?

Log in

Tacoman
27 April 2009 @ 09:24 pm
...mostly he was mad at her for making her deception so blatant, eliminating any need he might feel to cast hard stares toward her eyes and try to make her flinch. He had uncovered the what, and a what like that made the why irrelevant; why was just a modifier now. He had no more reasons to look at her. And looking at her used to be his favorite thing to do.
 
 
Current Music: the '59 sound - the gaslight anthem
 
 
Tacoman
03 April 2009 @ 09:06 am
We leave work early, at the same time but not together. Coworkers speculate enough already, and I don't want to add fuel to their flaming. I spend just enough of my week deflecting, saying that I like her but she gives me no indication that she's attracted to me, delivering with enough weight and credibility that I begin to worry it might be true. So we leave at the same time but not together, so we can pack and run a few errands before getting on the road.

She calls a couple of hours later telling me she ready. I've been ready for an hour and a half.

I drive toward her house and see her crossing the street from her best friend and neighbor's house. She's wearing black jeans and that orange short-sleeved cardigan I noticed the Friday before St. Patrick's Day. I think of that Kate Nash song that goes:
I wish you'd never forget
The look on my face when we first met


I push the air out of my lungs. I don't love her. I know this. It's not something I've convinced myself of over long hours of telling everyone I don't. But seeing her crossing the street in her orange sweater waving me a hello, I think I could.
 
 
Tacoman
11 March 2009 @ 01:44 am
Tonight I took a walk with a beautiful girl with a beautiful name in a park where, it's rumored, Hammer (formerly MC) was shot several years ago and not as long ago my ex used to jog/walk with a friend. Albuquerque feels small like that, as if there's nothing left unexplored. The girl with the beautiful name told me about her friend back in town for a week from Louisville and where we should take her for dinner on Friday night. I thought about whether or not I should pull her hand out of her coat pocket to hold it, thought about what songs I'll pick for the first CD I make her, and about what I'll say when we finally broach the subject of what to do with our growing affection for each other.

Last night when she excused herself from our table, I texted a friend soliciting advice on whether I should ask the beautiful girl if our night together was a one-time thing or if I should just kiss her. An hour later, after I had driven her home, I read my friend's response and promised myself to try not to over think this, whatever this is or will be tomorrow. "Good advice," I texted back to my friend. She responded, "It's the only kind I give."

I think when people ask me why I don't write anymore it's out of a misinformed sense of kindness, remembering that I perhaps told them once I enjoy it or of my plans to go to grad school for an MFA in fiction. These are generally people who don't know me very well, who don't see me squinting into the light of this screen or twisting at this keyboard, looking for every excuse to stand up from this chair.

The first thing I wrote outside of a school assignment was a note overburdened with really's and very's to a girl named Lisa that my mom found in my jeans pocket when she did laundry. Poems to a girl named Anne in high school. Daily handwritten letters to girl named Jennifer in college. The first eight (eight?) years of this Livejournal to Stephanie, Jaimee, Emily, Meredith, Carrie, Jaimee again, and Mary.

And to the beautiful girl with the beautiful name who kissed me in my car tonight, her thumb tracing lines back and forth on the back of my hand, the one for whom I'd do anything to know what she's thinking when she gets quiet and just smiles at me like that, part of me hopes you find this one day and knows how much, at least for tonight, I really, really like you very, very much; the other part is just trying not to over think it.
 
 
Current Music: lay me back down - portugal the man
 
 
Tacoman
24 February 2009 @ 06:46 pm
The boxes are packed, taped shut, labelled as living room, bedroom, kitchen or bath in black block letters. I count 33, twelve medium and 21 large. They look heavy, and I entertain that excuse for a minute, swirling it in my mouth, sweet, trying to solidify it into words. And then I swallow it down.

I wonder what I'll write about tomorrow.
 
 
Tacoman
A friend of mine will graduate soon with an MFA in poetry from GMU in Virginia. We met in an intermediate fiction writing class at the U of M. She wrote a story, I think, about some bumbling art thieves that I wanted so much to like.

A couple of years ago, I wrote long, laborious emails to her about the nature of single life in Albuquerque. She would write me back equally long, seemingly effortless emails about rock and roll boys in which she chastised me for listening to The Smiths. Several months ago, she wrote me that she'd forgotten that I owed her the next email.

I was surprised to see her name in my inbox today. She wrote that she's working for a journal in desperate need of some fiction submissions and wants me to send something she can suggest to the fiction editor.

As I've written about four paragraphs worth of fiction since moving to New Mexico, I'm now pouring over the dusty stories taking up valuable memory on this dusty computer, things I haven't even looked at since 2007. One of my unfinished stories trails off with, "I read back what I've written, and I can remember every lie and every truth to it."

But I don't anymore.
 
 
 
Tacoman
18 February 2009 @ 01:26 pm
All I really wanted was a "yes".
 
 
Current Music: hardly getting over it - husker du
 
 
Tacoman
17 February 2009 @ 05:58 pm
My last post was written on April 1st.
 
 
Current Music: it's over - earl greyhound
 
 
Tacoman
01 April 2008 @ 01:06 am
Old Car: 1995 Mitsubishi 3000GT
The Bad:

  • front left fender damage - interesting side story: I was stopped waiting to turn out of a gas station when this white pick up truck coming from my right took the turn into the gas station way too sharply and way too fast. Everything went into slow motion, and I knew it was going to hit me; I clenched my teeth and gripped the wheel preparing for my airbag to deploy. I managed one horn honk which I think got driver to brake just enough before she hit me so as not to cause any injuries. From her window she offered me $100 to not call the cops. I yelled obscenities at her, some of which I may have created on the spot, and directed her to park so I could check my damage.

