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6.30.2006

Side Of Bacon Contest

An issue that causes me mild anxiety -- one of us will have to be first.

During our breakup, my ex and I had a very candid discussion about our fears. Most of my concerns had to do with scenarios that involve my running into him on the street canoodling with some bimbo. I realized recently that one of us would have to be the first to go on a date with someone else. To take that first step towards moving on.

To that end, I broached the idea with my ex that perhaps we should both try to go out on a date on the same day. That way, we could both get it out of the way at the same time. Theoretically, this seemed like a good idea. Logistically, I realized, this plan would require a skill I have not practiced in seven years -- asking someone on a date.

Just writing the phrase makes me break out in hives.

So, for my part, I have decided to run a contest, heretofore referred to as:

THE SIDE OF BACON CONTEST

Please encourage your friends to enter. I'll feel like such a loser otherwise.

link * Miss Marisol posted at 1:13 PM * posted by Miss Marisol @ 1:13 PM   |




6.18.2006

It Smells Like Me

Twice this week I have found myself in a bizarre, yet comfortable position. I hugged my ex-boyfriend and a good friend on two separate occasions and on each of these occasions, the person I was hugging smelled my head.

I'm short. Most normal sized people who get to hug me, get to see something I will never see save for maybe random photographs: the top of my head. And for some reason, these two people whom I adore, chose to smell this territory of my body that I can never explore in the same manner. Something about this gesture made me feel very safe. I remember smelling my nephew's head when he was a baby and wishing he would never grow up.

I like smell. It's my favorite sense. When I first moved into my new apartment, I told my friend, Ande, that I wanted my apartment to smell like me. I wanted to invite people over and have them say things like, "Gosh, I love the way this place smells."

Unfortunately, that is not to be right now. A week ago, I stayed out until the wee hours of the morning with my cousin and some friends drinking. In my drunken need to eat and sleep at the same time, I put some bread in the oven to toast and woke up a couple of hours later to an apartment full of smoke. Now, my place still smells faintly of charred carbohydrates. Perhaps my head smells like it, too.

link * Miss Marisol posted at 11:25 PM * posted by Miss Marisol @ 11:25 PM   |




6.09.2006

You Can't Fart In My Apartment

"My shrink thinks we're doing a good thing."

"It must be Friday."

"What do you mean?"

"You always quote your therapist on the first and third Fridays of every month."

"Yeah, well he told me he thinks it's good what we're doing."

"What does he think we're doing?"

"You know. . .we have lunch and we hang out for an hour or so and we talk. Then we go our separate ways and live separately. It's great."

"It is. It. Is. Great."

Pause.

"I don't tell him about the freaky, hot sex though."

"Good call. It would probably just confuse him."


Do You See What I See? Click to find out.

link * Miss Marisol posted at 12:30 PM * posted by Miss Marisol @ 12:30 PM   |




6.01.2006

First Day Of My Life

It's here, for those of you keeping track.

The first day of my life alone. (On a side note, did you know that the origin of the word "alone" comes from the combination of the words "all one"? Sit on that for a minute.) The first day in an apartment leased only in my name.

He is gone. All of his stuff is gone. Even the cat is gone.

All that is left is what is mine and what I have claimed from seven years of buying and acquiring together. It is hot out, though there is no sun. My hair is dirty, but it smells like me. Like burnt coffee and night blooming lilies.


A view of my own. . .

link * Miss Marisol posted at 5:34 PM * posted by Miss Marisol @ 5:34 PM   |