Help… someone told me that my brain was interesting in addition to confessing an admiration for my technical ability, oh yes and an adoration for my personality. Too bad I intimidated the piss out of him sexually and didn’t give a fuck about what he thought about me. Little hairy Annabel the stinker refuses to sleep in her own angry puddle tonight --- I’m feeling mean and as long as the eyes are crying why not have a matching puddle in the knickers.

Angry enough to drive through a snow storm to Bunkers … pounding my frustration into the floor … gyrating that asshole J--- right out of my hips. Dancing with an inner core of pain that quickly boils into anger and soon I’m a loaded gun. Tight black clothes match my tight black soul… waiting for the lesson to dawn on me … my karmic bus driver is late again, or stuck in the snow. Burrowing my narrowed eyes into the “uninitiated” as they make comments on my dancing like “Wow, a guy would have to be pretty athletic to ______ with a girl like you.” I reply with “I wouldn’t even let you measure my calves asshole.”

Home again and caller ID (that lovely breakup tool) tells me that J--- the Puerto Rican love pig has phoned a total of 11 times in the past 3 hours. No messages must mean no verbal evidence… no laying it out until he can see what type of response he’ll get or not get.

Paul Carrack is singing “Loving you tonight” as I start the shower --- lonely as usual --- I’m pretty consistent internally. The end of day two of the 1996^th recorded year of this planet… J--- or his gamely way of playing me will become another layer of cement in my foundation… all base and no structure. That’s me, a fallout shelter for the hurricane of loser dicks in this world.

I’m hungry … maybe I should only dine on true emotion this year … attach a feeding tube to my soul and fill it with the intangibles that seem to only exist in my head.

BTW, hotel towels are excellent exfoliates

Peace, love and scraping off a new year and a tight rear

Michele

01/3/1996

Yes I smoked… but I never exhaled

My old anthem now skips on the Hi-Fi. Vinyl was not invented to last a lifetime and High Fidelity will only be remembered as an obscure video from the 90’s. Angst whines from the radio on my kitchen counter and I refuse to look in the mirror because I won’t be able to resist making a face and mouthing “Why the fuck are you listening to a 22 year old with green hair sing about Vaseline?”

The Caruso curler machine made my hair look like a handle bar mustache as seen through the eyes of drunken housefly. No encores for that pink piece of trash. I notice another gray hair. That makes four total… one for every month that has passed since Dad died.

Yesterday I followed a car across town just because it had a license plate that read 311 MAH. My old house number and my initials. I was hoping the universe was showing me the way out and onto the next level. It didn’t mean a damn thing.

Now it’s off and out to pretend that I am working… somewhere… if not here, then possibly there… or maybe a latte around the corner.

I wonder if the universal secret is hidden in my economy tub of Vaseline?

Peace love and I refuse to exhale

Michele

01/07/96

Planetary Update, in April, Mercury Goes Direct

Terri the Tarot lady says, “April will be your time to let it shine… when Mercury goes direct all Gemini’s get a chance to kick some ass.”

J--- love pig, Michele glutton for pork, met him for a drink and then left him at the bar. He looked busy, chatting up the dark rooted Clairol blonde bimbo #23 at the bar. Not one to sit and stew… I got up and left. Self-preservation and embarrassment sit too damn close in my car – I need to put up a “no riders” sign this year.

I’m holding out for April and plan to just sit in the middle of this swamp and swat at the flies for the next 90 days. So it’s back to work and my weak conviction of swearing off men.

Today its goddess time… she’s at Dad’s this week but we made a date because we miss each other and can’t wait until tomorrow. Movie, lunch and Barnes & Nobel here we come --- I’m going to breathe goddess… listen to goddess radio and be the glutton at the holy feast of Gina Fe today.

Peace, love & 90 days until my boot hits life’s ass

Michele

01/09/96

Kissed on the nose by a pig

Sung to the tune of that Seal song “Kissed by a Rose”. Gina liked it that I belted this out waiting in line at the grocery store. We both hate awkward silence… not too many instances of white noise when we get together. She’s a scrumptious meal of mirth.

We had a great time at the movie (Jumanji) and she’s been extra loving to the old mom. She notices that the J--- is not around and we both do not bring it up --- she’s my little 4-wheeler with a built in winch of cuteness that always pulls me out of whatever mud I happen to be in. Tonight she made dinner from the old “Kids Cooking” cookbook --- fish sandwich and tator tots and some Chubby Hubby for dessert (my idea). After her bath (with 3 feet of water, 7 swimming Barbies, 5 rubber ducks and her red swimming goggles) she nagged me to plait her hair and insisted on 12 because she wanted wavy hair in the morning. I told her it would take a while and I’d only do it if she could be patient with the process. And of course after the 2^nd braid was wrapped “How many more until you’re done Mama?”

J--- called after she went to bed said I embarrassed him by ditching him at Tachios. I gave him an “oh well… I thought it was going to be another night of the bimbos and I wasn’t in the mood… soooo sorry.” I’m not intimidated by other women, I lived through hellacious parades of bimbos when I was married to T----… a three ring bimbo circus. The difference between J--- and T---- is simple… I trust T----.

Much later, J--- calls again, this time drunk and hurting in front of Sex World – punched in the face by a co-worker. Coincidentally the very same co-worker who was already on the shit list for seeking out an early Christmas goose from my ass at the Christmas party. Heavy sigh as Ricky Ricardo storms up to the loft swearing in a mixture of Spanish and English… shushing him so he doesn’t wake up the goddess asleep on the top bunk visible over the kitchen wall. As I hand him the ice pack for his face I comment, “You make me feel like a cross between Bugsy Segal’s girlfriend, Tank Girl and little Bernadette from Lourdes…”

He didn’t get it.

Peace, love and deep sea goddesses

Michele

01/15/96

Monster Minus Bjork

I prayed “Dear God… please bring some balance into my life.” All he could muster was a palindrome in my new phone number “9040409” and a symmetrical pager number “9017901”. That’s what I get for being vague I guess. I’m sure he’s laughing his all holy ass off.

Out in the world in strangely new… old familiar… ways. Roller-skating mama. The old school skates with 4 wheels and a stopper under the front toe. The rink smells the same and they turn down the lights and a lone cheesy disco ball reflects it litter across the walls over the roar of rubber on the wooden floor. This time I’m a chaperone, watching the girlies do the circles and smiling at rink memories past and those 7 moonlight skate circles of shame with equally embarrassed, acne prone, sweaty handed partners. I refrained from falling on my ass --- although I executed an intentional pratfall to empower the girls --- ok, to make them laugh.

Today I raised the dead (as in computers) and helped the goddess devise a recipe for an anti-monster scheme she has cooked up. She calls it “Monster Minus” she looked at me with those light green eyes and asked “Doncha get it Mom?”

Now it is time for “sorting the laundry” excitement and then a long hot soak in the Jacuzzi, complete with candles and Bjork.

Peace, love and its oh so quiet

Michele

01/16/96

Waving from Frigid Highways

Frigid highways of asphalt (not a metaphor for my current situation) I had to drive to a client site in Ogilvie and just my luck a morning of freezing rain hit. No time to reschedule however because we are also due for another 6-10 inches of snow. The server needed to get back on line --- so I put my life on the line, or rather to the right of the frigid highway line. But I made it back alive and I’m only down a gallon of washing fluid.

Social life feasts present themselves in the form of dates lining my Daytimer this week. A Patrick, a W-----, a Neil and maybe J--- maybe not. Last night my blues hit the soul ceiling of Bunkers… I was sweating more than musicians, slaving in the Dr. Mambo kitchen like the minimum wage dancer that I am. A physical and mental workout --- this is why I never require therapy… I do indeed work most things out in a most swinging metaphysically pleasing way.

My last dream before waking was of my Dad. He picked me up in a cream-colored Rambler station wagon. I confessed to him that I was a bit hung over and apologized for not being very talkative or entertaining. He reminded me that I wasn’t a teenager anymore and that back in those days, just like today, he was always wise to what I was up to and I didn’t get away with nearly the amount of things I thought I did. I cocked my head and gave him a Shelly smirk, my eyes moved to his strong brown hands in the 10:10 position on the steering wheel. I said, “I’m so glad you’re here Dad… and that everything else must have just been a dream.”

When I woke up I wasn’t sad for once. As I wrote today’s date on a check for my triple latte I suddenly remembered that today my Dad would have been 62.

Hey… take your shoes off on the train, wiggle your toes as you sip your tea and eat your cheese sandwich.

Peace, love and a ride in a heavenly rambler

Michele

01/21/1996

Pheromonal Tendencies

Those phenomenal pheromones… she tried rubbing, soaking and scrubbing and still there they are, making the sidewalk flap with the sound of a Waring Blender as she bounces down the avenue in DKNY platform shoes.

It has been one hell of a week. A week where Michele hung back acting disinterested as the date crew came knocking at her door. Yawns seem to drive them crazy, ambivalence on my part has them upping the stars on the dinner destination. I confess that deep inside they scare the piss out me. I hate being a passenger and much prefer being a driver. The passenger is always more likely to get killed in a collision and I’m already at or about life #3 or 4 in love-passenger lives. Besides, I don’t know how long this scotch tape is going to hold my heart together.

In Michele’s racetrack of love this week: neck and neck we have J--- and W-----. The odds are favoring W-----, but coming out of nowhere is that sax player that drives me crazy. W----- found me at the Quest last night (went to see Tribe of Millions) he allegedly renewed his publishing deal with Sony and was talking a big B.S. about lavishing me with gifts and flying to London in April to go to a party for TTD. J--- phones me “Senorita, Baby, Mama… lets go to Cancun this March”. As I leave the bathroom of the Quest I bump into that sax player who looks at me coolly and says, “Would you show me your belly, Shelly?”

Outside the world is made of glass all because a rainstorm turned into an ice storm with a drastic drop in temperature (I’ll say, try –60 F.) The goddess and I are documenting it on film… I’m waiting for her to wave her magic wand and transport us to Goddess Land this spring… I’m almost certain she’s really my fairy godmother disguised as my baby goddess --- she makes me feel be-twinkled.

Ice pictures cometh for you my friend… as well as updates on my conjoined triangles, which may be a debacle of a pentangle by Valentines Day at this rate.

Peace, love and pheromone racetracks

Michele

01/23/1996

Senorita Meter Maid

Most coincidentally, I’m sure...

Michele tells the J--- that she thinks its best to disengage and play like friends for a time. J--- whispers the “L” word in Michele’s ear when he thinks she is sleeping --- or did he know she wasn’t sleeping but felt secure in knowing that she’s the type to quietly torture herself with such utterances rather than risk the shame of bringing it to light.

J--- implies confusion about his feelings for the senorita-baby-mama. There has been no sex this week because of the confusion and Michele knows the truth is he has been out shagging up the warehouse district. In his odd old school Latin way, he’s protecting her from the probability of an inevitable exotic, alluring viral or bacterial treasure. I guess it’s quite common for a player to mix the feeling of respect for someone’s health with that of love --- happens all the time in the best of dysfunctional relationships. I’m sure whoever he marries will experience this as well. Oh lucky them.

The previous night Michele demonstrated her more brazen flirting and tension release exercises dead center in the mosh at the Ave listening to Soul Asylum. Primarily for release, but with the added bonus of pissing off J--- woo hoo she took the proffered tongue of a crowd surfing cutie like it was rock and roll communion. Conservative J--- doesn’t get the same exhilaration from the mosh as Michele. She tells him that it reminds her of “slam-dancing” as they referred to it in the 80’s. The now legendary “After-Show Bruise Monolog & Contusion Report” where the Shelly Show would zestfully jump up on the bar at Teddy’s after a Black Flag show and proudly show off her bruises to an amazed crowd of drinkers. The J--- excuses himself to go to the restroom (trolling for chicks) for the 5^th time. Upon his return he comments on each and every man or woman Michele has danced with for the past 4 songs. He asks her pointedly “Have you ever slept with a woman?” With a malevolent smile she says, “Define sleep.”

