I'd say the words, but no words come to mind...

At this point I'm draining through my expanding CD collection. Laughing at my taste in music from 6 years ago, wondering what I was thinking when I bought that Jordan Knight self-titled album. On a whim, I put the thing in my Fisher stereo and pulled on my yellow dishwashing rubber gloves. It didn't take long before I remembered why I got it, dancing over running hot water, Joy suds and crusted spaghetti sauce. One song reminded me of the first movie I saw alone. As I stumbled out of the dim, sparsely-populated theater, I slid on my headphones and blared the last song I was listening to on the train. It just happened to be that song.

Music is so important. I can't even begin to describe how good I feel when I hear Kylie Minogue's "Love at First Sight". As I recall it, I was head over heels for some idle bum in my high school. I sang in my hair brush, blowing Betty Boops kisses and winking in front of the mirror to the apparation of him. Or Third Eye Blind's "Never Let You Go". So many memories; it's wonderful to immerse yourself in what you were feeling, thinking, wanting back then...Comparing it to now, I had it made back then. My biggest worry was whether or not Sam really liked me, and when I could get my hair relaxed again. And maybe the Regents tests. I bring the conversation back to my boy John Mayer and his song "1983". Now I was like 1 years old, and barely digesting solids in '83, but I know what he means, just the same. He was 6 then, I think...I haven't bumped his album in ahwile...it's too nostalgic for my current mood.

You're wondering how I'm doing out here? Well, I'm finally getting past my previous 'car obsession'. It's important to have a car out here, yes, but I can only go with the flow of life. If I'm meant to own one in the coming months, well, I'll have one. Right now, my finances are on a hiatus. I can't even afford to daydream about a '04 Grand Am (which by the way is my car of choice). So I'm here, doing things around the house, slow dancing to a good song with one of the cats, getting the kinks pulled out of the over-grown mane called my wedding. I've been borrowing DVDs and other material from the library, so if anyone's got any suggestions for a good flick/book, I will gladly (and ravenously) take them.

I'm due tomorrow to take my first official driving lesson, in Ohio. By now, less than 24 hours before my instructor arrives, I had expected myself to be all nerves and butterflies. Instead, to use one of Sonny's colorful phrases, I'm all piss and vinegar. I just want to get it over with. I just want to know if I'll fail or pass the road test next week. A little grumpy? Sure. I haven't had chocolate in a month! Whaddaya expect?! LOL.

Well, I just finished watching "Starsky and Hutch", with Owen Wilson and Ben Stiller. They're a good comedy team. They feed off each other's energy. I would believe they're friends in real life. I don't know why I'm mentioning it...I guess because my friend, Haughton told me to watch it..he's the source for good mental junk food. Speaking of JF I need a sugar buzz...I think we've got some NY cheesecake strawberry ice cream here...

Hey, is it hot enough for ya?

And the little chicks with the crimson lips go, "Cleveland rocks!"

Ok, had a great time last weekend with Sonny. On Saturday we had breakfast at a small restaurant near our home. I got this strange feeling when I walked in. Like there was a ripple sent through the place...like we let in too much warm air. I guess there was nothing remarkable about the place...Except, Sonny came back from the bathroom at one point and leaned over the table, beckoning to me. "The bathroom here is like one of those pizza joint bathrooms in NY." We both cringed and trembled at the memory of those bathrooms. The stank of piss clinging to the oxygen supply, the random scraps of dirty tissue strewn on the floor, the unidentifiable puddles gathered here and there on the tile floor.

We drove over to Cleveland and indulged in a walk around the library in downtown. I gaped at the ceiling and the beauty of the place. Cleveland was kind of dead and sluggish. At first I thought it was the heat, but when we entered a Starbuck's and ordered a couple frosty drinks, the cashier eyed us strangely. "No one comes downtown on the weekend." she nodded at the empty tables behind us. In NY every Starbuck's on every corner (especially in the summer) is filled to capacity with hip, beautiful, grungy, trendy 20, 30-somethings laughing and talking in high voices. It was beyond creepy to be there, and not back into someone at the counter or have to rush to an empty seat. Very creepy. Almost a mind fuck.

