Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Your Bathroom Counter

Layers of congealed tooth paste, hair gel, spilled drops of liquid soap,
and itch ointment.--
All covered with a fine layer of shed dog hair; this gunk coats the surfaces in your bathroom.

Dog hair lines your mattress, your sheets, your pillows--I find small amounts of it in my bra and panties when I undress.

The first time we hung out, you smelled funny.
It was the odor of dirt, weed, and again, dog hair, maybe even a little bit of sweat; but mostly you smelled like weed. I wondered if that's how you always smelled...
You burped, you farted, you picked your nose. You were so un-apologetically rude and perhaps even a little barbaric. Perhaps more than a little...

I never said a word; not because I didn't notice but really because I didn't care. I was smitten.

Today, your scent is still reminiscent of pot, and dog hair, and dirt. But I don't say anything; I'm smitten. I love your smell the way I love your slender brown eyes.
I love your filthy bed as much as I love the feel of my fingers running across your soft, creamy skin.
I love your gunky bathroom counters like I love your laugh
your talent
your mind.
I love your ugly because it's a part of you and I want all of you.

XX
My ugly love, you're a messy chestnut.
My beauty, you are pretty as the wind.
Ugly: your mouth is big enough for two mouths.
Beauty: your kisses are fresh as new melons.

Ugly: where did you hid your breasts?
They're meager, two little scoops of wheat.
I'd much rather see two moons across your chest,
two huge proud towers.

Ugly: not even the sea contains things like your toenails.
Beauty: flower by flower, star by star, wave by wave,
Love I've made an inventory of your body:

My ugly one, I love you for your waist of gold;
my beauty, for the wrinkle on your forehead.
My Love: I love you for your clarity, your dark.

Poem by Pablo Neruda, from Cien Sonetos de Amor.


& while I'd hate to compare Pablo Neruda to Lady Gaga, I feel the lyrical content is somewhat similar...


long stretch?

Allow myself to introduce...myself...





I have something to tell you but you have to promise to try to not judge me.
Remember that sunscreen song that came out in 1999? Baz Luhrmann's "everybody's free?"
That song, I like it. I like it a lot.
There, I said it. I hope we aren't starting off on the wrong foot now.
Why did I tell you that? I promise it's relevant.
Okay here we go; there's this line in that song, I think it really conveys the message of what I'm trying to do here.
The line is, "Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia; dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts, and recycling it for more than it's worth."
This might be a bad way to start off a blog. Okay, look, I'm just a girl. Well, a lady.
I don't actually have the answers. I don't want to give the impression that I'm wise or even that I believe I am. I'm just trying to share some life experience and maybe you'll relate, maybe you'll learn something and save yourself some trouble, maybe you'll laugh at the stupid things I do and write.
I mean, I guess we'll see--right?
Oh yeah, I'm Tripp; short for triple L(my initials are all L's). & plus, I feel like everyone in the fucking world is named Lauren.<--it WAS, afterall, the sixteenth most popular name in American in 1987. (D- for originality, mom & dad--but mostly you, dad; you could have done better.)

 Nice to make your aquaintance, man.