The next morning she finds his wallet on the floor, just as he calls to ask, “Did you find my wallet?” She flips through the wad of phone numbers and business cards of strippers from Déjà vu just as he asks, “You didn’t go through it, did you??” “Give me some credit please.” she lies. He says “I had a strange dream this morning at your loft, I told you something… did you think of me today.” “Always J---.” she says. “Bring my wallet around after I get to work, I have a present for you my Senorita-Baby-Mama.”

A wallet size picture of her lucky Carmen Miranda picture prints on the HP beside her desk. On the back she writes “Call me when you clean up, love Senorita-Baby-Mama-Meter Maid.” She tosses his wallet in the door of La Cucaracha at a most surprised host and goes on with her life.

Duality being my trademark… of course there are words for the W----- files this week as well. Despite the fact that he has never seen me in my naked (or writhing) splendor, he vividly describes scenes in the Bahamas in which I am clad only in the top half of his silk pajamas and he’s wearing the shorts… pushing me on tire swing in the white sand beside the pounding surf. He leaves cases of apple juice, barking stuffed animals, and a video lifted from the parking ramp surveillance camera at work filled with 20 minutes of monolog wherein he professes a gushing love at first sight thing for me. Of course, he needs me to feel cowed by such attention, so he tells me that because he’s a Prince look-alike he can have any girl he wants --- and now he only wants me. “Yes, but you’re no Fancy Ray…” I counter.

Reality is beeping in my head like a smoke detector at a 2-star Cajun restaurant. Sideways it gets out that his ex-girlfriend is still living with him. A foot that has already been silently pumping the “woe slow down daddy” brake pushes it to the floor. He bounces in and out of traffic with his crazy pursuit antics. I don’t want my dual airbags to explode at this point. “W-----, I’m beginning to feel a bit sheepish about this conjoined double triangle I seem to have created. I’m not quite finished up with J--- at this point and it sounds like you have a letter to finish, an envelope to lick & mail away, so to speak.” He dejectedly asks if I’m still sleeping with J---. I sigh and say, “You don’t need to know anything about that.”

He emails a note of apology and sends 10 pounds of Hawaiian coffee beans by courier. I emailed him back and nonetheless thanked him for his recent CompuServe concupiscent communiqué… he called to thank me (after he looked it up in the Websters Dictionary.)

Yes… Yes… Yes… I am definitely on some type of ride lately. Not sure which direction it is heading or if it will simply spin me until I vomit. Reading about it would be much more enjoyable than living it I’m sure. Suffice to say that I find myself embedded in a 3-D laser photo wearing a big white halo that switches to hedonistic aura at the slightest bend of a corner.

No hopeful words today --- only sassy tales from the avenue where I do my finest impersonation of a Mardi Gras parade with A TON of hard earned beads.

Lonely as usual on the inside I feel more akin to the parking meters outside --- covered in ice. This weather and this drama is only temporary… I’m waiting for spring in all respects. Until then I’ll take it quarter by quarter, meter out my time, let my coins drop… more slowly in the cold with a muffled buzz.

Peace love and lovely rita

Michele

01/29/1996

Sis-communicated from the Church O’ J---- Again

I’ve been excommunicated from the family… again. Rather than fight about it and ride the wave to shore with water blasting up my nose like I usually do, I’ve decided to take the experience in the face and have a weird spin in life --- all alone --- in mondo-orphan mode.

Replay of an all-too-common ridiculous situation with my oldest sister. She is in the 1996 post-Death-o-Dad trauma like the rest of us, we find her wrestling her childhood demons while deeply in love with a flirt-pig from Philly. Take the overwhelming possibility of new guy seeming like the best love of her life, a nice healthy shot of Deprovera, add jealousy, copious amounts of alcohol and shake well in the unstable container called Big Sister (who makes my 2^nd guessing & self undoing look amateurish.) Served on side of this delightful sister cocktail is a deep fuming over the fact the boyfriend has an annoying habit of having every landmark in the world remind him of a previous conquest –-- which he is all to eager to share in detail. Big Sister showed up on Thursday night (already steaming because apparently he has a fond ex-girlfriend memory about Soldier Field & then O’Hare) she retreated to a psychotic nether region by Saturday morning and left early Sunday.

She decided to transfer her insecurity and jealousy onto a familiar terrain (e.g. the Shelly Show). Boyfriend didn’t help this at all by pointing out that either I wear very thin thongs or no underwear at all.

Flash to Saturday night at the Fine Line --- from my previous mails you can safely assume that I was in full juggler gear and with my luck -- ALL -- of the players of my heart showed up (including a surprise guest appearance by T---- the ex) --- I was not really paying much attention to the Big Sister / boyfriend thing. He asked me to dance (because she wouldn’t dance with him). She smoldered at the table and in her mind I was working on having sex with him.

I was ignorant and BUSY… W----- showed up and hung out at our table. J--- walked in with the work crew and the typical assortment of bimbos, one of which he moved away from in an exaggerated way when I caught his eye. To make this a true event, it was the sax player’s band on stage. He circled me blowing his horn as I danced like a wild woman on the dance floor. Above me I could feel the blue eyes burning on me from the balcony and there perched on the edge was T---- the ex standing beside his latest in a string of patchouli smelling midget art widget dates. Just to add that extra flavor, bartender Dan from Old Chicago attempted to bite my earlobe whenever I passed him on my way to the restroom.

Big Sister sat with a dour look upon her face and a snotty comment tucked under her bottom lip like a wad of black Skoal aimed at my soul. I smiled a tight plastic smile at them when the house lights came up and then invited about 30 people to party at my loft. Hell, I didn’t want to be alone with her!

Once the party got rolling and W----- was trying to do everything to please me… short of cleaning my bathroom (which funny enough, he did eventually end up doing anyway.) Big Sister made it a point to catch my eye – I noticed she was her pink flannel pajamas and saluting me with her middle finger. I followed her into the bedroom and asked, “What is up with you?” “Fuck you Shelly, I know you want to fuck K---- … I’m going to bed so you can do him on the roof.” I looked at her in bewilderment… she has pulled this on me once before with yet another unsavory beau. I think it’s a funky transference on her part because to tell the truth --- her taste in men is beyond me, I’ve never found any of them remotely attractive. She’s the one with the sordid history of messing with the ex-fiancé of sister S---. Boyfriend started a nice fight with Big Sister, calling her “instant asshole – just mix with alcohol.” I took this as my opportunity to leave the premises with a “Sorry… but I sincerely hope that EVERYONE is gone when I return in 2 hours.”

I took a drive across the river and hung out at White Castle… picking on college boys and having 2 sliders and a chicken with cheese --- my usual after bar fare when I’m Northeast. I drove the river parkway from the U down the Mississippi and around a few lakes and then up Lake of the Isles to the Guthrie. By now 2.5 hours had passed and as I maneuvered the now empty streets of the warehouse district I was hoping to unlock my door to find the echo of a dark, albeit trashed loft. When I turned my key in the door, all the lights were on. The loft was immaculately clean and Joyce was sitting in perfect estrogen sneer mode on the sofa. W----- came traipsing by wearing my Playtex gloves holding a toilet brush. “We were so worried about you Michele!” I rolled my eyes in such a way that I sprained my right eyebrow and announced, “I’m going to bed --- alone on the couch --- so get the fuck out of my face --- all of you!” Big Sister interrupted “K---- says I owe you an apology for my behavior… I’m so sorry.” she said icily. “Oh… are you still here?” “I’m still holding out for tomorrow --- when I wake up and you are gone.”

Not only did she leave, she left her boyfriend behind! Scheduled a flight for her self at 6:00 a.m. and one for him at 11:00 a.m. I drove him to the airport and told him “Good luck buddy… have fun and will you both please just stay the fuck away from me.”

There is an ancient alchemist in me that turns all my sadness, frustration and fear into the outward appearance of sex bomb --- it’s probably in a text book somewhere --- attention is my coping mechanism --- it sucks sometimes. Aside from the thick cloud of testosterone that currently pollutes the air around me, my life is one bizarre situation butting up against the next. I used to feel as if I had to explain it --- but I find that I can’t explain it, and more importantly, I don’t feel like explaining or justifying it any more. W----- is a weirdo stalker with an OCD disorder… his obsession getting scarier. The more I tell him to back off, the more trinkets arrive by courier at my door. Gaston the trusty shower massage, the constant in my life waits quietly for me over the jacuzzi… it’s probably time to check out of the man-madness and spend some quality time on speed 4.

J--- called me with a voice full of hurt??? !!! I reminded him that I am respecting his confusion and offering him a loving distance of solitude with which to sort out his feelings. He told me that he feels empty if he doesn’t talk to me --- or know about my days / nights. I suggested more bimbo therapy. The bruise on my earlobe from Dan the biting bartender shows promise of being yellow by Thursday.

Wow… only 5 more speeds to work up to on Gaston before I master the art of the 2-minute shower massage miracle – then I’ll just live naked in my bathroom until I flop over from a heart attack.

Today the goddess and I spent 2 hours at the YMCA. I chased her around the track (infinitely more interesting that jogging and breathing… giggling works those lower abs). We swam for over an hour and lay in the steam room in exhausted happiness until the timer buzzed and we both jumped. Buried in the mail today, a postcard arrives from my old roommate in Milwaukee, now the proud owner of a day spa in Santa Barbara. It’s time to check in with the old pal discount!

So its sign off time… the goddess is back with her Dad and I’m slated for more consulting work and time with a trainer to empty the bitterness in my soul into weights & reps --- all for promise of Peace & tone.

Now all I need now is a lesbian weightlifter to enter the picture and this weekend could be a great Independent flick.

Peace love & the recently sis-communicated

Michele

01/31/1996

Michele’s Atomic Field of Dreams

So, I went for a 2-hour massage on Monday --- most excellent! I closed my eyes and attempted to visualize a release of all the pain and questions in my heart … the J--- the big sister. My masseuse does lymphatic massage (boobies) as well… this translates to guzzling 2 gallons of water for the remainder of the day and feeling ill for the day after with the promise of vigor by Wednesday.

Today was my second session with the personal trainer. Working out this past month and swimming has been good for the bod, but it hasn’t done much for my pissed off at the world attitude. Unabashed anger is not really common for me, so I suppose I should try somehow to put it to good use. There are a few people in the day to day who deserve a snap of the tongue or two. I am “Rage descending a staircase” with two rabid porcupines concealed in my D-cup danger bra – approach with caution.

Dream? This morning I abruptly awoke and the alarm clock displayed 4:00 a.m. Over my chest a bronze atom was spinning furiously around its nucleus. The angry and impatient voice that came out of mouth didn’t match the shock and fear I felt in my stomach as I poked my finger through the center of it and shouted, “Get the fuck out of my dream!” It fell in pile of dust all over me.

How cold is too cold? I suppose –44 isn’t as cold the –60 it was a week previously, but it is still the type of day where you pull your hood release and it falls off in your hand (actually happened to my neighbor today.)

My bed of ice --- Minnesota --- I’m the third blanket on the left, tucked here out of an obligation to raise a fabulous daughter with the least amount of difficulty. Frozen limbo --- sounds like dessert --- tastes like medicine.

Peace, love and frozen extremities

Michele

02/03/1996

Sore, but sprouting wings

In the land of Michele, the muscles are sore… and that’s not a bad thing. I’ve been working out and becoming more alert and situations are naturally progressing to big ugly heads --- I just keep pushing the physical because I’m not fast enough to catch the words that are spinning furiously in my head --- the emotional procrastinator in me feels assured that the current blemishes will dry up and go away if I ignore them.

A dream inside of a dream this morning, too much wine maybe… too much soul baring conversation with J--- probably. In the dream I’m driving down a highway and I slow down as a bear emerges from the woods to my right. I say aloud “Wow… this is a déjà vu! Just like the dream I had a minute ago!” I look out my window and up to the sky and shout “Hey… up there… so what does this mean anyway?” The reply comes back through the radio, “It means absolutely nothing… just don’t hit the bear!”

