Tuesday, May 31, 2005

something about heath ledger & the word 'dogtown' really fucking rubs me wrong.

not that i have any heart felt affection for skip engblom... but every time i see a preview for that movie i can't help but think 'here we go again'
thanks hollywood- for stripping away yet another segment of my childhood via burger king contests & action figures. you couldn't just let me cherish it unblemished.

Friday, May 27, 2005

street chic

apparently i will eat just about anything if the mood strikes.

we had a little bday party for one of the girls here last week.
this morning in the kitchen i found the box containing the remnants of birthday cake in the trash.
i eyed the can for a second: it was empty, had a new trash bag & it's only contents were a couple empty 6-pack cardboard containers & the cake box... with a nice hefty hunk of cake slathered with frosting.

i am now sitting in my office, said cake box on my desk chowing down on garbage can cake. it rules.

i certianly hope john galliano designs an entire fashion collection around this

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

meanday

things are just not going well for me these days.
it has gotten to the point where i fear walking down the street because i am sure with every step i will leave a trail of appendages & 'bits-n-pieces of heather' behind me.

this morning began at 5 am. with pilates. fairly uneventful albeit grueling. my instructor suggested we 'graduate' me to a more advanced class. i looked at her like 'it gets worse???'

after that: ballet.
ballet isn't nearly as fun when my russian god is replaced with a middle aged suburban retired-ballerina-cum-soccer mom. & really... nothing is fun at 6 in the morning, especially with people who are all peppy & cheerful at such an ungodly hour. those people should die. at any rate, we had a bit of a 'carrie' encounter mid barre. i know she is responsible for it (my instructor, not sissy spacek, that is) i could sense her telepathically wishing evil on my soul from behind as i tendue'd & plie'd my ass into submission. happy morning people are always the most evil when it comes to inflicting hate on those of us that don't rise with a smile on our faces & she was in no way enjoying my scowls she kept catching in the mirror.
so anyway....... i'm doing my thing, i'm dead tired, on the verge of vomiting on my toe shoes with every move because my meds are actually poison i think & bitch woman is tap, tap, tapping her fucking whipping stick on the floor every two seconds..... just gearing up for that final blow that will knock me to my knees if she catches me wimping out. up, down, back, forth- it just wouldn't end. i could tell she was becoming irritated with my lack of extension (sorry... i haven't torn all those ligaments yet so that i can contort my body into horrifically unnatural positions again... AND I'M FUCKING 33 YEARS OLD ANNNNNND IT'S 6 AM)

and then it happened... my hip just sort of 'popped' & heather came tumbling down. i know she cursed me. one second i was standing at the bar stretching my right leg on the top barre & the next second i was 'ass over teacups' (that's a grandfather wood-ism) sprawled on the floor with her peering over me saying 'what happened' with a smirk in her eye.

it couldn't possibly be klutziness (or exhaustion coupled with sickness)
it was voodoo. plain & simple.

so after a few minutes of laying limply on the floor i got up & sort of popped & stretched myself back into order. it was really quite terrible- but i don't seem to be permanently damaged.
huh.... fuck your voodoo bitch. i've been dead twice, you'll need more than that to drop me for more than a short repast.

several hours later i finally find myself in my office- faced with the knowledge that i have 9 hours left to go, 4 huge deadlines, a meeting & then later i have to call at least my sister & tell her tomorrow i may find out i have cancer. wohoo!!!!! my life fucking rules.

but i was reassured by the belief that it really couldn't get much worse:
i'm 33, alone in a city i don't really like, my job is as unfulfilling as a trip through the met in the dark, the men in my life consistently prefer to drop kick me without a word so they can fuck stupid whores they can't stand socially/mentally but who are easier to just fuck than actually caring about someone, my cat has mats in his hair, i'm going to miss the birth of my first niece/nephew because my work schedule is too insane to get back east in time & every time i stand up, sit down, walk, bend or breathe it's all i can do to keep in the moans & groans of pain like i'm a 95 year old woman.

..... and then, a full week ahead of time....

i got my period.

just a friendly reminder that i'm not pregnant... once again.

life is so grand.

on the brighter side of things....

the caddy is still in the alleyway & tomorrow i find out if i have cancer.

what the fuck difference does any of it make anyway?

Monday, May 23, 2005

bulfinch's anthology of poorly written fables by simple minds

there those that write & then there are those who trip over their own Cut and Pasted voácabáuálaráy in an attempt to portray themselves as something they are CLEARLY NOT.

if you have made a name for yourself on your knees-why try standing upright now? the change in altitude does nothing but accentuate the fact that you are treading in unfamiliar water.

go back to your place along the fountain's edge, where the view of your malignant self love is unobstructed in the shallow waters & your stolen words are nothing but a mere Echo in the ears of those who think for themselves.

