Halloween

The weather has gone bad. How typical. How perfect. I dont know what I'm wearing yet. How typical. How ME.
Happy Halloween everybody. There will be full report of tonights debaucherous activities in my blog tomorrow.

At the beach

I went on a walk this morning. I woke up in my old room at moms house to the constant, thundering sound of the waves and they beckoned me. Crunching my way down the driveway I headed towards the beach-the sound of it getting louder and louder the closer I got. I drank in the air as if it were an elixer. Coming from the stuffy depths of the valley smog and into the ocean air is exhilerating. A salty purity defines its scent, and I feel as if I could get high of the crystal clearness of it. The gravel beneath my feet turned to sand and I took my shoes off to feel the entirety of it. Every grain and shell between my toes. The ocean stood before me in foamy, choppy radiance. A greyish blue hue defined its waves. Seagulls danced and yelled in their obnoxious croaks as they pecked at the dead jelly fish below them. I looked around me and realized I was the only one on the beach, and I felt selfish and spoiled in the most delightful way. I stood before the ocean, my feet getting carressed by the icy toungue that is the northern pacific, and I felt so in love. Standing there, I stretched out my arms towards the never ending expanse of water. I wanted to take it in. It was my moment. My quality time with the sea. Barefoot and vulnerable, my arms open wide I yelled secrets and prayers into the water. The wind swept my words up and away and into the waves, which swallowed them and took them under. Deep down to the depths with so many other secrets. Now mine were there too. Hidden treasures.
As cheesy as it sounds, it was my best moment with the sea yet. As I walked back towards my shoes, my face smiling and windburned I felt full and satisfied. I looked back one more time at the blindng surface of salty liquid and blew it a kiss. I like to believe it caught my kiss and that the sudden gust of wind that followed was a return kiss in my direction. Thats the way I'll remember it when I recall the strong and salty memories of this lovely day.

beautiful, beautiful.....bed.

Our anniversary is next week. Thats right. Four years. About two weeks ago I found out I was getting a present for our special day. The anticipation was killing me. For those of you who know me well, you know that patience has never been my virtue. But, I tried. I only asked about it every OTHER day. Mischeivious grins preluded my comments that went something like: "So....is it in the house yet?" Or: "Is it edible?" Or, most often: "For crissake! Cant I just SEE it already!?!?!"
When he (my adorable man) was tight lipped (as he always is, that sneaky devil) my mind would wander on to romantic and impossible dreams. He was going to propose to me on top of some nature spot and I would cry and he would lift me in his arms and.......no. "Stop it Selene" I would tell myself. I knew better than to expect such far fetched fantasies from my adorable and decidedly "anti marriage" little love crumpet. God Bless him. God dammit.

Last night though, an impatient persons dream came true. I got my present EARLY!!!!! I got home from a dinner and movie with my cute as a button friend Juanita and I noticed that the canopy on the truck was off. "Strange..." I thought. When I asked my man about it he shrugged it off with excellent convincibility and asked me to grab something off our bed downstairs. So, down I went. I opend the door to our bedroom-and there it was: A KING SIZE SIMMONS BEAUTY REST BED!!!! "EEEEGADS!"( I believe my reaction sounded something along these lines). If you,dear reader, only knew our old bed. Our broken, small, dirty squeaky joke of a bed. If you knew-you too would share in my freakish, squealy excitement. My man, my sexy sneaky catch of a man, walked in with a grin. "Happy anniversary my love" he said. I grabbed him, pulled him on to the bed and we celebrated in a very adult fashion I dont think I need to explain.

The best present EVER I say!! But, now....with our anniversary only a week away, I am racking my brain thinking of how I am going to top this present. What do I get the man? The adorable, curly blonde catch of a man? Hmmmmm......I think I need to lay down on my BED awhile and think about it.

Self Loathing

I woke up this morning hating myself. My boyfriend was staring at me with a look of concern on his face andI felt as if I had pounded my head against a brick wall. I look like it too. There is a scab on my eye and a bruise on my face. Where did they come from you ask? I dont know that either. The last thing I remember is ordering a third double greyhound..the rest....is a complete blackout. I just got my cell phone back from some guy that found it on the street downtown by a cab I dont remember getting into. Lovely.
What is it with alchohol?-it is a metaphorical brick wall. We drink it-drink too much of it-pass out-wake up feeling like crap and vow never to drink again and then do just that. Ramming our heads against it over and over. Will we never learn? I dont know. I do know that I am not drinking anymore for awhile. Its not cute any more. Its not funny. And the hangovers sure dont go away as quickly as they used to. Today I hate myself. Luckily though, my boyfriend still loves me. God bless 'im and the puke bucket he left by our bed.

