tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-286392232011-08-09T01:00:05.742-04:00a catalogue of sorts, in conversational format, for trying not to forget thingsbethnoreply@blogger.comBlogger91100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28639223.post-446501976678086662008-04-17T17:20:00.005-04:002009-10-24T16:12:41.446-04:00a: goodbye.<br /><br />b: goodbye.<br /><br />a: actually, let's take a walk.<br /><br />b: a long walk to forever?<br /><br />a: forever friends. your reference to a romantic story about two friends by kurt vonnegut makes me uncomfortable.<br /><br />b: i apologize, that was indeed awkward. do i even know this story? it simply rolls off the tongue. anyhow, here we walk by wooden houses and trees, with wide empty streets.<br /><br />a: it is night-time and you are walking and talking in what will be your old neighborhood. i am in fact walking with you to your house because you are heading there and i have no where else to go anyway because i am a very boring person. besides. the streets are wide and empty. it is comparatively suburban. you walk by and it is mainly houses, perhaps a closed-for-the-night mom and pop. and there is no where you feel you need to be, should be, or want to be, in a good way.<br /><br />b: certainly no hip underground speakeasy style bars populated by girls with perfect hair and intimidatingly irreverent men.<br /><br />a: i think of you in these places and i feel confused. do not become too williamsburg. i do not even know what that means. i have never been there. i have heard things. bad things.<br /><br />b: they certainly do not match my general aesthetic taste in movies which take place in mill towns and upstate new york, with regular yet interesting people such as yourself who are somewhat too insecure to live in a real urban jungle. or something. too something. this is true. but i have other aesthetics, and maybe new ones, do not fear them. i am a blossoming flower on the verge of something...<br /><br />a: i would like to edit all of your aesthetics. i will tell you what is good.<br /><br />b: this cannot be.<br /><br />a: i know it.<br /><br />b: let's continue talking about this street.<br /><br />a: there are so many hills.<br /><br />b: this street is like life.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/28639223-44650197667808666?l=conversationsoneday.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>bethnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28639223.post-61418768972425562922008-03-24T01:27:00.005-04:002008-03-24T01:55:00.303-04:00a: forgive me. <br /><br />b: always.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/28639223-6141876897242556292?l=conversationsoneday.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>bethnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28639223.post-69418985876366778372008-03-06T02:01:00.005-05:002009-02-12T15:51:26.765-05:00a: hey.<br /><br />b: oh hi.<br /><br />a: why did you just ignore me? i just got here. <br /><br />b: huh? when? oh, i'm sorry i was talking to lulu.<br /><br />a: it just seems like you were having this really intense conversation and you were laughing so much, i guess i just feel kinda weird about that.<br /><br />b: wait, about what?<br /><br />a: i mean are you mad at me? last week, we were like, talking all the time and i pretty much put you in my top 3 of friends. <br /><br />b: oh thanks! no i am not mad. sorry. <br /><br />a: ok, then why don't you look at me directly in the eye at least 1/3 of the time anymore when telling an anecdote to a group of friends including me? and it seems like you are reading a new book and you like, didn't tell me. i don't know, i guess lulu is just like, your new favorite or something. p.s. i heard you guys went out for coffee on tuesday.<br /><br />b: what?? dude, are you ok? i'm really sorry but i don't know what you are talking about.<br /><br />a: forget it.<br /><br />b: oh my little werther, what do you need?<br /><br />a: i need you to tell with complete sincerity that you will never leave me, that you hate lulu, our coworker with whom you must begrudgingly converse from time to time, and hold me, just hold me.<br /><br />b: um...<br /><br />a: what?<br /><br />b: you are frightening. <br /><br />a: bad friend.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/28639223-6941898587636677837?l=conversationsoneday.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>bethnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28639223.post-78551955012396151962007-05-29T14:46:00.001-04:002009-11-15T21:08:00.862-05:00a: it is a sunny and hot afternoon. i'm on the swingset, someone is making fun of me again. it is jimmy. he is calling me "beef." but i am not fat. so i will not play kickball because if i do he will throw the ball at me really violently, like i remind him of something he really hates or something, and i don't know why. i am uncertain if i care, because somewhere inside of me, I know that i will be famous and brilliant when i grow up. so i am on the swings. i don't like playing kickball anyway. there is a lump in my throat because of jimmy, but it passes soon enough and i feel good. i do not expect positive reinforcement from boys anyway. <br /><br />b: what else do you feel?<br /><br />a: the sun and the smell of dirt, sand and sweat, kid's sweat, a girl's sweat, it is not stinky. <br /><br />b: what do you see?<br /><br />a: i can see the green roof of the school because the swings go so high. and the red brown glow of my hair flying in front of me as i swing backwards. it's long. i like my hair. i see my pink and white kangaroo sneakers. and there is a friend there, next to me, swinging. so i look over and smile at her. she must be one of the jennys. the swinging makes a nice breeze and i do this until the bell rings. <br /><br />b: i will now count backwards from ten and you will be back at your desk.<br /><br />a: ok.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/28639223-7855195501239615196?l=conversationsoneday.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>bethnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28639223.post-38502116634727033392007-05-16T13:15:00.001-04:002009-02-12T15:55:45.162-05:00a: look at that man with the flowered bag!<br /><br />b: oh my god! where? where is a man carrying a feminine-looking handbag?<br /><br />a: right there, in front of us. and there is a piece of paper attached to the bag. why?<br /><br />b: i bet it says, "this is not my bag," for he is embarrassed.<br /><br />a: as he should be!<br /><br />b: holy crap! the piece of paper (8.5 x 11, white) taped to the bag says "this is not mine."