Friday, April 04, 2003
friday list

tonight:
bend it like beckham with jason .. popcorn, movie-theatre-smell, pizza before-hand and beer after. hurrah!

tomorrow: cleaning house, buying flowers, getting nails done, setting out the ice bucket and the punch bowl ... all classic 60's housewife chores ... in preparation for swingin' retro house party. motown. rolling rock. gimlets and fizzy drinks. we're going to shake-a-tail-feather until we drop.

sunday: classic hangover brunch with overnight pals, ryan mcginley at the whitney, and possible tra-la-la-ing around central park in predicted-gorgeous weather.

faboo weekend, kiddies!





love, krissa .... 11:07 PM ... link!

* * * * * * * * * * * *


you know what they say about time, and the wounds it heals?

the phone rings at about five. i answer it, with my usual stating of Magazine of Employment name. "_____," i say, hoping it's not some complicated agent/press-officer/writer/photographer on the other end, demanding another hour of work from me. "krissa?" the voice has an accent. is it..?.. no, it can't be. "yes," i say. "ciao, marnix." it is, i think.

marnix. invariably, pals that read this just let out a groan of frustration. how many hours did they have to listen to this? how many beers did i cry into over this? countless. marnix and i knew each other in high school, in kenya. he was this lanky, awkward boy who had yet to grow into his long arms and brilliant mind. in that open-hearted way of naive schoolchildren, we fell rather in love with each other. nothing ever happened, of course, between us. but it was always there, this palpable tension. in all his affectionate gestures, in the way he looked at me, in the way i flirted with him and sidled up to him, in the mornings, at our side-by-side lockers. oh, i was coy. i knew. but that was then.

when we reunited, a couple years back, in london, it was though both nothing and everything had changed. marnix still had the same way of lecturing me gently while looking down from 6'3" and smiling with that crooked smile. his mossy green eyes still did the same twinkly, half-shut thing when he laughed. only he had grown into this strong, tall, absurdly handsome man and his heart - it wasn't the same anymore. marnix was less loving, less open, less reckless with his emotions. he'd made up for it by being recklessly devoted to his own hedonistic pursuits, but deep down inside, it was the same sincere, beautiful boy who'd tried to teach me archery and made me heart-shaped wooden picture frames and biked to my house on sundays.

this story is a retread, friends. you know how it goes. he came to new york. we rarely left the bedroom. it was magical, of course it was magical. it was seven years in the making. but what were we doing? trying to recapture the past? making up for our tortured platonic innocent love? it didn't matter. deep down, i knew what i was doing - i was loving something that would simply never love me back. that simply couldn't love anyone enough to hold still.

and he left, of course. and i cried, a lot, and looked at pictures of him, and had dreams of meeting him in exotic train stations, dreams of running away to london and making him love me. i did none of these things. eventually, i bucked up. i stopped thinking about marnix all the time. i stopped calling him at random intervals, trying to act as breezy and careless as possible, hoping the way to catch a wild animal is to pretend you're not interested. it didn't work. marnix was adoring and charming and kind - and not an inch more.

eventually i stopped calling him. we kept emailing - and then in december that trickled off too. until today. when i heard that lilting european accent on the phone. it only lasted a second, the heart's little leap. it only lasted as long as it took me to remember the color of his eyes. but then, it faded. as i sat at my office desk, feet propped up, chatting and laughing about various absurd new medical discoveries, whether men can feasibly give birth children, how stodgy most english girls are, various good pranks to pull on roommates, and our mutual cadre of crazy friends - i realized something. i wasn't missing him. i wasn't thinking of ways to make him pace in front of my cage, and finally step inside. i wasn't thinking of ways to tame him, ways to make him want me. i was just enjoying a conversation with an old friend.

and as we chatted, i was looking at a picture of another
friend, a much more important friend - someone who knows me for who i am today, and not for some darling golden innocent child i used to be. in the picture, he's sitting on my couch, looking at me jauntily, with that mona lisa grin of his, and as i talked to marnix on the phone, i inadvertently smiled and winked at the picture. I told marnix all about him. without any hesitation. whatsoever. marnix laughed and asked if it was any different than him. "completely different, nix." and i was right.

it's been a year, more, since marnix swooped into new york for a week and swept me off my feet, like i knew he would. and it's been a year since he slipped back into the ether of his own life, leaving me with nothing but a charming smile and a certain weakness for moss green eyes. but it took this phone call to convince me - my feet have landed on terra firma again.

and that, my friends, deserves a drink.

hurrah!


love, krissa .... 1:57 AM ... link!

* * * * * * * * * * * *


Thursday, April 03, 2003
The Rape of Persephone, or Fruits to Avoid At All Costs.

i feel like telling you a story. sit down. relax.

so, we've got this goddess, her name is ceres. she's the goddess of the harvest, the environment, that kind of thing. plants and shit. so she's got this gorgeous daughter, persephone. really a looker, this kid. about seventeen years old. one day, persephone is out tra-la-laing in the fields with some pals, right? right, so hades sees her. he's the god of the underworld, and zeus's brother. and hades, he's kind of an impulsive guy. so he just moseys on up in his fiery hellish carriage - and really just snatches his bitch up. he's all like, "you're MINE, chicky." so she's all screaming and shit, but the earth just, well, it swallows her. because you know, he's the god of the underworld and has mad skillz like that.

so anyway, there she is, poor thing, and he's like, "you're going to be my bride". and she's like, "you're straight-trippin', boo." meanwhile mom is up on terra firma, freaking out because she can't find her baby girl. and she absolutely refuses to shine the sun, or let it rain, and the earth is turning into this agricultural war zone. famine, drought, plagues, pestilence... hades hath no fury like a wheat-goddess scorned, right?