The phone rings every 35 minutes… anonymous on the caller ID… the morning melody of the girl being stalked again.

My trainer is nice and complimentary of my progress. It feels good to hurt like this… I’m sure any day now I will sprout wings either on my back, heels or both. An Apollo with tits or an angel/hedonist on the edge of the millennium.

The mail server was down yesterday… so I couldn’t mail out the above. Yesterday was another workout day in more ways than the obvious. We are experiencing the coldest weather ever recorded in the history of Minnesota. This means an instant freeze to the face and starting the car every 2 hours to make sure it doesn’t freeze in the night. Two days ago an octogenarian in the lovely Northeast neighborhood smashed right through my partially opened drivers’ side door as I was about to emerge from my car parked in front of the Modern Café. Luckily my leg was still in the car… barely. His right side view mirror fell off into my lap… in shock all that registered were the words upon it “objects in mirror are closer than they appear.”

The goddess wants to come home a day early… fine with me. She’s going to provide comic relief as I get estimates on the work required to “un-squish” my door. I had to pull the interior light fuse so my battery won’t drain --- door will not shut completely. Unfortunately, this also disconnects the stereo --- so I’m driving around to the sound of my own fine mind.

Hope you are doing well! Your pal Aimee is playing at the Ave in a few weeks.

Peace, love and lap objects

Michele

02/05/1996

One more time…

I am keeping my chin to my chest through February because something tells me it is going to one bumpy month. March should be better. I’m slowly waking up and hope to be haunting the world like the true banshee that I am after the 29^th

All of this innuendo, dating and sisterly drama does not agree with me. Unfortunately, the current cosmic Venus & Mars combination is turning me into a libidinous billboard of shame… attracting the masses this weekend. T---- the ex leaves for Paris tomorrow and we have been talking on the phone. He wants me to come back. I made the mistake of complaining about being stalked and it planted the seed of attitude. He then accused me of losing my soul… and I countered that “losing” it was far better than “giving it away”, which to me implies culpability outside of my own ignorance. Letting go is hard for us and its almost as if we take turns lurching and then turning back to see what the other one is doing / thinking. Life for me has always been all or nothing at all. I vow to develop a trend toward moderation so I don’t end up like Caligula.

I need to put on the suit, the cat-eye glasses with the red rhinestones and drum up some tech work. I’ve been slacking big time since the end of the year and the cash is NOT flowing in as it usually does. This makes for interesting Ramen noodle creations 4 nights a week and not much else.

The goddess comes home tonight and we are going for a long swim at the Y. My shoulders and arms are almost recovered from working with the trainer and I’m getting in the zone. Just in time for next week’s sessions.

Oh well… time to spec server upgrades, price hard drives and drive to the collision center to see how baby Mazda is enjoying its auto body experience …

Peace, love and fenders

Michele

02/07/1996

Michele Wins the Lottery!

Ok… we won’t know for sure until 10:00, but there is something to be said for self-fulfilling prophecy. I bought a ticket and call it my alternative pink business plan.

My enthusiasm for tech work has not returned. Working out has been great, more energy during the day and now I yawn at 9:30 like regular folks. Maybe these bags under my eyes are finally packed and ready to leave the ocular tarmac. Maybe I’ll get into the role of computer goddess before my next car payment is due. A rice cake with Dijon mustard is a lovely meal.

Sunday the goddess and I are going to an all ages show at the AVE (Lisa Loeb) shouldn’t be too crazy for her. We went to the Mall of America yesterday and I picked up a ticket to go to Santa Barbara --- I am taking a vacation in March --- alone.

Andra, my old roommate from Milwaukee has a spa where one can get massaged, have bad energy extracted, aura cleansed and slut chakras cleared. (I threw that last one in… I think my slut chakra is nice & airy these days.) I plan to spend a week cleaning my soul… paying twice as much for my espressos… saying wow man cool, more yogurt please and finally hanging with the pelicans.

Today it is a balmy 40 F (about 85 degrees warmer than the previous week) we all feel as if spring has arrived here in the Midwest.

Can you see me sending you a big smile? I hope you are having a lovely day. Me, I’m going to bed and plan to dream about what I will do with my millions from the lottery.

Peace, love and save the pelicans

Michele

02/09/1996

What we want vs. what is…

This is the pea under my mattress…

This is the OW in my chaos

This is the squishy remains of that dare devil chipmunk under my radial tire

Today in History --- This IS What IS:

My trainer worked the piss out me today. Made the left side of me atrophy into a spastic Jerry Lewis, made me sweat, made me forget about anything else but breathing for 1.5 hours.
I can’t lift my leather jacket over my shoulders without wincing in pain
I’ve taken up walking again… now that my nostril hair doesn’t rattle and break from the cold --- also it’s safer considering my recent parking mishap.
T---- the ex is in Paris and faxing letters about hanging out in Irish bars, strolling St. Eustace (we have a Riddley Walker connection that ties us to this place – heart of the wud) and the Louvre.
The goddess and I are eating healthy, going to bed early, getting up on time, swimming every night, goofing, kissing, reading and dreaming in the wide-awake hours.
I threw all my work in a large pile in the middle of my living area and see that I have only two options: light a match or work through it.
I haven’t talked to anyone in my family since my sis-communication. I’ve come to the conclusion that is painfully excruciating to love them as I do --- I need more time with the moldy Band-Aid of isolation before I peak over that fence.
I haven’t dialed J--- ‘s number in almost 2 weeks. This makes him call me more. We are turning into “buddies” and this really pisses me off. I never wanted to be his buddy --- I wanted to fuck him. I’m not sure where he is coming from… I seem to have evolved from the senorita-baby-mama to the multi-purpose-manna for one manically male. This new halo pinches my ears and I holler back to the love kitchen “Hey… mother fucking love angel… I did not order this!”

Today in History --- This is What I WANT:

Health
Peace
The Goddess
Respect & distance from my family
Intimacy with someone reasonably evolved

I’m working on it… working on it… working on it.

Peace love & cyber sushi (see attached photo)

Michele

02/13/1996

Fighting Every Day

Fighting must be in the air. I must be like you these days, because I have averaged a fight (or two) everyday… with everyone I know, including myself. I’ve been starting them too… I need a vacation.

I leave for Santa Barbara on the 13^th of March and will return on the 18^th – travel plans have been known to change so let me know the specific date at the House of Blues --- LA might be a nice 3 minute roller coaster ride after my plans to return to ZERO at the Voodoo Spa and Slut Chakra Factory.

Tonight I’m popping in to see your friend Aimee at the Avenue --- did you know that I used to see her play at Jumping Jack Flash in Boston back in the day? She didn’t like the crowd I swung in… oh wait… I don’t think she liked anyone.

I took Gina to see Lisa Loeb on Sunday and she watched the show (with big orange foam ear plugs) from backstage. Her moment was when she caught a flying drumstick while having her little bum shook up on the bass PA. Fun

J--- calls again and this time I hang up in exasperation. For someone who is confused about me, he sure seems intent on controlling other aspects of my life --- I need to drop these Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater types. I much prefer being devoured vs. being kept very well. I infuriate him because I tell him that it seems like he’s saving me for last --- like dessert someday and I’m just supposed to sit in the case and wait.

So… is this the tone for my life? Going from 100 mph men days a few weeks ago to a life of crickets chirping? It’s a damn good thing I didn’t blink.

T---- the ex called me from Paris yesterday (drunk). He had a lovely conversation on the plane with a couple traveling to Paris to renew and rekindle their romance for Valentines Day. They were married for 9 years, divorced for 1 and remarried precisely a year later. (I’m sure you know where this is going.)

I just sighed the “Shelly Sigh”, because really, I didn’t know what to say. He sighed back, “Oh, never mind.”

Oh never mind… never mind… never mind… invisible chains are killing me.

Now I’m off to get the goddess away from Scooby Doo on the television and drive us both down the avenue to our day of obligations --- work for me --- school for her. I will scan the loft one more time in hopes of uncovering my enthusiasm… I know its buried here somewhere.

Peace, love and never mind

Michele

02/15/1996

Valentines Day Survivor

How I truly hate these obligatory holidays --- perfunctory gifts --- boxer shorts with hearts on them --- the half-hearted blowjob.

The ex returned from Paris yesterday bearing gifts, a hand blown flacon with a red flame for a stopper, a cross from St. Eustace and paper that proclaimed: “Je t’aime a la folie.” I gave him an exasperated sigh.

Baby Mazda is again parked outside – new door and a paint job. I missed that car!

I went to Aimee’s show at the Ave --- she was pretty good --- her road manager is one weird piece o’ Lenny (think-- of Mice & Men). I ran into a friend on the right of the stage that I haven’t seen for a while. The air guitar-playing road manager (Cro-Magnon) admonished us for being too loud. Good God… at First Avenue??? I gave him the finger and tried to squeeze out a really loud fart when she sang a soft ballad. Wincing at the thought of having a guitar tuner shoved up my ass in retaliation of any deep rectal whining on my part. Ja--- (backstage bouncer) told me that he thought I was behaving better than usual and that the road manager was simply a pain in the ass --- he was not a big hit with the stage crew apparently. We giggled as we watched him lip synch, play percussion and air guitar to Aimee from the side of the stage --- I zipped my lip and jubilantly gave him the finger every time he looked at me.

Peace, love and buy that man a rabbit farm already

Michele

02/17/1996

Bunk Beds of Despair

Or is that Bunk Beds of Desperation? I remain unsure at the moment. I’ve decided to adopt the Chinese calendar this year --- this way I can explain away the previous month as the bitter end to 1995 --- the worst year of my life --- the worst behavior of my life --- so far anyway.

From the previous months behavior I stand at the beginning of the New Year (because I’m now Chinese) miraculously lapsed to the age of 7 – or at least behaving like a 7 year old. It’s been a month of games – primarily with myself. T--- the ex came back from Paris with hope and a romantic yearning of reconciliation with the Shelly Show. Instead of being strong and remaining firm in my resolve to move on, I let him in when he rang the intercom downstairs at 3:30 this morning. Confusion is a great expeditor for getting naked, sweaty with lots of selfish self-centered crying afterward. Lonely & dumb, I guess that’s where I’m from. Welcome to Shelly’s world --- I can exacerbate any itchy situation and personally guarantee a quick move back (10 spaces) and the loss of your next three turns in the game of breaking away.

I wonder if the part of me that rejects T--- the ex is also that brainless part of me that refuses to be pushed aside by J---. I’m frustrated with myself because I can intellectualize and see the fast moving locomotive heading toward me on the track --- I’m not frozen in fear --- I’m just incredibly stupid. So here I am… staggering down relationship road. Trying to raise the volume on the voice of reason --- a little less treble and a whole lot of bass please.

Shelly the hedonist tired of flicking lime wedges across the bar at Urban Wildlife and decided she needed some soul-sluicing to occur. She thought, what better way than convincing the girls to go do some after hours dancing at the Gay 90’s. Most liberating … very strange and wonderful to dance down to underwear and NO ONE CARES! I danced the astral for 2 hours straight --- the anger and frustration in exodus from my body in the form of sweat --- I closed my eyes and moved my body in an intense beat meditation --- my mind moved sideways as if in a dream. I was sad when the music ended and the house lights came up --- “Good call Shel!” as we went our separate ways. Yet I felt energized and for once I welcomed the cold air outside.

Tonight I plan to do a bit more dancing on the astral --- however I’ve unplugged the telephone in the event that anyone gets the notion of climbing into my bunk bed of despair with me. At least until my willpower increases and my insecurities lessen.

Peace, Love & until I type again

Michele

02/22/1996

Year of the Rat

Happy New Year --- I’m glad I jumped ship over to the Chinese way of tracking time --- it’s turning out to be a much better year than what the Roman’s had to offer a scant 1.5 months ago.

