Sunday, July 23, 2006

Pirates treasure chests

Aye, I recently saw a Pirates of the Caribbean lovin' friend of yore who took this hysterical photo of herself at the Sandbar in Lawrence. We were celebrating the final days of bachelorettehood for a dear friend whom at many times throughout the evening contagiously stole the gazes of mates and their lassies with her fun-loving spirit. She's my Oprah-friend as I like to call her. She physically doesn't resemble Oprah, but I am so often amazed at how magnetic, full of light, and openminded she is. When I see her, I see Oprah and when I see Oprah, I see her. Its an inward-thing that projects outward. Her sensitivity toward others' differences is mature beyond most, perhaps only matched by Oprah, and me of course :) Oh, and by others whom I can't wait to meet. She's a great and beautiful person both inside and out. Very much like a sister. She's the kind of friend who everyone would want as a friend if they only knew. Just like the Vietnamese restaurant in Westport named Sung Son, her friendship is the best-kept secret in Kansas City. Which leads me to this:

I was prepared to have an absolute blast at the Sandbar dancing the night away with my friend. But something came over me in the biggest-most-heartfelt way when I saw her jump up on the windowsill to give her best-rocked out version to every Journey-esque song that played on the jukebox at the beginning of the night. Tears gushed down my face. Not sure why really. Perhaps it was because I know she deserves the happiness of true love. Perhaps it was because I treasure just knowing her and being able to claim all the memories we've shared together. What I do know is that it wasn't a cry of sadness or loss, but more of a rejoicing in my friend's good fortune and my good fortune for ever having met her. I would have loved to have spent more time with her over the past year during her engagement if I could have.

The trouble was, however, that I could not contain this overwhelming feeling for more than five minutes at a time. I was in and out of the mermaids' room most of the night, trying desperately to re-apply my makeup each time so that I could emerge as a dancing wild-woman with her. But I never quite made it. The last thing I wanted my friend to see was me bawling like I was for her happiness and then having to explain what I was feeling when I couldn't even put it into words, and I'm almost positive she would have mistaken the teary-eyed cringed look on my face as something other than what it was. So instead, I stayed in a little nook directly between the mermaid's room and the bar. I can't tell you how many drinks I ordered from the bartender with tears actively streaming down my face. There is a line in Vanilla Sky that goes, "I think she's the saddest girl ever to hold a martini." Well, I definitely topped that one for I was the weepiest girl ever to consume three or four bahama mamas and there is nothing sad about about that drink except perhaps the calories and the carbs.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006


Illegally napping off of the sanctioned trail in forbidden tufts of wild grasses born free as they sway with life's sweet aroma to an invisibly shapeless and comforting breath leisurely caressing my face only a debatably naive skip from the barren base of the actively smoldering Mount St. Helen's that feigns shadowlessness so monstrously magnificent.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

KC from an outsider's view

My roommate, a recent KC transplant who wishes to go by the name JR, and I spent most of the weekend decorating our charming apartment, designing and sewing new dresses and drinking wine we purchased last weekend from Yakima Valley in WA. While JR searched for sewing needles, she stumbled across a 2005 poem she wrote about KC. Directly after her discovery, she rose to her feet, took a thoughtful sip of her pinot noir, and read from her pink-papered, handwritten poem as if she were presenting her thoughts to Mayor Barnes with candid authority.

I chuckled loudly at her poetic commentary. I have never heard anyone describe KC the way she had verbalized. Everyone here, including me, has great pride in our hometown, but it was interesting to hear an outsider's point of view. While I still laugh at the humor of her poem, there are many key points that she hits that are actually quite honest and true. For your enjoyment, or for your displeasure, here are the verses of my roommate:

"Kansas City. Full of Pride. Full of Anger built inside. Full of mafia. Full of jerks. Full of Users, Abusers and the Works.

Full of Offices of Corporates who don't care. Full of People who's lives are going nowhere.

Full of Nothing, Full of It, Full of People who don't get it.

Full of homebodies without a life. Full of People who argue and fight. Full of rejects. Full of stoners. Full of persons who are loners.

But I still live here, why? To hang in there for who? To be paid nothing for what? To be dating nobodies and I could move and be dating somebodies. To be honest with myself and move I should. To be mad at myself and stay I won't. To be rolled around in this place of mud and grime is dumb.

Why should I stay and not get away? Who and why are my friends out here? Are they here to use me and do what they will? Are they just needy?

Everyone here is more depressed than I have ever seen. They sit here and wallow about their long days and then they do nothing to change their ways. What exactly does Kansas City have to offer? It rots in the middle of earth for a reason. Nobody likes it and nobody leaves it. A population of unhappy people with nothing to fight for. They are boring and sad and eat all the time. I am bored and mad and sick of these people. They are very standoffish and rude and have nothing to say. Maybe they don't care and like it that way. Kansas City."

Tuesday, July 11, 2006


Travels to Portland, Mount St. Helen's, and Table Rock Lake in MO have been stealing my time away from blogging, but I'm back. And, it's been an amazing week...