samba into my heart

as i'm going to brazil for carnaval and fully experience the magic of it, i took a samba class last night. i learned i can pick up moves pretty quickly (which i knew already) but need to practice shaking my hips/ass (which i also knew already). but i had *heaps* of fun, tossing my body in ways i only did to crazy music on the dance floor, but throwing it in these bizarre leaps of heaps that somehow worked. TOO much fun. A coworker of mine asked, "How will you be sore from dancing?" I am sore--my body is not used to bending like that. I was sweating profusely--hair stuck to my face. It was a beautiful, living, amazing experience, complete with live drummers. I'm a convert. I plan on dancing as much as I can afford it until I go to Brazil...and then some afterwards!

you have those days....

where everyone can't stop looking at you, and you get all defensive, "what? WHAT?" and then you have those days no one notices you, and you think, "what? WHAT?"

and then you have those days where you notice no one. and honestly, those are the most peaceful of all.

when i'm a cat, i don't meow, i roar

merry christmas

after sleeping for ten hours, i feel heaps better than i did yesterday (think flu-like symptoms, nausea, chills, aching). am now drinking a cup of emergen-c in my running clothes, ready to stretch and head out for a run. i think i'll go along the italian catholic hood b/c it's likely to be a lively scene. i'm glad i'm not missing seeing my grandparents (already missed christmas last year b/c my parents have a psychotic son) as i feel well enough to attend the formalities associated with cousins you try to stomach and questions you're forced to answer as you realize, your life is your life and a question put forth to the entire dining room table will never properly sum it up.

a good run

had a really great run. made christmas gifts, then went out for a nice long run and came home to some amazing cookies v baked me. (i love you, venessa!) during my ran, while speeding past fortunato brothers (the best italian pastries in nyc!), someone was blasting "i'll be home for christmas" (i think it was the frank sinatra version) and i just started singing along.

my mom was wrong

according to a study mentioned in today's times, most americans have had premarital sex. 91% in fact. shocking! i like that the researcher talks about because of findings like this (and they go back into adults from the 1940s!), it makes it more relevant than ever for our teens to get sexual education--which, in the usa, is very hard. i know my mother--though i do love her--gave me very little sexual education, and school wasn't much better. abstinence-only education is horrible, as people ARE having sex.

what people also forget is that one of the ways so many women get stds is FROM THEIR HUSBANDS. (related.) you think, "we're in a monogamous relationship..." when he's cheating on you and not using condoms... i'm sure it also happens in the reverse way (women giving men stds) but you mostly hear about the husbands giving the wives the stds. and if you have no education, you may not understand the signs...

it's just really, really sad.

education is key. and mom, i really do love you.

what luna thinks of the holidays:

"i like hiding under the tree. that's about it. and lying on top of the wrapping paper you're trying to use. merry catmess."

people are humans

new yorkers will know what i mean.

tired, after christmas shopping all day, t and i were waiting for the L train to whisk us back to brooklyn. when the train came, of course, we were standing between two cars, and as the left looked nearly empty, and the right, the last and always the most crowded, was quite crowded, we immediately went into the train car. we were tired, and wanted to sit.

immediately, we both noticed the foul smell in the car, and commented on it, but were tired. people moved to the next carriages, noses wrinkled, while others, like us, grateful to have a seat, remained. it wasn't the worst i've smelled, and i've smelled some really terrible things before. we ignored it as best we could, and talked about our day. at the next stop, people entered, made faces, and ran into the next very-crowded cars. (this is the same as the non-air-conditioned train in the summertime.)

at 3rd avenue, these boys--probably fourteen years old to seventeen years--ran in, whooping, shouting. then--"damn, this shit stink!" "this car smell like SHIT!" "disgusting!" "what the fuck smell so awful?" and etcetera.

the smell was coming from a man at one end of the car (we were at the other) who was obviously homeless. he had a bunch of stuff--his personal belongings--with him, possibly all he owned. he was wearing an ill-fitting shirt and stood there stoicly, not letting his facial expressions change.

but as the boys shouted (some of the large group ran into the next crowded car, while the others stayed to complain and shout about the smell), i could see his eyes. his eyes were obviously sad. he was not some shadow with a pile of cardboard boxes. he was a person. a person who has hopes and dreams and one day probably lived in a home like me too. and something went wrong. everyone has their own story. you can't forget this; everyone has their past, present and future.

on the walk in the train station, we entered at 16th street and walked down the long platform underground (as opposed to walking above ground in the freezing cold) and saw several different people sleeping, cardboard covering them or below them, and i thought about how truly lucky i am. i also thought about how silly the packages we carried in our hands as christmas gifts.

when we left the train, rather than feeling grateful to be exiting the smell, we both felt sad at how the feelings were hurt of that person. "kids are cruel," could be an easy excuse, but i was a kid, and i had more empathy than that. rather, instead, i thought about how people forget kindness and forgot that all people are humans and all humans are people.

i don't know what's next...

but i know what i love--traveling, feminism, running, writing, and of course, my kitty. the love for these things will keep me going...

again

50 shots. is there really a reason?

i am disgusted. and the sadness--his wedding the next day. how horrific.

nypd, you fail to surprise me and many other new yorkers. we want you to change.

looking through photos...

i was looking through some photos on my computer and saw this one--me, darian, lindsey, and marco, having the time of our lives. notice the cheap bottles of french wine by our feet. we didn't have a corkscrew but somehow, opened the bottles and thought it was simply divine to walk around the streets of paris, passing around the bottles of wine, getting tipsy and having a blast. later, we met a latvian guy and ended up talking with him and hanging out. we had an amazing night, being so free with no curfew, no restrictions--just absolute freedom.

i know, i know, i'll be in brazil in just two and a half months, but that will be different. then i'll be gone for just 2 1/2 weeks, without time to fully explore and be free. i know i'm lucky to be able to have the time (and the money, which is thanks to my tax return of 2006!)), but still, i miss the days of absolute wanderlust.

brazil!

so i bought my tickets a few weeks ago and it's totally official--i'm going to brazil! i'm looking for hostels, have to make the visa application, am going to get the yellow fever shots soon--i can't wait! though i love my job, i definitely have itchy feet!

brazil!

so i bought my tickets a few weeks ago and it's totally official--i'm going to brazil! i'm looking for hostels, have to make the visa application, am going to get the yellow fever shots soon--i can't wait! though i love my job, i definitely have itchy feet!

this is what i look like when i run a marathon

i'm the one in the pink skirt, running with crista (pink shirt next to me)! hah!

holidays suck

i'm all for holiday songs and mistletoe and eggnog and pfeffernuese, but i can't stand holidays where you have to see family that suck, like your cousin's stupid girlfriend who proclaimed herself a vegetarian (because she rarely ate red meat, except, "oh yes, mrs. y, i'll take another piece of ham") and after a while, it's not about celebrating, it's about obligation, and it's annoying and draining and upsetting.

cherie's yummy sangria

so last night i modified wanda's delish-ma-tish sangria recipe. i highly recommend this version. everything requires you to modify to your own taste, but this is what MY taste recommended. yum!