I hate dressing myself

I awake in the nude and slip on my PJs. Tea and Breakfast first. Ah, the morning. I love it. I check my email, check myspace(my newest obsession) and then set off to take on the day. But first: what shall I wear? I scan my closet, then my dresser. piles and piles of pink, brown red, black and beyond. Nothing looks good. Why the hell did I buy that sweater? yuck. Oh yeah THOSE jeans. Those were so cu-....what the hell? Why dont they fit me anymore!?! I look in the mirror and find myself staring back at the "muffin top" of all "muffin tops" Yuck. I tear them off in exasperation. that dress? too formal. With jeans? NO! YUCK!!
I stomp upstairs to Michelles closet in hopes of something cute-that actually looks good on me. Hmmmm...that purple shirt always looks so good on her, lets see.....arrrrggg! WHY are my arms so fat in this? Another shirt, and another-and that belt that almost works....but doesnt. GAWDAMMIT! The mailman comes up the stairs and I am staring down at him from upstairs. Wearing my bra. I want to go out and get the mail-but WHAT DO I WEAR!?!? WHY dont I have cuter clothes!?!? I want to wear that pink top with those jeans-if ONLY I were three sizes smaller. But, then again-that top doesnt really match my new haircolor very well. Should I wear dark colors ONLY now? Ohhh...I forgot about that shirt. Nice....untill-I rip the armpit out.
THATS IT!!! I run downstairs and find my PJs. SO warm, so flannel-so baggy. I shut my drawers loudly and angrily silently cursing my appawling apparel.
Its been decided. THIS is what Im wearing. And I'm not leaving this F@#$%& house!!
So there.

Friday

An anticipation is in the air. Its Friday, and all the faces on the bus say so without words. Tired, anxious, ready. Its not my Friday, but I appreciate it nonetheless. People are much more friendly to wait on at work, and that means more tips por moi-LOVE IT!
As I walked downtown to catch a bus this a.m, a homeless man asked me if I wanted to dance. "Its Friday girl!! Gitch yo ass over here and dance with an old man!!" I politely declined- I could smell him from 10 feet away. I loved the gesture though. He didnt even have a job and he was stoked on Friday nonetheless. I curtsied to him as if at a ball and his eyes shined at me- a glimmer of happiness in a life otherwise desperate. Friday brings these things to you. Pieces of joy and shards of hope hiding in the corners of everyday life.

matrimonial madness

Not that I dont love them. I really do. No, really. Its just.....well, let me start at the beginning.

We arrive at the wedding at 2:30 and beers are already being downed like its happy hour in Tiajauna. The bridesmaids are in a tizzy getting thier hair done and the groomsmen are taking shots of jager meister upstairs. The crowd mills around uncomfortabley at first-smiling tensly at all the people we havent seen forever-many since highschool. I am so glad to see many of them-and honestly dont recognize alot of them. A few more beers though and I am Chatty Cathy with everyone in the joint.

Then its time for the wedding. Despite the torrential downpour all around us the tent kept everyone relatively dry. The man behind me brought three beers with him to his seat. He didnt know anyone there but his girlfriend and proceeded to make rude comments about the ceremony. Unbelievable. We all gave him dirty looks and his girlfriend told him to shut up. The ceremony itself was lovely and precious. The bride and groom's adorable two year old was the flower girl and the proud parents beamed as they looked at her. The vows were short and sweet and everyone looked so good. "We're all grown up" I thought to myself, and I shed a few tears between pictures-it was a wedding after all.

The ceremony was over, and so were the niceties apparently. About 10 minutes after the vows took place a fistfight erupted in the driveway. Someones drunk boyfriend got in a fight with his girlfriends brother. The front window to her car was broken out and the brother proceeded to throw punches so loud I could hear them 20 feet away. Womens screams filled the air, and the gaiety of the night seemed to be over. But, they convinced someone to drive the instigator of the fight away and told people to party on. So we did.

