you're so hot right now.

1. Who are you and what's our relationship?

2. How and where did we meet?

3. How long have you known me?

4. Tell me one good thing about myself.

5. When you first saw me, what was your first impression?

6. Color of my eyes.

7. Have you ever had a crush on me?

8. What's one of my favourite things to do?

9. Do you remember one of the first things I said to you?

10. Describe me in 3 words.

11. Do you think I'm good looking?

12. How would you describe me to someone?

13. Would you ever date me?

14. Tell me one thing you've always wanted to say but never did.

15. What do you like most about me?

16. Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.

17. What do you think my weakness is?

18. Do you think I'll get married?

19. What makes me happy?

20. What reminds you of me?

21. If you could give me anything, what would it be?

22. When's the last time you saw me?

23. Do you think our friendship is getting stronger/weaker/staying the same?

24. Do you feel that you could talk to me about anything and I would listen?

25. Are you gonna put this on your myspace and see what I say about you?

26. What things remind you of me?

27. If you could change one thing about me, what would it be and why?
28. Would you make a move on me?

29. What song (if any) reminds you of me?

5:18 PM - 9 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

Business sucks? Fuck you, pay me.
Current mood: romantic

Originally uploaded by Bea the Playa.

Grampa has an unbelievable collection of books, much like the kind I hope to have one day. They're filed endlessly on shelves all about his place, and every book has a picture of a sculpture or some amazing country he knew once. The R train is apparently all messed up for the next three months so our commute to Bay Ridge was rather frustrating. But once we got there it was good times watching Spike TV with Grampa and eating that terrible yellow fried rice.

When we got back home, we slipped in our Goodfellas DVD and snuggled on the futon until two in the morning. I've decided it's completely unacceptable that I waited fourteen years to see this movie. I probably would've never understood any of it had I watched it in the fourth grade when it came out, but still. It's like waiting until you're 21 to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a crime among many that I am sadly guilty of.

I can admit them all now, I suppose, if someone had the time, energy or desire to hear me confess them. Let's see, I thought quails were fish up until pretty recently. I had an insane number of crushes growing up on guys that were considered cool, but now I find them on myspace and they're like Chris Grandy in 13 going on 30. I can't whistle. I let my high school boyfriend cheat on me eight times before I kicked him out of my life. Don't even get me started on all the songs I've written for assholes that never deserved it. The list is deathless, but I can't be ashamed. Loops told me the other day that Jagged Little Pill, possibly the most brilliant man-hating album of the twentieth century, was written for Dave Coulier, and I about shat myself. 30 million records for Uncle fucking Joey. This is like, front page worthy news. Are you guys seeing this? Don't make me say it twice like gangsters do.

My warm November was a long month of traveling and playing shows all up and down the left coast. San Diego was provocative and big-hearted, just like I imagined it would be. I stayed with Jamie who, amazing woman that she is, managed to balance me and a few hangovers somewhere into her hectic schedule of negotiating and writing papers. I caught up with Ate Din who took me shopping at this outlet mall so close to the border I could see the Mexican flag. In the late afternoons we had tea time and the best dessert ever at this place right around the corner from where she lived, and when the evening rolled around, we boozed it like champs.

Our hotel in LA was rad, and I really mean this. We cruised on Century Blvd. until we felt like we were in a whole 'nother place just to find it. We arrived sometime after midnight, conveniently enough to cross paths at the elevator with these girls that Ray says were hookers. The snacks in the vending machines were jailed in, and the walls inside our room seemed almost rotten with the stories it could tell. This left us intrigued more than bothered really. It had two cozy beds and a bathroom, and as far as we were concerned, that was everything we needed. But as far as shows go, I'd have to say this one took the cake. It always makes me nervous playing shows in unfamiliar cities, but the room I played was kind and laughed in all the right moments. Boulos and I bickered onstage in sort of a cute way, and we showed everyone there the songs we'd practiced for days. They seemed pleased. After the show, Ray and I joined some of his friends that came out, and we danced like glorious fools with our giant coronas.

San Francisco was beautiful as ever. Our cab driver to the show was a very funny man with slanty eyes. We all thought he was Chinese until he started talking all Mississippi-like. I sat in the back seat and videotaped him ranting and cracking jokes all the way to the venue. D always does an A+ job bringing people out. Two girls flew in from Hawaii to see the show and brought me caramacs. Tahni was all gorgeous and seventeen and her sister-esque mother was cool as all hell. Post-show, our party of five slammed sake at a sushi place near or in Nob Hill. Doan and I ate dessert first, just the way we like it. It wasn't really the same without Jack, but all in all, SF was quite the time.

