Saturday, April 25, 2015
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Monday, October 20, 2008
Princess Charming by The Abundant Creature
Waist down in leather is just this short of gna-gna, or fashion no-no to the unitiated. There's just something so right about it when you find a vintage Adam and the Ants tee-shirt, though. No need to do your hair, but a crimson and turqoise cocktail ring is de rigeur and screams fancy, so play down the lipstick with a nude glint of shine. Same for the nails. Pretend that your handsome with some metallic sea tones on the top lids and get ready to crank the stacks to eleven.
Princess Charming by The Abundant Creature
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
The sun gently patted the top of my head as I strode down H St admiring the newly planted tulips, the Grecian inspired lampposts outside the Chamber of Commerce, the delicious scent of java emitting from in front of the Cosi. I was revelling in District Love, a rare spell cast in spring light, when I saw a tall gentlemen in a fancy black top hat walking across the street in front of my office building. "Poor bugger" I thought noticing as he sat down on the sidewalk that one of his eyes was sewn shut. I reached into my wallet to give him a dollar thinking, "well,we all gotta work"."
"Thanks Lady' he said, keeping strict panhandling etiquette and not touching the inside of my palms as he scooped the change. It was his voice I remembered.
"Raifert? Remember me, from Capital Park?"
He nodded mutely and then cleared his throat.
That would be the woman who bum rushed his house with her three young sons and turned it into Crack Central.
"How are you Raifert? Do you still stay there?"
"Naw, this my home now."
"You make it to the park for dinner when the nuns come?"
" Nuns ain't been out there for a minute, but when they out I make sure to eat. You got a menthol cigarette for me?'
I could see rheumy liquid from the stitches in his eye.
"You know I always smoked Marlboros, Raifert."
He shook his head and nodded thanks to a man who had just given him a nickel.
"Fuck that shit. Rather quit. Gimme one."
So I did and we smoked and watched the traffic, the tourists coming up the street from the White House, my coworkers streaming back into the building.
"Well, I gotta go Raifert. Good seeing you."
"Yeah, nice to see you old neighbor."
"Yeah, stay outta trouble, y'heard?"
The little umber feather in his top hat waved at me as he laughed. "All I gots is trouble, baby girl. That's all I gots. You work up in here?"
My turn to nod.
Raifert laughed so hard more goop ran out of his eye.
"Looks like we is co-workers now girl!"
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Sunday, March 02, 2008
This photograph of my maternal grandmother Julia was taken in the late 1940's, probably in Louisville, KY. I will ask my mother if she knows the where and when.
My grandmother Julia was the first piano player in the family, as everybody reminded me when I was young and showing promise. Up until finding this picture I had forgotten she was a needle wielder, though I now remember her giving me a rose colored sweater --- perhaps crocheted? I don't remember, it was so long ago and obscured by the intricate intarsia and fair isle cardigans gifted to me by my paternal, Scottish, granny. But I was much closer to grandma. I remember her telling me "a pretty girl is a dime a dozen" and "I was country before country was cool". She would also laugh uproariously --- like I do --- when telling the story of The Afro That wouldn't Stand and how the train porters would warn her "Ma'am you're in the colored section". She was one of the most beautiful women I've ever known or seen, and I miss and love her love her love her.
Saturday, March 01, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
My son turned 11 a couple of weeks ago and is in such a curious hurry to get grown. He has a special girl, tiny clusters of brand new pimples faintly dotting his chin, an obsession with his MP3 player and the telephone. There's no interest in being clutched and cuddled by his kissy-kissy momma.
My friends are taking their couplings to that biological next step, and it's making me broody. I can smell new baby at the top of my nostrils just thinking about them. A little girl would be so wonderful to....have? Now you know it's a whole lot more than that ....
