1997

3/25/1997

Hello Young Lovers

…or Loretta Young lovers, wherever the fuck you are. I’m in a day of snow, big white flakes of fallout in the wake of another winter a-bomb month on the prairie. Walking on the street with my eyes in a far away thought, a homeless man stopped me and asked if he could help me. I said, “I've perfected the art of helping myself, but thanks anyway." As I kept on walking I got a flash --- Perhaps he was that angel I’ve been wishing for --- an other-worldly leprechaun in disguise --- waiting for me to rattle off the secret code to receive the universal payload. Oh well, once again I turned down destiny on the street.

The mighty Mazda chugged east and then west and then plowed through the snow to Wayzata to rescue my Versace gown from the dry cleaners. A wasted 40 miles, the evening's merriment was still a toothy Cabernet grin in the fold of the skirt. Oh well, they have another week to get it right. Home again I had about 20 minutes to inhale fresh and tasty food before meeting the coworkers and new Swedish partners at Bunks. My body and mind are still recovering from the goddess turning 9 last Thursday. I’m trying to erase all the junk food and Jim Carrey movies that I endured at this slumber party milestone with the not yet menstruating population.

As I type this, I am fresh from dancing my ass off at Bunkers. I helped to entertain the Swedes who recently purchased a part of our company. The one with the big checkbook danced it up with me. I ran into our friend Willy. He introduced me to a friend as the "party girl" who sideways introduced him to you. Not sure how I feel about this new station in life --- I just smirk and stick out my tits when I don’t know what to say. Not that I'd take the time to explain our friendship to just anyone.

At any rate its time for television and then mind-vision from another crazy dream. Tomorrow will be another day and opportunity to be a grand contradiction of myself --- and a great dancer.

Peace Love and Detoured from Destiny

Michele

3/27/1997

I wonder why...

The goddess is a rock star and she now has her own video of her 9th birthday to prove it to the masses compliments of great friends at North Coast Video. It beat and will outlive her initial birthday request of renting a limo for a jaunt to McDonalds. Something she thought she was entitled to, where do they ever get these ideas?????

This is a week of change and of comets that flash in the sky. I remember at odd times that Halle Bop hasn't been visible since Egyptian times and the fact that it currently chooses to hang out on the same lines of longitude and latitude that I physically inhabit leaves me wondering. Just when I become slack jawed at the wonder of it all that nasty little rebel inside bellows, “Who sets these fucking astral standards anyway?"

This is a week of entertaining the Swedes who have invested half a million in the development of our company, which in the current timeline translates to a few fabulous company dinners with expensive bottles of wine. One of them is quite sexy in that 40ish euro way. He makes me feel somewhat horny and inventive --- I think about running away with him and opening a hot dog cart in Grand Cayman wearing a jalapeno green thong bikini --- rubbing my button on his balding forehead and dripping in mustard. I’m setting an alarm for 4/1/00 in my contact database so I can reserve the airline tickets and order the sausages.

Where in the fuck are you these days? Count on the fact that I am out in the world making money, being a mama, or thinking about sex.

Peace Love and a sassy dream to relish

Michele

4/2/1997

Knock Knock Knocking…

Heaven’s door is once again swinging this spring. This week I have two friends in the midst of chemotherapy with radiation the next. I’m feeling heavy with it --- remembering all the people I love who made the big exit --- always in spring. I don't know if I have the capacity to lose anyone in the spring again or ever again.

I hate getting bad news at work --- always surrounded by Dilberts and too involved in the cyber bullshit du jour to cry out loud or kick a wall. It festers in me and I drive home with the wet eyed blindness and I take my frustration out on the Susies of the suburbs in their SUV’s on Highway 55.

Unusually warm today and I really needed a bike ride into the sunset, but the goddess is too damn afraid of riding her bike on the city sidewalk tonight --- but damn cute about it. I am aware of my unstable emotion today and fight the impulse to snap. I suggest a walk in a friendly and understanding "mom" type voice. She is visibly relieved but offers a mollifying “I’m sorry I’m such a wimp mom.” I tell her, “It doesn’t matter if we walk or ride – just so long as you’re by my side.”

Later in the dark of the night we cross the bridge on Hennepin Avenue, our voices echo over the muddy river below. She sings, "R-E-S-P-E-C-T!" I start to skip and swing the plastic shopping bag containing a 4-pack of Charmin and belt out (ala Annie), “We'll be wiping with these tomorrow! Bet your bottom is happy that tomorrow, there'll be wipes… tomorrow, tomorrow, I’m wiping tomorrow, it’s only a sit away!" She thought this was funnier and added even more delightful verses.

Later, at bed time, "Tuck me in Mom, I loooooove you sooooo much… ahem… could you please not sit on the bed when you read me a story. Your butt heats up the sheets too much!"

The goddess sleeps quietly in the dim light of this space --- no sounds other than the hum from the old trusty IBM that I no longer use, but can’t quite bring myself to power down --- sentimental. The news of day washes over me once again and deposits a lump in my throat. My prayers tonight will be an even mixture of pleas and heartfelt thanks.

Peace, Love and the goddess sleeps tonight

michele

4/4/1997

Mich - Minnie

Thanks for the moniker!

Mich-guided? Maybe! Mich-interpreted? Always! Sure to be wearing something tight, living larger than her checkbook and paying at the pump with big breasts and big attitude every mich-minute of the day.

I’m glad you survived the flying… the gorgeous women… the beautiful politeness of Japan… the trembling of the earth.

I’m flossing itty bitty bugs of frustration out of the teeth of my days. A side habit developed from living on the fly. There I am flapping on fringe again and paying a high price to the fuckers with guns who've set up a roadblock in my life and refuse to let me pass.

So now it is back to work ... all my love to anyone who wants it.

Peace, love and days of our gnats

michele

4/5/1997

Button’s a Real Peach

Peach pits. I have two peach pits sitting in a glass of water on the stove, put there by the goddess. The first one was left there because she thought it would be nice to grow a peach tree. The second placed there because she was too lazy to walk the extra 4 steps to throw it in the rubbish bin. I shrugged my shoulders and said, “Throw it in the water, from what I understand you need a pair (pear) to make a peach." I was thinking in terms of pollination, she liked the word play. So there they soak. She calls me from her Dad's house and asks, "Have they sprouted yet?" I look, and sometimes I don't look, but I always say, "Nope, not yet sweetie."

I found a button pin, which is silly when you think about it… a pin in the shape of a button. I bought the damn thing for 5 bucks because T---- the ex’s pet name for me was "button" back in the day. Those days of being a hot 20ish couple of the 80's, making out and sweating the watermelon scented gel in our hair. He is somewhat kooky and I love this about him.

The goddess also has an appreciation for his eccentric humor and likes to pepper her repartee with quick-witted smart ass replies, a talent gleaned from the halls o’ mom. He told me this morning that he was getting frustrated searching for an attachment for the vacuum cleaner. After a 45-minute search and some swearing he found it and shouted " I FOUND THE ATTACHMENT! " From the kitchen table the goddess looked up and then shouted back, "EUREKA!!"

Adding assistants and business managers was supposed to simply my life --- it has only served to further complicate it. I make less money and have more responsibility. I do much better on my own, but that kills me too. My nose grazes the limbo stick in this life --- oh well, at least my ass is on the other side.

No, I haven't seen Willy this week. Apparently I embarrassed him in public (Bunkers) because he bought me a beer. I just give them what they want --- sometimes it’s just easier to breeze by and pretend I’m a cartoon for these guys --- think Jessica Rabbit --- that’s me, minus a Roger of course.

Peace Love and Button the Pit Keeper

Michele

4/5/1997

In the Pantry with my Cupcakes…

I like my new laptop some days and I prefer it on my lap as well. It warms my legs in a hot plastic sort of way, like a cat on my lap. Hopefully my words will make it purr today.

I end up having wine with the coffee shop boy, who is eleven years younger and worlds different in culture and experiences. It ends ala Mrs. Robinson. I’m not interested in knowing him on any level other than sexual --- I feel like a predator, but I’ll get over it I’m sure. He says (in his French accent) "Eet eez so sexy, zee way you dress your body!" I say, "Merci!" What I really meant was “Lord have mercy…”

J--- calls, for some reason he needs to perpetuate his connection with me, his dialogue, which, if taken in by someone eavesdropping, would lead them to believe that we are still a couple with some sort of future and a combined destiny. “Lets go away this summer --- I love you so much senorita baby mama --- very soon I will be able to treat you like a queen!" I counter with, " Cut the shit, couldn't we just do dinner and a movie? " Somewhere inside I wish I could believe him, or count on him, but of course I can't. I feel a wave of heaviness descend and I hold my breath when he says, "I'll call you after work and we'll get together tonight." Of course he doesn’t call. I bury my disappointment, glare at myself in the mirror and say “Idiot!”

My pager goes off --- it’s coffee shop boy --- Lord have mercy.

Peace love and Here’s to Me

michele

4/8/1997

Exploding Head Tricks

Sounds like you had a great time at Sir Elton’s ball Cinder-fella. I have a pain in my neck at the moment, literally and figuratively. Michele's small business budget is paying the rent for the office and two salaries besides. When do you suppose I'd get some real support, or direction, or at the very least a foot massage out of the deal. I'm not surprised, and I expected it actually. I’d be disappointed if things weren't disappointing. Calm and efficient hum makes me extremely uneasy and I watch the sky waiting for houses to fall. It’s a middle child affliction or perhaps the fear of leading combined with a fear of success.

In my dream last night, I was a success, somewhat. I dreamed that I took over someone's life mid-point. She/I was an artist, painter, married to an endearingly oh-so nerdy balding inventor. I popped into her life during a drive in the country, complete with precocious know-all-all kids in the backseat. I was telling a story of how their Dad always let me win at Monopoly. He just looked at me sweetly and said, "Sometimes you really do win!” I smiled him but inwardly I didn’t like how I felt.

Interpretation of the dream: If everything in life were simplified for me, how would I ever know if I truly accomplished anything?

The inventor husband was trying to make me feel better, because I had lost my talent to paint. He took me to his shop and showed me the cars he designed that were not only beautiful but ran literally on air (hydro-carbonic something… this part reminded me of a movie I saw with Keanu Reeves.) He refused to share his miraculous invention with the world because he feared the oil companies would retaliate by murdering our family --- all because cost-free, pollution-free energy solutions would wreak havoc on the global economy.

He said he awoke everyday at 5:30 AM and worked at his inventions until breakfast, then went to work and didn't think about them until the next day. At a rate of 2 hours a day for 42 years and he had a warehouse full of wonder that no one else would ever see. Again I asked him why he couldn’t share some of these wild inventions with the world. He shrugged his shoulders and told me the joy was in creating and he didn’t want his heart and soul consumed by the masses. Creating on a daily basis was something he did to keep his head from exploding.

Interpretation of the dream: I can continue doing what I do, when I do it. As long as it satisfies my soul, it doesn't matter if or when it will ever be consumed by the masses.

What a dream… and then I woke up. Showered, dressed and off to work with a stop at the coffee shop. Coffee stud was working today, and here's to me, Mrs. Robinson, wondering what it is in Michele that drives those little boys so crazy. Zee way I dress my body? Or, because I like it and I make no secret that I really don’t like them.

Peace love and eets so sexy, zee way I keep my head from exploding

Michele

4/10/1997

April Snow

Time to go… damn April snow… this winter refuses to end. To further insult us, it brings record floods and record cold so we get to see our neighbors and their belongings float by on the big mean Mississippi river, which by the way, is due to crest next Tuesday. Glad I live on an upper floor.

