Labels: By Jessie Fey on Sunday, April 24, 2011

Because of the nature of her occupation, Madeline Hayward was an expert at empty promises.  Then Boris Hull called, and she never lied again.  

Come hang out with me, learn about 80s punk rock, and listen to some live music.

Labels: By Jessie Fey on Tuesday, April 12, 2011

On April 30, Moonlight Graham is hosting the official Orange County premiere of “A History Lesson Part One,” a documentary by Dave Travis about punk rock in LA in the 80s. After the screening, Modern Puppetry and Twisted Roots will do a short set.  If you’d like to go, let me know and I can grab you some tickets! Check out the film's website: 

Here’s the schedule for the night:

7pm-8pm…..”A History Lesson” Screening 8pm-8:30pm……Modern Puppetry 8:45pm-9:15pm…..Twisted Roots (Pat Smear, Paul Roessler, Gary Jacoby, etc) 

Labels: By Jessie Fey on Monday, April 11, 2011

“Let’s run away,” she said, tangling her legs in his, “and do something self-destructive.”

He kissed her forehead.  “I think we already are, sweetheart.”

REM Cycle.

Labels: By Jessie Fey on Wednesday, April 6, 2011

It was late, and the air was thick with nostalgia.  A single light dangling above the sink highlighted the otherwise dark room.  She sat on a stool while he stood on the other side of the island.  They talked softly as not to wake the others living in the house.
“I never stood a chance with you,” she said, smiling.  He took a sip from a cup that his little sister made him, and she watched his mouth turn up at either side.
“Sure you did.”
“Ha!  You knew you had me from the beginning,” she accused.
“Why are you so sure?”
“Don’t you remember our first dinner together?” 
He laughed at the memory.  “You hardly ate.  It could have been worse, though.”
“How so?”
“You could have ordered a salad.”  They were both laughing now.
“I couldn’t help it. I still thought everything you did or said was charming,” she said.  He was grinning again.  “Even now, sometimes when you talk the words come out in cursive.  I didn’t even know you and you were already something to me.  That sort of thing made my stomach turn.” 
He looked in her eyes for a moment.  “I didn’t know I had you,” he confessed.
“I didn’t make that clear?” she asked.
“No.  I don’t know.  Maybe you did and I didn’t understand at the time.  Maybe I still don’t.  You just always seemed so…white.  It didn’t make sense for you to come around.”
“Making you…?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Shaded.” 
She wondered why it always came down to this, and why he continued to question it. 
“Let’s go up,” he said.
He poured the watered-down whiskey into the sink.  She waited for him, hoping he’d write about her someday.  The kind of writing that would lead to people asking him how he made love last for so long, or if he really knew a girl like the one he talked about in his stories.  Allowing the previous conversation to saturate, he followed her up the stairs in silence.  They crept into his bed, where they spent most of their nights, and she wrapped herself in his old, cool sheets.  She reached to pull the curtain closed in hopes that morning would delay. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her forehead.
“We should talk like this more often,” he said.
“I know, dear.” She traced his face, her favorite picture, and put it in her pocket.  Though she had spent most of her summer with him, she still couldn’t quite describe the color of his eyes. 
“I was thinking about rules today,” she said.
“Yeah.” She was looking away from him now. “The biggest ones are always broken at night.”
“Like midnight snacks.”  He laughed under his breath, this being the perfect illustration of the way she saw the world. 
“I think it’s the moon,” she said.
“Of course it’s the moon,” he agreed.  She was staring again as she pulled the covers over her shoulders, noting his ability to always have the unexpected yet perfectly appropriate response.  She kept going. 
“So, I’m going to asking for your permission now,” she said, picking at her cuticles. 
“My permission?”
“Yes. To love you,” she said, her voice quieting. 
“That’s the rule?”
“It’s the one I’m breaking.  I thought I’d give it a try.  Rebellion, I mean.”
“Is this about summer ending?”
She looked down and replayed the last three months in her mind. The countless cloudless days and a scene much like this one and the one before that she could never quite hold on to.  She swam through his head like a child who was never taught to swim.
