Sunday May 7, 2017
from a tweet by Mara Wilson
Jess helps me get ready to go out and meet my co-star, the director, and the show runners. She lets me borrow her black pumps and the sheer olive top that looks great with my faux-leather pants. She lends me jewelry. She boosts me up.
I arrive, nervous, to the cocktail bar. I am tipsy after the one drink I let him order for me. I almost leave my bag.
At the restaurant I am drunk again. I order a dish but I have no idea what I’m getting. The drunk laughs. The drunk tries to hide her shame that she ended up just getting a pasta. The drunk spills pasta in cream sauce on Jess’s sheer olive shirt. She stains it. She almost leaves her bag.
Tuesday July 26, 2016 at BATW
from the write up on the painting “Ascend”
Heaven forbid I tell you how I actually feel. I say that under my breath because I’m too afraid to say anything about how I actually feel with full voice. What the eff. Where did that start? When I was a kid? As everything in this life does? I had to do what you did when we were young because I wanted to be you and the only way I knew how to be you was to do what you did or what you wanted. That made sense. I was looking for lightening. Wasn’t about to spend three to five years wishing I was you without trying to make it so. I still want to be you on most days. You were older than me then but now you’re a painting. I see you still: beautiful and still. You’re not going anywhere and I don’t have to run to catch up to you. I don’t have to hold my breath and count to three because you’re not running away from me. I am a mess. It makes sense that I would want to live your life and not mine. But I still can’t tell you how I actually feel. Because my soul is drunk on doubt and it flies high when it’s left to its own devices. You are still the moon, and I love you for that. The shiny thing in my sky that makes me want to open my eyes and see…
Monday, July 18, 2016
The 4am Mystery
There were a lot of big names there that night. I’m not going to list them or anything, I’m not that smug, I’m not that douche-y, but all the who’s who of the industry were there. Mickey had been drinking, rum and coke with a handful of ice, she was back on it after having been off for almost three years. She had her chips and everything to prove it. I kept telling her, “Easy, easy,” but she swatted me away. The pool had these different cabanas and everyone was sloshed, I mean I was probably one of two sober people there. The other was Beth, whose in the early days of her third pregnancy.
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
Overheard at grange park
Well Lacey left the bottle of Carnivore at my house and she knew I would be helpless against it so now I blame her for everything that happened after she left me alone with it. We had been talking about hair cuts and just doing it ourselves. You see where this is headed? You blame Lacey too? Yeah. She thinks it’s hilarious but she doesn’t have to walk around like this freak show that is now my reflection.
Anyway, it went like this:
I drank the wine. The rest of it. And I’m a light weight. So I was wasted.
I saw the scissors. Sticking out of the knife block. They called my name. I answered them.
I went to the bathroom. I laughed at my blood mouth. My jungle attack mouth. I pulled my hair out from the messy bun on top of my head. I said out loud to the mirror, “Let’s do this.”
I snipped one piece at a time. It was going well. Michael Jackson’s Thriller album was playing.
The next thing I knew, one whole side was completely missing.
So then I had to even it all out…
Friday October 31, 2014
from an e-mail
I was dancing. I was doing my own thing. My friends were somewhere else and I was owning the dance floor. Solo. A guy came up behind me and pulled my hips to his groin. I turned around and said, “No thank you!” and danced away. A guy came up behind me and pulled my hips to his groin. I turned around and said, “Please fuck off!” A different face. Same hands. Same aggression. I left the dance floor and on the way to the bathroom I felt a sob choke in my throat. I wasn’t entirely sure why but I knew it had something to do with me feeling like I couldn’t just dance, alone, without being grabbed. Outside the bathroom door and guy said to me, “You’re fucking hot. How many drinks would I need to buy you to suck my dick?” I burst into tears. Right there. Big ones, not little, sweet, cute ones. He made a few grunts and walked away. I went into a bathroom stall, sat on the floor, and kept crying. A woman in the stall beside me, “Are you okay? You’re probably just too drunk, babe!” I wasn’t. I wasn’t drunk at all.
Friday June 6, 2014
A tweet by the TTC
All I can hear, over and over again in my head is that automated voice… “Train service is suspended between Ossington and Dufferin with a passenger emergency onboard a train. Shuttle buses will be operating between – ” Are you okay? Are you going to be okay? All I can hear is the sound of my heart in my ears, in my throat, the pulsing. “Chloe? Chloe! Are you alright? Chloe!” We were just playing around. We were just… We went to the kegger at the Sorority that Vanessa’s sister was apart of. We didn’t know that… “Butt chug it! Butt chug it!!” There were guys there, too, you know. Not just… She’s a daredevil. I have that caution gene but she… doesn’t. I went into the walk-in closet with her and this sister there… or whatever you call it and… Half a box of wine went up her ass. Sorry. But that’s what happened. And the other girl was laughing and I was like, “Chloe? Chloe! Are you alright?” And she said that she was. She felt wasted but “all good”. We left about an hour later and I didn’t know that she went into the bathroom and did another… one. Then, when we got on the subway she blacked out and she fell and on her way down she smacked her face on the edge of a seat and it gave her a bloody nose and…
Monday May 26, 2014
from the ‘Julia’ candle
Then he looked at me and said, damn woman, that was the hottest kiss. I’ve never been kissed that passionately before. And I was like, well I was drunk so what do you want me to say? And he said, say you meant it, say you needed it. I was about to punch him in his face when he came up to mine and kissed me again. I didn’t even pull away. When we were done, he said, are you drunk now? And I said, no, and he said, so there we go. And I said, there we go? And he said, yeah, see? That was sober passion. I said, that shit doesn’t exist, and he said, yeah it does; I just proved it to you. You like me.