I have streph throat and I should have stayed in bed with my old pus larynx. Instead I go to work and smoke cigs --- only because they can’t seem to get anything done right or out the door unless I bless it like a knit-picking big titty geek queen of Small Business Services. I worked for 12 hours today and no one really gives a fuck, not even my doctor, not even me.

I called the goddess tonight from work ... she locked herself in her room after having a spat with good old Dad on the way home --- he blamed his mood on constipation, quite a lame middle aged passive excuse. It all came down to this: lunch at school sucks and there were not any good vegetarian choices on the cafeteria line today, so she spent the afternoon running on only a pint of chocolate milk. She was hungry, rundown and cranky as hell. How ironic --- they had a spat because he was full of gas and she ran out of gas. Dr. Mom prescribed black beans, rice, and nice conversation. She played me a song over the phone line on her Casio keyboard. My 9-year-old goddess composer with an irregular Dad (in every sense of the word.)

The sexy coffee boy's uncle winked at me today and said, "Poor Michele, you spent the last two days alone and sick, did anyone come over to take care of you?" "No, but I got to verbally abuse a bill collector and someone got a wrong number." He told me that he has been praying for the right man to come into my life --- to pamper me and treat me the way I deserve to be treated. “Thanks…” I smile at him, half hoping he has a better rapport with the fate makers up there (or at least a fake mater down here.) Sometimes I think that I get exactly what I deserve --- a sad commentary on my life.

I hope you find something meaningful for “Frantic”. Frantic is a word that conjures many delightful pathos of pain and is my all-time favorite brand of out of control desperation. Once I was so frantic with anger that I cried alone in my bed and someone phoned me from across the world because he heard me screaming in his head.

You should get the B-mer, who cares what other people like. Please enjoy your Britain version of the Los Angeles landscape and rest assured it is still winter here in Passive-apolis.

Peace Love and Nature at its worst

Michele

4/11/1997

Our Mother who aren't in Paris ...

It is an April still weak and crawling away from the winter that preceded it. I sat at the kitchen counter listening to Letty kick the hound from hell via a long distance phone call. Out of breath and wheezing as she ran to the phone after surfing the basset hound across the living room. She rasped, "That damn dog of your sister's is driving me nuts, it thinks it is a human --- I just whacked the son of a bitch with a book…” “Good Lord… don’t do that mom --- you'll instill a fear of reading and then you'll be responsible if he flunks high school…" "Ha, very funny Shelly…"

I’m climbing the edifice of Letty, the Lettifice… it is an inch-by-inch endeavor and chances are that I may never reach the summit of peace with the woman. I take comfort in knowing that I at least tonight I’m climbing for all the right reasons and at my own pace. So here I am on the phone with Letty, elevated to this foreign state of ease. Wow, what a view from the 2^nd floor --- we have been in a conversation for 2 hours now. Old tensions are absent in our voices over the telephone wire. Plenty of slack and no expectations are the trick this time as I effortlessly scale Mount Momma.

Letty confesses a crush on the hot 68-year-old bus driver who chauffeurs the girls in her retirement building to bingo every Wednesday afternoon. Old hormones never die apparently, they just close their eyes and fantasize to the olfactory whirr of Aqua Velva and pray every Tuesday night that he outlives his wife. God help the man if he does.

Letty lamented the curse of never learning to drive, cook or ride a bike, but takes great pride in her ability to belt out a song, knit, and sew. I told her I can manage vehicles and stoves quite well… knitting and sewing are beyond the realm of my patience and I’m thankful for staplers and duct tape to see me through the weeks between visits to the tailor.

Letty’s mother Alice was over protective to a fault --- she was motivated by the guilt and shame of giving birth to Letty in a hospital for unwed mothers at the tender age of 15. Letty was handed over to state appointed foster parents at the age of 3 months and lived there as an unwelcome pariah for the first 8 years of her life. Letty’s emptiness stems from the lack of the maternal bonding element that unconsciously grounds most of us (somewhat grounds us…) Letty was finally returned to her mother after Alice married and settled in an upper middle class section of Silver Spring, MD. Alice over compensated, or perhaps she was overwhelmed with the sad, little, looking for love creature that was returned to her. She forbade Letty from attempting anything that could possibly inflict physical harm. No swimming --- might drown. No bikes --- might crash and break a limb. No roller skating --- ditto. No cooking ---- my job, and might burn down the house. No driving --- might crash and die. No dating --- might get knocked up. Letty put her mind to learning how to knit, draw, sew and sing her little heart out.

Letty never resonated with her emotional inheritance (or lack thereof). She had a tendency to act superior to everyone because she didn't want anyone to see how truly frightened and unsure she really was. When she started a family she vowed she would never repeat her mother’s sins --- but somehow she did.

I’m not happy with my emotional inheritance (or lack thereof). I have a tendency to pack my bags and take off down the road rather than deal head on with sadness, shame or anger. I act out in a loud, hilarious and spirited way and try like hell to drown out the voice of judgment. When I started my family I vowed that I would never repeat my mother’s sins --- but somehow, some of them leak through.

Parenting is an inherited folk song… same song and each generation has its own unique tempo and key. Parenting is like fashion --- just as we realize how silly some notions were, they come back in style. So it turns likes wheels in the wind and runs without regret like the floods of this spring. Energy changes and sometimes it has the courtesy to make itself known, like the clock in Windows 95 on the first hour of daylight savings time.

Life runs it's path for all of us and in the dark sometimes we have the good fortune to stub our toe on the pyramid of choice --- wisdom hits us at odd times --- like a fish to the forehead. If we trust what is light and true in our hearts at these moments we can experience snacks of personal brilliance, even with fish splattered on our faces.

Brilliance, Letty and a sigh

Peace love and insert cicada chorus here

Michele

4/22/1997

82 MPH Anxiety Cures

Anxiety attack as I drove west to Wayzata today, it dawned on me that whether I was going 72 or 25, having a heart attack in the left lane of 394 would make me human road kill. This comforted me somehow and I said aloud, “What the Fuck --- let’s make a big mess then shall we?” As I pushed my speed up to 82 the anxiety attack subsided, much to my chagrin.

Thursday I take the goddess to work with me for the day and then plan to cap off the workday at an early show at the Fine Line to see Shonen Knife. I told her it is my duty as mother and music mentor to counter balance the effects of Gwen Stefani, Weird Al & the Butthole surfers --- her CD’s of choice these days.

Peace love and forgot to mention how much I hate my fucking job this week

Michele

5/1/1997

The Polls

Enjoy your day at the polls and in the studio. Here in the city of Manyunhappiness, MN there aren’t any elections, or options, or candidates, mayo, ferries, Ferrys or fairies…

Only resignation. I was elected into the sour state of conventionality by a landslide vote --- due to a record voter turn out, here I am serving my term as manager of the whining sheep.

I sit at this cheap desk and get quietly furious every day and frustrated at this immobility and feeling powerless because I need the money. There are bills to pay, a goddess who is involved in many cash sucking activities who also has a penchant for Thai restaurants and continues to grows out of her clothes and shoes every 3 months. I serve my term in the prison of protocol, procedure and politics as a socially acceptable 9-5 member of the working sheep. I’m no longer running like a wolf, even in the luxury of my dreams. This gregarious lone wolf now chases her own tail, in circles… in a different language --- a programming language.

Ah… but tonight I will do the merchandise dance for the fans of Lowen and Navarro. At my table in the back I have heard more than once, "Did you know that a person could see right through your shirt?" I reply, "Actually, I count on it --- which CD do you want?"

Peace Love and sheer frustration

Michele

5/9/1997

Another Week for the Working Weak

These weeks all blend together --- why do I even bother? Upper management came back from Sweden "energized" and with focus. I am the antithesis of this energy --- I feel less and less sure of where I am in all of this and wonder it all will lead.

I finished reading 84 Charing Cross Road (took all of 45 minutes) and ran out to get the sequel The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street. 84 Charing Cross Road literally fell on my toe during a Barnes and Noble rainy afternoon. This book is about a 20-year relationship in letters between a free-lance writer in NY and a broker dealing in antiquated books in post-WWII London. It was cute, quick and she was a smart-ass screenwriter. Maybe you should read it --- or perhaps we are living it.

In regard to the “medicine” of being Michele, even though I plug my nose I still taste the bullshit and chaos and gag from the rotting odor self-importance here in 9-5 land.

Miracle boy was my waiter for lunch today at Lucky's. He told the incredible tale of being run over by a Ford Bronco and surviving with only two scars. He described how it felt to wake up paralyzed and then the awe and wash of relief of movement and feeling after 3 agonizing days of waiting to see if the paralysis would be permanent. It surprised the doctors and nurses at Fairview who of course dubbed him "miracle boy"

Peace Love and Slap a Spice girl online, I did

Michele

5/14/1997

Work, a Great Place to Waste Time

Man oh man, how I sigh these days --- but I did this to myself. I prayed for structure and focus and look at the mess it has me in. Working at 8 am and sleeping by 10 each night… it’s a sick, sick life… not to mention, a waste of 5 perfectly good dancing hours.

My company wants to set up an entertainment web site for the Minneapolis Warehouse district. A play zone if you will, for me it translates into more work and cracking the whip on a programmer who would rather have his tongue beat off with techno babble than put his fingers to the keyboard and bang out my fucking code.

October already… do you believe it? Ok… May is doing an October impersonation here… now do you believe it? Freezing temperatures at night and SNOW this afternoon. Someone please wake me from this prairie nightmare.

I need a vacation and may take one if I can get this web thing rolling and show some value (e.g. profitability). My eyes roll visibly in the staff meetings as the insecure techies react to the expansion of “roles” and the load of work this new project brings. I hear statements like, "Hey, I'm not a hardware monkey… I'm a consultant." Oh yeah I think, Mary Kay calls her ladies consultants too.

Oh well, I can see this letter is just more bitching on my part --- better to end it here and click send.

Besides, the goddess changed the CD on the stereo and put on some rap-bass-drum-pounding-my-ass-from-the-floor kind of music. I’m wondering where the hell she learned to gyrate like that. She laughs at me because I look at her with eyes wide and mouth closed so tight its attached to the back of my tongue. A facial expression on my face that can only be described as one of, “Excuse me but I seem to have a bicycle stuck in my throat.”

Peace love and a crazy baby dancing

Michele

5/19/1997

Recovery Day…

It is always like this, the first day back from family "fun" in Wiscons-INSANE and the goddess and I suffer inertia and sleeplessness. She had a monster bloody nose early this a.m. so we took the day off. Amazing how her health improves cartoon after cartoon, currently she sits on the sofa, watching Wishbone on public television.

Work… I have plenty on my plate as usual. I also have an air of ambivalence today, ambivalence that I haven’t quite decided what to do with… or whether I should do anything about…

Trying to figure out my dreams these days. In my dream life the landscape is always rife with new ventures and plenty of bears. I wonder what the significance of bears in dreams mean. I've had more than one bear encounter (not bare, because I have an inkling of what those dreams represent.) In a very recent dream, my last night in Wiscons-insane, a polar bear chased me down a wooded path, exhausted I finally decided to just lay in the snow and take my chances. He lumbered over and began to gently sniff at me --- with eyes closed I was hyper aware of his animal scent and warm breath that was in direct contrast to his wet, cold sniffing nose --- I pondered the odds of eventually being ignored or eaten. I've been in this dream situation too many times and it's always so strange --- it always ends with the bear become quickly disinterested in me and slowly walking away in the opposite direction.

