Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Chapter 2 - Richard, Vegas and the Yakuza
Pack up. Not too much, not too little. Don't know what outfits to pack. What kind of trip is this anyway? Pack two bathing suits....stop.. pack FOUR bathing suits. Stop. Feel like I'm acting out a telegram.
Weird trip. Friend offered to pay for vacation time. In Vegas. Never been to Vegas before, so kinda nervous. Never been alone with friend before in close quarters. He says- "you MUST come to Vegas!" Friend has had a crush on me for years. Not secretly.
Is this friendly? I dunno.. Sounds like something else. In need of something else anyway.
"Something else" sounds far better than the new nothingness at home.
"Something else" feels warm, exciting, whimsical. Whimsical has been unattainable for years. Changed it's number. Being rude.
Go to the airport, board the plane, chill out. Seems like a good time to start drinking. Drinking and taking pills. Pop speed. Order vodka. Stop. Order THREE vodkas. Not free?
"Sheesh, I remember the days when my free plane booze came with the freedom to light up a smoke and recline in an uncomfortable half lean. Now, just the half lean. Can I smoke outside?" Flight attendant is only slightly amused.
I'm starting to notice the middle aged gentleman next to me is nudging his arm closer to mine on the armrest. Slowly, about half a centimeter every 20 minutes. I intensely dislike when people move slowly into my personal space.
Men seem to do this a lot. On the subway especially. Look, I know I'M not moving, so it's clearly YOU. If you started off 1 foot away and now you're practically on my lap, I'm going to notice. I'm intensely perceptive.
However, three vodkas and two hours in, I'm in good spirits. Terrible unintentional pun.
I turn and say quietly - "If you want to hold hands, we can just do that now."
He turns, smiles, grabs my hand. Pushes the flight attendant call button and says to me- "We need more drinks."
Let me describe Richard for you.
Richard is 52 (not a guess, he showed me his drivers license).
Richard is happily married with 2 children, Jessica and Brandon. Jessica is 22, Brandon is 18. Great looking kids.
Richard's wife's name is Elie. Elie is 46. Elie is quite stunning.
Richard is about 5' 10", white, very very very very tan and in amazing shape for his age. For ANYONES age really.
This is because Richard works out 4 days a week and enjoys extreme... well.. anything.
Richard is a very attractive man. In a rugged, older Hugh Jackman sort of way.
Richard is pretty well off, we started discussing his job, but that's where things got fuzzy for me.
Richard and I are getting wasted, still holding hands.
Richard wants me to tell him more about myself. Richard looks ecstatic and thoroughly involved.
Richard is a good listener.
I'm not sure exactly WHY I decided to tell Richard the story I told. I think, partially because I felt terribly awful for Elie, Jessica and Brandon. I thought they deserved the truth. Which made Richard not deserve the truth. Not in a malicious way, I suppose in some sort of universal balance. It's not my job to do that, no.... but.. I could.. so I did.
Also, I was drunk... also, I enjoy comedy.
Richard has said- "Why won't you tell me about yourself more?" around 10 times now.
So far, I've told Richard that I'm half Brazilian and half Japanese. Richard likes this combo very much. He says he would have guessed that. He fancies himself "intensely perceptive" as well.
I have also told him, numerous times, that - " I don't really like talking about my life.. it's very painful to rehash all the memories..."
Richard asks me again. I now respond with - "So much DEATH.. SO.... much... Bloo-ah ah ah ahhhhhd" and fall gently onto his shoulder, weeping softly.
Richard coos me, like a child, strokes my hair and says "shhhhh" while rocking me back and forth.
Other passengers are starting to listen.
I have to turn it down a notch.
I slowly draw back from Richard's shoulder, he passes me a napkin, I use it to dab my tears while shaking my head and saying - "I'm so sorry.. sometimes the tears, they flow.. like a river.. like a.. ri--i-ii-i-veeeerrrrrr." I draw out the last letters back into sobs and fall back on his shoulder again.
Fuck a notch.