Then the world went dark and my eyes got fuzzy and I said, no these are all lies you tell yourself but now you’ve included me in the conversation too. He said, you’re seriously disputing that we just made passion out of thin air just a second ago? And I said, well yeah, passion comes from the soul, not from the lips. And then the world got light again and I could breathe and I could breathe enough that I started to walk away. He said, where are you going? And I said, I have something to do. And he said, more than being here right now with me in the middle of this moment? And then I couldn’t say anything at all that would encompass my disdain for him in “this moment” so I just scoffed and rolled my eyes all the way back into my head. He said, seriously? And I said, What? It’s a kiss. It’s how I kiss. I’m a good kisser, what more can I tell you, Christ.
Tuesday April 15, 2014
A post on Instagram
Mama liked it when her drinks tasted like Italy. It reminded her of home, of her mother, of her doggie, Stella, and her doll-friend, Cicio Bello. When mama took a sip, she’d slip, then slide, then land back in a time where farm animals woke her up each morning, and where Figs grew as big as your face in September.
She stocked up on the stuff just in case they ever decided to stop making it. Not that anyone would, it was a beautiful thing. But just in case, she always said, just in case.
We knew she could say whatever she wanted and we’d never say a thing in return to her about it. We didn’t want Mama to feel like she had a problem. We didn’t want anyone to think she couldn’t handle it on her own, just the way she wanted to. Nobody mentioned a thing when we’d find bottles of her nostalgia hidden under the sofa cushions, or planted deep in the soil of her dying rosemary bush. Nobody said anything when Cicio Bello started appearing again in Mama’s life, her old friend whispering things to her no one else could hear; keeping her company through the storm.
Thursday February 20, 2014 at Balluchon
He tells me that he’s sorry but I have this bad habit of not trusting anyone with dark eyebrows. It comes from too many times left alone with this bad boy, dark eyebrows arching into Never Never Land. He’s been crushing his Ritalin and snorting it. I’ve been inadvertently supporting his drug habit, picking up his prescription at the pharmacy every Tuesday, like a diligent, Subway-riding idiot. “You don’t understand,” he says and I wonder, for the seventeenth time, if we ever really understand or if we’re just really talented at “fake it til you make it”. We are not making it. He forgets that he came home drunk again, that I found phone numbers in his pocket written in blue pen by girls name “Shannon” and “Mel”. He forgets that he humped me as I pretended to sleep, his dark eyebrows furrowed with carnal focus.
Wednesday November 6, 2013
Crossword from NOW Magazine
October 31-November 6, 2013
They’re clapping. They’re stomping. They’ve drunk enough to no longer be self-conscious. They’re too young to know less. To know better. Someone might take off their shirt soon, and then another and before you can say, “Oh my God!” everyone is half naked and sweating and moving. When she wakes up it’s morning. There’s drool on her pillow. There’s a track and field guy beside her, his freckles catching the sun. She holds her head. She sits up. She steps over five people, passed out on the floor. She makes her way to the bathroom just in time. She throws up. There’s a knock at the door, “Hurry up! I gotta piss!” She opens the cabinet and is thankful when there’s mouthwash there. She swishes and spits. She opens the door. She smiles.
Friday October 18, 2013 at Cafe Pamenar
The PACT Conference 2007 Keynote Speech
According to Zara’s research, and by research I mean her general observations of random people in her German class, she had concluded that most people with problems concentrating were not merely under-stimulated, but boring individuals. Zara’s mother used to say, There is no such thing as boredom! Look around you. Don’t you see a world of opportunity? Then she would pass out and drop her half-full wine glass onto the rug and stain a new section of the living room, creating a beautiful array of disappointment and tactless parenting. Of course, people who drink in excess, were never bored, Zara speculated. How could one with so much fear of living in reality ever be bored? She meant it as sarcastic judgement at first and then re-evaluated. Maybe drinkers weren’t truly bored… but scared. Maybe the two didn’t go hand in hand after all. Zara watched her mother drape herself across the lounge chair she made her father buy her three summers ago when it got “too hot to stand”.