Then dear Dr., I woke up!

It was Sunday morning and time to drive the drive --- across the miles that mark past to present. The goddess and I returned to the nuclear testing site known as "my life in Passive-apolis" where I reluctantly play whining turbine number 4.

The goddess is a smart ass this week, constantly challenging everything I say and everything I do. I fear the hormones are starting to develop in the sweet little girl I've known for 9 years, it won't be long until she conveniently and temporarily hates me, just because I'm me. I know that all girls do this to their Moms eventually --- I sure hope I can handle it.

She plays me with agility and purpose --- in between pushing my buttons and testing the boundaries between us she’ll drop in a “Mama”, which she knows melts me heart and turns me into a “yes” creature. I bet my aorta will resemble Swiss cheese by the time she's 20.

I'm working on the project initiation report for the warehouse district web site/hosting service, specific to the burgeoning arts and entertainment in Mecca-Ice-polis. If it works out my life will take a new turn. Or at least that is what the optimistic ---justify my day in the trench --- inner voice claims. But that is nothing new for crazy planet me after all. In my own galaxy every possibility orbits me --- eventually one of these meteors of brilliance will hit me --- that, or an astronaut will plant a flag in my…

Peace love and NASA up my ASSA

michele

5/21/1997

As I lived it ...

Here, it is almost afternoon and my morning started early with the moon shining on my right shoulder and the edges of the sun heating my ankles --- it was 5 a.m.

I was dreaming that I was inside my own body, which was a dizzying arcade. Each temple a flipper on a pinball game (my head) going buzz, whirr, bang, bang, bang-bang-pop. Two buzzing and pulsating go-carts were spinning out of control in the pits (my ovaries) where they rotated endlessly and spun and burned painful rubber.

I walked into the kitchen and swallowed some Tylenol and tried to lie back to sleep, this time with an ice pack on my head and a heating pad on my abdomen. Bang-Bang-Bang. So instead I paced the floor, sweating and shivering simultaneously and feeling as if I was about to give birth to something evil. Nature is not always kind to women --- fucking nature.

So of course I'm late to work --- sans excuse --- not up for the condescending (have no clue) response from the dick owning (oh… you’re on the rag) majority there.

The activity here resembles that early morning dream… everyone buzzing around and banging about… happy for the sun and warmth --- spring is finally here after a long 8-month absence. I have a Tylenol hangover and feel as if I'm working under veils today… it is my ardent wish that the veils begin to fall to the floor one by one --- if for nothing else than to reveal the slave girl at her best.

Peace love and pass the Salome

michele

5/29/1997

The Right Girl .. The Wrong Time ..

From the popular dyslexic tome “Love is War / Love is Raw”

An idea I throw around as a catchy little pop song or as a screenplay for a future independent flick: Right Girl at the Wrong Time. Or is it the story of my life?

The right girl fits many ideals, and it is very apparent --- too bad the timing is off.

She is always the right one -- because she is everything she projects and if you dissected the right girl there would be no surprises, or hidden agenda

Audiences cheer for the right girl and she is assured of their undying sympathy --- but only if she promises to die in the end

To date, the right girl uses an abacus to track the countless versions of the “I don’t deserve you” monologues she has heard

The right girl spins around and around and is often heard humming a Paul Westerberg song in the elevator

Paul Westerberg is secretly a right girl who has met an equal portion of wrong girls at the right time.

The right girl gets updates from past loves on the phone, via the Internet, in cryptic personal ads and in dreams

She can't seem to rationalize a good reason for them to leave her where they left her alone.

The right girl doesn’t blame the person --- she always blames the universe

Fucking universe.

"She closes her mouth to speak and closes her eyes to see, thought about, misunderstood, she's achin’ to be."

Peace Love and the right girl hum

Michele

6/4/1997

Is it really Wednesday?

Hard to tell what day it is. The girl with the Carmen Miranda tattoo (Mich-minnie) worked through the weekend and well into every evening this week on the website project --- which is coming right along. When its up and I'm “content-confident” I'll lay the URL on you.

Of course I stayed out late on Sunday (didn't take your advice of keeping my clothes on) and woke up with a re-occurring Sketch Boy sleeping next to me. He works for one of our contemporaries in the industry. So quite literally I fucked the competition that night. We circle each other in life and are too alike to get any closer than the occasional night of playful romping --- in the day we remain quite aloof from each other. Out in the night we play a game of antagonizing each other, so much so, that people think we hate each other --- its kind of funny --- because sex with him is comfortable, playful, fun and friendly.

Imagine my surprise when he showed up at the Bunk on Monday --- he is well aware that like clockwork I’m there every other Monday to work out my frustrations on the 90 SF of dance floor. A step closer from the player was worth a raised eyebrow and a playful smirk from me.

Rick Derringer also decided to show up unannounced at Bunks that night en route to a gig in North Dakota. He played 4 songs with the combo and I must say it took me back to those “Rock & Roll Hootchie Koo” days of my turbulent youth. This man can play, and holy shit, this man will always rock. Funny, I never realized how short the man was.

Tomorrow I turn 36 --- amazing, my age will match my bra size for a year. Maybe this year I will find a way to let the exterior Shelly Show mellow and find a way to let what is inside of me be the first thing people see when they look at me. The cynic in me quickly retracts that last statement --- I fear the universe will fuck up and make me visibly see-through and I imagine myself as walking a x-ray with a white opaque tampon visible from 3 blocks away.

Peace love and Sketch Boy on the spot

michele

6/6/1997

Early Friday…

One of my heroes of the 90's is dead. Jeff Buckley (son of Tim) --- drunk and jumping into the Mississippi did the tortured man in.

I wake up 36 and I survived the surprises and disappointments of what birthdays bring. A good cry enables a girl to sleep without dreams, which is a blessing at times.

The night before I dreamed that I had the power to switch body parts with the willing public and I ended up with gray nappy hair. It was a freakish twist on the standard telekinetic dream that I have quite frequently. Ultimately I am somewhat of a freak because after waking up from a telekinetic dream it takes awhile to remember that I really don’t have a “Carrie” thing happening.

Today the plan is to play blank face because I really need to get some work off of my desk. Also, cold showers not only kill the ardor it is quite effective in shrinking and closing troublesome pores.

Peace Love and God Bless Jeff Buckley

michele

6/6/1997

Mid Friday

I proofed, printed and mailed the 22-page proposal (rather, faxed it). The blueness in my aura fades… but it is still blue

My dress blows all around the street today, and it is lady-like and feminine in cut. So instead of looking like an airbrushed slut in stilts, I look helpless, young, and fragile --- which is how I feel for once. (Wow… maybe the universe got that projecting my inside to the world plea correct after all!)

I am a pot with ideas cooking inside that spill from me in hot un-even bursts --- like spaghetti sauce splattering on the cook top. For the most part, these ideas just make a dried crusty mess ... because I’m too preoccupied to stir it and because ideas like it when you splatter them.

Peace love and I simmer

michele

6/7/1997

Hums of Some

The president of our company is running around the office in spasms telling us that every fiber of our being should be devoted to closing business… fiber of my being??? hum

All of my fibers of being are synthetic… wash rinse and hang it on the shower rod… from a distance it looks great, upon closer inspection, the pills and puckers always show… hum drum

The classical music on the CD player sounds great… even though it was a bonus gift for buying three pairs of red silk panties at Victoria’s Secret… humida humida

I didn't listen to classical music as a child (I'm barely listening to it now…) I liked the Skeeter Davis, Eddie Cochran, the Turtles, The Cufflinks, Gary Lewis & the Playboys and the Archies (free 78 on the back of a cereal box). hum de hum

I sigh a lot and remember running in and out of a willow tree as a child. The grass below was soft, pale neon and up to my knees. The sun running through branches created blond stripes across my arms as I tried to scale the trunk and comically fell on my ass --- with mosquitoes biting me unmercifully… humpty bumpty

Summer sounds different in the city, here it sizzles with sirens, traffic, odd sickly sparrows and the splat of pigeon logic upon my windshield… humble

Summer heard while on your ass beneath a willow is a veritable talent show as grasshoppers hum from the tall grass, birds one up each other from the tree tops, the wind whistles show tunes, waves crash like a drum corps from the nearby lake, a bicycle rattles by on the gravel road and is followed by the thump, thump, pant, pant of the neighbors rabid dog chasing it down the lane. Bark… bark… scream… scream… gravel crunches a huge crash and then stillness…

Oh how I miss the sounds of summer in the country… hum

Peace love and human scooby snacks

Michele

6/11/1997

Crash

Crash courses in web marketing

Crashing cars on the avenue that echo against my brick walls

While I try to crash so I can dream or just toss and turn quietly

A long day of crashing heads in the mosh pit of cross-purpose at work where some dance to the tune of their own secret agenda

Bang… I get a lecture from a know-it-all Java guy coding for our web project, "Blah, blah… I'm not lecturing you but… blah..”

Bang, a car backfires on the avenue causing my grapefruit juice to spill across the pyramid of papers on this cheap desk that allegedly represents financial reward.

A crashing and banging kind of day

Not done yet, because I as I walk home I hear “Hey Sister Fun!” I turn and reply “Hey Crash” to the parking lot attendant.

Crash, crash with the seatbelt on and the airbag stashed…

Bang, T---- the ex is a butt when I pick up the goddess. I wonder aloud, “What I have done this time?"

Bang, bang the pistol of a goddess replies, "It’s not you mom, he's a butt to everyone because he is secretly dating."

I look at her sideways and ask, "If it is such a secret, how do you know about it?"

She smiles and bang, she answers, "Because I know everything!"

It’s just another crash bang day and the next day will be another…

Peace love and life gives me whiplash

michele

6/18/1997

Daphne ...

I heard your song today and its now in my head, “… don’t be ridiculous…”

You know, sometimes I feel ridiculous, and stuck on some internal track in my head. Outwardly smug and strong, second guessing myself in the middle, inwardly sure and likely to roll over and go, "Oh fuck it, tomorrow’s another day…" I am ridiculous.

I went to see Rickie Lee Jones tonight and I got to meet her – somehow knew that I would. While she sang (nothing the crowd liked) I couldn't help but notice how much she uses her voice as an instrument -- a human tenor sax, which was amazing for me at that moment. I get so lost in the sound and movement of what I hear that I walk away with a less than cognitive grasp on the meaning of the words and a very confusing inward wisdom of a surreal punctuation. Guess I’d make a rotten music critic.

Equally lost in other thoughts these days --- I truly try and work diligently in small business USA, and it feels like I have to bench and offer empty promises to my dreamy soulful side. I try to envision my ideal future of sitting in my underwear with a quart of blue Gatorade, great music playing on the stereo, thoughts, dreams and words emptied and spell checked at a rate of 75 wpm as the secrets of my soul consume megabytes on the laptop.

Rather than give myself the time and I space, I waste time and always seem to manage a deep and personal talk with a total stranger about the joys of breast feeding, or my view of trust and respect versus love and sex, or the virtues of being gregarious, a monologue on why a person should never lick a peeling tattoo, my dislike of meter maids or how to have a great 5 minutes in line at the grocery store. I’m great at being Michele… in fact I’m close to perfecting the art.

Peace love and being ridiculous

michele

6/23/1997

Thick Days…

Monday is thick… but sunny --- thick with humidity, thick with humility and sweating possibility. Yesterday was thick… but overcast. I went to a block party in the Loring neighborhood, a day of music, mud-wrestling, a queens on parade kind of day. I sat in the breadth of it all and felt my metabolism slow, enjoying the tactile rush of hot sweaty skin and salty kisses as I ran into people I knew (many).

