- Bomb Texas for freedom - » 2007

4/29/2007

Closet of Doom

File under... Exodus — mylo @ 5:11 pm

That’s what I called the big closet in my living area. Mostly because I didn’t know what was in there. Well I needed to find out, and the answer was garbage.

I found such gems like my severance letter from c3i, to bed sheets I didn’t know I owned to the prise jewel; my kick ass, butter soft, coffee brown, suede jacket that I paid 200 bucks for! It fell off the hanger and was buried between boxes and then somehow got enmeshed in a summer blanket.

I’m checking it out, and I realized that it has a paint stain on it. Then I remember why I regulated it to the closet.

Fuck.

4/28/2007

Finishing things up

File under... Exodus — mylo @ 3:29 pm

One week to go. I’m packing, and I’m going out tonight.

I pick up my laundry downstairs, and I’m going to miss the woman who runs it. She’s very sweet, and treats my lack of Spanish nicer than others here.

I’m coming up the stairs with my clean laundry, and a little Dominican girl comes down the stairs. Cute little thing, she’s obviously going outside to meet with her mommy at the hair parlor or to meet up with her friends.

She sees me and says “Hola”

I’m in shock, no one here talked to me for two years. NO ONE! Except for that crazy Puerto Rican next door.

So I say “Hola” back.

In english she says, “I can speak english and spanish.”
“You’re very lucky.” I tell her. “I can only speak english.”

She goes downstairs, and I go to my apartment.

Even though hola, is a greeting, I’ll take it as “Yeah our loud music drove you insane, and you’re linguistically crippled in this building, but you were nice, and didn’t cause any problems so good luck.”

Thanks 192nd street.

4/24/2007

Asking around.

File under... Love and War — mylo @ 1:56 am

“So’s here the thing right. They were deep in my sock drawer, really buried. So as I’m emptying it out I pull them out.”

Chad takes another drag from his cigarette. “What?”

“This thong. They were black, and they looked clean like completely unworn. Like that party I threw last year wasn’t that wild, and I think it was the last time I had anyone in there.”

“What about Amberleigh?”

“Who?” I think for a second, “Oh yeah her. She was over once, and she didn’t have black underwear.”

“What was it?”

“Red.”

“Pimp!” He pounds my knuckles. “I don’t know dude it could be someone else. But they could have left it there without you knowing.”

“What? Why?”

“They do that, mark their territory like fuckin’ animals.”

I think I should mention Chad’s girl of four years recently dumped him, and is now trying to put the squeeze on him for cash.

“Calling them animals, hunh? How is that better than saying that they are similar to war criminals?”

“Ever tell a girl she’s got a ’stache? She’d rip you apart like a fuckin’ bear.” Chad grinds his cigarette out, and goes upstairs.

4/22/2007

Where am I?

File under... Exodus — mylo @ 5:14 pm

I’m packing, it reminds me of an archeology hunt.

Everytime I go deeper I find something else that says something about me. It’s really prevalent with my books.

I’m in the purple hair, punk rock stage now. But before I hit that I found my unemployment depressed stages, my miserable with job, my aussie curious stages, my fuck working man I’m an artist stages, photography, then high school.

If I die tomorrow, and a coroner has to sort through all of this what will he find? A 29 year old that has an obsession with power-c vitamin water, or will he dig deeper to make sense of the chaos?

Does my life have a pattern or is my response of “where ever the wind goes” too true? Do I need a pattern? Why am I so scared over this move? Or am I just scared of finding something as I go through everything I own?

Too many questions, that might not need to be asked.

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Update -

As I go deeper in there, lots more questions are popping up. Like how many black t-shirts do I own?!?!

Can I really justify keeping that piece of schwag even though I know it’s probably going to sit in the drawer?

Finally the most important, whose underwear is that? I know for the life of me I never bought a black thong, I’m going through the girls that did manage to sucker in here I don’t remember them wearing it, and the party wasn’t that wild that one time.

Shit, I’m tossing them but still that’s going to be on my mind all day.

4/21/2007

Unintended results

File under... Day to Day — mylo @ 4:14 am

So I was in the office really late today like gods hours, lo and behold Daver pops in. He’s with the brit.

He has her wait by the elevator as I was leaving for cigarette number 18. As I hold the elevator me and her make polite conversation, when she’s sure he’s out of earshot she asks “so are other american’s that ignorant of us?”

“Oh?” says I.

“Well he kept saying he knew a great place for eel.”

“Wow that’s weird it’s almost like he got it from the simpsons.”

“I know! Then what’s more, he was saying something about Manchester United and how he was going to kick someones arse if they don’t win. He’s nice enough, but I’m looking for a local. Not some New Jersey boy.”

Feeling bad about the advice I gave I stuck up for Daver “oh you know he’s not that bad. He’s nervous. Jersey is close enough, right?” I felt my stomach rebel at that last statement.
“Still, how many products does he use?”

“Products?”

“For his hair, and such?”

I shrug and hope he gets here soon.

“When was the last time you shaved?” She brushes my scruff.

“I dunno around a week, too busy I guess.”

She brushes a lock of hair from my face. “What do you use on your hair?”

“Shampoo, little bit of gel. Why?”

“Oh I don’t know.”

I start tapping on the door with my finger nail. He’s taking forever, and the way she’s looking at me is weirding me out.

“Weight of the world?” She asks.
“hunh?”

“You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. You have really dark circles underneath your eyes, and those are bloodshot as well, you probably haven’t slept for days. You can’t keep your hands still. Most of all…”

“Yeah?”

“You have that cigarette in your mouth, and you’re seven floors away from getting it lit.”

“The english put my forebearers in a bog prison for months before they had the decency to expel him and his family from his homeland.”

Yes it’s true.

“Oh. I’m welsh actually.”

“Oh.”

“Trying to offend me?”

“Umm…no?”

She hears Daver walking down the hallway and pecks me on the cheek. “We’ll talk soon.”

After an uncomfortable trip in the elevator, and a wave good-bye I fish in my pocket for a lighter. My hand feels a rectangular piece of cardboard, and I pull it out with the lighter.

It’s her business card. Dammit.