-from DS

Alright so here’s the deal.  I am a part time insomniac.  Thus, last night I couldn’t fall asleep.  If I was lucky enough to drift off, it lasted a maximum of 20 minutes only to be abruptly woke up with the sensation of falling.  Vertigo is no laughing matter!  I just couldn’t pin point what was causing my anxiety…

Like any other night when sleep seems to be mysteriously absent, I start my “beauty rest” routine.  First I make some black tea, then I do a quick yoga routine and lastly I read a Western Civilization history book (I pass out from extreme boredom).  In the background I play this instrumental Coldplay playlist that could put a sugar crazed 5 year old to bed. I’m not proud to admit this, but my 2nd choice sleeping soundtrack is Kenny G, Rhythm & Romance.   But last night my routine was failing me.  I wasn’t even coming close to fatigue.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.  So then I ran.  I ran through Central Park.  I ran through Columbus Circle.  I ran until I became winded, which was 5 miles later.  Although I run every morning, I usually don’t start until the sun starts rising.  Today I started far before dawn, which is very dangerous in New York City.  Although I live in Central Park West, it’s still not smart.  I can’t make this  a habit.  But within 5 miles of concrete under my belt, I finally figured out why I couldn’t sleep.  It’s not 1 specific thing.  There are a lot of things which are causing me to worry.  Then it dawned on me that this blog is going to be an outlet for my anxiety.  I think this whole “blogging” thing will end up being therapeutic. Being 17 is not as easy as it appears,  especially in my case!  Keep reading my blog and you will understand what I mean.

xoxo

Maxi

-from DS

Click here to see Michael Runion’s brand new, revamped website. You can download a free song, “Maxine,” check out photos, listen to all the songs from his 3 CDs, and buy Michael Runion merchandise.

California  became a state
The people had no electricity.
The state had no money.
Almost everyone spoke Spanish.
There were gunfights in the streets.

So basically nothing has changed except the women had real tits and the men didn’t hold hands.

In case you have recently found me, Maxine is what I call my neighbor. She frequently comes over just to talk for ten or so minutes at a time. This is the story of her birthday November 13.

Friday was Maxine’s 76th birthday. I told her earlier in the week about my soccer and girl gang violence blog being chosen for front page wordpress. She said she’d like to read it, but didn’t want to read it on her own computer. She and her husband just got a new one a couple of months ago. For some reason, which I cannot fully understand, she does not like to get on it. In fact, for the most part, she refuses to touch it. I offered to email the blog to her, but she wasn’t interested. I found out later that day that her screen is black and the writing is white. Nobody seems to know how to fix it.

Friday morning she called and asked if she could come to read it on my computer. I certainly didn’t mind. I asked if she could give me ten minutes to get dressed first. I tend to start blogging early in the morning while still in my night shirt. There’s no one around for me to bother, so it doesn’t matter to me what time I get dressed. Some days I just don’t.

She came over and quickly sat down to read. When she got to the part I had mentioned about the girls fighting in the mountains she said, “I’m gonna smack your jawls.” (That’s Georgian for jowls.) Iwasn’t sure I understood what she said, so I asked her to repeat it. “I’m gonna smack your jawls. That’s what the girls used to say to each other. Then they would hit the other girls on the cheek. That was the extent of the physical violence. But I heard some rough verbal fights. Girls today are so much rougher.”

I asked her, “Did you read yesterday about the girl who got shot on Seminary? She died.” Maxine asked if I was going to blog on that. I told her that I had decided not to because it was so close to the blog I had just written about gang violence among girls. She was only sixteen years old. She was an only child. The picture in the paper shows her grieving mother and quotes her as saying, “I told her to stay away from them because they were nothing but trouble.” And then she added prophetically, “I told her they could bring a gun next time.” The girl was born in Los Angeles but moved here for a fresh start. She was shot in the head while she and her boyfriend were tying to escape in their car. Two boys, 14 and 15 have been arrested.