So in my year of the Rat, I run into someone I knew from the Rat (in Boston) well over 12 years ago – a fortuitous sign. No thoughts of bunk bed wrestling however --- just nice to connect with someone who knew me in the early days of the Shelly Show.

I’m thinking of starting a local chapter of Flirter’s Anonymous --- “Hi, my name’s Michele and I haven’t had a sexual innuendo pass my lips in 3 weeks…” My revelry & coquettish displays in public are just the steam blowing from a very bruised / confused ego at the moment --- primarily from J---‘s unusual relationship double-standard, my “un-shelly-like” doormat imitation in his midst and my surprising inability to tell him to fuck off. Usually I can pull that off just fine???!!!

Tired today… the gym doesn’t seem to keep me as alert as previous weeks, just sore. I am feeling impatient today, could be the lack of coffee in my life. What awful habit shall I give up next? Cigarettes??? No!!! Not the cigarettes!!!

Peace, love & Ben (the rat)

Michele

02/23/1996

Venus on my Roof

Life is the same shite here as well. I’m getting closer to riding the consulting rails again at a more accelerated pace. I’m not so very worried about it however. It seems that on the days that I’m down to my last package of Ramen something always arrives in the mail in check form. I’ve been lucky that way lately. Must be due to my indifference to the material things… it seems to find me --- like the smoke that sneaks up the nose of the non-smoker.

Today if I had any balls at all --- I’d be naked on the roof singing Bananarama songs. I can’t think of any good reason why I shouldn’t. I see it as a provocative way to cut the hue on this blue, rainy, spring day. My goal for March is to drain any brake fluid that remains in my soul and punch it to the floor.

… and there she goes… out of the shower and up the spiral stairs to the deck on the roof…

Peace, love & goddess’s mama on a mountain top

Michele

02/25/1996

Life is interesting when you say CHEESE

Pictures, posing and flow of life in this 1200 SF Shangri La I have built with the goddess. We chased each other around with cameras tonight. She’ll only let me snap a photo of her if she can pose, grimace and make faces. I told her she was only allowed one per roll. I climbed on top of the fridge and surprised her as she turned the corner from our sleeping area to the living area --- great look on her FACE… how would you look if you suddenly saw your Mother perched on top of the Frigidaire? She chased me with the camera into the bathroom and just as she snapped the picture I shut out the light --- we laughed belly laughs tonight --- chasing and laughing and being insane --- good family times in the warehouse district tonight.

As we ran our errands today she entertained me in the car with new renditions of the song “Lump” with a Muppet theme “She’s Pig… She’s Pig… “ This is almost as funny as her crazy antelope dance … my abdominal muscles twinge at that memory.

Last night I took her to our first (and last) Monster Truck Show. Hanging with the beer drinking daddies and almost passing out from the carbon monoxide. It was All-Star Wrestling with 5-foot tires, louder than a White Zombie concert with the same $10 nachos and $5 Pepsis. We did it --- wow --- quite a cultural event.

Peace, love & say chees(y)

Michele

02/25/1996

Mussels / Muscles for Michele… and Papillon

Workout day on the pins (burning and sore legs that are looking quite Tina Turner…) had a great dinner with an old friend. Mussels, clams, shrimp & mushroom risotto… lovely, lovely and most lovely. From the sea to me in the Midwest --- maybe airplanes aren’t so bad after all. My newfound timidity keeps me in the chair, when what I really wanted to do was stand on the table, pick up two empty shells and do an impromptu fandango with mussel castanets. Oh well, maybe next time.

Happy Leap Year BTW…

No sleep and an exercise in being stupid again. I answer what appears to be “booty” call at midnight, which evolves into playing Scrabble and watching Papillon with J--- until 5 a.m. ----- I need to connect with my inner Steve McQueen and dig a tunnel away from that man. Oh well, maybe when my brain emerges.

Now it’s cold water and loud Sugar (file under pop music) and off to make the consulting dollars.

Peace, love & have great days /nights / astral flights

Michele

03/01/1996

The Quotable Michele

Waiter at Caffe Solo: Would you like cream with your coffee?

Michele: I’ll leave that up to you…

Waiter at Caffe Solo: blank stare

Michele: I’m lactose ambivalent

Peace, love & I worked 13 hours yesterday

Michele

03/06/1996

Miss March… In like a Liar, Out on the Lamb

Now wouldn’t that make a lovely song title? I’m ready to change the soundtrack of my life, that or an oil change. I feel as if I need to be hung on the clothesline for a while. Let the fresh wind of March blown me perpendicular to the line I hang on… all the more target for those inevitable bird droppings as the swallows return to my own private hellish Capistrano.

California looms like a big soul necessity. I look west and I look forward to watching the sun melt into the water each night. I miss my friend and look forward to the reunion of the girls from Milwaukee ---juxtaposed against mountains and oceans. We share a mutual easy-going acceptance of one another, despite appearing as polar opposites --- we are symmetrical in spirit.

Last night I had a sweet calm dream of lying on my back on a beach with a starry still night above me. My head rested on a pillow made of sand with the waves gently advancing from my feet to my knees and then was releasing rhythmically back to the sea. I was waiting for an enchanted seal to grab me by the ankles pull me (willingly) back to the sea to my rightful identity as mermaid in the Pacific. I’m taking this as a good omen for a girl who needs time away and hates to fly.

Now this mermaid needs to go and make some techno-cash…

Peace, love & consulting mermaids

Michele

03/20/1996

Santa Barbaraaaaaaahhhhhhh

I’m back and recharged, in full lilt, tilt & bounce --- not to mention a new bombshell named Carmen Miranda hanging out in all her inky splendor on my right shoulder. I am one of the permanently marked. This assures me that the higher powers floating in the upper etheric will be able to distinguish me from domesticated animals when I die and hit the soul recycling plant in the sky. On second thought, it may also cause them to confuse me with a branded cow from Nebraska --- oh well life and death are rife with the possibility of crazy outcome… aren’t they?

Clarity returns and my current situation here requires that I hit work hard in these next few months and begin to schmooze some of these hardware vendors that will want to contract me and overcharge for my system analysis abilities. If I schedule everything just right I can leave some time for hanging backwards over the sofa with the goddess to sing along with her to whatever is playing on the stereo at the moment. Today will be a day of dancing down the aisles of Toys R Us with the goddess wearing overalls stuffed with her windfall of birthday cash.

Today is her birthday and as usual, she awoke at 4:50 am (mountain time) --- the exact time of her entrance on the planet. She is such an intense force in my life --- her presence scrubs me and leaves me a willing placid monotone of blue calm. In the mirror I see her standing behind me and feel her small hands gently twirling a lock of my hair. I catch her eye and from nowhere my throat tightens at the intensity I feel for her. I give her the “I love you so much” look and in her fresh, 8 year old fashion she looks at my watery eyes sideways and then points to the Tampax on the bathroom shelf. “Oh, I get it mom, you’re not sad… you’re…”

“Lucky, that’s what I am honey.” I turn and then pinch her and kiss her neck until she squirms free and runs away giggling.

Peace, love & lucky bouncy birthday girls

Michele

03/28/1996

Dance today for tomorrow we decay…

A futile attempt to always be young will blow away from me some day. Yet I’ll defiantly skip down that sidewalk in the future pretending to be Tinkerbell. Stomping in my Docs with gray hair, flaccid boobs and bones creaking with osteoporosis singing “God Save the Queen” … I’m sure the last of the Sex Pistols will be buried by then.

Today there is no work for Michele. Not much cash either, but I remain optimistic. My luck has always been huge in the last minute money / great dinner factor --- just when the world is looking like macaroni & cheese (substituting water for the milk)… a nice smoked halibut arrives from an almost forgotten, exotic-meals-of-the-month club I signed up for in the 80’s.

The weather today seems more like Colorado than Minnesota. The sun seems brighter and closer to the planet – the smell of imminent Spring is the pale and fragile note that lies just beneath the intermittently dispersed black clumps of snow, sand and salt that relentlessly cling to the corners of each street –-- oblivious to the fact that they are holding up spring. Much like teenage boys doggedly fucking their pillows at each intersection.

I faxed 7 resumes to various agencies in California --- I have the itch and urge to flee again. I went out after this and drank far too much red wine.

Tommy the ex tells me in a phone conversation “I’m worried about you.” I’m mellow these days and the snarky scrapper has not been showing her face. The seemingly abundant black biting wit that usually flips from the tip of my tongue is in short supply. The Shelly Show has never failed to provide the comic relief / catalyst when the need for change appears. She’s around… just not interested in hocking a gob of spit into the “never-fail-cake-recipe” brand of conversation that was passing over the telephone wire. I didn’t feel much like jumping around his oven today. He takes such pride in thinking he has me completely dissected. So sometimes I’ll change the script and withhold his copy. I don’t want him to know me anymore --- I want him to quit telling me how sad he is without me. I want him to understand, so for the 100^th time I tell him quite plainly that I am sad without him & sad with him. I want him to loosen the grip on this leash and release me from this fucking city.

It all comes down to this… I need a new vocation --- I need a lot more sex and less talking --- I need to wear less clothes and dance until I die. I need physical distance from T---- the ex so I can finish the process of healing and close the book on that part of my life.

April looms and the IRS bastards lurk around the corner… I’m taping my tax extension to a pint of my blood and sending it certified mail.

Peace, love & March-ness

Michele

04/03/1996

Elevation increases…

We are slowly climbing, but the cabin pressure still needs a bit of adjustment. A company in Thousand Oaks, CA responded to one of my faxes. Yippee.

I dragged myself to the gym today and my muscles twitch and shake at the challenge. I dress like a refuge by night and professional office girl by day. The goddess just walked up to me, cupped my face in her hands and looked me intently in the eye. She smacked a wet (raspberry juice) kiss on my lips and said, “Just because I love you!”

Work remains work and I’ve been showing up early and engage in the challenges of each day quickly. My clients love me --- and trust my technical acumen. A walk down the avenue is always good for my ego. Even with hairy legs and a mean look on my face I always manage to turn a few heads --- I guess I can’t complain all that much.

Tonight it is family… my brother & family are here from California, translation: grilling, potato salad and beer. Tomorrow I drive a young little 20-something Australian dude to the airport --- pack him off to Perth all smitten, and expertly bitten by Mrs. Robinson (me). My tryst rule from here on in is that they must be young and leaving the country within the next 48 hours. I plan to use my sexual powers only for good (most of the time) despite my contrary design of not getting emotionally involved. I’m kind of like Tony Robbins --- it’s my contribution to an ultimate empowerment of the young and inexperienced. The nighttime skies of Planet Michele twinkle with little stars of testosterone --- those smitten, bitten and driven to the airport.

Peace, love & pop yer cherry psychology

Michele

04/03/1996

April & October

Sold merchandise for October Project last night. I possessed a large amount of energy – it didn’t mix well with the ethereal mood music, beautiful lyrics or breath taking vocals. It did, however, help me sell t-shirts and videos, which was the whole point of my being there. I’m great at selling it behind a table --- perhaps I was a sideshow barker in a previous life.

Through the window of The Fine Line Music Café I notice that spring is trying like hell to make a 100% showing this year. I remain pessimistic – this is Minnesota after all and the odds are always in favor of making a snowman with the goddess on Mother’s Day rather than basking in the sunshine.

Today I’m Rebecca of Sunny Slut Farms --- black gingham dress with daisies and Doc Martins impressively scuffed beneath my power calves. Miss Approachable… like a Venus fly trap.

Peace, love & pigtails

Michele

04/16/1996

Taxation with Procrastination

The IRS will have to wait for my yearly contribution to the GNP. I filed extension number 4868, a perforated 8 ½ by 3 inch form that screams “Audit me you little piece of shit tax man from Kansas City!”

It is the 16^th and still 20 degrees below the average temperature. Winter lingers in Minnesota and the days are longer so that we can see the misery in the faces of others for an additional 2½ hours each day.

I am preoccupied with procrastination and whatever overblown mess I happen to be sitting in at any given moment. Not sure what I should pick up and put away first.