3 bottles of trader joe's sav blanc (yep, the $2.99 one)
1 bottle (64 oz? the big one) of white grape peach juice (welch's)
three green apples, chopped
1 bag of frozen raspberries (16 oz)
several spoonfuls of sugar (realistically, probably 10, maybe more)
1 bag of green grapes, sliced in half
ice

put everything in a big pitcher (or several pitchers, as i did. if you don't have several pitchers, go to the 99cent store or use your blender!). stir. add ice to glass and have your guests pour. some like more fruit than others.

drink up. now you can look like me! hah!

fashion faux pas

i had a fashion faux pas party last night. here are the ingredients:
bad fashion
too much blue eyeshadow
lots of sangria
equals
loads of fun

i generally enjoy my parties. none of my friends know each other so it's an interesting combination of people, and everyone is suddenly myspace friends. i can't believe i broke down and got myspace, but it's seriously just for my friends. as much as i love soulslinger, he and i are not friends; he is simply one of my face djs.

i feel i must point out that my outfit was made up of designer clothes. the silver top was from my (ex?)boyfriend, the yellow dress is betsy johnson as is the skirt (all plastic, comfy, ha!). quite fun. i think crista's "i got lost on my way home from dance class in 1986" outfit rocked. check her out!

pictures from halloween

I was a lion! ROAR!

memorable moments of the marathon

• hearing the rocky theme song in brooklyn
• "i like your hair." "go pink skirt!" (towards me)
• being handed a bottle of water, drinking it, and then looking to see a jay-z label on the bottle
• "what's that all over your face? salt?" my mom, post-marathon
• being so dizzy i'm forced to grab onto a spectator for a moment
• the absolute ROAR upon entering central park for that last stretch into the finish line
• the absolute ROAR upon exiting the 59th st bridge
• 1st ave; the people--dizzying!
• finishing and having a packet of salt poured into my mouth--yuck!
• candice in the bronx! yay!
• the man handing out soda on the willis ave bridge
• a man pushing me, and me tripping and accidentally tripping a woman because of this--who yelled, "get away from me!" i ran sideways, and then past her.
• shouting at quiet hipsters (who probably didn't hear me) in williamsburg, "if you're gonna raise the rents, raise your voices!"
• listening to trev's brother who is normally quiet (around me) scream my name
• finishing. finishing. FINISHING!
  

nyc marathon

so i finally ran the nyc marathon on sunday, november 5. it was a day i have looked forward to for months--and this was truly a day of celebration.

for months i have trained hard--i never missed a day of training (unless i was injured). i slept good, ate good, and didn't drink the month before the marathon. i stretched, saw my podiatrist when i was injured, read about marathoning, lived the marathon. and finally...it came.

saturday i continued my cycle of carbo-loading with crista, and went to bed at 9pm. we woke up at 4:30 am. i fixed my hair, toasted our bagels that we slathered with peanut butter, stressed, got ready...into a car at 5:15, on a bus at 5:30, at fort wadsworth park before 6am...and to wait. we waited in the cold, stressing, jogging, stretching, waiting in line to pee. "boston, here we come..." we hoped.

shortly after 10:10, the race started. discarded clothes littered the sides of the verazzano as we ran! oh yes, we ran! excited, "we're doing this!"

and down the verazzano into brooklyn, my home boro! i adore 4th avenue--the crowds, the people! "i love you brooklyn!" i ran, i ran. crista's shins hurt so i ran without her for several miles--and i won't dare say "i ran alone" b/c i ran with nearly 39,000 others! after seeing my mom around mile 8, crista popped up next to me! we ran the next 9 miles together, through williamsburg (hi crista's mom and sister! hi trevor and damon!), into greenpoint (rachelle! natasha! i missed cara!) and long island city (hi kathleen!) and then, i started getting appalling dizzy...and i kept up, and finally, on the 59th street bridge, i let crista run ahead, but kept still on our good pace (we were on pace for a 3:36).

when i got off the bridge, the roar of the spectators kept me going, despite the fact that i felt dizzy and nauseas. i saw my parents, the spectators roared--and i ran on. sponge bob sponge, ahhhh, so cooling. power gel, YUM! i was running strong...

and hit the willis ave bridge and started feeling worse. a man handing out cups of coca-cola on the bridge--ugh. i ran on--and saw candice and her awesome sister sheryl--happy to see them, i smiled big...

and ran on. dizzy, it got worse. i ran back into manhattan, down 5th ave. i smiled weakly at the bands, reached for a bottle of water, drank, felt dizzy. i ran, feeling delirious, in a fog. i ran. i ran.

at one point, i grabbed one of the 2.5 million spectators. "please. i'm so dizzy. i'm going to hold onto you. i'm so so dizzy." and i held onto this complete stranger and then said, "i'm okay." i walked about 5 or 10 feet, then began running again.

and running. slower, yes, but still, strong.

and i finished.

i finished.

i finished.

with a personal best (though neither crista nor i qualified for boston), i headed to the medics who poured salt down my throat and powerade (which i prefer to gatorade!) and stumbled to my friends, family, and brownies. (the brownies my mom made.)

a hard race, which i trained for months.

now, what next? la? perhaps. we'll see.

i tried to run yesterday but couldn't make it around the blog. i am to run tomorrow.

and run, and run, and run.

and run.

running

i'm sore from running a 5 miler at slightly faster than marathon pace. oh no. let's hope things pan out better next sunday. but i'm quite happy with my results--top 8% of my gender. woohooo! off to take a bath in epsom salts, ahhhh!

cutting off those that hurt you

a year and a half ago, inspired by krs-one's ruminations, i decided to cut off those that were bad for me. friends who hurt me but were my friends, shitty people in my life. since i had already stopped talking to the incredibly hurtful sibling of mine (who many of you may not even know i have since i never mention him, even to some of my close friends), i cut out a few other people, some of whom i deeply loved--because i saw they were bad for me.

now, years later, i miss them incredibly, even those that were bad for me--the people who made me feel bad about myself, those who put me down as a method of pulling themselves up, and even the one who tried to steal my cat...

it's so hard to let go, even years later. i miss them all; i miss them all greatly.

i love you wherever you are.

you see me every day...

i walk past you, to the subway. you sit in front of the bodega--all of you, all men. where are you wives, mothers, daughters? your hips swagger as your jeans cling to worn leather belts, and i can smell the stench of sweat/cigarettes/scuzz were i to approach you. but i never do.

i walk, straight. ipod often on ears, cell phone on ears, or the standard, new york straight ahead fuck you i'm in my own world leave me alone.

still, you attempt to engage me.

all of you. whistles at me, comments on my clothing, those eyes. those eyes. i feel them crawling up my legs, to my ass, to my chest, to my furry coat...to the friends i walk with, hands i clutch or faces i kiss..you are there, staring. when i'm on the phone with my father, or worse, my grandmother, i hear your voices, lewd and leery, and i want to smack you.

i want my grandmother to smack you: "how dare you talk fresh to my granddaughter."

every day, you stare at me. i've lived here for 3 1/2 years--i'm not a new fixture. i'm not into flirting with old men. i'm not into flirting with random gross men on the street. (maybe if you were cute, my age, had a witty comment about the cat i was walking or the inga muscio book i was carrying...)

but please, leave me alone. i don't want you in my life. i don't want you looking at me, talking to me. you make me feel dirty, gross.

you see me every day, and still you stare. i see you seeing me every day, and averting my eyes does no good. i hate it and i hate you more and more every day.

you see me every day.

archbishop desmond tutu

i saw the archbishop desmond tutu speak tonight at trinity church. he was really amazing, and said a few especially interesting things.

the interviewer asked him and john allen (his biographer) about how the churches mobilized the whites and the blacks during apartheid and tutu reminded the audience, "the christian faith is responsible for some of the most horrendous atrocies." applause from brave audience members. he continued, "christians are responsible for the holocaust. christians are responsible for slavery. christians are responsible for apartheid."

he said that the struggle against apartheid has been compared to the civil rights movement in the usa. but it's NOT--"people in south africa--every person--must change. unlike the us." which is why we still have racism and have a concrete ceiling for women of color in the business world.

to desmond tutu, "the primary violence of apartheid is the injustice of apartheid."

to him, nonviolent protest was, "confronting without weapons in your hands--and call out the violence of your opponent."

he's amazing. i'm so lucky to have heard him speak.

All sorts of good news in my life!

Marathon in 18 days!

My sister is flying to NY the weekend of my marathon!