 No wonder I’m beginning to worry about gang violence. She was shot near a mall I had just visited a month ago. It’s less than three miles from my home. I’ve begun holding my breath as I drive in that area. Depending on where I go at night, I have to drive through that area to reach my home or go way out of my way. The interstate isn’t that much safer. It passes in front of that same mall.

Back to the lighter side of the morning, Maxine had stated when she first came in that she and her husband and niece were going to the Kimball to eat lunch. I didn’t say anything right then. After she finished reading and talking about my blog, she started to move in the direction of the door.She only stays about ten minutes at a time. I asked her, “Are you going to lunch to celebrate your birthday?”  “I am,” she replied.

I had her birthday card in my hand. “Well, here’s a little something for your dessert.” I handed her the card. “Should I open it now or take it with me?” she asked. “I think you’d better open it now,” I replied.

There had been several cards at the drug store the night before that could have done the job of wishing her a happy birthday. I had picked out a couple of Maxine cards, but I really wasn’t happy with either one of them. I don’t especially like to be out by myself after dark in this whole area, so I wasn’t really thrilled about going to a different store. I had seen a whole set of cards a week or so before that I thought would be perfect, but they were all sold out. That’s the danger of not buying what I want when I first see it.

I was about to settle for what I had found when my eyes fell on the picture of this gorgeous hunk lying on his back sunbathing. I opened it and giggled. I knew I had found the perfect one for Maxine. She’s been under a lot of stress lately, and I just knew she would appreciate my sense of humor. I figured it would lighten her mood a little.

Maxine looked at the guy on the front of the card. “Oh my,” was all she said as she opened it. Then she laughed. She didn’t just laugh, she howled. She first bent slightly forward and then she tilted her head back and must have laughed for at least a minute or more. She couldn’t stop. Of course by that time I was laughing with her. It felt soooooo good. But then it always does when Maxine and I start rolling.

I suppose you’re wondering what a birthday card had to do with dessert? Well, the guy on the front was perhaps dessert enough. Neither of us is too old to appreciate eye candy. The message on the inside said, “I thought you might like some roasted nuts. Happy Birthday!”

When she calmed down she said, ” I can’t wait to share this with my friend.” She’s still in contact with a group of friends she went to school with in Georgia. “I’m going home and call her. She’ll really appreciate this!” Then she started laughing again, tickled at what her friend’s reaction would be. “She has a sense of humor like you. You’ll probably hear her laughing over here.”

She always displays cards her husband and she get on the small shelf on the kitchen window above the sink. It’s constantly full of well wishes they receive from grandchildren, children, and friends. She said a little hesitantly, “I hope you don’t mind if I don’t put this one on the shelf with the others.”

Always one for Southern propriety, she’ll giggle and enjoy the card for years, but not in public. She considers her kitchen public. I didn’t ask her what she would do with it. Maybe she plans for it to warm her on the cold winter nights that are coming! If I hear her laughing, I’ll know she’s still enjoying the card. Namaste. Attic Annie

Well yesterday was an action packed day. I arrived at the British Grove Studios in the morning with Maxine, full of ideas for the day ahead. The backing girls arrived shortly after and we were all set to go. I had auditioned for the backing vocalists a few weeks ago and discovered some great girls from the Academy of Contemporary Music. We ran through plenty of ideas for some new tracks and I was really impressed with how enthusiastic and professional the girls were, they’ve really added a new dimension to the tracks.

I’m now just playing around with the bits we recorded yesterday, but watch this space for the finished article coming soon.

And if you can’t wait for that, there’ll be some behind the scenes stuff online soon too.

Is it possible you could have something in common with MAXINE?

Firey anger burns white-hot under my skin.

“Forget it! I’m leaving!”

I wrench open the front door. A gust of cool air caresses my cheek, and I know this is exactly what I need.

