okay. so now we're back in the fiction section of the store. yay! this next book is called straight talking by jane green.

but could i ever look at adam and see a greek god? shit, i don't think i'll think about that one just at the moment. i think i'll just pour myself another glass of wine and wait for the doorbell.

when it eventually rings i walk very slowly to the front door, and after i open it i see it isn't this terrible thing on the doorstep. it's adam, my old, reliable adam ...

he gives me a hug, and suddenly he feels different. it's not just adam anymore. it's a man, a man i could be having a relationship with, and i move my hand slightly on his back, just checking, just feeling what there is underneath, what his body might feel like.

'can i get you a drink?' i feel ridiculous, like a hostess inviting a stranger into her home, and yet the easy intimacy we've always shared seems to have disappeared, and adam feels much like a stranger ...

he looks down at his glass and then back at me. 'i've missed you.'

'i know. i've missed you, too.' i have. desperately. all the times those stupid little things, or funny little things have happened at work, i've picked up the phone to call adam, to make him laugh, and just as i've picked up the receiver, i've remembered, and it's been awful ...

'why am i here, tash?' he's not looking at me as he says this, and my heart goes out to him. he looks like a little boy, scared, unsure, and i just want to put my arms around him and cuddle his fears away. but do i want to make love with him? let's not think about that just yet.

'this has been the most impossible three weeks of my life, ad. jesus, this was harder than the run up to my bloody degree, so firstly i want to say thank you for causing all this misery.'

he smiles, and i think he senses it's all going to be okay.

'i love you, ad. you know that. i'm not in love with you, but maybe it could work. i don't know, but i suppose there's only one way to find out, so i guess,' i pause, not quite knowing how to say it, 'i guess the answer to your question is yes.'

'what was the question?' he's smiling broadly now, all the nervousness disappeared.

'i don't know, but yes, i'd like to give it a go.'

'give what a go?' he's teasing me now because he can see i'm still a bit awkward.

'give us a go.' there. i said it. the dreaded us, and you know what? it doesn't sound nearly as bad once it's out there. in fact it sounds quite nice ...

i know the kiss is coming. the kiss is coming. shit, the kiss is nearly upon us. what am i going to do? but when adam bends his head down he's still smiling, and he very slowly kisses me on the lips then sits back, smiling some more, and just looks at me.

'how was that?'

'okay,' i'm nodding my head. 'it was really okay.'

and he bends his head again, and we kiss again, for longer this time, but no tongues, all right? then he sits back and looks at me some more.

'are you sure about this?' he asks.

'nope. i'm not sure at all, but we can do it again just to find out?'

this time he kisses me for a lot longer ... and i think, jesus where in the hell did adam learn to be so good at this? ... and you know what? it's bloody nice, this is.

clayton and whitney

oh, i do so like it when an author pairs up two incredibly headstrong folks, as judith mcnaught does in pretty much all of her novels. the best example of this is whitney, my love.

i know. it's a lame title. and it's typical smut. but i think you're gonna like these two.

'he doesn't care about the money, but he hates to admit he lost. he's never learned how to accept defeat.'

clayton laid down his knife and fork, preparing to give stephen the brutal setdown he'd earned hours before, but whitney, taking stephen's cue, immediately drew off clayton's fire. 'how strange you should say that,' she said to stephen, looking genuinely amazed. 'i have found that your brother accepts defeat without even putting up the slightest struggle. why, faced with the tiniest discouragement, he simply gives up and--'

clayton's open hand slammed down on the table with a crash that made the dishes dance. he surged to his feet, a muscle leaping furiously along the taut line of his jaw. 'miss stone and i have something to say to each other which is best said in private.' he gritted out the words, flinging his napkin down on the table and jerked whitney's chair back. 'get up!' he snapped in a low, terrible voice when whitney remained frozen in her seat. his hand clamped down painfully on her forearm, and whitney rose unsteadily ... 

clayton hauled her halfway across the room, which was lined with books, recessed behind richly carved arches of polished oak, then flung her arm away and stalked to the fireplace. turning, he regarded her with a look of undiluted loathing, while he visibly strove to bring his rampaging temper under control. suddenly his voice slashed through the silence. 'you have exactly two minutes to explain the purpose of this unexpected and unwelcome visit of yours. at the end of that time, i will escort you to your carriage and make your excuses to my mother and brother.'

whitney drew a tortured breath, knowing that if he saw her fear now he would use it against her. 'the purpose of my visit?' she said in a small, distracted voice, her mind frantically counting off the passing seconds. 'i -- i would have thought by now it was obvious.'

'it is not obvious!'

'i've come to -- to explain why i said what i did to you at the banquet. you see,' she said, stammering in her haste to finish in the minutes he'd allotted her, 'earlier at the church, i thought we -- you and i -- still had an agreement, and--'

clayton's eyes raked contemptuously over her. 'we have no agreement,' he said scathingly. 'it's over. done with. it should never have begun! the betrothal was an insane idea, and i curse the day i thought of it.'

sick with failure and defeat, whitney dug her nails into the flesh of her palms and shook her head in denial. 'it never had a chance to begin because i wouldn't let it.'

'your two minutes are almost up.'

'clayton, please listen to me!' she cried desperately. 'you -- you told me a long time ago that you wanted me to come to you willingly, that you didn't want a cold, unwilling wife.'

'and?' he demanded furiously.

whitney's voice shook. 'and i am here. willingly.'

james and georgina

i think the first smut book i read was johanna lindsey's gentle rogue. and no, i didn't choose it because it's smut. i chose it because i like the malory family. they're some pretty cool folks.

georgina: 'i had to leave england.'

james: 'were you in trouble?'

'no, i just couldn't stand it there another day.'

'then why didn't you leave in the customary fashion, by purchasing your passage?'

'because the only ships crossing the atlantic were english.'

'i imagine that's supposed to make sense. give me a moment, and i might figure it out ... then again, i might not. what the deuce is wrong with english ships?'

she frowned at him. 'you wouldn't find anything wrong with them, but i happen to despise all things english' ...

he grinned, then chuckled. 'i'm beginning to see the light, george. you wouldn't happen to be one of those hotheaded americans, would you? that would certainly account for the accent i haven't been able to place.'