I made some great cash this week being the merch girl. October Project, Guy Clark, Townes Van Zandt, the Philosopher Kings and Dog’s Eye View. The boys of Dog’s Eye View asked if I ever toured. I’m worth the bus bunk I guess --- comedy, a merch mover with a cosmic sales dance. It has been admitted by more than one road manager with an empty t-shirt box and a fat wad of 20’s that my dancing on the merch table to increase sales volume is a fabulous tactic. I’ve been told to keep my ears tuned to alternative radio as my presence in this life may inspire a song or two.

I’m so sure of myself in some areas and so fearful in others. I seek the right voice daily, wonder where it’s hiding, wonder why I haven’t written a paragraph in almost 3 months. I’m covered in the film of being bizarre for the sake of being bizarre and stinking from the thick acrid smoke at the end of yet another big roaring “set myself up for ruin” campfire. I’ve read somewhere that we go through physiological, psychological & metaphysical changes every 7 years. Well, here I am idling at the on-ramp of 35. Curious about what the next 7 years will bring --- hoping its warmer and clearer at 42. Hoping the words and means to ask for what I want will become automatic for me --- now, if I could just figure out what it is exactly that I want.

Peace, love & sales girl syncopation

Michele

04/16/1996

Oh Gaston

Showers continue to be a big turn on for me.

I’m still in the middle of my messes --- this time conspicuously like a schoolgirl who forgot to hit the bathroom before the long bumpy ride home on the bus. My proverbial pants are wet and I’m enduring the long agonizing ride of shame… but bus rides are forever, thankfully.

I’m beginning to believe that spring is something we simply talk about and do not actually experience here in the land of Rocky & Bullwinkle. Maybe I’m Natasha in Frostbite Falls… looking for my bad little Boris darling.

I’m lean and mean this week – with a nice hacking cough. I think it’s the flu although you never know I could be morphing into Ratso from the movie Midnight Cowboy and in need of that final bus ticket.

Film Fest arrives this week… laughs, tears, magic, film & Michele --- that, and wringing the piss from another shameful day out of the old knickers.

Peace. Love and everybody’s talking at me

Michele

05/06/1996

The Goddess Shines

The goddess auditioned with the Minneapolis Children’s Theatre for summer classes and was selected! Less than 10% make it in the first time around --- we are surprised yet not surprised. Her power and ability to shine are perfectly hosted on that remarkable face with those lovely eyes.

I’m playing reluctant yo-yo with J--- again. I have been staying away, hell… I was under the impression that we broke up??!! He’s back at the door, ringing me on the phone and calling me his soul mate. He claims that his feelings are such that it frightens him to jump all the way into the ring of relationship. Afraid… right, most likely afraid of missing other options that might flit by on the avenue. I’m sick of this practical joke from the cosmos…

I told him that the old cliché “love hurts” is true. It hurts when you begin to feel it. It hurts while you are there. It hurts when love ends. Love just fucking hurts --- period. He wants me, and he wants me to be there when he’s ready to put his toys away. I can’t accept this double standard --- in his mind, if he isn’t sleeping with me then he can fall out of the wagon of monogamy without being labeled a cheat. He wants me to occupy my mind with the dream of our bright future someday --- keep my legs together and be there when he has time. Of course --- when I have a tryst or two, I am automatically a slut. In his mind, our arrangement only allows him the occasional tart between the daily three square meals. Apparently I’m on the diet track.

In his self-centered way, the little pig loves me --- however unfair it may be. I ripped the phone from the wall this morning after he called at 2 a.m. to make sure I was alone. It isn’t as if I go out looking for it ---(ok, well I don’t have to look all that hard) and I don’t jump at the first pheromone either. Phones aren’t exactly cheap these days either --- the man needs to go.

Maybe someday in retrospect I’ll be flattered by the elevation of this strange magnetism of mine… a power that has my ex husband still howling on the phone two years after the fact.

Life is painful and it’s ironic that what I really seek is love, the ultimate four-letter word. I am far too old for this shit.

Peace, love and less love – more sleep

Michele

05/08/1996

Nun & Friend to the Pelicans

I have plenty of reasons to cloister emotionally, but I refuse to. I will always have a fearless heart and thusly, wear the banged up knees and flash the scars from aorta to artery from leaving myself wide open and unprotected. At the very least I can sleep at night knowing that I try my best and --- I am true --- in whatever I do. My heart is a muscle and the toughest workout only makes it stronger and more viable for something even more meaningful (or devastating) in the future. Truth is the ultimate exercise, especially telling yourself the truth when you don’t want to hear it.

I gave the Puerto Rican Peter Pan more space than he wanted – because I love him. He says, “She dumped me and sent me a bitchy letter.” I gave him the ultimate gift… a one-way ticket to the great unknown. An escape from this grand intensity with a parachute designed to accommodate a fear of falling. As I’ve heard, there’s nothing wrong with the falling state --- it’s hitting the ground that fucks you up.

I have no expectations of eventual outcome of this… I will go on as the gregarious one, clown & innuendo diva in public – deep and alone when alone.

A rain bucket tipped in my house of pain and while I searched for a mop I discovered yet another empty room with space to stack the artifacts and mount these fearsome heads of my latest love safari. The tears will be well hidden at the bottom register of my voice today, stuck in my throat like a crumpled love letter, gurgling at the back of my mouth like a mermaid drowning at sea. I will pass the change in tone off with something crass and lewd with a sideways innuendo like “guess I shouldn’t have swallowed…”

I miss my pelican friend in Santa Barbara--- he never swallows

Peace, love and this is what is sounds like

Michele

05/09/1996

Virtual Life

Took a nap after work so I could be fresh for the Film Fest opener tonight. I dreamed that I was a granny living a “virtual life” in “virtual 1995” with my grand daughter (because she wanted to party with me.) Her mom (the goddess) thought the notion was foolish but promised to watch our bodies for us in the present time. As I mind surfed with my grand daughter my ancient bod (still looking good by the way --- still on the Tina Turner Plan) was rocking away on a porch swing on the side of some Tennessee mountain listing to new age music. In the dream it was stressed that you had to resist the urge to travel outside of the three-block reality that you chose. I made the mistake (or couldn’t resist the impulse) to exceed my boundaries. I was overcome by darkness in the street outside my area, no streetlights, and no life --- like the end of the world.

My dreams are always strangely entertaining --- especially after-work dreams on the day I spend 10 hours in tech chick mode with only 3 saltines & pint of apple juice in my system.

Apparently there is a book about this type of “alter-reality” called Vort --- I may have to pick it up.

I’m sorry to hear that Peace love & understanding are stuck to the bottom of the ice cube bin in your frozen house of love. Me, I still reside in the house of pain. No replies from J---. An interesting comment came from Jennifer the waitress as she served up the last of the zucchini, jalapeno & rice soup as I perched conspicuously alone at the counter tonight. “So… where’s your little puppy dog man?”

Now I sigh… I think about my pelican and how happy we were in Santa Barbara. My ideal landscape is one where mountains and water meet. Everything seems so possible when I am standing beside water… water represents life’s infinite opportunities… I stand calmly planted in the sand like the determined soldier of love and truth that I am, with the resolute presence of a mountain --- like an army backing me up from behind. I continue to advance toward the waves of possibilities as they crash to my shore.

There is a profound balance of nature, man & technology in California. It’s the land of vacant people with the best looks that money can buy and ugly birds with fabulous personalities.

I got a great seat (comp) at the Orpheum to see Joan Osbourne. I wasn’t exactly a fan but I saw her on VH1 Honors and she sang some Al Green songs. I thought, “Damn… she’s no alterna-chick, she’s baby Etta with a nose ring.” I’m hoping that her talent for R&B soul is explored in her live concerts – I haven’t heard her CD, just her awful song on the radio --- sounds like something I’d write.

Other than this… it is still cold and gloomy in Passive-apolis.

Peace, love & live from the house of pain

Michele

05/20/1996

Michele has new wheels too…

I haven’t given up on the smoking curse yet, but I am cruising the river on a beautiful new bike – a retro looking Specialiized model --- I like being on two wheels this week. Some people buy a new car when the relationship goes south. I already had a new car so I had to buy a $900 bike.

The sun is out and the storms have been relegated to those early morning hours with torrential rains pelting the 1 a.m. warehouse district revelers as they make a run for their cars. I watch it all from my window on the 5^th floor --- lightening strikes the rods atop the IDS building --- the street below becomes a river of rain --- later I am lulled to sleep listening to rain drum steadily on the glass door that leads to my deck on the roof. The goddess, half asleep climbs down from the top and snuggles with me on the lower bunk. I smile because I like my identity as mama, a safe set of arms in the storm.

J--- is back to calling me --- calling me his soul mate --- speaking of our future. He turns me inside out --- I hate him/love him. I’m beginning to think that men are more attracted to women who tell them to fuck off vs. I love you --- or maybe he sees me hesitate. I’ll never be a man hater, I just tell them to fuck off more than most other women do.

My “fuck you” gaze has attracted the proud owner of a soon to be expired work visa. I tell him to call me the night before he leaves for France and we’ll play “Sailor going off to War.” I’m very aware of the fact that I am resorting to crazy sex as a power tool to remove the bolts on the door that lock me in the house of pain. But at least I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep --- at least I’m aware of what I’m doing --- and why. Besides, I have a great pair of vintage ’42 suede pumps that make me feel like a real “Betty”.

Peace, love and 96 is 69 to the dyslexic population (mostly men of course)

Michele

05/24/1996

Crust

Crust between my eyes… no sleep this week, only frustration. Plenty of shopping for my interviews next week (Sales Rep for some int’l telecom company.) Going for the classic look adjusted up one notch with short skirts and plenty of attitude.

Testosterone intolerant today, my feet and heart are sore from the daily J--- word waltz “I love you… 2-3… I love you… 2-3… I’m not ready 2-3… be there for me 2-3… emotionally… 2-3… close your eyes… 2-3… and wait for me… 2-3… I’m almost done playing…”

Michele says, “Listen J--- what am I? Some exquisite piece of real estate you want to rent every other weekend because you aren’t ready for the responsibility associated with ownership?”

T---- the ex calls with more exiting tales in his world of dating. Jill decided that old T---- the ex didn’t fit the bill. I told him he should really refrain from taking them to controversial lesbian art films --- an excursion that one should never endeavor until after the 10^th date or the 3^rd fuck --- whichever comes first. Being the bitch landlord in the House of Pain, I told him to stop calling with his frustrating blow-by-blow reports on his love life and quit making me responsible for his failures. He said he wasn’t obsessed with me – just co-dependent. I told him it takes two to be co-dependent, he is just dependent.

Enough about me… what kind of car did you get?

Peace, love and beep beep

Michele

5/28/1996

The Looooooooooooooong Weekend

There goes Michele down the avenue in that little white skirt (it isn’t even Memorial Day yet… how un-Minnesotan) to sell CD’s for Benno (National Dynamite) at the Entry. Not a lot of commission however --- tough crowd --- looking all uptown and saying “can’t afford it man” as they walk by with their huge cans of Fosters.

I kicked my celibacy down the cellar stairs of the house of pain and turned up the stereo as loud as it could go. Had a scheduled date to play “Sailor going off to war”. He’s a teacher in France, so I also sent him off with a stirring rendition of “To Sir With Love”. He’s much younger than I am --- and French --- of course he didn’t get the joke. It seems to have cleared my complexion a bit --- if nothing else.

J--- went on a blind date with a numerologist and cries to anyone that will listen that Senorita Baby Mama won’t take him back. I try not to think about it because it hurts and it makes me ill. I won’t ever get that close to drowning again --- from here on in it’s full scuba loving (a full tank of air and mask on my face) for me … that and a gassed up getaway jet ski.

No more love for me… at least in this decade anyway.

