it’s hard out here for a milf

i mean, i suppose.

i’m great-full to the store for the reflections of womanhood past, present, and future, even when they come like ghosts which make me muthafuckin’ scrooge.

(and not even the fun one that somehow doesn’t hurt himself diving through gold coins, either).

this one goes out to the straw that broke the camel’s back with this one particular milf.

she’s fucking hot. smoking hot. the whole visual package.

but i’m over how she has nothing to talk about if not the shortcomings of mens.

she claims that she just wants to get laid, but has not followed my advice to do so, which was to start a tinder account, post a picture of herself and write “i don’t care about your feelings”.

clearly, she wants more than to swipe right. or be swiped.

but, after (what seems like) years of hearing her complain about men-i’m over it.

feeling like the lancome lady, i was trapped into a corner of her telling me the story of how she had sex with an unattractive man (again) but she finds him sexy somehow. from the autistic to the slovenly to the social losers-she’s put herself out there time and time again doing charity for these zeros, and they still somehow leave her hanging.

seeing her makes me kind of sad, reminds me that i don’t want anyone’s confusing energy, and i don’t want to give off any confusing energy, and i really don’t want to get to the place where i’m so delusional about what i want that i’m her.

i wish her all the best, truly. i just don’t want to fucking hear about it any more.

fresh kills

the buddhist monk asked me, “what are you doing? killing?”

i can’t lie to anyone, let alone a buddhist monk, so i sighed, looked him straight in the eye and owned up to my actions, “yea. i am killing.”

“that’s not very nice.”

and then he went on to make a strangling motion and talk about how he saw the suffering in the eyes of animals and we spoke brokenly about compassion and cigarettes that i mistook as clove.

why was i killing? (with great energy and precision, it should be noted). i was killing because i was frustrated and tired and premenstrual and hangry. i wasn’t feeling particularly great-full, and was on the verge of tears (and full out crying) all dang day. i was killing because i was feeling powerless, and projecting all of these feelings into a deft swatting arm.

i was killing because flies are vermin, and it is satisfying to end a problem (real or perceived). and because they are as plentiful as all of the not-so-easily resolved “problems”, you can get caught up in a killing trance. stay in that mesmerizingly distracting sense of accomplishment.

amanda started not to wipe the blade, and i followed suit. i killed recklessly and left the bodies, broken and bloodied and made macabre jokes about aging out the job of child soldier, but being qualified to train them. i started talking to the flies as if they were my trainees. skipping the three step training module and going straight to the double reward of extra shit if they slaughtered their families. (the flies are smaller this year than they have been in previous years).

today was the first day that i embraced the plastic fly swatter. i usually favour a towel for its quick whip and large surface area. i reflected on my best kill when i caught a pair off guard-during coitus interruptus. except i was the interrupter. aw, yea. did i ever interrupt her. and him. or him and him. or them and them. however the fuck flies fuck-i don’t really give a fuck. i just wanna fuckin’ hate. (tell me who you want to fuck and hate).

apparently-i am capable of total and complete fly murder.

but i can laugh at myself. when i relayed this story to my colleagues, i was asked:

“do you know why that monk is here?”

i guessed, “because he was thrown out of the monkery?”

“no-his last job was at the chicken slaughterhouse, and he couldn’t handle the killing.”

that explains the strangling motions.

you know what compassion is? compassion is shaming someone without shaming her at all.

compassion is holding up a mirror so the killer can shame/hang herself.

why do they call it “killing” when you do something well? when you rock the flyest outfit or do the best standup set?

why are we so focused on “slaying” and being the only one? we can’t count it as an accomplishment unless we eliminate all of the “competition”.

why don’t we talk about how lonely it is to kill everyone around you? why do we act like there’s no room for all of us when there absolutely is?

why do we get so stressed out when we’re not killing that we settle for walking dead?

corey booker said on the philly free library podcast tonight (to me), “you can’t be a great lover without knowing immense heartbreak”.

it’s easier to kill (and die) than it is to live, and that’s what we do when we give up.

but we (the royal) do not give up.

tomorrow will come and bring forth new opportunities to keep living and helping others keep living.

with all the gratitude for the spirits, earthbodied and otherwise, i give thanks for the library book that i did not lose after all, this buddhist monk, a well-stashed tandoori chicken naan, palo santo, that visioning exercise, and my homegirls who are already holding space for me on that boat spa.

i promise not to kill any more, or not exhibit any more “virgo misery”, at least until my birth day.

sausage party-dir. conrad vernon and greg tiernan

“the great beyond is bullshit”

it would seem that this is still the end.

