#26

we sit on a park bench and we smoke and we talk about the weather and our cats and our shoes and who spent more money on the other’s birthday present and the truth is, when i look at you now, after all these years i want nothing more-NOTHING more-than to punch you.

is that awful. i suspect it’s probably awful. i used to love you and i’ve become exceptionally good at pretending i still love you. god. there isn’t even a child keeping me here. i think i just really love the shoes you bought me for christmas last year and you always order just perfectly for me when we go for sushi. i’d hate to have to look for that all over again.

so, park bench and cigarettes it is. it could be worse, i could have to have sex with you…

30.

the age, not the story.

i turned 30 and i’m writing something to submit somewhere and it’s fiction and it’s long-ish, longer than the stories on this blog anyway and so i’m comitting to that and perhaps a pause in the stories for a moment…

i turned 30. on september 11. 10 years after far too many people died and i turned 20, i turned 30. 3 days after i turned 30 i got a new job. i real job. one i go to every single day of the regular work week. at that job i use my vast freelance experience, the skills acquired during my degree and my diploma, and my brain. it feels good to use my brain to create something that will hopefully insprire and challenge my colleagues in this province of beautiful and passionate artists. i like it.

and i got some money to hire friends who are smarter than me and better at this playwriting thing to tell me how to fix my play and then act in it and direct it so maybe i can sell it and then people will watch it. that would nice, wouldn’ tit. (say that fast, i like it).

but something feels off at 30. at 24 days into 30 i feel grown up (to an extent) but i feel like i am failing myself in some way. i do not care for myself the way i should. i eat poorly and too much, i don’t floss or stretch nearly as much as i should, i self medicate with advil and antacids, and i stop for a week and then start all over. and when confronted with that truth i hide. i’m 30 and i am afraid of myself (sometimes). just sometimes.

but i am making a promise. when there is a little cash in the bank changes will be made. i realise it costs zero dollars to make change (pun!) but the things i want to do cost money. and my poverty usually means that when i pay for something i tend to stick to it a little harder. it will be hard, harder than a new job and using my brain and writing plays. all of that is easier than making sure i care for me.

i so rarely get all sentimental and honest and shit but sometimes-at milestone times-at 30-what else is there to do?

#25

…and this one’s true.

KMFDF

my first sexual experiences weren’t the stuff of legend or of trauma. sure, a little baggage from my teenage years may add sexy mystique to my current romantic situations or, maybe not. regardless, i had spent a lot of time kissing and other-ing with other girls and hadn’t ever really thought much about other-ing with boys. there was the french canadian first kiss and crushes here and there, sure, but i will forever remember the day that i definitely and forcefully wanted to FUCK a boy. don’t ask me his name because i’ll never be able to tell you, and it doesn’t really matter anyway. she was there, and i remember her name, and she wanted to hang out in her room but he was there and he was wearing KMFDM t-shirt.

the truth is, i’ve never listened to KMFDF, even now, more than twice as old as i was then and all i know is that they are some sort of industrial goth band thing. so there he was, KMFDF, he had brown hair and glasses and was possibly the most usual looking person i’d seen all week. he was my age and certainly not smarter than me but his tshirt told me that there was something mythical about him, something bad ass and different from all the boys i saw every day-all the boys in their tear-aways and basketball shorts and bad skin. i imagined him taking my hand and telling me it wouldn’t hurt, and sliding on top of me and kissing me and sneaking his hand down below into the unknown parts…and i WANTED it.

KMFDF.

nothing ever happened between us-i was too shy and he was wearing a KMFDF t-shirt and i was really only like nirvana at the time. it was a lifetime before a boy knew me the way i desired that boy to know me once upon a time. but goddamn it! i’ll never remember his name (kyle?) but i’ll never forget that first glowing, bright ache-not ever.

ad hoc risk

goodness i’m behind.. i’m really fucking behind and like my pal over there at permanently plural  i’d be lying if i didn’t admit that i was slightly disappointed in myself. i am not going to make a effort to catch up and write some crap that feels rushed and forced. instead, i’m going to catch up at the end of the year. when i hit weeks 50 and 51 i’ll start to panic. in the meantime… 25.

in other news: baby bears drinking from baby bottles is the CUTEST!

the grand romantic gesture

i’m behind on the stories and i have a lot of work to do for my fringe show but i gave my self a little break and went to see “crazy stupid love” with my mom and it got my brain going a bit and i need to write those things before i can work on lighting cues.

i like romantic comedies, i do. i like them because they are silly and formulaic and totally escapist. i like them because they are full of people i want to have sex with. HELLO RYAN GOSLING! and i also understand that they are UTTERLY unrealistic and i am ok with that. “crazy, stupid, love.” wasn’t so much a romantic comedy as it was a comedy of sorts about love but it made me realise something… i have never watched a movie about love (or sex) for that matter that i felt was for me; that i could identify with any of the main female protagonists…

this isn’t to say that i don’t believe in love because i do. i do completely! and i’ve been in love 4 times for real but i just can’t indentify. i don’t want to get into details galore about my personal life because it’s boring and irrelevant but for once, one time, for once i want to watch a movie in the big theatre having paid $12.50 and whatever for popcorn and see a comedy about love or a romantic comedy  where i feel like it’s for me. for a girl who doesn’t look at love in the same way that other people do. just something a little… “alternative” maybe.

that’s all. i thought i had to rant. i could rant. but i can’t. i won’t. that isn’t the point of blogs… that what beers and dear friends are for. blogs are for posting hot pics of ryan gosling so if you didn’t click the link HERE YOU GO!

mmmmmm!