What I do have is a burgeoning knitting stash that's beginning to get on my boyfriend's nerves. "Why don't you ever finish anything?" is a natural question when you see the proliferation of skeins and hanks spilling out of the small closet in our even smaller bedroom. Of course I get defensive. Most of my purchases these days have been of the cheap, craft store variety. Acrylic skeins at under $5 a hank. He should not complain. My local yarn store is four times more expensive, which is why I haven't been there in five months.
What happens when you mix equal portions of broodiness with unused stash? "Bootie Fest 2008".
I'm starting with a pattern from Precious Baby Booties by Carolyn Christmas. I've decided to crochet the first pair for a more structured shoe. Being the loosest needle wielder in the universe means I had to swatch carefully, and ended up going down two needle sizes (E) which is normal for my hands.
These boots knit up super quickly, about an hour per boot with snack breaks. The first boot ended up an un-photographable disaster. That's because I didn't count diligently when making the sole. I ended up with a turning hole and it wasn't big enough when I fastened off which I didn't check for. Seeming the sole to the body of the bootie is careful work as the pattern calls for you to sew through the back loops only, which I was able to do successfully only until hitting the first turn. I'm taking more careful now, which is one of the greatest joys of this hobby. It's so pointless and time consuming and fun. Which is kind of like procreating, raising kids and being alive!
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Whilst cleaning out my computer today I found some old writing that never made it onto the blog site. Here are brief, unfinished glimpses of an abundant 2007:
OK. I can verify the alacricity and thoroughness of www.craigslist.org but if there was one thing the Abundant One would want her gentle readers to pack away in their little bloggy bags it is this: caution.
View Exhibit A: Flegette Munyon Rippey my current roommate thanks to Craig’s cornucopia. Shortly after my brief stay at
Anyhoo, it’s helpful to type 85WPM and “know my [sic] way around the Internet”. Chick. Tsack. 85 year old man needs tenant to wipe his ass. In exchange will provide furnished rooms and Ensure breakfasts… no, not really, instead I found Jet.
Our first conversation: spark off the motherfucking cosmic match head. That whole Gemini/Leo/Fire/Air thingy (read: my mother, Lu, various nightclub
It’s hard to wade through the mental thicket back to that place after ten months and – we’d have to confess it – numerous Def Leppard “F-F-F-Foolin’” sing-a-longs later. Hey, I’d be re-miss if I didn’t state before I dive into the familiar refrain of “Oh my room mate drives me craaaazy” that I like Jet.
When she’s not drunk, which happens on a daily or at least every other. She likes to pull the grey office chair a foot away from the Panasonic’s 50” screen and drain two Sam Adams with a fifth of Jim Beam. Please believe I wouldn’t spew vitriol about her addiction between my seven “Euro” joints every night spent when Jet’s in the same state. Wouldn’t have a single thing to write about if she wouldn’t make it intricate with her snide remarks which occur mid-way through the end of the Adams’ and the start of the Beam. Common themes include how snooty I am. How I don’t know anything. How she’s such an asshole, a loner and how she knew when I first called her that I would be like her little sister, but not one she would like in a sexual way even though her type was light skin, eyes, etc.,
This is heavy to write right now. She’s in front of that Panasonic watching a Heroes re-run and the soundtrack’s a symphony of sadness. While her back’s been turned I’ve been staring at her with my face contorted like a Balinese mask of anger: die bitch, die bitch…
Four days ago Jet woke up and decided she had had enough of me and Will and resolved to hate us to our graves. No lie. I can’t even believe it and I’m not being sentimental, I am the die bitch mask, remember ;) Listen, web trawlers, I am a whole lotta crazy but making up room mate drama isn’t my skein. And I’m woman enough too, yes I am! , to grant that it’s her right as an earthing, American, the gay black lesbian she always titles herself to be to decide who the hell she wants to fuck with on a regular or not. So she wakes up and doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore, whatever.