As I watched Babes in Toyland play I mentally tracked the drops of condensation from my glass of wine as they dripped on my thighs and raced down my legs.

The pheromones were blowing out of me again. Many drinking boys around me yesterday, after a few Becks they like to spill their coarse proclamations of sexual devotion to me, "I mean this in the best possible way Michele, I've always wanted to fuck your brains out.” I raise my eyebrows, pop my eyes out and shake my head in an exaggerated way “Good luck!” I say.

Sketch boy orbited me yesterday --- he’s been around lately but not making any of the usual moves, just taking notes and stealing glances when I pretend not to look at him. Every once in a while we catch each other’s eye, mocking on the outside -- hungry on the inside. Player-to-player.

It is 10:45 and I'm in a coffee shop, in lieu of the hot and sweaty office. Of course I'm not working --- more or less formulating my plan for selling all of these web pages. Formulating what kind of person I will have to be to earn my paycheck this week.

The gambler boy from California is in town today, but I put him off until tomorrow and will make him buy me dinner. I wonder what he really wants from me? He already tried to fuck my brains out --- can’t be that. He already gave me the “You’re too good for me” monologue --- can’t be that.

Sometimes I feel like I’m the chocolate bar hidden from the other campers on the survival trek. The one they plan to enjoy when no one is looking --- the reality of this is that I am mostly forgotten, end up stale and/or washed in the laundry. I was made to melt in their memory apparently, not in their mouths.

Peace love and m&m's

michele

6/24/1997

Skies and Hearts break ..

The sky broke open revealing sunny blues to end the day of rain.

The heart broke open revealing penance due to end the day of pain.

It becomes clearer to me that either I have attention deficit disorder or I'm not cut out for office life. I am buoyed by the possibility of being the right risk in the wrong office. My stomach churns at the image of the stupid girl I've grown into and I want out --- and I don't want out.

I climb out the shower, rinsed off and ready to be pawed by bachelor #3. I think, “Fuck it… maybe I should go back to school.” Michele looks at herself in the mirror and says, ”Honey, you are a fucking school… maybe someone should come to you!”

Today the Mazda and I slid along the pavement of the western suburbs cutting through sheets of rain with the wipers moving in a parody of how I feel most days: just barely keeping up with the rain, set to the highest speed with visibility still vastly obscured.

I had lunch with an old client who has moved on to more creative shores at a company that invents the exercise equipment sold on infomercials during the lonely hours of the day. He attends to the financial side of the operation but even in his big important office, the place vibrates with creativity, activity, and purpose ---- he’s incredibly happy.

Paul Westerberg has a new identity called Grandpa Boy. I won a 7" of his single on Monolyth by answering an obnoxious question with an obnoxious answer --- it involved corn and excrement… I won’t bore you with the details.

I drove past the studio of the artist formerly known as Prince, which by the way is right down the block from the Ekankar temple. I turned to my client and offered my favorite Ekankar line, “Hey, you know I used to work there in a past life"

Change is coming… I can feel it. I pray for change and my prayers are always answered in big fiery painful balls of challenge, but at least they're answered.

Peace love and burning rings I have yet to fall into

michele

6/25/1997

Fire Two

A strange night, not one to go down in history, but it matches my day --- in a plaid pants and a floral shirt kind of way.

I don't know if you recall the gambler boy from last fall, the financial analyst with the gambling fetish. At any rate, he's in town so we went to dinner. 9 months after the fact, he sits down and blurts, "You never knew this, but I loved you.” I’m thinking that he is an incredible coward. Of course he feels free to spill his guts now that he’s involved with someone who may be pregnant in Seattle and is at this safe emotional distance from me. I give him a sincere, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Tomorrow will be filled with meetings about bottom lines and the direction of small business services --- mostly it makes me want to wretch. I am so much more than anything that can be itemized on a balance sheet --- small business pays three salaries (not counting mine) and is comprised of 95% of the business I brought in when jumped aboard this ship to nowhere. I imagine myself standing up in my navy suit tomorrow and saying, “Bite my crank and watch me walk the plank!”

Maybe in 9 months from now the Swedes will take me to dinner and say, “You never knew this Michele, but we loved you.”

Peace love and everyone used to love me… and loved to use me

Michele

6/27/1997

Hang

We are hanging our heads over the side of this ride, also known as Friday --- looking at the world below, also known as the weekend. Weekend represents a 2-day stretch of reprieve from the week of work for us sheep, also known as the majority.

Today I opted to walk to but out a Windows NT server fire at a client site on the other side of the river…

- Because I can’t resist a chance to feel the righteous heat of the sun upon my skin

- Because I needed to let my mind wander, hidden behind sunglasses, ticking off thoughts in time with my brisk pace

- Because in the wind, wisps of hair escape my ponytail stroke my face like an encouragement from an earth mother

And then back again, except this time my wee white skirt is blowing around my waist and I worry about causing accidents. Back at the office all is quiet, the entire crew is out having a lunch at the District --- I’m just not interested.

I have an empty belly today in every sense. My life complete with time-release hiccups continues --- each day is push against the pull against the last --- sometimes in between spasms I take a rest.

Peace love and zzzzzzz's

Michele

6/30/1997

Monday

No real developments over the weekend, other than paying my bills and watching the rain. The goddess and her friend went to see the new Disney flick Hercules. I was allowed to sit four rows behind, because I'm the mom --- geisha mom these days.

Work goes on and it is entirely true that I am a difficult person, at least for the passive aggressive fuck head vibe that prevails here in the land that Norway forgot. Contrary me… sensitive and inquisitive on the inside --- telling the truth on the outside, I scare the living sh*te out of the local types who can’t handle a bit of "live in your face" interaction --- this includes the ability to have a truthful conversation.

I'm moving closer and closer to that island --- my dream of being on an island is manifesting into Michele the total loner as we speak.

Here she comes telling the truth again… hide the kids under the bed

Peace love and Garbo Geeks

Michele

7/7/1997

A week in the Life…

Tuesday was busy and boring, but I went to see Ron Sexsmith's show at the Fine Line. A decidedly “thin” crowd, but then again, we had a significant summer thunder/tornado storm complete with end of the world flooding and airborne small animals.

Wednesday I made great cash as a merch queen for Lowen & Navarro --- my usual.

Thursday was a busy day. My friends welcomed their first child into the world --- a sweet wee babe named Darian. Another friend hit a puddle on one of the highest bridges in the county and luckily didn’t tumble over the rails --- she hobbled away with a scratch and a broken ankle.

Friday I picked the goddess up for a date and we went to see the flick “Men In Black”. On the drive home (as I was merging on to the highway) a very large furry spider crept down from the visor above the goddess causing her to scream in a pitch only heard by canines and moms. Instinctively I backhanded the six-legged intruder into the windshield and followed up with a smashing blow from my purse --- without cutting off the Ford Taurus bearing down on my left. The goddess was in awe, "Wow Mom, you are just like Xena the Warrior Princess!”

Saturday and Sunday the goddess returned to finish her week with T---- the ex. I spent the weekend on the couch with old Jimmy Stewart movies, a fabulous meal of Triscuits & Hershey bars and the telephone ringer set to off. A smoocher boy from 2 weeks ago has developed a part time hobby of stalking me. It was kind of fun to turn the table and be the one reciting the “Forget about me, I don’t deserve you…” monologue that I know by heart from hearing it so often. He hung up eventually --- with his pride intact… hopefully. Maybe he’s the right smoocher at the wrong door.

Today is Monday --- and the start of yet another week in the life of me. Except this week I get to be the mama again --- so it will be devoid of smooching boys or merch tables and filled with cartwheels, antelope dances, goddess logic, soccer, swimming class, diving class and my 40-hour stint in the working class.

Peace love and Itsy Squishy Spider

Michele

7/9/1997

Lights…

Spotlights in the sky tonight --- a beacon to light the way for horny men in search of small town girls taking it all off at Déjà vu. Unfortunately, it is the only light in the sky tonight. The stars are forever obscured in this foggy wet July. I can picture a starry night in my mind --- there it shines on the other side of the cloud --- for no one at all.

Swimming and diving class this week have made the goddess a sweet mellow soul --- I think it is because she’s a Pisces --- my little fishy baby mama. She is determined and passionate about perfecting the jump, the flip and feels nurtured and in place with the instructors at the University of MN. She seems to get on well with college girls as mentors. She was having problems with the staff at the Park & Recreational program she attends for the better part of the day. Summer job mentality permeates the air at there --- she’s bored and after 4 summers there, quite invisible and ignored as only a “regular” can be. I kick some ass every other week --- no summit in sight on this eternal climb called parenting.

I'm working hard this month, and forever playing stretch-the-dollar. I decided it is time to give up the swank warehouse and look for something a bit less expensive, a bit rougher and more isolated. I want an environment to match how I feel inside lately.

I sincerely wish that I were a true shade of one color sometimes, instead of this Technicolor test pattern in the bumpy bod.

On any given day I am an entertaining schizophrenic sitcom episode:

- Eating 4^th of July dinners of Triscuits and Hershey bars (tastes stunning!), watching Jimmy Stewart marathons and blowing off heated up love boys on the phone.

- Awake at 2 am working on the computer to complete a client’s 11^th hour deadline.

- Bouncy at 8:30 am, swigging a triple espresso and swinging my briefcase while acknowledging hellos from every third person in the neighborhood

- A belly full of vitamins, garlic, blue Gatorade, sweating at the gym, ab crunching anomaly of science

- Outwardly sexy and confident (great legs) kind of girl that no one bothers to ask out because they assume she has a big mean boyfriend

- Habitual arranger of blankets around the face of a sleepy goddess who whispers, "Good night, I love you babe."

- An admirer of your diet and life decisions of late.

Peace, love and Wednesday morning

Michele

7/17/1997

Summer in the City…

I am a summer sandwich sir. Michele "the other white meat" hiding beneath the lettuce and sliding on the mayo. Or, am I the tomato? It's hard to tell because when bordered and smothered by crust, it is difficult to fully identify one's self. Oh well, pretty soon all that will be left of me are crumbs and belches.

Summer in this city is week after week of sunny, hot, unforgiving humid days that oppress emotionally and physically. It is night after night of violent late evening thunderstorms and the occasional tornado.

Question… what was this blind date reference? Were you being literal? (i.e. she brought along her seeing eye dog)

Peace love and Summer

Michele

7/20/1997

Sate - her - day

Home again, home again complete with being unsatisfied in a most satisfying way. Because this is the nibble that enhances my dreams --- makes me do it all over again tomorrow.

A day in the sun, dressed like Ellie Mae Clampett (Beverly Hillbilly's) --- a cute little boy chased me through the crowd on a dare to ask me for coffee --- flattered, but not up to it.

I find that the familiar is hard to stomach today. I know so many people and today everyone I knew that I ran into decided to tease me. I dished out some “slam the door” words in their faces --- a bit shocking --- because normally I wouldn’t react that way. It isn't the teasing so much, it's just that when I feel vulnerable and raw, like I do today I react quickly and negatively to any poking. I can’t bring myself to “look” as morose as I feel --- on the outside I’m bouncy old “me” --- it must be confusing as hell to expect one reaction and get quite another from the Shelly show --- but they couldn't possibly know how much I'm carrying inside today. I don’t feel like spilling a preamble or having a billboard constructed with big orange letters "Better not fuck with me today."