There were five cops at the bottom of the driveway(arresting people mind you), but that didnt stop the wedding from going on...and on. The toasts were next and we all gathered under the canopy once again, feeling that normalcy was being restored at last. In the middle of the speech, one the of the groomsmen drops the "F bomb" and by that I mean, he said "Fuck" really loud and drunkenly in front of everyone-old people and kids alike. Everyone seemed to be too buzzed or shocked to care and after the gate had been lifted, if you will it was all "F bombs" all the way through the toasts. They were capped off by a raucous "Fuckin A", utterd by the most punk and tattood among the groomsmen. With that-it was cake cutting time.

The bride and groom did their duty and the cake was cut. It was adorable. The cuteness was cut short however, when the groomsmen burst in and starting smearing cake all over the groom while french kissing him. Thats right, I said it: the groom and groomsmen were frenching eachother while smearing the cake down eachothers suits. The young and drunk laughed loudly and took pictures. The old and sober and old and drunk alike, stared on in disbelief and embarresment. The really young paid no mind and had thier own game of stealing the cake and throwing at eachother. I looked around. The majority of the party was three sheets(more like 10 sheets actually) to the wind and it wasnt even 7pm. The night was young, and their was mischief in the air.

A couple of hours passed and the bride and groom left for their honeymoon. The rest of us mill around, trying to figure out what we are going to do. We decide to hit the bars. A terribel idea, but inevitable anyway you look at it. So we go. The sober drive(god bless em) and we squish in back of various cars. The bar is packed and kareoke is going strong. Another fist fight breaks out before we even get inside. Once inside, we get served: the most shocking part of the evening. And so it goes. For hours. Bad songs. More drinks. Recipes for disaster being brewed and carried out. We get 86ed. I wonder why it took so long. One of the groomsmen was so upset by this, he went outside and pressed his testicle to the window of the restaurarnt side where people are eating. No, I am not joking, and yes, they proceeded to drink even more.

Me? I dont hold my liquor so well(which I have counted as a blessing more and more as I get older), and had to have my friends escort me back to the house where we were crashing. I, apparently had my moment of drama too and ran away in a drunken stupor yelling at them as I fled. They caught me however and, bless their hearts, took me to the house and put me to bed. By bed I mean blanket on the floor. I remember passing out to sounds of the walls shaking. Another fight.

I awoke in the morning totally disoriented and yearning for the loo. I find it downstairs. On the way down, there is a trail of blood, and the bathroom floor is coverd in it. Bloody shirts hung in the shower. One of the groomsmen was passed out in his suit with bloodstains on him, a beer still in his hand. I felt like death. I was dirty and stinky and I wanted to go home. I love my old friends, I really do. But, everytime I go away and come back I seem to forget how crazy they are. So, so crazy.

It was a punk rock wedding if I ever did see, and the bride and groom were so cute and happy. That was the most important thing. The rest of the night however, can be summed up in these two words: so highschool. After witnessing the madness of the evening my thoughts about the idea of matrimony could be summed up in these four words: "I am so eloping."

suddenly...darker

So....my friend Lucy saved my hair story-its baaaaaack!!


Pulling up to my friend Teras appt. , I feel giddy with anticipation. I am FINALLY going to get my hair done after months of grow out. My roots look like something Courtney Love would have donned in 1992. Trashy not classy, mind you.
Tera, Michelle and I go down to the the supply store to pick up the goods. Tera is nervous. After a year of working with only Aveda colors she is not used to other brands any more. But-we cant fork out the cash for an Aveda do-so Redken its going to have to be.

After returning to the appt and pouring some coctails we get to work. Both Michelle and i have bleached hair that needs to be taken down a level. After that and a few more coctails we get to the dying. Michelles' turns out a chestnut red color. Not as dramatic as her usual style-but lovely nonetheless. "Yours is going to be just a bit darker" says Tera. "No prob" I say, visualizing a nice, rich chocolate. More coctails, smoke breaks and gossip. Then its time to remove the foils. I see the look on Teras face as she checks the color. It is a bit tense-I can tell she is trying to stay calm "Whatevs" I say in my mind. "it cant be that dark!"

