Affinity

Poetry from a lifetime ago.
The ** stars** are my veil. I cannot give too much away. Misterioso
Affinity

The air between us always tastes different
An evening in summer scrambled with vodka and cotton candy.
I don’t just want to kiss you
But everything that leads me to you-

To this
Strange affinity

Unraveled through history and
memories and
youth and
what should have been-

Of reconciled feelings
And ***** books
And *** ****
****** ** *** *****
And notes passed for months
And *****
Drinks and
touches
And being ****s of the world
And a ****** night.

The air between us weighs
down
and
in and fills me
up
with this inexplicable desire to rush for you
And plunge my entire face into your chest and just wait and cry and hope it all disappears and all that’s left is us and the air--
that strong, strange affinity lingering.

I have to think of you
Even when you’re not around;
Especially when you are not around.
But in my head, you’re occupying every last ounce left for me to function and I can’t because even when I am washing the dishes, my hands plunged in soapy foam, the sponge circling a dirty plate
The water reminds me of you.
And when I exercise
I push up off the mat, sticky and damp, and I sweat and think of us.
And when I write, pen clutched between my fingers, imprinted against my middle finger
You’re what the ink douses out.
When I dream
those sagas that last a lifetime in one night-
you’re in them.
When I work, I picture you there
folding papers and sharpening pencils.
When I close the windows I think of clichés to go along with what I am doing to myself and I panic, heart chasing after the last breath escaping into my lungs and
emanating through my mouth, parched and dry.
When I wash my clothes I pick up the shirt I wore when I saw you last and pull it close to my face and it smells like you and
I wash it because I feel guilty and criminal for having been so close to you.

I feel for you
For once
I feel
I want
I know.
When I see you it’s the feeling that drives me to touch you and look in you
And want you
And not just want you But want to know you and be with you and be a part of you

And the air that is between us
All tangled and twisted and there
with me and you

What is love?

My cousin emailed me recently asking me what love feels life because she's not sure she loves her boyfriend. In all my infinite wisdom I had no good answer for her. How the hell does one explain a feeling that most of the time is inexplicable. I thought long and hard about a solid definition. Then I crumbled and did what any person would do...I googled it. I found this -
"Love is a feeling you feel when you feel you're feeling a feeling you never felt before."
So we can only have fallen in love once? I don't like it. But really there are so many aspects that lend themselves to the ultimate "love". It's not just that feeling, that makes you want to hump that person all day, every day. That's all good. But if that defines love, I've been in love several dozen times.
Dr. Robert Sternberg at Yale University probably defines it best. He says that love consists of three components: 1) decision/commitment; 2) intimacy; and 3) passion. When all three strongly exist in our feelings for another person, he says that we feel consummate love for that person.
It still doesn't give me a simple answer to email my cousin. She said her heart doesn't skip a beat for this guy, but he's so smart and funny and considerate. If he has a big bank account, then that's true love! right! I want you to ponder the definition of love--for yourself. And try to put into words what love means to you.

1st Annual Cereal Party

Last night was heaven on earth...no Brad Pitt did not come over to "clean my pipes". There was an exorbitant amount of cereal and milk flowing freely in the Schneider-Sideris household. It started tame--2% milk, Capn' Crunch Berries, Cookie Crisp, Smorz (no plain Jane Cheerios or Kix here). Then Kwi showed up with Peanut Butter Crunch and Applejacks, but with Chocolate and strawberry milk! Crazy I know. The rarities poured in...Count Chocula, Reese's, cinnamon Toast Crunch, Fruity Pebbles, Honeycomb. Oh what a party it had become. The sugar hyped us up to a sweet high that brought out laughter, giggles, and for Chuck farts. We ate dry, ate with milk, judged, and discussed the absurdities that layed before us. Oh what a night. Doug did the unthinkable. A feat no other person dared try. He did the daring, the brave, the triumphant---he mixed all cereals into one bowl. He did. I was a witness. I wouldn't have believed it unless I saw it with my own eyes. He didn't even blink, no sign of discomfort. This, was a challenge that was easy as pie...or in his case, cereal. My favorite? I branched out, tried some new cereals, lived on the edge for one passing night and tasted peanutbutter cereals, and cereals comprised of sugar and shapes, no flakes. What did I learn from this experience? It was fun being tempted by the Count Chocula, the Cookie Crisp was mighty tasty, I even remembered how good Cinnamon toast crunch was. All in all I found myself longing for my bland Kix, Special K, and Cream of wheat. My simple cereal have a superior quality to the sugar induced bling of the hyped up party cereals. I'm glad I did it. For one night I can say I lived on the edge and almost fell over, but I remember what really counts in life....simplicity and what's good.

