No Moon Redux

Long ago and far away, I wrote a short story titled "No Moon" based on some friendships I'd made and coveted the one time I went to sleep-away camp. I had lofty plans to turn that short story into a novel, but that was back before I realized MTV, drugs and their cronies had forever killed my attention span.

However, every once in a while something will jar my memory, pulling me back to this coming-of-age story I began writing at the ripe old age of 13, and this time that something was Jason Mraz.



Say what you want about this White boy, but he can SANG. And he's a damn good songwriter, too. His song "I'm Yours" made me think- what if the main characters met up by accident in a dive bar where the leading man was performing this song that he'd written for the leading woman, someone he hadn't seen in 20 years but still loved?



And then Mraz's duet with Colbie Caillat, "Lucky," made me think- what if this is a song the leading lady had written with her then boyfriend, the leading man's dead brother, but he still remembered it and called her to the stage to sing it with him, and she did so with tears streaming down her face?



It was all very Lifetime: Television for Women and of course I can't use the actual songs in a novel, but I'll know to tone it down when it comes time to put pen to paper. It's just nice to find inspiration when you least expect it.

Thanks, Jason!

*smooches...balancing this weekend's ratchetness with calm*
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music two days in a row? you love me. admit it.

Let Me Start This Year With Some Closure.

We met through mutual friends.

It started off rather salaciously and scandalous and slowly became more. I fought it, denied it, tried to ignore and reject it, but yeah, I developed feelings for him. Sue me.

So I let go, went with the flow and all that jazz. The L word was dropped (by HIM in fact). Breakfast was made. During a particularly rough point this summer, I freakin CRIED in front of him and I NEVER cry in front of ANYONE. EVER. And he was there to just quietly hold me and just let me and it was good. So good, in fact, that I never blogged about him or our relationship or anything. I didn't want anything to jinx it.

I thought to myself: He's not really anything from my "list" but he's good people and he's good to me and we have similar goals for the future and he was being an awesome cheerleader for The Jaded Empire. Dude, he complimented my writing and meant it. That's an INSTANT win for him.

I in turn was being all domestic and girlfriendy and starting to be okay with that role, that "traditional" role with which modern women aren't supposed to be okay. Not different; still Jaded, but the kind of Jaded that's beginning to act and feel like her grandmother before her, a woman raised in a time where men were men and women held them down.

Then, well, I'm not sure where and when it imploded. A week went by without any communications, and then another followed. When I finally reached out to see what was going on, I got the cold shoulder. It was like a slap in the face. I won't lie and romanticize it all: in the back of my mind there were still a lot of things that made me hold back from him. Things I'd rather not put out on Front Street, but little gnawings that just made me reticent about a full-blown anything. Our quiet little existence was enough for the time being. At least for me.

Then came the slap (not an actual slap; please don't get crunk in the comments). I should be used to it by now, right? Right. But it took me by surprise a bit. He really had me fooled, FOOL being the operative word here.



Things ended in September and I'm now ready to say, "Okay. This happened and it was good and then it wasn't, but that's life and I won't dwell over something I cannot control. He did what he did for whatever reasons he had, and I will just continue to live my life as planned." As in, the walls are back up, moat refilled with vicious piranhas, armed guards in place and heart placed gently back in the vault.



*smooches...battered but not broken*
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I come from good stock; it takes more than that to really break me.

Literary Greats My Ass!

J. D. Salinger sucks. There. I said it.

Bret Easton Ellis? Also sucks.

And I've come to this conclusion after only reading one of each of these authors' books.

Sue me.

*smooches...kanyeshrugging*
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sometimes an author's writing style is so obnoxious I can't appreciate the substance.

Folks Shouldn't Be Palancin' After The Age Of 34...And Other Musings

It's been such a long time since I've given you a rundown of my weekend, but this one was so eventful, I must.

A Penzo Family Gathering
My cousin had a baby shower this weekend that I was trying to avoid, but after a threatening-ish phone call from Titi Gloris, I trudged out there. And of course, as I feared, William R. Penzo was there trying to play Big Poppa. Bitch. Boo. Bye.

Let's just get to the jokes. A) My mom is straight questioning the paternity of one of my brothers and this boy who showed up talking about he's my dead uncle's grandson. *side eye* Like Mami said "At the next party, I'm cotton-swabbing everybody!" B) I don't understand why there was a DJ. Was I at a club or a church rec room? C) This woman was up in there with a strapless, animal-print spandex outfit. Somebody's grandma. Weighing wayyy too much for her outfit. D) The Jets' game was on. During the shower.

Bank Of America Shamed Me
I didn't have time to pull out some cash from the bank, so I had to swipe my card for everything. Then came the email from Bank of America: suspicion of fraud activity. I was so frustrated because I JUST had someone scamming on my bank account. But when I called, the list of purchases...were all mine. "We just flagged it because of the unusual activity." Yes. Thanks for reminding me that I'm a broke loser that hardly ever goes out.

Folks Shouldn't Be Palancin' After The Age Of 34
My bff was in NYC from LA for her birthday weekend and LAWD are these old bones TIRED. We went out Saturday AND Sunday, dancing like we're still young enough to be moving our bodies in such a manner! I won't spill too much of what went on (What happens in NYC during L's birthday weekend, STAYS in NYC during L's birthday weekend!) but here's the song that was at the center of all the tomfoolery:



It's my new favorite song. Don't play it around me unless you're ready for all 190 pounds of me to mash up de place.

...And Of Course Now My Body Hates Me
I had to pop two Aleve this morning and drink my weight in water. Like for real, who the hell do I think I am, a dancehall queen or something? Basically look at this video:



That was me, minus the skimpy outfits and the booty. Now my knees, thighs, back and arms are all, "So it's carnival, huh bitch? I'll show you carnival..." Ouch. I get it.

The Things Left Behind
With all this partying and the MTA being a dickwad with the whole shuttle buses replacing my train nonsense, two very important items never got covered on my to-do list: meditation and writing. I didn't skip meditation on purpose but I was running around so much I just plumb forgot. Apparently I was only able to get it done during the week because I have a pretty set schedule. Come the weekend I'm a hot mess. And my creativity level, child, I don't know what's up with it. And seeing as I have a reading scheduled for the end of the month, SIGH, I need to get it together. *sad face*

*smooches...good and tired.*
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I'm actually looking forward to a quiet and regimented week. I need structure in order to function. fuck my free spirit!

And There It Is.

ME: ...so she tells me that my aunt was hospitalized, her life on the line, due to complications from a nip and tuck! I'm gonna need for my family in DR to STOP getting plastic surgery.

Alex: Or at least stop getting it at the bodega!

*smooches...giving you evidence as to why I love him*
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I laughed so hard at this shit...just sooo hard...