Peace, love and Flipper

Michele

5/31/1996

Sister S— at my Wall of Mojo

Sister S—is working in Minneapolis this month on a contract. I pissed her off two weeks ago and was very surprised to hear from her yesterday. She’s been hanging with my older bro (recently relocated to Burnsville) and largely ignoring me (the sis-communication deal.) But… it was her birthday, so she extended her hand once again into my lions cage --- this time I tried a purr tactic.

The goddess and I took her to dinner down the Ave – believe it or not, this was the first time in our adult lives that we hung out without the usual throng of siblings. What an eye-opener for both of us --- defenses were down and good conversation ensued – very atypical for us. Large families are dynamics from Hell, mine being somewhat similar to a patchwork quilt built by acid tripping blind ladies riding on bus with bad shocks across the Australian outback.

The issue that my sibs have with me is that I am too direct, too honest and was born with an extended middle finger. I was fierce about myself since childhood and was always on the lookout for a different family during those picnics in the park in 1965. Seemingly, I could walk away without looking back --- they just never caught me doing it. The sibs keep the discussion of the “Shelly” amongst them and never bring anything (my sins) in the light for me to see. They like the drama I suppose, a reason to be is a reason to bitch. I left that circle early in life (15) and every time I took a step back or attempted to show them who I was, it was like playing tag with poltergeists.

Sister S—said she was empathetic to my frustration and confessed awe in my ability to float around the world, down the street and extend myself to absolutely everyone. I’m relaxed in my own environment, never tense as I am inside the sib circle – waiting for that cartoon dog to hit me with a waffle iron. “I’m not really giving myself away.” I told her. “It’s an illusion, a trick I learned from Natalie Wood in Gypsy --- she exposed herself one article at a time --- and she never let them see the whole package --- but they were all sure they saw it.”

Later… drinking beer at my kitchen counter until 2:45 in the morning. I entertained and encouraged her to find her “inner-Gypsy.” She asked me why I had a rusty tire iron and a size 11 golf shoe hanging on my kitchen wall. “They is more where that came from Sister S---.” I cackled mysteriously --- I was too drunk to explain my wall o’ mojo at the time --- maybe some other time.

So needless to say, I’m having a crispy day. Got the goddess off to school on time, she was tired from the late night but was buoyant from having such a great time with Mama & Auntie Sis. We drove across the Hennepin Avenue bridge passing a quart of orange juice back and forth with a box of Cheerios between us. We decided it would be funny to visit a bird sanctuary wearing dresses made out of Cheerios & Cheetos… here birdie, birdie, birdie.

I fell into a nap watching the morning news and as you can see by the time on this letter, it is well past lunch and I have clients waiting.

You sound happy on this tour. I’m glad. I remember when T—the ex used to leave on the Big Ego, Little Paycheck tours we would always have tension and a huge fight the night before he left. I think we did it so we both could say goodbye for a while, that, and it also enabled a strange powerful connection (however dysfunctional) and introspection while we were on our own.

Peace, love and Let Me Entertain You

Michele

6/01/1996

Lumpy Throat

Dizzy and confused --- the onset of middle age perhaps? Or, maybe just the flu, I couldn’t really tell you.

Quiet nights at home with the goddess --- more swimming at the Y and riding our bikes in the dark to the river to see the Olympic torch pass by --- all to the tinkling of John Tesh on a piano somewhere on Boom Island.

Hope the tour goes well and the coffee is hot and the way you like it.

Peace, love and Olympic Torches Tonight…

Michele

6/03/1996

Bitch with a Chain Letter Vendetta

Beautiful – Intelligent – Talented – Creative – Hilarious – Youthful

I am in full possession of the above traits, and proud to be a bitch --- riding the cotton pony and giving some lucky man the best bang for his Prozac dollar.

Garbage is on the radio as I write this (digging the bitchy lyrics and attitude --- I like that girl --- I knew Butch & Doug from my old Milwaukee nightclub days --- heck, I liked them too.) I spent a most unpleasant hour dealing with a bank error (in their favor) and then a trip to the courthouse to deal with my wallet-draining obsession with parking tickets. This time a summons for my arrest hangs on the fridge and the Sheriff knows my name.

I know why bad luck is knocking on my warehouse walls. Some jerk sent me a chain letter last month. I ignored it and now feel compelled to send it off before someone dies or I succumb to goiter, lumbago or any other old age malady with a catchy WWII era dance title. So, now it’s my turn to be a jerk --- except I have a plan.

I went through the metro phone books and developed a list of names like “Luck”, “Fate” and of course, “Rich.” These people will come to hate me after a few years when the St. Jude chain letter arrives in their mailboxes. I feel compelled today to tip the universe in favor of fixing my finances, which as usual smolder like Betty Davis having her last cig on earth via a trachea hole.

In the event that a piano doesn’t land on my head this week, I may make it to the 5^th where upon I transform into a ripe 35-year old. A hot tomato that one looks at and says “Either I make a sandwich with that beauty or throw it on ice before it molds over in this hot weather.” The goddess and I have plans to skip work and school and go to Valley Fair for a day of roller coasters and water slides. I’ll be packing that once-a-year optimism that allows me to throw out wads of cash that I don’t have in pursuit of gigantic stuffed animals that require a tether to the roof to get home.

Tonight I’m going to release the energy and ire from this awful day into dancing like the hot tomato that I am to Southern Culture on the Skids at the Ave. This good old hedonist thinks, “The Skids are Alright”

Peace, love and hey St. Jude don’t pull my chain

Michele

6/03/1996

Birthday Survivor

I did survive the events of the day on the 5^th.

I heard Cat on a Wall this week and remember vividly those rough, fun, late 70’s. Smug in the fact that I had the pleasure of enjoying it first hand.

Peace, love and it isn’t so bad being an old cow

Michele

06/12/1996

In Search of…

Answers elude me, as usual. I wander and I scratch my head and wonder where the remedy for this melancholia is hiding today.

It wasn’t under the last drink I had

Or revealed by the universe after an hour wasted playing Tetris

Or wedged between that last ab crunch and lap around the pool

However, I’m betting that it may be stuck like a booger to the last 30 seconds of work today

I may find it as I am out walking in the world --- walking so I forget that I am breathing --- in hopes of feeling like an apparition, ghostly visitor vs. the reluctant inhabitant of the Manyhopeless, MN landscape. Solutions gel in the Peace I feel when I am grandly detached from all, everything, and everyone ------------------- save for the goddess of course.

Sometimes I’m sure that she’s the only oxygen mask on this low-budget life flight. God bless the Goddess (a social charmer and recent fan of the Butthole Surfers). She’s spending her days at the pool and cavorting with the other day campers at the park. My little brown summer one… only two days at camp and already she’s the color of oak --- even with SPF 30. Taj Mahal sings a version of Brown Girl in the Rain --- I hear the song in my head as I watch her navigate these warm June days

“..and she looks like the sugar in the plum plum plum…”

Her eyes get lighter as her skin gets golden --- kiwi slices on either side of her nose.

Once when she was three, the goddess announced, “People could get very rich if they would just check under the sofa cushions everyday.” She’s probably right.

I think I found the answer to my melancholia --- no need for a long walk today --- I think I just need to take a ride on the goddess’s comet.

Did you know… when you kiss a goddess goodnight and then pause for one last look at her before you turn out the light, she’ll say things like, “I could tell you exactly how much I love you mama, but that might take my whole life… and I’m really tired.”

Peace, love and sugar in the plum

Michele

06/17/1996

Ghosts and Squirrelly Broads on the Roof

Early morning hours … I like to end a day and immediately start a new one, I perform this feat well. A few hours ago Father’s Day officially started ---

24 hours ago I was at this same point in the day, when Friday melted into Saturday and as usual I met that morning as well. That time, I hit it head-on sitting up on the roof --- with a quart of blue Gatorade and smoking a bit of weed --- something I like to do alone --- when I’m stoned I turn completely inward and I become the antithesis of “party” --- my banter engine shuts down. I wanted to get really wasted and meditate and see if Johnny A. would show himself in the night. I’ve been thinking about him --- especially on my birthday a few weeks back. On that day, for the first time in my life, there were no Hallmark cards with the “Daughters are….” gushy pre-printed sentiment and that inevitable big sloppy “Love Dad” at the bottom.

Johnny was the first person I would stop to see when ever I went home. I made it a point to stop in at Riha’s Bar so I could have a few beers with him after his shift ended at the paper factory. In the past few years we’d sometimes spend the whole night talking on those first nights home --- about the past --- about Letty --- about life. I’m so glad I got a chance to know my Dad as a person --- I miss the safety of him, his loyalty and his love. He had a lonely soul --- and I think I inherited it --- I don’t know where his came from, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to fill mine with. So I just make a lot of noise and hope no one will notice.

Johnny was a robust young man early in life, thin and lanky later on but he remained quite handsome until the day he died. I remember when the old Jimmy Dean song “Big Bad John” used to play on the radio. I thought it was written about Johnny – as a child I felt like I had a movie star looking dad. He developed Type 2 diabetes in his 40’s and shortly after this, Letty took off into the wilderness of her own mid-life crisis and never looked back at us. Johnny quietly resigned himself to the structure of his day --- it revolved around the daily shot of insulin --- being on time for work at the factory --- and then a few beers and Liar’s dice at Riha’s until well after bar time. One by one we left him --- I was gone by the time I was 15. Toward the end of his life he still adhered to the structure of his day, except he added a daily obsession with watching a soap opera before he left for work, which he referred to as his daily fix of “The Dumb & the Sexless”.

Earlier in this decade --- Letty’s remission from cancer and first round of chemo brought all of us together at my youngest sister’s house. It was an awful day --- Letty was being the emotional coyote as usual --- chewing me up to the armpit and saying inane things like “I know so-and-so loves me because unlike you, he cried when he came to visit me…” Johnny slipped in the back door after his shift ended at the factory --- and my eyes watered at the sight of him. I fell into a hug with him – I felt protected in that embrace of bone and muscle --- I could smell the factory on his shirt and a tear escaped from my eye --- I remember thinking “I’m so glad you’re here Dad” so then I whispered it into his chest. All he did was hug me tighter.

Stoned and weepy… my head back in the chair, my feet rest on the railing --- I croaked “I’m think I’m fucked up enough to see you without freaking out Dad.” He didn’t appear, but I could feel him everywhere and I could smell the unmistakable Schwartz MFG company paper smell. I remembered the time I drove in sub-zero weather with the goddess in tow to surprise him for his 60^th birthday. We walked into Riha’s at about midnight --- he looked shocked and then he yelled at me, “Jesus Christ, what the hell are you thinking, driving across Wisconsin when its –50 --- with my grand daughter! Sometimes you can be such a squirrelly broad!” I stood there shocked --- he saw my face crack and the tears about to start. He looked me in the eye and said, “Sorry Babe, you know --- I do love squirrelly broads the best.”

I looked up to whatever the city lights surrendered of the summer sky that night. I said aloud “Oh… that ‘s right, I’m supposed to have faith in times like this and just believe that what I’m feeling is indeed real.” I was hoping he’d magically appear on the railing in a transparent, otherworldly form and say, “God’s watching Grace… this is no time to be sarcastic.” He didn’t of course.

Tears came … no crying, no sobbing, no spasms or reverse hyperventilation. Just a steady stream of fat tears that wet my neck and being quite stoned I could feel them stop short of my heart and seep back into my skin. I enjoyed them for what they were --- somewhere in my head I heard “It’s a belated birthday gift from the old man.” I wonder aloud, “A gift?”

I swear that somewhere in the night the old man finally said something, “Tears are a gift babe… and you know why… you just won’t say.”

Peace, love from one squirrelly broad

Michele

06/24/1996

Pants around my Angles or 180 Degrees in the shade…

There I go… riding my bike through the warehouse district. Head cocked to one side with lavender shades on my nose and a black baseball hat with GIRL emblazoned on the front. A 180 degree turn as I hear my friend M--- at Tachio’s whistle and say “Yo… Michele.” I rest and visit with him a hand on the drainpipe balancing me as I remain sitting on my bike, pushing on the pedals to rock back and forth. He chides me about how my pink ankle socks and purple t-shirt clash horribly with the puce fenders of my bike. He suggested something in a muted aubergine --- but hey, he complimented me on the tight black shorts.