Its 2 a.m. and I have had (2) too many espressos --- it appears that after I send this I’ll be tossing restlessly with Winnie the Pooh (a gift from the goddess). A perfect sleep mate with a fat tummy, no penis and a mute approving smile fixed upon me the entire evening. This fits my prerequisites for tonight.

Perhaps I’ll get around to telling you what is really bugging me this week --- when I figure it out myself --- in this everlasting gobstopper of a summer.

Peace love and Wonka

Michele

7/23/1997

Where's You?

I’m moving across the river to a duplex. Back to life on the square in a neighborhood setting, with trees, grass, rabid squirrels, and two blocks from the goddess's elementary school.

Today my eyes leaked on three separate unassociated occasions. I blame it on the drizzle but the pressure I’m feeling is definitely not of the barometric nature.

Feeling more alone than usual these days, my reputation has a better time than I do these days. Some of these boys in my life insist on leasing emotional space in my head and heart and I don't evict them like I should. I’m too nice or too something… Then again I was elected the girl most likely to implode back in 1979.

My huge fantasy takes place on the day when someone will ask, "Can I do anything to help you feel better?" and I'll be able to answer, "Yes!"

Peace Love and Umbrellas

Michele

7/23/1997

Yellow Pads…

My organizational trick is disorganization and lots of yellow legal pads. Pads that become thick with words spelling out the day-to-day anomalies associated with managing the systems for 20 or so separate organizations and a word or two defining myself at any given moment. Notes, hints, tips and FAQ's… master plans, true confessions, dreams, nightmares and recipes for marinades --- all in yellow pads. A history of my days could be pieced together by the email on my laptop and the mountain of yellow pads beside it.

The sun has been out for the first time since Saturday. I grimace like a mole, like a child greeting an absent father who decided to pop in with a belated birthday gift and morning after beer breath. But I carry on --- I think I got too used to the rain.

I'm taking a break from master plans and scowling at the new programmer who thinks the best way to get in thick with me is to tease me. I am sure this will persist until I bite him in the face. My composure is weakening and it is only a matter of time until I'm picking his metaphoric programmer skin out of my verbal incisors. I could try the straight up approach and tell it like it is, “Hey buddy, your veneer is very thin --- clearly your teasing me is an insecure passive aggressive attempt at posturing --- fight me now or leave me alone.”

Instead, I give him a famous, "I don't see you, even though I'm looking right in your ugly face" blank, impassive, green-eyed stare that I usually save for driver's license pictures. He stammered and turned to walk back to his cube, "My, aren't we sensitive?" I roll my eyes… I may sprain them this week.

The angels dance above my head singing, “It’s time to move on girl --- time for something new.” This is the point in the movie where I’m supposed to lead the workers out of the factory like Norma Rae. But I don’t --- I’m going to buy a mood indicator to hang outside my cubicle so people leave me alone this week.

Peace, Love and Nuclear Mood Rings

Michele

7/26/1997

Weekends in the City

Down the block from my warehouse a rib festival is in full swing this weekend. The suburban beer guzzlers come into the city with their ratted up bottle blond ladies from Chaska --- over eating, drinking too much --- a test run for the State Fair that is yet to come (the ultimate lowest common denominator of Minnesota culture). The Aquatennial’s big ooh ahh on Sunday means fireworks and more traffic in this weary and damp little corner of downtown.

The goddess and I rode our bikes across the big river to put a deposit down on our new apartment --- the first floor of a turn of the century house, with a big yard and huge front porch that leans toward the street. I’ll be packing it all up again soon --- maybe the work will jumpstart my soul again so I can start slinging out some positive energy and buoyancy.

The goddess astounds me with her beauty, wit and by her determination to be brilliant and productive this summer. In addition to the sports this summer, she's on a mission to read 25 books by the time school starts in the fall. As of today she has officially hit the halfway mark. She has acquired two favorite authors, they are Roald Dahl and Jack London --- she digs words that are wry, humorous, sensitive, and real --- she is everything I want and then some.

Tonight as we walked home from Barnes & Noble, she spontaneously broke into a can-can on the corner. I remarked that she might as well throw her cap down and make some cash, which she found hilarious. She threw her cap in the middle of the sidewalk and started to dance again. I started walking and called over my shoulder, "Bye Stinkerbell, don't forget to send old mama some cash when you hit the big time!" This made her laugh more as she picked up her cap and ran after me. Of course she stopped at each streetlight to drop her hat and dance --- always one to push a joke to its limit, my little goddess.

Little girls, little boys, trouble all of them. The goddess has been better since I put her into a new summer camp. In her 9-year-old going on 32-year-old way she tends to gravitate towards the older girls. Unfortunately she also picks up their more unsavory and surly influences --- like tonight when she responded to a question I asked her by holding up the palm of her hand to my face and saying "Talk to the hand mom." She won’t ever do that again. I want her to be a kid for as long as she can --- an impossible task when faced with the ugly culture of our country, the state of the world and the urban knowledge that naivety and a wrong choice of clothing can get you killed in some neighborhoods.

By day we walk the streets with warrior chick attitudes to keep the creeps at bay. At night we read books and re-arrange the doll house, then we rotate snuggle duty for Winnie the Pooh and Eeyore when its time to go to sleep. When people bum us out we pull out the sleeper sofa and watch I Dream of Jeannie on Nick at Night as the night people spin and dance in the neon glow of Little Amsterdam outside.

The phone rings and its the Quick Time Couriers delivery boy, quite a resourceful fellow who looked me up in the phone book. He’s trying to pick my lock and work into my life or at least make my short list of impossibly young date boys. Too bad I’m not in the scout leader mood tonight. I'm rude and honest and it doesn’t work because apparently he likes the abuse. Why me? He confessed that when I tilted my cateye glasses at him and gave him the “piss off” look he just knew that he had to ask me out. I told him that I smoke, wheeze, hack in the morning, and that I have strong religious beliefs that revolve around a cult affiliation and a vow of celibacy. He replied that he used to worry that if he had too much sex he’d wear it out for good. "Did you grow up on a farm?" I asked him.

I’m not into talking to lonely boys tonight.

Peace, love and lonely boys

michele

7/28/1997

Lavender

I’m wearing the color and spilling the scent --- my glasses know the tint and my eyes are focused upon the last lavender clouds of the day stretched thin across the bloody horizon.

I loved your last letter, a treat waiting for me --- like the tootsie rolls I used to produce magically for the goddess after her long grueling days at the toddler prison.

A new technical director at work, complete with business models, plans & ways to make the company grow (no doubt lifted from his previous employer.) Big business makes my bladder twitch. I'm climbing the mast and peer out over the black water of this situation --- nothing beyond the lavender clouds but distance.

My brother called with a catching voice --- tired and sad. His neighbor Elmer died today. I was Elmer's mystery date on his last birthday (80 years old). We've been pals for the past 5 years that my brother has lived next door to him. He was a sanctuary from family madness, I'd never miss a visit with him whenever I went home. We'd smoke cigs and drink Budweiser together and laugh.

He was someone my brother cared for and loved very much, and even more so since our father died.

So these are the days --- lavender days of summer ..

Peace, Love & Skies

Michele

8/4/1997

Lower lumbar limbo ...

The pain of moving has relocated to my lower back, the vision of moving leased a few bruises on my arms, shins and thighs. The scent of moving emanates from my hands, a mixture of dust, bleach, and oil soap.

The goddess snores beside me, I told her to relax and read a book on the porch (she didn't want to help me clean and unpack). She read a book about ghosts and it scared her into becoming my own personal shadow for the rest of the evening.

It feels strange to be living in a house again, the noises from up, below and all around. I'm waiting for next weekend when I can kick back and have my coffee on the front porch.

Peace, Love and Porches

Michele

8/6/1997

The Law of Love ..

Finally a soak in my new funky claw foot tub, complete with book and mosquitoes --- they are terrible here across the river.

I'm turning into yard queen and it feels good to ache from pushing the lawn mower and doing Joan Crawford imitations with the weeds that "used to" own the porch.

My friend W---- came over just as a collection of neighborhood girls gathered on the porch for an intense half hour of nail painting.

So here I am, morphed from downtown pheromone furnace to Kool-aid mom in less than a week.

Peace, love and weed wackers

Michele

8/11/1997

Domesticity --- Do-miss-tits-in-the-city

I’m still unpacking and becoming acquainted with this antiquated creaky (but charming) flat I call home. I consider myself less than half done in every respect --- but then again, only I invented my own limbo life plan.

I’m cleaning out the address book and crossing out the amours of the warehouse wench of 1996. A few phone calls tell me that life goes on

Rikrotica found a girlfriend, but he's coming to First Ave in Sept with a new band (Warner Bros) Cara's Flowers. He’s been collecting vintage Hot Wheels this past year and wants me to keep an eye for them on my flea market junkets..

C---- answering machine said he and FiFi (or was it CeCe) were not in, this tells me that he did work it out with the past co-worker who confessed a womping crush just days before I went to see him for our first weekend together ... spoiling the mood and slamming the door on any prospects --- big sigh, he was fun.

J--- called frequently last month and I finally made a date to see him, only to have him hit on another girl while we were out together. Honestly, that was the last time --- forever, and I hope he enjoyed the cab ride home.

T---- the ex ‘s stomach is hanging over his belt and he’s expecting his bifocals to arrive any day. The goddess picks on him too much, but he doesn't fight back. I look at him and inwardly sigh, too bad, I feel so oppressed at even the thought of being with him. He's a great guy and I will love him until the day I die --- its too bad we were so incompatible.

Actor boy is off in his New York City kind of life. I won't hear from him until he's in town again for the holidays. I'm his out-of-sight out-of-mind hanging in the orbit somebody in the Midwest.

Gambler boy is living his usual hook-up with who ever happens to be convenient in whatever city he's currently working in. Except he won't be emailing me anymore, It made my eyeballs roll too much to keep up with his contrary, whiney boy “I want to be loved --- don't love me --- I want to be free ----tie me up” bullshit.

Gaston, my shower massage doesn't fit the plumbing fixture for my converted claw foot tub. We have been together since the days of my separation in 1993. Four years later and I do believe he was pretty faithful to me, although I have had a few girlfriends exit the bath in quite a flush. He was never one to pulsate and tell. Now fate and fixtures have the poor thing sitting in the linen closet until my lease is up.

It is quiet here in the dining room, the house in darkness all around me. The goddess is at her Dad's and I'm thinking about putting on something tight and heading to Bunkers for some Dr. Mambo's Combo kind of dancing --- at least my whereabouts every other Monday has never changed!

Peace love and do-miss-the-city

Michele

8/21/1997

Thursday ..

A few new CD’s and the shades I purchased are too short for the windows --- almost but not quite, and that's my life.

My words get stuck on the earlobes of some, and eaten mistakenly by others --- this isn't new.

How is the data recovery going on that Mac of yours?

I feel wasted from the weekend. I left abruptly for Wisconsin-sane last Friday because one of my Dad's life long friends died. The old salty flood waters leaking from green eyes locked to the highway --- thinking about my Johnny A. again, and butterflies.

I walked the deserted beach after the service on Sunday, long black silk skirt and a white sleeveless blouse --- looking more like a feminine napkin commercial than the lonely girl back home in the land of cheese hats. I sat on the lifeguard chair under an overcast sky with an audience of waves and seagulls. Queen of myself and queen of this gray and quiet day.

