Friday, December 12, 2003
ATBloodyQAlready #4: Stuart's Autoblography


1. What’s an embarrassing story that your family or friends could tell about you?

Take your pick. Already written about are ‘Sky Sports Shocker’, ‘A Very Public Dropping’ and ‘Celebrity Foot In Mouth Disease’. I shall offer you another...let’s take the moment, at my Sixth Form Summer Ball, just
after the fireworks, when I was back inside demonstrating to another guy (who’d got it so wrong), exactly how Joey from Friends dances. It was also the moment when my entire sixth form came back into the clubhouse and thought I was dancing in earnest. I won one of those end-of-year certificate things; the ‘I wanna dance like Carlton’ Award.

3. What or where is the most inappropriate place you’ve ever been turned on? Extra points if it involves famous people or religious institutions!

St. James’ Park, Newport, Isle of Wight. Fourth tree from the left, by the wall behind the library car park. Hideously wide open space. About half ten at night in December. Drunken sex with a girl in a nurses
outfit. There is a church about five minutes from there, if that helps.

4. Tell me about your relationship with your parents or parent figures.

My parents are amazing. I found out that the man I thought was my Dad was in fact my Stepdad at the age of nine (that moment was a serious contender for Question Two) and the only thing that changed was that I called him by his first name from then on. He has the amazing talent of being both a friend and a parent – both a mate you can have a laugh with and an authority figure, sometimes in the same sentence, something I appreciate greatly. My Mum has had such an enormous level of suffering in her life, but she is still an immensely giving person. She would do anything for me, and I for her. I love making her laugh.

5. Recall a moment in your past that you remember as being absolutely perfect harmony in your life.

It was twilight, the sand was gritty and grey. The bench we were sitting on was a white cool smooth concrete, the wind was blowing warmly off the sea and towering clouds hung over the horizon in a coruscating hash of orange, red and grey. Out of sight on the beach someone was playing bongos and the sound of it grew with the blowing wind, taking the thrill of realisation and hurling it onwards in the imagination to the months of travelling ahead. I was relaxed, Gemma was relaxed. We were still, sitting and looking at the sea, and we knew exactly where we were. We were off.



love, krissa .... 6:19 PM ... link!

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the little owl that could!

despite my winning smile, winning brunches, and winning charm, i've never been much of a winner. i'm always sauntering in second or third to the finish line on most things, more interested in the journey than the destination.

so imagine my surprise when i stumble across a weblog competition and discover i'm
actually in the running for best Female Authored Weblog! well, not in the running, per se, because i'm at a woefully short fifteen votes, since i didn't know to pressure you guys to log your admiration for me through meaningless online competition.

so consider this your campaign poster, your milk and cookies, your KRISSA #1 button all in one... get your tail over there and vote for me*!

*voting for me is not considered an exchange for sexual favors. don't even ask.

love, krissa .... 12:35 AM ... link!

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Thursday, December 11, 2003
petit Hiboux Cupcake and Vodka Hour® Presents: We Lurv You Kate Party



well! here you are then. i hope the foul weather didn't dampen your spirits too much. did it? well, that's what drink and pastry is for. give me your sopping coat, okay, and your umbrella as well. oh, do you have to shake your head like that? you're getting water all over the cupcakes.

under the spotlight, there's
kate, mouth full of vanilla cupcake with strawberry icing, topped with a chocolate garter belt. of course she's drinking straight vodka a la russian samovar, her flavor of choice being a lemon-raspberry mix. she's telling shivlet all about the sudden and traumatizing death of her blog yesterday. shiv proposes a toast "to the pilgrims!" with her delicious sweet summer. course, it's hard to toast when she's waving about a red velvet/choco-topped cupcake with a miniature bust of the smarmy agent cooper. but she's a pro - she does it anyway.

ah! and who do we have tucked in this dark corner but mark! he's splashing around his citronade tonic while drunkenly praising kate to karen, who's staring with suspicion at mark's squirrel-topped cupcake. mark, dear, i am sorry about the cufflinks, can i offer you these instead? there, now stop your snivelling.

karen, of course, has paired her death-by-choco cupcake with a neat hungarian vodka [i had it in the freezer all night, k, should be plenty cold], perhaps a palinka?