'and what if i am?' she demanded defensively.

'why, i'd consider locking you up, of course. safest place for people who like to start wars so much.'

byron and kate

i've been dreading this post. mostly because i had to run through my list to see just how many stories i could include by this one author and it turns out i can only do one or two depending on whether i include a work by another author.

and because the next two (or three) authors' works are classified as romance novels rather than chick lit, i'm a little wary of including them.

but only a little.

because i love them.

i've loved them longer than almost every book i've read, save for the love i have for thomas harris' silence of the lambs and red dragon. i know. odd, right? that i would mention his works and follow that up with nora roberts' stuff.

that i would love anything so grotesque and grim, really, is bizarre considering i can't even stomach the thought of listening to michael jackson's thriller or watching the monster squad (a film in which a young boy and his friends take on dracula, frankenstein, wolfman and a bunch of other heebie jeebies). a kiddie flick scares me, okay? that's how much of a sissy i am.

anyway ...

so yeah. nora.

it's been a while since she's written anything i've loved. but back in the day, when i should've been reading faulkner, fitzgerald, hemingway, shakespeare and steinbeck, i was reading smut. voraciously. and usually it was written by her.

back in the day, she was a pretty good storyteller.

so picking one (and it will be one ... i've decided) of her stories which i like better than all the others is kind of a feat.

but because it's my blog, and therefore the rules can be bent a little, i'm going to cheat and do a trilogy. hah! because technically, it can be purchased in one volume. (so really, the cheating's not so bad.)

it's called lovers and dreamers.

it's about margo, kate and laura and their boys, joshua, byron and michael.

since three snippets would make this a hella long post and since of those three couples' tales, kate and byron's story is my favorite, you get a bit from the second story, holding the dream.

'something wrong with your lunch?'

she glanced over, and the hand she had pressed protectively against her stomach fisted as byron slide into the chair that tydings had vacated. 'are you on dining room detail? i thought the brass stayed up in the lofty regions of the penthouse.'

'oh, we mingle with the lower floors occasionally.' he signaled to a waitress. he'd been watching kate for ten minutes. she had sat completely still, staring out of the window, her meal untouched, her eyes dark and miserable. 'the chicken bisque,' he ordered. 'two.'

'i don't want anything.'

'i hate to eat alone,' he said smoothly, as the waitress cleared the dishes. 'you can always play with it like you did your salad. if you're not feeling well, the bisque should perk you up.'

'i'm fine. i had a business lunch.' under the table she pleated her napkin in her lap. she wasn't ready to get up, wasn't sure her legs were strong enough. 'who eats at business lunches?'

'everyone.' leaning forward, he poured two glasses of mineral water. 'you look unhappy.'

'i've a client with an imbalance of passive income. that always makes me unhappy. what do you want, de witt?'

'a bowl of soup, a little conversation. you know, i developed this hobby of conversation as a child. i've never been able to break it ... i've noticed you often have a bit of trouble in that area. i'd be happy to help you, as i'm sort of a buff.'

'i don't like small talk.'

'there you are. i do ... i also have a habit of eating,' he continued. 'if you need help along those lines, i can tell you that you start by dipping your spoon into the soup.'

'i'm not hungry.'

'think of it as medicine. it might put some color back into your cheeks. you not only look unhappy, kate, you look tired, beaten down and closing in on ill.'

hoping it would shut him up, she spooned up some soup. 'boy, now i'm all perked up. it's a miracle.'

when he only smiled at her, she sighed. why did he have to sit there, acting so damn nice and making her feel like sludge?

'i'm sorry. i'm lousy company.'

'was your business meeting difficult?'

'yes, as a matter of fact.' because it was soothing, she sampled the bisque again. 'i'll deal with it.'

'why don't you tell me what you do when you're not dealing with difficult business problems.'

the headache at the edges of her consciousness wasn't backing off, but it wasn't creeping closer. 'i deal with simple business problems.'

'and when you're not dealing with business?'

she studied him narrowly, the mild, polite eyes, the easy smile. 'you are coming on to me.'

'no, i'm considering coming on to you, which is entirely different. that's why we're having a basic conversation over a bowl of soup.' his smile widened, flirted. 'it also gives you equal opportunity to consider whether or not you'd like to come on to me.'

her lips twitched before she could stop them. 'i do appreciate a man who believes in gender equality.' she also had to appreciate that for a few minutes he'd taken her mind off her troubles. that he knew it, yet didn't push the point.

'i think i'm beginning to like you, kate. you are, i believe, an acquired taste, and i've always enjoyed odd flavors.'

'wow. that's quite a statement. my heart's going pitty-pat.'

dexter and rachel

something borrowed is one of those stories i didn't like on the first read.

in fact, i was kind of put off by dexter in the end. i like my leading men to be men, not pansies, after all, and he has moments of utter pansiness (that's probably not a word, but i'm leaving it anyway) that are such a turn-off.

it's not a great story, either.

in fact, i balked at reading it originally. why? because when rachel and dex hook up, he's engaged to her best friend.

that's pretty shitty.

but for some reason, i bought it. i read it. i liked it, but not so much that i felt compelled to keep it or recommend it to anyone else.

so i wasn't going to put it in the ten-list.

and then i watched the trailer for it today, which of course made me go and buy the damned book again and read all the parts of their story i liked. turns out there were a lot of parts worth reading.

'you don't see yourself the way you are.'

i avert my eyes, focus on a spot of ink on my comforter.

he continues. 'you see yourself as very average, ordinary. and there is nothing ordinary about you, rachel.'

i can't look back at him. my face burns.

'and i know that you blush when you're embarrassed.' he smiles.

'no i don't!' i cover my face with one hand and roll my eyes.

'yes you do. you're adorable. and yet you have no idea, which is the most adorable part.'

nobody, not even my mother, has ever called me adorable.

'and you are beautiful. absolutely, stunningly beautiful in the freshest, most natural way. you look like one of those ivory girls' ...

i tell him to please stop. even though i love what he has just told me.