I stand and pedal sometimes to further work my ass. Already very tight from dancing like a maniac on the edges of bars with the finest fringe of society the Midwest can muster. My clever disguise as the crazy brunette with a tattoo on her shoulder hides the loner and works all too well on those musicians on whose behalf I sell t-shirts and CD’s. A band I sold merch for last April played at the Ave recently and one of musicians suggested we go backstage (or rather under it) --- apparently I inspired him for two solid weeks during his daily self-inflicted handheld love on the road --- all that fire from the vision of me at the back of the Fine Line all those many months ago. For a split second I almost felt responsible --- but I don’t --- so I made a 180 degree turn and went home alone.

Waking up alone these days buried in pillows shaded in 180 degrees of rebound. I feel the edges of this new shadow … a painful rebirth / reincarnation looms large and makes me tap dance in fear like a 4 year old with a pinched bladder. A painful contraction builds…. who do I really want to be when (or if) I ever grow up --- do women get to have Peter Pan complexes? I don’t know if I’ll ever wager my heart again --- it seems much safer to wave my libido like a big power tool and just concentrate on quick weekend projects ---

Another merch reunion occurred… this time with a road manager --- also impressed with my dance of merch. Also confessed that I have become a mental ingredient of his. I tell him that I am walking irony --- a ticking sex bomb that detonates solo in the privacy of her shower. I consider bringing him home to the workbench --- I invite him over and we end up on my roof drinking Gatorade (my electrolyte elixir of choice). This man was actually funny and boy did he make me laugh --- it made me do a 180 degree turn from my original intention of burning through him for the night. We decided to write about sex rather than have it ---

J--- and I bumped into each other yesterday. He’s preparing to take his CNA test and thanked me for motivating him toward the technical. He says he hit the bottom and needs to grow up, wants to find a way to win me back. I told him that I missed him (because I do). Love really fucks with my DNA --- its an extreme dance of enhance or a fetid trot of rot. Tricked by the universe once again … I wonder if my whole purpose with him was to set him on the right career track. My life always turns 180 degrees from whatever I thought it was all about.

I’m the little Red Hen … no one helped me with my fucking wheat… I’m tired and hungry and my bread is burning in the oven, I’m sick of these rocks hitting me in the head. Now watch me get run over by a bus as I turn my head 180 degrees to shout, “The sky is falling!”

I see a t-shirt in my future --- I renovate men while U wait --- hurry, get ‘em while they’re good and humble.

As the goddess and I walked home after dinner through the neighborhood, she handed out tickets from her Official Karma Violation booklet. Later… she was on the sofa and I was on the floor with my head resting against the sofa. Her feet rested on my shoulders and framed my face with her perfectly wonderful summer stink --- her nose is in a Goosebumps book, she goes through them like junk food --- mine is buried in a book called “Green”. I turn my head 180 degrees and open my mouth to say, “I love you.” Before I can get the first word out she interrupts me with, “I know… and I love you too mom.”

My life is a funky circle --- 180 degrees of storm and chaos and 180 degrees of quiet, quirky contentment in the goddess times. I wonder what I would be like if I were once again a full-time everyday mama. Would it continue to be as quiet and calm and protected by this shade of unqualified love and this sense of purpose? Would it remain as sweet without the uncertainty and chaos that pants like the big bad wolf in the other 180 degrees?

So I continue to rotate, raise a goddess and inspire masturbation in 180 degrees of shade.

Peace, love and have a 360 kind of day

Michele

06/29/1996

In and Out of the Heat

Summer breathes its jalapeno breath upon us – another June day in a meteorologically bi-polar state buried in the Midwest. Everything is extreme here – the mercury travels end to end to punctuate the middle and end of each year and like lemmings we carry on and swelter in the fire or freeze off our extremities. I am absurd to live here and ridiculously happy for air conditioning today. I walked into a wall today --- literally. The heat is getting to me and I feel like a fish stick baking in the sun --- hope I don’t smell like one too.

Less clothes today and Carmen Miranda on my shoulder smiles at the sun --- heck, she smiles at everyone and beckons “Touch me touch me.” So, people touch her and it can get irritating --- but then again, the attention whore in me would settle for nothing less.

The goddess is a social butterfly this week – high flying – live-wire lepidopteron. I felt guilty about cutting into our time together for a split second when I accepted the merch gig for Jerry Jeff Walker --- but the cash that I make at his gigs is too awesome to pass up. Last time through town I sold absolutely everything they had on the bus and could have auctioned off his dirty dishes and empty water bottles from the dressing room --- something I may consider this weekend.

Luckily the goddess has a birthday party, a sleep over and a day at the water park going on with her pals. This takes me off the hook so I can be flush with cash when Sunday rolls around and the goddess and I hit the world hand in hand.

My friends from Chester (England) are here this week on business. They get a kick out of me and tell me my flirting would get me in a pack of trouble or buried in marriage proposals on the other side of the pond. I tell them that trouble and marriage are synonyms in my thesaurus --- sexual tension is the key ingredient for me these days, without it I would probably flop over like a boneless chicken --- some days it’s the only thing that keeps me moored.

--- 24 hours later ---

Wow… here’s Saturday and my feet are two sizes larger from the merch extravaganza that took place last night. I only sold about $1200 --- roughly ¼ of the people there bought something from me. I’m confident that tonight I will sell myself out of merch by about 11:30 or so.

A mutual friend of J--- (love pig --- not ready for relationships) tells me that he has a new serious girlfriend. What a punch in the gut --- it was less than a 2 weeks ago that he wanted me back??!! What a co-dependent piece of moronic DNA. He must really need to have someone waiting on the side for him --- oh well, maybe I should give her a training manual on how to protect her soul from the vampire love pig.

My pheromones are multiplying and jumping like paratroopers from those imperceptible holes on the side of my nose ready for war. Maybe they grow with each lurch of this contrary heart, cold on the outside –chased like a rabbit on the inside. Maybe pheromones are fertilized by adrenaline. They transform my face into that of a wild rabid animal. I bring home confused horny men and have my way and then leave them with a contrary feeling of wanting to pet me like I’m Old Yeller and speak of love as they prepare to shoot me between the eyes (for my own good.)

I’m listening to a song called “True Dreams of Wichita” by Soul Coughing. I like the lyrics: where you stand with the keys in a cool hat of silence and you grip her love like a driver’s license. I’m half drunk on the babble you transmit through your true dreams of Wichita…

Ready for a nap before I return to my merch dance tonight. The goddess is off to the birthday party --- I’m heading toward the couch and will close my eyes as I try to get the half-assed angels in charge of watching over me half drunk on the babble I transmit in my true dreams of Minneapolis…

Peace, love and crippled by pheromones

Michele

07/02/1996

Ahola

Ahola is the preferred greeting for dyslexic islanders. I’m ready for a spin on the puce wonder bike today. I feel the need for introspection and I’m ready to cruise the many miles of paved bike paths this city has to offer. There is charm in Passive-apolis in that you can find seclusion in the middle of busy city. I was up early for work today despite dancing like a mother f***er at Bunkers last night. Margaret, at the end of the night said “You’re a wild one Michele, you always inspire us up there with your crazy energy.”

Just finished reading Etta’s autobiography. She’s touched me musically all my life --- now I know about hers --- or at 250 pages of her life thus far.

I had a very long conversation about guilt and evil deeds last night with the Brits at Bunkers. One of them fooled around on his wife this weekend (not with me!) and wants to confess his sins to her when he gets home. I told him that confessing to a tryst, especially if it was a “convenient, slake the thirst” type tryst was selfish on his part and equal to purging the shit from his soul and gluing it to his wife’s soul. It’s his forgiveness elephant to hide in the closet as far as I’m concerned. Now, falling in love with someone else is quite another situation --- but this was not the case. Confession is only good for the soul of the sinner… not the victim. Forgiveness is a rarity in life, primarily because most of us have never learned or felt the Peace from forgiving ourselves in order to find it to give to others.

Now a good lobotomy can help you forget, in fact I believe it is the only true forgiveness out there. Take a pencil and give yourself some forgiveness tonight. (I think this harsh analogy came out last night --- or maybe I dreamed it)

Even thought I am quite a flirtatious wench, I have always stopped short of dipping my toe into the pool of someone’s relationship – regardless of the state good or bad. My account at the Universal Bank of Karma has no over draft protection --- so for now I remain extremely wary of any hands with gold bands.

Peace love and lobotomies

Michele

07/05/1996

We Used to Meet Every Thursday

Thursday, Thursday in the afternoon. For a couple of beers and a game of pool, she was pretty good too. -- Morphine 1994

I went to see the flick Independence Day. There is nothing quite like a good old fashioned annihilation premise to get my blood pumping through 2 hours of special effects. It prepared me well for the 4^th of July on my roof here in the warehouse district. My phone started ringing at 4 pm and by dusk there were about 50 people on my deck --- not counting the other 100 or so scattered on other decks across the roof.

Wild parties ensued. Our caretaker who lives across the hall was rife with his 20-something friends who revert to vandals after 5 or more beers. Needless to say, our floor is very trashed and it was a good move to bolt all the doors last night when I crawled into the bunk bed. Last night I giggled in bed (alone) because for once, the banging and pushing was happening outside my bedroom door up on the roof.

I’m considering a new hobby, that hobby being my own life. I wonder if I’d be more successful if I approached life’s details like I was knitting little mittens and booties. I need Peace and quiet this week, my head is full of imagery --- for once all the activity in the Shelly Show is happening at the back of the store. Friends enter and the bell rings over the door, but I’m truly absent from the front counter. My lack of words puts some in a weird spin --- and they act out in very peculiar ways and tell me that my silence and x-ray vision is intimidating. These are days that I should just hang out alone on the wonder bike … journaling is good this week… marijuana is especially good this week.

I’m a rare stoner --- I’m lucky if I smoke 3-4 times a year, in less than a few weeks I’ve smoked more than I have in the past 10 years. It only takes about 3 hits to bake me into a mute fish on a plate. I like the twisted dreams that I have afterward and my appetite returns in the form of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese dragons that I eat right out of the pan.

In two weeks I officially combine my consulting practice with another system services provider. My title will be Small Business Services Manager. Salary a bit under 6 figures but it moves up just over the line after commissions & bonuses come in to play. I get to play geek herder initially and may possibly move over to sales --- how hard can it be? I get to hand over the billing, the collecting and the bullshit --- or at least I think I do.

I’m looking at a new warehouse space. It isn’t as finished as this space is but it’s three times the size with a tub (a rarity.)

Tonight is Friday – no goddess until Monday so I am hoping that riding my bicycle around the planet today will blow the funk out of my body so the “energized” Michele can poke her head out, dress herself up and dance her lonely ass around the AVE for 3 or 4 hours.

Peace, love and I pledge allegiance to men in drag in the disgraceful state of America

Michele

07/08/1996

Bringing Home the Heartbreak

I cleaned my apartment today and eradicated all of the J--- artifacts and left them in his garage. He came blazing in again earlier this week, pulling the senorita baby mama bullshit and ripping open my wounds. He drives me insane and I don’t like how I’m reacting to it at all. Giving in to his conditions is lying down and saying that I deserve much less than I really do. Summer brings it all up to the front cover of the pulp fiction novel life I’ve been living. There I am under the title “Love Road Kill” looking tragic and provocative all at once, airbrushed 36 D’s in a low cut tight black dress, an arm across my forehead the other limp at my side, a great pair of getaway sticks dangle over the caption: it’s hard to be casual after being run over by the semi of love…

Summer is a bad time to be alone. It used to be filled with family outings (however dysfunctional), tending the plants in my yard, reading tons of books or cutting T--- the ex’s hair on the front porch, filling and re-filling the pool for the goddess. This summer I’m just a spectator of those in the midst of some sort of summer activity with everyone else. Driving by on my bike, quietly taking it all in with an emptiness and a jealousy that never quite consumes me although it nibbles at me like a piranha.