so zeus tries to intervene, get his brother to give back the girl, make nice-nice among all the gods and goddesses, because obviously by this point mount olympus is a pretty divided place. but hades is like, "nothing doin' bro. i'm keeping the girl. and what's more, if she eats one iota of food down here, she's my bitch forever. you know. magic curses and the like. wicked stuff." so persephone refuses to eat, obviously, because she's not stupid... or is she?

after a lot of back-and-forth, and some pretty heated plate-throwing up on mount olympus - zeus just can't deal. privately, he's probably all like, "go hades, you dog you!" but ceres is giving him such a terrible headache over this, he's afraid he'll have another child spring outta there. so, he's heading down there with his bling bling thunderbolt, to straighten li'l bro out. only, before he gets there, dumb chicky eats just one little pomegranate seed, poor little twinky is so hungry, and she thinks, it's just one seed, big bad hades won't notice, right?

not so much, twinky. hades notices all right, does a little victory dance, and zeus loses a little of his thunder, because after all, sodding girl was told not to eat anything. so he finally strikes a deal between a ragingly inconsolable ceres and stubborn, pedophilic hades - they have to split the girl. ceres gets her six months, hades gets her the other six months. which, coincidentally, explains the seasons.

but the biggest moral you should take away from the story is - pomegranate seeds are evil and you never know what kind of deal you might be inadvertently striking with perverts who live in dark caves.



love, krissa .... 1:30 AM ... link!

* * * * * * * * * * * *


Wednesday, April 02, 2003
when you find your polar opposite, does the universe die just a little bit?

because what the world really needs is another
guy like this.

all i can say is - he must have an enormous dick if he can afford to be that picky about women. but even if he does, he probably has no idea what to do with it.

twenty minutes later: let me rephrase that a little more eloquently, since that last attempt came out cattily and rude. guys like this really get under my skin. i fucking curse all the time. i'm a liberal. i'm a feminist - if by feminist, you mean believing that women are unique, important contributers to society, that we deserve to be given every opportunity afforded to men, and that we deserve to live a life free of discrimination, patronization, and bullshit patriarchical stigmas. i am pro-choice, rabidly so, and i chain-smoke. i have sex. i get drunk every now and then. and all in all, i'm still a pretty fantastic woman.

what this guy is looking for - that's not a woman. he's looking for an extra limb. or a car. or a baby-making machine. he's not looking for a human being that will complement his life, who will challenge him to be a better person and love him with all his flaws. he's not looking for love. love is about cherishing another person's essence as equal to your own. love isn't about finding someone else who will fit into a skill-set you've pre-determined - smart but not too smart, sexy but not sexually-threatening, woman but not too woman. that's not love. that's consumer-shopping. that's how you buy a washing machine.

but maybe all this guy needs is a washing machine. bully for him.


love, krissa .... 11:39 PM ... link!

* * * * * * * * * * * *


warning: detour ahead

krissa mood is: mass carnage. bloody. wear galoshes. very bad business. too-too bad.



love, krissa .... 1:12 AM ... link!

* * * * * * * * * * * *


Monday, March 31, 2003
a monkey, a fish and an owl walk into a bar ...

saturday night found me decked out in spring finery, hair flouncing just so, and riding the train from providence to boston.
fish met me at the train station, recognizing me immediately and giving me a big hug, while hungover. we traipsed the six blocks to fajitas & ritas, chatting about boys, the curse of tall-dark-and-handsome, and her identity twin the whole way.

we met monkey there, and he was fashionably late. it seems he's read the etiquette books on exactly how late you can be to meet two ladies, and hit it right on the head - ten minutes after they get there, two minutes before they begin tapping their strappy little heels in frustration. a very well-advised entrance indeed.

[and girls, you know i'm going to dish here: he's just as good-looking and gentlemanly as you'd hope. we expect nothing less, clearly, but even this veteran owl was charmed silly by this bicycle's rakish charm. a lady can say no more, so you'll just have to find out yourselves.]

dinner was sizzling and delicious, conversation was bouncing from university experiences to drunken debaucherous tales to childhood hilarity and the differences between various kinds of texas pep squads. all in all, margaritas and beers were consumed, there was plenty laughter, and monkey and fish even consented to repair to the bar so that i could drink my last margarita while smoking.

charming. lovely. beautiful. those two make boston look distinctly less boring and fuddy-duddy.

love, krissa .... 8:28 PM ... link!

* * * * * * * * * * * *


where's the love?

this weekend brought an amusingly disturbing visit to this cozy corner of the web. i won't stoop to answer the baseless, inflammatory, somewhat madcap insults made
here. but this is the deal: you want to insult me, that's pretty much okay with me. you don't really belong here, reading my website, if you disagree with everything about me - but you're more than welcome anyway. have a seat, and would you like some tea with your hurling insults? fine.

the catch? you have to leave your email address when you take insulting liberties on my comment box.

why? because that's what i call actually standing behind your opinions, and i can respect that, no matter what the opinions may be. so, you wanna flame? leave your name!

and if you post anonymously, i can take the liberty to ban you from further comments, because i consider anonymous flaming to be in very bad taste, and i'm sure many people will agree with me. it's a liberty i've already taken with our madcap anonymous hater.

those are the ground rules around here. so wipe your feet at the door and mind your manners.

and failing that, my brother promised that he will totally kick your ass. so, nyah nyah nyah.



love, krissa .... 7:01 PM ... link!

* * * * * * * * * * * *




Site Meter This page is powered by Blogger. Is yours?