<br /><br />a: you totally knew that! <br /><br />b: my mother was also psychic. but she blocked it out because it was too painful for her to know the future.<br /><br />a: to know the truth.<br /><br />b: i think i need to put up more psychic boundaries. i am overwhelmed. i almost feel like i created that note to happen. can you buy me a drink? i really need one. sheesh!<br /><br />a: like all gifted people, you are both blessed and cursed with your gift. and i will support you. <br /><br />b: you are good.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/28639223-3850211663472703339?l=conversationsoneday.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>bethnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28639223.post-79041898962651648582007-05-03T13:18:00.001-04:002009-07-27T17:52:06.413-04:00a: there was a controversy at the duck pond today.<br /><br />b: tell me more.<br /><br />a: a goose-woman was possibly raped.<br />A sudden blow:<br />The great wings beating still<br />Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed<br />By the dark webs, her nape caught in the bill...<br /><br />b: this is most likely untrue.<br /><br />a: everyone in the park stopped and stared at these two fighting geese. everyone thought that one lady goose was being brutally victimized by a tougher, bully goose. unfortunately we, the public, not knowing of the mating rituals of water fowl, attempted intervention. The male goose appeared to be drowning the other, biting her feathers out, beating her sides with his large wing, and strangling her with his beak. this seemed bad. <br /><br />b: have you not heard of the pleasures of asphyxiation?<br /><br />a: no, what's that? anyway all the women in the park came running yelling "oh my gawd!!!", and some men in suits yelling "stop him!!!" and the ladies were knocking away the goose with their handbags and the men were kicking him with their fancy shoes.<br /><br />b: was there any voice of reason present?<br /><br />a: yes. across the pond, the people were yelling, "what are you doing????? stop it!!" at us. not the geese.<br /><br />b: it is interesting that the two factions were magically separated by water.<br /><br />a: it would be funny if one of those people came over and whacked one of us with a purse.<br /><br />b: yes. and what were you doing this whole time?<br /><br />a: i was right up in the action, laughing. but i didn't have a purse. a few times i stuck my toe in the fight but i was very tentative about it. i did feel gleeful. previously to this i was sitting on the ground musing at the whimsy and beauty of the water fowl. now a male goose was being brutally beaten by business persons.<br /><br />b: hmmmmmm...<br /><br />a: even as i walked back to work after this episode i felt very happy still. i thought "life is good." this has been a good day, and it will continue to be. the sun is beautiful.<br /><br />b: you are a sick, goose-sociopath, full of schadenfreude.<br /><br />a: huh?<br /><br />b: by the way, that poem, its about a swan raping a human girl, stupid.<br /><br />a: yeah but it's sorta related.<br /><br />b: true. true.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/28639223-7904189896265164858?l=conversationsoneday.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>bethnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28639223.post-1149309423445236412006-06-03T00:22:00.000-04:002007-05-01T16:24:13.023-04:00a: this post has just become self-referential.<br /><br />b: there is a literary term for that.<br /><br />a: hello readers!<br /><br />b: it is becoming this way because it is faltering. it is the worst post up here. <br /><br />a: we suck.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/28639223-114930942344523641?l=conversationsoneday.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>bethnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28639223.post-1148677369161460012006-05-26T16:56:00.000-04:002007-05-01T16:37:08.389-04:00a: One place I could take my publishing career would be a niche of publishing.<br /><br />b: such as?<br /><br />a: indexing...why are you making that face?<br /><br />b: is that really what you want to do?<br /><br />a: yes, i mean i could totally just be calm and sit there and index things. also it would be like research. i'm like, this word is important, as i have decided it so, thus i will put it in my index. and i will do research. on it.<br /><br />b: i feel that this is not really you. and also that that is bullshit. because it is not research. <br /><br />a: i feel that you are undermining my dream to be an indexer.<br /><br />b: i am.<br /><br />a: thank you.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/28639223-114867736916146001?l=conversationsoneday.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>bethnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28639223.post-1148439151145373042006-05-23T22:43:00.000-04:002007-05-01T16:28:06.685-04:00a: i can't believe i'm doing this...?<br /><br />b: what?<br /><br />a: i'm in this play thing and i've never acted before.<br /><br />b: that's awesome...!<br /><br />a: yeah, but then i had this conversation with the guy and he was like "yeah...if you're self conscious, it really ruins it..." and i agreed with him, while secretly thinking..."i'm self-conscious as shit...shit!"<br /><br />b: you're funny. why do you always sign up for shit like that then?<br /><br />a: i guess i'm trying to overcome the problem, or capitalize on it. it's an endearing quality or something? --or maybe it's self-consciousness in the sense of "very aware of the self," which would be good, i think, for acting. --like your biggest obstacle in life is a signpost, like what's behind it is the key to your greatest strength.<br /><br />b: so...your greatest obstacle in life is self-consciousness...?<br /><br />a: i don't know...but i've always wanted to be a guest on "in the actor's studio," answering those final questions: what's your favorite swear?<br /><br />b: what is your favorite swear?<br /><br />a: geez, i never feel comfortable swearing. i don't know?<br /><br />b: so are you going to go through with it?<br /><br />a: yeah. I realized that i might want to be an actress.<br /><br />b: good luck my friend, it's a gruelling business.<br /><br />a: i know, i feel so drained.<br /><br />b: right.<br /><br />a: i just like the idea of things.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/28639223-114843915114537304?l=conversationsoneday.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>bethnoreply@blogger.com1