“You love me now,” he said. She wasn’t sure if it was an insult or not, so her rebuttal came quickly. 
“That’s the sad part.” Her voice was shaking. “I keep trying to. You won’t let me.  You fight it every time.”
He stared up at the ceiling with one hand folded behind his head. She was looking at his bedroom door, gathering the location of her belongings in her mind in case she had to leave. It was an empty threat.  She knew she wouldn’t go, so did he, but she had to give herself the chance.
“You still have a lot to learn. Maybe you’d be better off without me,” he said.  He turned toward the wall so his back was facing her.
“I wouldn’t leave unless you made me.  I’ll stay until you tell me to go.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know, darling,” he said.
“Because you haven’t told me.”
“I wasn’t just talking about myself.”
“Alright, then.  What do I need to know about the world?”
He sighed.  “That it’s been pissed on.”  The way he said it
made her feel like he had been wanting to tell her for a long time, but that he didn’t want to be the one to contaminate her.  He didn’t require a response, but it came after a minute of silence.
     “Just because I see colors doesn’t mean I don’t know that.
I know the world’s been pissed on.  I also know that that
isn’t what you were speaking of entirely.”  He didn’t move.  “You were talking about your world.  Your world’s been pissed on, and from the little you have told me, I’d guess you had to stand by and watch while it happened.  That’s a tragedy.  And I wish I could have been there to love you then, but you seem to be under the impression that I want to clean it up for you now.”
     “Isn’t that what this is about?”
     She gave a quick laugh, expecting him to believe that she couldn’t love him simply.  “I may not be old enough to buy you a drink, dear, but I’m smart enough to know that to try to clean up a mess of yours would be a losing battle.  It’s a romantic notion that’s been lost in translation.  Love has become associated with the art of fixing, and it’s bullshit.  People seem to think that allowing someone to plug up their empty places for a while will keep them from spewing again, and that’s bullshit, too.  Real love is the exact opposite.  It holds the bucket and catches everything that comes spilling out.”  She wasn’t sure that she was making sense now, so she made her point.  “I don’t want to fix anything of yours.  I wouldn’t be able to if I tried.  That’s your responsibility.  I just want you to let me in the room in case you can’t reach the wrench.”
     He lifted his head as to make sure she heard him.  “You wouldn’t know where to look.”
“What are you so afraid of?” she finally asked, raising her voice and knowing he wouldn’t tell her. He stopped to think, and he turned back toward her.
“If I left, would you call?” he asked.
“No,” she answered, lowering her head.
“Why not?”
“I’ll think it’s because you don’t want me anymore,” she said.  “It doesn’t make sense for you to come around, either.”
“And if I called?”
“I’d answer.”
“I’d want to hear your reasoning.  And because I’d still
want to be the person you’d write about for the right reasons.”
She kissed him, not waiting to hear his response.  That night, she fell asleep to the sound of his breath in her ear, still the prettiest melody. 


Labels: By Jessie Fey on

Over the last couple months, I’ve been going to my elementary school to observe a kid for a child development class I’m taking.  I get to watch him through a one-way mirror and write down everything he does.  He’s four years old, and the cutest thing.  I’ve actually managed to become attached to him even though we’ve only had one interaction.  When he got to his classroom on Monday morning, his dad was carrying him.  He had his face buried in his dad’s neck and what looked like a death grip around his neck, and he let the rest of his body lay limp in his dad’s arms.  He finally let Dad put him down and, after a few minutes of father-son playtime around the room, he had forgotten he was homesick.  The Lego table called. 

I started thinking about this little guy, and I hope the rest of his life looks like that.  I hope his dad is around to make him feel better when he needs it, and push him out the door when he doesn’t know he needs it.  I hope he gets smarter than his parents one day, but I hope that day doesn’t come too soon.  I always get emotional when I think about the people in my life as babies, or in this case, children.  Shit, I get emotional when I think about myself as a baby.  I feel like that’s self-explanatory. 

