La mia luglio

After all the inhaled smoke, the late-nights-shooting-the-shit, the childish pranks, and the Hummer limousine rides over and under the lit up Brooklyn Bridge, I'd have to say I've had one hell of a July. First day to start, my clock struck 22 years. And though I am one year closer to my death, I took one step closer to life.

In Time.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I could go back in time to when the man, sitting across from me at this candlelit table, was a little boy. A rascal of about six years whose favorite time of week consists of Saturday morning cartoons and whose tears are only reserved for elbow scrapes. As he's proudly toting his new bicycle around the park, I kneel down to meet him eye-to-eye.

I would tell him that when he meets a girl with silky, dark hair and milky, brown eyes a decade later - to treat her preciously and with extreme care. To clutch her glass heart gently but firmly with both hands and to never abuse the trust she will place on him. She will run on such naïveté though she knows better than to let so much slip away. I would tell him to never take for granted her loyalty because her loyalty is not given but earned and, once slighted, easily lost. To keep that token, he must be impeccably true to her, to himself, and to his words which will, indeed, serve a great challenge. Because in a world where things, people, emotions come and go, sincerity will be the wall that will lead her through the dark tunnels she oftentimes finds herself alone in. Most importantly, I would tell him that there will, of course, be hardships and disagreements but to hold her close by his side through the toughest of times, not because he feels obligated but because, with her, the colors would appear more lively, the flowers would dance, and the wind would sing.

He then smiles at me before running into his loving mother's arms as she asks if he was speaking to an imaginary friend.

"That awkward moment when...." Vol. 1

"Marie, where have you been?"
"Oh Marie, why have you forsaken me?!" 

Calm down, calm down, a tasty post is underway. The inspiration within me these last few weeks have been rather lacking. I've searched and searched for a topic I can pour myself over. Then it STRUCK me.

TOILETS.

This is not a joke. This is not intentional irony.
I don't know if any of you can relate; do you know the feeling when you enter a quiet bathroom with only one or two patrons in their own stalls? You slip into one that

1 - does not have an unsightly tissue-decorated toilet rim.
2 - actually HAS toilet paper.
3 - is not overflowing in excrement. (Seriously, girls, HOW can you miss?)

Everything seems normal as you sit yourself down on the toilet, and then....

Miracle on......32nd Street?

Five years. That's FIVE YEARS!

Been an eternity since I've shown up around here, and I apologize; school bit me in the ass and won't let go til the 9th of May. FROWNFACE.

But last Thursday was the first time I got a wash/cut/dry in a salon in FIVE whole years. I've been trimming my headshrub myself since I graduated high school. Take no offense, barbers, this is not due to any personal mistrust.




....okay, I lied, it is entirely due to personal mistrust. Having a boycut for nearly half my life has scarred my body....my mind....my life....FOREVER. I would walk out of every Bed Bath & Beyond broke having to pay for every single mirror/window/porcelain dish/piece of glassware/stainless steel pan/brick wall/childhood dream I shattered. Never will I have a pixie cut EVER again. You'd have to threaten to rip out my capillaries with your bare hands to make me even reconsider!