Okay nothing otherwise specific other than happy moments like when Jessica called me from Paris (though she was sad) and running with Cara again today and eating super yummy Greek yogurt (remembering eating Greek yogurt and watching the sun rise with T after a night of excessive clubbing in Ios) and reading a terrific book (Sweet Relief) and also enjoying apple season and Inga Muscio’s book and good music and yes, the world can be a lovely place.

running pics of me

here are some running pictures of me. the one where i am ready for my run with my arms down is BEFORE saturday's 23 mile run. with the arms above my head, it is after my 23 miler and i am signalling victory. somehow, i felt great. hungry, tired and a bit sore, yes, but great. the one of me in the subway is something i've been wanting to do for a while. it's me running with deena kastor (who i want to win nyc this year!) and paul tergat (the flash has blinded him in the face :( ). i'm hoping to get a better shot of this with me in my full running regalia, wooohooo! anyway, you can see how high maintanance i am with running. my hair is up in buns to prevent those nasty sweat dreds you get with running too long with ponytails, the sports bar is supportive and coolmax (you can't see), the tank also some sort of sweat-drawing-away-from-the-skin (also coolmax, perhaps?), the shorts coolmax (and they feature pockets in the back for goo, yum, chocolate goo and strawberry banana powergel!) and my fuel belt includes water, a pocket for clif shot blocs and sports jelly beans. check out my wristband (white with a pink heart) and my ankle brace. i also wore new sneakers by saucony and six-year old sunglasses by arnette. oh, and it was 45 degrees F when i left my house! my hands were cold the first few miles. here's to the running nerds of planet earth! and yes, running along the fdr, i lifted my water bottles like one might lift a glass of champagne--here's to new york, and the world's finest marathon!

i heart inga

last night i went to hear inga muscio read at bluestockings. she was, of course, phenomenal. she read from her new amazing book, autobiography of a blue-eyed devil, which is well-researched (high praise coming from a librarian), articulate, shocking, and even humorous. i love inga. i don't think i have time or the proper words to discuss this (although, v, i've discussed this in a letter), but she blew our minds. everyone was laughing, shocked, angry--all together. she really is a phenomenal woman.

one thing she DID do was reading the original chapter where she talks about re-reading little house on the prarie as an adult and seeing the disgusting racism against american indians. she had long excerpts but a week before production, random house revoked permission (probably getting wind of what inga was planning on doing with it (dissecting its racism)) and so she had to paraphrase. she read the entire piece as she originally intended it, and you see how fucked up and racist they were--but as inga points out, laura, like herself, and me, and most others, are products of our white supremacist society. it is SO easy to just accept things; it is harder to question everything about our society. that is what i try to do, and honestly, it's not easy, but you have to do it...or you are doomed to become like others, without assisting the progression of humans.

soothed after shreds of fear

6:01 am, sunday morning. sunlight not yet streaming in the slits of the "room darkener" blinds. the panic is real, even though i am here, safe, warm, in my bed with you.

a dream so real i could touch it...a nightmare so real i am scared even after i wake up. i curl into your arms, let you hold me tightly in your sleep. and it is then that i know you are here for me.

"i had a dream. there was a shooting. it was so scary. everyone was getting shot."

these words that i whisper to you sound trite as i remember--the whispers of my friend who said she was moving for the witness protection program because she pointed a finger at various mafiosa. and then they were there. my friend (?) stood by the open car door (i was in the front passenger seat, and various other friends (???) were in the car as well) as they announced, "this is a suicide." they shot someone. "he wants to die. she wants to die too." and they shot everyone on the street--it was probably 2nd avenue in the east village (or 1st, but you know how dreams are) and i peered horrified through the windshield, watching as the bodies fell.

if they saw us...the open car door...we would be dead too.

and then i woke up.

and then i went into your arms, were finally, i was safe.

november 5, here i come

i ran 24 miles today--i meant to run 22, but i got so excited exploring new territory--i ran on randall's and ward islands today. SO FUN!

okay so something is weird when you say, "oh just another two hours of running," or "so fun" when referring to a 24 miler.

yes i really am sick.

nyc half marathon

i just got my certificate for finishing the half-marathon in the mail and i learned this:

• i was 452 out of 4969 finishers!
• i was in the top 20% of all finishers!

go me, go me! hardish workout tomorrow--fartleks! off to bed now to get enough sleep for my run...my run=my life!

falling

blood
hospitals
you don't know where you'll end up next, do you?

15.5 miles

after work, i ran across wall st, crossed broadway, and then ran behind the world financial center to meet up with my beloved path along the hudson river/west side highway. i feel like i'm in another country when i run here, for some reason. today, i was getting flashbacks of running along the ocean in iceland (yes, the entire atlantic ocean was right next to me), running in copenhagen, running in other cities along rivers. traveling last summer, i thought, "wow, all these cities have rivers. crazy." it's because, duh, water means water, commerce, fish, etc. but my run today, i felt like i was in another country--not new york city.

i ran all the way up, past 100th st, and turned around at some point. then i ran across 104th st, then ran south to 96th st, entered central park, ran north, ran west, and ran south. i ran over 2 hours at about 9 minutes per mile (though at certain times, much faster) pace, running, loving it, feeling truly alive. nothing makes me happier than pounding the pavement. i wore my running skirt, a long-sleeved thin shirt (which i didn't want in the beginning but was very glad i had in the end), with my fuel belt, carrying two powergels (chocolate goo, yum), clif blocs (cran-razz, my fave!), and sports jelly beans (orange, okay), with of course, water.

i don't know how running can make me so happy--i think it is filling in a void left in me since love is no longer there. and i LOVE running--it's a way to spiritually fill me, physically fill me, emotionally fill me. nothing, in my life now, is more perfect than running.

a story

they're on a mediterranean island, one with windy curvy streets that don't seem to make sense and they constantly get lost (never finding the proper restaurants in their guidebook) but always ending up at their private room at their tiny hotel (or villa, as it's called) just when they're about to give up. they don't know the language, and as this isn't the most touristy of the islands, they keep quiet and she speaks with the few words she's learned from the guidebook. five months ago, when they bought the tickets, he promised to learn enough greek to get them around, "hopefully on a basic level or even intermediate level," he said, spending $75 on language cds that he listened to once.


this was only a symbol.


they slept late, made love or rushed straight to the beach, eating sticky pastries for morning sustanance. on the beach, she tanned topless like the other women, and he slathered sunscreen on her back for her. she read thick complicated novels while he dozed or read pablo neruda. they would head over to the cafe on the beach, sitting in the sand, eating thick slices of bread, large salads topped with enormous chunks of feta cheese, and other local specialties that they often weren't sure what it was, but it was good. then they would head back to their towels or chairs, relax in the sun, maybe splash in the waves. as the sun headed down, he would flag down one of the waitstaff circulating the beach in shorts with drink trays and order them two drinks. they would drink their drinks, watching the sunset. then they would dance at the outdoor club or head back to their room to nap. when they'd wake up, they'd take turns showering in the tiny cubicle, get ready to go out to eat, late like the locals. sometimes they'd make love, but often, he would want to when clearly she had put too much time into her appearance to get mussed making love. they would eat dinner, then walk the confusing windy streets again, get wine at a local wine bar, talking in low tones to each other. if he wasn't too tired, they'd make love when they got back to their hotel.

so the making love time was often a maybe.

more often a no.

on this vacation, they enjoyed themselves. after eight days, he picked a fight with her in a restaurant. she was not responding, disgusted at his behavior. "this is not working. it's not working," he paused and addressed the other diners, "it's not working because you are a bitch." he threw several notes on the table, and left. she sat there, waiting, tears in her eyes.


he did not come back, although she waited for him to.


she finished her meal. the waiter came over and offered two dessert wines. she drank them both. she asked for the bill, and paid with the notes he had carelessly thrown at her. she took her time, sipping gently, ignoring the other diners staring, wondering "what does "bitch' mean?" in their language. her face burned, she had a lump in her throat: she would not cry.


outside the gate of the restaurant, he stood there. "i'm sorry but you were being a bitch. anyone would agree with me." she said nothing. "i don't know the way back to our room. look, i'm sorry. i love you, okay?"