It is. And then some. I look in the mirror after the shampooing and I am speechless. My head-bleach blond only hours before is almost black. There are a few streaks of blonde left and the back is all blonde due to running out of dye halfway through. I try not to cry. Tera is swimming in guilt and anxiety. "Omigod....I know it didnt seem this dark on the package..I swear I didnt think it would soak up the color this fast...I'm just not used to using these dyes anymore and....."
"No, no its fine." I say in a daze. Images of Elvira flash through my mind as I look at myself.
"That looks AWSOME" says Michelle-the much braver risk taker when it comes to hair. We look at eachother and both wish we could switch hair color. If only.
I call Dustin on the phone while Tera finishes Michelles hair.
"Look, I just want to let you know that I have black hair and I am about to cry and you better not say ANYTHING when I come home. I dont want to hear it" I say..my voice cracking.
"What do you mean?" he says...
"Just DONT" I say, and hang up the phone.
Trying to compose myself and not make Tera feel like a peice of shit-I come out to the living room with a strained, painful looking smile.
The girls in the living room all observe me. Their faces glued in the same strained,polite smile.
"Wow." says my friend Chelsea staring at my raven colored locks.
"Yeah" I say. "wow."

Hair done, Michelle and I pile in the car and drive home. She is staring at my hair with a smile.
"It looks really good Selene"...she says. "Oh, Michelle" I think to myself. "You brave euro sheek chick. If only it were you and not me." Images of my long blonde hair-long gone and shorn-dance through my head. I have never in my life been anything but a blonde(save for manic panic red in highschool) and I dont know how NOT to be one.
I walk in the door of the house and Dustin sees me. A smile goes over his face. "That looks really good!" he beams. "Shut up" I say, wallowing in self pity.
"NO, I'm serious-I like it way better!" he says.
"Cool" says Loren.
I sigh deeply and eat my dinner, trying not to look at my reflection on the window. That night I dream I am in highschool...my long blonde hair blowing in the wind.

The next morning is a reality check. I go back over to Teras for a few more hightlights. The back is still not dyed and we wont get to it..Tera is feeling sick. "If I were in a punk band-I would feel so rockin right now!" I say.
"Embrace the rocker within" says Tera.
So, today-the day after the darkening, I am trying to do just that. Let go of my blonde identity crisis and get over myself. Sure its blonde in back, dark in front and orangey yellow in my bangs. But, I strive to take inspiration from my hip, ever changing hair colored housemate Michelle and say: "Its just hair." Right? Right. Lets hope in two weeks I can say that and mean it. Rock on.
posted by Selene @ 11:07 AM

beyond blonde

Apparently I have erased my blog about dying my hair darker.....well, for those of you who read it- I hope you enjoyed it. For those of you who didnt....I dont have the energy to rewrite it. let just say I have no embraced the brunetee within-and am rockin the dark lockes like nobodies biznass!! more entries coming soon.
xoox

pics

Death to Tomatoes

The tomatoes on our roof are chilly. It makes them droop down as if moping about the change in weather and the end of their bright, red summer glory. The leaves on the trees seem to take it better-brightening themselves to amazing colors and then listleslly falling off to the ground, as if surrendering to the inevitable. How Zen the leaves are. How resistant the tomatoes. I want to eat them(not the leaves)-out of guilt, but I dont think that I can muster up the will to eat one more of those damn things. We have been swimming in them all summer and even after giving away pounds of them they just keep coming. Pickled tomatoes, tomato salad, salsa, just plain ol' tomato on a plate by itself.
I start to get bitter as I look out at them and just wish they would accept their fate and drop-like the leaves-except more mushy- to the ground.
"We dont want you any more" I whisper out the window.
They dont seem to notice-but I think I see them droop on the vine even further in a glum acceptance. Like an Indonesian tourist in Anchorage on holiday-it just aint right, and they know it. They arent built for it-and the impending frosts and storms hover over them like frostbite.
But there they sit. Red and drooping untill the last possible minute when they will just have to face up and die.
I go back to the kitchen and take the bowl of rotting tomatoes that no one in the house seems to be able to eat and throw them in the garbage-hoping the other ones will get the point.
"See you next year" I say to the oozing, red corpses in the trash. I then walk out the door into October to buy squash.