Today my hat blew off into the path of a truck on 3^rd street where it connects to on ramps for the interstate. It infuriated me so much that I hit the brakes hard enough to make a patch of rubber and have my back tire spin under me to the right. The Chevy suburban behind be screeched to a halt and I walked right in front of it thinking, “please hit me mother fucker --- do me a favor.” I gave him a glare and he rolled down his window and started swearing at me. Ever so slowly I bent over and could feel my muscles tighten like the Incredible Hulk as picked up my hat, dusted it off by hitting it against my ass. As I cleared the assholes bumper I presented him with the meanest, ugly face I could muster and said, “Suck my dick asshole.” I turned and walked away with as he hurled a final. “Fucking crazy bitch” before he sped away.

I went to see Jann Arden at the Fine Line tonight --- it’s good to hang with lesbians after you’ve just gotten your ass kicked by love. I came up with a great breakup line to use on a girl “I’m tired of your lip.” I’ve never heard that one before.

Met a man named Olivier from Switzerland, despite my sweaty attire and aroma from biking 15 miles --- he followed me with a fascinated gleam in his eye. I shook my head and fed him snacks of black-hearted (baked in my own oven) humor all night long. His friend Hans was ready to leave for the hotel and he lowered his head slightly and raised his eyebrow as he said, “Shall I leave Olivier here with you Michele?” I looked at them both and replied “No Hans, Olivier and I decided to have sex on the upper etheric. He’s going to buy a book about astral projection to read on the plane so he can mind travel and fuck me while I do my banking tomorrow.”

He was cute, smart, funny and leaving town (my criteria for any relationship these days) but I’m not up to it. Why waste what little soul and self esteem I’m packing today. I’m taking a good long break and concentrating on goddess time, work and sweating everything out at the Y or on the bike path to Cedar Lake. I’m going to work on building the muscle around my heart to a tight barrier that will break the finger of the next asshole that tries taking a poke at it.

I’m bitter … so what, so is coffee and it is one of the most heavily consumed beverages in the world.

Peace, love and steaming black me in a cup

Michele

7/13/1996

Disconnect

Every time that I log off from the CompuServe service I click a button entitled Disconnect – it made me laugh an ironic hrmff like a sad and blackly humorous hiccup. I wondered if perhaps it was a subliminal message and the every day act of signing off was subconsciously programming me to disconnect like I have from everything and everyone in the past few months.

But there I go again… spinning the ball of confusion by overdoing it on the surface --- dancing my dance, singing a song, being a brazen babe of a bard. Later, solo barbeques in a 70’s soul kitchen where the tears of this clown water down the sauce when no one is around.

Today a check for 1000 bounced from one of my clients --- always a pain in the ass because it will make at least 3 checks that I wrote bounce as well. Here comes another black tasting hrmff from my lips.

The sweet goddess is with her Dad, he had a death in his family and it was good for him to have the goddess along for buoyancy and hope. She’s a beacon when you get stuck in the fog of realization that there are plenty of reasons for things that have no reason at all. I wish she were here today --- I need a reminder like that and a small brown hand playing with my hair as she whispers in my ear, “When will it be my turn to use the computer.”

The rhythm section of the Your Life Sucks Orchestra is on its 45^th encore in the pit of my stomach and the fat lady of real love is still stuffing her face in the dressing room and not remotely interested in coming out to sing. Outside and on the street it appears as if I’m healing --- I should have considered a career in acting.

Peace, love and I’m not ready for my close up

Michele

7/18/1996

Life in the Petrie Dish

My television is broke

I’m broke

My tune today is baroque and hard to Handel

Every day is unusual – a phenomenon. I’ve been around for 3 ½ decades now and I sit back and wonder where I truly am in terms of the universe --- in terms of the mighty ALL of it. Is my civilization just a second in some other time by now? Are we a big sneeze from God --- imperceptible at the moment and hanging out on his doorknob ready to infect his next holy guest with the human virus? Maybe we’re just a petrie dish of decay in an alien laboratory? Am I nightmare in the mind of an elemental spirit?

God must really hate his job some days. What a big mess it must be to organize every perception of the world from all of the living beings that inhabit it. Science, spirituality and self are all human concepts and measurement. Words and faith have no locomotion without ego and proof. All we really have is forward motion as we advance further into life on this planet (if in fact it really is a planet.) We are no different from salmon during the spawning season on the big climb upstream. We are just under a false impression that we matter more than they do.

There is comfort in the possibility of being one of a huge nothing. It momentarily takes away any guilt when I feel like I’ve fucked up --- because there is a big possibility that most of the obligation and morality that society and culture pinned to my hair shirt is simply crap and I’ll laugh my ass off or cry my heart out when I die and realize that I spent a life sweating and worrying for absolutely nothing. I think most of us waste our lives in the worst way because we think we need to be a certain way.

My summation of life today is:

Birth must hurt like hell and I’m glad I don’t remember it.

Fucking is great and a necessary activity needed to fill the world with people

Death comes to all

Everything else is as chancy as a sneeze.

Peace, love and achoo

Michele

7/28/1996

A Wanted Woman

I am officially a wanted woman. The Sheriff of Hennepin County issued a warrant for my arrest on the 24^th because I failed to pay a $20.00 fine for riding my bike on the sidewalk on Nicollet Avenue. Ridiculous, now I get to walk to the courthouse tomorrow to pay the fine, which is now at $70.

But hey, I put 750 miles on the Mazda this weekend. I finally went home to Wiscons-insane, not to the blood relatives. I went to reconnect with my foster parents --- real family without the blood (or blood sucking). I haven’t seen them since last Christmas. My foster brother was home with his family from Hawaii. You might say that he was my laboratory experiment in child rearing. From age 1, he was in my charge while his mother worked --- now he’s 21. I remain a sister/mother/kindred soul for the guy. I felt sheepish all the way there --- having pulled a disappearing act for the past 7 months. I anticipated tongue lashes and admonishment only to walk into hugs and astonishment. Some of that good old unconditional love – amazing and it had a CPR effect on my soul.

I got to play baby charmer with my foster brothers new baby girl. She instantly loved me and I had the distinction of being the only person (other than her parents) to hold her, entertain her and lull her into sleep. This pissed Grandma off a little bit, but she’ll have her time – maybe the little honey knows I don’t make it home that often and she was just being gracious.

The goddess wants a baby sister now, probably easier to produce than her other request for crayons out on a highway in the middle of nowhere. She waved her coloring book in my face as we drove Highway 29 in the middle of nowhere. “Mom, I forgot to pack crayons and I really need some!” “Do we have any crayons?” As if I could magically produce them out of thin air. I gave her a stock “Are you nuts?” look and then said, “Oh… crayons… just a second I think I have a pack of 30 shoved up my ass.” She blew her Gatorade out of her nose when I said that. I’m a shocking mother but at least I crack her up sometimes. Of course we stopped at the Wal-Mart 40 miles down the road and purchased a 96-count billionth anniversary commemorative box of Technicolor wax and a Beck tape. Esoteric mama on the highway, I’m where its at --- two turntables and a microphone up my ass.

The goddess ran around the neighborhood until well after dark --- just like I used to do as a child. They still leave the doors unlocked and the keys in the ignition at night in Kewaunee. It’s a time warp of rugged old women wearing support hose and talking about their gardens across the fence over a dusk chorus of lawnmowers and children playing tag. FM radio is tuned to the Polka station --- apparently the cows let down better with a good polka rolling across the barn vs. rock and roll. I feel safe there --- maybe someday I’ll be a rugged old lady along a fence in Kewaunee, swatting at mosquitoes and coveting my neighbor’s rhubarb.

I like the unapologetic and matter of fact pull of this small town where the houses and buildings lean down the hill that leads to the lake. The foghorn blows a consistent monotone and people wave and smile at me as I pass by the windows on the main street. The goddess and I swung on an ancient and creaking swing set and I told her how I learned as a child to train my eyes to stop short of the beach and focus entirely on the lake --- it makes my stomach flutter and I feel as if I’m swinging out over the water. Lake Michigan is as vast as any ocean or sea. On this night it was unusually calm and shimmering from blue to gray and back to blue. The moon was nearly full and hung like a fat luminous pearl against a twilight lavender haze --- I remarked that it looked to be the exact opposite of a sunset. The colors around us seemed to pop in the final minutes before the street lights came on. The moon began to drop light on the water that reached past the shore and illuminated the sienna cliffs that surround the play area like a fortress. I told the goddess, “Another day ends in Wisconsin, welcome to my watercolor.” I overheard her plagiarize my words the next night at a barbeque --- I was so flattered!

Road trips offer the best opportunity to turn the goddess on to music, more specifically Ruth Brown and Etta, yet she always seems to prefer Aretha --- maybe its because I dance the Dudley Do Right puppet along the dash as Aretha commands us to “Think!” The goddess said “Mom, play that Urethra song again!” I gasp and giggle and say, “A-REEETHA, the lady’s name is ARETHA!”

I stopped at Johnny’s grave --- on the way in and on the way out. It wasn’t frantic like that first trip last winter where I manically dug his stone out the snow. On the first stop, on our way to Kewaunee, I didn’t even realize I was crying until I stopped the car and pulled the keys out of the ignition. The goddess sniffled and said “Please mama, wipe your face.” When we made our second stop on the way home, the goddess looked alarmed as we pulled up. I checked the mirror, no tears on my face and I looked at her quizzically as if to say “Now what?” She reminded me that we forgot flowers for Poppa. Instead we scoured the car for gravesite offerings and came up with a huge fuchsia feather, a Ziploc bag and the post card of Carmen Miranda on my visor. We weather proofed Carmen with the Ziploc bag and harpooned it to the ground beside his stone with the fuchsia feather. I smiled and the goddess held my hand and squeezed it as we stood back for a second before turning heading back to the car, still hand in hand. Johnny probably liked this more than a pot of marigolds --- he’s the type to appreciate imaginative initiative. In the car she said, “Hey mom, you didn’t cry this time, see it’s getting better!” Her sweetness touched me so deeply and involuntarily I began to leak a few tears. She looked stricken and said, “I wish I hadn’t said that mom, I don’t want you to be sad.” I hugged her and said, “Don’t ever be afraid to say what’s on your mind honey --- you can tell me anything anytime --- these tears are going to be a short bittersweet sprinkling that’s all.” She replied, “But more sweet than bitter…. right?”

“Right!” I said “…and I’m sure there’s a box of Kleenex stuffed somewhere up my ass just in case I’m lying.”

Peace love and always believe in a goddess

Michele

7/30/1996

This is another Test

This is my first email to you from my new home over here at -Bav-. It has been a "Michele" kind of week so far, I am happy to report. My life as a film, a film as my life.... had a great idea for a movie and I'll tell you about it.... someday

The men who own the space I covet continue to dick around with me. They tell me that the rent will be too high for me and I would have to come up with a 6000 fixture fee to move in.... this isn't the Taj Mahal for Pete’s sake. These are Minnesota men and they wince when I say, “Cut the bullshit excuses and just say it mother fucker… you don’t want a single mother with a kid living in your warehouse space --- you don’t think its right.” I've decided to stay here for awhile and possibly move down a floor to a 2 bedroom, I'd lose my private roof deck and gain a bedroom, and think this is probably the way things were meant to be for now.

So how is life on the road on the east coast? Once again, I thought how perfectly swell it would be to come and see you at one of these gigs but my bank accounts have a death grip on me ... so once again not this time.

There are new men sagas to tell (otherwise I wouldn't be Michele) but words escape me today ... I was told once that because I chose to make my entrance on the earth in the first hours of dawn I will always reside in the house of the rising sun ... always above it all and never exactly fitting anywhere. I guess I’m like a bubble in the wind (…think granite bubble.)

So now it’s off for some strong black coffee and a whirl in the working world.

Peace, love and a new email address

Michele