"okay," she said in a small voice. she tasted the sweet dessert wine in her mouth and wanted more.

back in their room, he was not too tired to make love, but she said she was. she went to sleep quickly.


when they woke up the next morning, they made love. they did not talk about their fight. they bought sticky pastries and bitter coffee and ate their breakfast at the ocean. they went swimming. they tanned. they took naps in the sun.


they made love again.


they made love again.

leave me alone!

every day i run, i get sexually harassed. it's a "hey baby" or "lookin' good." i joke to cara, "i'm going to take my clothes off and fuck them right here at the side of the street."

sometimes i want to run, i want my emotions to come out completely, huge smile, myself totally out there. it's something i must avoid on many occasions, sadly.

my weird but nice neighbor has heaps of weird and not necessarily nice friends. one of them is a guy who has to comment on me, "you look sexy," "ooooh damn, you gotta boyfriend?" "mmm-mmm-mmm!" i've been quite nasty to him on several occasions but still, he continues to harass me.

today he saw me running up the street and though my neighbor had already entered his building, he waited. before he could speak, i said (i am mean), "yes, today i'd like to gouge your eyes out"--b/c they were looking at me in a way that made me feel quite uncomfortable.

he nodded and i continued, "yes with my keys."

he replied, "you look so sexy today, beautiful."

i entered my building and slammed my door shut.

obsessed with running

my legs are still sore from the 4 hour run cara and i did on saturday--23 or 24 miles. ow. i wish t was around to give me a sports massage...

here's what's keeping me motivated!

henry rollins quote:

"Life will not break your heart.
It'll crush it."

(thanks to venessa)

i love to breathe

Walking home alone at 2am, streets empty save kissing couples surrounded by darkness, I trudge home in short skirt/bare legs, dreaming, loving oxygen, happy. The girl with the cute hipster glasses in front of me stops short, and I walk around her quickly as she leans to kiss the man holding her hand again. "I love loving you and you loving me." I walk on.

At home, I let myself into a quiet apartment with an overexcited cat who circles my legs until I pick her up to cuddle her into my arms. She is happy when we settle into bed together, with some treats on her pillow.

Being in love is the best thing in the world. I'd rather have love than anything else. If you are able to sustain your love and the incredible energy that goes along with it, that is a HUGE accomplishment. I miss being in love--kissing someone you are in love with is the most incredible thing in the world, better than anything you could ever buy--but I know I mustn't dwell upon what I lost, but instead, appreciate every little thing in my life.

Being asthmatic makes me do this. Before, my breathing grew irregular. After I calmed it down, I enjoyed and savored each breath. Non-asthmatics, take a nice deep inhale right here--ahhh, I'm so jealous of you! Enjoy that! Enjoy every lovely moment in your day--I am here.

not only do my sister and i share the same voice, but....

we have the same obsession for our cats. we call each other and leave voicemails for the other solely of our cats meowing.

if my sister and her boyfriend break up, i can see us living together in a one bedroom apartment (twin beds with a little night table in between) with our sixteen cats, bitching and complaining with white hair and bad track suits...ooh, getting old can be fun!

so i'm totally obsessed

...but when i saw the new ads on the subway for the nyc marathon, i was SO excited!!! i can't wait--39 days until i run 26.2!!!!

a sad thing

i was at my gynecologist today when she asked me, "is your relationship over?"

"yes," i told her.

"oh that's so sad. a sad thing. so sad," she told me.

adventures in running; or, i did not see any guns on my run this morning

on wednesday i was so excited about running an excellent speed workout, giving my all my final 800 meters and running 7 seconds faster than my fastest so far. who know thursday's workout could hardly compare?

cara and i met and ran over the 59th street bridge (aka the queensboro bridge) into manhattan. i am trying to run over the 59th st bridge as much as possible to practice for the marathon (ugh, mile 15 or 16, ow). we ran down york and then 1st, until the stupid cops yelled at us over by the UN and made us run across a street and climb across cement barricades. we ran down along the east river park, both of us a bit tired but feeling well.

we began running across the williamsburg bridge when i heard jingling. no one else was nearby us on the pedestrian walkway and when i turned to the road below us (maybe 5 or 10 feet below us), i saw a guy walking/running through the cars, keys jangling around his neck, while a cop jogged alongside him. "hmmm, maybe he had an accident." i didn't think much of it...

until i noticed a man standing, pointing his gun. a gun. this is new york still, but still, OMG, a gun! and i'm running in my cute little running outfit several feet away. his back was to me but he was pointing a gun.

i grabbed cara's arm. "run. run! quick!"

"what?" she hadn't seen anything.

i began sprinting in the opposite direction, towards where we had just run from. "a man. with a gun. a gun."

"oh my god!"

cara began sprinting and when we heard something clatter, we feared for the worst and RAN. we run every day but this day, i was convinced we were running for our lives.

the cars were all completely stopped, the cops having blocked traffic completely. cabbies and confused commuters asked us, "what is it?"

"a gun. a guy with a gun!" it was hard not to be hysterical. sure, you see people with guns in movies, but the last place--a place i've been running since i was 19--i expected to see a gun was here, at 7am, during the crush of rush hour. maybe when cara and i explored bedstuy and bushwick, neighborhoods known for seedier histories, but the bridge, where many biked and ran and walked over every day, for work and pleasure?

"what are we going to do?"

i was not running across the bridge if someone had a gun--no, i think i don't feel like getting shot on my run. not on my plans for today (or any day, to be honest). we could hitchhike to the other side of the bridge, run home from there. the traffic was flowing unimpeded in that direction.

"my phone! shit! my phone!" cara realized her phone had fallen in the sprint--that was the clatter, not gunshots as we had thought. we realized it wasn't as far where the guy with the gun was so we began walking rather cautiously over the bridge until we saw it.

and then we saw, walking in traffic, in handcuffs, was the guy, with many cops surrounding him.

we ran home, silence alternating with discussions of what we had just seen. i've lived in new york my whole life save two years, and have never seen this before. no more gossip about dating or complaints about work; right now, i'm just happy to be alive and running.

oh no!

i accidentally broke my "no outfit is complete without a fabulous purse" mug.

i got it as a favour at a bridal shower. teehee.

i ran twenty miles this morning

...my longest run yet. my body is aching but i am so proud of myself. i ran most of the time with a portfolio manager for jpmc (although he only ran 16 miles) and found the last ten miles the most difficult. when they told me on my final lap i of central park i only had to do three miles, i kissed the nyrr official on the cheek.

the best part of the run was when the 8:30 runners came behind me in the last half-mile and were singing frank sinatra's "new york new york." it was a very emotional time and exciting part of my run.

and tonight i will soak in a hot bath with epsom salts and lavendar oils before going out....and my appetite is never squelched the day of a long run.

today's run--splash

cara and i were almost done with our 80-minute run today (in the last mile, or even, last half-mile, perhaps), chatting, running, sweating, in the foggy morning mist. we were running down kent (a messed up road with enormous puddles in it because the drains were too high up for the water to flow down) and passed a stopped car with two men in it. several minutes later, we heard the car gunning its engine...and a loud SPLASH!

the car sped through an enormous puddle, soaking and shocking us. i immediately gave the guy the finger, but then looked at cara, who looked as shocked as i was. we looked at the car driving slowly down the road (the intentionality of the act was obvious) and then back at each other.

and began laughing hysterically.

to just intentionally splash two running women? what the fuck? but somehow, it was hilarious.

we ran home the last minutes, and both of us showered shortly afterwards.

what's really been making me happy lately

on my runs i've been catching myself: a huge smile seems to be across my face at most times. whether i'm running with someone or alone, as long as i'm laced up in my sauconies and moving fast, i'm happier than any other time. i can't help but smile...

how the pro-choice movement saved america: a book review

I just finished Cristina Page's fabulous book of the above title, an overview of choice, family, and its opponents in the US. In case you didn't know, anti-choicers (who like to call themselves pro-life) are also anti-family. These anti-choicers are also often anti-birth control, and if you don't have birth control, you are going to end up with abortion. The "abstinence-only" education that America's moronic president is funding and encouraging is only leading to teen pregnancies at astounding rates or riskier behaviors. The latter reminds me of a now-defunct yet hilarious website, Technical Virgin, that had fake ads of teens saying things like, "My boyfriend was pressuring me for sex, but I want to save myself and do good in college. So now my friend and I put a live girl-on-girl show for our boyfriends. We pleasure ourselves and prevent our cherries from being popped," OR, "I was so worried about getting pregnant and wanted to save that for marriage. So now my boyfriend gives it to me up the butt and we don't have to worry about that." That is so scary because teens are actually doing it.

And choice is VERY, VERY important. Without choice, we are locked into religion controlling our government.