    A curled strip about the size and shape of a ruler had been pushed into the bumper with scrapes of white paint and dents decorating the surrounding wound; my headlight was cracked and missing a quarter-sized puzzle piece, and my turn signal hung by two wires like an eyeball punched out of its socket.

    She stepped out of her truck, hair disproportionately large in relation to body, skin like old leather draped on her bones. Her white, newish looking truck took more obvious damage than my car. She offered me $200.

    "Look," she said, "do we have to call the cops? Please don't call the cops. I've got warrants out for me." We discussed what her warrants were for...speeding tickets, which is New Mexican slang for possession, paraphernalia and failure to appear. I told her that it looked like about $1200 worth of damage to me, and that I thought I should call it in. She explained that she has a sick kid at home (NM slang for an impatient boyfriend eyeballing the last of their meth stash), and just wanted to get out of there.

    She pulled three crisp $100 bills and some sweaty 20's from her pocket. Some petty part of me wanted her to go to jail for hitting me. A bigger petty part of me made a quick calculation:

    ***My insurance company paying out $1200 for repairs to a car worth about $400 and upping my premiums for uninsured motorists (a coverage all insured drivers must pay in NM)< $400 in ill begot drug monies.***


    I took her offer. She climbed back in her truck, poked her tiny head out of the window which is followed by a giant comet tail of badly permed hair.

    "Can we make it $250 instead?" she said.

    "This is the way it's got to be," I said.
  • the left turn signal light is held in place with clear packing tape
  • no A/C and it's been that way since 2004
  • broken power antenna - the motor still whirs but it won't retract
  • coolant leak and undiagnosable radiator issue that results in overheating if driven for more than 30 minutes straight without blasting the heat on full
  • oil leak
  • right side panel damage - from another person who hit me in a Target parking lot but that's not an interesting story as no cash or services were exchanged
  • badly worn and cracked leather driver seat
  • both door locks are rusted so the key won't unlock them - if you don't have the remote, you're climbing in through the trunk, over the folded back seats, and risking grave bodily harm on the gear shifter and emergency brake
  • severely faded and chipped paint spotted with rust
  • bent front rims resulting in difficulty sealing new tires and violent shaking at speeds over 50 mph
  • it's missing one of the lug nut locks; as far as I know, you can't just replace one
  • the wipers smear any water on the windshield into a fine film that refracts light from the sun or headlights
  • when you turn the volume knob in a counterclockwise direction (as if to turn it down), it cranks it to full volume; nothing happens if you turn it clockwise
  • wiper fluid indicator light stays on
  • emergency brake indicator light comes on when accelerating in gears 1-3
  • the liquid crystal of the radio display froze one night in MN, and now 1/5 of the display is permanently blacked out
  • a persistent and mysterious rattle comes from the underbelly
  • 168K miles of abuse and counting

The Good:

    For several weeks, I've considered my strategy for ridding myself of the monstrosity...leaving it running by the train tracks, paying the neighborhood kids to lob Molotov cocktails at it. After calculating its trade-in value on several dealer websites at or around what I typically spend a month at the grocery store, I narrowed my choices to either listing it on eBay for $500 and praying for nearsighted, illiterate bidders to stir up the action or putting it up on craigslist for $1100 and taking $800. At the behest of my little friend, we drove it by the local CarMax, concluding that we would take $500 for it if only to save ourselves from driving back home and meeting with whatever cretinous teenager would come sniffing around looking for the bones of his next 2 Fast 2 Furious car. In just a few hours, I had a check in hand for three times that. I signed over the title, and asked them to pull it back around so I could empty it of my belongings.

    The garage called the service desk a few minutes later to say that they misplaced the remote and couldn't unlock the doors with the key. It seems to me like this should have been something they check before handing over cold, hard cash. I fought my instinct to run to the nearest check cashing boutique before they could stop payment. About ten minutes later, one of the CarMax kids managed to jimmy the lock and drove to the service desk. I almost felt guilty taking my sunglasses, ice scraper, and the $5 and half a tin of Altoids out of the car. Almost.


New Car: 2004 Mazda 3s 5-Door
The Bad:

    It's not nearly as powerful as my 3000GT, and there's a mysterious white substance on the passenger side speaker.

The Good:

    Everything works, I don't have to worry about exploding on the highway, and it's so damn cool. Mine is galaxy grey mica, a shade darker than the one in the picture.



Shelter: Our bid for a new loft downtown was accepted. We close sometime next month.

The Bad:

  • only one bedroom, so overnight guests will have to rough it on an air mattress or hoof it a couple of blocks to a hotel
  • no garage
  • very little closet space, but I've got a plan on where to have another one built; alternatively, my little friend can stash her wardrobe under the bed
  • mortgage payments are going to cut into my monthly dvd and clothing budget

The Good:

  • poured concrete on the first floor and hardwood floors on the second and third
  • 9-11' ceilings on each floor
  • floor to ceiling windows/sliding glass doors on every floor
  • small balconies off the second and third floors
  • gas stove
  • 8 blocks from work for both of us
  • it's all ours

    1st Floor:

    2nd Floor:

    3rd Floor:



Shelter, Part II: I'm engaged to a girl named Mary.

The Bad:

    Nothing that she lets me hold against her.

The Good:

    At night, she lets me hold her against me.
 
 
Current Music: rising sign - mike doughty
 
 
Tacoman
13 February 2008 @ 04:35 pm
"Where have you been? For months and months, where have you been?" she said.

"In Albuquerque for Christ's sakes."
 
 
Tacoman
27 July 2007 @ 05:40 pm
I'm with someone who makes me happy.