Thursday, May 19, 2005

my first house

sadly, the real estate i claimed as my own at the age of 6 far surpasses anything i will most likely ever own as an adult.

i found a newspaper clipping last night 'showcasing' my fabled childhood playhouse. not quite architectural digest - but not too shabby for a child who had only just begun to dabble in kindergarten. it was the hottest spot on 5th ave (5th ave of warren pennsylvania, mind you) for impromptu readings of beatrix potter, the occasional lesson in flower arranging, and early morning meetings to plot the demise of little brothers. the pink lemonade flowed freely & a never ending supply of tiny, crustless cucumber & watercress sandwiches kept the dolls & stuffed bears coming back day after day.

...... not to mention that as i grew out of paddington bear (& into tom b & john c- not both at the same i might add) it saw plenty of lusty teenage action.

i think when i go home from now on i am going to fore-go the big house (& my parents) entirely & camp out in the tiny second floor bedroom of my own little home. of course that will require peeing in the garden, but maybe i can get tom to join me for a tumble or two.... oh wait, no i can't... tom, the infamous fuck up, punker stoner married the head cheerleader & they now have 2.75 blond haired, blue eyed children.

nothing lasts forever.

Sunday, May 15, 2005

the exfoliation masochist in me says "OW!"

i bought a new body soap the other day. when i run out of my usual acqua di parma i usually pick up a bliss big bar- nice clean lemony scent, fun little nubbies... & up until now: pain free. not so anymore. always a big fan of weight loss via full body exfoliation...i opted for the new "Herban Jungle Exfoliating Soap" a pleasant mix of fresh eucalyptus, rosemary, mint, lavender & orange and apparently shards of razor sharp glass.
as i mentioned before- i tend to be a of a masochist when it comes to sloughing away the epidermis... my sister has likened my multifaceted bathing rituals to nothing short of silkwood shower mania.... so i am no stranger to raw red 'what happened to you???' skin.. in a sense it is my trademark (that & exorbitantly high hot water bills & a delightfully scented collarbone) but i think i may have met my match with miss marcia kilgore's latest cosmetic foray.
never before has a soap literally drawn blood (even when i tried). i look as though i bathed in a bed of roses. not surprisingly... there is no mention of WHAT exactly is used as the exfoliating agent.... mere apricot shells do not leave such scars & i am in no way "embellishing" the truth when i say i have raised, bloodied scratch marks from head to toe.
now, one might ask 'well, if it HURT.... why did you continue to abrade your entire body with what felt like a hand full of razor blades? and to that i haven't an answer. at least not an intelligent one. i was yelping like a box full of baby kittens being tap danced on- even my hand hurt from holding the soap... & yet i foraged on.
maybe it was that hitleresque need to cleanse a filthy inside by furiously & painfully cleansing the outside.. i don't know. all i am sure of is this: had miss bliss partnered with that nazi fuck back in the day & set up a soap stand just outside the showers- she could have made a killing. no pun intended (& i apologize profusely for my bad taste.)
ok, now i must go lick my wounds before i bleed to death.

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

how do i love thee?

i got a text message today from this young man i met about a year ago.
it was really quite perplexing at first....

"i've been think of you. what do you say we rekindle our armoire?"

i stopped in the middle of the sidewalk & thought to myself 'let me count the ways.... in which in which i think you are a fool.......'

first of all- i met this guy for a grand total of about 2 hours in a loud, noisy restaurant- when i was having dinner with someone else... hardly the stuff steamy romances are made of- so i'm not quite sure what it is that we have to 'rekindle'... i don't even recall really talking to him much.

more importantly. all you have to do is take a stroll through fucking pottery barn to get the most rudimentary education on basic french furnishings & their names: chaise longue, bureau, vitrine.... and the ever popular.... ARMOIRE.... never, under any circumstances to be confused with 'amour' unless of course you are having a rather explicit love affair with your furniture... in which case, don't save a seat for me on the chaise- i think i will sit on the davenport, thank you very much.

it took me a moment to realize what he was getting at- or trying to get at. i wasn't missing some dadaist sexual innuendo meant to make me pause & think deep, provocative thoughts... no, this gem was straight out of the benny hill handbook of love.

i didn't know quite how to reply so as to ensure that i would never hear from him again but without totally ripping him to shreds (which naturally, was my first instinct)

"you want to set my freestanding storage furnishings on fire? how odd. i think not, i like my furniture."

i'm guessing he asked someone to explain it to him since i haven't heard back.

xoxoxo,
heather
"setting the world on fire... one sultry piece of furniture at a time"

Sunday, May 08, 2005

all's quiet on the eastern block.

i sense immense change coming- but for now a quiet understanding has settled snugly into our lives as though nothing ever happened, nothing ever changed. as though an entire country, an entire world & two completely divergent lives that could never truly coexist peacefully isn't dividing us now as much as they ever have.
maybe now the only difference is that we know what we are- not what we want each other to be & that these are not the moments in life that withstand time. but rather, are the fleeting moments that make breathing the mundane a necessary act of life & worthwhile.

sometimes i wonder how much more i can endure. but i look back & think of what i have endured already & i know i could never trade a second of any of it for something safe or sure. there is a calm to this quiet between us that is comforting. words are superfluous at a certain point. just knowing that he is there- when i thought there was nothing. it's a good feeling to realize that what you thought you wanted & needed is no longer necessary as soon as you can stop wondering how & when you will lose it... to be able to just accept the fact that it will go away - but never forever, only a period of time, is very liberating. some things simply don't have it in them to die. regardless of how difficult they fit into life.