I step out into the rain, slamming the door behind me and cutting off my mother’s feeble cries of “Maxine, wait!”

She didn’t even sound mildly convincing.

I run, the anger fuelng me to run faster, faster. Away from here, away from the suffocation, the stale cage that was my “home.”

A meaningless word, home. What, where you’re born? Where your family is?

Empty.

My rage begins to mellow out, and I realize I’m completely soaked through. I didn’t even notice. I continue walking, turning corners, not really going anywhere in particular. Maybe I can crash at Alice’s. But will mother know where to look?

Yeah, right. That woman hasn’t known me for years.

The anger boils up again. I’m almost surprised my skin isn’t the angry red after boiling water has scalded it. It occurs to me that I don’t think it would be entirely strange if it were.

I decide to head for Alice’s, finally beginning to calm down enough to form some sort of loose plan. Subject to change, of course. That’s always the case.

Then I walk by the alley.

That horrible, horrible alley.

Of course, it wasn’t horrible at the time–just an alley, like any other. Dark, smelling of rotten food and garbage, and cramped. I’ve never been a fan of cramped spaces, and I avoided the alleys whenever possible.

So when I saw a flicker of movement in the corner of my eye, my instinct was to run far away from the alley, where I’d be trapped. But being a highly illogical creature, I first turned to see what it was I would be running from.

Not the smartest move I’ve ever made.

I turn just in time to see the flash of light from the gun, the sound splitting the quiet night.

The splatter of blood that stains the bricks a dark crimson, near black in the darkness, quickly being washed away by the rain.

All traces of the heat that was burned my skin a moment ago are gone, replaced by ice. I’m frozen in place; my feet won’t move. I scream at them in my head. What are you doing?! Move. MOVE. Hedoesn’tseeyouyetGO!!

They don’t move.

He turns around, and his eyes widen slightly as they take me in, frozen, staring back at him.

Terrified.

I’m dead.

He’sgoingtokillmeohGodwhatshouldIdohehasagun–

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice a soft, low grunt.

Understatement of the year.

He looks at me for a moment–instantaneously, for a year, for ten–looks at the crumpled heap on the ground. Back at me. Frowns.

Why is he hesitating?

Then he has my arm and we’re running, faster than I’ve ever run before, he’s practically puling me through the air. He’s strong.

I can hear sirens far, far away.

They can’t be coming to the alley yet, it’s only been seconds. Hours? Yet fear swells in my breast. Police mean home. Home means mother.

Mother, or murderer?

I feel heavy and cold when I can’t even come up with an answer.

Is there even a difference? I was suffocating. Is that so much worse?

At least it was quick for the lucky bastard in the alley. But not for me. No, even a killer can’t end it for me. A painful sadness squeezes my heart, makes it hard to breathe. Not very helpful when you’re running for your life, being dragged down street after street by a murderer, his gun clenched in the fingers of his other hand.

But I’m not dead.

Not that that means much these days.

//creative writing. Story is from quite a while ago, I had wanted to do a comic. Seeing as I’m not very consistent with those, thought I’d try writing the opening bit instead. See if I can’t get back into these guys’ heads. It’s been a while.

…we’re going to pass a health care plan written by a committee whose chairman says he doesn’t understand it,
passed by a Congress that hasn’t read it but exempts themselves from it, to be signed by a president that also hasn’t read it, and who smokes,
with funding administered by a treasury chief who didn’t pay his taxes, all to be overseen by a surgeon general who is obese, and financed by a country that’s nearly broke.

What could possibly go wrong?

Maxine, you say in your out-loud voice what most of us say in our quiet voice but want to say out loud. Bless you!!

I replaced the rear brakes on my car at the end of last week. It’s been a long-standing issue that I’ve been waiting to fix for a little while now, and once you can hear the brakes working, it’s generally a good indication that things need to be replaced. There’s been a bunch of things that have gone wrong with my car since I’ve owned it, ranging from the more serious (transmission failure) to the incredibly minor, (windshield wipers needing replacement).