After our drinks we drove over to the Warehouse District. I got all excited as we parked the car and marched through the streets. Outdoor seating dotted the sidewalks. We strolled and listened to the music blaring from a near by concert. Sonny described it best: "It's just like the best part of Brooklyn, without the feeling of danger. Without feeling like something's about to happen." It started to rain as we walked, the cool drops felt like tiny gifts on my skin. It was so hot...but neither one of us wanted to go home. We wandered around for hours, Sonny remembering when the Warehouse District was a dangerous place to be and how his parents would forbid him to go whenever he suggested it. We eventually found a cute little bar and grill. We tried our first Cherry Bombs for two bucks and toasted over a couple burgers. As I glanced around the dim bar, and listened to the pulsating soundtrack of an old Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers song, I smiled to myself. At least there's a little bit of NY here. A little bit of high priced restaurants, outdoor concerts, grungy panhandlers, towering condos, sidewalk traffic...thank God...Cleveland rocks.

Man it's a hot one, like 7-in. from the midday sun...

I hear you whispering the words that melt everyone, but you stay so cool. Yeah, I'm digging out the old Santana/ Rob Thomas summer theme song "Smooth". Let me just say, Rob Thomas is a hot motherfucker. He looks kinda gay sometimes, but that's a part of his charm. I managed to secure his solo album before I left NY. My opinion is this: he and Gwen Stefani need to get back with their bands. I heart Gweny, trust me. I think she's awesome and I love her music...with No Doubt. They have this polished flow, this comfortably worn harmony. Just like Rob Thomas and Matchbox 20. It's like cutting those vintage Levi's that make your ass look amazing into daisy dukes. It's just not RIGHT! I'll take the whole or nothing. It's just too weird.

The heat out here in Ohio is alarming. I'm baking in this place. The basement is the coolest part of the house, and I am NOT about to lounge around in that cobwebby, ghost-haven of a 'cellar'. Ok so maybe I haven't seen any ghosts down there. But explain to me why my cats drift down there, curiously, whiskers twitching with excitement... and then, 5 minutes later come darting up the stairs with dilated pupils and the fear of God all over them. LOL...What if we've got a racoon? That shit would be funny...for like 2 seconds. Then we've got to call animal control.

So I got my temporary learner's packet on Monday. And I scheduled my road test, along with a few lessons before the road test. I'm not as excited as I thought I would be. Confidentially, it fucking sucks. I've always had this strange thing about me. I hate to have to do something. If you make it a requirement that takes the fun out of it. That's probably true for a lot of people. In NY I was content to be surrounded by a bunch of straphangers who declared their intentions to stay that way for the rest of their lives. I would've been a commodity to have a license and a car. A crazy ass commodity (the insurance would've forced me to live in the car instead of an apartment). Out here, they crank out drivers early. It's not unusual to see the 16-year-old daughter of one of Sonny's friends pulling into the garage with the ease of a seasoned pro. I'm still doing that awful underestimating thing that makes the car slam off the curb and accelerate inappropriately...worried that I'm too close to an object only to discover I'm about 4 feet away. Alls I need is a set of pink hair curlers, some pink fuzzy slippers and a cigarette...and then I'll be the perfect cantankerous, crotchety, complaining (alot of "c" words there) old bitty. Next thing you know I'll be blogging on Medicare. Sheesh.

On Wednesday I threw my oppressive caution to the wind, mounted my bike and rode downtown to the library. It cooled off alot by then, it was 6 in the evening. The sky was darkening, threatening rain as I pedaled past the indifferent motorists. They would flick on their wipers and reduce their speed by 5mph. I had funky visions of a lightening bolt spliting the sky and frying my ass...I gradually increased my speed, pushing my ten-speed on the quiet side streets of Lorain. I felt so good, so gorgeous, so ME. I haven't felt that way since I landed here. I realized in the whirl of sweat and fresh cut grass, in the caressing wind, embracing me like a lover, in the random beeps after my quickly moving derriere... I realized I haven't seen ME in a couple weeks. It felt so good to feel complete again. To ride the uneven sidewalks with a smirk, and flirt with disaster on the pavement, to give the townsfolk a dose of my madness...Kryptonite lock looped around my waist, my black 'wifebeater' tightening around my chest as I pressed the brakes, a false grimace on my lips, promising a sudden and quick acceleration, that I never had to deliver. It felt wonderful to whiz past bars with doors flung open, sound spilling out onto the street and to see the eyes of some menfolk, the look they displayed. I know they watched me ride past and thought, "That's something else." Good, bad, crazy or not, it just felt good to be seen and wondered about.