Richard hits the call button again and is saying that another drink should relax me. He feels awful, he says. This is all he can do right now, he says. He's here to listen, he says. So, so beautiful.. he says.
This is getting good. The free drinks are really a bonus at this point.
I draw back dramatically from his shoulder once more, letting him dab my eyes with a fresh napkin, as mine are being ripped to pieces with my thumbs and index fingers, decorating my lap and the floor around us like children's construction paper snowflake cutout remnants. Only damp, and stained with eyeliner. Deviant goth children's construction paper snowflake cutout remnants.
I flip my hair and gather it to fall on one side, tilting my head down and then up at him longingly.
"Alright.. I trust you.. you can't trust anyone, you know. It's been so long since I had anyone to talk to. You're so good."
I clasp his hand tightly with both of my hands. He swoons and melts down further in his seat, eyes completely open and ready for information. He looks concerned, caring. I feel bad.... for about 5 seconds until the drink arrives.
He squeezes the miniscule lemon wedge into my drink, swizzle sticks it about and hands it to me.
I take a sip... I breathe deeply and exhale. I turn my body to face him...
For the next hour, I tell Richard about my life.
No, I do not kill people.
Yes, I do, deal with the dead a lot.
No, I do not work in a morgue.
Yes, I am what people call, a "cleaner."
No, I do not enjoy my job.
Yes, I am the best in the business.... In the Northeast and several Japanese provinces.
Yes, we still refer to them as "provinces" for the sake of work, staying off the grid.
No, I do not work in South America.
Yes, my line of work is very dangerous and politically frowned upon there.
No, I do not understand why he is shocked by this fact. I thought it was well known. But.. what do I KNOW about the world?
Richard is captivated.
I tell him of my family.... on my father's side.. killed by ninjas as they slept.
I can't believe I'm getting away with this shit... it's fantastically preposterous.
I tell him of my father's Yakuza ties. I pull my hair back and show him my tattoos. He is in awe.
I tell him about my parents forbidden love that almost got them killed, but they overcame the odds.
I tell him about being trained to be a cleaner since I was 5 years old.
I tell him about all the products that scrub out blood stains the best, how to pick out bone fragments from shag carpets, how much I loathe apartments decorated in 1960's and 1970's regalia.
Richard nods a lot.
I am spent....
I say, "I really should stop.. I don't even know you.. you could turn me in as soon as we step off this plane.. oh God.. please.. please don't do that to me..oh God.. what have I done.. what have I said."
Richard grabs my chin gently and says - "Doll.. I just want to take care of you."
I turn away sharply.. "No.. you.. you can't.. It's too dangerous.. I couldn't put you in that position... you.. your family.."
I am truly aghast at my acting skills at this point. I'm almost not even listening to what he's saying because I'm so impressed with myself.
It's going to be time to get off the plane soon. Richard tells me to come with him. He has the high rollers suite at Caesar's.
Now I'M impressed.... ha! Slightly tempted even.. NO! Bad Jean! Bad Jean!
I tell him no.. I'm here to see a friend.. we have some time planned.
He asks - " Are you," he stops.
"Am I what? " I ask him.
He says - "Are you ... umm.. working? While you're here?"
I look down... don't respond. Richard is apologetic - "Oh.. I .. I shouldn't have asked that.. Oh.. I'm sorry." he stammers.
"No, no.. it's alright Richard.. Honestly, I don't know. I don't think so. They'll just call me. I thought this was a vacation, but... I truly don't know. I can't.. I can't involve you."
Richard throws himself back in his seat and stomps his foot on the floor. "Goddamnit!" he says... "This isn't right! This shouldn't be your life! We could.. we could be happy!!!"
"Here" he then says, handing me his business card.. "Just.. please.. if you change your mind.. I know we could.. I just know"
This is fucking incredible.
I place my hand gently over his.. stroke his face and say - "Maybe.. in another life.. maybe"
He grabs my hand.. kisses it and keeps in on his cheek.
We stay like that until it's time to deplane.
"Goodbye" I say, as we step into the airport. I speed walk away. Pretending to cry, I look back. He is just standing there, bags dropped on the ground.