Sense Part Two (installment #8)

Sense: Part II I write. Most often it goes unread, only a lucky few get to skim. This is a piece I've been working on for some time now--not sure if it will be a short story or much longer. It's a work in progress. Suggestions and constructive criticism are welcome.
Working title- Sense Installment # 8 (continued from November 13th)

Years passed, during the holidays, Christy had a Christmas Eve sleepover party at her house; just the girls. Her sister’s boyfriend came over dressed in a Santa suite to surprise us all. We all said we knew there was no such thing as Santa, but we still laughed and took pictures and told him what we wanted to find under the tree Christmas day-curling irons, Mariah Carey cds, new Nike sneakers. Seven weeks later he stabs a guy and gets locked up. And the word on the street is that when he is released, the Armenians, they don’t forget, and his family is going to cut him up good. They said they don’t want to kill him, just cut him all over. I believe it too. Somewhere I must have that picture of Santa the murderer. I find it ironic that he dressed up like ole’ merry Kris and then killed somebody weeks later. Erica found it funny in a dark morbid way too and we shared in a few laughs, pondering scenarios in our head of that Christmas Eve night. We wondered if it was possible for him to have killed us and if we somehow escaped a near death experience. We thought of knives in his boot, poisonous gas shooting out of his beard, or worse, spikes planted on his pants so that upon sitting, we would get punctured and die. It snowed that Christmas Eve too; first snow I saw in the city ever.

Cranberry Oatmeal Cookies

These were a hit last night...the boys can attest to that. I think I managed to hide two and save them for later. If you're stuck for an easy, yet tasty Christmas (yeah I said it-Christmas!) treat, try this recipe. It's superb. Don't overwork the batter or the cookies will be too tight.

Cranberry Oatmeal Cookies

1 cup flour 1/2 tsp baking soda 1/2 tsp salt 1 tsp cinnamon 1/4 tsp nutmeg 1/4 cup sugar 1/2 cup brown sugar 1 egg 2 Tbsps milk 1/2 cup shortening 1 tsp vanilla 2 cups oatmeal 3/4 cup dried cranberries Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a large mixing bowl, combine flour, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, brown sugar and sugar. Mix well. Add shortening, egg, vanilla, and milk; blend well. Add oats; mix well. Add cranberries; mix well. Drop dough by tablespoonfuls on ungreased baking sheet. Bake 12-14 minutes. Store cooled cookies in an airtight container. Makes about 2 1/2 dozen cookies.

Angry Little Girls

angry little girls
These bags are so funny. I think I like them so much becuase they fit my personality.

Joke that apparently takes the cake

Overall reaction from educated few- muffin joke, not a hit. I was reminded of this Saturday night. I was bombed, in bed, in a room full of other people who were also wasted and laying down. Leonow decided to rub salt in my wounds and proclaim that the muffin joke is the worst joke ever. I tried to defend my pastry humor and delivered it to my audience of obnoxious drunks. Guess what- no one laughed. Fuckers. Coaxed to tell the antenna joke (to redeem myself) I did. A vote please. What's better? Muffin or antenna. You decide. Here goes the antenna joke--
Two antennas get married. The ceremony is ok. The reception-- excellent.