We’ve had more fun than just the singing, many nights of great conversation and fun, laughs, and silly goings on. She’s even told me that she wanted to kill herself on many, many an occasion – over the senseless murder of the only man who she ever loved, the only friend she ever had whose name was, curiously, Sam. The thing about Jet is the same afternoon you think you’ve made a really good friend leads into an evening when you have to challenge her in front of your landlord because you overheard her telling him that she doesn’t have the rent because she’s been “supporting” you and your boyfriend.
And then she left her job, not even because it was paying only $165 or something per week. Quit….because. And you took her to that telemarketing farm job casting call, where she was booted because she wore jeans when you told her not to. You went into “mother mode” and marched her across the street to Target where she tried on a couple of pairs of polyester office pants, got a blouse and pair of shoes. She protested and promised to return, well dressed, in a few days, it’s true. But you knew she could get the job today, needed the job today to pay Jerry the landlord, and why not help a friend? Besides, you could return the clothes to Target and get your money back and if not, well, Merry X-mas if she gets the job we’ll work it out.
Three weeks into training she loses the job. It’s now June and she hasn’t worked except for three weeks at some scammy little so-called “re-mortgaging” telephone farm for ten hours a week, hating it from day one. Crying in the night, rocking back to forth in the grey chair while I sat next to her in the dog stained living room, howling over how Dawn left her, why can’t she get over her pain…
Monday, December 03, 2007
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Friday, November 30, 2007
Sunday, November 25, 2007
I've never believed in all of that "If you can only count five friends on one hand at the end of your life than you are fortunate" advice. If you can only count five people as friends after an average lifetime it is fact you were a meansumbitch and glad you're gone!
That isn't to say ALL of your friends will stay with you until that last, dieing moment. But when you're looking up at that Tin Woodsman turned your neighbor who's volunteered to change your colostomy bag or what have you, the memories of all the love and fun spent with funky friends along the way will help lift you into that cyclone headed for the way beyond.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
As boring as that sounds let the record show that I have lost four pounds in the past week without dieting. Plenty of rest and hitting the yoga mat first thing for a vigorous round of Surya Namaskars. As the finances are tight my nutrition hasn't been that great - though enjoyable considering one day my meals consisted of Galler chocolate hand delivered from Bruxelles. I'm still smoking like a whore in jail, but the local lock up -- not Rikers. Life is as stressful as ever -- housing issues, interpersonal relationships,money money money...still, I am not freaking out about anything and the worst of the anxiety like responses has stopped. Best of all I haven't cried in over ten days !
Sunday, September 30, 2007
We spent this day doing fun things: petting the dogs and cats who came to greet us as we walked down to the corner store to buy brunch ingredients; playing with the blue ball that works for basketball and soccer; making fun of the way Mom runs when she's trying to play soccer; and tweaking old photographs of me when I was four at Slide.com. -JM
Friday, September 28, 2007
Even though I fancy myself an original, I fit the demographic of the late 30's, Gen Xer pretty well. And that includes a new Facebook addiction, as well as the requisite celeb-watch-and-talk. These "stars" are so hard to relate to. They never report any of the interesting or provocative they might say. The magazines that manufacture these living mannequins have given up disguising the fact that they're really copy-heavy catalogues where one can find the latest shoes or lipsticks and even beach front homes.
Watching Britney explode has been the most exciting celebrity development in recent memory. I find it fascinating that this little dynamo - who hoofed it through childhood Star Search humiliations and soundly learned the art of the jiggle as soon as her juggles came in - took the inevitable break down to such public extremes. Fascinating to see how the world can't get enough of it's own scorn for a woman no one took seriously in the first place. Aren't we just mad because she defiantly took up the Twinkies and rejected the role of Masturbation Fixation? We all love Keith Richards, some of us have even emulated his entire life (sans the legendary band; women 'n wine 'n wealth; and...hopefully if you're one of those people...the plaster peeled face).
C'mon, everyone who makes it big these days plays so fucking fucking safe. Yes, Britney could do this whole thing more artfully. Perhaps more like....old Keith? But as a girl who seems to have come by her ignorance the time honored way (handed down from the family) let's not try and turn a cow pie into a Cadillac*. She's like that monk immolating himself..I know it's a bit of a stretch but....you know?