Much later, a guy who used to be in one of my high school art classes developed the 10 beer courage (it takes 10 in Wisconsin) to ask me to dance. He had a familiar face and could recall vividly his memories of me as a wild not-long-for-the-small-town girl nearly 20 years past. Honestly, I had never given him much thought before. He asked if he could give me 10 kisses. “Why?” I asked. He called them 10 reasons not to forget about him.

Much later I'm lying in my bed and he is on the line 350 miles away, "I had a vision of you walking out of the party the night before you left --- with a rose in your hand, your mouth is hopeful, half smiling but your eyes look so sad. I rewind this in my mind and put you back in the party --- bring you back out the door and down the stairs, over and over again…" Apparently in his eyes I am some elusive, tragic and wacky character --- I asked him how it felt to be enamored with a cartoon .

Peace love and green eyes on the highway

michele

8/26/1997

Weekends

A patchwork life, weekends are the bits of velvet and cotton held together by three safety pins named Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

Another summer gone that I will never lament, tomorrow's caramel is not even close to eating consistency. I am squarely planted in today looking at my hands and realizing for the first time that they are a smaller version of my father’s hands. I hear that Replacements song playing "Well you got your father's hair, and you got your father's nose, but you got my soul…” I swear to God that Paul followed me around in the 80’s.

I'm feeling quiet, wide-eyed and vulnerable after yet another death, so I was not surprised when one of my favorite clients passed away the following week. A superstitious friend said ominously, "You know Shelly, these things happen in 3-s!" I arched my eyebrows with an emotionless facial stretch and jabbed her with my finger and said, “I hope its not you!”

Peace love and 3 in the morning

michele

8/28/1997

Lick my Symphony

So says the magnetic poetry on my Frigidaire.

As my apartment comes together, it leaves me wondering what kind of moving picture I would make in time lapse. Moving things here, moving things there, re-arrange, re-arrange and then collapse.

Counting Crows on the stereo and I’m home from work. Some bland soup for my metallic mouth this evening --- I don’t even know why I bother to eat when I’m taking this allergy medicine --- it all tastes like molten lead. The top of my head feels like it has fallen asleep and as if some poltergeist is softly re-arranging my locks.

R---- (10 beers of courage) is coming to visit me this weekend. He's bringing my youngest brother & significant other along --- for reinforcement?? Driving company?? I’m not sure, although it is important that we spend some time alone. Distance always prompts me to talk myself out of things and to over analyze, fret and beg the universe for a sign --- or any clue.

On the phone he is gruff and on-guard. In person, gruff and punctuated with anxiety but deeply sensitive in those deep and soft brown eyes --- a few hits of weed seem to soften his words.

He thinks that Minneapolis is “cosmopolitan” --- somehow I find this hilarious considering this is “yeah sure you betcha” territory. He worries that he won't fit in with my social circle. “Heck!” I tell him “I don’t even fit in with my social circle --- and that is the beauty of it all.”

I know he just wants reassurance, like we all do - like I do. No signs from the other side however. No clues in the bottom of my soup bowl either, these last few grains of bloated rice refuse to be read like their tealeaf cousins.

Very tired girl and what else is new. Work needs to be done tonight however, so perhaps it’s a nap on the sofa for a few hours and then on to the obligations.

Peace love and ragweed

michele

9/1/1997

Summer's End…

As usual, my summer ends in acrimony, firm resolution and once again my 2^nd guessing myself confusion reigns on the first day of September.

The 10 Beers of Courage came for a visit this weekend and it didn't go well at all. I didn't fit into his ideal dreams and heartfelt wishes for the weekend. He wanted to go out --- he wanted me all to himself. I’m quite known in my local haunts and Mill City was going on. The more people I ran it this weekend, the quieter and angrier he became.

I told him he was getting far too stressed about it --- Christ we were only out for 4 hours. He took it as a brush off, like I was his only life preserver out there and I was letting him down by not keeping my gaze glued upon his and a hand connected to him at all time ------------ literally, he told me that he would have been ok if I held on to his belt loop all evening??!!. Back at the ranch, my stomach in knots ... I grabbed him by lapels and thrust my upper body and face against his. I asked quietly, “Is this close enough for you?” The energy in my body pushing out of my chest into his, pounding out a communiqué --- go home baby.

I had a few Rolling Rocks while lying on the hammock on the front porch. I wondered if there was something wrong with me --- well I know for certain there is plenty wrong with me --- from a distance there was interest for Mr. 10 Beers of Courage. I misjudged his possessive, anxiety and insecure nature as an “intensity” it left me uneasy, queasy and confused because somehow I felt guilty --- for being myself. I haven’t even slept with him yet!!

He drove off in squeals and honestly I was hoping that there was going to be some type of connection --- I liked the whole hometown boy thing and the spark that took after 20 years. But I can't fake things, push blindly or distort these ideals until they fit. I’ve already scribbled like Sybil with a purple crayon on the inside of that box.

Peace love and hours

michele

9/2/1997

A Heartbroken World

You can see it in people's eyes, and hear it in their voices --- the day that a life left the world heart broken. I came home from Mill City with the 10 Beers of Courage to the news about Diana’s accident and then death. The 10 Beers of Courage pouted, “Good, at least I’m not the only one in pain tonight.” This was also a deciding factor in kicking that boy to the curb.

I've been thinking about you during this, and watching the news on the television. Haunted by the press in life, to her death, and well after. A once in a lifetime woman, mother, exemplified courage and compassion in her shy beautiful way, we know so much about her and then nothing at all.

If we have faith in something higher, divine and beautiful then we see that she completed an arduous circle of missions in her life. In the end she was finding love again and had achieved a loving acceptance from a cynical world. Her determination and consistency under the microscope of press and public garnered acceptance and respect for her on her own terms. She was a woman who naturally exhibited a clear view to her soul ... her circle completed.

As a mother, my heart beats in a painful song of loss for her children. I pray that her spirit for living never leaves them.

I remember sitting in my apartment in Milwaukee with 4 other girlfriends on her wedding day (very early morning here) drinking beer and eating popcorn. We were all in college and enamored at the fairy tale that was being broadcasted in our living room at 4 am. At a loss for words to explain why we were so compelled to watch, mildly envious and inwardly

giddy (and now that I remember it… quite drunk) as we sat there in the dark.

Perhaps I should call the girls together to pay tribute to the life of the beautiful and courageous woman that emerged from that shy beautiful girl, that we couldn't help but love, in that carriage at 4 a.m.

Peace love and love

michele

9/7/1997

Part Two

Oops, this laptop has a built-in pointer that when hit with my thumb (inadvertently) sends mail, deletes things and generally wreaks havoc on my hard drive.

Lost the train of thought on Mr. 10 Beers of Courage. His behavior was a bit over the top for me --- I’m not good taking care of the high maintenance types. He does not represent a pleasant leap of faith to me. The point I guess, I'm going to continue talking myself into being single (albeit, player) for the rest of my life. It’s safer.

I'm wondering what it is exactly, that I search for --- God knows I do feel incomplete in that respect. It can’t be that simple, a partner and “poof” you feel whole. Maybe if I could look in a mirror and say, "You complete your self chickpea!" it wouldn't be so bad.

T---- the ex says I'll never be able to say that until I get over what ever it is that keeps me from being serious about writing, singing and searching for my true audience ---- over and above my nightly performance art in public, the entertaining mail and porno I send out to my email friends.

But he should really talk.

The goddess thinks I am cool, "mom-da-bomb" a mom who drives fast, and lets her blast Smash Mouth out of my car speakers.

Diana, despite and because of her position in the world still had to push the envelope to be accepted and loved on my own terms in this rotten world. I told the goddess that this is what makes us the same as everyone on the earth, whether they readily admit it our not --- we all want to be accepted for who we are and most importantly, we all want to be loved and respected. She stared blankly at me --- she hates it when I pontificate.

Well it’s Sunday, and I almost killed myself for failing to notice my pilot light was out on the oven. It was the first time in about 3 years that I actually felt domestic and decided to make banana bread with the brown bananas on my counter. Usually the goddess and I throw them at the squirrels on the electric wires outside my kitchen. The angel of no-baking and burnt eyebrows must be hanging with me.

Soul Coughing on the stereo provides the background music for the old men on motorized wheelchairs who cruise past my dining room window. The goddess plays outside with the neighborhood kids and I hear them tease, "I don't know, I don't care… if you're not wearing underwear!" as they race by with their new Keds and back to school haircuts. The girls giggle and shriek, as the boys get louder and more brazen in their bid for attention.

I’m propped up in my bed in my underwear, drinking cold coffee and having a day with the laptop --- in this beautiful life.

Peace love and chock ful 'o nuts

michele

9/10/1997

Vroom ..

So… now what kind of car/toy did you get?

A bee stung the goddess yesterday at T---- the ex’s. She had to leave me a voice mail, because of course I was working, and then of course I was out catching the debut of a friends new band.

I avoid answering the phone because the last 10 calls have been from Mr. 10 Beers of Courage. I will have to answer the phone at some point and I'm tense about the inevitable conversation, the one where I ask him which part of “it won't work out” did he not understand?

I was pursued by a few testosterone-motivated "dudes" that saw me bouncing around the last day/night of the Mill City music festival. The adrenaline from the blow-up with the 10 Beers of Courage made me a mix of smart mouth, unabashed pheromone spraying, flirt-pig splendor.

I don't want to bed them down, so they too will fade off into the horizon with the moon peeking down on mom-da-bomb home alone. Yep it's home alone and Pop-up Video on VH1.

Peace love and greta again

michele

9/12/1997

At Large

I went online the other day to see if the domain name large.com was available. Of course it isn’t and I wasn’t surprised. I would love to have michele@large as an email address. Maybe I'll find out who has it registered and ask them if they can spare an identity for me.

I spent yet another peaceful night at home, this time with old flicks starring Tyrone Power and tales of the Spanish Inquisition. A most grizzly period in time --- but love the costumes.

I was something the night before, not sure what. Last night the Rikrotica was in town, mixing sound for Reel Big Fish at an all ages show at First Avenue. We planned to have dinner after and catch up so I went to check out the show. One of the openers was a band from Orange County that was well worth the earplugs. The AquaBats are pure entertainment, the music was SKA, sinus draining, jumping and spitting, SKA. I haven't danced or laughed like that in weeks. Early show, and then Rikrotica and I had a nice dinner and chat afterward. He fell in love with a stripper in L.A. and showed me a picture of the two them with the Easter bunny. My life is ridiculous.

I finally answered the phone when Mr. 10 Beers of Courage called yesterday, and I told him that I really felt as if it wouldn't work out. He didn't take it well --- maybe he has short attention span syndrome and can’t remember the previous conversations.

This time he took it like a small town boy "Fine, good luck, nice knowing you." I said "Hey, I’m sorry. " and I truly was.

So, he called twice today, leaving no messages. I sigh a lot and feel violated in a strange way – like I’m being shaken down. It pisses me of when guys act this way.

Peace love and the Aqua Nation

michele

9/16/1997

Cartoon Dreams…

Computers go down --- but one has never gone down on me --- hell that is why I got into technology in the first place, I was assured it would go down on me frequently. Orange and angry weekend, I am a threatening mouth volcano. I made good on a planned date with the field rep from Universal Music --- a total boozer with schmooze ability --- I drove. This man is the antithesis of Mr. 10 Beers of Courage. He will require a name of course, one to fit my date hit list –-- this is how my friends remember my dates (i.e. tattoo boy, slime boy, coffee shop boy, old dude, stalker boy, sketch boy, the amazing 3 minute finger miracle, Mr. 10 Beers of Courage) So far all I can come up with is “drunk and naked boy” I'm sure he’ll inspire me to come up with a better name.