When I’ve had the opportunity, I’ve opted to fix things myself. There are two main reasons for this. The first is that it’s much, much cheaper. The estimated cost of brake replacement for the Mini was somewhere in the $300-$350 range. That’s doable, but it takes a huge chunk of cash away from me. Fixing the brakes myself does more than save me money, however; it gives me some time learning just how my car works. Pulling the tire away gives me a good view of the suspension, and while I’m unscrewing or removing something, it gives me some time to actually examine how this works. It also gives me a bit more ownership of the car, making it a bit more my pride and joy, in a way.

Still, waiting to do the brakes, while possibly not the smartest thing to do, has imparted me with some lessons that have affected my driving habits. Coupled with the mindset of trying to save gas, I’ve come to change my driving habits in a way that makes me a better driver overall, I think. At the very least, it’s gotten me thinking about how I’m driving, which few people seem to be able to do.

With the brakes going, I’ve learned better how to avoid using them. This doesn’t mean that I didn’t use them, but used them more sparingly, and drove in a way that meant that I didn’t have to use them to the extent that I did. This means driving at a bit of a slower pace in traffic, giving myself more space between myself and the car ahead of me. Instead, I’d coast, downshift the car and take my foot off the gas, which helps bring down the car’s fuel consumption a bit.

And it’s worked – driving carefully, I’ve noticed a slight uptick in my car’s fuel mileage, which is good, but I’ve also been a better driver around people. In doing so, I’ve noticed other bad habits that I’ve seen people doing – braking constantly, riding their brakes, tailgating other cars, braking while going uphill and not paying attention to the road through a variety of means.

While I’ve taken ownership of my car and responsibility for its maintenance, I’ve found that I’ve become more interested in the road and my own driving habits. Hopefully, with fuel at high prices and people watching where they put their money, they will do the same things.

Stuff a miniature marshmallow in the bottom of an ice cream cone to prevent ice cream drips.

Just suck the ice cream out of the bottom of the cone, for Pete’s sake! You are probably lying on the couch with your feet up eating it, anyway!

To keep potatoes from budding, place an apple in the bag with the potatoes.

Buy Hungry Jack mashed potato mix. Keeps in the pantry for up to a year.

When a cake recipe calls for flouring the baking pan, use a bit of the dry cake mix instead and there won’t be any white mess on the outside of the cake.

Go to the bakery! Hell, they’ll even decorate it for you!

If you accidentally over-salt a dish while it’s still cooking, drop in a peeled potato and it will absorb the excess salt for an instant ‘fix-me-up..’

If you over-salt a dish while you are cooking, that’s too bad. Please recite with me the real woman’s motto: ‘I made it, you will eat it and I don’t care how bad it tastes!’

Wrap celery in aluminum foil when putting in the refrigerator and it will keep for weeks.

Celery? Never heard of it!

Brush some beaten egg white over pie crust before baking to yield a beautiful glossy finish.

The Mrs. Smith frozen pie directions do not include brushing egg whites

Cure for headaches: take a lime, cut it in half and rub it on your forehead.

The throbbing will go away.

Take a lime, mix it with tequila, chill and drink! All your pains go away!

Don’t throw out all that leftover wine. Freeze into ice cubes for future use in.

Leftover wine??????????? HELLO!!!!!!!

Lastly, if you don’t share this with your friends within the next 5 minutes, your belly button will unscrew and your butt will fall off.

Thanks Kristi!

The REAL Maxine Clark emailed me back a couple hours ago and told meh it is nawt her.

♥

Click Here to go directly to the video!

-thanks, ES

I wrote this poem last year, but I wanted to post it again in time for the holidays Have fun reading it! Can you relate?

WHAT’S A FUNNY HOLIDAY STORY YOU FEEL LIKE SHARING?