I got home and stayed for just long enough to tidy up the place and host a pre-thanksgiving dinner for Aaron% and Justin. The next day we drove upstate to our favorite land of cute babies and delicious food aka Sue and DJ's house. Being around them is the best. They have a kid that never stops smiling, another that calls me her Bea and the littlest one falls asleep when I sway her and make this clicking noise with my mouth.

Now I'm home again, and December greets me tomorrow with promises of brisk weather and ice skating at Rockefeller Center. Maybe I'll drink hot thai tea on the colder nights and partake in a viewing of The Godfather Trilogy. 2006 is so near, and it's really about time for a new to do list. Way on top? Nooo, not Ryan Gosling or Terry Adams. Sorry boys, but I'll be too busy making something of 24, a lot like that Switchfoot song I love so much.

xo. only me, bea.

10:10 AM - 37 Comments - 40 Kudos - Add Comment

my human capo

happy birthday, phinney.

3:21 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

i'll have the plum pudding, please.
Current mood: cross-grained

ZEECODY: she is like love condensed
BATTLESTARS: love doesn't condense. that's why it spreads so fast.
ZEECODY: not true, thats why it's so easy to carry around
ZEECODY: and when you need it
ZEECODY: you just add you to it
ZEECODY: and it gets big again
BATTLESTARS: you don't carry love around, it follows you
ZEECODY: no death follows us, love leads us
ZEECODY: as does this one guy that lives near my grocery store when I walk home...he's a bit creepy
BATTLESTARS: death doesn't follow us, it finds us.. when the time is right.
ZEECODY: if thats true, you and I are going to go in hiding
ZEECODY: and live for forever

Currently listening : Poetry & Aeroplanes By Teitur Release date: 22 July, 2003

10:04 AM - 0 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

tell me a story about virgins and lions.
Current mood: disarmed.

There are a lot of nationalities...
Originally uploaded by raydawg88.

San francisco is a beautiful cloud of a city teeming with all day napping weather and book and beer consumers. It surprises me that I lived here for more than ten years, because it all seems strange and new to me. Sweet Rayber and Darius had the welcome wagon drawn out for me since day one, and it has succeeded in making me feel warm, cozy and wanted here in the Bay area.

The first west coast date in LA was unforgettable. The venue was nice and filled with classy red booths and friends I hadn't seen in years. We glorified our evening with delicious booze and good times. My favorite part of the entire night was meeting this charmer of the year disguised as a fan who boldly introduced himself to me right before my set.

Once in a while your day brings you into a room with someone you feel hears everything you say the exact same way you thought it. And of all the ways my thoughts can be and have been interpreted, it's self-gratifying and mind easing to know that people like this actually exist. It promises interesting turning points for even the most simple lives. It is inspiring and beautiful, to say at the very least, and I appreciate it more than I even know how to.

Ray tells me that we should never owe or offer apologies for how we feel, and I full heartedly agree. They are, after all, out of our control. Reckless actions, on the other hand, can be emotionally steered into, and this is where we are liable. Am I going somewhere with this? Yes.

Pizza will always be good with a little sugar, slugs will always have four noses and "leisure" will never be a synonym for "discretion". While these things can be life changing, it doesn't change what I know. There is a man who stands a million spaces away from me this very moment, who loves and respects every stupid thing about me from my sad almost-trackstands that I can't even ride into to every song I've meant to sing for him but haven't yet. The perfect home we've made of our hearts is everything that I'm sure of in my life.

Dharma and Greg is a TV show. Timing is everything.

Only Me... Bea.

Currently listening : I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning By Bright Eyes Release date: 25 January, 2005

12:43 PM - 11 Comments - 3 Kudos - Add Comment

Hold me closer, Tony Danza.

11:22 AM - 7 Comments - 3 Kudos - Add Comment

Walking with flowers.

Sometimes, I like to hold my copy of Jim Carroll's Forced Entries while I sleep thinking of it as some kind of bible or royal example of what my life in New York should compare to. And in a less fab, JC Reality version, I think it could be slightly the same to someone who squinted their eyes enough (minus the cocaine, crab races and Jackie O, of course). Other times, I guess, I'm scared of becoming too "big city" that I forget how to do things that New Yorkers don't realize happen outside the planet of their beloved Manhattan.

Donny and I talked once about how awesome it is when a song you love comes on the radio on your way home from somewhere, and it conveniently ends right as you reach your driveway. I loved that so much, but sadly, I left all my driveways back in Texas. I don't have a car anymore, and even if I did, I seriously doubt I'd be listening to the crap they play on New York radio stations anyway. I just don't wanna wake up one day and realize I can't drive a stick shift anymore or that my body has gotten so used to being busy all the time that I'll no longer be physically capable of just staying home to watch bad TV. Everyone needs their dose of bad television.