*with apologies to Ronald...
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
My mother was furious and confused, and even then I understood why. Only a fortnight into my schooling there my name had been put on the "cannabis" list and I was part of a school wide pogrom that saw many of the coolest Top Form students - borders and day bugs alike - chucked out before the dreaded Singapore police could get their hands on us. Mom had fought the Headmaster during my two week house suspension on Yang Ming Shan - where she and dad were living, a hilly enclave above the smokey pollution of Taipei city. While she worked and dad sulked behind locked doors as usual, I scurried through the "home work" mom would give me (Write a report on the recent People Power movement in the Philippines before I come home from work) and then would hurry down the mountain, over to Shih Lin, to the noodle stands across the street from Taipei American School.
That's where I got to know Pat, to this day my dearest friend, who was often alone in a stairwell, toking Marlboro's or Long Life's and happy to share them with me. We were happy to bond over the forbidden cancer sticks, happier still to find out that in a few short months both of our families were being transferred to Hong Kong....we would have one another at the new school there.
But before that glorious chapter of my life unfolded, that embarrassing sliver of time between expulsion and relocation, Mom took another deep breath and packed our bags for our summer R&R; Oahu, Louisville, Washington, DC.
We arrived in Hawaii on a sunny July 4Th morning. Our time share apartment wasn't vacated yet, so the concierge put us in the model suite, where everything looked magazine cover worthy but beneath the plushy duvet there was only a stained mattress and in the bathroom the faucets didn't work. It was the longest of days, after an 18 hour flight, and on the television we were treated to hours of big three network coverage of the Statue of Liberty's Centennial Celebration. Bubble headed bleach blond announcers perkily proclaiming: "Happy Birthday Lady Liberty...." interspersed with Max Headroom for Pepsi commercials. It was all so bizarre, so stimulating, I stayed up the entire day, into the night, past Friday Night Videos and Night Flight....
Mom was up early that next morning, slathering on suntan lotion and packing Crystal Light into our picnic basket, ready to hit our favorite spot on Waikiki's flesh crammed shores. It was the first time I had ever felt apathetic about going to the beach. The sun hurt my eyes, my body hurt, I lay in the familiar sand and instead of exhaling into it's warmth like I always did I felt myself longing to be buried there.
Later that afternoon I was able to obtain a packet of Marlboro lights from the cigarette machine in the lobby while my mother rested. Fire was more difficult to procure, fortunately a group of kids joined me poolside and gave me a pack of matches they'd taken from the Jolly Rogers restaurant across the street. We talked until it was obvious only cigarettes could bond us, and then they left.
I must have smoked over half of that pack, sitting by that pool, watching my legs turn to dark molasses, wiping away tears and sweat. That was the first day of my life that childlike wonder did not rise up and sing it's swell song. Something in me was diminishing, I knew it that day I tell you, I felt it and sat there and cried for it to not come for me. Cried and smoked until I was hoarse and the sun began to wane. Then I hid the smokes and the matches behind the soda machine in the stairwell, walked back into the apartment and got into a world of trouble for smelling like cigarettes and you expect me to believe you were at the pool and your towel isn't wet?
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Friday, September 21, 2007
Friday, August 24, 2007
I've spent the past six days with a brand new love. Oh, my man's been with me the entire time. He is still secure in our essential "us-ness" to get over his little fits of jealousy and bursts of "Are you listening? What did I say just now?" whenever he sees me lost in the illuminated gaze of my darling. Unfortunately for me, my li'l hottie belongs to another, our hostess, and such is the nature of my beloved you could never ask to borrow him for even a short while - so dear he is to many. He's a little guy, fits nicely on my laugh and warms up the longer I stroke him. He's an iBook G4 hooked up with Adobe CS2. And I am in deeply love.