'it's true.'

i want to believe him ... 'whoever said i didn't want to date in law school?'

'well, you didn't, did you?  you were there to learn, not date. that was clear ... i almost asked you out, you know that?'

i laugh at this.

'it's true,' he says, sounding a little bit hurt.

i give him a dubious look.

'do you remember that time when we were studying for our torts final?'

i picture his thumb on my face, wiping away my tear. so it had meant something.

'you know exactly what i'm talking about, don't you?'

my face feels hot as i nod. 'i think so. yeah.'

'and when i asked to walk you home, you said no. shot me down.'

'i didn't shoot you down!'

'you were all business.'

'i wasn't. i just didn't think at the time ...' my voice trails off.

'yeah, and then you introduced me to darcy. i knew then that you had zero interest.'

'i just didn't think ... i didn't think you saw me that way.'

so, here's hoping that the screenwriter took all those parts that make this story good and capitalized on them while chucking all the parts that sucked.

because the trailer really does look good. but then, maybe that's just because i like the guys who are going to be in it.

george and liza

i am in love with these characters, this story. because this one made my heart gleeful and then yanked it right out of my chest. i swear. very few books have managed to evoke such emotion in me before and continue to do so.

this from ellen shanman's right before your eyes.

'so what do you do, george?' i asked.

'i'm in m'n'a. that's mergers and --'

'acquisitions, yeah, i know what it is.' i was grateful he didn't say 'consultant.' 

'of course. and you?'

'i'm a writer.'

'for whom?' he questioned.

'a playwright.'

'ah. for no one.'

'yeah, i'm having cards made.'

'so what kind of plays do you write?'

this is one of those questions i hope people will not ask in a bar because then i'll have to say something like 'well, right now i'm working on a piece about the perfect suburban widow and the way the neighborhood destroys her when she falls for the wrong man. it's a little bit ibsen, a little bit alan ball.' inevitably the other person will draw some parallel to 'desperate housewives' and i'll have to explain why that's completely off base without sounding affected and nasty.

'gee, george. i'm sure you'd much rather tell me about you. what kind of mergers do you aquire?

'point taken. so what do you actually do? for money?'

'i do administrative work.' i would not say the word 'temp' to this man.

'you temp?'

i hated him.

'what agency? we've always got temps in my office.'

so much.

and that is pretty much how the story of george and liza begins. that is what made me like it.

this is what made me love it.

'i was scared, george. i was just scared. why don't you get that?'

he looked at his shoes for a long time. i willed him to raise his eyes and look at me, but he wouldn't. i was saying it. i was saying everything i'd been unable, too afraid, to say for so long ... but he wasn't looking at me. i prayed silently. please, i thought, please, please, please ...

'sometimes,' he finally said, 'people should go with their instincts.'

'george. this is what i've been trying to tell you! my instincts were --'

'not yours.' he paused. 'mine.' he looked me in the eye for the first time. and there was a wall where i'd never seen one before.

'i don't...', i stuttered, not knowing what to say. 'i don't think i understand.' ... i opened my mouth, but i couldn't make a sound. i wanted to evaporate, to lose consciousness, to sprain my ankle so he'd have to take me to the hospital and we could start all over again and this time i wouldn't fuck it up.

but i just stood there.

he turned away.

'george...' it came out as an eerie, choked animal sob.

he stopped. he started to turn back to me. and then he changed his mind.

...

the first and last person i had wanted to see that evening was actually standing there waiting for me. i knew i had to walk past him to get out, but for a second i couldn't move. and then without even wanting them to, my legs started to carry me toward him. i stopped a few yards away.

he just stared at me.

'what are you doing here?' i asked.

'i don't know,' george said. 'i just couldn't miss it.'

'you watched?'

'you're extraordinary.'

nick and norah's infinite playlist

NOT the film. the film blows. huge, HUGE chunks. it's most assuredly one of the worst adaptations i've ever seen.

but the book ...

i LOVE the book.

even if it is teen fiction.

and there's SO much i like about this book that i could blog about it for a significant period of time, which i don't (and you don't) have, so i'll give you snippets from nick's first chapter and from norah's. because that's how it's written. nick gets one, then norah, then nick again, and back and forth, and back and forth for the whole of some near two hundred pages. it's a quickie read, but more importantly, a fun one.

there's nick, who, stupidly, is still hung up on his no-good-ex tris. and norah, who's trying to keep her friend caroline out of trouble. and there's a long night ahead of them both.

nick:

the day begins in the middle of the night. i am not paying attention to anything but the bass in my hand, the noise in my ears. dev is screaming. thom is flailing, and i am the clockwork. i am the one who takes this thing called music and lines it up with this thing called time. i am the ticking ... dev has thrown off his shirt, and thom is careening into feedback, and i am behind them. i am the generator ... it's a small room, and we're a big noise, and i am the nonqueer bassist in a queercore band who is filling the room with undertone as dev screams ... dev is wailing now, and thom is crashing, and even though my feet don't move i am traveling hard ... i throw the chords at them. i drench them in the soundwaves. i am making time so loud that they have to hear it. i am stronger than words, and i am bigger than the box i'm in, and then i see her in the crowd, and i fall apart ... here she is, and my fingers are losing their place, and my buzz is losing its edge, and everything around me goes from crying out to just plain crying.

she sees me. she can't fake surprise at seeing me here, because of course she fucking knew i'd be here. so she does a little smile thing and whispers something to the new model, and i can tell just from her expression that after they get their now-being-poured drinks they are going to come over and say hello and good show and -- could she be so stupid and cruel? -- how are you doing? and i can't stand the thought of it. i see it all unfolding, and i know i have to do something -- anything -- to stop it.

so i, this random bassist in an average queercore band, turn to this girl in flannel whom i don't even know and say:

'i know this is going to sound strange, but would you mind being my girlfriend for the next five minutes?'

