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| two new things.1. excerpts from various notes. Where I will place all of my writings. Some will be old, some will be new, but now I'm placing everything onto blogger rather than xanga.
2. yoNYC! Everything you want/need to know about Chinatown, NY. Still in its beginning stages, but check it out, please!
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| i go back to school soon and this is the most fun i've ever hadSo, I've just started work at the Empire State Building -- my ears pop and my stomach drops every time I'm in the elevator, trying to keep my food down as we skyrocket to the 76th floor -- and yesterday, I started feeling sick after coming back from lunch. I tried to pass it off as nothing, continuing with the NF-4 forms that I've been delegated to do. But I couldn't take it, and I wanted to catch the earliest train back home. I said my goodbyes to everyone (note to self: talk to boss on Monday), and then rushed down to Penn Station. I was waiting on a line to get a ticket, glaring at the ineptitude of people of putting in a credit card or putting cash in, and then rushed off to track 14. I don't generally like getting on the first car so I continue walking until I find a car that is somewhat in the middle or near the back. Anyway, I walked in and saw a really cute guy sitting at the end of the compartment, and there was an open seat next to him.
Of course I didn't sit next to him but chose a seat four rows back and across. In trying to be suave, I take my seat, and ... make eyes at him. I thought it -- and he -- was cute, and lucky me, we kept making intense eye contact. It was so much fun -- except for the fact that I kept ducking my head, blushing, and smiling like a pubescent schoolgirl suddenly realizing she was interested in the other sex. But I kept looking at him either way, and he was doing the same. Well, unfortunately, he was changing at Jamaica, and when he was transferring, he looked back at me and this time we made legit smiles at each other. Then -- and if you're a girl you'll appreciate this, but if you're guy, well .. you're probably not reading this anyway -- he walked by my window (purposely! eee!), and we smiled again. Fine, I smiled my big smile and waved .. sort of. It was a little awkward, but considering I was never going to see him again, what did it matter?
So he walked by, and I thought to myself, well .. there goes another encounter with a possible soul mate. I looked over my shoulder, out the window, to see if he was waiting outside or if he was inside his train. It was a little girl impulse to do that, and I didn't see him, so I sighed and went back to choosing music on my phone. Then all of a sudden, I see something green (he was wearing a green shirt) right outside my window, and I looked up, and it was him! Instead of smiling, I grinned. I couldn't believe it, and I put my hand up in a semi-wave, thinking, okay what is he doing now? Should I give him my number? That would be kind of weird ..
He shrugged a little with his cute smile, and then pressed a piece of paper against my window. I leaned closer, and it read:
call me:
(his number)Oh! My hands were shaking so much from pure exhilaration and my unbelievable luck at that moment, but do not worry, I did put his number into my phone. And after, um, signaling goodbye to each other, I grinned and giggled to myself and smoothed my hair back and stared out the window, replaying that scene over and over again. What a fantastic day. It was awesome. 
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| possible shorts:
1. china trip
2. modern renditions of fairy tales
3. collaboration with mink
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| excerpt. comment, please.
a.
I told her that the rain
reminded me of her. I said to her, Madeleine, whenever it rains I think of you.
And she said to me, almost angrily, what is that supposed to mean? I let the
raindrops collect into the cup I’ve created from my clasped hands. I said,
sometimes the world seems so beautiful when it rains. The clouds are grey, and
in this city, you see what everyone really is. There’s some type of simple
beauty in the rain, don’t you think? It falls and drips, silently or heavily,
it’s something that needs to happen to keep the order in things. You know, the
hydrogen cycle? She rolled her eyes at me, dipping one of her own fingers into
the pool that’s formed. You think you’re such a poet, she sighed against me,
and I told her that the only poetry I knew was from her. I think the reason why
I told her that the rain reminded me of her was because we were trapped
outside. The rain was relentless. And she’s like that, sometimes. Relentless,
cyclic.
b.
I don’t think of him when I notice the weather.
Weather has always been too temperamental to describe him. Especially in this
city where it’s 70 degrees one day or two and the next it’s gone back to snow.
He’s never like that. I likened him to a special bottle of perfume. Women never
like the same perfume twice, you know that? That’s what I said to him: you’re
my perfume. Your scent is always on me, and it makes me feel safe. It makes me
feel desirable. He never smells bad. Even a whiff of him when he walks past me
to sit next to me on the couch, he smells fresh. Straight from the laundry
fresh. Or when we go out, he’ll smell of cologne. And even though I like both
of those smells, my favorite is when we’re lying together in bed, and the
sheets cover us, and the moon peeks shyly through the blinds. He smells natural.
The best part is when he’ll slowly open his eyes, but his lashes are still
stuck together, drugged from sleep, and he’ll give me a crooked grin before
pulling me closer to him with one arm. It’s during those times when I breathe
in deeply, and it smells of a perfect blend of shower freshness and something
indescribable. This isn’t love, but when I smell him on me, in my clothes, my
sheets, my hair, I feel safe. I feel secure. This isn’t love, but sometimes I
can almost convince myself that it can be. | | |
| as much as i dislike margaret atwood...This is the one song everyone
would
like to learn: the song
that is irresistible:
the song that forces
men
to leap overboard in squadrons
even though they see the beached
skull.
the song nobody knows
because anyone who has heard it
is
dead, and the others can't remember.
Shall I tell you the secret
and
if I do, will you get me
out of this bird suit?
I don't enjoy it
here
squatting on this island
looking picturesque and mythical
with
these two feathery maniacs.
I don't enjoy singing
this trio fatal and
valuable.
I will tell the secret to you,
to you, only to you.
Come
closer. This song
is a cry for help: Help me!
Only you, only you
can
you are unique
at last. Alas
it is a boring song
but it
works every time. | | |
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