The man who argued too much
You probably don't remember this:
I had to peel you off the couch. "I'm fine," you kept saying.
- Fine, my ass. Get up!
- Leave me alone.
- You can't stay here.
- I'm not going to. Just give me a minute.
I would have given you a minute if I hadn't already given you twenty. My feet were hurting. I was hating the stilettos you had bought me.
I grabbed your arm and pulled a little harder. You got up.
- Can you walk?
"Yeah," you said and I started walking. When I didn't hear you following I turned around.
You stood there, softly rocking back and forth, squinting at your shoes. I retraced my steps.
- Jeez, what's the matter with you tonight?
I don't remember how long it took us to get to the parking lot but once we did you took out your keys.
- Yeah, right.
- What?
I didn't reply. I only held my purse open for you to drop your keys in. You opened your mouth in protest and shut it without a word.
We sat in my car. I supervised as you buckled up. I said a prayer before starting the engine and headed for your home.
We both agreed that we couldn't stand more music. I drove in silence until you shouted:
- Be careful!
I slammed on the brake. There was nothing.
- WHAT?
- Red light.
- The one a quarter mile away?!
You said nothing.
- I'm not blind. You could have gotten us killed, yelling like that.
- What if you wouldn't stop at the red light?
- Why wouldn't I? I drive at least 500 miles a month and, unlike you, haven't wrecked a car.
- It happens.
- Ok, thanks.
A few minutes passed.
"A stop sign," you said, not as loud.
- Yes, I can see it.
- Stop at the stop sign.
Irritated, I glanced at you to see if you're joking but you weren't.
- I know I should stop at a stop sign.
- You weren't going to.
- How do you know?
- Slow down!
- I'm going 30 mph in a 45 zone! Can't you just take a nap?
- No. My head hurts already.
Somehow I felt sorry for you. I searched for something to say. We had already had a semi serious argument over something as stupid as who was closer to a common friend. I didn't know what I could say that wouldn't entice another verbal fight. Well, one could always say something about the weather. Right?
- I can't believe it's so warm and foggy this time of the year.
- What fog?
You were a piece of work that night.
- You can't see the fog?
- There is no fog. You've had too much. I shouldn't have let you drive.
- You're kidding, right?
- No, there's no fog.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. Could you be right? Could the fog be in my head? No. It wasn't an awfully dense fog but it was foggy enough to make the street lights blurry.
"I can hardly see the tower. You're the one who's had too much," I said under my breath.
"Or maybe you need to wash your car," you mumbled while sitting upright and watching for more stop signs.
- Fine. It's absolutely clear tonight. With a 1000 mile visibility. And yes, I am stopping at that stop sign.
A minute later we were stopped in front of your place.
- Will you be ok climbing the stairs?
- Yes.
- Ok, then. Good night.
You touched my hand and leaned forward for a kiss. I turned my face. You planted a kiss on my cheek and stepped out.
As you shut the door you looked around and then up to the sky. I put the car in the driving gear. You knocked on the window. I rolled it down.
- Yes?
- It is foggy.
- Good night.
The next day I returned the stilettos.
You probably remember this:
A week later we broke up. at 5:32 PM by negar

Home is where nothing spins
I'm drunk - wasted. Sitting on the steps of the front porch, feeling like I might free fall from a skyscraper any moment. Someone hands me a chef hat. I take it and stare at the inside of the hat for a little less than a thousand years. "Booze money," someone explains. I pat the empty back pockets of my jeans and hold out the hat to the first phantom-like figure I see. Last thing I need is more booze. Resting my head on my knees I fight something - nausea, maybe. I want to cry because someone back inside the house was wearing my favorite t-shirt from my favorite downtown store. Something about baby-eating chickens. Or chicken-eating babies. Maybe it didn't have anything to do with babies but chickens were involved. That bastard spilled red wine on the shirt. I hate men with ponytails. A hand gives my shoulder a firm shake. I raise my head, pry my eyes open and frown. "Are you ok?" the person attached to the hand asks. I eye the person attached to the hand suspiciously. Is this someone I came in with? I tilt my head and narrow my eyes, but fail to think. Instead I shrug. He sits down. First he tries to kill me by shoving me over the edge, now he's sitting down, disturbing the equili...the equili...ah, fuck, I can't even pronounce it in my head. Oh, my head. I put it back down again. "Are you feeling alright?" my assassin asks again. Frustrated I look up, nod and stand abruptly. The porch spins. The girl who offered me a smoke spins. The guys who asked me about my favorite Woody Allen movie spin. The girl I drunkenly discussed minimalism in American short fiction with spins.The murderer attached to the hand stands up. He spins too. The guy who travelled a thousand miles to protest a death penalty spins. I wonder if I'm falling. I look at my feet. They're still there with my toes curled over the edge of the step. I wonder where my shoes are. Are they upstairs next to his bed again? Will he wake up tomorrow wondering how my shoes got there and where I went without my shoes? Does he even live here? I look at my feet. I look at everyone else's feet. None of the feet spin. The hand attached to the guy attached to the hand gently guides me to sit. I obey and it disappears. I smile sheepishly. Someone gives me a drink. I shake my head. He insists so I take it and start sipping. A shadow with a familiar voice scolds me for some reason, confiscates my drink and walks away. I ignore the irrationally angry shadows with familiar voices. I ignore the smoke. I smell the trees. The dirt. I close my eyes. My skin rubbing against damp wood. Whispers fading into the sound of the live band. Eyes open. The hostess is asking me something. She rattles off a string of words. My brain deciphers the code but doesn't share. I only hear myself say "yeah, don't worry. I'll be fine." She vanishes back into the smoke. Should I run barefoot if the house is on fire? Where did my shoes go? I pat my pockets. I find cash. I wonder where the extra booze went. I get up, bracing myself against the banisters. I climb the stairs and stand victoriously on the porch, hugging a pole. I look down. People don't look like ants from up here. I could even jump. Before I do, someone hands me my purse, puts my shoes on, takes my hand and walks me to a car. He tells me to stay put. I fall asleep staying put. After an eternity someone buckles me up and we go home. Nothing spins at home.
6/4/08 at 12:00 AM by negar

