will you send me a postcard? or three? i'll mail you a kiss on the lips.
mother, what do husbands and wives do when they get married?


my mom made these rizad mashed potatoes with corned beef and pepper. i love meat.
in other news, i found out a couple days ago that one of my ex-boyfriends, the one i was like madly in love with, got married in january. he's like, twenty. it made me feel oh so adult. it's still weird to think about it. things will never be the same i realize.
i woke up early and played music for the commuters of austin. i wasn't awake enough to be coherent and words were slurred so i shut up and let the radiowaves speak for me.


hopped a fence to sit upon the concrete foundation overlooking where we live. the county over recieved the brute of a thunderstorm. crackles emitted from muted flashes of soft white and sudden forks breaking through the clouded sky. we were watching. the moon swallowed by blackness with breaks in a burning paper ceiling. the negative of burning wax paper. it curls with a glowing outline and never truly bursts into flames.
i stole veronica's bike and rode it around and around in the parking lot like some tripped out hoodlum. her bike is green. i pedaled with the weather surrounding me in a sweet nothing. i have never found the right word for how the weather can feel. when it is just right, it feels like nothing. no heat, no cold. just right.
our locator's name i victoria and i think she's like our age. she drove up in a lexus wearing a black skirt and lacy shirt combination and told the duplex we wanted wasn't for rent but the one in back was. i don't know. she still tried to unlock the front one. which means she hasn't got it all together either way.
odwalla makes a mean future shake. i really need two hundred percent of my daily requirement of vitamin b twelve and forty percent of the copper and selenium requirement (amoung countless percentages of other good vitamins and minerals) in fifteen point two fluid ounces of a vanilla al'mondo soymilk shake. did i mention it has organic oatmilk? somethings are just way too healthy for their own good.
mike flowed all night long. and it took a whole evening to usurp the stereo from such close-minded people. gogo dancing on milk crates. a sauna of a makeout room. just keep moving. i've accomplished my year long goal of scrubbing the ground. i love my drunk fashionista. halter tops, sunglasses and plastic pearl necklaces. guest run ins with the kids i was friends with in junior high and my first boyfriend. my clothes sweat off and we're still fucking singing.


the metal cart full to the brim with groceries. ice cream, bagels and pears.
the latest i've stayed up in a while.
apple, peaches pumpkin pie.
the car windows are rolled up and i sing to myself with the airconditioning turned up high.
if i could do anything, i'd hold you all night.
i bought sparkling cider to look classy. perhaps it will take the place of alcohol to cheer me up tomorrow.
we giggled over chicken salad sandwiches and chips with cilantro salsa. i like the windows there. the light floods from the sky onto a wooden table where we sit smiling and talking. i am to be presented with my official honorary mexican card.
audrey hepburn is my girlfriend. cary grant is my boyfriend.
you're quite wonderful although you hate t-shirt and flannel sheets.
i am adorable.
laying next to you feels so good. but we still cry.


how did it get to the point where i had to break up with someone that i love? it's like the worse possible thing happened and there's the choice between friends and boyfriend. and i love everyone. it feels yucky in my tummy. i miss you at night. and i miss your smile. the way you smell. how your hamburgers are always plain and dry. hrvatski, venetian snares and a medium tolerance of the shit i put on the radio. kix in bed and treats for kitty. the little elephant and cuddling in bed. crossword puzzles and flying kites in the park. our first date at schlotzsky's and our constant place at la madeleine to share tomato basil soup and ceaser salad. seinfeld, star trek and the andromeda strain. your tummy and your hugs. starting the fire at the beach and sleeping in a hotel parking lot on the way to new orleans. making crepes and eating popsicles. how you can't dance. it's time to take care of myself, but i miss loving you.


when you're past tipsy my dear, you tend to have outlandish thoughts


my three vices: humpin' dancin' drinkin'
i am your electrocutie
i just want to be with someone that smiles a lot.
the rain seems to fall straight from the sky onto me.
elliott smith is pretty sounding and small. his voice is soft and like honey.
the sky is gray. and everything is beautiful.
i decided i don't like margarita machines.
the music twists about in green and gray.
say yes.