the phone's ringing, hold on - oh, karen, it's pete for you, and i think he's warbling something that sounds like white christmas on crack. and stuart, honestly, here's your stoli, you're going to need it when i release your cupcake from the cage in the backroom. honestly, diddy munchkins? and stop playing with kate's hair.

and stuart, darling, do me a favor introduce mr. D around? make sure mark explains about the squirrels. and keep replenishing his smirnoff blue and cupcake dip. that's a good lad. oooh, and here comes an anonymous
matt! he wants munchkins on top of his cupcake. stuart's munchkins or dunkin donuts? we'll find out, eh?

and moi? well of course, i'm manning the door with biscuit, who's quite tanked on the entire bottle of ice-cold russki standart drunk out of these adorable shot glasses. he's wailing on and on about AT&T, i just put another cream-cheese-frosted-choco-topped-raspberry-filled cupcake in his hand and nod sympathetically.

and of course, i keep it simple and classic. i'm having a vanilla blue-iced cupcake with a tiny manolo blahnik stiletto on top, with a cosmopolitan, which i happily double for ms. fish, who's whispering in my ear.... no... really? ... you don't SAY!.. the NERVE of some...!...indeed! well, fish, have three more cupcakes, darling.

now, kate and shiv, scoot over. what are we gossiping about? boys? i'm not drunk enough.

another round, everyone?

love, krissa .... 8:09 PM ... link!

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t minus one hour

place your last minute orders with the cupcake-vodka fairy or she'll totally cut you.


love, krissa .... 7:16 PM ... link!

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it's happy hour somewhere in the world*

as
kate is leaving sunny climes for the foggy days of london town, i am saddened beyond consolablility that i will not have her perky and hysterical IMs to quicken my days.

thus, in order to stymie the rapidly cascading tears we're all experiencing at the impending infrequency of fauxhemian glitter, let us raise glass and pastry in her honor. how, you ask?

well, hold on to your propriety, lads and lasses - in true FG fashion, welcome to the first petitHiboux Cupcake and Vodka Hour® ...

thursday december the eleventh
half past noon


...held for the express purpose of drunkenly sending off our dear kate. we're now taking all requests for what you want decorating your cupcake (a bunny? a corvette? an impossibly large sugar diamond?) and what you want to swill with your vodka (you real alkies can have it straight, chilled. the rest of us need mixers).

to make it interesting: nice things said about kate, excellent song requests and/or your own personal sob story will get you an extra cupcake.

order away - and see you tomorrow at half past noon. i'll be the one stuffing her face with cupcake batter.

* as always, with much slobbering respect to karen for making cocktail hour what it is today.

love, krissa .... 1:42 AM ... link!

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Wednesday, December 10, 2003
Fiction

"Reluctantly, I release my legs from the tangled humid sheets and pull on the aged baby blue nightgown that I pulled off last night, unable to cope with its strangling warmth. I throw on one of my father’s old denim button-downs and roll up the baggy, frayed sleeves. I pad out of my room into the furnacebox of the hallway, its dingy trodden carpet prickling my feet with cheapness. In the kitchen, I unwrap a cherry popsicle and wander into the living room, fiddling with the denim shirt as it slides off my shoulder. I can hear my sister banging around purposefully in her room, and Jackson is alone, stretched meditatively on the couch under the window’s glare. I notice details.

He is lengthy, in this position, even though he is not particularly tall - but his presence, his breath and long legs, his languid stare out the window, has total control of the couch. It is covered with him, and he is the largest thing in the room. I notice more. His cheekbones are golden and highlighted by the muggy stillness of the room. The shadows floating there are out of a sketchbook, the chalk strokes made with caution. His arm hangs off the couch, the sinew of his thin, graceful shoulder drooping down (slow honey off a spoon) into the slender, pale underbelly of his fore-arm. I see his ribs, stretching across the cave of his chest. This chest is hairless and youthful, lighter than his arms, and I feel the nesting instinct to lie on it and hear that heartbeat. I watch it rise and fall and this rhythm is the only one in the room.