norah:

there are certain things a girl just knows, like that a fourth minute on a punk song is a bad, bad idea, or that no way does a jersey-boy bassist with astor place hair who wears torn-up, bleach-stained black jeans and a faded black t-shirt with orange lettering that says when i say jesus, you say christ swing down boy-boy alley; he's working the ironic punk boy-johnny cash angle too hard to be a 'mo ... just because he doesn't look like a whitesnake-relic-reject like all of your band does not automatically mean the guy's gay.

the incidental fact of his straightness doesn't mean i want to be nomo's five-minute girlfriend, like i'm some seven-eleven quick stop on his slut train. only because i am the one loser here who hadn't lost all her senses to beer, dope or hormones do i have the sense to hold back my original instinct -- to yell back 'fuck no' in response to nomo's question.

nomo is standing in front of me, blocking my view, waiting to find out if i want to be his five-minute girlfriend and looking like that lost animal who goes around asking 'are you my mother' in that kid book.

from behind him i don't see caroline, but i do see that stupid bitch, tris ... that bitch should not be in a club like this. as if her language is not enough indication, there is also the matter of her hot topic mallrat outfit: short black leather skirt with buckles up the side, mass-produced 'vintage' ramones t-shirt and piss-yellow leggings with some horrible pair of pink patent-leather shoes. she looks like a neon sign bumble-bee by way of early debbie harry rip-off.

i'm the less-than-five minute girlfriend who for one too-brief kiss fantasized about ditching this joint with him, going all the way punk with him at a fucking jazz club in the village or something. maybe i would have treated him to borscht at veselka at five in the morning. maybe i would've walked along battery park with him at sunrise ... but no, he's the type with a complex for the tris type: the big tits, the dumb giggle, the blowhard. literally.

i extract my wrist from his grip. but for some reason, instead of walking away, i pause for a moment and return my hand to his face, caressing his cheek, drawing light circles on his jaw with my index finger.

'you poor schmuck.'

and then there's this one

i'm still on a good love stories sort of kick. so the next few posts will accomodate that (and yeah, i know. i've got a whole lot of things i should be writing about instead, like project: the first, otherwise known as holy-mother-of-god-what-the-hell-were-you-thinking-and-why-haven't-you-made-a-bit-more-effort?)

anyway...

i told you what my ten favorite (for the moment) chick flicks are.

so now we'll talk about chick lit.

only there's one book i wanna share with you that isn't so lovey dovey.

why, then, am i including it here?

because it breaks my heart it's so good. it's amazing. it's the most beautifully written story i've ever read. EVER.

and it is a love story. of a sort.

it is the first of those shorts included in jhumpa lahiri's the interpreter of maladies, which was on my reading list from like five years ago. it is called a temporary matter.

here are a few snippets:

he combed through her cookbooks every afternoon, following her penciled instructions to use two teaspoons of ground coriander seeds instead of one, or red lentils instead of yellow. each of the recipes was dated, telling the first time they had eaten the dish together. april second, cauliflower with fennel. january fourteenth, chicken with almonds and sultanas. he had no memory of eating those meals, and yet they were recorded in her neat proofreader's hand.

when he heard her approach he would put away his novel and begin typing sentences. she would rest her hands on his shoulders and stare with him into the blue glow of the computer screen. 'don't work too hard,' she would say after a minute or two, and head off to bed. it was the one time in the day she sought him out, and yet he'd come to dread it. he knew it was something she forced herself to do ... for some reason, the room did not haunt him the way it haunted shoba ... he set up his desk there deliberately, partly because the room soothed him, and partly because it was a place shoba avoided.

it astonished him, her capacity to think ahead. when she used to do the shopping, the pantry was always stocked with extra bottles of olive and corn oil, depending on whether they were cooking italian or indian ... when friends dropped by, shoba would throw together meals that appeared to have taken half a day to prepare, from things she had frozen and bottled, not cheap things in tins but peppers she had marinated herself ... her labeled mason jars lined the shelves of the kitchen, in endless sealed pyramids, enough, they'd agreed, to last for their grandchildren to taste. they'd eaten it all by now ... it struck him as odd that there were no real candles in the house. that shoba hadn't prepared for such an ordinary emergency.

shukumar: the first time we went out to dinner, to the portuguese place, i forgot to tip the waiter. i went back the next morning, found out his name, left money with the manager.

shoba: you went all the way back to somerville just to tip a waiter?

i took a cab.

why did you forget to tip the waiter?

by the end of the meal i had a funny feeling that i might marry you. it must have distracted me.

and then there's this one

shobar: the first time i was alone in your apartment, i looked in your address book to see if you'd written me in. i think we'd known each other for two weeks.

shukumar: where was i?

you went to answer the telephone in the other room. it was your mother, and i figured it would be a long call. i wanted to know if you'd promoted me from the margins of your newspaper.

had i?

no, but i didn't give up on you.

this was (doubling as) a matlock project. learn about that here.

more for ms. jen (but this is all you get)

because i read a quote on a friend's page today from the film bounce that stirred another bit of nice. well, two, actually.

she'd written a post about how much she liked gwyneth paltrow. me? not so much. except for the film sliding doors. that is a cool flick. yall should see that one. i didn't mind her so much in that.

your company. the pleasure of your company. i want your input on video rentals. i stand there for hours. i can't pick anything out. i want someone to say goodnight to -- a last call of the day. 

back to san antonio. back to borders. generally, as a rule, i was on closing detail, mostly because the inventory and office supervisors had to be there during the day. the music and cafe supers usually worked mid-shifts, and i got the closes. except for tuesdays, but that wasn't so much because i sometimes wanted to go home and more because tuesday is usually a huge new release day, which meant the front tables needed to be reworked, which meant i would either be reworking them or overseeing the reworking. usually it was the former, which was fine, because that was my favorite part of my job.

but because i worked a lot of closing shifts and never really had a weekend off and because he worked nothing but first shifts and always had the weekend off, we only really got to see each other twice a week or so.

he'd asked me to call him when i'd gotten in from work. i'd thought that was kind of silly when he'd mentioned it. he'd be sleeping. i'd be exhausted and possibly cranky, depending on how work had gone.