My statements are certainly not to be misunderstood. I'm not complaining. If anything, I admit that there's probably at least two or three things I've learned to love for every one thing that I miss. It would take two John Lamonicas to even come close to the the hot Gina Gershon clone front lady of The Twenty-twos. Generation in the West Village runs neck and neck with Good Lattimer's Good Records, and stepping out of Union Square's McDonalds with a Cookie Flurry might even have late night drive-thrus beat. You see, there's a cannoli for every corn fritter. And on top of that, there is a man who has this to say about walking next to me: It's like walking down the street with a flower.

I know it. I really do. I know there's no place like home, but there's definitely no place like this, either.

Xo: Only Me... Bea

10:44 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos

twenty-two.

3:54 PM - 5 Comments - 9 Kudos - Add Comment

Re: Your Tongue.

Dear Asshole on the Train,

I was having a rather good day until our paths crossed an hour ago. You see, I caught the 33rd St. train just in time and managed to snag a seat which made me uber happy considering I'm not wearing the most comfortable standing shoes ever. But then, you and two of your similarly obnoxious friends hopped into my car at the Pavonia stop and totally killed what could have been a delightful evening. People like you annoy me.

I pretended like I couldn't see what you were doing, but actually caught every bit of your seventh grade behavior in my peripheral vision. I thought I would take this opportunity to express how unamused I was by your uninvited contribution to my day. I was repulsed, actually, so much that you made me want to take the cyborg out of my pocket and slice the perverted muscular organ from your mouth that you felt so necessary to point and wiggle in my direction. I should have done just that, because then I would have taken it home and displayed it on my mantle as a trophy of the time I forever muted the prick that helped me discover human scum.

I got off the train at Christopher Street. I don't know where you were headed, but I hope you tripped and fell between the doors on your way out so conveniently that they closed and cut you in half. And when your arms somehow managed to make it up the stairs and to the street, you were run-over by a speeding taxi, leaving you begging for a real rain to come and wash you away.

And then, when you reincarnate as the unfortunate spirit of George W. Bush's soul, you'll find yourself twenty years thereafter, rotting and burning miserably forever and all eternity.

I hope I've made it clear how I feel about you.

Hugs and Smooches. Only Me, Bea.

12:53 PM - 15 Comments - 22 Kudos - Add Comment

An ambition: write entries as if they are being graded.

Last month, Jessica and I got to talking about those dreaded days of doubt that most artists find themselves waking up to now and again. I'm talking about those days that get us totally reevaluating the worth of everything we ever even semi-know to make sense of. I suppose lately I've been feeling like I'm only two of these damn days short of allowing a bunch of sheckies with no vision to convince me I'm nothing more than a waste of their precious time.

I guess I could go on to explain in detail everything about my west coast adventure last month. Honestly though, I don't really care to, and here's why. Between the old guy with the awesome accent who screamed at me for not caring enough about my career and all the metal trivia filled nights, there's not really much to tell. I'm still as non-famous as I was before I boarded flight 245. Sorry, kids. If and when things change, you will be the first to know.

Hollywood doesn't know me anyways. Hollywood only knows people like Ashlee Simpson, who's television show sadly happens to be the guilty pleasure of my life. It's pathetic that her first live performance was equivalent to my hundredth, and her second, my dreams. Am I jealous? Yup.

Enough about that though. My New York stories are better. Like one time, on a train to the city, some guy glared at me while he rubbed off on his foot long cock. Unfortunately enough, I'm not even exaggerating. I, of course, saw this to be absolutely disgusting and scary, to say the least, but when I told the story to a few other New Yorkers, they weren't in the slightest bit surprised. Most of them actually responded with some kind of similar story of how it also happened to someone they know. Anyhow, I won't deny that I reacted to this pervert's actions with a bashfully strange smile, but only because I was totally convinced that I was the target of some hidden camera prank. But like a horrible and confusing joke, I never got the punchline, and Jamie Kennedy never showed.

I wish I could list out all the so-in-love couples I've seen while wandering around the city. Old, beautiful, smelly, weird, drunk, heck... even the homeless can find love according to what I've seen. Today, I saw two very gothed out kids with white faces dressed head to toe in hell's coolest threads cuddling on the grass at Union Square. I admire this nation-of-two type of love. The kind that makes every non-citizen to it completely sick with envy. You know, the kind that makes you feel boundless, and undefeated by all or nothing.

I know I've talked about this before, but back then it was a statement of wishful thinking. It's much harder to write now that I've gained an immunity to falling for some jerk with a guitar. But with all the honesty that my life can offer, I'd rather struggle to write than have to deal with that heart-breaking uncertainty all over again. It's a new undertaking. Dude, get into it.

Only Me... Bea.

12:43 PM - 9 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment