Archive for the ‘Time Travel’ Category

That was the only phrase the “man” in the red shirt could utter in English that crucial, balmy Venice evening (er, morning) back in the summer of ’02. I still don’t know if those words rang true or if he was just a behind the times Fine Young Cannibals fan. For whatever reason I decided to leave my virginity with that… Angel.

I wanted the journal entry I wrote the next morning while riding the train to Venice to accompany this photo — but I just read through it once more and it’s still that brand of dry heave inducing, coming-of-age mortification. I’m talking the feeling took me back to that moment in 3rd grade when I spilled chili directly into my crotch on my birthday and couldn’t get ahold of my parents for a change of clothes embarrassment.

His name is Luca and that’s all I know.  Admittedly, as tragic as that t-shirt is… I’d totally scoop it up for a crisp Lincoln if the Salvation Army ever gave me the chance. An insignificant extension of me would wear it while taking someone else’s virginity, but I think that’s the wrong kind of paying it forward.

I’m glad he carried condoms in his tiny, baby blue backpack and that he wore reflective sneakers.  Dual levels of safety first.

I think this quote from a friend sums it all up quite nicely:  “blake:  you lost your virginity to a gay dude?”

Because I’m pretty sure I did.


Read Full Post »

You should know that everything and nothing has happened since I spilled my jumping beans about retarded werewolves five months ago.

I fell in and out of like with a few people on my accidental quest for a new teammate in life.  The good news is that I’m pretty sure that only One Third of that bunch is still harboring adverse feelings toward me.  I regret leaving a grubby little snail trail of feelings behind me.  Don’t think I haven’t slid around on them myself.

You could trace them all the way back to Six Flags Over Texas circa 1995.  That was the time my internet boyfriend from AOL Teen Chat: The Half Pipe was going to meet me, Daisy1356, in the flesh for the first time.  I can’t believe there was actually a time in which we had to rely solely on strangers’ descriptions of themselves, and man were they idealistic.  I’m pretty sure mine was wholly inaccurate, too.  And by “pretty sure” I mean I was at least four years older with a tan just a smidge lighter than Idi Amin’s.  Anyway, Adrian was unsurprisingly nothing close to what he’d described.  Instead of respectfully explaining myself face to face, I tucked tail, ran the opposite direction toward all things Mommy and Daddy, and changed my screen name upon returning home.

That was a very long path to something I wanted to address:  the fact that explaining undesirable feelings in person doesn’t seem to have a more positive effect.  But I’m an adult and I can’t go on letting just everyone assume I’ve been disemboweled in a freakish amusement park accident (or can I) never to be seen or heard from again.

However painful and embarrassing, I want to remember the moment in which the aforementioned One Third said, “Normally I’d say that’s a beautiful sky, but right now it just looks like a shitty watercolor” while gazing upward. That was obviously immediately after I spewed some unpleasant feelings aloud.  There is no smooth way to tell someone that you’re not the right fit for them, but that was definitely the smoothest way anyone has ever called me an asshole.

A couple days later I met with the manager of a local Italian market where I was hoping to score some weekend catering work (this was all part of my grand scheme to gather extra funds for traveling and so far it’s granted me one ticket to Chicago come September where I’ll visit with an extraordinary friend and wangle my very first tattoo).

I was instantly distracted by a handsome vision behind the deli counter.  He was back lit bright, nestled between cheeses, and stood tall beneath a dangling halo of authentic Italian meats that swung slightly in the recycled air.

I was hired on the spot and it took a dreadfully (probably karmically deserved) long time for Meat Halo to even notice me, let alone ask me out.

After one of our first dates to a Thai restaurant he left his pineapple fried rice with extra cashews in my fridge.  Realizing this the following day, he sweetly offered the remnants to me.  I accepted the offer and sent them directly to what I’d originally thought to be a quaint home, the inside of my growling tummy.


I hadn’t eaten a cashew in a couple decades.  In fact, the last time I’d eaten cashews was quite memorable for everyone involved.  My parents had taken me to some boring wedding where I’d taken the liberty of emptying an entire bowl of these complimentary, oily, tropical treats into my seven year old gob.  I brought that reception back to life by tossing them right back up on the pool deck about a half hour later.  At least I was able to shout, “I THINK I’M GONNA…” beforehand.

A similar feeling washed over me this time, Hulk-like in its particular shade of green coupled with abnormally high body temperatures.  Just imagine that instead of raging super human strength, Bruce produced raging super human puke and there you have me.  I snuggled my water conserving toilet all night long.  Go green!  Awesome, I did.

I visited a local allergist after this episode, apparently through a super secret worm hole to the year 1987.  Could it be that I’d died and gone to mauve heaven?  The examination table was newborn baby bulb syringe blue and while the nurse dutifully demonstrated how to use an epipen I noticed the top supply drawer had a label on it that read:  FACIAL TISSUE.  Frightening!  Phew.  The drama I’d longed for in her performance was found there instead.

On my way out, clutching epinephrine prescription and pamphlet advertising medic alert bracelets with MOOD CHANGING BEADS, I noticed a lunatic, framed photo above the hand washing station.  It captured a mystery person from the waist down, top portion of their body covered by the full branches of a tree they stood behind.  As I stepped closer to inspect what I’d originally thought to be a foggy spot on the glass caused by moisture damage, I realized that the tree in this photograph was on FIRE and the foggy spot was actually a cloud of smoke billowing forth.

At the time it didn’t make a lick of sense, but I realize that the joke was on me and this mystery man is what one might warmly refer to as a Tree Nut.


Read Full Post »

Did you know that trees have something called a crotch angle?  I can’t read about them without snickering.

“If removal of a “V” crotch will destroy the shape of the tree, you can leave it in and add artificial support using cables and hooks.”