if(num_line<5) then
[might want to see the previous post first]
Nothing bothers me, except the fact that nothing bothers me. 2/1/08

It's well past midnight. I run from my neighbor's to mine. The near freezing air fills my lungs. My mouth dries. It aches to breathe. I can't stop; if I do, the night will creep into my head. 2/7/08

Up Next: Will Amber and Craig like their new bohemian patio?
For once I would like to see them say they don't. 2/10/08

Of the truths about living in Texas is that you will see dead animals on the road.
A lot of them. 3/24/08

I call him by the wrong names all the time and not once has he noticed it. 4/13/08

"A week from today, I'll be on my way," I tell myself the moment I open my eyes this morning. I don't know if that's a promise or more like a warning. 5/8/08

you screwed up and i hate you for that. nothing will be the same ever again and i hate you for that. i won't love you the way i did and i hate you for that. i won't care about anyone and i hate you for that. i've lost my faith in everything and i hate you for that. 5/24/08

The earrings you gave me were so loud, it felt like wearing wing chimes all day. 10/8/08

What daytime television would be like if everyone practiced safe sex:
Woman: This man is the father of my baby because he is the only person I had unprotected sex with.
Show host: Is that true?
Man: Yes.
Audience: [Applause] 10/20/08

To me birds had one function and that was to inspire man to fly. Can't they go extinct now? 11/5/08

I wake up to Peppermint Frieden. 11/5/08

I have the strangest yet least interesting dreams ever. Last night I had one where I was reading the wikipedia page on Alex Trebek and was mildly surprised that it said he has died. 11/9/08

If I were a superhero my name would be Captain Fat-Lady Rescuer. 11/14/08

I meant to write a paper about the fetishization of transnational imagery in diasporic media. Instead I drew enormous purple triangles all over my legs. 12/1/08

Everything in my life reminds me of you. I remind me of you. 12/4/08

I finally listened to your voicemail from last week. Am I the asshole in your life? 12/22/08 at 5:30 PM by negar

smugday
I can't bother to check if anyone visits this page anymore. This is an abandoned blog yet I write in it almost every week, if not everyday. I just don't hit the publish button. Or I push it and then have a change of heart within a few minutes. I don't know why it got so difficult all the time. Three weeks ago I came up with an array of excuses while talking to one of my readers on the ride back from my grandfather's funeral. I don't remember what I told him. I was jet-lagged, sleep-deprived and had cried my heart out. The truth is that I don't blog because I'm a coward.
Today I ran out of things to read for procrastination purposes so I read the 2008 draftsand decided to publish some. I had this plan long time ago too (did I write about it?) but it failed. This one will most likely fail too but whatever. at 4:30 PM by negar

How the movies change our lives
When I hear Holy Night in a public place I think people must be having sinful sex in the bathroom.

Thank you, English Patient. at 11:19 PM by negar

Please wait while we brew a conspiracy theory
I think I will become slightly suspicious if yet another guy I was once involved with gets engaged this fall. at 11:37 PM by negar

science of sleeping together
I wonder how the term 'sleeping together' came about. You can have sex. You can make love. You can fuck. You can't possibly sleep together. Sleeping is the most solitary thing in life. When you're asleep, it's just you and your head. You can dream of others but they're not there in essence. No one knows what your dreams look like. No matter how much you try to describe them the next morning over the hurriedly-brewed coffee and the ride to work, it's not the same. No one will ever feel what it's like to be in your recurring nightmares. No one will ever understand how absurd you find them to be.
You can sleep next to one person all your life but the moment that your eyelids get heavy and your conscious mind keeps escaping you, in precisely that moment, you leave it all behind.
But if you could take someone. If only you could sleep with someone...Blows my mind away.
I don't know how the term came about but those people were definitely on to something. at 12:40 PM by negar