but it ended up being kind of sweet, actually. i'd wake him up when i got home from work. he'd wake me up when he left for work. we wouldn't talk for long. maybe a minute or so. mostly because one of us would be more asleep than awake. but it did put a nice little cap on my day, that last call. i did quite like the sound of his voice.

the other?

one sunday after i'd gotten off work, we went to blockbuster and rented jay and silent bob strike back. i had never seen it. he was surprised by this.

you ever try making out while that movie was playing? it's pretty fun. i highly recommend it.

why i love bubble wrap

i'm not sure i've told you this story before. i don't think i have. one of my readers commented on a post i'd written months ago that she wanted to hear more about the boy mentioned in that post. i'd kind of tagged one of my blog challenge entries to another post -- mostly because i hadn't felt like writing about it at the time.

and then yesterday, when i wrote that bit about knowing about a guy, it kind of caused a memory of which i'm pretty fond to stir to the surface.

it comes up every now and then, usually when i need to remember the good things about love and all that crap.

so ... here is a flashback for you from many, many years ago. and no, i don't recount it because of the boy, but because of how i felt that day.

it was, all in all, a pretty good day.

it was march twenty-sixth. a tuesday. according to astrology, tuesday is my day. whatever. three days before my birthday. i was working at borders at the time, residing in san antonio. my schedule was set up so that i opened on tuesdays, which meant i got off work at five or six, had off wednesdays and thursdays and closed on fridays, which meant i went to work at three. but i'd requested off for my birthday (or borders was nice and gave us our birthdays off ... i can't remember). so i was looking forward to a three day "weekend". and i'd just started dating this guy i'd thought was pretty cool. so i was in all kinds of good spirits. anyway, it was set up this way because if i felt like going home to visit the family, i could leave on tuesday after work and come home to my apartment on friday afternoon.

but the boy talked me into staying on tuesday night and going to my parents' house on wednesday morning.

i met him at his apartment at seven or so. we hung out for half an hour, then went to jason's deli for dinner, where we drew pictures for each other on napkins in brown (mine) and black (his) crayons. and then we went to the amc theater at huebner oaks and saw ice age.

we stood in line to buy the tickets. we went inside, and i made him wait while i hid out in the women's room to recollect myself. because i was pretty overwhelmed by him. i'd never been that way about a boy before. it kind of freaked me out. so i stood there with my hands pressed to the countertop, just inside the doorway, sucking in air and glaring at my face, telling myself to calm down. a woman walked by and asked if i was alright. sure, i said. no, i thought. not so much. but i got it together and got back to the lobby.

where he was sitting on a bench, popping bubbles on a sheet of wrap. i stood there, watching him, one brow raised and my lips curved in amusement. and all the anxiety i'd felt magically disappeared. i don't know how long i stood there. it wasn't more than a minute or so. but eventually, he looked up and grinned and slowly set the wrap aside and stood.

we shared a coke. i never share coke. with anyone. and i got those little shivers you get when your hands touch. those things i'd always thought were some crazy, hokey story-telling tool to make a girl appreciate romance a bit more. those things i'd always thought were impossible.

and every time i see a roll of bubble wrap, i think of that day. of how good i'd felt in that moment.

random quarter

one. i've never been skydiving. i'm alright with this.

two. i can't dance very well. i'm alright with that, too.

three. i can't whistle. i'm not so alright with that. i try. but nothing happens. oh, and that thing where you put your fingers up and blow, like to hail a cab? i definitely can't do that.

four. i think you know about a guy after three dates. hell, i think you'd know about him, really, after the first. but the next two clinch it. i've only ever known twice. and of course, neither of those times mattered all that much. i don't see the point in wasting time with a guy. mostly cause i did it once. that won't happen again.

five. white sports coats are gay. white sports coats with blue gingham button-downs? really gay. white sports coats with peach button-downs? supremely gay. why would any wardrobe designer make any man wear stuff like that?

six. i had travis tritt in my head this morning while at work. i was not alright with that, either.

seven. my friend swissy and i made a pact that i would write five pages a week and email them to her on saturday. i've not written one yet. go me.

eight. my mouth hurts. i imagine it's gonna hurt a lot more at the end of the day.

nine. nothing tastes good right now. this is a huge suck. oh, and i'm starving. also a huge suck.

ten. and the ice that's pressed to my cheek? i'm not sure it's doing much good.

eleven. i don't like my handwriting. maybe i've mentioned that before.

twelve. if i had to rebuild my cd collection, the ten cds i would purchase first are: the best of van halen: volume one, u2's the joshua tree, stevie ray vaughan and double trouble's greatest hits, counting crows august and everything after, a fine frenzy's one cell in the sea, zz top's greatest hits, pearl jam's rearview mirror, sarah mclachlan's fumbling towards ecstasy, the airborne toxic event and what made milwaukee famous' trying to never catch up.

thirteen. the ten dvds: star wars: episodes iv-vi, the lord of the rings trilogy -- the director's cut, eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, star trek, pirates of the caribbean: the curse of the black pearl, steel magnolias, playing by heart, for love of the game, the family stone and dedication.

fourteen. the ten books: nora robert's lovers and dreamers, cecelia ahern's love rosie, charles dickens' our mutual friend, ellen shanman's right before your eyes, john knowles' a separate peace, seneca's thyestes, audrey niffenegger's the time traveler's wife, jhumpa lahiri's the interpreter of maladies, j.k. rowling's harry potter series and the complete pelican shakespeare.

fifteen. for some reason, in the days before any time i go under anesthesia, i feel compelled to purchase a large box of crayolas and coloring books. it doesn't matter if i've got a perfectly good box of colors and books already. i will go out and buy more.

sixteen. the worst pain i've ever felt physically? knee reconstruction was a bitch. mentally? despair and madness beat a broken heart every time.

seventeen. in school, i'd never been suspended. i'd never been expelled. but i did go to detention quite a bit. can't remember why.

eighteen. i've never passed out from being drunk. i have gotten so drunk, though, that i couldn't read the text on a television screen that was a mere five feet or so from my face.

nineteen. favorite pizza is california pizza kitchen's blt. when i lived in san antonio, there was a cpk five minutes from my apartment. i must've eaten there once a week. oh, i miss that place.