i was first shown the trailer for this movie months ago by my coworkers. i was terrified. granted, i get scared easily at the movies but this seemed to me like over the hedge meets texas chainsaw massacre.

what i wasn’t expecting was the extreme violence, the clever puns, and the constant references to cum and cumming on peoples’ faces and eyes and blinding them from the truth, and the actually disgusting personification of a used condom, replete with jizz.

and then i realized that this is a continuation of the discussions of religion and life after death that the disciples of judd apatow seem to be fixated upon. the lone woman this time is kristen wiig, and i’m not mad about that, but it did bring to attention how many overlapping names were at the marquee, and it’s clear that our global distribution problems not only apply (crucially) to food and water, but also to jobs and representations.

what does it mean when these stoners who seem to have everything, including having figured out a way to make millions sustaining their stonerisms and the stuff of their 12-year old wet dreams, seem terrified of everyone buying into the hype of heaven?

i mean, how the fuck do i know?

i just know that that animated grocery-orgy finale has just trumped the 18-minute puppet sex sequence (that may not have made it into the u$ version) of team america, and honey mustard will stay talking crazy.

also, the mural is gone at the carlton because imagine now owns rainbow cinemas, this movie was shown in theatre 9, locker number 9 gave me back my quarter at the alexandra park pool (which is much bigger than any that i’ve swam in recently), and banh mi bar makes a great iced coffee with not too much condensed milk.

and i had an eclair today, and played the piano at parkdale for a bonus hour-whut whut.

this is how you lose a dinner

-be an overall sketchy and confusing human
-send repeated texts addressing me as “chica”
-be late after not explaining why you didn’t show up after you were really really late
-mention your ex when you order your beer (after you say you’re fine with water)
-mention spending christmas with your ex’s friends and be appalled by their food wastage, don’t finish your food, ask for it to be packed up, and then forget about it completely
-leave the table repeatedly to go to the bathroom
-be genuinely surprised that the patriarchy exists
-figure out that i don’t want you to touch my pyrite because i don’t want you to rub your energy onto it-but then go for it anyway (disrespect-full idiot!)
-smell like sweaty, sweaty dough
-pee on the fence beside your car (after you had just gone to the bathroom 3 minutes before-what, do you have diabetes?!)
-almost run over tuxedo cat with the hitler ‘stache
-blame your parents for giving you an ethnic name and “stacking the deck” against you
-legally changing your name to the most common of names and claim that “i make more money now, so i should’ve done it 15 years ago”
-open my door after all of this and pat yourself on the back for “chivalry”
-lie one final lie of “you’ll hear from me soon”

how i won that same dinner:

-i got to catch up with one of my baby boyfriends outside, and get the skinny on all the best dishes to order
-i did not introduce you a) because i have no idea what name you’re going by and b) you’re fucking late c) you’ve blown your chance of being around past tonight before you even showed your face, but i wanted to return that thing around your neck
-octopus was ordered and thoroughly enjoyed
-i had a delicious cornish game hen and mixed vegetables
-that game hen started my friendship with the women at the next table, who i found infinitely more interesting than you
-the tiramisu was made with amaretto-the right way
-during one of your bathroom breaks, the ladies asked me “is this a date?” and i answered, “no, i think it’s some kind of punishment”
-during another one of your bathroom breaks, the ladies noticed that you went to the bathroom a lot and i mused that you didn’t finish your dinner so you were probably down there making yourself puke
-this was the one that made them want to take pictures and exchange numbers with me
-i got to try another dessert (the sticky toffee bread pudding with banana ice cream-it tasted like a dang fritter! and got that hot and cold mix to perfection) because the ladies invited me to taste the one i chose for them
-you were not and nobody felt a way about that
-one of my new friends shouted to you to pick up your forgotten dinner because “you’ll be hungry later when you don’t get laid”
-i got home full of delicious food and the satisfaction of knowing that i have made the right decision by deciding to be celibate and bidding you good riddance (but thank you) for helping me figure that out

this metrotextual week

“you can play it, if you can play”

“so you know, it’s a blessing and a curse”

“this person got an award for genocide”

it’s been a minute since i did a rundown like this, but these quotes basically highlight my life right now. i have been working long hours, but have been blessed with lovely company, the ghostbusters movie (and subsequent obsession with kate mckinnon-why did nobody tell me?!), paddle boarding with my girl jen at osha osha, starbaby bruja ceremonies, onpoint tarot readings, and the world of pianos opening up to me.

