Letters to Mom

On my birthday. HOORAY. Let's see if this keeps up.

I'd get a snow icon except I'd never get to use it.

We met in the Carlton Gardens. Mark had brought a picnic of sliced apples and homemade rolls which we shared in the shade, not far from the fountain. "I used to dream of living there," I said, gesturing towards the Exhibition Building. Talk came easily, after that, on topics ranging from Baudrillard to Italian food. Also whether we should kiss in public or not. In the end I persuaded him, and we shut our eyes to the workers, families, tourists and gardeners who kept passing by. It was a compelling kiss, if oddly tongueless. "How arresting!" I exclaimed before we stood up to make way for a lawnmower.

Later, I sent him a text message: "That was really lovely Mark, thanks." He replied: "Yes it was philip. Dappled light in a shady place."

John and I had made arrangements to meet after work, but on the appointed day he was not responding to my messages and failing to answer the phone; so I took the opportunity to ask strangers for kisses, and was rejected ten times.

(1) By a woman in the park who said "I'm old enough to be your grandmother," and, about having been stood up, "don't give up until tomorrow." (2) By a smoker drinking coffee who said "not even for the story, although it's a good one." (3) By a man in a hat, waving like the Pope. (4) By a tourist in pink shoes, unconvinced by my claim that she should kiss me for having been photographed. (5) By a power-walker, back in the park, who said "no" nine times - eight short, one long. (6) By a hippie in flowing robes who said "a kiss is just weird, but a hug is awesome." (7) By a beautician in her store who said "you're cute" as I knocked over her brochures. (8) By a cleaner at the cinema who thought she'd heard "can I have a ticket?" (9) By a ticket-seller at the same cinema who offered to shake my hand, and then to shake my other hand. (10) By a prostitute with shiny lips who said "no."

Deflated, I logged on to a website at which gay men arrange to meet each other for sex. My proposal confused people, and I received several further rejections, until spotting Nicho, my old friend from around the corner, who explained that he'd be home by one. So we kissed on his balcony overlooking Beaconsfield Parade, hiding in the Art-Deco curve, him wearing only pyjama-bottoms. It was a long and complex kiss, experienced as a continuous line. A slow-moving truck appeared, flashing orange, and Nicho said: "here come the tradies."

Jenny was having lunch in the city, and would text me when she was through. In the meantime, I checked out the (dull) Dennis Hopper and the (fun) Screen Worlds exhibitions at ACMI before exploring a Christian bookstore. I was just purchasing a soft-cover New Testament when my pocket shook: "hey let's meet at the big purse on the corner of bourke and elizabeth in about 10 minutes?"

Sure enough, Jenny was sitting on the concrete purse, chatting with a friend. She asked about the project, then explained: "I don't want a full-on snog or anything." Despite this, she was perfectly willing to stand on the purse to take the requested "Hollywood Kiss." You would have been able to see us for miles. I made a silly "mmm" noise.

Poll #1507240
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What would you have chosen?

I had offered him a cake kiss or a goodbye kiss. He opted for the latter, terrified. "Kiss me, kiss me," I said once he'd loaded himself up for the journey. So he puckered and pecked, so intent on keeping it brief that we bumped noses. Then he set off along the pathway, turning once more to flash me a Disney smile.

Ivan seemed ill-at-ease on the 29th floor, even as he let me in to the spacious, messy apartment. The view was expansive, magical even, but Ivan was looking forward to returning to Deer Park. "It's only for a few days," he explained. I turned to face him on the balcony and we kissed, gently and slowly, accompanied by the whirr of the distant streets.

Later, on the couch, our kissing was still slow, interrupted occasionally by sudden bouts of ear-kissing. "Are you sensitive, there?" I suppose I was squealing. When I invited him to join my friends at the movies he said: "but this is the movie. We are the characters."

I was thinking last night that memories affect me too much. Or at least some specific ones do. I still can't watch/read/whatever Lord of the Rings without tears in my eye, especially the last one. I associate it too strongly with Jess. There's a couple other small things, most notably various birthdays. And French. Can't deal with that very well.