FAMILY TIMES

It’s great to have family!

They’re amusing as Hell!

When we all get together,

all we do is YELL, YELL, YELL!

I am especially amused,

When the grandparents say,

” One day I’ll be dead and you’ll

be sorry you acted this way!”

Then the parents chime in

and say, “Shut up, that’s not nice!.”

I am ready to say something,

but I just ” stop ” and think twice!

Why bother, I figure

It all sounds the same,

I guess we have anxiety

and stress to blame!

But when the pleasant event is

all said and done,

We give each other hugs good-bye,

and say “THIS WAS FUN!”

You figure it out!

Believe in Yourself;

Luisa Doraz

It’s hard to believe that it has been nearly seven years since Maxine, my ’97 Nissan Maxima, became mine. I was in high school at the time and was the proud owner of a Mazda 626 my father had given me. He bought a Trailblazer for himself, and instead of trading in the 626 he gave it to me. I drove it around for a few months, proud to have it, until my mom realized the joy of owning an SUV. She traded in my car and gave me her Maxima.

At first I wasn’t too pleased with Maxine. She had been used for years to drive my sister and me around, so the upholstery was stained and dirty. The once-beige carpet was black nearly black with dirt and even the ceiling had black handprints. The leather seats were ripped in certain areas and the door panels in the rear were sticky. My mom was by no means dirty, but my sister and I were and now I had to pay the price. I was used to an immaculate vehicle, so I broke out the rag and various cleaners and detailed the hell out of Maxine.

Maxine served me with little problems until the beginning of 2004. In a three month span I had three accidents. In the first, she slid out of her lane during a rain storm and was struck in the rear quarter panel by a pick-up truck. Her rear-end was completely smashed, but the truck only had a cracked headlight. I was ticketed and, to add insult to injury, my mom had changed my insurance to liability the week before, so Maxine was stuck that way.

Maxine in all her glory

After weeks of riding around with trash bags duct-taped to the passenger side windows of my car, she was fixed by a backyard mechanic. He pulled out the frame and replaced the doors and windows. Yes the doors whistled now and the sunroof leaked when it rained, but she looked new again. Except for the fact that her right side was primed, but never painted. It was cool, though, I thought, I would just save the money to make her look like herself.

But about a month after that, Maxine was hit again. I was stopped behind another car when I looked into my rearview mirror. I saw a green Nissan Titan speeding down the road on a direct collision course with Maxine. I had just enough time to say “Oh, shit” before I was hit. At least it wasn’t my fault right? She could get fixed this time. I didn’t actually have the time to fix her for a while, but when I did I asked my mom about the process.

“How does the body shop get paid? Does the insurance company pay them directly?”

She's taken more poundings to the rear-end than a porn star.

Maxine has been in two more accidents since then. In one, a rich man in a brand spankin’ new Mercedes crossed over three lanes and hit me from behind. A cop witnessed the accident and he admitted he was looking at something in the backseat when he hit me, but he wasn’t ticketed for it. Did I mention his lawyer came out to the scene of the accident, which occurred at about midnight? A week later the insurance company said I was at fault.

I last I consider a complete act of God, or perhaps self-mutilation by my car; it occurred on an up-ramp, on a slippery road, at 20mph, after a cop cut off the jeep in front of me. The jeep barely had a scratch, but Maxine’s hood was curled up and the frame and radiator were bent backwards nearly to the engine block. She still works perfectly.

Maxine looks like a rolling pile of scrap metal, but she has taken hits that would cripple other cars and has outlasted younger cars. She has stuck by me through all of the abuse and has been my lifeline for seven years. She drove me to and fro after Hurricane Katrina. She was driven nearly six hours a day between four jobs in completely different areas of the city during the time after my girlfriend’s car burst into flames (it’s a long story). Maxine has never complained and lives with the satisfaction of knowing she is the best on the road. I love her, but it’s time for her to go.