dogs n cats

the pup just touched noses with peanut. it was so cute. maybe they will be friends soon. but tiger still hisses and slices her claws into sierra's curious wet nose. i mean, all sierra wants to do is sniff tiger's little cat butt. however i don't think cats like their butts sniffed like dogs do. oh, the innocent miscommunication and cultural differences.

bad day.

dark hole, where are you? i'd like to crawl inside.

kidnapping

jessica is my life-long best friend who lives in phoenix and has been going to school for nursing, and supporting herself as a server at chili's for three plus years now. to be blunt, this summer she is getting shafted as far as scheduling and shifts go. she is working a double on the fourth of july. and believe me, jess likes to celebrate for whatever the occasion is. so this depresses her a lot, on top of all the other shitty shifts she has been scheduled so far this summer. here is my plan to rescue her:

dear jess,

consider this my pre-meditated warning. i will be sending a magazine-mosiac cut & paste ransom letter to chili's. i will be showing up at the restaurant while you are working. i will be wearing an american flag jumpsuit with an Uncle Sam face mask, and huge white boots with spurs. i will pop one of those confetti poppers in the middle of the restaurant during the lunch rush, then throw my head back and laugh menacingly, all the while flailing my arms for effect. then i will fake-karate chop you in the shoulder and take you out at the knees. i will run out of chili's with you dangling over my shoulder.

you have been warned.

love, brooke

poetry

poetry,
mostly,
i don't understand you.
unless you're ani difranco
or jenny lewis
or bjork
or even...
hot mamas like cherrie moraga, gloria anzaldua, and michele serros.
they're pretty straightforward.
and real.

other than that,
poetry that is too elusive
too metaphorical, not contextualized, too many similes
i just don't get it.

i just don't

i appreciate poetic sounds. like rap.
rhyming and rhythm and beauty.
and look: here's what i'm saying. not some random shit that i need three dictionaries and two encyclopedias to understand.

some academics say they like it. they get PhD's and stuff in it.
but man, "poetry"--
i just don't understand you.

who are the real baby killers?

In the very real and serious context of lower economic class women, and women living in poverty, abortion is not so much a choice as it is a must. With little to zero health care, with hardly enough money to support one's self, there really isn't much of a choice.
With that said, I want to quote Chicana feminist Demetria Martinez:

"The antiabortion movement has, like all social movements, relied heavily on political theater: praying the rosary in silence in front of clinics, crying out to women not to kill their babies, or demonstrating with blowup photographs of fetuses.

Why not march with photos of fetuses to the office of politicians who refuse to support universal health care? Or pray the rosary in the lobby of the senator who axes funding for battered women's shelters, job training, and day care--programs that would reduce women's economic dependency upon their abusers?

Why not march on the Pentagon and run a full-page ad in the New York Times on defense spending [and lack of health care] titled, "Who Are the Real Baby Killers?""

Take action NOW to protect women's health and reproductive rights in Arizona.

friday and i just wanna watch movies

the coffee is acidic in my stomach. i keep running to the bathroom.
it's friday and i don't wanna do anything. i need new running shoes and i need these blisters and bruises to heal.
that pretty bruise to the left is from a soccer game two weeks ago. some chick elbowed me right in the muscle. she had a really pointy elbow. tore up my bicep. there's a hard knot in the middle of it... ech.
i just wanna go workout! i did spend $47 on a summer membership to the UA rec center. gotta get my dollar's worth.
things i need to do today:
-kore press stuff
-read between the bars stuff
-get finger-printed for the millionth time for my new job at SAFS (yay for a new job!)
-finish graduation thank yous already!!
-go get more beat-up at my soccer game tonight.

3am

"do you believe in god?" he said, like it was a rhetorical question.
"no." i answered. i scooted to the edge of my seat and leaned over the table. the house was dark and the screen on my laptop set the room aglow. our faces were blue in its reflection. it must have been 3am. it was the end of summer, before sophomore year of college.
"do you like the dave matthews band?" he asked this time.
"yeah, i do." he started tapping the table with his right pointer finger. hard taps. the tap-tap-tap echoed off the old wooden floor in the midnight silence. i sat still, leaned over the table.
"you know," he said, "god isn't real." he shifted in his seat. the sweat was misty on his face, glistening on his hairline. his jaw flexed. molars grinding side to side.
"yes, i know."
"can i play some dave matthews for you?" his eyes were wide awake. i could see his cheeks clenching, dimples--contractions. his teeth dancing on one another.
"sure."
"i can't be mormon," he said.
"why?" i asked.
"because there is no god. how can so many people believe there is a god?"
my voice was soft, "i don't know. maybe they're afraid." i looked hard at him. he twisted in his chair. there he was, trying to be two people at once.