I think I’ve gone to bed at night hoping I’ll awake less awkward for over twenty years now.  Just when I think I’m getting the hang of it that dainty, towheaded girl from the gym wants to talk to me about books again and my tongue is too busy curling itself tightly around my brain (like a boa constrictor) to speak or gather my thoughts.

It released its death grip long enough for us to discuss starting a book trade and I brought her my selection the next day.  I spotted her on my way out and nimbly made my way over.  

Okay, I’m lying.  I was so inexplicably anxious to hand it off that I handled the thing like a hot potato.  And I walked on searing coals to get there.  Did I say “ooo, ahh eee” out loud!?  I can’t be too sure. 

I’m in the middle of Ann Rule’s The Stranger Beside Me and I’m worried she’s going to ask if she can borrow it next.  I think I’ll tell her that I’m sorry, but my copy smells like Bradford Pears. 

(In so many words, a “v” crotch.)

Read Full Post »

The bends.

Shouldn’t we all be able to hop right into a decompression chamber after a visit home for the holidays?  I came up too fast and my brain is swelling.  I know this because I attempted to put my underwear on over my head yesterday morning.  Contrary to popular belief I’m actually not even a buttface.

I braved the great state of Texas alone this year.  Time alone with dad, mom #3, and mom #2 is fairly normal.  Time alone with my biological mother is like having someone throw foam bricks at your head (that being said please know that I would rip my intestines out and jump rope with them if it made her happy). 

The foam brick is always something like, “Your cousin spends 20 hours a day on the computer pretending to be a black teenage gang member on Second Life.”  Or my newest favorite, “Your uncle is a transvestite!”

I have to admit I would prefer it if my cousin wasn’t in a virtual gang, but I can’t say I’m losing any sleep worrying that she’ll be caught in a deadly spray of virtual drive-by bullets.   

When we’re spending time alone together it quickly becomes a secret contest to see who can go the longest without crying.  I always win.  That’s not necessarily something to be proud of though.  The award for something like that would probably be in the shape of a big, hairy butt crack and I’d have to hide it in the closet.

I just love her and want to rescue her so badly that it makes me physically ill.  She just had lap band surgery, so if she eats more than a fist full of food at one sitting it starts coming back up.  I admire her for handling so many other traumatic things gracefully, but especially this. 

We were having Chinese and she excused herself with a smile while I gasped for air.  I watched her walk to the bathroom and filled my mouth with a gulp of water so I couldn’t scream, “MOMMY!!!”  I’m instantly nine years old again in her presence. 

She assured me that it was only regurgitation, as opposed to the complex vomiting reflex.  I asked her to give me the signal and I’d run out to the courtyard next time and find her a nest of baby birds. 

At that point I felt a brain link between us and we stared silently into our own separate space for a moment.  I was thinking I’m the only one who understands what a special person my mother is. 

She was probably thinking she’s responsible for passing the daydream gene onto me.

Read Full Post »

Crime travel.

I’d like to take this opportunity to recommend to you a few movies about time travel since we can’t seem to get enough of them lately.  I’ve felt a strong attachment to this particular genre for quite some time. 

I built space shuttles out of refrigerator boxes when I was a kid and had a crush on my 6th grade Science teacher, Mr. McMan (possibly in the witness protection program), and once nervously ate 2 entire bags of freeze dried strawberries to “impress” him.  Barfing them up in the hallway outside the classroom didn’t really impress anyone, but I was a little ahead of my time.

1.  Timecop (1994)

Okay, I’m kidding.  That’s more like crime travel anyway.

2. Happy Accidents (2000)

You’d never expect love and time travel to go together so well and neither would I.  Marisa Tomei and Vincent D’Onofrio however strangely make a very charming/realistic pair.  It’s refreshing for fans of the simple late 80s early 90s romantic comedy formula that I dearly miss.  Sorry, my period is just oozing out of this honorable mention.   

Also, the director, Brad Anderson, was behind another crazy, psychological thriller set in a mental hospital that I enjoyed called Session 9 (2001).

3. The Jacket (2005)

Instead of copying a plot summary from IMDB I’m going to share with you a couple juvenile things you won’t find there.  I will tell you that a sex scene between these two was a little hard to watch.  They’re both quite slender and I wonder how long it took them to edit out the sound of bones click-clacking.  I even joked aloud that they were going to start a fire if they rubbed each other much longer.  Also, Keira’s right boob (left one m.i.a.) looks exactly like a “beetle hat”.  You know, when you fry bologna and it turns up in the middle? 

Now that I got the important stuff out of the way I’ll say that I sort of expected this sci fi thriller to blow hard with a vengeance and it surprisingly did not.  I was glued to the story and excited by cameos from Jennifer Jason Leigh, Daniel Craig, Kris Kristofferson, and Brad Renfro. 

4. Sunshine (2007)

I’ll admit I have a soft spot for director Danny Boyle (Trainspotting, 28 Days Later), so even though the plot sounded sadly similar to Armageddon I took a chance.  Ben even read the back and said, “Ah, just like that movie with Bruce Willis…”  I was a semi nervous about an Aerosmith ballad popping up randomly, too.  However, one of the actors does resemble Dave Navarro.  

It takes place 50 years into the future when the sun is dying and a team of astronauts/scientists set out on a mission to save planet earth.  Not all of them are as good looking as Cillian Murphy and no one has embarrassing end of the world sex. 

We watched it last night and I held a blanket up to my face in suspense for about an hour.  I did that horrible yelling at the actors on the screen thing, too.  I couldn’t help it.  I was stressed out and involved.  In other words, it’s excellent for a night on the couch where you’re free to have zero manners.

That’s my favorite kind of night. 

Read Full Post »