Roe, roe, Roe v. Wade,
Our bodies are our own,
A woman's choice is a human right,
So leave the cunts alone.

it's september 12th today

i went for my pre-dawn run today and the towers of light were still visible, and the empire state building still blasting redwhiteandblue. ran quite far and quite fast, meditating in my own way on my life and life in general.

Quote by Nina Kuscsik, marathoner

"I've always felt running is a form of meditation. Running enables us to stop our lives, to go out and find a safe place for ourselves."

autumn tonight, on 11 september

i avoided the media today. people from our west coast office sent a notice over to us that they are thinking of us. but i knew what it was, and that was partially the reason i was feeling down.

in memoriam to all those who have suffered since that day, from those that were killed on the 11th of september in nyc, dc, and pa, as well as those who have been killed in afghanistan, iraq, and anywhere else the usa decided needed to be cleaned of "terrorists."

riding my bike home from jp's house, i saw the redwhiteandblue of the empire state building, saw the towers of light. safe in my home, food in my belly, i feel lucky.

things that are going on

i'm feeling a bit depressed today. it could be the lack of sleep catching up to me, or the fact that my apartment is super messy, or the fact that i lost *everything* in my pocket pc when the battery died and everything got erased, or it could be the fact that i'm listening to bob dylan and feeling broken-hearted (he always creates that feeling in me, or emphasizes it if i feel it already), or it could be the feeling that it's the 5th anniversary of september 11th attacks.

i was thinking: people mention things like d day or pearl harbour attacks, and youngins are like, "yeah, so what? we don't get a day off and we weren't there and what happened anyway?" i wonder how long it will be before those people are around and how long it will be before new yorkers feel safe and the pain lessens? i suppose we'll need those pesky, rude, and obnoxious tourists to stop mugging for photos in front of a construction site where thousands of people died.

but back to bob, back to work. i know that sadness is only temporary. there are clouds but there is sunshine too. i'm relatively happy, even if the sadness (and stress) has been clouding my dreams lately. this is a time when i need a roommate (as marie had done before) to shout, "cherie you are NOT listening to this! we are putting on happy music."

most likely you go your way and i go mine (bob dylan)

You say you love me
And you're thinkin' of me,
But you know you could be wrong.
You say you told me
That you wanna hold me,
But you know you're not that strong.
I just can't do what I done before,
I just can't beg you any more.
I'm gonna let you pass
And I'll go last.
Then time will tell just who fell
And who's been left behind,
When you go your way and I go mine.

My favourite things about summertime: In mourning of summertime

My dads tomatoes
Amazing fresh produce
Most fruit being in season (ooh, ripe luscious peaches are my latest addiction)
The beach
Running in shorts and a sports bra and socksÂ…how freeing
Miniskirts
Sandals
Sand in toes
No jackets, mittens, scarves
Free concerts, free plays, free things outdoors
Running in the summer
Open windows
Walks with Luna in the park
Iced chai
Rooftop parties
Sweaty kisses
Drinking the air
Sunsets
Fireworks
Barbeques
Parties in parks and yards
Outdoor sports
Naps in the sun
Spending the day outdoors

why i love running in new york city

on a seventeen miler yesterday, i saw two guys boxing on the side of the reservoir.

an imaginary conversation

he said, "you've changed since we broke up."

she said, "yes, i've started wearing eyeliner."

shout out to wanda

wanda, i fucking love you. thank you for all your help with my recent (personal) crisis. i know talking about these issues must have been hard for you, bringing up all those bad memories, but you really helped me heaps. i love you for that! wanda, you rule!

from bob dylan's desolation row

Everybody is making love
Or else expecting rain

and then you think,

"wow, i am so glad we are no longer together."

you never thought you'd say that, right?

(note: the you is not referring to a specific you.)

i know i'm hot, but really, must you constantly remind me?

in training for the nyc marathon, i am covering a lot of mileage. i typically wear my sauconies, socks, shorts, and a sports bra. (if it's cooler, i add a t-shirt but i prefer wearing as little as possible, being as lightweight as possible while running.) and it seems so many men have never seen a woman running before. or perhaps it is, as my running partner cara said, "there is a rule that men must stop what they are doing and stare at women running." must be it.

i'm sick of men leering out windows, honking, whistling, yelling, "complimenting," harassing, shouting, stopping, gawking, licking their lips, giving me the up-and-down...come on, i'm a sweaty woman running and i'm obviously not interested in you. i'm focusing on my training, on my sport.

maybe--this must be it--if i see someone who strikes my fancy after yelling a "nice ass" i might rip off my clothes, fling myself on the front of their car and say, "let's just do it right here." is that it?

does paula radcliffe deal with this? deena kastor?

i really am fed up with the shouting, the harassing. i just want to do my run and be left alone.

my run is for me not for you fuck you my run is for me leave me alone my run is for me

running

i ran 19 miles yesterday, and 10 miles today.

i'm proud of myself.

my heart is going out to tonks right now

one of my terrific radical cheerleading friends moved from florida to tennessee and was telling me about the hatred of gay people. the homophobia, the "christian" hate--it's part of why she is considering leaving tn. tonks baby girl, i love you, and there's heaps of people out there who love you. don't let the hate bring you down and remember, love is so much stronger than hate.

will someone please find that mosquito in my apartment that has been biting me every night for the past week?

reader, has this ever happened to you?

crossing cobblestone streets, i suddenly was overcome with sadness, and had to bite my lip (hard, oh, so fucking hard) to prevent tears from escaping my eyes and tumbling down my cheeks.

it's a cool summer when you think,

only in the subway does it feel like summertime

nyc inaugural half marathon!

i ran the nyc inaugural half marathon today--and must admit i had a brilliant time doing so! i woke up just after 4am (an hour before my alarm was to go off, because i couldn't sleep). i got ready (hot pink shorts, magenta sports bra, ponytail, four barrettes (two on each side), sweatband and spent the rest of the time before my friends picked me up. at the start, we stretched, waited in long lines for the port-a-potties, and went to the start. after a bit of confusion of where the corrals were, we lined up. in line, we joked around and stretched.

the race itself was fun. i ran most of it with cara (who is about my pace, a bit quicker maybe), and my foot didn't hurt. we did a loop and then some around central park, and then ran down 7th avenue, across 42nd st (and we all got chills running through times square, HOW AMAZING!), then down the west side highway...it was brilliant! around mile 10, cara left to run a bit faster, and i finished in 1:47. i was pleased with this time, as the past three weeks i have been facing injuries and have run very little. i'm now a big fan of cross-training--prevents injury and keeps you in decent-enough shape.

after, we hung out, had brunch and i realized how nice it is to hang out with runners.

i'm *such* a dork

i went on the nyrr's website for the half-marathon again today (i already have a printed up map hanging at my desk at work, another in my home, and gave rachelle a third map!) and watched the commercial, "i run in new york" and got so excited! now i'm researching chafing and trying to decide which pink running outfit to wear!!!!

i hope my foot is well enough to run competitively (though i've had three weeks of shitty-to-no training with all my injuries); still, i can't wait! i'm running new york!

our standards

jokingly (but not) i said to rosa this morning as i scrambled our eggs, "all i want in someone is for them to live in new york and to like breakfast."

quote of the day (i swear i didn't say it)

"I don’t think it will be hard to seduce him. All I have to do is get him into my apartment."

keep those old journals...

so when you start feeling nostalgic, or confused, or wondering if you've made the wrong decision, you can look back, see how badly you hurt, and realize, yes, it is time to go on.

i just said to jonathan,

"that's the thing about new york. you can constantly re-invent yourself."

i watched reality bites for the first time in years...

and i'm still rooting for troy. michael is the practical yuppie but he still disgusts me. i'm into the philosophical, the thinker, the creative one, the artist...anyone but the yuppie. i don't like practicality or a future to brag to my family about. i live on dreams instead...

