.  i am not good at housework.  i don’t do the dishes regularly.  i’m not sure i’ve ever dusted.  i wash clothes only when i no longer have anything to wear… i iron day-to-day as needed (and currently cannot iron at all because i accidentally melted part of a costume for a movie i was working on to my fancy shark iron… which was a wedding present…fancy household gadgets are also not my area).  i love to cook but he is a better cook than me and i seldom have time to cook these days anyway.  i am not good at baking.  i forget to take out the recycling on the appropriate day.  i don’t make the bed (honestly, does anyone make the bed?  oh.  you do?  really?  huh).  i have no idea how to start the lawn mower.  actually, i am not sure we even have a lawn mower.

    2.  i am the quintessential spacey artist.  when asked what it is like being married to an artist, kelly once said, “well, you occasionally eat paint…” this is sadly true.  currently the dining room table (well, its protective cover) is splattered with paint and plaster.  i wash brushes in the same sink where i (occasionally) wash dishes.  i recently mixed paint and a semi-toxic thinning agent for airburshing in a liquid measuring cup and stored it in the refrigerator.  this is a nice measuring cup (another wedding gift) which we use for cooking.  the drain in the bathtub is constantly clogged due at least in part to the acrylic paint i wash off myself on a regular basis.  various art pieces and art supplies clutter our “office” rendering it basically useless.  i have no idea how to starch a men’s dress shirt but i do know that adding starch to paper mache will thicken it and make it set up faster.  i often have paint caked around my nails and in my hair.  i cannot fathom having children because i want to pursue my mfa and be a “working artist”.  i know more about 14th century maniera greca frescoes than i will ever know about cleaning an oven or filing joint taxes.

    3.  i am never home.  Between work, graduate school and all the non-profit arts work i’m involved in, it’s kind of amazing kelly remembers what i look like.   i’m much too busy, but i am in the process of fixing that.  see my notes on my second defective self.

    4.  kelly is a good sport.  even as i am sitting here writing this he is arguing with me saying i am a good wife.  he’s wrong.  i’m a terrible flirt, a near alcoholic and an eccentric artist in the worst way.  kro on the other hand, is an excellent husband (hooosband as my grad friends and i call him).  he picks up my slack on the cooking and cleaning; he is incredibly supportive of all my crazy schemes, projects and endeavors and he’s pretty easy on the eyes, eh?  what he’s doing with me, i have no idea.  but i’ll just go with it.

     

    my life as a defective grown-up:

    1.  i’m quitting my stable job working for great bosses, that has full benefits,  to waitress.  well, that is, if i can find a waitressing job in this economy.  yes, i’m an idiot, but if i don’t do this, i’m afraid i will be stuck forever in banal yuppie-dom.  i want to pursue an m.f.a.  i want to teach at the collegiate level.  i also want to be a working artist.  i am insanely busy right now.  it is only recently that i have managed to make time to start painting again.  i have several commissions i haven’t had time to start working on. i sat down and looked at my life, weighed what was important to me, and the stable grown-up job lost.  so i’m quitting.  my bosses are so great.  they’re the best.  they are completely supportive and encouraging.  i am a little terrified, but i think it is the correct decision.  i will focus on finishing my m.a., building my portfolio, being a less defective spouse, applying to m.f.a. programs and painting.  but by all reasonable counts, i am being incredibly irresponsible and irrational.

    2.  i’ve completely stopped paying attention to politics and watching the news.  i don’t even listen to npr anymore.  after the tumultuous and family-dividing 2008 presidential election, i just can’t muster the energy to give a fuck.  that is bad, i know.  i still pay enough attention to be able to vote responsibly, but i am doing the bare minimum.  now that i am too old to be bracketed as “the youth vote”, i’ve adopted their apathy and malaise.

    3.  i have early twenties vices… still.  i’m nearing thirty and i still drink like a college kid.  i started smoking cloves.  i don’t wear sunscreen, like ever.   at least i’m not promiscuous and i don’t abuse illicit substances.  so, i should amend this to read i have *some* early twenties vices.  i’m not five for five.  holla.

    4.  i read the twilight saga.  and i enjoyed it.  immensely.

    [this is a blog post by hyperbole and a half, which is my favorite blog ever, explaining why she will never be a grown-up... she is funnier than me, so enjoy: why i'll never be a grown-up]

     

    my life as a defective gen-xer (wait… is that even the right term for me?):

    1.  i am bad at machines.  see?  i call all technology “machines”.  case closed.

    Category Listerabellum Entries by the tall one | Tags: ,,,,, | 10 Comments

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