GIRLTALK is BACK.
funny how things change so quickly.
i don't think i'm going to be a barista after all (which makes me sad)
i don't have to take out my eyebrow ring (which is really the only upside to all this)
i remain fiscally unstable.
and this tutoring business...
[i missed my kids a lot today, though. even the upstarts.]
night yoga. garlic couscous. F.R.I.E.N.D.S. thanksgiving. battle studies for real life.
they say that DC will eat you alive if you don't scratch your way in. walking passed a house in columbia heights where a little boy was shot is surreal because it was growing to be an ordinary part of my mornings. before, i never used to believe that a tragedy like that could ever return to normalcy. except in this monster of a city, it has to. people wouldn't survive if they didn't keep moving. you can see that just from riding the subway. some days. some days, you know? i just wanted my life to start, that's all. that's all anybody really wants, right? i mean, besides the babies and the diamonds. cover me in bling, baby. really little things are getting me. the woman on the 15th/columbia intersection who decided to speak to me en espanol. the scraggily charming clerk who followed me around in assistance at staples. the caribbean woman whose cafe smelled like himal + jolly bob's and whose directions eventually saved my life. the adorable mountainman/dirty hippie who was carrying homemade macrame lampshades (with manatees!) on the metro. when i get a paycheck + an apartment (and maybe a second job...) i am going back to that bookstore at eastern market and i am going to browse for hours. if i have nothing in my room except my yoga mat, a pile of books, white christmas lights, and that collage of jack kerouac & the streakers, i wouldn't be terribly sad. which is probably a good thing, because i don't think i'm going to have much of a choice.
reconnecting, and not with the people i would have thought.
another little thing? dwight schrute. and so i leave you with {the office}
What is my perfect crime? I break into Tiffany's at midnight. Do I go for the vault? No. I go for the chandelier. It's priceless. As I'm taking it down, a woman catches me. She tells me to stop. It's her father's business. She's Tiffany. I say no. We make love all night. In the morning cops come and I escape in one of their uniforms. I tell her to meet me in Mexico, but I go to Canada. I don't trust her. Besides, I like the cold. Thirty years later I get a postcard. I have a son, and he's the chief of police. This is where the story gets interesting: I tell Tiffany to meet me in Paris by the Trocadaro. She's been waiting for me all these years, she's never taken another lover. I don't care, I don't show up. I go to Berlin. That's where I stashed the chandelier.
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