I get outside and see friend, waiting in car in front..
'Holy shit man.. I gotta tell you this fucking story." He is all eager ears and smiles.
Getting in the car I see Richard coming out.. I wave as we're pulling off. He waves back.
I never saw Richard again. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had called.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Hey y'all.. Sooooo.. I've decided to put together a little collection of (slightly fiction) short stories for you. This is 1 of 20.
The collection is called "The State of 'Eh''
Enjoy the first chapter. Please feel free to leave comments.. You guys never leave comments! What's THAT about?? lol. ok. GO!
The State of EH
Chapter 1- Yogurtgate
I had been happy with the way things were going for awhile. Not ecstatically happy, but then again that's never really been my style. Content, not as moody, drinking less. All this happiness and normalcy was bringing me the fuck down.
I know, sounds weird. I don't happen to think I'm weird, but I've heard that a lot. A LOT. From a lot of different types of people. Some of these people I dearly care for, the other 99% I could really stand to never see or talk to again. I don't think you can judge someone's weirdness by your own level of normalcy.
The point of it all being, that I was unhappy, with being happy.
How then, do you fuck yourself into being pleased with dissatisfaction? Self sabotage came as the answer. I had to self sabotage my own happiness in order to be more morose, which was actually "moreatpeace". This would create a new state of "eh" for me. "Eh" is where I generally feel comfortable resting my feelings and emotions. "Eh" is safe, reliable and free from disappointing expectations. Of others, of myself, of others behavior in public, of MY behavior in public.
I had tried, but, nothing brought me back to the feeling of completion like "whatever" did.
He was great. Too great. Nothing was wrong with this guy. I mean, NOTHING.
He put the cap back on the toothpaste. I never even knew where that thing WAS. I would lose it after the first use and just let the dried toothpaste act as a sealant. I thought this was quite effective, as well as time saving. He thought it was - "grossly negligent and.. just.. just.. why honey?"
Then he would tousle my hair (which I kinda liked) and kiss me on the cheek, saying - "It's ok babe, I'll get another toothpaste. You're adorable."
He did, he kept buying them. I kept a stash of my grody, dried ones under the sink. Until he found them, which resulted in more of the same tousling and kissing.
I think I wanted him to get a little angry. Not that I wanted a FIGHT, I just didn't want to always be in the RIGHT. Poet, don't know it.
We might have had an argument once. He preferred to list it as - "airing our grievances."
I preferred to list it as - "SHOWDOWN MOTHAFUCKA!"
It was about frozen yogurt.
Not the YOGURT itSELF, but the UTENSIL I chose to taste the yogurt with.
It was late in the evening, I was leaning against the kitchen counter and decided to take a taste of the yogurt. I generally don't dig frozen treats in large doses. I can't believe people eat PINTS of ice cream at a time. I've always been envious of movie scenes where chicks are all hugged up on the couch with blankets, in front of TV's, in pajamas, spoon scraping the bottom of their Rocky Road container, to really drive home the "woe is me I've just been dumped" effect.
Never done it.. Can't do it. Would most likely projectile vomit. This might keep the feeling of woe really steady..... I choose bourbon instead.
Back to the yogurt.
I opened the utensil drawer only as much as I had to to stick my hand in a grab A UTENSIL. Any utensil really.. all I wanted was a tiny taste of the damn yogurt.
It ended up being a fork. Had it been a KNIFE, I would have still used it anyway. It can pick up a bite of yogurt, so WHO CARES?
Oh, guess who cares?
I don't think he had noticed it was a fork until I pried the top off and dug in. I forked up the tiniest bite of vanilla, tasted, replaced the top, put it back in the freezer.
I looked up at him to see the most disgusted look in the world. "OMG..what?" I asked. "Are you looking at me like that because I just used a fork? So what?"
It was the look of incredulousness, coupled with the disgust you would see on someone's face while they were forced to watch a puppy get disemboweled.
"Oh my God.. are you really disgusted that I just used a fork? Seriously.... it's not that serious. I just didn't pick a spoon! What's the problem?"
