As If You Aren't Headed There, Too Story

when i was little i used to understand the rain and when it fell it would make me feel like i wasn't alone. then i got older and i realized we were all alone and it was harder for me to be nice. when i was walking on the sidewalk yesterday, things came to me with a new relish, as if i had just awaken from a dream. i began to see that although all human beings are innocent, some are uglier than others. meaning... it is hard to be fair when you see a man with a nice hat kick his dog while watering his plants early in the morning. and that my grandmother still lives in a different dimension than the rest of the world for me, so that even when she is too self-concerned to go to my aunt's funeral, I can't get mad.

Let me explain.

You talk a lot about old people. It becomes funny that someone is old. as if they didn't come from being young. as if you're not headed there, too. lola, well, she's afraid to be alone. she's afraid to fall down the stairs because she did once, and she broke her leg. she's so afraid that when her son lost his wife to cancer, she didn't climb up or down the stairs at all. she didn't go to the funeral. he forgave her. that's what dimension she lives in.

maybe i need to slow down.

if life is about loss, then we're all right. but it's not about that.

let's think about this

nobody sits and contemplates how happy he is his wife came home after work last night. wife comes home one night, then another night. It's probably all right with husband that she comes home, but no reason to jump up and down. Unless you are one of the lucky people.

my friend megan's parents used to hold hands in the minivan when they gave us rides to the movie theater. i was in the sixth grade and had never seen two parents do that. it confused me really. mostly because megan's dad looked just like our science teacher, mr. merkle. but secondly, i didn't understand what they were so happy about.

i say love is disgruntled. i say love is when my mom wakes up at four a.m. and yells at my dad to get a move on and packs all of his shirts and irons them. i say love is when my dad walks ahead of my mom on the sidewalk and she gives up trying to catch up to him because she's so small. i say love is mailbox. a toaster. counting backwards. the in-between.

i say new love isn't love. it's the top of a downhill slope. in the beginning it's easy to want to do things for each other. loneliness will save up all sorts of generous impulses, and then you find someone you think is all right or at least better than the last one, and you've been alone for so long, you can't stop buying records, or making t-shirts, or bringing donuts, or writing songs. and then times passes, and what you have left is a shortage of generosity. and it goes back again. and you start again. and you get tired. and you leave yourself for awhile. and you're at the bottom of the uphill again and you need to lose the other person if your'e ever going to make it back up there.

but handholding for thirty years isn't love either. it's luck. it's miraculous and divine. it's a geiser. it's a blue insect. it's twilight. it's something else. it's not love.

love is dad making the waitress uncomfortable so his kids can laugh and eventually get sick of it and laugh anyway. love is a long train ride home. love is a shortage of a changing list of things. love is trampling on someone's backyard and screaming.

handholding is too sane for love.

love isn't rain. i had once understood rain. i only know what love isn't.

we can talk about it like it's funny. the way we talk about old people. like love didn't come from all the things that have happened to us. to anyone. like we're not headed there, too.

I don't write anymore

I first experimented with the idea of revealing so much about my life that people were uncomfortable being my friend, just knowing that every time I had any feeling at all, someone could read it on the internet. Saying things like, "I can't believe he did that. He's such a loser."

Then I thought of writing stories on the internet in order to keep myself going. Things like:
And the grasshopper was not sure why he had come into the house, but now he couldn't find his way out. He knew his death was coming.

Then I thought of doing what normal people do on blogs. Whatever that means. Something like:
I really like it when people snore and I am not kidding.

i F'd up a bunch of times. See...

Wisdom Teeths

First of all, Tara did something awesome


I just got my wisdom teeth out: The oral surgeon's assistant and I miscommunicated so she ended up wishing me good luck on having a baby. "If you want it, God will give it to you," she said.

Meet Fiona: She is the most sensitive dog I have ever met in my life, and I don't mind picking up her poop for money.

That is my day so far. Do you think it is wrong to eat this Edamame on my face? (Answer = Nope)

Seee....

Tara's pictures from her hostel adventure of the West Coast.

Mashed Potatoes and Boston



I am in boston right now. I am moving into a house in greenpoint and I couldn't be more excited. I wish I didn't like taking pictures of myself from the side, but it's true ladies and gentlemen, i am both sideways and full of myself.


Guys... I want to start writing again. I am going to write a movie in four months from now. Also... where did everyone go? Will you visit me in my new brooklyn house and we can have fun and finger paint?

Also.. I am still in "Trent and Xenia." Don't f-in forget it.....
Also.. how do you make really really really good mashed potatoes. Matt suggested sour cream.
P.s. if ya'll want to come to Fort Greene between now and Sunday to meet a really cool dog, then bring some movies and prepare for Chipmunk Xenia sans four wisdom teeth....

Love Love Love Love Love.

My friend Aaron hired a personal asst. to do his laundry and it happens to be his best friend. Yes or No? What do you think. COMMENTS PLEASE

BOAT KIDS: Sitcom Promo


Before and After I.







Before and After II.

BEST BUDS

Photo Essay











I CAN'T STOP.









Me Neither.















Duh.













Yeah, I know right.











There's more where that come from: Hell.

Stuff I forgot:

Here is a picture I found in my telephone with no explanation of who took it. This refers to two blogs back ago.





Here is a company that should really think about re-thinking their whole purpose:


That's all Folks!

You Might want to know what happened to me last night. I am not sure, but I received some clues, such as an e-mail at 7 AM this morning.

The subject: Look at Cutie from the "Xenia Loves to Read Series"





Please contact me at xenia@moneymoneyfatfat.com if you have any information. Josh Hoglund will probably pick up the phone. He looks like this
For more information on Josh who is nearly always, armed, dangerous, has a pocketful of cookies, and huge boner, click Here If you can't find the site, that means Josh is in jail, so I hope you do. He's a good guy.

Fiona the English Bulldog and Daddy McVodka

I am going to be dogsitting an English bulldog named Fiona. She has a backyard and shit. She goes crazy when you walk in the room, like licking you with slobber, and her body is like a heavy, but little shaped couch throw pillow. They said sometimes bile starts pouring out of her, but only once in awhile.

Story Number Two
Once upon a time, a lad named Jake acted as if he was going to a birthday celebration in New York City. He wanted to go. He thought he should go. There are many things we think we should do, he said to himself, and hung his head low. But it only seemed the right thing to do.

A friend of his, a very small friend, called him and said she was all alone. She was all alone in a castle, and did he want to come?

Naturally, Jake replied, with a heavy head, that there were "things he should do." Of course, coming to the castle became just another one of those things.

And so, in the understated plane some people exist in, Jake came to her rescue and brought something magic that could make Xenia laugh. Xenia was the name of the small friend. Xenia was the small friend who laughed so hard she fell asleep. And when she woke up, Jake was gone, and this was all that was left: (see next blooog)

Also, my dad pointed to a long skinny bottle of vodka, looked at me, and said:
I love tequila.

This one is Serious
So now I found this dream apartment, that is amazing, although I have heard from a trusted source that Greenpoint is the most polluted place in the universe. But we are waiting until Monday to see if we get it and it is nerve-wrecking. (Though it helped to hand deliver all of our documents and separate them with tabs in a squash-colored binder.)

But this is the thing: first of all, everyone keeps telling me how my job is riding on some totally unreliable things, which scares me. Second of all, I would rather be private about a lot of things, but I can tell you this much. I don't know why one of my g-mail accounts won't work at all, why I haven't seen Trent in four days...

I can't stop eating pancakes and I need help.

I wanted to add pictures, but they won't let me.