I told Joey (artist/bartender dude) about The Adventures of Downtown Girl and her secret weapon Danger Bra. He’s a cartoonist and I am a cartoon. We laughed about me as a dotted one-dimensional action figure that stalks the streets at night, mouth ever ready to send passive aggressive behavior to its knees --- danger bra, her smoking guns of wisdom, her trusty busty companions and street poet(s).

We will see where it goes…

I have to run in the rain to rescue a laptop in perpetual suspend mode --- although I would much prefer donning a danger bra and freezing the villains of the world with my sex kitten breast ray in a Dorothy Parker/Ann Margaret kind of way.

Peace love and gee thanks Downtown Girl

Michele

9/17/1997

Puff Puff Daddy

The goddess is sleeping in my bed "cotton candy dreams Mom" as she refers to the pink sheets combined with the vanilla colored duvet on my bed this week.

She sets the boom box to song number 16 of her new Puff Daddy CD (every breath you take) and hits the repeat button. It will play into the night, or until I hit stop and try to perch on the remaining 3 inches of mattress she has allowed me to sleep.

The laptop I rescued yesterday is owned by a young urban professional (do your own acronym) who asked me to dinner and to accompany him to Glenn's show at the Fine Line. I did the one over check of the CD collection in his office and was pleased that he had a few Squeeze, Elvis Costello and Bing Crosby's in the rack. He signed his email “fly-boy” unaware of the name game my girl friends and I play --- I'm hoping the name doesn't fit.

“Mr. Meet & Greet” (a.k.a. drunk & naked boy) invited me to a private party to see the Jayhawks, and then I took him to see Dr. Mambo's Combo. Pizza in our underwear on the dining room floor and now I really feel like a cartoon. He’s fun, but I wonder if he needs me more as a sober cab… oh well.

My day job as a "technical ashtray" is frustrating me. I'm going to a certification class this October, and the rumor from Sweden is that I am the top pick for a large upgrade project in Germany in early winter. If this happens, I will have to make a pit stop to see you. Make sure you are home!

My thumb hit the send key again, so you get this twice --- isn't that nice!

Peace love and yup

michele

9/25/1997

Not Impressed…

Up until 5 am with a dentist who hales from London of all places. I wonder if he’s going to send me a bill for cleaning my teeth this morning --- we spontaneously decided to meet for dinner, have a night out and then cap off the evening with some more oral examinations and a bit of cavity filling. Home again and wondering… I sat on the back porch in the gray light of morning and if it were the 40's I’m sure the milkman would be pulling up any minute. But here in 1997 we only have the hum of our own fine minds to visit with. A pull on the cigarette, one I don't really need, but then again, do I need any of them?

This dentist is very handsome, and of course he knows it. He likes me because I don't take his crap and I pull the manipulative bones from his fishy words like a pro. He tries to plays with my mind like J--- did last year, saying things like, "Don't fall in love with me." "Don't trust me" and of course I say, “Ok!” His actions and movement speak otherwise, he's playing the hunter game with me and I hear the drums beating as he is stalking through my jungle. He says, “Seriously, don’t.” I have one hand on the quinine as I reply, “Honestly, I won’t.”

I'll never let anyone do that to me again.

Work is bullshit, but today it’s bullshit that makes me feel better, at least it is consistent.

I go to the client sites and they comment that I have been wearing black for the past two weeks. I have to remind them that it is once again Fall, and the wardrobe for this season is 75% black. I also point out that each spring they comment on how bright I am.

I have been blue the past week, melancholy because it has been exactly two years since my Dad passed on. I'll always miss Johnny A.

I'm not impressed with this company that I am handcuffed to, nor impressed with my inability to get my ass in gear or focus upon something that will make me happy, complete and into myself again.

Last year was so external with survival stamped all over my hide. What will this next year bring? I wonder, I wander, outwardly I seem to flower and inwardly I wither as I wait.

Peace love and bicuspids or bi-cupids

michele

9/26/1997

Give Me Something Else

I'm getting pushed to straight hours at work and now it is sink or swim time. I am prompted in my mind to give up the motto I've lived by for the past few years: “Give me ambiguity or give me something else.”

Now the bullshit from the home office is a 95% probability that I will be sent to Bilboa, Spain for a three-week project before Germany. They are so full of shit --- I’ll believe it when I smell the schnitzel.

I'm not sure where life is leading for me. T--- the ex warns that I’m losing my soul. No, I’m getting laid --- and if I do that just right it only involves my hole, not my soul. I think I need to give up on watching the horizon for a leading man, money from the air, or cosmic answer and climb alone to some new level, financially, spiritually, and emotionally.

Dentist dude calls often and I really don’t want to go there. Apparently he’s really into the hunter game and I know the best way to make him give up the game is to give him a big gushy sigh and proclaim, “I love you dentist dude!” I’ve never tried that one yet … bet it works! I must admit we do have some fun over there in Minnetonka, like playing a combination of Othello and Twister --- but I’m thinking those days are gone.

My optimism is a deflated lung these days, a useless organ that flops around like a hot water bottle under my rib cage.

Peace love and give me oxygen for my optimism

michele

10/1/1997

St. Johns Wart…

The homeopathic Prozac I hear, so I'm adding a tablet to my morning gulp of vitamins to see if the rumors are true. If it works, I'll recommend it to my friends --- if I still have any.

I've been working hard, and have not been home much the past week. Letty called and finally left a message, complaining that I am never home. I don't really like talking to her all that much --- it is such a crapshoot. But lately I do, out of duty, because it feels better than the guilt that creeps over me sometimes out of the void that should be filled with daughterly devotion.

Fall befalls me. I have strange thoughts this time of year --- like if I quantified a lifetime in a year, I'd be pretty damn close to Halloween --- even though I don't look a day over June 10th. It frightens me sometimes just the same, but what the fuck, there are a few months to go until the final midnight countdown.

But mostly I'm burping up St. Johns wart and not rolling my eyes when I talk to Letty these days.

Peace love and more love

michele

10/2/1997

Generals and Major Money

XTC, one of the goddess's first songs from the backseat was an XTC song "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, senses working over time." Fine 80’s alternative pop was one of my many musical influences upon her ... the Dad influence had her mumbling "Schemes, schemes and other bad dreams. Going down to Harlem with a pistol in his jeans.” Good lord, I was always grateful that at the very least he sang Leonard Cohen to her and didn't quote Bukowski.

If nothing else, the kid has a wild kind of balance thanks to her weirdo parents.

I’m doing Berlitz in the car and filling my daily commute with some Spanish coaching on the cassette. Knowing me, I'll be ordering a taxi with milk, and asking where the lactation stations are. But they don’t even speak Spanish in Bilboa from what I hear, they still speak the ancient Basque dialect ---

Its 1 a.m. and the there is no one in the place but me, Spencer Tracy (who is falling down a snowy mountain on AMC) and the goddess who is passed out in her bedroom littered with the rejected outfits from this morning.

“Fly-boy” (my cancelled date for tomorrow) took me to lunch today. He was feeling bad because he can't make the show. He told me to "pick a show, any show and I'll make sure we get there." I picked U2 on October 18^th. He said, "Oh, we're easy to please aren’t we?" At lunch he talked and I listened to whole sordid story of the on again / off again 2-year, having a swell time in med school (that you paid for) girlfriend of his. Inwardly I sigh and now note that in addition to that great Costello/Nieve U.S. Tour collection of CD’s I saw on his shelf he also has some mighty hefty girl baggage too.

Dental dude called last night, "I value our friendship so much Michele.." he asked if he could pick my brain about his tumultuous weekend with the ex-girlfriend. I wonder if he felt the cold woosh of air over the phone as I reminded him that casual sex partners make awful agony aunts. I think I’ve seen the last of Dr. Longjohn’s drill.

I'm looking forward to Spain, and not knowing the lingo will help me achieve the distance I seek. Being “No Hablo” is only 3 thousand miles away for me… I can't wait.

Annie Oakley says "You can't get a man with a gun." but Michele says, “Sure you can, you just have to get them to the taxidermist before they stink up your car.”

Peace love and six-shooters

michele

10/4/1997

No Coherency in Sight…

I was useless in the whirling and crazy day yesterday with only three hours of sleep from the night before. I walked like a zombie on stilts from client to client and capped off the day by living up to my promise of taking the goddess and her friends to the haunted hayride and house at Spooky World. It felt great to hit the bed at 10:30.

The goddess had her final soccer game of the fall today, and the weather is gorgeous, complete with a warm breeze, orange leaves, blue skies and horny aggressive bees all around us. They lost the game, but it didn't matter to these kids, they are the bad news bears and they have so much heart and love playing the game. They are a credit to their coaches and I beamed as I watched them leave the field happy and bouncing with red sweaty faces.

We had fun at my apartment on Thursday and my neighbors have forgiven me for blasting the stereo and our dancing until 5 am. Had a good conversation with Mr. Harper in the bathtub (clothes on) he's almost as big a flirt as I am --- wacky and harmless.

My NT classes start next week, and after that process the Spain project should commence. I met the president of a French consulting/software development company yesterday in the parking ramp. He was eavesdropping on my conversation with one of my clients. He's also doing some huge NT rollout projects across Europe and told me to send him an email. It is nice to know that there might be someplace to land if I ever do make good on my threat to tell them to bite my crank and watch me walk the plank.

Well, its off I go, to the goddess's end of season pizza party with her soccer team.

Peace love and Saturday in the park with a goddess

michele

10/8/1997

Ain’t that a kick

Dean Martin is on the television singing, "Ain't that a kick in the head.” I’m exhausted after 3 days of Microsoft "fast-track" NT certification training. The night is beautiful for October, muggy and windy, the Midwest that autumn forgot. It seems more like an August night (without mosquitoes).

I had a great dinner with my bosses wife ... she was my date for the show a few nights back. She inspired my famous great line early on that day. "I have a date with a married woman" ---- it was good for a few perplexed stares.

I'm tired, and that is good, it keeps me out of the clubs this week that I don't have the goddess ... an NT certification would guarantee me some great cash (especially in Europe) so I'm doing the work and hoping it pays off.

I wish I could go on with the letter, but I am brain dead at the moment... more to follow towards the end of this week.

Peace love and Windows NT

Michele

10/17/1997

The Shape of Things…

I am the grouch of the day.

I've been putting up the storm windows --- metaphorically speaking --- the last emotional draft is a memory in the curtains now. It’s simply a matter of time before this self-imposed vacuum inside me does its work, eventually I’m hoping that nothing comes in and nothing goes out. I’m hermetically sealed for the week, or maybe the winter --- and if this keeps up, the rest of her life.

I'm making everyone live by the letter and it feels downright mean sometimes. But then again, which is better, feeling mean or feeling used and pissed off?

Today has been more of this and less of that and another day on that fetid heap o' life ...

Peace Love and Ciao Man

Michele

10/22/1997

Chilling…

Chilling in all respects. The downtown bird hangs upside down on her home wire across the river from blinking Sex World sign. Her extremities numb from the chill as the temperature dips below respectability outside as her radiators clank in a loud effort to keep up with it all.

Another long day in front of unfriendly computers, and sometimes I forget that recovering the contents of hard drives and patching servers are more important than having lunch or sneezing or pissing. So here I am 10 hours later with a nose full, an empty stomach and sloshing bladder.

