drunk post.

After an afternoon spent with Sital, I'm now just a little tipsy at sneaky beans, which I'm sorry, is the WORST ever name for a coffee shop. even though i like the place, saying i'm going to sneaky beans makes me think i'm going off to take poop somewhere i'm not suppose to.

anyway, i've been looking at some of the most expensive photos ever. it's kinda fascinating. i went to b&n the other day and became romantically involved with a book of ansel adams's work, the book of national park photographs and OH JESUS! my eyes needed this love. Such beautiful photographs of our world. the third planet of eight, nickelodeon says. EIGHT!!!! Poor lil Pluto...and Pluto scientist.

one of the most expensive photographs is a nude of Georgia O'Keef. and it's beautiful and imperfect and her lover takes it and it's timeless and makes me want to photograph in the nude. you know, i have my imperfections, my body has it's odd proportions. like i have HUGE boobs but i'm thin (which you all discovered on our beach trip last year)? it's weird, not as much of a blessing as you would think. but i should REALLY be concentrating on shaving my legs every now and then. without a boyfriend around, one forgets these small intricacies of upkeep. they fall by the wayside. hair-brushing is futile without anyone to run their hands through it. why lotion up if no one appreciates the silky smoothness of legs long as vines. why gloss the lips when no one is there to say, "you taste like.......guava?" but i shouldn't think this way! even if no man is present, that's no reason to allow my inhibitions to takeover my mind, body, and soul. i still need to uphold some dignity and female grace. i can still feel like a woman with no man to oppose my feminine wiles. i know this. i need to take time to have my SSB (secret single behavior). this is the time when i wear my green tea mask, and i actually look like Jim Carey from "The Mask," when I run about the house saying "SSSSSSSSSMOKANNNNNN!!!!" and "SSSOMEBODY STOP ME!!!!!!" OH wow. Now I've said too much.

hmhmm

The next day we declared ourselves married and for our wedding night he went to the supermarket and bought ten bags of flour. Pouring it on my bedroom floor, my robber made a foot-deep flour sandbox. It was going to be a pain to vacuum but I loved the clean way it rolled off our skin and how I squeaked on the grains and when we kissed it tasted like morning.

---

One important thing was not to forget what he hoped to achieve in life. Another important thing was not to confuse a romantic picture of himself--as a doctor in Africa, for example--with a real possibility. And he tried not to lose sight of the act that he was an adult in an adult world. with responsibilities. This was not easy: he would find himself sitting in the sun cutting paper stars for a Christmas tree at the very moment other men were working to support large families or representing their countries in foreign places. When in moments of difficult truth-seeking he saw this incongruity, he felt sick that he should be saddled with himself, as though he were his own unwanted guest.

gooooooood morning!

Crashing Weddings in ‘07
Amanda Ramsey

The air only wanted
to be water that summer.
My hot blood turned me
into a pioneer woman,
a teen dream Laura Ingalls.

The Son had conceded
to a new sun, one equipped
With hot laser powers,
zapping everything into
grilled cheese sandwiches,
poor worms set to boil
on the white sidewalks.

Gone humid in the head,
we would disguise ourselves
as adults and indulge
in the glorious and great
Oxford wedding season.
We’d gulp down their Grey Goose
and lemonade, and let our
eyes grow large and tender
in the young summer night.

tennessee williams describes my nights

One piece was fundamentally the same as another, and the nights were like waves rolling in and breaking and retreating again and leaving you washed up on the wet sands of morning. Something continual and something changeless.

Firework

Today was a good day, a very good day, even. I put myself in a scary and new place, in front of a woman so so so superior to me that it parched my throat, giving me a jazz singer's raspy voice. The drive up there was the worst part, actually. The anticipation heightened with an empty car ride, the voice in my head boomed questions. As I drove on the interstate, I thought of the wonderful crescendo of possibilities and the angry, crashing waves of letdowns. I looked into the opposite lane and thought I'll be in that lane in about an hour, will I be happy and pleased with the outcome? Content, with a side of "I want to do more." Or completely shut down,...no opportunities here. And I thought, well, either way, I'm hopeful. I have hope. I've been reading a lot of Patti Smith's "Just Kids" and she dwells a lot on signs and fate. Like, if she wore a blue shirt during a job interview and got the job, she'd paint her bedroom blue, something to that extent. Well, this is gonna be silly, but when I was on my way, I got stopped at a train crossing...a train just happened to be going by when I have this important event. Shit. This is a bad sign, maybe I shouldn't go. But, THEN, almost immediately after, there was the ole caboose. Then, the Katy Perry song "Firework" came on, and I love that song right now. And it was applicable to my situation in life, too. Then, Graham called me. Another wonderful reminder of the goodness in my life. And well. Everything went wonderfully. And, best of all, I'm fascinated. I think I'm going to like this psycho-cology thing.

Do you know there's a chance for you 'cause there's a spark in you?
Just gotta ignite the light and let it shine.

It just gets me. Don't judge.

Have a lovely day all,
Amanda

the day after.

I'm singin' the day after birthday blues. not only is it no longer my special day, but now i have the hangover that sends me reeling back to my 21st birthday. i had no car, so i walked home this morning, which was about two or so miles. i passed by wads of trash, medicinal bottles, syringes, baby diapers, dog shit, and a sweet sunglasses case with a selection of large bright red pills inside. Sweet find! I'm in my typical streetwalker look, so there's no way that the word "shacker ho" isn't stapled onto the back of my greasy head. oh and it's raining, so i stole an umbrella from bottletree and it's, of course, broken. during my walk, i realize that my dress is somewhat see-through and that i forgot to put on my underwear. speaking of, i don't even remember having sex last night, but I do recall the word "TEETH" being shouted at me. I threw up my expensive dinner. also, last night, I ran into a heather riddell who i have a hazy recollection of from high school....we embraced each other like we were long lost fraternal twins separated at birth. i'm a mess. and i really really want chick-fila right now. so, ta-ta.

Everything must come and go, and now I guess it's my turn to go. I don't think I've fully grasped that my life in Oxford will be over in just a span of days. It does keep me up nights though, between 4 am and 6 am, the panic sets in. I just think about it; I turn it over and over again and again in my mind. I'm leaving friends, two jobs, a comfortable home, an almost flawless boyfriend...to move in with my parents and adolescent sister? Yep, I am doing this.