class

i've been thinking about class lately; class is one of the things people don't like to talk about. at my job, we research gender, diversity, race, sexual orientation...but what about class? class is something that generally we can't control (if we're born into it) but other times we can (like quitting our corporate jobs and going nonprofit--but even when i was working for "the man" i was def not upper class). people are super sensitive about class issues because they feel like they shouldn't have to apologize for it. (i'm so fucking glad we don't have titles, fuck that english "duke" etc shit.) i think the hardest thing about it is it's not paid attention to very often, so we don't feel like we need to deal with it. what am i saying? i'm not really sure. i grew up middle class, am struggling (a bit) now but still am unsure of what i am. i'm a single woman living alone, no plans for marriage, children, any of that. (marriage is a whole other issue since i live in a hateful country that won't allow for many of my best friends to marry.) is class something you grow into when you become an adult? this job is my career but i know it's not my only one. i plan to do it until i quit to travel--extensive traveling, and then settle someplace else.

and maybe where i settle class won't matter much...

breakups

i'm wondering if breakups are ever truly mutual, if people are actually friends with their exes afterwards. i'm trying to be friends with t, but i don't seem to know how to do it. he disappointed me so much (and i ended it, b/c of that) that it seems i find it hard to find him sincere. he will always have a spot in my heart, but i don't think a breakup can ever be like, "well, we're just better this way" and the people are actually friends.

does, "let's just be friends" ever work? or is one person always wanting more?

i really like being alone right now. i like learning to redefine myself as me, as cherie, and it's hard, but i'm doing it. still, when i see a flash from the past, there's pain, and it's like, "this is why i moved on."

beach me

I somehow became obsessed with the beach lately.

This might have to do with the fact that I dated a marine biologist for over six years; or it might have to do with the fact that when we do (occasionally, still) see each other, that is one of the main things we continue doing; or it might be due to the fact that Rachelle loves the beach and we have become better friends this summer (probably due to our breakups--I think this bonded us closer); or it might be due to the fact that I have a number of bikinis; or it might be due to the fact that I live in New York City, a train ride's away to the beach; or it might be due to the fact that I just love lying in the sun in a bikini with a book, applying suntan lotion, splashing in the waves as if I were a child, eating sandy sandwiches and enjoying New York City's local sport of people watching.

I really love the beach this summer. I went twice this past weekend; once with Emily F., once with the infamous Rachelle (my best beach date this summer). As I am training for the marathon, I have given up drinking socially (a glass of wine here or a drink there, yes; but drunken nights on Ludlow, stumbling with J from the Dark Room to the Annex to Max Fish to wherever, flirting, sipping, laughing, no)--this is a new way to socialize. We can chill at the beach, talk, catch up on each other's lives, goss, our reading, maybe meet some new friends (though this doesn't seem to happen as it did in high school, when Crystal and I would take the train to Long Beach and flirt with cute seventeen-year-old surfer boys from Long Island who were always from towns much cooler than our extremely boring (and non-beach-containing) town).

Sigh...

I do admit, as I said to Jamie (and probably everyone I've been to the beach with recently), "The beach would just be perfect if it weren't for all this sand." Ah, I know, yes, then it wouldn't be the beach. So I love it.

Spending last summer in Europe, I went to some lovely beaches. I adored Dubrovnik's beaches with its phenomenal views, and also had an interesting time in Amalfi (where a speedo-wearing slick-talking late-thirtysomething Italian man had me rowed out to his boat, where we splashed, rode into Amalfi Town, talked, and then he gave me a ride on his Vespa to my hostel). I must admit, the sand was rarely as nice as it is in New York (yes, even NYC!). Rocky beaches, or the horridly difficult beach of Riomaggiore (where one person left the beach before I arrived with medical assistance as he slipped on the rocks and hurt himself badly). I do like American beaches, though I don't like the close-minded nature of people about women sunbathing topless. Tan lines (esp the traditional bikini lines around the neck that are most visible in summertime months) are not very attractive.

I have been becoming a connoisseur of sands. Coney Island--yuck, though it is very NYC as J says, and you can always go on the rides, play skeeball or walk the boardwalk. Brighton Beach has nice sand, and small (or no) waves, which I like. Jacob Riis has lovely sand, but crashing waves. Long Beach is expensive ($7 per person; I'm used to using my Nassau County drivers license to pay $6 per car with T, which is split between all of the car's inhabitants) but with nice waves. Jones Beach is nice but I *hate* the walk from the car/bus to the beach. So far. Also crowded. Point Lookout is all families (and where my parents always took me as a child) and I do admit, Lido is probably my favorite.

I went to the beach yesterday, and the day before, and I am excited about going to the beach this Saturday--Robert Moses. Me, Rachelle, maybe some sandwiches, trashy novels--sounds like a fantastic day to me.

beach me

I somehow became obsessed with the beach lately.

This might have to do with the fact that I dated a marine biologist for over six years; or it might have to do with the fact that when we do (occasionally, still) see each other, that is one of the main things we continue doing; or it might be due to the fact that Rachelle loves the beach and we have become better friends this summer (probably due to our breakups--I think this bonded us closer); or it might be due to the fact that I have a number of bikinis; or it might be due to the fact that I live in New York City, a train ride's away to the beach; or it might be due to the fact that I just love lying in the sun in a bikini with a book, applying suntan lotion, splashing in the waves as if I were a child, eating sandy sandwiches and enjoying New York City's local sport of people watching.

I really love the beach this summer. I went twice this past weekend; once with Emily F., once with the infamous Rachelle (my best beach date this summer). As I am training for the marathon, I have given up drinking socially (a glass of wine here or a drink there, yes; but drunken nights on Ludlow, stumbling with J from the Dark Room to the Annex to Max Fish to wherever, flirting, sipping, laughing, no)--this is a new way to socialize. We can chill at the beach, talk, catch up on each other's lives, goss, our reading, maybe meet some new friends (though this doesn't seem to happen as it did in high school, when Crystal and I would take the train to Long Beach and flirt with cute seventeen-year-old surfer boys from Long Island who were always from towns much cooler than our extremely boring (and non-beach-containing) town).

Sigh...

I do admit, as I said to Jamie (and probably everyone I've been to the beach with recently), "The beach would just be perfect if it weren't for all this sand." Ah, I know, yes, then it wouldn't be the beach. So I love it.

Spending last summer in Europe, I went to some lovely beaches. I adored Dubrovnik's beaches with its phenomenal views, and also had an interesting time in Amalfi (where a speedo-wearing slick-talking late-thirtysomething Italian man had me rowed out to his boat, where we splashed, rode into Amalfi Town, talked, and then he gave me a ride on his Vespa to my hostel). I must admit, the sand was rarely as nice as it is in New York (yes, even NYC!). Rocky beaches, or the horridly difficult beach of Riomaggiore (where one person left the beach before I arrived with medical assistance as he slipped on the rocks and hurt himself badly). I do like American beaches, though I don't like the close-minded nature of people about women sunbathing topless. Tan lines (esp the traditional bikini lines around the neck that are most visible in summertime months) are not very attractive.

I have been becoming a connoisseur of sands. Coney Island--yuck, though it is very NYC as J says, and you can always go on the rides, play skeeball or walk the boardwalk. Brighton Beach has nice sand, and small (or no) waves, which I like. Jacob Riis has lovely sand, but crashing waves. Long Beach is expensive ($7 per person; I'm used to using my Nassau County drivers license to pay $6 per car with T, which is split between all of the car's inhabitants) but with nice waves. Jones Beach is nice but I *hate* the walk from the car/bus to the beach. So far. Also crowded. Point Lookout is all families (and where my parents always took me as a child) and I do admit, Lido is probably my favorite.

I went to the beach yesterday, and the day before, and I am excited about going to the beach this Saturday--Robert Moses. Me, Rachelle, maybe some sandwiches, trashy novels--sounds like a fantastic day to me.

people obsessed with pvd

yup, me and peter. i personally know of three heterosexual men who adore pvd more than i do, who say, "i love pvd!" this is one of them; my friend peter and i, a few weeks ago. friday night we were both dancing our asses off (and hurting our respective injuries further, booo!) at paul van dyk at central park. i fucking love pvd. i never felt like i was having an orgasm while hearing music dancing at a party before. now i know what it's like. thanks, pvd, for playing dogzilla's "without you." i never danced so much nonstop to a dj--he plays no filler, just fucking brilliant music.

said by t in regards to a shallow person i know

"she swims in a pretty shallow pool of water"

a touch of nature

an insect, or bird, twittering outside my window;
i am excited.

sad at how little nature there is in new york city that i become excited about this minor sound.

sometimes, the suburbs have so much to offer.

coffee break

My coworker and I decided to take a break and sit by the East River to talk (we work on Wall Street) so we sat on a bench. All of the other benches were empty until this guy in a white dress shirt sat across from us. Being a territorial New Yorker, Candice said, "Ugh, why does he have to sit right next to us?"