tonight’s victory was my weekly 2-hour allotment at one of my home branches-parkdale-and coming up to find the treasures of nina simone‘s sheet music, beyonce’s 4 album in sheet music, and a hits collection containing abel’s song from 50 shades-whoot! next week’s “lesson”-i see you. i’ve been banging out the muppet show theme, a chopin prelude, mary had a little lamb jazz improv, ii v I chords, end of the road (gotta have a kenneth ‘babyface’ edmonds tune for wayne), and this week-i learned ‘gold’ from the gold experience sheet music that i forgot i had. (shoutout to ohini for holding it for me these last years, though where are my peanuts songbook and alicia keys’ diary songbook?)

i also came into a wealth of basketball books, and restricted myself to britney griner‘s book and one about lebron called the whore of akron, but i did pick up ?uestlove’s book (which features interesting write-ups by fred armisen and amy poehler) and the rap yearbook. (sigh). i love the library sooooo much!

i’ve also been blessed with surprise calls from my pops, who seems to be answering my un/conscious wonderings about my other parent-we had a lovely discussion the other night about love, marriage, “humility” (i had to sit through him telling me how good-looking he is and how he’s got a light about him and it’s not his fault that people want to be in it), family, haters and backstabbers, and i even got a serenade of the evita theme song, with my name subbed in for “argentina”.

i got palo santo, superhit, and little coals to burn my long-resting loose incense, so my fire-sanctifying game is on point.

i also got a dope set of ghanaian hand-woven baskets with my girl-i was only supposed to be there for moral support. but they are proudly holding my belongings all over, and i picked up my acid wash bag after its zipper reset by sole survivor.

it’s cooler after the rain, and although i didn’t get to go swimming on my day off, i am inspired to find more public pools before the season is out. i didn’t even fall of my board into the humber last night, and we went out despite the calls for thunderstorms.

i hear tell of a piano at hart house that may be available, and just noticed the one at the carlton cinema (since i’m noticing such things these days) and can’t wait to whittle down my 2000 hours there as well.

i’ve decided that i’m dedicating 10,000 hours to being an all-round good person and have broken that down into five categories: health, learning, making, sharing, and home. luckily, i’ve already been on a path for all of this already, i’m just doing it more intentionally now.

i was also fortunate enough to witness young‘s latest theatrical creation, bleeders at summerworks, and i ran into so many lovelies there. bigups on (obviously) winning the audience choice award.

i’m sad that i didn’t get to see high blood, though i’m proud to say that i’ve got heart ties to that camp as well, and i got to make one of the stars a matcha when he woke up from the long (and well-deserved) slumber.

i don’t even want to go to sleep, but there’s a lot to get to, and a lot to look forward to, as per usual. love!

the sympathizer-viet thanh nguyen (finale)

“We genuflected, but in actuality we were atheists who had chosen communism over God.” (25)

“My mother called me her love child, but I do not like to dwell on that. In the end, my father had it right. He called me nothing at all.” (20)

“Despair may be thick, but friendship’s thicker. After that, nothing more needed to be said, our camaraderie enough as we heeded the call of the Katyusha rockets, hissing in the distance like librarians demanding silence.” (34)

“He was the only many I had ever met who seemed moved, deeply, not only by love but also the prospect of killing. While he was an expert by necessity, i was a novice by choice, despite having my opportunities.” (95)

“It was, instead, the best kind of truth, the one that meant at least two things.” (116)

“And that’s precisely how she spoke, trimming pronouns and periods, as if punctuation and grammar were wasted on me.” (122)

“…the thickish manila envelope arriving with my name misspelled in a beautifully cursive hand.” (122)

“One could choose between innocence and experience, but one could not have both.” (143)

“The communists hate love songs, said the admiral. They don’t believe in love or romance or entertainment. They believe the people should only love the revolution and the country. But the people love love songs, and we serve the people.” (285)

“What makes us human is that we’re the only creatures on this planet that can fuck ourselves.” (237)

“That’s a good word. Always resent, never relent. Perhaps that should be our motto.” (133)

it wasn’t until i copy/pasted that second passage that i remembered that the protagonist in this story is nameless. unlike the haters, i love that. i love it because often, when we are telling war stories, we forget those who are in certain boats, probably because it would break our hearts to say their names. i love it because this is a story for all of the nameless. that this is an example of how sometimes, the story isn’t written by the victors. or maybe, that the victors didn’t actually win. judging by american cinema, this is point of contention over a war that on the other side, is known as the american war.

once again, i love this book and i’m proud.