The silence screams, bathes me in boredom

Ok. I'm at the kitchen table watching the front door. The cat is sunbathing at my feet in the few stray rays of setting afternoon sun. I am actually waiting for the mailman to come. WTF?? I can glance up from where I sit and catch random images out the open front door. A car passing by, a kid on a bike, a plastic bag blowing around in the soft wind current. I can't stop my fevered brain from pondering, "he should have been here by now. Wonder if we didn't get mail today..." As if this were an important arrival I'm expecting. As if it will change my life when and if he does arrive. I'm not waiting on any special deliveries or anything like that. I have sworn off Ebay for lack of income, and my only package due won't be delivered my the postman. Oh...wait a sec.

The mailcarrier came. A pretty blonde with a pert nose and short tanned legs. She had a wisp of lipstick on and her nails were a great hot pink color that looked dull in the shade of our front doorway. She looked like the former cheerleader type. The type I never truly encountered in my high school, since there were only a handful of white students and (avoiding the stereotypes) they never joined the squad. That took all of 5 seconds...and now she's gone. The mail is scattered in front of me, having been sorted through and categorized: the church's, my own and Sonny's. My daily dose of distraction. Fuck, at least I got a couple magazines to devour.

I feel scattered, myself. All over and undone. Messy and untamed. Like Sonny should probably be armed with a trainer's whip when he enters the house at night. Instead, he has a smile. He's so happy here. This is perfect for him. I see this look in his eyes that can't be put to the pathetic sound track of words...but he's happy. Complete. He's home. I want so badly to abandon all my doubts and shed my restlessness and displeasure and take a long, soothing dip in his shaded pond of success. But I can't. No yet at least. Not when my own world is so much in a disarray. I have no job, license, car. That's never been an issue before. It's threatening to rip me apart...and so I feel undone. A little unwell. I'm pinned between my love and devotion to Sonny and his beautiful, buoyant dreams, and my own pitiful borderline desperation and exasperation with everything here. I need a serious french vanilla cappuccino break with a good listener. Someone who can kinda nudge me in the right direction. I can feel it...I am almost close to the right spot, the right path. I just need that little bit of help.

But then again, who on earth doesn't?

It's something unpredictable, but in the end its right...

And for the record I am NOT having the time of my life. I'm sitting in my new, 60's decor, very-brown kitchen typing on a wobbly card table. The sun is shining and beckoning me to learn about this place. The air would feel delicious on my skin. I know it would. Yesterday I got up earlier than my usual 12 noon. I suited up in capri's, a tight-fitting Springsteen shirt, a pair of black-canvas ballet flats and a large messenger bag. Armed with my huge Kryptonite chain and lock, I pedaled down to the main street around here, Oberlin Avenue. The strange thing I noticed was the lack of people on the sidewalk. I rode about a mile and didn't have to maneuver around anyone. Then I noticed people (in cars) looking at me with these incredulous glares. Like, "WHAT is she doing?" I sniffed indignantly and biked on, ignoring the piercing eyes around me. I got to Blockbuster, my destination, and was very embarassed to discover the VHS collection made for very slim pickings. I mean, I could see Crybaby or A League of their Own or Friday the 13th but....there's something horribly wrong about that. Especially with the devilishly, asthetically pleasing DiCaprio glaring at me from the fresh shrink rapped dvd box for the Aviator. I'm out of step with the world....and at such a young age.

They used to call me a ludite at my old job, branding me so for not having an iPod on my hip, a DVD player at home and still believing that film is the best way to go with picture taking. Hey, maybe I am a ludite. But if so, what does that make Sonny? The poor baby doesn't even have a cellphone. Anyway, the appropriate gift I got upon leaving that job was a DVD player. I was so psyched to get up to speed with the rest of the world....until I realized my old t.v. is sooo not compatable. I've got to shell out a buck-fifty for a new one. At least the 20-inchers are a little less expensive now. Still, can someone tell me, how did this happen? I guess working a minimum wage job and growing up in poverty kinda beats you over the head with reality. I can't afford all this shit. Even if it means I can understand what people are talking about when they say "TiVo" or "Pixels".