30 October 2019

0 wah-wah

i'm in the shower, trying to have a think, trying to will myself to cry, to dispel the black cloud that's been over me all day.

because there's this shitshow going down in london, in which i am merely a bit player in an off-stage role. but it has nonetheless, temporarily, undone me-- destabilized so much of my sense of myself in the last three years.

and i want to tell everyone i know this story, because i cannot write about it because it is not mine.

so i text EL and i think i'll call AD and it isn't until 2 in the afternoon, when i take shower solely in the hope that maybe, in the shower, i'll be able to cry, that i realize, actually, the only person in my life i want to talk to in that moment is donovan.

isn't that funny?

isn't that so fucking tragic?

that he's been dead for seven years.

28 October 2019

0 there is this shitshow on another continent

of which i am on the periphery. it involves a shitty man.

my story intersects with it, overlaps; they are contiguous.

but it is not entirely my story to tell.

as someone whose primary means of emotional coping is writing stories, i deeply resent this. because, on some level, part of the infringement that has occurred here is that my story has been thieved away.

to compensate, i'm telling every straight man in my life this story. from beginning to end.

may i tell you a fucked up story? i ask them. because, first, i want their consent. then i want to see their faces fall. to see them shake their heads and laugh-- because, horrible as the story in its entirety is, we all agree that my role in it is both tragic and darkly funny. to see them struggle to find words to meet the horror i have just laid out. i want to watch them grapple.

this is not kind of me. but, right now, it seems fair.

it's been striking that each man i've asked this of-- when i ask, may i tell you a fucked up story?-- their first response, before they say yes, is are you ok? 

18 October 2019

0 the most DC thing to happen since i moved to DC

i'm at the hair cuttery when i hear her say hello, and the beautician says, heyyyy, d____, and i know it's who i think it is.

she's here because it rained earlier in the week and she needs to get her curls redone because the TV people screwed them up.

i am at a discount hair cut chain getting my hair cut two chairs over from d_____.

she tells us about her curls and what the combination of the rain and the TV people did to them. we talk hairsprays. i say the words "aqua net" and everyone laughs in glee because they've not thought of aqua net in years, decades even. they wonder if it still exists. i inform them, sagely, yes, it does. and it is as reliable as ever. 

i'm getting my hair professionally cut for the first time in a year and a half as a treat in the midst of grading undergrad essays. i did not expect to be an accidental spokesperson for aquanet in front of someone i've seen so regularly on TV. 

her skin GLOWS. like, RADIANTLY. presumably partly from the make-up but also from having really fucking good skin.

i wonder if she uses creme de la mer. i wonder if creme de la mer is worth it. i wonder if i will ever have enough money to buy a thimble-full of creme de la mer and find out.

her lashes were false but very well fitted. she says she didn't wear them until after 2016, because 2016 was so bad and now she's on the channel, they have to wear them. the channel demands it.

the stylist confesses to me that she has never tried fake lashes in her life but admires them on others.

i confide back that i have tried them but always fail to correctly situate them on my lash line so, instead of having amazing lashes, it looks like i have two eyelids.

but your lashes are really good already, she says, and i say, i know, before i realize that i have just met this person and this is kind of the rudest possible response. but also my lashes are really good and i do know this. it is like the only compliment i accept and trust.

d_______ engages the woman two chairs over on the other side in a discussion of allergies. "the revenge of the swamp" she calls them, as she tells us a story about the congestion she experienced after chasing down trash in her yard the night before because her neighbor didn't properly adhere their garbage bin lid.

the woman two chairs over on the other side suggests an allergist. she tells us the details of her visit to the allergist. how they prick you with all those allergens. how they pricked her and she blew up and was allergic to everything from cockroaches to cats to dill.

COCKROACHES! we all say in unison. d______ launches in to a story about growing up in the south, how the cockroaches were always around and how she and her brothers and sisters would name them and say, oh, there comes george now, in for the night.

i don't usually start the day with 7/11 coffee and a doughnut, she said. that was how she opened this whole conversation. fresh from the television, sitting in a beautician's chair, curls undone, a cup of 7/11 coffee and a doughnut beside her as she scrolled on her ipad.

but, really, hell of a way to start a friday.

0 the return of puff puff