on Homes.

"the house looked very neat and white as it emerged through the green and yellow leaves; it wasn't such a bad house after all. it looked, as john givings had once said, like a place where people lived -- a place where the difficult, intricate process of living could sometimes give rise to incredible harmonies of happiness and sometimes to near-tragic disorder, as well as to ludicrous minor interludes ("That's All, Folks!"); a place where it was possible for whole summers to be kind of crazy, where it was possible to feel lonely and confused in many ways and for things to look pretty bleak from time to time, but where everything, in the final analysis, was going to be all right.

- Richard Yates, Revolutionary Road

love the kids.

each bit tells the so-far story of summer 2011.

grass
pot
crochet
fixies

barbecue
"calm down"

skirts
boyfriend shorts
crop tops
film
gardens
lakes
cliffs
tomato

guitar
baby melissa

steak dinner

white paint
beige paint
70s rock
white cloths
windows
dining rooms
unlocked doors
sporadic visitors
blue eyes

wedding

fishing
unicorns
mosquitoes
bites

pink skies
knees touching
mechanics
grins

cheese
books
bookstores
rain
sun
underpass

walks
shopping
sex and the city-ing
giggling about our self reflective nature of

the mechanics of relationships.

we've stumbled out for a J on the exterior corner steps, next to their new loft - the one we're taking a painting break from. eventually 2 out of 4 us go inside, leaving me alone on the steps with an old friend. and the next thing you know we're talking about the mechanics of relationships, and i'm remembering all of the things i love about this kid. his horrific realism, and blunt understanding. i cry out, "i don't get men" and he nods and says, "i get women."

he says, "the prettier the girl, the less interesting they are." i say, "the hotter the guy, the stupider he is." we've agreed on something! has this ever happened before?? he smiles. "so what, we start dating unattractive people?" he says, "no, you let things be."

no, get this. with his stubble, and thick hair, blue eyes, and movie star grin, he says, "listen, i picked up this stupid book eric had lying around, about this monk or something. and it said something about the past and the future. and that's all any one of us ever is thinking about. we're only ever thinking about stuff that's happened or stuff that's going to happen, which is a waste, because there's no going back, and there's no way of predicting what's going to happen, so just take whatever's happening now, instead of worrying about what it means."

then he looked down at his paint-stained legs and said, "fuck, why did i wear these? these are my favourite pants."

and as the skyline developed a pink border, i found myself listening to him. staring off in another direction as he said this. and the minute he started, i was read to roll my eyes at him and write him off. another stupid 20 year old hippy boy who's going to try to convince me that the "now" is all that matters.

and then he said exactly what i was thinking.

he had spoken while i was literally in the middle of thinking about how our current moment was going to affect the future and what it meant about the past. so when he said that, i snapped my head back to his, and in a state of awe and disbelief i slowly smiled. it was a genuine fucking smile. and i remembered that this was the one, who had once answered one of my ever-so-frequent-big-philosophy questions with the answer, "i have no idea what i'll do then because i'll have a whole different brain by the time i'm there."

so i looked down at my naked paint-stained legs next to his and i said, "fuck. these are my favourite legs."

because i had a thought.

i had a stupid thought that i was failing as a feminist (as if it's a stance that needs 'constant effort' or whatever. you really just need to believe in equality and i never find myself not believing in that. i never pause and go, "hm - not such a great idea," so to suggest that i lose 'feminist points' is absurd and completely besides the point, of course.) and it's not like i was going to go around sitting on all of these random guys. i was really just trying to exercise my ability to feel confident in my body. but suddenly i'm walking the streets of downtown and these men are oggling me, and i feel like a fraud. like a total idiot. like i had dressed this way to just get the attention of some men, when i was supposed to be getting their attention with my overwhelming wit. well guess what, neither works.

going through a sort of transition, i think.

grown up realization that there are no real such things as types and inherent romantic codes that actually say record collections have to match up in order to create attraction. there you go, rob fleming.

i remember a couple years back when i was head over heels for this one boy, who i've only now come to realize had no interest in me. i remember holding on to the thought that things were complicated, rather than facing the reality of rejection. there was a lot of extenuating circumstances surrounding that. illness, on both he and i. we weren't right, but i really thought that i had found my "type" in him. awkward, and grunge-y, and progressive rock-y, hilarious, sarcastic, (because of the aforementioned awkwardness), and he had nice arms, okay.

the last guy i fell for was unattractive and a music encyclopedia. whatever the case, i keep to my "type" i guess.

and i guess the characteristic i "forgot" with that last couple of "types" (look at me dancing the vague dance) is that... some of them have been kinda jerks. and for the ones who were less jerks - they were still emotionally stunted (which is SUCH FUN for a puking emotional bird like me). and like most guys in the world actually, from the lower class cooks at my job, to the bros among bros of friends i have now - most of them like to include me in pussy and titty conversations, and because i'm vulgar and hilarious, a lot of the times, i don't mind. but now please refer yourself to Kaylee a la Firefly, because among that bro-ness, a lot of the times, i just want them to tell me i'm pretty. and sometimes they do, but i always make a gross face after.

anyway, combine my bro-ness, with my attraction to emotional stuntedness and you get a true lack of romance, or uh, whatever "sweet" is. i mean i've had those moments, (as much as someone who's never been in a serious relationship can have), but those very rare moments were always the things i banked all my guts on. and that has always evolved into a tragic trajectory. from the racism, to the bipolarity, to that secret girlfriend.

it's funny how your life can suddenly seem far more interesting, when you start to dissect it out on a blog.

i should make a list of things this summer has involved so far, it will be underwhelming and poetic