It has been work more and wink less for the downtown girl, which is better I guess and I tell T---- the ex I only do this so he can begin to see my beautiful aura again. However, apparently I am kind of cute to the other techno nerds at my NT class so I have a date on the docket next week when "Zorba the Boy" returns from Hong Kong. He looks like a punk (think Billy Bragg) talks like Anthony Quinn, and earned 2 points higher on the NT exam than I (not much better). Downtown Girl and Danger Bra have a date with a Danger boy with a loaded brain.

I wonder if I’m attracted to his character and the strength he exudes or maybe more attuned to the challenge it represents. At this point I don’t know if I’m truly interested or just eager to jump onto another fast and disappointing ride in Jungle Land. I guess the secret to being a player is being an expert as 2^nd guessing your motivations. Ok, so maybe I am a player ---- or maybe a game warden.

Peace love and Flaming Goat Cheese

Michele

11/4/1997

Happy Birthday Baby!

For your birthday, I installed the new Netscape Communicator --- which means I am able to spell check, and use formatting on my text like bold, Italics, and the occasional ~~strikethrough~~.

Tracy Chapman is singing on VH1, she actually enforced a non-smoking policy at First Avenue, the original Iron Lung venue --- amazing!

The days go by and the edges of each new day blurs into the previous and the next. When I wake up I burrow deeper into the flannel sheets and dream about the sting of my shower. My stomach lurches as I get into the car in anticipation of the technical hurdles I’ll be leaping over as chief problem solver in this ever so small world of mine.

If I vacation soon and still come home screaming, it will be a sure sign that it is time to make a profound change, take a wild chance at something completely different than talking to servers in Guam.

Spain is up in the air --- why am I not surprised? M---- has a bug in their operational software and isn't making 25 cents per widget so my time there gets pushed into some future month.

The goddess is going to Paris with her Daddy on New Year's Eve and will be dancing down the Bastille when 1998 rings in.

I hope that you have a great birthday! Surround yourself with family and friends and a firefighter or two, as I’m sure that birthday cake will be ablaze!

I love you!

Peace love and candles

michele

11/9/1997

From the Warm Front…

I guess that would be me, I’ve been exclusively hanging out with only myself these days. Tonight I ventured out and the man I really wanted to see (Sketch boy) was standing alone. He smiled at me and I gave him the finger absolutely blowing him off. I’m almost sorry that I ever started that stupid game with him --- but its far too late now, and I would never risk the embarrassment of confessing what I really feel for him and having him laugh at me.

The blow monsters (former warehouse district neighbors) end up being my constant companions tonight as we go bar to bar to bar. They tell me I make them feel like shitty & weak because I don’t do whitey. They like my breasts however … I like my breasts too.

I think that a recording device in my car is in order. Writing has been a chore, and the words come to me when I connect to asphalt these days, thoughts profound and then lost once I shut off the engine and lock the doors. Sleeping is fun and garages with carbon monoxide cocktails beckon. My life is saved everyday by a soccer team picture of the goddess and the duty I feel toward her as she deals with growing breasts and pubic hair in the shitty days of 4th grade.

Peace, love and c2o

Mich

11/11/1997

Winter Hits…

Driving in the winter wonderland with a goddess… off to the dentist (not Dr. Longjohn!) with the snow falling gently in the form of corpulent white spiders. It is hell to drive in but beautiful to watch and listen, the hum of the defroster cranked all the way up, the rhythm of my wiper blades and of course the percussion of my chattering teeth and knocking knees. November 11, 1997.

I've been a terse little thing these past few months --- girl on the verge of herself, forever on the ledge ---- I’m thinking of leaving that bitch in a snow bank today.

Peace love and snowflakes

mich

11/15/1997

The Tide is High..

El Nino hits my week and it makes my water boil --- so much so that people as far away as Bermuda eye me nervously.

Beautiful snow, its quiet at night and it sees me aimlessly search the web as I pull up jewels like "The Oracle of the Plywood Elvis"

Inside me I feel the need for change and an underlying understanding that change is inevitable. I have always rejoiced in change --- any change, all the time --- I feel dread this time. A deep nagging from inside, a decision needs to be made, I know that I have all the information, I just can't seem to organize my thoughts, emotions and my obligations and align it with my true purpose (which continues to hide from me). Life is on the tip of my tongue and of course I stutter and wrack my brain for the rights words, which refuse to materialize --- maybe I am walking Alzheimer’s disease.

I've had a great week with the goddess, re-living her video highlights (the birthday parties) shopping for "the" clothes for her trip to Paris next month. My global girl, my baby on a plane --- we are in a moment in time where we relate very well with each other. I’m enjoying this coffee break from the pre-pubescent hormone assembly line while it lasts.

Saturday night finds this girl watching CNN and catching up with web friends. Zorba the Boy caught up with me last night and we smooched in my car through the entire Greatest Hits of Aretha Franklin (double CD). I pointed to the moon (almost full) it hung so close to us, as if it were orbiting the warehouse adjacent the parking lot we were in. Later, enjoying a few hits of oxygen, we looked for it and it was gone from the sky. So you could say, we just kissed the moon away, and that’s about all we did – it was nice and quite enough. If I had any love in my heart I’d write a sweet song about it all --- but I don’t, so I won’t.

Peace love and sputnik

michele

11/21/1997

LIfe at the Lunch Counter

A break from the road trip I call life, the Chrysler idles outside the Mid-Life Café and I find I’m the lunch special of the day --- BLT (bloody life's tough) w/ malaise on the side.

Too tired to sleep, too tired to wake up and I’m old enough to know that it is yet another phase. My life is patchwork quilt of phases sewn together with over analysis and up my ass introspection.

Still in the middle of the road trip and I’m still riding in my metaphoric Chrysler --- today I’m restless and seat hopping --- I'm the kid whining in the back seat, "Daddy are we there yet". Other days I’m behind the ancient wheel, my nose level with the dashboard, turning the volume up on the radio to drown out the noise, drumming the fingers of my right hand on the gearshift and lifting my middle left finger to those that inspire my road rage. My eyes are always on the road and moving landscape in my peripheral vision. Looking for life’s little shortcut, eyeing up the little houses on the prairie that seem like monuments to those that have stopped the journey. Did they find the spot or discover an answer or did they simply run out of gas. Sometimes I wonder where my place is on this landscape…

At the end of this road trip called life I may arrive at the 51^st state, that being the state of Peacefulness. I have to believe that or else this has all been a waste of one fine mind, not worth the worn out treads on my tires, nor the translucent corpses of butterflies who chose to end it all upon the hood of my Chrysler.

At the end of this road trip called life, as the credits start rolling --- and prove to be longer than the life itself --- I'll be standing on the roof, just over the state line with white hair (great legs) laughing as only an ancient vessel of peace and wisdom can laugh --- and I’ll still amazed at it all.

Peace love and a tank of petrol

michele

12/2/1997

Life Runs a Fowl

A very nice Thanksgiving spent preparing dishes to share with friends. A table set for 10, more food than anyone could possibly eat --- but we sure tried. The weather was less like Minneapolis, more like Seattle, humid, overcast, almost balmy at 50 degrees (unheard of). Sitting on the stoop with a full stomach, I was happy for friends, happy and thankful for the goddess and I missed not being with her (she was with her Dad in Wisconsin).

Despite this low-level vibe, a familiar vibe, the career shifts to another unknown gear. The president of our company resigned in what is "officially" a desire to change direction. Which translates to a desire not to lose his shirt because of poor management and a squandering of funds by our Swedish office.

My knee-jerk reaction is to jump ship, which inevitably, I will do. But I'm going to listen to the double-talk for a while and submit "my time" for the next few weeks. I'd like to leave on a good note, but mostly, I need to find away to walk away with the clients I put into the mix and keep this laptop.

I'm on the down low for now. Getting back into working out at the gym, and starting a script-writing workshop in January. We will see what comes --- because something always does.

Leace, Pove, and Dyslexia

michele

12/3/1997

Wastes of Time

Last night on the web, looking for flights and hotels in Mexico, more specifically the Isla Mujeres. Talcum powder beaches, crystal blue waters.

Somehow I end up composing country western songs on the CEA time-waster web site and then another hour of translating prose into ebonics and then before you know it, 3 am is here.

Tonight I hope the sky clears, I want to see all of the planets, which are supposed to be visible at twilight in perfect alignment. This has to mean something ... I'm just not sure what.

Peace love and Aquarius Curious Mercury Retrograde

Michele

12/10/1997

Christmas…

Christmas is the only thing coming in my house these days. Not to worry, maybe Santa has something up his sleeve that's re-chargeable, plastic, and projectory. I'll keep my legs and fingers crossed until the 25^th in blind optimism.

The goddess is a cute little pain in the ass this week, could be Christmas, could be mass spoilage, but I am impatient with her selfish kid motivations this week. It seems that my sweet little girl can only bring herself to help with the domestic chores when there are rewards involved. I told her that I am the "holy mother of harsh reality" --- no money, no dessert dangling, just clean your damn room or suffer my wrath. Sigh… and of course I feel like shit afterward and beg forgiveness when she's half-asleep at 1 am and calling "water, water" from her bed like she’s dying in the Mojave.

Writing class starts in January, maybe I don't need it --- maybe I do. Maybe I don’t like hanging out with other writers and I seriously fear losing whatever confidence I have in my writing. I need to open up more in my day-to-day life. I suffer deeply with an inability to completely trust people. For the most part I think everyone is full of shit and bent on self-preservation (hmmm, like me). Perhaps I should connect, trust and get kicked in the ass for a few months before I climbing back into this contrary isolation.

Bawdy on the outside --- safe and secretive on the inside

Peace love and layers

michele

12/16/1997

Back to "bass-ics"

Ok… and at 10 pm tonight I rendezvous with a bass player named _____ ... he used to date someone I know fairly well, so the "checking it out" meetings have to be on the down-low. Little Amsterdam (the warehouse social circle) being incestuous and a small world after-all could stir up problems if we were seen together, and at this point why take unnecessary risk --- the smart me says, don’t bother… the player always wins however.

Christmas approaches and the goddess will be across the channel from you in less than 2 weeks and ringing in the New Year with her Daddy-o in Paris. I will be in charge of emptying the cat litter at T--- the ex’s house and dancing on the bar at Urban as the bells ring in 1998. It is time to think of a motto for the year 1998. One will come to me, or for me, or on me.

Glad you liked the skin pic of St. Nic

Peace love and stealth in the night

michele

12/29/1997

A New Year Hangs…

Here it comes… 1998

I've returned relatively unscathed after the festivities in Wiscons-insane. Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays by the way, it has been a fast few weeks past and email has hung in the chilly cyber air.

The goddess left for Paris this afternoon, all packed, excited and bouncing. She was almost dismissive of me but I didn't take it personally.

If I could replay the thoughts that run through my head while I'm driving, that would make for good reading on this December night. I’m still at work however, and have visions of NT remote access servers dancing from lobe to lobe. I’m sure you don't want to know about that.

Did you / are you having a great holiday? I hope so.

Peace Love and Father Time

michele

Button’s a Real Peach

In the Pantry with my Cupcakes…

Exploding Head Tricks

82 MPH Anxiety Cures

Another Week for the Working Weak

Recovery Day…

Is it really Wednesday?

Early Friday…

Thick Days…

Fire Two

A week in the Life…

Lights…

Where's You?

Part Two

Cartoon Dreams…

Not Impressed…

Give Me Something Else

St. Johns Wart…

Late night Michele…

The Shape of Things…

Chilling…

From the Warm Front…

Winter Hits…

The Tide is High..

Christmas…

A New Year Hangs…