We continue chatting when movement catches my eye. The fucker is masturbating himself on the East River Park & Wall Street, right next to the tourist-filled South Street Seaport. "Get up, move, now!" I tell Candice. She follows and I say, "Quicker!"

I turn around and see him walking away. He knew we knew. I screamed, "Pervert!" and he started running. "PERVERT!"

Next time I need to take a photo. I'm glad I yelled pervert but what a total asshole. Ugh. The last thing I need/want to see in the middle of the day is some middle-age exhibitionist's disgusting penis.

enough cryin lyrics

Enough Cryin' Lyrics
Mary J. Blige

Cause
The sex was good
You had my mind
And I
I let you
Come back
Every time
You would
Violate
And cross
The line
And you
Knew that I
Would be
The type
To always
Wait so patiently
Thinkin'
You was comin'
Home to me
Well
Damn, I never heard
The keys
Or
Felt ya taps
Sayin' are
You sleep

Rewind that!

Cause
The sex was good
You had my mind
And I
I let you
Come back
Every time
You would
Violate
And cross
The line
And you
Knew that I
Would be
The type
To always
Wait so patiently
Thinkin'
You was comin'
Home to me
Well
Damn, I never heard
The keys
Or
Felt ya taps
Sayin' are
You sleep

Chorus:

Don't wanna
Play house
No more
So dumb
To think
You gon'
Marry me
I got to be out
My mind
To think I
Need someone
To carry me
I've done enough
Cryin', cryin', cryin'
(Cryin', cryin', cryin')
It's time to say
Bye, bye, bye
It's time I
Do something
For me

It's time
I choose
My foes
Choose my friends
Be with my family
Baby, listen
Girlfriend
Where you been?
We ain't seen
You in weeks
Been chasin'
This fool around
Thinkin' he gon'
Hold me down
I would
Follow his lead
Thinkin' I would
Be the one
He keep around
When I ain't need
Not ya finance
And all that
I needed
Real commitment
I really couldn't see it
Not the real man
Said you was being
In this relationship
So many men
Think all
A girl needs
Is to be sold
A dream
But I won't
Fall for it

Repeat Chorus 1x

Bridge:

Don't wanna
Play house no more
You treat me wrong
Tired of you
Playin' me
I been lookin'
At the front door
This ain't yours
So let me do me
Don't wanna
Play house no more
No more
Tired of you
Playin' me
I've done enough
Cryin', cryin', cryin'
It's time
I do
Something for Me

Brook's Rap:

You turned ya back
And back
I came runnin'
But the simple
Fact is
That you
Ain't want me
I done enough
Lyin' and cryin'
To myself
Nothin' left
To do but move
What else
Can I do but leave?
I believed-ed you
When Mary need
But now I gotta breeze
I be's with LT
When you come
To ya senses
But then
It's too late
That's always
How it be
Catch me
With the B's
On the wheels
Giuseppe on the heels
Shoulda Marc Jacob
Fe Fe bag me
When you had me
Next dude
Will gladly
Pick up
Where you left off
Ice me
Wife me
You ain't gon'
Have me

[Mary]

Cryin', cryin', cryin'
(Cryin', cryin', cryin')
It's time to say
Bye, bye, bye
It's time I
Do something
For me

Repeat Chorus 2x

sometimes my friends can be bitches but i need them to be

well, that situation related to my own situation w/b... it was just pathetic & i was like 'why am i longing for this person who is not here & hasn t taken another step to be w/me (if we wants to be w/me soo much- as he says.' i think it s def. over for that ill scenario, i m not hanging onto it (from jessica)

thanks, jessica. i know i've been hanging onto the impossible. love is so complicated, so hard, but i can't hold onto it anymore. instead, i feel sad for what i've lost.

i need to smile and look forward to the future, put a brave face on: even if i don't feel brave, i must persevere.

please, be harsh to your friends when they are in love. they may be in love with someone from another country or another state or someone who's married to their sister, and afterwards, they'll thank you for the slap. j's honesty and v's honesty--both of you--i never would have disentangled myself from this mess if it wasn't for the both of you.

even if i did think you were a bitch at the time, or thought it was bitchy, i'm glad you did it.

love hurts.

did you know it's legal to fire someone because of their sexual orientation in 33 states?

yep, disgusting. gay marriage is a far dream away. at least in this world of corporate conglomerates, if you work for a big company, chances are they might be opposed to that and you won't be able to.

also depressing in today's new york times:

Military’s Discharges for Being Gay Rose in ’05

WASHINGTON, Aug. 14 — The Defense Department discharged 726 service members last year for being gay, up about 10 percent from 2004, figures released by a gay rights group show.


Ugh. I really hate the homophobia of this country.

why does my body betray me?

i exercise. i eat good--whole grains, vegetarian diet, mostly organic food. i sleep 7 or 8 hours most nights. i drink heaps of water. i don't drink soda, don't drink heaps of alcohol. i stretch, do yoga, don't eat heaps of fat or salt. i don't eat trans fats at all; i eat a minimal amount of high fructose corn syrup.

yet this is the third injury i've had since mid-june. third fucking injury. i have bursitis and my awesome doctor (who likes trance music and we like to chat when i see him) isn't in and is going on vacation wasn't there so i had to see the older doctor who is a total rude prick. manners are beyond him; gruffness is how he handles everything. i can't take off a fucking week of running! i am SO behind in my training already. i hate this. i am going to eat good and sleep and stretch and i am running as soon as it doesn't hurt. i hate my doctor. i need to run. he doesn't understand b/c he is heavy and obviously does not know the love that i feel for running.

running is the most important thing in my life. i lost the great love of my life; running has taken its place.

getting back into the flirting/dating thing is an odd adventure

scene: the water taxi beach with g and two guys, one of whom is a huge tool (who g is talking to at the time of this discussion)

non-tool guy: you smell really good.

me (making a joke): yeah, i showered today.

ntg: no, you smell really good....like, it's dangerous. i can't keep away from you. it draws me closer to you.

me (feeling uncomfortable at what to say to that): um, okay. (i take a step back, smelling my vanilla spice body lotion and cherie perfume by dior (which is good, esp b/c it shares my name!))

you know you're obsessed with marathon training when...

you find goo tasty.

goo (i prefer the power bar power gel kind) is a little packet of squishy carbohydrate-filled mush that you suck out of the little packet during a marathon or longer training run (or just randomly on the street, if you are like me). yum yum yum!

shout out to v

just wanted to provide a shout out to venessa, who's one of the coolest fucking women in the world, and i'm lucky to be such close friends with her. she recently left a difficult relationship and her mountain town to move across the country to start library school and live closer to her family. and it's been hard but she's doing it and i'm so proud of her. perseverence is key, as we all know, but especially v does. she listens to me babble about my relationship difficulties and crushes (she helped me through all my difficult times with t and continues to assist me in romantic entangles, and is one of the only people who doesn't get bored when i babble on and on). she fills my mailbox with thick envelopes full of her neat penmanship, which is always a great surprise and alternative to the many bills. also, venessa has introduced me to so many amazing new bands and musicians...like miri ben-ari (the hip hop violinist--i fucking love her!!!) and the raconteurs and ani difranco and neko case and the gossip and the list could go on pages and pages--and music is very important to me, i'm constantly listening to it so i truly thank v for that. she is a supportive, beautiful, amazing, wonderful, intelligent woman and i am so lucky we are friends. thanks, venessa!

said by g late last night, leaving the red party

"it's guys like that that make me think it's okay to be like, 'pull it out and show it to me.' and then say, 'oh, you're not my type,' when it's too small."