I am not prepared for the ferocity of my own reaction to this scene. The room shimmers. Jackson looks at me. I have been caught, deer in the headlights, staring at his supine form. I see my cartoon self, eyes popping out, drooling, feet off the ground yelling something ridiculous like ‘WOWZA!’ I stutter and retreat from Jackson’s dark eyes, which are still half closed and stunned from the light. A smile breaks on his beautiful face, saying, "Hey Nina, running away?" He is teasing me, and it smacks me like a battering ram between my shoulder blades as I turn back into the kitchen and scuttle to my bedroom, breathless. I forget I’m holding the popsicle and it crushes, comic book blood on my bed, as I throw myself back to the safety of ten minutes ago."

-- excerpted from 'Slow Honey off a Spoon'


love, krissa .... 9:21 PM ... link!

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Tuesday, December 09, 2003
the mistletoe mafia strikes again

yeah, it was just that hot.



love, krissa .... 5:49 PM ... link!

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Monday, December 08, 2003
what i'd say if i could say anything at all

i don't think i'll tell you all about this weekend. i'm still glowing from the magic of it. it'd be impossible to explain what seeing
kate again was really like. it'd be completely unimaginable for you, so i won't try.

for instance, i cannot summarize the amount of topics laughed about this weekend. penguins [always those shifty penguins], the miracle of modern science as expressed through automatic twenty-five minute hair dye, but i am le tired, cats, chenille, hipster boys, more penguins, zombie-face, well then take a nap, mistletoe, bugs, snarky gossip, ex-boyfriends big and small, sex, incredibly bad jokes, the evil of handbasket living, the joy of evil, and BUT THEN FIRE THE MISSILES.

nor could i really emphasize enough what it was like to pound pavement once again as a troika. the perfect balance between shiv, kate and myself might not seem as explosively perfect to you unless you could see it. i mean, can you really believe that we sat at naidre's and the grey dog chatting and gossiping and advising, munching down on french fries and grilled cheese and sun-dried tomato cream cheese? that we managed to get cozy little tables perfect for snuggling together and being girly? you wouldn't really believe that on sunday night, we actually dyed each other's hair and exfoliated with clay masks while drinking whiskey-infused hot cocoa, it's far too perfect. that we were finishing each other sentences and helping pick each other's outfits, cleaning shiv's apartment in harmonious tandem and getting ready to dazzle the world without even fraying a nerve... this seems like some kind of heart-warming tv show, not a real weekend.

the snow seems too perfect for you, doesn't it, that on friday night, kate and i had a honest-to-goodness shrieking snowball fight on the way to the liquor store, slipping and sliding in the fresh powder, while our shivvy kept the hearth warm with our biscuit and jason and flex. it's too much that we really did sip hot cocoa all weekend and smile at the falling snow.

and far be it from you to fully comprehend that we throw the best party known to civilization - with booze aplenty, craftily-designed mistletoe-subtitutes for when the kissing berries couldn't be procured, fascinatingly diverse friends from all over new york with all kinds of interests, and the best music mix this side of heaven. i mean, if you weren't there, you wouldn't believe it. and if it doesn't sound like the party would have rocked your socks off and then cooked you breakfast in the morning - you're not paying attention.

i won't tell you how at seven o clock in the goddamned morning, there was only kate and i, and two charmingly fun lads named b and g still carrying on the party, having belted out dylan tunes and traded sex stories after the other partiers pooped out. so nevermind that when dawn stealthily crept up on us as we giddily devoured breakfast at the local 24 hour countertop, and i was happily if deliriously chewing on a piece of bacon and trading horrifically inappropriate jokes, i realized: fuck money or fame or power... this is the good life.

but no doubt this is all just tedious and boring to you. so i won't tell you. you'll just have to trust me. and the forthcoming kissy pictures.


love, krissa .... 8:43 PM ... link!

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Sunday, December 07, 2003
the mistletoe mafia are coming to town...

the christmas lights are hung around the apartment with care.
the stockings lie flat, emptied from the goodies that were there.
the girls are preparing, primping and pretty.
the boys will drool, and otherwise be smitty.

the snow coats the world, muffling our urban racket,
the candycanes lay out, for anyone seeking a snacket.
the floors are swept, the ashtrays lay ready,
the liquor is poised to flow, making us heady.

and now at the dusking hour, we smile,
knowing friends will cross an inch and a mile,
we drink hot cider, and toast our joy,
our party will rock, rock off some socks, and we'll just grin, coy.

merry christmas to all, from the many to the one.
in case you're wondering, that is how it's done.



love, krissa .... 12:38 AM ... link!

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