It was very evident that I had thrown off the delicate balance of the universe by using the improper utensil for late night yogurt tasting. He did NOT understand why, how, I could put that fork in that container. It HAD to be done with a spoon.
I was thoroughly disgusted with him being disgusted. I was livid. I yelled for a bit, mocking him and then ended going out to drink with a good friend.
The restaurant we went to had paper lined tables on which I promptly began drawing a visual of how stupid this fight was. I asked the advice of others around us, who also drew small forks, spoons and charts about why in fact, this was ridiculous. I folded them up and put them in my purse. I threw them out a week later, worried that since we were OVER Yogurtgate, he would find them and I would have to go in on this dumb shit yet again.
I never forgot that incident. It made everything seem so stern, so forced into routine and habit, that anything outside of the norm could be considered horrifying. This truly bothered me. I felt like he was seeing my randomness and "eh" as a kind of despicable act at times, only to say it was "inspiring" at others.
I hated feeling like I had to conform, in my own place. Well, his place.. so.. yeah..
Fork, knife, spoon, fucking... CHOPSTICK... what does it matter? As long as it does the job... does it really matter WHAT you're using to get the job done?
I think this was really the first time I had been bothered by the traditional attitude he had sometimes. It didn't comfort me like some of the other things did.. it tossed me into "check yourself" mode......and my friend.. I just can't live like that.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
I used to have this dream.
I was me, just regular me, but.... I had this superpower.
Well, It was TWO superpowers. Both of them useless and ineffective in fighting crime, being USEFUL, saving lives...the normal things you would expect from a superpower. They sucked. They sucked more because they were in a DREAM and couldn't even be good. You can do anything in your dreams. Me? Not so much.
I could fly. Just.. not fly in a beneficial way. I had to take a running start and hurl my body upwards. Most of the times I would just end up hitting a wall, or people, or any object in my path. It hurt and it was embarrassing.
After this running start, I could only get about five inches higher than the top of a lamp post. I couldn't fly horizontally either, I was just standing up in the air flailing about, trying to outstretch my arms in the "one arm forward the other arm bent at the elbow with a clutched fist" superhero position. I looked like an idiot.
No one in the streets around me was amazed at my skills. They pointed, laughed, guffawed... All this while I floated above them, kicking my legs like I was treading water.
What a gyp.
My second superpower was equally disappointing, but became more involved.
I could... brace yourself.....................................get down flights of stairs very quickly.
I know... you're jealous.
I would hardly touch the steps, gliding with ease, approaching landings with the speed of a stair cheetah. Yes.... I was good.
I had to use the banister though.. SAFETY FIRST!
I just felt like it wasn't fast enough though... I didn't really have any superpowers to use when I got down to the crime scene. If I could move faster, maybe I could completely defuse the entire felony. I could stop bad things from being bad things before they ever had the chance to BE bad things.
Of course, I needed advice. I told my very good friend Mr. Len about my dream. He immediately (and brilliantly) named me "Step Sister".
How did I not think of that!!???!!
We came to the decision that I could try and up my "Step Sister" abilities by adding a costume. I thought it was a brilliant idea.
So, I put together a costume in my head.
Imagine The Riddlers costume, skin tight and all. Green as well, but I had SS logos in gold, intertwined, VERY designer.
I looked ridiculously hot.
Here's the snafu in the plan... yeah.. umm.. apparently, adding costumes to your stupid super power does nothing but TAKE THE SUPER POWERS AWAY.
Completely gone. Rendered ineffective. Iksnay on the powersay. All of that.
So here I am... hearing cries of distress coming from stories below me. In this stupid costume. With this gold eye mask. Did I mention the mask? It helps to look really stupid when there's a mask. 10 flights of stairs.. took me about 5 minutes. I think I cramped up too. When I get to the bottom, people are injured.. looking at me and crying out - "Why? Where were you??? We NEEDED YOU!!! AGGGHHHH."
Stupid ass costume. I tried to take it out of the dream.. I ended up never having the dream again. I just ruined it for myself. Stupid.