this guy was so ridiculous. he starts talking to us by saying, "i'm just going to listen to what you're saying," and i said, "no, actually, this is a private conversation." he counters with, "is it about boys? because i think i need to listen to that." "no it's not and it's private, sorry." he steps away for a second and pops his head into our area and begins talking about himself, the big fucking bore that he is, not realizing that he's pissing us off and by not listening to us, not respecting us, his chances of getting with us are now zilch. ugh.

this exhaustion

this exhaustion i feel when i think of your face, when i lift my feet, when i inhale...perhaps it is what is the reason for this heaviness in my lungs?

sexy summertime

it's a gorgeous day. i woke up at 645am on a saturday to go running for 2 hours 7 minutes and 45 seconds--feel brilliant, if a tad tired. i may indulge in an afternoon nap but today is so lovely i hesitate as i would miss out on all the beautiful sunshine.

summertime in new york is filled with sweating, running around to see friends, heaps of free events, late nights scanning the sky for stars. running is also taking up my days, with early morning runs followed by days of taking in enormous amounts of gatorade (i love the xfactor blends, yum!). which free event should i go to tomorrow? luckily, all of them are in williamsburg or greenpoint, so i can go to more than one.

i talked on the phone with two of my friends this afternoon about dating. i said i don't know how to do it--i was in a 6 1/2 year relationship and now i'm just confused. it's kind of fun but mostly confusing; and of course my heart is torn. so i'm not REALLY into dating, or anything, but more really, thinking about doing it and how i don't understand it. like g, she has 6 page MS word doc with notes from dating books. i don't think i need that but at the same time, i wonder, do i need to pay attention to the rules? i prefer to think of myself as a cyclist...obeying the rules when they make sense (like stopping at a red light when cars are coming) but going when they don't apply (like not making full stops at stop signs b/c it's hard to stop yr bike...i know, i know! it's brooklyn-style bicycling).

i think i'll just live. i'll let things happen--that's the best way to live, in my opinion. i don't want to stress out like my kid sister who is worrying about washers and dryers and that sort of thing. i want to live. i'm going to take a nap, then drink some more gatorade, write, maybe take little lunie in the park. i'm going to enjoy my sexy summer--and you should too.

vivir

to live. are you really living? or are you just really getting by, scraping by, breathing and sleeping and eating and excreting but giving off nothing but excess?

one night of fire

had one of the most amazing nights of my life on friday: combine fire with artists with fantastic energy with a roaming street party and you have one night of fire. over two thousand people joined in this night of fire.

we met on the infamous brooklyn bridge--the one tourists (this night, bewildered tourists) go on to take photos of the skyline, of themselves, and of the bridge. i got there several minutes late to a bridge full of stilt-walkers, drummers, cyclists, costumed people, radical cheerleaders (yup, that's me!), wigs, colors (esp red, orange, and yellow), boomboxes, drummers, and life. i could feel an incredible energy. i describe complacent party attendants as "hippies in new york city"--free spirits, artists, creative people, revelers. i met up with friends--some cheerleaders (patrick, gwendolyn, veronica (surprise! yay!) and jinxy (another surprise) and rachelle and peter--and had heaps of fun. i shared my homemade sangria (yum!) with friends and strangers while we struggled to remove fruit chunks with chopsticks. (next time i make sangria for a street party, i'm going to puree the fruit first.)

after a tug of war between manhattan and brooklyn (brooklyn won) we headed to cadman plaza park. cops and pedestrians looked bewildered as our massive group left the bridge. in the plaza, there was chanting, there was drumming, there was dancing, there was singing, there were hugs and love and sharing and glowing jewelry and wigs becoming lopsided but who cared? we were having fun.

but this street party was confusing: no one (except the tight-lipped organizers) knew where we were going. i didn't care; i liked the freedom in not knowing where my night would lead me. i danced, swirling and watching my dress billow around me (and showing off my pink striped underwear that matched my pink striped dress).

we started moving. we weren't sure where, but we were moving. we were going away from the f york st station (where i thought we would be leaving from). our parade continued down streets, cars stopping to shout (and because our crowds prevented them from driving), "what is this?" "a street party! join us!" we shouted, dancing, feeling no pain, feeling, finally, the taste of freedom.

i hugged friends, jumped into arms, shared sangria. but please, don't think it was a night of alcohol; i rarely saw alcohol. the sharing of sangria was a beautiful social occasion; it was delicious to drink and to share.

at jay st a/c/f station, we filed in. crowds. we swiped our metrocards, shouting, "where are we going?" "f train to coney island." okay. we waited on the platform while cops, people waiting for the train stared as us. who are these lunatics?

we are the complacent nation.

when the train arrived, there was drumming, stomping, clapping, shouting, screaming, squealing, kissing, hugging--a celebration in itself. we crammed on and the train sat in the station for several minutes while partygoers climbed on, rushing into crowded cars. when the train finally departed jay st, stomping, hands smacked the ceiling, whistles, shouts filled the air. football cheers i heard at world cup games filled the air. we kissed each other, crowd surfed, shared what we had, talked. confused passengers stared at us; our wings, our wings, our outrageousness. yes, we were having fun.

"this is not your station," a megaphone announced at early stations while revelers ran in between cars, finding a better party. people decorated train cars with posters. hearing the next car up was better, we ran there in between stations to find music, chanting, cheering, screaming, and an even better atmosphere. will the main organizer was there (who you can't help but have a crush one) and peter distributed gummy bears to a chant. we flitted our wings and fluttered our lashes and shared the love. "i have never had so much fun on the subway!"

we took the train all the way out to coney island, the last station. when we emerged, crowded, sweaty (remember, there were 2000 of us crammed into the trains, in addition to the other passengers there already.), shouting to be free. "we are free!"

"this is what freedom tastes like," i thought as people shot photographs and kissed and jumped and stomped and danced and twirled and welcomed the world.

we made a parade to the boardwalk, blocking traffic and laughing and spreading our love. on the boardwalk, we found the hungry march band already playing (i wish i had been in there train car as opposed to mine with a boombox) and i danced like crazy. people got fries at nathans. we shouted; we sweated; we had fun like never before. our huge crowd began slowly marching down the boardwalk.

people raced down the boardwalk. "where's the fire?" images were projected onto a building while hardcore techno and techno played. i danced like nuts.

a fire show began. people spinning fire, dancing with fire, spitting fire. the cops eventually broke it up, but to their credit, were rather cool, letting everything go on for a long time.

after the fire show ended, the crowd spilled onto the beach. whistling sparklers were distributed. once mine was lit, i ran across the beach, holding my glowing sparkler in the air, running for everything. when it went out, i jumped, "yes!"

people started swimming. "i don't have a bathing suit." people swam in their underwear. people swam in nothing. an image: patrick aka trixxi trash walking into the water, buttnaked, holding a cigarette. we swam, splashing each other, squealing, "i feel so free." stepping on a crab we swam away, splashed. who cared? we were free. we are free.

the cops eventually stopped this fun too. what a surprise. rather funny yet embarassing as people ran naked from the water through a sea of cops to find their clothes. laughter. "this is a fun way to spend a night." what could be better than this?

there was pressure to move back to the boardwalk, so we did. on the boardwalk, people hung out. a woman instructed patrick on how to put his stockings back on. rachelle and i shared a funnel cake. we spread the love. the stars--"this is what nyc is about."

we headed to the more secret of the two after parties, a dumbo loft i've been to before. sweating, tired, we chilled, drinking vitamin water and beer, sharing chips and love, dancing. first amazing tribal music, then live drumming (amazing--and it was totally spontaneous! anyone could join.), then this crazy, eclectic and surreal techno. i danced with my heart and my entire being.

at 5am, friends decided to leave; gwendolyn and i shared a cab home together. getting home, i showered to rinse remnants of sand from my body, feeling free, feeling amazing. my wings (i was a lightning bug) were rather damaged, but can be repaired.

for a night, everyone, we were free.

photos:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/drierp/sets/72157594220048195/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/classicgirl/
http://www.ahutchdesign.com/nightoffire/
http://www.601video.com/files/danger/index.html
http://www.flickr.com/search/?q=one+night+of+fire&z=t
video: http://www.youtube.com/results?tag=onenightoffire