A friend from my class comes to observe with me, and today we got talking about, more or less, how freaked out we are that we aren’t going to choose the right guy to spend our lives with, thus leading to us fucking up our own lives and eventually the lives of our kids in one way or another.  Totally cynical and depressing, I know.  I’m fascinated with family trends, and how people tend to choose a partner based off of what they experienced in their family of origin (their parents and siblings).  People tend to be attracted to other people based on what they’re used to.  Makes sense, and that’s totally cool if you’ve had nothing but loving relationships (not that you’re guaranteed to choose the right person because of that).  But then there’s the boy who started doing laundry and putting himself to bed at age 6 because his mom was too fucked up to do it herself.  He’s likely to choose someone he has to take care of, and he probably won’t let anyone close enough to take care of him, let alone think he deserves it. 

I’m going to bounce yet once more in this ramble, this time to Jersey Shore.  This season, one episode made me understand EVERYTHING about Ronnie and Sam’s relationship.  Ron’s mom calls the house plastered, and during their conversation, it seems pretty clear that this isn’t the first time it’s happened.  RINGALINGDING went the bell in my head.  Ronnie has a mom who has created some chaos in his life, and now he’s in a relationship with a chick who he fights with every day.  Family fucking trend, people, trickling on down.

I realize I’m coming off as saying that people will inevitably choose what they’re used to, good or bad.  I’m not that gloomy, I’m just saying that it makes sense.  I also realized I took “observing a cute kid” to “topics in psychology” to “Jersey Shore still explains everything.” Eh, it’s been a long week.   

Text me!

Labels: By Jessie Fey on Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Taylor Clark: I put pepper on my ketchup.
***This chick has either been in my refrigerator, or she’s been stalking me eating French fries. Or she’s perfection. 
Josh J<3: No way! My mom is a huge pepper fan.  She used to take the lid off of the ketchup bottle at home and add in at least three tablespoons.  I didn’t realize ketchup didn’t have a grey tint for years. 
            ***No freaking way.  Soulmates? His mom and I are bffs?
Taylor Clark: Seriously?! That’s awesome J It sounds like your mom and I would get along.
            ***I already told her about the ketchup.
Josh J<3: I think you would…
            ***Conversation ender…never a good sign.
Taylor Clark: What did you do today?
            ***Woke up at 12, went to the store to get stuff for nachos…
Josh J<3: Not much…I slept in then ran some errands.  You?
            ***I went to the beach and annoyingly talked to my friends about you.
Taylor Clark: Nothing too exciting! Just went to the beach with some of my friends…soaked up some VD!
            ***Did she just tell me she ‘soaked up’ a venereal disease?
Josh J<3:  VD, huh?
            ***Maybe he doesn’t know about vitamin D?
Taylor Clark: Haha yeah…it’s one of my favorite things!.
            ***Well, she’s insane.
Josh J<3: Haha cool. Hey, I know we we’re supposed to hang out tomorrow night, but my mom just told me she needs help at the animal shelter.  She volunteers there and someone just backed out of helping her, so I told her I’d cover. 
            ***He loves animals, too? Ahhhhh JJJJJ
Taylor Crazy Ass: Of course! I’m glad you offered! Let me know when you can hang out again J

I still crane my neck when I pass your street.

Labels: By Jessie Fey on Friday, April 1, 2011

The sun came back today and
the whole time I looked for you in the heat but
you weren’t there.
I didn’t know what that was about.
So I kept looking through sand and the
taste of salt on your skin and especially through
that stagnant fog that sits on blacktop streets but
you weren’t there, either.
I didn’t know what that was about.
Then I consulted the space between spring and
summer and I asked if she had seen you.
And she told me to wait because I was
too soon, you weren’t there.
I didn’t know what that was about.
I went to my library and I looked through all the books I know
and I peered through the spaces between the letters
to find you but
you weren’t there and
I didn’t know what that was about.
I had another idea because I wasn’t ready to stop
so I turned on my car and let the air conditioning run.
I let it breeze against my face and I stayed
until my contacts were dry but
you weren’t there.
I start to drive and as I pass
your street and when I see a car like yours
my neck is an owl’s.
This feels suddenly familiar
and I know what that’s about because I’ve been
doing it all along.