I finally did have my first flying dream though. Up in the clouds flying, superhero "I'm not even TRYING" arms...all back against my side, while I wove effortlessly through the cotton candy landscape. Best part was the soundtrack... everything was silent, except for the wind and Radiohead: "How To Disappear Completely"
If that wasn't the greatest dream I ever had...I don't know what could be. If you can somehow try and get that song into your dream and just fly around for a few hours, your life could better for it. I cried when I woke up. I hope I have that one again. I'm going to shoot for that tonight.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Yet another throwback blog. Some really funny shit from that year. ENJOY!
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Cock The Balls..oh oops. Rock The Bells
So, last month.. I'm in San Francisco at this party outside. This guy I've known for awhile comes outside, says hello, looks at my outfit and says, "Ohhhh, look at YOoooOOoU!!!! Like, hey!!! I can look good too!!!"
Am I wrong for being offended at this? WTF? You say that to women? WOW.
What the fuck ?
Did I have soot all over me before?
Was it the burlap sack with twine I was wearing prior to you seeing me?
WTF kind of comment is that?
Some short tidbits that have happened as of recent.
I got security escorted out of RTB catering tent for threatening to take the chef down to Chinatown. That's right.. Fight him...
Classsic lines from this episode include:
Me: " What fucking time do you get out of work??? I will take you down!!! I will meet you ....OUTSIDE of the parking lot!!!!"
This is funny because the venue was located in a very large parking lot.
I wanted to tell him to throw down in the parking lot.
The security for RTB: "You can't fight him."
Me : " Oh I won't fight him in here."
S: " I cant have you fighting him anywhere... not in the streets either."
Me: "Oh, I think I can....You can't tell me what to do outside. This conversation is over. GOOD DAY! I SAID GOOD DAY SIR!!!!!"
Another security guard later : " You know, you and Flava Flav are the only 2 people to get kicked out of catering.But he didn't get security escorted out. "
Security: " I'm gonna need you to leave."
Me: "You're gonna have to bring a lot more heavy motherfuckers to get me the fuck out of here. Fuck! I can't have any fucking chicken? No salad? Well fuck you and your food. Fucking catering chef. Fuck off."
Chef apologizing later.... goes to hug me
Me: " I don't think so. Listen, we're at the point we're I'm shaking your hand and not punching you in the face.. Let's end our relationship here."
Vegas (not part of the RTB tour..just in the middle of it)
Me: "But...where's the hangy pool??? I specifically asked for the Fantasy room with the hangy pool!!! Now there's no pool!! What are we supposed to do?? The pole in our room doesnt spin and it's dangerously close to the bed. We can't use that!! Now the outside pool is closed.. There's no hangy pool.. I don't know. We are very dry. Very dry and sad. "
They gave us the penthouse.
E: 'Why am I always tired when I hang out with you? I never sleep!! It's not healthy. It's not right. I think I have grey hairs. I'm so tired.. Ok.. well.. the suns not coming up for another 30 minutes.. That's enough to play more hangman.. I'm so tired."
Also, I ordered a drink at the bar. We spoke to the bartender for awhile. He was sweet, older white guy...wanted to know what the hell we were doing at the rap concert. 5 minutes later, I go to pick up my drink. It has disappeared.
From in front of me?
There's a cup with ice in it.. but no beverage. Weird.
He pours me another. We walk away. Go watch Wu. 2 minutes later I take a sip. There's nothing in it.
"what the fuck kind of cruel trick cup joke is this???"
Theres a hole in the bottom of the cup... sigh.
I'll tell you guys more stories later.
My life is ridiculously funny.
I'm taking up the accordion. I'm so serious.
I'll post a picture tomorrow.
If Just thinks he can take out my accordion skills.. He's got another think coming.
Also, thanx Kweli, Guru, 9th, Corey.. Sounds great. I'm excited.
Guru.. you are made of magic. Small particles of glued together stardusty magic.
And by the way, next time motherfuckers book an entire rap tour without one female on it..... I'm fucking buying some tools from North Korea. To take you down. To fucking Chinatown. Assholes.