#24

stunts always work best when the people involved are really really into it. the first time i jumped out of a building i was NOT into it-and i suppose this isn’t too too surprising since i am ABSOLUTELY not a stunt person. my mom pushed me out of the window of our 7th floor apartment. it’s a long story and mostly it’s boring to everyone except me, my mom and the police. i guess the ER doc thought it was a little interesting too since he’s the one that called the cops. it’s too bad that he did because i was thinking about asking him out on a date-he had that noah wylie ease with the george clooney sexiness. i don’t go to the doctor a lot so the only ones I can easily relate to are the ones on TV.

basically it was all just a mess and the whole thing taught me that i didn’t want to be a stunt woman because falling out of a building fucking hurts.

#23

dear joe,

it isn’t so much that i’m addicted to you, i just like it… a lot. like, so much so that i think we should just stay in this bed all day; so much that i think we should black out the sun and close our eyes and feel our way towards each other; so much so that i think we should die, right here in each other’s arms.

i’ve got it all planned out joe. we’ll have a romantic dinner: eat and eat and eat; and then when are full we will make love until the ocean of desire we feel for each other finally retreats into sleep. when we are sated (and this might take years) we will each reach to the small porcelain cups i have set beside us on our bedside tables and hold them between our thumb and index fingers, slowly (every so slowly) bringing them to our lips. the drugs are quick and we will feel no pain. all we will have time to do is kiss quickly goodbye.

dear joe, please die with me. if you don’t i swear to god i’ll kill myself.

i love you.

gentlest love,

isabella.

#22

this is a cheat for some of you but i added some things so it’s ok…

***

while on vacation in ottawa

It’s warm today-hot in fact. I can feel my skin remembering summer, sloughing off nostalgia and learning new things to remember. My wife is elsewhere, trapped in the shade and air-conditioned-paralyzed by a fear of sweating through lace. Had I known our views on humidity differed so completely I might have rethought my proposal; perhaps our December wedding should have tipped me off.

So she is there and I am here: basking! Glorious in the sun! I’d be lying if I told you I never thought of other women; never longed for something different; never dreamt of a life without my wife.

A female RCMP agent in a beige power suit with a gun and a bullet proof vest turning her shape into a Victorian queen walks past me, I make eye contact and we smile. I look away quickly shuffling to hide my erection.

“I saw that,” he said sitting down beside me and whispering in my ear. “I felt the same thing.” I blushed. He smiled and put his hand on my thigh. I tried to stutter, “my wife…” but he just smiled again and slid his hand up another inch. I felt myself get harder, my cock straining inside my shorts almost reaching for his hand. I looked down and saw a similar bulge in his chinos. His blue eyes and black hair set perfectly against the late-afternoon sun and for a moment I thought to myself, “black Irish?” or maybe French. As if he knew what I was thinking he winked and my jaw tightened as I felt his hand squeeze my thigh, “I’ve never-” I said and still he just smiled. “C’mon!” he finally said, “let’s have a picnic!”

He stood up and reached for my hand. Instead of taking his hand I stood up trying to hide my erection from the eyes around us. He was confident about his cock and allowed it to lead the way to his car parked just down a quiet street. I got in the passenger side and he in the driver’s and without a word we hungrily  groped for each other, tugged at our cocks, kissed and fondled: hands a blur, never sure who was touching who.

 

In a moment it was over. Both of us drenched in sweat and cum. “oh my…” I said, “bye.” I got out of the car and found a Starbucks nearby. I got a latte, cleaned myself up and went back to the hotel. I was going to shower but I found my wife there instead.

 

“How was the sun?” she asked. “Good, there were a lot of cops around.” It wasn’t really a lie. She got up, kissed me and said, “I’m taking a shower…it’s so hot here!”

 

 

#21

almost caught up…

***

i love february. minus 40 keeps me warm. my skin melts in the summer, falls apart and sheds in shards like a silly little snake. it never fails to surprise me. in the winter i feel supple, generous and full of elasticity. i can function, breath properly, and avoid humiliation. when your skin falls off without regard for social mores you never know when you might leave a piece of your thigh behind. no one wants to sit beside you at a movie when you might leave a piece of your forearm behind.

i’ve tried cures, tried to walk around in a cooler but nothing works and the mess is a nightmare.

i’ve thought about moving to the arctic circle or joining the skinless tribes at the centre of the earth, near the equator but it’s hard to have a job when your skin falls off… it’s hard to hold down a job.

we’ll see what happens i guess. climate change could either be really super positive or really super negative. time will tell. time always tells.

#20

if i were going to buy a house it would have:

a yellow door

green eavestroughing

a pink bathroom

an aubergine living room with victorian furniture

a golden sunroom.

and when i find that house you’ll always know where i live because your orange kisses make me feel at home.