Wednesday, May 02, 2007

"Love is Like Frienship on Fire"...and Other Musings

Up to the minute Raquel news for your reading pleasure:

Your Son? Yeah, He's a Cock Blocker...
Picture it: cute, tall Black man on the F-train in his Brasil track jacket, just fine as hell. Then here come his bratty-ass son kicking my bag, putting his lunchbox on the seat so I won't sit next to him (as if, punk!) and giving me the stink eye. His poor behavior is a reflection of his upbringing...that guy's stock plummeted by the time we reached Jay Street.

Budget Schmudget
I'll catch back up, I promise, but it's just soooo hard!! Can't the Magic Money Fairy just handle all that for me? It's like washing dishes and folding laundry and exercising- that's how much I loathe to balance my checkbook.

Is It Stalking If I Don't Jump the Fence?
June will find me in Chicago for a wedding. And I will casually stroll over to Evanston and accidentally end up in front of John Cusack's house. And maybe the flash will go off on my camera. And perhaps I'll grab some flowers from the yard and a few pieces of junk mail. Is that so wrong?

OK, Capital One. You Want Your Money. I Get it.
You didn't have to get your "lawyers" to UPS Overnight me a letter saying so. And while you're at it, can you PU-LEESE stop blowin' up my phone? Thank you!

Would You Watch My Reality Show? Or Be On It?
If I had a show called, "The Write Stuff" where wannabe authors competed for a chance at a book deal with, oh, say, Random House, would you watch every week? Would you call in and vote? Would you read the book once it came out? Or would you blog about what a loser and sell out I am??

"Love is Like Friendship on Fire"
Is this quote supposed to make me want to fall in love? So okay, we're friends on fire. So if we go swimming the fire gets put out? If we don't are we consumed by it?

Quotes like this are dangerous. They give the impression that "love" is this intense, overwhelming, bigger than life thing that is supposed to take over your soul until you just burst at the seams from utter joy and giddiness.

Excuse me a second while I puke.

Love is staying on the phone all hours of the night talking a friend off the ledge. Love is changing your husband's diaper on his deathbed. Love is watching your child, on the news, take out his high school french class with an AK-47 and still visit his grave with flowers.

That "on fire" bullshit is lust. And after about a minute or so, the flames die down and all you are left with are the ashes of your former self.

See, this is exactly why I really need to stick to my indie, arty flicks and stop watching movies where the cast includes anyone with the last name Lohan or Duff.

*smooches...on a small detour from my inner peace path*
Since you've gone I been lost without a trace
I dream at night I can only see your face
I look around but its you I cant replace
I feel so cold and I long for your embrace...