twenty. my day was reclusive because i got a tooth yanked out, and so now i am sitting on the sofa with a bag of lima beans pressed to my face, listening to the fountain churning the water in the backyard's pool, the shrill ring of the telephone, the hum of the refrigerator and my fingers hitting the keys. it's kind of nice, actually. it'd be nicer still if the vicodin i just took to make my mouth stop hurting wasn't making my stomach twinge because i'm HUNGRY! grrrr.

twenty-one. chicken spaghetti would be really good right about now. but i've to settle for soup. at least it's wonton.

twenty-two. i like red better than pink. except when i'm buying lingerie. i don't know why this is.

twenty-three. i've off the next two days! WHEE!

twenty-four. which means i should get some writing done. (yeah, like that's gonna happen.)

twenty-five. i've never blocked anyone on facebook. i have, however, blocked guys on dating websites. and i have defriended people on facebook. sometimes i feel guilty about this. it doesn't happen often.

blame it on the janes

i managed to go through high school and college, studying english, without ever having to read any of jane austen's or charlotte bronte's works. i'd graduated with that english degree without ever having read dickens, too.

can you imagine this? i'm certain there are dozens of other classical authors revered by educators of all sorts which are considered to be necessary to the literary world, which they would be appalled to know i'd not read.

do you know what made me want to read pride and prejudice?

the trailer for the knightley/macfadyen version of the tale.

actually, a particular quote from the film, spoken by mr. darcy to ms. bennett after having professed, to his chagrin, his interest in marriage to her. could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your circumstances?

i love this line. i love how it cuts. i love how the word choice -- the sharpness of the k and the x and the ct sounds, the bite of it, the hiss of the soft c and the s and even the f -- contributes to the sentiment expressed. there's such disdain there. such frustration, not just in that sentiment, nor its language, but in the delivery of it, as well. it's a fantastic line. marvelous, really. and it, more than any other, sums up mr. darcy quite well, i think.

i hunted up that bit of script while at work one day, so eager was i to see the film, to know the story. i printed out the page or two of dialogue i'd found, and, after work, taken it in to macaroni grill with me to study while i had dinner.

actually, i did more than study it. i took my red and blue crayons and diagrammed the whole of those sentences -- darcy's in blue, bennett's in red -- on the butcher paper that covered my table's cloth.

this version of the film interested me enough that i purchased a cheap barnes and noble classics version of p and p and read it, painstakingly and begrudgingly, for the most part, cover to cover.

while i can concede that ms. austen can construct some fantastic prose, her propensity for girlish, frivolous detail is pretty annoying.

i am not a fan.

and then the cinematic world introduced me to becoming jane a couple of years later.

and oh, how my heart broke for her.

every time i've watched this movie, i've stood firmly in the knowledge that she was right to refuse mr. wisley, and she was right to turn back, to go home rather than run away with mr. lefroy. but the first few times i watched her departures from him, first from his uncle's residence and later on the morning of her elopement after she'd discovered the letter from his family, i bawled. quietly, of course, but still ...

and every time, i've been gung ho against the notion that she should marry wisley. because he is, as her father has said, a booby.

it must be age. my birthday is less than twelve weeks away, and i am abhorring this one. it's far, far too close to forty for my comfort.

it has to be age. there's no other reason for it. but this morning, as i watched the story unfold, i began to think wisley wasn't so bad. wealthy, tall, decent voice ...

oh, god. i think i'm going to be sick. this shift in my opinion of him is not good at all.

it wasn't THAT long ago that i was mocking his character.

i hate watching this movie. it crushes my spirit every time. and yet, i feel compelled to torment myself with it. so typical of a woman, right?

i'm blaming this on jane eyre.

i saw the trailer for it a couple of weeks ago, and it got me thinking about these women, factual or fictional, who are deprived of lives of love and passion.

i've not read jane eyre. i was tempted to watch the bbc production of it a while back but talked myself out of it. probably because mr. rochester sounds like an idiot.

do you think that because i am poor, obscure, plain and little that i am soulless and heartless?

if there were a line that could convince me to see this film, that would be it. but it doesn't compel me nearly as well as mr. darcy's line did.

mostly because it's spoken to mr. rochester, and i just told you what i think of him.

my father says i'm a whole lot more sentimental than i let on, than i am comfortable with, and this is true to an extent.

but sentiment hasn't ever really done me much good, so i see no point in showing off that bit of my character.

the point of all this is that i feel sorry for these women, these janes who live so much of their lives without the thing they most desire for themselves.

i read wikipedia's synopsis of jane eyre, and i know she gets her guy in the end -- after mr. rochester's wife burns the house down and kills herself and blinds her husband and whatnot. (this would be the other reason why i can't bring myself to read it ... way too much tragedy for my tastes.)

oh. crap. maybe you've not read it.

i saw the trailer for this film the other day and it brought memories of becoming jane to mind, which of course had me itching to watch it again.

again.

so i will go to sleep sad and sentimental.

again.

bronte, by the way, married and became pregnant but died before giving birth. she was thirty-nine. austen received a proposal from a wealthy but pathetic man which she accepted, then refused the following day. she never married. she died at forty-two.

and here, these two women wrote all these stories that are so well-loved by so many (though i cannot say that i am one of that many, but still ... i can respect others' appreciation for their works) ... at least they've left the world these.

i have given nothing but a couple of chapters to my friends and a few snippets to my readers.

because unlike these women, i cannot seem to find the courage to write about love when i find it so lacking in my own life.

and this is how i shall end my day.

again.

ashes and wine

san antonio. the deck at capparelli's on main. cheesy jane's on broadway. the skyline as seen from trinity university's campus. oktoberfest at beethoven maennerchor. the alamo.

for lacie -- the HELLA long list

FAVORITES:
COLOR: green
ANIMAL YOU WOULD LIKE TO HAVE AS A PET: french mastiff
FLOWER: rose
NUMBER: seven
SCENTS: blueberry muffins fresh from the oven, laundry fresh from the dryer, phineas bubbaphat fresh from the car wash
COLOGNE/PERFUME: ralph lauren’s romance for men/for women
HOBBIES: reading, watching movies, television shows, concerts, gigs, sporting events, writing, traveling
SPORT YOU ENJOY WATCHING: football
SPORT YOU ENJOY PLAYING: swimming
TOWN TO CHILL: london
CITY YOU WOULD LIKE TO VISIT: monterey, california
COUNTRY YOU WOULD LIKE TO EXPLORE: ireland
FOOD: chicken spaghetti
CEREAL: cheerios
DRINK: sprite
FLAVOR SNAPPLE: kiwi strawberry
DESSERT: paula deen's bananas foster bread pudding
ICE CREAM: blue bell’s grooms’ cake
RESTAURANT: l’bella bistro
BOARD GAME: scene it
BOOK: our mutual friend
AUTHOR: charles dickens
POET: me
MAGAZINE: rolling stone
TYPE OF MUSIC: alternative
SINGER/BAND: the airborne toxic event
SOUNDTRACK: pirates of the caribbean: the curse of the black pearl
MOVIE SEEN RECENTLY IN A THEATRE: the black swan
MOVIE SEEN AT HOME: becoming jane
MOVIES: the blind side, cinderella man, dedication, donnie brasco, eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, the family stone, five hundred days of summer, the great raid, the last samurai, the lord of the rings trilogy, love actually, memoirs of a geisha, pirates of the caribbean: the curse of the black pearl, playing by heart, the princess bride, a river runs through it, robin hood: prince of thieves, seabiscuit, miracle, serenity, star trek, the star wars saga, steel magnolias, tombstone
DIRECTOR: george lucas
ACTOR: johnny depp
ACTRESS: jennifer aniston
TELEVISION SHOWS: bones, castle, extreme makeover: home edition, grey's anatomy, ncis, ncis: los angeles, private practice, rizzoli and isles, the unusuals, the west wing
CARTOON: the simpsons
ARTIST: vincent van gogh
ARTICLE OF CLOTHING: my twelfth man aggie sweatshirt
TIME OF DAY: sunset
WAY TO SPEND A SUNDAY: with my niece and nephew
WEBSITE: mine :]
SUBJECT IN SCHOOL: victorian literature
HOLIDAY: christmas
TIME OF YEAR: spring
PLACE(S) TO SHOP: for clothes -- abercrombie and fitch, anthropologie, banana republic, the gap; for music and movies -- best buy; for books -- barnes and noble booksellers; for furniture and kitchen gadgets -- southwestern furniture, restoration hardware, pottery barn, williams sonoma, sur la table
SAYINGS: any combination of cuss words, god bless it, blast it, that's a suck

THE FRUITS OF LABOR:
LIVING ARRANGEMENT: home, with parents
TYPE OF CAR YOU DRIVE NOW: 2005 pewter grey acura rsx
APPROXIMATE NUMBER OF HOURS YOU SPEND WORKING EACH WEEK: fiftyish
THE TYPE OF WATCH YOU OWN: silver bracelet-styled fossil
SOMETHING IMPORTANT ON YOUR DESK: books
WHAT’S ON YOUR MOUSEPAD: i don't have one
ON YOU DESKTOP: aggie photos
ON THE WALLS OF YOUR ROOM: a painting my paternal grandmother painted, a bulletin board covered with papers and pictures of my niece and nephew, a clock my maternal great uncle made, a virginia stroud print my mother gave me, flavia prints my maternal grandmother gave me, a dried sunflower floral arrangement
THINGS YOU HIDE IN YOUR CLOSET, UNDER YOUR BED: bills, artwork
ON YOUR NIGHTSTAND: i don't have one
THINGS YOU LIKE TO BUY: clothes, movies, music, books, furniture and kitchen gadgets
IF YOU COULD AFFORD TO AT THIS MOMENT, YOU WOULD BUY: my own home
YOU COLLECT: see "things you like to buy"
YOU DON’T HAVE A LOT OF: money
STRANGEST POSSESSION: the splint for my teeth
MOST EXPENSIVE POSSESSION: phineas bubbaphat
MOST PRIZED POSSESSION: the antique icebox my great-uncle restored and my great-aunt painted
IF YOUR HOUSE WAS BURNING AND YOU ONLY HAD TIME TO SAVE THREE THINGS, THEY WOULD BE: jon's bulletin board, my laptop, the aquamarine ring joe gave me

ME, MYSELF AND I:
THREE BEST QUALITIES: intelligence, compassion, generosity
THREE WORST QUALITIES: insecurity, temper, laziness
THREE WORDS OTHERS USE TO DESCRIBE YOU: effervescent, bright, inspiring
THREE WORDS YOU USE TO DESCRIBE YOUR IDEAL SELF: independent, successful, content
THREE THINGS FOR WHICH YOU ARE OFTEN COMPLIMENTED: smile, writing skills, sense of style
THE NUMBER OF DRINKS THAT CONSTITUTES YOUR LIMIT: three
BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE: smile
WORST PHYSICAL FEATURE: posture

YES OR NO (THERE IS NO MAYBE):
KEEP A DIARY: yes
LIKE TO COOK: no
EXERCISE REGULARLY: no
SKETCH WHILE ON THE PHONE: yes
HAVE READ A BOOK IN THE PAST MONTH: no
LIKE CROSSWORD PUZZLES: yes
WAIT UNTIL THE LAST MINUTE TO FILL UP THE TANK: yes
SNORE: yes
CAN REMEMBER JOKES: no
PLAY CARDS: yes
TALK IN YOUR SLEEP: yes
EAT FAST: no
SET YOUR WATCH A FEW MINUTES AHEAD: no
ARE ALWAYS LATE: yes
OFTEN GET HEADACHES: yes
SMOKE: no
WRITE LETTERS REGULARLY: no
CAN WHISTLE: no
BELIEVE IN DESTINY: yes
CHANGE YOUR BEDSHEETS WEEKLY: yes
BITE YOUR FINGERNAILS: yes
ARE A VEGETARIAN: no
HAVE EATEN IN RESTAURANTS ALONE: yes
HAVE GONE TO A MOVIE ALONE: yes
HAVE TAKEN A VACATION ALONE: yes
READ THE NEWSPAPER DAILY: no
GET OUT OF BED AS SOON AS THE ALARM GOES OFF: no
SAVE LETTERS: yes
HAVE SWIPED A BIT OF CASH FROM YOUR FOLKS: yes
GET ALONG WITH YOUR PARENTS: no
EAT THE STEMS OF BROCCOLI: yes

PICK THREE:
PEOPLE YOU CONSIDER TO BE GENIUSES: william shakespeare, charles dickens, hunter s. thompson
INVENTIONS YOU CONSIDER INGENIUS: language, paper, the pen
FAVORITE CHILDHOOD TOYS OR GAMES: fisher price's little people (they don't make them like they used to. they used to be really cool), richard scary's townhouse, barbie
WORDS OFTEN USED WHEN SPEAKING: fuck, shit, damn
SOUNDS THAT DISTURB YOU: nails on a chalkboard, sirens, thunder
THINGS YOU WOULD NEVER DO: murder, cheat, steal
CHARITIES TO WHICH YOU WOULD DONATE MONEY: march of dimes, aids research, cancer research
QUALITIES YOUR IDEAL GUY OR GIRL WOULD POSSESS: charisma, spontaneity, confidence
QUALITIES YOUR IDEAL RELATIONSHIP SHOULD HAVE: communication, passion, variety
YOU’RE STRANDED ON A DESERT ISLAND, WHAT CD’S WOULD YOU WANT WITH YOU: three compilations i'd made
WHAT DVD’S: dedication, star wars: episode vi - the return of the jedi, pirates of the caribbean: the curse of the black pearl
WHAT PEOPLE: johnny depp, brad pitt and adam sandler

TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE STAR:
IF YOU HAD THE TALENT OR THE OPPORTUNITY, YOU WOULD: bed and breakfast my way across western europe
WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN TEN YEARS: the same as i am now
HOPE TO RETIRE AT THE RIPE OLD AGE OF: when the wheels fall off
HOW DO YOU PLAN TO SPEND THE YEARS FOLLOWING YOUR RETIREMENT: floating in the waters off california
A DREAM YOU HAVE HAD MORE THAN ONCE: i never remember them well enough to answer this. a long time ago, i had several that took place at hogwarts castle.
YOUR DREAM CAR: porsche boxster
WHERE YOU’D MOST LIKE TO LIVE: california in the winter, colorado in the summer
DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL: sometimes
WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF YOU WON THE LOTTERY: pay off my debt, give some to my parents, some to my brother, some to my niece and nephew, buy a house, furnish it, buy a porsche, take a trip to western europe and write without feeling guilty for not working a “real” job.

EMOTIONS:
THE ONE YOU TEND TO HIDE THE MOST: madness
THE ONE YOU EXPRESS THE MOST: angst
THE ONE YOU’VE EXPERIENCED MOST OFTEN LATELY: despair
A MOMENT WHEN YOU ACHIEVED ABSOLUTE HAPPINESS: i was laying on a sofa with a guy, watching high fidelity. somewhere between the time he turned the movie on and the time he'd turned it off because he'd thought i'd fallen asleep, i'd stopped thinking and just was. it was glorious.
A PIECE OF MUSIC THAT MAKES YOU SENTIMENTAL: damien rice's the blower's daughter
THINGS THAT ALMOST ALWAYS MAKE YOU HAPPY: my niece and nephew, flowers where i wouldn't expect to find them, a beautiful day, a good drive at dusk, laughter, a great story told in a book, on a screen or canvas or in a song.
WRITE THE COLORS THAT MATCH THE FOLLOWING THE EMOTIONS – FEAR, HAPPINESS, ANGER, JEALOUSY, LOVE, SADNESS, GUILT, LONELINESS: white, orange, red, yellow, pink, blue, black, gray.
YOUR OPINION OF OUIJA BOARDS: bogus until i'm near one
DO YOU BELIEVE IN YOURSELF: sometimes
WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD: despair
BEST FEELING IN THE WORLD: contentment
DO YOU HAVE MOTION SICKNESS: no

CHOICES:
SUNRISE OR SUNSET: sunset
SWEET OR SOUR: sweet
SAHARA OR HIMALAYA: himalaya
DOLPHIN OR EAGLE: dolphin
OLD OR NEW: new
COKE OR PEPSI: coke
DRINKS, HOT OR COLD: cold
WEATHER, HOT OR COLD: hot
DRIVE OR FLY: drive
YESTERDAY OR TOMORROW: tomorrow
RED OR BLUE: blue
BEATLES OR ELVIS: beatles
FIRE OR WATER: water
SQUARE OR CIRCLE: circle
LIGHTNING OR THUNDER: lightning
BLACK OR WHITE: black
OCEAN OR FOREST: ocean
DOGS OR CATS: dogs
DAY OR NIGHT: day
LEAVES OR ROOTS: leaves
WRITTEN OR SPOKEN: written
CARPET OR HARDWOOD FLOOR: hardwood
EARTHQUAKE OR HURRICANE: hurricane
CITY OR COUNTRY: country
VANILLA OR CHOCOLATE: chocolate
ABSTRACT OR FIGURATIVE: figurative
SUN OR RAIN: sun
BOXERS OR BRIEFS: boxers
PEN OR PENCIL: pen
HORNS OR STRINGS: strings
SUMMER OR WINTER: summer
DESTINY OR CHOICE: destiny
NEW YORK OR PARIS: new york. definitely new york.
SILVER OR GOLD: silver
CROUTONS OR BACON BITS: bacon bits
HALF-EMPTY OR HALF-FULL: half-empty
DRINKS, WITH OR WITHOUT ICE CUBES: with, unless it's a can of dr. pepper. then it's without.
THUNDERSTORMS, COOL OR SCARY: scary, in a cool way
ROLLER COASTERS, COOL OR SCARY: scary, in a scary way
ONE PILLOW OR TWO: four
PAPER OR PLASTIC: paper