I say this, because I saw Avatar the other day. Stay with me now. I saw avatar, and I really enjoyed it. The graphics were amazing, and I didn't have the problems with plot/characters that others seemed to harp on. I was talking with a friend about it last night, and she called shenanigans on one of my favorite parts. Then I said it reminded me of something. And as soon as I remembered what exactly, my entire night was ruined. Cried myself to sleep and all that jazz.

i'm sure most of you are wondering just what the triggering memory was. Well, I'd rather not say. Of course, that narrows it down to all of 2 people who read this blog, but oh well. With any luck, each one will think it was t'other.

The reason I say too much, is the whole Jess thing went down back in HS. 11th or 12th grade. I was telling my friend (same one) about what my 10th grade English teacher said as well, and that still bothers me. 10th grade was also the worst year wrt. all the stuff w/ Lauren, since it was all fresh then after the horrible freshman year. Actually, it was still going on, since she didn't leave till that summer. Tail end of 3 years of torture.

I want to be over it. Or at least the stuff that happened a couple years ago. It's not like I'm even trying to patch things up with them. And in my line of work, I can hardly afford to antagonize LotR. I'm sure sooner or later, I'm going to have to face the facts...but for now, I still have hope. Even just a little, it's HOPE.

Happy New Year, Livejournal!
Here are some of my New Year's Resolutions.

1.) Fall in love with myself cos you can't fall in love with anyone and find true love without loving yourself first.
2.) Lose atleast 30 pounds. By summer. I'll get in shape in time to go to Japan for the first time in 8 years.
3.) Keep my weight down 'til Christmas '10. Lynn promisedto buy me a new pair of pants if I keep my weight down 'til then.
4.) Get a second job. I love working at Disneyland and everything but it's too far.
5.) Save up for a trip to Japan for me and Lynn. Well, I think kei and I are going to split the cost of Lynn's trip since we both work and she doesn't.
6.) Train to join the Air Force. I'm planning on joining this year if I can get a medical waiver.
7.) Study Japanese like crazy. Kanji. Must. Die.
8.) Get started on my portfolio and finish my GEs so I can apply to design schools to become an architectual designer. If the whole Air Force thing doesn't happen, I'm going to make a childhood dream of mine come true.
9.) Quit being stubborn. (That's just like telling someone to stop breathing...LOL.)
10.) Keep a journal. Not an online one but an actual one.

I suppose I will add to the list when I make more resolutions!

I hope you all had a safe and wonderful New Year's!
=)

But all the good names are taken!: How to name your literary work (newspaper, publication, book, etc). protip: don’t name them after things that already exist

(I emailed this to myself during my internship as a note to self so I'd write about it later. I still haven't. Now I can archive the message and--gasp--have zero messages in my Gmail inbox. HOORAY.)

I had scheduled Nathalie, but she was late, then chosen the popcorn sellers, but they were distracted; so it was with a certain desperation that I stepped out of the Astor Theatre in search of a pre-film kiss. Walking quickly along Dandenong Road I spotted a woman in purple approaching with shopping bags. We exchanged glances, looked away, then I said: "excuse me, excuse me - can I please kiss you?"

Her hair was red. Her eyes were made up in white. When she spoke it was with an accent from the east, as if she were being squeezed. "But you are strange. Strange - a stranger!" Yes. "Why?" I don't know. Because it's the second day of the year. "Yes, but why me?" I don't know. Because you are a very beautiful lady. (A hundred passing cars.)

It was taking too long. I said, smiling: "I see that there are only two things that can happen, now. Either you say no and we keep walking, or we kiss then walk on." I gestured existentially along the footpath. And she said: "okay I'll say yes."

She held her head still and I kissed her on the lips. It was a short kiss, but long enough for me to taste smoke and lipstick. "Bye!" we agreed, then parted. I couldn't walk straight. I was floating. It was the first time I'd kissed a stranger, and the first time I'd kissed a girl.

By body chose to ring in the new year with bright red blood and cramps that would make manly men cry. Or so I'm convinced, but I'm a wimp when it comes to physical pain, so what do I know?

Heat is my way out, so I was looking forward to a nice hot shower before bedtime tonight. I grabbed the pair of shorts without a stretchy waistband (period shorts, they're called in my head), an old blue striped t-shirt, and old underwear (you guessed it--period underwear) and gallavanted into the shower.

I turned the hot water dial until the H was an H and nearly got burned. Thanks, water. I just wanted some gentle heat, not even more pain. Fine, I'll turn on some cold water, too. Fiddled with the temperature a bit. Huh, this is the first time I've had to do this for awhile, I thought as I turned the shower button and washed my hands and face, letting the now-hot water fall down my body and heal it.