the perplexities of 'if'

it has been said on numerous occasions throughout my life that i tend to over analyze. that given a situation my brain will go into hyper drive & compute, calculate & construct every possible outcome (not to mention several not so possible) in an attempt to make the right decision & understand what is going on in the heads of the parties involved who may not be so forward with their feelings or opinions.

that's not to say i am one of those annoying types that hmm's & ha's endlessly, unable to decide what to have for dinner - but i do think before i act, i contemplate the effect of my words & actions on those around me & when faced with a situation where i am not given all the information i need- i do my best to figure out what is really going on in the other person's head and what they need or what i need from them.


last night my mind was awash with thoughts of IF.
'what if i had done this? what if i had never met this or that person? what i had worn a different dress to that interview? what if i had just given a friend or boyfriend another chance? or cut them out of my life completely before they had a chance to break my heart?'
how would things be different? how would i be different? would i be happier? CAN i be happier? or is my personality predetermined to a certain degree? i've had a lot of things go terribly wrong in my life, but i've also been incredibly lucky. would having made different choices in the past change who i am today or in the end does it all just cancel each other out? what if you are who you are regardless of how you ended up there? is it possible that the daily dilemmas of being a living, breathing, viable human being are just a way of making us feel like we are a part of the show? what if it's just a silly past time to keep us from getting bored? what if we get so caught up in the thought process of living that we look back & realize we missed everything that should have been exciting about it?

how do you keep from thinking life to death?

Saturday, May 07, 2005

the trials & tribulations of a domestic goddess.

i was literally on my way out the door when i noticed that my dishwasher was in the process of exploding all over my kitchen. the last time this happened it was due to a gargantuan spider that had somehow lodged itself in the spout that drains the dishwasher..... more peculiar was that the spider had managed to live through the entire dish cycle & was none to happy when i pulled it out with a pair of needle nose pliers thinking its spiny legs were a clump of rosemary. i'm not a screamer when it comes to 'girlish acts of helplessness' but that one sent me through the roof. it was a very big spider & i have explicit feelings about creatures with more than 6 legs.
so needless to say- i was a bit apprehensive about what could be causing this latest outburst of steaming water. but, since it was shooting all over my kitchen - drenching 1000's of dollars worth of beloved electrical appliances that don't do well in water... i rolled up my pant legs, took off the family jewels & donned an extremely small pair of bright pink rubber gloves as i tip toed through the water with a pair of pliers hoping to NOT find wild america lodged in my plumbing.
fortunately, no such creature was found...& my kitchen floors are considerably cleaner.... as are my christian louboutins which i forgot to take off before i skated through 1/2" of water.

ahhh well, they say there is a shoe for every occasion. i am pleased to report... i think i have taken plumbing to a whole new level of style that even coco channel or diana vreeland would applaud.

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

i've traded in my vibrator for the barre

part of what has kept me going all these years was the belief that i would

1. never again have to walk down a runway - spun off my ass on coke while in 4" heels & 20k worth of clothing that didn't belong to me while people sniggered 'SOMEONE'S been eating i see' while referring to my 5'8"/110 pound body.

&

2. that i would never have to stand in front of a mirror, with my feet crammed into pointe shoes & be forcibly put into 'position' with a disgusted 'pull back your shoulders, suck in your stomach & could you please tuck that round little american ass in- dis is not studio 54 for fukz sake!' echoing through my brain ever again.

i feel confident in saying - my catwalk days are safely over & done with (thank fucking god). however, apparently there is no end to the suffering one must endure at the hands of a man in tights- even one 4000 miles away. maybe i was just being foolish- let's face it, anyone who has ever spent 5 min in a room with THE MR. B (major) knows that even his death has not spared any of us the life long scars (that we wear so proudly) that come with every little girls dream.... why on earth should i think mere geography could somehow protect me from the living mr. b (minor)?

the phone rang, i waited, i wondered, i wished i was someone else. i told myself i would never pick up that number again.... & then promptly answered the call.
we talked. we argued. there was a good deal of laughter, a slight tear here & there, and on a couple occasions i rather unceremoniously snorted.... ever the prima ballerina... you just can't take it out of me i guess.

a couple hours later i kept my promise from the other morning. as we talked i went through my usual barre - normally done alone at home- but this time the man who had been my russian prince since childhood was counting quietly in time to prokoviev over the phone. telling me once again, albeit in a much gentler tone, 'pull back your shoulders, suck in your stomach, tuck in zhat round little american ass' - just as he had years ago when he ceased to be a fairy tale but something much more confounding & unimaginable. he became real. (& somewhere in that whole mess there was a very wise lesson to be learned concerning not kissing frogs)

when itunes ran out of tchaikovsky's swan lake & abruptly moved on to 'the ducky boys', my grands battements weary legs gave out from exhaustion & i collapsed onto the floor near death- waiting for my final ministrations from god himself.

& those are words i will take to my happy grave.