I lathered some shampoo into my hair and began to rinse when the hot water was hot no more. Great. I turned the cold faucet off and let the hot water remain, turning it so the H was even more upright, but that didn't help. If anything, it made things worse. Shit.

Now feeling my body tense up at the touch of something cold, on went the soap. This better not last much longer, and it didn't, as I lathered up my body and gave the Navy shower folks a run for their money. It would have been faster if it weren't for, oh I don't know, my waist-length hair.

So now I'm back here still cramping, wondering how a simple pleasure and cure for cramps like a hot shower could have gone so terribly wrong.

At least they should be gone tomorrow.

Oh, and happy new year. I did quite well on my one resolution last year: a meme-free 2009 in LJ. Woot. This year is to get a job. At 600+ applications and six interviews (yes, I had one on New Year's Eve for those I didn't tell), this is looking pretty grim.

Chad didn't want to be seen so we walked quickly away from the city, following the river, looking for a quiet place. The mist had made things slippery, but we managed to get off the boardwalk and into a kind of building site complete with fruit-trees, a crane, a vintage wheelbarrow and an upturned rowboat. Not to mention a fully-fledged historical tall-ship, as backdrop.

He pulled me towards his sunglasses. I closed my eyes and we kissed. He smelt like moisturiser. We were leaning against stacks of wood. His technique was repetitive but enjoyable, with a smacking event interspersed by periods of horizontal tongue-waving - always against my lower lip, but at varying speeds. He would stop whenever people were seen on the boardwalk, but if I moved away he would pull me back, lovingly. "Have you brought people here before?" he asked. I said: "you're the first." He pulled at my t-shirt to get a look at my chest.

On the way out we talked about perfume, and agreed to get lunch. Crossing the Yarra on Queen's Bridge he suddenly kissed me again - very briefly, almost missing.

[Quotes: "You are always closing your eyes, when kissing." "I can tell you are a non-smoker, from your breath." ]

I woke early on the last day of the year and immediately kissed a lemon, briefly, by way of goodbye.

Before going to the beach I enhanced my penis with a lemon, pushing it into the front of my speedos and admiring the absurd bulge. Then I walked along Fitzroy street without trousers and set myself up on the sand. It was my first outdoor swim of the summer; soon I was distracted from the fruit by the sea.

I added a lemon to the front gate of a home around the corner, pushing it down over its central spike. Other parts of the gate were decorated in baubles. The effect was harmonious.

Had a dream last night. Kinda nightmare-y, but not really. Just strange. It was a discussion with a professor (who was kinda a mix of 2 very different proffs I had) saying that my programming sucks. After he complained (as if the class was the AI&Lisp class I took), I made the claim that I'm a Mathematician trapped in C.S. (Sujin always says I'm in the math closet). After a few more lines of dialogue, he basically offered me a job working with him. But I said I was working with Dr. Lester (my advisor). So blah blah blah, "you'd have to do programing", blah blah blah, "I know that's why I'm having trouble", blah blah blah "Why don't you show it to me (under his breath). I'll help you as long as you explain the other stuff." At this point he was right up in my face, and he looked kinda like my regions NaNo ML. Very strange.

So we had a AI Lisp proff. who was at first looking like my Theory proff (and offered me a theory job) in IL, and then in the end turned out to be my NaNo ML.

The title comes from the fact that the dream basically prayed on my insecurities of my position. I usually feel okay about the math / proofs involved in my coursework. The programming however, is driving me mad. Whenever I have to sit down and write code, I always wonder if I should have been a mathematician instead.

I took a lemon to a public carwash, inserted a coin and attacked the fruit with the high-pressure hose. I also played with the foaming brush, scrubbing at the lemon until it was ready to be rinsed and waxed.

In the ornamental garden at Bendigo's Golden Dragon Museum I fed shards of lemon peel to the fish. They appeared to love it, swimming around and across each other to gulp at the pieces. Some of the lemon was regurgitated then swallowed by a second fish, even a third, but in the end it was all swallowed.

On Boxing Day I made a punching bag from a green lemon attached to a rubber band. It was an effective tool for exercise, and bounced back rhythmically, until a split in the fruit made it fall.